He wondered what she did at the weekends. She certainly never came over to the pictures or the dances at the Victoria Hall. If only she didn’t live miles from anywhere it would be easier. Anyway, he made up his mind that a week on Monday he would meet her from work. He hadn’t considered yet what he would say to her, but he would come up with something before then. He felt a stirring in his loins and turned on his stomach, aiming to relieve himself just by thinking of Mary O’Connor. He hoped Ada Banwell kept their Harry occupied for a while. He wanted the bed to himself.
Madge had warned Mary that Jack Holmes meant to look out for her, but she was unprepared all the same when she came out of work on the Monday. She found herself blushing as he came across the road.
‘Hello,’ he said, cap in hand. ‘I’m, er, sorry about the bad news.’
‘Oh,’ said Mary, staring at the ground.
‘I wondered – well, I know it’s a bit soon and I don’t want to rush things, but I wondered if you’d like to go to the pictures one night?’
‘Well, it’s a bit awkward. I mean, it would mean me walking back to Longfield on my own.’
‘Oh, I’d see you home all right.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Why, you don’t think I’d let you walk all that way on yer own, surely?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I couldn’t let you walk all that way and then have to come back again.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry about that. I must walk so far every day of the week, once I get underground. All the way to the pit, and then all the way back again underground. Daft, isn’t it?’
Mary laughed. As they set off walking up the hill, he took hold of her bike and wheeled it for her.
‘You’ll have to get a bike like me,’ she said.
‘Aye. We could go a ride together,’ he said, looking at her hopefully.
‘Well, you could come over to Longfield then,’ she said.
‘I could come over anyway,’ he said eagerly. ‘I can easily borrow a bike, that’s no problem at all.’
Mary smiled. She couldn’t help liking Jack. She had liked him since the dance – her face changed suddenly as she began to feel guilty – but not as much as Tom. She’d never like anyone as much as Tom. Even so, Jack was well mannered and nice. Besides, she couldn’t shut herself away like the nuns in the orphanage. As Tom said, she was young.
‘I shall be going bilberrying on Saturday afternoon if it’s fine. You could come with me if you like.’
‘It’s a date,’ Jack said, his pleasure showing on his face. ‘What time?’
‘How about two? I’ll meet you outside the school and we’ll walk along the lane to the moor.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, grinning like a half-moon.
Bessie and Lucy appeared from the works yard.
‘Are yer coming, Mary?’ Bessie called.
‘Yes, I’m coming,’ she replied. ‘Well, I’ll see you Saturday then.’
‘Yes. I won’t be late.’
Mary joined the sisters as they set off pedalling along the main road.
‘What did Jack Holmes want?’ Bessie asked.
‘He just wanted to say how sorry he was about Tom.’
‘I bet he wanted to go out with yer,’ Lucy said.
Mary felt her face growing hot.
‘It’s OK, you’ve no need to feel uncomfortable. Nobody expects you to live in misery for ever,’ Bessie said. ‘Besides, he’s nice is Jack Holmes.’
‘I know,’ said Mary. ‘It’s just that I keep thinking about Tom all the time. I’ll never feel the way I did about Tom with anyone else, so perhaps I shouldn’t see Jack Holmes after all.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Lucy. ‘Our Tom wouldn’t expect any of us to turn all morbid and miserable. Besides, you might be able to put me a good word in with his brother.’
‘Oh no she won’t,’ retorted Bessie. ‘You’d be the talk of Milington going out with him. They’re as different as chalk and cheese are Harry and Jack. He’ll fall over anything in a skirt will Harry Holmes, and he seems to prefer the married ones from what the girls at work say.’
‘So he should be more experienced then.’ Lucy grinned cheekily.
Bessie almost fell off her bike as she turned the corner up the hill. ‘Lucy Downing, just you be careful of your reputation.’
Mary felt a weight lift from her. She hadn’t known how Tom’s sisters would react to the news of her seeing Jack, but she should have known she could count on them remaining friends. That was the way the people of Longfield were. It must be the result of living in such a clean, beautiful village; it seemed to make them less small-minded than city people, or perhaps she was just lucky in her choice of friends. She began to look forward to Saturday and said a silent prayer that it wouldn’t rain.
Mary’s prayer was answered. She dressed carefully in a thin cotton dress and set off at quarter to two for Longfield school. Jack was already waiting and she couldn’t help thinking how handsome he was in slacks and white cricket shirt open at the neck. A little on the lean side, perhaps, and rather pale, but she supposed that was the result of working in the pit away from the sunlight. Well, today he could make up for it. The sun was hot on her arms and Jack marvelled at the brilliance of her hair as she approached him.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘About ten minutes,’ he said, taking from her the basket which Gladys had insisted on her bringing. It was filled to the brim with a selection of sandwiches, a fruit pie, a tin box in which to collect the bilberries and a bottle of nettle beer, which Mary had found quite pleasant once she could be persuaded to sample it.
They walked in silence along the lane, past the church and old stone cottages and out on to the moor. There was a slight breeze which swayed the bracken and a lone oak sapling; one day it would lend shade to weary walkers, but now it struggled bravely to survive out here in the elements. The heather was young and vivid purple and the bilberry bushes hung with lush, juicy berries. Mary climbed a path away from the lane towards the shade of a row of rocks where, out of breath, she flopped down on the grass with Jack beside her.
‘This is absolutely my favourite place,’ she said, looking out over the valley to the distant hills. ‘I don’t think anywhere in the world could be more glorious.’
‘It’s certainly beautiful,’ Jack said. He stretched out his hand and broke off a sprig of heather and, stroking Mary’s hair away from her face, placed it behind her ear. ‘But not as beautiful as your hair. It makes me want to run my fingers through it.’
Mary felt her face colouring. She hated it when she blushed, and turned away embarrassed.
‘We’d better start bilberrying,’ she muttered.
‘I bet I can pick the most.’ Laughing, Jack rose to his feet, taking a blue two pound sugar bag from his pocket.
They picked steadily for about an hour, until the bag and the tin box were almost full, and their hands stained almost black from the juices.
‘How many do you reckon we’ve picked?’ asked Mary as they walked back to the basket.
‘At least enough for a couple of jars of jam,’ Jack estimated.
‘I’ll make you one, and give it to you next time ...’ She paused mid-sentence. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a next time.
‘That’ll be something to look forward to.’ He grinned, relieved that he would be seeing her again.
Mary unwrapped the sandwiches and a couple of hard boiled eggs.
‘Hey, you certainly eat well out here,’ he said. ‘Are you immune from rationing in Longfield?’
‘Of course not,’ said Mary. ‘It’s just that Mrs Roberts grows all her own salad stuff, and the chickens reward me for feeding them every day, with a good supply of eggs.’
‘Well, now I know why you’ve got skin like a peach. It’s all the fresh food you eat.’ Jack ran his fingers along her arm, causing a sensation Mary had only experienced with one man before. She drew away. It was too soon; it was unfair to Tom.
Jack knew he was going too fast. He hadn’t intended to, it was just that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He picked up the nettle beer and took a drink, then lay back in the sun, unbuttoning his shirt to allow the sun to reach his chest. A covering of dark curly hair glistened in the sunlight, which Mary had an urge to reach out and caress. What was wrong with her? It must be the nettle beer. She ought to have provided some less potent refreshment.
She lay down beside Jack, feeling drowsy in the heat. A lazy moth landed on her face and she brushed it away, returning her hand to her side, where it touched Jack’s. He entwined his fingers in hers and they lay as one, joined by a current too strong for either of them to resist. Jack rolled towards her and, leaning over, kissed her, tenderly at first; then, feeling her respond, more fiercely, until their passion threatened to overcome them and they broke apart, content to wait until another day, confident that this special thing between them was worth waiting for, and must be allowed to grow in its own time.
Mary heard a grouse calling. ‘Go back, go back,’ it seemed to say. She knew she couldn’t go back but it was also too soon to go forward. She was confused about her feelings for Jack. Her feelings for Tom were still paramount. She had thought Jack could be a friend but it was obvious things were moving beyond friendship and she was not ready. She released her hand from his. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘I like you a lot but I need some time to think about Tom, just to remember our time together. So I won’t see you for a few weeks.’ She blushed. ‘Well, you might not want to see me again anyway.’
‘Of course I do, but I understand. Just don’t make me wait too long, that’s all I ask.’
‘I won’t.’ Then she took his hand again and they walked together along the lane.
Chapter Eleven
Jack was waiting outside the sweet shop opposite the cinema. His face lit up when Rowland and Gladys dropped Mary off on their way to spend Saturday evening with their friends Ernest and his wife Celia.
They always enjoyed what usually turned out to be a musical evening, during which Ernest would play the violin accompanied by Celia on the piano. Then Rowland would sing, after which he would look through any new sheet music available and see if any of it was suitable for the choir. Tonight however both he and Gladys were rather uneasy, troubled that Mary seemed to have fallen hook line and sinker for the lad Jack Holmes. Not that they disapproved of the friendship, just that she seemed to have rushed into it rather suddenly after Tom’s death. Rowland said it would blow over and she would probably have a number of romantic encounters before settling down, but Gladys could recognise a love affair when she saw one, and dreaded the day when Mary would break the news that she and Jack were considering marriage.
With Tom it hadn’t bothered her; the chances of his ever taking Mary away from Longfield had been virtually nil. But if Mary married Jack, Gladys knew she would settle down over in Millington, which might as well be a hundred miles away as far as Gladys was concerned. Oh, well, all they could do was welcome the boy into their home and that wasn’t difficult to do, seeing as he was such a likeable lad.
Mary smiled radiantly as Jack handed her a box of Black Magic. They crossed the main road and joined the queue which stretched halfway round the cinema just as the first house was beginning to trickle out. The ones who were too impatient to stand for the National Anthem came first, and then the rush.
Mary was excited. On the rare occasions she had set foot inside a cinema it had been for the afternoon matinee and she had been lumbered with Kathleen and Norah, not like tonight when Jack was buying tickets for the circle. He led her up the marble staircase with the brass handrail, and on to the back row. Mary felt slightly embarrassed when she realised the seats were double ones with no armrest in the middle, obviously designed with amorous couples in mind. She saw the funny side and began to giggle.
‘You’re a sly one, Jack Holmes,’ she said. ‘I wonder how many girls you’ve snuggled up to in these seats before tonight.’
‘Hundreds,’ Jack teased, then added seriously, ‘but not one of them as nice as you.’
‘Nice? What a romantic man you are. Not beautiful, not even pretty, just nice.’
Jack coloured. ‘Well, I’m not very good with words,’ he mumbled. ‘You are – beautiful, I mean – only I’m not good at fancy speeches. If you want all that flattery you should be going out with our Harry.’
‘No thanks.’ Mary laughed. ‘I’ve heard about him at work. Mind you, all the girls seem to fancy him.’
‘Don’t you dare tell him that; he’s big-headed enough already. Besides, he seems to prefer the married ones, unfortunately.’
Mary didn’t know what to say to that so she opened the chocolates. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘I can’t eat all these myself or I’ll be as fat as one of Tom’s pigs.’ She experienced the familiar churning in her stomach as she realised what she had said.
Jack put an arm round her shoulders, glad of the excuse. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind you talking about him. It wouldn’t be right to shut him out, and it wouldn’t be good for you either. I know you were engaged; we can’t pretend it never happened.’
Mary smiled up at him, relieved now that she had mentioned Tom and so discovered that Jack wasn’t going to be jealous; little did she know what an effort it was for Jack not to show his true feelings.
He looked down into the sun-freckled face and their eyes met. She reached her mouth up to his and Tom was forgotten along with the chocolates and the film.
‘I love you, Mary O’Connor,’ he mumbled between kisses.
‘And I love you, Jack Holmes,’ she said, thinking there was no need of fancy speeches from a man as lovely as this one.
Thankful for the blackout Jack paused at intervals to kiss Mary as they walked to the music shop at the top of Hawley’s Hill, which Ernest Sessions ran in between giving music lessons and leading a small local orchestra.
Unlike Rowland he had not lost many musicians to the Local Defence Volunteer force, despite an average age somewhere in the mid-fifties, but the undoubted star of the orchestra was a nine-year-old pupil of his who was doing so well he had been given a place in the first violins, much to the delight of audiences, who had taken the boy to their hearts. Actually, Gladys was becoming rather bored by Ernest’s enthusiastic account of how brilliant the boy was, and she sighed with relief when Mary rang the bell on the door of the shop, in front of the living quarters.
‘Well,’ she said, rising to her feet and looking round for her coat, ‘that sounds like Mary. We’d better be on our way.’
‘Why don’t you invite her in for a cup of tea?’ said Celia in her usual friendly manner.
‘Thanks all the same, but she’s rather shy,’ said Gladys, unable to face yet another account of young what’s-his-name’s talents.
‘Yes, we’d better be off,’ said Rowland. ‘It’s slow going on the narrow lanes with the reduced lighting on the car. Luckily there’s a moon tonight, but even so we’ll be on our way. How much am I in your debt for the sheet music?’
‘Get away with you,’ said Ernest. ‘What’s a few shillings between friends?’ His words made Gladys feel terribly guilty about being in such a hurry to leave. She knew that the real cause of her uncharacteristic irritability was nothing to do with Ernest, and everything to do with Jack Holmes.
Nevertheless, she was amiable enough towards him when they got outside, inviting him to tea a week on Sunday, and offering him a lift home, which he politely refused, saying he didn’t live a cock stride away, and the air would do him good anyway.
‘Nice boy that,’ commented Rowland rather grudgingly, as they drove through the countryside back to Longfield.
‘Yes,’ said Gladys simply, thinking what an understatement that was. She could well understand what had attracted Mary to the tall, dark-haired young man, and spent the rest of the journey wishing dreamily that she was thirty years younger.
‘I wish I wasn’t going,’ said Mary. ‘What if
they don’t like me.’
‘If they don’t like yer they must be daft,’ Madge grunted whilst lifting a hundredweight coil from the machine.
‘What shall I wear?’
‘I don’t know as it matters. If Jack likes yer it doesn’t matter about anybody else.’
‘I’ll go in my brown costume seeing as I’m going to church the next morning.’
Madge looked at the girl sharply. ‘Has he told them you’re a Catholic?’ she asked.
‘I think so. Anyway, Jack doesn’t care what they say. Still, I do hope they like me.’
‘Well, there’s one who certainly will,’ said Madge. ‘He’ll have yer knickers off before yer know what’s hit yer will that brother of his.’
Mary laughed. ‘Oh no he won’t because I don’t wear ’em, didn’t you know?’
Madge laughed affectionately with Mary. It was nice to know she was back to normal after the tragedy. In fact she hadn’t half come out of her shell this past few weeks. Oh well, that’s what love did for you.
‘How’re yer getting home, tomorrow night I mean?’ she asked.
‘I’m not. I’m staying at Theresa Murphy’s, going to church Sunday morning, then Jack’s walking back with me and staying for tea.’
‘I’m going to church tonight,’ Madge said softly.
‘You?’ said Mary incredulously. ‘Going to church, and on a Friday night? You’re joking.’
‘I’m not,’ the woman said. ‘I sometimes go to the Spiritual Church in Darnall.’
Mary didn’t know what to say, and just repeated Madge’s words parrot fashion. ‘Spiritual Church in Darnall? Where’s that?’
‘Other side Sheffield. It takes two buses to get there, but it’s worth the journey. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve gone home when I walk into that church.’
‘What do they do? I mean, is it weird? I always imagined it would be frightening with all those seances and things.’
Madge laughed. ‘There aren’t any seances. It’s just a church, but a lot more cheerful than the ones here. All they do at the one I got married at is talk about everybody and their grandmothers, and I’ve heard tell it’s worse still at the chapel. Like my mother used to say, yer don’t need to attend places of worship in order to do Christian deeds, but I must admit I’ve gained a lot of comfort from that little church in Darnall.’
Christmas Past Page 8
