The Secret Journey (85 page)

She turned and looked at him. ‘I don't know! Oh, Dick, I'm so happy—so happy.'

Laughing, he said: ‘I shouldn't worry about your mother. The old cock'll be all right. Believe me! But now about this kid. Tell me first, do you get money still from your husband?'

‘No!'

‘He stopped it?'

‘It never came! I didn't mind. It made me ashamed! He
was
good to me.'

‘There you go! There you go,' cried Mr. Slye. ‘Off on that thing again. You should have kept on getting money, and you should have given it to me. Maury, money's money. You can't live without it. That man would never have missed five shillings a week. Well! I'm a practical man. I'm leaving Gelton! Business is rotten. This war is a bloody nuisance. I've been trying to think of something new. The memory cards are the only certs now. Every morning somebody gets bad news. That's business, Maury. That's money. Mind you, I'm not worrying one little bit about their war. Whose war it is makes not the slightest difference to me. War's simply getting yourself killed for something you know nothing about. I know about my business. I have to live. We all have to. Some get killed. That's bad luck. I might get killed myself some day. Listen!'

He sat down on the horsehair sofa again, dragged her with him. He put a hand across her belly. ‘You've a kid coming.
My
kid. But two kids won't do. Take Dermod back and that settles everything.'

The woman did not speak. Take back her child. But she loved the child, she wanted the child. It was
her
child. Her first child too. No! She couldn't.

‘Righto! Please yourself. I'll please myself. So you say you love me, eh. But not like the jute factory though, eh! All right, you can get out and take the kid with you. I told you I'm worried. Worried to hell, for money. Now you winge over a kid. I'm leaving this house, to-morrow!'

She lay heavily on him. Didn't he understand? Didn't he? She had given up everything for him. Didn't he love her any more?

‘Oh hell!' he said. ‘This love business. I'm getting sick of it. Why will you be so bloody soft? The world's too hard for being soft, and only fools are soft. Don't you see what may happen in this court case?' Was she blind?

She did not say, she simply clung to him, loving him, afraid, wanting to cry again. Why should Dermod be in the way? He could go to school.

‘Doogle and I had a talk! We decided to get out of here. It's getting what I call too warm. Now look. To-morrow I want you to go off to Blacksea. When you get there engage a room. Any room. But engage one, and when you get it, plant yourself there. Wire me and I'll follow! It grieves me having to leave this stuff behind. Good money down the drain.'

‘Dick! Darling.' Don't you ever think you could live some other way than this. I mean do some other work, you know. This kind of work you see everybody doing. Besides …'

‘Besides what? You're crazy. Look here. You're what I call under the weather. You've been crying half the morning. I know why. I'm not blind. But I told you the old cock'll get better. Nothing to worry about. If you love me you've got to help me, work
with
me. See! Instead of which you simply lie on me whimpering, and asking me if I love you, and showing me your breasts. Maury! I know! I know! You're afraid. You think I'll clear out on you. Nonsense! We go through life together. Through thick and thin. Eh, chucks? Now go and make me a nice cup of tea. We'll say no more for the moment. But for Christ's sake shut crying! Then I'll like you all the more. Gimme a kiss.'

There! That was settled. Everything fine. Nothing to do now but make plans and make them over a nice cup of tea. He slapped his knees hard. Then he shouted up to the room above. ‘Make three cups. Doogle may change his mind and come. And go out and get me a copy of the first evening paper. I want to see the proceedings in this abortion case. Don't forget.'

And then Mr. Slye decided to destroy his stock. It was hard. But there it was, and he lifted up armful upon armful of books, folios, pictures, etc., and dumped them on the floor. In matters of pure business women were hopeless. So full of moods.

‘I'll burn the lot, and I'll make good the loss later.'

He had been too confident. Too greedy. He had lost his fine betting commissions. He should never have had that Sloane woman in. And here was this silly bitch crying because she thought he didn't love her. When had he
never
loved a woman?

At half-past two Mr. Doogle called ‘quite by accident.' He thought he'd look in. He had read the case in the papers. Yes. He, Slye's name had been mentioned. If he were wise he would get clear now. He, Doogle would look after the stuff. Mr. Slye stared.

‘I've a cart outside! I'll take the lot. Where are you making for?'

‘Blacksea! At least Maury's going there. I'd arranged to go to-morrow,' he said.

‘Can't do that! Too late. If I know anything the police are on their way here. I'll charge you for this, Slye, but I'll look after it. Send the stuff on after you carriage forward. Now give me a hand,' and Mr. Doogle removed hat and coat.

Maureen came in with tea. The effects of the morning's tears were not absent. Mr. Doogle said: ‘Afternoon, lovely,' and watched her bend down over the table.

‘Tea for three,' Mr. Slye said. Then he turned to Maury. ‘Come on. You too. Give us a bloody lift with this stuff. Chance of saving it.'

All three carried out the bundles, well wrapped in sacking and newspapers and finally put into wooden boxes. The man holding the cart shafts looked woodenly at everybody. Mr. Slye rushed in and out, he sweated, and Mr. Doogle did likewise. But Maureen carried her loads as though they were the coffined remains of something very dear to her! She was rather bewildered by the suddenness of events. Mr. Slye had said nothing yet.

Mr. Doogle stopped suddenly, half a dozen copies of ‘Inside the Nurse's Bedroom,' under his arm.

‘By the way, Slye Esquire, I found out about Trears too. Remember you saying you'd heard the name before? Well, you were right. He was defending solicitor in that murder case, you know. The Ragner case.'

Mr. Slye dropped his bundle on the floor. Then he laughed. Maureen came in. ‘Why of course! Trears. The Ragner case. Your ma was in that, wasn't she, chicks?'

Mr. Doogle went off with his bundle, now carefully wrapped up.

‘He's just been telling me, Maury, that the feller who's brought this case on is the same one as represented your ma! You know! That murder case. Your brother did her in.
You know.
' His voice appealed, it was sweet like honey. ‘
You
know,' he went on. ‘He did a job there! She
was
a bitch, that one was. Takes something to beat a bitch when she
is
nasty, eh, Maury?'

Then he rushed past her, carrying two portfolios of ‘alluring postures.'

They tramped to and fro for the best part of twenty minutes. At last it was done. Then Maureen poured out the tea. They both watched her do this; they watched her intently. She was a fine-looking girl, and, thought Mr. Slye, an excellent asset in the business. Why couldn't Mr. Doogle come in? The idea intrigued him. Doogle was a good man on that job. The three of them together would be excellent, and suddenly he looked at Doogle, who gulped tea with loud sucking sounds. He noticed how his hands trembled. But that was a habit.

‘I've been thinking lately, Doogle, I been thinking why we can't get together. How'd you like to come in with me, and Maury here doing the stuff?'

‘Doing the stuff,' thought Mr. Doogle, and then he showed a broad grin. What did he mean by that exactly? Not sharing Long-legs between them, surely. Mr. Doogle whispered, Mr. Slye smiled. They looked up at Maureen again.

‘That apart, Doogle, I think Blacksea is good ground. What would you say to this? D'you know there's more ornamental masons there than any other place in the whole country,' but Mr. Doogle hearing a shout suddenly rushed from the cellar. The man with the handcart said: ‘Where to? You never said where to?'

‘I did. I said Angles' Building, bottom floor. Go on! Get off with the stuff.'

Maureen was sitting on Mr. Slye's knee when he returned. But Mr. Doogle didn't mind. He rather liked it in fact though once or twice he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes; they watered like those of a very old man. ‘See me at Mac's after half seven,' said he. ‘I'm going. Got a job to attend to. And take my advice and cut off out of it now. Soon's you like.' Then he went out, banging the door behind him. They heard his heavy tread on the stairs.

Mr. Slye ran a finger through the woman's hair. ‘Lovely hair you've got, me chicks. Lovely hair. Isn't Doogle funny? Funny old cod. He's got ideas, that feller has. It would be worth while his coming in with us. Don't you think so, Maury?'

Maury didn't know what to think. Maury couldn't think of anything. She was too worried. She didn't mind being stroked, even mauled, but she did object to being left in the lurch. She had given up a home to go to Dick. She began to tell him this. He cooled down a little, his amorousness froze.

‘I hate you always growling, me chick,' he said. ‘For Christ's sake chuck it! You're coming with me to Blacksea. And you can even bring the kid, see. But soon as ours is here you got to shift your other one. What's his name? Blast it! I never can think of it. Desmal or Dermod. That's it. What made you give him a name like that? Tell me, Maury, are you still happy? Still glad you came away from your old cobbler—or whatever he is? I haven't treated you bad. Have I now? Have I?'

This change of front heightened her bewilderment. What did he mean? She put a finger on each corner of his mouth and pressed.

‘What are you going to do?' she asked. Her tone of voice was no longer wheedling.

‘Take you away with me, duck. What d'you think? D'you suppose I could ever think of you with somebody else? Now let's be sensible. Let's begin to pack.'

At a quarter past four they left, carrying two bags. The child, just turned three, was in the woman's arms. They headed for the Central Station. The train would leave at five. To the woman this was adventure, living. This moving about all the time. The other had been like prison. The child chatted and prattled, pulled at her hair, jabbed at her mouth. Near Corniston Street, she stopped and asked him to put the bags down. Mr. Slye put them down, and the next moment found the child in his own arms.

‘I won't be two minutes. I'm going to ring the hospital.'

‘Don't be more than two then,' he said. ‘We can't miss the train.'

She was gone. She rang up the General. Gave the name. How was her mother? She waited, heart thumping. She was conscious of a deadness, a numbness in her. She wanted to go. She hated to go. She loved her mother! Her mother had spoiled her life. She loved Desmond, and Anthony and Peter. Poor dad! She loved them all. But here she was standing in this telephone box and on the brink of an adventure the end of which she could not foresee. She didn't want to foresee anything. For her mind, now made up, was
everything
. The reply came: ‘Your mother was very poorly this afternoon. A Father Moynihan called.'

This in answer to her question about callers. It did seem strange that Joe of all people had not been to see her mother. All through he had been a staunch friend. The tears that came too easily, came again. She felt suddenly wretched. Was she really happy? Was this man Slye
everything
? The questions came, shot into her mind. She couldn't answer them. She hoped her mother would get better. It would kill dad if anything happened. Perhaps she had been mean and indifferent. Perhaps she——But she had better not think about that. Mr. Slye, Dick, would be waiting. He wouldn't love the child any better for having to nurse it in the public street. She hurried back to him.

He leaned over her, and said angrily, ‘Tears again! You best chuck it or I'm going by myself. That's all. Here, take the kid,' he said.

‘I'm worried to death!' she exclaimed as they entered the station.

‘You're not the only one, me chick, not by a long chalk,' he answered drily.

They had a quarter of an hour to wait for the train. They went and sat on an empty truck. It was quite dark. They sat silent, waiting. Gusts of wind blew down the platform, bits of paper blew all over the station, a stationary engine hissed steam. Maureen looked up. The station appalled by its height: there was something ghostly about the roofing. People went by talking, laughing, gesticulating. Mr. Slye sat composed, feeling safe, feeling lucky but not quite certain yet as to whether he was a fool or not. He was safe, anyhow. That was the main thing.

Only half an hour after they had left Adolphus Terrace the police had arrived and removed some parcels. But these were nothing more than a massive collection of cigarette cards of all the railway engines of the world, and for a special client, a widow of eighty, who sat on railway platforms to watch the trains simply because she loved them. It was a hard cash loss of three pounds. Curiously enough Mr. Slye had quite forgotten about it. Beyond that they found nothing. The gilt-edged stuff was now safe in Mr. Doogle's single room at Angles' Building.

The train came in. There was a rush of people. The carriages had a chill in them, as well as the staleness of the last occupants. They got on. Maureen felt hungry. This was unfortunate because Mr. Slye didn't. He only felt safe, and rested comfortably. Maureen laid Dermod down. He had fallen asleep in her arms. Looking at him now she wondered if that Mrs. Bolyer had been the best woman to look after him. Never mind! She would look after him herself now. He was growing more and more like his father. Suddenly she looked across at Slye, and out of a lazy eye he looked back at her, stretched himself and smiled.

‘Maury, duck,' he said.