The Year of the Virgins Read online

  ‘You can’t do that, man, you can’t do that; she’ll never leave you alone. You know what happened the last time, and the time before that. And she would do it again, just to weigh on your conscience for the rest of your life, because once she’s lost Don she won’t have much to live for. I’ll never know how she has allowed his wedding to come as close as it has.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you that, Father; I’ve seen to it.’

  ‘You have? I must have known all along you had a hand in it, for she would never let go of the reins on her own. I can recall her going to watch him play football on a Saturday and waiting to drive him home, hail, rain or snow.’

  ‘Yes, in case he spoke to some girl or other. And what do you think of the latest, Father? What do you think she asked me to do tonight?’

  ‘I couldn’t give a guess, Daniel. Tell me.’

  ‘She didn’t only ask, she demanded that I go and find out whether or not he was a virgin!’

  ‘No. Oh dear God! No.’ The priest chuckled.

  ‘You can laugh, Father, but oh dear God! Yes.’

  ‘What possessed her?’

  ‘What’s always possessed her? The mania that is in her to hold him tight to her for the rest of his life. Pure and unsullied, that’s how she thinks of him. You know, since he was born and she saw that he was normal, you could say in all truth that she’s hardly looked at Stephen or Joe; in fact, she dislikes them both, although for different reasons.’

  Father Ramshaw now shook his head before slowly saying, ‘But even if you were to leave her you couldn’t be divorced. You know that.’

  ‘That wouldn’t matter to me so long as there was space between us, more space, because as you know I haven’t had her bed for years; she even shrinks from my hand.’

  The old priest sighed as he said, ‘’Tis a sad state of affairs. But perhaps God has a strange way of working: after Saturday, when she knows she’s lost Don, she might turn to you.’

  ‘Oh, never, Father.’ Daniel now reached firmly out and replenished the glasses with whisky and, again handing one to the priest, he said, ‘I couldn’t stand that. I really couldn’t. Not after all this long time. Oh, no, there’ll be no reconciliation like that, I can tell you.’

  ‘What about Joe, should you carry out your plan?’

  ‘Oh, Joe’s a man in his own right; he’ll order his life the way he wants it. He’s in a good position now, being a full-blown accountant. And anyway, he’s got his own little establishment in the cottage. There’s days on end when he doesn’t come into the main house here, not even for his meals. Oh, I don’t worry about Joe; he’ll get along on his own.’

  ‘Aye. Joe’s a fine fellow, but nobody gets along on their own, Daniel. And that reminds me, I’ll have to be after him; he’s been neglecting his duties of late; I haven’t seen him at Mass for a couple of Sundays. But then he could have been at Father Cody’s. I could have enquired about that, but I didn’t. The less that devil-chaser and me have to say to each other the better!’ He gulped at the whisky now, then laughed and ended, ‘I’m a wicked man, you know. But there’s only you and God know that, so keep it to yourself. That’s a fine whisky an’ all, Daniel, but it must be me last if I don’t want to drive home singing, because then, believe it or not, Father Cody would have me on me knees, he would that, and thumping me on the back, saying, “Repeat after me: Drink is the divil. Drink is the divil. Drink is the divil.”’

  They both laughed, and the priest went on, ‘And I bet he would say that an’ all, because he puts me in mind of Sister Catherine. They could be mother and son, you know, the way they deal with those who lapse, because that’s what she used to do to the young lads. I caught her at it once, thumping a hapless little divil on the head for some misdemeanour and with each thump crying, “Say: God is love. God is love. God is love.”’

  ‘Oh, Father!’ Daniel wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I hope you’ll attend my deathbed, because I’d like to die laughing.’

  ‘Ah, that’s nice, that’s a very nice thing to say. But seeing how the two of us are set in years it could be the other way round. Now, give me a hand up. Let me see if me legs are steady. How many whiskies have I had?’

  ‘Three, and the brandy.’

  ‘It’s the brandy, whisky never goes to me legs like this.’ He put out a leg and shook it, saying, ‘It’s got the tremors. Come on, let me out quietly, and then get yourself away to your bed. I’ll see you on Thursday at the rehearsal, then pray God Saturday will be here and it will all be over. We must talk again, Daniel. Do you hear? Promise me you won’t do anything until we talk again.’

  ‘All right, Father, I promise.’

  And on that, Daniel led the way out of the house and saw this dear old fellow, as he thought of him, into his car, saying, ‘I’ll see you to the gates; I promised Bill I’d put out the lights…’

  Back in the house, he looked across the hall to the green-baize door. She was still in the kitchen—he had seen the light from the drive—but he didn’t make towards it. Instead, he slowly went up the stairs.

  Three

  It was a beautiful day; it could have been mid-July, for it was quite warm and there wasn’t a breath of wind. Everyone said you would think it had been ordered.

  The marquee had been erected on the lawn beyond the drive. A number of men were going quietly about their business unloading tables and chairs from a lorry; from a van outside the main door, a woman and a man were carrying baskets of flowers into the house, and another was taking armfuls of blooms towards the marquee; and on the drive, men were stringing rows of electric bulbs between the larches. There was no fuss, and everything appeared orderly, as it did within the house.

  It was half past nine. Winifred had breakfasted in bed; Daniel had been up for some time; Joe and Don had just left the dining room, both dressed in light pullovers and grey flannels. They were crossing the hall towards the stairs when Maggie came down and, confronting them from the bottom step, she said, ‘He’s in a tizzy, he won’t get up. You’d better go and see what you can do.’

  ‘Well, if you haven’t succeeded in rousing him, there’s little chance for us.’

  Maggie looked at Joe as she said, ‘We don’t want any ructions today, do we? Cajole, invite or threaten, but get him out of that bed.’

  Don, passing her now to go up the stairs, said, ‘I would have thought it was the best place for him, seeing he’s not allowed to come to the service. Anyway, he’d have been all right; he can hold himself if he likes.’

  Maggie said nothing but stepped down into the hall and walked away. And Joe, taking the stairs two at a time, was quickly abreast of Don and said in an undertone, ‘You know as well as I do, Don, what excitement does to him. And there’s nobody would like him there more than I would.’

  ‘He never gets a treat of any kind.’

  ‘Oh, you know that isn’t right. Look what Maggie does for him. And I take him out at least once a week.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that kind of a treat. This, well…well, I would have thought today was special and she could have stretched a point, even taking the risk of anything happening.’

  As they mounted the next flight of stairs in a single file Joe, looking at the back of this younger man whom he couldn’t have loved more had he been his own kin by birth, thought ruefully, he said, she, not Mam, or Mother as she more often demanded as her title. It was as well he was going, for although as yet there had been no open rift between them, he had long seen one opening. And although he had his own feelings concerning the woman whom he addressed as Mam, he had no wish to see her broken openly by the desertion of the one being she loved. And not only loved; there was another name for such a feeling; but there was not a word in his vocabulary that would fit the need she had for her offspring.

  ‘What’s all this? What’s all this?’ Don was the first to reach the bed where Stephen was curled up in a position such as a child might have taken, his knees almost up to his chin, his arms folded across his face. �
��Now look here, you, Steve. Are you out to spoil my day?’

  The long arms and legs seemed to move simultaneously and the body lifted itself up against the wooden back of the bed, and the lips trembled as they muttered, ‘No, Don, no. But I want to come to the wedding. Don’t I, Joe? Can I, Don? Oh, can I?’

  Sitting down on the side of the bed, Don now said quietly, ‘I want you to come. We all want you to come, but you know what happened at the rehearsal, now don’t you? And anyway, the wedding will be over like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Then you’ll see Annette in her pretty dress, and the first thing she’ll do when she comes into the house will be to cry out, “Where’s Steve? Where’s Steve?” She always does, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I…I wouldn’t misbehave, honest, Don. Look, I haven’t in the night. Look!’ And with a quick movement he thrust the bedclothes back. ‘It’s all dry.’

  Joe had turned away from the bed and now stood as though looking out of the window. It made his heart ache to see this big man reduced to a child. But no, not reduced, just acting his mental age. What would happen to the lad…man when Don was gone and he himself was gone from this house, for he couldn’t stand the atmosphere much longer. Of course, there was always Maggie and his dad. But his dad was at the business all day, and out and about his own business most nights. As for Maggie, she was still a youngish woman. And he had just an inkling, too, of what might have kept her in this establishment all these years, and that it wasn’t just Steve. But it was only an inkling. Altogether it was an unhappy house. He had been aware of this for a long time. Even so, in a way he was grateful that he had been brought up in it, otherwise he wouldn’t be in the position he was today. Yet, should he be grateful for the ache that was racking his body at this minute? Two years ago he had imagined this day could have been his, but two factors had intervened in the shapes of his dad and Annette herself. But mostly his dad.

  As he looked down onto the drive he became aware that the flower van was moving away and in its place was what he recognised as a Bentley. He was keen on cars, but the family tended towards Rovers and he couldn’t recall one of their friends who had a Bentley. Then his mouth fell into a slight gape as he saw a man whom he imagined to be a chauffeur get out and then open the door to allow a woman to alight. Then his face spread into a smile as he exclaimed, ‘Aunt Flo!’ But she was early. She wasn’t expected to arrive until later. Then again his mouth fell into a gape, but a bigger one this time, and he called quickly, ‘Don! Don! Come here a minute.’

  When Don reached his side, Joe pointed down onto the drive where a very smartly dressed woman was talking to the man he had imagined to be a chauffeur, and he said, ‘Look at that! What do you make of that?’ And when the man now slipped his arm into the woman’s and began to walk her towards the door, they both looked at each other, their faces stretched into expressions portraying glee.

  Pressing the side of his head with his hand, Don groaned. ‘Oh my God! We only needed this. Mam will go berserk.’

  As though of like mind, they were turning together as Joe said, ‘Get yourself down to her and warn her; I’ll go and meet them.’ But at the door he turned again and stabbed his finger towards Stephen, saying, ‘Now you be a good lad: go and have a bath; make yourself smell nice; and put on your good suit. And then, yes…yes, you may come downstairs. Do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Joe. Yes.’

  ‘That’s it. Be a good lad.’

  ‘Yes, Joe.’

  Joe now turned and hurried towards the stairway. On the first floor he paused for, standing at a bedroom door, Don was holding his mother by the shoulders and saying, ‘Now stop it! Stop it! There could be an explanation.’

  ‘Explanation!’ Her voice was loud. ‘He’s black.’

  Don cast a worried glance at Joe as he almost ran past them towards the stairs; then pressing his mother back into the room and closing the door, he said, ‘Now listen, Mother. If you make a scene you’re going to spoil everything. Come. Come on.’ And he pulled her towards the chaise longue at the foot of the bed, saying, ‘Sit down.’

  ‘No, no; leave me alone. Oh! What am I saying? What am I saying?’—she held out her hand in a supplicating gesture—‘Saying to you, of all people, leave me alone, when this day you are leaving me. And…and she…she’s done this on purpose. Yes, yes, she has.’ Her whole fat body was shaking in confirmation of her statement. ‘She has always tried to rile me one way or another. Now she’s come here today with…with, of all things, a black man.’

  ‘But you invited her. And why? Because she said she was engaged to a barrister. Now own up.’

  ‘He can’t be a barrister; he’s black.’

  ‘Mother! Mother! Don’t be silly.’

  She turned from him now and began to pace the room. ‘This is your father’s doing. Oh, yes, yes it is. They were supposed to bump into each other in London, and I hadn’t heard a word from her for years, not since Harry died, and that’s five or more years ago. And he came back with the tale that she was doing splendidly, doing something big in an office and was working for a barrister. He must have known the barrister was black. He’s done this on purpose. Your father’s a wicked, wicked man.’

  ‘Be quiet, Mother.’

  ‘I won’t! I won’t! And what’s more, I’m going to tell you something. Yes, I am. It’s he who’s brought on this day.’

  ‘What do you mean, brought on this day?’

  ‘Just what I say: he was determined to part us, and he’s brought it about. You know he has. You know he has.’

  Yes, yes, he knew he had. He knew his father had brought about his wedding day, and he thanked God for it. But he had to lie, saying loudly, ‘That’s utterly ridiculous.’ But having lied he now inadvertently spoke the truth, adding, ‘I love Annette. I have done for years. Why, I went through agonies when I thought she fancied Joe. And you thought she fancied Joe, didn’t you?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort. Girls are flighty; they don’t know their own minds. And…and I ask you now, Don—’ Her voice had sunk low, her lids were blinking, the tears were pressing out of the corners of her eyes as she stammered, ‘Do…do you know what you are doing to me? Do you? You’re breaking my heart. You are leaving me alone. When you go I’ll have no-one, no-one in the wide world.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, please.’

  ‘Don. Don.’ With a cry she had her arms about him, pressing him to her, her flesh seeming to swim around him, her lips covering his eyes, his brow, his cheeks.

  It was with an effort he pushed her from him, then stood rigid, wide-eyed, looking at her body quivering from head to foot beneath her light dressing gown. He watched her turn from him and fling herself onto the couch muttering brokenly, ‘You don’t love me. You don’t love me.’

  He made no response to this for a full minute, and then he had to force the words through his lips, saying, ‘I do love you, Mother. But this is my wedding day. And what is more significant at the moment is that Aunt Flo is downstairs with her fiancé. Now how are you going to greet him? That’s what you’ve got to think about. How are you going to greet him? Because you know Aunt Flo: she’ll stand no nonsense. If you make a fuss…well, she’ll make a bigger one. So, please, put on a dress, anything, and come downstairs and see her.’

  ‘I won’t. And I don’t want that man in my house.’

  ‘He is in the house, and Father will welcome him. I say again about knowing people, and you know Father.’

  ‘Yes. Yes’—her voice was almost a scream now—‘I know Father. God in heaven! Yes, I know Father. I’ve known him for thirty tortured years.’

  After drawing in a long breath he turned away and walked towards the door. But there she checked him. Her voice was low now as she said placatingly, ‘I…I can’t go down yet. You can see that, Don.’

  ‘Will I send her up?’

  She didn’t answer: instead she turned her head away, which he took as an assent, so he left the room.

  Pausing at the top of the stairs, he put his hands ac
ross his eyes for a moment as if to shut out something, and then went quickly down the stairs and towards the drawing room from where came the sound of voices.

  His father was standing with his back to the flower-decked fireplace; and there, too, by the end of the couch on which Flo was sitting, stood the man. On this closer acquaintance, his colour seemed not to be as dark as when first seen, but more a deep chocolate brown. He was perhaps of mixed race; very handsome, over six feet tall and well-built with it: not heavy and not slim, but more like an athlete.

  His father greeted him with an overloud voice, saying, ‘Oh, there you are, the man of the day,’ and almost before the words were out his Aunt Flo rose from the couch and, coming swiftly towards him with outstretched hands, cried, ‘Hello there! My! My! I hardly recognise you.’

  Don took her hands, then bent towards her and kissed her on the cheek, saying, ‘Nor me you, Aunt Flo.’

  And this, he told himself, was true, because her voice had become a little a-lah, as he termed it, and her rig-out, which was a mauve velvet suit with a matching coat, which he noted was lying over the back of the chair, and was indeed something. From what he remembered of his Aunt Flo, she had been a bit slovenly; cheery and nice, oh yes, but not at all the classy piece who was now saying, ‘Come and meet Harvey.’

  She turned and led him by the hand towards the man, saying, ‘This is my fiancé, Mr Harvey Clement Lincoln Rochester.’ She emphasised each word as she smiled broadly up at her intended. And the man, now holding out his hand, said, ‘How do you do? And let me explain right away that the Rochester doesn’t mean I’m any relation to Jack Benny’s stooge; and the Lincoln has no connection with a past president either; nor Clement with an English prime minister, nor Harvey with an imaginary rabbit that you might have seen in the film.’