The Unbaited Trap

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. Then: ‘The other business was cleared up all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ She turned her head quickly towards him, nodding in small jerks. ‘When Barry Rice knew that Pat could prove that he had been working all that morning he told the truth. He also told the names of the other two boys…But you know all this, I suppose. Mr Ransome would tell you all about it?’

  ‘Your drops, sir.’ The chemist handed Laurie a small wrapped bottle, and he thanked the man, pocketed the bottle and looked at Cissie with the intention of saying goodbye.

  She had been looking at the bottle; now she was looking to the one side of his face and she asked under her breath, ‘Is there anything wrong with it, your eye?’

  ‘No no.’ He shook his head. ‘At least nothing that can’t be put right.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Her voice sounded anxious and he nodded again, ‘Yes, perfectly sure. Goodnight.’ His accent was exaggerated, rebuffing.

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Outside it was raining heavily and he paused for a moment in the shelter of the shop doorway looking towards his car parked against the kerb before hurrying to it and unlocking the door. Inside, he pushed in the ignition key and pressed the self starter, but then he sat back making no move towards the gears. ‘Don’t be a blasted fool. Get going.’ It was as if the voice with no high-hat accent now was coming from the back seat, and his head drooped under the derisive condemnation of the tone. ‘Get going,’ it said again. ‘For God’s sake, man, have sense and don’t prove them right.’

  As he put his hand towards the gear lever she came out of the shop. She was on his right-hand side and he could see her without having to turn his head. He wound down the window and spoke to her across the pavement, saying, ‘Get in.’ There was impatience in his tone now, as if he were speaking to a wife who had been dawdling.

  ‘What?’ She came towards him, bending down until her face was level with his, and the rain from her hair splashed onto his shoulders. ‘Get in,’ he said; ‘I’ll run you home.’

  ‘Oh, no. No, thanks. I can get the bus.’ She backed away and straightened up, and he bent over the wheel and looked up at her and said again, ‘Don’t be silly. Come on, get in.’ He leant away from her and opened the other door, and when he sat up again she was still standing on the pavement, and now she bent towards him again and hissed quickly under her breath, ‘It would be silly, you know that…But thanks all the same.’

  ‘Look. Don’t argue, get in. You’re getting wet.’

  He watched her turn her head to the side and look down at the grey shining pavement, then slowly raise her head again and look at him. ‘You know what you’re doing, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I know what I’m doing. Get in.’

  Once she had entered the car he didn’t speak, but when she couldn’t get the door locked he leant across her and flicked the handle into place, and he was aware as he did so that her body was pressing tightly against the seat away from contact with him, and he had the strongest desire to turn on her and say brutally, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. You’ve got nothing like that to fear from me; I should say not!’

  They had covered some distance when her voice, tentative now, asked, ‘How is your father?’

  ‘When I saw him this morning he was in fine fettle. They left Newcastle for a three months’ holiday, mostly by sea.’

  ‘Oh, oh. I’m glad. That should do him good…the world of good.’ Then she added, as if to make polite conversation, ‘You should have a holiday yourself, I’m sure you could do with it.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, swinging the wheel round as they took a corner. ‘I feel I could do with a change. I’m going to Oxford shortly to stay with an uncle of mine. I don’t suppose I’ll come back here again.’

  ‘You…you’ve left your job?’ There was a high note of surprise in her voice.

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I’ve definitely left my job.’

  She had her face full towards him and her words tmbled over one another. ‘B…but I thought you were g-going to be married.’

  He swung the wheel again. ‘I was, but I am no longer.’

  Her face still towards him, she asked in a frightened tone, ‘All this business…me…am I anything to do with it?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ Glancing swiftly towards her he asked sharply, ‘What makes you say that? Why should you? Why should you think you have anything to do with it?’

  Even in the short glance he gave her he saw the blood rush to her face, and he added. ‘Well, what I mean is, how could you?’

  ‘I know that, I know that, I-know-all-about-that. But people’s tongues…they say…’

  ‘Well, what do they say? What can they say in this case?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Her voice was high and agitated. ‘But some folks are wicked. They’ll take your name away if it’s the last thing you’ve got left; they’ll not be satisfied till they’ve stripped you.’ She stopped abruptly. Then hanging her head, she said, ‘I didn’t mean it, I wasn’t referring to the other day or, or what you said, or anything.’

  ‘I couldn’t blame you if you were.’

  He brought the car now to an abrupt stop outside the flats and immediately she fumbled with the door handle, and once more he had to lean across her to open it, and almost before he had released the handle she was standing in the road. The door still in her hand, she looked at him and her face was again showing concern. ‘I hope you get on all right,’ she said.

  He did not answer her. With his hand still on the wheel he stared at her as she banged the door, but still not hard enough to close it, and for the last time he leant forward and adjusted the handle. As he started up the car he saw her enter the doorway, and she didn’t turn round.

  The following day he helped Mrs Stringer to pack. From early morning until after tea he packed articles ranging from clothes to kitchen utensils. Then in a room that was already beginning to look unlived in, he had his evening meal, and later took Mrs Stringer home. It was eight o’clock when he returned, and from then until eleven o’clock the time seemed longer than the whole of the day.

  The pattern was almost the same the following day, and returning to the empty house after depositing Mrs Stringer he had such a longing for company that he played with the idea of going to the club. But even while he did so he knew he wouldn’t go because he was afraid to, afraid of the power of Wilcox’s malice, afraid of someone making an excuse that he had to go and meet the girlfriend, or that he was expected home, or had a business appointment, and so he sat and looked at the television. And as he looked he suddenly thought, if I never see her again, I’ll never forget her. Then getting to his feet and switching off the set he said aloud, ‘Blast her!’

  It was half-past eight when he got into the car and drove into the town and to the flats. He glanced at her name on the board in the hallway before he mounted the stairs: Mrs Cecilia Thorpe. He did not go quietly up the stairs, and he hoped that someone would come out of their doorway, preferably Mrs Orchard, but he met no-one, and when he reached the top landing he immediately rang the bell.

  When she opened the door he saw that she was startled and that his presence made her afraid.

  She stood with the door in her hand blocking the entrance, and she said simply, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ His voice was as aggressive as his look.

  She gulped in her long throat. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  She glanced behind him, and suspicion rose in him and he thought, Ah! Then she stood aside and he went past her, across the little hall into the long room. But there was no-one to be seen.

  The electric fan was reflecting on imitation logs. There were some magazines on the couch and the indent in the cushions where a head had been. He glanced about him, still expecting to see someone, and the reason for his interest wasn’t lost on her. With a touch of harshness in her voice that dispelled the suggestion of fear she said, �
��I’m on my own, except for Pat, and he’s still in bed.’

  ‘What makes you think I…?’

  ‘Oh, I know what you were thinking. Suspicion dies hard, doesn’t it? Look…I don’t want to be angry with you, I want to forget about everything, all I want is a quiet life. Why have you come here?’

  ‘Because I’m lonely.’ His voice was rough, coarse sounding.

  ‘Lone…? But what has that got to do with me?’ She screwed up her face at him. ‘Why come to me?’

  ‘Because I think you owe me something.’

  ‘Owe you something!’

  ‘Yes, just that. You owe me something.’ His manner changed. He threw his hat onto a chair and undid the buttons of his raincoat, and there was a hint of wry amusement in his voice as he went on, ‘I’m out of a job. I’m estranged from my parents, I’ve lost my future wife, and my home has been sold over my head, and last but not least the town’s so hot for me I’m having to leave it.’

  She was gaping at him, her mouth and eyes stretched wide. Her whole body appeared to be swelling; her voice spiralled: ‘And you’re blaming me for all this?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, everything.’ One side of his lip curled inwards at the corner.

  She joined her hands together and held them against her waist; her face tightened, and a wary, defensive look came into her eyes as she said quietly, ‘And you expect me to do something about it?’

  ‘Yes, just that.’

  ‘And what, may I ask?’

  ‘Oh well, I’ll leave that to you.’ He was grinning engagingly at her now.

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Oh look. Look.’ His manner changed completely and he put his hand out towards her. ‘It was meant to be funny. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Funny!’ She cried. ‘You can’t get it out of your head that I’m loose, can you? You’ve just said it again. Things have happened to you and you’re blaming me, and I’ve got to pay you, pay you in a way you think I pay most people…It’s true. It’s true.’ She wagged her hand quickly in front of her as if warding him off; yet he hadn’t moved. ‘You’ve only got to come here and say you’re lonely and I’ll comfort you like I’ve comforted others. That’s what you think, don’t you?’

  ‘Listen to me a moment, just a moment, please. Why do we always get off on the wrong foot?’

  ‘You call it the wrong foot! You say what you do, you make suggestions, and you call it—’

  ‘Listen!’ The word was a bark. Then bending his body towards her, he asked more quietly, ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘No, you can’t.’

  He bit on his lip. ‘Well, it’s going to be harder saying what I have to standing up.’ He paused, staring into her hostile eyes. Then lowering his gaze from hers he began to talk. ‘You see, I’m in a hell of a state inside; have been for the past month. It’s all connected with you and I can’t get it straight, and I don’t know why. The last thing I meant to do was to insult you, yet I thought there was somebody here when I came in…I thought that because I feared that, and I found I was furious with you. Does that surprise you? Yet, believe me, the last thing I want to do is to upset you. Can you understand what I’m getting at? Why should I want to upset you when my main aim is…is to get you to like me?’ The last words had dropped to a whisper, and in the silence that followed he saw her put her hand across her mouth, and the pressure of her thumb and fingers sent the blood upwards and towards her eyes.

  He said again, ‘May I sit down, please? I feel a bit wobbly.’

  When she gave neither her consent nor a refusal, he walked towards the couch and sat down on the far end of it, and looking towards her he said, with touching gentleness, ‘Come and sit down and let me talk.’

  As if under hypnotism, Cissie went to the couch and sat down, but at the extreme end, away from him.

  Looking towards her, his voice still very low, he said, ‘I was three weeks in the house without going out, and every minute of it, night and day, I couldn’t get you out of my mind, and I didn’t know why. I thought it was a sort of delirium and it would pass, but it didn’t. And then I tried to reason it out. The few times we have met we have fought. To all intents and purposes you have been having an affair with my father…Please, please.’ He put up his hand. ‘Hear me out. Then as the days went on I realised why you attracted me and I didn’t like it. It was because I’ve a great deal of my father in me. The things that attracted him appealed to me.

  ‘All my life, right up until he took ill, I repudiated the thought that there was anything of him in me, any trait that I couldn’t crush that is, and then, lying there with time to think, I discovered I liked the kind of people he liked; I wanted the same kind of things, the same kind of responses. The first words he ever said about you to me were that you were good and kind. I knew then that I wanted someone kind, warm and kind. This was the sort of person I needed. I must have known this even before I met you because that was one of the reasons why I gave up my fiancée. She wasn’t a kind person, and I knew that one rarely grows to be kind, you must be born kind.’

  He was now looking at her bowed head, and his voice had a touch of hoarseness to it as he went on, ‘I gave up all idea of trying to see you; I felt that during our slight acquaintance you had brought sufficient havoc into my life to last me all my days; and then a few days ago I learnt that we were irrevocably linked together, at least in this town. Does it come as a surprise to you to know that we’re supposed to be having an affair? That the reason why I was beaten up was that one of your admirers objected to our association?’

  Her head was up and she was gaping at him now. ‘It’s a fact.’ He nodded slowly. ‘So much so that my parents believe it.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Him most of all, I should say. He gave me a message for you a moment before he sailed. He said you had to take happiness, grab it with both hands. He said to tell you he was happy for you. Oh yes, he believed it.’

  Again she had her hand across her mouth and her head was moving in utter bewilderment, and through her spread fingers she muttered, ‘People are cruel, cruel. I don’t mean your father…but the things people say. And now—’ her voice cracked, ‘and now they’ll believe they’re right…you coming here. They’ll have seen you and…’

  ‘Does it matter very much?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it does.’ Her tone was vehement. ‘I don’t want to be thought of like that. All my life I’ve had to fight it. People think I’m cheap. Oh, I know what they think, but I’m not, I’m not.’ She poked her head towards him. ‘I could have married over again if I’d wanted to, but I don’t want to.’

  ‘Why haven’t you?’

  ‘Because I swore I’d never marry again.’

  There was a long pause before he asked, ‘Were you so very happy with him that you couldn’t bear to put anyone in his place?’

  ‘Happy? Happy did you say?’ Her lips were showing all her upper teeth, the twisted one at the side. ‘I was seventeen when I married. He was twelve years older than me, and I had three dirty, filthy years with him. Dirty and filthy in every conceivable way. There are so many ways in which a man can be nasty, from his eating, to his sleeping. I was so very young in all ways when I married, but I was full of life, and I died for three years. But when he was killed—he was killed when his lorry went over the Low Town bridge—I came alive again. From that day I was reprieved. It was as if God had given me another chance. I had Pat. He was only a few months old; he was all I wanted; and I promised myself never again, never, never…again. And then I met your father…He was so kind, so good

  ‘Don’t! Don’t!’ He pulled himself up abruptly and walked towards the electric fire and stood looking down at it.

  ‘Well, you’ve been pouring yourself out, why not me?’

  ‘Because I can’t bear to hear you say it. It’s another thing I’ve been fighting, the fact of him being so,’ he substituted the word placid for inane, ‘so placid yet having the power to attract you.’ He turned round and came back to the couch
and sat down nearer to her now, within an arm’s length of her. ‘Tell me something. Did I call you Cecilia the night you and mother brought me home?’

  She made a little movement with her head, then said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘My mother said I did, but I couldn’t believe her. I didn’t even know that I knew your name.’

  ‘No-one’s ever called me Cecilia before. Cissie’s a bit common, I know, but I’ve always been Cissie. Cecilia’s so starchy and that’s not me.’

  ‘I told my mother I didn’t even know your name and she was wild. It seemed to stamp me a liar in her eyes for good and all, but I didn’t remember calling you by your first name. So it just goes to show; you must have hit me even before you drowned me in whisky.’ As he smiled at her now she turned her face from him and said, ‘Please don’t go on because…because I don’t want to take up with anybody.’

  ‘But you would have with my father.’ His tone was low, but not nasty.

  She jumped to her feet and stood looking down at him. ‘Don’t keep on about that. That’s over, but it won’t stop me liking him, I’ll go on liking him as long as I live; he was something nice that happened in my life and I want to remember it just like that, something nice.’

  ‘Other nice things could happen to you if you’d let them.’

  ‘If I’d let them.’ She bent her thin body towards him. ‘Look, let’s get this straight once and for all, and let’s put it in plain language. You’re lonely, and you want an affair…well, you’ve come to the wrong shop.’