CHAPTER 17
A northern English seaside town. One of many. It could have been almost anywhere. People went about their business in an everyday, regular and routine fashion like people the world over. Some to offices, some to factories, others to one or another of the myriad shops littering the streets, or to the premises of the many service industries and commercial enterprises that abound wherever people congregate in larger numbers.
Morning. Some woke up refreshed, ready to start a new day. Some woke up grouchy and miserable, needing time and stimulants to be able to face a new round. Some didn’t wake up at all, but that was no more than normal for the time of the year and considering the ravages of the weather over the previous weeks. Some woke up for the first time ever, thrust apparently rudely into a new environment, kicking and screaming, but that too, was normal.
Then there were those who awoke unwillingly, not wanting to know another day like the days that stretched behind, nor yet to consider the prospect of interminable days stretching out into the future, yet glad that the previous day and especially its corresponding night was over. Pavements were hard, walls impossible to sleep against, the last meal a distant memory only, and breakfast on this new day barely a brave hope.
Passers by, sincere and genuine in their concern, salved their consciences by dropping the occasional coin to those who were not allowed to beg by governmental decree, but who could indicate their need for sustenance of some sort. There was hunger for food, hunger for companionship, hunger for understanding, and above all, hunger for action. There were those who cared, but no-one seemed to care enough. It was a town of good heart, but coping with the problems of everyday life meant there was little energy to spare for more than sympathy. Often, too often, it was easier to pass by on the other side in pretended blindness.
*
A young woman sat on a high stool at the desk of a small library, staring at nothing in particular. It wasn’t much of a life, of that she was well aware. Just consider. What had she achieved? Nothing. What was she likely to achieve? Again, nothing. She looked around her workplace, a not very well equipped branch library on the outskirts of the town, boasting a few thousand books only, most of which were unread, if discounting those she read herself during her all too many hours of waiting fruitlessly for customers. The inhabitants of this estate didn’t go in much for difficult intellectual exercises such as reading anything more complicated than a betting slip or a lottery ticket. Here she was, in her late twenties, or rather early thirties in her more realistic and less optimistic moments, apparently doomed to checking books in and out to a non-caring public. It wasn’t much of a job at best, and she knew she would never rise to better things. On the contrary, there had been discouraging sounds from the Town Hall about the probable closure of this particular branch. It was obvious which of the workers would be transferred elsewhere. It was equally obvious who would not be transferred. The town was short of money, of course, and savings had to be made. Not that there was anything new in that. The town had been chronically short of money for decades. There seemed to be no pulling back from the depression caused by the closure of a major industry which at its peak employed ten thousand, especially when this was followed by the loss of another five thousand jobs when the shipyard closed down. That had been years ago, yet the effects were felt still.
She sighed heavily. ’It’s the unemployment office for you, Alison my girl,’ she murmured to herself, but without bitterness. She was the longest serving of any who had ever worked there, but the others had the professional qualifications she lacked. They would find work somewhere. She wouldn’t. Perhaps that was fair anyway. Her colleagues were married, with families, and would find unemployment difficult. Not that it would be easy for anyone, but at least a single person had the possibility of moving to a different town. She would have liked to have gone for higher education, but it had been made clear to her that a wage packet was more important, and that she couldn’t expect to be kept at home if she wasted her time in studying. She had even investigated the possibilities, but had found it financially impossible. A pity really. She had done well at school, but was never allowed to make the most of her intellect.
One of the increasingly rare customers came to the desk and checked out a single book, one by a popular modern author, which made few or more likely no demands on thinking processes. A married woman with several small children, it was probably all she had the time or energy for. Still, thought Alison, at least she’s reading something, which is more than most people in this area seem to do. She thought of the nearby newsagent’s shop which had closed down because of lack of trade. As a result, the library had experimented briefly with a selection of daily newspapers, but had quickly scrapped the idea after discovering that these were read even less frequently than the books. It was obvious why the newsagent had shut up shop.
She tried to imagine herself as married, but failed to find a realistic picture. For some reason or other, boy friends never seemed to come along. Not the sort she could approve of, at any rate. Doubtless her home circumstances accounted for a good deal of that, her home not being one she could readily introduce friends or acquaintances to. Not if they were decent people. Decent people wouldn’t set foot in her home. Decent people wouldn’t talk to her, once they found out where she came from. In any case, her hours of work made it hard to form relationships easily. By the time she could be ready for an evening out, other people were almost thinking of coming back home again, except for those who found their entertainment in pubs and clubs, and she had seen too much of the results of that sort of life within her own family to want to follow suit. She tried to imagine herself in bed with a man, no one man in particular but rather the ideal man, and feeling the warmth of his body against hers, but that was a picture that came far too readily for comfort, and was one she shied away from, again because of seeing the results of that sort sort of life within her own family. She had no intention of giving way so easily. Marriage wasn’t necessarily essential, but there had to be permanence in the relationship, of that she was determined. Better nothing, than far too much.
Not that male company had been totally missing, but none had come to anything. On the one hand, there was the respectable type who, discovering something of her family background, dropped her rapidly. Excuses were given, sometimes realistic and believable, sometimes transparently dishonest, but either way she was never asked out again. I’m not like that, she protested, I could never be like that, but the protest was always made in silence. Well was she aware that she would never be believed. On the other hand, there was the type of rather lesser respectability who clearly considered that her home environment gave a certain license when it came to the proprieties. She remembered one very clearly, Ken by name, an old class mate from secondary school. He had taken her for a drive in his car to the nearby hills. She was perhaps nineteen at the time, and a ride in a car just for the sake of taking a ride was still something of a novelty to her. Blue it was, with odd patches of rust looking like dried blood. It had been noisy too, loose parts rattling, and with an exhaust that scraped along the ground each time they went over a less than smooth part of the road surface.
The day was fine and clear, warm enough to warrant light clothing, especially inside the vehicle. Ken drove more slowly as the moorland sheep wandered across the road. Then he pulled in to a layby and stopped the engine. She looked around, enjoying the view. There was nothing to see except for the rolling hills and sheep grazing on the fine green grass. There was nothing to hear save the occasional ticking of the engine as it cooled down. Suddenly, and without a word of warning, Ken moved to take hold of her, slipping one hand clumsily inside her blouse to squeeze her breast hard and painfully, and pushing the other up her skirt. She reacted instinctively long before he got as far as her knees, and shoved him away with all the strength she could muster, threatening to slap his face if he tried the same action again.
Ken simply laughed. ’What’s wrong with you, then?’ he asked.
’Nothing’s wrong with me,’ she answered, accentuating the last word.
’Come on Alison, what do you think I brought you out here for?’
’You’ve made it quite obvious what for. You just failed to ask me how I might feel about it.’
’Well,’ he said with impatience and total lack of tact. ’How do you feel about it?’
’Insulted is one word that comes to mind. And I am trying to be polite.’
’What do you mean, insulted?’
’If you think I’m going to lay on my back just because you’ve done me the great honour of offering a day out in a rusty rattletrap of a car all I can say is, you have a strange idea of personal values. You obviously have no great opinion of women, but I can tell you some of us have rather higher standards than you seem to be used to.’
’You mean you don’t know what to do? I wouldn’t have thought that was very likely.’
She made no reply, but stared through the windscreen, face burning with anger and frustration.
’Well, if that’s the way of it, you can get out and walk. I brought you here thinking you might be friendly, but if you aren’t going to give me anything I’ll go somewhere else. And I’ll go on my own as well. Go on, get out.’
He jeered at her, and referred to her in terms which were far from being true, but which hurt her for a very long time. It will be long walk to the nearest bus stop, she thought, and an even longer ride back home, but she gathered up her few belongings from the back of the car, opened the door and got out, wishing she had slapped Ken’s face after all. She watched, high with anger as the car disappeared in a cloud of choking dust. Several buttons on her blouse had been ripped off, and the front gaped open, displaying her bra underneath. One of the straps was torn also, making the garment sag alarmingly and as a result her right breast was exposed more than she cared for. For a time she walked on in that way, too angry to care, but slowly her anger fell to a bare simmering point, and warm though she was, she covered herself with her coat for fear of attracting even more unwelcome attention from any one of the few passers by on that almost deserted road. It had indeed been an extremely long walk to the closest bus stop, longer than she had anticipated, taking her well over two hours to cover the distance to the village at the far end of the valley. Light sandals, she realised ruefully, were not exactly ideal for walking that far.
Carefully she counted her money outside the village shop. There was enough, she reckoned, for something to eat and drink, as well as for her bus fare home. She entered the shop and bought two sandwiches and a carton of fruit juice, consuming them while sitting on the green painted wooden bench beside the bus stop. After a long interval, the bus came. She boarded it, finding herself a seat near the front. Throughout the journey she stared out of the window at nothing in particular, fuming in righteous anger. Not quite an attempted rape, she thought, but close enough. At least he had accepted no as an answer, albeit an answer to a question he had hardly bothered to ask. She realised with a shudder of revulsion that he was almost certainly powerful enough not to have taken her refusal at face value, that she may well have been struggling back home bruised, beaten and bleeding as well as being thrown out of the car and left on her own. What happened to romance? It doesn’t have to be much, but had to be more than an unthinking and uncaring assumption. Holding hands in the back row of the cinema for example was traditional, as well as having the advantage of being harmless. She smiled internally at the idea. There was a real problem there as she had to admit, unwilling though she was to give Ken the benefit of any doubt. She had never been to the cinema in her life. There was no cinema in the town she lived in, even though several empty buildings offered mute testimony to the fact that there had once been several. Indeed, from her reading of local history, she knew the town had at one time been able to support no fewer than fifteen, as well as a theatre and three dance halls, all gone now in the sacred name of progress and development.
Some day out, she reflected, and some company I chose to be with. Holding hands indeed! If I’d thought for a moment he was going to behave like that, I would never have agreed to go with him. What an invitation! As it happened, it turned out to be the last one. No other invitations came her way, and while not actually discouraging, she never actively encouraged them, preferring to spend the next eight years or so in a form of social isolation.
Not that she was unwilling. On the contrary, she was very aware of the natural urges of her body, and like most, craved a settled family life with a loving husband and children. Well, it happened if it happened. But not, most decidedly not with the sort of men she seemed to attract. Like Ken, for instance. She was aware that she had a great deal of love to give. She knew she had a sensual nature, but it was reserved for the man who could see the necessity of returning to her the love and affection she knew she was capable of giving. There had to be something behind the act of sex other than the perceived need to relieve bodily tensions. She couldn’t accept that there was nothing more to it than slaking a thirst, as one might take a glass of water to satisfy a different need. That way simply led to unhappiness and discontent as she had seen within her own family. When she gave herself, if she ever did, it would be a total giving, with nothing held back, and certainly with nothing to spare for any other man.
Maybe it wasn’t so much a case of whom she attracted as the availability. Moving to another area, even within the same town, or changing jobs might make a difference. Still, that was easier said than done. Not even the job she had was so secure. Neither was it so well paid that she could envisage setting up in a home of her own. In any case, she was now of an age where she was almost certainly seen as a confirmed spinster. Most people of her own age were married already. Younger men didn’t want a woman in her thirties, however early, especially one who was thought to be thoroughly and continuously spoiled goods. It wasn’t true, but people believed it. Ken had seen to that with a relish that confirmed his true nature. A hint only, and the reputation gained from her family background had done the rest. Not that the term spoiled goods seemed to mean anything much in a modern society, but there was clearly a point beyond which most people did not go. It didn’t matter that she was well on the right side of that point. The fact was simply not believed. She couldn’t blame people for thinking ill of her, not really. Not with a father who had drunk himself to death. Not with a stepfather who was apparently intent on going out the same way. And most decidedly not with a mother who never seemed to know whose bed she was going to sleep in on any given night. Or care about it either.
She looked at the clock with a sense of relief, seeing it was time to close. Not that there was anything much to look forward to at home, but it was minimally less stultifying than the job. It would have been better if she had gained some sort of formal qualification, but however desirable, it had hardly been possible. Not when her stepfather had fallen out of work, and every penny was needed to keep the house going. That much of her money was spent in the pubs, although not by herself, was a point which registered, but had no real meaning. Like many another man in her mother’s life, he had reason to spend time away from home. That she too, had reason to spend time away from home was a thought that never actually occurred to her until several years later.
Tidying the books and magazines, she switched out the lights, leaving only one small security light burning near the door. By its feeble glow she dressed in her outdoor clothes, coat, scarf and gloves, stepped through the door and locked it.
She looked up at the darkened sky. It wasn’t raining yet, but it showed every sign of doing so before she got home. Autumn was well advanced. The nights were rapidly getting darker and there was a decided chill in the air by the evening. She sighed heavily. Shoes, decent waterproof shoes, that was what she needed. She had planned to buy some during the weekend, but had been faced with an extra, unexpected expense. She felt in her pocket for the bolts, padlock and small screwdriver she had bought during her lunch hour. Not that they had been over expensive, even including the return bus trip into the town centre, there being no longer a hardware store near the library. Just the same, her budget was ruined for this week, and new shoes would have to wait. She would have to walk home as it was, well over half an hour’s distance. There was nothing spare for another bus in the day. The bolts were unnecessary, or should have been. With anger she recalled the incident of the evening before when she arrived home from work. She had found Joe, her stepfather, in her bedroom standing over the opened chest of drawers. Her underwear was scattered on the bed.
’What are you doing?’ she had asked. The question was superfluous.
’I was just looking for my watch. I thought you might have it here.’ He didn’t have a watch, that much she knew, nor did he even have the grace to blush as he sidled out, casting her a salacious glance which left her in no doubt as to what was going through his mind.
Alison slammed the door behind him, looked at the mess, then sat heavily on the only chair in the room before bursting into tears. She didn’t like her stepfather, had never liked him. There was no real love lost on both sides for that matter. Maybe, she thought, the fault had been partly hers, at least in the beginning. To acquire a stepfather at the age of fourteen was no easy task. As she grew older, however, her initial dislike grew, and with reason. She had seen the way he looked at her, mentally undressing her. There had been plenty of men in the house, even before her father had died, and she was under no illusions regarding the purpose of their visits. Joe was a permanent feature, that was the only difference.
She calmed down slowly, gathered together the entire contents of her underwear drawer and took them downstairs to the washing machine. She noted with distaste that one pair of knickers was missing.
Well, that had been yesterday. She arrived home late, well after eight. Predictably, the house was empty. Even more predictably, there was no food left out for her. She hung up her coat and changed her cold shoes for slippers that were no warmer, the house being almost as cold inside as out. The slippers were in her bedroom. She looked around but found no evidence of further raids on her clothing. Tired and hungry, she heated up a tin of soup in the kitchen, crumbling into it the stale bread which was the only other thing she could find. She ate mechanically, mind in a daze, unaware of what it was she was eating. Washing up took only a short time. For once there were no other dirty dishes awaiting attention. It felt like a bonus in the day.
She dragged her weary body upstairs once again and tried to work out how to fit a hasp on the outside of the bedroom door in order to fasten a padlock to it. It would be pretty obvious as to why a padlock was there, but she didn’t care about that. Let Joe, or her mother, make of it whatever they liked. She certainly wasn’t going to explain. Fastening the bolts on the inside proved to be an easier job, but she was glad when her aching fingers had finished turning the last screw. The tool she had was clearly inadequate, but she hoped the end result would be enough to enable her to sleep with an easier mind, and just as important, to be able to leave her belongings secure whenever leaving the house. She went to bed and fell asleep soon after, waking only briefly as her mother came in, describing to Joe the events of the evening’s entertainment. The house fell silent after a while and she slept again.
Day followed day, week followed week. Every day seemed much like the one previous. The weather stayed cold and dark, dark and grey, matching her mood. She sank deeper into a form of lethargy that could almost be described as apathy. Christmas drew nearer, but it was clearly going to be just another day in the empty calendar. Only one incident served to jerk her into a hotter passion than she had experienced for a very long time.
It was the week before Christmas. Other houses were decorated and lit up with festive cheerfulness. Alison sat at home in a bare house, relaxing in an armchair in front of the fire. The front door opened, then closed. The living room door followed suit. Joe came into the room. He sat in the chair opposite her and stared at her somewhat owlishly, clearly slightly the worse for drink. Not, thought Alison with penetrating accuracy, totally drunk yet, needing perhaps three or four pints more to reach that stage. Clearly he had run out of money and had come home early.
’You’re a right cracker, girl, you know that?’ he said unsteadily.
She glanced at him with disgust, then returned to her book without saying a word.
’Well, haven’t you got something to say?’ he continued. ’Something for your dad? I know I’m not your real dad, but I’ve lived here for... for...’
He attempted to count up, but failed to reach the desired degree of accuracy.
’Well, for a long time anyway. Your mum’s in the club. She’ll be there until closing time. There’s only you and me here, Ally. All on our own.’
Alison tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t be put off. He stood up and came closer, sitting on her chair arm.
’Why do you always wear long dresses? Why don’t you put on something a bit shorter, just for me? I like to see a bit of leg, and I never... I never... I never see yours.’
Alison rose from the chair, snapped her book shut and walked resolutely upstairs.
’Are you going to put something nice on? Come on down when you’re ready, Ally, and I’ll give you something you won’t forget.’
She shut the bedroom door and bolted it firmly, settling on the bed with a heavy sigh of anger and impatience. She hated the name Ally almost as much as she hated Joe. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? A few minutes later, Joe came to the door and tapped on it, trying the handle and shaking it vigorously, demanding entrance. With an effort, she ignored him, and in the course of time he became bored and ambled away, uttering vile sounding curses at the unwilling woman.
Christmas Eve came, just like any other day. Joe and her mother were out, celebrating in their usual style, but together for once. Alison went to bed early and slept awhile, being uncomfortably aware that her sleep was likely to be disturbed in the early hours of the morning. Waking just after midnight, she gave herself a silent toast to the new day. Much good it will do me, she thought. It’s just another day after all. There’s no real recognition of it as anything special, not in this house, other than as an excuse to drink even more than usual. She lay awake, staring into the darkness, staring into the bleak future, not knowing what would happen but feeling sure that things would probably only get worse. The problem is, she thought, that there seems to be no future at all. There’ll be no work soon, there’s no real home, only somewhere to sleep, no prospects of ever having either. Money was getting tighter, and if - when - she lost her job, it would get tighter still. What might happen when it ran out altogether was something she hardly dared to think about.
Switching the light on, she read for an hour until disturbed by the expected voices coming in to the house and settling down to a further drinking session. Alison closed her eyes and wished she could be out of earshot permanently. At length the noise faded as visitors made their way unsteadily home, and the house became quiet once more.
Christmas Day. Alison busied herself in the kitchen, cooking for one, knowing that her mother and Joe would be eating at the club later on. Not that there was much to cook, lack of cash saw to that, but at least it would be something a little different, marking out one day in the year as being special.
As she had expected, she had the house to herself shortly after midday. In a sudden mood of near happiness, she set the table and ate her solitary meal, toasting herself with apple juice, only just past its best by date.
’Here’s to the future, Alison,’ she said aloud. ’May it only improve. It can hardly get any worse. I hope.’
After eating she went for a long walk in the crisp air, looking at the season’s decorations in the streets and houses. In some indefinable way it made her feel better and more content than she had done for a long time. She even seriously considered taking up her sister’s offer of spending the rest of the day with her and her family, but rejected the thought almost as soon as it came. They got along well enough, but really had very little in common, and besides, her sister had a hard enough struggle to keep her own family together without having to feed another mouth.
New Year’s Day came and went, a day made noticeable only by the additional sounds of drunkenness within Alison’s social sphere, then the year settled to its more normal routine. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. The weather turned cold and bleak, accentuating Alison’s lonely life. She felt unwanted, in the way, and wondered why she hadn’t made the effort to find a place of her own, why she didn’t make that effort now. She knew she was sinking into a state of unhealthy lethargy, but lacked the will to do anything about it. Light snow covered the pavements, penetrating her thin shoes. New they may be, and waterproof, but too thin for winter. Bitter winds cut through her coat, making her feel chilled the entire day. She never felt really warm, not even at work. She became even quieter and more withdrawn, knowing she should do something to alter her circumstances, but increasingly unwilling to make the effort, waiting for circumstances to change on their own all the while her energy drained from her.
Alison struggled awake to the clamour of the all too insistent alarm clock. She felt tired and slightly unwell. The bedroom seemed colder than usual. The back of her throat tickled and she found it painful to swallow. With reluctance she forced herself out of bed, went to the bathroom and washed in cold water. There never was hot water on the morning unless she was awake early and switched on the immersion heater herself. Her mother didn’t normally arise until well after nine, and Joe didn’t seem to feel the need for too frequent baths.
Returning to her room she bolted the door, and and sat on the bed for a minute or two before persuading weary arms to reach out for cold clothing and dress herself. She stumbled downstairs and switched on the portable electric fire before making herself the pot of tea which was all she could face. Even after a third cup, and donning extra clothing, she still felt chilled, as well she might as she realised when stepping outside and seeing the frost on the ground. Clearly, it was going to be one of those days. As if to verify the feeling, the bus arrived late and was full when it came. Standing room only. At least it was warm.
There was no-one in the library building when she arrived, apart from her colleague. She hadn’t expected anyone. Only ten minutes adrift after all. There wouldn’t be anyone except for the staff until after midday, if there were any customers at all on a day like this. Gratefully, she settled into the warmth of the library, huddling close to the heater that stood at the back of the desk. There was an envelope in the in-tray, addressed to her and marked personal and private. She lifted it and slit open the flap with a paper knife, removing the contents, a single sheet of paper. A few lines of neat typing informed her that in the interests of rationalisation the library would be permanently closed early in the spring. She turned to look at her colleague, who nodded sympathetically.
’Yes, I got one of those as well. But there’s a vacancy at the central library, and I’ve been promised a job there. What about you?’
Alison scanned the paper again. It didn’t take long.
’No. There’s nothing for me. They’re paying me off at the end of the month.’
’Oh, that’s bad luck. I am sorry.’
’Well, it’s no more than I expected. I’d better start looking around, I suppose.’
’You’d think they might have told you directly, instead of just putting it into a letter. A bit cowardly I say.’
Alison smiled ruefully. ’Perhaps. But it doesn’t really make a lot of difference. I’m still out of work anyway.’
The day dragged on. Only three customers all day made the time pass more slowly than usual. There was a little, but only a little paperwork to be done. Somehow and understandably, Alison had lost all taste for it and left it all for the other woman to do. The knowledge that she would be unemployed in a few weeks time took away whatever work satisfaction that could be obtained on such a miserable day.
Closing time arrived at last, and Alison crept out of the door into the rapidly darkening evening. It was a little less cold and the early morning frost had all but melted. Scattered clouds covered much of the sky and a few wisps of light snow drifted down aimlessly, as though undecided whether to continue or not. Wrapping her thin coat around her more closely, Alison boarded the bus, late again, that would take her home.
All too soon, the day arrived when she left her workplace for the last time, even earlier than she had anticipated. In vain had she scoured the town for another job. In vain had she travelled to nearby towns, spending from a rapidly dwindling reserve. The truth of the matter was that there was no work to be found at all, at least none that she was able to do. Occasional positions offered themselves, but she soon found she was considered to be unsuitable on grounds of age, or experience, or almost any other reason that came into the prospective employer’s mind, even the usual, illegal one, though for once, Alison found she didn’t really care.
The days passed by as in a series of dreams, all bad. Rapidl