A Crimson Dawn (51 page)

‘Calm down,' Emmie cried. ‘What's terrible? Has something happened to one of the children?' Her breath stopped in her throat.

Louise stared in fear, a hand over her trembling lips.

‘Tell me!' Emmie commanded. Louise dissolved into tears. Emmie steered her back to the bed. ‘Please, try and say what you came to say,' she pleaded more gently.

Louise took a deep gulp. ‘It's Tom - he's not right in the head. We've been looking after the bairns - honest we have, Emmie - I've tret them like me own.'

Emmie felt a stab of jealousy, but said nothing, nodding for her to go on.

‘But then that woman came back,' Louise said with distaste, ‘and now he won't let us see Barny or Mary. Says he's ganin' to marry her and give them a proper mam. But she doesn't care two pins for the bairns - just wants Tom's wages and a roof over her head. Common as muck. And they drink like fish. I go round and she won't let me in. She comes into the shop drunk and orders me around—'

‘Who, Louise?' Emmie demanded in agitation. ‘Who is she?'

Louise's look was distraught. ‘Nell - your sister.'

Emmie felt her legs turn to water. She groped for the bed and sat down.

‘Nelly's got my bairns?' Emmie whispered in disbelief.

Louise nodded. ‘She's turned Tom against his own family. Me father tried to reason with him - went round to fetch the children for chapel - but Tom attacked him - broke his jaw.' Louise began to sob. ‘Tom's always out drinking since he took up with Nell - neglects the bairns. The truanting officer's been round twice for Barny - and there's never any washing hanging out. They live in a pigsty.'

Emmie felt leaden. ‘And what do you expect me to do about it?' she asked bitterly. ‘You've kept me away from me own son and daughter for three years, remember?'

‘I know,' Louise said in distress, ‘and I'm sorry, Emmie, truly I am. It was wrong of us - I see that now. I was that jealous of you having bairns - I wanted a bit of what you had. I've always wanted what you've had,' Louise confessed, ‘ever since we were lasses. You seemed that happy with the MacRaes - always having a laugh.'

‘Oh, Louise!' Emmie said in despair. Her deep resentment of her former friend turned to pity at her pathetic, tear-swollen face. How sad to think Louise had harboured such childish envy all these years.

Louise sniffed. ‘Will you talk to Tom? You're the only one he's ever listened to. He might come to his senses. You could tell Nell to go.'

‘Tom stopped listening to me years ago,' Emmie said, ‘and Nell will do exactly the opposite of anything I suggest.'

‘Then take the bairns!' Louise urged. ‘Something has to be done.'

Emmie stood up. ‘Aye, something does.' She touched Louise's shoulder and summoned up forgiving words. ‘You were right to come - it must have taken all your courage.'

She took her sister-in-law through to the kitchen and made her eat before she left. It was mid-afternoon when Louise set off for the station.

‘Will you come back with me now?' Louise asked.

Emmie shook her head. ‘I have something I must do first.'

She went to seek out Flora, explaining everything and asking her to look in on Philip that night.

‘Let Charles go with you,' Flora urged.

But Emmie refused, assuring her friend she would be careful. Then she set out for Chopwell.

The sky was darkening and a squall hit as she entered the shelter of newly budding trees. A grocery van - a converted army ambulance - had given her a lift as far as the village, the driver pointing her east to the wagon way that cut through Chopwell Woods.

‘Will you be all right?' he asked her anxiously.

Emmie nodded. ‘I'm visiting an old comrade.'

‘Rab MacRae?' he questioned.

‘Aye.'

When she tried to pay for her lift, he waved her away. ‘A friend of MacRae's is a friend of mine - he taught me mam to read.'

In the gloom, she almost missed the green-painted carriage nestling under a large oak and half covered in briars. It was the smell of wood smoke that drew her to the hidden dwelling. She had a sudden vivid memory of the cottage at The Grove - the smell of the wood stove, Barny and Rab fixing a fishing line in the doorway to catch the last of the light.

‘Anybody there?' Emmie called out. She knocked. All was silent. She hesitated then opened the door and called again. Still there was no answer. Emmie went in.

It was surprisingly roomy: a stove, a bed, a table with a lamp unlit, a solitary chair and a wall of shelves full of books and cooking pots. With a pang, Emmie saw a volume of poetry on a pile of sheet music by the bed. A world of words and music set in a forest - Rab's world. Feeling like an intruder, she turned to leave when she heard a twig snapping under a boot outside. Moments later, Rab was ducking through the door. He gasped in surprise at the shadowy figure.

‘Who— Emmie, is that you?'

‘Aye, it is,' she gulped. ‘I'm sorry, the door was open.'

They stared at each other, completely lost for words. Rab moved first. He pulled out matches and crossed to the table, carefully lighting the lamp. Its weak blue flame shed a ghostly light.

‘Sit down, please.' He indicated the bed. ‘Don't have a comfy chair, sorry.'

Emmie perched on the edge, watching him pour them stewed tea from a pot on the stove. He handed her a tin mug. Her hands were shaking as she took it. She had planned to tell him straight away about the children, beg his help in freeing them; now she did not know how to begin. He would think she was just using him, and perhaps she was. She had not worked out what she would do beyond the rescue.

She sipped at the strong tea. Rab turned up the lamp until it glowed a warm yellow, chasing back the shadows. He had lost his gaunt, haunted look. His beard was fuller, his broad shoulders filling his jacket once more. The sudden swell of emotion Emmie felt for him was so strong, she had to look away. Glancing at the floor, she saw a pile of newspapers and leaflets. It was just like his room in India Street. He followed her look.

‘There are some of yours in there,' he grunted.

‘Mine?' Emmie queried.

‘Campaign leaflets from when you stood for the council. And articles you wrote before the peace conference. You're doing well, Emmie.'

She flushed in amazement. He had followed her at a distance, not forgotten her.

‘And you've joined the Communists. I met Ernie Tait at the conference.'

‘So that's how you found me,' Rab said, scrutinising her over the rim of his mug.

‘You didn't want to be found, did you?' Emmie questioned.

Rab put down his mug. ‘You were getting on with your life, Emmie, just like you said you would. I didn't want to stop any of that.'

‘But to be living here all this time and not even let me know … I didn't even know if you were still alive!' she accused.

He shifted uneasily. ‘For a time I hardly was,' he murmured, ‘after you went away. I nearly gave up, Emmie. Then Laurie got sick of me - said he was joining the CP and I could go with him or stay and rot in self-pity.' Rab gave a sudden snort of laughter. ‘We ended up on this trip to Moscow, the pair of us. Worked on a collective farm for a month. Laurie met this lass on the way back - he's still in Berlin, as far as I know.'

‘Why did you come back?' Emmie asked. ‘No lass for you?'

He leaned towards her, his gaze steady. ‘There's never been any lass but you, Emmie.'

She felt her heart twist. Trembling, she stood up and put her mug on the table.

‘Then why did you never come and find me?' she challenged.

‘Cos you stopped loving me,' he said simply, ‘and I couldn't blame you. I didn't love the man I'd become either - couldn't see beyond my own troubles. Not like you, Emmie. You take on everyone's burdens. I had to learn how to care again - love again.'

Emmie swallowed. ‘So that's why you came here - to be on your own - sort yourself out?'

‘Partly,' Rab admitted. ‘But also to be near you.'

‘I don't understand,' Emmie puzzled.

Rab's voice was low and intense. ‘I couldn't be with you but, being here, I could be near your bairns - my bairn. I'd been the cause of your separation, but at least I could keep an eye on them for you. I take an evening class once a week in Crawdene - I watch Barny come out of school and he waves to me.'

Emmie was stunned. ‘You've seen Barny?'

‘Aye, and the wee lass. As bonny as you, is our Mary. I spoke to her once when she was blackberry picking.'

Emmie cried out, ‘Oh, Rab!' She stumbled towards him, holding out her arms.

Catching her, he pulled her to him. They clung on tight, Emmie sobbing into his shoulder.

‘Our daughter, our bonny lass,' she wept. ‘That's why I came. Louise told me Tom's out of control. She fears for the children. Nell's got them. Did you know about Nell?'

‘Aye,' Rab admitted.

Emmie pulled away. ‘Since when?'

Rab held on to her. ‘Your sister came back last year. I told Mam to say nothing to you. She wasn't happy keeping you in the dark, but I knew how upsetting it would be - and you could do nothing about it. But recently it's been getting worse. I confronted Nell - offered her money if she'd tret them right. She just laughed in my face - said they were Tom's problem not hers.' His grip tightened as he grew agitated in the retelling. ‘I went to Sergeant Graham, but he told me to stay away, said it was up to Tom how he brings up his own.'

Emmie groaned. ‘Rab, help me save them!'

He hugged her again and kissed her hair. ‘I'll do anything you ask me, Emmie.'

Tearfully, Emmie reached up and kissed him.

‘I need you more than ever,' she whispered tenderly. ‘I've never stopped loving you, never. Please believe me.'

Rab gave an exultant cry and kissed her back. His embrace was passionate and tender and full of longing. He was lightheaded at having found her again.

Finally, Emmie pulled away. ‘Tonight, Rab - we must go tonight. I can't wait any longer.'

By the time they walked into Crawdene it was completely dark. The black, rain-laden sky was moonless. They made straight away to Berlin Terrace. Emmie walked into her own home by the back door and was immediately hit by the smell: dampness, rotting food, urine. The kitchen was cold, the fire out, the only light coming from a candle on the table. It spluttered in the sudden draught, nearly out.

Rab took another from the mantelpiece and lit it. The house sounded deserted.

‘Tom?' Emmie called boldly. ‘Nell?'

Rab held up the candle, illuminating the unwashed crockery piled on the table, the clothes strewn over chairs, the hearth covered in ash and cigarette ends, the empty bottles.

‘The bedroom,' Emmie urged, pushing Rab gently towards the closed door.

It was locked. Rab noticed a bolt high up and pulled it back. It had never been there in Emmie's time. They pushed open the door. The room smelled musty with a strong waft of stale urine. Rab knocked into a chamber pot that was brimming with unemptied slops. Emmie gagged as she groped towards the large iron bedstead. The bed was unmade and empty. Peering into the dark, she saw there was no truckle bed that used to stand under the window.

‘There's no one here,' Emmie hissed.

Just then, they heard a small cough. Emmie crouched down and felt under the bed. She touched something warm and heard a gasp of fright.

‘Barny?' she whispered. She leaned further into the dark and grasped hold of a blanket, a warm shape beneath it. Someone whimpered in fear.

‘Rab, shine the candle down here,' she said quickly.

As the light flickered under the bed, Emmie saw a pale face with large, staring dark eyes.

‘Barny!' she cried. ‘Pet lamb - it's Mammy!' She reached in and pulled at the rigid boy.

He was shaking, gazing at her in suspicion, too terrified to speak. Emmie gathered him to her. He was long and skinny like a rabbit, his dark hair shorn close to his skull. ‘Barny, oh, Barny, don't be afraid. Mammy's got you, pet.'

‘Mammy?' he puzzled.

‘Aye, it's your mam,' Rab smiled, gently rubbing the boy's head. ‘You're safe now.'

In relief, Barny wriggled out of his blanket and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. He burst into tears. Emmie held him and rocked him in her arms, choking back the sobs in her own throat. To hold her son again gave her unimaginable joy.

‘You're all right, bonny lad,' she crooned. ‘Everything's ganin' to be all right from now on.'

‘Barny, where's your sister?' Rab asked more urgently.

‘Over there,' he croaked, ‘in the bottom drawer.'

Rab scrambled across the floor. Peering into the deep drawer of the wardrobe, he saw Mary lying in a nest of blankets, thumb in mouth, sound asleep. Gently he reached in and lifted her out. She started awake, her blue eyes widening in panic. The small girl let out a howl.

Rab hushed her in reassurance. ‘I won't harm you - I'm your daddy.'

Cradling her on his shoulder, he left the candle on the floor. Emmie helped Barny to his feet. She stretched out to touch Mary.

‘My little lamb,' she said tearfully. ‘You won't remember me, but I'm your mam.'

Mary gazed at her with uncomprehending eyes. Her chin trembled again, but the sight of Barny clutching the stranger seemed to calm her.

‘We're taking you to safety,' Emmie promised.

Barny piped up. ‘Are we ganin' to live with Uncle Laurie again and fish in the river?'

Emmie and Rab exchanged looks.

‘No,' Emmie said, ‘but Mr Runcie's still with us.'

Rab added, ‘And I'll take you fishing in a different river - or maybes right down by the sea.'

Emmie took Barny's cold hand and felt a small answering squeeze that made her heart soar.