The Invisible Cord

by Catherine Cookson

  As she unpacked the foodstuff into the cupboard she let out a long relaxing sigh. This, too, was strange but she felt more at home in this kitchen than she did in the one at home. It had neither running water nor electricity, every drop of water having to be carried either from the rain barrel at the back or from the burn three minutes’ walk away. The lighting, like the cooking, was supplied by calor gas, and the canisters took some lugging up the hill. She paid nearly as much in tips as she did for the gas.

  She made herself a pot of tea and, having set it on a tray, carried it into the main room. It was the sight of this room that had clinched the bargain immediately. The original three small front rooms of the cottages had been made into one, twenty-two feet by eighteen, and the sculleries at the back had been converted into a kitchen, onto the end of which had been built a glass porch to provide more light.

  She had bought the place as it stood and she had altered nothing of the furnishing and little in the arrangement. The narrow floorboards were polished a light mahogany colour and the only floor covering was four large orange and green rugs. The front door opened into the middle of the room. The windows on each side were not large, but the old-fashioned frames had been taken out and replaced by modern ones which opened outwards. On the end wall to the left of the door was an open fireplace with a surround of natural stone.

  The furniture was ordinary and comfortable; a well-worn three-piece suite which she had had recovered in chintz, a dining table, the legs of which showed the imprints of numerous toe-caps which she had been unable to erase even with regular polishing; the six chairs were plain and sturdy and the china cabinet that had once graced a drawing room had two small glass panes missing—but still remained a valuable piece, so Percy said.

  The stairs that led steeply up from the right-hand side of the room near the kitchen door were open and had no balustrade, merely a thick rope.

  There were two bedrooms, three at a pinch, the latter being a seven by six storeroom. All the windows were on floor level, and Annie had not yet become used to lying in a bed which seemed at times to be floating in the sky, or resting on top of hills.

  She sat now in the easy chair drawn up in front of the open door. She had taken her shoes and tights off and she was waggling her bare toes with a joy of a child. In a few minutes she’d change into slacks and get some water up from the burn, then fetch more wood in, for no matter how hot the day it always got chilly as soon as the twilight began.

  Could she live here on her own? She shook her head uncertainly at the question. Perhaps; yes, she thought she might be able to.

  If she had to pick one of them to live with, who would it be? Tishy?

  Yes, Tishy. But why Tishy? Tishy didn’t need her in the same way Rance did; Tishy was sufficient unto herself; she had an inner force, and inner strength. So why Tishy?

  Because she needed Tishy. Was that it? Yes, yes, she supposed so. Anyway, she needed someone. Of late, she had felt very lonely; well, not so much lonely as alone. You couldn’t be lonely with them all popping in and out and making demands on you, but you could be alone in the midst of them.

  She thought of Georgie. Would he have liked it up here? No; like Rance he would have said it would have driven him crackers. You had to be a certain type of person to enjoy more than a passing glimpse of these fells and moors because they were secret places.

  What did she mean by that?

  Well, she supposed…Oh, she didn’t know what she meant, she was going off all poetic. This is what always happened when she sat here; she never thought like this at home. This place brought things out of you. If you just sat quiet something crept into you, stirred your thoughts, made you think as you had never done before—and made you pleased that you could think that way. Yes, yes indeed.

  When she awoke with a start she realised she had been dozing. Would you believe it? Dropping off like that. But she had been tired when she arrived, and disturbed, and that was putting it mildly. She had told Rance she would think about it. Well, that’s what she was going to do, but not in the way he expected. She had known for some time she wanted to make a break, get away, do something different with her life before it was too late. What exactly she didn’t know, but what she knew in this relaxed moment was that before she left here on Friday everything would be clear in her mind.

  She brought up two cans of water from the burn; she filled the straw skips at each side of the fireplace with wood; she set the fire all ready for lighting; she fried herself some bacon and eggs and had two cups of coffee; she washed herself down in soft rain water from the barrel, got back into her slacks and was pulling a red sweater over her head when she heard the knock on the door.

  It wasn’t unusual for someone to knock on the door; hikers often stopped and asked for hot water, some would ask if she had any eggs for sale, only to be informed that she didn’t keep hens. There were even those slap-happy bare-faced picnickers who would come with such requests as: would she fry them a pound of bacon and half a dozen eggs? or had she any bread or cake she didn’t want? They had gone through their own supply at dinner time and had nothing left for the second meal. If they were youngsters she would meet their requests if she could, but if they were grown-ups she had learned to deal with them. Sometimes she got only a black look after delivering a homily on being prepared, but on other occasions she got a mouthful of abuse.

  When she opened the door a young man stood there, definitely a climber by his clothes. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you but I wonder if you would be kind enough to put a drop of hot water on this tea?’ He held out a can. ‘Me friend has sprained his ankle and we’re getting him down. We thought we might be stranded for the night but the other fellow—’ he pointed behind him—‘he’s a hiker, kindly offered to make a sling out of his sleeping bag. We’ve got a car down on the road. How far do you think it is to Horsley?’

  ‘Oh, about two miles, but you want to go straight down now and cut over to the right.’

  ‘Oh aye. Well, I’ll tell him. It’s only our second trip out.’

  ‘Would you like to bring him up and rest here a while?’

  He looked back down the trail where one figure was standing and the other lying on the ground, and he said, ‘It’s pretty steep and by the time we would get up here we could be well on our way. But thanks all the same.’ He smiled apologetically.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. It’ll be about five minutes.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be glad of a rest. May I sit down here for a minute?’

  ‘Yes, you’re very welcome.’ She hurried into the kitchen, and after a moment his voice came to her, saying, ‘By! It’s a nice place this.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘I like it.’

  ‘A bit lonely.’

  ‘For some, I suppose.’

  ‘You’d never dream there was a habitation here until you come round the hill.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t…we’re sheltered in a way. Where do you hail from?’

  ‘Wallsend.’

  ‘Oh, Wallsend. I’m from Shields.’

  ‘Getaway!’

  ‘Yes, it’s a small world.’

  ‘Aye, it is. But it doesn’t look small from up here. Eeh! You could lose yourself in these hills and never be found. Robby was getting the wind up; that’s why I didn’t leave him and go and get help on me own.’

  After a few minutes she came back into the room carrying a tray with his steaming can on it; it also held three cups and saucers, a bowl of sugar, a jug of milk and a plate of buttered scones, the whole of which she had expected to last her during her stay, but then, she had told herself, she could always knock up some more.

  ‘Don’t bother to bring the tray back, I’ll come down and get it.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, missis. I’m very obliged to you.’

  ‘That’s all right. I hope you’ll do the same for me some day when I break my ankle.’

  They both laughed; then he went down the hill and she stood and
watched him pouring out the tea and handing the scones round, and when after a while the three raised their hands to her, she walked down the steps, then on down the hill, to pick up the tray.

  When she reached the track they were cutting at an angle over the slope below her, and the young man holding the back of the sling turned his head round and called ‘Ta-rah! And thanks again.’

  At this, the man in front also turned round and looked towards her, and as he did so the small cavalcade came to a jolting stop. The man stared up at her, and she stared down at him. She heard the young fellow at the back say, ‘What is it?’ She saw the man in front move his head, then walk on.

  She stood watching them until they had gone over the hump and were out of sight. Then she stooped and picked up the tray and went slowly up and into the house. She did not take the tray into the kitchen but laid it beside her as she dropped onto the couch.

  Him! After all this time. But it was him all right. She hadn’t recognised him at first for he was so altered. But he had recognised her, and she had altered too. Oh yes, she knew she had altered in the last six years, and not just in one way, she was older looking, much older looking.

  She must have sat for half an hour before she rose and took the tray of crockery into the kitchen. After she had washed up the cups she went upstairs, and the first thing she did was to look in the wardrobe. She had brought only one dress with her—she lived in slacks most of the time up here.

  She took the dress from its hanger and laid it on the bed, then went to the mirror, and there she peered at her face. She hadn’t many lines yet, a few under her eyes, one faint one starting at the right-hand side of her upper lip. There were one or two strands of grey in her hair, but they were at the back. She hadn’t seen them herself, it was the hairdresser who had told her. She pulled the bedside chair round and sat down before the mirror; then taking a lipstick from the tray, she carefully made up her lips, applied a faint dusting of rouge to her cheeks, and was on the point of applying some eye liner when she banged the pencil down onto the table.

  What was she up to? Well, he’d come back and she wanted to look decent.

  All right, he’d come back, so what of it? What hadn’t happened six years ago wasn’t likely to happen now, was it? Be your age. She glared at herself in the mirror.

  When he came in how should she greet him?

  Well, how should she greet him? Politely, ordinary like, no fuss. She rose and, taking her dress from the bed, she hung it up in the wardrobe again, then went downstairs. The clock said ten to six. If it had taken him half an hour to get down to Horsley it would take him a little more to get back, then add the time for seeing those chaps off and he should be here any time now. She’d keep the door shut. When he knocked it would give her time to compose herself.

  Why did she need to compose herself?

  Oh, for God’s sake shut up, woman!

  By half past six he hadn’t come. At quarter to seven she said to herself, ‘There now, sure, weren’t you, absolutely positive he’d come back. What about his wife? He’s likely left her at some spot on the hills and is going to pick her up later…You, you want your head looking, that’s what you want. They say women in their forties go daft, and you’re proving it. You must have started the change in your mind if nowhere else.’

  For two pins she’d get in the car and go back home. If she started off now she could be home before dark. Well, she’d better make up her mind before she put a match to the fire. She stopped herself from going to the window yet once again by saying, ‘Enough of that now. Enough of that. Go or stay. Decide now.’

  It was as she stood in the middle of the room pondering that she heard the scraping of rough boots against the stone steps, and when the knock did come on the door she held her hand tight against her waist.

  She told herself not to rush, to take things easy, then went towards the door and opened it.

  It was a full minute before either of them spoke, and then he said, ‘I knew it was you; there couldn’t be two of you. I…I would have been back before now but those two chaps knew as much about cars as they did about climbing and that was very little. We couldn’t get the thing to start; just the matter of an empty tank. We…we had to go for petrol.’

  He was explaining all this to her as if he had left her a short while before and been held up.

  ‘Come in,’ she said.

  He came in, wiping his feet assiduously on the doormat before stepping onto the bare floorboards. He did not look round the room but at her and asked, ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, very well. And you?’

  ‘Very well.’ He inclined his head towards her, smiling slightly now. The action, and his voice made it sound as if he were amused as he would be at a child who was trying to be over polite. Then, the smile leaving his face, he said, ‘I remember saying this to you before, and I have to again, you don’t change.’

  ‘Nor you; you still lie gallantly.’ She turned from him and moved down the room, saying, ‘Won’t you sit down? I was just going to put a match to the fire.’

  As she struck the match and set the paper alight he said, ‘What an extraordinary room! You get no indication from outside. I’ve passed this place for years. Have you been long here?’

  She took the bellows and worked them and the flame licked up between the wood before she said, ‘Nearly three years.’

  ‘How is the family?’

  ‘Oh, very well. Kathy’s married, has a little family of her own now.’

  ‘How nice. And…and the others?’

  ‘Oh, just as they were, although Bill may be marrying soon I think. I lost my mother and father though.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Your mother-in-law—Mollie, wasn’t it? Is she still alive?’

  ‘Oh very much so. They’ll have to shoot Mollie, I think.’

  She put down the bellows, dusted her hands, then coming towards him, she asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, it’s some time since you had the last one?’

  ‘I would indeed. I haven’t had a meal since twelve…’

  ‘I…I can make you something.’

  ‘Oh no, please, I didn’t mean that. I was going to say I’ve got some grub in my pack. Would…would you mind if I brought my pack in for a moment? I don’t suppose anyone would steal it, not around here, but then again I’m not so sure. I was washing my feet in a burn once when somebody went off with my boots. It was only for a lark; I found them hanging on a tree about a mile farther on. And the foxes can get a bit nosy too, and they don’t wait for the dark.’

  ‘Yes, bring it in by all means.’

  ‘Oh, not in here.’ He looked round the room. ‘Is there a shed at the back?’

  ‘No, no,’ she said hastily—the only shed at the back was the one that covered the Elsan pan—‘but there’s an annexe to the kitchen where we store the deck chairs and things; it’ll go in there.’

  ‘Good.’

  She watched him go quickly out of the door and down the steps; then she closed her eyes and bit on her lip. She had told herself she must act ordinary, but she could never act so ordinary as he was doing. It was unbelievable. Nobody coming in would believe that he had just dropped in out of the blue. He was so self-assured. That, she supposed, came from teaching, and not just schoolboys, but men. What was he now, thirty? Good gracious! He looked so much older. He had grown gaunt in a way, there was hardly any flesh of him. But that could be the hill climbing; the energy that took left men with only bone and muscle.

  She sat down weakly on a chair, saying to herself the while that she couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t believe it. From the time she told him not to come back she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind for months. At night she would lie thinking about how she had lain in his arms and cried, and she would recapture the feel of his arms about her and hold on to the look in his eyes when he had said, ‘If I had fallen in love with anybody it wouldn’t have been Tishy.’ And then she would think, Oh Georgie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

>   During those months too, the relationship between Tishy and her had been strained. Tishy would go for days, even a week at a time, and not open her mouth. She had wanted to say to her, ‘He was only being kind, acting like our Bill or Rance would have done if they had been in.’ But Bill or Rance would never have held her like that. She would never have lain across their knees and been cradled in their arms.

  She recalled now that Tishy had never mentioned his name again; but she had got over him for she had taken up with Stanley Stone, and gradually her manner had thawed and returned to normal.

  ‘I’m amazed. What a lovely kitchen. The whole place is delightful. How…how did you come across it?’

  He had come in through the kitchen door, and now she rose and went past him and re-entered the kitchen, and as she put the kettle on the stove she told him briefly how she had come to own the cottage.

  ‘What is it called?’

  ‘Sheepcote Cottage. It was originally a shepherd’s cottage; then they added on to it and made three farm cottages. I understand that the original end, where the fireplace is, is over three hundred and fifty years old.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt about it. These…these places were built to last and to stand up against the weather. Do you use it often?’

  She hesitated before saying, ‘Yes, pretty often, but not so much as we used to. Everyone was newfangled with it the first year and the two hours’ journey was nothing. You know, people’s enthusiasms change.’ She gave him a half smile as she spread a cloth over the formica-topped kitchen table, then said, ‘You would prefer hot bacon and eggs to cold sandwiches if I’m not mistaken?’ and he answered, ‘You’re not mistaken.’

  As the bacon sizzled in the pan, and the eggs spluttered and he sat behind her at the table, talking all the while, she told herself that it was fantastic that she should be up here cooking him a meal after all this time. Of one thing she knew she was glad, and she emphasised this to herself, she didn’t think she liked him now, in fact she was sure she didn’t. He talked too much, too easily, too freely. But then, hadn’t he always talked easily and freely? Still, he was different, and she was glad he was different. It had knocked all that nonsense on the head; funny, how you nursed a thing for years, blew it up out of all proportion, gave to a little incident a meaning that was ridiculous to say the least. Oh, women were fools. All of them were fools. From their early teens onwards they made fools of themselves in a thousand and one ways. And she could cap them all. First, Georgie and then…Oh, she shouldn’t think that way about Georgie.