The Invisible Cord

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Ta-rah, Mollie.’ The words came from Annie’s mouth as if she hadn’t used her lips for a long time.

  Alone in the kitchen now, she sat away from the table. The plates were still full of sandwiches and fancy cakes, not a bite had been eaten; she had baked and iced for two solid days. But what did it matter about the food? What did matter was that Rance, her bairn, her beloved son, and he was her beloved son, had taken another lad’s rabbit and drowned it, and she was to blame. Oh yes, she was to blame. She should have let him have a rabbit in the yard even if it had been choked to death with coal dust. She hadn’t realised what the rabbit meant to him. But she should have, for he had told her often enough; she had become sick to death over the past year listening to his craving for a rabbit.

  The door opened and Georgie entered. His face and thick neck were scarlet; the blue of his eyes was pale, like steel. He looked at her across the room and after a moment said, ‘Nice thing we’ve bred, haven’t we? Well, I’ve made sure of one bloody thing, it’s the last rabbit he’ll drown.’

  She gave a gasp as she thought for a moment he had killed the child, but a distant snuffling brought from her a long-drawn-out breath.

  She stared at the man opposite her, who in this moment was unrecognisable. Gone was the gauche good-tempered softie, and it looked as if he might never return.

  Bringing up the children had lain with her and she hadn’t believed in punishment, at least no lathering with a belt; a box across the ears or a hand across the buttocks was the most they ever received. If anyone had told her that Georgie would unmercifully thrash his son she would have laughed and said, ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ And now she had to believe it, and although her heart was sore for her son there crept into her lukewarm affection for the burly man standing staring at her a modicum of respect.

  Four

  The street was one of those that went off Erskine Road. It had the distinctive name of Bewlar Terrace. The house was No. 17 and its advantages were many; besides having six rooms, it also had the real luxury of a bathroom. There was a large backyard and an eighteen foot by twelve foot, iron-fringed front garden; moreover, it was within a few minutes’ walk from the church and not much further from the Bents Park and recreation ground, and this latter solved the problem of the bairns having somewhere safe to play.

  Annie’s main joy in the house was the bathroom. For the first week she had taken a bath morning and night and saw to it that the children had at least one bath a day. The only one she couldn’t get into the bath every day was Georgie. He’d had enough washing back there in Madley, he’d said, to last him a lifetime. Once a week would do him, twice if he was pushed, and nothing she could say would alter that.

  She had warned him about his swearing. Although he had cut it down quite a bit he had only to get excited and his language coloured the air like blue smoke.

  Apart from a polite nod, Mrs Tressel, her neighbour on the right, had studiously ignored them. She had an opinion of herself that one, Annie considered, all because she engaged a daily from nine till twelve. But Mrs Brooks on the left of her was all right, kindly she was. She had looked over the wall one day and given the bairns a bag of bullets; it was a kind of introduction. Although she had been nosy and wanted to know all about them she had seemed quite impressed when Annie had informed her that her husband was in the car business and had his own garage. She had ended by saying they had been in the coal contracting business but had given it up as it was much too dirty; she had hoped that Mrs Brooks wasn’t acquainted with Burton’s Corner and Hanlon’s coal depot.

  Yet she didn’t bother about her neighbours. Let them hang as they grow, she said to herself; you mind your business and they’ll mind theirs. She was starting a new life in a respectable district, in a fine house. And a fine rent they had to pay for it an’ all, seventeen and six a week. Still, she supposed they were lucky to have got it. And the pieces of furniture she had bought from the owner were, in her estimation, simply wonderful and dirt cheap. A three-piece chesterfield with covers on for seven pounds, and a big sideboard that filled one wall of the dining room—he had only charged three for that, and it was made of beautiful wood that you could see your face in—furthermore, he had sold her a complete bedroom suite, a carpet and other odds and ends all for ten pounds.

  She was set up, they were all set up. The main thing for her to do now was to see that Georgie made a go of that garage, and if hard work could do that he would certainly achieve something in a very short time, for during the past month he had been there from seven in the morning till nine at night.

  On this particular afternoon Annie was about to get herself washed and dressed up to take the bairns for a walk to the garage, at the same time taking Georgie his tea. She liked going to the garage. When a customer came in for petrol she willed him to ask for six gallons, not one or two as was the rule, and on a day when there wasn’t a car in for repair she felt depressed, even while telling Georgie that they must creep before they walked and it was early days yet, and a slow start augured a fast ending. She wasn’t quite sure about the latter saying; she wanted trade to come fast but not to end.

  She said to Bill, ‘Come and get your face and hands washed, we’re going to see your da,’ and Bill replied as always with a question, ‘Walkin’ or on the bus?’

  ‘Walking.’

  ‘Aw.’

  ‘Aw.’ She ruffled his hair, and he now said to her, ‘When can I go to school?’

  She gave a little sigh as she replied, ‘I’ve told you, not until next year when you’re five.’

  ‘Tishy goes.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s five.’

  ‘I’m as big as Tishy.’

  ‘I know you are but you’re not five.

  ‘Why have I to be five?’

  ‘Oh, Bill, come on.’ As she went to grab his hand the doorbell rang and, leaving him, she crossed the hall, thinking, Who’s this now? Somebody else selling things? Honestly, they were worse round here than they were at Burton’s Corner…Then she opened the door and gasped and exclaimed on a high note, ‘Well! Mona!’

  ‘Hello, Annie.’

  ‘Hello, hello. Come in, come in.’ She put out her hand and drew Mona over the threshold and led her into the front room, talking all the while. ‘When did you come? You should have let me know; another ten minutes and I would have been out. Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Sit down, sit down. Where’s Arthur? My! This is a surprise. Look, don’t let’s sit here, come into the kitchen and I’ll make a cup of tea; come on…Oh, it’s good to see you.’

  All the time she was talking she was warning herself not to lay it on too thick. She hadn’t seen Mona more than half a dozen times since that memorable Christmas and the last time was two and a half years ago when she came home for her father’s funeral; Arthur hadn’t come with her. She had seemed different then but she had looked smart, so smart she had felt a little jealous of her. But now she looked anything but smart, she was as different again. In her perceptive way she knew that something had happened to Mona. It wasn’t that she was suffering under the handicap of having only one eye, she had got over that; she had once said it was the price she paid for Arthur and it was cheap. But there was something not right. She looked low, bad.

  Abruptly, she stopped her chattering and quietly asked, ‘Anything wrong, Mona? You been bad or something?’

  ‘No, no, Annie. No, I haven’t been bad. How’s the bairns?’

  ‘Oh, look at them.’ She pointed to where Bill and Kathy were standing silently gazing at the visitor, and she called to them ‘Come and say hello to your Auntie Mona. Come on.’ She reached out and pulled them towards Mona, and nudging Bill, she said, ‘Say hello, Auntie Mona.’

  ‘Hello.’ Bill now cast a sharp glance up at her and Annie knew that his next question would be, ‘How is she me Auntie Mona, I haven’t seen her afore?’ and she put in quickly, ‘Lost his tongue. He’ll deafen you with his chatter in a minute. This is Kathy. You haven’t seen her.’ />
  ‘No, no, I haven’t seen her. Hello, Kathy.’ Mona bent towards the child and touched her fair curling hair, then moved her fingers gently around the pink cheeks as she said, ‘She’s bonny, beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, the only one of them that’s got any looks, except Rance isn’t bad. But looks don’t matter so much with a lad. Tishy though is still as plain as a pikestaff. Poor Tishy, she’s going to feel it later on. Still, there’s plenty of time, she might change, plain ones often do…Oh, the kettle’s boiling. Have you had anything to eat?’

  ‘Yes, we had some lunch at my mother’s.’

  Annie noticed that Mona said lunch, not dinner. She had changed in more ways than one. After a moment she asked, ‘Do you ever see Arthur’s folks?’

  ‘Very seldom; his mother’s only been to see us once.’

  ‘Only once?’

  ‘Yes, but it suits us. I’ve seen Olive once or twice since James died. Oh, did you know he had died?’

  Annie put the teapot on the tray then turned slowly towards Mona, saying, ‘No.’ Then, after a pause, she added, ‘I suppose I should say I’m sorry, but then I’m not all that much of a hypocrite. How is Olive?’

  ‘To tell you the truth she seems much more alive since she’s been a widow. The boy’s nice, Alan. He’s ten now. Arthur is very fond of him. Olive let him stay with us for a holiday this year.’

  ‘I wasn’t wrong about Olive; she seemed nice then.’

  ‘Yes, she’s nice.’

  When the tea was poured out and she had buttered some scones and placed a sandwich cake on the table she asked, ‘How’s Arthur getting on?’

  It was a moment before Mona said, ‘Oh, all right.’ Then lowering her head, she gave it an impatient shake, a characteristic gesture that Annie remembered from the early days.

  ‘What is it, Mona? Something is wrong.’

  Mona still had her head bent and there was another pause before she said, ‘Yes Annie; everything’s wrong, everything’s wrong.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought…’

  ‘Yes, so did I. I thought it was going to be heaven. The little pub out in the wilds, just us two until the family started.’ Her head had sunk deeper onto her chest, and Annie asked quietly, ‘No sign?’

  ‘No; nor will there be.’ Her head came up sharply now and showed the tears dropping slowly from her left eye. Then swallowing deeply, she muttered, ‘He doesn’t…he can’t. What I mean is he’s…he’s incompetent.’

  As Annie watched Mona’s head swing down again thoughts began tearing along the byroads in her mind, irrelevant facts, such as Mona was talking differently. A few years ago she would have explained Arthur’s inadequacy with the term, he’s no use. Another byroad was being swept with a remembered sickness, and along another the essence of fear was rising like a thick mist.

  ‘He tries. Oh, he does, and he gets upset. But he’s so nice. Oh, he’s so nice, Annie. That’s the worst part of it. I go through agony because of myself and how I feel, but at the same time I go through agony for him an’ all. I don’t think we can go on like this. You see he won’t discuss it. Now he’s talking about moving away from there because it’s too lonely for me…and it is. Oh, it is lonely. It would be different if…if there were bairns about. You know what I mean, Annie…’

  Annie nodded slowly.

  ‘But…but for most of the year just him and me together. He reads…reads and reads, all the time. I say all the time, that’s wrong, he’s very good about the house, and he keeps the garden lovely. And of course in the height of the holiday season there are people in the bar. But…but that only lasts for a few weeks. Other times we can go days and never see anyone, and in the winter…Oh, Annie, the winter. He used to talk to me about books and music, and at first I thought it was marvellous, I was being educated. Now when I see him putting a record on, or sitting down with a book, I want to scream and throw things.’

  They stared at each other in deep sorrow-filled silence until Annie said quietly, ‘Drink that cup of tea.’

  Mona sipped at her tea, and Annie, words of comfort failing her because of the significance of Mona’s confidence, sat staring down into her tea…That Partridge fellow had been right then; he was right after all. And where did that leave Georgie?

  As the sickness reared up in her she attacked it. Georgie’s a normal man; if ever there was a normal man he’s one. My God! Doesn’t he prove it enough?…But back there in those war years, had he been normal then? Yes, yes, of course he had. Aw, there was something she couldn’t understand about this, something fishy.

  She started visibly when Mona said, ‘Arthur thinks he’d like to work around here; it would be better for us both, me being back among my own people.’

  Now her mind was yelling at her, Oh no! Not that! She made no comment, and Mona, went on, ‘But it’s funny, I seem to have fallen between two stools, I don’t feel a bit at home here now, at me mother’s I mean. Her way of life seems different altogether from what I’ve been used to these last few years. You know what I mean?’

  When Annie nodded but still made no reply, Mona looked about her and said, ‘It’s a lovely kitchen. It’s a lovely house altogether. What a change from the depot. I bet you didn’t know you were born when you moved in.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’ Annie smiled weakly. ‘We were lucky to get it, and there’s nobody knows it better than I do…About Arthur getting work around here. There’s, there’s nothing for his type. Well, what I mean to say is, he couldn’t do labouring and he wouldn’t go into a shop or anything like that.’

  ‘He wouldn’t mind going into a bookshop; a good-class bookshop, he’s always fancied running a bookshop.’

  Annie got to her feet and went to fill the teapot, saying, ‘He’d die a slow death with a bookshop round here. Well, what I mean is, it would have to be something besides books, sweets and cigarettes and a paper round and such. A bookshop…well…Of course that’s only my opinion; but you know few people buy books except paperbacks, they go to the library for proper ones. By the way, where is Arthur?’

  ‘Oh, he went down to see Georgie. We called in at your mother’s as we had to pass the door before going to Burton’s Corner and she told us of the change, so Arthur said you go and see Annie and I’ll go and have a natter with Georgie.’

  A natter with Georgie. A natter with Georgie. What was she getting all wound up about? Her life was secure, nothing but death could alter it. Or could it? Anyway, why was she getting in such a lather? It wasn’t as if she had any real feeling for Georgie, was it? She knew that she hadn’t been in love in her life, and there was very little chance now that she ever would be. What was she frightened of, apart from the other thing, and that in itself was ridiculous? Was she afraid that he would go off and leave her to fend for herself and the bairns? Now that was daft, because that was the last thing he would do. But even if he did she was quite capable of working and she would bring them up somehow. Other women had had to do it and she wasn’t like some who married just to have a pay packet coming in without going out to graft for it. There was still a lot like that about. So what was she afraid of? What she should be doing at this moment was sympathising with Mona because, my God, she must have had a life of it! You could, she knew from experience, get too much of a good thing, but taking all in all she considered that was the lesser of two evils, for to be married to a man who was ‘no use’ must be awful. Well, it had certainly told on Mona. It had put years on her. She said now, ‘Has Arthur been to a doctor?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, he should; you should tell him to get himself there.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t, Annie. We…we don’t talk about it.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it! Then you should; it’s about time.’

  ‘Mam, are we gona see me da?’ Bill was standing in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘In a minute. Go and play. Where’s Kathy?’

  ‘Sittin’ on the front room couch wettin’ her knickers.’

  This brief and telling
reply brought Annie springing from her chair, apologising to Mona as she rushed past her into the front room. She brought Kathy back into the kitchen, divesting her of her wet pants the while and chastising her with, ‘You’re a naughty girl. You know how to go to the lav now. Oh, I’ve a good mind to…’

  ‘She did it on purpose.’

  ‘Be quiet, and don’t be silly!’ She turned on Bill. ‘How could she do it on purpose? Now, now! Stop that snivellin’.’ She shook her small daughter impatiently while Bill insisted, ‘She did. She said she was gona an’ she did.’

  For the first time since coming into the house Mona laughed. She leant her elbow on the kitchen table and, supporting her head with her hand, she laughed while Annie, keeping her face straight, said under her breath, ‘I mustn’t let on…I don’t know what he’s going to be when he grows up, likely something in Parliament, ’cos he’ll have the last word if it kills him.’

  Of a sudden Mona rose to her feet, saying, ‘I’ll be going, Annie; I promised Mam I wouldn’t be long. She wants me to go and see Auntie Joyce, and I expect Arthur’s back by now. We’ll look in tomorrow night. Will that be all right?’

  ‘Course. Course. Any time.’ Annie did not protest at her going, nor did she say, ‘Just wait a minute till I change her and get her coat and hat on and we’ll walk down with you.’ Instead, leaving Kathy and Bill in the kitchen, she accompanied Mona to the front door, and there they looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment before Mona said, ‘Well, bye-bye, Annie. See you tomorrow night then.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Mona. We’ll be looking forward to it. Don’t have too much tea for I’ll have a meal ready.’

  ‘Now don’t put yourself out,’ Mona answered from the front gate, and Annie replied jocularly, ‘Would I ever now!’ Then she watched Mona walk down the street before she closed the door.