The Obsession

by Catherine Cookson

  She kept her eyes on the farm. There was something she should remember about it. She could now see some movement over there. Someone coming into the field. She was puzzled for a moment. That field adjoined their property. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, it led to the wood. She shook her head, then walked carefully down the cleared steps, and Mrs Annie said, ‘Come on back to the house and get warmed. Robbie should be here any minute.’

  She had been about to follow Mrs Annie, but the mention of Robbie halted her. In some way he was associated with the earlier conversation of her wanting to leave this place and get married. And he had a habit of probing and questioning, and getting things out of her. He always had. She could hear him saying, ‘Come on you, Rosie Steel; I don’t want any painted lies, varnished truth is what I deal with.’ And she could hear herself responding, ‘You think you are clever, Robbie MacIntosh, because you read books. Well, anybody with any sense can pinch words and sayings out of books.’

  No, she didn’t want to meet Robbie this morning. She couldn’t explain why. Yet, she had explained why: he’d get to the bottom of what was worrying her. But what was worrying her? Oh, she answered herself, just living by herself next door now the girls were gone. But she shouldn’t say that: there was Beatrice and her father. Oh, let her get away. She’d go for a walk. And so she said, ‘No, I’ve got to get back. I think Beatrice wants some help . . . in fact, I don’t think it, I know it. She’s house mad, you know. There’s the two girls working like slaves, polishing, polishing, and she would have me going round with a duster. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Oh yes, I can, dear, of Mistress Beatrice. From what I gather, she takes a great pride in ruling the roost. I think Cook has her belly full of her at times.’

  Rosie laughed at this and said, ‘We all have our bellies full of her at times, I can tell you. Yet, at the same time I don’t know, I feel sorry for her, and in a way I’m fond of her.’

  ‘Of course you are, dear. Of course you are. But off you go if you’re going to have that walk through the wood; get yourself away now. If you look up, you’ll see the sky is changing. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to see snow, although we generally have a thaw after frost like this, and then the snow. But, of course,’ she laughed, ‘since I’ve stopped running things, the weather’s got out of hand.’

  Rosie pushed her gently on the shoulder and she, laughing too, said, ‘I’ll go out the top way, because there’s no way I’m going to climb that wall this morning; I’d slip off those stepping stones that Robbie’s fixed. They give very precarious footholds as they are. If I wasn’t such a good climber I would have been on my back before now.’

  ‘Likely. Likely,’ said Mrs Annie as she accompanied her to the field gate leading to the road.

  After patting Rosie on the cheek, she stood for a while watching her until she disappeared through a gap into the wood. And as she did so she thought, she’ll make a lovely woman, and she’s jumping out of girlhood. If only . . . oh, if only . . .

  It was beautiful in the wood. The path stretched away like a silver river for some distance, but then, as if curved, it was cut off by a great barrier of frozen pines.

  There was a silence all about her. It was deep and thick and comforting. Even the sound of her footsteps on the frozen ground did not intrude.

  She was now passing a section of the wood where the trees thinned out a little, with low scrub between them, and under which, surprisingly, the earth was bare of frost.

  She was brought to a sudden stop by a sight that widened her mouth and brought a gleam to her eyes, and she uttered two words, ‘Oh lovely!’ as she turned swiftly to the object that had attracted her. It was an unusually tall fungus that could have been eight inches high. She bent over it; then, as she had seen Robbie do, she sat back on her hunkers and looked at part of nature’s bewildering beauty. It was a fairy house. She hadn’t seen one for some years. Toadstools, oh yes, big ones, fairies’ umbrellas, they called them, but not a fairy house. Her hand wavered towards it, then stopped. It was so delicate that likely the slightest touch would push it over. She thought it was the biggest and the most beautiful fungus she had ever seen.

  From its round base there rose striped columns supporting its circular roof, an enormous deep pink umbrella all of six inches across. The ridged supporting columns were either dark green or cream in colour, and the whole was surrounded by a spiked fence of silver grass an inch or so high.

  As a child, she had always imagined such a house to be full of fairies and she used to talk to them, telling them not to be afraid and that she wouldn’t tell any of the others where their house was in case they should come and knock it down. She had a vague memory of a sister kicking one down and of herself screaming at her, and of her mother having to put her to bed with hot milk and cinnamon.

  Reluctantly she rose and stepped back from it, telling herself that once she got home she would draw it, then paint it. She would never forget this morning and this beautiful, beautiful fairy house. It had lifted her heart. It was a delightful morning, oh such a delightful morning.

  She looked about her; then bending over her fairy house and with the very last trace of childhood that, in a moment, was to be torn from her, a moment she would remember for the rest of her life, she said, ‘Goodbye, dear people, until next year,’ and straight away turned into what was to be the full realisation that life was made up of bitter reality, and with no fairies.

  She stepped onto the rooted pathway, and from there, in the distance, could make out a boy who seemed to be acting strangely. He had emerged from the wood on the opposite side and he was looking towards where, just a few yards ahead, the path again curved sharply away out of sight. He had his head to the side as if listening.

  She remained still; she was curious. Then her eyes widened when the boy jumped from the path and into the cover of the wood again and, at the same moment, a figure came striding round the bend. Her mouth now dropped into a gape: it . . . it was her father.

  But it couldn’t be; he’d said he was going into town – as she had stood on the landing she had heard him tell Beatrice. But this was definitely her father. There wasn’t another man like him.

  She was on the point of going forward and hailing him when she stiffened as the sound of snapping timber filled the silence. Then she let out a scream as she saw a huge branch fall across her father’s path. The sound and sight had caused her to screw up her face and to close her eyes, and when she opened them she became aware of two things: the boy whom she knew to be the Wallace boy was fast disappearing round the bend with something trailing behind him, and that the branch hadn’t fallen across her father’s path but directly onto him.

  She was now running while crying out words which were unintelligible, but all bordering on, ‘Help! Help!’

  When she reached her father she was unable to see his face for blood. She looked along the length of the branch: it was thick, more like a tree itself. Oh, dear God! What was she going to do? She looked about her. And that boy, he might have gone for help. No! No! What was she thinking? That was a piece of rope dragging behind him. He had been on the lookout for her father. Oh dear Lord! She tried to lift one end of the branch, but without success, all the while crying, ‘Father! Father!’ Then, of a sudden she was flying back the way she had come and yelling at the top of her voice, ‘Robbie! Robbie!’

  When she reached the road it was to see Charlie Fenwick, the coalman, about to hump a sack onto his back from the dray cart, and she yelled, ‘Mr Fenwick! Mr Fenwick! Come quickly! Please! My father’s been hurt! A tree fell on him. My father’s been hurt!’

  ‘What is it, miss?’ The two coaly hands came on her shoulders. ‘What d’you say, your father’s been hurt? Now, now, now; where is he?’

  ‘In the wood! In the wood! Please come! He’s all blood!’

  Still keeping hold of her, the man turned and yelled
, ‘Mrs Annie! Mrs Annie!’ And when Mrs Annie came hurrying to the gate, she exclaimed, ‘Oh my God! What’s the matter, girl? Have you had a fa . . .?’ She didn’t finish her sentence because the coalman interrupted her, saying, ‘She says her father’s been hurt, that a tree fell on him. He’s in the wood.’

  ‘A tree . . . fell . . . on him?’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Her eyes screwed up again, Rosie was yelling, ‘Yes! Yes! Mrs Annie. He’s all blood! I couldn’t lift it.’

  ‘It’s all right, girl, it’s all right. Let me get me coat. Leave that, Charlie, and let’s go and see what’s happened.’

  When they reached the blood-covered prostrate figure under the branch Charlie Fenwick exclaimed, ‘Oh my God! What’s happened here? Dear! Dear!’ and he said, ‘Let’s get this off him.’

  Together, as gently as possible, they lifted the entwined and broken branches away from the man’s head. And, seemingly reluctantly, Mrs Annie knelt down on the frozen earth, and after turning the head slightly she too muttered, ‘Oh my God!’ Then looking up, she said, ‘There’s a bit of a branch sticking in him. We’d better not touch it. We’ll have to get the doctor, and . . . and some men from the house. I’ll shout over the wall and get them. There’s bound to be somebody near,’ and turning to where Rosie was standing, her hand across her mouth again and her eyes wide, she said, ‘Come, me dear. Come. Charlie will stay with him. Come on. Come on.’

  It seemed as if Rosie were rooted to the ground, because Annie had to pull her away while repeating, ‘Charlie will stay here with him. Come on now. Come on.’

  Rosie allowed herself to be led away. She felt cold, strange. She wanted to be sick, really sick. Her chest was heaving and she felt faint.

  Annie just managed to get her into the kitchen and to the shallow stone sink into which she actually vomited, and she urged her: ‘That’s it, dear! Get it up! Then sit by the fire; I’ve got to get help. You understand? You understand, girl? Well, do what I say, sit by the fire.’

  Annie now went out of the house and to the woodshed, where she grabbed a short ladder and, trailing it, she made her way to the wall. From the top rung she could just see over the coping; and now, her voice as loud as she could make it, and that was very loud, she screamed, ‘Help! Help! Somebody come! Help! Mr Steel’s hurt in the wood.’

  It was Willie Connor who first heard her shouts. He didn’t know who it was, just that somebody was calling for help somewhere in the shrubbery at yon end of the garden.

  When he reached the wall and saw Annie’s face above it and heard what she was screaming at him, he said, ‘Oh God in heaven! We’ll be there.’

  Her last words to him were, ‘Bring something to carry him on. And get the doctor.’

  Rosie was still in Annie’s kitchen, and she was being yelled at by Robbie, standing in front of her as she sat on the settle with Annie’s arm about her holding her tightly.

  Annie looked at her son and didn’t interrupt a word he was saying or check him for his manner, for now he was actually growling at Rosie, ‘Forget it! You didn’t see Jackie Wallace in the wood. You saw nobody in the wood. You were just going to meet your father and then the tree crashed down on him. It’s . . . it’s rotten anyway, the whole branch was rotten. So how could he have had anything to do with it?’

  ‘He did! He did! I saw him running. He was waiting for Father, he was waiting for Father. I tell you, I tell you. And he had something trailing behind. I know what it was now, it was a rope. I tell you . . .’

  ‘You’ll tell me nothing, girl. Now listen to me, Rosie. If you open your mouth and say that you saw the boy there, you’re going to cause such a stink in your house that you’ve never smelt before. And you’ll never get it out of your nostrils.’

  Rosie turned to Annie now, saying, ‘He was waiting for Father. I saw him beforehand, he was waiting for him. He . . . he must have pulled that branch down with the rope. I tell you I saw him. I . . .’

  Robbie had his hands on her shoulders now. ‘It’s no good hoodwinking you any more, miss, or letting you keep your eyes closed. Very likely it was Jackie. All right, and he had a reason, because you know where your father had been? He had just come back from being in bed with Jackie’s mother. Get that into your head. Listen!’ He now caught her face between his hands and held it stiffly as he stared into her eyes. ‘Your father had just been in bed with Jackie’s mother. That’s where he often went, and the boy had had enough. She supplied men when her poor man was away, droving. And all Jackie does is try to frighten them off. He’s set fire to haystacks, he’s left gates open, he’s done all kinds to frighten men off his mother. But his mother is a whore. Do you know what a whore is? You don’t know what a whore is, do you? A whore is a loose woman who’ll let any man go with her for money, never for love, just for money. And your father was a rotten man. Ask Mam here. Your poor mother went through it for years, but she had to put a face on it, to bring you all up respectable like, not looked down on as the daughter of a woman-chaser.’

  Now Rosie was struggling in his grasp, but he did not let go of her. He was now holding her hands as he said, ‘You’re going to sit there and come to life, come out of the little girl. I thought you had when you took up with fancy Mr Golding. But even that didn’t bring you into reality. Well, now you’re in it. Your father was a stinker in every possible way. And I’ll tell you something else. Charlie Fenwick, the coalman there, he wasn’t delivering this morning, not to your house, ’cos the bills haven’t been paid for months and months. Oh! That’s opened your eyes more than the immorality has done. You can’t believe it, can you? He owes everybody in the town. He’s gambled and whored for years. Your grandfather paid his debts just because of your mother. Then there was a point when he, too, had to stop. He appeared to be a jolly man, didn’t he, your grandfather? Well, let me tell you, he had lived under a cover for years, just to preserve something called class respectability. Now, now, my girl, you mention Jackie Wallace’s name and all this will come out, and you’ll have to live under it. And do you think your fiancé, Mr Golding, will be big enough to take it? He’s in the Civil Service, isn’t he? the Diplomatic side, and they’re a very snooty lot, they are. They don’t like scandals. They may have them among themselves, but they’re well concealed. In a way, they’re like your mother, for some of them will put up with anything rather than have their class sullied.’

  When she did not answer but he felt her slump within his hold, he let go of her and, straightening up, he said quietly, ‘Think on it, Rosie, and as you’re thinking, remember that that young lad has gone through hell trying to keep things from his father. Yet, his father is aware of a lot. He is the butt of jokes in the bars, but he’s a good man. A quiet hard-working man is Dave Wallace. He didn’t deserve her. And that lad has seen for years what his mother is and has attempted to keep it from his father, just by trying to frighten off her visitors. And he managed it with a lot of them. Oh yes, he did.’

  Rosie leant back against the head of the settle and Annie’s arm went around her, holding her close; but she was cold, right to the very heart of her. She felt she would never be warm again. She couldn’t believe it, but yes, she did believe it. It all explained that old probing feeling she had had for some time about her father. And now she recalled how often her mother had colds that made her eyes water. She recalled many things, and one in particular, the time that Wallace woman passed her in the market and had laughed as she looked at her. She had thought she must be strange, for her hat wasn’t on straight, and she had left unbuttoned part of her blouse below her breasts. But no! Not her father and that woman.

  When suddenly she disengaged herself from Annie’s hold and said, ‘I’d better go; Beatrice will need me,’ Robbie said, ‘All right. I’ll see you along as far as the gate.’ He had not added, ‘Because your father’s not there to greet me any more.’

  Six

  The light from the
carbide lamp picked out only the road directly ahead as John pushed his bicycle slowly up the hill. He was tired. He’d had a long day; he hadn’t stopped from half-past eight when he took his surgery. Every other person seemed to have either a very heavy cold or bronchitis, among the minor ailments. And then there had been the business of Steel.

  It was just on seven o’clock now and, following on the thaw this afternoon, the ground was freezing again. He’d have to watch out; he had almost skidded into a ditch a little way back, and only his grabbing at a small tree had saved him.

  He raised his head as a swinging lantern appeared over the brow of the hill; and the bearer, when he reached him, stopped and said, ‘That you, Doctor?’

  ‘Oh. Oh, hello, Mr Wallace. It’s going to be another freezer.’

  Dave Wallace did not respond but said, ‘You haven’t seen my lad about, have you?’

  ‘Jackie? No. Well, what d’you mean? Just lately, this last couple of hours or so?’

  ‘Any time. He’s been missing all day. I had thought the darkness would bring him back.’

  ‘Has he been playing truant?’

  ‘No, no. He hasn’t been to school for a week or so, but it was because he wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘Oh; oh now,’ John put in. ‘Yes, when I come to think of it, I have seen him. But it was . . . oh, let me see, it must have been round about four o’clock, over by Bishop’s Meadow. I wondered what he was doing down there, unless he was looking for stones from the old farmhouse. I remember telling myself, he wouldn’t be looking for wood because what the fire didn’t take the children did.’

  ‘Bishop’s Meadow? Oh, thank you, Doctor. About four o’clock?’