THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Does Robert want to give the baby a kiss?’ Millie encouraged.

  But when Dan lifted Albert down for the small boy to inspect, Robert shoved a finger in the baby’s face and scratched him. Dan snatched him quickly out of reach while Millie smacked the boy’s hand.

  ‘Naughty Robert!’ she scolded. ‘You mustn’t harm the baby!’

  As Robert burst into tears, Millie was filled with foreboding. He would just have to get used to having a baby brother around, she thought fiercely, and she was going to have to do everything in her power to protect her new son. She felt overwhelmed with possessiveness for her newborn. She was never going to lose this child, never!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Messages were sent to America to try and discover where Ava and Grant were living and tell Ava of her father’s death. No reply came back, and Teresa went ahead swiftly with arranging Joseph’s funeral. Within five days of his death, Joseph Benjamin Moody was cremated after a modest ceremony attended only by Teresa, the Nixons, his old friend Collins from Drake’s farm and two retired draymen from the Co-op who were former drinking companions. He had no close family to mourn his going. Millie stayed at home with the baby boys and prepared a few sandwiches.

  Dan insisted that they buy in several jugs of beer for Moody’s wake. ‘We were second-cousins-once-removed, as Mam always used to say, so we should give him a proper send-off.’

  Teresa agreed to lift her temperance rule for the occasion. ‘But after this there’ll be no drink brought into this house.’

  The atmosphere that afternoon was that of a party rather than a wake. Moody’s morose spirit had gone from the hotel and, in the days that followed, Teresa wasted no time in having his room cleared, directing Millie and Sarah – whom Dan had persuaded to return – to throw out his old clothes. An out-of-work miner who had a small business cobbling and selling second-hand footwear came round for Moody’s boots and shoes that had hardly been worn in years. Millie was astonished at the number of old newspapers they found laid under the carpet, the mattress and piled high in the wardrobe. They discovered dusty empty whisky bottles in an old chest, along with further newspapers dating back to the Great War.

  The women took down the threadbare curtains, which reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and burnt them in the back yard, then unnailed the window and threw it open to the fresh air. Teresa gathered his few trinkets, including a photograph of Ava before she was married, a snuff box and a print of Queen Victoria, and put them in a box for Ava if she ever returned. After the room was given a thorough scrubbing-down, Dan set to work painting the walls a primrose yellow.

  ‘We’ll turn it into a nursery for the two lads,’ Teresa ordered. ‘It’s the biggest bedroom and they should have somewhere to play so they’re not in the way of the lodgers.’

  Millie watched for Dan’s reaction, thinking he might object to Albert being given a permanent room in the hotel. It was an admission that Millie would not be following him back to Yorkshire when the season started. But Dan seemed pleased with the idea of his son being given the best room in the house and fussed over in the manner he deserved.

  Albert was christened a fortnight later, but Teresa declared that only tea and ginger beer would be served with the celebratory tea. Dan and Walter disappeared swiftly to the Farrier’s Arms in defiance, Dan muttering that he would not wet his baby’s head with anything less than Federation Ale. Millie was annoyed with both her husband and her mother for being so stubborn over the occasion, but endeavoured to enjoy the day, inviting Mrs Dodswell, Mrs Dickson, Ella and Elsie, who to Millie’s delight travelled the twenty miles from the farm where she now lived. She came with her sister Mary and brought her twin daughters, Nelly and Doris.

  Yet Millie’s joy at seeing her old friend was marred by the unexpected pain she felt at the sight of the small girls. They were five years old; just a few months older than Edith would have been had she lived. Although they looked nothing like her daughter, with their dark-red hair and freckled noses, she felt a pang to hear their chattering talk and watch their restless play with Marjory. They were boisterous, strong-limbed country girls, too loud for Teresa’s approval, and Millie’s heart ached anew to think how much Edith would have relished their company. She would have been singing songs too, and learning to hopscotch in the yard, Millie thought mournfully.

  She found herself suddenly tearful and made excuses to leave the gathering to feed Albert, telling Ella to stop the clinging Robert from following her. She shut herself in her bedroom and wept as quietly as she could, while Albert struggled to suckle at her shaking breast. She wondered despairingly if she would ever be able to control her grief for Edith, ever feel it lessen its savage grip on her emotions. It was nearly two years since she had died, and yet Millie still missed her desperately, her feelings as raw as ever.

  By the time Millie emerged, having lain down and slept for two hours, the guests had gone and only Ella remained, helping Teresa clear up. Her mother could now stand and walk short distances with the aid of two sticks, so she could issue orders but did little of the actual work. As soon as Robert spotted Millie he hurtled across the kitchen and threw himself at her legs, whining in protest at her neglect of him.

  ‘You were missed. They’ve all gone,’ Teresa said in disapproval. ‘I had to make excuses for you.’

  Ella said in quick support, ‘But it’s good you had a bit of sleep, you were looking tired. Elsie understood. She’s promised to visit later in the summer.’

  Millie smiled at her friend, distractedly handing her the baby while she tried to pacify Robert. She picked him up, but he continued to cry and she lost patience. Plonking him into Teresa’s lap, she said irritably, ‘Here, you do something with him for a change. He wears me out and I’ve got me own bairn to think about now.’

  She hurried from the room, escaping from Robert’s howling and Teresa’s irritated scolding. Ella found her on the steps of the hotel, face buried in her hands.

  ‘I don’t know what comes over me,’ Millie said in despair. ‘I don’t mean to take it out on the bairn like that, but I can’t help it.’ She looked at her friend, shamefaced, and whispered, ‘I can’t bear him for not being Edith. Is that very terrible of me?’

  Ella put out a comforting hand. ‘I know what you mean. I couldn’t look at other people’s bairns for a long time after we lost ours. It’ll just take time.’

  ‘Aye,’ Millie sighed. ‘It’s just Robert’s so wearing. He used to be such a contented baby ... It might help if me mam showed a bit more interest in him.’

  Ella reminded her, ‘Aye, but you were the one who wanted to keep him, remember? You didn’t want him adopted, did you?’

  Millie felt herself flush with guilt. ‘No I didn’t. Poor Robert!’

  She dragged herself up from the steps, resolving to try harder with the small boy in future.

  ***

  The end of the summer came and Dan went back to Yorkshire, cheerful about his prospects for the season and no longer nagging Millie to return with him. They both knew that they could not afford to rent rooms down there as well as keep the hotel going, and Dan appeared to accept that Albert would thrive better in Ashborough. So he went into shared digs with two other footballers and promised to return as frequently as possible. Millie suspected that he was relieved to get away from Teresa’s censoriousness and back to a life of football. She missed him at first, but soon her life was too busy with the baby and Robert, the hotel and her mother, who relapsed into long days in bed once Dan left. Her life was too full to fret over what Dan might be doing in the days and evenings when he was not playing.

  But her heart lurched one day when a telegram was delivered to the hotel, thinking something awful must have happened to him. Only after she had torn it open did she realise it was addressed to her mother.

  She stared in amazement at the stark message, then ran in to see Teresa, shouting, ‘You’ll never believe this! It’s from Ava. They’re in Liverpool – on their way home. They said
to get a room ready for them!’

  Teresa snorted. ‘Well, that sounds like Ava. Let me see.’ She took the telegram with a shaking hand. ‘So she’s on her way back,’ she said, breathing hard. ‘I suppose the news about Joseph finally caught up with her.’

  Millie exchanged looks with her mother. ‘Why do you think she’s coming back now, if she knows her father’s dead?’ she asked nervously. ‘She never came back when he was alive.’

  Teresa’s face looked sombre. ‘I don’t know. But we could have a battle on our hands when she finds out Joseph left the hotel to me.’

  ***

  Millie prepared one of the rooms normally kept for travellers, laid a fire and put out clean hand towels. She invited Ella and Walter over for tea to greet them, and her friend came early to help prepare a meal, having collected Marjory from school. There were two other visitors staying that night who needed to be fed, and the Co-operative women’s society were holding a meeting in the dining room at eight o’clock and would be needing refreshments.

  ‘What time’s their train get in?’ Ella asked as she peeled potatoes to go with the special roll of brisket that Millie had extravagantly bought.

  ‘Half past four,’ Millie said, nervously glancing at the clock. There was an hour to go. Teresa sat at the back door keeping an eye on the children playing in the yard. It was an unusually warm late-September afternoon, with just a hint of sharpness in the air, warning of changing weather. Marjory was helping Robert push a heavy child’s wheelbarrow full of wooden alphabet bricks that Millie had bought cheaply at a bazaar for the boy’s birthday the previous spring. The wheelbarrow had been built by Grant for Marjory before he had left for America. Ella had asked for a pram for the girl’s two dolls, but that had appeared too much of a challenge for Grant’s rough carpentry skills.

  Millie, listening to the rumble and crash of the barrow as it hurtled around the yard, grew increasingly anxious at the impending arrival. How would Ava take her father’s death? Did she now have children of her own, and would she resent the presence of these new boys occupying Moody’s old room? Perhaps they had been too hasty in clearing out the old man’s possessions, she fretted. The only trace left of his having lived there was a formal portrait of him in Edwardian coat and bowler hat that hung in the hallway. Even then he had been portly, but there was still an air of vigorous prosperity about him that made Teresa think it suitable to display in the hotel.

  Ella sensed her disquiet. ‘You’ve no need to worry. We’re all older now – and Ava’s had four years out in the world. She’s bound to have changed her ways.’

  ‘Once spoilt always spoilt,’ Teresa snorted. ‘Except now there’s no Joseph to give in to her all the time. But no doubt we’ll still have to listen to hours of how grand America is compared to Ashborough.’

  ‘Well, I can put up with the boasting,’ Millie replied, ‘if Ava can accept the way things are here.’

  The women exchanged glances, each thinking of Robert and wondering how scandalised Ava would be were she to discover she had an illegitimate half-brother. Only Ella, Walter and Mrs Dickson had been told the true parentage of the boy, and all three, along with Dr Percy, had long ago sworn to keep it secret. The story they circulated after Robert’s arrival was that he was an orphan who had been adopted by Millie and Dan. Their neighbours appeared to accept the situation, keeping to themselves any suspicions that Teresa had been pregnant. Millie suspected their tolerance was in return for Teresa’s efforts to save them from starvation during the strike. Ava was unlikely to find out about Robert, but not for the first time Millie was plagued with uncertainty that she had done the right thing in keeping the boy in the family.

  Millie trooped on to the platform with Ella and Marjory to meet the train, her heart hammering with nervousness. A handful of passengers disembarked and Millie stared through the steam but could not see Grant and Ava.

  ‘They’re not on it,’ she gasped, feeling a flood of relief.

  But Ella nudged her. ‘Look, up the far end, with all those boxes. That must be Ava!’

  The friends hurried up the platform to help. The thickset man in a gabardine coat and black hat hauling luggage off the train turned out to be Grant. He looked thinner, his face more lined, but the brown eyes were still vital under their bushy eyebrows. They hesitated, then Grant put out a hand, which Millie shook, embarrassed by the formality. Ella, feeling less in awe, gave him a kiss on the cheek and gestured at the pile of boxes.

  ‘We’d have hired porters if we’d known you had all this,’ she joked.

  ‘Ava likes her clothes,’ Grant began to explain, but he was cut short by a shout from inside the train.

  ‘This one’s too heavy for me. Come back and help!’

  Millie recognised Ava’s peevish voice, though it held a distinct American twang that made her want to laugh. Moments later, Ava stepped off the train, almost unrecognisable. Her brown hair was tightly permed under a jaunty red hat that sloped down at one side. Her eyebrows were plucked to a thin line, and she was wearing red lipstick that matched her hat. She was wrapped in a tan-coloured coat with a fur collar, but Millie noticed it was well worn. Nevertheless, the effect was like that of a film star arriving at Ashborough station; there was an air of glamour about Ava that made Millie feel dowdy, even though she had changed out of her work clothes and made an effort to be smart. She still could not fit into most of her skirts since Albert’s birth, and was wearing a loose dress that she had bought in Newcastle five years before.

  Millie stepped forward to greet Ava. ‘You look grand!’ she cried in admiration. Ava looked at her in satisfaction, presenting a cool cheek to be kissed.

  ‘You look just like that cartoon character, Betty Boop,’ Ella teased, holding Marjory up for Ava to kiss. ‘Isn’t Auntie Ava like something out the films? Go on, give her a kiss!’ But Marjory was suddenly shy and craned away from Ava’s red lips and cloying smell of cheap perfume.

  ‘She’ll come round,’ Millie said quickly. ‘Here, let me help you carry some of these,’ she said, bending to lift two boxes.

  ‘Well, you’ve put on weight, Millie!’ Ava cried in her new sing-song voice. ‘You used to be so slim.’

  Millie flushed. ‘That’s what having bairns does for you,’ she answered with a self-conscious smile.

  Ava gave her a sharp look. ‘That’s one thing I’ve avoided, then.’

  Grant glanced up and Millie saw his square jaw redden.

  ‘You haven’t got . . . ?’ Millie asked awkwardly. Grant shook his head.

  ‘It doesn’t bother us,’ Ava said stiffly, picking up a battered hat box and a canvas bag.

  As Grant turned, he said quietly, ‘We were sorry to hear about your Edith, a terrible thing.’ Tears stung Millie’s eyes at the unexpected mention of her daughter’s name. ‘I remember her as such a bonny bairn,’ Grant added kindly.

  Millie gulped, remembering how he had visited their flat on Tyneside and how easily Edith had taken to his gentle, gruff manner. ‘Aye,’ she murmured, ‘thanks.’

  Ava cut in, ‘But your letter said you’d got another one, so at least you should be thankful for that.’

  Millie felt bruised by her lack of sympathy, but tried not to show it, not wanting to cause embarrassment for the others. ‘I am,’ she answered, turning away.

  Ella spoke up. ‘It doesn’t stop her missing Edith, mind. It’s not just something you forget.’

  They all walked along the platform in silence while Marjory skipped ahead. Millie took a deep breath. ‘So you got our letters? We thought you must have moved when we heard nothing.’

  ‘We’ve moved around,’ Ava said shortly. ‘I didn’t hear about my father until a month ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Millie said. ‘We’ll tell you everything you want to know. He died in his sleep, quite peaceful. I went up with his breakfast—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more!’ Ava snapped. ‘Talking about him won’t bring him back. You should have written to tell
me he was so ill. I could have come sooner and taken care of him properly.’

  Millie was stung. ‘He never wanted for anything, Ava. Mam and me looked after him well. He’s been bed-bound for years. You knew that. He used to write to you but you never once replied.’ She stopped as Grant gave her a warning look.

  ‘His letters must have gone astray.’ Ava was defensive. ‘And we’ve moved that much. You should have tried harder to contact us. I’m very upset to think I’ll never see him again!’ And she burst into instant tears.

  Millie plonked down the boxes and rushed to put her arms round her. ‘I’m sorry, Ava, really I am. Of course it’s upsetting.’ But Ava shrugged her off and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing her eyes and nose quickly.

  They reached the hotel in a tense silence to find Teresa standing by the range, leaning on her sticks. She was wearing a black dress that made her look matronly and emphasised the sallowness of her face. Millie saw at once that her mother was going to play the grieving widow for all she was worth. Ava looked visibly shocked to see how Teresa had aged. They greeted each other stiffly, with formal words, and Millie was thankful to occupy herself with preparing the evening tea.

  Ava flopped into a chair, looking warily askance at Albert, lying kicking on a rug inside the playpen, where Millie had put him out of Robert’s reach. But Grant went over and made a fuss of him. ‘By, I bet Dan’s proud of him. Got his colouring, just like –’ He broke off suddenly, throwing Millie an apologetic look. She knew what he had been going to say, and he was right; Albert looked painfully like his sister had done at the same age, which was both a comfort and a trial. But she was grateful to Grant for noticing. ‘Aye, he has,’ she smiled.