No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  She moved to a small table near a window, and after laying her bag and umbrella on the padded bench, she undid the collar and buttons of her coat and sat down. As she did so a young girl appeared in the aperture of a serving hatch and looked over at her with a smile. ‘Yes, miss, what can I get for you?’ Lily replied that she was waiting to be joined by someone and would order when he arrived. The barmaid nodded, ‘Right you are, miss,’ and disappeared from sight.

  The minutes ticked by while the rain increased and ran down the window pane. From the adjoining public bar came a continuous hum of voices. The elderly couple sat murmuring over their drinks. Then, at long last, there was movement at the door to the passage, and Tom looked into the room, saw Lily and entered.

  ‘Tom. Oh, Tom.’ She got to her feet and reached out as he came towards her. He wrapped her in his arms, a little damp from the rain, and briefly held her to him.

  ‘Ah, Lil,’ he said. ‘Oh, you’re a sight for sore eyes, and no mistake.’ He bent his head and kissed her awkwardly on the cheek.

  As she sat down again he took off his coat and laid it on the bench, putting his cap down beside it. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said as he sat down at her side, ‘and I can’t be out for long. I’ve got to get back soon.’ She took hold of her bag and got out her purse. Handing him some coins, she said, ‘You get yourself whatever you want. I’ll just have some coffee.’

  ‘I’ll ’ave coffee too,’ he said. He took the money and moved to the serving hatch. As he stood talking to the barmaid, giving her the order, Lily studied him. He was thirteen now. He did not appear to have grown very much, and in his bearing there was still almost the callow rawness of a child. For all his lack of physical stature, though, he was just as handsome, she thought, but his face was not a face that was content. For one so young there was too much shadow in the cast of his eye, too little lightness in the curve of his lip.

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ she said as he came back to the table with the steaming mugs, ‘how good it is to see you again.’

  He sat down, setting her few coppers of change before her. ‘Yeh, and so good to see you, Lil.’

  ‘It’s been so long,’ she said. ‘I haven’t set eyes on you since May.’

  He lowered his face. ‘Ah, that’s right.’

  Seeing the sudden sorrow in his expression, she realised that he was thinking of the prison, and she said, ‘Oh, Tom, those days are over. They’re behind you now. There’s no need to think about that time anymore.’

  ‘No. No, of course not. That’s all past. Let’s drink to better times.’ He smiled, and lifted the thick china mug. ‘Come on. We got better things to think of.’

  Lily picked up her mug. ‘To the future, Tom.’

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded and smiled again, ‘to the future.’

  They touched their mugs together and drank. From the adjoining bar there continued to drift in the murmur of the other customers.

  ‘How’ve you been, Lil?’ Tom asked. ‘Have you been all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been well.’

  ‘And the baby . . .?’

  The baby. The thought of the baby caused Lily’s breath to catch momentarily in her throat. Then she said, ‘Yes, the baby . . . The baby was born that same day. That same day I saw you in – in Redbury.’

  ‘The very same day?’

  ‘Yes. Soon after I got back to Sherrell. He was early, but he was all right, though.’

  Tom smiled. ‘He. You ’ad a boy.’

  ‘Yes, I had a boy.’ She drew in her breath. ‘He’s gone now,’ she said, trying to make her voice betray no emotion. ‘He was taken for adoption.’

  ‘Ah.’ Tom nodded. ‘So he’ll ’ave a good life, then.’

  ‘Yes, he’ll have a good life.’

  ‘D’you know where he went to?’

  She shook her head. ‘They don’t tell you such things.’

  ‘No, I s’pose not. It’s prob’ly better that way.’ He took a drink from his cup. ‘And ’ow are you getting on now with the lady, Miss Balfour?’

  ‘Oh – she’s been so kind to me. She’s teaching me.’

  ‘Teaching you?’

  ‘Teaching me, yes. Every day. Preparing me to be a governess. I’m learning so much. I’m reading Keats and Shakespeare and Milton. I’m even studying French. And I’m learning arithmetic and geography and history – all about the Romans, and the Tudors and the Stuarts. Miss Elsie – she’s a very clever woman.’ She went on to tell him something of her life at Rowanleigh, and of her work there. At the end of it, Tom said, ‘Oh, my, that sounds wonderful, Lil. You’re gettin’ a real chance to make things better.’

  ‘I hope so. It’s what I’m working for.’

  ‘Well, you’ll do well, I know you will. And you deserve it too.’

  ‘Thank you. And what about you, Tom? How are you getting on? You said nothing in your letter.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, you know me – I never been a one for letter-writing.’

  ‘Oh, I know that all right. Are they good to you here, your employers?’

  ‘Yeh, they’re all right. Thompson, their name is. I was lucky to get the job.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Assistin’ the stockmen most of the time. I like workin’ with the animals.’

  ‘And do they feed you well?’

  He nodded. ‘Oh, yeh, they feed us well enough. I’m comfortable enough too. I sleeps over the stables with a couple of the other lads.’

  He went on to speak of his duties on the farm, and of his workmates there, and as he spoke, Lily perceived in him some little growing flame of optimism. Across the room the elderly couple set down their empty teacups, buttoned up their coats and moved to the door. When the pair had gone, Lily said to Tom:

  ‘D’you ever hear anything of your friend?’

  He frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly. ‘My friend?’

  ‘Your friend from – from that time.’

  ‘At Wentworth?’

  ‘Yes.’ Immediately she regretted bringing up the memory. ‘You spoke of him when I saw you. He was your good friend.’

  He gave a nod. ‘Jake,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Jake, that was his name. Oh, I was so glad you’d met him, that you’d found a friend.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and turned his face away.

  ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘is there something wrong? Have I said something?’

  ‘I want to forget that,’ he said. ‘That’s done with. That’s in the past.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘You’ll never have to go back there.’

  ‘I don’t just mean that place – the prison. I mean him.’

  ‘Jake?’

  ‘Ah.’

  Lily peered at him, frowning at his grim, lowered profile. ‘Tom, what happened? Did something happen? Tell me.’

  He gave a brief shake of his head. Into the quiet that surrounded them a burst of laughter rang out from the public bar. Lily pressed her fingers against the rough fabric of his sleeve. ‘Something happened,’ she said. ‘What was it?’

  ‘It’s done,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s over with, and I never want to see ’im again.’

  ‘But – he was your friend. You told me so. You said – ’

  ‘Enough, Lil.’ His voice was sharp. ‘He’s no part of it any more. He’s nothin’ to do with my life! Let it be.’ Picking up his half-finished mug of coffee, he drank from it and then set it back on the table. He sat staring down at it while long moments ticked by in silence, then he said in whisper:

  ‘It was ’im, Jake Marchant. It was ’im.’ He had turned his face away from Lily again, so that once more she could see only the shallow angle of his profile. ‘He should be killed,’ he said.

  ‘Tom,’ she breathed, shocked. ‘What are you saying?’

  He turned to her now, and she could see the hate darkening his eyes. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘What he did.’

  ‘What he did . . .?’

  His eyes slid away f
rom her, and she saw his features distorted with an anguish that she had never seen there before.

  ‘What happened?’ she said. ‘Tell me, please.’

  He lifted his coarsened hands and covered his face, while his whole body shuddered. After a while he let fall his hands and said, speaking in a harsh whisper, ‘He – he was so kind. Just when I needed it, when I needed a friend, and everything was so strange, and so cruel, and I was afraid.’ He turned his face to Lily. ‘I was so afraid,’ he muttered.

  ‘Of course you were,’ she said. ‘Oh, of course you were.’

  ‘You can’t imagine what it’s like, bein’ in a place like that.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I can only guess that it must be absolutely – dreadful.’

  He nodded. ‘Ah – you could say that.’

  As he looked down into his mug another little burst of laughter echoed from the public bar. Tom flinched at the sound, and as if suddenly becoming aware of himself, he pushed the mug away and rose from his seat. ‘I got to go,’ he said. ‘I got to get back. I’m sorry, Lil.’ He turned to her, leant down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I love you, Lil. You’re all the world to me.’

  As Lily got to her feet he pulled on his coat and, jamming his cap on his head, turned towards the door. ‘Tom . . .’ she said, ‘wait, please,’ but he was gone. Quickly buttoning her coat, she snatched up her bag and umbrella and went after him.

  She caught up with him as he reached the muddy pavement outside. The rain had stopped and the air was dry, though dark clouds hung in the sky. A wind had sprung up.

  ‘Tom, wait,’ she said urgently. ‘Don’t go like this.’

  ‘I got to get back,’ he said. ‘They’re expectin’ me. They’ll moan if I’m not there.’

  As he strode out she remained at his side, stretching her stride to keep up with him. Then, reaching a corner where the road joined a narrow lane, he came to a halt and turned to face her. ‘Don’t come any further, Lil. There’s no point.’

  ‘Oh, but Tom,’ she said, ‘I can’t leave you like this. I don’t know when I might see you again.’

  He hesitated for a second, then said, ‘You wouldn’t want to see me again – if you knew.’

  ‘If I knew? What are you talking about? What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, Lil . . .’ He gave a groan and turned his face away into the wind. ‘I can’t tell you. I can’t speak of it.’

  ‘Tom, don’t say that. You can tell me anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, and when he turned back to face her she could see the pain in his features. ‘You’d cast me out. And I wouldn’t blame you.’

  She was bewildered. ‘Tom – my dear, what are you talking about? Is it something you’ve done? Tell me.’

  He shook his head again. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘There’s nothing you could tell me that would make any difference,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what you’ve done. I know you, and I love you, and you can’t have done anything that could make me love you any less.’

  ‘Ah – you say that, but you don’t know everything about me.’

  Her bewilderment was growing. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this something to do with your time in prison? Tom, that’s over. You’ve paid your penalty and it’s over.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘It’s what ’appened when I was there.’

  She frowned. ‘Something happened to you while you were in there . . .’

  And suddenly tears filled his eyes, spilt over and poured down his cheeks. ‘Yes!’ he cried out. ‘And I’ll never be the same again.’

  Her own emotion tightening her throat, she looked at him. ‘It’s to do with him, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Jake Marchant.’

  Tom’s silence answered her words.

  ‘Tell me – what did he do?’

  Tom hung his head and briefly closed his tearful eyes. ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘I thought he was your friend,’ she said. ‘You told me he was good to you, that he looked after you.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yeh.’ He nodded. ‘He was kind. Very kind. And I was new to the place, and like I said – I was afraid.’

  ‘Anyone would be.’

  ‘Everything – it was all so strange and frightening.’ He paused, drew a breath then went on: ‘And there were some there, two or three of the men, who seemed so – so threatening.’

  ‘They wanted to harm you?’

  He hesitated. ‘Yeh, but – Jake – ’e stepped in and – and protected me. He was a strong man – big and broad – and powerful too in his general way. The others backed off if ’e faced ’em down. But to me ’e was kind, and I was grateful. He took me under his wing, so to speak, and I guess I loved ’im for it. I felt safe, and I trusted ’im. Oh, I trusted ’im so much. It was almost as if I felt I was with a – a kind father – the sort of father I should have had, one who’d look after me. I felt that as long as Jakie was there I’d be all right.’

  He came to a stop. Lily waited a moment and then prompted him. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You – you don’t want to hear no more.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You have to tell me.’

  She waited for him to continue. The wind came keening down from the hills, blustered between the trees and lifted the hem of her coat, and suddenly, Tom burst out in a harsh whisper, almost inaudible against the sound of the growing wind:

  ‘He – he did things to me.’ He bent his head and put his hands up to his face, while the tears streamed from his eyes. ‘He did things to me,’ he sobbed, his slim shoulders shaking. ‘Dreadful – shameful things. To me – to my body. There was nothin’ I could do to stop him. He got me alone in one of the laundry rooms one day, and there was nothin’ I could do. He knew that no one would come to ’elp me. He knew they wouldn’t dare. And through it all ’e talked to me so kind, so sweet, tellin’ me how he’d look after me, and tellin’ me ’ow much he cared for me. He said I was like his son. I was ’is boy, ’e said, and nobody would ever dare ‘urt me.’

  His words came to a halt and he stood slightly bent, his hands still up to his face. Beneath the rim of his cap the wind stirred his dark hair.

  Lily stood as if stunned, speechless, her eyes wide with horror as the reality of what he was saying slowly forced its way into her brain. It was all, all beyond her imagining. It could not be so. He was speaking of things that she had never read about, not one word; had never heard spoken of, never heard hinted at.

  The seconds passed by while they stood facing one another and the wind swept and gusted. The tears stung her eyes.

  ‘Tom, my dear,’ she said at last, her voice breaking, ‘– this – this dreadful thing. Oh, my dear. It wasn’t your fault. Oh, my darling, what happened wasn’t your fault. I can’t bear to think of you having gone through such – such things. I can’t bear to think of you suffering so. But it was him, Tom. It wasn’t you. It was him.’

  ‘But I let him do it! I had to let ’im do it! I couldn’t do nothin’ else.’

  ‘Well, how could you stop him? You couldn’t. Of course you couldn’t.’

  ‘But it was more than once! It ’appened more than once. Whenever ’e wanted me.’ He turned about, letting his hands fall from his face. ‘How can you even bear to talk to me? After what I’ve done. I feel so – dirty. So dirty. I feel I’ll never be clean again.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes I wish I wus dead.’

  ‘Tom, don’t speak like that! Don’t say such things!’ She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his body. Under her touch she could feel him trembling. ‘You must go on from here,’ she said, her words muffled against the fabric of his coat. ‘It’s in the past, and you’ve got to put it behind you. You’ve got to get on with your life.’

  ‘I can’t see anything ahead,’ he muttered. ‘I never could.’

  His words threatened to break her heart. ‘Listen . . .’ she said, ‘the way you’re fe
eling now, things look – look bleak – but it won’t always be that way.’

  A bitter smile caught at the corners of his mouth. ‘Maybe so.’ Then, putting his head a little on one side, he said, ‘D’you reckon it’s possible – that one day we’ll be together, the way we talked about it? The way you always said it would ’appen?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘One day. Who knows when, but it’ll happen. We’ll find that little house somewhere, and live together.’

  ‘For always.’

  The tears welled in her eyes again. ‘For always, yes.’

  ‘Yeh.’ He nodded. ‘You would cook and clean and sew and look after the ’ouse, and I’d ’elp you round the place and work on the land. We’d have a bit o’ land, wouldn’t we? Two or three acres, maybe. Enough for a cow and a goat and some chickens, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Yeh,’ he said. He paused briefly, then said, ‘You ever ’ear anything from ’ome, Lil?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve written but I haven’t heard back.’

  ‘No, me neither,’ he said. ‘Like I said in my letter, I wrote twice but didn’t ’ear nothin’. I don’t reckon I’ll ’ear anything again.’

  ‘Well – give it time. Maybe Father’s busy.’

  ‘Yeh, maybe.’

  He looked at her steadily for some seconds, and then he said, ‘It ain’t gunna ’appen, is it, Lil?’

  ‘What? What isn’t going to happen?’

  ‘Our little ’ouse. Our bein’ together.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said quickly. ‘It could. It could.’

  ‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just a dream. We’re makin’ fools of ourselves. Well, at least I am. But there – I reckon I always ’ave done.’

  A gust of wind buffeted them. Tom gave himself a little shake, as if coming out of a trance. ‘I must go,’ he said.

  As he began to turn away Lily grasped his sleeve. ‘When – when shall I see you again?’