Justice is a Woman

Home > Romance > Justice is a Woman > Page 17
Justice is a Woman Page 17

by Catherine Cookson


  Joe stared at his father, although he wasn’t seeing him, he was seeing Elaine as she had been a few minutes before, saying to him, ‘You’re vile, you’re common, raw.’ Did he still care for her?

  There was really no need to ask the question, for the very sight of her at times burned him up; he felt he wanted to lose himself in her, strip off the veneer and bury himself in the woman he imagined to be underneath, the woman he was for ever trying to unveil; the woman, the mature woman, he felt would emerge one day…Did he love her? He opposed her, he frustrated her, he fought with her, but all the while…yes, yes, he loved her. And tomorrow, even tonight, he would go to her and tell her how sorry he was for upsetting her, yet at the same time knowing that he would never comply with her wishes, whether they be about the little girl or the two down in the cottage for whom the hate that had been kindled in her on their first meeting had never abated.

  He turned now and walked out of the room without answering Mike’s question.

  Six

  There were many times during the following year when the unreasonable demands made on her, not only by Elaine but also by Joe and Mike, made Betty wonder just how she controlled her temper; if she hadn’t had Lady Mary’s house to fall back upon she didn’t think she would have been able to carry on.

  Physically she was strong; but the twenty-four hours’ responsibility of the nursery fell on her shoulders, and it was beginning to tell. Nellie was a great help, but she openly admitted she didn’t like to handle the child. As she said, she could do anything with Master Martin but not with it.

  Then Mike, whose arthritis worsened during the winter, laid almost as much claim to her attention as did the child, but he approached it in a different way. ‘Come up here and rest,’ he would say. ‘Come up here and get the weight off your feet.’ But most of the time her visits would be taken up with manipulating his back and shoulders, and making sure he did the exercises the doctor had set him to keep the joints of both his fingers and toes free. He didn’t mind grabbing at a ball with his hands, but he objected strongly, as he tried again and again to pick up a pencil with his toes…And then there was the evening card game. So often she just wanted to get to her room and lie stretched out on her bed, but the thought of him up there alone, and fuming, would drive her up the attic stairs.

  As for Elaine, her sister worried her, for she was withdrawn, and sulky with it. She never spoke of the child lying still in the nursery, the child that never cried; she never visited the nursery and saw to it that her son spent most of the time elsewhere. It would seem that she had developed a possessive passion for the boy, but the whole household was aware that her aim was to keep her son away from his sister as much as possible.

  Whatever the situation might be between Elaine and Joe, Betty could only guess at, for there were no rows now, no raised voices in their sitting room, yet she knew from the look of Joe that the situation wasn’t good.

  And Joe made his own demands on her. Whereas at one time he would say, ‘Go and have a break; go and see your old girl,’ he had, over the past few months, made no such suggestion. It was as if he would have her live in the nursery all the time. He would come into the room, stand by the cot and gaze down on the child; sometimes he would lift her limp hand or turn her head on the pillow, aiming to get her eyes focused on him. At times his finger would trace the harelip, then move over the flat cheekbones to the domed head. At such times, when he stayed by the cot longer than usual, she could feel his pain, his compassion, and when he turned his face to her and she saw the sadness deep in his eyes, her heart would ache for him, although in a different way from usual.

  ‘Aunty Bett.’

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘When will the little girl come out to play?’

  ‘Oh.’ Betty looked down at Martin, who was mounting the stairs by her side, his hand in hers, and she said, ‘Not yet awhile; when she’s a little better.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Perhaps next year.’

  ‘At Christmas when Santa comes?’

  ‘Yes, yes; perhaps at Christmas when Santa comes.’

  ‘I’d like her to play with me now, Aunty Bett.’

  ‘Well, she’s sick at present.’

  ‘She doesn’t talk to me.’

  ‘No; no, not yet. You see she doesn’t know any words.’

  ‘Well, I could show her with my books.’

  Betty opened the nursery door, then paused for a second as Martin tugged his hand from hers, crying, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

  Joe opened his arms and the boy leapt into them, and Betty said, ‘I didn’t know you were in; the car’s not outside.’

  ‘I had a puncture just below the gate; David’s seeing to it.’

  ‘Daddy. Daddy.’ The boy was pulling Joe’s face round to his. ‘Aunty Bett says the little girl will talk next…next year, and she’ll play with me, but, Daddy, I want her to play now.’

  The boy twisted himself about in Joe’s arms and leaned over the iron rail and bent down into the cot, and Joe held him there for a moment and allowed him to stroke the child’s face; then lifting him up again, he placed him on the floor. But the boy, as though he would not be outdone, shook the cot bars until they rattled as he cried, ‘Put her on the rug, Daddy! Put her on the rug!’

  ‘No! Martin. Leave go. Stop doing that!’ As Joe unloosened one small hand from a rail the child grabbed at it with the other until Betty, going to him, said, ‘All right, all right, if you’re a good boy I’ll put her on the rug; but just for a moment, mind.’

  ‘You think that’s wise?’ Joe asked the question in a muttered aside, and she answered in the same way, ‘I can’t see that it can do any harm to either of them; he won’t always accept her as she is now; in fact, it’s a wonder it’s lasted this long.’

  Joe stood aside and watched her lift the side of the cot out of its slot, lower it, then gather the small limp form into her arms, saying as she did so, ‘Put the pillow on the floor, will you, Joe?’

  A moment later he stood looking down at his daughter lying on the cushion. She looked like some immature gargoyle, while his son, kneeling by her side, his face showing rapt pleasure, appeared to him for a moment like a seraph newly born out of the celestial hierarchy. It was like Beauty and the Beast being played out by infants, only in reverse.

  There were times when he couldn’t bear the situation and this was one of them. As he turned abruptly away, Betty, who was on her knees by the side of the pillow, checked his leaving by saying, ‘Joe?’

  ‘Yes?’ He stood with his back to her.

  ‘I’d like to get away this weekend.’

  It was a few moments before he replied, ‘All right. I’ll be here; I’ll see to things.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to put yourself out, you know that; Nellie can manage and Jane will give a hand.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know; but I’ll be here, nevertheless.’

  He had opened the door when she spoke again. ‘I must have a break, Joe.’

  He turned now and looked at her, saying softly, ‘Of course. Of course, Betty. I know that. I…I ask too much of you. But…but I can’t help it. Somehow I don’t want her to be left alone; it’s as if she’s…well, she’s telling me she doesn’t want to be left alone. It’s stupid, I know, but there it is.’

  Her throat was tight. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. When he had closed the door behind him she put her hand on the child and its rapid heartbeat matched her own for a moment. What was to be the end of it? She still had no answer to this oft-repeated question that covered more than the problem of the child, and in the next instant she was startled by Martin, saying, ‘Why does the little girl look funny, Aunty Bett? She’s…she’s not like other little girls, or their dolls; she’s got a funny lip, and her eyes aren’t straight.’

  Only a moment or so ago she had said he wouldn’t always accept her as she was now; well, he was now apparently seeing her for the first time as she really was and it was likely she would a
ppear more odd to him as each day went by.

  Quickly she picked up the child from the floor and placed it in the cot; then she lifted the side of the cot and dropped it into place; and when she turned from the cot Martin was standing in the middle of the room staring at her, his face solemn; and, as if he were aware of what she was thinking, he said softly, ‘Even if she is funny I still want to play with her, Aunty Bett.’

  Seven

  Joe entered the drawing room and walked towards the couch where Elaine was sitting reading before the fire. The April evening was chilly; there had been a frost last night and from the feel of the air another one was promised tonight.

  He stood with his back to the fire observing her. She had glanced up when he had entered the room but now she had returned her attention to the magazine. She looked thin and, he thought, peaky; there was no doubt she was suffering as much as he was, even if it was in a different way, but why couldn’t they share their suffering? At twenty-six she was more beautiful than when he had first met her, yet at the same time she didn’t seem to have developed in any way, still appearing to be a flapper of twenty-two, or twenty, even eighteen.

  He said softly, ‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go out. I had forgotten about the meeting when I let Betty go.’

  She looked up. ‘Let her go! Betty’s not a servant; you don’t let her go.’

  His teeth ground against each other; then slowly, he said, ‘I didn’t mean it that way; you know exactly what I meant.’

  Her eyes were again on the magazine and he stared hard at her for a moment before he added, ‘We’re going to make George Bailey a director. I did tell you, didn’t I?’

  She showed no interest, so he went on as if he were being forced to defend the foreman: ‘He’s a good man. He’s worked hard for us for years; he deserves it if anyone does.’ He glanced at his watch, then said, ‘Well, I must be off, but I won’t be long; a couple of hours at the most.’ Yet he did not immediately make for the door; instead, stepping quickly to the couch, he sat down by her side and, gripping her hand, he brought it to his mouth and rubbed his lips across the knuckles; and then, his voice soft and appealing, he murmured her name, ‘Elly. Elly.’

  She turned her head slightly to the side and away from him. ‘You’ll be late for the meeting,’ she said indifferently.

  ‘Elly. Look at me.’ Gently he brought her face towards him and, his hands cupping her cheeks and his voice throaty, he said, ‘Let’s try. We need each other; I’m…I’m lost without you.’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’

  ‘Mine, I know, I know, but it’ll never happen again, I swear; there’s ways and means of preventing it, on my side, permanently; I’ll take the necessary steps; anything, so that we can be one again, really one again. I…I can’t bear this life, being separated from you.’

  She moved her hand in his and, her eyes downcast, she said, ‘Go…go to the meeting; we’ll talk about it later.’

  ‘Darling. Oh, darling.’ He leaned forward and buried his face in her neck for a moment; then he kissed her on the lips. After passing his hand over her mat of straight, shining hair he rose to his feet, standing for a moment and smiling gently down at her; then reluctantly he turned from her and went out.

  When she heard the car moving down the drive she rose from the couch, switched off the side-table light and walked to the window. The twilight was deepening and the full moon was already bright in the high sky. After a moment she returned to the couch and sat staring into the fire. She sat like this until the half-light in the room gave way to darkness; then she rose and went out into the hall and up the stairs.

  She did not go into her own room, nor yet into the nursery, although she paused for a moment as she passed the door. She could hear Nellie moving about inside and Martin chattering. He should be asleep by now; it was more than an hour since Nellie brought him to the drawing room to say goodnight.

  She went on and up the stairs and tapped on Mike’s sitting-room door, and when she entered she found the room empty; but then Mike appeared in his bedroom doorway in his dressing gown.

  ‘I just came to see if you needed anything.’

  ‘No, no, lass; I have everything I want.’ He hobbled into the room, saying now, ‘Sit yourself down. How’re you feeling?’

  She didn’t do as he suggested but answered, ‘Much the same.’

  And to this he replied, ‘Aw well, that doesn’t show an improvement, does it?’

  ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘What do I expect?’ He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Well, since you ask I’ll tell you. I think you should put up a fight: accept the situation and say, There it is, but it isn’t going to down me; I’ve got me life to live, and I’ve got to help Joe to live his…You’re not alone in this, you know, lass.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, you want to tell yourself it isn’t the end of the world. These things are happening to people every day and they’ve got to be borne; what can’t be cured must be endured. Me mother used to say that, an’ it’s true.’

  Her nose gave a slight twitch and she said, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?’

  ‘No; I’ve all me wants, lass, thank you very much. Joe’s had to go back to the works?’

  ‘Yes, to a meeting, I understand.’

  ‘Aye, to a meeting. He’s got worries there an’ all. He’s putting Geordie Bailey on the board. Of course, that’s just a face-saver, when all’s said and done, to give people the impression that things are looking up, when in fact they couldn’t be much worse. If he doesn’t get more orders in soon, it’ll be a job to keep the payroll going. You see’—he nodded at her now—‘worries never come singly; and what he needs now at the present moment is help. And I’m no bloody use to him; so, as I see it, lass, it’s up to you.’ He looked straight into her face; and she returned the look fully for a moment, then said, ‘If there’s nothing I can do for you, I’ll say goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Her leaving was as abrupt as his farewell, and when she reached her own room she stood leaning against the door for a moment, her fists clenched by her sides.

  It was some ten minutes later before she felt her tense muscles relaxing. She had undressed and put on a black-top lace nightdress and over it a black negligée; then she went into the sitting room and lay on the chaise longue which was placed at right angles to the fireplace. The house seemed very quiet, empty in fact: Duffy and the cook were in the kitchen; Mike was in his loft upstairs; Martin was asleep in the nursery—she did not include the other child in her thoughts at that moment; it was Jane’s night out, and Nellie would be down to supper and chatting away to the Duffys.

  And up in the Border country Betty would be chattering away to that horrible old woman.

  They all had someone to talk to except herself. She was alone, misunderstood by everyone, and mostly by her husband. He had urged that they should come together again. What did that mean? Oh, she knew what it would mean, and she didn’t believe for a moment that he would ensure he would not make her pregnant again. He had cheated her twice and he thought too much of his manhood, his virility, to keep such a promise. He’d promise anything to get back into her bed again…And she had to face this: she wanted him back because she needed his affection; she needed to be fondled, to be caressed, petted, but what she didn’t need was what he termed loving. It sickened her. She realised now that it had done from the very first…Would she have felt like this towards Lionel? No, no; she didn’t think so, for there was all the difference in the world between Lionel and Joe. There was a roughness, an uncouthness about Joe, who took after his father.

  She walked slowly into the bedroom. That girl Nellie hadn’t been in to turn the bed down. She was supposed to take over Jane’s duties when she was off; she should have seen to it before she went down to supper. She walked to the window with the intention of drawing the curtains. The moon was bright now; the garden looked mysterious, r
omantic. Romantic! She scoffed at the word. Once upon a time there had been romance in her life…but now there was nothing.

  As her hand went up to draw the curtain a movement to the side of the house bathed in the moonlight caught her attention. Someone had run past the gable end and towards the elm tree. She reached for the cord hanging to the side of the bed and switched out the light; then she was standing close to the window.

  Really! It was the girl, Nellie, and a man. They were canoodling. How dare she! Going down to supper indeed! This is what must happen every night. Just wait till she came upstairs.

  She turned from the window and looked across the darkened room towards her sitting room. The children were alone in the nursery. She had never thought of them as the children before; only the child, and that meant Martin…

  It seemed that she had been standing still for an eternity, frozen to the spot, with her heart racing as if it would jump through her ribs, before she glanced upwards. Mike was in his attic kingdom. The Duffys were in the kitchen: Duffy was getting deaf and he never came up the stairs unless he had to, and Mrs Duffy was too fat and doddery even to attempt them. The house had never been so empty of people; this floor particularly had never been so empty.

  It seemed, even to herself, that she flew from her room and into the nursery; and when she paused, breathless, by the side of the cot she had no recollection of having opened the door.

  She did not immediately look into the cot, but peered through the dim light shed by the red-globed night light standing on a side table and towards where her son lay in his bed near the far wall. She could just make out that he was lying on his side, and it appeared that he had one hand, the fingers spread wide, across his face.

 

‹ Prev