The Black Mountains

by Janet Tanner

  From the warm comfort of her kitchen, the snowy scene outside was not inviting, and she delayed the job as long as she could. Then, mid-morning, she heard the scrape of a shovel on stone, and looking out of the scullery window she saw Ted clearing a path from his own backdoor.

  At once, her heart began to thud so hard that it seemed to reverberate through her whole body. It was the chance she’d waited for! Ted would be in the yard for another half-hour at least, and with her own path to be cleared, she had a perfect excuse to be out there herself.

  She put on her coat and hat, wound a muffler round her neck and thrust her feet into her stoutest boots. Then she went out, looking for the shovel that the boys had left standing against the back wall.

  At first she thought. Ted was going to ignore her. When he heard the slam of the door he half-turned, nodding briefly, then resumed his work. She hesitated, looking at his stooping back, not sure whether to go or stay, speak or keep quiet. Then, on sudden impulse, she bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, shaping it into a ball and aiming it at the patch of soft gold that showed between muffler and cap.

  “Take that, Ted Hall!” she laughed.

  He let out a yell as the snowball caught him right on target and small, icy rivers ran down inside his collar.

  “What the …?”

  He spun round, and as he did so, the second snowball burst on the front of his jacket.

  “Rosa Clements, I’ll give you!” he yelled, but there was no mistaking the laughter in his voice, and her heart soared.

  “I couldn’t resist it,” she began. “You made such a lovely target …” But she broke off in mid-sentence and watched Ted bend to grab a handful of snow.

  “Right, Rosa Clements,” he called, raising his arm to hurl the snowball at her.

  “No! No!” She screamed with laughter as she tried to run for safety, but she was too late. The snowball caught her on the shoulder, and the battle was on. Without another word, they began to bombard one another as they had not done since they were children, ducking, dodging, shrieking with laughter, growing sillier and wilder until they were throwing nothing but handfuls of snow. Then Rosa jumped aside too smartly, her boots slid away from her on a hard-trodden patch, and she fell with a thud into the snow.

  “Hey, careful!”

  Ted ran to her, slipping and sliding himself, to take her hands and pull her up. “ You all right? You haven’t hurt yourself?”

  “No, I’m all right.” She was laughing again, but as he steadied her she was aware he was looking at her differently, and the laughter died away as the muscles in her throat suddenly tightened into a choking knot.

  “Ted … Ted, why are you looking at me like that?”

  He did not answer, and she had no way of knowing the picture she made as she laughed up at him, dark eyes sparkling, sallow cheeks whipped rosy by the icy wind, hair tumbled and dusted with snow. She did not know how the breath had caught in his chest or how he had wondered briefly how the little urchin who had lived next door for most of his life could have grown into this beautiful, tantalizing stranger. She had no way of knowing, and yet somehow she did.

  “I came out to clear the path, not play the fool with you!” she said with a tartness she was far from feeling.

  “I’ll do it for you if you like when I finish ours …”

  “Oh!” She didn’t know whether to be pleased or not. It was nice that he should have offered, but she wanted the excuse to stay out with him in the snow.

  He picked up his shovel from where it had fallen, and she stood uncertainly biting her lip.

  “I can do it, really, you’ve got enough to do …”

  “And all the time in the world to do it.” The bitterness was back in his tone. “There won’t even be any football, weather like this.”

  “Football?” she repeated, surprised.

  He scraped another foot of path clear of snow. “ Hillsbridge Town are at home on Saturday—or should be.”

  “Oh!” she said again. She hadn’t realized he was a football supporter, though she thought she should have guessed he would be. And it explained where he went on Saturday afternoons, too.

  “The team’s not what it should be, with so many of the lads gone, but still it’s something to do,” he said, as if pleased to have something to talk about. “And they aren’t doing so badly, considering. But Saturday should be their big day. It’s the local derby with Purldown.”

  She nodded. Purldown was the next village, its boundaries running into Hillsbridge. Plenty of Purldown men worked at South Hill Pit, so Saturday’s game would see mate set against mate and the rivalry would be fierce.

  Rosa had never had the slightest interest in football, but at this moment it seemed to her the most fascinating subject in the world.

  “I’d love to see it!” she said, truthfully. “I think I might go.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “ It’s not a place for a woman on her own. It’ll come to trouble later on, more likely than not, fighting and that. They get very worked up, some of them.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said stubbornly.

  Sadness tore at him, echoes from the past, and he seemed to hear another voice saying those words. Afraid of the reaction his memories could evoke, he pushed the thought aside.

  “If you want to go, you’d better come with me. If they can get on the ground, that is. But it’s going to be a cold outing.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Oh, I don’t mind that,” she said truthfully.

  FOR THE rest of the week she watched the weather eagerly. If there was more snow, the game would certainly be cancelled, and how long she would have to wait for another opportunity like this she didn’t know. But the heavy skies lightened after unloading only a few more sparse showers, and by Saturday the roads were wet and slushy and patches of sad green grass were showing through the dirty snow that had hung on the fields.

  “Will they play?” she asked her brothers anxiously at breakfast, and they looked at one another in surprise, unable to understand their sister’s sudden interest in the fortunes of Hillsbridge Town.

  “I’ll find out for you,” Percy volunteered. “I shall go up and have a look at them meself most likely if they’m playing.”

  A pulse jumped in Rosa’s throat. Brotherly scrutiny was the last thing she wanted. But she dared not say so. And when Percy came in at dinner-time with the news the match was on, the excitement rose to almost choke her. She dished up the tripe and onions hastily, plonking the plates down in front of them and telling them, “Get going, don’t wait for me.” And all the time she wondered what to do.

  The game would start early at this time of year, but Ted hadn’t come to the door to tell her when to be ready. Supposing he hadn’t meant what he said? Supposing he just went without her?

  Somehow she forced down mouthfuls of the tripe, then she got up to clear the dishes while the others sat smoking and talking over the likely results of the afternoon. When she had finished she put on her outdoor things, the warmest she had. Her hands were trembling—so was her whole body. It was, it seemed to her, the most important day of her whole life.

  “I’ll be back in time to get the tea,” she said, but even as she opened the backdoor she was unsure what she was going to do.

  To her immense relief he was waiting for her, standing by his own backdoor, stamping his feet against the cold.

  “Come on, I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,” he said.

  It was more the greeting of one mate to another than a man to his girl, but she was determined not to let it spoil her happy mood.

  “I had things to do. I’m glad you waited.”

  He shrugged. “I said I would. Though I still don’t think it’s a place for a woman.”

  Another stab of disappointment. Then why didn’t you suggest taking me somewhere else? she wanted to say, but she knew better. Ted was still grieving for another girl. She mustn’t hurry him—never that.
r />   She hopped along beside him, her shoes sliding a little on the wet path, and he gave her his arm for support. She took it with her gloved hand, feeling tremors of excitement run through her. She had waited so long for this, and now here she was, walking down the hill with Ted Hall, her arm through his for all the world to see.

  They crossed the bridge and began to climb the hill that led up to the football field. From Hillsbridge centre, the only way was up. Soon she was panting from the effort of keeping up with him, but he did not slacken his pace. There were other folk streaming up the hill too, mostly men she noticed, and they all seemed to know Ted.

  At the gates there was a crowd, jostling and talking in voices that were already loud and excited.

  “I’ll get your ticket,” Ted said, and she nodded, relieved. In all the excitement she had forgotten to bring any money!

  They found a space beside the wire midway down the pitch. Even before the players had run out of the changing room, the cold had begun to seep through their shoes, and Ted stamped his feet again and blew on his fingers.

  But Rosa didn’t feel the cold. Her own world was warm and glowing. And although she scarcely followed the game, she joined in the excitement, cheering and shouting. At half-time she queued at the tea stall with Ted and drank a steaming cup of weak tea. Then she trooped dutifully back to her place by the wire for the second half and more of the mounting excitement.

  At last it was all over and with no trouble either. Ten minutes before the end, when a Hillsbridge victory looked assured, disgruntled Purldown supporters began drifting away, and only the most hardy Hillsbridge men remained to cheer their team off the field.

  As Rosa trotted along beside Ted, she began to feel anxious. It was nearly over, this great occasion, and she didn’t know yet if he would suggest another meeting.

  “I did enjoy that,” she said hopefully, and he smiled at her.

  After more than two years, it was good to have a woman on his arm again, especially one as pretty as Rosa. And for the first time since he had come home, he had actually been able to forget himself for a little while.

  “I’ll take you again if you like,” he offered, and she nodded, concealing her delight.

  “Yes, all right,” said Rosa.

  IN THE weeks that followed, they became close companions. Besides the football matches, he took her to the pictures and to the dances that were sometimes held in the room beneath the picture house.

  At first, she lived in a glowing world where anything seemed possible. She rose above the household tasks she hated, floating through them with only half her mind on what she was doing, and she did not allow the black looks she got from Ted’s mother to worry her in the least. All her life, she had been used to people’s scorn, and although she was surprised that Mrs Hall, who had always treated her kindly, should be against the new-found friendship she had with her son, she was determined not to let it spoil her happiness.

  But as the weeks went by and the relationship did not progress beyond companionship, she began to get impatient. Under cover of darkness in the picture house, she tucked her hand into his, but although he held it dutifully, he never attempted to kiss her. When they danced a Veleta, he twirled her round, laughing, but she was left feeling he would have done the same with any pretty girl. Her happiness began to be dulled by anxiety. Surely he should be beginning to forget by now? Rebecca Church had been dead for almost three years.

  Or was it that at all? Might it not be that he just didn’t find her attractive as a woman, in spite of all her efforts? Or was he simply shy? It seemed unlikely, but she could not be certain. Sometimes the most outgoing people were the very ones who were inwardly unsure of themselves. If that was the case, perhaps she should take the initiative. But if she did that, and it wasn’t shyness at all, she might ruin everything.

  February passed, and March, and although there was not yet much warmth in the sun, at least it was shining. The evenings too were becoming lighter. On a Saturday night, the lamps in the market place no longer had to be lit at tea time, and more and more young folk walked along the bottom road to the fair, knowing that soon the cake-walk and the chair-o-planes would be packed up and taken on to the road for another summer.

  Ted and Rosa always enjoyed the fair—Ted because he liked the noise and the unabashed gaity, Rosa because the caravans and the dark-skinned people held a fascination for her that she wouldn’t admit, even to herself. Whenever it was fine enough, and they had nothing more pressing to do, they would idle along in that direction to throw a handful of darts or hurl a ball at the coconut shy, and that Saturday night was no exception.

  There had been another big football match that afternoon, an exciting cup match with Pulldown again, and this time Hillsbridge had been the losers.

  Feelings were running high. There had already been a fight or two, spilling over from the pubs into the market place, and Rosa had watched in some alarm as a man was knocked from top to bottom of the steps leading to the subway beneath the railway lines.

  Just so long as Ted didn’t get involved, she thought. But Ted, for once, seemed preoccupied. When she suggested going to the market yard, he agreed, but without his usual enthusiasm, and she felt a stab of disquiet.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, but he just shook his head, taking her arm and steering her along the road towards the fair.

  “Oh, nothing much. Come on, I’ll see what I can win you on the darts.”

  But his aim was no good, his concentration elsewhere, and Rosa was not convinced by his denial. Her heart grew heavier as she watched him, and the music and noise that usually exhilarated her only pressed in on her until she was ready to scream.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, feeling she couldn’t stand another moment of enforced jollity, and Ted followed her. But the strained atmosphere was still there. They left the market yard and struck out along the bottom road beside the stream. Finally, she stopped walking and turned to face him.

  “Don’t tell me there’s nothing the matter,” she said. “You’ve been as quiet as a mouse all the evening.”

  He sighed and pulled a face. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few days.”

  “Oh, yes, what about?” she prompted.

  “The future,” he said, and her heart came into her mouth.

  “Your future, you mean?”

  “Yes. Oh, look …” He glanced round, seeing they were quite close to a field gateway and pulled her into it, leaning his back against the wooden frame and holding her at arm’s length to face him. “I can’t go on as I am forever. I’ve been home going on four months, and I’ve got to do something about finding a job. I’m more or less fit now, and …”

  “You could get your old job back, no trouble,” she said confidently, and he grimaced.

  “I don’t want my old job back. That’s it in a nutshell. God knows, it took me long enough to get away from carting. I don’t want to walk back into it just like that.”

  “Maybe they’d take you as a collier now.” The blood was pumping through her veins very fast and singing in her ears.

  “I don’t know as I want to be a collier. I don’t know as I want to go back underground at all,” he said.

  “Well what do you want to do?” she asked, pretending exasperation.

  He stared over her shoulder into the darkness. “I’m not sure. I think I might travel round a bit, doing what I can.”

  “Travel?” she echoed faintly, and then, grasping at straws, “But there’s an awful shortage of jobs. Men are out of work all over the place.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t know as I want regular work. I’m not ready to settle down to one thing from now till I get me gold watch. It’s funny, people seem to think there’s something special about staying in one place for fifty years, but I tell you, it frightens me to death.”

  “But what would you do?” she asked. She was shaking all over.

  “Anything. Whatever was going.
The summer’s coming, and there’ll be seasonal jobs at the resorts. Now this war is over, people are going to want to get away. Or I could go to London. There’s sure to be something I could do there. I liked London. I went there once when Becky …”

  He broke off, his eyes misting as he stared at some distant spot over Rosa’s shoulder, and the name seemed to explode all around her.

  Becky. All this while, and he had still not got over her. Becky. She had been there in his heart all the time that she, Rosa, had been trying to make him forget, and nothing they had shared had really meant anything to him at all. She had been a diversion, a companion, but nothing more, because he was still in love with Rebecca Church.

  And why? Rosa wondered. What did she have to hold him like this? She was prim, she was colourless, not a girl you’d look at twice. Oh, I could show him a thing or two if only he’d give me the chance. I’d show him what a woman can be when she’s got fire in her blood But he’s going away—he’s going to leave me. Maybe this is the last time we’ll be together, and all because he doesn’t know …

  She looked at his face, and at the eyes that were seeing something no one else could see. “She’s dead,” she wanted to say, but she knew the words would be cruel and useless. There was only one thing to do and that was to show him—make him realize once and for all that she was warm living flesh, a woman who loved him.

  Without a word she moved towards him, sliding her arms about his waist and tilting her face to his. For a startled moment he held back, then with a suddenness that took her breath away, he crushed her close, leaning back against the gate and taking her with him. His lips found hers, kissing her with a hunger that both frightened and exhilarated her.