Forgive and Forget (27 page)

‘It’ll be tender for a bit, I expect, but you’ll soon get used to it.’

Easy tears filled Violet’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to get used to it. I never wanted a baby and I still don’t.’

Polly stood at the end of the bed and wagged her finger at her sister. ‘Now you just listen to me, Vi. It’s not this little mite’s fault he’s been born, so you just love him as he deserves to be loved. I don’t want to ever hear you say again that you didn’t want him. You hear me, Vi? That’s a terrible thing to say. Poor little man.’

‘Then you have him. Like I said before, let’s pretend he’s yours and I can go back to work.’

Polly watched the tiny child, still red and wrinkled from the birth, sucking happily at his mother’s breast, quite unaware of the feelings his arrival had wrought. Polly felt an overwhelming tenderness for the helpless infant. She couldn’t understand why Violet didn’t feel the same. Surely, every mother felt a surge of protective love for her offspring?

But maybe Violet wasn’t a natural mother.

In answer to her sister’s preposterous suggestion, Polly said quietly, ‘He’s your baby, Violet. You’ll come to love him, I know you will.’ And though she tried to put every ounce of confidence into her words that she could muster, she had serious doubts that Violet would ever act like a proper mother should. ‘I’m going out for a while,’ Polly went on. ‘You’ll be all right?’

‘I suppose so,’ Violet muttered morosely.

As Polly rounded the corner, she was appalled yet again by the devastation that met her eyes. The High Street was quiet now, subdued. There were few people about. Mostly, they were shopkeepers or their employees sweeping up the broken glass and rubble from the damage the marauding hooligans had caused. Policemen were patrolling the streets and seemed to be taking statements from people. Polly walked on slowly, taking in the scene of destruction the violence had left. The brewery offices near the station still smouldered.

As she passed the level crossings and neared the main shopping area, she caught snatches of conversation.

‘They’ve not only smashed me windows,’ she heard one shopkeeper complaining to a policeman with a bandage around his forehead beneath his helmet. He had his notebook in his hand and was writing down everything the man was telling him. ‘They’ve been looting in me shop. I’ve lost no end of stock.’

‘Can you give me precise details?’

‘Not yet. I’ll need to check me stock lists. But don’t you worry – I’ll let you know, Officer.’ The man was angry, waving his arms and shaking his fist, not at the officer attempting to do his duty but at the unknown miscreants who had damaged his property and made off with his stock.

Polly shuddered and walked on, but the scene was the same right along the High Street. Here and there she saw dark patches still staining the roadway, blood. So many had been injured, Leo amongst them. She wondered if anyone had been killed and a tremor of fear ran through her once more. What if her father was accused of being the cause of someone’s death?

He could hang for that.

Unable to stand the sight of the devastation, Polly turned for home, feeling nothing but shame that her father had taken part in such a dreadful event in their beautiful city. As she was about to turn the corner back into her own street, she paused and turned her gaze up to the cathedral, still standing proudly on the hill. But now she fancied the Cathedral of the Blessed Virgin was looking down sorrowfully on her people.

It was one thing, Polly thought, to stand up for your rights, to fight for better conditions of employment and a fair wage, but it was quite another to create havoc and chaos in its cause. Now Polly, once so sure of her beliefs, felt suddenly bereft and very much alone. Her mind – and her heart – were in turmoil. Her father was in a prison cell, the love between her and Leo lay in tatters and now she must again shoulder the responsibility for the rest of her family.

Despite the warmth of the August morning, Polly shivered and ran the rest of the way home, closing the door behind her against the rest of the world.

‘Do you know, they’ve nicked half Mr Wilmott’s stock?’ Stevie was indignant when he arrived home from work that evening. ‘Now we’ve had time to straighten things up a bit, we can see what’s gone.’

‘Never! How dreadful.’ Polly sighed and shook her head. ‘I can hardly believe this is happening. I didn’t think there were people like that in our city. Not our beautiful Lincoln.’

Stevie put his arm around her shoulders. Though only eleven, he was already as tall as she was. ‘It’s not the city’s fault, nor most of the people who live here. They didn’t want what happened last night any more than we did.’

Polly glanced sideways at him. ‘But our dad was one of the ringleaders,’ she whispered. ‘How are we ever to live it down?’

‘I don’t know, but we’ll have to try. Same as we have to live with Eddie not always being on the right side of the law. They’re family, Poll, and we’ve got to stick by ’em.’ He gave her arm a squeeze and went on, ‘And talking about family, how’s my new nephew doing and have you told Violet about Dad?’

‘He’s fine and, yes, Vi knows.’ Polly bit her lip and then went on haltingly. ‘Stevie, she’s still saying she doesn’t want the baby. I – I thought she’d love him when he came, but all she can think about is herself.’

‘That’s our Vi.’ Stevie laughed wryly. ‘Don’t worry, Poll. She’s maybe feeling a bit low after the birth. I expect it’s a difficult thing to go through.’

Polly glanced at him admiringly. He was so sensible for a young boy.

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘Where’s Eddie? Does he know?’

Polly shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea where he is. He’s not been home since Saturday night – well, early Sunday morning when he brought me home. Have you seen him since then?’

‘I heard him moving about yesterday morning, but he’d disappeared by the time I came down. I expect he went to see if there was any damage at the market.’

A sudden knock at the door made them jump and they stared, wide-eyed with fear, at each other.

‘Do you think that’s the police?’ Polly whispered.

‘I don’t know. What shall we do? Pretend no one’s here?’

At that moment, the baby chose to start wailing.

Polly grimaced. ‘Fat chance of that now. I’d better see who it is.’

She opened the door to find Micky Fowler on the doorstep. He was grinning from ear to ear and carrying a moth-eaten teddy bear. ‘I hear tell I have a son.’

‘Oh really? Decided to acknowledge it’s yours now, have you?’

Micky shrugged. ‘I never said any different. That was me dad trying to find an excuse for me not to marry her if I didn’t want.’

‘Well, you didn’t, did you?’ Polly snapped.

Micky’s face was serious. ‘Polly, I only went with your sister because I couldn’t have you. You know that—’

‘Keep your voice down. I don’t want the whole street knowing.’

‘I don’t mind who knows how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt.’

‘Well, I love my sister – and her little boy. And I won’t have her hurt.’ Pointedly, she added, ‘Not any more than she already has been.’

‘So, there’s really no chance for us? For you and me, Polly?’

For once she could see that Micky Fowler was serious. Mutely, she shook her head.

He gave a deep sigh and then seemed to square his shoulders. ‘Anyway, I’d still like to see me son.’

Polly pulled the door wider open; ‘I’ll ask her.’

As he stepped inside, Micky said, ‘What’s she called him?’

Despite all her worries, Polly suddenly found herself smiling impishly. ‘Michael Fowler Longden.’

Micky’s face was a picture of incredulity and sheer delight and it was the only thing that was to bring laughter into Polly’s life in the weeks that lay ahead.

Eddie came home that night, whistling merrily as if nothing had happened.

‘Have you heard owt about Dad?’

Eddie blinked. ‘Dad? What about Dad? Isn’t he here?’

Polly explained and Eddie’s jauntiness died instantly.

‘Where were you last night? I’ve been worried sick.’

‘I’ve been with Vince, clearing up the mess and setting his stall up. It was late by the time we finished so I stopped at his place last night.’

‘Oh aye,’ Polly said grimly. ‘Got some nice new stock, have you? Boots and shoes, by any chance?’

Eddie glanced at her, but she noticed that he did not deny it.

‘Eddie, have you heard any more news about the strike?’ Stevie asked, trying to steer Polly away from asking Eddie too many awkward questions.

‘Most of ’em are back at work, but there’ve been one or two arrests and they say there’ll be some more. But I didn’t know that Dad was one of them.’

‘Have you heard what’s going to happen to them?’

‘They’ll be sent before the magistrates.’

‘When?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘Tomorrow, mebbe, or the next day.’

Stevie put his arm around Polly’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Poll. He’ll be home by the weekend. You’ll see.’

On the Wednesday night after the weekend riots, Eddie came rushing in.

‘There’s a fire in the next street. You can see the flames from here.’

Polly hurried out into the street. Smoke was billowing upwards and flames licked the night sky.

‘What’s on fire?’

‘The motor works.’

‘Are the firemen there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’ll stay well out of the way. You too, Eddie.’ She gripped his arm. ‘Please, listen to me for once.’

‘Don’t worry, Poll. I’m not stupid. There’ll be more arrests after this, specially if anyone’s hurt.’

‘Is it still to do with the strikes?’

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, but his gaze was still on the flames. Even from here they could smell the smoke and hear the shouts of those trying to put the fire out and hear the screams of women afraid for their homes.

‘But why now? The strike’s settled.’

‘Maybe somebody,’ Eddie murmured, ‘didn’t like a member of their family being arrested.’

Polly gasped. ‘Oh, Eddie—’ she breathed, but before she could say any more, he shook off her hand and went back into the house.

Polly’s anxious gaze went back to the glow over the rooftops. ‘Please, just don’t let anyone get hurt.’

When Polly went to the magistrates’ court the following day, she learned to her horror that there had already been one fatality caused by the fire and that another person was in hospital with serious injuries.

She felt so sorry for their families. Brother or not, she thought grimly, if Eddie’s had owt to do with the fire, I hope they do come for him. In the meantime, she had to sit and watch helplessly as her father, alongside other men who’d been arrested since, came before the bench. As they stood, crowded together, the charge – the same for all of them – was read out. The language of the law, Polly found, was so stilted and convoluted that she didn’t understand exactly what they were being accused of.

‘What’s it mean?’ Polly whispered to the man sitting next to her. ‘I don’t understand it.’

‘Nor do any of us, lass,’ he whispered back. ‘Why these men? Why’ve they been singled out, I’d like to know? One of them’s me brother and I don’t reckon he did owt except support his mates in the strike.’

‘Is he on the railway?’

‘Nah, none of ’em are. He’s just a labourer, but he likes to stick up for the rights of the working man.’ He sniffed. ‘And look where that’s got him.’

‘But – ’ Polly began, about to tell the man that her father worked on the railway. But some instinct made her bite her tongue.

It seemed the defendants were being charged with causing riotous behaviour and disturbing the peace. Nothing had been said as yet about the smashed windows, the looting or the fires. But maybe the charge covered a multitude of sins, Polly thought wryly.

As the prosecutor began to speak, it seemed she’d been right; he accused all the defendants of having taken part not only in the noise, shouting and jeering, but also in the violence that had followed, and he pressed the Bench to commit the prisoners to the Assizes for trial.

Witnesses from the police force – several with bruises on their faces or bandages around their heads – were called, but their testimony was what Polly already knew for she’d seen it all with her own terrified eyes. And she’d seen the injured too: members of the public who’d been borne away to the St John Ambulance station and the policemen who’d been the targets of the hostile crowd.

And one of them was Leo.

One by one police witnesses came forward to give details about each prisoner and the reason for their arrest. Most of them had been seen throwing missiles, breaking windows and street lamps and even targeting the police constables. Cautions had been given to one or two of the ringleaders now standing in court, when they’d been advised to go home. But they’d not taken that advice and had continued to cause mayhem.

On and on the evidence went for each prisoner, the details being much the same in each case. And then Leo stepped up. His head was still bandaged and his face was bruised. One eye was half-closed. No one could deny that he’d been injured in the affray.