Polly’s small chin rose at the thought, her blue eyes darkening as she watched the others filling their plates. This had been a horrible afternoon up to now. Well, she was going to take her plate outside and she wasn’t going to ask anyone to come with her. If they wanted to, then that was fine, but if no one followed her ... She’d know. Quite what she would know, Polly wasn’t absolutely sure, but it was all to do with Michael’s fascination with the others’ conversation and his obliviousness to her presence beside him on the cracket.
Once outside in the cobbled yard in front of the house, Polly stood still for a moment, the hot sun beating down on her uncovered head and the smell from the pigsty at the back of the building wafting on the summer breeze as it was wont to do when the wind was in the wrong direction. She glanced down at her plate of food and then back towards the farmhouse door, which was slightly ajar. She could hear Ruth laughing inside, which meant one of the lads was teasing her, probably Michael. Ruth always made up to Michael.
This last thought, along with the smell of the pigs, brought Polly skirting the edge of the yard and passing through the small opening into the area beyond. She passed the stable, rubbing Bess’s velvet nose and then Patience’s, as the two horses peered enquiringly out, then continued past the empty cow byres and on to the barn beyond. The air was fresher here, clean, carrying the scents of the hedgerows and the apple trees and fruit bushes which bordered her granny’s vegetable plot. Her da had once told her that when he was a boy, and the farm had employed some four or five men, Gran’s little orchard and plot of land had been a picture, but it was mostly overgrown now, and a couple of the trees were diseased and needed cutting down.
Nevertheless, she never came this way now without thinking about one of the poems in Uncle Frederick’s book. Like so much of what she read, it made her feel sad and happy at the same time.
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
There were more verses, all about flowers and trees and birds, but the melancholy running through the poem always made her think of her granny.
The barn door was wide open, and Polly sat down on a bale of hay a couple of feet inside and gazed at the view. Past the tangle of the orchard and unkempt ground there was the lane, and beyond that a field of grazing cows and then more fields. It was peaceful and quiet, nice, but she didn’t feel nice inside. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She was barmy. Ruth had called her that the other night. She had been leaning out of their bedroom window and looking up into the night sky, and she’d said she’d like to make a necklace of the stars and give it to her granny, and Ruth had laughed and called her barmy.
‘Got you!’ As Arnold’s voice sounded loud in her ear, the start Polly gave almost sent her backwards off the bale of hay, and as her legs flew up and the plate fell from her lap it was only Arnold’s hands shooting out and grabbing her shoulders that saved her. ‘You can’t hide from me, you know.’
‘I wasn’t hiding!’ Her voice was indignant.
‘No?’ He was laughing, but his brown eyes were hard on her face and he hadn’t let go of her, and when she wriggled in his grasp he said, but softly now, ‘You sure about that, Polly?’
‘Of course I am.’ Her tone was still strident, but inwardly something deep inside registered that there was an element of truth in his accusation. If she had thought Arnold was following her she would have made sure he didn’t find her. Since that day last summer at the stream she had become aware of this older cousin in a way that made her slightly afraid. She had shot up in the last six months – her granny had done nothing but bemoan her sudden growth and the fact that her hems had been let down as far as they would go and still her two dresses were only just below her knees – but Arnold was a good head taller than her, and broad with it.
He seemed to tower over her now as he said, ‘Funny, but I got the idea you think you’re too good for us now you’ve got a bit of book learnin’. Am I wrong?’
‘Yes, you are.’ Her voice was quieter; she sensed something here that wasn’t right and instinctively knew she needed to keep her wits about her.
‘Prove it.’
‘What?’
‘Prove it.’ His voice had a slight tremble to it now and his fingers tightened on her shoulders, his thumbs stroking the soft, warm skin of her neck above the collar of her dress.
‘Let... let go of me.’ It wasn’t as forceful as she would have liked, but her stomach seemed to have curdled in the last few moments.
‘You’re a pretty lass, but then you know that, don’t you? Oh, aye, you know it all right.’ He gave a low laugh deep in his throat. ‘Blossomed out just as I expected. You ever kissed a lad, Polly? You kissed Michael?’ His tongue came out and wetted his fleshy lower lip.
‘No.’
‘I don’t think I believe you.’
‘I don’t care what you believe, Arnold Blackett.’
‘Don’t see anything of life stuck on this bit farm, do you?’ His upper body was bending forward, and although she had her hands either side of her thighs in the hay, her balance was precarious with his fingers pressing her slightly backwards, and she knew without thinking about it that she mustn’t fall on the floor. ‘If you’re kind to me I’ll take you to the Olympia in Borough Road, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’s got roundabouts and gondolas and a big menagerie, it’s right bonny.’
‘Gran ... Gran wouldn’t let me.’
‘Oh, aye, she would, if we played it right. We could all go, you and me and Luke and Ruth and Michael, see? Or there’s the Victoria Hall, they’re doing moving picture shows. You ever bin to a moving picture show, Polly?’
‘You know I haven’t.’
‘No, that’s right, stuck on this bit farm you don’t go nowhere, but you’re not as ignorant as you make out either, not with all the animals around, eh? Bin brought up with it, haven’t you? No, you know what’s what all right.’
Polly didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about, but from his tone she knew he wouldn’t talk this way if her da or any of the others were present. He was acting like he had that day when Luke had gone for him – nasty. Her neck was aching from the strained position he’d pressed her into, and then suddenly he moved with a swiftness which caught her unawares. He jerked her forwards so she was forced to slide off the bale and on to her feet in front of him, whereupon she found herself enveloped by his brawny arms.
Polly lowered her head instinctively as his mouth sought hers, and then all her fighting instincts rose in an angry rush and she thrust outwards with both hands, taking Arnold completely by surprise. He reeled backwards, almost losing his footing, and then when he would have come at her again they both heard a voice calling her name. Arnold glanced about him and then sat on one of the sacks of taties at the side of Bess’s harness, which her father had been cleaning when everyone had arrived, swinging one leg idly as he surveyed her from under glowering brows.
Polly continued to stand exactly where he had left her for the simple reason that her legs felt weak and she needed the support of her buttocks resting against the bale of hay, but she glared back at him, determined to hide every trace of the trembling in her stomach.
‘What’s been going on here?’ It was Luke who walked round the side of the barn door a second later, his dark eyes flashing from Polly’s white face to Arnold sitting on the sack.
‘Nothing.’ Arnold’s voice was casual – too casual – and when Ruth and Michael appeared at the barn’s entrance Luke was already hauling his brother to his feet, his face close to Arnold’s as he growled, ‘I warned you, didn’t I, and I meant it.’
‘Pack it in, man.’ There was only a year between the two brothers, and although Luke was the younger, he
matched Arnold in height and breadth. ‘I didn’t do anything, I tell you. Ask Polly.’
Luke’s hand was gripping the front of Arnold’s shirt as he turned to glance at Polly, and now her brain was racing. If Luke and Arnold fought, her grandda would want to know why, and then this whole thing would mushroom like a snowball rolling downhill.
‘We were talking,’ she said flatly. ‘That’s all.’
‘See?’ Arnold jerked himself free.
‘Oh, aye, I see all right,’ Luke said grimly. ‘I see a frightened little lass, that’s what I see.’
‘You all right, Poll?’ Michael had sidled to Polly’s side, and now, as he took her hand, she felt sufficiently recovered to smile at him and say in a normal voice, ‘I’m fine, I am. There’s nothin’ wrong, really.’
‘You dropped your plate.’
This was from Luke and an accusation in itself, and now Polly said quickly, ‘It was a rat. It ran right in front of me an’ made me jump.’
‘We’ve bin havin’ trouble with rats.’ It was Ruth who unwittingly gave credence to the lie. ‘Da was tellin’ us the other night he was workin’ in here when one squeezed itself under the barn door, then another an’ another until they were passin’ through in a line. They crossed right in front of him and then out that hole’ – she pointed to a broken timber at the bottom of the barn – ‘to go down to the pigsty. Gran said when she empties the pigs’ food into their trough there’s three or four rats in it afore she’s finished sometimes. Da’s bin meanin’ to get another cat since Kitty died an’ Uncle Frederick’s lettin’ us have a couple of kittens from one of his cats in a week or two.’
It was a long speech for Ruth and had the added advantage of being the truth, and now, as Polly saw Luke was hesitating, she added, ‘They come down from the cow byres and calf pens mostly, but the odd one lives in here an’ all. I hate rats.’
‘Aye.’ Luke still wasn’t totally convinced. ‘Especially the two-legged kind.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Arnold’s righteous indignation was more forceful now he knew Polly wasn’t going to give him away. ‘Always having a go about something or other, you are.’
‘And there’s usually just cause.’
‘Aye, well, there’s not today.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh, for cryin’ out loud!’ Arnold shook his head, and no one looking at him would have guessed his irritation was feigned. ‘What are we wasting time for? It’s a right bonny day and I’m for the river. You told ’em what we’ve brought the day?’ And as Luke shook his head, Arnold turned to the others, a smile on his face, and said, ‘Bandy nets. Thought we’d try for some tiddlers.’
‘Bandy nets?’ Ruth was jumping up and down in her excitement. ‘Where are they?’
‘Down by the wall in the lane.’ It was Michael speaking now and his eyes were on Polly. ‘We thought it’d be a surprise, and you can keep them here so we can use them again.’
‘Come on then.’ Arnold turned and walked out of the barn, and as the others followed him, Michael caught hold of Polly’s hand once more and said in a low undertone, ‘Are you all right, Poll? Really?’
His concern and the feel of his fingers holding hers made Polly’s voice light as she said, ‘Aye, I’m fine,’ and she was – now. But she’d make sure she was never alone with Arnold again. He would have kept trying to kiss her if Luke hadn’t called, and she knew she’d have bruises on her shoulders tomorrow from where his hands had gripped her flesh.
The sun was beating down out of a cloudless blue sky as the five of them picked up the nets and climbed over the wall, and in spite of the way her stomach was still churning, Polly’s spirits lifted. Everything was so much better when the sun shone.
She and Ruth could get up early tomorrow and have the weekly wash soaking in the poss tub before breakfast, and out drying over the thorn hedge skirting the field sides once the sun was really up. The worst job was wringing out the sheets and towels – they always made her hands ache for ages afterwards – but even that didn’t seem so bad when the sun was shining. They had a mangle in the scullery at Stone Farm. That must be wonderful, a mangle. Still, with a bit of luck she’d have everything dried and damped down and ready for ironing by tea-time tomorrow – that’d please her granny. She gave a little skip, the incident in the barn fading to the back of her mind as the afternoon regained its normality.
Once at the stream, Luke and Arnold followed the flowing water some way until they came to the point where it joined another inlet and the whole widened into quite a substantial river. Michael had been holding back a little, his hand still clasping Polly’s, but now, as Luke and Arnold took off their black hobnailed boots and then their socks before rolling up their trouser legs, they called to him to join them on the large rocks, the tops of which formed stepping stones across the river just in front of the really deep water.
As Michael turned to Polly she answered the unspoken request on his face with a smile. ‘Go on, you go. Me an’ Ruth’ll plodge.’
Once the lads were in the middle of the river, casting their nets, the two girls sat down on the thick grass and unbuttoned their boots before rolling down their black stockings and slipping their garters into their pinafore pockets. Ruth said nothing whilst they did this, and after a moment or two Polly glanced at her sister’s sulky face. ‘What’s the matter?’ Her voice was resigned. Ruth was in a tear about something. She knew the signs.
‘Nothin’.’
‘Yes there is. You look as if you’ve lost a penny an’ found a farthin’.’
Ruth shrugged. She was fed up with everyone making up to their Polly, and they did. They did. Sun shone out of her backside, as Nellie Cook at school would say. All that fuss in the barn and all she’d done was to drop her plate; if Ruth had dropped hers she’d have got wrong for it, not all that attention. And Michael, Michael liked Polly better than her, she knew he did. He was always talking nice to her and sitting near her, and look at today – him holding Polly’s hand and everything.
‘Come on.’ Polly had scrambled to her feet and was holding out her hand, but Ruth ignored her. ‘Come on, Ruth. It’ll be fun fishin’ with our nets. Oh, don’t be mardy, not today.’
Ruth looked up then. There had been a catch in her sister’s voice as though she was upset about something, but when Polly smiled at her and held out the bandy net, Ruth decided she must be mistaken. Anyway, what could Polly be upset about? Ruth asked herself bitterly. Everyone was always falling over backwards to be nice to Polly. Nevertheless, she too rose to her feet and took the net Polly proffered, saying mutinously, ‘I’m going on the whale’s teeth’ – their nickname for the stepping stones – ‘with the lads.’
‘You mustn’t, you know you mustn’t; they can swim and we can’t, and it’s deep one side. We’ve promised Gran—’
‘I’m going an’ you can’t stop me, you’re not Gran.’ And as Polly reached out to take her arm, Ruth darted away defiantly.
Polly followed her sister to the edge of the bank. She knew it was quite deep even on the shallower side of the whale’s teeth – when Michael had fallen off into the water the year before, it had come up to his shoulders – but the other side fell away in a sharp downward slope and looked murky and dark. So now, as Ruth went to put a tentative foot on the first rock, over which the water frothed now and again, Polly yanked her back with enough force to make her cry out. ‘Don’t you dare, Ruth. I’ll tell Gran and Da’ll skin you, you know he will.’
‘Oh, you! Tellypie tit, your tongue will split an’ all the little dicky birds’ll have a little bit.’ Ruth sang the rhyme tauntingly, her body bent forwards towards her sister and her neck stretched out. ‘I’m not scared.’
‘Well, you should be,’ Polly shot back. ‘Remember Clara Ramshaw? She drowned at Farrington burn an’ her da an’ her brothers were there but she dropped like a stone, her da said, an’ by the time they got her out she was dead.’
Ruth was silent for a moment. Clara had been
in her class at school and her death had shocked everyone. ‘Oh, you, you spoil everythin’.’ But it was weaker and Polly, satisfied that her sister wasn’t about to launch herself on the slippery rocks to impress the lads, continued to walk along the bank a little way more to where the water wasn’t swirling quite so much. If they were going to catch anything in their nets it was more likely to be here, in this deep water away from the rocks and the noise the lads were making. She glanced behind her once and saw Ruth was following her, her face still querulous.
Polly sighed, and then called over her shoulder as she bent to skim her net through the water, her voice both laughing and conciliatory, ‘Come on, kiddar. It’s too nice a day to be moany. Come an’ see what you can catch.’
The Stony Path Page 9