A Crimson Dawn (39 page)

‘My God,' Emmie whispered. ‘Bill Osborne?'

‘That's the name,' Tom said harshly.

Why was Bill Osborne spreading vicious tales about her?

Tom shook her again. ‘It's true, isn't it? You bitch, it's true! Rab's your fancy man? How many others have there been, eh?'

‘None!' Emmie was indignant.

‘You're lying,' he shouted. ‘You're a lying whore!'

He pushed her back and banged her head on the iron bedstead. Emmie cried out.

Barny woke up with a start. ‘Mammy? Mammy! Where are you?'

‘It's all right, pet—'

‘Shurrup!' Tom bawled, striking her. ‘Don't speak to him. Whores don't speak to my son.'

Barny started to wail and cry out for his mother. Tom grabbed Emmie by the hair and dragged her off the bed. She tried to fight him off, but he punched her in the breast, sending pain shooting through her. Then he winded her in the stomach.

The next moment, he was shoving her into the kitchen. Lurid orange light flickered across the hearth, like tongues licking the dark. Tom threw her on the floor. She panted for breath, trying to raise herself up. For a few seconds she could not see him, then he was lunging out of the shadows, wielding his thick army belt.

The first blow whipped around her ear and neck, Emmie screamed and threw her arms up in protection. The second blow caught her across the chest. She crumpled on the floor, burying her head in her arms. He whipped her again and again, across her back, her arms, her legs, her feet. He raged like a madman, foul-mouthed and screaming. Emmie thought he would kill her, yet all she could think about was Barny. Where was her son? She hoped he was cowering in bed and not witnessing the attack. If he should step in Tom's way …

Emmie gritted her teeth and took the rain of blows. He would not kill her. She would live through this. She would survive this for Barny's sake. For Barny …

The frenzy came to an end, Tom's energy spent. He stood over her, panting and sobbing. Emmie lay slumped on the floor, not moving.

The dawn light crept in at the window. Emmie lay on the cold linoleum. She must still be alive because when she opened her eyes she could see the outline of the fender. The fire was out. She tried to move, but pain surged through her. If she lay quite still, it was almost bearable. She closed her eyes again.

Later, when she awoke, Emmie felt a presence nearby. She attempted to look round, but her neck, head and shoulders were rigid. Panic registered. Tom was waiting to deal out a further beating.

‘Who's there?' she whispered.

A hand rested on her back, making her wince and cry out.

‘Mammy?' Barny said in concern. ‘Get up now, Mammy. Time to get up.'

‘Barny?' she croaked. ‘I can't…'

A worried face peered over her, upside down. ‘Dadda's gone.'

Emmie let out a small whimper. ‘Thank God.' Relief spread through her, immediately followed by fear that he would soon come back. ‘Gone where? To Grandma's?'

‘Not Grandma's,' Barny said. ‘He went down the hill, not up the hill.'

‘Did he take his bag?' Emmie asked.

‘Aye,' Barny nodded.

‘D-did he say anything?'

Barny thought for a minute. ‘He said you were a horse.'

‘A horse?' Emmie said faintly.

‘Like he was shouting in the night, Mammy,' Barny said, frowning.

Shame flooded her as she realised Tom must have said whore. Her son had heard and seen everything. She made a huge effort to stir from the floor. Her whole body pulsated in pain.

‘Need to get to bed,' she gasped. ‘Just lie down for a minute.'

She struggled on to her hands and knees and crawled towards the bedroom. Barny followed her, not sure if it was a game. He watched her haul herself on to the bed and crawl under the covers. Emmie sank back, exhausted from the effort. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep again.

Barny woke her. ‘Mammy, I'm hungry.'

Emmie felt light-headed, wondering where she was. It must be the afternoon. She could not move, did not want to move, never wanted to move again. She was pinned down with pain and the burning shame of what Tom had done to her. Her husband had whipped her like a dog - no, more savagely than any man whips a dog. And he had done it sober. This was not the drunken Tom who had made their life a misery these past two weeks. This was a new Tom who had sunk to an even lower level of brutality. Never again would she trust him. She wanted him nowhere near her - or her son.

‘Mammy, I want to eat,' Barny whined.

Emmie closed her eyes. ‘Find yourself a bit bread and cheese in the pantry,' she whispered. ‘Water in the jug. Pour it carefully.'

Barny gave up badgering her and climbed off the bed. Emmie fell asleep once more.

She woke and dozed and woke and slept. She was aware of Barny climbing in with her and then it was dark and she slept again.

Banging on the back door woke her. She froze. It was morning once more.

Louise's voice called, ‘Where are you all? Tom, you'll be late for the train. Minister's waiting.'

Emmie lay huddled under the blankets. Did her bruising show?

‘Barny, where's your mam and dad?' Louise questioned.

‘Mammy's in bed,' Barny said solemnly. ‘Dadda's gone.'

Louise came barging into the bedroom. ‘What's ganin' on? Emmie, are you sick?'

‘Aye,' Emmie mumbled, pulling the blankets up higher. ‘Just a bit. It'll pass.'

‘Where's our Tom?'

‘Left,' Emmie managed to speak. Her lips and mouth were dry as sand. ‘Yesterday.'

‘Whatever for?' Louise demanded. ‘You didn't row again, did you?' When Emmie said nothing, she gave a sigh of impatience. ‘Fancy spoiling his going away,' she accused. ‘Bet you're not sick at all - just ashamed that he's left you early. That's it, isn't it?' Emmie kept silent. ‘Well, you've spoiled it for everyone else an' all! Now we'll never have the chance to say goodbye.' She glared down at her sister-in-law. ‘You don't deserve our Tom. You've changed. You're hard and selfish. Not the lass I used to call me friend. I don't know you any more, Emmie.'

She spun round and stalked out of the house. Emmie squeezed her eyes shut against hot tears. Perhaps she was all those hateful things Louise said she was. She had failed as a wife. Somehow she must be to blame for what had happened. She was hateful. It was her fault that she had married Tom, knowing that she could never love him enough. She had spent too much time and energy on other things, neglecting him. Once he had told her she would make a good pitman's wife, but she had not. She had always wanted more from life and yet she had achieved nothing.

Emmie lay racked with sobs, tortured and desolate. The bedroom door swung open again. She heard the rattle of cup on plate.

‘Here you are, Mammy,' Barny announced. He plonked a plate on to the bed. It held cold fried potatoes from two days ago and a half-spilled cup of water. ‘Drink it,' he commanded.

Emmie gazed at him. He peered back at her. ‘Drink it all up.'

Emmie leaned up with difficulty and reached for the water. She splashed it on her lips. It tasted like nectar. She gulped it down.

‘Ta, Barny,' she whispered. ‘Can I have some more, pet?'

He nodded, took the cup and refilled it. She was amazed and grateful.

‘Shall I gan and fetch Grandma?' Barny asked.

Emmie felt panic choke her at once. ‘No!' she gasped.

‘But you're sick. Mammy.'

‘No, pet, just very tired. I need to rest in bed, that's all.' She looked at him wearily. She wanted to reassure him she was all right, but hadn't the strength. Barney was a good little lad, who could get himself a drink and play quietly alone until she felt able to get up. The Currans must not know what had happened; she was in no state to bear their condemnation.

‘Can you be a very good lad and let Mammy sleep? I'll get up later and make us some dinner. But you mustn't fetch anyone. Mammy can't see anyone.' Emmie lay back, utterly spent from the effort of talking and drinking the water.

Soon she fell asleep again. She dreamed vividly of running away, of Tom chasing and catching her, but then turning into someone else who sat her down and gave her tea. She dreamed of the Lonely Stones and waiting for something or someone who never came. Then she was being chased again.

Emmie woke in the half-dark. Barny was lying on his own bed, fully clothed, asleep. She had no idea what day it was, let alone the hour. She wished she could live for ever in this twilight world where she did not have to move or think. But of course, she could not stay like this. For Barny's sake she had to go on living. One day she would have to face the world again. The thought appalled her.

Cautiously, she groped for the side of the bed and got to her feet. She swayed dizzily. Aching and stiff, she shuffled to the door, steadying herself on the washstand and doorframe. Bit by bit, Emmie edged her way across the kitchen and out into the yard. Cold air hit her, sharp and fresh. She almost fainted. Forcing herself to cross the yard to the closet, she locked herself inside. No one had seen her. She was safe.

Emmie hobbled back to the house, fearful of a neighbour accosting her from a window or a child running into her yard as a dare. She imagined how they gossiped about Tom leaving early, under a cloud, and how she was to blame. The only people who would not judge her were the MacRaes. Emmie let out a sob. How she longed to be with them; for Jonas to talk courage into her, to have Helen's arms around her.

But then the humiliation of Tom's beating engulfed her anew. They must never know. They had already lost so much. It would break them. They might feel guilty at not being there to protect her. Or worse still, they might wonder if she had brought it on herself. Better to keep the assault unknown. She would get through this alone. Except she was not alone. She went and stood over Barny and stifled her weeping. Poor bairn! What future did he have with her?

Emmie struggled with her darkest feelings. He would be better off without her. His father would not be violent if she was not there. She would never have to face Tom or his family or the neighbours again. She would go to the kitchen drawer and take out the sharp paring knife …

Barny stirred and whimpered in his sleep. Without thinking, she bent down and caressed his forehead, smoothing back the wayward curls. He was too hot in his jersey. She slipped it over his head without waking him. Emmie buried her face in its warm smell. How could she possibly think of leaving him! She went back to bed, clutching the jumper, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

The next day, Emmie forced herself to get up. Wincing with the pain in her limbs and back, she refilled the coal-hod and coaxed the fire back into life. Barny watched and fetched kindling from the coal shed. When it was going, she fried up some stale bread with the last remaining egg and they shared it between them. The kettle boiled and she brewed a pot of tea.

‘Can we gan to the woods the day, Mammy?' Barny asked eagerly.

Emmie's heart began to pound. They would have to walk past the Attwaters' manse or go round by Siam Street, which backed on to the Currans'.

‘Not today, pet,' she said hastily. ‘It's ganin' to rain.'

‘Can we see Auntie Helen?' he pleaded.

She shook her head. ‘She'll be busy.'

Barny scowled. ‘I want to gan to Auntie Helen's! You promised, Mammy.'

‘Tomorrow maybe,' she sighed.

‘No! I want to gan the day. Please, please!'

‘Oh, stop shoutin',' Emmie snapped, pressing her hands to her pounding head.

Barny gave a reproachful look. ‘You and Dadda shout.'

Emmie burst into tears. Barny stared in horror. He rushed to her and threw himself in her lap.

‘Don't cry, Mammy,' he sobbed, ‘please don't cry.'

Emmie tried to stop but could not. She no longer seemed in control of anything. It terrified her. Eventually she managed to prise the unhappy boy from her lap.

‘You gan and play in the yard,' she told him. ‘We'll gan out later.'

He went and she sat and stared at the dirty plates. She did not have the energy to move them. Later she heard him playing in the lane with some of the other children. The discordant notes of his tin whistle pierced the air. To her relief he seemed to forget about going out later in the day. Emmie boiled up some beetroot and baked two potatoes in the oven for their tea. They went to bed early.

The following day, Emmie determined to go to the shops. She was out of provisions. She buttoned up her coat and pulled down her hat, forcing herself to look in the mirror. An ugly red weal snaked across her left cheek and on to her neck. A purple bruise stained her left temple and brow-bone, standing out against the deathly pallor of her skin. She pulled her hat further down over her eyes and tied a scarf around her neck.

Turning to take Barny by the hand, she was suddenly overwhelmed by panic. She stood rigid in front of the door, unable to move, her heart hammering, palms sweating. Emmie dropped Barny's hand.

‘You'll have - to - gan to the - shops for Mammy,' she panted.

She took a deep breath and repeated the things they needed from the store: dripping, candles, matches, suet, ham knuckle and flour. She wrote them down on a scrap of brown paper, wrapped it around some money she had hidden from Tom in the pantry and placed it carefully in the boy's pocket.

‘Give this to the shopkeeper, no one else. Ta, pet.' She kissed him, gave him the string bag and propelled him out of the door.

Barny seemed excited by the mission and half skipped, half ran out of the yard. Emmie sat tensely in the kitchen. What a coward she was! He would lose the order. He could not carry such a load all the way home.

Half an hour later, Barny clattered in the back door, the string bag hoisted over his narrow shoulder like a sack of coal, and dumped it at her feet. He grinned up at her in triumph.