Rosie was horrified. ‘You’re not, you know!’
‘Well, happen I’ll just bring out the pretty highlights in your hair then?’
‘What’s wrong with my hair as it is?’ In spite of her fears, Rosie was intrigued.
‘There’s nothing at all wrong with it,’ Peggy assured her. ‘It’s very pretty. But I can make it glint like gold if you’ll let me.’ She laid the things out on the table. ‘I got it at discount. We’ve just started this new line in cosmetics, you see, and like I said, it’s a special birthday present for you.’ She saw how hesitant Rosie was. ‘Go on, gal,’ she entreated, ‘I promise you’ll look great.’ Rosie thought of how she never did anything exciting, and how every day ran one into the other without anything to distinguish them. Lately she had been feeling like an old woman, instead of someone only twenty-one. She remembered how Doug had forgotten her birthday and she thought how good it would be to shock him. ‘Do what you like,’ she told Peggy. ‘If I go bald, happen Doug won’t want me in bed.’
Peggy’s mam could be heard laughing in the kitchen. ‘You’re a pair o’ buggers!’ she said, and she was right.
* * *
It was ten o’clock at night when Doug came home. He wasn’t drunk, but he was in a foul mood. ‘What money have you got in your purse?’ he asked, glaring at her from the doorway.
‘A few shillings,’ she answered. ‘Enough to see us through ’til payday.’
‘Give it here.’
‘What for?’
‘Never mind what for. I said… give it here.’ Striding into the room he stretched out his hand and waited for her to empty her purse into it. ‘I ain’t got time to argue.’
Rosie didn’t argue either. She knew it wouldn’t make the slightest difference if she did. Besides, she wanted to humour him so she could ask about the date for the christening. With this in mind, she gave him half of what she had. It was enough to placate him. When he turned sharply and went out of the house again, she ran into the front room and peeped through the window. There were two other men waiting on the doorstep. They hurried away once Doug had paid his dues. Rosie suspected they were gambling partners. ‘You’re a fool, Doug Selby,’ she whispered, hurrying back to the parlour. ‘One of these days you’ll get in over your head.’
When he came back he was smiling. ‘I could drink the sea dry,’ he said, throwing himself into the armchair. ‘Put the kettle on, sweetheart,’ he coaxed.
Rosie hated him when he turned on the charm like that. She was about to say she was tired and off to bed, when she stopped herself. Until he set the date for the christening, she would have to humour him. Without a word she went into the scullery, returning with his tea a few minutes later. ‘Have you been to see the vicar?’ she asked, giving the hot mug into his outstretched hands.
For a moment he stared at her. ‘There’s something different about you,’ he commented, sitting up in his chair.
Knowing how he would react when he saw the red highlights in her brown hair, Rosie had deliberately kept in the shadows. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked innocently.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure… something.’ He stared a moment longer, but he had drunk a pint or two and his vision wasn’t perfect at the minute. Puzzled, he sank back in the chair, sipping at his tea and infuriating her.
Just as she opened her mouth to remind him of her question, he astonished her by saying with a smug little smile, ‘Not only have I been to see the vicar, but I’ve set the date for Sunday next.’
Rosie was thrilled. ‘Oh, Doug! You can’t know what a weight you’ve lifted off my mind.’ If only he hadn’t put her through so much, she might have embraced him. But he was too cunning, too arrogant. And her memory was too vivid.
Besides, she thought with amusement, she’d better stay in the shadows. If he was to see the carrot-coloured streaks in her hair, there would be an unholy row. She could handle that all right, but the little one had been fretful with his teething, and she didn’t want him woken again. ‘I began to think we’d be getting the two children baptised together,’ she remarked coolly. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘I got what I wanted, that’s why.’
‘In what way?’
He stared at her again, trying to distinguish what was different about her. ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked, getting out of the chair and starting towards her. It was then that his eyes caught sight of Peggy’s birthday card, which Rosie had stood proudly on the mantelpiece. ‘What the hell’s this?’ Snatching it up, he ran his eyes over it. A look of surprise came over his features, and for a moment it seemed as though he was about to make a comment but he replaced it without saying a word. Instead, he came to where she sat and proceeded to look her up and down. ‘It’s your bloody hair!’ he gasped. ‘You’ve had it dyed ginger.’
Summoning every ounce of courage, Rosie bestowed her loveliest smile on him. ‘Don’t you like it then?’ she asked coyly. She didn’t like it either, but she wasn’t about to admit that.
He ran his fingers over the top of her head, ruffling the thick strands of hair before viciously grabbing a fistful and demanding: ‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she lied, ‘I do.’ Standing up to face him, she waited for the outburst but was unprepared for what happened next.
‘Your hair’s pretty enough the way the good Lord made it, but yes, I think it suits you,’ he replied, astounding her.
Before she could answer, he took out the envelope from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. ‘After all, I do want you to look your best for the christening. We wouldn’t want him to think the goods had become soiled, would we, eh?’
‘What game are you playing, Doug?’ She had known him long enough to realise that he was up to something.
‘No game, sweetheart. It’s just that things have turned out exactly how I wanted them to.’ With that he went up the stairs, chuckling all the way.
Opening the envelope, she read the letter from Adam. It was short and polite, not at all like that of a friend. But it confirmed that Adam had graciously accepted the invitation to be godfather to Doug and Rosie’s son. ‘Oh, Adam, I thought you of all people might see through him,’ Rosie sighed. ‘He’s using you, just like he uses me.’ Now she saw what Doug had meant when he said things had turned out exactly like he wanted them to.
Pacing the room with the letter clutched in her hand, Rosie was tempted to sit down and write to Adam, warning him how Doug had intended to name his son after him only to antagonise her – though he was in for a real surprise when they got to the church. All the same, she wanted Adam to know that he had been asked to be godfather for the very same reason… to punish the two of them for having dared to love each other.
But then she realised she would only be hurting herself more by persuading Adam to stay away, because then Doug would never allow their son to be christened. ‘And in spite of everything, I do so much want to see you, Adam,’ she murmured, putting the letter against her face. She was both excited and afraid. Excited at the prospect of being in the same room as Adam again, and afraid because, though he was forever out of her reach, she would never stop loving him.
Carefully, she laid the letter on the sideboard where Doug would find it. A week,’ she whispered, going up the stairs to bed. ‘Only one week, and then he’ll be here, in this house.’ She shivered with delight. When she entered the bedroom and saw Doug waiting for her, the delight turned to dread.
* * *
Monday morning brought a wonderful surprise, but not before Doug had alarmed her with the news, ‘Dad’s losing work hand over fist. There are more folk out of work, and consequently they’re counting their pennies. Last month we only sold a hundred and fifty bags of coal, when we normally sell upwards of four hundred.’
As always, Rosie was optimistic. ‘Happen it’s just a bad month. After all, it is June, and there are only a few people who light a fire in summer… old folk and them with small bairns.’
Scraping back his
chair, he got up from the breakfast table. ‘Don’t talk daft, woman!’ he snapped, glaring at her as though she was a total imbecile. ‘The summer’s always been a good time for selling coal. Folks have allus stocked up their cellars while it’s cheap, and you bloody well know that.’
Rosie made no comment. Instead, she concentrated on clearing away the breakfast things. Only when she heard him slamming down the passage and out of the front door did she straighten herself from the task, and that was to roll her eyes to the ceiling and say, ‘Dear Lord, you made a miserable soul when you made that one!’
The postman was late, but Rosie wasn’t worried. He never brought anything exciting, just bills and circulars. When she heard the familiar plop of letters on the carpet, she went down the passage to collect them, absent-mindedly sifting through them as she returned to the parlour. ‘Same as usual,’ she muttered; there was a gas bill, a reminder about the instalment on the new gramophone, and a leaflet from the chimney-sweep, saying how he could ‘Sweep a chimney so clean you could hang your Sunday best coat in it’.
Rosie was still chuckling at that when she came into the parlour. But as her smiling brown eyes saw the writing on the last envelope, her heart almost stopped. The letter was addressed to her, and she had seen enough of his letters to know without a doubt that this one was from Adam.
Seating herself at the table, she opened the envelope and took out the contents. What she saw made her gasp. It was the most beautiful birthday card; in the cream-coloured background, little robins and kittens could be seen nuzzling up to each other, and there were clusters of exquisite red roses in all four corners. Inside there was a simple message that tore at her heart and filled her eyes with tears. It read:
To Rosie,
Did you think I would forget your birthday?
It was signed ‘Adam’. There was no other message, nothing about the christening or Doug. At first she was puzzled, but then she understood. Adam had effectively shut out everyone but the two of them, and because of that, she would cherish the card all the more.
Her first instinct was to hide it. In fact, she even went so far as to turn back the lace-cover on the sideboard, ‘No!’ she declared. ‘I won’t hide it. Why should I? It can’t hurt Doug to know there are people who think enough of me to remember my birthday.’ Having decided to display it, she put it on the mantelpiece alongside Peggy’s. ‘There you are, Rosie gal,’ she said, hands on hips as she stared at the two pretty cards. ‘Don’t ever say nobody loves you.’ She daren’t wonder whether Adam might love her still. It would only be wishful thinking, and anyway, even if it were true, all it could ever bring was heartache.
All day long, Rosie went about her work with a song in her heart. That song was cruelly ended when Doug walked in and saw the card there. ‘Who’s that from?’ he wanted to know, striding across the room and snatching it up. He opened the inside and read the message. ‘Bastard!’ he roared. ‘What gives him the sodding right?’ Taking the card between his fingers, he began tearing it apart.
Seeing that precious card torn in front of her eyes was like a red rag to a bull. Darting forward, Rosie grabbed at it. There was a fury inside her, an insane rage that had built up over many months and now was let loose like a burst dam. ‘He’s got every right!’ she cried, her nails scoring his arm as she struggled to take the card from him. ‘Just because I married you instead of him, doesn’t mean he can’t still be a friend.’
Holding her at arm’s length, he peered at her through red, dirt-rimmed eyes. ‘Why, you little whore! You want him, don’t you?’ His voice was low, unsure. Then, when her gaze fell from him, he shook her, his voice rising in a fury. ‘Admit it, or I swear I’ll take your bloody head off at the shoulders!’
‘Oh, aren’t you the big man?’ she demanded, her brown eyes mocking him. ‘If you think there’s something going on between me and Adam, why don’t you ask him? After all, he’ll be here on Sunday.’
‘You little cow!’ With one backward swipe of his hand he sent her crashing against the table. ‘If I ever thought you and he…’ Stretching himself to his full height, he glared down on her. ‘So help me, I’ll swing for the pair of you!’ He made a low guttural sound in the base of his throat, then he was gone: unwashed, unfed, back on to the streets and into the pub, where he could drown his terrible thoughts in a jug of ale.
Covered in the fine coal-dust that had fallen from his clothes, Rosie remained bent across the table, using it to hold her steady. ‘You’re the bastard!’ she said softly. Any affection she had felt for him had grown cold long since. To tell the truth, she wouldn’t care if she never saw him again.
Long after she had washed and changed and all the work was done, she was so churned up inside, she could hardly keep a limb still. Only when the child cooed on her lap and smiled up at her did she begin to melt, and love again. ‘I’ve still got you, ain’t I?’ she said, holding the child closer. She glanced up at the crumpled card on the table. ‘What shall I do with it?’ she mused aloud. ‘I ought to put it right back on the mantelpiece!’ Shaking her head, she gave an odd little smile. ‘Better not, eh?’ She had been darkly angry, then indignant, and now she was filled with a terrible fear. Fear for Adam, fear that once the two of them came face to face again, so many feelings would be unleashed. ‘It would be better if you stayed away, Adam,’ she whispered. ‘For all our sakes.’
Later, when the child was asleep in its pram, she took the card, held it close for the briefest moment when she could feel him near. Then, with a firm and final gesture, she threw it in the midden. ‘Sorry, Adam,’ she said with a wry little laugh. ‘The time for pretty things is long gone.’
* * *
During the following two days, Rosie remained inside the house, venturing out only to collect the milk from the doorstep; even then she made sure no one saw her. ‘Don’t want the world and its neighbour to know he’s been belting me,’ she said, glancing in the mirror at the dark bruise that coloured her eye and cheek bone. ‘Best keep myself to myself for a while.’
She reckoned without Peggy’s determination though. Twice she had been round to see her friend, and each time she had been sent away by Doug. ‘She’s not well,’ he told her. ‘She’s taken to her bed.’
Now, when the knock came on the door, Rosie wasn’t certain whether to answer it or stay quiet until whoever it was had gone away. She decided to remain quiet, holding her breath and hoping the child wouldn’t wake and start crying.
The sound of the letter box being opened almost turned her heart over. ‘Rosie!’ Peggy’s voice sailed down the passage. ‘I know you’re in there. Open this bloody door or I’ll scream blue murder up and down the street.’
Half laughing, half crying, Rosie ran down the passage and flung open the door. ‘It’s you!’ she said, ushering her friend in and closing the door before any nosy neighbour might look in.
‘’Course it’s me!’ Peggy replied, making her way before Rosie. ‘Who the sodding hell did you think it was?’ Once inside the parlour she turned to examine Rosie’s face. ‘I thought so!’ Her voice hardened with anger. ‘I had an idea you two had been fighting. By! He’s a worse coward than I imagined.’ Going into the scullery, she put the kettle on. Peering at Rosie through the doorway, she insisted, ‘Any man who’d do that to a woman ain’t worth spit!’
When she came back into the parlour, carrying two mugs of piping hot tea, she asked, ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but they do say a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’ Giving one of the mugs to Rosie, Peggy waited for her to sit down on the chair opposite. Through the scullery window she had seen the sheets and bedding hanging out on the line; the flagstoned floor had been scrubbed until it shone; the mats had been beaten and relaid in the parlour; even the fire-grate was blackleaded, and one glance told her that the child was washed and now fast asleep in its pram. ‘Good Lord, you must have been up at the crack of dawn,’ she remarked.
‘Four o’clock,’ Rosie informed her. ‘I couldn’t sleep
. I haven’t slept properly these past two days.’ After all that had happened, she had been at sixes and sevens. ‘Doug wrote asking Adam to be godfather, and he’s accepted.’
Peggy’s face said it all. ‘So that’s what you’ve been fighting about?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘You may well ask. I’ve been round here twice and that bloody husband of yours has sent me away each time. I began to think the only way I’d find out what was going on was to take an hour off work, so here I am.’
‘Oh, Peggy! You’ll get the sack.’
She chuckled at that. ‘Give over. Didn’t you know they’ve got their eye on me as the next manager?’ The smile fell from her face. ‘You don’t want to tell me then?’
‘He saw the birthday card you gave me.’ She decided she might as well tell it all. ‘Then he saw the one Adam sent.’
Peggy looked surprised. ‘Adam sent you a birthday card?’
‘It was innocent enough… a simple card, with a simple message.’
‘But your old man didn’t see it that way, eh?’
Rosie had to laugh. ‘He went berserk.’
‘That were his lousy conscience, I expect. I don’t suppose you had a card from him, did you, eh?’ When Rosie shook her head, Peggy asked, ‘How did he come to see Adam’s card?’
‘I displayed it next to yours on the mantelpiece.’
Punching the air with her fist, Peggy said, ‘Good for you, gal!’
‘Now I’ve got this to show for it.’ Rosie pointed to the bruise on her face.
‘But you stood up to him, that’s all that matters.’
‘I sometimes wonder whether it’s worth it though.’ She smiled a sad smile. ‘Oh, Peggy, you should have seen Adam’s card. It was so pretty, with roses and everything.’
More Than Riches Page 14