Forever Yours (25 page)

He made a guttural sound deep in his throat. She was avoiding him, the same as she was avoiding this man who’d been the cause of her leaving the village. Molly had told him Constance hadn’t set foot outside the house since she’d arrived back, and he dare bet she wouldn’t venture beyond those four walls until the funeral. She was frightened of this bloke, that was obvious.

He needed to tell her how he felt, to bring it out into the open. He flung himself back on the sun-warmed ground, looking up into the black sky glittering with stars. He had to explain about Tilly, the sham that was his marriage. There was so much she needed to understand. But . . . did she really want to know?

The doubts and fears that had tormented him since he’d seen the polished young woman she’d become washed over him. She had the sort of life that came once in a blue moon for a working-class lass, she’d be a fool to give that up. Not that he had any hope she would consider doing that for him; why would she? He was a miner. The pit and all it entailed was the only life he knew. And he was married. Married with a bairn. Hell, why had he come to see her again anyway?

He groaned, rolling over on to his face and startling a young rabbit at the edge of the field that had come out to feed upon the lush herbage of early autumn at the perimeter of the hedgerow. What was he going to do? What
could
he do?

Nothing. The answer brought him sitting up again as he stared into the darkness. He could do nothing. Even if Constance had feelings for him, and he didn’t know for sure that she did, nothing had been said. He couldn’t ask her to give up everything and run away with him. It was unthinkable. She would be branded a scarlet woman and her name would be mud, and what could he offer her in recompense? Himself?

The sound he made now was the final straw for the rabbit. It dived for its burrow, quivering and afraid.

Matt shook his head at himself, tired and weary suddenly in both mind and body. What would it be like to be dead? If you believed in the hereafter Father Duffy spoke of, every Catholic was to be welcomed at the Pearly Gates and every Protestant went straight to the other place, but he wasn’t so sure. Maybe you just slept, a deep and dreamless sleep with no worries and no rows and no memories, no regrets about what could have been.

Enough of that
. He heaved himself to his feet and drew in a long slow breath. He was thinking like a skittish slip of a lass. He was done in; he hadn’t slept above an hour or two last night even after the double shift, and he’d put in another full day today. That was all it was. A good night’s sleep and he’d be back on an even keel. He had to be.

He dusted some dried grass and stubble from his trousers and jacket, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair before placing it on his head again.

The streets were quiet as he walked home. Darkness had sent the bairns indoors but the odd window was open as he passed and sounds from within filtered through: a woman laughing; bairns squabbling; the smell of dinner cooking. He felt a loneliness so intense as to be unbearable and for once he was actually glad when he stepped into his backyard.

Tilly was letting down the hem of one of Rebecca’s summer dresses when he entered the kitchen. She didn’t look up or speak but he didn’t expect her to. Taking off his boots he pulled his slippers on and sat down in his easy chair to one side of the range, opening his newspaper.

It was then she said, ‘Didn’t stay long, did you?’

Without lowering the newspaper, he said quietly, ‘I told you, I wanted to find out about the funeral, that’s all.’

‘Sent away with a flea in your ear more like. I hear our Constance is quite the little lady now, too high and mighty for a pit-yakkor.’

The abusive term for pitmen didn’t bother him, he’d heard far worse from her, but the fact that she’d hit the nail on the head caught him on the raw. Warning himself not to give her the satisfaction of seeing she’d riled him, he said even more quietly, ‘Don’t talk such rubbish, woman.’

‘Rubbish, is it? And I suppose it’s rubbish that you’ve been round to see her two nights on the trot?’

He lowered the paper, saying with elaborate patience, ‘I went to offer my condolences yesterday. Molly has lost her mam and Constance her grandma, if you remember? And tonight I asked about the funeral arrangements because I want to be there. Are you coming? You were invited.’ He didn’t say by whom.

‘I’d rather walk on hot coals.’

‘I take that as a no then.’

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? The big fellow. But you’re nowt, Matt Heath.’

He flung the paper down as he rose. ‘I’m not in the mood for this, Tilly. I’m going to bed.’

‘Are you in the mood to hear I’ve been offered a job and I start tomorrow?’

‘What?’ He stopped and stared at her.

‘Aye.’ She had stood up too, hands on hips and her head thrust forward. ‘Rupert Wood wanted someone to help out in the flat above the post office now his wife’s so poorly, a bit of cooking and cleaning and such, and beens as I used to work for him before we got wed, he asked if I might be interested.’ Her tone was openly defiant. ‘Five shillings a week, he said, for a few hours each day ’cept Sunday.’

Everything about her proclaimed she expected to have to fight him on this. She knew as well as he did that it lowered a man’s prestige if his wife worked outside the house. She could take in washing or ironing, mind other folks’ bairns, bake and sell cakes and pies, work as a seamstress making clothes and mending others, do jobs for a pittance compared to what she’d earn doing the same work in a factory or shop, but as long as she was in the home, her husband’s rightful place as breadwinner was protected. He worked with men – good, upright men who loved their wives and families – who would guard this male authority to their last breath. No gentle emotions or kindly instincts must be allowed to weaken it. And even though the wife might work half the night at whatever she did, the bairns and house and everything in it was the woman’s responsibility. A man would let the clothes go rotten on his back before he’d wash them, and starve rather than cook a meal. As for changing a child’s nappy, he’d as soon cut his own throat.

All this went through Matt’s mind as he stared into Tilly’s belligerent face. And he was a man of his own people, through and through. It would never have occurred to him to think any differently; he’d imbibed such customs and conventions along with his mother’s milk. And maybe if she’d put this forward a week ago, even a couple of days ago, he wouldn’t have countenanced it. His eyes narrowed with his confusing emotions. He couldn’t have put into thoughts, let alone words, the jumbled-up feelings he was experiencing, but somehow after seeing Constance again there was an element of pity in his dislike of his wife which hadn’t been there before. He’d withheld himself, body, soul and spirit from her, and of the three he knew it was the first that had affected her the most. There was a passion and desire in Tilly as strong as any man’s.

Not that he could have done any differently, he told himself. He’d been angry and hurt on their wedding night, but maybe in the months that had followed he might have been able to come to terms with the fact she’d lied to him. But once he knew she’d married him with her belly full of another man’s bairn any spark of sexual desire had gone, and it had never been any different. But she’d wanted him. Even now, hating him as she did, he knew if he lifted his little finger she’d come running.

Quietly, he said, ‘Do you want to take this job?’

Her voice was like her face, sharp and hard, and he read in her eyes that she thought the question was double-edged when she said, ‘I would like to earn my own money and receive some thanks for what I do, aye.’

He knew she was telling him he wouldn’t see a penny of what she earned, but that didn’t bother him. He’d been supporting the three of them for the last eleven or so years and he could continue to do so without any help from Tilly. His family wouldn’t understand, and he’d get some stick from his pals down the pit when the news got out, but strangely that didn’t bother him either, although before this day he would have expected it would have. Like a bolt of lightning it came to him that for a long time now he’d realised he’d tied himself into a loveless marriage through pride and fear of what folk might think of him if they knew the truth. He was a damn fool, because other people didn’t matter a jot. But he’d ruined his life finding that out.

He didn’t actually
care
if Tilly worked for the postmaster and his wife, that was the truth of it, and if he didn’t care, why should he stop her? And he sure as hell didn’t have to answer to his family or pals or anyone else for his decision.

Tilly was staring at him and he could see she was bracing herself for the explosion she was sure was coming. Still speaking very quietly, he said, ‘You’d still see to the bairn’s needs and your duties here? Run the house like it’s always been run?’

For a moment she didn’t reply. ‘Aye,’ she said, slowly and flatly. ‘Of course I’d do that.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’ He continued to the door, stepping into the hall before her voice caused him to turn.

‘You mean I can do it? You don’t mind?’

‘Does it matter what I think one way or the other?’ She made no reply and after a long pause, he said, ‘No, Tilly, I don’t mind. As long as you look after things here, I don’t mind.’

She made a little sound that jerked her head as she emitted it, and in answer to it, he said, ‘What’s the matter? I’ve said I don’t mind, haven’t I? That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

Their eyes met and held, and what he read in hers caused him to feel uncomfortable enough to say, ‘Damn it, there’s no pleasing you, woman. I’ve said you can take the job, what more do you want?’ before he turned his back on her and made for the stairs.

Tilly watched him go. She remained in the kitchen doorway for some minutes more before turning and walking over to the chair she’d occupied before Matt had walked in. Rebecca’s dress lay where she’d thrown it and now she picked it up, burying her face in the cotton in an attempt to stifle the sobs that were tearing her apart.

It was the middle of the night but Constance was wide awake. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since she had arrived back in Sacriston, and it wasn’t only the death of her grandma that had her tossing and turning in an agony of mind.

She’d done the only thing possible in pleading a headache and staying out of Matt’s way, she told herself for the umpteenth time. And if she’d offended him, she was sorry, but every minute she was with him there was the possibility she’d give herself away. He’d been kind and friendly last night. He’d always been kind and friendly to her and it wasn’t his fault she loved him, but her love had her reading too much into what he said and the way he looked at her, because she wanted to believe he cared for her as she cared for him.Which was wrong. He was a married man.

Molly had told her she didn’t think Matt and Tilly were happily married. ‘It’s not a match made in heaven, lass, that’s for sure.Your grandma didn’t think so and neither does Ruth Heath from what she’s let on to your grandma over the years. Still, you make your bed and you have to lie on it. And there’s the bairn to consider. She’s a grand little lass, Rebecca, and she thinks the sun shines out of her da’s backside. Always has done. Followed him about like a puppy when she was younger.’

Constance had forced herself to smile. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Aye, although he didn’t want much to do with her when she was first born. Mind you, my Edwin was like that. He was always worried he was going to drop ’em when they were little. All fingers and thumbs, he was. Said they gave him the willies.’

Knowing she shouldn’t ask, she’d said, ‘But Matt and Tilly are all right on the whole?’

Molly had shrugged. ‘All I know is Mam didn’t think things were right. But then marriage isn’t a bed of roses for anyone. Me an’ Edwin have had our differences but you work through them.You’ve got no choice, have you? Once that ring’s on your finger it’s for life an’ that’s that.’

Constance had nodded. She knew one of the Ashtons’ friends had recently acquired a divorce because she had heard them talking about the scandal which had ensued, but such a thing was unheard of among ordinary men and women, even those who weren’t Catholics.

‘I mean, our Daisy’s husband can be a bit handy with his fists,’ Molly had gone on, ‘and Edwin had to go round and give him a taste of his own medicine which seems to have done the trick. Mind, like I said to her, she needs to stand up for herself. Wait till he’s asleep and give him a bashing, that’s what I’d do.’

‘But Matt doesn’t hit Tilly?’ she’d asked, shocked.

‘Ee, no, lass. Whatever put that idea in your head? No, no, nothing like that as far as I know. They’re just like lots of other couples round here. No worse and no better.’

And that had been the end to what had been a depressing conversation.

Marriage shouldn’t be like Molly had described, indeed, what she had seemed to think was normal. Constance sat up, swung her feet out of bed and padded across to the window, opening the curtains wide. The moonlight lit the recently harvested fields beyond Blackett Street nearly as brightly as day, and she could see beyond Cross Lane right to the wooded area in the distance. The view was softer in the moonlight, gentler.You could almost imagine that the voracious entity that was the pit, which ate men and lads whole and spat out their bones, didn’t exist. For eleven years she had lived in dread of opening one of her grandma’s letters and reading that the pit had got Matt. She still dreaded it; she supposed she always would. But she’d have gladly put up with that constant fear if she could have been his wife and had his bairns.

She loved him as much as ever. She shut her eyes tightly before opening them again. She had tried to pretend to herself over the last years that she was over him, but she’d never be over Matt. Just seeing him last night, hearing his voice, watching the way his mouth moved had made her weak at the knees. She didn’t know why and she couldn’t explain the attraction he held for her; she supposed he was nothing special in the world’s eyes, but everything about him made her blood race. And she’d felt there was something there on his side too yesterday, the same as that long-ago afternoon in her grandma’s kitchen.