Union Belle

by Deborah Challinor

  She moved to sit with the women as the men talked on, raising their voices above the noise of the band—a three-piece this time, and evidently committed to playing Irish tunes. The children were making the most of the lively music, hurling themselves about in approximations of how they perceived Irish dancing should be done, and shrieking with laughter whenever one of them fell over, or let go during a hectic spin and went whirling out across the floor. Young Evan Paget banged into Nora Bone, who was almost sent flying, and received a clip across the ear from his father for it.

  Ellen laughed at their antics along with everyone else, but all the time she was aware that Jack was sitting only feet away from her. And so was Tom. Was Jack watching her now? She dared not turn around to find out, and she knew she couldn’t possibly summon the courage to move over and talk to him.

  In the end he came to her, and asked her for a dance. He’d already been around the floor with Milly, and Lorna, and even Rhea, who was surprisingly graceful and light on her feet, and Ellen wondered if he’d left her until last for a reason.

  She accepted his hand and they moved onto the dance floor, keeping clear of the children who were still leaping about like dervishes.

  ‘I thought you were avoiding me,’ she said almost immediately, surprising herself.

  He looked down at her. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘I haven’t seen you all week. And I thought, after last Friday…’

  ‘I’ve been out of town since Monday. I only got back this morning.’

  Ellen stared at him; nobody had told her that. But then why would they?

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Ohura. Pat decided it might be a good idea if I went down and had a yarn with the jokers I used to work with, find out what the story is with them, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ellen said. She was such a conceited fool, thinking she mattered to him enough for him to deliberately avoid her. She looked down at the floor quickly, feeling her face grow hot.

  ‘So why?’ he said to the top of her head.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why would I be avoiding you?’

  Ellen hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘Because I got drunk and you had to take me home and I vomited everywhere,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘God, what on earth did you think of me?’

  Jack threw back his head and laughed so hard that Ellen could see he had a back tooth missing. Assuming he was laughing at her she pulled away, shrivelling inside with embarrassment.

  He grasped her wrist and drew her back. ‘No, Ellen, that didn’t bother me. You were funny, though.’

  ‘I’m glad you thought so. I, um, I didn’t say anything to you, did I?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, anything I shouldn’t have said.’

  ‘You did swear.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, quite impressively, too.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean swearing. I meant anything, well, personal, about you. And me.’ She flinched; this was excruciating.

  He stopped dancing, and the couple behind them barrelled into him. With deliberate emphasis, he said, ‘I think, Ellen, that if you had said anything like that, I would have remembered it.’

  She stared at him, unable to break away from his gaze, and they stood toe-to-toe, motionless, while all around them couples danced and kids skittered about and the band bashed out a galloping version of ‘The Banks of Roses’.

  ‘Move,’ she hissed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Move! Keep dancing. Someone will notice.’

  He took her meaning instantly, and stepped smoothly forward and into a turn. She let the pressure of his hand on her back guide her, but he was obviously distracted because they banged straight into someone else. Ellen turned to apologise and saw that it was Andrea Trask, glowering at her from beneath beautifully arched brows.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Andrea,’ she said. ‘How clumsy of me.’

  Andrea said nothing.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Jack insisted. ‘I’m supposed to be leading. Sorry.’

  Andrea smiled, a little soft one especially for Jack. ‘I’ll accept your apology if you promise to ask me for a dance,’ she said, twirling a strand of her shining black hair around her finger so energetically that Ellen thought it might snap off.

  Andrea’s youthful dancing partner folded his arms and looked down at his shoes in resignation.

  ‘I’d be delighted to dance with you, Andrea,’ Jack replied, ‘just as soon as I’m free.’

  Andrea simpered at him again, shot a triumphant glance at Ellen and walked off, leaving her partner to trail along behind her.

  Jack watched her go. ‘Christ, she’s a piece of work, that one.’

  ‘You don’t fancy her, then?’

  About as much as I fancy using my arm as a sprag.’

  Ellen laughed; a sprag was a piece of timber used to jam into the spokes of a moving coal skip to slow it down.

  When the next song ended he went off to fulfil his promise and Ellen sat down, her mood effervescent now with the knowledge that whatever she thought had gone wrong, or been ruined, or turned sour, hadn’t.

  ‘Have you just found a ten-pound note?’ Milly asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’

  ‘Do I? No, it’s just good to be out, that’s all.’

  Milly nodded. ‘It is, isn’t it? Everyone seems to be having a good time and to hell with the strike.’

  ‘Well, St Patrick’s Day only comes once a year.’

  ‘Even though there’s hardly any Paddies in Pukemiro,’ Milly said with a giggle.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I think there’s probably at least a drop of Irish blood in most of us. And what about the O’Malleys, they’re first generation. And the Kennys. And anyway, does it matter? It’s exactly what we need, don’t you think? Everyone’s letting their hair down.’

  ‘Andrea Trask certainly is. Look at her over there with Jack.’

  Ellen looked. Andrea had let her hair down, literally; it had been pinned up before but now it was swinging freely as she danced. But Ellen only smiled, because it didn’t matter what Andrea Trask did now.

  As usual she went home early with the boys, leaving Tom to sit with his mates and roar out the words to ‘Dirty Old Town’.

  He wasn’t late home. She was still awake when he came in, and was pleased to see he was in a much better mood than the one he’d gone out in. She kissed him goodnight and lay beside him, listening to his breathing as it gradually slowed and he slid into sleep. But she remained awake for some time, going over snatches of conversation, words and looks and touches, and trying to make some sense of what was happening to her.

  The following fortnight brought nothing but more bad news. The emergency regulations were extended and Holland went on the radio appealing for scabs to join the proposed new unions at every port around the country. Worse, freezing workers at Westfield, Ocean Beach and Mataura went back to work, and so did drivers and cool-store workers in Dunedin.

  Something else ominous was going on, too. After Barnes’ refusal to accept Holland’s plan, Prendiville and Crook had resigned from the negotiating committee of the United Mine Workers’ Union and turned their backs on the watersiders. They’d refused, however, to step down from the miners’ national council, despite rumblings from the rank and file that they should get out altogether, and were pushing for a secret ballot, which they maintained was official UMWU policy. Then Prendiville was spotted going around Huntly at night in a taxi, calling on opencast miners at their homes and talking to them, trying to get them to agree to vote in a secret ballot to return to work. Although the underground miners didn’t think Prendiville’s meddling would amount to much, it could potentially be quite dangerous and was something they would have to keep an eye on.

  Then, on 29 March, the 1000 hydro workers at Mangakino striking against the emergency regulations voted to go back to work, followed closely by most o
f the country’s railwaymen. It was a devastating assault on the morale of the unions still standing firm.

  But on the following evening, there was trouble much closer to home. Tom had returned from the Friday meeting in Auckland tired, short-tempered and despondent. The rain, which had been pelting down all day, had made his trip home miserable, and he’d eaten in silence, glaring through the kitchen window as if the wet were to blame for everything that was going bad.

  Later, in bed, he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling until Ellen wondered if he would ever fall asleep. But he finally did, and then it started: the twitching and jerking, the mutterings and the sudden shouts that told her he was having one of his nightmares. A sharp smell began to come off him, and Ellen touched his chest to confirm what she already knew, that he was slippery with the sweat of pure fear. She sat up, wondering whether she should wake him, but sometimes it was best not to as hauling him out of his nightmares seemed to disorient him even more.

  Then she heard the scream, short, sharp and eerily high-pitched, and it took her several seconds to realise that the sound hadn’t come from Tom. It came again, and she turned her head to listen more closely. When it came a third time she threw back the covers, got out of bed and padded on bare feet across to the window. She pulled the curtain back. Outside, the moon was half full and the rain looked like tiny pellets of silver coming down from the sky.

  And then she jerked back in shock—on Bert and Dot’s back lawn lay a shape shrouded in white, like a bundle of soggy washing. It moved, and Ellen’s hand flew to her mouth as she suddenly realised what it was. Dot was out there, in the rain, lying on the wet grass, screaming.

  She ran back to the bed and shook Tom roughly. He yelled and lashed out at her, his forearm catching her across her neck and knocking her onto the floor. By the time she’d got back up he was sitting up and looking wildly around.

  Dot screamed again.

  Tom jumped. ‘What the fuck was that?’

  Ellen shoved her feet into a pair of shoes and yanked on a cardigan. ‘It’s Dot, she’s outside in the rain.’

  She hurried into the hall, stopping for a second to make sure the boys were still asleep, and ran through to the kitchen and out the back door. Lunging down the slippery steps, she crossed the soggy lawn to the narrow gap in the hedge that separated the Sisleys’ property from their own. She turned sideways and scraped through.

  Dot was on her hands and knees near the swing Bert had made for the kids when the second lot of twins had come along. Her cotton nightie was soaked and sticking to her thin body, and her hair was plastered to her scalp and across her face. Ellen thought she might be throwing up.

  But when she got closer she saw that Dot wasn’t being sick; she was rocking backwards and forwards, her face only inches from the ground, sobbing with her mouth stretched wide open and her eyes staring wildly. Then she hurled herself down again and let out another scream, muffled this time by the wet grass.

  Ellen crouched down and put her hand on Dot’s sopping back, feeling the bones there beneath cold flesh, and a violent, spasmodic shaking.

  ‘Dot, it’s Ellen!’

  There was no response. Then Tom was bending down beside her, rain running out of his hair and down his face. He hadn’t stopped to put a shirt on and goosebumps dotted his wet skin.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ He looked shocked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Then Bert was suddenly there, in his pyjamas and bare feet. He fell on his knees beside his wife. ‘I couldn’t find her,’ he cried, the panic in his voice raw. ‘She wasn’t in bed, and I couldn’t find her. What’s the matter with her? What’s she doing?’

  Tom pulled him away while Ellen remained crouching, stroking Dot’s back over and over.

  ‘Settle down, man,’ Tom said, his hand on Bert’s shoulder. ‘Come on, we’ll get the doctor.’

  Bert didn’t seem to hear. ‘Is she hurt? Is she bleeding? I hid all the knives.’

  Ellen felt her gorge rise at the thought that Dot might have harmed herself. Was she bleeding? It was so dark and wet she couldn’t tell.

  ‘Tom, help me turn her over.’

  Dot didn’t appear to be unconscious—she was whimpering and shaking her head slowly from side to side—but she didn’t seem aware of what was happening, or even where she was.

  While Bert stood watching, his face a picture of utter dismay, Tom rolled Dot gently over onto her back. Her nightie rode up and Ellen tugged it back down over her knees. As soon as Tom took his hands off her shoulders she curled into a tight little ball, but Ellen could see that there were no obvious dark patches on the whiteness of Dot’s clothes or her skin. But she couldn’t be sure; they would have to get her out of the rain for a good look.

  A small voice called out, ‘Dad?’ and Bert looked up, covered his face with his hands and started to cry.

  At the top of the steps to their house stood all five of his children, huddled close together, the bigger ones holding the hands of the little ones, their wan faces illuminated by the weak porch light.

  Ellen swallowed around a hard, burning lump in her throat. This was terrible; even Tom, normally so practical and able, seemed stunned. And the children, she thought her heart might break at the sight of them.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she called out. ‘Go inside, go on!’

  They stood staring a moment longer, then April began to shepherd them back into the house.

  Ellen turned back to Bert. ‘Help me get her inside. Can you go for the doctor, Tom?’

  He nodded, and ducked back through the hedge to grab a shirt and his boots before he went down the street to bang on the doctor’s door.

  Bert lifted Dot in his arms and carried her up the steps, through the kitchen where the children stood in silence, and into the bedroom. He set her carefully on the rumpled bed and together he and Ellen began to strip off her soaked nightie, which was smeared with mud and covered with bits of grass. There was more mud caked under her fingernails, her skin was wet and cold and she was worryingly blue around the mouth, although she was still muttering incomprehensibly. Her eyes were closed now, as if she’d had enough of looking at whatever had finally pushed her over the edge, although beneath the lids her eyes were moving restlessly about. Ellen dried her off and pulled the covers up over her.

  ‘Stay with her, Bert. I’ll make us all a cup of tea.’

  He nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, one of Dot’s limp hands between both of his, rubbing and rubbing the clammy skin as if he could somehow coax her back to normal just by doing that.

  Dr Airey arrived ten minutes later, water dripping off his coat and the collar of his pyjama jacket poking out of the neck of his jumper. He removed his hat, tapped it briskly to get the last of the rainwater off, and set it on the table.

  Tom asked April for a towel, and stood next to the coal range rubbing his wet hair vigorously as Dr Airey sat down and beckoned to the children.

  The doctor knew the Sisley family well. The younger kids were probably too little to understand what was going on, although of course they were aware that their mother was often unwell, but he thought it important that they not feel frightened. Tom had told him they’d found Dot lying on the lawn in the rain screaming her head off, and in his books that would be enough to frighten anyone, child or adult.

  The five of them shuffled over, April herding the others ahead of her, her hands protectively on the backs of the two youngest. Dr Airey sighed. Bert was a good man, a good provider and a caring father and husband, but it was clear that the eldest child, young though she was, had somewhere along the line taken upon herself the responsibility of looking after her siblings.

  ‘Now,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘You know Mum’s not feeling the best?’

  They all nodded solemnly.

  ‘She was in the rain, with no shoes on,’ Robert, the boy from the younger set of twins, said. His thumb crept into his mouth.

  ‘Was she? Fancy that!�
� the doctor said. ‘Now, I need to have a little talk with Mum, to find out why she isn’t feeling well, and then we’ll decide what to do after that, shall we?’

  Another round of nods.

  Bert came out then, and stood waiting by the door into the hall.

  Dr Airey said, ‘In the meantime, why don’t you ask Mrs McCabe to make you some hot cocoa?’ He glanced at Ellen. ‘Something to eat wouldn’t go amiss either. Something sweet.’

  Ellen nodded and started looking through the kitchen cupboards for the baking tin.

  ‘There aren’t any,’ Bert said, ‘if it’s biscuits you’re looking for. Dot hasn’t done any baking for a while.’

  ‘Sugar or honey in the cocoa will do, and perhaps a sandwich,’ the doctor said as he got to his feet.

  Bert followed him out of the kitchen, and Ellen set about making hot drinks and jam sandwiches.

  ‘Will you go and check on Neil and Davey?’ she asked Tom. She inclined her head at the children, who had arranged themselves around the kitchen table. ‘I think I should stay here for now.’

  ‘Don’t be long, though, will you?’ he said.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Ellen replied, although she was prepared to stay all night if she had to, and Tom knew it.

  ‘Let me know what’s happening, at least.’

  She gave him a quick kiss. ‘I will, don’t worry.’

  Bert was back out in less than fifteen minutes. He leaned against the bench and crossed his arms, and Ellen could see he was trying not to cry again. She said nothing, but simply waited until he was ready.

  ‘He said there’s nothing wrong with her physically as far as he can tell, except she’s a bit thin,’ he said finally. He drew in a deep breath, but even so his voice wobbled when he spoke again. ‘He said she’s had a major nervous breakdown.’

  Ellen nodded, her hands warm around the cup of tea she was holding.

  Bert turned around to stare through the darkened window at the rain. In a voice low enough for his children not to hear, he said, ‘She has to go into hospital, tonight. Dr Airey says he doesn’t think she’s safe. He’s going back to his house to ring an ambulance.’