Reach for Tomorrow (52 page)
And then he was disabused of this idea, and his mouth brought agape in the process when, on entering the room with the tray, Rosie said without any preamble at all, ‘There is no easy way to say this, Davey, but knowing how I care about you, Flora told me why she felt it necessary to break off the engagement.’
He stared at her wordlessly while she busied herself with the tea things - or perhaps hid behind them would be a more accurate description - and then he said gruffly, the Tyneside inflexion very prominent in his voice, ‘Did she now? Aye, well that’s Flora for you, isn’t it.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘
Don’t be like that?
’
Don’t be like that?
’
It was a bark, and in answer to it Rosie’s head jerked up and her mouth thinned as she snapped back, ‘Yes, don’t be like that. You haven’t got the monopoly on feelings, you know. Flora thought she was doing the right thing in telling me what was going on.’
‘Then she was wrong.’
‘I don’t think so.’ As Rosie uttered the words she suddenly had a vivid mental picture of Zachariah’s sitting room in Benton Street, and his face when she had pressed him to declare his feelings for her. There had been none of the aggressiveness that Davey was showing, no egotistical pride, but then the circumstances had been different. No, no. She checked herself quickly. She must be honest in her feelings from this point on whatever happened. It wasn’t that the circumstances were different, that wasn’t it, it was that Zachariah had been a man in a million and she had realized it even then. No one would ever love her as completely or as unselfishly as her late husband. There had been a well of love in Zachariah. And Davey . . . Davey was very human. Life would never be easy or plain sailing with Davey. He would never know how to handle her like Zachariah had done, and they would clash - both having strong, determined personalities - over and over again, but it didn’t make any difference to this love she had for him. It was consuming, that was the only word for it, and if he felt the same he
had
to see things clearly.
had
to see things clearly.
‘Is that why you asked me to come here tonight? To talk about what Flora has said?’ He was on his feet now and Rosie put down the cup of tea she had been about to give him and faced him squarely as he continued. ‘Because I trust she also told you that I’m planning to leave these parts once the weather’s better? It’s high time I made a clean break with Sunderland.’
Her voice was flat and her face was straight when she said, ‘You must do as you please, of course, but can I ask you one thing? And please answer truthfully.’
He stared at her without replying and then, when she had swallowed hard and wetted her lips, she said, ‘Do you love me, Davey?’
He couldn’t believe this was happening. As Davey stared into Rosie’s face he thought, She’s an incredible woman, quite remarkable; but then he’d always known that, hadn’t he? What other woman of his acquaintance, given the circumstances, would have asked him outright like that? Blatant, like. But she wasn’t forward, not in the normal sense of the word. No, she was just very strong, and unique - oh aye, she was unique all right. And it was the knowledge of her strength that enabled him to say, without any softening of his voice, ‘Aye, I do, but it counts for nowt in what we’re talking about.’
‘Nowt? How can you say that?’
‘I’ll never ask you to marry me, Rosie.’ He saw the colour flood her face again but he dare not betray any sign of the raging turmoil that had had him walking the floorboards into the early hours every night since New Year’s Eve, when one refrain had sung through his blood like a song. She hadn’t let him touch her. Shane McLinnie -
she hadn’t let him touch her
.
she hadn’t let him touch her
.
‘Because of the money? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’re putting what other people might think before us.’
‘No!’ It was like the crack of a whip, and as her face blanched he said more quietly, ‘No, that’s not it, not entirely. Other folk I could handle, it’s meself I can’t stomach. I’m . . . I’m weak in certain areas.’ The words were being torn out of him and when she made a move towards him he stopped her with a savage movement of his hand. ‘Those years down the mine, I can’t describe what they did to me. And the shipyard . . . There’s lads of fourteen and fifteen working there and they handle the deafening row and the heat and the accidents that occur, but me? I’m scared, scared stiff every minute of every day. There was a man last week who had both his hands sliced off by a steel plate--’ He stopped abruptly although Rosie had made no sound or movement, and then continued, his voice and face blank, ‘I can’t take it any more. I don’t mind working hard, I’ll work all the hours under the sun, but I can’t be shut in. And what work is there round here like that? And I won’t be a kept man.’ He said the last as though Rosie had suggested it.
Rosie closed her eyes and when she opened them again she said, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll go down south, see what’s about. I hear work’s available there. And if I make it, if . . . if I get on me feet in a year or two I’ll . . . I’ll write.’
No he wouldn’t. Rosie stared at him in silence. And in spite of all he had said it
was
the money that was separating them. If she had been an ordinary young lass working in a shop or in service or something similar, without any ties or obligations, he would have asked her to go with him. But she wasn’t an ordinary young lass any more, and there was Erik. However she might feel she couldn’t expose her child to the perils of the sort of life Davey was describing. And then she said what was in her heart, in a little soft bewildered voice that made his jaw clench: ‘But I love you.’ ‘And I love you.’
was
the money that was separating them. If she had been an ordinary young lass working in a shop or in service or something similar, without any ties or obligations, he would have asked her to go with him. But she wasn’t an ordinary young lass any more, and there was Erik. However she might feel she couldn’t expose her child to the perils of the sort of life Davey was describing. And then she said what was in her heart, in a little soft bewildered voice that made his jaw clench: ‘But I love you.’ ‘And I love you.’
Her heart leapt as he pulled her into his arms and then their lips were clinging, the kiss fiercer and fiercer as their bodies strained together until it seemed they would merge. She could feel the power in his loins as her body moulded to his and she knew that this kind of loving, this wild, crazy, unearthly loving, was something she would never experience with anyone else. He was her other half, the half of a perfect whole. Any weakness of his would be covered by her strength, likewise hers by his strength, it was meant to be,
it was
. He had to see it. He couldn’t kiss her like this and not see it.
it was
. He had to see it. He couldn’t kiss her like this and not see it.
When his lips moved from hers they trailed her face in hot burning kisses as he murmured words that a few minutes before would have made her blush, but now only served to fuel the passion that had her in its grip. She was gasping, frantic, her body arousing him still more as she rubbed against him in a fever of desire, barely aware of what she was doing.
And then it stopped. Just like that.
She stood where he had put her, at arm’s length, and watched him as he walked to the door of the sitting room, and he would have gone without another word if she hadn’t said, ‘You will come and say goodbye before you leave for good? When exactly will you go?’
If he was surprised at her easy acceptance of the situation he made no sign of it as he answered, ‘Late April, early May most likely. There’ll be nothing doing before then.’
‘And you’ll come and say goodbye?’ she pressed again.
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Yes, that’s what I want.’
They faced each other from across the room and although Rosie’s lips quivered her eyes were dry. He drew in a long breath that expanded his broad chest and lifted his shoulders before turning sharply and opening the door.
She didn’t follow him into the hall but remained exactly where she was until she heard the front door open and then close behind him, after which she stumbled to a chair, one hand stretched out in front of her as though she was blind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
On 21st January, four days after Davey had been to see her, Rosie travelled across the water to Ireland to see Sally and Mick. The inclement weather and the fact that she wasn’t at all sure about the conditions in which she would be staying persuaded her to leave Erik with her mother, and she was glad of this by the time she arrived in Dublin. The long journey by train to Holyhead had been bad enough, but the crossing had been rough and arduous and she had felt very ill most of the time. But the purpose of her visit had given her strength.
On her arrival in Dublin she had stayed overnight in a hotel, then resumed her journey to Ballymore the following morning. She had written to Sally and Mick informing them of her proposed visit but she wasn’t at all sure if they would receive the letter before she actually arrived on their doorstep, and as the horse-drawn cab bounced and bumped its way along frozen mud roads piled high either side with banks of snow, she wondered at times if she
would
arrive.
would
arrive.
But then, at last, she was standing at the door of the small thatched farmhouse that resembled an English country cottage, her heart racing with excitement at the thought of seeing Sally again.
‘
Rosie!
’ Sally’s ear-splitting shriek of pleasure was all she could have hoped for and the next moment she was enfolded in the other woman’s arms and being hugged like there was no tomorrow. ‘I don’t believe it. Rosie!’
Rosie!
’ Sally’s ear-splitting shriek of pleasure was all she could have hoped for and the next moment she was enfolded in the other woman’s arms and being hugged like there was no tomorrow. ‘I don’t believe it. Rosie!’
‘Did you get my letter?’
‘Your letter? Rosie, lass, we’re lucky if we get the sun in the mornin’ an’ the moon at night in this neck of the woods. Oh it’s good to see you, lass, it is that. Oh bloomin’ hell, I’m soundin’ like one of the natives now! Heaven preserve us.’
Sally hadn’t changed.
The next few days were a revelation to Rosie as to just how hard farming life could be. Sally and Mick rose before five and were rarely ready to sit in front of the fire in their little sitting room before seven in the evening, and then Sally’s hands were working at darning socks or some such necessary but mundane chore. Little Patrick, the youngest McDoughty, resembled nothing more than a tiny smiling leprechaun, and never once, in the whole of the ten days that Rosie spent with the family, did she hear him cry. And in spite of the hard grinding work it was clear Sally was happy.
‘Oh aye, I wouldn’t swop a minute of me day for bein’ back in England.’ When Rosie spoke of her gladness at how things had turned out for them, Sally was very forthcoming. ‘Farmin’ life is a thing all on its own, lass, an’ I never realized it till I come here. You either love it or hate it, there’s no middle path, an’ I reckon there’s some who would consider themselves buried alive an’ that’s the truth. But as long as I’ve got Mick an’ the bairn I’m all right. You know what I mean? An’ he’s a natural.’ Sally glanced across at Mick, fast asleep in his armchair by the fire, his snores vibrating the air. ‘He’s a born farmer an’ that’s the truth. Aye, lass, we’re doin’ all right, an’ in more ways than one. There’s another one on the way.’
She grinned at Rosie, who gave the expected enthusiastic response. ‘I’ll have to be careful else I’ll be turnin’ ’em out like clockwork.’ Sally grimaced cheerfully. ‘But I tell you, lass, it was like shellin’ peas, an’ like Mick said, there’s nothin’ much else to do when the sun goes down an’ if I have ’em all like I had the last one we’ll soon have our own little workforce. Nothin’ like keepin’ it in the family, is there.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Rosie smiled as Sally dug her in the ribs and then they both giggled as Mick woke up with a ‘Wha? Who?’ when a burning log spat like a bullet in the fire.
Rosie came back from Ireland on 2nd February with her mind quite made up about the course of action which would determine whether she just lived for the rest of her life, or lived abundantly.
She spent the following morning at her solicitors and arrived home early afternoon and, after Ellen and her daughter had left, settled down in front of the fire with Erik playing at her feet with his toys while she looked through the sheaf of papers she had brought home with her. An hour slipped by, with just the sound of Erik’s vrum-vruming as he played with his toy lorry and car, then the peace was shattered as a sharp knock at the front door brought Rosie’s head up.
Rosie had actually opened her mouth to speak to the slim, very well-dressed young woman standing on the doorstep clad snugly in furs and matching muff, when she felt the blood rush to her head so fast it made her dizzy. ‘
Molly?
’
Molly?
’
‘Hallo, Rosie.’
‘Molly! Oh, come in, come in.’ Rosie reached out and drew her sister over the threshold, and then, as she looked into the beautiful face framed by mink, she said again, ‘Molly, oh, Molly,’ before hugging her tight. There was one moment of stiffness and then Molly was hugging her back just as tightly and both women were laughing and crying as they stood swaying together.
And then a small voice brought them apart as it said, ‘Mammy?’
‘You had a little boy?’ Molly’s voice was very soft as she glanced down into the solemn little face surveying her with Zachariah’s deep blue eyes.
‘You didn’t know?’ Rosie was looking at Molly, and now the first rush of emotion was gone she found it difficult to link the composed young woman in front of her with the Molly she had known. A transition had taken place, and if she hadn’t known Molly’s circumstances she would have said it was for the better. Her sister’s voice was different, clearer and well modulated and the broad Tyneside accent had mellowed into a warm burr, and her carriage was straight and dignified, her manner self-assured and controlled. In fact she was, to all intents and purposes, very much a lady.
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