The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  His thin chin thrust forward, Stan looked around the company and was greeted with, ‘Yes, you’re right there, Stan. Aye, aye, never a truer word spoken.’ And then they waited once again for him to go on as if they were enjoying it.

  It seemed to Sarah as if Mr Hetherington was doing a turn. She looked towards David, but he was looking at his father. She looked quickly towards John, and John was looking towards her and he indicated with a swift downward glance the bottles on the sideboard, and Sarah, picking up his meaning, nodded and smiled, then turned to listen to her father-in-law again.

  ‘The North is a separate world, you know, and it breeds a separate kind of man.’ Stan was waxing eloquent now. ‘Men who are anathema to men of softer tones, to men whose egos are of a normal size and who argue only with knowledge…for let’s face the facts, we are an aggressive pig-headed lot. And I say thank God for it…What do you say?’

  ‘Hear, hear! Stan. Hear, hear! Carry on. Carry on.’

  ‘Well, as I was saying, the Tynesider, right back to Bede, has had to push himself up through the mire for both bread and learning, and always on this particular night he dons the cloak of hope, and he throws his head back and looks to the coming year, to the set number of days, days in which he sees himself working hard, eating well, and sleeping soundly. And why not, why not?’

  At this point Stan dramatically raised his glass, crying, ‘Let’s drink to the Northerner!’ There was a rising to the feet and cries of ‘Well spoken, Stan!’

  John, turning to Sarah, whispered loudly, ‘He should have been in Parliament, he could give MacDonald points…That’s if me mother brewed every day.’

  Their laughter was lost amidst the noise and chatter now filling the room, and Sarah, looking towards her father-in-law, thought, It’s funny to hear him lead off like that. He must think that way all the time. He’s like David, or David’s like him. They both think alike, but it takes the drink to bring it out. And his eye has hardly twitched at all the night.

  ‘It happens twice a year,’ said John, still whispering. ‘New Year’s Eve and Armistice Day. He generally gets blotto then, on Armistice Day.’

  ‘Really!’ This surprised Sarah.

  ‘It’s a kind of protest against the war and…’ He moved his finger unobtrusively towards his eyes.

  Sarah couldn’t imagine Mr Hetherington getting really drunk, but she remembered back to Armistice Day just a few weeks ago when he had been in bed for two days with a cold. She smiled to herself, and shook her head. Funny the things you didn’t know.

  ‘Look, it’s three minutes to. Get the glasses filled there, Mary.’ Mr Hetherington was addressing his wife as if he was master in his own house, and obediently she went to the sideboard and began refilling the glasses. She looked proud and happy.

  Sarah was standing with David now, an arm around each other. They were behind Dan, who was sitting to the side of the fireplace, and they each had a hand on his shoulder. Dan, Sarah thought, was in a bad way, he should be in bed.

  David bent down towards Dan, pulling Sarah with him as he said under his breath, ‘Why don’t you go up, man?’

  ‘I will as soon as it’s in.’

  Sarah and David raised their heads, then looked at each other and for a moment pressed closer together. The room became full of bustle. Mr Riley, who was to be first-foot, had left by the back door laden with coal and bread—Mary Hetherington had never added a bottle to the ritual as was the rule—and now as many of the company as could manage it were in the passageway.

  The ship’s hooters were blowing. The church bells were ringing. The whole world outside of the house seemed to be alive with sound. In contrast the house appeared quiet, almost empty for all the voices had died away. Each member of the party was waiting, all touched in this moment with a feeling of awe, touched with the elemental feeling of mystery and of sadness. One woman, Mrs Riley’s sister-in-law, was crying quietly. All the expressions were touched with tenderness. It was as if the essence of this quality had been brushed swiftly over them all. Not one of them at this moment held within himself bitterness or anger. Not one of them remembered past grievances. At the deathbed of the year their souls shone out from their eyes.

  The wind was blowing high and hard and it brought the first booms from the clock in the centre of the town right to the door itself, and the sound split them apart. The faces returned to normal, mouths opened and cried in different ways: ‘It’s here. It’s here.’ As the clock struck for the twelfth time the rapper on the front door banged, and borne in on the wind came Mr Riley.

  ‘Happy New Year. Happy New Year.’

  ‘Happy New Year. Happy New Year.’

  They shook hands; they embraced each other, they all pressed back into the sitting room, still shaking hands, still embracing. Sarah found herself being held by her father-in-law.

  ‘A Happy New Year, a Happy New Year, Sarah. And I mean that, I mean that.’ He leant towards her and his moustache pressed tight against the side of her mouth.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ she cried. ‘Happy New Year…Dad.’

  At this Stan let out a bellow of laughter and for a moment they hugged each other. Then she was standing over Dan.

  ‘Don’t kiss me unless you want this cold. Happy New Year, Sarah. Oh, that’s what I wish you, a very Happy New Year. Indeed I do.’

  ‘The same to you, Dan. The same to you.’ They were holding hands, shaking them up and down like children.

  The three strange men kissed her, great smacks on the side of her cheek.

  She stood before May for a moment exclaiming a Happy New Year, then such was the power of this night they leant swiftly to each other and embraced.

  And Mary Hetherington kissed her. Her lips touched her cheek, and she said, ‘A Happy New Year, Sarah.’

  ‘A Happy New Year, Mam.’ Again they laughed together.

  People were passing from one to the other, and then she was standing in the passage opposite John.

  ‘A Happy New Year, Sarah.’

  ‘A Happy New Year, John.’ They looked at each other, but they did not even touch hands. He smiled, and his smile still held something of the gentleness of the moment before twelve. He said again, ‘A very Happy New Year.’

  When he passed her and went into the room the laughter slid from her face for a moment; she felt slightly disturbed, even slighted. Then, tossing her head up, she almost ran into the living room. That was John—she never knew how to take him. And now she began whipping up plates of mince pies, and rice loaf, and bacon and egg tart, on to a large tray. As she turned to leave the room May came into the kitchen, saying, ‘Dan wants a strong cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll make it for him in a jiffy.’

  ‘No, you carry on with what you are doing. I’ll see to it.’ May sounded pleasant, nice. Everybody was nice…

  And then it was quarter to one.

  David was playing the piano. Everybody was singing. Sticking to her decision she had refused to be persuaded to sing alone; nothing must mar the newfound harmony between herself and her mother-in-law. It was at this point she thought, I must slip across now. As she went from the room she whispered quietly to Mary Hetherington, who was still busy at the sideboard, ‘I’m just going to slip across to wish me mother a Happy New Year.’

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  The concern was warming, heartening. She nodded briskly. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be all right.’

  May was standing near the door and she touched her arm, saying, ‘You’re not going across there on your own, surely?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be all right, I’m used to it.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t take a gold watch and go through the streets at this time of the morning.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of people about.’

  Oh, everybody was nice. Fancy May being concerned about her.

  May followed her into the passage, saying. ‘You should have somebody with you. Tell Davie.’

  ‘No, no. It will spoil things, they want hi
m to play. I’ll be all right, May, honest.’

  ‘Wait until John comes back, then; he’s just gone over to see to the fire, and he’s going to look in on old Mrs Watson next door. He won’t be long.’

  ‘No, I won’t wait, May. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone. You see’—she smiled broadly—‘I’m used to going about the streets in the dark. I had to do it every night for years coming from work.’ She nodded at May, then hurried into the living room, and from a cupboard under the stairs she took out her coat and wrapped a scarf around her head, then went out of the kitchen door.

  It was as she entered the back lane that she bumped into John. He gripped her arm to steady her and peered at her in the dim light from the lamp at the bottom of the lane, saying, ‘Where on earth are you off to?’

  ‘Oh…oh!’ she laughed. It was a nervous laugh. ‘I’m just going to run across and wish me mother a Happy New Year. I won’t be long.’

  ‘You’re not going on your own? Where’s Davie?’

  ‘He’s playing, I didn’t want to stop him.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going across there on your own at this time of the night, I’ll come along with you.’

  ‘No, no.’ She was standing stiff, talking stiff. ‘I’m all right I tell you. There’s no need, I won’t be a minute.’

  ‘A minute or half an hour, what do you think I am? What would Davie think if he knew I let you go across the streets, especially at this time, on your own? There’ll be drunks all over the place; it doesn’t take much to knock them out these days.’

  ‘No, no.’ She was protesting now, with her eyes closed.

  ‘All right then…’ His voice sounded sulky. ‘If you don’t want me to go with you come back in and get Davie, but I’m not letting you go over there on your own. If anything was to happen to you, what would they say? Fancy him doing that, letting her go across there on New Year’s morning by herself.’

  Yes, she knew. That’s just what they would say. But nothing was going to happen to her and she didn’t want him to come with her. She didn’t. She didn’t. She felt herself jerked around. He had hold of her arm, laughing as he pulled her forward, but his voice was gentle, very gentle as he said, ‘It’s New Year’s Day, Sarah, New Year’s Day. Everybody’s nice to everybody on New Year’s Day, remember?’

  They met the full force of the wind as they came out of the lane and into the main road.

  ‘By! It’s blowing itself in all right. And look at that moon riding up there. It looks as if it’s training for the Derby.’

  Sarah looked up through the scudding clouds. David said it was the clouds that moved not the moon, at least not quickly. David had learned her lots of things…Eeh, that was one of the things he had taught her, that nobody can learn you, only yourself. They teach and you learn, David knew more than John, at least about some things, about the nice things. John was eaten up with politics and such…Eeh! The exclamation burst from her now as her hand was gripped and she was forced into a run.

  John was running against the wind like a great lolloping bear. She tried to shake herself free, but his grip was like iron, and she could do nothing but run with him.

  ‘We’ll race him.’ He was yelling like a lad and pointing upwards. He was daft. Mad. They fled past two groups of people all singing, and mingled laughter and song followed them on the wind.

  ‘J-o-h-n…stop!’ She pressed her body back from him and strained at his hand, and gradually they came to a stop, just three streets from her own. She leant against the wall now, her two hands under her breasts pressing against her ribs. She was gasping and laughing. It was either laugh or get into a temper and this was a New Year’s morning.

  ‘You…You are a fool, John. You’re mad.’

  ‘Perhaps I am. But have you never raced the moon afore?’

  She shook her head at him. He was standing with the palm of one hand against the wall, the arm straight; the coat sleeve touched her shoulder. His face, looking upwards, appeared young and boyish. As he turned his head towards her the moon disappeared behind a bank of cloud and she could no longer see his face. As she pulled herself from the wall, she said, ‘I’m all out of puff, I’ve never run like that since I was at school.’

  ‘You’ve missed something then.’ His voice was even now, and his tone ordinary. ‘Up to the last few years I used to run every morning before breakfast, I was in the harriers. Six miles sometimes, and more; and then I cycled to work. And on a Sunday a hundred miles with the Cycling Club was nothing. I felt fit in those days.’ His voice trailed away and they walked a few steps before he said, ‘Is this your street?’

  ‘No, the last one.’

  Everything seemed very ordinary. He was David’s brother. Why had she made such a fuss about him bringing her over? He was just like a young lad. He might be older than David in years but in his mind he was younger. That was because he did sillier things, and said sillier things; and although at times he was surly, he had, she thought, something of Dan’s sense of fun. She turned to him now, saying, ‘This is it. Look, I won’t be more than five minutes. I won’t keep you waiting.’

  ‘Stay as long as you like, I’ll do some skipping until you come out.’ He lifted his big frame from the ground with a lightness that surprised her and began skipping in an imaginary rope.

  ‘You are daft, you know.’ She was laughing freely. Then; ‘I won’t be long,’ she said again, and hurried from him.

  When she reached the house and found the blind up she felt a sense of disappointment. Her mother had gone to Mrs Young’s then, or perhaps to bed. No, she wouldn’t have gone to bed. She must have gone next door to bring the New Year in. There came to her the sound of laughter and voices from the Youngs’ kitchen and as she turned away she thought, ‘Well, I’m glad she’s having a bit of enjoyment.’

  ‘By! That was quick.’ John was standing against the wall, not jumping up or down any longer.

  ‘She’s not in. She’s next door, by the sound of it. Anyway, we’ll get back all the sooner.’

  She had turned to walk down the road when he said, ‘Let’s cut down the back end, we’ll escape the wind that way. We won’t have it in our faces then.’

  ‘All right.’

  They went across the road and through Walham Street. ‘We can cut through Fanny’s Alley here,’ he said.

  She turned to him, her mouth wide. ‘You know Fanny’s Alley?’

  ‘Of course! Why do you sound so surprised? I know every bit of the streets.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d know about this end, and Fanny’s Alley.’

  ‘Why?’ There was a slight argumentative note in his voice now that put her on her guard, and her tone was placating when she answered, ‘Oh, well, you know, the top end never came down to the bottom end…that was until Davie came for me.’ Her voice was soft as she finished speaking.

  They had entered a cut between two houses, Fanny’s Alley. He went first and they came out on to a piece of wind-torn waste ground that had on it a number of corrugated iron huts—the tool sheds of the allotments. They were in the black shadow of the gable-end wall of the last house and the first of the sheds when he turned on her bringing her to a halt, saying fiercely, ‘Don’t talk like that…humble…Why must you eat humble pie all the time? What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘What do you mean? What are you on about now?’ She sounded both surprised and frightened.

  ‘I’m on about you bending the knee so much…’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yes you do, and you know it. My God! Where do you think you’ve landed, anyway? In Lord Redhead’s or with the Percy family? Look, Sarah, get it into your head that you’re still in the fifteen streets. We’re in the fifteen streets…we’re all in the fifteen streets. I tell you it makes me flaming mad to see you acting as if somebody had picked you up out of the gutter…And when you’re with my mother…oh my God!’

  He stopped, and in the darkness she felt his arm going up as he put his hand to his head, and she
retreated a step from him. She was shivering inside with a feeling which his words were forcing into life, the feeling that had come unbidden into her body when she had first looked at him. She fought it now in the only way she knew. She said, ‘Don’t be silly, going on like that; it’s the beer you’ve had.’ She laughed nervously.

  ‘Beer! Huh! It might knock them over, but it doesn’t touch me. It’ll take something stronger than that. I’ve had very little the night. Look, don’t evade the question. I’ve been wanting to get at you about this for some time…Sarah.’

  She felt her body jerk upwards as his hands came down on her shoulders covering them like clamps. ‘Don’t you realise your worth, woman? They…I mean our family isn’t bestowing any honour on you; you’re doing the honours, if it comes to talking about honours. Aye, you’ve given them life. You’ve brought the old man alive. You’ve made Davie into a man, and you’ve done something for Dan…aye, Dan, who doesn’t need any lessons. Don’t you know what you’ve done, woman?’ He was shaking her now. ‘Don’t you know what you’ve done?’ His voice was a hoarse whisper. His words were sending gusts of hot breath over her face. He still had hold of her shoulders, but his elbows were bent now, his body touching hers, but lightly, just their clothes.

  ‘Sarah! Sarah!’ The wind was whirling her name about her head. ‘You know what you’ve done to me, don’t you? You know it, that’s why you’ve kept out of my way…Oh my God, Sarah.’

  ‘No! No!’ She thought she was screaming, but the scream was only inside her. Her words came out on a low hiss. ‘No! No!’ And then she was lost between his body and the corrugated iron hut. Through the thickness of their clothes she felt him, every inch of him; his knees, his thighs, his belly, his breast, they were all picking out the counterparts in her and she was gasping under the pressure of them.

  ‘No, no, leave go of me. You’re mad, mad…David!’

  ‘Aye, David.’ His mouth was against her ear; his words dropping into it like molten lead, burning her. ‘There’s David. You’ve got no need to remind me there’s David. If it wasn’t for David I would have tipped you up from the start. Didn’t you feel it the first time we met in the front room? I knew then, in an instant.’