If the man hadn’t been there and eager to help, everything would have gone smoothly. I would have said, ‘Stay! Bill,’ and Bill would have stayed. But the man made a grab at him and Bill, likely remembering other men who had made grabs at him before he had come under my protection, took to his heels, crossed the road and scooted back in the direction from which we had just come.
I didn’t stop to say anything to the man, but took to my heels. Did I hear him laughing? It didn’t matter. I ran, yelling, ‘Bill! Bill! Come back! Bill!’ When I saw him turn the corner into the road we should have taken on our way home, I thought, Good. Good. He’s making for home. But when I got to the corner, there was no sign of him. The road was a long one, and I was sure he couldn’t have reached the end of it. Then I remembered the butcher’s shop.
When I arrived gasping at the door, there he was, sitting on the sawdust, looking up at the butcher. There were three customers in the shop and they were keeping well away from him. The butcher looked at me and said, ‘He’s determined to be chopped up, this one.’
As I grabbed him and thrust the collar over his head, he didn’t even bother to rise to his feet; he just sat looking up at the butcher.
‘What do you feed him on?’ said the butcher.
‘Dog food, tinned dog food.’
‘Huh! That dog’s got sense; he knows what’s best. Do you want a pound of scraps?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, please.’
I got the pound of scraps, then handed the butcher the sixpence he had asked for, and now, tugging at Bill, I said, ‘Come on. Come on.’ But Bill just looked at me and turned his gaze once more on the butcher.
Without a smile on his face now, the butcher said, ‘He doesn’t want meat, he wants chopping up. He’s suicide bent, that dog.’ There was a deep chuckle in his throat and the three women, still keeping their distance, gave nervous sniggers.
‘I wonder if a bone will do it?’ He now turned to the bench behind him and, taking up a marrow bone about a foot long, he came round the block and said, ‘This what you want?’ Whereupon Bill stood up and took one quick step towards the butcher who, taking two quick steps back, thrust the bone at me, saying, ‘It’s all yours.’
When I handed Bill the bone he took it quite gently from me; then turned his thick stumpy body about and led me from the shop. At the door, I pulled him to a temporary halt, saying over my shoulder, ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ And the butcher called after me, ‘You’re welcome, but don’t bring him back.’
I wish I could remember all the remarks that were passed about us as we walked across the market place, Bill carrying that huge marrow bone and still doing his dot-and-carry-three walk and I almost slinking by his side.
At home, I tied him up in the yard on a long piece of rope and there he sat for the next two hours gnawing happily at that bone, after he had licked the marrow out of it as far as his tongue would reach.
After making myself a cup of tea, I sat down and reviewed the events of the past hour. I wished I had somebody to relate them to. It was too late in the afternoon to go to Gran’s; and anyway, I’d wasted enough time today. I must get on with the typing. But wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, if there was a man coming in for his tea and I could tell him what had happened. Yes, yes, it would have been very nice …
A man did come in for his tea and I didn’t tell him what had happened, but the dog became the topic of our conversation and, in a way, the beginning of the bribery. Or would you call it blackmail? Whatever it was, it meant if I wanted to keep Bill and, too, something of my personal privacy, I had to part with money.
As soon as he sat down to his tea I knew there was something in the wind. Since May had gone, at least up till now, he hadn’t grumbled at his meals, but, looking at the sausage, egg and chips I had cooked, he said, ‘Doesn’t your mind go beyond fries?’
‘I thought you liked sausage and eggs?’
To this he answered, ‘You can get too much even of a good thing if you have a repeat pattern every week: sausage and egg, bacon and egg, egg and chips, scrambled eggs, boiled eggs. And when I’m on, there’s another thing I’m going to tell you: this kitchen smells of that dog. The whole house smells of him. Get rid of him.’
The fork almost sprang out of my hand as my whole body jerked in the chair, and I said, ‘No, I’ll not! I’ll not get rid of Bill.’
‘Well, if you won’t I will, by the simple process of leaving the back door open and letting him go. And he’ll go straight back to where he came from, the dock front. Dogs, like people, always revert to their beginnings.’
From between tight lips I said, ‘That’s a pity.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was just agreeing with you about people reverting.’
His face reddened. The implication of my words seemed to have struck home. I knew nothing about his real early beginnings, only May’s reference to the nice life they had led in Gosforth, which I surmised now must have been only a brief interlude.
Following the meal, he went upstairs and changed, and when he came down again he was ready for outdoors in a new suit, and over his arm was what looked like a new light overcoat. Well, he was in the trade, it wouldn’t cost him all that much, I thought. Grudgingly, I had to admit that he looked very smart, and he surprised me when, going out of the door, he turned and looked at me saying, quietly, ‘Why do we always have to get off on the wrong foot?’
It was the nearest to an apology he had ever come. He didn’t wait for an answer and went out.
I was surprised still further when, two hours later, he returned home. He came straight into the study where I was working, another unusual procedure, and, sitting down in the big leather chair that I understood had been my grandfather’s favourite seat, he looked at me for a moment before he said, hesitantly, ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’
I waited, not knowing what was coming. Here was a different man, likely the one May had known.
He said, still hesitantly, ‘I’ve been offered the chance of something big. You know, ours is a very good-class shop and Mr Hempies has the idea of opening a branch in Durham or somewhere near, and…and if he does, that will mean he will go and manage that one most of the time as he lives out that way, and the management here will be going…Paul Richardson, he’s been there longer than me and he’s mostly over the cutters and the stitchers, but he’s dying for the job. Well, I might as well come to the point, it means buying oneself in, sort of partnership like.’
Oh, so this was it.
‘You see with the money I got for the furniture and the bit I’d saved, all I can raise is two hundred and fifty-five pounds. And from what I understand, well…’ He uncrossed his knees, and then crossed them again the other way before ending, ‘I’d need a thousand.’ There was a long pause before he said, ‘What about it, Maisie?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I replied. ‘You know what I did with my money; I haven’t got it. All I’ve got is the bit I earn from my typing.’ And, I nearly added, the measly bit you give me for housekeeping, which was three pounds a week.
His face was straight and tight now as he said, ‘You can get it if you want to. She’ll give it back to you.’
‘I…I couldn’t ask her.’
‘Look.’ He suddenly sprang to his feet and was leaning forward now, his hands gripping the ends of the desk, his face close to mine. ‘It’ll make all the difference to…to everything, to my way of life and to your way of life. Yes, to your way of life.’ And he nodded his head at me now. ‘Just think it over. I’ve got till the end of the month to make the decision.’ He straightened up and turned about, but took only one step before he stopped and looked down on Bill who was sitting by my side. And he held this position for some seconds and it spoke louder than any words he might have uttered concerning Bill’s future if I didn’t comply with his demands.
Two hours later I was on the point of sleep when the light flashed on, and he came to the bed and said, ‘Move over.’
‘No…please.’<
br />
‘Move over!’
When I didn’t, he gripped my short arm and almost lifted me out of the bed …
Fifteen minutes later I was alone with my head buried in the pillow.
The following day I was sitting on Gran’s couch and she was putting into words my thoughts of Howard.
‘The bloody blackmailing swine. That’s all it is, blackmail. Now what’ll happen, lass, if you give in to him this time? There’ll come another and another until he has the whole damn lot out of you.’
‘He won’t. He won’t.’
‘How can you say he won’t when you’re breakin’ under it now? Seven hundred and fifty pounds! Eeh, my God!…Well, it’s your money, and you seem determined to let him have it, but, lass, I would have some agreement in writing, mind, that he leaves you alone, an’ the dog an’ all.’
That was an idea. But how could I do it? Ask him to sign a paper saying that he wasn’t to come near my person for such and such a time, nor molest my dog? Yes, yes, I could do that. Yes, I could. I could type out a statement and get him to sign it. Why shouldn’t I? And stipulate a year… no, two… Or three? No, I’d better just leave it at two. Two years is a long time; something could have happened by then. Yes, that’s what I would do. I said to Gran. ‘You’ve given me an idea, Gran. I’ll write out a statement and get him to sign it.’
‘Aye, and you can add that you’ll expose him and take him to court if he doesn’t keep his word to whatever you demand. By! I’m glad our Georgie isn’t here, ’cos if he was Mr Howard Stickle would have to pick out his teeth from his guernsey. But, by the way, I forgot to tell you, he says he’s comin’ this way with a load a week come Tuesday. Eeh! I can’t wait, lass. It’s months since I clapped eyes on him.’
‘I haven’t heard from him for ages. Did you get a letter?’
‘No, you know he’s hardly any hand at writing letters. He made an effort at first like, but that soon stopped. You know yourself the kind of thing he writes: “I hope it leaves you as it finds me at present.” And what I know about our George, I’ve thought to meself when I’ve read that, oh, lad, those days are past for me.’
She put her head back and let out a laugh, and I laughed with her. It was so seldom I got the opportunity to laugh with anyone these days. I used to laugh inside a lot when Hamilton got up to his antics, but Hamilton’s antics these past weeks had been anything but funny. Most times, when I encountered him, he was lying down and looked very shaggy and had little to say, except as a sort of recrimination: Why can’t you stand on your own feet? Or throw the dinner at him, right in his face?
Well, things like that weren’t very helpful and wouldn’t solve any problems, and I told him so. My salvation was: I had to become strong inside, self-reliant; I had to become somebody that could ride above people like Howard and Mrs McVitie next door who was always complaining about Bill, not that he barked, but that he howled.
I had told Howard he could have the money on one condition, and when he enquired what that was, I said, that he had to sign a note to the effect that he had received the money and on my terms.
‘Well, let’s have a look at your terms,’ he had said. And when he had read the sheet of paper I passed to him, his mouth fell into a gape. Then he used a common phrase, as common as Gran Carter ever used: ‘You’re not so green as you’re cabbage-looking,’ he said; and then added, ‘But you must have sense enough to know that this doesn’t hold water; you are my wife.’
‘It’ll hold water,’ I said quietly.
My tone caused his eyes to narrow, and he said, ‘That old witch put you up to this, didn’t she? But anyway, what’s her word?’
‘It doesn’t only rest with that old witch, as you call her, there’s another who is aware of the transaction.’
His face now took on a tight look as he said, ‘Which other? Who?’
‘That’s my business. I just want to impress upon you that this will hold, even though’—I paused—‘it should come to the push and is taken to court.’
‘My God! As our May said to me, you hadn’t been hoodwinked so much by us as us by you. But don’t get too clever, because there’s…’
‘You were going to say ways and means, weren’t you? You haven’t got the cheque yet, Howard.’
He drooped his head now as he muttered, ‘I can never understand why we go for each other like we do.’
Instantly, I saw Hamilton: he looked huge and sleek and his lips were well back from his teeth as he said, The slimy bugger!
Eeh! dear, dear. I was getting as bad as Gran. I must stop myself using swear words in my mind. I had never used one verbally in my life, not even a weak damn. It was very disturbing when I swore inside.
I said now, ‘Are you going to sign it?’ And for an answer he took up a pen and wrote his name, in an almost illegible form, across the bottom of the page, and as I looked at it I said, ‘That’s no good, Howard. That name could be anybody’s. Sign it legibly.’
I saw his whole body rear; but he snatched up the pen again and signed the paper clearly this time.
When he stood up, he held out his hand and said, ‘The cheque.’
‘I’ll give it to you tomorrow,’ I said, ‘after I’ve lodged this in a safe place.’
The following day, when I handed him the cheque, signed by Gran, he stood looking down at it as if slightly amazed. He did not say thank you, not even in a sarcastic tone, but turned round and went out.
Three days later he said to me, ‘I’ve got it; I’m manager. And Mr Hempies has asked me over for the weekend to…his place. He’s a widower, you know, and getting on. You don’t know what it might lead to.’
Some days later, as I was walking down the street, Mrs Nelson came to her door and remarked on the weather; then she added, ‘I hear your husband’s been made manager of Hempies’. It’s a good position that. You’re very lucky, you know. You’re a very lucky girl to have a man like that.’
I had Bill on the lead, and I let him tug me away without answering.
Lucky to have a man like that! Did anybody know what went on behind the closed doors in this terrace? Or, for that matter, behind all the doors in Fellburn and Newcastle and Sunderland, on and on down the river and over the whole country, over the whole world? Did anyone really know how people reacted to each other in their own homes? Everybody seemed to have a face that they put on for other people. Who would think, watching Mr Howard Stickle go out every morning in his smart tailored suit, carrying his briefcase—oh yes, he carried a briefcase now, as also he left home a quarter of an hour earlier and got a different bus into the middle of the town—who would have thought that he was a coarse, dirty, cruel individual, and that small mouth of his could utter words that were so vile they made you sick to listen to them. Very definitely, no-one in this terrace.
Then Bill took ill; well, not exactly ill, but there appeared great wet patches on his coat. The hair disappeared and the skin became mattery. I washed these parts in disinfectant and put salve on. But to no avail; they spread. So I took him to the P.D.S.A., because, there, sixpence on the plate would cover the advice I needed, whereas the fee from the vet’s could run into shillings, and my shillings were very scarce these days. I couldn’t stretch the three pounds Howard threw on the kitchen table every week to cover the groceries and the window cleaner and such like, let alone the bills, and so I had more often than not to supplement it with my earnings from the typing.
The P.D.S.A. attendant gave me a bottle of liquid and told me to apply it to the dog’s coat.
If he had seen the result of the application he would never, I’m sure, have handed out another bottle of whatever it was, because the first dab of it on Bill’s bare flesh nearly sent him berserk. He raced round the kitchen and tried to get out of the door; but, as I told him, it was for his own good, and so I clutched him tightly to me as I aimed to dab the stuff onto his writhing body. I didn’t find out till long afterwards that I was applying a strong carbolic.
The patches got so
large as to become evident to passers-by when we went out walking, and they shook their heads at this poor dog; in fact, a couple, strolling in the park, one day remarked, ‘You should have that animal put down. He must be in pain.’
I couldn’t bear the idea of putting Bill down. I’d do anything rather than put him down. He was my only contact, the only thing I could touch, hold, cuddle. And he liked being cuddled. With his head tucked into my shoulder, I would hold him and talk to him like I would to a child.
Then I had myself to cope with. I started to come out in spots; well, not quite spots, it was more like a rash. It started on my hands, covered my fingers, and there were bits on my forehead.
I visited the doctor again.
He looked at my hair, then said, ‘It’s dandruff.’
‘Dandruff?’ I was indignant. ‘It can’t be dandruff, I wash my hair every week.’
‘All right, it isn’t dandruff. If you know what it is, or isn’t, why come seeking my advice? I’ve got a roomful of numskulls out there who don’t know what’s wrong with them, so you’re wasting my time…I’ll write you a prescription for ointment,’ he ended tartly.
I applied the ointment for a fortnight, but it only seemed to aggravate my rash and soon my whole body became unbearable; and when my face became covered and I could hardly see out of my eyes, there I was in the surgery again.
‘God in heaven! What’s happened to you?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. It’s all over me,’ I said.
‘Been mixing with foreigners?’ He peered at me.
‘Mixing with foreigners?’ My voice went high. I’d never mixed with anybody, never mind foreigners. ‘Why should you think I’ve been mixing with foreigners?’ I said.
Hamilton Page 13