Nest of Sorrows

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘My daughter is being brought up in that same atmosphere.’

  There followed a long pause. ‘What?’ asked Rachel eventually, her tone quiet. ‘He . . . he actually hits you?’

  ‘He daren’t. Only once did he hit me. I waited till he was asleep and then I clobbered him with his tennis racquet. After that, he seemed to go off physical violence. Now, it’s just verbal. And it’s not really violence, Geoff hasn’t the emotional energy for that. And he’s not really a bad man, he’s just weak and under his mother’s thumb. But he undermines me all the time, belittles me in front of our daughter. Well, I’ve started to fight back and that’s not good for Melanie. It wasn’t good for her when I used to sit there and take it, but now . . .’

  ‘Katherine, you cannot leave that poor girl to him and his mother. Think how she’ll turn out.’

  ‘She’ll turn out fine. Anyway, I couldn’t stay. That’s all there is to it.’

  Rachel sucked on her teeth before speaking again. ‘That house is worth a fortune but you’ll get not one penny . . .’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘No security, lass. Can you really come back and live here? No bathroom, the lav down the yard . . .’

  ‘I’m not coming back. I’ve taken a flat on Chorley New Road. Don’t look at me like that, Mam. I have never been able to stand the way you look at me.’

  ‘Why? What do you mean by that, eh? I look at you the same road as I look at everybody else. I’m not cross-eyed, am I? What’s the matter with the way I look at you?’

  Kate hung her head. ‘It’s as if you don’t like me, as if I’m some sort of great disappointment.’

  ‘Well.’ Rachel’s feet shuffled against the lino. ‘If you want the truth, I was disappointed in you at one time. I thought you’d have made some sort of a mark in the world. But I don’t feel like that now, not any more. You’re a beautiful young woman and a fine person . . .’

  ‘And a stupid one. How do you think I felt as a child? “You should work hard like Judith, you should stay clean like Judith”. I got Judith rammed down my throat until I almost hated my own sister. I am me . . . me . . . ME!’ She beat her breast harshly. ‘And I’m sick of being compared to perfection and coming out less than second best.’

  ‘Well. Well, I never thought . . .’

  ‘Never thought I cared? Well, I did care. I wasn’t going to turn myself into a doctor or a lawyer just to please him. I never did a stroke of work at school, that was my way of paying him back. I wanted out of here, Mam. The two-year course at training college meant a year less than university, a year less with this as my permanent address. Getting away from him was my prime ambition since I reached the age of reason. We tried to love one another, he and I. But we never managed it, not quite. His love had too many conditions attached to it, it was not the instinctive love of parent for child. And all you could say was “you never got a degree” and “look at Judith with her doctorate”. A failure. All my life, I was a failure. So I ran. And I ran to the wrong place. Just like you did, Mother.’

  Rachel shivered and folded her arms across a suddenly chilled body. ‘I know. I know. There’s no need for you to rub it in.’ The shoulders drooped heavily. ‘I watched you, love. Like me all over again, you were. It broke my heart to see it. Because, Katherine, I loved you more than . . . more than I should have done. And when they told me at Peter and Paul’s that you had this high intelligence quotient thing, I hoped you’d ride out on your own star, lass. You didn’t need anybody, because you had it all in your head. There was no need for you to escape as a pillion passenger, no need for you to sit in the shadow of a man. As I told you at the time, he was all wrong . . .’

  ‘And I didn’t listen.’

  ‘Huh! If you’d listened, it would have been for the first time. But I did warn you never to trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle . . .’

  ‘Or a man in a pink shirt.’

  ‘Exactly. And he was always too well turned out for my liking, never a hair out of place. He wasn’t good enough for you, Katherine. But you still have to go back.’ Rachel’s mouth set itself into a stubborn straight line.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’ll get no blessing from me, Katherine Murray.’

  ‘Saunders.’

  ‘Aye, that’s the nail on the head, isn’t it? You’re Saunders now, and you’ve been Saunders for fourteen years. Perhaps you should never have married him, but you know me, Katherine, I’m straight as a die when it comes to marriage. Yes, I know I left your dad for a while, but I did go back. I was teaching him a lesson. It’s all right to teach folk a lesson. But once wed, always wed till death you do part. And it’s not just my religion. It’s other things like commonsense. I mean, you get married, set up a home, put time and money and effort in – you can’t just throw all that away! It’s like investing in a failing bank! Then there’s kiddies to consider. Children need two parents . . .’

  ‘I needed my father like I needed a hole in the head. Without him, we might have been happy, Mam. Judith would possibly have stayed in England – where do you think she got her wanderlust, eh? She was quiet, I know, but he got on her nerves and that’s what made her decide to leave the country the first time. And I might have taken time over my decisions if I hadn’t had him breathing down my neck all the time. All it needed was for you to do what I’ve done, you should have got out while Judith and I were young.’

  Rachel glowered. ‘Ah, yes, but I would have taken you with me, wouldn’t I? The one time I did clear out for a while, I took you with me to my dad’s. And after he’d died, where could we go except into poverty? And what good would that have done? I notice you’ve not fetched your daughter away from her home, so why preach to me?’

  ‘She chose to stay. Melanie’s thirteen. At thirteen, a child should have a say in its own future. She wants her horses and her friends.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s one of the reasons why I stayed here. Because you two had school and friends. So you should do what I did, stay with your daughter.’

  They glared at one another for several seconds, then Rachel stood up and walked out to the kitchen. At the stove, she paused, a hand on the kettle’s handle. She suddenly realized that she loved and understood her little girl more in this moment – much more – than she had ever done in the past. Katherine was breaking out, emerging at last from that whited sepulchre of a marriage. And what was a sepulchre after all? A fancy blinking coffin, that was what! And should she, Rachel Murray, try to force her own child back into a place of decay and mouldering? ‘Katherine?’ Her voice was unsteady.

  ‘Yes?’ A similar shaky tone.

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Please. No sugar.’

  ‘Aye, I know. I know, love.’

  Rachel scooped tea from the Coronation caddy into a brown teapot. ‘I love you, child.’ It was easier from in here, easier not face to face. ‘It’s always been a terrible burden for me, knowing I loved you . . . differently from the way I love our Judith. You must never tell her, not as long as you live! That’s why I was so hard on you, because I needed it not to show.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’

  ‘Stop where you are! Don’t you be coming in here and watching me crying into the Black and Green’s. When you were born, we couldn’t open your hands. It was like you’d come into the world for a terrible big fight. Twelve months you screamed when you were awake, then you learned a few words and started telling us what was what. You were always special. Then when . . . when he treated you different and you went all quiet, I could have . . . oh God . . . I could have murdered him. All inside yourself, you went, as if you’d no idea of your own worth. I know what he did. I know what I let him do. May God find it in His heart to forgive me, because your childhood must have been awful, lass. But to me, you were the most special thing in all the world.’ She dabbed at her eyes before scalding the tea.

  ‘You never told me.’ The voice from the front room was small.

  ‘Didn’t want you big-headed, didn
’t want our Judith feeling out of place with me. Two wrongs would not have made a right. Because I love my other daughter too, always have and always will.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Rachel took a long, deep breath. ‘I’m going to show you now how much I really care for you. I’m going to swallow all my principles, everything I believe in, and I’m going to . . . to wish you luck.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I’m standing by you, princess.’

  ‘Thanks. Thanks, Mam.’ This was fractured by tears.

  ‘You’re right, I never loved him. Not after he started taking his frustrations out on my kids. I was a loyal wife, loyal to the point of stubborn. When you told me he was dead, my first thought was, “well, he can’t hurt our Katie no more”. Even though you were wed, I was still scared of him lashing out at you. Aye, and I was scared of you hitting him back, because I’d seen temper in your eyes when you looked at him. I know you came to the funeral just for my sake. Even our Judith never shed a tear and she was always his little doll.’ She paused to blow her nose. ‘Do what you have to do, my girl. You were never what they call conventional. Happen this is your way for a new start. I’m . . . I’m behind you. I just want you to know that no matter what my own beliefs are, I am on your side.’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’

  Rachel sniffed impatiently. ‘Don’t you be “oh mothering” me now. This tea will be iced lollies before we’ve even got to it. Drag yourself in here and butter these two scones. Can you have a scone? How many points is a scone? And before you come in, knock that cat off my chair, I know he’s on it, I can feel his eyes boring through the wall. And take your coat off unless you’re not stopping. I hope you’ve walked nothing in, lady, I was an hour doing that floor yesterday. You can switch the telly on if you want, there might be some nice hymns on. We’ve got some new neighbours, Santosh Mathur and his wife Hamida. Nobody else bothers with them, ’cos they’re from India or some such fancy place, but I like them, they’re blinking hard workers. She wears them fancy frocks and a red mark on her head, very pretty. Have you read about all that fighting in Paris? It’s in the paper, all knocking spots off one another round that Latin Quarter. You went there, didn’t you? I remember you telling me about the street women and all them funny underclothes in the shops . . .’

  Kate relaxed. All this chatter was just to hide emotion, to bring things back to ‘normal’. She looked at her watch. It hadn’t taken a week to argue it out; it had taken all of fifteen minutes. And there was a new warmth in her breast, a feeling of comfort and deep security. She didn’t yet recognize it as her mother’s love.

  ‘So you married her and she married you without either of you knowing the other?’ Rachel’s eyes were round with amazement. ‘Sounds like a flipping raffle to me. How did you know what sort of prize you’d get, if any?’

  Santosh Mathur’s white teeth glistened in his coffee-coloured face. ‘We knew nothing, but our parents knew everything. This is the way in my country.’ He glanced lovingly at his shy young wife. ‘The fathers and mothers think about suitability. Much is taken into account; education, upbringing, temperament. I saw Hamida only twice before our wedding, never with the two of us alone.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Rachel glanced from one to the other, mischief plain in her eyes. ‘Did you like her?’

  Hamida giggled as she stirred the pot on the fire. ‘He was told to like me.’

  ‘Hang on, hang on.’ Rachel lowered herself on to the brightly coloured couch. ‘This is daft, this is. Suppose you’d hated one another? Suppose you’d got wed, then found out that he snores or that she can’t cook.’

  ‘This does not happen, Mrs Murray,’ smiled Santosh.

  ‘Don’t talk so wet. Stands to reason, folk is folk no matter which side of the world they come from. There’s all the little things in life like talking with your mouth full and cutting toenails all over the bedroom. Them things on their own can ruin a marriage.’

  ‘We do not allow anything to spoil our marriage, Mrs Murray.’

  ‘Rachel. I’ve told you to call me Rachel. If I can get my mouth round your names, you can have a go at mine, so stop all this “Mrs Murraying”, if you please. Anyroad, how come you’re working in the mill? Didn’t you say you had a job doing accountancy back home?’

  ‘My qualifications are not recognized here, Rachel. I have to learn all over again.’

  ‘Why? Numbers is numbers.’

  ‘I need English examinations.’

  ‘Oh aye? Well, I’ll see what our Katherine can do about that. She has this friend called Maureen and her husband’s a money man, accounts and suchlike. Happen a new face would brighten up their office, eh?’

  Santosh spread long delicate fingers towards Rachel. ‘Please, do not trouble on my behalf. Remember, I am Indian, a coloured man.’

  ‘Eh? What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’

  ‘I am sorry, but I do not understand.’

  ‘Just a saying, lad. Now listen to me, you big soft thing, what’s this about being coloured? I’m coloured, look, I’m covered in freckles. One of the lesser-spotted, I am, quite rare. So don’t you be setting off with a chip on your shoulder. You’re as good as any man in this street and a darned sight better educated too.’

  ‘I am of an ethnic minority.’

  ‘Oh yes? We had one of them, but the wheel fell off. Another joke, son. Don’t talk to me about minorities. My mam and dad were both Irish, School Hill scum, they were. You should have seen the way we were treated. We had to take it in turns to go to school, one pair of clogs between two. There wasn’t enough plates, so we shared and it was a race to see who could eat most and quickest. And they used to come round with their charities, bits of food and a couple of shirts for my brothers. They gave us boots, and it didn’t matter if they weren’t a pair as long as you could squeeze both feet in. I used to get clouted by the nuns because I was dirty, only there wasn’t no soap for a wash. We were covered in fleabites, and we smelled like only those from bug-infested houses can smell. I remember our Nellie blackleading her legs so’s the holes in her black stockings wouldn’t show and I’ve seen my mam cry for lack of bread to feed her kiddies. We had nowt till me dad got a better job and moved us all to View Street, but me mam didn’t live to enjoy that. So don’t talk to me about being different, Santosh Mathur, else I’ll clock you one with me clog-iron.’

  He bowed slightly. ‘I am sorry. Very sorry for your poverty in childhood. No offence against your good person was intended.’

  Hamida pushed a wooden spoon under Rachel’s nose. ‘Here, taste, it is not all hot.’

  Rachel allowed a hesitant tongue to stray along the spoon. ‘Hey! That’s lovely, that is. You’ll have to get me some of that there garry marsala . . . what are you laughing at? I can’t master Indian in a flaming fortnight! And I’ll have one of them thingies, them poppy-dums when you’ve made some.’

  Hamida retreated, head shaking with mirth.

  ‘And as for you,’ Rachel glared at Santosh. ‘Stop acting like a fairy cake, get the good suit out and go for a proper job.’

  ‘I will try.’ The black eyes were solemn now. ‘For a woman, you are very strong in personality.’

  ‘Hey, get away with your bother! I might be a woman, but I’ve got me head screwed on the right way round. Mind, it used to be cross-threaded, but it seems to have sorted itself out since he died.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  She paused, deep in thought. ‘Mind you, there might be summat in what you say about marriage. If I could have arranged my daughter’s, she’d have finished up with something a bit better than what she’s got.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Aye, precisely and exactly. Anyroad, come round Wednesday for a proper English meal, and don’t worry, I know your meat rules. But if I can eat your poppy-wotsernames, then you two can get your chops round a Yorkshire pud even if I have to serve it with rice or what have you. And don’t take any notice to this lot round here. There’s not one of them wor
th the paper they’d be written on even if they did have birth certificates. And get that front step painted red, it’ll look better.’

  She left them to get on with their meal. In his own language, Santosh said, ‘There is much strength and joy in the little woman.’

  And Hamida replied, ‘There is also much of her god. We have a fine English friend and I love her.’

  ‘So do I.’ He grinned broadly, then, in a fair imitation of Rachel’s Boltonese, he said, ‘Don’t forget her poppy-dum!’

  Arthur Bottomley stared at his pretty fiancée. It was still unofficial, because she wouldn’t yet allow him to buy her a ring, but he was getting near to pressing her for a fixed date. At least, he had been getting near. But now . . . ‘Do they have to come?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘Course they’re coming. They’re my friends, best neighbours I ever had. I mean, look at me with that chest cold. Hamida was in and out like I don’t know what, fetching me potions and poultices. She cured me, didn’t she? If I get married, they’ll be there.’

  He shook his large head. ‘In all that fancy palaver they wear? Whatever will the priest think?’

  ‘He can think what he wants, look at the soft frock he has to put on! I mean, would it be the same if Santosh and Hamida were Jewish? Would you still want them kept away? Or wouldn’t it matter because Jews are not particularly visible? Come on, Arthur, I never thought I was considering marrying a man with prejudices.’ She folded her tiny hands and looked hard at him. ‘They’re my friends,’ she repeated stubbornly.

  ‘Oh Rachel!’ She was under his skin and she knew it! And he knew that she knew it! Lovely red hair streaked with silver that was near to platinum, large grey-green eyes, skin that had defied time . . . ‘Have it your own way, then,’ he sighed finally.

  ‘I’m not so sure that I shall have it any way, Arthur Bottomley. This has come as a great shock to me.’

  ‘Well, look at it from my point of view. There’ll be Chamber of Trade there, happen the odd councillor – I am a man of standing. You don’t run the biggest ironmonger’s in Bolton without becoming a man of standing.’