Emmie stared at Barny in astonishment. ‘He did?’
‘Aye, and he’s brought a friend called Danny, so I hear.’
Emmie ruffled her son’s hair. ‘By, you’re a clever lad.’
Johnny agreed. ‘Not much gets past this young ‘un. I’ll just come and see for myself, then I’ll leave you to it.’
The young policeman took a quick statement from Tom. He was vague about his movements, but the Blacksmith’s Arms in Newcastle seemed to have been his home all week. Emmie had no idea where he had got the money to drink, but no doubt the sight of his uniform provoked people into buying him liquor.
That night, Danny slept on their sofa and Tom made love to her with the same aggressive indifference as the first night. She was nauseous at the smell of his grubbiness and stale breath, glad only at the brevity of the sex.
Danny stayed on for several days, an amiable but selfish guest who did not lift a finger to help or offer a penny towards his keep. Tom treated her with contempt, Danny with benign indifference.
Louise visited, but Tom’s parents stayed away. By all accounts they were scandalised by his behaviour and refused to see him until he sobered up.
‘They blame you, Emmie,’ Louise told her.
‘They would,’ Emmie sighed impatiently.
‘Well, Tom would never have tret us like this unless you’d pushed him to it with all your politics.’
Emmie had had enough. ‘There was a time when you and Sam used to think the way I did,’ she reminded her. ‘When standing up for what you believed counted for some’at round here. Now all you seem to care about is keepin’ up appearances. Your parents won’t even come round to see Tom, they’re so frightened of losing their precious dignity. If they cared about their son at all - or you your brother - you’d be fetching in the doctor and asking why he’s acting like a monster!’
Louise went puce with indignation. ‘Don’t you lecture me about me own flesh and blood.’
Tom swayed to the yard door. ‘Hoy, what’s all the shoutin’ for?’
Louise snapped, ‘Ask her — she’s the cause of all the trouble.’ She turned on her heels and stalked out of the yard.
Tom and Emmie stared at each other hopelessly.
‘Tom,’ she hesitated, ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should gan and talk to the doctor.’
‘Doctor?’ he snorted. ‘What for? I’m fit as a lop.’
‘Night-times,’ she struggled for words, ‘you’re gettin’ nightmares - you shout out in your sleep - not gettin’ proper rest. I know there’s some’at on your mind—’
‘Bloody rubbish!’ Tom growled. ‘I’ll not have any quack tellin’ me I’m a loony.’
‘They won’t, Tom,’ Emmie tried to reason, ‘but they might have medicine—’
‘Shurrup and fetch us some’at to eat, woman,’ he demanded, and retreated indoors.
Tom’s leave drew to an end. He treated home like a barracks; eating, sleeping and whiling away the dead time, waiting with Danny for the pubs to open. He pawned bits of china and linen to fund their drinking.
‘You can fetch it back with next month’s wages,’ he told Emmie when she complained.
Two days before he was due to leave, she faced up to them.
‘Danny, it’s time you left. Tom needs to see his family before he gans away. No doubt you need to see yours,’ she added pointedly. He had talked of a wife and three children. She pitied them more than herself.
Emmie ignored Tom’s protests and made up a picnic for Danny. ‘Here, this is the last you’ll get from me. It’s a forty-minute walk down the bank to Gateshead to the nearest tram stand. Ta-ra, Danny.’
The man left meekly, seeing his scrounging days had run out.
‘See you in a couple of days, Tom lad,’ he grinned and left.
Emmie set about cleaning up the mess of cigarette butts and empty bottles, washing the blankets that Danny had used on the sofa and hanging them out in the April breeze.
‘Tonight,’ she told Tom, ‘you’ll gan and make your peace with your family. Tomorrow’s for us and Barny. We’ll take him up on the fell for a picnic, eh?’
Tom nodded in resignation.
Emmie did not go with him to see the Currans. She was still smarting from the way they had colluded in the rumourmongering and blamed her for Tom’s bad behaviour. But she let Tom take Barny. They returned, chatting together as they crossed the yard, and Emmie prayed the worst of his stormy moods were over.
That night in bed, Tom did not roll over and shut her out after making love.
‘Emmie,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t want to gan back.’
She put out a hand and touched his face. ‘Tell me,’ she answered.
For a long moment there was silence, then his voice came low and rasping.
‘There was this raid … bloody shambles … didn’t see the Germans till they were flying in over the top. Some lads -’ he hesitated - ‘well, it was too much and they ran off.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Top brass came down hard - make an example of ‘em, they said. Two dozen got death sentences.’
‘Two dozen!’ Emmie gasped.
‘Aye, but most got off with prison - commanding officers spoke up for ’em.’
‘Most?’ Emmie queried.
Tom’s voice was husky. ‘Three didn’t. One was a lad named Curly - been in since 1915 - came from Sunderland way. Used to volunteer for night skirmishes - nowt he wouldn’t do. Except that day … ran off screaming like a bairn. That put the wind up us more than the Germans. If Curly could lose it …’ Tom’s voice trailed off.
‘Oh, Tom,’ Emmie murmured, putting an arm about him, ‘that’s terrible. You never said you’d lost a marra.’
Tom stiffened. ‘He wasn’t a marra. Just knew of him - him being one of the old-timers.’
‘But still…’
‘That’s not the worst of it,’ Tom said harshly. ‘I’m not bloody soft - lads die around us all the time. And he was a deserter, so they had to do some’at.’
‘Then what, Tom?’ Emmie asked quietly.
She heard him gulping, struggling with the words. ‘It wouldn’t happen normally - but it was up the Front line and things were a mess - they had to act quick. So they got the firing squad from our unit - we got Curly.’
Emmie froze in horror. ‘Not you, Tom?’
‘Aye, me!’ he croaked. ‘We had to line up - twelve of us; six standin’, six kneelin’. And Curly’s sittin’ on this chair, blindfolded with a scrap of paper pinned on him. And we had to turn about and some of our rifles were unloaded - then they mixed them up and gave them back to us … I tell you, me legs were like water. And we fired at that bit o’ paper.’ Tom shuddered. ‘But he was still kickin’,’ he moaned.
‘No, Tom!’ Emmie cried.
‘Doctor said he wasn’t dead. So this officer - the marshal - he goes up and fires right into Curly’s head!’ He sobbed loudly.
Emmie grabbed him to her. ‘Oh, my poor, poor man!’ She stroked his head and tried to soothe his juddering, weeping body. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You should never have been made to do such a thing - it’s barbaric.’
He curled up in her hold like a small boy desperate to be comforted.
‘No one should have to go through what you went through,’ she said bitterly. ‘Killin’ our own men just to terrorise others into carryin’ on this terrible slaughter. When will they stop?’
Tom’s sobbing lessened. They lay together, numbed by the outpouring.
Emmie whispered, ‘I don’t want you to go back, Tom. You don’t have to. The doctor could sign you off with shell shock - get you to a hospital for a bit. You need a proper rest - let your mind heal.’
‘I’m not a bloody basket case,’ he bristled, suddenly tense. ‘And I’ll not hide behind any doctors. I’m not a shirker like your precious conchies.’
‘They’re not shirkers,’ Emmie protested wearily. ‘Rab was sentenced to death as well, you know - was saved from the firing squad at the last hour. But he
was prepared to die for the cause. Thousands of men like him are resisting. You could too.’
‘Me? Never!’ Tom said savagely, pulling away from her. ‘They should’ve shot the bastard.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ Emmie said in dismay.
‘Aye, I do. Curly was worth ten o’ his kind.’ Tom was suddenly suspicious. ‘Where is he now? Have you got him in hidin’? You have, haven’t you? He’s the bloody conchie they say you’re having a fling with.’ He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘Always knew Rab MacRae was after you. Just waited till me back was turned—’
‘Stop it, Tom!’ Emmie protested, frightened at his sudden volatility. ‘Rab’s in gaol and I’m not having any fling.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he cried.
‘Why not?’
‘Cos there’s this lad ganin’ round Blackton spoutin’ off that he knows things about you - that you trick lads into being conchies and promise to get them away to Ireland or some’at. Lure them in.’
‘Who said?’ Emmie’s heart banged in fear.
‘Some lad called Osborne. Said he knew you well - one of MacRae’s bloody socialists. Nearly knocked his block off. But there’s no smoke without fire.’
‘My God,’ Emmie whispered. ‘Bill Osborne?’
‘That’s the name,’ Tom said harshly.
Why was Bill Osborne spreading vicious tales about her?
Tom shook her again. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? You bitch, it’s true! Rab’s your fancy man? How many others have there been, eh?’
‘None!’ Emmie was indignant.
‘You’re lying,’ he shouted. ‘You’re a lying whore!’
He pushed her back and banged her head on the iron bedstead. Emmie cried out.
Barny woke up with a start. ‘Mammy? Mammy! Where are you?’
‘It’s all right, pet—’
‘Shurrup!’ Tom bawled, striking her. ‘Don’t speak to him. Whores don’t speak to my son.’
Barny started to wail and cry out for his mother. Tom grabbed Emmie by the hair and dragged her off the bed. She tried to fight him off, but he punched her in the breast, sending pain shooting through her. Then he winded her in the stomach.
The next moment, he was shoving her into the kitchen. Lurid orange light flickered across the hearth, like tongues licking the dark. Tom threw her on the floor. She panted for breath, trying to raise herself up. For a few seconds she could not see him, then he was lunging out of the shadows, wielding his thick army belt.
The first blow whipped around her ear and neck, Emmie screamed and threw her arms up in protection. The second blow caught her across the chest. She crumpled on the floor, burying her head in her arms. He whipped her again and again, across her back, her arms, her legs, her feet. He raged like a madman, foul-mouthed and screaming. Emmie thought he would kill her, yet all she could think about was Barny. Where was her son? She hoped he was cowering in bed and not witnessing the attack. If he should step in Tom’s way …
Emmie gritted her teeth and took the rain of blows. He would not kill her. She would live through this. She would survive this for Barny’s sake. For Barny …
The frenzy came to an end, Tom’s energy spent. He stood over her, panting and sobbing. Emmie lay slumped on the floor, not moving.
Chapter 31
The dawn light crept in at the window. Emmie lay on the cold linoleum. She must still be alive because when she opened her eyes she could see the outline of the fender. The fire was out. She tried to move, but pain surged through her. If she lay quite still, it was almost bearable. She closed her eyes again.
Later, when she awoke, Emmie felt a presence nearby. She attempted to look round, but her neck, head and shoulders were rigid. Panic registered. Tom was waiting to deal out a further beating.
‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.
A hand rested on her back, making her wince and cry out.
‘Mammy?’ Barny said in concern. ‘Get up now, Mammy. Time to get up.’
‘Barny?’ she croaked. ‘I can’t…’
A worried face peered over her, upside down. ‘Dadda’s gone.’
Emmie let out a small whimper. ‘Thank God.’ Relief spread through her, immediately followed by fear that he would soon come back. ‘Gone where? To Grandma’s?’
‘Not Grandma’s,’ Barny said. ‘He went down the hill, not up the hill.’
‘Did he take his bag?’ Emmie asked.
‘Aye,’ Barny nodded.
‘D-did he say anything?’
Barny thought for a minute. ‘He said you were a horse.’
‘A horse?’ Emmie said faintly.
‘Like he was shouting in the night, Mammy,’ Barny said, frowning.
Shame flooded her as she realised Tom must have said whore. Her son had heard and seen everything. She made a huge effort to stir from the floor. Her whole body pulsated in pain.
‘Need to get to bed,’ she gasped. ‘Just lie down for a minute.’
She struggled on to her hands and knees and crawled towards the bedroom. Barny followed her, not sure if it was a game. He watched her haul herself on to the bed and crawl under the covers. Emmie sank back, exhausted from the effort. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep again.
Barny woke her. ‘Mammy, I’m hungry.’
Emmie felt light-headed, wondering where she was. It must be the afternoon. She could not move, did not want to move, never wanted to move again. She was pinned down with pain and the burning shame of what Tom had done to her. Her husband had whipped her like a dog - no, more savagely than any man whips a dog. And he had done it sober. This was not the drunken Tom who had made their life a misery these past two weeks. This was a new Tom who had sunk to an even lower level of brutality. Never again would she trust him. She wanted him nowhere near her - or her son.
‘Mammy, I want to eat,’ Barny whined.
Emmie closed her eyes. ‘Find yourself a bit bread and cheese in the pantry,’ she whispered. ‘Water in the jug. Pour it carefully.’
Barny gave up badgering her and climbed off the bed. Emmie fell asleep once more.
She woke and dozed and woke and slept. She was aware of Barny climbing in with her and then it was dark and she slept again.
Banging on the back door woke her. She froze. It was morning once more.
Louise’s voice called, ‘Where are you all? Tom, you’ll be late for the train. Minister’s waiting.’
Emmie lay huddled under the blankets. Did her bruising show?
‘Barny, where’s your mam and dad?’ Louise questioned.
‘Mammy’s in bed,’ Barny said solemnly. ‘Dadda’s gone.’
Louise came barging into the bedroom. ‘What’s ganin’ on? Emmie, are you sick?’
‘Aye,’ Emmie mumbled, pulling the blankets up higher. ‘Just a bit. It’ll pass.’
‘Where’s our Tom?’
‘Left,’ Emmie managed to speak. Her lips and mouth were dry as sand. ‘Yesterday.’
‘Whatever for?’ Louise demanded. ‘You didn’t row again, did you?’ When Emmie said nothing, she gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Fancy spoiling his going away,’ she accused. ‘Bet you’re not sick at all - just ashamed that he’s left you early. That’s it, isn’t it?’ Emmie kept silent. ‘Well, you’ve spoiled it for everyone else an’ all! Now we’ll never have the chance to say goodbye.’ She glared down at her sister-in-law. ‘You don’t deserve our Tom. You’ve changed. You’re hard and selfish. Not the lass I used to call me friend. I don’t know you any more, Emmie.’
She spun round and stalked out of the house. Emmie squeezed her eyes shut against hot tears. Perhaps she was all those hateful things Louise said she was. She had failed as a wife. Somehow she must be to blame for what had happened. She was hateful. It was her fault that she had married Tom, knowing that she could never love him enough. She had spent too much time and energy on other things, neglecting him. Once he had told her she would make a good pitman’s wife, but she had not. She had always wanted more from life and
yet she had achieved nothing.
Emmie lay racked with sobs, tortured and desolate. The bedroom door swung open again. She heard the rattle of cup on plate.
‘Here you are, Mammy,’ Barny announced. He plonked a plate on to the bed. It held cold fried potatoes from two days ago and a half-spilled cup of water. ‘Drink it,’ he commanded.
Emmie gazed at him. He peered back at her. ‘Drink it all up.’
Emmie leaned up with difficulty and reached for the water. She splashed it on her lips. It tasted like nectar. She gulped it down.
‘Ta, Barny,’ she whispered. ‘Can I have some more, pet?’
He nodded, took the cup and refilled it. She was amazed and grateful.
‘Shall I gan and fetch Grandma?’ Barny asked.
Emmie felt panic choke her at once. ‘No!’ she gasped.
‘But you’re sick. Mammy.’
‘No, pet, just very tired. I need to rest in bed, that’s all.’ She looked at him wearily. She wanted to reassure him she was all right, but hadn’t the strength. Barney was a good little lad, who could get himself a drink and play quietly alone until she felt able to get up. The Currans must not know what had happened; she was in no state to bear their condemnation.
‘Can you be a very good lad and let Mammy sleep? I’ll get up later and make us some dinner. But you mustn’t fetch anyone. Mammy can’t see anyone.’ Emmie lay back, utterly spent from the effort of talking and drinking the water.
Soon she fell asleep again. She dreamed vividly of running away, of Tom chasing and catching her, but then turning into someone else who sat her down and gave her tea. She dreamed of the Lonely Stones and waiting for something or someone who never came. Then she was being chased again.
Emmie woke in the half-dark. Barny was lying on his own bed, fully clothed, asleep. She had no idea what day it was, let alone the hour. She wished she could live for ever in this twilight world where she did not have to move or think. But of course, she could not stay like this. For Barny’s sake she had to go on living. One day she would have to face the world again. The thought appalled her.
Cautiously, she groped for the side of the bed and got to her feet. She swayed dizzily. Aching and stiff, she shuffled to the door, steadying herself on the washstand and doorframe. Bit by bit, Emmie edged her way across the kitchen and out into the yard. Cold air hit her, sharp and fresh. She almost fainted. Forcing herself to cross the yard to the closet, she locked herself inside. No one had seen her. She was safe.
THE GREAT WAR SAGAS: Box set of 2 passionate and inspiring stories: A Crimson Dawn and No Greater Love Page 30
