A Safe Harbour (49 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
At first it seemed as though she hadn’t understood. She stared at him for a moment and then tears had gathered in her eyes. They were tears of joy. ‘Now we can get married,’ she’d said.
All the way back on the tram to the Coulsons’ house in Jesmond she had talked of their happy future and all her wonderful plans, and William had smiled and squeezed her hand, but if the truth were known he had already been wondering if he had done the right thing.
Now, walking home alone, his doubts tormented him. When he was with Jane, everything was simple. He loved her, he wanted to marry her, and her belief in him convinced him that he could ‘move up in the world’ as Jane put it. When he was on his own, the worry returned.
He stopped for a moment and gazed out over the sea towards Bate’s Island at the north end of Whitley. For generations, perhaps since the beginning of time, his family had been fisherfolk, and now Jane wanted to take him away from this life. Jane wasn’t just beautiful: she was clever, cleverer than he was perhaps, and he trusted her judgement. She had told him that the days of the inshore fishermen were numbered. The likes of Richard Adamson and his steam trawlers were the future. In his heart William knew she was right.
But could he live in the town with all its grime and the chimneys belching smoke? He would miss the tang of the sea and he would miss sitting at the tiller of the
Rock of Ages
as he crossed the harbour bar at first light on a fine summer morning, a friendly breeze filling the lugsail and a good day’s fishing in prospect. But how long had it been since there had been a fine day’s fishing?
Rock of Ages
as he crossed the harbour bar at first light on a fine summer morning, a friendly breeze filling the lugsail and a good day’s fishing in prospect. But how long had it been since there had been a fine day’s fishing?
He looked down at the moonlit harbour and the beached cobles. What would happen to his father and his brother when he left home? George Lisle could crew for them but he was getting on in years and not so able as he used to be. Thomas was popular with the younger lads and William supposed he would easily find a pal to make up the crew. One or two of the families had already sold their cobles and were looking for employment. But would Thomas be able to cope with Da? William sighed. He would have to. And, quick-tempered though Thomas was, there was nothing wrong with his judgement when they reached the fishing grounds.
The night was unusually still. A stillness that might cause a visitor to think that it was safe to put out to sea. But it was the sort of stillness that would make a fisherman wary. Nothing moved. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze. Weather like this was treacherous. It could change in an instant.
Moonlight reflected from a glassy sea that was dead flat, without so much as a ripple disturbing the shoreline. William stood very still and listened. His ears tingled with the cold. After a few seconds he heard it: a muffled wailing sound. It came from beyond the horizon, which was hidden by a low, dark sky. There could be no mistake; the sea was calling. He turned and walked away.
Light from the windows of the big houses along Beverley Terrace came into view although much of the village beyond was in darkness. The fisherfolk did not keep late hours unnecessarily. When their work was done they went to bed to save lamp oil.
At this late hour most of the activity in the village was centred round the public houses. No doubt his father would be in one of them along with Thomas and his pals. Not many of the older men would tolerate Henry Lawson these days, and if it weren’t for his sons there would be no one for him to have a drink with.
William quickened his pace. He would soon be home and his mother would be waiting for him. She never settled until her boys came home. If she was alone – for the presence of old Sarah hardly counted – he would take the chance to tell her of his decision. He knew she would be glad for him.
William turned the corner into Back Row and tripped over a figure lying on the ground. He fell headlong, instinctively thrusting his arms out to break his fall. He rolled over on the frosty cobbles, then sat up, more shaken by the shock than the fall itself. His hands were stinging and his shoulder throbbed with pain; he’d hit it on the wall of the end cottage as he’d fallen. It was dark in the lane and William could just make out the shape of the figure he’d tripped over lying slumped against the wall with its legs stretched out into the path.
William began to get to his feet and as he did so the figure on the ground moaned then fell over sideways and vomited. The overpowering stench of stale beer reached William’s nostrils. So at least he hadn’t fallen over a dead body; whoever it was who lay there retching his guts out was alive.
He squatted down and waited until a last great heave seemed to be the end of it, then reached forward and took hold of the man’s shoulders. He pulled him up into a sitting position and eased him back so that he was supported by the wall again.
‘What the hell . . . leave me alone . . .’ As the man spoke he swung an arm in William’s direction.
William recoiled, not so much at the sudden coming to life of the drunken man, nor to avoid the flailing arm, but because the slurred angry voice was that of his father.
‘Da, for God’s sake! Let’s get you home.’ William hooked both his arms under his father’s armpits and hauled him to his feet, holding him upright.
‘Who is it?’ Henry said, lifting his head and then letting it slump back on to his chest. ‘Is it Thomas?’ he mumbled. ‘I thought you were gone . . .’
‘It’s William, Da.’
‘William? Where did you spring from?’
‘Never mind. I’m here and I’m going to take you home. But where’s Thomas?’
‘Don’t you worry about Thomas.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘He’ll manage all right.’
William was used to seeing his father drunk and this wasn’t the first time he’d passed out in the street. But it was a cold November night and the lane was dark. If Henry had lain there undiscovered he might have died. And where was his brother? What did his da mean, that Thomas would manage all right? He didn’t suppose he’d get sensible answers with his father in this state. He’d better get him home.
‘Come on, Da, put your arm over my shoulder.’
Henry did as he was told.
‘Hang on.’
William hitched his father up against his hip and with his arm round his waist half walked, half dragged him along Back Row towards the cottage. By the time they reached home Henry had passed out again and had become a dead weight. His head lolled against his son’s shoulder. He had lost his cap. No doubt it would be lying in the gutter. Well, it could stay there until morning, William thought. Congealed vomit matted Henry’s hair and clung to the side of his face. Some of it had transferred itself to William’s neck and shoulder and the stench almost made him sick.
He wedged his father into the corner of the doorway and leaned against him to prevent him from falling while he reached for the sneck and pushed the door open. His mother was sitting by the fire with knitting in her lap. She looked up and William could hardly bear to see the anguish in her face.
‘Dear God,’ she said. ‘Where did you find him?’
‘Don’t fret, Ma. He wasn’t far from home. I don’t think any of the neighbours would have seen him.’
‘Where’s Thomas?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, bring him in. You can’t stand there all night. Sit him over here.’ She nodded to Henry’s usual fireside chair. ‘He’ll need to be washed.’ Nan looked resigned to the task. She’d done it many times before.
While William steered his father towards the chair his mother wrapped up her knitting in a clean linen cloth. It wasn’t the usual sort of knitting, William noticed. It wasn’t a fisherman’s gansey or even a pair of socks. The wool was white and fine. His mother was knitting something for a baby. One of the neighbour women must be expecting. His ma liked to do good turns like that.
By the time he’d got Henry into the chair the knitting had vanished. Put away in a drawer no doubt to keep it clean. His mother had gone into the scullery. William looked round the room. His great-grandmother was asleep, as usual.
His mother came back with a flannel and an enamel bowl of water. She put the latter on the table and added a little hot water from the kettle.
‘Hold on to him, son, while I wash this muck off,’ she said.
‘I will, but first . . .’ William took the flannel and dipped it in the bowl, then wiped his neck. He took off his jacket – his good one – and said, ‘I’ll sponge this down later.’
He held his father by the shoulders and had to keep pulling him up to prevent him from slipping off the chair while his ma began to take off his gansey. ‘Lift his arms up,’ she requested. William did so one after the other and his mother let the jumper drop to the floor. ‘I’m ashamed of Thomas that he could let his da get in such a state,’ she said.
‘That’s not fair, Ma. You know as well as I do that nothing Thomas could do or say would stop him.’
‘You’re right. But why didn’t he at least see him home safely? They set off together so they should have come home together. And where do you think Thomas has gone? The pubs will surely be closed by now.’
William looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘They’ll be calling time soon.’
‘Do you think he’s gone to Matthew’s house?’ Nan asked as she dipped the flannel in the water and then wrung it out.
William shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. None of the lads go there these days. Mrs Linton hasn’t welcomed any of Matthew’s friends since Jos drowned. Mebbes he’s gone to Jack Chisholm’s. He’s been pretty pally with Thomas and Matthew lately.’
‘Well, if he has, I just hope Jack’s mother puts them out before much longer. I want a word with that young man before I go to bed.’
‘And so do I,’ William said. He was worried and he didn’t quite know why. Since he had begun courting Jane he and Thomas often went their separate ways but they usually told each other where they were going, in case their ma asked. It bothered him that he had no idea where his younger brother might be tonight.
Henry had done no more than give a few irritated grunts since William had sat him in the chair, but when Nan put the wet flannel on his face and began to wipe away the vomit, he revived enough to protest.
‘Leave it be, woman, I’m going to bed.’ He put his hands on the arms of the chair and tried to push himself up but he soon collapsed again.
Nan ignored his protests and went on cleaning him up. ‘You’re not going to bed in this state,’ she said, ‘or I’ll have the sheets to wash. If you sit still this will only take a minute. William will help you get your things off when I’ve got this mess out of your hair.’
If Henry had been sober, or even a little less drunk, Nan would never have dared talk to him like that. However, both she and William knew that by the morning he would not be able to remember a thing about his night out and its consequences. William’s only chance of getting some answers was to question him before he went to bed.
He waited until his mother had dried his father’s face and hair on a clean towel and then he asked, ‘Why didn’t Thomas bring you home, Da?’
His father frowned. ‘Thomas?’
Oh God, William thought, his memory is already fading. ‘Thomas,’ he repeated. ‘You went for a drink with him tonight.’
‘Oh aye,’ his father nodded, ‘so I did. Don’t you worry about your brother, he’ll do the trick.’
What was his father talking about? Or was it just the beer talking? None of it made sense, William thought. Until the next words.
‘Aye, he’ll manage, even without that turncoat Jack Chisholm. He’s got to do it, you know.’
‘Thomas has got to do what, Da?’ William spoke slowly and deliberately, as though he were speaking to a child.
‘Fettle Adamson. That’s what he’s got to do.’
‘And how is he going to do that?’ But William was afraid he already knew the answer.
‘Mind you, I never thought a Chisholm would let him down,’ Henry said. ‘Wouldn’t go with them. Said it was criminal. Your brother told him that what Adamson was doing was criminal and he deserved it. So they’re going to Shields. That’s where they’re going.’
‘What’s he talking about?’ Nan asked. ‘Why should Thomas go to Shields at this time of night?’
Henry didn’t answer. He belched, and for a moment William thought he was going to throw up in the fireplace. ‘Who’s going with him?’ he asked.
For a moment Henry looked scornful. ‘Matthew Linton. One of the interlopers. I could hear what was going on, you know. They sat in the corner with me to put a distance between themselves and any nosy beggars. They thought they’d got me drunk but I wasn’t so drunk that I couldn’t make out what was going on. I could tell Matthew Linton didn’t want to go but Thomas told him he owed it to his brother.’
‘To Jos?’ Nan said. ‘Owed what to Jos?’
Henry shot William a look of contempt. ‘Thomas knew it was no good asking you to help. You’ve had no stomach for it ever since that upstart lass, the cobbler’s daughter, turned your head.’
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