house of women (5 page)

"Well!" His father was addressing him.

"No need to make any introductions, is there? I suppose you know why she's here?"

"No."

"Come off it, our Andy," and the interjection caused the mother to half rise from her chair. With her finger thrust out towards her daughter, she said, "Another word from you and you

52.

know what you'll get. Anyway, go on! Get out of the room. "

When her daughter didn't move she turned and, almost glaring at Lizzie, she said, "You know what I think? I think it's a damned cheek you coming here and blaming him ... " Shut up! will you, Carrie. " The man now turned and, looking straight at his son, demanded, " Have you been with this lass? "

The straight question obviously shook the boy: he blinked rapidly, pulled his mouth to one side and bit on his lip, and seemed about to speak when his father said, "All right, that's evidence enough. The thing now is, what's to be done about it? You're a bloody fool. You know that? Your career's gone to blazes, whatever it was going to be, because the situation is this: if you don't marry her' with a jerk of his head he indicated Peggy 'they'll make you stump up, an' that means leavin' school and getting' a job."

"He's not going to."

James Jones turned his head slowly and looked at his wife, then as slowly he turned again to look at his son and continued to speak to him: "The choice is up to you. But at this stage what I think should be done is to let you two youngsters have a talk about it. I don't know whether the lass wants to marry but her mother seems intent on it." He spoke as if neither Lizzie nor Peggy were in the room. Then, getting to his feet, he said, "Now, take the lass into the front room."

His wife, too, was quickly on her feet, saying, "They can't go in there, it's in a mess."

"Well, it shouldn't be in a mess, woman." He was a tall man and, towering over her now, he ended, "If you'd get off your backside instead of looking at that bloody telly at night ... Oh! what does it matter. Come on, you two."

He walked to the kitchen door and pulled it open, then waited and watched Peggy slowly rise from her seat; but when Lizzie put in, "I think I should be ... he said, " Stop thinkin', missis, at least for her. She's old enough. They've had a try and she's carryin' a hairn, so she should be able to think for herself. Come on. "

The impatient movement of his head seemed to jerk the two young people past him and out of the room, across the passage and into the

sitting-room.

And Peggy saw straightaway that it really was in a mess, as her granny would have said, it had never seen a duster since they were made.

There were papers on the floor, two ashtrays lying on a cheap coffee table were full of cigarette ends, and there was a smell in the room suggesting damp or lack of air.

After the door closed on them they stood well apart, not looking at each other, and as he walked

towards the window she said in no small voice, "We're supposed to talk this out, so let's get it over with."

This brought him quickly about and, looking at her, he said very quietly, "It wasn't all my fault; you were ready and willing."

"I wasn't! You told me there was a horse there and a young neglected pony."

"Well, there used to be."

"There might have been, but they hadn't been there for a long time."

"You ... you didn't need much persuasion."

She turned her head away from him and looked towards the brown-painted door. He was right, he was quite right; she had been curious, she had wanted to grow up. She'd had an unease in her for a long time, part of it brought about by her wanting to get away from home and her father.

Oh, she didn't like that man, she had never liked him. But after that first time with Andrew, when she had thought she would die, why had she gone back again? And then a second time? and a third and a fourth?

Yes, why had she gone back again? And then he . he had dropped her and not only with a baby, he had just dropped her. She really had no intention of uttering the next words because they were common-sounding and she had heard her gran and great-gran say them, but now she heard herself speaking them: "When you got what you wanted, you disappeared, you ran off," she said.

She watched him now hunch his shoulders and jerk his chin to the side as he said, "It wasn't like that, not the way you mean. Yes; yes, I ran off because I ... I--' He now stretched his neck upwards and hissed at her, " I was frightened of this happening, as it has now. You .

you were so ready, so . so . Oh! " He turned from her and went to the window again.

Had she been all that ready? She looked at his back. It was narrow; he looked like a young boy, not seventeen, nearly eighteen. Had she ever dreamt about him at night and wanted to be with him? At this moment she didn't even like him. How was it she had let him touch her?

Touch her, did she say? More than touch, do what he did? How? She couldn't face up to the fact that the person she was now was someone entirely different from the girl she had been three months ago.

He had turned towards her again and, looking at him, she actually saw him as a young boy much less mature than she was. He had always given her the impression that he was grown up: it was his chatter, she supposed, his chatter that Charlie had once called 'his yap from his wide open gap'. Charlie had never liked him. He had met them once coming from the stable area and had straightaway

endeavoured to ignore him, but Andrew had talked all the time and laughed and acted the goat. She had felt a little ashamed of him that day.

Why was she thinking of Charlie? She had to get this thing settled.

Oh dear, dear Lord, she didn't want to get married, but there was no way out, she knew that.

He spoke her thoughts now: "You don't want to get married, do you?" he said.

She didn't answer for a moment, and when she did her answer was a statement: "I've got to."

His whole body moved as if shrugging off his clothes.

"Well, where would we live? We couldn't live here," he said.

"Oh no!" The words were emphatic.

"Well, you said before about your dad being ... His voice trailed off, and she immediately brushed aside what she knew he was about to say: "

He's got nothing to do with it, the house I mean. It's Great-gran's house. There's a sort of annexe. It's got enough rooms.

They'd . they'd do it up. "

During the time she was speaking she was rubbing her right hand up and down her thigh as if to ease away a pain, and she watched his

expression change, his face brighten as he said, "A proper house; I mean, detached ... they would?"

"It isn't detached; it's connected by a doorway. But yes." She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded.

"Yes, in a way it's detached. And it could be made really nice."

He half turned towards the window again, saying, "Well, I'd have to get a job and ... and they are not so easy now. Dad's on the buildings and he's been off a month. He used to be able to walk from one job to another, but not any more. So ... so that'll be an obstacle, the job."

Her hand stopped its rubbing and joined the other one tightly at her waist, and her voice sounded very much as her mother's did at times when she had to submit to something that her father wanted doing.

"They'll see to that too," she said.

"Great-gran said there could be a place found for you in the garage."

His expression took on a lightness.

"Selling cars?"

No! "

She now clapped her hand over her mouth because the 'no' had been so loud. Then almost in a whisper she explained, "Dad's over the showrooms, he's manager there. You'd ... you'd best keep your distance from him. Anyway, you'd be put down in the grease shop to start with, under Mr. Brooker ... no, Mr. Stanhope; Mr. Brooker is assistant to the general manager, Mr. Cartwright."

His face had resumed its usual expression.

"Grease shop; what's that?"

"That's what they call the repair shop."

"A greaser? Me ... mam won't like that." She had a great urge to swear like Great-gran did at times and cry at him, "Damn your mam!"

But what she said and grimly now was, "What would your mam have to do with it? If ... if we get married you'll have to take on responsibility and... and you should think yourself lucky that they are considering giving you a job. Yes, you should." She was flapping her hand at him now.

"Anyway, who do you think you are, Andrew Jones? You played the big "

I am" a few months ago; you acted as if you were a man." She paused here and they stared at each other in bitterness; and then she added,

"And you lied. You said you lived up the top of Brampton Hill and your father worked in the Town Hall."

"Oh well." He made a short sound of embarrassment

"Half of it was true: Dad was working on the roof of the Town Hall. And anyway, from what I could see of your house from the gate it wasn't like this, was it?" His voice dropped to a hiss and he swept his arm about the room, adding, "Would you brag about this?"

Her gaze was hard on him, her eyes widening slightly, and in this moment she felt sorry for him;

she could see what he meant and why he had pretended to live on

Brampton Hill. And because he went to the Grammar School she had never questioned this. And now an odd thought struck her: she had never seen him wear his school cap, which was why, she supposed, he seemed to be so much older than he was. School uniforms and caps revealed your age group.

They continued to look at each other, and the silence now became so deep that it allowed the shrieking and pounding feet of children in the street to enter into it.

He took two steps towards her; then, still looking directly at her, he said quietly, "I'll marry you; we couldn't be much worse off than we are now, could we?"

She didn't question this, at least her side of it;

but after wetting her lips a number of times she muttered, "All right then."

He took another step towards her, and now he was within half an arm's length of her.

"We ... we got on all right together at first, didn't we?" he said; but she didn't answer, only continued to look at him.

"Well, we could again, especially if we're on our own and ... and they leave us alone."

To whom was he referring: his people or hers? In a way she could see his people being prevented from interfering with them but not hers, not those three women back there. Oh, dear, dear, what was she saying, those three women! And they had all been so good to her, even Grandma Pollock, who was forever on the whine, she had never really said an unkind word to her; and then she had to say, those three women! and in that tone. What was happening to her?

Is this what carrying a baby did to your mind? She had been sick this morning. She had been sick other mornings but nobody had seemed to notice, except that once when it had been put down to the leek pudding.

And there had been a row over that leek pudding because Grandma Pollock had made the crust with dripping her father had refused to eat it so her sickness had been put down to that. What was more, she had a wash-basin in her room, so she had no need to go to the bathroom.

There were wash-basins in all the bedrooms; it was that kind of house.

This made her glance round the room in which she was standing and again she felt that pang of pity for Andrew. He must have some finer

feelings because he disliked this place.

She said softly, "We'd better tell them then, hadn't we?"

"Yes."

"Will you be going back to school?"

"Well, it'll all depend on when ... when you want the arrangements made."

"They'll .... they'll have to be soon."

"Yes, yes, I understand." He nodded, as though he were an authority in this matter.

"It'll be all right, it'll be all right." His hand was on her shoulder now and she felt herself shrinking from it. She wanted to say, "Don't touch me," but that would have been silly when only a short while ago all she wanted was to be clasped in his arms, tightly. Would she ever feel like that again? Yes; she'd have to.

"Come on," she said.

She preceded him out through the door, across the passage and into the kitchen. And there they were as she had left them, for seemingly no-one had moved: Mr. and Mrs. Jones at one side of the table, her mother at the other, and Andrew's young sister still standing near the fire.

"Well, then, what's the verdict?" As Mr. Jones asked the question Lizzie rose to her feet and, picking up her bag and gloves from the table, she looked as if she were about to walk straight out, for she already knew the answer. But she wasn't prepared for the addition to the answer and it halted her and her mouth dropped into a slight gape as her daughter, looking at Mr. Jones, said, "We've agreed to get married, but we want no interference ... from either side." And she turned slightly towards Andrew, her glance emphasising her words, and his mouth, too, was slightly agape as she went on, "We'll go along with whatever arrangements you decide between you, but once it's done well, we want to manage on ... on our own."

Lizzie couldn't believe her ears. Her daughter had gone into that room a hang-dog girl, defiant and dead set against marriage, while at the same time knowing that it was inevitable. But out of that room had come this apparently young woman who was making conditions and it was that thought that prompted Lizzie now to say, "You're in no position, either of you, to give orders, or make conditions."

"Oh, yes we are, Mam. We could both say no, couldn't we?" She turned and looked at her future husband, and he, as if imbibing courage from the fierceness of her glance, nodded and said, "Yes, she's right, we could both say no."

When the burst of laughter hit the room all attention was diverted, not only to Mr. Jones, but to his young daughter, for as he leant back in his chair and let out a roar, Minnie's high-pitched laughter sounded hysterical.

"Shut up! Stop it!" Mrs. Jones had sprung to her feet; then, turning to Peggy, she cried, "Who d'you think you are, miss, coming in here giving your orders! He's my son and he'll do what he's told."