A Daughter's Duty (27 page)

What it was that Alice was going to tell her was blessedly lost to Rose, for as she ran along the road a bus came and she jumped on it, caring not at all where it was going, wanting only to get away. She didn’t look back to see Alice standing on the pavement, mouth open, watching her prey escape.

Rose sat down on the first empty seat on the road side, away from the pavement, her shoulders hunched, staring unseeing out of the window. Someone sat down beside her but she barely registered the fact.

‘Fares, please!’

She heard the conductress but didn’t react.

‘Come on, I cannot stand here all night.’ The conductress was impatient now. Leaning over the person sitting beside Rose, she shouted in her ear, ‘Where do you want to go, love?’

It brought Rose out of her stupor. She turned and saw the woman, hands ready on the machine clipped to her belt.

‘Sorry! Emm … how far do you go?’ Rose hadn’t an idea where the bus was going. A quick look out of the window showed her that the street they were on was strange to her.

‘Blackhall. Ticket to Blackhall, is it?’ The conductress wasn’t even looking at Rose but leaning over to ring the bell; the bus slowed to a halt and the girl next to Rose got off. Rose fumbled in her bag and took out her purse, handed over half a crown. ‘Yes, Blackhall, please.’ Though for the minute she couldn’t even remember where Blackhall was.

Grumbling about change, the woman took her money anyway and handed back a handful of pennies and one sixpence. ‘You should try to have the right change next time, lass,’ she said, and went off down the bus.

They were out of Hartlepool now, trundling along the coast road. Looking out of the window, catching glimpses of the sea, Rose suddenly knew where she was and that she must get off. Oh, yes, she wanted to get off here. More than anything else in the world she wanted to, yearned for it.

She pushed her way out of the seat and hurried to the front, searched for a bell and rang it. The bus slowed and pulled into the stop by an underpass under the railway.

‘Hey, you said Blackhall –’ the conductress shouted but Rose had the door open. She jumped down on to an asphalt path and stood for a moment in the drizzle of rain before walking off through the underpass. ‘Some folk don’t know where they want to be,’ the conductress grumbled and rang the bell for the driver to set off. The bus was half-empty now and she sank down in the front seat, resting her weary feet. Only the journey back to the depot and her shift was ended, she told herself thankfully.

Rose passed a noticeboard. She could just make out the words. ‘Crimdon Caravan Site’ and in capitals above ‘EASINGTON DISTRICT COUNCIL’. She passed by mostly empty caravans, lined up along deserted roads. A few were occupied. It was getting to the tail end of the season, she realised, the end of September. The site probably closed in October, after the school half-term holiday.

Rose wasn’t really interested in the caravans, however; she was making for the edge of the cliff at the other end of the site, the steps leading down to the sands. The sea was loud in her ears, waves crashing angrily on the shore when she got down. It was going to be a stormy night, she thought dimly, but it didn’t give her pause. She walked on.

When her shoes sank into the heavy sands she took them off and pushed one in each pocket of her coat, walking on in her stockinged feet. In her mind she was with Jeff, going along the shoreline to Blackhall Rocks. As the light disappeared her eyes became accustomed to the dark. She held Jeff’s hand. He smiled down at her, face full of love. She could see that plainly even in the dark. The water lapped at her feet, and over them. Unconsciously she was moving closer and closer to the bottom of the cliffs for the tide was half in, not half out. She moved towards him, put her other hand to his. She could feel the rough tweed of his jacket against the back of it.

She told Jeff about Alice. How nice she had been to Rose when she first went to work there only a few short weeks ago; how nasty she had turned out to be now because she was jealous. That was it. Oh, yes, Rose knew why it was, should have realised it earlier. Alice didn’t like the fact that she was friendly with a doctor.

‘Oh, no, Jeff,’ she said aloud, in case he misunderstood. ‘I’m not so friendly as all that. I don’t want any lad but you.’ And she smiled up at him as the waves crashed and thundered by her side.

She had no hat or scarf, her hair was dripping and the rain was coming down in sheets now, running into her eyes so that she could hardly see where she was going. But she was happy, walking with Jeff, her love. Then gradually instinct for self-preservation made her aware of how cold she was, bitterly cold, and soaked to the skin. She looked around her. Jeff wasn’t here, how could he be? She felt bereft, as though he had been with her at least in spirit and now had gone. She was going wrong in her mind, she told herself dismally.

Rose pulled her coat close around her body. The strip of sand between her and the rocks was narrow now. She looked for a way up the cliff but she couldn’t make one out. There were caves, or at least indentations in the rock, but she couldn’t be sure the tide wouldn’t go that high. She had to make it to the top of the cliff.

She began to hurry. What a fool she’d been, letting Alice get to her like that. As though she didn’t have enough to worry about. She must not be very well, she told herself, starting the flu or something. Bob Morris had told her she would have to be careful for a while, her body had been through a traumatic experience when she lost the … No, she wasn’t going to think about that either.

At last she found a path, water lapping around the bottom now. Her feet were soaked. She began to climb the steep cliff, the rocks slippery with rain. She reached a patch of grass and stopped, catching her breath in deep painful gasps, and sat down precariously to stare out to sea. There were gaps in the cloud layer now. The moon came through for a fraction of a second, moonlight glinting on the pounding waves below, her own heart pounding with them. But she was almost at the top. She managed to scramble the last bit on her hands and knees and lay there panting, her eyes closed, the pain in her chest so bad she felt it would burst. She felt dizzy and fought to hold on to her senses. She had to get to shelter, get out of these wet clothes, drink something warm.

Her heartbeat slowed. At last she was able to sit up, then stand. She looked about her but the night was black again, there was nothing to see except a string of lights in the distance. She made her way cautiously towards them, stubbed her toe on a stone and even though her foot was freezing cold the pain stabbed up to her knee, making her hop on one leg, holding her foot. The stocking was in shreds, of course. She remembered her shoes but there was only one in her pocket. She must have lost the other in the scramble up the cliff.

Rose limped painfully on, once having to climb over a fence, towards the lights. It was the caravan site. She might find shelter there. But the line of caravans were all dark and empty, their windows shuttered. Spent, she leaned against the nearest, sheltered from the wind. The rain had stopped though there was a steady drip-drip from the sloping roof above her, hitting the steps before the door. She moved to them shakily and sat down, wet though they were. She couldn’t get any wetter than she was, she told herself wryly, and her legs were about ready to give out.

Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. The water dripped on her cheek and she moved her head to the side, leaning against the edge of the door and its jamb. Next minute she was sprawling back on a prickly doormat. The door lock must be faulty, she thought dimly, but what she mostly felt was a vast relief to be inside, out of the weather.

The caravan was dark, she couldn’t see a thing, but she crawled inside and pushed the door to with her feet. She would pay the owner, of course she would, tomorrow. Surely he would understand, whoever he or she was?

Magically, there was a carpet, quite a thick one. She felt her body sink into it. There would be a bed, she thought, or a bench at least. She tried to pull herself up, intending to explore with her hands, perhaps find a blanket, the prospect of warmth drawing her on. But she couldn’t, her legs were leaden and her arms collapsed under her. She lay down again on the carpet, the blessed carpet. Anyway, she was warm now, was her last thought. It was quite hot in fact, heat washing over her. Rose slipped into the blessed dark.

‘Geordie? Geordie! Have a look here, this van’s been broken into. The door’s not shut properly. Geordie!’

The voice invaded her dream, her lovely dream where she and Michael and Mary were at the seaside, sitting on the sands listening to the sound of the sea. Michael had a shell to his ear. ‘I can hear the sea, Rose,’ he was saying. He held the shell out to her and she put it to her own ear but she couldn’t hear the sea or anything at all except for a man’s voice. He was shouting but she couldn’t make out what it was he was saying.

‘Shut up, will you?’ she said to him. ‘I want to listen to the sea.’ But somehow her voice didn’t come out right.

‘Hey, Geordie man, there’s somebody here,’ said the voice. ‘It’s a lass by the look of it. She looks drowned. I hope to hell she’s not dead.’

‘Be quiet!’ said Rose. ‘I’m listening!’ This time she was heard.

‘Nay, lad, she’s not dead,’ Geordie observed. ‘But I reckon she’s not far off it. Run along to the office and telephone for an ambulance, will you?’ He went down on his knees beside Rose, felt her head, and she muttered something again. She was cold, dangerously cold, he thought, yet her forehead was hot. ‘Can you hear me, lass?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’

She didn’t answer but turned full on to her back, and threw her arms out at him. He caught them and held them.

‘Hey now, pet, hold still,’ he said, more to himself than her. ‘I’ll lift you on to the couch.’ He gathered her up and she fought him or tried to, her arms and legs going wildly.

‘Get off me, Dad!’ she cried.

‘I’ll not touch you, lass,’ the man said mildly. He found a blanket in the wardrobe and wrapped it round her, then stood watching her, waiting for the ambulance. She was just a young lass, he thought, not much older than his own Jenny, at school the day. This one was as white as snow and he could hear her breathing, laboured and rasping. How in the world had she got into this pickle?

‘I can take them back with me any time I bloody well like!’ Alf thumped his fist on the table and his teacup jumped in its saucer. He glared at his sister who had risen from her seat opposite him, features working in agitation.

‘Oh, no, you cannot!’ she said.

‘An’ who’s going to stop me, eh?’

‘
I
am.’

Alf laughed. He picked up his cup and took a swallow of the dark, strong tea, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Elsie stared at him. She had gone white when he said it but now she was more in control of herself and her lips were set in a thin line as she waited for what he would say next.

‘They’re my bairns, I can do what I like.’ He thought of Mary. By, she was the image of her sister, she was, and growing up as straight as a ramrod. She was just of an age now an’ all …

Elsie did not reply at first. She had been prepared for this day for weeks, had rehearsed what she would say to him over and over when the twins were in bed in the evenings. Ever since that dreadful night, the one when Rose had gone. That was the only way she allowed herself to think of that night; she had blocked out the worst of it. At first she had had nightmares and woken up in a turmoil, shaking and sobbing. But gradually they had stopped. Elsie had told herself every day that it hadn’t been her fault, none of it had been her fault. Anyway, everything she had done had been for the sake of the twins. And besides, she hadn’t really
done
anything, it was all down to her brother. She had only tried to help Rose when she lost her baby; that and protect the twins from what was happening, of course.

‘If you take Michael and Mary away from me, I’ll tell the child welfare people what happened. The police an’ all.’

There, she’d said it aloud. She’d said it in her mind often enough. Elsie got up from the table and moved a few steps towards the door almost without thinking. Alf could be violent, oh, yes, she’d seen that even when they were children together. And then, that last horrible night – an image of Rose falling, her hands to her stomach, came unbidden, but Elsie closed her mind to it.

‘No, you would not! You were in it up to your neck. You helped.’ Alf glared at her but he wasn’t seriously disturbed by her threats. He could control their Elsie, he was sure of that. Always had. A weak woman was his sister.

‘I’m taking them and be damned to you,’ he said. ‘You might as well get their things packed. Where are they anyroad?’

‘At school. Where else would they be at this time of the day? An’ why aren’t you at work on a Monday?’

‘I’ve taken a shift off to come for me bairns,’ Alf said comfortably. He sat back in his chair and gave a superior smile.

‘Pity you’re not getting them then, isn’t it?’ Elsie flared, reacting immediately. ‘You stink of rum. Do you think if I call the polis he’ll let you take two canny bairns with you? If you’re not careful you’ll be losing your job an’ all. If you went down the pit smelling of drink like that you’d be out on your arse before you knew what you were at. You an overman too. The bosses wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘I know what I’m doing. I don’t drink when I’m going to work, never you fear!’ Alf was stung into replying. The grin had left his face and he jumped up from his chair and took a step towards her. ‘And you’d better watch what you’re saying, our Elsie, or I’ll bat you one!’ He was angry because he had twice gone down the pit this last week with drink in him. Luckily he had not been caught nor had he made any serious mistake, but he knew the risk he had run.

Elsie cringed back towards the door. ‘Don’t you dare lay a hand on me!’ she cried. ‘I’ll have the polis here so fast you won’t know what’s hit you – I’m telling you!’ And looking at her determined face, he knew she meant it.