Upstairs, Doug vented his frustration on his mother. ‘This is my house, and don’t you forget it,’ he told her. ‘No wonder Dad buggered off. But I’m not as soft as the old man, and I’ll not stand for your peevish little games so you’d best be warned. If you can’t behave under my roof, you can bloody well find somewhere else to make mischief.’
At first, Martha turned on the tears fantasising to herself that Rosie’s old meat knife had been under her pillow for protection. But when she realised her cunning wiles were getting her nowhere, she flew at him in a rage, ‘It shouldn’t be me you’re yelling at,’ she snarled. ‘It’s that wife o’yourn. She’s the one who needs throwing out, the little baggage.’
All the while she was speaking she dabbed at her eyes with a hankie, making small sad noises in the back of her throat. ‘I may have been a bad ’un to your dad, but I never cheated him, not once all the years we were wed.’ Through her fingers she spied Doug’s face, satisfied when it turned a pale shade of grey. ‘It’s her you should be turning on, not your poor old mam.’
He was bending over the bed, one hand on the brass headrail and the other clenched into a fist not far from her face. But now he straightened his back and stared down at her, his odd-coloured eyes like round glittering marbles. ‘You’d best tell me what you’re getting at,’ he instructed in a strangely quiet voice.
Leaving him to brood on the suspicions she had planted in his mind, Martha sighed and groaned and muttered her discontent. She plumped up her pillows, then tidied the neck of her nightgown, and now, much to his frustration, was patting at her dishevelled hair.
When he made a small grunting noise and bent over her again, she looked up and saw she had punished him long enough. ‘Don’t you think you’d better ask her?’ she suggested. All trace of her distress was now gone and in its place was a bristling authority. After being belittled by Rosie, it felt wonderful to relive the power she’d had over her husband, now over her son. ‘You can ask her, but I doubt if she’ll tell you the truth.’
‘I’m asking you!’ His face was twisted with rage.
‘All I’m saying is, you should keep your eyes open. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman strayed when she thought her husband wasn’t looking.’
‘You’re a bloody liar!’
‘You think so, do you?’
‘If she was carrying on with another bloke, I’d know, I can promise you that.’
‘Then there’s no need to worry, is there?’ The damage was done. The seed was planted and she could leave it to grow. ‘Go away and let me sleep,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m tired. First she upsets me, then the brat, and now you.’ She flung herself to the far side of the bed and began softly crying. ‘I’ve always done my best by you, and now none of you want me. Shame on you!’ She buried her face in the pillow and waited for him to go. Once the door was closed, she raised her head and chuckled to herself. ‘Talk down to your betters, will you Miss High and Mighty? Well, now you’ll see who comes off worse, won’t you, eh? Happen you’ll remember in future… make trouble for Martha Selby and you’ll get more than you’ve bargained for.’
* * *
Rosie was curious as to what had gone on between mother and son. But when Doug came downstairs, he had nothing to say. He remained quiet throughout the meal, and afterwards sat sullen and moody in the fireside chair. Occasionally he would glance at her as though on the verge of saying something, but then he would look away, eyes downcast and his fingers playing on the arm of his chair.
‘Your mam’s fast and hard asleep,’ she told him, returning to the living-room with Martha’s tray. ‘I thought to wake her, but then I decided to let her sleep a while longer. I’ll steam the meal up later. It won’t spoil.’ What she had really wanted to do when she stood over Martha just now was to tackle her over what she had done to the boy. But she reasoned that, if Doug had dealt with it, she ought to let it rest, although Hell would fuse with Heaven before she ever again left her son alone with Martha.
‘I’m tired, Mammy.’ Danny was heavy-eyed and still upset from his ordeal at Martha’s hands. He had barely touched his meal, and was now clambering down from the table.
‘All right, sweetheart.’ Rosie led him into the kitchen. Normally he would have been given a thorough strip-wash before being allowed up to his bed. But on this occasion, Rosie gave his hands and face a quick lick-over with a damp cloth, before returning him to the living-room.
‘Say goodnight to your daddy,’ she said, and was astonished when Doug opened his arms to hug the child. As a rule it was a quick ‘Goodnight, son’, and the boy was sent straight off to his bed.
Tonight, however, Doug held on to the boy for a full minute before thrusting him away. He hadn’t spoken one word since his confrontation with Martha, and Rosie was deeply perturbed by his strange mood. She felt guilty without knowing why.
Upstairs, she helped Danny to change into his pyjamas. She reassured him when he looked fearfully at the door and remarked in a small voice, ‘I don’t like Gran’ma any more.’
‘If you want me, I won’t be far away, you know that,’ Rosie told him.
He didn’t want to let her leave. ‘Sing to me, Mammy,’ he begged, and she did.
The nursery rhyme was an old favourite of hers. The words calmed her fears and lifted her spirit, and soon her soft lilting voice was lulling Danny to slumber. ‘Go to sleep my baby, close your big brown eyes… Angels watch above you, peeping at you from the skies.’ Even before she had finished the verse, he was sound asleep, a look of contentment on his face and his arms stretched out above his head. ‘Sleep well, little one,’ she whispered, tucking the blanket over him. She kissed him gently on the forehead and tiptoed from the room, softly closing the door behind her. Outside she paused a moment, listening. All was quiet. A smile wreathed her face as she murmured, ‘If I never have anything else in this life, I’ll always thank the good Lord for you.’ More and more, her son had come to mean the world to her.
Before going down again, she took a look in Martha’s room. Her heart turned over when her mother-in-law sat bolt upright in bed and grinned at her. ‘Got the brat to sleep, have you?’ Her voice was low and grating, her eyes glittered with malice, and Rosie’s dislike of her intensified.
She had promised herself she would leave it to Doug to deal with Martha. But, at that moment, it was obvious to her that he had made little or no impact on his mother. There was something very wrong about Martha. Something sinister. ‘I ought to see you through that front door for what you did to my son…’ Rosie started.
‘Don’t threaten me,’ Martha interrupted. ‘You can’t do anything to harm me, and you know it. This is my son’s house, and I’ll answer to him, not you.’ She smiled, sending shivers down Rosie’s spine. ‘You can leave now,’ she said.
Rosie was convinced. ‘You’re completely mad,’ she murmured.
‘I don’t want no dinner either. How do I know you ain’t trying to poison me?’
‘We’re not all painted with the same brush,’ Rosie said sharply. ‘But if you don’t want your meal, that’s fine by me. I’ll leave it steaming until you do.’ She knew from old that Martha would soon be demanding her food. ‘But before I go, I want you to know that if you ever hurt my son again, you’ll answer to me.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You can depend on it,’ Rosie insisted angrily. When Martha merely smiled, she thought it best to leave. If she stayed she might be tempted to do something she would regret.
‘Must you go out?’ Doug was putting on his coat when Rosie came into the living-room. ‘I really wouldn’t mind some company tonight.’ Martha’s oddness had unnerved her. But then she recalled how Doug himself had been in a strange mood since talking to her. Between the two of them, Rosie was made to feel insecure.
He stared at her for a minute, his mouth set in a grim line. He shrugged and fastened his coat, and as he was leaving, asked cynically, ‘Are you sure it’s my company you’re after?’ Before she could quest
ion his remark, he was gone, slamming out of the house and leaving her in a quandary.
She went about her work with a vengeance. When everything was done, she got out her sewing basket and replaced all the loose buttons on her best frock. She stitched the tear in little Danny’s play trousers, and darned the sleeves of Doug’s jumpers. When that was done, she turned on the radio and tried to get interested in the mystery story. It was already halfway through. Unsettled, she turned it off and went to the bottom of the stairs where she listened a while. Silence. Not a sound came from upstairs. ‘You ought to sleep, you old bugger!’ she murmured. ‘But it’s a wonder your conscience will let you.’
In the kitchen Martha’s meal was slowly steaming but the water in the pan was almost gone. Filling the jug from the tap, Rosie poured the contents into the pan until it was nearly full. After taking a look at the food, she set the plate on top once more; the meal was nicely kept and would remain so until Martha started shouting for it. ‘I ought to chuck it in the bin!’ Rosie grumbled.
For the next two hours she looked for things to do, and the more she thought about what Doug had said, the more she was ready to have it out with him. She felt angry, confused by his parting remark, yet convinced Martha was behind it all.
It was midnight when he came home. Rosie was in bed fast asleep. She had tried to stay awake, but it had been a long and arduous day and the minute after her head touched the pillow she was in a deep, if restless, slumber.
It was a sense of horror that woke her. At first when she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see him. The room was steeped in darkness, the only relief being the slit of moonlight that cut through the narrow opening between the curtains. With a gasp she sat up, clutching the bedclothes to her breast. ‘Who’s there? Doug, is that you?’ Fear was betrayed in her voice.
His reply was low and angry, his voice slurred with drink. ‘Expecting somebody else, were you?’ Narrowing her eyes, she could just make him out, slumped against the dresser, his face like a pale mask in the gloom.
In a minute she was out of the bed and reaching for the light-switch. A ripple of fear went through her when his fingers quickly locked over her wrist. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,’ he hissed, tightening his grip on her arm. ‘But then, I’m only your husband when all’s said an’ done.’
Anger bubbled up in her. Wrenching herself away, she demanded, ‘It’s your mother, isn’t it? Something she said to you before you went out has got you all riled up.’ Snapping on the light, she stared into his face, her brown eyes alive with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Doug, can’t you see what she’s trying to do?’
The sudden influx of light made him blink. Impatient, he switched off the light. ‘It’s got nothing to do with her,’ he lied. ‘But I’ll tell you this… if I find out you’re seeing another man, I’ll kill the pair of you.’
Rosie should not have been surprised, but she was. ‘So, she has told you I’ve got another man? Are there no depths to her wickedness?’ Martha’s spitefulness had always been foreign to Rosie’s more generous nature. ‘I take her in, run up and down the stairs at her beck and call, wash her, feed her, wait on her hand and foot, and still she’s bent on making trouble between us.’ Something inside her snapped. ‘If you’re fool enough to believe the lies she tells you about me, then happen I should take the boy and clear off.’
‘It’s lies then?’
‘Of course it’s bloody lies!’ Stiffening with rage, she swung away. Throwing herself on to the bed, she sat upright and grimfaced, her troubled eyes staring out of the chink between the curtains. The sky was dark as black velvet. Out there was another world, one she had never really explored. ‘I can’t take much more of her,’ she confessed. ‘I do what I can, but it’s never enough. Happen it really would be better if I found somewhere of my own?’ At this minute in time, it seemed so simple. ‘Besides, after what happened with Danny today, I’m afraid. She hates him, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Don’t talk daft! He’s her grandson. Why would she hate him?’ There was something in his voice that told Rosie he also had been deeply shocked by what had taken place here today.
‘I don’t know why. But she’s turned on him, and you can’t deny it.’
‘You swear on Danny’s life… you’re not seeing another man?’
‘I’ll do no such thing!’ Rosie rose from the bed and crossed the room. ‘You can believe what she tells you, or you can believe me. I am NOT seeing another man.’ She actually laughed out loud. ‘God Almighty! Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson with you? One man is more than enough.’
He let out a great heaving sigh. ‘I know I’m not the best husband in the world, Rosie, but I do love you.’
Hating the dark, she again flicked on the light and was astonished to see him crying. Huge teardrops rolled down his face. With his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets and his head inclined to one side, he looked a pathetic sight. Yet her heart remained hardened against him. He was ready to believe anything of her. She could not easily forgive him for that.
‘She’s been a good mother to me, but lately she’s changed. Or I’ve only just begun to see her as she really is,’ he confessed. ‘She’s a wicked old biddy, and I’ll have to take a firmer hand with her,’ he promised. ‘Only please don’t leave me. I’d be nothing without you.’
Rosie was torn in so many directions. There was no longer any love in her heart for this man. The only real thing that tied them together was the fact that he was the father of her child. In many ways he was too much like his mother. There were times when she loathed the very touch of him, and there were times when he was more of a child than Danny. She looked at him now, and felt ashamed. She also felt more trapped than ever. Why couldn’t she have seen all of this years ago? Before it was all too late? But she hadn’t, and there was only herself to blame. She could never love him again, never as long as she lived. Hers was a life without love. Only her son touched her heart, yet he was only half hers. She felt instinctively that if she left, Martha would side with Doug, and between them they would move Heaven and earth to take the boy from her. No. She had made her own decision in life and, rightly or wrongly, would have to live it through; for the boy’s sake if not her own.
‘I’ll never let another man come between us.’ There was murder in his words, and it startled her.
She gave no answer. His remark needed none.
When he laid her on the bed, she made no resistance. She didn’t want him, but neither did she want the upheaval of turning him away. Quietly, she submitted. The sooner it was over with, the better, she thought bitterly.
The smell of booze on his breath was nauseating, though he was not so intoxicated as not to have his way with her. ‘Take your nightgown off,’ he said. Before she had time to refuse, he was pulling it up round her waist. She could feel his hard member against the warmth of her skin and, for one regretful minute, she was roused. Sensing it, he coarsely laughed as he began probing into her. He had been interrupted before, and his appetite was all the more ravenous because of it.
This time he was deep in the throes of ecstasy when the cries of his son cut through his passion. He would have ignored the cries and carried on to fulfilment, but Rosie wriggled away and ran from the room, leaving him bitterly frustrated and in a dark rage at having been deprived yet again.
When Rosie opened her son’s bedroom door, what she saw would live with her for the rest of her days. The light from the hallway flooded in. Martha was lying on the floor, twisted and wild-eyed. The child was caught up in her arms and she was holding a knife to his throat. His brown eyes were huge with fear, and his little hands were pulling on his grandmother’s arms in a futile attempt to loosen her deadly grip. Tiny droplets of blood trickled over his fingers, and Rosie’s heart turned somersaults.
‘Let him go, Martha. Please… let him go.’ Her voice was astonishingly calm, belying the terror she felt inside.
‘Didn’t hear me, did you?’ Martha’s laugh was
terrible to hear. ‘Didn’t hear me crawling along on my belly, did you, eh?’ she asked again. ‘Oh, but I heard you… and him. I heard you going at each other in there.’ The smile slid from her face. ‘I told him about you, but you talked him round, didn’t you, eh? You managed to convince him you ain’t got another fella, when you and I know you bloody well have!’
‘Please, Martha… let Danny go now.’ Rosie had a mind to dart forward, take her unawares, but instinct warned her not to.
As though reading her thoughts, Martha warned in a sinister voice, ‘Be very careful, dearie. He means nothing to me.’ Her gaze went beyond Rosie to the doorway. Doug had come upon the scene and was momentarily struck dumb, his odd-coloured eyes going from his mam to the boy and then to Rosie.
At the sight of Doug, Martha’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘Send her away, son,’ she pleaded. ‘We don’t need her. We don’t need either of them.’ Digging the blade into the boy’s tender skin, she chuckled when he began sobbing again.
Hastily dressed in pyjamas, and slightly swaying from the effects of booze, Doug ventured further into the room. ‘That’s enough, Mam. Let him be,’ he instructed. His voice was quick and angry. ‘Whatever you think of Rosie, it has nothing whatsoever to do with the boy.’
Martha met his gaze with bold eyes. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, son,’ she declared knowingly. ‘’Cause this boy is right at the heart of it all.’
More Than Riches Page 23
