The Solace of Sin

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered, and hesitated. ‘Won’t…won’t you come in?’

  He passed her and stood in the middle of the room, saying, ‘I just called in to see if you had all survived last night.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Her face moved into a semblance of a smile; then she added, ‘We…we had a lovely evening. We all agreed on that; we enjoyed it thoroughly. My son went into town early this morning and…and my husband has just gone. You’ve just missed him.’ Her voice was low and her words rushed and when she had finished speaking she blinked several times, then looked over her shoulder towards the window. ‘It’s a beautiful morning. There was a mist first thing. I suppose it’s telling us we’re nearing autumn.’

  ‘Yes, it won’t be long. To my mind it’s the best time up here; even better than spring.’ He turned and walked to within a few steps of her and looked out of the window. His back was towards her now, and he said, ‘Once you’ve looked upon those hills in the autumn they’ve got you for ever.’ His head moved slowly round and his eyes slanted towards her, and there was a slight smile around his lips as he added, ‘So you’d better look out.’

  She turned from his gaze and walked towards the fireplace, saying, ‘I’ll likely be going down into town in a week or so; I’m…I’m looking for a flat.’

  ‘You are changing flats?’

  ‘Yes. The one we have is much too large.’

  Walking towards her, in his abrupt way he asked, ‘Are you afraid of staying here by yourself?’

  She was looking him full in the face, and she did not answer for a moment, for she didn’t really know whether or not she would be afraid to stay here alone in the winter. But before she could say anything to this effect he was saying, ‘Is it because of what I told you the other day?’

  ‘Oh no! No!’ Her reply had come quickly.

  ‘But it shook you?’

  She turned her eyes from him and after a pause said, ‘Yes. Yes, it did at the time.’

  ‘That’s…that’s what I really came up about. It was no social call; I wanted to explain.’

  ‘There’s no—’

  He lifted his hand quickly: ‘Don’t say there’s no need,’ he said; ‘you can’t just say you’ve killed a man and leave it at that; I must give you my reasons. By the way, did you tell your husband?’

  ‘Oh no.’ She shook her head firmly.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Not about the situation with Hannah?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But your…Peter knows. Didn’t he say anything?’

  ‘No, no. Peter wouldn’t say anything.’

  His eyebrows rose. Then he said, still abruptly, ‘Can we sit down for a moment?’

  ‘Of course. But believe me, you’ve no need to explain anything. If it’s painful—’

  ‘It’ll be more painful if I don’t tell you the ins and outs.’

  ‘Very well.’ She sat down stiffly at one end of the couch, and he sat down in the chair opposite, to the side of the empty fireplace. And he looked at the fireplace for some time in silence before he said, ‘This room’s nice any time of the year, but when there’s a fire in that grate it’s wonderful.’ Turning to her and noting the expression on her face, he said, ‘I’m not side-tracking anything, I’m going back to the beginning. You see, it really all started with me imagining what it would be like sitting in this room on a winter’s night with my wife by my side.’

  There was another pause, during which he kept his eyes on her face; then he began again: ‘I’m a conservative sort of fellow, I imagine, and although both my parents are Irish I think my early environment among these hills and fells set my character. Like the people round about I didn’t make friends lightly, and when I loved, the pattern was more set still.’ He now joined his hands together and, putting his elbows on his knees, brought his big chin to rest on his broad knuckles. ‘I’d known a particular girl from when I went to school, and it was understood that one day we’d marry. I knew there was nobody else for me, and I thought there was nobody else for her, but one thing I’ve learned, you never know what’s in another person’s mind, no matter how close you are to them. Anyway, at twenty-five it looked as if we’d still have a long time to wait. I was working as a carpenter over in Hexham, and at the same time trying to get a farm of sorts together down below. My father, as you may or may not have gathered, is a good-natured but feckless man. Well, with all this, there wasn’t much leisure time, you understand. But the more important thing to me during that period was the lack of money. You see, they sort of relied on me down there, and there was no chance to save until a way presented itself to make quick money. I’d heard that the crews of the oil tankers were coining money, and the trips were short. I reckoned I could earn as much in three months as I could in a year at my own job. Two trips, no more; six months and I’d have enough on which to get married and pass on a little down below.’ He moved his head slowly now on his fists and said under his breath, ‘That’s as far as I looked ahead, just getting married. I…I knew that I could scrape a living of sorts around here, and not for a moment did I imagine myself staying at sea longer than six months. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I signed on, and I had my first taste of the ocean. I’d never been partial to the sea. As a distant setting to scenery, yes, but not otherwise…Have you ever been on board ship for weeks on end?’ He looked at her, and she nodded and said, ‘Once, for five weeks.’

  ‘And it didn’t want to make you go berserk?’

  ‘No; I rather liked it.’

  ‘I thought I’d go mad every day. There was no place you could stride to. Oh, you could walk round the deck but I always had the desire to walk off the end of the boat when I came to it. Anyway, I should have been back from the first trip in under three months but there was an explosion on board when we were in port and one of the crew was killed. Incidentally, it was a fellow I’d become pally with, the only one I really liked. It…the way he died shook me and I knew, money or no money, that once I was back home there would be no more sea-going voyages for me. We were held up in that place for nearly three weeks because we had to send over here for one of the company to come and estimate the damage, and just as the repairs got underway the fellows went on strike. Anyway, by the time we docked in the Tyne, I’d been away nearly five months.’

  He sat back in the chair now and again he turned his eyes towards the window and looked across the fells before saying, ‘You know what I did when I got off the bus at Wark?’ He waited a moment, and when she didn’t reply in any way, but just continued to stare at him, he said, ‘I flung myself down on the hillside…’ There was another pause before, from deep down in his throat, he muttered, ‘Can you imagine loving earth so much that you rub your face in it?’ Again he waited; and when again she remained silent he went on, ‘Although I was bursting to see them all…and her, I walked the long way round, and when I saw the waters tumbling over the shale and glimpsed the red deer and saw the kingfisher once more my cup was full…or almost.’

  He coughed; then, his tone changing, he said, ‘I walked in on them just as if I’d walked out half an hour gone, and at first I thought their behaviour was because I’d given them all a gliff. It wasn’t until I mentioned Mary that I guessed something was amiss; but I didn’t put any questions until I was changed and ready to go down to Harbottle to see her. It was then that my mother suggested I’d better wait for her to come up…Ah, well!’ Again he coughed. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t get any real sense out of them until I cornered Dad outside the house. And then he asked me’—his eyes flicked sideways now, then he gazed at the floor as he said, ‘had I got Mary with child?’

  He was nodding towards the floor now. ‘My answer to that was to stalk over the hills to find her. But she wasn’t in the house, and her father told me to let things go the road they had taken; I’d kept her waiting too long, anyway. I didn’t see her for three days although I went over every day and
hung about on the outskirts of the village. And then I saw her…and him too. It was when I was meandering home in the dusk. I was on a rise just below Falstone and there in the distance I saw them together. They were a good way off and it could have been any couple, but no, she had red hair and it stood out like another setting sun in the twilight.’

  Now he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face; after which he returned the handkerchief to his pocket and looked at her for a moment before saying, ‘I didn’t ask any questions, I just hit him; and he came back and he hit me. He only hit me once. The next minute I had lifted him from the ground and thrown him down again. We were on the edge of a scree cliff, and he rolled and went over. I don’t know whether he was dead before he rolled over or not, but he was dead enough when they found him.’

  He stood up now and walked to the fireplace and, lifting his hand, he traced the back of the sheep and the lamb gently with his finger. ‘They were kind to me at the trial. They brought it in as manslaughter, unpremeditated, that was the extenuating factor. But you know’—he turned towards her—‘if I hadn’t finished him off then, I would have at another attempt.’

  She shivered inwardly as she rose to her feet but she did not take her eyes from him as she said, ‘I don’t think you would; it was in the heat of the moment. And…and I can understand how you felt. And I’m sure they would too. That’s why they found you not guilty.’

  ‘… Not guilty?’ he repeated. ‘No, not guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter, for which they sentenced me to seven years in prison.’

  He straightened up from the mantelpiece and stared at her, as she stood with her fingers pressed tightly across her lips, her head moving slowly from side to side, and he said, ‘Oh, don’t be concerned like that; it’s all over. I did a little over five years.’ The corner of his mouth twisted upwards as he added, ‘It’s a good job after all I’d had that apprenticeship of living in close quarters on an oil tanker. But’—he again looked away from her—‘when I came out I knew I would never grow a day older inside until I died. How old do you think I am?’ His face was turned towards his shoulder and she looked at it, from one big feature to another, at the prominent cheekbones over which the skin looked stretched, at the wide grey eyes with the lines running deep from the corners, at the long thin nose. She did not look at his mouth, because that did not indicate his age, being the softest part of his face, and she said, hesitantly, ‘Well, about…about thirty-five.’ He gave a wry smile and said, ‘You’re quite close. Even though I look older, I’m thirty-four.

  ‘Any road, what does it matter?’ he went on and thrust out his arm towards the window. ‘That’s all that matters to me, just to be able to look at that, and to walk out there until the day I actually die. And then’—he turned round to her, his face smiling gently now—‘I’ve no doubt I’ll haunt it.’

  He watched her expression change. There came a trembling smile to her face and her lashes began to blink rapidly—they often did, he had noticed, when she was disturbed—and now her voice held a cracked note of laughter as she said, ‘It’s very early in the morning for a drink and I’ve only sherry and brandy, but would you like one?’ The corners of his mouth spread as he nodded slowly at her. ‘Yes, thanks, I could do with a drink; brandy, if you please.’

  He watched her walking down the room towards the kitchen, her step quicker than usual. Then looking at the carving on the mantelpiece, he walked slowly to it and again fingered it gently.

  But he was standing gazing out of the window when she entered the room carrying a tray on which stood two glasses of brandy. After handing one to him she raised the other, saying quietly, ‘To happier days.’ And he repeated her toast, ‘To happier days.’ And when his glass touched hers the whiteness left her face and she flushed deeply.

  They had almost finished the drink when, rolling the stem of the glass backwards and forwards between her fingers and thumb, she looked at it as she said, ‘May I ask about…about what happened to the girl?’

  ‘Oh! She married the fellow’s cousin. They live on the South Tyne somewhere, Hebburn or Pelaw, round about there.’

  ‘How long ago was all this?’

  ‘Nearly ten years gone. I’ve been free now for just over four years.’

  She looked through the window, out into the wide expanse of sky. ‘When you come to an isolated spot like this you don’t imagine that anything has touched the people for…well, for generations.’

  ‘People lived here before they lived in towns; and things happened; things have always happened…’

  ‘Vin! Vin! Our Vin!’

  Joseph was pelting along the terrace, and Vincent as quickly moved to the door where the boy threw himself on him, gasping, ‘It’s me dad; he’s nearly taken his finger off with the scythe. Me…me mother says to come, to come now.’

  Vincent seemed not to be very perturbed at this news; in fact he smiled as he said to the boy, ‘All right, go on back; I’ll be down directly.’ Then turning to Constance, the smile still on his face, he said, ‘What did I tell you? Things are always happening. My father is what you would call accident prone. There’s another name for it, in fact two; an Irishman would say, “Aw, it’s because he’s Irish;” but the English would have their own definition. I’ll leave you to guess what that is.’ He nodded. ‘Whenever Father gets tired something happens to one of his extremities.’

  When she laughed aloud he laughed with her. It was a deep, rounded sound.

  ‘Goodbye.’ He nodded at her. ‘And thanks for the drink.’ He paused as he was turning away, and, his voice low, he said, ‘You’ll not be frightened of me any more, will you?’

  The laughter left her face and she looked straight into his eyes and said quietly, ‘I was never afraid of you…Vin.’

  For one moment longer he looked at her; then he left, closing the door behind him. She walked slowly to the mantelpiece; and she, too, fingered the carving.

  Three

  Even though it was the end of October, Constance was still at the house. The days were much shorter and the nights long, but so far the time had not hung heavily upon her and she had had no opportunity to be lonely.

  The part of the day she enjoyed most was early evening when, the lamps lit and the fire blazing, she would sit on the couch and have tea, after which she would read. This would be on weekdays. From Friday evening until Sunday evening she had the company of Peter.

  Rarely a day passed but that one or other of the O’Connors didn’t come up the hill, even if she had been down earlier, perhaps to ask if they wanted anything bringing back from Newcastle or, on the other hand, to enquire if Vin would bring her something. If Vincent ever did an errand for her he always brought it up the hill himself. Twice he had come to the door when Jim was in the house. On these occasions his visits had been brief. But when she was alone he would stay for ten minutes or so; although he never stayed long enough for anyone to come and fetch him.

  This particular evening she was sitting with her feet upon the couch and a book in her hands, although she wasn’t reading, but was thinking about Jim. It was five days since she had seen him, and then they had spent the time rowing. The agent had written to say that her husband had been rude to some prospective buyers when he took them to see over the flat: and would it be possible for her to be there the next time he made an appointment to view? So she arranged to be there. And it was after the people had left, having promised to buy, that Jim had let his rage run loose again.

  At times lately, she had felt a little guilty at staying so long at the house and letting him fend for himself, but following the latest scene she told herself she would feel guilty no longer: there was a room waiting for him at Shekinah; in fact, three rooms that ran into one another. They made an ideal suite; if he wouldn’t take advantage of them, that was up to him.

  In Felling, she had seen a new bungalow she liked and she had asked him to go with her to look over it, but he had refused. Well, soon he’d have to make his choice, and
she hoped, deep in her heart she hoped, that he would prefer the bungalow.

  It was a quiet night but she had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard anyone approaching along the terrace. So, when the door opened abruptly, she turned her head, startled to see Peter entering the room.

  Swinging her legs from the couch, she hurried towards him, saying, ‘What’s the matter? I wasn’t expecting you, it being Thursday,’ then stopped when she saw his tightly drawn face. Jim again. He’d had another row with his father, one that had been brewing for weeks past. She sighed and said, ‘Have you had any tea?’

  ‘No; and I don’t want any; not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Here, give me your coat, and go to the fire.’

  When he was seated on the couch she sat beside him and, touching his hand, said, ‘Come on, tell me.’

  He slumped against the back of the couch and, biting on his lip, turned his face from her.

  ‘What is it? Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘Ada.’

  ‘Ada?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll kill her. I’ll…I’ll—’

  ‘What has she done now?’

  ‘Told Kathy.’

  ‘Told Kathy what?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mother! Don’t be so dim. What would she tell her that could upset me?’

  ‘You mean?…She couldn’t!’

  ‘She could, and she did.’

  ‘Where? When?’

  ‘Today, in a coffee bar.’ He pulled his hand down over his face and held his chin tightly for a moment. ‘I’ve been seeing Kathy pretty often recently. We’ve…we’ve been to the pictures, and around.’ This was the first she had heard of their meetings. ‘It was during the lunch hour. It’s her half-day. She was intending to come out here and return early and we were to go to the theatre. Well, we were sitting there, and she says, “There’s a girl over by the counter who keeps staring at you. Do you know her?” And when I looked, I saw it was Ada. Well, you know how I…how my face goes red. Well, I felt myself turning a beetroot colour, and the next moment Ada comes up to the table and says’—he sucked his lips in tightly—‘she says, “Hello, cousin. Long time no see.” And when I didn’t answer her she bends down to Kathy. “You want to be careful of him,” she whispered. “Fast as they make them. He’ll burn your cylinders out. I should know; I”’—he found difficulty in going on—“I’ve got a bellyful of him,” and she patted her stomach.’