The Year of the Virgins

by Catherine Cookson

  The usual groupings had then been assembled and photographed when Daniel, who had been standing with Harvey, surprised everyone by crying out. ‘One more! Come on, let’s have our men now. What do you say, Harvey?’ And to the further surprise of everyone he arranged himself and Joe on either side of Harvey, so, in his mind, pre-empting the guests from making assumptions, or perhaps making them wonder all the more who or what this black man was.

  And they did wonder about him, but they were not to know who he really was until almost an hour later when the toasts were being drunk and Daniel, with the devil in him, raised his glass to toast the happy couple and ended by saying, ‘I know they’ll be the first ones to say they hope that the next wedding from this house will be that of my sister-in-law and her fiancé.’ And with this he indicated Harvey, who was sitting three chairs away from him on the top table. Then leaning forward, he looked along the row in the other direction to where sat Father Ramshaw, and he said, ‘Would you marry them, Father?’ And the priest came back jovially, ‘Marry them? Of course, I’ll marry them. I’d marry a Hallelujah to a Jew if it meant I could get them into the church.’

  A great roar of laughter arose. But Winifred did not join in; nor did Joe, because he was thinking: that wasn’t very kind of you, Dad. She’s suffering and you know it. But then, perhaps it was Daniel’s way of being kind, a way of staunching the bleeding from the knife-thrust that was piercing her.

  It was his turn to stand now, and what he said was to the point: he didn’t aim to be funny. He said frankly that everyone in the room knew there was no blood-bond between Don and himself, but had they been born Siamese twins they could not have been closer. And while he was on the subject he would like to thank the man he called Father, and the woman he called Mother, for their care of him over the past twenty-five years. Lastly, he turned towards the bride and groom and, raising his glass, said, ‘To the two people I love most in the world.’

  It had been an unusual speech for a best man, with nothing amusing about it, not even one joke. There was applause but it was sober applause, accompanied by some shaking of heads here and there.

  He was a strange fellow, really, was Joe Coulson, the sort of man you couldn’t get to the bottom of. An excellent accountant; and always courteous and kindly, yet at the same time deep. Yes, that was the word for him: deep. But of course this often happened with adopted children and it was understandable, for you never knew from where they sprang…

  The bride and bridegroom were getting changed: in separate rooms, of course. They were leaving at five o’clock to catch a train from Newcastle, which would begin the journey for their honeymoon in Italy and three whole weeks together.

  When Don emerged from his room he wasn’t surprised to see his mother standing at her bedroom door, talking to one of the guests. Others were milling about on the landing and the stairs, and the house was filled with laughter and chatter. They must have overflowed from the marquee. On the sight of him, Winifred said to the guest, ‘Excuse me,’ and, holding her hand out towards her son, she said, ‘Just a moment, dear.’ Her voice was high, bright, like that of an ordinary mother wanting to say a last farewell to her son in private. But once she had drawn him into the room and closed the door she stood away from him, her hands, gripping each other, pressed into the moulds of flesh at her breast. ‘You would have gone without a word to me, a private word.’

  ‘No, no, I wouldn’t, Mother. I meant to come.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. No, you didn’t. Do you know this is the end?’

  ‘Oh, please. Please. Don’t spoil this day,’ Don said, closing his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them she was standing close to him, her breath like a hot moist wind on his face as she said, ‘I mightn’t be here when you come back. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it. I could be dead.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother!’ His tone was sharp; and when her head began to bob in agitation, he ground out, ‘Don’t start. For God’s sake! Mother, don’t start that!’

  ‘Oh! Oh! You’ve never used that tone to me before. It’s happening already. Why do I have to go through all this? What have I done to deserve it…? Oh, Don! Don.’

  Again he found himself in her embrace. But he couldn’t bring himself to put his arms about her; he was repulsed by her nearness, and this was a new feeling. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pressed her almost roughly from him, saying, ‘Look, you must try to be sensible about this: I am married now; I’m starting a new life of my own. Can’t you understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand. I’ve lost you already.’

  ‘You haven’t lost me yet, but you’re going the right way about it. I love you. You’re my mother.’

  ‘You love me?’ Her voice was soft. ‘You really do love me, Don?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ He moved his hands on her shoulders as if to shake her, but her body didn’t respond.

  She stared into his face, whimpering now. ‘Promise you’ll love me always? You’ll keep some love for me? Promise?’

  He had the desire to turn about and flee from her, from the house and everyone in it. Except for Annette. In his mind he had Annette by the hand running. But he heard himself say quietly, ‘I promise. Now I must go.’

  ‘Kiss me.’

  Slowly he leant towards her to put his lips on her cheek, only again to be enveloped in her embrace. But now her open mouth was covering his, his slim body pressed into her flesh.

  A moment later he managed to stagger from the room; although he didn’t go straight downstairs but into the bathroom, and there, locking the door, he bent over the basin and sluiced his face with cold water. His whole body was shaking.

  She was mad. She must be. He sluiced his mouth with a handful of water and rubbed his lips; then he dried his face, wiped the drops of water from the front of his suit, and in an effort to compose himself he drew in a number of deep breaths before leaving the bathroom.

  At the head of the stairs there stood his father.

  ‘I was coming for you. Where have you been? Annette’s downstairs waiting. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing.’

  Daniel looked along the corridor, then said quietly, ‘Your last goodbye?’

  Don drew in a long slow breath before he said, ‘Yes, Dad, my last goodbye.’

  ‘Well, lad, it’s over; the cord’s severed. And keep it like that. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand.’ They looked at each other as might have two men of similar age and experience. ‘Come on then.’ Daniel took him by the elbow and led him down the stairs and into the crowded hall, where everyone was talking at once; and then they all spilled out onto the drive.

  And now Annette was being hugged by her mother; then her father who, seeming to find difficulty in unbending his stiff body, kissed her first on one cheek then on the other, then characteristically said, ‘God go with you, child.’

  That there were two people missing from the crowd wasn’t noticed in the excitement: the bridegroom’s mother and Don’s brother, Stephen. Stephen had had another accident, which would not have been generally known; in any case he was now waving from the upper window, and quite happily, because his father had promised him he could come down and watch the dancing on the lawn, later on that night. Perhaps only Daniel, Joe, Flo and Don himself were aware of Winifred’s absence.

  Don and Annette were in the car now. Daniel and Joe were at one window, Flo at the other, all talking together: ‘Mind how you go.’

  ‘Make it a good life, lad.’ This was from Daniel.

  ‘I’ll have the house well warmed for you,’ from Joe.

  ‘Thanks,’ they both said together, then turned their heads to the other window where Flo, her hand extended, gripped Annette’s as she said softly, ‘Love each other.’

  They were both too full to make any remark on this; and now, as Don turned the ignition key and the car throbbed into life, Daniel’s and Joe’s heads disappeared from the window and their place was taken by Father Ra
mshaw’s, crying now above the noise of the engine, ‘Being me, I’ll have to have the last word. God bless you both.’ And with a mock serious expression on his face he now cried, ‘If you should drop in on the Pope, give him me kind regards. And look, will you tell him on the quiet that I have a curate that would suit him down to the ground as a first secretary. I’ll send him off any time; he’s just got to say the word.’

  They both laughed loudly and Annette said, ‘I’ll do that, Father, with pleasure.’

  ‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’

  The voices sent the car spurting forward, and with the sound and feeling of a thump on the back of it Don said, ‘I bet they’ve hung something on there. Anyway, we’ll stop along the road and see.’

  Annette now turned and looked through the back window, saying, ‘They’re running down the drive.’

  ‘They can run, darling, they can all run, but they’ll never catch us.’ He glanced at her, his eyes full of love. ‘We’re free. Do you realise that, sweetheart? We’re free.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, and in so many ways. Oh, darling, no more worry, no more fear of what might happen if and when…’

  He lifted one hand from the wheel and, gripping hers, he pulled it swiftly to his lips.

  They were nearing the gates that led into the narrow side road as Annette once more turned and looked through the back window, crying now, ‘There’s Joe and your Dad. They’re running side by side.’

  And these were the last words she remembered speaking. She saw the pantechnicon. It was like a tower falling on top of them, yet not falling but lifting them in the air, and their screams sounded to her ears like those of people on the high-flyer just before the car went over and into the dip, and she knew they were going into the dip, because the car had become a great horse, a flying horse. It mounted the railings bordering the fields, then hurtled into the sky, straight into it.

  And all was quiet.

  Five

  It was half past twelve, early on the Sunday morning. At the hospital, Daniel and Joe were seated at one side of a small table, Flo at the other. At another table sat Janet and James Allison, she leaning forward, her elbows on the table, but he sitting bolt upright, yet with his eyes closed. He could have been dozing, except that every now and again he would look with annoyance towards Winifred, who was pacing the room in the clear area in front of the doorway, sixteen steps each way.

  No-one could have said when she had first started pacing, though all could have recounted how she had screamed at Daniel when he attempted to lead her by the arm to a chair, and then almost knocked Flo to the ground with that sharp flick of her forearm, with which she was adept; and again when Joe had said, ‘Please, Mother, you’re not going to help yourself like this,’ that she actually bared her teeth at him.

  The only one who hadn’t approached her as yet was Harvey. It was he who now entered the room with a tray of tea, which he placed on a table, then handed a cup to each person. And when there were two cups left on the tray he picked one up, turned and, walking slowly towards Winifred, he blocked her pacing by standing in front of her and holding the cup towards her. For a moment he thought she was going to dash it from his hand. Then surprisingly she not only took the cup from him, but sat down in the nearest chair as if a crisis had been passed.

  The tension seemed to seep from the room. But only for a moment, for they had barely started to drink their tea when the door opened and a night nurse appeared and, looking towards Mr and Mrs Allison and mentioning them by name, she said, ‘Would you like to come and see your daughter now? She has come round. But you may stay only a moment or so.’

  They both sprang from their chairs as if activated by the same wires, and as the nurse held open the door for them, Winifred caught at her arm, saying, ‘My son?’ And to this the nurse replied, ‘He is still in the theatre, Mrs Coulson. The doctor will see you as soon as the operation is over. Don’t worry.’

  After the door had closed on the nurse, Winifred’s pacing began again. But now she was muttering, ‘Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Stupid individuals! Don’t worry. Don’t worry.’ The words were emerging through closed teeth, and as her voice rose Daniel got swiftly up from the seat and, confronting her, gripped her by the shoulders and hissed at her, ‘That’s enough, woman! Stop it! And try to forget for a moment that you’re the only one concerned.’ And with a none-too-gentle push he thrust her down into a chair, stood over her, his face almost touching hers, and growled, ‘You start any of your tantrums here and by God, I’ll slap your face until you can’t see! Do you hear me?’

  This was the second time within a week that he had threatened to slap her face, and as she glared back into his eyes, so deep was her hatred of him he could almost smell it and he straightened up and gasped as if he had just been throttled, then turned to where Joe and Harvey were standing side by side as if they had been ready to intervene and prevent him from doing her an injury.

  After a moment they all sat down again and Flo, looking from one to the other, said quietly, ‘Here, drink your tea. It’s getting cold.’ And like obedient children, the men took up their cups and drank from them.

  Ten minutes or so later, the door opened and two men entered the room and introduced themselves as Mr Richardson, the surgeon, and Doctor Walters. Both men looked exhausted, particularly the surgeon, a man with a natural tan which, at that moment, looked as if it had faded.

  Winifred sprang from her seat and ran towards them, and he patted her arm, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’

  ‘How is he? My son, how is he?’

  ‘Sit down. Sit down.’

  She shook her head impatiently and remained standing, and Mr Richardson looked from her to the other woman and the three men and, his eyes resting on Daniel, he said quietly, ‘It’s been rather a long job.’

  ‘Will…will he be all right?’

  ‘I have to say that remains to be seen; he’s badly injured.’

  ‘Will he live?’ It was a demand from Winifred.

  And now, looking her straight in the face, he said, ‘That too remains to be seen, Mrs Coulson.’ His voice was terse now. ‘One thing I must make clear’—he was again looking at Daniel—‘he has lost the use of his legs. The spine is injured in the lumbar region. But that might not have been so serious except that one lung was crushed and his liver damaged. The latter, I’m afraid, could have serious consequences. However, it is very early days yet. Now, I would advise you all to go home and rest. There’ll be time enough later on to…’

  ‘I’m not going home. I must see him. I will sit with him.’

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t, not tonight, Mrs Coulson.’ The surgeon’s tone was definite. ‘This is a very crucial time. Come back in the morning and we’ll take it from there. But at the moment it’s imperative that he is not disturbed in any way.’

  It appeared as if Winifred’s body was about to expand to bursting point: her breasts heaved and her cheeks swelled as if she was holding her breath.

  It was Flo’s voice that seemed to prick the balloon, as she asked, ‘How is Annette…his wife?’

  It was Doctor Walters who answered Flo. ‘Oh, she’s been very, very lucky,’ he said; ‘a broken arm, bruised ribs and slight concussion. It’s amazing how she escaped so lightly. She’ll be all right. Of course she too needs rest and quiet. So, as Mr Richardson has said, it would be wise if you all went home and got a little rest yourselves. As for us,’ he inclined his head towards his colleague, ‘we’ll be glad to get to bed too. I’m sure you understand that.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’ It was Joe speaking. ‘We’ll…we’ll do as you suggest, Doctor. And…and thank you very much.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ It was as if Joe’s words had reminded Daniel of the courtesy expected of him, and his voice was hesitant as he went on. ‘I…we’re all a little dazed. It…it was so sudden. The wedding. They had just left the house. It seems impossible.’

  Mr Richardson nodded befo
re coming out with the platitude: ‘These things happen. We don’t know why. But there’s always hope. I’ll say goodnight now.’ He inclined his head to Daniel, then went out, followed by Doctor Walters.

  With the exception of Winifred, they all made ready to go; she remained standing, stiffly staring straight ahead. After glancing at her, Daniel walked past her and out of the room. Flo too glanced at her; she even paused in front of her before walking on.

  It was Joe who stopped and said quietly, ‘Come on, Mother; I’ll drive you back first thing in the morning.’ For a moment it looked as if she was determined to remain standing where she was, but when she glanced behind her at the black man standing a few feet from her and seemingly not intending to move until she did, she thrust her body forward, at the same time throwing off Joe’s hand from her elbow.

  Joe exchanged a glance with Harvey; then together, they followed her out of the room.

  It was two o’clock in the morning when they reached home, and Winifred, still without speaking a word, made straight for her room. And a stunned feeling seemed to have descended upon the others too as they sipped at the hot drinks supplied by Maggie who, without complaint at the late hour, had set about preparing rooms for Flo and Harvey.

  With the exception of Stephen, everyone was astir before eight o’clock that morning. Stephen had been heavily sedated the night before. Apparently he had witnessed the accident from his attic room and he had screamed and wailed and had become so obstreperous that the doctor had to be called to attend to him.

  Maggie had been up since six o’clock. She had cooked a breakfast which no-one wanted. She was now in her sitting room facing Daniel. Her eyes were red and swollen, her voice broken, as she said, ‘He didn’t escape after all, did he?’