My Beloved Son

by Catherine Cookson

  As she made for the door he sprang in front of her and from his medium height he seemed to tower over her for a moment as he said, ‘I’ve never hit you, I’ve never raised me hand to you, and I’m not gonna demean meself by doin’ it now, but I say this, if you go up to the house and cause trouble over this, then life as it has been atween us is finished. And you know me well enough by now to know that I don’t talk idly. Do this and I’ll never touch you again, Jessie. And I’ll speak to you when I must, that’s how strongly I’m feelin’ in this matter.’

  He now moved aside and he stood watching indecision play on her face; then when he saw her push up her breasts with her forearm he knew what she intended to do, and when her hand came out and she grabbed open the door he made no movement to stop her.

  Arthur stared at the woman whom he had seen almost every day for the past twenty-six years, from the very day she had married Dick, but only in this moment did he admit to himself his real personal opinion of her; he had always smothered the feeling of dislike that would arise at intervals by reminding himself that she was a damned good servant and that she had trained her family along similar lines. But now as he looked at the fat bulk of her, the sly, devious creature he had always suspected lay behind that too-ready smile was very much in evidence.

  ‘You tell me,’ he said, ‘that Florrie is pregnant and that Martin is the culprit. You’ve also inferred that Florrie is very…smitten, that was the word you used, wasn’t it? Smitten by Martin, and she’s heartbroken in case her condition causes a break between Martin and her, if he doesn’t stand by her. Well now, Jessie, let’s get things straight.’ His voice was ominously quiet. ‘It’s got to be proved that my son has brought this thing about. If I know Florrie, and I think I do, she’s quite a gay spark. I may as well tell you I have often thought that it’s a good job there’s very little hay to be gathered in, otherwise the household duties would have been more neglected than they were on these occasions. How do you answer that, Jessie?’

  Jessie Smith’s face became tight. She sucked in her cheeks, causing her lips to purse, then she rotated them as if she was sucking on a sweet before she said, ‘He’s got to stand by her.’

  Arthur had been seated in the leather chair behind his desk, but now he sprang to his feet with such force as to dislodge the heavy desk an inch or so; then banging his fist down upon it, he said, ‘Like hell he will! And let me tell you, Jessie, and I never thought to say this to you, especially as you are Dick’s wife and I have a regard for him, but should you make anything big out of this, you and your family will find yourselves out of jobs. And mind, I mean that. I will also tell you, while we’re on that, you and your daughter between you have spoiled the good condition of friendship; and I’m not thinking at this moment so much of you, Jessie, but of your man. Now, get yourself away back to your work, and when my son comes home from wherever he’s gone I’ll talk with him, and if he says he’s responsible, but begod I don’t believe it for a moment that he is, but should he say he is, you can draft your daughter off to one of her many relatives and I’ll pay her expenses up to a certain point, and when the child comes we’ll discuss the matter further. But if my son denies that this child could be his then I’d still advise you to get your daughter away…and out of my sight!’

  As they stared at each other for a moment it seemed that she was about to spit a virulent mouthful of abuse at him, but thinking better of it she brought her teeth down onto her lower lip and, flinging her heavy body about, made for the door. But there, his voice stopped her as he asked grimly now, ‘How far is she gone?’

  ‘On three months.’ She hadn’t looked around; but then, turning her head slightly, she said slowly, ‘And she can pinpoint the day and the time when it happened.’

  The door had been closed for a full minute before he sat down heavily in the chair again. God! For a thing like this to happen. Blast the young fool! Why couldn’t he have gone in for his training further afield? But that Florrie, she was like a bitch on heat. And Janet was almost as bad. Helen hadn’t been much better, but she must have eased herself when she married Paxstone. The only decent ones among them were Mary and the little one, Carrie. But then, she was a bit young yet, that one, to know which way she would go.

  He leant his elbow upon the desk and held his brow in the palm of his hand, and aloud he said, ‘Lordy! Lordy!’ As if he hadn’t enough on his mind at the present moment with Ellen and this other business. He had left the office in Newcastle early yesterday telling himself he couldn’t let it go on any longer, that he must bring it out into the open; she would understand, she was sensible, but when he arrived home and looked at her he knew that she wouldn’t understand and that where he was concerned she wasn’t sensible.

  He pulled himself up abruptly as a tap came on the door and, as if she were walking out of his thoughts, Ellen entered the room. After closing the door behind her she asked, ‘What did Jessie want? Something wrong, I mean about the house?’

  ‘Oh.’ He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then said slowly, ‘I only wish it were.’

  She was facing him across the desk now as she said, ‘What is it? Something serious?’

  ‘Serious enough. To be brief, Florrie’s pregnant and she’s naming Martin.’

  ‘No. No…No. She’s daring to blame Martin?’

  ‘Oh, Ellen!’ Again he closed his eyes. ‘Don’t look so shocked; Martin’s a young man and Florrie’s a very presentable young woman.’

  ‘I’m well aware that Martin is a young man and that Florrie may be a presentable young woman, but she’s a loose piece, nevertheless. They’re all a much of a muchness over there. I’ve seen…’

  He held up his hand and silenced her, and as he gazed at her he thought with some cynicism how strange it was for the frying pan to call the kettle black: it was all right for her to serve his wants and in such a way that some would call brazen, for even when he didn’t want to be served she was there, but it wasn’t right for Florrie to do the same thing.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I don’t know yet until I speak to Martin. It’s got to be proved.’

  ‘Yes, it’s got to be proved. And that particular young miss will find it very hard to prove, I’m sure.’ Turning to the side, she sat down now and, looking at him again, she said, ‘You wanted to see me?’

  He did not answer, but stared at her. Seeing her like this, who would think she was capable of such passion that at times he likened it to lava, for it was burning him up. In the six years she had been in this house she hadn’t seemed to change, at least not in appearance; she had filled out slightly, but she was still thin and had that aloof, cool air about her that was so deceiving. It had certainly deceived him.

  During the first weeks of her sojourn here he had become so fascinated by her that the only thought in his mind was to woo her to his bed; and then when he had broached the subject tentatively he had found he could dispense with the wooing and start the honeymoon straight away.

  Through time he had learned that besides hiding an unusual passion, her cool exterior also hid a fierce temper that could be likened to rage. He had first experienced the onslaught of this when she knew he couldn’t marry her. She hadn’t been aware that it was unlawful for a man to marry his brother’s wife. At the time he made this clear to her he would have been willing to end the physical association, but she had other ideas.

  Now he had fallen in love again, really fallen in love, and wanted to marry. He’d had the feeling for some time now that he’d like youngsters around the house once more. It was a house made for young people and the boys were growing up; there was only Joe and he was no longer a child. That was another odd thing about her: her attitude towards her son. She smothered him, or aimed to do so. He’d have to fight her for his freedom one day, would Joe.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Well, Ellen, to tell you the truth I was thinking about us.’

  ‘Well, I can say you’re not a
lone, I’m always thinking about us.’ Her face did not soften as she said the words that should have inferred tenderness.

  ‘Oh.’ He got to his feet now and walked the length of the long, narrow room and back again before he said, ‘This is going to be very difficult, Ellen, because…well, I know how you feel, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me, in all ways’—he nodded his head deeply at her now—‘in all ways. You know that.’

  He waited for her to make some comment but she sat, her back straight, her eyes fixed tight on him; and so he went on, stumbling now: ‘I feel a swine about this, Ellen. I do, I do; but you see I’m not getting any younger and…well, I’d better come out with it.’ He now went and sat down in the chair and looking down at his joined hands on top of the desk, he said, ‘The top and bottom of it is, Ellen, I’m thinking of marrying again…You know her…Vanessa Southall.’ His head drooped further towards his chest as he ended, ‘I know I’m almost twice her age, but…but she’s willing and…’

  He started back in the chair as she flung herself across the desk and gripped the sleeve of his coat below the elbow and, her face now just inches from his, she hissed at him, ‘You’ll not! You can’t. What’s more, you won’t! I won’t have it, do you hear? You’ve used me all these years, you’ve made me feel this is my home, and now you throw me aside for a bit of a girl. You’ll not do it. I’ll see you dead first. Do you hear me?’

  With a jerk of his arm he freed himself from her grasp as he ground out, ‘Don’t you threaten me, Ellen. That’s the last thing you should do, threaten. As for using you, I think the boot’s been on the other foot more times than not…Oh God!’ He put his hand over his eyes for a moment, and his voice dropping, he went on, ‘Don’t make me say such things, woman. Yet it’s true, and you know it is. As for the work you’ve done running the house, well, you know I’ve tried to repay you: you’ve got a good allowance, and…and you won’t lose it, I’ll double it when you have to leave.’ He turned his head aside and, like that, continued to talk to her, ‘You won’t be without a home. There’s a property going just outside Hexham, a nice little house with a garden, and it’ll be nearer Joe’s school. I’ll do everything in my power…’

  ‘Shut up!’

  He rose to his feet, his eyes wide, and looked at her. Her face was livid. In all respects she now bore no resemblance to the woman who had just a few minutes earlier entered the room: her shoulders were hunched, almost touching her jawline, her body was bent forward as if she were on the point of springing, and like this she repeated, ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Ellen.’ Her name was a plea, but before he could go on her hands had come out and were gripping the lapels of his coat; and in this way she brought her body tight against his and, her mouth wide, she caught his chin between her teeth, and as he gave a low cry against the pain, he brought his forearm up between them and thrust her away with such force that she stumbled backwards, tripped over a footstool and fell into a huddle against the corner of the breakfront bookcase that lined one wall of the room. And it was as she lay huddled on the floor and Arthur stood gripping his bleeding chin that the door opened and Joe entered the room …

  Joe never knocked on doors, at least not on the door of the office, where he was used to walking in and having a chat with his uncle; nor on the drawing-room door; nor the dining-room door, nor any of the kitchen doors; the only doors he was told he must knock on were bedroom doors. He stared now at the two figures before him and as he saw his uncle go and help his mother to her feet, he thought with amazement that they must have been fighting, but what he said, as he stepped towards them, was ‘Did you slip, Mother?’

  She did not answer, her head was deeply bowed, but in a strange voice his uncle said, ‘Yes…yes, your mother slipped. Take her to her room, there’s a good fellow,’ and obediently Joe put his arm on his mother’s elbow, and she allowed him to lead her from the room and up the stairs and into her bedroom. But once in the room, she did a strange thing: she dropped onto her knees on the floor and, pulling him into her embrace, held him so tightly that he wanted to cry out against it.

  He had no desire to return the embrace, perhaps because he wasn’t used to embraces, not embraces such as this, anyway. And then she puzzled him still further for, letting him go as quickly as she had caught him to her, she flung herself on the bed, and he watched her hammering the eiderdown with her clenched fists as she kept saying, ‘He shan’t do it! He shan’t do it!’

  Strangely, he noted that she wasn’t crying. People usually cried when they were vexed, but then his mother wasn’t like other people.

  Four

  Mick Smith said, ‘They’re not rising,’ and Joe replied, ‘No, they’re not, are they? It’s the weather perhaps?’

  ‘Aye, it’s the weather. They’re keeping under the banks, and we’d be more sensible like if we went and sat under a tree. You’re sweatin’ like a bullock.’

  The sixteen-year-old boy grinned widely at Joe and Joe, returning the grin, said, ‘Aye, you’re right.’ He knew he shouldn’t have said aye, but somehow he thought it was kinder to use the same words as Mick did when in conversation with him.

  A few minutes later they were seated with their backs to the bole of the gnarled willow and the silence of the sultry afternoon hung over them. It was Mick’s rough voice that broke the silence, saying, ‘Your last day then, school the morrow?’

  ‘Yes, aye.’

  ‘Glad to be going back?’

  Joe didn’t answer for a moment; then bending sidewards, he tugged at a stem of stiff grass and when he had broken it he put it in his mouth and, closing his teeth on it, he drew the sap onto his tongue before he answered the question with a statement: ‘It’s been a funny holiday, not like the others.’

  ‘No; you’ve said it, ’tain’t been like the others. No…no, you’re right there.’

  Joe began to examine the limp piece of grass that he was now holding between his finger and thumb as he said, ‘Why has your father forbidden Carrie to play with me?’

  ‘Oh well.’ Mick now bent forward between his stretched legs and, snapping off the head of a clover he pulled at one of its myriad petals and, putting it into his mouth, nipped it between his front teeth, then muttered slowly, ‘Aye, well, you know there’s been trouble, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know what it was all about. I only know that Uncle was very angry with Martin, and he went away to stay with a friend and when I asked Harry why, he snapped my head off. It wasn’t like Harry. But then, he’s been at sixes and sevens all the holiday. I like Harry’—his voice became thoughtful—‘but I didn’t know that I didn’t like him as much as I like Martin. I love Martin.’

  ‘Aye now, aye now, Master Joe.’ Mick hitched himself straighter against the bole of the tree and there was a little note of laughter in his voice. ‘You don’t say you love a chap.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. It doesn’t do to say you love a chap. You love your mam and dad and…well, you love a lass, but you don’t say you love a boy, a man…a young man like Master Martin.’

  ‘Why not? If you feel you like someone very much. Why not?’

  ‘’Cos…well just ’tain’t done, Master Joe. Oh, you’re not old enough yet to understand these things, but just for future use, don’t say you love any lad. Well, you know what I mean, like.’

  ‘No, I don’t really.’

  ‘Oh my!’ Mick turned his head away now, a half-smile on his face as he muttered, ‘You’re always the one for the straightforward question and answer. It’ll get you into trouble one of these days.’

  He had hardly finished speaking when his head jerked round towards the young boy as Joe said ‘Then I may say I love Carrie and no-one would mind?’

  ‘Eeh, God above! Don’t you start, Joe…I mean Master Joe. Eeh, now, you can say you like people but don’t go about saying you love ’em! And as for our Carrie, well now, you don’t want to cause any more trouble, do you?’

  ‘Why should that cause you trou
ble? I’ve always loved Carrie. I’ve never said so, but I always have.’

  Mick screwed his eyes up tightly and, like that, he said, ‘You’re not eleven till Christmas, are you?’

  ‘No; you know I’m not.’

  ‘Aye, I do. Well, at this minute I wish I could put three or four years on you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, Master Joe.’ Mick was now on his knees bending towards Joe. ‘You’ve got to learn that you can’t go round saying you love people. I know how you feel, I love people. Aye, I do’—he nodded—‘but I can’t go openin’ me mouth about it. An’ you are in a worse position than me because you are of the house. An’ now you say you love our Carrie. Well…well now, I must say this to you, all the trouble that’s been lately, it’s concerned with just that, somebody sayin’ they loved somebody. You follow me?’

  There was a pause before Joe shook his head and said, ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, God above!’ Mick pursed his thin mouth, ran his fingers through his thick sandy hair, then said, ‘Well, laddie, I think it’s a bit early to open your eyes but for your own sake it’s got to be done. You know that besides Master Martin going away, our Florrie went away an’ all; you know that too, don’t you?’

  ‘Aye yes, Mick.’

  ‘Well, she went away because…well—’ The beads of sweat were standing out on Mick’s brow and he wiped them off with his fingers before he continued, ‘She said she loved Master Martin and that’s why she had to go away.’

  Joe now swung around onto his knees, the look on his face one of sheer astonishment as he said, ‘You mean, just because she said she loved…?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean just because she said that. You know, Joe, you being brought up alongside Master Martin and Master Harry and being among the horses and animals every holiday, you’ve kept your eyes closed, haven’t you?’