Archibald Cronin - The Stars Look Down

David looked at Jenny with that faint ironic smile upon his lips:

“That was Joe,” he said.

Jenny gazed back at him wickedly.

“I know it was Joe,” she flared sullenly. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing, Jenny. But now that he’s gone it’s just struck me that he still owes me three pounds!”

A perfect demon of temper rose in Jenny’s breast, urged and goaded by envy and the knowledge that Joe had so positively finished with her for good. Her lip curled.

“Three pounds,” she sneered. “That’s what Joe would fling to a waiter. He’s worth a fortune, Joe is, he could buy and sell you a thousand times. He’s a man, Joe is. He can do things, get out and make some money. Why don’t you take a lesson from him? Look at his car, and his clothes, and his jewellery and the cigarettes he smokes. Look at him, I tell you, and think shame of yourself.” Her voice rose to a scream. “Joe’s the sort of man who would give his wife a good time, take her to restaurants and dances and places, he’d give her society and refinement and that. Take a look at him, I say, and then look at yourself. You’re not fit to lick Joe’s boots, you aren’t. You’re not a man at all. You’re a washout, that’s what you are, that’s what Joe’s thinkin’ about you now. As he’s driving away in his lovely big car, Joe’s lying back and laughing at you. He’s laughing himself silly at you. Washout, he’s saying, washout, washout, washout!”

Her voice shrilled and cracked, there was a spume of mucus on her lips and hatred in her eyes.

He stood with clenched hands facing her. With a great effort he controlled himself, realising that the only way to get her out of the paroxysm was to leave her alone. He turned. He went out of the room and into the kitchen.

Jenny remained in the parlour, her breath coming in quick hot gasps. She stifled an impulse to follow David into the kitchen and have it out with him; she saved the taunts and all the wounding insults that still lay on her tongue. She knew a better way than that. She swallowed dryly. The scent of the expensive cigarette smoke still lingering in the air maddened her beyond endurance. She rushed from the room, put on her hat and went out.

It was late when she came home. Nearly eleven o’clock. But David had not gone to bed. He sat by the deal table in the kitchen immersed in a first copy of the new Coal Industry Commission Act which had just come into law. As she came into the kitchen he raised his eyes. She stood in the doorway, hat slightly atilt, eyes glassy, cheeks shot with tiny threads of blood. She was hopelessly drunk.

“Hello,” she sneered. “Still busy makin’ money?” Her words were all slurred together, but the expression on her face was unmistakable. He jumped up in horror: he had never seen her drunk before.

“Lemme alone,” she struck at him and nearly fell. “I don’t wan’ you playin’ ’bout me. Keep y’r han’s ’way. You don’t deserve nothin’ like that!”

His soul sickened within him.

“Jenny!” he implored.

“Shenny!” she mimicked, making a drunken face at him. She wavered towards him, placed her arms drunkenly akimbo. “Y’re a fine fellow, makin’ me waste th’ bes’ of my life here. I had plenty o’ fun in th’ war when y’were ’way. I wan’a have plen’y fun now !”

“Please, Jenny,” he begged her, frozen with pain. “You’d better lie down.”

“I won’ lie down!” she cackled. “I won’ lie down f’r you…”

Watching her, he thought suddenly of the child she had borne him, and the pain of her present degradation became unsupportable.

“For God’s sake, Jenny, pull yourself together. Even if I don’t mean anything to you now, think of our child, think of Robert. I haven’t talked about it. I don’t want to hurt you. But doesn’t his memory mean anything at all?”

She burst out laughing, she laughed and laughed drunkenly, until the saliva drooled from her mouth.

“I’ve been meanin’ to tell you ’bout that,” she jeered. “Meanin’ for long time. Our chil’. Y’ flatter yourself, m’lord. How d’you know he was yours?”

Uncomprehending, he looked at her with disgust upon his face. It maddened her.

“You fool,” she shrieked suddenly. “It was Joe’s!”

He understood. He went dead white. He caught her fiercely by the shoulder and pinned her against the lintel of the door.

“Is that true?”

Staring back at him glassily, sobered by the shock, she saw that she had gone too far; she had never meant to let out the truth to David. Terrified, she began to cry. She collapsed. Sagging against him she wept herself into hysteria.

“Oh dear, oh dear! I’m sorry, David. I’m bad, I’m bad. I’m bad. I want no more to do with men, never, never, never, never. I want to be good. I want to be good. I’m not well, that’s the trouble, I’m not really well, I’ve got to take a little glass to keep my strength up.” She howled and howled.

With that set cold face he dragged her to the sofa, supporting her sagging head with the palm of his hand. She began to drum her heels in the frenzy of her hysteria. She went on:

“Give me another chance, David, oh, for God’s sake give me another chance. I’m not bad, really I’m not; he just came round me like and it’s all finished and done with years ago; you could see that to-night, you’d have thought I was dirt beneath his feet. And you’re the best man living, David, the best man breathing. And I’m sick, David, oh, I’m awfully ill. I haven’t had a holiday for ages, I’m not really well. Oh! if only you’ll give me another chance, David. David, David…”

He stared darkly away from her, letting her race on, letting her work off all the agony of her remorse. A heavy pain pressed upon his breast; it was a frightful blow she had given him. He had loved the memory of little Robert, treasured it in his heart. And she had besmirched even that!

At last she stopped whining, the nervous beating of her heels was still. There was silence. He took a long breath. Then in a still voice he said:

“Let’s not talk about it any more, Jenny. It’s perfectly true, what you say. You’re not well. I think it might do you good if you went away for a little. How would you like to go down to Dan Teasdale’s farm in Sussex? I could easily arrange it. I’m in touch with Dan.”

“To the farm?” Jenny gasped, then lifted agonised, enraptured eyes. “Down in Sussex.”

“Yes!”

“Oh, David.” Jenny began to weep again; the sudden prospect was so wonderful, and David’s kindness so wonderful, and everything so wonderful. “You’re so good to me, David, just hold me in your arms and say you still love me.”

“Will you promise me not to touch drink down there?”

“I do, David, I do, I do.” Sobbing, she swore it in a passion of goodness and devotion.

“All right, I’ll arrange it, Jenny.”

“Oh, David,” sobbing and choking and clutching at him, “you’re the best man that ever breathed.”

One morning early in June, the following month, David saw Jenny off at the Central Station, Tynecastle. It had been a simple matter to arrange with Grace Teasdale for Jenny to go to Winrush — Grace was delighted. The weekly sum which David could pay was small enough, but from Grace’s frank and unassuming letter, David had the feeling that it would be welcome.

Jenny was thrilled, the excitement of the holiday had risen to her head and flushed her cheeks and made her eyes bright. She was warm and tender and penitent. She saw herself feeding the chickens, caressing the sweet little lambs and returning to David at the end of the three weeks purified and sanctified and prettier than ever. Oh, it was nice !