Pure as the Lily

by Catherine Cookson

  As she hurried to the bus stop she thought. Who knows? after tonight I might change my mind. The end might justify the means. It was supposed to change your outlook,

  make you Into a different person. It stretched the mind, Maggie said. And Maggie said a lot, a lot more.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when she got off the bus on the outskirts of Low Fell. This side of the river was new to her. Philip had said if he wasn’t at the bus stop she could easily find her way to Bailey Close, the first turning on the left, second right, and she’d be there, and he’d be on the lookout for her.

  He wasn’t at the bus stop, and he wasn’t looking out for her.

  She knocked on the door of number 5. It was opened by a young man, and on the sight of him she wanted to turn and run, not because he looked a rough working fellow but because of the knowing look in his eyes.

  “Is... is Mr. Philip Smyth in? He’s... he’s staying with his cousin, With....”

  “Oh aye. Aye, first floor, and the door straight opposite. You can’t miss it.”

  She thanked him and went up the stairs. The place was well lit, there was carpet on the stairs and landing, everything looked clean, surprisingly so.

  She knocked on the door opposite the st airhead When the voice said “Yes’, she opened the door to see Philip, his upper part flat on a narrow couch with his legs hanging over the end of it. He swung them down and was on his feet in a second, coming towards her, saying, “ Why! you’re early. “

  “Early!” She looked at him disdainfully.

  “You are. The ten-two, you said, you were getting the ten—two.”

  “I said I was getting the nine-two and I’d be here about ten.”

  “Oh my God!” He thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand, then said, “Ah well, you’re here, come on.” He pulled her forward, took the overnight case from her hand, threw it on to the bed in the corner of the room, then helped her off with her coat.

  ‘you want a drink, you look frozen. Aw, come here and

  I’ll warm you first. “ He pulled her to him and, hugging her tightly, kissed her, and in the process his lips seemed to envelop the lower part of her face.

  “Now, how’s that for a start?” He gave her the thumbs up sign, then dashed through a door, saying as he did so, “You need a thawer, hot whisky and sugar that’s what you want, hot whisky and brown sugar.”

  She stood with her back to the two-bar electric fire looking around the room. It, too, was clean. There was no clutter here like there was in Philip’s own place, or in her room for that matter. But the clutter there was Maggie’s doing, not hers. The furniture was sparse; the narrow couch, the divan bed she kept her eyes from this the chest of drawers, an easy chair, a small table.

  Philip came back into the room with a glass in each hand, both steaming, and, quick to observe that she had been looking round the room, said, “Nice isn’t it? spacious. My dear cousin knows what he wants and gets it. Still, he’s got to pay through the teeth for it. An old boy and his son run the house, do the work, the lot, even provide meals. There, get that down you.”

  She sipped at the hot whisky, then coughed.

  “Go on, gulp; There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “I’m not fond of whisky; it’s, it’s like medicine.”

  “Well, treat it as such. Down with it, like this’—he threw the glass of whisky back, closed his eyes tight, coughed, choked, then doubled up, after which he burst into a paroxysm of laughter, and she with him.

  “Clever bugger, me!” He was wiping the tears from his eyes.

  “You would think I couldn’t take it. It hit the back of my throat, woof!” He came now and stood before her staring into her eyes; then he placed the tip of his forefinger on her nose and he wobbled it round and round before saying softly, “I’ll go and make some coffee, eh? Irish coffee and then we’ll settle down.”

  She watched him go through the door again into what

  was presumably a kitchen. He was amusing, attractive, nice;

  but she also knew he was a little sly and cunning. Yet she liked him.

  But she didn’t love him. LOVE, what had love to do with it? Her grannie had said she could understand it being done through passion, or inexperience, but not because she thought it was TIME. Well, her grannie didn’t know everything, and it was time. You dirty slut! he had called her, then knocked her flat. Why had she let him, why hadn’t she put him on his back? She could have. Oh, be quiet! The voice in her head was yelling. Don’t keep asking the road that you know, because you know fine well that road’s blocked; he’s blind, dead, impervious, he doesn’t know you exist. Gran’s the only woman for him.

  It’s a pity a man can’t marry his grannie . or his mam . or his aunt, whatever she is to him. God! be quiet! be quiet!

  She sat down on the narrow couch, leant her head back and closed her eyes.

  “That’s more like it, now we’re at home.” Philip came in carrying a laden tray.

  “Irish coffee. Southern Ireland, none of your Northern Ireland stuff.” He nudged her.

  “Remember Roley at the debate yesterday. God! he was a scream. The Irish, they’re so bloody bigoted, you’d honestly think to hear them, the southern ones, that Northern Ireland was floating around the Fiji’s. Talk about the Berlin Wall. By the way, Angus was asking after you.”

  “Angus asking after me! Angus Mills?”

  “Yes, Angus Mills. Oh, he thinks very highly of you.”

  “After what I said to him last week?”

  “Thinks all the more of you for that. You know something?” He leant towards her and began tracing his lips around her chin as he muttered, “He’s got a thing about you. He doesn’t let on, oh no, but I, Philip Andrew Smyth, I’m well versed in the subtleties of hidden passions.

  Have you noticed that he doesn’t look at you when you come into a room? “

  “No, I hadn’t noticed.” Her tone was chilly.

  “Well, I have, and a lot of smart talk is just to impress you.

  He thinks you’ve got a masculine brain. Aye, me darling’ Pat’—he now rubbed his mouth up over her ear ‘and you have, but you’ve got a female set-up an’ all. And he’s not blind to that either. “

  “Oh! Oh!” She shuddered.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Ah!” He laughed at her as he wagged his finger in her face.

  “I

  touched one of the wires, did I? “

  “Don’t be so coarse.”

  “Ah now, coarse. We’ll talk about that an’ all. That’s another thing you’ve got to get rid of, this differentiation between coarseness and subtle sensitivity. Wait till I pour the coffee out.”

  He poured out the coffee, added a good measure of whisky and topped it up with cream, then, handing her a cup, said, “There you are. Let that oil the works. Now, now’—he took a drink from his cup ‘coarseness.

  You’re always saying that, you know. This is coarse, and that’s coarse. Well, it’s all tied up with the other thing, it’s a reflex of an unused mechanism, because after all we’re just machines you know, that’s all, just machines. Like cars. Leave’a car in a garage and don’t use it, what happens, it gets cold, yes dearie, it gets cold, and when you press the self starter, umph! “ He bounced on the couch.

  “That’s all the response you get, umph!” He bounced again.

  “No joy.

  Machines have got to be used, dearie. “

  “Philip please! Stop being silly, please, and ... and don’t call me dearie.

  “I’m, I’m... well, I’m nervous.”

  “Aw no.” His voice was soft now.

  “I’m sorry; don’t worry.” He pulled her into his arms and began to stroke her hair while his lips moved in small circles around her temple.

  “We’ll take it slowly. We’ve got all the weekend. Just think, all the weekend. We needn’t move out of the door. Through there’—he thumbed backwards ‘there’s plenty of eats, and a loo, and a show
er. Listen, I’ll tell you something that’ll make you laugh. Olive told this one, it’s very funny. There was this girl, she was fourteen, she was in a boarding school and one night...”

  “Philip! I don’t want to hear any of Olive’s stories.”

  “No?”

  No. “

  “It’s funny, it is; it’s more risque than rotten.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Coarse?”

  “Yes, perhaps, coarse.”

  He made a point of sighing heavily, then said, “Lot of hard work for me ahead, I can see that. But I’ve never minded hard work, I’m not the one to strike over night shift.” His mouth fell sharply on hers, and again she felt swallowed up. It was nearly an hour later. She’d had a hot whisky and two Irish coffees, and she should have felt very warm inside and quite relaxed, but she wasn’t, the drink had only succeeded in turning the trembling in her stomach into knots.

  Philip was being very amusing, very funny. The more he drank the funnier he became. She had lost count of the number of whiskies he’d had. He wasn’t drunk, not really, just funnily tight. She thought she was a little tight herself. Well, Maggie always said you should get tight, but not too tight, because then you’d miss the fun. fun’ . What was she doing here anyway? Well, you thought it was time. Oh damn you! Yes, damn her grannie, and damn him! Oh yes damn big blond Ben, damn him! Damn and blast him! Ben Tollett, who wanted ^o marry his gran, or mother, or auntie.

  “What did you say, ducks? What?” Philip leant over her. ‘you say you wanna go to bed? “

  “I never said any such thing.”

  “But I’m reading your thoughts. You didn’t know I was a mind reader, did you? Oh ye ... es, I am; it’s one of my many acc-accomplishments.

  Did you know that I was going to be psychi . psychi . psychiatrist? Hmm! I was too. Medicine, that’s what I was gonna take up, and psy psychiatry. There’s money in that. Get them on the cou couch, boy, there’s money in that. And the fun and games.

  An’ you get paid for it. Come on, ducks, come on. An, I agree with you what you’re thinkin’ . it’s time you were in bed, high time. “

  He went to pull her to her feet, but she protested, saying, “Look, wait a minute. We were talking about Reed and the Festival.”

  TJp you get! never mind the Festival. turn round. “

  When she turned round he unzipped her dress and pulled it down over her shoulders, and when it dropped to the ground she stepped slowly out of it. He picked it up and held it like an exhibit, waving it back and forward, before throwing it over the couch, saying, “Article one’.

  Standing now a little back from her, he surveyed her through narrowed laughing eyes as he said, “Oh! slips. We wear slips. I didn’t know we wore slips.” When his hands came on her shoulders and as he went to pull the straps down she spluttered, “Let ... let me get my dressing-gown.”

  “Dressing-gown? What do you want with a dressing—gown?”

  “Well, it’s early yet, I’m not tired ... we could talk.”

  Talk? We’ve talked for hours. “

  Don’t be silly, I’ve only been here just over an hour. “

  “Jus’ over an hour. It se ... seems like ten. Anyway, what’s there to talk about? We’ve gone through the whole gamut.”

  She pushed the straps back on to her shoulders, saying, “Look, I wanted to tell you about Reed. He said they’ll be starting in the New Year and would I help, and....”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake!” He now napped his hand wide.

  “Bugger Reed. He goes round farting festivals.” As he spoke he caught hold of the front of her slip and pulled at it, and she cried, “Stop it! Don’t!”

  “Don’t what?” He was standing in front of her now, his hands hanging slackly, his body bent towards her, his mouth open.

  T>. don’t use that expression, I hate it. “

  “What? Fa ... ?”

  “Stop it!”

  It was odd about swearing. She could stand bloody, bugger, damns, but when it came to vulgarities they jarred on her as much as the obscenities did.

  “Aw, for Christ’s sake! Far....”

  “Stop it! Stop it, will you! You’ve no need to use....”

  “Look here.” He had her by the shoulders now.

  “What you getting’ at?

  Look, honey, these are jus’ delaying tactics. Don’ . don’t tell me that your sensitivity is shattered by the string . stringing together of a few letters which only depict a minor body function. Ah, come on. “ When his hand went inside her brassiere and cupped her breast it was as if she’d had an electric shock. And he also. One minute he had been standing straight, the next his head was lower than his legs on the way to his lying flat on his back on the floor.

  She watched him shake his head, blink his eyes, shake his head again, then make to get up; and she gasped at him, “Don’t move, I’m telling you, don’t move, because ... because if you do I’ll, I’ll only throw you again.”

  You’ll what! You’ll what! You’ll. I’ As she grabbed up her dress and stepped into it she saw him look from one spreadeagled arm to the other, then with a twist of his body he was on his knees.

  “I’m warning you! Mind, I’m warning you!”

  “Judo! It’s judo.” His expression was comical, laughable, but evoked no laughter in either of them.

  She did not zip up her dress, just clipped the hook at the top, then snatched up her coat and slipped into her shoes, and still with her eyes on him she clutched the case from the bed.

  When he made a dive at her she put out a leg and one hand in such a way that he tripped, his hands involuntarily going forward in an effort to save himself.

  She did not wait to see the result of his fall this time, but pulled opened the door and ran down the stairs and so into the street. The cold struck her shivering body and made her stop for a moment, gasping to get her breath.

  It wasn’t until she reached the main road and wondered if she had missed the last bus that she realized that she hadn’t picked up her handbag.

  Qh no! No. Oh, dear God!

  She hadn’t a penny on her. What was she going to do? Far better had she left her coat behind than her handbag.

  She was a good two miles from the flat. But anyway, she couldn’t go back to the flat and face Maggie, Reg would be there. She’d have to go down to her grannie’s. Oh no, she couldn’t face her grannie . and Ben, she just couldn’t. Well, where could she go? She couldn’t go home.

  She stood under the lamp-post shivering and doing her utmost not to cry. She’d have to go to Jarrow and she’d have to walk, and she’d better keep to the main roads.

  Before she got beyond Gateshead two cars had stopped, their drivers offering her a lift. To her curt refusal one of them said, “It’s your loss,” and the other, after kerb crawling with her the length of a street, had been deterred only by her threat to shout for the police.

  And then not only did it begin to sleet but the heel of her tights must have become ruck led for she developed a blister.

  Another half mile, wet through, her heel causing minor agony, her whole being in the depths of humiliation, she knew she couldn’t go on, and she was going to be reduced to doing what her mind had suggested to her before she left Low Fell, get on the phone to her grannie by a reversed charge call.

  She hobbled for another five minutes before she came to a telephone box, and she hesitated as she picked up the receiver. Her head drooped and she muttered aloud, “I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t do it.”

  When she gave the number she thought, They’ll all be in bed; they mightn’t hear it. But just as if someone had been standing close to the phone, a voice answered almost immediately, “Yes?” and the operator said, “Will you pay for a call from Miss Ridley?”

  She closed her eyes tight when Ben’s voice came to her, saying, “Ridley? Yes ... yes. Go ahead. Hello!”

  She couldn’t answer. “

  “Hello there.”
<
br />   “It’s... it’s me, Pat.”

  Tes, I thought it might be. Miss Ridley. “

  “Ben.”

  Yes? “

  “I... I’d like to speak to Gran.”

  She’s in bed. “

  “Couldn’t you get her?”

  “No. She’s been upset about something today. She went to bed early, she took a sleeping tablet. What’s the matter? Where are you?”

  Again she couldn’t speak.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m ... I’m somewhere on the outskirts of Gateshead.”

  “On the outskirts of where?”

  “Gateshead, on the main road near the roundabout.”

  “What on earth are you doing there? Have you missed the last bus?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Ben.” There was a silence, and then his voice came low, saying, “What is it? Are you all right?”

  “I ... I haven’t any money and ... and I’m wet through and... and would you come and get me?”

  There was another short silence.

  “Where did you say you were?”

  She looked about her, then gave him a rough description.

  “Stay in the box,” he said.

  “Stay put; I’ll be with you as quick as I can, fifteen minutes at the latest.”

  “Thanks. Thanks, Ben.” She put down the phone and leant against the partition, and waited. At one stage, when she saw a police car come racing down the road she turned and pretended she was phoning.

  It could not have been more than fifteen minutes later when Ben drew his car up alongside the kerb but it had

  seemed like an eternity, an eternity in which she’d had time to review her life, especially that part that had taken up the past eighteen months.

  Having pulled open the heavy kiosk door he stood looking at her for a second, and she at him; then he put out his hand and took her case from her, turned and walked across the pavement to the car.

  When she was seated he pulled a rug from the back seat and put in on her knee, he didn’t tuck it around her.