by Tania Crosse
The clip-clop of horses’ hooves drew Hillie’s attention back to the cart as it began to move forward. Nobody spoke to Harold as he took up his position immediately behind, shoulders hunched and his face set sourly. Hillie fell into step next, holding Daisy and Frances each by a hand. Luke followed them with Joan and Trixie who, like Daisy, had both been allowed the day off school, and the Parker family and everyone else came on behind.
Hillie’s eyes settled on her father’s back as the procession moved off. Dampness spangled on his worn coat, dank and depressing. She wondered bitterly what was going on in his head. Was he really sad? Yes, of course he’d be thinking who was going to warm his bed, and who he could bully now his poor, submissive wife was gone. But was he really going to miss her as someone should miss their lifelong soulmate? The other part of their own being that would make them empty and aching for the rest of their life?
Somehow Hillie doubted it very much!
*
‘So where was that so-called husband of yours, then?’
Hillie felt a flush of shame warm her cheeks. ‘He was going to come, but he’s gone down with some sort of tummy bug. Been sick and rushing to the lav all night. I left him in bed.’
She cringed at the deceit, and prayed it didn’t show. How could she tell such a lie? But Jimmy had forced her into it, and what else could she do? She hoped to God nobody saw Jimmy out and about. If they did, and accused her of lying, she’d have to say that Jimmy had apparently felt a little better later on and thought a breath of air might help. Oh, crikey, what had he got her into?
‘Huh, more likely bottled out,’ Harold sneered. ‘Too yellow to face me, was he?’
‘Who could blame him if he was?’ Hillie retorted. Was it nine months of marriage that had given her more confidence than ever to confront her father? Or was she so broken by her mum’s death that she’d thrown caution to the wind? But she could see the anger building on her dad’s face, and this wasn’t the time.
‘Look, now everyone’s gone, you sit down and I’ll make you a nice fresh cuppa,’ she pacified him. ‘Luke and Joan and I’ll clear up,’ she grimaced, her eyes roving over the dirty teacups and plates strewn all over the place from the wake. ‘And then I’ll put Daisy and Frances to bed for you.’
Harold glared at her, lips knotted, but then he nodded, if reluctantly. Easing himself into a chair at the table, he proceeded to cut himself a chunk of what remained of the cake Hillie had baked as her contribution to the wake. He sat, slurping at his tea, and Hillie watched him out of the corner of her eye as she worked. Her two youngest sisters were sitting still as rocks, hardly daring to move. It had been a strange day for them, and they really didn’t understand why their mummy wasn’t there anymore. Yet their daddy did nothing whatsoever to comfort them, Hillie noted bitterly.
She worked as quickly as she could to have everything washed up and cleared away, leftover sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper to keep them fresh, and bits of cake stowed in tins. At least her dad had possessed the grace to offer a wake. Not that many of those who’d come to the funeral had come inside the house. Jessica and her parents certainly hadn’t, and one or two others had only popped in for a polite cuppa. Gert and Stan had needed to get back to the factory for another hour or two, and out of the dozen or so people who’d partaken of the tea, it was really only Eva who’d stayed any length of time, as Kit had taken Old Sal, Trudy and Primrose back home.
‘Call in for a bit when you’ve finished here,’ Eva had said to Hillie in a muted tone when she finally left.
‘Thanks, I will,’ Hillie replied with a grateful nod. She couldn’t think of anything better after the tensions of the day than an hour with her dear friends, the Parkers. And Jimmy had warned her he’d be late, so the flat would be empty when she got home. Oh, she could throttle him, and just when she needed him for moral support. But she supposed he was right in that the extra money would always come in handy even though they were managing very well, even putting money into their savings every week. Exactly what they were saving for, they weren’t quite sure. The cottage in the country seemed but a pipe dream just now. But it would be for a better future life in some shape or form.
‘Come on, you two,’ Hillie said when all was neat and tidy in the kitchen. ‘Use the lav and do your teeth, and if you’re good, I’ll do you a bedtime story.’
‘Oh, ta, Hillie.’
‘We haven’t had a story since Mummy went to sleep.’
‘Daddy said you went away ’cos you don’t love us anymore.’
Hillie stifled her gasp. ‘No, that’s not true,’ she answered, casting an angry glare in her dad’s direction. ‘It’s just that I’ve grown up and got my own home now. Come on, hurry up now.’
‘Me don’t like Mummy not being here,’ Frances complained as they finally climbed the stairs. ‘When her come back?’
Hillie bit her lip. Tears were threatening in her eyes at her little sister’s distress, but she had to be strong. ‘Not for a long time, I’m afraid,’ she managed to smile. ‘So, what story would you like? The Three Little Pigs?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Daisy squealed, diving into bed.
‘All right, then. Once upon a time, there were three little piggies,’ Hillie began and launched into the story.
After much huffing and puffing and blowing, the girls were giggling happily and ready to settle down, clearly far more their old selves.
‘Nighty-night, then,’ Hillie said, bending to kiss each in turn. ‘Sleep well.’
‘I wish you’d come back, Hillie.’
The earnest expression on Daisy’s little face scythed into Hillie’s heart. ‘I will if I can,’ she promised, although she doubted her dad would allow it.
She went slowly down the familiar staircase, her heart heavy. She wondered if in fact she’d ever come back to the house. She couldn’t see her dad changing his mind, and besides, it held such terrible memories for her now. She’d avoided even glancing at the bedroom door behind which her mum had bled to death. And yet she yearned with a burning passion to see her siblings on a regular basis.
Back in the kitchen, Joan was sniffing back tears as she tried valiantly to continue with the jumper Nell had been knitting for Daisy, and Trixie was building a tower with old cotton reels. Luke was gazing motionless into the pathetic fire in the grate, while Harold’s palms were placed down squarely on the table in front of him, his head drawn back into his bull neck.
Hillie saw him glance up as she came back into the room, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. Ready to taunt her.
‘Well, that’s that, then,’ he announced, lifting his hands and banging them back down on the table. The force of it made Trixie’s tower collapse, and the poor child burst into tears as the tamped-down sadness of the day suddenly erupted. ‘Oh, shut up,’ Harold snapped. ‘It’s only a bloody game.’
Hillie’s mouth fell open in horrified disbelief. She wrapped her arms round Trixie who sobbed against her, clinging to her in desperation.
‘How can you be so horrible?’ Hillie grated over her shoulder. ‘She’s just lost her mother in case you hadn’t noticed.’ And before Harold had a chance to answer with some scathing reply, she tipped Trixie’s chin up to look at her. ‘It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get yourself up to bed?’
Trixie nodded, wiping the back of her hand under her running nose. Her pleading eyes bore into Hillie’s. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back,’ she mumbled, before shooting out to the closet in the backyard.
Harold glared across at Hillie as if his mere glance would cow her, but she held his gaze in steady, defiant silence. It wasn’t until Trixie hurried back through, giving Hillie a final hug and then went upstairs, that Hillie stepped up to her father.
‘So what are you going to do?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘You and Luke are at work all day. Joan’s only twelve and won’t be leaving school for another eighteen months or so. So you can’t expect her to keep house. And Frances won’t be starting school for another
year nearly, so who’s going to take care of her? And then there’s after school and the school holidays for all of them. You just going to let them fend for themselves?’
Harold’s lip curled into a livid sneer. ‘Think I’m stupid, do you? That I ain’t got it all worked out? Well, that’s where you’re bloody wrong.’ He leant back in the chair, joining his hands behind his head and looking up at Hillie with malice glinting in his eyes. ‘I’ve taken on Dolly Maguire. She’s starting in the morning.’
Hillie almost staggered backwards. ‘D-Dolly Maguire!’ she stammered, almost choking on the name. ‘Y-you can’t be serious. You do know…?’ She broke off in a turmoil of anger and despair. She was about to say that it was Dolly who’d told her mum who to go to. That without Dolly, Nell might still be alive. But she didn’t know how much Luke and Joan understood about their mum’s death. Surely to God Harold hadn’t told them the truth, that she’d died as a result of a botched abortion!
A sudden surge of fury overtook her shock. Her hand shot out and she shook her father hard by the shoulder. ‘No, you can’t possibly let Dolly look after the children!’ she protested, her eyes snapping dangerously. ‘She’s little more than a common whore and a drunk into the bargain!’
‘Huh!’ Harold threw up his head with a sarcastic laugh, but then suddenly he sprang up, poking Hillie in the chest. ‘I don’t need a little slut like you telling me what I can or can’t do! Dolly comes cheap, and since you ran off and abandoned us for that good-for-nothing and took your wages with you, she’s all I can afford. So if you want to blame anyone, blame yourself. Now get out of here, and don’t you ever come back!’
Stinging tears pricked in Hillie’s eyes. For was there some truth in her father’s words? But she wasn’t going to yield to him ever again, and thrust her nose fearlessly towards his face.
‘Yes, I’ll go,’ she hissed. ‘But I will be back, I promise you. Bye, Joannie,’ she said, turning to give her sister a hug. ‘I’ll see you soon. And Luke, I’ll see you at work tomorrow. And you,’ she snarled, spinning back to Harold and stabbing her finger at him, ‘will not stop me!’
She swivelled on her heel, storming out of the kitchen. Swiftly pulling on her coat in the hallway and slinging her scarf round her neck, she let herself out of the house. She wanted to slam the door, but closed it quietly behind her so as not to wake her sleeping sisters.
Outside, she hesitated in the dark, empty street, clenching her fists at her sides. Dear God, Dolly Maguire! Surely there was something she could do to stop it. Luke was probably mature enough to deal with it, but the idea of that… that harlot going anywhere near her sisters was unbearable. Hillie was beside herself, stamping her feet into the pavement in exploding frustration. She really could scream out loud, but instead found herself entwining her fingers in her hair and pulling hard. It didn’t help, and she let go, crossing her fists across her chest and bending down over them. She turned in a circle, her face torn in an ugly grimace until the dam burst and tears flooded down her cheeks.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, so utterly alone and desperate. Jimmy, her husband, should have been there, but he wasn’t. There was only one place she could go. The chaotic place that had been her haven since childhood.
Gulping down her tears, she wiped her eyes dry and found herself running blindly to the house a few doors down the street.
Chapter Sixteen
Hillie waited outside the Parkers’ front door, feeling guilty and miserable. She needed to grieve for her mum, and yet overriding all else now was her fear for her younger sisters. To have them cared for by Dolly Maguire was unthinkable, but what could she do about it? She felt so helpless. And was what her dad had said right? Was it all her fault? If it hadn’t been so long since she’d seen her mum, maybe things wouldn’t have worked out this way. Yet it was her father who’d prevented her from seeing Nell. Oh, whichever way she looked at it, Hillie seemed to be trapped in a deep, dark hole.
When the door was opened by Kit, dear Kit who’d been part of her life since the cradle, it suddenly all became too much. Her mangled emotions rose up inside her and she burst into tears yet again.
The next instant, she felt herself enveloped in Kit’s quiet, dependable embrace. She wept against his shoulder, helpless against the sobs that racked her body. She was aware of Kit drawing her inside and closing the door, but he made no attempt to stem the tide of her misery. He knew she needed to cry, and he waited patiently, holding her gently, soothing her, tucking her head beneath his chin. Wishing… wishing…
Slowly, gradually, her soul seemed to be washed clean and she pulled back slightly. She missed his closeness almost at once, but she was regaining control, and she couldn’t weep for ever. Sniffing, she began searching in her pocket for a hanky, but Kit was already there, offering a folded, starched white cotton square of his own. She took it gratefully, noticing how clean and pristine it was for a chap who lived alone and did his own laundry. But then, Kit had always been a perfectionist in everything he’d ever turned his hand to.
‘Thanks,’ she gulped, wiping her nose. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘Well, don’t be. It’s been a tough day for you.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, giving a watery smile.
Kit smiled back, an expression of such kindness and compassion that Hillie could feel tears welling up again. She forced herself to concentrate on Kit’s familiar face instead, his striking blue eyes, the lock of hair that fell over his forehead, his curved, well-shaped mouth. At that moment, his just being there was a comfort.
‘Come into the kitchen,’ he said in his soft voice. ‘Mum said she’d asked you to pop by.’
‘I didn’t think you’d still be here,’ Hillie told him, feeling better as they went down the hallway. ‘Not on shift or anything? It was so good of you to come to the funeral.’
‘I wanted to come. And for something like this, there’s usually someone who’s willing to swap shifts. Actually… I don’t suppose you want to hear this just now, but I’ve just been given another promotion.’
‘Oh, that’s great news, Kit! Congratulations! And on the contrary, that’s really something to cheer me up.’
‘Thanks,’ Kit replied as he opened the kitchen door for her. ‘Look who I found on the front step,’ he announced as they went in. As Hillie had expected, the four younger children were all abed, leaving the five adults sitting around the table.
‘Oh, there you are, you poor lamb.’ Eva was on her feet in an instant, squashing Hillie against her homely bosom. ‘Stan, you move and let the poor child sit next to the fire, and I’ll make her a nice cuppa.’
‘That’s very kind, Mrs P.’ Hillie caught her breath as she was released. ‘But I’m awash with tea.’
‘You sure? Anything else I can get you instead?’
‘No, thanks. It’ll just be nice to be with you all for a bit,’ Hillie said, sitting down in the chair Stan had vacated for her.
‘Your dad been his usual charming self, has he?’ Gert asked, pulling an affronted grimace.
Hillie released a torn sigh. ‘You won’t believe this. He’s only getting Dolly Maguire to look after the girls and keep house for him.’
‘What!’
‘Huh, well, she won’t keep the place spick and span like what he made poor Nell do, will she, now?’ Eva scoffed bitterly.
‘And does he know it was Dolly who… you know…?’
Hillie shook her head in despair. ‘I honestly don’t know. And I didn’t want to bring it up. Not in front of the others, anyway. But I can’t bear the idea of her taking Mum’s place. But Dad says she’s all he can afford.’
‘We-ell,’ Eva said thoughtfully, rubbing her bottom lip between her forefinger and thumb. ‘I suppose I could have Frances during the day. Won’t be easy with Primrose and Trudy and me mum—’
‘Someone call me?’ the elderly woman screeched, suddenly springing to life. ‘I think someone died. Sure I went to a funeral today. Who was it died? Wasn’t me, was
it?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Hill. The poor old dear—’
‘It’s all right. I understand.’
‘Time you went to bed, eh, Mum?’
‘OK, love, I’ll take her,’ Stan offered. ‘Come on, Old Sal.’
‘Oh, ta, Stan. What’d I do without you?’
They all had to get up and move round so that Stan could support the old lady as she tottered precariously out of the room. Hillie thought perhaps it should be her cue to leave, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. And she must reply to Eva’s generous offer.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs P, but I couldn’t expect you to have Frances as well.’
‘Well, your Luke and now young Joan’ve taken my lot to and from school ever since Mum couldn’t be left. So I’d only be repaying the favour. Think on it, ducks. But I’m afraid I can’t offer to do anything in the house.’
‘Oh, Mrs P, you’re a gem, really you are. But I don’t know if…’ Hillie paused, considering what a sincere friend this happy-go-lucky, golden-hearted woman had been to her mum. Memories of the night Nell had died came flooding back. Hillie was sure she couldn’t have got through it without dear Eva. ‘Mrs P,’ she began tentatively, a curious dread taking hold of her. ‘That night. Not long before… Mum died, she asked me to forgive her for something. She said you’d tell me. Do you… d’you know what she meant?’
Hillie watched as Eva’s ruddy face drained of its usual colour, and the woman’s mouth clamped shut. Hillie’s stomach started churning as she realised Gert and Kit were both looking at their mother with searching curiosity. It was several moments before Eva spoke, and when she did, her voice was almost inaudible.
‘Yeah. I do. And she obviously wanted you to know. But… maybe not…’
