A man who cried (28 page)

He sighed. ”Aye, I know. But what’s the alternative ? Carry on like this for the rest of my life or

until I’m found out?”

She did not give him a direct answer to this but what she said was, ”You owe her something. And

what’s more . . . well” - she looked downwards now - ”I know Hilda, she needs something,

someone. I remember once when I was rowing with her. She was dishing out advice and telling

me I should give up my way of life. She got on my nerves so much I said the only person she

needed was God, and that she already had Him in the form of Mr Maxwell, and I hoped He

satisfied her. I remember she went out crying, and I knew then there was a need in her and that it

wasn’t being filled by Mr Maxwell, or God.”

”Funny about God.” She glanced at him now. ”Peter believed in God. He didn’t belong to any

denomination but he firmly believed in God. He had a saying that he quoted now and again. It

was ’All there is is God’. I never fully understood it myself, but he did.”

There was silence between them, until he said softly, ”You know, Florrie, whether you believe it

or not I think you loved him.”

She pondered on this for a moment, then nodded, ”Yes, perhaps I did. But there are all kinds of

love.” Now she looked at him fully as she ended. ”But it wasn’t the kind of love I’d felt for you

over the years ; and I’m sorry about this because he deserved to be loved.”

He didn’t now come back with the trite remark ”And I don’t ?” because he knew that would

evoke her immediate denial, and a denial might be too quick to ring true. He couldn’t bear the

thought that she might have a low opinion of him, and yet, even with her love for him, what did

she really think of him because she was an astute woman, a woman of the world you could say ?

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At best she would consider him weak. And giving the matter thought, she must consider him

weak. And whenever he faced up to himself he, too, knew he was weak. Only in the more recent

time had he allowed himself to think in this way, for in his young days he had been strong

enough to stand by his opinions, and suffer for them. He had been strong enough to walk out on

Lena; but now he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to walk out on Hilda. If he had to leave it

would be she who would give him his marching orders. Yet the thought of having to live the rest

of his life with her while loving Florrie as he did was already creating a turmoil in his mind.

Then the turmoil was temporarily wafted away as Florrie’s arms came about him and, laughing

now into his face, she said in broad Tyneside, ”Eeh! Abel Gray, or Mason, or whoever you call

yoursel’, you’re a bad lad. Do you know that ? You’re a bad lad. And if I had me way now you

know what I’d do ?”

He was returning her broad smile as he said, ”No,” and waited for her to change her tone and say

softly, ”I’d love you,” because the words were written in her eyes. But what she said on a laugh

was, ”I’d cook you a nice steak and kidney puddin’.”

When his hand came sharply across her buttocks she lay tightly against him and, her face hidden

from him in his shoulder, she murmured soberly, ”Whenever you need me, Abel, I’ll be here.”

”Oh, Florrie, Florrie, I need you every minute, all the time. Sometimes I’ve felt worn out,

exhausted for the need of you.”

Her head still buried in his shoulder, they became quiet; then straining herself back from his

embrace she rose from the couch and walked slowly towards the french windows and turned the

key. When she looked at him again her gaze went straight into his and, holding out her hand, she

waited to lead him towards the bedroom.

When had he ever felt like this? With Alice, no. He couldn’t explain what he had felt like with

Alice for he couldn’t remember, but this, this he’d remember until the day he died. If he was

never

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to go with her again, the glow, no, more than a glow, the radiance in which he had ascended to

heights never dreamed of would remain deep in his memory for ever, and the fact that she, too,

went along with him every pulsing moment of the way.

They hadn’t spoken, not a word. It had been over for minutes now; still they hadn’t spoken. But

when at last she broke the silence her words startled him, ”I’m not too old to have a baby, ami?”

”What?”

”I said I’m not too old to have a baby. I want a baby, Abel. Oh, I want a baby so much. Somehow

I thought it would have happened with Peter.” She turned on to her side now. ”You don’t mind

me mentioning him, do you ?”

He, too, turned on to his side and he traced the outlines of her eyes with his forefinger, then came over the bridge of her nose to its tip, followed down to her lips, and traced their outline before he said, ”Nothing you could ever do or say, Florrie, could make me mind except if you were to tell

me you didn’t want to see me again. Do you know something?”

She made no movement but just stared into his face.

”I’ve heard people saying they felt so happy they could die, and I’ve always classed it as slush or

tripe talk, but that expresses exactly how I feel at this moment. In fact I don’t want to go on from here because every minute from now I’ll be dropping back into reality.”

She now lifted her hand and cupped his cheek and said softly, ”This is reality and it can go on as

long as ever you wish.”

”That will be a long time, Florrie.”

”Not long enough for me, Abel. . . . But about what I said, would you mind if I had a baby?”

”Not as long as it was mine. But. . . but have you thought about its name?”

”That wouldn’t worry me, although it might worry it later. Huh ! you never know. Yet I hope I’d

be good to it, it wouldn’t mind after all. And I’m sure it wouldn’t mind when one day I’d let the

cat out of the bag and tell it... him . . . her, that its Uncle Abel was its da’.” She laughed now, and when he said, ”I’ll be an old man when it’s in its teens,” her laughter took on a teasing gaiety and she finished, ”Whatever age you are you’ll still be the same Casanova. . . .”

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”What!” His face became serious. ”You . . . You look upon me as a Casanova, Florrie?”

”Oh, I was just joking. But wait, aye, when I come to think of it you are you know, you are a bit

of a Casanova. Look at all the women who have been in your life. Aye, look at them, and from

your own telling.”

He stared at her, his face serious. All the women who had been in his life: Lena, and the loveless

battling years he spent with her; Alice, that swift flash of tender passion that lighted his drab life, but for a flash of time only; then the incidents, first the boat, and then the barn, then Hilda. What did he know of women really ? What pleasure had he had from women ? In the last half-hour he

knew the pleasure that he had missed in not loving and being loved by a woman like Florrie ... or

by Florrie herself, back down all the years. But then, would Florrie have been able to love him as

she had done without her experience of men ? If he had met her instead of Lena all those years

ago would her loving have taken him to the heights then? She had once told him she had only

known three men ; now counting Peter it was four. They were really equal in the number of their

experiences but far from equal in the quality of them.

He would be forty-eight shortly, what had he done with his life ? Nothing. He had made no mark

on anything or anyone. Yet the latter perhaps wasn’t quite true. He had left a mark of hate on

Lena, and another of jealousy on Hilda. What mark would he leave on Florrie ? Just one of love

he hoped until the day he died. But it was going to be a furtive love, love on the side, and as such it could go on for years and years. He didn’t think he could stand that; he wanted to be with

Florrie every minute of the night and day. He didn’t want her only in bed, he wanted her face

opposite him when he was eating, by his side when he was walking. He had first set eyes on her

in 1932, nine years ago. He had been starved of her for nine years.

Suddenly he pulled her warm body tight close to him and as his lips pressed down on her mouth

the tears sprang from his eyes, and when they wet her face she struggled from his embrace

exclaiming, ”Oh! what is it, Abel? I didn’t mean anything, I was just teasing you. Oh, my dear,

don’t cry like that. What have I said, what? I tell you ...”

He shook his head and gulped in his throat, saying no\^ be-

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tween gasps, ”That. . . that’s got nothing to do with it, ft’s . . . it’s just me, it’s a weakness, I ... I cry when I’m troubled, greatly troubled. But . . . but I hadn’t thought it would affect me when I

was happy, ecstatically happy.”

”Oh! Abel. Abel.” She now gathered him into her arms. ”You are so different. You’re different

from anybody I’ve ever known in all ways, and I’ve never known a man who cried, and I love

you for it. I love you for it.”

*t

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”You know, when they turned me down, having waited nearly a year for my call up, I felt like

jumping in the river, and it wasn’t only because they wouldn’t take me for the air force, but

because they thought I didn’t want to get into the air force, didn’t want to get into the war at all.

Eeh! I can hear meself going for that doctor now. I don’t know where I got the nerve from but

after being messed about for nearly three hours, and half of that time spent in a room by myself.

You know something, Molly? I’m positive they had a way of watching me but it didn’t strike me

until after they turfed me out and said I’d be hearing from them. When it did I was in two minds

whether to go back and wreck the bloomin’ place, or, as I said, jump in the river.”

”You should have come for me and we could have jumped in together. I’ve often thought of

doing it meself, but I’d like a hand to hold while I’m at it, just in case, you know, I decided to

change me mind, then I could climb on top of my companion and clamber out.”

”Oh! Molly!” His head resting on the palm of his hand, his elbows on the table, his shoulders

shook with his laughter. Then his laughter stopped abruptly and he lifted his head and stared at

her where she was at the sink washing up as she said, ”Have you ever wished anybody dead?”

”What! What makes you ask that?”

She turned her head towards him. ”Nothing; I just wondered. Have you ever wished anybody

dead? What’s the matter? What you blushing for?”

”Am I blushing? I didn’t know I blushed. I’m not blushing, ami?”

”Well, you’re pretty red.”

’Well, the things you come out with would make anybody red.”

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”Why should it ? I just asked you a simple question, have you ever wished anybody dead ? I was

looking for a companion to me bad thoughts before we go into the river together.” She grinned at

him.

”You wish somebody dead ?”

”Yes, of course, else why should I ask you ?”

He stared hard at her before saying quietly, ”Your mother?”

”Yes, me mother.” She turned round and stood with her back to the sink while she dried her

hands on the tea towel; then she shook it out and said, ”It’s wet, I’d better get another.” She was

across the room and taking a fresh tea towel out of a drawer when he asked, ”You troubled about

it?”

”Not any more” - she came and slipped into a chair opposite him - ”especially not since I’ve

learned I’m not the only one.” She smiled at him, then added, ”But it isn’t so bad now, only at

odd times when she gets me goat. But years ago when I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, when

other girls were out enjoying themselves, when I saw them going off to the pictures on a

Saturday night with their lads, or walking past the gate on a Sunday arm in arm as they made

their way into the country, oh then, boy! yes, I hardly drew a breath without thinking, I wish she

was dead! Then I would spend half the night tossing and turning in nightmares riddled with guilt.

I was always being put into prison, always lonely, and nearly always I woke up with her words

ringing in my ears, ’After all I’ve done for you.’ She still says that you know: ’After all I’ve done for you.’ And what has she done for me ? Made me into a bloomin’ old maid . . . well, nearly.”

”Don’t be daft. Old maid? Huh!”

”Who do you wish to murder ?”

”Murder ?” His eyebrows went up, stretching the skin around his eyes and bringing his lips apart.

”Well, tell me, who do you wish dead?”

He dropped his gaze from hers, nipped on his lip while his shoulder jerked twice, then he

stammered, ”No ... no ... nobody in p ... particular.”

”Nobody in particular? Do you wish everybody dead then?”

”No, no; don’t take me literally. Well -” His head jerked from one side to the other in a sharp

nervous movement and he gabbled now, ”Well, there was somebody. I ... I thought if she was

dead, well, it would straighten things out.”

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”What things?” ; ” -

”Oh, just something that happened.” ; ”; Î

”To whom ... you?”

”No. Well, what I mean . . . Aw” - he got to his feet - ”you know something, Molly? You’re

nosey.”

”Yes, I know I am. It’s me only pastime. But I’m only nosey with people I like.” She rose quickly

from the chair and went to the draining board and as she picked up a cup to dry it there spread

over the town a great wail, and she closed her eyes quickly and said, ”Ah, not again! Three times

in one week. Aw no.”