Rhona viewed the newcomer with curiosity – all the bits she could see were brown – it must be the half under his long trousers that was white.
‘But, Father, I don’t understand.’ Lyn puckered her brow. ‘Bertie says you can’t be married to two people at once.’
There was a tortured pause, then Russ said, ‘I wasn’t actually married to Charlie’s mother.’ He hoped he would not have to explain in more detail.
Bertie was obviously pleased he had got part of it right. ‘Then if you weren’t married he can’t be our proper brother?’ Please, please say he’s not, his mind begged.
The man felt impotent at having to dispel his son’s hopes and said awkwardly, ‘Folk don’t have to be married to have children, Bertie.’
‘Didn’t I tell him that but he called me a liar!’ Biddy had allowed her tongue to get the better of her discretion and flushed instantly. ‘Sorry, sir… I didn’t mean…’ At Russ’ stare she stooped well down over her chore and set to rubbing and scrubbing.
‘Mother isn’t very pleased to see Charlie, is she?’ proffered Rowena carefully.
‘No, I’m afraid she isn’t, love.’ Russ picked at a piece of loose skin by his thumbnail. This constant action since last night had rendered the area bright red and sore-looking. But still he picked.
‘Why?’ she persisted quietly.
‘Is it ’cause he’s brown?’ contributed Lyn.
‘Half brown,’ corrected Rhona, still wondering over the white half.
‘Did you love Charlie’s mother more than ours?’ demanded Beany.
‘Look, all of you!’ Russ gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Just try to be satisfied with what I’m going to tell you. A long time ago I did a very foolish thing. I didn’t do it purposefully to hurt your mother or because I didn’t love her – you must never think that – but because I was lonely. You’ll understand that, Bertie, when you get to be a man. Anyway… because of what I did Charlie was born. He wasn’t meant to be, like all of you were, he just happened. That means he’s your half-brother. I didn’t bring him home with me, well, because there was no need to, he had his mother there in Africa. So he stayed there. I never expected to see him again, but he is here and he’s got nowhere else so we must let him live with us, for a couple of weeks at least.’
Becky, having formed instant affection for Charlie, gave a moan. ‘Aw, can’t we keep him?’
‘No,’ came the blunt response. ‘He doesn’t belong here, Becky. I’m going to get in touch with Father Guillaume – he’s the priest who Charlie normally lives with – and tell him to come and collect the boy.’ He paused for so long they thought he had finished, but then he added, ‘Now, I want you all to do something for me.’ He studied each child’s face – Bertie’s resentful one, Becky’s eager one. ‘I want you to promise that you won’t tell anyone about Charlie.’
Again, complaint from Becky. ‘But I was going to write all about him in my diary at school! I never have anything really interesting to put. My teacher would be ever so…’
‘No!’ Russ tried to disguise the fright but it was evident in his tone. ‘Becky, you must swear here and now – you too, Biddy!’ he remembered her presence, ‘that not one word of what I’ve said will go among strangers.’
The children looked at each other, unable to decipher the riddle, but nevertheless granted their promise – Biddy too: ‘May every bottle in the house be smashed should I ever breathe a word, sir,’ was her bizarre oath.
‘I’d no intention of telling people anyway,’ snapped Bertie, all hope vanquished. ‘The sooner he goes the better.’
‘Bertie, you’re still my only son as far as I’m concerned,’ said Russ swiftly and tried to put a hand over the one on the table but it was snatched away. ‘I’ll make this up to you in the holidays, you and me’ll go…’
‘Please may I leave the table?’ Bertie wasn’t looking at him.
Russ withdrew his hand, wishing desperately that he could find some word to take that look off his son’s face, but he simply nodded. ‘Aye… you’d all better leave else you’ll be late for school.’ He rose, accepting each daughter’s kiss, but over their heads he watched Bertie depart without a word. After this, all except Biddy left the kitchen.
* * *
Charlie leaned against the cool wall, eyes dull. Last night’s assumption had been wrong; it wasn’t simply because of Mrs Hazelwood that his father had been angry. He doesn’t belong with us, he had said… He was snatched from his daze by Biddy, who took rough possession of the coalbucket and began to hurl the uppermost lumps of coal at the floor. After a dozen or so had been cast aside she let out a wail. ‘Oh, you clumsy creature! Look what ye’ve gone an’ done – oh!’ She moaned and crossed her hands over her breast, clasped her stomach as if in great pain… then she recalled her oath to Mr Hazelwood – God had seen the insincerity of it and had shattered this bottle as warning. Well to be sure she wouldn’t tell anyone about Charlie after this. Though that decision did not stop her giving him a belt round the head.
Charlie stared into the bucket at the wet coal and fragments of broken glass, accepted Biddy’s insulting lamentations dumbly. He had come all this way, waited all these years to see his father… and his father didn’t want him.
* * *
Rachel made claws of her fingers, kneading the bumps of her skull as though this might coax her brain into working more efficiently. What had she told Mrs Taylor last night? Had she said she would go round to the woman’s house or was the woman calling here? Was anyone else due for a fitting? Concentrate! She pressed harder, grinding her temples till it hurt. What day was it? Then she exclaimed out loud, ‘Oh no! Mrs Banks is coming!’ and started to pace around like some creature that has a maggot lodged in its ear, pacing round in circles, heading nowhere while the worm gnawed away at her brain, consuming her sanity. She heard the front door close and the car engine start. Soon after this the children came in to say their goodbyes, which she attended with only half an ear. But as they exited she said sharply, ‘Your father did warn you not to speak about the boy outside?’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Her eldest daughter turned at the door, then frowned. ‘But I didn’t really under—’
‘Then run along to school.’ Rachel dismissed them expeditiously.
On their departure, she strode to the kitchen, halting abruptly when she saw that Biddy was alone. ‘Where’s that boy?’
A dull-eyed Biddy shoved her hair from her face then continued to pummel the dough. ‘He’s up in the nursery with the little ones.’
‘What’s he doing up there with the babies? Go and fetch him and be quick about it – oh, just a minute! If anyone calls while I’m out at Mrs Taylor’s you’re not to let them in, understand? I’ve got Mrs Banks coming but there shouldn’t be anyone after her. After you’ve made the bread you can do what you’ve been promising to do for years, which is clear a space in the attic.’ Biddy’s face came alive, but was soon altered as her mistress continued, ‘We can’t have the boy sleeping down here, he’s interfering with your duties. You can get him to help you if you’re too idle.’
‘But that’s my room, ma’am!’
Rachel’s expression was rife with bad temper. ‘Are you paying rent for it?’
‘No, ma’am.’ Biddy’s shoulders drooped. ‘But ye promised if I sorted it out…’
‘You have had eleven years in which to sort it out and chose not to put yourself to the trouble, so how can it be your room?’
‘Wouldn’t himself be better off sleepin’ in the nursery an’ me have…’
‘Most certainly not! I am not having my children influenced by his savage ways.’
‘Oh, he’s not a savage, ma’am! He’s a good Catholic – he told me so.’
‘All the more reason why he shouldn’t go in the nursery! Anyway, you’d never hear the baby crying if you were in the attic. Now go fetch him!’ Rachel’s impatient feet zoomed her back to the parlour.
Biddy heaved a sigh, ‘’T ain’t bloody f
air,’ and plodded upstairs to do her mistress’s bidding, leaving a faint trail of flour on each step.
* * *
Charlie was reading a story to Rhona and the baby. Depositing the book on his lap with a thump, he stared at Rhona, who seemed more interested in his feet than the fairy tale. ‘Are you listening?’ She stopped craning her neck, saying of course she was, but as soon as he restarted the tale her inquisitive eyes wandered. She began to pull off her socks.
‘Now what’re you doing?’ demanded Charlie.
‘Me feet’re sweaty – it’s very warm, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to take your socks off an’ all?’ Her enquiring eyes were like bright blue marbles.
Charlie gazed at her, then gave an exasperated tug at his socks. ‘There!’
Dissatisfied, Rhona said, ‘Maybe you’d like to roll your trousers up too?’
‘Lord above,’ sighed Charlie. ‘I don’t see how that will improve your listening powers, but very well!’ As he rolled his trouser legs up he was flummoxed to see disenchantment spread across her features – but the reason was denied him as Biddy’s glaring face thrust itself into the room.
‘’Tis not enough for ye to smash me medicine, ye have to rob me of my room an’ all!’
He laid the book aside and started towards Biddy. ‘I’m…’
‘Never mind! Just get ye gone. Herself wants to see ye in the parlour.’ She gave him a bossy thump as he passed.
Rhona cupped her hand and bent close to the baby’s face. ‘Did you see, Squawk? He’s not really half white – his legs were brown an’ all.’
When his anxious face peeped round the parlour door, Rachel’s back was to him. She heard his polite cough but did not turn. ‘I don’t want to hear any information about why you came here, nor excuses.’ The prickly words hopped over her shoulder. ‘I don’t even wish to look at you. Just listen. I don’t want you here, but it appears I’m going to have to put up with you until the priest comes. You’ll be given a bed in the attic. You are to remain up there until you are granted leave to come down and on no account are you ever, ever, to come into this room, nor at any time will you show your face at the window. Do you understand?’
Charlie stared at the rigid shoulders, then said quietly, ‘Yes.’
‘Then go and wait for the maid to come and clear it out.’ She listened for the door’s click before allowing her pose to crumple.
* * *
When Russ came home that evening and inspected Charlie’s new quarters, he found there were two put-up beds in it, but did not comment upon this. Only after dark was he to discover who the second bed was for.
He had tried to make the evening as normal as possible for the children’s sake, reading them a story as he usually did – though with Charlie’s presence he had not felt able to inject his narrative with the customary verve. When the children went to bed he did not, as he would have liked, escape to the pub, but remained in the cool company of his wife for the entire evening – though conversation was virtually non-existent.
Now it was bedtime. The cocoa was consumed, the lights doused, both went upstairs. But Rachel turned and applied a discouraging palm to his chest as he made to follow her into their room. ‘I’ve decided that I’m getting too old for bearing children. Much as I can’t stand Ella Daw, I have to agree with her that seven is enough for anybody… so there’ll be no need for us to sleep in the same room any more, will there?’
He was dumbfounded. ‘But, Rachel… I mean, all right if you don’t want any more babies I’ll be all too happy to go along with that … but surely that’s no reason why you should throw me out of our marriage bed.’
‘I don’t consider us to have a marriage bed,’ Rachel informed him coolly. ‘Presumably neither did you when you committed your treachery with that woman.’
‘Aw, love…’
‘Do you know – do you truly know how I feel about this?’ Her eyes bespoke her torture. ‘I feel as though I was never really married to you. I feel as if my children are…’ She shook her head woefully, unable to say the word ‘illegitimate’ of her own lovely brood.
‘But that’s just being daft! Of course we’re married. I told you it was just…’
‘Just! Just! You keep saying just this and only that – you don’t appear to attach any importance whatsoever to what you’ve done!’ He tried to tell her she was wrong but she interrupted again. ‘Whether we had a legal marriage or not is immaterial now. It’s the way I feel that counts and I don’t feel married to you. Whatever sort of marriage we may have had is over in everything but name. However,’ she added as his face crumpled, ‘I’ve considered things very carefully and have reached the decision that one of us must think of the children. So… I’m going to stay with you. We’ve got to present ourselves to the world as if everything is normal for their sakes. I shall try my best not to show you any unpleasantness in front of them or anyone else, to all intents and purposes I shall have forgiven you. But of course,’ her voice caught, ‘I have not. I could never forgive you for the pain and humiliation you’ve brought us. I despise you. That’s all I have to say.’ She saw that he was not going to move and added, ‘I hope you don’t object to sleeping in the same room as your son? I thought the nearness of him might bring back happy memories for you. Goodnight.’ She shut him from her room, then pressed her back to the door, holding her breath to listen as he creaked his dispirited way to the attic.
Alone in the cold expanse of bed, she lay sleepless for hours. Inexplicably, her most prevalent thought was of the baby she had lost four years ago. What sort of deity had let her innocent baby perish in the womb and yet allowed this one to live so that he could come here and destroy nine lives? She lay there reciting: Russ, Rachel, Robert, Rowena, Rosalyn, Rebecca, Robina, Rhona, Regina… Charlie. Damn him! Damn him for ruining her nice ordered life.
Only seconds before she fell asleep did it occur to her that the names so carefully selected for their initial had been adulterated for years by the children themselves.
Chapter Eleven
Light streamed in through the window in the roof and woke him. Battling with confusion, he lay there for a moment then, remembering where he was, felt the walls of his mind press in on him with overwhelming depression. What time was it? Reaching a hand from the bed, he scraped his watch from the bare floorboards. Five-thirty. Another two and a half hours to suffer before he could escape to the shop. He laid the watch down and crossed his hands over his naked chest. Involuntary eyes were drawn to the other bed. The contrast of the white linen made the boy’s skin appear darker than it had been yesterday. He was still asleep, lying on his back, lips slightly apart – a bonny sight to the objective eye, but for Russ it provoked a facsimile of the child’s mother and he turned away in self-disgust. How was he ever going to cope until the priest came? And what makes you think the priest’s coming will end it? came the sudden poser. The boy might be gone but you’ll still have to live with the guilt, with those looks… Fingers scrabbled under his pillow, withdrawing a box of matches and a pack of cigarettes.
The grating of the matchhead on emery roused Charlie. His nostrils twitched and smarted at the invasive reek of sulphur. He blinked. His thick eyebrows remained puckered for some seconds before he came fully awake, then he rolled on his back to look at his room-mate. ‘Good morning.’
Russ inhaled long and fierce on the cigarette, didn’t look at him.
Charlie glanced at the patch of blue through the skylight. ‘Another nice day.’ Still no response. ‘Might I be allowed out today, d’you think?’
‘No. You’re to stay up here out of sight.’
‘Why?’
Russ thought he detected a truculent edge to the word and replied stridently, ‘Because I say so,’ before taking another long drag.
The small attic grew oppressive with smoke. There was an inch of ash balanced precariously on the end of the cigarette. Charlie had not brought any pyjamas with him and his legs were sticking together beneath the weight of the
covers; they smarted as he pulled them apart. Pushing aside the sheets, he rolled into a sitting position and put his feet to the wood. Beneath the other bed there was a tin lid, containing several spent butts – his father had obviously continued smoking long after he himself had fallen asleep. Reaching over, Charlie took hold of the lid and handed it to his father.
‘Thanks.’ Russ allowed the ash to fall into it.
‘Can you blow smoke rings?’ Charlie’s bright query was ignored. ‘Father Guillaume can. Sometimes… sometimes I sneak one of his fags out and have a go, but I’m no good.’ His impish smile fizzled out. After a while he reached for his trousers, which were folded over a chair, took an object from the pocket and held it out to his father. ‘Look.’
Russ’ eyes flickered briefly. On the boy’s palm was a button from a military tunic.
‘It’s got the initials of your regiment on it.’
‘How do you know anything about my regiment?’ The question was surly.
‘My mother told me everything about you.’
He had never credited her with that much interest – he himself not being very interested in her background – obviously he had been wrong. Charlie’s voice was proud as he referred to the button again. ‘I found it sticking in the river bank when I was five. I thought it might be yours.’ In this tenuous assumption, he had carried it with him wherever he went – regarded it as his talisman.
It didn’t bring him much luck here. ‘I never had a button loose… now, if it had been a slate I could’ve laid claim to it.’
This was too subtle for Charlie, but the tone of voice was enough to transmit its adverse content. At his father’s dismissal of the button he paid it thoughtful study himself, rotating it between thumb and forefinger. ‘It cleaned up very nicely; it was black when I found it.’
When nothing was forthcoming he replaced the treasured button in his pocket, draped his arms over his bare knees and began to drum his feet on the floorboards while he thought of something else to say. The rhythmic slap of his feet seemed to annoy his father. At Russ’ forbidding glower he stilled them and after a second asked, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
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