Catherine Cookson - The Gambling Man

He said to her, ‘Will you have a cup of tea?’

‘No, thank you, Jimmy. We . . . we just came to see that everything was all right.’ She smiled from him to Mr Richardson.

Mr Richardson was a burly man in his forties. He had worked in Baker’s yard alongside Jimmy but had gladly made the move to here when Rory offered him five shillings a week more than he was getting there. He was a married man with a family, so the arrangement of keeping Jimmy company at nights could not be a permanent one.

‘We’re grateful for you staying, Mr Richardson,’ she said.

‘Do anything I can, ma’am.’

‘Thank you. We won’t forget it, Mr Richardson.’

The man nodded and smiled widely. Then she rose to her feet and, looking at Rory, said, ‘Well now, are you satisfied?’

Before he could answer she turned her head towards Jimmy, saying, ‘The trouble with your brother, Jimmy, is he won’t recognize the fact that you are a young man and no longer an apprentice.’

Jimmy laughed back at her, saying, ‘Well, we’ll have to show him, won’t we? You tell him when you see him I’ll take him on any day in the week an’ knock the stuffin’ out of him. You tell him that, will you?’

Rory now thrust out his fist and punched Jimmy gently on the head, saying, ‘You’ve always been a daft lad; you always will be.’

‘Daft? Huh! Who’s daft comin’ down this end in the black dark an’ it pouring’. Don’t you think you’re askin’ for trouble yourself, walking along the dockside, an’ not alone either?’ He nodded towards Charlotte.

‘She came along to protect me. Can you imagine anybody tacklin’ me when she’s there?’ He now took hold of Charlotte’s arm and led her towards the door as she tut-tutted and cast a reproving glance up at him.

‘Keep that door bolted, mind.’

‘Aye. Don’t you worry.’ Jimmy smiled quietly at Rory.

The farewells over, they took the lantern and went down the steps and made their way through the stinging rain on to the road and along the waterfront, and as they hurried through what, even in daytime, was known to be an unsavoury thoroughfare Rory thought. He was right, I was crazy to let her come, and at this time of night.

And so he didn’t breathe easily until they emerged into the main street, and there she said to him, ‘Now you can relax.’

He did not reply, only heaved a telling sigh as he thought for the countless time, There’s no doubt about it, she’s remarkable.

His mind more at ease now with regard to Jimmy, he said, ‘There were two things you were going to tell me the night. Well, let’s have the second one now.’

‘No, not now; it will have to wait until we get out of this, the rain is choking me.’

‘Serves you right; you would have your own way.’

‘Far better have my own way than sit worrying until you returned.’

‘You’re a fool of a woman. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I know that, I’ve known it now for five months and three days.’

‘Oh, Charlotte!’ He pressed her arm closer to his side.

She had taken a bath and was now dressed in a pale grey chiffon nightdress with matching negligee. It was night attire which one might have expected to see on a picture postcard such as sailors brought over from foreign countries, like France, on which were painted ladies in flowing robes, their voluptuousness alone signifying their lack of virtue.

He had now become used to seeing her dressed, or undressed, like this. His own night attire not only would have caused the women in the kitchen to throw their aprons over their heads, but would have raised the eyebrow of many a smart gentleman in the town, for his nightshirt was of a pale blue colour, the flannel being so fine as to be almost like cashmere.

Moreover, it had cuffs that turned back and were hemmed with fancy braid, as was the deep collar. It, and a dozen more like it, were one of the many presents she had given him. And to hide his embarrassment he had made a great joke the first time he had worn one, but now he never even thought of his nightshirts, even when a fresh one was put out for him every other night.

As he pulled this one over his head he called to her, ‘I’m waiting.’

‘So am I.’

When her flat reply came back to him he bit on his lip, closed his eyes, tossed his head backwards and laughed silently. She was a star turn really. Who would have thought her like it?

He went from the dressing-room into the bedroom smiling. She wasn’t in bed but was sitting on the edge of it, and at this moment she looked ethereal in the soft glow of the lamplight. He had the idea that if he opened the windows the wind that was blowing in gusts around the house would waft her away. He sat down beside her on the bed and, adopting an attitude of patience, he crossed his slippered feet, crossed his arms and stared ahead.

‘Are you feeling strong?’

‘Strong? In what way?’ He turned his head sharply to look at her.

‘Oh, in all ways.’

‘Look, what is it?’ He twisted his body round until he was facing her. ‘Stop beating about the bush; what have you got up your sleeve now?’

She gave a little rippling laugh that might have issued from the lips of some dainty creature, then said, ‘Nothing up my sleeve. No, decidedly not up my sleeve; I happen to have become pregnant.’

‘Preg . . . pregnant ?’

As his mouth fell into a gape she nodded at him and said, ‘Yes, you know, “A woman with child” is how the Bible puts it.’

He drew in a long breath that lifted his shoulders outward. She was pregnant, she was with child, as she had said. Well, well. He had the desire to laugh. He stopped himself. She was going to have a bairn. Charlotte was going to have a bairn. And he had given it to her . . . Well, what was surprising about that? With all that had happened these past months why should he be surprised, for if anyone had worked for a bairn she had? He would never forget the first night in this bed. He had thought to treat her tenderly because right up to the moment they had first stood outside that door there, she had given him the chance to take advantage of the agreement she had first suggested; in fact, she had stood blocking his way into the room as she said, ‘I won’t hold it against you. Believe me, I won’t hold it against you.’ And what had he done? He had put his hand behind her and turned the knob. And she had entered with her head down like some shy bride, and he had told himself again that it was as little as he could do to be kind to her, to ease her torment, and make her happy. And he had made her happy. Aye by God! he had made her happy. And himself too. She had been surprising enough as a companion, but as a wife she had enlightened him in ways that he had never thought possible, because she had loved him. Aye, it was she who had done the loving. Up till then he hadn’t been aware that he had never been loved. He had loved Janie. A better term for it would be, he had taken Janie. And she had let him, but she had never loved him in the way he was loved now. Perhaps it was his own fault that things had not worked out that way with Janie, it was the business of John George coming between them on that first night. He had known a few other women before Janie. On his first year of rent collecting there had been one in Jarrow—her man went to sea—but what she had wanted was comfort not love. Then another had been no better than she should be, she had given him what she would give anybody at a shilling a go.

No, he had never been loved until Charlotte loved him. It was amazing to him how or from where she had gained her knowledge, for one thing was certain, he was the first man she’d had in her life. Perhaps it was instinctive. Whatever it was, it was comforting. And now, now she was saying . . . ‘Huh! . . . Huh! . . . Huh!’