A Different Kind of Love

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Pleased to hear it.’ She held her head coquettishly.

  Funnily enough, he did not feel the least attraction for her, other than sexual, and he experienced no sense of loss in saying, ‘It’s a nuisance that we live so far apart. Maybe I could call on you again if I’m up this way?’

  ‘Maybe, but of course there’s an easier solution. I could move down to York.’

  His expression turned to shock as he envisaged his children’s faces should Eliza come to call on him. ‘Well, yes, that would make it easier but it’d be a huge upheaval for you.’

  ‘What’s up, don’t you want me to come?’

  ‘I’m not saying that! I was thinking more about the cost.’

  ‘What about the cost of you having to travel up here by train to see me?’

  He had not intended such a journey to be at his own expense. ‘Well, I just thought I could come if the record office needed me to—’

  ‘You mean you just thought you’d use me as a convenience while you were here,’ cognized Eliza.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes!’ It came as a bark. ‘Well, you thought wrong, mister. I’m not here to be used.’

  He felt only slight guilt; it had, after all, been her own brazen attitude that had instigated this. ‘I’m sorry, Eliza, I thought you felt the same as I do, that you were just enjoying yourself!’

  ‘I was! And I hope to continue doing so on a regular basis.’

  He looked totally confused. ‘You’ve stumped me now.’

  ‘You’re a widower with seven kiddies, I’m a widow with three, do I have to spell it out?’

  ‘Marry you?’

  ‘Well, don’t sound so thrilled!’

  ‘Sorry! It’s not that… I’m just…’A puddle of doom had formed in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Think about it,’ Eliza told him. ‘Where else are you going to get satisfaction like I give you?’

  ‘Nowhere.’ That was a fact. He went hard at the mere thought of what she did to him. But wedlock was a sacred thing. How shallow was the man who promised matrimony purely to receive sexual favour?

  ‘And you said you’d like to see your children back together again.’

  He nodded, still in a daze.

  ‘Well then! What’s your objection?’

  ‘None really…’ What the hell had he got himself into? ‘It’s just, I’m not sure I could afford—’

  ‘You mentioned you got an army pension.’

  ‘Yes, but I doubt it would stretch to—’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me you used to work at a colliery?’

  ‘Before the war, aye.’

  ‘Then go back to it!’

  He had painted himself into a corner. ‘I suppose it would pay more than I’m getting…’

  She held him in suspense. He looked at her for answer.

  ‘I’m just waiting to hear what your next excuse will be.’ It sounded like a challenge.

  He didn’t really want to marry her, but she made him feel guilty at using her like a whore; that she acted like one was immaterial, it was what he felt that counted and at this moment he felt dishonourable. Weighing up what she had said, he saw that she was right in more than one respect: he would have sex on a regular basis and someone to mother his children. And yet … a niggling voice warned him he could be making a dreadful mistake. Realizing that she had not yet blocked every escape route, he made one last stand. ‘Eliza, I haven’t been completely honest. I’ve asked someone else to marry me.’

  The dark-features pursed in expectation.

  ‘But the children objected, said it was too soon after their mother’s death.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Charlotte? She’s said she’ll wait.’

  ‘Ah, I see! Wait being the operative word here. You’re not getting into her drawers so you’ve used me as a surrogate wife till you’re allowed to wed the better one.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all!’ He hated Eliza’s knack of twisting everything. ‘Charlotte said if I found someone else I’d rather marry she’d stand aside. I’m just saying that if the children objected to me marrying her whom they know well, they’re going to object to you too.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Her attitude became blasé now. ‘They don’t have to know about me yet. I never said I minded waiting.’ She sashayed up to him, her dark eyes licentious. He felt her warm breath upon his mouth and her fingers sneaking into his trousers. ‘Would another six months be long enough, do you think?’

  He felt himself weakening. ‘I couldn’t be sure until the time was right.’

  ‘Well, until it is, you’re quite welcome to call whenever you feel the need.’ And she stuck her tongue into his mouth.

  It was this and the expert movement of her hand that proved his downfall. Vouching to make her his wife as soon as was decently possible, he fell on top of her on the fireside rug, their merger taking him dangerously close to missing his train.

  Helping him some minutes later with his panicked buttoning, Eliza finally allowed him to leave, but sought to ensure that she had his full compliance. ‘Remember now, Probe, I’m not just here to be used. I’ll hold you to your promise.’

  Able to fathom the motives of others, he was well aware that Eliza was only marrying him for a better life, but even now he chose to ignore his own judgement; felt unchivalrous for using her. Though he gave firm reply, there was little joy in the notion. ‘I’m a man of my word.’

  With her kiss on his cheek he left, bearing the dreadful thought that at some point he was going to have to break the news to the lovely Charlotte.

  * * *

  Upon coming back to York he felt overwhelmed with guilt at the way he had allowed Eliza to manipulate him. How on earth was he going to tell poor Lottie he was going to marry someone else? Worst of all was the thought of what Grace would have said at this callous disregard for her friend simply because Charlotte had failed to meet his needs.

  Drawn to his wife’s grave, he wandered through the large iron gateway of the cemetery and headed up the avenue of lime trees, senses heightened by the quietude of the place, the trilling of a chaffinch, the rustling of a squirrel in the grass. Finally he came almost to the upper boundary of the cemetery.

  It took him a moment to find Grace. Since last he had visited, the wooden cross had been replaced by an Imperial War Graves Commission headstone, a whole collection of these gleaming white slabs dotted about the sprawling acres. In today’s sunlight the effect was dazzling. Only upon retracing his steps did he find the name Bradley, the name of the soldier with whom his wife was buried.

  First ripping a few stray weeds from the plot, he rose and looked down at the earth, strangely enough thinking not of Grace but of all the thousands of soldiers who had fallen.

  Eventually, though, he was compelled to explain his actions to her, speaking not out loud but in his mind. Don’t think that because I’ve chosen to remarry it means I’ve stopped loving you, because it doesn’t. I miss you, Gobbie. I’d give anything to have you here. But you’re not here, and I need … well, you know what I need. That’s the only reason I’m doing this, plus the fact that the children need a mother. I can’t farm them out for ever – besides I want them back with me. I miss them almost as much as I miss you. I know what you thought of Eliza. I have to agree she is a bit, well, blowsy. But as far as I can see her own children are well cared for and I think she’ll look after ours too. If I didn’t I’d never even contemplate marrying her. We’ve talked about the children’s religion – he didn’t say our religion; he had only ever become a Catholic for Grace, and a poor one at that – and I’ve told her they must continue being brought up in their mother’s faith.

  He took a short pause for reflection before continuing. I’m sorry for leading Charlotte on. You know I’d never hurt her for the world.

  Tell her that, he heard Grace accuse him. Well, he would, this very evening. He had always faced up to things and it was unfair to keep her dangling.

 
But bow should I tell her, Gobbie? Do I mention Eliza, or do I just say I’ve decided against marrying full stop? It was not out of cowardice that he prevaricated but out of concern for Charlotte’s feelings. How much worse would she feel knowing he had chosen that common creature over her? He hoped he could make up his mind before tonight. Issuing last words of love to his wife, he wandered back along the shady avenue of limes and went home.

  * * *

  Attempting to simplify matters he tested the ground with Clem and Augusta, telling them again of his need to marry. Again, they said it was too soon, this giving him the ammunition to face Charlotte.

  ‘You could be waiting for years, Charlotte,’ he explained sadly. ‘I think … well…’ he cocked his head with an expression of discomfort, ‘it might be best if we called off our plans, for all our sakes.’

  Charlotte showed no sign of the devastation he had feared. ‘Oh well, worse things happen in life.’

  Gratified that she had taken it so well, he vouched, ‘I’ll always value your friendship though.’

  ‘And I yours, Probe.’ She smiled to show there was no ill feeling.

  Probyn wondered if she would have been so charitable had she known about Eliza whom, over the months between then and December, he was to visit only once – though this did not seem to worry Mrs Crump, who entertained him with gusto, confident that she had him.

  That Christmas, the younger children were not to come home. Having taken so long to settle in but having now found a niche in their new families it was decided not to disrupt them. Afraid that this could mean they would be unwilling to come back to him when he married, Probyn consulted his eldest son and daughter yet again about his urgent need for matrimony, hoping it might be third time lucky. But no, it turned out to be third light, and whilst not literally shot down he was made well aware of their disapproval.

  Becoming slightly vexed by Clem and Augusta’s attitude, he decided not to consult them again. He must take hold of his own future, and, after spending the final hours of 1919 in quiet celebration with his son and daughter, Probyn determined to carry out his New Year’s resolution that coming weekend.

  Looking back, he could not remember causing such astonishment to so many people since marrying a Catholic – astonished himself even. Having rarely acted on impulse since his youth, he now went overboard, first travelling to South Yorkshire where he acquired the more lucrative post of overseer in a colliery yard; next going northwards and announcing to Eliza that he had purchased the licence and they would wed that very day, and informing her three surprised offspring that this stranger was to be their new father; finally, going back to York to hand in his resignation and to tell an astounded Clem and Augusta that their objections had been overruled, he was married and that was that.

  ‘I want no recriminations,’ he told them sternly. ‘No more objections about it being too soon. It’s almost a year now since your dear mother passed away and she’d be the first to understand why I’ve had to do this. Now, you might remember Eliza from when we lived up north, or maybe you don’t, but, anyway, she’s a nice woman and she’ll take care of us. I’ve had to leave her behind for the time being, she’ll join us when she’s packed up. We’re going back to Denaby—’

  Clem opened his mouth.

  ‘Shush!’ His father pointed a finger, then continued as if uninterrupted. ‘There’s accommodation waiting and a job – one for you too, Clem, if you want it. All that’s left to do is to gather your brothers and sisters back together and we can be a family again.’

  18

  Letters were sent out to the foster parents, informing them of the situation and giving instructions for Probyn’s children to be sent back to Layerthorpe. There was much reluctance to let them go from aunts who had taken a great shine to them, but Probyn was insistent that all must come. He wanted his children back.

  The only one to mar her father’s plans, Augusta decided to remain in York, not out of any sense of disapproval – though she did still hold the view that her father had remarried much too soon – but because she had no wish to give up her well-paid job at Rowntrees, there being no equivalent near Denaby Main. Only because her absence would lessen the overcrowding that was bound to occur with the combination of the two families, did Probyn reluctantly agree, though he made her swear to visit them regularly. This she was happy to do, and was there to wave them off when they made their departure from York, a lorryload of belongings having gone ahead. Charlotte had said her goodbyes last night. Relieved that she was still speaking to him after his impromptu marriage, Probyn thought it very forgiving of her and said he would write.

  On his way to the station, he turned his head towards the place where the old soldiers normally sat, to issue a last salute. The bench was empty.

  * * *

  After the gracious antiquity of York it was strange returning to the mining village. There were ghosts everywhere: in the memory of family picnics on the Crags; in the polished ebony patches on every street corner, created by generations of miners who had lounged there chatting, now adopting a new poignancy for this old RSM; miners had been dying underground for hundreds of years, but to Probyn this ghostly imprint represented those he had sent to their deaths on the battlefield, he would never be able to walk past it without remembering them.

  The removalists were almost done by the time he and his family arrived at the house in Cliff View. With Eliza rattling out orders, telling them exactly where to place the piano et cetera, there was little for her new husband to do but to admire her efficiency.

  Traipsing inside, the children inspected their environment. The seven-piece suite was new, their own rather shabby sofa and chairs having been consigned to the tip before leaving. They recognized the piano, the marble clock and one or two of the pictures against the background of flowery wallpaper, but the Staffordshire dogs at each end of the mantel were unfamiliar – in fact most things in the room were unfamiliar, everything meticulously arranged with lace anti-macassars to protect the new armchairs.

  Beata had noticed something else too: between two bookends on the sideboard was a collection of leather tomes with gold writing. Closer inspection revealed these to form a set of Shakespeare plays.

  ‘Er! Don’t touch, thank you.’

  Beata had not been going to touch and felt a sense of injustice as she looked up at the speaker.

  Previous to their entry, Eliza had been bustling around with a duster but was now watching Beata with eagle eyes. The rest of Probyn’s children weighed her up: her dark hair swept into a bun, the well-built woman wore a smile but it appeared to be one of sufferance for it only went up at one side.

  Probyn introduced her. ‘Children, I’d like you to meet your new mother.’

  Highly excited at learning that she was to have a mother again, Mims had been expecting to see Grace and, presented with this stranger, the innocent four-year-old burst into floods of tears.

  ‘Oh dear, am I that bad?’ Eliza chuckled, giving the impression of being quite jolly, but there was also a hint that she would take no nonsense and she made no move to pacify the distressed infant, turning her attention instead to Clem and shaking hands with him.

  ‘Take no notice,’ the flame-haired young man advised his stepmother, rather self-consciously for she was bold in her examination. ‘She’s always like that.’

  Probyn sighed and flourished his handkerchief at Mims’ sister, motioning for Beata to tend her.

  Mims’ tears largely ignored, the children were introduced to their stepbrothers and sister. ‘Though you probably remember them from when we lived in West Hartlepool,’ said Father.

  The older ones did, vaguely, though these children had been outside their own circle of friends and the only recognition came from having lived in the same street: Doris, who was the same age as Beata and seemed a nice enough girl, twelve-year-old Edwin, who remained a little aloof, and ten-year-old George, whose tousled hair and askew collar marked him as the harum-scarum type.

  A
fter cursory greeting, Eliza said brightly to the children, ‘Here, I’ve made you some sandwiches. Take them out into the yard and get to know each other. I don’t want you messing my nice clean house up. Clem, you’re old enough to stay, of course.’ Her artful comment worked; Clem’s resistance already beginning to thaw.

  A smiling Probyn watched the younger ones trail outside. ‘I don’t blame you wanting rid, you must have worked like a Trojan to get it like this so quick.’

  She brewed a pot of tea. ‘Doris helped – as I shall expect your girls to do.’

  ‘Oh, they’re used to it, the lads as well.’ He took something from his pocket. ‘Have you got a drawing pin?’ Given one, he pinned the list to a wall by the fire. ‘This is Battalion Orders, tells them what their job of the day is. I’ve worked it out to include your three.’

  Showing approval, Eliza directed him and Clem to the table where plates of sandwiches and pork pie and cake awaited, making forthright comment on the disparity between his lithe frame and Probyn’s bulk. ‘Eh, you’re nothing like your father, Clem, are you? I don’t know whether it was wise to lay on all this food. He could do to lose a few inches round his middle.’

  Unoffended by her teasing, Probyn delivered a rueful pat to his stomach. ‘Aye, that’s what happens when you stop marching – Oh, some good news!’ He suddenly remembered. ‘The army has retained my services as recruiting officer for the area. I shall need to use the front room as an office, if you don’t mind?’

  Eliza did not mind at all. ‘Bit of extra cash won’t go amiss. Will you be working at the pit with your father, Clem?’

  Probyn replied, ‘No, he—’

  ‘He can answer for himself!’ scolded Eliza jokingly.

  Clem smiled at his stepmother in gratitude, warming towards her even further. All too often had his father done this, seeming to forget that his son was now a man. ‘I’ve got myself an office job in Rotherham. It’s not bad money.’