Justice is a Woman

by Catherine Cookson

  As Betty looked at her sister, so smart, so petite, she wondered how one such small body could hold so much animosity. She also thought that people such as Elaine brought a sort of virtue to lying. She watched her now put her arms around her son and lead him towards the stairs, saying, ‘I’ve been thinking: how would you like to come to London with me next week to do the Christmas shopping?’

  ‘But we don’t break up until the twentieth, Mummy.’

  ‘Oh, I could write and ask the headmaster to excuse you; it would only be for a few days.’

  ‘But I’ve got a test and have to do homework; and then there’s the school play, remember? It’s The Tempest and I’m one of the…’

  The boy’s voice trailed away as his mother’s arm was pulled abruptly away from his shoulders. Left standing on the top stair, he watched her hurrying towards her room before he turned and looked back down into the hall where Betty was still standing. And when she shook her head at him and pointed, stabbing her finger forward, he recognised and reluctantly obeyed her implied meaning and followed his mother into her sitting room.

  Two

  ‘When is she coming back this time?’ asked Mike.

  ‘Well, as far as I know, next Friday,’ replied Betty.

  ‘Why, of course; she’ll have to give herself time to titivate the place up with jingle bells and tinsel, won’t she? It’s a farce.’ Mike turned to Betty, who was pouring out the tea at a side table, and he repeated, ‘Do you hear what I say? It’s a farce, because there’s no Christmas spirit in this house any more. How in the name of God our Joe sticks her is beyond me. And his life. What life has he got? I once said to him, don’t make the same mistake as I did, lad. That was when he was first married. Well, he didn’t; the mistake he made was in marrying her in the first place.’ He now took the cup from Betty’s hand and, nodding at her, he went on slowly, ‘And I did make a mistake, a very big mistake, lass. I’ll tell you about it some day afore I die, if you haven’t guessed it already.’

  She stared back at him and said, ‘No; I haven’t made a guess at any particular mistake you’ve made.’

  ‘What do you mean, particular?’

  ‘Just what I say.’ She returned to the table and lifted her own cup; and only when she was seated did she continue, ‘You’ve always made mistakes, and one of them was to isolate yourself up here. Oh yes, I know, I know’—she closed her eyes now—‘it’s the view. But I don’t think it’s only the view that keeps you stuck in these rooms.’

  ‘So you have been thinking about my particular mistake?’

  Her eyes now stretched slightly and she said, ‘Is your staying up here connected with that…your particular mistake?’

  ‘Aye, in a way you could say it is; but only in a way.’

  ‘Oh, it sounds interesting.’

  ‘Don’t start laughing, lass, for it’s no laughing matter.’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing.’

  ‘You’re amused.’

  ‘Mike—’ She now leant towards him and said slowly and definitely, ‘If I didn’t laugh at myself, and others at times, I’d go mad. Do you realise that?’

  He stared back at her before he replied quietly, ‘Aye. Aye, I do. If anyone’s had a wasted life it’s you; and I’ve helped to make it so these last few years.’

  She took a sip of her tea before she said, ‘Don’t expect me to contradict you and make things easier for you,’ and he laughed, and his crippled hand shook so much he had to put his cup and saucer onto the side table. Then, looking at her again, he said, ‘We’ve strayed. Where were we in the beginning? We were talking about our Joe, weren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we were talking about Joe.’

  ‘Do you think he’s got a woman back there’—he motioned towards the window—‘in the town?’

  She wetted her lips and stared at him for a few seconds before she said, ‘Why ask me? You can’t imagine he confides in me on such matters.’

  ‘Well, he talks to you, doesn’t he? He talks to you more than he talks to me now.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you that the subject hasn’t come up.’

  ‘There’s no need to get on your high horse about it; it was only a question.’

  ‘And what a question.’

  ‘Well, it puzzles me, because I can’t think that he’s gone without all these years. He’s me son, and he’s a man, very much a man; he couldn’t have put up with being denied his rights all these years…’

  ‘Rights?’

  ‘Aye, rights. It’s a man’s rights to have satisfaction from his wife.’

  ‘And what about the woman’s rights? Oh, I’m not just thinking of Elaine. What if a woman can’t get…satisfaction as you call it and goes off into…town?’ She imitated him now in nodding towards the window. ‘Would people excuse her and say she’s done it because she’s been deprived of her rights? No, she’d be hounded.’

  ‘Look—’ He eased himself slowly towards the edge of the chair and, peering at her, said, ‘What’s got into you? Don’t take it personal; you sound like one of those suffragettes.’

  ‘Perhaps I am one at heart. I know this much; that your dominant male doesn’t carry any water with me; most women could buy a man at one end of the street and sell him at the other, in business and otherwise. Did you see that case in the paper the other morning that made front-page headlines? A man was brought up for badly using his wife. And why did he badly use her? To quote his own words, because she was always one up on him. Apparently the woman was highly intelligent and had married beneath her and, like many other men, he couldn’t stand a woman, particularly his wife, knowing more than himself. So what does he do? He beats her up. And that’s just one case.’

  ‘Well, I never!’

  Mike was grinning widely now and once more he was lying back in his chair; then, looking at her, he said slowly, ‘You are on your high horse the night, aren’t you? But talking about that case. Aye, I read it and, strange as it may seem, I agree with you; that is up to a point because’—now the smile left his face—‘it’s my opinion, and I think you’ve heard it afore, that no man, if he’s sensible, should marry a woman who’s better educated than himself. Let him be the one to be educated and bring her up to his standard; oh aye, that’s all right, but a man being a man needs to be looked up to with pride. But if a woman, especially the one he marries, has more up top than him, it thins his pride and he feels less of a man. I know what I’m speaking about because I’m speaking from experience.’

  Betty got to her feet and, picking up his cup and saucer from the table, she placed it on the tray before she said, in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. Don’t apologise, lass, just give me me cup back; I haven’t finished me tea.’

  She did not take the half-empty cup back to him but poured him out a fresh one, and as she placed it in his hand he looked gently up at her and said, ‘We’ve got a week on our own; let’s make the best of it, lass.’

  She smiled at him now, then went to the fire and using the tongs she banked it up with some coal from the scuttle; then, as she dusted her hands, he said, ‘Did Joe tell you where he’s taking the boy the morrow?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he told me.’

  ‘Do you believe in this hypnotism?’

  She turned towards him but looked past him thoughtfully for a moment before she replied, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know enough about it; in fact, I don’t know anything about it, but I understand that Mr Levey’s brother is a very good doctor and has been using this form of treatment on special cases for some time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I understand an’ all. But it’s a funny business probing the mind. Still, if the man’s able to ease whatever is troubling the lad, then I’m all for it. I’m all for anything that will stop those screaming fits. By! the sound makes me blood curdle every time I hear him. But there’s one thing I’m afraid of.’ He looked up at her and nodded slowly now.

  ‘That he’ll come out worse than he went in: as it is, he c
an’t remember what he did, but what’s going to happen if he should remember?’

  ‘I’ve thought of that and Joe’s thought of that, but apparently, as I understand it, hypnosis can quell the memory.’

  ‘Quell the memory?’ Mike shook his head. ‘It sounds like acting God, and I always suspect anybody who attempts that. Still, we’ll see what we shall see…I wonder what Madame Elaine will say when she gets back? I can tell you one thing: she wouldn’t have allowed any hypnotist to get at her son if she’d been here. What do you say?’

  Betty didn’t reply, but in her mind she endorsed what Mike had said: No; no hypnotist would have been allowed to tamper with the boy if Elaine had been here.

  Three

  It had snowed steadily throughout the night and Joe, driving the car along the deserted road that passed through the mining village towards the town, glanced at Martin and grinned as he said, ‘Well, that’s a nice start, betting me half-a-crown that I won’t be able to drive the car back; I’ll take you on.’

  ‘Well, look at those drifts.’ Martin pointed out of the window. ‘They must be all of four feet high.’

  ‘You’ve got your measurements wrong. Anyway, they’re not drifts, they’re likely just humps of snow thrown up on the bank.’

  ‘You won’t say that when you’ve got to pay me that half-a-crown.’

  They smiled at each other now. Then presently the boy said, ‘Will Dr Levey be able to stop my nightmares, Father?’

  ‘He’ll have a good try.’

  ‘What will he do?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll just talk to you.’

  ‘Well, Dr Pearce has talked to me and that hasn’t stopped them.’

  ‘But there are all kinds of doctors: you don’t go to the optician to have your teeth out, do you? Nor to the dentist if you want spectacles; there’s doctors for all kinds of things.’

  And that was true. Yes, there were doctors for all kinds of things, and he hoped he was doing right in getting this one to probe into the boy’s mind. He’d spent a wakeful night going over and over the situation and wondering if he was doing the right thing.

  He had explained to Dr Levey that the boy had accidentally killed his baby sister; he did not say his monstrosity of a sister. Now what he was asking him to do was to erase the memory of it from the boy’s mind. Hypnotism, as he saw it, was based on suggestion, and if he could suggest that he should forget the whole incident, then the boy could have a normal future before him, even that of a student attending a university, because he was a bright boy; but, as things stood, such a future could not be contemplated for a student who would probably raise someone’s household with unearthly screams in the middle of the night.

  If the experiment was successful he would blame himself for not having taken Marcus’ suggestion earlier, for it was almost four years now since Marcus had suggested taking the boy to his brother for hypnotic treatment. But at the time the very term had smelt of hocus-pocus; whereas now, as he understood it, hypnosis could be induced in all normal persons under suitable conditions, and also in those who weren’t normal.

  Dr Levey had talked of subconscious awareness; a stage which, when reached by the patient, would make him so receptive to suggestion that he could be made to re-enact the particular incident or incidents that were worrying him.

  Well, he didn’t really want his son to relive that night again, yet if it meant obliterating the memory then the boy would have to endure it.

  ‘He won’t keep me in, like a hospital, will he?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘What will he do?’

  ‘Oh, just talk to you, as I said, and expect you to talk to him…’

  And that was exactly what was happening, Joe thought, a short while later, whilst sitting well back in a deep chair in the comfortable room and listening to Dr Levey and Martin talking. Of all things, they were chatting about football and the chances of Newcastle United. It appeared that Dr Levey favoured Sunderland, and Martin laughed as he said, ‘That’s not right, and you living in Newcastle, doctor.’

  ‘I know it isn’t right,’ replied the doctor; ‘but don’t let on.’ And at this they both laughed again.

  ‘Now just lie back in the chair. That’s it…look straight at me … you’ve got a very fine pair of eyes…Now when I count up to six you will go to sleep.

  ‘One…two…three…four…five…six.’

  Joe watched the boy’s eyes close and his body slump further down in the chair; then he listened to the doctor saying, ‘Are you afraid of anything, Martin?’

  There was a pause before the answer came. ‘Yes, about…about dreaming of the black lady.’

  ‘The black lady? What does she do to frighten you?’

  ‘I…I can’t remember; it’s a long time ago.’

  ‘How long? When you were a baby?’

  Martin did not answer, and the doctor said, ‘Go right back, Martin, to the time when you first saw the black lady.’

  ‘No, no! No. No.’ The boy’s head was wagging from side to side; his whole body became agitated; but the doctor’s voice went on quietly, ‘What is she doing? Tell me, Martin, what is the black lady doing?’

  ‘Oh no, no! No, no.’ The boy now placed his hand, with fingers spread wide, over his face.

  ‘What are you seeing through your fingers, Martin?’

  ‘The…the black lady. The black lady.’

  ‘What is she doing?’

  ‘Oh. O…h, she is…she is. Oh. Oh, no; no, don’t! Tipping up…tipping up the mattress. Poor little girl. Poor little girl. Oh, no. No, don’t, please. Please don’t.’

  Now the boy’s hands were thrashing about in the air and he was crying, ‘Wake up! Wake up! little girl. Poor little girl. Wake up! little girl.’ Then again he spread his hand across his face, but this time his mouth opened wide and he emitted a long, piercing scream, followed by another, and another.

  The doctor’s voice cut into the spine-chilling sound, saying quietly, ‘It’s all over, Martin. It’s all over. Lie still.’

  When the boy became still the doctor went on. ‘The black lady has gone. She’s gone away, away, away, and she won’t trouble you any more. Never again will you dream of her. The incident will remain like a memory you can’t recall…Now go to sleep for ten minutes and dream that you are watching Newcastle United play football.’

  Joe was on his feet, but instead of looking at the doctor he was staring at his son; yet at the same time not seeing him, for the whole screen of his mind was taken up with the black lady, while a voice deafened his brain, yelling, ‘My God! My God!’

  The black lady. Elaine! And that black negligée!

  It had been a puzzling mystery to everyone how the heavy iron side of the cot had been lowered. He could hear Betty’s voice saying, ‘It’s impossible, it’s impossible. Nellie must have left it down by mistake.’ And he could hear Nellie almost going into hysterics as she denied this. ‘Martin could have rattled it down,’ she had said; ‘he could have rattled it down.’

  Secretly Joe had gone into the nursery, lain on the floor, put his hands up and rattled the side of the cot to see if it would jump its sockets, but it hadn’t.

  Why hadn’t he probed the mystery further? Why? Had he known in his mind all the time that she had done this? No, no. But why had he let the matter drop? Was it because, like everybody else, he had thought it was the best thing that could have happened to the child? Again, no, no!

  ‘Do you understand about the black lady?’

  Joe blinked his eyes as if he were emerging from a trance, and he stared at the doctor, but gave him no answer; and the doctor stared back at him and after a moment he said, ‘Well, I hope it’s done the trick; but only time will tell if the memory has been buried deep enough not to trouble him again.’

  He turned about now and as he re-crossed the room he asked casually, ‘Have you seen Marcus lately?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I…I saw him on Monday. He was in the club.’

  ‘How is your wif
e keeping? Is she quite recovered?’

  Joe swallowed deeply, and it was with some effort that he replied, ‘Yes, she’s…she’s quite recovered. She’s in London, shopping at the moment.’

  No more small talk passed between them. The doctor remained standing, looking at his watch; then sat down facing Martin and said quietly, ‘When I count to six, Martin, you will wake up and you won’t remember anything that has happened, but you will say you are thirsty and ask for a drink.

  ‘One…two…three…four…five…six.’

  ‘Oh!’ The boy opened his eyes, passed one lip over the other then said, ‘I feel very thirsty. May…may I have a drink, please?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. What would you like? Lemonade? Ginger beer?’

  ‘Oh, ginger beer, please.’

  While Martin drank his ginger beer and Joe a cup of coffee, the doctor chatted amiably. Then a short while later, when he was bidding them goodbye, he looked straight at Joe and said under his breath, ‘A doctor’s surgery is like a confessional.’

  Joe gave no reply to this statement, but just stared back into the deep brown eyes for a moment before, his head drooping forward, he turned about and followed Martin into the street.

  Four

  ‘Where the hell has he got to?’ asked Mike.

  ‘How should I know?’ Betty’s voice had just as strong a note of impatience in it. ‘I told you what he said on the phone.’

  ‘He didn’t say where he was going?’

  ‘No; he only said that David was taking Martin to see Elizabeth in the school concert.’

  ‘And he rang from Fellburn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well’—Mike shook his head slowly—‘if it was four o’clock in the afternoon when he rang and he had passed the boy over to David, that would mean David taking him on to the Egans’, because the school concert wouldn’t start before six, if then. My God! if she was to hear that she’d go hairless…mad! Not that I’d mind.’ He lifted up his hand and wagged his bent forefinger at Betty. ‘That’s what the lad wants, to get around and see how the other half lives. But what I’m saying is, he’s never gone against her this far before…do you think something happened at the doctor’s? Didn’t he say anything about it?’