‘But what if your mother doesn’t want me there?’ Sara asked.
‘There’s no going back now, Sara,’ Joe dismissed her fears. ‘Mam will have to accept you.’
‘But there’s so little room,’ Sara protested lamely.
‘Sara.’ Joe took hold of her. ‘I want you to live at Pit Street - you’re my wife and it’s where you belong now. You’re part of my family and I want you there where I can look after you.’
‘But you won’t be there to look after me!’ Sara bridled.
Joe looked cross. ‘My family will while I’m away.’
They dressed in a frosty silence, which Sara could not bear.
‘When you come back, Joe,’ Sara asked quietly, ‘can we find a place of our own?’
Joe saw the unhappiness marring her face and relented. ‘If that’s what you want, bonny lass.’
Sara was cheered by the thought and reached up to kiss him on the lips.
‘That day won’t come soon enough,’ she whispered with tears in her eyes.
On the train journey back to Whitton Grange they discovered they were ravenous and shared the pie Mrs Ramshaw had sent back for the Ritsons, already reminiscing about their wedding and laughing at their boldness. But their high spirits were soon shattered by the reaction of the Dimarco women.
‘How could you do such a disgraceful thing?’ Anna exclaimed after she had swallowed her astonishment. ‘Without the blessing of your parents…’
‘You aren’t properly married unless a priest marries you!’ Elvira flustered. ‘No, it just won’t do.’
‘What will your father say?’ Anna worried.
‘And your godfather,’ Elvira added, faint at the thought of her husband’s reaction. ‘Anna, you’ve always been too soft with your Joseph.’
‘Fancy getting wed in a registry office,’ Albina said with disgust. ‘I’d never do such a thing.’
‘Saint Teresa! What have I done to deserve such children? First Rosa and a baby with no father, now you two running off together!’ Anna fumed. ‘How will I tell your father you have married the niece of that devil, Cummings?’
‘Stop it!’ Joe ordered, infuriated by his mother’s condemnation. ‘We’re married now and you’ll just have to get used to the idea. Sara’s stood by us when half the village would have strung us up, so you’ll treat her with a bit more respect. I don’t give a damn if she’s Cummings’s niece - she’s my wife and this is her home!’ Joe seized Sara’s hand and waved the cheap wedding ring at them.
Sara cringed with humiliation at the bickering she was causing. Joe’s mother was just as bigoted as her uncle Alfred; it would be impossible for her to live here, she thought miserably. She looked around the room for help, but even Rosa stood frozen in disbelief.
‘We have nothing against Sara,’ Anna answered stiffly, ‘but you had no right to go behind our backs like that. It’s shameful. And do you think Sara’s family will ever agree to her living here? No, of course not. It will mean more bricks through our windows from those people!’
‘I knew it would be like this,’ Sara nearly choked with anger as she spoke. ‘Don’t use my family as an excuse, Mrs Dimarco - you’re just as narrow-minded as the Cummingses! After all that’s happened, you should be happy for Joe and me - we love each other. But you’ll never accept me whatever I do, just because I’m not Italian.’ Sara turned from Anna Dimarco’s appalled face and said to Joe, ‘I’ll go back to the Ritsons’.’
For a long moment they stared at each other, wondering if their fledgling marriage was doomed. Joe knew that he had to make a choice that might effect the rest of his life and, as he hesitated, the image of Eb Kirkup defying his family for the one he loved, came into Joe’s mind.
Joe took Sara’s hand and said fiercely, ‘I’m coming with you.’
Sara smiled back, almost sick with relief.
‘No!’ It was Rosa who stepped forward, recovering from the shock of her brother’s announcement. ‘You mustn’t go, Sara - this is your home. I’m ashamed of our lack of courtesy - Papa would never have allowed it.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from behind, but Rosa, braving her mother’s wrath, went up to Sara, kissing her on the cheek and smiled, ‘I’m really pleased for you and Joe - and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have for a sister-in-law.’
Sara hugged her for her kindness and then Rosa embraced Joe.
‘Thank you, Rosa.’ Joe kissed his younger sister with affection.
There was an awkward silence in the unlit sitting-room, even the children had stopped their playing, confused by the tension. Unexpectedly, the gaunt-faced Sylvia turned from the stove where she had appeared to be taking no notice of the row and a wintry smile crossed her face.
‘You can have my room tonight,’ she told Joe. ‘The bairns and me can sleep with Rosa. I’m sure your father won’t be angry at what you’ve done - not after all the bad things that have happened to us - and I know my Paolo would have understood,’ she added hoarsely.
Sara felt a rush of gratitude towards the bleak-faced woman in black who still bared her grief to the world, yet had the generosity to wish them well.
‘Thank you, Sylvia,’ Sara answered, holding her head up with dignity.
She left with Joe to collect her few possessions from Hawthorn Street and, an hour later, Sara moved in to the flat above the Pit Street shop, as the wife of Joe Dimarco.
Once Joe had left, Sara shared a room with Rosa and baby Mary and resumed her job at the hospital laundry. Her modest wages proved welcome to the Dimarco household who struggled on with little to sell in the shop. Elvira and Anna sold jelly pies for a halfpenny and Sara helped Sylvia concoct a mock fruit salad by boiling turnip until it was tasteless and disguising it with pineapple essence. Relations with her new mother-in-law were cool, but Sara spent as much time as possible out of the house working or helping at the WVS canteen where her Aunt Ida studiously avoided her. At the beginning of February, Sara cornered her aunt in the kitchen. ‘How’s Tom?’ she asked pointedly. It still rankled that her Uncle Alfred had refused to let Joe inside the house when they had tried to see Tom before Joe went back off leave. Tom had been out at the pub, but had not attempted to see Sara since.
‘He’s going home at the end of the week,’ Ida told her, without looking into her eyes, ‘to make preparations for the wedding.’
‘Wedding?’ Sara queried.
‘Hasn’t your mother told you?’ Ida glanced around, as if nervous to be seen speaking to her. ‘Tom’s getting wed to Jane Metcalfe at the end of the month. He’s been passed fit - wants to marry before rejoining the regiment.’
‘Why has nobody told me?’ Sara asked in annoyance.
Ida gave her a strange look with her close-set eyes. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame for cutting yourself off like you have. Going off and marrying that Italian!’ Ida flustered, going puce in the face. ‘It’s no wonder your mother’s upset. At least Tom’s giving her something to be proud about - marrying a good local lass - your mam’s lucky to have him. Alfred and I are as fond of Tom as if he were our own - I’ll be sad to see him go.’
‘When is the wedding?’ Sara demanded, trying to control her temper.
‘Last Saturday in February,’ Ida said, clattering the dishes to cover their conversation. ‘We’re invited, of course, but I doubt you’ll be welcome.’
Sara was furious. ‘I’ll go to my own brother’s wedding whether you like it or not,’ she declared, throwing down her tea-towel and storming out of the kitchen.
As it turned out, none of the Whitton Grange family attended Tom’s wedding, as heavy falls of snow enveloped the valley and made travel impossible. Sara was wretched at the thought of not being able to see Tom married, but worse was her deep hurt that she had not been invited.
The schools closed for a week and Sara lived in at the hospital rather than risk falling into the yard-high drifts that hid the roads, trying to keep herself busy so as not to dwell on her disappointment. The daily clatter of coal t
rucks from the pits stopped and coal shortages bedevilled the country once more. Snow drifted in to the eaves of the Pit Street house and, when it thawed, it ran in torrents down Sara’s bedroom walls and she and Rosa moved in to the sitting-room to sleep. Baby Mary caught croup and Rosa fretted her daughter would not see her first birthday, until the Ritsons scraped together enough money for her to see the doctor.
Some time later, Sara’s sister Chrissie wrote to her telling of how they had sledged down to the chapel at Lowbeck for Tom’s wedding and Sid Gibson had been best man. Sara felt again the deep hurt that she had been excluded from the family occasion.
‘Tom looked grand in his uniform,’ Chrissie wrote, ‘and Sid looked handsome, too. He was sad for a bit after that land girl Phoebe left, but he’s better now. Phoebe went off to marry some officer, by the way. I think Sid’s better off without her. Phoebe was too posh. Mam made my bridesmaid’s dress out of old net curtains. Jane Metcalfe wore her mother’s old wedding dress, but she looked pretty. What did you wear when you got married? Is Joe really one of the enemy like Tom says? Jane and Tom are living in one of the cottages, but Tom’s gone now. I wish you would come and see us. I want to see what you look like now you’re an Italian. I miss you. Love from Chrissie.’
Sara swallowed her bitterness, grateful for contact from her sister, and wrote back to Chrissie, telling her about her own wedding day and she wrote to her mother and her new sister-in-law Jane but got no reply.
Spring came, and with it renewed heavy bombing over the coastal towns of Wearside and Tyneside, making Elvira fear nightly for her daughter Val in a Sunderland hospital. A stray German plane, returning from a raid, off-loaded incendiary bombs close to Whitton Grange, causing a fire in the dene and killing Constable Simpson who was patrolling on his bicycle. Then, with the coming of June, the raids ceased as the Luftwaffe turned its full attention eastwards on the Soviet Union and opened up the Eastern Front.
On the anniversary of the Dimarco men’s arrest, Eleanor Kirkup appeared with news of the internees.
‘Benito is to be released,’ she told a delighted Elvira. ‘He’s volunteered for the Pioneer Corps.’
‘What is that, please?’ Elvira’s drawn face furrowed again.
‘It’s made up of men who’ve been classed as aliens,’ Eleanor explained. ‘They will help in the war effort - but not engage in direct armed combat. He could be sent abroad, though.’
‘At least he is free,’ Anna bolstered her sister-in-law, ‘and you will see him again soon. Thank the saints for that.’
A fortnight later, Benito was briefly reunited with his mother and sister Albina before travelling on to join his new outfit. The women pooled their coupons to buy extra provisions for a celebratory meal of freshly made pasta and roast mutton and Anna took the bold step of going to Dolly Sergeant and bartering for black market cigarettes and sugar to make real ice-cream and homemade rhubarb wine, pawning a family necklace to do so.
Benito was given a joyous reception and Sara was grateful that he did not show disapproval at her presence, going out of his way to include her in the conversations by speaking only in English. Sara was beginning to pick up odd words and expressions in the Dimarcos’ native tongue, but was quite lost when they all began to talk at once across the table.
‘Papa has gone in front of two tribunals now,’ Benito told the women, ‘but they will not release him. Uncle Arturo is the same.’
‘But what harm can they do?’ Elvira protested. ‘All they want is be allowed to come back to their families.’
Benito shook his head and drew heavily on his cigarette. ‘It’s not that simple. They have to agree to collaborate with the authorities. Even if they were released they would not be allowed to simply return and run their businesses like before - they would be sent off to do war work.’
‘So why don’t Papa and Uncle Davide agree to do that?’ Rosa asked, perplexed. ‘Surely that’s better than being locked up?’
Benito studied his young cousin. ‘For the old men it is a difficult choice - their loyalties are split. The British officers ask them if they will work against Italy to win the war and some, like Papa, see it as asking them to betray who they are. He cannot bring himself to disown Italy. And there is pressure in the camp for them to remain “good Italians” and that means to stay inside with the others.’
‘But you’ve agreed to fight with the British after what they’ve done to you?’ Rosa pressed him.
Benito crushed out his cigarette. ‘For me this war is a fight against fascism - not against our people in Italy. Many of them are just caught up on the wrong side as happens in any war - and that I regret. But for the sake of your Mary and Sylvia’s children - all our children - the dictators must be beaten. I know we’ve been treated badly by some of the British - but not by all - and I’m prepared to fight with them against the fascists.’
Elvira clicked her teeth. ‘You must do what you feel is right, Benito,’ his mother said with resignation. ‘But your father would not want to be seen as a bad Italian - that I can understand.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ Anna answered sharply. ‘Davide and Arturo’s first loyalty should be to us - their wives and families. We are the ones who are suffering most while they remain in the camps. God forbid we have to survive another year like this last one. We need our husbands here.’
‘I’ve already tried to persuade Papa,’ Benito shrugged. ‘And Uncle Arturo will not go against my father’s wishes. You will have to manage without them, I’m afraid.’
‘We shall see about that,’ Anna said with determination.
‘What can you do, Mam?’ Rosa asked, feeling the situation was hopeless.
‘I will go and see your father on this Island of Man - talk sense into him,’ she replied.
‘But you’ve never travelled anywhere without Arturo,’ Elvira was dismissive, ‘You would never manage such a journey.’
‘I could go with you,’ Sara volunteered quietly, wary of being brushed aside as interfering. ‘It would be easier to go with someone who could understand…’ She flushed awkwardly as tactful words eluded her.
Anna gave her a long, hard look, wondering why it was that she so resented Sara’s presence in her home. Was it just because Sara reminded her of the humiliation and terror heaped on her family by the evil Cummingses - or was she jealous of her son’s love for this bright, attractive girl? Joe had always been her favourite child, but he had shown on that awful day in January that he would choose Sara rather than his mother and family if they pushed him too far. She had been deeply hurt at losing him to someone else, she now realised, especially this girl from outside their community whose ways were so different from theirs. Yet, here she was, offering to help once again and Anna felt a wave of guilt that she treated Sara so coldly.
‘Thank you, Sara,’ Anna found herself saying, ‘we shall go together.’
Having borrowed money from Eleanor Kirkup to pay for the train fares, Anna and Sara set out one warm July morning, Bobby taking them to the station on the old cart pulled by their ancient pony Gelato. Rosa’s brother was impatient to see them away and return to the cycle shop where he had been taken on part-time that spring. With petrol rationed, cycling was having a renaissance and Bobby was busily employed fixing up the stream of ancient machines that were brought to the shop for repair.
‘Don’t be late for work,’ Anna reminded her youngest needlessly. ‘And remember you are in charge while we’re away.’ She kissed the shy youth affectionately, hoping to please him with the responsibility.
‘Does that mean I can tell Albina what to do?’ Bobby asked timidly.
‘If you dare,’ his mother smiled. Sara winked at the cautious boy, beginning to relish the thought of escaping the confines of Pit Street and Albina’s petty bitching for a few days.
Even the overcrowded trains, the delays and the cramped waiting rooms where they dozed did not dampen Sara’s enthusiasm for travel. She found herself taking charge of their journey as a bewildered
and anxious Anna Dimarco increasingly relied on her to buy tickets and food. But when they tried to find accommodation in Carlisle for the night, Sara was aghast at their reception. Some landladies took one look at the sallow-faced Anna in her old-fashioned coat and tightly bound hair and would not let them through the door. Another woman was quite friendly towards Sara, while Anna stood outside, until she handed over her ration book.
‘Dimarco?’ the woman said with suspicion. ‘Foreign are you?’
‘I’m from Durham way,’ Sara answered, her stomach knotting.
‘Married an I-tie, have you?’ the landlady’s look grew hostile.
‘My husband’s British.’ Sara felt her indignation rise. ‘He’s in the army.’
The woman peered out at the dark-haired Anna standing patiently on the pavement. ‘Who’s she?’
‘My mother-in-law,’ Sara said tensely. ‘Look, all we want is a bed for the night and a bit of supper…’
‘Get out of here!’ the woman said with contempt. ‘I’ll not have any enemy I-ties under my roof. You should be ashamed of yourself getting mixed up with dirty traitors. Be off!’ She pushed Sara out of the door before she had time to retaliate.
Anna did not ask what had happened as they tramped out of the town, but Sara was mortified by the episode. For the first time she felt frightened to be Joe’s wife. Up until now she had thought herself protected by being English, but now she realised she was as vulnerable as the other Dimarcos. To the people of Carlisle there was no difference; she was one of them.
‘I never really knew what it was like for you before,’ Sara said, walking beside her silent mother-in-law, engulfed by guilt that her fellow British should treat them so shamefully. ‘That woman knew nothing about me - yet she hated me just because of my name.’
‘We can sleep in this field,’ Anna said without emotion, ‘and thank the saints it’s a clear evening.’
She did not wait for Sara to agree, but hitched up her skirt and climbed the gate. Spreading out her coat to sit on, Anna divided up the bread and apples they had intended to keep for the following day.
Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies Page 39
