‘Ben was here? What did he say? Do you know where he’s gone?’
Mr Callaghan looked startled. ‘You don’t know? I assumed he’d discussed it with you. This is rather awkward, though your account was such that… come and sit down a minute, Frank.’ He ushered Frank into his tiny office and closed the door.
‘Your brother said you were dissolving your partnership. Well, he didn’t say it quite like that, but that’s what it amounted to. He said he was going to take his share and start out somewhere else. I got the impression he wasn’t too happy about…’ Mr Callaghan trailed off awkwardly.
‘Wasn’t too happy about me getting married,’ Frank finished for him.
‘Well, yes. Your farm’s in both your names, so either of you has the right to borrow money on it. And to draw money out of your account, of course, though you don’t usually have much money in it! Your brother borrowed two hundred pounds against the farm—’
‘Two hundred pounds!’ Frank echoed in astonishment.
‘That’s right. There’s no hurry to pay it back, you can take a few years if you like.’
‘I’ll have to.’ Two hundred pounds? How much did the farm make in a year? Not enough to spare two hundred pounds out of, Frank was quite sure of that.
‘Ben left something for you,’ Mr Callaghan said. He opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope. ‘He asked me to give it to you the next time you came in—he said there was no particular hurry.’
Frank ripped open the envelope. Inside were two sheets of paper, both with the same neat handwriting. Frank took the top sheet and sounded the words under his breath as he read:
‘ “I have gone away to get away from women with wagging tongues. I won’t be back. Don’t worry about me. Good luck. Ben.” ’
Under the short message a note had been added in the same hand.
‘ “Written at the express”…’
Frank stumbled on the next word. ‘What does this say?’ he asked, passing the page to Mr Callaghan.
‘Dictation. “Written at the express dictation of Mr Benjamin Kelly”.’ Mr Callaghan glanced at the rest of the page and a slight smile passed over his face. ‘He’s got the lawyer to write it for him, you see, and Mr Jamieson is making it clear that it’s your brother’s own words, not what Mr Jamieson wanted to write.’
‘I see.’ Frank studied the other sheet. This had obviously been composed by the lawyer, but he recognised Ben’s spidery ‘B. Kelly’ at the foot of the page.
‘I can’t make out all these long words—what does it mean?’
Mr Callaghan obligingly took the piece of paper. ‘It’s lawyer’s talk, full of “thereinafters” and “heretofores”. But in plain English, it says your brother gives up his share in the farm to you in return for the two hundred pounds he’s taken. That’s quite a bargain—your farm’s certainly worth more than four hundred pounds. The farm belongs to you now, Frank. Except for the bank’s share, that is.’ He smiled, but Frank did not feel able to return the smile.
Frank rode home unsure whether to feel angry, guilty or hurt. Ben had saddled him with a debt that Frank had no idea how long it would take to repay. But Ben must have been desperate to get away, and it was Frank’s action that had driven his brother from his home. Why couldn’t Ben have talked to him about it? Why hadn’t Ben trusted him to keep Lizzie in line?
He gave a snort of disgust. Ben wasn’t stupid. He didn’t know Lizzie, but he knew Frank. Why should Ben trust him? It was true, after all: he couldn’t tell Lizzie what to do. She didn’t take the slightest bit of notice when he did.
*
Amy struggled against the sluggishness of pregnancy to get all her work done to Charlie’s satisfaction. As she increased in bulk all her tasks took longer, but she did not want to have to excuse herself to him. She soon had to let some of her work slip. Charlie had never shown any sign of noticing if the floor had been scrubbed or not, so Amy made do with regular sweeping. And the rugs would have to manage without being beaten for a few months.
Washing was becoming more and more of a burden, especially when there was not enough water in the barrel and she had to fetch it from the well. Edie described the baby as ‘A difficult little fellow’ when she paid Amy a brief visit on her way home from town one day; according to her the child was lying awkwardly, which meant it pressed uncomfortably against Amy whenever she bent over or twisted around.
‘You’re a nuisance,’ Amy murmured to the intruder in her womb one day in her sixth month as she struggled up from the well with a heavy kerosene tin of water for rinsing. ‘You make everything so hard.’ Bending over the washing was now so difficult that she had to stop every few minutes and walk around with her hands braced against her back. That meant the task took even longer than usual.
She did her best to get lunch ready on time, but she barely had the chops in the pan before Charlie came in. He had been ploughing all morning, and the moment she saw his face Amy knew he was tired and irritable.
‘Where’s my lunch?’ he demanded.
‘It’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’m a bit slow today, I’m sorry.’
‘You lazy bitch! I expect my meals ready on time, woman!’
His hand took Amy by surprise as it swung out and caught her a slap on the side of her head. She stumbled and made a grab for a chair, missed it and managed to catch the edge of the table. A violent burst of kicking from inside her womb took Amy’s breath away. She stood gripping the table.
‘What’s wrong?’ Charlie asked, seeing her panting for breath. ‘Is it the child? Has he started coming?’
‘Yes, it’s the baby, but it’s not coming yet,’ Amy said when she got her voice back. ‘It got a fright when you… when I tripped then, and it’s complaining.’
She saw the wild-eyed look of fear on Charlie’s face. On an impulse, she took hold of his hand and placed it on her belly. ‘Here, you feel.’
The baby obliged with a powerful kick. ‘I felt it!’ Charlie said in wonder. ‘I felt my son!’
He kept his hand pressed firmly against Amy until the baby quietened, then he helped her into a chair and sat opposite her. ‘For God’s sake don’t keep aggravating me. I don’t want to do you any harm, but if you push me…’ He rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this child. I don’t want anything to go wrong now.’
Amy could not help but be moved by the intensity in his voice. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t mean to annoy you, but I honestly can’t help being slow. It’s the baby—it makes me clumsy, so I can’t move as fast. Aunt Edie says she thinks it’s a big baby, too, so I’ll get worse, I’m afraid. And it keeps me awake at night with all that kicking, so I’m tired, and that makes me even slower.’
‘Kicks a lot, does he?’ Charlie asked, looking absorbed.
‘An awful lot. Really hard, too. Aunt Edie says that means it’s a big, healthy baby.’ Edie had also said, after studying Amy’s abdomen, that judging by her shape she was probably carrying a boy, but Amy was anxious enough about Charlie’s reaction if she were to have a girl without making things even worse by building up his hopes.
‘More than the other fellow’s?’
‘What?’ Amy asked blankly.
‘Does he kick more than your bastard did?’
I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk about her. But Charlie had raised the subject, and he obviously expected to be answered. ‘Yes,’ Amy said quietly. ‘Much, much more.’
‘Good.’ Charlie looked smug. ‘I suppose it’s natural you’re slow, then. Take your time over lunch.’
While they were eating, Amy studied Charlie’s face. He looked tired, but she thought he had frightened himself over losing his temper. It seemed a sensible time to try for a favour. In any case, she was tired of struggling.
‘Charlie, I can’t really manage any more. The washing’s just too hard for me like this, and it’s going to get harder.’
‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ Charlie demanded indignantly. ‘Get
you a servant?’
Despite his tone, Amy could see he was anxious. ‘I think—no, I’m sure I could do it if I only had a copper and tubs. Please could you get me one?’
‘You cost a lot of money, you know that? I bought a proper range before we got wed so you’d be able to cook decent meals. Then you wanted a wire clothesline, not to mention a new rain barrel. Now you want a copper?’
‘I’m sorry I’m such a nuisance, but… well, I’m scared something will go wrong if I have to keep bending all the time. Aunt Edie said I shouldn’t, and she knows all about babies.’
‘Did she? Hmm. It’d mean a bricklayer to make a proper chimney for it and set it in place—that wouldn’t come cheap. I’ll have to think about it.’
Charlie picked up his newspaper, signalling that the conversation was at an end, and Amy tackled her food with a sense of relief. He was going to buy her a copper; she was quite sure of it.
*
After her initial indignation at Ben’s having left such a debt, Lizzie was quite unconcerned over his disappearance.
‘One less for me to cook for, anyway,’ she said. ‘I did think his room looked a bit empty when I cleaned it up. I’ll give it a real sort out now we know he’s not coming back.’
‘I hope he’s all right. Ben’s not much good at mixing with people.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake! He’s a grown man, not a child. Don’t be so stupid, Frank.’
She was getting worse. ‘Don’t call me stupid, Lizzie. I don’t like it when you do that.’
‘Don’t be stupid then. I don’t know what you’re so upset about. Ben didn’t worry about you, did he? Just took off and left you to run the farm by yourself.’
‘I wish he’d told me he was going,’ Frank fretted. ‘It’s pretty bad when I’ve driven my own brother away.’
‘Driven him away? What rubbish! You didn’t make him go.’
‘He wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t got married. He’d still be here.’
‘But I wouldn’t be, Frank. Would you rather have that?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t. Ben’s not much use as company, and you’re… come here.’ Frank reached out and pulled Lizzie onto his lap. She put her arms around his neck and nestled obligingly against him. ‘You’re neat. But Ben’s the only family I’ve got. I can’t just forget about him.’
‘I’ll be your family now. Me and the babies, when they finally start coming.’
‘No sign of it yet?’
‘No. I suppose two months isn’t long, though. Ma just laughed and told me to be patient when I moaned about it.’
Frank kissed her hair. ‘It’s not for want of trying, anyway,’ he murmured in Lizzie’s ear.
*
When he thought back over the years, Frank recalled that often whole days had gone by without more than two words being spoken by Ben. His brother had never provided much in the way of conversation, while Lizzie did more than her share. He realised now that he had often been lonely with only Ben for company; no one could be lonely with Lizzie around.
If only she wasn’t so bossy. She told him what clothes to wear, what time to go into town for supplies, even how to hold his knife and fork. If he tried remonstrating with her she either looked hurt and said she was only trying to help, or told him not to be so silly.
He began to worry that she would start bossing him in front of other people; most of all that she might do it in front of her father. She had come close to it a few times. Frank dreaded to think how Arthur would react to that. Once or twice when he was sharpening his razor he looked thoughtfully at the strap and tried to picture himself following Arthur’s advice. He didn’t think things were that desperate yet. Then again, by the time they were that desperate perhaps Lizzie would be beyond taking any notice of him at all. Or perhaps she was already beyond it. Frank was unwilling to make the trial.
One Tuesday in August Frank was lingering over his afternoon tea while Lizzie did the ironing. She gave a sudden yelp.
‘I can hear a few drops of rain on the roof, and I’ve still got some things on the line from yesterday. Can you give me a hand getting them in?’
They raced out to the clothesline together and started grabbing at the clothes, but the stray cloud passed overhead and the sun returned.
‘That’s good,’ said Lizzie. ‘Now, I didn’t leave an iron on the table, did I? Oh no, I think I might have! I’d better run back.’
‘I’ll get the rest in,’ Frank said. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’
He was reaching for the last sheet when he glanced down the hill and saw that two riders had halted on the road to look up at the house. He recognised them as Arthur and Alf, and wondered if they were going to drop in for a visit on their way back up the valley, but they started their horses trotting and disappeared from sight.
Frank thought nothing of the incident until he and Lizzie visited her old home for dinner a few days later. It was Arthur’s birthday, and he was more generous than usual about beer. He even broke open a bottle of whisky to share with Frank and Bill.
Despite his father-in-law’s generosity, Frank began to sense disapproval in Arthur’s manner. Arthur was certainly more reserved than usual with him, and several times Frank thought he saw Alf smirking. Frank drank rather more beer than he had intended, as well as several whiskies, in an attempt to bolster his courage.
‘How many drinks have you had, Frank?’ Lizzie asked, glancing over from the couch where she had been deep in conversation with her mother.
‘Leave him alone, Lizzie,’ Arthur said.
‘I just—’
‘Lizzie!’ Arthur raised his voice slightly, and Lizzie subsided. How did he do it? Frank wondered. How did Arthur get Lizzie to be so respectful? She never told Arthur he was being stupid. He poured himself another whisky.
‘I think it’s time we went home,’ Lizzie said a few minutes later. ‘It’s starting to get dark.’
‘Have another beer first, Frank,’ Bill suggested.
‘No, he’s had enough,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘Hurry up and get your coat, Frank, I want to get going.’ She left the room to fetch her cloak.
Frank stood up to obey, conscious of an unpleasant thickness in his head.
‘Yes, hurry up, Frank,’ Alf echoed, grinning. ‘You might have some more washing to hang out.’ He broke into a laugh.
‘Shut up, Alf,’ Arthur growled.
‘But you said—’ Alf began indignantly.
‘I told you to shut up. If he wants to make a fool of himself it’s his affair.’ Arthur looked at Frank and shook his head. ‘You’ve made a rod for your own back, Frank, but that’s your look-out. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Lizzie prattled away without seeming to notice Frank’s silence as they rode down the valley together. He paid no attention to her words, but her voice was too insistent to be ignored. It was like a mosquito whining away in his ear, on and on without a rest, a background to his uncomfortable musings. Arthur thought he was a fool. The whole family did. Soon the whole town would. Everyone would be laughing at him, not just Alf. Maybe they already were.
Lizzie was still going strong when they went into the house after turning their horses into a paddock.
‘Do you want a cup of tea before we go to bed? I think you should, a hot drink would be good for you after all that beer.’
‘No.’
‘I’ll make one. You shouldn’t have drunk so much, Frank, you’ll have trouble waking up in the morning. Don’t do it again.’
‘I don’t want a cup of tea.’
‘Stop being so silly. I’m making a cup of tea and you’re going to drink it.’
‘I’m not!’ Frank was dimly surprised by the unfamiliar sound of his own voice raised in a shout. He was even more surprised to find that he had taken hold of Lizzie’s bodice with one hand and was shaking her by it. ‘You’re turning into a real bitch, you know that? I’m sick of you nagging at me, Lizzie. I’m sick of you telling me what to do—bossing me in
front of everyone as if I was a little kid. It’s to stop. Do you understand?’ He glared at her. There was barely an inch in height between them; Frank was grateful that the slight difference was in his favour.
Lizzie’s mouth hung open in amazement, then shut like a trap. Her eyes flicked to Frank’s right; he stopped shaking her to follow their movement. He saw his own fist waving ineffectually at nothing in particular; he dropped it to his side, and let go of Lizzie’s bodice. She stared back at him, white-lipped with what he at first thought was fear but soon realised was tightly controlled rage. It took all Frank’s self-control not to quail before her look and apologise. Lizzie turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the passage door behind her.
Frank sat at the kitchen table until his head stopped spinning quite so alarmingly, then made his rather unsteady way after her. The bedroom was in darkness; Frank did not bother to light the lamp. He undressed, leaving his clothes on the floor, and climbed into bed, fully intending to take his pleasure with Lizzie. But once he was between the covers it seemed too much like hard work. He rolled onto his side and went to sleep.
He woke next morning with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. When he stood up he groaned at the stabbing pain behind his eyeballs. Lizzie was already up; Frank found her in the kitchen in front of the range, banging pots and dishes with a noise that seemed to echo in his skull. When he sat down at the table she put his plate in front of him and made to leave the room.
‘Where’s your breakfast?’ he asked.
‘I’ve already eaten.’ Lizzie closed the door and left him alone.
It was the same at lunch-time: Frank came into the kitchen and found a single place set at the table, with Lizzie’s empty plate on the bench. Again Lizzie served his meal and left the room. At dinner time she sat at the table and ate with him, but apart from an ‘Amen’ at the end of Frank’s grace she did not say a word.
Mud and Gold Page 9
