Leaving Shades

by Leaving Shades (epub)

  After pulling up her massive drawers – inherited from her mother – round her flopping stomach and hauling up her workman’s trousers, once her late father’s, she had hefted round and stared down into the tarnished chamber pot. ‘Mmm, time I bleddy emptied that. I’ll do it tomorrow. Now where’s me fags?’

  After a quick drag on a pre-made rollup, Gabby had flopped back down to sleep again. She never put out a cigarette butt, and as so many times before, she cheated death while the lit ash burnt into her fingertips and went out. Gabby was beyond feeling the blisters now on her blackened, destroyed flesh. She slept on, snoring, puttering, spluttering, coughing, and occasionally scratching where a flea had bitten.

  Something suddenly landed on Gabby’s enormous sagging bosom and she flailed her arms in her sleep to swipe it off, muttering angrily. The nuisance went. But it came straight back and now it was tugging on her shirt front. Gabby’s befuddled mind was hauled out of her rest and she was furious. ‘What the bleddy hell…?’ She half-opened an eye. The weight shifted to her neck and chin. Four hard things were pressing in and choking her, and wetness was being spread over her nose and cheeks and brow. ‘Eh? What’s happening?’

  She felt a sharp pull on her greasy hair and a sharp nip on her ear lobe. Rising like a monster from the deep she sat up and knocked the nuisance clean off her. Blinking and screwing up her globular features, she made out a cowering and whimpering little white patchy thing where it had thumped down and skidded against the badly scratched chest of drawers nearby.

  ‘You!’ She pointed accusingly at the shivering tiny young mongrel. ‘I forgot all about you.’

  Gabby wallowed and fought until she was perched on the edge of the settee. ‘I forgot I brought you home yes’day.’ Her mood lightened, as it always did when she had a new interest. She softly clapped her hands and made friendly clucking noises to beckon the dog to her. ‘Did I frighten you? Sorry about that, boy. I forgot I got you, naughty me, eh? Come on now, come to Gabby. You must be hungry, eh? Let naughty Gabby see what she got you to eat, eh? Could do with a bite meself.’

  The young mongrel slowly, slowly got up and sneaked forward cautiously. It backed away and whimpered in fear when Gabby suddenly thudded upright on to her feet, towering over it. ‘Come on, little one,’ she cooed, her delighted smile more like a grimace. ‘Gabby’s hungry too. Into the kitchen for us then. Think Barbara gave me a bit of ham the other day, we’ll share that, eh?’

  The mongrel trailed after Gabby, crossing the square of bare flagged floor that led to the kitchen. Opposite the dirty, mildewed front door were the steep, impossibly narrow stairs that led to two bedrooms. Gabby had slept in the back room for years, after her father’s sudden death, a few weeks following her mother’s merciful demise from years of being bedridden thanks to a stroke. Gabby used the bedrooms to store junk and hide stolen goods. A mouldering stench seeped down from above but would only be noticed by unfortunate visitors or intruders.

  Glancing over the filthy flagged kitchen floor, Gabby noted where the dog had relieved itself. Avoiding the puddles and soiling, she patted a chair and then the bare pine table, and the dog first climbed up on one then the other. With the dog in comfortable reach, she petted and hugged it. Reassured and wanting to please and be accepted, the unattractive but appealing little dog jumped up to her and returned the affection by licking her, then indicated its loyalty and submission by lying on its back and showing its tummy. Gabby tickled its tummy then picked the dog up into her arms. ‘What did I call you yes’day? Can’t think. Don’t matter, I’ll call you Tickle. You like a tickle, don’t you, eh? We’re going to be the best of friends, me and you, Tickle. I’ve never had a friend, ever. I was an ugly brat and people used to tease me, said I smelled and called me fleabag. Never thought I had any feelings. Got me cousin Barbara, she just about puts up with me, lazy cow. But then she got to, or I’ll punch her one. Got to get to these people first, Tickle, or they’ll walk all over ’ee and crush you down. But we’ll get on like a house on fire. Now you sit there like a good boy and let Gabby get us summat to eat.’ She put Tickle back down on the table and laughed merrily when he sat still, his little head up and waiting expectantly.

  Lumping her way to the built-in food cupboard she pulled out some stuff. ‘Well, Tickle,’ she told her new friend, who was now excitedly on his feet with tongue out in hope. ‘We got a bit of bread, bit stale but never mind. Ham’s gone off, sod it.’ She tossed the ripe-smelling meat into the stone sink. ‘But there’s some potted meat and some golden syrup. There’s some lemonade for me. I’ll pour you a drop of water from the butt later.’

  Plonking her mass down on a chair Gabby put the food directly on the table. Tickle sniffed the half loaf of hard bread and licked it. Gabby laughed. ‘Can’t wait, eh?’ Picking up an unwashed knife she hacked the bread into four hunks, two of them larger for herself, which she lathered with golden syrup.

  The potted meat went on the two smaller pieces of bread. ‘Here, get that down your guts, Tickle.’ It was a very generous gesture for Gabby to make. His curly white tail wagging joyously, hungry Tickle started by rapidly licking off the potted meat.

  Gabby bit off a large chunk of her bread, the syrup at once making her chops sticky, and she talked while chewing open-mouthed. ‘This’ll do us for now, boy. We’ll go out later and get something else. Farmer Read will always sell to me, even on a Sunday, and that lot are bleddy chapel goers! Some people round here are stuck up and think themselves respectable, but I could tell ’ee more than a tale or two. And I’ll kill a hen. I’m getting rid of that lot out there anyway, they’re terrible layers and don’t earn their keep. So we’ll be scoffing chicken for days. I’ve got an order for half a dozen bottles of wine off some campers, so we’ll take it to ’em and we’ll be quids in. Lovely. Got to be more careful how I store the wine in the keep though. Didn’t set some up prop’ly and lost ’lem bottles.’ Gabby’s jowls dropped and her tight eyes became moist. ‘Life jumps up and kicks you in the bleddy face at times.’ While Tickle gobbled down his bread she fell into a stupor.

  She came round when Tickle went up on his hind legs and licked at the syrup dribbling from the sides of her mouth. Looking down she went cross-eyed to see what was happening. ‘Oh… Tickly, Tickle, whatever I bleddy called you. You love me, don’t you? You won’t turn against me, will you?’ Tickle continued licking at her face and she took that as his ‘yes’.

  She eased him away then found a piece of sweetened bread that had fallen inside her shirt and fed it to him. ‘We’ll go to cousin Barbara’s drekkly and scrounge a bit of supper. She likes a drop of wine too, you know. I’ll get some beer for meself, don’t like wine, funny isn’t it? I’ll get you a ’normous great bone. And we’ll get sozzled and have a bleddy good time. We’ll sleep there tonight. Life can be good, Tickle, just got to make the effort. You’ll enjoy yourself with me, oh yes you will.’

  Pulling Tickle into her arms she held him close against her chest and rested her face against his little warm body. Tickle snuggled in. Gabby shut her eyes and leered, although the leer was actually a smile of contentment.

  Twenty-One

  Davey Vage was in his allotment, situated alongside nineteen others up behind the houses on the Coggan Point side of Portcowl. He had got there just after dawn and put in four hours of hard but satisfying work, pausing occasionally to exchange with other gardeners a few sentences on horticultural matters. He was now relaxing in a deck chair outside the little tool shed he had built, drinking a tin mug of strong sweet tea from the flask Evie had made for him. As much as Davey preferred to be alone he missed his late neighbouring allotment holder, Bill Jewell, the former gardener at Owles House. He and the tiny-boned, pipe-smoking Bill had surveyed others’ rows, the vegetables in cold frames, and compared them unfavourably to the larger produce of their own greener fingers.

  Davey had occasionally invited Bill, a childless widower, to join him and Evie for a Sunday roast meal, but Bill had always refused, not mind
ing to spend most of his time alone. The years had shrunk Bill’s short skinny frame and he no longer reached above four feet eight inches; he had shortened his wide trouser braces with clumsy black thread stitches. Beth’s childhood impression of him looking like a goblin had been remarkably accurate. Bill had been a prolific chatterer and the name Elizabeth Tresaile had more than once trickled off his tongue. Davey had listened, not much interested, but glad the girl had been out of the way. ‘That Miss Elizabeth was a dear little soul, you know. No child should have seen and heard the things she did. But her mother was pushed into the drink, cowed down she was by Phil Tresaile and her wretched mother. And that Marion Frobisher, there was a right bitch, if I should say the word. Two-faced didn’t come into it, I can tell you, Davey. Marion Frobisher was a right bint despite all her high and mighty ways, I can tell ’ee,’ Bill had muttered with feeling.

  ‘Oh?’ That had drawn Davey’s full attention.

  Bill had leaned his capped old head towards Davey’s ear. ‘I could tell poor Mrs Vyvyan one reason why her mother was so nasty to her. She was jealous of her daughter getting Phil Tresaile as a husband. Liked young men, Marion Frobisher did, and she fell under Phil’s spell before Miss Christina did. I know that for a fact. I’m telling you this, Davey, ’cus I know you’ll keep it a secret, and ’cus it might help you feel more amiable towards dear Miss Elizabeth if she should ever return here. Mrs Frobisher used to meet Phil for hanky-panky in various places out in the gardens. I used to see ’em slipping off separately and meeting up. I nearly fell over ’em once while they were in the throes of passion, the dirty buggers! They used language that would disgrace a barrack room. I heard her once demanding why he’d availed himself of her daughter after they had already become lovers. “Why aren’t I enough for you, Phil?” she said. “Why do you have to have that little cow? Christina is good for nothing.” What a way for a mother to behave. Marion Frobisher has a lot more to answer for than poor Mrs Vyvyan ever did.’

  Bill had puffed angrily on his pipe. ‘Bet that old woman was only good to Miss Elizabeth to spite her own daughter. I only hope she doesn’t succeed in poisoning Miss Elizabeth’s mind against her dear mother. I got a lot of time for Mrs Vyvyan, she’s held herself together for the sake of young Master Joe. She deserves credit for that. There’s some wicked people in the world, it’s sad to say, and Marion Frobisher is one of them.’

  Well, Elizabeth Tresaile had not held out bad feelings towards her mother. Davey cursed the day she had returned to Owles House and the fact that she was staying for God knew how long. And damn it all, Evie had met the wretched Tresaile girl. Evie had mentioned in a slightly embarrassed and offhand way how, while she was on an errand of mercy taking home the pathetic daughter of the useless vicar, the Tresaile bane had turned up. He wanted Evie all to himself. Iris, her teenage mother, had been seduced by the braggart Phil Tresaile, but Iris had gone on to be the perfect wife for Davey and the most devoted mother a girl could have. Iris was responsible for the sweet-natured, honest, obedient girl Evie had turned out to be. Davey had protected Evie against the worst of the prejudice over her illegitimacy. If the Tresaile woman came fully into Evie’s life she might make Evie feel inferior, even if she did not do so deliberately. She might invade his and Evie’s home. And Davey hated the thought of all the gossip that would inevitably circulate, spread mostly with relish. Evie would have to ward off all the curiosity and the underhand remarks. Evie should not have to cope with all that. Davey was not going to allow Evie to be tainted by the sordidness involved in Elizabeth Tresaile’s life.

  Davey finished his tea and went back to his hoe, which he had left leaning against his shed door. He caught a whiff of strong sweet tobacco smoke and looked over his shoulder.

  Rob Praed was there.

  ‘Never seen you here before, Rob,’ Davey said, holding back his annoyance at being halted from getting on. He liked to do things to an exact timetable. ‘Can’t see your Uncle Lofty running out of veg to pass on to you. Something up?’

  Rob worked his finger and thumb to put out his cigarette and kept it inside his hand. He held himself up straight. ‘No, not at all, Davey.’ Rob smiled his friendliest smile, then looked a bit bashful. ‘Just hoping to have a word with you, that’s all.’

  Davey was on the alert. Rob was mostly thought of as a decent young man and admired for the way he had cared for his two younger sisters after they’d been orphaned when Rob was seventeen. People generally saw his sowing of wild oats as natural for a good-looking young man. True, Rob was amiable and fun, and helpful and generous to families when other fishermen had a poor season, but Davey neither liked nor trusted him. To Davey’s mind, the times when Rob was suddenly hard testified that something nasty lurked beneath all his good humour and camaraderie.

  ‘I’d be glad if you said your piece. I’ve got tatties to hoe.’

  Rob cleared his throat.

  For the first time Davey saw Rob blush and shift as if uncertain. Davey’s pale eyes became slits. What was his neighbour up to?

  ‘It’s like this, Davey.’ Rob again cleared his throat. ‘I want to ask you something man to man. You see, I’m hoping to form something serious with Evie. Evie’s a wonderful woman, she’d make an ideal fisherman’s wife.’

  ‘What?’ Davey’s eyes bulged as horror crammed into him. ‘Over my dead body. You know what my daughter means to me, what she meant to her dear mother. How can you think for a minute I’d ever consider letting a fly-by-night like you court my Evie? Just you keep away from her or I’ll rip your ears off and stuff them down your bleddy gullet.’

  Rob shifted his weight on his feet but he was not particularly ruffled. ‘Please hear me out, Davey. I know you have reservations about me but I can put your mind to rest about them.’

  ‘Huh, never.’ Davey was feeling sick and panicky at the thought of losing Evie to this cunning sort, and no man was good enough for her anyway. ‘Now clear off!’

  ‘I’m asking you to listen carefully to me and to think again.’ Rob’s tone grew firmer and his demeanour became resolved. ‘Yes, I got a few rough edges but no one can deny that I’ve been good to my sisters, that points to me making a good husband and provider. I’ve played the field but now I’m ready to settle down. I can be edgy but I’m not an out-and-out troublemaker.’ Rob fixed his eyes on Davey’s, and his voice was barely above a whisper. ‘If I was, Davey, then I’d have spread something round all about – your secret.’

  ‘Secret?’ Every last muscle in Davey’s body tightened. ‘I haven’t got any secrets.’

  ‘There is one, Davey I saw it for myself some years ago. You were with someone, inside your shed. I was a kid back then and didn’t know what was going on, but I knew it was something I’d best keep my mouth shut about, and I have done ever since. I’m no longer naive about what you were doing, of course. People wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing. You’d have been run out of the cove. Iris and Evie would have suffered even more over that than through the scandal involving Phil Tresaile. Evie wouldn’t know how to cope with it if she ever found out. So you see, Davey, I’m not such a bad man. Am I?’

  Having gone paler than a bleached fish bone, Davey stumbled to his deck chair and slumped down into it. He held his chest in shock, his breathing ragged. ‘I didn’t… think anyone ever knew. And now you’re saying if I don’t let you have access to Evie you’ll blab my business all over Portcowl and beyond.’

  ‘No, never, Davey, I swear on my life. I don’t want to destroy you and I certainly don’t want Evie to ever be hurt by anything. I think no less of you, Davey. Life is hard. We find love where we may. I’m sorry he lost his life in the war. I understand why you want to cling to Evie. Without her you think your life would be unbearable. All I’m asking you for is the chance to approach Evie with the view to us finally getting married. I’d take things slowly, show her the utmost respect every step of the way. If Evie isn’t interested I’ll leave her be. You don’t really want to deny her a husband and children, d
o you? Evie would make a wonderful mother. Think of it, Davey, having grandchildren on your knee. And you’d not really lose Evie. She’d only be living next door. She can bring your meals round or you can join us round the table any time you like. You can still spend lots of time together.’

  Davey ran his shaking hands several times down over his face, dragging down his jowls and loose lower eyelids. He was like a man defeated. ‘And you say you promise if she doesn’t welcome your attention you’ll leave her be?’

  ‘Of course, I wouldn’t dream of forcing her into marriage. It would be miserable for all of us. What would be the point in that?’ Davey was silent for some time. He was crying noiselessly, and Rob thought he was probably crying over his lost love, a young fisherman who had worked on Morenwyn with him, and whose ship had been torpedoed in the war. When he looked up with puffy red-streaked eyes, wiping at his nose, he spoke in raw rasps. ‘I love Evie so much, like she’s my own flesh and blood.’

  ‘And I’ll love her too, Davey.’ Rob went down on his hunkers in front of his intended father-in-law. ‘And honour her, and see she never goes without, if she’ll have me. All I’m asking to start with, is when Judy and Alison come round to your place later today and invite Evie to have tea at my Uncle Lofty’s that you encourage her to go. Evie will probably want to stay at home, but you could encourage her by saying it would do her good to go out.’

  Rob Praed had given a fine speech laced with admirable sentiments, he had made promises, but Davey would never trust him. When he was after something, if one way didn’t work out he’d try another, then another, like a dog never giving up on a bone. Davey had been put in an impossible situation. Praed had given him no choice. But out of this wretched mess was something Davey could use to his advantage. ‘You can send your sisters round today, but just be warned that I won’t ever force Evie to do something against her will. And I’ll kill you and hang for it if you ever hurt Evie. But there’s something you can do for me in return, something easy enough for a wily man like you.’