Bill Bailey Page 6

  Chapter Six

  She was singing, her voice rising above the sound of the hoover, when the phone rang. She was still smiling when she picked it up; then the smile slid from her face as the voice came over the wire saying, ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ve been too busy, that’s why you couldn’t come round to see me.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, I have been busy. But even so, I can see no point in coming to see you when we do nothing but fight.’

  ‘I do not fight, girl: I have never fought; I merely state facts and point out things that you should see yourself if you weren’t at the moment hypnotised by that awful man.’

  ‘Well, Mother, your facts are wasted. And let me tell you I’m very happy to be hypnotised by that awful man whom I intend to marry.’

  There was a long pause, and she was about to put the phone down when the voice came again, saying, ‘The minister won’t allow it, he’s divorced.’

  Smirking now, she gave the reply that Bill himself would assuredly have given: ‘Oh, we don’t mind the minister’s being divorced.’

  ‘Fiona.’ The word seemed to make the wires ring in her ears.

  ‘All right, Mother. But we are not going to trouble the minister.’

  ‘Girl, you wouldn’t go to a registry office?’

  ‘We’ll go to a voodoo man, Mother, if we want to.’

  ‘Really! I don’t know what to make of you, Fiona. You never came out with things like that before. Voodoo man indeed! You’re getting almost as common as him, if that’s possible.’

  ‘It’s a nice feeling. And I’m busy, Mother; have you finished?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, and I can tell you this: you’re getting your name up in another quarter.’

  ‘Really? That sounds interesting.’

  ‘You may take it lightly but imagine how I feel when I’m told that men, workmen, are coming to your house at all hours and staying all hours. Talk about having an affair with the milkman. I’m telling you, girl, you’re the talk of the street. And what’s more…’

  Fiona banged down the phone and stepped back from the hall table and stared at it. That woman! What was she to do with her? And that Mrs Quinn. She must be ever on the watch. Of course she had nothing else to do: she didn’t go out to work and her husband was abroad most of the time. But what would the new people next door think if they listened to her? She had always considered herself fortunate that this house was the end of the avenue and there wasn’t another Mrs Quinn to the right of her.

  She went into the kitchen and stood leaning with her hands on the sink looking through the window down the garden. Her teeth were tight together. Women like her mother and Mrs Quinn were the very devil.

  She recalled the incident that her mother was referring to. It happened only two days ago when Mr Ormesby, one of Bill’s men, called with a message from him to say that he had been trying to get through to her all afternoon from Newcastle but the line seemed dead; and so he had phoned the works and asked Bert Ormesby to call in and tell her he was being held up and to test the telephone to see if it was all right.

  It had been pouring with rain and she had invited Mr Ormesby in; and she had made him a cup of tea and they had sat at the table talking, mostly about Bill and how, if he brought off this deal he was after, which was the building of a small estate at the top of Brampton Hill in the best part of town, it would be a good thing for them all for the next year or two.

  She knew quite a bit about Mr Bert Ormesby; in fact she knew quite a bit about his eleven men, the permanent ones, because, in a way, he considered them his family. Bert, she knew, was the only bachelor among them and he was the butt of the gang because, not only was he teetotal, but also he didn’t smoke and he attended church. Result of his father running a pub and his mother being a Presbyterian Bill said; and guess who won.

  The children had come into the kitchen and he had talked and laughed with them. He had surprised her further by telling her he was also a Sunday School teacher. His visit had lasted over an hour, during which time he had gone through three cups of tea and two teacakes.

  She wanted to cry but she wasn’t going to. She wouldn’t allow her mother to mar her happiness. Nevertheless, the brightness had gone out of the day…

  At half-past three she picked up Willie from nursery school and was thankful that his stay there was drawing to a close and that his next school would be nearer to Katie’s and Mark’s. Then she drove halfway across the town to collect them, and as usual, having tumbled into the back of the car, they all talked at once, telling her the happenings of the day; and to each she made the appropriate sounds, until Katie remarked, ‘I smacked Josie Morgan’s face.’

  ‘You what! Why did you do that?’

  ‘’Cos she said I couldn’t be a bridesmaid at a Registry Office; they didn’t have bridesmaids at Registry Offices.’

  The car wobbled just the slightest, and Fiona’s hands on the wheel tightened before she said, ‘Katie. Haven’t I told you not to talk in school about anything that happens at home?’

  ‘I didn’t, Mam.’

  ‘You must have.’

  ‘Well, I only told her last week that when you got married to Mr Bill I’d be a bridesmaid, and she said her mother said you couldn’t be bridesmaids at Registry Offices. But Anna said you could.’

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Yes, Anna Steele, she’s my new friend. I’ve picked her instead of Josie because Josie swanks about their car and says it’s a better one than Mr Bill’s Volvo.’

  Mark now said, ‘Your big mouth’ll open so far it’ll swallow you one of these days.’ And for answer, he was told vehemently, ‘Well, far better have a big mouth than a big nose that could poke a drain.’

  ‘Stop it! both of you.’

  Except for the hum of the car there was silence for some minutes; and then it was broken by Willie saying, ‘I wish I was old and six.’

  Her eyelids blinked. She pressed her lips tightly together. She wanted to laugh and at the same time she wanted to cry. It was one of those days…

  Bill came in at his usual time; he took her in his arms, kissed her hand, then said, ‘Hello, Mrs N.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Bailey,’ she said.

  Holding her away from him, he said, ‘What’s the matter with your face, Mrs N? Something happened?’

  ‘Only Mother…and Katie, and oh’—she shrugged her shoulders—‘one of those days.’

  ‘Oh God. Not your mother again. What is it now?’

  ‘I’m having it off with one of your men.’

  ‘No! Where is the…bugger? I’ll break his bloody neck. How long has this been goin’ on? I knew I should never have come to this house. I knew you would let me down.’

  ‘Shut up! And that language; they’ll hear you upstairs.’ She was smiling now.

  ‘What happened? What vitriol has she been pouring over the wires now?’

  ‘Get your wash and have your meal and then I’ll tell you.’

  He had his wash; he had his meal; he had romped with the children upstairs for half an hour; then got changed; and now they were in the kitchen. And when she told him, he didn’t laugh or joke, as she might have expected; what he said was, ‘I’m sorry to say this, Fiona, but your mother is dangerous.’

  ‘I know that, Bill. I’ve known it for a long time. And, lately, things that my father said to me that I didn’t really comprehend years ago have a real meaning now. Once, I recall, she had been to his office and when he came in there were words; and later he said to me apropos of nothing that had gone before, “Men can be vile and cruel but they don’t create as much harm as women who are sweet and poisonous.” I know now he had his reasons because there are people who still think she is sweet, such a nice lady, so refined.’

  ‘Yes, so refined. That’s the worst sort; you know where you are with slack gobs…Well, Mrs N, I can tell you, it’s been one of those days for m
e an’ all. I had a phone call from the old man about the child. Oh, of course, he said, they agreed that we should adopt her. Oh yes. But there was the question of the money. What money? I said. Well, the company that was liable for the accident would have to provide for her until she came of age. Hadn’t she lost all her family at one go? She had to be compensated. What were my thoughts on the subject? he said.

  ‘Well, right away I told him what my thoughts were on the subject; I didn’t want any of the money; if I was going to adopt her I would work for her and whatever money there was should be banked, together with the money from the house and furniture—I got that in—in a kind of trust in her name for whatever she needed later on.

  ‘Yes, yes; he said he agreed with that wholeheartedly, but there should be a proviso, he thought, that if she went away on a holiday or to a private school she should be allowed to draw on it to meet her expenses.

  ‘You know, Fiona’—he wagged his finger at her—‘I may be wrong, but I think I’m right when I tell you what was in the old boy’s mind: they’d be willing to have her for her holidays and things as long as she was provided for. You see, they wouldn’t expect, they wouldn’t have the bare face to ask me to pay for her when she went to stay with them, but a trust is a kind of an inanimate thing, it doesn’t argue or feel, it just pays out.’

  ‘Oh no, Bill.’

  ‘But oh yes, Mrs N. You don’t know that old boy like I’ve come to know him. He’s been on the phone nearly every day. He would have signed her away to a workhouse in the old days rather than have the responsibility of her, he’s that kind. And his wife an’ all must be of the same calibre. Oh aye, there’s a lot of odd bods in the world, Mrs N, and it’s been my misfortune to meet a number of them, all types and from all classes, you wouldn’t believe.’ He now shook his head as if in perplexity, saying, ‘Can you understand anybody not wanting a lovable bairn like that? And…and isn’t it wonderful that she’s taken to us. Which reminds me, if I want to slip along there I’d better go and get changed.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I hate this business of going out on my own at night now. Once we’re made respectable we’re going to have a babysitter and a full-time daily help for you.’

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t want full-time daily help. Babysitter, yes, and someone for a few hours in the morning…’

  ‘When you become Mrs Bailey, Mrs N, you’re going to have someone to do the chores. I’m not going to have my wife taking in washing.’

  ‘Go on, get yourself away.’ She went to push him, but then said, ‘About the estate deal, has it come off?’

  ‘No, not yet. I’ll know tomorrow, but I think it’s nearly sure, and if it is, I’ve got ideas for the chaps. It’ll be a big thing and they’ve got to be in on it. They’re all good lads, and they work like hell—an’—be merry for me. I know they lose nothing by it, but if this estate business comes my way, I’m going to form a kind of…well board, something like that, and they’ll have a percentage of the profits at the end of the year. That’s for the eleven permanent ones. Of course I’ll have to take on a good few besides and you never know what you’re gettin’ these days: joiners who think a dovetail is something that comes out of a pigeon loft; and painters who’ve never used a brush, just one of those rollers. Boy, I’ve had ’em all. Well, here I go, off to see…our younger daughter.’ He gripped her chin between his large hands now and, shaking it, he said, ‘What with the six I’m going to give you, you’ll be the finest mother of the ten best bairns in the world.’

  The thrust she gave him sent him out laughing, and she stood looking towards the door through which he had passed. What on earth had she done before he came into her life? What? She couldn’t recall; she only knew that from the first sight of him her world had changed.

  Chapter Seven

  It was two days later when, at four o’clock in the afternoon he literally bounced into the kitchen, pulled her floured hands from a bowl and waltzed her round the room, singing, ‘There is a happy land far, far away.’ And then he cried, ‘And it’s not so far away the day, Mrs N,’ and he gave her a smacking kiss before drawing in a long breath and adding, ‘I’ve got it! And not only the estate but two superior dwellings for the gentlemen on the finance board.’ His voice had assumed a high and mighty air. ‘“We are very impressed with your work, Bailey.” But Sir Kingdom Come, as I call him, you know from Brookley Manor, you know what he said?’

  ‘No. What did he say, Sir Kingdom Come from Brookley Manor?’ She was smiling widely at him.

  ‘Well, he said, and in a very ordinary voice, “I’m glad you’ve got it, Mr Bailey. I’ve seen your work and I would have been surprised if they had given it to anyone else.” And he held out his hand to me and shook it hard…You know, there’s nowt as funny as folk, is there, dear? The old boy can trace his line back to when one of his ancestors put a chastity belt on his wife and went off to the Crusades. By, I’ve often thought those lasses must have had an awful time of it…Don’t choke.’ He thumped her on the back. ‘And Mr Ramshaw and Angus Riddle and Arthur Pilby, well, they all spoke highly too. But there was one exception, Brown. To my mind he’s the only fly in that financial company, a tsetse fly at that, poisonous individual, and compared to any of the others he’s got as much breeding as a runt sow in a pigsty.’

  ‘Oh! Bill…You are the crudest, rawest individual.’

  ‘Aye, yes, I know what I am, but you love me, don’t you?’ He was kissing her again. ‘And look at me! I’m all flour.’

  ‘Serve you right. Are you home for good?’

  ‘No, I just dropped in to tell you…no to see, ma’am’—he pulled his forelock—‘if it would be all right to bring half a dozen or so workmen around the night, the ones that have hankies and don’t spit.’

  ‘Bill!’ she protested, slapping him, the while still laughing, ‘don’t be vulgar.’

  ‘Well, it’s those that have been with me longest,’ he said. ‘I want to talk this thing out, tell them where they stand. Anyway, as I said, ma’am, with your leave.’ He again touched his forelock, and she said, ‘What for, tea, a meal or what?’

  ‘No, nothing like that, they’ll want to have a wash and brush up first. They’ll come about half-past seven or eight, and you, Mrs N, can put on your best bib and tucker; I don’t want to let them think I’ve been shootin’ me mouth off for nothing.’

  He kissed her yet again, and was making for the door, humming, ‘There is a happy land,’ when she stopped him by hissing, ‘About this happy land, when I can get a word in, you’ve got to be more careful with your translations. They did their marching bit down the path this morning to the car, singing it and in no small voice.’

  ‘They didn’t!’ There was a large grin on his face. ‘The lot?’

  ‘Yes, the lot.’

  ‘Well, if they say nothing worse than bum you won’t have any need to worry.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten about our neighbour but one.’

  ‘Oh, I hope she heard them.’ Then poking his head towards her, he said, ‘She saw me coming in, Lady Quinn, and if she’s still at the gate I’ll sing it to her.’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘I dare, Mrs N,’ and on this he banged the door. Quickly, she opened it again, and watched him walk down the path; then she drew in a breath of relief when she saw him getting straight into the car.

  They came in a bunch at a quarter to eight. Bill introduced them, seemingly in seniority of age: Barney McGuire, a sort of foreman, Harry Newton, Tommy Turnbull, Bert Tinsley, Bert Ormesby, Dave McRae, Jack Mowbray, Alec Finlay, Morris Fenwick, and Jos Wright. They all said either, ‘How d’you do, ma’am?’ or, ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  She had placed extra chairs around the dining-room table, and it looked like a boardroom. They filed in; an hour and ten minutes later they filed out again and into the sitting room where she had sandwiches and coffee and tea ready. She had, in a way, expected some quip from Bill about her not supplying any beer or hard stuff, but no, he did no
t make one joke about her but treated her with a dignity she found quite new to his character. He joked with the men, and they gave him as much as he sent. The chipping was mostly about the work, what he expected them to do and what they had decided not to do; but not once did he allude to her in any jocular way.

  She was pleased by his attitude, yet at the same time it constricted her conversation with his men.

  Five of them had come in their cars and had given the others a lift and, as it was a fine windless night, she walked with Bill down the pathway and onto the pavement, and there, they once again shook hands with her and thanked her for her hospitality. And as they got into their cars Bill chipped them about what would happen if they were late for work in the morning. This he emphasised loudly to three of them who had openly arranged to go to a certain pub and have a drink before it closed.

  She and Bill stood close together on the pavement and waited until the last car moved away; then arm in arm they went up the pathway and into the house. And in the sitting room once more he looked at her and said, ‘What d’you think about them as a bunch?’

  ‘They’re very nice fellows, and they think a lot of you.’

  ‘Aye, sometimes; but you should hear what they say behind me back. They’re going to tell me to go to blazes and as far beyond. I hear them and when I face them and say, “What now?” all they come back with is, “One of these days I’ll walk out.” I’d like a pound for every time Jack Mowbray has said that. And you know something? He did walk out once, but he was back the next week. I hadn’t got anybody in his place because I knew what would happen. “What’s brought you back?” I said. “I didn’t like the boss,” he said; “he had a bigger mouth than yours.”’