‘In that case I’ll carry on being a useless sod,’ Beattie responded, doing her utmost to sound perky. They both laughed at that. They were still laughing when Raffy came back with children. He smiled when he saw that amity had been restored. Amy was clever when it came to making people see reason, he thought, giving her a conspiratorial wink. Amy gave an imperceptible nod as she smiled back.
‘I’ll do your hair for you tomorrow if you come down to mine,’ Amy offered, thinking that if Beattie smartened herself up it would help lighten her spirits.
‘Aye, go on then,’ said Beattie. ‘I’ll want to look me best for Bert.’
Amy returned home feeling far happier than when she had set out for Beattie’s.
*
That afternoon, as Amy walked up the lane to Intake Farm, the happy mood she had set out with dissipated. Low Fold was overrun with thistles and dock, and a fence blown down in recent high winds lay exactly as it had on her last visit. Peeling paint mottled the barn door and weeds sprouted in between the flags in the yard. Dad would be heartbroken to see it like this, she thought, bringing the pram to a halt outside the kitchen door. Visits to her mother were awkward these days, Bessie still hurt by Raffy’s betrayal and angry with Amy and Jude for offering him a home.
‘Hello, Mum.’ Amy stepped inside, Kezia in her arms.
Bessie was plucking a duck. She stuffed a handful of feathers into a sack at her feet and then swished her hands under the tap. ‘Hello, love,’ she said wearily, coming forward to take Kezia from Amy’s arms and then quickly following it with ‘you’re getting too big to lift, young lady,’ as she set her granddaughter down. Kezia crawled over to the cat on the hearthrug.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Amy said, pained to see how tired her mother looked. The skin beneath her eyes was loose and drooping, her movements slow. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea then I’ll finish plucking that duck.’
Bessie plodded to a chair by the hearth. ‘How’s Jude?’ she asked, Amy fully aware she asked not out of concern but only because it was expected.
‘He’s coming home for the weekend this Friday. That’s partly why I’m here. I want to make an early Christmas party so I wondered if I might have a chicken or a duck.’ She handed Bessie a cup then sat down in the opposite chair.
‘You might as well take that one,’ said Bessie, gesturing to the carcass by the sink. She leaned her head back on the chair cushion and closed her eyes, showing little interest in her tea, Kezia or the party. Amy felt a stab of deep concern. Where was the bossy, bouncing woman who once seemed to rule the world?
‘Are things still as bad between you and Sammy, Mum?’
‘How’s Raffy?’
The response to her question caught Amy by surprise. Since his ignominious ejection from Intake Farm, Amy had not heard Bessie once mention Raffy’s name. Now, she saw the yearning in her mother’s eyes.
‘He’s well enough,’ she replied, pausing before saying, ‘he misses you.’
A tremor ran through Bessie’s ample frame. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I miss him,’ she said softly, ‘and so does the farm.’
‘So I noticed,’ Amy said, thinking of the neglected fields and broken fences. ‘Is Samuel still taking too much drink?’
Bessie nodded. ‘They both are. Thomas has always followed our Sammy’s example.’ It was Amy’s turn to nod, dispiritedly. She reached for her mother’s hands, squeezing them between her own.
‘Why don’t you ask Raffy to come back?’
Bessie paled. ‘Samuel would never allow it.’
‘You’re still mistress of Intake Farm, mother,’ said Amy, her repugnance for her arrogant, bullying brother sharpening her words.
‘I can’t cross Samuel. He runs the farm.’
Amy snorted. ‘You could have fooled me. The place is a disaster.’
Bessie’s face crumpled further. ‘It is. We’ve had to sell Top Fold to keep going. It’ll be the cattle next. We only get by on what I make on the butter and the fowl.’
‘Then get Raffy back before it’s too late. Ask him when you’re at the party.’
*
Amy whipped off her apron, did a little twirl and clapped her hands as she danced across the kitchen to lift Kezia. ‘Daddy’s coming home, Daddy’s coming home,’ she chanted, swinging the toddler in a merry little jig. Kezia giggled, her rosebud lips forming the word ‘Dada’ over and again. Amy glanced at the clock. ‘Oops! Better get a move on,’ she said, giving Kezia one last twirl. ‘You play with your dolly whilst I get ready.’
Leaving her daughter on the hearthrug, Amy dashed over to the mirror above the sink. Peering into it, she saw a flushed, pretty face with sparkling blue eyes staring back at her. She giggled. I look like a girl fresh from her first romantic meeting, she thought, tucking stray blonde curls back into her chignon. Satisfied with her appearance, she went and stood in the centre of the room breathing in the savoury aroma of roast fowl that wafted from the fireside oven. Smoothing the skirts of her best blue, crepe dress she mentally took stock: duck in the oven, apple tarts, sponge cake and buns in the cupboard and potted meat in the cold press. She had spent most of her separation allowance and used up her entire butter and sugar ration but it all seemed worthwhile if the party was to be a success. Amy glanced at the clock again, butterflies fluttering in her tummy and her heart beating that little bit faster. It was almost midday. Where was Jude?
The thud of footsteps out in the yard had her rushing to the door. ‘How do, Amy.’ Ernest Dixon clattered by in his pit clogs. Amy’s spirits drooped. She went indoors, and down on her knees she played with Kezia and her dolls in the parlour. Maybe Jude wasn’t coming after all.
‘I think it’s time for your nap, lady.’ Amy settled her daughter on the couch. Two lullabies and Kezia slept. Amy watched the steady rise and fall of her little chest and listened to her whispering breaths, and then sensing that someone else was in the room she turned. And there he was, tall and proud in his navy blue uniform, brass buttons gleaming and his dark eyes alive with anticipation. Amy’s breath caught in her throat. She leapt up, throwing herself at his chest, clinging on, laughing and crying at the same time. Jude kissed her tenderly and then again slowly and sensuously until she was melting with desire.
Tearing his lips from hers Jude gasped, ‘Kezia?’ and went and stood by the couch gazing down at her. ‘She’s beautiful, and look how she’s grown,’ he said, his voice cracking and his rugged features softening, only to brighten mischievously as he added, ‘but we’ll let her sleep for now.’ Lifting Amy into his arms, he carried her upstairs to bed.
*
Bouncing impatiently on the balls of her feet at the end of Grattan Row, Maggie Stitt let out a yell, and with Albert, Fred and Mary on her heels she ran to meet Bert. He saw them coming and dropped to his knees, his arms and his grin wide, the force of their hugs almost bowling him over. At last he struggled to his feet, children hanging from his limbs as he went into the house. Beattie came out of the kitchen smiling, the teapot in her hand.
‘I thought you’d fancy a brew,’ she said by way of welcome. Bert’s heart soared. He’d been expecting a tongue-lashing.
‘You look grand, lass,’ he said softly, his pale grey eyes admiring Beattie’s clean pink dress and freshly washed hair. That she’d smartened herself for his homecoming brought tears to his eyes. Accepting the tea, Bert gulped it then set the cup on the table. Grabbing Beattie about the waist, he plonked a wet kiss on her mouth.
‘Gerroff, you daft beggar.’ Beattie shoved him away but the push and the words were not unkind.
‘Kiss her again, Dad,’ shouted Albert.
‘Kiss us all again,’ Maggie cried, throwing her arms about her parents, hardly daring to believe that they weren’t fighting like they usually did. She thought her mam looked very pretty and happy today. She wanted her to stay that way.
Bert and Beattie caught Maggie, then Albert, Fred and Mary in one big embrace. ‘We’ve forgotten Henry,’ yelled Maggie, yanki
ng the toddler into the laughing huddle of bodies. Bert laughed loudest of all. His welcome home was like nothing he’d imagined.
*
‘You overcooked that duck.’ Bessie cast a critical eye over the spread on Amy’s kitchen table. Resplendent in navy blue serge and a string of pearls, she was the first to arrive at the party.
Amy blushed. ‘I got carried away doing something else,’ she said, her body warm and languid from Jude’s caresses and her lips still tingling from his kisses. Jude stepped forward. Like Amy he was wearing the clothes he’d had on before hastily scattering them on the bedroom floor.
‘My, you look smart,’ Bessie said, appraising him with none of her old dislike. Her secret out, she no longer feared him. In fact, she was glad the truth had been told.
Amy’s spirits soared. It was going to be a good night.
The Stitts tumbled in, Bessie greeting Beattie and Bert with a tight smile. They responded likewise. Amy shooed the children into the parlour, telling them to play nicely. ‘You’re in charge, Maggie, and you boys, don’t get too rough. All of you watch the little ones.’
Maggie drew herself up to full height, her copper curls bouncing as she said, ‘I’ll mind us, Auntie Amy,’ and none of them ever having been to a party before, they promised to be on their best behaviour.
When Amy returned to the kitchen, she saw that Lily and Tommy Tinker had arrived along with Jude’s colliery mates Seth and Harry, and their wives. There was no sign of Raffy, and Amy wondered if his absence was due to Bessie’s presence.
The men opened bottles of beer. The women made do with tea, except Beattie, Bert having nipped to the pub for a half bottle of gin in honour of the occasion. Amy took lemonade and buns, slices of cake and jam sandwiches into the parlour for the children, leaving the adults to help themselves. Someone produced a pack of cards.
‘Come on, Amy,’ Beattie called out, ‘let us women beat this lot at gin rummy.’ She waved a handful of cards, her swarthy face flushed with excitement and gin.
Amy sat down at the table, pleased that the party was having the desired effect on her sister. The card game began, noise levels rising as the participants shouted the odds.
Bessie had declined to play, and when Amy looked over a short while later, she saw her deep in conversation with Raffy. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival. His mouth was set in a grim line. A knot of anxiety made her lose a trick, Beattie squawking at her to pay attention. Feeling flustered, Amy excused herself from the next hand and went out into the yard for air. A handful of stars glinted in a purple-black sky, a watery moon silvering the frost rimed walls and flagstones. It looked so peaceful it was hard to believe there was a war on, and Jude was going to fight it. Amy shivered, about to go back inside when Bessie and Raffy joined her.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’ Bessie placed a hand on Amy’s arm. ‘Me and Raffy are going back to Intake. We’ve an early start in the morning.’
Amy threw an arm about each of them, hugging them close. Before she let go, she whispered in Raffy’s ear. ‘Don’t let our Sammy drive you away.’ Raffy stepped back, giving her a sly wink and a grateful smile.
As Amy watched Raffy hand Bessie into the trap, she promised herself that the next time she was alone with her mother and Raffy she’d get to the bottom of their strange relationship.
After everyone had departed, Amy put a weary, over-excited Kezia to bed whilst Jude tidied the parlour and kitchen. ‘Did I see your mother and Raffy leaving together?’ he asked when Amy came downstairs.
Amy grinned. ‘You did. He’s going back to the farm.’
Jude caught her in an embrace. ‘You’re a miracle worker,’ he exclaimed. ‘You have the knack of making people happy. Raffy’s back where he belongs, Beattie and Bert and the kids went off home looking like they belonged in David Copperfield and everyone here tonight had fun.’ He paused to kiss the top of Amy’s head. ‘That’s what I love about you. You see other people’s miseries and their needs and you do something about it, not ostentatiously but subtly and with love.’
Amy blushed at his praise and was about to modestly protest, but he gave her no chance. Sweeping her off her feet, he headed for the stairs saying, ‘And now I’m going to show you just how much I love you.’
*
Amy accepted Jude’s return to camp stoically, the glorious weekend all too short for her liking. He was soon to be transferred to another camp, this one a much greater distance from Barnborough so rumour had it. With each move taking him further away, she would have to resign herself to communicating by letter and parcel.
‘I’ll write every week,’ she said, clinging to him on the station, clouds of steam and slamming doors indicating the train was about to depart.
‘Don’t forget to send a book or two whenever you can afford it. It helps while away the hours off duty.’ Jude lifted Kezia for one last kiss, and embracing Amy with his free arm the little family held onto one another for what might be the last time for a very long time.
*
Early the next day, Amy walked to Intake Farm, eager to find out if Raffy had met with a favourable reception from Samuel. She doubted it. A thick frost rimed the hedges and the rutted lane, Amy shivering as much from anxiety as the cold air. She heard the raised voices even before she opened the farmhouse door. Dismayed at having her doubts compounded, Amy lifted Kezia out of her pushchair and stepped inside.
Samuel was glaring at his mother, his drink-sodden face purple with rage. ‘I told you to get rid of him,’ he yelled, thumping the tabletop with such force that Kezia jumped and the cutlery on Raffy’s plate rattled. Kezia hid behind Amy’s legs. Raffy calmly continued severing fat from a slice of bacon as carefully as a surgeon removing damaged tissue.
‘And I told you he’s here to stay.’ Unfazed, Bessie stood with her arms folded across her ample bosom, her implacable expression grim. ‘This farm is mine, and I hold the purse strings,’ she sniffed contemptuously, ‘not that there’s much in the purse these days, what with your idleness and all that carousing you do in the Bull and Ram.’ She held out her hands, palms upward, her expression and tone softening. ‘See sense, Sammy,’ she pleaded.
‘Mam’s right, Sammy. You need help. Thomas isn’t much use but Raffy is. You know that,’ Amy insisted. ‘By the way, where is Thomas?’
Bessie sighed. ‘In bed, he’s not well.’ Raffy’s snort was derisible.
‘See,’ said Amy, ‘you need help, Sammy.’
Samuel barged to the door. ‘Help from a bloody gypsy,’ he bawled. ‘I’ll see him dead before I take orders from him.’ The windows shook as he slammed outside.
‘What will you do?’ Amy asked, looking anxiously from Bessie to Raffy.
‘I’ll do what needs to be done. He don’t frighten me,’ said Raffy.
Bessie’s smile was watery and her voice wobbly as she said, ‘I ruined that lad by giving into him at every turn but I’m not going to let him ruin Intake.’
‘Neither you will, my love,’ Raffy said softly.
‘Tell me what’s between you two,’ Amy asked curiously. ‘It’s plain you love one another so how come you didn’t stay together?’
With a warm and meaningful smile, Bessie gave Raffy the stage. He told his story honestly, shouldering all the blame for keeping them apart. ‘I didn’t know she was pregnant with Beattie. We were young an’ I was trying to earn a living at the fair but I allus meant to come back for Bessie. When I did, she was married to Hadley so I went on me travels with a broken heart. I never stopped wanting her.’
Amy listened avidly, a lump in her throat.
When Bessie took up the story, Amy’s heart ached for the panic-stricken, young girl her mother had been when she duped Hadley into marriage. She forgave Bessie’s lies, for after all, her mother had been a good wife to Hadley. Amy wondered how she would cope if she had to carry a burdensome secret throughout her life with Jude. As for Bessie, she was glad to tell her daughter the truth.
‘Guilt makes you d
o terrible things,’ she said, Amy understanding that she referred to the cruelty Beattie had suffered.
Amy left Intake Farm feeling much older and wiser.
19
Amy smiled as she handed the neatly wrapped parcel bearing Jude’s regimental address to the clerk behind the Post Office counter. Still smiling, she stepped outside thinking of the pleasure Jude would derive from the long, newsy letter, Kezia’s homemade Christmas card and her own Christmas gift to him: Saki’s short stories and H.G. Well’s Around the World in Eighty Days.
In Jude’s last letter he’d written, ‘Most of the lads read only magazines or nothing at all, so when 2nd/Lieut. Milford saw the books I’d taken with me he suggested we keep one another supplied; it’s a good deal. Him being an upper-class toff, he receives some smashing books.’ When Amy read this, she hoped 2nd/Lieut. Milford had not read the ones she had just posted – to where, she didn’t know, Jude not allowed to divulge his whereabouts for security reasons. He’d also told her he now had a rifle and was a good shot, unlike Bert. She had laughed when she read, ‘Bert fired five rounds at the target; only one hit it. When the instructor bawled “where are the others, you useless bugger?” Bert told him they had all gone through the same hole. Bert’s a crafty bugger but he’s not cut out for soldiering.’
Pleased that her package was winging its way to Jude, Amy stopped off at Beattie’s. ‘Mam’s invited me and you and the children to have Christmas dinner at the farm,’ she said cautiously, unsure of Beattie’s reaction.
Beattie’s jaw dropped, surprise then contempt masking her features. ‘Bit bloody late in the day,’ she said. ‘Our Maggie’s nine an’ she hardly knows her. She’s seen our Henry just once.’
Although Amy understood Beattie’s annoyance, she desperately wanted to heal the rift between Beattie and Bessie so she said, ‘Mam regrets the way she treated you but she had her reasons.’
Beattie sniggered. ‘Reasons be buggered. She’s a lying, vindictive cow who couldn’t admit she’d had it off wi’ a gypsy. An’ look at her now, all cosied up to him an’ pretending it never mattered.’
The Collier’s Wife Page 15