Alan Hunter - Gently through the Mill

‘Cricket she makes so much fun…

The second Test and the West In’ies won!’

Yet his mood had changed radically. He had a tingling feeling of suppressed excitement. Something, surely, was on the move… he was beginning to get hold of the end of the stick in his hand!

‘Never mind your cup — the waitress won’t mind seeing to it.’

Blacker had somehow overturned the cup containing the dregs of his coffee, and was now trying to mop them up with a paper serviette.

‘You might have given us a warning…’

‘I didn’t know you were sensitive.’

‘Anyway, I got to get back.’

‘I feel certain that Mr Fuller can spare you for a bit.’

The foreman, recovered from his violent start, didn’t seem unduly discomposed. He lounged untidily into the chair beside Gently and lit a cigarette taken from an old tobacco tin.

‘So what do you want to know, then?’

If anything, his tone sounded complacent.

‘Whatever you can tell me.’

‘P’raps you think I could tell you a lot, eh?’

‘Perhaps.’

Blacker puffed deliberately at the cigarette, holding it between his finger and thumb with an air of clumsy affectation. Then he gestured with it towards the window.

‘See who’s watching us over there?’

Gently nodded.

‘Don’t think he likes seeing us two together — what are you going to make out of that?’

The green-grey eyes met Gently’s cunningly and a smirk twisted the weak mouth. There was nothing prepossessing about Blacker — even his ears seemed stuck on as an afterthought.

‘How long have you worked at the mill?’

‘Six years I reckon — six years too long.’

‘There must have been others who’ve worked there longer.’

‘Ah, but then I’ve got influence, you see!’

Gently nodded again, but made no further comment. If Blacker wanted to be clever, he was prepared to give him scope. Meanwhile there was Fuller, frozen behind his screen; at the distance one couldn’t read the expression, but one could see the unnatural pallor…

‘The boss and me, we’re like two brothers — in each other’s pockets, as you might say. When it happened he wanted a foreman, why, there I was. “Sam,” he said, “you’d better take over.” Just you ask him if that wasn’t the way of it.’

‘And that was on Good Friday?’

‘W’yes, why shouldn’t it be?’

‘I understood that Mr Fuller was without a foreman before that date.’

‘Ah, but he couldn’t carry on like that — it was too much for him, he had to give in.’

Blacker was quite happy now, puffing away at his cigarette. His whole clumsy attitude was one of complacency — of patronage, almost. He was conferring favours on Gently.

As he smoked he tilted back his chair with his heels. His big-boned frame, all knobs, showed up through the dusty drill trousers and jacket he was wearing.

‘The boss, now, he’s one of the best… when you get to know him! Some people says he’s got a temper, but don’t you believe it. Nervous he is sometimes — aren’t we all now and then? — but underneath it there’s a heart of gold. I reckon they don’t come better than Harry Fuller, there…’

‘What about Mr Blythely?’

‘Huh?’

Blacker was unprepared for the change of subject.

‘I was asking what was your opinion of Mr Blythely.’

‘Oh, him! Well, that’s another kettle of fish entirely.’

The smirk came back to the foreman’s lips, but this time it wasn’t directed at Gently. A private joke it seemed to be, a secret amusement of Blacker’s maliciousness…

‘Now he’s a queer bird if you like, with his hymn-singing and Bible-thumping. Don’t drink, don’t swear — you’d hardly believe he did the other thing! Wouldn’t surprise me if he couldn’t, neither, judging by results. Been married twenty years, they have… do you reckon the bakehouse has anything to do with it?’

Gently merely shrugged and stared absently through the window. Unaware of being observed, the buxom Mrs Blythely was wrapping loaves in tissue for a customer.

‘Well, he’s a bloke I’d keep an eye on if I was a policeman. You never can tell where these holy-boys are going to finish up. They keep it all bottled in — don’t tell me that’s natural! — then one of these days… Yes, I’d keep an eye on him!’

‘Why did he quarrel with Mr Fuller?’

‘Huh?’

Blacker was brought up short again, letting his chair come halfway forward.

‘Didn’t know they had quarrelled — not yet, anyhow. Daresay they will do, though, before they’ve finished with each other.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Blacker looked suddenly wary.

‘Why, it stands to reason… old Blythely’s got a nasty tongue. One day he’ll say something that Harry won’t take from him. Harry ain’t no saint, you know, he don’t go round preaching sermons.’

‘Likes his pint and his fun, does he?’

‘Yes — one of the lads, he is.’

‘Might raise a bit of scandal.’

‘Well, there you are… that woman who does the letters for him. Though, mind you, she’s a toffee-nosed bitch. Wouldn’t look at the likes of me and the rest of them. But you can take my word’ — Blacker winked knowingly — ‘she wouldn’t say no if the right person asked her. You can always tell about bits of stuff, eh?’

He rocked the chair, watching Gently closely. The man from the Central Office appeared to be studying infinite distances. Blacker ran his tongue over tobacco-stained lips.

‘Not that I want to say a word against Harry — see? He’s a good pal to me, you can say what you like about him. So I know how to hold my tongue. If I sees anything I just keep my eyes shut. And Harry, he appreciates it — he knows that he can trust me! Which is why he made me his foreman when he found he couldn’t get on without one.’

‘Is he trusting you now, sitting here talking to me?’

Blacker tried to smirk, but a wryness had got into it. He darted a glance through the window at the spectral face of his employer.

‘I didn’t mean nothing by that, just pulling your leg! Blast, this business is enough to make anybody get edgy.’

‘Where does the stable come into it?’

‘The stable…?’

Blacker’s chair fell forward.

‘The stable at the back there… don’t tell me you don’t know about it!’

This time he had got home with a vengeance. There was no complacency in Blacker’s manner now. He stared stupidly at Gently, his long face longer still; for two whole seconds he could only open his mouth and gape helplessly.

Mrs Blythely, from her shop door, looked a moment in their direction. But then she seemed to shrug and went back to poring over her newspaper.

‘What about it… that there stable?’

‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

‘Don’t know what you mean… the stable! What’s it got to do with me?’

‘Not only with you, but also with Messrs Fuller and Blythely.’

‘It’s their stable, isn’t it? What am I supposed to know about it?’

They were calling each other’s bluff, and both of them were aware of the fact. Gently had touched a chord which threw Blacker on the defensive, but he was giving nothing away until he could see what cards were being held…

‘Harry keeps some hay up there — that’s all I can tell you! If you want to know anything else, then I reckon you’d better ask him.’

‘I’ve asked him already and now I’m asking you.’

‘Well, I don’t know nothing, and that’s the fact of the matter.’

Gently brooded a second over his empty teacup, then he produced a ten-shilling note and tossed it down on the table.

‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Let’s go and look it over. The sight of the place may improve your memory…’