‘I’m sick to death with worry,’ she concluded.
‘I can tell,’ he answered, knowing that irony was lost on his mother. She wanted him to bring the money in, look after her, stay in the house with her for ever. Yes, she wanted it all her own way and nobody else’s way mattered.
‘You’ll be killed,’ she shouted.
‘Then there’ll be nobody to look after you.’
She opened her mouth, closed it, kept the response inside.
‘Is this going to be my life, Mam?’ he asked.
‘I never asked to get crippled,’ she moaned.
He hadn’t asked to become unpaid nurse, cook and bottle-washer, but he made no comment about that side of things. ‘I want a life, Mam,’ was what he said after a pause. ‘I want a wife, children, a house of my own.’
‘You want Magsy bloody O’Gara.’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
She puffed and panted, pulled herself up against the pillows. ‘And the bike’s for her, I suppose.’
Paul shrugged lightly. ‘Not particularly, no. It’s for getting me to work and up to Hesford if needs be. She doesn’t like motorbikes, either, so it’s not for her to ride.’
‘Who do you know up Hesford?’ was the next bullet from her gun.
‘Nobody yet.’
Clearly frustrated, she closed her eyes for a second before beginning again. ‘Why would you want to go somewhere where you don’t know nobody?’
He couldn’t be bothered. What was the point of explaining the truth to a woman who was so self-centred that she chose to understand nothing unless it affected her own comfort? She had ruined Dad’s life and was now attempting to spoil her son’s.
Paul turned on his heel and went out into the yard. Wishing his own mother dead was not nice. Even if Magsy did agree to have him, he could not impose his mother on her, on Beth. He lit a cigarette, made a smoke ring, watched it disappear as surely as Magsy would after meeting Lois Horrocks.
He closed his eyes and imagined the scene, Magsy cooking, Lois refusing to eat, Magsy changing shitty, wet sheets, Magsy trying to move the mountain that was Lois. Yes, she would be doing that at the hospital if she stayed and took promotion; yes she might well be performing such tasks for the woman in Hesford, but that was paid work, chosen work. Whereas . . .
‘I am stuck,’ he told the wall quietly. He was glued to Lois, umbilically fixed, impaled, welded. He could not simply go off and leave her to die, could not impose on the goodwill of neighbours. ‘Are parents our fault,’ he mused, ‘just as we are theirs?’ No, it was not supposed to be like this. He should have been married by now, married and with a couple of children.
Today, he was taking Magsy and Beth up to Hesford for Magsy’s second interview. The woman would take her on, he felt sure. Anyone would employ her, as she was diligent, honest and caring. And cheap. Yes, this was a rich man’s world. Beth needed the air, Magsy needed the money, he needed Magsy and was very fond of the child, too.
He murdered the cigarette end under a heel, took a deep breath, went back indoors. It was time for plain speaking, time for his opinion to matter.
She glared at him. ‘Having a tantrum, were you?’
This woman, who had given him life, plainly believed that she had the right to remove that life from him. He cleared his throat. ‘Right. I want you to do something that you have never managed before, I want you to shut up and listen.’
Something in his voice, the quietness of it, the strength behind the softness, made her squirm. Was this the moment she had dreaded all her life? She snorted, but said nothing.
He launched straight in. ‘Mam, I think you are the most selfish, ungrateful woman on this earth. I know you are ill, but you gave up far too soon and now, because you can hardly walk, you expect me to be at your beck and call except when I am at work.’
She blinked rapidly, opened her mouth, shut it.
‘If Magsy will have me – and I am intending to wear her down – I will be getting married. If I have to turn Catholic, I don’t care, because I will do anything she wants. That’s love. That’s real love, Mam, something you don’t know about.’
He shook his head in despair. ‘Magsy is going for a job in Hesford. She needs the countryside for the kiddy – she’s only just out of hospital. Now, I don’t know what I can work out, but if she will have me, you are not living with us. You would spoil my marriage within a week and I won’t have that.’
Lois pressed a hand against a rapid heartbeat, but she maintained her silence.
‘You’ll be living on your own,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay Bertha to do your meals and keep you clean, because I wouldn’t ask anybody to deal with your moods for free, but you will have to shift yourself from yon bed and start trying. If it kills you, that’s not my fault. I’ve been stuck here long enough. Even if Magsy won’t have me, it’s time I was off. There’s plenty of work down London way after the bombings, houses being built all the time.’
Her mouth was suddenly as dry as blotting paper. She wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he had allowed it. Her chest felt tight and her hands tingled. He was killing her. He was murdering her as surely as if he had put a pillow over her face.
‘I’m going now.’ His tone was conversational. ‘I am driving to Hesford with Magsy O’Gara and her little girl. We will be eating in a café, so I’ve left you some tea and ham butties. Bertha will come in at three o’clock. If you want the wireless on, get out of bed. I know you get out of bed when I’m not here, because I’ve seen stuff moved when Bertha hasn’t been in.’ He pulled on his coat. ‘If Ernest Barnes can manage without Dot, you can do without me, Mam. See you later, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
Alone, she shivered in the warm room. She would be stuck here for going on five hours now, fastened to this room, waiting for Bertha. He had taken a day off work for Magsy O’Gara, would never get time off for his own sick mother. Well, if he wanted to pike off to London, there was nowt she could do about that.
As for Magsy flaming O’Gara, Lois would put that one straight, oh yes. It was time to meet that bloody woman. With nothing to lose, Lois Horrocks put her thinking cap on. It was time to take that cow by the horns.
Beth, wrapped up warmly in coat, hat, scarf and gloves, stood at the top of Hesford Brow and scanned the countryside. It was all frost, silver in the low sun of winter, fields spread like carpets as far as the eye could reach. Hollows became rises, smoke streamed in straight lines from farmhouse chimneys, brave birds swooped and lifted, wings spread across a sky whose blue was not believable, the kind of colour that comes straight from an infant’s paintbox, no refinement, just solid bright sapphire.
Magsy stood with Paul, her arms folded against the chill. They should have brought the pup. She could imagine Beth running wild here, her dog chasing the scent of rabbit and hare, silly ears flapping as he bounded across moorland. ‘She likes it,’ Magsy whispered.
‘Anybody would,’ he replied.
‘I do,’ she admitted, ‘though I’d like to know what Miss Moore is up to. The other day, she told me to come back in an hour, so I did, but she was just in a bad mood because she couldn’t get through to somebody on the phone.’
He nodded. ‘They get selfish.’
‘Who do?’
‘People who are stuck in the house. My mother is as selfish as they come.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a mess, Magsy. Half of me tells me I can’t leave, then the other three-quarters tells me to go.’
She giggled. ‘That doesn’t add up.’
‘I know.’ He clapped together hands covered in William’s driving gloves. ‘It’s a bugger and it has never added up, not since my father died.’
Magsy sensed his pain, decided to change the subject. ‘We’d better get madam fed, because she’s lost enough weight.’
Paul touched her arm. ‘Leave her a minute – she’ll never starve, Magsy. Your Beth knows what she wants, when she wants it, and she’s not afraid to ask for it.’
Magsy laughe
d. ‘You noticed.’
‘I did. She is definitely her mother’s daughter.’
If Magsy had one qualm about leaving Prudence Street, it was attached to this man. He was solid, kind and . . . and just there. He made no demands, never took liberties, was interested in Beth, he worried about the child, played with her, talked sensibly to her. Was Magsy falling in love? Was she finally abandoning William?
As if reading her mind, he said, ‘Do what’s right for you and her, Magsy. Don’t worry about anybody else. I will come and visit you both, so you’ll still be in touch with the old place. And there’s Rachel, Frank and Dot just over the road.’
‘Let’s visit them,’ she suggested. ‘We’ve still got well over half an hour before we are expected at Miss Moore’s house. Yes, we can call in at the shop, see how they’re getting on. We can buy stuff to eat while we’re there.’
Of course, they were not allowed to buy. As soon as everyone had finished exclaiming over Beth and how well she looked, the adult guests were ushered through to the kitchen where Rachel set to with bread board and knife to make sandwiches for everyone.
Beth stayed in the shop with Dot and Frank, leaving Magsy and Paul to chat with Rachel.
Rachel had a gleam in her eye. Magsy caught sight of it, but kept quiet. Was this young woman pregnant?
No, it was something else altogether. Dot had an admirer and Rachel was full of it, glee almost spilling from her eyes as she spoke in a near-whisper. ‘He’s going to show her his worts.’
‘His what?’
‘That’s what I said at the time,’ giggled Rachel. ‘I think they’re wild flowers or weeds or summat. The pair of them’s going to frolic hand in hand through Bluebell Woods – when there’s some bluebells, like – and he’s all for introducing her to his fox.’
‘Sounds serious,’ said Paul, his tone matching the words.
Rachel fell across her cutting board, while Magsy, almost in pain, held a scarf over her face. ‘Stop it,’ she pleaded.
‘He’s nice,’ Rachel managed, ‘at least five foot four and with a bowler hat. He lives in an old propped-up gypsy caravan on some land belonging to another girlfriend – Miss Morgan.’
‘Lovely,’ said Paul.
Magsy hit him. ‘Behave,’ she chided.
‘I am behaving,’ he said mournfully. ‘I am taking this seriously. Young love, old love – it’s always wonderful.’
Rachel righted herself and waved a carving knife at Paul. ‘Where did you find him?’ she asked Magsy.
‘Near the bins,’ came the stern reply. ‘The corporation refused to shift him.’
The door opened and Dot’s face insinuated itself into the resulting gap. ‘You all right?’ she asked, bemused when this question attracted gales of laughter.
‘I believe you know a man who knows a fox, Dot,’ said Paul.
Dot blinked. ‘Oh, don’t be listening to Rachel. She’s got me courting.’ When this statement brought forth even more silly laughter, Dot gathered her shattered dignity and left the arena.
Rachel regaled them with the tale of the educated tramp, colouring in grey areas with shades collected from her own imagination. ‘If he was a bit taller, he’d be OK, only he looks like a tall dwarf, if you know what I mean. But he’s very polite, knows what knives and forks are for, never drops his aitches. Frank’s mam’s certainly going up in the world.’
Paul shook his head thoughtfully. ‘No, if he is so short, she has to be going down, surely?’ He rubbed his bruised arm after taking a second blow from Magsy.
Rachel became sober. ‘Sorry to hear about Sam Hardcastle,’ she said, ‘and those poor sick boys. Lily must be out of her mind.’
‘I’ve put her with Nellie,’ explained Magsy. ‘And Nellie’s got her tatting. It’s funny, but they’re right together, like a pair of sisters. They go shopping, share the cooking – Lily only goes home to sleep. Mind, she spends a fair time at the hospital, so that breaks her day up. My rosary’s worn out with praying.’ She smiled at Paul. ‘Yes, the one you bought me.’
Rachel placed sandwiches on the table. Oh, these two were right together. They each knew what the other was thinking, and they acted daft. Daft mattered; daft was what kept a marriage going. Still, she had better stop with all this matchmaking. ‘So, you’re going to see Katherine?’
Magsy nodded, her face suddenly grim. Not often afraid, she had to admit to a degree of trepidation in the area of Miss Katherine Moore. ‘She is up to something. I know I have met her just once, but she’s a planner. I wonder what it is?’
Rachel, who knew what it was, kept Katherine’s secret, just as she had promised. ‘Don’t worry about her, Magsy. Once you get to know her, she’s all right.’
‘I hope so.’
Rachel fetched Beth from the shop and they ate a hurried lunch of cheese sandwiches followed by some of Dot’s Victoria sponge. Then Beth was forced by her mother to wash hands and face, then to comb her hair. ‘Why?’ moaned the child. ‘I’m not even dirty.’
But Magsy, who suspected that Miss Moore might spot a minute speck of dirt from a distance of a hundred yards, insisted on this cleansing.
Paul decided to stay where he was – there was no point in lingering in the lorry’s cab while he was able to sit in a warm kitchen. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he told Magsy before she led her daughter across the road.
Then he kissed Magsy very lightly on the cheek. ‘Go get ’em, tiger,’ he whispered.
Blushing, Magsy O’Gara left the scene, a giggling Beth in tow. That had been a nice kiss. And she was smiling.
Fifteen
Lily Hardcastle began to appreciate Nellie’s persistence with the lacework. It was hard and frustrating, especially when Lily had to start on the smaller stuff, but it kept her focused. More than once, she had thrown the lace-pillow across the room, but Nellie, that ever-patient saint, had simply laughed, strange, high-pitched sounds emerging from an uncontrolled larynx. Nellie was the best thing that had happened to Lily in many a month.
They walked together into Wilkinson’s funeral parlour, Nellie’s breathing loud in the hushed atmosphere of this quiet place. It was Nellie who led the way, following the black-suited undertaker into the back room where Sam lay in his demob suit, hair combed, face shaved, a tiny smile on his lips.
Lily grabbed Nellie and clung on to her. Would Roy want to live without his beloved dad? Would Roy get the choice? And why had she made so much fuss about a bit of nose-picking? Oh, God, it wasn’t fair. Sam had done his best; even with his drinking, he had never got abusive. She should have appreciated him when he was alive, should have loved him enough to put up with that one small habit.
‘All right,’ mouthed Nellie. She tapped her ample breast. ‘Me here. I look after you.’
For Nellie, that had been a long speech, one she would normally have delivered via pencil and paper. Lily dredged up some courage and kissed her husband goodbye, just a small peck on a cheek as cold as any headstone. And it was done. This was more important than the funeral, because this was a personal farewell.
They left the building, Lily drawing breath for what seemed the first time in minutes as they stepped out onto Derby Street. They turned left for town, not bothering to wait for transport. Just lately, they had taken to walking, usually with two dogs in tow, Skinny the mother and Spot the son.
They passed the market place and walked down the slope to the hospital grounds. Aaron and Danny had both been declared out of danger, so it was Roy’s ward that they visited first. Nellie wrinkled her nose against the smell of disinfectant; Lily, much of whose life had been spent here in recent weeks, scarcely noticed the scents – they were part and parcel of her daily routine, as familiar as the smells from home.
He lay on his pillows, face bleached white, hands loose on a yellow cover, hair as bright as ever. Yes, that red thatch looked far too cheerful when compared to the rest of him. Lily sat and stared at him, just as she always did.
Nellie moved to the other side of the be
d. She picked up one of his hands and began to stroke it, gentle movements from wrist to fingertips, the exercise repeated many times. From her lips, a small hissing sound emerged, a noise of which she could not possibly have been aware.
Lily found her own eyelids becoming heavy. It was that special Nellie-magic again, the gift this woman had been awarded in place of her hearing. She was such a tranquil soul, was able to lull her daft puppy to sleep in moments, even when the young dog was in one of his tearaway moods.
Lily leaned forward, placing her head on the pillow next to her son’s unnaturally still face. No matter how hard she tried, her eyes would not remain open.
She was woken by a completely different sound, one she would not have recognized in a month of Sundays. ‘Mam? Mam?’ Whose was that quiet little voice? She sat up.
‘Mam?’
‘Oh, my God,’ she moaned, looking across at Nellie. She would never be sure, yet Lily felt in her bones that a miracle had happened during those moments of sleep, because Nellie Hulme’s face was different, as if someone had turned on a light behind the eyes.
‘Mam?’
‘Yes, love?’ Lily’s voice cracked.
‘Where’s me dog?’
Lily’s tears flowed, Nellie joined in the weeping, a nurse arrived, declared her intention to fetch a doctor. ‘Your dog’s fine, love. She’s had her operation and she’s all right.’
‘Skinny,’ he said.
There was nothing wrong with his brain, then. He looked half-dead, his lips cracked and dry, eyes still sunken, wrists thin, skin transparent, but every little chicken pox scar had disappeared, as if God had taken an iron, had smoothed him out. ‘Oh, Roy,’ wept his mother. No matter what, Lily would hope for nothing from this day onward. A widow, she would accept her lot with equanimity, would strive to make life as easy as possible for Sam’s boys.
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