by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)
For several days nothing was said, not a word between them, as if an odd sort of reticence to mention the subject was growing in both their minds. Aggie went back to work and carried on as usual, if rather more self-righteous and full of herself than ever. One night, Dolly could take no more, and, as she climbed into the bed they shared, finally plucked up the courage to broach the subject.
‘I want you to know that I don’t bear any grudge over what you revealed. Where’s the point? You were upset at losing Dad – your dad, that is – which I can understand.’
‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you,’ Aggie said, offering token sympathy although Dolly could see that she didn’t look sorry at all. She was almost hugging herself with glee as she sat at the end of the bed, rolling her hair into curling rags.
Aggie had always been a bit jealous of her, though why that should be, Dolly had never been able to work out. She claimed that Dolly was always given an easy time of it because she was the youngest, which wasn’t true at all. While some of her older brothers might pet and spoil her, they could also be merciless in their teasing, as only brothers can, playing practical jokes on her like putting frogs down her neck and spiders in her school lunch box. Dolly had been forced to learn to stand up for herself from quite an early age. Otherwise they’d have made her life impossible, as well as have her fetching and carrying for them like some sort of obedient puppy.
‘It’s amazing really that you ever imagined he could be your proper father,’ Aggie said, pouting as she began to smear cream all over her face. ‘It’s quite clear he always liked me best, and is it any wonder? Anyone can see what an ugly little sparrow you are, with your skinny legs, pale skin and pointed chin. Quite different from me! You have those unnatural blue eyes and, apart from Mam’s, which are a wishy-washy grey, everyone else has brown, green or hazel. And you have black hair, when the rest of our family have brown, although mine is a beautiful chestnut, of course. So I always knew there was something funny about you. That’s why he told me, because I wanted to know why you looked so different.’
It was true, Dolly thought, watching her sister’s protracted beauty preparations which she devotedly carried out night after night. She’d often felt herself to be the odd one out. And no wonder Aggie had always been Calvin’s favourite. She could understand it all now.
At long last, Aggie turned off the gas lamp and bounced into bed. ‘Sam Clayton won’t ever fancy you now,’ she said, her light voice tinged with malicious pleasure.
‘Why won’t he?’
‘Because you’re one of them – you know.’ She dipped her voice to tragically low tones.
‘One of what?’
‘A bastard!’
Dolly felt herself go rigid with horror beneath the cold sheets. ‘I am not! My dad, Calvin that is, was my stepfather, that’s all. That doesn’t mean I’m a – what you said. Don’t be so nasty, our Aggie.’
Aggie turned her back on Dolly, wiggling her shoulders in self-righteous indignation. ‘I wasn’t being nasty, I was only warning you that whether you are – one of them – or not, Sam isn’t going to like it. I know you fancy him rotten but he won’t want to get himself hooked up with someone like that. It isn’t moral, is it? Not proper. I always knew our mam had done something to hurt Dad and when I asked him what it was, he told me. No wonder the poor soul spent all his time in the Navigation.’
‘How can you say such things? Implying Mam isn’t moral, that I’m not what I should be. As if I were abnormal in some way. I’m still me! I’m still your sister, same as I was yesterday. Nothing has happened to change the person I am inside. And Sam Clayton might be nuts about you right now, Aggie, but he won’t always be, not when he realises what a nasty cow you really are.’
* * *
Dolly didn’t have much time to feel sorry for herself over the next few days as she devoted much of her time to trudging around all the other local mills, looking for work. It came as no surprise that there was none to be found. Work was scarce in any case but the tale of the fight had got about, so what mill manager would be keen to take on the girl who had sparked off such a row, let alone caused the demise of her own father?
She could have said that Calvin had brought about his own end, through a typical fit of rage and violence but she was determined to think kindly of him, as Mam had asked. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. After all, he’d taken on another man’s child, had not thrown his wife out onto the streets however selfish his reasons, yet hadn’t been able to help being what he was, a big bully. The marriage must have been little more than a sham from the start; otherwise Mam would never have gone with Cyril Duckett in the first place. Dolly had used to think that her mam and dad had a lot of children because they loved each other. How utterly naïve she’d been. Oh, what a muddle life was. How confusing. Her life had been turned upside down, everything changed and now she didn’t know who she was; who her parents were or even whether her friends would still speak to her.
Dolly sat on the wall at the end of Potato Wharf and gave the situation deep thought. Men were working, trundling boxes, timber and bales of cotton down to the canal basin. She could hear their voices, calling and joking with each other; see the bulkheads of the ships docked, smell tar on the wind, sawdust and soot. It was a perfectly ordinary scene in Castlefield, a day as normal as any other. Except that, for her, nothing would ever be normal again.
Dolly wasn’t generally one for moping and had no intention of starting now. She couldn’t pretend to mourn for a father who’d either ignored or bullied her for most of her life. Maisie didn’t seem to be mourning much either. Only this morning she’d taken charge of Abel’s tribe, as usual, because his wife did have work, unlike herself. When Dolly had left this morning, the place had already been taken over by wailing kids and wet nappies.
‘He pays me a bit for helping out, and we need the brass, love,’ Maisie had argued, when Dolly had remonstrated with her, saying she needed time to recover from the tragedy.
So Dolly was determined to be equally practical and look on the bright side. At least Calvin couldn’t bully her mam any more either. Hard as life was going to be in the future, particularly if she failed to find a job, they were, at least, both free. If she’d never had a normal father to love and care for her, if Aggie was in a huff and hardly speaking to her, then she did at least have her lovely mother and Willy, her other brothers and sisters-in-law, and her nieces and nephews. She still had a family. And she still had her friends. Or did she?
A picture of Sam Clayton popped, unbidden, into her mind and Dolly smiled, her natural optimism reasserting itself. Even at nine years old she’d vied with Aggie for his attention, actually fighting over him on one occasion. But then they were forever falling out over something or other. Not that their squabbles greatly concerned Sam, flattering as that might be. His great strength was his innate confidence and unflappability. Nothing ever troubled him. He was the easiest person to get along with, and always good for a laugh and a bit of fun.
He and Dolly, together with Matt and Davey, and Aggie of course, used to ride their bogey carts, nothing more than a pair of old pram wheels and a plank of wood with a bit of rope to steer it with, and bounce over the setts. They’d play ticky round the railway goods yard, and in the summer when the street was running with tar, they’d get all grubby making tar babies and Sam would tease her by sticking it in her hair. Mam would go mad over the mess.
Sometimes they’d all go off to the Corporation Baths together on New Quay Street and Sam would peep at the girls through the windows on the roof. Davey would be right beside him, of course, though denying it, and soft Matt would blush at the very idea. All five of them had sworn to be friends for life, so how could it be true what Aggie had said? Why would Sam or any of them turn away from her if they discovered the truth about her birth? It wasn’t Dolly’s fault, after all, what her mam had done all those years ago. Why should Sam hate her because of that? She felt quite certain that he wouldn’t see h
er as the least little bit immoral.
Oh, but she couldn’t bear it if he did. It would leave her with nothing. No, she wouldn’t believe it, not for a second. Sam was a bit misguided perhaps at present, so far as his affections were concerned but Dolly hadn’t given up hope, not by a long chalk. Once he realised just how nasty-minded her sister could be, that Aggie intended to set her cap at someone with a bit more brass than he’d ever have, Sam would surely stop pining over her. Dolly’s fantasy was that he’d then see herself in an entirely different light, discover that she wasn’t stuck-up like Aggie, and that he’d liked her best all along. He might even ask her out on a proper date and make her his girl.
The power of youth exploded within her, glorying in the mysteries of feminine power, the knowledge of all those long, lovely years ahead still to be lived, with ample time to set things right and make a good life for herself. Dolly was perfectly certain that if she could only get him to see how things really were, it would all work out grand.
* * *
Sam looked at her, nonplussed. ‘What are you saying, Dolly? I’m not sure I’m properly understanding you.’
Dolly sighed, though she wasn’t surprised. She’d waited for him to come home from the mill and they were both now sitting on the wall at the end of Potato Wharf. She’d gone round and round in circles trying to broach the subject and yet not reveal too much, but had rather lost track herself. ‘I was only wondering that if you discovered something – different – about me, whether it would change your attitude towards me? Spoil our friendship like.’
‘Spoil our what?’ Sam looked puzzled, fidgeted a little on the wall, as if all this personal stuff bothered him.
‘Spoil our friendship,’ Dolly repeated, irritated by his apparent slowness. She was quite sure that he put on this act of being slow-witted to make the point that discussions of a personal nature were beneath his contempt; that he could have his pick of any girl, if he so wished. There were certainly any number of girls lining up in the hope of catching his eye, so she must take care not to scare him off. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to spoil our friendship,’ she continued. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, Sam Clayton, and you reckon you know everything about me. Well, what if you were wrong and there was something you didn’t know. What then?’
‘Oh, I see.’ It was clear that he didn’t see at all, that he was only being polite in a bored sort of way. ‘Depends what it was. I mean, what sort of thing? Eeh, Dolly, you’re processes are so convoluted a bloke can get lost in them.’
Dolly had no real wish to explain, or reveal the extent of her shame, so she remained obstinately vague. ‘What if it was something in my background, say?’
Sam chewed on his lip while he considered. ‘Happen if you did your Aggie in as well as your dad, I reckon that might change our friendship. But then they’d lock you up in Strangeways then hang you for murder.’ He made a strangling sound deep in his throat then laughed at his own joke.
‘What a thing to say! Hang me for murder indeed. You’re not taking this seriously.’
‘Dolly, I’m completely baffled. I haven’t the first idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Anyroad, I thought you liked our Aggie.’
‘Course I like her, but she drives a bloke barmy blowing hot and cold all the time. One minute all over you, the next giving you the cold-shoulder as she does it to you an’ all, I can tell.’
‘Oh, well that’s true enough, I know she’s a pain but that’s our Aggie all over, doesn’t know what she wants half the time. But it’s your own fault if you let her lead you a merry dance. You don’t have to put up with her, as I do.’
Sam grinned. ‘I rather like women who are unpredictable. Makes for a bit more excitement in life.’
Dolly felt her heart sink. No one, she thought, could be more predictable, boring or unexciting than herself. ‘So you still fancy your chances with her then?’ She said this in a teasing way, her heart nearly stopping as she waited for his answer.
‘I’ll have to think about that one, Dolly.’ Sam lifted those enigmatically peaked brows right up to the ragged line of his fringe and gazed wide-eyed at nothing in particular, as if weighing up all possible implications.
Dolly would have given anything on earth to read those secret thoughts which must be whirling around his head, but all she could do was gaze at his deliciously wide and sensual mouth, and wait for what seemed like eternity. She didn’t even know why she liked him so much. He did used to make a mess of her hair with that tar, and was cheeky enough once to ask to see her knickers, though she’d been only nine or ten at the time. On another occasion when they’d all gone on a Sunday School trip to Fleetwood and played stalking games among the sand dunes, he’d even tried to kiss her. Stupidly, Dolly had been too shy to let him and he’d laughed and called her a curiosity. The name had stuck ever since.
Sam Clayton was certainly no innocent, and his opinion of women was of a traditional nature, because of an ineffectual mother who could never make up her mind about anything, not even what to make for tea. He frequently complained that Dolly asked too many questions, as if he resented her natural curiosity and independence, her ability to think for herself. It was his only flaw, in Dolly’s humble opinion, and one she could tolerate because he was so handsome, so exciting! And he would never hit her, as Calvin had done. Despite his laid-back approach to life, Dolly was quite sure that Sam Clayton was far more intelligent than he let on. She’d even seen him surreptitiously trying to read books and magazines while working on his frame. When she’d asked him what they were, he’d laughed and said they were a foreign language so far as she was concerned.
‘Why, are they French? Why would you need to learn French?’ she’d asked.
‘You never know what skills you might need in life, eh?’
‘Can I learn? Are those pictures of French ladies then?’
‘These magazines aren’t for your eyes, my sweet, innocent Dolly.’
She’d wanted to challenge him, to say she could learn French too, but he’d locked them away in his lunch box. He was a right card was Sam. An answer for everything, except today apparently.
He stirred himself at last and gave her a sideways smile. ‘This inquisition you’re putting me through, Dolly. This isn’t because you fancy me yourself, is it?’
Dolly did her utmost to appear shocked at the very idea. ‘Me? Fancy you? Lord, no. Whatever put such a daft notion into your head?’
Sam grinned and thumped his chest a few times with the flat of his hand, as if able to breathe again. ‘By heck, that’s a relief, ’cause that certainly would spoil our friendship, don’t you reckon, if we got into all of that love stuff?’
A slight pause while she digested this remark, not sure of the best way to answer. In the end, Dolly opted for caution. ‘Of course it would. Don’t you worry your head about that, Sam Clayton. You’d have to be the last bloke left in the world before I looked in your direction.’
He sauntered off for his tea then, hands in pockets, claiming he’d promised to meet up with Aggie later. Dolly was left to walk home alone. Outside her front door she found Matt Thornton waiting, as he so often was, and sighed with weary resignation. ‘Hello Matt, at a loose end again, are you?’
‘I thought happen you might feel like a bike ride after tea, Dolly?’
Poor old Matt, she thought, still thinking they were kids to play out on their bikes. Still, he was harmless enough. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure there was no chance Sam might change his mind and come dashing back to ask her out instead, but no, the street was empty. ‘All right,’ she agreed. Why not?’
* * *
It was a day or two later when Maisie asked Cyril if she could have a quick word with him, standing on this doorstep and shuffling her feet with embarrassment. She hated coming to his house, had been avoiding him this last week or two at the chapel, though perhaps a quiet word with him in the vestry after the service would have been better. Yet if she was a
ny judge, Dolly had no intention of waiting another day, let alone another week till Sunday came round again, before she came looking for him. ‘Is it all right if I come in, Cyril? I’d just like a quick word.’
Cyril looked surprised but pushed wide the door and invited her inside. ‘You are always welcome here Maisie, you surely know that.’
He took her no further than the front parlour, the back kitchen being far too intimate a place for them both. He rarely used this room, musty and gloomy though it was with its green paper blind, and heavy Victorian furniture, but it felt more like neutral territory.
They sat facing each other in the wing chairs at either side of the fireplace. The grate was empty save for a neatly pleated paper fan, and a pale shaft of early summer sunlight slanted across the room, showing up a trail of dust motes in its path. The ornaments on the dresser didn’t look as if they’d been dusted for a long time either: a stuffed bird under a glass case, a loudly ticking clock, a slender girl in an Alice blue gown and a small boy in baggy breeches. All looking dull and neglected with pockets of grime filling the pottery folds, and even from where she was sitting, Maisie could see that the mantles in the gas lamps were broken.
It hadn’t always been that way. This little parlour had once glowed with polish and pride, showing itself off as the fine house it truly was: not your common back-to-back but a double-fronted, corner terrace on Gartside Street. And it could all have been hers for the asking, if she’d taken on its owner all those years ago. Would that have saved her from making her Big Mistake, stopped her loving the wrong man? How could she be sure? It was too late to worry about that.
Cyril was thinking almost the same thing, wondering how he’d managed to let this lovely woman slip through his fingers. Why things never turned out the way he hoped. Women always wanted something better beyond their reach. He’d have given anything in the whole world to win her. He thought he’d almost won her once, but it had all fallen apart.