Pure as the Lily by Catherine Cookson Page A

said,
    “What are you to him, a relation?”
    She shook her head and turned it away, and the nurse raised her eyebrows and asked no more questions.

    An hour and a half later, they brought him out of the theatre, and the sister herself came to her now.
    “You’d better go home,” she said; ‘you won’t be able to see him until tomorrow. “
    “What did they do to him?” Her voice cracked on the words, and she had to repeat, “What did they do to him?”
    “Well, they had a lot of stitching to do. His face was badly cut; there were pieces of glass in it. “
    His. his eye? “
    “Oh, I think the eye will be all right; the cut just missed it fortunately. He was very lucky really, much more so in his neck for the slash was near an artery.” She nodded sympathetically and said, ‘you can see him tomorrow. Go home now, dear. “
    She turned dumbly away and walked out of the hospital, down the long drive, through the iron gates; and only then did she realize that she hadn’t any money for her bus journey back to Jarrow. Blindly, she began to walk, down Talbot Road, along Stanhope Road and into Tyne Dock. She passed through the Dock arches, went up the long quiet road towards East Jarrow. But before she came to the New Buildings she crossed the road to sit on a seat because her legs were aching. Her whole body was aching; her head and her heart were aching. She was weighed down with a great ache, and pain, and anguish. She loved Ben, she knew now she loved Ben, but she also loved her da. What would happen to her da?
    She had no answer to this. She looked across the road to the slacks, the open timber pond that filled up twice a day with the tide from the river and the North Sea. Children were playing on the timbers, running back and forward yelling gleefully. It wasn’t long ago that she had played and laughed and been happy, that was when she wasn’t in the house. She had been happy, too, with her da and her gran da in the hut on the allotment; and she had laughed when she was at school, especially at playtime.
    “She would never laugh again.
    She started to walk on, up past the disused Barium Chemical Works, the tram sheds round by the Don Bridge and St. Paul’s Church, and when she entered Jarrow she did not go up the church bank but cut across the salt grass, and so wended her way through the maze of streets until she came home . to the shop, because although she hadn’t thought about it, she knew now that this would be her home, if Ben lived this would be her home. She’d never go into number 95 again.
    Mrs. McArthur had been looking after the child. Mrs. McArthur was a nice woman, not gossipy; she minded her own business and she was one of Ben’s best customers. The shop door was locked; she went round to the side door and up the stairs.
    The child was crying and Mrs. McArthur said, “I’ve tried to pacify him, but I couldn’t.” Mary lifted up the boy in her arms and began to rock him, and he said, “Da-da. I want me da-da,” and she answered, “He’ll be back soon. It’s all right, David, he’ll be back soon.”

    “Is he bad, lass “ It’s his face. “
    Did they do anything? “
    “They operated. I don’t know what they did, they only... they said’ she gulped in her dry throat ‘they saved his eye.”
    “My God! My God!” Mrs. McArthur shook her head.
    “And your da. He’s the quietest man in the street; I wouldn’t have believed it. Is it about you, lass?” Tes, Mrs. McArthur. I’m going to have a baby, Ben’s baby. “
    “Aw lass! Lass! Well’—Mrs. McArthur raised her eye brows, then shook her head ‘these things happen. I was going to say, it’s God’s will, but I won’t. What are you going to do about the shop, lass?”
    “The shop? I hadn’t thought, Mrs. McArthur.”
    “Well, it’s Friday the morrow, lass, and people will want their things. You’ve got to keep the business going until Ben comes back.”
    “Yes, Mrs. McArthur.”
    “Look, I’ll tell you