A Daughter's Duty (11 page)

‘Why, Rosie, what is it?’

‘Auntie, you have to take Michael and Mary out of here. You
have
to!’

‘Well, like I said, there’s nothing I’d like better –’

‘No! I mean, you
have
to, Aunt Elsie. I’m afraid for Mary, afraid of what me dad might –’

‘What? Rose, what are you saying? Your dad? He’s never hurt the bairn, has he? I don’t believe it!’

No, he hadn’t hurt Mary, thought Rose. ‘It’s what he might do, Auntie Elsie,’ she said, and Elsie looked at her in disbelief.

‘Look, maybe you feel like this because … because of all you’ve had to put up with.’ Elsie walked to the window and stared out at the rectangle of light illuminating the dark back yard. She folded her arms across her chest, her thoughts churning, not exactly sure why. She only knew she didn’t want to hear this, whatever it was Rose was going to say.

‘Aunt Elsie, he … touches me where he shouldn’t,’ Rose said to her back. ‘I’m frightened for Mary,’ she said again. Elsie swung round and Rose saw her face was red, whether with anger or deep embarrassment it was hard to tell.

‘You wicked little cat! That’s my brother you’re talking about! Aye, and your dad!’ She strode over to Rose and slapped her face. She was like a stranger to Rose, a completely different woman.

‘But, Aunt Elsie –’

‘Not another word, you little madam, not a word!’

Rose subsided. She sat forward in her chair and covered her eyes with her hands. She didn’t know what she had expected but it wasn’t this absolute refusal even to listen to her. She couldn’t bear any more. If Aunt Elsie were not going to support her, what was she going to do? She fled upstairs to the dark bedroom and crawled into bed beside Mary.

Downstairs it was very quiet. Elsie was suddenly aware of the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, the sound of her own ragged breathing. She stood in the middle of the floor, staring at the wall, seeing nothing. It wasn’t true, of course it wasn’t true. Poor Alfie, he loved his children, she knew he did. It was hard for him after the upbringing he had had. Their da had been so much harsher with him than he had been with Elsie. Poor Alfie, poor little Alfie. Many was the time he had crept into her bed after a thrashing, just for a cuddle, just for comfort he’d said, and she’d been so sorry for him. She used to listen with dread to the sounds the leather belt made when Da sent her to bed with a look and started to unbuckle …

Elsie got to her feet and picked up the kettle, taking it into the pantry to fill it. No, she didn’t believe it, of course she didn’t, not of her brother. He was just a man who felt things strongly; demonstrative, that’s what they called it. And anyroad, Rose was so upset, she wasn’t thinking straight. She probably didn’t meant to tell such lies, just got things exaggerated in her mind.

The kettle boiled and Elsie made cocoa, considering whether to take a cup up for Rose. No doubt she was sorry she’d said such things. But no, best leave her, she was probably asleep now and, Lord knows, she needed her sleep.

Mind, Elsie reflected as she sipped at the hot sweet liquid, she would still like to take the twins. As she thought about how it would be with children in the house, she was filled with a longing so strong it eclipsed all thought of anything else. She began her favourite daydream, the one about sitting on the sands at Crimdon, watching the twins build a sandcastle or paddling in the water. Or in wintertime she would meet them out of school when it was snowing and hurry them home and give them each a bowl of broth and they would sit by the fire in their pyjamas – oh, she could see it all, it would be lovely. And she would look after them so well, buy them bicycles, give them so much love it would make up for the loss of Sarah.

Rose, lying sleepless in bed, was also planning the future but not a future she was looking forward to. She’d gone over all the options, she told herself. She could try telling someone else. The police? Her mind shrank away from the thought of the police. Everyone would get to know, everyone in Jordan. And anyway had her dad even done anything the coppers could take him for? Nothing she could prove. The minister then? She pictured kindly old Mr Mee. No, she doubted he would even understand what she was talking about. In spite of her own state of mind, she smiled. There was the time, years ago, when the Sunday School class had recited the Ten Commandments and Mr Mee had explained what they meant. But he had glossed over
Thou shalt not commit adultery
, looking hard at his Bible the while. No, not the minister then. And if Aunt Elsie didn’t believe her, who would? Maybe Marina. But she could never tell her friend, the thought filled her with horror.

There was only one thing to do and Rose knew what it was. She didn’t want to do it, no, she didn’t, her very flesh shrank against the horror of it. But there was no alternative, not if Mary were to be saved. Beside her, the child whimpered in her sleep and turned towards Rose and cuddled in to her side. Rose put an arm around the small body, careful not to wake her. Then she settled down to wait for her father coming in from his shift. It would be the middle of the night but she would get up and put her proposition to him then, before she could change her mind. She absolutely refused to let herself think about how it would be afterwards.

Sometime in the early morning, Rose had fallen into a light doze but the sound of Alf’s pit boots clanging against the cement brought her awake and she sat up with a start. Her head was thumping painfully and her mouth was dry as she heard the back door open and close quietly and footsteps as he walked over to the fire and stirred the cinders to get them to let out some heat. Now was the time; now, as he sat down by the hearth and took off his boots, but before he shed his pit clothes or filled the tin bath which had been left ready for him. Her heart beating as painfully as her head, Rose slipped out of bed and dressed quickly. She couldn’t face him in her nightie. She had to be very quiet, didn’t want to disturb Aunt Elsie who was asleep in the next room. As she went slowly down the stairs she tried to send a thought winging to her mam that was not quite a prayer. You know why, don’t you, Mam? You understand.

Marina stood by the card-sorting machine in the office, staring out of the window rather than watching the cards slotting into the racks. Even then, she wasn’t seeing the snow-whitened fields and dark river before her but Charlie’s face when she had met him on her way to the bus the evening before. It had been an accidental meeting; he was with a group of students and she was hurrying down Silver Street to catch the bus, and as she dodged round a crowd of housewives gossiping in the narrow street there he was.

‘Charlie!’ she had cried, and the boy beside him who had been declaiming something in a loud, excited voice, stopped in mid-sentence. He looked from Charlie to Marina and back again, speculation dawning in his face, and for a split second she had thought Charlie looked embarrassed and irritated at the same time. Then she realised she was mistaken as he smiled a greeting.

‘Hallo, Marina,’ he’d said. It was a week into the new term and this was the first time they had met. He stood facing her and the group he was with moved on up the bank towards the market place, some of them glancing back to the couple standing still among the hurrying crowd.

‘How are you, Marina? I was hoping to see you but you know what it is, the beginning of term and all that.’

‘That’s all right, Charlie,’ she assured him, though of course it wasn’t all right. It sounded as though he was making excuses. Why, even now he was edging round and glancing up towards his friends.

‘Look, I’m in a hurry, I’ll see you soon,’ he said, and put out a hand and touched her on the cheek, smiling a cheery self-possessed smile now the encounter was almost over.

‘Yes, see you soon.’

She had watched as he joined his friends and heard one of them laugh and clap him on the back before she turned and went on down to the bridge and then to the bus station.

There was a sudden change in the sound of the cards slotting away in the sorting machine and Marina’s thoughts were dragged back to the present. A card had caught in the mechanism and others were piling up behind it, twisting and tearing. Hurriedly, she switched it off.

‘Look here,’ said Margaret and Marina jumped; she hadn’t noticed the supervisor come up behind her. ‘Don’t you think you should be paying more attention to your work?’

‘Yes, Margaret, sorry,’ Marina mumbled and extricated the spoiled cards from the machine, going over to a punching machine to punch them again. Doris, feeding paper into the clanking tabulator, winked at her and rolled her eyes at Margaret’s retreating form and Marina smiled ruefully back.

Perhaps she had misread Charlie’s expression, thought Marina as she took the newly punched cards to the sorter and ran them through. Perhaps he really was busy with the new term. He would get in touch with her as soon as he had the time, of course he would. They were practically engaged, weren’t they? She looked up at the clock on the wall above Margaret’s desk. It was almost five o’clock, Charlie could be waiting for her downstairs even now. The thought brought a little thrill of excitement with it. Of course he would be there. It was Thursday and last term he had always been there on Thursdays.

The noise of the machines stopped as the hands on the clock reached the hour and was replaced by girls talking and gathering up their belongings. If she rushed, Marina could catch the five-fifteen bus from the bus station as she normally did. Tonight, though, she took her time, calling goodnight to the others as they went. In the cloakroom she pulled a comb through her hair, clipping the sides back from her cheeks and turning the bangs on her forehead over her finger in the new fashion.

‘Coming?’ asked Doris on her way out.

‘You go on, I have one or two things to do,’ Marina replied.

As she descended the stairs, she felt her heart beat just that bit faster in anticipation so that when finally she got outside into the bitter wind which was sweeping down Old Elvet it was all the more disappointing when he wasn’t there. Despondently, Marina started to walk to the bridge and on up the hill to the market place. The lights from the shops twinkled on the waters of the Wear and normally she would have paused to admire them but tonight she trudged on, not caring whether she caught her bus or not. He didn’t say he would meet me tonight, she told herself. But the evening stretched ahead of her with nothing to fill it, nothing important anyhow.

The town hall clock was striking five-fifteen as she passed and went on down Silver Street so it was a waste of time even going into the bus station, she told herself. She would walk on. The air would do her good after that stuffy old office. She wound her scarf round her head and neck and began to climb yet another of the hills of Durham, not admitting even to herself where she was going until she stopped at the house and rang the bell.

‘Is Charlie in?’ she asked the scruffy-looking youth who answered. He looked uncertain.

‘Er … I’ll just see,’ he replied and left her standing on the doorstep, wishing with all her heart she hadn’t come. The door was slightly open and she could hear as he bounded up the stairs and knocked at a door at the top; she could even hear the sound of voices as he spoke to someone. She was being a fool, she knew she was being too forward, men didn’t like to be chased, they liked to do the chasing. She would just go now, slip away before Charlie realised it was her. She was outside the gate and a few steps away when the door opened again.

‘Marina? Where are you off to?’

Charlie’s voice, cool and amused.

‘I thought …’

‘Come on in out of this wind, you must be frozen,’ he said and smiled at her and all her doubts melted as she went into the light and warmth of the house. ‘I meant to come and meet you out of work but then I got involved in something else,’ he said as he took her arm and kissed the tip of her nose before leading her upstairs to his room. She wondered what else it was he had got involved in, what had made him forget about her. ‘It’s more private in here,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

Marina shook her head. She could hear there were others in the communal sitting room, talking and laughing, and didn’t feel like joining them, not tonight. She wanted to be alone with Charlie. Perhaps they would talk things out. He was smiling at her, his green eyes ringed with dark lashes a girl would have given anything for, and everything was all right, of course it was. Her barely acknowledged fears melted away.

‘Come and sit in this chair. Take off your coat, I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ said Charlie. He shifted a pile of books from the only armchair and she unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the back of the door next to his. He went down to the kitchen and Marina sat back in the chair and looked around the room. There was a small electric fire so it was warm enough. The room smelled of books and ink and the mixture of Palmolive soap and young man and something else indefinable which was Charlie.

He sat on the bed and watched her as she drank the tea. (Too strong and too much sugar but she drank it nevertheless.) When she had finished he stood and drew her to her feet and put his arms around her and kissed her. Marina relaxed and kissed him back and after a moment they sat on the bed, still entwined in each other’s arms, still kissing.

‘I came to talk, Charlie,’ she said breathlessly, not admitting even to herself that she had come for this. She leaned her head back and looked up into his face. His lips were reddened and moist and his eyes sleepy-looking yet intent.

‘There’s plenty of time to talk,’ he murmured, and his fingers were under her jumper, cupping her breast, pulling down the bra. She could feel his thumb rub across her hardened nipple and felt a prickling deep down inside her.

I can stop any time, Marina told herself, but she was swept along in a tide of feeling which would not be denied and the moment for calling a halt just did not come.

‘Charlie?’ a man’s voice was calling, dragging her back from the edge of sleep. She was lying in a curve with Charlie’s body wrapped around her, his arm across her breasts.