The year of the virgins (6 page)

'Well, to be truthful' - Joe's voice sank - 'Dad manoeuvred it.'

'And she let him?'

'Well, it was a case of between the devil and the deep sea. You know Dad's got a cousin in America. Well, he's

succeeded in much the same business as Dad's, only in a much bigger way, and two years or so ago Dad asked him to find a place for Don. At the same time . . .' He hesitated now and glanced towards the flowers in the hearth, then passed one lip over the other before turning back to them again and saying, 'Well, in some way he found out that Annette was sweet on Don . . .'

'But she must have been still a schoolgirl, still at the convent.'

'Yes, she was a schoolgirl of nearly eighteen, Aunt Flo. She could have gone on to college - I think she wanted to be a teacher - but apparently she wanted Don more, and so Mam had to decide whether she would have her son in America or ten miles away in Hazel Cottage in Northumberland. So, with bad grace she plumped for the latter.'

'Ten miles away! And she still can't drive. I wonder she allowed that.'

'Oh, she has Bill to take her all over the place. Still, it's not on the doorstep exactly. Again, it was Dad's doing.'

As Joe pulled a face, Flo said, 'No wonder she's on a high key . . .'

'And my appearance hasn't, I'm sure, helped matters,' said Harvey.

'Oh, I don't know so much.' Joe grinned at Harvey now, saying, 'You've acted as a diversion.'

'Like a red light depicting a road up, in this case black. Never mind.' He squeezed Flo to him. 'What I'll do is imagine I'm in court and she is the prosecuting counsel and I'm defending a lone woman' - he again pressed Flo to him - 'who is not only beautiful, but kind and understanding. But her main attraction for me is she is the best secretary in the business.'

They were laughing when Maggie brought the coffee in. She showed no reaction. They were again laughing when Stephen came into the room, and he, seeing the visitor, exclaimed, 'Oh! you are a big black man.' And Harvey, knowing all about Stephen's condition, replied, 'And aren't you a big white man, and a fine looking one into the bargain.'

They were still laughing when, in a group, they inspected the marquee with its pink cord carpet and its garlands of flowers looped from stanchion to stanchion . . . But their laughter and chatter dwindled away when Winifred appeared in the doorway, looking like a very overblown flower herself.

It should happen that Harvey was nearest to her, six steps from her, and when nobody moved or spoke he covered the distance and, standing in front of her, he held out his hand, and in a cultured tone, the like of which she had never heard in all her years in Fellburn, said, T must apologise, Mrs Coulson, for intruding on this your special day.' Then, his deep voice dropping to a level that only she could hear, he added, Tf you find my presence embarrassing I will take my leave, because I do not wish that you be upset, especially today.'

Her lids were blinking rapidly. To the side, she took in Flo, her face straight, her eyes bearing a threat that she could not ignore. And yet, even if there had been no threat she would have found it difficult to order this unusual creature to leave. Such was her make-up that she was asking herself: how had their Flo come to be taken up by a man such as this, even if he was black, because there was something about him, not only the size of him and his looks, and that voice of his, there was just something. And she wasn't surprised when she

heard herself say, 'I ... I am not in the least embarrassed. Why should I be?'

When her hand was taken and firmly but gently shaken, she could not put a name to this new feeling that she had for her sister, for she had never been jealous of her in her whole life . . .

Following the visit to the marquee a feeling of gaiety seemed to pervade the whole house.

It was just turned twelve o'clock when Don, fully dressed for the fray except for his grey topper, ran out of the side door and around the end of the house towards Joe's cottage. It was as he passed one of the small windows, which were original to the cottage, that he stepped back and his head drooped to the side, for there, kneeling by a chair, and obviously praying, was Joe.

Either Joe became aware of a shadow at the window or he sensed someone's presence, for he raised his head quickly, and they stared at each other for a moment.

On entering the room Don said quietly, 'You worried about something, Joe?'

'No, no.'

'But you were . . . well . . .'

'Yes, praying. Don't you ever pray?'

'Never in the middle of the day. You're sure there's nothing wrong? Anyway, you haven't been to church lately. You'll have the sleuths after you; or at least Father Cody.'

'Well, if you want to know, young 'un, I was just asking that . . . well, that you'd both be happy.'

'Oh, Joe.' There was a break in Don's voice and impulsively he put his arms around his brother, for he thought of him as his brother in all ways, and Joe held him too before pushing him off and saying, 'What do you want in this neck of the woods, anyway?'

'I ... I just want to phone Annette, have a word with her, see how she feels, and I couldn't do it from the house, could I?'

'Go ahead.' Joe thumbed towards the adjoining room, which he used as an office, and he waited until Don had entered it before he himself turned about and went into his bedroom. And there he stood with his back to the door, while his head drooped on to his chest.

In the office Don was saying, 'Oh, Sarah? It's me. Could you get Miss Annette to the phone for a minute?'

'Oh, Mr Don' - the voice came at him in a whisper -'she's getting dressed. Oh, and here's Mrs Allison.'

'Hello! Who is it? Oh, Don, what on earth do you want? You know it's unlucky to have contact in any way before your wedding.'

'I thought it was only if we came face to face. Come on, Mother-in-law to be, just let me have a word.'

'You're not thinking of jilting her, are you?'

He held the phone away from his face, grinning widely now. Fancy Ma Allison making a joke. His laugh was high as he said, 'That's what I want to tell her. Come on, let me have a word with her.'

'It isn't right; it's unlucky.'

'Nothing's unlucky today.'

There was a pause. He heard the murmur of distant voices, then there she was.

'Oh, Don, anything wrong?'

'Not a thing in the world, darling. I ... I just wanted to know how you felt?'

'Oh, terrified, shaking, longing. Oh, Don, I can't believe we're nearly there.' Her voice was low now.

'Another hour and I'll see you coming down the aisle.'

'I love you. I love you very much.'

'I don't only love you, I adore you.'

'Eeh! You'll have to go to confession.' There was a tinkle of laughter at the other end. 'False idols.'

'Oh, yes, false idols, but an adorable idol. All right, all right, I'll let you go. Goodbye, my love. No, not goodbye; au revoir"

He put the phone down and stood for a moment staring ahead. The next hour was going to be the longest in his life. It would be the longest in both their lives.

The Nuptial Mass was over. They were married. They were one. The hour that had seemed to have been an eternity was finally at an end. They had taken Communion. They had listened to Father Ramshaw's kindly words. The choir had burst its lungs in song; the young boy soprano had trilled so sweetly he had brought tears to many eyes. And they had just signed their names in the register: Annette Allison had become Annette Coulson. They had looked at each other and the relief on their faces could have been painful to a keen observer. But everything was bustle.

The organ was soaring as they left the vestry and walked towards the two front rows of pews. Annette's mother was crying openly, but Winifred Coulson's eyes were dry and her plump face was pasty white, and it appeared that Daniel had to press her forward into and up the aisle and then to mingle with the crowding guests outside the church.

The photographer soon seemed to take control, endeavouring to line up the bride and bridegroom, with the close

relations on either side; the best man Joe, and the two bridesmaids, Annette's school friends Jessica Bowbent and Irene Shilton, both hanging on to Joe's arms while they giggled and each hoping secretly that one day she would be standing there with Joe as today Annette was standing with Don.

The usual groupings had then been assembled and photographed when Daniel, who had been standing with Harvey, surprised everyone by crying out. 'One more! Come on, let's have our men now. What do you say, Harvey?' And to the further surprise of everyone he arranged himself and Joe on either side of Harvey, so, in his mind, pre-empting the guests from making assumptions, or perhaps making them wonder all the more who or what this black man was.

And they did wonder about him, but they were not to know who he really was until almost an hour later when the toasts were being drunk and Daniel, with the devil in him, raised his glass to toast the happy couple and ended by saying, T know they'll be the first ones to say they hope that the next wedding from this house will be that of my sister-in-law and her fiance.' And with this he indicated Harvey, who was sitting three chairs away from him on the top table. Then leaning forward, he looked along the row in the other direction to where sat Father Ramshaw, and he said, 'Would you marry them, Father?' And the priest came back jovially, 'Marry them? Of course, I'll marry them. I'd marry a Hallelujah to a Jew if it meant I could get them into the church.'

A great roar of laughter arose. But Winifred did not join in; nor did Joe, because he was thinking: that wasn't very kind of you, Dad. She's suffering and you know it. But then, perhaps it was Daniel's way of being kind, a way

of staunching the bleeding from the knife-thrust that was piercing her.

It was his turn to stand now, and what he said was to the point: he didn't aim to be funny. He said frankly that everyone in the room knew there was no blood-bond between Don and himself, but had they been born Siamese twins they could not have been closer. And while he was on the subject he would like to thank the man he called Father, and the woman he called Mother, for their care of him over the past twenty-five years. Lastly, he turned towards the bride and groom and, raising his glass, said, 'To the two people I love most in the world.'

It had been an unusual speech for a best man, with nothing amusing about it, not even one joke. There was applause but it was sober applause, accompanied by some shaking of heads here and there.

He was a strange fellow, really, was Joe Coulson, the sort of man you couldn't get to the bottom of. An excellent accountant; and always courteous and kindly, yet at the same time deep. Yes, that was the word for him: deep. But of course this often happened with adopted children and it was understandable, for you never knew from where they sprang . . .

The bride and bridegroom were getting changed: in separate rooms, of course. They were leaving at five o'clock to catch a train from Newcastle, which would begin the journey for their honeymoon in Italy and three whole weeks together.

When Don emerged from his room he wasn't surprised to see his mother standing at her bedroom door, talking to one of the guests. Others were milling about on the landing and the stairs, and the house was filled with laughter and

chatter. They must have overflowed from the marquee. On the sight of him, Winifred said to the guest, 'Excuse me,' and, holding her hand out towards her son, she said, 'Just a moment, dear.' Her voice was high, bright, like that of an ordinary mother wanting to say a last farewell to her son in private. But once she had drawn him into the room and closed the door she stood away from him, her hands, gripping each other, pressed into the moulds of flesh at her breast. 'You would have gone without a word to me, a private word.'

'No, no, I wouldn't, Mother. I meant to come.'

'No, you didn't. No, you didn't. Do you know this is the end?'

'O/?, please. Please. Don't spoil this day,' Don said, closing his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them she was standing close to him, her breath like a hot moist wind on his face as she said, 'I mightn't be here when you come back. I don't think I'll be able to stand it. I could be dead.'

'For God's sake! Mother.' His tone was sharp; and when her head began to bob in agitation, he ground out, 'Don't start. For God's sake! Mother, don't start that!'

'Oh! Oh! You've never used that tone to me before. It's happening already. Why do I have to go through all this? What have I done to deserve it ... ? Oh! Don. Don.'

Again he found himself in her embrace. But he couldn't bring himself to put his arms about her; he was repulsed by her nearness, and this was a new feeling. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pressed her almost roughly from him, saying, 'Look, you must try to be sensible about this: I am married now; I'm starting a new life of my own. Can't you understand?'

'Yes, yes, I understand. I've lost you already.'

'You haven't lost me yet, but you're going the right way about it. I love you. You're my mother.'

'You love me?' Her voice was soft. 'You really do love me, Don?'

'Yes. Yes.' He moved his hands on her shoulders as if to shake her, but her body didn't respond.

She stared into his face, whimpering now. 'Promise you'll love me always? You'll keep some love for me? Promise?'

He had the desire to turn about and flee from her, from the house and everyone in it. Except for Annette. In his mind he had Annette by the hand running. But he heard himself say quietly, 'I promise. Now I must go.'

'Kiss me.'

Slowly he leant towards her to put his lips on her cheek, only again to be enveloped in her embrace. But now her open mouth was covering his, his slim body pressed into her flesh.

A moment later he managed to stagger from the room; although he didn't go straight downstairs but into the bathroom, and there, locking the door, he bent over the basin and sluiced his face with cold water. His whole body was shaking. She was mad. She must be. He sluiced his mouth with a handful of water and rubbed his lips; then he dried his face, wiped the drops of water from the front of his suit, and in an effort to compose himself he drew in a number of deep breaths before leaving the bathroom.