The Bonny Dawn Read online

  Silently she turned her head towards her daughter’s stiff, still form. Then contracting the muscles of her stomach, she ground out under her breath, ‘To hell!’ then left the room.

  Crossing the landing, she almost kicked open her bedroom door; but, on finding the room empty, she closed it quietly behind her and began to dress. She put on a sleeveless summer frock that displayed her thick fleshy arms. The flesh was in hard nodules like the ridges you see on wet sand. It was a sign of ageing flesh. Yet time that was ravishing her skin was having no effect on the burning, desiring life within her. She was so made that she would keep her vitality until her dying day, however far away that was. The life urge seemed to renew itself daily in her, churning up her whole body and troubling her. Yet it did not show in her movements, which were slow.

  She left the bedroom, only to come face to face with Willie. He blocked her way to the stairs. Standing head and shoulders above her, he said, ‘If this goes on I’m moving.’

  ‘Now don’t you start!’

  ‘Well, it’s getting past it. An’ people talkin’.’

  At this she deliberately widened her eyes and mouth at him in mock surprise, and then she laughed. ‘Talkin’, you say? People are talkin’? That’s good, that is.’

  She felt a sense of victory as she watched the hot colour sweep upwards over his face, and when he sidestepped from her and made for his room she turned and said to his back, ‘You want to think afore you speak, me lad…Talkin’.’

  She did not immediately descend the stairs but stood looking down them, saying to herself, ‘Talkin’. Talkin’. That’s good, that is.’ And as she stood there a sadness crept over her, and she turned her head slowly and looked back towards her son’s door. Why had this thing that was full and flush in her…yes, and in his father an’ all, give him his due, to take a twist like it had done in their son…? Oh God, life was hell.

  In the kitchen, Tom was sitting at the table, his head resting on his hands. He did not move when she came in and she did not speak to him, but she clashed and banged around him as she set about getting the breakfast ready, and when, putting a tray on the table, she deliberately struck viciously at his elbows, he raised his head and said quietly, ‘One of these days I’ll forget meself and do you in.’

  ‘Huh!’ she almost spat. ‘I’ll be waitin’ for you!’

  Tom looked at her for some minutes before he pulled himself up from the table. His eyes were still on her as he hitched his trousers up and moved out of the room. Slowly he mounted the stairs, and as he crossed the landing his eyes flicked towards Brid’s door, but he did not stop. When he entered the bedroom he sat down on the side of the tumbled bed and, lifting one hand, he covered his face. After a few moments he lowered his hand and placed his thumb across his mouth and bit hard on it. He would…he would. One of these times he would forget himself and go for her, and he would only have to start and he wouldn’t be able to stop, he knew he wouldn’t. Funny, but he had never hit her. He had been near it a hundred times, but he just couldn’t, somehow. And she knew it, blast her. But the other one—he never thought of her as Brid—he felt he wanted to belt her till the blood ran, and he would. She wouldn’t go the same road as her mother, he’d see to that. His teeth eased off his thumb and now he flicked them with his nail. What would Palmer’s reaction be to the latest? He would have liked to see his face when Harry gave him the news. It would have been a sort of payment for all he had endured. Why had he put up with it all these years? Keeping pals with him knowing what he knew…Why? He shook his head. It was getting that way that he couldn’t let him out of his sight in case Alice and he got together. And they laughed at him, at least she did, when his shift worked out and he was on late turn every three weeks…If he could only catch them at it. He put his elbow on the bed rail and lowered his head and rested it on his hand. It was as if he were turning from the sight of himself, his fear, his cowardice. He could have caught them time and again but that would have meant facing up to the situation, and he couldn’t. Not now, for it had gone on too long. He couldn’t live without Alice. Rather she should torture him than leave him. Of a sudden he had the horrifying sensation that he was going to cry. It brought him up on to his feet, and grabbing from here and there, he got into his clothes.

  ‘There, come on, sit up and have this. I’ve brought me cup up so’s I can have one with you. There…there now. Eat that up while it’s hot: the bacon’s nice and crisp, just as you like it.’ Alice put the tray on Brid’s knees.

  ‘I couldn’t eat anything.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, get it into you. It isn’t the end of the world.’

  Brid watched her mother pull a chair up to the foot of the bed and sit down. Through the window at her back the sun shone on her hair, giving to it the appearance of a large halo.

  ‘I couldn’t eat anything, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, have that bit of toast then and a cup of tea…Hand me the plate; there’s no use in wasting it; it’s no good when it’s cold.’

  Brid watched her mother. She was eating the bacon as if she were enjoying it, as if nothing had happened. And then she contradicted this by wiping her mouth on the pad of her thumb and saying quickly, ‘Well now, let’s get this straightened out. Come on, tell me all about it.’

  Brid looked down into the cup she was holding between her hands. ‘There’s nothing to tell, nothing to straighten out. Nothing…Nothing,’ and she laid deep quiet emphasis on the last two words.

  ‘Well now’—her mother’s tone was patient, and yet had a hopeless ring about it—‘you don’t stay out all night and have nothing to tell. You know me; I wasn’t born yesterday, girl. And look, I’m not goin’ to get mad at you. I understand. Good God, don’t I? Let’s face up to things: you’re part of me, you’re the same inside as I am, and I know how I am, so don’t be afraid to speak.’

  ‘I tell you, Mother—’

  ‘All right, all right; you were out all night and nothing happened. Well, then, tell me why you stayed out all night with him.’

  ‘I didn’t. I tell you I didn’t; I never left this room until four o’clock.’

  ‘Why four o’clock?’

  Brid bowed her head. How could she tell this woman who suggested that her flesh craved the same satisfactions as her own, who knew no other desires, how could she say to her, I went to see the dawn come up? But she would have to, she could only tell the truth. She was looking into her cup again when she said, ‘I went to see the dawn come up.’

  ‘Aw, lass.’ Her mother’s voice sounded more hopeless now, and when it added the usual ‘Well!’ the word, translating itself to Brid, said, Aw, stop it for God’s sake. Come off it. Come clean. What does it matter, anyway? You’ll sleep with somebody sooner or later, so come on, let’s have it.

  ‘Mother.’ The room became quiet for a moment as their eyes held. ‘I came in at five past eleven last night. I put me alarm on and I got up at four o’clock this morning because I had promised him I would go and see the dawn from the top of Stockwell Hill…And I went…And that’s all that happened. Harry couldn’t have seen anything for nothing happened. I’m tellin’ you, Mother. Well, look at the alarm…you can see it’s set for four.’ Her words had ended on a run.

  Her mother did not look at the alarm but said, ‘Did you see him…Harry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What were you doin’?’

  ‘Just sitting looking at the colours on the sea.’

  Brid watched her mother’s eyes drop away, and her teeth drew her lower lip tightly into her mouth as she listened to her saying, ‘Harry said he passed numbers of them along the road on his journey. It was a warm night; I suppose that was it. But you were just sittin’?’ Her eyes lifted again, and Brid said slowly and quietly, ‘Yes, we were just sittin’.’

  ‘And it was dark when you left the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it dark when you got there?’
<
br />   ‘Yes, it was…No, not quite; it was lifting.’

  Her chest felt tight. She felt she could choke. If her mother said just once more, ‘And you were just sittin’?’ she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She would scream, louder than she had done downstairs when her father had brought the chain round her shoulders. Her mother repeating nearly everything she said was causing a muzzy dizziness in her head and she felt sick. She supposed it was the shock from the blow. She wanted to be alone, she wanted to be quiet and think. She knew she would have to think, for nothing would be the same again. The pretence was ended, at least for her. She didn’t know if she could go on living in this house, even if he would let her. She didn’t know whether the truth that had burst into her mind this morning would allow her to go on living here and look at them playing out their lives. She didn’t think she could do it.

  Her father’s voice coming from the landing startled her. She knew he was in the bathroom and shouting at Willie in his bedroom. ‘Dancin’, clubs, jivin’…squares, beats and all the bloody rest of it and nobody in the house when they come home, nobody. There’s things to be said on both sides. Is there any home life here? I ask you, is there? My wage is good enough to run this house, I’ve always said it. They come home from school and not a bloody soul in sight. They come home from the office and not a bloody soul in sight. An’ the years roll on, an’ where’s the home life? Where is it, for anybody, I ask you? I’ve had it.’

  Brid put her hands over her ears as her mother rushed to the door and tore it open, but she could not shut out her voice. ‘Aye, and you’ll have it again. You know the cure, don’t you? Well, take it, but you’re not stopping me goin’ out. No, me lad. This is just an excuse to start again, isn’t it? Well, you can save your breath. Stay in the house and wash and cook and sit and wait for you comin’ in? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Sit in the house and sew a bloody fine seam at night while you’re out at the club or some such. Oh no. You say you don’t go out much. Not now, because you’ve got the tele—’

  ‘Shall I open the windows?’ It was Willie’s voice low and sarcastic.

  ‘Well, if you think I’m gonna take this lying down—’ she was still yelling.

  ‘You take more than that lying down.’

  Their voices came, together now, Willie’s and her mother’s, Willie crying, ‘Cut it out. Cut it out. What are you coming to, anyway?’ and her mother screaming, ‘You dirty swine! That’s all you are, a dirty swine.’

  As the bathroom door banged, her bedroom door opened again and Brid knew that her mother was standing with her back to it. Then she was standing over her whispering fiercely into her face, ‘Look; whoever this man is, make sure he won’t lead you hell. Do you hear? See what I’ve got? Make sure, I’m tellin’ you, afore you take the step.’

  Brid stared up into her mother’s wild eyes. How silly she was, really. How silly. Why hadn’t she made sure? Could anybody ever be sure? Oh, if she would only go away and leave her alone. The buzzing was loud in her head. It felt as if it would burst. She would never marry anybody. Never. Never. She would never let a man touch her…

  ‘Even if you get yourself landed with something, don’t take him as a loophole, but make sure.’

  ‘Leave me alone. Please leave me alone; my neck’s paining me and I want to go to sleep. Leave me alone.’ If her mother didn’t leave her alone she would scream at her. She would scream and shout like the rest of them. She had to restrain herself from pushing her mother’s face away. She didn’t like the look of it. The cheery, laughing expression was hard. The eyes and the mouth were just straight lines on a brittle surface. She shut her eyes.

  Alice Stevens withdrew slowly from the bed and stood for a moment talking, as if to herself now, and about domestic things. ‘I’ll never be able to start the washing the day, and there’s a pile there. But I just can’t. And there’s the dinner to see to an’ all. Well, he can bloody well go hungry. That’ll settle him. But all that washing…’

  The door closed and Brid lay still, looking into the pattern of colour upon her closed lids. Sunday. Sunday. Day of rest. She had always thought that there should be two Sundays in a week, one on which you didn’t have to do the washing. The Pattersons across the road, the Crosbys and the Wrights, they never washed on a Sunday. Her Aunt Olive never washed on a Sunday. On the rare occasions when her mother referred to her Aunt Olive she would say she was damned lucky to be able to stay at home and do her washing during the week, that she was damned lucky in all ways in having a man like Uncle John who’d come home at night and do the washing-up, as well as the ironing.

  In spite of her effort to restrain it, her mind took her down the street and into the Palmers’ house.

  Her Aunt Olive was often off-colour. She had an ailment that had no name but which took her to bed for days at a time and gave her headaches and pains all over. When the ailment was bad her Uncle John would come home from work and help in the house; he was very good to her was her Uncle John. Over the last few years he had bought her a television, a fridge and a washing machine, and only recently he had added to the latter a spin-dryer. The house was well-furnished and bright, and Aunt Olive was always at home when her man came in. She was a home woman who doted on her family. She was proud of Harry and worried over Sandy, and she loved Uncle John and kept him tied to her by sympathy. But the house always seemed a happy one. Once, her dad, in a storm of abuse when fighting with her mother, had given a reason for this. He had said, ‘Who wouldn’t be happy with two women, one at home and one away, and not so far away at that?’

  Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad during the last few years, Brid thought, if her mother hadn’t left her old job with the light industry and gone and got set on in the paper mills where Uncle John worked. Yet even after that, her Uncle John continued to drop into the house and her father continued to go out to the club with him. It wasn’t understandable, it wasn’t. One thing seemed to shout liar at the other. How could her father, knowing that her mother was going with his pal, talk to him, go out with him, remain in his company, evening after evening. The whole set-up made her feel sick in her stomach. Yet it was behind this supposedly tolerant façade that she had taken refuge for years. If there was anything going on her father simply wouldn’t put up with it. Her father and her Uncle John would have rowed. But as far back as she could remember she knew it had been going on, and her father and Uncle John hadn’t rowed, which made it more horrible still.

  The pain in her neck was becoming worse. Her head was muddly. She again wanted to be sick. She turned on her side, and now, under the cover of the bedclothes, a face loomed up clear and close. It was Joe’s face, and he said to her, ‘You shouldn’t stare like that, you should keep blinking and not look at the sun directly. Look away to the side. You were staring as if you were looking away beyond it, from where it comes.’

  ‘From where it comes.’ She said the words aloud, then burying her face in the pillow she gave way to a storm of weeping, muttering at intervals, ‘I wish I was there…from where it comes. I wish I was dead. Oh, I do.’

  Chapter Three

  Long after Brid had disappeared down the road Joe continued to sit on the top of Stockwell Hill. He had never known such a dawn: everything was afloat in light; even the sea seemed wrenched from its bed and to be straining skywards. There was a lightness and floating quality about the whole earth, and as usual he began a commentary to himself with, ‘By, it has been a bonny dawn! ’ But when his words were checked by reason of the added lustre to the morning, his commentary went on, ‘Well, she is nice. I knew she was; I wasn’t wrong.’ From the moment he knew he was attracted to her, he began to take her to pieces. Look at the heels she wore; and she had admitted she would like to wear coloured stockings. Fancy anyone wanting to put on red woollen stockings as if they were back in the fourteenth century. Funny, when you came to think about it, with the lot of them thinking they were the last second’s delivery in time, so bloomin’ up to date they couldn’t be b
eaten, and then wearing coloured wool stockings. And her skirt showed her knees, like all the rest of them; you would swear they were wearing sawn-off crinolines. And she plucked her eyebrows. He wasn’t against make-up, but when they plucked their eyebrows it was going too far. Yet on the Monday he had gone to George’s coffee shop to see if she was there, and after talking to her he dissected no more; he knew she was all right.

  It was hunger now that drove him homewards. He didn’t go by the road but ran down the hill towards the beach, slithering and stumbling when the hill became very steep in its descent towards the sand. The sand was soft and dry and made walking slow, and the rim of the water seemed much further away than it had done from his perch up above. He crossed over from the dry sand to the wet and watched his feet now imprinting swift dark patterns.

  From the top of the hill the distance towards the warning notice had looked nothing, but it took him nearly ten minutes to reach it. He glanced at the notice as he passed. The pole to which it was attached was leaning sideways; the faded letters on the board were still readable: ‘danger. do not bathe beyond this point.’ He smiled at it. His father had introduced him to bathing here and the notice had been lopsided then. When he reached the bay, hemmed in by the half-circle of rocks, he stopped for a moment to gaze at it. On a morning such as this, if his father had been alive, they would both have been in there rolling and sporting like two lads, not like father and son at all. The sand leading into the water of the bay dipped swiftly away from his feet at this point. That was why even when the tide was out you could always have enough water to mess about in. The tide left no impression on the bay, for it was as if at one time a giant hand had scooped out a hollow in the sand where the water would remain against falling tides.