The Bobbin Girls (21 page)

‘When I got back from t’war, I had to make sure.’

‘Make sure of what?’ That he truly didn’t want her? What was he talking about? Nobody wanted thee, a puny wee bairn. Oh, dear God, what a thing to say! Except for her mother. Her mother had longed for a girl and, as Alena already knew full well, Lizzie had always loved her. If anything, the two of them had grown closer in recent years. Her mother had patiently listened to her worries and fears over losing Rob, showing every sign of understanding. There had been many lonely nights when Alena was sure she couldn’t have coped nearly as well as she had, without her lovely ma.

But Alena was less sure of her father, for they’d never been close. Now she could see why.

She swallowed the lump that had come into her throat. To hear from his own lips that he had never wanted her, perhaps had never loved her, was almost more than she could bear. She could feel her heart pounding and a dizziness creep in so that she felt as if she were about to faint.

Look what thanks I got,’ he continued, glaring at her in his old way for a moment before the blankness came again into his eyes. Then, energy spent, eyes closed, his mouth drooped open and there came the familiar, sonorous sounds of his snores.

Lizzie stood at the sink, washing up the breakfast dishes. She was in a hurry, her mind busily planning what she could make for the mill workers from the few ingredients she had in her store. It was a bitter spring day with a cold wind rushing up the valley so they’d need summat warming, as long as it was cheap.

Despite the uncertainty of the weather, she’d walked as usual yesterday afternoon as far as High Birk Tarn, looking out over the misted tops of Coniston Old Man and Dunnerdale. Then back through the coppice, seeing the first spikes of the short-stemmed wild daffodils sprouting beneath the shelter of the huge trees. In a few weeks would follow a haze of bluebells, and in the meadows a flurry of blossom to herald the promise of another summer. Lizzie sighed, recalling days when she’d had time to linger on her walk, or share it with Ray, his arm clasped firmly about her waist, telling her how lovely she was, how she was the only girl for him. Now he lay in bed a broken man, and she spent the time wishing for a bit of meat to liven up the potato pie she could make for the mill workers. But he’d been a fine man once, that he had. A loving man. And she chuckled at sweet memories flooding back even as her hands scrubbed the porridge pan.

Alena burst into kitchen, interrupting her thoughts, and though she saw the smile on her mother’s face, wasted no time wondering at it.

‘Dad’s just told me that he never wanted me,’ she announced, dropping the dish and spoon on the draining board with a clatter.

‘Oh, lord, what has he been saying now?’ Lizzie said, with half an eye worriedly calculating the small amount of porridge her husband had eaten.

‘No wonder we never got on. He never really loved me at all, did he?’ Alena couldn’t disguise the hard edge to her voice.

Lizzie looked upon her daughter with anguished eyes. ‘Don’t be silly. He’s ill. He doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.’

‘He knew very well. See if I care,’ she said, tossing her copper curls and making them bounce more wildly than ever. But when, two days later, Ray was found to have died in his sleep, it was Alena who cried, not Lizzie.

Chapter Eleven

Afterwards Alena could remember little of her father’s funeral. The Townsen family standing together in the churchyard, all four brothers, two daughters-in-law, one child and Lizzie and herself, not forgetting a collection of aunts, uncles and cousins who hadn’t set foot in the house since Ray had been struck down. Now they all gathered, apparently united in their grief but showing nothing of their feelings to any of the curious onlookers who had come, some to pay their last respects to Ray as a friend, others for the spectacle, or because it was expected of them as neighbours.

Sandra was standing by Harry’s side, her concern for him overcoming her own sensitivities at this time. He seemed pleased to have her there, for he had her hand firmly grasped in his own and didn’t look as if he meant ever to let it go. For that, at least, Alena felt gratitude and happiness for her friend.

On her own behalf, she felt nothing but anger. All her life she had striven to gain her father’s love, even some small show of interest. In these last years, while he’d been ill, she’d fooled herself into thinking that he appreciated her care. But in the end he’d rejected her, as she should have known he would.

Alena was surprised to see James Hollinthwaite present at the little service, and even more surprised that her mother should go right up to him to thank him for coming. She could see how he patted Ma’s hand and offered her his handkerchief when she looked upset.

Mickey was there too and afterwards, when all the relatives had eaten Ma’s larder bare but seemed too well settled in her front parlour to consider leaving, Alena had been glad of his invitation to go for a walk.

He was calm, quiet and kind to her on that sad occasion, and on all their other walks thereafter, letting her talk without interruption, asking no questions, never intruding on her grief. He made no attempt to touch her, so Alena’s gratitude and respect for him grew.

Perhaps, in the days and weeks following, as if to prove that life was still strong in her, she welcomed his attentions. It was also a kind of rebellion against the new and terrible knowledge that her father had never loved her. However many times Lizzie denied it, claiming that she must have misunderstood, Alena believed not only that Ray hadn’t wanted or loved her, but that he had despised her.

This would explain a great deal. In addition to being hard and distant, he’d often struck her mother if she’d taken Alena’s side in a quarrel, so Ma’s sufferings too should be laid at her door. The misery of this newfound knowledge brought a torrent of guilt and confusion, and with it the realisation that she couldn’t even decide whether she had ever loved him. Throughout her life, despite his bullying, Alena had ached for Ray to show some sign of affection and offer her the chance to respond. But he never had, and now she was simply glad he could no longer hurt her.

She took to going out every night. She pinned her hair into flirtatious curls, visited Ambleside and spent more than she could afford on a new dress and shoes with a higher heel than she was used to wearing. She even bought lipstick, and a powder compact with loose ivory powder inside. It made her feel very grown-up to dab it on her nose with a powder puff dampened in cold water. As if she were a woman instead of a young girl, in charge of her own destiny at last.

Her mother called her fast. ‘Where is it you go every night?’

‘Where I please.’

‘Oh, Alena, don’t do this to yourself.’ Lizzie was watching as she applied a thick layer of scarlet lipstick to the cupid’s bow of her mouth. ‘This isn’t about your father, is it? Of course Ray loved you. He may not have wanted a girl at first, as I always did, but he was never sorry we got you.’

‘He didn’t show it.’

‘That was just his way. He always liked to talk tough, and he hated to show any sign of emotion. He was the same with the boys, but inside he was soft as butter.’ She took the brush from her daughter’s hand and began to coil the copper curls, feeling them spring back with a life of their own as she tried to pin them in place. ‘It’s true he was a bitter man, bitter over losing that good job he once had with the Hollinthwaites despite - despite fighting in the war and everything. But he loved all his children, you included. Never think different.’

But Alena did think different, very different, basing this new knowledge not only on memories of her cold, impatient father, but on Ray’s own words as he lay dying. She took the brush from Lizzie with a gesture of impatience, and finished the job herself. ‘A man doesn’t tell lies on his death-bed,’ she said, closer to tears than she was prepared to admit.

Lizzie gazed upon her daughter in exasperation, yet with deep sadness in her heart. ‘I wish I could say something to put it right,’ knowing that if she said the wrong thing, she might only make matters worse.

‘Well, you can’t.’ Alena was dabbing far too much powder on to cheeks and nose, so that she looked rather like a child who has been in the flour bag. Keenly aware of waves of disapproval emanating from Lizzie, she compounded the felony by applying a dark pencil to her eyebrows. ‘Don’t wait up for me. Mickey’s bought a second-hand Baby Austin and he’s taking me to the pictures. There’s a new Fred Astaire movie on at the Royalty.’

‘Do as you like then, I’ll not stop you. But plastering make-up on your face, and behaving like a cheap trollop won’t solve anything, Alena Townsen, and you know it.’

Alena’s blue eyes glittered. ‘What have I got to lose?’ She could feel the sting of tears, but not for a moment would her pride allow them to fall, so she cultivated anger in their place. ‘So far as I know, you might all feel the same way. Perhaps none of you ever really cared a jot about me?’

‘Oh, Alena.’

But she was too far gone in her own anguish to pay any heed to her mother’s despair. ‘No wonder I always felt like the odd one out. Maybe it wasn’t because I was the only girl at all. Maybe I was just unwanted. A mistake you all wished hadn’t happened.’ Through the wave of pain in her head she heard Lizzie gasp, but in her pent-up state all she could do was stalk from the room, head held high, slamming the door so hard she didn’t even hear her mother’s voice calling after her.

‘I always loved you. I loved you when I first clapped eyes on you and I’ve never regretted fighting to keep you, not once, not even when others said you’d’ve been better off born dead.’

Perhaps, Lizzie thought afterwards, that was just as well.

It was the first week in July that Rob came home. The heat was oppressive, the sun burning hot, the sky so blue and clear you could barely see the far mountains for the heat haze rising from the valleys before them.

His father drove him from the station in a brand new Morris motor, very much the man of property, talking to his son about some forestry project he was engaged in. Rob wasn’t listening, he was far too busy looking through the windows for his first glimpse of the white cottage at the corner of Finsthwaite Heights, the beech avenue, Hollin Bridge and Ellersgarth itself, to take any notice. In the end, even James realised he was wasting his time and, laughing, told him they’d talk later, when he’d settled in.

Ellersgarth Hall looked the same as ever; shabby but homely. A clutter of Wellingtons in the porch, great vases of roses, lilies and delphiniums in every room, and the smell of Mrs Milburn’s cooking lingering in every dusty passage. Oh, but Rob was glad to be home. He hugged and kissed his mother, teasing her about the tears she shed at the return of her prodigal son, but then could barely spare the time to take off his coat and dump his belongings in his old room before he was off out into the forest, seeking to reacquaint himself with old, favourite places. And, if he were lucky, with favourite friends.

Dolly, hearing the news from her mother, who had in turn got it direct from Mrs Milburn’s own lips while they waited to be served in Mrs Rigg’s Village Shop, hurried to number 14 Birkwith Row with the good tidings, knowing that Alena would want to be told immediately.

Since Sandra’s accident the relationship between the two girls had warmed somewhat, as if Dolly had realised that she’d gone too far and should try to make amends. But since it was a Saturday, Alena was not at home. She was out with Mickey, Lizzie told her, and she’d no idea when her daughter would be back.

As luck would have it, Dolly met Rob himself on her way back home and he too asked if she knew where Alena might be. So changed was he, so much taller and broader, certainly more mature and far better looking than she remembered, with his light brown hair falling disarmingly over his brow, that Dolly answered with particular care. ‘Alena is out, but she’ll be mad as blazes that she’s missed you.’

‘Will you give her a message for me?’

‘I will if I can.’

‘Tell her to meet me in the usual place. Tomorrow at two. I’ll be waiting.’

‘Right.’ And as she watched him stride away, it occurred to Dolly that she held the happiness of this pair in her own fair hands.

Mickey had parked his little car and, at that moment, he and Alena were walking by Esthwaite Water, not exactly entwined but certainly hand in hand. He’d promised to treat her to a pot of tea and a toasted tea-cake in Hawkshead afterwards, despite her protests that he spent too much money on her. He assured her that as a skilled man he earned a good wage and there was nothing he liked better than to spoil his girl. But he was wily enough to look upon the money he spent as a good investment in his future. He would first take payment for it in the shape of a kiss. He’d like a few more than kisses but knew that rushing her would be a mistake. Now he’d driven out to a suitably remote spot, where there was a romantic view of the sun flaming over Helvellyn, tinting the grey clouds to lavender and rose pink.

‘Shall we sit here for a minute?’ He indicated a patch of grass and without waiting for her reply, spread his jacket for her to sit on. ‘I’m glad I came to work in Ellersgarth.’

‘You like working at the mill then?’

‘I’m good at my job, but then you know that. And I’m good for you. You know that too.’ He cocked his head to one side in that cheeky way he had, making her laugh.