And he certainly didn’t like that fact that Tom was now taller than him. But, to be fair, that wasn’t the lad’s fault
It would all work out, especially as the lad was getting older.
There had been that quarrel when Bill thought Tom should go part-time down the mine but Winifred had been adamant.
‘He’s going down no mine, Bill, and that’s that,’ she’d said, when Tom had turned thirteen. ‘He’s stopping on at school until he’s fourteen.’
Ridiculous! Fourteen years old and still going to school in short pants. No point in arguing about it though; there were some things she wouldn’t shift on, and her son’s education was one of them. ‘I want him to get a job in an office,’ she said, over and over again. Well, if it brought money in eventually who was he to argue; it might mean Tom could help him with the all the Union and Labour party stuff more, instead of just reading it to him.
But still the worry wouldn’t go away; there was definitely something going on. Sitting over his pint in The Crown on Saturday dinnertime he mulled over what it could be. It wasn’t the same as when she hadn’t been straight with him about the shop. Or when that business with the stupid brooch came out.
Supping his ale he cringed, remembering that time he’d hit her. When he was young and saw his father knocking seven bells out of his mother he swore he would never do the same. Yet what had he done the first time she’d crossed him?
Even after that she’d been the one comfort when he had one of his nightmares. She understood, she held him until the fear and horror went away. And he was grateful. He loved her. And yet still he couldn’t control his temper. He should just walk out of the house; stay out until he calmed down. Why didn’t he do that?
Why did she put up with it?
Bill placed his pint pot carefully down on the small round pub table. Perhaps that was what was wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t going to. It was like she’d made some sort of decision to be happy in some way. What if she was going to leave him?
Chapter 90
‘It’s wrong. I’m married. I can’t go to Ireland.’ The thought of being a stranger in a strange land frightened her. Let alone taking the children as well.
He turned his head away from her. What was wrong with him? ‘Conal?’ Winifred pulled her hand from his arm and stood still in the middle of the path.
He carried on walking so she had to strain to hear him. ‘I should have told ya right at the first.’ He spun around. ‘I’m married.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ The denial opened up a chasm inside her; a deep, mournful sorrow that had lain dormant for many recent years. ‘Then why are you here?’
She might as well not have spoken.
‘We… My wife can’t have children. We tried for years. Two years ago we were told we could never have children.’
She tensed. Was she supposed to feel sorry for him?
‘It broke Branna’s heart, ya know?’ Winifred listened in silence, conscious of the sway of the grass on either side of the path, the fluttering of birds above in the budded trees, the odd rumble and whine of trams on Huddersfield Road.
‘So, why are you here, Conal?’ she said again. ‘What is it you want?’ What a fool she’d been; all that time grieving, wondering what had happened to him. Hoping he would come back for her.
Well he’d come back. But not for her. The slow throb of resentment and distrust turned into a wrenching anger and then to a sudden realization. ‘You want Tom.’ She wanted to hit him, to scream and shout and hit him. She was surprised to hear how calm her voice was. ‘You’ve come to take him from me after all these years.’
‘Branna and me, we’ve talked about it. She’s willing to take him on.’
‘Oh, is she?’
Her sarcasm was lost on him. ‘He’s my boy, my son.’
‘He’s mine. Only mine.’
‘I’ve seen how ya live. The house—’
‘What? You’ve spied on me?’ And as though for the first time she saw him, his clothes well-tailored, good shoes. Obviously he had money. ‘I don’t live up to your so-called standards? You’ve done better? As a doctor then?’
‘I have,’ he said eagerly. ‘I could give my – our – son a good life.’
Was it wrong not to give Tom a chance of a better life? It was then she thought back to what he’d said earlier. ‘You’ve told me that the British… English people are hated. How could I let you take my son to a place where he would be hated?’
‘He’d be seen as mine. No-one would know about…’
‘About me.’ The rage was instant. ‘The English mother. You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?’ And to think she’d been willing to give up her life here for this man. Suddenly she was frightened that she might have already lost her life, her marriage anyway. Bill might have somehow found out what she was doing. She needed to be at home. ‘I’m going now.’
‘No.’ He stood in front of her, preventing her from leaving. ‘Please. Think about it, Win.’
She gave Conal’s chest a small shove. ‘I have.’ All those years believing in something that had always been a falsehood. He didn’t love her. ‘The answer’s no. How dare you even think you have the right?’ She shrugged him off, stumbled along the path. She’d didn’t look back.
Chapter 91
The trees, streets, houses, passed in a blur of tears. If anyone saw her, running with her skirts raised above her ankles, Winifred didn’t see them. Holding her side, trying to catch her breath she slipped and staggered over the cobbles of the alleyway at the back of the terraced houses.
It was as if she was coming out of the shadows of the past into an unknown darker future.
Bill had been quiet all weekend, as though he was waiting for something to happen. When he did speak it was in an odd hesitant way. What if he’s guessed what she’d done? What if he hadn’t gone to work, if instead, he’d followed her to the park, seen her with…? She couldn’t bring herself to say his name.
What if he’d packed her bags; was waiting to throw her out? Her and Tom. Somehow she knew he’d keep Mary with him. Oh God; she repeated the words over and over. Oh God. Please. Please.
She halted, her hands on her knees, pulling air into her lungs, forcing her heart to slow. Listening to the blood whooshing and pulsing behind her ears made her nauseous. This terror was nothing like anything she’d ever felt before.
And then she heard laughter. Dragging herself upright she walked slowly forward. When she neared number twenty-seven she heard it again.
Pressing the latch down without a sound she pushed open the gate, peeping through the narrow gap into the yard.
Bill was there. He was tossing Mary into the air. The baby was shrieking with laughter. Tom was sitting on the stone windowsill of the kitchen, squinting into the sun as he watched. He was laughing as well.
They hadn’t noticed her. She studied her son; he had a look of her father in him when he was happy. She remembered one of her dad’s many mottos: “One chance you get at this life. Make sure you do what’s best for you.”
Had she taken Tom’s chance away from him; giving him no choice? Whether she’d made the right decision or not it was one she would have to live with. Right or wrong he didn’t ever need to know who his real father was. Conal was a stranger living in an unfamiliar land. She knew her son; he’d be more scared of the unknown than he’d ever be of Bill.
They noticed her at the same time. The only two men in her life.
‘Mam.’ Tom jumped down and came to hug her as she closed the gate.
‘Winifred.’ Bill caught Mary one last time and, cuddling her, grinned at his wife. Was there a note of relief in his voice? ‘You’re home, lass.’
‘What? Did you think I’d run off with the tally man?’ she said, smiling.
They all laughed.
She walked towards Bill. As she passed him to go into the house she touched his hand. ‘I’m home.’
ABOUT HONNO
Honno Welsh Women’s Press
was set up in 1986 by a group of women who felt strongly that women in Wales needed wider opportunities to see their writing in print and to become involved in the publishing process. Our aim is to develop the writing talents of women in Wales, give them new and exciting opportunities to see their work published and often to give them their first ‘break’ as a writer. Honno is registered as a community co-operative. Any profit that Honno makes is invested in the publishing programme. Women from Wales and around the world have expressed their support for Honno. Each supporter has a vote at the Annual General Meeting. For more information and to buy our publications, please write to Honno at the address below, or visit our website: www.honno.co.uk
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First published in 2017 by Honno Press, ‘Ailsa Craig’, Heol y Cawl, Dinas Powys, South Glamorgan, Wales, CF64 4AH
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© Judith Barrow, 2017
The right of Judith Barrow to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The Author would like to stress that this is a work of fiction and no resemblance to any actual individual or institution is intended or implied.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published with the financial support of the Welsh Books Council.
ISBN 978-1-909983-68-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-909983-69-4 (ebook)
Cover design: Jenks Design
Cover image: © Shutterstock, Inc
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