Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  ‘Do you reckon I could sell this ’ere box for kindling wood?’ Cissie asked, clambering from the latticed orange-box and beginning to tear a strip from it.

  ‘No,’ Beth told her with a smile. ‘And don’t you think we should put your mother’s mind at rest, Cissie? I promised Maisie I’d have you back home within the hour.’ Stooping to collect the box, she painstakingly hooked it over her arm and rested it against the bulge beneath her long dark shawl. ‘Come on, let’s get away before it comes dark,’ she warned.

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Cissie felt ashamed at having disobeyed her mam. Anyway, Beth was right, the market was almost empty, except for the few remaining stall holders who might suddenly take an unhealthy interest in her and her orange-box and a few similar that had gone missing from round the market-square today. On top of that, the man from the School Board had been wandering the market-place earlier, looking for children to march off to school. Always on the look-out for him, Cissie had managed to hide until he’d gone; but even now he might be hanging about, she thought, nervously glancing from side to side. ‘Let’s be off,’ she said with a mischievous grin. Then, whistling through her teeth, she took up step beside Beth and the two of them headed away from the market, down Cort Street and on to Ainsworth Street, with Cissie excitedly chattering and Beth quietly listening, thinking what a delightful little creature her companion was.

  ‘What shall we do if Mr Miller does throw us out on us arses though?’ Cissie glanced up at Beth, quickly adding before Beth could correct her, ‘All right. I know he never said it in them words exactly. But it all comes to the same thing don’t it? If me mam ain’t got no rent for Mr Miller when he comes tonight, we’ll get us marching orders, won’t we, eh? Chucked out on the streets with nowhere to go!’

  ‘Nobody is going to chuck us out on the streets, Cissie,’ Beth promised her. ‘You have my word on it.’ The few guineas she had brought to Blackburn almost six months ago had slowly dwindled away until now there was barely enough to see her through another month, which was when the child was due to be born. But Maisie Armstrong’s family had come to mean a great deal to Beth, and she would do whatever was in her power to keep a roof over their heads. After all, Beth owed Maisie and her daughter so very much. More than ever before, she had come to believe that it was the good Lord Himself who had delivered her to Maisie’s door.

  Cissie never tired of recounting the day when Beth arrived in Blackburn and had keeled over – ‘Like you were blind drunk. Gawd, Beth! You frightened the life outta me and me mam. Somebody shouted that you were dead, and everybody started running round in a panic. But me mam showed ’em, didn’t she, eh? Fetched you home with us to Larkhill where we could look after you, she did.’ Cissie swelled with pride whenever she recounted the tale. Her great love and admiration for Maisie were wonderful to see. They shone in her big blue eyes and trembled in her voice whenever she spoke of her. ‘My mam,’ she would declare boldly to all who might listen, ‘is my best friend in all the world!’ Beth was her next best friend, and Matthew was the brother who was just like all other boys and ‘don’t know much worth knowing’. Cissie was only nine years of age, but she was old and wise beyond her years, and though she was painfully thin and in Maisie’s own words ‘couldn’t be fattened up nohow’, she was wiry and strong, a character with a heart as big as wide-open arms, and a capacity for loving that was an example to all mankind. Beth adored her. Almost from the start she had felt naturally drawn to the Armstrong family. There was so much pain in her heart when she thought about her own family. As soon as she was able, Beth had contacted old Methias Worry, who had reassured her as to her father’s recovering health ‘mending slowly’ he had said. That was all Beth needed to know. Afterwards, she believed it best to leave well alone. Her father had probably hardened his heart against her, so there was no point in dwelling on the pain of that particular episode. And Tyler… his memory also brought its own kind of torment. After all this time, it was clear to Beth that he also had rejected her, and that maybe Annie Ball had not been lying after all. That was the most painful thing. It was not easy to forget what that girl had said about her and Tyler, and it was not an easy thing for Beth to believe. Yet, if it was not true, then where was he? Why hadn’t he found out that she was no longer in London? – that she had been thrown out for bearing his child? That the most natural thing for her to have done was to go North in search of him? Surely to God it would not have been too difficult for him to have traced her. If he wanted to, that was!

  Six long months had gone by, and with the passing of every one of them, Beth had grown more and more disillusioned. Until now, she had had no choice but to accept that she had only been fooling herself. Even now though, the heartache was always there, more so as the child grew impatient to be born. Yet she had much to be grateful for, though it was not full compensation for all she had lost. Here in Blackburn, with Maisie and her two children, she had found another kind of love, a deep sense of belonging, and though part of her would always be with her father and with Tyler, she was strong enough to face up to the truth: that she had no one else. It was a sobering thought, and one which gave her many sleepless nights.

  Now, glancing down at the girl’s anxious face, Beth told her firmly: ‘You’re not to worry, Cissie. Everything will come right, I’m sure of it.’ Lately, she had racked her brains as to a solution with regard to the rent arrears, because even if she dug yet again into her meagre savings, it would not be a long-term solution, and what little money she had would be swallowed up like a teardrop in the ocean. In the back of her mind, she had one or two ideas ticking away, but they seemed always to be flawed. This past week she had been too tired to apply her thoughts for any length of time. In less than four weeks the baby was due. It had been a long difficult carrying, and now she was impatient for it to be over. There was no telling what would happen after that. Beth had no real plans. She dared not let herself think about the future. Not when the present was so fraught with problems.

  ‘But how do you know that?’ Cissie asked with her usual directness. ‘Mr Miller’s a rich man, ain’t he? And he can throw us out if he wants to, can’t he? And he won’t take no notice of you or anybody else if he’s a mind to be nasty, will he?’ Each question made Cissie realise just how desperate their situation was. Now she stopped and eyed Beth with a curious expression. ‘You ain’t gonna marry him, are you?’ she asked incredulously. ‘I know he fancies you, ’cause I’ve seen him staring at you with a funny look on his face. Oh, Beth!’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘You ain’t gonna marry Mr Miller just so he won’t chuck us out, are you?’ Hurriedly, she answered her own question. ‘No, you ain’t! ’Cause he ain’t good enough for you!’ The thought of Beth in Mr Miller’s arms was so awful that for a moment Cissie could not speak; instead she stared up at Beth in disbelief, her mouth wide open and her head shaking slowly from side to side. Presently she blurted out, ‘You ain’t, are you? It don’t matter if we’re chucked out, honest to God, ’cause we’ll find somewhere, we will… we will!’

  ‘Well, I never!’ Beth exclaimed with a look of horror. ‘What a vivid imagination you’ve got, Cissie Armstrong.’ She laughed. ‘Me and Mr Miller… married. The very idea.’ Whether it was caused by the grim prospect imagined by Cissie, or whether it was the result of trudging round the town looking for Maisie’s girl, Beth didn’t know, but she found herself suddenly gripped by a particularly vicious pain. Sucking her breath in and forcing herself to breathe easily the way Maisie had taught her to whenever she felt unwell, Beth took the orange-box from under her arm and placed it on the ground.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ In spite of Beth’s attempts to disguise her discomfort, Cissie was worriedly tugging at her. ‘Is it the bairn? Are you all right, Beth? Will I fetch help?’ Fear and concern betrayed itself in her grubby upturned face.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ Beth assured her, ‘I’m out of breath, that’s all.’ Bowing her head, she leaned on the box, the ground rising an
d falling before her eyes. ‘Give me a minute, and I’ll be just fine.’

  ‘It weren’t what I said, was it?’ Cissie desperately needed to know. ‘It weren’t what I said… about you an’ Mr Miller?’

  In spite of her discomfort, Beth laughed out loud. ‘No, no.’ Thankfully, the pain quickly passed, and so she went on to reassure Cissie, ‘Like I said… I was out of breath, that’s all. But speaking of Mr Miller… I hope you remember what you’re supposed to say if he asks why I’m staying at the house?’

  ‘I ain’t forgot,’ Cissie vigorously shook her head. ‘Me mam’s told me how Mr Miller said we weren’t entitled to have no lodgers. And I’m to say you’re just visiting, because you’re a cousin from down South. Ain’t that right?’ She put her two skinny arms round the orange-box, discreetly drawing it away the moment Beth recovered from her attack. Tm carrying this,’ she said when it seemed Beth might insist on burdening herself with the cumbersome thing. ‘It’s my box after all,’ she added with a sly little grin.

  ‘We’ll carry it between us,’ Beth declared as her small companion struggled to lift the box on to her narrow shoulders. Without delay, Beth took hold of one end of the box and Cissie took hold of the other. ‘You’re a good girl, Cissie,’ Beth told her. ‘But if Mr Miller asks you any questions, just tell him to see me or your mam.’ She didn’t like the idea of a child telling lies on her behalf.

  As they proceeded, a strange quietness descended between the two of them, each lost in her own thoughts, Cissie wondering when she’d be able to see her lovely flowers again, and Beth reflecting on Cissie’s words. ‘You ain’t gonna marry Mr Miller, are you?’ In that moment Beth was surprised to find herself thinking of David Miller in a new light. More than that, she was shocked by a cold determination that if danger threatened Maisie and her family, and it was in her hands to make life easier for that darling woman, she must be prepared to consider every possibility, however distasteful or unlikely.

  * * *

  Although it was not yet dark enough for the street lamps to be lit, the day was blending into twilight as Beth and the girl made their way along Penny Street, towards the long stretch of houses on Larkhill.

  When Beth and the girl turned the corner, Maisie breathed a sigh of relief. There was a smile on her face as she came out of the doorway and down the meticulously white-stoned steps, to watch the sorry little procession coming towards her. There was young Cissie, bedraggled and dirty as always, thin as a whippet and chattering away, her face upturned to Beth, and the big awkward box strung between them making it difficult for either of them to walk an easy pace. Beth’s step was slow and heavy. Now and then she paused to wipe the sweat from her face, and to laugh at something Cissie had said. There was a weariness about her though, and something else Maisie noticed as they came nearer, something that alarmed her. Beth was stooping forward as though in pain, thought Maisie with concern, and as they came even nearer, she saw how her friend’s familiar face was flushed with an unusually high colour.

  When only a couple of doors away, Beth paused again, leaning forward and clutching her stomach, Maisie rushed down the steps towards her, leaving her shawl on the ground where it fell. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ she called out, grabbing the box and flinging it aside. ‘Are you mad? Carting a bloody old orange-box along the streets, and you only weeks away from birthing! Have you taken leave of your senses? Two hours you’ve been gone. Two hours, when I didn’t know what to do for the best; there’s the lad inside full o’ the fever, an’ the pair o’ you wandering the streets with a bloody old orange-box!’ She took Beth by the arm and began gently propelling her down the street. ‘Look at you! Just look at the state of you!’ she told the bemused Beth. ‘You’re worn out, lass, fair worn out. Oh, I should never have let you go. It’s my fault. God forgive me, it’s all my fault.’

  As she helped Beth up the steps, she turned her frustration on the girl, who was trailing along, dragging the box behind her. ‘As for you, my girl,’ she told her firmly, ‘it seems to me you’ve got some explaining to do. Where’ve you been all day, eh? I know damned sure there ain’t no flowers to sell. I told you to get yourself off to school, didn’t I, eh? You want to think yourself lucky you’ve got a school to go to, my girl! There were never such a thing when 1 were a lass. An’ I don’t want yer growing up not knowing yer words.’

  ‘I do know me words,’ Cissie protested. ‘And I can write me own name!’ The teacher had told her she was quick. She had also told her she would ‘never be any good to anyone if she didn’t come to school’ when she should, and ‘pay more attention’ to her learning. But school was awful… sitting in long rows in a dark, miserable place, chanting things and getting your knuckles rapped with a long cane whenever you asked to leave the room. No, that wasn’t for Cissie Armstrong! She wanted to be out in the daylight, running about and free to do what she was best at – selling flowers. No School Board officer was going to drag her off to no dark unhappy place. Not if she saw him coming first, he wasn’t.

  ‘Never mind about that now,’ Maisie told her, pushing the girl ahead up the stairs. ‘Get the kettle on, lass. Lord knows what the pair of yer ’ave been up to, but it’s plain to see that Beth’s on her last legs, poor luv.’ She made no mention of her deeper fears; that the birthing might be imminent, and that an eight month birthing was renowned for taking both mother and child to the grave. ‘Go on! Hurry up, I tell yer,’ she snapped when Cissie paused to look forlornly at Beth’s high colour and weary countenance as she climbed the steps to the house.

  ‘It ain’t Beth’s fault,’ she cried, ‘it’s my fault… I shoulda come home when you told me.’ Cissie’s tears were bright in her large blue eyes as she took hold of Beth’s hand and asked, ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you? I ain’t made you poorly, have I?’ She saw the shake of Beth’s head, and felt the slight reassuring squeeze of her hand. The next thing she saw was Beth seeming to crumple, her face suddenly drained white, and her mam’s eyes big and fearful as she fought to keep a grip on her.

  ‘God Almighty! Don’t let go, lass,’ Maisie pleaded with Beth. ‘Keep hold of me.’ Stooping low, she slid her short chubby arms round Beth’s swollen waist, begging her to: ‘Lean on me hard, darlin’… yer mustn’t go down. Whatever happens, yer mustn’t go down.’ When Beth’s weight fell against her, she was frantic.

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Cissie was beside herself. ‘Is she gonna die? Is she, Mam? Is our Beth gonna die?’

  Ignoring the girl’s heartfelt plea, the very same that echoed within her own breast, Maisie told her in a sharp voice, ‘Get a hold of yerself, our Cissie! Run down the road to Ellen’s house as quick as yer can. Tell her she’s to come right away. Go on! GO ON!’ She watched as the girl made her way down the steps. ‘Tell her it’s Beth… an’ she’s to come right away.’ She could feel the terrible struggle going on in Beth, and knew she would never be able to get her to the bedroom on her own.

  Cissie suddenly remembered. ‘Ellen ain’t there, Mam!’ She and Beth had seen the kindly neighbour boarding a tram, no doubt to visit her recently widowed sister in Manchester. She told her mam as much now, and Maisie was panic-stricken until Cissie called out, ‘Look! It’s Mr Miller… the rentman.’ She pointed to the slim figure rapidly approaching from the direction of Penny Street.

  ‘Fetch him, lass,’ Maisie told her. ‘Tell him yer mam has urgent need of his help.’ As the girl ran full pelt down the street, Maisie glanced at Beth’s chalk-white face leaning on her shoulder. It was covered in a film of sweat, and she was breathing erratically. Her eyes were closed, occasionally fluttering open as though she had heeded Maisie’s warning and was determined she would not lose her senses altogether. ‘Oh, bless yer heart, darlin’,’ Maisie cried, the tears running down her face. ‘Hold on, lass, there’s help coming. Hold on, sweetheart.’ She pressed Beth harder into her aching arms, and found a strength she never knew she had.

  Beth heard every word, yet she was powerless to move. Every ounce of effort was drai
ned from her. Yet there was no pain now, not like before. There was only a dull insistent throbbing all down one side, and a terrible sense of emptiness inside her. She was hot, then she was cold, and all the while she could feel Maisie’s loving arms round her. She wanted to go on, up the steps and into the house to the bedroom where she might lie down and recover her strength. But the steps loomed before her like the side of a mountain, and try as she might, she could not put one foot before the other.

  Through the swirling darkness she heard Maisie’s voice again, soft and encouraging. ‘It’s all right, lass. You’ll be all right now.’ Then another voice, a man’s, but one she did not immediately recognise. ‘Gently now. Don’t fight me.’ A moment of struggle, then she felt herself being lifted. Her head fell back, the weight floated from her body, and her senses drifted away.

  * * *

  ‘Beth… are you awake, Beth?’ Maisie whispered, stirring her from a pleasant, light and easy slumber. Opening her eyes, Beth craned her neck and looked towards the door; and there was Maisie, head and shoulders peeking into the room, and a warm broad grin lighting her face when she saw that Beth was indeed awake.

  ‘Oh, lass! Lass!’ she cried, rushing into the room and coming forward to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘Oh, lass!’ she said again, reaching out and stroking Beth’s pale forehead. ‘Yer gave us a real fright, that yer did.’ Then wagging her finger, she chided, ‘Yer a bad ’un, that yer are, Beth Ward! Pushing yerself to the edge like that, an’ you only weeks away from birthin’. I’ve a bloody good mind to tan yer arse, that I ’ave!’ Instead, she leaned forward and threw her two fat arms round Beth’s neck, hanging on and hugging her until Beth was forced to cry out.