Katie Mulholland

by Catherine Cookson

  He watched her eyes crinkle at the corners and her mouth open just the slightest. He saw her put her cup down on to the table where it almost overbalanced, and after she had righted it her fingers clutched at each other in her lap again and she stared towards him, but she didn’t speak.

  He was leaning farther forward now, his face straight, his voice low. ‘I sent you a number of letters, Bridget.’

  Still she didn’t speak; she was at the moment quite incapable of uttering a sound. She stared into the dark bright eyes and gathered each word he spoke to her and held it close while her heart cried, ‘Oh, Daniel! Daniel!’

  ‘I sent the card to Aunt Katie. You remember, I said I would. It was to tell you that I would be at the house that weekend. You didn’t come, so I kept my word and came down on the Sunday. I waited all day.’ He was smiling slightly now. ‘I remember I nearly drove them mad with my presence, and I ran out of things to talk about. Did they tell you I waited all day, Bridget?’ She made no movement, gave no sign, and he went on, ‘And then I wrote to you. I wrote four times. Then one Saturday morning I came, determined to tell them how things stood, to relieve you of the painful duty. The house was empty that morning, except for Nellie and Aunt Katie. I went upstairs—I remember it so plainly—and she told me in her own inimitable way that you had been married at eleven o’clock, and that she was expecting you back. I saw you when you came back, Bridget. I stood across the road and watched you…’

  There was something swelling inside her. It wasn’t the canker erupting again, but an anger, and it wasn’t only anger. There was hate swelling in her too, and threading her emotions was a feeling of astonishment that they could have done this to her. They all must have been in it; her mother, father, and Aunt Katie—even Nellie…And what about Peter? Had Peter been in this too? His sudden idea of them getting married by special licence? She had been willing to marry Peter rather than hurt him. Even if she had received the letters and had known Daniel had come she still might have married Peter…But would she? Wasn’t it a fact that she had fallen in with the idea of a special licence because she thought that Daniel had taken her at her word? Hadn’t she waited for some sign from him and it hadn’t come? Yet all the time they had been getting her letters. Who? Who? Her mother? Yes, it could have only been her mother…unless Aunt Katie had got them through Nellie.

  When he stood up and limped the three steps towards her she sat gazing up at him, with her hand gripping her throat. She saw his face as she had seen it in the bedroom of the house that day, warm, tender; she did not look for the other emotion it held; eight years had gone by.

  ‘Oh, Bridget! You never got them, did you?’

  She made a small movement with her head, then brought her hand up to her mouth and pressed it tightly across her lips.

  He took up the hand that was still lying in her lap and gently undid the clenched fingers, then he brought it to his face and laid her palm against his cheek.

  The touch of his face was like a lock key releasing a dam that had been building up for years, and when it burst he braced himself and pulled her upwards to him. And he held her gently, and she lay against him and cried and cried as she had never been able to do for years, and the ache within her melted somewhat.

  Holding her with one arm now, he dried her face, and when at last she spoke she muttered under her breath, ‘It was cruel, cruel.’

  ‘Yes, Bridget, it was cruel. It’s amazing to what lengths people will go because they think they have right on their side. The familiar excuse is they do it for your good, or because they love you.’

  Swiftly now she disengaged herself from him, but when he overbalanced she grabbed at him to steady him. ‘Sit down…’ she said. She had almost added ‘darling’.

  He bent sideways, and, picking up his stick, said, ‘I’d…I’d rather walk about; I’m all at sea at the moment.’ He leant on the stick and put one hand out to her, and she hesitated a moment before placing hers in it. As he gripped it he said, ‘It’s going to be damned awkward meeting them.’

  She nodded at him, saying, ‘Yes, and for me too, Daniel. I…I just can’t believe they could have done this to me. But…but they did, didn’t they?’

  He looked deep into her eyes as he answered, ‘Yes, they did, Bridget. But there’s another side to it for me. I’d rather know that they fixed this than continue under the impression that you received the letters and didn’t bother to answer them…They didn’t tell you that I came that Sunday?’

  ‘No, Daniel.’

  ‘Nor the morning you were married?’

  ‘No. But I remember that when we came back Aunt Katie was in a bit of a state.’

  ‘She would be.’

  A bell tinkled in the distance and her hand jerked in his. ‘That’s her now. She must have woken up. I don’t think you had better see her right away.’

  ‘I have no particular wish to see her at all, Bridget.’

  ‘No, I can understand that, but…but she’s very old; she’ll be a hundred this year and she’s fading fast.’

  ‘She was very old eight years ago, but she could still scheme.’

  ‘Yes, Daniel.’ Bridget looked down, then said, ‘I won’t be a minute. Do sit down.’

  ‘I’d rather trot round if you don’t mind.’

  ‘If she’s all right—what I mean is, she sometimes wanders just a little, but most of the time her mind is quite clear. But…but if she’s all right, as I said, would you come in?’

  ‘I’ll leave it to you, Bridget. Call me if you think I should, because I really have no feelings about it one way or the other now.’

  She looked at him for a moment longer, then turned slowly away and went out of the room.

  As she entered the drawing room Katie turned her face towards her and said, ‘I’ve had a funny dream, dear. Do you know I thought Betty was back, but Betty has been dead for years, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Katie, Betty’s been dead for years.’ Bridget stood by the bed and looked down into the hollowed eyes. The hate she had felt against this old old woman had gone, only a sadness remained. As Daniel had said, the things people did in the name of love.

  ‘What’s the matter, dear? You look tired.’

  ‘I am a bit tired, Aunt Katie.’

  ‘It’s that siren. If it only didn’t go at night-time.’

  ‘Yes.’ Bridget now bent and straightened the coverlet. ‘It would be nice if we could arrange it just for the daytime.’

  ‘Oh, Bridget, you sounded just like your father then.’

  ‘Aunt Katie…do you remember Daniel?’

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘Yes, Daniel. Daniel who came from America, your great-grandson.’

  It was many years since Katie had heard the name of Daniel spoken aloud. The name churned over in her mind incessantly at times, and now Bridget was saying it. ‘Yes, yes, dear, I remember Daniel.’

  ‘Well, he’s in the Air Force now, and he’s been wounded, and he’s in a hospital near Newcastle. He’s’—she paused—‘he’s called down to see you.’

  There was a deep quietness in the room as Katie stared up into Bridget’s face.

  ‘Would you like to see him? You needn’t if you don’t want to.’

  ‘He’s been wounded?’

  ‘Yes, dear, in the leg. Would you like to see him?’

  ‘Is…is he different, changed?’

  ‘Oh, he looks much older. But of course it’s eight years since he was here; we’re all very much older.’

  ‘Did he really come to see me?’

  There was a pause before Bridget said, ‘Yes, dear, he came to see you.’

  ‘I’m very tired, Bridget.’

  ‘All right, dear, we can leave it until another time.’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow perhaps, or the next day. Is Catherine in?’

  ‘Not yet, dear.’

  ‘Will she be long?’

  ‘She’s not due in until nine o’clock.’

  ‘I wish she was back.’


  ‘You just rest quietly. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No thanks, dear.’

  When Katie closed her eyes Bridget moved from the bed and went to the window and drew the heavy curtains; then, leaving the room, she crossed the hall and went into the dining room again, and looking at Daniel, where he was standing by the empty fireplace with his elbows leaning on the mantelshelf, she said, ‘She’s too tired tonight; perhaps…perhaps some other time. Will you excuse me a minute? I’ll have to do the blackouts.’

  He made no reference to her remark on Katie but said, ‘Can I help you?’ He hobbled towards her.

  ‘No, thanks. It’ll only take two or three minutes. I generally do them early in case I should switch on a light and forget, you know.’

  As she turned from him he said, ‘Bridget!’ and she turned to him again. ‘I’ve, I’ve got to leave shortly. There’s a friend picking me up about twenty-to-nine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly half-past eight now. He got hold of a jeep and came down to see some friends. We must be back by half-past nine…hospital orders, you know.’

  She came towards him now. ‘Well, in that case the blackouts can wait.’

  When they were standing opposite each other again he gazed at her for a time, then asked quietly, ‘Have you been happy, Bridget?’

  To keep things normal, to assist things to move along as they had moved during the last eight years, she should have answered, ‘Yes,’ but what she said was, ‘No, Daniel.’

  ‘Oh, Bridget.’

  As she heard herself talking now it was as if she was listening to the secret part of her that became alive only in the night, when Peter was fast asleep and she lay staring up through the blackness; but the thoughts that came alive in the blackness were formulating into words and pouring out of her now. ‘He’s good,’ she was saying, ‘very good—so kind and thoughtful; but…but it hasn’t been enough. Never was enough.’ And now she gasped as she added to her spoken thoughts, ‘Oh, it’s dreadful me saying this, and so soon. We haven’t met but an hour and here I am talking like this. I’m sorry, Daniel, I’m sorry…’

  ‘Sorry!’ He clutched at her hand and held it to him. ‘What have you got to be sorry about? It’s them that should be sorry…old people. Even he was older than you, so much older, like a second father. He talked like that, I remember. For months and months afterwards I used to hear him talking, never stopping, imagining you listening to him, the good stolid man talking. Good stolid men can drive you mad, simply because they are good and stolid and so right—so very, very right. But he wasn’t right in taking you, Bridget. He was in on this with all of them.’ He drew her closer and went to put his arms around her, and as she stiffened slightly she said, ‘Wait, Daniel. Wait, I’m…I’m all at sea.’ The term made her think of Peter and she bowed her head. But it would be easier to think of Peter if he had really been in on this, as Daniel had said. She looked up into his face now and asked simply, ‘Will you be coming back, Daniel?’

  ‘Will I be coming back, Bridget? What do you think? I’ll be here tomorrow.’

  ‘But how…how will you get here? Can you manage the bus?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, I’ll get here. What time are you finished school?’

  ‘Four o’clock. But I don’t get in until about a quarter to five.’

  ‘I’ll be here shortly after.’

  He glanced at his watch again; then, moving forward, still gripping her hand, he said, ‘There’s a lot of talking to be done, Bridget, and some rearranging.’

  She did not answer or look at him, but picked up his cap as they passed the side table; and then they were at the door, and as she went to open it he checked her and, bending his face down until it almost touched hers, he gazed at her and waited. When she closed her eyes his mouth fell on hers and they clung and rocked drunkenly together, and he, losing his balance for a moment, fell against the door and she with him, and there they rested, their bodies, their mouths hungry.

  When their lips parted she lay against him for a time in silence, then gently pressed herself from him and picked up his cap that had fallen on to the doormat and handed it to him. He put it on, adjusting it slightly to the side, then touched her cheek and whispered, ‘Tomorrow, Bridget, and all the tomorrows.’

  They exchanged one long look before she opened the door. Then she watched him limp down the drive to the gate, and as he went through and closed it after him he looked up towards her and smiled, and she smiled back and raised her hand to him. When he had limped from her sight she went in and closed the door and, leaning against it again, she bit hard on the ball of her thumb.

  When Bridget heard Catherine come in she took up her position with her back to the fireplace. Her hands once more clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes on the door, she waited. She heard Catherine go to the drawing room, then come out almost immediately, which meant that Aunt Katie was still asleep, or pretending to be—she was a good pretender, was Aunt Katie. Then she heard her mother go into the kitchen and a minute or so later come out. And now she was coming across the hall to the dining room.

  When Catherine entered the room and saw Bridget standing stiffly in front of the fire, her hands joined tightly in front of her, which always spelt agitation, she asked quietly, ‘What is it, dear? Something happened? I’ve…I’ve just been in; she’s asleep.’

  She came forward, smoothing her grey hair back behind her ears, and she paused when she reached the back of the couch and, looking across it to Bridget, again she asked, ‘What’s the matter?’

  Bridget jerked her chin upwards as if it was being restricted in some way, then very quietly she said, ‘Daniel’s been.’

  ‘Dan…Daniel?’

  ‘Yes, Daniel Rosier. You may remember him.’

  Catherine stared at her beloved daughter. She had often wondered over the past eight years what the outcome would be if Bridget and Daniel met; but she consoled herself by thinking that the meeting was hardly possible. Even when America came into the war she saw no reason why Daniel’s silence should be broken. If he came to England it wasn’t likely that he would visit them now. Catherine’s nerves had troubled her a lot during the past eight years—she had been attending the doctor for nervous debility for a long, long time—but the doctor couldn’t give her medicine for her conscience, nor could she get comfort from the priest in confession, because she had withheld this sin of hers. At times it seemed too trivial to mention, at others too enormous to voice; but, after all, what she had done she had done for the best. But what had she achieved? Just the secret misery of five people, and that wasn’t counting Daniel. She gripped the back of the couch as Bridget said, ‘What made you do it, Mother?’

  ‘Made me do…what?’

  ‘Don’t fence; you know what I’m talking about. The letters.’

  Oh, my God! She would die. She couldn’t bear this. She would drop through the earth with shame in having to admit to doing such a vile thing.

  ‘Four letters you owe me. Did you read them all?’

  Catherine was moving her head slowly from side to side now, its action begging understanding.

  ‘You must have been hard put not to give the show away that he had been here all day on the Sunday when you packed me off to Hexham, remember?’

  ‘Oh, Bridget! Bridget!’

  ‘And…and he was here on my wedding day, that very morning. He was just an hour late. You must have been very thankful for that, because if he had come before I left the house I might never have left it, at least not with Peter, because I knew then—I’d known for weeks—that I didn’t love Peter; that the feeling I had for him was tenderness, and pity, but not love…But I may be wrong there, at least about not marrying him, because I had already told Daniel that I intended to marry Peter because I couldn’t hurt you all. That was my main concern, not hurting anybody, particularly Aunt Katie. Oh, Aunt Katie mustn’t be hurt. Yet you all put your heads together to hurt me, by getting me married off as quickly as possible…Tell me
one thing; was Peter in on this?’

  Bridget watched Catherine leave the support of the couch and grope towards a chair. She watched her drop her elbows on to a small table and bury her face in her hands, but she felt no pity towards her for the moment, and she repeated her question, ‘Was he? I’m asking you, was Peter in on this? I want to know.’

  ‘Partly, partly.’ The words were smothered. ‘Your…your father told him how…how things stood.’

  ‘Dad! Dad told him! No! No!’ Bridget’s tone was bitter. ‘I wouldn’t have believed he’d do that, not him.’

  Catherine raised her face from her hands. Her eyes were bright and dry and her voice held a flat, hopeless sound as she said, ‘He…he was against it. He didn’t realise there was anything between…between you and Daniel until I told him. He wasn’t for it at all, for no part of it. Believe me on that.’

  There came to them the sound of the front door opening and they both turned their eyes in the direction of the room door. Then Catherine, once more putting her elbows on the table, buried her face in her hands; and she was like this when Tom came in.

  He stood just within the doorway and asked sharply, ‘What is it? Aunt Katie?’

  Catherine made a movement with her head but did not lift it, and Tom, going to her side, looked down at her for a moment, then towards Bridget, her face stiff-looking, her eyes hard, and he asked, ‘What’s all this about? You two…?’

  He did not end, ‘You two had a row?’ He had never known Catherine and Bridget to have cross words in their lives, so he dismissed the idea, and on a rising note he demanded, ‘Well! What is it?’

  ‘Daniel’s been.’

  ‘Daniel!’ Slowly Tom lifted his eyes from Catherine’s bent head to Bridget, and after what seemed a long time he said, ‘I knew this would happen some day. I’m sorry, lass. I’m to blame for a lot of things. I shouldn’t have listened to your mother, I should have told you he had been here waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh—oh, that! That’s nothing, that’s nothing.’ Catherine had sprung to her feet and was confronting Tom, her voice hysterical now. ‘If it was only that it wouldn’t matter. Anyway, you’ve got to know now; I’ve been wanting it off my chest for years…I…I opened his letters to her, and…and kept them.’ Her chin was thrust out as if in defiance, but her face was twisted with pain, and Tom looked from her to Bridget and back to her again before he said, ‘What’s this? You…you opened his letters?’