Song of Songs

by Beverley Hughesdon

  Then I noticed the way he had arranged them again – he had obviously intended to leave room for my photographs, so I would find them and put them there. I ran upstairs and came back down with four of mine: one of Guy and Pansy at their wedding; another of Conan, standing between Alice and Letty, his arms casually draped over each pair of shoulders; then there was Papa and Mother and Maud, all together; and finally my photo of Gerald. I placed each one carefully on the piano top – my photos were larger and the frames were more elaborate than those of Ben and his family. I edged his a little further towards the end, so that I could place Gerald in the centre, where I would remember him always.

  The mottled blue cooker was established in the alcove to the left of the range by lunchtime; it looked rather ugly but as I made a cup of tea on my new acquisition I felt quite smug. I ate the last piece of pie then set out again for the town, clutching Ben’s three ten-shilling notes – ‘for th’ousekeeping’. I decided to shop in the market hall – that way I could have a covert look at the goods before deciding what to buy. I studied the butcher’s stall as I waited in the queue – at least I knew when meat was fresh – I had seen so much that was rotting. Then I thought, but that was not meat, that was human flesh – and I felt quite sick and pointed at a piece with my eyes averted. I held the bloody parcel away from me, I had not thought of needing a shopping bag; but I managed to spot a stall selling baskets, and hastily bought one of those.

  I headed for the greengrocer’s and requested, ‘Some potatoes, please.’

  ‘’Ow many, missus?’

  I explained, ‘Enough for dinner for two.’

  He looked at me rather oddly. ‘I don’t sell potatoes under five.’

  ‘Then five, please.’ He picked many more than five out of the sack and it was only when he put the iron weights on the scales that I realized, feeling a fool, that vegetables were sold by weight – at Étaples they had just filled our baskets. I hazarded a single pound of carrots and lugged my booty outside.

  A woman jostled me outside a baker’s window and I remembered the empty bread crock in the larder at Royds Street and went in to buy a loaf; I bought two jam tarts as well, in the hope that Ben would like them. By now my basket was quite heavy so I asked two women waiting at a tram stop whether I could catch one to Royds Street. They both looked at me blankly, and I had to repeat my query; then one of them answered, but her accent was so broad that I could not understand what she was saying; the other interrupted, and I became even more confused. At last I smiled and thanked them and set off walking down the street. But I was at the other end of the town from where I had been that morning and I took a wrong turning and came into a completely strange street – I thought I could cut through but everything looked so similar that soon I became completely lost. I began to panic – I did not know how long meat took to cook, suppose Ben was back before his meal was ready – would he be angry with me?

  Then in the distance I glimpsed a familiar green dome; I shuddered a little at the memories it brought back but I knew that I could at least understand the woman there, so I stepped out briskly. I had to brace myself to go in but she waddled out of her lair at once and I asked my way.

  ‘Royds Street? There’s a short cut you can take, up backs – but it’s ever so steep,’ she glanced doubtfully down at my shoes.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can manage.’

  She gave me the directions, clearly and concisely, and then, as I was turning to leave she said, ‘You’re Ben Holden’s new missus, aren’t you?’

  I was surprised. ‘Yes – yes I am.’

  She chuckled. ‘Aye, I heard tell he’d married a lady, and remembered you coming in ’ere a few weeks back, so I put two and two together.’ I felt myself blushing and she smiled, baring two blackened stumps. ‘There’s not much as gets past Edna Fairbarn. I’ve known Ben since he were a babby – he’s a well-set-up lad is Ben – there’s more ’an one lass as has had ’er eye on him. I heard tell you nursed him in war?’

  ‘Yes, yes I did.’

  She wiped her hand on her apron then held it out to me. ‘In that case I reckon you deserved to get him – I wishes you all the best.’

  I shook the firm plump hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Fairbarn.’ We parted with mutual smiles.

  Turning out of the steep back alleyway into Royds Street I noticed several women watching me as they stood in their doorways gossiping in the sun. I walked past with my head held high, my cheeks rather flushed. As I unlocked the front door I wondered if any of them were the ones who had had an eye on Ben. Then I remembered Emmie Greenhalgh and felt very guilty.

  I knew potatoes had to be peeled, because I had seen Ginger doing it at No. 23, so I hacked away at them with a small knife I found in the kitchen table drawer. I had a dim memory of seeing the VAD cooks chopping meat and vegetables into small pieces and throwing them all into one big cauldron, so I found the largest saucepan I could in the scullery and began to attack the carrots. When they were in, together with the meat, there was still plenty of room in the pan so I threw the potatoes on top, too. Then I ran some water over the lot and put it down on the lighted gas ring. I decided cooking was not so complicated as people liked to pretend and sat down in the rocker for a moment – and suddenly fell asleep.

  A voice saying, ‘What’s that for?’ woke me up. It was Ben, in his overalls, his face grimed with sweat. I gazed up at him, half awake, as he asked again, ‘What’s that for?’ and pointed at my new gas stove.

  ‘It’s for cooking, Ben.’

  ‘For burning, more like.’ He picked up the saucepan and lifted the lid. ‘This is all dried up! But anyroad, you’ve got a range – this contraption’ll only be costing extra when there’s no need.’

  ‘Gas is much easier to use - and I’ll pay for its hire, Ben, my father arranged –’

  ‘I don’t want none of your father’s money!’ He hit the table with his fist and the tea cup jumped. ‘I told him straight – I can support you – but I don’t expect you to go off behind me back first morning we’re wed and run us into debt. How much is it costing?’ I whispered the answer and watched his lips tighten before he said grudgingly, ‘I suppose I can cover it – but me old mam never needed a gas stove – she’d’a’ been real glad of a lovely range like this.’

  I blinked and brushed my hand over my eyes while his back was to me, then took my dried-up stew out to the scullery and ran more water over it. As I turned off the tap I heard his angry shout. ‘You’ve let range go out!’

  I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘It was too hot in there.’

  ‘Lass, that were me hot water for me bath!’ He sounded outraged. ‘How am I going to get this muck off with cold?’ I stood in the scullery and salt tears slid down my cheeks and dripped into the stew. There was a clatter of fire irons, then he muttered, ‘There’s still a drop of warm – that’ll have to do. Bring me pail, lass.’

  I picked up the bucket and took it into the kitchen; he reached a hand back without looking at me and wedged it under the tap of the range boiler. I pressed myself into the corner with my gas stove and began to scrape at the bottom of the pan before putting it back on the light. He stood up slowly and I heard him moving towards me and turned my face away. He began to lumber off to the scullery, and there was the splashing of water. I kept on stirring with my back to the kitchen as he refilled his bucket. The bath creaked in the scullery, then he called out, ‘Helena – will you fetch me a change of clothes – from bedroom?’ I did not answer, my throat was too tight, but I went upstairs and found what he wanted and came back and thrust the bundle through the scullery door, trying not to see the naked shape of him in the bath. ‘Thanks, lass.’

  I attacked the stew again; the potatoes had gone grey and begun to break up. I could hear him blundering about in the scullery, then pushing the door open. I kept on stirring, my head bent. He cleared his throat. ‘Look, lass – Helena – I – well, I suppose I were a bit hasty –’ I blinked hard, but it was too late; a large tear plopped in
to the stew. We both stood frozen, then he sprang forward. ‘Oh, lass – I didn’t mean to – Here, leave that saucepan and come here.’

  I felt his arms come round me as he swung me off the floor and then sat down heavily in his armchair, with me in his lap. I began to sob. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I’m sorry.’ He held me very tightly against him, and began to stroke my hair. Slowly I stopped shaking. He pulled my head gently back from his shoulder, but I kept my swollen lids closed. ‘Will tha give us a kiss now, lass? To show we’re friends?’ I moved my head towards his and felt his warm lips come down on mine, then there was a spluttering from the stove and he put me down and jumped up, reaching for the stew. ‘Looks like tea’s ready.’

  The stew was horrible. After forcing my way through two mouthfuls I put my knife and fork down and said hopelessly, ‘I’m sorry Ben – and I forgot the salt.’

  He smiled across at me. ‘I reckon there’s enough from your tears, eh?’ I tried to smile back, and sat watching him manfully eating on – he even mopped his plate with a piece of bread. I fetched the jam tarts and he brightened. ‘Did you bake these, lass?’ I felt my face contract and he said hurriedly, ‘No – of course not. I’ll mash some tea and we’ll take it in front room – I don’t like parlours as are only used of a Sunday.’

  As soon as we were sitting either side of the fireplace he nodded towards the piano, his face expectant. ‘Mebbe you could give me a song, eh?’

  My throat tightened and it was a long time before I managed to whisper, ‘My voice – I – my voice – after Robbie died – it’s gone – it’s left me.’

  I saw the disappointment wash over his face, then he drew a deep breath and said, ‘never mind, lass – piano won’t be wasted. You can still play.’

  ‘Yes Ben, that’s true – I can still play. And it’s a very good piano – with a nice tone.’

  He said eagerly, ‘You’ve tried it, then?’

  ‘Yes, yes Ben – I’ve tried it. I’ll enjoy playing on it.’ But I knew as I spoke I was lying. For me, playing was only the means to an end – I played to sing, and now I could not sing. Without my voice the piano was useless to me.

  We sat and sipped our tea in silence; we seemed to have nothing to say to each other.

  At last he cleared his throat. ‘Ivy and Ada made a rug apiece for us – one for each room.’

  ‘That was kind of them Ben – they’re very pretty.’ He gestured down to the blue and red stripes at his feet. ‘This ’un’s Ivy’s – she said the youngsters asked if they could help – me niece, Fanny’s childer – they only live down street from Ivy. They said as how they wanted to make a rug for their new auntie, so Ivy let them – but they couldn’t get stripes straight – you can see at your end.’ I looked down; he was right, the stripes were almost a zig-zag at the corner. ‘Ivy were a bit put out, but I told her it didn’t matter – young’uns were doing their best, and our Benjamin, he’s only eight, and Edie’s a couple of years younger. So I reckon they did well to stick at it – they made most on it theirselves, Ivy said.’ He paused, and I smiled politely. ‘That’s their photograph up on piano.’

  ‘Yes – I know, Ben – I noticed it this morning.’

  I saw his glance travel along the line of frames – to my pictures. It lingered on Gerald, tall and handsome in his gleaming breastplate with his sword at his side. ‘I see you put some of your photos up – I left a space for you.’ He stood up and went to the end of the line and picked up the one of Mother and Papa. ‘Who’s that with your parents – I seem to recognize her.’

  ‘Lady Maud was at the wedding, Ben – she’s Juno’s mother – you remember, at –’

  ‘Aye, at Eetapps, in canteen.’ He studied the photo again. ‘Funny how she’s got her arm through your pa’s – and your ma hasn’t.’ I looked at it – he was right, but I had never noticed it before. I felt my face blush as I murmured, ‘Maud’s always been – a good friend of Papa’s. And of Mother’s too,’ I added hastily.

  His head jerked up and he stared at me for a moment – then quickly put the picture down as if it were red-hot. I remembered the way he had shouted at me in the dog cart, and from the colour of his face he did as well. He picked up Guy and Pansy. ‘Is that your elder brother and his wife – one who’s in Canada now – whose suit I wore?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right – goodness, what a good memory you’ve got, Ben.’

  He grunted. ‘She looks a nice quiet lass. Have they got any childer?’

  ‘Four sons – and another baby on the way.’

  Ben stared at the photo. ‘But he’s already in uniform there – when were he married?’

  ‘In 1915 – May, 1915.’

  ‘They don’t waste much time in your family, do they?’ He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘I reckon meself that’s too quick for a woman – and she’s only a little dab of a thing. No one thinks more of youngsters than I do, but I’m going to be more careful with you, lass – I’ll tell you that now.’ My face flamed. He put down Guy and picked up the photo of my sisters with Conan. ‘I recognize our Letty all right – and that’s your other sister, isn’t it – her who was at wedding?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Alice. Hugh – her husband – was killed in the war. But she’s married again now.’

  ‘And who’s that?’ His stubby finger splayed out over Conan’s laughing face.

  ‘My cousin.’ He waited, so I went on. ‘He transferred to the RFC and was shot down and taken prisoner. He’s in China now – flying.’ Ben examined the photograph carefully. ‘He certainly favours you and your brothers.’

  ‘His mother was Mother’s twin sister.’

  Ben glanced up at me and smiled. ‘So twins run in family, do they? Wonder if we’ll get two for price of one?’ He put the photo down and came towards me; I saw his eyes were fixed on my breasts. ‘Have to see what I can do for you, lass, eh?’ His voice dropped. ‘I know you like double rations!’

  I jumped up and dodged round him and went to the piano – suddenly I did not want him to touch me – not now. I spoke in a rush. ‘And this photograph in the middle is of the Marquess of Staveley – my fiancé, who was killed in the war.’

  He subsided into his chair, and his voice was flat as he said. ‘Aye, I recognized him, too. I’ll have a read of paper now, if you don’t mind, lass.’

  ‘Please do.’

  I sat with my hands in my lap as he turned the pages. When he had finished he folded it neatly up, bent down for the tray and asked, ‘What did you get for me bait?’

  ‘Your bait – you’re going fishing?’

  ‘For me snap tin – to eat at work.’ He read the answer in my guilty silence and heaved a sigh before he said, ‘It’s all right lass – I suppose I should have told you. Old Sammy Whittle’ll still be open round corner – I’ll fetch some boiled ham on me way up to plot.’

  As he put his jacket on to go out I asked, ‘Does he – this Mr Whittle – does he sell butter?’

  Ben looked at me, then he nodded and muttered, half to himself, ‘I reckon I’ll be visiting Sammy Whittle’s regular of an evening with you in charge of housekeeping.’ My face flamed and I turned my mouth away when he came to kiss me goodbye and his lips only brushed my ear. As soon as he had gone I went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on for the washing up; I would leave the kitchen clean and tidy before I went to bed – how dared he criticize me?

  I was just finishing washing myself when I heard him come in; I scrambled quickly into my nightdress and turned to the window and closed my eyes. He bent over me and whispered tentatively, ‘Helena?’ but I pretended to be sleeping, and after a few moments he went back to his own side and eased himself very carefully under the covers. After a while his steady breathing told me he was asleep.

  Chapter Two

  I slept fitfully all night, but managed to keep still and not disturb him. I kept my eyes closed while he got dressed in the morning, but he still came back with a cup of tea. I whispered, ‘Thank you, Ben,’ and turned my face into the pill
ow. His hand touched my hair briefly and then he left. As soon as I heard the front door close I sat up and drank the tea; I felt tired and ill.

  He had cleaned out the range and re-laid it and I succeeded in getting it alight; then I swept and dusted, and made the bed. It was an effort to walk down to the town, but I managed to find the market hall and buy some more meat, and a cabbage instead of carrots. I dragged myself back up the hill.

  At midday several boxes and a trunk arrived from Hatton – Letty had sent on the wedding presents as promised. The van boys carried them up to the back bedroom for me but it was getting so crowded in there I thought I had better go up and start unpacking. Letty had put my operatic scores in the top of the trunk; I lifted the top one out and a photograph slipped out and fell to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over and my whole body went rigid: I was on the lawn at Hatton, before the war – standing between my handsome twins, proudly holding an arm of each. I sank to the floor, clutching it to my breast, and crouched huddled against the hard boxes in a stupor of misery.