The Invisible Cord Page 14

  ‘Well then, he asked how old I was, and I told him knocking sixteen. “When?” he said—he’s a stickler for details. “Next month,” I said. Then you know what? He said would I ask my parents if he could come round and see them.’

  They were standing apart now and Kathy, laughing at the expression on Annie’s face, said, ‘No kidding, he did. That’s what he said, could he come round and see you? And I said, what for? and he said, well, he would like to get everything straightforward.’

  ‘What did he mean, straightforward?’

  ‘That’s what I would like to know.’

  ‘What did you say then?’

  ‘I said ours was an open house, people were going in and out all the time, it was like jail, and I was sure you’d make him very welcome.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did, Mam.’ She pursed her lips again. ‘Then he asked if tomorrow afternoon would be convenient, and I said, yes, tomorrow afternoon would be quite convenient, being Saturday and you having nothing to do and being very bored with life…’

  Annie’s hand came out quickly and slapped the side of her daughter’s face, but gently.

  ‘Well, what could I say? You have to meet him, he’s a scream. He’s…he’s…well, I can’t tell you what he’s like, he’s so, what’s the word? Above-board. Yes, that’s the word, above-board. Aw my goodness!’ She closed her eyes and shook her head widely from side to side now. ‘And how above-board! He tickles me to death, Mam.’

  ‘I don’t know about being tickled to death—’ Annie raised her eyebrows—‘it’s a new approach, I’ll say that. Does…does he look very old-fashioned?’

  ‘Old-fashioned! No. He’s just precise, like his name, Percy. Awful name isn’t it, Percy?’

  As Annie was about to speak she heard Georgie’s voice shouting from below, and she said, ‘We’ll talk about this later, there’s your dad bawling for his tea.’

  ‘Mam.’ Kathy pulled Annie to a halt as they were going out onto the landing and whispered, ‘I’ll die the day I see me dad and Mr Percy Rinkton together. Aw, that’ll be something.’

  Annie now pushed her daughter none too gently towards the stairs, saying, ‘And you’ve got something coming to you, you young monkey.’ Then she added, ‘I’ll deal with Mr Percy Rinkton.’

  They were both laughing as they went down the stairs, but before Annie reached the bottom she knew that she would have someone else to deal with before she met her youngest daughter’s latest suitor, and in that confrontation there would be no laughter or amusement.

  Georgie had gone out for his usual evening drink, and so, apart from Tishy who was upstairs studying, she was alone when Rance came in. Before he had taken off his coat in the hall she tackled him. ‘Come on in here a minute,’ she said, going towards the sitting room.

  He didn’t immediately follow her but, straightening his tie, said, ‘What is it? I want me tea, I’m going out.’

  ‘You’ll get your tea in a minute; I’ve got to have a word with you.’

  He followed her into the room and closed the door but he didn’t look at her as he walked towards the empty fireplace, and there, taking a cigarette packet from his pocket, he extracted a cigarette and lit it.

  She let him do this and take the first whiff before she said, ‘What’s this I’m hearing from your dad?’

  ‘Well, what is it you’re hearin’ from me dad?’ He had his back to her, looking down on the ornamental glass screen that fronted the empty grate.

  ‘Now, Rance, I want no hanky-panky.’

  Glancing at her over his shoulder he said, ‘Who’s giving you hanky-panky? I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘You know fine well. What’s this about Mr Phillips’s bill that you forgot to enter up?’

  ‘Well, that’s all about it, I forgot to enter it up.’

  ‘Twenty-five pounds for repairs and two months’ petrol, that surplus would have stuck out like a sore thumb any week. We don’t deal in thousands you know.’

  ‘Look, Mam—’ he turned, took a step towards her and held out his hands as if in supplication as he said, ‘He checks up the till every night, doesn’t he? He goes over the books every Friday…’

  ‘You know fine well he makes pretence of going over them, he hasn’t got a head for figures; you’ve always known it.’

  ‘Hasn’t a head for figures? By lad! You try doing him out of sixpence and he’ll let you know whether he’s got a head for figures or not.’

  ‘It’s different when it’s in writing.’

  ‘Look, Mam—’ his voice was soft, appealing—‘are you accusing me of pinching the money?’

  She stared into his eyes and as always, like some young lass in love, she felt herself assailed by a weakness which now prompted her to say, ‘No, of course I’m not.’ But one of the level-headed chambers of her mind opened its door and out of it came the answer to his question. ‘You’re gambling,’ she said.

  His voice still quiet, he replied, ‘All right, I’m gambling. And I’ve been winning. I’ve got proof of it upstairs, the things I’ve been buying. You’ve noticed them surely.’

  ‘You said you had got them on the cheap.’

  ‘Well, I had an’ all, and that’s gambling. Anyway, what’s wrong with sittin’ at the tables now and again? Our auspicious neighbour three doors down, she’s there every bloomin’ night.’

  ‘Well, you must be an’ all to see her.’

  Of a sudden his quiet demeanour vanished and his teeth ground against each other for a moment before he burst out, ‘What the hell! Christ Almighty! I’m not a boy any more, Mam, I’m a man. I’m bloody well doing a man’s work and more.’

  ‘Stop that swearing and cursing.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ The words came out on a rising, mirthless laugh. ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years, you tellin’ me to stop cussing, when you’ve lived it and breathed it for how many years? Twenty-one. Twenty-one years you’ve been married, and your husband’s got the nickname of “Bloody McCabe” and you chastise me for swearing. God! That’s a laugh. Look—’ he bent towards her—‘don’t you see the funny side of it?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’ He was an expert in this line. She would start on one thing and before she knew where she was he was arguing about something entirely different. ‘Stick to the point, Rance…for once,’ she added; ‘and the point isn’t swearing, it’s…it’s stealing, thieving, and from your own. And there’s your dad. Be he what he may he wouldn’t do anybody out of a farthing…’

  ‘Aw, Dad! Dad wouldn’t do anybody out of a farthing.’ He was mimicking her now. ‘Dad’s a bloody saint and that’s swearing to it again. Underneath that rough exterior of his an’ his big ignorant mouth he’s a bloody saint…’

  ‘Rance!’

  ‘Never mind Rancing me, Mam, I’m gettin’ tired of hearing about Dad’s virtues. Hardly a week goes by but it’s: “He has his drawbacks, he’s rough and ready, but…but underneath …” Well, let me tell you something. In my opinion you must have been bloody well blind all these years not to see you’ve been married to a gormless nowt.’

  Her hand was raised to come down on him when he barked at her, ‘Don’t! Don’t do it, Mam, because if you do I’ll walk out, and that’s the last you’ll see of me.’

  As her hand slowly dropped to her side and she felt the blood draining, not only from her face but seemingly from her whole body, he said, his tone now as different again from what it had been a moment previously, for it was now like that of a young boy, ‘I meant it, Mam, I meant it. I would, I would I tell you, I’d leave you…’

  The more he protested the more she knew that it was an empty threat. Rance would never leave her unless it was for a woman, and the woman would, unknowingly, have to be taking her place.

  When her head bowed and the tears ran down her face his arms came about her and he held her, muttering all the while, ‘Oh, Mam! Mam, give over. Come on, give over. Look, I swear to you I didn’t take that mo
ney. Look at me.’

  She looked at him through her misted eyes and she muttered, ‘You’re speaking the truth?’

  ‘Honest. Honest to God.’

  She said now, ‘What about the lad, young Jimmy, could he have got at the till?’

  He turned his head to the side as if thinking; then, looking at her again, said, ‘Not that I know of. Look, Mam, as I see it the money was in the till and Dad picked it up on the Friday night. You know what he is, he stuffs everything into his pockets. He’s got no method.’

  ‘But…but he brings the money straight back home.’

  ‘Not always. Remember that night he didn’t get back here till half past ten and then he was paralytic?’

  Yes, she remembered that night about a month ago. He had met two fellows he had known at Madley and had taken them to the club, and the three of them had staggered back here at closing time. She drew herself slowly from his arms and as she wiped her face she said to him, ‘I’ll put up with anything, Rance, as long as I know you don’t fiddle, especially your own. You know what I mean?’

  He put out his hand and touched her cheek. The touch was a caress such as none of the others ever gave her. Still, she never blamed them for that, because there wasn’t the same feeling between them and herself. Although she loved each one of them the feeling she had for her eldest was akin to passion. The colour came flooding back into her face at the thought.

  He was smiling at her now. ‘Now can I have me tea?’

  ‘It’s all ready,’ she said quietly turning from him. When she went to walk out of the room he put his arm around her shoulders and when in the hall he looked up and saw Tishy coming down the stairs he deliberately hugged her to him before taking his arm away.

  At the sight of her daughter Annie lowered her head and hurried into the kitchen, but Rance didn’t follow her; instead, he made for the stairs, saying, ‘I’ll have me wash first.’

  He did not wait for Tishy to descend the last two stairs but pushed past her, and in the passing she said quietly, ‘Dear Rance,’ and he said in the same ironic tone, ‘Dear Tishy,’ and the exchange was like blows delivered straight into the other’s face.

  Two

  Tea on a Saturday was a haphazard event. It was usually a busy day at the garage and Rance might not get in before six, and Georgie nearer seven. If the school was playing football or cricket at home, depending on the season, Bill would come in demanding a meal any time between six and eight o’clock—the refreshments he’d had at the school tea never counted. When he was playing away she never knew what time to expect him back, but as she remarked, she always knew when he was in because he banged every door he came through.

  Tishy usually attended some project or other on a Saturday afternoon. If not, she would take the train to Newcastle and wander around the old quarters, or spend hours in the museum, or the library; and she always took these trips alone.

  The procedure for Kathy on a Saturday evening was to take the time between five and seven to get ready for the weekly dance, to which she never went unattended.

  But on this particular Saturday the pattern had altered slightly. Kathy had been invited to spend the weekend with her best friend, Van Brignell, and an hour ago she had left the house to make the two mile journey to Harton village with enough clothes in her case to last her a week. And Tishy, showing the first signs of a summer cold which, from experience, she knew would make her snub nose scarlet and keep her eyes watering for a week if not taken in time, had decided to forgo her Saturday jaunting and to nurse her cold while getting on with a bit more swotting.

  So Annie, having the house practically to herself, decided she would wash her hair. She went to the hairdresser’s only when she needed a trim for she had what she called good-tempered hair; it had a deep natural wave in it, and fell into place immediately after washing. Once her hair was dry she’d do her face and get into her new dress and be ready if Georgie managed to get home early; then perhaps they would go to the club for an hour. She felt she wanted to be taken out of herself. That scene with Rance last night had upset her, and then, later in bed, she hadn’t been able to convince Georgie that Rance hadn’t touched a penny of the money. His last words to her before he went to sleep were, ‘You know summat; you still take me for a bloody numskull,’ and she had been more disturbed than she cared to admit when he had turned his back on her. That had never happened before; she was always the one who did the turning away …

  She did not wash her hair in the bathroom but in the kitchen sink, because it was larger and if she splashed a bit it didn’t matter. She hated to see the bathroom messed up.

  She had just wound a towel around her head and was about to switch on her electric hair-drier when the front doorbell rang.

  ‘Oh no!’ She said the words aloud. Who could this be on a Saturday afternoon? Everybody was accounted for; there was only Tishy in and nobody ever called for Tishy; and it wouldn’t be anybody selling on a Saturday afternoon. Strange, but they didn’t come round selling on a Saturday afternoon; the morning yes, but never in the afternoon. She had often thought that was strange. It was no use shouting for Tishy to go and answer the door because she hardly showed her face to the family when she had a cold on her. Oh Lord! She glanced in the mirror, doubled the lapels of her blue woollen housecoat further across her chest, tightened the belt, then went out of the kitchen, across the hall and opened the door.

  ‘Oh.’ She gaped at the strange man standing before her. He was tall, taller than any of her men, six-foot and more he must be, and he was big made with it. His face was long and his lips full and his eyes a dark brown, a very dark brown. Well well! Kathy had hit it this time. Mr Percy Binkton was indeed a man, every inch of him. This fellow was certainly nothing to laugh or joke about; if she didn’t do any worse than this she’d be all right; in fact, she couldn’t see her doing any better, at least where looks were concerned. His face wasn’t exactly handsome but it had something about it that, in her estimation, was better than good looks. He had taken off his hat and he was staring at her, his mouth slowly widening into a smile, when she said, ‘You’re Mr Rinkton, aren’t you? Oh, I am sorry.’ She put her hand onto her head and patted the towel. ‘Fancy seeing me like this! But they’re all out, and I was washing my hair.’ Again she patted the towel. ‘Kathy’s gone to stay with a friend; she’ll be ever so sorry she missed you…’ That monkey. She hadn’t believed her. Wait till she saw her. And her to go off for the weekend like that knowing this fellow meant what he had said.

  ‘I…I think there’s been a slight mistake.’

  His voice was nice an’ all, quite posh, and there wasn’t the slightest trace of a northern accent in it. ‘What’s that you said?’

  ‘I said I think there’s been a slight mistake, I am not Mr…who did you say, Rinkton?’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ His smile had widened even further. He looked very amused and she became slightly embarrassed. ‘You’re not Mr Rinkton?’

  ‘No, as I said I’m not Mr Rinkton. But we’ve met before, you do know me.’

  ‘We’ve met before?’ She screwed up her face at him. ‘Never, never.’ Now she was shaking her head as she thought, He’s a con man; that’s what he is.

  ‘But yes, yes. I might have changed somewhat, but you, you haven’t at all. I would have known you anywhere in spite of your turban.’ He nodded towards her head, and again her hands went up to the towel. Her face was straight as she said, ‘Who are you then?’

  ‘My name is Alan Partridge; we last met when I was five years old.’

  She had to snap her lower jaw up to prevent it dropping any further, and then her mouth opened wide again before she brought out the name, ‘Alan…little…?’ She closed her eyes and shook her head, then said, ‘No longer little. Oh please, please, come in. Come in.’ She stood aside and let him enter the hall. ‘Well! Well! Who would believe it? But…but you didn’t recognise me, you can’t.’

  ‘Oh yes I did, an
d I do.’

  ‘Look. Look.’ Her hands were moving at random. Then closing her eyes tight again, she said, ‘Oh, give me your hat and coat and let me get this thing off my head and then we can talk. My! My! Is this a surprise! I…I thought you were the young man I was expecting to come and ask after my daughter, my youngest daughter. He was doing it in the old-fashioned way, he was coming to ask if he could take her out. Look, would you mind coming in here and waiting a moment?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  He walked past her into the sitting room, and she darted to the side of the fireplace and switched on the electric fire; then patting the cushions into place on the couch she said, ‘Do…do make yourself at home. Give me five minutes, will you, five minutes?’

  His smile was wide again. ‘Ten if you wish it, fifteen.’

  ‘Look, my eldest daughter’s upstairs; I’ll bring her down and she can talk to you.’

  ‘No, please, don’t bother. Go on, dry your hair; I’ll sit here and wait, very, very patiently.’

  They looked at each other, then both burst out laughing, and she turned from him and ran into the kitchen and, picking up the hairdrier, she flew up the stairs and plugged it into the bedroom socket.

  Her hair was only partly dry when she switched off the machine. Quickly getting into her dress she applied a dab of powder to her nose and a lipstick to her lips. Then as she went to leave the room she stopped, drew in a deep breath and asked herself what all the excitement was about. And she gave herself the answer. He had remembered her. After all these years he had remembered her. As Kathy would say, it was enough to boost anybody’s ego. What was your ego anyway? Oh polony! When her mind got going it asked the daftest questions. Get downstairs, she said to herself.