A Kind Man by Susan Hill Page B

had to do with Tommy Carr.
    On hearing the tale from another woman in the street, Miriam laughed, her usual short, scornfullaugh, and would hear none of it, for the town was always swirling with talk of something.
    The weekend after the accident to George Crab was as hot as it had been that year and Eve had got up just after first light because she could not sleep and she liked to be outside in the cool pearly dawn before the day staled. It was a morning when the presence of Jeannie was again as strong as strong, the child pottering after her, catching hold of her skirt and clapping her hands as the chickens came fluttering and flapping out of their house. Eve did not cry for her daughter now, but when it happened in this way a shadow of sadness fell over the day and she could not enjoy the sight or smell or taste of things. She thought she would walk across the fields and up to the churchyard later, in the cooler evening, and as she was thinking it, became aware that someone was coming along the path, she supposed a visitor to one of the other cottages.
    But the woman continued past them to the gate of number 6. Eve did not know her but she saw women like her every time she went into the town, older than their years, grey before their time, a bad colour and with front teeth missing and twisted feet in shoes that were made to fit someone else.
    ‘Hello?’
    Eve looked up.
    ‘I don’t want to trouble you. It’s Tommy I have to see, Tommy Carr.’
    Eve was sure she had never seen the woman before and when she said her name, Doreen Willis, it meant nothing.
    ‘My husband’s in the house.’
    Abruptly, the woman burst into tears.
    Sitting in the kitchen, her hands shaking, clutching the mug of tea Eve had made, Doreen Willis took a long time to compose herself and Eve could only look on and wait until she heard Tommy’s footsteps on the stairs. The woman looked up, her face fearful. She had said nothing except that she must see Tommy but when he came into the small kitchen she got up in panic and backed away.
    ‘Mrs Willis,’ Eve said. ‘It’s you she has come for.’
    She went to pour his tea. The mistiness of early morning had dissolved away and the sky was clear, the sun already bright.
    Nothing was said by any of them. Tommy stood looking uncertain, Doreen Willis was standing as if frozen to the ground.
    Then he said gently, ‘What is it I can do for you?’ She let out a small breath. ‘Leonard,’ she said. ‘You know my son. Leonard?’
    ‘Leonard Willis the apprentice, yes. I’m sorry, I should have known at once. But I haven’t seen him about the works for some while.’
    ‘He can’t. His lungs are full up with it. He can hardly catch any breath.’
    Tuberculosis then, Eve knew at once, for it was rampant in the town where the air was thick and fetid with smoke and fumes and dust from the chimneys, and the germs bred in the small houses crowded with too many people. She had sometimes wondered how Miriam’s children survived it, but they always seemed fit as fleas no matter what the state of the house or the lack of decent food.
    ‘Will you come?’
    Tommy looked embarrassed. He had not told Eve, feeling oddly ashamed, but it was not the first time he had been asked in the last weeks to go to someone who was sick, grown men, women, children, babies. Word had travelled. He was talked about. Suddenly, people needed him.
    He had always refused, telling them they must see the doctor or the district nurse, go to the hospital, go to priest or parson even, for he could do nothing, why would they think it, and he had no right to try.
    Doreen’s face had fallen in on itself with a desperate sadness. She sat down heavily at the table again.
    ‘You should see the doctor,’ Tommy said.
    ‘The doctor can’t help. He’s a good man but he can’t help. Fresh air, he said, sea air or the mountains. That’s what cures people but how can we give him those things?’ She looked straight into Tommy’s face. ‘You