The Round Tower

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘No, I don’t think he would do that. I don’t think he ever wants to see me again. I think he’d show me the door if I did go home.’

  ‘How did your mother react to it?’

  ‘She is guided by Father, she always has been.’

  He rose from the chair and walked down the middle of the attic. He had to keep in the middle to prevent bumping his head. And he walked the length of the room twice before he spoke again, and then he had his back to her as he asked, ‘The fellow. Couldn’t he marry you?’

  He waited for her to answer, and when none was forthcoming he turned and looked at her. She was sitting staring down at her hands resting on the mound of her stomach, and he went to her now and, dropping on his hunkers before her, he put his hand under her chin and pushed it upwards and asked again, ‘Couldn’t he?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s…it’s impossible.’

  ‘Nothing’s impossible.’

  ‘That is.’

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then he rose to his feet and, drawing in a deep breath, said flatly, ‘Well, you can’t go on like this, you just can’t.’

  ‘Other girls do. They survive.’

  ‘Aye, but other girls aren’t like you.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. I’ve seen girls at the clinic. The look in their eyes. You can tell us. Oh, you’d be surprised.’

  ‘Nothin’ surprises me, Van. And anyway, I’m not concerned what happens to other girls, I’m just concerned at the moment at what’s gonna happen to you.’

  She was staring up at him, and slowly her face crumpled; then her body bent forward and she was sobbing into her hands.

  When his arms went about her and his hands felt her shoulder blades under her dress his own body stiffened against the touch of her. But only for a moment; then he was clasping her tightly and saying, ‘There now, there now. It’s all right.’ But the more he soothed her the more she cried. ‘Look.’ He brought her damp hair from her brow and face. ‘Don’t carry on like that, it’ll only upset you. An’ the bairn as well. Come on, come on, stop it. Give over. Look, give over.’

  But she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t give over. She had cried before, she had cried night after night when she had first come to this room, but it wasn’t this kind of crying. This was a deluge of weeping; the force of it was a hurricane shaking her body. He became worried, not only for her, but that at any moment one of them across the landing would come to the door. That bloke Noakes, whom he had met once and whose age and manner had allayed any suspicions he had had of him, but who in his turn might be thinking her visitor was up to something. He implored her now, ‘Van! Van! Don’t. Aw, don’t.’

  He led her to the edge of the bed and, pressing her backwards, he said, ‘There, there, lie down.’

  She was lying on her side now, her face covered with her hands, and he knelt by the bed and held her wrists, and he wished his mother was here—his mother would have known what to do. If she went on like this she’d really be ill. She wasn’t only crying, it was more like hysteria. The cure for hysteria, he had read, was a good slap along the lug; well, he couldn’t administer that kind of shock treatment, but he could give her a shock. Aye, it was one way to do it.

  He had wondered all the weekend how he would put it over and what her reaction would be. Well, now was the opportune time to try it out. He pulled her hands roughly from her face and putting his own down close to hers he said firmly, ‘Listen, Van. Listen to what I’m going to say to you. Now listen…Will you marry me?’

  It worked. After a few minutes her sobs turned to intermittent shudders, and then she was staring at him. Her breath still coming in gasps, her eyes puckered, she was staring into his face. Then stammering, she asked, ‘W…what did you s…say?’

  ‘You heard what I said all right, but I’ll say it again. Will you marry me? Under ordinary circumstances this could never have happened, you know it, and I know it, but you’re not livin’ under ordinary circumstances, are you? That’s not sayin’ what I’ve got to offer you is a piece of cake, God knows it’s far from it, but…but it would get you out of this. And I’ll have you off me mind sort of, not worryin’ every hour of the day what’s happening to you in this warren of pimps and whores. Our house is not a palace, you might think it’s a slum, but God, it’s better than this, and you’ll have me mum to see to you. What about it?’

  ‘Oh, Angus, Angus.’ Her face crumpled again, and he shook her hands roughly, saying harshly under his breath, ‘Now don’t start that again, you’ll make yourself bad.’

  She was biting down on her lip as he said, ‘Think about it. I don’t want yes or no now, just think about it. But as I see it, when you’re drowning in the deep sea you don’t turn your nose up at a floating plank.’

  She tugged her hands from his and again her face was covered, and again she was crying, but quietly, and he stood up now and walked to the table, and from there, with his back to her, he said, ‘I know it’ll be a big comedown for you. I might be looked on as a bit of a catch round our quarter, but from the place where you’re standin’ I’m less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheels, sort of, an’ if you did decide to come to our place,’ he didn’t say ‘to marry me’, now, ‘you’d have to stand the racket. And it would hit you from a good many sides. You’d be livin’ atween the devil and the deep sea. Your own folks wouldn’t own you ever again, so you’ve got to think on that, and my kind would be suspicious. So I’m warnin’ you, do a bit of thinkin’ about it. I’ll be back the morrow night. But mind, don’t think I’m blackmailing you or anything like that, for if you do say no you haven’t seen the last of me.’

  When he turned to her, she was sitting up, leaning wearily against the iron rails of the bed. He came and looked down at her and he put out his hand and lightly took the hair from behind one ear, and as he touched her the tears welled in her eyes again, and he said brusquely, ‘Now, now, stop it. I’m off. Well, you have it. Chew on it. I’ll see you the morrow night.’ As he reached the door he turned to her and said, ‘Think hard; it’s usually for life.’

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs he stood in the darkness and wiped the sweat from his face. God! Where in hell’s name had he got the nerve from? And if she said no, what then? Aye, what then? He knew what then. His self-esteem would never rise to the surface again. He would shout louder, bluster more and belly laugh at every opportunity, but under his skin he’d be grovelling in the deep, deep chasm that held his self-disdain.

  He didn’t go straight home but called in a pub and had a double whisky. When he reached the house there was only his mother in and he was glad of this.

  She greeted him rather tersely as he threw off his hat and coat, and when he took his seat opposite her at the side of the fireplace she looked at him and waited. In a way she knew what was coming, but still wouldn’t believe it.

  ‘I’ve been to see Van, Mum,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,’ she answered; then went on looking at a magazine she had been reading.

  ‘Now look!’ He pointed his index finger at her as if it was a gun. ‘Don’t you start.’

  ‘You’re a bloody fool.’ She was on her feet, and he cried back at her, ‘Aye, I know I’m a bloody fool. But I’m not the first, an’ I won’t be the last. Are you going to listen to me or not?’

  She walked over to the dresser and snatched up a cup and saucer from the rack; then coming to the fire and lifting up a brown teapot that had been standing on the hob for the past hour she returned to the table and poured herself out a cup of tea that looked like tar.

  ‘I’m askin’ you.’ He, too, was standing now, leaning on the table looking down at her, ‘Are you goin’ to listen me out?’

  ‘I haven’t much choice, have I? I have to listen you out apparently whether I like it or not.’

  He bowed his head and fought to control his temper. Then, his voice deep in his throat, he said, ‘She’s
in a frightful state, Mam. Rosie saw where she’s workin’. That’s bad enough. But if you saw the house where she’s livin’, you wouldn’t believe it; you just wouldn’t, Mam.’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’

  ‘We’re not talkin’ about faults or blame or anythin’ else. By the way, I thought you liked her; I thought you liked her the best of the bunch.’

  ‘Aye, I liked her, but I don’t like the idea of you gettin’ yourself mixed up with her. You got blamed for somethin’ you didn’t do, and now you’re walkin’ right into their hands. Do you think anybody would believe that you’re not the father now?’

  ‘Do you know somethin’?’ His voice was deceptively low. ‘I don’t care a monkey’s cuss what anybody believes. They’ll believe what they like in any case, no matter what you say, or I say, or God Almighty says, but I would have thought that you might have had a different attitude, especially under the circumstances.’

  ‘What did you expect? The old family retainer with the heart of gold?…Well,’ she leant towards him and thumbed her chest, ‘that isn’t a picture of me. Charity begins at home. What charity I have is needed here. As for her, she should be in her own home, an’ gettin’ charity there.’

  ‘Well, she thinks different, Mam. And so do I.’

  ‘You do, do you?’

  ‘Aye, I do.’

  ‘And what can you do about it, do you think, except make a bloody fool of yourself?’

  ‘It isn’t what I can do about it, Mam, it’s what I’m goin’ to do. Bloody fool or not.’

  She stared fixedly at him before she asked, ‘You’re goin’ to live with her then?’

  ‘Live with her!’ He sounded slightly shocked. ‘No, I’m not going to live with her, I’m going to marry her.’ He didn’t add now, ‘If she’ll have me.’

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Slowly she subsided back into her chair. After all, she hadn’t expected this. She had expected him to say he was going to look after her or some such damn silly thing. She had even expected him to ask if she could come here to be looked after. Aye, that’s what she had expected. But marry her! Her son, Angus Cotton, marry the daughter of Affleck and Tate’s manager! Jonathan Ratcliffe’s daughter. He was stark, staring, bloody mad, and she said that to him. ‘You’re stark, staring, bloody mad. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You! You goin’ to marry Miss Vanessa Ratcliffe? Aw, lad!’ She shook her head slowly at him while she smiled mirthlessly.

  ‘Not so much of the “Aw lad”. What’s wrong with me, anyway? Oh, I know I haven’t had an education to match hers, but whose fault is that? It isn’t mine. But it’s not too late. An’ what the hell does education matter after all? It’s money that counts, money that sets you up. When you have money you get things, an’ they change you. I’ve seen it.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Her voice was quiet.

  ‘Look!’ He almost pounced on her. ‘Don’t tell me to shut up, Mam. An’ listen to me. I’m goin’ to make money, I’m goin’ to change—’

  ‘So can a leopard.’ She was scornful.

  ‘My God!’ He was standing straight now, taut. ‘That’s what you think of me, worse than them, and you me own, with the scorn drippin’ from your lips.’

  She looked at him pityingly now. ‘Aye, that’s what I think of you, lad, when you’re aimin’ at her. I wanted you to rise, I wanted you to rise in Affleck’s. I stayed on up there for years just so that it would give you the chance. But I knew how far you could go. You see, I’m of two worlds meself. I’ve lived up there the best part of eighteen year. You could say it hasn’t brushed off on me, an’ you’d be right, yet inside I know what’s what; I know that oil an’ water don’t mix. And you and she are oil an’ water. And I’m goin’ to tell you frankly to your face, lad, that if she’s marryin’ you she must be pretty desperate.’

  He swallowed the truth hard. He gulped on it. His lips worked one over the other until there was no saliva left on them. And then he said quietly, ‘That’s it, Mam; she’s pretty desperate. You’ve said it. You’ve said a mouthful, haven’t you? But look you here.’ His voice was almost gentle now and his movements, when he bent towards her, had no aggressiveness about them, he was just making a plain statement. ‘I’ll surprise you one day. I’ll let you see. I’ll let you see as well as the rest. From you up to Ratcliffe, I’ll let you see. That’s a promise, and whatever else I do, or don’t do, you know once given I keep me word.’

  She reached out and picked up the cup of black tea again and as she stirred it she said, her voice as quiet as his now, ‘There’ll be nobody more pleased than me, lad, if you bring it off.’

  ‘If I bring it off! But I haven’t got a chance in hell. That’s what you’re thinkin’, isn’t it?’

  She looked at him and her voice still quiet, she asked, ‘Where do you intend to live?’

  ‘Here. Where else? Here.’

  ‘Aw no! No!’ Her voice was a roar. ‘You couldn’t. Where do you think she’s goin’ to live in here?’

  ‘There’s my room; it’s big enough for two.’

  ‘But, lad…Aw,’ she was pleading with him now, ‘what do you think my life is goin’ to be like? If you and her are oil and water don’t forget I’m on the same side as you. You’ll leave her in the mornin’ and I’ll have her all day. No, no.’ She shook her head slowly, slowly and widely as she gazed at him standing silent now. And she waited for him to speak; and when he did he said, ‘And where else could I take her? I can’t run two houses, and I’m not leavin’ you. As bloody bitchy as you’ve been, I’m not leavin’ you, Mam. You know I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Look.’ She waved her hand at him. ‘You can leave me any day you like, lad. I can fend for meself, I’ve still got a pair of hands.’

  ‘Aye, and a pair of feet that won’t carry you much longer.’ He looked down at her still swollen legs. ‘Anyway, I’m not taking her anywhere else, I’m bringin’ her here.’ His voice was gritty again. ‘An’ she’s stayin’ here until I can make other arrangements, arrangements that’s goin’ to suit both you and her, and me.’ He thumbed his chest on the ‘me’. ‘Then we’ll talk about it.’ As he turned from her she said helplessly, ‘Have you thought about our Rosie? She’ll go mad. She never cared for her.’

  He stood in the kitchen doorway and, looking back at her, said, ‘That’s a pity for Rosie. Anyway, she’s got Stan. It’s about time she was married.’

  As he turned to go into his room she flung one last missile at him. ‘What about May?’ she cried. ‘What about May?’

  He turned again to her and said deeply and bitterly, ‘To hell with May. To hell with her and everybody else.’

  When his door banged she cried at it, ‘You’ve played her dirty. She served your purpose for years and you’ve played her dirty. You’ll pay for it, lad, you’ll pay for it; you can’t get away with those things.’ Then, turning to the fire, she raised her hands and gripped the high mantelpiece and stood staring down onto the flickering coals. Her world had been shattered into smithereens. She wished she was dead.

  Three

  It was three days later that Angus went to see Doctor Carr. He was the only person he knew who was in sympathy with Vanessa and who might be able to advise him on how to go about getting married legally without her parents’ consent.

  He had been to the reference library and looked up books on Common Law, but had found nothing to enlighten him about a matter of this kind, and he didn’t want to go to a minister until he knew where he stood. He would, he told himself, feel embarrassed as it was, going to a parson, as he’d never put his foot inside a church since he was christened.

  Doctor Carr’s eyes were whisky-hazed as he looked across his desk at Angus, but nevertheless he listened intently to him. His interest had been caught from the moment the young fellow had mentioned the Ratcliffe girl, and he was both astonished and absolutely tickled pink when he heard what he intended to do. Lord, but wouldn’t this hit Jonathan Ratcliffe where it hurt most. The situation gave him a feeling of glee
never engendered by the whisky, without which he was finding, more and more, he was unable to get through a day’s work. But before he advised the young fellow what to do he would ask him a question. He asked it bluntly. ‘You the father of her child?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m not.’ The answer was equally blunt.

  ‘Oh, well, you know you’ll get the blame for it when you marry her?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter to me.’

  Doctor Carr surveyed Emily Cotton’s son. He was a good-looking fellow in a way, well made, tough looking, but working class written all over him. It was a pity he wasn’t her type. He said, ‘I think it’s like this. You’d have to have their consent to a register office marriage, but if your banns are called three times at your parish church and nobody raises any objection the marriage can go ahead, and it’s legal. I think that’s one set-up. It’s a bit tricky but it’s been done. Anyway there’s always the court. You present him with that alternative and if I know Ratcliffe he’ll soon sign because in her condition the verdict would be a foregone conclusion. Which parish are you in?’ He asked the question of himself. ‘Oh, you must be in St. Edward’s. You frequent any church?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you ever?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where were you christened?’

  ‘I think it was St. Edward’s. I don’t know but my mother will.’

  ‘Well now, if I know anything about St. Edward’s, it’s dying on its feet, and but for a few old dears that go there the place is almost empty. I don’t think the name Ratcliffe will have any significance for them. It’s worth trying. I advise you to go and see the minister. He’s like his church, very old, and he mumbles, which is another good thing in your favour. Take her along with you. You’ll both look like an ordinary couple doing the usual thing.’ He got to his feet and came round the desk, and when he was confronting Angus, he said, ‘And good luck to you.’ He didn’t add ‘You’ll need it’; that went without saying.