‘Not for another hour or more,’ Millie lied. ‘I can manage both.’
‘Just for ten minutes then,’ Effie acquiesced, and dragged herself upstairs.
Millie got on with the meal, worrying about the woman who had befriended her. She felt closer now to Effie than to her own mother; they shared a common outlook on life – always to make the best of what you had – and a common humour. Effie could make her laugh about the most mundane of things that happened in her street. Later, Millie went to check on her and found her asleep, her breathing noisy like the purr of a bronchial cat.
She was worn out, Millie thought. It was time her family gave her more of a hand. It was ridiculous that Effie should be left to do much of the heavy fetching of water from the pump, and the shovelling of coal into the outhouse and then humping it into the kitchen. She would have strong words with Grant and Walter to help their mother more on the days she was not there. For far too long they had taken Effie for granted, treating her more like a skivvy than a mother. Millie knew she could talk frankly to the sons and they might listen, whereas Mungo Nixon would not.
Effie’s prickly husband would never take advice from a girl, especially one like Millie, who was not from one of Ashborough’s respectable pit families. He was wary of his wife’s friendship with Millie, and especially disapproving of Teresa, whom he thought of as common and brash. He only put up with her helping out, Millie knew, because she made excellent stottie cake and always made sure his tobacco was in the house. Millie wondered again about Dan, the missing son. What was he like? She knew that Effie pined for her distant son, fretting that he stayed away in London for so long and never visited. It was the one tonic that might revive the ailing woman, Millie thought, to see Dan again. How selfish he was to have lost touch with his mother, so that she did not even know where he lived any more. Still, Effie had two other sons who could help her.
So when she heard the sound of Grant’s heavy feet crossing the yard and Walter’s tuneful whistle, she shouted a greeting through the door, which had blown open again. ‘Before you take your boots off can you put the coal away in the shed, please?’ Millie was stirring hard at the gravy, defying it to go lumpy, and did not take her eyes off the task. ‘Your mam’s gone to lie down. She’s sound asleep. You could help by bringing in a bucketful for the fire once you’re finished, an’ all.’ The footsteps stopped.
Millie, satisfied with the gravy, bent down and pulled on the heavy oven door with a rough cloth to check on the bread-and-butter pudding she had made with the stale bread from the pantry. It released a mouth-watering aroma of buttery sweet raisins and toasting bread that made Millie realise how hungry she was. She slammed the oven door shut and stood up, face flushed, pushing away curls from her eyes.
Turning, she saw a stranger in the doorway and shrieked in shock. He was dressed in a tan coat and wide-brimmed hat, and the boots he stamped on the mat were worn but well polished. The look he gave her was quizzical.
‘The Nixons still live here?’ he asked.
Millie flushed. ‘Aye, they do. Who are you?’
But even as she asked, she already knew. The bright-blue eyes under the thick dark brows were just like his father’s; the jawline was strong but not as heavy as Grant’s, the amused smile under the fair moustache reminiscent of Walter’s. He had the best attributes of all the Nixons rolled into one, and as he dumped down his canvas bag and threw off his hat, Millie saw he had his mother’s fair colouring and blond hair.
‘I’m Dan. Dan Nixon,’ he grinned, and began to unbutton his coat. ‘And who are you? Don’t tell me one of me brothers has beaten me to it and married the prettiest lass in Ashborough?’
The directness of his look and his teasing words turned Millie red and stammering.
‘N-no. I mean, I’m not – your brothers haven’t. I’m just lending a hand . . .’
Under his coat Dan was wearing a smart suit, the jacket of which he quickly discarded. Millie gulped as he proceeded to roll up his sleeves, revealing broad, muscly forearms.
‘Well then?’ he said.
‘Well what?’ Millie gawped.
‘What do they call you?’ Dan asked, advancing towards her.
Millie backed away. ‘Millie,’ she answered, ‘Millie Mercer.’
Dan smiled. ‘So are you married, Millie Mercer?’
‘No,’ Millie said too hastily. ‘No, I’m not.’ Then she blushed deeper. Not that it was any of his business, she wanted to add, but felt too inhibited. Instead she gabbled, ‘I’m helping your mam out with the washing, earning a bit of money – for dancing lessons.’
‘Dancing, eh?’ Dan looked approving. ‘I like a dance too. There’s nothing better than a good game of footie on a Saturday afternoon, followed by a few beers and dancing the night away. Don’t you agree?’
He was standing close to her now, and Millie had never felt her heart racing in quite the way it was at that moment. His words seemed to be suggesting so much more. She was still startled by his sudden appearance just after she had been thinking about him. It was too much of a coincidence, as if his being nearby had forced his presence into her mind. It was suddenly uncomfortably warm in the kitchen; beads of perspiration were breaking out on her brow.
‘I don’t play footie,’ she answered.
They stared at each other a moment and then both burst out laughing. Dan reached forward, and for one heady second Millie thought he was going to grab her hand. But he seized the empty coal bucket that was standing on the hearth beside her.
‘Well, you’ll just have to watch then,’ he grinned. ‘At least I hope you’ll come and support the Ashborough Comrades. I’ll be playing for them on Saturday, once they know I’m back.’
‘Will you? We sometimes do the teas for them.’ Millie smiled back nervously. ‘I live at the Station Hotel with Mam and Mr Moody. The away teams usually change at the hotel these days.’
‘Judging by the smell coming from that oven, the teas must be good,’ Dan said with a wink.
‘They are,’ Millie said proudly. ‘Your mam taught me to bake.’ She suddenly remembered that they were not alone and that Effie was lying upstairs asleep. ‘She talks about you a lot. You should’ve said you were coming.’
‘I wanted to surprise her,’ Dan smiled.
‘You’ll do that all right. She’ll be that pleased to see you’re back.’ Millie slid him a look. ‘That’s if you’re staying?’
‘Aye, I am now,’ he answered, giving her another of his cheeky looks.
Millie put her hands up to her burning face. ‘What are you doing with the pail?’ she asked, trying to change the subject.
‘You shouted at me to fetch some coal, didn’t you?’ Dan gave a quizzical, lopsided smile that made one cheek dimple.
‘I thought you were Grant or Walter,’ Millie said in embarrassment.
‘Well, I’m glad to see someone’s keeping them in order,’ Dan chuckled. ‘I’ll make myself useful, then we’re going to sit down and you can tell me all there is to know about Millie Mercer before Mam wakes up or any of me interfering brothers turn up to spoil our chat.’
Millie looked beyond to the back yard and laughed. She could see the dark head of Grant bobbing above the back wall as he trudged in beside the slighter Walter.
‘Too late,’ she answered.
‘Later then, Millie.’ Dan winked, and Millie felt her heart hammering again, as if she had run all the way from home without stopping.
As he turned and strode out of the kitchen to hurl the empty bucket at his brothers in a rough greeting, Millie watched his every move and gesture with delight. She listened to the rude banter and the tussling between the men as they made up swiftly for years of absence. And she knew before they came back into the kitchen to wake up Effie with their noise that something else had happened. As swiftly as he had whizzed into her world like a dangerous firecracker, Millie knew she was falling helplessly in love with Dan Nixon.
Chapter Four
‘And where i
n the world have you been all this time?’ Teresa demanded when Millie rushed breathless into the hotel kitchen.
‘Mrs Nixon’s,’ she panted, her cheeks stinging from the raw air. It was already nearly dark outside.
‘You’re spending far too much time over there,’ her mother complained, ‘and neglecting your duties here. I’ve had to prepare the evening meal, and we’ve six travellers in tonight. And that debating society want a room ready at eight o’clock, so you’ll need to get laying a fire. I need Elsie to serve tables.’
‘What about Ava?’ Millie asked, discarding her coat and hat quickly.
‘She’s still out shopping somewhere,’ Teresa answered sharply.
Millie was disappointed; she was bursting with her news that Dan was home and she had met him. But as she rushed off to lay a fire in an upstairs room, she felt a pang of resentment that Ava was once again out enjoying herself while she and Elsie were left to do most of the work. Her mother, too, had long tired of the favouritism that Joseph expected his daughter to receive, but would do nothing to upset him.
It was not until late that evening, when they were making ready for bed, that Millie had a chance to talk to Ava. They now shared a bedroom together at the back of the hotel, above the kitchen, which meant that it was warm. Her mother had long ago moved to a larger room on the main landing near to Moody’s, and Millie had given up her attic room to Elsie because Ava refused to share with a country girl whose father was a mere gravedigger. Yet Ava would not sleep alone, so Millie had been made to share a bed with her.
‘So what was it you had to tell me?’ Ava demanded, clambering into bed and wriggling around to get warm.
Millie sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a brush through her thick tangle of curls. She envied Ava her straight, soft brown hair and did not understand why she insisted on Millie helping her bind it with torn pieces of sheet at night so that she would wake with ringlets in the morning. Ava looked like a fierce ragdoll with white stalks for hair as she eyed her companion impatiently. Suddenly Millie was apprehensive about sharing her secret and decided she would hide her enthusiasm from Ava, not wanting to be teased.
‘Dan Nixon’s home,’ she said, keeping her voice even. ‘He arrived while I was there.’
Ava shot up in bed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? No wonder you took so long to come home!’ she accused. ‘What does he look like now? Is he still really handsome?’
Millie turned away so as to hide the flush she felt creeping up from her chest. ‘I suppose he is.’
‘What did he say?’ Ava asked. ‘Did he ask after me? Of course I’m much prettier now than when he last saw me, so he probably didn’t. Oh, I wish I’d been there!’
Millie was taken aback by her eagerness. She knew Ava remembered Dan with liking, but she was surprised by this outburst.
‘I thought you were sweet on Walter?’ Millie reminded her.
Ava pulled a face. ‘Walter’s canny enough, but Dan’s more glamorous. He’s been living in London; he’s a man of the world. And he was that popular before he went away, what with being such a good footballer. Everyone liked him. And the number of different lasses he used to court – and he only seventeen when he went away! He’s probably courted half of London these past few years.’
Millie felt dashed by the news. When Dan had spoken to her she had felt special, as if he might really care for her. But he was obviously like that with all girls; it was just his way. She was being foolish to think Dan had meant anything by his flattering words and looks, and was glad she’d decided not to speak of it.
‘Well he’s back now. Looking for a job at the pit. He’s hoping to play for the Comrades on Saturday, so you’ll see him afterwards at the tea, more than likely.’
Ava sank back with a smile of triumph. ‘No, I’ll go and watch him. I’ll get Walter to take me.’
Millie was shocked. ‘Poor Walter! You’ve never shown the least bit interest in football when I’ve suggested we go and watch.’
‘Well, I’m not going to stand and freeze to watch just anybody,’ Ava replied. ‘But Dan Nixon’s different. I’d watch him in a snowstorm.’
Millie climbed into bed beside her, knowing she herself would not have time to go and watch. She would be too busy making the teas. Long ago, before the war, she had enjoyed going to see her brother play for Craston Colliers, and once the whole family had travelled away to see him in a semi-final of the local league against a Tyneside team. It had been the only time she had glimpsed the smoky sprawl of Newcastle and the forest of cranes along the River Tyne. Her father had lifted her up on his shoulders for a better view and told her proudly, ‘That’s where the world’s greatest ships are built.’ She had felt a shiver of excitement at the thought of the world beyond Craston, a world of busy docksides, exotic cargoes and luxury liners.
During the war she had even played a bit of football herself, for a local church team. The girls’ team had been formed to help with fundraising for the war effort and she had played in several charity matches. But when news of Graham’s shameful death had filtered back, she had been dropped from the team and never picked again.
Once she had tried to explain to a bewildered Elsie why support for football in a mining village was so fanatical.
‘They graft hard in the darkness all week,’ she had said, thinking of her brother, ‘so they really enjoy the sport and the fresh air on a Saturday. It takes them out of themselves for a bit.’
‘But the bairns,’ Elsie had answered, ‘they’re kicking stones around the streets before they can barely walk!’
Millie had laughed in agreement. ‘It’s in the blood then,’ she had conceded. ‘And there’s always that dream at the back of every lad’s mind that they might play for one of the big teams one day, become a hero.’
‘That’s lads for you,’ the practical Elsie had answered. ‘Always chasing dreams.’
***
The week seemed to drag. To Millie’s annoyance Ava twice went round to the Nixons’ house in Tenter Terrace hoping to see Dan, but his father had already secured him a job at the pit and so she had come back frustrated. But when Saturday came, even Moody noticed the air of excitement as the girls rushed around to get the chores done, laughing at the slightest thing.
‘What’s got into you lasses?’ he grumbled. ‘Have I forgotten someone’s birthday?’
‘It’s the thought of all those footballers arriving,’ Teresa explained, throwing up her arms in a dramatic gesture of despair. ‘They’ll be no use to us all day long. It’s the same whenever the Comrades have a home match and the place is full of lads.’
The girls giggled and denied it. To Millie’s surprise Moody just shrugged. ‘Well, with you to keep an eye on them, Teresa, they’ll come to no mischief.’
It struck Millie how much Joseph had come to rely on her mother for the way things were run and for the care of his own daughter. He seemed happy to do less and less, playing cards with the travellers at night or sitting in the kitchen with his feet up reading the racing news. When he had ambled out again, the chatter rose.
‘I’m going to watch the match,’ Ava boasted. ‘Walter’s taking me.’
‘He’s a nice lad,’ Teresa said with approval. ‘If you want to go back to his house for tea afterwards you can.’
Millie protested, ‘What about helping out here? Me and Elsie can’t manage on our own with nearly thirty teas—’
‘That’s all right,’ Ava interrupted quickly. ‘I’ll come straight back.’ She gave Teresa a sweet smile.
‘Our Millie, you’re getting too jealous by half,’ Teresa complained. ‘If Ava’s starting her courting you shouldn’t stand in her way. Your turn will come soon enough.’
Millie exchanged exasperated looks with Elsie, who understood that her resentment was only about Ava’s laziness. She decided to press her own case.
‘Can I go and watch the footie this afternoon, Mam?’ she asked. ‘I’d come straight back too.’
‘No you can’t,’
her mother answered without even giving it consideration. ‘I need you here. Besides, it’s a spectacle for lads.’
Millie stared at her mother. Had she forgotten the times in Craston they had cheered on Graham and his team-mates as if their lives depended on the outcome? Did she not remember the thrill of victory and the warm feeling of togetherness felt by the whole village when a rare cup was won? But her mother had dismissed her request and was already drawing up a list of duties for the day. She had severed the ties with their old life as completely as an amputated limb, Millie realised. It was as if Craston and their home in Saviour Street had never been, and it made her feel achingly alone. At times she longed to talk about her old life and thought she might burst if she did not. But her mother had robbed her of this release, for she had forbidden her to mention any of it, even to Effie. For the past three years they had been Teresa and Millie Mercer from Morpeth, respectable widow and daughter, ignoring the whispered rumours that they were common runaways from a colliery eviction.
To counteract the rumours, Millie had invented a world of make-believe around them, of a kind father who had died tragically in a riding accident (no poor man’s disease) and the loss of a comfortable house with an ornamental garden and a flush toilet. But most of all she liked to tell the story of her heroic brother who had died defending his friends. So not only had she colluded in her mother’s falsehoods, she had embellished them until she almost believed them herself.
Now she turned away and swallowed her disappointment. ‘Haway, Elsie, let’s go and set the tables.’ At least they could watch the away team arriving and savour some of the atmosphere. And later, she might catch a glimpse of Dan Nixon.
***
Walter was worried about his mother, who had barely been able to raise herself from the chair to attend to Mungo when he came in from the night shift. She had dozed by the fire, unable to drag herself to bed for a few hours of rest, and Walter, on a trip to the outside closet, had found her struggling to fill the zinc tub for her husband’s bath by the fire. He had persuaded her to go and lie down while he got on with breakfast.
THE TYNESIDE SAGAS: Box set of three dramatic and emotional stories: A Handful of Stars, Chasing the Dream and For Love & Glory Page 49