‘Do as I ask you, Mam. Let Danny go.’
‘You don’t believe anything I say, do you? You and me, son, we were fooled all along. I believed the child to be my grandson, and you imagined him to be your own flesh and blood. Well, he ain’t! He don’t belong to neither of us, ’cause it were another man as fathered him.’
‘You’d best stop, Mam. You’re letting your tongue run away with you, and I don’t want to hear no more of your mischiefmaking.’ He took a step into the room but paused when she jerked the knife up against the boy’s chin.
Behind Doug, Rosie was frantic, warning him in a hoarse whisper, ‘For God’s sake, be careful!’
He glanced round as though listening more intently to what she had to say, and even later, when she recalled the awful thing that happened, Rosie could never pinpoint the exact second when Doug bounded forward and launched himself at Martha. She heard an ear-splitting scream, and the dull thud as the two of them fell backwards together.
She saw Martha’s surprised face, the wide open eyes and lolling mouth. Suddenly there was blood everywhere. It spurted up on the bedspread and spilled over the carpet, and the sound of Doug’s cries rose above her own. She saw and heard all that, yet she could not say how it happened exactly. In that same split second, she darted forward and grabbed her son from beneath Martha’s crumpled body. He was bleeding badly and limp as a rag doll in her arms. But he was breathing. Thank God, he was still breathing!
‘She’s dead!’ Doug’s voice was like a dull rhythm in her head. ‘Mam’s dead!’ He kept repeating it. ‘She’s dead. Mam’s dead!’
Beneath his weight, the knife had somehow embedded itself in Martha’s neck. Now the handle was in his fist, and Martha was staring at him through flat glazed eyes. He began screaming. He was still screaming when Rosie summoned help from next-door, and was quietly sobbing when the police took him away. Like a child, he wanted his mam. They had to tear him from her, and as they walked him across the bedroom he turned his head to look on that familiar face, now shockingly quiet. In repose it seemed too normal, too devoid of expression.
He was still looking at her as they took him out of the door. Never once did he glance towards Rosie or the boy. He didn’t show any interest when the ambulance-man gently took Danny from his wife’s arms. Nor did he care.
All the way down the stairs he could be heard crying, ‘I’ve killed her!’ Over and over, ‘I’ve killed my own mam. May God have mercy on my soul.’
Chapter Fourteen
It was the last day of July 1953, and the first time since Doug had been taken into custody that Rosie was able to visit him. Since that dreadful day, she had been torn between her love for her son – who was still not fully recovered from his ordeal – and her loyalty as a wife.
Last Friday the postman had brought the visiting voucher which she was to present at the gate on arrival at Strangeways Prison in Manchester. The voucher was for Tuesday. That was tomorrow, and already Rosie’s stomach was turning somersaults at the thought of seeing Doug again. She was ashamed to admit it, but since he had been locked up, she hadn’t missed him for one minute; though there were times when the house seemed strangely silent and empty with only her and Danny here. In fact, Rosie loved it with just the two of them.
After a restless night, she awoke feeling troubled. Leaving Danny sleeping, she hurried downstairs to find a letter on the mat by the front door. As soon as she picked it up, she recognised the handwriting. It was from Ned. Switching on the passage light, she read it where she stood. Ned was never known for his letterwriting, and she was surprised to find that it was long and soul-searching:
Dear Rosie,
You must think me all kinds of a coward for not coming to Martha’s funeral. The truth is, I believe she would not have wanted me there. But you must know that.
Like I said in my earlier letter, I was deeply shocked by what happened. When I read the newspaper reports of what Doug had done, my first thoughts were for you. But even then, I could not bring myself to come back. I couldn’t explain it in my first letter, and I can’t explain it now; except maybe I really am the worst coward.
There is no love in me for Doug, but I do miss you and my grandson. One day, when I miss you both enough, you’ll find me on your doorstep.
Forgive me, Rosie. Please don’t tell Doug you’ve heard from me. We’ve been like strangers for too long now. I know he would only reject anything I have to say.
Please accept this five-pound note. Give Danny a big hug for me. Tell him my work keeps me away, but I will not forget him.
Keep well.
Yours affectionately,
Ned
‘Shame on you!’ Neatly folding the letter, Rosie replaced it in the envelope, and this she put in the pocket of her dressing-gown. Switching out the passage light, she made her way to the living-room. Once there, she took out the letter and opened the sideboard drawer. ‘I won’t hug your grandson for you, Ned,’ she said bitterly. ‘When he needed you, you weren’t here. We’ve both done our crying for you, and now I’d rather he forgot you ever existed.’
Opening the drawer, she was about to put the letter inside when the other envelopes caught her eye. There were four of them, an earlier letter from Ned, and three from Adam. She didn’t need to read them for she knew every word; especially the ones from Adam. After Doug was arrested, Adam had offered his help. She didn’t answer that one so he wrote again, this time threatening to come and see her. She replied then, a cursory note to say that she wanted nothing more to do with him. She told him how she believed she was partly to blame for what had happened, and asked him never to write again, or try and contact her in any way. Taking out the last letter, she read it once more:
Dearest Rosie,
I was sad to receive your note, but not wanting to add to your distress, of course I’ll do as you ask though it goes against my natural instincts.
You must know I still love you.
If you want me, I’ll be here. You have my address.
Yours always,
Adam
Incensed that any man could write such a letter when he was married to another woman, she had thrust it in the drawer with the others, and there it had remained. Now, before she could ever be tempted to read it again, she tore it into little shreds, before throwing it in the bin along with all the others. But it was engrained on her mind. I love you. ‘Damn you, Adam Roach!’ Because she loved him too, and she always would.
Busying herself in readiness for the day ahead, Rosie quickly put the letter out of her mind. The idea that soon she would be sitting in the same room as Doug was more than enough to occupy her every thought.
Peggy was on her annual fortnight’s holiday, and had agreed to stay in Rosie’s house with Danny. ‘With school out, that lot indoors would drive him crazy,’ she laughed. She laughed a lot lately, and Rosie knew it was for her benefit. Like Rosie, Peggy had been stunned by the whole ordeal, and neither of them had yet talked about what the future might hold for her and her son. It was a subject that dogged Rosie day and night, and she could see nothing ahead but trouble and heartache.
‘You look real smart,’ Peggy told her on this Tuesday morning. In her brown two-piece and white blouse with the frill at the neck, Rosie did look smart. She had on her best black patent shoes and wore a deep-brimmed cream hat that suited her shoulder-length brown hair. But her eyes were shadowed with tiredness, and her face was pale and gaunt. She had lost a deal of weight and her jacket looked too big across her frail shoulders. There was a haunted expression about her that persisted even when she smiled, and when she spoke it seemed as though her mind was elsewhere.
‘You’re not listening, are you?’ Rising from her chair, Peggy crossed the room to where Rosie was looking in the sideboard mirror and fiddling with the neck of her blouse. Putting her two hands on Rosie’s shoulders, Peggy gently turned her round until they were facing each other. ‘You don’t really want to go, do you?’ she asked softly.
Suddenly Rosie was opening
the drawer and her hand was on the letter. ‘This was lying on the mat when I came down,’ she explained, handing it to Peggy. ‘It’s from Ned.’
She read the letter. She had also read the first one so the contents didn’t surprise her. ‘Don’t blame him,’ she said. ‘Nobody knows what he went through with Martha.’
‘He should be here, Peggy, and you know it.’ Rosie didn’t find it so easy to forgive. ‘Whatever happened between Ned and his wife and son is no fault of Danny’s. To a child, everything is black and white. How can he understand why his entire family have been taken from him? How in God’s name can I ever hope to explain such a thing?’ She choked on the words. ‘Ned should have been here. Now we don’t need him.’
‘I know how you must feel, Rosie,’ Peggy entreated. ‘But you can’t really know what he’s thinking right now. What happened has affected all of you… not just Danny.’
‘It’s Danny who’s suffering the most because he doesn’t understand. If Ned had been here, we could have helped each other.’ Rosie was not convinced that he should be cleared of all blame. ‘What kind of man can stay away when his wife is murdered and his son is imprisoned? What kind of a man is it who won’t come to his grandson when he needs him?’ She shook her head. ‘No, Peggy. Until Ned has the guts to face me, I can’t altogether forgive him.’
Momentarily silenced by Rosie’s outburst, Peggy was lost for words. Presently she said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so harshly. Don’t shut Ned out, Rosie. Everyone has their own way of dealing with tragedy.’
There had been a terrible anger in Rosie until that moment when she looked into Peggy’s dear face. Suddenly the anger softened and tears welled up to choke her. ‘Oh, Peggy, I don’t know what to think. Sometimes I believe it was all my fault, and I can’t bear it.’ Her lovely brown eyes were hauntingly sad. ‘If it hadn’t been for me taunting Martha, maybe none of this would have happened.’ The tears had been held back, but now they spilled over and, throwing herself into Peggy’s arms, Rosie sobbed like a child, words tumbling over one another. ‘Oh, Peggy, I wish to God I could turn the clock back.’
Peggy let her cry. Rosie had comforted her so many times, and now it was her turn. She held on to that dear soul, horrified by how thin Rosie had become, and wondering where it would all end.
Ashamed, Rosie drew away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I shouldn’t heap my troubles on you.’ She felt better for crying, but there was a great hard lump in her heart still, and nothing she could do would break it down. Suddenly weary, she sank into the fireside chair. ‘I don’t know how I can face him,’ she murmured. ‘I won’t know what to say.’
‘You can’t think he blames you?’ Collecting Rosie’s hat from the floor where it had fallen, Peggy came and sat opposite. ‘You mustn’t think that.’
Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was tight and her heart too full. Eventually she whispered, ‘He killed his own mother, Peggy, and it was me who called out for him.’
‘Well o’ course you called out for him!’ she retaliated. ‘So would any other woman. Martha was holding a knife against your son’s throat. What else could you do?’
‘Happen I could have talked her out of it?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘Didn’t you try that? Before Doug came into the room, didn’t you try and talk her out of it?’ She was desperately concerned for Rosie. Day by day she had seen her going downhill until now she hardly ate and it was obvious from the dark circles beneath her eyes that she was not sleeping either.
‘I did try! Honest to God, I did try.’ In her heart, though, she was convinced that there must have been something more she could have done… been a better person perhaps?… kinder to Martha?… kept a lock on little Danny’s door? She hadn’t even realised that Martha was becoming a much more dangerous enemy. Now she was cold in the churchyard, and Doug was locked up for her murder.
The funeral had been a strange affair, with curious crowds lining the way, but only herself and Peggy at the church. Even the service had been short and to the point. When Martha was laid into the ground, the earth was quickly shovelled over and she was lost to sight as though she had never been.
‘Look, Rosie, I know we mustn’t speak ill of the dead, but the woman was completely mad,’ Peggy remarked now. ‘Folks round here heard her screaming and yelling at the top of her voice at all hours of the day and night. Like I said, it were a tragedy waiting to happen. And if you didn’t realise it, that’s because you’ve a kind heart and see only the good in people.’
Rosie gave a wry little laugh. ‘You’re wrong, Peggy. I saw the evil in her all right. But I mistook it for wicked mischief.’ Clasping her hands together, she stood up, driven by the awful memories. ‘When she hurt Danny that first time… made a mark on his forehead, I should have known. I should have been more on my guard.’ She breathed in, a long slow breath, and then let it out on a great sigh. She pushed Martha from her thoughts. ‘I’d better be going or I’ll be late, and like as not they won’t let me in.’ Realising that Rosie had deliberately changed the subject, Peggy also stood up, to remark in a lighter voice, ‘As long as they let you out, gal, that’s all as matters.’
The typical remark made Rosie smile. Reaching out she took Peggy in her arms and the two of them hugged each other tightly. ‘You’re a good friend,’ Rosie acknowledged. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’d go to ruin, I expect,’ Peggy said in a mock serious voice. They laughed then, and the tension was broken.
Surreptitiously brushing away a tear, Rosie went to the mirror and put on her hat. Then she patted the creases from her skirt and picked up her bag from the chair. Peggy watched her every move. ‘Thanks for looking after Danny,’ Rosie said simply. ‘I checked him just before you came in, and he was sound asleep. Let him be. He’s had little enough rest lately.’ Not a night passed without her being woken by his cries. The nightmares never seemed to end.
Peggy walked her to the door. ‘I know somebody else who hasn’t had much sleep either,’ she chided. ‘And I’ve come to a decision.’
‘What?’
‘There’ll be time enough to talk about that when you get back. Now be off with you!’ Giving Rosie a little push, she nudged her out of the front door. ‘And don’t worry about the lad, I won’t disturb him. I’ll be too busy doing your ironing.’
Before Rosie could protest, the door was closed and Peggy was inside, leaving Rosie standing on the pavement, a little smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Gazing at the house, she shook her head and fondly imagined Peggy inside. ‘God bless you,’ she murmured. Then, before she might change her mind, set off at a brisk towards the tram-stop.
Having missed the ten o’clock tram, she had a fifteen-minute wait for the next one. The minutes seemed like hours, and she grew more and more nervous. It was bad enough going to prison in the first place, without being late. The queue began to swell, and many of the women knew her by sight. Normally they would have passed the time of day, but this morning they turned to talk to each other, ignoring her as if she wasn’t there. They all blame me for what happened, Rosie thought bitterly. Suddenly the sun went in and the skies darkened over. It turned chilly and she wished she had put on her mackintosh.
‘They don’t mean any harm, luv.’ Mrs Norman from two doors down had never liked Martha Selby, and was quick to state her support for Rosie. ‘Folks is funny,’ she added with a smile. ‘They’re embarrassed, d’you see? They don’t rightly know how to behave in matters such as these. Some are quick to point the finger, others reckon it’s none o’ their business, and them like me want to help but don’t know how.’ Her round face beamed a smile that lit up Rosie’s sorry heart.
‘I know,’ she declared gratefully. ‘On the whole, people have been kind.’ She was thinking about the grocer who had sent a basket filled with food; the postman who expressed his sympathy at what had taken place; neighbours who had carried out the old tradition of going round the house
s for a small contribution which was then given to the bereaved. When Mr Pope knocked on her door a week back, Rosie had been tempted to refuse the gift. But to do so would have been an insult, so she had thanked him kindly and spent the whole two pounds on a wreath for Martha. Though she knew there would come a time when that money might be sorely needed, Rosie couldn’t bear the thought of spending it on anything else. The large floral tribute was the only one on Martha’s coffin, and had made a lonely sight.
‘And how’s your little lad, me dear?’ The entire episode had been reported in the newspapers, down to the smallest detail, together with a description of how the boy had been used.
‘Mending well,’ Rosie told her. There was no need to say any different.
‘Aye, that’s the way.’ The older woman nodded and beamed, and turning to the queue, declared in a loud voice, ‘It’s a pity folks don’t realise at times like these, it’s just a bit o’ kindness that’s needed!’ She was particularly alluding to a fat brassy-faced lady in a blue hat and carrying an umbrella. ‘Isn’t that right, Dora Lockley?’ Widow Lockley had a vicious tongue and the declaration was more of a warning than retribution, because, with regard to the Martha Selby affair, she had so far managed to keep her opinions to herself.
Silence ensued, during which Rosie didn’t know which way to turn. But then the woman in question came and stood before her. ‘I know I’m an old gossip,’ she apologised, red-faced, ‘but I swear I’ve never said one bad word against you. In fact, I can only imagine what you went through with that dreadful woman. Believe me, Mrs Selby, you do have my sympathy.’
‘Bless you for that,’ Rosie said. And at once there was a chorus of cheering and laughter, and light-hearted shouts for Dora Lockley: ‘’Ere, you old bugger, get yerself back to the end of the queue!’ The tram arrived. Rosie sat in the first seat and, as they each passed her, the passengers tapped her affectionately on the shoulder. ‘Keep your chin up, lass,’ they said. And Rosie arrived at her destination with a lighter heart.
More Than Riches Page 24