The Gambling Man

‘I’m sorry. I know, but . . . well, he had to know some time, Lizzie.’

‘He’ll be all right. He’ll be all right.’ Ruth was wiping the sweat from his brow and the bald patch on his head. It’s just weakness. It’s like how he used to be after the nightmares. Go on—’ she motioned the men towards the table—’get on with your game.’

‘Bad that,’ said Grannie Waggett. ‘Bad. Don’t like it. Bad sign.’

‘Anybody can have sweats, Gran.’ Jimmy’s voice was small, his tone tentative, and she bent forward from her chair and wagged her bony finger at him, saying, ‘Nay, lad, not everybody, women but not men. Bad look out if all men had sweats. Always a sign of summit, a man havin’ sweats. I remember me grannie when she worked for those high-ups in Newcastle sayin’ how the son got sweats. Young he was an’ the heir. Lots of money, lots of money. He started havin’ sweats after the night he went out to see Newcastle lit up for the first time. Oil lamps they had. Eighteen and twelve was it, or eleven, or thirteen? I don’t know, but he got sweats. Caught a chill he did going from one to the other gazin’ at ’em, got the consumption . . .’

‘Gran!’

‘Aye, Ruth . . . Well, I was just savin’ about me grannie an’ the young fellow an’ the things she told me. Do you know what the bloody Duke of Northumberland did with a pile of money? Gave it to buildin’ a jail or court or summat, an’ poor folks . . .’

‘Look, come on in home.’ Bill Waggett was bending over his mother, tugging at her arm now, and she cried at him, ‘Leave be, you big galoot!’

‘You’re comin’ in home, Rory wants a bit of peace an’ quiet.’

‘Rory likes a bit of crack, an’ I’ve said nowt.’

‘Go on. Gran.’ Janie was at her side now pleading. Spluttering and upbraiding, the old woman allowed her son to lead her from the cottage. And this was the signal for the Learys, too, to take their leave, although it was but six o’clock in the evening, and a Sunday, the day of the week they all looked forward to for a game and a bit crack.

The house free from the visitors, as if at a given signal Jimmy went up the ladder into the loft, and his father followed him, while Lizzie and Ruth disappeared into the scullery, leaving Janie alone with Rory.

She had pulled her chair up towards the head of the bed, and, bending towards him, she asked tenderly, ‘You feeling better?’

He nodded at her.

‘I knew when it came it would be a shock, I’m sorry.’

He made no motion but continued to stare at her.

‘I . . . I thought we should go up and see him on Thursday. It’ll be the only chance we have, he’s allowed visitors once a month . . . All right, all right.’

She watched his head now moving backwards and forwards against the supporting pillows, and when he muttered something she put her face close to his and whispered, ‘What do you say?’

‘I . . . I can’t.’

‘We’d take the ferry up to Newcastle an’ then the train. It . . . it might do you good, I mean the Journey.’

‘I can’t; don’t keep on.’

She looked at him for a moment before she said, ‘You don’t want to see him?’

‘I . . . I can’t go there.’

‘But why, Rory? He’s . . . he’s your friend. And if you had seen him in the court that day, why . . .’

Again he was shaking his head. His eyes, screwed up tightly now, were lost in the discoloured puffed flesh.

She sat back and stared at him in deep sadness. She couldn’t understand it. She knew he wasn’t himself yet, but that he wouldn’t make an effort to go and see John George, and him shut up in that place . . . well, she just couldn’t understand it.

When he looked at her again and saw the expression on her face, he said through clenched teeth, ‘Don’t keep on, Janie. I’m sorry but . . . but I can’t. You know I’ve always had a horror of them places, You know how I can’t stand being shut in, the doors and things. I’d be feared of making a fool of meself. You know?’

The last two words were a plea and although in a small way she understood his fear of being shut in, she thought that he might have tried to overcome it for this once, just to see John George and ease his plight.

She said softly, ‘Somebody should go; he’s got  nobody, nobody in the world.’

He muttered something now and she said, ‘What?’

‘You go.’

‘Me! On me own, all that way? I’ve never been in a train in me life, and never on the ferry alone, I haven’t.’

‘Take one of them with you.’ He motioned his head towards the scullery. And now she nodded at him and said, ‘Aye, yes, I could do that. I’ll ask them.’ She stared at him a full minute before she rose from the chair and went into the scullery.

Both Lizzie and Ruth turned towards her and waited for her to speak. She looked from one to the other and said, ‘He won’t, I mean he can’t come up to Durham with me to see John George, he doesn’t feel up to it . . . not yet. If it had been later. But . . . but it’s early days you know.’ She nodded at them, then added, ‘Would one of you?’

Ruth looked at her sadly and said, ‘I couldn’t, lass, I couldn’t leave the house an’ him an’ them all to see to. Now Lizzie here—’