The Gambling Man

She flung the knife down so hard on to the table that it bounced off on to the floor, and, leaning towards him, she cried, ‘Jimmy, have you any idea how I feel, comin’ back here and finding I’m not wanted by nobody? Nobody. Oh—’ she moved her head slowly from shoulder to shoulder—‘how I wish I’d never got me memory back. Do you know some­thing? I was happy back there. The life was hard, but they were good people, jolly, and they took to me.’ She now looked down towards the table. There’s something else I’ll tell you. There was a man there, the son . . . he wanted to marry me. There were few young ones in the village and they had to go miles and miles to reach the next settlement. But . . . but I still had me wedding ring on’—she held out her hand—‘and I said I must be married to somebody. They all worked it out that I’d been with me husband and child and they must have been both drowned ’cos I kept talking about the child afore I came round, so the priest said. He was on one of his visits when I was picked up. It was Miss Victoria. And . . . and then Henri pushed me off the rock and when I came up out of the water I remembered. They were all strange to me. I looked at them an’ saw them as I hadn’t afore, rough fisherfolk, rougher than anything you see round here, livin’ from hand to mouth. They only had two old boats atween the lot of them. It was his, Henri’s boat, that picked me up. He’—Her voice trailed away now, as she ended, ‘He sort of felt I belonged to him ’cos of that.’

When she raised her eyes again to Jimmy she said softly, ‘They all came and saw me off. They walked the five miles with me to where we met the priest and he took me on to the next village in the cart. And you know something? He warned me, that priest. He warned me that things would’ve changed. And do you know what I said to him, Jimmy? I said to him, “Well I know, Father, of one who won’t have changed, me husband . . .’

It was half an hour later when they’d almost finished the meal that Jimmy, scraping the fat up from his plate with a piece of bread, said tentatively, ‘What’ll happen, Janie, if . . . if he won’t leave her?’

‘He’s got to leave her. He’s got no other option, it’s the law.’

‘Janie—’ He chewed on the fat-soaked piece of bread, swallowed it, then said, ‘Rory’s never cared much for the law. I mean he hasn’t bothered about what people think. What if he says, I mean ’cos of the bairn comin’, “To hell with the law!” and stays with her, what then?’

‘What then? Well, she’ll be living in sin won’t she? And she’s prominent in the town, and the gentry won’t stand for that, not in the open they won’t. Things can happen on the side, but if it came out in court that he wouldn’t take me back, and me his wife, and he went on living with her, why neither of them would dare show their faces. There’s things that can be done and things that can’t be done, especially in Westoe; it isn’t like along the riverfront here. And he’ll find that out. Oh aye, he’ll find that out.’

It was at this point in the conversation that the door opened and Rory entered. She did not turn and look at him, and he walked slowly towards the fireplace.

Jimmy, rising flustered from the table, said, ‘Hello there.’

Rory nodded towards him, but gave him no reply. He had taken off his hat and was holding it in one hand which was hanging by his side; then looking at Janie he said, ‘Do you think we could talk quietly?’

‘That’s up to you.’ She did not even glance towards him.

‘I’ve . . . I’ve made a decision.’

She said nothing, but waited, and he glanced towards Jimmy, whose eyes were tight on him. Before he spoke again he stretched his chin up out of the collar of his overcoat. ‘I’m not going to leave her, Janie.’

She made no move in any way, no sign.

‘You’ll take me to court as is your right, and I’ll maintain you, and well too, as is also your right, but . . . but she’s carrying my child and I’m not leaving her.’

Now she did turn towards him and, like a wild cat, she spat her words at him. ‘You’re a swine! Do you know that? You’re a rotten, bloody swine, Rory Connor! And, as I said to Jimmy, you do this and you won’t be able to lift your head up in this town. Aye, and I’ll see you don’t, I’ll take you to court. By God! I will. It’ll be in all the papers; both you an’ her’ll have to hide yourselves afore they’ve finished with you. And her money won’t save you, not from this disgrace it won’t . . .’