The Obsession

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Well,’ put in Cook, ‘where did this, your being detained, come in?’

  ‘Well, you see, Cook, it was like this: I went with the crowd across the road, and I can tell you I nearly went on me back once with all the rice that was lying about. Anyway, gradually people thinned out, you know, when they couldn’t see any more, and I was left. Then up came this fella. He startled the wits out of me. He grabbed my arm and he said, ‘Come on back, the bride wants to see you.’ And I was for saying, ‘Well, I can’t go in there. I’m not togged up,’ but he said, ‘She wants a word with you. Come on!’ And he actually pulled me up the steps and into the hall and then into a room where there was a crowd of folk. And he pushed his way to where Miss Rosie was standing, and she took my hand. And you know what she said?’

  They waited, all staring at her. And now there was a break in Mary’s voice as she went on, ‘She said, “It’s lovely to see you, Mary. Tell Cook and the girls I wish they could have been here.” Yes, that’s what she said.’

  There was silence around the table and Cook’s reaction was to pat her lips quickly with her fingers. But both Frances and Janie groped for handkerchiefs behind their apron bibs and dabbed at their eyes.

  It was a full minute later when Mary went on with her tale. ‘Miss Rosie then said, “You must stay and have something to eat.” And then there was a lot of talk and laughter and pushing and shoving, and there was waiters going round with trays with glasses of wine on them, and Robbie MacIntosh took off one and handed it to me. Well, me hand shook so much that I nearly spilt it; and then he bent towards me and whispered, “Don’t waste that stuff, Mary; it cost a lot of money.” And at this Miss Rosie laughed out loud, and she pushed him, he who’s her husband now, and their glasses nearly spilt. And there we were – I couldn’t believe it – the three of us laughing our heads off; and then his mother came up and spoke to me, and she started to laugh, and that seemed to set off everybody else. Most of them didn’t know what they were laughing about. Eeh! It was lovely. And then the doctor came and told Rosie that they were waiting for her to sit down. The tables were arranged like a horseshoe. Anyway, I was making for the door when the doctor was back again and saying, “Where are you off to, Mary?” And then he didn’t wait for me to tell him, but he took my hand and pulled me through all the bustle to the bottom of one side of the table. And he pulled a chair forward from against the wall and said, “You sit there, and enjoy yourself. It’s Miss Rosie’s special day. You understand?” He looked solemn for a moment and I said, “Yes, Doctor.” Then he laughed and again said, “Enjoy yourself.” Then amid all the noise and chatter he went up to the top table, and the meal began. It was very nice, very nice. But I thought you, Cook, could have done better.’ Tactfully now, she nodded to her superior; then she went on, ‘After that there was speeches and a lot of laughter. I couldn’t hear what they were laughing at; I was too far down, you see. Robbie MacIntosh didn’t say much, and it sounded very solemn, until the end when he went into broad Scots. There was a lot of laughter then. And then’ – her voice was slowing up now – ‘they cut the cake. His hand was on top of hers. That finished me; I was all choked up.’ Her lids blinking rapidly, she looked from one to the other, then dropped her head onto her folded arms on the table and she began to cry, and the others, rising to their feet, commiserated with her. And it was Cook who said, ‘Come on now. Go up to your room and wash your face and pull yourself together. Then come down and have a cup of tea.’ . . .

  They had been sitting in silence when Cook again spoke, saying quietly, ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about her along there all day. She must be goin’ through hell.’

  ‘She’s gone through two boxes of chocolates that I know of,’ said Janie now. ‘She must spend a small fortune on them. Yet, she’s cutting down on the store cupboard and us, isn’t she?’

  ‘I can’t help but feel sorry for her, too, Cook,’ Frances said; ‘but she’s asked for all she’s got, if we only go by the bit we’ve heard and seen. She was a different woman altogether when she first used to go in to the annexe. And Mrs Falconer and she got on so well together. And look how she used to come into you, Cook, and get you to make the old girl special dishes.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, we all know about that,’ Janie put in now. ‘But, if you ask me, it was all a sprat to catch a mackerel, because, there’s no gettin’ away from it, she trailed the doctor: for him she put on a different face from the one she used for Miss Rosie; she was all butter and sugar when he was about. And I’ll tell you something else’ – she now leant down the table towards the cook – ‘As I’ve said to you, Cook, I’ve heard things upstairs, things here and there, that seemed very odd at times. And knowing her now makes me think she is one of those women who eat men alive.’

  ‘Oh! Oh! Janie Bluett. Be quiet!’ Frances had turned on her workmate now. ‘The things you say.’

  ‘The things I say? What have you been sayin’ all along? Anyway, me mind’s settled. I’m going to look out for a change. And if you had any sense you would do the same, ’cos to my mind, she’s going up the pole. I’ll tell you something you didn’t know. I was putting her linen away the other day in the top drawer and I managed to feel something hard. I pulled it out, and it was one of the doctor’s scarves, and it had knots in it from beginning to end, tight, tight knots.’

  ‘No!’ Cook was now biting on her lower lip and Janie turned to her, saying, ‘Yes, Cook. Tight, tight knots. Don’t you think that means she intends to do him an injury? And I don’t want to be here when it happens.’

  A bell attached to a board on the wall rang loudly, and Frances, rising with a sigh, said, ‘Here we go again. What now?’

  PART THREE

  HELEN

  One

  Leonard was saying, ‘I should have been there. I was quite capable . . .’ when Helen cut him off by bending over him and putting her lips to his brow as she said, ‘You weren’t quite capable and you know it. So, don’t let’s be silly.’

  ‘If there’s anyone silly in this ménage, it isn’t me. I could have made it, couldn’t I, John?’

  ‘No, you couldn’t.’

  ‘Well, well.’ Leonard put his hand up to his thin gaunt face and shook his head: ‘Not a friend in the world,’ he said.

  ‘Poor soul!’ When Helen again kissed his brow he caught her hand and said, ‘They looked so happy when they came in, didn’t they? Joy personified.’

  ‘Yes, dear, joy personified.’ Helen bit on her lip and her eyes became moist as she said on a shaky laugh, ‘They’re looking round the kitchen garden again, would you believe it? She’s so interested in their future. And I can see them making quite a business of their bit of land, more so than it is now. Odd,’ – she straightened up and looked at John – ‘she was never happy unless she was over there: she loved that house and his mother.’

  ‘You say Robbie’s mother’s having a ceilidh tonight?’ Leonard said.

  ‘Yes, she’s entertaining all his friends. Her cousin and his wife are staying with her for the four days, and they are Scots, too.’

  ‘I always thought that a ceilidh was an Irish pastime.’

  ‘No; it’s a Gaelic name for a do. Of the two nationalities I wouldn’t lay bets as to who makes the more noise, or drinks the more whiskey, or which one of them finishes up without a fight. But I doubt if the latter will happen with Robbie’s mother about . . . You’re not going now?’ Leonard pulled himself up slightly from the back of the long lounge chair as John got to his feet.

  ‘Yes, because if I stay five minutes longer I’ll be invited to dinner.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t a surgery tonight; you said so.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I’ve got a mother. I’ve had a number of late nights during the last few weeks, don’t forget. Your gambling sessions have got me hooked.’

  Leonard lay back and smiled his gaunt, wide smile as he said, ‘Oh, yes. I
reckoned up yesterday, you must have lost all of fifteen shillings; but what you shouldn’t forget is that you’ve also had tuition for that amount.’

  Helen had said nothing during this jocular exchange, for she was used to such banter, but now she went from the room, saying, ‘I’ll call that pair in to say goodbye. Anyway, it’s almost dark and they won’t be examining vegetables in this light.’

  Left alone for a moment, Leonard put his hand out towards John and beckoned him closer. And when John bent over him, it was to hear Leonard say, ‘I would like to have a talk with you, in private.’

  ‘Private?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, private. She’s arranged to take them to the theatre on Monday; at least, I forced her hand in it, so they’ll be leaving here any time after five. Could you make it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, then closing his eyes, Leonard said, ‘I’d be grateful.’

  John could say nothing to this, but if he had voiced his thoughts, he would have said, ‘The gratitude, really, is on the other foot; a visit here is the only light in my life now,’ to which, in all honesty, he could have added, ‘When, not only do I see Helen, but also enjoy this friendship which has surprisingly grown up between us.’ There was a time when perhaps thoughtlessly he might have wished this man dead. But not any more. The thought of his impending end was painful. He had found Leonard Spears to be not only a good man, but also a gentleman of the first rank, in all ways.

  He straightened up, and assuming his doctor’s manner, he said, ‘Now behave yourself. Do as you’re told and no attempting to go outside until the sun starts to behave itself, too.’ He nodded sharply down at Leonard now; and when there was no response, he turned abruptly and walked from the room.

  Helen was in the hall. She seemed to be waiting for him, for she had his coat in her hands, and silently she helped him into it. Then, handing him his hat and gloves, she said, ‘I’m going to the theatre with Rosie and Robbie on Monday night; I’m . . . I’m being got out of the way.’ Her voice had a break in it. ‘I suppose he’s asked you over because he wants to talk to you in private?’

  ‘Well . . . yes.’

  She gathered the front of her dress into her fist as if she were cold; then, turning to him, she peered at him through the twilight as she said, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do when he goes. He is my life. He has been my life for a long time now. You understand?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’

  ‘It wasn’t so at first.’ She swallowed deeply. ‘I liked him then, admired him, and he was a quick escape route. But . . . but that soon changed. He . . . he’s a wonderful man.’

  ‘Yes. I agree with you.’

  She turned from him now, muttering, ‘Why? Why?’

  ‘Used in this context, that is the hardest word to give an answer to,’ John said quietly.

  Her voice became a slight croak now as she said, ‘How long do you think he has?’

  He paused for a moment before he said, ‘His . . . your doctor would surely have given you an indication.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t. He thinks it would hurt me. Anyway I have eyes. And you know that this is the worst possible climate for him. But he won’t budge, he likes this house. He says he wants me to be . . . settled here,’ and her head bounced back as she said, ‘When he goes, I too go far away, miles away, across oceans . . .’

  As her voice broke, he put in softly, ‘Don’t! Don’t! He’ll notice immediately and that’ll upset him more. You’ve put a face on things up till now; go on doing so. And I can say at this moment, Helen, that there is no-one who hopes or would even pray for his survival as much as I would.’

  At this point he happened to glance into the corridor where Bertram Johnson, Leonard’s valet-cum-nurse was hovering. Strange, he thought, but the man always seemed to be hovering in his vicinity. He had never taken to the man. He couldn’t tell why, for apparently he was good at his job and was very necessary to Leonard.

  ‘I must be going,’ he said now and made a motion to take her hand, although it got no further than a motion; then he went out into the night and towards the stables where he knew Henry would have his horse and trap ready for him.

  One thing John was to remember about Rosie’s wedding day had nothing to do with that happy girl or her groom, but was something his mother had said to him the previous night.

  Both she and Mrs Atkinson had been somewhat surprised to see him back so early. And when he told Mrs Atkinson that he wasn’t going out again and that he was sure she’d be glad of an early night, she thankfully took him at his word.

  His mother wasn’t in bed. In fact, as she said herself, her legs had taken a holiday and left her substitutes, and she had been walking around most of the day. She also insisted that she had no intention of retiring until she had heard all his news.

  They were settled in the sitting room and she was saying to him, ‘I was vexed this afternoon because I knew I could have been there, as I’ve said, I’ve been on my pins all day. What d’you think’s given me this relief?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ He jerked his head impatiently. ‘You know you have your good days, and that they are followed by bad ones.’

  She smiled now as she said, ‘Say that again. I didn’t quite get it.’

  He closed his eyes for a moment as he smiled widely; then she said, ‘Well, go on, tell me. Right from the two of them going up the aisle.’

  ‘Oh, I told you that bit when I popped in before the reception.’

  ‘All right, then, start from the reception.’

  And so he started from the reception, even bringing in young Mary’s appearance, which had pleased Rosie greatly. And he finished on a laugh when he related that the young couple had gone out to examine the kitchen garden once again, in deep twilight!

  ‘It’s been a good day then, for all concerned?’ She had stopped here; then, her head slightly bowed, she added, ‘That was the wrong conclusion,’ and she thumbed now towards the wall, adding quietly, ‘She’s been on the rampage. Twice I heard her yelling at the girls. Then Mrs Atkinson had a word with Tom Needler. He said that the mistress had given Jimmy Oldham . . . that’s the yard man, isn’t it? Well, she had given him orders to clean the carriage, get it ready for outside. And the carriage, you know, is Tom’s business. Anyway, as he said, it hadn’t been used now for some time, and what’s the use of a carriage without a horse?’ She paused now while staring at him; then said, ‘I used to love living here. But the way things have turned out, I wish I had never come. And you know, if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been in the mess you are today.’

  He had got quickly to his feet, saying, ‘We’ve been through all this. Come on, get yourself to bed.’

  She did not move, but went on, ‘How did you leave the patient?’

  ‘Leonard?’

  ‘Yes, Leonard.’

  ‘Well, he’s not my patient.’

  ‘No, I know that, but you’re across there enough times as if he were.’

  Looking down at her, he said, ‘Mother, he likes company. And, as I told you, and he has said himself, their so-called friends have faded away like snow in sunshine, apart from one or two. Only one does he find amusing. And not one of them plays cards.’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m not questioning you, John, or blaming you, only I . . . well I get worried. What I saw of him I know he’s not long to go and there’s going to be a great gap in that girl’s life when he does. But what I’m going to say won’t please you. Nevertheless, I’ll say it: she’s not the kangaroo type; she won’t jump into somebody else’s arms the minute that he’s gone.’

  ‘Mother!’ He took two steps back from her. ‘Really!’ The word might have been an instant reprimand, but her gaze remained steadfast and her voice calm as she said, ‘I’m not blind, and I’m your moth
er. I remember your telling me about that garden party, and you could talk of nothing else, and the fact that she was intending to marry a man old enough to be her father, or so you thought. And then you purposely didn’t go to her wedding, and you were like a bear with a sore skull for weeks on end. Oh yes, you were.’ She held up her hand. ‘Remember I had to put up with your moods when you were a boy, the long silences when something troubled you and you wouldn’t speak of it. Well, she’s something you wouldn’t speak about. And now it would seem you’ve got both on your mind,’ and she thumbed towards the wall.

  ‘I haven’t got both on my mind, Mother. There’ll be no-one more upset than I’ll be when Leonard goes. He’s become my friend. I . . . I like him; in fact, I more than like him.’

  ‘No doubt, no doubt. I’m glad of that. And he’s a fine man. But that still leaves the question of when he goes, what will she do?’

  ‘From what I understand from her own lips, she’s going to travel, get away.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, well, although you won’t agree, I’ll say, thank God for that, because you’re still married and she’s your wife’s sister. And what’s more, you can look at me with your face blazing, but, you know, I’m just bringing out into the open what’s on your mind. Anyway, you were saying that he wanted to talk to you on Monday night, private. Now, I wonder what that’ll be about?’