Kate Hannigan's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Do come in, Brian,’ she said, forcing herself to smile at him. ‘Come into the drawing-room.’ Brian looked at her sharply; her manner was more pleasant than usual. ‘Do sit down.’ She noticed his face wore a stubborn, petulant look.

  ‘Where’s Annie?’ he asked. ‘Now don’t tell me she’s out,’ he said, raising his hand warningly and giving a grim smile.

  ‘Well, she is,’ said Kate; ‘she’s down at the clinic.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that’s different. She’s been avoiding me, you know…Or don’t you? Look, Mrs Prince’—he leant forward, his elbow on his knee, his hand moving in time with his words—‘I’ll come to the point. I want Annie—you know that—I want to marry her.’

  Kate stared at him. All the turmoil of feeling she was experiencing was replaced by one great wave of sickness…her Annie, and him! He was huge now, but he still had some shape. A few more years and he would be a gross hulk…Oh no, no! She couldn’t will that.

  She heard herself say, ‘You’d better know, Annie has set her mind on becoming a nun.’

  His laugh startled her. ‘What! Still that old yarn?’

  ‘Did you know?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Nearly a year ago,’ he answered.

  Kate sat back limply in her chair.

  ‘You don’t take any notice of that, do you? Why, you’re her mother; can you imagine Annie a nun?’ He looked at Kate with a knowledgeable stare. Then he got up from the chair with surprising agility for one so big, and came and stood over her. ‘Annie’s the only girl I’ve ever really wanted, and can you imagine me not getting what I want?’ His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. ‘The trouble with Annie is she’s been spoilt and pandered to; she doesn’t know her own mind. Well, I’m going to show it to her. That is, if it’s all right with you.’ He smiled ingratiatingly, his face close to hers.

  Kate blindly nodded her head.

  ‘You don’t want her to end up as a nun, do you?’ His hand came down on her arm, and she stared at the reddish-brown hairs on the back of it. She noticed they thickened towards the wrist and that no bones showed in his hand. Again she nodded. ‘When I bring her back we’ll be engaged…you’ll see.’ He squeezed her arm. She looked up into his great face, and he slowly lowered one thick eyelid. Kate shuddered; and he went on, ‘Don’t you worry. Just leave it to Brian, and get the house ready for a wedding.’

  He chucked her chin familiarly, saying, ‘Well, here I go, Mother-in-law. I’ll be back to tea…I suppose I’m invited?’ Laughing boisterously, he went out through the french window and into the garden with the air of already being one of the family.

  As Kate watched him go, her whole being cried, ‘Stop him! Don’t let him go near her!’ But she sat on, powerless to move …

  He found Annie quite by accident. He had been to the clinic, and finding she wasn’t there had walked through the wood. He was on his way back to the house when he thought of the pool. She wouldn’t be bathing, he knew, but she might be around there. But, coming away, he happened to glance towards the tennis court and the pavilion beyond. On the off-chance he went towards it.

  He approached the pavilion from the side, his footsteps making no sound on the grass, and he came upon her sitting in a deckchair within the doorway. She was too surprised to speak, and gazed up at him with startled eyes. Placing a hand on each side of the door, he smiled down at her.

  With a sudden scurry, she tried to rise to her feet. But, lifting one hand, he pressed her slowly back, saying quietly, ‘Sit where you are.’ He sat down on the step, his back resting against a stanchion of the door, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out on the grass. His hand gripped his knee, and his forearm pressed against her legs.

  ‘What are you reading?’ he asked quite casually, and without waiting for a reply he took the book from her lap and said, ‘St Francis of Assisi?…mm! Have you read Renan’s Life of Jesus?’

  She didn’t answer, and he went on, ‘You don’t believe I’ve read it, do you? I have. There’s a book that gives you the life of Jesus as a historian would describe the life of a king or a period…no sentimentality…You look surprised, Annihan; you don’t know your old Brian. We must get down to exchanging ideas,’ he laughed. ‘What’s your favourite author besides this stuff?’ He tapped the book and waited.

  When she didn’t reply he said, ‘Have you lost your tongue?’

  She gave a perceptible gulp, and gasped, ‘I must go, I’ve got to get back for tea.’

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ he said; ‘Kate knows.’

  She scraped back the chair by digging her heels into the floor.

  ‘Now, don’t rush things, there’s plenty of time. You’ll make me rush, and then …’ He gave a throaty laugh. ‘Look, I have something to show you.’ Bringing from his pocket a small box, which he snapped open, he said, ‘It’s yours. Put it on.’

  She stared down at the ring lying on its bed of white satin. The rays of the sun caught the half-hoop of diamonds and glinted into her eyes.

  ‘You said seven was your lucky number. Well, there’s seven of them.’

  With a great effort she gained her feet. ‘Let me out!’

  He threw the book on to the grass and slowly got up. With one hand he pressed her back into the pavilion, and with the other slung the deckchair outside, saying, ‘There’s not room for all of us.’ Then he closed the door with his foot.

  She flew at him, tearing at his coat. But her efforts were as fruitless as if she were trying to move the pavilion itself.

  Laughing, he held her at arm’s length. Then swiftly his mood changed and he said roughly, ‘Listen, Annie. I’m asking you again to marry me.’

  She glanced towards the window which was slightly ajar; it was no use trying to get out that way. There was no way out, only past him. She suddenly began to plead.

  ‘Brian, I can’t. Please let me go…Brian, Mam should have told you, I’m going into the convent in a fortnight’s time. I told you last year, remember?’ She gave him a weak, placating smile. ‘Oh, Brian, let’s go up and have tea now. Please, Brian!’

  She made to shrug his hands from her shoulders, and he pulled her into his arms. ‘Are you going to become engaged to me?’

  ‘No, no, I can’t…I’ve told you …’

  ‘Stop struggling and listen! You’re going to marry me in any case, you won’t be able to get away from it. I’ve always said you were my girl, haven’t I?’ His voice was soft again, and one hand slipped down to her hips.

  She strained away from him, her eyes wild with terror. ‘I’ll scream,’ she panted, ‘I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, there’s no-one to hear you. But I’ll see you don’t scream. Come, be sensible. You know I love you…I’m mad crazy about you, I always have been. And you like me; I know you do, only you’re afraid to let yourself go. What are you afraid of?’ His voice had dropped to a whisper.

  ‘Brian,’ she pleaded again; ‘oh, Brian, let me go…Please, please!’

  ‘Not this time. But don’t worry, we’ll both be back in time for tea.’ He stared at her mouth, and his head moved lower.

  She stood as one fixed in a trance. Then his mouth dropped on hers as if a supporting stay had been suddenly removed from his head. Her head jerked back with the weight, and his hand came behind it, pressing it upwards again, and her mouth into his. His lips moved like an animal at a meal; but they never freed her. And her body, for a moment, became limp against his.

  Still with his mouth on hers, he lifted her off her feet and, as she felt herself being lowered to the floor, she flung all her strength into tearing her face from his. The air rushed into her lungs, and she screamed, a shrill, penetrating scream.

  He dropped her with a flop, thrust his hand over her mouth and put his knee across her thrashing legs. Then he remained still, waiting.

  There was no sound, no voice calling, no running steps. He heaved a sigh and looked down at her. ‘You’re a fool. Do you think you wouldn’t get any of
the blame if we were found like this? Remember that old saw, “The woman always pays”? Well, it still applies…Look, Annie. I’ve tried to get you fairly, but you wouldn’t have it. Now this is the only way. But don’t worry, I’ll stand by you.’

  Jesus! Oh Christ! Mary, Holy Mother! This was the accumulated fear of all her life. This had happened to Kate. This had happened to her grandmother. It seemed as if she had been waiting from the beginning of time for just this moment. Her grandmother had loved the man; and Kate…Kate had never said. But it couldn’t have been like this, for she would not have lived on. This meant death in any case.

  ‘It won’t hurt.’ His hands touched her flesh.

  Jesus, Jesus, save me, save me …

  Pretend, relax…It was like a voice speaking from some cavern in her head.

  As her body went limp he sighed. ‘That’s a girl!…All right?’ He looked down into her eyes, and she closed hers against the horror of him. He took his hand from her mouth, and his weight eased for a moment from her body. It was then that she called the name. She screeched it twice before his hand slapped across her mouth and his body crushed the breath out of her …

  Mrs Macbane stood cutting bread on the scullery table, whilst, with his back almost touching hers, Terence cleaned a tie on the wooden lid of the wash boiler.

  ‘Your da will leave that door open, and there’s such a draught!’ remarked Mrs Macbane.

  ‘Well, I’d better not close it,’ said Terence, ‘he’s bringing in wood.’

  ‘Terry, lad!’ Mr Macbane called from outside.

  Terence went to the door, saying, ‘What is it?’

  His father was standing near the wood pile, which was built against the hedge separating the garden from the Princes’ grounds. His arms were full of logs, and he asked, ‘Did ye hear owt?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought I heard somebody scream.’

  ‘It’s likely the magpies.’

  ‘It wasn’t a magpie, that!’

  ‘Bring in that wood or close the door!’ called Mrs Macbane.

  ‘Shurrup, woman! Listen, lad, I don’t like it. I’m sure somebody screamed from over there.’ He nodded in the direction of the hedge.

  ‘Likely the youngster,’ said Terence.

  Mr Macbane walked reluctantly to the door, and there he paused again, his head on one side, listening.

  ‘Come in or out,’ Mrs Macbane was saying when, like a whisper on a breeze, came the terrified call: ‘Terence! Terence!’

  ‘It’s the lass!’ Mr Macbane dropped the wood and ran down the garden after the flying figure of his son.

  When Terence came to a stop above the clear, still water of the swimming-pool, he heard his father’s laboured breathing as he struggled up from the stream, and he called to him, ‘There’s nothing here!’

  He looked wildly round him. Then, through the narrow belt of trees that separated the pool from the tennis court, he saw the deckchair lying on its side. Within seconds he was at the pavilion. He had the door off the latch and partly opened when a weight was thrust against it. He put his foot into the opening and levered his shoulder into the upper part.

  Mr Macbane, wet from the waist down, came running up and, taking in the situation, he stepped back a few yards. Then, running, he hurled his weight against the door.

  They were inside, asprawl the stacked deckchairs.

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’ yelled Brian.

  Terence righted himself, and pulled his father to his feet. He looked from Brian to the inert figure on the floor. His eyes became focused on a brown piece of felt, with a red heart in the centre, attached to a cord and lying on Annie’s bare breast. He made an odd noise in his throat. And his father said, ‘Not in here, lad. Get him ootside. And,’ he added, ‘kill the bugger!’

  Brian’s neck began to swell. The veins stood out like red ropes. Throwing off his coat, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, saying, ‘You’ve been asking for this! Now you’ll get it. I’ll teach you to mind your own bloody business.’

  Terence, too, threw off his coat, and said to his father, ‘Get them.’ He cast one swift glance at the seemingly lifeless body of Annie, then went outside, where Brian’s fist met him almost before his feet had touched the grass.

  Mr Macbane, shouting directions to his son, ran towards his own hedge. Mrs Macbane was on the other side, waiting. She called, ‘What’s up, lad?’

  ‘Run up to the hoose an’ get them down here at once,’ cried Mr Macbane. ‘It’s the lass…Summat’s happened.’

  When he reached the clearing again, Terence was just evading a blow aimed at his head. Brian’s arms lashed the air like huge pistons, but now they rarely reached Terence, who wove and ducked and was just that fraction out of reach when the blows fell. They were fighting in spurts, stalking each other round and round like animals, their teeth bared, hate glaring out of their eyes. They completed circles without aiming a blow. Then Brian would make a swirling rush, and it would seem impossible for Terence to keep his feet.

  Mr Macbane cautioned, ‘Tha’s it, lad. Keep calm, keep yer heid an’ ye’ve got ’im; he’s nowt but wind.’

  With a sudden rush, Brian aimed low at Terence’s body, bringing a flow of invective from Mr Macbane: ‘Ye dirty swine! Ye lily-livered waster! Go fer him, lad. Knock his teeth oot.’

  As if obeying instructions, Terence darted in between the flailing arms. There were two swift blows, and he was out again. Brian’s head jerked back, his heavy lids closing over his eyes for a moment. The blood trickled from his mouth, and he spat on to the grass.

  ‘That’s one of them,’ cried Mr Macbane.

  Infuriated, Brian bore down on Terence. His hairy arm shot out from the dangling shirtsleeve and caught Terence full on the side of the face, making him reel. Dazed, his evasion too slow, Terence received a hail of smashing blows on his body before he slipped free again.

  In their rushes and retreats they reached the belt of trees, and, as Mr Macbane cautioned once again, ‘Steady, lad, steady, keep clear,’ he heard Kate’s voice calling, ‘Where are you? Where are you?’ He saw her racing down the pathway to the pool. He shouted to her, and she turned towards him.

  ‘Oh, Mr Macbane! What’s happened? Where is she?’ She stood gasping, her hand held to her side and nodding towards the fighting figures, now amongst the trees. ‘What’s…what’s happened? Why are they…?’ She gripped his arm. ‘You must stop them. Brian will…he’ll kill Terence. He’s strong, like an animal …’

  ‘Not him, missis. Don’t ye worry aboot the lad. Ye’d better go in thor,’ he said, nodding back towards the pavilion, ‘and see the lass.’

  As Kate ran on, Mr Macbane turned to meet Rodney, who came limping hurriedly towards him, accompanied by Steve. There was sheer amazement in Rodney’s eyes when he saw the battling figures. He looked to Mr Macbane for explanation, and his face darkened as he listened. He clenched his teeth, and swore at Brian as he swiftly made for the pavilion.

  Steve said quietly, ‘If he doesn’t finish him off, I will.’

  ‘Aye, ye will after me,’ replied Mr Macbane, without taking his eyes from his son. ‘And where’ve yer sprung from?’ he added.

  Before Steve could reply, Rodney called from the door, ‘Will you come here a minute, Steve?’

  Steve went inside, and came out again almost immediately, carrying Annie in his arms. Kate walked by his side. She seemed to have grown old in a matter of minutes. Her hair had not turned white, nor had her face become lined, but she walked like an old woman and her eyes held the look of countless age.

  Mr Macbane allowed himself time to look at them before turning his gaze back to his son. The blood was running freely from a cut in Terence’s cheek and dripping on to his shirt. For a moment he was locked in Brian’s arms, as if in a passionate embrace. They swayed like drunken men, supporting each other. Then, as if in disgust, they thrust each other away. Panting and moving heavily, they started their circling movements again. They were now ne
ar the pool, and as Brian made a sudden rush Terence retreated, almost coolly, it would seem. Brian, not to be worn out by this strategy, dropped his rush tactics, and again they circled round each other, their eyes glaring, full of loathing and destruction.

  A passion of bitterness burning within him, Rodney gave a withering glance at the stiff, uncreased shoe on his foot and the limply hanging arm by his side. Never before had he wished for the use of his limbs as fiercely as he did at this moment…or, he thought, a gun. If I had a gun I would use it without compunction, he said to himself.

  Mr Macbane cried, ‘That’s it, Terry lad, wear him oot. Go steady, an’ ye’ve got ’im.’

  For a moment, Rodney wondered at the confidence of this man in his son, who looked like a lath beside Stannard. But evidently the lath was made of steel. Terence was boxing, if anyone so tired could box; he was using his head as well as his hands, whereas Brian’s arms were just flailing. They were on the grassy bank by the side of the pool. Terence was closing in; his teeth bared, he hammered through Brian’s arms to his face. His fists were covered with blood, and he struck with renewed force. Then his tactics were discarded, he was attacking with all the remaining strength he possessed. He backed away for a moment to regain his breath, and in doing so tripped and sat down, almost ludicrously, on the stone coping of the pool. Brian was quick to seize his chance. His foot came up, and in a flash Terence was kicked backwards into the water.

  Almost before Terence hit the water Mr Macbane and Rodney hurled themselves simultaneously on Brian. So quick and heavy was the impact that they were borne to the ground with him. Mr Macbane’s fists never stopped lashing, and Rodney, with his one good arm, pounded the great body beneath him until he realised that Brian was not moving. The blind rage clearing from his mind, he saw that Brian’s head was lying on the coping in a spreading pool of blood. He pulled Mr Macbane away, and pointed.

  Mr Macbane, rubbing his hands across his mouth, spluttered, ‘Aa hope to God it’s finished ’im.’ He stood swaying above the prostrate figure. Then, as if coming to himself, he exclaimed, ‘The lad!’ He turned to where Terence was endeavouring to climb out of the pool, and helped him on to the bank.