Jacob had just asked how long he’d been in hospital and Enid’s voice was brisk when she said, ‘A week, lad. And most of that time you’ve been away with the fairies and worrying us all to death. The doctor said you can’t remember anything about what happened or who attacked you. Is that right?’
‘Aye.’ Jacob didn’t move his head as he spoke. Since regaining consciousness in the early hours of the morning he’d learned that if he stayed completely still the pain was more or less bearable. Now he stared at his mother through aching eyes and repeated the question he’d asked twice before since his family had arrived: ‘When is Lucy coming in to see me?’ They had palmed him off without really answering, but he was determined to know.
The doctor had told them he might repeat things for a while and his memory wouldn’t be up to scratch, but that it would improve each day, so Enid’s voice was patient when she said, ‘I told you, lad. Only family are allowed at the moment.’
‘Lucy is family.’
Dear gussy, he had a bee in his bonnet about the lass and it wasn’t surprising – they’d grown up together after all and were close, like brother and sister, Enid thought. But they had decided to say nothing about the Fallows disappearing down south until he was well on the mend.
And then Jacob completely disabused his mother of the ‘brother and sister’ idea when he said, very clearly, ‘We love each other, Mam. We always have. She’s my lass.’
Enid’s eyes opened wide. ‘Your lass? Oh, lad, I don’t think – I mean—’ She glanced helplessly at the others. ‘Don’t set too much store by what might have been said in the past,’ she finished weakly.
Jacob squinted at his mother as best he could. His bloodshot eyes kept smarting and running. One of the nurses had said he was lucky not to have lost any teeth, and he’d made her giggle when he’d wryly replied that ‘lucky’ was not the word he’d apply to himself right now. This particular nurse reminded him of Lucy. Not in her looks – Nurse Hardy was a mousy little thing – but in her gentle manner and sweet smile. ‘All right, Mam,’ he said quietly, ‘let’s have it. What’s going on? And don’t give me any soft-soap. I’m not a bairn.’
‘He’s right.’ Tom sat forward on his hard wooden chair, his face impassive. ‘Tell him.’
‘Tell me what?’ Panic curdled deep in Jacob’s stomach, but he fought from letting it show as his gaze moved to each face in turn. When no one replied, he said again, ‘Mam? Tell me what?’
It was Tom who answered. ‘The Fallows have cleared off down south. They scarpered in the middle of the night and left owing umpteen weeks’ rent.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Enid shot her eldest an angry glance. ‘And we don’t know they’ve gone down south for sure; that’s just surmising, because of what Donald had said to one or two folk. They left a note and the furniture to pay off the back-rent, you know that as well as I do, Tom.’ She turned back to the figure in the bed, her voice softening. ‘It don’t look like they intended to come back though, lad.’
He felt funny, odd. Jacob felt himself slipping back into the dark muzziness he’d lain in for the last few days as everything in him called ‘Lucy, Lucy’, but no sound passed his lips. He was vaguely aware of his mother calling for help and of Nurse Hardy’s voice sounding firmer than usual as she ushered the family away, saying he needed rest, before returning to him and drawing the curtains round the bed. Then the heavy blanket of exhaustion drew him down into the darkness and he went into it, the soundless cry echoing in his head.
‘What did you have to go and say it like that for?’ Enid glared at Tom as the five of them made their way out of the infirmary.
‘Like what?’
‘You know what I mean, so don’t come the old soldier, not with me. We’d agreed that when we told him about Lucy and the others leaving we’d break it gently.’
‘How many ways can you say it, Mam? Look, I know you’re worried about him, but some things are best faced head-on. He’d just have worried away at it like a dog with a bone, you know he would. He sensed we were keeping something from him. Why do you think he kept on about her?’
It sounded reasonable and she wanted to believe he’d had Jacob’s best interests at heart, but had he? She had never been able to fathom why, but there had always been a strong animosity between her eldest and her youngest. Not that it was all down to Tom. Jacob had disliked his brother from the moment he could crawl and had made it obvious, too.
Enid checked herself. Why was she making excuses for Tom again? She had to face it, there was a hardness in him that wasn’t in the others. Mind, with things as they were, that was perhaps no bad thing. Tom had the will and determination to make something of himself and, as a family, they were reaping the benefit of it. No one could say different.
Why did she love Tom more than her other bairns? She had used to tell herself it was because he was her firstborn, or that she felt guilty he’d been conceived outside the sanctity of marriage and had to make it up to him in some way. The truth of it was that from the first moment she’d looked at his bonny little face she’d been captivated, and as time had gone on she’d realized she would never love anyone else in the same way. She knew he was no angel, but then what lad was? And he’d always looked after her – she knew she came first with him. She’d only have to mention she’d got her eye on something and it was hers, although she’d had to be careful lately. Aaron had got the hump good and proper when Tom had bought her the wireless. They had argued bitterly about that and she’d accused him of being jealous of their son. When Jacob had taken his father’s side, and Frank and Ralph had followed suit, she had said too much, something she regretted now, because the house had never been the same since.
Quietly now Enid said, ‘Donald and Lucy and the bairns might come back anyway. The grass isn’t always greener, and the pull of your beginnings is strong.’
‘Aye, they might,’ Tom agreed with seeming disinterest.
Aaron and his other two sons said nothing; they rarely did in front of Tom. They might have him over between the three of them, but each held his tongue in Tom’s presence. They would have walked on hot coals before they admitted the truth: that they were scared of their own flesh and blood.
Once outside the hospital grounds, Tom dipped his hand into the pocket of his fine tweed jacket, handing his mother a note. ‘Here, Mam, get a cab home.’
‘You’re not coming back for a cup of tea?’ Enid didn’t hide her disappointment.
‘Another time.’ Tom bent his head and kissed her brow.
It was something no one else did, not even Aaron. He only kissed her as a prelude to the sexual act itself, and then under cover of darkness in the seclusion of their double bed. Tom’s caress never failed to warm Enid’s heart and she smiled at him.
‘I’ve some business to see to,’ Tom said quietly. ‘I’ve let things slip, coming in to see Jacob every afternoon.’
‘Oh, I understand, lad, course I do, and it’s been good of you to come every day.’ In fact Enid had been surprised at her eldest’s solicitousness, considering the way things were between the two brothers. It just showed – blood was thicker than water.
Tom smiled at her, confirming the thought when he said, ‘I come as much for you as for Jake, Mam. Families needed to stick together at times like this. But you needn’t worry now, all right? He’s on the mend and in his right mind, more than we could have expected.’ Turning to his father and brothers, he added, ‘I’ll see you three tonight. Nine sharp.’
His tone could have been described as one giving orders to menials, and the muscles in Aaron’s jaw clenched. Nevertheless he nodded.
The four of them stood watching Tom for a moment as he strode off. He cut a fine figure in his tweed jacket and cap, the quality of his trousers and shining leather shoes evident at a glance. Enid gazed after him fondly, before turning with the ten-shilling note in her hand. ‘We’d best pick up a cab at the corner.’
‘You go ahead, I haven’t lost the use of me
feet yet,’ said Aaron flatly, ‘an’ if I want a ride, a tram’s good enough for me.’
Enid’s gaze sharpened. ‘What’s the matter with you then?’
‘What’s the matter with me? If you don’t know, there’s no point in me saying, is there?’
‘Just because our Tom gave us the money for a cab, is that it?’
‘Our Tom, our Tom. It’s always our Tom. The sun’s shone out of his backside since the day he was born, hasn’t it? An’ he gave you the money for the cab, not me. Let’s be clear about that.’ He glared at his wife for a moment more before growling, ‘Oh, to hell with it.’ He stomped off, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers.
When Frank and Ralph followed him, after a muttered ‘Sorry, Mam’, Enid stood gazing after them until they were out of sight. Sickness churned in her stomach. There was a time when Aaron wouldn’t have dreamt of leaving her standing in the street, and not so long ago either. And Frank and Ralph couldn’t have made it clearer whose side they were on. Sides. She shook her head. What was happening to them?
Slowly she began to walk towards the corner of Chester Road where she could pick up a cab, and as she did so, she looked down at the note in her hand. They were better off than they’d ever been, thanks to Tom, but they’d been a darn sight happier a few years back when Aaron and the lads worked at the shipyard. But times change. Would she want her menfolk standing in line at the dole queue like so many of their neighbours or living in fear of the workhouse? She shuddered. Tom wasn’t stingy with what he paid out to Aaron and his brothers; it wouldn’t hurt them to show a little gratitude rather than the moroseness that had settled on the three of them of late. They were in clover compared to some, and she’d tell them that. Look what had happened to the Fallows.
Thinking of Lucy brought her mind to Jacob and what had transpired in the hospital. Again she shook her head. The pair were little more than bairns and to talk of love . . . Besides, even with Lucy doing her bit and looking after the little ones, Donald was going to have his work cut out to feed and clothe them and keep a roof over their heads for the next umpteen years. There would be no talk of lads or lassies for Lucy or Donald for a good long while, because who’d want to saddle themselves with their sweetheart’s brothers and sisters? It had upset her that Lucy had left without a word, but if her Jacob had been thinking along the lines he’d spoken of, perhaps it was all for the best. Like Tom had said, some things are best faced head-on and at least Jacob knew what was what now. Tom had been right to tell Jacob straight out, and she’d had a go at him for it, bless him.
Guilt was now added to the host of emotions swirling in Enid’s breast. Feeling that she couldn’t win or please anyone, no matter what she did, and – ridiculously – suddenly missing her mother who had been dead for more than twenty years, she plodded on, blinking back hot tears and feeling very alone.
When Tom had left the others outside the hospital he had gone into the nearest pub and ordered a double whisky, which he had swallowed down in a couple of gulps, before ordering another. Now, gazing into the glass, he swirled the amber liquid around a few times. As yet Jacob didn’t suspect he’d had anything to do with the beating, that much had been clear. And even if he put two and two together, he couldn’t prove anything, and who’d believe him anyhow? It had been a nasty moment when he’d arrived at the ward and found Jacob back in the land of the living, though.
He narrowed his eyes and tipped more whisky down his throat. Nine out of ten blokes wouldn’t have survived half of what his brother had had done to him, but that was Jacob all over. Drop him in a muck heap and he’d come up smelling of roses.
He finished his drink and left the pub, and now his mind had moved on from the annoying problem of Jacob’s recovery and was focusing on the matter that had consumed him over the last days. Where was Lucy? When he’d called to see her the day after he’d had his way with her, he’d expected to find her broken and submissive and ready to see reason. Instead the house had been empty and, when he’d gone next door, his mam had been all of a dither, showing him the note Lucy had left and telling him she’d gone off with Donald. He hadn’t disabused her of this idea. It suited his purposes to let everyone assume Donald had taken the family down south while he made his own investigations. But to date he’d come up with nothing.
But he would. His jaw tightened. She’d had no money; Frank had shown him what he’d found scattered over the kitchen floor and it was most, if not all, of what he had given her. So she wouldn’t have got far. And Sunderland wasn’t so big she could hide forever, not with four bairns hanging onto her skirts.
He smiled grimly to himself. He’d been spitting bricks that first day, especially at her implied insult regarding the money. He was still angry, but he had to admit a sneaking respect for her – a first for him where a woman was concerned. She had surprised him too – another first. She had appeared crushed when he’d left that night, but she had more spirit than he’d credited to her. Life with her wouldn’t be dull. Of course she would do what she was told, if push came to shove, but with Lucy he’d make allowances: the iron hand in the velvet glove. That was after he’d brought her to heel for leading him a merry dance, mind you.
He nodded at the thought, not feeling the fine rain on his face as he walked on, imagining what he would do to her when he got her into his bed, and after a few moments he began humming a hit of the year before, ‘Ain’t she sweet’, and he was smiling.
Chapter Twelve
It was seven o’clock in the evening. The rain had become more persistent over the last hour and the hope of the morning was no more. Lucy was beside herself. It seemed no one was prepared to offer even the meanest work to a young lass with bairns in tow. ‘It’s this way, lass,’ the last prospective employer – a grand name for the owner of the little pie shop with a notice in the window saying ‘Help wanted’ – had said, ‘I need someone I know isn’t going to let me down. An’ with that lot’ – she’d flicked her head towards the four standing at the entrance to the shop – ‘you’ve got your hands full already.’
Lucy had nodded dully at the familiar refrain. Now, as she joined the others huddled together against the driving rain and they began to walk away, she was surprised when the shop owner came hurrying after them.
‘Look, lass,’ the woman said a little breathlessly – she was as round as she was tall, which was a good advertisement for her pies – ‘I know of a bloke who’s in a bit of a fix, a friend of mine. Do you know Perce Alridge, the fishmonger in Long Bank?’ Lucy shook her head. She knew Long Bank joined High Street and Low Street, because she’d applied for a job at the kipper-curing house there, but that was all.
‘Well, me an’ Ada, Perce Alridge’s late wife, have been pals since school, but she died a couple of months back havin’ their third. The bab died an’ all, and he’s bin left with two little ’uns and the shop to run. Ada did a bit in there an’ all and, to tell you the truth, Perce don’t know if he’s on foot or horseback. He had a young lad helping him till yesterday, when he caught him thieving from the till. It might be worth calling there and seeing what’s what, if nothing else.’
‘Oh, I will, I will, and thank you. I’ll go there now.’
Lucy’s smile lit up her tired face and, after looking at her for a moment, the woman said, ‘You tell Perce that Maggie sent you. All right, lass? An’ steer clear of the pubs on the waterfront, if you don’t get no joy with Perce. Some of the foreign sailors are drunk morning to night, when they’re not on the boats, and lookin’ like you do they’d eat you alive. Havin’ the bairns with you would make no difference to them, they’re like animals.’
Her face straight now, Lucy nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, her stomach trembling at the thought of what the woman meant. She knew about two-legged animals and being eaten alive. The bruises on her body and the stinging and pain between her legs had all but gone now, but she only had to close her eyes at night and she was reliving the nightmare.
It was
only a short distance to Long Bank and the rain had cleared the street of the normal scattering of snotty-nosed infants playing their games. John had described the Bank as a higgledy-piggledy street earlier that day, when they had gone to the kipper-curing establishment, and he was right. Certainly coming from the regimented rows of two-up, two-down streets where they had lived, it seemed so. Some of the buildings were two-storey and some three- with different-sized doors and windows and jutting-out pieces here and there. The overriding smell was one of fish, which wasn’t surprising, located as it was within a stone’s throw of the docks; and pubs, shops and tenement dwellings lived in noisy, dirty disharmony. The brothels did a roaring trade of a night in this part of the East End, and for those customers who weren’t too particular about who serviced them, the dock dollies did the job for half the price in the stinking alleys and narrow courts that made up much of the area.
They found the fishmonger’s shop halfway along the street, and in spite of the relatively late hour there was a small queue leading to the marble counter, behind which a harassed-looking man was serving. Not quite knowing how to proceed, Lucy stationed the others outside under the shop’s awning. The twins immediately started to cry. They were wet and cold and hungry, and they didn’t like the window containing rows of gaping-mouthed, glassy-eyed fish. Telling Ruby to take care of them, Lucy joined the line of housewives, most of whom were carrying buckets or stained, evil-smelling baskets.
A couple of the women eyed her curiously, the one in front of her turning to say, ‘Haven’t seen you round here afore, lass?’
Trying not to breathe in too deeply, Lucy said, ‘No, we used to live over the river in Monkwearmouth.’
‘Oh aye, Monkwearmouth, was it?’ The woman nodded, glancing at the four huddled by the window. ‘Times are hard, sure enough, hinny,’ she said, the roughness of her voice softened by a note of compassion. ‘You here for the halibut heads an’ bloaters an’ whatnot? Keeps my lot going, the end-of-day bits Perce knocks out cheap. I reckon he does more trade in the last hour than he does the rest of the day put together.’
Dancing in the Moonlight Page 12