The House of Women

by Catherine Cookson

  His face looked blanched. And now he brought out the words between his closed teeth, saying, ‘You think you’ve won, don’t you? But I’ve told her what you were when you were her age: a slut. And I’ve told her how she came about.’

  The poker wavered in her hand. She told herself not to do it, to turn away from him, to get out of the house. When he said, ‘That’s shaken you, hasn’t it? Now go and explain to her what made you ready to take your clothes off in the barn. Go on, explain it.’

  She felt the poker quivering in her hand. Turning abruptly, she flung it with a clash into the fireplace; then she went out and got into the car. And there she sat in silence beside her daughter for a full minute; and neither of them spoke until, in a very small voice, Emma said, ‘I…I couldn’t go to the disco, Mammy.’

  As quietly, Peggy answered her, ‘Yes, you could dear; and yes, you are! And you’re going to forget, at least try to forget what’s just happened. But…but now you’ve made a stand’—she turned and looked at her daughter—‘keep it up. Do you understand what I mean?’

  Emma looked into her mother’s face, and then making a small movement with her head before turning away and, gazing through the windscreen, she said, ‘I’m…I’m afraid, at times, Mammy.’

  ‘What are you afraid of, dear?’

  ‘Of…of his—’ Her dark head swung now from side to side before she muttered, ‘feelings, possessiveness. I knew a long time ago it wasn’t right when he wanted to…’

  The gulp she made in her throat was audible, and Peggy put in quickly, ‘Wanted to what?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing. I’ll go to the disco. Come on, let’s go. Let’s go.’

  Peggy stretched her left arm and put it around her daughter’s shoulders, saying, ‘It’s all right now. It’s all right. Don’t get agitated. We’ll talk about this later. Now you’re going to the dance, and there’ll be Susan and Carrie there, and you’re going to smile as if nothing had happened here tonight. That’s one of the things you’ve got to learn in life; to smile and cover up your feelings.’

  The girl raised her head and looked at her mother, saying, ‘He said awful things about…about you, Mammy.’

  ‘Yes, I know he did. And when we talk later I’ll explain what really happened, and it won’t be in the way he put it,’ and with similar emphasis she turned the key; but then allowed the car to glide forward.

  Five minutes later she dropped Emma at the hall, saying, ‘I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock. Go on now, enjoy yourself.’

  Having turned the car, she wondered if she should make for the cottage to talk out with her mother what her next move should be, but thinking that would leave her grandmother alone too long, she decided to make for home again.

  Going up the lane, she saw a car stop and Frank Conway quickly get out and turn as though awaiting her.

  When she, too, stopped he said, ‘I could see it was you. Can you spare a minute to come in? I’ve got something to tell you. I think it’s important.’

  Her heart missed a beat. ‘About Charlie?’ she said apprehensively. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Oh no; Charlie’s all right. We had a letter this morning and one enclosed for you. He’ll be back earlier, on Tuesday. No, it isn’t about Charlie. Yet, it could help bring his wishes closer, lass. Come on. The car’ll be all right there.’

  When they entered the kitchen May’s voice came from another room, calling, ‘I’ll be there in a minute, Frank.’ And when presently she appeared in the kitchen doorway she said, ‘I didn’t know you were here, Peggy.’

  ‘Your husband’s dragged me in. There’s something he wants to tell me.’

  ‘He’s going to leave me for you? I knew it. I knew it.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, woman. This is serious. Is there a cup of tea ready?’

  ‘Yes, sir, yes; it’s all ready. In fact, the tea’s all set in the dining room as usual and has been for…let me see’—she put her head on one side—‘how many years?’

  ‘Go on, get in there, you idiot.’ Then he turned towards Peggy, saying, ‘Come in here a minute.’

  Seated around the end of the dining table, both Peggy and May looked at Frank and waited. And what he said, was, ‘Well now, I’ll have to start at the beginning. It was like this. We got a letter, passed on from the Newcastle office this morning concerning a woman who wants to sell her bungalow. It’s out Corbridge way. They always pass out-of-the-way jobs on to us. And this was certainly one. I went out there and found two bungalows set in what looked like nowhere. The lady was very talkative, and I gathered that they were on the edge of a big estate. At one time, apparently, the area all around was to be built up with good-class bungalows, et cetera. But something emerged from the deeds of the estate that put a stop to this development. The two bungalows in question, though, had been standing from the year dot. Well, they were built pre-war, and they were still in good condition and they each had half an acre of land. Now this old girl is getting on and she wants to move into town. She’s lonely and she plied me with tea and scones and the rest, and gave me information about her neighbours, whom she seems to like quite a bit. He’s a commercial traveller and the wife’s a cook in a Newcastle hotel. Both seem to have good cars and to be comfortably off. However, she informed me, she doesn’t see much of him, Mr Milburn. Well, she said, you know what commercial travellers are, and laughed and winked. Then suddenly she said, “Good lord! Talk of the devil.” And she pointed to the window, saying, “There she is now! She must be seeing him off. He doesn’t usually get home in the daytime. Well, I suppose with her being at work he doesn’t think it much use.”’

  Frank looked from one to the other, and then, addressing himself solely to Peggy, he said, ‘You’d better hang on to something, Peggy. You know who Mrs Milburn is? Rosie…Rosie Milburn. And who should Mr Milburn be but your dear Andrew. Honest to God! There they were going down to the car. I’d seen it along the end of the track. It was a BMW. There’s quite a few of them knocking about; I hadn’t noticed the number plate; well, there was no need.’

  Peggy didn’t move. She didn’t take her eyes off Frank. She heard May saying, ‘Never in the world! Never!’ But she still made no comment. Strangely, she found herself thinking along lines similar to those her great-grandmother would likely have thought, putting money first: where does he get the money to keep two houses? She knew he was not actually in the red at the bank, but he was pretty near to it at times, although he was now paid a very good salary, much more than Len would ever have been paid if he had still been alive and in the job. Moreover, Mr Andrew Jones was a neat dresser: he spent a lot on his clothes and quite a lot on Emma, but little on herself. It was presents from Gran that kept her attired as she was. The next thought that entered her head was of divorce: the way was clear. All these years he had been carrying on on the side and now here was actual proof of it. He wouldn’t be able to lay claim on Emma.

  Charlie. Charlie and her, together at last. No more meeting secretly in the wood in the dark, always in the dark.

  May’s hand was on hers: ‘It’s all right, it’s all right, dear,’ she was saying. ‘It’s a way out. At last you’ve got a way out.’

  Peggy’s voice sounded quiet, even gentle as, looking from one to the other, she said, ‘I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I? All these years I’ve been an idiot. When did Rosie leave? Over seven years ago, and I never guessed. I can’t remember once seeing them talking together. No, I can’t remember once. And Rosie, she was so nice, so jolly, so kind and helpful.’

  She straightened her back and a small smile began to spread over her lips as she said, ‘I wonder what Mrs Funnell will say to this? What will her reaction be when she knows that her bright boy, while patting and stroking her and kissing her brow and her blue lips, must have been laughing up his sleeve at her, and thinking what a clever boy he is to be able to live in her fine house and have a big say in her business, while at the same time running a mistress on the side.’

  She turned to Fra
nk now. ‘You know, Frank,’ she said, ‘I’m going to take a great delight in telling her, much more so than facing up to the big boy himself, because she it is who has paved the way for all this.’

  ‘I understand what you mean, Peggy, but I can’t see how she’s paved his way to buy that bungalow. Rosie…well, she hadn’t any money, had she? And even on a cook’s wages she wouldn’t be able to rise to that.’

  ‘He may have sold some cars on the side.’

  Frank looked at his wife. ‘I doubt it, May,’ he said. ‘From what I understand from Henry, he’d have a job to do that; the old girl has her finger on every penny.’

  The ring of the telephone brought May up from the table, saying, ‘I bet that’s Charlie.’ But within a minute she came running back, saying, ‘It’s Mrs Funnell. Something’s happened. She’s yelling at the top of her voice. She’s calling, “Bring Frank! Bring Frank!”’

  They were all on their feet now and running from the kitchen, the two women following Frank through the garden, through the woodland and so into the house.

  Victoria was standing at the top of the stairs hanging on to the banister. And when they reached her, she said, ‘He’s taken an overdose.’

  In the bedroom, Mrs Funnell was also supporting herself, one hand on her chest, the other on the bedrail, and at her feet lay the doubled-up figure of Andrew clad in only vest and pants.

  ‘Good God!’ Frank was now kneeling by Andrew’s side, straightening his limbs. He put an ear to his chest, then looked up at them, saying, ‘He’s still breathing, but his heart’s going twenty to the dozen. Let’s get him on his feet. You’d better call the doctor, Peggy.’

  ‘No, no!’ said Mrs Funnell; ‘give him salt and water. It’ll bring it up. He hasn’t been out that long. I…I heard him only a short while ago coming out of the bathroom. Get some salt and water, hot.’

  Peggy had been standing near the table. The aspirin bottle was empty, as was the silver-papered, singly wrapped, Panadol square that usually held twelve tablets, but in which she knew there had been only three, for she herself had taken two that afternoon. As for the aspirins, there might have been a dozen in the bottle, but that would have been all. She had made it a habit never to leave medicines lying about since the time she found Emma sucking a Panadol, thinking it was a mint, but thankfully then having the sense to spit it out when she found it wasn’t.

  Yet if this had taken place in her grandmother’s room, he would have found plenty of bottles there, a cupboardful, going back for two or three years. All in aid of her many illnesses, real and imaginary. And such was her feeling that she might have need of them sometime, nothing was ever thrown out.

  She didn’t actually run from the room to get the hot water and salt; whatever he had taken was a gesture: it had been enough to knock him out, but it certainly wouldn’t kill. This was to pay Emma out, to make her feel guilty and never again to disobey him. But even should she explain it to her as his ruse to get his own way with her, there was still the possibility that the ruse might not have come off; in anyone older than him and less strong, it could possibly have achieved its object.

  When she returned to the room with the salted hot water, Frank and May between them had lifted Andrew onto the bed, and there he was propped up and breathing very heavily now. And Mrs Funnell was talking at them all the time: ‘I’m not surprised. I’m not surprised. The strain he’s been under with one thing and another. But I’d like to know what’s brought this on, and I’ll get to know. Yes, I will. I will.’

  ‘Get me a bowl, Peggy, will you?’ Frank turned from the bed and, taking the mug from her hand, now addressed his wife. ‘Pull his jaws apart,’ he said.

  When the hot, salted water went down Andrew’s throat, he gulped, and it would have all spurted out had Peggy, and none too gently, not clamped his jaws together again.

  ‘Get him on his feet and walk him up and down. That’s the way. It’s no good letting him lie there. Get him on his feet.’

  ‘All right, Mrs Funnell. If you’ll get out of the way, we’ll get him to his feet.’ Frank’s voice carried the expression that was on his face, and Mrs Funnell came back at him, saying, ‘Don’t you bawl at me, Frank Conway! You forget where you are.’

  ‘Shut up, woman!’

  This staggered Mrs Funnell into silence, and her feelings were registered on her grim face as she watched this husband and wife whom she had never liked, classing them as common, dragging the almost inert figure up and down the bedroom. And they didn’t stop until he heaved and brought up a great deal of liquid into the bowl that Peggy was reluctantly holding.

  Following this, they laid him on the bed again, and when he started to groan May said, ‘He’ll live,’ and turning and looking at Mrs Funnell, she added, ‘Unfortunately,’ before marching out of the room.

  Peggy followed her onto the landing. ‘Can’t believe it, can you, that he would go to such lengths?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, his type will do anything. He’s a maniac. No, not a maniac, just a devious, two-faced bugger, I would call him. Well, anyway, you’ve got him where you want him. And as for that old girl in there. Oh, wouldn’t I like to be a fly on the wall when you tell her the latest! Anyway, give me a shout if you want me. Frank will realise I’ve gone home.’

  Peggy went into her grandmother’s room. Victoria was sitting on the edge of the bed, an arm hugging her waist, and she asked simply, ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘No; far from it. By what I’ve reckoned, he took enough just to knock him out. He knew what he was doing. This is all for Emma’s benefit.’

  ‘It’s a pity he didn’t get a surprise and find himself dead. A great pity. Mother went on like someone demented when she found him. It was just by coincidence that she did. If he did as you say, he would have calculated what she would do: when he didn’t go in to her and hold her hand she would go and tap on his door, because he never entered the house without visiting her, wherever she was. I once said to him, Mother’s in the lavatory but she never locks the door.’

  ‘Oh! Gran.’ Peggy wanted to laugh, but she knew if she gave way to it it might turn to hysteria. ‘Get into bed, dear.’

  She tucked up her grandmother; then bending over her, she smiled at her while saying, ‘I think this calls for a glass of sherry. It’s an occasion.’

  ‘Oh, Peggy! Peggy!’ The bedclothes shook. ‘Don’t make me laugh. But yes, a glass of sherry. This is an occasion.’

  Within an hour Andrew Jones was aware that he was back in the land of the living but that a doctor hadn’t been called. Looking up at Frank, he said, ‘I’m sorry; a stupid thing to do. Has the doctor gone?’

  ‘The doctor hasn’t been,’ said Frank tersely. ‘Mrs Funnell thought it better not to call him because you’d only taken a small dose. Did you understand that when you made the partial attempt?’

  ‘What…what d’you mean, partial…attempt?’

  ‘Just that. You took only enough, really, to give you a twenty-four-hour, good sleep. Well now, I’m off. Next time, I’d do the job properly. Take whisky with it, that helps.’

  Left alone Andrew Jones closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. He felt terrible. He felt ill. And what had it achieved? Well, he would soon know when he saw her. What time was it? Was she home yet? No, she’d still be in that place, being handled by those young louts. The picture in his mind caused his teeth to clench, and he muttered, ‘Oh, Emma, Emma. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.’ Then, as if he was being answered, a voice in his head yelled, ‘And she’ll not leave me! I’ll see to that; she’s mine. I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. She’s mine. She always has been mine, and she knows it inside herself. But it’s her bitch of a mother. If it wasn’t for her, Emma would understand how I feel. But I’ll win, I’ll beat her yet. By God, yes, I’ll beat her yet! Oh lord! I feel sick. Oh Emma, Emma. Hurry up. Come home and see what you’ve done, what I’ve done for you.’

  There was a rustle by the side of the bed and he opened his eyes to see Pe
ggy standing there. She was smiling and what she said almost brought him up from the bed, his fists flailing. But the sickness caused him to drop back. She had said, ‘Better luck next time, Andrew,’ and had turned about and walked to the door.

  Further along the corridor she tapped on her great-grandmother’s door and went in without waiting for permission.

  ‘I’d like a word with you, Great-Gran.’

  ‘Well, I’m ready to have a word with you, too. By! Yes, I am. This business tonight has opened my eyes.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good. I’m glad of that.’

  ‘Don’t be perky, miss. And remember who you’re talking to.’

  ‘Yes, I am remembering; and please remember, too, Great-Grandmother, that I am not a miss any more; I am a married woman who has run your house for years and has had to put up with a man of your choosing.’

  ‘What do you mean, a man of my choosing? Now let me tell you’—the finger was wagging—‘Andrew has been brought to the limit of his patience by your attitude and unwifely behaviour and your lack of understanding with regard to his feelings as a father.’

  ‘Oh, Great-Gran, I’ll either have to laugh at you or yell at you. But because you’re an old-fashioned, besotted old woman I’ll laugh at you while I tell you that your dear Andrew has not missed my wifely attentions at all. Do you remember Rosie, our daily help? Dear Rosie, cheery Rosie? She left to go off with a fellow, you remember? Disgraceful conduct, wasn’t it? Well, do you know who the fellow was, Great-Gran? No, you’d never guess in a thousand years. Well’—she leant slightly forward—‘the fellow that Rosie went off with was your dear Andrew, the loving father. And he set up house for her in a bungalow further along the river, in a nice secluded part. And that’s where he goes to his meetings on Tuesdays and Fridays, and sometimes on a Sunday and any other time his need calls him.’