They were walking across the yard now and Bella knew that her grandfather was not approaching them, but she became aware of him as she neared him because of the smell of his clothes. They had a smoky smell like that which had come from her father’s clothes except that this was a stronger smell. Men who smoked baccy instead of cigarettes had this smell about them. But her grandfather’s clothes also had a woody smell, a sawdusty smell. She was well acquainted with the smell of sawdust because they passed a sawmill on their way to school.
‘I like your house, Granda.’
When there was no immediate answer to this she added, ‘It’s a very fine house; and I love my bedroom and all the colours in it.’ She lifted her face upwards and turned it first in one direction and then the other, aware that the adults weren’t looking at her, but at each other.
‘I must be going now. You’ll drive me back to the station I hope, Mr Dodd?’
‘Wh…what! Drive you back to…?’
It was either the sound of protest in her grandfather’s voice or the fact that she was aware that Miss Braithwaite was about to leave without being offered some hospitality that caused her to put in, ‘But you’ve never had a drop of tea or anything, Miss Braithwaite. Mrs Golightly always used to say, if you were from next door or far away it costs very little to offer a drop of tay.’
‘Oh, Bella!’
She knew Miss Braithwaite was smiling broadly, but it was towards her granda she turned when he demanded, ‘Who’s Mrs Golightly?’
‘She’s a grand woman. Me da said she knew all the answers; she was kind, nice.’
‘Who was she?’ Her grandfather was now addressing Miss Braithwaite, and Miss Braithwaite replied, ‘I don’t know, I never met any neighbour of that name. But then, as I’ve said, I’ve only come new to this case. Miss Talbot would likely be able to give you further information.’
‘Well, shall we have a sup of tea, Granda?’
Without waiting for an answer, she now went on, ‘I bet I can find me way straight to the back door…Come on, Gip! Come on.’ She now slapped her small side twice, half turned, then held out her hand before hitching away towards the side of the house.
Joseph Dodd watched her, his lower jaw sagging, his eyes screwed up to slits; then turning his head slowly towards Miss Braithwaite, he said, ‘Gip? What now, Gip?’
‘It’s her imaginary dog.’
‘An imaginary…? The same as this Mrs Golightly?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Motherless children always make up companions, both human and animal. They have to have something.’
Joseph Dodd turned his head towards where Bella was standing, her arms outstretched triumphantly in the opening of the back door, and he gazed at her for some seconds before looking at Miss Braithwaite again and demanding a growl, ‘What in the name of God have you landed me with, woman?’
Chapter Two
‘Eat your porridge,’ he said.
‘It’s very thick.’
‘There’s milk to your…your left hand.’
‘Oh.’ Bella put her hand out and touched the jug, saying, ‘It’s nice and round and smooth. What colour is it?’
‘…Brown.’
‘It’s warm.’
‘It’s dead cold, it’s been in the pantry all night.’
Bella gave a little giggle now and said, ‘I mean the colour.’
‘Warm?’
‘Yes; my teacher said all browns are warm.’
‘Get on with your breakfast.’
‘There’s a lot of salt in it.’
‘There should be a lot of salt in it, it’s porridge. And don’t dawdle, I’ve got to go on an errand.’
‘Oh, are we going on the cart?’
‘I’m not taking the cart, I’m going over the hills.’
‘May I come with you?’
‘It’s too far; you’ll have to stay here and not wander. Do you hear that? Not wander.’
‘Yes, Granda.’ Her voice was flat; then on a higher tone she added, ‘Haven’t you got a dog, Granda?’
She heard the scraping of his chair on the stone floor. She heard him go towards the fire and the water being poured into the teapot, and when he again returned to the table and didn’t speak she asked, ‘Don’t you like dogs?’
‘My dog died a short while ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Granda. It’s awful to be without a dog. I couldn’t be without Gip.’
When her granda’s spoon clattered against the tin plate she asked, ‘Are you going to get another one?’
‘Yes, when it’s old enough to leave its mother.’
Her voice rose to a squeak as she cried, ‘Oh, that’ll be wonderful, Granda! A dog! Is it a missis or a mister? What colour is it? What are you going to call it?’
‘Finish your breakfast, child; I’ve got to be on me way and I want you outside to show you how far you can go.’
Her voice had dropped from its heights when she answered, ‘Yes, Granda.’
Five minutes later they were standing outside the front door and he was talking. ‘Right opposite here there’s a gate; don’t go beyond that. You know your way to the back door and if you turn to the right from there you make a dead line for the stable. But don’t move beyond that to the right because there’s me saw block, and there’s stacks all about. But come along an’ I’ll show you where you can go for a walk to stretch your legs.’
When Bella held out her hand towards him he did not take it; instead, after a moment’s pause, he said, ‘Hang on to me coat.’ She groped towards him, and having found the bottom of his jacket, she gripped it, and when he moved forward she hurried by his side until he came to a stop.
‘Here we are fronting the stable door,’ he said. ‘Now turn your body half round to the left and feel the wall with your right hand. Now here’s where it ends. Then there’s an open space, it’s a narrow piece of field. Now keeping in a straight line, walk across it like this, come.’
Again she was hurrying by his side, and as of habit she counted her short steps. Twenty-five of them.
Now he had stopped again, and he was saying, ‘This is me piece of woodland. There’s an opening here to it in the hedge. Can you feel it?’
‘Yes, Granda.’
‘Now from this post I’ve put some ropes along the path; I’ve attached them to trees and they go right to the boundary. There, put your hand on this one.’
He didn’t direct her groping hand, but she found the rope and smiled up at him and said, ‘I’ve got it, Granda.’
‘Well, leave loose of me coat now and keep your hand on it and come along.’
She traced her fingers along the rope until she came to a tree, when she put both her arms around it and said, ‘I like trees.’
‘Never mind about that, follow the rope.’ His voice was a growl.
She followed the ropes attached to four more trees before coming to an abrupt stop by a wall. He hadn’t told her about the wall and she almost bounced back on to her bottom. There was just the slightest trace of tears in her voice as she said, ‘You…you never told me about the wall, Granda. I could have bumped me head.’
‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to find it out for yourself; and that wall is important. You don’t go beyond there. That’s me boundary.’
‘It’s broken, the wall.’
‘I know that, but it’s their job to fix it. None of them, though, ever stay long enough to do anything. Rack and ruin the place has gone to. Whist!…Whist!’
She became quiet and still as the sound of footsteps on the gravel came to them. When they had faded away she turned to him and said, ‘There’s a path quite near.’
‘It’s the drive to the house. It curves here on to the front of the house.’
‘Are there flowers beyond there, Granda?’
‘Flowers?’ He didn’t reply for a moment; then said, ‘Yes, yes; daffodils.’
‘I could smell them. Why don’t you have flowers, Granda?’
‘No time for flowers.�
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She knew he had turned about and she turned too and, gripping the rope again, followed him as he said, ‘Never go beyond that wall. Do you hear?’
‘Yes, Granda.’
‘This is a grassy path. It’s about…well, six foot wide.’ He turned towards her. ‘Step it out.’
She left the rope and turned and had taken seven steps when his voice checked her, saying, ‘That’s enough. The willows start from there. Don’t go in among them, there’s damp patches, boggy…You know what boggy is?’
‘No, Granda.’
‘Well, it’s wet ground and you can sink into it.’
‘Very far?’ Her voice rose to a question mark.
‘Not very far, but far enough, especially where the springs are. Anyway, you keep out, you understand?’
‘Yes, Granda.’
‘Come on with you, back; I’ve got to be on me way.’
‘How long will you be, Granda?’
‘I don’t know. An hour, two; it all depends.’
‘Well, I’ll wash the breakfast things and tidy up before I come out to play.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’
‘I will so! I can. I know me way about; Miss Braithwaite showed me; and Mrs Golightly said I’m better occupied. She said there’s more people die of boredom than overwork, and what’s more—’
‘Be quiet!’
‘I was just sayin’.’
They reached the yard in silence. It wasn’t until they were opposite the stables that Bella spoke again. ‘Can I go in and stroke the horse?’
‘No, you can’t. Do you want to be kicked in the teeth? Have sense, child.’
‘Ironsides never kicked me in the teeth.’
‘Ironsides?’
‘Yes, I ride on Ironsides sometimes. He’s lovely. His skin’s hard and soft and he smells nice and—’
‘Child!’
She became still, her hands hanging by her sides, her face turned up towards him, waiting.
She heard him gulp in his throat, the palms of his hands rubbing together, and his heavy boots scraping on the stones before he spoke again; and then he said, ‘This has got to stop. An imaginary dog, a Mrs Golightly, and now a horse. Do you hear me, child? This has got to stop!’
‘But they’re not imaginary, at least…well, not all. Mrs Go—’
‘Stop it, I say! You’ve got to forget about Mrs Golightly.’
He was saying she had to forget about Mrs Golightly who was the comfort of her life. She stretched up her face further towards him; then she gave way to what her teacher said was her main failing and one which she must endeavour to overcome, because people didn’t love a defiant child. But she wasn’t in school, she was in this new place where everything was strange to her and if she couldn’t talk about Gip and Mrs Golightly, then she would cry. And she knew from experience that if she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop. They’d had to get a doctor to her the last time she had a crying bout and she was in bed for days afterwards, and she didn’t like staying in bed; the time stretched to twice its length when you stayed in bed. So now she forgot whom she was talking to and her voice almost matched his bawl as she yelled up at him, ‘I’m gonna talk to them. I’ve got to talk to somebody and they’re my friends. And Miss Talbot said it was all right to talk to them, and I could keep them as long as I needed them…I mean Gip. And I could talk of Mrs Golightly and Ironsides when—’
‘Be quiet!’
‘I’ll not.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’ll not be quiet, I’ve got to talk. I must talk to somebody; if I don’t I’ll cry.’ Now her head was bobbing at him as she ended, ‘And mind, if I cry you’ll know about it ’cos I can’t stop once I start cryin’. They threw water in my face once but still I couldn’t stop.’
The silence spread round her again and no sound came to her to break it, not even a bird song or the horse’s hooves on the cobbled stable floor behind her, until she said in a small voice, ‘Are you mad?’
Again there was a silence before he answered, ‘Yes, I’m mad.’
‘Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame. If you’d only let me talk to you. I…I wouldn’t talk all the time. I…I can be quiet for ages. I was always quiet in the mornings when my dad had a bad head, especially on Sunday mornings…Where are you going?’
The footsteps stopped and she knew he hadn’t turned to her as he said, ‘I told you, I’m going over the hills. I won’t be long. I’ve put the guard round the fire; don’t go near it. And if it should rain get into the house and sit quiet until I come back.’
She made no response but stood where she was until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then she put out her hand and began to walk towards the back door. But as she neared it she stopped, stood still for a moment, then jumping around, she patted her hip twice and cried, ‘Come on, Gip!’ and, her hands outstretched again, she made for the stables.
After reaching the stable wall she ran along by it until she came into the open space, and then, her hands outstretched again, she ran on to the grass and towards the opening in the hedge. But here her direction went astray and as she moved along the hedge towards the right she said, ‘Is it this way, Gip?’ After three or four steps she answered herself, saying, ‘No, it’s the other way, silly.’
When she came to the opening she gave a little laugh; then going through it, she grabbed at the rope, at the same time crying, ‘Come on! Come on! I’ll race you to the wall.
‘Oooh!’ When she bumped into the tree she put her free hand to her head, saying, ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was there? If you don’t do your job right I’ll leave you back in your kennel. Yes, I will.’ She nodded down towards the ground. Then stooping, she made a movement with her hand, saying, ‘I was only making on, I wouldn’t lock you up, never, never. No, I would never lock you up, Gip.’
When she reached the wall she leant against it panting and sniffing. ‘Can you smell them? There must be hundreds of them. And there’s narcissi there, ’cos I can sniff them a mile off.’
She was moving along the wall now and when her hands groped at the air and she fell forward over the stones strewn about her feet she said, ‘Oh dear me! It must have all tumbled down here, Gip. What a pity I can’t go across and pick some flowers.’
She straightened up, her hand searching for the wall again, and when she found it she was about to walk to where the rope was attached when she heard footsteps on the gravel that her grandfather said fronted the big house. She moved quickly back towards the tumbled stones and the gap, telling herself that if the people walking there could see her they might come across and talk to her.
The footsteps were passing her now. Whoever was walking there must surely see her, that is if there wasn’t a hedge bordering the drive. Her granda had said nothing about a hedge, but then she hadn’t asked him, had she?
The footsteps faded away and she turned reluctantly and groped along the wall until she reached the rope. She was halfway along the grass path towards the yard when she remembered she hadn’t called Gip, and so, turning, she patted her hip twice and called, ‘Gip! Gip! Come along! I’m going indoors to wash the dishes. Come on now!’
She waited a moment, then heaved a sigh and said, ‘That’s a good boy,’ then continued slowly down the path and into the yard and across it to the kitchen.
She had been here three days and she hadn’t talked to anyone except her granda. She had kept talking to him but he didn’t talk much back. And she hadn’t touched anyone since Miss Braithwaite had left. Her granda hadn’t touched her. And she had wanted to touch him; she wanted to feel his face for she didn’t know really what he looked like except what Miss Braithwaite had told her. But that wasn’t the same as how he would look if she could feel his face.
She had been in bed now a long time but she couldn’t sleep. She had cuddled Angela, her doll, but the china face had brought her no comfort. The house was very quiet except when her grandfather broke the silence with a s
nort. Outside, too, there was no sound. The birds were all asleep. There had been a scuffling noise once or twice in the yard; she had heard it on the other nights too. Her granda said it was a fox, which generally went across the yard on his nightly prowl; it was making for Harry Thompson’s hen cree down the road. Her granda didn’t seem to like Harry Thompson very much because he had said it would serve him right if the fox collared all his hens, it might sober him up. From this she gathered that Harry Thompson took a drop…Her granda didn’t seem to take a drop, ever; the only thing she smelt off her granda’s breath was onions.
When she heard him snort again an idea came into her head. He was sound asleep; why didn’t she go in and feel his face now? He’d never know because Mrs Golightly said she had a touch like thistledown…when she liked.
As she got out of bed and went to move towards the door a light hit her eyeballs and she turned towards the window. The moon must be shining. She was still able to distinguish between night and day and she knew it was far from daylight yet.
Softly she lifted the latch of the door and as softly, her hands outstretched, she made for the opposite door, and when it began to creak as she opened it she remained still for a moment; then holding her breath she squeezed herself through the aperture.
She knew where his bed was, she had gone into his room and fingered around unknown to him, and now she made straight for the foot of it, and when her hand touched the iron rail she paused a minute before walking up by the side of the bed. Then putting her hand out and her fingers really as light as thistledown, she felt the outline of her grandfather’s shoulder. He was lying on his back; that was likely why he was snorting. Her dad always snored and snorted when he lay on his back. Now her fingers were touching the beard on his chin. Softly they moved upwards until they were only a skin’s breadth away from his lips; a fly would not have left a deeper imprint than her first and second fingers as they traced the outline of hair covering his mouth. And now she was touching his nose. It was a thin nose but very long. Her fingers moved on to his cheek. There was a hollow here but his cheekbones were high, right under his eyes.
Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly Page 3
