My Beloved Son

by Catherine Cookson

  He didn’t recall undressing and lying down, nor what it was that woke him some time later, but slowly opening his eyes he saw through the glow of the dying fire the figure of Maggie bending down near the Christmas tree.

  In an effort to clear the muzziness from his head he blinked. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, and as he peered at the humped figure in the blue dressing gown, he imagined that it was a child he was seeing.

  When she straightened up he immediately closed his eyes and, breathing evenly, he feigned sleep. He did not hear her come towards the couch but he was aware that she was standing over him, looking down on him, and he found it an effort not to open his eyes. Then his inside gave a violent jerk, although outwardly he made no movement, as her breath came onto his face and he felt her lips touch his with a touch that was feather-light, and in this moment he had the impulse to put up his arms and take her into them, to comfort her and to let her comfort him. And he might have done so had not the thought struck him, like a wedge rammed home, that Carrie was sleeping just a matter of ten or so miles away, and that it just might be possible for him to see her tomorrow. Or was it today? He had no idea of the time.

  He was not aware that Maggie had moved away from the couch, it was only when he heard the slight creaking of the door that he knew he was alone once more, and he turned on his side and groaned.

  Nine

  Christmas Day was bright and dry; he had spent most of the morning cutting and splitting logs and kindling. The Christmas dinner was excellent but the jollity seemed forced, and he added his quota to the others’.

  By half past two in the afternoon they had finished the washing-up and were all sitting round the fire. And after Lizzie had nodded off to sleep, Maggie startled him by leaning towards him and whispering, ‘Look, if you want to go in and see those friends of yours, it’s all right with me…with us.’

  ‘What makes you think…?’

  ‘Shut up, and get yourself away while it’s light!’

  He stared at her face close to his, his eyes focused on her mouth. It was a nice-shaped mouth. He heard himself whispering now, ‘Will you come too?’ and only just stifled a sigh of relief when she said emphatically, ‘No! No! Anyway, I wouldn’t know any of them. Look, I’ll make a cup of tea and…’

  ‘What about…?’ He nodded towards Lizzie, and Maggie whispered, ‘Oh, she’ll understand. In any case, she’s so grateful that you’ve spent the time you have with us.’

  As he watched her go softly from the room his head drooped against the mixture of emotions that were passing through him: excitement at the thought of seeing Carrie and not a little shame that he should bolt off after the kindness he had received.

  His head jerked up and he stared at the slumped figure of Lizzie. Her eyes were still closed and her words were scarcely audible, yet distinct to his ears, as she said, ‘Take her with you, Joe, please; she needs a bit of jollification.’ There was a pause and then the words, softer now: ‘You owe her that much.’

  God! What a situation. His face was red; he felt that his whole body was blushing, as if he had been caught committing an indecent act. He stared down at her, and for a moment he saw her through the eyes with which he viewed his mother, both going to any lengths to protect their own, to give them what they thought was best for them. Yet the difference between this old woman and his mother was that her desire was completely selfless.

  Awkwardly he rose, gave one long look at the still supposedly sleeping figure, then went from the room and into the kitchen, where Maggie was just about to pick up the tray from the table, and like a young boy who was repeating a polite lesson he said, ‘I’ll only go if you come with me.’

  She took her hands from the tray and rested them on the edge of the table while she looked at him, and she said flatly, ‘Now you don’t want me there; they’re old friends.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. They’re not really old friends, I mean the ones who’ll be there; with the exception of two, Mick and his sister.’ He gave a short laugh now as he added, ‘The sister who’s…well, who’s giving the party, I can’t stand, and you’ll know her when you meet her. Go on. Go on, get yourself ready.’ There was a command in his voice now, but she remained staring at him for a while longer until he said, ‘Well, if you won’t come, I won’t go.’

  Slowly now, her gaze dropped from his face and, lifting up the tray once more, she said, ‘I’ll have to explain to Aunt.’

  ‘Here, give it to me’—he almost grabbed the tray from her—‘I’ll do the explaining. You go on up and get ready.’ And like a jovial suitor, he added, ‘Don’t take too long over it either.’

  When he re-entered the sitting room Lizzie was sitting up straight in the chair, her eyes open, but neither of them exchanged a word; even when he handed her the cup of tea she did not give her usual, ‘Thanks, lad.’ Not until some fifteen minutes later, when Maggie appeared in the room, did she speak, and then, nodding her head at her niece, she said, ‘Now, that’s more like it…I’ve always liked that one.’

  Joe said nothing, but he gazed at the figure for a moment with the same surprise as he might have done to see the ugly duckling turned into a beauty.

  Although Maggie was still no beauty he had never imagined that she could look so presentable. For the most part he had seen her in the NAAFI overall and cap, or a skirt and blouse. Dressed in the latter, she had appeared like a sack pulled in at the middle. But here she was, strangely looking less fat and even a little taller; perhaps it was the dress. This was of corded velvet, the colour of which he would describe as a soft rose shade and trimmed with grey. It reached below her calves; it had long sleeves, and the square neck showed the cream tint of her skin at the top of her breasts, unlike that of her face, which had lately appeared slightly weather-beaten. Even this now looked less so, because her face was made up, and her brown hair, taken straight back from her forehead and behind her ears, took the podginess from it. He smiled at her softly as he said, ‘That’s a lovely dress.’

  She said nothing, but Lizzie put in, ‘I’m glad to see you in it again.’ And, turning and looking at Joe, she said, ‘She’s lost over a stone and a half in the last two months.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Lizzie!’ Maggie went to put on her coat, and when he helped her into it he noticed it was a match to the dress; grey outside like the trimmings on the dress but lined with the coloured material. It was the kind of quality his mother used to wear, being the clothes that belonged to his Uncle Arthur’s wife.

  ‘If she keeps on dieting she could be down to ten stone in another six months.’

  ‘Aunt Lizzie, will you shut up!’

  ‘Why should I? I’m in me own house, it’s Christmas Day, and if you don’t like it, you can get out and quick. And mind’—she now wagged her finger from one to the other—‘don’t you come back here roaring drunk or else I won’t let you in.’ Then applying herself to Joe, she said, ‘You’re not due back in camp tonight, are you?’

  ‘No, I have a forty-eight.’

  ‘Then I’ll have a bed made up for you. Now get yourselves off and enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right?’ Maggie was standing in front of her now, and Lizzie, looking tenderly down on her, said, ‘My dear, did you ever know me not to be all right? I’m the one that can see to herself, remember? And—’ she turned her attention to Joe now and, her voice strident, she added, ‘and see to anybody who gets in me way, so watch out, you.’

  They went out laughing, and they laughed more when Maggie, realising she couldn’t ride her bike in high heels, had to dash back upstairs for her service shoes …

  It was just getting dark as they rode into Hereford. The town seemed empty, for most people would be indoors, and there was little sound until they reached the house. Before knocking on the door, Joe could hear Janet’s strident tones and laughter coming from within.

  It was Mick who opened the door and he stared at them for a moment, his face blank. Then his features springing into a wi
de grin, he held out his hand, saying, ‘Happy Christmas, Joe. Happy Christmas. And…?’

  They were over the step now and in the small hallway, and Joe said, ‘This is Miss LeMan…Maggie.’

  ‘How do you do, Maggie? Happy Christmas.’

  ‘And to you…’

  ‘Mick. Me name’s Mick. He forgot to introduce us. Here, let me have your things.’ He turned his head now and called, ‘Janet! Janet!’ Then looking at Joe, he said, ‘She can’t hear anything but her own voice. Listen to her.’ Then pulling a face, he said, ‘She’s well away already; you know our Janet.’

  Yes, Joe knew their Janet, and he found himself hoping that Maggie wouldn’t be disgusted by Janet and her talk, forgetting that Maggie was very capable of handling all types, having had a great deal of experience in this line.

  ‘Oh. Hello! Hello, there, Joe, boy! Happy Christmas!’ He was enveloped in Janet’s arms and her spirit-fumed breath was on his face and when she kissed him, he had the desire to knock her flying. He hadn’t fully realised until this moment the extent of his dislike for this particular member of the Smith family, and that it had its beginnings many years ago when he had visited the Smiths’ kitchen.

  And when she stood back and dropped a curtsey and said, ‘Welcome, Sir,’ Mick cried at her, ‘Give over and mind your manners. Look; this is Maggie, Joe’s friend.’

  ‘Oh.’ Janet stood for a while surveying Maggie before she held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said. Then she stared at her again before turning to Joe and saying, ‘There’s somebody in the next room who wants to meet you an’ all.’

  For the second time that the day Joe felt the heat passing over his body, but this time it was accompanied by the racing of his heart.

  ‘Go on!’ Janet thrust out her arm and pushed him. Then turning to Maggie, she said, ‘Come on upstairs and I’ll show you where to put your things.’

  So Joe came face to face with Carrie, alone, as it were. There were six other people in the room, but that didn’t seem to matter, as long as Maggie wasn’t present. Somehow, that would have put a damper on his greeting, made it awkward. As it was he found no words to say. After the introductions to the rest of the company, there they were standing behind the couch looking at each other.

  She was more beautiful than he remembered her, and thinner, much thinner; and different somehow, yet her voice sounded the same when she said, ‘Hello, Joe.’

  There was a long pause before he could answer, ‘Hello, Carrie. How are you?’

  ‘Very well. And you?’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’ Again there was silence between them, and it seemed to envelop the room now until Janet burst in again, crying, ‘Well, you’ve got it over, the great reunion? By the way, Bill and Polly, this is Joe, Sir Joe. We were brought up together. Would you believe that? We were. We romped together. Didn’t we, Joe?’ He found himself suddenly hugged to Janet’s side. Then with a wave of her hand Janet indicated Maggie, who was standing near Mick: ‘And this is Joe’s friend,’ she said. She now bounced her head towards Carrie, crying, ‘Just mingle, mingle.’

  ‘Come and sit down. Can I get you something to drink?’ Mick led Maggie towards a chair to the side of the window.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Not a little sherry?’

  ‘Well yes, perhaps a sherry.’

  ‘Good.’

  For a moment Maggie was left alone, and she surveyed the company. Her eyes travelled quickly over them and came to rest on the girl who was sitting beside Joe. So this was it. You could see by the look on his face that this was it. This was her. She was beautiful. She had everything: hair, eyes, teeth, skin, figure, the lot. If she hadn’t sensed there was someone in his life, she would have known it now as she had watched them standing looking at each other a few minutes ago.

  ‘There you are.’ Mick handed her the glass.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve been in the camp a while now, and we’ve never met.’

  ‘Well’—she smiled at him—‘’tisn’t likely, is it? I serve the lower grades.’ They laughed together.

  ‘Do you like being at Madley?’

  She gave a little huh-ing sound, ‘Well, I suppose I should say, since I’ve got to be in the war, I’m lucky, because my home’s quite near. And it’s beautiful countryside.’

  ‘Yes, it is that, and I like the country. I’m a country man myself.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I suppose Joe’s told you our family worked for his people?’

  ‘No. No. He doesn’t talk much about them; about his people.’

  He bent his head towards her and his whispered voice was hardly audible in the chatter as he said, ‘You don’t know who he is, then? Really is?’

  ‘No; should I? Is it a secret?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose in a way it is. Well, he wants it kept a secret. But I thought, you being a pal of his, he…well, he might have told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That…that he is a baronet. I think that’s it. Anyway, he’s Sir Joseph Jebeau.’

  She screwed her face up until her eyes became almost pinpoints and, turning her head slowly, she looked to where Joe had been sitting with the girl. But they were no longer there. She hadn’t noticed their going from the room. Returning her narrowed gaze back to Mick, she said, in an awe-filled whisper, ‘Joe! Joe a Sir?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t let on if he hasn’t said anything. And for God’s sake, don’t spread it round the camp.’ She made no comment on this particular request, but said, ‘If that’s the case, he should be…well, he shouldn’t be just a corporal.’

  ‘That’s how he wants things.’

  ‘Is…is there another reason?’

  ‘Yes, you could say so. You see, he never wanted the title, and he came into it through dead men’s shoes. His father died abroad and when Joe was five, he and his mother came to live with his uncle, Sir Arthur Jebeau. Well, he was killed in a motor accident. But he had two sons, Martin and Harry. Harry was only in his twenties when he died and then, not long after, Martin was shot…and…and me father along with him, by poachers. So that’s how Joe came into the title. It seemed almost to turn his brain. Well, not the title, but the loss of all those dear to him. And the odd thing about it was, both his uncle and his cousin had been on the point of marrying when their deaths came about.’

  ‘So that accounts for it.’ She had spoken more to herself, but Mick said, ‘Accounts for what?’

  She shook her head before saying, ‘His reticence, his sadness. There’s a sort of innate sadness in him.’

  ‘Yes, there is, isn’t there? But he’s always been a sensitive lad, right from a nipper. And although he was from the house, we…we were like…well, I won’t say brothers, but we were very pally.’

  ‘And…and your sister?’ They were looking into each other’s eyes now, a straight look. ‘Was there anything between them?’

  ‘Well’—he tossed his head slightly—‘they were fond of each other when they were little, but she was sent away to live with my Aunt and Uncle when she was just a bairn.’

  ‘And now?’ She was asking about the road she knew, and anyone with eyes had the answer to that.

  ‘No. Well, no’—he stumbled—‘what I mean is…well…well, I wouldn’t think so. Anyway, the war has changed her, I mean, her outlook and things. But hasn’t it done that to all of us?’ He grinned at her.

  ‘Come on, you lot, come on and have some tea and then let the jollification begin.’ Janet was standing at the room door and as the company rose to obey the command Mick, turning to Maggie, said, ‘You won’t have to take any notice of Janet, she’s a bit high.’

  And Janet proved to get higher and higher as the evening wore on. At times Joe felt he could strangle her for she seemed bent on only two things: organising games where kissing and hugging were the prime objectives, such as passing a balloon down a line of people without it being touched by hands. She had manoeuvred herself next to him in this game and t
he contact of her body made him feel sick. Her second objective seemed to be to keep him and Carrie separated …

  It was nine o’clock and Maggie was sitting at the piano playing one popular song after another, the whole company surrounding her in chorus, and it was now that, having edged his way towards Carrie, where she was standing near the door, he took her hand and quietly pulled her out into the hall, then along the corridor and into the dining room. Once inside, he closed the door, and still holding her hand he stared at her and said softly, ‘Hello, Carrie.’

  ‘Oh.’ She closed her eyes while smiling broadly and she shook her head as she said, ‘Joe. Joe. You haven’t changed, not a bit.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that?’

  ‘No.’ Her expression was serious now. ‘You have changed. You…you look much older. But you’re not the only one; we both have changed. Everybody’s changed, everything’s changed. The war’s seen to that. And what’s more, I…I changed once Dad went; something happened to me after he died. Life looked different, I began to think differently; deeper, if I can put it that way.’

  ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Do you remember what we talked about when we last met?’

  There was a pause before she replied, ‘Yes. Yes, I do, Joe.’

  ‘Then you’ll know how I feel, still feel about you. I…’

  ‘Joe’—she caught both his hands in hers now—‘please. It can’t, I mean nothing can come of it, because…’

  When she stopped he asked flatly, ‘Why? Have you found someone else?’

  ‘Oh, no. No.’ She smiled at him now while shaking her head. ‘No, nothing like that.’

  ‘Well then, why not? Why not me?’

  ‘Oh, Joe.’ She now let go of his hands and turned towards the fire and, lifting her hand, she placed it on the edge of the mantelshelf and bent her head towards her arm as she said, ‘If I were to explain, you wouldn’t believe me, and…’