Authors: Yelena Kopylova
"No; I hadn't." He was holding the extended bicycle pump and he now thrust it closed as he said grimly, "Why had you to go and marry him?"
And before she could reply he went on, "Oh, I know. My mam told me, respectability and an illegitimate child, bastard, and all that, and the stigma on you, nobody would want you after that."
She didn't actually move back from him but she pressed her shoulders and head away from this different individual, this different Charlie, who had been easy-going, kindly, very often inarticulate. Moreover she was amazed his mother could talk to him about such things. But then her Auntie May was very open, different. She watched him now turn about and, bending, place the bicycle pump in its frame on the back of the bicycle. And she recognised the old Charlie when he turned back to her and said quietly, "I would have married you, you know that, like a shot; you only had to wait."
"Oh Charlie; we've been like brother and sister."
"Well, we're not brother and sister, are we?" There was that aggressive note back in his voice.
"And you know damn well we haven't been like brother and sister. Yes, you do!"
He was swearing! She'd never before heard him use a swear word. Other boys, yes. Andrew, yes:
he had used bloody when he was talking about his headmaster and what he had said to him when he left school; he had called him a bloody narrow minded prig.
"Anyway, you're now Missis Jones. It's a very common name, you could be Missis anybody."
"Peggy!"
At the sound of her mother's voice she turned quickly, and, as if escaping from Charlie, she ran towards her and fell into her arms. And Lizzie said, "I never expected you back so soon. How are you?"
"Fine, Mam. Fine."
Lizzie held her daughter at arm's length now, saying, "You look it.
You look better than you did a week ago. Where . where is he? "
"Talking to Gran and Great-gran."
"You've left him alone with them?"
"Oh yes." She grinned at her mother.
"He was getting on like a house on fire, giving them a vivid description of the place we've been staying in for the past week. "
"That's good." Lizzie's face had broken into a smile, which disappeared as she added, "What's the matter with Charlie? He's ridden off with out a word."
Peggy did not immediately answer but linked her arm in her mother's and began to walk her down the path towards the gate; then she said, "He was a bit short with me." She did not say 'angry' or 'rude' or why he was short; but when her mother said, "Well, he would be, wouldn't he?"
she answered, "But we were like brother and sister."
"Don't be silly! you weren't. I'm sure he's had ideas about you in that way since he first started to think of girls."
The bloom of the day faded. If she had waited and she had married Charlie, would she have been happy? The answer she gave herself
frightened her;
and when she shivered. Lizzie said, "You're cold. Of course, you'll be finding it a bit different here from Harrogate. Come on; let me meet the married Mr. Jones."
As they entered the house Peggy pulled her mother to a halt and asked her quietly, "When does Father come back?"
"I don't know, dear. I haven't had any word 1 him, and I don't know where he is. So he t blame me for not telling him that Mr. Cart;ht took ill last Thursday and is in hospital and there could soon be a shake-up all round at Works:
Leonard Hammond returned home the following Friday night. He had stayed away for the full fortnight. Everyone in the house knew he had returned when the front door banged and the study door banged, then the bedroom door banged.
Emma Funnell was in the sitting-room; she had just returned from a visit to a friend and afternoon tea. She had heard the three doors bang and with each she had settled herself further back into her chair; but she hadn't stopped reading the paper, only paused for a moment with each bang and looked in the direction of the drawing-room door.
Lizzie was in the kitchen with her mother, and she said quietly, "You'd better lay his place."
Victoria Pollock's reply to this was to sit down in a chair, put her hand to the top of her chest and say, "Oh, dear, dear, I felt it coming on all day. It's the hernia. It must have been that cheese I had at lunch. I shouldn't have cheese, Lizzie. Look; give me one of my
pills, the indigestion ones."
Lizzie went to the delph-rack and from a row of small bottles took one with blue pills in it. She extracted a pill, filled a cup half full with milk, then took it to her mother. And she didn't say a word.
There had been no talk of hiatus hernia, stomach trouble, migraine, or phlebitis, for the past two weeks. It was true she had phlebitis, but the migraine, hiatus hernia and stomach trouble seemed to be born separately or altogether on different bouts of friction.
As she was going out of the kitchen her mother said, "Where are you going, Lizzie?"
"Just to see if he's enjoyed himself."
"That'll be the day. Oh yes, that'll be the day."
As she went up the stairs Lizzie repeated to herself, Yes, that'll be the day. But one never knows.
She did know, however, as soon as she opened the bedroom door. He was changing his shirt and as his head came through the neck of it he looked for a moment like a jack-in-the-box, except that there was no pleasant grin on his face.
"Had a nice time?"
"Yes; yes, I've had a nice time."
She watched him now tugging at his collar, trying to button it.
"I'll have to have new shirts," he said; 'they're shrinking in the wash, boiled to bits. "
"It couldn't be that you're putting on weight?"
"I've never put on weight." He looked at her over his shoulder now as he bent down towards the dressing-table mirror.
She waited for him to say something more, but he didn't. And so she walked to the wardrobe and took down a coat, and as she got into it she said, "A lot of things have happened since you've been away," and immediately she sensed rather than saw him swing round, saying
urgently, "She didn't marry him?"
"Oh' she started to put on her coat 'yes, of course she married him; and things are going very well in that quarter, I should say. No; I'm referring to the works. "
"What about the works?" His hands became still on the band of his trousers.
"Just that Mr. Cartwright took ill. He's in hospital and ... and from what I gather and from what Mrs. Cartwright says ... well, I don't suppose he'll be returning. He's got Parkinson's disease."
"What! Why didn't you ... ?"
"Yes, yes; why didn't I tell you? I should have sent a message to the BBC." shouldn't I, and had it broadcast?
"Will Leonard Hammond, some where in England, come straight home, because Mr. Brooker is now in charge of the works, the whole works"
"
"Stop your bloody sarcasm, woman! This is serious. When did it happen?"
"Well, you left on the Friday night and he was taken into hospital on the Sunday. But you needn't worry; everything's running very
smoothly.
I went along with Gran on the Monday, not only to put Henry Brooker in charge but also to introduce your new son-in-law to the shop. "
Why was she doing this? She could see it was pure torture. But hadn't she been tortured for years? When had he said one kind word to her?
When had he not taken her like a bitch in season? In fact, she had considered for a long time that rape couldn't have been any worse: never a word of love, never a word of kindness, never the question of how she felt. It was three years now since she had put a stop to it; yet she was only thirty-five, and there was a want in her that she could only fulfill with dreams. But there was a face in her dreams, and she saw the real face every time she went to the works.
She watched him now grab his watch from the dressing-table and look at it, and she said, "They close at five; you wouldn't be able to make it.
But you needn't worry, your showroom's still there."
"Damn and blast the showrooms! woman. You know what this means, and if that old faggot doesn't give it to me, by God! there's going to be a blowup like you've never seen or heard before."
"You are thinking about staging it here or in our own house, the one you've been going to buy for
years? " Her voice changing now, she said, " I'll give you a word of warning, Len; you had better go quietly with Gran, very quietly, because if she wants Henry Brooker to manage, she'll have him. And let me tell you this: she can also have a new manager for the showrooms.
"
She pulled open the door, then paused and, turning and looking to where he was standing as if about to pick up something and throw it, she informed him, "I'm changing my room. I'm sleeping across the landing.
I'll move the rest of my clothes when the new wardrobe I've ordered comes. It was no use asking you to make a move, was it?
because going into a smaller room, you'd be lowering your standards, wouldn't you? "
"You know something?"
She waited.
"One of these days I'll do for you, and her, be cause you know what you are? Trumped up nowts, the lot of you."
"Yes, perhaps we are, Len, perhaps you're right. And you made the biggest mistake of your life when you married me, because I was one of them. But you didn't really marry me, did you? It was this house, it was the works, and it was the fact, oh yes, it was the fact that you couldn't see Gran lasting for very long and you could see yourself running the lot. But what you didn't know about yourself was, you hadn't the brains or the character, or--' and now she bawled, 'even the common sense to run anything. You are an ignorant man and every time you open your mouth you spew it out. You know the saying, " You can't teach your granny to suck eggs", but you thought you could. Oh, you were sure of it, and see where it's landed you. But go, let her have it, and good luck to you."
And now it was she who banged the door.
Having run quickly down the stairs, she let herself out of the side door, went straight to the garage, and in her own car drove to the works.
The Funnell Works was a large concern of its kind. The forecourt took up as much space as the glass-fronted showrooms, the offices, and the workshops together. The Funnell workshops had a reputation in the town and in the surrounding countryside, and this had been built up on a good job done for a fair price.
The last of the staff were coming out of the gates as she drove in, and she pulled up when she noticed her new son-in-law at the tail-end of them. He was pushing his bike. He was dressed in greasy overalls and she noted he looked tired. She drew the car to a stop and, leaning out of the window, said, "Another day over."
"Oh, hello, Mrs. Hammond."
"How's it going?"
no
"Oh, I think you'd better ask Mr. Stanhope about that. I never knew a car had so many bits and pieces." He laughed.
"I could have told you all the names of them, and that's about as far as my knowledge went;
but I'm learning the greasy way. "
"How are you getting on with the other men?"
He straightened his back a little, then said, "I think all right, at least with most of them. Some were a bit suspicious. I don't know why, seeing I spend my days lying on my back most of the time. Some won't tell you anything and some tell you too much and it's not all correct, but I suppose it's all in the game."
She looked him up and down, then said, "I think you must be the only one who goes home in dirty overalls."
"Oh, there's another set inside, but they're worse than these."
"You'd better get a third set then, hadn't you? And keep them for travelling. Better still, change out of them when you're finished."
He bent down to her again and said quietly, "Starters are not supposed to get above themselves, Mrs. Hammond."
She laughed and said, "Oh, I see." Then she asked him, "Has Mr.
Brooker gone?"
"No; I think he's still in his office. He was talking to the night watchman when I passed."
She started the car.
"Be seeing you then," she said.
"I hope she's got a good meal ready for you."
"She has had so far. Goodbye."
He seemed to be fitting in in all ways. She didn't know if she had taken to him or not, but one thing was sure, Gran had; and her mother, too, quite liked him. And yet she wondered if there was a sharp side to him and he was playing the same game as Len did when he first came into the house, but in a different way . get in early with the old girl and you're set. He had been in the house only on the night they had come back from Harrogate and then again on the Monday, when he had started work in the shop. Yet her grandmother had spoken of him a number of times since.
The night watchman was coming out of the office with his dog as she was about to enter, and he raised his cap to her. She nodded in
acknowledgement and bent down and patted the dog, saying, "Hello there, Boxer." Then she went into the office where Henry Brooker was standing behind the desk. She gave him no greeting but said, "I saw young Jones going out. He seemed to have more oil on him than there is in the tanks. How's he faring?"
"Very well, I should say, by Stanhope's account. He's quick at picking things up ... Doesn't have to be told over and over again like some starters ... Is there anything wrong?"
112.
"He ... he came home a short while ago."
"And you told him about Mr. Cartwright?"
"Yes; yes, I did."
Henry Brooker moved round the desk and stood facing her before he said,
"And he feels sure he's going to walk in here and take over, Monday?"
"No; he's not sure. Yet at the same time he considers it his right, and if Gran doesn't give it to him I don't know what the outcome will be. He doesn't seem quite ... well, quite sane at times; feels she has kept him down all these years. And she has, you know' she nodded her head now 'she has, because of the kind of man he is."
"I can understand his attitude. I think I'd feel the same way in his place."
"You would never be in his place. Henry ... The name slipped out, and in doing so it seemed immediately to have crystallised the situation that had developed, in spite of themselves, over the last two years.