The Secret Journey (59 page)

‘What's she been up to, I wonder?' he was asking himself. He could hear her moving about in the bedroom.

‘What's she doing now—undressing? Messing about with her bits of finery again? Silly fool of a woman. Why doesn't she become an ordinary person again and attend to her business? It's going to the dogs. Where'll I be if she goes to the dogs?'

‘Anthony,' said Mrs. Fury, ‘I can't tell you how happy I am. Honestly, I can't.'

‘It was just like old times last night, wasn't it, Mother? But somehow I was wishing all the time that Dad had been here. It
would
have been a happy gathering.'

‘Yes, and yet I never once thought about him. I must be a cruel woman to say that.'

‘I think Maureen was simply lousy not to come. I could see all the time that Joe wasn't feeling so happy about it. I can't get over them at all. She's quite altered.'

‘Well, there's hardly any need to worry about her being obstinate,' replied Mrs. Fury.

‘What is all that you've pulled out of the drawers?' asked Anthony, who, according to tradition among sailors, had had, on this his first morning, a very nice breakfast in bed. Now he had arrived downstairs to discover his mother sorting out all kinds of letters, bills, and cards from a heap she had turned out on the table. The top dresser drawer was quite empty. ‘Were you going to burn them?'

‘I was looking for a paper,' she said, and she turned her face away from him.

‘Listen, Mother,' he said, ‘it's as clear as Christmas that at this moment you're worrying about some damned bill or other, and what did you promise me last night? You said you wouldn't worry any more. And everybody enjoyed themselves so much. Kilkey and Peter and Possie—everybody. Everybody knows that you do funny things, and then when they turn out to be not so funny you get afraid lest we in the house know, and you start hiding them. Isn't it silly? You wrote me and told me you had cleared a lot of things off when you got my compo. Then why look so worried now? I can see you are. Look at me, Mother! Are you afraid of me? Like you are of Dad and Peter and Maury. There's nothing to hide, surely. Throw the whole damned lot into the fire. Forget about it. Let's start a new leaf. You're so forgetful lately, too. That shows you have something that keeps you worried. If you don't like letting the others know, then tell me. Have you got many debts, Mother, really?'

‘A few,' she replied, still unable to look him in the face. Why had she begun this overhaul of the old bills and letters just when he was coming downstairs? She made a heap of everything on the table, swept them into the drawer, and shut it.

‘There!' she said. ‘I won't talk about it any more. I'll forget. There! Sit down, Anthony, you oughtn't to stand about so much on your feet, especially when you have the chance of sitting down comfortable.' She pushed him on to the sofa, and herself sat down.

‘How well you play the accordion!' she said. ‘I never thought you could play so well.' Then she was silent.

‘I know what she's going to ask me,' thought Anthony, ‘and—oh, I wish she wouldn't. Do I want to stay ashore? No. I don't! What's the good of me being here like this? I'm quite contented where I am. All right for Peter, he can make any circumstance fit in. But I can't. I hate looking at her. I can tell quite easily that she's only got one thought in her head, and it's about my staying at home. But why should I? It's Dad's place to be here, not mine. I can't do any other job than what I'm doing now, and I hate the very idea of chucking. It's a swine. She makes it so difficult. That's how Mother is. Aye! She says Peter's only too glad to be at home; maybe—but he only stayed here to suit his own ends, that's all!'

‘What are you thinking of, Anthony?' she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

‘Nothing! Nothing! How could I be thinking of anything but what happened last night? It was real good to see you laugh—and as for that song you used to sing as a girl, well, the last time you sang that I was a nipper at school. But didn't you honestly think of Father when you were having such a good time? Not once?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I never did. I thought of my own father, and am still thinking of him. I wonder how he got on? I don't suppose your aunt would ever think of letting me know.'

‘Did you think of Desmond and Maureen?' Anthony asked. ‘I'll bet you didn't.'

‘Why should I think of them when I was thinking of you and your grandfather?'

‘Me! Of me? Listen, Mother! I hate saying this, honest I do, but I don't want even to think about this going down to Gregson's. Not yet. Give me a chance. I know you think about it for my own good, but I can't make up my mind in five minutes, can I? Can I?' He turned round and looked at her.

This time she did not evade his glance. ‘I don't want you to do anything you don't want to. I've had some of that before, and I have paid for it, too. You please yourself, Anthony, that's all. But it has been nice, hasn't it? There hasn't been a smile in this place for months. You took me quite by surprise. And then, of all things, asking me to sing that song. Ah! It did make me think of the time when I was a girl, when such a thing as Hatfields never entered into it; certainly your father marrying me was far, far away. But there, that's the way things happen. Yes, I will say this. I enjoyed myself last night. Somehow, I wouldn't have done it if your father had been there. He would always put his foot in it. Anthony, you know right well we always rowed with each other. You see, son, it's nice to have you both here. That's all. If Peter had gone and you had gone—well, I would have been alone, wouldn't I, and what kind of life is that to me who had a family of five children, I ask you?'

‘But Dad hasn't gone for ever, Mother! He'll get tired of it, the same as he got tired of it before.'

‘Yes, and you see what I got for his bloody way of suddenly getting tired. Lucky man! I wish I could get tired and change my mind as often.'

‘Don't start that, please! I've never heard much of it, it's true, but I don't see what Dad and you have to do with me. Listen to me, Mother. If you want Peter and me to stay at home, to be with you, then you must be honest and fair to us. Both of us. D'you understand?'

‘But, Anthony, when haven't I been?' she asked, the colour coming into her cheeks.

‘Oh, lots of times. Don't let's talk any more. Many a time I've been tempted to ask what really is going on in this house—but out of respect I haven't.'

‘Anthony!'

‘Well,' he said, ‘for one thing—where's all the money going? Dad's, mine, Peter's. We haven't even got all our furniture. Where's that gone? Oh, Mother, I'll only say something to you far worse. I'm going out for a while.'

‘Anthony!' she called. ‘Anthony!'

Her son stood in the doorway.

‘Look. Look.' She dragged out the dresser drawer and turned its contents on to the fire, where they burst into flames. ‘There! There! That's the end of it. There goes my misery and why I've been silent. Yes, and why I haven't been honest to any of my family. I've been a damn fool. I might have spent my nights sitting drinking in a pub, instead of worrying my soul out wondering how we're going to live. Money! Jesus! Do you think I eat your money? Do you? Where does it go? Don't you eat it yourselves? Aren't you clothed? Do I look as though I got anything out of it? Do I? Do you worry? Does anybody worry? Do I hear a single voice in this house say, “How are you getting on, Mother?” Am I greedy? Do I stuff my own belly? Have I ill-treated you—stolen from you? Have I half-starved you? Any of you? Do I depend on you? No! No more than I depend on the man who still likes to call himself a son, who disgraces his family. Do I depend on him, or that woman who never comes near me and says she is my daughter? Ah! You make me feel at times that I ought to go mad, set fire to the damned wretched hole in which I've been smothered, buried, lost, satisfied to take the smiles that must have pained you when you offered them. I depend on nobody. Never have! I'm in a hole. Yes! I'm in a hole. And I'll get out. D'you see? I earn my own living. D'you understand? Sixty! Reared a family! I go out to work. Yes. Don't look surprised. I go out to work. I scrub up other people's mess, and glad to do it. I've done worse—but all the same, I've never whined. No, by God! And I don't want your company. Christ! Have I to go on my own knees to my children? I'll never do it! I've lived longer. I've seen enough to turn me into a wretch—into a beast; but—well—thank God, there was father! All the other things! H'm!' She flung her hands in the air. ‘You have asked me to be honest. About what? Are any of you unhappy because of me? Who? Nonsense! You only think of yourselves. Yes, you too, Simple Simon. Be honest yourself. You sat there, afraid, yes, afraid
I
—your mother—might ask you to stay ashore. Your father! What have I seen of him that I should miss him now? I've seen nothing! I do believe—yes, I believe to this day that Peter would still be at that college if it hadn't been for such a whining crew. Writing letters and letters to the lad. Turning his head against me, and then when the mischief's done you turn round quite unconcernedly, and because I look worried—when did I look anything else?—yes, because I look worried, you say, “What is wrong?” “And where is all the money going?” Don't! Please don't make me laugh. Money! Thirty-five shillings. All the money. And what about strikes, doctors, fares, food, firelight, more strikes, more illness? Do you think it possible to be an angel? And I'm not the only one. Every woman in the street goes through the same thing, has the same things to do. Yes, even now, after my letting my father go—a good, kind man, the one person who I really felt was with me—yes, even when I let him be taken away, I still hoped we might be happy together again. And last night, seeing Peter and you together, and George laughing and joking—yes, I was crazy enough to believe that we might be a happy family once again, which shows the bloody fool I am! Yes, it makes me swear. Go! Go, if you want to! I'm not cringing for your money or for your sympathy. I've learned enough after a lifetime of poverty. Yes, I've learned to cringe at the right time—and to be proud at another and independent at another! I've learned all the lessons. Now, go out, as you want to do.'

‘After what Peter did, I should have thought you would have been glad to see the last of him. But I really think that this idea in your mind is never to let go of him at all. He hasn't any will of his own, and never will have. Everybody must do as you say. That's the ticket in this house, Mother. I'm sorry, Mother, that we've had to have this row—I hate it, honestly—and I'm sorry you have to go out to work at your age. We're not all Desmonds and Maureens. We are a bit decent. But I can't earn any more. And, for God's sake, get it out of your head that because we ask a question we want to pry into your business. After all, is it all that secret, anyhow? D'you think Peter goes about with his eyes closed, even though he's in love—worse fool for that, that's what I say. In love! At his age. It makes me laugh.'

‘Of course it does. You all scoffed at him because I gave him the chance to have a better education. Why shouldn't I have done? None of you paid for it. I paid it, thank God—and your grandfather.'

‘Let's hope he'll do something really good, then,' said Anthony. ‘He's done nothing so far but earn a few shillings and loaf the rest of the time. D'you think if he had any will of his own that he would have given up his job? Not at all. He's not built that way. You've made him selfish—that's what you've done. Oh, hell!' he shouted. ‘Why didn't I get up and go out? Don't start, Mother, please.'

The inevitable had happened. Mrs. Fury burst into tears. He went out, carrying his cap and coat on his arm. ‘Why is it always like this? Confound the bloody house. It's almost like somebody had chucked prison into it. By God, I've a damned good mind to go down to the shed and meet that fellow. We do at least understand each other.'

He waited outside the Loco Shed until dinner-time, when his brother appeared.

‘Hello!' he said. ‘I've just been out for a walk. God! I'll be glad when my ship comes back. I'll never, never, never do anything like it again. Never. I'm a damned fool, a fool.'

‘What's wrong?' asked Peter. He wiped oil smears from his face with a cotton rag.

‘Wrong! Well, it's Mother again. One time she's as nice as pie, the next she's like a raving lunatic. I'm sorry I stayed at home to please her. I'll stick it till the ship comes back. No, sir. No shore work for me! No wonder Dad flew. Who's going to blame him? Mother's become old, grey, crabby, sly; she's become—oh, I'm so mad with myself. I said some rotten things to her.'

‘Yes, what did you say?'

‘I said you were a mug, for one thing. Peter, you were a mug. It's impossible to live with Mother any longer. It's all so easy when you write it in a letter, but it's quite different when you come to work it out. I believe none of us could live with her now. Honestly, I think you were right. I believe Mother's going potty.
That's
what I believe! Yes, and I said she'd made you selfish—and that's true, for you haven't any will of your own and you're scared stiff of your own shadow. Mother thinks you're marvellous.' He laughed.

‘Are you the only one blessed with any feelings? Well, what about me? I didn't know you were so interested in me before. But you're not, really, of course! You just say that. I'll be even more honest. I'm not a bit interested in you, even though you're my brother. Like father, like son. You are clear of everything. You know nothing of the house—or how well Mother does with the money she gets. You did ask her about money, didn't you? Haven't you? Haven't you plagued her to know what she does with it? And look at me. I nearly lost both feet a year ago, and am lucky to be alive, and I got awarded thirty-five pounds compensation. What about that? Did you ask her where that went?' Anthony thrust his face forward at his brother. ‘You know everything in the bloody house, then where's that gone? Same place as Dad's money, I suppose? Or has Aunt Brigid just come over in the night and walked off with the lot?'