She attempted to straighten the rounded spine. ‘Improving, thank you. Sit yourself down, for I’m not going to strain meself looking up to you all the while.’
They sat down simultaneously, Charles allowing himself a tight smile. She’d look up to nobody if he remembered correctly. ‘Well – what’s wrong?’ he ventured, half knowing the answer before it arrived.
Ma drew her chair closer so that their voices might be confined. ‘You walk in here bold as brass and ask me what’s wrong? I believe my daughter-in-law has already told you how we feel – it’s clear enough the poor girl had little effect! I warn you now, Charles Swainbank – this may be your house, but it’s our home. As long as we keep it decent enough and pay our rent, you have no right to interfere in this place!’
‘I came to look at the alterations—’
‘In a pig’s eye, you did! Why spend all that money on the one street, a street you’ve never owned, a street not worth the owning? Why go out and buy a row of decaying houses, then throw away a fortune on buildings that will doubtless tumble to the wreckers inside fifty years?’ She glowered at him. ‘Well?’
‘You know the answer. For the same reason my father wrote poems to a woman who would not cross a road to speak to him!’
She laughed mirthlessly. ‘For love, is it?’
‘Love, hopelessness – what’s the difference?’
This stopped her momentarily. Was he comparing Richard’s hopeless love for her to this very different situation? ‘Rubbish! You’re doing this for a pair of babbies you took care never to clap eyes on! Aye, twins that should never have lived. I bet if Molly had agreed to abortion—’
‘No! There was no question – ever—’
‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘There was no question because there was no necessity for knitting needles and gin! I saw to that!’
His mouth twitched angrily. ‘Yes, you saw to everything, didn’t you? I’d have looked after her! If she’d come to me in the first place—’
‘She didn’t need you! We don’t need you! Look. You know I was . . . fond of your father. Yet in him I saw . . . what’s the word now? Qualities, that’s it. I saw in Richard qualities from centuries before. Bad stock, evil line – it all comes out—’
‘Then it’s in the twins too?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t twist my words! They’ve been reared apart!’ Her mind cast itself back over Joey’s misdeeds before she continued, ‘The Swainbanks have a history that’s unclean. People were left crying in the streets because of your lot, thrown into the gutters, they were, for resting on a wall between jobs! And that still went on in your father’s time!’
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but she held up a hand. ‘No! I will have my say! Long ago, before I became a weaver, I worked as a spinner in one of your mills. Almost up to Patrick’s birth I worked, bent double just to make ends meet in more ways than one. Served some time as a side-piecer, I did – and backbreaking labour it was too! When I got my own mules, I watched a little-piecer lifted and thrown across a room when a belt flew loose. Fingers were swept up at night, thrown away as just a bit more waste. I have seen children at death’s door from blood-poisoning brought on by filth and grease. Remember? How they toiled barefoot and in a little work-shirt, sliding in thick oil all over the place? Infants, they were – babes in arms—’
‘They were not babies! And everyone employed them!’
‘Ah, so it’s accuracy you’re after! In my time they were twelve years old, some of them weighing three or four stones for lack of nourishment. A six o’clock start to a midday finish, then off to school to be beaten half to death for collapsing at their desks! I have talked to and worked with some of these victims! Victims of your father and others like him.’
‘And you blame me for that?’
She looked down at her hands. ‘Not quite, not entirely. But I blame you for displaying that same coldness now in coming here to inspect my grandchildren.’
He cleared his throat. ‘They’re not your grandchildren, Ma.’
She jumped to her feet and brought her hand viciously across his face, delivering a slap that seemed to echo through the whole house. ‘Remember the last time I did that? And your father too? There you stood, not a word to say for yourself, not while the old man lived. But now you have it all, don’t you? The power, the weight, the so-called wisdom! Never dare say to me that those are not my grandchildren! Never! Who nurtured them and saw them through the night with croup and scarlet fever? Where were you when we thought Janet had the diphtheria? More to the point, where was her real so-called grandmother, that nasty piece of work you called Mother? Well?’
His face glowed where she had struck him, but he remained where he was, feeling as if he were doing penance not just for his own mistakes, but also for the undeniable sins of his predecessors.
She sat down again. ‘You and your kind – I spit on you! You never look upon what you don’t want to see. But I’ve seen it all, lad! One filthy sink in a corner, all clogged up with grease and cotton waste – that’s where you washed and dressed a hand when the mule trapped fingers. Children running with wipers to clean as a mule opened, fleeing for their lives to get out again in time! Grown women weeping because they were refused a new broom to sweep the floor while the old one still had two or three bristles on its head. Were you there? Did you learn all that?’
The chair creaked as she leaned nearer to him. ‘There’s no love lost, Charlie, no love at all for you here. You’re not one of us. Did you ever get a clout off a minder for breaking ends while you cleaned a machine that threatened to kill you? Did you ever have to beg for wages because there was no pay however good a job you made? Aye. You remember don’t you? Piecers were paid by the spinner out of his own wages. And a spinner was rightly called a minder, for he kept many a child alive out of his own pitiful sum. Were you there when a good minder brought in a flour cake and a slice of ham to save the life of a thirteen-year-old little-piecer with legs bent by rickets? No. You know nothing! You were too busy sitting in the whited sepulchre counting the takings! Your fine cars and carriages, your house and all its trappings – everything you own was bought and paid for with blood. Our blood.’ She beat a closed fist against her breast. ‘You cannot ever belong with us, just as we cannot ever belong with you.’
‘All the cruelties you speak of are out of the past! Surely you can see that things are improving all the time . . .’
‘Really? Tell that to Mary Watson down in Vernon Street. She’ll be sixty-odd now if she’s still alive. Four fingers she left behind one day and her driven out of her mind when your father’s monkeys poured raw iodine on to the stumps. I can hear that girl’s screams to this day – locked up as a lunatic for a while, she was. And when you’ve seen Mary, go round to all those who were scalped in the carding rooms, to weavers who lost eyes when a shuttle went astray. Tell it to the man who was left dangling with a flying belt around his neck – go to his grave and post him a letter, why don’t you?’ She paused for breath and gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you realize what you’ve taken on in Janet? She’s aware of all that, for I have made sure she knows the true price of cotton!’
He held on grimly to what remained of his patience. ‘Then your indoctrination has failed. She loves the mills.’
Ma smiled in a knowing way, her head nodding pensively. ‘Janet’s an odd girl. The buildings fascinate her and she likes the feel of a length of good cloth. But she’s no fool. That girl will pay her dues to a union just like all the other weavers do. In her bones, Janet is for the workers. She might even help bring you down . . .’
‘Then she’ll bring herself down, because she and her brother stand to inherit whatever I leave.’
Ma’s mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘She doesn’t want it! Am I not getting through to you at all? We’re not part of all that!’
‘I am weary, Ma, sick of sitting here and listening while you prattle on about history that’s almost as ancient as the Greeks!
You’re a bitter old woman. And the undeniable fact remains – those are my children—’
‘Children of a crime you committed against their mother!’
‘But still mine! Don’t you see – they’re all I have?’
‘Then take another wife and make more!’
He dropped his head. ‘No. I’ve done enough. My children – my sons – they died because I over-indulged them. Amelia suffered so much . . .’ Unable to sit still with his thoughts, he jumped up and began to pace back and forth between bed and window. ‘The twins are already here, a fact of my life. They’re my responsibility. I am their father, for goodness sake!’
‘You’ve paid your dues over the years. Look, I promised never to bother your family if a future for Molly’s child could be guaranteed. So why do you annoy us now? What about my son who has lived a lifetime believing that all four are his? Can you imagine his state of mind if he finds this out? Will you break us, Charlie, just as your father broke so many? Will you cut out our hearts and lay them in the streets – your own too, for you will surely be judged?’
He ran his fingers through thick brown hair, his head waving slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t know! I’m not like you! I don’t have a list of answers to all the questions in the world. All I know is that those two children are my only link with life after a terrible couple of months.’
‘Aye. And it’s sorry I am for all your trouble, Charles Swainbank, for no mortal deserves what you have suffered. It is enough to push you to the edge of sanity. But please – I beg you – leave my family alone.’
His eyes swam with unshed tears. ‘I can’t. She is so beautiful – I love her already.’
‘And Joey?’
He rubbed his creased forehead. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘Sit down, Charlie, or you’ll have me bit of oilcloth worn out. Come away now, there’s nought to be gained from a flat spin.’
He sank on to the edge of the bed, head in hands, elbows resting on his knees. After a few seconds, Ma came to join him. ‘Where’s your pride, man?’
‘Gone. Buried with them, cold in the grave.’
‘Sweet Jesus! I wish with all me heart that I could help you, son! But I can’t. Not without hurting my own! Charlie, don’t you see the size of the sword you hold over Molly’s head? The girl is terrified.’
‘I didn’t want that. Not for Molly—’
‘No indeed. And what about young Joey – is he worthy of your fortune?’
‘He seems an ordinary enough lad, no harm in him.’
‘No harm? Will I laugh or cry? He’s another bag of mischief, different altogether from Janet, not as clever. She’ll go her own road and shame the divil, but he’s a mixed-up boy with a desperate need for money. Remember your old neighbour – the one who took Samson after your brother died?’
‘Sarah Leason?’
‘The same. He almost killed her, Charlie, went into the house after her money, put the old woman in the hospital where she still lies with a headache the rest of us can almost hear! He left her for dead. I’m not saying he actually struck a blow, but when she fell, he ran off with a box stuffed with every penny she owned. Now. How about that for a Swainbank?’
An expression of shock and disbelief twisted his features. ‘Good God!’
‘Exactly. So, who’s to say how he’ll turn out, eh? As I said before, we’ve brought them up decent, given them good Catholic values, watched to make sure they did right. Yet something came out in that boy, something I didn’t want to tell you about, but—’
‘But you’ll use any weapon to keep me at bay?’
‘Yes. Yes, if I’m to be honest, I suppose I will do just that.’
‘It won’t work, Ma. Whatever he is, it won’t work. Not till I’ve talked to him and made up my own mind. Sorry.’
‘Step back a way, man! Consider the situation properly. These children were not born for you to choose their path in life. No one owns them, not you, not meself, not their mother. No person ever owns another, whatever the relationship. You cannot bend and shape them for your purpose, nor will they ever accept you as a father. My Paddy may not be up to much, but he is loved, particularly by Janet. She will hate you if you lay a claim, Charlie.’
He nodded quickly. ‘Yes, yes I see that. But do you recognize my dilemma?’
‘Indeed. And very clearly too. I am not completely without sympathy, though my loyalty lies elsewhere. And I also see a bargain made many years ago, an agreement I’ve stuck to which you now break by coming here.’
‘I’ve read the papers, Ma. They say nothing about my claim—’
‘And plenty about me having none, I take it?’
His chin dropped again. This was obviously an unfair world, yet he was glad that the law would, in all probability, favour him should the case reach the courts. ‘Yes, that’s about the size of it. You can’t name them as Swainbanks, but I can.’
‘British justice!’ She spat these words. ‘I sold my worthless son – may God forgive me – to give Molly some peace of mind and a safe home. Now she turns on me for doing just that, for bargaining with you! We’ve come to terms, she and I, but sure nothing’s the same as it was. And still you come back for your pound of flesh. Is there no end to it?’
‘I truly am sorry. But I will know my children and they will know me – not necessarily as a father – not yet. But they will know who I am, what I’m made of.’
‘I see. Then you refuse to leave us alone?’
For answer, he nodded just once.
‘Then go.’
He rose slowly from the bed. ‘Ma?’
‘I said go! Go now before I lose me temper and bring in the street! No more words, no more apologies. Just get out.’
He left her sitting there and walked out to the kitchen where Molly, Janet and Michael were eating their evening meal. Unable to meet any eyes, he muttered a hasty goodbye before striding out of the house.
Perkins waited patiently by the car outside Leatherbarrow’s, but Charles hurried past him to where Joey lounged at the corner of Delia Street’s back alley. For a reason he would never be able to explain, Charles placed a hand on the boy’s arm. ‘Take care of your family, Joey. Especially that twin sister of yours.’
Joey cast his black eyes over this man, temper threatening to erupt as he pictured Janet slaving at a loom, probably finishing up bent double like so many worn-out workers in this God-forsaken town. And Joey wasn’t afraid of him, not bloody likely! He might own the house they lived in, might own the mill where Janet worked, but Joey Maguire was a man with his own business, a man with a future. He straightened his long spine and looked Swainbank squarely in the face. ‘I don’t need you to tell me how to carry on! Take your hand off me before I fetch you one across the chops! I’m not right pleased about my sister working in your mill, fetching and carrying for your likes. She had a chance of a good life down the shop, but no, you went and give her the job, eh? Well, she’ll not be stopping long.’
Charles stepped back as the boy’s anger hit him. ‘Why do you dislike me, Joey? No-one asked Janet to apply for work, no-one forced her to accept.’
Joey kicked at the ground moodily, then stopped himself when he remembered the good shoes. ‘What were you doing at our house? Why have you picked our Janet out as special? She’s her head in the clouds because the big boss likes her. Do you fancy taking her on now that your wife’s gone?’
Charles held his tongue with difficulty. The cheek of this young man – and how far from the truth he was! ‘Janet’s a gifted girl,’ he muttered lamely. ‘I’m privileged to have her in the business, but I haven’t picked her out, Joey—’
‘Mr Maguire, if you don’t mind. Aye, happen I have only just left school, but I’m a businessman same as yourself – or will be once Gran signs the shops over when me and Janet are eighteen.’ He paused and took in the man’s stricken expression. ‘There’s summat not quite right about you, Mr Swainbank. I don’t know why you’re messing about round here, only you’re
not wanted – I can tell you that for nowt. Me mam doesn’t like you, Gran can’t stand mill owners and I don’t like the way you’ve got your claws in my sister. So why don’t you sling your hook while the going’s good?’
Charles’ patience had reached its limit. After all the abuse from Ma, this was too much. ‘If I had spoken to my father in such a way—’
‘Aye. But you’re not me dad, are you?’
Seconds passed while the man studied this face, this younger version of his own features. ‘I am old enough to be your father, Mr Maguire. And how would it be if I turned your family out of the house because of your lack of respect?’ He hated himself as soon as these words were out, for wasn’t he acting as Ma would have predicted, taking a swing with the weighty hand of a boss?
‘Do what you want! We’ll get a house somewhere.’
This streetwise urchin was playing with him, dangling him like one of those dolls on elastic that were given away as prizes at Bolton Fair. Charles grabbed his son by the collar. ‘Listen here, you little dog,’ he hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Shall I tell you why I’m here? Do you really want to know?’ He swallowed hard. ‘My old neighbour – remember her? Eccentric, rather unclean, a lot of money in the house?’
Joey struggled to free himself, eyes wide with terror.
‘Would you like me to go on, Joey? Shall I tell you what I intend to do if you ever threaten me again?’
‘Leave me . . . alone!’
‘Got away with it, did you? Must have, or you’d have been locked up by now. Didn’t Sarah tell them it was you? I will. I’ll help the police with their enquiries, lad!’
‘Who . . . who told you? Our Janet? Gran? Me mam?’
‘Nobody in the house told me. I just know. I have ways of finding out most things.’ It was easier to lie; nothing would be gained from Joey discovering Ma’s ‘betrayal’. ‘Well? What have you to say for yourself, boy?’
Joey broke free and smoothed the creased jacket. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her – honest. I just wanted—’
With Love From Ma Maguire Page 44
