A Complicated Woman

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Why, you could do anything you wanted! What about your ambition to go into nursing? Attitudes might be different in Australia.’

  Here we go again, thought Oriel. Why did her mother insist on exhuming what to her had only ever been a childhood desire? Any lingering significance was only because that wish had been denied. It could have been any profession, she would still have felt the same. ‘I’d never have made a nurse.’

  ‘You’ve got a very caring nature, darlin’, and if I’m honest I think you’re wasted on this secretarial work.’

  The young woman managed a quip. ‘Oh thanks, that’s nice after I’ve single-handedly saved your prospective husband from bankruptcy while he’s been in gaol.’

  Bright tapped her lightly in reproof. ‘I mean you care about human suffering.’ Her daughter was always deeply affected by newspaper reports of someone else’s misfortune. ‘Well, now ye might have a chance to do something about it.’

  ‘I claim to care but what have I achieved? Nothing.’

  ‘I think most of us would claim to care but there’s little we can do about a worldful of suffering. It’s always been with us and always will be. No matter how many heroes and heroines risk their lives to stop one tribe’s inhumanity to another it’s a waste of time. The highest most of us can hope for is to live our own lives as best we can and hope we don’t harm too many people along the way.’

  Oriel collapsed at this cynical philosophy that only served to emphasize her own hopelessness. ‘But then what is it all for?’ she wailed. ‘What’s the blessed point of any of it?’

  Bright had no answer. ‘God only knows. I’m making a pig’s ear out of this. What I was trying to say in my clumsy fashion was that if you’re expecting yourself to help every single person in the world then you’re always going to feel like a failure. You’re young, you’ve plenty of years ahead in which to do all this soul-searching. If you must nail your banner to a mast just concentrate on one cause and stick to that. I know you’d like to help everyone but that’s impossible.’

  ‘But I haven’t helped anyone at all!’

  Trying to alleviate the mood she had created Bright exclaimed, ‘You have! You were a companion for a lonely old lady and you brought me and your father together after all these years. In my eyes you couldn’t have achieved anything better.’

  ‘Let’s not make me into Saint Joan.’ Oriel had recovered from her tears and now sat quite composedly, with the occasional sniff. ‘That happened by fluke. I was trying to get back at him for all the pain he’d caused.’

  ‘Well, some might say the end justified the means.’ Bright watched her daughter for a while before continuing, ‘Aren’t ye just a bit glad that we’ve found each other?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course!’ The pretty face depicted anguish. ‘If that’s what you want. I just can’t understand how—’ She made a futile gesture at the air.

  ‘I love your father, Oriel, but I don’t expect you to swallow that when you obviously despise him so much.’

  ‘But I love him too! I know, it’s madness, isn’t it?’ Oriel clasped handfuls of her black hair. ‘One day I want to ruin him, the next I feel deeply sorry for him, and the day after that I want to kill him again. I don’t understand it myself.’ She shook her head, glowering as if she were suffering a violent headache. ‘As much as I wanted to be there in his house to discover what kind of a man could do this to us – to me – I never came close to finding an answer. He was always lovely to me, and with every thought I had against him another part of me would be crying out for him to know I was his daughter – because I wasn’t aware that he already knew.’ She sighed. The harsh lines on her brow melted away and she looked dazed. ‘He gave me a locket for my twenty-first birthday. All the time I was cursing him in my mind, saying that he was trying to buy me, I couldn’t bear to throw it away. It’s in the cellar.’

  ‘May I see it?’ asked her mother.

  Oriel’s dark eyebrows expressed surprise. Nevertheless she wandered off to fetch the locket, returning with a velvet box from which she brushed away the salt that had trickled on to it from the damp brickwork below ground. ‘It’s gone mouldy.’

  Her mother opened the box and examined the gold locket. ‘It’s lovely.’ The brown eyes swam with fresh tears. ‘He really does love you, ye know.’

  Oriel could not bring herself to acknowledge this. How could you abandon your child, then purport to love her? Yet even as her mind continued to argue she knew that what her mother said was true. He did love her. At least he would do if she herself would allow it, which for the moment she could not. The wall of hostility would remain.

  Bright gave her daughter one last hug. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed. I’m worn out with all this excitement. And no laying awake all night trying to make your mind up about going to Australia. It’s not as if we’ll be going right away.’

  ‘My mind was made up for me two days ago,’ confessed Oriel. ‘Whether I like it or not, I’m going with you.’

  Her mother let out a little cry and slumped in relief. ‘Oh, I’m so glad, darlin’!’

  ‘I’m dreading leaving,’ squeaked Oriel. York had been her world. She had never been anywhere else.

  ‘So am I! But I was dreading leaving you more. Oh, I can’t tell you—’ Bright put her arms round her daughter again, then drew away with another teary exclamation. ‘You little monkey, you knew what you were going to do and you kept me in suspense all this time! Well then, we really had better get to bed, what with all the work in front of us. Though God knows how I’ll sleep. Oh!’ She hoisted her shoulders in the gleeful manner of an infant. ‘I’ve never had such an adventure in all me life!’

  3

  The next morning when Oriel came down, it was apparent that her mother had informed Nat that their daughter would be emigrating with them. As was his nature, he was uneffusive in manner but said by way of endorsement as she joined them at the table, ‘Looks like there’ll be two houses to put on the market instead of one, then.’

  Still muzzy and pale from sleep, totally overwhelmed by the upheaval that lay ahead and the thoughts of her fourteen-year-old grandmother that had kept her awake, Oriel merely raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I suppose so. I’ll need the cash to buy a house over there.’

  At her daughter’s entry Bright had immediately risen to fetch her a dish, which annoyed Nat though he made no comment and proceeded to eat his own meal. ‘Oh, you’ll be coming to live with us surely?’ she urged anxiously, delivering the porridge and sitting down again to her own. ‘I mean, it’s a strange country.’

  Oriel looked at her father, eyes still bleary and conveying an expression that said, but does he want me?

  ‘Suits me,’ said Nat, but could not help feeling a twinge of unease at what he might be letting himself in for. ‘So this place is all yours, is it?’

  Bright answered for her. ‘Oh yes, didn’t ye know? I haven’t a penny to me name. So if you were only after my money be warned, you’re marrying a pauper.’

  This was met by a deadpan offer. ‘I reckon I could lend you sixpence till this aft. Mindst, I’d have to charge interest.’

  Oriel allowed her mother a few seconds of mirth, then, untutored in such matters, asked, ‘How do I go about selling it?’ For one who appeared so confident she was somewhat afraid of officialdom, dreaded ridicule.

  ‘Your father would be better able to help you with that. I’ve never had anything to sell, wouldn’t know where to start.’

  Nat continued with his breakfast, waiting for Oriel to ask him and knowing how much it would irk her to have to do so.

  ‘Would you mind?’ his daughter’s moonbeam face enquired.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He scraped his bowl clean, laid down the spoon and immediately reached for some toast. ‘We’ll advertise in the Press for a few days and see what response we get. If we don’t ask a daft price we might be able to sell within the month. There’s bound to be army personnel being relocated. What about your furniture?’ He spread margarin
e on his toast. ‘We won’t need two lots.’ Upon receiving the friendly advice that he would probably get a better price for his, he looked awkward and paused to drink from his teacup before replying, ‘I don’t really like yours – I mean it’s not as if you chose it!’ he added hastily at her look of indignation. ‘It belonged to t’old lass, didn’t it?’

  Bright had to agree that it was rather old-fashioned.

  ‘I want to take that if nothing else.’ Oriel indicated the ruby glass centrepiece with its tinkling icicles. ‘It reminds me of when I was little.’ But you wouldn’t know about that; her eyes transmitted the silent accusation to Nat, who was quick to take note.

  ‘Will selling your business be difficult?’ Reflecting his every move, Bright drank the last of her tea, a hint of worry in the eyes that looked at him over the rim of her cup.

  ‘No, I can always start up again over there.’ Nat found he could say this quite truthfully. Now that he had a family the fruits of commerce were not of such great significance in his life. Used to taking care of himself, he lifted the teapot and refilled his cup.

  Make yourself at home, thought Oriel.

  ‘I’ll need some help in winding up my accounts, though,’ he added, and flashed a shifty glance at his daughter who, out of mischief forced him to ask outright, ‘Could I beg your assistance? I just need to have all the books in order to show the tax man – and t’person who buys t’business. It’s just that with being away for a year I’m not quite sure what’s what. I noticed that money was still in t’safe but I weren’t sure about – you know.’

  Oriel looked disapproving. It was her father’s custom to keep some of his transactions secret from the Inland Revenue. ‘I don’t want to know about the money in the safe. As far as I’m concerned whilst I’ve been running the show everything’s gone through the books.’ Though having no wish to incriminate him she herself was entirely scrupulous. ‘I’ll go over everything with you later. I think you’ll find it’s in order.’

  Nat gave half-hearted thanks, then took a bite of toast, munched and swallowed. ‘Right, well, let’s get down to brass tacks. How much d’you want to ask for the house? Will six hundred do you?’

  Both women said they had no idea, and this subject occupied the next half an hour. The rest of the day was given to perusing the account books, placing advertisements in the newspaper, corresponding with the relevant authorities over their emigration, a trip to the barber for Nat and the purchase of suitable attire for their new life – and the most important purchase of all, a wedding ring.

  * * *

  The excitement was interrupted by mourning on Friday when Noel’s funeral took place. Even in death there was little peace to be had in York Cemetery these days. Such was the effect of the influenza epidemic that soldiers had been drafted in to assist in the excavation of graves and as inconspicuous as they might assume themselves to be, their occasional sniggers of laughter at some joke were carried by the November breeze across the sepulchral acres to disrupt this private moment of grief.

  Over the weekend there were more preparations to be made, both for the voyage ahead and for Nat and Bright’s wedding. During the snatches of intimate conversation they had enjoyed during Oriel’s all-too-brief absences, Nat professed to Bright again and again how deeply he loved her, stole kisses, made confessions, discussed who they would invite to witness their marriage. Their daughter was an obvious candidate but who else did either of them know?

  ‘What about Spud?’ queried Bright.

  Nat gasped, hating the idea of guilt by association. ‘That dope? The registrar might get the impression he’s a friend o’ mine.’ At the cry of denunciation from his partner he relented but only through sheer expedience. ‘Oh well, I suppose I could pretend I’ve just dragged him in off t’street. Only thing is, we’ll have to invite Mrs Spud too.’

  She laughed at his nickname. ‘Aw! Don’t be mean.’

  ‘You haven’t seen her.’ Nat’s expression was serious. ‘She’s really rough and smokes a pipe. She’ll probably organize a spitting contest as entertainment. Listen, I’ve been thinking. I know we’ll be off to Australia in a few weeks but—’ He winced and squirmed like an adolescent. ‘I’ll just feel awkward with Oriel in t’house on our wedding night.’

  Bright thought she understood and agreed to his suggestion that they have a couple of days away.

  ‘I could telephone the Grand Hotel at Scarborough,’ Nat suggested. She sucked in her breath. ‘We can’t go there!’ When he demanded to know why she explained, ‘It’s too posh. I mean, I’ve never been but I’ve heard of it.’

  He insisted she deserved the best and, with Bright’s permission to use her telephone, he went to the hall. When he returned it was with the information that he had booked three nights in the Grand’s best suite with a sea view. ‘I don’t think they could believe that anyone was mad enough to go to Scarborough in winter. They gave me a reduction. Mindst, we’ll probably die of pneumonia.’

  ‘Oh, don’t joke about that.’ Bright shivered.

  He had momentarily forgotten the flu epidemic. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean – I think we’d’ve had it by now if we were going to catch it off Noel.’ She gave a nod of acceptance, eyes glazing over as she remembered the young doctor’s last afternoon with her. This was such a conflicting time of joy and grief and excitement and regret. ‘Probably.’ Then she turned her worried gaze on Nat. ‘D’you still get bronchitis every year?’

  ‘Usually. I’ve escaped this year so far, though.’ It was rather ironic when people were dropping like flies that his puny lungs should remain uncongested. ‘I never had it at all while I was in Canada, so I should be fine once we get away from this damned place. Don’t worry.’

  At this point Oriel returned from her trip to town and Nat had never been so glad to see her, for her breezy parcel-laden entry steered the atmosphere away from the brink of melancholy. However, he was not so pleased when she ignored his smile and directed her greeting to her mother only. It’s as if I’m not here, he thought angrily.

  Bright could not wait to tell her daughter about their honeymoon destination. ‘Aren’t we posh? Only for three nights, mindst. Sorry I’m so full of myself. Will you be all right on your own?’

  If you’re not then too bad, Nat warned his daughter mentally. I’m not having you on my honeymoon.

  But Oriel looked relieved as she dropped her parcels on the table. ‘Of course I’ll be fine!’ For once she did not feel as if she were intruding; her father had actually smiled a welcome.

  On Sunday when his beloved announced she was going to Mass, Nat said he would take this opportunity to call on Spud.

  ‘Aren’t you going with your mother, Oriel?’

  ‘Oh no, I hardly ever go to church,’ she answered. ‘I’ll do some more clearing out upstairs.’ And after her parents had gone she donned a pinafore and set to examining the dust-covered collection on the top of her wardrobe.

  When the doorknocker rapped she ignored it, too involved in her work, but then when it went again she crossed to the window and tried to see who it was, though it was not until the caller was on his way through the gate that she recognized the man from the workhouse. Her flesh crawled – thank goodness her parents had been out! Peeping from behind the curtain, she clicked her tongue in annoyance, having assumed when she had given her address that he would have contacted her by letter and not in person. Immensely glad that she had not answered his knock – for she had sufficient information on her grandmother and had no wish to pursue the search – she hoped this futile venture had doused his enthusiasm and he would not call again. After waiting to see that he had really gone, she went back to her work.

  * * *

  Whilst his old enemy was knocking on his door, Nat was rapping on that of his debt-collector.

  ‘Nat! I didn’t know you were out o’ gaol!’ The big, dim-witted face lit up and its owner gestured for his employer to enter his home.

  ‘Why don’t you take out an advertisement
in t’paper?’ Before entering, Nat glanced around to see if anyone had overheard, then added at the look of incomprehension, ‘Never mind, I just came to see if you want to come to me wedding, you and your missus.’

  Spud showed astonishment. ‘Wedding? I thought you’d come to see where your rent money’s got to. Who’re you marrying then?’

  ‘Bright. You remember her, don’t you?’ Nat fought exasperation. Spud had always irritated him. ‘You know!’

  ‘Oh aye! That lass—’

  ‘Aye, well we’re getting wed tomorrow.’ Nat spoke in clipped sentences. ‘And then we’re off to Australia – not right away!’ He forestalled any interruption. ‘But soon. So I thought it right and proper that you know I’ll be selling t’business. I’m keeping t’houses so you’ll be all right. I don’t think there’s owt else I have to tell you—’

  ‘Will you gimme first refusal?’

  Nat stared at the other. ‘You’re not on about the business?’

  ‘Aye!’ The lumpen face showed enthusiasm. ‘I couldn’t buy it outright but—’

  ‘Spud, you’ve never done owt like this before.’ Nat showed unusual philanthropism. ‘I can’t let you throw your money away.’

  ‘I handle your debt-collecting all right, don’t I? And there can’t be much to running a scrap yard.’

  Nat suffered an instant change of mood, offended that this idiot could assume himself on a par with his employer. ‘Do you know what happens to that scrap when it passes through them gates? Do you know how to grade it, who to sell it to, what foreign parts each commodity goes to?’

  ‘No, but the lads who work there do. I’d keep them on.’

  ‘There’s the shop an’ all, don’t forget, and the loans. Think you could manage all them accounts, do you?’

  ‘I aren’t daft! If I buy the business I’d be buying the contacts. And as for the books, well, what about Oriel?’