Forever Yours

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘Aye, and I’m sure she will be. We’ll keep the matter of your part in it to ourselves though, all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s what Constance and I agreed,’ Rebecca said eagerly. ‘She was so nice, Da, and beautiful. To think you saved her life all them years ago when she was just a baby.’

  Matt turned away. He couldn’t take any more of this. He’d known full well where Rebecca had gone the minute he’d got in and found she wasn’t here, and it was as well for the lass she hadn’t walked in at that moment because he wouldn’t have been responsible for his actions. Dear gussy . . . He reached for his cup on the table and drained the last of his tea before saying, ‘Put the kettle on, hinny, and we’ll have a fresh brew.’

  What a day. When the roof had fallen and he’d heard the scream, he’d somehow known it was his da. Flesh calling to flesh. George and Andrew had been the same. Between them they’d got him out and into the cage, but looking at his da’s leg then he’d felt the old man’s days down the pit were over. And not before time too. For the last year or so his da had left a shift grim and quiet and looking as though he could hardly put one foot in front of the other. He was coming up for seventy; he should be enjoying the little time he’d got left pottering about and sitting and talking with his pals over a bevy come evening, but there were few miners who could afford to stop until they were too broken-down to do anything else – and by then it usually meant they were having all the rest they wanted in a wooden box within weeks. Most of his da’s pals couldn’t walk more than a yard or two without stopping to catch their breath, and nearly all of them had bad backs and gammy legs and goodness knows what.

  Rebecca had taken off her hat and coat and changed into her slippers. Now she put the kettle on and bustled about setting the table. He caught her hand as she passed him, his voice soft as he said, ‘You’re a good lass, none better.’ And he meant it. She tried to look after him and keep the house running smoothly and rarely thought of herself, bless her. ‘And I know you did what you did for your gran, but what if Mr and Mrs Turner had found out what you were about? No more jaunts, eh, lass?’ He smiled to soften the admonition.

  ‘No more, Da. I promise.’

  But the damage was done. He had hoped to avoid Constance over the next little while and, in the unlikely event that their paths crossed, be cordial and polite whilst intimating he had no intention of presuming on their former friendship just because she was now a wealthy woman in her own right. Rebecca’s little escapade had put paid to that. Had Constance felt obliged to invite them round on Sunday? He groaned inwardly. Probably. And now he was going to look like a damn fool whatever he did. Dear gussy, what a mess . . .

  The next morning, Matt dressed in clean clothes from his underwear up after taking a bath in front of the range once Rebecca had gone to work. He didn’t question why he did this. He knew it was all to do with the scent of Constance that had tormented his senses for days after the last time he had seen her. A scent which had nothing to do with the cloying cheap eau de Cologne some lasses favoured and which he’d never particularly liked, and all to do with donning freshly laundered clothes after a warm scented bath, of having clean hair and clean nails.

  He inspected himself in front of the thin mottled mirror on the back of the wardrobe door once he was ready to leave the house. He was as clean as soap and water could make him, he thought wryly, walking down the stairs and pulling on his Sunday greatcoat and best cap, both of which were beginning to show the signs of wear. But they would have to do. He looked every inch what he was, a working-class man, and he didn’t intend to apologise for it either.

  On the walk to Appleby Cottage he didn’t allow himself to think about what he was going to say or do. He concentrated on covering the distance as quickly as he could and kept his mind blank. It hadn’t snowed again since the day before. The sky had cleared at some point during the evening and a heavy frost had fallen through the night. Now, at half-past nine in the morning, the air was thin and sharp and the blue sky high without a cloud to be seen. In other circumstances he would have enjoyed such a morning in the fresh air.

  When he reached the cottage, he didn’t pause before he opened the gate and made his way to the front door. He wouldn’t have admitted it to a living soul but if he had paused, he felt he would have stood there all morning trying to work up the courage to face her. He brought the brass knocker down hard and immediately a dog answered from within the house, barking ferociously. So she had a guard dog? That was good. One of the things which had kept him awake the last couple of nights was the remoteness of the Colonel’s place. He closed his eyes for an instant. Constance’s place. Admittedly there was a farm at the very end of the lane which finished at Tan Hills Wood, and the odd small cottage scattered about, but none close to Appleby Cottage.

  When the door opened he realised he was holding his breath. She was wearing a deep blue dress and her hair was coiled at the back of her head, and her eyes opened wide at seeing him.

  ‘Matt.’ Her voice, like her eyes, was warm and welcoming. ‘What a nice surprise. Come in, please.’ She was holding the dog’s collar and as it growled, she added, ‘No, Jake. Friend,’ before looking at him and saying, ‘He’s fine, really, but he seems to be wary of men. He’s the Colonel’s old dog but I think between them dying and me coming he’s had a rough time fending for himself, poor thing.’

  ‘Hello, boy.’ Matt extended his hand for the animal to sniff and after a moment the big rangy body relaxed.

  ‘Come in,’ Constance said again, and as he followed her into the house and she led the way into the sitting room he was aware of a medley of colour on the perimeter of his vision although he couldn’t take his gaze off her golden hair.

  When she turned to face him their eyes met and held, but hers almost immediately fell away as she said quietly, ‘I’m so sorry about Tilly. It must have been awful for you and Rebecca.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, it was.’ The voice didn’t sound like his own; it was stiff, cold.

  ‘Come and sit down by the fire and I’ll take your hat and coat. Would you like a hot drink? It’s so cold outside.’

  He didn’t answer this, nor did he move from his spot just inside the room. ‘I know Rebecca came to see you yesterday.’ He hadn’t meant for it to sound so abrupt but having started, he continued, ‘She shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.’

  Now it was Constance who stiffened and her voice was cool when she said, ‘Really? I take it you mean for some reason other than she should have been at work?’

  ‘She asked you to go and see my mother, didn’t she?’

  ‘And what’s wrong in that? I was going to go anyway as I told her, once I’d settled in and the weather improved.’

  ‘That would have been up to you but she was wrong to ask.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  He had taken his cap off on entering the house and now he was unaware that he was turning it round and round in his hands. ‘You have been away for a long time and things change, people change. I told her that to presume on a past friendship is asking too much. It is up to you who you see and where you go, and she had no right to ask anything of you. She had never even met you before yesterday.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought true friendship is the one thing which never changes.Your mother is my friend. I – I thought you were my friend.’

  This was killing him. Brusquely he nodded. ‘I am.’ His gaze moved from her to travel swiftly round the room before coming to rest on her face again. ‘But things aren’t the same now, you must see that.’ She did not reply, and he forced himself to go on, ‘Your world is very different to mi— to ours. Your grandma once said to me some years after you’d left the village that you had outgrown us and she was right.’

  ‘My grandma said that?’ There was a wealth of hurt in her voice.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, she was very proud of you. She used to tell my mother how you travelled abroad, that you could speak different languages, that you were having
an education. Things any other lass from these parts would look on as impossible.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not still me.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Well, then . . .’

  ‘Constance, you grew up in a mining village.You know what it’s like. Most folk don’t have two farthings to rub together and there’s many a family who duck down under the window and lock the door when the rent man’s due. Folk live in fear of the workhouse from the day they’re born and with good cause, and the pit’s a fickle master. Every so often it demands the blood of those who serve it. But that’s how it is, that’s how it’s always been. The pit owners and the managers and the wealthy on one side; ordinary folk on the other, and a great divide between.’

  ‘And – and you think I’m on the other side to your mam and you and ordinary folk now?’ she asked, white-faced.

  ‘Aren’t you?’ he asked grimly.

  ‘No!’ It was a cry of anguish and the dog at her side moved restlessly, growling softly before whining.

  ‘I’d better leave.’ He had said way, way too much.

  ‘I’m not,’ she protested again. ‘I can’t help the way things have turned out, the Ashtons being so kind to me and all, but their generosity doesn’t make me any different from the girl I was before I left here. I’ve seen a different way of life and been places, I know that, but I’m still me inside. What do you think I should have done then? Refused to ever be more than a scullerymaid? Is that it?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You say that, but that’s what you’re implying.’

  He had upset her and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and make love to her, but that had never been more impossible. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Well, why did you?’

  ‘I needed to explain why we can’t come on Sunday.’

  If it was possible, her face went whiter. ‘Don’t you mean won’t?’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘And am I banned from seeing your mam too? Are you forbidding me to go round there?’

  His voice sharper than he intended, he said, ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Silly?’

  He had thought for a moment she was going to cry and he knew that would have broken him, but he had forgotten about her temper. It was rare it had come to the surface when she’d been a child, but when it did it had been generally acknowledged that it was better not to get in her way. But he was in her way now.

  ‘How dare you call me silly after you’ve had the nerve to come here and warn me off from speaking to your family. Anyone would think I was a woman of loose morals, a bad influence, the way you’ve gone on. And what’s my crime? Working hard all my life for genuinely good people who wanted to reward me for what they saw as saving their son’s life. It could have been any one of a number of people in the yard that day, but it happened to be me – and you know what? I’m not sorry. If you want me to apologise for the things I’ve seen and done and experienced over the last ten years, and the money they insisted on giving me when they left England for good, then forget it. I’m me. Me.’ She dug a finger in her chest. ‘And whether I had one pound to my name or one thousand or ten thousand, I’d still be the same. Do you know what you are, Matt Heath? You’re an upstart.’

  His own temper on the boil, he grated, ‘The hell I am.’

  ‘Oh yes, you are. There are many different ways to be an upstart and you’ve picked the nastiest of all, inverted snobbery. If I had come back home without a penny to my name, you wouldn’t have minded Rebecca coming to see me and asking me to call on your mam, but because you’re a man, a self-centred, egotistical, bigoted man who thinks he’s God’s gift and an authority on everything, you’re determined to think I’ve changed.’

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘No.’ The veneer of the last decade had fallen away and, hands on hips, she gave vent to the pain of years which had accumulated to overflowing with his words that morning. She couldn’t have said in this moment whether she loved or hated him, she only knew she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. ‘You’re a coward into the bargain. You’re worried what people might say if you and Rebecca and her young man were seen coming here, aren’t you? Worried they might get the wrong idea, that they’d think you were after a bob or two? At base level, that’s what this is all about – what other people might think.You don’t care about Rebecca or me or your mam, not really. It’s all about you and your stupid manly pride. You obviously wish I’d never come back here. Well, surprise, surprise, so do I. I hate you!’ And now she felt herself really regress to childhood as she stamped her foot, beside herself with rage and frustration.

  Again Jake growled, glaring at Matt as though he was the one carrying-on, and as the dog’s distress got through to Constance, she felt the anger drain away, her voice dull as she murmured, ‘It’s all right, boy, it’s all right. Easy, Jake, easy.’

  Matt’s face had a stricken look to it but his voice was tight when he stated the obvious. ‘I’ve upset you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘No.’

  He turned, but almost in the same movement swung back to face her. ‘I never said I wished you hadn’t come back.’

  Quietly now, she said, ‘Not in so many words, no.’ She watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. He was embarrassed, she thought woodenly, and no wonder. She had made a fool of herself. And yelling at him like that with Tilly only having been gone a matter of months. As if he hadn’t enough to deal with. These thoughts reverberated in her head but they were strangely without emotion.

  ‘I – I know my mam would like to see you. When you’ve got the time, that is. And I’d be pleased if you visited her.’

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. If she could just hold on to this numbness until he had gone she would be all right. He had said she had changed but so had he. Oh yes, so had he.

  And then this last thought was blown asunder when their eyes met. For a fleeting moment it was all there; his need, his longing, his love and desire, like those other moments in time which she’d carried in her heart even as she’d doubted if they’d happened afterwards or whether her love for him had conjured them up in her imagination. He breathed her name but even as she swayed towards him he had stepped through the doorway into the hall, opening the front door and then shutting it behind him.

  Constance remained still for a full minute, her ears straining as she listened for his returning footsteps. He couldn’t leave like this. He couldn’t. If he went now he wouldn’t come back again, she knew that.

  After a while she sat down and Jake came and put his head in her lap, one paw resting on her knee as though he knew the feeling of aloneness that was in her, an aloneness that was crushing her mind and spirit and bringing such desolation it was unbearable. And it was some more minutes before she put her arms round the furry body and began to cry.

  Chapter 22

  Polly watched Vincent as he left the house that evening. She knew where he was going because she had followed him several nights ago, certain he was making for Appleby Cottage now he knew the Shelton girl was back. She could pinpoint the very day he found out that Constance had returned because that was the first time he’d left after dinner and been out most of the night. She had known about Constance a day or two before that, but she hadn’t let on. However, the day after she’d followed him, she had gone to Appleby Cottage once Vincent had left for work and warned the lass he was watching her.

  Polly moved away from the window and walked into the kitchen, and as she began to wash the dirty dishes she was thinking about what Constance had said that day. The lass had been friendly, offering her a cup of tea and thanking her for coming, but she had said she was already on her guard and had taken measures to protect herself, should any unwelcome visitors call. Which was all very well, thought Polly, but the lass didn’t knowVincent like she did. But she hoped she’d said enough to
make Constance especially vigilant – and there was the dog to give the alarm.

  She continued to chew the matter over in her mind, and once the dishes were done and the kitchen was spick and span, she walked into the sitting room with a mug of hot milk and sat in front of the fire. It had been lovely the last few evenings when he hadn’t been at home. Normally she sat in the kitchen until bedtime but she was always on edge in case he might come to the doorway and beckon her with one finger as he was apt to do when he wanted her in his bedroom. That was a rare occurrence now, but since the time of Constance’s grandmother’s funeral when she’d heard the lass tell him what was what, it seemed as if more devils had been let loose in him. A couple of times she’d been in such pain the next day she hadn’t been able to leave her bed and thought she was going to die. And all he’d done was look at her with those dead eyes from the bedroom doorway and then gone about his business without a word until she was back on her feet again.

  After a while she made herself another hot drink and cut a generous slab of Christmas cake from the half-cake they still had left, bringing it back to the sitting room and toasting her toes on the fender while she ate. Constance was so lucky to have that bonny cottage all to herself without anyone to wait on or see to. How she would love that. To be able to please herself from first thing in the morning until last thing at night was her idea of heaven. And she would have a couple of cats. No, half a dozen to keep her company. She liked cats but Vincent had banned them from the house and garden and threw water at any that ventured near when he was about. He didn’t like the way they caught birds and played with them before they killed them. He said they were the only animals he knew that were cruel for cruelty’s sake. Him, to call anything cruel! Her lip curled.

  She was dozing when the clock on the mantelpiece chimed eleven o’clock. More asleep than awake, she banked down the fire in the sitting room with damp slack before seeing to the one in the range in the kitchen, put out the lamps and made sure the back door was bolted and the front door was locked. Vincent always came in and out of the house by the front door and carried a key. Then she made her way to her bedroom and undressed down to her shift, snuggling under the covers and falling asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.