The Loom

by Sandra van Arend

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Raymond.’

  ‘Why not, I hate it here.’

  ‘I thought you were doing so well at your studies, Ray, and looking forward to going to Oxford,’ Marion said in surprise.

  ‘Well, I’m not and it’s not only that.’

  ‘You can’t come with us and that’s that. And don’t you dare say anything.’ Marion glared at him.

  ‘Please, Marion.’

  ‘I’ve told you, no.’

  Raymond stared back. He was stuck. Could he tell her what had happened? He’d no alternative.

  ‘It’s because of mother,’ he began haltingly. Then it poured from him, purging him. He’d held it inside him for two years, slowly festering. Like a canker cauterized he was released, relief seeped through him, healing. Marion and Darkie listened in amazement. Marion studied him as he spoke. He seemed more mature than his seventeen years and why hadn’t she noticed that sadness in his eyes before? She’d been too wrapped up in herself. Raymond had his share of troubles as well. If only she’d known.

  The hoot of the steamer echoed loudly in the morning air. The fog had lain heavy since dawn, but now the slight mist began to clear and the faint outline of the Corona could be seen. Her funnels suddenly belched black smoke. A tug made its determined way back to the wharf, sturdy and solid, fighting the rough seas like a pugnacious little bulldog.

  The man pounded along the dock, his expensive Saville Row overcoat billowing from him as he ran. His hand made leather shoes thudded loudly, startling the three other people on the dock. Only a short time ago there had been throngs of people seeing relatives and friends off to the other side of the world. Now only these three remained. They watched as the ship faded gradually into the distance.

  The man seemed unaware of them. The pounding of his feet had taken on the reverberations of a giant hammer on an anvil. Sweat ran down the side of his face. He finally recognized the futility of his mad race and stopped abruptly, bleakly watching the Corona disappear over the horizon. He looked around, conscious suddenly of the three other dejected figures, now staring silently at him. He walked slowly towards them, his breathing easing.

  ‘Well, Mrs. Hammond, it seems that the birds have flown!’ George Townsend took out an immaculate linen handkerchief and wiped his face.

  Emma’s face was tear-stained. He checked the angry words when he saw her misery.

  ‘Aye, they’ve gone,’ Emma said heavily. She looked at the well-dressed man in front of her. Grief was etched deep. All his brass can’t fix that, she thought. She would have given all the money in the world to bring Darkie back. This one in front of her had lost a son and a daughter! If only America wasn’t such a long way off. All that misery and worry during the war and now she’d lost Darkie in another way. She couldn’t envisage ever seeing him again.

  ‘Aye, they’re gone,’ she said again and looked out across the vastness of grey, at the grey mist, the grey outlines of the buildings on the docks. All different tonings of grey - like her mind at the moment.

  Despondency settled on her, like a covering of cement, choking. Janey and Leah began to sob again.

  ‘That’s enough you two,’ Emma said sharply, hiding her own unhappiness. ‘That’ll do no one any good. He’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it.’ She studied the man standing in front of her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry Mr. Townsend. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. They’d made up their minds and nothing and nobody would have been able to change them.’

  George flinched as though the revelation had only just hit him. He’d been angry, furious at what had happened. Now he realized he might never see his son and daughter again. He made a choking sound in his throat and turned away, shoulders heaving. He couldn’t break down here!

  Emma stared at him with compassion. With all his brass, she thought, he’s only a man just like all the rest of ‘em. This surprised her. Like most people in Harwood she was a little intimidated by the ‘nobs’. She looked upon them as almost god-like figures, untouchable and unattainable. All his brass, she thought again, won’t bring his children back.

  George turned to Emma and put his hand tentatively on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, too, Mrs. Hammond. There’s something I didn’t do right and I’ve paid the price, very heavily I’m afraid. If there’s anything I can do for you please let me know.’

  He noticed Emma’s surprise. ‘I mean that, Mrs. Hammond, because I feel it’s my fault they left. There’s also another point to consider.’

  ‘What’s that, Mr. Townsend?’

  ‘Darkie and Marion, our children,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ Emma replied bleakly.

  ‘Well, then, please don’t hesitate to contact us if anything comes up. I think what happened has taught me quite a few lessons, Mrs. Hammond.’

  Emma nodded. She was still too full of emotion to consider seriously what he’d just said. Contact them! What did that mean?

  ‘Well, good day Mrs. Hammond and you, too, Leah and Janey.’ He nodded to them and walked slowly away down the dock.

  ‘Aye,’ Emma said quietly, almost to herself. ‘I think he has learnt a few lessons, but he’s learnt them a bit late.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Stephen Townsend is all wrapped up – in Leah Hammond!

  That’s an expression, used often in these parts, ‘all wrapped up’. ‘He’s all wrapped up in her’, he’s heard numerous times, or ‘she’s all wrapped up in him’, and even ‘they’re all wrapped up in each other’. Stupid saying, he used to think. Not anymore! Without even being aware that it’s happened, it seems that both he and Leah have amazingly become unravelled and knit neatly up again, each into the fabric of the other. They are indeed, all wrapped up in each other as the saying goes, in the truest sense of the word. He’ll never sneer at that expression again.

  He’s taking Leah on a picnic today and they are going on the Harley (his father will be pleased).

  Stephen rolled up the tartan rug (used for picnics in what seemed like another lifetime) and strapped it to the pillion. He checked the bags again. Everything was wrapped and packed carefully in the carrier bags: the chicken and salad, cake and biscuits that Maud had prepared for him that morning. And last but not least a bottle of champagne, French (also carefully wrapped in snowy napkins and cooled overnight in iced water).

  He swung his leg over the pillion and kick started the bike, which immediately sprang into life. He revved the engine and noticed that his father had come out onto the terrace, a smile lighting his face as he saw Stephen. George lifted his hand to him as he shot off down the drive.

  His parents were still in shock and he had to shake himself at times for it to register that his siblings were no longer with them at Hyndburn. So far they had not heard from them, but it was early days yet.

  He drove slowly down the drive, the Harley picking up speed on the straight sections, leaning as he took the corners, branches and long grass brushing his face or his boots. It was a perfect summer’s morning, warm, a light breeze, the hills a blue grey in the distance.

  He was soon out of the gates of Hyndburn and making for Harwood, across the Cock Bridge, Peel Street, skirting the poorer sections, up High Street, Church Road, St. Hubert’s Road and then down Glebe.

  He slowed down in Glebe Street, the bike bumping over the cobbles, aware of curtains fluttering, faces peering. This invariably happened when he made an appearance. He was used to it. A smile tugged at his mouth, nosey parkers Leah called them, and they were, but not malicious, just curious. He was a novelty, ‘a bit of excitement’ (Annie Fitton’s words), or ‘a feather in her cap’ (also Annie’s).

  He pulled up outside number five, kicked the stand down and leant the bike over. He walked the short distance to the front door and knocked thinking, as he did every time he came here, how dreary it looked. All grey, grey cobbles, grey houses, usually grey sky, but not today. Today it was azure without even the blemish of a cloud. He’d asked Leah once how
she could bear to live here.

  ‘What choice do I have,’ she replied. ‘You get used to it and don’t even notice after a while, you would, of course, knowing a different kind of life.’

  As he waited he thought that now she would have a choice, no more shilly shallying, no more dithering about because he knew he didn’t want to live without Leah.

  ‘You’re early,’ Leah said as she opened the door. ‘I heard the bike a mile away and so did the street. They’re having a field day as usual. Come in for a minute while I finish getting ready.’

  ‘I noticed the welcome committee,’ he said, grinning. He followed her into the back room, watching her neat little backside swaying under the white dress, her trim ankles; hair thick in waves to her shoulders. He liked it long.

  ‘Grow it down to your waist,’ he’d said one day as he ran his hand through it.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Oops, Miss Fenton wouldn’t like that.’

  Stephen laughed. ‘I like being daft; go on, grow it as long as Lady Godiva so that you don’t need to wear any clothes.’

  ‘You are daft!’

  The living room was empty. ‘No one home today?’

  ‘Janey’s still in bed and Mam’s at Annie’s.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Stephen said, his eyes lighting up. ‘So we’re on our own, are we?’ He went over to Leah who had begun to comb her hair in front of the mirror. He pulled her around to him. She felt the familiar tingle as he pressed her to him. He only needed to touch her. She wondered if it would always be this way, this spine tingling sensation, that look which made her go weak. He hugged her closer and buried his face in her hair.

  ‘Mm…you smell good.’ He nibbled her ear, nuzzled her neck and she felt his warm breath, faint cigarette smell, some piney cologne, male smell. His lips found hers, soft, moist and sweet like a rich ripe plum.

  The sound of the front door opening made them jump apart. Leah turned back to the mirror, noting that her cheeks were red, eyes glittering. A dead give-away! Stephen walked over to gaze out of the back window onto the yard, a scene just as dreary as the front.

  Emma watched through the curtains in Annie’s place as Stephen parked the bike and Leah let him in.

  ‘He’s here, Annie.’

  ‘Ee, he’s never away when she’s home, is he Emma?’

  ‘Aye, I wish he wouldn’t come so often.’

  ‘Why ever not, Emma, he must think a lot of your Leah, but I’m not a bit surprised. She’s a lovely lass your Leah. A real credit to you but I’ve always thought that. Do you think anything’ll come of it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Annie. They seem besotted with each other and I feel real embarrassed at times watching ‘em. I don’t like all this lovey dovey stuff and you never know, do you, especially with the nobs. They’re different to us and I’ve tried to tell Leah but it’s like talking to a stone wall. All I hear is Stephen this and Stephen that until I feel like throwing something at her.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ Annie said, rising from her chair with difficulty. ‘It’ll sort itself out, don’t worry and it’s no use trying to tell ‘em how to live their life, is it? People have to do things their own way.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. I’d better be getting back; you never know what they might be up to.’

  Annie chuckled, her fat chins wobbling, ‘ee, no Emma. Not your Leah, ee, no, she wouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Annie. She’s only human and Captain Townsend’s summat to look at and he has a way with him, so I wouldn’t blame her. If I was twenty years younger…?’ Emma laughed. Annie gave her a push. ‘Ee, get on with you, Emma. The things you come out with.’

  Emma was a funny bugger Annie thought as she waddled back into the house. She didn’t know what she would have done without Emma across the road all these years, especially when she’d lost husband and son. She was a real life saver was Emma Hammond.

  Emma walked through into the back room, the laughter fading. She was anxious again, and had been ever since this blasted thing had happened between Leah and Captain Townsend (even at his insistence she couldn’t call him Stephen). It wasn’t as though she disliked the Captain. She did, and he wasn’t like the gentry she knew or knew of. He’d no side to him at all and drank thick black tea from her chipped mugs as though he was sipping from fine china. Even so the weight of the situation sat heavily on her and she couldn’t shake off her unease. As she’d thought a hundred times over she wished it were Paddy in there with Leah. How that would have taken a load off her mind! She still hadn’t got over Darkie leaving. She never would. So with what had happened there and Leah she sometimes felt as though she was going out of her mind.

  Stephen turned around when she entered the room. He smiled at her, a black lank of hair falling over his forehead. Emma thought again that no wonder Leah was head over heels. He was smashing!

  ‘Hello Mrs. Hammond,’ he said. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘I’m doing all right, thank you, Captain.’ Emma noticed Leah had on her new white dress, which would get filthy on the bike. ‘Are you ready, Leah love?’ she said in a sharp voice, so unusual for her that Leah looked up in surprise.

  ‘Yes, Mam, why, anything the matter?’ Leah picked up her cardigan off the back of the settee. She saw her mother looking at her dress and could read her mind. Why was it that you couldn’t have a will of your own in this house, or in Harwood, for that matter? There was always this invisible presence hanging over you telling you what to do, or as was usually the case, what not to do.

  ‘No, it’s nothing. You’re sure I can’t pack you some sandwiches? It won’t take a minute,’ Emma said in her normal tone. She could never stay mad for more than two minutes.

  ‘No, no Mrs. Hammond,’ Stephen said. ‘We have plenty. Mrs. Walters packed us enough to feed an army. ‘Are you ready Leah?’

  Leah and Stephen smiled at each other. They’re always smiling like that, Emma thought, irritated, like half-baked Billy. It got on her nerves!

  ‘We won’t be back until later this afternoon, so don’t worry if we’re late.’

  ‘You know me, Leah, worrying wouldn’t enter me head.’ She laughed at her own joke and looked at Stephen.

  ‘I hope you’ll be careful on that here contraption. I don’t know how you keep it up. Anyway, enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘Don’t worry Mrs. Hammond Leah will be as safe as houses.’

  ‘I hope so, I hope so,’ Emma replied doubtfully as she followed them out to the front. She’d never like them noisy things and to her they looked right dangerous. She watched in apprehension as Stephen got on first and started the bike and then Leah seated herself carefully on the back. She waved to Emma as they set off, a number of people now openly standing on their doorstep to watch.

  They were soon out of the town and on their way to Mitten. Leah pressed closer to Stephen, enjoying the wind on her face, the sun, everything. When had she ever felt so happy? It didn’t seem right somehow and she was afraid that something would happen to bring it all to an end. Even Darkie’s departure, although it had made her sad for a time, had not been able to mar this feeling she had.

  Before long they were on the main road north to Settle; Stephen had decided that he would turn off one of the side roads when they reached the town and make their way as far as possible up to the top of the Pennines until they could see Yorkshire on the other side. He knew of a trail, rarely used (supposedly an old Roman road from all accounts), and they could have their picnic at the top. From there they would be able to see the rolling dales and moors, which at this time of the year would be a breathtaking purple.

  The bike slowly bumped along the dirt road, which was suddenly obliterated by a cloud of dust. Leah’s startled eyes took in a column of soldiers walking towards them. She could see their breastplates and helmets and they wore a kind of short pleated skirt. They had long boots laced tightly and were holding spears. Their boots thudded on the road, and she heard the plod of hooves, jangle of harness. A cart su
ddenly appeared behind them drawn by two horses. She shook her head and the scene faded. Dreaming again!

  They were soon at the top, below them the rolling beauty of the Yorkshire dales stretched for miles in all shades of purples, grays, greens. They got off the bike and Stephen parked it against a boulder. They stood staring at the view in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Look,’ Stephen pointed. ‘Way over there is the sea.’

  Leah looked hard and yes miles away was a faint blue grey band looking as though an artist had painted it in. She leant against Stephen and he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘We couldn’t have picked a better spot,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you’d like it. Come on, let’s get what we need off the bike then we can relax.’

  They fell silent. Leah felt a tension in her stomach. She’d never really been alone like this with Stephen. He’d taken her to the pictures a few times, dancing ‘Up Jazz’, the latest Harwood dance venue, run by an American couple, but there had always been other people with them. He had never tried to get her alone at the Hall. She’d been glad of that. Did he realize just how little she knew of the ways of the world, especially men? She’d not even had a father in the house since she was four!

  Stephen had kissed her that last time in the pictures. They sat at the back and Kathryn and her boyfriend sat in front of them. When the lights went out and the picture was under way she felt his arm creep around her shoulder. He kissed her cheek. She turned to him and their lips met and she’d kissed back, hard. She had hardly known what she was doing, just that white hot heat of mouth touching mouth, tongue probing, limbs seeming to dissolve, beginning to sweat. If that were the prologue what would the main part be like? She trembled at the thought.

  Leah saw him take out the bottle of champagne.

  ‘During the day?’ she asked dubiously.

  ‘Why not,’ he said and poured her a drink; they sat down on the rug he’d spread on the grass. They sipped in silence for a few moments, alert to each other, hardly noticing the view. He turned to her, ‘something to eat?’