The marriage had varied from tolerable to miserable. Doreen had two
miscarriages, then Billy; after that they stopped trying. They stuck
together because of Billy, and she did not suppose they were the only
couple to do that.
Not that Willie shouldered much of the burden of bringing up a
handicapped child, but it seemed to make him just guilty enough to stay
married. The boy loved his father.
No, Willie, I don’t love you, she thought. But I want you and I need
you; I like to have you there in bed, and sitting next to me watching
television, and doing your pools at the table; and if that was called
love, I’d say I love you.
They had stopped walking, and the sister was speaking. “I’ll call you in
when Doctor’s ready,” she said. She disappeared into a ward, closing the
door behind her.
Doreen stared hard at the blank, cream-painted wall, trying not to
wonder what was behind it.
She had done this once before, after the Componiparts payroll job. But
then it had been different: they had come to the house saying
“Willie’s up the hospital, but he’s all right-just stunned.” He had put
too much gelignite on the safe door, and had lost all hearing in one
ear. She had gone to the hospital–a different one–and waited; but she
had known he was okay.
After that job she had tried, for the first and only time, to make him
go straight. He had seemed willing, until he got out of the hospital and
was faced with the prospect of actually doing something about it.
He sat around the house for a few days, then when he ran out of money he
did another job. Later he let it slip that Tony Cox had taken him on the
firm. He was proud, and Doreen was furious.
She hated Tony Cox ever afterward. Tony knew it, too. He had been at
their home, once, eating a plate of chips and talking to Willie about
boxing, when suddenly he looked up at Doreen and said:
“What you got against me, girl?” Willie looked worried and said: “Go
easy, Tone.” Doreen tossed her head and said: “You’re a villain.”
Tony laughed at that, showing a mouthful of half-chewed chips. Then he
said: “So’s your husband–didn’t you know?” After that they went back to
talking about boxing.
Doreen never had quick answers for clever people like Tony, so she said
no more. Her opinion made no difference to anything, anyway. It would
never occur to Willie that the fact that she disliked someone was a
reason for not bringing him to the house. It was Willie’s house, even if
Doreen had to pay the rent out of her income from the mail order catalog
every other week.
It was a Tony Cox job that Willie had been on today. Doreen had got that
from Jacko’s wife Willie wouldn’t tell her. If Willie dies, she thought,
I swear to God I’ll swing for that Tony Cox. Oh, God let him be all
right The door opened and the sister put her head out. “Would you like
to come in, please?”
Doreen went first. A short, dark-skinned doctor with thick black hair
stood near the door. She ignored him and went straight to the bedside.
At first she was confused. The figure on the high, metal-framed bed was
covered to the neck in a sheet, and from the chin to the top of the head
in bandages. She had been expecting to see a face, and know instantly
whether it was Willie. For a moment she did not know what to do. Then
she knelt down and gently pulled back the sheet.
The doctor said: “Mrs. Johnson, is this your husband?” She said: “Oh,
God, Willie, what have they done?” Her head fell slowly forward until
her brow rested on her husband’s bare shoulder.
Distantly, she heard Jacko say: “That’s him.
William Johnson.” He went on to give Willie’s age and address. Doreen
became aware that Billy was standing close to her. After a few moments
the boy put his hand on her shoulder. His presence forced her to deny
grief, or at least postpone it.