Love on the Dole (20 page)

Fuming, in defiance of Narkey’s threats, she prepared to wait for Larry.

INSISTENTLY a part of him, a most imperious part, insistently it clamoured for Sally. At one time its influence had been controllable; he could reason it out of countenance. But it had grown in strength; its potency had developed until, now, it would brook no argument; it
demanded
and stopped its ears to the lips of his brain. Like a cuckoo fledgling in the nest it crowded out of mind all thoughts than itself.

Bemused, he had walked past his favourite haunts, and it was only when twilight stole abroad that he paused, turned about and set his face homewards. ‘Oh,’ he kept saying, wearily, until the tedious repetition took meaning from his words: ‘Oh,’ appealingly, as though to some invisible, unbending arbiter: ‘Oh, if only there were a loophole, just a frail, unlikely possibility of getting out of Hanky Park … God, if only there was. … I wouldn’t hesitate…. I’d marry her tomorrow.’

Then the tormenting bitter knowledge of his helplessness receded. His worried facial expression relaxed, a load slipped from his heart as an alluring picture of Sal appeared to his mind’s eye.

Haunting eyes, dark, lustrous, full of mute appeal; pallid cheeks emphasized by the abundance of her raven hair. Oh, the shining brightness, the eternal summer of her presence. Inspiring, radiant Sal! At the very thought of her he could feel a genial warmth suffusing him.

‘I’d marry her tomorrow. … ‘ A malicious voice in his brain quoted his thoughts, adding, with a sardonic laugh: ‘Where’s the money to come from? Where’s the money, man? And what of all your high-falutin notions and great expectations? You, with your forty-five bob a week. Yah, and buying your furniture on the five year instalment plan.
You’d
marry! Ha, ha, ha!’

His brain contracted. He awoke to the fact that he was entering Hanky Park.

Thoughts! Ach, daft dreams. Harsh reality was about him. Wails of children coming from suffocating bedrooms; beshawled old women shuffling off into gloomy areas; alley cats, gaunt as famine slinking down mephitic back entries; a couple lovemaking in the clog shop doorway; he could hear the girl’s voice timidly protestant, the man’s hoarsely insistent: sounds of a domestic quarrel somewhere near; shrill accusations from the wife, loud denunciations from the husband; a scuffle and a crash of crockery in the street; screams followed by the sound of many hurrying feet of people rushing to witness the brawl.

To be away from it all; to have the heart’s desire. Someone to love, someone to caress when the brain was weary; to feel the soft, soothing, unresisting presence close to your own; to dissolve into exquisite oblivion for a precious moment and to be submerged in tranquil seas of deep forgetfulness. He heard his name called softly as he turned into North Street.

Sally was standing by Hulkington’s shop window. Involuntarily his heart leapt, a beaming smile grew on his face. He crossed the street and seated himself on the shop front’s wide wood sill.

Pale, heart fluttering, she sat next him. She sighed.

The few general remarks that passed between them were uttered self-consciously, as though each seemed conscious of the inward perturbation on the part of the other. Out of the tail of her eye she saw him grip the edge of the sill; her own hand, that holding the blossom, was scarcely an inch away; she experienced a tightening of the throat.

Conversation flagged. Then she remembered Harry’s story of Ned’s threats to Larry. She murmured, hesitantly: ‘You. … Our Harry was telling me what Narkey said to you today, Larry. He heard it all.’

Larry stared into the roadway: ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘But you aren’t afraid…. I mean…. You’ll take no notice of him, will you?’ she could not conceal her concern; she regarded him, anxiously.

He smiled: ‘Of course not. He was out of patience with himself.’

She curled her lip: ‘He’s a bad ‘un.’

‘Let’s not talk about him,’ he said.

Pause.

Her hand closed on his; he felt her shoulder touching him; something leapt within him, urgently responsive. The impulse to lean towards her was irresistible. He heard her murmuring, hesitantly: ‘Y’ won’t be vexed wi’ me if I tell you, will y’, Larry?’

He looked at her, wondering; her lustrous eyes, regarding him steadfastly, held him: ‘Vexed?’ he whispered, lost to all but the contemplation of her loveliness.

‘I followed you down canal bank tonight … ‘

A new expression grew on his face; he was filled with an extraordinary elation, a throbbing harmony; her eyes held him.

Colour tinged her cheeks; her lips parted slightly, she felt there was no air to breathe. Almost imperceptibly she inclined towards him, impelled by overwhelming emotions.

He could feel the quick sharp gusts of her breathing; her lips were almost touching his: his head drooped involuntarily, effortlessly and a wild, dizzying ebullience swept through him. His arm stole about her in a close embrace.

Then they regarded each other, fascinated, amazed, inarticulate. She whispered his name ardently, kissed him again and would have again, but for a couple of men, who, pausing at the street corner, stood conversing. She glared at them.

‘Let’s go round the back, Larry,’ she murmured.

His spirits contracted on the instant; the magic trickled away.

A back entry for a love bower! A three-foot wide passage, house backs and backyard walls crowding either side; stagnating puddles in the broken flagging; the sounds of the traffic of people’s visiting the stinking privies, and, hark, over the rooftops, the sound of a cracked voice singing shrilly. Mrs Dorbell’s, the old hag, who, when drunk, always chose the privy seat on which to sing the same song:

‘We’ll laugh and sing an’ we’ll drive away care;

Ah’ve enough for meself an’ a likkle bit t’ spare.

If a nice yeng man should ride my way

Oooow, Ah’ll make him as welcome as the flowers in May!’

He could imagine the expression of glassy-eyed vacuity on Mrs Dorbell’s face. His arm, round Sal’s waist, relaxed. He could feel the dulling sense of utter hopelessness creeping over him.

The voices of the two men at the street corner were audible; they were discussing horse racing.

Voices raised in altercation came from the Hawkins’s home. Helen and Harry made a sudden appearance and stood upon the doorstep in silence listening to the raucous oaths of her parents. Ned Narkey, with Kate Malloy following in his shadow, strode round the corner and made towards his lodgings without seeing Sally or Larry. Papers were blowing about the street making grating noises as they slid along the pavement.

As she felt the pressure of his arm relax Sally regarded him with curiosity: ‘Why, Larry,’ she murmured, apprehensively: ‘What’s the matter? What’s come over y’?’

He awoke to himself. He said, tonelessly, without looking at her: ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have kissed you, Sal…’ impatiently: ‘Oh, but what’s the use…’

She stared, interrupted: ‘But … ‘ she protested: ‘It was … ‘ with intense concern: ‘Oh, didn’t y’ mean it, Larry? … Didn’t y’ mean it?’ pained, she searched his face.

He didn’t answer straightaway, sat there staring at the pavement as again the miserable realization of his poverty crushed his heart. How frigidly inexorable it was.

‘If only there were a loophole; a frail, unlikely possibility of evading the consequences of poverty.’ Ach! how many times had he repeated that this evening? And how many times had he repeated: Forty-five bob a week: ten shillings rent, twenty-five shillings food, five shillings coal, gas and insurance; five bob left for clothes, recreation, little luxuries such as smokes and holidays. You gave a week of your life, every week, so that you might have a hovel for shelter, an insufficiency of food and five bob left over for to clothe yourself and the missis in shoddy. ‘Aye, and what of the other things?’ he asked himself. Books, music, brief holidays by seas that made the heart ache with their beauty, whose very memory sickened one with nostalgia of the soul. His brain refused further contemplation.

Helen was saying to Harry, in listless tones as both stared at the pavement, while, behind them, the brawl continued in the Hawkins’s kitchen: ‘Won’t y’ go home, Harry…. Ah hate y’ t’ be about when they’re carryin’ on like this,’ shooting an apologetic glance at him:’ ‘Tain’t my fault, y’know.’

He put his arm about her reassuringly: ‘Ne’er you mind, Helen,’ he said, stoutly: ‘You’ll be out o’ this here as soon as Ah get out o’ me time an’ find a job. Don’t you worry, now. We’ll be all right,’ as an afterthought: ‘An’ Ah’m not goin’ home till they’ve gone t’ bed,’ with suppressed passion: ‘Gor blimey, it doa-narf mek me wild t’ think y’ve got t’ go in there t’ sleep.’ She did not answer; put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Kate Malloy, staring up into Ned’s face as he stood, back to the door of his lodgings, thumbs thrust into his belt, Kate said, timidly: ‘Aw, Ned, don’t send me home yet. Ah didn’t mean what Ah said. Ah’ll wait till you’re ready t’ wed me.’

He smiled wryly: Thank y’,’ he said, sarcastically: ‘Aaach! Some o’ you judies mek me sick. Christ, if Ah’d married every bloody tart wot came t’ me wi’ your tale, Ah’d have a harem b’ now,’ staring at her: ‘Y’ll be all right. What the ‘ell a’y’ worryin’ about?’ hitching his belt and spitting: ‘Y’ ought t’ be glad Ah luked at y’.’

‘Oh, Ah am, Ned… Ah, am, really.’

‘Well, go on. Y’d better hoppit, now, Ah’m tired. Meet me outside o’ Duke o’ Gloucester tomorrer night.’ He turned about and lounged into his lodgings, closing the door on Kate. She stared at it awhile, then sighed heavily, and trudged off to her own lodgings, staring unblinkingly at the ground.

Larry turned to Sally; her eyes were full upon him. He saw the pale oval of her face, the graceful curve of her throat losing itself in the cheap material of her blouse; a glimpse of white teeth between slightly parted lips. The dew of youth was upon her, exuding fragrance. His eyes shone; he wanted to catch her in his arms; wanted to smother her with passionate kisses; wanted to feel her arms clinging about him. He made the shadow of a movement, then restrained himself.

‘No, no,’ cried an alarmed voice in his brain: another voice answered, recklessly: ‘Damn the money and damn the consequences.’

He made a great effort to control the confusion of his thoughts: he said, in naked tones: ‘Let’s not deceive one another any longer, Sal. We both want the same thing. But you know my ideas,’ bitterly: ‘Forty-five bob a week. What a wage to build a future on. And look at Marlowe’s: we none of us know when we’re going to finish. What can I offer you? What can I…’

Impatiently she brushed aside his words: ‘D’y’ love me?’ she asked, bluntly.

He stared at her: ‘Why d’y’ ask that, Sal, when you know.’

‘D’y’ love me?’ she insisted.

‘Yes…’

She rose, stood in front of him, regarding him with an earnest expression: Then let’s get married.’ He made as though to answer: she interrupted, eagerly, excitedly: ‘Ah’ll go out t’ work so’s we can have more money. Ah’ll … Ah’ll … Oh, Larry, Ah’d do
owt
for y’…’

He gazed at her, eyes kindling with deep affection: ‘I know you would, Sal. But … ‘ desperately: ‘Aw, blimey, what the devil can
we
do,’ an impatient wave of the hand towards the hovels of North Street: ‘It’s
this.
We can’t get away from it …’ passionately: ‘We’d go on and on but it’d get us. … It gets everybody. Aw …’

‘But y’ can’t have everything,’ she objected, wide-eyed.

‘We not only can’t, but
don’t,’
he answered, warmly; then wearily: ‘Oh, what’s the use of talking, Sal. … It’s. … It’s wanting decent things and knowing they’ll never be yours that hurts. Aw, but what am I talking about.’

She stared at him, mystified. She said, with a touch of impatience: ‘It aint where y’ live, it’s who y’ live with,’ warmly: ‘Besides, we’ll soon be old and best part of our life gone. An’ dreamin’ about things y’ can’t have don’t get y’ anywhere …’ persuasively: ‘Does it, Larry? Does it, now?’

He remained silent for a while, her words sinking deeply. He shook his head and sighed: ‘Sometimes I think it does, Sal. But you don’t know the misery of dreams. … Be glad they don’t plague you … ‘

‘Me…?’ she cried, wide-eyed: ‘Me …? Don’t know dreams?’ a bitterness tinged her tones of voice: ‘You don’t know. You don’t know what Ah dream about you an’ me. For ages, Larry.’ She seated herself next him on the sill, said, appealingly: There’s nowt for me to live for without you,’ with unexpected passion: ‘God, y’ don’t know what Ah’d do for you. … Get house an’ Ah’ll come an’ live wi’ you. Who wants t’ get married? Who cares what folk say?’

He was transfixed. Her earlier remarks still stuck in his throat.’… dreaming about things don’t get y’ anywhere.’ ‘We’ll be old soon and best part of our life gone.’ We’ll be old soon….
Soon!
But not yet! A sensation of sudden gladness warmed him. He still was young; so was Sally; gorgeously young! On this dunghill of Hanky Park a rose was blowing for him. It, like all else, would shed its bloom. Not yet, though! Its intoxicating fragrance filled his nostrils. Grasp it, grasp, before it is too late. The thought of its passing was sickening. She was offering something priceless; balm, solace, affection: ‘It ain’t where y’ live, it’s who y’ live with.’ Voices whispered seductively; alluring visions of a clean kitchen radiant with the presence of Sally, rose to his mind. Ineffable home-comings!