The Likes of Us (22 page)

He had no time to resolve this before she went down with a heavy cold which turned into influenza and confined her to bed for a week. Her mother came every day to tidy the house, do their washing, and attend to Maureen while Ruffo was out at work. Then there came an evening when she was fully recovered and Ruffo thought it was time he broke his sexual fast. He went upstairs to look in her lingerie drawer and came back down again to ask her:

‘Where's your black sling bra?'

‘Which one do you mean?'

‘You know which I mean. The one I sent away for.'

‘Oh, that one.' She wasn't looking at him. ‘Ruffo, me mam found it when she was sorting out the washing.'

‘Oh, did she?'

‘She said she didn't know how I could wear a thing like that. She said it was the sort of thing a prostitute wears.'

‘How does she know what a prostitute wears? And what's it got to do with her, anyway?'

‘Nothing, I suppose. But still…'

‘And where is it, then?'

‘I... I burned it. I put it on the fire the other day.'

He was incredulous. ‘You did what? What the hell made you do that?'

‘I wanted to be rid of it, I just didn't fancy wearing it any more.'

‘Nobody was asking you to go out in it. It was for me.'

‘I know. All the same...'

Ruffo went back upstairs and had another look in the drawer.

‘You've made a clean sweep, haven't you?'

Still she couldn't meet his eyes. ‘I... I felt... well, sort of dirty.'

‘Oh, you did!' Ruffo said, irate now. ‘Did I make you feel mucky when I bought 'em for you and you put 'em on for me?'

‘Well, no, not then.'

‘But you would now?'

‘It was all right, Ruffo. I knew
you
liked it. But we can still make love without that sort of thing.'

‘You'll be bloody getting undressed in the dark next,' Ruffo said, the anger bursting out of him.

‘There's no need to exaggerate.'

‘Look,' Ruffo said, ‘haven't we had a good time since we got married? You and me. Haven't we had a good time?'

‘Of course we have.'

‘Well, why let somebody else stick their nose in?'

‘It's not that…'

‘Well, what is it, then?'

‘Give up, Ruffo. Stop getting on at me. I've got a headache.'

Ruffo carried his anger to bed with him. For the first time they lay back to back, not touching.

He was surly and uncommunicative during the next few days, speaking only when necessary. He ate his evening meal in silence then looked at television for three or four hours before going early to bed. One night he went down to the local pub, something he'd done only a couple of times since they were married, and came back uncertain in his movements. Maureen began to stay in bed another half an hour in the mornings, leaving him to get himself off to work. It was less retaliation on her part than a wish not to provoke him, to let him work off his mood in his own time. For she had something to tell him and when the weekend arrived without any change she forced herself to speak.

‘Ruffo, I know you're out of sorts with me, and I'm sorry. But there's something you'll have to know. I think I'm pregnant.'

‘Well, that's bloody marvellous,' Ruffo said.

‘Is that all you've got to say?'

‘I thought we were going to wait till we'd moved to a decent house and settled down a bit.'

‘I know, but—'

‘We're only... we're only kids our
selves
! What do we want a baby yet for?'

‘That's all very well. But if I'm having one, I am. You can't always plan these things, can you?'

‘Course you can,' Ruffo said. ‘Ninety-nine times out of a—' He stopped and, for the first time in days, looked directly at her. ‘You didn't do it on purpose, did you?'

‘What makes you think—?'

‘You did,' Ruffo said. ‘You bloody did. I can see it written all over your face.'

‘Look, Ruffo,' she said eagerly, ‘the younger you are when you have your family the more time you have together when they've grown up and you're on your own again.'

It was like a doctrine she had learned. He stared at her, aghast. ‘Who cares about what happens
then
? We might all be bloody dead by then. I want my time now, while I'm young.'

‘You don't want a family at all, do you?'

‘In a year or two,' Ruffo said, ‘when we're better placed and we've enjoyed being together, just the two of us.'

‘But we've had that, haven't we?'

‘Aye, we have,' Ruffo said. ‘We've had it, all right.'

It was all going, vanishing before his eyes. He looked at Maureen as though he'd never really seen her before. He had thought he was moulding her but now, in a flash of intuition, he perceived his fate as a function of the phases of her life. He was too young for a glass case marked ‘husband'.

He brooded on it for a couple of days; then one morning he turned over in bed when the alarm clock rang and said he wasn't feeling well. When Maureen had gone out to work he got up, shaved and dressed, packed his personal belongings in a case, wrote a note for her, and left.

The note said that he would not be coming back, but that when he had settled down elsewhere he would write again and arrange to pay maintenance for the child. Maureen's mother wanted her to put the police on his trail so that she could sue for maintenance for herself, but Maureen refused to do this. She had her job and she gave up the house and sold its contents and moved back in with her parents. Six months later she heard from Ruffo who was now in Australia, working on a hydroelectric power scheme. He said he would be willing if she wanted to divorce him, since she was still very young and would no doubt want to marry again. There were times when she felt a vague yearning for Ruffo's loving, but she came to accept that as a stage of her life which had passed; that, and the earlier one of the young unmarried girl single-mindedly keeping herself untouched for her future husband. With the child big in her now she was absorbed in her new role of mother-to-be. And to this she added the unexpected one of deserted wife without too much apparent strain.

Twenty Pieces of Silver

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the Misses Norris, in pursuance of their good works, called on little Mrs Fosdyke at her tiny terrace house in Parker Street she answered their discreet knock dressed for going out. They apologized then in their quiet, genteel way and said they would call again. But Mrs Fosdyke beckoned them into the house. ‘I've just come in,' she said. ‘A minute or two earlier and you'd have followed me down the street.' It was then that the Misses Norris realised that Mrs Fosdyke was dressed in black, the hat shop-bought but the coat probably run up on her own machine, and, as if reading their minds, she said, ‘I've just been to a funeral,' and the Misses Norris murmured ‘Oh?' for no-one of their acquaintance had died during the past week.

They sat down when asked to, the elder Miss Norris on the edge of the armchair by the table, legs tucked neatly away behind her skirt; the younger Miss Norris upright on a chair by the window. Mrs Fosdyke slipped off her coat and occupied herself with kettle and teapot at the sink in the corner.

‘You'll have a cup o' tea?' she asked, the spoon with the second measure poised over the pot.

‘Well…' the younger Miss Norris began, and her sister said, with the poise and grace of her extra years, ‘You're very kind.'

‘I hate funerals,' Mrs Fosdyke said conversationally as she poured boiling water into the pot. ‘If it's anybody you thought anything of they upset you; and if it's somebody you didn't like you feel a hypocrite.'

She took two more cups and saucers from the cupboard over the sink, wiping them thoroughly on the tea towel before setting them out alongside her own on the oilcloth-covered top of the clothes-wringer under the window.

‘Was it a relative?' the younger Miss Norris ventured.

Mrs Fosdyke shook her head. ‘No, a friend. A good friend. Mrs Marsden from up Hilltop. Don't know if you knew her. A widow, like me. Her husband died five or six years back. He used to be something in textiles over Bradford way. Quite well-to-do, they were. Poor dear... She had cancer, y'know. It was a happy release for her.'

She poured the tea, handing the Misses Norris a cup each and passing the sugar bowl and milk jug to each in turn. She herself remained standing, between the wringer and the sink, the late-morning sun lighting her grey hair below the little black hat.

‘Funny,' she said reflectively, between sips. ‘Fifteen years I'd known Mrs Marsden and it might only have been a month or two. Funny how friendships start...'

‘I answered an advertisement in the
Argus
, y'know. That's how I came to go in the first place. Jim was alive then and he'd just taken to his wheelchair. I was looking for work but I couldn't take on a full-time job because of having him to see to. So I got a few cleaning jobs that kept me busy six mornings a week. Mrs Marsden's was one of them. Three mornings, I went to her.

‘I didn't think I was going to stick it at first. There was nothing wrong with the job or the money, mind; but they hadn't started running buses up to Hilltop at that time, and it was a mile and a half uphill from town. A rare drag, it was, and it seemed to get longer and steeper and harder every morning I went there. Anyway, I needed the money, and that was that.

‘I knew when Jim first went down it wouldn't be easy, but I told meself we'd manage. Just so long as I could keep going.'

The Misses Norris, neither of whom had ever done anything more strenuous about a house than vacuum a carpet, murmured in sympathy and understanding and sipped their tea.

‘Well, it wasn't too bad when I'd got used to it – the going out and cleaning, I mean. We managed. Mrs Reed next-door kept her eye on Jim in the mornings, and I did my own cleaning and my shopping in the afternoons. We'd always been ones for simple pleasures. We liked the chapel. There were the services on Sundays and the Women's Bright Hour on Wednesday afternoons, and I used to park Jim's chair in the porch where he could hear the singing and watch what was going on in the street. And then there were the Saturday-night concerts in the schoolroom – though they don't have so many of them nowadays – and anybody who was willing did a turn. I can see Jim's face now, all flushed and cheerful, his head nodding to the music…'

‘He was a brave and cheerful man, Mrs Fosdyke,' said the elder Miss Norris. ‘We all admired his courage.'

‘Aye, aye. Well, of course, you know all about the chapel and the Bright Hour, an' that.

‘Well, Mrs Marsden made me realise you could be well off and still unhappy. That you could be lacking in peace and quietness of mind even with no money worries, and a husband in good health.

‘I remember the first time we talked as woman to woman. It came up because it was a Wednesday and I wanted to finish prompt on twelve so's I could get done at home in time for the Bright Hour. It was my first week with Mrs Marsden and I had to explain the position.'

‘“I don't mind stopping a bit extra on Mondays and Fridays, if you need me,” I said, “but I shouldn't like to miss my Bright Hour on a Wednesday.”'

‘“I'm sure I shouldn't like to be the one to keep you away,” she said, and there was something a bit odd in her voice that puzzled me. But nothing more was said till the Wednesday after, and then she brought it up herself, and this queer something in her voice was there again, and I asked her if she didn't go to a place of worship herself, then.

‘“I used to,” she said, “a long time ago. I was brought up in the Church. I was on several committees. I worked like a slave for it.”

‘“And whatever made you give it up, then?” I said. “I lost all reason for going,” she said.

‘I was a bit shocked then. “You mean,” I said, “you lost your faith in God?”

‘As soon as I'd said it, of course, I was sorry I'd pried. It was none of my business, after all.

‘And then, after a minute, she said “Yes.” Just like that: straight out.

‘I remember clearly as if it were yesterday, knocking off the vacuum cleaner and looking at her. I knew lots of people who never went to either chapel or church, but I'd never come face to face with one who said straight out she was atheist. Because, that's what it amounted to.

‘So I said to her, “Well, I mean, it's none of my business, but what ever did that to you?”

‘And she rolled her duster up and her face went all hard. “l had a boy.” she said. “He died.”

‘I could feel for her. “That's terrible,” I said. “But lots of people—”'

‘“But this was
my
boy,” she said. “For ten years we prayed for a child. We prayed and prayed, and then eventually he came. He was an imbecile. He died when he was three. Have you ever had an idiot child, Mrs Fosdyke?” she said, and she was so twisted up with bitterness inside her I could hardly bear to look at her.

‘So I said, no, I hadn't. “But I've seen a fine God-fearing man struck down in his prime and condemned to spend the rest of his days in a wheelchair,” I said. “I can sympathize with you, Mrs Marsden.”'

‘“And yet you still believe,” she said, and she was full of impatience and anger. “How can you believe in a God of love who allows these things?”

‘“Wouldn't it be easy to believe if everything in the world was fine and grand?” I said. “Anybody could believe with no trouble at all. But that's not God's way. He has to send suffering to try us, to steel us and purify us.”

‘“Oh, stuff and nonsense,” she said. “I've heard it all before. What does a little child know of these things?”

‘“I know, I know,” I said. “It's hard to understand. But how can he make an exception for children? There has to be danger for them, just like grown-ups.”

‘So she just turned her back on me then and polished away at the dresser. And then she spun round on me in a second. “But how can you reconcile yourself to it?” she said. “How can you accept it?”

‘“It's one of those things you can't argue out, Mrs Marsden,” I said. “You can talk about it till Domesday and get no forrader. It's something you've got to feel. And I reckon you either feel it or you don't. How can I accept it, you say. Why, what else can I do? If I lose that, I've nothing else left.” And I looked at her and I said, “But you do miss it, don't you, you poor dear?”

‘I'd gone a bit too far there. She drew herself up and went all chilly. She was a very thin woman, you know, and she could look very proud when she set herself. “I don't need your pity, thank you,” she said. “What you believe is your own business… You can finish the carpet now,” she said, “if you don't mind.”

‘I was sorry afterwards that it had happened. I was beginning to find in this business of going into other women's homes that a friendly but respectful relationship was the best on both sides, and I didn't want to spoil anything...

‘Another cup? Oh, go on; it'll just be wasted if you don't… That's right.'

The two Misses Norris allowed their cups to be refilled, and since they had nothing else to do that morning which could not be done later, settled back in comfort to hear whatever else Mrs Fosdyke would tell them of her relationship with the late Mrs Marsden.

‘She wouldn't leave it alone, though,' Mrs Fosdyke said. ‘She seemed to be waiting for chances to bring it up again. She seemed to have to let out that sourness and bitterness inside her. I didn't like it, and I did think of leaving her. But I decided I could stand it. She wasn't a bad employer, and I needed the money. Pride has to take a bit of a back seat when you're in a position I was in then.'

‘Anyway, I'd been working for her for six months, and one Wednesday I went up there as usual. The mornings passed quickly, and it seemed like twelve o'clock came almost before I'd gotten started. As I was putting my things on to go, Mrs Marsden remembered two things at once. She wanted me to leave one of her husband's suits at the cleaners, and she had to nip out to see a neighbour who'd be going out at any minute.

‘So she came into the kitchen with the suit draped all any-old-how over her arm. “Here we are,” she said. “He hasn't worn it for some time. I'd like to see if it will clean up decently. Now if I don't hurry I shall miss Mrs Wilson. You'll find paper and string in that cupboard; and you might just go through the pockets before you wrap it up. I haven't time, myself.” And with a last reminder to drop the latch as I went out, she was off.

‘I had a look at the suit then. It looked nearly new to me, and I thought to myself. “Fancy being able to cast aside a suit like this.” I hadn't got to the stage of begging clothes, but I was tempted at times. Jim had never had a suit like that in his life.

‘Well, I took each part of it in turn and brushed it down with the flat of my hand and went through all the pockets. When I got to the waistcoat I more felt than heard something crackle in one of the pockets, and when I put my fingers in I pulled out a pound note, folded in two. So from thinking about Mr Marsden discarding good clothes I got to thinking about a “carry on” that could allow a pound note to be lost without being missed.

‘I popped it down on a corner of the kitchen cabinet and wrapped the suit in brown paper. I found myself glancing sideways at the note. Who knew about it but me? A pound... twenty shillings. What was a pound to the Marsdens? And what was a pound to Jim and me? There were few enough ever came our way, and every one was hard earned, every shilling to be held on to till I couldn't help spending it. Things had been tighter than usual lately, as well. We'd had a lot of expense. I took the note into my hand and thought of all it could buy. Fruit for Jim, and a bit of tobacco – always a special treat. And he needed new underclothes. And I'd planned to get him a bottle of the tonic wine that seemed to buck him up so.

‘So, I stood there in Mrs Marsden's kitchen with her husband's pound note screwed up in a little ball in my hand where nobody else could see it; and it was just as though there was nothing else in the world but that note and my need of it.'

Mrs Fosdyke's voice had grown softer and now it died away altogether as she stopped speaking and gazed out through the window. The two sisters exchanged a swift glance before she stirred and turned to put her empty cup on the draining board.

‘Well, that was a Wednesday, like I said. And on the Friday I went up to the house again. I was there at nine, my usual time. I remember distinctly that it was a rainy morning. Not heavy rain, but that thin, fine stuff that seems to wet you through more thoroughly than an out-and-out downpour. Anyway, I was soaked by the time I got there, and when I'd changed into my working-shoes, I took my coat upstairs to let it drip into the bath. Then I helped Mrs Marsden with the few breakfast pots and we got going on the downstairs rooms, like we always did on a Friday.

‘She was a bit quiet that morning, Mrs Marsden was, and I thought perhaps she wasn't feeling too well. At eleven we knocked off for five minutes and went into the kitchen for a cup of tea and a biscuit. And then Mrs Marsden said, just casual like, “By the way,” she said, “Mr Marsden seems to think he left some money in that suit you took to the cleaners. Did you find anything when you looked through the pockets?”

‘I'd clean forgotten about it till she mentioned it. I put my cup down and got up and felt under one of the canisters on the shelf. “You didn't see it, then?” I said. “I popped it up there on Wednesday. I meant to mention it, but I get more forgetful every day. That's all there was: just the odd note.” I wondered she didn't notice the tremble in my fingers as I handed it to her.

‘She spread the note out by her plate and said she'd give it to Mr Marsden when he came home. And I said it was funny that he'd bethought himself about it after all that time. I remembered she'd said he hadn't worn the suit for some while.