Forever Yours
Page 18
‘No, it was Miss Newton’s when she was my age. Her da – her father – gave it to her. It’s a collection of poems for children.’
Rebecca’s voice was flat now, and as Tilly turned to the range and took a covered dish from the oven, Matt leaned across and took the book before Rebecca could put it away. ‘It’s grand,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve got bits from Wordsworth, Shakespeare and Tennyson in here, lass, to whet the appetite for more. And Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha”, that’s a canny piece I remember from school.’ He began to recite:
‘At the door on summer evenings,
Sat the little Hiawatha;
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,
Heard the lapping of the waters,
Sounds of music, words of wonder . . .
‘We all had chunks of it to memorise, and some of the bairns couldn’t do more than a few lines, but I learned the whole thing, I liked it so much.’
Rebecca came to stand by his knee, her eyes shining, and quoted:
‘By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.’
‘Dark behind it rose the forest,
‘Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them—’
‘All right, all right,’ Tilly interrupted Matt, placing a steaming plate of shin of beef and black pudding with sliced potatoes in front of him. ‘It’s dinnertime in case you hadn’t caught on. Put that book away, Rebecca, and sit down.’
The child did as she was told but once they were all eating, she reached out and touched Matt’s arm. ‘Da?’
‘Aye, hinny?’
‘I didn’t know you liked poetry. Mam doesn’t so I must get it from you, mustn’t I?’
Matt looked into her eyes and saw the need there. ‘Aye, lass,’ he said softly. ‘You get it from me.’
They had finished their dinner. Rebecca was in the front room doing her homework and Tilly was clearing the dirty dishes from the kitchen table. When Matt drained his cup of tea and placed the cup on the saucer before standing up, Tilly stopped what she was doing and watched him as he pulled on his cap and jacket. ‘Where are you going?’
‘You told me Mrs Gray has just died. Mam’ll be upset.’
‘So you’re going to your mam’s?’ she said, hands on hips.
‘Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘No, if that’s where you are going.’
Matt stared at the tight, sour face of his wife and it came to him that he wasn’t the only one who looked older than his years. Conscious of Rebecca in the next room, he said quietly, ‘Mam will expect me to show my face. You know that as well as I do.’
Tilly said nothing to this and he had stepped down into the scullery and had his hand on the back-door latch when she spoke again. ‘I shall ask her tomorrow. Your mam, I’ll ask her.’
‘You do that,’ he said, without turning.
‘When you arrived and when you left.’
His shoulders stiffened as he looked at her. ‘Why the hell should you care where I go or what I do?’
Her set face contracted but her eyes were as hard as granite and they burned with her hate of him when she said, ‘I don’t, but I won’t be made a fool of. Just you remember that.’
His voice was even quieter than it had been in the kitchen, but his words came firm and were weighted with bitterness.
‘You’re one on your own, I’ll give you that. How you’ve got the gall to come out with that to me of all people, I don’t know.’
‘I warn you—’
‘Well, don’t.’ The sudden movement he made checked her voice although she knew he wouldn’t raise his hand to her. ‘You’ve got no right to tell me what to do, none whatsoever.’
‘I’m your wife. That gives me the right.’
‘A few words spoken over a couple in church and a bit of paper doesn’t make a wife in my book. You’ve never been my wife.’
‘How dare you. How dare you say that?’
‘How dare I?’ said Matt, his words hard and clipped. ‘Let me make something plain once and for all, Tilly. You’re nothing to me, less than nothing. You have no rights, no claim on me as a husband as far as I’m concerned, and we both know why.’
‘You’re cruel.’ Her face was white. ‘Even if what you think was true, and it’s not, the way you’ve been all these years would have far outweighed my crime. You’re heartless, vicious.’
‘If I am it’s because you’ve made me so.’ His voice was full of contempt. ‘But I don’t see what you’ve got to complain about. You got what you wanted – a ring on your finger and a licence to say you’re a married woman with her good name intact. I’d say that’s better than the workhouse any day, because likely that’s where you would have ended up.’
‘There’re many times over the last years I’ve thought anything, including the workhouse, would be better than being married to you. If you knew the times I’ve thought of leaving you.’
‘Then it’s a pity you didn’t go, isn’t it?’
‘I hate you.’ Her voice quivered with anger. ‘I really hate you.’
‘So you’ve said before.’ His voice held a note of deep weariness in it now, partly because in a secret recess of his mind he had to acknowledge there was an element of truth in what she said. Her punishment had exceeded the wrong she’d done him. He had begun to think this way shortly after Rebecca’s devotion to him had melted his heart towards the child, but by then the state of war which existed between him and Tilly had been too fierce and bitter for withdrawal. Maybe if she had been honest with him at some point, confessed and asked his forgiveness, there might have been some hope for them. But how could you forgive someone who was adamant they’d done nothing to merit blame? Even God Himself expected repentance and remorse. Not that he was setting himself up on a par with the Almighty. Since his marriage he’d barely crossed the church door and he knew Father Duffy thought he was on the path to hell and damnation. Tilly, on the other hand, went to Mass every week, taking Rebecca along with her, as befitted a good wife and mother.
This last thought caused his mouth to tighten and he turned from Tilly’s glare, opening the back door and stepping out into the warm September evening. This time she made no effort to detain him and he shut the door quietly behind him.
Inside the house Tilly remained where she was for a full minute. She’d see her day with him. By, she would. Mr High and Mighty. If it hadn’t been for the fact her belly was full with Rebecca she’d have left him in the early days of their marriage, run off somewhere far away from Sacriston where the shame and scandal of such an action wouldn’t reach her. She could have done it. She nodded mentally to the thought.
But she had stayed. And what had happened? Slowly he had taken her child from her. Oh yes, he had. She inclined her head as though someone had refuted this. At first he had wanted nothing to do with the baby. Oh, he’d put on an act when they were visiting his mam for a while, but eventually he’d stopped doing even that. He’d wanted no say in anything to do with Rebecca, and in a funny sort of way she hadn’t minded. Rebecca had been hers, all hers, and her daughter’s dependence on her had helped negate the terrible feelings that burned her up as night after night she’d lain in that bed next to Matt, her body aching for release, knowing he didn’t want her. She disgusted him, that’s what he’d said when she’d tried to make it up with him. She was repulsive to him.
Slowly she released her fingers which were bunched into fists at her side. Walking back into the kitchen she made a pot of tea but all the time thoughts were racing round her head. It had been subtle, the way he’d turned Rebecca against her. She hadn’t seen it happening. But one day she’d woken up to the fact that the child adored him, worshipped him even. There was no one like her da as far as Rebecca was concerned. Her da . . .
Tilly’s lip curled even as she blinked away hot tears. W
hat she’d give to be able to tell Rebecca her da was a white-collar worker, someone with a proper education, not a dirty, ignorant miner scratching away in the bowels of the earth like a filthy animal. No, she didn’t mean that, she told herself in the next moment. Her da was a miner and his da before him, and they were good, upright men – decent men.
She shut her eyes, swaying back and forth as she sat at the table and then, taking a hold of herself, she poured a cup of tea and forced herself to drink it scalding hot. It helped restore her equilibrium and she poured herself another cup, holding it between her hands as she stared pensively across the room. She didn’t doubt Matt would go and see his mother, not after the things she’d said before he left, but would he go round to Molly’s too? Her stomach churned sickeningly, even as she asked herself why it would matter if he did. When she could find no logical answer within herself to this, she repeated the words she’d flung at Matt: I won’t be made a fool of.
‘Has Da gone out? I didn’t hear him go.’
Rebecca was standing in the doorway, her homework book in one hand. Tilly nodded. ‘Aye, he’s gone to Grandma Heath’s. I’m afraid Mrs Gray passed away yesterday and your grandma’ll be upset. Your da’s gone to see if there’s anything he can do.’
‘Oh, poor Mrs Gray. I liked her. She told me about how Da had rescued her granddaughter from the fire before I was born. He was a hero, she said. He saved Constance Shelton’s life.’
It was too much in view of the evening’s events. Her voice stiff, Tilly said, ‘I think anyone would have done the same in your da’s position. He happened to be there, that’s all.’
Rebecca’s chin went up a notch. She didn’t speak, she didn’t have to. Her eyes were very expressive.
Tilly’s face tightened. ‘Have you finished your homework?’
‘I was going to ask Da something, but it’ll wait until tomorrow.’ Rebecca’s tone stated very clearly that she had no intention of discussing whatever it was with her mother.
Her da, always her da. ‘Then I suggest you get yourself to bed after you’ve packed away your things.’
It was another hour before her bedtime but Rebecca didn’t argue. With one last telling look she swung round and flounced off, her brown plaits bobbing as she tossed her head.
Tilly pressed her hands either side of her nose, struggling for control. She wanted to race after her daughter and box her ears, but the way she was feeling she knew she might not stop at that. Besides which, it wouldn’t really be Rebecca she was hitting.
She was nothing but a skivvy in this house. As her anger cooled, despair took its place. She washed and cooked and cleaned and each day was the same. She couldn’t stand it any more. If he didn’t come straight home from his mam’s, if he went to Molly’s place then she’d go and see Rupert about that part-time job he had offered her a while ago. She’d started speaking to him again recently – for years he’d treated her as just another customer when she’d gone into the post office, and pride had forbidden her to press for more. Then at the beginning of the summer she had met him while she was doing her shopping and he’d stopped to chat. She’d been cool with him that day, but the next time she’d gone into the post office he’d left his assistant in charge and followed her outside. She’d known his wife was ailing, it was common knowledge Nancy Wood had taken to her bed and declared herself an invalid after her seventh bairn had been born at the beginning of the year, but when he’d suggested she might like to put in a few hours’ cooking and cleaning for them she hadn’t known how to take it at first. He would pay her well, he’d entreated. Very well.
Rebecca’s feet padding up the stairs broke into her thoughts, then her daughter’s bedroom door opened and closed and all was silent once more. For a moment Tilly considered going up and making her peace with the child, but just as swiftly she dismissed the notion. If Rebecca wanted to sulk, then she could; she was sick and tired of her moods.
Her mind returning to the matter in hand, she recalled Rupert’s words. It appeared his wife’s mother had taken the bairns in hand. He took them to her every morning and she brought them home at bedtime, he’d told her, so there wouldn’t be any childcare involved, just preparing a main meal for the evening after he’d locked up downstairs, and seeing to the house and any laundry. He would have got someone in before, he’d murmured, but he hadn’t wanted a stranger in the house. And she wasn’t a stranger. His eyes had been soft with the look that had used to thrill her when she’d been young and foolish.
When he’d begun to say how much he had missed her, she’d stopped him with a sharp movement of her hand. She would think about his offer and let him know, she’d said coolly, but if she agreed to help for a few hours a day it would purely be a business arrangement. But even as she’d spoken she had known she wanted him.
That had been a few weeks ago and she hadn’t mentioned anything to Matt because she was sure he’d create merry hell if she suggested working outside the house, besides which she had taken a perverse pleasure in making Rupert wait for an answer. But the more the notion had played in her mind, the more she’d liked the idea of earning her own money and having some independence, although she wasn’t sure if the furore it would cause at home would be worth it. But if he hotfooted it to Molly’s tonight to see that little scut she’d have her answer.
Her chin lifted, much as Rebecca’s had done earlier.
Chapter 14
When Matt left his mother’s house and stepped into the backyard, the moon was riding high in a black sky, the heat of the day still evident in the warm lazy air and the smell of the privies which were due for clearing out by the scavengers with their cart and long shovels. Once in the back lane he walked purposefully and without hesitation: wild horses couldn’t have kept him from seeing Constance. When he had told his mother that he intended to call round and pay his respects, she’d been all for it.
‘Oh aye, lad,’ she’d said at once, patting his arm. ‘They’d appreciate it, I’m sure, and Constance would like to see you again. She’s took it hard, her grandma going like that, and I daresay she’s regretting going away, but then that was her choice. Still, I did feel sorry for her this afternoon when I popped round. She barely said more than a word or two the whole time I was there.’
That didn’t surprise him. His mother could talk the hind leg off a donkey when she got going, and Molly was the same.
When he reached Blackett Street the air was sweeter. It was the last street in the New Town development and backed on to open fields, and the heady scent of freshly cut hay wafted on the faint breeze from the surrounding countryside. Normally he would have stopped for some minutes and taken great gulps, filling his lungs to the brim. After the stench and dust of the mine, such moments were precious. Tonight though, his senses barely registered the gentle perfume.
He was going to see her. After all these years he was going to look at her again, listen to her voice, touch her hand maybe. His mother had said she thought Constance was somewhat changed, but when his father had laughed and pointed out that the lass had been little more than a bairn when she’d left the village twelve years ago, she hadn’t said anything more. He’d wanted to ask her exactly what she’d meant but the chance had passed. Anyway, he’d see her for himself soon.
When he reached Molly and Edwin’s doorstep it took him three tries before he could bring himself to follow through and sound the door-knocker. The few seconds before the front door was opened seemed like hours, but then Molly was peering at him and saying, ‘Matt, is that you? Come in, lad, come in. Why didn’t you come round the back? We thought it must be Father Duffy about the funeral. He said he’d call by this evening but he sent a message to say he’d been held up.’
‘I just called to say I was sorry about your mam . . .’ He found he was talking to thin air. Molly had disappeared down the hall, obviously expecting him to follow, and he could hear her saying, ‘It’s all right, Ed, it’s only Matt. You needn’t put your jacket on. It’s not the Father.’
‘Thanks, lad. It was a shock, I admit it, especially because she hadn’t really had a day’s illness in her life to speak of, but now I’ve had time to think, I know it was the way she would have wanted to go. She had a horror of lingering. But here, come and sit down, lad, and take the weight off. Can I get you a cup of tea? And I bet you can manage a bit of fruitcake.’
Edwin was sitting in a high-backed wooden chair with thick flock cushions, his slippered feet resting on the shining steel fender in front of the range, but otherwise the kitchen was empty. She wasn’t there. For a moment Matt’s disappointment was so keen he couldn’t speak. Then he nodded. ‘Thanks, Molly.’ He smiled at Edwin who inclined his head in reply without taking his pipe out of his mouth, and then pulled out a chair and sat down at the table which had a vase of wild flowers in the centre of it.
‘I can’t really believe she’s gone yet.’ Molly bustled about, making the tea and fetching a big fruitcake to the table. ‘It’s a blessing Constance is here – it’ll sort of ease me into it, if you know what I mean. We used to have a crack or two, Mam an’ me, an’ never a cross word. Edwin’ll miss her too, won’t you, lad?’
‘Aye.’
‘They used to have some right old debates about this and that when he got home from work. Great one for reading the paper and keeping up with what was going on, was Mam. And she was all for the suffragettes. Edwin thinks the lot of ’em ought to be put away, isn’t that right, Edwin?’
‘Aye.’
‘Meself, I don’t read much. I mean, it’s all doom and gloom in the papers, isn’t it, and there’s enough of that in daily life without going looking for more. That’s what I always say, isn’t it, Edwin?’