by Nancy Carson
She blew her nose again as her crying subsided. Strangely, this brief communion with her mother and father had elicited some comfort. Her relationship with Jesse could never be the same again, but she realised they would always be close, they would always love each other, if only as brother and sister. Perhaps they could never be lovers again, perhaps they could never wed, but as brother and sister they could live in the same house, be eternal companions … Except that there was a flaw in this assumption: if nobody else knew they were brother and sister they would be deemed to be living in sin; and if word got out that they were brother and sister, then they would be under eternal suspicion of committing incest anyway.
The hard, cold stone of the grave was hurting her backside, and she was wet through to the skin. She shivered and stood up, wondering what time it was. She needed to sit in front of a blazing fire now with hot cocoa laced generously with whisky. A couple of those might enable her to sleep. She thought of her dry night-gown warmed in front of the fire, and her bed snug with clean white sheets. So she picked her way back between the graves, back onto the path, through the lych gate and onto the dimly lit street. As she turned into Cromwell Street from Price Street she could see that Billy’s car had gone. With any luck, her family would be in bed.
As she neared her house, Jesse was there to meet her. He’d seen her walking up the street, and decided to intercept her. At once they fell into each other’s arms.
‘My God, Lizzie, you’re wet through.’
She looked up at him, her eyes puffy. ‘I’ve been out in the rain ever since I left you. I’ve been to Mother and Father’s grave – talking to them. D’you think that’s the first sign of madness?’
‘No. I guessed that’s what you’d do. Come in the house and dry out. There’s still a lovely fire in the sitting room.’
She was glad of the offer, and nodded. He took her hand and led her through the verandah. In the scullery he took her coat and draped it over the laundry rack. He sent her to the sitting room while he put the kettle on to boil, then joined her and poked the fire to liven it up. Lizzie stood in front of it trying to get warm, but even her knitted dress was wet through.
‘Will you unfasten me frock at the back, Jesse? I’ll have to take it off a bit to let it dry.’
He did as she requested, moved by their intimacy, heartbroken that it was so futile. She removed her dress, and stood in her camisole and high heel shoes.
‘Have you talked to your mother any more?’ She hung her dress over the fire guard, realising that it might shrink as a result, but too devastated to care.
‘I think she’s as upset about it as we are, I honestly do. At first I thought it was just a ruse to stop us getting wed, ’cause she can be a crafty old bugger. But now I know it ain’t. There’s no doubt as it’s the truth, Lizzie … more’s the pity.’ His eyes filled and he turned away. ‘Oh, what a bloody mess. I still don’t know what to make of it.’ He seemed utterly defeated.
Lizzie sat in the armchair in front of the fire. ‘Did she say anything about my father?’
‘You mean our father.’
‘Yes, our father which art in heaven … or hell, more like. That would be the best place for him … Yes, Jesse, our father.’
‘Mother’s told me quite a bit. She got married when she was twenty – well, I already knew that – and she’d been married five years when she started having it off with Isaac. So how old would he have been then?’
‘What year were you born, Jesse?’
‘Eighteen eighty-one.’
‘So if she conceived you in eighteen eighty, say, that’d make Father … what? … thirty-seven or thirty-eight. Quite a bit older than your mother.’
‘Maybe that was the attraction. You wouldn’t think it to look at her now, but she was a fine-looking woman when she was young. Long, fair hair – long enough to sit on – and big, blue eyes.’
‘Did she say why she never had any children by your father? – Sorry, I mean by Jack.’
‘She reckons he hadn’t got one in him. They tried hard, she just said, but in nearly five years she never caught. And then she went and caught with Isaac.’
‘Did she say whether Jack knew?’
‘He knew all right. She confessed the lot, and he told her if she kept her mouth shut he’d be a father to me.’ He sighed heavily.
‘Like Ben with that child of mine …’
Jesse nodded, acknowledging the similar circumstances. ‘He was a good father to me, you know, Lizzie. He was a good husband to Mother, as well … It don’t matter what happens from now on, I shall always think of him as my father. I don’t think as I could ever get used to thinking of Isaac Bishop as my father.’
Lizzie shivered and rubbed her bare arms to increase circulation. Jesse remembered the kettle heating up in the scullery, and went out to make a pot of tea. He came back carrying the teapot, two mugs and a half bottle of whisky.
‘Let that steep for five minutes, and we’ll have a decent cup o’ tea,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the same armchair as Lizzie. ‘It’ll warm you up a bit.’
He put his arm around her and she rested her head wearily on his shoulder.
‘What shall you do about the child?’
‘I shall go to Donald Clark’s tomorrow after work and see about getting rid of it,’ she answered candidly, looking up at him. ‘There’s no alternative, is there?’
‘Oh, Lizzie, this is a bloody nightmare. I was that happy you were having my child.’
Jesse couldn’t help but kiss her. It was sheer force of habit. And with the same force of habit she responded, lingering, savouring his lips. But it was wrong. She knew it was wrong. It was forbidden. She was kissing her own brother … like a lover again, and she ought to break off. But they had already been lovers. His child was in her belly. Hell would be no hotter for tasting him just once more.
‘Oh, Jesse, I know I shouldn’t, but I want you.’ Shamelessly she eased herself back in the armchair.
‘But, Lizzie, my flower,’ he sighed, struggling with his conscience.
‘Nothing’s changed inside me, Jesse. I love you just the same. I wanted you before, and somebody suddenly saying you’re my brother doesn’t stop me wanting you still … I’m sorry … It just seems so right.’
‘Don’t be sorry, my sweetheart. I want you as well … It’s just that …’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever feel any different. God, I can’t stand to be plagued like this for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s a mortal sin, but I can’t help feeling the way I do. You’re too deep under my skin … Oh, I’m sorry, Jesse.’
‘Oh, Lizzie,’ he howled, agonised. All these years of longing for her seemed so pointless; such a waste of time. Yet here she was now; his, of her own volition, devoted to him, wanting him.
But cruelly, he must not have her.
She slid down further in the chair wantonly, clinging to his waistcoat as if she were drowning, too desperate to care. Her satin camisole slid up exposing the tops of her stockings and the smooth flesh of her thighs. It was the only stimulus he needed to give up the fight with his conscience.
*
They both knew such carryings on could not continue, but they made love that night with such ardour, driven to wilder intensity than ever by the certain knowledge that what they were doing was forbidden by law and by convention. Because it was wickedly incestuous, morally and sinfully wrong, this one occasion would linger forever in their hearts, overshadowing till eternity the memories of any other love-making.
This could not go on, however. Sylvia, damn it, knew the truth about them, and although Edgar had promised to be discreet, whether she could remain so was another matter. Sylvia had held this grudge against Lizzie for too long, and Lizzie realised that she would not be able to keep such a juicy piece of gossip to herself. Sooner or later she would have to tell somebody. She was vindictive by nature, and it was the ideal snippet with which to get even with Lizzie. Never could she have dreamt up such a glorious
bit of scandal. And how she would enjoy using it.
*
Donald Clark was shocked. ‘If you’re absolutely certain of the facts, Lizzie – if you’re certain beyond doubt that your father is also Jesse’s father – then, yes, I can legally abort the foetus myself, or authorise it to be done. Let’s see, you’re less than sixteen weeks, aren’t you?’
She dried her tears and sniffed, trying to regain her composure. ‘Yes.’
‘I could do it at home, but you’d need some nursing afterwards.’
‘No, not at home, Donald. The last thing I want is for the children to know.’
‘Of course. Then I’ll book you a bed in hospital. You’ll have to stay overnight, at least. I daresay you could dream up a suitable yarn to explain your need to be away?’
‘I suppose so. The children are old enough to look after themselves now. And I could always ask Jesse, or May, or even Beccy Crump to keep an eye on them. I’ll ask Beccy. She won’t mind.’
‘It’s a distasteful business, abortion. It’s a sight more unpleasant than actual childbirth, too. It won’t be a tea-party, I warn you.’
Lizzie shrugged, twisting her handkerchief through her fingers. ‘It has to be done.’
‘And I’m desperately sorry, Lizzie. Talk about visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children! … Please give Jesse my kindest regards … Good gracious! Old Ezme Clancey and your father. It sounds preposterous now. Who ever would have thought it, eh?’
‘As you say, who ever would have thought it? So how soon can I expect to go into hospital, Donald? I need to make arrangements for the children.’
‘I’ll see if I can get it fixed up in a day or two. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know.’
*
Lizzie drew comfort from the knowledge that if it were not for Sylvia and Edgar actually witnessing Ezme’s revelation, she and Jesse would have ignored the truth, got married anyway without telling Ezme, and taken a chance with the child she was carrying. But Ezme knew what she was doing when she asked Sylvia and Edgar to witness her words. Jesse had subsequently turned up his birth certificate, and his father was actually named as Jack Clancey, dairyman. Nobody therefore could dispute it, except Sylvia. But because they feared she would, given the opportunity, they could not afford to take the chance. Lizzie started having bad dreams about her wedding day that could never be: hiding in the vestry while Sylvia shouted from the back of the church that they must not get married, that they were brother and sister. It was a vivid dream, too. Sylvia then walked up the aisle, dressed as a bride herself; she took Jesse’s arm, and he slipped his ring onto her finger, while Edgar watched, smiling, as best man.
On the Thursday evening of that week Donald Clark called round to see Lizzie. She walked outside with him to his car for privacy, and he told her that a bed was available at the Guest Hospital tomorrow, Friday, and that she should report there at ten in the morning. She should take her overnight things, and be prepared to stay a couple of nights.
She swallowed hard at the news. ‘I’ll be there,’ she said resolutely. ‘I haven’t a clue what to tell the kids, though, to save them worrying.’
‘Well, I can’t help you there, Lizzie. Whatever you tell them needs to be plausible. Anyway the best of luck. I’ll find out when you’re due to be discharged, and I’ll call round to see you.’
‘Thanks, Donald. You’re as good as gold.’
He waved as he climbed into his car and Lizzie turned to go back up the entry. But she did not re-open her own back door. She walked straight past, to go to Beccy Crump’s house. She opened the door and called out.
‘Come in, my wench,’ Beccy invited. She was sitting at her scullery table, tucking, with her fingers, into conga eel and chips from Iky Bottlebrush’s. They were still wrapped in newspaper, and smelled divine. A jar of pickled onions and a saltshaker were at her elbow. ‘Get yourself a cup and saucer out the cubbert, and pour yourself a cup o’ tay.’
Lizzie found a mug and took it to the table, sat down and poured herself some tea.
‘Mind yo’ doh sheed it on the cloth,’ Beccy said, mocking her own lack of a tablecloth. ‘Here, have a chip.’
Lizzie took a chip from the newspaper. To have argued would have been pointless. ‘Are you keeping all right, Beccy?’
‘Yes, ’cept I seem to have the wind summat vile. Keeps givin’ me the ballyache. I could do with a drop o’ whisky after to help settle it.’
‘I’ll send you a drop round after, Beccy, if you’ll do me a favour.’
‘A favour? Oh, I’ll do yer a favour if I can, Lizzie, yo’ knowin’ that. What is it?’ She picked up three or four chips and worked them into her mouth.
‘I, er … I’ve got to go to Manchester to our Lucy’s. She’s poorly, and there’s nobody to look after her. I’ll only be away a couple of days, but I wondered if you could just pop in and make sure the kids are all right. I’ll let May know as well, but you know how she’s been, what with Emmie’s death and all that. I don’t want to burden her with anymore.’
‘’Course I will. But it looks to me like yo’m the one who wants lookin’ after, Lizzie. Yo’m as white as a ghost, and yo’ look mythered to jeath. What’s up, my wench, eh?’
‘Oh, nothing that a day or two away won’t put right,’ she answered ambiguously.
‘Is it Jesse?’
Lizzie shook her head unconvincingly.
‘I sid yer walkin’ up and down the street in the pourin’ rain last Sunday night. Yo’ looked as if yo’ was lost. Nobody in their right mind would’ve bin out on a night like that. I was gunna come and ask yer what was up, but I thought it was no business o’ mine.’
‘Oh, we’d had a row, Beccy,’ she lied. ‘It upset me and I didn’t want to go home with our Henzey’s new chap there.’
‘It must’ve upset yer a lot, I should think, if yo’ wouldn’t goo ’um. What did yer row about? His mother, I reckon?’
Lizzie ran her fingers through her hair, and her anxiety showed. She wanted to be honest with Beccy, but could not bring herself to tell her the truth. The fewer people who knew, the better.
‘Was that Ezme causin’ trouble?’
Lizzie nodded sadly.
‘By God, ’er can be a nasty bag o’ washin’, that Ezme. ’Er’d always got it in for your mother an’ all, yer know. If your mother’s arse had bin on fire Ezme would’ve tried to put it out with lamp oil. An’ yet your mother wouldn’t hurt a fly. A real lady, your mother was.’
‘I know my mother was, Beccy … but what about my father? What about my father, eh? Would you say he was a gentleman?’
Beccy stoked the last bit of conga eel into her mouth, relishing it as she chewed. Lizzie awaited her answer, curious.
‘He always turned his money up,’ she replied evasively, and wiped her mouth on the tea cloth that was on her lap. ‘None o’ yer ever went short.’
‘That’s not what I asked, Beccy. I want to know whether you think my father was a gentleman?’
‘A gentleman?’ The cat emerged from under the table, arched its back and sprung onto Beccy’s lap. It sniffed tentatively at the bits of food remaining in the newspaper. ‘Your father could be a gentleman when he’d a mind to be.’
‘But not always?’
Beccy shoved the animal back down to the worn linoleum, then put the newspaper containing the scraps on the floor in front of it. The cat began licking at the bits of batter and the grease, purring contentedly.
‘Sometimes he was a bit brusque. Liked his drink, your father, and he was vile when he was drunk. He was never a well-liked man, though God forgi’ me for spakin’ ill o’ the jead.’
‘Oh, never mind that. I want to know the truth about him. I was only twelve when he got killed. I thought the sun shone out of his backside, but what girl doesn’t idolise her father? It’s only when you get older that you get to realise what they’re really like. I can’t say as I ever really knew him.’
‘What’s brought this on?’ Beccy queried
, as if she could see into Lizzie’s head.
‘Oh, I was just thinking … Jack Clancey’s horse killed him, but Jack Clancey never so much as said he was sorry. I remember Uncle Tom at the time telling my mother how they fetched Jack out the pub when it happened. He must’ve looked at my father lying there dead, and said he wouldn’t grieve over him. It seemed that strange to me – that callous. Even as a child. I often wondered why it was. Didn’t Jack Clancey like my father for some reason, Beccy?’
‘Like I said, Lizzie, few men liked your father. If yo’ want the truth, then I’ll tell yer the truth, especially if this is what’s mytherin’ yer. Your father was a womaniser, and no two ways. No bloke’s woman was sacred. He tried it on with me once, till I told him where to get off, in no uncertain terms. There was a stink about him and Ezme, years ago. Ezme was only a young woman then – before Jesse was born. Praps that’s why Jack dai’ like your father. Praps that’s why Ezme dai’ like your mother.’
‘Hmm. I thought it might go deeper than that, though,’ Lizzie suggested, plumbing the depth of Beccy’s knowledge.
‘Well, if it does I know nothin’ about it. But what makes yer say that, my wench? What yer drivin’ at, eh? Summat’s mytherin’ yer.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Beccy. It’s just my imagination running riot … On their gravestone it says, ‘They have sown the wind’. I suppose Mother must’ve had it inscribed. It must mean something. Do you know what it means, Beccy? Did she ever tell you what it meant?’
‘Never. But I can imagine.’
‘Tell me then.’
‘It’s from the Bible. ‘They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind’. Yo’ could say as Isaac sowed the wind, praps. I daresay that’s what your mother meant.’
Lizzie picked up her mug of tea, and drank it, and Beccy finished off hers. ‘Well I know who’s reaping the damn whirlwind, Beccy, and it isn’t my father … Look, I’d best be off, else they’ll wonder what’s happened to me. I haven’t told them yet I’m going away … Now, you’re sure you don’t mind keeping your eye on them for me?’