The Menagerie

by Catherine Cookson

  Within a few feet of him, she stopped, and when the silence between them screamed in his head, he ground out between his teeth, ‘You! You! Well, what do you want?’

  ‘Oh, Larry.’ Her voice was a mere whisper but the inflection was as soft and clear as usual, and the sound of its polished tone really did madden him…it wiped away all pretence of anger. The pain and humiliation of the past months suddenly erupted and, boiling together, brought his forearm up with a swing. But before the back of his hand descended on her face he checked it, and it wavered a moment before dropping heavily back to his side.

  ‘You should have done it—I would have felt better.’

  Her eyes passed in turn to each of his features. They lingered for a moment on the scornful, thrusting curve of his lips, then returned and met his eyes and the dark anger glinting from the narrowed lids.

  His maleness had drawn her from their first meeting, that New Year’s Eve night in the dark, and now she was aching with its loss. She said again, ‘Oh, Larry.’ And he replied harshly, ‘Drop that. What do you want?’

  Like a child, she said, ‘Just to see you, to hear you.’

  ‘You’re a bit late in the day, aren’t you, with that line.’ He was talking the broad, rough idiom used in the pits, to which sound he had never before treated her. Always he had tried to match her polish, being so careful of his grammar that at times his speech had become stilted. But now there was no need to keep up with her, and only in his natural tongue could his anger flow. ‘You’ve got all you want, money…a car. What more can you want?’

  She gazed silently up into his face. And the pain he saw there cut into him, but he would not recognise its thrust. Instead, he added brutally, ‘And an old bloke to supply the romance.’

  After a long moment her eyes dropped from his and she turned from him and made for the opening, saying, ‘I shouldn’t have come, but I wanted to tell you…I’m sorry.’

  As she moved past him towards the door his hand went out and gripping her arm he swung her round towards him again. ‘You’re going…just like that? You’re walking out, just as easy as you did afore? You brought me here to say “I’m sorry Larry”’—he mimicked her voice—‘and you’ve said it. And you’re going—at least you think you are.’ His grip tightened on her arm. ‘You little swine! You dirty, double-crossing, money-grabbing little swine! To think that you could walk out on me without a word, not a word, and you dare come back here.’ A twist of his hand and he sent her reeling against the barn wall. Then advancing on her, he cried, ‘For two pins I’d throttle you…I’d swing for you.’

  She stayed where he had flung her, tight pressed against the timbers, and the utter dejection of her, the hand gripping the arm that had almost cracked under his fingers, her head drooping, and her lower lip held tightly between her teeth, combined into such a poignant weapon that he fell beneath it.

  ‘Pam’—he was standing over her—‘Pam.’ Another moment and his arms were about her, lifting her up again. ‘I’m mad. Oh my God! I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t. I don’t.’ As she turned to him, flinging herself onto his breast, he said again, ‘I don’t. Oh, my God!’

  ‘Larry. Larry…Oh, Larry.’ Like someone in a fever her face moved against his neck while his arms crushed her to him, and when without further words she lifted her mouth to his, they kissed as at their first meeting, madly, drunkenly, on and on. But unlike that first time, they were not exhilarated with their exertions but spent. Quietly they leant upon each other, his fingers moving through her hair as he gazed over her head out through the door to where the shadows lay long in the twilight. And he remembered an evening they had sat here watching the magic pattern made by the shadows. It was the first time he remembered hearing the word penumbra. He hadn’t let on he didn’t know what it meant, but had looked it up when he got home…partly shaded region round shadow of opaque body. Shadow crossing shadow, she had explained it…She had opened the door to many things.

  He asked quietly now, ‘Tell me why you did it.’

  She moved her head against him, and it was some moments before she answered, ‘Mother keeping on and on…and Arlette, you know, from France. Her brother Jacques…he had tried to make a living at writing but hadn’t succeeded. And he had influence. I didn’t tell you, it would have depressed you, and…and, I had a horror of living all my life in Fellburn. Then I met Ron.’

  His hands slackened about her, and she pulled them around her again, pressing them to her, crying, ‘Don’t…he’s got to be mentioned. And anyway, I’m not going to blame anyone. It was me. And yet it wasn’t.’

  She grew limp in his arms and her voice became weary. ‘If I’d been left to myself, to grow up being myself and not sent away to school. Your values change; it’s impossible not to feel the influence of those around you, all good-class people. Don’t you see, Larry? Part of me wants to live ordinary, and part of me never can now. I’m always at war with myself. If I could have remained like Jessie Honeysett, loving you…’

  ‘Leave her out of it.’ His face was stiff and his mouth hard again.

  ‘But why? We must talk and face up to things. You hurt her, and I hurt you. And now I’m hurting Ron.’

  At this second mention of the man’s name he pulled sharply away from her, and thrusting his hands into his pockets he moved towards the door, and stood looking out.

  ‘Larry…please.’

  She came and stood before him again.

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ he cut in. ‘Are you going to leave him?’ He watched her eyes widen and then slowly droop and cover their expression, and he muttered between his teeth, ‘So that’s it. Why did you send for me? You want a husband to supply your toggery and a lover to supply your needs…is that it?’

  The brutality of his words and tone brought her head up, and she said, ‘This is a new side of you, a side I never guessed at.’

  ‘No, by God!’ He laughed harshly at her primness. ‘But you should, it’s your own creation. And whatever you do don’t call a spade a spade…remember your education. Ron…Ron.’ He spat out the name. ‘It’s all Ron now. An old man, old enough to be your grandfather.’

  ‘He’s not.’ The protest was hot and indignant.

  ‘No? Not at sixty?’

  ‘He’s not sixty, he’s fifty-one.’

  ‘Fifty-one!’ Slowly he shook his head. ‘You married a man of fifty-one. Your mother egged you on to do that, and because I was thirteen years older than you she tried to make out it wouldn’t be quite decent. Fifty-one! Before you are forty, he’ll be a doddering, slobbery…’

  ‘Be quiet!’ She was the madam now, haughty, commanding. And his lip curled at her.

  ‘I’ll be quiet all right. You’re not making a fool out of me twice…oh, no. Goodbye, and I wish you luck of him. And you can go down on your knees and thank God you’ve got back to him whole. If I did what you deserve I’d make a mess of you.’

  ‘Larry.’ Swiftly she clung to him, pleading now. ‘Don’t go. Please don’t go. Can’t you see? I’m so unhappy, I’m only defending him because…He’s not to blame, it’s me and my mother.’

  ‘Take your hands off.’

  ‘No, no I won’t. I got him to bring me over so I could see you again. I made Mother’s illness the excuse. Each day I’ve watched you coming from work—the sight of you has torn my heart out. I didn’t know how much I loved you until it was too late…He’s flying back on Monday without me—I’m to stay until my mother has the operation. But before God, what happens to her doesn’t matter; it’s only you that matters. There, now you know how bad I am. I’ve manoeuvred everything to be near you again.’

  ‘But you won’t leave him?’

  ‘Not just like that, I can’t. It’ll have to come slowly. He’s been so good, so kind.’

  Making a deep sound in his throat, he tore himself from her hands and with such force that she overbalanced and catching her heel in a pocket made by the dry, churned mud outside the door she fell headlong to the ground.<
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  He gazed down on her for a moment, and when she made no effort to rise he stood over her. ‘Get up,’ he commanded roughly. ‘Come on.’ But still she made no move to get to her feet. Only her shoulders began to shake.

  Tears in the ordinary way would have had no effect on him—tears were a woman’s outlet. He had seen his sisters cry, his Aunt Lot and his mother, and Jessie…but Pam, never. Her poise had always seemed to forbid tears. He could never imagine her crying. He had always felt that she possessed some quality that would rise and aid her on all occasions—he did not call it a hard core. But now she was sobbing helplessly.

  Bending and gathering her roughly up, he carried her back into the barn. There was a heap of last year’s bracken in the corner, which they had never used because of its suspected livestock. But now he laid her on it, and taking off his overcoat he spread it on the bare floor in another corner. Then having lifted her, still sobbing, onto the coat, he lay beside her and pulled her sharply into his arms.

  Chapter Five: The Fiddler

  ‘Jessie, can I come in?’

  Jessie, calling through the window, said, ‘Yes, Aunt Lot.’

  Lottie came slowly into the kitchen, exclaiming in awe and admiration as she did so, ‘Eeh! Jessie, it’s lovely.’ Then she looked around at the walls, her eyes widening. ‘But aren’t you going to hang no pictures?’

  ‘No, Aunt Lot.’

  ‘None at all?’

  ‘No. Well, not yet. When I see one I like, I’ll put it up.’

  ‘Eeh.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘Your blue wallpaper looks lovely, but if you had a picture on it…Oh, and your new suite. Isn’t it little!’ She patted the G-plan settee. ‘But why did you get a wooden-armed one, Jessie? Don’t you like them like Jinny’s one in the front room? That one’s lovely and padded. Eeh, but Jessie.’ Lottie stopped and gazed about her in evident bewilderment. ‘It all looks…well, I don’t know.’

  And Lottie didn’t know how to express the effect the room was having on her. For all its niceness and newness, it appeared very bare to her.

  ‘And Willie’s done your top pink, Jessie. Did you want him to do it pink, Jessie?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Lot.’

  ‘Eeh, I’ve never seen a pink ceiling.’

  Further comments seemed to be beyond Lottie for the moment, and she shook her head a number of times before concluding, ‘Willie’s kind…he’s nice and kind and jolly. He makes you laugh. You know what he said about me yesterday? He said I was the star in his sky, and he dreamed about me at nights, and if Jinny would only let him he’d marry me like a shot. Jinny hit him with a dishcloth and pushed him out of the scullery. Oh, he makes you laugh. He was pleased that Larry’s not going away now, not yet anyway. Jinny drew all his money out of the store, and he had some in the bank an’ all.’

  The object of Lottie’s visit had been to impart this news and she did it in the best way she knew how. Jessie went on poking the fire. She took up the shovel and brush from the brand-new companion set and swept a cinder from the new sheet of blue painted tin that covered the hearth. What did it matter? This week, next week…he would go—his mother had said he’d had it in his mind for some time now. And there she had been, for the past few months, like the big fool she was, hoping against hope that he would take up the threads where he had snapped them, unconsciously praying, daily, hourly, waiting for a move. And now he had put off his going. Why? But need she ask? And yet she did ask herself for the hundredth time, how could Pam Turnbull affect him now? She was married, and happily, it was said. Mrs King had made it her business to see the man; she had even spoken to him when he was passing through the shop. A fine man, had been her verdict, a real gentleman, and she knew a real gentleman from a copy. And he didn’t look old a bit, not more than forty, and if anybody asked her, Pam Turnbull had fallen on her feet, and she was damn lucky. Not that she had anything against Larry Broadhurst, Mrs King had added hastily, but a gentleman was a gentleman, and when all was said and done, Larry, but for the war, had been no farther than the pit, and she had never been able to see Pam Turnbull as a pitman’s wife.

  It saddened Jessie to realise that there was little or no sympathy for Larry, and almost no condemnation of Pam Turnbull. The verdict was that she had done well for herself. She had, after all, got herself a fine man, and a rich one, and hadn’t she come back to see her mother when she knew she was ill, although she must have realised that she might be laying herself open to censure, or even something stronger from the Broadhursts. And yet speculation was rife as to whether the two main parties had met, and deep in her heart, curiosity began to gnaw at Jessie about the same question. Last week he was going, now he wasn’t. Why?

  ‘Lena had a pain in the night, Jessie, and Jack had to get up. But it’s not due for five weeks yet. You should see the pram she’s bought. Eeh, it’s big! Jinny didn’t half go on about it. She said it would hold quads. There’s nowhere to put it except in the front room. And it’s got a great big canopy. All cream it is, all of it, pram an’ all. Twenty-eight pounds it cost. Eeh, you should have heard Jinny. And a satin quilt. She won’t let me near her, Jessie, and when I tried to talk to her the other day she told me to shut me mouth. You don’t think she’d try to get me…’

  ‘No, no.’ The fear in Lottie’s voice brought Jessie round to her. ‘Don’t worry about that. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘If you’re making one, Jessie. Can I sit in your new little chair?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Eeh, it’s soft. Is it that Dunlop-o stuff?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lena says she wants a mattress of that. Jinny says her wants would sink a pontoon. Lena’s mad the day ’cos Jack didn’t get that house. She’s made him go to Washington—she’d heard tell of one there—and he wanted to go down to the club and see the cup tie on the telly. They had a row, and she had a pain and she went to bed. Eeh, Jessie, fancy Willie being in London and seeing the match. Do you think Jack would have seen him on the telly?…Oh, ta, Jessie.’ Lottie took the cup from Jessie, exclaiming further, ‘Is this new china an’ all? Eeh, the things you’ve bought. Are you going to buy new for all the house?’

  ‘Yes, gradually.’

  ‘Is it all empty upstairs?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  ‘What do you want to go and do it for, Jessie?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, Aunt Lot.’

  ‘No, likely I wouldn’t. Frank says I’m dimmer than a peasouper.’ Lottie laughed, and there was a touch of sorrow in the admission. And Jessie said pityingly, ‘You’re not, Aunt Lot.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind what Frank says, Frank’s all right. He’s nice, is Frank. Can I stay here a bit? There’s nobody in except Lena—Jinny had to go to Florence’s. She went like a gale of wind with Frank when she heard they were all going to Australia.’

  ‘To Australia…who?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘Florence and Sidney and Grace and Harry, and all the bairns. Eeh, she’s up in arms. It’s Florence’s Sidney has done it. Florence came in this morning. She says they can all start a business over there and make a fortune building. Jinny made Frank go over with her and try and talk them out of it. And he wanted to see the telly an’ all. He says they’ll do what they like anyway, ’cos people do. Do you know?’—she leant towards Jessie and whispered—‘Sidney’s cute. He’s had all the papers and things for weeks, everything’s cut and dried, except to persuade Harry. And now he’s done that.’

  Lottie rattled on, and Jessie, sipping at her tea, ceased to listen. Soon it would seem all the Broadhursts would be gone: the girls she had occasionally played with, Jack had teased her, Larry she had loved. Had? Would she ever be able to stop loving him? Perhaps one day, when she could no longer see his shadow in the room across the road, when she no longer stood at the side of the curtain in the front room to watch his coming and going, when there was no longer the fear in her that the sight of his striding figure would cause her heart to leap, nor deep humiliation fill her when i
n the distance he would cut down a side street to avoid her. When that day came, perhaps the wound would close. She would rather the wound gaped forever.

  ‘Would you like to come for a walk, Jessie?’

  ‘No thanks, Aunt Lot, I’m going to do some shopping. I’m starting work again on Monday, and there’s some things I want to see to. I’m slipping into Newcastle…I should be away now.’

  ‘Oh, all right then, Jessie. It’s a lovely day to go to Newcastle, and it will be quiet an’ all. Look at all the train-loads that have gone to London. And it will be nice an’ all on the fells. Jinny says I haven’t got to go into the town but I could go a little walk on the fells if I didn’t go far. Just to Knott’s Corner. And if I didn’t jabber to nobody. She doesn’t like me talking to people.’ Lottie gave this information to Jessie as if it was something new she was imparting; then added, ‘Well, I’ll be off. Enjoy yourself, Jessie.’

  In her own room, Lottie donned her fur cape, picked out from the bottom of the cupboard a large straw hat with faded streamers, drew carefully onto her hands a pair of washed-out white gloves, discarded a torn leather bag for a red raffia one to match her dress, and so attired walked out the back way and up the lane and onto the fells.