Jude smiled into the homely face of the seventeen-year-old lad who was three years his junior. Tommy had flattened his unruly, brown hair; and now he had a frill of greasy curls above each ear. ‘I don’t see why not but…’ Jude reached for a towel hanging over the end of the bed. ‘You’ve been a bit heavy handed with the Brilliantine. Rub it off and wear it like you always do.’
Tommy grinned sheepishly. ‘I were trying to look like a man about town,’ he said innocently.
‘You look more like Coco the clown.’
There was no malice in Jude’s remark but just in case it was misconstrued he added, ‘You’re good-looking enough without it.’ The white lie sprang easily from his lips. He liked Tommy and didn’t want him to be seen as a figure of fun. As Tommy towelled his hair, Jude peered into the mirror on the dressing table and brushed his own thick black hair. It flopped over his forehead and curled round his ears and in the nape of his neck, softening his aquiline features. Finely shaped eyebrows topped his dark, penetrating eyes, eyes made all the blacker by the permanent lines of coal dust embedded in his lashes. A tiny blue scar in the shape of an arrowhead marked one swarthy cheek, the sharp flint that had caused it lending a rakish enhancement to his good looks.
‘My, I could fall for you meself,’ Lily remarked when Jude clattered downstairs, Tommy at his heels. For all Lily wouldn’t see forty again, she flirted outrageously with her young lodger.
‘I’m hoping somebody else thinks the same,’ Jude replied, at the same time fretting that the object of his desire might not be at the dance. But if she is, he thought, I’ll make sure to strengthen our brief acquaintance.
‘You look a treat an’ all, our Tommy.’ Lily tweaked his greasy mop. ‘Off you go now and behave yourselves,’ she said, wiping her fingers on her apron. ‘Watch out for them lasses, don’t be doin’ owt I wouldn’t.’ She gave a lewd, throaty chuckle.
Jude thought he wouldn’t mind being led astray.
‘Don’t wait up, we might be late,’ the lads chorused, chortling at the coincidence and throwing friendly punches as they scuffled out the door.
*
The five-piece band struck up a foxtrot. Several young women took to the floor, partnering each other in the absence of offers from the men lounged nonchalantly against the hall’s walls, hands in pockets and chins jutted upwards. Older couples dipped and swayed, as did a few young men who had plucked up enough courage to find a girl to partner.
‘We’ll dance with each other and just stay with the girls when we’re not dancing,’ Freda told Amy, conscious that her prettier companion would attract far more offers than she herself. Freda didn’t fancy being a wallflower.
They made their way onto the dance floor.
Leaned against the wall, a Woodbine clamped between his lips, Jude felt his spirits lift as he watched the slender, blonde-haired girl in the blue dress glide by in the arms of her plump friend dressed in green. His eyes followed them as they circumnavigated the floor. His scrutiny did not go unnoticed.
‘That fellow from the library’s here and he’s watching us,’ Freda hissed, peevishly aware that she was not the focus of his attention.
‘Who? Where?’ Freda pointed. Amy’s heart fluttered when she saw it was Jude.
‘He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?’ she said.
Freda scowled, piqued that Jude had eyes only for Amy. ‘Let’s get a drink,’ she said, dragging Amy away from Jude’s close proximity. Amy glanced his way again.
Freda tugged her arm, saying, ‘Ignore him. We don’t want him pestering us.’
Lemonade glasses aloft, Amy and Freda manoeuvred their way through the throng to stand with the girls. Amy turned in the direction she had last seen Jude, surprised to find him standing close behind her.
‘Can I have the pleasure of the next dance?’ he asked.
‘No, you can’t. We’re sitting it out,’ snapped Freda.
‘I wasn’t asking you,’ Jude retorted. ‘I think the lady can answer for herself.’
Amy’s heart drummed and her throat went dry. She gulped at the lemonade. Then, shoving the glass into an affronted Freda’s hand, she smiled sweetly at Jude.
‘I’d love to dance,’ she said, taking hold of his outstretched hand.
The band played a slow waltz, Jude pleased that the slow pace and tender music allowed conversation. In the space of the dance they merely acknowledged their meetings in the library and how fond they were of reading. Several dances later, they agreed that a breath of fresh air would be most welcome. Hand in hand they slipped outside, Freda looking distinctly peeved as she watched them go.
They wandered into the graveyard, a mellow moon lighting the way and cherry blossom scenting the air. Seated on a large, flat tombstone they swapped potted histories: Amy telling him about her family and Intake Farm and Jude recalling his earlier days in Bird’s Well.
When she asked about his job, he said, ‘It’s not what I would choose, but I aim to work my way up from shovelling coal to hewing it, so it will suffice until I’ve saved enough money to explore my options.’
‘And what might they be?’
‘I’m not exactly sure. I’d like to go to college and qualify for something that uses my brain rather than my muscles. Literature’s my thing.’ He chuckled wryly. ‘When I was growing up Jim Hawkins and The Three Musketeers were my best friends. My mother gave me the love of reading and…’ He paused dreamily. ‘Maybe I’ll be a writer or a publisher of other writers’ great works. Anything to do with books.’
Amy warmed to him all the more. ‘I loved Jim Hawkins as well, but I loved Heathcliff even more,’ she confided. ‘I’m a romantic at heart. I adore Jane Austen and the Brontës. I can’t read enough, and would you believe it, just as I left the girls’ grammar, they opened the public library and I got the job of assistant librarian. I couldn’t have hoped for better. It was pure luck.’
‘Luck plays a large part in our lives,’ Jude said, thinking how disappointed he would have been if Amy had not come to the dance.
‘Luck’s only part of it.’ Amy was going to add that hard work played its part but Jude interrupted her, his thoughts turning for no reason to the disaster that had occurred a week or so earlier. ‘What if you’d bought a ticket to sail on the Titanic then missed the boat? That’s pure luck.’
Amy clutched at her throat. ‘Oh yes,’ she gasped. ‘I read about that in the papers. Wasn’t it terrible? They said the ship was unsinkable, yet all those people drowned in freezing cold water. Surely the boat’s owners must have known there weren’t enough lifeboats for all those on board.’ Amy shuddered.
‘They did, and the worst of it was they let the rich passengers get into the lifeboats first. Them that travelled steerage on the cheap tickets were locked down below until it was too late to save them.’ Jude’s voice shook with anger. ‘It’s one law for the rich and another for the poor. I hate man’s inhumanity to his fellow man.’
Amy couldn’t believe she was having such an interesting conversation with a man, even if the topic was sad. All the other lads she knew showed little interest in anything other than farming or football. Jude continued talking about the division that existed between the social classes, Amy contributing her own opinions and at the same time thinking what a caring, thoughtful young man he was; his beliefs were in tune with her own and she liked him all the more for it.
The night air was balmy and the quiet of the graveyard a welcome respite from the bustle and noise in the Church Hall. Neither of them wanted the evening to end. The church clock struck ten. Jude turned his head at the sound, Amy remarking, ‘You’ve the sweetest heart-shaped mark just below your left ear. Is it a birthmark?’
Jude fingered the mark and chuckled. ‘Aye, my mother said I’d been kissed by an angel. She told me it would bring me luck, and I’m beginning to think she was right now that I’ve met you.’
Amy flushed with pleasure.
*
Inside the Church Hall Thomas sought out Fred
a and Amy, a panic-stricken expression on his pasty face. Finding Freda alone he blurted out, ‘Our Sammy’s ready to go and he’ll not like being kept waiting. Where’s our Amy?’
‘Off outside with a mucky collier,’ Freda said spitefully. ‘I don’t know what she’s playing at.’
Thomas turned and ran. He had to find Amy.
Over at the trap, Samuel Elliot savagely stubbed his boot toe into a clump of daffodils, cursing under his breath as he waited for his passengers. The evening had turned sour. For the first hour he had stood outside the Hall drinking with the men who had brought crates of bottled beer from the pub and then, venturing inside, he had found himself a girl who was easy, or so he’d been told. After plying her with drink he’d tried his hand, furious when she’d laughed in his face. ‘I don’t do it wi’ great lumps o’ lard like you,’ she’d jeered. He’d given her a clout then stomped off to find Thomas, telling him to find the girls. They were going home.
Now, as Thomas and Freda approached, Samuel roared, ‘Come on, get a move on. I’ve had enough of this bloody place.’
‘I can’t find our Amy,’ Thomas stuttered. ‘She’s not in the Hall. Freda says she’s gone off with a fellow.’
‘He’s a collier,’ Freda sneered adding fuel to the fire.
Just then, Jude and Amy walked out of the graveyard. Seeing them, Samuel set off at a run, throwing himself at Jude and yelling, ‘Get your dirty hands off my sister.’
Amy screamed. Jude staggered sideways but, quick on his feet, he soon righted himself and raised his fists. Only then did Samuel take stock of his opponent. A full head taller, his muscles honed from long hours shovelling coal, Jude braced himself ready for the onslaught. Samuel stepped back.
‘Amy, get in the trap,’ he bellowed, spittle flying from his blubbery lips. He glared at Jude. ‘Keep away from her if you know what’s good for you.’
Amy climbed into the trap, thoroughly discomfited. Jude, outwardly unperturbed, stood his ground waiting for Samuel’s next move. Samuel scuttled round the trap and from the safety of the driver’s seat he threatened, ‘Don’t go near her again.’
Jude, thinking it wise not to aggravate the fellow further and cause Amy more distress saluted cockily and then said, ‘I’ll be seeing you, Amy.’
Feeling utterly humiliated, she responded with a pathetic little wave.
6
When, on the night of the dance in the Church Hall Jude had said, ‘I’ll be seeing you, Amy,’ he had meant it, and so, on Monday morning he walked into the library. When he looked at Amy, he felt his heart float. Hers fluttered and she looked back with a smile that told him all he wanted to know. He was wearing the same black suit that he’d worn the night of the dance and under it a crisp, white shirt. Slender and sinewy, with eyes darker than the night and shining black curls caressing his forehead and swarthy cheeks, Amy wondered if he would be Mr Darcy to her Elizabeth.
‘Wait for me in Religion and Theology,’ Amy whispered, sending Jude to a secluded corner of the library that didn’t attract many borrowers. When she joined him there, they both quickly agreed that the altercation with Samuel made no difference to their friendship, and when Jude asked to see her after work, maybe go to the theatre or do anything to spend time together, Amy readily accepted. However, Jude was on ‘afters’ that week, working two till ten, so nights out would have to wait. Jude left the library feeling as though the world was a different place, and for the rest of that week during the long hours underground he willed time to fly, and was barely able to conceal his impatience to see her again. Amy found herself counting the days, each morning appearing brighter than the one before and every passing hour filled with pleasurable anticipation.
On the next Monday afternoon, Jude deliberately lingered between the shelves until hatchet-faced Phoebe Littlewood curtly told him it was closing time. When Amy stepped outside a short while later, she found him perched on the wall by the steps, waiting for her. It was a warm evening, and when Jude suggested they walk along the riverbank behind the library and past the church, Amy saw no reason to refuse.
Immediately, just as on the night of the dance, they felt a connection, and they only had to look at or listen to each other to see it and feel it. As they walked by the river, the melancholy sound of a violin drifted through the open window of a garret in one of the houses on its banks. The tender strains of ‘Love is the Sweetest Thing’ floated on the air. How apt, Amy thought. She glanced at Jude to see if he heard it too.
His head was cocked and his eyes on the garret’s window. When he stopped walking and lowered his gaze, Amy could tell his thoughts matched her own, and as their eyes met Jude leaned in to share their first kiss. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, more ardently this time. Beneath his shirt she felt the steady beat of heart, but her own felt as though it was melting. When the kiss ended, they drew apart, breathless, and simultaneously gasped, ‘I love you.’
*
After that first evening by the river they met whenever time allowed, every minute precious for they knew they were meant to be together. Meetings flew by in a whirl of shared interests: books, politics of the day, natural history, and each other. They swapped stories from their respective childhoods, Jude neglecting to mention the truth about his parentage. These walks, too brief and infrequent for their liking, brought with them an understanding that neither of them had ever before experienced.
Jude had always loved poetry and, encouraged by his mother Jenny, he had read many poems. Now, for the first time he understood what it was the romantic poets were trying to say: it was love, pure and beautiful love. For her part, Amy was lost in the wonder of his company, the pleasure of seeing him never diminishing and her heart beating that little bit faster whenever they met.
However, Amy chose not to mention any of this to her family or to Freda although the latter was curious as to why she made excuses for not spending time together after work. Afraid of Samuel’s reaction, she took care to hide it from him. On the evenings she stayed out late for a trip to the theatre or simply sitting in the comfort of Lily Tinker’s parlour, she told Hadley and Bessie she was with Freda or Beattie. She felt guilty at the pretence but she dared not chance their interference spoiling her romance, not when it was so beautiful. But some secrets are hard to keep.
*
‘What’s this about me and you going to the theatre to see Hindle Wakes last Saturday?’
Amy froze midway between taking off her coat in the library’s storeroom, ready to start work. Her back was towards Freda so she was able to hide the guilty flush that sprang to her cheeks, but Freda’s accusatory tone had her desperately searching for an excuse. Finding none, she turned to face her.
‘Who said that?’ Amy tried to sound uncaring.
‘Your Samuel. He asked me had I enjoyed it.’
‘And what did you say?’ Amy heard the wobble in her voice and knew that Freda heard it too.
Freda smiled smugly. ‘Oh, I didn’t let on, if that’s what you’re thinking. I knew who you were with so I pretended I’d seen it.’ Relief flooded Amy’s face but before she could offer her thanks, Freda said, ‘But don’t think I’ll lie for you the next time.’
‘I didn’t ask you to lie this time,’ Amy said tartly, having recovered her composure.
Freda smirked. ‘No, you didn’t, but you’ve been lying to me. Your Sammy seems to think we’re never done gallivanting but we haven’t been out together for ages. All you’ve done this while back is make excuses, saying you had to go straight home.’
‘I’m sorry, Freda. I shouldn’t have used you like that but I’m not yet ready to tell Mam and Dad about Jude, and you know what Sammy will say.’ Amy gave Freda an appeasing smile. ‘He really took a dislike to Jude on that night at the dance.’
‘I wonder why?’ Freda said sarcastically. ‘Still,’ she shrugged carelessly, ‘if you’re that ashamed of him being a collier, I can see why you’re keeping it a secret.’
‘I’m n
ot ashamed,’ Amy retorted hotly. ‘I’d never be ashamed of Jude. He’s the most decent man I ever met.’
‘In that case you won’t mind me telling your Samuel who you’re out with the next time he asks, ’cos it’s certainly not me.’ Freda spun on her heel and flounced out.
Amy stayed where she was. It now seemed despicable to have cut off her friendship with Freda after all the times they had shared. She should have been honest about Jude and how much he meant to her. But, Amy reasoned, Freda would have tried to talk her out of being with him. Poor Freda, thought Amy, I understand why she feels annoyed at having no one to go out with, and that she’s jealous of Jude, but I can’t let her, or our Sammy, rule my life.
*
And so Amy’s secret love was secret no more. She was almost glad Freda had found her out, but common sense ruling that her romance would not meet with Samuel or her mother’s approval, she couldn’t help but worry.
Since that night at the Easter dance, Samuel had raised the incident with Jude more than once. Amy felt hurt when he accused her of having loose morals, and furious to be told she was a poor judge of men. Of course, Bessie had taken his side, warning Amy of the dangers of dallying with low-class colliers who were only out for one thing. Samuel had told her she should set her sights on Albert Sissons and Bessie had agreed. Amy had laughed scornfully, declaring that Albert was an insipid, inarticulate bore with droopy eyes and big ears, and as for his money… ‘It’s you that finds his assets attractive, not me,’ she had told them forcefully, ‘and as for marrying him, I’d sooner be a nun.’
But, like any other young girl in love for the first time Amy yearned to shout it from the treetops and share this new and wondrous feeling with someone who understood what it felt like to wake each morning and see the future in a completely different light. Freda should have been the obvious person to confide in but Amy hadn’t done that, so whom could she tell?
Against her better judgement, Amy decided to tell Beattie. Growing up, they had never been close enough to share hopes and dreams or secrets, the age gap too great and Beattie’s surly manner discouraging. But the new, grown-up Amy needed to talk to someone about Jude, and who better than her older sister? After all, Amy pondered, Beattie must know something about love. She’d married Bert and given him five children. With this thought in mind, she left work and walked to Grattan Row.
The Collier’s Wife Page 5