Finding it difficult to talk with his shirt collar pulled tight round his neck, the barman nodded.
Letting him loose, Jack took another ten-shilling note from his wallet and placed it on the bar. ‘If anybody comes looking… you never saw her.’
The man looked at Jack’s fiery eyes and his clenched fist. ‘Anything you say, sir,’ he said nervously. ‘I didn’t see nothing and nobody.’
Jack nodded. ‘I know your face, and I know where to find you, should your tongue run away with you. Remember that, and keep your mouth shut!’
Leaving the barman with the impression that Jack Mason was a man to be reckoned with, he took Amy by the arm and together they walked away from the pub and into a cafe on the corner of Rosamund Street. Here he asked the girl behind the counter for two full English breakfasts.
‘I bet you haven’t eaten a thing this morning, am I right?’ he teased Amy.
She smiled. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Because I haven’t either,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been living on my nerves, not sure whether you’d come or whether you wouldn’t.’ Placing his two hands round her face, he kissed her tenderly. ‘I love you, Amy,’ he murmured. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’
Amy nodded. ‘I love you, too,’ she said, and held his hands so tight he thought she would never let go.
Still nervous in case they were seen by someone she knew, Amy only pecked at her food. ‘Where will we go, Jack?’ she wanted to know.
‘We’re going to my home. I have a place in Bedford, down in the south. I hope you’ll like it, Amy.’
‘Will Frank be able to track us down there?’ Her voice shook, and he knew the terror in her.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied softly. ‘And even if he does, you’ve no need to be frightened. I can deal with Frank Tattersall. But I’ll promise you one thing: he’ll never hurt you again, not as long as I live!’
Breakfast done with, they climbed into Jack’s car and sat holding hands in the front like two young lovers.
‘I can’t believe I’m going away from Blackburn with you beside me.’ Jack had dreamed of this for so long, and now it was reality. He thought himself the luckiest man in the world.
‘Jack?’ Amy turned her pensive gaze on him.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘Won’t you change your mind… about the children?’
Slowly, agonisingly, he shook his head. ‘I can’t.’
Leaning back in her seat, Amy let her thoughts wander to the children. In her mind’s eye she could see little Eddie, running round the parlour, his napkin round his ankles; and Bertha, laughing, always laughing. Then there was Milly and Georgie – and Molly. Oh Molly, what have I done to you?
But in spite of her sorrow, she could never go back. Not now she had found the courage to leave.
‘Amy?’ Seeing her distress, Jack’s heart went out to her. ‘Look at me, darling.’
When her brown eyes were uplifted to his, he affirmed his promise, but this time he wisely qualified it with, ‘While I have money, I won’t see them go without.’
Opening her heart to him, she asked, her voice raw, ‘Am I a selfish woman, Jack? Am I so wicked to leave them behind?’
Regarding her now, seeing how thin and pale she was, and how the pain of what Frank had done to her had dulled her pretty eyes and made her so desperate, he could hardly bear it. ‘There isn’t a selfish, wicked bone in your body,’ he said, ‘otherwise you’d have left him long since. Think about it, Amy. If you went back now, what would become of you?’
Amy knew already, for hadn’t she thought of it time and again, wishing there was an escape, hoping Frank would die and she might make some sort of a life without him.
In a faltering tone, she gave Jack his answer. ‘I’d be an old woman before my time. The same life, the same Frank. With my spirit shrinking day after day, until there was nothing left.’
With a shock, she suddenly saw what he was getting at. ‘I’d be no use to the children then, would I?’ she said. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Jack?’
His answer was to take her in his arms. Grateful to be in a safe place at last, Amy snuggled up to him. It was so comforting to be in a man’s arms, knowing it was love that made him want to hold her. It was good not to dread what might come next and, knowing Jack, never again to be thrashed to within an inch of her life for daring to say ‘no’.
Despite her joy, she was engulfed with guilt over the children, and Molly. Especially Molly, because she was left to carry a burden not of her own making.
Jack had said there was not a selfish or wicked bone in her body, but nothing had been said about her being a coward. For that was exactly what she was. Her cowardice had robbed a lovely young woman, of many carefree years, and maybe the chance to be happy in a life of her own.
* * *
As Jack drove down the country roads, getting closer to home with every mile, he felt a deep contentment at Amy’s presence by his side.
To his mind he had done the right thing in plucking her from a life of misery with Frank Tattersall. Yes, he regretted the fact that she had left her children behind, but he had been straight with her right from the start. He was not a man to have brats running round his feet. It wasn’t that he disliked them, just that he simply couldn’t cope with their boisterousness. He made no pretence about that.
All the same, he did feel a rush of guilt about Amy’s eldest daughter, Molly, who had been forced to take on the chaos her mother had left behind.
He consoled himself with the fact that she was only eighteen, with time and energy to spare. Then there was the fact that she would not have to endure Frank Tattersall in the same way her mother had.
He told himself that and felt a little easier.
* * *
Molly was amazed to learn that her mother had left the hospital, and even more astonished to be given the letter. ‘I told her we could let you know she’d gone home,’ the sister, who was still on duty, said. ‘But she was adamant about leaving you the note.’
Molly thanked her, and in the privacy of the outer hall, she opened the letter and read it. With each word her heart sank inside her. She could not believe what she was reading. Dear God! It was like her mam had lost her mind. Afraid and confused, she folded the letter and slid it into her pocket.
Returning to the sister’s office, she said heatedly, ‘You had no right to let her out. She’s not well enough.’
‘This is a hospital, not a prison,’ the sister told her patiently. ‘We can’t force anyone to stay against their will. As long as they put their signature to this form, they’re free to leave – although of course we do try to satisfy ourselves they are in no immediate danger.’
‘Oh, and how did you do that in my mam’s case?’ Molly demanded. ‘You didn’t try to reach me, did you?’
‘Look, my dear,’ the sister said kindly, for the girl before her seemed so distraught, ‘your mother wasn’t ill in the true sense of the word. Her injuries were mostly flesh wounds and bruises; there was nothing broken. And although it may sound harsh, we have women in here who lose their baby and go home the following day. Then there are others who need two weeks or more to regain their strength. Your mother is an exceptional woman. Moreover, she was perfectly composed when she asked me to give you your letter.’
‘She isn’t well in her mind. She’s been troubled these past days,’ Molly said desperately. ‘I saw it, why couldn’t you? Instead you let her go without even knowing where she was headed!’ She choked back a sob.
‘Why, your mother has gone straight home, hasn’t she? What’s more, she seemed well enough to leave hospital. You say she was troubled, but it’s quite normal to suffer a measure of grief over a lost baby. You mustn’t worry unduly. Mrs Tattersall is a strong, sensible woman.’
Desperate to get away, Molly bade her goodnight.
The sister called her back. ‘If you’re worried about your mother, perhaps you should contact the authorities
.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘It was just a suggestion.’
Molly forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry if I lost my temper,’ she said. ‘It was just such a shock to come here and find her gone. I expect you’re right… I’ll get home and there she’ll be.’ But she knew different. She had read the letter, and it was clear enough: her mam had no intention of going home ever again.
* * *
Molly didn’t go straight home either. Instead she made her way to the nearby park, where she sat on a bench and took out the letter once more.
Three times she read it, looking for a clue as to where her mam could have gone with this man. It seemed so final, so cruel to Molly. Would she ever see her mother again? And what of her future with Alfie? She would never be able to go to America now. And – oh God! – how would she break the news to her siblings? And to Frank? It didn’t bear thinking about.
For the next hour she toured any likely place where she might discover her mother’s whereabouts; no one at the bus station could recall seeing anyone of that description, nor could the ticket clerk at the railway station. ‘I’ve been here all day,’ he grumbled. ‘If there’d been a woman like you mention, I reckon I’d have noticed.’
The man at the local taxi firm, who served the infirmary, told her assuredly, ‘Sorry, luv, I can’t help you.’
Molly cursed Jack Mason, and cursed her mother, and cried at her going. Through all of it, her heart ached with the worst pain she had ever experienced.
After the tears came the anger. ‘I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, Mam,’ she muttered. ‘Not as long as I live!’
Hardening her heart, she thrust the letter into her coat pocket, and made her way back to Victoria Street. Tomorrow, when she’d had more time to think, she would decide what to do.
Chapter Eight
After putting the children to bed, Molly dozed in a chair, the letter lying open in her lap. She had read it over and over.
The truth was, she found it hard to believe that her mam could just run away and leave her children. She had so wanted to confide in Rosie, but when she got home, that dear soul was in a rush to get back to her own home and cook the men’s dinner, and so there was no opportunity.
Alfie had been round, and they’d talked once more of his plans, and their future, and Molly found she didn’t have the heart or courage to show him the letter. Instead, she smiled and chatted while inside, her heart was broken.
As usual, her dad hadn’t come home from work, and in the silence of the little parlour, Molly cried many tears. Which way to turn? What to do? She couldn’t think straight any more.
In the small hours she woke with a fright. ‘Who’s there?’ she gasped. Sitting bolt upright in the chair, she gathered her senses and glanced through bleary eyes towards the doorway, relaxing when she saw that it was Frank, come home at long last. Villain or not, at least he was a familiar face and one which she was surprisingly pleased to see. ‘Oh, it’s you, Dad!’
Her relief at seeing him didn’t last long though, not when she saw what he’d brought home.
‘What the devil are you doing up this time o’ the morning?’ Unsteady on his feet and with a woman curled in his arm, Frank Tattersall staggered across the room. ‘Get yerself off to bed!’
Ignoring him, Molly’s glance went to the woman; tall and skinny, with bleached hair and made-up eyes, she had seen better days.
‘Did you go in to see our mam?’ Molly asked him straight out. She wondered if he already knew that his wife had run off with her fancy man!
He answered with a snarl. ‘Been to see ’er? Have I heck as like. Right now, yer mam’s neither use nor bloody ornament to me. Had me thrown out of that ’orspital like I were a bloody criminal, she did.’
He turned to fondle the woman’s breasts. ‘Besides, why would I want to see yer mam, when I’ve got the pick of any woman on the streets?’ He began undoing her blouse, at the same time telling Molly, ‘You clear off… unless you’ve a mind to stay and watch.’
The two of them began to giggle. Just then, a tousled little Bertha appeared at the doorway, rubbing her eyes and crying, ‘I want my mammy!’
Horrified she might see, Molly swept the little girl into her arms. Closing the door, she hurried up to the bedroom. ‘It’s all right,’ she told the sobbing child. ‘Molly’s here.’ And the way things were, here she must stay.
Exhausted, she cradled the bairn, and fell asleep beside her.
* * *
In the morning, the woman was gone, and Frank Tattersall lay slumped across the sofa, snoring loudly. Shaking him until he opened his eyes, Molly told him, ‘It’s half past six. You’d best clean up and look sharp, or you’ll be late for work.’ Disgust trembled in her voice. ‘You stink of beer!’ Throwing open the windows, she let in a blast of cold air that woke him in a minute.
‘Shut that sodding winder, you silly cow!’ Clutching his shirt about him, Frank struggled from the sofa and hobbled across the room, where he took it on himself to slam the window shut again. ‘This is my bloody ’ouse, and I’ll say when the winders are to be opened.’
There followed a heated argument, during which Molly warned him, ‘Bertha almost saw you and that tart last night. What in God’s name were you thinking of?’
Without warning, he swung round and slapped her hard on the face. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,’ he yelled. ‘I’m my own boss, and don’t you forget it. I don’t answer to nobody, least of all a snotty-nosed little bugger like you. And yer mam’s not ’ere, is she, eh? Oh no! She’s lying in that ’orspital, being waited on hand and foot, and not giving a sod about what I need!’
Her face burning from the slap, Molly straightened herself to her full height, swung her arm back and hit her father with all her might, almost falling over with the impact. Then, as he stared at her with disbelieving eyes, she warned him in a trembling voice, ‘Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again. I’m not our mam, and I won’t be knocked about, not by you or anybody.’
With that she turned and strode into the scullery. She filled the kettle from the cold tap, and was about to turn towards the stove when she felt herself being grabbed by the shoulders and flung across the room.
Running at her like a madman, Frank pinned her to the wall by her throat, his hand gripping so tight she fought for breath. ‘I’m the man of this ’ouse,’ he growled in her face. ‘Nobody tells me what to do. An’ if that doesn’t suit yer, then get out an’ stay out. There’s plenty o’ women as’ll keep ’ouse for me while yer mam’s pampering herself in that place.’
Leaving her shaken and gasping for air, he grabbed up his belongings and slammed out of the house.
For what seemed an age, Molly leaned against the wall, her hands to her throat, her eyes closed. She imagined her mam away with her fella, laughing and free, not caring about the chaos she had left behind. Suddenly, rage boiled up inside her. Giving a cry of pain, she lunged at the shelves, and with one sweep of her arm sent the entire contents to the floor; cups went crashing, jars of jam splattered open across the scullery floor, and when there was nothing left on the shelves, she thumped them with her bare fists until the skin split open and the blood ran down her arms.
‘Whatever’s going on here, child?’ Rosie’s shocked voice cut through Molly’s insanity, instantly calming her.
‘Oh Rosie, if only you knew!’ She at once began clearing up the mess. ‘Look what I’ve done! Oh dear God, Rosie, what’s to become of us?’
Leading the trembling girl away from the scullery, Rosie took her into the parlour, where she eased her on to the sofa. ‘I think we’d best bathe your arms first,’ she suggested. ‘After that, you might want to tell me all about it, eh?’
Rosie quickly cleared up in the scullery, and after a few minutes came back into the parlour, where Molly had composed herself and was now mortified by what she’d done. ‘Thank God the young ’uns are still fast asleep,’ she told Rosie. ‘I’d never ha
ve forgiven myself if they’d seen all that.’
Setting a bowl of water at her side, the older woman chuckled comfortably. ‘Kids’ll sleep through all hell let loose. Whereas me, I wake at the drop of a hat, so I do.’ She had her eyes on Molly’s face and could see the pain there. ‘Whatever made yer do it, lass?’ she asked, serious now. ‘I’ve never seen you like that afore.’
Jumping to the wrong conclusion, she said suddenly, ‘It’s Lottie, isn’t it? She’s gone and got herself pregnant.’
Molly shook her head. ‘No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had. She hasn’t been in all night. Honest to God, Rosie, I’m at my wits’ end. Later, when I’ve got the older children off to school, would you mind watching the bairns while I go and look for her?’ Troubles never come singly, she thought cynically.
Rosie agreed without hesitation. ‘If it weren’t Lottie who upset you, it must have been your da,’ she concluded. ‘I saw him go striding down the street, a face like thunder. He left the door ajar. That’s how I got in – I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Course not.’ Dipping her hands into the lukewarm water, Molly washed her arms and dabbed at the wounds with the flannel. When she winced, Rosie explained, ‘I’ve put a measure o’ salt in there. It stings like the very devil, but it’ll heal the skin in no time at all.’
When Molly lapsed into a troubled silence, Rosie wouldn’t let go. ‘What’s happened between you and your da?’ she asked gently. ‘What made you go off the rails like that?’
Molly looked up at her, the enormity of what her mam had done only now beginning to sink in. ‘There’s a letter in my coat pocket,’ she said, ‘hanging up behind the door.’
Going across the room, Rosie reached into the coat pocket and drew out the letter. She then brought it back to Molly and laid it on the arm of the sofa. ‘Is this the one?’
Looking Back Page 11