‘No, I couldn’t, not yet, thank you.’ How formal that sounded. Suddenly she felt uneasy. Was she doing the right thing? What were his ‘intentions’ as her mother was always asking her? She had laughed but really, if the truth were known, she was only going on her instincts that Stephen’s intentions were ‘honourable’ as all the romantic fiction described them. But were they? He hadn’t said anything to her about his ‘intentions’ at all. She began to feel a little angry. Did he think she was a mind reader?
Stephen felt the change in Leah. He looked at her profile, that firm chin, the straight, narrow nose with the delicate nostrils. He noticed they were now flared a little. She’s angry, he thought in surprise.
‘What’s the matter?’ He put his glass down on the grass.
‘Nothing,’ she wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t if she’d tried. The day seemed to be spoiling before her eyes. Even the view didn’t look that good; only the Yorkshire dales after all, which she’d seen before.
‘There is something, Leah. Come on, out with it.’ He sidled over to her and tried to turn her face to him. She shook his hand off.
‘It’s nothing; just feeling a little queasy. It must be the champagne.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘And how would you know? You really know nothing about me, Stephen.’
‘I know enough to know I love you.’ He caught her to him and took the glass out of her hand. ‘You know I do.’
‘Do I?’ Leah looked into his eyes. She could see her reflection in them. She felt mesmerized and her body as though there were no bones in it, a rag doll, which he now lowered onto the rug and began to kiss her thoroughly until she was breathless. She had no will of her own. He undressed her slowly, bending to kiss, to nuzzle and she moaned under him. So this was what it was like!
They set off back in the late afternoon. Leah had not been prepared for what had happened. Had not even known such feelings existed. Her mother had told her nothing of what went on between men and women. That topic was taboo. To Emma people existed from the neck up and ‘that was that’, she often said to Annie. To her daughters there was always silence on any topic associated with love or anything of that nature. Leah was inclined to think that her mother didn’t know the word ‘sex’ even existed.
The day had elevated Leah into another dimension – the only importance emotions, desires, caresses, the breathing, sighing, moaning of lovers. The feel of silken skin, the roughness of Stephen’s chin against her cheek, the rippling sensation as he fondled her, the sinking, sighing, twisting, groaning, moaning, panting, sweating; as she got on the bike she wondered how on earth she’d be able to confront her mother after all that had gone on, because she knew without a doubt that Emma would ‘know’. Emma would not like it at all. It was wrong, according to Emma to step over that boundary into that place of which she would never speak. Leah felt suddenly angry. Why should she feel ashamed of what they’d done? It somehow spoilt the perfection of the day.
Stephen must have sensed her thoughts. He turned around before they set off. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, he said. We’ll be married soon and then we can do what we want when we want.’ He turned back and kicked the bike over.
Leah stared at the back of his head, stunned. ‘Married?’
‘Of course, didn’t I tell you?’ He revved the accelerator.
‘I thought you were supposed to ask me,’ Leah shouted over the sound of the engine.
‘What?’
‘Ask me?’
‘Will you?’
‘Yes.’
Stephen laughed as they set off and Leah clung to him. ‘You’re daft,’ she yelled. He laughed again.
They moved off slowly, bumping down the rough dirt road. A few moments later Leah realized they were taking the bends too fast. She clung tighter. ‘Slow down,’ she called. She suddenly felt nervous. She hated speeding and normally Stephen stuck to a nice slow pace.
‘Slow down,’ she called again. There was no reply as he took a particularly sharp bend at top speed. He leant and she tried to sway with him but she was so nervous that she stayed rigidly upright.
‘Lean with me,’ Stephen yelled.
She tried as the bike tilted around each corner, faster and faster. Why was he going so fast?
‘Don’t go so fast!’
‘No brakes,’ he shouted.
Leah clung to his waist, her face a terrified mask as they swerved wildly round the never-ending bends. The bracken along the sides became merely a blur. Her heart seemed to have stopped with fear. On the next curve the bike skidded and did an almost complete circle on the loose stones. Leah flew through the air as though she’d been catapulted. She landed with a sickening thud. Her head struck something hard, almost knocking her out. She lay there for a while, dazed, then slowly sat up. She looked around, her mind still not clear. All she remembered was that they’d been going very fast. She shook her head. Where was Stephen? She raised herself and immediately felt sick. She could hardly focus but she lifted her head to find what she was looking for.
The bike lay some way off on its side, one wheel slowly spinning. Beyond the bike she saw a figure lying on the ground. She managed to stand, and stumbled over. When she reached him she dropped to her knees.
‘Stephen, Stephen.’ There was no response. He lay on his back with his face turned to one side. He looks all right, she thought with relief. She touched his shoulder.
‘Stephen.’ She turned his face towards her and cried out. A deep gash on his forehead oozed thick dark blood. It ran onto the ground and she watched in fascination as a pool slowly formed. She moaned then, a deep sound like a growl. She put his head carefully back on the ground and staggered back to the bike. She pulled the contents out of the bags frantically until she found the napkins and then rushed back, wound them carefully around his head, sat down next to him and lifted his head onto her lap.
She looked around at the deserted countryside. What could she do? She’d have to go and get help, but she was feeling so tired and dizzy she could sleep for a week. She stroked Stephen’s cheek. She’d just sit here for a moment until her head cleared. It would be all right. They were going to get married and they’d live happily ever after like it said in all the fairy stories. She gazed into Stephen’s face, unaware of the blood which dripped incessantly from her head onto her dress, the vivid red a startling contrast against the white!
‘Dad, Dad, come quick, come quick!’
Ted Wyndham had finished his chores for the day and was taking his usual early evening walk, with his son Tom and their dog, Laddie. Tom always liked to hare off across field with the dog, stopping at everything and often calling excitedly to his father to come and look.
Tom and Laddie were standing on the far side of the field and Tom was shouting loudly and gesticulating. Now what, Ted thought, detecting panic in the high pitched voice. Ee, our Tom, he thought, he is a panic merchant. He put his pipe in his pocket and strode swiftly across to his son. Tom was pointing and holding the dog. Then he saw them! Two figures, one lying full length and the other sort of wrapped around the top of the one lying on the ground. Even from a distance he could see the bright red against the white. He flew the rest of the way to where Tom was staring in fascination, holding the dog by its collar as it strained to get at them.
‘Are they dead, Dad?’ he asked fearfully.
‘I don’t know, lad, I don’t know.’ The farmer went closer and peered down. A lad and a lass; ee, bloody hell, what a thing to happen! He glanced across at the bike.
‘Accident,’ he said tersely. He turned to his son.
‘Get yourself off quick smart, our Tom. Go into Settle and ask ‘em to call an ambulance. Go on now, and hurry, because if they’re not dead now they soon will be from the look of ‘em. Here give me that dog.’
Tom handed Laddie over to his father. He took one last look and then without a word he went flying down the road. The dog yelped, trying to follow. The farmer held him tight.
‘No
t this time, Laddie.’ He went and sat on the side of the road still holding the dog. ‘Sit thi down.’ He yanked at the collar. The dog sat, whining intermittently.
Every now and then the farmer glanced over at the still forms. What a bloody shame! So bloody young as well, from the look of ‘em. Those bloody machines! He’d never liked ‘em. Give him a horse and cart any day. He kept looking over, involuntarily. He couldn’t help himself. There was a macabre fascination to the deadly stillness of those two bodies. It was a bloody crying shame, he thought. The terrible waste of it! There was no rhyme or reason to anything. Just look at what had happened in the war. He’d lost two sons. No, there was no rhyme or reason at all.
PART FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Co-op at the top of Glebe Street has been a big innovation for Harwood. It’s a department store, no less, and as such has given the town a bit of prestige. The floor space is small compared with those in say, Manchester, but there are still separate areas for men’s wear, women’s, children’s, hardware, Manchester goods, haberdashery, even a ‘department’ with the latest sewing machines and the like. Harwooders are proud of their Co-op. It’s also a regular meeting place. A place to browse, to catch up with friends, to hear the latest bits of gossip or just simply to a walk up Glebe Street or down Birtwistle Street, look at the wares through the large windows and then wander around the Square, just off it.
On this particular day the Co-op was busy with throngs of shoppers, happy to take advantage of the spate of unusually fine, spring weather, for the month of April was, more often than not, blustery, rainy and cold.
Emma Hammond and Annie Fitton were two of the first shoppers. They browsed happily through the underwear department, stopping at a counter where a large ‘for sale’ sign showed that vests, knickers and liberty bodices were going for two shillings each.
‘Have a look at these, Annie,’ Emma said loudly. ‘Didn’t you say you needed some new knickers?’
‘Aye, I did. Let’s have a look at ‘em. Ee, that is cheap.’ She fingered some knickers, her fat face enthusiastic as she considered a purchase, ‘And they’re not cheap quality either.’
Emma picked up a pair of white ones, which, to her, looked colossal. She held them out to Annie. ‘These should fit you, shouldn’t they,’ she asked.
Annie was dubious. ‘Ee, I don’t know. They don’t look big enough. I can’t stand it when the elastic’s too tight.’
Amazed, Emma dropped the knickers a few inches from where she was holding them.
‘Bloody hell, Annie,’ and she looked incredulously at the knickers. ‘You could get five pounds of potatoes in each cheek and still have room to spare.’
Annie gave a splutter and put her hand over her mouth to prevent her usual loud rumble from erupting. She went red in the face with effort. Emma put the knickers down, trying to control her own laughter. They made small snuffling sounds. Tears poured down their cheeks.
Emma was almost bent double. ‘Ee, stop it Annie, or I’ll wet me knickers,’ she said. That started them again. People were beginning to stare.
Emma got hold of the edge of her pinny from under her coat and wiped her eyes. ‘Ee, I haven’t laughed like that for ages, Annie. It’s given me a right pain in me side.’ Annie’s mouth began to twitch. ‘Don’t start again.’ Emma warned. ‘That’s made me feel worn out. Now come on, see if you can get a pair that’ll fit you and then I’ll get a few bits and pieces for meself.’
‘Aye, all right then.’ Annie took a piece of cloth (as big as a tablecloth, ends frayed) out of her pocket and blew her nose loudly. ‘Look, you go and get what you want and I’ll just have a quick look through this lot,’ and Annie crammed the handkerchief back into her pocket and began to rummage through the stall searching for an extra, extra large.
Emma wandered over to the haberdashery stand, jostling with shoppers as the shop was crowded by this time. She recognized many of the people and stopped to chat with a few of them. The clock on the Town Square suddenly boomed out the time. Eleven! She’d better get move on! She took out her shopping list to check what she needed. She’d already got the pound of ham for the sandwiches from the butchers, watercress, and cream. Yes, she had all that. All she needed were the safety pins and some blue satin ribbon.
There were a number of partitions dividing the various departments and she was just on the point of approaching the counter to ask for some blue silk ribbon when she heard someone talking on the other side of the partition next to her. It was the name Townsend that alerted her, said so loudly that the whole shop could hear. Emma recognized Mrs. Dickson, a nosey parker who no one liked and who lived in Glebe Street with her slightly addled daughter.
‘Aye,well, you’ll probably have heard all about the goings on at the Hall then?’ Mrs. Dickson said.
‘I did hear a bit of gossip, but couldn’t really believe it,’ the person talking to Mrs. Dickson said.
Emma frowned. She tried to see over the stand but it was too high. She knew that voice from somewhere. Who was it? She found a slit and peered through, but the person in question had her back to her and all she could see was this person’s fat behind.
‘As I was saying, I saw Gertie Wicklow the other day. She used to work at the Hall, I’m sure you must know her.’
‘Aye, I do. Wasn’t she the nasty, pousy ‘un who used to live down Princes Road?’
‘Aye, she’s the one.’
Emma was exasperated; she knew that voice and the name was sitting right on the tip of her tongue like it was teasing her. She listened to Mrs. Dickson, who it was obvious was taking great delight in imparting scurrilous bits of gossip.
‘I suppose you heard about the scandal at the Hall, Annie?’
Annie! Annie who?
‘I did hear a bit.’
‘Ee, there’s more than a bit.’ Mrs. Dickson decided to lower her voice, finally becoming aware people were staring in disapproval. Emma could only hear snatches of the conversation, the friend making a tut-tutting sound. Mr. Townsend had been sent to Cheshire, that she did hear. That place in Sale, to ‘recover’, the friend said in a knowing voice. Emma was shocked. Everyone knew what that place was where you ‘recovered’. Emma lost track of the conversation as she pondered on what she’d just heard. That was a crying shame about Mr. Townsend, because she’d liked him (what little she knew of him). She jumped to attention again as she heard Leah’s name mentioned.
‘Aye, I didn’t hear the whole story about what happened to her, stuck up little snot…!’ the sentence went unfinished because Emma suddenly appeared in front of the person in question, like a genie emerging from a bottle. Her face was red with anger.
‘Oh, aye, what did you hear about my Leah, Annie?’ Emma had suddenly put a face to the voice: Annie Mullen, who she hadn’t seen in years because she’d gone to live in Birmingham after she’d split with Harold.
‘Ee, I didn’t know you were there, Emma,’ Mrs. Dickson exclaimed.
‘That’s very obvious, but I could have heard you in Manchester. They should use you for advertising. They wouldn’t need the newspaper and the wireless with you around.’
Mrs. Dickson had the grace to look shame-faced, but Annie Mullen just gave Emma a hard stare. ‘There’s no law that says people can’t talk if they want to, is there?’ she said belligerently. She looked meaner and nastier than she had all those years ago.
Emma turned from Mrs. Dickson as Annie said this. ‘No, no there isn’t Annie, but if I hear you mention anyone of my family like that again I’ll mop the bloody floor with you, you mean-minded bugger.’
Emma’s voice rose to shouting pitch and people turned to stare in surprise. Emma Hammond was normally so quietly spoken. A number had heard what was going on and didn’t blame Emma in the least because that Annie Mullen would try the patience of a saint.
‘Mop the floor with me, will you?’ Annie yelled. ‘I’d bloody well like to see you try, you stuck up bitch.’
By this time the other sho
ppers were avidly taking in the drama, Mrs. Dickson trying to appear as though she’d no part in the altercation. A shop attendant departed hurriedly for the manager, Mr. Penny, who came racing out of his office. He was short and squat in a double-breasted suit, shiny black hair and moustache and a prim way about him. He pushed his way through the shoppers.
‘Ladies, ladies; now, now, please, we don’t want any trouble here,’ he said in a loud voice. He held Annie Mullen firmly by the arm, ‘And if you don’t mind, madam, I’ll escort you from my shop.’
Annie shook his hand off. ‘Here, hold on a bit, it’s her you should kick out of the shop, not me.’
The two women stood glaring at each other, Mr. Penny looking helplessly from one to the other. Annie Fitton, finally hearing and then seeing what was happening pushed her way through and got hold of Emma. ‘Come on, Emma. Don’t let’s have any trouble. Not today of all days, for God’s sake! Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She looked scathingly at Annie Mullen, her fat face contorted. ‘She’s not worth wasting your breath on.’ She almost dragged Emma out of the shop.
Outside, Emma found that she was still trembling with rage. No wonder people have heart attacks, she thought. She shouldn’t have carried on like that but it was just the way that bitch had talked about Leah. Another minute and she would have throttled her. Thank God Annie had stopped her. She felt terrible now, just thinking of that scene in there and everyone watching. She wouldn’t be able to show her face for a month. And after all that she still hadn’t got what she’d come for in the first place.
‘You know what, Annie?’
‘What?’
‘I’ll have to go back in. I still haven’t got the safety pins and the ribbon and I can’t go home without it.’
The Loom Page 21