Our Time Is Gone (27 page)

‘Gosh!' said Mr. Slye.

‘And them—
you
knows—ten pounds ten for
them.
'

He winked at Mr. Slye.

‘
You
knows,' said Mr. Slye, quite unable to gather what they were. ‘Splendid.'

‘And the rest of the stuff I got here. Right here! Out in the lobby there.'

‘Excellent! You did splendid, Doogie! Have a drink?' and Mr. Slye got up and took a bottle of gin from the cupboard. ‘Swig,' he said. ‘That bitch hasn't found glasses yet.'

Mr. Doogle smiled, and it seemed to say: ‘Which bitch?' And then he said: ‘Well, Slye! You look all settled in. Costing much? How'd they do about the yowler? How's Long Legs?'

‘That bloody kid caused more trouble than enough!' said Mr. Slye. ‘As for Long Legs, they're a bit too long for that bed. This old bitch here wouldn't give
anything
but that bed, said it was good enough for hundreds of married couples, why not for us? She is a bitch too. Anyhow I said, joking like, “But my missus has such long legs,” and she says, “Don't be filthy like that!” 'Course I laughed. I didn't know what she bloody well meant!' Mr. Slye now took a swig from a bottle. ‘Was
she
there?'

‘Who?'

‘Long Legs! No! Was she hell? She would have hooked it. They all do, the bitches.'

‘Bitches apart,' said Doogle, ‘what arrangements are you going to make? But first I want that commission, and Slye Esquire,' here Mr. Doogle dug a bony finger up and down on the other's knee, ‘I might tell you that I'm the only man in Gelton who could get away with it, see?'

‘Yes, I know that, Doogle,' said Mr. Slye. ‘Suppose you're staying overnight.' He looked away into the corner, for he never could stand the sight of Mr. Doogle's features when his asthma became personal. He looked whilst Doogle choked and coughed and spluttered.

Mr. Doogle's face became very red, he opened his mouth wide, seemed to take in deep breaths. He talked. Of course he was staying the night! They had lots to talk about. Their interests were one. What the devil had he come all this way for? Just to tell him he'd cleared that stuff? Not likely. This, so far as he knew, was good territory, virgin, untouched, it had possibilities, ‘and two heads are better than one, Slye Esquire. They are that! Now how about Long Legs? Where does she come in?'

‘Wherever I am! In bed or out of it. She's a good cook, Maury is. And you know, Doogle, she's not a bad kid. Have another “Cheerio,” Doogle.'

‘No thanks! Don't like'em. I often wondered how you two got took up. She's such a nice girl too.' Mr. Doogle got up and stretched himself. ‘Where's Long Legs now?' he asked.

‘Shopping,' said Mr. Slye, ‘and that makes me feel hungry, talkin' of shoppin'.'

Mr. Slye got up too. Together they stood looking out of the window. They saw a long, clean, windswept road, but not a sight of a human being. It was turned five o'clock. The light was beginning to go. Its departure had a curious effect on the clean road. Its bareness became violent.

‘Winter in Blacksea,' said Mr. Doogle.

‘Ah! But you wait till the spring. The plans made and all the mugs with money coming along in the spring. You know the kind I mean, Doogle?'

By a nod of the head he did.

‘What kind of a journey up d'you have?'

Mr. Slye thrust a leg up on a chair, leaned on his knee, looked at Mr. Doogle four square. ‘It was rotten, and that's praising it, Doogle. S'help me, I
never
had such a journey. Everything went wrong, and Long Legs
would
at the last bloody minute say she was hungry. And that made me think of me stomach as well, and on top of that the kid yowled,
and
bloody well yowled! The carriage was full of draughts, the bloody train stopped at every station. What for I don't know. Nobody got off. Nobody got on. I got real hungry. I could have eaten something real tasty. A huge meat pie. But you couldn't get a thing. Then I fell asleep and then when I woke up what did I find? Maury gone. It gave me a blinking shock. Thought she might have fallen out of the window. Blasted if the kid didn't start yowling and calling me “da.” Think of it, Doogle. Where'd you suppose
she
was? Whimpering of her eyes out in the toilet. I got real upset. I said: “I'm sorry I took you with me.” She said she was sorry. She was worried about her ma. Well, her ma'll live longer than her, from what I've heard about her. All the same, Doogle, there's something about Maury I like. Real ladylike. I've got taste, Doogle. It's meant success in my business. Might have known sooner. Maury's getting into it now. I wish she'd hurry up. You must have something to eat with us, Doogle. And by the way, I'll have that cash if you don't mind,' and Mr. Slye extended an open palm.

‘Certainly. Less two, three, five. That's it. Here you are,' said Doogle, handing him an envelope containing notes and coin. ‘Count it.'

‘Directly! I wonder where Long Legs has got to. God! I wish she hadn't brought that crying kid.'Course I love Maury, you know. She's what you could call a
real
woman, and of course she was hot on having this kid, even though another's on the way. But she loves me, so I let him come. I never saw her husband, worse luck. But from what she says now and again he must be a kind of male cow.'

They both laughed about this.

‘It's only three months, not three months since he began sending her money. A few bob a week. Could have been more. He's a regular. Plenty of work, a bit mean, never drinks—hardly a bloody man at all. Funny thing was I didn't give a damn whether he sent any or not. Mind you, things weren't too good at the time. Then I thought, well, it'll pay for the kid. When it comes three weeks running and this few bob kept coming I said to myself, “A man can't stand in the way of goodness,” so she hands it up each time it came. Aye! She did that. All Maury wants is my love, Doogle. Understand! Likes a nice dress too. But money, she's not interested in that much. Well, anyhow, to come to an end, I'll remember that train journey for the rest of my life. Well, and here we are. All settled in. I wish she'd hurry.'

‘It is late, isn't it? Hope nothing's happened to her,' said Mr. Doogle.

‘Not at all! She had to go to some woman named Lamber; she's going to look after the kid. I was a real fool letting her bring him. We can't work with a kid. And as she's carrying one she's got load enough. Course I like Maury so much I hate saying, “Well, look here, Maury, you'd best send the kid back to his dad.” It would upset her. Yet it'll be a nuisance. I'm going to have a proper talk with her to-night. You fixed up anywhere, Doogle? Because if you're not, the woman here would give you a bed for the night. Shall I ask her?' said Mr. Slye.

Mr. Doogle contemplated a moment. ‘All right. I don't mind, so long as I'm handy. We got to get things straight, Slye Esquire. We got to make plans. And here's a tip. Keep out of Gelton for about a year. There's some people there who won't be satisfied till you're caught. That public solicitor feller “what's-his-name,” always acts for the Gelton Corporation.'

‘Here's Maury,' Mr. Slye said. ‘Hope she's brought something nice for tea. Eh, Doogle, lad?'

Maureen came in. She was hatless, wore a raincoat that almost reached to her heels.

‘Hello,' she said, taking in Mr. Slye and Mr. Doogle, complete with surroundings, all in one glance.

‘'Lo, ducky,' Mr. Slye said. He flung an arm round her and gave her a hug. ‘'Lo, love.'

‘You look well; Blacksea air seems to suit you, dear,' Mr. Doogle said. He followed her with his eyes, watched her take her coat off, watched her sit down. A fine tart!

‘Seen Mrs. Lamber?' asked Slye as he groped about in the paper bags. ‘Black puddings. Good! Tripe! Oh, good, good! Now we'll be able to have something like a supper. Call the other woman in.' He looked at Doogle. ‘Doogle, we're going to feast,
feast
!'

Maureen Kilkey sat looking through the window. Once or twice she looked at Mr. Doogle. She wished he wasn't here. Dick and she made the world complete. Yes, she wished he hadn't come. There was something about Doogle that she didn't like. It wasn't his face, nor his dress. Simply the way he had of looking at her.

Mr. Doogle could not keep his eyes off her. He sat leaning on the round mahogany table. Mr. Slye stood against the sideboard, his back to them. Silently he counted the money from the envelope. In the most casual way he dropped the coins into his pocket. What a stroke of luck! Doogle was a miracle.

Mr. Doogle got up. ‘'Scuse me,' he said, grinning at Maureen. He went up to Slye, began whispering in his ear. Mr. Slye answered by gestures. Doogle went out.

Maureen got up, crossed over to Slye. ‘Dick!' she said. ‘Oh, Dick?'

He swung round. ‘What, chicks?' The broad smile seemed to envelop her as she stood in front of him, and seeing the troubled look on her face he smiled, saying: ‘All right, chicks. I know! But I've been so busy, you know, and Doogle did a good deal. So glad he came through honest. One thing I like about him, Maury. Not much to look at, but bloody honest.'

‘Dick! Oh, Dick,' she said.

‘Not now, chick. Not now, there!' he rocked her about in his arms.

‘I don't mean that,' she said. ‘I wish Mr. Doogle would go. I don't like him.'

‘Lumme! He's all right. What are you frightened of, Maury? He wouldn't do anything to you. I'd cut his throat if he did. Don't be worrying, chicks.'

He lifted her from the ground, lifted her high, held her tight, looking up into her face.

‘Aye! You're bonny, Maury, bonny. And getting fat too!'

It had been amusing to be lifted up in the air by the man you loved. But not to-day. She was unhappy to-day. She wanted to go and sit quiet somewhere. Just Dick and she. She struggled in his arms.

‘Impatient, chicks,' he said. He put her down. ‘Wonder if Doogle's got lost up there,' he said. He pulled her arm. They now stood either side of the table.

‘What's the matter?' he said. ‘You look as though somebody had hit you.'

‘I wanted to lie down. I'm tired. But I can't with Doogle here.'

‘'Course you can! Come on now. Get down on the bed. That's what it's for. Lie on it when you're tired. I'll tell you what. I'll go upstairs and see what's happened to Doogle, eh! And we'll have a little chat up there. You have a lie down, chucks. I'll give this stuff to the old woman now,' and picking up the few groceries he went out.

But Maureen did not lie down. Instead she leaned across the table, spread out her arms. Looked round at the room. Here then they were going to live for the next year. She and Dick. And he had promised that when he had made enough money they would get properly married.

‘In this world,' he said, ‘anything can be done with money.'

She kept muttering: ‘I wish that man would go.'

She loved Dick, even though he had changed. He didn't love her less, he loved her more than ever. No! It wasn't that. It was this curious new world he had dragged her into. He didn't work any more like an ordinary man. He had been fine in the factory. But why had he decided on this? She didn't know. Mr. Slye was quite uncommunicative. ‘There was money in it,' seemed about as far as Dick would go. ‘Money in it.'

There he was sitting in front of her at this table, hands clasped, leaning over it, talking to her.

‘You see, chicks, I got to know a chap in Gelton. He worked at the docks. We used to have drinks together. He told me that a pal of his was making good money selling things to youngsters working in the docks. He said his weekly turnover represented at least a whole month's pay for hard work. So I thought I wouldn't mind trying this stunt myself. Here's something has the same attractions as looking through them peep-show telescopes.
You
know! And d'you know in a month or two I'd made twenty quid.'Course I had to go wary—who hasn't? Anyhow, I said to myself: Here's where my future lies. I've never gone wrong since. It's money.
Real
money. It must have been about the time you left to get switched up to this feller, what's-his-name, and I haven't had a day's bad luck since, save that bit of a stew in Gelton, but that was only that old bitch Sloane splitting.'

She saw him smile, heard him laugh. But he
had
changed.

She thought of her husband. That
had
been a mistake. Perhaps if she had married Dick everything would have been different. He would have remained ordinary, and ordinary men to Maureen were those who worked at the docks, and in factories. Who went out in the morning, and came home in the evening, and on Saturdays had a half-day off and the whole of Sunday. Ordinary men, healthy men. Unlike Mr. Slye, who didn't work like that. She wished he
would
give up this kind of thing. It was all so different from what she had imagined. And now he was bringing the other man in, and she would have to do the same old things. Canvas from door to door with silly poems, tips for the races, sheets of songs, books of jokes.
The Art of Ventriloquism, The Seven Wonders of the World
—including Woman. She'd have to watch the papers for accidents, and type out on the second-hand Oliver, Mr. Slye's expressions of grief, the sad poems about accidents in mines and factories and mills. Appropriate memory cards. She would do these things because she loved Dick, the changed man.

It was so different from Price Street, from that old-fashioned living. Scrubbing the house down, and looking after Dermod and sleeping in a flock bed with Mr. Kilkey. He was so old-fashioned, fifty-one, bald, ugly, horrible skin. No ideas, no ambition, an easy-going, contented man. Confessions on Fridays and Holy Communion on Sundays, and nothing else. And on and on and on.

She wasn't bad-looking either. Hadn't she seen herself in the looking-glass in Price Street, mornings after her husband had gone to work? Admiring her figure, and her good complexion and her lovely hair. And remembering she was only twenty-seven, and he was fifty. He'd be fifty-three now, and what she liked about herself was wasted. And she knew it was wasted. Her lovely hair and her beautiful white body and her youth—wasted. How silly she had been, marrying! But she had done it because she wanted to be free of Hatfields. And they laughed at her, Peter and Desmond.