Love on the Dole (31 page)

Mrs Dorbell who was shuffling by, gulped and stared as she saw Sally count five of the notes and pass the remainder back to Sam with a rebuking glance: ‘Ah wouldn’t ha’ come to you if Ah could ha’ borrowed it from somebody else,’ she said, candidly: ‘An’ Ah’ll pay y’ back.’ Mrs Dorbell sniffed, passed on her way, lips tightly compressed.

‘Aw, Sal, what’s up wi’ y’? What have y’ got agen me?’ deprecatingly: ‘Ah don’t want y’ t’ pay me back. Ah’m on’y glad Ah can do y’ a good turn. Tek it. … Tek it all, an’ more if y’ want it.’ She did not answer, pressed the excess back to him: ‘Aw, go on, Sal. Tek it an’ don’t be daft.’ She pushed the notes into his breast pocket: he flushed at the contact of her hand, blinked. A sudden appreciation of her unspoilt youth stabbed his age and excess with keen reproach. She was maddening: ‘Gord, Sal,’ he muttered ardently: ‘Y’ve got me all wrong. Ah’m not tryin’ any tricks on wi’ y’ … ‘ with shamefaced hesitation: ‘Ah’d. … Ah’m. … Aw, Ah d like y’ for a pal, that’s all,’ persuasively: ‘Y’ must be sick o’ havin’ nowt t’ wear, an’ pinchin’ an’ scrapin’ week after week. … Blimey. An’ what y’ could have if y’ wanted. Anythin’, Sal. Anythin’ f’th’ askin’.’

She turned on her heel and walked away, Sam’s fixed gaze devouring her until she went into her home. Still he stared, a slow smile breaking on his lips, a sensation of expectancy, of imminent good fortune inflating his heart. Then he experienced an urgent desire to celebrate in anticipation, and, on an impulse, he got into his car and drove away.

The broker’s cart followed him out of the street

HARDCASTLE regarded his blushing son with growing severity as Harry, hesitatntly, concluded: ‘… so, y’ see, Dad, Ah’ll have t’ marry ‘Elen. An’ Ah thought, like, that we could come’n live here an’ get a bed in back room wi’ Sal … until Ah get a job, like…’ he licked his lips and stared at his father.

His mother’s fingers played with the hem of her apron as though she was threading it with a bodkin; she stared at the floor.

Hardcastle’s shoulders shrugged convulsively; he regarded Harry scornfully: ‘Huh!’ he said: ‘A pretty pickle y’ve got y’self in, y’ bloody fool,’ a pause; he added:
‘You,
gettin’ married. Huh! Who the devil d’y’ think’s gonna keep y’, eh?’

‘Ah thought, like …’ Harry mumbled, averting his gaze.

‘Y’
thought!
Yah, y’ damn fool, don’t y’ think there’s enough trouble here wi’out you bringin’ more?’ emphatically: ‘Well, no slut like that’s gonna come t’ live here, d’y’ hear … ‘

Harry glared at his father: ‘Hey,’ he said, warmly: ‘Ah’m not havin’ you callin’ her a slut, d’y’ hear? You leave her name out o’ it.’ He clenched his fists.

Hardcastle half rose: ‘Are y’ threatenin’
me?’
he demanded.

‘Aye, Ah am, if y’ call her names. … Ah’m askin’
you.
for nowt. Ah’m not th’ on’y one out o’ work i’ this house, remember. Yah, y’ treat me like as though Ah was a kid, just-a- cause Ah’ve got nowt an’ Ah’m out o’ work. … Y’ didn’t talk like this when Ah was sharin’ me winnin’s wi’ y’, did y’? Chee! Once let me get hold o’ some money agen an’ Ah’ll ne’er part wi’ a brown (penny). Ah’m supposed to be a man, Ah am

Well, luk at met’ he held out his hands, tears shone in his eyes.

‘Y’ bringin’ no wife here, d’y’ understand?’ cried his father: ‘Y’ve made y’r own bed wi’ y’ fornicatin’; y’ mun lie on it. Go’n stay wi’
her
folk, the lowlive lot that they are…’

‘Stop it!’ cried Harry, his voice rising, shrilly: ‘Stop it!’ then, with passion: ‘Ah don’t
want
t’ live here. D’y’ hear. Ah wouldn’t live wi’
you
if Ah got chance. Y’ can g’ t’ ‘ell. Ah’m leavin’ here….’ He turned about and was gone, not hearing his mother who called his name plaintively.

He stepped into the street and slammed the door after him with such force as rattled the windows. Hands in pockets, burning gaze fixed on the pavement, breathing short and sharp, he stamped up the street to join Helen, waiting for him at the comer. She came forward to meet him, an apprehensive stare in her eyes: ‘What did he say, Harry? Will he …?’

‘No,’ answered Harry, savagely: ‘An’ Ah’ve left home,’ averting his gaze. ‘Ach, allus he could say was that we was damn fools an’ we’d made our beds. … Oh, y’know th’old tale,’ staring at her and raising his brows: ‘Said
he
couldn’t keep us.
Him,
mind y’! Him wot’s livin’ on our Sal,’ with a gesture of desperation: ‘Aw, carm on, who wants t’ live there, anyway? It’ll be a long while afore he sees
me
agen.’

She fell into step by his side, her troubled eyes searching his profile. ‘But who’ll tek us in, Harry?’ she asked, in a frightened whisper: ‘We’ve got nowt on’y what Ah’m earnin’. … An’ Ah’ll be confined soon. You’re knocked off dole, an’ there’s no room at our house,’ pause: fear grew on her face: she repeated, in tones, which, to his guilty ears, seemed to grow from a whisper to disturbing loudness: ‘What’ll become of us? Oh, if only Ah’d known this was gonna happen….’ He glanced about him, red in the face. He turned to her: ‘Aw, Helen, quiet down, will y’? Y’ll have everybody lukkin’ at us …’ persuasively: ‘You leave it to me. Everythin’ll be all right. Ah’ll find a place for us, somewhere. Ah’ll…’ passionately: ‘Ah’ll join th’ army, afore Ah’ll be beat. Gor blimey, if Ah won’t.’

Either she did not hear him or her mild hysteria refused to be pacified. She kept mumbling to herself in whimpering tones while Harry continued, warming to the optimistic side of the picture: ‘… Besides, when we’re married they’ll be bound t’ give us money at workhouse… . An’ Ah’ll stand a better chance o’ gettin’ a job wi’ bein’ married. They’re givin’ married ‘uns a chance before t’others wherever y’ go. … Single blokes don’t get a smell in,’ eagerly: ‘Don’t y’ see, Helen? Why, Ah bet Ah’m workin’ in next t’ no time. … You see. An’ by time y’ finish work t’day Ah’ll have found a place for us. Ah will, really. Ah’ll come an’ meet y’ tonight at mill,’ he placed his arm about her shoulder and said, in soothing tones: ‘You don’t fret y’self, Helen. Ah’m glad as it’s happened way it has. We’ll be together, anyway, an’ that’s what Ah’ve allus wanted,’ ardently, vehemently: ‘Oh, once let me get a job an’ Ah’ll show y’. You’ll go short o’ nowt, s’elp me!’

Gradually, her perturbation subsided: she mumbled: ‘If only y’
could
get a job, Harry. Ah wouldn’t care nowt for nobody.’

‘Oh, it’ll come, you see if it won’t,’ warmly: ‘Y’ ne’er know what’s in store for us. … Why, just imagine it, Helen, Ah’ve on’y t’ get a job an’ …’ awed: ‘Blimey! A job!’ The immense consequences that hinged on the possibility amazed him, made him forget everything but itself; for a moment he was staggered by its full significance. She, too, was similarly affected.

They walked along. a shabby, insignificant couple, contributing the negligible quantities of their presence to the hurly-burly of the main thoroughfare; two young people, too preoccupied, too full of their own immediate woes and hopes of relief to suspect like emotions in the hearts of the other passers-by.

They paused outside the workhouse and stared at each other with expressions of shamefaced self-consciousness. Helen withdrew a ten shilling note from her pocket, limp with the perspiration of the hand that had been clutching it. She offered it to Harry: ‘Here it is, Harry,’ she said: ‘Ah borrowed it from a girl at mill. She says we can pay her back when y’ get work.’

He took it, slipped it into his waistcoat pocket, then, coughing nervously, licking his lips and running a finger round his loose neckcloth, blinked at her and said: ‘Come on, ‘Elen. Let’s get it over with.’ He led the way, she following as he, blushing

Love on the Dole
hotly, walked up the steps of the entrance to a door marked:

REGISTRAR’S OFFICE EAST DISTRICT

2

Mrs Dorbell, her threadbare shawl wrapped about her head and skeletonic shoulders, shuffled into North Street muttering aloud to herself. Her concealed hands held, in the one, her purse and doorkey; the other, under her chin, clutched a handful of the shawl’s folds pulling the covering as tight as a bandage about her face. Now and again the nostrils of her hook nose gave an upward jump as she sniffed, lusciously. Coming to a standstill outside the open door of Mrs Nattle’s home, she muttered, concluding her remarks with: They wanted enough for their money, an’ me wot’s a pore widder ‘ooman wi’ nobody at back of her. But Ah’m all there, Ah am. Nobody’s gunna get best o’ me.’ She stared at the door-knob for a moment and added: ‘Ah don’t see why Ah shouldn’t.’ She bowed, as it were, slightly, to the open door, and, keeping her heavy-lidded gaze fixed upon the chipped black door-knob, asked …

Mrs Nattle within, pricked her ears as she heard the shuffling footsteps cease outside the door. She quickly drained the glass which lay on the breakfast-littered table, then concealed both glass and bottle beneath her trailing skirts. Afterwards she composed her hands across her stomach, assumed an innocent expression, and waited, a seemingly unconscionable time for the familiar voice which asked: ‘A’ y’ in, missis?’

In response to the invitation, Mrs Dorbell entered: ‘Ah’ve just bin,’ she began: ‘Ah’ve just bin t’ draw me owld age. Ah’ll sit me down for a minnit if y’ don’t mind.’ She did, and it was with a long-drawn groan which employed every vowel in the language: ‘Aeiou! Ah’m none so well this mornin’.’

Mrs Nattle sympathized with a glance and with many shakes of the head: ‘P’raps,’ she suggested: ‘P’raps a likkle nip’d do y’ good.’

Mrs Dorbell produced her purse, laid the new ten shilling

note, her old age pension, upon the table, and said: Three penn’orth, Sair Ann.’

The bottle and glass appeared; the drink was carefully dispensed. Mrs Nattle passed the glass to her friend, picked up the ten shilling note, and, nursing the bottle as she would have a baby, took it with her so that Mrs Dorbell might not be led into temptation, saying, as she passed through the doorway to the room at the back: ‘Ah’ll have t’ get y’ change, Nancy.’

An intense silence fell on the house. Mrs Dorbell strained her hearing in the hope of learning the approximate hiding place where Mrs Nattle lodged ‘it’. Mrs Nattle, Mrs Dorbell knew, distrusted banks, and, in view of her multifarious business affairs, it was obvious that she must have a considerable sum in store somewhere in the house. The obsessing, oft-recurring vision in which Mrs Dorbell saw herself, one day, finding Mrs Nattle a lonely corpse in the house would have done justice to a rightful legatee. It intoxicated her to imagine coming across ‘it’ under such circumstances.

Mrs Nattle had her suspicions though. And this accounted for the fact of her precaution, every old age pension day, of having handy, on top of the chest of drawers in the room at the back, an amount of silver and copper in anticipation of the demand for change. Thus, she, entering the back room, could stuff the treasury note in a jug, noiselessly pick up nine shillings and ninepence change, then stand there awhile, bottle in arm, listening to Mrs Dorbell’s listening, and congratulating herself on the confusion and disappointment she knew her silence was causing Nancy.

Sounds of the ‘clop-clop’ of clogs, the blending of voices in the street induced a succession of coughs in Mrs Nattle. She shuffled her feet as though returning from some farther removed corner then returned to the front room: ‘Nine and ninepence change, Nancy,’ she said, handing the money over. In reference to the approaching footsteps: ‘Sounds like Mrs Bull and Mrs Jike.’ Nevertheless, although she guessed the identity of her prospective visitors, she hid the bottle beneath her skirts, composed her hands in the customary place, excusing her caution with: ‘Pays t’ be careful, Nance, when y’ ain’t got a spirit licence. Put y’ glass away, lass, y’ ne’er know who’s sneakin’ round. Dammum!’

‘Ah’m comin’ in,’ said the voice of Mrs Bull from the door. She entered, stared at Mrs Nattle and Mrs Dorbell grunting a greeting. Mrs Jike, smiling and wearing her husband’s cap, followed: ‘Hallo, Mrs Nakkle,’ she said, brightly, then turned to Mrs Dorbell: ‘Ah,
you’re
there, too, Mrs Dorbell. How’s y’ pore old cough, love?’ She fumbled in her placket and withdrew her snuff-box, first proffering it to her companions, then putting a pinch on the back of her hand and sniffing it, deeply. She seated herself next Mrs Dorbell on the sofa: ‘How’s y’ cough, love?’ she asked Mrs Dorbell once again.

‘As oosual,’ replied Mrs Dorbell with a melancholy glance: ‘It don’t do me no good, thank y’.’

Mrs Bull was about to say something when Mrs Dorbell interrupted her, saying, to the company in general: ‘Me spare room’s tuk, thank God,’ adding, after a slight pause: ‘Furnished,’ she sniffed and gazed at Queen Victoria’s picture on the wall.

Mrs Jike drew back open-mouthed, folded her arms, tightly, and, staring at Mrs Dorbell’s Punch-like profile, said, in tones of great surprise: ‘Y’ down’t siy! Well, did y’ ever, now!’

Mrs Bull chuckled: ‘Furnished,’ she scoffed: ‘Furnished! Wermin an’ all.’

Mrs Nattle, scenting the likelihood of a new ‘naybore’ who might find cause to wish to be ‘obligded’, regarded Mrs Dorbell with intense interest: ‘Oo is it?’ she asked: ‘Hanybody we know?’

‘It’s,’ answered Mrs Dorbell: ‘It’s ‘im as got that lass o’ Hawkinses into trouble. Hardcastle’s lad. His pa wouldn’t have him fetch a wife home him bein’ out o’ work. They bin married at registry office and she’s expectin’ soon … ‘ to Mrs Jike, as though in warning: That’s wot comes o’ sittin’ on Dawney’s Hill wi’ lads, an’ going’ away holidayin’ together. Ah’d like t’ see feller as’d get
me
sittin’ up there wi’ him.’ She pushed her shawl back and scratched her dirty hair.