He got up from his chair now, walked to the bedroom door and, pushing it open, glanced inside. Then looking at her again, he said, ‘You’re a bit crowded, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, we brought more than we should. It…it was my fault I suppose; I picked the stuff. I thought he was entitled to it. There’s one or two nice bits.’
He walked back to the fireplace, grinning at her as he said, ‘You should have built another couple of rooms on first to hold it, there’s enough stuff here to furnish an up an’ downer.’
‘I thought about having another room on, a sort of lean-to,’ she said. ‘Now that the land’s cleared and we’ve got quite a bit of it set, we might get down to it. It only means carting the stones, and a bit of plaster and a few beams.’
After a moment or so he looked at his watch and remarked quietly, ‘He’s a long time.’
Yes, she thought so too, he’d been gone over two hours. ‘I’ll see if he’s come back,’ she said; ‘he might be at the wood block.’
She went through the scullery, out of the back door, ran down the path, through the gate and up a sharp incline. And then she saw him. He was pulling the wood trolley, but there didn’t seem to be much on it. She waved to him whilst he was still quite some distance off, and then ran towards him.
‘What’s the matter?’
He had stopped and waited for her coming.
‘Nothing. Well, nothing bad that is. We’ve got a visitor.’
She watched his face stiffen and so she hastened to add, ‘It’s…it’s me da; he’s come back from sea. He just wanted to see me.’
‘Your da?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a da.’ She laughed outright now. ‘I’ve told you he was at sea. Did you think I was making it up? He’s been on a longer trip than usual.’
‘How did he find out where you were?…Oh…oh’—he closed his eyes and nodded his head—‘your Aunt Mary.’
‘Yes, me Aunt Mary.’ Her face was straight as she repeated his words then said, ‘Well, aren’t you comin’?’
‘Does he want to see me?’
‘Of course he wants to see you.’
‘What for, to knock me down?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m livin’ with his daughter…or his daughter’s livin’ with me.’
She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Are you comin’?’ she said; ‘he’s got to go soon.’
It seemed to her that he intended to remain standing where he was for he didn’t make a move for at least a full minute; only when she was about to speak again did he tug at the rope and go forward.
In the yard he dusted down his clothes, saying, ‘I can’t go in like this.’
‘Don’t be silly, you’re a workin’ man. What I mean is, you can’t work in best clothes.’
He had cast a sidelong sharp glance at her and now he nodded his head and said, ‘Yes, you’re right, you’re always right, I’m a working man.’
As she led the way back into the house she prayed that he wouldn’t take a high hand with her da because her da was quick to notice such things.
In the kitchen the two men looked at each other. It was John Kennedy who spoke first. He had surveyed his daughter’s man, and even before that man opened his mouth he had settled in his own mind what he thought about him. What he said now was, ‘Aye, well, I’m her da. As you perhaps know I’ve been away to sea these two years or more; if I hadn’t she wouldn’t be up here now. But that’s life, I suppose.’
‘She’s free to go whenever she feels like it.’ Larry’s face and tone were stiff.
‘Well, I would say that’s easier said than done; there’s feelings come into associations of all kinds. It doesn’t take an educated man to know that feelings are stronger than chains to tie you to somebody. But there, she’s made her bed, as she would say herself, an’ she’s willing to lie on it. But I’m going to say to you now, an’ I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn or too quickly as we haven’t been lookin’ at each other for more than seconds, but what I’m going to say is that if you’re any kind of man you’ll bury the past and you’ll marry her, because she’s worth marryin’. And I’m not sayin’ that simply because she’s my lass. Anyone with a pair of eyes in their head would recognise she’s worth something more than the name of a kept woman.’
‘Oh Da! Da, please; I’ve told you!’
‘Aye, lass, aye’—he turned to her, nodding his head deeply now—‘you told me, but I had to have me say. That’s what I came for. Now hand me me coat and cap and I’ll be on me way.’
‘Oh Da, please!’
‘Come on, lass, hand them over.’
Before picking up her father’s things she glanced at Larry. His face was almost purple, his eyes, through his narrowed lids, gleamed black. He was in a rage, just like the times when he used to stamp down from the bedroom above the kitchen, after she had gone for him.
She almost thrust the coat at her father now, but he was slow to don it and buttoned each button carefully before taking his cap from her; then turning one last look on Larry, he said, ‘As I see it, she’s up here as an unpaid skivvy, temporary wife and farmhand combined. Afore this she got a wage. Afore this she had a chance of respectable home an’ bairns. But what has she now? You could walk out on her the morrow, and what would she be then? A cast-off woman. And what choice have such? They’ve got to pick from the dregs. I know…I’ve travelled, I’ve seen life an’ I know…I think nowt on you, mister, an’ that’s straight.’ And on this he turned about and walked out.
Emily closed her eyes tightly and her fingernails dug into her palms. She daren’t look at Larry but, snatching up her shawl from the back of the settle, she followed her father outside; and she had to run to catch up with him for he was striding away down the hill.
‘Da! Oh Da!’ She caught his arm.
‘It’s no good, lass, I had to have me say. I meant to have it; that’s why I came. And I’m going to tell you something, lass.’ He stopped so abruptly that she fell against him, and he gripped her arm and brought his face close to hers as he said, ‘I don’t like him. He’s no good, he’s a snot…a nowt. Oh aye, you can shake your head like that but I know men. I’ve had experience of men from the top to the bottom and I say it again, he’s a nowt.’
‘You didn’t give him a chance, Da; you didn’t allow him to open his mouth or say a word.’
‘I didn’t need to, it’s in his face, something about him. I’ve met his like afore, comrades when things are going smooth, but once the fight’s on, God, how they run! And from what I’ve already heard of him, he’ll run. Why didn’t he stay and fight his claim? Any man worth his salt would.’
‘You don’t understand, Da. You don’t understand.’ She was crying now.
‘I understand well enough, lass.’ His voice had lost its harshness. ‘I said it back there, feelings are stronger than chains, you’ll never see him as he really is because of your feeling for him, and if you’ve made up your mind to spend the rest of your days with him…well it’s just as well you’re blind. But don’t expect me, or others, to be blind…Aw, lass.’ He bowed his head now and screwed up his eyes tightly, and she put her arms around him as she murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Da. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re not the one who should be sorry, lass, it’s me. I should have had a shore job and looked after you. Your mother begged and prayed me for years to get a shore job, but the bloody sea’s in me blood, I get land sick as others get seasick. I’m never happy unless I feel the swell under the soles of me feet. Ah well, there it is.’ He rubbed his hand round his face; then walked on again. And she kept by his side until they came to the road, where she said, ‘It’ll be another hour afore the carrier cart comes along.’
‘There’s a village back there,’ he said, ‘I’ll walk along to it and get meself a drink; then I’ll make for Mary’s.’
They stood looking at each other until he asked, ‘Is next Wednesday off then?’
‘Oh no, Da, no. I’ll look forward to it.�
��
‘Good.’ He bent and kissed her gently, and once again she flung her arms around his neck; but after a moment he pushed her from him and walked briskly away in the direction of the village.
She watched him until he was out of sight; then turning about, she ran through the copse, past the bridge and up the hill, not stopping until she reached the top. And there she stood gasping for breath. Then she was off again, down the other side of the hill, across the valley and up the slope to the cottage.
Panting, she entered the kitchen, but stopped just within the door for there he was waiting.
It seemed to her that he had not moved from the spot where he was standing when her father had gone for him. She pulled the shawl from her shoulders, closed the door and hung the shawl up on the hook, before turning to him and saying, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why didn’t you go with him?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She slowly drew her gaze from him and was walking towards the fire when he bawled at her, ‘Don’t say to me, don’t be silly! Who do you think you’re talking to, anyway?’
She stared at him now, waiting for him to add, ‘You forget yourself.’ But what he said was, ‘You treat me like a sick man. The only things you can come out with are, don’t be silly, forget about it, or some such claptrap out of your book. Now your father turns up and looks at me as if he hated my guts, and that’s afore I have a chance to open my mouth, and you say, don’t be silly.’
‘Well, he had a right to.’ Now she was yelling back. ‘You came in an’ stood there an’ looked at him as if…well, as if you were still lord of the manor an’ him an inferior. And you’re not lord of the manor any more. And aye…aye, you are sick; in some ways you are sick, and I’m tellin’ you, an’ that’s straight. You’re sick with fear, fear of what people’ll say about you. You’re frightened of your own shadow. You can’t forget you missed trying to be somebody…’
As the last words passed her lips his hand came up, but she screamed at him, ‘Don’t you dare! Not a second time.’ She drew her head up and back and her chin became knobbly as she compressed her lips for a moment. ‘You attempt that just once more and you will be on your own, really on your own. I forgave you the last lot, ’cos you were drunk, but never no more. No man’s ever going to strike me again. I swore on it then, and I swear double on it now. You aim to strike me again and I’ll take up the first thing to hand and let you have it. I’ll do what you told me to do to her up in the bedroom, but there won’t be any make-believe this time, So I’m warning you, I’m givin’ you fair notice.’ She looked about her as if in search of a weapon, only for the sound of his breath hissing through his teeth to bring her eyes to him again, and she watched him fighting for control. She saw his ribcage stretch, almost forcing his waistcoat buttons apart; then he flung round from her and went out, and she was left standing, her head drooping now on her chest as she asked herself why she stayed with him. Why? Why?
The fight suddenly going out of her, she became limp and groped for a chair. After sitting for a minute or so, she said to herself, ‘You shouldn’t have said he couldn’t forget he missed trying to be somebody; he knows it well enough himself.’ And with this reaction she gave herself the answer to why she stayed.
Three
‘By! Isn’t this grand havin’ you both together like this.’ Mary flung her arms wide as she looked to where her brother and Emily were sitting at the far side of the table, and she cried to them, ‘Don’t you think this calls for something stronger than tea? What about you slippin’ out and gettin’ a bottle, our John?’
‘No, no, Da.’ Emily stopped her father from rising. ‘Look’—she now wagged her finger at her Aunt Mary—‘we’re goin’ down to Shields, an’ there’s a long day afore us; if he starts this early, well…’ She now slanted her gaze at her father, and he laughed and said, ‘Perhaps you’re right, lass, perhaps you’re right, but me tongue’s hangin’ out just at the thought of it…Go on, Mary, pour your stewed tea out.’
‘Me tea’s never stewed, our John, you know that; boiled, aye’—straight-faced, she nodded at him—‘but never stewed.’
When the gales of laughter died down Mary poured out the mugs of tea, then seating herself at the table, she looked closely at Emily, saying, ‘I know the wind’s enough to wipe the lugs off you up there, but it doesn’t seem strong enough to put any colour into your cheeks. What’s the matter with you? Sickenin’ for somethin’? You look as pale as a lady in decline.’
‘I’ve had a cold, Aunt Mary.’
‘What! Why only last time you were here you told me it was impossible to catch cold up there. You said yourself the wind acted like that thing that I said they were trying to do to the bairns, which I would have none of, no begod! Knock-u-lation. That was it, wasn’t it? Well, I was tellin’ you about that doctor wantin’ to do the bairns ’cos of smallpox, remember? You said the wind up there acted in the same way against cold.’ She now turned to her brother and, her expression as pugnacious as only her expression could be, she declared, ‘Doctor or no doctor, I almost kicked his arse out of the door. He wasn’t stickin’ manure an’ stuff into my bairns, smallpox or no smallpox. I told him I had one cure for everything from diphtheria to skites, an’ that was a steam kettle; it had brought all mine through so far…Knock-u-lation! I wonder what next they’ll think up. “Leave us alone,” I said, “an’ we’ll pull through all right…waggin’ our tails behind us.”’ She sang the last words, and again they were all laughing.
And so it went on for the next hour until they bade her a great laughing farewell and took the train for Shields.
It was as they passed Jarrow that Emily, looking out of the window towards where, in the distance, the three streets and two terraces formed the hamlet of East Jarrow which was situated on the banks of the Jarrow slacks, and nearer still the little stone bridge and the church of Simonside, experienced such an overwhelming feeling of homesickness that she turned to her father and said, ‘Da, let’s get off at Tyne Dock.’
‘Oh aye, yes, if you like. But why? Do you want to walk through the arches again?’ He laughed at her.
‘Not so much the arches but along Thornton Avenue and on to Pilot Place. I’d like to see it again.’
‘Well, that wish is easily granted, lass. Here we are coming into the tunnel.’
When they came out of the station and into the top of Hudson Street, Emily paused for a moment and looked about her. It was as if she had been away for years in a foreign country and was only now stepping onto home soil.
They went down the Dock Bank, past the familiar sight of men standing in groups against the railings and the walls of the dock offices, waiting for a man such as Sep had been to set them to work on one of the boats, and she felt a lump in her throat as she crossed the open space between the line of bars and the dock gates themselves; then they were going down Thornton Avenue, and in a short while they could see the river proper.
It was a dull day. The sky looked low as it often did in this part of the country at this time of the year. The water in the river appeared like molten steel; only when the bows of a ship sliced it apart did it rise and change its colour and become white tipped; but then, when the stern had passed through it, it would fall back into place and, heaving gently now, assume again its leaden look.
They continued to walk on the river side of the road until they came to Pilot Place. Opposite No. 6 Emily stopped. The house looked the same except cloth curtains were now hanging at the windows, not Nottingham lace ones like when she was there; and she was quick to note that the step hadn’t been bath-bricked that morning; in fact, it looked as if it hadn’t been touched for a week.
‘Come on, lass.’ John tugged at her arm; then looking at her closely, he urged, ‘Ah, come on now. Come on. Don’t cry over spilt milk. The time you spent in there has gone, lass, never to come back.’
Slowly she turned about and walked by his side in the direction of the Lawe. It was some time before she spoke, and then, more to her
self than to him, she said, ‘It doesn’t seem fair you’re not able to realise when you’re happy; those were the best days I’ll ever have in me life.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, lass. Come on, snap out of it; you’ve got a long way to go. An’ let me tell you something.’ In a slightly embarrassed fashion he now linked her arm and pulled her close to him as he went on, ‘You’ll not end up your days on that blasted hill, oh no! I can see further than me nose. Moreover, I can smell when there’s something rotten in a cargo. Instinct I suppose it is, I’ve always had it. When I was just a flamin’ stoker I had it. But these past few years when I’ve been up on deck an’ coming into contact with men for long spells at a time, that, you know, Emily’—he jerked her arm into his side—‘that’s when you know men, when you’re with them for long spells an’ there’s nowhere to go to get rid of them, that’s when you get to know men. And I know men. And I know what I’m talkin’ about. And I say again you’ll not end your days up on that hill.’
‘Oh Da! Da, don’t keep on.’
‘I’m not keepin’ on, lass, I’m just trying to comfort you. And another thing I’ve been thinkin’. I made a mistake in lettin’ Mary’s Jimmy have the house. If I’d known then as much as I know now you could have come back and lived there, and brought Lucy home.’
‘No, no, Da. Thank you all the same, but I would have never lived there. And I certainly wouldn’t bring Lucy home, because she, at least, seems to have fallen on her feet. She’s better in health than she’s ever been in her life by the sound of it. No, Da’—she smiled at him now—‘things have a way of working out. And look’—she pulled him round now to face her—‘stop worrying about me, I’m old enough to take care of meself, and as me Aunt Mary would say, I’m not as daft as I’m cabbage lookin’.’
The Tide of Life Page 36
