The Gambling Man

She turned and looked at him. ‘I’m a fraud, but I really did not intend that you should know this. I . . . I was going to acquire you under false pretences. But . . . but it makes no difference to the bargain. That can remain as it stands. But—’ she laughed self-consciously—‘so much for all my fine platonic talk. You know, Rory, the emotions are not measured in proportion to one’s looks: if that were so all the beauties in the world would be passionate lovers, but from what I have gauged from my reading they’re often very cold women. My . . . my emotions don’t match my looks, Rory, but as I said the bargain stands: you give me your friendship and protection as a husband, I will give you what . . . well, what I cannot help giving you.’

He rose from the couch and went slowly towards her, and he stared into her face before he said softly, ‘There must be a dozen men in this town who’d be only too glad to have married you, and would serve you better than I’ll ever be able to.’

‘Doubtless, doubtless.’ She nodded slowly at him. ‘But you see, and here we come to the question of truth again, they would have been marrying me for one thing, my money, and they would likely have been men with whom I couldn’t bargain. In their cases I would most assuredly have wished them to have their own apartments, but in their cases they would assuredly not have complied, for let us face the fact that most men’s needs do not require the stimulus of love . . .’

Slowly and firmly now he put his arms about her and drew her thin form towards him, and when he felt her taut body relax against him, and her head bury itself in his shoulder, he put his face into the dark coils of her hair and murmured, ‘Don’t. There, there, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’ll . . . I’ll make you happy, Charlotte. I promise I’ll make you happy.’

He didn’t know how he was going to do it. The only thing he was sure of in this fantastic moment was that he’d have a damned good try.

2

He stood in the kitchen at the end of the long table, while they, like a combating force, stood at the other end, Ruth, his father, and Lizzie. Jimmy stood to the side towards the middle of the table, his face pale, anxious, his eyes darting between them like a troubled referee.

‘Well, you can say something, can’t you?’ His voice re-echoed through the timbers in the roof.

It was his father who spoke. Quietly he said, ‘Janie’s hardly cold.’

‘Janie’s been dead over a year, a year and three weeks to be exact.’

‘Huh! Well.’ Paddy broke away from the group and walked towards the fireplace and, picking up a clay pipe from the mantelpiece, he bent and tapped it on the hob, knocking out the doddle as he said, ‘You’re doin’ well for yersel, there’s that much to be said. Aye, aye. They used to say old Kean could buy Shields, that is the parts Cookson hadn’t bought up. Money grabbers, the lot of them I . . .’

‘It wasn’t the money . . .’

 ‘Well, begod! it couldn’t be her face.’

Rory swung round and glared at Lizzie. It looked for a moment as if he would spring down the table and strike her. Their eyes held across the distance before she snapped her gaze from his and, swinging round, went towards the scullery, muttering, ‘My God! My God! What next!’

The anger in him blinded him for a moment. Any other family in the town, any other family from here to Newcastle, would, he imagined, have fallen on his neck for making such a match, but not his family, aw no. In their ignorance they thought you must keep loyal to the dead, if not for ever, then for a decent period of years.

His vision clearing, he glared now at Ruth. She was usually the one to see both sides of everything, but she wasn’t seeing his side of this, there was a stricken look on her face. He put his hands on the table and leant towards her now as he cried, ‘You didn’t condemn her da, did you—’ he jerked his head back in the direction of the cottage next door—‘when he went off and lived with his woman in Jarrow after Gran died. He couldn’t wait. Six weeks, that’s all he stayed there alone, six weeks. But you said nothin’ about that. And I’m marrying her. Do you hear?’ He flashed a glance towards his father’s bent head. ‘I’m not taking her on the side. And one at a time’ll be enough for me.’

There was no sound in the kitchen. Paddy hadn’t moved, Ruth hadn’t moved, Lizzie hadn’t burst into the room from the scullery. He stood breathing deeply. Then looking at Jimmy, he yelled, ‘I came here, you know I came here to say that she wanted to meet them. My God! she didn’t know what she was askin’ . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. I know where I stand now; you’ll want me afore I’ll want you, the lot of you.’ And on this he turned round and marched out of the room.

Before the door had crashed closed Lizzie appeared in the kitchen. Paddy turned from the fireplace, and Ruth, putting her hand out towards Jimmy as if she were pushing him, said quickly and in a choked voice, ‘Go after him. Stay with him. Tell . . . tell him it’ll be all right.’