The Secret Journey (55 page)

Anthony sat up and took off his boots and stockings. His heels were bandaged.

‘Oh! That's splendid, isn't it? The swelling's gone down and all that redness has gone. That was a miracle, indeed. But Dr. Dunfrey always said you were a hard case.'

‘Mother,' he said, gripping her hand, ‘we're going to celebrate this time. You know the compo money? I was told by the shore captain when he came aboard in the river that the case was finished. I'm so glad. It must have been rotten on you. All that running up and down to this office and that office, seeing this doctor and that doctor. Oh, well. Let's forget about all that. We'll celebrate, Mother. Shall we?'

She put her hand on his head and began ruffling his hair. ‘Of course we'll celebrate,' she said, laughing.

Anthony Fury was next to youngest of the family. He was short, thick-set, and had greenish-grey eyes set in a face that was round, much tanned, and on the right cheek a long scar that ran from the ear to under the chin. This had been caused by an uncontrollable ship's fall, and had marked him for life. Whenever he laughed or became unduly excited this scar became a livid red. He had a heavy mouth, the nose was short and snub. His hands were large, calloused like his father's, and, like his face, were deeply tanned by wind and sun. His hair was thick and tousled. It seemed to defy comb and brush. Briefly, Anthony Fury, now lying on the sofa, looked exactly what he was—a simple and hardworking sailor. Like the other children he had left school as soon as he was fourteen, and had gone straight to sea. His interests were few. He never read books or newspapers. He liked a football match, he liked a good pantomime, and he liked a good music-hall show, preferably at the Lyric. The whole Fury family had unbounded admiration for the Lyric Theatre. Anthony Fury looked at you in only one way. He looked right at you. He believed in a simple directness. He asked the most awkward questions quite innocently, and expected a direct answer. There was no hesitation about him whatever. At times he could be very blunt. Anthony Fury trusted people. The simplicity of his character was unspoiled. He was a very skilled worker. There was no job aboard a ship that he could not turn to with complete confidence. At present his job was steering a ship to America and back again. But he had also served on deck, done some stewarding, and once, when necessity arose, helped to fire his ship. He was thoughtful, considerate, generous, and only once had veered away from this steadfastness, and then only because he felt he was right. He had objected to his brother going in for the priesthood. He liked his work. His only weakness was a certain pride he took in his job—at least, his shipmates looked upon it as a weakness. For them work was a means to an end. Not so with Anthony Fury. What he liked was doing the job. Although he did not know it, he had the instincts of an artist, he had an eye and a feeling for whatever job lay under his hand. Anthony liked doing things. He was very particular about his appearance, always liked to look neat, and when ashore sported a deep linen collar and black tie. His friends were few. He had one special one. His name was George Postlethwaite. George lived in Vulcan Street. He was a teamster. It might be said that they were twin brothers. The only difference between them was a religious one. Anthony was a conscientious Catholic—George Postlethwaite a conscientious Orangeman. No shore-leave could be called complete if these two young men had not played at least one game of chess together. It was a passion for this game that first brought them together as boys, and they had cherished it ever since. And judging by the happy look upon his face at this moment it might be that he was already contemplating a game with George in the evening. But before that could happen there were other things to be done. First he must take his mother out and buy her some small thing for a present. Then he must go round and see Joe Kilkey. There would be a game of pool with Joe, and a date for a visit to Brown's Bioscope with his sister. Then there was Dermod. He would have to be carried on his shoulder all the way down to Mr. Doherty's shop to get a barley stick. Anthony's first day home would be occupied in carrying out all these things with the same fervour as before. But now something new had stepped in. This something new was his brother Peter. He had not seen him for eight years. What would he be like? And how would they feel when they met each other for the first time? ‘What'll he talk about, I wonder?' he was thinking. ‘I wonder what he looks like.' He turned to his mother, saying, ‘It'll be funny meeting Peter again. Fancy his swallowing the anchor! Well, well! I suppose he's quite a toff too. He would have big ideas after being at college. But——'

‘Yes. I know! You're going to ask me why I suddenly kept him here. Why I actually put him in the very place your father ran away from. Just like some convict who runs away from jail. Well, you think it over, Anthony my boy. Your father doesn't care a fig, and that's the God's truth. To ask me why he went off like that is quite silly, for I believe you well know why he went.'

‘Yes! Because of Peter.'

‘Oh no! Not at all! They all said that. It's quite wrong. Your father always wanted to go back to sea. Peter was a good excuse. Your father's cleverer than I thought he was—pity he didn't put it to better use.'

‘Please! Mother! Don't let's get on to the whole grindstone. Didn't I tell you I didn't want to hear any more about those things? I'm home now after a stiff voyage, and listen—d'you know all I'm thinking of at the moment? Just to show you that sailors don't care'—he began to laugh—‘I'm thinking of that scrap between Roberts and Exham on Saturday. That's where I'm going.' He caught his mother by the arm and pulled her towards the sofa. ‘Forget everything,' he said. ‘At least for to-day. We're going to celebrate.'

‘Yes, I am forgetting,' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘Look at the time, and that lad's dinner to be cooked.' She turned to free herself, but he held her fast.

‘Are you going to promise?' he asked.

‘Yes. Oh, I'm so glad you're home. There's such a lot of things I want to talk about. You see, you're the only one of the family I can trust. You are so sensible. And yet they used to call you the “Softy” of the family. Thank God you're a man, anyway. You can walk down the street with your head in the air. And I
do
want you to stay now, Anthony. You see, if you'll only stay—God! it will be like home again. I won't feel your father's loss so much. For I can't count on your father. Do you think any other man but himself would have dashed off to sea at his age? No! He's harum-scarum—come day, go day. He doesn't care. Your father's been good, too. He's worked hard, and he has a good heart—but what's a good heart, Anthony, without sense? He'll come back, though. When he gets tired.'

‘There you are, Mother, off again. What did I tell you?—and keep all the talk till to-morrow.' He watched her pull the table into the middle of the floor.

‘It looks funny without the chairs, Mother,' said Anthony. ‘We ought to push the table under the window. There's not so many of us to eat at it now.'

‘Yes! we might do that, son,' she said, and then went into the back.

‘Aye! I can see she's glad to have me home all right. I can see that.' He called out to her, ‘Mother, I'm just going next door to see the Postlethwaites.'

‘And don't you stop talking your nonsense there. I'll bang on the wall. I'm so happy now,' she said.

‘How is it that he can change me so easily, and yet, somehow, I even begrudge—yes, I even hate to look at Peter? Why, I believe that's him at the back door.' The door opened. ‘Yes, so it is. How time flies!' Peter was coming up the yard. ‘It almost seems as if I were getting Denny's dinner ready. Did I ever think Peter would come up the yard like that?'

‘Hello!' she said as he came in. His face was black, his clothes covered with grease. ‘How did you get on?' She caught his sleeve. ‘Are you content now, Peter? Are you happy to be going out to work just like the rest? Tell me! How did things go down there?' Looking at his mother, Peter felt there was something she wanted to say.

‘What?' he said. ‘What? I got on all right. Though now I see why Dad became such an old growl. Everybody growls down there. And Postlethwaite growls the most!'

‘Anthony is home,' she said. She spoke quickly, as though she were merely saying that the dinner was ready, or the kettle was boiling. She saw him start.

‘Anthony! Home? When did he arrive? Is he in there now?' He shut the door.

‘He's next door with the Postlethwaites. He looks well, I must say. That lad's taken to the sea like a fish to water. And his feet are coming on grand.' She put her arms round her son. ‘Peter, my son! Would to God you could be like him. Always smiling. Talks about his job—oh, he's so ordinary. Why can't you be ordinary? Have sense like him. Do try! Do try! It would make me very happy. Peter, I believe we're all going to be happy again. Isn't it splendid? And a letter from your father by the half-past ten post. I'm all excited this morning. I was cleaning out your grandfather's room for Anthony, never thinking he'd drop in like that. It fair took me by surprise. I made a fool of myself. I cried like a silly child! There. Go in and take your things off. It's just like having your father in from the job'; and, her face suffused by reassuring smiles, she went on with her work.

‘Fancy!' she was thinking, ‘it's years since they saw each other—him a baby almost, Anthony a little boy out of school. I wonder how Dad's getting on? Well, well! Denny is feeling very pleased with himself I must say.' The thoughts flooded in, they became confused, she surrendered to a feeling of complete abandon. It was as though some weight which she had carried on her back for so long had suddenly fallen off. She felt as light as air. Never had she felt so confident, so pleased—how long, indeed, since she had felt so pleased, had looked forward with such hope to the future? ‘I know I shall never leave this place. Yes, I know it. But I can be happy in it. I must stop fretting. I'll simply forget all that's past, as Anthony says. Bless the lad—he makes me feel younger.'

Peter was already seated and waiting for his dinner. Mrs. Fury came in and knocked on the wall. ‘All right.' She could hear Anthony's shout through the wall. Then he came in. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked at his brother. There was one thing certain—he did not know him. No recognition. This was a man.

Peter Fury got up, wiped his hand on his trousers and went up to Anthony. ‘Hello, Anny,' he said, ‘how are you? I am so glad to see you after all this time.' Yes, it was really the same brother. That ‘Hello, Anny' had cleared the horizon. Yes. It was really the same brother.

‘If I'd met you in the street I wouldn't have recognized you,' said Anthony. ‘You're not like any of us, somehow! But there! Dinner all set, Mother?'

‘Yes. Sit down on the sofa here, next to me. I've made a meal you always liked. You all liked boiled bacon and cabbage and good strong mustard.' They all began dinner. Time and again she looked up slyly and watched them.

‘Swallowed the anchor, I see,' remarked Anthony between mouthfuls of cabbage.

‘Aye,' said Peter. He glanced across at his mother as if to say, ‘You hauled up the anchor. Yes! But I don't know whether you haven't won, anyhow. You've had your own way every time.' He looked at Anthony. ‘Yes, and I rather liked it.'

‘Working now?'

‘Of course! Don't I look like it? D'you suppose you're the only person in the world who works?' He dug at his bacon, and covered it with mustard.

‘Now, please! You children! Please! On this day. Don't be saying such things to each other.'

‘Listen to Mother,' said Anthony. ‘She can't distinguish between a——'

‘Get on with your dinner,' she said. ‘Well, don't you think Peter has beaten the lot of you in growing? He's taller than me, and head and shoulders over his father.'

Peter Fury pushed away his plate and rose. ‘An hour, and it seems like five minutes. Ten minutes' walk home, ten for washing, and——'

‘Your father was sensible. He sat down as he came in. Perhaps, Anthony, you might like to go as far as the shed with Peter. If you don't want to—then don't. Perhaps you'd just like to lie down.'

‘No! I'll go as far as the bottom of the street,' he replied.

‘That's good. You want to get to know each other. You're like two strangers. How long since you saw each other? Eight years. Fancy, that makes one feel quite old: I wouldn't be long, child—your feet. They want all the rest they can get.'

‘They get it,' replied Anthony, laughing, and slapping his brother on the back. ‘I stand two hours at a time at the wheel. That's rest enough. Come on,' he said.

‘Where's your cap?' he asked Peter.

‘Never wear one! Don't believe in them, anyhow. You ready? It's a rush. Perhaps you'd better lie down as Mother suggests. In any case, I'm home at five.'

Anthony looked at his mother. ‘I'm going out with Possie at five,' he said.

‘But Peter can go wherever you go, can't he?' asked Mrs. Fury.

‘Of course. Who said otherwise? Come on! Mother's getting steam up,' he said.

Laughing together, the brothers went out. Mrs. Fury stood watching them go down the yard. ‘Just like two strangers. Don't know each other at all. I think Peter's only too anxious to be friendly. Well, he might do worse. His brother's a decent enough lad, and since his other mates at the chapel refuse to have anything to do with him, he ought to be jolly pleased. But is he? God knows. One tries to do everything for one's children. Even find their friends. But they have their own way in the end. They find their own. That lad is a mystery to me. I'd give a fortune to know what they're talking about.' She began cleaning away the dinner things. ‘What shocks one gets!' she was thinking. ‘One has to be continually on guard.'