She did not wait to see which way he went, or if he had come by car. Quickly she closed the door and leaning her face against it in the crook of her arms she moaned aloud.
Four
They stood in a small group in a side street where they had parked their cars some distance from the courthouse. The trial was over and they were not talking about it any longer. What Kathy and Percy, Bill and Alice, were all trying to do now was to persuade Tishy to come back with them.
For the third time Bill said, ‘But what will you do up there on your own? You’ll go mad.’
‘Well, if I’m to go mad I’d much rather be on my own…I’ll be all right, I tell you, I’ll be all right.’ She looked around them. ‘I…I just want to get away for a time.’
‘Don’t we all!’ Kathy hung her head; then looking at Tishy, she said, ‘I didn’t mean that nastily, Tishy.’
‘I know. I know.’
‘I think we should go home and discuss the business, go into it further, now we are all together,’ said Bill now.
‘What more is there to discuss? I’ve told you I’d like the cottage as my share, and if it doesn’t run to the price that we agreed on, then I’ll take out a mortgage.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bill and Kathy almost simultaneously.
‘Anyway the garage is carrying on,’ said Bill, ‘and Jimmy’ll make a good job of it. We should talk about what he suggested last week, expanding.’
When Tishy closed her eyes Bill said on an impatient note, ‘Well, somebody’s got to do the talking. And there’s another thing.’ He stopped and looked away from them and down the narrow street before he said, ‘There’s the fourth share. He…he may want it some day, you never know. Life doesn’t mean life any longer and…and he may recover…’
His voice trailed away as Tishy turned towards her car. Unlocking the door she got into the driving seat, then looked at them where they were standing on the pavement now gazing down at her. Kathy, bending forward, said, ‘We’ll come over on Sunday no matter what the weather.’
‘All right.’
‘How long do you intend to stay?’ asked Bill.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ll have to send a note to school next Tuesday if you don’t turn up.’
‘I’ll see. I’ll see.’
Speaking for the first time, Percy said, ‘If you want us, phone me any time at the office, Tishy—any time.’
‘I’ll do that, Percy. Goodbye.’ She looked from one to the other, and they said, ‘Goodbye, Tishy.’
She started the car, brought it out of its parking space, then drove off down the hill and out of Durham, and as she left the city behind she said, ‘I’ll never come here again as long as I live.’
She stopped in Newcastle and bought some food, just the necessities, milk, bread, tea, sugar, butter, some fruit and steak. She was caught up in the five o’clock rush of traffic which put another half hour onto her journey, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t impatient, she had all the time in the world before her; even being wedged in between cars, lorries and buses, with their combined noise pressing in on her, made no impression on the void that she was living in and which stretched before her ad infinitum. The concern of her family, the fact that she was but twenty-five, and that even plain women had been known to marry when they were thirty or over, afforded her not the slightest consolation. In fact, she didn’t see any compensations for herself. What she saw was a life of teaching and the thousand and one irritations that accompanied the word, which were recognised even by those who considered it a vocation, and she wasn’t one of them. She saw the sameness stretching down the years until she retired—retired to the cottage.
Why did she want to return there? Why? It should be the last place she should want to go to. Somewhere at the back of her mind she had the faint idea that she would be nearer her mother there, yet the picture of her mother, as she had last seen her in that room, should be no inducement for her to return, just the opposite if she were using her reason.
But she could find no reason in the urge to return to the cottage, only the fact that it was the only place in which she could be alone with her misery …
The long twilight was beginning when she parked the car in the copse. From the boot she took out a suitcase and the bag of groceries, and slowly made her way up the field. When she reached the broken wall she rested for a moment and, leaning her arms on the top of it, she looked about her. The strange white light that cloaked the moors on a fine day was being diffused now into grey. There were pink patches on the hills, and inky black hollows, and sloping stretches of green rolling like carpets to the valleys.
She took in a deep breath. This is what she needed, the ever changing picture, the unpeopled picture, the lonely desolate picture. Here she would find some sort of peace, but more important still here she could hide herself and her feelings and no-one would say, ‘Now you must forget about the past and pull yourself together; we’ve all got to live.’
Gran McCabe had said that to her yesterday. She had meant well. ‘No-one will miss Annie more than I will. Lass and woman, I liked her. Salt of the earth was Annie. She could tackle mountains. She tackled my Georgie when she was but a girl, and made a man out of him. God rest his soul, an’ hers an’ all. She made one mistake in her life an’ it was a natural one. It wasn’t that she fell with Rance afore she married but that she broke his neck from the day he was born…Well, it’s over, lass. God makes the back to bear the burden, that’s what I’ve learned from life, so come on now, your back might be narrow but it’s tough. You’ve got your mother in you, and you’ve got your dad in you, and perhaps a little bit of me an’ all, eh?’
Strange, how people like Gran McCabe could face life. When she had asked her if she should pick her up on the way to the trial, she had answered, ‘I’m hard up at this minute, lass, but I wouldn’t take a thousand pounds an’ look on him again, for God knows what I might be driven to say, or do, meself. No, lass,’ she had said; ‘do you know what I am going to do the day? I’m goin’ to bingo, that’s all he’s worth to me, I’m goin’ to bingo, ’cos I’m goin’ to tell you somethin’ that I’ve never mentioned afore, an’ it’s this, I’ve always thought there was somethin’ fishy about the way my Georgie died. I’d seen him just a while afore in the pub. He’d had a drop, but he wasn’t drunk enough to fall downstairs. When he was home along of me, he’d come in paralytic night after night, mortallious, stinking, but he always made those back stairs, an’ they were as steep as a cliff. No, lass, from me first sight of Annie I knew there was something there I’d better not probe into…Can you throw any light on it for me, lass?’
And because it would make no difference now she had said, ‘He kicked me dad downstairs.’
Mollie had nodded as she said quietly, ‘I knew it, I knew it was somethin’ like that…aye, I’ll go to bingo.’
She picked up the bag and case again and walked slowly up the hill. The evening light was shining on the windows of the cottage, softening its hard exterior. As she neared the steps she thought, I’ve got to make this my home. When she reached the verandah she put down the case and took her key from her handbag, but when she went to insert it in the door she found that it was open. Pushing it forward she tentatively entered the room; then her face stretched and her mouth fell into a gape.
The place was filthy. What had happened? Had tramps been in, or hikers? She looked at the floor, mud stains all over it. There was unwashed crockery on the table to the side of the couch; the couch itself was pushed up close to the fire. Her gape widened; the fire was on. She went slowly up the room and rounded the couch but keeping her distance from it. Then she stared wide-eyed at the figure lying there asleep under huddled-up blankets. If it hadn’t been for the colour of his hair she would have taken the man for a stranger. The face was unrecognisable with its ragged beard and a thick growth on the cheeks. The couch was not long enough to take his length and he was lying on his side with his knees bent. He was bre
athing deeply like a man in drink. She looked round for evidence of bottles, but as far as she could see there weren’t any.
The hearth had a pile of ash on it which meant it hadn’t been cleared for days. There were burnt pieces of wood lying near the edge, almost touching the rug. The place could have been burned down.
As she went to turn away the soles of her shoes brought a squeak from the floor boards, and he moved. He turned onto his back, and she watched his tongue come out and lick around the thick stubble on his lips. Then he groaned and went to turn onto his other side but stopped and, slowly opening his eyes, peered at her through his flickering lids. Closing them again, he kept them shut for some seconds. When he again looked at her he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position and was about to speak when he began to cough.
After the spasm had passed he said in a voice, thick and croaking, ‘I…I can go any time. I…I had the key and…and looked in a while ago…’ He closed his eyes again, and now his body slid down until his head was resting on the arm of the couch.
If he wasn’t drunk or getting over a drinking bout then he was ill. She forced herself to say, ‘Aren’t you well?’
‘What?’
‘I said, aren’t you well?’
‘Off colour, that’s all. I…I can go any time, kit’s outside…sleeping bag…I can go any time.’ He said no more but slid farther down the couch.
After a moment she went slowly down the room, picked up the bag of groceries and the case from the verandah, then went into the kitchen.
It looked as if he had used every dish in the place. The washing-up bowl was full of plates, cups and saucers. There were three dirty pans on the stove, there was the remains of a loaf on the table and a tin of corned beef with the lid half opened.
She looked in the pans. One held congealed porridge that had shrunk away from the sides of the pan, which meant it had been there some days; another had held milk and was burnt; the third pan had three potatoes stuck to the bottom.
What was she to do? Go back home, leave him?…She couldn’t just walk out and leave the place like this; nor him for that matter. She picked up the half-opened tin of corned beef. He must be ill.
She went to the kitchen door and looked towards the far end of the room. He was still lying down. In ordinary circumstances he would have been up and talking…and walking away.
Why had this to happen to her? Why? Talk about turning the screws. The last person on God’s earth she wanted to be confronted by at this time was him. She had stood enough, it wasn’t fair. Oh! She turned about on an inward groan; then going into the room again, she lifted her case and went upstairs.
On the landing she hesitated and looked at the door through which she had rushed on that far off night. She went to pass it. It would likely be in the same state as down below. With a jerk she thrust it open.
It was just as if her mother had left it at the end of a visit, everything neat and tidy awaiting her return. Even the odd things on the dressing table were arranged carefully, not as her mother might have arranged them, but in a straight line in front of the mirror. Why had he done this, straightened everything up?
Slowly she closed the door. He must have stayed downstairs all this time. But surely he hadn’t been here since she had last seen him? She wouldn’t know until he told her and by the look of him he wouldn’t be able to tell her much for some time. Hurriedly now she went into her room and changed.
Downstairs again, she went to the couch. His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping. She touched his shoulder. ‘How…how long have you been like this?’
He lifted his lids and blinked at her, then shook his head.
‘When did you last eat?’
Again he shook his head, and at this she left him and went into the kitchen.
The first thing she did was to clean a pan and heat some milk. When it was ready she spooned two heaped spoonfuls of glucose into it, then took it to him.
‘Sit up,’ she said abruptly, ‘and drink this.’
Obediently but slowly, he pulled himself upwards; then leaning his shoulder against the back of the couch for support he took the cup from her and drank the milk. When he had finished he handed her the cup back, saying, ‘Thanks…thanks,’ then slid down the couch again.
Standing looking down at him, she said, ‘You should see a doctor.’
He shook his head, and after a moment of silence he muttered, ‘It’s over. I’m better now; I’ll be on my feet tomorrow.’ Then turning his head and looking at her, he added, ‘I’m sorry. I…I meant to be away.’
‘How long have you been here?’
He made a small movement with his head, then drooped it forward as if thinking. ‘Two weeks…three. I don’t know.’
Her own head was shaking as she went from him. Halfway down the room she stopped and looked about her. ‘What a mess!’ In the kitchen she repeated the words, then added, ‘Well, it won’t clean itself, will it? You’d better get on with it.’
She was getting on with it; she was in the act of washing some of the glar from the floor when with a startled exclamation she turned and looked towards the kitchen door, and there he was, like some wild man of the hills, supporting himself with hands outstretched against the stanchions. When he shambled forward and steadied himself by gripping the table she did not say, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ but watched him making his way through the annexe and out of the back door. The Elsan pan was at the bottom of the garden forty feet away. He had a temperature; he must have had it for days and he’d been going out there.
She went on scrubbing the floor. She didn’t even look up when a few minutes later he passed her on his way back into the room; nor did he speak to her …
By ten o’clock she had order restored in the kitchen. Also she had made him a meal of sorts, mashed potatoes and corned beef and boiled rice, but he had hardly touched it. She had brought in wood and made the fire up, then fastened the guard round it. Now she had to force herself to do something else, something distasteful. She went upstairs and into the boxroom and, lifting up the chair commode that Annie had thought it necessary to install to save passages down the garden on wet and stormy nights, she carried it down the stairs by easing it from one tread to the next. Having placed it in the alcove to the side of the fireplace, she found the most difficult part of the proceedings was yet to be accomplished.
She stood at the bottom of the couch. ‘I’m…I’m going to bed,’ she said.
His eyes were closed; he seemed to be in a continuous doze.
‘Oh yes.’ He moved his head once; then turning on his elbow, he raised himself slightly and said, ‘Thanks. Thanks, Tishy.’
She blinked; her face tightened. She turned half from him, saying, ‘In the corner there.’ She thrust her arm backwards. ‘I brought the commode down.’
He made no answer and she went to the table, turned down the lamp to a flicker, hurried into the kitchen and extinguished the lamp there, then back in the room, she glanced towards the glowing fire before mounting the stairs.
When she entered her room she closed the door and, going to the bed, she slowly lowered herself down onto it and, gripping the pillow, asked herself why in the name of God had she to be let in for this an’ all.
Five
On the Friday afternoon she went down the hill, took the car and drove to a call box. When she spoke, Percy said immediately, ‘Oh hello, Tishy. How are you?’
‘I’m…I’m all right, Percy,’ she said; then went on hurriedly, ‘Look…look, would you mind not coming up on Sunday, Percy?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m quite all right, but I would rather you didn’t come up on Sunday.’
‘Kathy will be worried.’
‘Tell her not to worry, I’m perfectly all right.’
‘Are you coming down for school on Tuesday?’
She didn’t answer for a moment but turned her head and looked down the long bare road. Then her glance swept over
the moors before she said, ‘I…I’m not quite sure yet; very likely I’ll be back on Monday night, but I’m not quite sure yet. I’ll phone you again Monday morning.’
‘Is…is anything wrong? I mean are you not feeling…? Look, Tishy, Kathy’s worried about you. If we could just pop over for…’
‘No, Percy, no, please. I’m asking you particularly, Percy, not to bring Kathy. There’s…there’s a reason, and I’ll explain it later.’
There was a moment of silence before he said, ‘Very well, as you wish, Tishy. But…but we just thought you’d be lonely.’
‘I’m not lonely, Percy.’
‘I’m glad of that, Tishy.’
‘Goodbye, Percy.’
‘Goodbye, Tishy…I’ll expect you to phone on Monday.’
‘I’ll do that. Goodbye.’
Once she had replaced the receiver she did not delay, but hurried out to the car, then drove away.
She stopped at the first general shop she came to, and so many were her purchases that the grocer himself carried out the two cardboard boxes and placed them on the back seat of the car. He told her he had been very pleased to meet her and would be equally pleased to serve her at any time. Her cynical thoughts suggested that it mustn’t be every day a passing motorist left four pounds seventeen pence with him.
She had to make two journeys from the car to the wall, and again two journeys from the wall to the house.
When she entered the room with the first box and dropped it on the table Alan looked at her over the head of the couch but didn’t speak, and she in turn gazed at him and only just prevented herself from saying, ‘Why, you’ve had a shave!’
He looked different, but worse than when he had his beard on, for his cheeks were hollow and his eyes deep bedded in their sockets, while his skin had a muddy tinge. Looking at him now it was hard to believe that he was good-looking, handsome, or at least that he had been at one time.
The Invisible Cord Page 29
