Ripped (16 page)

'Most
people
will
do
what
you
tell
them,'
Irene
Wilson
said.

'And
not
just
because
you're
rich.
They
can
see
you
expect
to
have your
own
way.'
Taking
him
by
surprise,
she
laughed.

'What
is
it?'

'When
I
said
that,
you
put
your
head
on
one
side.
You
were
like
a
cat
having
his
ears
rubbed.'

'You
rub
and
I'll
purr,'
he
said;
but
could
not
resist
adding,
'I'm the
same
man
I've
always
been.
I've
never
changed.'

'J
ust
after
I
met
Malcolm,'
she
said,
'we'd
just
got
married,
and
he
brought
me
here
from
London.
You
were
almost
the
first
person
I
saw
on
the
local
television.
You
were
talking
about
your
childhood
in
Moirhill,
and
how
poor
you
had
been
.
'

'We
were
all
poor
then.'

'That's
right,'
she
said,
delighted.
'You
said
that
then.
I
remember.'
Her
voice
took
on
the
faintest
colouring
of
the
broad
drawling
accent
of
Moirhill,
which
he
knew
he
had
never
lost.
'We
were
all
poor
then,
but
we
were
happy.
There
was
a
great
sense
of
sharing.
I
think
that's
what
the
young
people
have
lost.'

'I
say
more
than
my
prayers,'
he
said,
not
hiding
his
pleasure.
'But
if
you
ask
me
my
philosophy,
I'll
tell
you
-
make
time
for
people.
I'll
pass
the
time
with
a
brickie's
labourer,
if
I
feel
like
it.
I
can
tell
what
foot
a
man
kicks
with
–
what
religion
he
is,
understand? –Just
by
looking
at
him
.
It's
a
kind
of
instinct.
Crack
a
joke
.
I
can
tell
a
Paddy
before
he
opens
his
mouth.
And
I
talk
to
them
the
way
I
talk
to
you.
They
respect
me
for
it.
I
can
get
on
with
the
highest
and
the
lowest
–
that's
good
business
–
and
it's
not
bad
Christianity
either.'

'It's
odd,'
she
said.
'You
remind
me
of
a
man
I
knew –
oh,
years
ago.'

He
stood
up,
very
easily
for
a
man
of
his
age
considering
that the
chair
was
low
and
well
cushioned;
but
then
he
had
had
the
foresight
to
manoeuvre
himself
to
the
edge
first.
Things
were
going
well.
She
would
not
be
the
first
wife
of
an
ambitious
man
who,
while
the
driver
Denny
read
his
paper
somewhere,
had
obliged
him.
Only,
with
changing
places
to
sit
beside
her
on
the
couch,
he
found
himself
looking
at
the
chair
he
had
been
in
and
the
little
bookcase
beside
it
and
the
window
behind.
Side
by
side
on
the
three
cushions,
facing
the
same
view,
they
might
have
been
a
couple
sitting
together
on
one
of
those
long
seats
just
by
the
entrance
when
you
got
on
to
one
of
the
old
tramcars.
The
idea
distracted
him,
but
he
could
not
share
it;
even
if
she
had
belonged
to
the
city,
she
was
too
young
ever
to
have
seen
the
high
trams
sway
and
rattle
through
its
streets.
With
an
effort,
he
reminded
himself
of
what
she
had
said.

'I
hope
you
liked
him.'

When
she
laughed,
the
little
muscles
moved
in
her
throat.
Something
sharper,
less
willed,
less
under
his
control
,
added
itself
to
his
usual
anticipation.
His
mouth
dried
.

'He
was
a
businessman
too.
I
thought
he
was
rich,
but
living
in a
village
what
did
I
know?
Once
we
were
in
London,
the
money
soon
went.
“
Rich
one
day,
poor
the
next,”
my
sister
told
me
later
he'd
left
debts
everywhere
round
the
village.
He'd
have
been
bankrupt
if
he
hadn't
run
off
with
me.
Or
they'd
have
put
him
in
jail.'

'Your
sister?'
He
was
surprised.
For
some
reason,
he
had
taken it
for
granted
that
she
was
someone
alone,
without
ties
from
the
past.

'That
was
years
later,'
she
said
casually.
'I
didn't
see
her
for years
after
I
had
run
off.'
'What
age
were
you
then?'

'Sixteen.
I
was
sweet
sixteen.' Had
she
been
drinking?
She
seemed
different
from
the
woman
he
had
met
on
Saturday
night
at
his
party.
He
had
known
wives
who
drank
to
pass
the
endless
boredom
of
afternoons.