An accident? Flora had been in an accident? The intervening weeks were swept aside as though they had never been and everything in Rosie wanted to fly to Flora’s side. ‘What sort of an accident, Davey?’ she asked urgently. ‘Is she all right? Is Flora all right?’
Davey nodded once as he said, ‘Aye, of a sorts. Her da, he was leatherin’ her and her mam went for him. Did you know Mr Thomas used to knock ’em about?’
‘Flora and her mam?’ Rosie’s shocked face spoke for itself even as she thought, So that’s what it was! All these years, that’s what it had been.
‘No, I thought not. Apparently he’s been hitting them both for years but neither of them said a word to anyone. Anyway, there was a row this evening and Flora was getting the worst of it. She’d managed to get away from him and up to her bedroom and he’d come after her, trying to batter the door down by all accounts. When I got there the neighbours were out in the street and the old lady next door said there’d been all hell going on inside but it’d gone quiet just as I got there. And then in the next minute we heard Flora start screaming . . .’
‘If this had been going on for years did the neighbours know about it?’ Rosie asked shakily.
‘It’s been going on all right but this was the first time anyone had heard owt, according to the police after they’d questioned everyone. I don’t reckon they believed ’em but everyone keeps themselves to themselves in that part of Fulwell.’
‘The police? They got the police involved?’ This was from Zachariah, his voice sharp.
‘Aye. Her, the mother, Mrs Thomas, she’s dead. Broken neck. According to Flora’s da she came at him with the breadknife.’
‘She what!’
‘And in the struggle she fell down the stairs, at least that’s what Flora’s da is saying ’cos there’s no witnesses, Flora still being in her bedroom when it was all happening.’
‘Saints alive.’ Zachariah looked at Rosie and she at him, and then they both turned back to face Davey who was still ashen and clearly in shock. And no wonder. Mr Thomas had been hitting them? And now Flora’s mam was dead? And he was actually saying that that little mouse of a woman had attacked him?
‘Flora’s in the infirmary.’ Davey shook his head, drawing the breath hard through his nose before continuing. ‘They thought it best ’cos she went crazy when she saw her mam, screaming and trying to get at him. She kept calling for you, Rosie, all the time she was there, but they wouldn’t have any of it and they sedated her so she didn’t know what she was doing in the end. But once it wears off . . .’
‘I’ll go to her. Of course I’ll go to her.’ Rosie glanced round abstractedly as though she was going to take off that minute and then, as Zachariah’s hands covered her own and he said, ‘Come on, lass, she’ll be all right. Don’t fret,’ she leant fully against him, her head on his shoulder as she murmured, ‘Why didn’t she ever say, Zachariah? She should have said.’
‘Aye, lass. Look, we’ll go to the infirmary first thing but I can’t see the point of you goin’ now when they’ve given her somethin’ to make her sleep. She’ll be out for the count.’
‘But what if she wakes up and asks for me again?’
‘She won’t.’ Zachariah’s voice was firm. ‘An’ there’s someone else to consider besides you an’ Flora in all this you know.’
Rosie thought for a moment he meant himself and then when he nodded pointedly at her stomach his meaning became clear.
She couldn’t look at Davey, and when his voice came a moment later saying, ‘Do I understand congratulations are in order?’ she still didn’t raise her head as Zachariah answered, ‘Aye, too true, man. It’s due the end of April.’
His voice was so proud it made her want to weep.
‘Then of course she must get a good night’s sleep before she goes in.’
They were talking over her now as though she wasn’t there and normally she would have reacted strongly, but tonight Rosie didn’t mind. All her thoughts were with Flora.
Davey left after a few minutes, again refusing the offer of tea and then Zachariah’s suggestion of something stronger, and Rosie herself did not press him to linger, something that Davey noticed.
He walked briskly down the street away from the house and the lighted doorway with its two occupants, and after raising his hand at the end of the street in farewell he walked on a few more yards before pausing and drawing the icy air deep into his lungs. He had felt sorry for Flora tonight, gut sorry, her screams and her cries had turned him inside out, and if the police hadn’t turned up when they did he would have gone for her father right enough. So why, when he had been in the midst of such a tragedy with such awful consequences, had the news of a future new life affected him so adversely? That wasn’t right, was it?
He shook his head at himself, swearing softly before he started walking again. He should never have come back to Sunderland.
The Sunderland Infirmary had been founded in May 1794, and after moving from Chester Road to Durham Road in 1867 had been extended several times throughout the 1880s and 1890s, but as Rosie and Zachariah approached the vastly imposing building with its grand steepled towers, Rosie was barely conscious of the magnificent hospital. Her heart was aching for the emotionally battered young woman within its benignant confines.
What was she going to say to Flora? How was this monstrous abomination - her da killing her mam, her mam - going to affect her friend? And this gulf that had come between them, she had lain awake half the night agonizing over that, along with the fact that you never really knew someone, not deep deep down inside. She had known something was wrong at Flora’s house, but that? Never. And Flora wanting Davey . . . The tram creaked and rattled down the street, past the wall with its railings above and bare-limbed trees beyond which formed the perimeter of the Infirmary grounds. She would never have imagined that in her wildest dreams but it was a fact. She had faced it last night, head on and without any shirking, and in the facing of it she had felt a deep, consuming sadness envelop her. But along with the poignant sense of grief had come the knowledge that she didn’t want to lose Flora. She loved her. You couldn’t do away with nineteen years of friendship just like that.
‘Penny for ’em?’
The tram had rumbled to a halt and now, as Zachariah helped her down off the step and the raw air caused Rosie to take an involuntary gasp, she pulled her hat further over her ears before she said, ‘They aren’t worth a penny, Zachariah.’
‘Now that I doubt, lass.’ But he didn’t press her further, simply taking her arm and tucking it in his as he said, ‘Careful now, we don’t want you visitin’ an’ then stayin’ on as a patient, these pavements are all ice.’
Once inside the antiseptic confines of the Infirmary, Rosie found the sheer size of the place overwhelmed her, and she was glad of Zachariah’s presence as he made the necessary enquiries and they eventually made their way through the endless maze of cold corridors to Flora’s ward.
They had been warned - by the reception staff and also a nurse and then a porter they had stopped to ask directions of - that there was little chance of their being allowed to see Flora outside normal visiting hours, but on reaching the ward and speaking to the sister in charge, the whole situation altered. Yes indeed they could see Miss Thomas, the small, sharp-eyed sister informed them abruptly, her voice clipped and tight. If nothing else it might serve to alleviate the distress Miss Thomas was causing the other patients with her undisciplined behaviour. The sister had had to post a nurse at the side of Miss Thomas the whole time, such was her conduct, and didn’t Miss Thomas realize that that meant other patients were being denied the care they needed?
But perhaps the other patients hadn’t just lost their mother in violent circumstances which had necessitated their father being taken into police custody? Rosie kept her voice calm and even as she spoke, but from the glare the sister gave her the message had gone home and was not appreciated.
‘I’ll wait here, lass.’ As the nurse the sis
ter had designated to lead them to Flora’s side gestured for them to follow her, Zachariah pointed to one of the three straight-backed wooden chairs in the small waiting area outside the ward. ‘It’s you she wants to see.’
For a moment, as the prim-faced nurse gestured towards the far end of the utilitarian ward to the narrow iron bed which had an equally prim-faced nurse sitting on a chair at the side of it, Rosie didn’t recognize the occupant. And then Flora saw her, sitting up and facing her fully as she said, ‘Rosie, oh, Rosie,’ and holding out her arms, and Rosie saw her friend beneath the puffy swollen face and wild tangle of hair.
She was at Flora’s side in an instant, her heart melting with pity, and for long minutes she just sat on the bed holding Flora close as they cried together, and even when Rosie’s face became dry she continued to enfold Flora as a mother might her child and murmur soothing words of comfort into the knotted curls of her hair.
‘I . . . I didn’t know if you would come.’
When at last Flora moved away to look into her face, Rosie’s eyes were soft as she said, ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I’ve done it all wrong, haven’t I? You . . . you must hate me.’
‘Do you hate me?’
‘No, but--’
‘Well then, how could I possibly hate you, you daft hen?’
‘Oh, Rosie.’ Flora was holding on to her again as she sobbed against her shoulder. ‘My poor mam, my poor, poor mam.’
‘I know, I know.’
The nurse had been standing at the end of the bed through all this and now, as Rosie caught her eye, she saw the young girl wasn’t so prim-faced after all, and there was sympathy in her eyes as she said, ‘You’re her friend? She’s been hoping you would come. I’m afraid she’s taking it hard, which is understandable in the circumstances. Are you staying for a while?’ And at Rosie’s nod, ‘Perhaps you’d call me when you have to go? We don’t want Miss Thomas left alone at the moment.’ ‘She won’t be left alone.’
It was another twenty-four hours before the Infirmary would release Flora into Rosie and Zachariah’s care, but mid-day Thursday, once a white-faced Flora was installed in one of the spare bedrooms, Rosie broke the news the doctor at the hospital had divulged to her when she and Zachariah had arrived that morning. Mr Thomas had been allowed home the night before. The police were satisfied that Mrs Thomas had fallen accidentally when Mr Thomas had been attempting to defend himself from his wife’s attack. There was absolutely no evidence, according to the police, to substantiate Flora’s claim that her father had beaten his wife and daughter in the past. And the fact that the argument had begun because Flora had refused to be interrogated by her father on the subject of her relationships with a wealthy shipyard owner’s son on the one hand, and a penniless ex-miner on the other, had even seemed to elicit some sympathy for Mr Thomas with the powers that be.
Flora had sat ashen-faced as Rosie had spoken and then she had slipped down beneath the covers, turned on her side and shut her eyes. Rosie had continued to sit with her until she was sure Flora was asleep - the medication the doctor had insisted on was strong - and then she had tiptoed downstairs and told Zachariah of Flora’s reaction to her father’s release.
‘Likely she’s still in shock, lass, an’ the journey home was enough for mind an’ body to cope with. She’ll discuss it when she’s ready.’
And it was later that day, when the murky grey light of the winter’s afternoon had begun to fade into evening, that Flora appeared in the kitchen as Rosie was kneading lumps of dough into loaves and putting them into small bread tins.
‘There you are.’ Rosie spoke as though Flora had popped out of the room a moment before. ‘Come and sit down and I’ll make some tea once I’ve finished this bread. How are you feeling?’
‘Awful.’ But Flora managed the semblance of a smile.
Rosie left the dough for a moment and walked across to give the wan figure a quick hug, saying as she did so, ‘You’re doing fine, lass. Awful though it is you’ll get through this, I know you.’ She pushed her down into one of the straight-backed chairs at the table before returning to the tins, and Flora glanced about her.
‘This is a lovely kitchen, Rosie, and you’ve got it looking real nice.’ Her eyes took in the big blackleaded range with its glowing fire, the rosy reflection on the steel-topped and brass-tailed fender and row of copper saucepans, and the general air of sparkling cleanliness married to warm cosiness.
‘It was like this when we moved in, I just keep it up to scratch.’ Rosie placed the tins along the fender and covered them with two clean tea towels before she placed the kettle on the hob. ‘It won’t take a minute to boil.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’ Flora tried to smile again but as her lips quivered Rosie hurried to her side, putting her arm round the narrow shoulders as she said quietly, ‘It’s all right to cry, Flora. Don’t try and hold it in.’
‘I just can’t believe they’ve let my da out.’ Flora looked up at Rosie, her eyes reflecting her bewilderment. ‘And as for him saying that my mam went for him, that’s such rubbish, Rosie, it is. I reckon he brought that carving knife upstairs to use on me, and when he couldn’t get at me he lost his temper with her and hit her and she lost her footing. Mam wouldn’t even think of going for him, I know that better than anybody. My mam’s put up with hell on earth over the years ’cos she was so scared of him. But I’m not going to let this drop. I want him done for murder ’cos that’s what it was.’
Rosie nodded, even as she thought, How would Flora cope with having to stand up in court and reveal the ill treatment she and her mother had suffered in silence for years? And Mr Thomas obviously wasn’t going to admit to it, he would lie and Flora would have to challenge him. It would be a dreadful strain on top of the terrible tragedy of losing her mother.
Flora’s mind seemed to be moving along the same channels because she next said, ‘’Course he’ll lie through his teeth, he’s started already. I . . . I did tell him that Peter was just a friend, but I didn’t say there was anything between Davey and me. He just assumed that ’cos he saw me out with him. Davey’s never said anything about us courting or anything like that.’
‘But you like him,’ Rosie said steadily as she walked across to the hob and lifted the kettle, bringing it to the kitchen table where she poured water on top of the tea in the brown teapot. Flora didn’t reply, and now Rosie turned to her, looking her full in the face as she repeated, ‘You like him, don’t you? It’s all right.’
‘You don’t mind?’
Mind? She minded so much she ached with it. ‘No, of course not. I have Zachariah, don’t I, and . . . and I want you to be happy.’ That sounded ridiculous in view of the present circumstances and Rosie quickly qualified it with, ‘Well, you know what I mean. I want you to have someone.’ And she did, she did. She just wished it had been anyone other than Davey so that she didn’t have to live a lie. But she and Zachariah could move away. She had already talked to him about a change of lifestyle away from the town, a smallholding or farm maybe, and he hadn’t been averse to the idea, only qualifying it by saying he would want them to wait until the bairn was born and she was completely back on her feet again. And if they left they would probably only see Flora and Davey once in a blue moon. She could cope with that, couldn’t she? And there would be the child, and others - God willing. That thought prompted her to say, ‘Did you know I’m expecting a baby?’ ‘You are?’ Flora’s face lit up, the haunted sad expression lifting for a moment, and she sprang up from her seat, reaching across the table and taking Rosie’s hands as she said, ‘Oh I’m pleased for you, I am, Rosie. Oh, that’s wonderful.’
Did she detect a certain element of relief as well as gladness in Flora’s voice? A recognition that a child, her and Zachariah’s child, was further substantiation that she was a married woman, soon to be a mother as well as a wife? Oh, what did it matter anyway? It was the truth. There could be no ‘wondering’ as to how things might have been, it simply wasn’t an option.
The two women continued to sit and talk as the sky outside became black and the wind began to howl a warning of the snowstorm that had been forecast earlier in the day. Flora cried some more as she spoke about the years of violent beatings she and her mother had suffered, and Rosie found herself marvelling at the endurance in the slim frame of the girl sitting across the table to her. She had thought her da and the lads dying, their subsequent poverty, her mother’s insobriety and Molly’s defection into degradation were enough problems for any family, but this with Flora, this was awful. To whom did you run when the very person who should be protecting you, loving you, was the source of all your pain?
Rosie took Zachariah a cup of tea at half past five and found him dozing in front of the sitting-room fire, and as she sat with him a moment before returning to Flora she told herself, fiercely and silently, that she was lucky, she was so so lucky. Half of the folks round these parts - no, more than half, a darn sight more - didn’t know where their next meal was coming from. The mass of black-capped, dark-clothed men standing outside the pits and steelyards was growing every day, the dole queues were lengthening and it was only the soup kitchens keeping some families alive. The mine owners were talking of longer hours for less wages and holding out pit-head baths as some sort of inducement; better working conditions they called it. She knew how her da and the lads would have viewed that - the same as the rest of the men round here did. Insulting. ‘Carrots for donkeys’ she had heard one old miner’s wife describe it as in the Co-op, and everyone had agreed with her. How could pit baths fill hungry bairns’ bellies? And here she was in clover, with her bairn being born into luxury she couldn’t have dreamed of even a year ago. Aye, she was lucky all right. The broad idiom, which always came in moments of high emotion, made her think of her mother, and that led on to Flora’s mother, and she said, ‘I’d better get back to her, Zachariah.’
Reach for Tomorrow Page 24