The Year of the Virgins

by Catherine Cookson

  She watched her mother’s hand move slowly across the lower part of her face; she saw the thumb press into one cheek and the fingers into the other, forcing colour into the pale skin around them.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she cried, the words muffled by the palm of her hand. ‘I…I knew there was something…something that I should have seen, but not this. Oh!…Oh, your father!’ She now took her hand from her face and placed it on the top of her head as if pressing herself down into the seat and muttered, ‘Dear God.’

  For her mother to mention God’s name twice, apart from in a prayer, was an indication of how the news was affecting her. Yet she had not raised her voice. And that was the difference between the two mothers: her mother-in-law had screamed her anger, whereas her own mother was able to contain herself. Appearances must be kept up.

  Annette watched her mother press a bell on the wall, while she continued to stare at her daughter. She said nothing until the door opened and Sarah appeared; and she listened with amazement at her mother’s composure, as in a perfectly calm voice she said, ‘Ask Mr Allison if he can spare a moment; I would like to speak to him.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  When the door had closed the shock returned to Mrs Allison’s voice as she said, ‘This will have a terrible effect on your father and his standing in the church. Oh!’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Do you realise what you have done, girl? You have ruined us. We won’t be able to lift our heads up again. And that wedding! All those people at that wedding, and you in white…purity. Oh!’ She jerked herself up out of the chair and began to pace the room.

  It was just as Annette was about to defend herself that the door opened and her father appeared. As usual, his presence seemed to fill the room and make it appear smaller: his height and breadth, and his sheer bulk…the stiff, quiet bulk of him which she could never recall being disturbed in any way. ‘Good morning, Annette,’ he said. His tone was level.

  ‘Good morning, Father.’

  ‘You’re early. Is everything…?’

  That his wife dared to cut him off in the middle of a sentence by saying, ‘James, this is no time for niceties; she has something to tell you,’ caused him to breathe deeply before he turned his enquiring gaze from his wife to his daughter, at whom he now stared for a full minute without speaking, and then he said simply, ‘Yes?’

  Her stomach had trembled all the way here; she had felt sick with it. But the fear was not new; she had always been afraid of this man. He was her father; yet, unlike other fathers, he had never put his arms about her. He had never held her head against that broad chest. When he had kissed her, it was on the brow, and that was rarely. More than once since she had conceived the child within her she had wondered how her own conception had come about: what had stirred his bulk to create, and how had her prim, composed mother responded? Had they both later been ashamed of the act? Yes, yes, she could imagine that. And ever since they must have prayed to expunge it, for she had never seen them kiss. She had never even seen them hold hands. They slept in separate beds. As far back as she could remember they had always had separate beds. Her mother, she knew, undressed in the dressing room and under her nightie, and had taught her to do the same. Her mind now gave a jump back to the previous night, when she had stood naked with Don’s hand on her stomach. Would that sight have broken down her father’s façade?

  ‘I’m going to have a baby, Father.’

  No muscle of his face moved, except that his eyelids seemed to droop slightly.

  ‘You’ve heard what she said, James? You’ve heard what she said?’ Her mother was clutching the front of her woollen dress with both hands as if she was suddenly very cold. ‘You see, it must have happened…’

  ‘Quiet!’ The word itself was said quietly, but it was a command. ‘You say you are going to have a child?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Conceived out of wedlock?’

  ‘You could say so, Father.’

  ‘I could say so? But what have you to say? You who were brought up in strict piety—have defiled yourself.’

  ‘We’ll have to move. I couldn’t bear it,’ her mother put in.

  He cast a glance at his wife, but his attention was brought back swiftly to Annette for she was exclaiming, ‘Oh yes, follow the Tolletts. They too couldn’t stand the shame of Maria having a baby. She was another one who had been brought up in strict piety. You’re hypocrites, both of you.’ Now she did see a change in her father’s face: she watched the purple hue take over and she saw that for a moment he was unable to speak, staggered apparently by the accusation and audacity of this child, as he thought her—at least, he had until a moment ago—for she went on, ‘I’ve thought it for a long time and I’ll say it now: it’s all show; stained-glass window in the church; offering to pay for the new organ, but begrudging your shop staff a shilling or so rise. It’s all show. And look at you.’ She flung her hand from one to the other. ‘Have you ever been happy together? I was glad to be at school, just to get away from this house.’

  Her father was now speaking through tight lips: ‘Do you know what you have done, girl?’ His voice was thin and sounded deadly, with a deep finality about it. ‘You have severed yourself from me.’

  Annette stood staring, her eyelids blinking, her throat full. She had thought she could get through this meeting without breaking down, but now the tears rained down her cheeks and she cried, ‘My mother-in-law was taken to the asylum last night, not only because she came upon me standing naked before my husband, but also because, like you both, she has religious mania, and is an unnatural parent. And you needn’t worry about severing me from the family. That certainly works both ways.’

  If she had turned into the devil incarnate they could not have looked on her with more horror and distaste, and it appeared to Annette at this moment that her father was actually swelling, his whole appearance so frightening she felt she must get out of the house at once.

  She turned and pushed her way from the room and along the corridor to where Sarah was waiting near the front door. And on the sight of her, Sarah exclaimed, ‘Oh, miss. Oh! Oh, miss. Don’t take on. It’ll be all right. You just stick to your guns. We’re all for you.’

  Annette could say nothing in reply. She ran blindly across the drive to the car, but once she had seated herself, she would not allow herself to set off until her spasm of crying had stopped when, having dried her eyes and face, she turned the car about and drove away from the home of her childhood, knowing that whether they stayed or went, her parents would never recognise her again.

  Five

  It was nearing the end of March. The sun was bright and the month had ceased to keep to pattern, for there was no high wind today. It was Saturday and visiting day at the County Hospital. Daniel, Flo and Harvey were standing in the hallway amid a gentle toing and froing of patients and visitors. The grounds outside were already dotted with people walking between the flower beds, and as Daniel glanced out through the open door, he said, in an undertone, ‘If the inside was half as attractive as the outside of this place it would do.’

  ‘Why do you think we have to wait?’ asked Flo.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine and you know it, Flo: somebody’s just mentioned my name to her and she’s had a screaming fit.’

  ‘She seemed much improved when we were last here.’

  Daniel looked at Harvey. ‘Yes,’ he said; ‘no offence meant, but she could even tolerate you, whereas I’m still the thorn in her flesh and always will be apparently. So it would seem there’s not much chance of her improving unless I could be got rid of in some way.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Daniel,’ Flo said sharply. ‘Anyway, the impression I got is that they are very good to the patients.’

  ‘You’ve only been here twice, Flo, so we have different opinions on that. From what I’ve seen, if you’re not quite round the bend when you come in you’ll certainly have travelled the distance before you’re ready to go out; I’m sure they must imbi
be one another’s disorders. I hate the place.’ Daniel turned quickly towards an approaching nurse who, smiling broadly, said to him, ‘Matron would like to have a word with you, Mr Coulson.’ She passed her smile over Harvey and Flo, then turned away; and Daniel followed her down a bare stone corridor and into an office where, behind a desk, sat a comparatively young woman and, to her side, a middle-aged man.

  The man stood up and held out his hand to Daniel, saying, ‘How are you, Mr Coulson?’ to which Daniel replied, ‘Quite well, doctor, thank you,’ then inclined his head towards the matron.

  When seated, he waited for one or the other of them to speak. And it was the doctor who said, ‘Naturally you’ll be wanting to know how your wife is faring. Over the last two or three weeks…it is three weeks since you were here?’ He now turned his head to the matron. ‘That so, matron?’ And, looking down on a ledger, matron said, ‘Yes; yes, it is three weeks since Mr Coulson’s last visit.’

  Thinking they must be blaming him for his neglect, Daniel now put in, ‘I’ve been under the weather myself; sort of ’flu.’

  ‘Oh. Oh’—the doctor wagged his finger at him now—‘we are not criticising you for your absence, don’t believe that for a moment, but matron felt that you should be put in the picture as to your wife’s progress and what might impede it…’

  As he paused Daniel put in, ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Well’—it was the matron who now took up the conversation—‘I’m afraid Mr Coulson, it is yourself; you know what happened the last time she saw you. Well now, it’s any mention of your name or that of your son that puts her…well, puts her back, we’ll say. The only persons she seems to appreciate a visit from are her sister and her friend.’ And the doctor, nodding in agreement, said, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? We had thought that in her condition she would be against all men, but it seems no, for the twice he has been here she has greeted him quite normally, and there has been no reaction. Otherwise she has progressed in that she no longer goes into tantrums; in fact, she has responded to treatment amazingly well. So, what we think Mr Coulson, is that it would be better if she doesn’t see you for a while but that her sister could, if possible, visit her more frequently. Up till your last visit we had hopes that she would soon be well enough to go home, at least for a day or even a weekend. That won’t be possible, I’m afraid. We are sorry about this.’

  ‘Oh, you needn’t be sorry; I quite understand. But tell me: if her attitude towards me and the mention of her family upsets her like this, how long do you imagine that it will go on?’

  ‘Oh, that is hard to say in these cases,’ the doctor answered. ‘It’s a time-taking business. We are hoping that she will respond to the electric treatment in that it will eventually tone down, if not obliterate, her animosity towards you.’

  Daniel made no comment, but his thoughts were: only death would obliterate her hate of him. He rose to his feet now, saying, ‘It will be better if I don’t come at all then?’

  ‘For the time being.’ The doctor moved towards him. ‘But as I said, if her sister could come more frequently it might be helpful.’

  ‘She lives in London. It would be impossible for her to come up every week.’

  ‘Well, as often as she possibly can would be appreciated.’

  ‘I’ll ask her. Thank you.’ And he nodded to one then the other and went out.

  In the hall, Flo was standing at the window watching Harvey talking to a patient. She turned at Daniel’s approach, saying, ‘Isn’t it sad? She’s been talking to him, that woman out there, quite normally, as normal as you or I, more so I should say; then she asked him if he would like to go out and see the garden.’

  Daniel’s mind was not at the moment sensitive to such feelings, and he said abruptly, ‘They don’t want me to visit her again, but they’re asking you to come more often. How about it?’

  Flo paused for a moment; then shrugging her shoulders, she said, ‘Yes, it’s all right. We may not be able to manage it every week, but we’ll try. Anything to help her. May I go to see her now?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’

  She was turning away when she stopped and said, ‘You shouldn’t be surprised at her not wanting to see you, Daniel.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t. I don’t know why I come.’

  ‘Because you feel it’s your duty, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. But now, apparently, I’m relieved of it and the burden’s been passed to you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t look at it that way. Anyway, we’ll talk about it later.’

  When she was gone he stared through the window, to see Harvey was now strolling with the woman; then presently he went out and joined them.

  ‘Oh, there you are.’ Harvey did not go on to ask why he wasn’t visiting Winifred, but said, ‘This is Mrs Deebar.’

  The lady in question, who was in her early sixties, leaned forward towards Harvey and, smiling broadly, she said, ‘You haven’t got it right. It’s De…bar. It’s not like the De in Debrett.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Harvey now turned to Daniel, saying, ‘Mrs Debar is a novelist. She’s had a book published called—’ He paused and looked at the woman, and she, still smiling a very sweet smile, said, ‘Manners and Decorum in the Victorian Era.’

  Daniel made the required motion with his head now, saying, ‘That sounds very interesting,’ to which the lady replied, ‘Well, one tries one’s best. I’ve had a lot of help from Mr Disraeli.’

  Daniel and Harvey exchanged glances. They said nothing, but continued to look at the lady. And she, turning to and giving all her attention to Harvey, said, ‘Thank you for your company. It isn’t often one has the opportunity to meet and converse with the uncivilised, but it is nevertheless very enlightening, even instructive. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting Mr Macmillan to tea. Good day, gentlemen.’

  They each muttered something that was inaudible, then watched her walking, in fact, tripping between the flower beds and across the drive towards the main door. Not until she had disappeared did they look at one another; and then it was Harvey whose voice held a chuckle as he muttered, ‘I…I should have guessed, I suppose. But she was talking as sanely as you or I.’

  ‘God help her!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you need to be sorry for her. If it could be analysed I think she’s happier in her world than we are in ours. You only had to look at her face; it was quite serene. And—’ his voice taking on a sad note now he said, ‘She must have been quite beautiful in her day. But that last bit’—he chuckled—‘“uncivilised”. Well, it’s only what a great many still think, I suppose.’

  As they both turned to go back inside, Harvey asked, ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Something that mightn’t please you. Apparently the onus is going to be on Flo. They’ve worked it out that the sight of me only makes matters worse, and that the only one they think it advisable for her to see is Flo.’

  ‘Well, I can see no obstacle to that. It’s all right with me. I certainly don’t mind coming; in fact, I’m glad to get away from London.’

  ‘But you don’t know how long it’s going to last.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? But if that’s all you’ve got to worry about, Daniel, you can stop now. As you know, Flo and Winifred never got on, but since this happened, Flo has…well, become sorry for her.’

  ‘Most people have.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. It’s like an assault case: the victim is often forgotten; the main objective is to get the perpetrator off. Anyway, don’t worry about us; you have plenty of that to do back in the house. It’s just on Annette’s time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, no; she’s a bit longer to go yet. And that’s another thing: how will she take the news of a grandson or daughter? I’ve little hope that it will revive some sort of interest in her. I can’t see anything stirring that apathy of hers now, except the sight of me.’

  But there Daniel was wrong. Winifred was sitting in the large
room, Flo by her side. There were other people, seemingly family groups all about; some were talking together, others were just sitting still staring at the patient while the patient looked into space. In one group two small girls were laughing. It was a strange sound because it was ordinary laughter.

  Flo, looking at her sister, felt pity rising from the depths of her. She had never liked Winnie: they had nothing in common, but she wouldn’t have wished the devil in hell to find himself in a situation like this…in a place like this. Winnie, she knew, had always been good to herself, had her fill, food-wise and comfort-wise, but had remained empty. She had needed love, oh yes, she had needed love, and to love. But she had centred this on the wrong one.

  She now put her hand on Winifred’s and said, ‘Don sends his love.’

  ‘Who?’

  There was no insanity in the eyes that looked into hers; at least, the look in them was not that which she would have expected in the eyes of anyone insane. Whatever this new attitude was she felt it didn’t stem from madness. And her voice was slightly sharp as she said, ‘Now Winnie, don’t act like that! Don is your son and you love…’

  ‘I have no son.’

  ‘You have three sons.’

  ‘Huh! Three sons you say? Would I be mother to an idiot, a bastard and a cripple?’

  Inwardly Flo felt herself shrinking away from the hate showing on her sister’s face as she hissed out the truth, for indeed, she was mother to an idiot, a bastard and a cripple. But put like that it sounded horrifying. She stared at Winifred now realising that her sister wasn’t mad in that sense, she was just burned up with hate. Hate was a terrible emotion, a consuming fire that in Winifred’s case could never be douched. That would mean she would remain here for…Oh! She actually shook her head at the thought of her sister having to spend the rest of her life in this place, a place which gave her the creeps even to visit.

  Thinking as she did, she was afterwards to ask herself what made her make such a remark, as ‘Don’t talk like that, Winnie; you could have so much to look forward to. There’s a child coming; you will be a grandmother,’ for her hand was thrust away so quickly that it hit the edge of the chair and she had to hold her wrist tightly to stop herself from crying out. And now she was gaping at Winifred, whose body was shaking as if with an ague, and through her trembling lips she was hissing: ‘It’s you who should be in here, daring to suggest I will be a grandmother to a child with a whore for its mother and fathered by the other bastard. My son was pure, do you hear? My son was pure…’