The Long Corridor

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I’ve told you your Aunt Jenny’s here. Look, there she is.’ He twisted her round and pointed towards the light of the doorway. Jenny came forward. She held out her hand, saying, ‘Come on. Come on inside.’ But Lorna remained stubbornly firm, pressing her back now against the car. ‘I want to go to your place, Aunt Jenny.’

  ‘All right, you can in a minute, but come inside first or we’ll all be frozen.’

  ‘Will you let me stay with you, Aunt Jenny?’

  Jenny did not look towards Paul but she paused a moment before saying, ‘Yes, yes, of course you can. You know you can.’

  ‘Well,’ Lorna jerked her chin to the side, turning her head full away from Paul, ‘I’m only coming in for a minute, so there.’ She sounded different, older, brittle. It was as if she had been away for years.

  In the bright light of the kitchen she stood with her head down, and Maggie, coming from the table with a cup in her hand, said, ‘Sit yourself down a minute an’ drink this cup of chocolate; it’s just how you like it.’ She spoke as if everything was ordinary, but Lorna exploded the myth by saying loudly, ‘I don’t want any chocolate, Maggie; I want nothing, nothing.’ Her throaty voice was high, cracking.

  ‘Jinny.’ Paul sounded tired. ‘Take the doctor into the drawing room and give him a drink, will you?’ He glanced at John Price now and added, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  When they had gone he stood looking at Lorna, but she wouldn’t look at him; her head was still hanging when he reached out and firmly taking hold of her hand drew her forward, saying, ‘Come with me.’

  As she pulled against him he said, ‘Just for a minute, come along.’

  She resisted him all the way to the surgery, but when he had closed the door behind them she flopped down on the edge of the patient’s chair and, her head bowed again, she waited.

  Bending over the ruffled black shiny head, he said softly, ‘Lorna, look at me.’

  For answer she jerked her body away from him.

  ‘It’s no use evading this, Lorna; we’ve got to talk about it…clear it up.’

  He was slightly startled when she swung quickly round and looked up into his face as she demanded, ‘Is there any way we can clear it up, Da…? You see, that’s the point; I was going to say Daddy, and you’re not, are you? You’re no relation. She said you were no relation…’

  ‘But that’s where you’re mistaken.’ He dropped on his hunkers before her and, gripping her hands, went on hoarsely, ‘I’m your father in the real sense of the word, in the only sense of the word I’m your father. I love you…I love you, Lorna.’

  ‘When you knew you weren’t my father did you love me then?’

  Her eyes bright and dark were looking straight into his, demanding the truth, and he gave it. ‘No, not at first. At first I was wildly angry and hurt and…and I pushed you aside, literally pushed you aside, ’til one day when I did that you cried, and we looked at each other, very much like we’re doing now, and it was done. I knew you were mine in all that mattered, I knew then that I would never have a child by your mother and you were the only child I wanted. I loved you then Lorna, and that feeling has increased with the years.’

  ‘But you’re not my father.’

  He gulped in his throat, and as he searched for words he watched slow painful tears fall over the dark line of her lower lids, and when, haltingly, she began to voice something of the agony of mind he himself had carried for years he felt he couldn’t bear it.

  ‘My father was a Japanese wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?…Years ago a girl at school said I looked a bit Chinese and I hated her for it. But…but of the two I’d rather be Chinese than Japanese. I—I think they’re filthy.’ Her face became awash with tears; and her head bounced up and down as she pulled her hands from his.

  Dropping on to his knees, he took her in his arms and soothed her for a moment before saying softly, ‘Your father wasn’t all Japanese, just one of his parents. And they’re a very talented race; there’s nothing to be ashamed of being Japanese…What?’ He put his ear closer to her to catch her spluttering words. ‘In the war…in the war people said…they were terrible.’

  ‘Every nation was terrible in the war. And, Lorna, listen to me.’ He lifted her face to his. ‘Your father looked a nice man. I—I only saw him the once, but I remember thinking how good-looking he was. And you have his looks. I—I think that’s been the hardest thing for me to bear over the years, you being so beautiful—’ When she dropped her head on to his shoulder he pressed her more tightly to him and went on: ‘Because if you had looked like us, what I mean is a combination of me and your mother, it wouldn’t have made for beauty, I know that.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy! Daddy!’

  On the sound of his name coming easily to her lips again he took in a long, slow breath. After a moment she raised her head and between gulps she asked, ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ His brows went up slightly.

  ‘I can’t stay here. I can’t, I can’t. I couldn’t look at Mummy, I just couldn’t.’

  ‘Would you like to go away to school, or some place?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps. Yes, later on, but in the meantime can I stay with Aunt Jenny, please? Please, Daddy.’

  ‘But your Aunt Jenny is leaving tomorrow; she’s going on holiday.’

  She put out her hand and picked at the lapel of his coat, and she kept her eyes on her jerking fingers as she said, ‘Would you ask her to take me with her?’

  ‘Oh, but, Lorna…’

  ‘Please, Daddy, please. I’ll have to go some place. I can’t…I can’t stay with Mummy. It isn’t only about tonight, it’s…Oh!’ She twisted her body from side to side.

  ‘What is it? Tell me?’

  ‘No. No. Only I want to get away. Go and ask Aunt Jenny. Just ask her. Please, Daddy, please.’

  ‘Very well.’ He pulled himself up. ‘Come into the kitchen with Maggie and have your drink and I’ll have a talk with your Aunt Jenny.’

  At the kitchen door he pushed her gently inside and nodded over her head towards Maggie; then went to the drawing room, there to find Jenny alone. She was standing looking down into the fire, and she turned her head swiftly towards him.

  ‘Where’s…where’s John? Has he gone?’

  ‘No.’ She looked away from him. ‘I asked him to have a look at Bett.’

  When she finished speaking he went towards the wine cabinet, and as he poured himself out a drink he said, ‘Jinny, can I ask you to take Lorna with you?’

  ‘What do you mean? Home, tonight?’

  He came towards her, the glass in his hand. ‘No, to Switzerland. There’ll only be trouble if she stays here. In fact, I don’t think she will stay. I think she’ll repeat tonight’s performance again, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll take her.’

  ‘You won’t really mind? Oh, I say, you won’t really mind, when I know it’s a bit thick, in fact it’s an imposition.’

  ‘But I don’t mind taking her; you know how fond I am of her. But there’s another point. I’m wondering whether I should go at all…I’ve got to speak to you about this, Paul, whether you like it or not. Bett is ill, and if she’s left with you and Maggie, who’s to see to her?’

  ‘Jinny.’ He lifted his glass and drank most of its contents before he went on. ‘Who I’m concerned about at the present moment is Lorna. She’s had a shock tonight and if we don’t want repercussions later on she’s got to get away.’ Again he lifted his glass, and drained it and placed it on the table before he said, ‘I’ll get a nurse in if she’s bad enough. And I’ll go and see about getting more help for the house tomorrow. But Jinny’—he walked up to her—‘you’ll do me the biggest favour of my life if you’ll take Lorna away, and now. Let the scales weigh in my favour this time…please, Jinny.’

  She stared at him without speaking; then turning from him, she said, ‘All right.’

  ‘Thanks. Thanks, Jinny.’ His hand went out and
gripped her arm, but she did not turn towards him again, not even when the pressure deepened. When he let her loose she went down the length of the drawing room, saying, ‘We’d better go now; I can get her things tomorrow.’

  They were crossing the hall when John Price came down the stairs. He came down slowly and they both stopped and watched him, and when he reached the foot Jenny went towards him and asked, ‘What is it?’ She was a nurse and the countenances of doctors weren’t inscrutable to her. She saw that something was amiss and again she said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure yet, nurse.’ Although John Price had known Jenny for years he had always addressed her as nurse, and she had addressed him as doctor. He turned to Paul. ‘I’d like a word with you.’

  There was a short silence before Paul said, ‘Lorna’s spending the night with Jinny. I’m just going to run them over.’

  ‘Oh, well.’ John Price nodded his head. ‘Go ahead. Go ahead.’

  ‘Do you mind waiting?’

  ‘Not in the least. Go on, go on. But I’d like a sedative for her. If you’ll give me your keys I’ll see to it.’

  ‘They are in the desk in the surgery.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute.’ Jenny glanced at Paul. ‘I’ll just pop up and see her before I go.’

  It was Doctor Price who answered her. ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you, nurse; I’d leave her as she is for tonight.’

  Jenny, her eyes on the doctor, wanted to remind him that first and foremost she was a nurse, but she didn’t. She went towards the kitchen, leaving the two men again looking at each other. It was John Price who turned away first, and Paul stared after him as he went out of the hall and into the waiting room towards the surgery.

  What now? In God’s name what now? John looked shaken. Was she really ill? Something serious? He hoped to God not. He wanted this business over, no delay. He knew that he was quite prepared to lose his livelihood rather than continue life with Bett.

  In the kitchen he put his arm around Lorna’s shoulders and led her towards the door where Jenny was already waiting, saying, ‘Have you said goodnight to Maggie?’

  Lorna turned and, looking back at Maggie, said, ‘Yes, and goodbye; she knows I’m going with Aunt Jenny.’

  ‘It isn’t goodbye, me bairn. You go and have a good holiday, have the time of your life. Go on now.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Maggie.’

  ‘Bye-bye, hinny.’ Maggie shuffled forward, saying, ‘An’ goodbye again, Miss Jenny. An’ you enjoy yourself an’ all. Have a fling. Go on, have a fling.’

  Jenny gave the old woman a weak smile. ‘You’ll be seeing me again, Maggie, I’ll be round in the morning,’ she said.

  ‘Stay where you are till I come back, Maggie, and I’ll run you home,’ Paul called from the yard, and she answered, ‘Aw, never you bother, I’ll be in me bed by the time you get back.’

  ‘Now look.’ He came back to the doorway. ‘I’ve told you. Stay put; I’ll not be more than a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘All right. Have it your own way.’

  Not until the car had left the yard did Maggie close the door. Then, as she went to sit down, she heard the distant sound of a man’s cough, and she remembered that Doctor Price was still in the house and was likely waiting for himself coming back, so she decided to make a pot of coffee. This done, she took the tray into the drawing room.

  The room was empty, and when she returned to the hall she glanced towards the stairs. Then her eyes were drawn towards the morning room door which was open. What made her go towards it was the reflection of a glow in its dark panelling. The fire had been left on. The child had evidently switched it on when she was in there, and in her flight and shock had forgotten to switch it off again. If milady had been about it wouldn’t have been left on. Oh, no. You could freeze to death to save a shilling or two. She stood looking about her. She had never felt the room as warm as this for years. It was a nice room and she would have liked it but for the fact it was as cold as an ice box; but at the moment it was like toast.

  She sat down on the deep couch against the wall to the side of the fire. It was an old couch but still in good condition. The mistress had been wont to put her feet up on it in the afternoons. Her own feet were the size of two pairs, she could do with getting them up herself. And why not—why not indeed, until himself came back? The other one wouldn’t likely be stirring the night if she was so bad she needed a doctor. She went and closed the door. Then returning to the couch, she slowly raised one swollen leg after the other and lay back. Her body felt as heavy as her heart; but aw, this was nice; aw, she hadn’t realised how tired she was; she could go to sleep, she could, she could that. An’ if she wasn’t careful she’d be out for the count.

  Twenty minutes later when Paul returned and didn’t find Maggie in the kitchen, nor receive an answer to his quiet call from the hall, he clicked his tongue with impatience.

  When he entered the drawing room John Price was standing on the hearthrug, supporting an elbow in one hand while tapping the index finger of his other against his teeth. It was an agitated gesture. Moving slowly towards the fireplace, Paul kept his eyes on him, and when he reached the couch he stopped and said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Paul,’ John moved uneasily, ‘I’m in a bit of a fix. I’ve got something to say and I…I don’t know how to say it, or where to begin.’

  ‘In that case, John, you’d better come straight out with it.’

  ‘It isn’t as easy as that.’ John glanced sideways at him. ‘I’m—I’m knocked, I just don’t…’

  ‘Look,’ Paul lowered his head and said slowly, ‘spit it out. There’s something wrong with her, is it cancer?’

  ‘No.’ The older man pressed his shoulders back and stretched his chin out of his collar. ‘I could say at this minute I wish it was. Paul.’ He went closer to him and, his voice rapid and low, he spoke to his averted face. ‘I know that things haven’t been quite right between you and Bett, not for a long time. Even if I hadn’t been your friend and known a little about you, and was just visiting her…well, I would have sensed things weren’t quite normal. Do you follow me?’

  ‘I follow you.’

  ‘Paul, I…I must ask you something…pointedly.’

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘Have you been together lately?’

  ‘That’s easily answered.’ He turned and faced him. ‘No. But what do you mean by lately?’

  ‘I mean…well, within the last few months, the last year.’

  ‘Multiply that by twelve and you’ll be nearer the mark.’

  ‘Aw, man.’ John Price’s hand went to his face and rubbed it in evident agitation, and when Paul said, ‘Look, what is this? Spit it out,’ he inhaled deeply and his voice now sounding calm, even disinterested, he said, ‘I suspect she has syphilis, secondary stage…’

  What happens to a man when he is told that his wife has venereal disease and he knows that he hasn’t given it to her? The normal reaction would be hate, disgust, a loathing of the woman and the dirt with which she was impregnated. A feeling of being cheated, of his manhood being indelibly stained. But Paul experienced none of these emotions; what he did experience was a feeling that he had been winded by a kick in the stomach, and that the blow made him want to retch. As if his wits had become dulled with the kick he heard John Price’s voice, his words hesitant and limping, coming as if from a distance, saying, ‘Of course there’s a chance I may be wrong, but I don’t think so. Still…well, you can see for yourself. Her throat’s very sore, but a sore throat could be a symptom of anything. It was the papules on her arm that gave me the first indication. It…it happened when she lifted her hand above her head, and…and the sleeve of her nightdress fell back. There were two, and one or two brown stains which speaks of recrudescence. I…I might even have had doubts of my own powers of observation, but when she realised that her arm was bare, and she saw my eyes on it, she covered it immediately and became very agitated, even hysterical…Paul, it’s awful, man, it’s awful
, but she knows, she knows all about it. She didn’t want to see me in the first place. When I went in she called nurse everything for telling me. I thought her attitude was surprise at seeing me so late at night. Then after a while she calmed down, but once she knew that I suspected what was wrong she really did become hysterical…Well, there it is. I’ve given her a hefty dose of chloral. She should be well away in a little while, and with your permission I propose to do a Wasserman…Paul, man, look.’

  Paul went to the couch and sat down.

  ‘Will I get you a drink?’

  After a space of time, during which he sat staring straight before him, he made a small movement with his head.

  The glass of whisky in his hand, he looked at it. Syphilis. Bett and syphilis. Of all the people he had to treat it was those with this disease he pitied most. Altogether he hadn’t many on his books, not more than three or four. It was a secret disease. People had it, and hid it, and passed it on; and the receivers had it, and hid it, and passed it on. As was sometimes the case, they didn’t actually know they had it, they just had spots and were feeling off colour; and of course they didn’t connect the rash with the person with whom they had been cohabiting. As one young fellow had said to him, oh, he couldn’t have got it from his girl, she was nice. The boy was seventeen and the girl was his first girl. He’d had to convince them both that they needed treatment. That had been a piteous thing, but it was imperative that they had treatment at once, for this thing, this vile thing, could lie dormant for years then spring on them with frightening consequences, terrible consequences. Very often the only way he could get patients to have treatment was to send them to Newcastle, for they couldn’t bear the shame of attending the special clinic, although treatment was carried out everywhere with the greatest privacy.

  ‘Drink it up. Come on, man, drink it up.’

  Obediently he put the glass to his lips, but only sipped at it.

  John Price sat down on the couch beside him. ‘Look, I can arrange for her to go away and have treatment. Not a soul need be any the wiser, so don’t worry.’