The Thursday Friend

by Catherine Cookson

  There was silence in the room for a moment; then David’s voice came in a whisper, ‘What?’

  Hannah turned from the fire, a soft smile on her face . . . ‘You heard.’

  ‘You mean . . . ’

  David rushed towards her and, gripping her shoulders none too gently, he said, ‘Did . . . did I hear aright, you mean . . . ?’ He tossed his head much in the manner that an impatient horse might have done, then again he said, ‘You’re . . . ?’

  Sighing deeply, Hannah said, ‘May I have your attention, Mr Craventon? I’m going to have a baby; would you please tell me what you think about it?’

  For answer he pulled her into his arms and waltzed her around the room.

  When she cried at him, ‘Stop! Stop!’ Peter, on his way to the kitchen, remarked in no small voice, ‘Yes, madam; I would see that he doesn’t exert himself, not while he’s carrying.’

  ‘Oh, you witty Willie! You’ll cut yourself one of these days, with your sharp rejoinders,’ David commented. Then, his hold of her tender, he led her towards the couch; and when they were seated he lowered his head on to her shoulder, and, his voice a mere whisper, he murmured, ‘Oh! Hannah. Thank you. Thank you. I’ve longed for such a moment, yet never thought it would come about.’

  More like a mother now, she put her arms about him and stroked his hair, saying, ‘Well, now it has, my love, and in a way it will cement all that is between us.’

  The solicitor who had dealt with the affairs of The Manor knew the situation only too well, and he, too, pointed out to David that his wife would not take this further matter lightly.

  It was now three weeks since David had been informed by this man that he had had no response to two letters he had sent to Carrie. This indicated to David that she was still on her travels in America.

  He had also had word from Alex to the effect that the business of the house had been settled, and that there were two letters, apparently from the solicitor, awaiting her return.

  It was four days later when Alex phoned again to tell him that Carrie was home and that, to his amazement, she had taken the news of the divorce quietly; at least, seemingly so, although knowing his sister, he suggested that David be on his guard. The boys, too, he said, would be extra vigilant where she was concerned. He added that the three of them had had a wonderful time in America, and he understood that she had been on her best behaviour.

  During the past weeks Hannah had had bouts of morning sickness, which meant she was unable to accompany David to work. This morning, being a Saturday, they were both at home, and happy to be so, for the scene outside the window was of winter at its worst.

  It had started to snow on the Tuesday; then thawed; then froze again; but on Thursday and Friday the large snowflakes found a firm bed on the ground, and although the gritters had been out it was again lying a foot high on the edge of the pavements and had once more covered the iron steps that Peter had cleared just a couple of hours before.

  The room was bright and beautifully warm, and she was seated at the small desk, which was set in front of the long window at the far end of the room, when the doorbell rang.

  She realised that both David and Peter were upstairs in the bathroom attending to a drip under the washbasin, so she rose, then hesitated before going to the door. What if it were . . . ? She shook her head: well, if it was, better get it over with.

  She opened the door as far as the chain would allow, and saw a young man standing on the step, covered in snow.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  She did not return his greeting but asked stiffly, ‘May I ask what you want?’

  ‘Yes, I . . . I’d like to see my uncle.’

  ‘Your . . . uncle?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Peter Miller.’

  ‘Your uncle?’

  She saw the young man smile before nodding and saying, ‘Yes; I’m his nephew.’

  ‘Oh. Oh’ – her face was one broad smile now as she fumbled with the chain – ‘You’re young Pete?’ Then the door was open and her hand was out and she was saying, ‘Come in. Come in.’

  She noted that he stepped sideways into the room. ‘I’m soaked,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a mess of the carpet.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense! Here, give me your coat.’

  As he handed it to her he said, ‘I should have come in the back way but the snow was much thicker on the steps there.’

  ‘Look’ – she pointed towards the fire – ‘go and sit down. I’ll call Peter; he’s upstairs with David. They’ve found a pipe dripping under the basin up there; I think they’re enjoying themselves. Do sit down, please do. Oh, never mind your boots.’ Her gaze had followed his and she had noticed immediately that he was wearing boots, not shoes; she was trying to recall something that Peter had told them about his nephew.

  She ran from the room, through the kitchen and to the bottom of the stairs, where she called, ‘Peter! David! We have a visitor.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Not for you, for Peter. It’s his nephew.’

  ‘You don’t say!’ And she heard David call, ‘Get up out of that, it’s young Pete . . . young Pete’s downstairs.’

  Within a few minutes Peter was at the foot of the stairs, saying, ‘Young Pete here? Well, I never!’

  Hannah and David followed Peter into the room, and there they witnessed the meeting between Peter and his nephew. The young man had got to his feet and instead of shaking hands they hugged as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. Then, thrusting the younger man away from him, Peter turned to Hannah and said, ‘I’m sorry, but this is young Pete whom you’ve heard me speak of, I think, madam.’ Then holding his hand out towards her, he hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘This is Mr David’s future wife.’

  Now there was a shaking of hands and cross-talk, but when Peter said to the young man, ‘Come on into the kitchen and I’ll hear all your news,’ David said, ‘He’ll go no such place, and you can wait for his news. Just you get a hot drink going; he looks frozen. Sit yourself down, Pete.’

  As Peter hurried towards the kitchen, David called after him, ‘Hot coffee, laced, I think, should be the order of the day.’

  ‘Just as you say, sir.’

  As Hannah took a seat to the side of the couch David sat down beside the young man and said, ‘Where have you come from this morning?’

  ‘Oh, I came up from Devon yesterday; but I didn’t get in until late last night, so I had to go to a B & B.’

  Hannah was looking at Pete’s arm, which was laid across his waist in the way a woman might have held her handbag; but both the forearm and the upper arm were foreshortened, she realised. Then she remembered: he also had a clubbed foot. Peter had told them about it, and she recalled vividly his saying, ‘The gods might have partly crippled his body, but in compensation they gave him the most wonderful spirit and the most beautiful face in the world; at least, that’s how I see him.’

  She was looking straight at the young man’s face now and realising that the skin was like alabaster. The eye sockets were beautifully shaped and the eyes were a clear grey, so light that they seemed to sparkle. His nose was straight but it appeared to end in a point. Yet it was the mouth that drew the main attention; it wasn’t large and it was well shaped, but the word that came to mind was ‘tender’. Yes, it was a tender-looking mouth, like that of a young boy, yet he must be well into his thirties.

  David was saying, ‘You’re a trained nurse, then?’

  ‘Yes; yes, that’s what I am, and I’m sometimes called Sister.’

  ‘Peter never told me. I thought you looked after the old lady with whom you’d been in service since you were young.’

  ‘Yes, I did look after her, except during the time I did my training. I always promised that I’d go back to her after it was finished, although I didn’t think she
’d still be alive. But she was, and for another six years, thankfully.’

  The door was pushed open and Peter entered, bearing a tray of steaming mugs together with a bottle of whisky and a bowl of cream, and he called jovially, ‘Don’t tell them everything; you’ll only have to repeat it for me. Anyway, what’s brought you this far? Three days ago you were in Falmouth.’

  The young man laughed, then said, ‘Well, Uncle, in another three days I’ll likely be set up in York.’

  ‘York! Why are you going to York?’ asked Peter. ‘Well, there’s a good job going for a nurse, at a psychiatric hospital.’

  ‘But psychiatric patients – have you any experience with them?’

  Pete said, ‘No, I haven’t; but then they’re not much different from us, are they?’

  ‘You speak for yourself, young fellow.’

  ‘I am, Uncle; I am.’ He was smiling. ‘Anyway, I’ve been on the phone and I’ve given them an exact picture of myself and what I’m capable of doing as well as what I’m not capable of doing.’

  ‘You’re too modest; there’s nothing much you can’t do!’

  The bright face was now turned from Peter to Hannah, and the young man said, ‘Isn’t it wonderful to have someone to lie for you, and do it without turning a hair?’ Then addressing his uncle again he said, ‘Anyway, if they take me on at all it’ll be on a month’s trial, and that works both ways. It’ll please me, because it’ll be another experience; all grist to the mill.’

  Peter looked at his nephew and said, ‘You’re not proposing to go on to York tonight, are you?’

  ‘Oh, no. Anyway, I understand the place is a good hour’s journey outside York. No; I left my luggage at the B & B. I thought I’d stay over till Monday and have a look round. I’ve never really seen much of London, you know. But then I didn’t reckon on the snow.’

  As Peter was about to say something, David cut in, ‘You’re not staying at any B & B. His Lordship there,’ he nodded towards Peter, ‘has a flat upstairs and a comfortable chair-bed. I know it’s comfortable because I had experience of it when we were putting this place to rights. So what I think you should do is take a taxi and get your things back here as soon as possible. What d’you say, Peter?’

  ‘I was just about to suggest something along the same lines, sir.’

  ‘It’s most kind of you. You’re sure?’ The young man was appealing to Hannah now, and she replied, ‘Sure? Of course I’m sure. If they hadn’t suggested it, I would have done so myself.’

  ‘Well, I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll stay if I can do the cooking.’

  Hannah turned a laughing face towards Peter, and he said, ‘Well, it’s up to you, madam; you’ve made the bargain. Don’t blame me should you happen to be presented with some obnoxious concoction of which the only thing distinguishable would be its French name.’

  ‘I’ll risk it.’ Hannah and the young man exchanged a glance that turned into a smile, then a laugh.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was Thursday evening. The snow had cleared and there was only the frozen slush left in the gutters.

  Peter’s kitchen was, as usual, bright and warm. He had just rolled out three separate slabs of pastry, two of which were wrapped and put in the fridge; he was sprinkling the third one with fresh almonds he had ground in the old-fashioned iron grinder attached to the end of the table when he heard what he thought was a scraping on the back door. A neighbour’s tabby was in the habit of calling, to see, Peter would say, how the scrap business was proceeding. So, dusting his hands, then wiping them on a tea towel, he went towards the door; but, on the point of opening it, he recalled the reason for the chain being on the front door and also that he did not usually have visits from the cat in the dark on a freezing night such as this. He stood quietly listening for a moment, and when he heard the sound of a foot being moved on the iron step, he called, ‘Whoever’s there, please go round to the front door.’

  ‘It’s me,’ said a voice.

  ‘Who’s there?’ called Peter.

  ‘Me!’ The voice was louder now: ‘Maggie! Maggie Harper.’

  ‘Maggie Harper?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  He unlocked the door and stared down at the muffled child, thrust out his hand and pulled her indoors. Then, banging the door closed, he bent down to her, saying, ‘What on earth brings you here, child?’

  ‘I . . . I’ – the lips were trembling, the head was shaking – ‘I wanted to see you first, and you could tell them.’

  Now the tears were pouring from her eyes and running down her nose. He said, ‘Come on; get to the fire. Take your coat off first.’

  As he pushed her through the kitchen into the sitting room he tugged off her coat, then her scarf, and lastly her woolly hat; but as he was about to sit her down on the couch she moved away from him, saying, ‘Oh! no; she’ll be in in a minute. I heard Mam say she’s working and gets in . . . ’

  ‘But you want to talk to her, don’t you?’

  ‘No. N-n-n-not me. I mean, I thought that . . . ’

  ‘Now, now; stop crying. Come on, stop crying. What did you think?’

  ‘That . . . that if I told you, you’d tell her about it. You see they . . . they don’t love me any more. None of them, none of them.’

  ‘Oh, now that’s silly.’

  ‘’Tisn’t. It isn’t, Mr Peter. Mam and Dad don’t talk in front of me like they used to, not any more. They even don’t talk to me. They speak to me but they don’t talk to me. D’you know what I mean?’

  Yes; yes, he knew what she meant, all right, and he could see the situation plainly, and all he could say was, ‘But they do love you, Maggie.’

  ‘Not any more. And Winnie went for me yesterday.’ She choked now and rubbed her damp handkerchief around her face, before saying, ‘She . . . she said that none of them would be able to come down and see Auntie Hannah any more, all because of me and . . . and my big mouth. You know . . . what I said when we were here . . . I just wanted to make you all laugh, but, as Dad said, it would need a saint not to believe that they talked like that about Auntie Hannah. That’s what he said that night, and he walloped me. He’s never done it before, but he did; and Mam said it wasn’t before time; and then they argued, and it’s been awful, awful. And now they don’t speak of anything in front of me; and none of them love me, Mr Peter, not one, even John. He keeps saying I’ve been naughty.’

  When at this stage she emitted a howl, Peter drew her close to him, saying, ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you,’ being sure at the same time that she wasn’t imagining anything she had described. But the parents’ reaction had reached a limit that was dangerous to the girl herself, and now, staring at the clock, he said, ‘Well now, listen: I have a plan. They’ll be here at any minute, but upstairs in my flat there’s a very comfortable sitting room. Now the fire’s on’ – he put his head on one side and made a face – ‘it’s only artificial logs, but they look real. Come on upstairs and I’ll explain the whole situation to your Aunt Hannah, and say how sorry you are. Then you may come down and see Mr David.’

  ‘I don’t want to see Mr David, I couldn’t look at him.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll look at him, all right, or he’ll look at you and want to know the reason why you’re being so silly.’

  ‘I – I – I’m not silly, Mr Peter.’

  Her voice had a firm note in it now and he said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not silly, I know you’re not, Maggie, you’re a very thinking little girl.’

  Her voice now almost a whine, she said, ‘I’ll never be a little girl again.’

  He grasped her arm and brought her firmly from the couch; then, picking up her wet clothes from a chair, he said, ‘I’ll put these in the airing cupboard, but in the meantime let’s get aloft.’

 
Peter’s sitting room was made for comfort. Two large leather club chairs were set one each side of the glowing artificial log fire. An off-white fireside rug set off an overall red carpet, and beyond the rug stood a long and low rosewood table. Here too was an upholstered folding chair that acted as a single bed. Two bookcases stood against the far wall, both with glass fronts, and between them a roll-top writing desk. There was a window in each end wall, one that looked out on to the front of the house and one to the back, which took in the main thoroughfare.

  ‘Now, isn’t this nice and cosy? But you don’t want to sit in those hard leather chairs. Wait a minute!’ He pushed the table to one side and drew the upholstered chair into its place. ‘There now, sit in that one, it’s much more comfortable.’

  When she obeyed him, she sat with her hands tightly clasped between her knees. Her face was still tear-stained, but she was no longer crying. Even so, he went to the bathroom and brought back a small towel. After rubbing it round her face he said, ‘There now! That feels better, doesn’t it? Now I’m going to make you a nice cup of tea, and bring you a piece of my special sponge.’

  ‘Thank you’ – her lips were trembling again – ‘but . . . but I couldn’t eat anything, n-n-not yet.’

  ‘Just a cup of tea, then?’ He was bending over her, and she looked up into his face and whispered, ‘Please.’

  He had reached the door when he turned and said, ‘I might be a minute or two, that’s if your auntie should come in; you do want me to talk to her, don’t you?’ She made one slow movement with her head and he said, ‘Well, in the meantime, on that shelf in the corner there are some magazines and papers. Have a look through those; and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  He had just made a pot of tea when he heard the rattle of a key in the front door. This was the signal for him to take off the chain. He let Hannah and David in, both exclaiming on the weather and the intense cold: ‘Oh, isn’t it wonderful to be home?’