The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  Sarah took a great intake of breath and stammered, ‘I didn’t mean b-brother, I meant brother-in-law…but the woman’—she motioned her head towards the roadway where the little woman was now standing—‘she…she cut me off.’

  ‘Aw, Aa see. Yes.’ The head moved with each word the woman spoke. ‘How is Mrs Hetherington these days?’

  ‘Oh, she’s quite well.’

  ‘Tell her Hannah was askin’ after her.’

  ‘I will…goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Sarah knew what the woman was thinking as plainly as if she had yelled the words at her. ‘Where’s his wife then? Why couldn’t she come?’

  She did not take a bus from the town but kept walking, walking quickly as if this would enable her to get away from the condemning voice in her head which kept reiterating, ‘You’re mad, you’re mad, you’re mad, you’re mad.’ She had walked almost halfway home before she rounded on it. ‘But I love David, I do.’

  ‘You proved it, didn’t you, to do that in the open in front of everyone, to kiss him in the open.’

  ‘It was nothing, I tell you, it was nothing. He looked so lonely. He is lonely. He hasn’t got anybody.’

  ‘That woman thought different; that woman knew he has a wife…And she knows his mother, think of that. You’re mad, I tell you, stark staring mad. Now you won’t only have your father on your tracks, you’ll have the gossips. You could see by the look of her she was a talker.’

  Just beyond the Don Bridge she stood for a moment looking down at the slimy banks of the river, between which the narrow stream of dark water made its way to the Tyne. She felt beaten, tired, and her mind was weary, too weary to erect any façade, too weary to cover up for John, or for herself. He’s like a magnet, she thought, drawing badness from me body, from some black depths of me.

  Father Bailey had said: Keep your conscience clear.

  Kind Father Bailey.

  But Father O’Malley had said no good ever came out of a mixed marriage.

  Clever Father O’Malley.

  But what do you say? The question seemed to rise from the black mud lining the river bank, the mud with which she was familiar in her nightmares, the mud which sucked her closer towards its middle each time she dreamed of it. But it was a challenge she could face in the daylight. Yet the voice which answered it was still weary. ‘I’ll never hurt David,’ it said. ‘Never.’

  She turned away and walked home, and the journey seemed never-ending, like the years ahead.

  PART FOUR

  One

  ‘This is the best place for you.’ David touched Sarah’s hair with his fingers as he leaned over the bed. ‘If anybody should knock let them knock, I’ve been in and told Dan that you would be upstairs, and he’s going across the road’—he motioned his head in the direction of the window—‘to tell our John that you’re all locked up for the night. I’ve got my key, so you stay put. Do you hear?’

  She nodded up at him and raised her mouth to his as he bent to kiss her.

  When he withdrew his lips from hers he did not straighten up immediately but said, ‘Of course, if there’s a warning you’ll go into the shelter; that’s different.’

  ‘Yes, if there’s one I’ll go in.’ She put her hand out now and gripped his arm. ‘You’ll be careful?’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ He smiled down on her. ‘But whatever’s on, as soon as I go on duty the night becomes as dead as a doornail. I’ve been fire-watching now for two years and never put out as much as a candle. They just don’t come my way…scared of me that’s it.’ He straightened up now but did not move from the bed. Instead, he sat down slowly on its edge and, taking her hand in both of his, he looked at her for a long moment before saying, ‘I wish I knew what’s worrying you.’ It seemed almost as if the word ‘scared’ had prompted this question.

  She moved her legs quickly and looked away from him as she answered, ‘That’s simple. Isn’t everybody worried about the war dragging on like this?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would have worried so much if they’d taken me.’

  ‘Oh yes I would.’ She was gazing up into his face now. ‘I should have gone mad without you.’

  ‘Look, Sarah.’ He tapped her hand gently. ‘I’m going to ask you something and I don’t want you to get annoyed. It isn’t the day or yesterday that it’s been in my mind, it’s been there for a long time, and somehow I’ve got an idea I’m right, because when our John’s on leave you’re as edgy as a foal.’

  She had actually stopped breathing. She was staring at him, her eyes stretched wide.

  ‘Now tell me, Sarah. Has he ever said anything to you…tried anything on?’

  ‘No…No.’ She was shaking her head rapidly, emphasising the denial of her words.

  ‘Now, now, don’t get yourself agitated. It was just an idea I got because, you know, you’ve never really been nice to our John. You’re not snappy by nature.’ He touched her cheek lovingly. ‘But you’ve snapped at him, time and again, I’ve noticed it. And then this week, when he’s been on leave, he’s never been out of the house. And him drinking like a fish…well, I thought…perhaps he might have…’

  ‘No, David, no.’

  ‘All right, all right. Mind you’—he pointed his finger at her—‘I’m very fond of our John, but if I thought he’d ever said a wrong word to you I’d have him on his back as big as he is, and that would be the finish. As brothers go we’ve been close, very close, but there’s some things I wouldn’t stand, not from him or anyone else. I was for going for him last night, acting the goat like he did following you round…’

  ‘Don’t…don’t quarrel with him, David, please. It’s just that when he’s on leave he goes a bit mad. I suppose it’s understandable, him being stuck away in the far point of Scotland for months at a time, it…it must get him down. He’s lonely there, and he’s lonely here I think, and May…well, she…’

  ‘Oh, May! May’s the cause of his trouble, if you ask me. She’s only got one thought in her head and that’s the lad. There’ll be trouble in that quarter, you’ll see, for, as quiet as Paul is, he’s got a will of his own, that boy. And if she brings her ruling hand down too heavy on him…Well. Of course the trouble with Paul too is that he’s too fond of you. That gets under May’s skin; it’s evident.’ He stopped speaking for a moment and stared at her, his head slightly to the side, his face wearing its usual gentle expression. And then he said softly, ‘You’ve never liked our John, have you, Sarah?’

  Her lids flickered just the slightest before she closed her eyes and brought her chin into the deep white flesh of her neck.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ His voice was urgent yet consoling. ‘I understand. And I’m glad in a way because John’s always been a devil with women. You know me, don’t you? I’ve never talked about him, or Dan, or their affairs. Dan, as far as I know, had that one woman and that was all, at least to my knowledge, but our John…aw, one was never any use to him. But I must say he steadied up after he married May. Then came the hard times afore the war and he hadn’t any money to toss around, but since he joined the Air Force, I understand from Dan he’s gone the whole hog again and that’s why I didn’t like the idea of him acting the goat with you, especially as you objected to it, as I could see you did without uttering a word.’

  Sarah kept her eyes closed. Up till a moment ago her whole body had been full of fear; now, to it, was added pain. For days she had feared that John, with his boisterous drink-created hilarity, might go too far, might say something that would open David’s eyes to this thing that was between them, this undeveloped thing that had been stunted in its growth, but which was nevertheless still alive. Twice during this past week she had thought, If he hurts David he’ll cook his own goose, he’ll kill whatever is in me for him. But David must not be hurt. She would do anything to save David from hurt, mental hurt. This gentle creature, whose love had lifted her from the mire of the bottom end—this man without fire. This docile man. Docile,
even at times to the point of boredom, yet who had brought her love for him almost to the peak of adoration. Nothing or nobody must hurt David, because David was gentle, kind and incapable of hurting any living thing.

  Yet there was room in her for pain of a dimension equal to that of the protective fear. It was the pain of degradation and humiliation, as if her body had been assailed. The pain would have been understandable had she been John’s wife, or even his woman, and heard he was carrying on with someone else. But as she was neither, why should such news, news of which she was already aware, hurt her so deeply? She couldn’t really understand herself.

  ‘Aw, don’t be upset.’ David was bending over her again, enfolding her in his arms. ‘I don’t mind how you feel about our John, believe me. In fact, to tell the truth I think I’m glad you feel that way. As long as you love me that’s all I care about.’

  ‘Oh, David, David.’

  ‘There now, there now. Look, I’ve got to go. I should be there now. Old Butler’s a stickler for time; that’s what comes of being a sergeant in the first war. You know’—he smiled at her—‘some of them enjoy it, I know they do…There now, give us a smile, come on.’

  She smiled at him; she put her arms about him and held him fiercely to her; and then they stared at each other for a moment before he pulled himself up from the bed.

  ‘Go to sleep.’

  ‘Goodnight, darling.’

  ‘Goodnight, my love.’

  He was at the door when she whispered, ‘Look in on Kathleen, will you, and see her blackout’s all right? She’s a devil with that blind.’

  ‘I will. Goodnight, love.’

  Sarah was not asleep when at a quarter past ten the siren sounded. It lifted her out of bed and to the bedroom door, and, pulling it open, she called quickly, ‘Kathleen! Kathleen!’ She had begun dressing before its wailing died away. She called again, ‘Are you up, Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes, Mam, I’m nearly ready.’

  As Sarah hurried to the landing Kathleen came out of her bedroom, dressed in a siren suit and with an eiderdown over her arm. She was tall for fourteen and big-boned. In this way she took after Sarah, but her face held little resemblance as yet to her mother’s, or yet her father’s. If she resembled anyone it was her grandfather Hetherington, yet the resemblance to Stan stopped here, for her manner, unlike his, was quick, vivacious, even boisterous. She ran down the narrow stairs with the fleetness of a hare, crying up to Sarah behind her, ‘I’ll get the flask ’cos Uncle Dan will likely come in. Will I bring some cake?’

  ‘Leave that alone’—Sarah’s voice sounded unusually sharp—‘and get yourself over. I’ll see to the flask and things. Go on now.’

  ‘We’ll both do it and we’ll get there quicker. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She was flying into the kitchen as if partaking in a game.

  ‘You know what your father said, we haven’t to play about. Come on, let’s get settled in, I can come in later and get the tea.’

  ‘It won’t take a minute…O-oh! Mam.’

  The sound that cut off Kathleen’s voice was a force that lifted her off her feet and sent her staggering against the wall.

  Sarah found herself on the floor by David’s chair. She was gripping handfuls of the mat. The house seemed to have stood on its end for a moment and was now settling back. As the gas flickered twice, then went out, she cried, ‘Kathleen! Kathleen! Where are you? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Kathleen’s voice was very small. ‘It’s a bomb somewhere…somewhere near, isn’t it?’

  Sarah pulled herself to her feet. There was cold air coming into the room and she said, ‘Be careful, the window’s broken. Where are you?’ She groped forward until she found Kathleen’s hand, and, pulling her towards her, she whispered, ‘Let’s get into the street.’

  The front door was stuck, and as she tried to pull it open it was pushed from the outside and a voice out of the darkness said anxiously, ‘Are you all right, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. Yes, we’re all right. I thought the house was down…Where did it drop?’

  ‘It must have been at the bottom end. We…we only got the blast.’

  ‘The…bottom…end?’ She repeated the words slowly, separating them. David was at the bottom end, that’s where the post was. Her mother was at the bottom end too, but that didn’t matter so much. David…David was on duty there. She gasped out now, ‘Dad! Dad! David…he’s on duty.’

  ‘I know. Now keep calm, it’ll likely not be anywhere near the houses. You go into the shelter…or, better still, come into ours.’ His hand found her arm. ‘Mary’ll be glad if you’ll come in. I know she will. It’s hard for her to give in, she’s made like that.’

  ‘Yes, all right, I’ll come, but later, Dad. Yes, yes, I’ll come in later, but I must see if I can find David…he…’ She stopped talking. A moment ago she hadn’t been able to see Stan, and now his face, grey, thin, and pinched, was outlined before her and it was covered with a rosy glow.

  ‘Fire. There’s a fire, a big one.’ She made to run from him when he caught her by both arms, crying, ‘Now be sensible, Sarah; he’s got his job to do. Be sensible. Get inside and I’ll go and see how things are. Dan’s already gone down.’

  ‘No! No!…And there’s me mother, it might be our street.’ She pulled away from him. ‘Look, Dad, take Kathleen in, I’ll just go and see, I’ll be back in a minute.’ She grabbed Kathleen and pushed her towards her grandfather.

  ‘But, Mam…’

  ‘Do as you’re told and stay where you are.’ On this she turned from them and ran round the corner. The red glow was brighter here, shot through with flashes crossing the sky. It showed up the main road and lorries and moving shapes. There was a constant rattle of anti-aircraft fire, and from the distance there came two more dull thuds, heaving, pressing thuds. She was halfway to the bottom end when her running was jerked to a stop and a voice said, ‘Where are you off to, missis?’

  She gasped and her head wobbled back and forwards on her shoulders before she could bring out, ‘Howard Street. Me Mother…and me husband’s on duty.’

  ‘Take it easy, missis. Take it easy; get your breath…’ He paused a moment before saying, ‘I’m afraid the bottom end’s had it; they must have been trying for the factory beyond. Four of the streets are like matchwood, at least as far as I can gather. Best keep away, you’d never get through, anyway.’

  ‘But me…me…hus…husband. Hetherington’s the name.’

  ‘Oh, Hetherington…David. Oh, aye, I know David, missis. Well, look, let me take you back home now, come on.’ His voice was gentle and he turned her about, but she jerked away from his hold.

  ‘I’ve got to see if he’s all right; the post is up that way.’

  ‘Look, lass, you couldn’t do anything; the place is a shambles, fire and all that, you can see for yourself.’ He pointed upwards.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I must find out. Leave go, please.’ He was gripping her by the shoulders, his voice harsh now. ‘They’ve got their work cut out as it is, getting people out, them that’s left. You’ll know sooner or later. I only know the post has gone. But that doesn’t say your husband’s not all right, he could have been any place.’

  Perhaps it was because he didn’t expect any further resistance that he found himself stumbling back against the wall. Sarah was running like the wind now, gabbling over and over again in her mind, ‘David! David! Oh, don’t be dead, David!’

  She was stopped before she reached Dudley Street or where Dudley Street had once been. There was a group of men frantically pulling hoses from a fire engine, and she fell headlong over a length of hose and on to her face. They picked her up, and one said, ‘Steady, missis, steady on. You’re going the wrong way; you must get out of this.’ Another asked, ‘Are you from here?’

  She was standing on her feet supported between them; she was shaken with the fall and it rocked her words into a drunken mutter and she stuttered, ‘Da…vid. I want Da…vid…my husband. Fi…fire-watching. H
e…he was f…fire-watching at the post.’

  One of the men said something gently to her, but it was lost in the noise of the guns pop-popping overhead.

  The older man shouted to someone and a woman came running. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Take her to headquarters.’ He lifted Sarah’s hand like that of a child towards her and the woman, who scarcely came up to Sarah’s shoulder, put her arm around her waist and led her away. And she allowed herself to be led away from the burning tortured jumble of bricks, wood, and bodies. But when they reached the main road she said quietly to the woman, ‘I’m going home, I live in Camelia Street.’

  The woman still had her arm around Sarah’s waist when they reached the front door.

  Two

  It was three o’clock the next afternoon when they brought David home. John and Dan carried him in and laid him on the bed, and he still looked alive. He was unmarked except for the brick dust that covered him. They had found him in a pocket of beams. He had not died by being crushed, or by a blow, or yet by fire, he had died from shock. The heart that had stopped him passing for the Army had given up.

  Sarah, alone in the room with him, knelt by the bedside. Gently she lifted up his hand, his long thin hand. It felt cool, not cold or clammy. He’s not dead, she thought. He could be in a coma; they should do something. If he was dead she would be crying, wouldn’t she, and she couldn’t cry. She could only keep moaning, Oh, David, David.

  Not until she laid her face against his did it get through to her that he was really dead, and with this knowledge was born a strange weird feeling. It worked itself up from the core of her being. She felt its approach even through the subconscious layers of her mind, and when it burst the surface she screwed her eyes tightly shut for a moment against the black light of the startling truth it presented to her…She was relieved, she was glad that David was dead.