The Rocking Stone

by Jill Rutherford

  I didn’t know what to say to him and we sat there in silence for a while. ‘She wouldn’t have sent him to fight,’ I said, ‘if she’d known how awful things would be.’

  He glanced up at me. ‘No, I suppose not. But we didn’t know, we all thought the war would be over in a few months. We didn’t know it would be so awful and go on so long. How could we? We believed what we were told. She blames herself. She’s upset all the time.’

  ‘But your dad didn’t have to go. It was his decision too.’

  ‘We’ve been telling her that, my sisters and me. I don’t know what to do.’

  I heard footsteps coming up the aisle and looked up and saw the vicar striding towards us. Tom saw him too and got up. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean–’ And then he rushed out before the vicar got to us.

  ‘Is he all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied as I looked down and saw my two bags of shopping. I was so confused by this boy. He was good to his family, but too casual about the wrong kind of girls. But why should I care? He was nothing to me. And he was a miner. All my life, I’d been surrounded by miners. I didn’t want one for a husband. But in reality, I knew that, for someone like me, from my background, there was little else in Ponty. But it didn’t stop me dreaming of marrying an educated man who worked in a nice, clean office . . . a clerk . . . an accountant . . . but most definitely, not a miner.

  All my efforts to try and put Tom off had the opposite effect to the one I wanted. It spurred him on even more. He started to show up at church every Sunday, in his best suit, his hair all neat and tidy, and as if that wasn’t enough, he always wore a flower in his button hole. When we left the church he gave it to me with an exaggerated bow and a twinkle in his eye, but it made no difference, I still refused to go out with him. I learned later that he used to pay old Mr Forbes, who loved his garden, a penny a flower every Sunday morning.

  Tom introduced me to his mother one Sunday after service and I was surprised that this new member of our congregation, so haughty and private, was Tom’s mother. She was a proud woman, regal, with a straight back and her head was always held high. The opposite of what I thought his mother would be. Even though some called her haughty I grew to like her as we passed the time of day after church sometimes. She told me she came from Somerset originally and she still had a faint burr to her words which I found attractive.

  Tom had been coming to church for about three months and I was despairing of him ever giving up. One day he arrived late and was with another man, who I took a dislike to on sight. His carrot red hair with a will of its own, and his small, too close together eyes gave him a menacing look. But it was his assured cockiness and obvious desire to be unpleasant that really turned me against him.

  At the end of the service, Tom came up to me as usual and presented me with his flower. The ginger man followed him. ‘This is why you’ve taken to coming to church is it?’ His voice was mocking. ‘Introduce me, Tom, to the beautiful and charming young lady.’

  Tom looked agitated, and tried to elbow him away, but finally, resigned to it he said, ‘This is my brother, Dudley.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ I said to Tom, perplexed. He’d never mentioned a brother. I was prevented from saying more when Dudley took my hand and kissed the back of it. I’d read about this in books, although I’d never known it done in real life before. But I did know that in books, they didn’t press their lips hard into your skin and caress it with their tongue, which is what Dudley had done.

  I was furious. How dare he! This man was trouble. I felt Tom’s anger mounting. He had never tried to kiss me in any form, he had more respect for me. But I didn’t want to cause any trouble at church, so I decided to ignore Dudley. ‘Thank you for the flower, Tom, it’s lovely,’ I said as I walked away from them hoping this man would take the hint. But he wasn’t that kind of man. The next Sunday, he was there with Tom and his mother, and, to my dismay, he had a flower in his buttonhole too. At the end of the service, he rushed over to me and presented it with a great flourish. Tom came then and saw what he’d done. He went pale, but I said to Dudley, all prim and proper, ‘No, thank you, Tom always gives me a flower, I only need one. Please find someone else to give it to.’

  Tom and I exchanged our first look of understanding.

  That was the start of a scheme of pestering by Dudley. He always hung around waiting to walk me to work, or back home. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Tom, as much as he wanted to be, was not my boyfriend and I had managed to keep him at bay without too much trouble, but I was having great difficulty with Dudley. While Tom was at work, Dudley made a nuisance of himself. He didn’t have a job, I don’t know what he did for a living, but he always seemed to have money. He’d smile at me and offer some trinket or sweets. When he did this, I noticed that his smile never reached his eyes.

  I had no qualms about telling Dudley how much I disliked him and to stop bothering me. But he took no notice. In the end, I had to ask my father to have a word with him. It did no good, he carried on as before. In the end, it was Dudley who finally made up my mind to accept Tom as my boyfriend. He made Tom seem like a perfect gentleman and I knew that Tom hated him as much as I did. So to get rid of Dudley, I started to walk out with Tom. I knew my feelings for him were getting stronger by the week and the more I tried to shut him out, the more I thought of him. Deep down, I realised I was in love with him but I wouldn’t admit it. I was scared of the power of my feelings. And I still had my dreams of marrying a professional man.

  I knew there were lots of rows between Tom and Dudley but I didn’t know the extent of them until one day Tom came to meet me as usual on our Wednesday evening date. We always met at the foot of the mountain and walked up together. It was raining and I was sheltering under my umbrella and when Tom dipped under it, I saw his black eyes and purple, split lips.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing, what happened? Did you have an accident in the pit?’ I asked, putting my hand up to his face. He winced before I touched him and I put my hand down quickly.

  He had difficulty in speaking. ‘It was that bastard Dudley,’ he spat out. Spittle ran over his oversized lips and he wiped it away none too gently. He took a deep breath, as if he’d forgotten to breathe. ‘He refused to stop trying to see you, and I told him that if he did it again I’d beat him up.’ He wiped the spittle away again. ‘He laughed in my face, Kate – and I’m sorry for the bad language – he said . . . “Try it you bastard. I’ll see anyone I like and you’ll lump it. I kissed her before you and I intend to fuck her before you.”’

  I gasped and took a step back, shocked to my core.

  ‘That did it. I snapped. I pulled him out into the back garden and laid into him. He’s a good fighter, but he didn’t have my fury and I was determined to kill him.’ He stopped as if he’d just realised what he’d said. He wiped the spittle away again. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but that’s how I felt. After a few minutes Mam arrived and started screaming for us to stop but that spurred him on to get even more vicious. I couldn’t let him win, Kate, it would have been like giving up on you. I hit him with such an almighty blow to the nose that he fell like a stone and I kept kicking him when he was down. I couldn’t control myself. All those memories of the awful things he’d done to me . . . and what he said he would do to you.’

  He stepped out from under the umbrella into the rain and looked up at the sky, getting soaked. I was so shocked I just looked at him, not knowing what to think.

  He took another shuddering breath. ‘Years of living with him. Putting up with his nastiness. It all came out. All I could see was your beautiful face and his ugly one leering at you. Finally, my mother lay down on top of him, which meant that if I kept on kicking him, I’d be kicking her too. She begged me to stop. She said if I killed him then she would lose me to the hangman.’

  He fell silent, looking up at the grey sky, letting the rain soak him. I was afraid to ask if Dudley was dead.

  ‘He’s in the hospital. H
e’ll be in for a few weeks they said.’

  I stared at the man I had come to love and realised I didn’t know him at all.

  His lips began to bleed and he looked beseechingly at me, like a child asking for forgiveness. I’d put my hand over my mouth and was clenching my jaw so hard it was hurting.

  ‘My God, Tom,’ I whispered from behind my hand. ’I know he’s awful, but to nearly kill him?’ I walked away from him then, not knowing how to react. I was in deep shock. He ran after me and asked for my forgiveness saying – and I’ll never forget it – ‘Don’t you know how much I love you and worship you? There’ll never be anyone else. Don’t you know that?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know anything right now,’ I mumbled. ‘I need some time to think.’ I remember his look of despair. And I don’t think I ever loved him more.

  *

  A few days later, Edie and I were walking through town, Edie pushing her daughter, in her pram, and the late evening sun shining down on us as we window shopped. Taff Street was our main shopping street and was built narrow, like our valley. The grand Victorian buildings on either side were built closely packed and the sun was only able to penetrate along the street when it was low in the sky. It looked its best then. It was the place to be and to go, the height of sophistication for the valley people to come to. We were proud of our town.

  Everyone in Ponty seemed to know about ‘The Fight’ as it had become known. To put Dudley in the hospital notched up Tom’s standing among the men. It had the opposite effect on me.

  ‘I don’t know what to do about Tom,’ I said.

  ‘Well, you’ve had enough time to think about it. It’s quite simple. Do you love him?’

  ‘I don’t know. What’s love anyway?’

  ‘Well, you’ll know it if you feel it. You’re hopeless.’ She looked at me, curious. ‘Look, do you tingle when he touches you?’

  I nodded, embarrassed.

  ‘Mm, I see,’ she smiled. ‘And does he make your stomach turn over and your heart beat stronger and do you want to touch him?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘And do you like his personality? Does he make you laugh? Do you trust him?’

  ‘That’s just it. How can I trust him when I know of his reputation with women, and now, what he did to Dudley?’

  We’d come to Weston’s, which sold good mackintoshes and umbrellas, the kind we couldn’t afford. But we liked to look just the same.

  ‘I like that mac,’ Edie said, pointing.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said without seeing it.

  ‘Well, you should make up your mind soon. It’s not fair dangling him on a piece of string like you do.’

  ‘The thing is, if I’m honest, I am attracted to him. In fact, I’ve never been so attracted to anyone before, but, well, I’m not sure what he’s like inside, you know, his real character. Oh, I just don’t know.’

  ‘But he’s changed, hasn’t he? He goes to your church every Sunday, gives you a flower. For goodness sake girl, what more do you want?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . oh, I don’t know . . . I’ve seen so many bad husbands who are all over their wives at first and then change and treat them like items, things to use. I always told myself I would never have a husband like that.’

  ‘You think he’d be like that then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Can he really change?’

  ‘Well, he practically killed his brother for you. That’s proof, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s proof that he has a violent side to him.’

  ‘Oh, Kate. You want too much.’

  I looked at her reflection in the shop window, ignoring all the umbrellas and waterproof clothing, and thought for a while. ‘Is it bad to want too much? Surely, low expectations get you nothing except struggle and sorrow.’

  ‘Now you’re sounding like a poet. Oh, come on, Kate. Give him a chance. If it was me, I would. He’s the catch of the town, so many girls want him he could have his choice. But for some reason he’s fallen hard for you. Sorry, I don’t mean that the way it sounds, but, well, maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but I think you should give him a chance. He doesn’t have a reputation for fighting in town, so it could be that it’s as he said. Dudley finally pushed him too hard. It could happen to anyone, in the right circumstances, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that, I don’t think I could fight someone or feel such hatred for someone that I’d want to kill them.’

  ‘Well, I could,’ said Edie in consternation. ‘You’re sometimes too good to be true. Be a bit human sometimes.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Look, Kate, you’re my best friend, we’ve known each other for a long time, but sometimes, you can be cold, like you don’t have any feelings at all. Give yourself a chance. Let Tom back in, after all, you can always give him the push again.’ She laughed, which made me remember why she was my best friend. She could always put me in a better mood and see the funny side of things.

  But it didn’t really help me any because I was still dithering about Tom when his mother asked to speak to me after church one Sunday. I knew that Dudley had recovered and that he hadn’t pressed charges against Tom – his mother’s doing I think – and Dudley had stopped coming to the church, so at least he’d learned that much.

  We left Tom to go home alone and Mrs Mallow and I walked together to the end of Graig Street and down the long, widely spaced steps into Madoc Street. I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place, but I was anxious and the continuing silence made me nervous. We walked along as far as the ridge. The ground fell away here and was too narrow to build on, so it was left natural with a fence to stop anyone falling down into the street below.

  She stopped me by putting her hand on my arm. ‘It’s breaking Tom’s heart to have bad feeling between you. Can’t you give him another chance, Kate?’

  I was taken aback. I’d expected her to have a go at me and was shocked that she wanted me for Tom. That was the first time she’d ever said anything about our relationship. I clutched the top of the fence and looked out over the roofs of the street below.

  ‘How can I, Mrs Mallow,’ I said speaking into the void in front of me. ‘He was so violent against Dudley. I’m . . . well, if I’m honest, and I feel I have to be . . . then I have to tell you that I’m afraid – afraid that if he can do that to Dudley he can do it to others, even me.’

  ‘No! No, Kate. Please understand he’s not like that. The fight was totally out of character for Tom. You have to believe that. It was the accumulation of a lifetime of bad feeling between him and Dudley. It was Dudley’s fault.’ Her breath trembled as she whispered, ‘Lord, forgive me, but I have to make you understand. It was . . . my fault. Everything has been my fault.’

  ‘Your fault? What do you mean, Mrs Mallow?’

  ‘Kate, promise me this will go no further. If I confide in you, please keep my shame to yourself.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She looked up at the sky as if the answers were to be found in the grey, heavy clouds.

  I was astounded. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I’ll keep your secret.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Let me explain. Did you know that Tom is my adopted son?’

  ‘Your adopted son?’ I repeated stupidly: stunned. Tom had never mentioned it. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Her knuckles were white as she clutched the top of the fence. ‘Dudley was a very difficult child. It pains me to say it, but he had – has – a cruel streak. His father and I despaired of him. But he was our son and we did our best with him. Then my best friend died in childbirth. Tom was that child. His father died about two months later in an accident at the pit. Some people said it was a strange accident which shouldn’t have happened and that maybe he’d committed suicide. I know he was broken hearted and couldn’t even pick Tom up and cuddle him. I think he thought of Tom as killing his wife.

  ‘I took Tom to live with us, temporarily I thought, but after his father died, I just
kept him and he became mine. My husband was quite happy about this as he’d grown to love Tom too. We had our two girls who were as unlike Dudley as they could be. We loved them and Tom. He was such a happy baby, never any trouble, unlike Dudley who’d been a bad-tempered baby and had turned into a spiteful and selfish boy. No one liked him, including, I’m sorry to say, us. It was really difficult to love him. Please believe that.’ She looked at me, pleading for understanding.

  ‘Oh, I do, Mrs Mallow, I know Dudley a little and I disliked him on sight. There’s something about him that’s unnerving.’

  She nodded. ‘Dudley was five years old when Tom came into our family and it really put Dudley’s nose out of joint. All his hate went onto Tom and it’s really hard for me to admit, but I failed Dudley. I gave all my love to my other children, including Tom, and ignored Dudley. I let him do what he liked as long as he didn’t cause problems for me.’ She paused and looked out over the rooftops for a long time and I didn’t dare speak. ‘You know . . . if I hadn’t seen his bad-tempered face and red hair covered in my blood and attached to my cord, I wouldn’t have believed he was mine. He came into the world in a temper, with a chip on his shoulder and it grew with him. It hurts me to say so, but he’s as selfish and nasty as they come. I should have given him more attention and tried to help him be a nicer boy, but it was easier to ignore him and love Tom. He was always my favourite, even though he wasn’t mine in reality. He was mine in every other way.’

  I was astonished at her candour but unsure of what she expected of me. She made me feel like an equal to her and I did my best to act like one.

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Mrs Mallow, I’m sure you did your best.’

  ‘Thank you, I tried, I really did, but I don’t think you appreciate what trouble I had with Dudley. He was bad enough before Tom came into our lives but that was a turning point for him and made him worse. As they were growing up they fought all the time, and it was always Dudley who started it. He tormented Tom.’ She opened her handbag and took out a hankie, so clean and perfectly ironed, and shook it out before dabbing the tears from her eyes and putting it neatly back. ‘Tom didn’t retaliate often. He took a sensible view and ignored him as much as possible. Tom was always like that, gentle and kind. That was his nature. He was just like his mother.’