Catherine Cookson - The Gambling Man

‘Poor end of the stick?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Well, if I would be quite satisfied with the poor end of the stick, shouldn’t that be enough for you?’

He shook his head. ‘No! No! It wouldn’t be right, for as I see it you wouldn’t be gettin’ any more out of me than you do now . . . . So why not let things be as they are?’

There now came upon them an embarrassing silence, before she said, ‘Because I need companionship, male companionship. Not just anyone, someone, an individual, someone whom I consider special, and . . . and I chose you. What is more, I feel I know you, I know you very well. I know that you like this house, you like this way of living, I know that you could learn to appreciate finer things. Not that I dislike the roughness in you; no, it is part of your attraction, your bumptiousness, your arrogance. It is more difficult to be arrogant when you have nothing to be arrogant about than when you have something.’

His face took on its blank look. This was the kind of clever talk that maddened him, and he had no way of hitting back except by using the arrogance she was on about. He said gruffly, ‘You seem to think you know a lot about me, everything in fact.’

‘No, not everything, but quite a bit. I’ve always given myself the credit of being able to read character. I know a lot of things about a lot of people, especially in this town, and I know what a good many of them are saying at this very moment—and about us.’

‘About us?’

‘Oh yes, yes, about us. Don’t you know that we’re being talked about? Don’t you know they’re saying—’ she now dropped into the local inflexion which patterned the speech of even many of the better-off of the townsfolk—“What d’you think, eh? Kean’s daughter and the rent collector. And her five years older than him and as plain as a pikestaff. She’s brazen, that’s what she is, she’s buying him. And, of course, he’s willing to be bought. He’s no fool, who would turn down that chance? She should be ashamed of herself though, using her money as bait. You can’t blame the fellow. And you know, this didn’t start the day, or yesterday; they were going at it when his wife was alive”? . . . That’s what they’re saying.’

His face was burning, the colour suffusing it was almost scarlet.

‘Oh, please don’t get upset about it; you must have been aware that our association would cause a minor scandal?’

‘I wasn’t!’ His answer was vehement. If . . . if I’d thought they’d been saying that I . . . I wouldn’t have gone on. I . . . I was your manager. Anyway, if you knew this, why didn’t you put a stop to it? Why did you let it go on?’

‘Oh . . . huh! Why? Well, to tell you the truth, it made me all the more determined to go on. I don’t care a fig for their chatter. What are they after all, the majority of them? Braggarts, strutting little nonentities, men who have clawed their way up over the dead bodies of miners, or of their factory workers. Oh, there are a good many hypocrites in this town. I could reel them off, sanctimonious individuals, leading double lives. You know, you’d think Newcastle was at the other end of the world, and it is for some of them, keeping their second homes . . . It is very strange you know but women talk to me, they confide in me; perhaps it’s because to them I’m unfeminine. But anyway—’ she tossed her head to the side—‘I have no room to speak, at least on the point of clawing one’s way up, for what did my father do for anyone except himself? And for that matter what have I done but talk? But this is where you come in. I have thought that with you I might begin to do things for other people. I—’ her voice dropped—‘I might become so at peace with myself that I could turn my thoughts on to the needs of others, and there are many in need in this town. And you know that better than I do, because you have been on that side of the wall. You have had to say “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” and of course—’ she nodded dt him—‘ “Yes, miss,” and “No, miss,” and it’s only recently and only through you that I have realized how people such as you, in your position, must feel.’

She now rose from the couch abruptly and, going to the mantelpiece, she put her hands on it and looked down into the fire as she muttered, ‘I am not saying this in order to make the future appear more attractive. If . . . if closer association with me would be intolerable to you, very well, you have only to say so.’

‘And what if I did, what then?’ The question was quiet, soft, and her answer equally so. ‘I don’t know, because . . . because I haven’t allowed myself to look into the future and face the desolation there.’

As he stared up at her he thought, She’s remarkable. By aye, she’s a remarkable woman. He had never imagined anyone talking as frankly as she had done; no man would ever have been as honest. He said softly, ‘Will you give me time to think it over?’

‘ No! ’

The word was barked and it brought him to his feet as if it had been the crack of a gun. He watched her march down the room, then back again towards him. At the head of the couch she stopped, and he saw her fingers dig into the upholstery as she said tersely, ‘It must be now, yes or no. I . . . I cannot go on in uncertainty. I . . . I’m not asking anything from you but to come into this house and stay with me as a . . . a friend, a companion. You don’t believe it now, but you’ll find out there’s more lasting happiness stems from friendship than has ever done from love. I know you don’t love me, couldn’t love me, and never will . . . No! No! Don’t protest.’ She lifted her hand. ‘Let us start from the beginning being honest. When you lost your wife I knew that you must have loved her deeply, and that kind of love only happens once, but there are other emotions comparable with love. A man can have them towards a woman and be happy. That can also apply to a woman, although’—She swallowed deeply in her throat here before ending, ‘In most cases she needs to love even if she’s not loved in return.’

God, he was hot, sweating. What could he say? What could he do? Strangely, he knew what he had the desire to do, and it was scattering to the winds all his previous decisions, for at this moment he wanted to go behind that couch and put his arms about her, comfort her. Just that, comfort her. Nothing else, just comfort her. Then why wasn’t he doing it?

He was surprised to hear himself saying in a voice that sounded quite ordinary, ‘Come and sit down.’ He was holding his hand out to her, and slowly she put hers into it. Then he drew her round the head of the couch and on to its seat, and still with her hand in his he sat beside her, and as he looked at her an excitement rose in him. He seemed to be drawing it from her. Aye yes, that was the other word he wanted for what he felt for her, excitement. It was almost akin to the feeling he got when he was in a good game. He hadn’t been aware of it, but that was why he had liked to be in her company, liked to hear her talk; even when she was getting her sly digs in at him, she was exciting.

If she hadn’t been so tall and thin and plain what was happening now would likely have happened months ago. But now he realized that her thinking, her voice, her manner, the way she dressed, all the things she did were in a way a compensation for her looks. In fact, they formed a kind of cloak over them because there had been times lately when in her company that he had forgotten how she looked. He hadn’t realized this until now. Suddenly he felt at ease with her as he’d never done before. He knew he could talk to her now, aye and comfort her. He bent towards her and said, ‘Can I tell you something?’

Her eyes had a moisture in them when she answered, ‘I’m eager to hear whatever you have to say, Rory.’