Grappling with his desires, but not wishing to crowd her, Nat merely turned his head and smiled, then looked out to sea again, listening to the rustle of her clothing as she moved back and forth between portmanteau and wardrobe.
Why isn’t he hugging me, kissing me? Bright affected to busy herself with garments whilst her mind argued that she should not be wasting her time hanging them up but taking them off. Why doesn’t he hold me, caress me, love me? Perhaps he thinks I’m too old. Am I too old? Maybe it’s abnormal to have the sort of thoughts I’ve been having. In such mind, an air of anticlimax was to hamper the rest of her task.
As she neared the end of her unpacking Nat turned and studied his own case. ‘Well, I suppose I’d best do mine.’ His voice was half-hearted as he watched her rear view move across to the wardrobe with the last item of clothing, longing to grab her and take her to bed, and the mere thought of it making him hard. No, he must go about this carefully. He couldn’t scare her, couldn’t risk losing her for ever. Bright appeared to have lost her chirpiness. Though she smiled when he announced his intention to unpack there was a faint air of disappointment in her attitude. Had he failed her in some way? What did she want of him, for God’s sake?
She clasped her hands and looked around as if deciding what to do next. The gleam of the polished dressing table caught her eye and she went to sit before it, examining the duchesse set that she had laid upon its monogrammed runner. She picked up a hairbrush and ran her thumb over the bristles, deep in thought.
‘Can I do that?’
Her head came up and her reflection looked at Nat in surprise. ‘If you like.’ Beaming, she watched his approach through the mirror, simultaneously removing the pins that fastened her hair to her crown, along with the tortoiseshell comb.
Taking up the brush he hesitated as if somehow afraid, then began to run it gently over her hair sending a little shiver through her body. At once he was back in the hovel where he had been born, running the brush through his mother’s dark tresses, asking her as he had asked so many times how she could have deserted her little boy. He brushed and stroked with a featherlight touch, remembering…
Mesmerized by his repeated caress, Bright closed her eyes and drifted into a trance, feeling his touch not just at the point of contact but throughout her entire body. Each nerve-ending tingled. Her head lolled back in ecstasy and suddenly, presented with the dark mole under her chin Nat became aware that it was Bright’s tawny hair that he was stroking and the image of his mother evaporated. Feeling a new tenderness in his strokes, she opened languorous eyes to gaze at his reflection and was overwhelmed with such intense love and longing that unable to restrain herself she spun around on the stool, wrapped her arms around his hips and clung to him, pressing her cheek into his belly. Nat dropped the brush, then wrapped his arms around her head and shoulders almost suffocating her as he covered her skull with kisses. Neither of them said it’ll be better this time, for there was no need to voice it. Not a word was uttered as they fumbled and ripped at buttons and laces as if groping for their last chance of life, their naked bodies finally colliding, fusing skin and flesh and spirit and memory and pain and joy. And, thus entwined, Nat and the woman he loved consummated their twenty years of loneliness at last.
* * *
Besieged by solitude in her parents’ absence, Oriel had hardly sat still for ten minutes, sorting and tidying and packing. Even now on the day of their expected homecoming she could not allow herself to relax and bustled about checking that she had enough bread and milk in the pantry. Uninformed as to the actual time of their arrival she was too on edge to sit and wait, every time she did so remembering some other task that required attention. Hence, when her parents arrived they caught her by surprise.
Nat dumped the suitcase in the hallway and barged straight into the front room. ‘My God! What you burning in here? Smells like—’
Before he could utter another word, Oriel, who had dropped the poker in her shock, elbowed past him, wearing a crimson scowl. ‘Why don’t you try knocking?’ she blurted, and ran upstairs.
‘Welcome home.’ Nat exchanged glances with his wife.
Bright wandered over to the fireplace and immediately looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, I see.’ She nibbled her thumbnail and could not meet her husband’s eye. ‘You came in at the wrong time. I’m afraid we’re not used to having a man in the house.’
He was thoroughly perplexed at his wife’s coy behaviour and came to peer into the hearth. ‘Women’s things,’ Bright told him, and moved away. He frowned, still ignorant of his crime. ‘You know! Women’s monthly things!’ Her cheeks resembled two beetroots.
‘Oh!’ Nat blushed too and immediately came away from the fireplace. ‘Oh well, I’ll just take these cases upstairs.’ He made for the stairs, clearing his throat.
‘I’ll come up too and say hello to Oriel.’ Bright followed him.
Nat spent a respectable time unpacking his case and when he went downstairs his wife had managed to coax Oriel out of her room. She reddened again as he entered. So too did Nat but he asked quickly, ‘I hope you didn’t miss your mother too much?’
‘I did,’ confessed his daughter, jabbering to cover her embarrassment. ‘I couldn’t live here on my own. I’ve done loads of sorting out to keep me occupied – oh, and somebody came to view the house while you were away. A Lieutenant-Colonel Somebody and his wife. They seemed very keen.’
‘Let’s hope he has the cash then.’ Nat rubbed his hands. ‘We might be away sooner than we thought.’
It was fortunate that Oriel had done so much cleaning whilst her parents were away, for both their houses were sold within the next three weeks. Come the day after tomorrow, their possessions would be loaded on to a lorry and taken south to be transferred to a cargo vessel. With Nat’s business transferred to Spud’s name there was little else to be attended to on this Sunday afternoon, apart from the huge stack of unwanted household goods and clothes, which Bright surveyed now with uncertainty.
‘I intended to telephone some charity tomorrow and give them all this, but I just keep thinking it would be mean not to offer it to our Eilleen or one of the others. Pat and Eugene both left widows and young children. I’m just a bit wary o’ going round there and having it thrown in me face.’
‘I’d offer to do it,’ said Nat, ‘but I’ve had enough clatterings from that family. I could ask Charlie to take it on t’cart – if his new master’ll let him.’
‘Would you go, darling?’ Bright asked Oriel, who was reading an article in the newspaper and did not seem keen on the idea. ‘Just to explain what’s going on. It’d be pointless to have Charlie drag all this stuff round there only to have them say they don’t want it.’
‘Of course they’ll want it!’ scoffed Oriel. ‘Though why you’d want to give it to them – oh, all right I’ll go.’ She abandoned the newspaper. ‘In fact I might as well go now.’
Collecting her hat and coat she returned to improve on her offer: ‘Do you want me to go to Charlie’s as well and arrange for him to pick this up?’
Bright accepted. ‘That’d be a great help. I’m worn out. I think I’ll make a cup of tea.’
‘Right, where does this sister of yours live then?’ Receiving the details, Oriel collected her bicycle and pedalled off towards Walmgate.
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ said Bright.
Nat portrayed disappointment. ‘Oh, and here’s me thinking that when you said we were having a cup of tea it were a secret code for summat else.’
‘And you not long back from your honeymoon!’ laughed his wife. ‘You are incorrigible.’ But just the same she came over to indulge in a fervent embrace, until the loud rap of the doorknocker caused them to pull apart like guilty children, Bright leaping from his knee.
‘Bloody hellfire!’ Nat sighed and got to his feet. ‘Looks like it’s tea after all. You go put kettle on I’ll answer t’door.’
At the opening of the front door there was astonishment from both Nat and t
he caller. For Nat, it was as if all the experience of the past three decades had been stripped away. He was a small boy again, unsure how to act.
Kendrew was the first to recover, delighted that upon his third visit he had finally struck gold. ‘Nat? By, I’d hardly’ve recognized you!’ After touching the brim of his bowler he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shabby overcoat.
‘What do you want?’ The clipped retort belied Nat’s total confusion. All the dreadful memories came rushing back.
The hands came out of the pockets, entreating. ‘Don’t you know me? It’s Sep!’ A row of uneven teeth coaxed response.
‘Aye, I remember you.’ Nat’s voice was as cold as the afternoon. ‘I asked what you wanted.’
Kendrew gave an awkward cough but maintained his smile and shoved his hands back into his pockets. ‘I heard you’re looking for your mother – well I might be able to help.’
There was a look of derision and swift retort. ‘Go to hell!’ Nat was about to slam the door but Kendrew’s scuffed brown boot prevented it.
‘Hang on! Don’t be like that, I’m trying to help you.’
Nat could hardly suppress his fury, was all at once thankful for this intervention. For almost thirty years he had been denied one of his greatest wishes and now here it was handed to him on a plate. The boy reclaimed his manhood. His wound nicely healed, there was barely a twinge as he drew back his left arm and aimed a blow at the reviled face of the man who had stolen his mother, catching it on the mouth and sending Kendrew tumbling on to the path.
Hearing the commotion Bright came running wide-eyed, saw that her husband was unhurt and stood behind him gripping his arm. ‘Who is it? What’s going on?’
Kendrew pressed a handkerchief to his throbbing lips and heaved himself up to issue a muffled retort. ‘Well, you’re never gonna find her now!’
‘I don’t want to find her!’ The whites of Nat’s eyes had turned pink. ‘I’ve no bloody interest in her whatsoever.’
‘Just as well ’cause she’s dead!’ Kendrew flourished a blood-drenched handkerchief at his attacker. He had been hoping to postpone this news until he had gained financial reward, but it seemed that was not to be and so he resorted to spite. ‘She’s been dead for years!’
‘Good!’ Rage sent a glob of spittle on to Nat’s chin.
Seeing that Nat was about to shut the door Kendrew yelled, ‘Well, that lass o’ yours is interested! Aye, thought that’d change your tune.’ He gave a painful laugh as Nat stopped to stare at him, blood oozing from his gash. ‘She came to t’workhouse to ask about Maria and had the spiffing good luck to find me in charge – fancy that! I told her I’d do what I could to help. Can’t let her down, can I? Have to tell her all I know about her grandmother.’ Oriel’s relation to Nat had all been pure guesswork but by the look on Nat’s face he was not far off the mark, and his mouth formed a bloody grin emphasizing the dimple that the other had always loathed as a child.
‘Don’t!’ Bright grabbed her husband’s arm, knowing the man’s identity now. ‘The neighbours’ll be calling the police if they haven’t already. Just give him what he wants, Nat, please. I don’t want Oriel involved.’
Swallowing his detestation, Nat urged her to go inside, then approached a wary Kendrew. It was only for her sake he was doing this. ‘How much?’
There was no prevarication. ‘Two hundred.’
Nat snorted in disgust, but surprised Kendrew with his lack of argument. ‘Right, and then it’s finished. Don’t think you’re coming back for more. I know blokes who’d break your arms for half a crown.’ Reaching into his pocket he began to scribble a cheque.
Suspecting trickery, Kendrew’s swollen mouth refused it. ‘I’d prefer cash.’
‘In that case you’ll have to wait.’ Nat looked grim. ‘Come back on Thursday afternoon.’
Kendrew studied the other closely for a moment, then gave his mouth one last dab and examined the handkerchief before nodding. ‘Some of us have to work. I’ll come on Thursday night.’
Nat, watching him turn towards the gate, wanted desperately to ask, did she ever try to find me? But the words were too painful, and he was too proud. However, he did manage to blurt a question before the man’s departure: ‘Were you telling truth about her being dead?’
Kendrew turned, his lip swollen almost to the size of a ping-pong ball now. He nodded again. From his expression Nat knew his affirmation to be genuine. ‘Aye, she died, ooh, about fifteen year ago. I miss t’lass, you know. We’d been wed a fair while, never had any kids. Anyroad, I came back to—’ He got no further. Nat had slammed the door.
Bright was gentle on his return. ‘I’m so sorry about your mam, darling. Maybe he was lying.’
Expressionless, Nat shook his head. ‘Doesn’t make no difference whether he was or not, she’s always been dead to me.’
She sympathized, then, with thoughts as to her daughter’s wellbeing, enquired, ‘What did you have to pay him to keep quiet?’
‘Nowt – oh, I promised him two hundred but he won’t get it. When he comes to collect we’ll be gone.’ He rubbed his red knuckles, sighed and sat down with Bright beside him, his face abstracted. ‘Funny, you know, I’ve wanted to do that for years but I didn’t get as much satisfaction out of it as I’d hoped. Still, it’s better than nowt. The only other bit of pleasure I’ll have is the thought of his face when he turns up to get his two hundred and finds us gone.’ And if he could find the time to arrange it he would hire one of Spud’s henchmen to deliver more fitting reprisal. He urged his thoughts back to the present, his voice exasperated. ‘What made her go and do this? Here’s us trying to start a new life and our Oriel has to go digging up past.’
Bright made allowances, twiddling her finger through a buttonhole of her cardigan. ‘Well, I can understand it in a way. Most people know where they’ve come from, she never did. I think it’s the thought of leaving York and not having another chance to find out that’s sparked it off.’
‘At least we’ve saved her discovering t’worst of it,’ sighed Nat. ‘I’d hate her to know any o’ that stuff.’
‘Well, I’m not going to tell her.’ Bright echoed his sigh. ‘Roll on Tuesday. I can’t wait to get away from here myself now.’
* * *
Oriel turned in to the dingy terraced street where her Aunt Eilleen lived and sallied along the row of houses on her bicycle, looking for the number. Upon finding it she dismounted, leaned her bicycle against the soot-engrimed wall, inhaled, and knocked.
There was a moment of waiting, then she heard footsteps coming down the passageway and within seconds was looking into the face of an emaciated and world-weary woman.
‘Hello, I’m Oriel. Bright’s daughter.’ She did not smile.
‘Yes, yes! I remember you.’ Only half recovered from her astonishment, Eilleen smoothed her grey hair and offered a pleasant invitation. ‘Won’t you come in?’
There was quick and not so polite refusal, ‘No, I only came to deliver a message. My mother and I are emigrating and—’
‘Oh! Where will ye be going?’ Eilleen showed genuine interest.
‘Australia.’
‘Just the two of yese?’ The question was filled with amazement.
‘No, as a matter of fact my mother has just got married.’
‘Fancy that! Aw, well you can give her my congratulations and tell her I hope she’ll be happy.’ Eilleen plucked at her limp blouse. ‘What a pity Mother’s not alive to see it. Did Bright hear she left us?’
‘How would she know if no one told her?’ Oriel felt no sense of loss herself.
Eilleen flushed. ‘I would’ve come but I was half dead myself – the flu. Nearly all of us got it. Mary lost her husband. Have you and your mother been well?’ When the other nodded she went on, ‘Good, I’m glad – and isn’t your mother the lucky one that somebody’s taken her after all these years? And he’s accepted you too, has he?’
Oriel felt herself redden with anger. ‘That’s just the k
ind of ignorant comment I’d expect from the likes of you!’ She reached for the handlebars of her bicycle, giving Eilleen no time to respond. ‘No wonder Mother couldn’t bear to come. Well, I’ll deliver her message as she asked me to though God knows you don’t deserve it. We’ve had a clear-out of clothes and furniture. Mother thought you or other members of your family might be in need—’
‘I’ll bet your mother didn’t put it like that!’ Eilleen bridled, her own cheeks as red as Oriel’s. ‘Whatever Bright’s crimes she’s never donned airs and graces, pretending she’s better than anyone else – not like some.’
For years Oriel had wanted to tell the Maguires what she thought of their cruelty. Grabbing this last opportunity she retorted, ‘I don’t need to pretend I’m better than you. I know I am. I’d never abandon anyone who needed me.’
‘Huh! That’s a good one,’ cried Eilleen, coming to the edge of the pavement as Oriel clambered on to her bicycle. ‘You trying to teach me a lesson in morals, the sort o’ stock your father came from. You want to try asking him what his mother did for a liv—’
‘There’s nothing shameful about being a washerwoman!’ Oriel forestalled her.
Eilleen gave a nasty laugh. ‘Sure, and is that what they’re calling it these days?’ She grappled with the handlebars of Oriel’s bicycle, preventing her from moving off. ‘Well, let me put you straight. It might be called washerwoman now but in my day it was called prostitute. There! See how you like that!’ Then with a triumphant nod of spite she crossed her arms and watched the news move across her niece’s features.
At the sound of that word every drop of Oriel’s blood seemed to rush up to her face. It was a term she had once read in the newspaper and had asked her mother what it meant, and her mother had blushed and told her it was a name for a woman who was not very nice but if she really wanted to know she should look it up in the dictionary, and Oriel had looked it up and found all sorts of other words relating to the term – debased, corrupt, lascivious, debauched – and though she still did not fully know what the act of prostitution entailed she knew that it was reserved for the most degraded of creatures, and now this woman here was telling her… she was telling Oriel that her grandmother was a harlot.
A Complicated Woman Page 7