Our Time Is Gone (55 page)

‘I don't understand,' he was saying. ‘I don't understand!'

Then the conductor called. ‘Pleasant View!' and the tram pulled up with a jerk.

‘We get off here, son,' she said, and rose in her seat.

Some workmen were getting off here too, but they made a passage for the woman and the sailor. They stood to watch the tram move off.

‘Anthony! You don't know how happy I am to see you!'

They turned up a dark street; at last they were alone. He could feel her whole body trembling. Then she stopped, put her hands on his face.

‘You don't know!' she said.

‘Don't let's stand about, Mother,' he said. ‘Come on! Let's get home.'

The word struck her like a hammer. Home!

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Let's go home. I'm a different woman, Anthony. You don't think it. But I am. I don't seem to have realized it till now.'

They reached the top of the street, and crossed the road. Edcott Court's shadow loomed over them.

‘Watch where you go, son,' she was saying. ‘There are a lot of steps here. Keep close to me, Anthony.'

They entered the Court, and began the long climb of the stone steps. And for Anthony Fury, this climbing of steps, this atmosphere of the Court, the damp air, the silence of the place, was a shock. When last he had left home it had been Hatfields with its noise and bustle, its neighbourly warmth.

They reached the second landing.

‘It's the next one,' she said.

But he did not answer her. He wanted to say something. But somehow he couldn't. He felt too surprised, too disappointed. And how his mother had changed! And he heard her again saying: ‘You
don't
know how happy I am.'

Poor mother! She was glad to see him home. He knew it, felt it, she
was
glad. ‘I'm changed. There's things I don't want to talk about.' Yes, he knew those things. He understood well enough.

‘Here we are,' she said as she stopped outside the door of her room. ‘We're home now.'

He knew she was on the verge of tears. She fumbled with the key in the lock.

‘Here, give it me, Mother. Let me open it,' and she let him take the key from her hand, stood aside whilst he opened the door. ‘There we are,' he exclaimed.

They entered the room. It was in darkness. But a fire was burning. Mrs. Fury knew at once that Mrs. Gumbs, who had a duplicate key of the room, had come in and lit it. A kind person, Mrs. Gumbs.

‘At last,' she said.

‘I'll light the gas,' Anthony said, and he struck a match, turned up the gas. He was home! At last! After over a year. And this was home. He sat down.

There was knocking on the floor above. It was a signal. It meant: ‘Come up.'

‘Just a minute, Anthony! I have to go upstairs for a second,' and she hurried out of the room, leaving her son sprawling in front of the fire.

And when the door closed he exclaimed loudly. ‘Home! Good God! Home!'

Mrs. Gumbs was waiting for her. ‘There you are,' she said. ‘Come in. Close the door. I lit your fire. And I've made something nice. I knew how worked up you'd be about seeing your son. It
was
a surprise. Now, Mrs., won't your son and you come up here and have something to eat? Do! It's all ready.'

Mrs. Fury looked at the bright fire, smelt stewing beef. The kindness hurt. She loved Mrs. Gumbs for it, but it hurt. It hurt deep in the heart. Not even a meal ready for her son! And only one room. Her castle was down. Her pride was over! A year away, and he had come to this. ‘But I couldn't stay there! I couldn't.' No. Never again at Hatfields. That hurt far more.

‘Mrs. Gumbs, it
is
good of you. But, really, I have food and it won't take a minute.'

‘As you please,' she replied. ‘But I got it ready for you, you know.'

Mrs. Fury said: ‘Yes! I know. You
are
good! Wait! Let me go down and tell him.' And she went out of the room. She was miserable—ashamed.

She found Anthony lying stretched on the only bed, smoking a cigarette.

‘Anthony.' She went up to the bed. Sat on the edge of it. He sat up too.

‘I've something to tell you. I love you coming home. God knows I do, but I'm ashamed. I could cry that you come to this. I always was proud of my home. But you know——' She leaned over him, and he put his arms round her, ‘But you know——'

‘Yes, I know! Don't talk about it, Mother! You don't realize how I have thought of you all this time. Please don't talk about it.' Laughing, he said: ‘Just look at your face, Mother. Like a chimney-sweep's.'

‘I haven't a mirror. It doesn't matter! Anthony! I had to leave both places. I couldn't hold on there. It was dreadful! People coming! People talking. People watching! So I'm here. You don't
know,
' she said, ‘you don't——'

He smothered her mouth with his hand. ‘I know everything.'

‘Listen, son! Sometimes when I'm out the woman overhead does little things for me. And when—anyhow she wants us to go up to tea there! I'm sorry I haven't things ready. I wish—oh—Anthony.'

‘I understand,' he said. ‘Who is the woman upstairs?' he asked, freeing her and getting up from the bed. ‘Is she a friend of yours, Mother?'

‘A good friend,' said Mrs. Fury, looking up at him with an almost idolatrous expression upon her face. She jumped from the bed. ‘Now I'll just run and tell her,' and once more he was left to himself.

Later she called to him to come up, but not before she had had a long talk with Mrs. Gumbs, who sat in her chair, and listened and smiled.

‘I don't want you to mention anything about what I'm doing, Mrs. Gumbs. Please! Don't mention it. Not one of my children ever knew I worked like I do. They wouldn't like it, anyhow,' and then she concluded, ‘I'll call the lad.'

‘You're a funny woman over your children, Mrs., and I don't mind telling you. A funny, funny woman! Yes, call the lad up. I'd like to see him.'

And suddenly Anthony was before her, standing in the room, his mother shutting the door with the weight of her body whilst she admired and was proud of this son, admiring his straight figure, his broad back. His clean hair and neck.

‘This is my son, Anthony,' she said, and Mrs. Gumbs got up. ‘This is Mrs. Gumbs, Anthony.' Mrs. Fury went up to them, stood smiling.

‘How are you, son?' said Mrs. Gumbs. ‘Sit down! Make yourself at home. Now, Mrs.,' she added, looking at Mrs. Fury, ‘we'll want a few extra things,' and to the son's surprise both women left the room.

He lit another cigarette. Somehow he
hadn't
arrived home yet. He was still in the world. No doors had shut them in. They weren't to themselves. They weren't private.

‘Your son is a nice boy, I'll tell you that,' said Mrs. Gumbs in the other's ear, as they came up the stairs again. And the two women came in smiling. ‘Now we'll have something to eat. Yes, something nice and hot.'

She kept looking at Anthony, smiling at him. Bombarded him with questions as she hovered over the fire, stirring something in a pan. Mrs. Fury laid the table. There was something almost dream-like in the way she moved about, her eyes were those of a person who has wandered into the wrong region, under the wrong light. She was bewildered by it all. Mrs. Gumbs put stew on three plates, set them on the table. Mrs. Fury cut bread and made tea. All three sat down. Anthony commenced eating at once.

‘It's nice of you asking us up like this,' he said.

Mrs. Gumbs waved her hand about in the air, and dismissed the matter. She began questioning him. What was the Navy like? Had they had many adventures? Did he like it? And, incredible question—how long was the war going to last?

In between mouthfuls and sups of tea Anthony Fury supplied the required information. From time to time he looked at his mother. Now he felt awkward, shy. He wished he could jump up and run out of it. It wasn't home after all. Pretence! All pretence!

Mrs. Fury talked about her whole family, about Anthony's father at sea. At eight o'clock Anthony and his mother went down to their own room.

He was glad! At last! They could shut the door! He could even thrown off his jumper and vest, sprawl on the seat in front of the fire, puff smoke all over the place. His mother sat in the chair looking at him.

She didn't mind if he never spoke a word the whole night. She liked sitting like this, just looking at him. The best of the whole family. Denny was right. And gradually the silence had the opposite effect. It made her dread the things to come. He couldn't sit there silent for long. And then they'd go over all the things again. At last she spoke. She must. It would save a lot of explanation. When was he going away?

‘Three days' time,' he said, ‘and that's what I call being lucky. Very lucky. Most ships only give you twenty-four to forty-eight hours' leave.'

Suddenly he knelt up, hands on his knees, and looking her straight in the eye said: ‘You know, Mother, in a way I wish you hadn't come to this place. I mean—well, it's no use hiding the fact. It's a lousy place for you to be in. Surely you could find some nicer place. Besides, where am I going to bunk down?'

At that moment Mrs. Gumbs opened the door, came in carrying bedding. She planted this on the floor, saying: ‘There it is. Hope it'll be all right. ‘Night, Mrs.; good night, son,' and then she was gone.

Mrs. Fury got up. ‘Listen! I'm going to fix you a bed up here. I'll put that curtain across.' She went up to him. ‘D'you think I like this? I don't! But—you see I didn't expect you so suddenly. You'd hardly believe it, Anthony, but I
am
content here. I don't know anybody, except Mrs. Gumbs, and she's a nice creature. Nobody worries me or asks me questions. I like it that way. I had enough of it at Hatfields. That's why I left it. Now don't worry. I'll fix you up nice and comfortable,' and she began sorting out the bedclothes.

‘But you don't say anything. You never tell me anything. I might be a stranger. Where is everybody? How long will dad be away? Have you told him you've shifted here? I think it's damned silly. Listen, Mother.' He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I know you've had a rotten time. But why can't we make a start now? Listen,' and he put his mouth to her ear, began whispering.

She started to laugh, and then she went back and sat on the bed.

‘Don't you see, Mother. We
are
a family, no matter where we are, aren't we? And look how happy dad would be. We ought to start doing things. Let's find a proper place to live first. Let's begin all over again?'

He sat by her coaxing, suggesting, planning. ‘Don't you see?'

And then a torrent of questions followed. Where was his sister? What had happened to Desmond? Had she seen anything of Joe Kilkey? Had she lost
all
her friends? Did she
really
have to live in a place like this? And Peter? Had she heard from him? Was there any hope of being able to see him? Was Mr. Trears trying to do anything? Lots of men in prison were being freed now to go to the war.

‘And here's another thing,' he wound up. ‘I've got a girl, Mother. How can I bring her here? Listen, Mother,' and again with the same earnestness he began all over again.

She looked at him and said: ‘Well! I don't know! I've been ill. Now I find it quiet here. It's a rest for me! Your father, bless his heart, made some kind of arrangement with the Catholic Help Guild to get me over to Mount Mellery! He'll be disappointed when he knows I never went. But I felt I wouldn't like it. I like to be doing things, Anthony. Always have done. I couldn't tell you where Maureen is. Peter writes. The poor lad! He keeps telling me he'll soon be home! The lad's dreaming. As for your other brother. I hear he's in the army or something. Captain or something. That's all I know! I haven't seen any of them. But now here you are, and you've got a girl! Well! Well! You know, son, I'm glad. Honest I am. I hope she's nice, and a Catholic girl. I'm so glad. I want you to be happy. But as for me—well, I'm all right! I always have your father. God look down on him this night. We've said some queer things between us, but your father is splendid. So don't be worrying about me. And don't be sorry either. What I've done I'd do all over again. Yes—you can laugh! But I would. I'd make a nice home for you all to-morrow if I thought—ah——' And, sighing, she turned away from him to stare into the fire.

‘I've often wondered, Anthony, what you thought of your mother. Oh, I don't mean all that filthy business. No! No! There was a lot of foolishness there, and I paid for it. But I still believe I was right, yes, right. Where's the harm in trying to be good?'

‘I think you're fine,' he said. Laughing, he added quickly: ‘You remember how each one of us said the same thing: We'd buy you a cottage in Ireland. Well—Oh, don't laugh! You wait. You'll have your cottage, you and dad. And
I'll
see to that. I haven't a thing against you, Mother. You mightn't believe it, but all this last year I've been thinking how hard you tried for Peter! It
wasn't
your fault only—I mean—ah, let's not talk about it any more. Look! I've got a picture of my girl! Wait till you see her! You'll open your eyes all right,' and he went to where his oilskin coat hung on the back of the door, and from it he took a leather wallet.

‘Look at this,' he said, handing her a photo. ‘I'll tell you all about her. She's the same age as me. Twenty-four. She works at Mr. Lynch's offices. He's a solicitor and, Mother, he comes from the same part of Ireland as you. He comes from Youghal! Isn't she a peach?'

‘I'll get my glasses,' she said. ‘Lately I've had to take to them to read, though I always hated the things. I had good sight—I could thread a needle——' and her voice died away to an incoherent mumbling as she felt about on the mantelpiece. Then she put them on and looked at the smiling girl in the photo.