Our Time Is Gone (11 page)

When at length the tram came Maureen boarded it, and here the conductor looked twice at her who never gave anybody but a single glance. Maureen Kilkey was no adept at hiding her feelings. From time to time she whimpered into a handkerchief. By the time she had reached Adolphus Terrace she had quite lost sight of her mother. Mr. Slye pressed hard, he pressed and worried, and created dread. She daren't lose Dick. No matter what happened she couldn't lose him. He was the only man she really loved. She would do
anything
, anything rather than lose him. In this precise state of mind she reached Mr. Slye's cellar.

There sat Slye Esquire, just returned from Mr. Wayne's office. He sat with his hat on, his feet spread apart, his chin in his hands. He was worried.

‘Hello, darling,' Maureen said. ‘You see I came back on time, didn't I?'

He didn't answer her. Apart from worry, and not least the threatening danger, he hated her in that sort of mood. He hated her wheedling tone of voice.

‘Oh Christ! Don't be worrying me. See your mother?' He never looked at her at all.

‘Yes; she's terribly ill. I was——'

A staccato ‘dear me' cut off any further flow from Maureen.

‘I've got to get out, Maury, me old chick,' he announced, rose to his feet and caught her hand. ‘Come here, chuck,' he said, and pulled her towards him. She felt the hardness of his hand under her breast. ‘Are you ready to go?'

‘Darling,' she said, ‘I'm always ready,' and she clung to him.

‘That woman will be here any minute. The bitch who split. Yes. It was her.'

‘I don't care! Oh, Dick! Dick! You do love me, don't you?' she rubbed her face against his own. He smiled, showing one row of pearly false teeth.

‘Course, Maury, course! Now let's see,' and suddenly he was seated again, Maureen on his knee. ‘Let me see! I hate doing it, it's hard cash to me.' He looked at the stock in the corner. ‘Funny, isn't it? The ups and downs business has. Listen. There's somebody coming down now.'

‘Dick darling! You know how much I love you,' said Maureen. Sitting up she began to open the top part of her dress in order to rearrange it. The upthrusting breast that Slye Esquire saw had at this moment no more effect upon him than if he had been staring at a piece of granite. That was only her way. Because she loved him. But now he hated breasts. Hundreds of them stared at him from floors and table. Burn the lot. It was the only thing to do. Hard cash down the drain.

Hours and hours of enjoyment for people, wasted. Yes. Burn the lot and clear. But that was an effort. Suddenly the door opened and Mrs. Sloane came in. She was short, slight, with the face of a missionary and the eyes of a zealot, though for a missionary and zealot she was extraordinarily dirty. She had a country appearance, dressed in virgin black, with a black straw hat. The type whose passions have been held in by iron shields. She looked at the human composition on the chair!

‘Nice,' she said, ‘very nice,' and her eye travelled the whole length of Maureen's leg. Where on earth did the leg end?

Mr. Slye got up, pushed Maureen away, said: ‘Go on, child. Time for the kid.'

Maureen went out. In the next room she sat down and cried again. Somehow Slye and her mother had joined hands for this. She cried for both of them. She heard whisperings, later loud voices, angry shouts. She understood everything. She lay her head on the table and went on crying. She thought of Dermod.

‘The trouble with you,' said Mr. Slype, addressing the visitor, ‘is that your nose is too bloody long—your ears too small, and as for your tongue——' But here Mr. Slye flung one leg over the other. Apparently he had run out of adjectives. The tongue beggared description. He glared savagely at the woman.

‘I told you all along, didn't I? Didn't I say be careful? When you get them girls of the middle-class type you
have
to be careful, and as half of them aren't even capable of bearing what looks like a kid, it's the more trouble. They're a whiny lot, and so are you, you old bastard! You split on me! And I'm going to find out how before I leave! If I have to smash my connections here and run for it, I won't pay. By God, I won't. I never believed in that. I'll make somebody else pay.… D'you stand there and tell me you want the commissions on two operations which ought to have been taken on? Well, either
they've
split, or you. It's in the court now. I can't see how I can be kept out of it. They'll come here. Find valuable stock, stock that cost me money, stock that meant plans, struggling, ideas. Oh hell, everything! But it's just common muck to them. People who think humanity is composed of angels are potty. Daft! Loonies! I knew a magistrate who ran a brothel. A man who slept with his daughter. A child of ten who drew pictures you wouldn't believe—oh—well, anyhow, here's your rotten stinking money.'

He pulled a pile of silver from his pockets, counted out two pounds and flung it on the table. ‘There, get out before I count three or I'll take it back.'

‘There's only one pound nineteen here, Mr. Slye Esquire,' she said, and then she took the remaining shilling right out of Mr. Slye's hand. She pinched the hand hard. ‘What about Long-legs?' she asked, smiling.

‘Oh her! I dunno yet.'

‘Not tired yet?'

‘Not me.'

‘I often wondered why a man with a head full of ideas like you have didn't go in for something respectable.' She surveyed the room in a sweeping glance.

‘Rubbish! Banking's the only respectable business with money in it. Look here, Mrs. Sloane, you might think it queer, but look'—he dug his hand into his pocket again—‘There's another ten, and another thing, give me your address. Never know, do you! Friends must stick together, mustn't they?'

‘Taking Long-legs when you go?' she asked. She kept glancing at the door.

‘How do I know?'

‘She's a nice girl.'

‘They all are for that matter! I like them
all
, Mrs. Sloane. They're grand.'

‘Keeps you busy, though you have to watch your health, haven't you?'

‘Oh, by the way, Mrs. Sloane. I've got something here might interest you. Look.'

She watched him take a large folio from a drawer. When he opened it, she saw a series called: ‘The Stations of the Cross.'

‘Now I'll sell you that for just two quid. It's a money maker. Get the right people in the right mood, and you can clear a fiver, easy.'

‘They
are
bloody,' she said, noticing the enormous drops here and there.

‘They like it. They like to see blood! More blood, more luck. Like it?'

Mrs. Sloane hesitated. What was this? Palming her off with this and getting back his two quid. She hedged. She slammed the folio down.

‘The halos are all spoilt,' she said. ‘Got grease and stuff on them. And Saint John's head has a hole in it. I'm older than you, but me eyes are good, Slye Esquire. Give you a quid for the lot and that's that.'

Mr. Slye scratched his head. ‘Oh, all right. Give us your quid. Now here's a thing, Mrs. Sloane, I meant to show to you long ago. It's a poem on “Death on the Docks.” Mr. Doogle got rid of fifty for me. I'll sell you two gross for a quid.' He went to a large bottom drawer of the chest in the corner.

‘You'll sell me no “Death on the Docks.” My people hate poemy stuff. I'm going. See you again some time—
maybe
. Good day, Mr. Slye.'

Mr. Slye had hardly time to say good day. Mrs. Sloane had vanished. He then gave a kick on the wall with the heel of his boot. This meant: ‘You can come in now.' Maureen came back. He gave her one quick look. What was wrong with her?

‘Yes. What's got you? Crying there as though somebody had cut your head off.'

‘I wasn't crying.'

‘You were. Want no lies here. What's the matter, Maury, me chuck? Eh, Maury?'

He caught her by the shoulders, pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered: ‘I could tell soon as I woke up this morning that something was wrong. What is it?'

She turned and looked at him. ‘I don't know! Oh, Dick, I'm so happy—so happy.'

Laughing, he said: ‘I shouldn't worry about your mother. The old cock'll be all right. Believe me! But now about this kid. Tell me first, do you get money still from your husband?'

‘No!'

‘He stopped it?'

‘It never came! I didn't mind. It made me ashamed! He
was
good to me.'

‘There you go! There you go,' cried Mr. Slye. ‘Off on that thing again. You should have kept on getting money, and you should have given it to me. Maury, money's money. You can't live without it. That man would never have missed five shillings a week. Well! I'm a practical man. I'm leaving Gelton! Business is rotten. This war is a bloody nuisance. I've been trying to think of something new. The memory cards are the only certs now. Every morning somebody gets bad news. That's business, Maury. That's money. Mind you, I'm not worrying one little bit about their war. Whose war it is makes not the slightest difference to me. War's simply getting yourself killed for something you know nothing about. I know about my business. I have to live. We all have to. Some get killed. That's bad luck. I might get killed myself some day. Listen!'

He sat down on the horsehair sofa again, dragged her with him. He put a hand across her belly. ‘You've a kid coming.
My
kid. But two kids won't do. Take Dermod back and that settles everything.'

The woman did not speak. Take back her child. But she loved the child, she wanted the child. It was
her
child. Her first child too. No! She couldn't.

‘Righto! Please yourself. I'll please myself. So you say you love me, eh. But not like the jute factory though, eh! All right, you can get out and take the kid with you. I told you I'm worried. Worried to hell, for money. Now you winge over a kid. I'm leaving this house, to-morrow!'

She lay heavily on him. Didn't he understand? Didn't he? She had given up everything for him. Didn't he love her any more?

‘Oh hell!' he said. ‘This love business. I'm getting sick of it. Why will you be so bloody soft? The world's too hard for being soft, and only fools are soft. Don't you see what may happen in this court case?' Was she blind?

She did not say, she simply clung to him, loving him, afraid, wanting to cry again. Why should Dermod be in the way? He could go to school.

‘Doogle and I had a talk! We decided to get out of here. It's getting what I call too warm. Now look. To-morrow I want you to go off to Blacksea. When you get there engage a room. Any room. But engage one, and when you get it, plant yourself there. Wire me and I'll follow! It grieves me having to leave this stuff behind. Good money down the drain.'

‘Dick! Darling.' Don't you ever think you could live some other way than this. I mean do some other work, you know. This kind of work you see everybody doing. Besides …'

‘Besides what? You're crazy. Look here. You're what I call under the weather. You've been crying half the morning. I know why. I'm not blind. But I told you the old cock'll get better. Nothing to worry about. If you love me you've got to help me, work
with
me. See! Instead of which you simply lie on me whimpering, and asking me if I love you, and showing me your breasts. Maury! I know! I know! You're afraid. You think I'll clear out on you. Nonsense! We go through life together. Through thick and thin. Eh, chucks? Now go and make me a nice cup of tea. We'll say no more for the moment. But for Christ's sake shut crying! Then I'll like you all the more. Gimme a kiss.'

There! That was settled. Everything fine. Nothing to do now but make plans and make them over a nice cup of tea. He slapped his knees hard. Then he shouted up to the room above. ‘Make three cups. Doogle may change his mind and come. And go out and get me a copy of the first evening paper. I want to see the proceedings in this abortion case. Don't forget.'

And then Mr. Slye decided to destroy his stock. It was hard. But there it was, and he lifted up armful upon armful of books, folios, pictures, etc., and dumped them on the floor. In matters of pure business women were hopeless. So full of moods.

‘I'll burn the lot, and I'll make good the loss later.'

He had been too confident. Too greedy. He had lost his fine betting commissions. He should never have had that Sloane woman in. And here was this silly bitch crying because she thought he didn't love her. When had he
never
loved a woman?

At half-past two Mr. Doogle called ‘quite by accident.' He thought he'd look in. He had read the case in the papers. Yes. He, Slye's name had been mentioned. If he were wise he would get clear now. He, Doogle would look after the stuff. Mr. Slye stared.

‘I've a cart outside! I'll take the lot. Where are you making for?'

‘Blacksea! At least Maury's going there. I'd arranged to go to-morrow,' he said.

‘Can't do that! Too late. If I know anything the police are on their way here. I'll charge you for this, Slye, but I'll look after it. Send the stuff on after you carriage forward. Now give me a hand,' and Mr. Doogle removed hat and coat.

Maureen came in with tea. The effects of the morning's tears were not absent. Mr. Doogle said: ‘Afternoon, lovely,' and watched her bend down over the table.

‘Tea for three,' Mr. Slye said. Then he turned to Maury. ‘Come on. You too. Give us a bloody lift with this stuff. Chance of saving it.'

All three carried out the bundles, well wrapped in sacking and newspapers and finally put into wooden boxes. The man holding the cart shafts looked woodenly at everybody. Mr. Slye rushed in and out, he sweated, and Mr. Doogle did likewise. But Maureen carried her loads as though they were the coffined remains of something very dear to her! She was rather bewildered by the suddenness of events. Mr. Slye had said nothing yet.