‘Never! She wouldn’t.’
‘Oh yes, she would. Nothing that her bright boy can do is wrong. It’s all put down to nature.’
‘What’s puzzling Henry,’ said Lizzie now, ‘is where he got the money to buy that bungalow? It was in her name, too, and being so, she’s likely claimed the lot. If she was wise she did, anyway. But where did he get the money from? Henry’s been going through the old ledgers but cannot find any sign of a fiddle. Cash or cheques there, they are all duplicated. And of course, as I’ve told you, it would take some fiddle to get past Gran’s lynx’s eyes. She might be soft in the head about everything else, but never about money. No, it’s a mystery. But as Henry says, he’s got the money from somewhere and he means to find out where. By the way, where’s Emma? I haven’t seen her.’
‘She’s out playing tennis.’
‘On a day like this? It’s enough to freeze you.’
‘Oh, she’d still play. She plays two or three times a week. And I’m glad; it gets her out and she enjoys it. And she’s holding her own these days. She’s working better at school, too. Her last report was quite good; at least, compared with the previous ones. I think I can date the change in her since she saw that new doctor. I didn’t have much faith in him when I first spoke to him, but apparently he told her to stand on her own two feet. And she’s done that.’
‘How’s Andrew been?’
‘Oh, just the same. It’s his daughter and she’ll always be his daughter, and God Almighty Himself won’t dare put a spoke in between them, or else. He’s attending the parents’ meetings at school now. I don’t go when he’s there; I just couldn’t bear it. The smarminess of him. He came one night when he was supposed to be elsewhere, and there he was, smiling and chatting all round. And Mrs Rogers came up to me and said how wonderful it must be to have a husband who takes an interest in his family; her Dan doesn’t know he’s got a family and cares less. I nearly said, “I’ll swap places with you anytime, Mrs Rogers, and gladly.”’
‘Well’—Lizzie rose—‘I must be off. By the way, do you hear anything from his people these days? It must be a year since she was this way.’
‘Yes, it is a year; about this time. And look at the reception he gave her. My dear Mr Andrew Jones has no use for the Joneses of Doncaster. His father hasn’t been here for years. The last time he came, they had a row and the father called him a bloody upstart. He was a little tight at the time, the father, and it upset dear Andrew. As if he himself couldn’t take it. He swills it down at times; of course, on the quiet, after Great-Gran’s safely tucked up in bed. Oh’—Peggy screwed up her face—‘there are times when I want to spit on him. But anyway’—she nodded her head briskly now—‘it can’t last forever. Time’s running short for him. She’ll be sixteen next month. Do you know what, Mam?’ She leant towards Lizzie now. ‘I do wish she would meet some nice fellow and run off with him. Yes, I do.’
‘And land up in the same condition as you did? Be quiet!’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t force her to marry him in order to keep my respectability.’
Lizzie paused on the step and looked at her daughter, and there was a sad note in her voice as she said, ‘You’ve changed, girl. Oh, how you’ve changed.’
‘Well, I’ve been brought up in a good school these last few years, don’t you think? But go on, go on. Drive carefully; the road’s slippy. It’ll soon be dark.’
She watched her mother get into the car, but she remained standing by the open door until Lizzie had turned the car and then disappeared down the drive. And after closing the door, she still stood and repeated to herself, ‘Land up in the same way as you did.’ Did she really wish her daughter to run off?
Yes, she did, but not just to live with someone, as was the vogue these days; she would wish her to marry some nice boy. No; not a boy, a man, one who would be able to stand up to her father and say, ‘It’s done, she’s mine.’
Four
‘That will be our last game until the Spring; the courts close this week, both of them. The hard is too slippery, and there’s hardly a blade of grass left on this one.’
Richard Langton stood on the path outside the netting that surrounded the tennis court. He did not look at the girl by his side, who was almost as tall as himself; but he went on talking as she tapped her racquet against the netting. ‘How long is it since I first saw you in the surgery? Five months?’
‘Nearly six,’ said Emma quietly. She, too, was looking through the netting onto the court.
‘I’m glad I’m not your doctor.’
‘Why?’
‘Because what I’m about to say would then be very much out of place and I could lose my practice.’
Emma didn’t answer, but she put her hand up and pulled her scarf tightly around her throat as if it would stop the throbbing that was coming up from between her ribs and aiming to choke her.
‘I’m twenty-six, Emma; you’re not even sixteen until next month. I’m ten years older than you. That’s the first obstacle. The second is, I have a career before me. I had no intention of marrying early when I came to this town. In fact, I was only going to stay a couple of years and move on, but…but I met you and I knew right from the beginning what was going to happen to me; and it’s grown over these months during our supposedly accidental meetings here. Now Emma, I know my own mind, but you’re so young and you don’t.’
‘I do. I do.’ She had turned to him now and they were staring at each other. The words had rushed out, but they were vibrant with feeling and certainty as she said, ‘I, too, knew from the first. I’m not sixteen yet, as you say. But that’s in years…otherwise I’m eighteen, twenty. I…I never seem to have been young, never had the chance. I’ve been tied to older people, my father…riveted to him. My mother was married when she was sixteen.’
He took hold of her hands now and his voice was gentle as he said, ‘Yes, but by all accounts she’s paid for it since with a man like your father.’
‘But you’re not like my father. You’re…you’re like no-one I’ve ever met or would hope to meet.’
‘Oh, Emma, my dear, dear Emma. I want to take you in my arms and kiss you and—’ He looked to the side to where two people were approaching; then dropping her hands, he said on a laugh, ‘I’ve only to be seen doing that in public, even holding your hands, and the place would be set on fire. Now, Emma, listen, I’m going to ask you a question. Will you, when you’re seventeen, marry me?’
Emma closed her eyes but for the moment she couldn’t answer for the throbbing in her throat. Then on a gasp, she said, ‘I’d marry you tomorrow.’
‘And I you, my dear Emma, and I you. But that’s impossible. What kind of a reception would I get if I were to go to your mother now? I wouldn’t ask your father, but your mother would, I’m sure, be up in arms. Anyway, let us arrange it like this: we’ll keep it quiet until the beginning of the year, and then, if you haven’t changed your mind’—he leant his head towards her, a soft smile on his face—‘I will ask your mother if we can become engaged, and just before you’re seventeen or just after, we’ll be married.’
Emma’s eyes were wide and moist. She gazed at him in silence until he said, ‘You’re very beautiful, you know, and you’ll grow more beautiful with the years.’
‘I love you. I love you, Richard. Do you know that’s the first time I’ve said your name? You’ve always called me Emma.’
‘Well, don’t in future call me Richard. I’m known as Ricky.’
She smiled softly, saying now, ‘I like that…Ricky; it suits you.’
Richard Langton stared at the young girl before him. He had never been able to take in the fact that she was a fifteen-year-old girl. Right from the beginning she had never talked like a fifteen-year-old girl. As she said, she could be twenty. He knew what Doctor Rice would say when he told him: ‘You must be mad.’ In his delicate fashion he would likely add, ‘If you’re so much in need of it, live with somebody. There are plenty available. They’ve been tripping
over you ever since you came here.’
Yes, it was true he need not have wanted for female companionship over the past months. But the only one he had found himself wanting to see was this girl. He had tried, oh yes, he had tried to put the feeling in its place when he first recognised it. But it had become like a hunger: his whole being seemed empty when he was out of her presence. How often, in the beginning, had he stood where he was standing now and watched her play? At least half a dozen times. Then one day, just as if he had come upon her accidentally, he had said, ‘You play very well. What about taking me on sometime?’ And so it had started; and now it had come to a head.
‘How are we going to manage…I mean, to meet?’ he said. ‘You couldn’t risk going to the theatre with me, not for a while anyway. But look, the park doesn’t close until six. Now, should you be coming in the west side’—he pointed—‘that’s a very quiet end; let’s say around half past five on a Tuesday or Thursday. I don’t take surgery those nights. Well, we might just happen to bump into each other, mightn’t we? Then what about a Saturday? What do you do on a Saturday afternoon?’
‘The senior girls play badminton; others play hockey or netball.’
‘Well, do you think you could skip a Saturday and I could pick you up somewhere, then we could take a run out into the country, across into Northumberland, beyond Hexham way; it’s wild and wonderful up there. I’m off duty every third week. Anyway, we’ll arrange it. Yes’—he leant towards her—‘we’ll arrange it, my dear. We must. Now you’ve got to go, and I’ve got to go…Are you happy?’
‘I’m…I’m afraid to say how I feel in case it disappears. I can’t put a name to the feeling I have for you. If you say it’s happiness, then it’s happiness. I only know I’m afraid when I leave you; when you are out of sight, I feel lost, lonely.’
This wasn’t an answer that a fifteen-year-old girl would give, it was a woman’s reply. Quickly he glanced up and down the path. There was no-one in sight. In an instant she was in his arms and he had kissed her, one short, hard kiss, and had pushed her from him, saying, ‘Go on. If you don’t go this minute I’ll go straight home with you, and that mustn’t happen yet. Go on.’
She backed three steps from him. There was no smile on her face but her eyes were large and glistening. Then acting like a fifteen-year-old girl now, she turned and ran along the path, around the ornamental clock, and kept running until she reached the east gate of the park. Only then did she walk…
‘You all right? Have you got a cold?’
‘No, no, I haven’t got a cold, Mam.’
‘Your face is red.’
‘There’s a frost coming up.’
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Well, look at my racquet, Mam; I’ve been playing tennis.’
Peggy turned away, asking now, ‘Who do you play with, usually?’
‘Oh, Pamela Bright. Sometimes a foursome. I like singles best.’
It was no lie, for her mother hadn’t specifically said today, she had said ‘usually’.
‘You’d better come and have your tea. Your gran’s been; she was disappointed at not seeing you.’
‘Well, she doesn’t stay long, does she?’
‘What are you going to do tonight?’
‘I’ve got homework and then I must practise I suppose. My piano lesson is on Monday, and I’ve hardly touched it this week.’
‘You’re right there; it’s a waste of money.’
‘I can easily give it up.’
‘You’re not giving it up. Five years you’ve been at it now; you should be a concert pianist, and you would be if you had practised.’
Emma had mounted the first step of the stairs and she was unwinding her scarf when she turned and looked down on her mother, saying, ‘I would have been many things if I had been brought up in peace.’
Peggy was speechless for a moment. And then almost rushing to the foot of the stairs, she hissed, ‘Are you blaming me?’
But Emma didn’t answer, and Peggy turned away, saying to herself, What’s come over her lately? She’s changing. She’s different. And she answered herself: She would be; she’s growing up. But then she’s only fifteen…well, just on sixteen.
She went into the dining room, where the tea was set, and she looked over the table as if there she would find something missing. Then, turning from it, she heard her own voice speaking aloud: ‘The quicker I get her away from here the better. And no, no, I wouldn’t want her to end up the same way as I did.’
It was half past seven and she was practising Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca. She was fond of this lively piece but, on this occasion, her mind wasn’t on it because her father was in the house. He stayed in most evenings now, spending some time in his study and some time chatting to his benefactress.
Her hands stiffened on the keys as she heard the door open. She had no need to turn her head to see who it was, for she knew his step.
The piano was situated at the far end of the drawing room. She continued to play until his hands came on her shoulders, and somehow she kept on playing until his hand lifted her loose hair behind the ear and his mouth came down and touched it. At this, her hands crashed down on the keys and she jerked forward, saying, ‘Don’t do that, Daddy, please.’ She was sitting on the edge of the seat, the front of her body pressed against the piano. ‘I’m trying to practise this difficult piece.’
‘All right, all right, practise. Go on playing.’ His voice sounded calm, even playful. ‘But play something else.’ He now stood against the end of the piano, his forearms resting on the top of it. ‘Play the Skater’s Waltz. You know I like that.’ He now straightened up, took up the pose of holding a partner and went into a waltz, singing, ‘One, two, three…’
‘Don’t be silly, Father.’
As if he had been struck by some unseen force into stillness, he stopped, his right arm still embracing an imaginary figure, his left arm extended. Then slowly he turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder, saying, ‘What did you say?’
She bowed her head. ‘Well, it is silly.’
He was standing close to her now; his breath seemed to be wafting her hair. ‘Since when have you thought dancing with me silly? Eh? You love dancing with me.’
‘I never have.’ Her head had swung round but it was now bowed again. Then she was being dragged up from the music stool and she was being shaken by the shoulders as he demanded, ‘What’s this? What’s the matter with you? You were never like this to me. She’s been getting at you, hasn’t she?’
‘No. No. Nobody’s been getting…’
‘Then why have you changed?’
She struggled in his hold, pressing herself from him; but he maintained his forceful hold on her and, looking into his face, she said, ‘I’m growing up. I’m not a little girl any more. I…I want to do the things other girls do.’
‘You do, do you? You want to do the things other girls do, like making yourself cheap, going to discos, letting those louts paw you? Well, you’re not going to. You’re growing up, yes, but you’re not grown-up and you won’t be for some time, and in the meantime you’re still my girl. Aye.’ His voice changed and dropped to a quivering whisper as he said, ‘My baby. Don’t you understand?’ He now stepped backwards, pulling her away from the piano and into the middle of the room towards the couch, and he had almost to force her to get her stiff body to sit down on it. His arms were about her now and there was an actual whine in his voice as he said, ‘Emma…Emma, you’re not grown-up but you’re not a baby, except in my mind, so you must know how I feel about you, always have. You are mine, do you understand? Mine. You’re all I’ve got, all I’ve ever wanted. You’ll never know the torture I’ve gone through because I’ve loved you so. Oh! Emma. My Emma.’
As she was pressed back onto the couch her mind raced madly in protest, but all she managed to bring out in a kind of croak was, ‘No, Daddy, no.’ Then, when her legs were lifted onto the couch, the croak turned into a stilted scream as she cried, ‘No!
Don’t! Stop it! I’ll…’ Her words were cut off when his mouth covered hers, but when she clawed at him, one of his hands caught her wrists and held them and in a voice such as he had never used before, a deep moaning voice, he said, ‘It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right. I love you. You’re mine. Try to understand, I made you and I need you. You’re mine.’
‘Richard. Richard.’
The name seemed to halt him for a moment, but when his hands were again moving over her, the scream she let out crying, ‘Mother! Mother!’ almost lifted them both from the couch. It certainly brought the door banging open; and she was still screaming when his body was lifted from her and she saw the poker coming down towards his head. Only the fact that he rolled onto his side saved him from being brained. However, the end of the poker ripped the knuckles of the hand he had thrust up to shield himself and blood was spattered onto his face.
As if from nowhere Henry, too, appeared and, crouching in the corner of the couch, Emma now watched him struggling with her mother, and when he wrenched the poker from her hand and flung it across the room, there was the sound of splintering wood, which brought about an inevitable silence, punctuated only by gasps. But only for a moment.
‘You filthy beast!’ Peggy yelled at her husband. ‘You’re rotten, unnatural…This is the finish!’ She was stabbing her finger at him now. ‘You’ll go, not me!’
Andrew had struggled to his feet. With one hand he was gripping the knuckles of the other and the look he was bestowing on his wife was one of concentrated hatred. He now stumbled round the head of the couch and from there, leaning against it for support, he growled at her, ‘If I go she comes with me.’
The House of Women Page 21