Chapter 5

Mother took ill on the fifteenth of February. One minute she seemed well, hale and hearty and then she just sank to the floor like a deflated balloon. She did not faint, nor clutch her heart, she just sank down into a sitting position on the floor, something she had never done. I picked her up and placed her on the sofa, smoothing her dress down so it revealed less ankle. I sent for the doctor, terrified as a child would be, but also, looking at myself from outside, feeling rather proud of my calm, considered actions.

“You mother is very unwell. She will need lots of peace and quiet. Can you arrange for someone to come?” I assured him I could. I wrote to Aunt J., who replied that she would gladly have come but that very week she had slipped on a step caused by a late frost. She had one leg in splints. Whilst she was sure she would recover, she was currently unable to help. She sent Mary.

Mary, one year older than I, yet she appeared so grown-up. All my pride in what I had organised evaporated. Mary took command of the small staff; Mary unembarrassedly washed my mother and helped her to the bathroom when mother felt particularly weak; Mary even wrote to the school (as if she was a much older relative) and explained that the fees would be paid late and how she was sure they understood, she included a confirmatory letter from Doctor Ganzz that explained that my mother was indeed ill.

I helped prepare Mary’s room; thinking that I wished we could still share. Mother, I knew, would never have heard of such a thing. But when she took a turn for the worse, we had to engage a nurse for the nights – Mary could not do days and nights. Nurse Aliminata – a catholic nun, but we had no choice as she was what was available – took Mary’s room next to mother; and Mary took the room next to mine, which coincidentally had a connecting door. It was a genuine coincidence.

Mother got worse, and it never occurred to me, in my selfish concern, that others might be upset too. Until, that is, I heard Mary crying. I listened for a while, then knocked on the door. “What ails you, cousin?”

“Your mother, I fear she shall not survive. I have not provided good enough care.”

“Nonsense, you have been the best carer; and Sister Aliminata is excellent too, despite her religion. All that can be done, has been done.”

It seemed natural to slip into her bed to hold her in my arms. We talked about how enjoyable that last Christmas had been; Lucy would be jealous not to be here with us. She didn’t like being left out; still, she wouldn’t know.

Mamma started to improve; it seemed very slow, but in fact she became more active and alert very quickly. Her first words were “Is Mary here alone? Is that entirely appropriate?” We both re-assured her, but her concern was not what had happened or could happen; it was what it looked like to outsiders. She even suggested I should go and stay with Aunt J.! But the presence of the sister/nurse helped and Reverend Simkins reassured her that he was sure no nun would stay in a house where anything untoward was taking place. How either he or the nun knew what happened at night, we were unsure; but then nothing (much) did. It is true that I found my knowledge of female anatomy improved, as did Mary’s of the male counterpart. Yet, we never, not once, engaged in that final consummation that is reserved for marriage. It might seem strange, and I was certainly tempted, but I was concerned for my cousin’s purity. She did once admit just before she left, that had I been insistent, she would have given in; especially after we had discovered that my fingers could induce in her a state of bliss. I had to kiss her hard when she reach that state as she tended to be loud in her appreciation. If only I had known I might have used that knowledge and taken advantage. Perhaps God or a guardian angel did look down on our innocence.

She reciprocated of course. On those occasions – and it was not every night, for we enjoyed our conversations a lot and sometimes had no need of physical pleasure too – she would gently stroke my member and then become more vigorous until the inevitable happened. She always washed her hand and my member afterwards; the cold water often shrank me to the size of grapes to her amusement. But we both were strict in out cleanliness after that event. On one occasion after she crescendoed in her own musical symphony, I found my fingers covered in a slippery fluid. I tasted some, let her taste a little, and then transferred much to her own hand to induce the same pleasure in me. On that one, perfect, occasion, we both fell asleep after. Perhaps that was the time.

She wrote a month later, in some distress. She had missed her ‘time’ she said. At first I was unclear what she meant; only after reading several times did I realise what she was telling me. She had missed her monthly cycle. I wrote back suggesting perhaps it was only an aberration, that perhaps women could miss by accident sometimes. All of this is true I found later, but very rare. It was clutching at straws. She was sure she should not be, could not be, would not be. How could she when she was still a maiden? Her next letter explained how, practical as ever, she had engineered a visit to the doctor – old doctor Whitby, I found myself bridling at the thought of that old man rootling through her most private place; but perhaps that was better than a handsome young doctor doing the same. Whatever the supposed reason for the visit, and she even allowed her mother to be present for a witness, she happened to mention the missed menstrual cycle, and he confirmed that it must be a sickness since she was clearly virginal in all things. She made sure that was added to her medical notes – as I say, very practical.

Later, when she missed again, she and mother went to see a well respected midwife, who suggested that she was indeed pregnant; but confirmed that she could not see how since the girl was ‘untouched’. They went to see a specialist, who confirmed both aspects and clearly thought he might write this up as a medical miracle. No, nothing would be written anywhere. Uncle Jack was therefore in turn furious, incredulous, and then bemused as to how his daughter could be expecting even though she was still a virgin. Were the stories of getting pregnant from toilet seats true after all?

The situation could have run out of control. Mary could have been accused of much, unfairly. So I took the bull by the horns and insisted mother and I visit. Mother was recovered and it was nearly summer anyway. At first Aunt J. and Uncle Jack did not want to discuss the situation, it apparently had not occurred to them that Mary’s cousin could be the unwitting father. Mother was appalled and had not even really wanted to come, she was several times on the point of suggesting to me that Mary was a Jezebel, a harlot, a girl with no morals. Luckily I managed to stop her each time, once such things are said, they can never be unsaid. Finally I walked with Mary alone and proposed. She refused, I proposed the next day again, and the next. Mary thought there was no reason to destroy my life as hers would be now. So I summoned up all my courage and went to see Uncle Jack.

“Uncle? How goes it? Are you well?”

“Oh, Jay, yes, as well as can be expected. Look, old man, this is not a good time. I have these difficult letters to write about Argentina, and ... well I have other concerns too.”

“Uncle, that is why I am here – not Argentina, the other concerns. I know you do not wish to discuss it; but I will state outright – I would like to marry your daughter. I suggest we should do it before the birth so the child can have a name.” Having a name meant having a man’s name.

“You? But ... well, it is very generous, but I think the father should take this responsibility. She still will not say...” he tailed off, it was as if a firework went off in his head. “YOU!”

“Yes, uncle, me. It should, according to the books, be impossible, for your daughter is genuinely as well as medically still a virgin. But it seems the most likely explanation. I can only apologise, but I feel I should make some amends. However, Mary will not have me.”