A man who cried (19 page)

was used to men and their ways. . . . Only three of them though, so she had said, and the first one

had been a right rotter by the sound

of it.

As she entered the room, he rose quickly to his feet and went towards her and, taking the tray

from her, he placed it on the side table, and a few minutes later they were both sitting facing each other again sipping at the coffee now.

When she said abruptly, ”Do you want to hear about number two ?” he gulped on a mouthful of

the hot liquid, spluttered, then placed his cup on the table to his side and wiped his mouth,

saying, ”Not if it hurts.”

”Oh, it doesn’t hurt, not number two. Makes me a bit wild at times when I think about it, angry,

mad at myself mostly for being such a damned fool as to be caught a second time. I’d left the

factory office -1 wasn’t up to standing the comments, the hidden laughter and sneers - and having

developed over the years a taste for dress, few and good is my motto in that line, I became an

assistant in a big store in Newcastle and within a couple of years I was buying for my own

department. But that came about through dead men’s shoes, or dead women’s in this case, for the

buyer had a heart attack and I took over first on a temporary basis and did so well that I was

offered the post. It was through this that I met William; not Bill or Billy, but William.” She

began to laugh now, saying, ”I should have known from the beginning that anyone who

demanded to be called William all the time, even by his girl friend, had something missing in his

make-up, namely a sense of humour. Anyway, he was a traveller and to use his own words he

caught on to me from the minute he clapped eyes on me. His work took him all over the North, so

we didn’t see each other as often as we might. We had known each other a year when the

question of marriage came up. But that was difficult because, you see, William had a widowed

mother and two young sisters to support. He lived in Leeds, by the way. Twice I was invited to

spend the week-end at his home, only for something to happen. The first

”7

time, his mother took ill; the second, he was called rfway on business. I forgot to tell you that I

wasn’t living at home at this time, I had taken a little flat, and so William saved on hotel bills

whenever he was in this part of the country by receiving bed and breakfast.”

At this point she stared unblinking at him, and in the same manner he returned her stare ; but

when she resumed talking her eyelids blinked rapidly and she threw out both hands as if in a final

gesture when she said, ”Oh, let’s make it short. Something cropped up that made me say to

myself, no, not again, not again; lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. And so I took a

train to Leeds and found out the address that dear William had given me was an office. However,

they supplied his private address, and when I knocked on the door I was confronted by his dear

mother who was obviously his wife, and his two little sisters who happened to be his children. I

made some excuse about calling at the wrong house, came back to Newcastle, waited for dear

William to arrive the following week, then gave him the best pasting he’s ever had in his life. I

used pans, vases and everything I could get my hands on. How he explained the loss of two teeth

and a black eye and bruised shins to his wife I don’t know. That night I said to myself, no more;

after this, I’m doing the choosing, I’m calling the tune, and it’s me who’s going to be paid by

whoever plays it. And so I looked around. . . . Another cup of coffee ?”

”No, thanks.”

”Well, I need one.” She poured herself out another cup and sipped at it, and he waited without

making any comment until she said briskly, ”Newcastle is a big place and in spite of the poverty

of the North it’s a rich city; there are a lot of wealthy men in it, and in the course of staff

entertainment I came in contact with a number of them, and so I made my choice. ... I think we

made it’simultaneously, he and 1.1 knew he was married and that he had four children; I knew

that his wife came out of a top drawer of society in this quarter of the globe, and I also guessed in a very short time that like all married men with four children and a wife he had become used to,

he wasn’t happy. No married man is happy” - she moved her head slowly, weighing each word

with cynicism - ”all the married men I have met and who have, may I say with some pride,

wanted to make me comfortable, have all been unhappy with their wives. And they have all told

me that I was the one they should have married in the first place and if they

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11

had they would never have been in the emotional predicament in which I found them. Anyway,

here I am.” She spread her arms wide now. ”This flat is mine, I don’t rent it; the business is mine, all signed and sealed in my name; and there you have it, three men in my life and I still don’t

consider myself a prostitute. What do you think of that?”

”I think you’re a very honest woman. . . . Do you love this

man?”

”No, not as I understand love. My idea of love, as I’ve said, is an emotion made up of pain, fear,

jealousy, the lot. No, I like Charles, I like him very much. You could say we are, at the least, very good friends.” She gave a self-conscious laugh here. ”And now I have to force myself to be

honest. We were up to a year ago, when his wife got wind of me and the screws began to turn.

There was no talk of him having a divorce. Anyway, he didn’t want it, and I didn’t want it. But

when I didn’t see him for three months life became rather empty; and now when I haven’t seen

him for almost six months life is very empty. But as they say, that’s life, isn’t it? ... You

shocked?”

”Why do you keep thinking you’re shocking me?”

”I don’t really know. Something about you, the way you look at me while I’m talking. It’s funny,

but if I didn’t know you weren’t of a religious turn of mind I could imagine you were

condemning me on those lines.”

”Good God!” He laughed as he turned his chin slowly from one shoulder to the other; then

looking at her again, he said, ”It shows how little you know of me.”

”That’s true. But then, nobody seems to know very much about you. You’re a secret sort of

fellow, aren’t you ?”

From the heat creeping up from his neck he knew that his face was now red, and when he made

no answer to her statement she said quietly, ”I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it rudely and I wasn’t

prying. It doesn’t matter to me. If nothing else, the experience I’ve had has taught me

everybody’s life is their own to do with as it suits them if that’s at all possible, and if it is, then they’ve got to stand the consequences. After saying all that I’m still not being nosey, and yet I’m

wondering why you came round here the night?”

What should he say to that ? That he came to take her down ? that he thought she would hardly

notice, simply look on him as

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one in the line of her suitors ? What he sajffwas, ”I don’t know.”

”I do. Shall I tell you?” I k

”I’d rather you didn’t.” I |

”Well, it’s to your credit. You saw that I was upset, hurt by what Hilda said. You don’t like

people getting hurt. . . . Were you in the war?”

”Yes, and no.”

’Yes and no ? That’s a funny way of putting it. What were you ?”

”A conscientious objector.”

”Good God!”

He watched her mouth widen to a broad smile, he watched her flat chest heave as she began to

laugh, and he said, ”What’s so amusing about it?”

”I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m laughing; it... it was such a surprise, and the way you said

it.” The smile sliding from her face now, she said thoughtfully, ”You must have been a pretty

brave man. I could never understand why people thought the objectors were cowards. I knew one

when I was a child, at least I knew where he lived. The women roundabout couldn’t take it out of

him because he was locked up, but they took it out of his wife and bairn, broke their windows,

the lot. You know something? The poor are very ignorant.”

”They haven’t got the monopoly.”

”No, perhaps not; but it seemed to me even in those far off days that few of them ever thought for

themselves, they let themselves be led. You know something else ? I hated living in Bog’s End

among the poor, even more than Hilda did. I hate going down there now. I hate small rooms, dull

streets, sharing a backyard. All along Temple Street they’re still carrying the water upstairs.”

”Well, you don’t have to worry about that any more, do you?”

”No, I don’t.”

They looked at each other now in what could have been hostile silence. It was as if he were

defending the way of life she despised.

But when they smiled and were both about to speak simultaneously a sound brought their heads

around towards the door leading from the room into the hall. The sound was the turning of a key

in a lock followed by a door opening and closing.

Before the sitting-room door was opened Florrie was already on her feet looking towards it; and

now slowly Abel drew himself

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upwards and he, too, looked towards the unexpected visitor standing there, one hand on the door.

The man was as tall as himself but slim. He had thick fair hair and every feature of his face could

be described as handsome. Over one arm he carried an overcoat and in the same hand he held a

soft felt hat. Everything about him spoke of the well-dressed gentleman, and this was given the

stamp of genuineness by the timbre of his voice when he said, ”I . . . I hope I’m not intruding.”

”Oh no, no.” Florrie went slowly towards him, smiling now, and having taken his hat and coat,

she laid them over a chair; then extending her hand backwards without turning her head in Abel’s

direction, she said, ”This is Mr Gray. He’s . . . he’s Hilda’s manager. He just called to give me a

message from her.”

She did not give the man’s name to Abel and the two men looked at each other and inclined their

heads.

”Come and sit down; it’s frightfully windy out. Have you had a meal?”

Abel watched the man coming towards him. He watched him pass between the couches, go to the

fire, and hold his hands out towards it, and he thought, Six months, she said, since she’s set eyes

on him; it could be six hours and he’s just returned from the office.

”I’ll have to bt going.” He was moving towards the door now, not the french windows but the

door leading into the hall, and she looked at him and smiled. It was a warm smile, a smile that

was thanking him for his tactfulness.

”I’ll tell Mrs Maxwell that it’s all right, you’ll be calling ?”

”Yes, tell her that.”

He turned towards the man who was seated now in a corner of the couch. ”Good-night,” he said,

and the man who was looking towards the fire and who seemed to have forgotten his presence

screwed round and answered, ”Oh! Oh, good-night. Good-night.”

As she let him out of the door into the passage which led into the main hall she said softly now,

”Good-night,” and he answered her as softly, ”Good-night.”

He walked down the drive, through the gates, and on to the road, and there he stopped. He had

the strangest reeling on him; it was as if he had just sustained a loss. But if you never had

anything to lose how could you feel you had lost it ? He couldn’t have

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been in love with her. Oh no ! He had loved Alice and only Alice. Then why was he feeling as if

the bottom had dropped out of his world, his new secure world? . . .
Secure world?
What was he yammering on about ? If he didn’t marry Hilda security was going to be short-lived, and he

couldn’t marry Hilda, so what was the alternative? The road again? Oh no! By God! not with the

boy. Oh no! he couldn’t subject him to that again. Well what then?

He was still asking the question when he made his way up to the room and found Dick, his eyes

wide with a new fear as he stammered, ”Eeh! Dad, I thought you had gone and left me. An’ Mrs

Maxwell was in a bad temper. She pushed me out when I went into the kitchen and said I’d better

go to Miss Florrie’s for me tea. Why would she say that, Dad, ’cos I’ve never been to Miss

Florrie’s place? Eeh! Dad, I was frightened. Eeh! I was frightened ’cos I thought I’d have to go

back and live with me mam.”

It was the first time the boy had mentioned his mother since he had been told to think of her as

dead, but the fact that his fear had brought her to mind
again
proved that he must still think of her.

As he held his son tightly to his side he knew that the future did not lie in his own hands but in

those of the boy, and that in order to provide him with security he’d have to do a great deal of

work on him. But how did one go about obliterating a mother, a live mother, from a child’s

mind ? The only way he could see was by offering him a choice, a choice of a comfortable bed

and a full stomach or the road again.

And he knew what choice the boy would make because he couldn’t fully understand what the

choice implied, he was too young. But he wouldn’t remain young; and what then ? Would he be

able to make a young man believe that all he had done was for his sake
?
If he had to impose the choice on him his young mind would be burdened with a load of guilt, guilt that of its very

essence would build up a sly evasiveness in the boy’s nature.