‘And how was he, Mr Reed? When you asked him like?’ Olive’s voice was bright, eager. It didn’t sound like her at all.
‘Said he’d been expecting it. He thought Margaret had made her choice some time ago, and of course they’ve always made me very welcome at the house.’
It didn’t occur to Carrie until some time later that none of the others present had said a word, and such was her state of mind she couldn’t have said how Mr Sutton and his other two children had taken Alec’s news. She felt strange, tingly, but when she moved, her feet seemed like lead and her head dizzily light. You can’t pass out, not here, not with Alec Sutton looking on. ‘I have to go.’ Her lips felt numb as she spoke.
‘You all right, Carrie?’ It was David who spoke, and when she looked at him she saw his eyes were tight on her face.
‘No, she’s not,’ Lillian answered her brother. ‘She felt bad at the market, didn’t you, Carrie? That’s one of the reasons we were late back,’ she added with a sidelong glance at her mother.
‘Bad?’
‘It was nothing.’ Carrie brushed David’s concern aside with a flap of her hand. ‘And I really do have to go.’
‘Make sure you tell your mam there’s going to be another wedding soon, and a right grand one I don’t doubt.’ Olive made no effort to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. Walter might have married beneath him, but Alec had more than made up for his brother’s shortcomings. Alec and Mr Reed’s daughter! This would show the McDarmounts and some others hereabouts she could name that the Suttons were a cut above. By, it would.
Carrie didn’t acknowledge Olive’s words but turned dumbly away, opening the front door and stepping out into the foggy street without answering Mr Sutton’s subdued, ‘Ta, ta, lass.’ Blindly, she began to walk, but instead of stopping when she reached her own doorstep she passed the house without a turn of her head, continuing into Cornhill Terrace and then on to Southwick Road.
Alec was going to be married. He had been courting Miss Margaret Reed and now he was going to be married. The refrain was beating in her brain like a drum.
She passed the smithy on the corner of Southwick Road and then turned into North Bridge Street, the shopping bags still clasped in her hands and her head bent low into her neck. She hadn’t made a conscious decision about where she was going and what she was going to do, but her steps were steady as she walked towards Wearmouth Bridge.
There were few people about, the thick fog had seen to that, and when eventually she reached the bridge she continued along the pavement into the middle of the massive structure. She had seen someone fall from here some years ago when she had been going home with her da after watching the East End carnival procession. She had been tired and her da had been carrying her on his shoulders, so she had seen the man jump before her da did. There had been shouts and cries and people running over to peer into the water, but her da hadn’t let Renee or Billy join them. He had hurried them past the spot so fast her sister and brother had been crying that their legs hurt before they reached Southwick Road. She had cried for the poor man though.
From her vantage point high above the crowd she had seen his face quite clearly in the moment before he had launched himself into the river, and his expression had returned to haunt her in nightmares for months. Her mam and da had tried to soothe her, telling her it had been an accident and that the man had probably been rescued by one of the boats frequenting the water at the time, but she had heard them talking when they’d thought her asleep the following night on the evening the Echo had published an account of the suicide.
‘Poor so-an’-so,’ her da had said. ‘Lloyd George might have talked about a land fit for heroes, but what did that poor blighter find waitin’ for him when he comes home minus an arm? That he’s straight into the dole queue, that’s what, while them as sat nice an’ comfy at home durin’ the war makin’ money get knighted. Damn profiteers! The last straw was when his wife an’ kids went into the workhouse, accordin’ to the paper.’
She’d heard her mother murmur something, and then her da had replied, ‘Nor could I stand it, lass, I tell you straight. Seems he was a stretcher-bearer an’ lost the arm savin’ I don’t know how many; got the Military Medal, his wife says. Takes a lot of them things to fill your bairns’ bellies an’ keep warm though, don’t it?’
At the time, despite the awful circumstances of the ex-soldier, she’d wondered how anyone could come to a point in their life where they would actually choose to kill themselves; to decide to end their life before their allotted span.
She leaned over the iron railings, staring down into the curling misty darkness below.
And now she knew.
The bags were heavy and she drew back, placing them at her feet before once again leaning against the barrier. It wasn’t very long ago that she’d been happy. Sometimes she’d felt so filled with joy and happiness - like when she had been in the fields Carley way and a heavy frost had draped a blanket of diamond dust over the hedgerows, or when the sun had set in a sea of red and gold and purple. She’d felt then that she would burst if she didn’t express the feeling inside her. She would never feel like that again.
She couldn’t see the water in the blackness of the night but she could picture it. She shivered. Did it hurt to drown? Well, she’d soon know, wouldn’t she?
‘You ailin’, hinny?’
A hand tapped her on the shoulder and Carrie jumped violently. She swung round to find one of the fishwives who frequented the dock areas after dark peering at her. The woman’s lined face was painted and her head uncovered, showing the brassy colour of her hair, but the eyes in the world-weary face were kind. It was to these Carrie replied. ‘No, no. I . . . I’m just having a rest. My . . . bags are heavy.’ She gestured to the shopping at her feet.
‘Aye, well, I wouldn’t tarry too long, a nice little lass like you. There’s all sorts about this time of night. You get yerself home.’
A nice little lass like her. Carrie stood staring at the woman but for the life of her she couldn’t speak. Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face, because after a long moment the fishwife said softly, ‘There’s nowt so bad you can’t deal with it, hinny, an’ I should know. The sea’s taken everyone I ever loved, me man an’ me three lads, but you can’t let it beat you, not in here, see?’ She placed her hand on her shawl above her heart. ‘You have to fight back, that’s the nature of things.’
‘And if you can’t?’
‘Oh you can, hinny, you can. You take life by the scruff of its neck an’ bash its face in, it’s the only way.’ There was another pause and then the woman said, even more softly, ‘Is it a bairn, lass? You in the family way?’
And, surprisingly, Carrie found she could tell this stranger quite easily. She nodded, saying, ‘It was only the once, I didn’t . . . I mean I hadn’t done it before.’
‘Once is all it takes, lass, for some. The lad, won’t he marry you?’
‘I was going to tell him tonight but when I was at his house he told his family he’d asked someone else to marry him. The thing is, there was a wedding and I had too much to drink and we just . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
The woman showed she understood when she said, ‘The swine, takin’ advantage of a bit bairn. How old is he, lass?’
‘Twenty.’
‘An’ you?’
‘Sixteen. It’s my birthday today.’
‘Lass, you tell him what’s what, betrothal or not, an’ if he still drags his heels, you get your da to sort it. You do have a da?’
Carrie nodded.
‘Any brothers?’
She nodded again.
‘Then you do what I say an’ keep away from the river an’ all. If anyone should be standin’ here, it’s that swine, right?’
Carrie’s eyes opened wide. The woman knew. After gulping hard, Carrie reached out her hand and touched the woman’s arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve been very kind.’
‘Aye,
well, there’s plenty who’d say someone like you shouldn’t be seen talkin’ to someone like me, an’ perhaps they’re right at that. Now you get yerself home an’ come mornin’ you have it out with this lad. Here.’ She bent down, lifted the bags of shopping and passed them to Carrie. ‘Don’t you worry, hinny, it’ll all work out right in the end.’
No, no, it wouldn’t. Even as she smiled and then turned and walked away from her good Samaritan, Carrie knew she wasn’t going to tell Alec. He didn’t care about her. That being the case she wasn’t going to force him to marry her. And she couldn’t let her da know either. He’d beat the living daylights out of Alec, she knew he would, and with Renee married to Walter and Mr Sutton and the others working with her da and Billy down the pit, there would be ructions. She had to get away, but how, and where to? Where could she go so that the stigma of her having a bairn wouldn’t touch her family? Down south? Perhaps a workhouse down south and then once the baby was born she could leave it there and escape, and no one here need ever know.
She walked on, her head whirling with one impossible plan after another, but in the few moments before her father hailed her - having come to look for her and being half out of his mind with worry due to the lateness of the hour - Carrie realised that although nothing had changed, she wouldn’t think about the river again. Added to which, now she knew she wasn’t going to marry Alec Sutton and let him touch her and use her like he had the night of Renee’s wedding, she was glad. And that might be barmy, she admitted silently, her chin rising a notch, but whatever, she was glad. Seeing him again had made her feel sick to her stomach.
Chapter Four
‘So, you’ve got what you always wanted then?’
The door had hardly closed behind Carrie when Ned spoke, his brown eyes narrowed as he stared into Alec’s face.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You know what it means, lad. You’ll be doin’ right well for yourself with Reed’s lass an’ her the only one. Mind, I dare say that thought’s crossed your mind an’ all.’
‘You saying I’m only marrying her for the money?’
‘Well, doesn’t this take the biscuit!’ Olive now joined in the fray, her voice vicious. ‘Any other man would be congratulating his son on making such a match, but you!’
‘Aye, me.’ Ned glared at his wife. ‘The common workin’ man, the pit yakker, who’s put clothes on your back an’ food in your belly for donkey’s years.’
‘And I’m supposed to be grateful, is that it?’ Olive’s thin eyebrows rose. ‘It’s no more and no less than what any man should do for his family. It’s your duty.’
‘Don’t talk to me about duty, not you.’ Ned’s voice was bitter. ‘Not after the dance you’ve led me over the years. Nothin’ has been good enough for you, has it? An’ you’ve done all you can to make him’ - he jerked his thumb at Alec - ‘as connivin’ as you. Pushin’ him, always pushin’ him since he was at the breast. By, I’ve even had it in me to feel sorry for the poor blighter at times. You convinced him he was too good to go down the pit afore he could walk, an’ everythin’ that’s followed can be laid at your door.’
‘Is that so? Then it’s all credit to me, Ned Sutton, that one of your lads is in a good job with prospects and promised to the boss’s daughter. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m sayin’ he’s put out a line an’ reeled in that poor lass like you did me twenty-three years ago, an’ with about as much feelin’ an’ all. An’ if history repeats itself her life will be a livin’ hell.’
There was no sound in the sitting room now. Lillian was still standing exactly where she had been when Carrie had left, and Alec and David were either side of the range, Alec near his mother and David just behind his father.
The noise of Ned’s teeth grinding broke the silence, and in the seconds before he turned and stomped out of the room, all three children looked from one parent to the other without speaking. The back door banging brought Olive to life. She fairly leaped into the scullery, wrenching the door open and yelling into the yard, ‘Aye, you go! And I’m bolting the door behind you so think on.’
‘You’re not, Mam.’ David’s voice came from deep within his throat and in any other circumstances the look of amazement on his mother’s face would have struck him as comical. He shouldered her out of the way, stepping into the yard.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said you’ll leave this door alone till we get back, whatever time that might be.’
‘Why, you--’ Olive’s rage choked her, causing her to take a pull of air before she bit out, ‘You’d take his part against me?’
David made no direct answer to this. Instead he said, ‘I’m warning you, Mam, if it’s locked I’ll break it down, and damn the neighbours,’ before he took off after his father at a run.
Olive stood by the open door for some moments before she closed it and walked back into the living room, her face hot with temper. She looked first at Lillian, who immediately lowered her gaze to the flagstones at her feet, and then Alec. ‘You heard what your brother said? Him warning me? The ungrateful little scut! I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for years and that’s all the thanks I get. Well, I know how things stand with him now, don’t I? He’s nailed his colours very firmly to the mast. I shan’t forget this night.’
‘Mam, Mam, don’t upset yourself.’ Alec’s voice was soothing and he put an arm round the stiff figure of his mother. ‘Don’t let either of them, David or Da, spoil my news, eh? Come on. To hell with what they think anyway. You know Da’s never liked it because I wouldn’t follow him blindly down the pit like the others, and as for David, he’s just plain jealous. Mr Reed’s daughter is a catch and he knows it. But they don’t matter, neither of ’em, not to us. They never have, now have they?’ He gave his mother a comforting little squeeze.
‘The years I’ve done without myself and put you bairns first.’ It was plaintive.
‘I know, Mam, I know.’ Alec led his mother across to the table, pulled out one of the chairs and pushed her down on to it. ‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and while it’s mashing I’ll tell you what Margaret’s mother wants for the wedding, shall I? She’s set her heart on a do at the Grand and no expense spared. What do you think of that?’
‘The Grand?’ Olive was smiling again. ‘Oh, lad.’ She caught hold of her son’s hand, beaming up at him, and neither of them noticed when Lillian left the room.
‘Tell me again what she said, and word for word, mind, from the time you caught sight of her in North Bridge Street.’
‘For cryin’ out loud, woman.’ Sandy twisted restlessly in the bed but his voice held no real irritation. The truth of the matter was that he was worried sick himself, he admitted silently. His lass hadn’t been right since Christmas, all white and wan looking, and he could swear she was thinner than ever. The East End was still a hotbed of consumption and other things, and with that damn firework factory being located so close to the docks . . . ‘You noticed her coughin’ at all?’ he asked his wife abruptly, frightening Joan to death in the process.
‘Coughing? Oh, Sandy! Our Carrie? You don’t think . . .’ Joan sat bolt upright in bed, one hand clutching the neck of her faded red flannel nightgown.
‘Lie down, woman, you’ve pulled all the covers off, an’ no, I don’t think! I was just askin’, that’s all.’
Joan slid down beside him again, her cold feet automatically finding the warmth of his body which was better than any stone water bottle. Although the room was in total blackness she knew he was rubbing his hand round his face, something he did when he was troubled. She pressed closer to him, one arm round his wide thick chest. ‘What did she say?’ she asked again.
‘I’ve told you.’ And then, when Joan said nothing, he sighed. ‘She was walkin’ steadily, not hurryin’, just steady like, an’ I hailed her an’ asked her what the hell she was playin’ at, worryin’ us both to death. An’ she said she’d had to wait longer than she thought at the market for the sell-
offs. I asked where Lillian was an’ she said she’d made her go home ’cos of her mam bein’ liable to play up if the lass was late. I said you were fair out of your mind an’ she said she was sorry but she wanted to get the best prices she could, an’ then she went for me for comin’ out to look for her with me foot bein’ bad.’
‘How does it feel now?’ Joan asked softly. He’d insisted on going himself even though it had taken him a full minute to force his boot on and there had been no question of lacing it up.
Again she felt, rather than saw, the irritated flap of his hand. There was silence for a moment and then Sandy said, ‘You’ll have to talk to her the morrer an’ get to the bottom of it.’
‘I’ve tried, you know I have.’
‘Aye, I know, lass, I know, but we can’t carry on like this.’
Joan nodded, murmuring, ‘Aye, all right.’
The Most Precious Thing Page 6