‘I can’t, Jimmy, I’m sorry. I’m . . . I’m on me way home.’
‘Aw, all right, John George, I understand, it’s your day for Newcastle.’ He laughed.
John George didn’t laugh with him, but he repeated, ‘Aye. Aye, Jimmy, it’s me day for Newcastle.’ Then nodding at him, he said, ‘Be seeing you. So long. And so long, Rory. Aw, I forgot. What about the other, I mean . . . ?’
‘Leave it till Monday. And mind, don’t do any more damn fool things until then.’
‘I’ll try not to. But what’s done’s done. Nevertheless thanks, thanks. You’ll have it on Monday. So long.’
‘So long.’
‘What’s up with him?’ Jimmy asked as they went down towards the road that bordered the river.
‘He’s been a damned fool, he’s mad.’
‘What’s he been and gone and done?’
‘Nothing . . . I’ll tell you some other time. What do you want me down here for?’
‘I want to show you something.’
‘A boat?’
‘Aye, a boat. An’ something more than that.’
Rory looked down into the young face. It was always hard for him to believe that Jimmy was nineteen years old, for he still looked upon him as a nipper. He was more than fond of Jimmy, half- brothers though they were; he liked him the best of the bunch.
‘Where we going?’
‘Just along the front, then down the Cut.’
‘There’s nothing but warehouses along there.’
‘Aye, I know. But past them, past Snowdon’s, on a it, youll see.’
After some walking they had turned from the road that bordered the warehouse and wharf-strewn river front and were clambering over what looked like a piece of spare ground except that it was dotted here and there with mounds of rusty chains, anchors and the keels and ribs of small decaying boats, when Jimmy, squeezing his way between a narrow aperture in a rough fence made up of oddments of thick lack timber, said, ‘Through here.’
Rory had some difficulty in squeezing himself between the planks, but when once through he looked about him on to what appeared to be a miniature boatyard. A half-finished skeleton of a small boat was lying aslant some rough stocks and around it lay pieces of wood of all shapes and sizes. A few feet beyond the boat was the beginning of a slipway bordered by a jetty and he walked towards the edge of it and leant over the rail and looked down into the water; then from there he turned and surveyed the building at the far end of the yard.
It wasn’t unlike any of the other warehouses cluttering the river bank except that it had three windows in the upper part of it, and they were big windows, one on each side of the door and one fitting into the apex of the roof. There was no name on the front of the structure like there was on the rest of the boatyards and warehouses, and Rory now turned and looked into Jimmy’s bright eyes and said, Well?’
‘It’s a little boatyard.’
‘I can see that but I wouldn’t say it was a prosperous one. You’re not going to leave Baker’s for here, are you?’
‘No, man, no. I’m not going to leave Baker’s at all. I wish I could. At the same time I’m terrified of being stood off. No, I just want you to see it.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, ’cos . . . it’s up for sale.’
‘Up for sale?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, what’s that got to do with us?’
‘Nowt . . . nowt, man.’
Rory watched the light slowly fade from Jimmy’s face. He watched him turn away and look at the river, then up at the house, and lastly at the boat on the stocks, and he said softly now, ‘I know what you’re thinkin’, but it’s like a dream, lad, that’s all, it can never come true.’
‘I know.’
‘Then what did you bring me here for?’
‘I just wanted you to see it, just to show you.’
‘What good is that going to do you or anybody else?’
‘Well, I just wanted to show you that a man could start on almost nowt an’ build up. They’ve done it all along the river. The Pittie Brothers, they started from nowt. A sculler among the three of them, and now they’ve got the run of the place, or they think they have. But there’s always room for another one or two. Some say the keelman’s day is over since they’ve widened the river and the boats can go farther up and pick up their coal straight from the staithes, but as Mr Kilpatrick used to say there’s other things to be carted besides coal. Anyway, I’d never aim to be a keelman ’cos it’s as tight to get in as a secret society, an’ they’re a tough lot, by aye! Nor do I want to build keels, with a cabin an’ hold, ’cos it takes all of three men to manage a keel. No; but I’ve got something in me mind’s eye; it’d be under thirty foot but with space for timber, packages and such, something I could manage meself or, at a push, just two of us. Mr Kilpatrick used to say he could design . . .’
‘Who’s Mr Kilpatrick?’
The old fellow who owned this place.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Aye, in a way. I used to pop in in me bait time. He’s always given me tips, things that you don’t come by only by experience. He used to take the wood from the river’—he pointed to the wood scattered around the boat —’and when he was finished with it, it was as good as new. He had a way with wood. He said I had an’ all.’
‘And he’s dead?’
‘Aye.’
‘Who’s sellin’ it then?’
‘His son. Well, he’s selling the goodwill.’
‘Goodwill!’ Rory gave a short laugh. ‘What goodwill is there here? The back end of a boat and wood you can pick up from the river.’
There’s a house up there and there’s some decent pieces of furniture in it. And then there’s his tools, And he’s got a bond on the place for the next ten years.’
‘You mean it’s just rented?’
‘Aye.’
‘How much is it a week?’
‘Three and a tanner.’
‘Huh!’ The sound was sarcastic. They’re not asking much, three and a tanner for this!’
‘But everything is included. And a permit to ferry stuff up and down the river.’
‘And what’s the son wanting for it?’
‘Thirty-five pounds.’
‘
‘No, I’m not, that’s cheap. There’s the boat, and all the wood. And you haven’t seen his tools. Then there’s the furniture. There’s three rooms up there, I’ve been in them. He used to give me a cup of tea now and again. He lived on his own. They’re big rooms. You don’t get much of an idea from here.’
‘But there’s no boat, he must have had a boat.’
‘Aye, his son took that.’
‘That son knows what he’s doing. Has he been pumping you?’
‘No. Why no, man, why would he pump me? Only that he knew I used to talk to his old man. He came here once or twice when I was in the yard and when he saw me t’other day he told me. He said—’ Now Jimmy turned away and walked up towards the house, his body seeming to rock more than his bowed legs and Rory called after him, ‘Well, go on, finish telling me what he said.’
‘It doesn’t matter; as you said, it’s a dream.’ And now he swung round and stabbed his finger towards Rory as he ended, ‘But some day, mark my words, I’ll make it come true. I don’t know how but I will. I’ll have a place of me own where I can build a boat an’ ply a trade. You’ll see. You’ll see.’
‘All right, all right.’ Rory walked towards him now. ‘No need to bawl your head off.’
