The Solace of Sin

by Catherine Cookson

  Some minutes later, after the outer door had banged and she heard the whirl of the lift going down, she raised her dry, burning face and, sitting upright, drew a long breath.

  When the tap came on her door she blinked her eyes rapidly and rose to her feet before calling, ‘Come in.’

  Peter entered the room and, as she had done, he stood with his back to the door. His face was white, his eyes large. In this moment they resembled each other even more closely. He said to her, ‘Why don’t you end it?’

  ‘What?’

  With an impatient movement he thrust his body from the door, crying, ‘Look. Don’t stall any more. Remember this is my eighteenth birthday. He’s always accused you of coddling me. Well, don’t coddle me any more. Let’s talk this thing out. I say why don’t you end it, why don’t you leave him? I…I heard what he said about your mother leaving your father. I never knew that; you never told me. Do you mean that you’ve stayed with him all these years because of me? Look.’ He pulled her round to him. ‘It drives me bats just to think about it. Look, Mother, for Christ’s sake—’

  She bowed her head and shivered saying, ‘Don’t use that expression, Peter.’

  ‘Well, it needs something strong to make you understand. Tell me…tell me, have you really stayed with him because of me?’

  She looked at him squarely now and answered, ‘No, no; not really.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ His voice was soft.

  ‘Yes. You see, he wasn’t always like this. He’s…he’s unsure of himself, always has been. He needed someone—’

  ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ He turned from her now, tossing his head as if to throw off the image she would present to him of his father. ‘I know all about what he needs; I haven’t lived all these years not to know what he needs, or what he thinks he needs.’ He turned to her swiftly again and said slowly and emphatically, ‘I know all about it.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say, You can’t. Oh no, Peter, you can’t know all about it. Her boy was just eighteen. Surely he couldn’t know about the thing that plagued his father, surely not. Oh God, surely not. But she daren’t go into it, in case…in case.

  She had thought that the plaguing was over three years ago. She had been simple enough to imagine that, because he had actually gone on his knees to her and begged her to forgive him, promising that it would never, never happen again, that it was over. It took a lot for a man like Jim to go on his knees to a woman, but he had done so. Yet he had not asked her for comfort. He had not come to her room, or taken her to his.

  Peter was saying, ‘One thing he was right about, you should never have bought me that car if you were hard up.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have listened, Peter.’ She glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘Anyway, I’m not hard up.’

  If we’re living on your capital it won’t be long before you are, will it? Now look.’ He came and stood in front of her again. ‘Think of yourself, just for once. In two months’ time I’ll be going to university. Make a clean break, divorce him. That’s what to do, divorce him. You know—’ he shook his head slowly at her and his eyes travelled over her face—‘you could have anybody. That’s what I’ve always thought. Why, when surely you could have picked anybody, did you pick him? You’re beautiful now, but when you were very young, eighteen, nineteen, when you married him you must have been…well’—he shook his head, searching for a word—‘startling.’

  Her lips moved into a trembling smile and she put out her hand and touched his face, saying, ‘It’s nice to hear someone say that, although it isn’t true, it’s just how you see me. I’m thirty-seven, Peter, and I feel sixty-seven, and I can’t imagine ever again feeling any younger.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool.’ He pushed her almost roughly. ‘Look. Do what I say, make a break. I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately and my mind won’t be at peace, especially when I’m away; in fact, I won’t be able to settle to work knowing you’re here and miserable.’

  ‘Durham isn’t far; you’ll be popping in.’

  ‘But…but I thought you were going to give up the flat. You said—’

  ‘Yes, I’ll have to sell this place and look for something much cheaper, but it’ll still be here in town.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and look at Uncle Harry’s house?’

  ‘Oh.’ Her smile widened a little. ‘He was entertaining, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Shall we go tomorrow and have a look at it?’

  She turned and stared at him for some seconds, then nodded, saying, ‘Yes, but it’ll be no use to us, to me. It sounds right away in the wilds, and there’ll be no electricity, water, or sanitation, and I couldn’t possibly live there on my own. You know I couldn’t.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘But anyway, it’ll be an outing. Let’s take some food with us and make a day of it, eh?’

  She did not tell him she had already thought of going to look at the house, but answered, ‘Yes, I would like to get away for a day.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ He leant towards her and kissed her on the cheek, resting his lips against her flesh for a moment, and at the door he pointed down to the lock and said, ‘I’d see to that if I were you; he might come in rolling.’

  She made no answer, but slowly undressed herself. In whatever condition her husband returned she would have no need to lock her door against him. He might rail against her but he wouldn’t come into her room. As she had pointed out to Peter, she was thirty-seven, and the age limit necessary to satisfy his plaguing was eighteen, or as far below as he dared to go.

  Three

  ‘Are you sure we’re going the right way, Peter?’

  ‘Yes; he said it was a good twenty minutes’ walk before you came to the track.’

  ‘It seems more like two hours to me.’ She laughed. ‘Let me help you with the hamper.’

  ‘No, I can manage. Watch where you’re putting your feet; this grass is slippery. It’s a good job you put on flatties.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Constance stood for a moment on the grassy slope to get her breath, and again looked at the miles of raw beauty stretching away to the left of her as far as the eye could see. To the right the land was hilly, cutting off the view, except that of the valley just below her, which led to another rise. She was moving on again when Peter’s voice called to her, ‘Here it is, the path,’ and she sighed as she said to herself, ‘Thank goodness.’ She had never walked so far in years; at least, not this kind of walking, slithering and slipping crabwise across hills, then climbing again, only to slither and slip once more.

  ‘It must be over the rise.’ He pointed excitedly ahead. Then, his step quickening, he hurried along the rough path. She followed more leisurely, and when she saw him stop she knew he had seen the house. He did not turn towards her, nor did he speak when she came to his side; then she, too, gazed at the house.

  She was tired, hot, and thirsty, and her mind was in deep trouble. But if only to bear out Harry’s and Millie’s impression of the place she felt she should feel a stir of excitement in her, but there was none. Peter was looking at her and she returned his look and smiled, but did not speak. Neither did he. But he was showing enough excitement for the both of them, and she let it go at that.

  Down yet another slope, over the flat grassy level, onto the slab terrace, and there they were standing by the front door. It was an oak door, browny black, the weatherboard at the bottom worn away. It had a black iron handle in its middle as you would see on a church door. Peter had laid the picnic basket on the uneven stones of the terrace and now, taking her hand, he pulled her towards the right-hand window, and they both put their faces near the panes and peered in. Then they went to the left side of the door and examined the room through this window.

  ‘It’s as Uncle Harry said, it goes the width of the house. The front door must open into the middle of it. Look, the stairs are over there.’

  She shaded her eyes and saw the stairs, immediately opposite the front door, it would s
eem. Then her eyes travelled to the fireplace. It was merely a projection into the room of the wall itself, built of the same stone. Even the mantelpiece was an uneven ledge of stones. When she again looked at Peter her eyes were smiling, and she said, ‘They were right, it has something.’

  ‘Let’s go round the back and see if we can get in.’

  ‘No, no; we wouldn’t want to run into the big fellow.’ Her smile broadened. ‘If he scared Millie he might do as much for me. Let’s have something to drink. I’ll lay it out on the doorstep; it’s big enough to act as a table.’

  She stood waiting by the large square step until he brought the basket and then, spreading a plastic cloth on the stone, she laid out their meal, and after removing her dustcoat she folded it lengthways, and they sat on it and ate.

  From the age of thirteen, Constance had travelled; she had become well acquainted with the scenery of Switzerland, Austria, Spain and France. As the guest of particular families she had spent all her holidays in one country or another, but never, never had she seen a view to match the one she was looking upon now. The land, sloping to a river, or running stream, looked wild and frightening, even on this warm summer day.

  Yet even as she thought how terrible it would be living here in winter she knew that, terrible or not, she would have to see the house and maybe even experience such a winter. Yet in further contradiction she heard herself say in an unusually brisk tone, ‘I just couldn’t live here, Peter, not on my own. However would I get to a road? And the loneliness—’

  ‘Of course not. Of course not. Who’s talking about you living here? But…but it’s grand, isn’t it? Wonderful; and not a soul to be seen. Not a house to be seen.’

  ‘There must be a house nearby belonging to that man, the owner.’

  ‘Yes, it’ll likely be down that side.’ He pointed along the length of the terrace to where the land looked wooded. Still keeping his hand outstretched, he now said slowly and quietly, ‘Look there. Do you see what I see?’

  Constance leant forward in front of him and looked along the terrace, and at first she saw nothing but the dark line of trees. And then she noticed the girl emerging from the shadows. When she stepped onto the terrace she saw that she wasn’t more than eleven or twelve.

  Both she and Peter, rising to their feet, waited until the visitor approached them.

  ‘Hello.’ The greeting had a personal touch as if they had met only a short time before. ‘You havin’ your dinner?’

  ‘Yes.’ Constance inclined her head. ‘It’s such a lovely spot. Are…are we trespassing?’

  ‘Trespassin’!’ The round blue eyes twinkled. ‘No, you only trespass further down in the valley’—she pointed in the direction of the river’s downward course—‘you don’t trespass up here. That’s what Vin says.’

  Constance glanced at Peter and they exchanged a smile. Then they both turned to the girl again. She was very thin, not like a robust country child at all. Her hair was a light brown and her skin had a porcelain tint to it. Constance said to her, ‘Would you like a sandwich?’

  The girl examined the picnic lunch, then raising her eyes again to Constance, a twinkle deep in them, she said, ‘No. Ta…thanks; but I wouldn’t mind a piece of that cake. We only have cakes for Saturday tea, maybe sometimes on a Sunday, if there’s any left over. Mother just bakes them once a week.’

  ‘Of course! Help yourself.’ With a motion of her hand, Constance indicated the table.

  The girl’s fingers hesitated over the four pieces of cake on the paper plate and her glance darted sideways up at them as she selected the smallest piece. And then, after she had bitten into it, she pressed her lips tightly together as she munched. Almost straight away and nodding her head, she said, ‘Aye, it’s nice.’ Her voice was a mixture of Northumbrian and…Constance wavered in her mind before deciding that the other part of the child’s accent was Scottish, although it wasn’t quite that.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Moira.’

  That was it; Irish.

  ‘Do you know who owns this house?’

  The mouth spread wide from the small teeth. ‘We do, it’s ours. We’re sellin’ it. There were some bodies after it yesterda’, but the woman wasn’t for it because she was born lazy, Hannah said. It was the water; and no lavatory. Look!’ She pointed towards the end of the terrace from where she had come. ‘Not twenty yards around the corner there’s a stream, and it comes out of the rock hand high.’ She placed her hand on a level with her small chest. ‘And a big flat slab to stand on. You don’t get your feet wet, not like ours down beyond. Come and see for yourselves.’

  Constance and Peter again exchanged amused glances; then they followed the girl as she rounded the house, jumped the foot depth from the level of the terrace onto hard rough ground, with both feet together, crossed this to where a rock towered from the end of it and, stepping onto a slab, pointed to a thin stream of clear water pouring out of a crevice in the rock just by her head, then to where the water fell to the side of the slab and disappeared down another crevice between two small boulders.

  ‘It’s easy, see, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You put your pail there and it’s full in a jiffy. It’s the same water that we get lower down, but it’s the devil of a job to get at ours. Dad’s promised to pipe it, but Vin’s going to see to it himself this year when he’s got time.’

  ‘Could…could we see the house, do you think, I mean, inside?’

  Moira looked up at Constance. ‘Surely,’ she said solemnly, and without more ado she led the way back to the terrace, stepped over the edge of the plastic tablecloth, turned her back to the oak door, bent well forward, then, bumping the door with her small buttocks, said, ‘There! It’s a knack. It’s never locked; it’s just on the sneck.’

  Constance wanted to laugh. It was a long time since she had really wanted to laugh. Then she forgot the child for a moment, for she was standing in the middle of the room between the open door and the staircase. It had looked an interesting room from outside, but from this angle it was fascinating. She was looking towards the window to the left of the door, from where there was a shallow raised dais standing out about eight feet.

  ‘Look at the fireplace, Mother.’

  She turned and walked slowly to where Peter was standing looking down at a great iron basket, the bars rusted and worn thin at the bottom through years of service.

  ‘Through here is the eating room.’

  They now followed Moira through a doorway and entered a room as long as the first, although not quite as wide. This, as Harry and Millie had described it, was the huge kitchen, with the open range and the hook hanging from the chimney, together with a rusty oven to one side and a pot boiler to the other. There was one article of furniture in this room, and that was a long table. It was definitely handmade and, like the grate, had seen much service.

  ‘Come away upstairs; you get a grand view from the windows up there.’

  Upstairs, they walked through the three rooms which ran one into the other. They were on one side of a narrow landing situated above the kitchen. At the front of the house there were two bedrooms and, as Moira had said, they had a spectacular view. The view from downstairs had been wonderful enough, but from these windows you had the impression you were afloat in the great expanse of sky.

  She turned from the window and looked at Peter. His eyes seemed to be waiting for hers and he said quietly, ‘If it was only for weekends it would be wonderful. It’s…it’s so peaceful, isn’t it?’

  After a moment, while she continued to stare at him silently, she made a small motion with her head. Then going past him and the child, she walked slowly down the stairs; and in the long room she stood gazing at the fireplace before moving onto the terrace. And there she turned to Moira and said, ‘Would…would you take me to your father?’ As she spoke she visualised the big fellow Harry had described.

  ‘’Course. Tell me’—Moira cocked her head on one side—‘you taken with it?’
/>   ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Aw, Hannah said she felt it in her bones that somethin’ good would happen the day. She feels lots of things in her bones…Hannah. Me mother sometimes says they’re wrong ’cos she gets mixed up with the weather…Hannah.’

  They were now climbing the hill from which the spring flowed, when quite suddenly they came onto a pathway that emerged from woodland to go downhill towards what looked like a huddle of houses inside a stone walled compound.

  ‘There’s a quicker way down,’ said Moira, pointing to a steep zigzag trail to the left, ‘but I’m not allowed to take it. The boys use it mostly, and it wears the seats of their pants out. It’s made their backsides as tough as the soles of their feet. It’s no use latherin’ Joe and Davie, Dad says; they feel his belt no more than a duck’s feather.’

  Constance turned a quick warning look on Peter as a suppressed giggle came from him, yet she had to suppress a laugh herself. Perhaps the child wouldn’t mind being laughed at, but you never knew.

  As they descended the hill the situation of the houses behind the stone wall became clearer. There appeared to be four cottages in a row, with two others and a huddle of buildings opposite, and the nearer they came to the enclosure the more her amazement grew. The whole setting resembled a medieval hamlet, an isolated hamlet walled and protected against intruders.

  Having reached the bottom of the hill they crossed a piece of rough ground and passed through a gap in the stone wall that had once held a gate of sorts. The grunt of pigs came to them, and chickens strutted lazily about the yard. A dog with a shaggy coat came towards them but didn’t bark, and Moira put her hand on its head and said casually, ‘This is Rip.’ Then in a voice that seemed much too big for her body she yelled, ‘Dad! Dad! I’ve brought some folks.’