Love on the Dole (13 page)

Sally, still smiling, relaxed in the chair and stared into space: ‘Ay, ma,’ she murmured, happily: ‘We had a grand time. Over mountains as high as y’ never saw. An’ he knows names of all the birds,’ turning round once again: ‘An’ he paid me fare! Oh, Ah was in a stew when Ah heard th’ others say fare was two shillings an’ me wi’ only tenpence in me purse,’ she blushed at the recollection: ‘Ah ne’er knew it’d be so much. But Ah think he knew how Ah was fixed, cos when Ah started t’ blush an’ stammer - y’ know how he smiles, ma? - well, he smiled like that an’ said he’d got tickets for both of us an’ that it was all right. Though he said it different,’ with restrained anxiety: ‘He wouldn’t ha’ done that if he hadn’t … didn’t …’

Mrs Hardcastle nodded: ‘It was tuk’ for granted when Ah was a lass that when a lad paid for y’ t’ places he meant sum-mat serious.’

Pause.

Sally stared into the fire: There was a girl in party that made herself free wi’ him. She was tryin’ t’ rile me, Ah know. But he tuk no notice of her much, an’ he kept wi’ me all while,’ sighing, heavily: ‘Oh, Ah love way he talks. An’ he’s so - so - nice. Ah ne’er enjoyed meself so much in all me life,’ brightly: ‘An’ he asked me would Ah go next time!’ fervently: ‘Ooo, Ah do hope Ah get some overtime in at mill. Ah want t’ get a rig out like rest o’ the girls. Ah felt proper out of it against them and their heavy boots an’ jerseys and short trousers.’

Mrs Hardcastle looked at Sally with dubiety: ‘D’ y’ think y’ father’d like y’ t’ be dressed like that, Sal?’ she murmured.

Sally frowned: ‘Aw, who cares what he thinks? Ah’ll buy ‘urn an Ah’ll wear ‘urn. Let him mind his own business.’ She folded her arms and glared at the fire. Then her expression relaxed as she pictured herself dressed in the manner desired. Every item would become her; the sweater would reveal the glorious femininity of her figure in such a way as would attract admiring glances. She would wear a vivid coloured bandeau to set off the blackness of her hair. Surely, Larry would be proud of her. She thrilled to see herself swinging along by his side.

Then, remembering the kind of people comprising yesterday’s company, she found that she was not so sure of herself. She felt herself to be greatly inferior to them all. It was as though they belonged to a different species. Somehow she identified them as people who could afford pianos and who could play them; people who lived in houses where there were baths. Their conversation, too, was incomprehensible. When the talk turned on music they referred to something called the ‘Halley’ where something happened by the names of ‘Baytoven’ and ‘Bark’ and other strange names. They spoke politics, arguing hotly about somebody named Marks. Yes, they were of a class apart, to whom the mention of a paw shop, she supposed, would be incomprehensible. Suppose they saw her home; her bedroom! She blushed, ashamed.

Yet, why need she be ashamed? She pouted. Suppose they saw Larry’s home? His was no different from her own; it was in the same street, anyway. And, from the respect his opinions had been paid by those who had listened, she had concluded that, of them all,
he
was the superior.

Besides, since he was in no hurry to disavow her on account of her home life, why need she worry about what others might think about it? She almost became indignant with herself for entertaining such thoughts.

Her mother said, with fervour: ‘Ay, lass. Ah’d be glad if y’ could sekkle down wi’ a young man like him. There’s so many o’ the wrong sort knockin’ about these days.’

‘Chance is a fine thing,’ Sally murmured.

Her mother looked at her with sudden interest: ‘Ah say, Sal,’ she said: ‘Let’s go across t’ Mrs Jike’s. She’s a rare ‘un for tellin’ y’ fortune.’

Sally shrugged: ‘Oh, that kind o’ thing’s daft,’ she replied, in tones that lacked conviction. She felt a sudden fear, a quick distrust, an apprehensive foreboding. This present happiness, she thought, was too fragile a thing to be trifled with. Yet curiosity grew, tempted her, became irresistible.

‘It ain’t daft at all,’ said her mother: ‘Ma Jike tells fortunes true. Come on, let’s go across to her house.’ She straightened her apron and went to the front door. Sally hesitated for the millionth part of a second, then she followed.

2

As Mrs Hardcastle raised her hand to knock upon Mrs Jike’s front door Sally arrested the movement; there was a suggestion of relief in her voice as she said: There’s no light in house, ma. She must be out. Aw, come on, let’s go back home.’

Mrs Hardcastle shook her off then raised a finger to her lips: ‘Husht! Her’s in.’ There came sounds of Mrs Jike’s voice speaking within. ‘Her’s holding a circle t’night, lass,’ explained Mrs Hardcastle, ‘that’s why light’s out. If we knock we’ll scare spirits away then Ma Jike’ll be riled.’

Sitting round a light bamboo table in the pitch dark kitchen were tiny Mrs Jike, withered Mrs Dorbell and stout Mrs Bull. The tips of their fingers rested upon the table top, feet, save Mrs Jike’s, were firmly planted on the floor, Mrs Jike’s feet rested upon a stool, this elevating her knees to within an inch of the table’s underpart. A necessity if communication was to be had with the spirits who conversed through questions and in negatives and affirmatives only. A double knock signified a negative, a treble, an affirmative. Mrs Jike, being the medium through which questions were answered, permitted her knees to supply the necessary motive power.

Addressing the shades, she said: ‘Is the spirets present here tonight? Answer three for “yes” and two for “no”.’ She saw nothing contradictory in the capacity of the ‘spirets’ to be able to say, in effect, by a double knock: ‘Yes, we are not present tonight.’

However, her knee bobbed three times, and three times the table legs bumped upon the floor.

Outside, Mrs Hardcastle said: ‘Ay, Ah wisht we’d ha’ come sooner. We could ha’ joined in circle.’

‘Has anybody,’ asked Mrs Jike, in businesslike tones: ‘Has anybody got anything to ask the spirets about?’ She pronounced the word ‘spirits’ in her peculiar way out of a belief that the pronunciation constituted good manners, which, of course, was essential when presuming to address the departed. One never knew to whom one might be speaking.

‘Ya,’ said Mrs Dorbell, ‘Mrs Nakkle’s got a ticket in Irish Sweep an’ her wants me t’ go shares. Ask spirits if Ah do will ticket draw horse.’

Having read in the newspaper that the odds to anyone’s ticket drawing a horse were millions to one against, Mrs Jike concluded that there could only be one answer. The table bumped twice,

‘Right. An’ thank y’,’ said Mrs Dorbell: ‘Her can keep her owld ticket. Ah want none of it.’

‘Hush, Mrs Dorbell, hush,’ chided Mrs Jike: ‘Spirets don’t like too much talking. Any more questions?’

‘Ask if Jack Tuttle’s there,’ suggested Mrs Bull.

Knowing that Mrs Bull had laid out Jack Tuttle only a fortnight ago, and consequently, since he was dead and buried there could be no contradiction as to his whereabouts, Mrs Jike caused the table to bump three times.

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Bull: ‘Y’ there, Jack, lad, a’ y’?’ In the darkness, her companions could not see the roguish twinkle in her eyes: ‘Well, hark t’ me. When Ah laid thee out, lad, Ah found half-crown i’ th’ pocket an’ Ah wus hard up so Ah tuk it. Ah knew tha wouldna need it where tha’s gone, an’ Ah’m on’y tellin’ y’ this so’s y’d not think Ah’d pinched it How d’y’ find things where tha art. Jack? Is it owt like that tha thowt it’d be?’

Three bumps.

‘Eh, lad,’ continued Mrs Bull, hardly able to suppress her smiles as she gazed at Mrs Jike in the gloom: ‘Eh, lad, God forgie me for sayin’ it, but it tuk thee a long time t’ go. For ‘ears an’ ‘ears Ah was expectin’ y’ goin’ every day.’

‘Ask questions, Mrs Bull,’ interrupted Mrs Jike: ‘The spirets don’t like y’ to be too familiar.’

Mrs Dorbell, whose interest in the seance had flagged now that she had learned what she wished to know, saw Mrs Hardcastle and Sally through the window. She said: There’s somebody at door, Mrs Jike.’

‘Now - !’ said Mrs Jike, with simulated annoyance: ‘Now y’ve done it. They’ve gorn.’ She rose and went to the door. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Mrs Hardcastle. An’ Sally, too! Well, I never. Come in. Half a mo’. I’ll mike a light in back room. There’s a fire there and it’s more comfortable.’

Sally and her mother entered. Mrs Hardcastle closed the door and said: ‘We heard y’ havin’ circle, so we waited till y’ was done.’ She added, as the gas popped in the other room, revealing faces: ‘How are y’, Mrs Bull? How d’y’ do, Mrs Dorbell?’

Mrs Dorbell complained of her cough. Mrs Bull, winking at Sally, said: ‘Ah just come t’ ease me conscience, Mrs ‘Ardcastle,’ to Sally: ‘What’s brought you here, lass? Come t’ ‘ave y’ fortune told?’

‘Cards or tea leaves?’ piped Mrs Jike from the other room. There followed the hollow sound of a marble rolling around the kettle as Mrs Jike lifted the receptacle to see whether or no there was water in it. ‘Kekkle’s empty,’ she said: ‘Ik’ll have t’ be cards. Will y’ all come in here, now?’

Sally said, in answer to Mrs Bull: ‘Ah don’t know why Ah’ve come, Mrs Bull, cos Ah don’t believe in it.’

‘Who does?’ Mrs Bull chuckled: ‘It’s a bit o’ fun an’ it costs nowt.’

‘Anyway,’ said Mrs Dorbell, blowing her moist nose lusciously, on her filthy apron: ‘Anyway, Ah’d ha’ bought share o’ ticket if spirits had said it was gonna draw horse, fun or no fun. Eee! Fancy me winnin’ thirty thousan’ quid! Ah’d buy meself a fur coat an’…’

‘Aye,’ Mrs Bull grunted, quite unable to visualize the possibility: ‘Aye, an’ Ah’d be layin’ y’ out in a month, drunk t’ death, fur coat an’ all.’

‘Ah’d risk it, too,’ sniffed Mrs Dorbell: ‘Ah’d have a good once, anyway I’

They all went into the back room where, sitting on the table,

Mrs Jike was shuffling a pack of greasy cards: ‘Cut ‘um,’ she said, to Sally: Three times, dearie.’

And, whilst Sally obeyed, Mrs Jike remembered that Ned Narkey had little chance of winning Sally’s affections; that there was more likelihood of Larry Meath’s success in this direction, and, finally, she did not overlook the fact that rumour had it that Sam Grundy had his eye on Sally. In a word she concluded that Sally was a most fruitful and interesting subject on which to practise her clairvoyance.

Half-heartedly, Sally turned up the ten of spades, the king of diamonds and the knave of hearts. Her mother watched with eager interest, Mrs Dorbell gazed stolidly, Mrs Bull rubbed her nose.

‘Strike me pink!’ cried Mrs Jike: ‘Look at that!’ She picked up the king of diamonds: ‘Money! Lots of money!’

‘In t’ bank,’ chuckled Mrs Bull.

Mrs Jike ignored her, looking at the card beneath which was the deuce of diamonds: ‘And in a two,’ she added. To Mrs Hardcastle: ‘Might be two weeks or two months, or two years. But there’s money, and plenty of it.’

Mrs Hardcastle sighed: ‘Ah
do
hope it comes true,’ she said, fervently.

‘Y’d be daft if y’ didn’t,’ Mrs Bull grunted.

Mrs Jike was shaking her head. She had picked up the ten of spades and was reminded by it of Ned Narkey. She put her mouth to one side and said, to Sally: ‘I down’t like this here. D’y’ know a tall, dark man?’

Sally frowned. The silliness of all this rigmarole was becoming unbearable. She shook her head: Think hard, lass,’ her mother urged: Think hard,’ she gazed at her daughter, anxiously.

‘Whether y’know one or y’ down’t,’ said Mrs Jike: ‘Cards siy there
is
one. He ain’t y’ colourin’. So be on y’ guard. He means dinejer.’

‘Tall or short, fair or dark, they’re all same if they ain’t got no money,’ said Mrs Bull, chuckling, irreverently.

‘Will y’ hush, Mrs Bull, will y’ hush,’ protested Mrs Jike plaintively.

She picked up the last cut, the knave of hearts: ‘Ah,’ she said, with relish:
‘Here
he is!’

Sally found herself gazing at her mother. Her expression of concentrated undivided attention was sickening. She remembered a time when this kind of thing would have affected her as it now was affecting her mother. She shrank from the thought of what she imagined Larry would think were he to learn of her having been a party to such triviality. She hated herself, flushed hotly. Eyes sparkling, she surprised her mother and Mrs Jike by flaring out with ‘Aw, Ah’m sorry Ah came. This is all daft, this is, an’ Ah’m going.’

‘Well!’ gasped Mrs Jike, as Sally left: ‘Well! she gasped, the cards falling from her hand: ‘Well! Now - did - y’ - ever!’

‘Eh, Ah’m sorry for what she’s done, Mrs Jike,’ mumbled Mrs Hardcastle, apologetically: ‘She’s a strange, wayward lass, is Sal. An’ just when y’ was gonna tell her summat about
him,
too!’

Mrs Jike looked hurt and disappointed, a fact noticed by Mrs Dorbell who said, ‘Ne’er heed, Mrs Jike, y’ can tell us mine.’

Mrs Bull rose to go; she paused by the door gathering her shawl about her, and glancing at Mrs Dorbell’s bent-backed, withered, shawl-shrouded frame, said: ‘Ah can tell it, lass, an’ Ah’m no fortune teller. Tha’ll keep on drawin’ thy owld age pension and then tha’ll dee. Ah’ll lay thee out an’ parish’ll bury y’.’ She waddled away, chuckling.

Mrs Jike reshuffled the cards.

MRS NATTLE, pushing a dilapidated bassinette down North Street stopped by the door of No. 35. The soiled card suspended in the window by a piece of dirty string said: