Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘Don’t want it,’ Malcolm said, giving her a resentful look. Amy saw him rub his eyes and poke his lower lip out, and realised with a sinking heart that his lack of sleep had caught up with him.

  ‘He’s tired, Charlie,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault—I should have made sure he had a good sleep this afternoon, but I got him up too soon. Don’t be silly, Mal,’ she said, trying to make her voice light. ‘Of course you want your pudding. Eat up, then you’d better go straight to bed.’

  ‘Won’t! Won’t go to bed! Don’t want pudding!’

  Charlie looked at his son in amazement, and Amy knew that this time it would be hard to shelter Malcolm. ‘Hey, boy, you do as you’re told,’ he said. ‘You eat what’s put in front of you.’

  ‘Won’t!’ Malcolm gave his bowl a shove away from him. It caught a roughness on the wooden table and tipped over, spilling custard on the table and onto Malcolm.

  Amy spoke quickly, anxious to forestall Charlie’s angry reaction. ‘Malcolm! That was very naughty. You can go to bed right now—go on, off you go.’

  ‘He don’t go to bed!’ Malcolm shouted, glaring at David. He flung his spoon in fury, and by sheer bad luck his aim was better than it had any right to be.

  The spoon struck the baby a glancing blow on the cheek. For a moment there was a deathly silence in the room while Amy and Charlie were too shocked to speak, Malcolm absorbed the enormity of what he had done and David looked astonished. Then the baby opened his mouth wide and screamed his outrage.

  Amy checked his face. ‘Poor Davie,’ she soothed, stroking the small red mark on his cheek, but a glance showed her that his screams were from shock rather than pain.

  Charlie took an instant longer to recover his voice, but his expression told Amy it was too late to try and protect Malcolm. ‘Come here, boy,’ he roared above David’s yells. He pulled Malcolm from the chair, at the same time undoing the heavy leather belt from around his waist.

  Malcolm had never had more than the token slaps Amy occasionally gave him. He looked at the belt without any understanding, but the threat in his father’s face was easily read. His face crumpled and he began to wail.

  ‘He didn’t really mean to hurt Davie,’ Amy said. Charlie turned on her.

  ‘Don’t you go meddling, woman. I’ve been leaving it to you to bring the boy up till he was old enough to need a man’s hand. Look what you’re turning him into—a spoilt brat. I’ll have to sort out your mischief before you ruin my son.’ He yanked up Malcolm’s little frock and swung the belt.

  Amy turned away from the sight, holding David close to her to try and soothe him, as the repeated whack of leather against flesh and Malcolm’s screams filled the room. The noise seemed to frighten David even more, so that he yelled louder than ever.

  It took her a moment to realise that Charlie had stopped hitting Malcolm, as both children were still making as much noise as ever. ‘You’ll get that again if you play up—you remember that,’ Charlie warned, his voice rising above the cacophony. ‘Now you get to bed. You can stop that noise, too.’

  Malcolm ran wailing from the room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. His cries were muffled by the wall, and Amy managed to soothe David so that the room gradually became quiet once more.

  ‘The little fellow’s all right, is he?’ Charlie asked, looking at David in Amy’s arms.

  ‘Yes, he’s fine. He just got a fright.’

  ‘Good.’ Charlie frowned. ‘I’ve been too soft on the boy. I should have been keeping a better eye on him—I can’t expect you to have any sense.’

  ‘He’s not usually like that, Charlie. He really did get tired this afternoon, that’s why he was grumpy.’

  ‘You’ve been babying him. It’s high time he learned to behave. All this climbing on my lap like a baby. It’ll have to stop.’

  ‘But… but you like him sitting on your lap,’ Amy said in dismay.

  ‘That was all very well when he was a baby. He’s too old for that now.’

  ‘Charlie, I don’t understand. I know you want me to be firmer with Malcolm—you’re right, I’ve been a bit soft with him—but what harm does it do for you to give him cuddles? All it does is tell him you love him.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand. You’re stupid. But you can understand this all right—if the boy plays up, you tell me and I’ll sort him out. My son’s going to be brought up properly. You hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I hear you,’ Amy said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Would you hold Davie for me while I get Malcolm undressed and put him to bed? Davie’s still a baby—it won’t do any harm if you cuddle him.’ The bitter note that she could not quite keep out of her voice appeared lost on Charlie.

  ‘All right. Just get him straight into bed, mind—no making a fuss of him.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She placed David in Charlie’s arms and went through to Malcolm’s room.

  Malcolm was lying face-down on his bed, his wails diminished to an occasional sob.

  ‘Sit up, Mal, and I’ll get your clothes off,’ Amy said, determinedly matter-of-fact. ‘Hurry up, it’s high time you were in bed.’

  ‘Don’t want to.’ Malcolm’s voice came muffled through the pillow.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. You have to. Do you want Papa to come in here and see you being naughty?’

  Malcolm sat up at once and looked apprehensively past Amy. She took off his clothes then made him lie down again while she put a napkin on him. As she pulled his nightshirt over his head she heard him mutter something that was lost in the folds of cloth.

  ‘What did you say, Mal?’ she asked when his head emerged.

  ‘I hate Papa,’ he said, glowering towards the door.

  Amy took hold of his shoulders and gave him a little shake. ‘Don’t you dare say that. If I ever hear that from you again I’ll smack you myself—I’ll smack you really hard. You don’t hate Papa at all. Papa only did that because you were naughty. Papa loves you. He just wants you to be good.’

  She helped Malcolm under the covers and tucked him in snugly, for once not bothering to say prayers with him; persuading him to repeat ‘God bless Papa’ would be too difficult this evening. She planted a kiss on his forehead before he had time to twist away from her. ‘Now, you go off to sleep and tomorrow you and Papa can be friends again.’

  But she was sure that Charlie and Malcolm would never be quite the same again. Malcolm would soon get over his punishment; the three or four whacks with Charlie’s wide belt had wounded his dignity more than anything else. But the next time he tried to climb on his father’s lap he would be pushed away, and he would not understand why.

  That’s going to upset him. Poor little Mal, Amy fretted as she closed the door on him. Granny used to give me lots of hidings when I was little. Much harder ones than Mal got, too. I probably got a hiding most weeks till I was old enough to know better. She pictured her grandmother’s face that had more often worn a broad smile than a look of reproof. But I got cuddles every day. Every single day.

  *

  It seemed that Harry and Jane did still have some energy left after getting their fill of fighting. A few weeks before Christmas Jane gave birth to a red-haired baby girl, who was at once the apple of her parents’ eyes.

  Early in the New Year the proud parents took little Doris Marion to church to be baptised. Amy was touched when Jane asked her to be a godparent, along with Bob and Marion Forster. After the service Marion invited anyone within range of her voice (which was most of the congregation) to an afternoon tea at the Forster’s house.

  Jane, with Doris on her lap, was given the place of honour in the centre of the Forster’s verandah, on a comfortable chair from the parlour. Susannah had contrived to make a late entrance, befitting her self-appointed role of grande dame, but the attention she got as she swept up the verandah steps with the stiff silk of her skirts rustling, hauling by the wrists Thomas and George, squirming and self-conscious in blue satin suits, was short-lived. It was the new mother and baby everyon
e had come to admire.

  Jane received with a serene smile the homage all the women present paid to the baby, secure in the knowledge that hers was the most perfect child the world had ever seen.

  Pregnancy and motherhood had changed Jane, mellowing her fiery nature into one of calm happiness. Harry had gone around with a look of confusion for some months, wondering what had happened to his favourite sparring partner, but with the arrival of Doris the awesome responsibility of being a father had had its effects on him, too. Amy could see that her brother had grown up in a hurry over the last few weeks.

  Amy chose a shady corner of the verandah to sit with David on her lap. She was glad of the outing, though she wished Lizzie could have been there with her; Lizzie’s second pregnancy was now advanced enough to confine her to the house.

  She cajoled Malcolm to stay close to her by feeding him bits of cake from her own plate. ‘Papa’s busy talking to the men, Mal,’ she said when she saw him looking longingly at his father. ‘We’ll be going home soon, anyway.’ She was quite sure that was true; Charlie had looked disgruntled at the modest amount of beer on offer, and Amy knew he would want to leave as soon as it was finished. ‘You stay with me and Davie. Look, this is a yummy chocolate cake.’

  ‘Well, that’s everyone’s plates loaded up, I’m going to take the weight off my feet,’ Marion said, collapsing into a chair beside Amy with an exaggerated sigh. Her two-year-old daughter clambered onto her lap and smiled shyly at Amy. ‘My other girl’s staying with Bob’s sister this week—I shouldn’t have let her go! She’s starting to be quite a help now. She’ll be six in a couple of months. Your boys are growing, Amy,’ Marion added, stroking David’s mop of black hair admiringly.

  ‘Mmm, they’ll both be tall,’ Amy said. ‘Not like me.’

  Marion’s oldest, a boy of eight, emerged from the house having changed his Sunday best suit for a well-worn pair of dungarees. He reached out to take a large piece of sponge cake while his mother was talking to Amy, but Marion’s eyes were too sharp for him.

  ‘Leave that for the guests, Bobby,’ she told him, slapping his hand away from the plate. ‘You’ve had plenty already. Look at the state of you!’ She turned Bobby’s right hand palm upwards to reveal a liberal coating of icing, no doubt from pieces of cake filched earlier. ‘You’re not fit for polite company. Go and play somewhere—not too close, either.’

  Bobby gave his mother a wounded look, but he skipped off cheerfully enough down the steps and towards a tree some distance away with a rope swing hanging from it.

  ‘Boys!’ Marion said, raising her eyebrows. ‘You have to watch them all the time. He’s got hollow legs, that one—it’s all I can do to keep him fed. He eats nearly as much as his father! He attracts dirt like a magnet, too. How old are your two, Susannah?’

  ‘Five and four. Far too close in age, I’ve never been the same since I went through all that.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Marion made a noise of sympathetic agreement. ‘How do you get them looking so nice? Look at those beautiful suits—Bobby would have one of those ripped to bits in five minutes. That’s if I could get him to wear it at all.’

  Susannah smiled complacently. ‘They are rather lovely, aren’t they? My mother sent them from Auckland. You can’t get anything like this in the country, of course.’ She patted an imaginary wrinkle out of the white lace-edged collar of Thomas’s suit. ‘I’m afraid Thomas made a fuss about wearing this, but he just has to do as I say. George is still too young to worry about what he wears, thank goodness. Thomas is quite enough of a handful without having two naughty boys.’

  ‘You look nice, Tommy,’ Amy said, seeing the look of embarrassment on Thomas’ face. ‘I think they’re a bit hot, though, Susannah. Can’t they take their jackets off?’ Perhaps the suits would look less excessively babyish without the jackets.

  ‘Please, Mama?’ Thomas asked, and George started to pull at his jacket.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Susannah said, giving George’s hand a slap. ‘I want you to look smart today.’

  ‘You boys must be getting a bit bored, sitting with all us old women. Do you want to go and play with Bobby?’ Marion asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Thomas and George chorused. Thomas turned to their mother. ‘Please, Mama?’

  ‘Go on, Susannah, let them have a run around,’ Marion coaxed.

  ‘Well, all right,’ Susannah said. Both boys ran down the steps and towards Bobby without giving her time to change her mind. ‘Don’t you get dirty,’ she called after them.

  ‘Want to play,’ Malcolm said, trying to pull away from Amy and follow the other boys.

  ‘I don’t know, Mal, they’re a bit big for you,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘Look, here comes Papa.’ The men were indeed approaching the verandah, having exhausted the beer and being ready for tea and cakes. ‘You run and see Papa.’

  Malcolm toddled towards Charlie as fast as his plump little legs would take him, then walked back at his father’s side, taking big steps to try and match Charlie’s long stride. A few weeks before, Charlie would have picked him up and carried him, but now he would do no more than take Malcolm’s hand rather self-consciously.

  The first men to reach the verandah, including Charlie, took the few empty seats at the far end from where Amy was sitting, while the later arrivals made do with leaning against the railing. Amy noticed John standing in the far corner. She was about to beckon him over when Mrs Carr’s strident voice rang out.

  ‘Do come over here, John,’ she called. ‘There’s room for one more on this bench—my girls don’t take up much room.’ That was not strictly true; while Martha was on the bony side of slim, Sophie in all charity could only be described as plump. ‘Move over, Martha—you too, Sophie.’ She yanked Martha towards her, making a gap between Martha and Sophie barely big enough for a man to sit.

  Rather to Amy’s surprise, her brother wandered over to Mrs Carr and took the offered place. ‘Thanks,’ he said, turning his smile on each of the three women in turn. Martha giggled and blushed, while Sophie smiled back with her usual somewhat vacant expression. Amy could not recall ever having heard Sophie string more than three words together at a time; though judging from her mother and sister there was no shortage of speech in the Carr house.

  ‘Now isn’t this nice?’ Mrs Carr said brightly. ‘You young people spending some time together. I’m afraid my girls get rather stale for company, John, with only their father and I around. And of course we hardly ever see Tilly, with her living way over in Katikati. Isn’t it nice to have a handsome young man to talk to, girls?’

  Martha giggled and turned what seemed meant to be a winning smile on John.

  ‘I’ll leave you young ones alone for a bit while I chat to a few more people,’ Mrs Carr said, rising ponderously from the bench. ‘Keep John entertained, girls.’

  Freed from her mother’s overwhelming presence, Martha took over the task of keeping John ‘entertained’.

  ‘It’s a lovely day today. It’s a really nice day to be outside in the fresh air. It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’ she asked rather breathlessly.

  ‘Mmm,’ John agreed.

  ‘Sophie and I were just saying what a nice time we were having. Weren’t we, Sophie?’ She leaned across John to nudge her sister with her elbow. Sophie looked mildly startled, smiled at John then returned to contemplating the middle distance. ‘Doris is such a lovely baby, too. And you’ve got Amy’s children living just next door. You must be awfully proud, being an uncle, John,’ Martha said.

  ‘Why? I didn’t do anything,’ John said, amusement in his eyes.

  Martha seemed at a loss how to respond to this for a few moments. ‘Well, no, but… well, you’re an uncle,’ she repeated, as if that explained all. ‘Tilly’s got two children now—did you know that? Sophie and I like being aunts, don’t we, Sophie?’ She nudged Sophie again.

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie agreed, not bothering to turn her broad, plain face towards her sister.

  ‘It must be lovely to have chi
ldren of your own, don’t you think? You’re so used to being an uncle, you must be looking forward to having your own.’

  That, Amy thought, was going a little too fast; certainly no one could accuse Martha of being subtle. She studied John’s face to see if he were showing any sign of wanting to escape, but he was still smiling.

  ‘Dunno about that,’ he said wryly. ‘I’m in no rush to give up sleeping at night.’

  Martha shrieked with laughter; John looked startled at the noise. ‘What a funny thing to say! Babies don’t wake up at night for long… do they?’ she finished on a more uncertain note.

  ‘Ask Harry,’ John said, indicating his brother, who was standing behind Jane’s chair. Harry did indeed have signs of weariness in his face, though they were overshadowed by his look of pride as he gazed at his wife and daughter.

  A high-pitched voice dragged Amy’s attention away from the little drama being acted out before her.

  ‘I’m not! I’m not!’ It was Thomas, fists clenched as he glared at Bobby Forster. The three boys were standing under a tree a few yards from the corner of the house.

  ‘Yes, you are. You’re a sissy. So’s he,’ Bobby added, casting a disdainful look at George. ‘Look at those sissy clothes. You look like little girls.’

  ‘Not a girl!’ George protested.

  ‘Why don’t you want to climb the tree, then? Sissy,’ Bobby taunted.

  Marion stopped talking to Susannah in mid-sentence. ‘Bobby, are you teasing those little boys?’ she called, a warning note in her voice.

  ‘No, Ma! I’m just trying to get them to climb the tree—I think they’re too scared.’

  ‘We’re not scared of your stupid tree!’ Thomas said, indignant at the slight. We’ve got much bigger trees at home, I can climb them all. But Mama said we mustn’t get dirty.’

  ‘Mama said,’ Bobby repeated in a mincing voice. ‘Mama said the little girls mustn’t get dirty. Where’s your hair ribbons, little girls?’