Bill Bailey's Lot Read online

  He was again pushing the paperweight around in circles. He had been in a few tight corners, business-wise, in his time but none so tight as this one. There was a time limit in getting these two houses finished and somebody…Brown in fact knew what time limits meant and he was aiming to diminish his work force. And each of his men in his own way was an expert and worth three of any casual labour he might have to take on.

  Then there was the thought that when this job was finished he’d be out on his beam ends if he didn’t get that contract. And the more he knew about those who were in for it the more he saw it receding from him. He had heard that although Sir Charles Kingdom was out of hospital now he was still not a well man, so there was little hope of coming across him.

  He rose from the chair and took his coat from the peg on the wall of the cabin, thinking as he did so there were businesses dropping like flies around him. Well, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, and the first blow to be struck would be at Mr Brown.

  Nell said, ‘You look tired. What you want is a night out.’

  ‘Well, I should think that would make me more tired. What I think I really want is an early night in bed.’

  ‘We are of different opinions there.’ And Nell cast a naughty glance at Fiona, then said, ‘Get the big boy to take you out to dinner. And why you wanted to tack a new addition on to the squad I’ll never know.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Nell. I had no option.’

  ‘But he stood at the door there and argued he had to come today because tomorrow’s Confession and on his usual visiting day, Friday, he’s got to stay on at school for some special “do” those nuns are organising and only announced this morning.’

  Fiona sighed. ‘Oh, I know; but there he was, wanting to be contradicted. I don’t know what it is about him, he’s an uncouth, dirty…no, he’s not dirty, I will say that for him: however he’s been brought up, his father keeps him very tidily dressed; but there’s something about him.’

  ‘Yes, I know there is, but I’m not going to let it get at me.’

  ‘Oh, Nell Paget; there you were giving him the biggest piece of cake from the plate, filling his mug before it was empty. Oh, you’re a hypocrite. Anyway, you tell me to get out, how can I when you’re off tonight jitterbugging?’

  At this Nell put her head back and laughed, saying, ‘Oh, that’s funny. Can you see Bert jitterbugging?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can: Bert to my mind is a deep well.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, Fiona.’ Nell’s face was serious now. ‘I don’t want to find out anything more about him than I do now, because if I put my bucket down the well it might bring up something nasty.’

  ‘Not in Bert’s case. He’s a good nice man and…he’s attractive.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Nell. You more than think so, you’re positive of it. Has…well, has he spoken yet in any way?’

  ‘No…Mrs Bailey, he hasn’t spoken yet, but the minute he does you’ll be the first to know.’ She laughed now, saying quietly, ‘It’s odd you know, Fiona, but I feel like a daft girl, waiting you know, knowing what’s going to come and a bit frightened of it. Well, well’—her tone altered—‘I suppose I would be after what I’ve gone through, because, don’t forget, the late Mr Paget was also thought to be very charming. That sounded as if he was dead.’ She gave a little giggle now, then added, ‘I don’t wish him dead; no, I wish him a long, long, long life and a houseful of bairns. Oh yes I do, because then there won’t be any time for his wife to baby him, and he has been babied from birth. When we married, I simply took over from his mother. Ah well, it’s all over, and I’ll get away before the lord of the manor comes in, and also leave you to get rid of your guest.’ She laughed now as she added, ‘It’s amazing how Willie’s taken to him, isn’t it? And he apparently to Willie. They both go to different schools; you didn’t say how they met up.’

  ‘Apparently on the football field. Master Samuel was warned off, or carried off, or sent off, or some such and roused Willie’s admiration. They got on talking, as far as I can gather, and the next thing was that Mr Love junior was waiting for Willie coming out of school. He’s at the convent along Mitchell Road. He’s got to come some way from Bog’s End to there.’

  ‘He’s at the convent!’

  ‘Yes, he’s at the convent. And by all accounts, if you’ve got to believe him, all nuns are not angels.’

  ‘Oh, I can believe that. Well, as I said, I’ll be off. But there’s one thing you can say about this house, it’s never lost for entertainment.’

  She was going out of the door when Fiona said, ‘Let me know if it happens, won’t you?’

  ‘What happens?’

  ‘Oh, go on with you! Get out!’ As she pushed Nell out, then closed the door, she looked up as she heard the pounding feet crossing the landing, and she hadn’t reached the kitchen door before it burst open and Willie came in, followed by Sammy.

  ‘Ma, can Sammy come to my birthday party?’

  ‘Your birthday party? That’s weeks ahead.’

  ‘Only three. It’s the day after Easter Monday, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know, I know.’

  As Fiona spoke she wasn’t looking at her son but was returning the gaze of Samuel Love whose face had lost its wide expectancy and was now set, lips tight, the eyes unblinking. She heard herself say, ‘Why, yes of course, if Sammy would like to come.’

  ‘Oh, he’d like to come, wouldn’t you, Sammy?’

  It seemed that Sammy had difficulty in taking his gaze from his pal’s mother. And when he did, his answer was abrupt and to the point: ‘Aye,’ he said.

  ‘Oh well, that’s settled.’ Even as Fiona spoke she thought of Roland Featherstone who had been to tea with Mark just two nights ago and who spoke so beautifully; in fact, she was hoping that Mark would take a pattern from him. Not that her son did not speak well; but there was a difference between Roland’s accent and that of the members of her own family. And the difference had been emphasised when Katie ‘did him’, immediately he left the room to depart, and then infuriated Mark on his return from setting his friend off to the bus by greeting him with: ‘How d’you do? How d’you do, Mr Bailey?’ and turning to Fiona, had added, ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs Bailey.’ And when Mark had struck out at her, she had come back at him with her toe in his shins after she herself had remonstrated; and Katie’s last words were, ‘Well, he gets up my nose. He’s a cissy.’ And she had further had to restrain Mark from dashing after the figure that was disappearing up the stairs…

  It was about nine o’clock that evening when Fiona, taking yet another cup of coffee into the study, said, ‘Give over a minute. Sit back and leave that. Get your coffee and listen. You know Willie’s birthday is looming up? Well, the latest is he’s asked Sammy to come, and Mark has already asked Roland. Now imagine the party with those two, poles apart, present.’

  ‘It should be fun.’

  ‘What! With Willie ready to strike a blow for Sammy and Mark getting on his high horse if everybody doesn’t admire Roland.’

  ‘Well, if you want my opinion, Mrs B, if Master Roland doesn’t like the set-up, he can lump it.’

  ‘Oh, of course your sympathies lie with the poor downtrodden Sammy.’

  ‘Huh! There you’ve got it wrong. My sympathies might lie with him, but he’s no poor downtrodden Sammy. I’d like to bet he’s got more spunk and intelligence in his little finger than Master Roland’s got in his whole body. Although, mind, I like that lad. He’s a civil enough kid, except of course that he speaks a different language.’ He grinned at her now.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s evident he speaks a different language.’

  And leaning across the desk now, he poked his face at her, saying, ‘And you would like your sons to speak the same as him, wouldn’t you? Not common…like me and Sammy Love.’

  ‘Yes, you’re exactly right, exactly, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘If I come round there I’ll slap your lug f
or you. You’re nothin’ but a snob, you know that? I thought when I married you I’d knock it out of you, but I see I’ve still got a long way to go. You’re your mother’s daughter all right.’

  The satisfied smile slid from Fiona’s face and she muttered now, ‘Don’t say that, Bill. I mean, don’t see me as you see my mother.’

  He was round the desk and had his arms about her, saying, ‘My God, woman, don’t you know when I’m joking?’

  She swallowed, then said, ‘Yes; yes, I do; but oh, sometimes I get het up inside when I say something or do something and I tell myself that’s just like Mother. And I can’t help it but I don’t want to be like Mother in any way. She’s vicious and vindictive.’

  ‘Now, now; forget about her. Give us a kiss.’

  A moment later he pressed his head back from her, saying, ‘That wasn’t worth tuppence. Going cold on me, are you? Somebody else in your eye? Oh, I know: you’re jealous because Bert’s going to pop the question.’ He laughed; then went on, ‘I wonder if he’s done it?’ And Fiona had just answered, ‘She’ll phone me if he has,’ when there was a ring, but at the front door, and she expostulated, ‘Oh lord! Who’s that at this time?’

  ‘Likely she’s bringing him the front way all correct an’ proper.’

  ‘No, not her,’ she said as she turned to go and answer the door; but straight away he said, ‘Stay! It’s after nine; who do we get at this time of night?’

  When Bill opened the front door he saw whom they had got at this time of night. ‘Hello, boss,’ said Davey Love. ‘’Tis late, I know, but I’ve got a bit of news. I’ve just come across it, so it entered me mind that you might like to hear of it.’

  ‘Come in. Come in, Davey. Come through here.’

  ‘Evenin’, Mrs Bailey. It’s nice out; there’s a full moon the night. ’Tis a beautiful sight, a full moon. But it does disturb some folks, so I’m told, at least they used to say in Ireland. But then there’s some barmy ones over here an’ all. Oh aye; begod, yes.’

  ‘Is…is that so?’ Her reply was stilted; Mr Love’s conversation and even his greetings were different from the usual. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ she said.

  ‘I would that. Yes, I would that, Mrs Bailey, ma’am, if it’s no trouble. But that’s a daft thing to say; everything at night’s a trouble. But I accept your invitation, kindly given an’ kindly received.’

  Fiona made her way towards the kitchen, her head making small, perplexed movements.

  In the study Bill said, ‘Sit down, Davey. What’s this news you’ve got for me?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this, boss. I was in the Mucky Duck.’

  ‘The what?’ Bill screwed up his face.

  ‘Oh, that’s me name for it. It’s Kit Bradley’s pub. It’s called the Duck An’ Drake, because, apparently, they tell me, years gone, donkey’s years, there was a farm there where the pub stood, I mean stands the day.’

  Bill made a small sound in his throat, then said, ‘Aye…aye, I understand.’

  And Davey went on, ‘Well, I was doin’ me little bit behind the bar, just washin’ glasses you know—as I said, I’m not allowed to serve ’cos I would be thereby committin’ a felony against the dole, but washin’ glasses I’m only helpin’ out a friend. Y’see? Well, there I was helpin’ out a friend when this fella comes in. Now, I know every customer in that place as well as does Kit himself, an’ when strangers appear they stick out like sore thumbs, as did them two fellas I told you about who pinched the car…You’ve never heard any more about those, have you, boss?’

  ‘Davey, come to the point, will you?’

  ‘Oh, aye, that’s me: I start meanderin’ up a lane an’ find meself in the middle of the A1, an’ drivin’ on the wrong side. Well, I’ll come to the point, aye I will. This fella asks for a large whisky, and he gets it. An’ then he asks for another and he gets it. And I happen to go round the counter and pick some glasses up from an end table an’ Joe Honeysett, that’s the fella I know, he stops me and wags his head to the side an’ he says to me, “He’s out of the way, isn’t he?” And I said, “Who?” And he nods towards the newcomer an’, said he, “Brown, who used to be the big shot.” So, of course, boss, as soon as he mentioned the name I said, “Brown? Brown who used to be the builder?” an’, said he, “Aye. But he was never any builder, financier or somethin’, but never any builder. He provided the money like. But his wife got rid of him an’ he’s back in the town.” “D’you know where he lives now,” said I. “I only know one thing,” said Joe; “he doesn’t live round this quarter.”

  ‘So there I was, boss, behind the counter again sayin’ to Kit, “Can I have the loan of your jalopy for half an hour or so?” “What for?” said he. “I’ll tell you when I come back,” said I. And to that he said, “Well, take the jalopy, but drive it back in one piece. D’you understand?” Anyway, there I was sittin’ in Kit’s old banger that he takes more care of than he would a Volvo when this fella comes out and gets into his car. And it was no great shakes either. An’ so, as I trailed him, I felt like The Minder. And it was as Joe said, he didn’t live anywhere in Bog’s End, but in quite a nice part really, middle town. Seventy-two Drayburn Avenue, boss.’

  ‘Drayburn Avenue, eh? Well, not a bad part as you say. Thanks, Davey. Look—’ He put his hand into his back pocket and pulled out some loose change, four sovereigns amongst it, and when he handed them across the table to Davey, saying, ‘Get yourself a drink from this side of the counter,’ Davey Love rose to his feet and with a dignity that could have appeared comic at any other time, he said, ‘Thanks, boss, but I’m not after expecting to be paid for a service like that. Anythin’ I do for you outside workin’ hours is to repay you an’ your good missis for what you’re doin’ for me lad. Keepin’ him off the streets an’ showin’ him a different way of life.’

  For a moment Bill felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that the boy was only allowed into the house on sufferance. But in a way he could understand Fiona’s reaction to the child because Willie was talking and acting more like his new mate every day, and this perhaps had amused him at first, but deep down he wanted his lad, as he thought of him, to be different, better than himself, at least where speech was concerned, and so he was now less amused. But he wouldn’t for the world let Fiona know this. At the other end of the scale there was Mr Roland Featherstone. Now Fiona was more than willing to let her son copy Mr Roland Featherstone, oh yes. And wasn’t he himself pleased in a way that Mark would pass himself and be able to converse like young Roland Featherstone? Oh, to hell! What was he thinking? He had Brown’s number now and, by God, he’d have more than his number tomorrow when he saw him. Pocketing the coins again, he said, ‘No offence meant, Davey.’

  ‘None taken, boss, none taken. Well, I’ll have to be off. An’ now I’ve got the banger outside I’ll go an’ pick up that scallywag of mine from me ma’s.’

  He was making for the door when he turned and faced Bill again as if answering in protest some remark Bill had made: ‘I don’t let him run the streets when I’m at the pub, don’t think that. I push him along to me ma’s; that’s when she’s in ’cos she’s an old gadabout. But when I can, I make it worth her while to stay put. This is a very mercenary world, boss, we’re in. God, I’ll say it is! Although it’s Himself made it. Yet there’s times I have me doubts; and then I have to ask meself, if He didn’t who did?’

  ‘You’re right there, Davey, you’re right there. It is a very mercenary world.’

  ‘Oh aye, I’m right there; you can get nowhere without money. Money doesn’t only talk, it shouts, it bawls. By God, aye!’

  He had turned away but now he turned yet again, and, a hand clasping the knob of the study door, and his voice lower now, he said, ‘You’ll never know how grateful I am for me job. And I can promise you this, you’ll get more work out of me than you will out of a willin’ donkey.’

  ‘Aw, go on with you!’ Bill gave him a push, and they both entered the hall laughing.

  Bill opened
the front door and was feeling almost thankful to be about to say a final goodnight to his visitor when Davey, standing on the step and leaning towards him, said, ‘You know something, boss? I can tell you where I wouldn’t tell another soul, but I’ve made up me mind that I’m goin’ to Mass on Sunday. ’Tis years since I stepped foot in a church, but that’s where you’ll find me on Sunday, first Mass, an’ givin’ thanks to God for straightenin’ me life out for me, an bringin’ good friends into me son’s existence. For only God an’ His Holy Mother know that that kid wouldn’t have had a rougher time if he had been brought up in Siberia. ’Night, boss.’

  Bill did not reply. He watched the figure disappear down the garden path and through the gate; then he closed the door and stood with one hand pressed against it for a moment, his head bowed. And as he stood he stilled the desire to let out a bellow of a laugh because he knew if he had done another emotion might have welled up in him and contradicted his laughter.

  Fiona, coming out of the sitting room, said, ‘I thought you would be coming in for the coffee, but he’s gone. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing, love.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He’s found out where Brown lives.’

  ‘Oh, Bill, you won’t go and do anything silly?’

  ‘Nothing silly, love. The only weapon I’ll use is me mouth.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, love.’

  ‘There is. Something’s happened. Has he said something, something to upset you?’

  ‘No, no; nothing to upset me. I’ll tell you about it later, perhaps when we’re in bed and the light out and our heads under the clothes.’

  He bent forward, kissed her lightly on the lips, then made his way to the study.

  Life was strange.

  Chapter Five

  Bill did not visit Seventy-two, Drayburn Avenue until late the following afternoon, for as he saw it now Brown would surely be working and wouldn’t be at home until teatime. Yet this morning, when he arrived at the site, Arthur Taggart, the watchman, told him that Dandy, his dog, had been uneasy around one o’clock and when he let him go he had raced around barking his head off; he was sure the dog had disturbed someone on the site because when he reached the road he heard a car starting up, and there wasn’t another house for a couple of hundred yards along the lane; it was then Bill had wanted to dash round to Brown’s straight away and to confront him.