A man who cried (27 page)

woman who was supposed to chain you up. Now I’m telling you, and I mean this, I’m not putting

up with any more of it. You’ll put a stop to it or else ...”

He stared at her for a moment and, his voice still quiet, he turned from her, saying, ”Well, just as you decide, Hilda, just as you decide.”

When the door closed on him she covered her face with her hands, then stumbled towards it and

leant against it, and she moaned aloud, asking all the while, Why ? why ... ?

Walking with his head bent against the driving rain, Abel, too, was asking himself why? why?

Why must he be so cruel to her? And he realized he was cruel. Yes, it was true, she had given

him everything she could since he had entered that yard all those years ago. All but the one thing,

the main thing, because that was so distasteful to her. But did the fault lie with himself? his lack of understanding what it had been like for her to be married to an old man, who apparently had

insisted on the union being based on virginal lines ? God ! when he came to think of it, that

would be enough to twist any young lass, send her headlong to hell wanting it, or fearing it as she

did.

Where would it end ?

Well, he could end it tomorrow by telling her the truth. No ! No! He couldn’t see anything

making him go that far because strange as it seemed he knew that she loved him, she really did

love him. She loved him as deeply in her own way as he loved Florrie, and because of that at

times he could feel compassion for her.

His love for Florrie was burning him up - it was torture to be with her, and it was torture not to

be with her - but things were

172

coming to a head. Yet before they did he’d have to talk to her, tell her the truth.

He was wet through by the time he knocked on the french windows and when she opened them to

him she exclaimed on a laugh, ”You look like a drowned rat, an outsize one.”

”I feel like one. It isn’t only raining, it’s sleeting.”

”Give them here; I’ll hang them in the kitchen.” She was helping him off with his coat. ”I’ll just

make some tea ... I’ve been baking.”

”Good, good. What do I smell?” He sniffed.

”Apple tart, scones, made with liquid parafin, have your pick. . . . No, you can’t!” She flapped

her hand at him. ”The apple tart’s too hot to cut.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen he went towards the fire and, bending down, he rubbed the

palms of his hands together. Presently he turned about and stood with his back to the blaze. He

felt more at home in this room than in any place he could ever remember. He supposed it was

because it looked like her, elegant, warm, colourful.

Colourful ?

She was coming back into the room now carrying a tray and as he went forward and took it from

her he knew he wasn’t linking colour to her skin, for her face was white and drawn. How old was

she now ? Forty-one. There were times when she didn’t look thirty but one of those wasn’t today.

”You’re not feelin’ well?”

”Oh, I’m all right, in one way that is.” She was pouring out the tea now and she paused as she

said, ”I’ve had the hump for days. I don’t know.” She moved her head slowly. ”It doesn’t seem

any use going on, nothing to look forward to. I’ve . . . I’ve even lost my interest in men.” She

laughed a high almost hysterical laugh now and pushed him with the flat of her hand almost

upsetting the cup of tea he had just picked up, and still laughing she cried, ”I’m sorry! I’m

sorry!” Then her manner sobering again, she drank from her cup, in between times saying rather

sadly, ’Hardly a week used to go by before but I’d have an invitation of one kind or another, and

now the only ones I seem to get are nudges in the dark from the uniformed lads. I must be losing

me touch.”

”Never! Not you.” ’ •..,_..,.

*73

*-”*•

”Oh, I forgot.” She laughed derisively. ”I did hav^an invitation last week. It was funny really. He

came into the shop, he said he’d seen me for the last two or three days from Middleton’s, you

know the boarding-house across the way. He was just passing through, he said. . . . His

business ? Oh, he couldn’t tell me, it was a sort of secret, and he offered to spend a secret night

with me. Brazen as brass he was. He seemed surprised when I showed him out of the shop.”

She put her cup down on the table, then crossed her legs and leant her elbow on
the
arm of the couch as she said slowly, ”You know, Abel, once upon a time I would have laughed at that, it

would have given
me
a giggle, but... but it didn’t this time, instead it made me feel awful, cheap, low. You know what?” She turned her head slowly and looked towards him. ”When he had gone

I thought of our Hilda and I asked meself if she was right after all, did I look a tart ?”

”Stop it! Don’t be ridiculous.” His voice was harsh. ”You look as much of a tart as I look a pansy

boy.”

”Oh, Abel.” She was laughing in a jerky fashion but more naturally. ”Some pansy boy, you!”

”Well, you’re as near to a tart as that. Take it from me. That fellow sounds the kind of bloke who

would have tried it on with Hilda at a pinch.”

As they stared at each other they both bit on their bottom lips. Then their laughter was joined;

loud, raw, they rocked with it. Perhaps it was the rocking that brought her into his arms but once

she was there he held her tightly pressed against him, and a great heat swept through his veins as

he realized that her arms were around him too and holding him as close as he was holding her.

When their laughter ebbed away they looked at each other, their faces wet but straight now; still

enfolded they leant against the couch and no word passed between them. The seconds ticked

away and formed minutes and not until after what seemed to be an eternity did he whisper, ”Aw,

Florrie.”

And she answered simply, ”Abel.”

”It’s been a long, long time, Florrie.”

”A long, long time, Abel.”

”How long have you known that. . . that I’ve felt this way about you?”

174

”I don’t know. I only know how long I’ve felt ibis way «bout

you.”

”Aw, Florrie. Really? Really?”

”Yes really, Abel. Remember that night in this room when . . . when we were getting on so well

and he walked in, Charles. That seemed to finish it. Well, he had come to bid me a final goodbye,

he was leaving for America with his family. But even then it was too late, you had taken my

advice with regard to Hilda.”

The mention of Hilda’s name pierced his mind and cast a shadow on the joy of the moment, and

now, taking his arms from about her, he caught hold of her hands and, looking into her face, he

said, ”I’ve got
to
tell you something. It’s a long story, it’s the story of my life, Florrie, but before I do it I’m going to say this to you : I’ve only ever loved one other woman in me life and then it

was only for a very, very short period. It seems to me now at times that it never happened, and in

this life I’ve only ever known you. And I’ll tell you this, I’ve loved you, Florrie; and, yes, I’ve

wanted you from the minute I saw you. And it’s got worse with the years. I thought, when you

married, that was that, but no it wasn’t. Still I’m not saying I’m happy about your Peter going.

But he’s gone, and so now I can say to you, I love you, Florrie, I love you with all my heart. Here

I am, on forty-eight, soon kicking fifty, the fires in me should have died down a bit by this time

but I seem to have been stoking them up all these years just for this moment. But no more for

now; I’ve got to tell you something, Florrie, something that’s going to come as a bit of a shock to

you.”

He let go of her hand and moved slightly away from her as he said, ”Some years ago I broke the

law and as yet I haven’t been called upon to pay the penalty, but somehow I feel that time is

running out for me; more so of late, I don’t know why. Anyway, let me start at the beginning.”

So he started at the beginning. He told her of his young ideals, of how he met Lena, and the

weariness of his life with her until he met Alice. After telling of the way Alice died he paused for a long moment; then he said, ”After that I had to go because even with my pacifist leanings I

didn’t trust myself, not after I hit her. Once, just for a moment, I had the desire to finish her off.

It was after I found out she had written to the husband and the result of it. It was then I knew I

had to get away from her, for both our sakes.”

Jfc

175

He now went on to tell her the little episode of ffce boat and of how only a few months ago the

young girl had recognized him; but it wasn’t until he came to the story of Miss Matilda and of

changing his name that Florrie moved, and here she put her hand to her mouth and shook her

head in disbelief.

Then he ended, ”I hadn’t really a choice, staying put in that comfortable house with a job or . . .

The important thing was I’d been offered a home for the boy. I can honestly say that he was my

first consideration then. If I’d been on my own, well, I would have been up and off long before

that. Strangely, the longer the boy stayed in that house the greater aversion he had to walking;

even today he won’t walk a step if he can ride. I’m . . . I’m not making excuses, Florrie” - he

nodded his head at her - ”I’m just trying to explain the situation I was in. And, of course, there

was you. Oh yes, there was you. I knew that if anything made me leave there I should lose sight

of you.” He sighed now, then ended, ”So I went through a form of marriage with Hilda. The only

thing I stuck out for was the registry office. It didn’t seem so illegal somehow.”

She sat now staring wide-eyed at him.

”You’re shocked?”

”No. No, I’m not shocked, but I’m amazed, and . . . and in an odd way I’m more sorry now for

our Hilda because, being the sort she is, this will finish her if she ever finds out.”

He was silent for a moment during which he rested his head on the back of the couch. Then

nodding as if to himself, he said, ”I don’t know. I’ve asked myself time and again how it would

affect her if it came to light and somehow I can’t see her going to pieces, because you know,

Florrie, there’s a band of steel running through that little frame of hers.”

She said nothing for a moment, then asked, ”Have you deliberately prevented her from having a

child?”

”Yes.”

”Do you think that was right ?’”

”It was better than bringing a bastard into the world. Now that fact would have killed her.”

”But she’s always wanted a child. The only time we ever exchanged confidences she told me that

she wanted children.”

”Then why did she go and marry a man like Maxwell ? As for wanting children, she certainly

doesn’t hold with what. . .”

176

She broke in, saying, ”Yes, yes, you’ve a point there. I suppose she wanted so much, and if it was

a toss up, it was better to have Three Newton Road and be childless than have Bog’s End and

babies so to speak. But, oh Abel, I hope she never finds out, not only for her sake but for yours.

You . . . you could go to prison.”

”Oh, I’ve thought of that, oh yes; yet sometimes I think it would be preferable to the life I’m

leading because then the burden would be off my back . . . and Dick’s.”

”Dick’s?”

”Yes.”

”Oh, of course, he ... he must have known.”

”Oh, he knew all right. And can you imagine the pressure I had to put on him in order to make

him forget that his mother was still alive. I feel very bad about this at times because it’s now he’s paying the price.”

”In what way?”

”He’s a bundle of nerves; he’s got a twitch to his shoulder, and he’s even stammering now. He

thinks he’ll get into the air force, but they won’t look at him, not in his state; and he’ll blame me.

I catch him looking at me at times now as if he were trying to make out what kind of fellow I

really am. But then I think he has already made up his own mind about me.”

”But I remember he doted on you. I can recall Hilda being irritated by him always following you

about. She said it was ’Yes, Dad. No, Dad,’ from morn till night.”

”That may have been so years ago but more recently his attitude has changed. I know he just

can’t understand how I can go on from day to day, and when he laughs too loudly or goes into

dead silences, as he’s doing more of late, I’ve had the urge to get him by the shoulders and bawl

at him, ’All right! All right! What am I to do ? Go and give myself up ? You can work for your

living now, there’s nothing to keep me here only . . .’ ”

”Yes, only . . .” She nodded her head slowly, and he repeated her words, ”Yes, only”; then

added, ”Sometimes I’m so sorry for her, Florrie. When she’s in one of her rare good moods and

fussing over us I think, I’ll tell her. I’ll come clean, I’ll tell her. She’ll understand. And then as like as not she’ll say something, mention someone, perhaps that damn parson, or turn her nose up

in disgust about some trifling misdemeanour, and I know it would be né use.”

!77

”Oh, Abel!” She was sitting on the edge of the couch, her hands joined on her knees, her body

bent towards him, and she repeated, ”Oh, Abel!”

”You think me dreadful, a swine of the first water ?”

Her head came up, ”Don’t ... be ... silly.” The words were slow and spaced. Now she jerked her

chin. ”The only thing I’m sorry for is you didn’t tell me that night. But . . . but on the other hand I must say that the worst possible thing you could do to her would be to tell her now.”