She wandered about the parlour, hands squashing her cheeks. ‘Well… if I’m to suffer his presence for that long I’d better know what to call him.’ He informed her. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! What possessed you to pick a name like that?’
He thought it expedient to stay quiet on that point. Any mention of the boy’s mother would only restir emotions.
There was a knock at the front door. Rachel’s brown irises became islands on a sea of white. ‘Oh no, that’s Mrs Taylor! I forgot all about her. I told her to call this evening and pick the material for her hat. If she sees him – Biddy, stay where you are!’ She hurtled down the passage, grabbing her hat and jacket and struggling into them before opening the door. ‘Oh, Mrs Taylor, I’m dreadfully sorry!’ She came out onto the step, pulling the door shut behind her. ‘I’m going to have to cancel our appointment – yes, I know it’s short notice and I’m ever so sorry,’ she nodded apologetically to the woman, all the time forcing her away from the door and towards the gate, ‘but this is an emergency. A friend of mine’s been taken ill and I really do have to go to her. I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Look, tell you what,’ she succeeded in edging the perplexed caller onto the pavement and shut the gate, ‘I’ll call round at your house tomorrow morning with all the samples. How will that be? You’ll get a better idea if you can match them up against your outfit, won’t you?’ Not giving the woman time to get her answer out, she began to rush away down the street. ‘Sorry again for putting you out but I’ll have to dash!’
The woman stared after the hurrying figure for a second, then wandered up the street after her. Luckily, the distance that Rachel had put between them meant that the woman did not see where Rachel went after turning the corner… which was straight into the back lane and through the rear entrance of her own house.
Panting, she leaned on the door of the scullery for a second to catch her breath. Then, opening her eyes, she moved into the kitchen. The boy stood as she entered, halting her passage. ‘I’m very sorry if I gave you a shock.’ He came from behind the table.
‘You keep away from me!’ She ripped off her hat, her alien glare stifling his overtures. She marched on, but found her way blocked by the children and Biddy who had come down to see if it were safe to re-enter. ‘Come out of the way!’ She tried to push past them.
‘Are you feeling well again now, Mother?’ asked Beany.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine!’
‘Will himself be stayin’?’ enquired Biddy.
Rachel’s nostrils flared. ‘That’s what it looks like – will you please let me through!’
Biddy was slow in unblocking the doorway. ‘I was just wonderin’ where we’re goin’ to put him, like.’
Rachel sighed heavily. ‘Use your initiative!’
The heavy brow descended. ‘I don’t think I’ve got one o’ them, ma’am. Should I put him in Master Bertie’s room?’
‘No!’ The word slipped out involuntarily and Bertie sought to be more polite. ‘Please, Mother, I’d rather he didn’t.’
‘Oh, Robert, don’t be so difficult!’ Rachel tutted. ‘All right, he can go in with you, Biddy.’
The maid’s hands flew to her face. ‘Oh, ma’am! That wouldn’t be fittin’.’
Rachel felt about to erupt. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about, he probably sleeps on the floor in Africa!’
‘No, I said that to him before, ma’am,’ came the sage reply, ‘but he says he sleeps in a bed.’
‘For heaven’s sake, put him where you like!’ Rachel was still trying to break through the mass. Biddy said he could have the sofa. ‘All right, all right!’ Rachel finally succeeded in pushing her way past them. ‘Just don’t bother me with trivia now – oh, and Biddy!’ She spun. ‘If anyone should call this evening, do not in any circumstances let them in – particularly Mrs Daw.’
‘What if it’s somebody important, ma’am?’
‘I don’t care if it’s the King! Don’t let him in!’ Rachel was about to go into the front parlour, then remembered her husband was in there. She didn’t want to see him. Pivoting, she bounded up the stairs and shut herself in her room where she burst into fresh tears of rage and humiliation. Everything she had worked for, gone – and all because of a soldier’s lust.
‘Ah well,’ sighed the maid. ‘I’d better get your milk an’ biscuits for supper. That suit you too?’ She was looking at Charlie. ‘Oh, Lord! what happened to the frying pan?’ She had turned to the range and was looking for the vessel. ‘I forgot all about it!’
‘I ate the bacon,’ Charlie informed her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but it was burnt so I thought no one else would want it.’
‘Ye weren’t so hungry that ye ate the pan an’ all?’ responded Biddy, looking in the cupboard where the frying pan was normally kept. Charlie said that he had wiped it out with a piece of bread and put it in the bottom of the oven. ‘It doesn’t belong here!’ reproved Biddy, lifting it out and transferring it to the correct place.
Charlie said he was sorry. ‘But that’s where we keep it at home.’ This was all very bewildering.
While Biddy was pouring the glasses of milk, Rowena said, ‘Father tells us a story while we’re having supper – usually about what he did in the Army.’
Biddy grinned to herself and took a sly peep at Charlie. We know well enough what he really did now, don’t we?
‘I’m going to be a soldier when I grow up,’ revealed Charlie.
‘Oh, so is Bertie, aren’t you?’ An interested Rowena turned to her brother who merely scowled.
‘I want to be in the same regiment as Father,’ added Charlie.
‘They don’t take fuzzballs.’
Anger stirred in Charlie’s breast. He looked at his shoes so that Bertie wouldn’t see how the insult had wounded, for if he started fighting here they would throw him out. It’s just a word, he told himself, just a word. It doesn’t mean anything. He attempted to divert Bertie’s hostility. ‘Maybe we could have a game of football tomorrow.’
‘Fuzzball, you mean.’ Bertie leered nastily.
‘Bertie, stop calling him that.’ Rowena turned to Charlie. ‘You’ll have to excuse him, he’s just at that age.’
Biddy finished pouring the milk. ‘Oh, if you’re sleeping down here I’d best bring some sheets down – an’ I’ll unpack your bag.’ She grasped the holdall and took out his few possessions to lay them on the sofa. The sight of a string of rosary beads provoked rude laughter from Bertie. ‘Hah, look at that, he wears a necklace. Big sissy!’
Charlie was beaten to a retort by the maid. ‘Master Bertie!’ Biddy put her big hands on her hips. ‘I’ll thank ye to keep your ignorant remarks to yourself! They’re not to wear, they’re to pray with.’
Bertie had known this – having shared a room with Biddy when he was small, he was used to seeing her kneeling and whispering over her beads at bedtime – he had simply wanted to ridicule. ‘That shows he can’t be related to us,’ he told the girls. ‘We don’t use them at our church.’
‘My mother was a Catholic,’ said Charlie.
‘I’ll bet Father didn’t like her as much as he likes our mother,’ replied Bertie.
‘He must have done!’ shot Charlie. ‘Because he married her first – I’m older than you.’
Bertie didn’t have an answer for this, but mumbled something about his father having probably fought Charlie’s relatives in the Zulu War, and was made to look extremely foolish when Charlie replied that Father could hardly have been old enough to be at school then. ‘And anyway, I’m not a Zulu!’
Bertie tried to cover his humiliation by using more insults. ‘Fuzz-z-z.’
‘The owl and the pussycat…’ Beany positioned her hands as though conducting an orchestra and the others followed her lead, all chanting, ‘Went to sea in a beautiful… peeean-greeen boat!’
Bertie stamped from the room to uproarious laughter. Lyn explained to the new boy about the magic words. ‘So if he calls you that again just say “pean green�
��. Or if you like,’ she lowered her voice, ‘I can tell you some good swear words. D’you know any? Can you teach me to say “shit” in African so’s I can say it to Bertie and not get into trouble?’
‘Shit’s the same in any language,’ muttered Biddy, eyeing the row of napkins on the line above the fire. ‘Lord knows I’ve seen enough of it in this house.’
Charlie pulled his earlobe and looked at Rowena, who told him not to encourage her sister. Despite the girls’ affiliation he felt very isolated.
‘Have you got a grandma and grandad?’ asked Becky. At Charlie’s shake of head she said forlornly, ‘Neither have we.’ How she had always longed for grandparents – everyone she knew had them. Still, it was a comfort to find someone else who hadn’t. ‘How many aunties and uncles have you got?’ Charlie looked blank and said he didn’t know. ‘We’ve got…’ She counted on her fingers. ‘Three aunties and… two uncles, and four cousins. We don’t see them much though ’cause they live a long way away – one of our aunties lives in America – but we usually go to Aunty May’s for our holidays in the summer. She lives near a farm. It’s really good. If you’re still here then I expect you’ll be coming with us.’
‘Come on now.’ Biddy distributed the milk. ‘One of yese run to the parlour an’ fetch your father.’
Beany volunteered, but was disappointed to find the parlour empty. This she told the maid. Biddy went to the foot of the stairs and hollered, ‘Mr Hazelwood! The children’re waiting on their story!’ But it was unlikely that Mr Hazelwood would hear – he was a mile away in the pub. ‘Looks like he’s gone out,’ Biddy told the dismayed gathering.
‘He said he was going to explain about Charlie,’ sulked Lyn. ‘What’re we going to do now until bedtime?’
Becky nudged her craftily, then with innocent face said, ‘Biddy, will you dance for us?’
The maid placed a collection of biscuits on the table. ‘Sure, ’tis a bit hot for dancin’ – but I could sing ye a song.’
‘Aw no, a dance!’ pressed Beany, then to the African boy, ‘She’s a remarkable dancer is Biddy.’
‘Oh… all right then – but just a short one!’ Biddy lumbered to the entrance where there was more space and positioned her great feet.
‘Hang on while I fetch Bertie!’ Becky pushed past the maid’s bulk and scrambled up the stairs to tap urgently at her brother’s door. ‘Bertie, away! Biddy’s going to do a dance!’ It wasn’t actually the maid’s dancing prowess that inspired such excitement but that Biddy had a habit of kicking her legs high into the air and revealing her drawers – and that wasn’t all, for the drawers had gaping holes in them. There was such laughter afterwards. ‘Bertie, hurry up!’
But Bertie stated that he wasn’t interested and lay there on his bed of self-pity, while down below the maid entertained the new boy, hurling herself about the room like a playful hippopotamus.
* * *
Russ chose not to return until long after the children’s bedtime. In fact, everyone was in bed barring himself. He sneaked down the passage, intending to make himself a snack before going up. The longer he postponed that moment the more chance of his wife being asleep. On opening the door, he was startled by a movement from the sofa and the glint of eyes peered at him over a tartan blanket.
‘Oh…’ he said foolishly. ‘Sorry, I was just… goodnight!’ He closed the door rapidly, hovered in the passage for a while then, with a look of grim resignation, took to the stairs.
He knew the moment he entered that she wasn’t asleep – her breathing was too manufactured – but it relieved him to know that she obviously didn’t want to start haranguing him. Undressing as quietly as he could, he slipped into bed. The horsehair mattress was worn into a hollow in the centre, so that normally their bodies would roll towards each other. But this evening tensed muscles and repugnance kept Rachel balanced on the outer edge. The pillow beneath her face was soaked, making her cheek sore, but she clung there, limpet-like, for any movement might have him rolling over to offer beer-stinking penance. She couldn’t bear that.
Russ pressed his belly into the slope of mattress and hooked a hand over the side as anchorage. Lying thus, he stared into the shadows, trying to think what to do about his problem. But the shadows produced no answer… only more shadows.
Chapter Ten
With abominable timing, a letter arrived the following day informing Russ of the boy’s abscondment. ‘I fear he may be heading for England,’ wrote the priest, bringing a mirthless twist to Russell’s lips. The brief letter was seized by his wife’s nervous fingers whilst he, looking at the clock, said, ‘I’d better go and open the shop.’
She placed her trim body in his path. ‘Oh no! You wriggled out of it last night, sneaking off to the pub, but you’re not leaving this house until you’ve done your duty and spoken to the children.’ She was facing him, but her eyes avoided his, settling on his hair, nose, mouth – anywhere but his eyes.
‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ Russ didn’t meet her gaze either. ‘It might be better if they didn’t know the whole story…’
Rachel’s unbounded hair twirled like a matador’s cape. ‘Oh, better for you!’ Her head was splitting, her body tense through lack of sleep.
‘Better for all – I mean, he’ll be gone in a few weeks. Why upset them unnecessarily?’
She stared at him incredulously. ‘Of all the… haven’t they been upset already! What d’you think it’s done to them, finding out they have a half-brother whom they knew nothing about?’
‘They didn’t seem too concerned…’
‘If that’s true then it’s only because they don’t fully realize what a blackguard you are! No, if they’re to be sworn to secrecy then they’ll want to know why – have a right to know, before someone else tells them… and then he can go—’
‘Go?’ he repeated stupidly.
She closed her eyes in exasperation. ‘For the love of God! Think what this will do to us if it gets out! I wasn’t in my right mind last night but I am now – he goes immediately.’
‘But I don’t see how…’
‘You’re the Sheriff of York, show some spirit!’
The way she goes on, thought Russ, you’d think being the Sheriff of York gave me some sort of magic bloody powers. But he did not oppose her verbally and rubbed his face in a pathetic manner. ‘I suppose I could take him back meself…’
‘Walk down the street with him? You will not! He came on his own, I’m quite sure he’s capable of going back in the same mode.’
‘He’s not much older than Bertie,’ Russ pointed out.
She wished he hadn’t said that; it brought the picture of him and that woman flashing back, committing their adulterous act while she herself writhed in labour. The disgust showed on her pinched face. ‘Same age or no, he’s obviously inherited his mother’s worldliness. He’ll come to no harm. He can wait until it’s dark, then go.’
After great prevarication he stuttered, ‘I can’t just chuck him out like that, Rache.’
She stiffened. ‘I thought you said he meant nothing to you?’
‘He doesn’t… but I couldn’t do it to any child. It’s too cruel.’
She gave a hysterical laugh, presenting her face to the ceiling, then squared her shoulders. ‘So, we all have to live with the result of your filthy indiscretion until that wretched priest decides to collect him?’ She locked her jaws and a heavy silence ensued while she patrolled the carpet. ‘Well! If he’s staying he’d better have a proper sleeping place, hadn’t he? We can’t have our guest dossing down on the sofa for weeks on end. He’d best go in the attic.’
Russ nodded gratefully. ‘It’ll need cleaning out.’
‘It’s wanted doing for years. Biddy can do it this afternoon, then he can stay up there. I’m not having him under my nose every second of the day – have you written to that priest, by the way?’
‘I’m going to send a cablegram instead. I’ll do it on the way to work.’
‘Right! We
ll now you can go into that kitchen and tell those children how they come to have a brother who is black!’ She turned her back on him.
In the kitchen, the children were waiting for the moment to leave for school. ‘Hello, scallywags,’ was his awkward offering. He cupped Becky’s bright head before turning reluctantly to Charlie. ‘Did you sleep all right on that sofa?’
Charlie smiled, ‘Yes, thank you,’ though it wasn’t true. He had slept only after crying out his loneliness and disappointment for hours – yet now he was heartened by the fact that his father didn’t seem to be as angry this morning.
Russ groped for support, then spotted the coalscuttle was half empty. ‘Er, I wonder if you’d mind fetching some more coal in, lad? The children will be off to school in a minute and it’ll give Biddy a chance to side away if you help her.’
For some reason Biddy seemed alarmed. ‘Oh no, that’s my job, sir!’
‘Charlie will do it, lass,’ came the firm reply. Russ cultured a tight smile as the boy, eager to do right, swung the coalscuttle out to the yard.
Waiting for the noisy scraping of the shovel to begin, Russ bade the maidservant to be about her chores, then positioned himself in a falsely confident manner on a dining chair. ‘Now then, I’m sorry I had to nip out last night. I expect you’re all waiting for an explanation about Charlie.’
‘Is it true he’s our brother?’ demanded Bertie without preamble. He too had been denied proper sleep through worrying about it.
Russ studied the desperate expression, glanced at Biddy who appeared to be immersed in her work, then nodded. ‘At least, your half-brother.’
‘Ooh, lovely!’ Becky hugged her arms around her body.
Her father tore his eyes away from Bertie’s sickly face to show surprise. Before he could comment, the questions started popping.
‘Why haven’t we seen him before, Father?’ asked Rowena with no apparent concern.
Russ neutralized his voice. ‘Because he lives in Africa.’
‘Was Charlie’s mother brown?’ This was Beany. Russ nodded. ‘So, he’s half white and half brown?’ Another nod.
My Father, My Son Page 15
