The range was giving off a comforting glow and the air was redolent with the smell of baking bread, but as Mrs Todd pushed her down into a rocking chair in front of the fire, grabbing a poker and stirring the red coals vigorously until they blazed, Abby was barely aware of her surroundings. She needed to say what she had to say before Mr Todd or any of the lads came home and she wasn’t sure what shifts they were on.
Winnie’s mother made it easy for her to start when she turned, dusting her hands on her pinny, and said, ‘I’ll get you a hot drink and a bite in a minute, lass, but first I must ask. There’s nowt wrong with Winnie or the bairn?’
‘No, no, Mrs Todd. They’re well, bonny.’
‘Thank the Lord.’ Mrs Todd crossed herself, her eyes filling up. ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’
‘A little girl. Here.’ Abby passed over the package. ‘There’s a letter and a photograph in there for you. Winnie had it specially done at a posh photographers in Scarborough,’ she added, aiming to lighten the moment a little as slow, painful tears were now coursing down Mrs Todd’s face.
‘Oh me bairn, me bairn.’
Abby didn’t know if Mrs Todd was referring to her daughter or her granddaughter as she stared at the photograph.
‘How was it for my lass? Did she have a bad time?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Todd. In fact, the phrase “easy as shelling peas” was bandied about, if I remember. And the baby is doing so well now, putting on weight and laughing all the time. You would love her.’ She stopped abruptly, aware this wasn’t particularly tactful.
‘She looks just like Winnie when she was born.’ Mrs Todd raised tear-filled eyes from the picture of Winnie sitting with the baby on her lap. ‘Happiest day of my life, that was, although I wouldn’t say it in front of any of the lads, of course. But I was longing for a little lassie. Mr Todd,’ she shook her head, glancing down at the photograph again, ‘he’s not a man who’s any good with bairns, never has been, and he had even less time for Winnie than he did the lads when they were little. It’s just the way he is,’ she added, her eyes pleading as they met Abby’s again. ‘He’s not a bad man at heart, just . . .’
Her voice trailed away and Abby made no effort to finish the sentence because she didn’t think Winnie’s mother would like to hear what she thought Mr Todd was. Instead she said, ‘The photograph is for you, to keep. Read the letter now.’
‘I will, lass, I will, but first let me make you a cup of tea.’
Mrs Todd wouldn’t be deflected from putting a plate of freshly baked girdle scones in front of Abby, with a small saucer of jam, and although Abby was sure these had been meant for the men’s tea and had used up precious rations, Winnie’s mother insisted she ate two with her cup of tea.
There were more tears when she read Winnie’s letter, and for a little while afterwards Mrs Todd sat staring at the photograph, her finger tracing the outline of Winnie’s face and that of the baby’s.
‘Winnie would love you to see her in the flesh.’ Abby’s voice was gentle. ‘She could bring her here or you could come to the farm.’
‘Oh no, lass. No.’ Winnie’s mother looked anxious. ‘Her da would never allow it. There were ructions here when she wrote and told us she was expecting and that the lad wouldn’t marry her.’
‘He’s a horrible man, Mrs Todd, and Winnie is better off without him.’
Winnie’s mother stared at her as though she was mad. ‘But she’s had a bairn,’ she said, as though that outweighed any other consideration.
Abby tried a different tack. ‘Winnie could come here on a day when Mr Todd and the lads wouldn’t be around, or you could meet her somewhere. She could pay for you to meet her at a point between the farm and Sunderland if that would make you feel better. It’s not too far by train. Hartlepool maybe, or even Whitby. You could see Joy and spend a bit of time with Winnie before you went home.’
‘I couldn’t, lass.’
‘You could, Mrs Todd. You want to, don’t you?’
Winnie’s mother’s face crumpled. ‘Oh aye, lass, I want to. I can’t tell you . . .’
‘Well then.’
‘But her da would go fair barmy. He . . . he’s washed his hands of her, that’s the truth of the matter.’
‘Does he have to know?’
‘Not tell him, you mean?’ For a moment a ray of hope seemed to shine, and then Mrs Todd’s face fell and she shook her head. ‘He’d find out, somehow he’d find out. I couldn’t take the risk, I wouldn’t dare. He’s been like a madman over it all, banning me and the lads from mentioning her name and saying he’s never had a daughter.’
‘But she’s your daughter too.’
Mrs Todd said nothing to this. She poured them both another cup of tea. Her hands were shaking slightly and she spilled tea into the saucers, clucking at herself as she did so. ‘You have to understand how things are, lass, for us,’ she said suddenly, passing Abby her cup and sitting down on one of the hard-backed chairs at the table. ‘Mr Todd is well thought of down the mine, looked up to, and if word of this got out . . . Well, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, that’s the thing. He’s a proud man, in fact there’s none prouder and before you say anything,’ she held up her hand as Abby went to speak, ‘he’s a good man an’ all. When we got wed I couldn’t read an’ write. With me being the eldest in a family of fifteen bairns there wasn’t time for any schooling, but he taught me himself and never was there a man so patient. She . . . she shouldn’t have done it.’
‘She knows that, Mrs Todd.’
‘There’s no chance this man will marry her?’ It was piteous.
‘I don’t think so.’
Mrs Todd began to cry again and after a few awkward moments, Abby said, ‘Would you like to write to Winnie, Mrs Todd, and I’ll take it back to her?’
Winnie’s mother nodded, wiping her eyes with her pinny before she said, ‘Aye, thanks, lass. Winnie’s got a good friend in you so that’s something to be thankful for. You’ll stick by her, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will and it works both ways. Winnie’s always been a good friend to me.’ She had been thinking as she’d spoken, and now she said, ‘Mrs Todd, is there anyone you could trust to receive letters for you, someone you know wouldn’t tell your husband? I was just thinking if you could write to Winnie and she to you, you’d still be able to keep in touch with her and know all about Joy and everything.’
A light spread over the older woman’s face. ‘Aye, lass, there’s one of me sisters who lives in Southwick,’ she said eagerly. ‘I was always like a mam to her and we’re still close, Martha an’ me. She’s the only one I’ve told about Winnie. She’d do that for me and be glad to help.’
‘When you write to Winnie, put your sister’s address down then.’ Abby glanced at her watch. Four o’clock. She was going to have to leave for the train station soon.
Mrs Todd wrote slowly, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated on her letters, but eventually it was done and with the letter safely tucked in her bag, Abby made her goodbyes.
‘Tell my lass, tell her me arms are fair aching to hold the babbie.’ Mrs Todd’s face was awash again and she was wringing her hands over and over as she stood on the doorstep. ‘And tell her it don’t make no difference to me, what’s happened. She’s still my precious bairn and always will be.’
‘I’ll tell her, Mrs Todd.’ Abby just wanted to be gone now. It was already dark and it would be hours before she got back to the farm. She felt exhausted in mind and body and she was longing to be by herself, to be alone so that she could think. It wouldn’t alter anything but she had to work out how she felt. Until she was able to do that she didn’t know how to handle all this. All the time she had sat and talked with Mrs Todd there had been a pressure in her throat as though something was stuck there. It had been a huge effort to swallow and it still was.
‘Goodbye then, lass.’
Abby realised Winnie’s mother was peering at her a little anxiously and too late she bec
ame aware she’d been staring at her without really seeing her. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Todd.’ She forced a smile before turning and walking swiftly away, the snow beneath her feet already two or three inches thick.
Mrs Todd continued to stand on her doorstep, her work-worn hands clutching at her neck and pulling at the loose, lined skin there. When she could no longer see Abby she took a deep gasp of air, as though she had been running, before she stepped back into the house and slowly shut the door.
Chapter Eighteen
The early morning fields were glistening with thousands of single spider-silk threads; their gossamer beauty made Abby pause and drink in the delicate tranquillity surrounding her before she made her way into the farm kitchen for breakfast. Later on they would rise and float away in the rising air currents as the dew evaporated with the warmth of the sun, but for now they added to the charm of a perfect May morning.
She was glad the farm didn’t have a wireless. Abby flicked a wisp of hair from her eyes as a distant echo signalled the arrival of the first cuckoo of summer. The war was dragging on and the end seemed as far away as it had after James was killed in 1940. She had long since lost the ability to discern if news was good, bad or indifferent; the only thing it always seemed to be was depressing.
When the newspapers had extolled the fact that American forces had launched a Pacific assault earlier in the year with great success, they’d also had to admit to considerable losses. It was only by the grace of God Ike hadn’t been sent abroad yet and her worry that this might soon change made her doubly aware that every item of news, every incident and report, meant death and heartache for someone.
And now there was all this trouble at the farm too. Abby looked up into a silver-blue sky which heralded another sunny day, but now she was frowning. The roof had nearly gone off the farmhouse some days ago when Rowena had finally admitted that she and Mario were in love. Mrs Todd had got herself into such a state she’d had to go and lie down, and Winnie and Rowena had had such a bitter exchange Abby didn’t know if their friendship would ever recover. For herself, she had suspected the truth for so long it was just a relief when Rowena finally admitted it. Besides - Clara called her name and she turned and began walking to the farmhouse - she liked Mario. She liked him very much. He might have fought on the wrong side and therefore be out of bounds as far as social convention went, but he was a genuinely nice man with a big heart who was clearly head over heels in love with her friend.
‘Winnie and Rowena are going at it hammer and tongs again.’ Clara ran to her, clutching Milly against her thin chest as she always did in moments of stress. ‘Mrs Gladys has dropped the frying pan ’cos they made her jump when they started, and Joy’s crying and—’
‘Slow down, slow down.’ Abby took her sister’s hand, shaking it slightly as she said, ‘It’ll all come out in the wash eventually, hinny, just you see, and things will go back to normal. Now don’t you get yourself in a tizz-wazz about it.’
She didn’t actually believe this and maybe her voice wasn’t convincing enough, because Clara wailed, ‘It’s like they hate each other, Abby. You ought to hear them. It’s horrible.’
‘All right, but don’t you get upset, now then. That won’t help anyone.’ They had reached the back of the farmhouse and as they walked through the yard and into the scullery, Abby could hear Winnie shouting, ‘You’re stark staring barmy, that’s what you are! All the offers you’ve had and you take up with him! You’ll get us all hounded out of here.’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.’ Rowena was on her high horse and nothing was guaranteed to wind Winnie up more.
‘Melodramatic? He’s the enemy, you silly blighter, or did that little fact escape your notice?’
‘He’s no more our enemy than . . . than that little baby is.’
As Abby and Clara entered the kitchen, Rowena was pointing at Joy who was now being nursed at Winnie’s breast.
‘Don’t be so daft! He fought against our lads, probably killed a few, for all we know.’
‘What are you so concerned about? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s me who’s lost a brother and Abby who lost her fiancé and cousin. All your menfolk are still alive and well, aren’t they?’
‘And her granda?’ Winnie nodded her chin at Joy. ‘You’ve forgotten about him already, have you?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Gladys.’ Rowena turned to the farmer’s wife who was now sitting on a chair fanning herself with her pinny, the bacon scattered at her feet and fat congealing on the flagstones. ‘I didn’t mean anything, you know I didn’t. But it was a German bomb that killed Josiah.’ She swung round to Winnie again. ‘The Italian people were never enthusiastic about the war, Mario’s told me. They were forced to fight with inadequate weapons against an enemy they didn’t hate, yoked to an ally for whom they felt no allegiance. That’s the truth of it whether you accept it or not. Why do you think so many Italians changed sides at the end of last year?’
‘They didn’t change sides, they surrendered,’ Winnie said grimly. ‘There’s a big difference there. They knew they were beaten and they valued their hides.’
‘You just don’t want to see, do you? Mussolini was Hitler’s puppet, everyone knows that. It’s always a few men at the top who force ordinary people to fight in wars they don’t understand and for which they’ve got no real heart. Mario’s lost two brothers that he knows of, and his aunt and uncle and their little children were all killed by our bombs, but he doesn’t blame the whole English race.’
Abby walked further into the kitchen. ‘Ike was saying just the same sort of thing,’ she said calmly as though the two women weren’t red in the face and glaring at each other. ‘The little people fight and suffer and have their lives ripped apart because a few fat cats at the top decide so.’
‘You’re not saying you agree with her, are you? You’re not happy about Mario and her.’ Winnie hitched Joy from one breast to the other.
‘Lots of folk will see it as a betrayal, on Mario’s side as well as Rowena’s, but . . .’ She paused, looking Winnie straight in the face. ‘They just fell in love,’ she said after a moment or two. ‘They haven’t committed a terrible crime.’
Winnie stared back at her, her plump face expressing her shock and disapproval. ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ she said tightly.
‘No, I haven’t.’ Abby didn’t want to argue with Winnie, she didn’t want to argue with anyone. She had more than enough to contend with as it was. ‘When all this came out I said I wished Rowena had fallen for someone else and I do. There was that awful case a couple of weeks ago where a poor girl was tarred and feathered because people found out she was sweet on a prisoner of war, so how can I be glad Rowena’s done the same thing? It puts her in danger, if nothing else.’
‘I can look after myself,’ Rowena said stiffly.
‘And the rest of us? We’ll all be tarred with the same brush,’ said Winnie, unaware of the pun.
‘Well, excuse me, but I hardly think you’re the person to cast the first stone.’ Rowena was ramrod straight now, her head back and her tone icy as she glanced meaningfully at the baby nestled in Winnie’s arms. ‘As reputations go, yours was shot some time ago.’
‘Why, you—’
‘Stop it, the pair of you.’ Abby found herself shouting and she hadn’t intended to. ‘The war’s supposed to be going on outside these doors, not inside. This isn’t doing anyone any good.’ Joy was whimpering again, and Abby moderated her voice. ‘Clara, clear up that mess on the floor while I make a fresh pot of tea. We could all do with one.’
‘Not for me, thank you.’ There were tears in Rowena’s eyes but her voice was still haughty when she said, gathering up some buttered bread from the table, ‘Mario and I will eat in the barn, we wouldn’t want to soil you all by our presence.’ And with that she marched out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Winnie scowled at Abby now. ‘I only said what everyone else will say when they know. And she’ll get worse in some quar
ters, believe me.’
‘I do believe you,’ Abby said flatly. ‘But isn’t that all the more reason for us to support her? We all like Mario, don’t we?’ She glanced at Gladys but she merely looked down into her lap. ‘We like all three of them if it comes to it. They’re nice men, just like our brothers and fathers and sweethearts. They’re not monsters.’
‘Huh!’ Tears were dripping off the end of Winnie’s nose now and she got abruptly to her feet. ‘I’m going upstairs to change Joy and I don’t want any breakfast.’
‘Neither do I but I’ll get you something if you want it,’ Gladys said stiffly to Abby as Winnie left the room.
For crying out loud! For a moment a burning sense of injustice swept over Abby. She was getting it in the neck from everyone. Even Clara was huddled against Gladys’s legs and staring at her as though she’d said something awful. She ground her teeth, self-pity rearing its head for a second. Here she was coping with the knowledge that her mother had pushed her father to his death, that Ivor was her real da, that Ike could be sent into the firing line at any time, and they were all squabbling like a bunch of bairns. She was sick of the lot of them.
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