Yorkshire Vignettes
1963 – Celia
'Now, Celia. Everything is going to be quite all right. We can work this out,' came Kenneth's voice on the telephone.
Celia's first instinct was to say, 'You lying sod.' Then she realised she wasn't bothered and hung up on him instead. It had been two months since Caroline's birth – and her near brush with death – and now she was meant to be recovering. But she was damned if she could relax now that she realised that while she was in hospital and giving birth to their daughter, he was off somewhere sleeping with another woman.
It hadn't taken long for Celia to recognise that her marriage to Kenneth had been a mistake. Three months after the wedding, she had understood far too late what sort of man he was. It wasn't as if he was bad-tempered or abusive. Kenneth Dawson was none of those things but his greatest failing that he knew all too well that he was attractive to women and made no attempt to dissuade them from approaching and seducing him. Not that it was all one-sided for he had made his conquests too. A real Don Juan, she thought. At first, she thought it was merely him being unused to being a married man and that in time, he'd settle down. It took four years of marriage before Caroline entered the world and even he had to muck her birth up.
Poor Caroline, thought Celia.
She didn't dare say, 'Poor me', for after all, she had wanted to be married to him. Dazzled, she had been, by his university degree and his prospects. She wanted a nice house with a garden and a car and now she had them. Her parents – who had none of these things – were over the moon, of course. And yet, she had never been more miserable in her life. Most of all, it was guilt she was feeling for Caroline because, really, a mother should be anything but miserable at a time like this.
Loneliness was also something she was experiencing for she had no one to talk to. She could hardly tell her mother for she would be shocked and appalled and speaking to her sister Muriel was out of the question. She simply would have blabbered on to their mother and then the cat would have been out of the bag. She sighed. She was being unfair to Muriel too but she couldn't help it. It wasn't that she was a bad sort but ever since Muriel had gone off with Frank, Celia's relationship with her only sister had soured. Other than the obligatory birthday and Christmas greetings, they never spoke nowadays. However, even Muriel's presence would have been a comfort now.
And it was in desperately unhappy times such as these that her thoughts strayed to Alan Buttershaw. Names and faces of old schoolmates came and went but to her surprise, she always remembered Alan. It wasn't really a surprise actually, she admitted. Call it what you will, either an adolescent crush or a schoolgirl's fancy, but she had truly been in love with him. She used to watch him from her parents' sitting room window as he passed by in the street, secretly half-hoping that he'd turn round but he never did for his mates – now what were their names again? Barry? Harry? And ah yes, Maurice – were inevitably close by.
If she had a memory in which she was truly happy, it was when he had finally asked her out. And if someone had asked her which memory made her feel otherwise, she would have said the same. It was a bittersweet memory and if she could help it, she avoided recalling it to mind. For on the one hand, it had been a triumph of sorts. After months, perhaps years of waiting, he had asked her out and she could hardly believe it. It was what happened afterwards that saddened her, or rather what didn't happen, because they never did go out and Alan had never replied to the letter she had left with Eileen Pickford.
He had probably been angry with her for breaking off their date. She could very well understand that but she would have guessed that his anger would have abated after a while. Alan, after all, was a gentle soul and she couldn't imagine him being cross for long. Of course, she could have written to him but it was the uncertainty and the fear of a cold reception that finally put her off. And by then, Kenneth had entered her world and by God how she wished that she hadn't been so easily mesmerised by him now.
'Oh, Alan,' she sighed wistfully. 'I do wish you had written. Or I did in spite of everything.'
The telephone rang again and Caroline gave a cry from the other room. Resolutely ignoring the telephone, Celia went to tend to her daughter.