Letters From a Patchwork Quilt

by Clare Flynn

  As he walked on, the image of Eliza appeared before him. He was about to betray her. Having sex with Mary Ellen hadn’t counted. He’d had no choice about that. The quick fuck on the floor with the stevedore’s wife didn’t count either. He’d felt nothing. It was just a transaction. Expediency. But making love to Gertrude would be different. He may not love her but he did care for her. She was his friend. His confidante. Eliza wouldn’t like that. That would be a kind of betrayal. But then hadn’t he already betrayed Eliza by allowing this secret friendship with Gertrude to flourish?

  He reached the beach but there was no sign of her. He looked back towards the town and saw her coming towards him, her figure silhouetted against the skyline as she walked along the Gare. The smoke stacks rose behind her, the plumes of smoke from the foundry chimneys blowing sideways in the wind like ostrich feathers in a fancy hat. She is a good woman, he thought. Don’t hurt her.

  They walked for half an hour, then sat down side by side in the lee of a wall.

  ‘I brought you some bread and jam,’ she said. ‘The jam’s homemade. Remember I picked some blackberries, last time we met?’

  He opened the waxed paper-wrapped parcel and bit into the bread and jam with a hunger he hadn’t realised he was feeling.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Sweet but with a bit of a tang.’ He looked at her and added, ‘Like you.’

  She frowned. ‘Don’t talk like that, Jack. I don’t like it. We never talk that way. We don’t need that.’

  ‘Need what? I don’t understand.’

  ‘That flirting stuff. It doesn’t sound sincere and I don’t like it. It’s shallow and meaningless.’

  ‘I was just trying to be nice.’

  ‘Nice!’ Her tone was scornful. ‘I don’t want nice. Talk to me properly or don’t talk at all.’

  He sat in silence for a few moments. A large flock of dunlins flew past and landed in the field behind them, digging for insects in the sandy soil. He listened to their cries: a series of light, high-pitched squeaks, insistent, then a softer more plaintive note. Their sound was sad and intensified the loneliness of the place. Jack looked around them and could see no one. Just the two of them, the diminishing sands of the beach, the gunmetal grey sea, flecked with white as the tide rose towards them, and the dozens of hungry birds.

  He took a deep breath then said, ‘I need you to help me, Gertrude.’

  ‘Help you? How can I help you?’

  ‘I’ve ruined my life, Gertrude.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’ve plenty to be thankful for.’

  ‘I’ve nothing. It’s all wrong. I never wanted to be in this town. I’m stuck in a job I don’t want to do. I’m married to a woman I never wanted to marry. I have an empty meaningless life.’

  ‘What do you want then?’ she asked.

  ‘I want you to help me.’

  ‘I can’t help you, Jack, you have to help yourself. You have to believe in yourself. I believe in you, but I don’t think you believe in you. If things aren’t working out the way you wanted them then you have to change them. Either that or make the best of what you’ve got. Look around this town and you see people facing far worse every day than you’ll ever face. Maybe you should count your blessings.’

  This wasn’t working out the way he hoped. He decided to try a different tack.

  ‘Have you ever loved anyone, Gertrude? I know you don’t love your husband. You told me that. But has there ever been anyone else?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Her voice sounded brittle, nervy.

  ‘Because it’s important we’re honest with each other.’

  ‘If you want me to be honest you must be honest too. You go first,’ she said.

  ‘Very well. Yes, I have been in love.’

  She said nothing for a moment, gathering the fabric of her skirt in her hand and crushing the cloth under her fingers. Then she turned to look at him. ‘And are you in love now?’

  ‘I am,’ he said.

  ‘But not with your wife?’ Gertrude looked down, her hands nervously pulling the fabric of her dress down over the top of her boots, a smile playing about her lips. ‘Oh, Jack, I don’t know what to say.'

  Her voice was tremulous, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. He went on. ‘Her name is Eliza and I will always love her. I may never see her again but I will love her until I die.’

  Gertrude gave a little choked cry. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ Her voice was strange, strained.

  ‘Because I want you to know all about me. Because you are my friend. My true friend. My only friend.’

  ‘And this Eliza? Is she not your friend?’

  ‘Of course. More than friend to me. But she is far away from here. Gone forever. In America.’

  ‘And you still love her?’

  ‘Of course. I love her with all my heart and soul. I promised myself to her. We were separated from each other against our wills and I was pushed into marriage with my wife. Not a single day goes by when I don’t think of Eliza. I know I may never see her again but I can’t stop loving her. She’s everything to me.’

  ‘Everything?’

  He nodded, oblivious to her distress. ‘It’s the tragedy of my life. Being torn from her. Being separated for ever. I know she feels the same.’

  ‘You write to her then?’ Gertrude’s voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘No. I don’t know where she is. I’ve written poems about her. To her. Dozens of them. One day I pray she will read them and know how I feel. But I know they’re not good enough. They don’t do her justice. No matter how hard I tried. So I’ve stopped writing them now.’

  She swallowed and brushed tears from her eyes. ‘The wind is strong today,’ she said.

  Jack was blind to her wretchedness. ‘Now it’s your turn. Have you ever been in love?'

  She was silent. Jack pushed her shoulder gently with his own. ‘Come on. Tell me, Gertrude.’

  She sighed. Pulled her knees up and hunched her shoulders down, resting her chin on her knees as she stared out to sea. ‘I thought I was in love once, but not any more.’

  ‘Did he love you?’

  ‘He did not.’

  ‘Foolish man.’

  ‘Perhaps. I know now that he was a vain man. A clever man. But I can see now he lacked imagination. He was incapable of entering into another person’s feelings and understanding them.’

  ‘Then he didn’t deserve you.’

  She shivered. ‘It’s getting cold. I should be getting back.’ As she stood up the flock of dunlins rose as one and flew off. Jack reached for her hand and pulled her back down beside him.

  ‘Since we are both disappointed in love, why don’t we find some consolation in each other?’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her before she could stop him.

  Gertrude pulled away from him and pushed him back against the wall. ‘What are you doing? What are you thinking of?’

  He reached for her again. ‘Please, Gertrude. Neither of us has any happiness in our marriages so it’s only natural that we should look for comfort with each other. There’s no one to get hurt. My wife no longer shares a bed with me and you’ve told me your husband’s embraces are not welcomed by you. What harm is there? And I want you, Gertrude. I really want you. You can make me so happy.’

  ‘You don’t love me.'

  ‘Don’t you see? That’s why it’s perfect. That’s why we should do this. We like and respect each other and we will make no demands on each other.’

  ‘You’re making demands now.'

  ‘Not demands! We mean so much to each other. We share so much. Why not this too? Please, Gertrude, if you care for me at all, please let me have you. Please let me touch you. This is how you can help me. Let me hold you in my arms and make love to you. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m not like your husband. It will be different. I swear to you. Please, if you care for me at all, do this for me?’

  ‘You want to use me?’

  ‘No, I want us to use each other. I want it for you too. I want to
give you pleasure.’

  ‘Pleasure?’ Her voice was a sneer. ‘And what about this woman you love, this Eliza? What would she think of what you are proposing?’

  He turned his face away from her. ‘She wouldn’t like it. But she would understand. She wouldn’t want me to suffer like this. She wouldn’t want me to be in pain. She would forgive me. I have tried and tried to be faithful to her memory, but I am a man and I have needs. It’s different for women. I believe she would understand.’

  ‘And me? Why should I do this?’

  ‘Because you too understand me, Gertrude. Because you are a woman of great understanding. Because we like each other. Because you can help me. Help make my life a little better. Help to take away some of the misery. Don’t you want to make me happy? I want to make you happy.'

  He leaned into her and cupped one of her breasts in his hands and squeezed it gently. ‘Like this.’ He placed his other hand on her leg, under her skirts, and began stroking her thigh, moving his hand higher. ‘And this'

  She didn’t resist, but made a choked sound that he took to be desire. He pushed her back onto the sand beneath the wall. ‘Thank you, my dear Gertrude, thank you.’

  She let him do what he wanted with her, lying under him, unmoving. After it was over he took a small tin from his pocket and rolled himself a cigarette, watching her as she pulled her clothing together.

  He stood up and held his arms open. ‘Come here. Let me hold you a moment,’ he said.

  She moved towards him.

  ‘You have saved my life,’ he said. ‘I needed that so much. Meeting you is the best thing to happen to me since I came to Middlesbrough years ago. I knew you would help me, dear friend.'

  Gertrude stood unmoving while he held her. He stroked her hair and tucked the stray strands behind her ears and kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re a good woman, Gertrude.’

  When he released her from his hold she stepped away from him, gathering her shawl about her. ‘You’ve spoiled it all. You’ve wrecked everything. But you’re too selfish to understand why.’

  Jack screwed up his eyes in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean? You wanted it too.’

  ‘I never wanted it. Not like that. And I never want it again. Before now, I had dreams. You have stolen my dreams.'

  She swung her arm around, pointing down the beach. ‘All this too. You’ve spoiled all this for me. Being here was all I had. Being here! This place was my refuge. I shared it with you and now you’ve ruined it. I can’t come back again. I’ve nowhere now. I hope you’re happy.’

  ‘Gertrude! What are you talking about?’

  ‘I loved you. Really loved you. You were too stupid to even notice. Too wrapped up in yourself. I’m ashamed that I let myself be hoodwinked by you and your charm. Then when you trampled over my feelings, flaunting your love for another woman, I saw you as if for the first time. I was no longer blind. You’re a selfish man, Jack Brennan.’

  Jack was stunned. He swept his hair back from his brow and stared at her, shaking his head. ‘But why? Why did you let me?’

  ‘Surely you don’t think I wanted it? I let you do it to punish myself. To hurt myself so that I’d never ever forget how stupid I’ve been. I wanted to know if you were so unseeing and uncaring that you’d still have your way with me, even though I didn’t want it. And you were. You looked very satisfied with yourself afterwards. I don’t suppose you even care how it was for me. Well, I’ll tell you anyway. It was horrible. Worse than with my husband. He puts the food on the table and the clothes on my back so it’s only fair he expects to get something in return. But having you use my body for your own pleasure with no regard to my feelings was the worst thing. After telling me about your love for another woman. A woman you know you’ll never see again. If you cared so deeply for her why didn’t you go after her? Tell me that, Jack? Why? You’re a weak man. Passive. You allow the world to shape you. You do nothing to shape it yourself. But you’ve succeeded in doing one thing. You have broken my heart. Goodbye, Jack. Don’t come near me again.’

  Half running, she stumbled along the beach. Jack stood rooted to the spot, watching her until she disappeared, swallowed up by the soot-stained bricks of the town.

  34

  Repercussions

  All the way back into town Jack puzzled over Gertrude’s reaction. She had let him have his way with her – how was he to know that she didn’t want to make love? He thought they were both seeking comfort in each other. A convenient arrangement. And he’d had no clue that she was in love with him. She had given no hint. She had been a friend to him, never coquettish. How was he expected to read her mind?.

  He walked on, quickening his pace, feeling more aggrieved with every step. Gertrude’s behaviour was unreasonable. She was an intelligent woman so should understand that he could never offer her love when that was reserved for Eliza alone – but why not share some pleasure, intimacy, closeness? He was, after all, fond of her. He liked her. Very much. Why was that not enough for her?

  He would give her a few days to calm down, then call on her to make peace. Perhaps he’d rushed her. If they returned to their platonic friendship he could smooth things over and maybe after a while she’d come round. He just needed to be patient.

  When he got home that evening, Mary Ellen, unusually, was standing in the bar waiting for him.

  ‘There’s a gentleman coming to see you this evening and I want you to be polite to him.’

  ‘I’m a publican, Mary Ellen, we’re polite to everyone. Unless they’re mafficking or causing bother.’

  ‘Mr Vickers won’t be doing any of that. He’s in the League of the Cross. And he doesn’t want to enter a public house so he’ll knock at the back door at about seven and you’re to bring him upstairs to the parlour.’

  ‘And why should I be doing that? I’ve no truck with your Temperance friends trying to put me out of business. If you weren’t so daft you’d have worked that one out.’

  She ignored the barbed comment. ‘He’s coming to ask for consent to marry Marian.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to ask me. He’s welcome to her. If he wants permission he’d better bugger off to Bristol and ask that old priest.’

  ‘Don’t be uncouth, Jack Brennan. You’re a disgrace. Mr Vickers is a good Catholic and he’s doing what you were supposed to be doing. He’s a schoolmaster.’

  ‘Bully for him.’

  ‘Jack!’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare bring up those lies about not being Marian’s father.’

  There was no point in arguing with her. Long ago he had accepted that Mary Ellen had re-cast her own story.

  He sighed. ‘Very well. I’ll see the lad.’

  When Jack opened the door to Malcolm Vickers he realised it was no lad who was asking for the girl’s hand. The man looked a few years older than Jack. He was tall with a slight stoop, clean shaven and wearing a pair of round, horn-rimmed spectacles.

  They sat down in the empty parlour. Jack was about to offer him a drink, but remembered there was no point. The man was a teetotaller and Jack wasn’t going to offer a peppermint cordial to someone who was set upon undermining his livelihood.

  ‘You know why I’m here, Mr Brennan?’

  Jack shook his head, determined not to make things easy.

  The man coughed, and Jack thought he looked annoyed. Good.

  ‘I’d like to marry your daughter.’

  ‘Which one? I have several. Although I think Clementina may be a little young for you. Come to think of it, they all may be a little young for you.’

  Vickers gave another nervous cough. ‘I’m forty-six. I’ve never been married. I spent ten years in a seminary in Ireland but before I was ordained I realised that God had not blessed me with a vocation so I became a teacher. I am employed at the Reformatory of Saint Dominic near Northallerton. The boys there are all sinners but we pray that by the good example of the Brothers they will salvage some small good in their misbegotten lives. I have put by some money and feel that the
time has come when my work there would benefit from having a wife, a helpmate, someone who can share in my life’s mission. I believe that Miss Brennan will be most suitable.’

  ‘And what does Miss Brennan think?’

  ‘I thought it best to seek your consent as her father before asking her.’

  ‘How do you think Marian will feel about living in a home for criminal boys?’

  ‘I believe she will view it as I do. As a means of bringing sinners closer to God. Miss Brennan has all the qualities to make a good Catholic wife. She is devout, sincere and tireless in her work for the League of the Cross.’

  ‘Take her then. If she’ll have you. I’ll not stand in your way.’

  The man looked astonished at his abruptness.

  ‘I’m needed downstairs soon. I’ve a pub to run. It may have escaped your notice, Mr Vickers, but this family is supported by the proceeds of liquor sales. I’ll get her in here and you can ask her.’

  He called out and Marian entered the room with Mary Ellen in tow.

  Jack spoke first. ‘You know why Mr Vickers is here?’

  The girl shook her head. Jack turned to Vickers who was standing in the middle of the room, frozen like a startled deer. Jack sighed. The poor fellow would have done well to have a large whisky first to whet his courage.

  ‘He wants to marry you. Will you have him?’

  She looked up and nodded, dropping her head again quickly, but Jack thought he detected a smirk on her face.

  Jack sat on the steps of the parish hall and ran his hand round his collar. It was too tight and the day was unusually hot. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a hip flask and took a long slug of scotch.

  Mary Ellen had made it clear that this was to be a completely dry wedding, serving only tea and cordials. That morning when she saw him filling the flask she had tried to wrestle it from his hands.

  ‘One day. Just one day. Can’t you do without the drink for one single day? For your daughter’s wedding. For our eldest.’