Catherine Cookson - The Gambling Man

‘She’s not here.’

‘Oh, I had a message for her.’

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘A message? Who from?’

‘Well, he’s . . . he’s a friend of hers.’

The young woman stared at her for a moment, then poked her face forward, hissing, ‘Well, if it’s the friend I think it is you can tell him that she’s married. Tell him that.’

‘Married?’ That’s what I said.’

‘Oh, well’—Janie was nodding her head now—In a way I’m glad to hear it. I . . . I hope she’ll be happy.’

The face looking into hers seemed to crumple and now the whispered tone was soft and laden with sadness as she said, ‘He . . . he was a friend of, of my father’s, he’s a widower with a grown-up family.’

In the look they exchanged there was no need to say any more.

Janie now nodded towards the young woman and said, ‘Thank you, I’ll . . . I’ll tell him,’ then turned and went down the steps. Poor John George! And the poor lass. A dead old man likely. The very thought of it was mucky, nasty.

Rory hadn’t returned when she got in, but Jimmy was there with the kettle boiling and the table set, and immediately he said, ‘Sit down and put your feet up.’

‘I’m not tired.’

‘Well, you should be. And you will be afore the night’s out, I’ve put the washing in soak.’

‘Thanks, Jimmy. Any news?’

‘Aye, Mr Pearson, you know Pearson’s Warehouse, I went in and asked him the day. I said I’d carry anything. He joked at first and said he had heard they were wantin’ a battleship towed from Palmer’s. And then he said there were one or two bits he wanted sending across to Norway.’ He laughed, then went on excitedly, ‘But after that he said, “Well, lad, I’ll see what I can do for you.” He said he believed in passing work around, there was too many monopolies gettin’ a hold in the town. I’ve got to look in the morrow.’

‘Oh Jimmy, that’s grand.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘Eeh! you just want a start. And when I’m home all day I could give you a hand, I could, I’m good at lumpin’ stuff. And I could learn to steer an’ all . . . But I’d better learn to swim afore that.’ She pushed at him and he laughed with her, saying, ‘Aye, but if they had to learn to swim afore they learned to row a boat on this river it would be empty; hardly any sailors swim.’

‘Go on!’

‘It’s a fact.’

‘Eeh! well, I’ll chance it, I’ll steer for you, or hoist the sail, ’cos have you thought you’ll need another hand?’ At the sound of footsteps she turned her head quickly away from him and towards the door, and she was on her feet when Rory entered the room, and she saw immediately that he was in great high fettle.

‘It’s settled then?’

‘Out of me way, Mrs Connor.’ He struck a pose and marched down the room as if he were carrying a swagger stick, and when he reached Jimmy he slapped the top of his own hat, saying, ‘Touch yer peak, boy. Touch yer peak.’

Then they were all clinging together laughing, and he swung them round in a circle, shouting:

‘But we’re all going up!’ He pulled them to a stop and, looking into Janie’s laughing face, he added, ‘Up! Up! We’re going up, lass; nothing’s going to stop us. She’s for me, why God only knows, but she’s the ladder on which we’re going to climb. You take that from me. All of us’—he punched Jimmy on the head—’all of us . . . She’s got influence, fingers in all pies, and that includes this river an’ all. We’re going up, lad.’

Later, when in bed together and closely wrapped against each other, he said to her, ‘You haven’t seemed as over the moon as I thought you would be. There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?’

She didn’t answer, and when he insisted, ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘There’s two things on me mind, Rory, but if I mention them they’ll both cause rows, so I’d better not, had I?’

He was quiet for a moment before saying, ‘Go on, tell me. I won’t go off the deep end, whatever they are . . . I promise, whatever they are.’

It was a long moment before she said, ‘Well mind, don’t forget what you said.’

He waited, and then her voice a whisper she began, ‘The missis, she wants me to go with them to France for a holiday. Of course, it’s only to keep the bairns out of the way, I know, but she keeps tellin’ me that I won’t get the chance again . . .’

‘Who says you won’t get the chance again? They’re not the only ones who can go to France. You’re not goin’. You told her you’re not going? All right, all right, I’m not going to get me neb up about it, but you did tell her you weren’t goin’?’

‘I said I didn’t think you would hear of it.’

‘That’s right I won’t. And you can also tell her when you’re on, that you’re putting your notice in . . . Well now, the other thing?’ He waited.

‘I went the night to take a message to . . . to John George’s lass. She’s . . . she’s married.’

‘Married!’

‘Yes, to an old man, a widower with a grown-up family.’

It’s . . . it’s the best thing.’ She could hardly hear his voice but she was relieved that he had kept his promise and hadn’t gone for her for mentioning John George or his affairs. And now, a minute later, he was mumbling into her neck, ‘When he comes out I’ll set him up. I’ve . . . I’ve always meant to do something for him but now I can, I’ll set him up properly in something.’

‘Oh, Rory, Rory. Aw, that’s . . . that’s my Rory. I knew you would. Aw ta, thanks, lad, thanks. I’ll tell the missis the morrow straight out, I’ll tell her me husband’s put his foot down and said no France and that I’ll have to be givin’ in me notice shortly. Oh, Rory, Rory . . .’

In the middle of the night she was wakened by him crying out. His arms were flaying about and when she put her hand on his head it came away wet with sweat and she cried at him, ‘Rory! Rory! wake up,’ but he continued to thrash about in the bed, gabbling out words from which she could distinguish bits of the conversation that they’d had last night. ‘I’ll make it up to John George, I will, I will. I always meant to.’ Then he began to shout, ‘’Twas being shut in, ’twas being shut in.’

When she finally managed to wake him he spluttered, ‘What’s it? What’s-the-matter?’ Then putting his hand to his head, he added, I was dreamin’ . . . Was I talking?’

‘Just jabbering. It was all the excitement.’

‘Aye, yes,’ he said, ’all the excitement. By! I’m wringing.’

‘Yes, you are. Lie down, right down under the clothes here.’ She drew him towards her and held him closely, soothing him as if he were a child, until he went to sleep again.

On three afternoons and three evenings of each of the next three weeks Rory visited Mr Dryden, to be coached in the matter of accountancy and business management.

Mr Dryden had in his early years been in accountancy, and later had become a solicitors clerk, and the reports he gave to Miss Kean on the progress of his pupil were most encouraging. ‘He shows great acumen,’ he told her. ‘I think you have made a wise choice,’ he told her. But he also told his friends with a smirk that old Kean’s daughter had taken on a protege. ‘Ha! Ha! they said. Well, she wasn’t likely to get a husband, so she had to resort to a pastime. Yet, as some of them remarked, she ought to have known her place and picked her pastime from a grade higher than that of rent collectors, and this one by all accounts wasn’t a skin away from a common labouring man. If it wasn’t that the fellow was already married you could put another version to it, for as had already been demonstrated in one or two instances she was a strong-headed young woman who took little heed of people’s opinions. Look what she was like on committees. She had got herself talked about more than once for openly defying the male opinion. Of course, this was due to the type of education she’d been given. She had been sent away, hadn’t she? To the south somewhere, hadn’t she? That was her mother’s doing. So . . . well, what could you expect?