Howard caught the nine-five from Euston and so was back in the house in the very small hours of the morning when I had already been in bed for a long time and was too sleepy to say much except that I was very proud and not to show off quite so much in future. He got very hurt about that and wanted to start a long argument, but I told him to come to bed, which he did, but not before he had made me look at the thirty-two pounds he'd won. I told him they didn't look any different from other pound-notes I'd seen and to come to bed and we'd talk about it in the morning. So he came to bed and that warmed me up a lot. If there was no other reason for getting married that would be as good a reason as any, the way it keeps you warm in bed. In the morning we were both a bit tired, but we got up as usual and had our breakfast and Howard told me all about it - what it was like at the TV studios and the cameras with little red eyes on them wandering all over the place, and how everybody had been very nice. And I said, 'You watch your step, my lad, being cocky and know-all like you were.' And he had to agree about the showing-off, but he said it was more nervousness than anything else. So we went off to work, and of course everybody at the Supermarket had a bit of a say about last night, the catty ones agreeing with me (though I kept that to myself with them) about Howard showing off.
Howard insisted on us going out that evening in one of the cars from the Used Car Mart, dressed up a bit, to spend some of the thirty-two pounds as a celebration. Which we did, and we drank a bit too much when we'd had our dinner at the Green Man out near Willbridge, and this led, one way and another, to Howard losing his job at the Used Car Mart. Howard was a good driver, having been for a time on his national service a staff-car driver for a colonel or somebody, but he could show off a bit too much, as in the quiz programme, and he could be careless. What happened was that he drove this Bentley we were in straight into a wall just as we were coming into Pelham, although I will say the fault was not altogether his. There was another car, driven by some real drunk, coming whizzing out of Pelham zigzagging all over the road, and Howard swerved to avoid it and over-corrected or something, and then the car went right into this wall, though he got the brakes on almost in time or something. The two headlamps were smashed and a big dent made in the bonnet, and this Bentley, though it was a second-hand car like all the cars at the Mart, was a bit newer than most and was supposed to be everybody's pride and joy, especially old Watts, Howard's boss. Well, as you can well imagine, next day there was a bit of a row at the Used Car Mart, especially as, to make matters worse, with the drink and all, we forgot to set the alarm and so both woke up a bit late, me with a rotten headache too. When Howard came home at dinner-time he'd walked, not driven in one of the used cars with the advertisement on, as had been his custom, and he told me he was leaving at the end of the week and to hell with bloody old Watts.
'What happened?' I asked.
'Oh,' said Howard, 'when I got in I said I was sorry about everything and that they could charge the repair job to me and so forth, but old Watts got very nasty. Jealousy, I think, more than anything else because of me being on the TV. Anyway, he said he wasn't at all satisfied, if I wanted to know, with the way things had been going, making out that he'd lost a lot of sales because of me being too honest with the customers, telling to watch this and to watch that and if they weren't pleased with their buy to bring it back and so on, and before we knew where we were we were having a real blazing row, and what with my head being a bit rough and a nasty taste in my mouth I fairly let him have it. I told Watts what to do with his bloody nasty business and his cheating and dishonesty, and he said that I'd got too big for my boots and what call did a working-man like me have with books and answering learned questions on the telly. So I told him he was an ignorant old sod who thought only of making dishonest money and perhaps going after little girls in dark alleyways, which is true, you know, and he said he'd have me for slander and libel and whatnot. Then we sort of calmed down for a bit, though he knew I'd spoken a bit of truth and at the same time I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the ugly old sod, so it was agreed I work till the end of the week and then get my cards and that's that as far as the Used Car Mart's concerned, as far as I'm concerned, anyway.'
'Well, what are you going to do?' I asked.
'There's no particular hurry,' said Howard, in his very calm manner. 'There's the quiz next week and the week after that to get ready for. I could do with the time really. Some of those questions I got asked were very tough.'
'You may not get through the first stage of The Big Money,' I said. 'Next week you may be just out of it, with only thirty-two pound to show for it. Less than that now,' I said, 'after last night.'
'I've got a feeling,' said Howard, putting on his very prophetical way of speaking, 'that we won't have to worry any more. That I'm going to win this lot and more besides. If you want to you can give up your job in the Supermarket right away. There's not going to be any need for either of us to work.'
'Are you crazy?' I said. 'Even if you win the thousand quid that's not going to last for ever, is it? Besides,' I said, 'I'm not so sure that I want to give up my job. I like it there, meeting people and having a bit of gossip, and I'd have to go there anyway, wouldn't I, to do the shopping. It's a bit of life for me, a bit of the outside world,' I said.
'So,' said Howard, 'you wouldn't be happy just with me, just the two of us together?' He looked very much like a dog when he said that, sort of begging for affection. And I said:
'Oh, of course. But we mustn't lose touch, must we? I mean, the world's got to go round, hasn't it?' It seemed very funny, all that. Howard seemed to have all these interests, but that was just really his photographic brain. Really, he only liked being with me, having spoken the truth on the TV when he said I was his only hobby. He never went to football or to boxing or to the new bowling-alley, like other men, or even to a pub on his own. He always wanted to be with me. Now, that was very flattering and I was pleased, as any woman ought to be, but I'd never really known anybody like Howard before and it was just a bit frightening. He'd look at me with love in his eyes sometimes, and it was just like a sort of big smouldering fire. But then, with this very bad rainy weather, I thought how nice it would be if we could be together all the time, with the door locked and good fires going in both downstairs rooms, like Christmas, and all the people at work in the outside world while we listened to Music While You Work and then Mrs Dale's Diary with the sleet lashing away at the windows and everything warm and cosy within. But there was the other side of life to think of, like meeting people and having a chat and looking at the shop-windows and the odd laugh at work with the bustle of all the shoppers with their wire baskets round you. There's always two sides to life, and I ask everybody to remember that.
The following week was very peculiar, with me going off to work and Howard staying at home. I won't deny that it made things a lot easier for me, because it did. Howard could cook in a sort of rough man's sort of way, but the plates were always hot and nothing was under-cooked - just the opposite, really, the sausages almost black - and he was a very clean washer-up. He was also very thorough with the vac and very hot on spiders' webs and dust generally. But it made me almost want to cry when he came to the door to welcome me back as soon as he heard me putting my key in the lock, Howard with one of my frilly aprons on and the kitchen full of smoke if he'd been frying something, which he normally did. And Howard always very welcoming and loving when I got home. And then Thursday came and it was time for Howard to go off to London to start the Big Money part of the quiz, still very confident and prepared to show everybody that he was a bit above selling used cars really.
Well, there I was in the evening, sitting in front of the TV with my black evening frock on. I'd made some fairly dainty sandwiches in advance and there was a bottle of British sherry, these things waiting till I should feel less nervous and not want to throw everything up. Also, I'd locked the front door and was going to pretend that there was nobody in if anybody knocked. (Some neighbour might come and
say, 'Our telly's gone bust, dear, and we didn't want to miss your hubby, did we now? So we came to watch him with you.' The idea really being that they hoped he made a mess of it and it would be nice for them to have a bit of a gloat at me being so disappointed, as would only be natural.)
Anyway, my heart nearly came up and fell on the hearthrug when the words OVER AND OVER came on to the screen. There was interference also from some car or other, so that the screen got full of snow and there was a loud frying noise, so that I cursed just like Howard himself would have done. But everything was all right in a bit, and the people they had on in the first half of the show were the usual stupid crowd except for one bank clerk who knew quite a lot about modern jazz and could have got on to The Big Money. But the rule was that nobody could be on it while somebody else was on it, the somebody else being Howard in this case. Then we had the commercials and I ate a couple of sandwiches and washed them down with British sherry, and when I saw Howard walking on the screen in the second half of the show I felt quite calm really. Howard looked very confident and acknowledged the loud applause with a sort of dignified bow. Then they put him in a big box with a glass door and he put headphones on, and there was the big clock ready to tick away. And then Laddie O'Neill, who was really now like a very old friend, asked for the Big Money questions and the brunette, this week wearing flesh-coloured tights, brought them in grinning all over her face. Laddie said, very solemnly:
'And now here is the sixty-four pound question.' He cleared his throat and you could almost hear people breathing very quickly and nervously, but you couldn't hear any other sound as he said: 'I want you to give the names of four books which have the word "Golden" in the title, and also the names of the authors. Have you got that?' Howard said yes. 'Right,' said Laddie. 'Thirty seconds, starting - now.' And Howard said:
'The Golden Ass, by Lucius Apuleius. The Golden Bough, by Sir James Frazer. The Golden Bowl, by Henry James. And. And. And.' It was awful, Howard trying to think desperately, with the clock ticking away. 'And,' said Howard, 'The Golden Legend, by Longfellow.'
Of course, everybody went mad clapping, and there was Howard saying, 'Or The Golden Age by Kenneth Graham. Or The Golden Arrow by Mary Webb. Or The Golden Cheronese by--' But they shut him up then and Laddie asked him if he wanted to go on to the hundred and twenty-five pound question. Which Howard did. This time he was told he must wait thirty seconds before giving his answer. Laddie O'Neill said:
'The following are the real names of certain authors. I want you to give, for a hundred and twenty-five pounds, their pseudonyms or pen-names. Right?' Right. Then he reeled off these names and, honestly, they meant nothing to me. There were five of them, and Laddie said the whole list twice, and Howard had to hold these names in his head while he waited thirty seconds. This thirty seconds seemed like an age, and it didn't make it any better, the electric organ playing sort of spooky music while Howard was supposed to be thinking of his answers. But then he came out with them, cheerful and confident as anything:
'Armandine Aurore Lucile Dupin was known as George Sand. Mary Ann Cross was George Eliot. Charles Lamb called himself Elia. Eric Blair wrote as George Orwell. And I've forgotten the fifth. Oh dear, oh dear.' This was a terrible moment, for he wasn't allowed to be given the name again, which seemed very unfair. But just as I was going to be sick on the carpet he remembered and said, 'Oh, yes,' and I got the impression that he'd only been pretending to have forgotten, 'Samuel Clemens called himself Mark Twain.'
Well, after all the applause, he was on to the two hundred and fifty pound question, and it was not any use me feeling like a wet rag yet, because there was the five hundred pound question to come, and that would be enough for this week. Anyway, here was the next question, and it might as well have been in Greek for all it meant to somebody like me:
'This question is in three parts. In what novels do the following characters appear? First, Glossin.'
'Scott's Guy Mannering,' said Howard.
'Imlac.'
'Dr Johnson's Rasselas,' said Howard.
'Densil Ravenshoe.' And you could see from the way he said it that that was a tough one. But Howard said:
'Easy. A novel with that name, I mean Ravenshoe, by Henry Kingsley.'
Honestly, and as you can see, Howard was really terrific. And only me and a few more knew, certainly nobody in that television studio knew, that it was all because of poor Howard's photographic brain. Well, when the applause had died down and Howard was asked if he'd do the five hundred pound question and said yes, you got a sort of impression that they were sharpening their axes. And then these two girls walked on not showing their legs, but wearing skirts, as though this was too solemn a business for legs to be shown. They didn't have anything to do except just stand on either side of the box where Howard was sort of imprisoned, like a decoration, and they didn't grin this time but were very serious. And then Laddie O'Neill got the five hundred pound question in his hands and he coughed and you could tell it was going to be a real stinker. But in for a penny in for a pound, and I'd rather Howard lost now than he should have been weak and taken away just the two hundred and fifty. And if he got this one I wanted him to go straight on to the end. And here it was. 'What poem,' said Laddie, 'by what royal author is written about at length by Sir W. A. Craigie in Essays and Studies by Members of the English Association, Volume 24?'
'A catch question,' said Howard, 'really. The only important poem written by somebody royal is The King's Quair by James I of Scotland, written in 1423 and 1424 while he was a prisoner in England and about the time of his marriage to--' But you couldn't hear any more from Howard, because Laddie O'Neill was dancing up and down saying it was right, it was right, and the audience was yelling away and then the programme was over and I had another week of agony in front of me before the thousand pound question, knowing full well that Howard wouldn't take the five hundred and that he'd go on to the end, and I admired him for that and loved him but also felt a bit frightened, I didn't quite know why.
Chapter 7
As you might expect, Howard was now quite famous in Bradcaster, and people would point him out in the street. But it didn't seem to me that they pointed him out in a nice way, as if he was a pop-singer, but in a sort of mixed way, part admiring and part sneering, if you see what I mean, as though it was all wrong for a grown man to waste his time on book-learning, even if it did perhaps mean him winning a thousand pounds, as if it was not manly, somehow. People are very queer, really. If a man's a professor, for instance, they always think he's going to be ugly and untidy and bald and absent-minded, and I don't see any reason why that should be true. One evening in the week we went out to the French Horn, which is a pub just near the Town Centre, for a couple of drinks, and some lads in the pub recognised Howard and started to make remarks. They were more silly than offensive, really, these lads being very young in their leather jackets and tight trousers, earning good money too, as you could see from their drinks, which were Babycham and Pony and things like that, which I'd always thought to be a woman's drink, really. Anyway, they went 'Haw haw haw' to each other and 'The next question is for hondred and forty ponds,' speaking like with a potato in their mouths. But Howard just grinned at that, for they were only silly boys.
It was a pity in a way that Howard had lost his job at the Used Car Mart, because a lot of people started saying that he'd given it up because he thought he was too good for it now, and pride came before a fall, and you could see there were some who were just dying for Howard to fail on the thousand pound question. I knew all about this, because, after all, I worked at the Hastings Road Supermarket and heard people talking by the wrapped loaves shelf and near the washing powders and so on, and a lot of them didn't know who I was. And some were bold as brass and spoke right out to my face that Howard had made a grave mistake giving up his job and that it was counting his chickens and a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, and things of that sort. I tried to keep my temper, of course, but it was a bit difficul
t, especially when some of the other girls at the Supermarket had their own bit of a sneer about me still working while Howard was at home poking the fire, and one girl, Edna Simons, called me 'Your ladyship'. That was uncalled for, that sort of sarcastic thing, and I turned on her nastily and would have scratched her face if she'd been worth wasting energy on, so I contented myself with upsetting the pile of tins of cut-price peaches in syrup she'd just put on the floor, and then she started to cry out like a really common thing. The whole Supermarket seemed to turn sour on me that day, and when I got home at dinner-time and saw that Howard had the place nice and clean, with the fire blazing away, and had done a sort of mixed grill of sausages, eggs, bacon, and some potatoes left over from yesterday fried up, and everything nice and hot though a bit overdone, I really felt like following what Howard had said and saying to hell with the Supermarket and then locking the front door and there'd just be the two of us by the fire all afternoon, and let the rest of the world go by, as the song said. But I went back to work in the afternoon, as usual.
When I got home in the evening Howard was sort of dancing about all over the place and shouting that he'd won, he'd won. I thought at first he'd gone crackers, because the quiz wasn't till the next day (Thursday), but then he explained. Howard, as I've already said, was always full of surprises, and what he'd done, without telling me, was to open up an account with the Turf Commission Agent, George Welbeck ('Welbeck Never Welshes'), on Station Road. He'd done that slyly in the morning and then he'd put five pounds each way on a horse called Caper Spurge, because he'd remembered once looking up Caper Spurge in the dictionary, and it had given Myrtle Spurge as having the same meaning, and Howard had thought of my sister Myrtle and put five pounds each way on this horse running in the three o'clock at Doncaster. The horse had come in, as you might expect, at a hundred to eight, so Howard certainly had some cause for rejoicing, me too, for that matter. That was typical of Howard, somehow, and yet you couldn't think of Howard as lucky. And, while I was glad about this win of his, I couldn't help feeling a bit hollow in the pit of my stomach. I don't know why, but I did. Still, perhaps this was a good omen for the following evening. Howard said it was, and he was as confident as anything.