The Invisible Cord

by Catherine Cookson

  In the bedroom, she went straight to the wardrobe, took out her coat and, putting it round her, said softly to Mona, ‘I’m freezin’; the whole place is like ice.’

  ‘I know, I should have warned you. I’ve got two vests on under this and some fleecy knickers.’ Mona plucked her dress away from herself at different points.

  ‘Mona.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They stared at each other. ‘I don’t like it here.’

  There was a pause before Mona answered. ‘You’ll get used to it; you’ll get used to them; but I’ll tell you something. I don’t take much to it meself, ’cos I know they think Arthur’s let himself down a mile in takin’ up with me. Yet at the same time I sense it was sort of expected of him. You know what I mean? He’s not one of them, he’s the odd man out.’

  ‘Good thing too. That’s something in his favour. Oh my goodness! Mona, we’ll get our death here. Are all the rooms like this?’

  ‘Yes, except Gwen’s.’ Mona pulled a long face as she added, ‘Arthur says that’s the only thing his mother concedes to age, the need of a fire in her bedroom. And she has them all choppin’ down trees in the wood. When I was here last she said to me, ‘Ooh! I wouldn’t dream about using the co-al; that’s needed for everyone’s comfort; but a lettle bit of wood now…’

  Mona’s imitation of their hostess was so true to life that they had to smother their laughter against each other.

  ‘Put another cardigan on,’ said Mona now, ‘and let’s go down to the billiard room…’

  Just before they left the room Annie asked, ‘Are there any other women coming, the place seems full of men?’

  ‘David’s wife is due tomorrow; the Peter one, he’s parted from his.’

  ‘Then who’s this Liz who’s going to blow her top?’

  ‘Oh, his fancy piece.’

  ‘Coo! They have them here an’ all?’

  They pushed at each other and again they laughed …

  In the billiard room, Georgie hailed them loudly, crying, ‘Wondered when you’d turn up. Come and stand by me, love; you always bring me luck. This bugger’s going to fleece me.’ He nodded and grinned towards Arthur who was chalking his cue. ‘Lost five bob to him already; we won’t have enough for the groceries when we get back.’

  Annie did not go to Georgie’s side but stood with her back to the low fire in the deep grate and, lifting her skirt slightly at the back to catch the warmth, she said, ‘Serve you right for throwing your money about.’

  ‘I’ll stand by you, Georgie.’ As Mona went round the table Arthur turned towards Annie and, after looking at her for a moment, said, ‘Cold?’

  ‘A little; it’s freezing outside.’

  ‘It’s freezing in here too. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s me, I always feel the cold.’

  Arthur now came towards her with his jerky gait, which spoke only slightly of his artificial leg, and still chalking the cue, he said, ‘I want you to enjoy yourself, Annie.’

  ‘What?’

  He now raised his eyes to hers and added softly, ‘You must find my people rather strange, their ways I mean. I do myself at times. And not just at times, most of the time. But there, we are as God made us.’ He stopped speaking and stared at her, and she knew he wasn’t referring to the whole family but to his mother.

  She answered quietly, ‘Don’t worry about me, Arthur, I’ll enjoy meself. It’s Christmas, the war’s over, it’s marvellous, everybody startin’ a new life.’

  She glanced towards Georgie, who was standing beside Mona and explaining the game to her, talking of in-offs, off the red, and potting, and in the seconds she listened to him he used two bloodies. She brought her gaze back to Arthur’s and, her eyes blinking now and her head drooping slightly, she said, ‘Georgie and his swearin’, don’t they object?’

  ‘Object!…To bloody? No, of course not. And it’s just like “God bless you!” coming from Georgie. Is that what’s been worrying you?’ His long pale face widened into a smile. ‘Don’t be silly, Annie.’

  ‘I can’t help it; it isn’t everybody that would take it as God bless you! And he gets a bit much at times.’

  ‘Georgie’s all right—nobody better.’

  She looked straight into the face before her, and for the countless time she asked herself what this man saw in Georgie, because in every way they were as opposite as poles. His face had a tender refined look, and she could only class his manner as learned. In this moment she was puzzled too that he should choose Mona for a wife, because Mona was ordinary. Well, by that she meant just like herself; and let her face it, they were both like fish out of water in this house. Georgie alone was unaffected by the atmosphere. If he was out of water, he wasn’t aware of it.

  ‘Come on—’ Arthur took her hand—‘we’ll take them on and show them how to play, eh?’

  She was protesting that she didn’t know the first thing about it when the sound of a bell echoed through the house.

  ‘Ah, now we can eat.’ Arthur smiled at her, adding, ‘We’ll show ’em after dinner eh?’ Then lifting his arm, he bent it at the elbow and looking across the table at Mona said, ‘Miss Broadbent, allow me,’ and Mona, laughing, put her arm through his. Then Georgie, in an absurd imitation of Arthur’s voice, said, ‘Mrs McCabe, aa-low me. Aa-low me.’

  As they marched out of the billiard room, across the hall under the gaze of James Partridge who was descending the stairs, Annie thought, We must look daft, ridiculous; no wonder he looks down his nose.

  The following morning they were forced to rise early in an attempt to get warm for the room was like an icebox and the bedclothes were inadequate. As Georgie exclaimed under his breath while laughing indulgently, it was bloody well worse than a Nissen hut, for there you did have the old stove going.

  It was only eight o’clock when they went downstairs but Arthur already had the breakfast going, and in the muddled, none-too-clean kitchen, Annie sat close to the stove and made her way through two large rashers of bacon, two sausages and an egg while Georgie disposed of twice as much.

  The next to arrive for breakfast was Mona, looking as frozen as she felt. The two brothers, Peter and David, followed, but they took their meal into the dining room. Then Olive brought the child down. ‘Isn’t it terrible?’ she said. ‘How did you sleep?’ She looked from Annie to Mona, and they both said together, ‘Oh, very well, thank you.’ Then they laughed.

  After Olive had given the child his breakfast and was eating her own she looked at her brother and asked, ‘What’s the programme for this morning?’

  ‘Well,’ Arthur smiled, ‘if I can gather anything from the sight of your faces I think it’s warmth we want both inside and out, so if we don’t want to freeze for the next few days I propose we go wood cutting. What do you say, Georgie?’

  ‘Suits me. And I’ll make these two work for their grub.’ Georgie nodded from Annie to Mona.

  ‘Would you take him with you?’ Olive made a slight motion with her head towards the child while looking at her brother. ‘He’d love that. I’ve got to go into town; there’s one or two things I need for the X…m…a…s tree.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Arthur rumpled the small dark head of his nephew. ‘We couldn’t go wood cutting without Alan. Fancy you suggesting such a thing.’ He now bent down to the boy. ‘We wouldn’t dream about chop-chopping without you, would we?’

  The round, dark, merry eyes looked up into the long face, and the child said, ‘You’re funny, Uncle, funny…funny…funny peck…Daddy says you’re funny peck.’

  ‘Get on with breakfast, Alan, and stop chattering.’ His mother’s voice was sharp. She turned from putting the finishing touches to a breakfast tray and pushed her son none too gently on the shoulder, saying now, ‘Behave yourself and stop your chattering.’ Then glancing at Arthur with an apologetic look she said, ‘I’ll take Mother’s up,’ and left the kitchen.

  As if he were just answering the boy’s remark, Arthur now muttered un
der his breath, ‘There are some of us funny peck-culiar and some funny ha-ha.’

  There was deep bitterness in the words and Annie looked sharply from him to Mona, who was staring at him as was the child; only Georgie wasn’t giving him any attention, he was busy lighting a cigarette …

  The frosty air was bracing, and the men were sawing with more energy than skill, while Mona, endeavouring to keep a small log upright in an attempt to split it had them all laughing at her efforts.

  It was as Annie and the child were gathering frozen chips from a previous chopping that the boy, suddenly dancing from one foot to the other said, ‘I want to go to the jig.’

  ‘Jig? Oh, I get you.’ She laughed out loud. ‘Come on then.’ She took his hand and ran him behind some low bushes. But there he continued his dance and, looking up at her, said, ‘I mustn’t do it outside; Mummy said I mustn’t do it outside.’

  ‘You mustn’t? Oh well, then we’ll go inside.’ She took him by the hand again, and shouted to the others, ‘I won’t be a minute, just taking him to the…’ She poked her head forward and in a loud whisper called, ‘The jig.’

  ‘The what?’ It was Mona’s voice following her, but she didn’t stop to explain.

  The road through the wood was rough in parts and she drew the boy from a run to a walk, saying, ‘We’d better go careful or we’ll be sliding onto our…bottoms, won’t we?’

  For answer the child said, ‘I want to go to the upstairs jig.’

  ‘All right, you’ll go to the upstairs jig…Why do you call it the jig?’

  ‘’Cos.’

  ‘’Cos what?’

  ‘Well, ’cos Mammy calls it the jig, thing-me-jig.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her laugh was high. ‘Thing-amy-jig.’

  ‘Daddy says water closet, Grandma says parlour, but I say jig…What do you say?’

  She was laughing inside as she thought, I’d better not tell him netty. ‘Oh, I say jig an’ all.’

  ‘You do? How old are you?’

  ‘Oh, very old, nineteen.’

  ‘Nineteen? I’m nearly five. My birthday is on the first day of the year.’

  ‘New Year’s Day.’

  ‘Yes; I’ll be five on that day.’

  ‘My! My! Here we are then.’ They were going through the side door. ‘You go upstairs; I’ll wait in the sitting…drawing room for you.’

  ‘You won’t go away?’ He gazed up at her.

  ‘No. Go on—’ she pushed him and stopped herself from adding, ‘before you do it in your pants.’

  She watched him run to the bottom of the stairs, but there he turned to her and, crossing his legs, he did a little dance while he said, ‘I like you.’

  As she watched him now scampering and laughing up the stairs she thought, And I like you; you’re about the only natural thing in this house.

  There was no-one in the drawing room. She went towards the fire that had only recently been lit and stood with her back to it and lifted up her dress and exposed her legs to the flame. The communicating doors leading into the dining room were partly open and after a moment she was aware of someone entering and a voice saying, ‘We’d better get this while it’s hot.’ She recognised the speaker as that Partridge man, Olive’s husband, and the voice that answered, ‘Where is everybody?’ she attached to the man Ron.

  ‘Oh, about. I saw from my window that Arthur has taken the Geordie aborigines down to do some wood cutting. There’s a gang, don’t you think?’

  ‘Odd types.’

  ‘Odd, that’s putting it mildly. Just been dug up, I should say. What do you make of Beauti-bloody-ful McCabe? Did you ever hear anything like it last night? Talk about an ignoramus.’

  The answer came on a laugh ‘He’s a bit much.’

  ‘A bit much! The man makes my hackles rise.’

  Annie had left the fireplace. She was standing within a foot of the communicating door. She could see them both sitting at the table, and she wondered that they weren’t aware of her presence, or aware of the anger that was oozing from her in sweat now. Geordie aborigines! She wasn’t sure what an aborigine was but it was something nasty…Ignoramuses!

  ‘How did Arthur come to take up with him?’

  There was a short silence now before James Partridge answered in a quiet tone, ‘Well, you know. Politics red, and tastes masculine, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘No…really!’

  ‘Well, I can’t see any other explanation, can you? McCabe’s impossible, in every sense of the word. Now why should Arthur? Well, I ask you!’

  ‘I see what you mean. But it’s a bit of a nerve bringing him home, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, not when you work it out. He became one of Gwen’s suppliers when Arthur got his packet at the fellow’s wedding. Her source of bacon, butter, cheese, etc., etc., etc., would have dried up if she hadn’t cultivated dear Georgie. Of course the supply had been double when Arthur was there to carry home his share; but the Georgies of this world are very versatile. The swill cart from the camp used to pass the bottom of the road here. Georgie and the driver had an understanding. A special swill can for him if he dropped a swill can off in the corner of the wood…Oh, Mother Gwen’s an organiser in more ways than one. Richie, he’s good for the drinks; Arthur Tollett, he’s the beef, mutton and pork end; then there’s Sam Rawley from near Breinton Springs, he supplies the poultry, eggs and cream; the only thing she hasn’t been able to organise is a coal man. It was stooping a bit too low even for her, yet I think she scraped the barrel when she co-opted dear Georgie. But if dear Georgie only knew, this is his farewell party. She has no more use for him now that he’s demobbed; it was only on Arthur’s insistence that he was invited. There was a sort of family conference and to say the least, it was embarrassing…I’m no snob, but I considered it a bit much. Apart from everything else there’s still the officer and men part of it. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed, I do. It’s a pretty awkward situation, especially with Taggart coming this afternoon. He’s not the one to suffer fools gladly.’

  ‘I’d thought of that and I’ll have to put him in the picture. God, I’ve met some fellows in my time. There were a mixture in my company, real prize types, but that McCabe beats them all. The fellow gets up my nose like no-one else has…’

  ‘Does he now? Does he? Does he?’

  As the doors were flung back the two men jumped to their feet, their faces turning scarlet as they looked at the infuriated girl facing them.

  ‘Well, let me tell you something, Mister Upstart. He might get up your nose, but no matter how far he went he wouldn’t be able to stop you smelling your own stink, because you’re rotten, putrid, that’s what you are. Your mind and everything about you. When I tell my Georgie what you’ve suggested about him, he’ll knock your—’ she paused, then she said it; she didn’t only say it, she bawled it, ‘bloody brains in. That’s what he’ll do to you. You! Who do you think you are anyway? They tell me your father keeps a draper’s shop; well, let me tell you that my grannie kept a draper’s shop an’ all.’ There was no need to explain that her grannie’s shop had been in a house window and was run on the shilling club basis. ‘So we’re both from the same social standard, aren’t we?’

  They continued to stare at her as she glared at them while some part of her mind was telling her that standard wasn’t the word she should have used. But what the hell! She wasn’t looking for right words the day. This fellow! She wanted to swear at him, really swear. She wanted to cry at him, ‘You snotty-nosed bugger-a-hell’ which expression was a favourite one of Mollie’s. It was odd, but at this moment she felt like Mollie. And she might have said it had not the far door opened and Gwen Bailey, entering hurriedly, said, ‘What’s the matter? What’s all the shouting about?’

  Annie stormed down the room towards her now and, pushing her face close to that of the astonished woman, cried, ‘Ask them. And I’ve got something to tell you, an’ all. You won’t have to put up with our obnoxious presence over the hol
idays because we’re goin’, we’re goin’ now. You’ve got no more use for Georgie; he’s served his turn. An’ let me tell you something. I haven’t known you twenty-four hours but it didn’t take me a quarter of that time to realise that I’ve got no use for you.’ And on this she stormed past the startled Gwen, across the hall and to where the child was standing at the bottom of the stairs watching her approach, and she spoke to him as if she were speaking to her own child as she said, ‘Go into the wood this minute an’ tell Georgie to come in at once. I want him. Do you hear?’

  Looking up at her, his mouth gaping, the boy said, ‘Yes.’ Then, ‘Yes, I’ll tell Georgie,’ and at this he ran out of the house, and she ran upstairs.

  Once in her room, she almost staggered towards the bed and leaned over the bottom rail gasping. That lot! That rotten, snotty lot! Geordie aborigines are we? And him saying that about Georgie. Georgie’ll kill him, if Arthur doesn’t. Oh, I’ll be glad to get out of here. On this she straightened up, rushed to the wardrobe, pulled out her clothes, then opening her case, she bundled them in, swept the few toilet accessories off the dressing table, grabbed up the two pairs of shoes standing under the side of the bed, and was dragging on her coat when Georgie burst into the room.

  ‘What the hell’s up? What’s happened? What did you say to Gwen? She looked at me daggers, she did. Look I’m asking you, what the bloody hell’s up?’

  She snapped his hands away from her coat and stood staring at him. She had meant to blurt out everything that she had heard, but in this mood he might go downstairs and knock that fellow’s brains out. She had seen him in a fight once when he was drunk; he had not only used his hands but, like a wild bull, had rammed the fellow with his head. And were she to tell him now what that Partridge had suggested it would likely have a worse effect on him than drink. She gulped in her throat and said, ‘They’ve, they’ve been using you; we’re only here on sufferance. We’re…we’re going home. We’re going home this minute.’