That'll Be the Day (2007) (3 page)

And then one day he simply stopped coming and she never saw him again. There were no more presents, no letters, not even a card on her birthday.

If her own father could so easily turn away and reject her, suddenly stop loving her with such callous heartlessness, it must be because she wasn’t a nice person. If even
he
couldn’t find her loveable, what hope was there of any other man doing so?

A shiver of fear ran down her spine at the prospect of turning into a sour old spinster like Annie Higginson, whose only excitement in life was a game of bridge every Thursday at the mission hall. But then why should she when she was still so young and full of life? She simply hadn’t found the right man yet and until that glorious day arrived there were plenty of others to be enjoyed, lots of fun and sex and excitement to be had, so long as she held on to her private vow not to fully engage her heart until it was safe to do so.

With this in mind Lynda again considered Terry Hall’s dark good looks and his fit young body, telling herself there was no harm in being cautious where men were concerned, none at all. Although it didn’t do to be over-cautious. Six years difference in their ages was nothing, surely? The poor boy looked so downcast by her refusal and she didn’t have anything else planned for this evening.

‘Okay, why not? Pick me up at seven,’ she said, and almost laughed out loud as she watched his eyes widen with surprise and joy.
 

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. But leave your tricycle at home, love. I prefer real men who can afford to provide a taxi, not little boys.’

She knew this was an unkind, insensitive remark to make even before she saw the colour in his cheeks deepen with fresh embarrassment, but something inside always compelled her to damage a relationship right from the start.

‘I’ve got a motorbike, will that do?’

‘I suppose it’ll have to.’ Lynda rather liked motor bikes and he went up a little in her estimation. At least the leather jacket wasn’t simply for show. ‘Seven o’clock it is then. Shall I wear my tight jeans for the bike, then change into a skirt at the dance? I mean, I don’t want the wind to blow it up and embarrass you by revealing next week’s washing.’

‘Stop teasing the poor lad,’ said a voice in her ear. ‘He’s breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought.’

‘Oh, hello Winnie. I didn’t see you standing there.’ Damn, she should have known a person didn’t have a minute’s privacy on this market. When had Winnie Holmes ever missed a trick? Biggest gossip on the street, for all she might deny it.

In a show of defiance, Lynda reached up to place a soft kiss on Terry’s cheek, sending him back to work in a daze of desire, before turning to Winnie to ask in her coolest tones, ‘Did you want something?’

‘Aye, a few marguerites. Where’s your mam?’

‘The marguerites are all finished now, but we’ve some beautiful blue delphiniums. Mam’s gone for a cuppa at Belle’s caff. She’s got a cold coming on.’

‘Oh aye, I saw her there a while back. I thought she looked a bit peaky. She should watch out, it could be that old cow Belle Garside trying to poison her. Hey up, it might be none of my business but isn’t Terry Hall a bit young for you, chuck?’

Lynda concentrated on wrapping half a dozen of the tall blue flowers, still in tight bud, refusing to rise to Winnie’s snide remark. The woman was forever poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Besides, her mind was fully occupied wondering if dating a vibrant male six years younger than herself who owned a motor bike might turn out to be far more exciting than she’d first thought.

Chapter Three

Betty was snoring gently on her green moquette sofa, quietly recovering from the worst day she could remember in a long time. She’d meant to be back at her flower stall by now but had fallen asleep listening to
Woman’s Hour
on the wireless. Now she was brought rudely awake by a knock on the door.

‘Who can that be? Not Constable Nuttall, thank God, he always hammers the door down.’ Betty groaned. ‘I hope it’s not Winnie Holmes come poking her nose in where it’s not wanted.’

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she shuffled down the passage to the front door in her carpet slippers, the little bobbles on the front bouncing as she walked. The knock came again, louder this time. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’

He was standing on her doorstep, a bunch of yellow roses clutched tightly in his hands, bought no doubt from her own flower stall. Betty was filled with a sudden unexpected rage at the sight of him, and, as if guessing her intention, he put a foot in the door.

‘Don’t try closing it. I just wanted a word. There’s no harm in that now Betty love, is there?’

‘Every harm, I should think, judging from past experience,’ Betty snapped. ‘And don’t call me love. I haven’t been that for many a long year.’

‘Ten minutes of your time, no more. Then I’ll be out of your life again, just like before. Here, I fetched you these. I know roses are your favourite.’ He pushed the bunch into her unwilling hands and was over the threshold striding along the passage into her home before she could gather her wits fast enough to stop him.

‘Nice place you’ve got here. Must be doing all right on that stall of yours?’

Betty found she was shaking as she scuttled after him and, resolving not to be intimidated, flung the offending roses on to the table from where they skidded off on to the linoleum-covered floor. She stood four-square before her ex-husband, arms folded and a dangerous glint in her eye. ‘What is it you want? If it’s money you’re after, you’ve come to the wrong shop. I owe you nothing.’

‘Dear me, what a low opinion you have of me.’

‘I wonder why?’ Betty watched with helpless indignation as Ewan Hemley glanced about the small room then settled himself in her son’s favourite chair, just as if he owned the place.
 

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take offence at your rudeness. Not this time. I dare say you know me better than most and my finances are a bit squeezed at the moment, it’s true, but I have hopes of improvement in the near future. Great hopes!’ He allowed his gaze to roam, taking in every detail of his surroundings.

What the room lacked in smart furnishing was more than made up for in cleanliness, as he would have expected from Betty. The cream and green paint looked new and fresh; the dark green rug set before a brown-tiled fireplace was well-brushed if somewhat well worn. A black and white cat clawed briefly at the sofa, looking faintly annoyed at having been disturbed, before curling up again on a small sigh.

‘Lazy sod, just like that other cat we used to have. Tiddles, wasn’t that its name? Wonder what happened to it?’

‘It left home after it had felt the toe of your boot once too often, same as I did.’

He smiled at her, a thin cold smile that chilled her to the bone. ‘I believe I told you not to allow animals to sit on the furniture,’ and reaching forward he knocked the cat with the flat of one hand on to the floor where it yowled in protest before scampering for cover under the table with the roses.

‘Here, you leave my Queenie alone!’

Ignoring her, Ewan got up from the chair and moved over to the sideboard to study a collection of framed photographs, picking one up to examine it more closely. ‘So these are the kids, eh? Jake looks as if he’s made a fine young man, and Lynda is lovely. I met her earlier when I bought those flowers and . . .’

Betty was by his side in a second. ‘I hope you didn’t tell her who you were?’

He gave a snort of amusement as if she’d said something funny, black eyes stretched wide in mock innocence. ‘As if I would, what do you take me for? I don’t see any pictures of me anywhere though. What happened to our lovely wedding snap?’

‘I threw it on t’bonfire. Spit it out Ewan, what are you doing here?’

‘Can’t a man call and see his family once in a while? You’re looking good Betty love, for your age, though I don’t much care for that tatty old jersey and corduroy trousers. A woman should dress like a woman, in my opinion.’

‘Fortunately I never did care what you thought.’

‘True. And it’s not as if I’ve pestered you over the years, is it? Surely I’ve a right to call and check on you all, make sure that my children are well?’

‘You lost all rights to the kids when you treated them so badly.’

Betty considered him with open distaste, wondering what she’d ever found to like in this scrawny, bean-pole of a man with a face very like that of a ferret. His grey striped suit looked as if it had been slept in and his shoes were filthy. She had a great urge to remind him to wipe them on the mat next time, except that there wouldn’t be a next time, not if she had any say in the matter.

He set the photograph down with reluctance. ‘Nay, I wasn’t that bad surely? I was a good caring father who always brought his kids presents home.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I seem to remember Lynda as a real little darling who loved to be cuddled on her daddy’s knee. Jake was admittedly more of a handful.’

A shudder ran down Betty’s spine at the images his words evoked. She swallowed hard, pushing them firmly away again. ‘Jake didn’t have a father capable of showing him any better. You never did take the role seriously, or ever paid a bean towards their upkeep. They could’ve both starved for all you cared.’ Betty moved quickly towards the door. She was getting those palpatations in her heart again and could take no more. ‘If you don’t say what you have to say and get the hell out of here, I shall call Constable Nuttall.’

‘And he’ll come running will he, riding to your rescue on his white charger?’

‘He will if I ask him to.’

‘I don’t think so. Not quickly enough to do any good.’ The small dark eyes narrowed to slits as, hands in pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels and laughed down at her. ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready and not before. You know me, Betty, I don’t take kindly to being given orders.’

Betty swallowed back an angry retort as images of her past life flashed painfully before her eyes: Ewan in the throes of one of his drunken rages beating her senseless; or locking the kids in the under-stairs cupboard because they’d refused to eat the kippers he’d brought home for tea, or for no reason at all, come to think of it. He seemed sober today, at least.

But even though she was no longer his wife, and her precious children no longer victims of his violent mood swings, she must take care not to allow her irritation at finding him back in her life lead her into dangerous waters. Ewan Hemley was not a man who took kindly to independent minded women.

She decided on a more pragmatic approach. ‘I can’t see that you and I have anything left to say to each other. Thirteen years is a long time and we never had much in common even in the early days.
 

‘Hmm, pity that, I always thought. You were an attractive woman in your day, Betty. Still, circumstances, shall we say, have kept me away from you all these years, but now I’m free to please meself what I do.’

‘And there’s nothing you’d like better than to ruffle my feathers and stir up trouble.’

 
‘These are still my children and I’ve never quite forgiven you for depriving me of them, nor for grassing on me to the law. But you’re right, of course, I never did put me family first, nor cared a jot for them, but it would be worth putting up with the little bleeders for the pleasure of seeing you sweat, as you’re doing now.’

There was a silence in which a cold sweat did indeed form on her brow and under her arms. Betty felt sick. She’d believed herself to be safe here in Champion Street, many miles from Blackburn where they’d lived as man and wife together. Now it seemed he was back in her life simply to take vengeance over her escape from him all those years ago.

Betty licked her lips but there was no spittle left in her dry mouth to moisten them. Nevertheless, she found her voice somehow. She had to make a stand or he’d walk all over her. ‘We’re divorced, remember?’

He crossed the short space between them as if making for the door and for one heady moment Betty thought that he might be about to leave them in peace after all. But then she saw by the glint in his eye that this was mere wishful thinking on her part.

He stopped inches from her, so close she could smell the beer on his breath, and a musty dankness from his clothes which seemed to indicate that he’d been sleeping rough. Now why did that not surprise her?

His long lean frame towered over her short, round body as he smiled down at her with a false geniality. ‘That was your choice, not mine. You didn’t ask my permission, Betty love, and that’s not nice, not nice at all.’

‘You signed the papers.’

He shrugged. ‘My matrimonial state wasn’t high on my list of priorities at the time, being locked up at His Majesty’s pleasure. Thanks to you. But papers don’t make a marriage, nor do they end one. Remember that, Betty love. I’ll call again on Sunday, and I shall expect better hospitality next time. You haven’t even offered to put the kettle on today,’ wagging a finger in her face as if she were a naughty child. ‘I always did enjoy your roast beef and Yorkshire. Shall we say twelve o’clock prompt? And make sure that our Lynda and Jake are at home this time. You need to appreciate that I will have my way in this, so don’t try any funny business or you may live to regret it.’