No more was said on the subject and Lucy got on with buttering the bread.
Later that day the weather took a turn for the worse so Lucy and Timmy stayed indoors and played card games with Stan. She was concerned about Wesley and asked where he might be.
‘Don’t you be worrying about him, lass. He likes to be out as much as he can and never seems to come off the worse for it,’ said Stan.
Wesley did not arrive home until teatime and was then soaking wet. He began to strip off in front of the fire in the recreation room. ‘Not here, lad,’ cried Myrtle, seizing him by the shoulders. ‘Ladies present. In the kitchen with you now. You can undress in front of the stove while I go upstairs and find you some dry clothes. Look at your feet – they’re blue with cold!’
‘Girl come with me,’ said Wesley, pointing at Lucy. ‘I want to show her something.’
‘That you won’t,’ said Myrtle, her colour high hustling him out of the room.
The rest of that week the weather was foul and Myrtle didn’t bother setting up a stall when market day came. The wind blew from the east, bringing hail and sleet. Except for excursions to the shops and the methodist church nearby, where Myrtle introduced her grand-daughter to everyone they met, they were stuck indoors. Lucy took time to write to Barney, Dilys and Owen and was sorely tempted to write to Rob again but as she had not received a reply to her previous letter she did not, hoping Barney or one of the others would write and bring her up to date with any news on the wedding front.
After several drenchings Wesley seemed to accept he would have to stay in until his clothes were dried. He wasn’t happy, though, and threw a tantrum, upsetting the chess board when Stan was in the process of explaining the rules to Timmy and Lucy. On another occasion he demanded Lucy’s attention, producing a book of fairy tales and asking her to read to him.
He sat next to her at one of the tables, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She found it unnerving being the object of such rapt concentration from a man while reading the story of the ‘Three Billy Goats Gruff’. Especially when he asked her to read it again and this time he did the goats’ voices.
One day he insisted on Lucy and Timmy going up to his bedroom. She was curious, not sure what to expect. His room contained all the usual things and was surprisingly tidy. The clockwork train set didn’t come as a surprise, neither did his box of treasures filled with shells, rocks, sweet wrappings and silver paper. But the book on stars of the silent screen did.
‘You like going to the cinema, Wesley?’ Lucy asked.
He nodded eagerly. ‘You like?’
She nodded and sat on the floor, turning the pages of the book, remembering The Perils of Pauline and how she’d wanted to be like her. Some hope, she thought now.
At last, to the relief of all, the weather changed. The wind veered to the south and the sun shone. Lucy and Timmy wanted to explore and to their surprise both Stan and Myrtle said Wesley was the man to guide them. ‘He mightn’t have much in his cockloft but when it comes to the great outdoors there’s nobody who knows the area better,’ said Myrtle.
‘Only don’t be middering him with questions! You’ll only confuse him,’ said Stan. ‘And take note – he has no sense of danger.’
Wesley took them round town, pointing out buildings: the New Spa, the Opera House and its gardens, the Floral Pavilion where to their surprise he laughed uproariously, holding his stomach. From which Lucy deduced he had seen a funny show there. And, of course, the neighbouring cinema. She noticed that they were showing a Rudolph Valentino film and was tempted to go inside. Perhaps it was the thought of sitting in close proximity to Wesley that put her off.
He took them to the Priory church in the old town and inside knelt down and put his hands together. He closed one eye and peered up at them from the other. He looked so comical Lucy almost laughed but instead she knelt herself but once on her knees was unsure what to pray for. The two things she wanted required a miracle: to see her mother alive and safe, and to have Rob wanting to marry her. So she just knelt, wishing devoutly her dreams could come true.
When Lucy arrived home she asked if there was any post for her. ‘Yes, lass,’ said Myrtle, dusting flour off her hands. ‘I put it on the mantelshelf in the games room. I must admit I thought your mother would have written to you by now, but better late than never.’
Lucy flushed. ‘Mam was never one for writing letters.’ She was about to go into the games room when her grandmother called after her, ‘If you want to make those sweets of yours do it today. You can come with me to the market tomorrow.’
Lucy’s spirits lifted. ‘Great! I’ll read my letter, then I’ll go and get the ingredients.’
She hurried over to the fireplace and grabbed the envelope addressed to her – gazing at the handwriting. It was unfamiliar so it was not from Barney. Could it be from Rob? Perhaps he had found out something about her mother? She tore the envelope open and drew out two sheets of paper covered in neat copperplate. It was from Dilys. Lucy quashed her disappointment and began to read:
Dear Lucy
Thanks for the postcard and I truly hope you ’ll continue to be happy living with you grandmother. I’m so sorry I never got to see you before you left for Yorkshire. I’m sorry, too, that I didn’t come and see you before when your mother went missing. It was partly because I didn’t know what to say to make things better for you but mainly because I was angry with you for flirting with Owen. I love him and was scared you would take him away from me. I see now that I was stupid. He’s asked me to marry him and I’ve accepted. We’ll be getting married very soon. Aunt Gwen is delighted because we’re in the process of buying the timber yard from her. My great-aunt, who left her a house in Wales, also left me some money so everything is working out marvellously.
Rob is in Ireland at the moment. My aunt received a letter postmarked Dublin. She was very secretive about it so I think she must have written to him about Owen and me buying the timber yard. I can’t say I’m pleased about that but she might have still thought she could persuade him to buy it. I know Blodwen’s not very pleased with us but I could have told her if she ’d bothered to ask me that she ’ll never change Rob’s mind about leaving the police force. I think she’s feeling a bit fed up. Maybe she’ll bring their wedding forward now she realises she’s not going to get what she wants. I don’t expect you ’ll be able to come to our wedding but I hope we can still be friends. Love, Dilys
Lucy folded the letter. Her heart was beating fast and she gazed unseeingly into the fire. Would Rob agree to an early wedding? Perhaps it would be better if he did? Once he was married she would have to force herself to forget him and put him out of her heart.
What was he doing in Ireland? Had he found something out about Shaun O’Neill which had taken him over there? He would surely write to let her know if he’d discovered what had happened to her mother.
She tapped the letter against her teeth. Crafty old Owen, marrying money! She hoped the marriage would work out. It was obvious that Dilys did not want her at the wedding and Lucy could understand why, but really the other girl had no need to fear there would ever be anything between Owen and herself.
As Lucy counted the money in her purse to buy the ingredients for the sweets, she felt restless, realising it was going to be even more difficult now to wait to hear from Rob. She thought seriously for a moment of writing to him again. She dithered then decided he had to make the first move. She had her pride, and besides she had to get on with her new life.
She decided not to bother with toffee apples because it meant spending money on sticks. Instead she found herself relaxing as she set about making toffee and peppermint creams and coconut ice.
It was fun at the market. There was so much going on and her grandmother being well known meant Lucy had no trouble at all selling her sweets. She remembered how she’d dreamed of having a sweetshop before wanting to own a cinema. It was a pity she couldn’t persuade Stan to put money into such a venture, altho
ugh she still had hopes of getting round him to open up the house to paying guests.
The following evening he brought up the matter of Timmy and school. ‘If you and he are happy living with us we should write to your mother. If she agrees, he could finish his schooling here.’
Lucy glanced across at her brother and decided that perhaps it was time to come clean. ‘We don’t know where Mam is. She disappeared a few weeks before we came here.’
Myrtle and Stan stared in astonishment first at Lucy and then Timmy. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ said their grandmother, her hands still on the sock she was darning.
‘It was too painful to talk about. We – we think she might have been murdered,’ said Lucy.
‘Don’t, Luce,’ said Timmy gruffly, lowering his head and staring at the floor.
There was silence. Then Stan said, ‘If it’s too painful to talk about then we won’t. I remember when my first wife died I didn’t want to talk about that. I’ll just say this is your home now and so Timmy’ll have to go to school and afterwards find work here if he can. Do you agree with that, lad?’
Timmy lifted his head, relief on his face. ‘I’ll go along with that.’
‘Right,’ said Stan. ‘We’ll sort it out.’
Within the week Timmy was enrolled at the local elementary school. For the first few days he came home looking fed up. ‘They all skit my accent,’ he muttered. But within a fortnight he had settled down and was making friends.
Lucy had not received any replies to her other letters and came to the conclusion that perhaps she wasn’t going to get any. With Owen’s mother to cook his dinner and Agnes to keep the house clean for him, Barney might have decided to cut Lucy out of his life completely because of her choosing to come to Yorkshire. As for Rob, Lucy did wonder if her letter had never reached him but still could not bring herself to write to him again. If he had found out anything in Ireland he would surely have been in touch. She had to forget him!
But Lucy couldn’t forget Rob despite throwing herself into all kinds of activities. She had always considered herself a good walker (after all, she’d often walked to the Trocadero and back) but Wesley thought nothing of walking five, six, seven or more miles a day when he was persuaded away from beachcombing or feeding the birds or going cockling with the cocklewomen.
More often than not he took Lucy along the coast, too – she’d long since realised he was far from stupid – he could beat her at Snakes and Ladders and played a mean game of Snap but once Timmy was in school he developed an unerring instinct for getting her alone in places where she was off her guard. The first time was by the fresh water mere at Hornsea, where ducks and all kinds of wild life gathered. He tried to kiss her there. Since he was much stronger than she was, Lucy found herself flat on her back in the grass with him on top of her. She slapped his face and told him to behave. He hung his head and said sorry and so she forgave him and thought it wouldn’t happen again.
The next time he took her north. There lay a fishing village where steam power was used to haul the boats up out of the breakers beneath the breathtaking, awesome beauty of Flamborough Head. Lucy loved its towering cliffs of chalk and the view of the sea from the top. It was a little frightening because of the height and the fierce wind which threatened to pluck her off the cliff but it was also exciting.
Wesley said he would show her a place out of the wind, sheltered by a high bank which ran from one cliff to another. There he not only pulled her down in the grass but his trousers as well. He looked at her eagerly, saying ‘See!’
It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had underpants on but he didn’t. Lucy panicked, reminded of the time Mick had exposed his scar to her and asked her to touch it. She lashed out at Wesley, catching him a blow on his arm. ‘No, no, no, Wesley!’ she cried, and threw her scarf over his thing. ‘You mustn’t ever show me that again!’
‘No?’ he said mournfully, and drew his legs together, dropping his head onto his knees.
After that when she wanted a walk Lucy stuck to pushing Stan in the wheelchair. Even so the way Wesley looked at her made her realise she had a problem that wasn’t going to go away. Sometimes she heard his footsteps outside her room at night but fortunately, due to the house once having been a guest house, there was a lock on her door with a big key she could turn and place under her pillow. She felt safe then.
Lucy was reluctant to mention any of this to her grandmother and great-uncle. She thought they had enough on their plate. Stan’s physical health had started to deteriorate all of a sudden. His doctor came to see him every fortnight. Stan could walk on sticks at a push and was told he really needed to take more exercise to get his circulation going but he had made the decision it wasn’t worth the effort. ‘Three score years and ten. That’s what it says we’re allowed in the Bible,’ he commented after the doctor’s latest visit. ‘I’ve passed that and feel content knowing you and Timmy are here, Lucy, to look after Myrtle and my son.’
Lucy’s former life in Liverpool began to take on a dreamlike quality. Before she realised it several months had passed and still there was no word from Barney or Rob. If the latter had received her letter it might be that he saw her leaving Liverpool as sensible in the circumstances. Maybe even now the banns had been read and he and Blodwen were doing all those things that couples about to get married and set up home do. If there had been any news about her mother, surely someone would have written?
As the days grew longer and the weather warmer Myrtle suddenly broke it to Lucy that she had a brother who was a tenant farmer in Weaverthorpe. ‘I thought Timmy might like to go with me to see him on the Easter bank holiday, before we start washing all the blankets, Lucy.’
She agreed he could go while she stayed behind to look after Stan and waved her brother off, never expecting him to return full of enthusiasm to work on the farm. ‘I know he likes animals,’ Lucy said to her grandmother. ‘But farming?’
Myrtle’s eyes twinkled. ‘It’s in his blood, lass. Though it’s hard work to be sure and the pay’s lousy and lots of men are leaving the land, hoping to find work in factories where they think to earn higher wages. My brother has one of those new-fangled tractors, as well as an old Army lorry he bought after the war. He reckons Timmy has an aptitude not only with animals but machinery as well.’
Lucy looked at her brother, who grinned. ‘He likes me. So do his wife and the three girls.’
‘I’ve always known you have charm,’ said Lucy, ruffling his hair and laughing. ‘If it’s what you want, you can do it if he’s prepared to take you on but you must finish your schooling first.’
He hugged her and then went and did the same to his grandmother. ‘You liked it there, too, didn’t you, Gran?’
‘I did. It’s where I was brought up. I was a farmer’s daughter. Then I came to Bridlington on a day’s outing and met your grandfather and that was it.’ Her eyes were dreamy. ‘He was so persuasive. In no time at all we were married and I was a sailor’s wife.’
‘Can I work there during the summer holidays?’ said Timmy, glancing at his sister, one arm still round his grandmother.
Lucy hesitated. She was reluctant to lose him for all those weeks. He would be off to the farm soon enough.
Myrtle said, ‘If he does that he’ll find out whether he’s suited to the life or not. Although it’s really winter he needs to be there to see how hard farming is when it’s cold and dark and everywhere’s full of mud and dirt. I know we’ll miss him but if it’s what he wants then he should do it,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s lot of unrest because of unemployment at the moment.’
So Lucy agreed, thinking about the unrest her grandmother was talking about. It was all to do with the miners. The government had lifted the subsidy from coal and their wages were expected to drop. ‘Not a minute on the day, not a penny off the pay!’ retaliated the miners.
At the beginning of May the TUC called a strike of all the energy and transport workers. They were hoping the rest of the unions would
join them in an action which would bring the country to its knees, so the miners would get what they wanted. This was all going on as Lucy decided it was time to persuade Stan to open up the house to summer paying guests. Her plan collapsed just like the General Strike, which was over in nine days.
‘We should have put ourselves in the Bridlington handbook,’ said Stan, putting a match to his pipe. ‘Advertising, lass. Nobody’ll know about us now. But I’ve told you, I don’t want anyone else here until I’ve gone. Then you and Myrtle can hire a few maids and set up in business. Just be patient, lass.’
‘But I don’t want you to die,’ she said, a tremor in her voice.
He looked gratified but held up one hand. ‘We all have to die, lass. Be happy for now. Haven’t you got a roof over your head and food in your stomach? Haven’t you company and entertainment?’
What could she say? She had all those things so she couldn’t tell him that the biggest drawback was Wesley who had taken to asking her to go with him to the pictures at least three times a week. He was not going to go away! If she looked into the future, to when Myrtle died, it looked dark. Lucy rebelled against the whole idea of having to take care of Wesley but how could she speak of it without hurting two old people of whom she had become very fond and who depended on her? It was a worry.
Summer brought not only crowds of holidaymakers who changed the whole atmosphere of the town but also the news that Rudolph Valentino had died of a perforated ulcer. Lucy was shocked, remembering that conversation with Barney and her mother, and also reminded of Dilys and the way they had spoken of dancing with him.
She went with Myrtle and Wesley to see his funeral on the silver screen. There was mass hysteria and Lucy wept but soon pulled herself together when she felt Wesley’s arm snaking round her and his hand touching her breast.
Summer passed and the holidaymakers went home. Timmy came back from the farm, full of how he could milk cows, dig potatoes and drive the tractor.
Someone to Trust Page 28