A Daughter's Duty (32 page)

Passing the cafe, he glanced in the window, almost without thinking. And stopped and stared. He was hallucinating, he must be. The blood rushed to his head, his vision blurred. For God’s sake, it wasn’t her, it couldn’t be her. He wanted her so much that he was seeing her now when of course she wasn’t there at all. He put out one hand to support himself on the window frame, shook his head to clear it. Mind, if any of his friends saw him now they would laugh their caps off, they would. Him, Jeff, champion hewer and a strong man, a
miner
, weak and faint because he thought he saw a woman in a cafe.

Rose sat at a table back from the window, holding the handle of her cup with one hand. With the fingers of the other she crumbled a cream cracker on her plate. She had come back to Shotton, drawn to the place, yearning to catch a glimpse of Michael and Mary, her feelings so strong she felt sure they must know and would come along Front Street. To the sweet shop surely? It was Saturday morning and they would have pocket money to spend. But she had sat here for an hour and hadn’t seen them so far. She was just fooling herself.

Dr Morris had been going to drive her here in his car but at the last minute he’d said he had something important he had to do and that was just as well because she had to tell him that it was no good, she was no good to him, there was no future in a relationship between them. Nor ever had been, she thought guiltily. She knew she had been weak, letting him help her. In these last few weeks especially she had needed a friend so badly and he was there, whenever he could get time off from the hospital, bringing her flowers and chocolates, easing the terrible loneliness of her single room in the boarding house down by the docks in this old seaport, so battered by the war.

She was strong enough now to come to Shotton on the bus, she’d told herself. But then she had had to stand all the way and when she had alighted had felt so weak and dizzy that she had come into the cafe and ordered Bovril and crackers for she’d had no breakfast. That was the reason, of course, just plain hunger. She had to be better because Dr Wray had said to her when she saw him in Outpatients yesterday that she could start work on Monday. Oh, Jeff, she thought sadly. Jeff. Sometimes she thought she would never, ever see him again and she couldn’t bear it. And his name, the memory of his face laughing into hers, the clean smell of carbolic soap and something else, the essential
Jeff
, kept returning to her at times when she was thinking of something else altogether, and the sense of loss which followed then left her desolate.

She had to think of something else, she thought desperately. Had to eat for a start. But she was having trouble getting the cracker down. The hot Bovril was nice, comforting, reminding her of the times during the war when the rations had almost run out, the night before the Co-op store waggon came round with Mam’s order, and they’d had Bovril and bread for supper. She put a sliver of cracker in her mouth and washed it down with the beefy drink and then she looked up at the window again and Jeff was there, leaning against the side of the window, staring at her.

He straightened up, his vision clearing. It
was
Rose, it was! His lovely Rose here in Shotton Colliery on a Saturday morning, not in London, nowhere but here, and he knew that it was this that had drawn him here, the presence of his love. He drank in the sight of her. She was gazing at him now, her lovely dark eyes enormous in her white face, her soft mouth slightly open as she started to rise from her chair to come to him.

Suddenly he moved, pushing the door open, and in two strides was by her side, taking her in his arms and holding her, kissing her, drowning in the total and absolute joy of it. And she was holding him, clinging to him, murmuring his name against the crisp hair at the nape of his neck.

Around them there was an astonished silence lasting for all of ten seconds, then someone chuckled and the cafe owner said, ‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Not in here, if you please.’ But he was shouted down by his customers and subsided behind the counter as they began to clap and cheer.

‘Come on, my love,’ said Jeff and took her hand and walked her out of the cafe and round the corner to where he had parked the car. They got in. It was their own private little world. He took her in his arms again and murmured to her, disjointedly.

‘Where have you been? Not a letter … you should have written … I’ve been out of my mind … Oh, my love, my precious love. Thank God, thank God, thank God …’

Rose couldn’t speak, lost in the incredible sweetness of being here, in his arms. In any case there was no need, not yet, for he wasn’t waiting for an answer. His lips were on hers, his body pressed against hers and a clamouring was rising within her, a great surge of feeling that refused to be denied.

Someone was knocking at the window, giggling and chattering, sounds which at last penetrated through the haze of Jeff’s love. He looked up. There were boys outside the car, young lads of ten or eleven, all grinning and pointing at them, eyes old and knowing, nodding to him to go on; it was a show to them.

‘Come away from that car!’ a male voice shouted and over on the other side of the road there was a policeman wheeling his bicycle, propping it up against a wall, preparing to come over.

‘We have to go, flower,’ said Jeff, disengaging himself tenderly. Putting the car into gear, he set off, leaving the boys and the policeman staring after them. He drove up Front Street and turned left, not making for anywhere in particular, just getting away to somewhere, anywhere where they would not have an audience to their love. Rose sat beside him, glancing up at him every few seconds, reassuring herself it was really Jeff and often he caught her glance and they smiled into each other’s eyes for a fraction of a second because he had to keep his attention on the road, had to force himself to for he was carrying a precious load now, he was driving his Rose.

She turned to look out of the window, hardly knowing what she was seeing but then with a jolt realising they were driving along the end of the colliery rows and suddenly the brightness they were enveloped in fell away and dark horror filled her.

‘Stop!’ she cried, one hand scrabbling at his arm. ‘Oh, stop!’ And he braked hard and pulled into the kerb while behind him someone pipped angrily and held up two fingers to him which he never even saw.

‘What? What’s the matter? Tell me –’ But he broke off as he realised that she wasn’t even listening to him, she was fumbling with the door catch, sobbing in frustration because she couldn’t get it open. He leaned across and opened it for her and she tumbled out and ran down the road, with Jeff close at her heels though at first he didn’t know why they were running.

Then he saw them. For a second only, Rose’s Aunt Elsie sobbing and crying, her mouth slack and ugly, her nose running, her hair wild in the wind. And Alf Sharpe pushing Michael and Mary into a car – Michael shouting and screaming at his father, Mary white-faced and quiet. And then they were gone, Rose only a couple of yards behind them, running after the car as it picked up speed and took off for the main road.

‘You let them go! You let them go with him and you knew what would happen … what he would do …’

Rose was screaming at her aunt. She brought her arm back and slapped the older woman hard on the face, making her reel against an end wall. Elsie stayed there, no longer sobbing, just staring at Rose in ashen-faced horror. Jeff caught up with Rose and pulled her to him, holding her close, pinioning her arms so that she could not use them on Elsie again, for the rage and hate on her face showed that she would kill her if she could.

Dear God, he thought, what was it all about? What? Surely Elsie had not done anything to warrant this? He dragged Rose back towards the car and she was still screaming at the woman. ‘Why? Why did you let them go? Why?’ But her voice was lower now, failing, her face breaking up in the throes of extreme distress. He pulled her to him, turning her face into his jacket to screen her from the curiosity of the folk now standing around, attracted by the fuss, the unexpected sight of one woman attacking another in the open street on a cold Saturday morning.

‘Go after them, Jeff, please! Please, go after them. Stop him, Jeff,’ Rose cried after he finally got her into the car. She was fighting for self-control, taking great gulps of air into her lungs.

‘I will, of course I will, but where will he be taking them? Jordan?’

‘Jordan, yes, he’ll be taking them there.’

‘But why is it so urgent? What –’

‘Don’t ask questions Jeff, please, just go,’ she said, clutching at his arm.

‘All right, I’m going, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll catch them up. That was a hired car, the driver won’t put up any speed.’ He really didn’t know what the urgency was but he trusted Rose implicitly. He started the car and was away immediately, touching the speed limit, but when he got out of the village and on to the main road he opened up and the little car ate up the miles.

In the back of the car he had hired at Heatley Hill, only a couple of miles from Shotton Colliery, Alf sat with the twins on either side of him. He was filled with a sense of triumph. By, he’d got one over that bitch of a sister of his, hadn’t he? And he didn’t believe for a minute she would go to the polis, of course she wouldn’t. She was as guilty as he was, wasn’t she? He looked down at Michael, sitting at the extreme end of the seat, as close to the door as he could possibly get, determined not to touch him, his own father.

A wave of irritation went through Alf. He caught hold of the boy’s arm and pulled him over bodily, forcing him to look at him. He twisted the boy’s arm, making tears start to his eyes, but Michael stared at him bravely. Cheeky fond the kid was, he’d have to knock that out of him. No doubt Elsie had been too soft with the little bugger.

‘Don’t you be so flaming cheeky, lad, or I’ll give you what for when we get home,’ snapped Alf.

He caught the driver of the car looking at him in disgust. ‘What the hell’s the matter with your face?’ Alf snarled.

‘A bit rough with the lad, aren’t you?’

The driver was a family man himself; he knew how bairns could get on your nerves, how at times you could murder them, but he didn’t hold with actually hurting them, especially a little mite like that young ’un.

‘You mind your own business. When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,’ said Alf, but he loosed the boy’s arm. The driver said no more but turned his whole attention to the road ahead. He could have turfed the fellow out at the roadside but he could do with the fare, and anyway, how would that help the kid?

Alf looked down at Mary on his other side, and felt the surge of triumph again. She was really turning into a nice plump little thing. She hadn’t made a fuss either, actually liked her old dad, he was sure of it. He put an arm around her and she looked up at him, eyes large in her face. They were so like Rose’s and her hair was already darkening to black too. She had her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth, though, wasn’t saying a word. He squeezed her to him.

‘Daddy’s little pet, aren’t you, Rose?’ he said and she never moved to release herself, just stared up at him, her arms forced forward before her body, her face becoming red.

‘It’s Mary, not Rose,’ said Michael beside him. ‘Let her go, Dad, will you? She’s frightened.’

‘No, she’s not. She likes me to cuddle her, don’t you, Mary?’

He glanced up at the driving mirror and
saw
that the driver’s eyes were once more fixed on him. The car had slowed down too; they would never get to Bishop Auckland at this rate. Alf released Mary and leaned forward to speak to the man. ‘If we’re there before one I’ll give you a good tip,’ he said. ‘I … we have to meet someone.’

The man looked at him, his face unreadable, but he picked up speed. Alf sat back, satisfied. It was marvellous what the promise of a bit of extra money would do, he thought smugly. Well, the driver was in for an unpleasant surprise when they got there. Alf would burn in hell before he’d give him a tip.

There was hooting behind them. Alf turned round. What was the matter with the car behind? There wasn’t a soul on the road apart from the two of them. If he was in such a hurry why didn’t he just overtake and get on his way?

It was a young fellow with a girl beside him, showing off no doubt …Alf stared, his mouth open. It wasn’t true … it couldn’t be. But yes, it was, it was that lad Jeff, the one who had sniffed after his Rose. What did he think he was doing?

Jeff swung out into the road, pulling alongside the hired car for only a moment. He was making gestures to the driver to stop and the damn fool was doing just that. The other car had dropped behind again, evidently confident Alf’s driver would do as he asked. Alf leaned forward.

‘Don’t you stop! Drive on. Go, I tell you – what do you think I’m paying you for?’ He looked furiously back at the other car. Who the hell did he think he was, forcing them to stop?

The girl beside Jeff. Alf hadn’t looked at her properly until now, in fact she had been half hidden, holding her head down. Now she leaned forward and stared at him and suddenly he knew why they were doing what they were doing. But it couldn’t be, no, it couldn’t be! He leaned suddenly on the driver and the car bucked and jumped and swung round to the side and there was a crunch and Alf was thrown forward, his head and shoulders going through the windscreen, his body shielding that of the driver who was pinned in his seat by it. Behind them, the two children were thrown forward too, Mary hitting the back of the driver’s seat and falling to the floor.

Michael went flying slightly to the left where the front door had swung open and was catapulted out, going over the parapet of the bridge they were on, out into the empty air above a slowly flowing, six-inch-deep tributary of the River Wear.

‘I’m their sister, let me go!’ Rose shouted, and the ambulance man hesitated and glanced at his colleague who nodded. He released his hold on her and she climbed in and sat between the stretcher beds. Michael lay, white and quiet. Oh, God, he was dead and it was her fault, all of it. If she hadn’t got Jeff to race after them the twins would be alive and well, both of them.