The Round Tower

by Catherine Cookson

  On Monday of this week she had bought a cookery book only to find that there wasn’t an ingredient in the house that was stated in any of the recipes. So yesterday she had ventured into the centre of the town to buy what was necessary, for she didn’t like going into the little shops near the house, because the looks she received said plainly, ‘So this is who all the trouble’s about.’

  It was while she was waiting for a bus in the main street that she became aware of two women in a car, held up in a line of traffic, almost at the same time as they became aware of her. They were Mrs Herring and Mrs Young, the mothers of Kathy and Rona. She had been entertained in their homes countless times, and they had always been charming to her, but now they were surveying her with hard, blank stares. Their eyes, in a way, looked sightless, as if they weren’t really seeing her.

  She looked away, and it was all she could do not to run away from the bus queue. She had never felt a ‘bad girl’ before, but she did now. She wanted to sink down through the earth.

  It was unfortunate that this incident should have followed so closely on a row between Angus and Emily the night before.

  ‘Where you goin’?’ Angus had asked his mother.

  ‘Out,’ Emily had replied.

  ‘You’ve taken to goin’ out a lot of late, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s my life, lad. You do what you like with yours, I do what I like with mine. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t go out?’

  ‘Aye,’ he had yelled at her; ‘every bloody reason under the sun, you awkward old bitch, you.’

  ‘Don’t you call me an awkward old bitch else I’ll brain you. As sure as God’s me judge, I’ll brain you.’

  ‘Try it on then. Try it on.’

  Vanessa had stood in their room, her face held between her two hands, and like a child she had prayed: Dear Lord, make them stop. She was dazed by the yelling and shouting that went on in the house. What should be ordinary conversation was conducted in a tone that would have been used only for deep anger in her own home, and she had rarely heard it until she herself had evoked it. At one point when the swearing was filling the house she thrust her fingers into her ears, and when she extracted them it was to hear Angus yelling, ‘You’ve no bloody need to go out workin’. You know you haven’t.’ And Emily’s reply, ‘You’re goin’ to break stones with a bloody great stick, aren’t you? Sixteen pounds! You’d get more sweepin’ roads. Your own boss, me backside.’

  ‘It was a bad week. I told you…in between contracts. Anyway, what the hell has it got to do with you what I make and what I don’t make? I pay the rent and every other bloody commitment in the house, so what are you talking about?’

  As the door banged before he had finished speaking, Rosie’s voice took over from her mother’s. ‘You should be bloody well ashamed of yourself, our Angus, speakin’ to her like that.’

  ‘Now you, YOU keep your trap shut. I’m standin’ none of it from you, because you’ve turned out to be nothin’ more than a damned little upstart. That’s what you are. And you’ve got nothing to be uppish about.’

  ‘There you’re wrong; I have got something to be uppish about. And I’m going to remain uppish. I’m not like some people I know gettin’ me belly filled at the first opportun—’

  When the sound of the blow came to her, Vanessa threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow. A few minutes later when she raised her head she expected to hear Rosie crying, but Rosie’s voice, as strident as ever, was yelling, ‘You great, big, soft nowt. Don’t think you’ll frighten me. And you lift your hand again and, begod, I’ll do what me mam threatened, I’ll brain you. Now mind, I’m warnin’ you.’

  She had sat on the edge of the bed gripping her hands on the dome of her stomach. She felt dazed by it all. She knew she’d never, never get used to it, at the same time she was amazed by the fact that this was how people lived, had gone on living for years and years. Emily and Rosie and Angus hadn’t just started shouting at each other since she had come into the house. Everybody in this neighbourhood seemed to shout. They shouted greetings across the narrow streets as if they were miles away; even the tenants in the new block of flats round the corner in the main street, they shouted from their upper windows down to the children in the play yards. Life here was one big shout, when it should have been a whisper, because there was hardly space to breathe. Perhaps it was because they lived in such close proximity to each other that made them want to shout, to break out.

  It had been nearly fifteen minutes later when Angus came into the room, and after looking at her face he said, ‘Don’t look so worried; there’s nobody been murdered.’

  ‘You surprise me.’

  He had turned swiftly on her. This was a tone, she knew, she must never use to him. It was the tone she had used to Emily, the tone of her class, slightly haughty, supercilious, condescending, and he reacted to it as such. ‘Look, this is our way.’ He was yelling at her now. ‘It means nothing, well, not all that. It’ll work out. I keep telling you it’ll work out. I know her.’ His voice dropped.

  ‘And Rosie?’

  ‘Aw, Rosie. She’s jealous of you, that’s what’s the matter with Rosie. I always had a soft spot for her. She’s jealous of you.’

  Following this he had gone to the little table in the corner and sat down with his exercise books, working out figures, and she had taken up her knitting. She was knitting a baby coat; she could knit and sew quite well. They had taught her something in the convent. It would have been better if they had taught her Domestic Science, but they only taught that to those who wanted to go in for it. There had been no need for her to study Domestic Science. Somewhere inside she was laughing derisively. She had taken languages, German and French, instead of a meat pudding. She would have given all her knowledge, however limited, to be able to make a meat pudding.

  They had been sitting in silence for some time when he turned to her abruptly and said, ‘What I want is another couple of lorries, besides two new ones to replace the crates we’ve got. I missed a job the day because we weren’t big enough; a fellow said it would take six lorries but he’d stretch a point if I had four.’

  She had no interest in his business or the lorries that he had or hadn’t got, but she said, ‘Can’t you go to the bank and get the money?’

  ‘Oh my God, Van.’ He smiled pityingly. ‘I’m down to one hundred and twenty-five quid. I don’t have a bank account; our dealings are strictly cash. It helps with the taxman an’ all. But go to the bank you say. You’re talkin’ daft.’

  She suddenly put down her knitting and straightened her back, and her tone changed again, not to the one that would anger him, but to one filled with protest as she said, ‘I’m not a fool altogether, Angus.’

  ‘Look honey, I didn’t say you were.’ He was leaning over the back of the chair towards her. ‘But it’s just that you’ve got a different slant on things.’

  ‘I haven’t got a different slant on things, not with reference to the bank. What I meant was, couldn’t you go to the bank and raise a loan? I know you’ve got no money in the bank.’

  He pulled a chair round until he was facing her, his knees almost touching hers, and he said, ‘Oh, I see. But I ask you; what have I got as security? We don’t own this place, not that that would mean very much if we did. I’ve got nothing as security except a broken-down lorry, the other one is Fred’s.’

  ‘Has he no security?’

  ‘Insecurity; a wife and six bairns.’

  She said, ‘You mentioned an insurance some time ago.’

  ‘Oh, that. It isn’t due for another eight years. And then what is it? Three hundred pounds.’

  ‘How long was it for?’

  ‘Fifteen years. I’ve paid seven.’

  ‘Wouldn’t they take that as part security?’

  ‘And me not paid half yet? I don’t know about that. But,’ he jerked his head, ‘I could see. It’s an idea. You’ve given me an idea.’ His smile widened and he leant nearer to her and asked n
ow softly, in the voice that he kept for her alone, ‘How you feelin’?’ These were the only words that his tenderness seemed to supply him with: ‘How you feelin’?’

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  ‘You always say you’re all right. If you were peggin’ out you would say you were all right, wouldn’t you, because it’s the thing to say?’

  ‘But I am feeling all right.’

  ‘No, you’re not; you’re feeling bloody miserable. There I go.’ He wagged his head. ‘I told you I was goin’ to stop swearing in front of you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But it does. If I said I was going to stop swearin’ I should stop swearin’; at least in front of you.’

  She wanted to say, ‘The more you try the more it will emphasise the difference. Don’t change yourself; it’ll be better that way.’

  He looked down at his hands, the nails all broken, the fingertips as hard as pieces of dried leather, and he said, ‘You’re having it pretty rough, but believe me, once it’s over everything will be all right, you’ll see. And we’ll go out; we’ll start going places; I’ll take you round; we’ll enjoy ourselves…Oh,’ he wagged his hand at her, ‘she’ll look after the bairn; she’ll be in her seventh heaven havin’ a bairn to see to. You’ll see. I’m tellin’ you. And by that time business will have bucked up, and I’ll bet what you like we’ll have a car. Not a new one, oh no, not yet, because every spare penny I make I want to push into the business. It’s going to be big, I’m tellin’ you.’ He turned his head almost onto his shoulder and nodded it as if she was contradicting him, and he said again, ‘I’m telling you. It’s a prophecy if ever there was one, it’s going to be big. I mean it to be big. I generally get what I want.’ He brought his head slowly towards her again and his hand went out and touched hers.

  She always shivered when he touched her. She wasn’t repulsed by him, but nevertheless she couldn’t stop her limbs shivering when her flesh made contact with his, and each time he was aware of this. She knew it angered him, but he endeavoured not to show it.

  He had left the house at seven o’clock this morning, before either Emily or Rosie had come downstairs, and when they did come down she heard them talking. They intended she should.

  She felt sick and ill this morning, not only in her body but in her mind. A dark depression had fallen on her. Her thoughts were going round in circles, she couldn’t see ahead, yet when she looked back into the past all was brightness. She had had a wonderful home, wonderful parents; she even saw her father as kindly and good, and her mother as sympathetic. She had been going to wear the most gorgeous dress as bridesmaid to Susan. There would have been marvellous people at the wedding. Never before had she thought of Susan’s friends or the Braintrees as marvellous, but now, in retrospect, they were all charming and kindly; and none of them raised their voices when speaking. What had segregated her from this wonderful past? It was Brett. He should have known what would happen. But she mustn’t blame Brett, at least not all the way. She had liked Brett; she could say she had loved Brett. He was a gentleman, except when…Her mind shut out the picture of the moments during which Brett had ceased to be a gentleman.

  Emily’s voice penetrated the fog of her depression as she called to Rosie, ‘Times have changed, lass, times have changed. I was goin’ at it scrubbin’ for nine hours a day up till twenty-four hours afore you were born, not sittin’ on me arse all day. Aye, times have changed.’

  When finally the door banged for the second time and she had the house to herself she got up and dressed. She knew what she was going to do, and she knew that she should have done it sooner. She should have done it instead of marrying Angus. She had brought trouble on him and parted him from his family. As Rosie had made it plain a number of times, they had been a happy family once.

  She got dressed and went to the little shop around the corner. They hadn’t any large packets of aspirins, only strips. She asked for four. At the next shop she bought a box holding twenty-five, and now she was standing in the kitchen and the aspirins were on the table before her.

  She knew she must leave some word for Angus, so she went into the room and looked for a piece of drawing paper on which to write, but there was none on the table. There was a piece of paper sticking between two books and she pulled it out, and with it Fowler’s King’s English. She had been surprised to find that on the bookshelf. Angus and Fowler’s King’s English. She smiled a pitying smile. He tried, did Angus, he tried. Perhaps she could have helped him here. No, he would never have allowed her to help him with his grammar because that would have meant facing the fact that he needed help in that direction. There was a pride in him that mustn’t be hurt. She took the piece of paper and a pencil into the kitchen and she wrote on it: ‘I’m sorry, Angus. It was a great mistake; I should never have let you do it. Emily was right. It would never have worked out. Thank you for all the kindness you have shown me. You have nothing to regret, believe me, because you’re the only one who has given me a kind word during all these awful months. Thank you, Angus. Vanessa.’ She read what she had written and felt that she hadn’t expressed herself clearly, hadn’t thanked him enough, then she went into the scullery and brought back a glass of water, and, opening the aspirins, she dropped thirty into the water and slowly stirred them. They took a long time to dissolve, and as she waited she thought, I wonder if I’ll see Brett. Odd, us both going out the same way; but I could never have hanged myself. When eventually the liquid was a milky mass of whirling particles she raised the glass to her lips. Her hand began to tremble now; then her body; and she knew if she hesitated for one moment longer she wouldn’t do it.

  When the glass was empty she shuddered and gritted her teeth against the taste; then she put her forearms on he table and sat gazing down at the letter she had written and she wondered how long it would be before the aspirins took effect.

  Seven

  They were at break in the canteen. Rosie, Freda Armstrong, her pal and fellow machinist, and two other girls. They were seated at their usual table in the corner and Freda was pouring sympathy over Rosie. The expression of her sympathy was questionable but nevertheless sincere. ‘You look awful, Rosie girl,’ she was saying. ‘Cor! Your face is green. I’ve never seen you as bad as this; it makes you look fifty. You should go home, shouldn’t she?’

  One of the other girls nodded and said, ‘Aye. I would tell the boss, Rosie. Tell her you can’t stick it, she’s all right. She has it herself.’ There was a giggle at this which turned into a laugh when Freda added seriously, ‘Now you ain’t got no proof of that, now have you? Her sex’s been in question afore the day.’

  Rosie did not join her laughter to the others but said, ‘I wouldn’t have come in this mornin’ but it meant stayin’ at home with that ’un. God, what a life it is now. You’ve no idea.’

  ‘Does she still put it on?’ one of the girls asked, and Rosie replied, ‘No, by God, she doesn’t put it on with me. I’d swipe her mouth for her if she did. She knows better. She keeps out of me way. Our Angus. Of all the bloody fools, our Angus…Oh, my God, I do feel sick.’

  ‘If you don’t do it for free like you should get married, Rosie, that’s what you should do. They say it clears up once you start.’

  ‘It all goes into the first bairn,’ said the other girl.

  ‘Aw, shut your traps,’ said Rosie, straightening herself up. ‘Married, bairns; I’m livin’ with it. I don’t want to hear any more about marriage, or bairns, so shut up.’

  There was silence at the table until the pain in Rosie’s stomach brought her bending again, and after a moment she stood up, saying, ‘I’m goin’ to be sick.’

  Ten minutes later Rosie went to the forewoman and told her that she’d have to go home. And fifteen minutes later, when she entered the house, she was still in pain and still feeling sick, but the moment she opened the kitchen door and saw Vanessa sitting at the table with a glazed look on her face and the table strewn with the covers of numerous aspirins she f
orgot about how she herself was feeling. ‘God Almighty!’ She put her hand across her mouth; then diving across the room she cried, ‘What you done?’

  Vanessa’s lips moved but no sound came from them, and slowly her head sank onto her arm.

  ‘Oh, God! God Almighty!’ The words seemed to issue out of the top of Rosie’s head. Then pulling Vanessa upwards, she shook her and cried, ‘You bloody young fool you! You bloody young fool. What have you done? Oh, my God!’ She let Vanessa’s head and shoulders drop to the table again; then she grabbed the letter and scanned the first few lines, before throwing it down and crying, ‘Mam! Mam!’ She was running between the scullery door and the passage like someone demented. Her mother was at her job. Mrs Wilson next door? No, no, she was a big mouth; there would be trouble. She’d have to get the doctor, and her mother, but if she left her she could die. You made them sick. Yes, that’s what you did, you made them sick. What did you make them sick with? Oh, my God! She pulled Vanessa up again and shook her. ‘Get up, Van,’ she implored as she unconsciously used her name. ‘Van! Van! Do you hear me? Come on. Come on.’ She was in tears now as she pleaded.

  Salt water. Aye, salt water. She dashed to the cupboard and, getting a packet of salt, poured a third of it into a mug and filled it with warm water from the kettle standing on the hob. She was talking and crying and swearing as she worked. ‘Bloody fool! I knew something like this would happen. Our Angus, you should be battered. That’s what you should be, battered. You should never have brought her here. She can’t stand it, she’s not made for it. God, if she dies! Come on. Come on.’ She grabbed hold of Vanessa’s shoulder, but when her head still lolled forward she gripped her hair and pulled her head up and, leaning her back in the chair, she whispered, ‘Get this down you. It’s going to make you sick. Can you hear me?’