The Most Precious Thing

by Bradshaw, Rita

  ‘I love you, Carrie.’ And at her body’s jerk of protest, he said again, ‘I do. I love you. I suffer the torment of the damned knowing you’re married to David, that he has the right to touch you, to make love to you--’

  ‘Stop it.’ Her voice was guttural, so harsh it checked the words spilling out of him. ‘He’s your brother, your brother.’

  ‘And this is where I should say I love him and respect him and that if it wasn’t for that I’d have followed through on what I said years ago.’ It was bitter. ‘But I don’t love him or respect him, Carrie. Him and Walter allowing themselves to be brainwashed into going down the pit at fourteen makes me want to vomit. The only reason I haven’t said and done this before is because I knew what you’d say if I did.’

  ‘So what’s different now?’

  ‘I’m going away to fight and there’s a good chance I won’t come back. Men are being maimed, killed every day.’ He stopped, took a deep breath. ‘It sort of brings everything into balance. Money, prestige . . .’

  ‘You wanted all that very badly. If it wasn’t for this war you’d still be the same.’

  ‘Probably.’ Alec tipped his head on one side as though he was considering what she’d said, and Carrie’s breath stopped with the shock of how like Matthew he was in that moment. Or should she say Matthew was like him? she asked herself feverishly. ‘Very probably,’ he agreed softly. ‘But it wouldn’t make any difference to the way I feel about you. That’s a thing apart.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘About you? Dead right.’

  ‘Stop this, Alec.’ She stared into his face, the face which had woken in her the first stirrings of romantic love so many years ago, a love which had nearly caused her to throw herself into the river after he had trampled on it in the worst way possible. He had been handsome as a young lad but with maturity he was even more good-looking. And he knew it. Oh yes, he knew it all right.

  ‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’

  It was quiet, even tender, his eyes searching her face and allowing her to see the pain in his. She believed he was manipulating her for his own ends, using all this talk of love and that certain something he had with women to lull her into admitting he was Matthew’s father. But even believing this, for one infinitesimal moment she was tempted to tell him the truth. It was enough to break the hypnotising power of the clear green gaze. ‘No, Alec, he is not yours,’ she said very steadily. ‘David is his father.’ And he was, in every way that counted. Who was it who had sat up with her every night for a week when Matthew was four years old and desperately ill with the measles? Who had fed her son, clothed him, helped him with his homework and taken him to the football matches Matthew was so passionate about? Who had tried to teach the boy right from wrong, applied discipline when Matthew needed it and a firm hand? It was these things that made a father, not a two-minute copulation.

  ‘If I wasn’t so sure in here’ - he patted his jacket above his heart - ‘I would almost believe you. You’re getting better at lying.’

  ‘Always the clever words.’ She raised her head angrily. ‘But I don’t care what you think. Believe what you want, you will anyway. But I can assure you it’s wishful thinking, and even that wouldn’t have come about but for Margaret being unable to have bairns.’

  Alec wetted his lips, then bit hard into the flesh of the lower one. It looked as if he was biting back hot words, but when he next spoke she realised this was not the case. His voice was low and rushed and highly embarrassed. ‘I want you to know I’m sorry for what happened that night, or at least for the way it happened. I’ve never done anything like that before or since, it was the drink . . .’ His voice trailed away. ‘It was the drink.’

  Carrie stared at him. She didn’t trust this new tack, not from Alec. ‘Four years ago in this very kitchen you denied you’d forced me,’ she said stiffly. ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ Her brow wrinkled.

  ‘You know as well as I do what some of those poor wretches are like that they got back from Dunkirk. Death would be a merciful release. Blinded, no legs, some with no limbs at all or burned beyond recognition.’

  Carrie remained quiet, looking at him.

  ‘Anything could happen, and I just wanted to say . . .’ He shook his head. ‘To go with a clear conscience.’

  She had been leaning against the kitchen table, her bottom pressed against the wood, but now she pulled out a chair and sat down. Alec didn’t move. She raised her head slowly after a few moments and looked at him. This was still all about him, she thought, her mind amazingly clear. If there hadn’t been a war, if he wasn’t going away to fight, he would never have said what he’d just said. He was like a bairn who said its prayers each night only because it was frightened something bad would happen to it if it didn’t.

  He swallowed. ‘You don’t believe I love you.’ It was a statement not a question, but Carrie answered it anyway.

  ‘If you didn’t have this insane idea Matthew was yours you wouldn’t be here,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I don’t know what to say to that.’

  ‘How about the truth?’

  He stood looking somewhat helplessly at her and if it had been anyone but Alec she would have taken pity on them.

  ‘All right, the truth is you’re probably half right,’ he said at last, his voice low and his gaze directed at the floor now. ‘But only half right. Matthew keeps you at the forefront of my mind, of course he does, you’re his mother, but that’s only part of it.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear this. I’m married to your brother and I love him. Please go now.’

  ‘Carrie--’

  They both heard the back door open and when Matthew shouted, ‘Mam?’ she saw the change in Alec’s face, the way it lit up, and she groaned inside. ‘Mam, Brian Wilson’s da’s got an unexploded incendiary bomb, or so he says. Can I go and see it. I promise--’

  What he would have promised Carrie didn’t know, because as he stepped fully into the room and saw Alec standing to one side of the range he stopped abruptly, then grinned and said, ‘Hello, Uncle Alec. What are you doing here?’

  Before Carrie could say anything, Alec answered him. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Matt. I’m going off to fight the Germans. ’

  He made it sound as if he was going to win the war single-handed, Carrie thought grimly.

  ‘Really?’ Matthew’s eyes were like saucers; this was clearly another step up in the hero worship. ‘Can I come and see you off?’

  Again Alec pre-empted Carrie, probably because he anticipated her refusal. ‘I’d like that very much.’ He smiled warmly. ‘And perhaps your mother would like to come too.’

  ‘Won’t Margaret prefer to have you all to herself at a time like this?’ Carrie asked coolly, aware of Matthew’s gaze flashing from her face to Alec’s, and then back again.

  ‘She’s taken to her bed at the news.’ It was flat.

  ‘When do you leave?’ There was absolutely no question of her seeing Alec off, but for Matthew’s sake she had to give a viable excuse.

  ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I have to be at the shop all morning. I have a special wedding presentation.’ Carrie turned to Matthew. ‘And didn’t you say you were going up the allotment with your da for an hour or two before he goes on his shift?’

  Matthew stared at his mother. How could she put a rotten old wedding presentation before seeing Uncle Alec off to war? He was going to fight for his country, he was a hero. Couldn’t she see that? But she didn’t want to. ‘Da will come with me to see Uncle Alec off,’ he said firmly, the look on his face as he spoke telling Carrie exactly what he was thinking.

  The sound of his name being called from the backyard prompted him to turn to Alec and say, ‘I’ll go and tell him I’m not playing.’

  ‘Not on my account, Matt. I’m just going.’

  ‘Aw, Uncle Alec
.’

  ‘Come round later tonight if you want and we’ll arrange a time for you and your da to be at the station. All right?’

  ‘Aye, all right.’ Matthew was all smiles again, and then as Brian called once more, he said, ‘I’m going to Brian’s then, Mam.’

  Carrie nodded, her, ‘Watch yourself,’ automatic. When the back door had banged, Alec straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall at the side of the range.

  ‘Don’t try and stop him coming tonight or tomorrow, Carrie, or you’ll regret it,’ he said very quietly.

  This was more like the Alec she knew. She made herself aggressive in both voice and manner, using it as a screen to hide her fear as she said, ‘Here we go again. When are you going to see you can’t threaten me, Alec?’

  He ignored this as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll tell him I believe I am his father and I’ll give him all the dates to back it up, as well as the fact that he was supposed to be two months early. He’s not a little bairn any more, he knows a bit about the birds and the bees.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ She stared at him, her hand to her throat.

  ‘I will if you try and thwart me on this.’

  ‘What do you think his opinion of you will be if he knows what you did?’

  ‘Like I said, he knows a bit about the birds and the bees now. I’ll explain it was a wedding, we both had too much to drink and one thing led to another. Of course with me being on the verge of getting engaged I couldn’t let Margaret down, not over a mistake which incidentally I’ll explain we both enjoyed.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘It wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it? Lads have a thing about their mams being pure and above reproach. Funny that.’

  ‘I said, get out.’

  ‘I’m going, I’m going.’ His voice was calm. He moved across the kitchen and into the scullery before he said, his hand on the back door knob, ‘I meant what I said, I do love you.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’ He could threaten her and in the next breath talk of love?

  ‘If you had been halfway reasonable, this could have all been so different.’

  ‘You talk of reason!’ She glared at him, her face flushed with anger.

  ‘So I’m going without your forgiveness?’

  ‘You’ve never asked for it.’

  ‘I’m asking now.’

  ‘Fourteen years too late.’

  ‘I see.’ His voice was very soft and as his shoulders hunched slightly, Carrie told herself, don’t fall for it, don’t get taken in by the hangdog look. Two minutes ago he was talking of telling Matthew, which meant David too, and blowing everyone’s world apart.

  ‘Goodbye, Carrie.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye or wish him well. Instead she inclined her head stiffly, her eyes on his face.

  He turned, his shoulders straightening as he opened the door and then he was gone.

  The next morning David and Matthew went to see Alec off at the station, and later that night, when David had returned from his shift at the colliery and they’d finished their evening meal, he said, ‘You know, lass, I’m glad I went this morning. I’ve never got on with Alec as you well know, and there’s not one thing we’d agree on if we sat and talked from now till doomsday, but I felt sorry for him this morning and that’s a fact. All the other men had wives and bairns and mothers and goodness knows what, but he was standing all alone when we got there, and the look on his face . . . Well, it didn’t look like Alec somehow. He was scared, Carrie. Scared out of his mind.’

  He was expecting her to say something and she knew she had to respond, but she felt numb, strange. Eventually she managed to say, ‘What about your mam? Why didn’t she go?’

  ‘I don’t suppose she knows. She’s never really forgiven him for refusing to have her when Da went, and I think Isaac is pretty firm with her, from what Lillian says. Isaac won’t stand for any nonsense, that was one of the conditions of taking her in, so she can’t throw her weight about like she used to. I think Lillian stands up to her and Mam has to toe the line, whereas at Alec’s she was expecting to have the upper hand with Margaret.’

  ‘Lillian and Isaac were marvellous to have her.’

  ‘Aye, you can say that again. Every time we’ve been round there and I feel her giving me the evil eye, I think that.’

  ‘She’s civil enough.’

  ‘Because Isaac’s told her she’ll be out on her ear if she isn’t, and the only place then is the workhouse.’

  The conversation continued along the lines of how well his da was doing down south, and Carrie kept it away from any mention of Alec for the rest of the evening, but once she was lying beside David in bed and his heavy regular breathing told her he was asleep, hot tears flowed down her face. She could not have translated her thoughts into words, nor could she have explained the pain that gripped her, but she felt desolate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Have you heard?’

  ‘About the raid? Aye, lass. Bad business. They reckon the four lads who copped it in Laing’s shipyard are all goners. It’s a miracle there aren’t more dead, considering fourteen bombs fell overall, but there’re plenty injured, especially round the Royal. The Ali Baba Sauce factory is practically demolished, according to what I’ve heard, and Wreath Quay Road and Wreath Quay Lane were hit. They were aiming for the shipyards and the bridge, if you ask me.’

  Carrie stared at David, who had just walked in from his shift at the colliery. There had been no bombs dropped on Sunderland in the first few months of the war, but since Alec had left, several had fallen, the first one in a field adjoining the Old Rectory in Whitburn, which had demolished a tithe barn and killed some horses. Up to yet, however, there had been no people killed, but a bombing raid at midday had changed all that.

  ‘This is the beginning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, well, we’ve got away light till now.’

  They stared at each other for a moment more before Carrie said, ‘I saw the Ali Baba Sauce factory this afternoon, David. If a bomb can do that to a big factory, a shelter would be no good if there was a direct hit, especially one like ours.’

  ‘The chances of that happening are tiny, lass, now then, and ours is a darn sight better than one of the Morrison shelters which is all some poor blighters have between them and Jerry. Give me an outside one any day. I saw Sid White’s the other night when I was on duty and called in to say his blackout curtains needing pulling, and it’s nowt but an oblong box. They use it as a table most of the time but during a raid they all climb inside and pull mesh panels into place on the sides and ends. Mesh panels against the sort of blast we’ve seen evidence of in the last little while!’ David shook his head disparagingly and walked through into the scullery to wash his hands.

  The meal was ready and Matthew needed calling down from his bedroom, but Carrie continued to stand still, the agitation which had gripped her when she’d seen the destruction of the factory still strong. She knew their brick surface shelter in the backyard could withstand a considerable blast, but she wished they had a patch of earth so they could have an Anderson. These were half buried in the ground and made from six curved steel sheets bolted together at the top and with steel plates at either end, and then covered with earth. A front entrance with a blast wall to protect it and an emergency escape panel at the rear gave far better protection, in Carrie’s view, than a brick box with a concrete roof which had the potential to crush them to death.

  She glanced across at the emergency pack which consisted of a torch, cushions and blankets, and a flask which she’d fill before they all retired to bed. The pack had gone unused for months at the beginning of the war but the sirens had sounded in the dead of night more than once lately. She hated that sound. Oh, how she hated it. She’d never get used to it. And it was worse when David was on duty because then she worried that the explosions and thuds they could hear were where he was, as well as being scared of a hit on Matthew an
d herself. Not that she would have tried to stop David becoming an air raid warden, but she wished he’d been given their road to patrol, rather than one near Nelson Square some streets away and much closer to the river where industry lined the banks, an ideal target for the bombers.

  ‘Something smells nice.’ David walked back into the room, sniffing the air appreciatively in a way that always made Carrie smile.

  ‘Harry kept a rabbit back for me.’ Harry Forsyth, the butcher, had a contact who slipped him a few rabbits and the odd pheasant now and again, and since the war had begun he kept these for his favourite customers. This caused a certain amount of resentment among some of the old wives who frequented his shop, but no one dared complain or point out that it was supposed to be first come, first served.