Bill Bailey's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  Standing close by the door she thought she heard voices; then she was sure when she heard someone laugh. She bit hard on her lip. He was in there talking to her, laughing with her. Well, there was nothing to stop her from calling, was there? She could say that she had seen his car and her mother wondered if he was coming to tea…No, she had better not say that; she had better not mention her mother’s name. She would just say, quite ordinary like, ‘I wondered if you were coming to tea.’ Yes, that’s what she would do. She would just walk in. She would go round the front and ring the bell. She had never been in the bungalow but her presence would stop them doing whatever they were doing, talking or laughing, or …

  Before the thought had time to clarify she heard the laughter again, and instinctively her hand went out to the iron latch on the door. What she meant to do was to rattle it to get their attention, but when she lifted the latch the door swung open and disclosed a small room and in the middle of it a narrow bed. And now from the bed there, looking at her, were two startled faces.

  She did not turn and run; nor was she aware of taking two steps into the room; but almost at the moment the man cried, ‘Katie, go away!’ her foot kicked something. She looked down. Two wooden things lying to the side of her feet. One was an old-fashioned wooden pestle bowl, about eight inches deep, the other was the pestle itself. Some part of her mind noted it was just like a potato pounder. She wasn’t aware that she had stooped and picked them up, but when they were in her hands she knew she was yelling, ‘You’re filthy! Horrible. Dirty. I hate you!’

  She noticed the form of arc the bowl flew in after leaving her hand; then there was a scream and the woman was sitting up holding her head. She had no clothes on. And now as she let the other implement fly from her hand she saw him about to throw the bedclothes back and she heard the dull thud as it caught him on the side of his face; and the next minute, there he was, stark naked, and he had her by the shoulders and he was shaking her.

  His hand came out: first on one side of her face and then on the other, and the second blow knocked her flying against the small dressing table.

  He had hold of her again and was dragging her to her feet and through her swimming senses she glimpsed the woman now sitting on the edge of the bed: she was moaning and her face was covered with blood; his face too was all blood.

  She screamed as his hand gripped her hair and swung her around and threw her towards the door. The next thing she knew she was on her hands and knees on a rough gravel path and she was crying aloud. She struggled to her feet but could not see the way to go because the tears were blinding her and her head was spinning and her ears were still ringing and both sides of her face hurt. She wasn’t really aware of tumbling over the wall or getting up or groping her way through trees. And she didn’t return round the perimeter of the paddock but went straight across it, her shoes squelching in the boggy part, and the mud coming over the tops of them.

  When she eventually staggered through the kitchen and into the passage that led to the dining room and met the four adults coming out of the games room, only then did she come to a stop; and they stared at her in blank amazement as she gasped, ‘He hit m…me. He’s filthy! Dirty! And he hit…me.’

  ‘Oh my God! What’s…what’s happened? You’re all blood, girl. Who hit you? Who hit you?’ Bill had hold of her now.

  ‘He did. Rupert. He’s filthy. He had nothing on, nothing, and he got hold of me…And she had nothing on, nothing!’ She was yelling now. ‘But I hit them. I hit them both. Her face is all blood…’

  Bill was now almost dragging her along the passage, and Fiona at her other side was gabbling, ‘Why did you go there? What made you? What have you done? Tell me! Tell me!’

  In the drawing room Bill pushed her onto a chair and, bending over her, said, ‘Let’s get this straight. You went along to the bungalow and you saw Rupert and Miss Isherwood in bed. Is that it? Is that it?’ He was screaming at her now, and she was still spluttering, ‘They…they had nothing on. Nothing.’

  Bill stood back from her and raised his hand and cried, ‘For two pins I’d knock you from here to hell, girl!’

  ‘Bill! Bill! Go and see what’s happened. Please!’

  It seemed that he didn’t hear her, for he stood glaring down on the distraught girl, but then swinging round he hurried from the room, and Katie muttered, ‘Mam. Mam, my face hurts, and my knees. Look!’

  Fiona looked at her daughter’s knees. Her stockings were torn; there was blood oozing through the dust coating them, but she made no comment.

  Nell said quietly now, ‘I’d better get a dish of water,’ but then, turning to Bert, she said, ‘No; you go and get it. Get a bowl from the kitchen and a flannel from the bathroom,’ she had seen Fiona press her hand tightly across her mouth. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said.

  ‘Oh Nell, what if she’s…’

  ‘We don’t know what she’s done. Just sit down.’

  ‘I know what I did,’ Katie said, ‘I hit her. I hit them both.’

  ‘What did you hit them with?’ It was Nell asking the question, and in a cool voice.

  ‘It hit her anyway, the bowl, right in the face.’

  ‘You’re a wicked girl; you know that?’

  ‘I don’t care. He shouldn’t have done it. He has a wife in an asylum. He could have had me; he didn’t need to ask. Yes, he could. Yes, he could.’ She was now bending forward, her head and hands wagging. And Nell and Fiona looked at each other, before concentrating again on Katie. Here was a girl not yet fourteen saying that this man, who could have been her father, could have her for the asking. She was saying, ‘He didn’t need to ask.’

  As Nell was asking herself, ‘What’s the world coming to?’ Fiona was almost whimpering, ‘Oh my God! And she’s my daughter.’ She had always thought that drug-taking by any of them would have broken her up. To her mind there was nothing worse, but she had been proved wrong. Why had life to be like this? Why had growing to be so painful? It had always been painful for the young. But now, this brashness, this blatant offering of herself…of her daughter’s self…

  Down the road Rupert was saying to Bill much the same thing at this moment. ‘Bill, I’m telling you, something will have to be done with that girl or you’re going to have trouble. I’ve been patient; I’ve tried all ways. Come on, dear.’ He now led the young woman towards the door. She was holding a large pad of cotton wool over her brow, and Bill said, ‘Let me have a look.’

  ‘No, no.’ She gently pressed him away.

  ‘It’s just missed her eye. My God! That child! That girl is mad. Just imagine if it had been her eye. As for me, her aim wasn’t so straight.’ He dabbed at the still bleeding cut on his chin.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Bill asked quietly.

  ‘I’m taking her to the hospital; it will have to be stitched.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rupert. I’m sorry you’ve been put through this. By God, I’ll take the skin off her hide when I get back!’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother. Her face won’t be bleeding tomorrow but it will be showing the imprints of my hands, both sides, and her back likely too, because I knocked her flying. I…I could have killed her. Do you know that?’

  ‘How did she get in?’

  ‘The cottage door was open. I’d been out that way to get some logs for the fire. I never thought about locking it, not till later on.’ His words now coming between his teeth, he added, ‘We didn’t expect a visitor.’

  He locked the door now, the door of the bungalow; then taking the young woman’s arm, he said, ‘All right, Caroline, come on. Come on, dear,’ and led her to the car.

  Having settled her and put a rug over her knees, he turned to Bill, saying, ‘She’s spoilt a good friendship. You understand?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, Rupert, I understand. And I’m sorry. But it needn’t make any difference between us. And for goodness sake, don’t let it cut you off from the house altogether! Fiona and the others would miss you.’

  ‘It will be impossible
to call now. You know that, Bill.’

  ‘There’s always the daytime when they’re at school.’

  ‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’

  Bill watched the car being driven away. There was mingling in him a feeling of loss and that he must vent his rising anger. But he did not hurry back to the house; and when he entered it, he took off his coat very slowly. He had gone out without a cap. Then his steps still slow, he made his way into the drawing room.

  Fiona and Nell turned towards him, but not Katie. Nell had just finished bathing Katie’s knees and the palms of her hands; and as Bill approached she picked up the bowl and put it to one side, and Fiona, rising quickly from the couch, said, ‘Bill. Wait; wait.’

  ‘What for?’ He looked at her. ‘Until she decides to come into our room and split my head open because I’m in bed with you?’

  ‘Bill. Please!’

  He pressed her aside, not roughly but very firmly; then bending over Katie, he hauled her up by the shoulders and he held her there as he stared into her deepening red face, saying now, ‘I only wish at this minute that I was your real father, and you know what I would do? I would strip you naked and I would take the buckle end of a belt to you. Today you’ve not only almost blinded a woman, and might have done the same to a man, but you’ve broken a good friendship. You spoilt something that I valued, and your mother valued, and it’ll take a long, long, time to live it down. We’re supposed to be in a modern age, and yet what I still want to do is to lift me hand and swipe you to the other end of the room, and out of it, miles away. But Rupert’s done that, hasn’t he? And it’s showing. You know something else? You should be ashamed of yourself the way you’ve thrown yourself at that fella. No man ever respects a woman, nor does a lad respect a girl who’s cheap. And you’ve made yourself the cheapest of the cheap this day. Now’—he pointed at her—‘while I can remain calm, at least in some control of meself, get yourself out of me sight. An’ don’t expect any kindness from me for a long, long, time. Go on!’ He swung her round and thrust her forward, and she ran from him sobbing, like a young girl again and not as Fiona had seen her a short while ago almost like, as her mind had told her, a potential young prostitute.

  As Fiona dropped into a chair she said, ‘How did you find them?’

  ‘It’s how the hospital finds her. She’s got a split above her eyebrow. Rupert says it’s two inches long. The thing just missed her eye. And he’s got a split chin.’

  ‘She said he hit her.’

  ‘Yes, he did, gentleman Rupert. And if I’d been him I wouldn’t have stopped at where he stopped at, just slapping her face and throwing her out, I’d have blacked her eyes. You understand what she’s done, don’t you? She’s put an end to a good relationship? What’s to be done with her?’

  Fiona looked at him and shook her head slowly as she said, ‘Nothing, except what she does to herself, and that will be punishment enough. What’s happened will put an end to a phase that we all go through, only hers is finished long before its time. He had become an obsession with her, and she shouldn’t have had to experience that at this age. But now it’s over and, if I’m not mistaken, and I hope I’m not, it’ll put her off the male sex for a long time.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Oh, Bill, please don’t take it like that. I’m just trying to put myself in her place. Anyway, your promised attitude towards her in the future will be punishment enough, for you came next in line to him. Anyway’—she moved from him now—‘I’d better go and warn the others to leave her alone.’

  When she left the room Bill turned to Nell and said, ‘What d’you make of it, Nell? Eh? What d’you make of it?’ And before she could answer he added, ‘And there’s you bringing another one into the world. You must be mad. People don’t know what they’re askin’ for when they crave for a family. I was once a middle of the road man with not a care in the world: as long as I got plenty to eat and drink an’ I was in work an’ a bit of pleasure on the side, that was life. And look what I landed meself with.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have it otherwise, would you?’

  ‘Ah Nell, I sometimes wonder, more so a few minutes ago down the road when I saw one of the nicest fellas in the world, a real gentleman, bespattered with blood and tellin’ me that he had been brought to such a pitch that he knocked a young lass about and had thrown her bodily into the road; and that the close, warm association he had with us all in this house had to come to an end. It was then I knew, Nell, that I would have had it otherwise. Oh aye, I would have had it otherwise.’

  Part Four

  The Third Birthday

  One

  ‘What do you make of it, Doctor? Now just look at that.’ Bill picked up a piece of plasticine that had been roughly shaped into a face and, pointing, he said, ‘There’s two holes for the eyes but there’s no hole for the nose. The nose has been built up you see. And look at that. Look at the mouth; then look at mine.’

  Doctor Pringle nodded while smiling and he said, ‘Yes; yes, you’re right. As you say, the nose is built up and it’s a pretty big one; it’s like yours except it’s a bit outsize.’

  ‘Which d’you mean, the plasticine one or mine?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll say the plasticine one.’

  ‘And look, the piece underneath’s representing the body: it’s pressed in from what are the shoulders. And there’s the buttons on the waistcoat.’

  Bill now pointed to his own waistcoat.

  ‘Yes, it is remarkable. And you say she did this all herself?’

  ‘Aye. She’s done others an’ all. Now there’s nothing wrong with her mind when she can do that, is there?’

  ‘No; you’re right. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her mind as far as it goes.’

  ‘What d’you mean, not as far as it goes?’

  ‘Well, let’s say that her brain won’t turn her into a scientist or a mathematician.’

  ‘Well, there’s not all that many of them knockin’ about, is there?’

  ‘No; you’re right there too; comparatively few against the whole population. But we know that there’ll be limitations in Angela’s case. She’s made remarkable progress as it is: she’s walking and talking and is a delightful child altogether. But I think you know that her mental capacity won’t go beyond six or seven. You already know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been told that, but I don’t believe it, not with her. And look at that.’

  He again pointed to the plasticine model. ‘She started last year by rolling two balls together. Now, and she’s not yet three, you show me any other bairn of her age that can do that, make a kind of likeness. Have you got one on your books that can do it?’

  ‘No, no. I can’t recall any child at the moment. So we can say she has a special gift, and if she develops it, who knows, she could be a sculptor.’

  ‘Aye. Aye, she could.’ Bill looked down on the model and muttered, ‘She was special from the minute I held her’—he turned and glanced at the doctor—‘when I got over the first shock, because you tell me anybody in a similar situation who doesn’t get a shock.’

  ‘No; that’s quite natural; and as you say she’s special.’ The doctor did not add what he was thinking; special to you if to no-one else.

  They both turned as Fiona came into the room and she, looking towards the low table where the plasticine lay in blobs, said, ‘Is he boring you to death, doctor?’

  ‘No, no not at all. I’m finding it very interesting.’ He pointed down to the moulded head, and Fiona looked at it too, but made no remark. Bill had a thing about the child’s ability with the clay. Granted she kept plying it into all shapes, but she herself didn’t see any resemblance to Bill in that piece, nor did she think that the child put the nose on: likely one of the others helped but they wouldn’t say because they too wanted to imagine that she had some gift. More than once she had asked herself why she didn’t go along with it, and the answer she always got from the first was that she wasn’t going to build up any f
airy tales about her little daughter. If she continued to progress as she was she would be grateful without imagining that she would one day be an artist.

  The doctor turned to her now and, smiling, said, ‘I think Mamie will live.’ And at this she smiled too. ‘She has a cold on her chest. Just keep her indoors as I said for a few days. By the way, I haven’t visited you for some months now, so you must be a very healthy family. I haven’t heard how your friend Nell is. Has she had her baby?’

  ‘Oh yes’—Fiona nodded—‘and as you would say, a bonny, bouncing boy. They’re over the moon. Talk about doting parents.’

  ‘Well, that’s as it should be.’

  As they went out of the room Fiona said to herself, Yes, that’s as it should be. She was happy for Nell. Oh yes she was. But at the same time she knew she would never forget the first time she looked down on Andrew, as he was named. The tears had welled up in her and almost choked her. But it had passed. Thank God, yes, it had passed.

  As they reached the bottom of the stairs Bill was saying, ‘Sorry we’ve had to drag you out on a Saturday afternoon,’ when he was interrupted by Mark turning from the telephone table, his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, saying, ‘It’s a call from America, Mam.’

  She exchanged a quick glance with Bill, then went and took the phone from Mark.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Will you take a call from a Mrs Vidler from the United States?’

  ‘Yes. Oh yes.’

  As she waited she thought, Mrs Vidler. Surely by now it should be Mrs Benson. She had had only three letters from her mother in all these months, in fact in almost a year.

  Then she heard a voice as if it was coming from the other room, saying, ‘Fiona?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, Mother. How are you?’

  ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Yes, I can hear you, Mother.’