The Most Precious Thing (6 page)
She was still trembling violently in spite of David’s jacket and she felt her father stiffen, but his voice was matter-of-fact when he said, ‘You go in an’ lie down, lass, get yerself to bed, eh? That lot in there are makin’ moves to go so it won’t be long afore it’s quiet, an’ you’ll feel a mite better in the mornin’.’
‘Da--’
‘Go on, lass, go on.’ When she would have said more, Sandy put her gently from him, pushing her towards the back door. ‘I’ll be in in a minute an’ you’ll be better in the warm.’ He took the jacket off her shoulders and handed it to David without a word.
The door had barely closed on the slender, bowed figure when Sandy ground out, ‘I ought to bash your face in, David. She’s not sixteen yet an’ you’re plyin’ her with sloe gin? What’s your game?’
‘What?’ David stared at the man he had known and respected all his life and for whom he had genuine affection. He had umpteen uncles on his father’s side and several more on his mother’s, but he’d always known that if he was in trouble and couldn’t get to his da, Sandy McDarmount would be the next best thing. He had been working on the screens - the conveyor belts that sorted the splintered coal and stones from the main coal - for six months before he got to go down the pit, and but for Sandy taking him under his wing that first day he doubted he could have stood it. From the moment the cage had begun its mad descent, tearing faster and faster into the bowels of the earth as though it had gone out of control, he had been scared witless. When the gate of the cage had clashed open with such a bang he’d almost filled his pants, it had been Carrie’s father who had guided him along the roadway to his place of work, saying all the right things to a terrified lad of fourteen who had just fully realised he was a hundred-odd fathoms or so beneath the ground. He hadn’t known at that point he would have been considered soft if his own father had looked out for him but that it was acceptable for someone else to take a newcomer on. He had just thanked God for the gravelly-voiced, ginger-haired little man staring at him so fiercely now.
With the past in mind, David’s voice was even and controlled when he said, ‘Hold your horses, man, this is not what you’re thinking. Let me explain.’
‘Explain be damned! No explainin’ would take away what I’ve seen with me own eyes. That was your jacket round her, wasn’t it, eh? An’ I don’t see no other blighter here with us.’
‘Now look--’
‘No,
you
look, lad. She’s little more than a bairn an’ as good as gold, my lass. There’s plenty in that street out there’ - he thumbed in the direction of the road - ‘who are ready and willin’ for some sport, but my lass isn’t one of them and she’s not tasted liquor afore neither. You’d better stay out of my way for a while, I’m tellin’ you straight.’ And with that Sandy turned and stomped back into the house, ignoring David’s appeal for him to stay.
you
look, lad. She’s little more than a bairn an’ as good as gold, my lass. There’s plenty in that street out there’ - he thumbed in the direction of the road - ‘who are ready and willin’ for some sport, but my lass isn’t one of them and she’s not tasted liquor afore neither. You’d better stay out of my way for a while, I’m tellin’ you straight.’ And with that Sandy turned and stomped back into the house, ignoring David’s appeal for him to stay.
This was rich, this was. David glared after the older man, anger and irritation vying for first place as he pulled on the jacket that had provoked the accusation against him. All he’d done was to try and comfort the lass, and now he was being blamed for it all. Should he follow Sandy into the house and have his say? Pride said yes, reason said no. Carrie’s father was upset, and thinking what he did he might well be inclined to act first and ask questions later. It was Walter’s wedding day, and any unpleasantness would mar the occasion. No, he would wait until he saw Sandy on the Monday morning shift, by which time Carrie would probably have set her father straight anyway.
After standing for a while longer, David walked out of the backyard into the narrow lane beyond, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets. He wasn’t thinking about Sandy now or the unfairness of what he had been accused of, his thoughts were centred on the young slip of a girl he had loved all his life, or that was what it felt like. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling there had been more to her evident distress than having too much to drink; the way she had gone for him for example, that wasn’t the Carrie he knew.
Had
something happened?
Had
something happened?
His stomach muscles tensed and he halted, oblivious of the snowflakes swirling in the wind. For a moment back there he had thought she was frightened of him, and there had been what he could only describe as a haunted look about her.
He began walking again, the knowledge of his inadequacy to measure up to the occasion that had presented itself rising like bile in his mouth. He had to face it, he was nothing to Carrie McDarmount, nothing beyond a friend and hardly that if the truth be known. Once you got to a certain age it was accepted you didn’t have friends among the opposite sex. You were either walking out with a lass or you weren’t and there was an end of it. And he very definitely wouldn’t be courting Carrie if her reaction to him tonight was anything to go by.
Damn and blast it. He stopped, turning to look back the way he’d come. For two pins he’d go back and have it out with Sandy and to hell with them all.
He could hear old Sep Heslop cleaning out his pigeons on the other side of the wall as he stood hesitating, talking to them as if they were bairns. Lived for his pigeons, did Sep, them and his pipe and baccy. Winter and summer Sep would choose to be out in his backyard with the birds rather than trapped inside with his wife and ten bairns. And there were plenty like Sep if the talk down the pit was anything to go by.
For some reason the thought of the old miner diffused his anger, sadness settling on him instead. He wanted more from marriage than a hot meal on the table when he got home from work and a body beside him in bed. He’d as soon cut his throat and be done with it if he thought he’d have to endure what his da had put up with for years.
He took his cap off and banged it against his leg to clear the snow, ramming it back on his head as he turned and walked on. Maybe it was as well he’d had his answer from Carrie without even having to ask the question. He could start to make plans now, and come spring he’d be ready to move down south or maybe even further afield, America perhaps or New Zealand. His da had a cousin in New Zealand. He could make his fortune and then come back and show Carrie McDarmount what she’d missed out on. That was what he’d do. The world was bigger than Sunderland and there were more fish in the sea than Carrie. Life was what you made it, wasn’t it? He repeated this to himself several times before he reached his own backyard, and his face was grim.
Chapter Three
It was at the end of January when the gnawing fear Carrie had been trying to put to the back of her mind ever since the night of Renee’s wedding was confirmed.
She had told herself that the non-appearance of her monthly over Christmas was down to the shock of what had occurred, but on the last Saturday in January something happened which made it clear she couldn’t pretend to herself everything would return to normal in time. She felt she’d been living in a vacuum the last weeks, making the right responses and striving for normality when in fact she had been screaming inside and terrified she might bump into Alec Sutton.
She had blamed her early nights and lack of desire to go out with Lillian in the evenings on the after-effects of the chill which had confined her to bed for a few days after her walk home in just a thin dress, but she knew she couldn’t keep that up for ever. And so, when Lillian offered to treat her to a birthday tea at Binns in Bishopwearmouth, Carrie had forced herself to smile and sound grateful.
The two girls had a lovely cream tea in Binns restaurant. Lillian presented her friend with a card and little brooch in the shape of a C, before they left to spend time window-shopping in the big shops in the High Street. The night was bitterly cold, made bleaker by thick damp fog which turned the street lights into hazy gold circles and made visibility poor, but they’d promised to do some shopping in the Old Market for their mothers so they were waiting until the meat and fruit came down in price. Lillian had a list of items Olive Sutton had asked for, but Joan McDarmount had just whispered to her daughter, ‘Anything you can get real cheap will do, hinny. You understand?’
Carrie had understood. With Renee’s wage gone, and her da off sick due to a runaway tub which had gone over his foot, crushing it so the blood had seeped out between the lace holes of his boot, every farthing she and Billy brought in was precious. Her mother had kept a clooty bag on her da’s bad foot for days, but the flour bag filled with hot bran was taking the swelling down only slowly. Her da still couldn’t force his boot over the black bloated flesh even though he’d tried until the sweat had poured off him.
The two girls took their time wandering through the Old Market, standing listening to the barrel organ for a while and sharing a bag of hot chestnuts cooked in a brazier coke fire with the little monkey dressed in a red suit and tiny pillar-box hat. Some of the stalls had paraffin heaters which smelled homely and warmed the air under the covered roof, and the sweet stalls gave off sugary, burned-toffee odours along with the sharper scents of aniseed and winter mixture. There was masses to see as always and the stallholders, most of whom Carrie knew, were as good as any music hall act, especially when they were engaged in shouting rude remarks about each other in good-natured rivalry.
Carrie was tired, she seemed to have been constantly tired the last week or two, but for the first time since Alec’s attack she found herself relaxing into all the hustle and bustle going on around her. Prices were coming down at last, and soon she would be able to purchase a bag of broken kippers and some fat bacon bits she had her eye on, along with a couple of bags of bruised fruit and browning vegetables which went for next to nothing as the stallholders cleared their stock for the weekend.
Lillian was buying a pound of sausages and pork ends from Soldier Sammy’s meat stall - so called because the ancient warrior was a veteran of the Boer wars as the row of medals pinned to his green, ragged jacket proclaimed - and Carrie stood a few feet away, listening to Sammy’s ongoing repartee with his rival, Hattie, who kept a pease pudding and faggot stall.
‘I’ve heard there’s a few more cats missin’ round your way then, Hattie, m’dear. Nice flavour to them faggots is there?’
Hattie, who was as round as she was tall and who had arms the size of a circus strongman’s, pulled the man’s cap she always wore more firmly down on her springy grey hair and glared Sammy’s way. ‘Less of your lip, Sammy, else you might find it’s twice the size.’
‘How d’ye mean, lass?’
‘Don’t you come the lass line with me, not after your ’sinuations about me faggots.’
‘Ee, lass, lass, you cut me to the quick.’
‘Aye, an’ I might finish with that an’ all.’
Customers were handing over plates and dishes for them to be filled with hot food for their suppers, and Carrie was smiling along with everyone else at the entertainment when a sudden waft of cooking from Hattie’s stall came her way. Her stomach turned over and the queasiness that had attacked her at odd times the last few days returned with renewed vigour.
She just had time to call to Lillian that she had to get some fresh air and dive out into Coronation Street before the nausea overcame her and she lost the cream tea. When Lillian came hurrying to find her she was leaning against the wall, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief.
‘You all right, Carrie?’ It was a silly question and Lillian must have realised this. Her next comment was, ‘You look like death warmed up, lass.’ It was meant to be comforting, as was the patting on Carrie’s shoulder. ‘You should have said before if you felt bad. We needn’t have stayed this long.’
‘I . . . I wanted to. To get a few bits for Mam.’
Lillian nodded. She knew the situation in Carrie’s home and it was typical of her now when she said, ‘You tell me what you want and I’ll nip back in. I’ve got most of what Mam wanted now anyway. I’ll make sure I get it at the right price an’ all.’ She stepped back a pace from Carrie as she spoke, adding, ‘By, you’re as white as a sheet but it can’t be what we had at Binns ’cos I feel fine. You’ve been all out of sorts since Christmas, haven’t you?’
‘Aye, I have.’
‘You ought to go and see old Ma Bradley, she’ll put you to rights. Remember when I had the bellyache for weeks and weeks and she made up one of her potions? Wild foxgloves and all sorts went in it, so me mam said, but it worked, and it didn’t taste too bad neither. Go and see her, Carrie. Me mam says Ma Bradley’s better than any doctor. Seven and six for them to walk through the door and a couple of bob for any medicine they dish out, but Ma Bradley’s happy if you slip her sixpence. Everyone swears by her.’
Carrie nodded. She had missed her period and she knew what that meant; she couldn’t ignore the truth any longer. When you stopped having your period you were going to have a bairn and that’s why she had felt ill lately. All the potions in the world wouldn’t cure what she had. She looked into Lillian’s concerned face and said quietly, ‘I’ll go and see her in the next day or two.’
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