Mary Ellen’s heart was like lead. It was as if she had just heard he had died; in fact, she was wishing she had heard that he had died, because then she could still think of him as hers. Her voice was like a thin whimper as she asked, ‘When is he going?’
‘Oh’—Kate jerked her head—‘apparently not until the spring, somewhere around April, because of what he calls the term ending. And the Cottle man is committed somewhere with his work until then. But truth to tell, I don’t think it is the man who has so much to do with it as the woman.’
Oh, Kate, shut up! Shut up! she only just stopped herself from shouting aloud, for Kate’s words were like a knife being thrust into her. But then mustering what common sense she still had charge of, she decided she was silly to have any fears about the Cottle woman: Wasn’t she old? Past thirty.
The silence fell between them again, and during it, staring at Kate, she realised she wasn’t the only one who would suffer from his going. Here was someone who had looked after him all his life, at least since he was a young lad. And now she was a very old woman. She didn’t know how old, because Kate would never talk about her age, but she was wizened like a nut and her back was bent and her fingers twisted. Had he thought that Kate might die, should he go to London town? If he was in Newcastle there would have been some chance of his coming home to see her during her last days, that’s if she had any and didn’t just pop off. But in London, which was another world away, how could he ever hope to see her again once he left for there? Kate was right about one thing among many others, he would always go his own road.
As she began to recall incidents from the past she checked herself saying, Stop it. Stop it. Everybody’s got their own ways of doin’ things, and ’tis only because he doesn’t like to hurt people. But he was hurting Kate, and he was hurting her. Oh, dear Lord, how he was hurting her. If only she could get over this feeling for him; if only she could take a scrubbing brush and scrub herself all over, then sluice herself with a bucket of cold water, for then, when she was dried, she’d be rid of it, like when you had a rash or the itch. But hers was an itch that started in the core of her being and she couldn’t get at it, and never would.
She rose from the chair, took some things out of the basket and put them on the table, then said, ‘I’ll be off to me da’s. I’ll call on me way back. Bye-bye.’ She paused; then bending down, she kissed Kate softly on the cheek, and Kate reached up and gripped her arm with her gnarled fingers, saying brokenly, ‘Bye-bye, lass.’
The first thing her father said when she entered the room was, ‘Hello. What’s the matter with your face? Has it slipped?’ Instead of retorting in her usual way she answered him, ‘Leave me alone, Da, please. I’m not feelin’ too good.’
After a pause he said, ‘Aye, well, there’s two of us. Nearly broke me neck the other mornin’ on the bloody ice outside the door. So get as much wood in as you can when you’re here the day, ’cos by the look of it, we’re in for another window-sill wiper.’
As she took off her things and began to empty the basket, giving no answer to his comments on its contents, she wondered if there was one other person in the world besides Kate who did anything for anybody and didn’t expect a return? He was her father, true, and she had a duty to him. Then there were the Davisons. She had a duty to them, too, and she certainly repaid it every hour of the day. She paused for a moment and looked at her hands. She had pulled her mittens off and the bare ends of her fingers looked swollen, and the rest of her hands were red and roughened and there were corns on the mounds between her fingers. She had the inclination to cry, but then she admonished herself: ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ for she knew that the condition of her hands, or the attitude of the Davisons, or her father, or anyone else wouldn’t have mattered a fig if the one person in her life was not going to vanish from it.
She stopped for a moment in the act of reaching upwards to a shelf in the pantry. What about the promise, or should she say the suggestion that he had voiced to Hal in the square at Allendale? Had he spoken like that just to show that he wasn’t ungrateful to her? And that’s all he had meant them to be, just words, no deeper meaning? And what about the letter he had promised to write to her?
Oh, why did she keep on; if Kate said he would go to London, he would go to London. Kate could see through people. She knew what they wanted even before they knew it themselves.
As if her father had picked up her thoughts, he called, ‘Her askin’ me to go along there on Christmas Day. She’s as able as me to get out.’
Like a flash she called back, ‘Don’t be silly, Da! She can hardly crawl about.’
‘That’s put on half the time. She’s as tough as cow’s hide. She’s been as old as she is now for as long as I can remember. She’s got potions that keep her goin’, and she won’t peg out till they run out.’
She was speechless. Kate had been so good to her father and mother, and at one time he had appreciated it. He had said she was the best and wisest woman that he had ever come across. She remembered he had gone to a revival once when the Evangelists were speaking in Allendale square, and when he came back he had said to her mother, ‘’Twas all hellfire and brimstone, same as the rest, only that one stoked his fire up the day with his best coal, because it was so red-hot he had womenfolk faintin’. No wonder some tried to break up the meetin’. But as I remarked to Benny Fowler on the way back, if old Kate had been on that box, she would have had their ears spread out and their mouths agape with her wisdom.’
And that wasn’t so long ago, well, seven years gone. But did it take seven years to change a man? Most of them could change overnight.
She stopped before shutting the pantry door and, looking inwards at the stone-slabbed shelves, she said to herself, ‘Kate says if you think of a thing first thing every morning afore you even open your eyes, it’ll come to pass.’ She had said that to her as a child when she had wished for some toy or other. Well, she had said certain words to herself every morning now for years and what had they brought her? Nothing but pain. So she must change them. But what could she put in their place?
Thirteen
It was May. He was going to London. This was the last time she would see him.
It had been an unusually warm day. It had been a lovely spring altogether. Too dry, some people said, for there hadn’t been a drop of rain for a fortnight and people were foolishly casting off the heavy clothes of the winter, while the wiser ones chanted, ‘You’ll suffer for it. Ne’er cast a clout till may is out.’
They had been walking side by side in silence for some time. It was Kate’s suggestion, given in an aside to him, that he should see her back to the farm. They were on the quarry path now and she had the mad notion to turn to him and say, ‘If I was to show you where a bag of gold lies, would you stay?’ But her heart knew the answer, because even if she were to claw her way into that old tunnel and show him the bag, his answer would be, ‘That’s stolen money. It should go back to the firm.’
It was strange, but long, long periods could go by without her ever giving the bag a thought, but during these last few heart-torn weeks her mind had dwelt on it. She could be rich. She could set up some place on her own, only how would she explain from where she had got the money?
She’d had the idea of setting up a little cake shop in the market place at Hexham, for she was a dab hand at cake making. But it was only an idea and vague, merely another wish that she knew could never come true.
He broke the silence by saying, ‘I’m not going to Australia, Mary Ellen, so don’t look so glum, although I’ll never forget, if it hadn’t been for your good work on my behalf that’s exactly where I might be at this minute.’ He put his hand on her arm, and she stopped and peered up at him in the deep twilight, and all she said was, ‘Oh, Roddy.’ And he, his voice tender now, said, ‘I…I think the world of you, Mary Ellen, always have and always will. You must remember that. But…but…’
When he shook his head she screwed up her eyes tightly. Then swinging roun
d from him, she ran into some low thicket to the side of the path, and when he came after her, calling softly, ‘Mary Ellen! Mary Ellen! Look, don’t be silly,’ she still kept on, until, coming to an open space, she flung herself down onto the moss and, burying her face in her hands, she began to cry unrestrainedly.
He knelt by her side and endeavoured to raise her up. But she remained stiff and lay there, her whole body racked with her sobbing, and all he could say was, ‘Oh, Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen.’
When her crying subsided she pulled herself up and around, and as she groped at the bottom of her petticoat to find the pocket wherein lay her handkerchief he said, ‘Here. Here.’ And now he was wiping her face, one hand on the back of her head, the other moving the handkerchief around her eyes.
‘You’ve got moss on your chin.’ He laughed, shakily. ‘It looks like a beard.’ And when he rubbed at her chin, she whimpered, ‘Oh, Roddy, don’t go. Please, don’t go.’
‘Now, Mary Ellen, you know I must.’
‘Roddy.’ Her voice was just a faint whisper.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked.
‘I…I love you.’
‘Oh, Mary Ellen. It’s…it’s just because we’ve been brought up together.’
‘No, no, Roddy.’ She was staring into his face now, but in the dim light, and the tears still in her eyes, she saw it as through an enchanted glass. It was beautiful, so beautiful that she could not control her hands, and when they both went out and cupped it she was whispering again, ‘Roddy. Roddy. Will…will you do something for me, just one thing, something…something to remember you by?’
‘Aye, yes, of course, Mary Ellen, anything. What is it?’
There was a long pause now as her hands slid round his shoulders, and she pressed herself against him before she said, ‘Love me.’
Although she felt his body jerk away beneath her hold she did not relinquish it, but again she pleaded, ‘Just…just once, Roddy. I…I must have something of you to remember you by. Just once. Oh, Roddy.’
‘Mary Ellen, you don’t know what you’re sayin’.’
‘Yes, yes, I do, Roddy, I do. I know all about it. I know what I’m sayin’.’
‘But if…if?’
‘It won’t. It won’t. Nothing will happen, just…just…Oh, Roddy, Roddy. Please, love me. Please, love me.’
When she felt the trembling in her own body being answered in his, she lifted her face up until their lips were an inch apart. Then when she pressed hers to his she felt his body go rigid. But this did not deter her. And when they fell onto their sides they lay still, still and trembling.
‘Mary Ellen! Mary Ellen! No, no. It…it mustn’t happen. Oh, Mary Ellen.’ As he repeated her name his hands began to move over her, and immediately the agitation inside her ceased and she lay perfectly still.
The daylight vanished. A night animal ran past them and gave an eerie squeaking cry at finding an obstacle in its path.
Roddy was the first to sit up, but he did not straighten himself: his body doubled, he held his head in his hands, muttering unintelligibly; whereas Mary Ellen all the while lay limp and relaxed, staring upwards to where in the far far distance a small star was appearing in the sky.
So this was it? This ecstasy that was nearly all pain; this transient thing that had changed, not only her body, but her mind, for her worrying had stopped. It was as if she had never known worry and would never know it again, for now she had an antidote against it in the knowledge that she was holding Roddy to her forever more: if she never saw him again he would be hers.
It was at the moment she was thinking, no matter what happened in her life again it wouldn’t affect her, that Roddy’s voice penetrated her euphoria and the sound told her he was speaking through his clenched teeth.
‘You shouldn’t have done it, Mary Ellen.’
She felt him move then saw the dark outline of him rise to his feet. And she knew he was fumbling with his clothes. She hadn’t bothered about hers; she hadn’t even been aware of their disarray; but now her hands were quickly thrusting her skirt and petticoat into place. And she raised herself on her elbow as his voice came at her again, saying, ‘You shouldn’t have made me, Mary Ellen. That’s you, you must have all you want.’
The euphoria slid away from her like a cloak falling from a greased body. She pulled herself to her feet now and muttered, ‘Roddy. Roddy.’
‘You know what you’ve done, Mary Ellen? You know what you’ve done?’
‘Yes, Roddy, yes. I know what I’ve done.’
‘My God! What if there’s consequences?’
She paused before answering. Previously she had thought of the consequences and it hadn’t mattered, for deep down in her she had imagined that if there were consequences he would shoulder the responsibility, and they would be married, and perhaps she would go to Newcastle to live there with him. And she would have learned to pass herself among his fine friends, because she was quick to learn anything. But now as she listened to him, for he was still talking, another change was taking place in her mind and body. Her body had gone numb as if it hadn’t experienced any sensation at all either of pain or pleasure. As to her mind, she was trying her best not to recognise what it was telling her, that this man who was talking at her was the real Roddy, not the one she had fostered in her mind all these years, for he was repeating in several different ways that it was she who was selfish, it was she who must always have everything she wanted and if she didn’t get it she flared out with her tongue. And now look at what she had done, the hole she had put him in. He finished by saying, ‘Oh, God!’
She stood peering up at him. What had she done? She had forced him to love her. But what she had experienced, was that love?
She could just see the outline of his face. It wasn’t as she had imagined it just now; she was seeing him as Kate saw him. Kate loved him, but she wasn’t deluded by her love, as she herself had been. She remembered something that Kate had said last week. She hadn’t fully understood it then but she did now. When she herself had been going on about him not visiting and the weather fine, Kate had said, ‘A slack string on a fiddle alters the whole tune. It’s like human beings. We all have slack strings, weaknesses, selfish traits.’
Well, now she recognised his slack string: he was selfish; in a big way he was selfish. He had been upbraiding her, and behind his words there was a suggestion that she had acted like a loose woman.
He was saying now, ‘I’m surprised, Mary Ellen, I am, but I’m not without blame; I blame myself.’
‘Thank you, Roddy.’
‘Oh, don’t come back like that with your sarcastic clips. You know it would never have happened if…’
Something snapped within her head and she was shouting at him now, ‘Yes, yes, I know.’
Quickly he thrust out his hand as if to put it over her mouth, at the same time hissing, ‘My God! Do you know what you’re doin’? Anybody could hear you on the path above.’
‘Well, I don’t mind. I would have thought you wanted everybody to know that I’m a bad woman, because that’s what you think, isn’t it, I’m bad?’
‘Don’t be daft, no such thing. Silly, yes. And out to have your own way as always…’
‘Roddy.’ Her voice was now low and deep as if coming up from the pain-filled depth within her and with a tone of quiet recrimination in it as she said, ‘Think again. What have I had with regards to me own way, ever? I was subject to me da; and from then I’ve been subject to me mistress, and all the Davisons for that matter. The only person who’s never made any demands on me has been Kate. Now it’s my turn, Roddy, to say this, the one big mistake I’ve made, and I can say it now, is to think that you were different from what you are. And deep within me I’m sad as sad that I’ve found it out. Newcastle didn’t change you, and not even your fine friends did, ’cos you’ve always been like that. Looking back, I’ve had the name of trailin’ you since we were bairns. And I did. But just think, there were many times when I didn’t, and what happene
d? You came after me. Not many times. But when I went off somewhere on me own, there you were, demandin’ why I hadn’t turned up. You liked to be trailed, Roddy. It was the same with Hal. Hal trailed you. Hal thought the sun shone out of you, and now you couldn’t care a tinker’s curse about Hal or what effect your leavin’ has on him. Not that that worries me because it’s been only too plain to everybody that Hal and me spark off each other like tinder off flint. And I know this much an’ all: you’ve altered since you got your memory back. As you said, you’ve become your real self. But the one afore that was pretty much the same. So I can say to you now, Roddy, go on your way, and don’t let your conscience trouble you. Just keep tellin’ yourself that all that happened was my fault.’
As she turned about and almost stumbled over a fallen branch, he muttered, ‘Look, Mary Ellen. Look.’
She did not turn to him, but groped her way back to the path. He followed her. And there she turned to him and said very gently, ‘Goodbye. And don’t come any further, I know me way. I should do.’
‘Mary Ellen, please, look. Don’t let us part like this.’
A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Page 20