Nettie sat back in her seat. For a moment she could do no more than look at Agnes, speechless. Then she said, ‘Well, in all my born days! I never expected you to say that. Imagine, you saying you’re sorry …’ She shook her head, marvelling at it. ‘I always thought you reckoned yourself better than the rest of us.’
‘Perhaps I did – at first,’ Agnes admitted. ‘But it was only because I knew nothing about you. I’d never met anyone from – a place like this.’ She saw Nettie’s frown deepen and knew she was straying on to dangerous ground. ‘But I’ve come to realise I was wrong,’ she went on quickly. ‘And I’d like another chance. You know – to make a fresh start?’
Nettie said nothing for a moment. She sat studying her work-worn hands. ‘Happen I was a bit harsh on you,’ she said finally. ‘But the truth is, I’ve been feeling bad about the way I acted. I let my stupid pride get in the way, and it nearly cost me my son.’ Her voice shook, and Agnes could see the other woman was fighting to hold her emotions in check.
‘I think we’re both guilty of a bit of misplaced pride,’ Agnes said gently.
‘Aye, that’s true enough.’ Nettie sniffed back her tears. ‘Happen we’re not so different after all,’ she said ruefully. She looked at the comics. ‘Did you really bring those for our John?’
‘If you think he’d like them?’ Agnes handed them over. ‘It’s not charity, honestly,’ she said. ‘I just thought they’d keep him occupied.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.’ Nettie took the comics and settled them on her lap. ‘And I also want to thank you for what you’ve done for Norman,’ she said.
‘He does seem a lot brighter.’
‘Brighter? He’s like a new man. He’s really come out of his shell. Happen a bit too much.’ She frowned. ‘Did you hear what he said to me? Raising his voice to me indeed! I’ve never heard the like.’
Agnes smiled. ‘You’ll have to have a word with him.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I will!’
‘Well, I’d better be off.’ As Agnes went to pick up her coat, Nettie said, ‘Would you like a brew before you go?’
It was a casual enough question. But Agnes saw Nettie’s face and recognised the meaning behind it.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I would.’
Chapter Forty-Two
‘Cousin Polly! Cousin Polly, look at me!’
Polly turned round, and a second later felt the frozen thwack of a snowball hitting her square in the face.
‘You little monsters!’ she called out as the culprits disappeared, giggling, into the house. ‘Just for that, I’ve a good mind not to help you make this snowman!’
She straightened up, brushing the snow out of her hair. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the children came back. Her cousin Gertie would send them straight out of the house as soon as she saw the mess they were making on her newly polished floor.
But at least for now Polly could enjoy a brief respite. She loved her cousin’s two children dearly, but she’d had no idea when Gertie invited her to stay that she would end up acting as their unpaid nanny. Gertie had recently had her third baby, and was making the most of the extra help Polly could provide.
Not that she really minded. Playing with trains, and dolls’ tea parties, and dressing up as pirates, had all helped to take her mind off what had happened with Finn and her mother.
Now the white heat of her anger had cooled, Polly felt sorrow for what she had done. She should never have lost her temper with her mother, or said such hurtful things. It was so completely unlike her, she had shocked even herself.
But she still couldn’t forgive her mother for what she’d done. As far as Polly was concerned, Bess had set out to ruin her life for no other reason than that she couldn’t bear to see her happy. All Polly wanted was to finish her training and enjoy her romance with Finn, why that should be impossible.
Her mother claimed she wanted the best for her, but Polly could see now that Bess didn’t really love her. She only wanted to control her.
The children appeared again, two little figures ducking around the side of the house as they circled for another attack. Polly smiled to herself, and bent to gather a ball of snow between her gloved hands. She would be ready for them this time.
She waited, snowball poised, the cold air tingling against her face. The children had disappeared off to her left, but she knew from past experience that they would be sneaking out of the side gate into the street, to pop up behind the snow-covered front hedge to her right.
Sure enough, a moment later she heard the sound of footsteps, muffled by the snow, following the line of the high front hedge.
Polly swung her arm back to take aim, and as soon as she caught sight of a gloved hand reaching for the front gate, she launched her snowball full force.
‘Got you!’ she shouted in triumph, then realised with horror that it wasn’t the children at the front gate – it was her old friend Ellen Jarvis.
The missile ricocheted off her shoulder and exploded, showering her with snow and knocking her off balance.
‘Miss Jarvis!’ Polly ran towards her, boots crunching through the snow. Behind her, she could hear the children giggling. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’
‘I think so.’ Miss Jarvis brushed the snow off her coat. ‘What a good thing you’re not a better shot, my dear, or you could have had me clean over!’
‘Here, let me help you.’ Polly patted her with gloved hands, but only managed to cover her with even more snow.
‘It’s quite all right. No harm done.’ Miss Jarvis smiled at her. ‘I’m pleased to see you’re making the most of the weather, at least!’
‘I promised Tom and Daisy I’d make a snowman with them. But I’m not sure I want to keep my promise now.’ Polly shot a quick, venomous look over her shoulder at the children, now helpless with laughter. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Quite all right, thank you. It’s you I’m concerned about.’ Miss Jarvis finished dusting off her coat and brushed the snow from her gloves. ‘I came to see how you were getting on.’ She looked past her towards the children. ‘You seem to be having fun, at any rate?’
‘I don’t know about that!’ Polly grimaced. Then, remembering her manners, she added, ‘Won’t you come in? You must be cold.’
She sent the children to the care of their mother – ‘It won’t hurt Gertie to look after them for once!’ she told Miss Jarvis – then asked the maid to bring them some tea.
‘What a beautiful house,’ Miss Jarvis commented as they sat in the sunny breakfast room, overlooking the garden. ‘Your cousin has done very well for herself.’
And don’t I know about it? Polly thought. Gertie had married a junior bank manager, and now lived in Beeston, an affluent suburb of Leeds. Scarcely a day went by when she didn’t make some comment to Polly about how their lives had diverged.
‘Just think, Pol. When we were children we used to pretend we had husbands and lived in a house like this. And now look at me! Married with three children. Can you imagine it?’
But Polly didn’t have to imagine it when it was presented to her every day. She was devoted to Gertie and didn’t begrudge her her good fortune in the slightest, but she only wished she didn’t have to be constantly reminded of it.
The maid brought their tea and Polly served it. It seemed so strange to see Ellen Jarvis here, away from Steeple Street. They had been friends ever since Polly had started her district nursing, but she knew Ellen had been her mother’s friend for a great deal longer.
No prizes for guessing what had brought her here, then.
‘I suppose my mother sent you?’ Polly said, handing her a cup.
‘On the contrary,’ Miss Jarvis said. ‘I expect she would be furious if she knew I was here.’
That shook Polly. ‘You mean she doesn’t want me back?’ The words were out before she could think about them.
‘Bess would dearly love you to come back, as would we all. Exce
pt your mother would never admit it.’ Miss Jarvis smiled at Polly over the rim of her teacup. ‘You two are very alike in that respect. Neither of you will ever admit when you’re wrong.’
Polly stiffened. ‘I’m nothing like my mother!’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Not at all. Don’t you think that’s half the problem? I take after my father too much, and my mother can’t bear it.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Miss Jarvis agreed. ‘You certainly look like him. Albert Bradshaw was a very handsome man, as I recall.’
Polly smiled, remembering. ‘Yes, he was.’
‘What else do you remember about him?’
It was an odd question, Polly thought. She couldn’t recall anyone ever talking to her about her father before. ‘I remember he was always laughing,’ she said. ‘He used to make me laugh too, with all his silly songs and stories. And he used to lift me up in his arms and dance around the kitchen.’ She could still remember it now, the dizzying feeling of being whirled around and around, the room spinning by. ‘Until my mother appeared and put a stop to it,’ she grimaced. ‘She would always put a stop to our fun.’
‘Didn’t you ever wonder why your mother didn’t laugh and sing and dance around the kitchen too?’
Polly frowned. The very idea was too odd for her to imagine. In all her childhood memories, her mother was always looking on from the sidelines, a scowl on her face. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted to,’ she said. ‘She never wanted to join in.’ She looked at Miss Jarvis enquiringly. ‘Why are you asking me this? You’ve known my mother for years. And you knew my father, too. Surely you knew what he was like?’
‘Oh yes, I knew all right.’
There was something about the way Miss Jarvis said it that made Polly feel wary.
‘So why have you come here?’ she asked. ‘This isn’t just a social call, is it?’
‘No,’ Miss Jarvis said heavily. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She put down her teacup. ‘I told you your mother would be furious if she knew I was here. And she would be even more furious if she knew what I was about to say to you. But I felt I needed to come. I couldn’t stand by and watch my dear friend lose everything she treasures, just because she has too much pride to defend herself.’
Polly frowned. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand—’
‘No, my dear, you don’t. You don’t understand at all.’ Miss Jarvis sent her a level look. ‘I have a few things to tell you, Polly. And I’m afraid you’re not going to like them.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Fear prickled down Polly’s spine. ‘Go on,’ she said.
Miss Jarvis hesitated. Now she didn’t seem to know where to begin.
‘As you know, your mother and I have been friends for many years,’ she said at last.
Polly nodded. Bess and Ellen Jarvis had grown up together. It was Miss Jarvis who had helped Bess get her start in nursing after Polly’s father was killed in the war.
‘But I have to tell you, the Bess I knew when we were young was very different from the one you know – or think you know,’ Ellen amended. ‘She was lively, she loved to laugh. She liked to dance too, as I recall.’ She smiled fondly at the memory. ‘Oh yes, Bessie did love to dance.’
It was such an unlikely picture that Polly couldn’t help laughing. ‘That doesn’t sound like Ma! I wonder what happened to her.’
‘I’ll tell you what happened to her.’ Miss Jarvis’ expression suddenly grew solemn. ‘She met your father.’
Polly had been stirring her tea, but she let her spoon drop into the saucer with a clatter. Miss Jarvis barely seemed to notice as she went on with her story.
‘You’re quite right, Albert Bradshaw was a charmer. He could light up a room just by walking into it. And so handsome! All the girls loved him. Of course, he had his faults,’ she said. ‘He could be a bit reckless sometimes, especially when he’d had a drink. And he had a bit of a temper on him, even then … But he had a way of looking at you that made you forgive him everything.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Anyway, he swept your mother off her feet. Within three months they were married.’
Polly stared at her. ‘I didn’t know that!’
‘Oh yes, it’s quite true. You see?’ she said. ‘I told you the two of you were similar. And I’ll tell you something else, too. Your grandmother was as dead against the match as your mother was about you and Frank.’
Polly could scarcely remember her grandmother. She had rarely seen her when she was growing up, and her mother never talked about her. Now Polly could understand why.
‘She said Albert was no good for her daughter, that he’d come to a bad end and drag Bess down with him,’ Miss Jarvis went on. ‘But of course your mother wouldn’t listen. She was in love, and that was all that mattered.’
‘I’m surprised Ma took against Frank so much, if she’d done the same thing.’ Polly said.
‘Perhaps she didn’t want you to make the same mistake.’
Polly looked up sharply. ‘Mistake?’
‘Your father wasn’t the man she thought he was, Polly. And I’m afraid he wasn’t the man you think him either.’
No! A feeling of dread washed over her. Suddenly she wanted to run away, not listen to what Miss Jarvis had to say. But something kept her rooted to her chair, eyes fixed on the rug.
‘Things went well for the first few months,’ Miss Jarvis said. ‘But after a while, I started to notice a change in my friend. She wasn’t the Bess I once knew. She was quieter, more subdued, especially when Albert was around. And she would watch him all the time. Even when she was doing something else, she would always be watching him out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t take me long to realise why. She was afraid of him.’
‘No!’ The fierce denial burst from Polly. ‘It wasn’t like that. He was the one who was afraid. You didn’t see them together, you didn’t know …’
Miss Jarvis shook her head. ‘It’s the truth, Polly.’ She paused then said, ‘You know that scar she has on her wrist?’
‘The one where she burned herself on the hot stove?’
‘Bess didn’t burn herself. He held her hand down on that stove because she’d accidentally ruined his dinner. He held it until she could smell her own charred flesh.’
‘No!’ Polly shot to her feet. None of this made sense to her. Her father had been a laughing, gentle giant, not the monster Miss Jarvis was trying to make him out to be. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’
Miss Jarvis regarded her calmly. ‘I really think you should.’
‘But it’s not fair! My father isn’t here to defend himself, and she’s making up terrible lies about him.’
‘They’re not lies, Polly.’
Polly lifted her chin. ‘Why didn’t she leave him, if he was that bad?’
‘Because she had too much stupid pride to admit she had made a mistake, I suppose,’ Miss Jarvis said. ‘And, of course, there was you,’ she added.
‘Me?’
‘Bess was pregnant with you by then. She truly thought being a father would change Albert, stop him drinking and calm him down a bit. And she was right – for a while.’ Ellen smiled. ‘He doted on you. Those memories you have of him are quite true. You were the apple of his eye, his little princess. But he was jealous, too. He couldn’t stand to share you with anyone – not even your own mother.’ The smile faded. ‘Bess wasn’t allowed to pick you up, or cuddle you, or even smile at you while he was watching. She could feed and change you, give you a bath and look after you, but if she showed you any kind of affection …’ Ellen’s voice trailed off.
Polly stood rigid, her hands pressed together as if in prayer. She wanted to deny it all, but even as her mind rejected it, a fleeting memory came into her mind. Her mother’s quick, fierce hug, face buried in Polly’s hair, breathing in the smell of her. A bedtime story whispered at a breathless pace as she tucked her in.
Don’t tell your dad …
Polly had always thought it was because her mother was busy,
didn’t have time for her. But now …
Still her mind pushed the thought away. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said flatly. ‘My father didn’t hit my mother.’
‘No, he didn’t hit her.’ Miss Jarvis’ voice was a fierce hiss. ‘He beat her. Broke her ribs, blacked her eyes. He’d always go too far when he’d had a drink. And she’d always come to me to patch her up.’
More images were flitting through Polly’s mind – long-buried, broken fragments of memory that gradually coalesced as they came into the light. Her mother wincing as she bent to help Polly fasten her shoes. Her father laughing – ‘Your ma’s fallen down the stairs, Pol. What a daft bat!’ Polly had even laughed with him at her mother’s clumsiness.
And then there was the look on her mother’s face when her husband came reeling in from a night at the pub. Polly had always thought it was disapproval, but now she recognised it as fear and despair.
‘She could have left him.’ She held on to that one simple fact. ‘Why did she stay, if it was that bad?’
‘Because of you,’ Miss Jarvis said simply.
‘Me?’
‘You loved him. Bess knew you would never go with her, even if he’d allowed her to take you. She either had to stay, or never see you again. And so she stayed.’
And so she stayed … The words burned in Polly’s brain. Every day must have been torture for her, but she had endured it for her daughter’s sake.
‘What about after he died?’ she said.
Miss Jarvis paused for a moment, and Polly sensed she was choosing her words carefully. ‘I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but it was the best thing that could have happened to Bess. It was as if she had been released from prison.’
‘But she didn’t change,’ Polly said, turning to face her. ‘If what you’re saying is true, then surely she would have changed once he’d gone.’
‘Old habits die hard, I suppose,’ Miss Jarvis said sadly.
Was she right? Polly wondered. Even now, she sometimes caught her mother watching her with a yearning look in her eyes. But the next minute Bess would be back to her brisk, critical self.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 33