The Boy I Love

by Marion Husband

  ‘I dreamt my legs grew back last night.’ Mick looked up from mopping bacon fat from his plate with a slice of bread. ‘I dreamt Mam was still alive and when I saw her I just got up and walked.’ As though he had just thought of it he said, ‘Let’s visit the grave tomorrow. Take some flowers.’

  ‘If you want.’

  Patrick began to stack the plates as Mick lit a cigarette and deftly manoeuvred his chair away from the table and over to the fire. Reaching up to the mantelpiece he took down a book and began to read. He became absorbed almost at once, his expression becoming softer and losing the anger that so often animated his face. About to carry the plates through to the kitchen Patrick asked, ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Mick barely glanced at him. ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  ‘Call me when you want to go to bed.’

  In the kitchen Patrick held a plate under the running tap, remembering Paul sleeping beneath a lilac tree. He remembered squatting beside him, watching as his chest rose and fell, fighting the urge to kiss his mouth, to run his hands beneath his shirt. He breathed the scent of white lilac blossom, heavy as gas on the warm air. Grass grew high, brushing pollen against his puttees and his cock’s aching hardness. He groaned.

  Paul woke, squinting against the sun. Drowsily he said, ‘Sergeant Morgan?’ His hand went to shade his eyes as he sat up. He frowned. ‘Morgan?’

  ‘Captain Hawkins wants you, sir.’

  He knew he sounded sullen. His Thorp accent made even ordinary words sound like a threat. Paul had fallen back on to the grass, pushing his hand over his face as if to rub the sleep away. ‘I’ll be along in a moment, Sergeant.’

  Patrick hesitated, still squatting at his side. Paul had frowned up at him. ‘Was there something else?’

  Patrick loosened his grip on the still running tap. It had left a star shaped imprint on his palm and he pressed it hard against his erection. Thinking about Paul he could bring himself to climax in no time, come right here at the kitchen sink and swill the evidence straight down the drain. Remembering Mick in the next room he turned off the tap and began on the day’s dirty dishes.

  Hetty said, ‘What do you want for Christmas, Mam?’

  ‘Peace and quiet.’

  ‘What would you like really? I’ve seen a lovely scarf in Robinson’s.’

  Her mother grunted, ‘You keep your money.’

  Hetty fingered the ten-shilling note in her pocket. The scarf was thick and soft, a rich navy blue; it would go with her mother’s wardrobe of black; it wouldn’t upset her invented rules of mourning. All the same she knew her mother wouldn’t wear it. Taking the note out, she placed it on the kitchen table.

  ‘He gave me this as a bonus.’

  As her mother held the money up to the light Hetty laughed. ‘He’s a butcher, Mam, not a master forger.’

  She placed the note down on the table again where it looked dull and insignificant against the bright greens and reds of the new oilcloth. ‘It’s got something nasty stuck to it.’

  Hetty hadn’t noticed the small clump of sausage meat sticking to one corner. She picked it off. ‘It’ll still spend.’

  ‘Then spend it on yourself.’ She turned back to the stove where her husband’s supper of mince and onions was boiling noisily.

  ‘What about Dad. What would he like?’

  Her mother laughed harshly. ‘A crate of beer?’ Looking at the clock on the dresser she said, ‘He promised he’d be home by now. He’ll be sat in that pub, laughing and joking. How can he laugh and joke, eh? How can he behave like … like …’

  ‘It’s his way of coping, Mam.’

  Her mother stared at her scornfully. ‘Coping! How do I cope, eh? How do I cope with it?’

  Badly, Hetty thought. Next to the clock her brother Albert’s photograph was draped in a square of black crepe. In the parlour a candle was kept burning in front of another, larger photo of Albert in uniform, a crucifix propped against the ornate frame. Bertie’s shrine, her father called it once, and never mentioned it again.

  Her mother sat down at the table and picked up the ten-shilling note. Holding it out to Hetty she said, ‘He must think a lot of you.’

  Hetty took the note and crumpled it into her pocket. ‘He says I work hard, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s a pity you have to work at all for riff-raff like him. I remember when his father ran that shop, so filthy you wouldn’t have set foot in it.’ She got up again. Going to the back door she opened it and peered out into the yard. ‘Where’s your father got to? His tea’s ruined.’

  ‘Shall I go and fetch him?’

  ‘I don’t like you going in pubs.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She twisted her apron in her hands, looking from Hetty to the door and back again. ‘Maybe just walk up the street and see if you can see him.’

  Hetty put her coat on and stepped past her mother into the yard. ‘I won’t be long.’

  At the corner of Tanner Street Hetty saw her father walking towards her.

  Joe Roberts sighed. ‘She sent you out to look for me?’

  ‘She was worried. Besides, it was my idea.’

  ‘Was it?’ He smiled at her. Linking her arm through his he patted her hand. ‘How’s my girl? That big bruiser of a butcher asked you to marry him yet?’

  ‘I’m working on him.’

  ‘Good. Plenty of money, the Morgans. No harm marrying money.’

  ‘Mam says he’s riff-raff.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Patrick Morgan might be but she thinks the sun shines out of that brother of his. Him being a major has gone to your mother’s head. Anyone would think he’d won the war single-handed, if they listened to her. What’s she cooking for tea?’

  ‘Mince.’

  ‘God love us. Can’t you smuggle a nice bit of sausage home, pet?’

  They had reached the back yard gate and Hetty drew her arm away from her father’s. Joe pulled at the hem of his jacket and straightened his tie. He grinned at her. ‘Once more into the breach?’

  She grinned back. ‘Once more.’

  As she was about to go in Joe caught her arm. ‘I was joking just now. Money’s nowt – you marry for love. Life’s hard enough with it.’ He sighed. ‘Come on. Let’s not keep your Mam worrying.’

  When she told Elsie and the others she was leaving the sugar factory to work in a butcher’s, Elsie had summed up the general feeling.

  ‘You must be bloody mad.’

  ‘It’s better money.’

  ‘You’ll stink of meat.’

  ‘Well, I’m sick of stinking of sugar.’

  Elsie smirked. ‘He comes as a set, you know. Him and that crippled brother.’

  ‘I’m going to work for him, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  Lying on her side in bed, Hetty pretended that Patrick was beside her, his body fitting together with hers, close as two spoons in a drawer, and her hand moved to rest between her thighs. She lay still, waiting.

  Through the wall came her parents’ furious whispering, the usual row fuelled by her mother’s anxiety and her father’s exasperation. She listened, not wanting to, wishing they had found Bertie’s body. They should’ve told them he was dead rather than only presuming. The shrine was just a pretend acceptance.

  She heard their bed creak and held her breath to listen to the sudden silence. After a while all she could hear were her father’s snores.

  Chapter Four

  HER MOTHER SAID, ‘YOU’VE made your bed, you lie on it.’

  Her father said, ‘Margot, please think carefully about this. There are three lives involved.’

  The doctor said, ‘My dear, you are a fit, well young woman and I don’t envisage any problems.’ He had pushed her knickers down so that they gathered beneath the hard bump and pressed his hands over her in a blind search for problems he had decided wouldn’t exist. He gave her iron tablets and told her to eat liver. She craved oranges. To Paul, who waited outside, he said,
‘Congratulations, young man. Please give your father my best regards.’

  ‘You look tired,’ Paul said, and handed her a cigarette as they waited for the tram home.

  When they arrived at the vicarage Margot led Paul through the house to her father’s study. For the first time in her life, she tapped on the door. Turning to Paul she smiled nervously as her father called, ‘Come in.’

  The study was filled with the smell of pipe tobacco and Margot breathed it in greedily. The pipe itself lay extinguished in the ashtray. He never smoked in front of his parishioners. He glanced at her briefly. ‘Sit down, both of you. Now.’ He looked down at his open Bible. ‘I thought we’d have the reading about Christ turning the water into wine. Have you chosen some hymns?’

  Before Margot could tell him they hadn’t, Paul said quickly, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful, sir.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Praise My Soul the King of Heaven,’ Paul said. ‘And because it will be Christmas Eve we thought O Little Town of

  Bethlehem. If you think that’s appropriate.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Think of another one.’ Writing the accepted titles down he said, ‘Now, I shall give you away, Margot, of course, and the Reverend Collins will conduct the service. We don’t want any fuss, so your mother and I have decided to hold just a small reception here at the vicarage.’ To Paul he said, ‘Mrs Whittaker would like a guest list from you.’

  Paul took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it across.

  He frowned at it. ‘Only one guest apart from your father?’ For the first time he looked at Paul directly. ‘Adam Mason? Is he your best man?’

  Paul looked down at his hands clasped together on his lap. Margot guessed he wanted a cigarette as much as she did. Her father repeated his question and Paul stood up abruptly. ‘Would you excuse me, I need some fresh air.’

  As he left the room Daniel sighed. He sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. ‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’

  Sullenly she said, ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘You could do as your mother said.’

  She had been wrong about the nuns. Her mother’s solution had been worse. She would go to Aunt May’s in Carlisle and stay there until the baby could be given up for adoption. Margot remembered the aunt from childhood visits, a spinster who smelt of camphor and attended spiritualist meetings. There were cats, she remembered, and shuddered.

  ‘Do you honestly think that boy is fit enough to marry you?’

  ‘He’s fine. You make him nervous, I think.’

  ‘He makes me nervous. At least he’s given up wearing that eye-patch. He looks almost normal, at least.’

  The patch had been abandoned the day they’d told her parents. She remembered how startled she was, for a moment imagining he’d been miraculously healed. The dead glass, a paler green than his eye, was horrible, and so she ignored it.

  ‘Has he found a job yet? You can’t live with his father for ever.’ Bitterly Daniel added, ‘Even in a great big mausoleum like that.’

  Hesitantly Margot said, ‘He’s found a house to rent. In Tanner Street.’

  ‘Tanner Street’s a slum!’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll talk to him. I’m not having you and the baby living there.’

  The baby. It was the first time he’d referred to it directly. She felt herself blush. Looking down to hide it she heard her father sigh. ‘Oh, Margot. How did this happen? I thought it was Robbie you were sweet on, but then this, this other one comes along and …’ He closed his eyes and his face became pinched with anger. At last he said, ‘How could he? He hardly knew you …’

  The door opened and Paul came in and sat beside her. He took her hand. ‘Is there anything else you want to talk to us about, sir?’

  The Reverend dropped the pretence of civility. ‘Do you have a job yet? How do you intend to pay for a decent home for my daughter, because she won’t be moving into Tanner Street, I’m telling you that now.’

  ‘If you saw the house yourself, sir, I think you’d find it’s not as bad as you imagine.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake stop calling me sir, boy! You’re not in the army any more!’ He glared at Paul. ‘And I have been inside those houses. Members of my congregation live in those streets.’

  ‘Then you’ll know decent people live there.’ Releasing her hand he stood up. ‘Is that all, Reverend Whittaker?’

  ‘Yes. So what do I say now? Dismissed, lieutenant?’

  He was never sarcastic. For a moment he looked ashamed of himself and Margot blushed for him.

  Paul took her hand again. ‘Goodnight, Reverend.’

  He waited. When there was no reply he turned and led her out of the room.

  She saw him outside.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s upset.’

  Paul took out his cigarettes and lit two at once. Handing her one he said, ‘He’ll get over it, they all will, eventually.’

  ‘I think Mummy likes you.’

  He looked at her. ‘Did she like Robbie?’ Her silence made him laugh. ‘Mothers usually did like me best.’

  Margot leaned back against the vicarage wall, tilting her head to rest on the cold bricks, wanting to press her hot face against them. A bright moon shone its ghostly light and the air was sharp with frost. She shivered.

  Paul said, ‘Dad’s out at a patient’s.’ He hesitated. ‘We could go to Parkwood …’

  She glanced back. ‘I should go and tell Mummy where I’m going.’

  ‘Do you have to? She knows you’re safe with me.’ Taking off his coat he put it over her shoulders. ‘Come on. I’ve set the fire in the kitchen – it only needs a match. We might even stretch to a cup of cocoa.’

  Paul wondered if she’d been in the house before but she looked around her with such curiosity he guessed she hadn’t. Picking up a pile of newspapers from one of the kitchen armchairs he tidied them on to the floor.

  ‘Please, sit down. Would you like some cocoa?’

  She nodded absently and went to stand in front of the bookcase, tilting her head to read the spines of those books too large to stand upright. Opening the case she took a book out.

  ‘Health During Pregnancy. Do you think your father would let me borrow it?’

  He took it from her only to hand it back immediately, hating the shrivelling feel of its dust-dry cover. ‘Keep it. Dad never looks at books.’

  She sat down on the edge of the chair he had cleared, holding the book on her knee and watching him as he whisked cocoa powder into the warming milk. At last she said, ‘You chose hymns.’

  ‘I remembered them from school. You can change them if you want.’

  ‘No, they’re fine.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘I remember them from school, too.’ She blushed. She blushed often and he wondered if this was as much a symptom of pregnancy as the sickness she suffered from. He didn’t know. Health During Pregnancy was the only book in the house he hadn’t read.

  He handed her the cocoa and sat down. After a moment she got up suddenly and took a framed photograph down from the mantelpiece. She smiled at it and then at him.

  ‘When was this taken?’

  ‘1915.’ He remembered how George had wanted a studio picture of them both in uniform. To please him they had gone to Evans, Society Photographer, and posed in front of a turquoise backdrop that developed as a grey, Flanders sky. Evans posed them standing back-to-back, heads tilted towards each other, arms folded across their chests. Paul had tried hard to keep a straight face, concentrating on the sharpness of Rob’s shoulder blades through the thickness of their tunics. Neither smiled, and because their caps shaded their eyes they didn’t look ironic as they had intended, only fierce. Noble, Evans said, his two noble warriors. Paul had wondered if Evans was queer or just patriotic.

  Margot replaced the picture and sat down. ‘He talked a lot about you.’ Her blush deepened. ‘He told me he never thought he’d see you in uniform.’

  Paul
sipped his cocoa, aware that she was watching him. Sitting on the edge of the chair she held her cup in both hands, her face still hectic with colour. Her mouth opened, only to close again. He saw her bite down hard on her lip.

  He said, ‘He called me a fool when I volunteered.’

  ‘But he was so proud of you …’

  He laughed. ‘I’d just started medical school. Robbie said they needed doctors more than they needed foolhardy boys. Well, he was right. I just couldn’t wait, though. Couldn’t wait. The day that photograph was taken was the happiest of my life. I didn’t care that Rob was angry. He took me for a drink anyway.’

  ‘Where did you go for a drink?’

  He glanced at her from lighting a cigarette and she smiled slightly. ‘I like to picture him in different places. Make more memories of him, I suppose.’ Staring down into her cocoa she said, ‘Sorry. It must be painful for you to talk about him.’

  ‘We went to the King’s Head. Afterwards he went into Morgan’s butchers and bought two pork pies and a pound of sausages. We ate the pies on the way home. He had the sausages for breakfast, before he went back to France.’ Looking over his shoulder he said, ‘He stood there, at the stove, pricking the sausages with a fork. His sleeves were rolled up and his braces hung at his sides. Afterwards I walked with him to the station and I didn’t see him again until your party.’

  ‘He was so pleased you had leave, he even told Daddy.’ She laughed, ‘I think Daddy was expecting Alexander the Great, the way Robbie built you up.’

  ‘He was disappointed, then.’

  Avoiding his gaze she said, ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a doctor.’ Quickly she said, ‘I’m ruining your life, aren’t I?’

  ‘No. Don’t think that.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking it. You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to. Mummy can arrange for me to go away.’