It was Phoebe who spoke first. ‘Marie, take Pat through to your room for a wee while.’
Marie looked perplexed as she got to her feet, but pushed her brother through the door and Phoebe went over to her husband. ‘Tam, Cissie wants to speak to you.’
‘I’m sorry about Joe,’ Cissie murmured, unsure of what else to say.
‘Aye.’ It was almost a grunt.
‘War’s a terrible thing.’
‘Aye.’
‘I hope Tommy’s all right.’
There was no answer, though a slight tic had started at the side of his jaw. Damn him, she thought, and had an urge to make him suffer for what he had done to her. ‘My James’ll soon be six months old,’ she said, deliberately.
The tic speeded up and Phoebe stepped in, to help things along, as she supposed. ‘You should see him, Tam. He’s very like you. He’s even got your reddish hair.’
Seeing him look at his wife suspiciously, Cissie knew that he was wondering if she had told Phoebe the truth, and a touch of malice made her say, ‘It’s not surprising he’s like you, is it, Da?’
His tortured eyes met hers briefly, in desperate appeal, but something drove her to turn the screw further. ‘I’m his mother, after all, and you’re . . .’ she derived some pleasure from seeing him squirm in the pause she made, ‘. . . my father.’
Phoebe nodded vigorously. ‘Aye, Tam, don’t forget you’re his grandfather, and he’s such a wee pet, it’s a shame he’s not like other bairns.’
This reminder that the child was not normal was too much for him. ‘I don’t know why you came, Cissie,’ he thundered, ‘but if it was to rub it in about the bairn not being right, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s been on my conscience day and night . . .’ He stopped, aghast at what he was saying.
Comprehension dawning, Phoebe gave a horrified cry. ‘He’s yours! That’s why you and Cissie . . . Oh, my God!’
‘Phoebe, I’m sorry!’ Cissie burst out. ‘I didn’t mean for you to find out. I didn’t want to come, you know that.’
‘I do know that, but I wish I’d known why.’ Her voice was ice-laden. ‘I thought you were my friend, but I see Tam’s not the only one who’s made a fool of me, and you’d better go – now!’ She walked over and held the door open.
‘I am your friend, Phoebe, that’s why I couldn’t tell you Da was James’s father.’ Cissie’s desperate plea was ignored, and, sick at heart, she went out, weeping.
Jim looked up when she tottered in, and jumped to his feet when he saw how distraught she was. ‘I told you not to go. I knew it would just upset you.’
She ran to his outstretched arms, sobbing bitterly as she tried to blot out the sound of the harsh, angry voices from overhead. ‘I should have listened to you. He wouldn’t speak to me, and I did an awful thing. I couldn’t help myself.’
He asked no questions, content to hold her until she was calmer, and at last, she said, ‘I wanted to make him suffer for what he did to me, and I told him James was nearly six months. I was stupid, but I wanted to hurt him.’
‘I can understand that,’ Jim murmured, ‘and you should try to forget about it. You’ll only make yourself ill carrying on like this.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ she sobbed. ‘Phoebe said he wasn’t like other bairns, and Da said it had been on his conscience, and . . . Oh, Jim, Phoebe knows now, and she’s mad at me for not telling her before.’
‘She’ll get over it.’
‘No, she won’t! Just listen to them. Oh, God, I shouldn’t have said anything about James. Da was upset about Joe and I made it a thousand times worse.’
‘Whisht, whisht. It was bound to come out some time.’
‘It would never have come out if I hadn’t said that, and it was Phoebe I hurt more than him. She’s so angry, she’ll tell folk for spite, and they’ll end up laughing at you.’
‘Phoebe’s not a spiteful woman,’ Jim soothed, ‘and folk have laughed at me for years, so it wouldn’t matter to me if she told the whole of Aberdeen.’
At that moment, the noise upstairs rose to a crescendo, a door slammed and quick feet descended to the ground floor. Then the street door crashed with such ferocity that the dishes in Cissie’s pantry rattled.
She looked at her husband in appalled dismay. ‘I wonder which of them that was?’
Jim kept stroking her head. ‘It wasn’t heavy enough for Tam’s feet, it must have been Phoebe.’
‘Da’s going to kill me if she’s left him,’ Cissie wailed.
‘She’ll come back when she cools down. She can’t leave him for that, not when she used to be a . . .’
Cissie felt a little better until she realised that a man fathering his daughter’s child was far worse than a woman earning a living by prostitution.
She was still trembling with repentance for what she had done in anger at her father and fear of what he might do in retribution, when Jim said, ‘Give James his feed and we’ll go to bed. Phoebe’ll cool down and come back to your father in the morning and apologise to you, and it’ll all be over.’
Not really believing this, Cissie sat down, but with her milk being affected by her agitation, James kept them awake all night – the night she had intended to be a proper wife to Jim for the first time, but which resolution she had completely forgotten.
Chapter Twelve
Cissie had heard her father going to work at his usual time, halting long enough outside her door for her to panic, but he had carried on, and Jim had left shortly afterwards. She had placed all the footsteps going past, Mr Morrice and Mr Gibb from the top floor, then Pat’s scamper, but no Marie; she must have been told to stay off work to look after the house. Cissie had wondered if she could chance going up to talk to her, but had decided that it wouldn’t do any good, and it wasn’t fair to involve her.
Jim had told her to keep the door locked after he went to work, which did make her feel safer. She had meant to make a stew for supper with a bit of spaul from the butcher, but she couldn’t face going out, and he would have to be content with cheese pudding. Poor Jim, he had taken on more than he thought when he married her, but he hadn’t complained.
Taking her son out of the basket, she sat down in front of the fire. As his little mouth fixed avidly on her, she pulled off his bootees to hold his tiny foot in her hand, such a well-formed foot, in contrast to the rather grotesque head lolling against her. What would his life be when he was older? He couldn’t go to an ordinary school – other children would make fun of him, for bairns were cruel that way. She could remember jeering at a boy who had a club foot, and her mother had been angry with her when she found out.
‘We’re all God’s children,’ Mam had said, ‘though we can’t all be perfect.’
James wasn’t perfect, Cissie mused, sadly, but she loved him as much as if he had been, and that would never change. She would love him and look after him for as long as he needed her.
The cheese pudding was beautifully risen when her husband came in. ‘I couldn’t face going to the butcher,’ she told him, ‘so I hope you don’t mind . . .’
‘I love cheese pudding,’ he smiled, chucking the baby under the chin before he sat down. ‘How have you been?’
‘I’m fine, and nothing else can happen, can it? Nothing bad? He’d have come last night if he’d been . . .’
‘He’s only got himself to blame,’ Jim said, quietly. ‘He should never have touched you. It wasn’t your fault.’
Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘You’re so good, Jim.’
‘What’s good about marrying the girl I love?’ he smiled.
‘You know what I meant.’
‘You look tired, Cissie. I’ll do the dishes for you, and you can go to bed, for James didn’t let you get much sleep last night. I’ll take him through for his ten o’clock feed.’
It was hardly eight o’clock when she went through to the bedroom, and even when she lay down her brain wouldn’t let her sleep. The previous evening’s terrible scene kept comi
ng back to her, her father’s furious face glowering at her no matter whether her eyes were open or closed. Jumping to the floor, she went back to the kitchen in her nightshift.
‘It’s no use,’ she said, her teeth chattering, ‘I can’t get it out of my head.’
Jim pulled her on to his knees. ‘Cissie, it’s all over. He can’t do anything to you now.’
‘I know, but when I’m on my own . . .’
‘Lie down on Ma’s bed, then.’
She went into the bed in the recess, and he came over to kiss her when she snuggled under the blankets. ‘I love you, Cissie. Don’t ever forget that.’
‘I’ll never forget, and I think I . . .’
‘Watch yourself,’ he cautioned, smiling ruefully. ‘You’re in no state to make rash promises. I’ll heat some milk . . .’
They both jumped at the sound of the street door being hurled back with tremendous force against the lobby wall, and Cissie grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘That’s him!’
As the heavy feet came clumping up the stairs, Jim said, ‘He’ll not bother us. He’ll go right up. Wait and see.’
Big Tam did not go right up. He stopped on their landing, found the door locked and bellowed, ‘Open this bloody door or I’ll break it down!’
‘Don’t let him in,’ Cissie begged, gripping her husband’s arm even tighter.
‘He’ll kick the door in if I don’t. But don’t worry, I’ll not let him touch you.’
She had only time to think that he would be no match for her father when Big Tam staggered in. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself,’ he shouted, making for the bed.
She cowered down, hauling the blankets up round her neck, but he dragged them off and pulled her on to the floor. ‘I swear I’ll make you sorry for what you’ve done. It’s you I’ve to thank for Phoebe leaving me.’ His hands rose to her throat, but Jim pulled at his jacket.
‘Leave her be. It was all your own doing.’
Whipping round, Tam shoved him roughly away. ‘My doing? Look at her standing there in her shift driving a man mad. It wasn’t my doing, you humphy-backed bugger!’
Jim’s fist shot out, and Cissie screamed, ‘No, Jim! Don’t fight with him, he’s stronger than you.’
‘No, Jim,’ Tam mocked, in an exaggerated falsetto, ‘you’d better not fight with me, you’ll come off worst.’ His voice deepened to a threat. ‘Just stand there, like the Mam’s boy you always were, and watch what I do to your wife.’ Turning to Cissie again, he took hold of the neck of her shift and pulled hard, the buttons flying off to expose her breasts, full with the milk her baby would soon need.
Before he could go any further, he reeled from the blow Jim caught him on the side of the head. ‘You little runt!’ he shouted, and knocked the smaller man down with one swipe of his huge fist.
Covering her bosom with her arms, Cissie tried to reach her husband, who lay gasping for breath on the floor, but Tam grabbed her and held her firm. ‘That weakling’s no use to you, Cissie.’ He edged her towards the bed.
On his feet again, Jim looked round for something heavy to use as a weapon, and was picking up the brass poker when Tam saw him and let Cissie go. She watched in horror, unable to move, when her father wrested the poker from Jim and took it down on his head with such force that she heard his skull cracking, and he went down instantly.
‘You’ve killed him,’ she shrieked.
‘Don’t speak daft. It was just a wee tap on the head.’ Tam dropped the poker on the mat and came towards her, his eyes wild with lust, and, sure that her husband was dead, she didn’t even think of defending herself. With one sweeping movement, her father tore off her shift, threw her down on the bed, then ran his hands over her breasts and down her belly, moaning all the time.
Numb with shock, she put up no resistance when he lay on top of her. It was as if this was how it had to end, this was what fate meant for her. His wet lips came down on hers, his hands fumbled with his trouser buttons, and the stink of whisky on his breath made her retch. ‘My own wee lassie,’ he muttered, hoarsely, ‘let your Da inside you.’
It was only when she felt his engorged organ against her thighs that she managed to scream, thrashing her legs about helplessly, for he was past hearing or caring what she did. But at that moment, little James, upset by the shouting and commotion, gave a loud cry. Without even looking round, Tam lashed out with his foot, and Cissie’s horrified eyes could see the basket crashing to the floor, her infant, thrown out of the covers, hitting the fender and lying motionless.
Looking round in dismay at the result of his action, Big Tam did not stop her when she heaved herself out from under him and ran to her child. Tam lay, dazed, for a few moments, watching as she lifted James up and cradled the lifeless little body in her arms, but it was her hopeless, keening cries that sobered him. Sitting up, he shook his head in disbelief, then held his arms out to her in some sort of supplication. ‘Oh, Christ, Cissie,’ he groaned, suddenly, ‘what have I done?’
In her own world of grief, she paid no attention to him. She probably did not hear him as she lay down on the floor with her dead child in her arms, as naked as the day she was born.
Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe McGregor had spent the night walking the streets, a horrible nausea gnawing at her innards. Tam was so rugged and handsome that it hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with him, though trying to rush him into marriage had been a mistake; he wasn’t the kind to be rushed into anything. She had been surprised when he asked her to go back to him, and had held out until he swore that he had missed her, that he loved her and wanted to marry her after all.
Only two things had marred her happiness as his wife and mother to his family – the unexplained split between him and his elder daughter, and his flat refusal to go to see his grandchild. She had foolishly thought that he was angry at Cissie for letting the Humphy touch her, for it was hard to believe that she could be attracted to such an ill-shapen man, yet Jim was really a nice person when you got to know him, kind-hearted and considerate.
Oh, God, yes! He was so kind-hearted that he had made Cissie his wife, when he must have known that the child she was carrying was not his. Had he been told whose it was? Had he married her, not just to give the child a name, but to save her the shame of having it known publicly what kind of man her father was? And the rape had happened when she, Phoebe, had not been there to satisfy Tam.
As the day wore on, Phoebe’s agonies lessened. She still loved him, whatever he had done, and he had been faithful to her since their marriage, she was sure of that. She could never go back to the sordid life she had led before, and there were Marie and Pat to think of; they needed a mother’s guidance. Pat was at an awkward age, and it was patently obvious that Marie was ripe for sexual encounters. Wilfie Lewis wouldn’t stand a chance if she made up her mind to be seduced – was it still called seduction when the girl was the instigator? In any case, she had to be told the facts of life – about the perverts she might come across – and who better to tell her than the stepmother who had first-hand experience? Only, would Tam take her back after the awful things she had said last night?
Realising that she’d had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours, Phoebe made her way to a seamen’s café on the quay. A full stomach might help her to see things more clearly.
The proprietrix knew her, because she had gone there quite often at one time, and grinned when she went in. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages, Phoebe. I thought you was married.’
‘I am married, but I’d a bit of a set-to with my man last night, you know how it is, and I’ve been wandering about all day trying to think what to do.’
‘Ach, we all have set-tos at some time or other. When my Bill was alive, we wouldn’t have known what was wrong with us if we didn’t have a fight every week. You’re better off now than you ever was, Phoebe, so why don’t you just go back and say you’re sorry. Maybe it wasn’t your fault, but your man’ll be pleased if you make out it was.’
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p; Phoebe smiled at her perception of men’s egos. ‘I suppose I should. A cup of tea and a sandwich, please.’
Marie and Pat were playing Snap when they first heard the noise from downstairs. Their father had not come in at his usual time, though he had made Marie stay off work. ‘It’s up to you to keep house again now Phoebe’s away,’ he had said, that morning. She had resented that, because it was Cissie’s fault that their stepmother had left, and she was even more resentful when he hadn’t come home for his supper after she had bought sweetbreads for him at the butcher.
‘That sounds like Da shouting,’ Pat observed.
It did sound like him, and Marie, having listened at the kitchen door the previous night, hoped he was giving Cissie a good piece of his mind. It couldn’t have been true what she said. Da couldn’t be James’s father. Jim Robertson was James’s father, or, as Marie was more inclined to believe, Hugh Phimister. Fancy Cissie saying things like that about Da, especially in front of Phoebe.
The din in the Robertsons’ flat increased even more, and Pat paused before he laid his next card. ‘What d’you think’s going on down there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marie said, firmly, ‘and it’s nothing to do with us.’
‘Snap!’ shouted Pat, triumphantly, taking advantage of his sister’s wandering attention and scooping up the two stacks of cards. ‘You’ll soon have none left.’
A dull thud making the very walls reverberate, they looked at each other apprehensively. ‘Da and Jim must be fighting,’ Pat muttered. ‘Maybe we should go down.’
‘What could we do? Da’s likely drunk.’
‘I can fight boys twice my size.’
Well aware that they should be doing something, Marie just said, ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘That’s Cissie screaming.’ Pat stood up. ‘I’ll have to go and help her.’
Marie’s hand shot out and held him back. ‘Wait.’
Another thud, clearer this time, followed in a few seconds by a strange wailing noise, made up Marie’s mind. ‘Go and look for a bobby, and I’ll ask Mr Gibb upstairs to go and speak to Da, and I’d better get Mr Morrice, and all. Surely between them they’ll get him calmed down.’
Waters of the Heart Page 10
