He swilled the second pint of beer down his throat, slapped the glass down on the table and rose to his feet. ‘I’m off,’ he said shortly.
‘What did you mean, she’ll find the walk up the aisle longer than she thinks?’ Bruce had risen too, barring Perce’s way. ‘What are you planning?’
‘Nowt.’
‘It didn’t sound like nowt to me.’
‘Get out of my way, Bruce.’
‘You hurt a hair of her head and you’ll pay for it, brother or no brother. Do you hear me?’
‘Oh aye, I hear you.’ Perce’s eyes bored into Bruce’s. ‘And I’m shivering in me boots. Now get out of my way, I shan’t ask again.’
He was barmy. He’d obviously been brooding about all of this so long it had addled his brain. But he was all wind and water; he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Amy, not Perce.Would he? The last year or two he’d turned into a dodgy kettle of fish, that was for sure, but this was something different.
Bruce stood aside and watched Perce walk out of the pub. He felt so churned up inside he didn’t know what to do with himself.
On leaving the pub he caught a glimpse of Perce turning the corner into Wreath Quay Road, and without really knowing why he began to walk that way too. When he saw his brother turn left into Hay Street, Bruce found himself running the last few yards to the head of the road. To the right was a grid of terraced streets but Perce was walking on the left-hand side which consisted of warehouses and a goods yard and sheds.
With no very clear idea of what he was going to do beyond trying to reason with Perce again now that he might have cooled down a little, Bruce walked on. Before Perce reached the goods yard he turned off into one of the warehouses and didn’t come out.
Still with no plan of action, Bruce made his way to the spot where Perce had disappeared. Apart from a group of snotty-nosed bairns playing some game or other, the eldest of them in charge of a squalling baby in a dilapidated perambulator, there was no one about. As he reached the warehouse he heard voices within.There were two doors but only one was ajar and it was to this he was drawn, treading as lightly as his hobnailed boots would allow. He recognised Perce’s voice straightaway and it was clear he was still agitated because he was letting off steam to someone.
‘. . . try to pull the wool over my eyes. He’s sweet on her, I’d bet me last farthing on it whatever he says now, but he hasn’t the gumption to admit it.’
‘Aye, well, let’s hope you’re right ’cos it’d be a shame if you paid out that tidy sum to have him worked over for nowt.’
‘Well, this other one will get more than being worked over, trust me. And this time I’ll tell ’em to make sure it’s not in a back lane where they can get interrupted. His own mother won’t recognise Charles Callendar by the time he’s dumped in the river.’
‘All right, Perce, all right, calm down, man. Look, we’ve business to do the day so let’s get on with it. I want this latest lot cleared out of here by tomorrow morning, I’ve got a buyer in mind.’
‘Aye, aye, but first I need a drink. I’ve got a bottle of that whisky you like upstairs in the flat. How about we wet our whistle before we get started, Stan?’
‘Sure you haven’t had enough already?’
‘Aye, I’m sure.’
This last from Perce was a growl and it appeared Stan wasn’t going to argue. Bruce looked about him for somewhere to hide but it seemed that Perce’s flat could be reached from within the warehouse because in the next moments their voices became more distant and then faded away altogether.
The numb feeling that had overtaken Bruce when he had first heard his brother speaking lasted until he was safely back on the main road. Then he found he was shaking so much he had to lean against the wall of a house.
Perce seriously intended to do Charles Callendar harm; more than that, it had been his brother who had been behind the beating he had received that time in the back lane, and the police had said then that if the assailants hadn’t been interrupted they could have done for him.
Bruce ran his hand over his face which was damp with perspiration in spite of the cold spring day and bitter north wind. He turned to face the wall, his hands above his shoulders and pressed against the bricks as he stared at the ground. It was unbelievable, but he had just heard it with his own ears. He stood there for some time, all the warmth and sentiment of childhood memories turning to ashes. His brother had done that to him, his own brother, the same brother who had fought off more than one bully at school for him and got his nose bloodied in the process.
He had to stop Perce. He straightened. He owed him no loyalty, not now, this was too serious. But how to go about it?
He turned abruptly, beginning to walk towards North Bridge Street and the Wearmouth Bridge, his mind racing as a possible solution presented itself. If he followed this through, it was better to do it in the main town away from Monkwearmouth.
The wind bit harder as he crossed the bridge and he stood for a few minutes looking down into the river where tugboats, colliers, salvage ships and other big craft jostled with the smaller vessels. Some six years before, when work on this bridge had begun around the old one in an effort to keep the traffic moving, he and his father and Perce had come to stand and watch. He had been eleven years old then and Perce nearly thirteen, and he remembered it as a good day. They had brought sandwiches and some of his mam’s homemade lemonade and had eaten their lunch in the sunshine, marvelling at the construction taking place. One of the Italian ice-cream sellers had passed them pushing his cart, and Perce had treated them all to a cornet from the money he’d had in his pocket from his paper round.
The memory caused Bruce to screw up his face for a second like a child with the stomachache before he told himself that that had been then and this was now.Things had changed. He and Perce had changed, and the roads they had taken since that time were diametrically opposed. He could see very little of the brother he had fought and cried and laughed with as a bairn in the hard, aggressive individual he had spoken to today. And Perce was planning to do serious harm to an innocent man and ruin Amy’s life. That was what he had to remember here.
His mouth hardening, he turned from the river and made his way into Bishopwearmouth and the main post office. He had never used a telephone before, and he stood quietly watching how it was done for some time before he looked up the telephone number of the local police station in the much-thumbed directory.
This had to be done today, before Perce and his cronies moved whatever it was they had stolen and the necessary evidence was gone. He couldn’t prevaricate or rethink this. Anyway, there was nothing to rethink. It was as simple as that.
The scandal of one of their number being involved in handling stolen goods and all sorts of rum goings-on was a nine-day wonder in Fulwell.The impact on the Shawe family was not what it would normally have been, however.Thomas was ill, very ill, and the doctor was increasingly worried.
Betsy and Ruth had caught the measles from a schoolfriend and passed it on to their two younger siblings, but whereas little Milly and the twins were poorly for a couple of weeks and then started to recover, their brother went steadily downhill. On the day the Echo reported that Percival Ronald Shawe and a Mr Stanley Irvin had both been sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment, Thomas was rushed into an isolation ward at the infirmary. May, whose fear of hospitals and all things medical bordered on the phobic, announced she couldn’t bear to visit him, and as Ronald didn’t get home from work in the evening until nearly six o’clock and visiting time on the ward was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon, it was Amy and Bruce who sat at the little boy’s side each day.
It was on the third day, when Thomas was sleeping, that they began to talk about Perce and it was then that Amy revealed how he had first badgered her and then later attacked her and what he had said. Now he was safely locked away, it had released something in her. With Charles’s engagement ring on her finger and the knowledge Perce was unable to hurt anyone, she
found she needed to share her secret with someone. No, not someone. With Bruce. She felt he was the only one who would truly understand.
Bruce did not speak immediately she finished; he was finding it impossible to utter a word, so great was his anger towards his brother. But if ever he had needed confirmation that he had done the right thing in seeing Perce was put away, he had it now. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he asked after a few tense moments.
Amy swallowed. ‘If I could have told anyone it would have been you but I suppose I was frightened you’d go for him and then he would have it in for you, and he can be so nasty when he wants to be.’
More nasty than, thankfully, she need ever know now, Bruce thought. ‘He could have tried it on again at any time, laid in wait for you somewhere,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t you see that?’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘But he might have. Hell, Amy, you should have told me.’
He was upset and she couldn’t really blame him. Amy reached out across the bed and the small occupant lying so still and rested the tips of her fingers on the bedsheet in front of Bruce. ‘Friends for fairs?’ she whispered softly.
He looked down at her small hand. The old northern saying - friends in earnest - had been a private way of making up after an argument between them as bairns but they hadn’t used it in years.
He shook his head at her, reaching out and taking her hand as he said, ‘I shouldn’t let you talk me round like this, it was plain stupidity not to tell me. But,’ he smiled wryly, ‘friends for fairs. This time. But don’t you dare be so foolish about anything so potentially dangerous again.’
‘I won’t,’ she said, smiling faintly. ‘I promise. And I forgive you for shouting at me,’ she added, her voice light to let him know she was teasing.
‘If we weren’t in here I would have shouted all right.’
He let go of her hand, settling back in the chair as the child in the bed stirred and then moaned a little in his sleep. Bruce looked down at his baby brother, his heart going out to him. Thomas was going to need him when he came out of hospital because they’d already warned there was a good chance his vision and hearing would be affected by the disease. There was no way he could go down south now. Not for a long, long time at least.
Much as he wanted to be at his brother’s side, Bruce was glad when the nurse came to tell them visiting time was over. It was proving incredibly painful to see the once lively little boy who had been into everything lying so still and white.
They walked home rather than catching a tram, both of them glad to be out in the weak May sunshine after the antiseptic confines of the hospital. Thomas hadn’t woken before they’d left and although they were deeply worried about the child’s condition, by unspoken mutual agreement they didn’t voice their fears. Instead Amy filled the time talking about the house Charles had bought on the edge of Ryhope and their plans for it.When he had first taken her to see the large detached five-bedroomed property which was surrounded by its own grounds, with a separate staff annexe, she had been overawed by it. After two more visits she began to come to terms with the fact that she would be mistress of such a grand residence.
‘I wish we didn’t have to have a housekeeper and maid, though,’ she said as they passed a line of cherry trees in full blossom, the pink petals raining down on their heads like confetti as a gust of wind rustled the branches. ‘But Charles says once he’s married and in his own house, it will be expected of him. Certain standards to maintain and all that.’
Bruce glanced at her. ‘You’ll be his wife and it will be your home too,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ll have a say in things.’
She didn’t reply to this.
They walked on in silence until they had passed over the Wearmouth Bridge.Then Bruce said,‘Are you sure you aren’t tired? We can catch a tram the rest of the way if you want.’
‘No, I’d rather walk. Bruce . . .’ Amy stopped, looking up at him in a way that made her appear far younger than her sixteen years. ‘There’s no way Perce would be able to talk or bribe his way out of prison, is there?’
‘No way,’ he said firmly. Her manner had touched him deeply; normally Amy gave the impression of being a good deal older than her age.‘He’s in there for the duration of the sentence, the judge made that very clear. Some of the stolen goods in that warehouse were from a robbery where a man was badly hurt and that was taken into account in the sentencing.’
She nodded, and as they resumed walking said, ‘Who do you think tipped the police off about the stuff being in Perce’s warehouse and flat? That was what the paper said, wasn’t it? That the police had received a tip-off?’
‘Aye, that’s what it said. Likely some informer or other. The police do have them, you know, criminals who grass on their own.’
‘I’m not sorry, Bruce.That sounds awful, doesn’t it, because it’s caused such a lot of upset and your mam is beside herself about it, but I’m glad he’s locked away.’
‘Aye, I am an’ all.’ In that moment the need to confess to someone that he had turned in his own flesh and blood was so strong he could taste it. It had been the right thing, the only thing to do, but he hadn’t expected the burden of guilt would be so heavy. But Amy was the only and also the last person he could tell. She would be scared to death to think that Perce had been planning to hurt Charles simply because she was going to marry him.
They said no more as they walked on in the cool sunlit evening, but both their minds had returned to the small figure in the hospital bed and both were praying he would soon be home.
Thomas died at two o’clock in the afternoon three days later. When Bruce arrived at the ward he saw only a neat, newly made bed. He could make no sound to the nurse who came hurriedly to his side, saying, ‘Oh, Mr Shawe, someone should have met you. I’m so sorry, we did everything we could and the doctor really thought he was turning a corner but in the end his heart just gave out. Is there any history of heart trouble in the family? A weakness of some kind?’
‘My . . . my da. He . . .’ He couldn’t go on.
‘I’m so very sorry, he was a dear little boy. Look, sit down a minute and I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
She must have led him out of the ward and into a small waiting area although he wasn’t aware of it. And he barely registered her returning and placing a cup of tea beside him. He had never imagined Thomas wouldn’t come out of hospital. Poorly still maybe, perhaps disabled in some way, but he would come home. Only last night he had finished whittling a little wooden puppet for him in the shape of a donkey. Thomas’s teacher had been reading a bairns’ book to the class, Winnie the Pooh, before he’d been taken ill, and Thomas had been on and on about the donkey in it. He’d had the puppet in mind even before Thomas was ill but hadn’t done anything about it. And now it was too late.
He bowed his head, his heart crying out, I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry. I should have done it for you before. And all the times you wanted to come for a walk with me or play football and I put you off. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.You know that, don’t you? You know I loved you even if I didn’t say so? Please, God, let him know. Let him know.
When he heard someone walk into the waiting area he assumed it was the nurse again, but the next moment he felt soft arms go round his neck and Amy was kneeling on the tiles in front of him, her face wet with tears.
‘He’s gone, Amy.’ Bruce gripped her hands as though they were a lifeline. ‘And I wasn’t there, he was all alone.’
They sat huddled together, her face pressed against his and their tears mingling.
‘He adored you, Bruce,’ she said, ‘and he loved you for coming in specially to see him each day. Even the nurses said so. And they said it was peaceful. He just went to sleep earlier after the doctors had been round and never woke up. He would have known you were coming later and that would have made him happy. You were so good to him, so patient and kind.’
When the tears stopped, it was still a while before B
ruce straightened, and it was only then that Amy rose from the floor to sit beside him. ‘How am I going to tell Mam and Da?’ he muttered. ‘They weren’t expecting this, none of us were. How am I going to say it?’
‘I’ll be with you. We’ll tell them together.’
He took out his handkerchief and scrubbed at his face with it. Fighting back emotion, he said, ‘I didn’t think you were going to come to the hospital today. Didn’t you say you were going to spend the afternoon with Charles at the house? Isn’t some furniture being delivered or something?’ He was feeling acutely embarrassed now that Amy had seen him in such a state. Men didn’t cry.
‘I somehow felt I needed to be here and Charles is very understanding. He didn’t mind.’ And then her voice changed. ‘The doctor’s coming.’
They both stood up as the doctor and a solemn-faced nurse entered the room.
The Rainbow Years Page 17