In the lorry, Angus turned towards home, and presently he said, ‘It isn’t often you meet blokes like that, is it?’
‘No. I think he’s very nice; and—and he could be a great help to you.’
He glanced quickly towards her, then back to the wheel again before saying, ‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, yes, I do indeed.’
Angus was quiet now. All of a sudden he was wondering why this stranger was going out of his way to help him. Or was he aiming to help himself to something that didn’t belong to him? You could never trust blokes and she would catch anybody’s eye; and that fellow had a discerning one. Yes, he could say that. He didn’t look at her as he asked, ‘Is he married?’
Vanessa bit on her bottom lip and with a great effort she did not smile or laugh but answered, ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you had met him before; he said you had.’
‘Well, if I did I don’t remember.’ Then she added a little comfort. ‘He’s not the kind of man one would remember, is he?’ She was learning quickly.
After a while he said, ‘When we’re down this far I’ll drop in at the station yard and see if some spares have arrived; those bits I sent for out of the catalogue, you know. You don’t mind waiting a minute?’
She smiled and said, ‘No, of course not.’
In the station yard he got out of the cab, saying, ‘I won’t be a tick,’ and she answered, ‘Don’t hurry. I want a magazine; I’ll get it from the stall.’
‘Well, come on then.’ He held up his arms and gripped her waist and lifted her down. Whenever he touched her now he wanted to kiss her, and his hands stayed on her longer than was necessary. Her face had been smiling when he used to lift her into the garden barrow. Now, as on the very last time he had done this, he saw her expression change, and for the same reason.
She was looking over his shoulder, and he turned round and saw Jonathan Ratcliffe and his wife passing at a distance of not more than six yards, and in spite of his toughness his heart began to bounce and he was filled with apprehension, as if she’d be snatched away from him.
Vanessa’s heart, too, was bouncing; she had an almost irresistible urge to run forward. She knew that her mother would have stopped if her father hadn’t been there. It was he who had caught sight of her first, and the look he had sent across the distance told her that he didn’t know her, nor did he want to.
She stood watching them until they reached the car, then she turned away and was quite unable to check the flood of tears that rained down her face.
‘Get up.’ His voice was rough and he almost pushed her back into the cab. He revved up the engine as if he were at the start of a race, and he drove out of the yard ahead of Jonathan Ratcliffe’s car. ‘Bloody nowts!’ He was muttering under his breath, swearing with every other word; but she remained silent until they reached the house. And when they entered the kitchen Emily asked, ‘What’s happened now?’ She moved towards Vanessa, then looking quickly at Angus said, ‘What is it?’
‘I dropped in at the station, and she saw them…from up there. And she could have been a mongrel dog for all the notice they took of her.’
When Vanessa sat down at the table and dropped her head onto her arms it was Emily who went to her and said comfortingly, ‘Never mind, lass. Never mind. Time heals everything.’
‘My—my mother would have stopped. I—I think she would.’ She raised her head and looked up at Emily. ‘I’m sure she would.’
‘Aye, I’m sure she would, lass. But it’s him. Men are like that. But one of these days you’ll come across your mother on her own and then you can have a crack. You’ll see; the opportunity’ll present itself, it always does.’
Vanessa now looked towards Angus. His face was hard and tight, and she said, ‘I’m not really dying to see them, or anything like that. It’s the truth. I would never go back even if I had the chance; but it was just, just coming on them like that.’
‘Aye,’ he said. Then turning abruptly, he added, ‘I’m off.’
She got up hastily and followed him into the passage, and at the door she said quietly, ‘After all, Angus, they are my people. You,’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘you—you would defend Emily to the last gasp. You know you would.’
‘Aye,’ he said again, ‘but not if she let me down when I most needed her. That would have finished me. But it’s all right.’ He put out his hand and tapped her cheek. ‘See you later.’
When she returned to the kitchen, Emily said brusquely, ‘Take no notice of him. Men look at things differently. Of course you would be upset seein’ them; you would have been unnatural if you hadn’t. Now go an’ wash your face, and I’ll make a cup of tea. And then I’m goin’ to do a bit of bakin’. I’ll show you how; it’s about time you learned. You can try your hand at a lemon pie and a fruit loaf; he’s fond of both. Go on now.’
Vanessa went into the scullery, and as she sluiced her face under the tap she asked herself why she had to run into her parents at this time. She knew that there was always a possibility of meeting up with her mother, or Susan; her father she was less likely to meet as he was in the works all day. She had often pictured meeting her mother, and she always imagined them talking; there would be an interval filled with embarrassment and then they would come together, and talk, because her mother, although narrow, wasn’t as hard-grained as her father.
But that she should see both her mother and father on this particular day, and when she was with Angus, was most unfortunate. He had enough to think about with the summons. And that was another thing. They had more than likely heard of the fight; such kind of news travelled fast. In their estimation, she would have now sunk even further, if that were possible.
As she swilled the water around the shallow sink there returned to her a momentary longing for the material comforts of her home, the bathroom in particular, and on this thought came regret that she had turned down the bungalow. Oh, she was tired of it all. She had made a mess of her life, if anyone had.
As despondency flooded over her she gazed at herself in the small mirror on the wall to the side of the sink. Her face looked longer; she looked white and miserable. This was how she looked, and felt, before she took the pills. She stepped back from the mirror as if frightened of what she saw. There must be no more of that; she had caused enough trouble to so many people. Her parents might not want to have anything to do with her; nor anyone from her own class; and she was not unaware she was merely living under kindly toleration from the class she was in now, even from Emily and Rosie; but there was one person who did want her, one person all along who had stood by her, and who needed her. And not only sexually. In an odd sort of way she knew that to him she was the equivalent of a gold medal at the Olympic Games, or of a knighthood; in short, she was an honour. Men needed honour, recognition of having done something, acquired something, something that caused other men to look up to them or hate them as Angus did her father.
Angus and her father were opposed in every way. Yet oddly their aims were the same, both were ambitious for recognition.
She thought it strange that she had this knowledge of them while they hadn’t it of themselves.
Ten
The case was due to be heard on Thursday, a day over three weeks since the summons had been issued.
The tension in the house had been mounting over the last few days, and as Rosie had remarked, on a laugh, last night, the case was causing nearly as much interest in the town as a Cup Final. The lasses in the factory were betting on it, as were the people round about the doors. Would Cornell, with his money and influence, win by a length? Or would Cotton, who was defending his wife from insults, romp home? It was anybody’s guess.
Vanessa herself was very uneasy. Up till two o’clock on the Wednesday afternoon when she returned home—it was half-day closing—she had made her concern centre around the size of the fine that would be imposed on Angus; she wouldn’t allow herself to think of an alternative. But once she entered the house the
suppressed dread that Angus could be sent to prison burst into the open and she was forced to face it.
She had just got in the door when Emily, turning to her, said, ‘Aw, there you are, lass. You’ve just missed him by about five minutes. He came in over the moon. He thought old Cargill and Howard were goin’ to be on the bench the morrow, but old Cargill’s laid up, and he hears that Mrs Brett’s takin’ his place; so he’ll be all right…What’s the matter? You feelin’ funny?’
‘Just a bit. I…I felt a bit sick in the train.’
‘It’s an empty stomach; that’s what’s the matter with you. Get somethin’ down you and you’ll be all right.’
She walked towards the oven. ‘And you’re worryin’ about the morrow. But you can rest your mind easy; everythin’ will go smoothly now. It’s ten to one she’ll say “Case Dismissed”, like that.’ She turned and snapped her fingers towards Vanessa before stooping down and bringing a dish from the bottom shelf. ‘Mr Brett thought a lot of our Angus. It was a bad day for him and everybody else when he went…What is it, lass?’ She looked towards Vanessa where she was hurrying into the scullery. Then going to the door she said, ‘Well, it’s better up, whatever it is.’
A few minutes later Vanessa, returning to the kitchen, said, ‘Do you mind if I lie down for a minute, Emily? I couldn’t eat anything yet.’
‘Go on, lass, go on. Put your feet up. I’ll bring you a cup of tea in. But try an’ get over it afore teatime, for he plans takin’ you out somewhere, the pictures, or some place in Newcastle, because, as he says, if we sit here the night we’ll be jabberin’ about nothin’ else but the morrow. He should be home early, he says; there was only a few more loads and they’ll be finished up at the quarry. They’re not startin’ on a new lot until Monday. Go on now.’
In the room Vanessa stood with her back to the door and pressed her hand tightly across her mouth, as if to prevent from escaping the groan that was straining up through her body. Irene Brett being kind to Angus!
The charge was assault occasioning actual bodily harm. They had never put it into words in the house but they all knew that men were sent to prison every day in the week on that charge.
And Irene Brett was to be Angus’s judge! Irene knew that Brett was the father of her child. She had seen the knowledge in her eyes the morning Brett died; her look had been full of bleak hate, and it had found its target.
But Irene had said nothing. Why hadn’t she come to the house and openly accused her of stealing her husband? Of causing his death? She had asked the question of herself at the time, but now she asked herself no longer for she knew the reason why Irene Brett had remained silent. It had been gall to a woman of her calibre that she should lose anything she considered hers, especially to a young, unformed girl, and one of no particular ability; she had kept silent because she couldn’t bear the public ignominy of having been passed over.
But at ten o’clock tomorrow morning she would have her revenge. She’d pay her out through Angus, and it would be the maximum sentence she would give. She could almost see his face stretching in surprise that Mrs Brett should do this to him.
When Emily brought her in the cup of tea she was sitting in the chair by the fire, and Emily said, ‘Now why don’t you take your shoes off and put your feet up?’
‘No; it’s passing off a little; I’m all right now.’
‘You don’t look it. You never had much colour, but you’re as white as a sheet. It’s the morrow you’re worrying about, I know by meself. Me stomach’s been as sick as a dog’s, but since he was in and told me about Mrs Brett I feel better. She does a lot of good work, does Mrs Brett; she gets things done. Some don’t like her. But there it is; if you get things done people don’t like you, do they? Now drink that up, and do as I say and put your feet up for a while.’
When she was alone again Vanessa joined her hands tightly between her knees and began to rock herself slightly; then, taking off her shoes, she got to her feet and began to walk from one side of the small room to the other…She had to do something. She stopped in her pacing. She would go and see her. NO. NO. That would mean going to Brampton Hill and she couldn’t bear to go so near her old home. Would she be able to find her in one of the offices in the Town Hall? But wasn’t there some rule about getting at the jury? She shook her head. But she wasn’t a jury, she was a magistrate. Well, it might still hold good. And what would she say when she did see her?…What could she say? ‘Will you please be lenient with Angus?’ No, no; that wasn’t the line to take with Irene Brett. She picked up the cup of tea from the low table, and although it was still hot she drank it almost at once; and as she put the cup down again she knew what she was going to do.
A few minutes later, when she again entered the kitchen with her coat on, Emily turned to her in surprise, saying, ‘Where you off to? What’s up?’ But all she said was, ‘You don’t have any stamps, do you?’ knowing full well that Emily never had any stamps.
‘No. What would I do with stamps, lass?’
‘I’ve run out and I want to write a letter. And Angus will be needing some; there’s two letters he must get off tonight.’
‘You don’t look fit to go out; I’ll go along for you.’
‘No, no, Emily; the walk will do me good, give me something to do. And when I come back I’ll have my dinner.’
‘Please yourself. Please yourself.’ There was the old tart note in Emily’s voice, but Vanessa was used to it now. As Angus said, it meant nothing.
She hurried down to the bottom of the street, walked along the main road to the pedestrian crossing, crossed over and walked a little further up the far pavement to the telephone kiosk. She knew the number; her mother had at one time frequently phoned next door. She stared down at the phone for a full minute before she picked it up. Then she inserted the coins and dialled Fellburn 538506. She knew it wasn’t likely that either Colin or Paul would answer the phone; and if the house was running as it had done for some time past there would be no woman there in the afternoon—Irene had no au pair girl now but a daily who came twice a week in the mornings; so it would be Irene or silence.
When she heard Irene Brett’s voice her lips moved but she couldn’t speak.
‘Hello. This is Fellburn 538506.’
‘Mrs Brett?’ She did not say Auntie Irene, nor yet Irene.
‘Yes.’ There was a pause. ‘Who…who’s speaking?’
‘Vanessa…Cotton.’ She had almost said Ratcliffe. There was no sound on the line now, and Vanessa said quickly, ‘Are you there?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I just want to tell you something; and…and it isn’t that Brett was the father of my baby because you already know that, don’t you?’
The line seemed to be dead, but Vanessa knew that Irene Brett was still at the other end, and she swallowed and went on, ‘What I want to tell you is, that if you take out your spite on me through Angus I’ll stand up in Court and shout out the reason why you’re doing it. If you send Angus to prison he’ll come out again, but you’ll never be able to come out from where this town will put you. You’ll be fin—’ There was no longer anyone on the other end of the line, the receiver had been banged down.
She leant against the dust-covered side of the kiosk and closed her eyes for a second. Would she do what she had said she would if Angus received a prison sentence? Would she stand up and cry, ‘She’s only doing this for spite because her husband gave me a baby’? She didn’t know; she wouldn’t know until the moment came. She had already made a name for herself in this town, but if she did that her mother and father, the whole family, and, she imagined, the family that Susan had married into would be bent low with embarrassment. And once sentence was passed, would it help Angus? Perhaps not; the only thing it would do would be to show him that she cared what happened to him. But again, would Angus thank her for publicly naming the father of her child? He had never pressed her to know who it was, but at times she felt his curiosity. How would he respond when he knew it w
as ‘Mr Brett’, the man he admired who had done this to her?
Well, whatever she would do tomorrow morning, the main thing was, she felt, she had convinced Irene Brett that she was quite capable of acting on her word.
She came out of the box and walked farther along the road, until she was opposite the little sub-post office. And there she waited for an opportunity to cross…
As Vanessa had come out of the kiosk Angus had passed her in the lorry. It was impossible in the traffic to attract her attention, but he went round the island and came back up the other side of the road, and as he parked he saw her going into the post office.
He was waiting for her when she came out, and the first thing she said was, ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Oh, only a minute. I…I saw you as I was passing.’ He did not mention seeing her coming out of the phone box, although he wondered who she was phoning; but he said quickly, ‘Mam all right?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Why shouldn’t she be? You were in at dinner time?’
‘Oh, aye.’ He stared at her. She looked paler than usual, her eyes larger. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘I felt a bit sick when I came in. It was the train; it was packed, being Wednesday; I had to stand all the way. Are you finished for the day?’
‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘but I’ve picked up another bit of business that’ll keep Fred and me busy until the start of the quarry again. Come on, get in; I can’t leave her parked here. And I’ll have a cuppa before I put her away.’
Seated next to her, he said, ‘Where to, modam?’
Taking his cue, she replied, ‘Twenty-four Ryder’s Row, Cotton.’
‘Very good, modam.’
He had to drive to the next side turning, back into it, and come down the main road again before he could enter the street, and as he drove he thought, ‘Why hasn’t she said who she was phoning?’
The Round Tower Page 27