‘Only the hems to do once I’ve finished this bit, Grandma. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’ll do it, lass. I could do to rest my eyes for a minute or two,’ said Sue, getting up and shuffling through to the big kitchen.
She sat down heavily at the table while the kettle boiled, and wondered what on earth she could do to get the heart back into the family. She and Evie were fairly busy most days, and glad of the commissions, although those had tailed off a little since Christmas, but somehow they worked automatically now, without the enthusiasm and drive they’d had before Robert …
Sue put her head in her hands, overtaken for a moment by her sadness, and shed a few quiet tears. Then she sat up, wiped her eyes and stood up to make the tea. While it brewed she thought about Jeanie and Frederick Bailey.
Never in a million years would Sue have guessed she would meet Frederick Bailey for the first time at her grandson’s funeral. Mr Bailey had sat near the back of the village church but afterwards he’d made a point of coming over to express his sympathy to the whole family and remind a tearful Jeanie that she need not go back to work until she felt up to it. Jeanie hadn’t stayed away long, though.
Sue had taken a great interest in this man she’d heard so much about, and a fella who’d been divorced three times, if the gossip was true, though Sue was ashamed of listening and then remembering what she had heard – but an interesting man, with flair and imagination. Mostly what she saw, though, was a man who was clearly in love with Jeanie, and with whom Jeanie was equally clearly in love. At least, it was clear to her mother. Sue was pleased to think that no one else, especially Michael, had noticed the signs that she saw all too well.
Oh dear, what to do about that? She’d pushed it to the back of her mind, what with feeling so tired … and the awfulness of Christmas, and now it was dark nearly all day and her eyes weren’t so good in poor daylight.
She put the cups of tea on a tray and took it through to the front room. Evie was just finishing her seams and she stopped, smiling up at her grandmother.
‘Grandma, do you know, I don’t think I ever told you about seeing Mrs Russell on the train, did I? I sort of forgot, what with Billy, and having my things stolen.’
‘What, you saw her when you went to Gerry’s party?’
‘On the way back. She was sitting opposite me and she looked really well and happy. It was lovely to see her, but the best thing was what she told me, and that it was all down to you.’
‘Are you having me on, our Evie? How could I have made any difference to Mrs Russell?’
Evie related the story of how Mrs Russell had been inspired by Sue to gather her courage and rediscover her talent for playing the piano when she thought her life held so little, how she’d used her skills to make new friends and to bring something better and more interesting into her life.
Sue laughed. ‘I’m right pleased for Mrs Russell. She’s a lovely woman and it’s a shame she lost her confidence to play the piano, but I think she might have found her way back to her music in the end anyway, without me. Though it’s nice of her to say I helped.’
‘No, Grandma, she really thought it was all down to you, and how you made a go of the washing and then the fine mending and alterations. She said summat like …’ Evie thought carefully, ‘… “Mrs Goodwin influenced her own destiny. She didn’t just let things happen to her, she always did her best to bring them about to her advantage.” Summat like that, anyway. I were that proud of you, Grandma, and Mrs Russell isn’t the kind of lady who would tell lies or flatter a person, is she?’
‘Well, that’s true enough, Evie, love. I’m glad you’ve remembered you saw her. That’s given me summat to think about while I finish this collar.’
‘Aye, me, too, Grandma,’ said Evie. ‘I’ve felt ever so down lately—’
‘We all have, lass.’
‘But if we don’t raise ourselves up, who’s going to do it for us? Oh, I know Miss Richards and Letty couldn’t have been kinder – and Jack, too – and everyone in the village has done their best to help, but in the end it’s down to us, isn’t it? We have to decide if we’re going to sit here being sad for ever or …’ she looked round the workroom, at the lengths of cloth on the shelves and the partially finished curtains, ‘… or whether we’re going to move this business on.’
‘You’re right, love. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but soon everyone in Church Sandleton who wants new curtains will have them, and then what will we do? The mending and alterations don’t bring in much, and though we’ve made quite a few garments recently there doesn’t seem to be a call for a lot of dressmaking in the village now Christmas is over. We need new customers.’
‘And it’s up to us to find them, Grandma,’ said Evie. ‘We can’t sit here feeling sorry for ourselves.’
‘And no one wants to keep company with miserable people,’ said a merry voice at the door. ‘Hello, Mrs Goodwin, Evie.’
‘Letty!’
‘Just passing. I won’t stay long and disturb you.’
‘Come in, love. Evie and I were giving ourselves a talking to, telling ourselves to snap out of it,’ said Sue. ‘You and your Aunt Margaret know better than anyone what it’s like, and we admire how you’ve both coped with your sadness.’
‘That’s kind of you to say, Mrs Goodwin. I know it’s helped Aunt Margaret a lot that she’s had her articles to write for the newspaper. There’s nothing like a deadline to keep you focused, she says.’
‘If Grandma and me take on some new customers, we’ll be that busy we won’t have time to mope. But we need to find them first.’
‘I think you should advertise,’ said Letty, pulling off her hat and gloves, helping herself to a chair and putting her elbows on the table. ‘I’m sure there’s a market for a top dressmaker in Redmond. Why don’t you put an advert in one of the local papers?’
‘I suppose we could do, if it doesn’t cost very much.’
‘I can’t think it would in the local paper or the parish newsletter. Why don’t you decide which paper your clients would most likely read and then, if you want, I can ring up from the cottage and find out what the advertising rates are?’
‘Oh, Letty, thank you. That would be grand,’ said Evie.
‘Provided we can get a few commissions outside the village we’ll have enough to keep us afloat if we’ve not got much from Church Sandleton folk. I think in a few weeks we could be really busy,’ said Sue. ‘People like to have new clothes for the milder weather.’
‘I’ll gather a few different newspapers and magazines when I’m next in Redmond and that can start you off,’ Letty offered.
‘You’re an angel,’ said Sue. ‘But I think I might take a trip into Redmond on the bus and have a look around, see what’s what, like.’
Evie felt her heart lift at this news.
‘I’ll come with you, if you like, Grandma. Shall we go this afternoon?’
‘We’ll go tomorrow morning,’ Sue decided. ‘You’ve got Mrs Cooke’s curtains to finish. Mustn’t forget our loyal customers.’
‘I’d never do that, Grandma.’ Evie found herself smiling.
‘So exciting,’ said Letty, while Evie began on the hand-stitched hems. ‘I just wish I had an idea of what I can do.’
‘Well, you’ve already come up with some ideas to help us,’ said Sue. ‘And I know you’re a real help to your auntie because she told me so.’
‘She lets me organise her office – I mean, as if I’m her secretary,’ said Letty, ‘but I don’t think I want to be a real secretary. Aunt Margaret is easy to work for and, anyway, I like to play in the band and that takes up a lot of time.’
‘Speaking of the band, how’s Peter doing?’ asked Sue. ‘We don’t see so much of him these days. He seems to have gone to live at the Thomases. I’ll have to pay Mr Thomas Peter’s keep if he doesn’t come home soon.’
‘I think he likes it there,’ said Letty carefully. ‘He doesn’t want to be reminded of Bob all t
he time, as he would be here. The Thomases have got masses of room and Peter fits in so well. I heard Mrs Thomas telling Aunt Margaret how much she likes having him around and what a nice boy he is. And he doesn’t have to see his father there.’
As soon as the words were out, Letty flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She got up and pulled on her knitted hat and gloves. ‘I should be going and let you get your work done. Let me know how you get on in Redmond tomorrow, won’t you?’
She waved and blew kisses, laughing, as she left.
Evie sat sewing intently for a few minutes and then she said, ‘Letty was only saying what we already know, Grandma, wasn’t she? Pete still hasn’t forgiven Dad for us having to leave Bolton. He doesn’t like Dad at all these days, and he thinks that everything that’s happened to us since we got here – all the setbacks, not the good things like our work here and Mum’s job – are Dad’s fault because we’re here because of him.’
‘So what are you saying, Evie, love?’ Sue got up and draped the finished shirt over the ironing board in the corner. ‘That Pete blames your dad for what happened to Bob?’
‘Yes, Grandma. I’m afraid he does. After all, if we were still in Shenty Street, Bob wouldn’t have slipped into the stream in the woods.’
‘But it was just a horrible accident, Evie. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes … yes, and I don’t blame Dad for what happened, but I can kind of see what Pete means. And … oh, Grandma, he’s so angry with Dad. He has been for a long time now and I don’t see it getting any better.’
It was evening and Michael had come back from Clackett’s and then gone out again to the Red Lion, as he did most days since Robert had drowned. His neighbours in the pub felt sorry for him that his younger son had died and there were always plenty of drinks bought for him. Sometimes he even bought rounds in return, though not often. His main currency was tall stories about bets won and lost in the pubs of Bolton, how he’d single-handedly saved the brewery from crisis on several occasions, and about the toughness of life up north in general. Then, as the drink took effect, he’d descend into maudlin stories of his ‘little lad’ and reminisce about what a wonderful son Robert had been.
Jack Fletcher came into the Red Lion that evening, and saw that Michael had had a skinful.
‘All right, Michael, maybe it’s time to go home to that lovely wife of yours,’ suggested Jack after a few minutes.
‘Oh, there’s time for another one,’ said Michael, putting his empty pint glass down heavily on the bar. ‘Who’s for another?’
There were one or two takers, but the locals generally respected Jack, both as a good man and as Frederick Bailey’s man, and they weren’t going to undermine his sound suggestion.
The beer was bought and drunk, more rambling stories were told, and then Jack announced that it really was time to get off home now. ‘Jeanie will have your dinner on the table, Michael, and you don’t want to keep Sue and Evie waiting for theirs after they’ve been hard at work all day.’
‘Aye, Jack, lad, that’s all I ever hear: Jeanie this and that, Sue and Evie this and that …’
‘Well, they are your family, Michael, and Jeanie’s a good cook. She’ll have made an effort.’
‘A house of women, that’s what it’s become. Outnumbered, I am, and by women, with their own jobs to go to. Work that they think is better than mine.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true, Michael,’ said Jack, taking Michael’s pint and putting it out of reach on the bar. Then he steered Michael towards the door and Monty followed them. ‘They work hard, but they appreciate what you do, too. You know that.’
‘I know no such thing,’ declared Michael. ‘They all look down on me, and even my own son has left home to avoid me and gone to live with Mr pompous Thomas and his snide opinions. It’s them Thomases that have bad-mouthed me to Peter – it started at the Bonfire – and now he’s gone to live with them.’
‘I think young Peter is having a hard time getting over his brother’s accident,’ said Jack quietly, ‘and it’s his way of coping with it.’
‘We’re all having a hard time getting over Bob’s accident,’ said Michael, raising his voice. ‘One son dead and the other left home to go to live with other folk, not his family. And when I get home, what do I find? Women! Women everywhere, talking about curtains and cleaning, and other women’s stuff.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Jack, ‘but from what I know of Jeanie, she’ll be happy to hear about your day and what you’ve been doing at Clackett’s. And I’m sure Sue and Evie will be, too. You’ve got good women, there, Michael, and I think you should treasure them.’
‘Do you, Jack? Do you?’ snapped Michael. ‘And what do you think I’ve got to tell them about my day, eh? Up to my knees in mud and nearly frozen some days. Do you think Jeanie wants to hear about that?’
Jack thought it would be wise not to answer since it was obvious that nothing he could say would smooth over Michael’s drunken anger.
‘And there’s Jeanie going off to work as some jumped-up cleaner – housekeeper, she calls it, if you please – and wearing her good clothes, and her hair all nice, and, from what I see, spending her money on ladylike stuff that she’d never have worn in Bolton. Fancy scarves and bits of jewellery! She’s getting above herself, that one, sorting through the post for Mr bloody Bailey, and gallivanting off with him to auctions and God knows what.’
‘Michael, I don’t want to hear your opinion of Mr Bailey,’ said Jack. ‘He’s your landlord and my employer. I won’t hear or speak ill of him, and I suggest you don’t either.’
Michael subsided, muttering, while Jack and Monty walked him to Pendle’s and Jack tapped on the front door.
Sue answered. She took in the situation at once.
‘Thanks for bringing him home, Jack,’ she said. ‘I can see a bit of help was needed and I’m grateful.’
‘I’ll be getting on home myself, Sue,’ said Jack as Michael shuffled past her and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. ‘I think he’s missing his boys,’ he said quietly.
‘I know.’ Sue sighed heavily. ‘It’s hit him as hard as any of us. We’ve all been feeling down but we’re going to try to rise above it and it’s going to take all of us, pulling together, to make a life without Robert. We can’t leave Michael behind, grieving and … well, I tell you, if he’s intending to make a habit of this he’s going to come home one day and find things have changed, and in a big way.’
Jack raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak.
‘I’ll say no more, lad. I may be wrong. But please, if you’re in the Lion and you see Michael pouring his wages down his throat – and other folks’ wages, too, I don’t doubt – then you’ve got my permission to give him a kick up the backside and get the others to help you bring him out.’
‘I will. You have my word on that, Sue. I think I’ll tip off Frank Davis, the landlord, too, if it’s all the same to you? I know he wants to sell his beer but he’s a good man and he wouldn’t want you Carter ladies to be upset after all that’s happened.’
‘Thank you, Jack. That’s right good of you.’
‘I’ll see you next week for the rent then, Sue.’
‘I’ll have it ready.’
And maybe I’ll invite Letty over the day the rent is due, thought Sue. She and Jack are good fun together and their company will help keep our spirits up …
They said goodbye, and Jack and Monty strode back to the pub where Jack’s motorbike rig was parked at the back. As they went, Jack thought about Michael’s resentment of the Carter women making their own way in life, then he thought about what Sue had said.
‘Well, Monty,’ he murmured as he put on his biking gear and made sure the little dog was safely tucked down in the sidecar, ‘if Michael Carter’s going to make a habit of this, and if what I suspect is true, then I bet you Jeanie won’t be around to cook his meals come Easter at the latest.’
Jeanie had wept for many days after Robert died but she was trying to make an effort now, and Sue didn’t like to see her spirits brought low by Michael’s behaviour, especially as she’d returned from work that day looking happier than she had for a few weeks.
While they’d made the hotpot together Sue had shared her plans for expanding the sewing business to take in customers from Redmond, and Evie, peeling potatoes, had chipped in with her thoughts about the level of dressmaking she felt she could take on under Sue’s guidance. Of course, they knew Michael had gone to the Red Lion after changing out of his muddy work clothes, and they also knew when he was later home than usual that he would probably not reappear sober.
‘Eat up, love. I thought Lancashire hotpot was your favourite,’ said Jeanie, trying to jolly Michael out of his mood.
Michael made no reply and the women chatted on, eventually forgetting about his mood as they exchanged gossip. Until Michael, getting to his feet, snarled, ‘Can’t a man sit and have his meal in peace without you lot gabbing about dresses and curtains, and fellas with “a bit of dash”?’
‘But, Dad, we’re only discussing our plans, that’s all,’ said Evie, hoping her calm voice would smooth his drunken ill temper, as it used to do in Shenty Street. Mostly there, though, he’d been a happy drunk. Now he was always fierce and snappy. ‘Why don’t you tell us about your day instead, then?’
‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m a child, Evie, or you’ll feel the back of my hand,’ said Michael. Nonetheless, he sat back down: ‘What do you know about the mud and the rain and the cold at that market garden, and Clackett laying on the work so hard I’ve hardly time to catch my breath?’
‘I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean—’
A Woman's Fortune Page 17
