Catherine Cookson - The Gambling Man

‘Aye, that goes for me an’ all.’ Paddy was nodding at her. ‘We’ve had some good times together, Janie, and in this very kitchen. I’ll think back on ’em, Janie.’

Lizzie’s face and voice was soft as she said, ‘As you say, you’ll live a long time, lass, and you’ll marry and have a sturdy family, an’ when you do, name some of them after us, eh?’

Janie’s head was up, her lips were tight pressed together, her eyes were wide and bright; then as the tears sprang from them, they came around her, patting her, comforting her; even Paddy hobbled from his chair, saying, ‘There, lass. There, lass.’

‘I’ve . . . I’ve got to go.’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve got to go.’ Ruth dried her eyes and smiled. ‘And have a safe journey, lass. It’s a long way to go, across the sea to another country. Aren’t you feared?’

‘No.’ Janie shook her head as she blew her nose. I know me way, an’ I won’t have to ride in the cattle trucks.’ She smiled weakly, and Lizzie said somewhat tentatively now, ‘Why didn’t you get yourself a decent rig-out, lass, to go back with?’

‘No, Lizzie, no.’ Again she shook her head. I came like this and that’s how I’m goin’ back. And . . . and you see, they wouldn’t understand, not if I went back dressed up. I’ll . . . I’ll be one of them again like this. But at the same time I’ve seen things, and I know things what they don’t, and I’ll be able to help . . . It’s funny, isn’t it, how life works out?’

As she looked from one to the other they saw a glimpse of the old Janie, and they smiled tenderly at her.

‘Eeh! well, I’ll be away. I’ve got to get the train.’

She backed from them now and, with the excep­tion of Jimmy, they didn’t move towards her, not even to come to the door. Jimmy opened the door for her, and with one backward glance at them she went out, and he followed her down the path. At the gate he said, ‘Look, wait a minute, I’ll go back and get me coat and come down with you to the station.’

‘No. No, Jimmy. Thanks all the same. Anyway, you’re in no fit state to be about yet, never mind walking to the station.’

He took her hand and they stared at each other. ‘Be happy, Janie. Try to forget all that’s happened. And . . . and another thing I’d like to say, thank you for not letting on to them’—he jerked his head back towards the cottage—‘about, well, you know what, the John George business.’

She stared at him blankly. This was the second time those very words had been said to her within a short space.

Yesterday she had stood in that beautiful room and thought to herself with still remaining bitterness, I can see why he didn’t want to come back, for who’d want to give up all this for a boathouse, ignoring the fact that it was the tall black-garbed, sad-looking woman facing her who had been the magnet that had kept him there. Nor had she softened towards her when, in open generosity Charlotte had said, ‘I understand how you feel for he was such a wonder­ful man,’ but she had blurted out before she could check herself, ‘You didn’t know him long enough to know what he was like . . . really like.’

‘I did know what he was really like.’ Charlotte’s tone had altered to tartness.

She had stared hard at the woman before retorting, ‘I shouldn’t say it at this time, but I doubt it,’ and the answer she received was, ‘You needn’t, for I knew my husband’—the last word was stressed—‘better than most. I was aware of all his weaknesses. I knew everything about him before I married him . . . with the exception of one thing . . .’

‘Yes, and I know what that was,’ she had said. ‘He wouldn’t let on about that.’

It had appeared as if they were fighting.

‘Do you?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, tell me what you think it was,’ said Charlotte.

She had become flustered at this. ‘It was his business,’ she said. ‘It’s over, it’s best left alone.’ Then she had stood there amazed as she listened to the woman saying, ‘You are referring to the John George Armstrong affair and Rory taking the five pounds and letting his friend shoulder the blame for the whole amount, aren’t you?’

She had gaped at her, then whispered, ‘He told you that?’

‘Yes, he did, but I already knew all about it. I had pieced things together from the events that followed the court case.’

‘And you did nothin’, I mean to get John George off?’

‘He had been stealing for some time. His sentence would have been the same . . .’

She had stared open-mouthed at the woman, she couldn’t understand her. She was a lady yet such were her feelings for a fellow like Rory that she had treated as nothing something that she herself had thought of as a crime and condemned him wholesale for. In fact, so big was it in her eyes that she saw it now as the cause of all that had happened to her—all the heartache and the hardship.

She hadn’t been able to understand her own feelings at that moment for strange thoughts had galloped about in her mind. She had made a mistake somewhere. Had she ever loved Rory? Of course, she had. But not like this woman had loved him.

Perhaps her own mistake lay in that she had liked too many people, and it had sort of watered down her love; whereas this woman had concentrated all her feelings in one direction and had gained Rory’s love in return . . . she hadn’t bought him. It seemed to be the last bitter pill she had to swallow.

. . . ‘The only thing he kept from me was the fact that Lizzie is his mother.’

‘That?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he always was ashamed of it. Yet I couldn’t understand why ’cos Lizzie’s all right.’

‘Yes, Lizzie’s all right.’

She had asked her to sit down after that, and then she had offered her the money. But even when she took it she still couldn’t like her, or soften towards her . . .

. . . ‘You all right, Janie?’

‘Aye, Jimmy.’

‘Try to forgive and forget.’

‘Aye, I will. It’ll take time, but I will, Jimmy. I’ll marry. I’ll marry Henri. I liked him well enough, but that isn’t lovin’. Still, we’ve got to take what we get, haven’t we?’

‘You’ll be happy enough, Janie.’

‘Aye, well, think on me sometimes, Jimmy.’

‘There’ll never be a time when I won’t, Janie.’ He leant towards her and they kissed quietly, then, her head bowed, she turned swiftly from him and went through the gate and down the narrow path and became lost from his view in the hedgerows.

For quite some time he stood bent over the gate­post. He had been in love with her since he was a lad. During the time Rory courted her he had lived with a special kind of pain, but when he had lain in the loft above them he had suffered an agony for a time because he had loved them both. Now in a way they were both dead, for the Janie he had loved was no more. She hadn’t just disappeared down the road; paradoxically she had died when she had come back to life and showed herself as a strange creature that night in the boathouse. Her resurrection had freed him. Life was odd. Indeed it was. As she had said, it was funny how it worked out.

He knew that a different kind of life lay before him. Charlotte was setting him up in a new boatyard and, what was more, she wanted him to take an interest in business.

Yes, a new kind of life was opening up before him, but whatever it offered it would be empty, for Rory was no longer in it. He ached for Rory, and night following night he cried silently while he wished that God had taken him too . . . or instead. Aye, instead. Why hadn’t he died instead, for he wouldn’t have been missed like Rory was? He had emptied so many lives by his going, Charlotte’s, Janie’s, Lizzie’s, his ma’s, aye and even his da’s, all their lives were empty now . . . Yet free from the scandal that his living would have created. It was funny, weird. In a way it was like the outcome of Lizzie’s saying, leave it to God and He’ll work it out.