Bill Bailey Read online

  She handed him the knife; then dropping into a chair, she folded her arms on the table, bent her head over them, and began to laugh. Her body shook. The tears ran from her eyes; and all the while he stood at the opposite side of the table, the knife in his hand, making no attempt to carve the chicken. He just stood looking down on her, and when, gasping, she raised her head, he said quietly, ‘That’s the best sound I’ve heard you make since I came into this house, and it was a belly laugh, no refined giggle. An’ you know what? I’m goin’ to look upon it as a start. And now the next thing you must do is get yourself out.’

  She was sitting back in the chair, wiping her face, and she blinked her wet eyelids as she looked up at him and said, ‘Out? What do you mean, out?’

  ‘Just out. Out to enjoy yourself. Oh, I’m not askin’ to be your escort, so don’t let your face drop to your bust; what I’m sayin’ is, I’ll stay in some night and see to the kids, if you want to go to a dinner or something. I haven’t seen any men around; but that’s not sayin’ you haven’t got a boyfriend somewhere?’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘All right. All right, I won’t go on. But you’ve surely got some woman friend you could do a show with, or something…Anyway, if you are stuck for some place to spend an evenin’ there’s always your mother’s.’

  She got to her feet now, saying, ‘You’re impossible, you know that? But nevertheless, thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it some night.’

  ‘Bikini or bones?’

  ‘What!’

  He dug his finger down to the chicken. ‘Do you like breast or leg?’

  ‘Anything. Oh, the top part of the leg.’

  ‘The top part of the leg it is, madam. By the way, I’ve promised to take the kids in the car to the funfair at Whitley Bay sometime, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Oh, the funfair? Oh…well, I think they’re much too young…’

  ‘Young for a funfair? Don’t be daft, woman. Kids are never too young for fun. But if you feel worried about their safety you come along an’ all.’

  ‘I’ve never been partial to funfairs.’

  ‘Eeh, by! You know at times you sound just like your mother. You’re not, but you sound like her.’ He pushed the plate towards her, saying, ‘Not much salad for me.’ Then added, ‘Well, if the funfair’s out, what about Whitley Bay sands?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure they’d like that.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Negotiations pending.’

  She bit on her lip, and again she was laughing, but silently now. And she kept her head down as she put a small cloth on one end of the table and set it for their lunch.

  They were sitting opposite each other, but she hadn’t swallowed her first bite and he was on the point of saying something further when there was a commotion in the hall, and the children burst into the kitchen, only to stop for a moment before exclaiming excitedly, ‘Oh! Mr Bailey. You’re back, Mr Bailey.’

  He was standing up now, and they were gathered round him, all talking at once.

  ‘Did you bring us the tin whistles?’

  ‘You said you wouldn’t be back until tonight.’

  ‘I can sing that song, Mr Bill.’

  ‘Can you, Willie? Well, I’ll have to hear it.’

  ‘Fiona!’

  Fiona looked at her mother who had appeared, standing in the doorway, every part of her bristling with indignation.

  ‘Yes, Mother?’ Fiona went towards her and actually pressed her back into the hall.

  ‘Well! What is this? You knew he was coming back early.’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort, Mother.’

  ‘Then why are you all dolled up?’

  ‘Dolled up? I’ve had a bath and put on a clean dress. If you call that dolling up…’

  ‘Look at your face, all made up.’

  ‘If you recall, Mother, I used to make up every day.’

  ‘There was need of it then; you were going out to work. There’s something going on here.’

  ‘Mother!’ The word was ground out. ‘There is nothing going on here but what’s in your mind. And I would thank you not to suggest there is. And now listen to me.’ She actually pushed her astonished parent in the shoulder. ‘I’m a married woman with three children. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ve been on my own for three years, and you haven’t been much help except to criticise. Now I’m going to tell you this. If you want to keep in touch with me you’ll stop treating me as if I were a fifteen-year-old.’

  ‘How…how dare you!’

  ‘I dare, Mother. And I should have dared a long time ago. And now I’m going to tell you something else: I’m going to give you something to talk about, you and Mrs Minnie Hatton, and the rest of your clique. I’m going to Whitley Bay with him this afternoon. It’s supposed to be a treat he’s giving the children, but it’s really for me, because he’s sorry for me and the nun’s life I live in this house, dominated by you.’

  ‘I…I can’t believe it.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you can, Mother. Now will you kindly go because I have to get ready.’

  For a moment Fiona thought that her mother was about to faint; but her next words proved that she was far from fainting when she said, ‘It’s a long time since I used my hand on you but at this moment I have the greatest desire to slap your face.’

  ‘No doubt, Mother. But you remember the last time you slapped my face and in such a way that I fell onto the stone hearth and Father told you, should you do it again, he would do the same to you?…You didn’t know I knew that, did you? Now Mother, will you please go home!’ She went to the door and pulled it open.

  Mrs Vidler’s plump body looked as if it was about to burst, and saying, ‘I’ll never forgive you for this, never!’ she marched out of the house.

  As Fiona slowly closed the door and stood with her back to it, the kitchen door opened, and although she had her head bent she knew he was coming towards her.

  He stood in front of her for some seconds before he said, ‘Well, that’s a battle you’ve won. And not afore time I should say. Now go upstairs and get yourself ready…Yes. Yes, I listened in; we all did. And those kids have got her measure. And they’re right. They’re digging into the chocolate mousse, so come on.’

  He now drew her gently from the door, turned her about and pressed her towards the stairs, saying, ‘She beat me to it in one way: I should have told you you look different, smashing in fact…Now, don’t turn round; keep on going, up…them stairs, and tell yourself you’re starting a new life.’

  A few seconds later she entered her bedroom, and again she stood with her back to the door and what she exclaimed to herself now was, ‘That man!’ but she didn’t explain to herself the meaning the words now conveyed.

  Chapter Three

  He stood in the kitchen dressed in a dinner jacket; the dress shirt, no big frills just small pleats, was topped with a narrow black tie. His face, well shaved, showed no blue haze and his hair was meticulously brushed.

  ‘I might be a bit late; you know how these things go on, once a year do’s that seem to last a year…What you lookin’ like that for?’

  ‘Like what? I…I was just thinking you look very…smart.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re surprised, I suppose, to see me wearing a dinner jacket?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘You should see me in grey tails an’ topper. Oh aye, yes’—he nodded at her—‘by courtesy of Moss Brothers. I was invited to a wedding last year, one of the County nobs. I’d just done a good job for him. It was Sir Charles Kingdom. I’d made good an old part of his house. It was more like gutting it and starting from scratch. But anyway, the old boy was pleased. And so was his daughter. And they asked me to the wedding. It was a great do. Talk about knees-up among the top people; that lot could show you a thing or two, apart from wearing kilts. But as the night wore on some of them were missing an’ all. Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.’ H
e flapped a hand at her. ‘But these things happen.’

  He now stood looking at his fingernails and saying, ‘It’s a devil of a job to get these clean for the occasions like this; I’ve scraped them until all the enamel’s gone off the inside.’

  ‘You could put some nail white on.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s for making the nails look white underneath. Hang on; I’ll get some.’

  ‘No, no.’ He put out a hand and stopped her. ‘Sounds pansyish to me. I’ll sit on me hands, eh?’ She smiled at him now, saying, ‘Nobody would notice your hands.’

  ‘Think not?’ His voice was quiet; his blue gaze deep; and she said, ‘No; of course not, because, as you frequently point out, you’re a very presentable fellow.’

  ‘Aah! You’re getting your own back now, are you?’ He slanted his gaze at her before saying, ‘Always hitting below the belt. Anyway, I must be off; and I promise you I’ll come in quietly, no matter what the hour. And I’ll try not to sing.’

  Taking up his mood, she said, ‘Do that. But if you cannot overcome the urge, please make it a different tune, because I am heartily sick of “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey”, both verbally and as demonstrated on tin whistles.’

  He laughed now, saying, ‘But they love it though, don’t they? And let me tell you, they’re learnin’ to play those whistles properly. They could move from them to flutes, you know. That’s how things start. Things have always got to have a start. Like me from tea-boy to tycoon. Well, not quite tycoon yet, but I will be one day. I must tell you about me rise sometime. Yes, yes, I must…Well, goodnight Mrs N.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Bailey. Have a good time.’

  She followed him into the hall, and as he lifted a black coat from off a chair and went to put it on, a chorus of voices from the stairhead called, ‘Goodnight, Mr Bill. Goodnight, Mr Bill.’ And a female voice piped, ‘You do look pretty.’

  He walked to the bottom of the stairs and, looking up, he said, ‘Thanks, Katie, my love. Goodnight, Mark. Goodnight Willie.’

  ‘Will you come and sing to us when you come in, Mr Bill?’

  ‘Yes, Katie yes; I’ll come and sing to you when I come in. Go on now, off to bed. Goodnight.’

  As he turned towards the door he muttered under his breath, ‘You won’t blame me, will you, if I keep me promise?’

  Her voice as low as his, she replied, ‘I would prefer that you broke it.’

  He paused now as he murmured, ‘Do you think I’m pretty?’ and when for an answer he got a bleak stare, he laughed, saying now, ‘Do as I always tell you, mind, don’t answer the door to anybody. There’s some nasty types about, including your mother. By the way, have you heard from her this past week?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  Hastily she closed the door on him; then went into the sitting room and dropped onto the couch. But she did not switch on the television, which had been her intention; instead, she sat looking at the artificial flames coming from the electric fire and she tried to recall what her life had been like before this middle-of-the-road man had come into it.

  Chapter Four

  He had been with them for ten weeks now and it was the first time he had been so late coming in for his meal. It was half-past seven when he entered by the back way, and she was ready to say, ‘If you are going to be as late as this you should at least let me know,’ but at the sight of his face, she said, ‘Is anything the matter?’

  ‘I’ve lost a mate.’

  ‘Oh!’ was all she could find to say.

  He took off his coat and sat down at the corner of the table, ‘He was comin’ back from visiting his wife’s people in Wales; a lorry ran into them. His wife and four-year-old boy went with him; there’s a little girl of three in hospital. I had to see to…to things. God you wouldn’t believe…’ He dropped his head onto his hands. ‘Three miles outside the town it happened. Can you imagine it? Practically on the doorstep. And he wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t said, “Take your last week’s holiday now; if not, you won’t get it afore Christmas as we are up to the eyes.”’

  She felt helpless as she watched him now join his hands and bang them hard on the table.

  ‘Can I get you anything? A drink? Something to eat?’

  He straightened up and leant back in the chair; then after a moment he said, ‘Nothing to eat, but a strong coffee please. I’m going to slip out again, call at the hospital to see how the child is. Then I want a drink. By God! yes, I want a drink…Is there any hot water?’

  ‘Yes, plenty.’

  ‘Then I’ll have a quick sluice. Don’t make the coffee yet.’

  When he went from the kitchen she hurried after him and up the stairs and into the attic playroom, just in time to stop her small brood from engulfing him as they usually did. Then she returned downstairs, and waited. Twenty minutes later, he was in the kitchen again, shaved and looking spruce, as he usually did, except that his face was grim. He gulped at the coffee, gave her a brief, ‘So long!’ and went out …

  She busied herself for the most part of the evening; then sat in the sitting room awaiting his return.

  It was half-past eleven when she heard the key in the door. She didn’t leave the room, thinking he would go straight upstairs, but within a minute or so the sitting-room door opened and he entered saying, ‘Saw the light.’

  She could see immediately that he had been drinking, and more than usual, but he was steady on his feet and his speech was only slightly slurred.

  ‘Still up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Got any of that inferior coffee of yours waitin’ to be golloped?’

  ‘I think I might manage a cup.’ She passed him, but as she opened the door she turned and said, ‘Don’t talk, please, until we get into the kitchen. Mark’s been restless; he’s just gone to sleep.’ With exaggerated steps now, he tiptoed across the hall and followed her into the kitchen, and sitting down by the table, he said, ‘I like this. Best room in the house.’ Then added immediately, ‘You’ve got your stiff neck on again ’cos I’m tight.’ She did not answer, and he said, ‘So would you be if you had gone through what I have the day. You know something? I looked on him almost as a son, because I started him the same way as I’d been started, tea-boy, everybody’s dogsbody. I made him do all the things I’d done. My dad was a brickie, you know, and I couldn’t wait to get on the buildings with him. Played the nick most of my last year at school. Well’—he tossed his head—‘nearly all my time at school I played the nick. But what d’you think? He wouldn’t ask for me to be taken on with his lot, putting up skyscraper flats. Muck, he called them. But he got me set on with a small man, Carter. Funny that, you know. Dad seemed a funny man to me then, but he was right. Oh yes, he was right. Mr Carter had six blokes working for him. The same six had been with him twelve years, and what those blokes didn’t know about building wasn’t worth knowing. And I watched them. I copied them, and each of them let me into his own private tricks. I was fifteen when I started, and I was thirty when old Carter died. And his wife said to me, “You’ve been a good lad, Bill. He thought the best of you. I’ve had offers for the business, but you go to the bank and get a loan, and it’s yours.” And that’s what I did. There’s none of those six alive now. But I gradually picked me own team, kicking out the scum on the way an’ them that say, what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine’s me own. There’s a lot of bloody double-dealin’ scroungers in this business, you know, selling your stuff on the side, under your bloody nose. Anyway—’He took a sip of the coffee, and, looking across the table at her, he said, ‘You know, you make rotten coffee, Mrs N. Do you know that?’

  She gave a tight smile as she answered, ‘I’m so glad you like it, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘You’re all right. You know that?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m very much aware that I’m all right.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me behind that face of yours, aren’t yo
u?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Bailey, I’ll agree with everything you say tonight.’

  He bowed his head now, saying softly, ‘I’m in a hell of a stew. You see, he was fifteen an’ all when I took him on, an’ just like I’d been, full of tongue and backchat. He thought he was the bloody cat’s pyjamas, good as the next an’ better than most, and he was an’ all. And like me, he was a worker, an’ wanted to learn. I made him go to night school like I did…Oh, that’s stretched your face a bit, Mrs N, hasn’t it? Me goin’ to night school. Well you see it was all right being able to do every job on the site, but there was a business side to it; things had advanced in that way since I ran round with the tea can. And I was out to learn. Still am. But you wouldn’t believe that, would you? No; no, you wouldn’t. By the way, how’s your mother these days? You don’t mention her. She comes up, I suppose, when I’m out of the way?’

  ‘No; I haven’t seen her; but she’s started to phone, in order, you understand, to tell me what a dreadful daughter I am. But…’

  ‘So, you haven’t seen her? My! My!’

  ‘No; but I understand she’s not too well and I’ve promised to go across tomorrow afternoon.’ She smiled now, adding, ‘I’ll have to put my armour on, though.’