‘I’m on thirty-one.’
‘Thirty-one!’ His voice was scornful. ‘You could start anew from here and really live…and I mean really live, a happy successful life, because you’ve got a talent that you’ve only recently unearthed, and it will ripen and grow. Come on, now, up and at ’em!’ As he pulled me to my feet he said, ‘Sunday is your turning point; you’ll know where you’re going from then on.’
Sunday didn’t turn out to be my turning point. I rode in the car with Mrs Talbot, her daughter Maggie, and Maggie’s husband Bob, and we stopped some distance from the cottage and we saw nothing, no movement. When we got in the car again and passed it, two boys were kicking a ball on the grass patch that was edged by the railings. Bob stopped the car some distance away at the other side of the cottage; then he said he would dander back as if he was out for a walk. Nobody would recognise him.
He was away almost fifteen minutes, and when he returned he said he had seen the woman. He reckoned she was about forty, and a blonde, but she had a headscarf on and a coat. He had skirted the back of the cottage by walking along the edge of a field, but he hadn’t seen the sight of any man, and when he came back past it, the woman was playing football with the boys.
There was always another time, Bob said. He might be playing clever and sitting tight in the house. What about trying on a Saturday? He’d be pleased to run me out. I thanked him and said, ‘All right, next Saturday.’
The following day, Monday, I wrote to Nardy, as I now thought of him, and told him what had transpired. By return of post he was brief and to the point: to keep trying, he said. His letters were not a bit like his conversation, because that wasn’t stilted at all.
Towards the end of the week, I received another letter from him. This said that at a board meeting the previous day they had decided to bring the date of publication of the book forward and were going to do a rush job on it in order that it would be in the shops for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be nice? he said.
Yes, it would be…or would have been if my mind hadn’t been in a turmoil, for I knew Howard was brewing something.
But what?
I kept a close watch on Bill. Bill was aging fast and he hadn’t been well of late. I’d had him to the vet’s who said he had a little trouble with his kidneys. This had confirmed my suspicions that there was something wrong internally with him, because he didn’t visit as many lamp-posts as usual, and when he deigned to stop at one his acquaintance with it was mostly half-hearted. I was so afraid that something might happen to him through Howard’s hands or feet that I was now taking his basket up into the bedroom, but whereas at one time he would bound up the stairs after me now he would lumber laboriously, and I often had to assist him from halfway up.
I didn’t know what I would do if anything happened to Bill, or when it happened to Bill, for the vet said he was old for a bull-terrier, nearing thirteen, he thought. I had Hamilton. Or did I? Hamilton seemed shy of me these days, standing in faraway corners, even sometimes turning his back on me. This would happen when he didn’t seem to agree with my thinking. But Bill was a different matter. Bill was something I could hold…no not something, someone, for his love for me was a thing apart from any other feeling I had ever experienced. This ugly lumbersome piece of animal flesh had shown me more affection than anyone else in my life; yes, even than George.
So I was worried about Bill. If it had been possible I would have left him at Gran’s, but he was too much of a handful for her. She said so openly. She didn’t mind looking after him for a day, but I knew she was always relieved when I took him home …
I went with the Talbots to Durham the following Saturday, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that, and the Sunday after that, but not one of us saw anything of Howard, not even of any man. We saw the children and the woman. They were always about the place, but no man was present. I later said to Gran, ‘Mrs Talbot must have made a mistake.’
‘Look lass,’ she said: ‘if Sarah made a mistake, Maggie didn’t. She spoke to him and called him by his name. He’s there but he’s lying low. He’s playin’ a game with you. I’d bet me bottom dollar that he knows you’re on to him.’
‘No, no, I don’t think he does…And yet.’
‘What do you mean by, an’ yet?’ she said.
‘Last night I was going upstairs just as he was about to come down, and he stopped and he pushed his face almost into mine and said, “Ha, ha!”’
‘Ha, ha?’
‘Just that, ha, ha!’
‘Well, if you want any proof, there you have it; he’s laughing up his sleeve at you. If I were you, you know what I’d do? I’d take some of your money and put a private detective on to him. I would. I would that.’ …
I thought about this. I thought about it for days. And the days went into a few weeks, and then it was November, and it became bitterly cold and the heavy frosts in the morning lay like snow on the window panes.
It was partly through the frost that the climax came about, and I did it. I did what I had wanted to do for the past thirteen years. I did it …
During the past month my eyelid had begun to flicker and the corner of my mouth to twitch and I had once again been paying my weekly visits to the doctor. And on this Monday morning when I went into the surgery he glanced up from writing something on a pad and his look said, ‘Oh, you again.’ At least that’s what I thought. I had come to the conclusion that in spite of his telling me I had a lot of horse sense, he thought that I really was stupid at bottom, or I wouldn’t put up with the cause of my twitch.
His hands flat on the desk now, he sat back in his chair and said, ‘Well, what now?’
‘I’m feeling awful,’ I said.
He sighed, dropped his head to the side and began, ‘Maisie, the cure’s in your own hands. I’ve been telling you that for years. In fact, I’m tired of telling you, tired of seeing you. Do you know that?’ He now poked his head across the table towards me, but there was a slight smile behind the whiskers which I noticed had gone grey halfway down the cheeks. It was as if he had put a false beard on, because I hadn’t noticed the change in colour before. Likely too concerned about myself, I thought. He now asked quietly, ‘Any change?…I mean, with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s acting oddly, and I didn’t tell you before but he threatened me. Some weeks ago he threatened me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I can’t remember the exact words but it was to the effect that it wouldn’t be long now, that he had something on me.’
‘He can get nothing on you, can he? You don’t do anything that you shouldn’t do?’ It was a question.
‘No.’
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
I longed at this moment to tell him about my book, and I felt if I had he would have been so pleased for me. But I couldn’t, so what I said was, ‘I do a bit of writing.’
‘What kind of writing?’
‘Oh, well—’ I looked down at my hands as I muttered, ‘funny bits. Well, all kinds.’
‘You write funny bits?’
He was surprised.
‘Yes—’ I looked up at him now, and, my tone slightly arrogant, I said, ‘I write funny bits…about a horse.’
His features became lost in the fuzz of his beard as he repeated, ‘Funny bits about a horse?’
‘Yes.’ And when I said, ‘I talk to this horse; I’ve talked to him for years,’ he rose from the seat, then sat down again, and after a moment he half muttered, half growled, ‘Maisie, what are you telling me?’
‘I’m telling you, Doctor, that I write funny bits of things about me talking to this horse and the antics he gets up to.’
‘Maisie. Maisie.’ He stared at me silently for some seconds, and then he said, ‘Do you leave these bits lying around?’
‘No; I…well, I hide them in the attic under the floorboards.’
‘And you’ve been doing this for years?’
I knew by his face I’d said the wrong word, and now he said, slowly, ‘Maisie, if that husband of yours gets his hands on those bits of writing, he’ll try to prove just that. He’s that kind of man.’
‘Yes, yes.’ It was as if a light had come into my mind clearing the fog. Had he discovered all that stuff under the floorboards? It could be, and…and that was what he was holding against me, thinking it would—I could hardly think the words myself—certify me insane. But no, no. I shook my head at the very thought. Lots of people talked to animals…Yes, but not in the same way as I talked to Hamilton. People talk to real animals. I talked to an imaginary horse, who had become so real to me that at times he wasn’t a figment of my imagination at all; and this had definitely come over in my writing. That’s why they had taken the book.
I felt sick.
‘You’re a very odd girl, you know, Maisie.’ He was staring at me; I answered him in the same vein: ‘In my experience I’ve found that I don’t happen to be the only one,’ I said.
‘Oh no, you’re right there.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘But in this case, your oddness might give that husband of yours a very strong lever. Not that I can see it would be strong enough to do anything drastic, but say for instance he decided…or he took it further with the idea that you weren’t capable of running the house unless you had treatment or some such. It’s been done. Oh, it’s been done. He would then have the house to himself, if only for a time…’
‘And bring a woman in.’
‘Well, you said it.’
‘Yes, yes,’—I nodded at him—‘I said it. And…and I can see it now. Yes, I can see it now.’ I was on my feet and, leaning over the desk towards him, I blurted out, ‘The business of the cottage,’ and him being recognised there, and his supposed staying with his boss at weekends.
When I finished, he was round the desk, his hands on my shoulders pressing me down into the chair again. ‘Maisie,’ he said quietly, ‘what you’ve got to do is to go to a solicitor and tell him all this. Oh no, you needn’t tell him about your horse, just what you found out about the cottage, and ask his advice. Myself, I know what I would do, but I’m not a legal man; and in this case, it’s better that I keep my mouth shut, at least at present. Now, do as I tell you. You get yourself to a solicitor. You have one, haven’t you? Do you like him?’
‘Yes, he’s a very nice man, thoughtful.’
‘Well, spill the beans to him. Go on, and do it this very morning. You will, won’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, thank you, Doctor.’ I stood up feeling a little calmer now and, strangely, for the first time I spoke in an ordinary way to him, not as if he was a doctor, and what I said was, ‘You know, you’ve been like a friend to me all these years. And there’s something else I would like to be able to tell you, but I can’t, not yet awhile. But when I can, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘Something else? Now, come clean. Is it to do with…?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. It’s one good thing that’s happened to me, but because of Howard I’m frightened he’ll get to know, and so I can’t tell you what it is yet.’
‘You are a strange lass, Maisie.’
‘You said that before, Doctor. And you know something, some day you’ll know just what I think about you.’
He screwed up his eyes until they were almost lost in his hair then he shook his head gently while guiding me to the door, and with no further exchange of words I went out.
As he had advised, I went and saw my solicitor. His office was only a bus ride away in Gateshead. I told him not only about Howard’s suspected double life, but why I had withdrawn the money bit by bit after putting it in security through Gran, and the fear that I had lived in for years.
‘You’ve been a very foolish young woman,’ he said; ‘you should have made a stand right from the first, and I’m sure none of this would have happened.’ And to this I replied, ‘Oh yes, it would, Mr Pearson; you don’t know my husband.’
I arrived back home about half past twelve. It was freezing cold. I had to be careful in mounting the three steps to the front door because they were still slippery with the frost as the wintry sun hadn’t got round to the front of the house yet. A cardboard box was lying to the side of the door. It was full of bottles, a dozen or so, I would say, in it and two or three lying across the top. Someone knowing of Howard’s interest had left them there. The children very rarely left the bottles, they always knocked on the door and expected a copper for them.
I left the box where it was and went indoors. Bill heard me and set up a weak bark from the kitchen. I hadn’t taken him to Gran’s this morning as he didn’t seem too well, and I’d had a job to get him to do his usual business. But now, after greeting me, he went to the back door, and I opened it and said to him, ‘Well, just go on round the yard.’ I had closed the front gate and the back gate was locked, so he couldn’t get out. I always left the storehouse door open so that he could go in and take shelter if he wanted to. I had put a hessian bag there with some straw in it and covered it with a blanket, and often he would snuggle down in this.
I next made myself a cup of tea, and while drinking it, I opened two brown envelopes I’d found on the mat. They were articles from members of the Writers’ Circle asking for them to be typed. I still had quite a bit of work to catch up on, but seemed disinclined to do it these days as I wanted to get on with my own book. Up to the past week or so, it had been going very well. I’d devised some quite funny pieces concerning Hamilton’s reactions to my thinking.
After pouring myself out another cup of tea, I picked up the manuscripts and went into the study. The room was icy cold and, after switching on the electric fire, I had to hold my fingers over it before I could get them flexed in order to type. But then, with my hands on the keys, I found that my mind wouldn’t work, either to do the request for typing or, yet, get on with my book: I was asking myself what would be the outcome of it all, would I ever have sufficient proof to get a divorce from Howard when I heard Bill bark, not ferociously like he used to do when anyone came in the gate, but nevertheless, he was barking.
I rose from the chair and had just reached the study door when I heard the key grating in the lock. That was Howard, and it was just on one o’clock. The shop closed between half past twelve and half past one for lunch, but he never came home for a meal.
Almost with a spring, I was sitting on my chair again in front of the typewriter, and two things happened almost immediately: I saw Hamilton standing near the window rearing upwards on his hind legs; at the same time my hand went out and I switched on the little tape recorder that was lying on the desk by the side of the typewriter. It was half hidden by the remains of a ream of typing paper.
The door opened and there he was. My heart was beating so rapidly that it was vibrating in my throat. I looked towards him as he neared the desk. And then he was leaning on it, his hands sprawled flat and his body bent towards me, and he began, ‘Well now, little Maisie, so you’ve been snooping around, eh? And what did you find, eh? Nothing. You just had to take the word of your friends, hadn’t you? You’ve had nice little journeys out there on Saturdays and Sundays, haven’t you, Maisie?’
My whole body was trembling. I took my hands off the keys because they were beginning to rattle, and he went on, ‘You think you’ve got me where you want me now, don’t you? But what proof have you? None whatever. I was visiting a friend the day Maggie Talbot happened to come to the door. My friend’s name is Mrs Ribber, and her two boys are called Ribber. No, Maisie, you’ve got nothing on me, but by God, I’ve got something on you. Something that, if it doesn’t fix you for good, it’ll prove you are in need of psychiatric treatment and should be put away for a time.’
It was as if his voice was echoing words that I’d heard just a short time ago, and it went on echoing as he said, ‘And while you’re away, I’ll have to have
someone to look after me, won’t I? So I’ll bring in a housekeeper, all very proper, and who better than Mrs Ribber and her two boys. And should you ever come out of wherever they send you, you’ll have to have someone to carry on looking after you, won’t you, Maisie? And Mrs Ribber will see to it, and I will see to it, for as long as you care to stay. Do you understand me, Maisie?’
I found my voice. It sounded cracked and it trembled as I said, ‘You can’t do anything like that, as much as you would like to. I have my doctor and…’
‘But has he seen these, Maisie?’ He now thrust his hand into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out what I recognised to be discarded pieces of typing paper that I’d torn up and put in the wastepaper basket. I could see that they had been stuck together. Having learned from all the corrections that had to be done on the manuscript of the book that was shortly to come out, I now endeavoured to cut out all superfluous pieces of writing. One is apt to repeat oneself, often telling the same thing in two different ways, perhaps on the same page. So, with this in mind, I had scrapped numbers of sheets. But I always tore them up and threw them in the wastepaper basket under the desk, then every morning I meticulously emptied it. But I’d forgotten about the period between the time I went to bed and the next morning. And now I knew why he had, over the past months, spent so much time downstairs late at night. He must have selected some pieces and stuck them together, but left enough in the basket so I wouldn’t notice anything different. He now waved the sheets in my face, saying, ‘This is just a sample. I’ve got dozens of them, telling about a woman who’s so barmy she talks to a horse that crawls around this house, and gets on buses with her, and goes into the supermarket and stands on its hind legs in indignation when it sees women shoplifting. Oh, Maisie, Maisie, what have you put into my hands, eh? Well now, can we come to terms, eh? Will I have to have you exposed and put away, at least for a time in order to bring my wife…And yes—’ His jocular manner changed, and his hands slid over the table and knocked against the typing paper which pushed the tape recorder almost off the desk. I saved it with the side of my hand as he growled at me, ‘yes, my wife. And if you hadn’t been mental you would have suspected something long ago. What did you think I got the seven hundred and fifty out of you for? To give to old Hempies in order to become manager? Huh! I wouldn’t give that old sod the smoke that goes up the chimney. As for him inviting me for the weekends there…Eeh! God, when you swallowed that, I realised you’d swallow anything. No, that money went to buy the cottage. And the rest of your four thousand to get my first car and add a bit on the end of the house. Oh, anybody that wasn’t mental would have seen through it years ago. But you are, aren’t you? You’re bats. You’ve not got one scrap of brain, except to copy what other people think, and any idiot can do that, any idiot.’ He now banged the typewriter with his doubled-up fist, then added, ‘And write down your madness. Well now, am I to expose you, or are you going to sit quiet and let me bring in her and the boys? It’s up to you, because, let me tell you this, I’ll have this house in the end. May persuaded me to marry you in order to get it and get it I will, because by God, I’ve bloody well worked for it. Just seeing you day after day has been a heavy mortgage. Now I’ll give you till this evening to make up your mind, no longer, then I’m going to the doctor. And, by the way, for some time now I’ve taken the precaution to mention your oddities to him. I’ve also said you’ve denied me your bed for the past ten years or more. Huh! and by the way, I can tell you this, that you can thank my woman on that score, because without her, by God! I would have taken it out of your limbs. What I did to you in the beginning would have been nothing to what I would have done if I hadn’t had her. Anyway, there it is.’
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