‘Oh, Gran.’
‘Yes, oh Gran. So his name’s Hamilton?’
‘Yes, Gran.’ I said slowly. ‘But please don’t get your hopes up; he’s not that kind of a man.’
‘Well, what do you write about, lass…I mean, to make a book?’
‘Oh -’ I turned my head away from her and thought for a moment for a way to describe what I wrote. Then looking at her again, I smiled at her as I said, ‘You won’t believe it, but I write funny bits.’
‘Funny bits?’
‘Yes, funny bits. Anything that tickles my fancy, mostly about…Oh, I can’t really explain. You can’t explain humour, Gran, because people’s tastes differ. What we laugh at, other people would think silly.’
‘Well, make me laugh. Go on, make me laugh.’
‘Oh, Gran.’
‘Don’t say, oh, Gran. Make me laugh.’
‘I can’t, not like that, not to order; it’s got to come sort of offhand, spontaneous.’
‘Aye, well, you want to tell that to some of the comics we get in the club. Eeh! if I couldn’t do better than them, I’d walk on water just to see if God was on my side.’
At this Hamilton did a gallop round and round the kitchen. His mane was flying, his white tail was stuck up in the air, and I was flapping Gran on the shoulder with my good arm while my short one was tight around my waist to ease the pain of my laughter. Gran was laughing too, but more at me than what she had said, and I now spluttered, ‘That’s it, you see, Gran, that’s it.’
‘What’s it? Just what I said there?’
‘Yes, yes.’
She wiped her face with her apron, then said, ‘Well then, lass, if that tickles your fancy, you’re easily pleased.’
‘I’m not easily pleased, not in that way, Gran. You see, it isn’t the content of humour but how it’s said.’
‘Aye, an’ it’s how I say it, I suppose. Me common way.’
‘Exactly, Mrs Carter.’ I stood up now and repeated, ‘Exactly,’ and we were laughing again.
And once more I said, Oh, thank God for Gran.
Two
A month had passed and no word.
Like the fool I was, I had expected a reply within a week; and every morning of the second week, there I was on Gran’s doorstep well before ten o’clock. But there was no letter, and no parcel, and I think she got a little tired of seeing me.
She dampened my spirits well and truly one morning by telling me that there had been a programme on the wireless the previous night about people sending manuscripts to publishers and some of them received so many in a week, amounting to hundreds, that they never even looked at them…well, not after the first two pages, because they could tell straight away if it was worth going on reading the stuff. When she had finished, she said, ‘I’m not trying to put you off, lass, but that’s what they said.’ And I said, ‘Well, Gran, I hope I’m not in need of being cheered up when you do try to put me off.’
I didn’t go back for four days, and when I did, she was very sweet to me and apologised for telling me what she had heard on the wireless, and ended by saying, ‘Come on, lass, buck up and be a rabbit.’
Then the third week passed, and the fourth week almost passed.
It was a Friday. I didn’t go round to Gran’s until nearly dinner time, and I hardly got in the door when she yelled at me, ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘What do you mean, where’ve I been?’
‘You’ve practically got me out of bed durin’ the last month, an’ look!’ She now took a long cream envelope from the mantelpiece and pushed it into my hand; then pointing to the heading on the top, she said, ‘It’s from them people that you sent your story to, Houseman and Rington.’
I stared down at the envelope. My stomach gave a leap and seemed to land between my breast bones. I turned the envelope over and fingered its good quality paper, only to give a start as Gran shouted, ‘Bugger me! lass, open the blasted thing. You’ve been waitin’ for it long enough.’
I opened it and read:
Dear Miss Carter,
It is with great interest that we have read the manuscript of Hamilton. We find it most unusual and very amusing, and if you would care to call at our office at a time convenient to you we would be very pleased to discuss the possibility of publishing it.
In the hope that we shall come to an amicable agreement.
I am,
Yours faithfully,
There followed a scribbled signature and a typed one underneath that read,
Bernard Houseman.
I sat down with a plop, then handed the letter to Gran. Then she very slowly sank down by my side and we stared at each other. ‘Eeh! God, lass,’ she said, ‘you’re gona have a book published. Eeh!…aw, hinny.’ She fell against me and we put our arms around each other and both of our faces were wet, but not through laughter. When we straightened up again, she said, ‘What is it about, really, hinny? I know you said it was funny, but is it a love story, or what?’
‘It’s about a horse, Gran.’
‘A horse?’ Her face puckered.
I nodded at her now, swallowed, and said, ‘It’s about a horse called Hamilton.’
‘What do you know about horses, lass? You’ve never been on one, have you?’
I bit on my lip as Hamilton kicked up his back legs and almost knocked the plant-stand near the window flying.
‘It isn’t that kind of a horse. Well, what I mean is, you see, it’s a horse’—and I tapped my forehead—‘that…well, I just think about; and I talk to him.’
She turned her chin almost to her shoulder while keeping her eyes on me, and she said, ‘Did I hear aright, lass?’
‘Gran’—I leant forward and took her hand—‘it’s a long story, but, you know, like children have imaginary playmates…well, it’s like that.’
‘And you’ve got a’maginary horse?’
‘Yes.’
‘At your age?’
I looked downwards because Hamilton was standing to the side of me now. His round eyes I knew were right on me as I admitted, ‘Yes, at my age.’
‘Eeh! God help us.’ Now her voice rose a couple of tones. ‘You mean to say, that’s what the story’s about and they’re gona print it?’
‘Well, it seems so.’
‘There’s some funny people in the world.’
‘And there’s one of them sitting here.’
‘You’re not funny…well…aye you are. You’ve never been like other lasses. But then what chance did you have? My! I’ve just thought, wait till our Georgie hears about this. He’ll be over the moon. He always said you had it up top. Aye, he did. He used to say, “Ma, there’s more in that one than meets the eye.” An’ he was right. By God, he was right! You a writer an’ goin’ to London.’
She stopped and stared at me, then she said, ‘London. Do you realise that, lass? It isn’t like Gateshead or Newcastle. You can’t walk round there in your bedroom slippers or lookin’ as if you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’
‘I don’t go round in my bedroom slippers, Gran…’
‘You know what I mean.’
I knew what she meant.
‘We’ll have to do somethin’. Eeh, yes, we’ll have to do somethin’!’
‘You mean, I’ll have to do something with meself.’
‘Aye, yes, I suppose that’s what I mean.’
‘Well, forget it, Gran. They are not interested in what I look like.’
‘Don’t you believe it. Half the world gets by on appearances. If everybody got credit for what’s up in their flappers, things would be topsy-turvy the day. I can tell you that.’
She now rose from the couch and took a step backward towards the fire, and, her chin working from side to side, she said, ‘You’ll have to have your hair done properly, and not frizzed this time. And you’ll get yourself a new rig-out; I’m sick of the sight of you in that grey thing. You look grey all over. You want something in brown, warm browns. I know what, Mrs Maddison will
know what to do with you.’
‘And who is Mrs Maddison?’
‘Well, I mentioned her to you afore, she’s a bit of everything. She’s got one place Brampton Hill, and another in Bog’s End. She’s in the two camps. And she gives some of her time now and again in OAP’s clubs, telling us how to make the best of our wrinkles.’ She laughed now, then added, ‘She’s the right one.’
‘Gran’—I stood up and again took her hand—‘don’t try to work any more miracles, will you? You remember the last one you did on me?’
‘This is different, lass. And Mrs Maddison is class, not like that other bitch. Now, let me get meself pulled together an’ think. I’ll go along an’ see if she’s at her low town one this afternoon an’ if she’ll see you in the mornin’. I’ll tell her it’s important…’
‘Gran.’ I took hold of both her arms and, my face serious, I said, ‘I must ask you this, and you must promise me: I want no-one to know about this. No-one. Do you understand? Just you and me.’
‘Aw, lass, you’re missing a chance of a…’
‘Gran, if you don’t promise me, I can tell you this, I won’t go to London. I’ll tell them to send it back. I don’t want anybody to know. Nobody knows this Miriam Carter, and that’s how I want it to be, because if it once got round it would reach Howard. And remember, he had every penny out of me before and he would do it again. He would, Gran.’
‘But, lass, all the excitement an’ that.’
‘Gran, promise me. If it leaks out at all…at all, do you hear me? I’ll stop its publication, that’s if they really want to do it, because I’ve sworn that he gets nothing more out of me.’
‘What about our Georgie?’
‘No, not Georgie. Nobody.’
‘But if you get rigged up, he’s bound to see.’
‘I can come here and change and get back into me old duds before I go home again.’
‘Aw’—she bent her head—‘you’ve taken all the stuffing out of me. I could see meself braggin’ in the club and sayin’ in an offhand way, “Me granddaughter’s a writer, one of them novelists.” And she now put her hand on my cheek and said softly, ‘And I’ve always thought of you as me granddaughter, no step about it, just as our Georgie always thought of you as his. Eeh! he’d be over the moon.’
‘Gran.’
‘All right!’ she bellowed now. ‘All right. As you say, ’tween you and me. But for how long?’
‘I don’t know, just as long as I say. And Gran, I feel so strongly about this that if you let on in any way at all, it will be the finish between us. I mean that.’
Her expression became sad now as she said, ‘I believe you do, lass.’
‘Yes; I’m sorry, Gran, but I do. You see, I’ve gone through so much back there.’ I lifted my head towards the door. ‘I’ve had to pay him for every peaceful moment that I’ve had. I say peaceful, I don’t think I’ve ever known any as long as he’s been in the house, and I know if he thought I was getting something for this book, he’d have it. I’ve still got to pay odds and ends out of my typing money. Twelve years he’s been in that house and he’s still giving me a mere pittance.’
‘That’s your fault. You should have done something, taken him to court.’
‘You can’t take people to court unless you have proof, and he’s too wily to give me that.’
‘Well, do you intend to go on living like this till the end of your days?’
‘I don’t know, Gran. I seem to be biding my time for something. I can’t explain it to you.’
‘Perhaps your horse could.’
At this we fell against each other and, as my body shook, I thought yet again, what would I have done all these years without Gran.
I liked Peg Maddison. She was small and dainty and business-like…very kind. The following morning I sat in a cubby hole that she called her office in her Bog’s End dress salon, and she looked me over; then she felt my head and said, ‘It’s a good shape. You don’t want a great fuss around it. Your hair wants to be short, taken behind your ears. You’ve got nice ears.’ She smiled at me.
‘Won’t that hairstyle make my face look smaller?’ I said.
‘No, just the opposite. It’s ridiculous to think that a mass of hair makes the face larger, it doesn’t, it acts the other way. Your face is small, but you’ve got good bone formation. You’ll find as you get older your skin won’t droop as much as most around the cheeks, because you’re high cheek-boned. A little make-up on your eyes towards the corners’—her fingers lightly touched my skin—‘and they’ll be all right. I can do quite a bit for you, but I hope you don’t mind me saying this, your best advantage is your figure.’ She now spread her hands and gripped my waist. ‘You want a smart rig-out, plain. Is it an evening or day do you’re going to?’
‘A day do.’
‘Well, a good suit, sort of semi-fitting. Don’t wear anything slack; you want to show off anything you’ve got.’
When I shook my head, she said seriously, ‘I’m stating facts.’
‘Yes, I know you are, but I don’t feel they belong to me, particularly my figure. And how am I going to get a suit to fit this?’ I lifted my short arm.
With a flick of her hand she dismissed this, saying, ‘Oh, any good-class house will fix that. One of their cutters will do it in a few minutes. In fact I know a place where you’ll get the very thing to suit you. It mightn’t be exactly cheap, but it will be worth it. What do you say?’
What I said was, ‘Thank you,’ while thinking, Will I have enough money?
‘Your grandmother won’t know you when we’re finished with you.’ She smiled now, then said, ‘Mrs Carter’s a character, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is, but a nice one.’
‘Indeed, indeed. And I love going to the club and meeting all her cronies.’ She hunched her smart shoulders and made a face at me, and of a sudden I felt we were compatible. And so it proved, in the time ahead.
On the Monday, I phoned Houseman and Rington and asked if the following Friday would be convenient for my visit—I couldn’t see myself getting rigged out and being made new in a shorter time—and the secretary informed me that Mr Houseman would be pleased to see me between twelve o’clock and one on that day. Would that be convenient?
From this distance I didn’t think of the times of trains, or how long it would take me, but said, ‘Yes, yes, thank you.’
And so it was arranged …
‘That’ll mean you’ll have to get an early train up from Newcastle,’ said Gran. ‘And how are you going to explain leaving the house at that time to him?’
I’d thought about this. So I said to her, ‘We are going down to see Georgie.’
‘We are?’
‘Yes. That’s what I’m going to tell him. So I’m sleeping here on Thursday night because we are getting an early train.’
‘And we’re just going down for the day?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope for your sake he doesn’t start working things out because it’s a long way to Devon and it would be like, hail and farewell.’
‘He doesn’t know exactly where Georgie lives.’
‘For your own sake I think you had better tell him we’re staying the night, and you can take the couch.’ She thumbed towards it. ‘’Cos Georgie’s bed’ll be damp. It’ll all be the same price.’
‘Yes, I could do that. Yes…that’s what I’ll do. It will be safest.’
‘I’m not so sure. What if anybody should see you going off on your own?’
‘Well, I hope by the time you and Mrs Maddison are finished with me, nobody will recognise me.’ …
It was on the Thursday evening, as he was going out for his weekly game of tennis, that I spoke to him. Endeavouring to keep my voice level and the excitement out of it, I said, ‘I’m going away for the day, tomorrow. Gran and I are going to see George. I’m…I’m sleeping at her place tonight, and we’ll likely stay over at George’s tomorrow night an’ all. I’m…I’m leaving Bill with Gr
an’s neighbour.’
He turned and looked at me. Then his face going into an oily smile, he said, ‘Good. Good. Coming out, are we? Hair do an’ all. But aren’t you afraid to leave the house? I mightn’t let you in when you come back. Or, just fancy.’ He poked his head towards me. ‘What if I had another woman installed when you returned? There’s stranger things happen.’
My voice deadly flat now, I said, ‘I wouldn’t try it on. What I think you’ve overlooked for a long time and which it would be wise to consider, is that I have friends and all in influential positions: the medical profession’—I paused—‘the legal profession—’ I paused again, and then ended, ‘and in the Church. And they are all aware, in different ways, of the situation.’
I thought for a moment he was going to spring on me. His pale skin was suffused with colour; his eyes looked black; then from between his teeth he said, ‘By God! there’ll come a day soon when you’ll need all the help you can get. I can tell you that.’ And on this he went out, closing the door behind him, but, and this again added something deeply sinister to his action, closing it softly: the neighbours could never say that Mr Stickle banged the door in a temper.
Three
I didn’t know the person who took a return ticket from Newcastle Central to London the following morning. I had come by taxi from Gran’s.
There were lots of people milling about the station but very few on the London train. Never in my life had I been further than Durham in a train, and when it slowly moved out of the station I felt for a moment I would collapse, so churned up with excitement was I.
After a while, being alone in the compartment, I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. Was that me? Was it really me? I took off my new hat. It was a reddish brown straw with a velvet band around it and a narrow brim, which was turned up at one side making it look perky. My hair was flat on my head; my ears were there for all to see; my large mouth was covered with a dusty pink lipstick, and I had green eye-shadow on my lids and black lines to the corners of them. I had practised this art for days past now. I was wearing a corduroy two-piece suit in a russet brown colour. Underneath was a silk blouse that buttoned decorously to the neck. It was a dusty pink shade. On my feet, I had brown court shoes with a three inch heel. I had never walked on such heels before, but I found them quite comfortable. I was comfortable all over. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to pat myself to make sure I was here, this was me. Although on again looking in the glass I realised it was still my face, it was now a face I could bear to look at, and I refused at this point to admit to myself there was the same old pattern under the make-up.
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