Like Father, Like Son

by Diane Allen

  ‘My Polly. Now that’s interesting, because I’m her father, lad. And I’ll not have any fancy fella courting my lass while I’m here. Tobias Middleton – now let’s see. The only Middletons I remember are those at Grouse Hall. Um . . . Clifford, who broke his neck when out riding with the hunt, was he your father? You must be the thing he kept under his table. I remember the scandal now, when I think back. All grown-up now, are we? Well, you can bugger off. My lass is not seeing anyone, especially not you.’ Danny put the heel of his boot into Tobias’s foot and slammed the door shut, as Tobias screamed in pain. ‘You’ll not be seeing him, lass, not while I’m here. He’s worth nowt anyway.’

  Polly sobbed as Danny warmed himself next to the fire, and Tobias could be heard shouting that he would return with help the next day.

  Could things possibly get any worse? Polly didn’t think so. All hope of a happy life at Paradise had vanished, along with Edmund’s ashes.

  21

  Danny sat on the edge of his parents’ double bed. He sighed as he dropped his braces from off his shoulders and then unbuttoned his tight shirt collar, placing the starched removable white collar and stud on the table next to the bed. It had been a long time since he’d been in this room. It hadn’t altered at all; the bed was still in the same place, and the washstand and wardrobe, only now everything seemed smaller. He’d thought the same thing as he’d walked around the rest of the house. It was funny how the mind played tricks on you as you grew older.

  Danny rubbed his brow and hung his head. He was knackered. He’d left Liverpool at break of dawn, with his wife Teresa yelling at him, begging him not to go, and their youngest bawling in her arms. The bloody woman, she was always yelling at him, with her mad Irish ways; and if she wasn’t yelling at him, she wanted him in her bed. Danny smiled. She was a fair woman – enough to drive a man mad, one way or another. He unlaced his shoes, dropped his trousers and then lay on the top of the double bed, watching the shadows cast by the oil lamp on the wall. He had to sell the old spot, for he needed money to bring his brood up; besides, it meant nowt to him now.

  He cast his mind back to the day he’d left Paradise. He’d slept all the way to Liverpool on the mail train, he’d been that tired with worry and guilt. It wasn’t until he’d reached Liverpool station that he realized he was out of his depth, and what a green country boy he was. Folk had bumped into him, cursing him for getting in their way, as he looked around him at the number of people going about their business, and at the huge buildings, the trams and horses that filled the streets. He’d sought refuge in a pub called Rosie O’Grady’s, where, after having a pint or two of ale, he’d sat in the corner of the snug watching a group of men playing cards. It had been then that one had shouted at him to join them and, like a fool, he’d accepted. At first all had gone well; he’d even won a hand or two, and the three men he was playing with seemed to be respectable. He hadn’t noticed the sly looks they gave one another, as they watched him count out money from his father’s life savings and place his treasured ticket to a better life in his other pocket. Like a fool he’d got drunk and staggered out into the dark alleyway of the pub to relieve himself, only to be set upon by his so-called new best friends. They had nearly beaten him to a pulp, breaking his nose and stealing his father’s money and the golden ticket to America.

  He’d lain in his own blood and pee, groaning and nearly half-dead, for the best part of an hour, until the lass from behind the bar had come across him as she made her way home. He’d never forget her screams when she saw his battered body, or the way she had helped him to his feet and the kindness she’d showed him, insisting that she took him to the infirmary and get the bobbies. When he’d said no, she’d taken him to her basement flat and given him her bed for the night, cleaning his wounds and listening to his woes. It turned out they were a lot alike. She’d escaped from her oppressive Catholic father in search of a better life in Liverpool, only to find that life was not as easy as she had thought for a woman on her own. Especially an Irish woman: ‘No dogs, no Irish’ was on every boarding house’s door in Liverpool. Finally she’d got a job in Rosie O’Grady’s, with the slum of a basement in part payment of her wage.

  From the moment he’d been able to open his swollen eyes, Danny had known Teresa was a good woman. A night of sympathy had turned into nearly twenty years of happiness – a few ups-and-downs, and plenty of times with no money, but on the whole he was sure it had been a better life than staying in Garsdale. Those three bastards who had brayed him to within an inch of his life had done him a favour, for he’d never have met Teresa O’Shea if it hadn’t been for them, or got a job on the docks. She’d also helped Danny find his Aunty Evie, who made him welcome and promised not to tell his father and mother where he was. There was no love lost between Edmund and Evie, after he inherited the farm and she had to make her own way in the world after their parents’ deaths. The only unwritten condition was that Edmund sent his milk to Evie, to deliver on her doorstep rounds, just to give her a little income and not leave her in poverty.

  Danny had thought about this a lot and had decided a long time ago to sell Paradise, if it ever became his. He would be best rid of it, for the bloody place had only caused bother. Besides, with the money from Paradise, his life would be complete, and his family would want for nowt. Danny yawned and listened to the silence, which he wasn’t used to. Even in the middle of the night there was always some noise in the heart of Everton. He could faintly hear the sobs of Polly in the next bedroom. He sighed. She’d get a job somewhere; somebody would take her in. She and her brother had ceased being his headache the minute he’d left the dale, so why should he bother about her now?

  Polly sat up in bed. She could hear men’s voices out in the yard below her window. It was later than she’d thought; she’d not slept until the early hours of the morning and now, even though it was only just getting light outside, her bedside clock told her it was eight-thirty in the morning. She yawned and wiped her eyes. They still ached from the sobs of the previous evening and, even in the cold light of the morning, nothing seemed much better. She lay in bed listening to the voices. She recognized two: one was that of her so-called father, and the other was Bill Sunter’s. She didn’t know to whom the third voice belonged. Whoever he was, she didn’t want to know him; if he was linked to Danny, she’d rather have nothing to do with him. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but one of them must have a horse and cart with them, as she’d heard the horses neighing as they waited impatiently.

  Curiosity got the better of her as she sat on the edge of the bed, and she was about to pull the curtains when a shot ran out across the farmyard. The rebound echoed down the dale and startled Polly. She threw the curtains back and gasped with shock as she saw the dead body of Clover, the family horse, being dragged onto the knacker-man’s cart. Clover, how could this happen to Clover! She was old, but she was the most trustworthy animal you could have wished for, so gentle, and Polly loved her so much. They had grown up together; she’d always been there to take the family everywhere. Now the heartless Danny had killed her in cold blood, and her carcass was being hauled about by men who didn’t care about her devoted service.

  Polly watched as her father patted Bill Sunter on the back, then tethered the three milk cows to the back of the cart, before the knacker-man whipped his team into action, slowly trundling with his cart of death down the field path and onto the road. She watched from the bedroom window with tears running down her face. She hated her father. He was no farmer, and he didn’t love the place where he’d been born. He was nothing but a selfish bastard. It was no wonder he’d never been talked about since he left, for he was an embarrassment to her family name. She pulled her dress on. She didn’t quite know how she was going to be civil to him – he was a murderer, in her eyes. Clover had been part of the family and was more than a means of transport, in Polly’s opinion.

  ‘Bloody hell, what time do you call this? It’s a bloody good job the cows have gon
e this morning, or else they’d have gone mad, wanting milking. Not that they could have given a lot; they were bloody old things, not worth a lot. I think I probably swindled old Brookes when he paid me what he did for them. Still, he was happy with the price – more fool him.’ Danny sat back in his chair and grinned at Bill Sunter, who was smoking a cigarette across from him.

  Polly didn’t say anything. She was in no mood to talk to this hard bastard of a man, but she had to keep a civil tongue in her head.

  ‘What’s up? Not talking to your old man? If I hadn’t have sold them to Brookes, someone else would have done. They were as old as the hills. Besides, it’s less work for us. I can’t be bothered with bloody milking, and the horse was better gone before it dropped dead on us. The bloody bag of bones!’ Danny knew Polly was upset, but he didn’t care. Why should he, when all he wanted to do was to get back to Liverpool?

  ‘And what are we to do for milk? And how do we get into Hawes?’ Polly glared at her father.

  ‘Bill here is going to drop us some milk off when his man does the rounds, and he’s lent me a horse – it’s in the stable. It’s a bit more of a handful than that old nag, but it’ll get me to Hawes in half the time.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a good horse. You are welcome to it, until you go back to your missus and bairns. Stop fretting about the milk, Polly. Old Oliver will drop it off to you in a morning, until Paradise is sold.’ Bill looked at the sulking Polly. Her mood was dark, like her raven-coloured hair.

  ‘And how do I get to Hawes, or hadn’t you thought of that?’ Polly looked at her father as she examined the self-satisfied pair.

  ‘You’ve legs. Shanks’s pony – it’ll not hurt you. Besides, why do you want to go into Hawes? I hear that even your best friend isn’t there any more, and it isn’t as if you are best mates with your brother, from what I hear.’ Danny sniggered and looked at Bill Sunter, who leaned back in her grandfather’s chair and looked like the cat that had got the cream.

  ‘I’m off out, I need some air.’ Polly grabbed her shawl and fought back her tears and the words she really wanted to say to her father. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t stay with these two nasty, self-centred men, who didn’t give a damn about her.

  ‘What about making us something to eat?’ Danny shouted after her, but she was gone, slamming the door behind her.

  Polly marched down the home field. She’d never felt so furious and upset in all her life. She hated her father. She couldn’t abide the sight of him – him and that sniggering Bill Sunter. Her grandfather had been right: they were both worth nowt. She sniffed, stopping her nose from streaming and mixing with the tears that she was fighting back. Her heart pounded as she got to the gate that led onto the main road and she turned to close it, looking up at her home. Smoke rose from the chimney and, to the outside world, everything appeared normal. She looked at the sheep grazing in the bottom field. They needed moving; the field was nearly bare – another day or two and they’d be going hungry. This wasn’t a good thing to happen, with lambing time in another four months, for the ewes would need all the nutrients they could get.

  She checked her thoughts. Why should she care? She wasn’t going to see those lambs anyway. What did her father have in store for the ewes: surely not butchering them, when most were in lamb? She fastened the gate and walked onto the bridge top, gazing down into the River Clough below. As a child she had run back and forth across the bridge, watching sticks and twigs race one another in the swift currents. Now she just stared into the dark-brown winter waters and pondered what she was to do with her life. It wasn’t worth a lot. There was only really Tobias who meant anything to her, and sometimes she was uncertain if his affections towards her were true.

  ‘Now then, Polly, what are you doing down here? Were you coming to ours?’ Len had crept up on her and stood standing next to her, the smell of his pipe tobacco reminding her of her grandfather, as he puffed in another lungful.

  ‘I didn’t hear you for the sound of the water.’ Polly looked up at Len, who immediately saw that she’d been crying.

  ‘Aye, lass, are you still crying for your grandfather? Come in and have a cuppa with the old lass and me. It’s all right being independent and being up there on your own, but sometimes you need someone to talk to, to get things off your chest, then things don’t look so black.’ Len put his arm around Polly’s shoulders. He’d been worried when he’d spotted her from his front-room window, worried that she was going to throw herself into the river. Martha had told him to hurry and save the lass and, looking at her, they might have got it right.

  ‘I’m not on my own – that’s the problem,’ Polly muttered. ‘My father’s come home, and Bill Sunter’s up there with him. My grandparents would be turning in their graves, knowing what’s going on at home.’ She looked at Len’s shocked face.

  ‘Danny’s back! But when? What does he look like? Where has he been? And how come that bloody Bill Sunter is always with him?’ Len was as much in shock as Polly had been the previous night, as he walked her over the bridge and into his cottage.

  ‘Here, sit down. You look done for, lass. Mother, put the kettle on. We’ve a visitor and she’s fetched some news.’ Len shouted through to the kitchen and Martha came running in to see if Polly was all right.

  ‘Danny’s back, he’s up at Paradise!’ Len gave Martha a knowing look.

  ‘Well, I never! He didn’t have the decency to come to his father’s funeral. Or his mother’s, come to think of it. So why turn up now?’ Martha sat down on a chair arm and looked at Polly.

  ‘Because he’s been left Paradise. My grandfather’s left it to him, not me.’ Polly swallowed hard and looked at the faces of the elderly couple, as she told them her devastating news.

  ‘But he was going to leave it to you, lass. He said he was off to see old Winterskill, after Ada died. He said he had to change his will, because his lad was worth nowt; and that Matt, your brother, was like his father and should never get his hands on it. The silly old bugger must have never got on with it.’ Len sighed and looked at Polly. ‘He meant it for you, Polly. He knew you were the farmer, and he was so proud of you.’

  ‘Aye, well, my father is putting it up for sale. He wants nowt to do with it, so what can I do? I haven’t a penny to my name and, after he’s sold it, no roof over my head, either, because he’s going back to Liverpool to his wife and family.’

  ‘Oh, lass, you love that place. We can offer you a roof over your head, but we’ve no brass. We only just have enough to live on, let alone help you buy back your home.’ Martha held Polly tight, and the warmth of her hand was a comfort against Polly’s skin. ‘We’ll look after you the best we can – it’s the least we can do. Ada and Edmund were good folk. I don’t know what they did to deserve Danny.’

  ‘Thank you. I just don’t know what to do. The knacker-man came and took Clover and the cows away this morning. I saw Clover being loaded onto his cart and heard the shot as I lay in my bed. I loved that horse,’ wept Polly.

  ‘Your father never did have a bloody heart. I can always remember when Danny was a young lad, your grandfather had some pups from one of his sheepdogs. Danny had tied one to the kitchen-table leg and teased it so much that it wound itself so tightly around the table leg that it choked itself to death, in fear of the young lad’s taunts. Your grandfather found Danny laughing at what he’d done. I don’t think he’d have been able to sit down for a day or two, after your grandfather had finished belting him. By God, your grandfather was mad with him.’ Len stood and looked out of the window. ‘Looks like there are some more visitors going up to your home. Your Matt and his mother are going to be in for a shock, if my eyes don’t deceive me. I hope she hasn’t given notice on her house, else she’s going to be out on her arse as well.’ Len stood by the curtains and looked across at the neighbouring farm.

  ‘Father, language!’ Martha chastised him.

  ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer pair, if you ask me. They deserve all they ge
t. Now, that one is like his father, and she’s just a bitter old woman.’ Len watched, interested to see how long the visitors stayed at Paradise.

  ‘I’d rather Matt had Paradise than my father. At least he’d live in it and farm it,’ sighed Polly.

  ‘Aye, well, he’s not stopping long today. He must have got short shrift, because he and his mother are coming down your home field a hell of a lot faster than they went up it. Your father must be a fearsome man, to have frightened that old witch and her lad. If we are going to take him on, we’d better find a good way to do it. And I think we all know someone who fits the job – someone who would do anything for you. Someone with enough brass to buy your father out, ninety times over, I think. We’ll show the clever bastard that he never deserved that farm, and he knows it!’

  22

  ‘But I couldn’t, Tobias, really. I’m sure your mother and Sam don’t want me under their feet,’ protested Polly, as Tobias helped her up into his trap.

  ‘They will welcome you with open arms. Besides, you can hardly stay here with me. And I know Len would have you stay with him and Martha, but that’s a bit too near to your father, for my liking. He’s such a violent man.’ Tobias had not stopped worrying about Polly since the confrontation with her father the previous evening, and had been saddling his horse to tackle him, when she and Len had entered the yard of Grouse Hall.

  ‘Aye, Tobias is right. I wouldn’t want to take Danny on if he came knocking on my door. I’m too old to take on a big bloke like him, and it’ll take everything in me not to give him a piece of my mind, besides worrying about where you are. Daisy will look after you – she’s salt of the earth, is Daisy.’ Len looked up at the young lass of whom he’d become a protector.