The Invisible Cord

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Well, you can have a hundred pounds, lass.’

  ‘Aw, Mollie!’

  ‘Now, now, don’t take on. I’d give anythin’, lass, to see you out of this place for you’re killin’ yourself. Aw, give over, stop it. What the hell are you cryin’ for?’

  ‘Aw, Mollie! Mollie!’ Annie had turned her face into the corner of the chair, and when Tishy began to whimper Mollie shouted to her, ‘Go on you! Don’t you start. Look, take Bill outside…Here!’ She pushed her hand into her bag and drew out sixpence. ‘Go and get some bullets. Share them mind. Go on.’ She pushed them towards the door.

  When she came back to Annie she said, quietly now, ‘Come on, give over, lass.’ And she shook her gently by the shoulders, and Annie, reaching towards the rod that ran underneath the mantelpiece, pulled from it a tea towel and dried her face with it, then, looking at Mollie, muttered, ‘What can I say? What can I say, Mollie?’

  ‘Say nowt.’

  ‘You’re so good.’

  ‘Me!’ Mollie now drew herself up and, giving a good imitation of Mae West, said the famous words, ‘Goodness had nothing to do with it, dearie.’ Again they were laughing; only, Annie’s laughter was still mingled with tears, and suddenly she stood up and, throwing her arms about Mollie, whispered, ‘Aw, how I wish you were me mother, Mollie. Time and again, how I’ve wished that.’

  ‘Well!’ Mollie’s voice was slightly thick now as she held Annie and patted her back. ‘That’s the nicest thing that’s ever been said to me. An’ I wish I was your mother, lass, I wish I was. Now look.’ She pushed her away. ‘Have this cup of tea, then go an’ get yourself washed an’ done up a bit. Make yourself as bonny as you really are, then take me along to see this place…But wait, you say it’s a lock-up, where are you gona live?’

  ‘We’ll have to stay here until I can find some place.’

  ‘Well, the sooner the better…Just a tick now.’ She wrinkled her brow and, with her finger pointing, she said, ‘Wait; there’s a Mr Stanley comes in our place, the best end, saloon. He lives somewhere behind the town hall. He’s movin’; going to Harrogate; opening a business there. His house is his own property an’ he wants to rent it. I heard him, I heard him tellin’ the boss. I don’t know what kind of a place it is, but it’ll be no hole in the corner if he had it, ’cos he’s respectable. Look, I’ll ask him the night. He’s bound to be around the night.’

  ‘Oh, Mollie. But behind the town hall…they’re all big houses there.’

  ‘Not all of them. And anyway, why shouldn’t you go to a big house if the rent is reasonable? There’s six of you, you need a big house. Look, lass, start the way you mean to go on. By God! If I had me time over again you wouldn’t find me in Primrose Street. If I was your age and had your head, lass, by! I would go places even if I had to take our Georgie along of me.’ She smiled derisively now, then said, ‘God forgive me! I shouldn’t always be at him; he’s me own, and he’s not bad, is he?’

  ‘No, Mollie, he’s not bad. He couldn’t be, he’s too like you.’

  ‘Go on with you.’ Mollie gave her a push towards the far door, saying, ‘Now hurry yourself up and get that muck off you; I’m dying to see this garage. An’ I tell you what, we’ll go round about the town hall, an’ have a look at the houses there. Why not, eh? Why not? Westoe, here we come!’

  Three

  They had rented the garage, they had rented the house near the town hall, and even bought some of the furniture in it, and were moving in two weeks’ time, and today was Rance’s seventh birthday and everybody was happy…except Rance.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, boy?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Nothin’, Mam.’

  ‘Well, stop sulking.’

  The boy made no denial against sulking.

  ‘You’ve had a lot of presents, haven’t you?’

  ‘Presents!’ When he turned his eyes disdainfully up towards the ceiling she cried at him, ‘You should consider yourself lucky, damned lucky. Just look at the other bairns around the doors; some of them don’t get a decent meal never mind presents like you’ve got. A fountain pen, a school bag, a train set, and what else? Money, you’ve had over a pound in money. Boy, you don’t know when you’re well off. What do you want?’

  She regretted asking the question as soon as it was out, and she expected him to say, ‘You know what I want, I want a rabbit,’ but he didn’t open his mouth, he just turned away and went and sat in the corner of the room near the fireplace. And now she barked at him, ‘You keep that face on when your Granda and Grandma Cooper come and just see what you’ll get when they leave. Anyway, there was something I was going to ask you, where’ve you been all afternoon?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘I know fine well you’ve been out ’cos you haven’t been in, I haven’t seen hilt nor hair of you. Where were you out? I sent Tishy looking for you. Where were you?’

  ‘About.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness boy, one of these days I’ll lose my temper with you and knock you from here to Hull. Go on, go and get yourself cleaned up, you look like a muck heap. They should be here any minute. Go on.’

  She watched him turn slowly about and with dragging step go into the scullery. She shook her head. That rabbit, it was coming between him and his wits. She had promised him he could have one when they got into the new place—there was a big backyard there—but no, no, he wanted one now for his birthday. Where did he get his stubbornness from? Not from her, and not from Georgie. Yet for all that he remained so lovable. And he was so bonny. Every time she looked at him she wanted to put her arms around him and hug him…She knew what she would do. On Monday she would take him down to the pet shop and let him pick a rabbit. She’d pay for it to be kept there until they moved. Perhaps that would satisfy him.

  She was about to call him and tell him what she intended to do when the back door opened and she heard Mollie’s voice, saying, ‘Who knows but you’ll be goin’ to work in a bowler and umbrella yet, lad,’ and she knew that Georgie was with her.

  They both came into the kitchen laughing, Mollie crying at the top of her voice, ‘I’m tellin’ this’n here, with a garage of his own, an’ a house not a kick in the backside from Westoe, he’ll be goin’ to work rigged out in an umbrella an’ bowler.’

  ‘On the bloody dole more like. If you want my opinion, we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.’

  ‘Georgie!’ Annie spoke his name with a heavy flatness, and he replied with equal flatness, ‘Aye, Annie.’ And Mollie burst in, ‘You leave everything to Annie, lad. If anybody’s got a head on their shoulders she has. Just you leave the reins in her hands and you can lay your bets on the race.’

  ‘Bets on the race.’ Georgie looked towards Annie where she was arranging plates of cakes down the centre of the table, and he laughed as he said, ‘I’ve never taken long shots, always been against betting on bloody outsiders.’

  ‘She’s no outsider, she’s a favourite, aren’t you, lass?’ Mollie leant over and gave Annie a whack on the buttocks, and after a startled exclamation Annie, laughing now, turned to them and said, ‘Would you like me to do a gallop round the house to show you?’

  There came the sound of the back door opening and Mary Cooper’s voice, saying, ‘Happy birthday, dear,’ and the voice seemed to subdue Mollie’s exuberance, for with an unconcealed sigh she sat down to the side of the fireplace. When Mary entered the room it was a moment before Mollie turned her head and looked at her, then they exchanged a cool greeting.

  Mary gave no greeting to Georgie, but looking at her daughter, she said, ‘You didn’t get him a rabbit then?’

  Annie nipped at her bottom lip before answering quietly, ‘No, Ma. He’s had to do without one all the time he’s been here, and as we’ll be gone in a fortnight I can’t see the sense in fixing up a hutch now.’

  ‘The yard’s cleared of coal.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that but as I said…Oh!—’ she shook her head—‘For heaven’s sake let’s forget about that rabb
it. He’ll get one.’ Now her voice was rising. ‘He’ll get one in the other place. I promised him…and I promise you, Ma.’

  ‘There’s no need to raise your voice.’

  ‘It would make God raise his voice.’

  There followed a short tense silence until Rance and Bill with Kathy toddling behind them came into the room, and Mollie, turning to Rance, said on her usual high note, ‘Well now, boy, we only need your granda and Tishy here and then we can start on that tea. Just look at that cake, did you ever see anythin’ like it? Seven candles on it an’ all!…This’ll be them now.’ She screwed round in her chair and looked towards the scullery, and a minute later Dennis Cooper came into the room holding Tishy by the hand.

  Dennis’s face was unusually straight; his mouth had a grimness about it that caused Annie to say immediately, ‘What’s the matter? What’s up!’ Then she looked down at Tishy, whose face was white, and Dennis said, ‘She’s been sick.’

  ‘Sick?’ Annie went to her daughter and, dropping onto her hunkers, looked into her face and said, ‘Been eating something, dear? What did you spend your pocket money on?’

  For answer Tishy put her hand into her coat pocket; then holding out her palm showed her mother the sixpence, and Annie said, ‘Well, what’s made you sick? You didn’t have anything greasy for your dinner.’

  ‘She’ll be all right, just let her sit quiet.’ Dennis drew the child away from Annie and placed her on a cracket near the fender, saying, ‘Sit quiet, hinny; you’ll be all right. Sit quiet.’

  ‘And what’s the matter with you?’ Mary looked keenly at her husband and Dennis replied, ‘There’s nowt the matter with me, except perhaps I’d like a cup of tea.’ His voice was lighter now but there was still no smile on his face.

  Annie stared at her father for a moment. There was something wrong here. Her da had taken no notice of the other three, and he never entered the house but he ribbed and joked with one or the other of them. ‘Well—’ she answered him now—‘the tea’s ready; if you’ll all sit up I’ll get you served…No, don’t you sit there, Rance, sit you opposite your cake.’

  Smiling, she pulled her son to the chair opposite the cake, and amid chatter and laughter they all seated themselves round the table and she began to pour out the tea. It was as she placed the last cup in front of herself that there came a hammering on the back door.

  As the heads turned in the direction of the scullery Georgie said, ‘Somebody still thinks we’re sellin’ coal, an’ he seems in a hurry. Perhaps his fire’s gone out.’ His wide mouth stretched into a laugh as he pushed back his chair. A minute later Annie, straining her ears above the renewed chattering of the children, heard him exclaiming loudly, ‘I don’t believe a bloody word of it. He wouldn’t.’

  There was another voice now, angry, high; then Georgie entered the room again, followed by Mr Peter Smedley from four doors down.

  Their entry and the looks on their faces silenced all the table. Georgie looked at his son and Rance stared wide-eyed back at him.

  ‘Where you been this afternoon?’

  There was a moment’s pause before Rance answered, ‘Just out, Da.’

  ‘Out where?’ Georgie slowly advanced towards the boy and Rance, his face draining of colour, his voice quivering now, said, ‘J-j-just out.’

  ‘You went along the river.’

  ‘No…no, Da.’

  ‘You’re a bloody little liar.’

  Annie was on her feet now staring at Mr Smedley. ‘What’s he done? What’s the matter with you? What’s he done?’

  ‘Drowned wor young Peter’s rabbit, that’s what he’s done.’

  Annie’s hand went to her mouth and pressed her lips tightly for a second; then she was protesting loudly, ‘What! Don’t you tell me that, he wouldn’t do that. Rance…never! He loved that rabbit as well as young Peter did. You never did such a thing, did you, boy?’ She was stretching across the table towards him now, and Rance, looking straight into her face, said, ‘No, Mam, no.’

  ‘There you are then, there you are.’ She had rounded on Mr Smedley, and he, barking back at her now, cried, ‘Well, he did.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but Tommy Blake did. He had threatened he would do it, an’ not for the first time. My Peter came back home from the match an’ he found the hutch empty. Tommy Blake said he had seen that one there—’ the man’s arm was thrust out towards Rance now—‘leaving the backyard with something under his coat. He said he was makin’ for the river. You drowned her, didn’t you? An’ her full of young. You drowned her, you cruel young bugger you!’

  Annie was staring not at Rance, and not at Peter Smedley, but at Georgie now. Peter Smedley had called his son a cruel young bugger and Georgie was doing nothing about it, only staring down at the boy.

  When Georgie’s two hands gripped Rance’s shoulders and lifted him bodily from the chair she screamed at him. ‘Leave him alone! He would never do such a thing, never!’

  She thrust her way between the wall and the intervening chairs and went to grab the boy from Georgie’s fierce grip; but, taking one hand from Rance’s shoulder, Georgie thrust her roughly away, almost overbalancing her, and when she fell against her father Dennis held on to her arm while he shook his head sharply at her, warning her to remain quiet.

  ‘Did you drown that rabbit?’ Georgie’s voice was unusually quiet, but when the boy gave no answer, just stared at him, he bawled in such a way that everyone in the room started. ‘Do you hear me? Did you drown that rabbit?’

  When he began to shake the boy like a dog would a rat Annie shouted, ‘Stop it! Stop it,’ and Mary, getting to her feet, went towards them crying, ‘Leave the child alone! Do you hear me?’

  At this, Dennis shouted in turn, ‘An’ you hear me, woman. Sit yourself down an’ mind your own business.’ Then looking at Annie, whom he still held firmly, he hissed at her, ‘Keep out of it. Leave them alone.’

  Annie turned an agonised glance on her father but the look in his eyes stayed her further protests. She could see he was for Georgie. It was as if he believed what they were saying about the child.

  ‘Did you drown that rabbit, yes or no?’

  The boy’s head was wobbling on his shoulders like a wired jack-in-the-box and at last he gabbled out, ‘N…no, Da. N…no, Da.’

  When Georgie released him the child fell to the floor with a thud and Georgie turned and looked at Peter Smedley, and Peter Smedley said, ‘He can say no till he’s black in the face, but I know he did.’

  ‘He says he didn’t.’

  Georgie was advancing on Peter Smedley now and there was menace in each step he took. What would have happened next was prevented by Tishy, who during the altercation had left the table and had sat on the cracket, with one side of her pressed tight against the wall. But now she was on her feet, screaming at her father, ‘He did, he did, Da. He did! He did! We saw him. Granda an’ me, we saw him, an’ I was sick. He did. He did.’

  Georgie stopped and, turning, looked down at her. Then he moved his body slowly round until he was facing Dennis, and Dennis answered the question he was silently demanding, ‘She’s right,’ he said dully; ‘we saw him at it.’

  Like a scurrying rabbit himself, Rance now dived under the table screaming hysterically, ‘I didn’t mean to, Da, I didn’t mean to. It was ’cos he was braggin’. It was gona have little ’uns an’ he said he’d have more than me. She was going to have little…’

  When Georgie hauled him out by the legs Annie dragged herself from Dennis and, rushing at Georgie, tried to pull the boy from him, at the same time screaming at him, ‘Leave him be! I’ll deal with this, leave him be.’

  ‘You’ve dealt with him too bloody long.’

  She was knocked flying by the flat of Georgie’s hand; then with the other he picked the boy up bodily and made for the door.

  It took Mollie and Dennis all their time to hold Annie now, and in the mêlée of her shouting and the children crying, Rance’s screa
ms came down to them from above.

  Mary, standing with joined hands, gazed up at the ceiling and cried, ‘He’ll kill him! He’ll kill him. He forgets what he’s doing when he gets that belt in his hand. I’ve seen him at it afore,’ and Dennis cried at her in turn, ‘Well, if he does, you’ll have something on your conscience, woman, ’cos you’ve helped to ruin him…an’ you an’ all, lass.’ He glared into Annie’s face, showing her an anger that was unusual for him. ‘You’ve broken his neck one way and another; between you you’ve broken his neck. Vied with each other, you have, to give him what he’s cried for. Well, listen to him now; he’s getting what he’s cried for an’ rightly this time.’

  The screams had faded into a muted sobbing. Mollie, who had shown Mr Smedley the door, now shooed the children out into the yard, and into the comparative silence that had fallen on the house. Dennis, turning to Mary, said, ‘Get your hat and coat on.’

  ‘I’m not going, I’m not leaving this…’

  ‘Get your hat and coat on, woman, and now. And see if you can mind your own business for once.’ As his hand came out to push her she cried at him, ‘You! Dennis Cooper, mind who you’re talking to.’ Nevertheless she put her hat and coat on and under his grim stare went out without a word of goodbye.

  A few minutes later, when the sobbing became intermittent, Mollie said with unusual quietness, ‘Well, I’ll be off an’ all…But lass, don’t hold it against Georgie for what he’s done, ’cos you know, I agree with your da, that bairn’s been spoilt as none of the others have. Sometimes it happens with the first one an’ sometimes it’s the last. With me it was our Winnie, still is; I always made Georgie carry the can for everythin’ that the others did. What he’s just done is what I should have done to our Winnie many a time, an’ she’d be less trouble the day. So don’t hold it against him, lass. Ta-rah; I’ll be seein’ you.’