Song of Songs

by Beverley Hughesdon

  I moved a little so I could slip my arms around his neck, and press my womb against his flat belly; he stroked my back and kissed my hair until I fell asleep.

  When I woke up later I was ravenously hungry; Mary cooked breakfast for us and as I reached for yet another piece of toast she smiled at me, a woman’s smile of complicity – and I blushed as I remembered Ben emptying the basin earlier.

  Before he left for work Ben said, ‘I’ll take you to Blackburn Saturday. My turns come earlier each day this week, so we can go in afternoon and I’ll buy you some sensible shoes.’ I held up my face and he kissed me goodbye.

  He was late that evening and I was already in bed and asleep when he came in. But as I heard his heavy body sliding in beside me I turned and opened myself to him; he moved slowly and gently inside me and when he eased himself off me I fell deeply asleep. I opened myself to him each evening that week, as soon as he climbed into bed, but on the Friday I was tired and heavy from the child so I did not move towards him. But when he pulled me close I felt the swollen tenseness of him, so I parted my legs for him and lay still and let him use my body. When at last he lay limp and relaxed in my arms, he kissed my mouth and whispered, ‘Thanks, lass – I needed you badly tonight.’ The child would take from me what it needed, and so would he; only I could satisfy them both. He rolled off me and gathered me to him; I put my head against his neck and heard his contented breathing – the breathing of a man comfortable and at ease now, because I had given him what he wanted. I drifted into sleep.

  The next day we went for my shoes. Although I was only a couple of weeks overdue my breasts were already swelling, and I was being sick every morning now. Clinging to Ben’s arm as we walked through the soot-blackened streets I sensed the swagger in his walk; he had planted his seed in me and it had taken root, at once.

  When we got home he made me lie down on the sofa, and fussed around me with cushions for my head and cushions for my feet. I smiled at him. ‘I feel quite well, Ben – don’t be silly.’

  ‘You rest, lass – we don’t want to take any chances. I’ll go and make tea.’ And while he was in the kitchen I began to worry a little myself, as I remembered last summer.

  As soon as he came back with the tray I said, ‘Ben – but suppose, suppose I fall down in the street again?’

  ‘You’re not going to, lass – not in your new shoes. Besides, last year were different: you weren’t in no state to carry then, I know that now. And you would keep scrubbing th’ouse out from top to bottom – now we’ve got Mary.’ He smiled at me. ‘No, lass – you’re as fit as a flea this time, except for mornings – and that don’t last long. I’ve seen them breakfasts you’re eating – talk about eating for two – I reckon you’re stoking up for next half dozen!’ I blushed. ‘And look at you now, you’re blooming like a rose – you look lovelier than ever – in fact, I can hardly keep me hands off you!’

  I raised my arms to him; I felt warm and loving. ‘You don’t have to keep your hands off me, Ben.’

  He kissed my cheek before shaking his head. ‘No, lass – I been expecting too much on you; it’s time I rationed meself – every other night from now on.’

  I lay and watched him drinking his tea; a strong broadshouldered man. I went out to the kitchen to help him prepare our meal – and brushed past him several times; his back stiffened whenever I touched him. On my way back from the yard I undid the top button of my blouse, then went to sit opposite him in the parlour and opened the mending basket. I held the sock I was darning high up, and kept my shoulders well back – so that my full breasts strained against the thin lawn of my blouse; every time I looked up from my needle I saw his eyes riveted on them. I shifted in the chair so as to pull my skirt up a little, and then crossed one leg over the other. His intent gaze travelled down. I waited a moment and then leant right over the arm of the chair and pretended to search in my basket; as I was doing so my skirt rode up to my knees – and the lace edging of my petticoat showed. I heard him suck through his teeth. ‘Are you all right, Ben? Not too cold?’

  ‘No – no. In fact, I’m a bit hot, to tell you truth.’ He ran his finger round the inside of his collar; sweat was beading his forehead. I smiled at him and then exclaimed as I dropped my needle; I bent down, leaning right over the hearthrug and my breasts fell forward and pressed against the fabric of my blouse. I could see the needle glinting on the rug, but pretended to search for it for a long time. When eventually I did pick it up and sat back again I took a deep breath and stretched – and the next button of my blouse burst open. His breathing was quickening.

  Looking down at my leg I cried, ‘Oh, Ben – I must have laddered my stocking! I wonder if it’s gone right up to the top.’ He watched, mesmerized, as I slowly drew my skirt up to the fastening of my suspenders – then his face went brick-red and he burst out, ‘You little monkey – you’re doing it on purpose! All that bending and stretching and, “Oh Ben – me stockings got a ladder”.’ He mimicked my voice.

  Widening my eyes, I gazed at him: ‘But Ben – it has got a ladder look, I’ll show you.’ I stood up and stepped across the hearthrug and sat down on his lap. ‘Look, Ben –’ then his mouth was covering mine and I felt his hands on my breasts and I knew I had won.

  Afterwards we lay very close on the rug and he told me, ‘Tomorrow night you’ll have to do without.’

  I murmured meekly, ‘Yes, Ben,’ and kissed his neck.

  But the sickness lasted longer the next day; I still felt queasy at lunchtime, and my head ached. I had to go out to the backyard more often too, and Ben began to look worried. I only toyed with my meal and he made me go and lie down in the parlour afterwards while he washed up. When he had finished he muttered, ‘I’m just going up street,’ and when he came back Albert’s wife was with him.

  He drew up a chair for her and she sat herself down and beamed at me. ‘How are you, lass?’

  Ben mumbled the words ‘tea’ and slipped away. I smiled at Mrs Henshaw. ‘I’m quite well, really – just a little sick, only –’

  She leant forward and patted my hand. ‘But you’re afeard of losing again.’

  ‘Yes – yes I am.’

  ‘Are you spotting blood? Or feeling any cramps?’

  ‘No – nothing like that.’

  She sat back, satisfied. ‘That’s all right, then. Now, you listen to me, lass. Me old mam were local midwife, and she always reckoned lasses who were sick early on weren’t likely to lose – there’s some were upset when she told them that!’

  I said quickly, ‘I wasn’t sick last time.’

  ‘There you are, then – me old mam weren’t often wrong. What with them who wanted and couldn’t and them who could and didn’t want she ’eard all the stories!’ Ben pushed the door open, carrying a tray. ‘How is she, Mrs Henshaw?’

  ‘Well naturally she’s not feeling on top of the world, but that’s the way it is, innit? You men have all the pleasure and then the woman pays the price – but don’t get upset, lad, she’s all right. You pour us a nice cup of tea now, you’ve got to look after ’er.’

  When she had finished her tea she stood up and came over to me, and took my hand. ‘Stop fretting now, lass, and let him wait on you for a change – make ’em pay for their pleasures with a bit of cosseting.’

  After he had shown her to the door Ben sat down heavily, looking relieved. ‘She knows a thing or two does Florrie Henshaw, and she’s had eight on her own, so you just do as she says.’ Then he glanced at me with a grin. ‘Though I dunno about men getting all the pleasure – it seemed to me you weren’t exactly uninterested in idea at time, either.’ I blushed as he came over and knelt beside me. ‘All the same, it ’ud best be rationed now.’ He kissed me full on the lips, then hoisted up the tray and took it out to the kitchen, whistling.

  I was sick again the next day but half an hour later I felt so well I sang all morning – I was brimming with life. I stood looking in the mirror, admiring my new figure; I had always envied the ripe fullness of Alic
e and my mother, and now it was becoming mine too. I walked down to the town with Ben in the late afternoon, and saw men’s eyes resting on me – one youngster in a smart black bowler came out of the bank and tripped over the step, so intently was he looking at me. Ben said grimly, ‘It’s time we bowt you some new clothes, you’re bursting out of that frock at top.’ Laughing, I swung round and brushed his arm with my full breasts – and watched his face turn a dark red. I pressed myself against him as we came back up the street and as soon as we were inside the parlour he pulled me into his arms. ‘Helena, Helena!’ He buried his face in my neck and began to fumble with the buttons of my frock – and I laughed because I knew men wanted me and that this man was going to take me.

  But later that evening I suddenly felt sick; my head was heavy, and I huddled miserably on the sofa. Ben glanced over at me. ‘Just as well you had your fun earlier, you don’t look up to it now. Best get to bed, I’ll come up later.’ I stood up and my hand flew to my mouth: I was gagging. He leapt to his feet. ‘Hang on, lass, while I fetch bowl!’ After I had finished retching he carried me up to bed.

  That became the pattern for me now: some days I would wake feeling totally wretched, and then an hour later the sun would come out and I would feel ready to dance and sing – not even remembering that I had ever felt ill; other days I would be glowing with health one minute, then running for the scullery sink the next. But I continued travelling to Manchester for my singing lessons, and Madame Goldman praised my voice for its new depth and fullness. In the evenings I often played and sang for Ben: he would turn over my music and ask me the meaning of the German, rarely forgetting a word once he had heard it explained. One day he found Frauen Liebe und Leben, and sat puzzling over it; he pointed to the fourth stanza:

  ‘Du Ring an meinem Finger

  Mein goldenes Ringelein.’

  ‘So it’s about a woman getting wed, then.’

  ‘Yes – it’s called A Woman’s Life and Love.’ I waited apprehensively for him to ask me to sing it to him – but he did not.

  One day at the beginning of the third month Ben finished at twelve, so I suggested that he come into Manchester after my lesson. I went to Victoria to meet him; I was too early and had to wait, a little excited because he had left that morning without waking me, so I had not even kissed him goodbye.

  He came striding through the barrier in his best suit, rather shiny at the elbows. ‘How are you, lass? Not that I need to ask, you’re looking beautiful.’

  I glowed as I raised my face for his kiss. ‘Ben, you can help me choose some new clothes, just at Kendal’s…’ His mouth tightened. ‘Just at Kendal’s –’

  ‘I’ve opened an account there.’

  ‘With the Captain’s money.’

  ‘Yes – with Robbie’s money.’ I cried out. ‘He was my brother, Ben.’

  He stood still, biting his lip, then at last said, ‘I mun pay the rent, Helena – I mun do that.’

  ‘Yes, Ben.’ I was submissive now.

  His ideas about my clothes were very definite; the saleswomen looked astonished. As soon as the choices for me had been made I said casually, ‘Now we’ll get you measured for a suit, Ben – I’ve opened an account at the tailor’s too.’

  He gave in eventually. I wanted to see him in a well-cut suit. Since he was broader than most of the men of my family, and more muscular, he needed to be properly fitted to show his figure to its best advantage. I moved closer to him.

  As we were leaving the tailor’s he told me, ‘There’s summat I want to fetch from Sherratt’s – I’ll take you to tea shop first, so you can sit down while I’m gone.’ He came back with a brown paper parcel, and put it down on one of the chairs without meeting my eye; he looked rather flushed.

  He did not unwrap his parcel until after our meal that evening; I craned forward to peer at the title – it was Tweedy’s Practical Obstetrics. I began to laugh. ‘Ben – whatever are you doing with that?’

  He looked up, his face very red. ‘I’m reading it – I want to know what’s happening inside you, and how it’ll be for you. I always like to find out as much as I can – about everything.’

  ‘You shouldn’t read that, Ben – medical textbooks always make things seem worse than they are.’ He stuck out his chin and reached for the dictionary.

  When I looked up from my score later I saw that he was staring at me fixedly, his face white. He swallowed and said, ‘Oh, lass – I wish we hadn’t done it now. I didn’t realize it were going to be like that.’

  I laughed. ‘I told you not to read it, Ben – those kind of books always go on about the complications. I’m sure I shall have a normal birth.’

  He was almost shouting. ‘It’s normal birth I’m reading about! I haven’t got to rest yet.’ His face looked so horrified that I started giggling. He put the book down and came and stood over me. ‘Lass, I never realized what I were going to make you go through.’

  I stifled my giggles. ‘Well, it’s too late now, Ben. What’s been put in will have to come out.’

  He still looked down at me with the same expression on his face; I began to laugh again. He said, ‘You’re not bothered, are you? You’re not even worried about it.’

  ‘Not really, no – there’s no point, is there? After all, women do it all the time.’

  He said bluntly, ‘It’ll hurt.’

  ‘I know that, Ben – but lots of things hurt, don’t they?’ I said flatly, ‘After all those years in the war hospitals I think I should be able to stand this.’ Then I added, ‘No, that’s not quite true – I want to stand this, because there’s a purpose in the pain – it’s natural, it’s right – not like all the other.’

  ‘And you’ll have a babby at th’end on it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  But he still stood shamefaced so at last I smiled up at him and said gently, ‘My mother had six with no trouble, and Emmie Greenhalgh told me once that your mother didn’t even know you were coming until you arrived so why should I worry?’

  He went back to his chair and sat down, opening his book again. I nearly stopped him, then remembered what Florrie Henshaw had said to him: ‘You men have all the pleasure and then the woman pays the price.’ I would let Ben pay a little of the price tonight.

  He was still reading when I went up to wash and get ready for bed. He brought the book up with him as I was climbing under the covers; his face was excited. ‘Lass, just take your nightie off, will you?’

  I said teasing, ‘But Ben – we did last night, and you said –’

  ‘No – I only want to look at you.’

  I pulled my nightdress over my head and he drew back the sheets. ‘It’s a warm night, you won’t catch cold.’ He sat down on the edge of the mattress with the book in his hand. ‘Let’s have a look at your breasts.’

  As his hands began to move over my right breast he muttered to himself. ‘Aye, it is darker, and bigger.’ I lay back, soothed, as he stroked the area around my nipple. He glanced at his book again. ‘Now lass, I won’t hurt you – I’m just going to squeeze a bit.’ He took my full breast in his hands and gently squeezed it; my belly began to soften. He exclaimed, ‘There lass – you got it already! Look at that.’ He held up his hand; there was a drop of clear liquid on his finger. ‘It says here that in primigravida – that’s a lass on her first, like you – it’s sometimes found at th’end of second month, but more often at th’end o’ third. You’re nowhere near th’end of third, but you’re doing it already!’ He seemed so pleased with me that I felt as though I had passed a difficult exam and come out top. ‘Let’s do t’other one.’ He squeezed again and my belly became still softer – I shifted a little against him, but he was intent on my left nipple now. ‘Clever lass – you done it in both! It says it’s a very constant sign in primigravida, so it looks as if you’re definitely expecting.’

  I exclaimed. ‘Ben – we knew that already!’

  He ignored me. ‘Now let’s have a look at your belly.’ His hands left my breasts and mov
ed lower down.

  ‘But I thought you’d already diagnosed, Dr Holden!’ He gave a small, laughing grunt. ‘I’m interested, lass, right interested.’

  As his hands began to touch my belly more firmly I thought: And I’m interested too, Ben – but not in your textbook. I could feel the soft moistness between my legs.

  ‘Now let’s have a look at your thighs.’ He pulled them apart. ‘Hm – little veins, that’s right.’ He coughed, ‘Lass, the next signs are a bit intimate like – do you mind if I…?’

  I smiled up at his reddening face. ‘No, Ben, that’s quite all right – you go ahead.’

  His fingers began to open me. ‘Mm – “faint violet colour”, that’s right – so that’s what they’re called…’ He pushed his finger inside me – it was too much; I started to writhe and moan. He looked up, startled. ‘What’s matter, lass – am I hurting you?’ He began to pull his hand away so I reached down frantically and pressed it hard against me until I burst on it – and lay back limp and relieved upon the pillow.

  His eyes stared at me out of a brick-red face. ‘Helena – I were doing an examination’ – his voice was reproachful – ‘how can I concentrate when you go and do that? You’ve got me all excited now – and I’ve lost me place.’

  I started to laugh; I laughed and laughed, and I was still laughing by the time he had got his clothes off and was pushing into me. I managed to stop long enough to whisper, ‘That’s not your hand you’re using, Dr Holden,’ then I began to laugh again until I came quivering down on him a second time – just as he filled me.

  When he rolled off he said, ‘You’re not taking this seriously at all, are you? And it were wrong night.’

  I protested. ‘Ben – what did you expect, handling me like that? And you must have been able to tell I was ready.’