demanding a wage in return for his services, my father could be induced to provide them for free, in return for Geordieâs silence.
Though my father never spoke of the arrangement, Geordie made sure that it was well-advertised. The butcher, the grocer, the doctor, the chemist, the girl at the bankâall were provided with the new information that my father, not Geordie, would be acting as Harryâs emissary from then on. Overnight he became a public figure, beseiged by a notoriety for which by nature he was utterly unprepared. In the past heâd been known largely as Maddy Andrewsâs husband, and he had been happy enough in his own identity to accept the other without distress. As he had grown older people had noticed him less and less; after my mother died he went out so seldom he might not have been there at all. Accustomed, then, to anonymity, he now was forced to exchange greetings, or worse, make conversation, with every convoy of prampushing women and battalion of men who had ever known Harry, Geordie, or any of their relations. Errands which used to take him at most two hours to accomplish now took him at least four, and often much longer still.
Rather than simply play along with Geordie, agree to every imposition without comment or complaint and then, once heâd gone, just continue as before, my father became obsessive. The old man was just as heâd predicted, quiet and undemanding, yet no matter how much my father did for him, he felt his efforts were inadequate, that somehow he deserved to do more. The irony was that looking after Harry need not have involved a great alteration in my fatherâs way of life. When my mother was alive no workdaypassed without his having something waiting for her when she got homeâa new book, or flowers, or a moderate bottle of wineâand with us he was just as generous. If he went shopping in town he always returned with sweets for Nicola and socks or pants or running shoes for Stephen, whose energy soon outdistanced every pair he received. For me he would bring things in installments too expensive to purchase in one go; I remember a microscope, a dollâs house, and the complete works of poets and playwrights heâd recommended that I read. He would willingly have done the same for Harry even if Geordie had never found us out. As it was, he did no more for him than he had done for his wife and continued to do for us now that she was gone; he simply took no joy in what he did.
My father blamed no one but himself for his ability to be blackmailed. He accepted his predicament as a punishment just and sound, though gradually he recognised his need for at least a temporary reprieve. He couldnât, however, reconcile himself to abandoning Harry without legitimate cause; a job, he decided, would be a good excuse to get away. Moreover, he needed the money: heâd bought food on credit and an anorak for Harry, and he owed money to the local electrician who had hot-wired the house for us before we moved in. All those bills still had to be paid. When he heard that the Wimpyâs near the City Hall was hiring, he inquired in person and was amazed when he was offered a job.
The franchise preferred its product to be sold by attractive young women, so only they got jobs behind the registers. Those less fortunate were assigned to folding boxes lined with grease-proof paper in the back recesses of the kitchen. The more intelligent of the young male applicant pool were placed on the fryolators and grills, while thosewith acne, unusual hairstyles, or unseemly tattoos were hired to wrap the burgers and arrange them on the warming shelves behind the counter. My father, a bit of an embarrassment in his undersized overall and red-and-white striped cap, was relegated to sweeping the floor.
He was given the night shift on Mondays and Wednesdays, the two slowest evenings of the week, and his wages were paid in cash. It was his request that we stay away from
Though my father never spoke of the arrangement, Geordie made sure that it was well-advertised. The butcher, the grocer, the doctor, the chemist, the girl at the bankâall were provided with the new information that my father, not Geordie, would be acting as Harryâs emissary from then on. Overnight he became a public figure, beseiged by a notoriety for which by nature he was utterly unprepared. In the past heâd been known largely as Maddy Andrewsâs husband, and he had been happy enough in his own identity to accept the other without distress. As he had grown older people had noticed him less and less; after my mother died he went out so seldom he might not have been there at all. Accustomed, then, to anonymity, he now was forced to exchange greetings, or worse, make conversation, with every convoy of prampushing women and battalion of men who had ever known Harry, Geordie, or any of their relations. Errands which used to take him at most two hours to accomplish now took him at least four, and often much longer still.
Rather than simply play along with Geordie, agree to every imposition without comment or complaint and then, once heâd gone, just continue as before, my father became obsessive. The old man was just as heâd predicted, quiet and undemanding, yet no matter how much my father did for him, he felt his efforts were inadequate, that somehow he deserved to do more. The irony was that looking after Harry need not have involved a great alteration in my fatherâs way of life. When my mother was alive no workdaypassed without his having something waiting for her when she got homeâa new book, or flowers, or a moderate bottle of wineâand with us he was just as generous. If he went shopping in town he always returned with sweets for Nicola and socks or pants or running shoes for Stephen, whose energy soon outdistanced every pair he received. For me he would bring things in installments too expensive to purchase in one go; I remember a microscope, a dollâs house, and the complete works of poets and playwrights heâd recommended that I read. He would willingly have done the same for Harry even if Geordie had never found us out. As it was, he did no more for him than he had done for his wife and continued to do for us now that she was gone; he simply took no joy in what he did.
My father blamed no one but himself for his ability to be blackmailed. He accepted his predicament as a punishment just and sound, though gradually he recognised his need for at least a temporary reprieve. He couldnât, however, reconcile himself to abandoning Harry without legitimate cause; a job, he decided, would be a good excuse to get away. Moreover, he needed the money: heâd bought food on credit and an anorak for Harry, and he owed money to the local electrician who had hot-wired the house for us before we moved in. All those bills still had to be paid. When he heard that the Wimpyâs near the City Hall was hiring, he inquired in person and was amazed when he was offered a job.
The franchise preferred its product to be sold by attractive young women, so only they got jobs behind the registers. Those less fortunate were assigned to folding boxes lined with grease-proof paper in the back recesses of the kitchen. The more intelligent of the young male applicant pool were placed on the fryolators and grills, while thosewith acne, unusual hairstyles, or unseemly tattoos were hired to wrap the burgers and arrange them on the warming shelves behind the counter. My father, a bit of an embarrassment in his undersized overall and red-and-white striped cap, was relegated to sweeping the floor.
He was given the night shift on Mondays and Wednesdays, the two slowest evenings of the week, and his wages were paid in cash. It was his request that we stay away from
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