Chapter Twenty-Six

Once the children were in bed, Mags sat with Betsy at the dinner table. This was as good a time as any to broach the subject of Montel.

‘About what happened today, Betsy – you know, concerning Montel and . . . well, him coming to live with us.’

‘Eeh, lass, if you want to live as husband and wife, who’s to knaw, eh? We can tell the young ’uns that you wed, and leave it at that. And, Mags, if I could give you one piece of advice, it would be to do it. It’s plain to see as you love one another – real love, as love should be given, not the infatuation you had for Roford. ’Cause that’s all it was, you must knaw that now.’

‘I do. Harold does something to women; somehow he gets us to do anything for him. Look at Susan.’

‘Aye, poor lass. I wonder how she is. Though I can’t come to terms with her giving her babby up. Naw woman can be right in their mind to do that. I couldn’t. I’ll love this one that I’m carrying, just as much as I do me girls that I had with Bill.’

‘You’re special, Betsy. Very special.’

‘Naw, I’m just an ordinary lass. I’ve done bad things and good things, but by, I’ve paid for the bad, and still am doing.’

‘What do you mean, Betsy? What are you still paying for?’

‘Eeh, don’t ask me, Mags. Let’s change the subject, eh?’

‘Betsy, I feel as though you are carrying something inside that is eating away at you. Don’t let it. I am your friend, and you can share it with me. Is it something that happened that triggered Bill’s action? I mean, something other than the rape and its consequences?’

‘Naw, they were what triggered him, but . . . eeh, Mags, you’ll hate me. I . . .’

‘Oh, my dear, don’t cry. Come on. I’ve had enough to eat and it’s a warm night. Let’s go and sit on the wall outside.’ Once there, Mags became increasingly concerned for Betsy. Sobs racked her body. ‘Betsy, please, love. Whatever it is, unburden yourself. You can never do anything to make me hate you.’

‘I can, and I have. But, lass, what I’ve done is best left unsaid. It led to you suffering so much. And . . . and, your da . . . Oh, God, I’m sorry, so sorry.’

Mags felt alarmed now. Betsy seemed to be heading for a breakdown. Willing herself to be strong, she coaxed Betsy to tell all. ‘Is it to do with the rape, Betsy? If it is, I want you to know that I can, and do, forgive you. None of that was your fault, try to—’

‘It was.’ A huge sob shook Betsy; spittle came from her mouth, snot ran from her nose and her body folded. ‘Oh, Mags, there . . . there was no rape.’

As she said this, Betsy slipped off the wall onto the floor. A passer-by stared, then tutted and went on his way. Mags looked at the crumpled figure of the best friend she’d ever had and couldn’t move. No rape? What? No . . . no, Betsy couldn’t have, could she? I can’t take it, I can’t.