The Secret Journey (60 page)

‘I know where all the money goes now,' Peter said. He kept wiping his face with the rag. ‘Yes, I found that out, and I'm going to settle that matter.'

‘Good! Good! I was saying to Mother only this morning that her favourite might do something worth while. How's Sheila these days? See how sly you really are. You never mention her, although—well—one hears things, you know. Why don't you clear out altogether and get down to work? Why should you have to do everything Mother wants you to?'

‘I don't,' said Peter angrily. He flung the cotton rag into the gutter. ‘I hope you're not looking for a row, Anthony,' he concluded; ‘blast it, why should we quarrel?'

‘Yes, why should we? Still, if you chucked up your job on the ship it was because a shore job suited you both better. Anyhow, I'm going to see Desmond this evening. Shall I tell Sheila you were asking about her?'

‘You are looking for a bloody row,' said Peter, ‘I can see that, but I'm not having any,' and he strode away, leaving his brother standing by the green door. A few minutes later Anthony Fury limped his way home again. Peter suddenly stepped out of the entry at the corner of Hatfields. The two brothers faced each other.

‘Listen,' said Peter. ‘You come home here, and the first thing you do is to copy Dad. Isn't that so? I mean, you suddenly find yourself asking questions, and asking them in a sort of roundabout way. Dad used to do that. He'd give Mother his wages, and the very next day ask her what had happened to them. You know what I mean. As though Mother were a thief. As if she wasn't entitled to his wages—as if she had actually robbed him. Was that fair? I used often to wonder what all the rows were about. Between them they could make quite a noise. It was about money. It's always been about money. Now I see he was quite wrong. I was wrong—and so are you. Mother does nothing mysterious with it. It's not in her hand long enough to do anything mysterious with. Now I can tell you not only where the money's gone, but where a lot of things have gone. They've all gone the same way. When she gets your money she doesn't put it in a purse. What use is that? She just puts it on the dresser. When she gets Dad's she puts that there, too. On a Friday, all that money except a few shillings goes to a moneylender.'

‘A moneylender!' exclaimed Anthony. ‘Mother actually borrowing when we're all working.'

‘Actually borrowing when we're all working. You've said it correctly. Now! How do we live? I mean, where does she get the money to buy food, pay rent, buy clothes, buy coal, gas—oh, everything? Where does she get it?'

‘How the hell do I know?' growled Anthony.

‘Well, you don't know! Well, she borrows it. That's all! And she keeps on borrowing to pay back what she's already borrowed. Don't you see? We're all living in the air!'

‘But how long has she been borrowing money? God! Fancy Mother coming to that!'

‘Yes! That's what makes me so sorry for her. She did it for me. D'you see now?'

‘For you? I know nothing about all this,' said Anthony. ‘She said nothing.'

‘She was ashamed to,' went on Peter. ‘I've found out everything. She doesn't care any more. She doesn't want to. She let Father go, and she said she was glad, but she's not. She's breaking her heart in secret. That's what Mother's doing. She even said she had grown to hate Grand-dad, and she let him go too. Mother can't help being like she is. All she wants is very simple. Even Maureen was entangled in this. So was Mr. Kilkey. But I found out that Maureen actually borrowed money from that foreman at the Jute Factory in order to get a note cancelled. And for some reason the woman did cancel it. There was a terrible row round there too. Maureen threatened to clear out. She came round here and insulted Mother, although it was her idea in the first place. She took Mother to the moneylender. Can't you see now?'

‘You don't mean Maury deliberately got Mother entangled, do you? Surely?'

‘I don't know,' said Peter. This was a new aspect of the matter. No! Surely not. That would be monstrous.

‘Hadn't you better go and get your dinner?' said Anthony. ‘It's gone twelve long since.'

‘Aren't you?' asked Peter.

‘Yes, let's go! We'll go in the back way. But I must talk about this afterwards. This is a bloody mess-up. Somehow I wish you hadn't told me.'

Peter looked hard at him and said coldly, ‘It won't make any difference to you, anyhow, whether you know or not. It's all my fault, really. You see, I got expelled from college for messing about with women, so there! If you didn't know before you know now. And another thing, I can't help messing about with women, honestly! They drag at me. I can't help it.'

They passed into the yard. ‘Ssh!' Anthony said. ‘Talk afterwards. She'll hear us.'

They went on in silence. There was nobody in the kitchen.

‘Mother! There, Mother?' Peter called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘She must have gone out,' he said, as he looked round for signs of dinner.

‘That's funny,' Anthony said. ‘She said she was going to wash some clothes.'

‘Probably had to go out,' thought Peter, when in the oven he discovered both his brother's and his own dinner all ready set out on plates. He lifted them out and put them on the table. ‘She's gone farther than Hatfields, anyhow,' he said.

The two brothers sat down to dinner.

‘Last night was great, wasn't it?' said Peter.

‘Yes, I really never expected Mother to start singing, did you?'

‘When you come to think of what she has on her plate I'm more than amazed. Maybe she's so well trained that she can forget things easier now. But what made
you
drag old Kilkey round here without Maureen? He didn't look a bit cheered.'

‘Aye!' said Anthony, in between mouthfuls of Irish stew, ‘I thought we'd have a bit of a do, just to liven the bloody place up. But no matter what Kilkey did or said, Maury wouldn't come. She
was
in a temper, about what I don't know. It did remind me of Mother that first time we played truant from Mass. D'you remember that?' Anthony started to laugh. ‘Anyhow, Kilkey was quite to the point. “You can come or you can lump it,” and the damned kid yelling its head off. From what we've seen, Peter, since we opened our eyes in Hatfields, marriage is a bloody wash-out. So is love, I should say.'

‘You don't care about women—I mean girls, then?' said Peter.

‘No, I don't! And that's flat.'

Peter looked quite serious now. ‘But honestly, don't you ever feel towards them at all? I can't believe it. No, I won't believe it. Best to come back to the point. You see how easily Mother can be made happy. Look at her last night. I'll bet she thought she was a young girl again. I'll tell you another thing that might interest you. Mother's been going out to work on the sly for months now. It made me ashamed. Honestly. If one could only earn a pile of money. I'd like to give her a holiday. I'd like to take her away out of Hatfields—away from all this dirty mess——'

‘Ah! Now you're beginning to talk through your hat, my lad,' said Anthony. ‘Mother could have got away from this neighbourhood twice, but she wouldn't budge, and now she can't budge even if she wanted to.'

‘Don't you ever think the workers get a lousy deal?' asked Peter. ‘Lately I've been thinking a lot about this, and the more I think of it the more clearly I can see that, as Desmond said, the workers are mugs.'

‘Yes, it suits him down to the ground, doesn't it? Living on their tuppences and threepences. To put it bluntly, I agree with Possie. It's all my grandma—this tosh about the workers.'

‘Is it?' said Peter. ‘What about Mother, then? She's a working man's wife, isn't she? We're a working man's sons.'

‘The world knows that already without you blubbing it all over the place.'

Having finished dinner, Peter got up to go.

‘If you don't mind taking it easy, I'm going past the Shed myself. Will you wait?' asked Anthony.

‘Yes, but hurry up.' It was now a quarter to one. Anthony opened the door, Peter behind him.

‘Ah! Good-afternoon, young gentlemen. Good-afternoon. Well, I never. Dear me! Your family seem to be always on the run.' Mr. Corkran smiled up at Anthony.

Who was this man? What did he want? Anthony limped down into the street. ‘Yes,' he said.

‘Turned out nice again, hasn't it?' said Mr. Corkran, deliberately blocking the path. ‘Is your mother in?' He looked straight at Peter. ‘Off to business, Mr. Fury. Good! We all have our work to do. Got to keep the world turning, haven't we?' The smile never once left his face.

‘Mrs. Fury is out,' said Anthony, wondering who this affable gentleman could be.

‘Oh dear! That is rather awkward,' replied Mr. Corkran. ‘Will she be long?' Again he looked at Peter. ‘If you don't mind my saying so, your mother is addicted to a most unfortunate habit. She's always out when I call. Last time I did see her she was anything but affable. Even complained at the way I knocked. But people are hard to deal with—difficult to please. Very, very difficult, Mr. Fury.'

Anthony looked round at his brother. He had turned the colour of chalk, and still stood on the step, holding on to the knob of the door.

‘She is out, that's a fact,' said Peter, and he got down from the step and banged the door behind him. The vigour and determination with which he did so seemed answer enough at last to Mr. Corkran, but on such a fine afternoon Mr. Daniel Corkran was not going to appear unperturbed.

‘Who are you? What name is it? I'll tell my mother as soon as she comes in,' Anthony said, whose surprise was now increasing, not only at the easy familiarity of the gentleman in his bowler, but at his brother's silence. Why had Peter turned so pale all of a sudden? Who was the fellow, anyhow?

‘There goes the whistle,' said Anthony.

Peter did not hear it. He stood by his brother, his eyes fixed on Daniel Corkran.

‘Do you think she'll be very long?' asked the man in the bowler. ‘I've come a long way, and have been doing some business in the neighbourhood. I should like to complete it by seeing your mother. Indeed, I should very much like to see her. Perhaps you could make a suggestion?' He looked away up the street, as though extending the courtesy of considering the position.

‘Who is he?' asked Anthony.

Mr. Corkran turned round as though struck. ‘Who am I? Oh, I represent Ragner and Company, young man, but your brother and I know each other very well. Not in the way of business, of course. But we are very well known to each other, aren't we, Mr. Fury?' and his smiling face turned to Peter again.

‘His name is Corkran,' said Peter. ‘What do you want? Can't you see my brother and I are going off? Can't you leave a note?'

‘I could, for as a matter of fact I have a very urgent one to give your mother, but it is one of the rules in our business always to deliver personally. However, seeing we are so well acquainted, I haven't the slightest objection to giving it you. I know you'll give it to your mother.'

He took from his pocket a long, thin and official-looking envelope. It was marked in red ink ‘Urgent.' He handed the letter to Peter. ‘If you should forget that the matter is urgent,' said Daniel Corkran, ‘it might be rather unfortunate for us all. Well, good-day.' And raising his hard hat, he looked from one to the other with the same perpetual smile, and then went off.

‘Who is that man?' asked Anthony. ‘You seem to know him very well. When he looked at you, you turned quite pale.'

‘I can't talk about that now,' said Peter. ‘You say the bloody whistle's gone.'

‘Give me the letter,' said Anthony; ‘it is for Mother, isn't it?' He held out his hand.

‘No!' said Peter. ‘I won't give it to you, for one reason. It is this. You'll gain nothing by reading it. Nobody will. I'm going to burn it. Understand? And not a word to Mother.' Then he ran down Hatfields.

‘Well, I'll be hanged,' said Anthony. ‘There's something queer going on, all right. He seems to know a hell of a lot about Mother's business. What a bloody mug I was to stay ashore! By God! I'll never do it again, never!' And limping towards the King's Road, Anthony Fury's mind was occupied by only one thought—his ship. ‘I work, I turn up my money regular. What more can I do?' He turned the corner, and rested a bit. ‘I ought really to be lying down,' he thought. ‘My feet don't seem quite right yet.' He limped on.

At Mr. Quickle's, the jeweller's shop, he stopped. It was a habit of his each time he passed down the King's Road to stop at Mr. Quickle's and to stare into his window, not at the clocks and watches, the rings and brooches and necklaces, but at a magnificent Italian accordion which had lain in the window for some months. Anthony Fury stared at it, as though there were but one idea in his mind, and that was to break the window, steal the instrument, and run. Forgotten was Mr. Corkran, and Peter, and his mother. There was the marvellous instrument in the window.

‘Lord!' he said. ‘If only I could buy that wonderful accordion!' He began to laugh as he recollected Peter's saying, ‘Don't you ever feel as though there were something short in your life, something you really wanted with all your heart? That's how I feel.'

‘Yes,' thought Anthony, ‘there is! I've been saving up two years now, two whole years, and I'm as far off a real piano-accordion as ever.' Yes, that was all he wanted. The whole world could go to the devil if he had that marvellous, that lovely instrument. His eyes seemed to grow bigger as he stared through the plate-glass window. Even Mr. Quickle had pushed his chair nearer to the window in order to get a better view of the young man. Yes, he had seen him before. And before that. Why, that young man just haunted the place. ‘Which reminds me,' he said to himself, ‘I've never put a ticket on it,' and he immediately put a card on the instrument.