The Unbaited Trap

by Catherine Cookson

  John nodded, there was nothing more to say.

  He fumbled in his pockets and found his key, and as he opened the door he heard the man’s steps crunching away down the gravel drive.

  He drew in two deep breaths, then opened the lobby door into the hall and there, confronting him, were the guests of the evening, together with his wife and son and partner. They all stood as if transfixed, staring at him, all silent. And he stared back. At least he stared at his wife. Her face looked like a piece of alabaster and as stiff, and expressionless, all except her eyes. The first glimpse they’d had of him had swept the fear from them, and now deep in them he saw a white anger, that quiet anger that he knew so well. Quiet people were always more forceful, more dangerous than noisy ones.

  James Wilcox was a noisy man, a fussy little man. He showed it now by crying, ‘Well, well! This is a nice kettle of fish. What happened to you?’ He did not add, John, which would have tempered his demand for an explanation. ‘Come on. Come on, man; don’t stand there. What’s all this about? Everyone of us distracted here. Poor Ann nearly out of her wits.’ He flapped his hand upwards over his shoulder to indicate Ann.

  ‘I…I went to the office and I didn’t feel very well.’ Even to his own ears the truth sounded inane. Silence, full of disbelief, met his statement. And then May Wilcox spoke.

  May had a pseudo-refined twang. She was a petite-looking woman with greying hair, tightly dressed over her small scalp. Everything about May was tight and small. John had always thought that she and James were well matched. Couples nearly always paired off together, he had found that. It was an oddity of human nature that you should choose for your mate someone who reflected yourself, as you saw yourself, or your mother, or your father. Yes, it was odd. He brought his eyes fully to bear on May as she said, ‘Arnold—’ she inclined her head with a genteel movement towards his partner—‘Arnold went to the office. Ann phoned him; she was very worried. There was no-one there, not at the office…was there, Arnold?’

  Arnold Ransome swallowed hard and pushed his hand over his well-oiled hair, then he moved towards John as he said, ‘Perhaps you had gone by the time I got there. It was about half-an-hour ago.’ He was looking him straight in the face, and his eyes were saying, I’m trying to work in with you; whatever this is about I’m trying to work in with you. And he nodded as John said, ‘I had left before that.’

  He turned from them now and unbuttoned his coat and dropped it over a chair, and when he turned towards them once more they were all eyes again, all staring at his neck. With the realisation that his tie was hanging slack and his collar was open, he felt the colour rushing to his face like a wave of guilt. As his hand went to his neck he looked again towards Ann, but he was more aware of his son than he was of her at the moment. Laurie was standing by her side, his face looking grim and pugnacious, as if he wanted to hit out at him. He’d felt that often about Laurie lately, that he wanted to hit out at him. He turned from them all and made his way towards the stairs, his gait slightly unsteady, and as he did so he saw his wife go into the lounge and his son follow her. When he passed James Wilcox he heard him sniff: audibly a number of times, like a dog which had caught a scent, and he was halfway across the top landing when there came to him the scarcely muffled whisper: ‘Well! What do you think of that? Did you smell him? He’s been drinking…brandy!’

  Down in the hall, Arnold Ransome shook his head and repeated, ‘Brandy? He doesn’t drink brandy.’

  James Wilcox drew in his lips, thrust out his chin, and said in no small voice, ‘I know the smell of brandy. He’s drunk.’

  ‘But John doesn’t drink brandy; it isn’t his drink,’ Arnold Ransome persisted.

  ‘Well, it mightn’t have been before tonight, but it certainly is now. I tell you he’s been drinking brandy. What is he up to, does he think?’

  Arnold looked back at the little man. He had never liked Wilcox, or his wife, or his daughter, and so he couldn’t keep the sharpness out of his tone as he said, ‘How should I know? As he said, he felt ill. Likely when he left the office he went for a drink.’

  ‘And loosened his collar and tie? Did you see the condition of his overcoat?’ It was May Wilcox speaking now, and with an exaggerated, gracious movement of her hand she indicated the overcoat lying on the chair. Then picking it up, she held it for their inspection. ‘It looks as if he had been rolling in the gutter, doesn’t it?’

  She was right there. Arnold Ransome moved uneasily. There was something behind all this, but he hoped whatever it was it wouldn’t afford these two any more satisfaction. Self-righteous prigs, both of them. And him on the Bench. How in the name of God had that come about?

  ‘Well, we’d better go in to Ann and see if we can sort this thing out.’ May Wilcox now marched towards the lounge, her husband following her, and reluctantly Arnold Ransome followed them. But before he entered the room he glanced towards the stairs and thought, ‘What if he is bad, he’s looked off colour for months now? Somebody should go up to him.’ But it wasn’t his place to say so.

  Laurie walked Valerie round the bottom of Lime Avenue and up the lane that led to Handley’s smallholding. The ground was hard and slippery, and as he was holding her arm they slithered together. They walked to the end of the lane, turned the corner, and stopped at the back of Handley’s barn.

  There had been silence between them since they left the house, but now as she stood within the circle of his arms she gave a small laugh and said, ‘Well, what do you think of it all?’

  ‘You mean father?’

  ‘Who else could I mean?’

  There were shades in her voice which at times indicated undercurrents he could not fathom, and this had the power to nettle him, as now.

  ‘It could have been as he said. He felt bad, and then went out for a drink.’

  ‘Oh, Laurie, don’t be naïve. You don’t come in like that, collar and tie awry…And look at his coat. You don’t get like that by going for a drink. Imagine loosening your collar and tie in The George, or at the club.’

  ‘He needn’t have gone to The George, or the club.’

  ‘But would he have loosened his collar and tie in any bar…your father, in his position?’

  ‘Oh God Almighty! He could have loosened it in the car coming back.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Her voice was controlled. ‘I thought you might have seen the funny side of it.’

  He peered at her through the darkness. He could just see the outline of her face. He knew that there would be laughter lurking at the back of her round dark eyes. He had never been quite able to make Val out; that was part of her attraction for him. She had quite a bit of her mother and father in her makeup, yet she laughed at them, criticised and scoffed at them on the quiet. This did not displease him at all, especially when it was directed at her father. Yet he couldn’t bear the thought of her taking the mickey out of his own parents. He might think what he liked about his father, but the situation changed when other people began to express their opinions of him, for any adverse criticism of his father reflected, he thought, on his mother.

  ‘I was sorry for Aunt Ann, as it was her turn to score.’

  ‘Score! What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, Laurie, for heaven’s sake don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean about this an’ all. You play dumb on so many things. What’s the matter with you? You know for a fact that mother and Aunt Ann have been scoring off each other over these dinners-at-eight for years.’

  ‘Oh, that! But I don’t see it as competitive. They put on good meals, and… ’

  ‘Oh, be quiet. Kiss me.’

  He kissed her, his mouth covering hers, one hand under her arm pit, the other across her buttocks. It was a long kiss, the length extended by her rather than him.

  After it was over there was no breathlessness about her, and she said evenly, ‘There’ll be no dinner-at-eight for us, I’m a stinking cook.’

  ‘I’ll have to eat, so you’ll have to learn.’ He pulled her c
loser to him.

  ‘Learn to stand two days in the kitchen preparing a meal? Can you see me? No, darling, that’s not for me. Except for drinks and perhaps a snack, our guests will be invited out.’

  ‘That’ll run into something, won’t it? How often do you think we can do that?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll be able to manage it…between us.’

  He stiffened inside. ‘Between us.’ That was something else that irked him. She was earning more than he was, at least at this stage of their careers. She had been teaching for two years now in the High School, and she intended to go on teaching after they were married. There was to be no family for the first five years; they had talked it all out. He sometimes wondered if he was a little bit square, for this kind of cold-blooded discussion was distasteful to him. He was all for family planning in principle, but these things could be arranged without a lot of discussion, at least without making a debate of it. Her raw outlook on many things surprised him so much at times that he wondered if there wasn’t some prudish trait in him, inherited from his father. Not that he could actually pin such a trait on his father; but he wanted to find no facet in himself that touched on sexual weakness; that was inefficacious.

  ‘You shivered; are you cold?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are. Let me warm you.’

  She jerked him to her, flattening herself against him.

  This was another thing. She always took the initiative, she never waited for it to come from him. There were so many things he liked about her, loved about her. She was cute, smart, and clever, but he wished her cuteness stopped short at this particular line. This was his line. This was the line where he should take the lead, be the master.

  ‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’ Her voice held a sharp note now.

  ‘Nothing. What could be the matter?’

  ‘What happens to them doesn’t touch us. They’re living their own lives, we’ve got ours to live. Let’s get on with it.’

  There was a space while she held him tightly. Then releasing her hold, she said bluntly, ‘Don’t you want me?’

  He paused before answering, ‘What do you think?’ Then he pressed his body against hers as if aiming to push it through the barn wall. But quite suddenly the pressure eased and he asked, ‘Did you and young Clark have this?’

  Her two hands on his chest, she pushed him slowly away from her and he knew that her face was screwed up as she asked. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘You’ve never wondered before. At least, you’ve never asked.’

  ‘Well, I just wanted to know now.’

  ‘Why? Why now?’

  ‘I just wanted to know if I am the first…or not.’

  ‘God!’ He heard her laughing in her throat. ‘You’re funny. What difference does it make? I love you, I want you.’

  ‘You loved Tony Clark.’

  ‘Tony’s gone, married, dead to me. That was two years ago. I could ask you if you’ve been with Susan Lumley. You knocked about with her for years.’

  ‘Not years, and just on and off.’

  ‘You went with her for about four years. When I came back from college on vac I remember seeing you both together several times. So I’m asking you now, did you have her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. And now you answer my question.’

  ‘It’s the same as yours. No, I didn’t.’

  They both knew they were lying.

  ‘Do you want me or don’t you? I’m getting cold.’

  Oh, God. It was like a groan within him. Slowly he fell against her, and let his hands move over her. But as the minutes passed there rose in him a feeling bordering on panic when he realised that the whole process was tasteless.

  Two: The Family

  Ann got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, then drew the curtains. As she finished, the clock on the stairs struck eight. She walked towards the dressing table and sat down, and the reflection she saw in the mirror annoyed her. She put her fingers over her cheekbones, then stretched the muscles of her face, trying to get rid of its stiffness. Except for fitful dozes she hadn’t slept. The anger was still boiling in her. He had to fail her in the one thing left she asked of him. She would never forget last night as long as she lived, nor would she forgive him.

  There came a tap on the door and Mrs Stringer entered, bringing in her early morning cup of tea.

  ‘Good morning, Ma’am.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Stringer.’

  Mrs Stringer did not, as was usual on these occasions, begin, ‘Well, what did they say, Ma’am? Did they say they enjoyed it? Hard to please if they didn’t.’ She was silent this morning.

  As was usual on dinner nights such as last night, Mrs Stringer had stayed and served the meal, and washed up before going home, so she knew all that had transpired, and all she said this morning was, ‘Drink that up while it’s hot, Ma’am.’

  Ann nodded, and Mrs Stringer left the room.

  As she sipped her tea she listened for movements from across the landing, but she heard nothing. He was sleeping it off. She took a quick mouthful of the tea and it scalded her throat, and she had a hand to her neck when the telephone bell rang.

  She sat on the end of the bed and lifted the receiver from the table.

  ‘Ann?…That you, Ann?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s me, May.’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d better phone you straight away. Mrs Orchard’s just come in, and you know what she’s just told me?’ There was a pause, and Ann waited. Then May’s voice went on. ‘He was ill last night. John was ill. He went up on the roof and collapsed. The people in the flats took him in. I thought I’d tell you; fair’s fair after all…Are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s what she said. She lives there, down below, and the young boy went onto the roof for something and saw him lying there. They were all up in the top flat, there was a birthday party or something going on, and they carried him down. One of the men drove him back.’

  ‘Oh, May…’ Ann was still holding her neck. ‘But…but James, he said he could smell brandy on him.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ May’s voice was crisp now. ‘He did smell of brandy; they likely gave him brandy. And you must admit he looked a sight. What was anyone to think? It was natural. Anyway, that’s what Mrs Orchard says happened and she was there.’

  ‘Thanks, May…Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘I’ll come along presently, dear, as soon as we have breakfast over.’

  ‘Yes, do. Thanks, May.’

  She put down the receiver and sat gripping it. He was ill and nobody had been near him; he could be dead. She hurried across the room, out onto the landing and to the far door. Discarding her usual procedure, she entered her husband’s room without knocking; then she stood with the door in her hand and looked towards the bed. He was awake and he didn’t move as she went towards him. When she came to the foot of the bed she stopped and her mouth opened. She was about to say, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?’ But he had told her. She said instead, ‘How are you feeling?’

  He blinked. Then his eyes widened slightly as if he hadn’t heard what she said. She knew he had; it was her concern that had surprised him.

  She said now, ‘I’ll get the doctor.’

  ‘No, no.’ His voice was low, weary. ‘I’m all right now; just a bit tired. I think I’ll have the day off. Would you phone Arnold for me, please?’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’ll get the doctor.’

  ‘No, Ann.’ He pulled himself up onto his elbows and leant towards her, saying, ‘Please don’t bother, I’m all right.’

  She put her hand up to her lips and patted them a number of times and her eyes dropped before she spoke again. ‘I’m sorry I…I didn’t really understand that you had been ill.’

  He looked puzzled, and she raised her eyes to his and explained. ‘May’s just phoned. She told me about you being found on the office roof. Mrs Orchard apparently was one of th
e people in the flats.’

  ‘Oh!’ He lay back and he could not prevent the slow smile spreading over the lower part of his face, even though it was a facial expression of his which he knew annoyed her. She’d have to have outside proof that he was ill. He hadn’t presided at her table, so the evidence before her eyes had been ignored.

  She said now in her usual clipped tone, ‘You can’t blame me for last night. You didn’t explain anything, and coming in like that. You could have got the people to let me know.’

  He closed his eyes; then said softly, ‘It’s all right, Ann. It’s all right.’

  ‘It isn’t all right. You’re putting me in the wrong and it isn’t fair.’

  He opened his eyes and after a moment during which he didn’t look at her, he asked, ‘Do you think I might have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes…yes, of course.’ Her voice was polite now, as if talking to a guest. ‘I’ll bring you some breakfast up.’

  ‘No. No, thanks. I just want a cup of tea.’

  She remained staring at him. Then with an impatient movement she went out, but she closed the door quietly after her.

  Laurie was crossing the landing towards her bathroom and she beckoned him silently into her room.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked under his breath.

  ‘Close the door,’ she said. She turned and faced him now, her hands fastening and unfastening the bow of her dressing gown. ‘He was ill…he is ill.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘May’s just phoned. Apparently he was on the roof and collapsed, and the people from the flats found him.’ She jerked her head, and her voice rose slightly as she said, ‘But he should have explained, he should have told me. He’s put me in the wrong.’

  When he made no comment she turned and said, ‘Shouldn’t he?’

  His face was straight, his heavy brows drawn together, and he ran his hand through his hair before he replied, halting. ‘Well…when you come to think of it, he didn’t get much chance, did he? We all stood gaping at him as if we’d never seen anyone drunk before.’