Now her head went back and she gave one mighty bellow of a laugh, and Emily, laying her hands flat on the cheque and the letter, bent her head over them and her shoulders shook until the tears ran down her face; and when their laughter subsided she wiped her eyes and said, ‘Oh, Aunt Mary, I needed that! I’ve longed to see you these past days just to get a laugh.’
‘Best medicine in the world, lass, a laugh. God gave it to the poor for compensation. You never see a rich man laughin’, now do you? Not that I know any rich men. But the lot that launch ships and open bridges an’ the like, you never see them laughin’. Smilin’ stiffly, aye, but never laughin’. And there’s Ma Harris, why if she laughed she’d need to have her face stitched, and that’d cost money.’
They were off again, and they laughed and they talked for the next hour. Then Mary put on her shawl, warned the youngest members of her family that she’d brain them one by one if they put their noses out of the door or went near the fire, then guided Emily to the female moneylender.
When, half an hour later, Emily emerged with nineteen sovereigns in her purse, she pressed one amid loud protests into Mary’s hand. And they parted at the street corner, Emily promising to make the visit a weekly one in future.
In Fellburn she bought a quarter of a stone of oatmeal, two pounds of rough salt, half a dozen pigs’ trotters, three pounds of spare ribs, and odds and ends that filled two bags; then she took the carrier cart home.
There were six people on the cart and she, being the last to arrive, had to sit on the tail end, her legs dangling over the edge.
After they had passed the side road that led to the quarry she called to the driver to stop near the stile. A few minutes later she was carrying her bags through the copse to where in the distance she could see the broken-down bridge and Larry standing waiting beside it. Hurrying towards him, she thrust the packages at him, then bent forward and kissed him on the lips, saying, ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘I came an hour ago. I…I thought I saw the cart pass.’
She looked at him in silence for a moment. He had thought he had seen the cart pass, and she not on it, which was the reason for the look on his face now. He did not look exactly happy but he certainly looked different from when she had left him this morning. Suddenly she felt gay, glad. She hadn’t felt like this for…oh, she couldn’t tell the time. She laughed aloud now as she said, ‘Well, I did it. You got the flour and the meat?’
‘Yes, I got the flour and meat.’
‘By! It was as good as a play. They were staggered.’
‘Yes, I can imagine they were. But wait till next time they’ll be ready for you.’
‘Oh no, they won’t’—she tossed her head—‘’cos we’ve got somebody on our side.’
‘Somebody on our side! Who?’ He turned to her.
‘Mr Waite, the baker. He’s delivering and he wanted to be remembered to you.’
He now stopped dead. ‘Don’t make up tales like that, Emily.’
‘I’m not makin’ them up. He was as kind as kind. He nearly had me crying again, that’s how kind he was. And once she was out of the shop—his wife—he spoke to me, and…and he sent you a message. He said’—she paused—‘Give Mr Birch my best respects and tell him…tell him I’m with him.’ Well, she felt sure that if he’d had time he would have said something like that; it was in his face.
‘Waite said that?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Well! Well!’
‘So I was right. There are different people in the world, even in the village. Everybody isn’t the same…What have you been doin’ when I’ve been away?’
He turned his head and looked at her. ‘Thinking about you.’ He smiled.
She looked ahead. Her chin wagged; the setting sun was bathing everything in a warm glow; the sky was beautiful. The dead bracken on the hills before her had turned them to pure gold; the wind had risen and carried on it the sting of a frosty night, and the smell of winter. The whole world was beautiful, and this was a lovely part of it. Everything was going to be all right. Oh aye, everything was going to be all right.
Two
Christmas came and went, and New Year followed, and there was no season of good will, for it takes more than one to create a jollification. But it didn’t seem to matter much; what did matter was keeping warm. One day towards the end of January when they had been snowed up for nine days, she came in from the byre and cried with pain as she thawed out her hands at the fire; and he growled at her, ‘I told you what it would be like, and you’ve tasted nothing yet. Wait till it crucifies you.’ That moment was the nearest she came to thinking of leaving him. If it had been possible to get down the hill she might have packed up there and then, but as she then told herself, the thought wouldn’t have occurred to her if the hill had been clear, for then he himself wouldn’t have been tested to the limit of his endurance.
As the weeks wore on what was testing them both too was the question of money. It wasn’t until he had received the third letter from the solicitor concerning his wife’s bounty that she persuaded him to take the trip into Newcastle in order to sign the papers which would enable him to receive the money.
Persuade was hardly the correct term for her attitude in spurring him to leave the hill. It was in desperation she had shouted at him, ‘Will you tell me what we’re goin’ to live on until the land gets going?’
He knew nothing about the money she had received from the sale of the watch, for after two days of carrying the eighteen sovereigns round, tied in a bag in her petticoat pocket, she decided that her best plan was to hide them outside the house, and some day they would come in handy, for in the nature of things there were bound to be very lean days ahead. So, in a corner where two walls met at the extreme end of their land, she scraped a shallow hole in the earth, placed the bag in it and moved a small pile of wall stones that were lying near onto the top of it.
At first she felt guilty at her deception, but as the weeks went on and he refused even to answer the solicitor’s letters she thought the time would not be far off when she’d have to move those stones again.
This morning, when she had shouted at him, he had not retaliated except by glaring at her, then stamping out of the cottage, and it was with difficulty she had prevented herself from running after him and saying she was sorry; as she told herself, this was no time to apologise, or act soft. Recently she had asked him why he hadn’t brought more than a bare fourteen pounds from the house when he left it, and he had explained that he had been in the habit of going to the bank once a month to draw out a certain amount, most of the bills being paid by cheque. He had been due to go to the bank the very day of the funeral; but, of course, from then on the bank was closed to him.
This morning she had also wanted to cry at him, ‘You don’t want to help yourself, do you?’ but that would have been untrue because he worked from morning till night clearing more land, tearing at the ground, uprooting bracken, and carting away boulders to make it possible for ploughing in the spring, and as most of the land was on a slope the work was even more hard.
He remained outside for half an hour. When he returned he walked straight past her, into the bedroom, and she heard him fling back the lid of the trunk that held his suits. Ten minutes later he came into the kitchen dressed as she hadn’t seen him dressed since the day he left the farm. He was wearing a grey tweed suit and an overcoat to match.
He held his hat in his hand and he stood looking at her for a moment before he said, ‘At bottom you’re like the rest of them, you won’t be satisfied until you see me grovelling.’
‘Aw…aw’—she moved her head slowly to the side—‘that isn’t fair…to say a thing like that to me, that isn’t fair.’
‘Well how do you think I’ll feel, going into that office and having them sniggering at me?’
‘Well, if they’re gentlemen they won’t snigger…’
‘Oh my God!’ He swallowed a mouthful of spittle as he closed his eyes and
screwed up his face. ‘You’re so…’
‘Don’t say I’m ignorant’—her voice had risen now—‘an’ that I don’t know people, or what I’m talkin’ about, ’cos I’m going to say again, if they’re gentlemen they won’t snigger. Mr Tooton didn’t snigger, and he was only a clerk; he was sorry for you and thought you’d been dealt a dirty deal.’
He gulped deeply as if his throat was dry; then, his manner softening, he asked her quietly, ‘Is there anything you want bringing back?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No,’ she said, ‘except that we need more fodder and meal and such; but if we can settle the bill Mr Waite’ll drop that down below for us.’ Then smiling a little, she moved slowly towards him, saying, ‘There’s something you could bring back if you wouldn’t mind carrying it. I’d love a leg of pork.’
‘A leg of pork!’ He was looking into her face now and his head was moving gently. ‘Don’t you want anything for yourself?’
‘Only that you should come back.’
‘Oh, Emily!’ He leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips, and she put her arms around his neck and held him close for a moment; then she buttoned the high lapel of his overcoat, patted his chest, and exclaimed on a high note, ‘You haven’t got any gloves on.’
‘I don’t want gloves.’
‘You’re going to put gloves on; you’re not going into the town dressed like that without gloves.’ She dashed into the other room, thrust open the lid of the trunk, put her hand down the side of it and brought up a pair of lined kid gloves; then running back into the kitchen again, she handed them to him, saying, ‘Now, you’ll have to hurry; you’ve got a good mile and a half to tramp if you’re going t’other way to catch the carrier cart; And mind’—she now admonished him with her finger—‘you take the cart, don’t you attempt to walk into Birtley and catch the train. Now mind, ’cos you’ll not get back the day if you do.’
He made no answer, but opened the door and went out, and she stood on the step and watched him as he strode down the path and through the gate and into the frosted field. Then stepping back into the room for a second, she snatched up a shawl, put it over her head, and ran down to the gate, and from there she shouted, ‘Take care.’
He did not turn round but he lifted his hand in recognition that he had heard her …
The day passed slowly. She spent the rest of the morning cleaning out the shippon and the stable, seeing to the animals’ needs, milking the cow, and sawing and chopping wood into sizeable lengths for the fire.
At noon the light suddenly changed and when the thin wind that sounded like a mournful song came threading from the far trees and swirled round the house, she looked anxiously up into the sky. There was snow coming again, the smell of it was on the wind. Oh…snow! She hated snow. She hoped it didn’t start before he got back, for it would turn the hill into a skating rink. She’d thought they’d seen the last of it. If it did come they’d want more wood than there was already stacked against the end of the house. She’d better get herself away down to the stream to see if there was any bits washed up on to the bank. She’d have a cup of tea first and then she’d set off.
As she sat in the kitchen drinking her tea the wind died completely away; she felt she could hear the stillness. She looked about her. The room, though crowded, looked cosy enough; everything was clean and tidy, and the wood fire glowing in the blackleaded stove gave a homely appearance to it all. Yet without him, the place was like a graveyard. She’d go mad if she had to live up here on her own. She wished they had a cat or a dog. Why was it you could talk to a cat or dog more than you could to a cow or hens, or even a horse? Because they were kitchen animals, she supposed. She’d ask him when he came back about them having a kitten…and a dog. Funny, but he wasn’t partial to dogs, and him being a drover once. There had been two dogs down on the farm, nice sheepdogs, but she had never seen him walk with them, likely because they looked on old Abbie as their master …
What would he be doing now? She looked at the clock. He’d likely have got the money and was going round shopping. If he left Newcastle around two he should be back about four or thereabouts, depending on which way he came, of course. If he came through Fellburn or the village he could do the journey in an hour, at least to the bottom road; but then he’d never come that way.
It was a strange life living up here in the cottage. Sometimes it almost became unbearable, but when this feeling came on her she would look at him and think how much worse it was for him. If only she could see her Aunt Mary more often, or somebody from Shields. Her da. Yes, if she could see her da, and their Lucy.
She hadn’t heard a word from her da; but, of course, she wouldn’t, would she? If he sent any letters Alice Broughton would put them straight in the fire, after reading them of course. But then it wasn’t likely her da would send her any letters; he wasn’t much hand at writing; what her da did was to turn up, just walk into the house as if he had been gone but half an hour or so.
She felt lonely. Oh, she did feel lonely the day, lost somehow.
Come on, get yourself out of this.
In answer to her own command she got up hastily from the table, took her mug and rinsed it in the bowl of cold water, hung it on a hook, put on her old coat, then her shawl over her head, and laced it under her breasts and tied it in a knot at the back of her waist. Then having donned a pair of home-made mittens she went out to the shed and, picking up a rope attached to a board, which was itself attached to two sets of small wheels, she pulled it behind her over the rough ground and down to the stream bank, and for the rest of the afternoon until the light almost faded, she made dragging journeys with the trolley up the hillside.
She was almost exhausted when at last she went into the cottage. After pulling off her outer clothes she sat down and looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past four. The time had flown as she had intended it to, but she told herself she shouldn’t have stayed out so long; he’d expect a hot meal when he came in, and he should be here at any minute, and so, tired or not, she’d better stir herself.
An hour later the light had almost gone and so she put on the old coat and shawl again, lit a lantern, and went out and down the slope.
On reaching the bottom she called, ‘Larry!…Larry!’ Receiving no reply, she went at a stumbling run up the far hill, and from the top she made out the very erratic swinging of another lantern.
Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. He hadn’t taken a lantern down with him. Something had happened to him. He had gone through the village and they had attacked him…It was Con all over again. They were bringing him home.
She almost measured her length on the ground as she took a leap forward and only just in time managed to save herself.
As she approached the other light it stopped its swinging and the glow became steady, which meant it was on the ground, and when she came panting within range of its beam she stopped dead and looked through the light into George’s face, then down at the huddled figure on the ground by the side of his feet.
‘Hello, Emily.’
She didn’t answer but walked slowly forward. She didn’t ask what had happened, she knew he was dead drunk. She looked up at George when he said, ‘He came by cab from somewhere. The cabby dumped him at the side of the road. I wouldn’t have known anything about it but one of the village lads told me the cab passed through the village an hour or more ago and he was singing at the top of his voice. I…I don’t know what made me take a dander along here, but it’s just as well I did, because he would have been stiff by the mornin’.’ He paused, then ended, ‘There were quite a number of packages scattered around him; I brought them over the stile in a sort of relay.’ He made a sound in his throat that wasn’t a laugh. ‘I left them by the old bridge; I thought I’d better get him up first.’
Still she didn’t speak, but when he bent down and hooked his arm under that of the heavy limp body she went to the other side and did the same. But when the body made no response and they were
having to drag him along she realised the impossibility of getting him up the hill in this condition, so she took her arm from his and let him slump against George’s side again. Then gripping him by the ears and part of his hair, she wagged his head on his shoulder—as she had seen her mother do to her father many a time in order to get him to mount the stairs—until he spluttered, then began to curse. ‘What the hell! I’ll knock ya bloody head off! I’ll…I’ll…’
‘Get on your feet and move!’ Her voice was harsh, loud. It could have been that of Alice Broughton, or any woman in Creador Street, and in answer to it he actually stumbled to his feet and when, after a fashion, he moved, they all moved.
Following his drunken route, they swayed from side to side. Once George dropped the lantern and the candle went out and they were left in total blackness until, exclaiming aloud and groping for matches, he lit it again …
When at last they entered the cottage, not only did Larry slump to the floor but both George and Emily reached out towards the settle and dropped onto it, and for some minutes the only sound in the kitchen was their combined gasping.
Drawing in a long shuddering breath, Emily now rose to her feet and asked quietly, ‘Will you help me off with his clothes, George?’
‘Aye, Emily. Aye.’
Again they hoisted him up and, his legs trailing behind him, they dragged him into the bedroom and dumped him on the bed. When presently he lay in his small clothes, Emily said, ‘Thanks, George,’ and drew the blankets over the prostrate body. Then picking up the lamp, she led the way back into the kitchen, and after placing it on the table she looked at it as she spoke, saying again simply, ‘Thanks, George.’
For answer George said, ‘There’s those packages and parcels down there, they should be brought up.’
‘They can wait until daylight.’
‘Well, I doubt if some of them will be there by daylight; there was pork sticking out of one, and a duck’s head dangling from another; and…and there’s a small case of the hard stuff.’
The Tide of Life Page 33
