Dovetails by Michael Graeme

Dovetails

Michael Graeme

Liam felt like a stranger as he rode the bus into his old hometown. But the faces of the people, the fashions they wore, even the styles of the cars were unfamiliar to him now. It was late afternoon and the schools had just finished, so the bus was packed with children on their way home. They jostled one another and their language was shameful, he thought, for ones so young. A small, elderly lady was sitting beside him and she tut-tutted, as if to chastise them. Liam hoped they wouldn't notice her, or she'd have even more to chastise them for. He was a big man, and no doubt she felt safe in his shadow, even though she didn't know him, but if she had known him, he thought; well, now that would have been a different matter altogether.

   Across from Liam sat a boy who was balancing a small coffee table on his knee. It was half wrapped in newspaper and Liam guessed he'd made it in woodwork classes at school; but he wasn't certain for it looked to be of an uncommonly good quality. He examined it surreptitiously, then observed the lad, noticing how he kept his head down and did not once make eye contact with his rowdy chums.

    "That's a fine table, son," he said. "Design it yourself, did you?"

    "I did,.. yes,..."

    "Good dovetail joints. Hard to get them so neat as that in pine. Terrible wood to work with, so soft, it won't cut neatly at all, eh?"

    The lad was polite, though uncomfortable being addressed by a stranger. Liam nodded his approval once more, then left the boy alone. He wouldn't have given any of the other young scoundrels on that bus the time of day. They'd grow up and take the world as they found it, but leave it in no better state for their passing. The lad with table, though,... now there was someone who could make a difference! He sighed as he climbed down from the bus. Prison did that to a man, he thought: it either confirmed you in your bad ways, or it made a philosopher out of you!

Like everything else that day, he found that even the old house looked unfamiliar to him. The hedge his father had once kept fastidiously neat, all the summers of Liam's childhood, had been replaced by a cheap panel fence that would be in tatters after the first gust of wind. The little patch of grass had gone too - replaced by dreary limestone chippings, on which sat a brutal looking four by four. That was Polly's car no doubt, a great brutish lump of a thing!

    She was waiting for him at the door, arms folded, her middle aged face set and rather sour. She had not lost her figure, but there was a heaviness about her manner that was no longer attractive. It pained him to see it, for in his memory, his sister had been the best looking girl in town - apart from Stella of course.

    There was no welcome: "You've come then?"

    "Yes.. did you not get my letter?"

    "I got it."

    "Is Mam well? Will she see me, do you think?"

    Polly looked aside. Sure, thought Liam, Mam would see him, but not if Polly had anything to do with it.

    She pursed her lips. "I thought you'd've come sooner." she said. "Have you not been out of that place for a whole year now?"

    "I know," he began. "It's just that everything seems so different on the outside, Polly. I wanted to get myself settled first - before I came."

    She laughed. "You! Settled!"

    Liam was hurt. "I know. I was always the restless one. But I've changed."

    "You killed a man, Liam! You can't change that."

    "And not a day goes by that I do not suffer for it. But, Polly, he was not a good man, and he hurt Stella. I could not stand by while he hurt her again."

    "Ha! Stella. And where's she now? Did she wait for you?"

    "Oh,... Polly, Stella and me,... "

    "No, of course she didn't. We knew her sort right enough. But would you listen?"

    Liam was taken aback. He'd had not expected this. He had moved on, grown mellow with age. But Polly? She'd had her freedom all these years, and grown only more bitter.

    "Why did you not come and see me?" he asked. "We might have had this out years ago."

    "What? Visit you?.... there!"

    Prison? Could she not even say the word? He did not blame her. There were people he’d met in prison he'd thought were beyond all hope of redemption, but there had also been good people, people who had helped him. "It's all right. I understand." he said, "But Polly I've not wasted my time. I learned a trade,... I have a,..." He broke off and bowed his head. He had come to make things better, but sensed he had already failed. "Will Mam see me, or not?" he said, his voice subdued, his heart aching.

    Polly motioned with her head and led him to the back of the house, through the kitchen which had all been done up like new, and into the conservatory, which now occupied most of what Liam remembered as his father's garden. The conservatory was new, but Liam did not like it. All you could see from it was more of that cheap fencing which, if you half closed your eyes was like being surrounded by prison bars. The world had moved on, he thought, but it seemed also to have grown lean and cheap.

    He found his mother in an armchair, motionless. Though she was no more than seventy ,she already looked quite frail.
   Liam was shocked.

    "Mam?"

    She looked at him, while Polly stood beside her, as if standing guard, but she did not speak. Liam sensed the hardness in them both. He knew he deserved this, but he had hoped for a glimmer of understanding and, in time, perhaps, forgiveness too.

    "If it's the house you're thinking of," said his mother, suddenly, her voice cracked and dry. "I've willed it all to Polly - you'll get nothing."

    He didn't hear at first - these last words only registering with him later - that they had cut him out of their lives! Instead, he was thinking of how often had he laid in his cell, imagining the scent of his father's lawn. How he wished the old fella had still been there! Sure, his father had never felt this way - never been so ashamed of him.

    "The house?" he said. "Sure, I was not thinking of the house - and of course Polly must have it - I'm settled just fine now. No, I only came to put things right between us, and to tell you,...."

    He saw that his mother's hands were trembling. He remembered how she'd had a terrible temper on her at times, and his voice dried up, not wanting to make her ill. Polly placed a hand upon her shoulder, and he saw how closed they were against him.

He thought back on all of this from the sitting room of lodging house where he was staying the night. His landlady was a tall, tidy woman with long dark hair - she reminded him a little of Stella. She was warm and welcoming, and had succeeded in taking some of the sting out his return to the old town.

   "It'll take more than words, Liam," Polly had said in parting, and Liam had known then that he was sunk, because words were all he had.

____________________________________

His landlady set a small table before him, then went away to boil the kettle. Liam looked at it, puzzled. Surely, he knew that table! She returned with a mug of tea and put it down on the tabletop. Liam winced and cast about hurriedly for a coaster. Finding none, he folded his handkerchief and slid it under the mug - the poor lad must have spent weeks getting such a fine finish on it. Had the woman no appreciation!

    She returned once more, this time with a plate of biscuits and was about to drop the plate onto the table as well, when Liam held up his hands in alarm. "What would you say, if I told you I could get you a hundred pounds for this table?"

    She laughed. "I'd say give me the hundred, and take the table with you."

    "Agreed!"
    "What? But I was joking! My boy made this at school; it can't be worth anything!"

    "Why not? It's a fine table. Will he be a carpenter, do you think?"

   "Neil? No. He'll be off to college and getting himself a degree, if I have anything to do with it!"

   "Ah," said Liam, a little disappointed. "Well, he's a bright lad. What would he be doing as a carpenter, eh, or a cabinetmaker? But seriously, I'll take the table, if Neil wants to sell it of course."

    "Well, he's been on about getting a new game station, and the money would go towards that."

It was Neil who served Liam his breakfast next morning. He was a smart looking boy, once you saw through that teenage awkwardness. He also had a rare talent, something in his heart that came out through his hands, but didn't all kids these days have to stay on at school until they had degrees sprouting out of their ears? How else were they to get on in the world,... and make a difference?

    Liam slid the money over to him. "I may get more than that for it," he said. "If I do, you have my word I'll send you the difference."
    Neil shook his head, bemused, and seemed almost on the point of saying something.

    "You're wondering why I want the table?" asked Liam. "Well, it might seem sometimes as if we live in a world where no one appreciates dovetails any more - but there are some who still do, and are willing to pay for them, people who also admire those who can still make them, and make them well,..."

    Neil shrugged.

    Liam went on: "But promise me you won't spend that money on any game-station. Get yourself some decent carpenter's tools, and if you've ever half a mind to start making furniture for a living, then call me."

Liam returned to home with a heavy heart and finally set the table down in his workshop. It was cold and the light was poor, but it was the best he could afford. The shop upstairs was doing all right, though, and things would get better. There would be a bigger place in time, a better workshop, and by degrees a better life,...

    She'd heard him enter, and came down from the shop to find him gazing into the flawless sheen of the tabletop, as if it were a crystal ball. He looked up at her footfall and smiled. She had always been a beauty, no longer young of course, but always lovely to him, and had it not been for the faith she'd had in him all these years, he would surely have given up all hope.

    "How did it go?" she asked.

    "Ah,... they'll come round," he said.

    "Not good then."

    He couldn't tell her everything - not yet. It still hurt that Polly believed, when Stella had left town, it had been to abandon him, rather than move to be nearer the prison so she could go on seeing him.

   "This is a lovely table," she said.

    "A young lad made it - I said I'd sell it for him. He has a talent don't you think? I only hope he has the courage to take it up. It would be a pity if he ended up with a degree and aspired to nothing more than a four wheel drive and a conservatory, eh?"

    She smiled, not understanding. Prison had changed Liam, deepened him in ways she could not always understand, but he was still the same decent man she had always known. He felt the emotion welling up inside of him and embraced her suddenly.

   "Stella,..." he breathed. "All this time! All our lives wasted!"

    "We've had a long wait for sure," she said tracing her fingertips lightly over the joints on the table legs. "But didn't you once tell me that when something fits together so close and neat as this, not even an earthquake can force it apart?"

    Liam prayed he would see Mam and Polly again, that they might yet forgive him, but with his craftsman's eye he feared there was something flawed in the joints that held them together. They had sprung apart, and would never settle back together properly. But a good joint,.. a dovetail joint, well now: that was a thing made to last for ever!

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m_graeme@yahoo.co.uk

"She'd always been a beauty, no longer young of course, but always lovely to him, and had it not been for the faith she'd had in him all these years, he would surely have given up all hope"