A Bit of a Commotion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a bit of a commotion in the bus station this morning. An old woman, crossing between two islands, got herself knocked down by a double-decker swinging in from the street. I was near enough to it but I didn’t actually see anything, standing there reading the paper, hunched into the collar of my coat against the cold. Soon enough there are people bending over her and others craning their necks to see. An inspector makes his way across from a bus he’s just boarded and he’s joined by a second one from the office. They push their way into the middle and in a few seconds the one from the office is out again and going back where he came from, at a trot.

I watch a chap in overalls leave the scene and come over to join the queue I’m in.

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s an old woman. Got knocked down.’

‘You’d think they’d have more sense than to wander about out there.’

‘Nay, some of them buses come in at a rare lick.’

‘Is she hurt bad?’

‘They can’t tell. She’s unconscious. They’re debating whether to move her or leave her there till the ambulance comes.’

‘Them buses come round that corner too fast,’ a woman says.

‘Well, you know that, so you’ve to take care.’

‘She’s nobbut an old woman.’

‘So if she’s short-sighted or hard of hearing, and not so nimble, she ought to take more care.’

‘You’ll be old yourself one day,’ the woman says to me. ‘Aye, happen so.’

‘She’s somebody’s mother,’ the woman mutters, which strikes me as a bloody silly thing to say. After all, it’s the old woman herself who’s laid out there, not her son or her daughter.

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t throw the services back,’ I say, and I wish I hadn’t then because I catch a couple of looks which show they’re thinking I’m a right hard case. But I was just speaking my thoughts aloud. Because it would be just my luck that it’s happened this morning, when I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ll get no mercy from Etherington, old woman or no old woman. He’s told me about being late often enough and yesterday’s was his final warning.

‘One more time this month, Gravener, and you’re out. Five minutes or half an hour won’t make any difference. You’ll be finished. I mean it. Absolutely and positively. Out.’ He walks away, and turns back. ‘And don’t think you can get round it by taking the day off. I shall be satisfied with nothing less than a doctor’s note.’

So one day means taking a week and convincing a doctor that I’m badly. And no money except a couple of days’ sick pay.

Phyllis is no help, the idle cow. No getting up for her half an hour before me and chivvying me about and sending me out with a good hot breakfast. Turning over for another hour’s kip is all she’s good for; that and queening it down at the pub every night. Still, I was the one who fell for her sharp tits, her long legs, and that ‘come and get me if you’re big enough’ look. I shan’t get another job with as much money as this one; and we need every penny we can get, believe you me, the way she can spend it.

So I’m standing there getting more and more worked up while the crowd’s still gathered in the middle of the station and the buses are held up outside until the ambulance arrives. I know I should have come for an earlier bus still, and given myself twenty minutes to spare; but it’s too late to think about that now. It’s too late for everything except going back home and collecting my money and cards on Friday. We’re not on the clock at our place but there’s no getting past Etherington standing in that yard at eight sharp and seeing that everybody’s in.

There’s nobody downstairs when I get back home. Phyllis turns over in bed to look at me when I’ve stamped up the stairs.

‘Don’t you ever get out o’ bed till dinnertime?’

‘What you doing back here?’

‘There’s been an accident in the bus station. Everything’s running late.’

‘Well, couldn’t you go, and tell ’em?’

‘You know I told you I’d had my last warning.’

‘What are you doing now, then?’

‘I’ve come back. I’ll fetch me money and cards on Friday.’

‘You an’ your turning over new leaves,’ she says.

‘A lot of bloody help you’ve been. A right wife ’ud have been up to send me off right. Anyway, I’ve told you; it’s not my fault.’

‘You’re old enough to look after yourself. Only you can’t do owt right, can you?’

‘I did the first thing wrong when I wed you, you useless cow.’

‘You know what you can do if you don’t like it.’

‘Aye! An’ I’ll start now.’

I grab the bedclothes and uncover her with one heave; then as she starts to struggle up I lace into her, slapping her about the bed till her yells and curses give way to tears. Then I stop and stand back, looking at her, half satisfied, half sorry at what I’ve done.

In a while she stops crying, twists on the bed, and gets up.

‘No man does that to me, Harry Gravener.’

‘One just has.’

‘Aye, and it’s the bloody last time.’

I leave her and go downstairs where I put the frying-pan on the ring, thinking that now I’ve the time I might as well at least have a right breakfast. I’ve got everything nicely sizzling and popping and a pot of tea on the brew when Phyllis comes down, dressed to go out and with a little case in her hand.

‘Where d’you think you’re going?’

‘Out. And I shan’t be back.’

‘If you can find a better hole than this, get off to it. There isn’t another feller who’d put up with your ways for a week.’

‘Thanks. We shall see.’

I turn back to the cooker and hear the door shut behind her, which takes me aback a bit because I didn’t expect her to go without a bit more argument. If she went at all. I sit down and get on with my bacon and eggs, thinking she’ll be back.

There’s no sign of her by eight o’clock. But I’ve already decided that I’ll give her a day or two to cool down and come to her senses before I make any move to look for her.

I go down to the pub for want of something better to do and one of the first people I see is Walt Henshaw from the yard.

‘What’s been up with you today, then? Badly?’

‘Oh, I didn’t feel so well this morning so I laid in.’

‘You’d better have another couple, then, and get a sick note for Etherington.’

‘Bugger Etherington, and his job an’ all.’

‘I thought you were late again when you didn’t turn up at eight.’

‘I expect Etherington thought that an’ all. I can just see him standing there rubbin’ his hands an’ waiting to finish me.’

‘No, he wasn’t there to watch for latecomers today. He no sooner got there than he was called away again, by a phone call.’

‘Oh?’

‘Aye. It was his mother. Seems she got knocked down in the bus station this morning.’