The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  ‘No. There’s nothing to worry about, though I do need her to make an appointment to come into the surgery to have her pregnancy confirmed.’

  ‘Pregnancy!’

  The doctor smiled at the disbelief registered on Fran’s face. ‘Apart from the bouts of morning sickness, Tina is a healthy young lady.’

  When she’d seen the doctor out, Fran made her way slowly up the stairs, thinking back to the time when she was pregnant and her bouts of morning sickness.

  Propped up on the pillows Tina looked crestfallen. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked woefully. ‘And Joe, he’ll go bananas.’ She began to sob, her body heaving.

  Fran sat on the bed and cradled Tina in her arms, whispering soothing words, but not able to give an answer.

  When Tina tears subsided, Fran disentangled herself, saying, ‘I’ll run you a bath. Have a good soak and I’ll make you an appointment.’

  As she rose from the bed, Tina grabbed her arm. ‘Will you come with me?’ she pleaded.

  Fran stroked back the girl’s tousled hair and without hesitation said, ‘Of course I will.’ As she went out of the room an image flashed from nowhere into her mind of her baby daughter. If she had lived, she would have been about Tina’s age.

  Tina was glad of Fran’s presence as they went to the surgery. The examination proved positive and an appointment was made for Tina to see the area midwife at the clinic. ‘And, before you ask,’ Fran said to a still stunned Tina, who was clinging on to her arm, ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Later, back at High Bank House, Tina sat huddled in a chair. ‘What am I going to tell Joe?’

  ‘Tell him the truth, that you are pregnant and don’t forget it takes two to conceive,’ said Fran. Though, when she became pregnant, according to her mother’s views, it only took one to conceive, namely Fran.

  ‘I never thought about getting pregnant. It was just nice to have someone to love me.’ Tina’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m making a right mess of my life.’

  ‘Look, Tina, it is not your fault. I’m sure Joe will understand and, from what you’ve told me about him, he sounds a nice young man. Now, I’m going to send you home in a taxi and if there is a problem with Joe, you ring me. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Tina muttered.

  ‘And don’t forget, you’re bringing him for lunch next Sunday.’

  Back at Nancy’s, Tina rang Joe to say she was back and was he coming because she had something to tell him. Then she went to work and was kept busy, putting out new haberdashery stock.

  On her way home from work, Tina popped into the butcher’s shop, down Toll Gavel, for a pound of best sausages and a quarter stone of potatoes from the fruit and vegetable shop. Sausage and mash, and Oxo gravy would make a nice meal and she bought a raisin pie from the baker’s for afters.

  She arrived home before Joe, so she was able to remake the crumpled bed and tidy up before cooking the tea. She heard him whistling as he opened the back door and her heart lifted a notch. This took her by surprise, for, although she liked Joe and his lovemaking, she still thought about Mike. But he was many miles away and out of her reach.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ she said, smiling at him.

  He strode the few steps to reach her and hugged her tight. ‘I’ve missed you, Tina.’

  She could smell the familiar smell of grease on him, her smile wobbled and tears welled in her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, ‘Joe, I’m pregnant!’ She had meant to tell him later after, they’d eaten. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Joe gasped, now holding her at arm’s length. ‘Do you mean pregnant, as in babies?’

  ‘You dumbo, that’s what pregnant means. What do you think?’

  ‘Dunno. I’d better sit down.’

  The sausages were sizzling and spluttering, so she pulled the frying pan off the heat and sat down at the kitchen table opposite him, her eyes downcast. Neither spoke. Outside, a couple of lads were kicking a football in the street and calling to one another. The kitchen became hot and stuffy so Tina got up and opened the back door. Next door’s cat was sitting on the fence, his beady eye on a couple of blackbirds foraging around Nancy’s sweetpeas. She sat down again, waiting for Joe to speak, her heart racing madly and her thoughts full of confusion.

  ‘Does it mean I’m gonna be a dad?’ His voice was gentle.

  She looked at him, surprised. She had expected him to be angry. ‘Do you want to be a dad?’

  He shrugged. ‘It can grow on yer, why not?’

  ‘But how will we manage?’

  ‘Easy,’ he said, as he drew himself up tall. ‘I’ve got a good job. I know I’m only an apprentice, but there’s always plenty of overtime. And you’ve got a job.’

  ‘Yes, but when the baby’s born, what then?’ Another thought struck her, something she’d overheard two customers discussing in the shop. ‘What if you get called up?’

  ‘Oh, that. I’m exempt, the boss saw to that.’

  Tina let out a sigh of relief. If Joe was sent away to do his National Service, she didn’t know what she would have done. ‘Still, it’ll be tough and we’ll be frowned upon.’

  ‘Who by?’ he asked, indignantly.

  She shrugged. ‘The authorities could be nosey.’

  ‘We won’t tell ’em.’

  ‘Where shall we live? Cos Cyril won’t want a baby in the house.’

  ‘Our Maureen’s bloke’s lodging at our house so there’s no room.’ He scratched at his tufts of ginger hair for inspiration. ‘I don’t know what we’re gonna do.’

  They both fell silent again, both deep in thought as to their interpretations of what problems a baby would bring into their lives.

  Joe broke the quietness. ‘I’m starving.’

  Tina was glad of the ordinariness of his words. ‘You have a quick wash and I’ll dish up.’

  Left on her own, she placed a hand on the small swell of her belly and unexpectedly, she felt her first surge of delight. At least her baby would know who its mother was.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rufus was here at High Bank House upstairs talking to Nick, who was now feeling much better. Fran was in the sitting room, waiting to speak to Rufus. She glanced round the drab, cheerless room. A neglected room, she thought. The kitchen was more cheerful, but she didn’t want Will to overhear what Rufus had to say about Nick. She stood by the window, looking out on the equally neglected front garden.

  A knock on the door and Rufus entered beaming, saying, in a jovial voice, ‘My, you’ve done wonders with Nick. I can’t thank you enough. I …’

  Fran spun round. ‘Rufus, please! Tell me about Nick.’

  He came and stood before her. ‘Yes, Frannie, I will. Do you think I could have a drink first? Whisky, if you have it, please.’

  There was her father’s whisky in the kitchen, but she didn’t want him asking any awkward questions. She found half a bottle in the sideboard and, hoping it was still drinkable, she poured him a generous measure. She watched him gulp it down as she seated herself on one of the dining chairs. She gestured for him to sit on a chair opposite her. She wanted to see his face as he explained about Nick, but he sat sideways on the chair, not looking at her.

  He began in a flat voice. ‘There was an accident. Nick was driving. His wife, Zeta, was next to him, and Helga, her cousin, was in the back of the car with Jamie.’ Rufus stared into space and Fran stared at him.

  ‘Who’s Jamie?’ she heard herself say.

  It took Rufus a few seconds to answer. ‘He was Nick and Zeta’s son.’

  ‘Was?’ she whispered.

  He nodded, continuing, ‘The roads were icy, so Nick needed to concentrate on his driving, but Zeta had been drinking heavily, which wasn’t unusual for her. Helga, Zeta and Jamie had been to a village concert and Zeta won a bottle of vodka as a raffle prize and drank it all. Nick went to pick them up and Zeta, the worse for drink, kept arguing with Nick and hitting him. He tried to remonstrate with her, she grabbed the wheel, he lost contro
l, the car hit an icy patch and crashed into a tree.’ Rufus turned to face Fran and there were tears in the big man’s eyes.

  Fran could smell the sweat which soaked his shirt, hear his laboured breathing as he fought to regain control of his emotions. She thought about offering him another drink, but it didn’t seem appropriate. She waited for him to continue but, in her heart, she guessed the outcome.

  Rufus mopped his brow and ran his tongue around his dry lips. His voice croaked and was scarcely audible. ‘Zeta was killed outright and poor Jamie died two days later. Nick was in a coma for over a week and two years on he still hasn’t fully recovered. Helga lost the use of her legs, so you see why she is so bitter towards Nick. She blames him totally. Nothing that anyone else says, or that I say, will make her think any differently. And I love them both.’

  She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and gently she touched Rufus’s arm and said, ‘It’s so tragic. I’m sorry for nagging you about Nick. He can stay as long as it takes for him to recover.’ Relief filled her that Nick wasn’t the cold-hearted killer Helga had inferred.

  The next day, Nick ventured downstairs to sit and chat with Will. As she stirred the milk into the mugs of coffee, Fran glanced across the kitchen at Nick’s thin frame dressed in a pair of faded jeans and navy-blue pullover. She stifled a yawn. She hadn’t slept much last night, her mind still too full of Nick and his tragic background. He hadn’t spoken about it and she wasn’t sure if Rufus had told him that she knew. Watching as he relaxed in his chair, listening to Will yarning, she felt genuinely pleased that Nick was improving. She felt ashamed of her black thoughts now that she knew the reason behind his sad-looking eyes. They reflected his grief at the untimely death of his wife and young son. What a terrible weight to bear, and more so as he was driving the car.

  She shuddered; at least she had Michael, even though he didn’t live with her and only regarded her as his aunt. But then, she’d had her share of pain: the loss of Christina, her baby daughter. Biting on her lip to suppress a sigh, she knew from bitter experience that life could be very cruel. Though she had been happy in her working life in the bookshop, her personal life was a sham. She seemed to be forever searching for a deeper, inner happiness, which somehow eluded her. Like rushing into marriage, only to find out he was the wrong man for her. But the saddest regret of her life was that she’d left it too late to be a satisfying part of her son’s life. Now, she was playing nursemaid to two men, who, for their own reasons, seemed to need her.

  ‘Isn’t the lovely Tina around today?’ Nick’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts.

  Fran handed him his mug of coffee. ‘She’ll be here for Sunday dinner with her boyfriend.’

  ‘Will I still be here?’ Nick asked, a serious expression on his drawn face.

  Fran felt her heart contract. Was it the emotional strain of the last few days that had weakened her? Because, all of a sudden, she wanted to take him into her arms and tell him it was all right. A motherly instinct, she told herself. But, before she could answer Nick, Will did.

  ‘Of course you will be.’

  ‘Thanks, Will.’ But his eyes were fixed on Fran’s face.

  ‘Dad’s right. You need to be back to full strength before you think of moving on and Rufus said it will take some time for your cottage to dry out.’

  Immediately, Nick’s face lost its seriousness as relief shone from his pale features. He caught her hand, pulling her towards him. ‘You don’t know what this means to me, to be here as part of a family. I really do appreciate it.’

  For a moment, Fran thought he was going to kiss her. Confused, she hastily drew away from him and found, to her horror, she was blushing. ‘Good,’ she replied briskly to cover up her feelings. ‘Now that’s settled, I’d better start planning the menu for Sunday lunch,’ she said, realising, to her dismay, she had five people to cook for. Worried now that she might not be able to cope, she went to the dresser and pulled out one of the well-thumbed cookery books.

  ‘Fran, may I use your telephone, please?’

  She looked up from the page where she was reading, with some disbelief, of an old-fashioned recipe called ‘washday pie’, to see Nick leaning on a chair opposite her.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She flicked over the pages, looking for an easy recipe.

  A smiling Nick came back into the room, his voice sounding much stronger, like before his illness. ‘I think I may have solved your menu for Sunday lunch.’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘All will be revealed within the next couple of hours.’

  Later, as she was pegging out sheets on the line to dry, she smiled wryly to herself. Satisfied with her work, she stepped back to admire the billowing white sheets contrasting against the background of the azure blue sky, so easy to imagine them as yachts in full sail on the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. If anyone had suggested to her a few months ago, when working in York, that she, a supposedly dedicated working woman, could have been contented with such a menial task as washing bedding, she wouldn’t have believed it possible.

  ‘Quite a fetching domestic scene for a city girl,’ commented a voice.

  Startled, she spun round. ‘Rufus, I didn’t hear you come. What have you got there?’ she said, eying the huge cardboard box he was carrying.

  ‘I come bearing bounty for a damsel in distress.’

  ‘Rufus.’ She laughed. Intrigued to see what it was, she followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Special delivery,’ he announced placing the box on the table.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Nick, a mischievous grin on his face.

  Even Will was curious and pulled himself up from his chair and ambled across to peer in the box and sniffed. ‘Smells like pheasant to me.’

  ‘Right, straight from my freezer and the other goodies are from Nick,’ Rufus explained.

  Fran pushed in between Will and Rufus. ‘What’s all this for then?’ she asked, puzzled.

  Nick, sitting opposite at the table answered. ‘It’s a thank you. Five people to cook Sunday lunch for is no mean feat and, if I’d been fit, I would have helped. So, I’ve done the next best thing, hopefully.’ He looked at Fran, waiting for her to say something.

  ‘But I don’t know how to cook pheasant,’ she blurted.

  ‘I do.’ Astonished, she stared at Will. ‘Your mother never liked pheasant, but when I was a young man, I often cooked it.’

  ‘Well I never,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘You’re a dark rascal.’

  Rufus emptied the box containing a brace of pheasants, an assortment of freshly dug vegetables, a wedge of Wensleydale cheese and a freshly baked apple pie, still warm.

  ‘Who baked this?’ Fran asked.

  Rufus put his finger to the side of his nose, saying, ‘I have my sources.’

  He continued unpacking bottles of beer and cordial, and a box of mint chocolates.

  On Sunday morning, both astride the bike, Joe asked Tina, ‘Where does this woman live then?’

  ‘High Bank House, Burton Banks.’

  He turned round to face her. ‘High Bank House, are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure – I’ve been there.’

  ‘Well, in that case you’ll know who used to live there!’

  ‘Who?’ But Joe’s answer was blown away by the roar of the engine.

  Within ten minutes, Joe brought the bike to a halt outside the back door of High Bank House. Nick and Will were drinking beer, sitting on a makeshift bench of a plank of wood on two piles of bricks. Joe swung off the bike and went towards the two men. ‘How are yer, Mr Bewholme? Long time no see.’ Tina stopped to adjust her skirt so didn’t hear Joe call Will ‘Mr Bewholme’.

  Will, held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, squinting though blurred vision. ‘Well, if it isn’t Michael’s old pal. How yer doing son?’

  ‘Just fine and you?’

  ‘Better when I get my eyes sorted out.’

  Tina strode up to the men. ‘Hello, Will.’

  Will smiled at Ti
na, saying, ‘He’s a good ’un is Joe.’

  ‘He’s not too bad and neither are you,’ she said, kissing the old man on his cheek. Then she turned. ‘Nick, this is my boyfriend, Joe.’

  Nick shook Joe’s hand. ‘Fancy a beer and you too, Tina?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Fran came out, her face flushed from cooking, her blonde hair scraped back and held in place with a ribbon. ‘I’ve come for a breather and a beer.’ She joined Will and Nick on the bench while Tina and Joe perched on the low-sided wall of the old timber yard. ‘So, you’re Joe. I’ve heard you’re good at stencilling,’ she said, pleasantly.

  He looked at Tina and grinned, ‘I hope she hasn’t told yer too much.’ Tina nudged him. All five chattered about different topics, and then Joe said to Will, ‘Shirley says Mike’s having a great time and it’s their winter. Fun with the snowballs.’

  ‘Snow?’ asked Will, ‘I thought it was warm in Australia, even in their winter?’

  ‘You’re right, but it’s cooler and it suits Mrs Bell because she doesn’t like the heat.’

  ‘Who’s Mrs Bell?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Mike’s mum, Isabel. Just a bit of fun I had with Mrs Renton’s name.’ He felt Tina stiffen by his side and when he turned to look at her, he saw her face was a pasty-grey colour.

  Her lips trembled as she forced out the words. ‘Mike’s mum is Isabel Renton?’

  Fran notice Tina’s discomfort and she answered. ‘Isabel is my sister. Do you know her?’

  Tina felt her body sway as a dark dizziness enveloped her. It was Fran who caught her, stopping her from falling off the wall.

  ‘Tina!’ Joe cried, as Tina’s half-full glass of beer splashed his best white shirt.

  ‘Quick, Joe, take her other arm and let’s get her inside where it is cooler,’ instructed Fran.

  They took her into the sitting room away from the heat of the kitchen and laid her carefully on the old sofa. ‘Will she be all right?’ asked Joe anxiously, not certain what to do next.