Sara found Rosa upstairs, reading one of Bobby’s comics and munching biscuits. Her face was fat and her girlish body had grown dumpy, Sara noticed at once. Rosa’s once sleek hair was unkempt and unwashed and she wore a shapeless grey jumper and skirt, where once she had been proud of the way she dressed.
‘Hello, Rosa,’ Sara smiled, trying not to show her dismay, ‘it’s good to see you.’
Rosa looked up, her eyes betraying her embarrassment at the sight of her old friend looking radiant beside Joe, her cheeks glowing pink from the fresh winter air. She felt a swell of resentment to see them standing close together, which smothered the guilt she had harboured for months for not passing on Sara’s message to Joe before Sara left. This is how it would have been for her and Emilio if only… She brushed crumbs off her soiled skirt wishing she could dismiss his handsome, sensuous face from her mind with as little concern.
‘I hope you’re going to clear up that mess,’ Sylvia scolded in Italian, barely acknowledging Sara. Rosa gave her a resentful look.
‘Well, say hello,’ Joe reproved his young sister, annoyed by her rudeness.
‘Hello,’ Rosa muttered.
‘I’ve brought you some boiled sweets from Sergeant’s.’ Sara handed over the paper bag she had been clutching.
‘Don’t you think I’m fat enough already?’ Rosa said churlishly.
Sara persisted in a cheerful manner. ‘Sergeant-Major’s been asking after you, wondering why you’ve not been in the shop since Christmas.’
‘I don’t go anywhere now,’ Rosa said in a dull voice, taking the packet without enthusiasm.
Sara wanted to shake her out of her lethargy, but restrained herself.
‘How’s Peter?’ Sara controlled her annoyance, trying to think of something that might spark an interest in Rosa’s lifeless brown eyes.
‘He’s got a cold,’ Rosa said in a monotonous voice. ‘He’s asleep.’
‘Rosa left him out playing in the yard for hours,’ Sylvia said with disapproval.
‘He’s your child!’ Rosa snapped.
‘You were supposed to be looking after him, you lazy little madam,’ Sylvia reprimanded in her native tongue. ‘But you think of no one but yourself these days.’
‘Leave me alone!’ Rosa complained.
‘Well, the saints have punished you for your wickedness,’ Sylvia continued shrilly. ‘Haven’t they, Rosa?’
‘Shut up!’ Rosa screamed.
‘That’s enough, both of you,’ Joe ordered, furious at their lack of courtesy in front of Sara. Sara looked at him in bewilderment. ‘Come on, we don’t have to listen to their bickering.’ He took her by the elbow and steered her out of the gloomy living-room, before she could say goodbye.
After that Joe did not take her home to his house, but came every evening to see her at the Ritsons’ and on Saturday nights they went alone to the pictures.
One Sunday afternoon, Hilda and her fiancé Wilfred joined them for lunch and they gathered around the parlour table, tucking in to a piece of pork bought with Sam’s first wages. Hilda was wearing a new flowery dress she had made from a chair cover at Greenbrae and was beaming with her news that she and Wilfred were at last to be married before he was shipped to France to join his regiment.
‘We’ve decided to invite Eb and Eleanor,’ Hilda said, stunning the family with her breezy pronouncement.
‘What did you say?’ Jacob Kirkup demanded, cupping a hand to his ear.
‘She says she’s ganin’ to invite Eb and Eleanor,’ young Stan, the evacuee repeated loudly, used to shouting at the old man. Jacob Kirkup reminded him of his own deaf grandfather and he enjoyed acting as his ear-horn.
‘Don’t shout, boy, I’m not deaf!’ Jacob thundered.
‘It’s time you spoke to each other, Da,’ Hilda was unrepentant. ‘Eb’s willing.’
‘He never came to your mother’s funeral!’
‘He wanted to,’ Hilda, argued.
‘I’ll not see him or—’
The old lay preacher’s words were drowned by the urgent wail of the air-raid sirens.
‘Everyone leave the table!’ Louie stood up immediately and put her hand out to Stan. ‘Get your coats and we’ll be off to the shelter,’ she instructed.
There was no time for further argument as the family trooped out of the house.
‘Da won’t leave the house,’ Hilda said impatiently.
‘Then I’ll stay - he’ll go under the stairs if I tell him,’ Louie replied. ‘You go with the others - no argument, Hildy.’
Sara hurried with Hilda and Raymond and Stan to the school shelter, while Sam rushed to his post. But twenty minutes later, panic subsided when the all-clear sounded and word went round it was only a practice.
‘The Germans aren’t daft enough to miss their Sunday dinner,’ Raymond snorted. ‘Only our lot would think of having a practice when we’re all stuffed to the eyeballs with the best dinner of the week.’
‘Hush,’ Hilda scolded, ‘you mustn’t say such unpatriotic things - you’ll get reported.’
‘Who to?’ Raymond ridiculed. ‘Uncle Sam?’
In the press of people in the school yard, Sara and Raymond became separated from the others and as they made for the gates she felt a tug on her arm. Looking round she saw a pasty-faced Rosa, her dark hair hidden in a knitted hat, her eyes puffy and blinking in the sunlight.
‘Hello, Rosa,’ Raymond said amiably, ‘haven’t seen you for ages.’
‘No,’ Rosa looked away from him, ashamed that he should see her so dowdy. ‘Sara, I need to talk to you,’ she pleaded. Sara hesitated. ‘Please, Sara, can we go to the park?’
‘Could you wait till after dinner? Hildy and Wilfred are having a bit celebration for their engagement,’ Sara explained.
Rosa’s flaccid face crumpled and she closed her eyes. ‘Please.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘I have no one else I can talk to.’
Raymond put a hand on Sara’s shoulder. ‘I’ll tell them you’ll be back shortly - Auntie Louie’ll keep something warm in the oven.’
‘Thank you, Raymond,’ Rosa whispered, sliding him a grateful look.
Raymond hurried on, while the girls turned up the hill to the park. Neither of them spoke until they were through the gates and heading for the bowling pavilion. The green was deserted in the raw February air and they sat on the bench where they had often met up the previous summer.
Sara turned to Rosa and asked, ‘Why are you so unhappy? Is it Emilio?’
Rosa’s young face looked desolate. ‘It’s everything - Domenica going and Emilio leaving me and being stuck here with my parents and that bossy Sylvia - it’s terrible. I still love Emilio - it’s like a pain inside every day.’
‘Have you heard from him?’ Sara asked gently.
Rosa shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she admitted hoarsely, ‘not a single word. I’ve written to Domenica asking her for news of him, but perhaps she never got my letter? If only we’d been allowed to marry - everything would have been so different. I know he loves me…’ Rosa gave way to tears.
‘The war may be over soon - Emilio will come back,’ Sara comforted, placing an arm about her shoulders. She seemed suddenly so vulnerable and fragile, huddled in her coat, shaking with misery.
‘It’ll - be - too late,’ Rosa sobbed.
‘Not if you still love each other,’ Sara reasoned.
Rosa gave out a great howl, disturbing a blackbird from the spindly bare tree behind them. ‘Oh Sara, you don’t understand - I’m so scared.’ She began to sob hysterically. ‘S-Sara, I’m - I’m carrying Emilio’s baby.’
Sara was astounded. ‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you certain?’ Sara looked at her in awe.
Rosa nodded. ‘I didn’t know what was wrong at first — I was feeling terrible. Then I began to get cravings for sweet things like Sylvia did when she was carrying Linda. Just after Christmas I felt the baby kick for the first time and now I feel him every day.�
�� Talking about it at last seemed to calm her; she was no longer alone in her awful knowledge.
‘But - but you must be well gone,’ Sara blurted out, realising her friend had not seen Emilio since the end of August.
‘Six months,’ Rosa sniffed.
‘And none of your family know? They must suspect - I mean, you’ve put on weight…’
Rosa shook her head. ‘I think Sylvia knows - that’s why she picks on me. But my parents are too worried about the shop to wonder why I’ve grown fat - they would never think of such a thing - it’s too much of a disgrace. They’ll hate me for what I have done, hate me!’
‘No,’ Sara protested, ‘they would never hate you - but you must tell them, Rosa, give them time to get used to the idea of a baby.’
‘A bastard baby,’ Rosa cried. ‘I wish I could tear it out for causing this shame!’
‘You mustn’t say that,’ Sara was firm. ‘It’s your flesh and blood, Rosa - and it’s Emilio’s too. Don’t blame the baby before it’s born.’
Rosa pulled at the handkerchief in her lap. ‘I was so ignorant about - you know. Emilio said it would prove to him how much I loved him - he said he would be careful.’ Her voice was drained now of any emotion. ‘I gave him everything and he left me. So why do I still love him like I do?’
Sara threw her arms about her friend. ‘There’s nothing commonsense about love,’ she said ruefully. ‘Come on, you shouldn’t be sitting out freezing to death in your condition.’
‘Will you come with me?’ Rosa asked. ‘While I tell my parents - I feel so much stronger with you around, Sara.’
Sara was nervous at the very idea - the Dimarcos were bound to think her interfering in family affairs. But she could not let Rosa down now.
‘If you want me there, I’ll come,’ she agreed.
‘Thank you,’ Rosa smiled for the first time and they linked arms. As they passed the gates, Rosa asked shyly, ‘Have you and Joe…?’
Sara flushed at such a personal question and shook her head.
Rosa sighed. ‘I was so stupid, trusting Emilio. It’s obvious that Joe loves you far more than Emilio ever loved me. So don’t give each other up, Sara,’ Rosa said passionately. ‘No matter what my family think, don’t give each other up!’
Chapter Nineteen
When they reached the parlour, they realised it would be impossible to break the news. The men were sitting in the back-shop drinking tea with Sergeant Turnbull and Rosa’s mother and Sylvia were busy in the shop with an unexpected influx of Tyneside children who were after what sweets they could buy.
Rosa looked terrified and Sara steered her swiftly away, telling Anna Dimarco she was invited for tea at the Ritsons.
‘By, you look cold, lasses,’ Louie made a fuss of them and sat Rosa by the fire. ‘Have some bread-and-butter pudding, seeing as you missed most of your dinner.’
The men were sleeping off their lunch and Hilda had gone next door to Wilfred’s home for tea with the Parkins.
‘Where’s Raymond?’ Sara asked.
‘Gone round to see a friend,’ Louie said, ‘so us women can have a chat to ourselves for a change.’
Her kindness reduced Rosa to tears once more and she found herself unburdening her troubles to the friendly Louie. At first the older woman looked taken aback, but she quickly recovered.
‘Poor bairn - and that lad leaving you to face the music alone,’ Louie tutted.
‘He wanted to marry me,’ Rosa defended Emilio.
‘Well, he hasn’t and now you’ve got to make the best of it,’ Louie answered briskly. ‘No doubt your parents will be angry, but they’ll get over the shock - others have before them, so don’t think you’re the first lass to land yourself in trouble.’
‘They might throw me out!’
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ Louie answered, ‘but if it does, you can come here till you sort yourself out. The bairn must be born with a roof over its head, poor lamb.’
Sara got up and hugged her. ‘You’d take in the bogeyman if he didn’t have a home, wouldn’t you Louie?’ she laughed.
‘Thank you, Mrs Ritson,’ Rosa was quite overcome.
When the girls left after tea, Rosa was filled with a new resolve to face the wrath of her parents.
She found them all gathered upstairs, except for Paolo who worked below. The curtains were drawn and the room was cosy after the dark outside. Joe grinned with pleasure to see Sara appear with his sister, but he soon saw from their expressions that all was not well.
Rosa blurted out her news before her courage failed and the room went ominously quiet. Sylvia spoke first.
‘I knew it! I knew all along you had been with that man.’
Arturo sank on to a chair in disbelief and Joe just gawped.
‘My little Rosa,’ her father grappled for words, ‘not my Rosa. Pregnant? Impossible … impossible! How dare you shame your family like this?’ He stood up in agitation.
‘I’m sorry, Papa!’ Rosa crumpled at the sight of his pain. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘She didn’t know what was happening,’ Sara tried to defend her. ‘Emilio took advantage.’
‘What do you know about it?’ Anna Dimarco turned on Sara with venom. ‘Why are you here? This is family business.’ She came forward menacingly.
‘Sara is Rosa’s friend,’ Joe said, stepping in her way.
‘And this is why my daughter has brought such disgrace to us - because she makes friends with such girls!’ Anna accused wildly. ‘Did you put the ideas in Rosa’s head, eh?’
‘No!’ Sara was insulted.
‘Leave Sara out of this,’ Joe said angrily. ‘It’s Emilio Fella who has brought disgrace on the family. And it’s Domenica’s fault for not keeping an eye on him.’
‘No, not Domenica!’ Anna shouted in fury.
‘Yes, Domenica!’ Rosa cried. ‘It was your beloved Domenica who pushed me at Emilio in the first place! But in your eyes she could never do any wrong. Well, you’re stuck with me now - and my bastard baby!’ she yelled hysterically.
Anna pushed past Joe and slapped Rosa hard in the face. ‘Shut up!’
‘Enough!’ Arturo shouted. ‘Why are we all blaming someone else? We are all to blame. We’ve failed to teach Rosa how to be a good Italian girl and now she has done this terrible thing to us. We are all bad Italians.’
Sara felt a chill at the desolation in the man’s voice and the haggard look of hurt on his face. She felt her intrusion acutely at that moment. Then Joe moved towards his sister and put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
‘Cheer up, bonny lass,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll stick by you.’ Rosa turned to him and clung on, sobbing.
Sara backed out of the room, realising Anna Dimarco had been right; this was a family crisis and she was an outsider, no matter what Joe said.
‘I’ll come and see you in a few days, Rosa,’ she mumbled as she withdrew, but no one called her back. Sara fled downstairs, nearly knocking Paolo over in the gloom of the back-shop.
‘Where is everyone?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Joe is supposed to be helping.’
Sara gulped. ‘I think you should go up and see, Paolo - it’s a family thing.’
‘I can’t leave the shop,’ he shrugged, sensing trouble.
‘Let me serve for a few minutes,’ she offered. ‘It’s important for Rosa that you support her.’
Paolo accepted reluctantly and Sara grabbed an apron from the back of the door and hurried into the shop. For ten minutes she measured out sweets and made cups of tea and Bovril and served up small pies to the ravenous children hanging around the parlour.
Finally Joe appeared and said he would take over.
‘Is Rosa all right?’ Sara asked in concern.
‘She’s gone to lie down,’ Joe replied. ‘She’s not feeling too well, but at least Mam is worrying about her now and not shouting at her.’
‘They won’t put her out, will they?’
Joe gave her a strange look. ‘Of course
not. She’s family, no matter what she’s done.’
Sara nodded and untied her apron. ‘I’ll be off, then. Tell Rosa if she needs anything…’
‘Aye,’ Joe said, ‘and Sara - ta for helping out after the way Mam spoke to you.’
Sara smiled. ‘It’ll take more than harsh words to get rid of me this time.’
Joe grabbed her hand and kissed it quickly. Two boys eyeing them from the other side of the counter groaned in disgust. Joe flicked a tea-towel at them and Sara laughed as she put on her coat and left.
Hilda and Wilfred were married two weeks later, at the end of February. Dolly Sergeant allowed Sara away for half an hour to see the ceremony and she noticed a tall couple with a dark-haired boy occupying a pew towards the back of the chapel and realised they must be Eb Kirkup and his wife, Eleanor.
After the service, Sara had to dash back to the shop, but arrived home just as Hilda and Wilfred were saying their farewells. In spite of Louie’s great efforts to lay on a wedding feast with limited stores, and Sam’s jocular comments, Sara was aware of the tension among the guests as she slipped into the parlour.
Louie’s cousin Sadie at once introduced her to the elegant Eleanor Kirkup, smoking defiantly through a mother-of-pearl cigarette holder.
‘You’ve left beautiful Weardale for Whitton Grange?’ Eleanor asked with a smile of surprise. ‘I must say I love to visit the Durham Dales.’
Sara blushed. ‘Beautiful to visit, aye, but sheep farming’s a tough life - and dull for a lass.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Good answer. Being married to an artist makes me far too romantic about the landscape.’ She turned her slender, pale features to look at Hilda. ‘Dear Hildy, it’s such a shame she and Wilfred are to be separated so soon. I don’t know why they didn’t marry years ago.’
Across the room Hilda told Wilfred, ‘It’s time to go,’ taking him firmly by the arm, believing they had taken long enough over their goodbyes.
Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies Page 29