Our Time Is Gone (60 page)

‘Maureen,' said Anthony,‘come outside,' and he dragged his sister from the tent.

They went round the corner, stood in the pouring rain against one of the caravans.

‘Maureen! What's this? What are you doing here? Are you all right?'

‘I'm all right,' she said. ‘Is mother better?'

‘'Course she's better,' replied Anthony, ‘Why? Good Lord! Oh, Maury, it's such a long time since I saw you.'

He took off his oilskin coat, and put it over her shoulders. He held her in his arms. He was so glad she was here.

‘Maury,' he kept saying, ‘Maury! Why don't you come home? Everything's lousy. Mother's on her own now. And it's lousy. She cries over Peter every day. It's awful, really. Won't you come? You don't realize,
really
you don't. Even dad! Whenever he writes he always says: “Seen anything of Maureen lately?” What's the matter?'

She was shaking in his arms.

At that moment George came out. He bawled loudly. ‘Fury! Where are you?'

‘Here, you ass! Right behind the caravan.'

George Postlethwaite rushed up. ‘Oh!' he said, ‘I see.'

‘You
are
a stranger, Mrs. Kilkey,' burst forth George. ‘Your husband's gone to the war. Went off a week ago.'

‘Look here, George,' said Anthony. ‘I'm trying to talk to my sister.'

‘I'm not stopping you. But you ought to talk somewhere out of the wet.'

Maureen's expression was quite wooden. The words: ‘Gone to the war,' were surging in her head.

‘Listen, Maury! You've got to come back. I don't know what the hell you're doing in this stinking place. And who are those men, anyhow? Maury, don't you know that we all want you to come home, especially mother? If you saw her now, you would. Honest you would.
Really
you would. She's changed. Gone old. And living in one room. And yet—oh, Maureen!' he began shaking her, holding her out at arms' length, staring at her, then drawing her to him again. ‘Always mother asks about you. Honest she does. She's so anxious to do things for us, Maury. Even silly things, I mean good things that look silly to some people, Maury. I'm not letting you stay here! Joe loves you. Really. Who are those men, anyhow?'

‘I can't go back,' she said, and then with sudden resolution: ‘I'm not going back!'

‘But you must, you must. Think of Joe and Dermod, and mother left to herself. You daren't blame her. By God, you daren't. She never did
you
any harm.
Never
.'

He became excited, angry and then, the next moment, pleading with her.

‘Maureen! Everything'll come right again if you come back with me. Nobody'll ever do you any harm. I promise it. Look how nice it would be if we were all friends again. And dad! He always liked you.'

‘Oh, God!' she burst out,‘what are you talking about?' and tried to break free, but he held on to her.

George was the faithful watcher here. So this was where Maureen Kilkey was. Working with a show? H'm! Nice come-down! What would his mother think of it? What she always thought of Catholics. They were queer.

Maureen buried her head on the oilskin. ‘Leave me alone,' she said. What had he come for? Following her about. Why didn't he go to the devil?

But Anthony didn't want to go anywhere except on the six-fifteen express to Gelton and Joan. It was only now as he lifted up her head and looked into her eyes that he realized it
was
his sister. A moment ago it might have been anybody, not excepting the bearded lady.

‘By God,' he said, under his breath, ‘what's happening?
you've
changed too. Everybody's changing! Maureen, it's just sheer luck that we met. Come on, look at me, look me in the eye. And no crying either. I've done nothing to you. Hold your head up. If George here hadn't gone into that tent, well, we would have just gone the round of stands and then caught the Gelton train. Maury, I
am
glad I've seen you. Honest I am.' He looked at George.

George stood leaning against the front end of the caravan, head forward, shoulders slouched, hands flat on the wood behind him, heels dug into the mud. The torrent had now become a steady drizzle. It made little tapping sounds on the oilskin. Maureen's face felt its coldness. Darkness was growing.

‘Maury! I
do
ask you to come back to Joe. Why can't we all be happy again, and who are those fellers in there? What are you doing here, anyhow? And don't you ever see anybody you know? D'you write to Peter or anything? D'you know Desmond's a Captain in the Labour Battalion. Aye! In the army. Maury, come back with us. You'll forget all this in a couple of days,' and as his appeals grew, and gained strength, his voice became louder.

Somebody was calling from the tent, but nobody outside appeared to hear. There was dead silence; brother and sister clung, and George slumped and watched.

‘Professor!' exclaimed George derisively. ‘Well, I like that! The swine couldn't even tell me a simple enough thing about my mare. All these fellows are bloody impostors. Liars!' and he drew away from the caravan and waved his arms, embracing the whole fair and its human contents. Yes. Everybody here was a twister. Not a doubt of it. He looked at Maureen. Aye! Even she twisted a bloody good husband, he thought. Poor old Joe! Old Aunt Sally Joe. Stick-in-the-mud Kilkey. So here's where Mrs. Kilkey was. All among the toughs, the boyos and the boozers! Fancy bumping into her like that! Not one man either. Two of them! And what a pair.

‘What a pair of mean twisting bastards they look,' he said to himself. He stood watching, listening. Then he heard the voice from the tent. What was it saying?

Anthony had drawn his sister round the other end of the caravan. They were now lost to view in the darkness. In the distance lights began to appear. The music seemed even more desperate under the darkening night. It squealed and groaned, hummed and shrieked all manner of sounds, all manner of tunes, and somewhere behind it the air was filled with the steady throb of the engine.

‘Wonder how long he'll be,' mused George. ‘Time's getting on, you two,' he called softly. ‘Can't miss our train.'

There was no answer, but now the voice from the tent became not only audible, but intelligible. It established proof, gave George his clue.

‘Maury,' the voice called. ‘Maury! What are you doing there with those fellows?'

‘Hear that?' said George.

There was no reply. George Postlethwaite began walking up and down. Well, apart from a few drinks and those three coco-nuts, and that glimpse up the judy's clothes, there was nothing in it. Not a thing. Wasted trip. Why the hell hadn't they picked up a couple of tarts and gone off?

‘Will you be long there?' he said, becoming impatient and later afraid. Surely they hadn't
gone
. Hooked it altogether. He went to the end of the caravan, peeped round. He saw them then. Huddled together, she was crying.

Anthony was saying: ‘Oh, God! Chuck it! I didn't ask you for all that. Maury, you've been lousy towards Joe and Dermod and because I ask you to be decent you eat my head off. And who the hell
is
the feller calling your name? Who is he?' He gripped her wrists, shook her. ‘Listen, Maureen! Be fair! I'm sorry I spoke like I did. But really, I swear you don't know how nice everything'll be if you'll come back. Honestly it will. We'll all be glad. And mother, she's so——'

‘For—Christ's—sake—will—you—go—
a-way
!' she said, and so fiercely that some spittle from her mouth splashed on Anthony's face.

He stood rigid, looking at her. At her brown eyes, her copper hair, her low-necked white blouse, and the almost coarsened flesh of throat and chest. It was like man's flesh. It was hard, red. It wasn't Maureen's. This wasn't the Maureen he knew. And her hands, her feet, the skirt she wore. No. It was all different. Joe wouldn't know her. Mother wouldn't. He pressed her hands together.

‘I don't want to lose my temper with you,' he said quietly. ‘I don't! I've been away over a year, and now I've only got two more days of leave. I have to go on that sixfifteen train, Maureen, and I want you to come. I want you to forget everything that ever happened. See! Let bygones be bygones. See! So now go and get your coat and hat and come.' He drew her face to his and kissed her, whispering in her ears. ‘I don't blame you for anything you ever did. It's nothing of my business. All I know is that mother has left Hatfields and is now living in a stinking room. She tells me she's happy. It's so peaceful there! It makes me laugh. And it makes me want to cry too. Letting on the way she does.'

‘Her whole life's been letting on,' Maureen said. ‘But
I'm
different. I'm not letting on to anybody—not even to you. You go back home. I'm all right. I've made it all right, and for God's sake, don't start being sorry for me. I don't want it. Mother was very ill in hospital and I went to see her. But we only spoke two words. We're strangers. All the same I hope she's getting better. We're all out of it now, and let's stay out. I wouldn't go back for anybody. There!'

Anthony hated her. Yet there was something in her determination, in her pig-headed determination, that he had to admire. But at the same time he wanted to strike her. He didn't give a damn for anybody, but he liked his own sister to be decent to him. He'd never done anything against her. Not to any of them. He was like his father. Out of it. He began shaking her, saying:

‘Listen! Can you carry on like you are—like this I mean, and not remember the happy times we
did
have in Hatfields? And dad away at sea at
his
age. Sometimes I feel ashamed of myself. And I hope
you
will some day. There he is slaving away and nobody gives a damn.' He became quite vehement. ‘That's the truth. Mother keeps in touch with him. I write now and then, and there she is, all of us gone—and would you believe it, even wanting to make a nice home for me. Only last night she was talking—but I never told you, did I? I've got a girl, Maury. Yes, I'll show you her photo,' and he struck a match and held it over the photo he handed her.

This photograph lay handy in his jumper pocket and every friend and acquaintance of Anthony Fury had now seen ‘this wonderful girl.'

‘She
is
nice, isn't she?' Maureen said, a sudden break in her voice, and then Anthony took it out of her hand.

‘Yes, but don't wet it, Maury,' he said, wiping the water from it.

He stood away from the caravan now, looked round the corner. There was George. Best friend he ever had. It was really rotten spoiling this chap's day out. ‘Won't be a sec, George,' he called over to him.

‘All right! But I'm not standing here all night. Gone four now, you know.'

‘Yes, I know!' Then he turned to his sister. ‘Come on, Maury! I
ask
you, get your coat and hat. Come on home. You'll be glad you did. Honest.'

A man came out of the tent, called: ‘Maury, chucks. Where are you? Come here.'

George laughed outright. ‘Me chucks,' that sounded good. Chucks. H'm!

‘Who are you?' came Anthony's voice, and the man turned the corner and came on Maureen and her brother. For a moment he seemed uncertain about it, then came closer and exclaimed:

‘What the bloody hell?'

Anthony went up to him. ‘Who are you?' he said.

‘Never mind who I am. Maury, what about Doogle's supper? Come on now.'

Anthony swung round. ‘Who is he?' he asked Maureen.

She peered out from under the oilskin. ‘Oh, it's Dick,' she said and made a little run towards the two men. ‘It's my brother, Dick,' she said, pointing to Anthony.

George wandered up, looked on. This seemed more interesting than the whole show. Hands behind his back he surveyed the party. In the darkness he could see the outlines of faces and little more. Then he spoke.

‘Hurry up, for God's sake!' he said, ‘I want a drink. It's turned half-four now, and we've got to get seats into the bargain. Know what it's like in Blacksea fair days, don't you?' He began swinging his hands. ‘Come on! Let's get out of here.'

‘Maury,' said Slye, ‘what about——' But then he stopped.

Anthony was looking at him now, studying his swarthy features, noticing with some surprise the loud check suit that belonged to summer and not winter seasons. He noticed the man's thick lips.

‘Who are you?' said Anthony. ‘I'm this girl's brother,
whoever
you are, and we're just leaving for Gelton. Ready, George.'

‘I see!' said Slye Esquire. ‘Like that, eh! Maury, get into that tent. Can't you hear Doogle banging. Who are these fellers, anyhow?' He swung round on George. ‘Who the hell are you?'

‘I know who you are now,' said Anthony, ‘and what you want is a bloody good hiding and you're going to get it!' and in an instant he had thrown off his oilskins, and before Mr. Slye could retreat he had received Anthony's fist full in the mouth. ‘Yes, I know who you are now.'

‘Give him a bloody good pasting!' George shouted, and then went up to Maureen. George, who made no distinctions between what was dramatic and what was merely comic, suddenly caught Maureen Kilkey's arm, and slowly drew her away from the two fighting men. ‘Mrs. Kilkey,' he said, ‘I wanted to tell you something. They took your husband away last week. Aye! I told you before, but perhaps you didn't hear. Aye! it was a blinking do, I can tell you that. Four of them, there were. Three privates and a corporal from the Gelton Regiment. Your husband wouldn't go. They didn't half give him a pastin'. Poor—look out,' he shouted, and dragged Maureen away.

And as Slye and Anthony beat at each other with their fists, Maureen shouted:

‘Stop! For God's sake! Anthony! Anthony! Dick!' and she ran in to try and separate them. ‘Anthony! What are you doing? Good God! Will you go away out of it? I never asked you to come running after me,' and she ran away into the darkness.