The Gambling Man

‘It’ll likely be too late then. The only thing is be careful and don’t be such a bloody fool stayin’ out in the dark. They’re not likely to try anything in the daylight, but give them a chance in the dark, and you’re asking for it.’

All Jimmy replied to this was, ‘Aye. By! I’m hungry,’ and ran up the steps, and when he opened the door he sniffed loudly and said, ‘Ooh! that smells good.’

Janie turned to him from the table, saying, ‘Aye well, now you’ll have to wait a bit, we’ve had to wait for you.’

‘I’m hungry, woman.’

‘Are you ever anything else?’ she laughed at him. ‘Well, there’s some fresh teacakes there, tuck into them.’

As he broke a hot teacake in two, he asked, ‘What’s for supper?’

‘Finny haddy.’

‘Good, and hurry up with it.’

She thrust out her arm to clip his ear, but he dodged the blow and went and sat himself on the steel fender with his back to the oven and laughed and chatted as he ate.

Looking at him, Rory knew a sudden spasm of envy as he thought, he was born bowed, but he was born happy. Why can’t I be like him? But then the answer to that one was, they had different mothers. He hadn’t thought along these lines for some time now; it was odd but it was only when he was faced with trouble that he let his bitterness against Lizzie have rein.

Of a sudden he said to neither of them in particular, ‘Will we have to go home the morrow again?’

Both Janie and Jimmy turned a quick glance on him and it was Janie who said, ‘Of course we’ll have to go home the morrow. We always do, don’t we? It’s Sunday.’

‘That’s it, that’s what I mean, we always do. Couldn’t we do something different, take a trip up the river or something? We’ve got our own boat.’

‘But they’ll be expectin’ us. It won’t be Sunday for them if we don’t go up; they’ll all be there.’

‘Aye, they’ll all be there.’ His voice trailed away on a sigh and he turned and went into the bedroom while Janie and Jimmy exchanged another look and Jimmy said under his breath, ‘Something’s wrong. I twigged it right away.’

‘You think so?’ Janie whispered back.

‘Aye, don’t you?’

‘Well, I did think he was a bit quiet, but when I asked him he said everything was all right.’

‘Aye, that’s what he says, but there’s something up. I’m tellin’ you, there’s something up.’

When, in the middle of the night, Janie was again woken from her sleep by Rory’s voice, not mumbling this time but shouting, she hissed at him, ‘Ssh! ssh! Wake up. What is it?’

But he went on, louder now, ‘I’ll make it up to you, I will . . . I know . . . I know, but I couldn’t.’

‘Rory! Rory! wake up.’

‘Five pounds. I had it, I had it. You’re to blame.’

‘Rory! do you hear me?’ She was trying to shake him.

‘Wha’? Wha’?’ He half woke and grabbed at her hands, then almost at the same time threw her aside, crying, ‘What was the good of two of us doin’ time! I’m not goin’ in there, so don’t keep on. You won’t get me in there, not for five pounds, or fifty. Five clarty pounds. Five clarty pounds. If I’d had the chance I’d have put it back, I would. I . . . would . . .’ His voice trailed away and he fell back on the pillows.

Janie sat bolt upright in the bed staring down through the darkness, not on to Rory but towards where her hands were gripping the quilt . . . That was it then. That was it! It should have been as clear as daylight from the beginning.

She saw John George’s face through the grid saying, ‘Tell Rory that, will you? Tell him I didn’t take the five pounds.’ And what John George was actually saying was, ‘Tell him to own up.’ She couldn’t believe it, yet she knew it was true. He had let John George, his good friend, go to that stinking place alone. It was true he couldn’t have done much about it at first, but after he regained consciousness in hospital he must have known. That’s why he hadn’t asked for John George. It should have been one of the first things he mentioned. ‘What’s the matter with John George?’ he should have said. ‘Why hasn’t he come to see me?’

No, she couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t. But she had to. She now turned her head towards the bulk lying beside her and instinctively hitched herself away from it towards the wall. But the next move she made was almost like that of an animal, for she pounced on him and, her hands gripping his shoulders, she cried, ‘Wake up! Wake up!’

‘Wha’? What’s-it? What’s-up? What’s wrong?’

‘Get up. Get up.’

As he pulled himself up in the bed she climbed over him, grabbed the matches from the table and lit the candle, and all the while he was repeating, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

The candle lit, she held it upwards and gazed down into his blinking eyes.

‘What’s up with you? You gone mad or something?’

‘Aye, I’ve gone mad, flamin’ mad; bloody well flamin’ mad.’

She sounded like Lizzie and her grannie rolled into one. He pushed the clothes back from the bed but didn’t get up, he just peered at her. ‘What the hell’s up with you, woman?’