Pure as the Lily

by Catherine Cookson

  Her tiredness forgotten, she almost skipped into the kitchen, made herself some cocoa, put a slice of boiled ham between two pieces of bread, then sat down at the little table near the window to eat it.

  She wouldn’t take it into the sitting-room, no, she didn’t want to make any crumbs there. When she was finished eating she washed her face and hands because she felt sweaty, and as she dried herself on the roller towel behind the door she turned her face to the side and looked in the little mirror hanging on the wall, Ben’s shaving mirror.

  She stared at her face. Was she bonny? Men often

  said she was bonny; not only her gran da and her da but Mr. Weir and Mr. Tyler and Mr. Knowles. If she passed them at the corner they would laugh at her and say, “By! you’re getting a bonny lass, Mary.” She liked it when they said that, although she would shake her head at them and say, “Eeh! Mr. so-and-so.”

  She went into the sitting-room again and looked at the records.

  Ketelby’s In a Monastery Garden. Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty.

  The Blue Danube Waltz. Victor Silvester’s Dance Band. Oh, she’d put that on first, she liked him.

  Oh lovely! lovely! The exclamation she made aloud covered both the whipped cream whirl and the music and as she bit through the hard chocolate and into the cream she waltzed: one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, and she laughed to herself as she went round the room, weaving in and out of the furniture. She loved dancing, she would love to be able to dance properly. She had once gone to a dance in the Catholic school rooms with Teresa Hewitt. It had been wonderful, she had really enjoyed herself, but her mother had found out, and that was that. Her mother couldn’t stand the Hewitts because they were Catholics; but then her mother couldn’t stand any of the families in the street, because she considered they were all common, except of course Mr. Tollett.

  She had never been able to keep a real girl friend because she couldn’t invite her into the house; everybody in Cornice and Benbow Streets were below her ma’s notice. She wondered if her ma knew what the neighbours said about her because when she was having one of her yelling matches she sounded as common as muck herself.

  Da-da-d’dah, d’dah, d’dah! Oh, this was lovely: a big warm room lit by a pink-shaded light, and wonderful music, and a chocolate cream whirl.

  She licked her fingers, then ran swiftly into the kitchen and wiped them on a flannel, and ran back into the room just as the record was finishing.

  She played four records and danced to them all, even to A

  Monastery Garden. Then, her legs feeling tired, she decided to have a bit read. The bookcase presented an assortment of literature. The top shelf showed her books by Ethel M. Dell, Elinor Glynn, Ruby M. Ayres and many others. The next two shelves, the books were thicker and heavier looking. There was some by Dickens. She knew about Dickens, she had learned about him at school. She didn’t care much for Dickens;

  it was the pictures in the book that put her off. The other names were new to her: Thackeray, Conrad, Conan Doyle, Edgar Wallace. Oh, she had heard of him. But she didn’t think she’d like to read any of these.

  She reached up to the top shelf and picked out The Way of an Eagle by Ethel M. Dell. Then she settled herself in the armchair with the dish of sweets to her side, and she was just getting interested in the story when suddenly, the book dropped from her hand, and she put her head back in the corner of the chair, and slept. , It was a noise from the street that woke her, boys running and yelling as they kicked a tin. She sat up with a start and looked at the clock.

  Half past ten. Eeh! she must have fallen asleep. She felt very tired.

  She stretched and yawned, then got up and replenished the fire, after which she made herself a strong cup of tea. She didn’t want to be asleep when Mr. Tollett came back, he would think it had all been too much for her. She dabbed her face with cold water, nipped her cheeks to bring more colour to them, which was unnecessary, put a comb through her hair, then went back into the room and put on another record. She had picked The Blue Danube Waltz again.

  Slowly now she began to dance, but just backwards and forwards in front of the gramophone.

  When the arms came about her and she was swung round and into the waltz, she stifled her scream. Then, to the beat of the music, she gulped, “Oh! Mister Toll-ett. Mister Tollett!”

  Da-dad’dah, d’dah, d’dah! “ Ben sang as he waltzed her round the

  couch, in between the chairs, around the occasional table and back towards the couch, and when the record ground to a halt she gasped again as his arms tightened round her in a vice-like grip, and for a second she was pressed close to him, her cheek to his cheek, his lips near her ear. Then she was standing an arm’s length from him, where he had thrust her, and, her breath almost choking her, she gaped at him. He ... he was tight, she told herself, he was tight.

  “Oh Mary! I’m sorry, b-but, you see you’re to blame. I did what you told me, I got tight, I’m, I’m not drunk, not real drunk, I... I didn’t stay long enough, I thought I’d better get back while... while I could.”

  “Did... did you enjoy it, Mr. Tollett?”

  “Yes, and no, Mary. Yes and no. And Mary.” He lurched towards her now and caught hold of her hands again and stared into her face.

  “Don’t call me Mr. Tollett. I’ve wanted to tell you for, for weeks not to call me Mr. Tollett. Ben, call me Ben. Go on, say Ben.”

  “Oh Mister....” She shook her head and laughed with a nervous laugh, then said, “Ben.”

  “That’s better.”

  As she gazed into his face she felt her legs begin to tremble as if she had been running for a long time. His eyes were bright and dark.

  The look in them was deep; it was a look she had seen before but it was much deeper now. She tried to stop the trembling creeping up through her body. She said, “Thank you. Thank you for the sweets, an’... an’ I loved the walnut cream whirl.”

  “Aw! For God’s sake, Mary, be quiet! ... Thank you for the walnut cream whirl!” He gave a quick, impatient toss to his head, then bringing his face close to hers he murmured, Don’t you know I want to give you things, haven’t you seen it? Oh my God, Mary! “

  She couldn’t stop him. She didn’t know whether she would have if she could, but he was on his knees before her, his arms were around her thighs, his head was pressed into her waist, and his voice sounded as if he were actually

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  crying when he muttered, “Aw Mary. Aw Mary, don’t you know, I love you, girl? I love you ... I love you.” Each time he said ‘love’ he pressed his head hard into her waist.

  “I’ve been driven nearly crazy these past weeks ... haven’t you seen? Aw Mary!” He now raised his face and looked up as he said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid of me. Please don’t be afraid of me, Mary.” Her bottom lip trembled as she said, “I’m... I’m not.” And she wasn’t afraid, even while she was. She couldn’t understand herself. Mr. Tollett was telling her he loved her and . and he was right in what he said, he had been telling her that for weeks and she hadn’t let herself catch on. That had been the look in his eyes. Her breath was pushed out of her body when he again pressed his head into her, and his words were muffled now as he groaned, “I love you, Mary. Oh God! how I love you.

  I’ve never loved like this in me life.

  NEVER! NEVER

  She could say nothing. She knew of no way to answer talk like this.

  All she wanted to say was, “Get off your knees, Mr. Tollett,” for it didn’t seem right that he should be on his knees to her.

  As if he had heard her, Ben pulled himself to his feet, but still kept close hold of her and, leading her to the couch, he pulled her down beside him. And now she was in the circle of his arms again and he was asking softly, “Do you like me a little bit, Mary?”

  She paused before nodding her head; and then she said, “Yes.” And this was true, she did like him.

  “Do, do you think you could love me?”

 
She looked at his face. He was good-looking but in a different way from Hughie Amesden. She had been in love with Hughie Amesden for years. Did she still love him? She didn’t know, she only knew she was excited now, even while she was frightened. Perhaps this was love; it must be something more than liking, but it wasn’t the same feeling that she had for Hughie Amesden. She had never seen a white light around Mr. Tollett—around Ben. She would never be

  able to call him Ben, it sounded cheeky. Presumptuous was the word.

  She knew all about presumptuousness, because Mrs. Turner was always talking about this one being pre sumptuous and that one being presumptuous, and getting above themselves. Yet he was saying he loved her. But what about her ma?

  “What about me ma?” she said.

  Now he was shaking his head, impatiently and, his voice low and stiff he said, “Listen, Mary. If you don’t come back the morrow your mother’s never comin’ in here again, not to work or anything else. I I might as well tell you she’s been a great trial to me, your mother.”

  “I know.”

  ‘you know? “

  “I, I saw her once through the back shop window. It... it was the night you put her out the backyard door.”

  “Oh dear God!” He bowed his head. Then lifting it sharply, he said, “But there was never anything between us, never. Years ago when we were baims together she used to trail me. I never could stand her, honest. I shouldn’t say this, but I never could stand her. When Jane died I was at my wit’s end and I was glad of her help, but I never imagined that she would start again else I wouldn’t have let her in the door.... And you know something, Mary? From the minute you came in the house I’ve been amazed that there isn’t a bit of her in you. You take after Alee; he’s a good man, your da.”

  Yes, yes, me da’s a good man. “ She could love him for that alone, for saying her da was a good man.

  “He should never have married her, but she was deter mined to be married. Do ... do you know something else? She was one of the main reasons why I went down to me aunt’s in Dorset an’ was apprenticed in the car trade. I was really scared of her in those—days; she was dominant, even then. You see we all lived near each other in the early years. Your da and me lived in the same street and ... and she lived opposite. It was impossible to get out of the back door, you know, or

  the front without running into her. And then when 67 dad died and I came back and found her living in this very street, Lord above...! But anyway, she was married so ... so I thought that wall all right ... Then I married Jane and Jane was the kind of person who could keep people in their place.... Oh yes yes indeed.”

  He took his hands from about her now and, cupping her face, said gently, “Don’t tremble so.... Look, I’m ... I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told a living soul, an’ likely I wouldn’t even tell you this if I wasn’t ... well slightly tight. But, but I feel you should know.... Well, what I’m goin’ to tell you is this, just this. I never was in love with Jane, I never felt anything for her, not like I feel for you, not like the feeling that’s in me now.

  And I’m speaking the truth, Mary, I’m . I’m not just pushing a line, but. aw God, I should have met you when I was seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Aw, Mary, aye I should, I should have met you then and felt then like I do now. Do you know something? “ He moved her head gently between his hands.

  “I was nearing thirty and I’d never met a lass that I liked. I ... I thought there must be something wrong with me, I did.

  I did. You know? “ He now shook his own head and closed his eyes for a moment as he went on, ‘you wouldn’t understand, you wouldn’t understand, but I wanted a wife, and I wanted children, and a home of me own, I was tired of living with me aunt, but I didn’t want to come back to Jarrow and me people. Oh no’—he pulled a face at himself “ Jarrow wasn’t for me. Then Mam and Dad died, an’ I was alone, here, stark alone. An’ then I met Jane and . and I can say this, it isn’t conceit, but Jane married me, I didn’t marry her. Yet I was glad to be taken over. Can, can you understand any of it? No, you’re not old enough,. But a funny thing happened with Jane, very funny. She voted to stay here’—he jerked his thumb downwards ‘and not in Gosforth.

  It was, Mary, it was really funny, for, with all her high faluting ways she had the same ideas as my own dad and my mam, because she could see us in no time at all having a chain of shops. It was no use me telling her that me dad had just closed two. No;

  she said the slump would come to an end some time, and this was the time to buy property when it was going cheap, and to keep on buying shares, the ones that were right down. My Aunt Annie had started me on that game, shares. That’s how she was so comfortably off.

  “Aw Mary’—he smiled wryly ‘you look amazed, an’ no wonder, no wonder. Aw what am I keeping on about? Shares, shops, there’s only one thing I really want you to know I love you.” The words came out on a thin whisper now.

  “I love you, Mary, an’ I need you. You’re so beautiful, fresh, soft... and kindly ... aw an’ kindly.”

  When he drew her to him and put his mouth on hers the shivering spiralled up through her body; it whirled round her head and sent her floating away. She had dreamt about being kissed, she had dreamt of Hughie Amesden kissing her, but even when she had imagined his lips on hers it had never been like this. She was weak and faint, there was no air in her body, she couldn’t breathe.

  “When his mouth left hers she drew a shuddering breath and gasped and his lips began moving over her eyes now, on to her ear, down to her chin, on to her neck, right down to her breast bone.

  “I love you, Mary, I love you, Mary, I love you, Mary.” His voice was like a chant going round and round in her head.

  “You love me? Say you love me, just a little bit. Say it, Mary. Say you love me just a little bit.” His brown eyes were looking into hers.

  They were wide. She had never seen eyes so wide, and dark and deep.

  “Say it, Mary.” It was like a whisper coming along a tunnel.

  “Say it, Mary. Say it, Mary.”

  “Yes, yes, I do.” She sent the whisper back along the tunnel. And then her breath was cut off again; she was smothered with kisses and she didn’t know what was happening to her, but she was kissing him back.

  And now he seemed to be kissing her with every part of his body. She was hot, sweating; she had the funny feeling that she was swelling all over fit to burst.

  They were lying along the couch now side by side, and

  then all of a sudden she felt herself falling, and they rolled on to the floor. They remained quiet for a moment and looked into each other’s faces, and she heard herself laughing. And then she was in his arms again and they were rolling over like two baims down a bank after their paste eggs on Easter Sunday. His hands were warm and soft and he kept saying, “I’ll never hurt you, Mary. Don’t worry, I’ll never hurt you, Mary. Don’t worry, I’ll never hurt you.” But he did, for she was suddenly shot through with pain; and then the world stood still.

  Chapter Six

  what is it, hinny? What’s the matter with you? “ Grandma Walton bent over Mary.

  “You’re all out of sorts these days. It’s far too much these two jobs, it’ll be a good thing when your ma gets back. She’ll soon be on her feet again; she had her foot to the ground when I was in yesterday.”

  What is it, lass? “ Now Peter “ Walton bent over her, his merry face holding a troubled look.

  “What is it? Has your ma been playin’ divils faggarties with you? Aw’ —he did not wait for an answer ‘don’t take no notice, that’s her. You should be used to it now. Aren’t you going to eat this bit of cake? Look, your grannie just baked it this mornm’, it’s as light as a feather.”

  IsTo thanks, Granda. I don’t feel like eating, I’ve, I’ve got a headache. “

  “But you seem to have had a headache on and off the last few weeks, hinny. Now if it doesn’t let up you’ll have to go and see the doctor.

  Have you t
old your ma? “

  Mary was looking downwards as she said, “No.”

  Then you should,” Her grandfather now put his arm around her and hugged her to him as he muttered gently, “ Your da’s worried, he’s worried sick, he can’t make you out. “

  Oh, if she could only make herself out, if she could only tell somebody. She had come round to tell her grannie ‘cos her grannie was good at breaking news. She had promised Ben she wouldn’t leave without telling her grannie. They had been over it time and again; he had wanted to go up the street and tell her da. He had said, “I’m glad it’s happened, love, I’m glad. Do you hear me? Because now it’ll have to come into the open and you’ll marry me.”

  He had asked her to marry him the very next morning after what had happened. When she had gone upstairs, she hadn’t been able to look at him but he had taken her in his arms and laughed and said, “Aw love, I’m the happiest man on earth. I’m going along to see your da right now.” And at this she had seemed to go mad for a minute, because she had cried at him, almost screamed at him, “No, no! you mustn’t. No, I tell you, I don’t want you to go and see me da.”

  She had realized fully, after a wakeful night, that there was nothing that her da didn’t know about Ben and her ma, and that somehow, no matter if Ben were in the right, her da still thought that he had taken her ma away from him. And now if Ben were to go up and say that he wanted to marry her, her da would go mad. Instinctively deep down inside her she knew he would do something, because besides everything else Ben was old enough to be her father, and if her ma had got him as she wanted to, he could have been at that.

  Ben had pacified her.

  “All right, all right,” he had said, “We’ll leave it and do it in your time. But you’re not vexed at me, are you?