Authors: Yelena Kopylova
As the coffin was lowered into the earth, Dick took Hilda’s arm and turned her away. Her face
was red and swollen and the tears were running quietly down her cheeks. When they reached the
chapel she said to him, ”I’ll go.”
”He’ll likely want a word with you.”
She shook her head vigorously now, saying, ”Oh no! No!”
”Wait nevertheless.”
When, at last, Abel left the graveside Hilda watched him approach. It was the first time they had
come face to face since the day she had thrown him out of the house. He stood before her now
looking down on her, and he said quietly, ”Thanks, Hilda.”
What could she say ? If she had thought of anything the words would have stuck in her throat.
She just made a movement with her head.
”I’ll . . . I’ll take the child as soon as I get a fresh place.”
Now she actually started and, staring up at him, her words coming in a gabble, she said, ”It’s all
right. It’s all right. As long as you like, I mean I’ll look after her for as long as you like. Dick here” - she flapped her hand to the side - ”he can bring her to see you whenever you want and . . .
and you can take her out and things, whenever you like.” Again her hand was flapping towards
Dick. ”Dick will fetch her. I mean, he’ll bring her to you.”
Abel now nodded at her, saying, ”Thanks. Thanks, Hilda. It’s very good of you. I appreciate what
you’re doing. I ... I know it isn’t easy.”
”Oh.” She shook her head in an emphatic denial of what he was saying, but when he went on,
”I’ll. . . I’ll pay for her keep,” she almost cried at him in her old manner, ”Oh no! Please, please, don’t. Spare me that, please.”
”Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. Well, just as you like . . . just as you say.
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But . . . but I’m grateful.” He stared at her for a moment longer; then turning slowly, he looked
down the path to where the gravediggers were still busy covering up his love, burying his love. . .
. No, not burying his love, he’d never be able to bury his love. He didn’t want it to be buried, he
wanted to suffer it to the end of his life, he wanted to hold the pain to him in the knowledge that
it had been born of a rare thing, the thing that had taken years to hatch, but which when it had
sprung into life had brought him happiness that could only be explained by the word ecstasy.
Such happiness nearly always died in pain; all the great loves in history had been like this, they
had all died in agony. But no matter what the payment, he wouldn’t have forgone a moment of it.
There was one thing that was surprising him about Florrie’s going, he had never cried over her ;
he had the strange feeling that at the present time his emotions would, if he were to cry, flow out
in blood not water.
But Hilda was saying good-bye. He turned to her again, saying politely, ”Thank you. Thank you,
Hilda.” Then he watched her walk away, and part of him marvelled at the change in her, there
seemed to be no bitterness in her now. Florrie’s death must have expunged it. Yet even before
Florrie died Hilda was looking after the child. That must have taken some doing to take the child,
his child, Florrie’s child, into her home, into that God-protected home in which sin was frowned
upon. Oh no, no, he mustn’t get back into that way of thinking. She was changed, something
about her had changed radically. They were all changed. His son was changed.
He turned towards Dick now. His son was a man, and he was a good man. He would always be a
good man, that was if there was not too much of himself in him, for then that would surely lead
him into disaster. But on the other hand far better he inherited too much of himself than too much
of his mother. This thought reminded him of the letter he had received only that morning. It was
from his solicitor telling him that the divorce proceedings had begun.
He turned away towards the gates of the cemetery and as he went his mind said, ”I can marry
Florrie now. I can marry Florrie now.” He stopped and gave a quick shake of his head and,
looking at Dick, he said, ”Will you come back along of me?”
”Yes, of course. Where else do you think I’d go.”
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For the next nine months they worked to a pattern. Either Dick or Molly would push the pram on
a Saturday afternoon and a Sunday afternoon to Bartwell Place, and there they would leave the
child with Abel.
That he enjoyed having her Dick was certain, for she was now walking and chatting in her own
way. But he never took her outside the door. What he was also certain about was that Hilda
didn’t know a minute’s peace until the child was returned home. He knew that her fear was that
one day Abel would say, ”I’ve found a decent place and ... a housekeeper.”
That word had been mentioned between them when discussing the child, but only once, and it
was he who brought it up. What he had said was, ”He’s looking for a place but as I told him he
won’t be able to manage without a housekeeper, because she’s a handful now.”
She had turned on him with a shadow of her old temper crying, ”A housekeeper! The child
looked after by a housekeeper! Oh, I know what housekeepers are, I’ve seen some of them.”
He almost read her thoughts. If her idea of a housekeeper looked after the child it would be with
one aim in view, hooking the father.
He knew the very night that Hilda made up her mind about what she was going to do. It was
when he and Molly and she were sitting before the fire and Molly said, ”We’re going to be
married next Easter, Aunt Hilda.” Hilda had looked from one to the other and replied softly, ”I’m
glad, although” - she turned her eyes on to Dick - ”I’ll miss me man about the house.”
”Huh!” He had punched his doubled up fist towards her. ”You’ll hardly notice the difference,
I’m in and out of both places all the time now, sometimes I feel I’m on a diabolo.” Then he had
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added, ”I intend to go on working at the factory when the war’s finished, Mam, they’re going to
be needing spare parts for planes for some time yet.” He had given a hick of a laugh, then said
soberly, ”I think you should make up your mind to get somebody permanently in the yard. As
Molly’s just said, we can see the end of the war and that can mean cars again and people going
mad for them, it could mean big business. Young Stephen’s all right with bikes, but that’s
all. . . .”
”Stephen isn’t all right with bikes, he’s fumble-fisted, he does more harm than good. And that’s
not the only thing” - she had jerked her chin upwards - ”I’m going to get rid of him as soon as I
can, I’m telling you. He’s as bad as Arthur Baines.” It was the following day she said, ”How is
he?” He had just returned from carrying the child down to Abel’s. He always carried her now if
possible, he hated pushing the pram. To her question he had answered, ”Oh, much as usual”; then
taking the cup of tea she offered him, he placed it on the table and, sitting down on a wooden
chair, he put his elbows on the arms of it and leant his body forward and almost groaned as he
said, ”I always want to cry when I see him. That room, there would be more comfort in the
workhouse. And he doesn’t go out.” ”Is ... is he drinking ?”
”Drinking?” He turned his glance towards her. ”No, no; I shouldn’t think so, I think he’s saving
every penny. I don’t even think he eats properly, he’s skin and bone, and . . . and he looks so lost.
He can’t go on like this.” He stared up into her face and repeated, ”He can’t, something will
happen to him. I’m . . . I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to do something before now. I think he
would have if it hadn’t been for the bairn.”
She now seated herself by the side of the table and she traced her finger along the edge as she
said, ”What is he saving for?” ”Oh, I don’t know, except to set up a house somewhere.”
”And take Lucy?”
It was a long pause before he replied, ”Yes, I should say that’s his idea. He’s . . . he’s very fond of her, he always waits for her coming.”
She was still tracing her finger along the table edge as she said slowly, ”I’ll die, Dick, if he takes the child from me.”
”Oh! Mam.” He didn’t move towards her, he just stared at her, and for once he could find
nothing to say in the way of comfort.
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”She’s all I’ve got. She’s altered my life, I ... I seeni to He things differently now. I ... I couldn’t bear it if I lost her.” Her fingers stopped moving; she turned and looked at him, as if waiting for
an answer to the solution of the problem, and vhen he gave it he knew he was only voicing
something that was already in her own mind, and had been for some long time. ”The only way
you could really keep her,” he said, ”would be to hive him back,” and this she confirmed by
saying softly, ”Yes, I know,” then added, ”but would he come back ? That’s the point, would he
come back?”
”His divorce will be through shortly,” he said, only to be taken by surprise when she sprang up
and shouted, ”I wasn’t waiting for that. He could have come any time, I wasn’t waiting for that.”
As he looked at her open-mouthed, he realized how greatly she had changed. This wasn’t the
Aunt Hilda speaking, Aunt Hilda could never have existed. He said now in an off-hand tone,
”What do you propose to do about it?”
”You’ll see tomorrow.” She moved her head in small terse nods and said again, ”You’ll see
tomorrow.”
He was standing in the yard holding the pram, shaking it up and down assisted by Lucy who was
gripping the sides and chattering unintelligibly but loudly as she did when she was happy, and
what made her happy was bouncing the pram. But he swung quickly around when Hilda came
through the kitchen door, and he was still staring towards her as she turned her back on him to
lock it.
”Well, what are you looking at?”
”Nothing.” He pushed the pram handle towards her, then walked a little behind her as she
marched out of the yard.
She was made up. It was the first time he had seen her with lipstick on. He was sure she had
rouge on too. And she was wearing her best coat, and he hadn’t seen that hat before. Well! v/ell!
one could die from the shocks one got, but he hoped, oh, he hoped to God that there were no
shocks awaiting her, that the charge she was about to make this afternoon would win her battle
and bring
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her some happiness, eventually that is, and in doing so also bring
peace
to his father.
When twenty minutes later he knocked on the door and his father opened it he knew a moment of
apprehension because he couldn’t translate the look on his father’s face as he stared at Hilda with
the child in her arms.
It was Hilda herself who broke the spell. Her voice brisk yet quiet, she said, ”May I come in?”
”Oh yes, yes.” He pulled the door wide, then looked towards Dick who was saying, ”Shall I leave
the pram out here today?”
”No, no; fetch it in, it wouldn’t last two minutes out there.”
In the room they now stood looking at one another until Abel said, ”Oh. Oh, sit down.” He pulled
a chair forward, but before Hilda took a seat she held out the child towards him, and when he
took her into his arms he gazed at her for a moment and, her hand gripping his chin, she made a
noise. ”She’s saying, ’Da-da’,” he said.
Dick laughed. ”She’s been saying it continually since yesterday,” he said.
”Oh,” Abel smiled at his daughter, who had Florrie’s eyes and Florrie’s mouth. When he kissed
her on the cheek it brought the quick response of her arms around his neck and self-consciously,
he again looked at Hilda. ”She . . . She’s in fine fettle,” he said.
”Well, she’s about the only one that is that I can see.”
”What ! Oh, me ? Oh, I’m all right.”
”Huh!”
Dick looked at his father’s puzzled expression. The battle had begun and he wasn’t ready for it.
Would he surrender or would he stand out against her ? Well, it remained to be seen how strong
the enemy was ; and the enemy was now on her feet.
Hilda had risen from the chair as abruptly as she had sat down, and now she was walking slowly
around the room. The sight of it really appalled her and her surveying of it was definitely
embarrassing Abel for he now said, ”I ... I won’t be here much longer, I’ve got a place in view.”
”Have you?” She was nodding at him. ”Well, by the look of you I don’t think you will survive
long enough to enjoy it.”
Again Abel turned his gaze towards Dick looking for an answer, but all he got from this quarter
was a slight raising of the
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eyebrows and an almost imperceptible movement of thjs head which said, ”Well, I know nothing
about it.”
”Sit down, Abel.” She was standing in front of him, and he hitched the child from one arm to the
other; then pulling the only other chair in the room forward, he sat down. Now their faces were
almost on a level, and when she spoke her voice was firm but quiet as she said, ”Now don’t
interrupt me until I finish. You can’t go on living in this mucky den any longer, it’ll be the end of you. I’ve come to take you back home. . . .
Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.”
She put up her hand in the manner of a policeman directing traffic, then went on, ”I’ve said let me have me say. I ... I don’t
want anything from you because you’ve got nothing to give, I know that, I’ve faced up to that,
but I ... I want to keep the child. And what’s more I need a man about the place. Dick’s going to