The Long Corridor

by Catherine Cookson

Slowly Brian moved towards the desk. His body still looked stiff with defiance, but there was open fear on his face now, and as Paul looked at him he found that he couldn’t sustain the fierceness of his own anger. He almost saw the boy as a patient. Perhaps it was the chair, and the desk between them, and the atmosphere, but he wasn’t seeing him as his wife’s lover; at least not until Brian, poking his head out and speaking below his breath, hissed rapidly, ‘It’s about her, isn’t it? Well, it wasn’t my fault, she kept chasing me. I tried to push her off but it was no use, she kept on.’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘I won’t. That’s what you got me here for, isn’t it? Well, this is my side of it. She was determined from the word go. She broke Lorna and me up…’

  ‘That’s about the only thing I’m thankful for; I’m grateful to my wife that she accomplished that.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Have I got to put it into words for you, or are you going to do the talking?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at. I did nothing to Lorna.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault, was it?’

  ‘Now look here…’

  ‘No, my boy…you look here. If it had to be either my wife or my daughter I would prefer it as it’s happened, and that it was my wife who contracted your disease and not my daughter.’

  As Paul took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face he watched the boy’s jaw sag, and his eyes widen. His expression was very much like that of James Knowles, and for a moment it brought a feeling of horror to Paul with the thought that he might be making a mistake for the second time…But no, as he watched Brian’s hands go up to his face he recognised the confirmation of the boy’s fear.

  ‘I…I’ve got nothing wrong with me. I couldn’t have given her…’ The finger that came out and pointed towards Paul was trembling. ‘You can get into trouble for saying a thing like that; it’s taking a fellow’s character away. Look. Look, I admit to being with her, and I’ve told you how it was, but there’s nothing wrong…I tell you there’s nothing wrong with…’

  ‘You have syphilis, Brian.’

  The quiet tone in which this statement was made and the look on the doctor’s face, which at this moment was not that of an enraged husband, deflated the boy. His body sagged like a punctured tyre and he pressed his hand over the lower part of his face and bent his head over the desk.

  ‘How long have you had this?’

  It was a full minute before Brian spoke. ‘I…I thought it was gone. Honest, honest, Doctor.’ He raised his eyes to Paul’s. He was seeing him no longer as Bett’s husband, or Lorna’s father, but just as the doctor, his doctor, for he was on his panel, and he began to gabble: ‘I was a bit off colour about a year ago, spots and things, and then…then they got better. I didn’t know it was anything, and then a few weeks later they came back. I had a sort of cold. I was going to come to you, but I happened to tell a fellow about it and he said…well, he said I’d caught it. I felt bad, awful, then it passed away and…and this fellow said if it cleared up like that I was all right, I wouldn’t have it again.’

  The face before him was dead white, the eyes were full of a mixture of fear and shame, and when the boy’s voice, almost a whimper now, said, ‘I’m clear again, no scabs or anything,’ Paul replied softly, ‘You have syphilis, Brian; it’s in your blood. But we’ll have your blood tested and that’ll make sure.’

  ‘Can I…can I be cured?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you can be cured.’

  ‘But…but my father; he’ll go mad, he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t live in the town, the Mayor and all that, you see…’

  Yes, Paul saw; he saw what effect news such as this would have on Arthur Bolton. It would break him, and his wife…Oh yes, it would surely break her up. Their respectable lives would be shattered. Bolton himself was an honest, conscientious, good man, but he was an ordinary man, and as such this would hit him as a terrible, shameful catastrophe, magnified a thousandfold because of the position of honour he held. It would still matter if no-one else in the town knew a thing about it; once he possessed the knowledge of his son’s condition that would be enough. He said slowly and emphatically, ‘Your father needn’t know, he need never know. I—I couldn’t inform him, anyway, without your consent.’

  ‘But he’ll—he’ll get to know somehow if I have treatment in this town.’

  This was indeed true, although there was a social service making contacts with VD patients and this was done with the utmost tact and secrecy, so much so that contacts didn’t often realise at all that they were being investigated for VD. Yet in the case of this boy, whose father was the Mayor and whose family life was open to the public, greater caution than ever would be needed. He said, ‘I’ll make arrangements for you to go to Newcastle, after I’ve taken a blood test. You needn’t worry; everything is strictly confidential. I will be kept in touch with your progress, and when you come to visit me here you can be coming to give me information for my paper.’

  He watched the boy’s chest expand and his head droop as he muttered, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry about…’

  There was a short silence before Paul said, ‘Well, you can prove that.’

  ‘How?’ His head came up a little.

  ‘You can tell me how many girls…or women, you have been with since you first knew you had contracted this, and…and, by the way, do you know from whom you got it?’

  He watched the boy straighten his shoulders and swallow a number of times, then smooth his hair back.

  ‘I was with a woman in Newcastle.’

  ‘Do you know her name?’

  ‘No…No. Well, she was just one of those…’

  Paul wetted his lips. ‘You’re sure it was from her you got it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Before you noticed anything wrong with you were you with anyone else?’

  Brian’s head drooped again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you give me her name?’

  ‘I…I couldn’t do that.’ Brian wagged his head from side to side. ‘She lives in the town; she would get…Well, her people would go mad.’

  ‘We can approach contacts in a very diplomatic way. She may be on my books or a patient of one of my colleagues…Don’t worry, don’t worry.’ He put his hand up as he saw the boy’s agitation. ‘No-one will know from where I got this information, I promise you that. But in the course of taking an ordinary blood test, or an examination, we could perhaps accidentally discover if this girl has been infected. You see what I mean? Now give me her name.’

  ‘Fay Baldock.’

  ‘Fay Baldock!’ Paul repeated the name in a whisper. ‘But she’s going to have a baby.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but that wasn’t me, she’s been around with a number.’

  Paul leaned back in his chair. A girl still at school was going to have a baby and perhaps already she had given it an inheritance that might cause it to be blind and a thousand and one other things.

  ‘Are there any others?’

  Brian shook his head wildly. ‘Aw, I can’t remember…Yes, yes, one. Susan Crabb. She lives in Bog’s End, although she’s all right.’ He jerked his head upwards. ‘Quite decent.’

  Quite decent! ‘Was there anyone else?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Think hard. It’s very important that the girls you’ve been with should be traced, because it’s more than likely they don’t know they have anything the matter with them, anything serious that is.’

  ‘There’s nobody else.’ Brian’s head was lowered again, and as Paul looked at him he knew that he was not telling the truth, but he supposed that this was enough for the time being.

  He said now, ‘I’ll take a blood test, then I’ll want you to come back tomorrow morning. By then I’ll have made arrangements for you to begin treatment…’

  ‘Where are you going to take it from?’

  ‘Your arm; just a little prick.’

  Brian sidled up from the chair, his
head still hanging. ‘You’ll promise you won’t tell my father?’

  ‘Your father won’t know, or anyone else who matters, if you follow my instructions.’

  It was strange but he felt no reluctance when he touched the boy. ‘There, that’s done.’ He dabbed at the small puncture; then went towards the door, and as he put his hand on the knob Brian looked at him and said again, ‘I’m sorry. Believe me, I’m sorry for—for everything.’

  ‘I believe you.’ He opened the door and the boy went into the waiting room, pushing his shoulders back as he did so, erecting the façade once again.

  After closing the door Paul stood looking around the room. He felt like a man who had been in an earthquake, dazed, slightly stupid, knowing that it was impossible to attach the blame for the eruption to anyone, yet knowing that if Lorna had been concerned, vitally concerned, his reactions would have been totally different. Yet that boy had cohabited with his wife. He had, in doing so, infected her with a filthy disease. Shouldn’t he, as Knowles had said, have wanted to bash his face in, wipe the floor with him? Did being a doctor make you less of a man? The truth was, doctor or no, if he had loved Bett in the slightest he would likely have done all that Knowles required as proof of a man. Yet had he loved her he couldn’t have borne to live with her after this. It was because his feelings were mainly compassionate now that he could tolerate the thought of staying with her. And there was something more. He had never been able to satisfy Bett. Even at the very beginning, when he had thought he loved her, he had still been incapable of satisfying her; he was, as she had so often said and in so many ways, ineffectual…But look at Ivy. What had been the cause of the physical barrier that he couldn’t surmount with Bett? Was it the deep-rooted illogical feeling against small women? Big men were supposed to be attracted by small women, yet since he was very young he had always felt an antipathy towards them. Had he allowed himself to be married to Bett to prove something? He didn’t know.

  He went out now and across the waiting room again, and noticed with a feeling of irritation, even aversion, that it was almost full.

  In the kitchen Maggie said, ‘Sit down and have a bite.’

  ‘Nothing to eat, Maggie.’ He shook his head at her. ‘A strong coffee, that’s all.’

  ‘You won’t last long at that rate, you’ve got to eat. Look, it’s ready for you an’ they can wait.’ She nodded towards the surgery. ‘I do believe it’s a form of entertainment with some of ’em, especially the afternoon lot, the ones that have nothing to do. It’s a meeting place for ’em to exchange their symptoms with their pals.’

  She went on talking as she busied herself about the kitchen, until he broke in on her, saying, ‘Did you take a tray up, Maggie?’

  There was a pause before she answered, ‘Aye. Didn’t I say I would? She was asleep. I spoke three times, but she didn’t let on, so I left it there. I didn’t know whether she was awake or not. An’ about Alice Fenwick. I caught her, an’ she’ll be round to see you in the dinner time.’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

  He finished his coffee, pulled down his waistcoat, and went out to begin the business of the day.

  Six

  Jenny arrived at the house about half-past nine. She could see that Paul was still in surgery so she entered by the kitchen. When she saw Maggie wasn’t about she went through the hall to the playroom, and there, collecting two cases, she took them upstairs to Lorna’s room. It didn’t take her more than ten minutes to fill the cases; and this done, she placed them outside the door, and as she did so Maggie’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs, saying, ‘Who’s that up there? Is it you, Miss Jenny?’

  ‘Yes, Maggie.’ She leaned over the banister. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘All right, all right. It’s just that I heard somebody above me head in the child’s room.’

  Jenny now turned and looked towards the far end of the corridor. What was she going to say to Bett? Well, whatever she said she couldn’t appear other than callous in leaving her. And what was to be her attitude? Was she to let her know that she was aware of her condition? Or pretend that she was just leaving her with a cold?

  It was Bett herself who decided this. When Jenny knocked at her door and pushed it open she saw her sitting propped up in the bed. Her face was white and pinched, yet on it there was a look of determination that hadn’t been there last night. It was as if she had made up her mind that nothing was going to floor her, not even this detestable state.

  ‘How are you?’ said Jenny softly.

  ‘Well, how do you think I’d be, eh?’ Bett raised her eyebrows with the question. ‘And you needn’t look so shocked; you know all about it, don’t you?’

  Jenny turned her head towards the window. She couldn’t find anything to say, but Bett didn’t leave space for an embarrassing silence. ‘I’m not the first one it’s happened to; half of them in this town are rotten with it. All very quiet and hushed up, special clinics, but I know. I could burst a few balloons if I liked, and in some very respectable residences at that…All right, I was unlucky and I’ll have to put up with it, I suppose. And nobody’s going to say, you’re too small, and too nice, too respectable for this to happen to you. Besides, you’re a doctor’s wife and it couldn’t happen to a doctor’s wife…Look at me, Jenny. Jenny!’ She was leaning over the side of the bed now, her tone demanding, and when Jenny turned her head towards her she said, ‘When you’re busy blaming me, ask yourself, would this have happened if I’d been treated right? If I hadn’t been kicked to one side?…Now if in the beginning he’d ignored me because I’d got this then it would have been understandable, but he kicked me to the end of the corridor because I had committed the great sin of having a baby…’

  ‘…No, no, be fair,’ put in Jenny quickly. ‘What you did was to hoodwink him into marrying you. You know you did. But if you had told him the circumstances, even after you were married, he would have got over it. But no, you kept it up. And from the beginning you pretended you wanted him because you were in love with him, mad about him, couldn’t live without him, when the only thing you were mad about, Bett, was to get a wedding ring on your finger…I’m not defending him from any blame but…’

  ‘…Huh! That’s news. You’re not defending him you say; why, you’ve done it with every breath and every look for years. You’ve always been daft about him. I knew that the day you introduced us.’

  Jenny, staring down at this cousin of hers, experienced a feeling akin to that which Bett’s tongue had engendered in Paul over the years, a feeling that urged the hand to come out and strike.

  ‘Not that I mind a damn. And when the divorce is through the way will be open for you. And why shouldn’t you try your hand now that you’ve been remodelled? And he’ll likely fall into your arms by then; anyway, he’ll need a nurse to help tend his wounds and somebody to keep him, so your money’ll come—’

  ‘Stop it! Bett…Stop your bitchiness. Oh, if you weren’t ill I would tell you some home truths. I’ve been tempted to many a time in the past but—’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you, eh? You know why you didn’t? You didn’t because you couldn’t risk having any rows with me. You wouldn’t do anything that would stop you visiting the house, would you?’

  Jenny’s eyes were as hard as Bett’s now, and her tone more deeply bitter as she said, ‘The only thing you know at the present moment is that you’re hurt and that you’re determined to hurt in return. When I came in I was sorry I was going away; I had the idea that you might need me; but I see now that you don’t and it’ll make things easier.’

  ‘You know, Jenny, you’re so naïve. You always have been. But now for you to be surprised that I’m kicking out, that I want to hit back, well!’

  ‘I’m surprised at nothing you do, Bett. You’ve always done what you wanted to irrespective of what anyone felt. And you’ve used me for years, you’ve always used me, and I was willing to let you go on using me…’

  ‘Oh, come off it. You’re like h
im, holier than thou, and, like him, you’re a damned hypocrite, for you’ve had your fun on the side. You can’t tell me a man’s going to leave someone like you—like you were—forty-seven thousand for giving him blanket baths. He might have been paralysed and incapacitated…’

  Jenny did not listen to the rest; she had never banged a door so hard in her life before. She was shaking so much that she had to put her hand out against the corridor wall to steady herself. Her whole body was sweating as if from a high temperature; it was in her eyes blurring her vision. When she saw the bulky outline of Maggie before her she blinked rapidly and wiped her eyes; then she allowed Maggie to take her arm and lead her to the landing. Neither of them spoke, not even when at the top of the stairs she looked towards the cases and, Maggie leaving go of her arm, she went to them and picked them up, and slowly followed the old woman down the stairs. But when she put them down on the kitchen floor, she bowed her head and, her long body shaking again, she began to cry.

  ‘Aw, lass, lass, don’t. Don’t give way. She’s not worth it, she’s not worth your little finger. She’s an ungrateful sod, and I’m not asking God to forgive me for saying it, for that’s what she is. Sit you down an’ I’ll make you a good cup of tea.’

  ‘No, Maggie, no thanks. The taxi will be back at any minute; I said in half an hour.’

  ‘Well, sit down till he comes; you look like a piece of lint!’

  As Jenny went to sit down, the taxi came into the yard, and she said, ‘Here it is, Maggie.’ She wiped her face quickly and, picking up the cases, went to the door which Maggie opened for her.

  ‘Goodbye, Maggie.’

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Jenny. And don’t you fret. Don’t fret, I tell you. Try to enjoy yourself.’

  For answer Jenny said, ‘Tell the doctor I’ve been, will you, Maggie? He’s coming to pick us up later.’

  ‘I’ll do that, I’ll do that.’ Maggie remained standing at the door until the taxi left the yard. Then going slowly through the kitchen and the hall, she stood at the foot of the stairs and, looking up them, said to herself, ‘The Devil found habitation the day you were born, and he won’t be without a house until the day you die, for you’re neither good for man nor beast.’