‘Oh, Hannah.’ Constance backed the car down the lane and to a spot where it was wide enough for her to turn, and as she swung the wheel round briskly she did not say, That’s very nice of you, but, ‘You don’t know how happy that makes me feel, Hannah. Happy and wanted.’
‘I’m glad, I’m glad.’ Hannah was nodding her head. ‘Do you know that’s the best thing in the world; to feel wanted, I mean. Nothing’s any good to you unless you are wanted. I’ve always been wanted.’
‘I’m sure you have, Hannah.’
‘I was never anything to look at; I was always a fat hulk of a lass, and me clothes never fitted. Look at me coat here, for instance.’ She pulled at the baggy grey coat she was wearing. ‘And I never had much taste for clothes, even as a lass. Never much in me head, either. But what I lacked there I made up for here.’ She slapped her heavy breasts. Then the smile sliding from her face, she gazed through the windscreen as, in a deflated tone, she said, ‘An’ I’ve done no harm to anybody, not really, except meself an’ one other.’ She turned her head. ‘If you go by your own conscience you can’t go far wrong, can you?’
‘No, indeed, Hannah, you can’t.’
‘Of course, we’ve all got different kinds of consciences, some more tender than others. Mine’s tough.’ Her head was back and she was laughing again.
She was still laughing when Constance dropped her off at the spot she indicated on the outskirts of the small village, and as she stood in the road Constance said, ‘Shall I wait for you?’
‘Oh, begod! You might have a long wait, at that. But it’s kind of you.’ She put her face down to the window. ‘Aye, it is. But no, I’ll get a bus back. Thanks all the same.’
‘But you won’t get one until after eight, Hannah, and then it will only take you as far as—’
‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Stapleton, don’t you worry your bonny head. And it is a bonny head.’ She put her hand through the side window and touched Constance’s brown hair, and Constance, laughing but embarrassed, said, ‘Oh, Hannah.’ You could hardly answer anything else to this woman but, ‘Oh, Hannah.’
Constance watched her walk along the road towards some cottages, then she turned the car about and went home, wondering not a little about who Hannah was going to see in Birtley, and wondering, too, if it was connected with what the priest had said to her, for despite her laughter, she seemed disturbed.
Her feet were aching when she got into the house; in fact, she felt sticky all over, and she decided that, after she had something to eat, she would attempt the Herculean task of filling the boiler to supply enough water for a bath.
It was just as she was making the fourth journey with the bucket that Vincent O’Connor made his appearance. Without a preliminary greeting he asked, ‘Have you seen Hannah?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him where he stood on the rise above the stream. ‘I took her into Birtley about half an hour or so ago. Is…is anything wrong?’
He stared at her for a moment. Then stepping down from the bank, he took the bucket from her, saying, ‘No, no,’ and turned his back on her, moving swiftly up the slope to the back door. As swiftly she followed him, and as he put the bucket down she said, ‘Thank you.’ Then, ‘I wondered how she would get back, but she said she would get a bus.’
‘Yes, she’ll get a bus.’ He nodded at her. ‘I’ll get the boys to come up after school each night; they’ll get the water in for you.’
‘No, please don’t. They have little enough time to themselves after school, and the nights are drawing in so quickly. Anyway, the more I do it the easier it becomes. I reckon three journeys will give me a shallow bath.’
‘Yes.’ He inclined his head to her in a form of farewell; and as he made to go she said, ‘The children tell me the machinery’s come. Have you got the lathe going yet?’
‘No; it’ll take time to set up.’ His face creasing into a wry smile, he said, ‘I’m having to see about electricity in the house first.’ He jerked his head back. ‘They’re not so concerned about the generator running the machinery but what it’ll do inside.’
‘I can understand that. It’ll be wonderful for them to have electric light.’
He pulled at his chin between his finger and thumb and, his expression serious now, he said, ‘The young ones suggested that I might be able to bring the light up here. I’m sorry, but that’s out of the question; the house is really too far away.’
She felt a twinge of disappointment, but she covered it by saying quickly, ‘Oh, that’s perfectly all right.’
‘You could get your own generator going, though.’ He looked down towards the sheds. ‘One would go in there fine. You want to talk to your husband about it.’ He was walking down the path as he spoke.
‘Oh; I’m afraid he’s not mechanically minded. But it’s an idea; I must think about it.’ She found she was having to shout to him and the realisation brought the colour to her face and her fingers to her lips.
As she waited for the water to heat she stood on the terrace and saw, far away down the valley, the black dot of the Land Rover winding its way to the main road, and as she watched it she realised that Vincent wasn’t going in the direction of Birtley but towards Haltwhistle. She began to wonder about Vincent O’Connor. He was an odd man altogether, his manner brusque and forbidding, although when he smiled, as a while ago, he showed an entirely different side of himself. Doubtless this was the side of him that captured his family’s affection; ‘He’s wonderful, our Vin,’ Kathy had said.
It was almost dark now and she had just lit the lamp when she had another visitor. She opened the door to see Sean O’Connor standing there. He had the usual smile on his face and his voice was high as he asked, ‘I…I was just wondering, Mrs Stapleton, if Hannah had stepped in for a moment?’
‘No, Mr O’Connor. Hasn’t she returned yet?’
‘No, no. But it’s early yet. It’s the buses, you know; we thought she might have missed the last one.’
If that was the case, Constance thought, why would they expect to find her here?
Then Sean said, ‘There’s a short cut across the hills and if she missed the bus she might wend her way in this direction; an’ I was thinkin’ that it would be a long walk and that she would be tired by the time she reached here and had stopped for a crack. Aw well, I’ll be trippin’ down again. Are you all right, Mrs Stapleton?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr O’Connor, thank you.’
‘Nothing you want?’
‘No, not at present, thank you.’
‘Did you know we’ll soon have electricity to the house?’
‘Yes. Vi…Vin was telling me.’ She hesitated on the name, not having used it before.
‘Oh, aye. He’s doin’ a grand job down there. It’ll be the making of him; the making of us all. There’s good times coming, good times, Mrs Stapleton. We’re all set now.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure you are.’
‘How’s your husband?’
‘Oh, he’s very well, thank you.’
‘Has he been workin’ hard on those books?’
‘Yes; yes, he’s writing another one now. It’s taking up all his time.’
‘And your boy? Now there’s a grand lad for you. He’s something to be proud of, that boy, with the air of a prince. That’s what I said to young Michael yesterday. “There’s somebody to copy,” I said: “just look how that young man deports himself.”‘
‘Oh, Mr O’Connor, I’m afraid you mustn’t hold Peter up as an example to anyone. He’s like any other boy, very ordinary.’
‘Aw, it’s well you look at it like that. It isn’t all those that see their sons as ordinary. Now I must be off. But one more thing’—he lifted his hand and shook it as he talked—‘if Hannah should happen to drop in, would…would you let us know?’
The request seemed strange, to say the least, but she said, ‘Yes. Yes, of course, Mr O’Connor.’
A few minutes later, as she was about to scoop the water from the boiler into a pail, before
carrying it to the newly acquired hip bath, she thought, I’d better wait a little while in case she does come. There was something odd about the whole business.
Another hour passed and she still hadn’t taken her bath. When the clock struck nine she thought, Well, I’ve waited so long, I may as well wait now until Peter arrives.
It was half an hour later still when Peter announced his arrival in a most odd way, a way that startled her, for she heard his voice calling from a distance, ‘Mother! Mother! Are you there, Mother?’
She rushed to the back door and stared out into the darkness. And then she heard his voice again. ‘Mother! Are you there, Mother?’
She went flying down the path, and groped her way round by the lavatory, crying, ‘Where are you?’ and Peter’s voice came from close by, saying, ‘Here! Here!’
When she reached him she gasped out, ‘What is it? Are you hurt? You’ve had an accident?’
‘No! No!’ He was gasping too. ‘Look, it’s Hannah. Help me with her.’
As her hands groped over the inert body half lying on the ground, she muttered, ‘What’s…what’s the matter? What’s wrong with her?’
‘Lord, need you ask? She’s as drunk as a noodle. I nearly ran her down about two miles along the road. She came staggering across. God, she did give me a fright. I tell you I nearly ran her down. And…and this is the first time she’s stopped talking.’
‘Come on! Come on! Hannah; you’re nearly there.’ And he hauled at her again.
‘Nearly there,’ muttered Hannah. ‘Nearly there. Home…comes…the…pigeon.’
When they reached the lavatory they propped her up against it to get their breath, and Hannah began to laugh. She laughed until every part of her body shook like a jelly. And they shook with her as they half-carried her up to the house and through the kitchen, finally laying her on the couch in the long room. There Hannah lay gazing up at them, her body still shaking; but then the expression on her face changed and the tears burst from her eyes and her mouth opened in a wide gape as she lifted her wavering hand towards Constance and began to gabble: ‘It was him. Confess, he said, confess. ’Tis…n’t wrong, ’tisn’t wrong to bear children, is it, now? Fair question. Is it, now?’
‘No, Hannah. No, of course not.’ Constance turned to Peter, who was still trying to regain his breath, and pulling him aside she whispered, ‘Go down and let them know; they’ve been looking for her.’
‘She’s been on about the children all the time,’ he whispered back at her. ‘Do you know what she’s talking about? She says they’re all hers.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All the O’Connors. That she’s their mother.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m telling you. I couldn’t get her up and off the road and into the car because she wanted to explain everything to me.’
Constance glanced quickly towards the couch and to Hannah’s hand that was waving in the air, and again she said, ‘Go on down and tell them. Quickly now.’
‘Where’s the torch?’ said Peter; ‘I’ve forgotten mine, and nearly broke my neck trying to get her up that hill.’
‘In the kitchen drawer.’
Constance returned to the couch where Hannah was still muttering and crying. Her tears were making rivulets through the dust on her face, and her hands were covered in mud, as was her grey coat, and from the looks of her shoes and stockings she must have stepped into a quagmire. Her voice broken by her sobs, she appealed to Constance: ‘No sin…no sin, was it, to have children? Arranged…arranged it was. Florence, she got the name. Florence got the name; Mother, they call her. But they’re mine. Every blasted one of them is mine, from here…’ She thumped her stomach. Then taking her hand and covering her eyes, she moaned, ‘Oh God! Sin, he called it; sin. But it brought me solace…it brought them all solace. It did. It did, because they’re all happy. Let him say what he likes, my sin has brought them solace.’
‘It’s all right, Hannah. Don’t distress yourself.’ Constance took hold of the waving hand and gazed down at the fat, drunken, unsightly looking woman. Hannah had evidently got drunk to blot out the priest’s tirade against her, that of being the mother of all the O’Connors. It seemed an utter impossibility. Florence and Sean appeared to be a devoted couple. Although she was of a class far above him, it was evident to anyone with eyes that she was more than fond of him, and he of her. But then there was Hannah’s attitude towards the children: she had an authority over them. But yes, she had brought them all happiness through her sin. Solace, she called it.
At this point she heard footsteps on the terrace, and Peter appeared, followed by Vincent O’Connor.
When Hannah stopped her gabbling and crying long enough to realise that the big figure bending over her was Vincent, she flung up her arms and clutched him, blubbering, ‘Aw! Me lad, me lad. I waited for you on…on the moor. Vin will fetch me home, I said. Vin will fetch me home.’
‘Come on, get up!’ Vin put his arms under her shoulder blades and hoisted her to her feet, and there she hung on him, babbling again, this time about the priest. ‘He’s the one that’ll end up in hell…No rest. Never lets me rest. No peace from him.’
‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’ Vincent’s voice was low and soothing as if he were talking to a frightened child.
‘I’ll not fear him; I’ll not fear him, Vin.’
‘No, you’ve got no need to fear him; the day of the priest is over. Come on, now, don’t worry.’
‘He said the church would—’
‘Don’t worry about what he says. I’ve told you afore the church is the refuge of weak men like him who enjoy frightening women.’
As he led her stumbling down the room, Hannah swung her body round towards Constance, crying now, ‘He’s me son! Me eldest. I don’t care who knows it. Do you hear? Do you hear?’
‘Quiet! Quiet now!’ Vincent’s voice thundered and it brought Hannah whimpering again, saying, ‘All right, all right. Home we go! They’ll be waitin’ for me, waitin’ for Hannah, for their mother. I’m their mother, Vin…Aren’t I their mother, Vin?’
Vincent avoided Constance’s eye as she stood by the open door. He was almost carrying Hannah now, and she did not follow them onto the terrace or render any assistance and with a small movement of her head she checked Peter too from offering further help. But not until Hannah’s voice had almost faded away did she close the door; and then she looked at Peter, where he was standing at the foot of the stairs. As she went towards him on the way to the kitchen he said, ‘It’s true, then.’ His voice was low and awe-filled, and she passed him, saying, ‘Possibly. But it’s no business of ours.’
He followed her into the kitchen, whispering, as if he might be overheard, ‘But who would have thought it? And, and how could he…I mean, Mr O’Connor?’
‘I don’t know, Peter.’ She turned and looked at her son, her face blank. ‘And we mustn’t probe; it’s their business.’
He watched her as she stooped to fill the kettle from the watering can, and he continued to watch her as she filled a pan with some milk, then lit the gas. She was upset about it. But why should she be? As she had said, it was none of their business. Actually, at this moment, he thought it was rather funny, but when he would come to think about it later he knew he would likely see another side to it, because it meant that the whole lot of them down there were illegitimate, and that included Kathy…Well, what about it? It didn’t matter to him if she was illegitimate twenty times over; he wasn’t going to get himself involved with girls of any kind; that business with Ada had put paid to attachments, light or serious, for many a year to come. He was still shivering inwardly from the impact of the accusation. He was also shivering inwardly from another feeling, anger against his father. He gazed at Constance as if he had never seen his mother before. Why…why had she stuck him all these years? She had so much class. It showed in her figure, her face, in all of her. Besides which she was nice. My God, if she found out about this las
t business, she would go mad. But wouldn’t it be better for her to know? Then she might do something definite before she was too old. And she was getting old; she was thirty-seven…But she had found out before and she had done nothing. It seemed as if she was afraid to let him go. Yet what life had she with him? He couldn’t understand it. It was beyond him.
‘Are you going to have a wash?’ she said, looking over her shoulder. ‘There’s some hot water in the boiler.’
‘I could do with a bath. Look at me; I’m muddy right up to the eyes.’
‘Go and get your things off and I’ll fill the hip bath for you.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’d be marvellous.’
‘Will you have your coffee now or wait until later?’
‘I’ll wait until I’ve had a wash.’
She pulled the milk off the stove; then ladled the hot water out of the boiler into the buckets and with it she half-filled the bath.
As Peter came into the kitchen in his dressing gown there was a knock on the front door and he said softly, ‘Shall I see who it is? It’s likely…one of them.’
‘No; you get your wash, I’ll see to it.’
When she opened the door, there stood Vincent O’Connor, and after only a slight hesitation she said, ‘Won’t you come in?’
He walked past her and into the room and straight down to the couch, and from there he looked round at her and said, ‘She’s messed up all your covers.’
‘Oh, that’s all right; they’ll wash.’
‘I’m sorry about all this.’ They were standing behind the couch looking at each other, and she did not take her eyes from him as she said, ‘It’s perfectly all right; it’s…it’s none of our business.’
‘You’re very polite.’ His mouth twisted just the slightest. ‘But it doesn’t cover the fact that you are shocked again.’
‘Shocked again?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Why should I be?’
The Solace of Sin Page 14
