Feeling as though he’d just been punched hard in the stomach, he cleared his throat twice. ‘Who is he? This bloke?’
There was no reply from her, only a downward movement of her head.
‘You can tell me, lass.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Do’ – again he cleared his throat – ‘do you love him?’
‘No.’
There was something in the one word which settled that notion once and for all in his mind, and with it came the conviction that she was telling the truth; she had been used against her will. As coarse and earthy as he was, Perce found the idea repugnant. What sort of scum would take a nice little lass like Lucy and treat her like that? His big hands clenched into fists at his sides. ‘Lass, if you tell me his name, I’ll go and see him. He needs to be told—’
‘No.’ She made a sound that was something between a groan and a whimper. ‘I can’t. He mustn’t know where I am.’
‘You’re frightened of him.’ It was a flat statement. ‘Did he threaten you afterwards? Cos I’ll knock his block off—’
‘No.’ Again she interrupted him and now she was wringing her hands in her anxiety. ‘You don’t understand. He’s dangerous, Perce, and he wants me. If he knew I was expecting, he’d be pleased because he’d think he’d got me. Oh, I can’t explain, but if he knew, I’d never get away again. He’d think he’d got a hold on me and somehow he’d make me marry him. I know he would.’
Perce’s simple face stretched in puzzlement as he stared at her. ‘But there’s the bairn,’ he said, as though whatever had gone before was of no account. ‘If he’d marry you . . .’
‘I’d rather die than have him lay a hand on me again. And I don’t want his bairn, I can’t bear the thought of it. I wish it was dead. I wish I was dead.’
‘Don’t talk like that, lass.’
‘Why?’ She suddenly rounded on him, her eyes wild. ‘He’s a vile, horrible man and he hurt me, and you think I should still marry him because of the baby? I hate him, I’ve always hated him and I think my mam knew what he was like all along. She never liked him.’ She burst into tears, turning away from Perce to stand with her face in her hands as her body shook.
Perce stood looking at her helplessly, not knowing what to say or do. A sudden thought struck him. ‘Is this bloke the same one who got your da an’ brother killed, an’ frightened Donald away down south?’
Lucy tried to pull herself together. Her voice a sob, she said brokenly, ‘Yes’, scrubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. ‘Like I said, he’s dangerous. No one can stand up to him.’
They were looking at each other when they heard the back door in the house next door open and someone clatter into the yard, divided from theirs by a seven-foot-high wall. A long and profoundly loud eruption from the unfortunate’s nether regions was followed by a male voice yelling, ‘Beattie? There’s no lav paper again. I thought you were goin’ to get the bairns to cut up a few more newspapers?’
An equally irate female voice yelled back, ‘I did! There’s more backsides in this house than just yours, Arthur Briggs.’
‘Aye, well, be that as it may, I’m sittin’ here with me trousers round me ankles an’ this particular backside in need of wipin’, so if it’s not too much trouble’ – this was said with great sarcasm – ‘a couple of pages of yesterday’s Echo would be appreciated.’
Lucy had shut her eyes during the exchange, but she opened them now when Perce said gruffly, ‘Get yourself inside an’ we’ll talk of this later, all right?’
She nodded, walking past him into the back room of the shop and making for the stairs which led to the flat, before turning on the first step. ‘I know this has put you in a spot, but would you see your way clear to keeping Ruby and John and the twins on? Ruby can help in the house as well as the shop and John’s a good worker, you know he is, and the twins . . .’ She floundered; he’d think the twins were too young to be of account. ‘The twins help with Charley and keep Matthew company,’ she finished weakly. ‘I promise I’ll disappear and not bother you again, and no one will know about the – the bairn.’
He said nothing, staring at her across the room for a full ten seconds. Then he wetted his lips: ‘Like I said, we’ll talk later, lass, but for now there’s the day’s business to get on with, an’ the bairns’ll be wanting their breakfast.’
She nodded again, but as he disappeared into the front of the shop called softly, ‘It’d be the workhouse, you see. That’s the thing.’
There was silence for a few moments and then she heard him begin to open up in readiness for the crates of fish and seafood that were delivered fresh every morning once it was light. Feeling as though she was walking in ten-ton boots, she made her way upstairs to begin what had become her routine, since living at the fishmonger’s premises.
This might be the last morning she would wake up here, she told herself as she opened the front door of the flat, and it dawned on her, as she gazed around, how much of a home it had become. She had tried to pretend to herself that life could be normal again, that she could forget what Tom Crawford had done, and live here quietly looking after the house and the bairns, but that dream was over. She had something growing inside her. Not a tumour, like poor Gladys Lyndon had had. Gladys’s mam and da had gone mad at first when her belly had begun to swell. But when they’d marched her to the doctor’s and he’d told them she hadn’t misbehaved as they’d assumed, Gladys’s mam had come to see her mam and she’d been crying and saying she wished Gladys had been expecting, because the doctor had only given her a few months to live.
Lucy’s hand brushed her still-flat stomach and her mouth tightened. She’d give anything to have a tumour rather than a piece of Tom Crawford inside her. She couldn’t bear it, she’d go mad. But no, she wouldn’t have to bear it. Once the bairns were settled one way or the other, she would do what she had to do. There were places where the river flowed deep and fast, and undercurrents and debris made sure whatever went down never came up. If Jacob had died, would she see him, her mam and da and Ernie too? Or would she go straight to hell because what she was going to do was a sin? Whatever, it made no difference. She was tired. Tired of fighting and trying. She had never felt so tired in her life, come to think of it. Or so sick and ill.
Rallying herself, she got Ruby and John up and sent them down to help Perce in the shop as usual, before tidying up and preparing breakfast for the household. Then she woke Charley and changed his nappy and dressed him, before rousing Matthew and the twins. Once the four were sitting at the kitchen table she called Ruby and John. The children always had their breakfast together, before Ruby and John disappeared downstairs to hold the fort while Perce came upstairs for his meal. Usually she sat at the table and ate with him, but today she set no place for herself, something he noticed as soon as he came up.
‘You not eatin’?’ He frowned at her.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Hungry or not, you need somethin’ in your belly, lass.’ Then, realizing it was probably the worst thing he could have said in the circumstances, he covered himself by blustering, ‘Everyone needs to stoke the boilers at the beginnin’ of the day, sets you up, so it does. Sit yourself down an’ have a bite of somethin’ with a sup tea. Come on, lass, I mean it.’
She sat, only because she was feeling distinctly ill again and it was easier than arguing.
His voice softer, Perce murmured, ‘A dry biscuit or two always used to settle Ada at the beginning of the morning when she was . . . you know. An’ then an hour or so later she’d be ready for something more. Little an’ often, lass. That does it.’
The kindness was almost too much. Knowing that if she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop, Lucy nodded and did as he suggested. Funnily enough, after a few minutes the nausea receded enough for her to enjoy a cup of tea.
Perce ate his usual breakfast of a plate of smoked kippers with great chunks of buttered bread with every appearance
of enjoyment, and once he had finished he clomped off downstairs so that Ruby and John could get ready for school. The school was at the back of Holy Trinity Church in Church Street East just a short distance away, but Ruby, who would much have preferred to stay working in the shop with Perce than sit in a classroom doing her lessons, always left the house at the last minute. Usually Lucy was patient with her sister’s dawdling, but today she found herself snapping at Ruby several times. Ruby eventually left the house in a flounce with a face like thunder.
An hour later, with the four younger children playing happily, Lucy collected the dirty washing and took it down to the wash-house in the yard. A copper boiler stood in one corner with a tin bath turned upright in another, and a table for scrubbing ran along one wall. There was room for the mangle and poss-tub too. When Lucy had first entered the wash-house some weeks back she had considered it the height of luxury to be able to do the washing away from the flat, and it made bathing so much easier too.
Today, though, desolation and despair coloured her surroundings, sucking every last vestige of hope and courage from her spirit. She leaned her head against the brick wall of the wash-house, shutting her eyes as she gave in to the dread filling her mind. What was to become of them? She touched the small silver heart in the hollow of her throat, her soul reaching out to Jacob as the tears trickled down her face.
‘I love you,’ she whispered as she stood there, feeling very small and very alone. ‘For always, and I’m sorry. I’m so so, sorry . . .’
Chapter Fourteen
It had been three weeks before Enid and Aaron could bring Jacob home, and another two before his broken ribs would allow him to breathe easily, but now, at the beginning of July, he was looking and feeling more like his old self. His nose would never be the same again, but not being a vain individual, its crookedness bothered him not a jot, nor was he concerned about the scar which ran from his right eyebrow to his ear. A tiny fraction one way and he might have lost his eye, but he had been spared that misfortune. He was lucky. Everyone kept telling him so. And he could have believed it if Lucy was next door.
He thought of her all the time and his thoughts were a torment to him, especially through the long night hours when the rest of the world was sleeping. Used to the hard physical work in the forge, his enforced idleness was a subtle torture. Only the fact that the doctors had warned him that he could put himself back into hospital if he tried to rush his recovery prevented him from returning to the blacksmith’s.
Over the last couple of weeks he had begun to take slow but lengthy walks, as much to get away from the house and his mother’s eagle eyes as to get his damaged body into shape. It had been a day or two before he allowed himself to acknowledge that during these walks he was constantly searching every face for that one dear one. Crazy, he knew, because she was away down south somewhere, but he couldn’t help it. And every moment his mind was giving him hell. She had gone. Without a word. Without a last goodbye even. He had been as near death as damn it, and she hadn’t waited to see if he pulled through. He had said as much to his mother, and she had put the blame on Donald for making Lucy leave, but he couldn’t altogether buy that. If she had loved him like he loved her, she would have waited. Hell, he’d been on the point of asking her to marry him and taking on the lot of them, hadn’t he? More fool him. Aye, more fool him. Well, now he knew. She wasn’t the lass he had thought she was.
He was thinking along these lines as he sat eating his dinner with his parents and Frank and Ralph, lost in a morose brooding, which the other four couldn’t fail to notice, but which they’d learned through experience they couldn’t jolly him out of. He was with them but not with them, and it was worrying Enid to death. She glanced at him now out of the corner of her eye, wondering where her happy, cheerful son who always had a quip hovering on his lips had gone. It was as though a light had gone out, she told herself, forcing food past the hard lump in her throat that such thoughts always produced. And she didn’t know what to do or how to help him. He’d nearly bitten her head off when she’d made the mistake of saying that there were other fish in the sea besides Lucy, and since that time they’d all been careful not to speak her name or to allude to their old neighbours in any way. But he couldn’t go on like this. It was as though he’d given up – that’s what frightened her. He needed something, anything, to snap him out of the dark place he was in.
The blacksmith and his wife came to the house an hour later. It wasn’t unusual for Abe Williamson to drop by; he’d called several times since Jacob had been at home, but not with his wife. Jacob was sitting on a chair in the yard and the others were listening to the wireless when the knock came at the front door, sending Enid into a tizz. Only Jacob’s employer, Dr Pearson and the vicar would knock on the front door; everyone else used the back. And when she opened the door and Abe’s homely face smiled at her she was relieved. The blacksmith might be Jacob’s boss, but he was one of them – an ordinary bloke – unlike the doctor and the vicar; and with the dinner dishes still to see to and Aaron and the lads in their slippers with their shirtsleeves rolled up, she’d have been mortified if it was either of the other two.
Hiding her surprise that Dolly Williamson had accompanied her husband, Enid swung the door wide. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said warmly. ‘It’s good of you to call, Mr Williamson, and you too, Mrs Williamson. Jacob’s been a bit down the last day or two. It’ll gladden him to see you.’
They didn’t step up into the house straight away, and it was Dolly who said, her voice subdued, ‘We wondered if we could see Jacob alone, Mrs Crawford? If you don’t mind, of course.’
‘Mind? Why would I mind?’ Enid smiled broadly, even as she thought: What now? Don’t they know my lad is at the end of his tether? If they’ve come to give him the old heave-ho, it’s bad timing at best, and I’ll have something to say about it. Say what you like, the blokes who set upon him had their eye on the bits and pieces in the smithy, and Jacob was in the way. It’s as plain as the nose on your face, and they owe him something for that.
Keeping the smile on her face with some effort, Enid showed the visitors into the front room, sending up thanks that it had received its weekly dusting that very day and was looking its best. She was thrilled with her front room. She had told Tom exactly what she wanted in there and he’d done her proud, bless him. ‘I’ll get Jacob,’ she said, a trifle stiffly in spite of herself.
When Jacob walked into the room a minute or two later after a hasty conversation with his mother, which had resulted in him warning her to hold her tongue regardless of what his employer had to say, he found Abe and Dolly sitting side by side on the elaborate brocade couch, which would have been more suited to a grand drawing room than a terraced front room. He could see what had disturbed his mother – the pair clearly had something to say. Unlike Enid, however, he felt no trepidation about the forthcoming conversation. Due to the beating, he’d already had several weeks off work and the blacksmith couldn’t be expected to keep his job open indefinitely. It would be another couple of weeks, maybe three or four, before Jacob was able to commence his duties and even then the doctor had warned he might not feel up to it. Abe Williamson knew this; Jacob had told the doctors to explain the facts to him. There was no point in being anything but completely honest. Maybe if the very worst hadn’t happened, maybe if Lucy hadn’t left him, he’d be feeling differently right now, but if he was being truthful, he found he simply didn’t care about his job or anything else.
He smiled at the couple, who had always been very fair with him. If they had come to tell him they were letting him go, he wanted the meeting to end well and for them to part as friends. Stepping forward, he shook Abe’s hand as the blacksmith stood up, saying, ‘Hello, Mr Williamson, it’s good of you to come again’ and then was touched when Dolly sprang to her feet and hugged him.
‘You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,’ she said, a little tearfully. ‘Frightened us to death, you did. I’d have laid odds you were goi
ng to snuff it.’
Jacob grinned, his first natural smile in weeks. You always got the truth from Dolly. ‘I’m clearly tougher than I look.’
‘And just look at your poor nose,’ she continued worriedly. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Not any more.’ He tapped the offending article to prove the point. ‘I think it looks pretty good, like one of the boxers in the travelling fairs, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, go on with you.’ Dolly hugged him again before sitting down as Enid bustled in with a tray of tea and biscuits, making a great show of shutting the door behind her as she left and not saying a word.
‘Oh dear, have we offended your mother by asking to speak to you privately?’ Abe said ruefully. ‘It’s just that we felt it only right to talk to you first.’
‘Don’t worry about Mam.’ Jacob sat down in a chair opposite the couch as the blacksmith seated himself again. ‘She’s a bit het-up at the moment. Only natural, I suppose.’
‘Oh aye, aye.’ Dolly nodded vigorously. ‘She must have been beside herself, I know I have been. What a thing to happen and on our own doorstep, so to speak. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the way you looked when we lifted you from that ditch.’ Her lip quivered as her voice faltered.
‘Aye, well, we’re not goin’ down that road,’ said Abe hastily. ‘Look, lad, we’ve both come the night because we’ve a proposition to put to you, as you might say.’
He paused, and when he seemingly found it difficult to go on, Dolly spoke again, but softly now. ‘I think you know we’ve always looked on you as the son we never had, Jacob, right from the time you first came to work at the smithy for a bob or two on a Saturday. We’re fond of you, more than fond, and we always intended to do what we’re about to say, but this terrible attack on you has prompted our hand. We want to get everything straight, so we all know where we stand.’
Dancing in the Moonlight Page 15