“But you knew he had a bad temper,” I said, not letting her off, “you wanted the marriage.”
“Yes I did,” she replied, sitting forward in her chair, “I told you at the time, I thought it would keep him safe. I thought it would stop him from…”
“From what?” I was so confused, so childish in my ignorance. “What did he need saving from?”
This is where she stopped for thought. “I don’t think that William is quite normal,” she said eventually. “Before, I imagined that he needed a wife to keep him steady. Like the stallion needs frequent coupling.”
She stopped then, looking up at my face on which I’m sure registered my utter disgust. Did she realise what she had just said? And if she did, when had she changed? This wasn’t the Mother of my childhood, the woman who had oft times flouted convention and had a brain and a will of her own. I found it hard to believe that she equated her son and his wife to the same plane as the beasts they looked after and I couldn’t imagine that she had been so uncaring of Elizabeth that she had urged her into that sort of arrangement. Worse than that almost, was the fact that she had preferred the possibility of the girl being in danger to my timorously offered suit.
“You knew I loved her,” I said bitterly.
She sighed, almost annoyed that I had brought it up. “Of course I did, but what would have been the use? You had nothing here and would have had to take her away. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“I could have stayed,” I cried. “Come back after university and lived in the village. What would have been so wrong in that?”
If I thought that she would admit her foolish behaviour, I was wrong. Admitting that she had been stupid was impossible for her. “It wouldn’t have worked,” she said, astonished that I was questioning it now. “You wouldn’t have earned enough. Besides…”
“Besides what?” Was this the time? Was she going to tell me about my father? For the briefest moment, I think she nearly did. Indeed her mouth opened and her hands spread out in a sort of entreaty for understanding and I waited, heart beating, for the truth.
It never came. Instead, she closed her mouth and folding her hands on her lap, let the moment pass. Too many years of silence and denial couldn’t be overcome. I knew then that she would never tell me.
“What’s to do, then?” I had to get onto practical things now. “How do we stop him beating her?”
“Oh, he’s stopped.” Mother was quite sure. “He stopped all that years ago,” she said as though it was a problem solved. “He never touches her now. Not in any way.”
That last remark meant exactly what I thought it did and I knew that it was the real and possibly only cause of her sadness. Ours was a truly unhappy household which continued, unchanging, from day to day. There would be no children, no-one to carry on the farm and she would die knowing that she had allowed it to happen.
“Should I say something to Billy?”
For the first time a little smile came to her lips. “I don’t think so, Richard, love. He wouldn’t know what you were talking about. He forgets his little tempers almost as soon as they are over. They never last for long.” She got up and moved the kettle onto the hot plate. “He bears Elizabeth no grudge, you know,” she murmured as an afterthought, “for being like she is.”
I think my mouth dropped open at that remark. I realised that whatever happened, she wouldn’t change. No matter how much she loved Elizabeth, the farm - and that meant Billy - mattered more. But I couldn’t let it go. How could she dare to transfer the responsibility?
“And what’s that then?” I asked, my anger only just beneath the surface and ready to explode at any minute. “How is she like?”
“Why, Richard, love,” she said, pouring boiling water into the teapot, “our Elizabeth is barren; surely you realised that.”
Chapter 16
We went out today, Sharon, Thomas and me. It was her idea, this little expedition and I confess that at first, I was very reluctant. It’s been weeks since I left the house and to be honest, I had resigned myself to the fact that my days of going out were gone for ever. It’s no fun being old and sick and trapped within four walls, specially when you have been active like me. Up until a couple of years ago I was still driving my car, not far, mind, towards the end, into town and to see friends locally. But since my illness, I’ve stayed pretty much around the house and garden. And now my legs are gone. They’re like rubber and barely keep me upright. Even walking the short distance from my room to the bathroom or kitchen, I need help. It’s shaming.
But Sharon has organised a wheelchair. She brought it into my room the other afternoon after the nurse had left. I hated to look at it and made a bit of a fool of myself, railing against it, being the stupid old beggar that I am.
“I’m not going in that,” I said to her. “I do have some pride left.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she grumbled. “I was trying to do something nice for you.”
I ignored her anger and blustered back. “Nice? What’s nice about a wheelchair? For God’s sake, woman, you can’t imagine that I would be seen dead in that.”
“No,” she said evenly, “you’ll be seen dead in your coffin and good riddance when you’re in a mood like this, but before then, give me a break and allow me to take you out.” She turned the chair around and marched out of the room. Her rare displays of temper are most unsettling and I don’t like it. Despite that red hair, she’s generally calm and not at all ready to take offence.
I realised how ridiculous I was being. What does it matter if I have to sit in a wheelchair? Have I become such a vain and silly old man, that my precious dignity can be so easily offended? I called her back and apologised.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “that was wrong of me. I find it hard to think of myself as, well, as old, I suppose.”
She was still simmering, I think, but accepted my apology nicely. These last few days she seems to be quieter than usual. It’s as though she has something on her mind that needs sorting out and keeps popping up, unbidden, to confront her. I heard her snapping at Thomas yesterday, when he came in from the field, covered in mud, and ran through into the hall without taking off his boots. “For goodness sake,” she yelled at him, yanking off his boots and throwing them into the scullery, “how many times do you have to be told the same thing?”
So, I was somewhat concerned about her and recognised that I should have been more conciliatory when she suggested a day out. Perhaps she needed time away from the house to get things into perspective.
We decided to go to the coast. The weather is clear at the moment, quite cold but not raining and we thought that the views would be wonderful.
“Don’t bother with a picnic,” I said when I saw Sharon, at breakfast time, looking under the sink for the flask, “I’m going to buy us lunch out at a hotel.”
“Lovely!” she smiled, “but I haven’t told you yet, I’ve invited Jason to come with us. Do you mind? I’ll pay for his lunch.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I said firmly. “It’s my treat.”
So we set out, not in Sharon’s car but in Jason’s big four-wheel drive and very comfortable it is too. Thomas and I sat in the back with the blessed wheelchair folded up behind us, while Sharon sat beside young Hyde in the front. I looked at the back of his head and chuckled. He is like his grandfather, the same thick fair hair and broad shoulders. Eddie hated farming, although he worked well for us, upward of ten years. The pit paid better, but that’s not the only reason he left. He didn’t get on with my brother and I remember several occasions of bitter arguments and clenched fists.
He was much happier down the mine where he loved the camaraderie of the other colliers. It did him little good though in the end because he died of the chest disease that many of them suffered. I didn’t know the son, Harold well, only to nod to, but this young man is at our house almost daily. I detect more than a spark between him and Sharon.
We were
right about the views. Even from the big windows of the hotel dining room where we ate our lunch, we could see far out onto Cardigan Bay. It was calm and blue and the headlands to the north and south were clear and sharp against a cloudless sky. I remembered bringing Elizabeth here once when we were a lot older. She liked this hotel enormously and sitting today with the young people, I had to smile at the memory of Elizabeth and me drinking whisky, sunk deep into chintz arm chairs and looking out onto this very same view. I loved that memory and wanted to keep it in my head so I bought another bottle of wine and Sharon and I helped ourselves. I gave a sip of mine to Thomas, but he wasn’t keen, preferring his cola and Jason refused, because of driving.
After lunch, we walked along the promenade, me in the wheelchair, well wrapped up against the keen wind, breathing in the fresh cold air. I took so many gulps that I found myself getting quite giddy and was glad when Sharon spotted a sheltered bench.
“I’m going to sit for a bit,” she said. “Jason will wheel you for a while.”
“I’d rather stay here,” I said, “and look at the view.” She nodded and pulled my chair close to where she had settled.
“I’ll take Thomas on the beach,” said Jason. He is a generous man and I think he could see that Sharon wanted a moment or two away from him. He put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Come on, lad,” he said, “let’s see what we can find down there.”
The boy needed no urging and ran down the steps to the sand with a squawk of delight, followed no less eagerly by young Jason who leapt athletically over the barrier and ran laughing, towards the sea.
“He’s nothing but a big kid himself,” said Sharon smiling indulgently.
I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You like him, I think,” I said.
She nodded and then turned to look at me with a troubled look on her face. “He’s asked me to marry him,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
This was a facer, but in a way I should have been expecting it. My Sharon has a coterie of followers and is bound to get tied up with one of them sooner or later. But selfishly, at that moment, I felt nothing but the old familiar dismay. Wasn’t it ever thus? The girl I loved had to belong to someone else.
She waited for me to say something, but I was quiet. A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind and foremost among them was the one which frightened me most. If she married Jason, she would have to leave me.
“What d’you think?” she asked, “tell me, please.”
I sunk in my chair, feeling cold and miserable. “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you love him?”
“I think so.”
“But what about your other suitors? Andrew Jones seems very keen and the doctor only comes to see me in the hope of catching a glance of you.”
She laughed at that and moved further towards me so that our shoulders were touching and her long hair fell over the front of my coat. “I’m not really interested in them,” she said. “At least, I don’t think so.”
I swallowed. “I’ll miss you and Thomas, if you do marry Jason. I’m used to you about the house and the boy…” Here I had to stop because those tears with which I have always had trouble, threatened to overwhelm me. But I pulled myself together and finished my sentence. “The boy is very close to my heart,” I said and didn’t care that my voice wobbled. It was cowardly of me to speak of my fears but I couldn’t stop myself. This girl and her son have become so dear to me.
She sat up abruptly and when she spoke her voice was fierce. “Listen to me, Richard. We won’t leave you. Nothing will change and you must know that you are equally as dear to us.” She stopped and gazed out to sea where the tide was coming in and the late autumn light beginning to fade. “We shall be heartbroken when you leave us,” she added in a small voice.
It was kind of her to say that and, comforted, I was able to enjoy the rest of the day. When the boys came back, happy and smelling sharply of brine and seaweed we walked back to the hotel and sat beside a big log fire to have our tea.
I dozed on the drive home but woke up close to the village, confused and disoriented, looking at the back view of Jason in his tweed jacket. I thought of our Billy in his tweeds, worn smartly to the Horse Show with a soft brown hat pulled low on his head and Father’s watch and chain hanging across a mustard yellow waistcoat.
That’s how he looked on that May day when he set off to the Three Counties with Diamond. I had helped him load the big horse into the box and listened patiently while he had run through the latest list of instructions. They were no different really to the ones he’d given me the night before and he’d been in the milking parlour telling the men since before seven. But he was most keen to go and wouldn’t let the fact that I’d been away for over eight years and was no farmer, put him off.
Mother had left on the Monday with Marian, still pretending reluctance, but patently excited.
Elizabeth had said, “Off you do go,” when Mother had tried yet again to find reasons for delaying the departure. She would brook no further nonsense. “I can manage, and you know it.”
So Mother and Marian had driven away and Billy, after giving them a brief wave, had returned to the stable where he was gathering all the implements necessary for showing Diamond to his best advantage. My brother had become an important man at the Horse Shows and according to Mother, really loved the attention. This year he had been appointed to judge the colt class and been bursting with pride ever since the invitation had arrived.
“My God,” he’d said when I’d asked him about the standard of entries, “I’ll make sure I sort out the quality and conformation. The whole breeding will go downhill, else.”
Elizabeth had gone about her usual duties in the dairy and the chicken houses The cheeses she produced equalled Mother’s and she had a fine name at the market. When I went to market with them, I was proud of my name, so many people came to ask for Manor Farm cheeses and butter. “I’ll only take Wilde’s cheese,” said one of the shoppers. “Are you sure it’s straight from the farm?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth smiled, “I made it myself.”
I watched her dealing with the customers at our stall. She was charming and friendly and I’m sure everyone who met her, came away with a good impression. She looked so attractive, standing behind the trestle table in her blue striped apron and a white band holding her hair away from her face. I saw people shake their heads in admiration at the way she wrapped the wedges of cheese into greaseproof paper parcels and cleverly cut slabs of butter into accurate pounds. There was no doubt, she was the star of the beast market.
But that was her away from home. Within the four walls of our house she was a different creature, quiet, distant and keeping herself to herself. We had barely talked alone in all the three weeks that I’d been home. To tell the truth, I was a bit frightened of her. Of all the family, she was the one who had changed the most and was almost a stranger. Oh, I would have known her anywhere, her face was painted onto my memory and will never leave me, but her personality had disappeared.
So when Billy drove out of the yard with the big box rattling behind him, I felt nervous. All those hopes and dreams I’d harboured on many lonely nights, of being alone with Elizabeth, had come to pass and I was petrified.
We had a chicken pie the first night, one that Mother had made and put in the pantry ready. It was delicious and we sat at the table, only the two of us, and ate in virtual silence.
“Very nice,” I said finally, wiping round my plate with a chunk of homemade bread.
“Mother made it,” Elizabeth said, gathering the plates. “You’ll have to put up with my cooking tomorrow.”
“That should be all right. I seem to remember that you could cook just as well as her.”
She nodded, but didn’t enter into the spirit of the conversation and even later when the chores were done and we sat together with a cup of tea and a round of toast, she barely spoke. It was almost as if she had forgotten how normal chatter was done. I went to bed, still con
fused and sad for her, that she had become a shadow of herself.
It was late on the next afternoon when we finally got round to talking. She was taking her dog for a walk and I asked if I could go with her.
“If you like,” she said and set off along the edge of the top field, mindful that Billy had planted barley crop in there. I followed, Indian fashion, for the space left between the hedge and the growing crop was small. Our Billy didn’t believe in waste.
“Where are we going?” I asked as she turned away from the hill where we used to play and headed for the lower slopes where the rowan and gorse grew.
“I prefer to take her here,” she said indicating the dog who had run on ahead and was sniffing eagerly at the warren of rabbit holes in the next field. “She tries to go in the caves on the hillside.” Her face clouded. “I don’t like her doing that.”
I said nothing. It was a reasonable answer, I supposed, although the dog seemed pretty amenable and I didn’t think she would wander far. She was no terrier and presumably Elizabeth hadn’t brought her up to go rabitting; she was only a big soppy hound, who adored her mistress.
We walked together across the damp grass towards the trees, ducking now and then beneath the low branches of the rowans and stepping carefully through the bramble traps that had infiltrated the little wood. We weren’t on our land here, but it didn’t matter. No-one would object. These few acres were part of a parcel Father had sold to the mining company when there was talk of putting a railway line through here to take the coal directly from the pit head to the station. They’d never gone ahead with the plan and the land had been left to go wild. Even in the days since I’d been home on leave, Billy had grumbled about it.
“Criminal waste of useful land,” he’d said, his voice withering in its contempt. “But what else would you expect from townies?”
“I like it wild,” Elizabeth had said, unexpectedly, surprising me with her offered opinion. It was so strange to hear her speak at the table. I looked nervously towards Billy to see how he would respond to her arguing against him. Please don’t let there be a row, I silently prayed. I needn’t have worried. My brother merely shook his head and carried on eating. He couldn’t bring himself to debate with her.
The Love of a Lifetime Page 20
