The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘What’s the good of cutting off your nose to spite your face?’ Sarah was pleading now. ‘You know what it’ll mean going down there just to spite him?’

  Phyllis shrugged herself from Sarah’s hold, then, her voice still quiet, said, ‘It was like that at first, but not any more. I like Ali and he can give me a home, and a decent one; they’ve got money.’ She jerked her head up. ‘His father runs one of them boarding houses and Ali helps. It’ll be his one day and a lot more besides. His father’s a name down there, and they have their own kind of stuck-upness…Do you know something? He and some of the others are not very keen about Ali taking up with me. I thought everybody looked upon them as scum. Even from the bottom end here they do; but let me tell you, them Arabs have their own idea of scum, and we from this quarter are pretty well at the top of the list. I’ve had me eyes opened this last few weeks.’

  ‘He won’t let you do it.’ Sarah’s breast was heaving nearly as much now as when she had scrambled up the stairs a few minutes earlier. ‘He’ll go to the pollis.’

  ‘He can go where the bloody hell he likes…’

  ‘Don’t swear, our Phyllis…’

  ‘Well, he can, and as far beyon’t because once it’s been signed and sealed he can do very little about it—nowt in fact. I was eighteen last week, an’ I know him; it’ll be such a slap in his dirty face that he won’t be able to wipe it off, an’ he’ll want to keep mum about it.’

  ‘Then you are doing it just to spite him.’

  ‘No, I’m not; I’ve told you. But I can hear him: “Aa’ve washed me hands of her, the trollop!” Ooh!’ Phyllis lifted her face to the low ceiling, and there was a twisted smile on it as she exclaimed in tones that held even wonder, ‘Won’t it be lovely to be a trollop and get away from here, and him, and everything?’

  Sarah sat down again. She felt sick, really sick as if she could vomit. This was the finish—the finish of her, anyway. Phyllis would go, but she would stay because when David’s mother heard that her sister had gone down into Costorphine Town way to live with an Arab—even if she were married to him—that would be the finish.

  And Mrs Hetherington had been rather strange lately, cool at times. She, of course, wanted them to be married in the Baptist chapel. Sarah had learned one thing about David’s mother during the past weeks. She was a dominant, proud woman, proud of her family, proud of her station in the top end, of living in the best house—the only double house—in the whole place. When this knowledge of her future mother-in-law’s character was added to that of her determination not to let David marry the girl Eileen, she appeared superhumanly strong. Sarah knew for certain now that if Mrs Hetherington hadn’t been pushed for a substitute at a critical time she herself would never have got across the doorstep.

  She swung her body round, straining it forward towards her sister, appealing with every fibre of it as she whispered, ‘Wait ’til I’m settled, Phyllis; aw, wait ’til I’m settled.’

  ‘I’ve been waitin’, Sarah. I thought the way you started it was all going to happen in a rush, you’d be married and settled afore now. Well, you started like that.’ She shook her head at the silent denial from Sarah. ‘I can’t wait any longer, there’s a reason. I’m…I’m leavin’ here a week come Monday, it’s all settled. I’m to be married then.’

  ‘A reason?’ Sarah’s mouth was hanging open and the lashes of her upper lids were lying flat against the smooth skin of her eyes. ‘A reason?’ Her voice had sunk into deep emphasis.

  ‘Yes, and it’s no good going off the deep end, it’s over and done.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘Mine too.’ This flippant remark would have at one time caused them to giggle helplessly even while Sarah reprimanded Phyllis for treating the name of God with lightness; but now she could only stare at the slight boyish-like figure of her sister. ‘How far?’ she asked.

  ‘Six or seven weeks. It happened after he gave me the lathering. Ali saw me face and weals sticking up above the top of me blouse and he was kind to me. You know what?’ Phyllis shook her head. ‘He nearly cried. Can you believe that, he nearly cried. Well, it happened that night, and don’t think I’m sorry ’cos I’m not, but you can see I’ve got to get away. An’ you know it’ll be just like gettin’ out of prison. I’ve never been inside but I’d like to bet me bottom dollar that this place is ten degrees worse than any prison. D’you know, I’ve had to come straight up here every night for weeks to get out of his sight, for his hands ’ave been itching to leather me again. He can manage me, you see; even if I kick and tear he can manage me. He couldn’t you; that’s why he’s never started on you, only that once when you first went to work and that lad set you home. But me, I’m smaller than him, something that he can handle in the way he wants, and me mother’s let him get away with it. She’s putting her foot down now when it’s too late ’cos she knows we can both skedaddle. She’s as much to blame as he is. She could have managed him with her bulk, but now he’s got her as frightened as he thinks he’s got me. But he doesn’t know he’s made a mistake. Oh lad, I wish I could be in two places at once next week when I post them me news. An’ you know how I’m goin’ to end it?’ She cocked her head up defiantly. ‘I’ve been goin’ over it in me mind for days. I’m goin’ to say, after the bit about me being married, I’m goin’ to say, “You can come to the christenin’ if yer like, it’ll be in about seven months’ time”.’

  ‘Oh, our Phyllis!’ Sarah lowered her head in a series of low swings until her chin lay on her breast.

  ‘Listen!’ Phyllis had raised her hand. ‘He’s goin’ out. He’s likely settin’ the priest down the road, and on his way back he’ll do a bit of his snooping on the courtin’ couples. Oh, I wish some fellow would catch him at it and take him by the legs and swing him face forward against a coal hatch.’

  Sarah put her fingers to her lips and stared at the tiny iron grate opposite her. Then, jumping to her feet, she asked, ‘What time do you think it is?’ She was standing at the foot of the bed buttoning her coat up now.

  ‘About quarter to ten I should say. Where you goin’?’

  ‘To see David. I’ve got to.’

  ‘You goin’ to the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What will his mother say?’

  ‘I don’t suppose she’ll be there. The grandchild…John’s boy’s ill, it’s whooping cough, and bad. David said his mother was taking a turn over there tonight, but if she isn’t I’ll just have to make some excuse, I don’t know what yet.’ She was gabbling now.

  ‘But how’ll you get back…in I mean?’

  ‘I’ll take the back door key and get me mother to leave the bolt loose. I’ll sleep on the couch until the mornin’.’

  ‘If he finds out he won’t let you in.’

  ‘I’ll have to risk that; I’ve got to see David. I can’t wait until tomorrow night, I’ll go mad.’

  ‘You’re goin’ to tell him you’re going to be married in the Baptist?’

  ‘No, no.’ Sarah shook her head violently.

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I just don’t know. I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘An’ tell him what a wicked girl you’ve got for a sister?’

  ‘Aw, our Phyllis, I won’t do any such thing, you know I won’t.’

  ‘I know you won’t, Sarah. You’re soft, our Sarah, soft. But go on. Go on and get back as quick as you can, I’ll keep awake.’

  Down in the kitchen Annie said, ‘For God’s sake don’t make a noise when you come in.’ She pulled the big key from the lock of the back door. ‘I’ll stay down as long as I can.’ Then she added, ‘What’s got into you? Why do you want to go out at this time? Are you going to the top end?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it about the priest?’

  Sarah hesitated. She would have to give some reason for going, so she nodded abruptly before slipping out of the door.

  There was a moon shining, caressing the grey slate roofs of
the long street, casting deep shadows over the rows of small windows on one side and lighting them up on the other, showing them as elongated eyes in an elongated face of dirty reddy-brown brick. But the moon was kind. The streets were mellowed. The grimness of the poorer houses was dimmed, and where the streets began to improve the moon lent a touch of enchantment. In Camelia Street everything was bright and gleaming. The houses looked like smiling faces. The bow windows were glistening eyes and the bath-bricked steps large white teeth sticking out of flushed faces. All the doors in Camelia Street were painted every year.

  Sarah stood with her arm raised towards the knocker of Number One, and before she grasped it she doubled her hand into a fist and punched her cheek as she asked herself, ‘What will I say? How will I begin?’

  It seemed to her that the knocker had hardly touched the door when it was pulled open, and there stood Dan.

  ‘Why, Sarah, come in, come in. What are you after at this time of night? David said he had packed you off home because of your…’ He looked down at her ankles. ‘Because you were tired.’

  ‘Is he in, Dan?’

  ‘Yes, yes. He’d have been here waiting on the step if he’d thought you were coming back. Come on, come in.’ He pulled her aside so that he could close the door; then, peering at her through the hall light, he whispered. ‘Anything wrong?’

  She did not answer his question but whispered back, ‘Is…is his mother in?’

  ‘No, she’s over the road. The young ’un is pretty bad. There’s only Davie and me in. His dad’s over there an’ all…Come on.’

  When Dan opened the living room door he pushed Sarah before him, saying, ‘Look what the moon’s flushed up, Davie.’

  David was on his feet. ‘What’s the matter?’ He was holding her hands now, looking into her face. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Yes. Can I sit down?’

  ‘Can you sit down!’ It was Dan who pressed her into the chair while David still held her hand. ‘What is it?’ David asked gently.

  ‘Look, I’ll be off to bed now, I’ll say goodnight.’

  ‘No, no.’ Sarah looked up at Dan. Somehow she felt that Dan’s cool head, his easy unaffected way of seeing things, might help. ‘You might as well know.’ She turned her face to David. ‘I had to come straight away an’ tell you. It’s about our Phyllis. I know it’s going to make all the difference, but I had to come and tell you. It isn’t her fault really, but she’s marrying an Arab…A week come Monday.’

  When she felt her fingers slide from David’s she cried wildly inside herself. ‘Oh no! No! Hold me hands.’ She turned her eyes from his startled face and looked at Dan. His face too was wearing almost the same expression as David’s, and the two men were looking at each other now. David’s lips were moving; it was as if he were saying something to Dan yet no sound came.

  The thoughts flowing between the two men were like hot wires passing through her body, vibrating pain. She couldn’t bear to look at them any more. She wanted to rise from the chair and rush out of the house, but she hadn’t the strength; she hadn’t even the strength to keep her body upright. It was bending over as if beaten. From her downcast lids she saw David’s legs move. He swung a chair round and then his knees were touching hers and there was promise of life when once again her hands were in his and he was asking, ‘When did you say she was going to be married?’

  ‘A…a week come Monday.’ Her voice cracked on the last word and she cleared her throat.

  ‘There’s not much time.’ Dan had turned another chair round and he too was sitting, almost in a line with David and in front of her. ‘Look, Sarah’—David was shaking her hands as if bringing her awake, and he began to talk rapidly, his words crisp, decisive—‘You won’t countenance the Baptist chapel, and this business of your church is going to take weeks. There’s only one thing for it: the registry office.’

  The words jerked Sarah. It was as if the wires had twanged against a patch of fear, disturbing it, sending it flowing in all directions through her body.

  ‘I know you don’t want to be married in a registry office, and neither do I, but it’s like this, Sarah. Well…’

  He stopped and closed his eyes, and Dan, putting his hand out and gripping his knee, said, ‘I’d better finish for you. It’s his mother, Sarah. You know how things are, you’re no fool. When this business of your sister’s is made public, it isn’t only God alone who will know what her reactions will be, we’ll all know. She’s a very proud woman is Mary, and she can be hard, unmoving…Now, what you’ve got to do is to create a fait accompli.’ He smiled here, then went on. ‘I mean, you’ve got to do the trick, get married. The thing is then done, achieved, and she’ll have to face it. But, on the other hand, if she gets wind of your sister marrying…an Arab…’ He wagged his hand at Sarah. ‘I’m not saying that there aren’t decent Arabs…they would be bad if they weren’t as good as some of the whites; but you know how it’s taken, don’t you?’

  In to the silence David said, ‘Will you, Sarah? Will you get married in the registry office?’

  Sarah stared into David’s eyes. If she didn’t marry this man in the registry office she wouldn’t get the chance to marry him at all, of that she was certain. Between the pressure of the priest and the power of Mrs Hetherington, David and she would be torn apart, the battle would be too much for them. It mustn’t be. Never again would she meet a man of David’s standing, not one who would want to marry her. Not one so lacking in side, not one who was the antithesis of his mother, of all proud mothers. But that she would suffer if she was married in a registry office she also knew…Her immortal soul would be in jeopardy, and her actions would make her responsible for the souls of her children—the priest had said. Even so, she must do it. She must marry David, if not in the sight of God, then in the sight of man.

  Thinking along these lines, she was surprised that she should openly show the extent of her relief in the way she did; for she cried, ‘Yes. Oh yes, David…any place…any place.’

  David pulled her hands up under his chin and held them there, and Dan rose to his feet with the comment, ‘Well, now, we’ll drink on that, the kettle’s on. And don’t let’s waste any time. How soon can this thing be got through—in the registry office, I mean?’

  ‘About a week.’ David was not looking at Dan, he was looking at Sarah.

  ‘Well, if you give the notice in tomorrow you should be able to do the deed in a week to a fortnight. And if you make it a Wednesday I can get the morning off. Look.’ He turned round the teapot in his hand. ‘I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll stand the wedding breakfast, eh?’

  ‘Aw, Dan, man, there’s no need for that.’

  ‘No need? Of course there’s no need, but I’ll do it all the same. It’ll be a bit of a wedding present. And look.’ He came eagerly towards them, the teapot outstretched in the direction of the wall. ‘The MacDonalds are moving on Friday, it couldn’t be better. Everything will work out. And you can spend your honeymoon doing the place up. You’ve got a week to come, haven’t you?’ He now dug the spout of the teapot into David’s shoulder, and David smiled up at him without answering. ‘Well, there you are, everything fixed.’ He was looking at Sarah as he spoke, his voice and manner sweeping away all obstacles. But there was one obstacle it was impossible for him to remove from her path, and it wasn’t her religion she was thinking about now, it was Mary Hetherington. Her face straight, she looked at David and said, ‘Your mother will never forgive me.’

  ‘Oh yes she will. I’ll take the blame.’

  She moved her head in small jerks. ‘She’ll never forgive me. She’ll even hate me.’

  ‘Now don’t be silly.’ Dan was bending over her, his face on a level with David’s. He spoke sternly as if to a recalcitrant child. ‘That’s nonsense. Get the thing done and stop shilly-shallying. I’m glad this has happened, you know, for you could both have gone on between church and chapel, between turning and not turning for the next two years and then finished up’—he straighten
ed his broad shoulders, and spread his arms wide, the teapot still in his hand—‘not getting married at all.’

  ‘You’re wrong there, Dan. Sarah and me will be married whether it’s next week, or next year, or the year after. But for my money it’s next week…That’s it, isn’t it, Sarah?’

  She was about to nod when the latch of the back door clicked and they all turned their eyes in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘What can I say?’ She was on her feet whispering.

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ David was patting her hands. ‘I brought you in, that’s all. We’d just come back.’ That meant his mother had been out when he returned home.

  When the living room door opened and John entered their combined sigh brought his gaze from one to the other. ‘Aye, aye! What’s up here? You all look as if you’d been caught in the act of breaking and entering.’

  Dan cast a quick glance at David, wanting to know whether he was going to confide in his brother and David answered him by looking at John and saying, ‘A little crisis has arisen. Good in a way, in fact for my part I’d say splendid. Sarah and I are going to be married next week…in the registry office.’

  John stared at his brother. ‘Sudden!’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes, it is. But things are better that way.’

  ‘Mother know?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want her to.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Nor him either. Nobody, only Dan here and you.’

  ‘Do you want a best man?’ His lips smiled.

  ‘Would you?’ David moved towards him.

  ‘It’s as little as I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, John.’ David thumped his brother’s broad chest without causing him to move in the slightest. ‘And Dan’s seeing to the breakfast. I couldn’t feel happier about it.’