She gave a laugh of derision. ‘They’re your taste buds, you daft sod!’ And, shaking her head at her sisters over this display of hypochondria, she made for the back door. ‘I’ll just visit the doings before I go.’
Beata smiled at the interchange, then tried to shove her elder sister away from the sink. ‘Go sit down, missus, I’ll do them.’
‘Go on then.’ Gussie made as if to go into the living room.
‘Eh, I didn’t mean you to give in so easily,’ joked Beata. But, turning to laugh at her sister she suddenly noticed how thick around the middle Gussie had become and her humour dried. ‘Eh, Gus … you’re not, are you?’
Feeling herself under deep scrutiny, Gussie looked alarmed and put a silencing finger to her lips before rushing back to hiss, ‘Ssh! I’m trying to keep it quiet as long as I can – only Mick knows.’ She glanced at the door to check that her other sister was still outside. ‘Don’t say aught to Maddie, will you? I know what she’ll say.’
‘Well, if I’ve noticed she’s bound to do as well!’
‘But promise you won’t draw her attention to it!’
Beata shook her head, but groaned and leaned against the cool sink, ‘Oh, lass, I’ll never stop worrying about you now.’
‘Don’t.’ Gussie clasped her arm. ‘There’s no need.’ With the pressure over Joe lifted, she appeared radiant. ‘I know everything’s going to be all right this time.’
Hearing returning footsteps in the yard, Beata kept her voice to a whisper. ‘But how can you be so certain? I mean, I’d dearly love for it to—’
‘I do,’ insisted Gussie. ‘I just do. I can feel it.’ And it was said with such conviction that any argument was futile.
Besides which, at this point Maddie came in, forcing the need to talk about something else. Though it did not stop Beata worrying.
* * *
Nevertheless, she promised to keep Gussie’s secret, and not another word was said about it as she went on to enjoy a very pleasant evening in the downstairs Oak Room of Betty’s restaurant where she and her sisters tried to forget about the war, drank and chatted and flirted with a group of airmen, encouraging them to add their names to those already scratched on the large mirror there.
Back at work in the morning and having an early start, Maddie did not stay long, but left enough money to buy her sisters another drink. However, they were not to dally much longer themselves, for, rarely going out these days, both were unaccustomed to alcohol and were soon feeling its effects.
Mims giggled as, upon their arrival home, her high heels misnegotiated the threshold and she tripped. ‘Ooh, I think I’m a bit tiddly!’
Thinking how good it was to hear her laughing again, Beata followed her younger sister along the passage.
Mims cocked her head at the sound of a baby’s cry from up above. ‘Good God, he must have X-ray vision! I’ve no sooner set foot through the door than he’s after me.’ And instead of going into the living room she went upstairs to bring him down before he disturbed others.
Beata continued on her way – then stopped dead at the sight of the middle-aged man who sat with Gussie and Mick. It was such a shock to see him after all these years.
‘Hello, Beat.’ Clem rose from his chair, came forward hesitantly and lowered his auburn head to deliver an awkward kiss. ‘I were beginning to think I’d have to leave without seeing you. It’s been a long time.’
Though shocked, her reply was warm and genuine. ‘It’s grand to see you, Clem. You’re looking well.’ In fact he looked rather drained and worried, as they all did.
‘So are you.’ He glanced down and winced. ‘Apart from your leg. By, it looks painful. Been on your feet all day?’
‘No, it’s like this all the time now.’ Beata glanced at Gussie and Mick as if for explanation as to what he was doing here, but then was distracted by Mims’ gasp of surprise as she came in carrying Jimmy.
Clem’s youngest sister, too, greeted him warmly and niceties were exchanged. But then there was a pensive interval, during which all that was to be heard was the gurgling of Mims’ baby son.
Clem tapped his hands against his thighs, as if trying to find something to say, his attention mainly on Beata. ‘Well, Gussie’s brought me up to date with her situation and told me about Joe and that. What have you been doing with yourself lately?’
Bidding him to sit down again and doing likewise, Beata listed as much as she could remember. After which there was another long silence. Clem gave her a sad smile, but said nothing. He’s expecting me to ask about Eliza, she thought. Well, he would have a long wait.
It was Gussie who explained quietly, ‘Clem’s come to let us know Eliza’s dying.’
Beata looked at her brother, saw beneath the weariness a look of anguish.
‘She wants to see you, Beat,’ came his soft request.
Beata flinched, all the old hurts rushing in on her. She was ten years old again, vulnerable and afraid, too shocked for the moment to give an answer. Eventually she looked at Mims and opined shrewdly, ‘I’ll bet you’re not going.’
Her youngest sister gave a tight smile, shook her head then looked down at the baby in her arms.
Beata’s eyes turned to Gussie. ‘What about you?’
‘It’s not me she’s asking for.’
Beata’s response was unusually caustic. ‘No, it’s muggins here she wants to run around after her.’
Clem shook his head. He looked haggard with worry. ‘No, Beat, she’s beyond that. Me and Doris have been nursing her. She just keeps asking for you.’ Hands laced between his knees, he rubbed his thumbs together, his eyes directed at his feet, though not seeing them.
Gussie tendered softly, ‘She’s dying, Beat. She can’t hurt you any more.’
Oh she can! She can, thought Beata, the woman’s nasty laughter reverberating through her memory. What could possibly be Eliza’s reason for wanting her there? Was it to beg forgiveness? If so, she did not know whether she could genuinely grant it.
‘You can’t let her go to her Maker alone.’
An argument raged inside Beata’s head and heart: why should I go after all she did to me?
Clem waited as long as he could for an answer, but when Beata continued to dally, he became agitated and rose. ‘I’ll have to go. I’ve left her longer than I wanted to. If you do decide to come, don’t leave it too long.’ Kissing each of his sisters and shaking hands with Mick, he made his way to the door.
But there was one last attempt. Beata studied the hawkish face as he took out his last cigarette, grasped it between his lips and scribbled the address on the empty packet, tossing it on the sideboard. ‘She really wants to see you, Beat.’ He fixed her with those hooded blue eyes for a brief but weighty moment, then left.
* * *
It was a measure of Beata’s compassion that, sometime during the restless night, she finally overcame her desperate inner struggle and decided to answer the call. Though whether she would be able to face her tormentor once she arrived was yet to be ascertained. Going alone, taking nothing except the borrowed train fare and her gas mask, she made for Doncaster, throughout the journey her stomach constantly churning. She dreaded seeing Eliza again.
When she arrived, hot and dusty, throat dry both with thirst and nerves, it was Doris who admitted her. Her stepsister’s face showed signs of intense pressure, though it lit up at the sight of the caller.
‘Eh, Beat, how lovely to see you! Come in.’
She had imagined this moment, envisioned herself frozen with nerves, unable to step over that threshold, for once she was in she was trapped. In reality it was not quite so bad. Reacting instinctively to Doris’s invitation she was in before she could change her mind.
The house had an air of death. She had smelled it enough times to know.
‘Aw, you haven’t changed a bit.’ Doris spoke in hushed tone, looking up and down the other’s stocky frame.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Beata gave a wobbly smile, unable to help
herself from glancing up the stairs. Eliza must be up there. ‘How are you keeping, Doris?’
‘Oh, not so bad.’ Her stepsister smiled, then whispered, ‘I’ll take you straight up.’ And with that Beata found herself being escorted towards the woman who had terrorized her.
Her heart fluttered and, with every step, began to race. When they reached the landing the door of the sick room was ajar. Whilst Doris went in to tell Clem his sister was here Beata held back, partly out of a wish not to impose but also out of fear. Able to see everything that went on, she watched Clem administering to her stepmother, with tender motions sponging the waxen brow and stick-like limbs, crooning to her as if to a baby. Such gentleness, for one who had always been easy to violence. At Doris’s whisper, he simply nodded and looked towards the door, then, returning his attention to the one in the bed he bent to murmur in Eliza’s ear.
Doris came back to the landing. ‘You can go in, Beat. I’ll go make us some tea.’
Taking a deep breath, Beata steeled herself to do so.
Then Doris added as she went downstairs, ‘Mother won’t be able to hear you, though, I’m afraid, she slipped into unconsciousness a few hours ago.’
Gaining only slight relief from this, Beata crept in.
Without turning, Clem detected his sister’s presence, saying in low murmur, ‘I won’t be a minute, Beat, I’m just making her comfy. She probably isn’t aware of it but I like to feel as if I’m doing something.’ He dabbed the thin limbs with a towel, eventually tucking the covers back under Eliza’s chin.
Watching Clem’s loving skills towards the one he called his wife, Beata pondered on his great suitability for the role, and it was revealed to her then that every one of her siblings had fulfilled his or her destiny: Joe, a soldier like his father; Gus with her big family; Maddie devoted to her patients; Duke free to roam wherever he chose; Mims just by being herself bringing joy to others … but which road for Beata?
‘Poor lass, I’m glad she’s unconscious. She was in agony till the doctor gave her an injection. I’m hoping he’s given her enough to see her through.’ Gazing at the dying woman, Clem suddenly bent and touched his lips to her cheek. It was such a tender, loving kiss yet it seared Beata’s heart like a red-hot brand.
She gulped. What should she say? What should she do?
Then all at once, the unendurable silence was rent by an earthy fart. Startled, she and Clem looked at each other. It was impossible not to laugh. Shaking with mirth, Beata thought, if that’s your idea of making amends a simple apology would have sufficed, but she did not say it, for though he chuckled with her Clem had tears in his eyes. And for the first time she saw Eliza not as a monster but as a helpless, naked, little sparrow about to tumble from the nest, and all fear left her.
Then as she stood mesmerized, to the accompaniment of a few crackling breaths, the last slender twig gave way and with a sigh Eliza was gone, bequeathing Clem a look of devastation.
He covered his face with his hands and remained like this for quite a while before raking his fingers down his cheeks, his eyes vacant.
Beata’s heart went out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Clem.’ Sorry for you, not her, she thought privately.
‘Never mind,’ he gasped through his anguish. ‘At least you came.’
She remained there for a few seconds just watching, then said, ‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ and she left the room.
On her way up with a tray of tea, Doris guessed from Beata’s expression that her mother was gone and her face crumpled. Poised on the stair, a tear emerged. Then she turned and plodded back down with the tray of tea, pouring three cups to cover her distress.
Not knowing what to say, Beata asked, ‘Where’s Lionel?’
Doris looked even more anguished and blew into her handkerchief. ‘At work. I’m dreading him coming home.’
‘Work? Oh yes, he must be sixteen…’ Beata was still mulling over this amazing fact when her stepsister spoke again.
‘Thanks for coming, Beat.’ Doris sighed, her eyes glassy as she handed over a cup of tea. ‘I know she’s my mother but I’m not sure I’d have come if she’d treated me as badly as she did you.’
Beata took possession of the cup, saying quietly, ‘Aye well, it’s all in the past.’ And she genuinely meant it.
Doris nodded and sipped her tea. ‘It’s nice to see you again anyway. What have you been doing with yourself all these years?’
Beata told her briefly.
‘And where are you living?’
‘I’ve been a bit of a gypsy, no fixed abode.’ She gave a tight smile and took another sip from her cup, her expression becoming somewhat vague. ‘I’m at a loss as to what to do now, though. I’ve tried to do my bit towards the war effort but I don’t seem much use to anybody.’
Doris gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It’s staring you in the face, Beat.’
Beata frowned at her.
‘You’re a natural nurse. They’re crying out for the likes of you.’
A heavy sigh. ‘Oh, I don’t know … I’m not brainy enough to get the qualifications.’
‘Well, I’m not saying you’re not brainy, Beat, but you don’t need to pass exams. I know somebody who’s off to be a nursing auxiliary on these Ambulance Trains they’re setting up and all she needed was two references, a certificate in First Aid and Home Nursing, and three years’ experience in looking after invalids.’
‘Three years?’ said Beata, looking amazed and cynical at the same time. ‘I’ve been looking after people all me life!’
‘Well, that’s what I’m saying, you clot!’ Realizing she was sounding disrespectful with her mother expired upstairs, Doris lowered her voice. ‘Beat, you don’t have to wear a uniform nor work in a big building with beds in it to call yourself a nurse. As I told you before, you’re a natural. And God knows, there’ll be plenty of poor souls needing you if this war drags on.’
She was quickly gaining enthusiasm. ‘And do you think they’d take me?’
‘It’s a cert, Gert.’ Doris’s smile was warmly convincing. ‘Now, have a cup of tea, pay your last respects to Mother, then get back to York and do something about it.’
Her teacup drained, the time came for Beata to have one last look at the woman who had bedevilled her. Doris came with her, linking her arm as support, but it was not such an ordeal for Beata now; the fear had completely vanished. It was just a dead body, much shrunken in death, and she had seen many of those over the years. Doris stooped to kiss her mother’s cheek but Beata was to draw the line at this. It was enough that she had come.
But there was a kiss for her brother, and a last kind word. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Clem.’
He nodded, before his eyes went back to the woman he had loved.
Then, in the final acceptance that her own love would have to be channelled in much different fashion, Beata left him. And knowing, as surely as Gussie knew that her child would be born alive, that this time there would be no rejection, she went out into the bright day, towards her true vocation, despite the war, full of hope.
Author’s Note
The first section of this book follows the exact movements of a real regiment, the 9th Battalion York and Lancasters, taken from the official war diaries. Certain officers and men who died have been accorded their real names – my apologies for any confusion over the two who bore an identical surname – and particular events recorded as they actually occurred. However, for the purposes of the story I have added a number of fictitious characters and incidents that are in no way intended to reflect the actions of those who actually took part, my real purpose to pay tribute to their bravery.
My thanks for the use of articles on the period too numerous to mention; Kitchener’s Army by Peter Simkins; for the memoirs of E. Buffey, late Y&L Regiment, and in particular for the awesome works of Lyn Macdonald.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2003 by HarperCollins
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by
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Copyright © Sheelagh Kelly, 2003
The moral right of Sheelagh Kelly to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911591979
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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