Trinidad Street

by Patricia Burns

  They had not been gone twenty-four hours before Harry got hold of the key. He was not really sure why he wanted to look at the place. It was hardly going to be different from any of the others on the street and he knew Mrs Mason to be a proud woman who would leave it spotlessly clean, but it seemed important that he should make absolutely certain before inviting Ellen to come and see it.

  It was just as he had imagined it. He stepped into a small front parlour that was already starting to smell damp and musty. Over the fireplace an oval patch of wallpaper where the mirror had been showed a pattern of stripes and flowers in contrast to the faded yellowy-grey blur covering the rest of the room. The tiny fireplace was swept our and the square of oilcloth, too old to move without cracking, was shining. In the kitchen, the range had been black leaded. Three shelves had been put up in the alcoves with a row of hooks underneath them. He tried to picture Ellen there but it was so still and lifeless that he found it difficult. He had to bring her here. She would breathe the life back into the place, make him see their own things in it, suggest little improvements.

  He went up the creaking stairs to the front bedroom. The last of the evening sun was streaming in through the window, adding a friendly touch to the empty space. Once again there were small signs of the previous occupants: patches on the wallpaper – pink flowers on pale blue this time – and marks on the wall and floor where the Masons’ bed had been. It was odd standing where all the little Masons had been conceived, but here upstairs it was easier to think of how it might be. He squatted down on the space where he would sleep, his back to the wall, his elbows resting on his knees, imagining he was waiting for Ellen to come upstairs. She would climb up softly, her tread light, and smile at him as she came in at the door. Then she would undress, asking him to undo all the little fiddly buttons down the back, and he would slide his hands inside as the dress opened out . . .

  At first he thought the footsteps on the stairs were part of his own fantasy. Even when the door of the bedroom opened he thought it was Ellen, come to find him. The last person he expected to see was Siobhan.

  ‘You left the door open, so I let myself in,’ she said, by way of a greeting.

  He did not get up, but stayed staring up at her, resenting her intrusion.

  ‘You can let yourself out the same way, then,’ he told her.

  But she did not go. She wandered round the little room, running her fingers along the walls, over the windowsill, casting considering glances at him. There was an animal restlessness about her that held the eye, as if the very clothes on her back were a restraint.

  ‘If you’re waiting for Ellen, you’ll be here a long time,’ she said.

  Her skirt brushed his arm as she passed. Despite himself, it sent a shiver of pleasure through his nerves.

  ‘That so?’

  ‘She’s got other things to do this evening.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Just like she has most evenings.’

  She came to a halt in front of him. She was standing very close, so that the hem of her dress was touching his feet. He found her presence profoundly disturbing, producing a compound of irritation, suspicion and sexual attraction.

  ‘Just what are you trying to say?’

  In answer, she sat down on the floor facing him, her hand resting on his knee, her eyes gazing into his with an expression of compassion and concern.

  ‘’Tis time someone told you, Harry,’ she said earnestly. ‘She’s been stringing you along something wicked all this time, so she has, and I can’t bear to see it any longer. ’Tis time you opened your eyes.’

  He instantly decided that whatever she was going to say, he would not believe a word of it. He knew his Ellen. She was as true as they came. But as he thought it, a worm of doubt wound in under his guard.

  ‘They’re wide enough open already,’ he said.

  ‘Harry, Harry, the whole street knows. They all know what’s going on, but nobody wanted to tell you. Nobody wanted to hurt you, Harry. They all know what she means to you. But it can’t go on, Harry, not now you’re looking at a place. I am right, ain’t I? It is for herself and you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harry admitted.

  She looked so anxious, so innocent, and her voice was so sincere. But she was lying. He was sure she was lying.

  She sighed and shook her head, biting her lip in seeming indecision.

  ‘Maybe I’m talking out of turn . . .’

  ‘Too right you are,’ he said, shifting abruptly so that her hand was jerked off his knee.

  ‘Maybe she’ll tell you herself once she knows how serious you are.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Harry demanded. ‘What is all this about, eh? Just what are you trying to say?’

  She shook her head again. ‘No, no. I better not. Best left unsaid. Forget it, forget I ever came here.’

  She made to get up, but he caught her by the wrist.

  ‘Tell me.’

  Despite all he thought he believed, black suspicion was growing. He had to know what she was hinting at, what everyone else in the street was supposed to know.

  ‘Come on, tell me. You can’t leave it at that. Say!’

  ‘Oh, Harry, you must have had some idea, surely? You must have wondered, just a little bit? All that late working? All them odd hours?’

  The trouble was, he had wondered. Only the other day he had been brought face to face with it. He had never been happy about her working for Gerry. He knew in his head that his cousin was a good bloke, and that Ellen was faithful, but in his heart he had always harboured a dark corner of distrust. What with his own erratic working hours and the demands of the market, Gerry saw a good deal more of Ellen than he did. And there were plenty of opportunities for them to get close.

  ‘No,’ he shouted. ‘No, never. She’d never do the dirty on me, not Ellen.’

  Siobhan reached out and put a hand over his clenched fist. ‘Harry – I know ’tis hard, but ’tis best to face it now. If ’tis bad now, it’d be far worse after you were married. If she marries you. I may be doing her wrong. I hope so. She may be just stringing the both of you along till she decides which of you is the best bet. Once you ask her, perhaps she’ll choose. Have you asked her?’

  ‘It’s none of your business!’

  ‘But it is, Harry, it is.’

  She moved a little closer, took his other hand and tried to gaze deep into his eyes. Harry refused to look at her, but it did not stop her.

  ‘I’m making it my business because I’m your friend. I’m a better friend to you than all the others. They just let you go on being deceived because they don’t want to be the one to tell you. But you got to be told, Harry. Let her go now, before it gets any worse. You know where she is, right now?’

  ‘Packing up the stall,’ Harry said. His voice came out harsh and grating.

  ‘It don’t take that long to pack the stall up. They’ll be in that storeroom of his. He’s made it nice and comfortable there, I’ll be bound, nice and cosy, all private. Just the two of them together, having a bit of fun . . .’

  It all fitted: the odd remarks people made, the looks, most of all the way Ellen refused to give that job up. If she had really loved him, she would have done what he asked, found herself something else, something where she wasn’t working side by side with Gerry all day long. But she hadn’t. All the time she had insisted that she kept it on, so that she could be with Gerry.

  Siobhan was leaning against him now, her thigh against his. She shifted one hand so that it was resting on his leg, her thumb moving slowly, sensuously.

  ‘Just the two of them together,’ she repeated, ‘doing what they been looking forward to all day long.’

  All that time he had controlled himself, not gone all the way, because he respected Ellen, because she was worth waiting for, because with her it had to be right. And all that time she had been knocking off with Gerry. The pain and anger possessed him and clouded his judgement.

  He wanted to strike out, to hurt as he had bee
n hurt, to destroy, but through that need came another, growing ever more urgent. Siobhan was touching him, her sure hands teasing, rousing, her voice close to his ear, husky and low.

  ‘Forget her, Harry. You don’t need her any more. I’m here, I can give you what you want.’

  He could feel the heat of her, smell the animal muskiness. He looked at her properly for the first time. All that little-girl innocence that she put on was gone. The eyes that looked back at him were knowing, the lips parted in invitation. As he took it in, she sat back on her heels, still holding his gaze, and began to undo the buttons of her blouse one by one. Slowly the soft pink flesh was revealed, the fold of her camisole over the lush curve of her breasts. Harry’s fingers were drawn irresistibly towards her, and as they touched her warm skin he was set on an inevitable path. Her head arched back, she purred with pleasure as he explored her body and eased off the blouse. With one impatient movement, she pulled the camisole over her head and flung it to the floor, then launched into his arms, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss.

  ‘You know we were meant, we were always meant,’ she gasped between shuddering breaths. ‘You and me, we’ll be good. You know you’ve always wanted me.’

  Part of him always had. The other part hated her for shattering his world.

  ‘Yeah, and you’ve always wanted me.’

  They rolled over and over, each seeking mastery, each trying to lead, to take possession of the other. Shedding clothes, they kissed and touched and explored, tongues and lips and hands moving, sweat and breath mingling in a desperate attempt to gain control by pleasure. But Harry had the black anger and pain on his side, and he held her at last beneath him, teasing and retreating, until she was moaning and writhing in an agony of unfulfilled expectation. He pulled back, panting, and studied her as she lay there spread out. Deliberately, he ran the tips of his fingers over her, circling her belly, her thighs, approaching but never quite touching the centre of pleasure. She cried out, her hands pulling him towards her with the strength of desperation, her body arching to meet his.

  ‘Please, please, now!’

  ‘You want me?’ His lips stretched in a mirthless smile.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  Her fingers were digging into his buttocks, trying to force him into her.

  ‘Now, please, now –’

  He waited a few seconds longer, then gave her what she wanted.

  2

  ELLEN GOT OFF the tram in the West Ferry Road and walked wearily towards home. It had been a long day and she was even more tired than usual, despite the fact that Gerry had sent her off early.

  ‘I’ll finish off here,’ he said, as she tripped carrying a box to the cart. ‘You look all in. Why don’t you get off home?’

  She smiled in relief. ‘Thanks, Gerry. You’re the best gov’nor in the street.’

  ‘I know,’ he said gruffly, not looking at her. ‘Go on before I change my mind. I’ll clear up.’

  She did not see him stand and stare after her as she walked away.

  As she turned the corner into Trinidad Street her eyes automatically sought Harry’s house. They would be going out tonight, as usual. Sometimes she worried about how things were going. She knew he loved her, and she loved him passionately, they were happy in each other’s company and had grown ever closer over the last two years; but he had never given even a hint of anything further. People had been teasing her for some time, asking when she was going to marry him and what she was waiting for, until she was beginning to wonder if he really was serious about her, or whether she was only a rather longer-standing girlfriend than usual.

  People called out to her as she passed.

  ‘’Evening, Mrs Croft, ’lo Elsie,’ she answered absently.

  Their curious glances were lost on her, the significant looks and the elbowings. It was Granny Hobbs who stopped her.

  ‘Seeing your young man this evening, are you?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. When I’ve had my tea.’

  ‘Think maybe you ought to look in on him before then, girl.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ellen frowned, not understanding.

  Old Mr Bright sidled up. ‘You go on home, Ellen. Don’t listen to nothing she says.’

  Granny Hobbs rounded on him. ‘Shut your trap, you silly old fool. The girl’s got a right to know what’s going on.’

  ‘What’s going on? What do you mean?’ Ellen looked from one face to the other.

  ‘Best go and find out.’ Granny Hobbs folded her skinny arms across her chest and gave a meaningful nod.

  The hairs on the back of Ellen’s neck prickled. She looked wildly up and down the street. Everyone seemed to be staring her way. Her mother was at the door, looking out for her. Over at the Turners’ the door was shut and the windows blank. No clue there.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she cried. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘You ought to go and look for yourself, girl. Go along to the Masons’ old place. See who’s there and who they’re with,’ Granny Hobbs advised.

  She set off at the run, her heart thudding in her chest.

  ‘Ellen!’ Her mother tried to stop her, catching at her arm, but she brushed her off. Her legs felt like lead and there was a terrible pain in her heart. Going in at the door of number twenty-four, her feet rang loud in the empty spaces. Nobody was in the parlour, nobody was in the kitchen, but above the pounding of blood in her ears came the sound of rhythmic movement from up the stairs. She climbed up, each step a mountain, the noise of gasping breath and animal moans getting ever louder as she drew near. She pushed at the bedroom door and stood stock-still. There on the floor amongst a scatter of discarded clothing, two people were locked in passion. Siobhan and –

  ‘Harry!’

  She thought she screamed his name, but no sound came out. She stood frozen with horror, watching as their excitement mounted ever higher and burst at last in a climax of mutual ecstasy.

  Their release unleashed her fury.

  ‘You traitor, you bastard, you whore!’

  Beside herself, she picked up his abandoned boots and hurled them at the half-naked, slippery bodies. They both started and looked at her, bemused, satiated. Then Siobhan’s lips parted in a smile of deep satisfaction, while shock slowly spread across Harry’s face.

  ‘Ellen!’

  ‘Yeah, Ellen. Ellen, the girl you was going out with, remember? The girl you said you loved. Loved! Liar! How could you? How could you?’

  She caught hold of the heavy leather belt lying by her feet and swung it wildly, bringing the buckle down first on his back, then on Siobhan’s arm. Red weals appeared, giving her a sense of triumph. She flicked the belt back again, ready to inflict another blow. Siobhan screamed, covering her face. Harry half rose and snatched it from her.

  ‘Ellen, stop it.’

  ‘I shan’t, I shan’t,’ she yelled.

  Cheated of her weapon, she took to kicking them, hitching up her skirt and lashing out with her heavy working boots.

  ‘I hate you, I’ll hate you both for ever!’

  Harry grasped first one then the other ankle, holding her with an iron grip so that she was quite unable to move.

  ‘Let me go!’ she screamed at him, pounding at his naked back with her fists. ‘Let me go!’

  Then, quite suddenly, her voice broke and tears ran uncontrollably down her face. Harry released her.

  Choking with rage and unbearable pain, she turned and ran down the stairs and out into the street.

  It was the talk of the street for weeks. Somehow, Ellen kept her head high and ignored the looks and the sudden silences. Not that the neighbours were against her. Far from it. She was the injured party and had all their sympathy, but sympathy is close to pity and that she could not bear. There was respect, too, for the way she had laid into the guilty couple.

  ‘You didn’t half give it ’em, girl. Good for you,’ Granny Hobbs commented.

  There was nothing like a fight for entertainment. Of course, it would
have been better if it had spilled out on to the street, where everyone could have had a look.

  There was a certain amount of disapproval of Harry’s part in the affair. He and Ellen had been going out for a long time and it had been expected that they would get married. But it was tempered with acceptance. After all, they were not actually engaged, and men were men.

  The full weight of moral outrage was reserved for Siobhan. Going into empty houses with other people’s young men was just not right. Siobhan kept a cool silence and took to staying away from home as much as possible. It was not so much the street, though that was bad enough, it was her aunt’s attitude that kept her away. After the shame of Theresa’s fall from grace, Clodagh could not stand the prospect of another of her flock going to the bad. Life at number twelve was one long lecture for Siobhan, who merely said ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and gave no sign of attending properly to a word said, much to Clodagh’s fury and frustration.

  All three of them kept the secret of what had actually happened that day. As far as the street knew, Siobhan and Harry were caught kissing. That was quite enough to account for a major row between Harry and Ellen. For their own different but urgent reasons, none of them wanted the truth to be known. Things were bad enough as it was.

  Harry did try to explain to Ellen, but she was not willing to listen. The attempt at a reconciliation blew up into another row, after which they refused to speak to each other.

  ‘You’re being stupid and pig-headed,’ Martha told her daughter. ‘You got to make allowances. One slip! You don’t throw a man over for one slip. Not a good man like Harry Turner. It’s not as if you was even going to get married. Now next time you see him, you just unbend a bit. At least look at him. Do something. You do want him back, don’t you?’

  ‘What, and wonder whether he’s going to run to her whenever I’m not there?’

  Tears that she managed to hold in check in public spilled over. Ellen broke away and fled upstairs.