A Man of his Time. Alan Sillitoe
worked till ten.’
‘I thought as much. But I waited.’
‘You can’t stop while there’s work. Not in my trade.’
She fiddled with the string of jet beads at her bosom. ‘It’s nearly a week since we were together.’
Their heads close, people drew back to let them talk. ‘Come for a walk tonight.’
‘I’d like to, but I daren’t risk it. I’m not sure when Herbert will be back.’
‘I shouldn’t let that bother you.’
‘I’ve got to be careful, haven’t I?’
She was called to serve another customer, so he turned back to Tom. ‘Did you have anything on the races today?’
‘A couple of bob on Vanity Fair, but I think the bogger must have been wearing hobnailed boots. I could have got to that winning post quicker myself.’
Burton watched Florence at work. ‘If you ride on them they break your neck, and if you bet on them you might as well throw your hard-earned money in the dustbin.’
‘You spend it on ale, though,’ Morgan said, ‘and that only gets swilled into the Trent.’
Burton’s laugh was short and dry. ‘But you enjoy it as it goes through your tripes.’ He emptied his pint, and went closer to the bar, a ripple of agitation on his cheek. ‘Florence!’
She gave change, then came at his call. ‘You’re short with me tonight.’
‘Fill this up. What about tomorrow?’
‘It might be all right.’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘I’m not two people, am I?’
Her scent wafted against him as he leaned closer. ‘I wish to God you were. I don’t know which one I’d love more.’
She smiled at his rare compliment. ‘I’ll try,’ then drew his beer and moved away.
Though the night was as black as Cherry Blossom boot polish Burton could have gone blindfold up the lane to Old Engine Cottages. Morgan and Tom, trying to follow his footsteps, swayed to either side between the hedges, and sang as if the noise would keep them free of potholes. ‘Come in for a sup of ale,’ Burton told them by the gate. ‘I’ve got a bottle cooling in the pantry.’
‘It’s eleven, and I must be up early.’
‘Me as well,’ said Morgan.
‘You’ll get all the sleep you want when you’re in hell. At least I shall.’ He led them up the path and into the house. All three faces showed when he set the glass over the lamp wick. ‘Close the door behind you quietly, then sit down. This is vintage Shipstone’s.’
The smell of ale poured from the bottle brought heads closer to the glasses. ‘How many have you got upstairs now, Burton?’ Tom wanted to know.
‘There were nine when I last counted. That was including Mary Ann.’
‘I don’t see them around much,’ Morgan said.
‘I set them to work, that’s why. Five daughters are a handful at times, and you’ve got to keep an eye on them. One of the young ‘uns is a pretty little thing, so I expect she’ll be a bit of trouble when she grows up, if I don’t tame her first.’
‘We won’t know if she’s pretty unless you fetch her down,’ Morgan said.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I didn’t say so.’
‘You meant it, though. I’ll go and get her.’
They heard his weight on the stairs, and a door opening. ‘He’s a hard bogger,’ Tom said. ‘I wouldn’t like to be one of his nippers.’
Morgan drew out his pipe. ‘He’s got something on with that Florence, and she’s married. Let’s hope his missis never finds out.’
‘Nor Florence’s husband,’ Tom laughed. ‘But wedding bells never frightened Burton. He’d run his own son off if he got half the chance.’
Morgan detected a descending tread. ‘Shut your rattle. Here he is.’
Ten-year-old Sabina was half-asleep in Burton’s arms. She stood hazy-eyed in her nightgown, looking at them from the middle of the table. ‘What did I tell you? Straight out of angel’s sleep.’
‘What a little beauty!’
‘Come on, my duck,’ Burton said. ‘If you can’t sing us a song, cock your leg up and do us a dance.’
She looked at the three men, a smile on pale lips, unable to think, hardly knowing where she was, but seeing her father in a mood unknown before, one she might never see again. Maybe he wasn’t her father, but someone who had come out of the night from a forest where he lived, and if he wanted her to dance, then she had to.
One leg high, one leg low, she stepped around the table, lips apart and smiling in her aim to obey and please him who must be her father after all. Tom and Morgan threw pennies at her feet, which she picked up quickly. ‘You should put her on the stage,’ Morgan said, ‘and make your fortune.’
‘I’d break a stick across the back of any girl of mine who wanted to go there.’ Burton, tired of the caper, heard Mary Ann coming down the stairs. He helped Sabina to the floor, and Mary Ann took her hand. Silence, except for the pendulum clock on the wall. ‘This is a fine thing. In the middle of the night as well. You and your drunken friends from the alehouse.’
A smile twitched across Burton’s downcurving lips. ‘It was a bit of fun, that’s all.’
‘I suppose it was, if you say so.’ She pushed Sabina before her. ‘Let’s get you back into bed where you belong.’
‘I’d better be going,’ Morgan said, ‘or I’ll get the rolling pin treatment as well.’
Burton pulled them close. ‘I don’t want another word from either of you about me and Florence, do you understand? Keep your mouths shut.’
Tom was amazed they had been overheard. ‘We won’t say a dickybird.’
‘People talk,’ Morgan said, on the porch.
‘Let them.’ Burton bolted the door, went into the parlour to take off his boots, and on getting upstairs found Mary Ann asleep.
After the move to Old Engine Cottages the children had played in the field between house and railway, and counted the wagons or carriages of trains steaming along the embankment from Radford station. Sitting on the fence, they argued over the numbers, then went hiding and seeking in the tall grass.
Sabina had always been fearful at the run of a startled rabbit – it might have been a dirty old man lying in wait – but as the wheat-cutter worked in from the hedges she saw how frightened the poor things were as they leapt for safety. She thought how important Farmer Taylor looked on the high seat of his dray, a large grey horse in the shafts fighting off flies.
‘You’ll have a good harvest this year,’ Burton said.
Taylor’s laugh was of a man never satisfied. ‘I might think so if the price was right. You work every hour God sends, and get little enough for it. The market’s bad for farmers, and this government doesn’t like us. Who do you vote for?’
‘The Liberal chap.’ Burton didn’t care who knew it.
Taylor snorted. ‘They’ll never do any good, whether they brought in the old-age pension or not.’
He can kiss my backside, if he’s a mind to. ‘You can’t expect much from any of them, so it’s no use complaining.’
Taylor stared at his gold half-hunter. ‘Is Mary