A Ruthless Need, page 12
He himself had lain on his side, his mind dizzying away from him, although before it went completely he had grabbed what remained of both Spud and Harry, which was all he remembered, until a voice said, ‘Hello, there! How are you?’ and he had gazed up into the face above the white coat, and instead of saying, ‘All right, sir,’ he had yelled, and swore, and cursed, and when his voice had reached a scream in his head, all had gone quiet again. And that’s how it had been since. The only difference now was that the shouting happened in his dreams and he would wake up whimpering their names.
He turned abruptly about to return to the house, and as he neared it he saw Lizzie coming out. She was wearing a blue print dress with a three-quarter white woollen coat over it, her feet in putty-coloured open-toed sandals, and on her head a cream leghorn straw hat.
They both stopped. She was the first to speak. ‘Enjoyed your walk?’ she said.
‘Yes. Yes,’ and he nodded at her, but became silent again. It was some seconds before he said, ‘You know, I still can’t get over you. I’m still seeing you as that scraggy, plain-looking thing I brought to the house. How many years ago is it?’ He bent his head towards her, enquiry in his eyes.
‘Well, you should know; you left in 1937 and it’s now 1943.’
‘You are nineteen?’ He shook his head.
‘Coming on twenty.’
Again he was silent. She was beautiful. She had a freshness about her such as he could not find words to explain. It wasn’t only her skin or her eyes, but somehow the whole of her. And she was going to marry Andrew Bradford-Brown.
As he had found of late, he didn’t want to talk much, but when he did, he didn’t think twice or couldn’t think twice, so now he said what was in the forefront of his mind: ‘You’re sure you want to marry Andrew?’
She stared at him for a moment: it was the first time he had brought up the matter of her marrying. He seemed to have pointedly ignored it: even when Andrew had come and stayed, as he had done recently, sleeping on the sitting-room couch, he hadn’t spoken of it to him, either. When, later, she had remarked on this to Andrew and added that the image of the man she had earlier known for such a short time did not fit the man who was now in the house, Andrew had, in his way, reasoned with her, suggesting it need not be wondered at, because he must have gone through the mill out there, and that such experiences were bound to change a man. Look at Richard, for instance. To his mind Richard was in a much worse state for, as he himself said, ‘You could face up to things if you had a face left to do it with.’
Her voice was slightly curt now as she answered the forthright question, ‘Yes, of course I’m going to marry Andrew; you know I am. Why do you ask such an obvious question?’
‘Just because he’s a Bradford-Brown. They’re not reliable, you know, any of them. Look how his people have shut the door on him; yet he’s still part of them, he’s still one of them. You can’t get away from what your parents put inside you.’
‘Andrew is nothing like them, mother, father, or’—she now brought out the last two words with a bounce of her head—‘his sister!’
His skin should have been a nut-brown colour, for it still held a kind of tan, but this seemed to fade away at times, and leave it a washy grey, as it was doing now. She knew all about his association with Richard’s wife before she had married; a detailed knowledge that hadn’t come from either Bertha or John; nor had she heard it through Meg, but through Nancy Basset, a one-time washer-up woman at the house. Nancy now helped in a canteen in Durham and loved to gossip. She supposed she should have shut her up when she started on about the occupants of the Hall, but she didn’t.
It was from Nancy that she had heard of the rows between the master and the mistress, and that Mrs Boneford could not bear to look at her husband, and of her ‘carrying on’ for years with this man standing before her.
When he had first come home she had felt sorry for him: it had been a feeling similar to that which she had for Richard. Yet, as the weeks had passed and he had shown himself to be a morose and difficult person, the feeling had passed, and she found that she even came to dislike him, and it showed in her tone as she added, ‘Of course, you know more about them than I do; but one speaks as one finds, and I’ve always found Andrew to be good and kind, and…and’—she paused—‘a…a gentleman.’
For a moment they stared at each other in hostility; then, his face relaxing, he gave a small laugh as he said, ‘That’s making a comparison, isn’t it? You mean I’m not. Oh! Oh!’ He held up his hand as a warning signal, saying, ‘I know what I am, all right, I know what I am, and I’m sorry you see me as you do, but’—his voice dropped—‘I’ve been away a long time, things have happened, as you say, and I know the Bradford-Browns better than you do. But yes, I must admit I had very little to do with Andrew, and…and I’m glad for you if you think you’ll be happy.’
He had taken the wind out of her sails, and the feeling of dislike vanished: ‘I know I will, Geoff,’ she said. Then putting her hand out to him, she added, ‘Why not come in with me to the concert. You mightn’t enjoy it, I mean the turns, but you’ll get a laugh.’
‘Thanks. Thanks all the same; I will some other time. Mam tells me that you’ve made quite a name for yourself in the town. What is it tonight, a sing-song?’
‘Oh no, nothing so common.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m one of twelve turns. Anyway, I open the first half, and I open the second half. As a certain lady soprano who happens to be on the concert committee said to me at the last do, “We always keep the stars till last.”’
He laughed more freely now as he said, ‘And what did you say to that?’
‘I said I’d endeavour to make it a long twilight, and you know’—she bit on her lip now and shrugged her shoulders—‘I did, I did, because a lot of the lads shouted for encores; and you’re not supposed to, you know, not in that type of concert, not until the very last; but I gave them three, and ones they could sing to. She was livid, and as I came off the stage’—she now giggled—‘I said, “The full moon’s coming up.” You see, two comedians were following me and they really do hog the stage, and I found myself saying to her—I couldn’t help it: “It’ll likely blot out the stars tonight.” And you know, the place had to close by ten, and so she hardly got a look in at the end. Afterwards, I felt a bit of a cat, but she got up my nose, as Meg would say.’
His face was bright now as he said, ‘Will she be there tonight?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. She’s a local lady, and one of some importance where war savings is concerned.’
‘Aye, money talks. Anyway, there’s one thing, you can hold your own…I think I knew that from the first. Remember the day I brought you home?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She nodded at him. ‘Oh yes, I remember that day, and I’ve never really thanked you for it; but I do now. You gave me the chance of a new life that day, and a mam and dad. Did you think it strange to hear me call your mother and father “Mam” and “Dad”?’
‘No, no; not at all, because Mother took to you straight away. You are her daughter; she looks on you as such.’
‘And you’re my big brother.’
He didn’t answer for a moment; then he said quietly, ‘Yes, looking at it that way, I suppose I am.’ And he found himself unable to stop voicing his thoughts again, for now he said, ‘You’re beautiful, you know, Lizzie. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t have believed it. I remember when I came into the house weeks back and saw you, I thought you were somebody else. I couldn’t place you. It came as a kind of shock and a reminder that a number of years had passed over me, and…and that I’d missed out on so many things.’
Her face was flushed as she now said on a laugh, ‘I don’t know about beautiful. I think your eyes must have been affected, too.’
‘Aw’—the word had a rough note in it now—‘don’t be mock modest; you’re not like that: you know what you look like; you know what you are. Go on, get yourself away, else I’ll stop being civil to you.’
She was laughing as she said, ‘Ta-ra, Geoff.’
‘Ta-ra,’ he answered her.
She had gone some steps when she looked back towards him, and she called, ‘I’ll say something to you when I get back if I’ve lost that bus.’
He made no further comment, but simply watched her hurrying away. Then he drew his lower lip tightly between his teeth, before turning about and making for the house.
The hall was full. Lizzie had opened the second half with some Chopin—an étude followed by a waltz—and she was now standing to one side in the wings to allow a quartet to pass her when a voice in her ear said, ‘There’s your fellow along there. He’s waiting for you. Here, give me your music, I’ll see to it.’
Automatically she mumbled, ‘What?’ as she looked at the stage manager, but then turned quickly to see, there at the end of the passage, Andrew, his hand raised in greeting.
Her heart light, she pushed her way towards him, and, also in an undertone, greeted him, whispering, ‘Why? When did you arrive? It would be next week, you said in your letter.’
‘Come on. Come on.’ He took her by the hand and pulled her through a back room and into another passage where she grabbed her hat and coat from a peg; then they were in the street, and there, in the soft twilight, they stood gazing at each other.
‘Oh! Andrew, how long have you got?’
‘Not long. Listen, I have to get the midnight train back. Come on, let’s walk.’ And almost roughly now he took her by the arm and led her along the street.
‘Where to?’ she said. ‘Shall we go home?’
‘No, no; there’s no time for that. Just let’s walk out in the country.’
‘What…what is it, Andrew?’
She heard him sigh before muttering, ‘There’s something in the wind. I don’t know exactly what. My leave was due in a fortnight’s time and everything was arranged, the licence and everything. I’d had a letter back from Richard and he said he’d love to be best man. Anyway, the adjutant called me in this morning and said he doubted if I’d get a week, perhaps a couple of days, if that. There’s been a lot of transfers of late from the minesweepers to the big ones.’
‘You…you mean…you might have to go over…overseas?’
‘Could be; but I don’t know. It’s all hush-hush, and yet we hear of changing of plans and so on. Anyway, he gave me twenty-four hours. I got in just half an hour ago. I phoned the house and Meg answered. She told me where you were.’
‘Oh! Andrew.’ She clung tightly to his hand. ‘Oh! Andrew, you seemed so safe on the shore job, well, I mean, not safe, but each rescue attempt did seem to me to be a quick dart out and back to base. Oh! Andrew.’
‘Don’t worry; it mightn’t happen. Anyway, listen.’ He laughed now. ‘I’ll likely be safer on the high seas than I would be ashore or in London these days. My goodness! London, Lizzie. You have no idea; everyone living there’s a hero, or heroine. Oh yes, the women are heroines all right.’
‘Oh, Andrew, don’t make me feel so awful, stuck here in the food office. I wanted to join up, you know. I tried…’
‘Don’t be silly. That’s the only thing that gives me peace of mind: to know that you’re safe, at least comparatively so.’
They had walked by the river, then climbed up countless steps, only to find themselves in the town again and, laughing, had retraced their steps, then gone on walking until they reached the open country.
‘What time is it?’ she said.
‘Ten to nine.’
‘Must you take that train?’
‘Yes, if I want to get back by tomorrow morning; at least, before twelve o’clock when I’m on duty again.’
She stopped suddenly and brought him round to face her, saying now in a whisper, ‘You’re…you’re not just saying this about getting two days off to get married? It doesn’t mean that you’re going straightaway…I mean abroad?’
‘No, no.’ He held her hands tightly. ‘I…I just wanted to see you, and…and tell you myself. I know you had made arrangements and booked the cottage in the Lake District. Well, we’ll still go, but it might be for only a day, you see.’
When they came to a field with a broken gate they paused and looked across it to where a stretch of woodland appeared black against the deepening twilight, and, as of one accord, they crossed the field and entered the wood; and before they lay down in the shadow of some brushwood, he took off his cap and coat and laid them aside, and she did the same with her coat and hat; and then they were enfolded in each other’s arms. In the shadow of the bushes their faces appeared dim to each other and his voice had a faraway sound as he said, ‘You’re…you’re not sorry about the other time?’
‘No, no, Andrew, never.’
‘That’s…that’s been worrying me.’
‘Oh, my dear, don’t let it worry you.’
‘I…I won’t feel at peace until we’re married…what if something happened? I mean…’
‘I’d…I’d be glad.’
‘Not unless we were married. I couldn’t bear to think of anything like that happening to you.’
‘It’s happening to others, it’s happening all the time, dear.’
‘It might be, but not to you. Oh, not to you.’
She pressed herself gently from him and peered at him now and, her voice low and her words earnest, she said, ‘It doesn’t matter what happens to me, Andrew, so long as it happens to me through you.’
‘Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie; I feel the luckiest man on earth. I know what I’m going to do after this is over; I’ve got it all planned out. I say I’ve got it all planned out. It was Richard who put it into my mind quite some time ago. I told you; remember? He suggested that I should go in for farming proper, and I jumped at the idea because I knew I could never stick Father’s business, even if I were given the opportunity. Then, in the last letter I had from him he said, after the war I must definitely go in with him. He…he seems to be a lot steadier. He thinks the world of you, you know. I think he envies me a bit and I can understand that. And, oh yes, I’m glad he’s getting rid of Janis. She’s no good to him or anyone else, not even to herself…Would you like to be a farmer’s wife?’
‘I would like to be your wife, Andrew, whether you were a farmer or a dustman.’
‘Oh, Lizzie. Lizzie.’ Their lips met tight and hard, their bodies merged. The twilight became deeper and even when they could no longer see each other they still lay pressed close together.
Again she said, ‘What time is it?’
He looked at his watch and the illuminated hands showed twenty minutes to eleven.
‘We’d better be getting back,’ he said.
‘Oh, Andrew, Andrew.’ Again they were clinging together.
When at last they dusted themselves down, put on their coats, and made their way across the field to the road, the distant clock had struck eleven. It wasn’t until they were walking swiftly towards the town again that he said, ‘How on earth are you going to get back? Look, you had better stay in an hotel.’
And she answered, ‘I’ll phone home. Dad’ll bring the old bus. He always keeps a little petrol in reserve.’
It was almost half-past eleven when they reached the station and from there she rang the house. It was John who answered, and she said, ‘Hello, Dad. Do…do you think you could come and fetch me? Andrew is getting the twelve o’clock train.’
His answer was sharp. ‘You should have let me know before. Bertha’s been worried to death.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad, but there was so little time.’
His tone remained stiff as he said, ‘Aye, all right, all right. I’ll come straightaway.’
Coming out of the box, she said, ‘It’s all right. He’s coming. You have time for a cup of tea?’
‘Just about. The train isn’t in yet.’ He looked towards the platform.
They each drank two cups of tea but left the buns they had ordered untouched.
When the train puffed into the station, Lizzie, suddenly experiencing a dreadful feeling of panic, threw her arms about him and muttered, ‘Oh, Andrew, Andrew. I…I wish you weren’t going.’
‘It’s all right, my love, it’s all right. I’ll be back. Anyway, I’ll phone you tomorrow.’
‘What time?’
‘Well, between half-past five and six, when you get in. Oh, wait a minute’—he paused—‘I don’t know where I’ll be at that time. Anyway, if I’m to go out, I’ll phone the house first and leave a message. How about that?’
‘Yes, yes, dear. Please. Please do. Oh! Andrew.’
There was bustle all about them but she could not release her hold on him, and he, too, held her tightly. Then, as if coming to herself, she said, ‘Oh, you’ll not get a seat.’
‘Yes, yes, I will. There’re not so many travelling at this time of night.’ He opened the door to hand and stepped up into the carriage, pulled down the window and hung above her. In the green light hanging from the station roof, they could hardly make out each other’s faces.
‘Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be all right. Next time it will be—’ he pointed to the third finger of his left hand and, smiling now, he said, ‘I’ve got it.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes. Woolworths.’
‘Oh! Andrew, Andrew.’ She forced herself to smile, then added, ‘A tin one will do.’
A whistle blew. The train let off a great belch of steam; they couldn’t hear themselves speaking. As the train began to move slowly, she did not walk along the platform but stood staring after it, a devastating feeling of loss consuming her.
