Jim Stapleton had always been secretly afraid of his brother. Harry knew too much about him; he knew all his weaknesses. He had probed the intellectual façade right from the beginning, and for that alone he could never forgive him. And then there was his other weakness, and Harry certainly knew about that. But now Harry was no longer on top. Although he was looking the part of the enraged father, he was a man in a state of shock. Jim’s victory took a form of superiority. He forgot for a moment it was his son who was concerned, but even if he had remembered, it wouldn’t have altered his manner, for deep down he was gloating. His son was a prig, and this kind of situation was a great leveller of prigs. If he had to marry Ada, all to the good. It would get him out of the house and away from his mother. He had always felt that without his son forever in the background he could have managed his wife better.
‘Well!’ Harry growled the word out as he looked from his brother to Constance. His chin moved in little twitches; the action was almost like one that preceded tears. ‘Where is he?’
‘Harry. Will you come into the study for a moment and let us talk this matter over qui—’
‘Now look, Connie’—Harry’s voice had come like a blow—‘I’m talking to one person, that’s all; one person I’m talking to about this matter. One person. Where is he?’
‘He’s in the lounge.’
Harry now stalked past Constance and his brother and pushed open the lounge door. Constance looked quickly from Millie’s pathetic face to Ada, and as Ada stared back at her defiantly, she had the urge to take her by the shoulders and knock her head against the wall, to knock the lies out of her. Yet within the last few minutes she had recalled Peter’s attitude when she told him that Harry and Millie were coming up on Sunday. He had asked if Ada was coming with them and she had remembered the look on his face when she said no.
A bellow from the lounge brought her springing towards the door to see Harry standing close to Peter as he shouted into his face, ‘You’re an underhand, dirty…!’
Peter checked his uncle’s words with a thrust of his hand that nearly knocked him on his back, and also surprised him into silence.
‘Don’t call me a dirty…whatever it is you were going to say. Keep that word for your daughter.’ He glared across the room to where Ada was standing to the side of Millie and he used the phraseology that fitted the situation: ‘You won’t pin this on me, you loose slut, you.’
As Harry sprang forward, Jim grabbed at his shoulder and said heavily, ‘Enough of that. Enough of that. Sit down. Sit down and calm yourself. This looks like being a long job.’
‘It’ll be no long job.’ They were all looking at Peter. ‘She’s lying. She’s a stinking, dirty little liar.’
‘Mind, I warn you!’
Again Jim was holding Harry’s shoulder, and now he bawled at Peter, ‘Sit down,you! Sit down!’
But Peter did not sit down; he stood at the head of the couch, his fingers clawing into the upholstery, and he glared at his father. And Jim, glaring back at him, said, ‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard all right.’ The answer and the tone of it made Jim’s teeth clamp together, but as he did not want any side issues he turned to Constance and Millie and called loudly, ‘Sit down, sit down.’ Then turning to Ada, who was standing with one arm across her breasts, her hand tucked tightly under her oxter, his voice dropping, he said, ‘Sit down, Ada, sit down.’ And he sat down. They all sat down, with the exception of Peter, and his father made no more comment on that but, taking charge of the situation, he said, ‘Now then, what’s this all about?’
‘Look.’ Harry screwed himself round in the chair and glared at him. ‘This doesn’t need any lead-up; she’s pregnant.’ He slanted his eyes towards his daughter: yet they did not rest on her face, but his fingers stabbed in her direction. ‘She’s pregnant and she says it’s him.’
‘She’s a liar,’ said Peter.
‘Be quiet!’ said Jim.
‘I’ll not be quiet, I’ll say it till I drop. She’s a liar. She’s a liar.’
Jim’s jaw worked stiffly as he glared back at his son, but then his attention was drawn to his brother again as Harry, forcing himself to look at Ada, said, ‘Who’s the father?’
They all watched Ada turn her head towards Peter, stare at him for a moment, then drop her gaze, and Peter’s voice filled the room as he cried, ‘God! I could strangle you.’
‘And I you!’ The words were deep and slow, coming from the depth of Harry’s being, and after holding Peter’s eyes for a moment he went on, still slowly, ‘I mightn’t have believed it either but for what I saw myself that particular night.’
‘What you saw was what she manoeuvred. She pulled me round and onto the bed. She manoeuvred it. Anyway, is it likely that if I wanted to do anything I would do it there, within an arm’s length of your living room and any of you likely to come in…as indeed you did?’ He bounced his head at his uncle.
‘Some folks will do it in the street.’ Harry’s retort seemed to bleach Peter’s face still further, but his answer came quietly and seemed to surprise them as he said, ‘Yes, yes, I know that.’ Then Harry’s next remark brought him yelling again, for Harry said, ‘You’ll marry her, as young as you are. There’s going to be no illegitimate bairns in my family, for there’s enough filling the town as it is, but by God! I’m going to see—’
‘Marry her? I’d jump off the high level first. Do you hear me? All of you!’ Like a trapped animal Peter paced the back of the couch, still shouting. ‘You can’t make me marry her. Her! If I had to choose, do you know what I’d do? I’d rather marry a tart; any one of them in the town, save her. But there’s no choice to make, because I’m not marrying her.’ He now glared at Ada, and Ada glared back at him, and her small face was tight with suppressed passion. Had she given way to it, they would have needed no further evidence of Peter’s innocence.
It was as Harry drew himself slowly and menacingly to his feet, thrusting off Jim’s outstretched hand, that Constance spoke. Her voice trembling, she said, ‘What about the other two, Harry? Why should Peter be forced to marry her for this one? There was no question of forcing the others.’
Harry turned slowly and looked down at Constance. ‘What! What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about the other times she’s been pregnant.’
Harry stared at Constance, and as he did so his upper lip moved slowly back from his teeth, and the movement pushed his nose upwards, swelling the nostrils. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners and as he bent his head forward his throat swelled as if with words bunched there, but he said nothing for a moment. He turned his gaze from Constance to Millie; but Millie had her head bowed. And then he looked at his daughter; and Ada was glaring at Constance. When he again looked down on Constance he asked, ‘Why do you say such a thing?’
‘Because it’s true.’ She turned her head and said, ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Millie?’
When Millie’s head remained bowed, Constance looked at Harry again. She wouldn’t have hurt Harry for the world. She had always liked Harry; she had wished at times that Harry had been the first man who had kissed her, and not Jim. She also knew, in a secret place in her heart, that Harry held a feeling for her that was nothing to do with the affection of a brother-in-law. Now she was going to cut him to shreds.
‘Take your mind back, Harry,’ her trembling voice went on. ‘You remember when she came away for a holiday with me to Devon three years ago? She was fifteen then. Well, we didn’t go to Devon, Harry, we went to London. And she had a baby taken away. It cost me nearly two hundred pounds, Harry. Then, when she had just turned sixteen, she fortunately had a miscarriage. I wasn’t here, but Millie told me about it. She also told me that Ada tried to get rid of this one on another holiday, Harry. But it didn’t work this time; she had to think of a way out. And so she…she picks on Peter, because…’ Now Constance looked down, first to the right, and then to the left before adding, ‘because she thinks that with Peter
there’ll be money. Also, by naming Peter, she could hurt me. She’s never forgiven me because I…I did what had to be done for her for Millie’s sake, not hers, and she was aware of this.’
When she lifted her head she saw that Harry was standing quite still. He looked pathetic, so pathetic that she could not bear to look at him any more, and again she lowered her head. She was aware of Millie getting up and coming to his side, and then she heard him ask quietly, ‘Is this true, Millie?’
And Millie answered, ‘Yes. Yes, it’s true.’
She saw Millie’s feet turn in the direction of Ada and she heard her say, ‘She’s me own flesh and blood, but she’s bad. I’ve…I’ve tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen. She’s lied. She’s lied all her life, but you…you believed her. One thing I do know. If she had a baby every time she’s been with someone the street would be running with—’
‘Don’t, woman! Don’t!’ Harry’s head was bowed deep, his hands covering his face, and when Millie put her arm around his shoulder he thrust her off.
It was some time before he straightened himself again. Then, turning, he looked towards his daughter and slowly he approached her, and they stared at each other for a moment, before he said, ‘What’ve you got to say?’
‘Huh! They haven’t left me very much to say, have they?’ Her voice had a slight tremble in it, but her manner, as usual, was bold, and she glanced over her shoulder towards Connie and, taking on her voice, she said, ‘Don’t worry, dear, no-one will ever know. I swear to you no-one will ever know. You can rest assured that whatever happens it will lie between your mother and you and me…Thanks, Aunt Connie. And how right you are. I’ve never been able to stand you: you’re so bloody smug and you’re a sodding hypocrite—’
‘Stop that!’ Harry roared at the top of his voice. There followed a short silence before, wetting his lips, he said grimly, ‘One last thing I’m going to ask you, girl. Is Peter the father of this one?’
Turning now to Peter, whose face was still bloodless, Ada’s mouth curled with scorn and she said, ‘That drip! God, he’s too soft to clag holes with. He wouldn’t know how—’
The blow sent her reeling, and as Millie cried out and rushed in front of Harry before he could follow it up with another, Jim went and picked Ada up from where she had fallen, and Peter, pressing his hand tightly across his mouth, dropped onto the couch. Only Constance remained where she was.
Dizzy from the blow, Ada held her head for a moment; then pulling herself from Jim’s hands, she walked unsteadily towards the door and there, supporting herself against the stanchion, she faced them all, and cried, ‘You lot! What do you know about it? You’re old; you’re all dead from the knees up. And him!’—she pursed her lips and glanced towards Peter—‘he’s still in nappies, as I’ve told him before. As for him fathering a bairn. God! He couldn’t father a newt. One last thing I’m gonna tell you.’ She was addressing herself solely to Millie now. ‘I’m goin’ to live; no matter how, I’m goin’ to do it. But now I’ve got you off me neck it should be easy. To hell with you! All of you.’
As she turned quickly about and crossed the hall, Millie darted from the room after her, and she reached her as she went out of the door. ‘Where’re you going?’ she demanded.
Pressing the button for the lift, Ada turned a cold glance at her mother. ‘That’s my business from now on, an’ don’t try any court orders or think you’ll put me into care, ’cos you won’t find me. Anyway’—her lip curled—‘you won’t try much, will you, ’cos you can have Dad back now. That should make you happy; you’ll have him all to yourself.’
‘You’re a wicked, wicked girl!’ Millie’s face was twitching as if with a tic.
‘Yes, I know I am. And I should do, ’cos you’ve told me that since I was knee high. You made me want to know what wicked meant, and I found out, so your teaching’s come true, hasn’t it?’
The lift came to a purring stop; the doors opened, and just before they closed Ada, nodding viciously towards her mother, said, ‘And that’ll give you something to think about at nights, won’t it? It’s you that made me what I am in more ways than one.’
When Constance came into the hallway Millie had her face against the wall. She led her back into the lounge and helped her into a chair, and she brought Harry out of his daze by touching him on the arm and pointing towards Millie’s shaking body.
Harry, his eyes blinking rapidly, stood for a moment staring at his wife. Then going to her, he put his hand on her head and said dully, ‘Come on home…’
Five minutes later Constance, Jim and Peter had the flat to themselves again. Jim walked about the room for a time in silence before he said, ‘I think I need a drink; what about you?’ He looked at Constance, and she said, ‘Yes, please.’ Then he turned to Peter and raised his thick eyebrows and sat nodding at him, then remarked caustically, ‘You’ve been lucky.’
‘I wasn’t lucky,’ Peter was barking again, his face once more showing rage.
‘All right, all right. Mind your tone. Who do you think you’re talking to?’
‘I’m answering you. Don’t say I was lucky; I had nothing to do with it, so getting out of it wasn’t lucky, it was justice.’
‘Well’—Jim took a deep breath and pushed out his chest—‘we’re not all lucky enough to get justice.’
He was near the lounge door when Peter said grimly, ‘No, you’re right there, you’re certainly right there.’
Jim paused in his stride but did not turn; then he continued out of the room, and Constance, going to Peter, put her arms about him and pressed him to her. And he allowed her to hold him until he heard the faint clink of glasses, when he drew away, and as he did so she said softly, ‘Be…be civil, Peter. He tried to help.’
She watched him turn away, his lip curling. She couldn’t really understand his present attitude towards his father, for he hadn’t previously been so openly hostile to him.
She sat down again. She felt drained and her emotions were utterly confused; she was relieved beyond measure, yet she was sad to the depth of her for Harry and Millie; but mostly for Harry, for Millie could stand this; she’d had to stand it for years. Harry, though, would never be the same again.
When Jim returned to the room they drank in silence, and when Peter, without excusing himself, left them and went to his own room, she thought Jim would make some reference to his attitude, but he didn’t.
After a while he said, ‘This is going to make it awkward, there’ll be no more to-ing and fro-ing after this.’
She did not reply. She knew what he said was true and that in a way he was glad. But she would miss the to-ing and fro-ing for, after all, Millie and Harry were the only friends she really had outside her home; she had never looked upon her bridge acquaintances as friends.
‘Do you think she’ll go back home?’ he asked now.
‘I shouldn’t think so, but wherever she goes she’ll likely fall on her feet.’
He rose, his glass in his hand and, looking down on her, he said, ‘You kept pretty tight over her other lapses.’
‘I promised Ada.’
‘Huh! So much for promises. She must have thought you would keep yours though, or she would never have taken this chance. She’s stupid, is Ada, at bottom, like her father.’ He threw off the remainder of his drink, then left the room.
She was sitting alone now and staring out of the window. Yes, so much for promises; but it had saved Peter. She was sure that, if she hadn’t spoken, Millie never would; she wouldn’t have risked breaking Harry.
She had a sudden overwhelming desire to get back to the long room, to the windswept house, away from this existence that held the Jims and Adas, and the smirky, dirty dregs of living. In one way and another she had been smothered by such dregs for years. She got hastily to her feet. She would see if Peter would come back with her now.
She tapped on his door but there was no response, so she opened it and saw him lying on the bed. He had his back to her and didn’t turn ro
und. She said to him, ‘I thought about going back tonight; would you like to come?’ It was some seconds before he answered and his voice was thick. ‘No, not tonight,’ he said, and she knew he was crying.
She wanted to take him in her arms again and comfort him, but she said with forced lightness, ‘All right; I just wondered. There’s no hurry. We’ll go back tomorrow.’
In her own room she looked in the mirror at her long white face. She looked lost. She too now had a longing to cry, but she knew she couldn’t, for tears were for the young or the old. She was neither one nor the other.
Nine
Constance drew the car to a stop on the bottom lane and sat back and relaxed for a moment; then she turned and looked over her shoulder at the parcels and packages on the back seat, and considered that with what was in the boot she would have to make three journeys up to the house.
This morning, when she had packed up, she had taken it for granted that Peter would be coming out with her; she was keenly disappointed when he said he wouldn’t be coming until the evening.
She had also asked Jim if he would be joining her, but his excuse had been that he was going to do some work. And this he had tried to prove by forgoing his constitutional walk after lunch.
Her arms laden, she now mounted the hill and made her way up the tangled path to the back door; but then considered it would be easier to go round to the terrace and open the front door in the Moira manner than to unload her packages and get the key from her bag.
When she reached the house she was surprised to find the slim, dark figure of Kathy O’Connor sitting on the edge of the terrace opposite the front door, her feet dangling to the grass below.
‘Oh. Hello, Mrs Stapleton. I…I just came up to have a look.’ She spread her arms out, indicating the valley. ‘I knew you weren’t back. I hope you don’t mind?’
The Solace of Sin Page 12
