The Jarrow Lass (6 page)

William's eyes widened too. ‘R-Rose,' he stuttered.

‘What are you ...? I mean, I didn't know you were ...' she floundered.

He smiled almost apologetically. ‘I work with Danny Kennedy at the rolling mill,' he explained. ‘Don't know many people here - except you.'

Rose felt her insides lurch. She had not stood this close to William since the day of the hailstorm, all those summers ago. He was taller and leaner, his face almost gaunt. A wisp of a moustache shaded his upper lip, but his smile was still boyish and his blue eyes lively. She did not know what to say, aware that her sisters were watching them with interest.

After a pause he said, ‘I'm sorry about your mother passing on.'

‘Thank you,' Rose murmured.

‘Is your father keeping well?' he asked quietly.

‘He's grown old all of a sudden,' Rose found herself confiding. ‘The shock of losing Ma - and things haven't been easy this past year. Mind, they haven't been for most people.'

‘Rose has been grand at looking after us all,' Maggie piped up. ‘We haven't wanted for anything.'

‘Aye,' agreed Lizzie, ‘and today she could do with a bit of fun - like a dance maybes, and a bit of attention from a lad.'

Rose went puce at her sisters' interference, but William just smiled.

‘Better ask her quick then - before I miss me turn,' he teased back. ‘Rose, will you dance with me?'

‘You don't have to take any notice of them,' Rose said, quite flustered.

‘I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of the McConnell lasses,' he grinned. ‘Come on, Rose, show me how to dance your Irish dances.'

Lizzie and Maggie pushed their sister forward and William took her hand. Rose felt light-headed at the contact, and soon they were turning and spinning around the cramped dance floor to the merry music of the fiddler.

When the dance finished they were both out of breath and Rose felt her body glowing with heat.

‘Want to stand outside for a minute?' William suggested. Rose nodded and followed, ignoring the grins on her sisters' faces.

They walked to the end of the terrace and stood against the shaded gable, letting the cold brick cool their backs. Beyond the next terrace they could see the blackened ruin of St Paul's, Bede's monastery. A strong smell of sulphur wafted to them on a warm breeze that sent dust dancing in crazy circles around their feet.

‘How's Florrie?' Rose asked a little awkwardly.

‘Canny,' said William. ‘Still at the haberdasher's. She's courting a lad from the bank.' He slid her a look. ‘And you, Rose - are you courting yet?'

Her heart thumped at so direct a question. The boy of five years ago would never have been so forward, but then William was now a man.

‘No,' Rose admitted while gazing intently at her feet.

‘I haven't seen you at any of the church socials,' he said.

She could tell he was watching her, but she dare not meet his gaze. Had he been looking out for her?

‘Don't have time,' Rose answered, ‘now I'm helping Da with the digging and that.' She caught sight of her large, rough-skinned hands and quickly slid them behind her back. But William saw the self-conscious movement and reached out to take her hands. He held them gently in his own warm, work-hardened ones and rubbed his thumbs over her blistered palms. Rose caught her breath at the delicious tingling sensation this caused.

‘You shouldn't be ashamed of them,' William said, ‘or the hard graft you put in to help your family. I admire you for it.'

Rose looked up and met his blue-eyed gaze. It was full of warmth and understanding.

Rose gulped. ‘Do you really?'

William squeezed her hands in his. ‘Aye, I do. But then I've always admired you - the way you look after your sisters, your friendliness. That day of the storm - it was the first time I'd ever really spoken with a lass apart from me sister. You were so easy to talk to, so full of life. I stopped feeling shy with you. But afterwards ...'

Rose saw the doubt on his face. ‘Afterwards?' she whispered.

William shrugged. ‘Well, you kept out me way. I could see that day of the storm hadn't stuck in your mind like it had in mine.'

Rose gripped his hands in return. ‘But it did!' she cried. ‘I came round to see you when you had pneumonia -brought stuff for a broth - but Florrie wouldn't let me near you. Couldn't get rid of me quick enough. And your mam hid upstairs so she didn't have to meet us. Did Florrie never tell you?'

‘No!' William replied. ‘At least I don't remember ... I was feverish for a long time. They were afraid I was going to die. But it would have cheered me to know you had come. Maybes they just forgot.'

‘They wouldn't have,' Rose retorted. ‘It was obvious they thought I was too common to be seen coming to your house.'

‘Florrie's not like that,' William protested.

‘Then why did she never invite me round to her house?' Rose asked. ‘She was always welcome at mine - but she used to make excuses not to come.'

They dropped hands and looked at each other uncertainly. Rose felt wretched that she had spoken out so swiftly against his family, but it had rankled inside for years. She saw William frown and took it for disapproval.

Suddenly, he slipped his arm through hers and said, ‘Let's walk for a bit - down to St Paul's.'

Confused, she allowed him to lead her away towards the ruined monastery. The light was beginning to dim, a hazy orange glow settling over the rooftops behind them as early evening closed in. William did not speak again until they were standing under the arch of the long-abandoned monastery.

‘I love this place,' he said softly. ‘I like to imagine St Bede walking around the cloisters, working at his books. Sometimes I can almost hear the voices of the monks singing - echoing round the stone.'

Rose kept silent. All she heard were the distant shouts of children in the streets and the clanging from the shipyards. To her the place was empty and full of frightening shadows. But she let William carry on in his quiet voice, telling a story of early Christians working the fields round about, fishing from a river as clear as glass and praying in the calm of the evening. She marvelled at his imagination. How could he see such beauty in this dirty, soot-covered landscape where nothing grew?

Looking at his animated face and listening to his mesmerising voice, Rose felt again the rush of love for William that she had experienced when they were younger. It must always have been there, buried under her disappointment and rejection by his family. When he fell silent, Rose stepped closer and looked directly into his dreamy eyes.

‘You're a very special lad,' she whispered. ‘I'm glad we met again.'

William gazed at her in surprise for a moment, then he smiled. ‘So am I.'

The next instant they were leaning towards each other and brushing lips together. It was such a tentative kiss, like the touch of butterfly wings, that Rose was not sure they had kissed at all, but it filled her with a warm excitement. She yearned for William to kiss her again and for longer, but he seemed unsure and drew back.

‘Better get back to the weddin',' he said with a bashful look, ‘in case your father's worrying where you are.'

‘He won't be worrying about anything if he's still drinking with Mr McMullen,' Rose answered. But to her disappointment, William turned back up the street.

When they reached the Kennedys', many of the revellers had spilled out into the street and were dancing and drinking outside in the dusk. The noise of celebration rang around the cobbled lane. Rose saw Lizzie dancing with one of the McMullen boys.

‘Would you like me to see you home?' William asked.

Rose hesitated. She would like nothing more, but she could not leave without her family.

‘I'll have to wait for me sisters - and make sure Da gets home in one piece,' she answered.

William nodded. ‘I'll go and say goodbye to the Kennedys then.'

‘Aren't you staying?' Rose said in dismay.

‘I'm helping at St Bede's this evening,' he explained. ‘I'll see you at Mass tomorrow, though?'

Rose nodded. She would have to be content with that, though she was in a fever of confusion over what William really thought of her. Had he regretted their brief kiss in the shadow of St Paul's? Did he fear what his parents might say if they knew he had walked out with her? But he was gone and she was engulfed in frustration.

For a while, she stood around in the half-dark, watching the dancers, and was on the point of going to find Maggie and her father when someone lurched out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. Rose smelt a waft of whisky on the man's breath and recoiled before realising it was John McMullen. He held on.

‘Dance with me, Rose Ann,' John ordered, his grip tight and bruising.

‘Leave go me arm, you're hurting me!' Rose protested.

‘I want to dance wi' you,' he growled.

‘All right, I'll dance,' she gave in, ‘just don't hold me so hard.'

He relaxed his iron-fisted grip a little, as he swung her into the throng of dancers. He was a touch unsteady and she knew at once he was drunk, but he swirled her around with more assurance than she would have thought him capable of. With William gone, the excitement had drained out of the day, but dancing at least would fill in the time until her sisters wanted to go home. Rose could not help smiling to think she had been asked to dance twice in one day. It was more than she had danced in the past two years!

‘Glad to see you're enjoyin' yersel',' John shouted above the noise of the revellers, in mid reel.

‘Aye, I like a good weddin',' Rose called back.

When the dance finished, John took a quick swig from a jar of whisky while holding on to her with his other hand. Rose looked around for Lizzie but could not see her in the dark. The fiddler struck up again and John pulled her into the next dance.

‘Since when have you been so keen on dancin'?' Rose teased.

‘Depends on the company,' he said, giving her a drunken grin. She had never seen him so animated.

They danced again and at the end Rose insisted, ‘I need a sit down.' She went and squatted down on a neighbouring doorstep.

‘We could gan for a walk,' John suggested. ‘Promise it won't be the Slake.'

Rose looked at him in surprise. Why was he showing her all this attention? Could Lizzie's teasing remarks about him being sweet on her really be true?

‘I'm too tired to walk,' she replied.

He flopped down beside her. ‘You weren't too tired an hour ago.' He nudged her. ‘I saw you ganin' off with that stuck-up Fawcett lad.'

Rose blushed. ‘He was telling me about the monastery. It was very interesting.'

John laughed in derision. ‘Didn't look like he was giving you a lecture from where I was standing.'

Rose was incensed. ‘Were you spying on me, John McMullen?'

‘Your father wouldn't like to hear you'd been wanderin' off with a lad, now would he? I was worried for your safety.'

‘It's none of your business to worry over what I do!' Rose replied at once.

‘But I do, Rose,' John said, leering over her. ‘What do you see in that lad any road? Don't you want to be kissed by a real man?'

Before Rose could dodge away, John had hold of her roughly and covered her mouth eagerly with his. She was enveloped in his sour breath, his wet lips hungry for hers. After a moment, Rose managed to shove him off and turn her face from his in disgust.

‘Don't you dare try that again!' she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them.

John laughed. ‘Just a bit fun on me brother's weddin' night. It's not asking much.'

‘I never heard you asking,' Rose retorted, trying to stand up. He grabbed at her skirt.

‘Haway and sit down wi' me! Didn't mean to upset you. You must know I've taken a fancy to you?' John slurred.

‘I know it's the drink talking,' Rose said, wrenching her skirt from his hold. Her heart was thumping with something that felt like fear. Why did he always make her feel so uncomfortable?

‘Think yourself above us McMullens, don't you, Rose Ann?' He turned suddenly aggressive. ‘Well, your father would think you lucky to have the likes of me - a real Irish patriot - and true to the Faith!'

Rose laughed scornfully. ‘When's the last time you went to confession?'

He staggered up and blocked her path. ‘Not like your little altar boy, eh? Pure as the Virgin Mary,' he taunted.

Rose was offended. ‘Watch your tongue!' She pushed past him and hurried to the safety of other company. Behind her she could hear him cursing her for a prude and a snob. Hot with the shame of the encounter, she looked quickly for her sisters. They were sitting in the parlour singing with Danny Kennedy and some of John's brothers.