‘How does it go?’
Kathy now la-lahed the tune to him while performing the accompanying steps. ‘It’s great fun. We did it the other night at the dance.’ She turned to Peter. ‘Come on. Anybody can do it.’
Peter now placed his hands on her hips and joined his steps to hers, which brought howls of laughter from the children, and Biddy cried, ‘Show me!’ And she put her hands on Peter’s hips; then, her head on one side, she shouted to Kathy, ‘There’s a barn dance at the Blacks’ next week.’
‘Which night?’ cried Kathy between singing the tune to help Vincent.
‘It’s on Thursday.’
‘Oh good-oh!’ cried Kathy. ‘I think that’s my night off.’ Then turning to Peter, she laughed up at him. ‘If it is, I’ll take you. I bet you’ve never been to a barn dance?’
‘No, never.’ He was laughing widely back at her, looking deep into her eyes and lost to all but her.
‘Oh, it’s great, a barn dance.’ Then she turned to Vin. ‘That’s it, that’s it. You’ve got it. Come on, all of you; get behind. Look; you just do this.’ She took two steps to the side, kicked and thrust out her hip; then two steps to the other side with an accompanying thrust of a hip. ‘That’s all it is. Come on, now. Come on, Hannah. You, too, Mother. Come on, Mrs Stapleton. Dad, you follow on at the tail end. Aren’t you coming, Mrs Stapleton?’
She looked towards Constance again, and Constance, shaking her head and laughing, replied, ‘I’ve done all I can tonight, Kathy. Go on, I’ll clap.’
And so she clapped and Vincent played the mouth organ, and when Kathy went to lead them all out of the kitchen, Vincent jumped up ahead of the crocodile and led the way round the furniture in the parlour, along the passage into the next cottage, through the children’s quarters, and into the cottage beyond that, which was known to the family as ‘Mother’s place’, right to Hannah’s room at the far end of the buildings, and back again. Meanwhile, Constance sat alone in the kitchen, and as she cast her eyes around the shambles, she wondered at the pulsing, vibrant life that inhabited this house and the O’Connors. They were all alive. They had comparatively nothing, yet they were living, every one of them; even Vin, after all he had gone through. Oh yes, Vin was alive; underneath his granite exterior he was very much alive. She had felt the strong life in him as his hand had held hers; and, remembering it, she shivered and thought, I’ve been dead for years.
It was half-past three when Peter, Kathy and she went up the hill. The snow had stopped and the wind had died. A moon showed fitful gleams behind scudding clouds. Peter and Kathy, overflowing with home-made wine and the joy of meeting up again, were running ahead, pelting each other with snowballs.
Vincent, once they had all left the level ground and had begun to climb the hill, put his hand under Constance’s elbow, and it remained there until they rounded the bushes near the rock from where the water sprang. And it was as she said, ‘It’s been a wonderful, wonderful night; I’ll never forget it for as long as I live,’ that he pulled her to a halt, and in the thin moonlight he gazed into her eyes. His hands holding both her elbows now, and his voice deep and soft, he murmured, ‘A Happy New Year, Constance.’
It was the first time he had used her first name and he waited, perhaps for a rebuff, for her to withdraw from his touch. But when, looking back into his eyes, she said, ‘And to you, Vin,’ he knew that he hadn’t been wrong. The next moment he was holding her close, pressing her thin body fiercely to him. When his lips, moving over her face, found her mouth, her whole body stiffened for a moment. Then, with a depth of feeling that surprised and even shook her, she was returning his kisses, returning the pressure of his body, holding him to her tightly, tightly. The weakness left by the influenza was as if it had never been; she was filled with a strength that was frightening. But, as quickly as had been its coming, it left her. Now she found herself struggling within his grasp, pushing her hands against his chest. Then she was standing with her shoulders and head drooping forward, and he was holding her clenched hands, saying over and over, ‘Constance. Oh, Constance.’ When her head drooped lower, he whispered, ‘It wasn’t your fault. Don’t take the blame; it wasn’t your fault.’
After a short silence, during which Kathy’s high-pitched squeal came to them, he said, ‘I knew this would happen from the first moment I saw you. But don’t worry; I don’t expect anything in return. It’s hopeless, I know, for as Hannah says, there’s all the difference between us of chalk and cheese. But I…I knew I’d have to tell you sometime. I just wanted you to know.’
She turned blindly from him, and as she stumbled in the snow his hand again cupped her elbow; but now he was holding it close to his side.
As he helped her up onto the terrace Kathy was crying from the far end, ‘Cinch! Cinch! I give in.’
At the door Vincent called quietly, ‘Come on, Kathy; it’s time we were going down.’
‘Right, Vin.’ Then she was shouting back at Peter, who was poised with a snowball in his hand, ‘Look; I’ve got my fingers crossed. Cinch!’
‘Cinch? What’s cinch? That’s a new one to me.’
Peter now came to the door, where Constance was standing within the shadow, and his face stretched with pleasure as he said, ‘Isn’t it a marvellous night? It’s been a marvellous night altogether. I can’t remember ever having such a good time. I want to go…whoopee!’ He let out a yell and jumped into the air, and Kathy gave out her high, gay laugh.
From out of the shadow Constance said softly, ‘Yes, yes; it’s been a wonderful night. We’ll see you later, Kathy.’
‘Yes, Mrs Stapleton. We’re going sledging on the hill…Nine o’clock sharp, mind.’ She flapped her hand towards Peter.
‘Nine o’clock it is,’ he replied. ‘And if you’re not up I’ll come and pelt your window.’
‘You’d have a job to find it among our lot. Coo! Wouldn’t he, Vin? Goodnight, Mrs Stapleton.’
‘Goodnight, Peter,’ said Vincent; then after a pause, he spoke to the shadows and said, ‘Goodnight,’ and Constance replied, ‘Goodnight.’
When they were inside and the door closed, Constance said, ‘Don’t turn up the light, Peter; put it out. I’m going straight up; I’m very tired.’
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ He came to her side, his face still alight, and she said, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘It’s been a wonderful night, hasn’t it? They’re all wonderful, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they’re all wonderful,’ she said.
‘I was a fool not to see Kathy sooner. You said I was and you were right. You’re always right. I love you.’ He had his arms about her and kissed her, and she said with a break in her voice, ‘You’re drunk, Peter.’
‘Am I?’ He laughed aloud. ‘I think I am just a little, but…but isn’t it nice? Look; swear to me that life’s going on like this for ever and ever. Swear.’
He was swinging her round, and she said on a broken laugh, ‘I swear.’
He stopped suddenly and, taking her by the arm, he guided her up the stairs, then groped his way in the darkness of the landing to her door. ‘Goodnight, darling,’ he said. ‘And a Happy New Year…And I do love you, I do.’
‘And I you.’ She pushed him gently and laughed, adding, ‘Don’t forget to put the lamp out.’ Then she was in her room, where she could see reasonably well, for the moon had escaped the scudding clouds. Going to the window, she stood looking out over the cold snow-covered land; but she felt warm, really warm.
Within the past few minutes she had been told twice that she was loved, once without words. She put her hands up to her face and held it tightly. What had she done? And what was she to do now…? Go to sleep. Go to sleep, came the answer. Don’t spoil it with worrying. There’ll be plenty of time for that later when the head is clear of wine. Chalk and cheese. Chalk and cheese, he had said. She went to sleep repeating it: Chalk and cheese. Chalk and cheese.
Six
The atmosphere inside the house had been gay, but it c
hanged completely towards two o’clock on the afternoon of New Year’s Day when, quite unexpectedly, Jim made an appearance. Evidently he, too, had had a good New Year’s Eve, for he was suffering a hangover which, from the slight glaze in his eyes, he had been treating with the hair of the dog. His mood was mixed: he was inclined to be jolly, yet his conversation was threaded with recrimination. ‘New Year’s Eve and left on my own,’ he grumbled.
‘I asked you to come up with us.’
‘And chance being snow-bound?’
Her raised eyebrows brought from him sharply, ‘Yes, yes; I know I’ve made it today, but it isn’t a big fall as yet, and I thought I’d better tell you that I’m off to London by sleeper tonight. I received a letter yesterday from Conway. He’s shown my book to the film bods and there’s a very good chance of them taking it. They’ll be having a preliminary pow-wow tomorrow, so I’m off tonight.’ He rose from the chair and strutted down the room, and as he reached the far window he stepped up onto the platform and, raising his hands high above his head, cried, ‘God! It’s good to feel in the swing of things again…Perhaps’—he looked towards her—‘perhaps, if this comes off I’ll be able to buy myself a decent flat.’
‘I should do that,’ she said calmly.
He walked back to her now, saying, ‘Have you any idea what it’s like working in that matchbox?’
‘I’ve been in bed in that matchbox for over two weeks.’
‘Yes, yes, I know all about that; but when you feel inclined you can get out of it and come up here’—he turned his head in a wide circle—‘and soar.’
‘You’re at liberty to do the same.’
‘Oh, what’s the good! You wouldn’t understand if I were to batter it into you with a hammer. You’ve never understood anything about me, have you? Only what he needs…By the way, where is he?’
‘He’s down at the O’Connors’.’
‘Oh. The O’Connors’. I’ve got some news for you about the O’Connors.’ He now sat down opposite her and as he leant forward his face took on a jovial expression. ‘I knew there was something fishy about that lot. You remember me telling you some time ago about a fellow hinting at something? Well, I got the whole story, just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘“Where are you off to?” asked one of the locals. Half-canned he was. “Up to a cottage of mine.”’ As he had done once before, he stopped and, closing his eyes and shaking his head, growled. ‘All right, all right. What am I going to call it, my wife’s weekend retreat?’ He lay back and looked away from her for a moment. Then, unable to withhold the information, he said, ‘Did you know that O’Connor keeps a woman down there? And I’ll give you two guesses who she is.’
‘Yes, I know.’
He straightened up and pushed his shoulders back. ‘You do? You know that all the kids are hers?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you known it?’ His voice was threatening.
‘Oh, for quite some time.’
‘And you never let on? You are a close bitch, Constance.’ He shook his head slowly. Then, wetting his lips, he said, ‘Well, you know that much; but I don’t suppose you know that the big fellow’s done time. He killed a bloke…And that isn’t hard to imagine, is it? He killed a fellow and did time, and he’s only been out a few years. Well, you didn’t know that, did you?’
She was looking past him down towards the fire, but in the corner of her eye she could see the carving in the centre of the mantelpiece and she said slowly, ‘Yes, yes, I know about that, too.’
She remained still during the silence that followed her remark.
‘You mean to say you knew that and yet you never let on?’
‘It was none of our business.’
‘God Almighty! None of our business. Who told you, anyway?’
‘ …The mother.’ The lie was smooth.
‘Oh, the mother. Well, she would soften it, wouldn’t she? But anyway, why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘Are you ever long enough in my company for me to tell you anything? Do you ever want to listen to anything I have to say?’
‘Don’t twist things, Constance; this is different.’
‘It’s gossip.’
‘Oh! Oh! It’s gossip, and you’re far above gossip. You would be. Does he come up here?’
‘Very rarely.’
‘What do you mean, very rarely? Does he come up here?’
She rose to her feet as she said, ‘No.’
‘Well, see that he doesn’t. And steer clear of him when outside too. No more strolling on the fells. Give him a clear berth, or you might be sorry.’
As she looked at him she wondered yet again at his egotism, at the trait in his character that not only allowed him to ignore his weakness, the weakness that had ruined their marriage almost before it had begun, but helped him to act as if the weakness didn’t exist: he could sound morally right as he censured other men’s actions. This wasn’t the first time he had warned her against the attentions of other men. If the whole thing wasn’t so tragic it would be laughable; laughable as one laughs at something unbelievable.
Before he could make any comment on the expression on her face, there came concerted yells from outside and the sound of the children running along the terrace.
The wind had blown the snow from the flagstones but was now forming drifts on the level ground below and on the fells, leaving dark humps here and there and showing black twisted lines where the burns still ran.
Constance turned to the window and watched Kathy, Biddy, and Moira taking their stand against the boys, and Joseph, Davie, Barney, Michael and Peter pelting them with snowballs from strategic positions, all the time uttering blood-curdling yells.
She wasn’t aware that Jim had moved until she heard the door open; then from the window she watched him go to the edge of the terrace and shout, ‘That isn’t fair; it’s two to one!’
They all stopped for a moment. Then they were shouting up at him; all, that is, except Peter. He stood silent, rolling a snowball between his palms.
As Biddy O’Connor looked up towards Mr Stapleton, she caught sight of his wife at the window, and she remembered the night Mrs Stapleton had pushed her and Moira out of the kitchen because Mr Stapleton had put his arms around her. So, adolescent sex being a cruel, groping thing, she ran towards the man on the terrace and threw a snowball into his face.
‘You little devil!’ Jim, showing the agility of a man half his age, jumped from the terrace, grabbed up some snow and pelted it back at Biddy. In response, Biddy threw another one almost from arm’s length. Then Jim had hold of her. His arm about her shoulders, he picked up a handful of snow and scrubbed her face with it and when she turned and buried her head against his waist, he continued to scrub her until a snowball hit him with unplayful force on the side of the head, stinging him, and causing him to let go of Biddy.
One of the boys had thrown the snowball. He didn’t know which one it was, but when he saw his son bending for more snow, he wondered; then he took his stand alongside the girls. Grabbing up a handful of snow, he pelted it back at the boys. And this went on until Biddy again pushed some snow into his face. This time he did not grab at her, but just threw a soft snowball at her in return. After a moment, stooping once again, he scooped up more snow and flicked it to the other side of him, and as it splashed into Kathy’s face she laughed and spluttered. Then she was throwing snow back at him. When he grabbed her and his arm went tightly about her waist, holding her pressed to his stomach, her laughter died and she began to struggle fiercely. But he, his mouth wide, his eyes dark, continued to rub her face with snow; that is until the fist came on to his cheekbone and brought the water spurting to his eyes, while his son’s voice yelled crazily at him, ‘Let go of her! Let go of her! Don’t you dare touch her! Take your dirty hands off her! Do you hear? Let go of her!’
He was standing now with his arms hanging down by his sides staring into his son’s enraged face, staring at the spluttering mouth that was still yelli
ng, ‘You! You! Don’t you dare touch her!’
Without moving his eyes he took in the children’s faces. Now they were all standing in a broken circle about him, staring at him. Only the fact that they all, as if on a signal, began to run down the hill, as if to warn someone of the fracas, stopped him from thrusting out his hands and gripping Peter’s thin throat. He pulled his coat into shape on his shoulders; then with his teeth clenched and his lips squared from them, he marched over the flat ground, mounted the terrace, and burst open the door with his whole body.
Constance was waiting for him. She had her hands joined tightly at her waist and when he came and stood before her, the spittle jumped from his lips as he gritted out, ‘This is the finish! That…that young swine—’ But whatever he was going to say about the ‘young swine’ was checked by Peter himself bursting into the room. His face was as white as the snow he had been playing with, and his body seemed to have grown inches. After pausing for a second he advanced slowly towards his father, and when he was an arm’s length from him he stopped and, staring into his face, he said, ‘If I see you lay a hand on her again I’ll…I’ll—’
‘You!’ Jim’s Adam’s apple worked violently; there was froth at the corner of his mouth. ‘You…you bloody little whippersnapper, you! Who the hell do you think you are? What do you think you’re up to, eh? Eh?’
‘I tell you’—Peter’s voice was shaking, as were his face and hands—‘I tell you, before God, if you lay a hand on her again, as much as a finger, I’ll kill you. I will.’
The Solace of Sin Page 21
