Polly's Pride (23 page)

‘In a month or two maybe,’ she’d said. ‘When things have settled down.’ And he’d nodded sagely, understanding that the family needed time to grieve.

But it was much more than that. Though not quite to the same degree as her mother, Lucy felt her freedom slipping away. Whenever she stepped out of the door, Uncle Joshua demanded to know where she was going. She always told him but gradually, little by little, began to resent having to do so. She’d never needed to before, for Polly had always trusted her to be sensible.

Lucy wouldn’t be fifteen till next March, which seemed half a lifetime away, but once that day arrived, she vowed to go out with Tom. And nobody, certainly not Uncle Joshua, would stop her.

Benny was struggling to be a man. He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry because his dad had once told him only babies and girls cried. But sometimes as he lay in bed at night, the pain in his chest hurt so much tears did come in spite of his opening his eyes as wide as he could to try and stop them. They trickled down into his ears and soaked his pillow but he didn’t dare make a sound in case Lucy should hear. He felt shame at this display of weakness. He only hoped that his dad wasn’t watching from heaven.

Once, when he was at the flicks with Liam, Joe and Don, they’d seen a film called
Outward Bound
which was about a liner full of people who acted as if they were alive but were really dead. A man came on board, he was the pilot, and it was his job to decide who could live and who would be left dead. Benny had wished real life was like that film and he could
pilot
his dad back to life again. It had been a boring film but to his horror, under cover of darkness, several tears had rolled down his cheeks and plopped on to his jersey. He’d been so scared of anyone noticing, he hadn’t even dared put up a hand to wipe them away.
 

Worst of all was that his mam didn’t seem to notice his unhappiness. He understood why that was, but he longed for her to smile again, to chuck him cheekily under the chin, even to nag him about not wearing his cap. He’d happily wear the awful thing forever, even wash twice a day and never get into a scrap ever again, if only his dad could come back, and his mam could be happy again. But since that wasn’t possible, he needed her to do something, anything other than this pained silence. He hated to see her with purple bruises under her eyes, cheeks all sunken and her lips pinched.

Benny and Lucy would talk about the problem in hushed whispers before they went to sleep.

‘She misses Dad so much.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I miss him too.’

Benny had no wish to express the depth of his emotion, not to his sister.

Lucy said, ‘We have to help Mam get through this.’

‘How?’

Neither of them could find an answer to that, and then Uncle Joshua and Grandma Flo moved in and everything got worse instead of better. Benny didn’t mind Grandma Flo, She was old and grumbled a lot, but she’d slip him an extra biscuit at tea time when no one was looking. She took up residence in the back bedroom, complaining it was little bigger than a cupboard; Lucy moved into Mam’s room, while Uncle Joshua took over theirs. Benny was given one blanket and a pillow and told to sleep under the stairs. He was appalled. Only really poor people did that, and they weren’t that poor, were they?

‘Mam?’ he appealed, begging her with wide shocked eyes to prevent this outrage. But she only smiled distractedly and handed over his father’s greatcoat for extra warmth.

Benny knew it must be a sin, but he didn’t like Uncle Joshua one bit. He saw him as a stern, sour-faced man, with never a good word for anyone, least of all Benny himself. He was quite sure that, given time, he could have been the man of the house and looked after his mam and sister without any help whatsoever. The new regime also meant that he and Lucy had to hold their private conversations in whispers while they washed and prepared for bed. There was no other time when they were alone.

‘You don’t think he’ll start telling us what to do all the time, do you?’ Lucy hissed through the soap suds as she delicately lathered her face. Benny watched with interest, noting how she smoothed it over her skin with great care, as if afraid of doing damage to it.

‘How should I know?’

‘You know, bossing and ordering us about, and making us read the Bible and learn scriptures and stuff?’

This was exactly what Benny feared too and they looked into each other’s faces, horrified at the thought, for they were well aware what a tyrant Uncle Joshua could be, particularly when
it
came to imposing his own brand of religion. And it was perfectly clear to them both that their mother was in no fit state to protect them.

‘We won’t let him bully us,’ Lucy declared, before dipping her head and splashing her face briskly with cold water.

‘No.’

She came up for air and Benny handed her the towel. ‘We’ll stick together.’

‘Aye.
^,

It sounded so grand, like an army with its back to the wall or the Three Musketeers perhaps, that Benny cheerfully agreed, even felt a surge of optimism. What could his uncle do against such a united front?

The first challenge came sooner than they expected. The very next Sunday Joshua took it into his head to insist they all attend Zion Methodist, instead of their own Catholic Church.

While Benny chewed on his lip, wondering how he could wriggle out of this unpleasant duty, he watched his sister’s face flush to a dark and dangerous crimson. Didn’t he know that colour well? ‘You can’t mean it?’ she stormed. ‘We’re not Methodists, we’re Catholics!’

‘You
were
Catholics. Now it’s time for you to change. Your family are all Primitive Methodists. Your father was a Methodist. It’s your duty to honour his memory by following in his footsteps.’

‘Dad hadn’t been to chapel in years, except at Christmas,’ Benny put in and then wished he’d kept his mouth shut when he felt the full force of his uncle’s glare.

Big Flo judged it wise to intervene at this point. ‘That does not mean he didn’t believe, or wouldn’t want you to,’ she said, sniffing her disapproval. Flo had no wish to think ill of the dead, but she’d often had ‘words’ with her son over his refusal to attend chapel, yet not once had she won the argument. Perhaps with his children she’d be more successful. The Catholic Church had too much power over its people, in Flo’s opinion. She didn’t hold with too much power, nor anybody holding sway over others, let alone a church; not recognising the very same thirst for power in her own son. She played what she considered to be her trump card. ‘Our Matt never turned to become a Catholic, now did he?’

Lucy shot a glance of appeal at her mother but as usual Polly was staring mindlessly into the fire. Nevertheless, in desperation she decided to make a stand. ‘Maybe not, but Dad always said everyone should worship as they please. He was entirely tolerant in that respect and wouldn’t have tried to make us do something we didn’t want to do. So thank you for the offer but we’ll stick with our own way of worship, if you don’t mind.’

‘But I
do
mind. Your well-being is my responsibility and you’ll do as I say.’ Joshua was telling them that he was master now, and while both children itched to argue further, something in his manner advised caution.

Lucy again looked frantically to her mother, but Polly laid back her head with her eyes closed, hands lying loose in her lap. There were times when Lucy had an urge to shout at her, shake her out of what seemed like a long confused sleep. But perhaps it was too soon. She’d no wish to hurt her. Perhaps Polly needed this time in which to grieve. If it meant they had to put up with a few difficulties meanwhile, so be it. Although it went against the grain, Lucy swallowed her protests. Rolling her eyes briefly heavenwards, she sent Benny a warning glance to keep quiet too.

Polly, unaware that her daughter had just fought a losing battle for control over the free expression of her soul, was engaged in fighting her own devils, with a deep burning anger that seemed to consume her.

When ordered to do so she, like the rest of her family, dressed in her best and meekly followed them to chapel. Joshua ushered them all into the pew for which he paid a weekly rent. By paying the small sum he ensured it belonged exclusively to himself. As did the pew’s occupants, in his opinion.

Lucy and Benny stood close to their mother. Grandma Flo was beside them in her best black hat with the long hat pin, singing loudly about God being our help in ages past and sheltering us from the stormy blast. Benny could only hope it was true, for he could sense many storms ahead and felt in need of a bit of shelter right now.

Eileen was outraged. Never had she heard of such Draconian treatment in all her life. Not that she would have used the word ‘Draconian’, being more familiar with earthier words, which she struggled to avoid using when talking to Polly.

She’d made no comment when Joshua and his mother had moved in, largely because she considered it none of her business, but she didn’t much care for it all the same. Joshua continued to attend his meetings, and perform his powerful oratory on Sunday afternoons in Stevenson Square.
 

So far as Eileen was concerned the change had brought no good in its wake. His very presence seemed to put a damper upon the quiet intimacy that had grown between the two neighbours. Big Flo had taken over the cooking and housekeeping, and both Benny and Lucy seemed fidgety and unhappy. Polly had simply given up, sinking ever deeper into depression. Life went on around her but she took no part in it.

Joshua made no effort to stir her from her lethargy, yet Eileen had seen how his nasty little eyes followed his sister-in-law’s every move; she noted how he watched her, like a cat waiting for the right moment to pounce. She’d even seen him mix her sleeping potions when Polly complained she couldn’t sleep. Yet how could she hope to sleep at night when she sat dozing in the chair for most of the day? It was infuriating.

Eileen tried to make Polly see that she was falling into a downward spiral. ‘You shouldn’t let Big Flo take over your house, nor give in to Joshua so much. I didn’t come down with the last snow fall. He’s up to summat. I don’t know all the ins and outs to it, but he’s after making your life a misery.’

Polly shook her head. ‘Joshua knows I can’t manage on my own. He’s family, so naturally he wishes to help.’

Help himself more like, was the uncharitable thought which flashed into Eileen’s mind, though she managed to keep it to herself.

‘He too is grieving for the loss of his brother,’ Polly reminded her, and Eileen felt bound to concede this was very likely true, as it was also true that he was family, kith and kin, the old adage being that blood was thicker than water. She had to admit it was only right in a way that he should play his part in looking after Polly. He’d also done a great deal for the community. A solid, worthy citizen. A stalwart of the chapel and upholder of justice, leading men into that demonstration so they could stand up for their rights.

Even so, there was something about the man Eileen did not like. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was that so disturbed her. She only had to be in the same room with him, to watch the way his eyes lingered on Polly or how his hand pressed upon her arm as he handed her a powder, and a shiver would run down her spine. There was no doubt about it, he gave her the creeps. His behaviour wasn’t normal. She only wished she could work out why, which made her even more desperate to rouse Polly’s once abundant energy.

‘You were managing before - before Matthew had his accident. You must get going again, Poll. What about them carpet pieces that need binding and stitching?’

She simply looked blank and then put a hand to her head, as if it was all too much to think about. ‘I’ve finished with all of that. Look where it led. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, then Matthew wouldn’t have had anything to prove by attending that meeting.’

‘Nay, that’s daft. Thousands of men attended the demonstration, love. He were only doing what was right, and look what a hero he was, saving young Torn like that. He should get a medal from the King, But life has to go on. I’d help - with the carpets like.’

When she got no reply to this, and saw how Polly seemed to shrink further into herself, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms tightly about her own emaciated frame, Eileen came to a decision. It felt so momentous, so startling and dangerous if Joshua should find out, that she resolved to make no mention of it to Polly. No mention at all.

She gave her friend a hug, removed her untouched mug of tea to wash it out and replace it with a fresh one, said her goodbyes and made her way towards the door.

‘I’ll go out the front way, if that’s all right,’ she said, quite unnecessarily since she usually went that way. Polly merely nodded. On her way through the front parlour Eileen collected up the half-sewn pieces of carpet rugs, together with a roll of recently delivered carpet still waiting to be cut, and transported them, an armful at a time, to her own house next door. No doubt Terence would have something to say on the matter but he could take a long jump off a short pier. Eileen meant to help Polly, come what may. What were friends for? One day, she might even thank her for it.

Chapter Sixteen

The moment Lucy discovered that the carpets had gone she was incensed, certain that Joshua was to blame. Young as she was, she bravely tackled him on the subject, tilting her chin in a way that was alarmingly reminiscent of Polly herself. She could feel herself shaking with barely controlled anger as she accused him of removing property which rightly belonged to her mother.