Next morning Howard went out early, with his best overcoat on. He didn't come back till about midday, but when he walked in he nodded sort of grimly and said, 'I had a bit of trouble, strange as it may seem, but it's all right now.' I said:
'So it's all on, is it?'
'Every penny.' And he nodded again. Well, that day I'd got some fish fingers for dinner, five each, and I'd made some chips, but neither of us could eat much. At one point in the meal Howard suddenly shut his eyes and said, 'I think it says Dalnamein.'
'Too late now,' I said. And I made some tea, very strong. The race was at 1.55 and of course it was on the TV, so at about 1.30 we were sitting down in front of it, our hearts going like mad, and I asked, 'What odds did you get?'
'Twenty-eight to one,' said Howard. PS29,000, I thought to myself. It was too much for people like us, and I felt a bit better about not winning, being sure now that Howard had done the wrong thing and he himself not too happy, as you could tell, him drawing on cigarettes, one after another, in a thirsty sort of way. And all the time the voice of the commentator at the race course was droning on about this horse and that horse, and they all looked alike to me. There was this seventeen-inch screen of ours, blobbing and snowing away with the cars passing outside, all full of horses neighing and trotting or something, all to and fro. 'There it is,' said Howard in a gloomy way. 'That black sort of horse there. That's Dalnamein. I hope to God I've done the right thing.' And he began to bite his nails, a habit I've always hated, so I hit his fingers down from his mouth. He mumbled something and then the horses were all under starter's orders and then they were off. The commentator was telling us all about it in a voice like the voice of some parson in church, though very fast, all on the same note: 'And he so-and-so so-and-so so-and-so so-and-so's. And he so-and-so so-and-so so-and-so so-and-so's,' taking a big breath before each new 'and', and getting very excited. What happened was that New Warrior was in front with Mossy Face, Pandofell, Sunrise and Sabot behind, and Windyedge one of the backmarkers, whatever that meant. With seven furlongs to go Bonnie Brae got ahead of New Warrior, Sunrise, Prime Mover and Sabot. Then it was the final turn and Prime Mover got a slight advantage and then Pandofell moved up and there were two furlongs to go and Pandofell was a length in front.
'Come on, Dalnamein!' yelled out Howard all of a sudden, and we were both banging our fists on our knees and the commentator was going at it very fast on this one note, and 'Come on, Dalnamein, you bastard!' yelled out Howard. Dalnamein was challenging and Windyedge was coming up and they were into the final furlong and Dalnamein had taken the lead and was holding on and it was Windyedge just behind and Dalnamein held on and then there was the winning post and Dalnamein had beaten Windyedge by a neck, as they call it, and Howard and I didn't know whether to jump in the air and smash all the furniture or just pass out, sort of numb. What I said was: 'I think I'll go and make a cup of tea.' And I went off and did it and Howard switched the telly off and just sat there looking at its big square creamy eye which was blind, with his mouth open. While we were sipping the tea, and believe me we felt that we needed it, Howard said, 'Twenty-eight thousand pounds, that will be. What I'll do is to put half of that in the bank for the time being and I'll play the other half for a week, say, and with a bit of luck we'll have enough to do what we're going to.'
'You get a thousand back,' I said. 'That's your stake money. The bookie gives you that back, you see.'
'Oh, yes,' said Howard, 'I know all about that, but that'll be the thousand I got for seeming to know all about books and all that sort of thing, and I shall give that away.'
'Who to? 'I asked, being past being surprised by anything Howard could do or say.
'Oh, I'll send it to that young fellow from the Daily Window. He said he knew a lot of writers and poets and suchlike who are half-starved. That's the least I can do.'
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' I said, nastily, a bit. 'He never put anything in the paper about you. He did nothing for you.'
'It's not for him,' said Howard. 'It's for some poet who's living in an attic, writing his poetry that nobody wants, starving.'
'How do you know you could trust him to give the money to somebody who deserves it?'
'He seemed a decent honest young fellow. He gave me his card, see.' And Howard took a card out of his pocket with Albert Reeves, Daily Window printed on it. 'I mean,' said Howard, 'it's only fair, isn't it? It's sort of a way of paying back all those dead old poets and writers and suchlike, that neither of us have even read. It's the least I can do. I'll feel freer that way, if you see what I mean. Under no more obligation.'
There was no point in me saying anything more, and, anyway, there we were quarrelling about a mere measly thousand quid when we'd got more money than we knew what to do with, me anyway, and Howard talked about making yet more money. It was best for me to give up arguing and thinking and planning and do something about getting our tea ready. Not just a cup of tea, of course, but something cooked, those fish fingers that we hadn't been able to eat warmed up and with a drop of tomato ketchup on them. That would do all right for tea.
Chapter 12
The next week, as you can well imagine, was a pretty busy one, starting with Sunday when, of course, we had to go and see my mum and pop and tell them we'd give them a present, anything they'd like for the house, and they thought they'd have a refrigerator, so we said we'd see about that for them. That was in the morning. In the afternoon Howard went to see his auntie, just on his own, and I've no idea what he did for her, but I should imagine he gave her a cheque, though for what amount I've no idea and I didn't ask. I could see now the point of having a bank account, Howard having opened one a year or two back but we never having anything in it till now, really. I used to say, 'The wages come in and we spend the wages. And here you are paying out bank charges and whatnot and the bank doing nothing to earn them.' But he always said, 'It's the done thing. Besides, one of these days we'll really be needing a bank, you mark my words.' I never dreamed, of course, of what would really happen, but here it was, large as life and twice as beautiful, and Howard as usual was right.
On Sunday evening Myrtle and her husband Michael came round, and of course Howard could see what they were after as much as I could, for all Howard being absorbed in racing papers and what to back on next week's races. Myrtle was saying how marvellous it all was, gushing, and of course we didn't breathe a word of what Howard had already made out of the thousand quid, any more than we had done to Mum and Pop and Howard's auntie, though them we thought we would tell later, when Howard had finished what he called his plan. Myrtle and Michael were only the start really of people who didn't usually call on us starting to call on us and we got a bit fed up with it, although Howard said, 'All this was to be expected. This is human nature, this is.' There were the Ogdens, Maisie Bowyer who was divorced, Jack Braintree, Liz Bamber and her husband-to-be, and lots of others, all cadging in a polite way, but all we gave them was a cup of tea and a ginger biscuit.
On Monday morning Howard wrote a letter to this young chap on the Daily Window, telling him he was enclosing crossed cheque for PS1,000 to be used to help starving poets and suchlike, but there was to be no publicity of any sort. Howard said he felt better after that, and he said the ghosts of those dead writers and poets who he had shamefully exploited (his words) could now sleep in peace. Oh, Howard was a funny boy, but you could see what he was getting at in a sort of way. Then he got down to putting money on the horses, though it was a matter now of opening up accounts with other bookies in the town, George Welbeck ('Welbeck Never Welshes') obviously not going to be too pleased with Howard after the November Handicap, though if they don't like their customers winning why do they go into business at all? Anyway, that suddenly made me think of something that Howard hadn't thought of, and I said to him, 'You haven't got the money from Welbeck yet. And here you are sending off cheques for a thousand quid all over the place. Aren't you being a bit previous?' He winked at me and said, 'Settling-up day's
next Saturday. I've postdated this cheque, see.' I shook my head, not quite knowing what that word meant, but I left it all to Howard, as usual. Howard always knew best, poor boy. So Monday morning was a busy morning for him, going to the other turf commission agents in Bradcaster and opening up accounts with them. And now I'll tell you what horses he backed and in what races and how much he won altogether, as well as I can remember, that is. I never asked him what method he used, but I know it wasn't the November Handicap one, because these small races would not be in Cope's Book. He might have used a pin for all I know or got inside information or something, for he was out all day, only coming home about five and then having a rosy sort of look about him. If he'd been drinking, I just don't know where, and he was certainly never offensive, just more loving than usual if that was possible.
Well, on Monday there was racing at Birmingham, and Howard came unstuck in the one o'clock, backing Noble Warrior for a win and it came in fourth and there were only four runners. But in the one-thirty he backed Cobbity each way, and that came in third at 100-9. In the two o'clock he backed Ladignac each way, and that was 33-1 and came in second. In the two-thirty he backed Up the Vale for a win and it came in third. But in the three o'clock Howard did really well. He backed Winter Wanton and Hydrant each way (and he had a lot on, how much exactly he never told me, but it must have been a lot) and Winter Wanton came in first at 6-1 and Hydrant third at 8-1. It was a very big field, too. And in the three-thirty he backed Eire's Flame each way, and that came in third at 33-1, ridden by T. Brookshaw. When he came home I asked him how much he reckoned he'd won (or lost, because I didn't know how much the stakes were) on the day, and he did a very funny drunken sort of thing. He put his finger by the side of his nose, swaying a bit. So I gave him his tea (tinned kidneys in gravy with mashed potatoes) and didn't ask any more, and he was off to bed at half-past eight, snoring away.
Now next day Howard didn't back anything, I don't know why, because there was big racing at Birmingham, I knew that much. But he had some queer system of his own. On the Wednesday there was small sort of racing at Worcester with heavy going, and Howard backed Just My Mark each way in the one o'clock and it came in second at 100-7. In the one-thirty he backed the winner - Lynnmoor at very poor odds of 5-2, but he said that, altogether, he'd bet about six hundred quid on that all told, so it was a nice little win. That gave me an idea how big the stakes were, but I didn't worry, because we had fourteen thousand nicely tucked away, unless George Welbeck who never welshed decided to welsh. But Welbeck was too big a man for that, and a big bookie never loses, nor welshes either, and George Welbeck's motto was really the motto he'd used when he first started in business in a very small way. So the money was quite safe, and we'd never in all our lives ever dreamed of having so much money. Anyway, in the two o'clock at Worcester Soltown came last, and Howard had backed that for a win. But he backed the favourite in the two-thirty, which was Spring Bird ridden by S. Mellor, and the odds were 5-2. His luck seemed to be in now, because he also got the winner in the three o'clock, Wire Warrior at 100-9, and Brooksby Boy came in second in the three-thirty at 20-1, and all Howard would say about that was that he had a 'packet' on it.
Howard did nothing on the Thursday, concentrating everything, as he put it, on the Friday and Saturday of that week, and on the Friday there was racing at Sandown. Dargent came first in the one o'clock at 20-1, and Howard cursed because he hadn't put enough on it. Then he had no further wins or places until the two-thirty when Cannobie Lee came in third at 6-1 and he cursed again about Flame Gun, first at 100-9, which he'd very nearly backed. But he had no real cause to curse or grumble, because he cleaned up a nice little packet, as he called it, on Silver Dome, which came first at 20-1 in the three o'clock. On Saturday morning letters came for Howard, and they all had cheques in them, and the only one he'd show me was the one from George Welbeck, and you could hardly believe your eyes. PS29,000, clear as daylight. Howard looked at the other cheques and said, 'Quite satisfactory, but we haven't finished yet.' And then, when he'd had his breakfast, which was a bit late, this being Saturday, he went off in his best overcoat to the bank.
He didn't come back till dinner-time, and, knowing there was big racing at Sandown Park, Newcastle and Doncaster that afternoon and that this was Howard's last day for backing horses, I didn't put much in the way of dinner, just a tin of salmon with mashed potatoes, but neither of us could eat much, just like the previous Saturday, only, of course, not quite so bad. They were showing some of this racing on the TV, but Howard said he didn't want to watch it, it took too much out of you, and he'd be quite content to hear the results later on the wireless. He said he'd go to bed and come down when the sports news came on. I don't know why it is, but the little march tune they have on the wireless when the sports news is coming is one of the saddest little tunes in the world to my ears. I wonder why that should be? There's something somehow very miserable about five o'clock on a Saturday in winter and I can't explain it. But when Howard came down to hear the racing results there was not much misery, I can tell you. He'd gone down a bit on some of the races, but in the three o'clock at Sandown he'd backed Sabre, which came in first at 100-9. At Newcastle, in the Medburn Novices' Hurdle, Venturesome Warrior came in second at 13-2, and Howard had backed that each way. In the Alnwick Castle Hurdle he got the winner, John D, at 20-1, but after that no more luck at Newcastle. But it was at Doncaster that Howard did best, what with Royal Spray winning in the one o'clock at 100-7, and Nigarda second in the Try Again Hurdle at three o'clock, 11-2, and Pendle Pearl, 33-1, in the same race coming third. So that was that. 'Well,' said Howard.
'How do we stand, love?' I asked.
'I'll work it all out,' he said, 'when I've had my tea.'
'Tea won't be ready for a bit,' I said. 'I've made some fishcakes out of the tinned salmon and the mashed potatoes we left, and those will have to be fried.'
'All right,' he said. 'I'll work it out roughly now while you're getting the tea ready.' So I went off to the kitchen to fry the fishcakes, not really thinking about anything really, being a bit numb as far as the money was concerned and not really able to take it all in. While I was setting the table Howard was in his fireside chair with his attache case on his knee as a sort of desk, working out his winnings on a bit of paper. His lips were moving and he was frowning a bit, but I said nothing. When I brought the fishcakes and the teapot in and said, 'Tea up, love,' he said, 'Just a minute.' So I sat down and started buttering a slice of bread and then I poured some OK sauce on my fishcakes (two each) and then Howard said:
'I make it, but this is only rough, mind, I make it, and I may have made one or two mistakes, but I make it, including what I paid in the bank this morning, I make it--'
'Come on,' I said.
'I make it,' said Howard, 'just under eighty thousand. Just under eighty thousand quid, that is.' And he frowned.
'Oh, Howard,' I said, my mouth open and showing what I was eating, and looking at him as though he'd done something wrong, 'Oh, Howard.'
'Call it seventy-nine thousand odd,' said Howard, 'just to be on the safe side.' He nodded a bit, still frowning. 'I reckoned on about a hundred thousand, but I suppose this might as well do.'
'Oh, Howard,' I said again. I didn't seem capable of saying anything else. Then I said, 'Come and get your tea.'
'Of course,' he said, 'if you'd like me to take it up to the hundred thousand mark, it wouldn't be any trouble.'
'Don't tempt providence,' I said. 'Seventy-nine thousand is a terrible lot of money. A wicked lot of money. What are we going to do with it all?'
'We're going to spend it,' said Howard. Then he sat down to his tea. 'These look to be nice fishcakes,' he said.
Chapter 13
I won't go into all the details of arguing and planning and suggesting and quarrelling and lying awake in bed and then sleeping and tossing and turning so that the clothes fell off and we kept waking up again, cold, and all the cigarettes we smoked, more than I ever smoked in m
y life before, and the bottles that Howard had on the sideboard - Grand Marnier, Dubonnet, Invalid Port, Spanish Sherry and the like - from which we drank, so that now I was richer than I'd ever been in my life I was also iller than I'd ever been in my life. I kept urging Howard that we'd got to be sensible and put some of this money by for a rainy day and he said all right, but in a half-hearted and sly sort of way. He said:
'There's one thing, anyway. Will you agree that it would be a good idea for us to take a bit of a holiday and get somewhere a bit nearer the sun than England, this being likely to be a perishing sort of winter?'
'Well,' I said, 'there's Christmas coming, isn't there? It's not right to go on our holidays over Christmas, is it? I've never heard of anybody doing that sort of thing before. Not people of our class, anyway.' And in my mind I could see all the shops lit up and the children with their balloons and the lovely cold warm smell of Christmas and us away from it. Howard got in a rage and said:
'Our class? People of our class? We're not the class we used to be, my girl, nor nothing like it. We're what is known as the moneyed classes now, and we shall behave as such if it's the last thing we do.' Then he got a bit gentler and said that we could have a lovely Christmas away from Bradcaster, just the two of us, with the loveliest presents in the world and champagne and dancing under a tropical moon and stars and the palm-trees swaying in the scented breeze, a very romantic idea, like the pictures in the days when there was that sort of picture and people used to go to the pictures. But I said: