Nest of Sorrows

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘I suppose so. I’ll miss you something awful, though.’

  ‘And I’ll miss you. But we’ll be together in the way that counts.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mel pulled away and jumped to her feet. ‘By the way, I’ve cleared a wall in my room.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For your pictures, Mum. For all my mother’s pictures.’

  While Melanie seemed to grow fast towards maturity, Geoff evened matters out by apparently regressing into a youth that had never been misspent. He stayed out late, returning with a gleam in his eye that could only be called triumphant. On several occasions, he was drunk to the point of disorderly, and once he had to be fetched home by a taxi driver who declared his passenger to be ‘on the rigid side of dead’. Dora, who never saw her son at his worst, forgave him his trespasses because a man whose wife was so inadequate deserved forgiveness and a bit of leeway.

  Kate continued with her preparations. She borrowed several suitcases from Maureen so that Geoff could not accuse her of making off with his property. The house had four bedrooms, and she moved herself and her belongings into the guest room, leaving the smallest bedroom to hold her packing. She hadn’t realized how many clothes she possessed, having always held more or less rigidly to the school of the ‘good suit’ and the ‘little black dress’, but her accessories were manifold. Also, her predilection for trousers, jeans and lumpy sweaters took up a fair amount of room, as did her love for shoes.

  She had intended to leave with a whimper rather than with a bang, to summon a taxi in the dead of night or on a weekend afternoon when everyone was out, but the size of her move was increasing by the day. Boxes, plastic bags and suitcases were soon piled high in the small back bedroom, and each day she came across something else that required packing. And where would all this go in her mother’s two-bedroomed cottage? Not that she intended to stay there for long, but this particular steppingstone was necessary. After all, she couldn’t just leave home without telling Rachel Murray of her intention, and that alone would take several days of argument.

  In the end, she had to settle on a compromise. Through a teacher at school, she heard of a flat at the bottom of Chorley New Road and, after viewing the accommodation and paying a month’s rent in advance, she decided to move most of her things there, saving just a night bag for the statutory stop at Mother’s. As she packaged her belongings, she found herself smiling because of her adherence to working-class protocol. She had educated herself and married herself into the middle class, yet she knew in her bones that she must still return to base before altering the course of her existence in any way. Rachel Murray and others of her cult and generation represented a power whose tentacles reached out to touch offspring whatever their ages or wherever they went.

  It was Sunday. Kate stood in the kitchen ironing Melanie’s school blouses for what would probably be the last time. She felt fairly safe. Geoff was out at the golf club, more than likely at the nineteenth propping up the bar and working hard to achieve a state of numbness and paralysis. Dora had popped out to play afternoon whist with some cronies on Eagle Crescent, while Mel was at the riding school having a dressage lesson.

  When Maureen arrived at four o’clock with the hired van, the two women set to, carrying a seemingly endless pile of parcels out to the vehicle. Except for Jemima, they would have got away in time, but Kate insisted on saying goodbye to her favourite duck. It was as she was feeding this special feathered friend that Dora put in an unscheduled appearance. Her stomach was bad. She hoped it was her stomach, only it was on the left side and might be her heart. And what was this dreadful van doing on the driveway and did Kate know where the antacid tablets were?

  It was several moments before Dora assessed the situation. She stood on the front lawn, handbag placed at her feet, arms akimbo, face ablaze with anger, and possibly with dyspepsia too.

  ‘I see, sneaking off, are you?’

  ‘I’ve said my goodbyes.’

  ‘Oh yes? To your daughter? And what about your husband, the poor man who has fed, clothed and sheltered you all these years?’

  ‘Melanie knows I’m going today and she chose not to be here. As for your son, he has probably reached that happy stage of oblivion where nothing matters except his next drink.’

  ‘And who drove him to that?’ barked the furious woman. ‘Who made his life such a misery? Answer me that one, lady.’

  ‘You did.’ Kate’s tone was icy.

  ‘I did? What do you mean by that? I’m not the one who’s abandoning him. I’m not the one who . . .’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, Dora, nothing at all. I have to go, and that’s the end of it. Please don’t force me to say things we’ll both regret.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Dora Saunders’ face was now an interesting shade of purple. ‘I looked after my son, which is more than you’ve done for my granddaughter. He had a normal upbringing in a proper home. Even after his dear father died, I made sure that Geoffrey was cared for.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate turned away. She must keep her mouth firmly closed, because if she were to start now, if she were to air her feelings, then the whole of Edgeford would probably come out to witness the humiliation. ‘Don’t tempt me, Dora,’ she muttered, her jaw stiffening from the effort of holding back a tirade of abuse. ‘And stop making a scene.’

  ‘A scene?’ screamed the older woman. ‘Me make a scene? You’re the one who does that sort of thing. You’re the one who’s needed medical help for nerves all these years. You can’t go! If you go, it will damage Geoffrey.’ She straightened her spine to show that she meant business. ‘I have never done anything to hurt anyone, especially my own son. So don’t tell me about making scenes. You’re the one that’s showing us all up, taking off in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.’

  This almost proved too much for Kate. Quietly, and with her head bowed slightly, she spoke to her mother-in-law. ‘I married the wrong man. It probably isn’t his fault and it probably isn’t mine. These things happen in life, Dora. Get used to it. I’ve had enough, so I’m going away to save myself. You’ll all be better off without me. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Geoff and Melanie to yourself? Be satisfied. For once, just be satisfied with your lot.’

  Maureen coughed into the heavy silence. ‘Time we were off, Kate.’

  Dora sagged against a cherry blossom tree whose frailty threatened to snap under her not inconsiderable weight. ‘No-one,’ she gasped, ‘no-one has ever treated me like this before. You’re implying that it’s all my fault, aren’t you? I have never been so insulted in all my life!’

  ‘Hang around, there’s more.’ Kate’s voice was still quiet. ‘You have abused me verbally and emotionally for fourteen years. I have listened to your criticisms and throw-away caustic comments almost every day since I got married. There is no nastier person on this earth, Dora Saunders. You sicken me. Showing me up by washing the walls and leaving a dirty corner so that everyone could see my filth measured against your virtue. Washing clothes I’d already laundered, rearranging my cupboards to prove how unmethodical I am. You’re the failure. Only failures wash walls and have long discussions across fences about the merits of soap powders. Only failures turn out sons who iron shoelaces.’

  ‘He’s a good clean boy . . .’

  ‘He’s forty-bloody-eight! He doesn’t need you any more. With a different mother, he might have had a better marriage.’

  ‘You’re going too far now,’ warned Maureen. ‘She’ll have a stroke in a minute.’

  But Dora didn’t get time to have a stroke. Just as the old woman reached out to grab Kate’s hair, Melanie dashed round the corner on her pony. ‘Here comes the cavalry,’ muttered Maureen.

  Mel jumped down from the saddle, whip tapping gently against her boot, eyes blazing with tears and anger. ‘Don’t you dare touch my mother,’ she said, her tone low and restrained.

  ‘Mother? That’s not a mother, it’s a walking nervous breakdown!’ Dora was screaming now, yelling like a
fishwife. ‘She’s blaming everything on me, Melanie! She says it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Go in the house, Gran.’

  ‘But I . . .’

  ‘I SAID GO IN THE HOUSE!’ This change in volume proved most effective. Dora staggered towards the front door, not even stopping to pick up her bag.

  Melanie turned to her mother. ‘I think you should get away now,’ she said coldly. ‘This is a very untidy way to leave. I thought you might have had some consideration for the rest of us. We have to carry on living here, you know.’ Then she climbed on her pony and rode away.

  Maureen and Kate got into the van. ‘That daughter of yours,’ said Maureen as she started the engine, ‘is quite remarkable. Doesn’t give a damn about you, does she?’

  Kate grinned. ‘That’s right. She doesn’t give a damn.’

  They stopped the van at the bottom end of Church Road so that Kate might make her farewell to Edgeford. ‘Anyone would think you were taking off for the bloody moon,’ grumbled Maureen. ‘You’re only going a few miles.’

  ‘I’ll miss it. The Co-op and the lychgate, that air-raid siren on top of the village hall, the stocks, the graveyard . . .’

  ‘Oh, shut up! You’d miss toothache if you had it long enough. The trouble with you is you’re an incurable romantic who doesn’t even recognize her own disorder. Speaking of disorders, can you have a square of Fry’s Chocolate Cream? Have you had your injection?’

  Kate nodded mutely and they sat for a while sucking at the delicious mint filling.

  ‘I’ll always associate goodbyes with chocolate now, chocolate’s such a rare treat for me. My, I gave old Dora some stick, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to. I’d no intention of saying a word, but she pushed me too far. All those years I held it back, then whoosh! It was like firing a machine-gun, I simply couldn’t manage to run out of ammunition.’

  ‘I wasn’t proud of you today, our kid.’

  ‘Neither was I. It just happened.’

  ‘She’s an old woman, and you’ve put up with her for centuries. Why couldn’t you manage just one more afternoon?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Revenge. I suppose I wanted my pound of flesh.’

  ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold. You were about as cold as a gas oven on nine. And there was no need to pick her bones. Mind, I suppose you were justified in a sense. No way would I have put up with that dragon in my house. Marriage is hard enough without added irritations.’

  Kate glanced sideways at the perfectly painted face. ‘You and Phil OK now?’

  ‘Fine. Jogging along quite nicely, in fact. I’m grateful to whoever she was, she certainly put the spark back. But I’ll watch him in future. And, of course, I’ve got my safeguard now.’

  ‘Safeguard?’

  ‘He’s signed the house over to me. If he leaves while the children are young, I get everything.’

  ‘Hell’s bells!’

  ‘Those were Phil’s words. Yet he never blinked an eyelash when he signed the cheque for your present at Preston’s. All misty, he was, that first day. “Good old Kate”, he kept saying. At the finish, I was sick of the sound of your name. Mind, he’s gone off you now. Thinks you’re giving me a bad example. He keeps muttering on about how we’ll have girls’ nights out and he’ll never know what I’m up to.’

  Kate laughed heartily. ‘Does he want his teardrop back?’

  ‘He’s not getting it, is he?’

  ‘Not on your nelly, missus!’

  A car screeched to a halt outside the church and Kate held her breath as she identified its driver.

  ‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Maureen ‘What the hell do I do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. He must be drunk, the car’s halfway up that lamp-post. We could drive off, I suppose, but he’d only follow and cause a crash.’

  Geoff wended his unsteady way across the road, and Kate was suddenly touched as she noticed how unkempt he looked. Almost human, she thought.

  ‘Is that you?’ he shouted.

  Maureen wound down her window. ‘No. It’s the Avon lady.’

  ‘Mother phoned the club.’ He belched loudly. ‘And told me that you and Kate had taken off. She was most upset, very distressed.’ He wandered round the front of the van and stood swaying slightly beside the passenger door. ‘Get out,’ he ordered uncertainly.

  Kate opened her door slightly. ‘No. I’m staying exactly where I am.’

  ‘Really? Going to camp out here on Church Road? You’re on your way to some flat, aren’t you? Some bloody love-nest for you and your boyfriend.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I’m just agreeing with everything you say. That’s what you always wanted, for me to be agreeable. Think what you like, it’s of no importance to me.’

  ‘You are a cruel, heartless bitch.’

  ‘And you’re a drunken old bum, so go away and leave me to get on with my life.’

  It was then that he started to cry. Kate stared at him in stunned silence for several seconds, then she leaned over to Maureen. ‘Nip out and pinch his keys, he’ll have left them in the ignition.’

  ‘But he won’t be able to drive!’

  ‘Exactly. He won’t be able to kill himself or anyone else. He can walk home, and you can drop the keys through the letterbox tonight. Go on. Be quick before he notices.’

  She kept him occupied while Maureen slipped away to carry out her secret mission. ‘Look at you blubbering like a baby! Alcohol tears, that’s all they are. It’s not the end of the world, is it? You know how things are between us, I’m not going to hang around being a complete failure for the rest of my days. Don’t you see? This is your chance, too, your chance to find somebody decent and competent, a suitable wife for a man in your position.’

  ‘I still love you!’ His mouth was distorted with a fair imitation of grief.

  ‘You said you didn’t. Only weeks ago, you said . . .’

  ‘I didn’t mean it. I like you odd and difficult.’

  ‘Yes, it makes you feel superior. Sorry, I didn’t intend to say that. You don’t love me; you love a memory. There were good times, Geoff, some very good times.’

  ‘Yes.’ He blew his nose noisily. ‘Remember Paris?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘And London in the rain?’

  ‘Yes.’ Maureen was back. ‘I remember all of it, love. And it’s not all your fault, but I’m not going to take full responsibility for it either. It’s just one of those things.’ Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, ‘Got the keys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Kate slammed her door. ‘Then drive. For God’s sake, get me away from him.’ As the van started up, she covered her face with her hands. ‘It wasn’t all me,’ she moaned, ‘but I feel so guilty. Why must I always feel so bloody guilty?’

  Maureen sniffed loudly. ‘Because you’re a woman, lass. Because you’re just a flaming woman.’

  The house was in the centre of a large and still opulent terrace at the bottom of Chorley New Road, just a few doors away from the Royal Infirmary’s nurses’ quarters. This row of rather splendid old homes would not have looked out of place in Kensington or Mayfair, and Kate knew she had been lucky to find such a lovely place in which to start her single life. She had never been alone. There had always been Mother and Dad and Judith, then the crowds at college, and soon after college had come marriage to Geoff. And Dora. Yes, she’d married the pair of them, hadn’t she?

  The Misses Helen and Sarah Brandon lived an impoverished but elegant life in the house bequeathed to them by a long-dead father, who had been a doctor, and now they rented out all the upper storey, plus the rear half of the downstairs where Kate was about to make her home. Everyone had a key to the main door, but she was luckier than the other tenants, having a back door all to herself. Her life could now, therefore, be as detached as she chose to make it.

  There were two rooms. The first, a large living room, had a bed covered in scatter cushions, three comfortable chairs
, fitted cupboards to one side of the chimney breast, and a door to the kitchen at the other side of the fireplace. It was spacious and airy in spite of several trolleys and occasional tables, but Kate’s favourite spot was a little alcove with a window overlooking the back yard where ivy and honeysuckle grew in sweet abundance.

  The second room was a kitchen-cum-diner, with an old porcelain sink, a geriatric gas cooker and some servants’ stairs leading out of the back corner. There was a massive Victorian dresser, a meatsafe, a group of ancient dining chairs, and a table covered by a cloth of heavy dark green cotton.

  ‘A bit on the antique side,’ commented Maureen who, like Kate, was used to all the niceties of modern living. ‘Look! You have to put money in the meters for gas and electricity.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ve been given a place for coal, so I’m going to take out that electric fire in the living room and have a proper fire.’

  ‘What? You’re going to burn coal? In this day and age?’

  ‘Yes. Coal and candles. Remember, I’ve rent to pay now.’

  ‘Let Geoff pay it.’

  ‘Why should he? Oh, I made the usual noises about wanting a lump sum for compensation, but this is my decision, Mo. He didn’t throw me out of the house. This could be the beginning of the most colossal mistake in history.’

  ‘And you look radiantly happy about it. Where’s the bathroom?’

  ‘It’s shared. I get it Tuesday and Friday evenings.’

  ‘But . . .’ Maureen looked flabbergasted. ‘What do you do on other days? Walk about smelling like a navvy?’

  ‘I wash here, in the sink.’

  ‘In the sink where you do the dishes?’

  Kate grunted her exasperation. ‘I’ll get a bowl. I’ve lived in conditions far worse, I can tell you. The Misses are really nice. They’re keeping my insulin in their fridge until I buy my own. Very understanding, they are. And it’s only three pounds fifteen a week.’

  ‘Daylight robbery. I’d rather you than me, sweetheart.’

  Kate fiddled with the stiff drawers of the dresser, averting her face and keeping her tone light as she said, ‘I’ll be leaving school at the end of the summer term.’