So they had one, then two, then three bottles of champagne.
Some while later Alicia, now very sloshed, returned to the subject. “That was all a complete load of tosh you know. You never knew that girl did you Kathleen, darling? It’s all a put up job. Henry couldn’t fuck a knickerless woman in a red hat.”
“Go to bed Alicia, you’re drunk.” Arnold wasn’t going to let her continue.
“Sure am. But then so are you. So are we all. Let’s all go up – together....”
Arnold grabbed her arm, pinching the skin into a bruise and led her to the door, “Upstairs!”
“The woman’s drunk.” Arnold said as he and Kathleen settled down to playing cards, taking little notice of Henry. After a few minutes Kathleen looked across at her husband, meeting his eyes but communicating nothing.
Alicia was still quite drunk, and certainly more than half asleep, when she felt a hand push her nightdress aside and force her legs apart. She tried to push the weight off her, but he had already forced himself into her and ejaculated. He didn’t say a word as he withdrew, stumbled out through the door fumbling to close it behind him.
That had not been Arnold.
In a state of heightened awareness, almost as if she was not herself but someone looking in on herself, she thought of what had just happened.
Henry had raped her.
She thought quickly, instantly awake and sober. She rushed to the bathroom and washed herself as thoroughly as she could but what if it was not enough, what if she were to be pregnant? Arnold would know it could not be his, they hadn’t been together in that way for years. She could not let him have that hold over her, he had already hinted at wanting to think she had other relationships.
She would have to make him think that any baby could be his. But she couldn’t allow him to make love to her. That would be too much to bear.
But he must think he did.
Did he know what Henry had just done, had he connived in it? Even suggested it? She did not know. But he must be made to think that any child could be his.
She lay awake waiting for him to come up to bed, dreading the sound of his feet on the stairs, rigid with hatred at the thought of what she knew she was going to have to do.
Henry must have heard what she had said. He had been sitting on the settee looking across at the two playing cards, whispering with each other, in a world of their own that didn’t include him. What would he have thought?
Henry had always been Arnold’ poor relation, he had always been the hanger-on. She wondered, in rather a detached fashion, whether he hated Arnold. He had good reason to, Arnold had always had more money and had always told him what to do. Henry had loved his aunt Ellen as a mother, he would do anything for her, which was why he had always spent spied on Arnold and her, reporting back all their actions. Yes, he probably hated them both.
Did he love Kathleen? He had probably loved Joan. But he would have been lonely and making a mess of living alone. He would have been susceptible to flattery, Kathleen would have said how lonely they both were and how much she cared for him and how she knew she could never take Joan’s place, she would have seduced him. She would have to have been able to persuade him that the child was his.
Just as she now had to be able to persuade Arnold that he could be the father of any child that might result from what Henry had just done.
Arnold was very drunk when he eventually came into the room.
The next morning he woke to find Alicia underneath him in his bed. He felt very sensitive. He could remember nothing.
Alicia stirred as if waking. Even though she was a good actress her horror at him was not entirely feigned. She looked up at him, spat in his face and pushed him away.
For a second time she ran to their bathroom, making it very obvious she was washing her body as if it sickened her. She was washing, scrubbing her hands to remove any trace of him that had lingered after her vigorous handling of him the night before.
“Don’t come near me Arnold. Don’t. You are disgusting. You, your cousin, her, you are all disgusting.”
Very little was said in the Daimler as they drove back to Cheshire later that morning.
Chapter Six
“I am not pregnant. I am not pregnant. I am not pregnant. I cannot be pregnant. I must not be pregnant. I will not be pregnant.”
It was a mantra she repeated over and over to herself every day throughout the next month.
Her period did not occur with its customary regularity, she prayed that it was because she was so worried. She checked so often but no show appeared.
By the end of February she was sure that she was, indeed, expecting.
From the first moment she knew she wanted to be rid of it, but she was in no position to do what many in the working classes would have done in her position. She could not find an ‘aunty’ to stay with for a few months and go home leaving the baby for adoption; she could not find a clinic that would not ask too many questions. She was a married woman, in her early twenties, if not completely healthy she was certainly fit enough to carry a child to term; no doctor would say otherwise. She knew there were back street women who could ‘deal with’ situations like this but she had no idea of how to get in touch with one. The only person she could turn to was Maureen.
“What do I do? What can I do?”
“It was definitely not Arnold then?”
“Of course not! It was over before I could scream or rip his toady little eyes out. No. It was definitely Henry. The creep! How could he! He’s a ridiculous, weak, insignificant toad of a man. How could he have been so disgusting. I can’t see him – nor that woman he married. That had to be Arnold’s doing too. Henry wouldn’t do anything without Arnold thinking of it first.”
It was knowledge Maureen kept to herself even when sharing it would have saved people so much pain. She felt it was not her knowledge to give away.
“I will not have this baby, Maureen. I will not.”
“I think you’re going to have to. In your position you cannot escape. I’m not going to let you get rid of it – abortions are dangerous and you are not strong. You’ll have to go through with it.”
“What about a proper doctor – couldn’t you find one who would help?”
“Absolutely not. It is just too dangerous. You will have to have it.”
“Then I’ll give it away. It can be adopted. I don’t want the bastard.”
“Be sensible Alicia, just think. What reason on earth could you give to do that?”
“Then I won’t bring it up. I won’t look at it after it’s born. I won’t have anything to do with it. It will live in the nursery and whenever it is out of the nursery I will be out of the house.”
“Does Arnold know... that it isn’t his?”
“He must know what Henry did, of course he must do, but I slept in his bed that night.” The look on Maureen’s face made her hurriedly continue “He was completely drunk, he hadn’t a clue what I was doing to him, but I was not gentle and he was probably bruised for days. He thought we had ‘made love’. What a ridiculous phrase!”
“You may love it. The child, when it’s born.”
“Never. It should never exist, its life will be hell. I’ll never care for it and that’s final.”
And until the very last days of her life she never did.
Chapter Seven
In the summer of 1946 I had accepted Arnold’s obviously reluctant invitation to make up numbers for his village cricket team. “I’m a bit short of numbers Mottram, you won’t be doing anything on Saturdays will you? Know anything about cricket?” Most of his pre-war regulars were unavailable for one reason or another – he was starting the team from scratch, and in his efforts to build up the team he had to ask people, like me, who he would not normally accept. I found it interesting watching him in the one environment he appeared to be relaxed. Most of his team worked for him or were neighbours and he was, of course, in charge. It showed something of the way I was advancing my caree
r that I was even considered. He probably never worried about his reasons for asking me, he needed men who were reasonably active and willing to be ordered about and I was available. My motives were very different. I accepted as it meant I could be near Alicia.
In the last weekend of August Alicia was sitting in front of the pavilion scoring. She seemed to quite enjoy this. Arnold could not berate her for neglecting her duties to him as his wife, yet she did not have to talk to him or have any form of communication for the entire afternoon. The one wife she would have no conversation with was Kathleen.
I was umpiring, as a bowler I didn’t have to bat for a while and doubled up as umpire when the openers were in. There had just been a polite ripple of applause from the assembled wives as the score reached 50 when we were distracted by urgent calls of “Arnold! Arnold!” One of the wives had the courage to break all conventions and shout out to the centre where Arnold was preparing to face another ball. He was scoring well and was obviously annoyed.
I saw a crowd of women around Alicia and, guessing the situation, told Arnold to go to his wife. I followed him as he walked slowly to the boundary. “Well, what is it?” he asked her as the crowd of anxious women parted.
“‘It’ as you could possibly guess, is the baby” she replied
“There’s no hurry to take you to the Nursing Home. Charles took a very long time. Can’t you wait?”
“No, Arnold, I can’t. You’ve got to take me.”
Alicia was not looking well but as I picked up the score book that had fallen to the ground I noticed next to the 1s and dots and 4s against Arnold’s name in the score book. Retired. Taking wife to Hospital.
“I’m not taking you now, there’s no hurry and I’ve just got my eye in. Mottram – you take her and come straight back.” I know I should have stood up to him that one time and told him that he should be with Alicia but I was more than happy to oblige. I gave my white overall to one of the other chaps and ran to get the car.
As I drove her towards the nursing home I was so pleased to be able to do something for her. I knew she would never love me. I knew that even if she noticed me she would think I was the wrong class, not good enough for her and I knew that I could never keep her in the style and comfort she accepted as normal and had with Arnold. I knew she was unhappy, I didn’t know most of the reasons why until many years later and I knew we would never be together as I dreamed.
For the whole journey, which couldn’t have taken longer than 10 minutes, she was crying, lost in her own body’s world. She wasn’t listening to me as I spoke quietly, soothingly, in the calm voice I used with my mother, trying to soothe her through her pain.
I told her in a voice that could be saying anything that she could never do anything that would stop me loving her and that if I could do nothing else for her I would keep an eye on her and her children, try to make sure that nothing bad ever happened to them, always being there in case they needed someone.
I promised her, though I am sure she didn’t hear me, that whatever happened to her I would always see that this baby was kept safe. It was a rash promise, made in a pact with the Gods to make the baby’s birth safe.
It was a promise I tried to keep, though I am not sure I kept it as well as I should have done.
I left her at the home, my arm around her helping her up the steps to where the nurses were waiting.
It was the first time I had ever touched her.
There was nothing for me to do but return to the match. When I saw the score book at the end of the day Alicia’s comment had been rubbed out and instead Arnold had continued his innings, finally being out caught and bowled for a respectable 74. Kathleen had taken over the scoring.
We were playing the next day as well, and I was surprised to see Arnold changed into his whites hitting balls back to 4 year old Charles who was trying to bowl over-arm to him.
“That’s more like it. Keep your arm straight. Don’t want you to be a chucker you know.”
“What on earth are you doing here Arnold? How’s Alicia?”
“Oh she’s still at it. I can’t do anything there and didn’t want to let the side down.”
“Are there any – complications? It seems to be taking a very long time” I tried not to sound too concerned.
“It seems the brat is ‘breach’ or something. Trying to come out backside first apparently. May make it, may not.”
Susannah Ellen Donaldson was eventually born, after many hours of labour that nearly killed both herself and her mother, just before midnight on 1st September 1946, four months to the day after Carl Henry Witherby.
There were so many seven-month babies being born at this time that some doctors joked that the human gestation period was being permanently reduced so it had been no surprise that Kathleen and Henry’s son Carl was strong and healthy despite being born such a short time after their wedding. He was a bright baby, with a shock of dark hair and strong arms and legs. He appeared to thrive on the clean sea air and there are photographs of him at a very young age pointing excitedly at the gulls as they flew above him and the yachts as they sped past cracking and splashing in the boating lake.
Kathleen appeared at the weekly cricket matches proudly pushing her son in his pram. She would sit back, letting Henry take centre stage as he showed his team mates the photographs of himself with Carl.
Henry was comfortable and secure with his family and loved every moment of being a father. He seemed very happy with his life and his job in the Accounts Department of Arnold’s firm. It was equally clear that his wife found the daily round of walking, talking, shopping and housework a difficult routine to take any pleasure from. My mother who, because she mixed with the women of the town, would happily give me such information as I would not otherwise come by, said that Kathleen’s only joy was Carl.
“I can’t believe what has become of my life, “ Kathleen said to Arnold on one of their evenings together. “I know it’s dreadful to say but I really do miss the war! I had a good job, responsible and interesting, I was a professional woman, respected and independent. I could have done anything. Now its all gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
“Well you wouldn’t get rid of it would you?”
“Arnold! Don’t even think of saying such things. You know I couldn’t, wouldn’t ever have got rid of Carl.”
“So your predicament is really your own fault.”
Sometimes Kathleen saw things in Arnold she really did not like.
“The only thing I have is Carl.”
“Probably.”
She had looked at him for a few moments, this man she had been with for ten years or more, how well did she really know him?
As the babies grew to toddlers the gossips commented on their similarities. As children connected to one of the most prominent families in the town and with such interesting connections they were the subjects of much speculation.
They both had curly dark hair and blue eyes, small noses and ears, delicate hands with long tapering fingers. But differences began to show in their developing personalities. Carl, loved and pampered by Kathleen and Henry, grew confident and open, ready to chuckle at everything, demanding the attention he knew he would get. “Such a happy baby” people said.
Susannah, on the other hand, was quiet, undemanding and quick to tears. She would sit alone for hours playing with her brother’s discarded big teddy in the nursery at Millcourt. When she was with people she was desperate for affection, apparently needing their approval, and she would do whatever anyone asked of her so they wouldn’t tell her off. At the slightest hint of criticism she would dissolve in tears – an action that simply made her nanny and parents tell her off more.
The ladies of the town who knew them both used to talk about the children with knowing glances.
“So alike to look at those two. They could be brother and sister.”
Chapter Eight
In June 1948 I had a letter from Max asking me to meet the train.
> He had again been away for several weeks, communicating only by telegram or letter. Since the War he had spent more time out of the office than he had through the whole period of hostilities. Many of the young men who had left the firm in 1939 had returned, of those that did return some left unable to cope with the humdrum nature of their old jobs, but sufficient numbers stayed to relax the burden of work on the rest of us. So Max’ absences just meant I did more of his work and passed client issues that I would normally have dealt with down to the returnees – all of whom had been my seniors before they left for war. In many ways it was a difficult period.
Several times I asked Max where he went on his trips – a question one could then reasonably ask as the necessary secrecies of the war receded into memory. He said that some work had only just begun with the ending of the war. He said that this work was the most important work of all. In the harsh winter of 1947 when we all looked back, even to the war years, with fond memories of being warm, he spent many hours in his office with the Occupied notice hanging on the door. Whenever we saw him he appeared distracted, angry, frustrated but more than anything he was worried. He told me that living in the peace was far harder than in wartime because in peacetime you felt that things should be able to be done and they weren’t “At least in wartime there is an excuse for failure” he said.
And then his mood lifted. He became lighter-hearted and even jovial. His visits away became fewer and farther between until, in June 1948, he said he was off on his last trip. I ventured to ask him where he was going. “Austria then France. I will send you instructions. I will need your help Ted.” It was one of the first occasions on which he called me Ted.
So it was with a degree of curiosity that I had read his instructions which arrived from France some days later. I followed them to the letter.
I was on the platform as requested, as the train arrived at Lime Street Station, appearing through a fog of steam through the deep cutting. The train was crowded and there was chaos as the travellers dismounted, acquired their luggage and porters and made their way to the taxis lined up along the length of the platform.
The Last Dance Page 5