‘Oh well.’ He made a short sound of embarrassment. ‘Half of it was true: Dad was working on the roof of the Town Hall. And anyway, from what I could see of your house from the gate it wasn’t like this, was it?’ His voice dropped to a hiss and he swept his arm about the room, adding, ‘Would you brag about this?’
Her gaze was hard on him, her eyes widening slightly, and in this moment she felt sorry for him; she could see what he meant and why he had pretended to live on Brampton Hill. And because he went to the Grammar School she had never questioned this. And now an odd thought struck her: she had never seen him wear his school cap, which was why, she supposed, he seemed to be so much older than he was. School uniforms and caps revealed your age group.
They continued to look at each other, and the silence now became so deep that it allowed the shrieking and pounding feet of children in the street to enter into it.
He took two steps towards her; then, still looking directly at her, he said quietly, ‘I’ll marry you; we couldn’t be much worse off than we are now, could we?’
She didn’t question this, at least her side of it; but after wetting her lips a number of times she muttered, ‘All right then.’
He took another step towards her, and now he was within half an arm’s length of her. ‘We…we got on all right together at first, didn’t we?’ he said; but she didn’t answer, only continued to look at him.
‘Well, we could again, especially if we’re on our own and…and they leave us alone.’
To whom was he referring: his people or hers? In a way she could see his people being prevented from interfering with them but not hers, not those three women back there. Oh, dear, dear, what was she saying, those three women! And they had all been so good to her, even Grandma Pollock, who was forever on the whine, she had never really said an unkind word to her; and then she had to say, those three women! and in that tone. What was happening to her? Is this what carrying a baby did to your mind? She had been sick this morning. She had been sick other mornings but nobody had seemed to notice, except that once when it had been put down to the leek pudding. And there had been a row over that leek pudding because Grandma Pollock had made the crust with dripping—her father had refused to eat it—so her sickness had been put down to that. What was more, she had a washbasin in her room, so she had no need to go to the bathroom. There were washbasins in all the bedrooms; it was that kind of house. This made her glance round the room in which she was standing and again she felt that pang of pity for Andrew. He must have some finer feelings because he disliked this place.
She said softly, ‘We’d better tell them then, hadn’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you be going back to school?’
‘Well, it’ll all depend on when…when you want the arrangements made.’
‘They’ll…they’ll have to be soon.’
‘Yes, yes, I understand.’ He nodded, as though he were an authority in this matter. ‘It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right.’ His hand was on her shoulder now and she felt herself shrinking from it. She wanted to say, ‘Don’t touch me,’ but that would have been silly when only a short while ago all she wanted was to be clasped in his arms, tightly. Would she ever feel like that again? Yes; she’d have to.
‘Come on,’ she said.
She preceded him out through the door, across the passage and into the kitchen. And there they were as she had left them, for seemingly no-one had moved: Mr and Mrs Jones at one side of the table, her mother at the other, and Andrew’s young sister still standing near the fire.
‘Well, then, what’s the verdict?’ As Mr Jones asked the question Lizzie rose to her feet and, picking up her bag and gloves from the table, she looked as if she were about to walk straight out, for she already knew the answer. But she wasn’t prepared for the addition to the answer and it halted her and her mouth dropped into a slight gape as her daughter, looking at Mr Jones, said, ‘We’ve agreed to get married, but we want no interference…from either side.’ And she turned slightly towards Andrew, her glance emphasising her words, and his mouth, too, was slightly agape as she went on, ‘We’ll go along with whatever arrangements you decide between you, but once it’s done…well, we want to manage on…on our own.’
Lizzie couldn’t believe her ears. Her daughter had gone into that room a hangdog girl, defiant and dead set against marriage, while at the same time knowing that it was inevitable. But out of that room had come this apparently young woman who was making conditions and it was that thought that prompted Lizzie now to say, ‘You’re in no position, either of you, to give orders, or make conditions.’
‘Oh, yes we are, Mam. We could both say no, couldn’t we?’ She turned and looked at her future husband, and he, as if imbibing courage from the fierceness of her glance, nodded and said, ‘Yes, she’s right, we could both say no.’
When the burst of laughter hit the room all attention was diverted, not only to Mr Jones, but to his young daughter, for as he leant back in his chair and let out a roar, Minnie’s high-pitched laughter sounded hysterical.
‘Shut up! Stop it!’ Mrs Jones had sprung to her feet; then, turning to Peggy, she cried, ‘Who d’you think you are, miss, coming in here giving your orders! He’s my son and he’ll do what he’s told.’
‘He hasn’t done so up till now.’ Lizzie’s cool voice penetrated the woman’s yelling. ‘I should imagine it was apparent to you. Our visit here today should point that out. And my daughter is right, there’ll be no interference, not from our side, anyway.’ What was she saying? No interference from her side? There would be open war between this boy and her husband; and if the boy knuckled under to him his life would be hell; and if he didn’t it would still be hell. But she wanted to be out of this house, away from these people.
The husband and daughter were wiping their eyes, and now it was the man who spoke again. The rumbling laugh still in his voice, he looked at Peggy, saying, ‘I know who’s going to wear the trousers in this union. Good luck to you, lass.’
It came to Peggy at this moment that this man didn’t like his son; this was a divided house, father and daughter, mother and son. She was glad she hadn’t a brother. But then, hadn’t Charlie always been like a brother to her?
Her mother was now saying to Andrew, ‘If you’ll come around, we’ll talk of arrangements.’
‘Yes, we definitely will.’ His mother was shouting again. But a bawl from her husband silenced her, and his forearm thrust her back into her chair as he said, ‘Enough, woman! Enough! Goodbye, missis. Goodbye, lass.’ He was nodding towards them. ‘See them out, Andy. See them out.’
The boy went before them now, through the passage and to the front door, and there, looking at Lizzie, he won her over just a mite by saying, ‘I’m sorry for the carry-on. I’m…I’m sorry for everything.’
She paused on the step and, looking at him, she said, ‘Well, the future will prove how sorry you are. However’—she swallowed—‘we’ll give you all the help we can. Come along, Peggy.’
Peggy paused for a moment, too, and looked at her future husband and what she said to him now surprised not only her mother and the boy, but also herself, as she said, ‘You want to stand on your own feet.’
Four
‘May I come in, Mrs Conway?’
‘Oh, my dear, you’ve never had to ask to come in before.’ May pulled open the door, adding, ‘I’ve been wondering when you would make the trip; it’s a fortnight since I’ve seen any of you.’
‘Mam misses you. I know she does; she looks lost at times.’
‘Well, she knows where I am. There’s been other times when we haven’t seen eye to eye but she’s never stayed away. Sit down; I’ve just brewed some coffee. Funny’—she laughed—‘that’s my one extravagance, real coffee. Can’t stand ersatz.’ She turned to a side table, switched off the percolator and poured out two cups, saying, ‘I don’t really know how you like it; you’ve never been here at this time in the morning before.’
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��I don’t like it very strong…milky.’
‘Milky it shall be.’
A minute later, when she placed the cup on the table before Peggy, she asked quietly, ‘How did your father take it?’
Peggy looked down into her cup, then picked up the spoon and ladled two spoonfuls of sugar into it before she said, ‘I think he would have killed me if Great-Gran hadn’t hooked him off.’
‘Hooked him off? He attacked you?’
‘Yes, and she dragged him off me with the handle of a walking stick. He’s never spoken to me since.’ The spoon moved slowly now in the cup as she added, ‘I’m to be married a fortnight today.’
‘A fortnight? Well’—May raised her eyebrows—‘the sooner the better, I suppose. Where’s it to be?’
‘A registry office. Father apparently won’t hear of my going to the church.’
‘Have you met his people? Well, I suppose you have by now.’
‘Yes; yes, I’ve met them, but only the once.’
‘What were they like?’
Peggy took a sip of her coffee, then returned the cup to her saucer before saying, ‘Very ordinary. I could have liked the father, he…he seemed a sort of fair man, understanding. But the mother, Andrew’s mother, no! He has a sister. She could be a bit of a rebel, I think. She was on her father’s side.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose they’ll trouble you. It goes without saying, you’ll be living next door.’
‘Yes, it goes without saying. They’re making it nice, though, the annexe.’
‘Oh, in the annexe? Oh, yes; that could be very nice. And you’ll be on your own…well, pretty much.’
‘Mrs Conway.’
‘Yes, lass? By the way, wouldn’t it be nice if you called me Auntie May.’
Peggy smiled now, saying, ‘I’ve always wanted to, but…well, you know.’
‘I know, lass, but we’re on our own now and you’ll soon be a married woman and we’ll be neighbours; well, you’ll be closer to me than they are in the house. And you know’—the smile faded from her face—‘I want you to believe this, lass, I’ll always be here if you need me in any way. You’ve just got to remember that.’
‘Thank you.’ There was a catch in Peggy’s voice now and it was a moment or so before she added, ‘Well…Auntie May, I need you now because from what I can gather Dad’s not going to come to the wedding. Candidly, I don’t want him there, but…but there’s no other male relative and I know Mam would like to ask you and Mr Conway to stand in. Would you?’
‘Like a shot, girl, like a shot. The only thing I’ll say is…oh no, I won’t say it.’ No, she couldn’t say, ‘You should be married in a church in a lovely white dress with a train.’ No, she couldn’t say that to the girl. Instead she said on a laugh, ‘I would like to kick your father’s backside.’ And Peggy’s smile, too, was as wide as she agreed, ‘You’re not the only one.’
‘But I have to say this,’ May said; ‘Frank sees the situation from a man’s point of view: only a saint, he says, could live in the same house with three women and one of them being such an old matriarch and letting everybody know it, because your great-gran does, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes. But she’s good.’
‘Oh yes, she’s good, lass, looking at her from your point of view, but not from your father’s. Men are all queer cattle, you know.’
‘Yes; men are queer cattle.’ She could well believe that. She hadn’t seen Charlie since the night he brought her home, and she said so now ‘I haven’t seen Charlie for some time.’ And May answered, ‘Well, you wouldn’t; you’re not at school now.’
‘Is he out?’
‘Yes; he’s gone for another lesson. He’s having two a week. He’s thoroughly taken with this new man, and the old fella with him. And he is an old fella, too, well into his seventies; but he can play that guitar! You know, I was never for Charlie taking it up. Listening to all that twanging, twanging, twanging, it used to get on my nerves. But oh, when you hear that man, it’s beautiful. You forget he’s playing a guitar. You know, you listen to so much on the wireless and you see these bands going twing twang, twing twang, all the time. It’s a good job the drums play so loudly it covers it up. But when that instrument’s played properly by that old man, oh, it’s beautiful. He’s travelled the world, you know. He’d still be travelling if his legs hadn’t given out. His wife can’t speak a word of English, she’s Austrian or something, but she smiles all the time…’ May changed her track now, and with it her tone. Taking up her teaspoon, she tapped it against the saucer before she said, ‘Charlie’s upset, Peggy; you know, you being brought up together, and…and he’s very fond of you.’ She looked across the table at the top of the head that had gradually drooped forward as she had talked and she thought to herself, Very fond of her? Crazy would have been a better word. She’d never seen or heard her son cry since he was six years old when he had come in with a bleeding nose, but the other night while passing his door she had heard the sobs. She had gone in and she had held him, but she hadn’t asked him why he was crying, and he hadn’t said why he was crying. Not one word passed between them, but she had cried too whilst she had tucked him up in bed, as she used to do when he was small. Afterwards she had gone into her own room and there she had continued to cry. And Frank had come up and found her in a state and, as he held her, he had said something very strange, ‘He’ll get what he wants in the end. He’s made that way. He’s like me, he can wait…remember?’
Yes, she remembered: leaving school at sixteen to look after her mother, who had taken to her bed with arthritis and who, over the next five years, had come to enjoy being an invalid; then her father, worn out with so many things, having a heart attack; and all the while Frank on the side, never saying, ‘When is it going to end? What’s going to happen to us?’ just saying, ‘Don’t worry; things will pan out.’ Even when she told him to go, what had been his answer: ‘Where will I go without you?’ And she had dared not go to bed with him just in case she got into the same situation as this lass sitting opposite to her. And this brought her back to the lass: ‘Come on,’ she said brightly, ‘don’t look so down in the mouth. Don’t upset yourself. As my Frank always says, in twenty-three and a half Nobody Street there’s a blind man and a deaf woman and both their sets of parents are alcoholics. Just think.’
Twenty-three and a…Oh—Peggy began to laugh now—Mrs Conway…Auntie May was always quoting her Frank. Twenty-three and a half Nobody Street. Yes, she supposed she was right; there were other people worse off than her. But then the sympathisers and the advisers weren’t experiencing what you were experiencing. In a way, it was easy to offer parables when they weren’t experiencing the pain they were pitying.
Oh, what was the matter with her? She was always trying to explain things to herself. Well, didn’t she know what was the matter with her? She didn’t want to get married. It wasn’t that she had come to dislike Andrew; in fact, she felt as sorry for him as she did for herself. It was that she didn’t like the idea of living with him day after day, and more so, night after night. But when the baby came she would likely feel different. It would take her mind off things when the baby came. But it was a long time to December.
She rose from the table now, saying, ‘I’ll have to go. It’s close on dinner time and we must all be at the table at the correct time, mustn’t we?’ There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. ‘That’ll be one good thing when I have a place of my own, I won’t miss the soup if I’m five minutes late.’
‘You miss the soup if…?’
‘Oh yes. Dad’s orders: you’re there on time or else.’ The bitterness now changed to cynical laughter as she said, ‘But it only seems to apply to me because Mam and Gran are always there. Great-Gran usually has her tray upstairs. Moreover, I have to eat my crusts. Right back as far as I can remember I’ve had to eat my crusts. Oh’—she grinned—‘wait till I’m on my own. I’ll cut all the crusts off a loaf as soon as it enters the house.’
‘Go on with you!’ Ma
y pushed her over the step, only to halt her by gripping her shoulders and, bending above her, saying, ‘Tell your mother to pop in. Tell her I miss her. Say that.’
‘I will. I will, Auntie May,’ and impetuously now, she leaned up and went to kiss May’s cheek and found herself hugged in a tight yet tender embrace. Then she was running through the garden and into the woodland; and there she stopped and, leaning her head against a tree, she began to cry, cry as a child might.
Five
‘I won’t have it!’ he said. ‘I just won’t have it! Do you hear me? I’ll go and see her this minute and give her the length of my tongue. It’s about time.’
‘Len.’ The quiet voice Lizzie used in speaking his name conveyed a sadness, and she spoke it again: ‘Len,’ she said, ‘you know what happened before when you gave Gran the length of your tongue, you nearly lost your job. I had to do a lot of talking that time.’
She was looking at him. His face was almost purple and his left eye was twitching again. She felt sorry for him. How often during their married life had she felt sorry for him? But it was like feeling sorry for a stranger, someone who had no real connection with your life. She had lain in bed with this man for seventeen years but he was still a stranger to her, although she knew every facet of him, every reaction he would make to everything she said, and his reaction to everything her grandmother said.
Presently he turned from her and, gripping the edge of the desk, he leant partly over it, and, his head bowed, he said, ‘I can’t stand it. I can’t.’ Then suddenly whipping round to her, he cried, ‘I won’t! I just won’t! I won’t have that fellow in the shop.’
She kept her voice down as she answered, ‘He won’t be in the shop. He won’t be anywhere near the salerooms. He’ll be with Ken Stanhope all the time, and Ken will keep him busy. There’s no doubt about that.’
The House of Women Page 5
