by Ruth Sutton
‘Don’t shake your head.’ John’s voice was loud in the quiet room. ‘And don’t tell me it was my idea to hide the truth about us. I was young and upset and I wanted you not to send me away. But that was a long time ago. I’m grown now. I want my own life. I could have told her on Saturday, I wanted to but I waited. I’m telling you now to give you the chance to do something yourself, if you want to. I don’t know whether she’ll tell anyone else, even if I ask her not to. It’s been long enough. I want to stop lying.’
He stood up. Jessie was looking into the fire. Her eyes were bright.
’Maybe it’s time I gave up the job,’ she said quietly, as if to herself. ‘They don’t want me there.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘The other teacher, the one who was in the navy, and the vicar. He was in the war too. They talk about it, about me. I think Alan Crompton wants my job. He thinks I’m old-fashioned.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘You’ve never understood all that, have you?’ she said, looking up at him. ‘I changed my name and lied about you all this time to protect myself from people like that, people who think someone like me can’t do a job, can’t have authority. If – when – this comes out, that’ll give them the chance they want. They’ll have me out of the school, and that means the house as well. That’s what he really wants – Crompton. He wants the house.’
‘But that’s so old-fashioned,’ said John. ‘Things have changed. Women work now, if they want to.’
‘Teaching’s different, John, even now, and especially if those two are prepared to make a fuss. They could stir up the parents, enough of them anyway.’
‘But you’ve been there for years,’ John said. ‘You could fight them.’
‘I’m not sure I want to,’ she said. ‘I’ve been teaching for nearly thirty years. Maybe it’s time I let someone else do it. I’ve still got enough energy to try something else. The money’s not so important any more.’
‘What about the schoolhouse?’
‘Alan’s right about the house, I suppose. It’s too big for one person. He has two children. It makes sense for him to have it. And I have an alternative.’
‘Here?’
‘It’s what Agnes has always wanted. When you came along, she wanted us all to live here, don’t you remember? Like a happy family.’
John had forgotten that. ‘Isn’t that a bit … you know, strange.’
‘Not really. Two spinsters, sharing a house as they get older. People would talk about it, but it wouldn’t really matter.’
John pushed back towards what had brought him here.
‘It’s all falling apart, Jessie,’ he said. ‘Face it. We can’t keep this up any longer.’
His mother was thinking, her hand to her mouth. ‘When do you want to tell her?’
‘Soon.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Maggie? She’s wonderful. A bit like Hannah, but younger. And she’s beautiful, and straightforward. She says what she means. I like that. She would expect me to be honest with her.’
‘Does she have a job?’
‘I don’t think so. She’s never mentioned it. Her mother does something at the pit, and her father is at home. He was injured, he’s in a wheelchair.’
‘How long have you known her?’
‘Only a few weeks. Seems longer. My life might be going to change. I want it to change. Time is going by and I want to be happy.’
‘You make it sound so simple,’ said his mother.
He looked at her. ‘What will you do?’
‘Nothing much. I won’t need to. If you tell this person –’
‘Maggie,’ he prompted.
‘Yes, well, the word will gradually filter down the coast, like whooping cough, carried on the wind. Agnes already knows. I’ll tell the Leadbetters myself. And Dr Dawson,’ she added, thinking about how he might react. ‘I don’t know what will happen after that. Things will change.’
‘Lying makes me tired,’ said John.
‘Me, too,’ Jessie agreed. ‘How long have I got, did you say?’
‘I’m seeing Maggie on Friday, I want to tell her then.’
She looked up suddenly. ‘Friday? That’s impossible. I can’t tell the Leadbetters now, with Lionel so ill. He’s out of hospital and getting better, but – I need longer, John. Can’t it wait till Christmas at least? Fresh start in the New Year?’
John hesitated. He hardly knew the Leadbetters, and didn’t care about them, but he knew they were important to Jessie. Could it wait? It had been only a few weeks. He might be wrong about Maggie.
‘Alright,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll wait a bit longer. I hope Lionel gets better.’
‘Thank you, dear. I understand, I do really, but it’s all such a rush. I have to think what to say. And I’d like to talk to Agnes.’
‘When is she back?’
‘They’re letting her go early for Christmas. I don’t really know how her job works. She doesn’t talk about it. I think she said the middle of December. I could ring her and check.’
John had stopped listening. He was disappointed with himself. Jessie had got her way, again, or that’s how it felt.
‘I have to go,’ he said.
‘Thank you for coming.’ She was smiling now. He left the house quickly and drove home too fast. He had come so close to getting what he wanted, and then he’d crumbled. Maggie wouldn’t have done that, but she was stronger than him. He felt unworthy of her, and the thought haunted him until he fell asleep, late in the night.
* * *
Jessie heard the bike engine revving away up the drive and sat back in the chair. The fire was nearly out and she took the precious coal in her fingers, placing it carefully one piece at a time, to make it last a little longer. Then she lay back, her head thumping with pain. Suddenly she thought about Andrew. He wouldn’t care about John; he’d known for years that she was a liar. Maybe that was why she kept thinking about going to Toronto. It wasn’t just about a fresh start, away from having to count pieces of coal and slices of bread. She yearned to be able to drop her guard, to be in a place where the people around her neither knew nor cared about the past. Or maybe she wanted to be with Andrew because he wanted her. He saw in her what others seemed to miss. All her life she’d been respected for her brain, but she had a body too, and that’s what he’d loved, with all his young passion. There had been that one bad night when he had hurt her, but the Andrew she had seen recently would not do that. The war had mellowed him. He would protect her in a new life, if she chose to take that risk.
Risk. Was changing your life such a risk when you didn’t want the life you had, or it didn’t want you? She could walk away, let the new men take over the school, and the village, and the church and everything else. Who would miss her, she wondered. She listed the people in her life, one at a time. She was part of their lives, but not the most important person for any one of them. Nobody really loved her. Apart from one: Jessie knew that Agnes loved her. She’d known it since John had come back into her life, but maybe even before that. That’s why Agnes had been so upset about Andrew. She didn’t want Agnes, not like that. But she could trust her: Agnes was the only one who knew it all.
For a little while Jessie lay quietly on the comfortable sofa in Agnes’s house, listening to the faint crackle of the fire, thinking about her life. She had much to be happy about, but she knew she was not. Looking ahead brought no comfort. She could find the energy to fight back, or she could take the easy way out and leave, as Andrew had done, when the pull of the future and fear of the present had combined in an irresistible urge to be gone.
CHAPTER 9
‘ARE YOU ALREET, PET?’
Maggie realised she’d been unusually quiet as she and her mother walked to work. Even when other people had joined them, heading for the early shift in the morning dark, Maggie hadn’t joined in the conversation and had slipped to the back of the group. Now she and her mother were tucking their h
air firmly into place under scarves and hats, preparing for the first rush of unsorted coal into the shed and the start of the toiling day.
‘Aye, Mam, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just thinking, you know.’
‘Is it that lad?’
‘Hush, Mam. We’re not talking about that, not ’ere. You know what they’re like.’
The noise of the shed cut the conversation mercifully short. Maggie didn’t want to talk, not to her mother, or the girls at work. She wasn’t sure about anything except that she liked the man and didn’t want to share anything yet with anyone. At first she’d thought he was clumsy and awkward, but seeing him with those people in Boot had changed that. He was so relaxed there. They were good people, honest, and they obviously thought highly of him. She could feel herself warming to him, perhaps because of his shyness, not despite it. He could be someone important. But that was the problem. She didn’t want to fall again, like she’d fallen last time and got caught and trapped. She hadn’t enjoyed marriage. She wanted someone to be close to, to lie with, to talk softly with. She didn’t want to feel beholden, or obliged or responsible for anyone or anything except herself and Judith. She wasn’t ready for anything else.
And now here was this man. He was a bit older than her, never been married – as far as they knew – and no kids. He had his own place, a good job. He liked her, she was sure about that, and he was kind and different, but what did he want? If he wanted to settle down, she’d done that and it hadn’t worked. Maybe she didn’t have it in her to be a good wife, and she shouldn’t lead him on, or let him lead her. And anyway, he didn’t know about this, about the screens, and when he did – if he did – that would be the end anyway. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he want a screen lass? She should tell him, and that would solve it. He would disappear, move on to someone more suitable, and leave her alone.
* * *
‘I need to tell ’im, Mam, about the screens. That’ll settle it.’ Maggie and her mother were standing by the range in the back room of the house in West Row. The clear cold of the morning had turned to drizzle before the end of their shift and they were both cold and wet by the time they reached home. Tea was required, even before they washed off the smell of the day.
‘Are you sure ’e doesn’t know already?’
‘Aye. It’s never come up – ’e probably thinks I’m at ’ome. looking after Dad and Judith. God knows what we’d live on, but ’e’s got money. May not even think about it.’
‘It’s too early, Maggie. That’ll be the end of it. Make ’im like you a bit more. We’ll say nowt, I’ll tell your dad to watch what ’e says. Give yourself a bit more time. You’re a fine lass, catch for any feller, and you’ve grieved for that Isaac Lowery long enough.’
Maggie turned to her mother. ‘That’s just it, Mam. I didn’t grieve for Isaac, not after the first shock wore off. He tried, but ’e were useless, Mam. Never told you, but it couldn’t’ve lasted, even if ’e’d come back in one piece. Look at Brenda, the Colman lass, what’s ’er name now?’
‘Hadwin?’ said Violet.
‘Aye, ’er. She’s ’aving a rotten time since ’er Maurice came back. He hits ’er, everyone knows that, and the boys, poor wee sods. That would’ve been me, Mam, except that I’d’ve been off if Isaac raised a hand to our Judith. Beer and ’is mates, that’s all Isaac really cared about. Honest, Mam. I never said ’owt, didn’t want you to worry, but it was no good and I don’t want to make that mistake again.’
Violet didn’t respond to the information about Isaac, which came as no surprise. ‘But this one’s not like that, is ’e?’ she asked.
Maggie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Who knows? He seems like a good man. Those people we went to see in Boot, the ones ’e stopped with, bit funny like, but they rate ’im. And how do you really know, until it’s too late and you’re stuck with it?’
‘Well if it’s you ’e wants, pet, ’e won’t wait forever, not at ’is age. How old is ’e? Thirty something and never married? Someone’ll snap ’im up, you watch.’ Violet hesitated, then added, ‘Is ’e a Catholic?’
‘No idea,’ said Maggie. ‘We’ve never talked about church. I only met ’im a few weeks ago. It’s not church that bothers me, it’s work. Secrets are bad when people matter. I can’t keep lying. If ’e throws me over on account of the screens thing, I need to know now, not waste energy on ’im and then watch ’im walk away.’
With Judith home from school, tea was made and drunk, water heated, bodies washed. Maggie heard her mother in the front room, spelling out to her father the dire consequences of letting anything slip. Every whispered word was audible through the thin walls of the house. She knew what they wanted for her, but it wasn’t necessarily what she wanted for herself.
When John arrived at the door on Friday night, prompt at six as promised, Maggie was there at the first knock. They’d already wheeled Frank into the kitchen to keep him out of the way and Violet made only the briefest of appearances. John suggested going down into town for fish and chips but that was definitely no good at all; far too many people knew her, and there were some who might recognise him too. He’d hadn’t brought the bike, but she’d planned for that, and her alternative suggestion was ready. Fish and chips from the chippie round the corner, wrap them up well, bus to Sandwith and eat at his house. The pub was close if they wanted a drink. She was sure that no one there would know her. She would say what she had to say about being a screen lass, but wait till after they’d eaten. If the evening was ruined, at least she wouldn’t be hungry.
The range oven in John’s tidy kitchen was warm when they got in, and he stoked the fire to warm up the chips before they ate them out of the newspaper they were wrapped in, sitting at the tiny table, still wearing their coats. John licked his greasy fingers.
‘Drink?’ he said, standing up. He was looking forward to being seen in the pub with this lovely woman.
‘In a bit, maybe. I want to tell you something first, then we’ll see.’ John looked at her, turning his head slightly with the unspoken question.
‘Nothing bad, not really,’ she said, ‘and this is a good time.’
John sat down again. She looked serious.
‘You’ve never asked me about where I work,’ she said.
‘Work? I thought you were at home, with your dad, and the bairn.’
‘I was when Judith was a babby, but since she’s been at school, well, I wanted to do something. We need the money.’
‘So where do you work?’ asked John, as she obviously wanted him to.
‘On the screens,’ she said. ‘At the Haig, same as you.’
‘In that shed, sorting the coal?’
‘Aye, in there.’
‘But I’ve been in there, when that dog …’
‘Aye, I saw you that day, standing up there with Geordie, looking down at us.’
‘But where were you?’ said John. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘You saw a gang of women covered in clothes to keep out the dust, different shapes and sizes, but all much the same. Like nuns, just our faces showing. One of them was me.’
‘Nuns! They don’t swear like you lot.’
Maggie felt a flush creep up her neck. ‘Well, that’s where I work. I’m a screen lass. Look.’ She pulled up her long sleeves and held out her battered hands to him. ‘Look,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t lie to you. You never asked.’
John looked at her face. He saw the pale skin, slightly freckled around the nose and cheekbones. He saw the glorious hair, held by a scarf but defying control. He saw her eyes, grey-green, watching him carefully by the light of the oil lamp that hissed on its hook above the table.
‘I didn’t ask because it doesn’t matter,’ he said after a long pause. ‘You needed a job, and you found one. But that job’s so hard. Show me your hands again.’
She raised her hands, turning them over to show him the ingrained dirt and damage to skin and knuckles and nails. ‘Judith rubs Vaseline into them for me, but t
hey still hurt.’
‘I couldn’t believe that women could work like that,’ he said, taking hold of her hands in both of his. ‘And you’re so strong, not just the work but the way you are, together. I think Geordie’s frightened of you.’
She laughed. ‘We know he is,’ she said. ‘Most people are. Are you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said. He was leaning forward now, still holding her hands in his, his elbows on the table. ‘I’ve never felt strong like that, except sometimes when I’m out climbing. I wish I did. I envy you.’
‘Envy? No one envies screen lasses. We’re the lowest of the low. We know it, that’s why we stick together.’
She wanted him to react. He was too polite to tell her to go away. He would take her home, and just not call again. If he saw her at work, he would pretend he didn’t know her. But what would he say, now?
He said, ‘Do you mind if we stay here a bit longer. We can’t talk in the pub.’
‘Fine,’ she said, guessing that he’d already made up his mind and didn’t want to be seen with her so close to his home.
John turned away and fiddled with the stove.
‘Come in the front room. I’ll light the fire. It’s better in there.’
Her heart began to sink.
Maggie watched from a small armchair while John rolled up some newspaper, carried in some kindling, arranged it all in the grate and lit it, blowing to help the flames to thrive. Then he went back into the kitchen to wipe his hands before returning, all without saying a word.
‘You’ve been honest with me, Maggie,’ he said, finally, sitting down on the other side of the fireplace and looking down at his hands. She waited for more.
‘Don’t know what you thought I’d do or say, about what you do. I’m not from round here. The screen lass thing doesn’t mean much to me actually. But I’m sorry about your poor hands.’
Still he didn’t look up. But she was sure he had more to say, and she kept quiet, hardly breathing, hearing the snap and popping of the kindling as it caught.
He got up again, taking logs from a bucket to put onto the flames. She was confused. If he didn’t care about the screen lass thing, what was he trying to say that just wouldn’t come out.