The Invisible Cord

by Catherine Cookson

  The wind howled around the house, a blast hit the windows, and for a moment the stout walls shuddered. She watched him turn slowly about and walk towards the kitchen.

  When she was alone she went to the couch again and hung over the back of it for support while she told herself she mustn’t be sick. She…must…not…be…sick.

  As Annie descended the stairs, Alan came from the kitchen with a lighted lamp, and after placing it on the table he went straight to her and, taking her hands, said, ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No, no.’ She shook her head. ‘Stay here. I’ll…I’ll write.’

  ‘Write? But I can’t just wait for a letter, I’ll come on tomorrow.’

  ‘No, no. Please, Alan, please, just stay here, just wait.’

  ‘I’ll phone you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, do that. Some time tomorrow, in the afternoon.’

  ‘I’d rather you’d let me come with you.’

  ‘No.’ She was shaking her head widely. ‘I’ve got to explain to them.’ She turned from him and walked towards the closed door where Tishy was struggling into her mac again, but before she reached it Alan was by her side and as if they were entirely alone he pulled her round to him, saying, ‘This makes no difference, you understand, about Rance? This makes no difference? No matter what’s happened, promise me it’ll make no difference.’

  ‘I promise, Alan.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to stop you coming away with me?’

  ‘Nothing; I promise you, darling.’

  They were in each other’s arms.

  She couldn’t bear it. Her mother was shameless, utterly shameless. She pulled open the door and a blast of air filled the room. The wind checked her running down the steps; it drove her sideways towards the iron railings for a moment. Without waiting to share the light of the lantern she went tearing down the hill, but from the wavering light she knew that her mother was close behind, and when she paused at the broken wall Annie caught up with her. They did not speak but lay against it for a moment panting, before going on again.

  Even when they reached the copse they still didn’t speak, and Tishy got into the car and backed it harshly into a bank of mud, then drove it forward, sending the spray window high.

  She did not wait at the end of the road to see whether the Mini was behind her; it wasn’t until she was on the straight stretch going towards Otterburn that the headlights came up on her and remained at the same distance for most of the journey …

  From the moment they entered the house it was as if the incident in the cottage had never taken place, at least from the way Annie acted, for, almost pulling Tishy into the front room, she demanded, ‘Now without any heroics you tell me what’s happened right from the beginning.’

  ‘I’ve…I’ve told you already.’ Tishy’s teeth were chattering with the cold.

  ‘Well, tell me again.’

  So, slowly and without venom now, more as if she were answering the enquiries of a stranger, she gave Annie the details, beginning from the time Rance had come in. When she had finished Annie sat down and stared straight before her. Why was it that nothing lasted? She had been in heaven for the past three days, and that was the right description; every minute she had spent with Alan had been nothing short of heaven. And now she had been thrust into hell. She believed every word that Tishy had said; Tishy was no liar, she didn’t even exaggerate. She also knew that she was right when she pointed out that she had used the betting slip as a cover up. She recalled the times of late when she had looked at Rance, and looked quickly away again, refusing to believe what her mind was telling her. She had, on these occasions, blinded herself by reasoning that if he were on drugs he would take them every day, wouldn’t he? They all did; it got a hold of them. But Rance could go for days without coming in with that odd look on his face, and her having to practically drag him out of bed the following morning to get him to work.

  Then there was the fact that had kept niggling at her: she had never seen him with his shirt off for years. And again her twisted reasoning had turned on her and said, You know he’s always been fastidious about his clothes, and his person. But what about in the garage? He never rolled his sleeves up like other men when doing a job, but always kept them buttoned. Yet it wasn’t necessary for a boss to go around with his sleeves rolled up, was it? She had always given herself the answer she wanted to hear.

  She looked down at her feet, wet and covered with mud, then at Tishy’s, and as if to prove she had left her other self completely back there in the cottage she said to her, ‘You’d better get those wet things off.’

  As she walked slowly to the door, Tishy said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  She turned to her. ‘I don’t know, I’ll have to talk to him first. I should say if all you tell me is true, that there’s nothing I can do, is there?’

  As she entered the kitchen Tishy was behind her, saying, ‘But you would if you could, wouldn’t you? You would still help him to get out of it.’

  Annie had reached the stove. She looked from the kettle to the cup and saucer and teapot that were on the table; then she put her hand on the kettle and turned and gazed at Tishy, and her look said, ‘He must be in.’ The next minute she was rushing out of the kitchen, across the hall and up the stairs.

  She did not tap on her son’s bedroom door but thrust it open and switched on the light. He was in bed, his head almost buried under the clothes. She went to him. She did not touch him, but said loudly, ‘Rance!’ Then again, ‘Rance!’

  ‘What…what is it? Oh!’ He turned over and looked at her. ‘Hello, you’re back?’ He was blinking the sleep from his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I’m back. And you’re back apparently. Get up!’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I said get up! You heard me.’

  ‘Now look! It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘Get up!’ It was a bellow and before the sound had faded away she had gripped the bedclothes and pulled them from him, then stood staring down at him where he lay fully dressed, even to his light overcoat. After gazing at him for a moment she backed from him, then went to the wardrobe and pulled the door open. There were no suits hanging on the rails but his suitcase was there. When she lifted it out she found it was heavy.

  Looking towards the bed, her eyes lowered to the floor, she saw the outline of his other case. She went slowly towards him again where he was sitting on the edge of the bed now and she asked grimly, ‘Going some place?’

  He didn’t answer, but after staring at her for a moment his head drooped.

  She now whipped the chair from the side of the bed and, climbing on it, thrust open the top of the Scotch chest. It was empty. When she stepped down he was staring at her, his eyes wide and his mouth open, and she nodded at him. ‘Oh yes, I know about it; and I knew there was some fiddle you were up to, but God in heaven!’ Her head now moved in a slow sweep from one shoulder to the other. ‘I wouldn’t have it that you were making it from drugs.’

  ‘People need them, Mam.’

  ‘What?’ She had not made out his muttering, and he said again, ‘People need them, it’s…it’s sort of medical…’

  ‘Medical! My God! You can sit there and delude yourself that it’s, it’s…sort of medical.’ Her voice had been low, but now it rose to a shout. ‘Is it medical to stab a man? Is it medical to arrange it so as your brother-in-law takes the blame? Though how, in the name of God, you expected that to pass I’ll never know! You must have been hard up for an escape route to pin this on Percy. But the dirtiest trick you’ve ever done in your life was to pump him full of your filth.’ Her lips curled back from her teeth. ‘You’ve always hated him because he was streets above you, not only in class but in every other way, but to…’

  He thrust his head towards her now and for the first time he showed fight by saying, ‘You’ve never liked him, so what are you on about?’

  ‘No, it’s true I never cared much
for him, but at this moment I love him, and if it lies with me he’ll not bear this suspicion a minute longer.’

  He now rose to his feet and stood staring at her while his whole face, his whole body, quivered and he reverted back to the pleading little boy as he said, ‘Mam, look; give me a chance. I…I could have been away, miles away out of the country but…but I wanted to see you again. I waited…I waited hours in the rain. I…I couldn’t come in because—’ he dipped his head, shook it, then lifted it again and looked at her where she was standing as if she had died, so colourless, so immobile was she, and, his voice almost a whimper, he said, ‘I…I couldn’t go without seeing you. Then when you didn’t come I knew I’d have to because, because I’ve got to be there—’ he stopped, swallowed deeply then ended, ‘I’ve got to be there before five.’

  Her voice came stiffly through her pale lips. ‘Where?’

  ‘Oh, it…it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You…you wouldn’t know the place, it’s outside of Newcastle. Anyway, what does it matter?’

  ‘You’re hopping off by plane then? I suppose Benny has arranged it all.’

  He was gazing at her with that little-boy-lost look in his eyes, but he made no answer until she said, sharply, ‘Take your coat off!’

  ‘Now, Mam, Mam, I don’t want to argue.’

  She had advanced on him. ‘Take your coat off. If you don’t I’ll tear it off.’

  ‘Look, Mam—’ he moved a step back from her, ‘Look, I’ve hurt my hand.’ He held out his bandaged hand towards her then added quickly, ‘Stop it, you’ll get hurt. I’m telling you, you’ll get hurt.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me. Take your coat off.’

  When the back of his legs touched the bed he took his coat off and, flinging it behind him, said, ‘There now! Are you satisfied?’

  ‘No. Take the other off.’

  ‘Look, Mam…’

  Her hand shot out and with a blow to the side of the face she knocked him backwards onto the bed. When he went to right himself she thrust her hand towards the dressing table, and after a second of groping clutched at a metal statue. It was about a foot high and represented a running boy. He had bought it a few years previously, and no matter where she put it in his room he would always move it back onto the dressing table. Now she held it above his head as she cried, ‘Take that coat off else I’ll brain you!’ and then, ‘I’ll take it off for you.’

  ‘Ma-am!’ He drew out her name as if he were singing it, and she barked at him, ‘Don’t mam me any more. Take your coat off!’

  And he took his coat off.

  ‘Now your shirt.’

  ‘No, Mam, no…Aw no, Mam.’

  ‘Get your shirt off.’ Her voice was low and almost toneless now.

  ‘Mam, I’ll tell you anything, anything you want to…’

  ‘All I want at this moment is for you to take your shirt off. Now! Now!’ Her voice rose as her free hand shot out and grabbed the front of his shirt. The next minute they were struggling together.

  Neither of them were aware that the door had burst open until Tishy cried, ‘Mam! Mam! Stop it!’ With a fierce tug she managed to pull Annie away and with her came the sleeve of Rance’s shirt, and the sound of it tearing was like a knife being drawn against glass.

  Annie was now leaning back against the dressing table, the top of the sleeve gripped against her waist. The other end of it, still attached to Rance’s wrist, was in this moment symbolical of the cord that had ever been between them. As she stared at the pock-marked flesh her lips slowly moved away from her teeth; then as if it were a reptile she threw the shirt sleeve back at him. ‘You filthy! Filthy—’ she swallowed deeply now, gulped at some spittle and began to cough.

  ‘Come away. Come away.’ Tishy was leading her from the room as if she were an old woman, and she seemed to have turned into an old woman for she allowed herself to be led. She made no resistance until she had reached the hall, but when Tishy guided her towards the sitting-room door she slowly pushed her aside and walked towards the front door.

  ‘Where you going? They…they won’t let you in the hospital at this time of night.’

  ‘Hospital?’ Annie turned slowly and looked at Tishy. ‘I’m not going to any hospital, lass, I’m going to do what I should have done years ago.’ Even her voice sounded old.

  ‘Mam! Mam!’ Tishy’s voice was low and agitated. ‘Hadn’t…hadn’t you better wait? Don’t go out in this state.’

  ‘Huh! It’s funny.’ Annie was shaking her head now. ‘You tell me to wait; you’ve been pitching the truth at me for years, urging me to do something, and now you’re telling me to wait. Well, the time’s come, lass; the waiting’s past.’

  As she picked up her coat casually from the hall chair Tishy muttered, ‘Wait. Wait a minute; I’ll get mine, I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No!’ Annie’s voice was firm now. ‘No, you keep out of this. He’s going to have no-one to blame but me.’

  ‘But Mam!’

  ‘No, I’ve said no, girl.’ And on that she opened the door and went out.

  Tishy stood in the porch watching her fight her way against the wind and rain towards the car. At one point the wind billowed her coat over her head and she turned her back and lifted her hands up in order to pull it down, and the lamplight shone on her face, picking out each white feature and setting it in a cameo to be forever remembered.

  Not until the car had moved off did Tishy close the door; then characteristically she stood with her back to it and looked towards the stairs, and all she could say was, ‘Dear God! Dear God!’ In this moment her own pain was utterly blotted out; she could think only of those two, and she didn’t know for whom she was most sorry, her mother or Rance. That she should feel the slightest pity for him amazed her. He was filthy, unclean, he was as good as a murderer, and at bottom he was a snivelling coward; yet a moment ago, when from the doorway she had watched them struggling, she had known that one good blow from him could have knocked her mother flying, and he hadn’t lifted his hand. She had seen her mother gripping his bandaged thumb and the pain of that alone must have been excruciating; still he hadn’t hit her.

  She stumbled into the sitting room and, her arms folded about her thin body, she began pacing the floor. Soon the police would be here. They would take him; he would go to prison. For life, if Mr Wilkins died. She’d always hated him, she still did, yet in spite of herself there was rising in her a pity for him, and strangely, she knew, it was not because he might have to spend the rest of his life in prison but because he had already lost his mother. If he had ever loved anyone as much as himself he had loved her. All her life she herself had been jealous of the love between them; more so, because she knew that her mother had returned his love twofold; but during the last hour she had seen that love turn into cold hate.

  Her teeth began to chatter, her whole body to tremble. She must have something hot to drink. She mustn’t land up with one of her colds, not at this time.

  She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. A few minutes later she had mashed the tea, and a few minutes later still she had drunk two cupfuls so scalding that it burned her mouth.

  There was no sound in the house except the wind tearing down the chimneys. What was he doing up there? Scheming for some way finally to get round Mam? But surely he would see that was impossible now.

  It was about half an hour later when the kitchen door opened and he came in. He was fully dressed again but without a tie. After one glance at him she turned her head away; but he came slowly towards the table, and in a voice that he had never used to her before in his life, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Tishy.’

  When she looked up at him she felt for a moment that her heart would break, for she was seeing him as her mother had seen him all these years, the vulnerable, weak boy, needing something that no-one could give.

  ‘Where is she?’ He moved his head back towards the wall, indicating the sitting room, and she shook her h
ead, she couldn’t speak. Hadn’t he any idea of where she was? He must know where she was. Yet she herself hadn’t known what her mother’s intentions were until she had voiced them.

  Apparently taking her silence for an affirmative answer, he turned from the table and made towards the door, but there he paused and, looking back at her, he said, ‘Goodbye, Tishy. I doubt if we’ll ever see each other again. I’m…I’m sorry.’

  She now spoke his name as she had never spoken it before. ‘Rance,’ she said softly, ‘Mam…Mam’s gone out.’

  He turned fully towards her but stood still. She saw the expression on his face change. She saw fear like a mask drop over it.

  ‘Where? Where’s she gone?’

  When she didn’t answer, he simply stared back at her. Then she saw him change into the Rance that she knew, the one she had been acquainted with all her life. His face going stiff, his jaws locking, his anger set the blood in his head pulsing until his face looked almost purple.

  ‘She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t!’ He was bawling at her now, and, her pity of the previous moment vanishing, she cried at him, ‘Well, she has.’

  ‘Aw no! No!’

  As she watched the expression on his face changing again, she became afraid and rose from the chair and moved to the end of the table. He looked like someone gone mad and when he screamed at her, ‘The polis station! She’s gone there?’ she thought it better to remain quiet. She saw him dash into the hall: but before she could move he was back, saying, ‘How long? how long?’ He looked at his watch.

  She was going to say, ‘Long enough for her to have told them everything,’ but what she muttered was, ‘Not…not long.’

  He ran from her now and not until she heard the wind rushing into the hall did she move. The front door was open, his two cases were standing at the bottom of the stairs. As she went slowly forwards to close the door she heard the car being revved up, then on a screech tear down the street.