Fenwick Houses

by Catherine Cookson

  "God, you gave me a fright. What made you go in when you can't swim?"

  I wiped my mouth on the skirt of my sodden dress and shook my head slowly.

  "How do you feel?"

  All right. "

  He turned my face towards him and, looking into it, said, Tou dont look it. Turn round and lie still. "

  I did as he bade me and as I turned over I noticed he was wearing bathing trunks. Before I could turn my glance away from them he touched his thigh and remarked casually, "I was reckoning on having a dip later, but had to take it sooner than I anticipated." He gave me a little smile, then added, "I'm going across the river for my clothes.

  I won't be long. Lie still. "

  I watched him walk into the water and with an effortless movement lie upon it, and in a moment or so he was rising out of it and going up the far bank. I saw him bundle his clothes together and tie them on his head with his belt. If I had not felt so limp and shaken I would have laughed at the sight of him swimming towards me.

  When he came out of the water I pulled myself up into a sitting position and watched him loosen his clothes and lay them on the bank.

  It was at this moment that a great shiver ran through my body and it brought him to my side.

  You're cold," he said, : I shook my head.

  "It's the shock. Look, take off that dress, it will dry on the bushes in no time, and put my coat round you."

  "Oh, no, no."

  He had made this preposterous suggestion so casually that my protest sounded silly even to myself, but even so I said I had better go home and get changed. He dropped on his knees at my side and his eyes compelled mine to look into them as he said softly, "Don't go home, Christine. Take my coat. Go behind the bushes and take off your dress.

  It will dry in the sun in ten minutes, but you mustn't let it dry on you, you'll likely catch a chill Aat way. "

  Without uttering one more word of protest I took his coat, and with his assistance climbed up the bank and went behind the bushes into the little clearing, and there, with a feeling that I was committing a great sin, I took off my dress and quickly slipped my arms into his coat, and not only buttoned it up but turned the collar up over my neck. Then in a small voice I said, "Will you hang it up for me?"

  He put his head over the bank and stretched out his hand and I handed him the dress. I was afraid to stand up, so I tucked my feet under the coat and clasped my knees with my hands. And when he said, "Can I come up?" I answered, in a voice hardly above a whisper, "Yes."

  He sat on the grass but not near me, and although I did not look at him I knew he was wearing his shirt. I began to part my hair with my fingers and wring the water from it, bending forward as I did this so that it would not wet his coat more than it had already done.

  "Let me." Although he was shy in the request his tone and manner took away from the proceedings any awkwardness that I might have felt. When he whipped off his shirt and began to dry my hair with it I wanted to make a protest, saying, "Oh, it'll get wet," but I didn't. I sat quiet as his hands rubbed my head gently back and forth. He was kneeling at my back and I could feel the warmth of his bare legs through the coat.

  The feeling of fright and exhaustion was passing and I was bel02

  coming consumed with a feeling of wonder, and I was aware for the first time that this feeling was wonder. I had experienced it in minute doses before: on that morning when I had taken my mother to see the first anemones in the wood, and the time I watched the sticky buds of the chestnut opening and there was another time when, after having received communion, I had felt for one fleeting second that I held God within me. But these occasions had just been minute particles of a whole, and this was the whole. My body was warmed with it, glowing with it, and my heart was ready to burst with it, when he pulled my head back against him and, bending above me, looked down into my eyes.

  And I looked up into his. With a quick movement he was kneeling in front of me, his arms were about me and we were breathing into each other's faces. For one long second he held my look, then his lips were on mine, and the wonder burst from my heart. For the second time that evening I almost sank into oblivion, and for the second time I became afraid. For I was being kissed, really kissed, for the first time in my life, and I had no experience with which to judge the intensity of it. But I knew that I was a little frightened. With an effort I eased myself away, and once again we were looking at each other. And then he laughed, and, taking my hands in his, he pressed them to his chest and said, over and over again, "Christine ... Christine ... Christine." I found his voice as intoxicating as his kiss. Like a runner pausing for breath, he gasped as he flung himself down, and I was relieved for the moment of the bewitchment of his countenance as he pressed his face into my side.

  "You know the first time I saw you?" His voice was muffled.

  I nodded as I said, "Yes, near the bridge."

  "You were with two friends, and I thought if ever I'd seen beauty and the beasts, this was it. You looked like something from another world, and I fell for you in that second. It was the last day of the Easter vac, and I cursed myself for having to go back. By the way, who were those two?"

  My mouth was smiling as I said, "My brother Ronnie, and Don Dowling.

  He lives next door. "

  "Which was the big one? Your brother?"

  "No, the other one."

  "I'm glad of that anyway. I hated them both on sight." He pressed my arm to him.

  "But the big fellow, I remember, looked as if he would like to murder me."

  I found I was able to laugh at this, and I said, "He likely did."

  He pulled my face round to him and demanded hotly, "He wants you?"

  Then before I could make any answer, he said, "Of course he does, he'd be a fool if he didn't. Do you know how beautiful you are, Christine?"

  The reply on my lips was the usual one that I would give to any lad that had made such a statement, "Don't be so silly," but I never said it. I accepted the tribute gladly and smiled my thanks. I think, for the first time in my life, I was happy with what I was. Happy isn't the right word, in that moment of delight I was grateful for my face.

  I still had my legs tucked up under the coat, and I was feeling stiff, and when I made a movement to ease the strain, he said, "Stretch your legs out," then laughed, "I've seen legs before, you know."

  He made things so easy and natural, but still I found it embarrassing to look down the length of my bare legs. They looked very white and shocked me somewhat, and this set my thoughts working. But although I was conscious of what they were saying I would not allow them to enter into this paradise. Most firmly I kept at bay thoughts of the occupants in the house at the top of the hill across the river. Yet I could not keep out fear. But it was a sweet fear. I didn't want him to kiss me again for a little while, so I began to talk.

  All kinds of things were happening to me for the first time tonight. I had Ronnie's urge to talk, and strangely enough I found myself talking about him. But not so strangely, for there was a desire in me to impress Martin in some other way than with my looks, and to talk of our Ronnie was the only way I could do it, for there was no topic I could discuss except cooking and housework for I couldn't talk about the wood or the river. These were my feelings and I had not the power of words with which to translate them.

  But what did my talking result in? Only a slight feeling of pique when I realized Martin was amused by what I was saying And when he said,

  "And what books does Ronnie read?" I couldn't think of one title.

  Then to my aid came the incident of the day when he had answered the priest, and I said, with an assumed casualness, "Oh, well, books like

  " Martin Luther"."

  Instantly, I saw that he was impressed, and for the first time his tone held a note that was not nice, there was something, was it condescension as he said, "Well, well, so we've got traitors among us.

  Your brother is a boy after my own heart. "

  Tattler EUis
didn't think so," I laughed.

  "You're a Catholic, Christine?"

  I nodded.

  "And your brother reads Martin Luther? I can see why the priest didn't like it." He seemed amused.

  "Are you a Catholic?" I asked shyly.

  His head went back and he laughed, "Good Lord, no!" Then he said softly, "Oh, I'm sorry, Christine, I didn't mean it like that. I'm nothing. I'm searching, like your brother's doing. He must be if he's reading Luther."

  His mood changed and he exclaimed, "Luther! A summer night like this, the most beautiful girl in the world and you are you know a flowing river, and here we are talking about Luther.... Let me look at you."

  He pulled me round to face him.

  "I want to look at your face, all the time, forever. You're like a star on a dung heap."

  As his eyes washed my face and his fingers outlined the curve of my mouth, I felt I was going to sink into the glory of oblivion or was it of living yet at the same time a pocket in my mind, the pocket that was holding thoughts of my mother and Dad and our Ronnie, was now urging me to get up and get my dress and go home. So much did my thoughts clamour that they burst their confines and I heard myself whisper,

  "Will you see if my dress is dry?"

  He gave a deep, soft laugh, then said, "All right," and springing up he went to the bushes. I saw him lift my dress in his hands, and then he called, "It's slightly damp on the other side, I'll turn it over."

  In a second he was at my side again.

  "Look at me," he said, and when I did so he added, "I dont want to take my eyes off you."

  There followed a pause, during which I became filled with awe. That I, Christine Winter, could find such favour in the eyes of this god, this god from another planet.

  "It's going to be a long, beautiful summer, Christine."

  I, too felt it was going to be a long, beautiful summer, and when his arms went about me I made no protest, but just leant against him. I had no urge now as I had a little while ago to ask questions: where did he live when he wasn't visiting on Brampton Hill, or at Oxford?

  Or where he was going when he left Brampton Hill? Or whether now he had found me he would stay on Brampton Hill? I had no desire to have an answer to any of these questions, for he had said, "It's going to be a long, beautiful summer."

  The twilight was deepening, and soon it would be dusk and I must be home before dark, and I hated the thought of leaving this spot, of ever moving out of the circle of his arms. It did not seem the slightest bit out of place that he was wearing only bathing trunks, for I was used to the sight of our Ronnie and Don and Sam in bathing trunks.

  What I wasn't used to was the sight of my own bare legs against theirs, yet now, as I looked down towards my feet, I felt not the slightest embarrassment, only an intense joy at the contact of Martin's instep across my foot.

  Then I could no longer look down at my feet, for he had turned my face towards him again and was holding me close, and there descended on my mind and body and all the world a stillness, and within the stillness I lay awake. What followed was inevitable, nothing could have stopped it, for I had no strength within myself to combat such a force, my religion and upbringing were as useless as if they had never existed.

  I was sent soaring into the heavens, higher than any bird, and when I floated down to earth again I was crying. Unrestrainedly and helplessly, I was crying. My arms, bare now, were about his neck, and I sobbed out this bewilderment of feeling. Then as quickly as my crying had begun it stopped, and I wanted to laugh. I made a small sound like a laugh, and it broke on a hiccup, and in a moment we were both laughing into each other's necks. I wanted to laugh louder and louder. I felt body less there was nothing left of me but laughter.

  And this told me I was gloriously, ecstatically, blissfully happy. I was drunk with the wine of creation, oblivious for the moment to everything but bliss. And then the heavens opened and God spoke.

  CHRISTINE"

  My name thundered over me, and went rolling along the river, and instinctively I broke away from Martin's arms and buried my face in the earth.

  "CHRISTINE, GET UP!"

  I shuddered and trembled and raised myself a little way on my hands, and from under my lids I saw Martin's feet turn swiftly towards the edge of the bank, then drop to the beach where his clothes were.

  I put one hand and groped wildly for the coat, but could feel nothing.

  Then my dress descended on me, and Father Ellis's voice cried, "Cover yourself, girl! Before God, I cannot believe it's you!"

  In a mad frenzy of fear now, I pulled the dress over my head, but I still remained kneeling on the ground, terrified to get to my feet.

  Father Ellis's black-clothed legs were before me, the high polish on his black boots seemed to pierce the dusk. Then they turned from me and moved towards the edge of the bank, and his voice, rasping out in command, cried, "Come here, you!"

  Ironically now I was praying. Oh, Blessed Virgin Mary, dont let him say anything to Martin. Please! Please! dont let him. Then his voice cut through my agonized praying mind, yelling, "Come here! Come here, I say."

  I raised my eyes and saw Father Ellis jumping down the bank. Then on the dull sound of pounding feet I staggered up and, going to the edge, I saw something that stripped the night of wonder and brought my god low, for Martin was running along the bank in great leaping strides and, almost as swiftly, Father Ellis was after him. But I was praying again, "Don't let him catch him! dont let him catch him!" for I couldn't bear that Martin should suffer the indignity of being dragged back here by Father Ellis, not that he would allow himself to be dragged anywhere. I had a terrifying picture of him striking out at the priest.

  Lowering myself quickly down the bank, I got into my shoes and stockings, and when I again stood up it was to see Father Ellis coming towards me alone.

  I have not the power of words with which to describe the mixture of feelings that were raging through me as I stood with my head bowed waiting for the priest's approach. I only knew that they centred around a great humiliation, and I wanted to die, to drop down dead on the spot. 107 I was looking down once more on to the shiny black boots, but they were some distance from me, and the distance the priest had left between us spoke to me of my degradation in his eyes more plainly than his words had done. The seconds ticked by and he did not speak, and I found myself swaying as if I was going to faint. And when he muttered in a strange voice, "I just can't believe it. You ... you, Christine.... How long has this been going on? Answer me!" The last words were said in a tone he had never used to me before, more like a bark, and I muttered, "Just tonight. Father."

  "How long have you known him?"

  How long had I known him? All my life, from the minute I started breathing he had been there. This wonderful, pale- faced, beautiful-voiced god. But could I answer now, "Two nights," or 'a week," or 'since just after Easter' ?

  "Answer me," "Just... just a short time. Father."

  "How short?"

  I couldn't bring myself to say "Two nights, for it now seemed an impossibility that there had been so much love crammed into two nights, so I muttered, " A week. "

  "God! God!" The priest's exclamation sounded like deep swearing, and my shoulders sank down, dragging my head with them.

  "What's his name?"

  I paused, trying to gain the strength to refuse to answer, but it was useless.

  "Martin Fonyere, Father."

  "Where does he live?"

  "On... on Brampton Hill."

  "There are lots of people living on Brampton Hill, I want his address."

  My body seemed almost bent in two, so deep was my shame.

  "Do you hear, Christine?"

  "I -1 dont know. Father."

  He did not speak again for some minutes, but I could hear his breathing, quick and hissing in the quiet around us. Then he said abruptly, "Come along home."

  My body jerked up straight, and my eyes seemed to jump from my head to his grey face, and I repeated,
"Home, Father ?" Then I gabbled, "You won't tell me mam ?"

  "She must be told. Have you thought of the consequences of this night's escapade?"

  "But, Father I had stepped towards him 'you can't tell me mam, she's bad ... ill, you know she is, and she doesn't know anything about..."

  "All the more reason why she must be told." His voice was cold now, dead sounding, without feeling.

  "No, Father, no! ... Please! please! Oh, dont tell me mam, please!"

  In desperation, I flung myself on the ground at his feet and grabbed hold of his trouser leg, and as I touched it, I felt his flesh recoiling from my hand as if it had been stung, and his voice was loud and angry once more as he cried, "Get up!"

  "No, Father, no! I won't move from here, I won't! You can't tell her.

  I'll drown me self I will! I will! You can't tell her! "

  "Leave go!" He put down his hand to remove my fingers, but before it touched me, he quickly drew it away again, and with a tug from his leg he freed himself. Then again standing some distance from me, he said,

  "All right, I promise I won't tell her, but on one condition."

  I raised my tear-misted eyes to his now unfamiliar face, and then he said, "You will never see that man again."

  My stomach retched, my heart seemed to turn over. Never to see Martin again, never to hear his voice. I couldn't, I couldn't promise, not at this moment I couldn't. A little earlier as I had watched him fleeing before the priest, in that brief moment perhaps I could have promised, but I couldn't now, and I said, "I can't. Father, I can't."