A Whisper to the Living (34 page)

‘Oh well. I can’t say as ’ow I blame ’er. I just don’t know what ter do.’ She paused, deep in thought. ‘I reckon there’s nowt for it but to sell me ’ouse. That’s if Eric’ll let me – ’e pays t’ mortgage. But if I could get a few ’undred together it would see me through till our Maggie’s workin’ an’ till I can get back ter me job.’

Jessie glanced at the clock. ‘I think you’d best be off now. Our Annie’ll be in soon and the less she knows about this the better.’

Dolly heaved herself up and made for the door. ‘Are you sure she’s alreet?’ She pointed to the motionless figure on the sofa.

‘She’ll be fine. Go on now, you’ve enough of your own without worrying over our Nancy. And I’m sorry if I was a bit sharpish earlier on – it was the shock, you see.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll see meself out. Ta-ra then.’

Jessie walked over to the sofa and stared down into Nancy’s wide eyes.

‘Thanks, Jess. You did well there, you’re a fast thinker. Has she gone?’

‘Aye, she’s gone.’

‘But for how long?’

‘For good, love. She’s gone for good.’

Nancy walked along the green-tiled floor towards large double doors. Why did they always have to paint these places dark cream? The stench of disinfectant pricked her nose and she sniffed to stop herself sneezing. A porter rattled by with a trolley full of bowls and bedpans, the noise of his progress bouncing off close walls.

She wasn’t really sure why she was here – impulse, she supposed. But it wasn’t something she was looking forward to, she knew that. And she ought to be putting all this behind her for her own sake and for Annie’s, but well – you couldn’t just leave somebody stuck on their own in hospital now, could you? Especially somebody with nobody else in the world as cared a damn whether they lived or died. No, it was only right and proper, Nancy Higson, she told herself. Get in there and do your duty like you’ve always preached.

She pushed the doors open. It was a large ward with a row of beds at each side, every bed with a neatly mitred white cover. Some were occupied, but other patients, those almost ready to go home, sat in small easy chairs in the centre of the ward, reading or chatting quietly. A Sister in dark blue came up behind Nancy. ‘Mrs Higson?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You are expected. Go to the end of the ward and through that door.’ She pointed. ‘It’s a side ward – a single, for obvious reasons.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry you’ve been caused so much bother.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mrs Higson. You must never blame yourself for what happened.’

Nancy took the last few steps with hesitation, then braced herself before knocking timidly on the door.

‘Just go in,’ called the Sister. ‘Go on – you’ll be alright.’

After taking a deep breath, Nancy opened the door and stepped into the room. Tall windows were shaded by slatted blinds and all the paraphernalia was there, dripstand, tubes, bottles, but no longer connected to the patient, thank God.

‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes.’ The voice was little more than a whisper.

Nancy crept to the bed. The girl’s face was purple with bruising on the left side and in spite of the dimness, clear marks of strangulation were visible on her throat.

‘It was good of you to let me come, lass.’

‘It was good of you to want to come.’ The voice was low and hoarse with damage.

‘I’ve brought you some flowers – see?’ She held them up.

‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’

Nancy pulled the one chair over to the bed and looked down into the girl’s face. Dear God, she couldn’t be much more than twenty – twenty-two at the most. And she looked so much like Annie, even with the bruises the resemblance was plain to see. Hatred for him flooded through her veins yet again, a blind nauseating hatred that made her take in air as she sat down suddenly.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Mrs Higson – please.’

‘You’re telling me not to be upset? Good God, after what that bugger did to you! How could any man in his right mind . . . ?’

‘He’s not. He’s not in his right mind.’

Nancy picked up her bag. ‘I’d best go, lass. I can tell it’s hard for you to talk and it’s only a few days since he . . . since it happened. Nay, I don’t want to be making you go all through it again in your thoughts.’

‘Please don’t go. See – you can get me a glass of water.’

Nancy helped the girl to sit up and handed her the glass. It was obvious that she had difficulty in swallowing the liquid.

‘You see – I’m alright – just bruised and shocked.’ She sank back into her pillows. ‘Come closer. I have to whisper because my larynx is damaged – not permanently, so don’t start worrying.’

Nancy moved her chair to the top of the bed and leaned over, directing her better ear towards the girl’s mouth. ‘Hey, we’re a pair between us, aren’t we? Me with a pair of useless lugholes and you with your croaky voice. Nay, I’m not making light of it, lovey, it’s just my way.’

The girl was trying to smile. ‘He won’t be charged,’ she whispered.

‘You what? No, you’re letting him get away with a crime as near bad as murder as you can get! And it very near was murder – am I right?’

She shook her head. ‘He just blacked me out. I don’t think he meant to kill me.’

‘Aye, I suppose you’re right there. I can’t see even that bloody swine wanting a dead one – eeh, I’m sorry, lass . . .’

‘Don’t keep apologizing.’ She paused. ‘They’re going to start tests on him, Mrs Higson. Special tests – on his mind.’

‘Is he crackers?’

‘They don’t know yet. But there are signs of paranoia – he could be schizoid.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means there’s a chance that he may be crackers. At the moment, he doesn’t know where he is half the time.’

Nancy shook her head slowly. ‘No. I’ve lived with him long enough to know he’s not soft in the head. He’ll be acting daft on purpose so he won’t get judge and bloody jury. Still, I suppose if he acts mad for long enough, he might even finish up that way. Anyroad, what if they say he is fit to go on trial? Surely you’ll press a charge then?’

‘I can’t,’ whispered the girl. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Why not? Hey, I don’t want you worrying over me and mine. If the papers got hold of it, we’d likely survive.’

‘It’s not that.’ She looked directly at Nancy now. ‘It’s my – I can’t do it. Oh, I know they’d keep my name out of the papers, but it would get about, I know it would. And if Pete ever found out, he’d kill him, sane or not.’

‘Pete?’

‘My boyfriend. He’s in the army, stationed in Germany. And . . .’ She paused, a hand to her throat as she swallowed. ‘He might not want to marry me if he knew I’d . . . well, you know . . .’

‘Been raped?’

‘Yes.’

‘But . . . but it wasn’t your fault, was it?’ Nancy stood and began to pace the room angrily. ‘By God, it is a man’s world, isn’t it? One of them might not want you because another’s had you against your will. They all want sex – well, most of them do at anyroad – wherever they can get it. But they expect a woman to come pure and lily-white to her marriage bed. What I’d like to know is this. If all the men are wandering about having sex and all the women are keeping themselves to themselves, then what the hell’s going on? It’s double bloody standards all the way isn’t it? I’ll tell you what – it’s a damn crazy world we’re living in.’ She waved her arms wildly to emphasize the words.

‘Some of them think we want to be raped anyway.’

‘How convenient for them! Aye well, they have to say that because a lot of them are not up to much and that’s their excuse for not coping proper. Yes, I get your drift, lass. My hearing might not be up to much, but I’m all there with me lemon drops. Huh, talk about a man’s world? What sort of a world have they made, eh? Full of war and rape and flaming arguments. Oh, I’m not saying they’re all bad. Nay, I’m not that daft. But most of them are . . . oh, what’s the word? Arrogant, that’s it. Arrogant because they’ve got an extra bit stuck on between their legs. Pity they don’t keep their brains in their trousers and all – we might be better off.’

She returned to sit beside the bed. ‘Listen to me, Mary Greenhalgh. I got your name off your mate at the sanatorium – dark-haired girl – Brenda, isn’t she?’ Mary nodded. ‘And she told me your Mam’s dead and your Dad’s gone off to Canada. Aye, she told me a lot about you and I hope she doesn’t get into trouble, because I’m right glad I came, I’m pleased to know you, Mary Greenhalgh. If there’s anything I can do for you, then phone our Dr Pritchard – see, here’s his number and my name and address on this envelope. If you’ve no voice, get the Sister to ring. Just you get the word to me and I’ll come. Aye, I will that.’

Mary smiled wanly through her tears.

‘Now, Brenda said as how you’re not well fixed with your digs. If you want a bed, there’ll be one at our house. And don’t worry about him coming back – I put the deposit down and I’ve paid the mortgage out of my own wages. Anyroad, after what he’s done, there’s nobody’ll force me to take him back. And there’ll be nothing of his left. His stuff’s going on the ragman’s cart tomorrow. So if he wants anything, he can whistle for it, see if it’ll come.’

The girl gripped Nancy’s hand tightly.

‘Eeh lass, you do look bad. I’m sorry it was my . . . ex-husband as caused it.’

‘I hardly knew what was happening,’ whispered Mary. ‘It was mostly afterwards I felt the pain.’

‘Aye. But you felt the fear just before, didn’t you?’

‘I was a fool. I thought I could manage him. You get a fair amount of that sort of thing from men in hospitals.’

‘Then it must be put a stop to.’

‘Well, it won’t happen to me again – I’m not going back.’

‘Just you come to me when you get out of here. You can sort your future out when you’re in a better frame. Will you come?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to see . . .’

‘You’ll be safe. He’ll not be back, I promise.’

Mary raised herself on to the pillows. ‘No, he won’t be coming back, Mrs Higson. The disease is rampant and he’s allergic to both penicillin and streptomycin.’ She paused. ‘He’ll be dead within the year.’

There followed a short silence, then Nancy picked up her shopping bag and smiled. ‘Well then, that’s alright now, isn’t it?’

By the summer of 1956, Martin felt as miserable as sin, sick to the back teeth of his mother forever moaning about him not getting a proper wage, fed up with Annie and her studying, tired of his workmates’ taunts about his dashing off to meet a schoolgirl in his lunch break. After Colin Marlowe spotted them together in Tognarelli’s, life became almost unbearable.

‘Can’t you get a proper woman then, Cullen?’

‘Best not have it off with her – we’ll be seeing you on the front page.’

‘When’s her birthday, then? Is it fourteen or fifteen next?’

He’d show them, he would that. He wasn’t going to be a junior forever – oh no, not bloody likely. With a couple of little ideas up his sleeve, Martin stormed out of the office one June afternoon, deliberately ignoring wolf-whistles and an enthusiastic chorus of ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ as he stamped through the main news room. Aye, his twin sister Josie had had the right idea, clearing off to Manchester, getting digs then a job in a big shop, taking typing lessons at night so she could train for a secretary. At least their Josie had got away from home. And what was he hanging around for? To live in a mucky midden, to get laughed at, to let Annie Byrne drive him mad by keeping him at arm’s length?

He jumped on a bus outside Gregory and Porritt’s and sat glowering all the way to Breightmet. Yes, he’d show them down the office alright. He’d contacts of his own now, was on his way to meet a ringer from the big Corpy estate and he’d be giving them a story once he’d got to the bottom of these football ticket forgeries.

After his business was completed, Martin stood waiting for the bus back to town, a smile of self-satisfaction on his face. He was ten bob lighter, but with a pocket full of shorthand notes and a printer’s plate that should never have seen the light of day, he felt very pleased with his afternoon’s work.

‘Hiya, Martin!’ It was Maggie Nelson in a tight button-up cardigan worn back to front, her large breasts straining against thin nylon.

‘What are you doing up here, Maggie?’

‘We moved, didn’t we?’ She turned sideways, hands on hips, to give him a better view of her magnificent hour-glass figure. ‘That’s our ’ouse over there.’ She pointed. ‘Come on – they’re all out. ’Appen you might fancy a cup o’ tea?’ Her hands moved slowly up then down over the broad black elastic waspie belt. Martin loosened his tie. God, she must be about 40-22-36, this one. In time, she’d likely run to fat like her Ma, but right now, she was a prize and no mistake.

‘Are you working?’ he asked as they walked towards the house.

‘Off and on, like,’ she grinned, tossing peroxide curls.

They had got no further than the hall when she pressed herself against him. ‘I’ve allers fancied you, Martin. Still goin’ wi’ Annie? Nay, yer want to forget ’er, lad. I can give yer a good time, a bit o’ proper lovin’.’ She pulled him into the living room. ‘Well, are yer goin’ fer t’ stand there like ’im outside o’ Bowes?’

Martin remained riveted to the spot. Yes, he probably did look like the dummy that used to occupy the pavement outside a tailor’s shop in the town centre. But what the hell was he going to do? He loved Annie, he was going to marry Annie one day, wasn’t he? But when? If she was going in for a doctor, it could be bloody years. And he’d be a fool to pass this chance up. Slowly, he removed his jacket and tie. If only the damn fools at the office could see him now! Panic and excitement joined forces in his chest, the former winning by a knockout when Maggie stood naked beside him. He’d never done it before! And here was this gorgeous and obviously experienced specimen pushing him onto the wide sofa, tearing off his shoes and socks, pulling at his trousers, fondling, stroking, kissing every straining part of his frustrated body.

In the end, it didn’t matter that he was new to it, because she mounted him, guided his flesh until it melted into hers, lifted his head onto cushions so that their mouths might meet each time she rose in her slow, languorous ritual. Then, when he knew that he could not last for one more second, she pulled them both off the low couch and onto the floor so that their positions were reversed. This sudden move broke the rhythm and he found himself able to continue, his pleasure and confidence increasing as he watched her travelling towards climax. Deliberately, he closed his eyes against the sight of those beautiful rose-tipped breasts, determined now to stay the course. When she screamed her final throes of joy, he opened his eyes and, caught up in his first ever sight of female ecstasy, he echoed the sound and gave in to his own urgent need for release.