Reach for Tomorrow

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘Well, we’ll see, lass.’ Davey rose to his feet, offering her his hand, and again his attraction swamped Flora and it was all she could do not to shiver as she placed her fingers in his warm flesh.

  He couldn’t go, she wouldn’t let him go, no matter what she had to do to make him stay. This was her chance, it was; the way things had worked out it was all meant to be, and she would make him fall in love with her if it was the last thing she did. Oh, Davey . . .

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Zachariah, where are we going?’

  Rosie had known Zachariah was excited and keyed up about something from the moment she had awoken in the big double bed at the hotel and found him lying on one elbow watching her, his eyes as bright as a bairn’s on Christmas morning. He had made the excuse that he was eager to get home now their honeymoon was over and start being Mr and Mrs Price, and at first she had believed him. But now their horsedrawn cab had passed Hendon and she smelled a rat.

  ‘Trust me, lass, eh?’ He grinned at her, raising his eyebrows before adding, his voice conciliatory, ‘It’s a surprise, a nice ’un, an’ that’s all I’m sayin’.’

  Rosie grimaced at him but her eyes were soft. They had something special, very special; they were friends as well as lovers. Now if she spoke that out loud to any of her friends - even Flora - they wouldn’t have a clue what she was on about. As far as they were concerned life followed a certain pattern: you started courting, and only on particular nights mind, ones that didn’t interfere with the lad’s darts matches and such like, and in due course you got married. Then the wife started having bairns and the man continued with his regular nights at the local club along with Saturday afternoons watching football which he’d take his bairns to - them being lads of course - as soon as they could toddle.

  Would Davey have been like that? The thought came from nowhere and made her blink, but immediately she answered, Aye, yes, he would have been. He had been a working-class northerner - he would have thought and spoken in a certain way and she would have expected him to, and in spite of his desire to get out of the pit and work above ground he would still have been as narrowminded as the rest of them, as she would have been if Zachariah hadn’t broadened her understanding and encouraged her to think for herself more and more.

  When they drove into Roker the sun was out and the light was luminous on the glittering blue sea beyond the sea-wall facing the dignified houses of The Terrace. Their driver stopped the cab at number seventeen, and Zachariah almost bounded onto the pavement, his handsome face lit up from within as he held out his hand for Rosie to step down.

  ‘We’re home, lass.’ The vivid blue gaze showed an intensity of purple, and Rosie, staring deep into the beautiful eyes, saw a depth of love that almost pained her.

  She made a barely perceptible motion with her head, but what he saw in her face appeared to satisfy him and he smiled, unclasping her hand and drawing her arm through his as he said, ‘Come on, Mrs Price. Come an’ inspect your new habitat.’

  And so it was like that, their fingers entwined and their bodies close, that they entered their home.

  And now it was their first Sunday at number seventeen, The Terrace, and the bright August sunshine and mild warm breeze furthered Rosie’s sense of wellbeing as she prepared the vegetables for lunch in the big stone-flagged kitchen at the back of the house. Zachariah had thought of everything when he had had the house furnished, she thought tenderly. From the lovely carpet and rich three-piece suite in the sitting room, right down to mundane essentials like the shining set of kitchen knives in the well-equipped cupboards in the kitchen.

  She was lucky, she was so, so lucky, and not because of this house and her sudden newfound wealth either. No, it was Zachariah she was thankful for. What other man would have been happy for her to continue working when they were married? Not one, not one she knew of, especially if he was as well set up as Zachariah was. The men round here would have expected their wife to be at their beck and call, there would have been no question of their spouse working outside the home unless dire necessity commanded it. But Zachariah knew how much she loved her job and that it would have sent her mad to sit around and twiddle her thumbs all day.

  And of course it helped that he had his own interests and outlets, begun years before he’d met her. He was a stout member of the Hendon working men’s club, and she knew his financial contribution and time spent organizing the club’s various activities were generous, but his main concern - the Maritime Almshouses in Bishopswearmouth which stood between Crowtree Road and Maritime Place - was a responsibility he took very seriously.

  As the name suggested the almshouses were intended for the care of the widows and unmarried daughters of master mariners, and with Sunderland’s high proportion of seamen the problem was not a small one. The almshouses had been built in 1820, but by the beginning of the twentieth century they were providing relief for an average of three hundred widows and eight hundred children.

  Zachariah spent several half days a week at the grim line of terraced dwellings which were enclosed by a high wall and approached through an arched gate, and, as chairman of the board, had fought to raise living conditions for those the almshouses were supporting, and create a sense of purpose and encourage initiative for those inmates attempting to better themselves.

  He was a good man, such a good man, and she loved him so much. She wanted everyone to be as happy as she was; Flora for instance. Rosie’s smile dimmed and her hands became still. She had sent a note inviting Flora and Peter to lunch but had heard nothing. Her mother and Hannah and Joseph were coming, along with Sally and Mick, but it wouldn’t be the same without Flora, not for her at least. She had thought of asking Mr and Mrs McLinnie but her mother had told her Annie was ill in bed with influenza and so she hadn’t bothered. But this with Flora, she didn’t understand it. She would make sure she saw her friend this week and find out if anything was wrong.

  ‘You finished in here yet, lass?’

  Zachariah’s voice caused Rosie to turn and smile at the fair-haired figure in the doorway before answering, her tone cheeky, ‘Oh, I’ve married a slave-driver, I should have known it was too good to be true. If you’re so worried there’s another knife on the side there and the carrots to do.’

  ‘Aye, all right.’

  As Zachariah approached the kitchen table Rosie said quickly, ‘I was only joking, you know I was only joking. Go and sit down.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Zachariah with lazy good humour, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Aye, why? I’m sittin’ there like King Canute in the sittin’ room an’ missin’ you, an’ you’re workin’ in here. It’s daft, lass. We might as well sort out the dinner atween us.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘What?’ The raised eyebrows dared her to say it.

  ‘It’s not done. I mean, it’s a woman’s job to get the meals and all . . .’ Her voice trailed away as he shook his head sorrowfully.

  ‘By, I can see there’s still plenty of work to be done in the education line with you, Rosie Price.’ Zachariah grinned at her, but then his tone changed and the look on his face made her warm as he said, ‘I’d be with you every minute if I could, lass, you know that, an’ there’s no his an’ hers, not in this house. I don’t care what the rest of ’em outside these four walls do an’ think, I only care about us two, an’ we both know I’m the man an’ you’re the woman, all right?’

  ‘All right.’ She smiled slowly and then, when he moved to her side and began undoing the front of her blouse she protested, but weakly, ‘They’ll be here soon an’ I’ve all the vegetables still to do.’

  ‘There’s more important things than vegetables to see to.’ He had peeled back the cups of her bra and was supporting the ripe fullness of her breasts on the palms of his hands, and as he bent his head she trembled and arched at what his mouth began to do to her. She was panting when he raised his head again, her lips half open and moist, and when he drew her over to
the large thick clippy mat in front of the enormous range she went willingly.

  Dinner was half an hour late but no one seemed to care; with Sally on top form, it was doubtful if anyone even noticed. Once lunch was over Rosie shooed everyone out into the garden, promising a tray of tea once she had done the washing up, and accepting Sally’s offer of help with a smile and a nod.

  ‘I reckon Mr Green’s fair gone on your mam.’

  ‘Sally, shush.’ Sally’s voice carried and the window was open.

  The two girls were alone in the kitchen but Rosie still made a flapping motion with her hand as she glanced out of the kitchen window to the little group settled under the shade of the beech tree at the far end of the small thin stretch of lawn.

  ‘It’s all right, they can’t hear, but I’m tellin’ you I’m right. Haven’t you noticed him moonin’ over the biscuits an’ sighin’ into the cheeses these days, an’ he’s dead keen for her to take Mabel’s position now she’s leavin’. He’s called round at the house twice this week an’ all, an’ when I answered the door the last time he was all red round the collar.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, with you answering the door,’ Rosie said drily. ‘I bet you put the poor man in a spot.’

  ‘No, not really.’ It was too airy, and Sally came clean as she grinned wickedly and added, ‘I only asked him who the flowers were for an’ began whistlin’ “It had to be you”, that’s all.’

  ‘He bought her flowers?’

  ‘Oh aye, nice big bunch an’ all, an’ you know how tight he is. He’s got it bad, I’m tellin’ you, lass.’

  Joseph Green and her mother. Well, hadn’t she been thinking the same thing? She had sensed they liked each other from that very first meeting. He’d be a kind stepfather to Hannah and the child had already taken to him without any reservations, and for her mother to have someone again . . . It would be the best thing that could happen. Joseph was strong enough to handle that difficult side of her mother without suppressing the capable element that was taking hold again.

  The kitchen having been restored to gleaming brightness, Rosie had just placed the milk jug on the tea tray when both girls were arrested for a moment by the sound of the front-door bell. Rosie looked at Sally, wrinkling her brow as she said, ‘Who on earth . . . ?’ and then, with an eager note, ‘Oh, it must be Flora. I wrote her if she couldn’t make lunch she was welcome to come this afternoon with Peter. Let them in, Sally, would you, while I mash the tea and put two extra cups on.’

  Rosie heard the sound of voices, one of which was unmistakably Flora’s, and as footsteps came along the hall she lifted a bright smiling face to the doorway, words of welcome hovering on her lips. But they were never voiced. She saw Flora pause in the doorway, her arm in that of a tall suntanned man. She heard her friend say, her voice nervous and high and giggly, ‘I didn’t know how to tell you, Rosie, but seeing is believing, isn’t that what they say!’ But the words were remote as though she was hearing them from a great distance. All she could focus on were a pair of achingly familiar hazel eyes set in a face that was older, much older, and unsmiling. She felt for a second that they were all suspended in space - each tiny detail of the frozen tableau crystal clear and bitingly sharp - and then the moment shattered into a million tiny pieces and the blood pounded into her head so fast it made her dizzy as Davey said, calmly, even stiffly, ‘Hallo, Rosie. It’s been a long time.’

  She felt her fingers lose their grasp on the teapot and again it seemed to fall to the floor in slow motion, which was part of the strangeness of it all, but then, as the thick brown ceramic pot smashed and the boiling tea splashed over her feet, she let out a scream shrill enough to wake the dead.

  From that point it was all action for a few minutes. Rosie was aware of Sally thrusting the two in the doorway aside so roughly Flora almost overbalanced, and rushing to her side, of answering shouts from the garden and following that, Zachariah appearing next to Sally, but such was the pain in her feet she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. ‘Wash the tea off, wash it off with cold water an’ then get some butter on her feet.’ This was from Jessie who had just joined them and taken in the situation with one glance, and after Sally had pushed her down onto a kitchen chair, and her mother had washed the tea off with a wet cloth before dabbing them dry, it was all Rosie could do not to give in to the feeling of faintness the pain was inducing. It was Zachariah who knelt at her feet and applied the butter gently to her burnt red skin, but light though his touch was she could barely stand it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rosie, it was the shock, wasn’t it. I was the same.’ Flora was babbling away in the background and when Sally asked her what she meant, and Flora explained, there was a moment’s silence before Sally said, in her usual forthright way, ‘You stupid blighter, Flora,’ which summed up what everyone was thinking but no one but Sally would have dared to say.

  For her part Rosie was urgently aware of Zachariah’s eyes on her face when the initial pain in her seared feet settled into a just bearable pulsating throb, and the words he had spoken on their wedding night were ringing in her mind. What she said and did over the next few moments would determine his peace of mind in the future, and it was this awareness that caused her to lean forward and touch Zachariah’s cheek with the palm of her hand before she did anything else. When she spoke her voice carried a soft intimacy that was not lost on the others present, and what she said was, ‘Thank you, my love, I’ll be all right, don’t worry.’ She smiled at him, keeping her gaze on his face for some seconds more before she raised her head and turned to embrace the rest of the room.

  ‘I’m sorry for all the drama, but it’s the first time someone has come back from the dead in my kitchen.’ She forced herself to smile, and her gaze swept over them all, not lingering on any one person. Then, when she finally allowed herself to look into Davey’s face, it was only for as long as it took her to say, ‘Hallo, Davey. You’ve met my husband before, haven’t you, when I first went to lodge at his house in Benton Street?’ and then she purposefully turned her eyes from hard challenging hazel to bright piercing blue.

  This was no marriage of convenience. Davey experienced an actual physical pain in his chest the moment Rosie turned away. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that. And the devil of it was, he had liked Zachariah when he had met him five years ago.

  Damn it all, what was he doing hanging around these parts anyway? He should have gone as soon as he had found out how things were. It certainly wasn’t the shipyard that was keeping him, that was for sure. He was grateful enough to Peter Baxter for giving him work when it was denied the milling throng of casual pieceworkers who stood outside the shipyard gates each morning, but the last few days had been hell on earth, with the deafening banging and hammering that was a constant background to the exhausting, filthy and dangerous work in Baxter’s yard. It was addling his brains and sending him barmy. Or perhaps it wasn’t the shipyard that was sending him barmy.

  He gritted his teeth and then, as Jessie urged them all through to the garden, took Flora’s arm and followed the others out of the kitchen, leaving Rosie and Zachariah together.

  ‘It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it,’ said Rosie quietly.

  It was nine o’clock that evening and everyone had gone home. Zachariah was sitting on their bed fully dressed next to Rosie who was in her nightie on top of the covers, the windows open to capture the cool night breeze.

  Rosie’s feet were paining her, but it wasn’t her sore and blistered skin she was thinking of. Flora and Davey had only stayed a short time, but the others hadn’t made their goodbyes until a few minutes ago. Rosie hadn’t had a chance to talk to Zachariah about Davey’s reappearance with the company still present, but she knew it had to be done promptly and without any equivocation.

  ‘Aye, you could say that.’ Zachariah’s voice was grim. He had been furious with Flora about the accident and it had taken him all his time to be civil to her in the twenty or so minutes she and Davey had stayed. ‘If that lass wasn�
��t such a good pal of yours I’d have bin very tempted to put me boot up her backside.’

  ‘Oh, Zachariah.’ Rosie leant against him for a moment. If she were to speak the truth she would have to admit she hadn’t understood Flora’s behaviour today. In fact it wasn’t too extreme to say that the girl who had arrived and left with Davey Connor had been a stranger to her. Davey Connor. He was alive, he was alive. She still found it hard to believe, but then the whole half an hour or so had been surreal. Flora had been nervous and animated and skittish, and Davey had been so different - self-assured, cold even - viewing them all as though they were insects under a microscope. She felt it had been a relief to everyone when the two of them had left.

  And she couldn’t understand why Flora hadn’t given her some prior warning - a note, anything - when she of all people should know how much of a shock Davey’s resurrection would be.

  Oh, Davey. For the first time since she had seen him standing in the doorway of the kitchen Rosie admitted the depth of the feeling which had assailed her and her stomach turned right over. But she loved Zachariah too, she did, and he must be wondering about all this. And he must not wonder. He mustn’t be afraid. She would rather die than hurt him. That thought brought a measure of relief and perspective into the situation that had suddenly exploded into their lives, and was an echo of the declaration she had made to herself in the kitchen earlier.

  ‘I love you, you know.’ The words came easy now as she turned to him, lifting her face in a manner that invited him to kiss her.

  When he withdrew his lips from hers he didn’t say anything for a moment, and then his voice was very soft when he said, ‘Love seems too weak a word, too well used an’ ordinary to express how I feel about you, but if ever your feelin’ for me changed I’d want you to tell me, lass. I mean that.’