Reach for Tomorrow

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘I was just thinking about . . . the day and everything.’ As Zachariah approached her Rosie heard herself begin to gabble. ‘It was so nice that everyone could come, although Mrs McLinnie seemed a bit subdued, don’t you think? But Flora’s Peter Baxter seems very pleasant, I really liked him.’ The moment was fast drawing near when she would have to take off the pretty going-away suit she had made with such care, and put on the nightdress and matching negligée in ruched blue lawn and lace, and she wished, she so wished they were at home at Benton Street. It was so strange here, so splendid and opulent, and it had the effect of making Zachariah almost a stranger.

  ‘I don’t care about Flora’s Peter Baxter.’ Zachariah’s voice was very soft, and when he took her hand and led her over to the bed the look in his eyes made her go willingly. He sat down beside her before fishing in his pocket and producing a small velvet box, but before handing it to her he leant across and kissed her in a way he had never done before, until when at last he released her she was limp and quivering. But she wasn’t frightened any longer.

  ‘Here.’ He handed her the box as his other hand reached up and stroked the smooth silk of her cheek. ‘Wedding present, Mrs Price.’

  ‘Oh, Zachariah. I haven’t got you anything.’

  ‘I didn’t buy it, lass. It was me mam’s.’

  He watched her as she opened the small hinged lid to reveal an exquisitely dainty ring worked in fine lacy gold with a half band of tiny diamonds and rubies, and at her delighted gasp he reached out and plucked it from its nest, sliding it onto the third finger of her left hand next to the shining gold wedding band. ‘This is your engagement ring, lass, but I wanted you to have it tonight. Me mam would’ve liked that, bein’ as how she felt about marriage an’ all.’

  She turned to him, flinging her arms round his neck as she pressed her lips to his for a moment, and then he held her close as he said, ‘Me da an’ me mam might not have bin wed, Rosie, but they loved each other all right. There was only ever one man for me mam, she worshipped the ground he walked on.’

  Rosie knew what he was trying to say and she nodded slowly. ‘I know your mother wasn’t a bad woman, Zachariah. How could she have been to have had a son like you?’ she said softly. And she must have been strong to have braved the wrath of her fellow northerners. No respectable woman did what Zachariah’s mother had done - not unless they wanted filth flung in their faces by their virtuous neighbours when they stepped outside their front doors, or could put up with being spat on and reviled by all and sundry. But then no one had been absolutely sure about Zachariah’s mother and she had firmly stuck to her story of being wed overseas, Rosie told herself silently. That had been her salvation.

  ‘Me da was a sailor. No.’ He shook his head. ‘More than that, he was a captain, had his own ship, an’ in Denmark where he come from he’d got his own business. He was well set up when he met me mam, but with a wife an’ umpteen bairns over the sea she knew he couldn’t wed her. He set me mam up in her own place - Benton Street - bought it outright in case anythin’ happened to him. An’ once I was on the way he set up a bank account for her along with some bonds an’ such like. The thing is she was scared to death about havin’ a bairn with him away so much an’ she took somethin’. That’s why . . .’ He gestured at his legs. ‘It fair killed her later when she realized what she’d done. She was a good mam.’

  His voice was defensive and when Rosie said again, ‘I know she wasn’t bad, Zachariah, and it must have been hard for her,’ he nodded slowly.

  ‘Aye, no doubt, but there would be some who’d say she’d brought it on herself.’ A pause, and then, ‘Me da liked to run the odds with the customs blokes, got a right little enterprise goin’ he had, an’ after his ship went down, when I was just startin’ school, me mam started to handle the Sunderland end of it.’

  Rosie was wide-eyed now but suddenly a lot of things were making sense. ‘She didn’t have to do it, me da had left her nicely set up, but she . . . she liked the excitement, I suppose, an’ it kept her pally with all me da’s mates an’ such. They used to eat us out of house an’ home when their ships were in but me mam liked company. She never got over me da goin’, not really, an’ the way they talked an’ all . . . It comforted her. Not that she was a weak woman, by, no.’

  ‘Did you get involved in any . . . ?’ Rosie didn’t quite know how to describe it. Smuggling seemed a bit strong and yet that was what they were talking about.

  ‘Would you mind if I had?’ Zachariah asked quietly.

  She thought about it for a moment or two and then shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, not if it was in the past, but if you were doing it now I’d be worried.’

  ‘Well I didn’t anyway, me mam wouldn’t have it an’ likely she was right.’ He touched the ring on Rosie’s finger and his voice was soft when he said, ‘It was me mam’s one regret that she didn’t have his name, legal like. He gave her that ring along with a gold band the day he moved her into Benton Street, an’ although she called herself missus an’ held her head high the gossip hurt her. I used to hear her sobbin’ sometimes when he was away, an’ after, when his boat had gone down, she was bad for months. She still used to have her times of weepin’ for him right up to the day she died. It--’ He stopped abruptly, and when Rosie said, ‘Yes, what?’ he shook his head.

  ‘Zachariah, what?’ He had turned away from her and now she reached out and cupped his face, meeting his eyes as she said again, ‘What?’ her voice insistent.

  ‘It reminded me of her that night you cried for Davey Connor.’

  ‘Oh, Zachariah.’ She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I found meself thinkin’ it’d be worth dyin’ to have you cry like that for me.’

  There was a wealth of pain in his voice and now it was Rosie who shook her head as she said, ‘Oh, Zachariah, don’t you see? I don’t want to cry for you, I want to live for you.’

  Now they were clinging together and he was muttering against her lips, ‘I’ve money enough for us to live however you want, lass, however you want. Anythin’ you want, it’s yours.’

  She drew back slightly, touching his mouth with her fingertips, and when he stilled, his vivid blue eyes half closing, she felt the shiver that passed through him. This was a complicated man. A man who had been deeply scarred by life and yet who still had the capacity for great compassion and tenderness. And she loved him. She didn’t know what the next few hours would bring, but she loved him. And her love told her that it was Zachariah who needed reassurance about the night ahead, not her, and she would give it to him.

  When he took her into his arms she melted into him, her whole being striving to encourage and comfort and when he kissed her she kissed him back.

  And it was later, much later, when she lay awake in her husband’s arms in the big soft bed and listened to his measured, rhythmic breathing, that Rosie allowed herself to think of Davey. Davey Connor had left her - say what you will, dress it up how you like, he had, he’d left her. All right, he was dead now and you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Davey had made her think he cared about her in a hundred little ways that hadn’t needed words. He had made her love him and then, when she was at her lowest, he had gone. But Zachariah . . .

  He had been so gentle tonight. She shut her eyes tight for one moment, then opened them wide again in the darkness. And after that first brief pain it hadn’t been so bad in spite of her shyness. Sally had been right, he had known what he was doing. A brief smile touched her lips. And now they had years and years ahead of them, years in which to have a family, to live peacefully with their friends and family, to travel a bit if they wanted, to do anything . . .

  She was going to like being married.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Hold your horses, lass, hold your horses, I can’t take this in. You’re tellin’ me your Shane has always liked our Rosie?’

  May the good Lord give her strength ’cos you needed a measure an’ a half of it when you were trying to talk t
o Jessie. Annie McLinnie took a deep breath before she said, ‘Aye, that’s what I’m sayin’, an’ it’s more than likin’, Jessie. He come in the night afore their weddin’ like a man possessed, we’ve never had such a do. He was rantin’ an’ ravin’ we should’ve let him know--’

  ‘Let him know?’ Jessie’s brow wrinkled. ‘You knew where he was then? I thought . . .’

  ‘We’ve had an address the last couple of years,’ Annie admitted, ‘but we had to keep it quiet like, our Shane didn’t want anyone to know. Apparently there was some trouble afore he went, somethin’ to do with his sideline, you know?’ Jessie nodded; she’d put two and two together years ago and made four. ‘An’ he still wasn’t satisfied they’d be off his back if he came back.’

  ‘But if you had his address why didn’t you let him know?’

  How did she answer that? Annie hesitated. Her thoughts were one thing, but to malign her Shane to Jessie was quite another. If she answered truthfully she would have to say that she had been frightened to write Shane about the little lass’s news. And the way he had carried on that night a week ago had proved her right if nothing else. The fact that Rosie and Zachariah had wanted a quiet do with no fuss and that it had all happened so quickly had been to their advantage, added to which there had been no engagement, not official like anyways. It had been too late for Shane to do anything when he’d found out. Do anything? She felt her stomach turn over at the thought. She didn’t really think her Shane would have done anything, did she? Annie took a big gulp from the mug of tea Jessie had just handed her and sat down heavily at the wooden table covered with a clean oilcloth. Aye, she did. By, this was a rum do all round.

  ‘Annie?’ Jessie sat down opposite her and now her eyes were tight on this old friend of hers. ‘Why didn’t you let him know, lass?’

  ‘He likes her too much, Jessie. He always has.’ Annie’s voice was low and rapid but she needed to do this, she needed to put Jessie wise. Shane was back and according to what he’d screamed at them that night afore the wedding he intended to stay, and that meant . . . Jessie had to be put wise. She dare not let herself think beyond that. Jessie was better now, the last few months she’d been herself again which was strange really, with her Molly goodness knows where and Rosie marrying Zachariah and all, but she could cope with this now. She couldn’t have done before. And for her part she had never thought to see the day when she’d admit to being glad her boys had been laid off, but she wouldn’t have wanted to be in the house alone. Oh, what was she saying? She took another gulp of the strong black tea. May God forgive her. Her Shane wouldn’t hurt her, now then. But she’d spell it out to Jessie, you always needed to hammer something home with her. And then, if nothing else, her own conscience would be clear in that she’d done all that she could.

  Jessie was silent for a long time when Annie finished speaking. She was staring at the other woman fixedly, thinking, For this to happen now when everything was going so well. Not that she hadn’t been knocked sideways when Rosie had first told her about Zachariah the night Molly had gone; she had to admit she’d wondered what the lass was taking on with his handicap and all, but when she’d seen them together the next day and the days thereafter she’d had her mind put at rest. It was love all right, and love covered a multitude of sins. The saying was one of Joseph’s, and now the thought of him again emphasized how life had taken a turn for the better.

  Annie, who was always uncomfortable with silences, said, ‘When are they comin’ back off honeymoon anyway?’

  ‘What? Oh, tomorrow. But they’re not comin’ back here.’

  ‘Not . . . ?’ Annie’s face was perplexed.

  ‘It’s a secret, Zachariah didn’t want anyone to know in case they let on to Rosie an’ spoiled the surprise, but he’s bought a house in Roker.’ Jessie couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

  ‘Roker?’

  ‘Aye, overlookin’ the promenade. Lovely it is, an’ he’s had it furnished right grand, an’ there’s a run of garden at the front an’ a patch of nice lawn at the back. But don’t let on, Annie, not yet,’ Jessie added hastily. ‘Not a word, lass.’

  ‘You know me, pet, me lips are sealed.’ It said a lot for Annie that she didn’t speak her mind at this point, because if she had it would have been along the lines of, ‘Well, me lads have heard the odd tale about Zachariah, or his mam to be more precise, an’ it looks as though the stories about her saltin’ a packet away might be true, eh? Your Rosie has landed on her feet an’ no mistake.’ But it was none of her business, Annie told herself firmly, and any road, who was she to talk, with her Shane being in dirty dealings up to his neck? Them that lived in glass houses . . . ‘You goin’ with ’em to Roker, lass? You an’ Hannah?’

  Jessie shook her head. ‘No, Annie. Zachariah’s quite happy for us to stay here as long as we want an’ I’m of a mind a young couple should have a year or two on their own if they can. There’s not many round these parts can run to that.’

  ‘You’re right there, lass, by you are.’ Annie thought of the groups of men visible at every street corner these days, their coats, caps and mufflers on whatever the weather, and the same dead hopeless look on their faces. The shipyards and the mines were cutting back by the week, and it didn’t matter if you were a labourer, a riveter, a trimmer or a miner, you swallowed your pride and joined the dole queue or you and your family starved, and even with the dole the hordes of bairns scavenging on the coaltips for buckets of cinders bore evidence to the desperation of some families. ‘It’s a luxury, so it is.’

  Jessie nodded but her face was sober, her thoughts having travelled the same way as Annie’s. There was only Arthur in regular work now in the McLinnie household and they were feeling the pinch, no doubt about it. Since she had pulled herself together she’d tried to slip Annie the odd few shillings when she could, and a bit of this and that, but it was a drop in the ocean. The lads got the odd shift now and again, but although that might go some way to alleviating the soul-destroying hopelessness and bitter shame that was tearing the guts out of the men of Sunderland and Newcastle and South Shields and aye, the whole country, it didn’t pay the rent. There would be riots before long; they’d already started in some places, and the unions were nigh on useless. When she thought back to the wages her James had earned through the war and such she couldn’t believe what men were expected to keep families on now. Wages were supposed to go up, weren’t they? By, them days had been the heydays, even if each wage packet had been earned with blood, sweat and tears. The country was dying now.

  ‘I’d best be away, lass.’ It had been a sombre visit what with one thing and another and Annie wasn’t loath to end it. ‘My Arthur will be home soon an’ the lads’ll be ready for their dinner.’

  Jessie nodded again and then, as the two women walked out onto the landing and Annie glanced down the stairs, she said, ‘You gonna move downstairs, lass, if they’re not comin’ back, an’ have these two rooms as bedrooms?’

  ‘No.’ Jessie smiled. ‘Zachariah suggested it but Sally an’ her Mick are livin’ with his lot in Salem Street, an’ there’s fifteen of ’em squashed in them four rooms accordin’ to Rosie. She’s bin sayin’ for months she wished they could have a place of their own. Me an’ the bairn’ll move downstairs an’ let Sally have these rooms. She’s a nice lass, an’ my Rosie thinks a bit of her an’ Mick, an’ rightly so.’

  By, the difference a few months could make. And this thought was brought home again to Annie when Jessie followed her down the stairs to the doorstep where she thrust four ten-shilling notes into her hand.

  ‘What’s this, lass?’ Annie stared at the money as her throat closed and her eyes filled up. ‘You’ve given us more than enough the last little while, I can’t take all this now then.’

  ‘Oh aye, you can. Who was it who filled our bellies more than one night when James and the lads went, Annie McLinnie?’

  ‘But two pounds, Jessie.’

  ‘Aw, go on with you. Zachariah saw me all rig
ht afore he went away, he’s insistin’ we’re family now an’ Hannah an’ me won’t want for nothin’. Take it, lass. Please?’

  The last was said in such a way that all Annie could do was nod as she indulged in a rare show of affection and hugged Jessie tight for one moment, before stepping down heavily into the hot dusty street. God was good. Oh aye, God was good. Here she’d been fretting how she was going to fill her men’s bellies the week, and He’d filled her cup to overflowing.

  Annie was half talking, half praying, as she made her way down Benton Street, but as she reached the Dog and Rabbit on the corner and turned left towards the tram stop, the sound of a ship’s horn in the far distance barely registering on her consciousness, she suddenly stood stock still as her eyes alighted on the tall young man coming towards her in the muggy afternoon air. Davey Connor? It was, it was Davey Connor! She’d know him anywhere in spite of him being as brown as one of them from the Arab quarter down by the docks. She pressed her hand to her heart which had tried to jump out of her chest with shock and it was like that she watched him approach her. When he was within easy earshot she said, ‘Eee, eee, lad, is it really you? You gave me the gliff of me life! If I was after bein’ a lady I’d have had a fit of the vapours an’ no mistake.’

  ‘Hallo, Mrs McLinnie.’ The first old face he sees and it has to be Shane’s mam. But he liked Mrs McLinnie, he always had.

  ‘I don’t believe it, after all this time. How are you, lad?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mrs McLinnie, and I see you’re still as bonny as ever.’ Davey grinned at the fat shapeless figure, his eyes twinkling.