Fenwick Houses

by Catherine Cookson

  What made me open our front door at that moment I dont know. I was cleaning the room out. There was no need for me to open the door but I opened it to look out into the street, and there he was, walking towards me. He had a walking stick in his hand and was evidently making for the wood. One minute he was in the middle of the road, the next he was standing on the pavement right opposite me, and I could not see his face for a silvery light that was floating before my eyes.

  But I heard his voice saying, "Why, hallo." And when I said "Hallo'

  back, the mist cleared and I saw him.

  "We meet again."

  I did not answer. Our eyes had not moved from each other's face.

  "It's a beautiful day. I was going for a walk in the wood."

  "Oh," I managed to say.

  "Do you live here?"

  I inclined my head.

  He was going to speak again when my mother's voice came from within.

  She wasn't calling me, just carrying on the conversation where we had left off before I opened the door. His eyes moved from my face and looked behind me. Then he said in a low tone, "Will you be walking by the river tonight?" I lowered my gaze and forced my voice to say,

  "Yes, I'll be going that way."

  "Good-bye," he said.

  "Good-bye," I replied. But he did not go, and it was I who made the first move. I turned about, took hold of the door and shyly closed it.

  Then stood with my back against it, my hands holding the front of my dress. My heart was racing, and not only my heart but every vein in my body was moving to a kind of throbbing pain. I could even feel the blood in my legs as it went down the veins.

  I began to sing. I finished the room in a blissful daze, and my mother, putting her head round the door, said, "By, you are painting the clouds with sunshine and no mistake..I've never heard you sing like that for a long time."

  At half past six I was on the river bank. There had been no time stated but he was there waiting for me, just below our houses at the spot where I used to pledge. He came forward quickly with no sign of embarrassment, no gaucheness or buttoning of coat, no shuffling of feet or fumbling with words. We stood for a moment looking at each other as we had done that morning, then he asked softly, "What's your name?"

  "Christine," I said, "Christine Winter."

  "Christine," he repeated.

  "It suits you. Mine is Martin Fonyere."

  His name had a foreign sound and I could only describe it to myself as Fon-year.

  "Where would you like to go ... Christine?" My name sounded like music coming from his mouth. It had never been spoken like that before.

  "Along the river bank."

  "Well," he smiled, 'that won't cost much. And I admire your choice, it's a lovely walk. "

  My body shaking, my feet all sixes and sevens, I stumbled over a tuft of grass before I had gone half a dozen paces, and when his hand came out and steadied me I wondered what he must think of me not being able to keep my balance on level ground. Once I was steady he took his hand away and did not touch me again until we were crossing the stepping stones, when his hand came naturally to my elbow as he guided me down on to the first stone. Then he took my hand and helped me over as if I had never crossed them before, and when we reached the other side I longed intensely for his fingers to remain on mine. But he released his hold and we walked side by side but not close.

  By the time we reached the big bend not only my heart but all that was me was entirely lost to this creature, this v/onderful creature. He was not a boy like either Don or our Ronnie, yet he was not much older, perhaps twenty. But in his talk he appeared more of a man than even my dad did.

  Father Ellis was the only educated man I had ever talked to, but Father Ellis's fluency of speech and charm of manner were as candlelight to the sun when compared to to Martin's. I found his name dancing through my head, shutting out even the remarks he was making.

  We were standing on the bank looking up at the gardens of Brampton Hill when his voice recalled me sharply to him. He was laughing as he said,

  "What are you dreaming about?"

  I wanted to say, "You and your name," but I only looked at him and returned his laugh.

  "Do you often dream?"

  Again I wanted to say, "I always dream when I'm happy," but what I said was, "I haven't much time to dream."

  "Tell me about yourself."

  It came so easy for me to tell him, not about myself, for there was nothing to tell, but about my mother and Dad and our Ronnie. I did not mention the Dowlings. When I finished he did not make any comment, nor did he tell me about his life, only that he was staying with friends on Brampton Hill and that he had just finished at Oxford.

  The long twilight came and the mist floated around us as we walked back in the gathering dust, and I cannot remember what we talked about, but when we reached the bank below the houses he caught hold of my hand and said urgently and in a different tone from that which he had used all evening, for now it was so intimate it caught at my breath and held it, "Don't go yet, Christine." Our faces were close, our eyes drawing something trembling from the other's. I swallowed deeply and murmured, "I... I can't. I must go, they'll be waiting for me. My brother may come down to look for me."

  His grip on my hand tightened and he asked, "When can I see you again?"

  "Tomorrow," I whispered.

  "I could get out at six."

  At this he frowned slightly, then said, "I'm committed for tomorrow evening, most of the time anyway." Then pressing my hand even tighter he added, "But I'll try to make it, although if I'm not here by seven o'clock dont wait. But I'll be here without fail on Sunday night, sixish. All right?"

  Our faces remained stationary, then his eyes dropped to my lips and I felt a heat passing over my body.

  "I... I must go."

  "Good night, Christine."

  As I backed away from him he still held on to my hand.

  "Good night, Martin," I whispered. Then with a little tug I released myself and, forgetting to be sedate, I ran up the hill, and I had to resist the temptation of flinging my arms around myself and leaping into the air for the old ecstatic feeling was in me as never before.

  As I came to the corner of the street I ran into Sam and something in his eyes brought me to a halt.

  "What is it, Sam?" I asked, smiling my happiness down on him. He dropped his head and moved his toe in the dirt of the road, before he asked, "Who's the lad, Christine ?"

  My heart missed a beat, and in the space there rushed in thoughts of our Ronnie and Don, and just for a second I was filled with dread; I remembered Ted Farrel.

  I bent towards him and pleaded, "Sam, dont say anything, will you, not about me being up the river with anyone?"

  He lifted his eyes to mine and said, "No, Christine, I won't say anything."

  "Promise?"

  "Aye, of course I do."

  I touched his hair lightly with my hand before going on up the street and into the house singing not, "I'm Painting the Clouds with Sunshine'

  but, " Oh! tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, oh! Martin, Martin, Martin.

  "

  Saturday started hot. By noon the heat was almost unbearable, everybody was saying it was the worst yet, as if the heat was a form of epidemic.

  I was preparing a salad when Don came into the scullery. He was all dressed up and he said in a quiet, even nice voice, "Will you come for a run to Whitley Bay the night ?"

  Thanks, Don," I answered quite pleasantly, 'but I can't leave me mam."

  His face darkened just the slightest and he said, "What, not for an hour? I'll ask her."

  "No." I put my hand on his sleeve, and the pleasantness went out of my voice now as I stated flatly but firmly, "It wouldn't be any use, I wouldn't go anyway."

  His whole attitude changed in a flash and he stood looking at me and grinding his teeth together until I heard the crunching. Then he growled, "You won't have the decent way, will you? You always make me get on the raw, dont y
ou? It seems to give you a kick."

  "Don't be silly," I said.

  "Silly, am I?"

  "Yes, of course you are. I dont know what you mean ... on the raw."

  "You dont, eh? You're so innocent. Well, you will some day, and that's a promise."

  The door slammed and for once his threats did not leave me trembling and apprehensive.

  Nothing could touch me today, no fear of Don Dowling or our Ronnie or anybody in the world. I bent down and rolled Stinker on to his back where he was sitting near the wash-house pot. We had a secret.

  Stinker and I, for last night I had smuggled him upstairs after Mam went to bed. I did not dare transcribe my need of him into thoughts, but deep down I knew I wanted to hold something.

  Stinker lay in ecstatic calmness as I scratched his tummy, and my mother, coming into the kitchen, said, "You'll have 96 that beast as daft as yourself afore you're done." She laughed, then asked soberly,

  "What was he after ?"

  I went on scratching Stinker as I said offhandedly, "Oh, the usual."

  "He never gives in," said my mother. And she added, "That frightens me."

  It usually frightened me, too, but today, like Stinker, I was experiencing ecstasy; it was an armour surrounding me.

  Across the dinner table our Ronnie said, "I'm going to Windy Nook to see a cricket match, you comin'?"

  "No thanks," I said; 'it's too hot to sit out all that time. "

  I saw a shadow pass over his face, and he did not take his eyes off me as he added, "You can sit in the shade."

  "I dont feel like it. I'm a bit tired and I've had enough of the heat without sitting out in it, shade or not."

  After he had left the house, stamping out without saying good-bye to anyone. Dad exclaimed, "I dont know what's come over that lad lately.

  He never used to be short-tempered. It's all these fan dangle books he reads, stuffing his head with things he can't understand. He'll find he's got enough to face in life without piling on the agony. But he can only live and learn like the rest of us. "

  Around the middle of the afternoon the heat became unbearable, and it being Saturday and the house all cleaned and nothing more to do in the way of work except meals until Monday morning, my mother said she was going to have a lie down. And she added, "Why dont you put yourself on the bed for half an hour and open a window wide. It'll be as cool up there as anywhere."

  I was sixteen and joy was throbbing in me and my mother was telling me to lie down only women who were worn out with families and grinding housework ever went to lie down in the afternoon. When Mam saw the look on my face she gave a little laugh and said, "Well, lass, you look so white and pea ky But no, I dont suppose you want to lie down."

  Then, as if to afford me some pleasure, she ended, "After tea we'll have a bath. We needn't put the pot on, just a few kettles.

  We'll have it afore Ronnie gets back. "

  I made no comment. After tea I was going to the river.

  When she had gone into the front room I did go upstairs. I stood by the window and looked down on the silver thread

  of water twisting its way through the valley bottom. In just over three hours I would be on its bank with Martin that's if he could get away. Oh, he must get away, he must. If I did not see him tonight I would die. I could not wait another day before seeing him. I put my arms round myself and hugged my joy and trepidation to me.

  At six o'clock I was ready. I had changed all my clothes and was wearing a blue cotton dress with a square neckline, and on my face I had rubbed, for the first time, some cream from one of the jars in the dressing-case. The irony of using Don's 'sprat to catch a mackerel' to beautify myself for another boy did not strike me at the time. I only knew I wanted to smell nice. And I had tied my hair back with a ribbon, and now I was ready.

  I was going for a walk, I told my mother. She nodded, and as I went to go out she said, "And what is that nice smell you've got on you?"

  "It's soap," I lied, 'one of the tablets I got for Christmas. "

  The heat had not lifted, and in the short time it took me to get to the river bank I felt sticky all over. He wasn't there. Well, it wasn't anywhere near seven o'clock yet. I'd walk a little way along the bank but keep myself in view from this spot. My heart was beating wildly, and at the same time I felt sick with apprehension in case he should not come.

  I lost count of the times I walked that particular stretch of bank; and when the market clock struck seven I could actually have vomited in the river. There was still tomorrow night, I consoled myself, but tomorrow night was as years away there was all tonight to get through.

  And tomorrow night the bank would be lined with couples; it always was on Sunday nights. Saturday night it was rarely you saw one couple or even a man fishing. Saturday night in Fellbum was picture night, or dance night, and the men who fished during the week usully went to the bars on a Saturday night; it was also a general club night. Tonight we would have had the river to ourselves, the world to ourselves. I wanted to see no one and hear no one but him, and he had not come.

  I walked slowly up to the stepping stones, across them, and in a sauntering gait made my way to the big bend. By the time I reached it my hair was damp on my forehead, there were 98 beads of moisture round my lips and my dress was sticking to my shoulder blades.

  I sat down on the bank and looked at the water and there came over me a longing to drop into its inviting coolness, and this thought brought a faint resentment against my mother. Why had she not let me learn to swim? If I could swim I wouldn't have this sticky, awful feeling now.

  Then I chided myself strongly for daring to feel like this about Mam, Mam who was so good, so kind, so wonderful to me. I knew the reason now why she hadn't let me learn to swim, and knowing Don Dowling I should be grateful to her, and knowing our Ronnie, too, I should be grateful to her, although she knew nothing about that.

  My eyes were drawn swiftly up from the water by the sound of laughter coming from a garden on top of the HilL There was no one to be seen but I knew there were several people in that garden and I began to wonder what they were doing. Was he there? Was he laughing? I got to my feet and began the long walk home.

  I passed one couple, they were sitting on the river bank and the boy was taking the girl's shoes off they were going to pledge. This sight hurt me so much that I could have cried, and I had to tell myself not to be silly. What was wrong with me anyway? There was no answer to this.

  As I came nearer home I was loath for my walk to come to an end. If I went into the house and he should come after all and not find me? The thought was agony. Then I came opposite the place where the lads used to bathe. There were the bushes where they had hung their clothes and the well- worn path they had made leading down to the river. On this side of the river there was also a wide clump of bush, but the river path skirted this. But now I noticed for the first time another path that went through the thicket and down to the water's edge, likely a fishermen's path, and just to give myself something to do to lengthen the walk I took this path. Within a few steps the walls of the shrubbery widened to form a small clearing with a number of grassy hillocks with the grass well worn in parts, and I guessed, with a blush at the thought, that this was where the courting couples came.

  They would be screened from both the river and the other pathway here.

  The river seemed very low at this point, for below the bank there was about six feet of its bed showing in sand and gravel. It looked like a little beach and so inviting. Within a second I had slipped over the bank and was sitting on it. Here, much nearer to the water, the thought came again. Oh, if I could only swim. I imagined what it would be like to feel the water flowing over my body. Well I couldn't swim, but there was nothing to stop me pledging. This at the moment seemed a poor substitute, just something that baims did and, at my age, something to be spurned, but, nevertheless, I took off my stockings and shoes and, lifting up my dress well above my knees, I walked slowly into the water. It was cool, s
mooth and soothing, and I went back and forward kicking my feet gently. It came just below my calves and the longing for the feel of it about my legs became so insistent that I was drawn further in. But I had no intention of going actually near the middle for that was where the deep part was. When the water was well above my knees the bottom was still visible, so I tucked my dress a bit furAer up and cautiously moved forward, making sure with each step that I could still see where I was going. When the water had almost reached my tucked-in dress, the bottom disappeared and I came to a sharp halt.

  There, with my feet on it, was the brow ny golden washed shelf of rock on which I was standing, then, as if it had been sliced by a sharp knife, it ended abruptly and the water beyond looked black and forbidding. This was the deep part.

  One minute I was looking down into it and the next my head was jerked upwards and joy raced through me as I heard a voice calling, "Ooh ...

  ooh! there." He wasn't hailing me from the river bank but from half-way up the fell beyond. He must have come by the short cut over Top Fell. He had stopped and was waving, not with one hand but with two, and I answered in the same way. Throwing up my arms high above my head I waved them. I had forgotten for the moment where I was and in my joyous excitement I stepped forward. It seemed as if I jumped into the water feet first, and I heard myself screaming as I jumped. The water closed over my head and I sank swiftly into a cool green light, and I was swallowing this light in great gulps and it was choking me.

  My feet touched something hard which acted like a spring board and I felt myself rising, and when my head broke through the surface after what seemed endless terrifying seconds, my arms and legs began to thrash wildly, and I spluttered and screamed before I went down again.

  Then once again I came up through the green lighted water, and now my panic told me that if I once more sank into that greenness it would be for good. And I did, but there was someone with me this time, holding me, pushing me, dragging me, turning me about. Never in my life had surprise been greater than when I found myself moving backwards through the water looking up at the sky. And when I was lying on my back on the little beach that I had left only minutes before, and bending over me was Martin, his hair flat on his head, his breath coming in great gasps and the water running down his bare body. Then the sky was blotted out and a blackness came over me and the next thing I remember was being on my face and water spurting from my mouth, and I was sick and Martin was holding my head. I felt humiliated and ashamed beyond all comprehension that I should be sick in front of him.