EG01 - When One Door Closes

by Joan Jonker

  ‘D’you think I’d be here if I didn’t?’

  ‘Then be patient, and give her time.’

  Mary took the dress off and hung it in the wardrobe, followed by the pill-box hat which was placed carefully in a bag and put on a side shelf. Her movements were deliberately slow as she stretched out the minutes until she’d have to go back downstairs. She was dreading sitting alone with Harry and trying to think of something to talk about. As she slipped into a new navy blue skirt she talked to the empty room. ‘This is his home now, and he’ll be living and sleeping here.’ Her eyes were drawn to the double bed. In a few hours they would be lying together in that bed. She had to pull the waistband across her thickening waist to fasten the side button, and the action reminded her why Harry would be sleeping in her bed tonight. He was so good, why couldn’t she at least be civil with him? I’m going to have to try, she thought as she made her way down the stairs, because I’m not being fair to him.

  The living room was empty and the kitchen in darkness. Mary’s face wore a puzzled look as she stood in the middle of the room. Where had he gone? Then she heard voices coming from her mother’s room, and when she walked in it was to see Harry sitting on the bed, chatting away to Martha. ‘Hello, lass! Me and Harry were just talking about having a game of cards to pass an hour away. D’you feel like playing?’

  Mary felt a stab of jealousy, then told herself she was being childish. What was wrong with Harry talking to her mother? After all, where would they be without him? ‘Are we playing for money or matchsticks?’

  Harry had never played cards before, so they had to teach him as they went along. It was a slow game because Martha could only use one hand and had to spread the cards out on her lap, under the cover of the small, green, baize-topped card table. Harry lost every hand and had to keep borrowing matchsticks off Mary to stay in the game. ‘I think you’re a couple of card sharks.’ Harry pulled a face, and Mary’s laugh rang out. ‘If we were playing for real money you’d owe me about two pound.’ She was completely at ease with him now, but when her eyes met his there was only friendliness there. The special look that passes between lovers, especially newlyweds, was missing.

  Martha put her cards on the table at the end of a game that Mary had won. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m dead beat. I’m going to bed.’

  Harry stretched his arms over his head. ‘I’m whacked, too! Thank God I’ve got a week’s holiday in front of me. No getting up at five in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand, Mam.’ Mary’s smile had disappeared.

  ‘There’s no need, lass! I can manage fine on me crutches. I had to do it in the hospital, so I can do it here.’

  Harry said goodnight, but Mary lingered, listening to his footsteps climbing the stairs. ‘Go on, lass!’ Martha pushed her gently. ‘It’s been a long day, and you must be worn out.’

  Harry was getting undressed when Mary entered the bedroom, and keeping her eyes averted she grabbed her nightdress from the chair and fled along to the bathroom. She wasted time cleaning her teeth and washing her face; then when she couldn’t reasonably put it off any longer, she crept back along the landing. Harry was lying on his back staring at the ceiling, when he heard the sound of the door closing. His head turned, and Mary felt his eyes burning through the flimsy material of the nightdress that did nothing to hide the fullness of her breasts. Her hand went to the switch on the wall. ‘I’m putting the light out.’

  The room was plunged into darkness and Mary moved slowly across the room until her knees came into contact with the bed. Slipping between the sheets she lay on her back and pulled the clothes up to her chin. She could feel Harry’s leg touching hers, but he didn’t move, and for five minutes the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and the beat of Mary’s heart. Then Harry turned on his side and slipped an arm under her shoulder, pulling her towards him. He heard her crying softly and put his other arm around her and held her close. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart! I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Wake up, sleepy head! I’ve brought you a cuppa.’

  Mary opened her eyes to see Harry standing at the side of the bed wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. The intimacy of the scene caused her to sit up like a bolt, her face flaming and a hand clutching the sheet up to her neck. She reached for the cup, and as she did so the narrow strap of her nightdress slipped from her shoulder. Pulling her hand back quickly to cover herself she nearly sent the cup flying out of Harry’s hand and he stepped back. ‘Steady on!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Mary took the tea and kept her eyes down as she sipped slowly, wishing he would go away and leave her alone. But to her dismay he sat down on the side of the bed.

  ‘About last night, Mary, I’m sorry but I got carried away.’ There was no mirth in his laugh. ‘Fancy a man getting carried away on his wedding night!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Mary refused to meet his eyes. ‘We’re married and you’re entitled to your rights.’

  ‘Oh, I know what I’m entitled to! But I don’t want to make love to you just because I’m entitled to!’ Harry stood up and dug his hand in the pocket of his dressing gown. ‘I’m not going to make any promises because I’m only human. But I’ll bother you as little as possible until you come to me of your own free will.’ With this he turned on his heels and left the room.

  Mary stared at the closed door. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time if you’re waiting for me.’ Her mind went back to the time when she’d switched the light out last night. She remembered how tense her body had been when Harry took her in his arms. But he’d been so gentle, and when she’d cried it was because all through the heartache of the last three months she’d had no shoulder to cry on. And last night Harry had provided that shoulder. When the needs of his body took over she hadn’t pushed him away because they were married now, and it was expected of her. She didn’t want him to make love to her, but if that was the price she had to pay for the sake of her baby, then she would pay it.

  Martha understood when Mary couldn’t meet her eyes. Hadn’t she felt the same when she’d had to face her mother for the first time after her wedding night? So Martha chatted away as though it was an ordinary day and she and Harry got on like a house on fire. It was to Harry she posed the question, ‘What about today’s dinner? Mary’s never cooked a roast dinner in her life.’ Harry had the Sunday paper propped up in front of him as he ate his breakfast, and he peered over the top. ‘I’ll see to the dinner.’

  ‘You will not!’ Mary glared. ‘I’m quite capable of doing it meself.’

  There was doubt on Martha’s face but the shrug of Harry’s shoulders told her it was best not to interfere. So she went back to her room and her beloved wireless, while Harry set about cleaning out the wash-house and Mary began cooking her first roast dinner.

  The roast potatoes looked lovely and golden, the mashed carrot and turnip looked good, and at the side of the plate lay a strip of the lamb Eileen had brought for them yesterday. Martha and Harry exchanged raised eyebrows, while Mary surveyed the plates with pride. She was watching as Martha tried unsuccessfully to cut one of the potatoes. ‘Did you remember to par boil these first?’ Martha hated having to ask the question and spoil her daughter’s happiness, but there was no way anyone could eat the potatoes which were raw inside.

  ‘I didn’t think you boiled roast potatoes.’ Mary looked downcast. ‘I put them in the oven, in hot fat, and turned the oven up high. They were brown in ten minutes.’ She glared when her mother and Harry burst out laughing, then it crossed her mind that she hadn’t heard her mother laughing so whole heartedly for a long time, and a smile lit up her face. ‘OK, Harry! You’re so clever, you can do the cooking from now on.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Harry spluttered. ‘I’ll put your mam’s chair in the kitchen and she can supervise.’

  Martha wiped a tear away. ‘Don’t worry, lass! I couldn’t boil water when I first got marri
ed. Everyone has to learn.’

  In the afternoon Mary wanted to spend some time sorting the drawers out in the bedroom so she could empty one to make room for Harry’s clothes. When they’d moved in, everything had been done in such a rush that things had been stuck anywhere for quickness. She was kneeling on the bedroom floor folding underwear and jumpers when she heard the bell ring, and a few seconds later Harry called her down. Humming softly, she ran down the stairs, and hearing voices from her mother’s room her hand reached for the knob. Then she recognised the voice of Father Younger and she froze on the spot, her mind being transported back to when she was a child in the classroom. Even those who hadn’t done anything wrong shivered behind their desks when the awesome figure of Father Younger strode down the classroom, his stern eyes running down each line of girls as he walked. And as he stood in front of the class, a giant of a man to the young children who gazed at him with eyes round with apprehension, his voice sounded like thunder in the silent classroom as he asked those who hadn’t been to Mass on Sunday to put their hands up. Mary had never been the victim of his acid tongue, but had always felt sorry for those who were. Their punishment was being shamed in front of their classmates, three strokes of the cane, and a letter to take home to their parents. No excuse they gave was good enough for missing Mass.

  All these memories flashed through Mary’s head before she took several deep breaths and pushed the door open.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Mary.’ The priest’s eyes bored into hers. ‘I came to hear your mother’s confession and give her Communion.’ His old fashioned black hat, with its round crown and wide brim, was swinging loosely from his fingers. ‘And while I’m here, I may as well take the opportunity of talking to you and Mr Sedgemoor.’

  With a sense of foreboding, Mary said quietly, ‘We’ll wait for you in the back room, Father.’

  Ten minutes later the priest found Mary and Harry seated next to each other on the couch. His face stern, he sat facing them. His eyes rested for a second on Harry, then moved to Mary. ‘I am deeply shocked and disappointed in you, Mary. I thought your faith in God was strong enough to withstand the temptations of the Devil. But you were weak, and yielded to temptation. You have sinned against the Lord and I hope you have repented and prayed for forgiveness.’

  As Mary’s head dropped, Harry’s arm went round her shoulders as though to protect her. ‘Mary is my wife now, Father, and …’ He was silenced as the fierce eyes turned to him. ‘I believe you are a Protestant, and your marriage was one of convenience. You used the Church as a convenience, too!’

  When he felt Mary shudder, Harry’s temper rose. ‘I didn’t marry for convenience; I have loved Mary all my life. I didn’t lie to Father Murphy, and I won’t lie to you. It is true that I only agreed to become a convert because Mary wanted to be married in church. But I intend to live up to it and become a practising Catholic. When Mary goes to church, I’ll be with her. But what happens in our life, outside of that, is our own business.’

  ‘And my business,’ the priest’s eyes bored into his, ‘is to make sure that the baby Mary is carrying is brought up in a good Catholic home.’

  Mary lifted her head, her eyes clear. ‘The baby will be brought up in a good Catholic home, Father; I promise you that.’

  The fire left the priest’s eyes and his shoulders slumped. Suddenly he felt tired. The war had changed people so much. The Church wasn’t important to them any more, and every day he saw God’s commandments being broken. He feared for the future. ‘These days children are sent to Mass but their parents can’t be bothered coming themselves. And little ones need to be set a good example.’

  ‘Our child,’ Harry gripped Mary’s hand, ‘will be set a good example. You can depend on that.’

  ‘Whew!’ Harry came back after seeing the priest out. ‘I felt like a schoolboy again.’

  ‘He’s old fashioned, but a good man.’ Martha didn’t ask questions. ‘How about making the tea, lass, and then we can have a game of cards.’

  When ten o’clock came Harry had lost again. ‘That’s another two pounds you owe me,’ Mary laughed as she slipped the cards back in the box. ‘I’m off to bed. Goodnight and God bless, Mam.’ Without looking at Harry she left the room and ran quickly up the stairs. After undressing hurriedly she slipped into bed and when Harry came in his eyebrows shot up. ‘You’ve been quick!’

  ‘I’m dead tired. It was taking me all me time to keep me eyes open.’

  Harry took his pyjamas along to the bathroom to get undressed, and when he came back, his clothes draped over his arm, he said, ‘I’ll buy a bedside lamp tomorrow, so we won’t be breaking our necks in the dark.’

  After he’d put the light out, Mary heard him bump into the tallboy and grinned when she heard him swear. Then she felt the bed sag under his weight and her body tensed. She waited for him to reach out for her, but the minutes passed and he made no move. ‘Goodnight, Harry.’

  As she turned on her side she expected to feel his arm come across and turn her round to face him, but instead he moved away from her. ‘Goodnight, Mary.’

  When she woke, Mary felt warm and comfortable and snug. Then she realised Harry’s arm was wrapped round her waist, holding her tight. He was still asleep and she could feel his breath as it wafted softly in her ear. Gently she lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. She could hear her mother moving around so she made a pot of tea and carried it through to the front room. ‘Morning, Mam! It’s my turn this morning!’

  Martha was quick to note her daughter’s happy mood. ‘Harry still asleep?’

  ‘Yes! I’m taking him a drink up now.’

  Mary stood at the side of the bed looking down on Harry. He was sleeping peacefully so she could look at him without feeling shy. He is very handsome, she thought. It’s no wonder all the girls fall for him. As though sensing her presence, his eyes flickered into life and he smiled. ‘How long have you been up? I didn’t feel you getting out of bed.’

  ‘You were too busy snoring.’ Mary waited till he sat up before handing him the steaming cup. ‘Don’t expect to be waited on every day, you know!’ She turned to leave the room but he called her back. ‘Stay and talk to me for a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ve got to make the breakfast.’ Mary grinned. ‘Don’t worry … I can make toast without burning it.’

  ‘There’s no rush.’ Harry patted the side of the bed. ‘I’m on holiday, don’t forget, so we can take things easy.’ His eyes looked into hers. ‘Did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Like a log! I must have dropped off as soon as my head touched the pillow because I don’t remember a thing!’

  Lucky you, Harry thought. He’d lain awake for hours after Mary had fallen asleep. His body ached with desire to touch her, and the only way to control that desire was to lie as far away from her as the bed would allow. Even now, just looking at her, he could feel a stirring in his loins. To halt any further thoughts in that direction, he asked, ‘D’you feel like coming to the shops with me to get a bedside lamp?’

  ‘Our wedding present’s coming today,’ Mary reminded him, ‘so someone has to stay in. I’m glad they didn’t tell us what it is, aren’t you? It’s more exciting getting a surprise.’ She got up from the bed. ‘I’ll have to get me mam’s breakfast or she’ll be starving.’

  Harry brooded as he drank his tea. If it weren’t for the physical side of marriage, Mary would be quite happy to be friends with him. But, damn it, he didn’t want a friend! He wanted a wife!

  It was twelve o’clock when Martha shouted that there was a furniture van outside, and Harry went to the door with Mary hot on his heels. She pushed him aside to stand in the pathway watching a small man in brown overalls walk to the back of the van where his mate was waiting. Her face was aglow with anticipation, and when she saw the men carefully remove a sheet from the beautiful rocking chair they’d lowered to the ground, she danced with delight.

  ‘Will you let them bring it in?’ Harry laughingly pulled her aside. ‘Or d’you
want to sit in it in the street?’

  Mary ran back into their room and pointed to an empty space at the side of the fireplace. ‘Will you put it there, please?’

  She was surveying the position of the chair with a critical eye when Harry walked the men to the door. But when he came back she was moving the heavy chair to the other side of the room. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ he snapped, rushing to take the chair from her. ‘You should have more sense than to lift anything heavy in your condition!’

  ‘I only wanted to see what …’

  ‘In future, when you want anything lifting, you ask me.’ Harry set the chair down. ‘And if I’m not here, then just wait till I am! Have you got that?!’

  Mary was about to protest when Martha called, ‘Don’t keep me in suspense! Let’s see it!’

  Still shaking his head, Harry grunted. ‘Let’s bring her in.’

  Taking an arm each, they supported Martha through to their room. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful! Can I try it?’

  ‘You can christen it for us.’ Harry grinned as they lowered her down and she began to rock gently back and forth. ‘It’s very comfortable.’

  The chair was made of dark wood, and the spindles in the back and the legs were carved. ‘I’ll make some cushions for it.’ Mary’s eyes were bright with pleasure. ‘One for the seat and one for the back.’

  ‘Will you tell this daughter of yours that she’s not to lug heavy furniture around?’ Harry’s face was serious. ‘She forgets she hasn’t only got herself to worry about.’

  While Mary looked uncomfortable, Martha nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll keep me eye on her, don’t worry! I won’t let her overdo it.’

  When Martha was back in her room, Mary sat in the chair. Stroking the polished arms lovingly, she looked up at Harry who was standing near with a smile on his face. ‘I’m made up with it!’

  ‘I can see you spending all your time in it and letting the housework go to pot.’