I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘These cases are difficult,’ he said. ‘If she really wants to drink again, there’s not much I can do about it. I don’t think I can persuade her to take a second cure. A second cure is never much good. It’s the first one that counts.’

Iris had said the old man had brightened when she had told him Kit was getting married again. ‘Then that could be the best solution.’

If Calvin married Kit and took her to Florida, Travers thought, then his troubles would be over. Once Kit and Calvin left Pittsville, he and Iris could get married. Sheriff Thomson had already hinted he was thinking of retiring. Once he did, Travers would automatically step into his shoes.

Travers shook his head unhappily. It wasn’t really much of a job. If only he had the chance of earning big money so he and Iris could get out of Pittsville and start a new life in some progressive town that offered scope. But without capital, he wouldn’t dare take the risk.

He was still brooding over his financial future when he saw the lights in the bank go out and he looked at the wall clock. The time was six minutes after seven. He got to his feet and moved to the window to look across at the bank. He saw who he thought was Alice Craig come out and walk down the path towards where Calvin’s car was parked.

Now there was a poor thing if ever there was one, Travers thought. Not that she wasn’t always polite to him, but a girl who turned fiery red whenever a man looked at her bored Travers. And her clothes! He watched her move under a street light. That coat! How any girl could spend good money on a thing like that… let alone wear it!

Suddenly he stiffened and frowned. Was he imagining things? he wondered. As the girl crossed the street to Calvin’s car, had he imagined she had lurched? He watched closely, pressing his forehead against the window pane. There… she did it again: almost as if she were drunk, Travers thought, puzzled, but the idea of Alice Craig being drunk was so ridiculous he immediately began to wonder if she were ill.

He watched her reach the car. She seemed to be having trouble opening the car door. He looked across at the bank and saw Calvin locking up.

Maybe she was ill, Travers thought and hesitated, wondering if he should go out and ask, but then remembering how hopelessly embarrassed she always became when he spoke to her, he decided to let Calvin deal with her.

Calvin crossed the road with long swift strides. He got into the car and started the engine. He was aware that Travers was at the window, watching him. His heart was thumping. This he knew was the most important part of his plan and the most dangerous. He wondered if Travers had seen Kit lurch as she had crossed the road. He himself had seen her lurch: would Travers think anything of it?

Kit sat huddled up in the corner of the car, crying softly and hysterically. Calvin could have strangled her. He had had to shake and slap her before he could force her into Alice’s hat and coat. He hadn’t thought, as he pushed her out into the dark street, that she would be able to reach the car, but he had had to take that risk.

Now as he headed back to the rooming-house, he began to relax for a moment. As he drove past the sheriff’s office, he waved towards Travers and he saw Travers wave back. Then being careful not to drive too fast, he continued up the main street.

Nothing was said until they were in sight of the rooming-house, then Calvin slowed down and pulled to the grass verge and stopped the car.

‘Listen to me,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve got to pull yourself together, you drunken bitch! Do you hear me! We’re not through yet. When we get in, go straight upstairs and stop at the top. I’ll tell you to go to bed and you’ll say just one word: ‘Yes’. If either Miss Pearson or the major is in the hall, go past them, keeping your head turned away. Understand?’

She sat there, stinking of whisky, crying helplessly, apparently not listening.

Swearing under his breath, Calvin caught hold of one of her wrists in both hands and twisted her flesh in opposite directions. The sudden agony of his grip made her cry out and brought her upright.

‘Do you hear me?’ he snarled, letting go of her wrist, his hands closing over her shoulders. He shook her. ‘Sober up! Do you understand what you’ve got to do?’

She cringed away from him.

‘Yes…’

‘All right, then do it! Make one mistake and you’ll land yourself in the gas chamber.’

He started the car engine again and drove on to the rooming-house. When they arrived, he put the car in the garage.

‘Come on… get out!’

She got out. Now she was sobering up and looking at her, Calvin was shocked at the sight of her. She looked old and ugly. Her eyes had sunk into her head. Her skin was the colour of tallow: even her lips were white.

He caught hold of her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh and hurried her up the steps and into the hall. He rushed her across the hall to the foot of the stairs and gave her a push forward, starting her up the stairs as Major Hardy appeared in the doorway of the lounge.