Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  Sickened by the old man’s foul-smelling breath, Tom Reynolds half-turned his face away, though he was careful not to betray his disgust and loathing for this person who might as well be a stranger for all he knew or cared for him. Summoning David to help him, he said, ‘For once, I think you may be right. We’ve done enough celebrating for one night. Now I think we’d best get Father to his bed.’ The sooner he was rid of the pair of them, the better he would be able to think.

  In the carriage, the old man gleefully outlined his plans for Arnold Thomas. ‘Of course, you’ll take over now, son. The business will flourish under you, I know it, and you’ll not regret coming home, I promise you that.’ He went on and on, tripping over his words with such excitement that he let slip something he would rather not have revealed just yet. He had been talking loudly, but suddenly he leaned closer to the other man’s ear, saying in a low whisper, ‘It’s all yours, son. I want none of it. So long as I have you, I’m a happy man. There is one thing, though.’ He glanced sidelong at David. ‘It’s all yours. All but one little parcel.’ He chuckled as though at some private joke, then, sitting back in his seat, stared at David, saying loudly, ‘It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t pay me dues, now would it, eh? When old Luther Reynolds is buried and under the ground, they’ll not be able to say he didn’t know how to pay his dues.’ He chuckled again, and settled himself back in the red leather seat, leaving the other two men to ruminate on what he had said.

  For David’s part, he wouldn’t have cared whether the old man had left him anything or nothing, he loved him too much. But he had a family to care for now, and there had been no opportunity to save a nest-egg, not from the wages paid to him over the years. All the same, it filled him with grief to think there would come a time when his stepfather was no more. He pushed it from his mind. It was too painful, too awful to contemplate.

  Tom’s thoughts could not have been more different from those of his stepbrother. Inwardly, he was seething. First the old man had led him to believe that he had left everything to him in his will. Now, he had intimated how he had reserved a certain title-deed for David, in return for his loyalty all these years. But what amount of land had he given to him? Was it a large holding? Was it the big house and the considerable plot on which it stood? Was it a block of terraced dwellings, which yielded a handsome sum every week? What had he left to his stepson? Tom had no way of knowing. One thing he did know, however, was that he wanted everything – every house, every square inch of land, every corner of what the old man had built up over the years. It was his, and he was not prepared to stand by while part of his rightful inheritance slid through his fingers!

  By the time the carriage reached the mainline Liverpool station, Luther was more in command of his faculties. David had decided not to tell Beth that they were likely to be evicted. For his part, the scheming Tom had formulated the plan which had been taking shape all evening.

  It was David who helped the old man down the carriage steps, but it was the favourite son who was summoned to see his father on to the platform. Biding his time, and hoping he might be able to make the old man see sense once they had time to discuss things, David stayed close behind as they all made their way past the ticket-desk and through the huge iron gates that opened out directly on to the platform, where the last train to Blackburn was due to arrive in ten minutes.

  ‘You are coming home with me, aren’t you, son?’ Luther insisted in a worried voice as they pushed their way through the milling crowd. When the affirmative answer was quickly given, he chuckled and, nodding his head, mumbled, ‘Of course you are, son. Of course you are.’

  There was hardly room on the platform. It seemed as though everyone had left their departure from Liverpool until the very last minute. There were small groups of people gathering, eager to be the first to board. Men outnumbered women by two to one. There were couples of all ages, young and old alike, all chattering, all full of their day out, and pressing against each other as the minutes ticked away to when the train would steam in to carry them home. Men began to jostle their way forward, some dressed in long-tail coats and looking very formal, others wearing well-used and baggy brown trousers, with flat caps and grubby white scarves tucked into the necks of their jackets. These men were mostly younger, louder in voice, and enlivened by a jug or two of ale at the local inn. The noise grew until it was deafening, and the press of bodies mingling with the ale fumes sent up a warm acrid stench. Being hemmed in on all sides, and irritated by the sound of raucous laughter nearby, the three men pushed forward through the fidgeting bodies. Soon they had reached a vantage point from which they could easily board the train. ‘We’d have done better if we’d carried straight on to Blackburn in the carriage,’ David pointed out. He was painfully aware that the old man had consumed far too much ale.

  ‘Be buggered!’ retorted Luther Reynolds. ‘And who’d have to foot the bloody bill, eh? Me! That’s who.’ He turned on David vehemently. ‘I’ve already told you… you’re free to do as you like. If you want to ride all the way to Blackburn in a fancy carriage, then sod off! Go on… sod off. But mind you’ve enough brass in your pocket to pay for it, afore you climb on board, ’cause you’ve seen your last penny from Luther Reynolds.’ He doubled forward and laughed aloud, swinging out with his arms and causing a man nearby to grab him. ‘Steady on, old fellow,’ the man told him with some concern. His reward was a mouthful of abuse and the curt instruction to, ‘Bugger off and keep your paws to yourself!’ Realising the cantankerous old soul was the worse for drink, the man discreetly edged away.

  From a distance, the train whistle could be heard, once, twice… nearer and nearer. The noise rose to a painful crescendo as the crowd surged forward in anticipation. Tom Reynolds had waited for his chance. When it came, he was ready. ‘Hey! Stop your pushing!’ he yelled to some imaginary figure behind him. As he turned, he put out his knee and slyly thrust it into the old man’s side. Suddenly there was mayhem as Luther fought to keep his balance, his eyes wide and terrified as the train hurtled into sight. Somewhere far off a woman screamed and every soul there was sent into a fearful panic. ‘NO!’ David’s terrified cry split the air as he lurched forward to grab his stepfather’s coat. But it was already too late – in that split second the old man stared into the bold eyes of his son and saw the wickedness there. It was a wickedness he himself had bred in Tom, and he saw the irony of it all. He was still smiling when he toppled over the edge to fall beneath the thundering wheels, taking David with him.

  * * *

  Beth glanced again at the grandfather clock. Its mournful persistent ticking echoed through the room, seeming to heighten her fears. Laying her sewing on the arm of the chair, she went to the window from where she looked out into the dark night for the umpteenth time. ‘Where are you?’ she murmured into the silence, her dark eyes troubled. It was not like David to stay out so late. True, he had warned her that he and Luther Reynolds would not be back early, but it was now past midnight, and still there was no sign of them.

  Closing the curtains once more, she returned to the fireplace and wedged the big black kettle on to the still-glowing coals in the firegrate. She would make herself a cup of tea and think of pleasant things to while away the time. Suddenly a saying of old Maisie’s came into her mind and she was forced to smile. ‘It don’t matter what troubles you got, darlin’ … a cup o’ tea will allus lift yer spirits.’ So while the water in the kettle quietly began bubbling, Beth resumed her sewing and softly hummed a tune. David would be home soon, she assured herself.

  It suddenly occurred to her that if it wasn’t for him, she would be a woman alone in a harsh world. Worse, she would be a woman at Luther Reynolds’ mercy. It didn’t bear thinking about, and so she forced herself to muse on other things… everyday things that happened all around her, things like Cissie growing increasingly restless in her work at the flower shop and wanting to ‘branch out on me own, Beth. Be me own boss!’ Beth had seen how the girl was becoming more and more determined
to go her own way. It was a source of anxiety to her, because times were hard and making a decent wage was not easy. Then there was Matthew. Though his letter had made it sound as if he was coping well with sea-life, Beth’s instincts told her that all was not as it seemed. Yet, until such time when he might be allowed home on leave, there was no way of telling.

  At that moment the door opened and Cissie came in, her hair tousled and her eyes swollen with sleep. ‘Why haven’t you come to bed, Beth?’ she asked, going to the fire and warming her back.

  ‘Come away from there!’ Beth warned her. ‘It only needs your night-shift to catch light and there’ll be no saving you.’ She had not forgotten the fire that had taken Cissie’s mammy. There were times when she woke up in the night, haunted by the memory. It was one of the things that would go to the grave with her.

  Knowing full well what was on Beth’s mind, and seeing the fear in her eyes, Cissie hurriedly did as she was told, coming to kneel on the floor beside Beth, from where she could still feel the cheery warmth of the fire. ‘Why are you up so late, though?’ she persisted, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was already morning.

  ‘I’m waiting for David,’ Beth replied. ‘There’s no need for you to be down here. Go back to bed.’ The kettle sent out a spurt of water, its shrill whistle startling both Beth and the girl. Almost in the same instant there was a loud knock on the door, a pause, then another series of urgent knocks. Something about them turned Beth’s heart over. Pulling herself up from the depths of the armchair, she crossed towards the door, at the same time telling the girl, ‘You stay here.’

  ‘But who is it?’ Cissie too was afraid. It was odd that someone should be thumping the door at the turn of midnight.

  ‘I expect David’s forgotten to take his key,’ Beth called over her shoulder, forcing a matter-of-fact tone into her voice. But her heart was pounding. David never forgot to take his key! And even if by some remote chance he had left it behind on this occasion, Luther always kept a bunch of keys pinned to the inside of his waistcoat pocket.

  As she made her way to the front door, the sound of Richard screaming for her caused her to ask: ‘Comfort him, Cissie.’ Even before she got to the door, Cissie was bounding up the stairs. At the top of the landing the girl looked back to see Beth staring up at her. In that moment when their eyes met each knew the other’s fear. There was a link between them, a great abiding love that bound them together, and Beth was deeply grateful for that; although she could never have envisaged in her wildest dreams how much she would come to need Maisie’s girl in the harrowing weeks ahead. ‘All right, all right,’ she cried out when the knocking resumed again. Placing her hand on the door knob, she asked: ‘Who is it? What do you want?’ From the corner of her eye she saw Cissie and the boy going quietly into the sitting room.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Miller,’ the voice came back; a stranger’s voice, but kind and soothing. ‘It’s the constable and a colleague… come to talk with you, my dear. Be so good as to open the door.’

  Stooping to peer through the letterbox, Beth could just make out the dark uniforms with their shiny buttons. With trembling fingers she slipped the sneck and, turning the knob, inched open the heavy wooden door. Much later, when she came to reflect on this fateful night, she recalled the way the door creaked and groaned. David had meant to grease the hinges, but he never found the time. ‘Yes?’ The word seemed so inadequate, but she dared not voice her fears. She dared not ask what was on the tip of her tongue.

  The taller of the two officers was the first to speak. Leaning forward, he said gently, ‘I think it might be best if we come inside, Ma’am.’ When she nodded and stepped back, he ushered the other constable in and followed behind. Without looking at them, and yet acutely aware that they were standing only an arm’s reach from her with their faces set in serious expressions, Beth swallowed hard to still the fluttering fear that had risen to choke her. With deliberate calm, she swung the door to and clicked the sneck across. Then, turning, she merely nodded her head and gestured for them to follow her. Bypassing the room where the two children were waiting, she went straight to the drawing room, wide dark eyes filled with fear, and with a heart that silently prayed to God that the news was not too awful.

  In the adjoining room, the two children huddled close in the chair which Beth had vacated only moments before. They had heard the passing footsteps, and they wondered. From the next room they could hear the low drone of voices. Almost immediately there followed an eerie silence, during which Cissie instinctively drew the boy close to her. When Beth’s cry cut the air, it shook them. They had never heard her make such a sound, such an agonised sound it put the fear of God into them. They clung closer and waited. The silence seemed never-ending. Soon footsteps could be heard returning along the hallway. ‘It’s all right, darlin’,’ Cissie told the boy, when he began violently shivering in her arms. ‘It’s all right.’ But she was afraid, her instincts telling her that something dreadful had happened this night.

  The footsteps stopped outside the door, the handle slowly turned, the door was pushed open, and there was Beth. Her face was chalk-white, and she was trembling. The two men stood directly behind her. The one with the dark curling moustache was staring away, seemingly unable or unwilling to look at them; the taller man gazed compassionately at the two children huddled together. It was a pitiful sight and touched his heart, for he had a young family of his own. ‘Look after Richard, please, Cissie. I have… to go…’

  Beth’s voice faltered and she made a choking sound. Quickly composing herself, she came into the room, holding out her arms to take the boy into her embrace. ‘Be good,’ she said, kissing him tenderly. ‘Mammy has to go out for a while. Constable Maitland here will stay with you both.’ She looked at the girl, an imploring look that spoke volumes. Stooping to put Richard down on the floor, she leaned forward to tell Cissie in a whisper, ‘There’s been an accident… David is in the Infirmary.’ She thought it best not to say any more. But then, how could she tell this impressionable young girl that Luther had stumbled to his death beneath the wheels of a train, and David… foolish, kind David… had been badly injured in his effort to stop the old man falling? ‘I have to go to him, Cissie,’ was all she could say, then she averted her eyes from the girl’s entreating stare and quickly hurried out of the room to collect her shawl from the hallstand. One last glance at the constable, and she was ready.

  ‘Beth!’ Cissie had followed her to the door; the boy was clinging to her night-shift, his frightened green eyes following Beth’s every move. ‘Will you tell David… tell him I…’ A sob caught in her throat. When Beth swung round at the girl’s words, she realised there were tears in Cissie’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry.’ Her expression showed that she understood. ‘I’ll tell him you’re thinking of him, sweetheart.’ Collecting her purse from the hallstand, before flinging the long brown shawl round her swollen figure, she waited for the constable to open the door. ‘Look after Richard, please, Cissie,’ she told the girl, adding with a reassuring smile that belied the turmoil inside her, ‘You’ll be all right.’ At the sight of Constable Maitland, who had come up behind the children, she gave one more instruction before runnning down the steps into the waiting police-wagon. ‘Keep them away from the fire.’ He nodded, and in a moment she was gone. The house was deathly quiet. Placing one hand on each child, the kindly constable turned them back into the room. The kettle was whistling as he closed the door.

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth,’ he said. That was all. The words were spoken in a gasp, his broken body lying twisted beneath the sheets and his cold fingers limp in hers. Even in the grip of pain, and knowing that he was breathing his last, the eyes remained infuriatingly gentle.

  Long after they led her away from his side, Beth could still feel the incredible strength in his fingers during that last moment before he closed his eyes forever; a strength that had astonished her, for David had never shown that side of himself before.

  Now,
as she sat in the doctor’s office, her head bowed in her hands and the image of her husband still vivid in her mind, Beth wondered whether, in that one final moment when he knew they would be parted always, he had regained the strength that his stepfather had sucked from him all his life. She thought it odd that he did not ask for Luther, nor question whether he himself would live or die. His smile was strange to her, yet curiously beautiful, as though he believed that in death he and the stepfather he idolised would be reunited where no one could come between them. He did not ask after Cissie or the boy, merely reached out to place his hand on the swell of her stomach, his smile bathing her tearful face, and those three words softly whispered: ‘I’m sorry, Beth.’

  Not that he loved her. Only that he was sorry. Sorry for what? she asked herself. Sorry for dying? Sorry for not saving his stepfather? Sorry because he knew she would now be alone? Why was he so sorry? Anger took hold of her. He should not have been sorry! He should not have thrown his life away on a cruel old man who never loved him! He should not be dead now! Three times she had gone back into that small side room where he lay. Three times she had touched his kindly face and asked him: ‘Why?’ But he gave no answer, for he was gone from that place. Gone with the man who meant more to him than his own life. If God decreed that Luther Reynolds should burn in Hell, Beth was sure that David would elect to burn with him. She could never understand such blind adulation, especially as that wicked old man had only ever shown him the utmost contempt and loathing.