Riley, page 42
‘Oh yes. I think Dad’s right, but, oh Betty, what a sad way to go. And thinking back, she had no life really.’
‘Don’t be so soft, our Peter. She played hell with all of us, until…until we had to leave home, you know that. For certain you know that. And then her bitterness made her evil. I’m going to tell you something because I’ve never forgotten it. When she knew you had married Nyrene, do you know what she said? She said she would dance on your grave one day. It was from then that I began to fear her, really fear her, and I knew she was evil; and Uncle Frank said yesterday that he knew where she got her badness from, and that was from their own father: he did time for beating up their mother and for lashing Uncle Frank until he was almost insensible when he was eight years old. Their father got eighteen months for that. We didn’t know about that, did we?’
Riley turned to see Nyrene coming towards him, and so, lightening his voice, he said, ‘Oh, here’s Nyrene, Betty. Have a word with her.’ And smiling to Nyrene he said, ‘It’s Betty, finding out how I’m doing. Here, have a word with her,’ handing her the phone.
‘Hello, Nyrene. How are you getting on?’
‘Oh, wonderfully, wonderfully. Did Peter tell you about our new enterprise in the studio? Nothing so common as the barn now.’
‘No, what’s that?’
‘Well, he has become my manager. Would you believe that?’
‘You mean for good?’
‘Yes, Betty, for good: no more Palace and no more road work. Anyway, he wouldn’t have been up to it for a long time, and he’s very taken with the idea.’
‘Oh yes, it’ll be right up his street. Up both your streets.’
‘How about you and Harry coming for Christmas?’
‘Oh, we would have loved that, Nyrene, but we’re going to Uncle Frank’s. Sue’s got Christmas off because her people are going abroad, and with Florrie being there already me Uncle Frank thought—’
‘I understand, dear. I understand.’
‘I’ve got to go now, Nyrene, but I just thought I’d like a word with Peter. He sounds marvellous and so much better. And you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine; and so so glad to have him home, Betty.’
‘I bet. I bet. Well, so long.’
‘Bye-bye, dear.’
Nyrene put the receiver down and turning to where Riley was still standing at the end of the bed she said, ‘She’s a nice girl, Betty. I’ve always liked her; so thoughtful. What is it? Are you all right, dear? Come and sit down. You’re losing your colour. What did she want, really? Has anything happened?’
‘No, no, she just wanted to know how I was and were we all right, and I told her,’ and he smiled at her now as he added, ‘and you, too, told her.’
She took his arm now and said, ‘Come on, let’s go down and have a cup of tea. I’ll make it; Mary’s clearing up over there; the coach has gone. They’re all full of the Christmas party on Friday. I’ve told them it’ll be only tea and buns, but they all insist on turning it into a party and having a bit of a dance. It should be fun.’
When he was seated on the couch in front of the fire, she bent and kissed him before asking, ‘Sure you are all right?’
‘No, I’m feeling terribly ill. Go on and make that tea, woman.’ He slapped her on the bottom as she walked away, and her light laugh as she left the room reminded him that knowing about the suicide would have wiped that away. His dad was right and Betty was right, too. He himself had no reason to feel any guilt. ‘I’ll dance on his grave.’ Oh, how she must have hated him, and to the extent of wanting him killed; for a few more blows to the head from those fists would have done what the spike did not manage to do; or, at least his brain would have been damaged.
He drew in a long shuddering breath as it came to him, on a wave of release, that from now on he would be rid of the fear of her. In the depths of him there had always been a shivering fear of her. Yes, that’s the name he could put to it, shivering, for, as a youngster, she had at times petrified him and made him wonder why she should go to Mr Beardsley and encourage him to beat the daylights out of him. He recalled, too, how she herself had brayed him one day—he would have been about fourteen at the time—and all because Cissie Morgan, from lower down, had come calling for him. For a time he had liked Cissie Morgan. One day after school she had let him touch her breast. He recalled that there wasn’t much of it, but that it had excited him. And that day when she had come to the front door asking for him, his mother had sent her flying. Then she had taken him into the back room and laid about him, all the time using the word sex. It was the first time he had really heard the word; body attractions were always referred to as ‘the other’ or ‘it’ or ‘a bit off’. There were other names, but they were coarser, and sex seemed to bundle the whole lot together.
The train of thought took him to his father. What a life he must have led with her all those years. Behaving as they did, how did they manage to breed the four of them? But why on earth was he asking such a question? If anybody should know that sex had little to do with love, it should be he.
At the sound of his son’s hesitant walking down the stairs and his voice crying, ‘I’ve done it, Daddy,’ Riley got up from the couch and went to meet the boy. Then looking at the exercise book being held out to him, he exclaimed, ‘My! Yes, that’s splendid. Wonderful!’
With a quizzical smile at his father, the boy said, ‘Daddy, you have a word for that.’
‘For what, Charles? For what?’
‘Saying things that are not really true; not lies, but not quite true. Exadge, you call it. My exercise was good, eh, Daddy? Not wonderful.’
Riley stared into the beautiful pale face, into the childish face which held the old eyes, and he could find nothing to say; he could only act his feelings. And so, in a quick movement, he picked up his son and held him in his arms.
And this was how Nyrene found them when she entered the room bearing the tray of tea.
Quickly putting the tray down, she hurried towards them, crying, ‘What’s this? What’s this exhibition all about?’
As Riley swung about, the boy still in his arms, he said, ‘I’m celebrating the fact that I have an exceptionally intelligent son, Mrs Riley.’
Now throwing her arms around them both Nyrene exclaimed, ‘And I have a very lovable and wonderful son, Mr Riley.’
When, rising above the laughter, the boy’s voice cried, ‘Exadge, Daddy, exadge,’ Riley said, ‘No, not this time, my dear, not this time.’
The kitchen door gently closed on Hamish and Mary who had been standing viewing the scene in the sitting room. They exchanged a long and bright-eyed look; then Hamish, giving a soft hoot, picked Mary up and planted a smacking kiss on her lips, then shook her gently before putting her down again, saying, ‘A Happy Christmas to you, Mrs McIntyre.’ And to this she answered, ‘And the same to you, Mr McIntyre. And did I ever tell you I love you?’
And Hamish, staring at his wee wifey, did not immediately reply; but presently, with deep sincerity in his voice, he said, ‘Thank you, Mrs McIntyre, thank you. That’s all I’ve wanted to hear.’
AFTERWORD
As Fred walked across the empty school yard he drew in deep breaths. He’d be glad of the Christmas break; he was tired; it had been a heavy term. He was finding the terms seemed to get heavier now. Louise was right, he should more than think about retiring at sixty, he should do it.
There were only two cars in the car park, and, apart from a small man standing in the shelter of the wall that edged the playground, there was nobody about. He had already glanced towards him; but now he was looking harder, for the fellow was walking into the car park.
He unlocked his car door and switched on the lights; then looking over the bonnet, he could see the man picked out in the headlights and he said, ‘That you, Mr Riley?’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Beardsley, it is me. I’ve…I’ve been waiting for you; I mean I’ve been hoping that I could have a word with you.’
‘Yes, of course. But…but I thought you had gone into hospital.’
‘The morrer.’
‘Oh, not till tomorrow? Well, get in; we don’t want to be found dead in the morning here, do we?’
Settled in the car, Fred stretched out his arm past Alex, saying, ‘Let’s have the heaters on full blast until we get home; I’m sure, like me, you could do with a cup of tea. How long have you been standing there?’
‘Oh, not long, not long; but that doesn’t matter. And if you don’t mind, Mr Beardsley, I would rather…well, I would rather talk to you outside.’
‘Outside? What d’you mean?’
‘Oh, I don’t mean out in the open, I mean outside your house. If I could sort of…well, if you could give me five minutes or so I could tell you what I’ve got to say here.’
‘Oh well, fire ahead.’
‘You’re sure I’m not taking up your time?’
‘Oh, man, you’ve been standing there for how long? You don’t say, and you expected me to listen to you, and now you’re apologising and talking about taking up my time…well, you are, so get on with it.’ Then his voice softening, he leant towards Alex, adding, ‘What is it, Alex? Something on your mind? In trouble of some sort?’
‘No. No, Mr Beardsley…well, not trouble any more; I’ve got rid of trouble, so to speak, and when I’ve gone into hospital I don’t think trouble’ll worry me very much after that.’
‘Oh, come on, man! They do all kinds of things today: they perform miracles.’
‘Aye. Yes, they’ve already performed two on me. That’s why I’m still here. But anyway—’ Alex stopped speaking; he looked downwards and his hands became locked on his knees as he said, ‘I…I want to make a confession.’
‘A confession? Oh, Alex, I think you’ve come to the wrong bloke; I mean, why come to me? Have you thought about a priest? Well no, you’re not a Catholic, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what about a parson?’
‘I couldn’t tell the parson: I never think about them being…well, Godlike.’
At this Fred gave a laugh and said, ‘Well, I’m afraid I’ve had little truck with the deity these many years.’
Then the banter going out of his voice, he asked softly, ‘You’ve been up to something that you’re ashamed of, Alex?’
Alex looked fully at Fred now, and he said, ‘Aye, I’ve been up to something, Mr Beardsley, but I’m not ashamed of it. Nor am I sorry I’ve done it, but…but I felt I had to tell somebody. I know the one I should have told is Peter, but he’s just got settled in again and he wouldn’t be up to taking this. You see, what I’ve done is because I wanted him to live in peace.’
‘Well, I’m sure he will.’ Fred’s voice was gentle now. ‘He’s back with the woman he loves and who loves him. I was on the phone to them only last night: they sounded as happy as Larry, so to speak.’
‘I know, and that’s as it should be, so I didn’t want to upset him; because he’s not all that strong. Anyway, you know he’s had such a bashing it’s going to take him a year or two to get over it, mentally as well.’
‘Oh, I’m with you there. Yes, I’m with you there. But you know, he’s going back into his old business of acting; or, at least, being connected with the stage. Did you know that?’
‘Oh yes, yes, he told me all about it. He’s very, very pleased.’
‘And there’s another thing,’ said Fred quietly. ‘Now his mother’s dead he won’t have her on his mind for, as long as she lived, she would have been a worry to him. She was an unpredictable woman.’
‘You said it, Mr Beardsley, an unpredictable woman. But that’s what I want to talk about. You see, she didn’t die naturally; I killed her.’
Fred actually bounced on his seat, exclaiming, ‘You what?’
‘As I said, Mr Beardsley, I killed her; murdered her, I suppose. It was either her or him, because she had an obsession about him. She would have done for him in some way or another. She wasn’t satisfied that he had been almost hammered to death. No, no, she would never have been satisfied. She once told her daughter that she would dance on his grave, and mine.’
‘What?’
‘Oh yes, she told Betty that one day she would dance on our graves. She wasn’t right in her head where he was concerned, nor about others, too. She was bred on hate. She came from an odd family. It’s a wonder her brother Frank’s not like that, an’ all.’
Fred had to swallow now before he said, ‘But I thought they decided that she had—’ He swallowed again and Alex put in, ‘Yes, committed suicide. Well, I planned it all out, every detail; but at the same time I knew after she was gone Peter would have a guilty feeling about her, so, as I thought, you being his best friend, Mr Beardsley, I’d ask you to put him straight with regard to her by giving him this letter later on.’ He now put his hand inside his coat and brought out an envelope, which he handed to Fred, saying, ‘There’s a confession in there; I’m no hand with a pen but I’ve given him the outline. I…I’ll leave it to you, Mr Beardsley, to fill him in with what to tell him. There’s also a letter in there that proves that she meant to go on. I didn’t come across that until I was about to leave the room, but there, on the corner of the dressing table, lying on a blotting pad, was this letter. As you see, it’s addressed to Nyrene, and it was sealed and ready to go off although it hadn’t a stamp on. So I read it, Mr Beardsley. It was filthy; you wouldn’t believe a woman could write such stuff. If that doesn’t give Peter proof that she meant to dance on his grave eventually, well, nothing will. You read it, Mr Beardsley.’
Fred lifted his hand and switched on the interior light; then he took from the brown envelope the smaller white one, opened it and read the contents. But before his eyes had covered half the page his gaze lifted sharply towards Alex who, as if in answer to something he had said, nodded his head.
By the time Fred had finished the letter his teeth were pressing into his lower lip. Slowly now, he folded the page, returned it to the envelope and put it back where it had been; and then he said two words, ‘Dear God!’
‘Yes, Mr Beardsley, dear God! When a thing is bad they say it’s rotten, but when it gets beyond rotten it’s putrid; and wouldn’t you say that letter is putrid?’
Fred looked at him for a moment before he replied, ‘It’s hard to believe, Alex, that any woman, especially a mother, is capable of thinking such things, never mind writing them; I think she must have been insane.’
‘Yes, she was, in a way, but until I found that letter it would have been hard to prove it.’
Again there was silence between them before, with a quick movement, Alex leant forward and knocked on the glove box as if he were asking for admittance, and as he did so he said, ‘After I did it I didn’t ask God for forgiveness, oh no, because I knew I had set a number of folk free from worry and on to a comparatively happy life. Not only Peter and Nyrene; the girls suffered, too, especially poor Florrie.’
‘Oh, I can vouch for that, Alex. I know the effect the letters and the fire business had on Nurse. And she’s a strong woman.’
Alex was nodding in agreement as he said, ‘As for me, since we were married I have had nothing from her but disdain and being made to feel smaller than I am in every way.’
Fred too was nodding; then he asked, ‘You say, Alex, you killed her, but how did you do it? Didn’t she fight or anything?’
‘No, I didn’t give her much chance. You see, I had everything worked out; it was really easy. I’ve always had a key, and I left it until after midnight and made sure there was nobody about in the street. Of course, I know the house like the back of me hand. There was no light on except in the bedroom. She was funny about that. She always had thick curtains that would pull over the lace ones so nobody could look in anywhere, upstairs or down, yet she was afraid to sleep in the dark.’ His voice rose as he said, ‘She wasn’t afraid to go out in the dark or stay out in the dark, which she must have done until sometimes two in the morning, if Florrie’s nervous prattling is anything to go by, but, as I knew over all the years, the little bedside light had to be left on. She was a heavy sleeper and, being troubled with her sinuses, she slept with her mouth open. She didn’t snore, but she snorted every now and again; and there she was, sound asleep and she didn’t stir a muscle or an eyelid when I took the items from me pocket and laid them out round the lamp: a medicine bottle full of whitish liquid; a half-flask of whisky about a third full, there were two pill bottles with those press-down screw tops, you know, to prevent children opening them but which always make a clicking sound. I’d even prepared for that: they were half-open, and I scattered what was left of one bottle round the table and a few on the floor. Then I took from me pocket one of Sally’s silk headscarves. It was already folded up, and very gently I tied one end around the wrist of her hand that was hanging over the edge of the bed. I next took a thick pad from me pocket and put it on the table. Following this, I lifted the hand that was tied with the scarf gently upwards towards the other one and I just slipped the silk loop under it. When she stirred I moved her further onto her back and quickly jerked the loop tight and bound the two wrists together. Her eyes then snapped open and she was staring up into my face, and when her mouth opened to scream I rammed the pad into it. Being unable to move her arms, she brought up her knees, but I got on the bed and knelt on them.’ He paused now and began to tap again on the glove box door before he went on, ‘I was holding her down by the throat and I said to her quite quietly, “Mona, if you make a sound when I take this gag out of your mouth I’ll mark you.” And at this I slipped my hand into my coat and brought out me cut-throat razor and when I flicked the blade her whole body jerked in the bed and I said, “Mind, I’m warning you, I’ll follow in the places where your last effort has marked Peter, and then I’ll leave you with the razor in your hand as if you had done it. Do you understand me?” You know, Mr Beardsley,’—he turned to Fred again—‘even at this stage there wasn’t so much fear in her face as hate, terrible black hate; and that’s how I wanted it, for if she had shown fear or had whimpered in any way I don’t know whether I’d have been able to carry on, even though I had primed meself before I left the house with a double dose of painkillers, the kind, you know, that calm the mind too; and I did feel calm. Anyway, I now took up a medicine bottle in which I had stuck a cork because it’s easy to pull out a cork with your teeth. Then, whipping the gag from her mouth, I stuck the bottle in, and at the first impact of the mixture in her throat she struggled like a wild beast. But I held her nose and she had to gulp for breath, and it went down. After three or four gulps of it, she stopped struggling and lay panting, and do you know what she said?’ He paused, then repeated, ‘D’you know what she said then?’ He did not wait for a statement of any kind from Fred but went straight on. ‘She spluttered, “This won’t stop me; I’ll haunt you from the grave,” and you know what I answered? I said to her, “There’ll be no need, Mona, for you to come up and haunt me, for we’ll both be in hell together shortly.” But d’you know something, Mr Beardsley? I don’t feel that I will go to hell. If there’s a God and he’s just, I won’t go to hell; I’ll get a good ribbing of sorts and have to do a penance perhaps, like the Catholics; purgatory they call it; but I won’t go to hell.’
