He was still pondering on how he could woo Leah when the train pulled into Accrington station, unaware that he’d been talking to himself and that people were staring at him as though he’d lost his senses (which he had, for the first time in his life).
The clock said a quarter to two. Leah took her dress out of the wardrobe. Walter wasn’t coming to take her out until two thirty so she had plenty of time to get ready. She inspected the blue linen dress she intended to wear: it was pristine! Even Walter’s mother would approve. After a walk in the War Memorial Park they were to have afternoon tea with Mrs. Hargraves. Leah wasn’t looking forward to it at all. How that woman annoyed her! One day she might be her mother-in-law? Although Walter hadn’t said anything yet she knew he had ideas on those lines. She shuddered. The last time Walter’s mother had paid a visit to Belmont Road Leah caught her running her finger along the dresser. Mrs. Hargraves had not looked at all guilty at being ‘caught out’, just sniffed in that disdainful way of hers and asked when tea was ready.
‘Why are your mirrors so high,’ she said as she tried to look in the one above the mantelpiece.
‘I can see quite well,’ Leah said, trying to hide a smile. She knew how much it annoyed Martha that she was too short to see into the mirrors at Belmont Road.
Martha was vain (amazing for a woman who was so righteous), always primping and preening when at the house in St. Hubert’s Road (which had a mirror, hung low, in every room). Leah had also recently discovered that Mrs. Hargraves had a secret vice. She liked a ‘sup’ of rum! More than a sup from all accounts!
Leah had discovered this amazing bit of information on a surprise visit one day to the St. Hubert’s Road residence? Walter had opened the door and immediately she smelt burning feathers.
‘What on earth’s that for,’ she said, indicating the feather in Walter’s hand, from which a corkscrew of brown smoke made its way to the ceiling. He hid it behind his back, flushing.
‘Oh, just getting rid of the smell. Come in, come in.’
‘What smell?’
Then she realized. Burning feathers were evidently supposed to do this, with not much success this time. As she stepped into the hall she was aware of Walter’s sisters, Ida, May and Bella running from room to room like demented banshees, holding up their burning feather.
‘It’s because of me Dad,’ Walter said. ‘He can’t abide the smell of drink, or anyone who drinks.’
‘Who drinks?’ Leah said in surprise.
‘Me Mam,’ he said, looking embarrassed.
You could have knocked her over with a feather!
Leah walked over to the bedroom window, which looked out onto the back garden. Her mother’s voice drifted up.
‘Watch out for that ball, Stephen love or you’ll break a window.’ Emma sat on a deck chair watching Stephen and Christine. Leah looked down on them from the bedroom window. What would she have done without her mother?
The deaths of Julia and Paddy had devastated her. She had wanted to die! Afterwards she realized just how strong her mother had been at the time, in spite of her own grief. Julia had meant just as much to her mother as she had to her. Even now, after two years Leah could hardly bear to form the name of her youngest child. She still had nightmares! In them she would be running home, a silent scream on her lips. Running to warn Paddy, but she was always too late. She’d wake up sweating, her heart hammering in her chest, that silent scream of anguish becoming an agonized moan as she surfaced; the reality worse than the nightmare.
She’d never forget that film, The Sheik, starring Rudolph Valentino, or what it came to signify: the death of her baby! It would be forever imprinted on her mind. How could the human body survive such grief? She had really thought she would go insane, had wanted to kill Paddy, especially when she smelt the drink, hurling abuse as she held her dying daughter in her arms. She was demented for weeks on end, the pain like a giant hand, which wrung and twisted her heart as though trying to squeeze out every drop of blood. Death would have been a blessed relief. Only the thought of Stephen and Christine had brought her back.
She’d wept until worn to a shadow. Then there had been the added sadness of Paddy’s death, also the guilt, for although she blamed him for Julia’s death, and rightly so she thought, when she recovered a little she knew she should have considered his feelings, for he had adored Julia.
When they found him, (her and her mother), lying on the kitchen floor, pathetically clutching the photo, she’d been cut to the heart. She couldn’t have coped but for her mother!
She walked back to the bed and picked up her dress. She put it on over her slip and buttoned the front, gazing pensively at her reflection in the mirror. She looked better than she had in a long while. At last she’d lost that thinness, that wan look and her skin had regained that satiny lustre. Her hair had been lank and lifeless for months. Now there was a shine and bounce to it and she picked up the comb and flicked it into place.
As she walked down the stairs she jumped as the knocker on the front door was being banged with force. How many times had she told Walter not to do that? He never took a bit of notice! He knew her nerves were still fragile. She wondered, sometimes, why on earth she had ever accepted his stuttered attempt to ask her out: boredom, probably and the fact that she was fed up of doing the same thing day in and day out. She never got out of the shop except to go home and look after the children. Walter had been a means of escape.
When she first met Walter she had thought him presentable enough, quite good looking. Strange, now she didn’t think this at all! He was a bit of a fuddy duddy if she was honest with herself. And now she was just as imprisoned as she had been, but in a different way.
She opened the front door just as Walter was ready to knock again. He dropped his hand and flushed when he saw Leah. He hadn’t got over this habit of turning a bright red, even after almost six months of courting.
‘You’re early, Walter,’ Leah said, trying to hide her annoyance.
‘Yes, sorry, but you know I don’t like being late.’
He followed her down the passage into the kitchen. He wore his suit (out-dated). This irritated her as well. Why couldn’t he buy himself some decent clothes? He wasn’t poor, just tight and she couldn’t abide meanness in people. He needn’t have worn a suit, either, since they were only going for a walk in the park. Just something casual would do, but Walter was always overdressed (and out of date). He must have had that suit before the war!
‘Just sit down for a minute, Walter, and I’ll call Stephen and Christine.’
Emma looked up as Leah walked towards her. ‘I was just about to come in, lass. I’ll be on me way in a minute. Has Walter come yet? I thought I heard the front door.’
‘Yes, he’s just arrived.’
Emma nodded and patted Leah’s hand. They found displays of affection difficult and Leah knew that the pat meant a lot. It meant, I love you, I’m worried about you, try to keep your chin up and so on and so on. Had it not been for her mother she would have left Harwood a long time ago. She would have gone to America, to California where Darkie and Marion still lived and where Janey was now in films (and making quite a name for herself). But she could never have left her mother and Emma, when asked tentatively how she would feel about going, had been adamant she didn’t. She was aghast at the suggestion and Leah wondered why she’d even bothered to ask. Getting her to Blackpool was an effort.
‘Darkie and the family will come over one of these days and till then I’ll bide my time here,’ she had said.
Leah must be mad, Emma thought to even think she’d contemplate going. Look what had happened to the Titanic! Leah hadn’t mentioned it again, especially when Annie Fitton had dropped dead of a heart attack six months ago so Emma’s dependence on her daughter was now total.
She often wondered what it would be like to get away from this stuffy old town, but she’d have no peace of mind if she left her mother.
She watched for a moment as Stephen and Christine
threw the ball backwards and forwards to each other.
‘You’d better come in and get ready,’ she called.
‘Walter’s here and we’ll be going soon.’
‘I don’t want to go for a walk.’ Stephen continued to bounce the ball on the grass as he walked up to his mother. He was as tall as she was, long and lanky and so much like his father that Leah sometimes had to look away.
Christine was still quite chubby, even at eleven and retained some of her endearing, even baby, ways. Leah suddenly felt afraid. She didn’t want them to grow up, to grow away from her. Who knew what the future held? Look at what had happened to Darkie and Janey. She knew her mother still missed her son.
‘You have to come, Stephen. Walter’s mother has asked us to tea and we can’t refuse.’
‘She doesn’t even like me.’ He could have added, or you for that matter, but thought it wise not to.
‘Of course she likes you,’ Leah said sharply. ‘Now go upstairs both of you and change into something clean.’
Stephen walked into the house looking sulky. He hated those walks with Walter, mainly because he didn’t like Walter, or Walter’s mother for that matter. Who could like them, and he was amazed that his mother could even think about going out with Walter.
Leah grimaced. ‘He’s getting to be a bit of a handful,’ she said.
‘Aye, he needs a man’s hand at the moment.’
‘Yes, I know, but if you think Walter will be able to sort him out you’d be wrong. He’s the last person who can handle him.’
‘Aye, I know, love. It’s a pity though.’
Emma looked concernedly at Leah. She wanted Leah to get married again, but not to Walter. She just couldn’t see that working out. But Leah needed a man at the back of her these days, although Leah had no financial worries. Leah needed emotional security that was it. In this respect she wasn’t like herself because after she left Harold she felt like she’d been let loose. Ee, no, she couldn’t think of anything worse than having all the trouble of being with a man. Picking up after them from morning to night, getting their meals, doing their washing and all the other things which having a man of your own entailed. She got goosebumps just thinking about being at the beck and call of some man again.
But Leah was different and she would have been easier in her mind if she was settled with someone, but she was not easy in her mind about Walter. He was a bit too prim and proper for her liking, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and there wasn’t much to choose from in Harwood. They were like Walter, proper owd women she called them to herself, or all booze and wind. She sighed and heaved herself out of the deckchair and followed Leah into the house.
Walter was sitting on a kitchen chair. He jumped up when he saw Emma. He was always extremely polite but for some reason this also annoyed Emma. He looked hot, as well, for the day had turned warm. No wonder, Emma thought, with all that he’s wearing. He would have been a lot more comfortable with just a shirt and slacks on. It was none of her business, though. He could walk around naked as far as she was concerned. She wondered for the umpteenth time what Leah saw in him!
‘How are you Walter,’ she said.
‘I’m well, Mrs. Hammond, and you?’
‘Aye, middling, though the arthritis is bad at times.’
Walter nodded sympathetically, making a tut-tutting sound (like an old woman, Emma thought again).
‘I’ll go now, Leah, love,’ Emma said. ‘Call in tomorrow after work and I’ll have something cooked for you.’
‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll get some steak puddings from Smithsons.’
‘Now, I said I’d make your tea and I will, it’s no trouble. Ee, it gives me something to do with me time. I’ve all day to do on, so just call in and never mind Smithsons.’
Leah nodded. ‘All right, then, but not too much. The last lot you made for us could have fed an army.’
Leah put her hand on her mother’s arm. Emma looked up in surprise. ‘I do appreciate everything you do for us.’
Emma gave a short laugh, embarrassed.
‘You don’t have to tell me that Leah, love. I like doing it. Ee, no, it’s no bother at all. Nothing’s too much trouble for me own,’ and she gave Leah’s hand an uncustomary squeeze and walked up the passage. ‘I’m going now Stephen and Christine,’ she called up the stairs, ‘Ta-ra.’
‘Ta-ra,’ came drifting down.
Leah watched her mother walk slowly down the path and through the front gate. For some reason she found she had a lump in her throat. She continued to gaze at her mother’s retreating back, her eyes glazed. Emma turned for one last wave, her long brown coat flapping in the breeze and her brown felt hat pulled well down over her ears. It was a warm day but she never felt warm herself, lately.
Leah walked slowly back into the house. She brushed the tears away. She didn’t want Walter to see her like this because he made such a fuss. She closed the door quietly behind her and leant against it for a brief moment, her eyes closed. The day seemed dull in spite of the bright sunshine. She opened her eyes and looked despondently down the passage where Walter was waiting. She wasn’t at all in the mood for a walk, or Walter. In fact, she would have loved to be on her own with some peace and quiet. But then she knew if she were on her own she’d start to think again and that was fatal because all those terrible memories would come rushing back, swamping her. No, she must keep busy, go for walks when she didn’t want to, take tea with people she didn’t like, talk to people when she didn’t feel a bit like it and just try to blot out everything in the past which was best forgotten.
PART SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
A land of wonder, a never-ending kaleidoscope of colours, sounds and smells; a sense of overwhelming majesty: this is how Raymond Townsend thinks of Alaska.
To him it is a source of continuous joy, excitement and yes, even danger. The last gives Alaska that extra dimension, like spices added to an already tasty dish. Work and play were all one in Alaska (to him, at least, each merging into the other so that one is never quite sure which is which.
‘Watch that end, Jack. Make sure the load’s tight or we’ll have another damned accident.’ There was still a tinge of accent there. He wore a thick wool duffel coat, moleskin slacks, fur-lined boots to his knees, fur lined cap and still felt the cold.
‘Okay, boss,’ Jack Enright called.
Raymond Townsend, co-owner of Tanana Lumber of Fairbanks, Alaska, satisfied the loading was going to schedule, hurried over to the office. A cup of hot coffee would go down very well, but he would never leave until satisfied that everything had been done right! It paid to be vigilant when the trucks were being loaded. After last year’s disastrous winter any kind of accident was to be avoided.
As he stepped into the office he took off his cap and ran his hand through his thick dark hair. He’d changed a lot in the last thirteen years: a few grey hairs, fine lines etched by the harsh climate, but his grey-blue eyes were the same, direct, penetrating, with a hint of humour always seeming to lurk there.
He brushed the snow off his jacket and made for the office at the far end of the room where Mike Flannery would be ensconced, reading the paper and drinking numerous cups of coffee. What a relief it had been to have a reasonably mild winter. He shuddered as he remembered the previous winter, the havoc when the massive winter snows had thawed, the Tanana River bursting its banks, huge ice floes swirling and pounding anything in their path, tearing into barges, boats, buildings. Their warehouse was carried downstream before their startled eyes. He, and a few of the men, had been working on the lower section. They only just managed to scramble to higher ground or they, too, would have been swept away.
Until then they were doing reasonably well, business had increased, debts finally paid. Insurance had only covered part of the damage.
He went over to the huge fire burning in the grate and held his frozen hands to the flames.
‘That you, Ray,’ his partner, Mike Flannery called.
‘Yes, I’ll be there in a minute when I thaw out,’ Raymond answered.
‘Mail’s been and there’s a letter for you.’ There was also more than a trace of accent in the voice coming from the back room. It was Irish, no less, although Mike Flannery had lived in Alaska for thirty of his forty-five years.
Mail, again! Raymond didn’t get much mail and there had been a letter from Darkie and Marion only last week so it wouldn’t be from them. As usual Darkie had urged him to sell up and move to California. He had offered him a job and possible partnership in his car parts business, which seemed to be doing well in spite of the Depression. He’d been tempted, but so far had done nothing, procrastinating as usual. The letter might be from Mother. He pushed open the office door. Mike Flannery looked up as he walked in.
‘Everything going all right out there,’ Mike said, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray.
‘Fine; you said you had a letter for me?’
Mike nodded and picked up an envelope from a pile on the desk and handed it over. Raymond recognized his mother’s writing immediately. She must be back in England, then.
The last letter had been from Germany. She had not been overly impressed with the visit. Just reading between the lines he gathered she had not liked what was going on there at all, or the fact that Paul seemed so wrapped up in it all.
Raymond experienced a momentary twinge of guilt as he opened the letter. Why hadn’t he gone back to England? He should have, if only to make amends with his parents, but somehow time had just slipped by and there had always been something to prevent him, possibly his own feelings of guilt. Facing a wild grizzly had been preferable to facing George and Jessica.
The Loom Page 27
