A Different Kind of Love

by A Different Kind of Love (retail) (epub)

  Beata thought this too fanciful, but the inveterate old gossip insisted it was true. ‘He changed his name and converted to Catholicism – like your father had to do when he married your mother.’

  ‘Yes, but Aunt Ethel wasn’t a Catholic so there was no need—’

  ‘I didn’t say she was!’ Wyn looked exasperated. ‘Why don’t you listen? I just meant he was a convert like your father.’

  Beata gave an uncaring nod and sighed. ‘Right well, I’d better give Uncle Teddy his pills.’

  ‘Yes he’s getting low on water too.’ Obviously expecting her niece to provide this, Wyn returned empty-handed to the bedroom. ‘I’m not one to complain but I have to say you’re getting rather neglectful.’

  Beata seethed. She had always been meticulous in providing Teddy’s needs. Never had he gone without whilst she had been responsible for his care.

  As she went into the hallway with a tray, a letter dropped through the flap. Stooping, she saw it bore Madeleine’s handwriting and was for her but she did not stop to open it there and then, just put it on the tray and carried it with her to her aunt and uncle’s room.

  ‘Oh, open it,’ begged Wyn, after Beata had delivered Teddy’s medication. ‘We hardly ever get to hear any news.’

  Beata would have preferred to read the letter in private but nevertheless sat on the edge of Teddy’s bed and ripped open the envelope. The note was short, its content devastating. Gussie had suffered yet another miscarriage. Added to the upset it was more severe than the last and she had lost a dangerous amount of blood. Maddie thought it might be wise for her sister to come home. Gussie’s words came rushing back to her: if you dream of a birth there’ll be a death.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Wyn, eyes on her niece’s worried face.

  Beata told her.

  A ringed hand came out to comfort her. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right, dear. I know what I’m talking about, I lost one of my own, you know.’

  ‘Did you?’ Her mind on her poor sister, Beata sounded vague.

  ‘Yes, in fact it was worse for me, the child was full term.’ Wyn tugged a handkerchief from her lace cuff and applied it to her beak, her abstracted gaze misting over. ‘I was never fortunate enough to have another. I lost a lot of blood too but I came through it. Augusta will be fine, I promise. Now, isn’t it time for my own medication?’

  Still in a trance, Beata looked at the clock. ‘Yes, I’ll get it.’ And she went off, returning with a bottle and spoon.

  ‘Speaking of Augusta, I don’t suppose she mentioned anything about our Ethel’s silver teapot when you last saw her?’

  The open bottle of medicine still in one hand, its cork in the other, Beata gave her a dazed frown. ‘No, why would she?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just puzzled as to what happened to it. Ethel always promised it to me but I never saw any sign of it when I went to her funeral.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’ Anger beginning to rise, Beata rammed the cork back into the medicine bottle to a petulant squeak. Her favourite subject money, Aunt Wyn was always interrogating her as to who got what in another’s will, but how could she raise it at such an awful time?

  After exchanging Uncle Teddy’s empty water jug for a full one and tidying all the bits of rubbish from the bedside table, she took a damp cloth from the tray and limped around the bed to wipe the sticky circles from the table on the other side, rubbing vigorously.

  Wyn watched her for a while, then, after a pause, suggested, ‘Maybe Augusta got it. Did you happen to see it when you—’

  Beata exploded. ‘If our Gussie had inherited anything then she’d have paid for it twenty times over with all she did for Aunt Ethel, cleaning and sending her money for the boys’ keep, but she didn’t get so much as a farthing! Not one farthing! Does that satisfy you?’

  Wyn was most put out, straightening and tugging her husband’s blankets into place. ‘There’s no need to take that tone! Your father would be ashamed of you addressing your elders like that.’

  With a gasp of exasperation, Beata left the room, but not before hearing her aunt mutter to her uncle, ‘I’d stake my life Augusta got that blessed teapot.’

  This was the final straw. Retracing her steps almost at once, Beata announced stiffly, ‘I’m afraid I’ve no choice but to leave you for a while. I’ll be going first thing after breakfast tomorrow.’

  Wyn opened her mouth to object but was silenced by an upheld palm.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aunt, but my sister needs me.’

  ‘We need you!’

  Beata was firm. ‘You’re not dangerously ill like Gus. I’ve made sure your cupboards are all stocked, I’ll ask Mr Ellis next door to help with the geese and you’ve got Margaret if you get desperate for anything. I’m sure you can cope till I get back.’

  Wyn looked slightly relieved. ‘Oh, so you are coming back? When might that—’

  ‘I’ll come when I can raise the fare,’ retorted Beata, ‘unless you’d like to contribute?’

  Spidery lines appeared round Wyn’s compressed lips. ‘Well, if bribery is the only way we can get you back…’ She reached for her purse, her ringed fingers counting out the exact amount. ‘But make sure you don’t spend it on anything else.’

  Taking the money, Beata went to pack her case. ‘Thank you, but don’t expect me to come until Gussie’s better.’

  * * *

  But would she get better? That was the worrying thought on Beata’s mind as the train made its north-easterly journey. If you dream of a birth there’ll be a death. Over and over with every clackety-clack it haunted her all the way to York.

  Normally there would be interest in picking out all the latest alterations to the old city, but today as her bus passed the old castle it barely registered that the grimy curtain wall had been dismantled to reveal the limestone Clifford’s Tower in its full beauty.

  Alighting from the bus she hurried on to the street where her sister lived, turned the corner and saw a hearse. Her heart almost leaped from her mouth. It was parked outside Gussie’s. After temporarily stalling, she took herself in hand and limped on towards the house, her mind filled with the most awful dread. Please, please, not Gussie.

  No children came rushing down the passage to greet her today. Making her wary way along its brown varnished length, feeling almost ready to vomit from nerves, Beata poked her head into the living room to see Mick hunched in his usual place, smoking his pipe. It did not help; she had hoped that the hearse might have been for him.

  The house quiet as death, he could not fail to hear the rustle of her clothes and turned quickly, his blue eyes wide in shock. ‘Jesus! Y’almost had me banging me head on the ceiling!’ He looked old and drawn.

  Beata did not apologize, merely cast her worried glance around the room.

  ‘The kids’ll be in from school in a minute.’ He arched his back and set aside the book he had been reading. ‘Ye can make a cup of tea, if ye like.’

  Beata felt slightly less agitated. Her sister could not possibly be dead with the blasé attitude he was displaying. Even so … ‘There’s a hearse outside.’

  He stuck his pipe between his teeth. ‘Is there? Don’t know who that’s for. Must be next door.’

  Beata almost swooned from relief. ‘I thought … well, I heard Gussie had lost a lot of blood and—’

  ‘Ach, God love ye, no!’ Seeing the tension drain from her body, Mick realized now how worried she must have been. ‘She’s out of danger now.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Beata clutched her chest for a moment, whilst the thudding of her heart began to subside. Then, feeling better, she made to take off her coat. ‘Is she upstairs?’

  Mick shook his head and jabbed his pipe stem at the door. ‘Ye’ll find her on the top road at the midwife’s house. Mrs Whatsername wanted to keep an eye on her, her being so sick. Er—’ he saw Beata about to leave, ‘surely ye can have a cup of tea before ye go?’ Beata shook her head, partly in exasperation at his idleness. ‘Thanks, I’ll have one with Gus.’ And she hur
ried up the street.

  * * *

  Augusta had certainly been perilously ill. So ghastly was her complexion that Beata began to doubt Mick’s opinion that she was out of danger. Why, there could hardly be a drop of blood in her. Mims had been summoned here too, but Beata spared her only the most basic greeting, her eyes fixed on Gussie as she rushed to their beloved sister’s bedside and scooped up the white hand that lay upon the eiderdown, holding it tightly.

  Offering weak greeting, Gussie murmured that she was fine, and, though her teary eyes bespoke her loss, the midwife was able to confirm this. Providing the patient with a cup of beef tea, she said that the haemorrhage had been extensive but Gussie was over the worst.

  ‘Well, you’ll jolly well stay here till you’re better,’ a relieved Beata ordered, Mims agreeing.

  ‘That’s what I’ve told her.’ Maddie had let herself in and now came round to the other side of the bed. She had been every day during the crisis, helping the midwife to nurse her sister. ‘No going home and running around after that lot. Don’t worry, we’ll pay.’

  Gussie felt too weak to argue.

  ‘Has anybody else been to visit you?’ asked Beata, stroking the pale hand.

  ‘Oh, yes, Mick’s been with the children.’ Gussie accomplished a frail smile. ‘I’m very lucky. They’ve treated me as if I was their real mother. Joe popped in last Sunday, said he was off somewhere to play war games.’

  The sisters shared a chuckle.

  Later, as the patient dozed and the others watched over her, Beata was enlightened by Maddie that no one from the church had been, at least not specifically.

  ‘I happened to be there when they came round with their begging bowl last week just as Gus lost the bairn, and even when they’d been told that she was at death’s door they haven’t been near her – but I’ll bet you anything they’re knocking on Friday for their weekly handout.’

  At these sour words, Beata cast her mind back and thought of all the times the Church had let her down. Well, that could be excused, but to treat Gussie like this, she, a stalwart of the Catholic faith, who had braved all weather just to polish the brass on the altar rail, who would give them the clothes off her back if they were to ask, that was unforgivable. She decided there and then not go to church again.

  Mims had never been impressed by religion of whatever kind. ‘Huh, I wouldn’t expect anything else from that lot. I’m still waiting for the half a crown I was promised ten years ago.’ Trying to do her best by the defiant child, upon adopting her Meredith had resorted to bribery in order that Mims keep up her mother’s religion. It had not worked. Mims hated anybody getting one over on her and had refused to go to church since. She opened a packet of cigarettes and handed it round.

  Beata took one, just to be sociable.

  Maddie opened the window to let the smoke out. ‘So, have they given you time off to come here or have you got the sack again?’

  Mims laughed, touching one of her eyebrows self-consciously. Since being shaved off, they had never grown again properly. ‘No, Mr and Mrs Tongue let me go straight away when they heard about Gus. I’ve been with them over a year now and I can’t see myself going anywhere else. They’re really nice people.’

  ‘That’s the landlord and his wife?’

  ‘Yes – they bought me this for my twenty-first.’ She displayed the tiny gold watch on her wrist.

  Beata admired it, then breathed wondrously, ‘Twenty-one! I can still taste those jammy buns the midwife brought us when you were born.’

  Gussie awoke then and, remembering her loss, she started to weep.

  Their attention was immediately upon her, cigarettes stubbed out, all trying to comfort.

  After the tears were over, Gussie sighed and gave a philosophical smile. ‘Mebbe next time…’

  Letting out an exasperated groan, Maddie begged, ‘Oh, don’t have any more, Gus! It could kill you.’ The other two sisters showed they were concerned about this too.

  ‘Tell him to keep it buttoned up,’ pressed Maddie. ‘He shouldn’t be bothered with sex at his age.’

  At such graphic comment, her strait-laced sister looked shocked, then withdrew into herself, saying simply, ‘We’ll see.’

  And knowing what that meant, they all sighed.

  31

  After staying a week, assured that her sister was in no further danger and confident she was in good hands, Mims travelled back to Lancashire.

  ‘And you’ll be going back to Aunt Wyn’s,’ assumed Gussie, at home now and the colour returned to her face though she was still in bed.

  Beata puffed out her cheeks. ‘I suppose I should … oh but, Gus, I’m dreading it. She drives me up the wall. I might get a little temporary job first, just so’s I have enough money to tide me over – an escape fund, if you like.’

  Gussie laughed. ‘Well, you know you’ve always a home here until you find something.’

  Beata thanked her and said it would not be for long and, indeed, the time she spent in her sister’s crowded household was to be only a matter of days.

  But, successful in her quest for temporary work, the autumn found her still in York. There had as yet been only one letter to ask when she would be returning Aunt Wyn was far too mean to keep wasting money on stamps – though she knew it was inevitable she would have to return some time. Even so, she decided to bide here as long as she could. Wyn would write again if she were really desperate.

  In the meantime came a more welcome request from Aunt Meredith, asking if she would help take care of her daughter, who was having another baby, she herself too old for the task nowadays. Jumping at the chance to see her youngest sister, Beata handed in her notice and at her first opportunity caught a train to Morecambe Bay.

  The birth straightforward, it was a very happy interlude, at the end of which she was rewarded for her assistance by being asked to play godmother. This would mean her staying on another week until the mother was back on her feet but she did not mind a bit for, owing to her responsibilities, she had not shared as much time as she would have liked with Mims. Now free to rectify this, she went along that Wednesday evening to the pub where the youngest Kilmaster worked, and saw for the first time how truly popular Mims was.

  ‘Right, we’re too quiet!’ The landlord interrupted his barmaid’s conversation with her sister. ‘Get on the piano for a while and pull them in.’

  Pushing herself from the bar and summoning Beata to follow her, Mims went to seat herself at the piano and immediately launched into a melodious tune, singing along in accompaniment. Her leg aching, Beata slipped into a seat nearby and watched the performance, smiling but feeling rather envious, for already the piano had become a magnet to those young men who had been quietly drinking. Very soon, attracted by the music, others began to drift in from the streets and line the bar, their eyes drawn to the vivacious girl on the piano. Within an hour the landlord found himself rushed off his feet and Mims was regrettably called back to her post, though the men surged with her and the pub retained their custom until closing time.

  Treated to several drinks throughout a most agreeable evening, enjoying a laugh and a joke, Beata was left in no uncertainty that she was popular with the men too. As a friend. For though they might jest with her till the cows came home, it was a sad fact that she would never command such looks of desire as were directed towards her sister.

  * * *

  Back in York there was an immediate search for work and within a month Beata was once again entrenched in the type of menial role she had come to expect.

  One autumn evening, looking forward to a break from her domestic responsibilities, she had made an arrangement to go to the cinema with Maddie and, after completing all her chores, walked into town. Rather than having tea by herself in a café she bought a couple of sausage rolls, intending to eat them before meeting her sister. The city seemed extra busy for this time of day. There were hordes of jaded men about the streets, seated on the kerbs and every available bench. She commented
upon this to the woman in the bakery.

  ‘It’s a hunger march come down from Aberdeen,’ said the assistant. ‘Apparently the Corporation won’t let them in anywhere so I suppose they’ll be cluttering the place up all night and widdling in people’s doorways.’

  Beata thanked her and went to find somewhere to sit, watching the comings and goings of the marketplace as she ate. She felt sorry for the exhausted men, one in particular drawing her eyes for he had his boots off and was gingerly pulling bits of loose skin from his heels. Seeing him wince, she responded instinctively and hurried over to warn him, ‘Don’t do that, you’ll tear it right into the flesh.’

  He hardly glanced up at her and responded in a thick Scottish accent that she failed to comprehend.

  Undeterred, she bent over enquiringly. ‘Would you like a sausage roll, love? Sorry, I’ve eaten half of it…’

  He shook his weary head, ‘Thank ye kindly, dear, I won’t take your tea. I’ve just eaten. Some people have been very good tae us.’

  Through concentrating hard she managed to decipher his words and nodded.

  ‘I’ll have it, Beat, if it’s going spare,’ said the man who sat nearby.

  Startled to hear her name, she looked at the stranger, whose coat was secured by a piece of twine; a tramp, but a relatively clean one. It was only when the weathered face gave an impish smile that she recognized her brother.

  ‘Duke!’ She projected delight and immediately rose to kiss him. ‘What are you doing on a hunger march?’

  Duke gave his shy laugh. ‘I’m not on the march. I was just talking to this chap when you came along.’

  ‘But where’ve you been? How are you? Have you got a job?’

  He chuckled again. ‘Which one do you want me to answer first, Beat?’

  She uttered a sound of wonder at meeting him in such a coincidental fashion after years of trying to find out where he was, then urged him to say something, anything, so she would know she was not dreaming.