Tara

by Lesley Pearse

  But it was Tara his eyes were drawn to. In the soft light from the bedside lamp her hair was pure gold. He had a vague memory of something someone had told him about Mabel when she was young – colouring that grabbed the eye and forced a man to turn his head and stare in wonder.

  'Go to sleep now.' Tara gently pushed her mother down on to the pillow and tucked the covers around her. 'I'll stay with you.'

  She lay down beside her mother now, stroking her forehead. Blonde and gold hair mingled on the pillow, as the doctor watched. He had no medicine as strong as a child's love. He was just an old quack with a bag full of pills and a few worn-out platitudes.

  Chapter 9

  Rain beat down like stair-rods as Paul's small oak coffin was lowered into the ground. Tara huddled closer to her mother, trying to hold the umbrella over Amy's head.

  Tara had been crying incessantly since the first glimpse of the hearse. Just the thought of Paul lying in that flower-covered coffin made her stomach churn, and once again she blamed herself for his death. If only she'd run downstairs that evening and got up on the wall! She had always protected him before. Why hadn't she done something?

  She wasn't listening to the vicar any longer. She didn't even feel the rain or see the crowd of mourners. Harry and George's presence didn't help either, all she could think of was that this was a place where Paul loved to play, even though Gran scolded him for being so irreverent.

  Time to go now.' Uncle George took her arm and led her away from the grave, towards the gate.

  Her mother still stood at the graveside with Gran, their heads sunk on to their chests. Their two black-dressed figures looked shrunken against the flower-covered mound of earth and the huge yew tree. Behind them loomed St Andrew's church, with its square tower, and the strange broken-off monument with steps round it that people said was a market cross from medieval times. Gran was holding the umbrella over both of them, but it was shaking as she sobbed.

  Amy had remained dry-eyed throughout the service, but the vacant look in her blue eyes was far more disturbing than tears. She wasn't aware of the vicar's comforting words, in fact she didn't seem to know why she was standing there in the rain.

  Tara could smell the soil, not the flowers, and all she could hear were Gran's sobs and the sound of rain drumming on the coffin.

  'Come on, into the car.' George's voice shook and when Tara looked at him she saw red-rimmed eyes and tears mingling with the rain on his face. 'I wish I could say summat to make it better, sweetheart, but I can't.'

  The funeral car was waiting just outside the church gates by the old school house. Tara sat in it alone, shivering as Harry helped Amy and Mabel from the graveyard. With a protective and supporting arm round each of them, he looked almost indecently strong and healthy.

  Amy was walking like a puppet, staring straight ahead through the black veil of her hat, unaware that every shop and cottage had blinds or curtains drawn across its windows as a mark of respect and sympathy.

  Harry almost had to lift her into the car, then Gran followed. Tara shrank sideways against the door, frightened now by her mother's silence. Harry closed the door, said something to the driver which she couldn't hear through the glass partition, then ran ahead and jumped into his father's car. They drove off ahead and she guessed they were rushing to get to the farm before them to tell Mrs Hewish to make the tea and uncover the sandwiches.

  'I wonder how many will come back?' Gran said. Tara knew this question didn't require an answer, it was the only thing she could think of to break the silence.

  "The flowers were lovely,' Tara said, wondering if the gravedigger was already shovelling soil on to the coffin. She and Paul had spied on the funny little man once after a funeral; he had sat on a grave, poured himself tea from a flask and smoked a cigarette before he started.

  'You must eat something.' George stood in front of Tara as she leaned against the kitchen wall. He held out a plate with a shrimp vol au vent, a sausage roll and a couple of sandwiches.

  He didn't look right in a black suit. It made him seem thinner and older. The light shone down on his bald patch and his big bulbous nose made a strange shadow on his chin, almost like a beard.

  'I can't,' she sighed. 'It just won't go down.'

  Everyone was congregating in the kitchen, despite the food laid out in the dining room. Mr Atherton, the headmaster from Paul's school in the village, was there, his teacher Miss Candrew, along with Gregory Masterton, Mr Miles from the post office and old Mrs Smart from the sweet shop. There were others Tara didn't know, old people in the main, acquaintances of Gran's from her youth.

  Colin and his parents had been at the service, all three of them crying openly. Tara had wanted to speak to Colin, to try to make him see it wasn't his fault. It made her feel even worse to see his little freckled face, usually wreathed in a grin, looking pale and drawn.

  Mr Hodges was at the back of the church with his small blonde wife. As they walked out she saw his eyes were red-rimmed and he hung his head. He hadn't looked a bit like her father close to, but Tara still wanted to hate him because he was responsible.

  Heavy rain battered the window, creating a murky greyness that wasn't entirely dispersed even with the lights on. The heat from the Aga combined with the damp clothes made an atmosphere like a Turkish bath, with an overpowering smell of damp wool.

  'For me,' George wheedled, holding out a teaspoon with a shrimp on it. 'I brought these specially for yer. They're kosher Whitechapel ones, none of yer Somerset muck.'

  She wanted to laugh at his little joke and tell him how kind he was. George had come as soon as he heard about Paul's death and it was him who'd made all the funeral arrangements, leaving Gran free to look after Amy. Harry had come just this morning, bringing armfuls of food, including these shrimps.

  'What's going to happen to Mum?' she asked. Amy was sitting on the settle, staring vacantly into space, the same way she'd been ever since the accident. Gran had removed her coat and hat and put dry shoes on her feet, but she acknowledged nothing.

  'Give it time, luv.' George made her open her mouth and he popped in the shrimp. 'The Doc says it's 'er way of coping with it, and she will come round.'

  'I could bear it if she cried,' Tara whispered. Everyone was talking so softly her voice seemed too loud. 'But this silence is scary.'

  George had weighed up the situation when he arrived and he was far more worried than he let on. Amy was docile, picking at the food put in front of her, obediently doing as she was told, but she made no move to do anything of her own volition. Mabel escorted her to the toilet, ordered her to wash and dress, but they all sensed that if left alone, she would just stay where she was last put. Her speech was limited to yes and no. It was like looking after a brain-damaged child.

  Doctor Masterton, a man George had come to respect for his care and concern, had said her behaviour was partly due to the tranquillisers he had given her. But even he could offer no reassurance that this wouldn't go on indefinitely.

  'Your Gran understands what's going on in yer mum's mind.' George lowered his voice to a whisper. 'She went through something similar herself. The way she sees it is that your mum will snap back. If she doesn't then we'll get help.'

  George had been surprised by Mabel. The patience and care she showed Amy came from the heart and when she broke down during the service he realised just how much she loved both her grandchildren.

  'She will get better.' Harry joined them, and slipped his arm round Tara.

  Tara was finding Harry disconcerting. She had expected his arrival this morning would ease the misery inside her. But instead it had added embarrassment to her burdens.

  He looked like a spiv in his expensive suit and winklepickers, too noticeable among all the round, rosy country faces and shapeless suits of men who normally wore tweed. She was aware that his muscles were created in a gym rather than by manual labour, and his gold cufflinks and identity bracelet were too flashy. But worse still, his Cockney charm reminded her too
much of her father.

  She wriggled away from his arm and avoided looking into his eyes.

  'We'll be all right once all this is over,' she said. 'Gran's been so good with Mum and Doctor Masterton comes two or three times a day.'

  Harry didn't reply immediately, but lit a cigarette and puffed it thoughtfully.

  'Don't try to shut us out,' he said 'We want to help.'

  Tara felt a new batch of tears welling up inside her.

  'I didn't mean to,' she whispered. 'It's just that...' She broke off, unable to explain.

  'I'm a reminder of bad things?' he prompted, moving in front of her and tipping her face up to his.

  When he drew her into his arms she could do nothing but lean against his damp jacket and cry. His head was bent to hers.

  'I know I don't fit in down 'ere,' he whispered. 'I don't speak proper and me whistle is all wrong. But I've always bin like a big brother to you, I can't switch it off now.'

  She heard George move away to speak to someone else; she could hear Gran slamming the kettle down again on to the Aga and Gregory Masterton talking to Paul's schoolteacher, and she wanted Harry to take her somewhere quiet to just hold her and convince her that she could be happy again.

  'I hate Dad,' she murmured against his shoulder. 'I just wish I'd killed him that night. That's why Paul was so scared, he thought for a moment it was Dad chasing him. I don't ever want to go to London again.'

  'Your Dad has gone away up North to work,' Harry whispered. 'I've got my ear to the ground and I know he won't be coming back. In a year or two you'll be leaving school and London's where it's all happening for anyone in fashion. Right now you want to hide away down here with your gran, and that's all right, but don't forget you're a Londoner, sweetheart. You'll want to come back some day.'

  Harry had been staggered by the changes at the farm. His memories of the filth and neglect were almost wiped out when he saw the front garden bright with towering delphiniums and Canterbury bells. So the front porch still tottered to one side, the barn was still full of holes, but the farmhouse gleamed welcomingly inside and the yard was a pleasant place, even awash with rain.

  'I won't ever leave Mum,' Tara sniffed. 'I'm all she's got now.'

  Harry sighed. He guessed that Amy was responsible for all the changes here, that she worked like a slave to keep it up, and now Tara felt she had to take over her role. He wished he and George could take her away and let her grow up without responsibility.

  'Promise me you'll come up to the Smoke for a holiday in the summer?' he said.

  Amy had sent George some photographs of both children just a few weeks earlier and they'd both been stunned by how beautiful Tara had become. But today she looked like a waif again, wearing a black dress that was clearly borrowed, her hair scraped back in a bun. Queenie had warned him only last night that grieving was important and there were no short-cuts in the process. Yet even though he knew instinctively this was true, he had to make some attempt to try.

  'You just wait till you're fifteen or sixteen.' He lifted her tear-stained face and wiped it with a handkerchief. 'I'll take you out dancing wiv all my mates and show off my beautiful girl. We'll go up West and look at all the clothes. I'll take you to Southend and we'll eat jellied eels and winkles till we're sick.'

  A wan smile warmed her pale face.

  'You'll be married by then,' she said.

  'Who, me?' Harry laughed, with a flash of brilliant white teeth. 'I've got to wait for you to grow up first!'

  'It's kind of you to offer us a bed.' George shot a sideways look at Mabel as he carefully wiped up plates and stacked them on the table. 'But I think we'd better 'ead on back to the Smoke.'

  Everyone had left now, with the exception of old Mrs Hewitt, who was pushing the carpet sweeper round the sitting room. Amy, Harry and Tara were in there, too. Tara was showing Harry some old photographs; Amy sat silently in the armchair, staring blankly ahead.

  It was still raining outside, and the lane up the side of the farm was a quagmire. Stan had enlisted the help of a young lad to help with the milking and it seemed to George that Mabel was putting her house in order.

  'I misjudged you, George.' Mabel's drawn grey face broke into something resembling a smile. 'I don't know what I would have done without your help.'

  'If there's anything I can do. A private doctor, a holiday, anything. You only have to pick up the phone and ask.'

  'You've done more than enough already.' Mabel laid a hand on his arm. 'Thank Queenie for sending down the coat for Amy, and all that food.'

  'We're getting married in August.' George's face broke into the first real smile of the day. 'I'm 'oping you'll all come! There's no fool like an old fool, they say, all these years we've bin friends but until Amy pointed out a few things I never saw her in that light.'

  It was a great relief to Mabel that George was getting married, because she sensed the way he felt about Amy. She didn't mind a market-man as a friend, but she certainly didn't want her daughter marrying one.

  'I'm sure you'll be very happy.' Mabel remembered Queenie. A mouthy baggage with a taste for flashy clothes, but even she had to agree the woman had a big heart and she was perfect for George. 'That only leaves Harry to marry off.'

  Harry disturbed her. He had reminded her of Mac-Donald the first time she saw him and, even though she couldn't help but like him, he seemed too close to Tara for comfort.

  'I wish I could get him married off and settled.' George sighed deeply and a cloud crossed his rosy face.

  'Is he getting into mischief?' Like Amy, Mabel knew all the temptations in the East End. It had its own laws; thieving and fighting were just part of the rich tapestry.

  'Hanging around with the wrong sort, more like.' George drew in a breath, then exhaled noisily.

  'He's a good lad, he won't come to any harm,' Mabel reassured him. 'It's just his age.'

  'Well, you know what it's like round our manor.' George bit his lip thoughtfully. 'I wishnow I'd pushed 'im into an apprenticeship, buildin' or summat. Running the business wiv me don't exactly fill 'is time.'

  'As I would have said in the old days, "The devil finds work for idle hands".' Mabel chuckled softly.

  George smiled. It was good to see Mabel had dropped her obsession with religion, even better to hear her laugh at herself.

  'Exactly.' He patted her shoulder. 'But lecturing 'im and playing the 'eavy father don't 'elp none, Mabel. I've offered up a few prayers meself in that quarter. But when I see 'Arry coming home wiv a flashy suit and diamond cufflinks and 'e tells me he won the dough down the dogs, what am I supposed to think?'

  'He's a bit big to put over your knee and spank.' Mabel raised an eyebrow.

  ' 'E could lay me out wiv one punch.' George laughed. 'Solid muscle, 'e is, and 'e can run like Roger Bannister. But 'e's a truthful lad, Mabel, and 'e's got a good 'ead on 'is shoulders. So we just 'ave to 'ope it's just a phase 'e's going through.'

  Amy sat motionless in the armchair.

  Everything seemed remote, as if she were just an eyeball and an ear stuck in a block of concrete, observing, listening, but not feeling anything. Was it those pills Dr Masterton gave her? If she stopped taking them would the pain be so unbearable she'd want to scream?

  They didn't stop Paul's face dancing in front of her, though. She could feel his hand creeping into hers and his lips kissing her cheek. She remembered how he'd squealed when she washed his neck and how it felt to wrap him in a towel and hug him dry.

  She would never see him riding the horse her mother had promised, never be able to tease him when his voice broke or give him his first razor. It didn't matter how many pills they gave her, no matter how many kind words people said, she knew it was her fault he was dead, and nothing could change that.

  Tara felt close to tears again as George and Harry prepared to leave.

  George had been here for a week, filling the house with his presence, making her strong. Harry had made her feel marginally better since the funeral, bu
t now he was going. Mabel was talking to George in low tones back in the sitting room. Her mother had been taken up to bed. Harry was perched on the edge of the kitchen table and he'd scooped up his jacket ready to put it back on.

  'I'll come down in a few weeks to see what I can do.' Harry got off the table and put his arm round her shoulders. 'Your gran told Dad she intended to get another man in to do the dairy work, so she can look after the house and Amy. So don't go trying to do everything.'

  The grief came over her in waves. 'I'll be all right.' She bit back the tears and gulped. 'I'm going back to school on Monday. Don't worry about us.'

  'Come 'ere,' Harry said, taking her hands and pulling her closer. 'I gotta do one thing before I go.'

  He put his hands behind her head and one by one pulled out all the hairpins that secured her bun.

  'That's better.' He smiled at her as he ran his fingers through her long, silky hair. 'Paul loved your hair, 'e wouldn't want you to hide it. And 'e wouldn't like to see you looking sad forever.'

  'Oh, Harry.' Tara flung herself at him, burying her face in his chest. 'Were you ever scared when you were my age?'

  His body was like a warm rock, she could hear his heart beating and smell the Old Spice that evoked so many happy memories of staying with Uncle George.

  'All the time.' He put one hand on her cheek and rubbed it gently. 'Can't you remember me down Mile End Road with Dad, the seat out of my trousers, skinny as a whippet? I was scared of bigger boys, scared 'cos I didn't think the girls would like me. I was even worried 'cos I couldn't dance.'

  Tara almost laughed. She could only ever remember Harry being more handsome, more sophisticated and more daring than any other boy.

  'Suppose Mum has to go off to the loony bin?' she whispered.

  Harry held her arms firmly while he looked into her eyes.

  'Your mum's just closed the shop for the time being,' he insisted. 'She ain't goin' barmy, just so terribly sad she can't cope for the moment. You wouldn't think nothing if she 'ad a bad cold or a bellyache, and that's all this is, only in her mind.'