The Heights

by Juliet Bell

  But standing there in the middle of that shabby room, Isabelle and Edward still had that glow they’d had on their very first day at school. They hadn’t dulled like the shine on new things usually did.

  Cathy forced herself to smile, hooked her arm through Isabelle’s, and led her to the sofa. They hadn’t come to look at the house. They’d come to see her. They’d chosen her.

  ‘What presents did you get?’ Isabelle asked. ‘I got lots. I got a whole make-up case. It’s massive and it’s got, like, twenty different eyeshadows, and…’

  Cathy let Isabelle’s voice wash over her, and turned her attention to Edward instead. He’d taken a seat on the hard chair in the corner, hands folded neatly on his lap, bright, blue-green eyes focused entirely on her. Cathy returned his gaze, dropping her chin slightly towards her chest so she was looking through her lashes at him.

  ‘Did you get lots of present too, Edward?’ He nodded.

  ‘Isn’t the snow great? Is this the first time you’ve had snow on Christmas Day?’ Maybe that would get him to talk to her. He was too quiet and too still. Cathy didn’t know anyone who was all quiet like that.

  ‘Yes. It’s really nice.’

  Cathy jumped up, took the two steps across the room and grabbed Edward’s hand. ‘Come on then. Let’s go up into the blue hills. The snow will be really thick up there.’ She could show them all the places where you could run and hide and where no one ever came looking. She dragged him through the kitchen, with Isabelle skipping along behind, still gabbling away.

  ‘Wow! Are you making dinner? That’s mint. That’s, like, so grown-up.’

  She paused at the back door, reaching up for the key that was hanging from the hook on the frame.

  ‘What are they doing here?’ She hadn’t heard Heathcliff come back downstairs, but he was here now, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at her hand, still linked to Edward’s. ‘Where are you going?’

  Edward dropped her hand and stepped towards Heathcliff. Cathy looked from one to the other. It wasn’t just newer clothes or tidier hair. It wasn’t just the six inches of height or three years of age that Edward had over Heathcliff. There was a sense of calm about Edward. Heathcliff was never calm. He was permanently coiled, ready to fight or take flight. Edward smiled at him. That was different too. Heathcliff never smiled at anyone but her.

  ‘Cathy was going to show us some of the places you hang out. You could come too.’

  Isabelle nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes! You should come as well.’

  Cathy watched. Isabelle patted her hair and smoothed her clothes as she looked at Heathcliff. Cathy felt… Cathy wasn’t sure what she felt, but it was cold and piercing and it went right to the middle of her.

  Heathcliff took a step towards Edward so they were only inches apart. ‘You can’t show them our places, Cathy.’

  ‘Well, they’re not our places exactly.’ A place couldn’t belong to you. And she didn’t belong to Heathcliff. ‘I can show wherever I like to whoever I like.’

  Heathcliff stared past Edward straight at Cathy. For a second everything was quiet and still. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. And then Heathcliff raised one hand to Edward’s chest and shoved him backwards.

  ‘They’re our places.’ His face twisted and spit shot across the room as he shouted now. ‘They’re not for you.’

  Was that right? Had he said ‘They’re not for you’ or ‘She’s not for you’? Cathy wasn’t sure, because at the same time, Isabelle started to shriek hysterically and Edward, who had steadied himself against the worktop, came back at Heathcliff. ‘Hold on there…’

  Cathy could feel her heart racing with the pure exhilaration of it all. It was like something out of a movie and Cathy was the girl at the centre of it all. She hadn’t been the centre of so much attention since Daddy… Cathy couldn’t think about that. She wouldn’t. She pushed her body between Edward and Heathcliff.

  ‘Don’t fight!’ she declared. ‘Don’t fight. It’s Christmas.’

  She had one hand against each boy’s chest. She felt Edward’s body relax.

  ‘I’m so sorry. We should probably go.’

  He inched through the gap between Heathcliff and the counter, grabbing his sister’s arm on the way past. Cathy watched as Heathcliff glared at the older boy. Edward could just walk away whenever he wanted. Heathcliff couldn’t do that. Maybe that meant Cathy couldn’t either. She couldn’t think that he was the thing stopping her from being like them. She couldn’t think that he was too low for them, or too rough for them, because somehow that would mean she was too.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Edward said again. ‘We’ll see you at school.’

  ‘Or you could come to our house?’ Isabelle threw the offer in.

  Cathy left Heathcliff alone in the kitchen and followed the Lintons, looking for Edward’s reaction.

  ‘Yes. Yes. You should come to the house.’ He looked, again, straight into her eyes, putting all the emphasis on ‘You’. Cathy got the point. Just her. Not Heathcliff. Edward was saying she was different. He was saying that she was special.

  Chapter Thirteen

  March, 1986

  Mick opened his eyes. It was early but he couldn’t sleep. Frances had tossed and turned the whole night trying to get comfortable. The doctor reckoned she still had another two months to go. She probably wouldn’t even fit through the door by then. She’d managed to make it to Mass on Sunday and half the old biddies there had patted her tummy and said it looked like twins. Doctor said it wasn’t, though. Just one baby. Despite his exhaustion, a smile pulled at Mick’s lips. The baby. His baby. With Frances. Soon they’d be a proper family, even if that old queer who called himself a priest forced them to go to the register office to get wed.

  His fiancée shifted in the bed next to him. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after six.’

  ‘I need a wee.’

  At the moment she seemed to need a wee on the hour, every hour, night and day. Mick waited as she swung her legs awkwardly off the bed and waddled towards the door. He wasn’t going to get back to sleep now, and it’d be time to get up for work in half an hour anyway. The thought of work darkened his mood slightly. It was a steady job and a decent wage, and he was working with blokes who’d known his dad. That made him kind of the big man – being Ray Earnshaw’s son still meant something over there. The job made him nervous, though. He weren’t down the pit. He was Buildings and Maintenance, but there weren’t much building going on these days. Officially the pit wasn’t scheduled for closure, but his job seemed to involve a lot more pulling stuff down then putting it up. And it weren’t really a maintenance crew – it were just him, patching stuff up as best he could. Nobody was spending any money up there any more.

  He lay on his back and listened to the sounds of the house. Frances flushing the toilet, and then the moan of the pipes as she turned a tap on. Cathy would still be asleep, never one to miss out on her beauty sleep, and Heathcliff… Mick paused… What about Heathcliff? He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the boy peacefully asleep. He seemed to always be watchful. He was nearly fifteen now. Mick had said to Frances that once the baby came there wouldn’t be room for the boy as well, but Frances wouldn’t have it. Still, he’d be sixteen in no time and then nobody could stop Mick from slinging him out with a flea in his ear. He’d taken advantage of the Earnshaws for long enough.

  Frances came back into the room and lowered herself onto the bed.

  ‘You rest now, love,’ Mick said. ‘I’ve got time to make you a nice cuppa before I go to work. How does that sound?’

  Cathy waited until she heard the front door slam behind Mick, and then listened for the sound of Frances uncomfortably making her way downstairs. At the other side of the wall, she knew, Heathcliff would be doing the same thing. It was what they did every day of the holidays. Waiting for Frances to be up and Mick to be gone. One or the other was all they needed. So long as Frances was around, Mick was bearable.

  Cathy washed and
dressed. Downstairs, she let Heathcliff bring her tea and make one for Frances as well. Frances was all right, and soon the baby would come. That would be something new. Cathy didn’t think any of the other girls in her year were aunties yet. It’d be another thing that was special about her.

  ‘Are you two off out again today?’ Frances sipped her tea and peered at Cathy through wisps of strawberry-blonde hair.

  Cathy shrugged.

  ‘It’s all right. There’s nothing going on here. I’m going to turn on the telly. Selina Scott’ll be on. I like her. She looks like Princess Di.’

  Heathcliff appeared at Cathy’s shoulder. ‘Come on then.’

  She followed him out of the back door and across the yard, but rather than cutting down the lane and onto the blue hills, she stopped. ‘Let’s do something different.’

  Heathcliff frowned. ‘Different how?’

  She scuffed her toe into the gravel. ‘Just different. We always do the same things.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to do?’

  She shrugged, watching his face. ‘Something new.’

  She waited for him to come around to her plan, but he didn’t move. She folded her arms. ‘You can go off up there on your own if you want, though.’

  Heathcliff shook his head. Cathy grinned and stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. ‘Come on then.’

  She marched round to the front of their terrace and set off down the hill, away from the Heights and into town, right down the main street, past the pub and the statue where Mick used to hang about, and over the bridge towards Thrushcross Grange. In sight of the big house Heathcliff stopped. ‘Is that where we’re going?’

  Cathy nodded.

  ‘Why do you wanna go there?’

  ‘To see our friends.’

  He pulled his arm away from hers. ‘They ain’t my friends.’

  Heathcliff was exasperating sometimes. ‘Well, they could be your friends, if you…’

  ‘If I what?’

  She didn’t reply straight away. If he what? If he tried? If he smartened himself up a bit and looked at what boys like Edward were wearing. If he stopped being so much like a kid from the Heights and started trying to be something more. ‘If you gave them a chance.’

  By the time they got to the Lintons’ house, Heathcliff was fidgety, tugging at the corners of his trackie top and twisting his thumbs through the holes in the cuffs. Cathy ignored him. Thrushcross was beautiful. She’d never been inside the house before. She’d met Isabelle at the end of the street, and waited outside while Edward ran in to collect something. Today she was going to be a proper guest, though. Isabelle had said ‘Come round any time’, so that’s what she was doing. She was going to go inside and sit on their fancy chairs and be the Cathy she deserved to be.

  She marched up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer.

  ‘They’re not even here. Come on.’ Heathcliff reached for her hand to pull her back to him.

  Cathy crossed her arms. ‘Don’t. I want to look.’

  She strutted away from the porch and peered into the large bay window to the left of the door. It was the living room. She couldn’t make out as much as she wanted through the net curtains but it looked like another world. There was a painting above the fireplace, and a thick rug on the floor.

  Heathcliff pressed his nose against the glass alongside her. ‘They ain’t even got a TV.’

  Cathy frowned. That couldn’t be right. Everybody had a TV. She tiptoed away from the window and stopped dead still. There were voices coming from behind a high wooden gate that cut off the passageway at the side of the house. She listened for a second. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying but she was sure she could hear Isabelle’s loud, tinkly laugh above the general chit-chat. One of the voices rose above the others. ‘I’ll go and look in the car then.’

  Was that Edward? Whoever it was, he was getting closer to them. Cathy stumbled backwards but Heathcliff’s tense body was blocking her escape path. The gate opened in front of her. She smiled as broadly as she could in the face of Edward’s furrowed brow.

  ‘I rang the bell. Nobody answered.’

  Edward looked from her face to Heathcliff standing behind her. He frowned for a second before turning his attention back to her and smiling.

  ‘You should have knocked on the gate. Come through. It’s so sunny and Father’s not at work today so we were having a late breakfast on the patio.’

  Cathy followed Edward through the gate and into the garden. It was like a garden at a country house, like the ones they’d gone to sometimes on holiday when Cathy was little and Mummy was still around. Cathy didn’t know anyone who had a garden like this. Mummy had put some pots of daffodils out in the yard one year, but next door’s cats had wee’d all over them and she’d never bothered again. This garden had enough grass to play football right here, rather than out in the street, where you had to grab your sweatshirt from the ground and get out of the way every time a car came past.

  Isabelle and her parents were sitting at a large wooden table on a paved area next to the house. It was all set out like a proper dining table with proper plates and glasses of orange juice. Cathy heard Heathcliff’s tummy rumble behind her. He was hungry. Of course he was hungry. Cathy was hungry too.

  Edward strode towards his parents. ‘Look who came to visit. It’s Cathy and Heathcliff.’

  His mother blinked a couple of times. She wasn’t prepared for people dropping in like this, but his mother was always gracious in front of guests. She smiled.

  ‘Cathy’s in Isabelle’s class,’ Edward explained. ‘Her brother works at the pit, Dad.’ Of course Heathcliff was in Isabelle’s class as well, but he wasn’t fighting for his parents to like Heathcliff. The less he had to see of Heathcliff the better. Seeing him here in their garden with Mother and Father just showed up what a mess the boy was. Edward turned back towards his parents, searching their faces for their reactions to the visitors.

  His father smiled broadly.

  ‘Welcome, Cathy,’ he said.

  Isabelle jumped up. ‘Cathy! Have you had breakfast?’ She clapped her hands. ‘Of course you have, but you can have some more. Come on. Sit down! It’s lovely to have you here.’

  Edward watched Cathy let herself be led to the table. There was plenty of space – there were chairs for eight – perfect, his mother had said, for summer dinner parties. Heathcliff hung back, waiting to see what was happening, watching his sister. Silently, Edward corrected his own thought. Of course Cathy wasn’t Heathcliff’s sister, was she? That’s what he’d heard his parents saying after they thought he was in bed. His mother had heard people gossiping in the hairdresser’s, apparently.

  After Cathy had accepted a glass of orange juice and exclaimed politely over the prettiness of the glasses, Heathcliff eventually slid into the seat at the end of the table. There were rolls in the basket in the middle of the table. Edward watched Heathcliff glance from side to side before reaching across the table and pulling it closer to himself. He grabbed one of the rolls, tore it in half and started to eat. Cathy giggled. Edward’s mother frowned.

  ‘We use plates here, dear.’

  Heathcliff dropped the basket back onto the table. ‘I wasn’t doing owt wrong.’

  Cathy leaned across and patted his arm. ‘Heathcliff!’ She was grinning. ‘Be nice.’

  Edward heard the condescension in her tone, but for a second he wasn’t sure if Heathcliff had heard it too. Then Heathcliff pushed his chair back from the table and sneered. ‘Come on, Cathy.’

  Cathy folded her arms. ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. We’re going. Together.’

  She shook her head. ‘We don’t have to be together all the time.’

  Edward tensed, remembering the argument with Heathcliff at Christmas. The boy was an animal – there was obviously going to be a fight. His eyes were dark and his fists clenched at his side as he stared at Cathy. She turned her head away from Heathc
liff and took a tiny sip of her juice.

  ‘I’m staying here. You can do what you like.’

  As quickly as it had appeared the fight in Heathcliff’s body seemed to dissipate. His hands hung limply at his hips. His shoulders dropped. He turned and skulked away through the gate. Within seconds Isabelle had started chattering again, asking Cathy about friends from school and offering her toast and jam. Edward watched more closely as Cathy flicked her eyes towards the gate where Heathcliff had disappeared.

  Mick worked until three in the afternoon. Mr Linton wasn’t in his office today and so he’d decided it would be a good time to get a fresh coat of paint on the walls. There was still money for that apparently. His absence was good for Mick, though. With the boss away there was nothing to stop him bunking off home. Mr Linton was a stickler for punctuality and checking people’s hours, but so long as the work got done, no other bugger cared.

  He strode away from the pit and back onto the Heights. Cathy and the boy would probably still be marauding around the blue hills but Frances would be home, and Fat Alan at work had told him that the best way to bring on labour was a good shagging. If they had the house to themselves, why not give it a try?

  He swung the front door open. ‘Frances!’

  ‘Up here.’

  He followed the sound of her voice to the bedroom. Frances was propped up with pillows, her face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded. ‘I am now.’

  ‘You weren’t before?’

  She smiled. ‘For a few minutes there this morning, I thought the baby was coming.’