Justice Is a Woman (29 page)

As she left the road and turned towards the top of the bank her feet gave way beneath her and she

found herself part-way down the slope and up to her waist in snow. Gasping, she pulled herself up the

bank again, and all her bemused mind could think of at the moment was that she still had her grip on the

torch. Flashing it now along the ditch, her petrified gaze took in the car, lying with its rear wedged

cornerwise between two trees and its bonnet facing diagonally up the bank.

“Oh my God!” Mike had been right.

“Oh Joe! Joe!” Yet even as she cried out aloud she cautioned herself against her rising panic.

Again she flashed the torch. The only immediate impression she could gather from the

tracks was that

the car, having gone into a spin and its back wheels having slithered first over the bank, was thankfully

brought to a stop and prevented from overturning by the trees.

She slid down the bank now towards the car, and as she slithered with a bump into the front wheel she

shouted, “Joe! Joe!”

She couldn’t see into the car because of the snow on the windscreen and so edged her

way to the door

and directed the flashlight through the dropped weather curtain. And then she saw him.

He was lying

slumped in the seat behind the wheel; his head hanging to the right.

He looked as if he were asleep.

“Joe! Joe!” As she yelled his name a swirl of

drifting snow almost choked and blinded her, and she leaned against the car, gasping.

After a moment

she gazed about her frantically. What was she to do? She needed help; she could never get him out of

there alone. Or could she? Not from this side maybe, but if she could open the door from the other

side, she might.

As if obeying a sharp order she suddenly reached over and grabbed the figurehead on top of the

radiator cap, and slowly dragged herself up and over the still-warm engine casing. Then she was

standing on the sloping running board and clinging with one hand to the side of the

windscreen.

She loosened the side curtain and then opened the door with remarkable ease; but before she could get

at Joe she had to close the door again and move further along the running board beyond the door. This

time when she opened the door, Joe almost fell on top of her, and his dead weight made it difficult for her

to maintain her position. When she heard the groan she thought it was from herself, until it came again.

Now she was shaking him gently, crying in an agonised tone, “Joe! Joe!

Are you hurt? Say something. Oh, Joe! Wake up! Wake up! “

Her face was hanging over his. She sniffed loudly and shook her head;

he stank of whisky.

“Oh Joe! Joe!”

“Wh ... where? Wha ... t?”

Thank God! He was alive .. “Are you hurt?”

He groaned; then very slowly he said, “Oooh! My ... Go ...od!”

“Joe! Joe! Listen to me. Are you hurt?”

“Betty.” He opened his eyes and blinked in the light of the torch, then said again, “Betty.”

“Can you sit up?”

When he made the attempt she helped with one hand while steadying herself against the back of the seat

with the other. Then as the car rocked slightly she cried, “Careful! Oh, be careful, Joe.”

“Where? ... What happened?”

“The car. You ran off the road.”

He blinked his eyes slowly, then stretched them, and in a voice that was almost a croak he asked,

“Where is it?”

“Robson’s Gully. You’ve dropped down into Robson’s Gully.”

“God in heaven!” He groaned and lifted his hand to his head, and she asked, “Are you

hurt anywhere?”

“I ... I don’t know. My head’s spinning.”

“Your legs? Your arms?”

Slowly one after the other he moved his limbs, then shook his head;

and she did not say, “Thank God!” but, “Do you think you can get out?

The car’s tilted; you’ll .. you’ll have to be careful in case it slips further. Look—-’ She shook him gently

by the arm now.

“Open your eyes, Joe.”

“What? Oh yes, yes, Betty. Yes, I’ll ... I’ll get out.”

He pulled himself upwards.

“Careful!” The word erupted on a yell as the front of the car moved a little.

“Look.” She was gulping her words now.

“You’ll have to move over and get out of the other door,

in case your weight makes the car tip if you get out this way. I’ll get back the way I came.

“

“Right. Right, Betty.” He made an effort to open his eyes wide. He followed the direction of the torch

as Betty pulled herself upwards and on to the running board, and then back over the

bonnet. And then

he edged himself slowly across the seat to the door, which she had already opened. But when, getting

out, he went to stand on the running board he almost toppled backwards into the snow.

Only her cry

made him instinctively grab at the panel by the side of the door, and then gingerly he let himself down into

the snow.

Now half supporting and half dragging him, she tried to get him up the slope; but he fell onto his face into

the deep snow and lay there inert.

Grabbing at him, she cried harshly, “Joe! Joe! For God’s sake, make an effort. Come on!

Now,

come on!”

She managed to turn him on to his back and he lay gasping. His eyes were closed but he spoke to her,

quite plainly now, saying, “I’m tired. I’m tired, Betty, very tired.”

“Joe! listen to me. We must get out of this.” And, taking hold of his shoulders, she

dragged him into a

sitting position and tried to shake him whilst crying at him, “You can’t stay here! You’ll freeze. Look,

hang on to me. Grip my arm.”

“No; you ... you go on, Betty. Go on. I’m ... I’m all right.”

As he went to lie down again, she took his wet, snowcovered head in her hands and she yelled into

his face, “I can’t go on. If you don’t make a move we’ll both freeze to death; so come on!

Damn it!

you’ve got to try.”

She never recalled the effort of the next ten minutes, during which she hauled him to the top of the bank,

without wondering from where she had got the strength. Physically she wasn’t weak, by any means, but

Joe was a big man and he was almost insensible now with shock and drink. When she

finally pulled him

over the edge of the bank and on to the road she lay by his side, her face in the crook of his arm, her

own arms outstretched as if on a rack, and the sweat of her body melted the snow that had gathered on

her head and neck. Unaware that she was soaked up to the waist, all she could think about at that

moment was that once she got her breath back she must get him home as quickly as

possible.

Within a few minutes she was shaking him again, and when she had managed to get him

to his feet she

pulled his arm around her shoulders and hung onto it with one hand while with the other she gripped him

around the waist. Half dragging him, she talked to him constantly to keep him awake, and they both

stumbled their way towards the gates, and from there it seemed a comparatively easy

walk up the drive

to the house.

Before she kicked at the front door she was yelling at the top of her voice, “Mary! Mary!”

She made

no attempt to ring the bell, for she knew that once she let go of him he would drop to the ground, and she

knew that she wouldn’t have z86

enough strength to lift him yet again.

“Oh my God above! What is it? What is it?” Mary was on the other side of him now. Her support,

however, was more moral than practical, and as they dragged him into the hall Betty

gasped, “The

drawing-room.”

Going at a wobbling run towards the double doors, Mary thrust them open, then rushed

towards the

couch and pushed it towards the fire.

When Joe slipped slowly from her grasp in a limp heap on to the couch, Betty dropped

onto her knees

on the hearth rug then fell onto her side and lay gasping; and when Mary’s agitated voice came to her,

crying, “Oh my God! miss,” she put up her hand and muttered, “It’s all right, Mary. Give me a minute.”

The minute became two before she managed to drag herself on to her knees; and then she looked at Joe

where he was lying stretched out now, Mary having lifted his feet up and put a pillow under his head, and

she silenced the old woman’s spate of questioning, saying slowly, “In a minute, Mary, in a minute; we ...

we must get him undressed;

and bring some water-bottles. And I must phone the doctor. I doubt if he’ll get through.

But .. but first,

I’d better tell himself. “

It took her all her time to make the two flights of stairs, and Mike, having heard her coming, met her on

the landing.

“Oh God! lass, what’s happened to you ... and him?” he asked.

“It’s all right; he’s in the drawing-room.” She put

out her hand and leaned against the landing wall, and when he asked, “Is he badly hurt?”

she gave a

short laugh.

“What’s up with you, lass? I said, is he badly hurt?”

“I ... I know, Mike, what you said. Well, there are no bones broken.

There might be concussion, but .. but his main trouble is, he’s drunk. “

“Loaded? What do you mean?”

There was silence for a moment before he said, “The bloody fool!” Then he made to turn towards the

room, but looked back at her again, saying flatly now, “If that’s the case, come and have a drop of the

dog that bit him.”

“No, no; he’s ... he’s got to be seen to, I must go down.”

As she made for the stairs he turned round to her again, asking, “You got him up there on your own?”

She was half-way down the stairs when she answered, “We didn’t happen to meet Father

Christmas

with his sleigh.”

Another time he would have laughed, and so would she, but the tone in which she had

made the remark

didn’t signify amusement.

In the hall she got through to Dr. Pearce, and when she explained what had happened he said, “I doubt

if I can get through; in fact, I’m sure I can’t. They’re having a job to keep even the main roads clear.

You say there are no bones broken?”

“There doesn’t appear to be.”

“Does he appear sleepy?”

“Yes.”

“He’s likely concussed then; but if he walked from the car then I don’t think it can be anything serious.”

At this she dropped her head back on to her shoulders, and closed her eyes tight.

“Are you there?”

When she answered he went on, “The main thing is to keep him warm, give him plenty to drink, such as

weak tea; no stimulants, and if things aren’t improved by tomorrow morning I’ll try to get over. In any

case, give me a ring then.”

“Thank you, doctor.” She put down the phone but remained standing with her hand on it for some time,

her body leaning over it; then she looked down at her feet.

A short while ago she had been sweating, now she was cold, shivering.

She told herself that she should get out of these boots and change her stockings; then she would start on

him. Now that she knew he wasn’t physically hurt in any way, she did not feel concern for him, only

irritation that if he hadn’t been stinking drunk this would never have happened. It was just as well that

Elaine wasn’t here, and that Martin was still at the Egans’.

It was about four o’clock in the morning when Joe awoke. He opened his eyes and found that the

shaded light in the room pierced his brain like rapier points. When he put his hand to his head it was

beating as if a drum and LIFE band were inside it, and his body ached from head to

foot. Oh, how it ached! Where was he? What had happened? After a few minutes he

squinted

through narrowed lids and with a painful effort turned his neck to the side. The drawing-room. What

was he doing in the drawing-room? And who was that sitting huddled in the chair? He

blinked and the

slits opened wider. Betty. What was Betty doing there?

What had happened? He closed his eyes again. He had taken Martin to see Dr. Levey.

Yes, yes.

Oh! Yes. Yes.

His memory was stirring. Yes, indeed, he had taken Martin to Dr. Levey.

Oh my God! He would have to go through that again. But Betty; where did Betty come

in? He’d had

a drink. A drink? He’d had two, three, four, five; he’d lost count after a time. He didn’t go to the club.

No; to bars, three bars. And then he got into the car. He was nearly home; he had seen the lights in the

house.

“Lie still. How are you feeling?”

He looked up into Betty’s face.

“Oh Betty.”

“You’re all right; you’re not hurt in any way.”

“What happened?”

“You took a short cut down Robson’s Gully.”

“No! Oh God!” He tried to nod his head; then put his hand up and gripped his brow as he said, “Yes,

Robson’s Gully. How ... how did you find me?”

“Mike saw the car going over; I ... I went down.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. Now go to sleep.”

“No, no. Aw, Betty, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Now go to sleep.”

“Can ... can I have a drink?”

“Tea?”

“Yes, anything.”

She went to the tray standing on a side table and poured two cups of tea from the

thermos; and when he

had drunk his he asked, “The car, is is it smashed?”

“Well, it’s almost hung up between two trees.”

“Hung up between ...” He made a small motion with his head.

“How .. then how did you get me ...”

“Oh, it’s a long story. I wish you didn’t eat so much; you’re a dead weight.”