I didn’t look at her, didn’t want to see her face. She had heard me crying out in my agony and she had not come to me. ‘Go away,’ I said softly.
‘His precious daughter. Oh, he’d risk prison for you, but not for me.’
I held on to the door jamb, cursed the weakness in my knees. ‘Your baby wasn’t his.’
‘And yours wasn’t exactly a welcome guest, was it? Your baby wasn’t legitimate, Laura. At least I was old enough to know what I was doing.’ She sounded smug.
‘And still stupid enough to get into a mess,’ I said. ‘I betrayed no-one, Mother. I love Tommo and I’m going to marry him one day. There’ll be no running about with other men, because I’m not cheap.’
She stepped back a pace, took in a sharp breath of air. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve no idea what it is to live with a man who isn’t right, a man who’s hardly a man at all. I needed warmth, needed some love. All he wants is a science book and a silly box of medical tricks. Your father isn’t made of flesh and blood.’
I turned and gave her a quick glance, then fixed my eyes on the open door. ‘He’s a good man. The reason why he doesn’t bother with you is easy to work out. You’re an unpleasant person, Mother.’ The bitterness was rising in my gullet, and I was unable to hold it back this time. Something had happened to me, something that had left me unbalanced, out of control. ‘You don’t deserve him, and he deserves better than you. Why didn’t you go when he asked you to? Are you waiting for his fortune?’
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
At last, I gave her my full attention. ‘I just open my mouth and let the words come out. It’s quite easy, really.’
I stumbled down the dirt track, stood still and looked at the sign over the big yard, RAVENSCROFT FARM, HOME OF McNALLY’S FEVER TEAS. An outer door stood open, and I could see him at his desk. He was alone. As if drawn by invisible factors, he lifted his head and looked at me. His face was lined with misery, and I wanted to run to him and offer comfort. But in my weakened state, I had to walk slowly. Dad didn’t rise to meet me, and I knew suddenly that he feared me, dreaded what I might say to him. I gathered around me the shattered remnants of self-control, kept my pace steady, walked into his workshop. ‘Dad?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love.’
‘Why? Why did you do it, Dad?’
He gulped, but managed not to weep this time. ‘It was your baby, Laurie. I should have asked, should have cared about what you wanted. But I couldn’t sit by and watch your life ruined before it’s even started.’
‘It’s all right,’ I muttered at last.
‘No. No, it isn’t all right. What I did went against everything I believe in. I’ve lost my soul, Laurie. Whether what I did was right or wrong in earthly terms, I’ve broken my bond with God.’
He hated himself and it was all my fault. ‘I’ll take you to church,’ I said. ‘And you can tell a priest.’
He smiled, but there was no joy in his face. ‘Lady Macbeth knew all about God’s wrath, Laurie. Nothing could ever cleanse her heart, nothing in this world. It’s the same for me.’
I remembered something that Confetti had written in a letter. ‘The biggest sin is despair,’ I reminded him. ‘There is no sin that can’t be forgiven.’
He dropped his pen, closed the book of notes with a sharp snap. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’
‘I am. So’s Confetti.’
He rose from his seat and walked towards me. ‘You must forgive me first. Without your absolution, there’s no point in seeking a priest’s blessing.’
So I opened my arms and my heart, drew my father close and forgave him. Forgiving him was an act of will, as I was very young, very confused about what had taken place. There had been a baby and I had not wanted it, and I had not wanted it killed. The decision had been made outside of me, but the ultimate responsibility had been mine. I should have gone to a doctor, should have guessed my father’s plan.
John McNally was received back into the church at the end of the same week. I sat in a pew and watched him going up for communion, saw the wetness in his eyes when he returned to my side. He had been lapsed for years, and that tiny unborn child had dragged John McNally back into Rome’s maternal arms. The priest had mediated between layman and God, had forgiven my father’s enormous sin. It was a great comfort to him and, from that day on, he kept Sundays and holy days right up to his death. So my poor little baby had had a purpose, even though it had not survived to enjoy the light in its newly devout grandfather’s eyes.
He was furious, kept pulling at the railings as if he wanted to bend them over. ‘How the hell did you come to lose it? Have you been messing about climbing trees?’
‘No. It just happened. One minute I was pregnant, and the next minute I wasn’t. It often happens like that the first time. I read about it in a magazine of my mother’s.’ I was emotional, still unwell, was hanging on to my temper with the skin of my teeth. Tommo could be annoying at times.
He kicked at a clump of grass, shook his head from side to side. ‘Well, we can still get married, can’t we?’
‘No.’
The grey eyes were suddenly hot with anger. ‘Why not? You’ve already decided not to go back to school. Aren’t you going to work with your dad, do his notes and his letters?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why can’t we get married and have it over with?’ He sounded as if he were discussing some painful surgical procedure. ‘Why do we have to wait?’
‘Because I’m only seventeen and you’re only nineteen. We need to save up some money, buy things.’
‘What things?’ Now he was acting the part of a hurt child who is begging for a toy on display in some shop window. I was his favourite plaything, and he was being deprived of his pleasure. ‘What bloody things?’ he shouted.
I sighed. ‘Chairs, tables, knives and forks. Towels, plates, cups and saucers. Rugs and—’
‘Sod it.’ He thrust his hands deep into trouser pockets. ‘Well, we’ve done it once, so we can do it again. If it takes a baby, then we’ll just have to make another one.’
‘No.’ I took a step away from him. ‘I’m not going through that again. I don’t want a baby, Tommo, don’t want to have to get married. We’ll wait a few years, till I’m twenty-one, then we can do everything properly, have a party and somewhere decent to live.’
He grabbed my arm, squeezed the flesh between his fingers. ‘John Street not good enough for you? Am I not good enough? What the blazes do you want to go waiting for? Arma-bloody-geddon?’
‘Let me go.’
He strengthened his hold, and I knew that there would be bruises tomorrow. ‘I’ll not let you go,’ he said. ‘I’ll never let you go, because you’re mine, Laura. We should be getting married. We should leave home and start up by ourselves, get away from our moaning parents. She’s just got used to the idea. Mater’s not an easy woman, you know. Now I’ve got to go and tell her it’s all off, and she’s already found some curtains for the house across the street.’
My face was heating up as I finally threw caution and temper to the winds. ‘Leave go of my arm,’ I shouted. Several passers-by stopped and stared at us, while people in the park, on the other side of the railings, turned and looked before carrying on with their walks and games. ‘You’re always hurting me,’ I said, quieter now. ‘And telling me what to do. You treat me as if I’m stupid, and I’m not. I’ll get married when I’m ready, Tommo. And when I do, I’ll choose my own blinking curtains.’
He dropped his arm and stepped back, a look of amazement narrowing his eyes. ‘You don’t like my mother.’
‘No, I don’t like her at all. She’s a very nasty piece of work, and I won’t live near her.’ I’m sure that I was wearing the look of a person who is surprised by what she’s hearing, even though the words were coming from my own mouth. I had lost all self-control, was whizzing along in the jaws of a hormonal whirlwind.
He nodded. ‘So if I find another place, away from
her, can we fix a date?’
‘No.’ He was upsetting me, making me experience all kinds of negative emotions. But Dad had told me that I would be unsteady for a while, something about too many shocks to my system, too many changes. ‘I want a couple of years first.’
‘Why?’
‘To grow up.’
He curled his hand into a fist, smashed it against the opposite palm. ‘Your dad’s done this, hasn’t he? He’s persuaded you to stop at home and be a daddy’s girl. Well, please yourself. I’m not hanging about waiting for you, Laura McNally. There are other girls who’ll take me on, especially now that I’ve got a job. I’m doing accountancy,’ he said proudly. ‘Starting next week. Just office duties at first, but I’ll pass the exams and get higher up the payroll. Some girl will be glad of a chap with prospects.’
I swivelled on my heel and stalked off towards the bus stop. Although my eyes were overflowing, I maintained a steady pace and did not look back. I heard him calling my name, heard him threatening not to see me again, yet I did not falter. He was the love of my young life and I left him there, outside Queens Park in the middle of Bolton.
Instinct in a woman should never be ignored. I was strong that day, determined that he would not get the better of me. Had I held on to that decision, my path would have been smoother. But Tommo was tough, and he had seen what he wanted. Unfortunately, I was the subject of his wildest dreams.
‘Go back.’ Anne leaned on the wall outside the Black Horse, arranged the skirt decorously round her knees. ‘School is the most important thing in your whole life. Go back and finish the sixth form. You’ve six good passes at ordinary level – why not go on and do the advanced? Then you’ll have more jobs to choose from.’
Everyone in my small world was getting on my nerves. Mother wore an everlasting secret smile, was enjoying the fact that I had been brought down from my ivory tower. Dad had tied himself in knots once more, was trying to invent a type of aspirin that would not irritate the digestive system. John McNally’s whole system was taking a battering, yet he did not have the sense to slow down. Bernard ‘Tommo’ Thompson had taken to staring at me again from a distance, Anne was being all holy about education, and Confetti’s letters were frantic. ‘It doesn’t matter now what you did with your boyfriend, because God is good. Laura, if there were no sinners, God would be out of a job, so get right back to school this minute.’ Et cetera.
‘Shut up, Anne,’ I said. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. In this world, there are readers and doers. I’d prefer to belong in the latter category.’
She stared at me. ‘Swallowed a dictionary? What’s all this “latter category” stuff? Just get off the high horse for a minute, Laura. You know I’m talking sense. If you’re ever alone, a widow or something, you’ll need some qualifications to fall back on. Just because that dozy chap has left university … Christ, if you listen to that lad, you’ll end up a pauper.’
‘I’ve finished with him,’ I snapped, careful to keep my voice down. The domino set was arriving at the pub, all flat caps and bow legs. ‘Hello, Mr Henderson,’ I called.
They smiled, tottered into the snug where the usual battle would commence after a pint or two. There were two religions in Barr Bridge – Church of England and dominoes. I wished with all my heart that my life could be so simple. Cut a bit of grass, sweep the path, pick up a pension, wage war over a cheat with a double six up his sleeve.
‘You might have finished with him, but he’s not started with you yet.’
My mind was still on the dominoes. ‘What?’
‘Tommo. He’s hanging round again.’
I shrugged. ‘So’s the smell from the cowsheds, but you get used to it after a while.’
She shook her mane of hair. ‘Don’t come over all clever with me, Laura McNally. That boy is trouble. You’re going to waste your life if you stick with him.’
‘I told you – we’re finished.’
‘Ha ha.’ There was a hollow sound to this pale imitation of amusement. ‘No way. He’ll get you back.’
I wondered briefly whether I should tell Anne the reason for my sudden maturation, but decided that she could make much of my short pregancy. If she knew about that, then Tommo’s name would be blackened for ever in my cousin’s book. ‘Anne, you are so good at minding my business. Have you none of your own?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I’m going to do a history degree, then I’ll go into law. I’ve mapped it all out, Laura. It’s no use reaching your twenties without some idea of the future.’
I sniffed, got down from the wall, searched for a scathing answer. There was none, of course. Anne was going about her life properly, was steering in the direction of a career, a good job. And I was drifting on the tide of life like a piece of flotsam. I should have listened to her. I should have gone back to school, then college, should have broadened my horizons.
But I didn’t. And Tommo simply waited until he got his own way.
Chapter Two
He finally wore me down towards the end of 1960. After several bouts of painful activity, I became pregnant again and ran away from home so that my father might be prevented from performing a second act of kindness. I was also anxious to escape from Mother, whose temper had not improved with the years. She had stopped showing me off long ago, had given up on her early plan to make me into an ‘educated young lady’, but she continued to criticize my every move. So I upped and offed into territory that was no more welcoming than home and a great deal less attractive than our farmhouse on the outskirts of Barr Bridge.
At first, we lived in John Street with Tommo’s parents. As there were three bedrooms, I was allowed to sleep in the house as long as the usual proprieties were observed. Even though I was pregnant, Phoebe Thompson ruled that any contact between her son and me should be strictly verbal.
I hated Phoebe Thompson with an intensity that was both sinful and frightening. She constantly made remarks about my appearance – ‘You really should get that hair cut, because long hair drains a pregnant woman of her strength’ was one of her favourite statements. It was as if she were setting out to destroy me by picking at little bits of my anatomy – my hair, my hands, my complexion. Perhaps she hoped that I would disintegrate before her very eyes if she kept eroding my confidence.
Dad arrived, of course, visited me, tried to persuade me to return home. ‘And you could continue to work for me,’ he said. ‘Just till you get married.’ My job had been a good one, especially since my graduation from the secretarial college. I was a competent typist, could do shorthand, bookkeeping, filing and office management. Office management at McNally’s had been easy enough, as there had been just one person to manage – myself. Now Dad was taking on a proper staff, was expanding the business in Bolton, Leigh, Chorley and Preston.
I sat on a dining chair and studied my hands. According to Mrs Thompson, my hands were big and ugly, didn’t fit with the rest of me at all. ‘I’m not coming back. Anyway, the wedding’s going to be at Sts Peter and Paul, so I’m going there for instruction. Barr Bridge is too far away.’
‘Are you intending to convert?’
‘No.’ I had been considering becoming a Catholic, had decided to wait until a time when pregnancy had ceased to guide the hand of fate. ‘But I suppose any children will have to be Catholic,’ I added.
Phoebe came in then with a brown teapot and some mugs, eyed my father with the distrust she reserved for me, the dustbin men and strangers. ‘Will you have a flour cake with boiled ham?’ she asked, sounding as if she would prefer to feed both of us to the lions.
‘No, thank you.’ Dad wore the look of an injured man whose final breath might well be choked off by the smallest morsel. ‘I’ll have to be getting back to my work.’
‘Cooling Teas,’ mused Mrs Thompson. She had a habit of sucking her teeth while musing, and she sucked them now as she considered my father’s products. ‘I’ve tried them and they’re no good for fever.’ Before anyone could cut in, she asked, ‘Sug
ar, Mr McNally?’
‘Two, please.’
She doled out the sugar, stirred vigorously, plonked the mugs in front of us. ‘Fine kettle of fish when they’ve got to get married. Unheard of in my day, it was.’
Dad looked at her. ‘I thought it was rather commonplace, actually. Many of the people in our area had weddings that were somewhat hasty. And perhaps you might like to try our latest tea, Mrs Thompson. This is the adult version of a new recipe. There’s camomile in it, and most folk find it palatable and good for the lowering of temperature.’ He placed a muslin bag on the table. ‘I would be grateful for your opinion, Mrs Thompson. Market research, you see.’
Phoebe pushed out her non-existent chest. ‘Well, I’ve never been one to reserve my opinions. Speak as I find, I do. As soon as one of us is poorly, I’ll brew this up and see what it does for us. But I’ll say my piece, whichever road it turns out.’
Dad sipped his tea. ‘Yes, that’s the way to be. Though I’ve found that many of us who speak as we find don’t like others to do the same.’ He replaced his mug and sat back. ‘What brand was that?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘I think it was Horniman’s,’ she replied.
‘Not good,’ said Dad. ‘Strange, because it’s always been a top brand.’
She didn’t enjoy listening while Dad spoke his mind. After snatching up her free sample of McNally’s, she tripped out of the room and banged a few pans in the kitchen. Dad looked at me and grinned sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ he whispered. ‘The woman’s a bully. You’re not going to carry on living here, are you?’
‘Not likely,’ I mouthed. Tommo was out looking for a house as we spoke – as we whispered – and I had ordered him to find something at least half a mile away.
He swallowed, pulled at the top button of his shirt. ‘No need to get married, love. I’ll not give you medicine like I did last time, but I’ll stand by you, whatever you do. Don’t go rushing in with this lad, Laurie. He’s been no more than a weekend visitor. You don’t know what he’s like. Come home and wait a while.’
September Starlings Page 29
