The Invisible Cord Read online

  ‘Don’t! Don’t, Georgie! ’Tisn’t your fault.’ She gripped his arm. ‘Don’t look at it like that. Perhaps it was for the best; if…if he didn’t want to fight…’

  She slipped into the gutter as he pulled his arm from her, crying, ‘Christ, he wouldn’t want to lose his legs to save himself from fightin’. He could have been classed as a conchie and had it easy on some farm or other. Christ! To lose his legs.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Georgie, I didn’t mean…’

  After a while he said, ‘It’s all right; I know you didn’t mean anythin’ like that.’ He took her arm again, and his voice almost indistinct now, he said, ‘Aw, Annie, the night of all nights. I was goin’ to show you what a decent fellow I could be, I wasn’t goin’ to get drunk. Well, I didn’t get drunk, but I was goin’ to treat you as I know you would like to be treated ’cos…’cos like Arthur you’re different. And I know you’re different. I’m bloody lucky. I’ve thought all day, when I was in the church, an’ especially as I was sitting at the table, I thought, Georgie McCabe you’re a bloody lucky bloke. You’ve got a pal like Arthur, an’ a wife like Annie…And now, now this…I’m sorry.’

  She wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry an’ all, Georgie,’ for she’d come near to loving him at this moment; but they had reached the door of the house and she opened it and as they went in the thought occurred to her that he hadn’t once mentioned his father.

  Her mother was in the kitchen busily putting things to rights. She stopped what she was doing and looked at them; and then her eyes focused on Georgie. His clothes were begrimed, his face was dirty, but besides being dirty it had a sad heavy look about it and in spite of her feelings towards him she said kindly, ‘Sit down, lad. How’s your mother taking it?’

  ‘Pretty well, thanks, Mrs Cooper. Pretty well, considerin’.’

  ‘Have you found out how your friend is?’

  ‘Pretty bad, Mrs Cooper, pretty bad. Mona an’ all. But we won’t know the details until the morrow, things are pretty hectic down there at the hospital.’

  ‘Yes, yes, they would be. Can I get you a drink of anything?’

  ‘I’ll…I’ll have a drop of hard if there’s any left, Mrs Cooper. Thank you all the same.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Georgie. What…what about you, Annie, do you want anything?’

  ‘No, Ma, nothing. I’ll go up and take me coat and things off.’

  ‘Yes, do that, do that.’

  As she made to go towards the passage doorway leading to the stairs she was stopped, as also was Mary about to go into the scullery, by Georgie saying, ‘You go on to bed, I’ll be up later.’

  It was as if they had been married for years. She glanced over his head towards her mother before swinging her gaze sharply away; then, with her back turned towards him, she said, ‘Yes, I’ll do that, I’m tired.’ And to this she added, ‘Will…will you look in, Ma?’

  There was a pause before Mary said, ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be in in a minute.’

  In her bedroom under the muted light given off by the green crinkled paper over the pink lampshade, she undressed rapidly, not pausing as she sometimes did to examine her figure through the foot square of mirror, or hold it at an angle as she peered for a blemish on the skin of her shoulders or thighs. She did not even stop to take the powder off her face with a thin layer of Pond’s night cream, before adding a thicker layer which promised beauty in the morning. Scrambling, she got into her nightdress, not a new one, but her best one, which she had made herself and adorned with a herring-bone yoke; then bundling her underclothes into a drawer, for there seemed to be something indecent in the casual way she had draped them over the back of a chair, she got into bed.

  Her bed wasn’t a single bed, nor yet a full-sized bed, it was of the size her mother had once described as, doing at a pinch. It was covered with an artificial pink silk bedspread under which was a matching feather-stuffed eiderdown. Even in her present state she had been careful to turn the bedspread well back—her mother couldn’t stand the top being crumpled.

  Stretching her length out, not in the middle, as she was wont to do, but towards the edge, she pulled the sheets up under her chin and lay waiting. And within five minutes her mother opened the door.

  Mary had always come in and bidden her daughter goodnight. She would walk to the bed, straighten the turned-down bedspread, pulling the corners into points, sometimes even folding it once more to ensure it was not rumpled. At one time she had taken it off altogether, until Annie had complained that the eiderdown slipped off in the night when the bedspread wasn’t there to hold it in place. Then she would pat the bed two or three times, saying, ‘Well now, settle down; you’re all right, aren’t you?’ and Annie invariably answered, ‘Yes, Ma.’

  ‘Very well then,’ would be Mary’s response; ‘goodnight. Don’t keep that light on, mind. Goodnight.’

  But tonight she did not enter the room, she was beginning a new pattern. The door half-open, she stood with her hand gripping the knob and, looking towards her daughter, she said, ‘All right?’ and when Annie, after a moment, answered, ‘Yes, Ma,’ she said, ‘Goodnight then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Ma.’

  When the door closed Annie bit tight on her lip to stop herself from crying. She could have come in, she could have done what she always did, turn the bedspread, pat the bed, stand near her. She never kissed her, she didn’t expect to be kissed, but she could have come in; tonight of all nights she could have come in. After she had held her tightly in the scullery she thought things would be different. Oh, her ma! Her ma was a funny ’un.

  She heard her da’s voice now coming up from the kitchen talking to Georgie. She was glad he was back. Georgie wouldn’t feel so bad having him to talk to.

  As she lay listening to the deep rumbling of the voices her body relaxed somewhat. Then after some time she heard her mother come upstairs and the door across the little landing open and close, and she knew her da would soon follow.

  But her da didn’t soon follow. The voices downstairs went on, and on, and on, and their low drawl turned into a lullaby so that in spite of herself she dropped asleep …

  She didn’t know what had wakened her. It wasn’t Georgie entering the room or getting out of his clothes, for when she opened her eyes she saw him sitting in the wicker armchair to the side of the bed dressed in pyjamas. His back was bent, he had his elbows on his knees and his face was buried in his hands. She lay staring at him for some time. He was making a smothered sound and aiming to compress it with his hands.

  Slowly she hitched herself over to the other side of the bed and, throwing the clothes back, she brought her feet to the ground. Then tentatively she put out her hand and touched the side of his head, whispering, ‘Georgie! Georgie!’

  His head jerked and sank lower, and she moved nearer to him and said again, ‘Georgie!’

  Like a child now he turned towards her. Her arms instinctively went about him, and as his head pressed into her shoulder and she felt his wet face against her warm flesh she stared, slightly open-mouthed, at the wall in front of her.

  She had imagined all kinds of things happening on this night but the last thing on God’s earth, she told herself she could have imagined, would be holding him while he cried. It was odd but she had never heard a man cry, she had never seen a man cry; women at funerals, yes, howling their eyes out, but men, no. Yet in this moment, Georgie, who was crying like a child, appeared more of a man to her than he had done before.

  She did not question her actions when she eased him up from the chair and sat him on the side of the bed; then, having thrust the bedclothes well back, pressed him gently downwards and pulled the covers over him; after which she put out the light.

  Getting into the bed from her side, she now drew him towards her, muttering softly, ‘There now, Georgie. There now. It’s all right.’ But instead of her gentleness easing his grief it seemed but to increase it, and she had to pull the bedclothes up over their heads in case the sound of his sobbing should p
enetrate across the landing.

  When his spasm of grief eventually subsided he muttered thickly, ‘I’m sorry, Annie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry for, Georgie.’

  He lay inert against her, spent; then after a time he said, ‘Me da wasn’t such a bad bloke, you know.’

  ‘No, Georgie, no, he wasn’t.’

  ‘I’ll never be able to look Arthur in the face again.’

  ‘That’s silly, Georgie; you’re not to blame.’

  ‘I am. I begged him to be me best man.’

  ‘He wanted to be.’

  ‘Aye, aye, he said he did, but…but he had an awful lot of trouble to get off. He’d had two forty-eights recently, an’ what’s more he’s been on a charge. He’s against church parades.’ There was another pause before he said, ‘I’ll…I’ll have to stand by me ma, Annie. She’ll need help; she’s still got three of them to see to; there’ll be no pension, him being casual like in the docks.’

  ‘That’s all right, Georgie. We’ll sort that out after, don’t worry about that.’

  ‘There’s nobody like you, Annie.’

  She was silent.

  ‘Me da said that, he said it only yesterday mornin’, and he was solid and sober. He said “You’re lucky, chum, she’s another like your ma, she’ll stand by you.” Me da was all right; he was what he was ’cos things made him that way. Bloody governments, Conservative or Labour or National, all alike; no work, no bloody chance for a man with brains, never mind without. It’s like Arthur says, you’re what your en-environ makes you, Annie.’

  ‘Yes, Georgie.’

  ‘I’m, I’m sorry I’m no good the night, Annie.’

  ‘Oh, Georgie, be quiet, be quiet! Go to sleep.’

  ‘Thanks, Annie. There’s nobody like you, Annie…’

  He was no good the night…It was funny how your prayers were answered; but what a price to pay for such an answer.

  PART TWO

  DEMOB

  One

  ‘Ma, don’t give him any more taffy; his first teeth won’t be in five minutes afore they’ll be ruined. You’re spoiling him.’

  ‘Spoiling him! Look who’s talking. If I’m spoiling him you’ve already ruined him, lifting him up every time he whimpers. If he’s able to walk by the time he’s five he’ll be lucky. Spoiling him indeed!’

  ‘Will you two stop it!’ Dennis’s voice was low and tired-sounding. ‘If that bairn ever survives it’ll be a miracle to me. Torn in two he’ll be between you. An’ she’s right.’ He was nodding towards Mary now. ‘He won’t have any teeth by the time you’ve finished stuffin’ bullets into him.’

  ‘They’re less harmful than sips of beer.’

  ‘Sips of beer won’t do him any harm, woman.’

  ‘No? Between you and Mollie McCabe he’ll be well on the bottle afore he can walk, and then by the way you’re going on he’ll never walk straight. Next time I see her at it I’ll tell her about it, no matter what you say.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, d’you hear?’ Dennis’s voice was grim. ‘Twice you’ve seen her give the child a sip, and that’s all, and the way you manoeuvre things she doesn’t get much chance to get near him. If you had your way you’d put a notice up: No McCabes allowed. Not even the father. So there you have it.’

  Dennis had risen to his feet, thrown down his paper, and was stamping out of the kitchen when Mary’s ‘Well’ checked him, and he turned to her and repeated, ‘Aye, well, now you’ve had it.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll think of moving your lodgings.’

  Dennis had reached the passage, but he seemed to spring back to the doorway and, poking his head in, he cried, ‘I might at that, you never know,’ before disappearing again.

  Mary turned and looked at Annie, but Annie had her head bowed over the child. When, however, Annie did look at her mother, the expression on Mary’s face made her say, ‘Don’t take any notice, Ma; you know he’s only kiddin’.’

  ‘It’s come to something.’ Mary’s lips were trembling. ‘That family, that woman.’

  ‘She means no harm, Ma.’

  ‘That’s right, you take her part an’ all.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t. What harm has she ever done you? She’s got an awful life of it really. Having to go out to work and still see to the others when she gets home, and Winnie being such a handful, and the twins not much better. That’s one thing I’ll be glad about anyway when Georgie is demobbed, he’ll see to them.’

  They now looked at each other. Then, her gaze dropping away, Annie turned about, hitched the child farther up into her arms, and went into the scullery, where she took a wet flannel from a peg by the sink and wiped the child’s mouth, saying, ‘Keep still now, keep still.’

  The child had been named Terence which had quickly been shortened to Rance. He had fair curls, a round face and dark eyes. To match the face the eye sockets too should have been round, but they were oval-shaped and gave to the eyes an oriental quality. He was apt to go into deep sulks; deprived of his own way, he didn’t scream or kick as might have been natural but, pressing his lips together, he would hold his breath until he nearly choked, then when thumped on the back and forced to take in air he would assume a grieved silence which in one so young made the adults say, ‘Now would you believe it! He knows what he wants that one and means to get it. By! He’s a marler.’

  In his small world young Rance captivated all adults, with the exception of Dennis, who was wont to say more often as time went on, ‘That young fellow wants his backside smacked an’ if I had anything to do with it he would get it afore and after meals.’

  When Mary came into the scullery Annie went on wiping the child’s face as she said, ‘Ma, I…I think I’d better tell you, I’m after a house.’

  ‘… What!’ The word had a startled sound; it gave the impression of utter incredulity. ‘What!’ she said again, then added, ‘After a house? Since when?’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I’ve been on the lookout for some time.’

  ‘Well, of all the underhand…’

  ‘Now, Ma.’ Annie turned round, throwing the flannel into the sink as she did so, then said bitterly, ‘Georgie will be out next week, he’ll be out for good, and what life do you think we’re going to have here? You still can’t stand the sight of him; nothing he does is right.’

  ‘Is it right for you? Let me ask you that. Truthfully, answer me truthfully, girl. Is it right for you? The things he does!’

  ‘Not all, Ma, not all. But I’ll have a chance to correct them if we’re on our own.’

  ‘He can’t open his mouth but oaths come out…obscenities.’

  ‘Don’t dare say that, Ma. You know I wouldn’t stand that. He doesn’t use bad language, it’s just swearing, just ordinary swearing. And you’d think you’d never heard swearing. Believe me, me da can hold his own when he gets going. Bloody and bugger are nothing to it.’

  ‘Don’t you foul your mouth, girl. Huh! This is forthcoming events casting their shadows before; you’ll be as bad as his mother before you finish up.’

  ‘I won’t be as bad as his mother.’ Annie’s voice was low now. ‘And if I was like her I wouldn’t be bad. Mollie isn’t bad, she’s rough, but not bad. She’s better than some I could put a name to.’

  ‘How dare you! How dare you, girl! My own daughter saying…’

  ‘I’m not meaning you, Ma.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Look, Ma. We’re fighting, we’re fighting now and Georgie isn’t here. If Georgie was here he wouldn’t sit by and let you get away with it. He mightn’t, as you infer every time you can, have much up top, but he’s got that much up top he wouldn’t stand by an’ see you going for me. That’s just one of the things I want to avoid, so we’ll be moving. Just after Christmas we’ll be moving.’

  Annie turned away as she saw her mother’s face crumple, saying softly now, ‘It won’t be far, just down below Thornton Avenue.’

  ‘My God! Thornton Avenue, near the Arab quarter. You’ve ta
ken it? You haven’t, have you? You haven’t taken it?’ Her voice was a thin squeak and Annie answered, still quietly, ‘Yes, Ma, I’ve taken it; and it’s not in the Arab quarter.’

  ‘It’s the dock quarter. If it’s round the dock quarter it’s round…’

  ‘Yes it’s the dock quarter. It used to be Hanlon’s coal depot. The house is in the yard. It’s not bad at all, and I’m lucky to get it. It’s got two up and two down like this, but it’s bigger. I mean the rooms are bigger. And the scullery, why, why I’m tellin’ you, Ma, it’s nearly as big as the kitchen, it is.’ She went on talking as her mother slowly turned from her and walked away. And when the child put its hands on each of her cheeks and pressed her mouth outwards she leant her face towards him and whispered, ‘Oh Rance. Rance.’

  The atmosphere in the house was not much lighter when at six o’clock that evening Mona came in unexpectedly.

  ‘Why, hello! I didn’t think to see you till the weekend. When did you get back?…Ma!’ Annie turned her head and called upstairs. ‘Here’s Mona…Sit down. Sit down. By! You’re looking fine. Well tell us. Why did you come back so soon?’