‘No, it’s not Adam.’ Peggy held her and then Rosie knew. ‘It’s your dad. I’m sorry, he’s gone. There was nothing anyone could do.’ She didn’t say how they had found him in the bath, with the razor still embedded in his wrist and the walls splattered with his own blood. Rosie would suffer that later. For now, she needed a friend. ‘Shh now,’ she said. ‘Wait a while, then we’ll go and see them, eh?’ Rosie felt numb. For a moment she couldn’t take it all in. Memories of her lost love filled her sore heart, she could still feel Adam’s kiss burning on her lips; she remembered the awful pain in his eyes when she told him the truth. And now her father! It was too much, all too much. She started to shake, but still she couldn’t grasp it all. Nothing seemed real to her. Beneath her breath Peggy murmured, ‘They say it never rains but it pours.’
And she feared that, for Rosie, the storm clouds had only just begun to gather.
Chapter Three
‘Are you getting up or what?’ Doug’s angry voice carried up the stairs. ‘I’m ready for off, and my sandwiches still aren’t done!’
Before Rosie could explain that she hadn’t got up because she was crippled with pain, another voice intervened: his mother’s. ‘Leave the lazy cow where she is, son. I got your snap tin ready long before she came on the scene, and I can do it now.’ There followed a series of loud deliberate noises when, after a few seconds, Martha Selby could be heard stamping down the stairs. ‘I warned you she’d be no good, but you wouldn’t listen. Oh, no! Happen you’ll bloody well listen now!’
Inching her legs out of bed, Rosie touched the cold linoleum with the tips of her toes. The pain shot through her like a knife. ‘It’s started,’ she gasped, running both hands over the swollen mound beneath her nightgown. The sweat was pouring from her now, and she could hardly breathe. ‘DOUG!’ It took all of her strength even to call his name.
Suddenly the door burst open and there he was. ‘What bloody game are you playing, eh?’ he demanded, striding into the room. ‘Since when does my mam have to get herself out of bed at five o’clock on a winter’s morning to do what you should be doing, eh? EH?’ He poked at her with the tips of his fingers, oblivious to the fact that she was in a state of great distress.
Rosie had been sitting with her head bowed, but now she raised her eyes. In the glow from the lamp, she saw his red angry face staring down on her, and the only thought in her mind was to be rid of him. ‘Get out,’ she said, and he was visibly stunned.
‘WHAT!’ He looked at her in disbelief before raising his hand to strike her.
If he expected her to flinch, he should have known better. Defiant brown eyes stared back at him. Anger smothered the pain. ‘Go on. Hit me then,’ she taunted. ‘What are you waiting for?’
For a minute it seemed as though he would bring his fist crashing down on her. But then he realised she was not afraid and he laughed out loud. ‘Well, I’m buggered!’ Sitting beside her, he slid an arm round her shoulders. All anger was gone, and in its place came a mood that was even more repugnant to her. ‘You’re a fiery bugger and no mistake.’ One hand snaked under her nightie while with the other he fumbled at his trouser buttons. Grabbing her hand, he placed it over his exposed member. ‘Feel that,’ he coaxed. ‘Stiff as a broom handle… aching for you, it is.’ When she snatched her hand away, he nuzzled at her neck with the tip of his nose. ‘I miss it, you know,’ he moaned, frowning pathetically. ‘I could have got it elsewhere, but I haven’t. Not yet.’
‘You’d best go or you’ll be late for work.’
‘We’ve time, if you want to.’
‘Sod off!’
‘Well, that’s no way to talk to your old man, is it?’
A vicious pain rippled through her, taking her breath away. ‘Please, Doug. Leave me be.’
‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’ He stared harder at her, only then realising that she was deep in labour. Bent double in pain and sweating so much that her nightgown was welded to her back, she didn’t have the strength to push him away. ‘Christ Almighty!’ Running to the door, he began yelling, ‘MAM! MAM! SHE’S STARTED!’ He didn’t come back to the bed. Instead, he stood by the door, yelling for his mam and watching Rosie apprehensively.
Martha Selby came rushing into the room, breathless and red-faced from coming up the stairs two at a time. She was a big woman, grey-haired and scruffy; the dark stain of snuff beneath her nostrils resembled a ’tache. ‘Off to work, son,’ she told him, planting a kiss on the side of his face. ‘Your snap tin’s all ready downstairs.’
‘She’s started!’
‘Nothing for you to worry about, son. She ain’t the first woman to fetch a bairn into the world, and she won’t be the last.’ With the flat of her hand, she pushed him out of the door. ‘Go on. I’ll see to it.’
He didn’t need telling twice. He was gone even before she’d finished speaking.
‘Now then, young madam.’ Regarding Rosie with curious eyes, Martha came across the room. ‘I’ll not stand for no tantrums,’ she said in a hard voice. ‘Giving birth ain’t easy, but if you start yelling and screaming, I’m buggered if I won’t tie you down. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I want the doctor.’
‘No need for a doctor.’ With her hands on her hips, she demanded, ‘I asked whether you understood?’
Rosie didn’t answer. Racked with pain, she merely nodded. She was in no fit state to fight. The fact was, she was alone in this room with a woman who loathed the very sight of her, and she was at her mercy.
‘Good. It seems we understand each other. Now, get off the bed while I roll back the sheets. Them’s my best ones and I don’t want ’em soiled.’ She waited while Rosie struggled to raise herself up against the bed-head, clinging to the brass rail and bearing the throes of labour without even a whimper. ‘Lie down flat.’ Martha Selby had removed all but the mattress cover. The bedding, even the pillow, was neatly stacked on to a nearby chair.
The bed struck cold as Rosie lay down. Her head fell back, making the pain more intensive. ‘Can’t I have my head raised?’ she asked.
‘If your head’s flat, you can’t see what’s going on, and if you can’t see what’s going on, then you’ll not be tempted to shout and holler. Now, let’s see.’ Rosie felt her legs being drawn up and stretched wide open. ‘The little sod’s on its way right enough. I’ll away down and get things ready.’ In that moment Rosie was gripped with a particularly vicious pain, which made her cry out. Her reward was a sharp slap in the face. ‘I said there’ll be none o’ that. I won’t stand for no hysterics, do you hear me?’ Rosie turned away. ‘I SAID, DO YOU HEAR ME?’ Rosie gave a nod. ‘Right. Do as you’re told. Else I’ll leave you to get on with it yourself, and then it’ll be God help you!’ With that she hurried from the room.
Rosie thought she was never coming back, but after an age the older woman reappeared. When she came through the door, Rosie was pushing against the force of the child inside her. ‘Don’t push, you bugger! You’ll harm the child!’ Dropping the bowl of hot water on to the dresser, she thrust her hands between Rosie’s legs. ‘Its head’s nearly out,’ she cried. ‘It won’t be long now.’
In spite of everything, Rosie was glad of this sour-natured woman. She was afraid, and lonely, and wondering how bad the pain would get before she had to yell and scream. It got bad, then worse, and still she kept her silence. Above all else, she didn’t want to be left alone, and she was under no illusion where Martha Selby was concerned. The woman was hard as nails, with a vicious streak that made her more enemies than friends. If she had threatened to leave Rosie to it, then that was exactly what she would do. Even if it meant both mother and child losing their lives.
* * *
It was two agonising hours before the baby came into the world, during which time Rosie worked harder than she had ever worked before. Even then she could do no right for Martha Selby, who yelled and screamed herself as though it was she who was giving birth, and not Rosie. ‘It’s another lad!�
�� she finally cried jubilantly, holding the child aloft. ‘Just as well, ’cause I ain’t got no time for split-arses.’
She took an unnaturally long time in bathing the newborn. Then she cooed and fussed and worried about what name to call it, and when Rosie asked to hold the child, tutted and moaned and thrust it into her arms with the warning, ‘With your mam dead and gone, you’d best not forget I’m his only grandma.’
Wisely, Rosie made no comment, but that evening when Doug climbed the stairs to see her, she gave him a warning. ‘You’ve got a month to find us a place of our own.’
‘You must be mad!’ He hadn’t even looked at the child in his cradle, nor had he taken Rosie into his arms. ‘Where the hell am I supposed to find a place, just like that? You know very well there aren’t many houses for rent now, what with landlords cashing in on this new trend for owning property. Every house round here for miles has been sold off. There ain’t a place to be rented nowhere.’
‘That’s rubbish and you know it. You haven’t looked hard enough.’
Rosie had spoken the truth and it irked him. Punching the door with a clenched fist, he demanded, ‘Bloody hell, woman! We’ve a roof over us head. What more do you want? My mam’s been good to us, and Dad’s twice upped my wages for helping him on the coal-wagon. We’re living here in comfort, and it’s only costing us half what we’d have to pay anywhere else, even if we could find a suitable place.’ He swung round to face her. ‘And if you’ve got an eye on Rosamund Street, you can bloody well forget it, because I’m not paying fifteen shillings a week for no house, in Rosamund Street or not.’
‘I’m not talking about Rosamund Street.’
‘Oh? And why’s that, eh? There was a time not long back when Rosamund Street was all you could think about.’
‘That was then.’ A great sadness washed over her. Rosamund Street was still close to her heart. But having a house there had been a very special dream. It belonged to her and Adam, and no one else. Well, that dream might be over, but it was all she had left of him, and she didn’t want it spoiled. ‘I don’t care where we live, as long as it isn’t in this house.’
‘Well, that’s bloody right, that is!’ Striding across the room, he shook his fist at her. ‘My mam’s had you pegged all along. You’re an ungrateful little bugger. You’re not asked to do any housework, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Washing, ironing… none of that?’
‘No.’
‘Well then?’
She looked at him with a dignity that made him feel inferior. ‘You just don’t understand, do you?’ she asked in a quiet voice. ‘Does it never occur to you that I want to do my own washing and ironing? That I long to clean the carpets and polish the furniture? But I’m not allowed to, because your mam doesn’t want me touching her precious things.’
‘She doesn’t want to put on you, that’s all.’
‘You’re either blind or you don’t care. Your mam only tolerates me because she doesn’t want to lose you or her grandson. That’s the reason she enticed you to live here in the first place, and it’s the reason she keeps us here.’
‘And what’s so wrong with that, eh? She’s lonely. What with my dad working all hours God sends on that bloody coal-wagon of his, it’s only natural she wants company.’
‘Did you know she’s busy choosing a name for our son?’
‘And you object?’
‘Of course I object!’
He seemed genuinely shocked by that, but made no comment. Later she would live to regret denying his mother that simple pleasure!
‘I mean it, Doug. If you want me and the boy, you’ll have to find us somewhere else to live.’
And if I don’t?’
‘I’ll take him and find lodgings.’ The minute the words were out of her mouth, she realised how empty they were.
He hadn’t expected a bold statement like that. Such a thing wasn’t done round these parts where if a man couldn’t control his family, he was not a man. Doug had no intention of being made to look a fool in front of his neighbours. Besides, he still had an uncontrollable lust for this defiant wife of his. ‘Try that one and I’ll break every bone in your body!’
She didn’t answer. What she threatened had no real substance. How could it? Besides, she would never accept charity, so what would she live on?
Troubled by her silence, he came to her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he said in a softer voice, ‘Don’t let’s fight.’ Running his fingers through her thick brown hair, he mistook her shudder of repugnance for delight at his touch. ‘I want you so much,’ he murmured. ‘Yet somehow, I always feel you’re never really mine.’ It was a deep-down feeling that was increasingly hard to live with. ‘I do love you, you know… you and the boy.’ For the first time his eyes turned towards the cradle. ‘Mam says he’s just like me when I were a lad.’
For the briefest moment there was a curious tenderness in his voice, and Rosie thought she might have been a little hard on him these past weeks. ‘I’m sorry, Doug. I know she’s your mother, and happen she means well, but we don’t hit it off. She’s never liked me, you know that.’
He smiled. ‘She can be a cantankerous bugger when she sets her mind to it, I’ll give you that.’
‘You’ll find us a place then?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, I expect so.’ Having agreed to give her something, he expected something else in return. Kissing her on the mouth, he whispered, ‘I don’t suppose…’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘For Christ’s sake! WHEN?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘What kind of man are you, Doug Selby? Have you forgotten, I’ve only just given birth?’
‘No, I’ve not bloody well forgotten. But I don’t intend to wait forever, I can tell you that. I’ve waited long enough, and come the end of next week, I’ll be after my rights, just like any self- respecting man.’ Putting his hands one either side of her face he squeezed hard, until her dark eyes looked like round brown pools and she was unable to cry out. Then he kissed her so viciously on her puckered mouth that it bruised her. ‘I will have my rights!’ he said with an ugly smile. ‘So think on that while I’m out searching for a house, eh?’
He went out of the room laughing. When the door was slammed shut behind him. Rosie stroked her sore face and cursed the day she ever set eyes on him. Then she leaned over the cradle and took the newborn into her arms. ‘If it wasn’t for you,’ she murmured, softly crying, ‘I wouldn’t stay in this house another minute.’ But she was trapped. And saw it as just punishment for her sins.
* * *
The days sped by. Doug swore he was looking in every direction for a house of their own; Martha Selby couldn’t keep her hands off her new grandson; and Rosie spent as much time outside as she possibly could.
In the cold December mornings, she walked all the way to Corporation Park and sat beneath the willow trees by the lake. Here, she would breast feed her son in the wintry sunshine and watch the ducks at play until mid-afternoon, when she would walk all the way back to Artillery Street, where Martha Selby was invariably standing by the door, hands on hips. ‘Where the hell have you been all day?’ she’d demand. ‘Have you no sense at all, woman? Don’t you know it’s too cold for my grandson to be out?’ At which point she would snatch the boy from his pram and hurry inside, always with the same snide comment: ‘She’s a bad mammy, ain’t she, eh? Lord knows what your dad’ll have to say when he gets home.’ And she always made certain that Doug was riled up two minutes after he walked through the door. ‘She’s been wandering the streets ’til all hours again, our Doug. Have you ever heard the like? Taking a lad of his age out on such a chilly day. He’s feverish, feel his forehead! I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the lad doesn’t go down with pneumonia,’ she would crow. ‘She’s your wife, so it’s up to you. If you ask me, you ought to take a firmer hand with her.’
Today was Friday. Rosie had spent many hours in the park, and now
she turned the pram away from the lake and towards the main entrance. ‘We’ll go and see Peggy, shall we?’ she asked the sleeping child. ‘We’ve time enough.’ A glance at the clock over the arches told her it was almost four-thirty. Normally, she would have made straight for Artillery Street, because she always made a point of being home before Doug. Today, though, she wasn’t concerned, because she knew he wouldn’t be home until at least six-thirty. After work on Friday, Doug usually spent an hour with his drinking pals. Rosie was glad of that, because to tell the truth, the less she saw of him the better.
It was twenty minutes past five when she got to Castle Street. As she came in at one end, Peggy got off her tram at the other. The sight of her dear friend cheered her heart. ‘PEGGY!’ she shouted, pushing forward at a quicker pace, yet going carefully over the cobbles so as not to shake the baby.
Peggy’s face fit up. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes!’ she cried, coming at a run down the street. Her nose was red from the cold, but her eyes were bright at seeing Rosie. The two of them were soon hugging and laughing, and in no time at all they were hauling the pram up the steps and into the house.
Manoeuvring the cumbersome article down the narrow passage was no easy task, especially when Peggy’s mam and four boisterous children decided to lend a helping hand. But they managed, and once the pram was lodged safely against the parlour wall, the children all disappeared into the back yard, and Peggy’s mam took herself into the scullery where, except for the time she reappeared with a mug of tea each for the two young women, she remained throughout Rosie’s visit.
‘Bless her old heart, she’s probably listening through the door-curtain,’ Peggy whispered, her blue eyes bright with mischief. ‘And what she don’t overhear, she’ll try and worm out of me later on.’
Rosie laughed. ‘She’s a good sort is your mam. And anyway, I’ve got nothing to say that she can’t hear.’
More Than Riches Page 4