My Beloved Son

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My Beloved Son Page 35

by Catherine Cookson


  His arms were about her, their faces were inches from each other and when he began, saying brokenly, ‘How…how can I start to tell you? What a fool I’ve been, blind, selfish,’ she agreed with him, saying, ‘Yes, you’ve been all that.’

  ‘Oh, Maggie’—he bowed his head—‘I feel so ashamed. How I’ve used you. But at the same time—’ His chin came up now and his voice changed as he went on, ‘You…you should have told me about the child. No matter what the circumstances, you should have told me. I wouldn’t have known even now if it hadn’t been for Mary.’

  ‘Yes, Mary’—her voice sounded level—‘we’ve got a lot to thank Mary for. I wouldn’t have known that your friend was going to be a nun if I hadn’t called in and got her letter. In fact, I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for that because…because, Jo…e—’ Her mouth widened on his name, her body began to shake and now in a mumble of words she said, ‘I…I couldn’t stand any more. I thought I could, just…just to live here with you, but I knew I couldn’t, at least I thought I couldn’t. I kept telling myself I couldn’t; I had to face up to the fact that you didn’t love me, you didn’t even care.’

  He now took her face between his hands and shook her head from side to side, saying, ‘I do, I do. I have for a long time, yet didn’t really recognise it. I only knew I wanted to be with you. My trouble was, I took you for granted; you were there, you would always be there, just as much as if we were married. But I must tell you, and it’s the truth, that I found out how I felt before Carrie came. It was after I told James Holden that I had no intention of marrying, the very words seemed to open my eyes and my mind to what it would be if you decided to marry, say, the father of the child. It was always looming in the back of my mind; the father of the child. I wouldn’t own up to the fact that I was jealous of this man. And you kept quiet because you didn’t want to hold me to any responsibility. I can see that now, Maggie; look at me, open your eyes and look at me.’

  It was some seconds before she did as he bade her, and then the locked-up tears rolled down her cheeks and she listened to him saying, ‘Maggie, I’ve never been so happy; I couldn’t imagine ever being as happy as I am at this moment, when I tell you that I love you in such a way that my life won’t be long enough for me to prove it to you. I feel, in a way, that I’ve just been born, and I have, Maggie, because you’ve given me new life. Oh, Maggie, Maggie.’

  Still holding her face, he put his lips on hers, and such was his touch that she felt she was unable to bear it. He had said she had made him feel that he had just been born and, strangely, in a way, his words were prophetic for she knew deep within her that because of his past he needed a mother as much as a wife. Her Aunt Lizzie had been right.

  ‘Oh, Aunt Lizzie. Aunt Lizzie.’

  Their arms were about each other, holding tight, when he said, ‘What did you say?’

  And she muttered, ‘Aunt Lizzie.’

  And he repeated, ‘Oh, yes. Aunt Lizzie. Aunt Lizzie.’

  The End

 

 

 


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