More Than Riches

by More Than Riches (retail) (epub)

  He too was shocked. ‘You what!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll not have no wife of mine trying to get the better of me.’ Raising the back of his hand, he fetched it down hard against the side of her face. ‘You’ll get to bed when I tell you!’

  For what seemed an age she stared at him, her small figure stiff and unyielding and her brown eyes swimming with tears. But she wouldn’t cry. She told herself she must not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Even when he raised his hand again, she didn’t flinch. Instead, in a steady voice that belied the churning inside her, she challenged, ‘Hit me again, and you may just live to regret it.’

  Amused, he laughed in her face. ‘Oh? Threatening me now, is it?’

  But he didn’t hit her again. And Rosie would never know how her words might have affected him because a knock on the front door startled them both. Slewing round, he almost lost his balance. ‘Who the hell’s that at this time of night?’ His wide eyes and reluctance to answer the door gave Rosie the impression that he was afraid. She wondered whether he had got on the wrong side of some of the seedy characters who frequented the same pubs.

  ‘Hadn’t you better go and see who it is?’ she asked with disgust. ‘After all, you’re supposed to be the man of the house, aren’t you?’

  Her jibe cut deep. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ he promised. Then he straightened his jacket and went down the passage on unsteady footsteps. ‘Who is it?’ His anxious voice carried back to the parlour.

  It satisfied Rosie to see that he was a coward. ‘I hope it’s somebody come to knock sawdust out of you,’ she muttered, hastily gathering her work from the floor.

  Muffled voices filtered down the passage. Crossing to the sideboard, where she replaced the work-basket, Rosie cocked an ear. What she heard was Doug’s voice, raised in surprise at first then talking low and earnestly, and a woman’s voice, replying in soft affectionate tones. The voice was familiar. ‘No!’ Rosie couldn’t believe it. But it was true, because almost immediately Martha Selby appeared at the door.

  ‘Look who’s come to see us.’ Doug was grinning from ear to ear as he ushered his mother into the parlour.

  Martha said nothing. Instead she remained upright and formidable as always, her grim face expressionless as she told Rosie, ‘I know what you’re up to. I’ve known for a long time, and like a fool I let you get away with it. But I’m telling you here and now, it won’t work because I refuse to be parted from my son any longer.’

  Rosie was not intimidated. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about,’ she lied. She knew very well that Martha was alluding to the brazen manner in which she had ‘persuaded’ Doug away from his mother’s clutches. ‘It was never my intention to part you from your son.’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool!’

  ‘All I ever wanted was a home of my own. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  The big woman looked around the room. Everything was in order; the ornaments stood proud and sparkling on the mantelpiece, and the floor was clean enough to eat off. She resented that. ‘You had a good home in my house.’

  And we have a good home here… in our own house.’ She had seen the resentment in Martha’s eyes. She had seen the loneliness too. In a different way, it echoed her own. ‘It was nothing personal, Martha,’ she said kindly. ‘You’re a woman. You know how special it is, to have your own things about you… to have your own front door key.’ She waited for a response, but there was none. She looked to Doug for support, but the booze had fuddled his senses and he was slumped against the sideboard with a foolish grin on his face.

  Rosie felt very uncomfortable. Her instincts told her she had made an enemy for life in this woman. ‘It’s very late, Martha. What exactly did you come for?’

  She turned away, ignoring Rosie and giving her answer to Doug, who clumsily stood to attention. ‘Your father’s been ill ever since he got home. I’m to tell you that he won’t be in tomorrow. He’s paying a call on the doctor. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but he’s anxious that the wagon’s in good hands. Are you able to take care of everything? That’s what he wants to know, son. I told him you were. I asked him, “what sort of idiot do you take our lad for?” But he carried on so much I thought I’d better come round and see you. Your dad says if you can’t manage on your own, you’re to get that lad from Taggett Street.’

  Doug laughed. ‘What! He’s more bloody useless than a boot without laces. I can manage better on my own. You tell Dad that.’

  ‘I already told him, son.’

  His face crinkled into a smile. ‘Aw, Mam! I’m glad you’ve come to see us. I didn’t like it when we weren’t talking.’ He glanced at Rosie, but addressed his mother. ‘Take no notice of her. She don’t mean nothing.’

  Martha wasn’t convinced. Returning her attention to Rosie, she asked frostily, ‘How’s my little grandson?’

  It was Doug who answered, ‘He’s abed. You can go and see him if you like, Mam.’ He looked at her like a little boy trying to please. ‘Up the stairs, first on the left.’

  Without a word, but maliciously smiling at Rosie through narrowed eyes, Martha turned and departed, going slowly up the stairs on leaden feet and striking the fear of God into Rosie’s heart. She’d never thought to see Martha Selby in this house, leave alone going up the stairs and into the bairn’s room. As if Doug wasn’t enough to contend with, she now had his mother on her back again. God forbid!

  ‘You make her welcome, do you understand?’ Doug glared at her. ‘She’s my mam, and there’s been enough bad feeling.’ That said, he slumped into the nearest chair, laying his head against the wall and closing his eyes. ‘I don’t feel well,’ he moaned.

  ‘Are you saying I caused the trouble?’

  He didn’t move a muscle, but his voice was menacing. ‘I’m just saying, don’t get above yourself, if you know what I mean.’ Rosie knew all right. He was still smarting because, far from cowering when he’d hit her just now, she had dared to challenge him.

  When Martha came back down the stairs she was bristling. ‘He’s too thin by far,’ she told Rosie. ‘And there aren’t enough blankets over him.’ Before Rosie could answer, she told Doug, ‘I expect you to do something about that.’ At once sitting up, he assured her that he would.

  ‘And what about the christening? Isn’t it time you got that organised?’ She looked from one to the other. ‘If it’s too much trouble, you’d better let me do it.’

  Rosie was quick to point out that the date had been set for next week, and she would have let Martha know but, ‘Your son cancelled it.’ Just as Rosie anticipated, Martha rounded on Doug, and he took it like the coward he was.

  After his mother had gone, he blamed Rosie. ‘Why did you have to go and tell her that?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware it was a secret.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Come to think of it, why didn’t you tell her we were having another child?’ He didn’t answer. Unperturbed, Rosie pursued the other matter. ‘And why didn’t you tell her why you cancelled the christening?’

  ‘I’m not answerable to her.’

  Rosie was stunned. ‘You used to tell your mam everything.’

  ‘Not everything.’

  ‘You do mean for our son to be christened, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid, woman. Of course I do!’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me what’s behind your thinking?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’ He grinned, crossing his legs and lying back in the chair. His odd-coloured eyes appraised her while he took his time in explaining, and when he spoke it was with a deal of cunning. ‘I’ve written to a mutual friend, and I’m waiting for a reply.’

  Something in his manner made Rosie’s heart turn cold. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We can’t have a christening without a godfather, can we? And we want the very best for our precious son, don’t we?’ He was enjoying the feeling of power he held over her at that moment. ‘I’m sure you’d agree that the best is Adam.�
�� The horror on her face spurred him on. ‘Yes, that’s right, sweetheart… my best friend, and yours, Adam Roach. Soldier and gentleman. Surely you can’t have forgotten him? You couldn’t forget a man you once promised to wed? No, of course not.’ Stumbling close, he leered at her. ‘I’ve no doubt you didn’t resist when he wanted to make love, eh?’

  Rosie was repelled. ‘Are you saying you’ve actually written to him? I knew you mentioned it some time ago, but I thought you were just being vindictive.’ She realised she should have known better.

  ‘I’ve written to the regiment. No doubt he’ll get the letter in good time, and when he does, I expect he’ll be overjoyed. After all, if I hadn’t taken you from him, you’d be wed to him now, and it might be him asking me to be godfather to your son.’

  ‘You’ll never let it go, will you?’

  Taken aback by the hatred in her eyes, he wanted to tear out her heart. ‘I’ll let it go when you stop wanting him,’ he hissed. Then he covered his head with his hands and bawled like a child.

  Sickened, Rosie left him there. That night she slept in the chair beside her son’s cot. Dear Lord, don’t let Adam come anywhere near us, she pleaded. Because if you do, I can’t answer for the consequences.

  Doug was right. She would never stop wanting the better man. Adam Roach would always be the man for her. But Doug was the man she had settled for, and that was the ugly truth. Her whole empty future lay before her. There was no hope now. And it was that which was so unbearable.

  * * *

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ The plump and homely Mrs Jason was exasperated as she showed her husband a letter which had arrived that very morning. ‘Should I send it back and say he’s no longer living here, or should I try and find him? I wouldn’t really know where to start though, because he didn’t leave a forwarding address. All he told me was that he intended going up in the world, and that one day he meant to have his own coal-merchant’s.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re talking about Adam Roach?’ he remarked. ‘I don’t know about going up in the world. Not when he couldn’t even get a job round these parts.’

  ‘That’s because there’s very little work to be had in the Midlands right now. If you ask me, it’s time the government put its thinking cap on. There are too many young men out of work, more’s the pity.’ Placing the offending article in front of him, she began to pour out the tea. ‘That letter looks important, don’t you think?’ Sitting bolt upright in the chair, she took up a plate in one hand and a ladle in the other. Scooping out a huge helping from the large oval dish, she dropped it on to the plate. ‘Steak and kidney pie. Your favourite,’ she announced proudly as the aroma permeated the room. Indicating the various dishes positioned centrally on the table, she told him, ‘There’s peas and carrots, oh, and both lodgers are out, so there’s only me and you for dinner, Ted. So eat hearty. It’s a sin to waste good food.’

  He was delighted. ‘No lodgers, eh? It’ll make a nice change to sit at my own table without strange faces watching every mouthful I take,’ he grumbled. ‘I never did like you taking in lodgers.’

  ‘There, there, dear,’ she coaxed. ‘When your rheumatism stopped you working, it seemed a good idea to have lodgers. You must admit, they’ve never been a problem.’ She stroked her greying hair and gazed dreamily at the unopened letter lying beside his plate. ‘We’ve had some very nice people staying under this roof,’ she said. ‘You can’t deny that.’

  ‘Hmph!’ he snorted. Snatching up the letter, he stared at it through angry eyes. ‘I suppose you’re talking about this fellow again, eh?’

  ‘Adam Roach was a nice young man, and I’m sorry he’s gone.’

  ‘Are you now?’ He turned the letter over in his hand. ‘Well, I’m not! You women are all the same… all it takes is a good-looking fella and you can’t think straight no more.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ted. I’m old enough to be his mother.’ In fact, the reason she had taken to Adam was because she had given away a son many years ago. With his dark hair and black eyes, Adam reminded her of the child.

  Ted also had memories. But where she kept them alive, he tried desperately to bury them. ‘I know, love. I’m sorry. But you can’t keep torturing yourself. When you gave that infant away all those years ago, it was because I’d let you down. If I’d offered to wed you then, instead of running off like a coward, we could have kept the boy.’ He bent his head and covered his pale eyes with large, surprisingly smooth hands. ‘He’s gone,’ he murmured, ‘and he’s never coming back.’ The look he gave her was filled with pain. ‘The sooner you realise that, the better.’

  She didn’t answer. Instead she looked away and the gesture appeared to infuriate him. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here,’ he snapped, staring at the official stamp on the envelope. ‘This is from the armed forces. I thought he was demobbed?’ He remarked curiously. ‘Didn’t you say his papers came through to this address soon after he came here?’

  ‘They did. And he was demobbed.’

  ‘Oh, aye? A deserter more like!’ Ripping open the envelope, he was surprised to find another, smaller envelope inside. Reading the accompanying letter he said aloud, ‘It’s a forwarded letter.’ Tearing open the smaller envelope he read silently, explaining, ‘It’s from a mate of his… Doug Selby… wants him to be godfather to his son.’ The letter was like salt being rubbed into a wound. ‘I’ll tell you what to do with this!’ he cried. Tearing the two letters into tiny fragments, he dropped them into his saucer and lit them with a match from his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘That’s what you do!’ He watched the paper blacken and curl. ‘He’s gone from this house, and with the help of the Lord we’ll never clap eyes on him again.’ With that he went out of the room on slow tortuous footsteps. As he went upstairs his crippled legs pained him more than he could ever remember. Once inside the bedroom, he sat in the chair by the window and stared out across the rooftops.

  A few moments later his wife found him hunched over and sobbing pitifully. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, holding him close.

  ‘No,’ he murmured, ‘it’s me that should be sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done to you. Sorry for being the failure I am.’ He turned to look at her with pitiful eyes. ‘But I’m not sorry for destroying that letter. That young man who stayed here… Adam Roach… he wasn’t your son, Doreen. I know it and you know it. And you’ve got to stop imagining that our lad will just turn up on the doorstep one day, because he won’t. Do you hear what I’m saying, love? HE WON’T!’ He could feel the warmth of her tears on his face and bitterly regretted all the heartache he had caused her. ‘We’ve got each other,’ he said. ‘And we should thank the good Lord for that.’

  Chapter Five

  Adam had worked on the sidings for almost three weeks now. Shovelling coal was a thankless task, hard and back-breaking, but it was good honest work, and in these times of unemployment, he was grateful just to be earning a living. His shoulders were broadened and honed by his labours, and his skin was tanned by the May sunshine that had spilled from a clear blue sky every day since he’d come to work at the yard.

  ‘Put your bloody shovel down, man!’ The fat fellow had come up behind him. ‘Are you working right through your break or what?’ Settling himself on an upturned box which groaned beneath his considerable weight, he swung the bag from his shoulder and took out a snap can. Inside the can was a pile of sandwiches, a great chunk of meat pie, and a container of cold tea to swill it down with. ‘By! Me stomach thinks me throat’s cut,’ he chuckled. ‘If it does nothing else, this work builds a man’s appetite, and that’s a fact.’

  Adam leaned on his shovel. Stripped to the waist, he was a fine figure of a man. ‘I had no idea it was that time,’ he admitted, wiping the grimy sweat from his brow.

  ‘Well, it is!’ the other man affirmed. ‘So knock off, for Chrissake. If the boss sees you working through your break, he’ll make it a regular thing.’ He frowned, casting a glance towards the shed where the foreman was
watching. ‘I don’t know… you young ’uns seem to have too much energy for your own good.’

  Propping his shovel against the heap of coal, Adam flicked the top layers of dust from his trousers. ‘Not so much of the “young ’uns” if you don’t mind,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll be twenty-seven next birthday, and that’s only spitting range from being thirty.’ He stretched his arms above his head and flexed every muscle in his strong lithe body. Then he went with long strides to the wagon, collected his lunch-box, and returned to sit beside his colleague. ‘There aren’t many wagons in today,’ he observed ruefully. ‘I reckon things are slackening off.’ He bit into his apple and cast a wary eye along the row of wagons still waiting to be loaded. There were three. Normally there would have been six or seven.

  ‘You’re right,’ the other man agreed. Blowing the coal-dust from his sandwich and sinking his large white teeth into it, he gazed doefully at the line of wagons. ‘Heard summat interesting in the pub last night,’ he said confidentially.

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘There’s talk that Ben Saxon’s in trouble.’ He shook his large head, gulped down a mouthful of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘If he goes under, there’ll be even less wagons, then we’ll have to watch out for us jobs. If the merchants are having a hard time of it, they’ll not be wanting the coal, and that means we won’t be needed neither.’

  ‘Surely it won’t come to that?’

  ‘I’m telling you! You’ve only to look at them there wagons.’ Pointing to the three vehicles, he went on, ‘And not one of ’em belonging to Saxon. It’s a crying shame because he’s a good man, with a good reputation. It goes without saying that if a man of his calibre can’t keep his head above water, there’s hard times ahead for us all.’ He leaned forward as though imparting a secret. ‘Truth is, I’ve heard he might have to sell up.’