Cally sorted the post. A long, slim envelope bearing an Australian stamp indicated this was a letter from Bobby Brook, Henry and Dolly’s son. During the past two years two similar letters had arrived, each one promising to pay them a visit; but as yet he hadn’t kept it, much to Dolly and Henry’s dismay.
Cally lifted the envelope and went through to a small room off the kitchen. Once used as a store it was now the Brooks’ sitting room, the kitchen far too busy to accommodate the sofa and armchairs it had held in the old days. Dolly was resting, her swollen feet propped on a footstool. Cally handed her the letter.
Dolly prised open the envelope, her face glowing. Slowly, she read the letter then handed it to Cally.
‘Read it,’ she ordered. ‘He says he’s comin’ home and do you know what, I think he means it this time cos there’s a date tellin’ us when he’ll arrive. I must tell Henry. He’ll be that pleased.’
Cally scanned the letter. By all accounts Bobby was doing well in Queensland. He’d acquired land and hundreds of sheep. According to him, he was making a fortune. He expected to be back in Bradford before the end of April. Dolly and Henry were delighted by the news, but Cally felt apprehensive. For some inexplicable reason she feared that Bobby’s visit was about to change her life.
*
Bobby Brook was the image of his father. Over six feet tall he carried the same bulk and broad features, but whereas Henry’s hair was sparse and grey, Bobby’s was thickly tufted and bleached by the Australian sun, his face tanned to a healthy glow. He was blessed with the same big personality that had made his father such a popular publican for all these years, and wherever he was, he filled the place with his presence.
Dolly adored him. ‘I’ve made your favourite,’ she said, flapping over him like a hen with a favourite chick, as she set a plate of liver and onions in front of him within minutes of his arrival.
Bobby slipped his arm round Dolly’s ample waist and squeezed it. ‘You don’t get grub like this in the outback, Ma, but what you do get is wide open spaces an’ plenty of sunshine.’ Bobby attacked the plate and when it was cleared he sat back, replete. ‘That were the tastiest meal I’ve had in ages.’ Catching hold of Dolly’s hand he planted a smacking kiss on it. ‘You always were my best girl, and you’ve no idea how much I missed you,’ he gushed, his flattery and flirting making Dolly giggle like a schoolgirl.
With each passing day Bobby’s presence gave Dolly new life, Cally joyfully acknowledging that his visit had knocked ten years off his mother’s age. She liked him for this, but it wasn’t the only reason. Bobby was fun.
Before long Cally and Bobby spent much of her free time together. They visited the cinema, shivering at the exploits of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and being moved to tears when they saw A Farewell to Arms. At one of their regular musical evenings in the saloon, Bobby’s slightly off-key rendition of ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On’, made Cally laugh until she cried.
It soon became obvious Bobby was more than a little in love with Cally, but although she enjoyed his company she felt no romantic spark for him. Her blood didn’t sing and her heartbeat didn’t quicken when she saw him, and when they kissed it was pleasant; but that’s all it was. It wasn’t the wondrous life-changing feeling Cally thought falling in love should be. Therefore, she was totally unprepared when Bobby dropped his bombshell.
They were in the small sitting room enjoying a welcome cup of tea after a busy night in The Royal Oak, Dolly next to Bobby on the sofa and Henry and Cally in chairs either side of the fireplace; a convivial family setting. For the umpteenth time Bobby described his home in Queensland, Cally half listening as she sipped her tea.
‘It’s not that far from the sea, either. A few hours’ drive and you’re on the coast. You’d love it. It’s not like some stations, a million miles from nowhere. I can jump in the old jeep and before you know it I’m in Forsyth, a busy enough town with lots of shops and bars, and if I drive in the other direction I’m in Normanton. So it’s not like you’d be left with nothing to do all day. And believe me, the weather would knock your socks off. No more freezing cold winters and days of pouring rain. Oh yeh, it rains but when it does it’s all over in a matter of days; not like here where it mizzles and drizzles for weeks on end. It ’ud cure your aches and pains, Ma. It ’ud make a new woman of you.’
Cally roused herself. Was Bobby persuading Dolly and Henry to return with him to Queensland? An anxious knot formed in her stomach. What would become of The Royal Oak if they accepted? What would she do? The Royal Oak wouldn’t be the same without the Brooks. She gazed at Henry sprawled in the chair, his feet on the fender.
Henry’s brow creased and his teeth clamped his bottom lip; he was thinking. Cally watched him, her heart thumping so loudly she thought they must hear it. Henry raised his bushy brows and smiled at Dolly. ‘Sounds good to me, love. What do you think?’
Dolly beamed back, almost bouncing with excitement. She looked like a little girl who has just received her favourite treat. Cally’s spirits sank and she fought back tears. Bobby had won them over.
‘That includes you too, Call.’ His affectionate shortening of her name tugged at her heart. ‘I was going to ask you this when we were on our own, but Mam and Dad have a right to hear it. If you come an’ all we can get married, be a right proper family. You’ll love it out there.’ He smiled at her, his big, broad face alight with the notion.
Cally hung her head, afraid to meet his eyes. Yes, she’d love to go to Australia – a whole new world – but she wouldn’t go under false pretences. She couldn’t give him hope when there was none. She didn’t love him enough to become his wife.
Overjoyed at Bobby’s intentions, yet perturbed by Cally’s silence, Dolly pushed herself up off the sofa and waddled over to her. ‘Did you hear what he said, girl? He asked you to marry him an’ come to Australia with us.’
Cally gazed up at Dolly through a blur of tears. Dolly’s face crumpled as she interpreted the remorseful look, and tottering back to the sofa she collapsed in a dejected heap at Bobby’s side. Cally felt as though she had stabbed her through to the heart with the sharpest knife in the kitchen.
Cally turned her gaze on Bobby, her expression full of warm affection and refusal at one and the same time. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Then, through tears of regret she croaked, ‘I couldn’t let you take me to Australia, Bobby; it wouldn’t be fair. I’ve loved the fun we’ve had but I never thought of you as a husband, and if I were to say yes I’d be denying you a chance of happiness with a girl who really loves you in the right way. I can’t pretend, wonderful as it might be to go to Queensland.’ She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
For some time no one spoke until Bobby broke the silence. ‘Don’t cry, Call.’ His kind words had her sobbing all the harder. ‘I know it’s a bit sudden like, and if you change your mind I’m here to the end o’ May. Think about it, will you?’
Cally nodded, and pleading a headache crept up to her room to cry some more.
*
The next few weeks were a flurry of activity.
‘We’re almost there, Ma,’ Bobby cried, as he and Henry returned from yet another trip into the city. He waved a handful of papers. ‘Passports, emigration documents and today the tickets for the journey.’
‘I do hope we’re doing the right thing.’
Suddenly, Dolly sounded unsure and Cally’s heart leapt. Maybe it wasn’t too late for Henry and Dolly to change their minds. Bobby glanced at Cally; saw the gleam in her eye and read her mind.
‘Ma and Dad are travelling on visitor’s passports. If they don’t like it they can come back. If they like it as much as I hope they will, they’ll apply to stay.’ He gave Cally a pleading look. ‘It’s not too late to say yes, Call. If you do I’ll put the wheels in motion and you can follow on when your papers come through.’
Cally shook her head, her smile rueful as she beckoned for him to follow her out into the passage.
When they were alone she took
both his hands in hers and gazed fondly into his open, handsome face. ‘I wish I could fall in love with you, Bobby. I don’t know what love feels like, but I do know what we share isn’t enough. I won’t cheat you out of meeting some girl who fills your life with beautiful moments that make your blood rush and your heart thump, cos that’s what I think love does.’
Bobby grimaced. ‘Maybe you’re right, Call. I just got carried away with the notion of taking a wife back.’ He released his hand, pushing her playfully on the shoulder. ‘I don’t hold it against you, and to be honest, you don’t make my blood rush or my heart thump either really; you’re just nice to be with.’
Cally giggled at the candid reply. ‘One day you’ll find a girl who does,’ she said, glad they would part as friends.
One week later, battling to appear cheerful, Cally bade the Brooks a fond farewell then, The Royal Oak’s license having been snapped up by one of the large breweries, she awaited the arrival of the new landlord.
*
A few days in the company of Bartley Simmons and his wife, Brenda, let Cally know she didn’t want to work for them. Bartley reminded her of William Cratchley. He was inclined to stand too close, his eyes challenging and filled with lust.
At first Cally thought she might be misinterpreting Bartley’s leers, but Brenda’s reaction to his behaviour convinced her otherwise. Brenda Simmons was a shrew, probably with good cause. She saw temptation for her husband in one as beautiful as Cally and wasted no time in belittling her for it.
No! She would not stay with them.
*
Soon it was Cally’s last night in The Royal Oak. Glumly, she carried out her final duties, the change in her usual pleasant demeanour so apparent it did not escape the notice of the middle-aged couple sitting at a table by the window.
Sykes and Mary Balmforth regularly stayed at the hotel in order to visit an elderly relative who lived in rooms nearby. They had arrived just in time for dinner and, noting Cally’s lack-lustre attitude, were perturbed to see her in such low spirits. They had grown fond of the pretty, friendly girl who always gave them a warm welcome.
Cally gave Mary a distracted smile. They’re the kind of people I’ll miss when I leave here, she thought, it’ll be like losing friends.
Cally had liked the Balmforths from the moment she first met them. They were a charming couple, Sykes tall and angular, his finely chiselled features softened by the silver streaks in his dark hair. By contrast, his wife was soft and round, her blonde hair fastened into a loose chignon and her baby blue eyes warm and kind. Cally walked over to their table. She might as well tell them the news. She wouldn’t see them again.
‘You don’t appear to be enjoying your work tonight, Cally.’ Mary’s face and voice expressed concern. ‘It’s not like you. Is something wrong?’
Cally perched on the arm of an empty chair, smiling ruefully. ‘You might say that, Mrs Balmforth. It’s not the same without the Brooks, so I’m leaving.’
Both Sykes and Mary registered surprise. ‘This place won’t be the same without you,’ said Sykes.
Cally smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Where will you go?’ Sykes’s keen blue eyes searched Cally’s face.
‘I’m considering my options,’ she said, a half smile curving her lips. ‘The Brooks wanted me to go to Australia with them, but under the circumstances I had to refuse.’
‘Whatever circumstances kept you from starting a new life in Australia, with people you love?’ Curiosity sharpened Mary’s words.
A bitter chuckle escaped Cally’s throat. ‘Love,’ she said, ‘exactly that. I don’t love Bobby enough to marry him, and it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise for the sake of a free passage. I respect him too much and I could never hurt his parents any more than I have already, by refusing his proposal.’
Sykes gazed into her luminous eyes, admiring her integrity. He thought how easy it would have been for her to accept the offer and then do a bunk when the time was right. But this girl was made of different stuff. Decency, that’s what shone out of her: decency and a good head for business. And she wasn’t afraid of a challenge. Look at the way she’d pulled this place round. More than once, over a late-night drink, he had listened to Henry singing the praises of this pretty, dark eyed girl who, almost singlehandedly, had restored The Royal Oak to its former glory and more.
Suddenly, Sykes had an idea. It wasn’t a brand-new idea. He’d been toying with it for quite some time. A thrill of excitement seized him, his face alight with anticipation. He swivelled in his chair, and caught hold of Cally’s hand.
‘What do you say to working for us,’ he cried. ‘Do the same for Copley House as you did here.’
Mary, knowing nothing of his plans, took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Sykes, whatever do you mean?’
Cally stood, nonplussed.
Sykes reached for Mary’s hands, then gazed intently into her eyes. ‘So far it’s purely a notion, but I’ve reached the conclusion that the only way we can hang on to Copley is if we make it pay towards its upkeep.’ Mary’s eyes widened and she nodded for him to continue. Sykes hurried on.
‘You’re always telling me there’s far too much room for the two of us, that we rattle round like peas in a pod. With Cally’s help we could turn it into a country house hotel, let her do for us what she’s done for The Royal Oak.’
‘Cally! You’re needed in the kitchen.’ Brenda Simmon’s nasal tones interrupted Sykes’ rhetoric and Cally, intrigued to learn more about Sykes’ proposal, hastily arranged to meet the Balmforths later that evening.
*
In the saloon, eyes gleaming, Sykes developed his theory. ‘By opening up the house to paying visitors we won’t have to consider selling up, Mary. You’ll still be able to live there, have your garden and your friends, just as you always have. We’ll attract all kinds of travellers: businessmen up from the south, holidaymakers wanting to explore the delights of the Yorkshire moors, tourists from abroad.’ Sykes’ words burned with enthusiasm; his gestures electrified.
The two women stared, open mouthed. Gradually, as each considered Sykes’ idea they too became animated. ‘Where is Copley House and how big is it?’ asked Cally.
‘Big enough,’ grinned Sykes, ‘and in a pretty hamlet in the Colne Valley.’
‘And how would I be of help?’ Cally wanted to know.
‘By exercising all your bright ideas just as you have here; turn Copley House into a successful business,’ Sykes told her.
‘I’d want the rooms overlooking the kitchen garden and the paddock,’ cried Mary, keen to rearrange her tenure to best advantage. ‘That way I’d have the view of the moors and the hills. You know how I love to watch the sun rise over the Pennines.’
‘Yes! Yes!’ agreed Sykes, ‘you can have whatever you choose. There’s plenty of space in the rest of the house for guests. Think of it. It would bring life to the old place to have all the rooms in use again. It must be fifty years since the entire house has been occupied. I’ve often thought how empty it is, that it should bustle with life, and to be honest I’ve contemplated letting rooms before now, even if only to pay for repairing the roof. Till today I’ve not had the nerve to put the notion into practice, but something tells me now’s the time to do it.’
‘Do you really think we could?’ By now Mary’s enthusiasm matched his own.
‘I don’t see why not. People travel more these days. They’re always looking for a place to stay, and somewhere as attractive as Copley is bound to entice them. It’s well situated for the moors, the Peak District, and we’re not that far from the Dales for that matter. It’ll be up to us to make them want to come and stay. Of course, there’ll be a lot of work to do getting it ready. We’ll have to repair the worst bits of the roof and install a better heating system.’
At the mention of costly refurbishment some of the steam went out of Sykes’ whirlwind proposals. He ran his fingers through his thick, silvered hair. ‘We’ll have to go into
the finances of course – see if it’s viable – maybe get a loan from the bank, or a business partner. I’ll have to investigate it thoroughly before we make a start.’
The big, bright bubble burst, the three would-be hoteliers falling silent, each lost in their own thoughts: Mary wanting more than anything to remain at Copley House for the rest of her days; Sykes needing an income and wanting a new challenge to spur him on, and Cally needing and wanting a home, a job and fulfilment of her hopes and dreams.
The customers in the saloon called Cally for a song. She obliged, but as she crooned ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ her mind was bent on Copley House.
*
The next day, shortly before midday, Cally bade farewell to The Royal Oak and climbed into Sykes’s bright blue Morris. With Sykes at the wheel, Mary beside him and Cally agog with excitement in the rear seat, they drove off to what, Cally imagined, would be a whole new world filled with challenge and opportunity.
The road between Bradford and the next large town, Huddersfield, was lined for much of the way with grey stone terraced houses; rudimentary dwellings built for the workers who toiled in the gaunt mills towering over them, their chimneys belching thick black smoke. Cally was glad Copley House was in the countryside.
They drove through Huddersfield, Cally impressed by the many fine buildings, particularly the Railway Station. It reminded her of the Parthenon, a picture of which she’d seen in a book about the ancient Greeks. Another building, opposite the station, was topped with a huge stone lion. ‘Not far now,’ Mary sang out, ‘only seven more miles to Copley.’
They chugged through the Colne Valley, Sykes and Mary giving a running commentary on the villages and landmarks. Cally, her head turning from left to right, listened carefully. If this were to be her new home she’d do well to learn as much as she could about it.
‘That’s the canal,’ said Sykes, gesturing to the right-hand side of the road, ‘and next to it is the River Colne. That’s what brought textile manufacturers to these parts in the first place. There’s no finer water for making worsted cloth than what comes down from the Pennines.’
The Child from the Ash Pits Page 13
