A Family Affair

by Nancy Carson

  But Clover was not relishing his ardent scrutiny at all. His hands were hard and rough, his caresses inept and clumsy. He touched that sanctified place between her legs and hurt her when he started bodging his fingers into her too soon. She felt her flesh creep with distaste. Then his face hovered about hers as he tried to kiss her on the lips and she caught a whiff of his stale, morning breath that turned her stomach.

  ‘Please, Ned…’ She turned her face away from him.

  ‘What?’ he muttered apprehensively.

  ‘I can’t…I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Hell! What’s the matter now?’ He sounded exasperated.

  ‘I need to go up the yard, Ned.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Use the bloody chamber pot.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m going up the yard.’

  ‘Hurry up then. For God’s sake!’

  He lay back in the bed alone with his erection, and waited for her to return.

  But Clover did not return. At least, not till Posy woke up.

  Chapter 26

  A Frenchman called Louis Coatalen was the inspiration and the intellect behind a range of aeroplane engines being developed by the Sunbeam Motor Car Company of Wolverhampton. M Coatalen joined the firm in 1909 as chief engineer and a succession of fine motor cars emerged from the Sunbeam factory thereafter. Using Coatalen’s French connections, Ned Brisco and his team were able to acquire a Farman biplane from France and Ned, the only employee with any experience at all in aviation, was allowed to test fly it once the eight-cylinder, liquid-cooled, Coatalen-designed engine had been installed. The local authority was duly notified that the test flight was about to take place. By this time Ned had given up the idea that his own Gull might be used for such trials.

  This first engine was a moderate success. In the sense that Ned achieved powered flight, it was an undoubted triumph. The flight was not long; he was airborne for no more than a hundred and fifty yards or so but at least there was power enough to get the small aeroplane off the ground. Ned felt he could have gone further but the engine vibrated appallingly and Ned was scared that it might shake loose from its mountings and cause a fatal accident. Neither was he used to the controls of the Farman, which relied on wing-warping, as did the Wright Brothers’ aircraft. He decided that initial caution was preferable to heroics until he’d got some hours of practice behind him. Clearly, more work was needed, but the early signs were very encouraging.

  Consequently, Ned felt uplifted for the first time in ages. He had flown an aeroplane under power for the very first time and it had been an exhilarating experience. Further, he had been chosen as test pilot for this and all foreseeable future projects, with licence to test whenever he deemed it necessary and when staff were available to help.

  Work refining the Coatalen engine continued and each improvement that was made saw Ned, wrapped up warm against the cold, climbing into the Farman at a flat area of open countryside just outside Wolverhampton called Pendeford. Normally, he was accompanied by at least two or three other people. Understanding the principles of powered flight intimately, he soon became used to the controls and the quirks and peculiarities of the Farman biplane. The engine began to benefit from the many modifications. In the early summer of 1911, it still vibrated harshly but not sufficiently to deter Ned from achieving flights of several miles, circling triumphantly over Codsall, Coven and even as far north as Penkridge.

  Ned, at last, had achieved one ambition, although not in his own Gull. When he was wheeling around the skies he forgot his frustrations. He learned to throw the plane all over the sky in loops, testing the little Farman to the limit. He performed stalls, spins, slow rolls, dives and everything else he dared to do. He frightened himself at times but his confidence in handling the machine increased along with his enthusiasm. And it was wonderful to see the countryside whizzing by below. It was astonishing to see into the vast gardens of some of the fine houses in the area, to see just how many lakes there were, how many finely manicured lawns.

  Meanwhile, development of the Coatalen engine continued. Plans were made for a new twelve-cylinder and even an eighteen-cylinder version. This would mean more and more testing, more and more flying. Ned had the best job in the world and Sunbeam intended to be the leader in British aircraft engine production.

  The coronation of George V on 23rd June 1911, whilst hardly a holiday for the king, who was obliged to endure seven hours of kingly ceremonial glory, was reason enough for the nation to enjoy a day’s holiday. Tom Doubleday awoke at his usual time, seven o’ clock and, since he was not due to open his studio that day, stretched and yawned and arose from his bed with a leisureliness that was strange to him. He quietly stepped into Daniel’s room and looked down on him. His fair-haired son looked so angelic and so appealing as he lay silently sleeping. Such innocence, such lack of guile brought a lump to his throat. Tom watched him for a while, his heart overflowing with love and devotion before he went down to the scullery to make himself a pot of tea.

  As he drank it he pondered his son and his thoughts turned to Ramona and then, inevitably, to death. The necessity for a coronation today was because of death; the death, more than a year earlier, of Edward VII. Tom recalled reading about the funeral in the newspaper the day after it occurred; a day of national high drama and great sadness. That death seemed to have been the precursor to so many other tragic events, attributable by some to the proximity of Halley’s Comet, which was spectacular at the time in the night sky. All these deaths depressed Tom. Last August, Florence Nightingale died, heroine of the Scutari hospital in the Crimean War. In Japan, eight hundred souls perished in severe flooding. The death toll from cholera in Russia topped sixty thousand. Last September a hundred thousand folk, all frightened of death, fled Naples as cholera broke out there too and, a month later, as if that wasn’t bad enough, a tidal wave lashed the Bay of Naples, causing a thousand more deaths. In October, Dr Crippen was sentenced to death, which actually served him right and, in November, Leo Tolstoy passed away. Christmas was spoilt when three hundred and fifty men and boys met their deaths in an underground explosion at a pit near Bolton in Lancashire. All this waste of human life. All these deaths. As if one death – Ramona’s – was not enough.

  He sighed as he thought of Ramona. Although he had never loved her, she did not deserve to die so young and he still suffered pangs of guilt that she so tragically had, bearing his son. It seemed this sense of guilt would never leave him. He was reminded of it every time he looked at Daniel with his unruly mop of pale yellow, curly hair, just like his mother’s. Somehow it seemed he had swapped one person for the other; a wife not relished but not disliked, for a cherished son. Maybe it was a fair swap, all things considered. He loved his son so fiercely, so protectively, that its very intensity surprised him sometimes. Oh, he knew he was eminently capable of strong, steadfast love; he still loved Clover Beckitt with all his heart and suspected he always would, although he wished he didn’t, for it was sometimes too painful to bear. But the love for his son was different.

  He trudged back up two flights of stairs, went into Daniel’s room and opened the curtains. Daniel roused and rubbed his eyes at the invading light.

  ‘Time to get up if we’re going to see all the fun going on in the town,’ Tom chirped brightly. ‘Remember I told you last night before I read you your story?’

  Daniel rolled over and pretended to go back to sleep.

  ‘Have I got to tickle you?’ A smile appeared on the boy’s cherubic face as he rolled onto his back. ‘I’m coming…There…’ Daniel shrieked with chuckles and Tom thought, that’s how bubbles would sound if you could hear them. ‘I told you I’d tickle you.’

  ‘Do it again.’

  ‘No. It’s time you were up. Do you want to sit on your pot?’

  ‘I fink I want a wee.’

  ‘All right, I’ll lift you out and you can have a wee.’

  Daniel still slept in a cot with tall sides but Tom felt he was at an age now when he could buy a proper bed f
or him. It was time he organised it. That would make the child feel more grown-up. He lifted his son out and withdrew the chamber pot from under the cot, whereupon Daniel lifted up his nightshirt and peed into it, thrusting his pelvis forward in an exaggerated movement.

  After Tom had filled the washbowl with cold water from the ewer, he observed with pride as the boy washed his face and neck and ears like a grown-up, then took a towel and dried himself. It was a good thing to teach him these things that a mother might still be doing for him at this age – if he had a mother. Tom never ceased to be amazed at the speed with which Daniel learnt to do these things. Normally, Tom only had to show him once.

  ‘When you’re dressed, Daniel, I’m going to do us a boiled egg each for our breakfasts.’

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Here are your clothes. Show me again how you can dress yourself.’

  Tiny hands fumbled through the neat pile of garments. Awkwardly, the child began to put on his clothes, helped by Tom when he got stuck or confused. Little buttons are difficult for little hands to fasten and Tom helped there too, all the time talking to him, offering gentle and very patient encouragement.

  As they descended the stairs slowly, Tom held Daniel’s hand to steady him and they went into the scullery. Daniel ran outside to try and find the hedgehog he’d seen the day before in the back yard. While the eggs were boiling Tom followed.

  ‘Where’s he gone, Daddy?’

  ‘I don’t know, son.’ He bent down, trying to attain Daniel’s diminutiveness. ‘But don’t worry, he’ll be back. We’ll leave him some bread for his dinner and have another look for him when we get back from Gran’s later, eh?’

  Daniel nodded his firm agreement.

  Back inside, Tom sat him at the table on a chair with a pile of cushions on it. The child scribbled on a sheet of paper with a blacklead while Tom sliced and buttered some bread and delivered their breakfasts to the table. Tom cut off the top of the egg for Daniel and watched him poke ‘soldiers’, strips of bread, into the yolk, just like he’d taught him. He handled food well for a child not yet two and a half. And for his age, he was eminently sensible. Tom was so proud of his son. His days revolved entirely around him.

  It was not a sunny day so far, rather it was overcast but, as long as it remained dry for the street parties that were due to take place later, nobody would complain.

  When they arrived in the town, Dudley was a picture of festivity. Bunting flapped across the streets from practically every building. Union Jacks flew from upstairs windows and regal plaster crowns, coated in gilt paint, adorned shop windows along with photographs of King George and Queen Mary. Daniel looked at it all with wonder and delight and Tom smiled affectionately at his son’s excitement. In the Market Place in front of the great marble fountain that spurted water exotically, a man with a hurdy-gurdy had people laughing and joining hands to dance to its mechanical music. From the immense height of his daddy’s arms Daniel watched and listened to the instrument, fascinated. His face lit up when the man took to them his monkey that was holding a tin cup to collect coins. He looked at his father beseechingly for a penny to give to the monkey.

  Tom handed over a few halfpennies to Daniel. Tentatively, Daniel stretched out his hand and dropped the coins into the tin cup the monkey was proffering, immediately drawing away. ‘He’s all right, sonny,’ the hurdy-gurdy man said. ‘He won’t bite yer.’ Daniel smiled uncertainly at his daddy while the hurdy-gurdy man and the monkey passed on to the next folk, rattling their cup.

  A man rode in front of them on a one-wheeled cycle waving bunting and performing impossible twists and turns. Another man rode a gigantic ball, controlling it cleverly with his feet, dancing on it. The romantic sound of a barbershop quartet, harmonising like divine songsters from another world, drifted over from the other end of the market while Tom and Daniel watched a dance troupe with bells on their toes. They went to move on.

  Somebody behind them spoke.

  ‘Hello, Tom.’

  It was a woman’s voice; such a heartbreakingly familiar voice.

  Tom looked around. ‘Clover!…Lord above!’

  She smiled at him hesitantly. ‘Is this your little boy?’

  Tom, for a second or two, was dumbstruck and his heart seemed to stop beating altogether. When he found his voice he said: ‘Yes, this is Daniel. Daniel, say hello to…to Mrs…er…Brisco.’

  Daniel politely said hello.

  ‘He’s the image of his mother,’ Clover said, recognising the child as a Tandy through and through. ‘What a beautiful crop of fair hair he’s got. Just like Ramona.’

  Tom found himself smiling. Seeing Clover after so long was a surprise he hadn’t reckoned on. He’d often wondered whether it would be a cordial exchange if they ever ran into each other again, since they’d parted in an argument. ‘So how are you, Clover? It’s been a long time.’

  Clover was smiling too. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ As soon as she had spotted him Clover couldn’t help herself; she had to go over and speak to him. Her heart was beating so fast and she hoped it didn’t show.

  ‘And this is your daughter? I heard you’d had a daughter.’

  ‘Say hello, Posy.’ She almost said, say hello to your father, but managed to stop herself. ‘Say hello to Mr Doubleday.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Doubledouble,’ Posy managed to utter.

  They both laughed.

  ‘It is a bit of a mouthful, my name,’ Tom said cheerfully to Posy. ‘I can forgive you for not getting it right, little lady.’ He looked at Clover and their eyes met and held for a moment. ‘She’s the image of you, Clover. She’s beautiful. Nothing like Ned.’

  He really believes Ned is her father, Clover deduced from that comment.

  ‘Is Ned with you?’

  ‘He’s listening to the barbershop quartet over there.’ She inclined her head in that direction. ‘With his mother and father.’

  ‘Oh. Family day out then?’ He smiled openly.

  She nodded. ‘And you? Just the two of you?’

  ‘For now. We’re going back to Mother’s after. There’s a street party in Stafford Street this afternoon and another in Edward Street tonight. I’ve been promising to bring Daniel here this morning to see all the fun. He’s been looking forward to it, haven’t you, me old mate?’

  Daniel nodded on cue.

  Posy meanwhile looked suspiciously at Daniel and tugged at her mother’s hand. ‘Come on, Mommy.’

  Clover tugged back admonishingly; she did not want to be rushed. ‘Wait. And just behave.’ She found Tom’s eyes again. ‘I was so sorry about Ramona, Tom…It must have been awful for you.’

  He nodded, his mouth tightening. ‘Thank you, Clover. It was…difficult. But, thankfully, Daniel pulled through. To look at him now you’d never know it was touch and go with him as well. I don’t know what I’d do without him now.’ He shifted the boy’s weight to his other arm. ‘He’s no trouble, you know, Clover…Are you, old mate?’

  ‘So how do you get on with him during the day while you’re at work?’

  ‘Mother takes care of him, bless her. I drop him there on my way past and pick him up on my way back. She loves having him.’

  ‘He’s very well behaved,’ she commented.

  ‘Takes after his father.’ Tom smiled, feigning smugness.

  Let’s hope not, Clover thought, reminded of Elijah Tandy. She glanced around nervously for sight of Ned. She did not want him to see her talking to Tom; all hell would be let loose.

  ‘I’d better get back to Ned,’ she said apologetically. ‘He’ll be wondering where we’ve got to. It’s lovely to see you again, Tom. Such a pleasant surprise.’ She didn’t want to leave him. There was so much to say, so much ground to cover. Damn Ned for being around. Damn Florrie. Damn Old Man Brisco. Damn them all. ‘It’s nice to see you looking so well.’

  ‘You, too, Clover. You don’t look any different to how you did before. Marriage evidently suits you.’

  She looked tellingly into his
eyes and shook her head.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Leastwise not with…’ She inclined her head again in the direction of the barbershop quartet and Ned.

  The sudden silence between them was noticeable. Tom felt he should respond but could not think of anything relevant to say. He was also inhibited from saying anything in front of Clover’s daughter. Then an idea struck him.

  ‘Why don’t you bring Posy along to the studio to have her photo taken?’

  Clover smiled delightedly. What a brilliant idea. ‘Yes, why don’t I? When could I?’

  Tom shrugged, his eyes dancing with expectation. ‘Whenever you want. Whenever you can. Afternoon’s best. As you know, I tend to be quieter late afternoon.’ He gave her a look that suggested he still felt something for her and her heart pounded once more.

  At first, Clover could hardly believe she’d met Tom Doubleday again after three years of studiously avoiding him. In the days that followed the meeting her head was full of him. Over and over, their conversation ran through her mind. Each time, she analysed his words and the images she carried of his expressions, trying to recall whether she’d left out any bits, trying to glean whether he still loved her. She had the feeling that he did and it gladdened her heart; not that it could do her much good; she was, after all, a married woman, albeit married to the wrong man.

  The thing that really convinced her of his love was his suggestion that she take Posy to his studio for some photographs. Of course, she would love to, but there was the distinct possibility that all those painful memories would be churned up along with her long-stifled emotions and she would not be able to sleep at night for thinking about him. Because, sadly, her marriage precluded any hope of them ever being together.

  So she avoided going. Rather, she avoided going till her bursting heart dictated that she could put it off no longer. Besides, it would be a shame not to have any photos of Posy at age two and a half to look back on, when she was such a joy and so pretty to behold. So, in the late afternoon of a warm September day, she finally plucked up the courage to make the most of herself, dress Posy in her best dress and visit Tom Doubleday’s studio.