The Bondage of Love

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I think it is, dear. They’re made strong by their environment. Refinements of any kind in some odd way appear to dilute the personality.’ And she smiled now as she added, ‘Take me for instance. I’m an example.’

  ‘Oh, Mam, I could take you in any form, personality or not.’ Again he was hugging her; and when he went to dance her round the kitchen, she laughed and said, ‘Give over, you fathead. If you want to be helpful, you’ll take those dishes out of the sink and put them in the dishwasher. I’m beginning to think that your father’s right about dishwashers. You’ve got to practically wash the stuff before you put it in. Mrs Watson won’t go near the thing since it knocked the handles off those two cups.’

  ‘She’s daft. I believe in using everything. I used to loathe it when it was my turn for the washing-up. When I marry I’ll have the whole house electrified. Everything, right down to my pyjamas. I’ll have them made like an electric blanket.’

  As Fiona laughed, she thought, when he gets married. My, my! It must be on his mind. And he’s going to have everything electrified. Well, that should complete the picture, because he’ll certainly be marrying a live wire if he takes Daisy. Dear, dear! She grabbed up a pear, put the knife in the top in order to peel it, but brought it down too sharply and cut her finger.

  Dinner turned out to be a very jolly meal. It seemed that Sep competed with his sister to make the whole company laugh.

  Fiona had been surprised by Mr Sep Gallagher, not only by his appearance, but by his voice. He used the idiom of the Northerner, but it wasn’t thick and stressed as it was generally spoken, and his inflection, too, was somewhat modulated. You could say he had a very pleasing voice and a manner to go with it. Moreover, he had finely cut features and must be close on six feet tall. And she understood he wasn’t yet twenty. He had been set to work with the plasterers. When he was told to go to the main office and ask for a chit for two buckets of lime for the plaster, at that moment he knew no better than to obey them. In fact, he had not hesitated in doing so because he knew that lime was an ingredient for plaster and they were using a lot of it. His precise orders were to go to the main office and ask for the chit, then take the buckets to the store and have them filled up.

  The main office was a set of huts with a large caravan just beyond them. He had sense enough not to go into the caravan, but he didn’t know which of the huts would be the office. So he stopped two men and said, ‘I’m new here. I have a chit for some lime.’ He nodded down to the buckets and the men dug each other and one had said, ‘Oh, a chit for some lime. Which house are you doing?’

  ‘It’s number seven on what they call, I’m told, a new patch.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said one of the men, ‘number seven on the new patch. Well, laddie, you see the big caravan there, well that’s the boss’s office. Now don’t go there, but to the hut nearest it; they’ll fix you up with what you want.’

  He pushed open the door of the office, only to be slightly abashed by the sight of two typists sitting at desks. At the end of the room, by a long table, stood three men. One he recognised immediately; Mr Ormesby. The second one he knew nothing about, but of the third he knew quite a bit. The three were staring at him, as were the two typists, and he looked from them down to his muddy feet, wondering how he dare step onto the hessian-matted floor. He was nearest to one of the typists, and it was to her he stammered, in a voice almost little above a whisper, ‘I’ve c…come for a chit for…lime.’

  What he noticed next was the three men at the table turned their backs on him; and the typists, after gaping at him, put their hands over their mouths and bowed their heads. Then the bark that hit him made him almost jump back; and there was the boss in the middle of the room, an arm outstretched, yelling, ‘I’ll lime you if you don’t get out of here and get back to your squad, and tell them to be at this office at five o’clock tonight for their cards. All of them, d’you hear? All of them, and you an’ all! And that’s the payment for wasting time. Now you go back and tell them that…this instant.’

  Sep had imitated Bill’s voice except for the bawl. And when the laughter subsided a little, he ended, ‘I never knew how I left that hut. I came to myself standing outside in the middle of a muddy patch, and the two men who sent me in there leaning helplessly against each other. Well, I went for them first. “Silly”’—he paused and looked to where the two children were perched—‘“Bs, the pair of you, and not you alone,” I said. And you know something?’ He looked round the company, then back to Bill seated at the head of the table, ‘You know, sir, you couldn’t have beaten my bawl when I got back on the job. I was really sick, because I had just started, and there I was for me cards. It was Mr Ormesby, there,’ he nodded towards Bert now, ‘who said it would be all right, but to keep me wits about me in future, for the men in that gang were known to be practical jokers.’

  Looking down the table towards Bert, Bill said, ‘Those two on the road would be Partridge and Kennedy, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. But I’ll tell you one thing that you mightn’t know, neither that gang nor those two ever waste a minute. They work like machines. No rushing or hurrying, just steadily. And it’s amazing what they get through in that way. Also, they are the kind who don’t grab their coats when the whistle goes. And if anybody’s wasted time through them, like Sep did that day,’ he nodded across the table to Sep, ‘they stay behind and help clear up.’

  Daisy looked up the table towards her brother, sitting to the left of Fiona, and she felt a wave of pride pass over her. Their Sep was passing himself. She had always known he was different, but not that he could tell the tale as he had done. He had made them all laugh over something quite simple. If it had been Mike, he would have sat mute most of the time. And Frank…oh, Frank would have butted in, either causing an argument or saying something stupid. As for Harry, well, he too would have been mute, but in a different way from Mike. Unless the conversation touched on sport, you didn’t get much out of Harry. But there was Sep holding this table as she herself could do at times. They were alike, she and Sep; yet not alike, because they should each have possessed the other’s nature: there was no roughness in Sep, and he was kind; whereas, she was afraid of softness. Yet deep inside she wanted the comfort of it. And she, too, was kind, but she didn’t want people to know she was kind. There was only one person who seemed to know her inside, and that was her da. But wait, there was him across there who was smiling at her now, as if, in a strange way, he was proud of her. He knew all about her, because she had opened her mind to him. She had intended it to put him off, but it had only made him cling closer to her; and now the sensible part of her was beginning to appreciate it. Oh, not just now, but for some time past she had been grateful that he should think of her as he did.

  That time she had asked her mam and dad about choosing second best, she now knew to have been stupid, because here was Willie, and he was the third one, and he wanted her. Sammy, the first one, didn’t want her. Jimmy. Oh, Jimmy. She felt wild with herself that she had ever thought of Jimmy, considered Jimmy as second best. But Willie now, she could have Willie. Oh, yes, she knew she could have Willie. But there was an obstacle, two obstacles. One was his mother, and the second one…well, that was another thing …

  ‘Well, if we’re going to see this contest, let’s make a move,’ said Bill. ‘Everybody up with their utensils and into the kitchen. Mrs Watson wants to get home some time today, it being Sunday. Yet, you wouldn’t think she had a home to go to, the way she sticks around here so much. She must get double pay. D’you give her double pay?’ He looked at Fiona.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘When she comes on a Saturday or a Sunday, I deduct it from her wages, because she tells me she likes to come. And everybody must pay for their pleasures, mustn’t they?’

  There were giggles as they gathered up the dishes and marched into the kitchen, and Nell cried after them, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute. Mrs Vidler will see to these two, but I must just go up and see if the other one�
�s still asleep,’ only immediately to be brought to a stop with her foot on the second stair when the front doorbell rang. The others too, had stopped and looked expectantly towards the door. And when it was opened, there, over their heads, she saw a man and a woman and a young girl.

  It was the sight of the young girl that made her gasp. But no! Mamie? No! It couldn’t be. Yet, it was and it wasn’t.

  She saw Bill move towards the door and she knew he was not only staring, but gaping at the visitors, and particularly at the girl.

  ‘You Mr Bailey?’ It was the woman speaking. And when he did not answer, she went on, ‘I…I had to bring her. It was only common charity, but I had to bring her.’

  Bill pushed the door wide, and his voice sounded like a croak as he said, ‘Come in.’

  The woman pressed Mamie over the step, and when she came close to Bill, she looked up into his face and said, ‘Oh, Uncle Bill.’ The voice sounded small like that of a child, the words spaced.

  Bill now looked at the others in a helpless fashion before, seeming to come to himself, he called to Willie, ‘Go and bring your mother.’ Then turning back to the man and woman, he said, ‘Come this way, will you?’

  As they passed Mamie, the woman took her arm and said, ‘Come on, dear. It’s going to be all right. Come on.’

  Bill ushered them into the drawing room; but with his hand on the door, he stopped and looked back at Nell, saying, ‘See to things, Nell, will you?’ Then he closed the door.

  The man and woman were standing in the middle of the room gazing about them, but Mamie was looking at Bill, and when he approached her, she said, again in the same nulled tone of voice, ‘Oh, Uncle Bill.’

  He was telling the man and woman to be seated when the door opened hurriedly and Fiona came in, but she didn’t move up the room but stood with her back to the door and, after glancing at the man and woman who were now seated stiffly in chairs, her gaze came to rest on this girl who had caused her so much trouble, caused them all so much trouble and unhappiness. But she wasn’t looking at the same girl. This girl was much taller and terribly thin, and there was a strange expression on her face. There was no colour in her cheeks, and all she could say about her clothes was that they looked very drab, from the flat felt hat on her head to the dark-grey coat that reached her calves.

  She had to force herself to walk up the room. And when she came within an arm’s length of the girl and heard her say, ‘Oh, Auntie Fi,’ her face actually screwed up in perplexity. There was such a depth of pain in the voice; yet, it sounded like that of a weary elder.

  ‘I’ll be good, Auntie Fi, I will. I promise. I promise. And I won’t go out. Never! Never! I won’t go out.’

  Seeing that Fiona was beyond words, Bill put his hand on Mamie’s shoulder, meaning to direct her to the sofa; but when she jerked her body from him, he gaped at her, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’

  ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Uncle Bill.’

  The woman put in, ‘She’s got like that. She can’t…well, she can’t stand men…I mean, touching her.’

  ‘My God!’ Bill looked at the girl who had now seated herself in the corner of the couch, and it could be said that the same thought was passing through both his and Fiona’s mind, and it was laden with guilt. What had they sent her away to? Something had happened to her.

  The woman was saying, ‘You’d have to know about it. You see, we lived two doors down and we are of the chapel as well, but as me mam says, there’s moderation in all things. And Harry…my husband here’—she thumbed towards him now—‘he said from the beginning that something should be done. But you don’t like to interfere, do you? It isn’t your business. But when she first arrived’—she nodded towards the wide-eyed, staring girl—‘she was sprightly. Oh, too sprightly. But she soon had it knocked out of her. It was chapel twice a day on a Sunday, like with all of us, but one or other of them would take her to the Bible reading on a Sunday afternoon. But she was never taken to the choir practice. They all used to come at one time, but one or other was detailed to stay back to see to her. Then it got round the village that they were out to reform her from her bad ways. What her bad ways were nobody got to the bottom of. Then there was school. There were only three teachers there. Well, there’s only thirty-five children, you know. Two of the teachers were chapel, the third wasn’t. Our ones were told to keep a strict eye on her. The third began to open her mouth about what was happening to the girl. Nothing very serious at first, only that if she was defiant she was locked up in the attic, and her meals were cut down to one a day. This seemed to happen more during the holidays. But the third teacher…well’—there was a little toss of the head here—‘her name was Blackett, and she said the girl had to pray before she was allowed to take a swallow of water. Of a sudden she stopped going to school, and they had to get the doctor, because the authorities began to make enquiries. It was then stated that she had a rash all over her and it was a bit catching. It wasn’t the doctor that said that, was it?’ This was a question applied to her husband, and he shook his head and said, ‘No, well, not about it being catching, because Mrs Edwards took her Glenda to him because she had been sitting next to Mamie. Well, not exactly next to her, because they had her stuck at the back of the class by herself, except when she was in Miss Blackett’s class. She was tolerant, was Miss Blackett.’ His wife’s expression changed as she looked at him, saying, ‘She was nosy, known to be nosy, but perhaps it was just as well in this case. Well, it was from about this time that my mam noticed…You see, we weren’t living there then, not with me mam. We were married three years ago, and we had shifted to Cardiff. But when we visited me mam, she would give us details of what had been going on. And when she told us for the first time that she had heard screams coming from two doors down, we didn’t take much notice, because she tells a good story, does me mam, and we thought she might have been imagining it. It was no good going to Mrs Wilkins who lived right next door to them, because she was as deaf as a stone. And as the Pearsons’ house was the last in the block and there was nothing on the other side, except the playing fields; well then, there was nobody else to bear out the fact that they heard screaming. And we visited Mam at least four times following that before she said again that she had heard screaming. Another thing that me mam noticed during this time was that the old man’s nephew, Owen, and his wife were spending money like water, with new rig-outs, and of all things they had got a car. It wasn’t much of a car; it was second-hand. But the bus had been good enough for them up till then, because there’s a good service from the village, very good. And it was passed round the chapel that no matter what they did, they couldn’t get rid of her rash. Then, she must have really taken bad, and it was the night before, me mam swears, that she heard the lass screaming again. Anyway, there was the doctor and he was there every day for four days running. And on the Sunday they had prayers said for her at the chapel, because the old fella…’ She turned to her husband now, saying, ‘I could never stand him, could I?’ And he said, ‘No, dear, not many could, not many people could.’ She now sighed deeply and looked from Bill to Fiona, and said, ‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’

  ‘Oh. Oh.’ It was as if Fiona were coming out of a trance.

  ‘You…you must have some tea,’ she said. ‘I’m…I’m very sorry. Just a moment. Just a moment.’

  She ran to the door and into the hall where it would seem that Nell had never moved from the foot of the stairs, because she was still standing there and alone, as if waiting. And when Fiona whispered, ‘A tray of tea, Nell. A tray of tea. I…I can’t believe it.’ Nell shook her head from side to side and said, ‘Nor me,’ then hurried away.

  Fiona remained standing for a moment with her hand tightly on her throat as she muttered to herself, ‘What have we done?’

  When she returned to the room the woman was saying, ‘From what she’s told us in bits, it’s as if she’s still frightened to say anything.’ She was looking towards Mamie who was now sittin
g with her head deep on her chest, and she went on, ‘One thing was sure, she was scared to death of Owen. I think it’s him that’s knocked her partly out of her wits. And whatever happened, it’s made her afraid of men, ’cos she wouldn’t let you near her, would she?’ She again turned to her husband as if for confirmation, and he said, ‘No. No, not even to take her hand, and help her out of the car.’

  ‘Anyway,’ the woman went on, ‘these last few weeks things have begun to happen. When Mam said to me the solicitor man had been next door, ’cos there’s nothing escapes my mam—’ She smiled here and nodded her head before going on, ‘When I said to her, “How d’you know it’s a solicitor, Mam?” she said that it was the same one she had gone to ten years ago when she was protesting about the playing fields. Well, there wasn’t only her then, there was a group of them. But she remembered him well: as she said, he had an extra large nose and he wore sideburns, and there were the sideburns still. She came on him by accident, she said, as she was coming back from the shop. He was stepping out of his car and she said it was his nose she noticed first; the only difference was, it had got redder.’