Maggie Rowan

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Fuller?’

  They were now on the road, and he stopped under a lamp, and in its dim light peered at her. ‘They call you Fuller?’

  ‘So you know who I am…or was?’

  He made no reply, and she shrugged and said, ‘Well, I’m Fuller now…Mrs Fuller.’

  ‘Mrs Fuller?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs.’ Her voice was testy. ‘Anything surprising about that?’

  ‘No…No. Where’s your husband?’

  There was both relief and apprehension in his voice—he was glad she was married, but he didn’t want any husband tackling him.

  ‘Somewhere in the desert.’

  ‘Oh…You’ll soon have him back then.’

  They had walked on again for some distance before she said, ‘He was killed.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.

  ‘Are you?…I believe you are.’ She looked up at him, and he caught the sad look again. Then she began to talk slowly and quietly as if, he thought, to herself. ‘Nights of jollification like this always make me sad. Yet I love a bit of fun and a good laugh. But I couldn’t get Stan out of my mind the night; and that made me worse…He was my husband.’ She paused, and David nodded in the dark. ‘I could have had piles of company but I didn’t want it,’ she went on. ‘Funny, you always like people better when they’re dead, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Not that I didn’t like Stan; he was all right, jolly an’ all; but I’ve often wondered if it would have worked out in peacetime. People are funny, you know. They change in a war…they put up with things better…Have you lived here all your life?’

  ‘Aye…yes.’

  ‘I did too until 1940. I suppose you know all about me.’

  ‘I know a bit.’

  ‘That’s why you tried to dodge me?’

  ‘Oh no.’ He was profuse in his denial of the truth and amazed at her easy acceptance of it. ‘No, that wasn’t why. You see, I had to meet my folks…’

  ‘And you didn’t want to be seen with me.’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Oh, I know.’ Her tone was peremptory. ‘It’s the worst thing anybody can do, to come back to their own town, especially after they’ve blotted their copybook. There’s nothing so damning as half the truth!’

  David peered down at her profile. It was shadowed by a tam-o’-shanter, which gave her a girlish appearance…Funny, she was most ordinary and sensible in her outlook. Perhaps she had a worse name than she deserved. There was something about her…something canny; and for all her experience she still looked so young. Here, here! Voicelessly, he pulled himself up. This was likely exactly the way Tom had thought before he started.

  ‘You know I can’t think of myself as a bad woman. Do I look one?’

  She turned towards him with a silly embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s funny what little things it takes to make a lass into a bad woman.’

  His laugh joined hers; but she checked it by saying seriously, ‘But you know what, I’d rather die than do some of the things some women do, mean, petty, rotten things; yet they wouldn’t look the side I was on. And it’s funny, once you get a bad name you can have any man you like. Oh yes, you can laugh. But you can. You wouldn’t credit the men in this town who made up to me after that case. Toffs, too. There was old ’uns that you wouldn’t touch with a bargepole, and young ’uns, respectable married young ’uns an’ all. And I don’t suppose you’d believe it, but at that time, gay as I was, many of the supposed young ladies of Fellburn had had more men afore breakfast than I’d had in me life. But I always liked men better than women, and I was always ready for a lark…Why, what you laughing at? I see nowt so funny in it…not so funny as all that, anyway.’

  David had stopped and was leaning against a wall for support, and his laughter, deep and resonant, shook the night. Never had he heard a woman talk, as this one was doing, with the naiveness of a child coupled with the knowledge of a whore.

  She was laughing herself now, spasmodically. ‘What’s the matter with you anyway? You’re tight. Listen. There are folks coming. Shut up!’

  Attracted in their direction by the laughter, a group of young men and women came towards them. Arms around each other’s waists, they were singing the dream-song of 1939, ‘Hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line’. Still singing, the young people formed a half-circle round them. ‘Have you any dirty washing, mother dear?’ They nodded towards Beattie as they sang, and she, associating their question and her reminiscences, was broad enough to laugh at herself, and as her laughter joined David’s a young Air Force man on the end of the line caught her round the waist and pulled her into the company, and on to the road; and she, still laughing, cried, ‘Wait a minute, we can’t leave him,’ and the half-circle swung in again; and she caught hold of David’s arm, and, laughing as if he would never stop, he allowed himself to be borne away like a giant feather. Down the road they went, the night ringing with their song, and as Beattie sang she looked up at David whenever the opportunity of lamplight afforded, and he, singing now, looked down on her. They were linked close together and everything but this crazy enjoyment was lost to him.

  ‘I love a lassie, a bonny, bonny lassie.

  She’s as pure as the lily in the dell.’

  Their glances caught and held, and David’s singing became choked as laughter bubbled in him again. When they came to Tollis’ Cut they were forced to go in single file, and Beattie broke away from the airman and allowed the singers to go on while she, still with her arm about David, said, ‘I should be flaming mad at you.’

  His laughter eased, and he asked between gasps, ‘Mad? Why?’

  ‘You know why. It tickled you, didn’t it…pure as a lily in the dell!’

  She sounded hurt, and he said, ‘Oh, I wasn’t meaning anything personal; I’ve laughed at things all the night. I’ve had a few, you see.’

  ‘Aye, I see. But it hurts, nevertheless. Some folks think people like me can’t be hurt. Hell! Why did I come back?’

  She was about to tear herself away from him, but he held her. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you; why should I?’

  ‘Yes, why should you?’ She spoke dully now, all the laughter had gone. ‘It’s this place. Everybody’s the same, out to put a knife in you. In London or any big city, even Newcastle, I’d be an ordinary lass; nobody would take any notice of me; but here, in this little hotbed of a town, I’m pointed out as a bad lot. And it makes me flaming wild!’ Her face took on a look of the wildness, and she brought out defiantly, ‘You can believe it or not, I’ve had nobody since Stan went away. And you can bet your bottom dollar you can count the women on one hand here who can say the same thing.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I believe you.’ He was quiet now. She wasn’t such a bad sort…he could see quite plainly how Tom had cottoned on to her. And it was a rotten shame, everybody down on her. And she was right in what she said about this little one-eyed town—you only had to make one mistake to be in the pillory.

  ‘Anyway, why the devil am I making excuses for myself to you. It’s got nothing to do with you. What’s up with me the night, whining me head off?…Let go.’ She pulled away from him.

  ‘No…no, take it easy. Come on, cheer up.’ He smiled down on her, and she looked up at him, her face serious.

  ‘You’re nice.’ She reached up and patted his cheek. ‘I’m all prickles the night. Too much thinking. Thinking’s no good to anybody, not when it’s about things that’s done and cannot be undone.’

  ‘You’re right there.’

  ‘What do they call you?’ She smiled fully at him now, and as he looked down in her face and answered, ‘I’ve told you…Davie,’ he thought: She’s bonny, real bonny. You wouldn’t think it until she laughs…or smiles. She’s got something, somehow. Tom must have felt like hell when he gave her up. I never understood it like this before. Just to see her in the street, you wouldn’t think she could get you.

  ‘I know you said Davie, but what’s your other name?’
/>   ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘No…not very much…I just thought I’d like to know, that’s all.’

  Against all the common sense in him, against the small still voice which said get going while the going’s good, against Ann’s face which flashed for a second in front of Beattie’s, against the fact that to all intents and purposes she had stripped a fine fellow like Tom of his natural gaiety and youth, his arms tightened about her, and he heard his own voice, soft and silly sounding, saying, ‘Would you like me any better if you knew?’

  Her breast was pressed close to him, and she dropped her head on to his neck and her body rippled with her laughter.

  ‘Here, what’s got into you now?’

  He tried to see her face, but she went on laughing. When she did raise it it was wet, and she said, ‘Oh, it was funny to hear you take that line. You’re not used to it, are you?’

  Before he could protest one way or the other, she went on, ‘And it was all the more funny because you’re scared of me…Oh yes, you are.’

  ‘Scared of you!’ His arms tightened about her and he brought his face closer to hers. ‘Me scared of you? Now that is funny.’

  ‘You can’t even lie properly.’

  His retort was stilled; her face came and went in obedience to the shadow cast on them by the swaying branch of a tree in front of the lamp at the corner of the cut, and his eyes focused on her lips, their softness more remembered than seen in the dim light. They were wide with laughter, but slowly they closed until they fell on each other gently. His head moved downwards, no pause, no hurry; steadily his lips went to hers and he could have stilled the ocean’s obedience to the moon sooner than curb the desire that was burning his loins. As he kissed her his being was lit with something that seemed to him beyond the body; he visibly shook with its force, and all he desired was to go on shaking. So when he felt her lips trying to withdraw from his he drew them even closer into his own.

  When at last he released her the flame within him was burning white, and it had touched her, for she no longer attempted to draw from him, but leant on him and sighed; she was quiet, and outwardly he was quiet; his chin rested on the top of her tam-o’-shanter, and his eyes moved from the lamp to the cut, all vague and dim, yet too light; and he looked beyond the lamp to where he knew was the high wall that surrounded part of the garden of the Bensons’ house. Without a word he moved towards it, practically carrying her with him, so tight was his arm about her. And she offered no protest, until, her back against the wall, his hands moved over her, and then she exclaimed, ‘No, no! Not that.’

  ‘What!’ His voice was thick and unrecognisable to himself.

  ‘I’ve told you…not that! What do you take me for?’

  He became perfectly still. The baulking of his desire filled him with sickness, but it could in no way quench the fire. Perhaps because of his prompt obedience to her protest, she unbent and said, ‘Well, you were asking something, weren’t you?’

  And when he did not answer she gave a shaky little laugh. ‘Your best plan is to make straight for home, laddie; and I think mine is, an’ all.’

  It was that laugh…it was like a prod in a fellow’s stomach. His body was about her, pressing her into the wall, and his lips were searching to pin hers down as she moved her head from side to side.

  ‘No, no! Look…look, not here, anyway.’ Her whisper was urgent. ‘Let’s go to my place first, I tell you!’ Her protests became weaker, and suddenly they stopped altogether and her attitude changed; and almost instantaneously the fire that was in him was met and overshadowed.

  He had heard about women who could love with this kind of love better than a man knew how to; but to him it had just been hearsay, like stuff one read about but was untouched by, save that it aroused a kind of disturbance in the stomach and a feeling of envy. He had loved one woman in his life, and he had wanted only her. Whether she gave him bairns or not, there had remained only her. The essence of his love was to give…she must be happy, for only then could he be happy. In all ways his giving had mounted with the years, she had taken all he had to give, accepting with a placidness that left a want in him. Yet, no matter how his giving was received, he knew he would never cease to give. But with this woman his feelings were completely reversed.

  As the force of her passion met his he felt that here was a well he could draw on and which would never empty; he would give nothing, only take and take again. He felt as naked as the day he was born, and as unashamed, for no thought could penetrate the rising ecstasy. If thought could have pressed through the white furnace in which he was being welded to this woman it would have told him that in this one moment he was justifying his existence, that all life had been a mere building up to this point when he should feel his burning body shot into space, balm-filled space, pressing on him as if with myriad soothing palms…His body lay in space, heavy and relaxed, and his sigh of contentment ran through it. And his contentment made him gurgle like a baby, and when the gurgle was answered he began to fall.

  They leant on each other, laughing; her tam was on the ground, lying where it had fallen beside his cap, and a gust of wind, coming from nowhere, lifted them together and tossed them, tumbling and still close, into the gutter. And the wind blew Beattie’s hair against his face, and as he caught it between his teeth a light shone on them, blinding them. It was the headlight of a car swinging suddenly into the cul-de-sac to enable it to turn. For a second they stared into it, then blinked rapidly. But before it swung away they turned their backs to it and, still joined together, continued to lean against the wall.

  Christopher himself would never have managed to evade the wall. It was Maggie’s hand gripping his that steered them within an inch of it, her hand that swung them on to the road again, and again her hand that switched on the light in the car.

  ‘Look where you’re going!’

  Christopher brought his shocked and bewildered mind back to his driving; and after a moment he cast a look towards Maggie. He could not see her eyes, but the corner of her lip was turned up as it did when she had scored over somebody, and the sight of it made him say grimly, ‘If you mention of this, I’ll…I’ll kill you!’

  She turned and looked at him, her eyebrows slightly raised, but she did not speak. And after a space he said, ‘It could have been somebody else, anyway. You can never be sure in the dark.’

  She made a little sound that jerked her head as she emitted it, and he growled, ‘Well, mind, I’m telling you.’

  Whereupon she said with a quietness that gave added emphasis to the words, ‘Everything comes to him who waits…’

  ‘Maggie!’ He made to bring the car to rest near the kerb; and she, ignoring the entreaty that was now in his voice, said sharply, ‘Let’s get home!’

  He pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the car sped along the road and up the hill, and into the drive of his house. And for once when he ascended the steps to this stately ‘gentleman’s residence’, which he now called home, he did not feel ill at ease, because, for the first time, he was not conscious of his entry. He followed Maggie through the hall and into what she was pleased to call her drawing room; and he took off his coat and cap and flung them on to the couch. Maggie walked to the fireplace, which contained a large electric fire, resplendent with imitation logs, and as she stooped down to switch it on she called over her shoulder, ‘Put your things in the hall.’

  ‘Damn me things! Now look here, Maggie. If you make anything out of this it will mean trouble and…’

  ‘Oh, definitely,’ she interrupted him airily.

  ‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?…Well, it won’t only mean trouble for other people, it’ll mean trouble for you. And I mean what I say.’

  ‘And I mean what I say.’ She swung round and faced him. ‘If she had looked after her man instead of my son this wouldn’t have happened.’

  He moved a step nearer to her: ‘If you say one word of it, I’ll walk out.’

  ‘That would be a traged
y!’

  He ignored her gibe.

  ‘Aye, it would. For you it would, because this’d have to go.’ He waved his large head in all directions about the room. ‘The laundry and your few houses wouldn’t keep this up.’

  ‘You would have to keep me wherever you went.’

  ‘Oh no. I’d make a home for you, my kind of home, and if you didn’t come that’d be your lookout.’

  Her face darkened. ‘Don’t think that will stop me.’ He turned away, and, picking up his coat and cap, said casually, ‘I think it will. You lay great stock on aping the swells.’

  He had reached the door, when he was stopped in his tracks. Her words seemed to hit him in the back of the neck. ‘I’d have thought you would be glad to see Davie go. Then you could throw your cap in…you’ve been practising long enough.’ In her fury she slipped into the common metaphor.

  He turned slowly towards her; his fair skin was scarlet. And his mouth opened and closed a number of times before he brought out, ‘You’re a nasty-minded bitch!’

  ‘But you don’t deny it.’

  He gave her one furious look, then went out, banging the door after him.

  On the first landing he paused. Why hadn’t he denied it? And, as she said, why was he breaking his neck to keep this from Ann? If there was a rift he could step in. But Ann was Davie’s wife, and Davie was a Catholic…there’d be no hope of a divorce. But divorce could be sidetracked—there were ways and means. My God! He spurted forward. What was he coming to? Was he a blackguard altogether? That was her, putting things in his mind.

  He reached his room, a narrow, plainly furnished room, and as of habit he sat on the bed. This was the way money made you think—he would never have thought like this before the war—break up Ann and Davie! Already his son had gone quite a way to forcing a wedge between them. Was that why David had taken up with that piece? He dropped his head on to his hand. Could he really have seen the picture that was in his mind, Davie and Beattie Watson, dishevelled and hatless, locked together as if they were drowning? Yet radiant in their drowning. Beattie Watson, her of all people! And after her breaking up Tom. And then Davie…Davie was steady, moderate in all things. He would have sworn that never in his life had David looked at any other woman but Ann. Then how? Why? His head rocked…It was beyond him. And now there was her downstairs planning how best to use this knowledge.