The Most Precious Thing

by Bradshaw, Rita

  Her fingers became still and her heart began to thump hard. She wasn’t going to let Alec Sutton taking her down ruin her life, not while there was breath in her body.

  And David? The thumping intensified. She knew if she was being truthful that she still had to steel herself if he so much as touched her hand. What about the rest of it, the making on which would be bound to happen once the bairn was born? She couldn’t expect otherwise. How would she stand that? Fear and revulsion rose up in her throat but again she cautioned herself, saying silently, enough, enough. Don’t think of this now. Wait till the bairn’s born and see what happens. He’s a nice man, you above anyone have had proof of that. Take it a day at a time. Just a day at a time.

  Carrie was standing on the doorstep when David turned the corner of Brooke Street later that day. She had been standing there for quite a while, ever since she had gone to see Mr Marley. It had been then that she had seen the first of the miners who were beginning to straggle back into Monkwearmouth, bruised and battered and bleeding, and had heard what had transpired on Whitburn sands.

  David paused when he caught sight of her. Her shawl was wrapped round her body in a vain attempt to hide her swollen belly, and she was leaning against the doorpost as though she was spent.

  Seeing her standing there, for all the world as though she was an ordinary wife and theirs was an ordinary marriage, drained him of all strength for a moment. Then he forced himself to walk on, trying to ignore the pain in his hand which was making him sweat, along with the sick giddiness which had been with him ever since he’d lost his footing in the crush shortly after the incident with Billy, and a passing policeman had thought it opportune to put the boot in. In contrast, Ned had seemed to improve on the way home, which was something to be thankful for because he doubted if he could have helped Walter much with their da the way he’d begun to feel. When he had left Walter and his father, he had continued on with men who lived close to him and he responded to their farewells without taking his eyes off the figure on the doorstep. He could see her face was as white as bleached linen, her distress apparent to him when he was still some good few yards away.

  As he neared the house, she called, saying, ‘Oh, David, David,’ a moment before the bulky form of their landlady filled the space behind her.

  ‘I’ve tried to make her come in an’ take the weight off for the last hour an’ more, lad, but she was havin’ none of it,’ Ada bawled as though he was two streets away rather than two houses. ‘Stubborn as a field full of cuddies in their second wind, your lass.’ And then, as he reached the two women, Ada added, ‘Landsakes, lad. It looks like they’ve done a number on you.’

  He obviously looked as bad as he felt. Carrie had gone a shade paler still. David stretched his mouth in what he hoped resembled a smile, his gaze on his wife as he said, ‘I’m all right, Ada. Come on, let’s get inside.’

  ‘If you’re all right I’d hate to see the poor blighters who aren’t feelin’ too good,’ Ada returned, ushering the two of them inside and following them into their room. ‘Damn pollises chargin’ about on their horses an’ thinkin’ they can do whatever they like. There ought to be a law against ’em.’

  David couldn’t help but smile. Ada’s plump face was perfectly serious and highly indignant which somehow made what she’d said all the funnier. He hadn’t thought he could work up a real smile after what he’d seen the day and how he was feeling, but then he hadn’t accounted for Ada.

  ‘Sit down, David.’ Carrie’s voice was quiet but firm, and when she pushed him down on to the bed he found he was glad to sit back against the iron headboard. The last half-mile or so he’d begun to wonder if he was going to make it home under his own steam. ‘Let me look at your hand.’

  He was feeling peculiar, really peculiar now, but he held out his hand to her, feeling her flesh touch his very gently. His fingers had swollen to twice their normal size on the hand the policeman had hammered at, and he could feel the broken ends of the bones in his thumb and first three fingers. Only his little one still seemed intact although bruised.

  ‘You’ve a nasty bump on your head,’ Ada commented helpfully at the side of Carrie. ‘Egg size, it is, an’ there’s a gash the size of a kitten’s tail alongside it. You got any laudanum in the house, hinny?’ When Carrie shook her head, Ada said, ‘I’ll go an’ get mine, he’ll need somethin’ the night an’ I always keep some by for when me rheumatism’s givin’ me gyp. You’re goin’ to need a doctor for that hand though, lad.’

  ‘We can’t afford one, Ada.’ Carrie didn’t look at her as she spoke. ‘David, my da broke two of his fingers last year and I helped my mam when she saw to him.’

  This wasn’t a question but he answered as though it was, saying, ‘Aye, have a go then, lass.’ He just hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself in front of the pair of them and give way to the nausea making his mouth water. He’d only broken fingers; he’d seen worse injuries every day down the pit and men still able to act the cuddy even as they were being stretchered away.

  ‘What’ll you need, lass?’ Ada’s voice was low now.

  ‘Bandages, any clean rags will do, and some pegs for splints for each finger. Oh, and a flat piece of wood to fix the whole hand to at the end.’

  ‘I’ll go an’ see what I’ve got.’

  Ada bustled away, and when they were alone Carrie said, ‘I’ll be as careful as I can but it’ll hurt, David. My da yelled a bit.’ He hadn’t, but she thought it would make David feel better if he had to. David’s hand was twice, three times worse than her father’s had been.

  Once the little table was clear of the baking board and fireworks and had one of Ada’s old towels spread over it, Carrie made David sit in the armchair, his hand spread palm down on the flat surface of the table. Along with the strips of linen and other things, Ada had brought a half-bottle of brandy. ‘Always keep a drop by me for when I’m not feelin’ too good,’ she said, pouring a generous measure into a glass and handing it to David as she spoke. ‘Nothin’ like a spot of brandy for puttin’ fire in your belly.’

  David wasn’t about to argue with this. He drank the neat spirit straight down, feeling it burn a path down his throat and into his stomach where it took care of the nausea. After another glass, the debilitating sensation of faintness went too, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad.

  It took an hour and a half, but by the end of that time Carrie had succeeded in bandaging his thumb and each finger to small wooden splints made from Ada’s pegs. After she’d finished setting the individual breaks, she bandaged the whole hand to one of Ada’s big flat wooden table mats with a picture of the late Queen Victoria and Prince Albert painted on it. These had been a wedding present and were the old woman’s pride and joy.

  Ada stood at Carrie’s side the whole time she worked, passing her whatever she needed, and now, as the last piece of linen was tied tightly into place, she said, ‘Well, lad, if the infirmary had done the job you might have got a more professional finish than havin’ the old Queen an’ Prince, bless ’em, starin’ up at you but I doubt you’d have had such a bonny nurse.’ And then, as Carrie tried to straighten up and almost fell over, she added, ‘Steady, lass, steady. You’re all done in.’

  She was exhausted. Carrie felt a pain slice through her abdomen, pulling downwards, and in repudiation of it she rubbed her hands vigorously together, saying, ‘David’s the poorly one, not me. Shall I give him some of the laudanum now?’

  ‘Wait a while, lass. The brandy’s still holdin’ the pain for the moment but he’ll need everythin’ he can get in an hour or two.’

  He wished they wouldn’t speak as though he wasn’t present. He rose from the armchair, his voice gruff as he said, ‘Thanks, lass, but Ada’s right, you are done in. You’ve looked after me so now go and lie down a while.’

  ‘The both of you take the weight off.’ Ada scuttled about, gathering the remnants of the pegs and strips of linen. ‘I put a couple of taties in the ashes earlier an’ there’s half a pot p
ie goin’ beggin’. The pair of you need somethin’ hot the night so no arguin’, lass. All right?’

  Carrie had opened her mouth to protest but when she glanced at Ada’s compressed lips she was silent. Dimly, with a mixture of understanding and compassion, she had come to realise that beneath the old woman’s bustling exterior lived a lonely soul who felt redundant most of the time now her Charlie had gone. She said simply, ‘Thank you, Ada.’

  ‘No need to thank me, lass. I just can’t abide to see good food wasted, that’s all, an’ you’ll offend me if you talk of thanks. I’ll be back in a mo.’ And with that she sailed out of the room.

  David, his face unsmiling, stared at Carrie for some moments as she returned the baking board and firework material to the table but she did not look at him. Curiously, she suddenly felt very shy. She had held his hand and worked on his fingers for an hour and a half, but in a funny sort of way it had not seemed as intimate as now. When David spoke, his voice came from deep in his throat. ‘It was nice to see you waiting for me when I came home.’

  She stopped her arranging of the papers and paste, her hands becoming still. And then she raised her head and looked directly into his dark brown eyes. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘You were?’

  She nodded, and then because the intensity in his gaze was causing her heart to race, she added quickly, ‘I was worried about me da and Billy, Walter too. All of you.’

  Her voice was dismissive, and but for the memory of the look on her face when she had first seen him outside and the note in her voice when she’d said his name, his courage would have failed him. As it was he conceded to her barely concealed panic by turning away, but his voice was still deep and soft when he said, ‘Like I said when you were doing my hand, I think the others are all right but I’ll find out when I’ve had me dinner. But . . . it was nice, more than nice, to see you waiting like that, lass. I just wanted you to know.’

  And in the second before Ada came hurrying back with two steaming plates of food, he looked at her again and smiled.

  The pavements were still hot enough to fry eggs on when David left the house an hour later. The dusty streets were full of barefoot, raggedy bairns playing in the last of the dying sunlight and women sitting or standing on their doorsteps as they chattered to neighbours now the evening meal was over. Everyone seemed skinnier these days, he thought, walking swiftly as the pervading smell from baking privies got up his nose. Skinnier, raggier, more desperate. Hens had stopped laying and had been eaten, pet rabbits and prize pigeons too in some cases. Poor old Sep Heslop had cried like a baby when he’d let his birds go to fend for themselves, and from what he’d heard, Sep’s wife had nearly brained him when she’d learned he’d given them their freedom rather than presenting them for the pot. But the miners would win through in the end, he told himself grimly. They had to. Anything else was unthinkable.

  He had reached the corner of Southwick Road and was wishing he had taken a dose of Ada’s laudanum like Carrie had tried to persuade him to do before he left the house when he heard his name called.

  ‘David, man. I was on me way to see you.’ Billy was in front of him, his good-natured face more ruddy than usual. And the reason for this became clear when he continued, ‘I wanted to thank you for what you did, man. Is . . . is that the result of it?’

  David had been supporting his throbbing hand as he walked along. Now he dropped it to his side. ‘It’s nowt.’

  ‘Look, I wanted to see you.’ There followed an awkward pause, at the end of which Billy cleared his throat and said, ‘All this the last months over our Carrie, well, I’ve had a bellyful.’

  David raised wry eyebrows.

  ‘Heck, man, I didn’t mean--’ Billy stopped abruptly, his face scarlet, and then when David smiled he gave a sheepish grin. There was an attempt now at jocularity in his tone when he said, ‘You know me, always put me foot in it even when I’m trying to make things right.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, and then David said quietly, ‘You’re a good pal, Billy, you always have been, and I can understand how you felt. I’d have been the same if it had been Lillian.’

  ‘Aye, mebbe, but to my mind it’s gone on too long, the way me da is an’ all. I’d like to get back to our old footing, that’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘And Sandy?’

  Billy shrugged uncomfortably. ‘You know me da. He thinks the sun shines out of our Carrie, always has done, and he’s a stubborn old so-an’-so.’

  ‘Won’t it cause trouble if he finds out you’re consorting with the enemy?’

  David’s tone had been light but Billy’s was perfectly serious when he said, ‘I’ve told him what I think, and I was already feeling this way before today, I want you to know that.’

  David stared at his friend. In spite of the two-year age difference they had always got on like a house on fire and he had missed Billy’s sly ribbing and humour more than he liked to admit. He had known he would come in for some stick from Sandy and Billy when he’d shouldered the blame for the bairn, but he hadn’t thought they would keep it up like they had, and lately he’d been thinking along the lines of damn them both, they would want him before he wanted them. But like he’d just said, if it had been Lillian . . . He stretched out his good hand. ‘Let’s go on from here then, shall we?’ he said quietly. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Aye, it is.’ Billy’s voice was eager and he gripped David’s arm, adding, ‘Would I be welcome if I called round any time?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, the door’s always been open, man. Look, I’m going to check on my da, he copped a blow to his head, but Carrie’s at home. Why don’t you go and see her? She’d like that.’

  ‘Aye, I will. Thanks, David.’ Billy punched him lightly in the chest. ‘See you later then, eh?’

  Even before he entered the back door David could hear raised voices from within the house, his father’s the loudest. He paused for a moment in the scullery before walking through to the sitting room where he stood in the open doorway, surveying the occupants.

  His mother, Alec and Lillian were seated at the table where the remains of the evening meal still lay, but his father was standing in front of the range, facing the others like an animal at bay. ‘You know nowt about it, nowt,’ he was shouting, his face as red as a beetroot. ‘Poncin’ about in that damn shop like Lord Muck! You’ve never done a decent day’s work in your life.’

  Alec, in strict contrast to his father, was leaning back in his chair in a nonchalant pose, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. His voice, too, was casual when he said, ‘That’s a matter of opinion, but even if you were right, my “poncing about” brings in a sight more than you breaking your back down the pit does, and that’s when you’re in work. Face it, Da, no one is interested in the coal miners’ dispute any more. People are only concerned about such things when they’re being inconvenienced, and with coal coming in from Germany they couldn’t care less about the miners. You’re doing yourselves no favours acting like maniacs and attacking the police who are only trying to do their jobs, when all’s said and done.’

  ‘Like Da said, you know nowt about it.’ David’s voice was raw. Alec always seemed to have the power to enrage him, not least because his brother was so cocksure of himself.

  ‘Little brother.’ It was a slow drawl as Alec turned his head and noticed David. ‘And sporting battle scars, I see. That must make you feel like a man.’

  ‘Something you’d know nothing about,’ David returned bitterly. ‘How does it go, Alec? Oh aye. Yes, Mr Reed. No, Mr Reed. Three bags full, Mr Reed, an’ how low would you like me to grovel, Mr Reed?’

  Alec was sitting up straight now and for a moment it looked as though he would spring up and strike his brother. Olive must have thought so because she caught at Alec’s arm, her voice low and deadly as she glared at David and said, ‘You, keep a civil tongue in your head or get out.’

  ‘Don’t tell him to get out.
This is my house an’ I say who’s welcome an’ who isn’t.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Olive’s gaze snapped from David to her husband. ‘Your house, is it? And who’s been paying the rent the last umpteen weeks and put food on the table, I’d like to know?’

  ‘You . . . you she-devil.’ Ned’s words were low now but heavy with such bitterness, David saw his mother blink. ‘All the years I’ve provided, workin’ extra shifts when I could get ’em when things were tight, an’ the minute I’m not bringin’ in you throw it in me face mornin’, noon an’ night. You work or you don’t eat, that’s what you’ve bin sayin’ for weeks without openin’ your mouth.’

  Olive did not deny this. Instead she turned her head to David again, saying, ‘What’s brought you the night? I’d have thought you’d had enough fun and games for one day. You all ought to be thanking your lucky stars you’re not in Durham jail, if you ask me.’