‘You can’t get married.’ Alice’s voice bordered on the hysterical.
That her grandmother was in shock Polly had no doubt, but it still was like a knife twisting in her ribs. Gran loved Michael, she knew she did, so why was she taking this tack in front of them all?
‘Why not?’ Michael’s arm had become like a vice. ‘Why not, Gran? We love each other, surely that’s all that matters in the long run? What difference will waiting a few years make? We know how we feel, we always have.’
‘Dear God, dear God.’ It was a soft moan as Alice’s face crumpled. ‘Oh, for this to happen.’
‘Gran.’ Adrenalin born of anger was sweeping away all the hurt now, and Polly’s voice was loud. ‘Why can’t we marry? What have you got against it?’
‘Oh, lass, lass.’ Alice’s streaming eyes turned from Polly to Michael. The poor lad, the poor, poor lad. She wanted to say something but it was beyond her to do it with the wee lad standing there so innocently. The sins of the fathers – and the mothers. Oh, aye, oh, aye, dear Lord, the sins of the mothers right enough. What were they going to do?
What was going on here? Henry’s eyes flashed from his mother – who was now wringing her hands as her tears ran unchecked – to his father, whose countenance was black with rage. Walter was glaring at Eva, his lips drawn back until they all but disappeared, and Henry found himself wondering what his sister had to do with his parents’ obvious distress.
As Henry’s gaze was turned on her, Eva raised her eyes, her hand still pressed over her mouth, and stared back at him. And suddenly he knew. He knew. ‘No.’ He had risen during Michael’s little speech requesting Polly’s hand in marriage, and now he took a step backwards as his thin face drained of colour. ‘No, I don’t believe it.’
‘Henry.’ Eva’s voice was a whimper as her hands came together tightly across her ample bosom. ‘Henry, they made me—’
‘That was the reason for her wedding?’ Henry swung round to confront his father. ‘All this time you’ve let me think ... That was the reason?’ He was shaking, his voice hoarse. ‘And I swallowed the tale of a quick marriage because she needed to get away! He’s mine, isn’t he? He’s my bairn.’
‘Who’s your bairn?’ Hilda asked, confused. ‘I don’t understand, Henry. What are you saying?’
‘Henry, it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t.’ Eva was desperate to make him understand. ‘They said they’d put me in the workhouse if I told you, and they would have, you know they would have. And afterwards they said that if you knew you’d go away, far away, and I’d never see you again. Oh, Henry, please. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to tell you—’
Henry’s whole face had screwed up as he had listened to his sister, who was talking as though there was no one else in the room; indeed, it was doubtful if Eva was aware of anyone else but her beloved brother. ‘He’s my bairn.’ His eyes were wild as they swept over Polly and Michael’s confused young faces. ‘And now— Oh, what have I done, what have I done?’
‘What have you done?’ Hilda stared at her husband and it was clear from the look on her face that the awful truth was dawning. ‘Henry, you aren’t saying Michael is your son? You’re not saying that, are you? You can’t, you can’t be saying that. Eva is your sister!’
There was absolute silence after Hilda had finished speaking, but Henry didn’t break it for some seconds, and then he said, after dragging his eyes from Polly’s white, horrified face, ‘I should’ve been told. I should’ve been told.’
‘Oh, oh, I need my smelling salts!’ As Hilda went limp in Frederick’s grasp, no one moved. They were all standing or sitting as though frozen in time. The expressions on Frederick, Arnold and Luke’s faces were ones of stunned shock and disgust; Walter’s face was fiery, the whites of his eyes red; and Alice was still a huddled, weeping heap. Henry’s gaze had locked with Eva’s, who was standing with her fists pushed against her chest, and Ruth was staring at her father open-mouthed.
This couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real. Polly felt as though she was going to sink into the ground, and she wasn’t even conscious that Michael’s hand had left her waist. It was like a play, a Greek tragedy, something that exercised your brain as you struggled to keep pace with the plot. But this wasn’t a play, it was real. Her da and her auntie. Oh, dear God, dear Lord Jesus, let it not be true. Please, please let it not be true.
‘You, you’ve done this.’ Henry was addressing his father before his gaze swept over his mother and he added, ‘Both of you. How could you keep it from me?’
‘We didn’t know, lad, not until after you were wed an’ then, then it was too late.’
‘It was never too late to tell me!’ Henry’s voice was a bark. ‘But it didn’t suit you, that’s the thing.’ His gaze narrowed, and, his tone changing into thin bitterness, he said, ‘You forced her to wed a stranger to save your own faces, knowing that the bairn was mine. She could’ve gone away where no one knew her, we could have said she was wed and then widowed, anything, but no, that wouldn’t have done, and now look. Look! You’ve ruined both bairns’ lives—’
‘Don’t you take that tack with me, lad.’ Walter rose up out of his chair like an avenging angel, his voice thunderous. ‘If anyone’s ruined their lives it’s you an’ that Jezebel there! No decent man or woman could countenance what you’ve done; I tell you, it don’t bear thinkin’ about. That me own flesh an’ blood could behave worse than the animals!’
As Henry’s fist shot out, it was only Polly – springing forward and holding on to her father’s arm – that stopped the blow from reaching its target. ‘No, Da, no!’ She was pleading with him as he continued to eye the furious old man in front of him. ‘Please, Da, don’t. Don’t, Da.’
It was a full twenty seconds before Henry’s arm dropped limply to his side, and during that time no one had moved a muscle. Hilda was whimpering and moaning, Frederick’s arm round her shoulders, but other than that, the only sound in the deathly quiet room was the odd crackle and hiss from the fire.
‘I’m sorry, lass.’ It was a low, broken whisper and then, as Henry’s eyes moved to Michael, standing stiff and still at the side of Polly, his face worked soundlessly before he said, ‘Michael, if I’d known, things would’ve been different. I promise you things would have been different.’
As his hand stretched out towards his son, Michael took an involuntary step backwards, his lips curling back from his teeth as though he was surveying something foul and unclean, and this was reflected in his voice when he said, ‘Don’t touch me.’
They continued to stare at each other for another moment or two, and as Luke watched them he thought, Why haven’t I seen it before? Michael was the spitting image of Henry. The same nose, the same slight build and silky wavy hair, even the way they held their heads at a slight angle when they were listening to others conversing. Why hadn’t he seen it? And then he answered himself. Because who on earth would be thinking anything like what had emerged today could be real? And plenty of nephews take after their uncles. Besides, Michael’s build was the same as their own da, his and Arnold’s. Saints alive, his da! Did he know Michael wasn’t his? He couldn’t have married Eva knowing she’d been taken down by her own brother, could he? Luke felt the bile rise up in his throat.
‘Michael. Please, lad, listen to me—’
‘I said don’t touch me!’ Henry’s hand had moved towards his son again, and now Michael’s voice was ugly as he smacked it away.
Polly was in a state of shock. She knew she was in shock because she felt as though she was back in the cow byre again and her da was looking at the newborn calf and stricken cow. She could almost feel the searing wind and bitter chill of that night reflected in the expression of raw defeat and helpless compassion on her father’s face as he looked at Michael, and it made her want to reach out to him. In spite of everything. But what they had said, what he and her auntie had done, it was horrible, horrible. Her da couldn’t have done that, he couldn’t, there had to be some mistake. But th
ere wasn’t. Oh, Michael, Michael. And ... and this meant Michael wasn’t her cousin. He was – Oh, Michael.
‘Let me explain, please.’ Henry was openly pleading.
‘There’s nowt to explain.’ Michael’s voice was low but of a quality that made those listening want to cover their ears against it. ‘You’re vile, filthy, the pair of you! You make me want to vomit. I’d rather be dead than have you as a father.’
Polly saw Michael’s words hit her father between the eyes, but even as she opened her mouth to say something – she knew not what, just something – another voice called from just outside the kitchen door. ‘Hello there!’ The tone was gay. ‘Anyone at home?’
Miss Collins! Her granny’s audible groan and her grandfather’s muttered curse brought Polly spinning round, but Henry reached the door before her, jerking it open and passing through into the yard. He neither glanced at Miss Collins nor acknowledged her presence; indeed, it was doubtful if he heard her startled greeting.
‘Polly?’ Gwendoline Collins didn’t need to be told all was not well as she stared at the ashen-faced girl in front of her. ‘Polly, what is it?’
‘Can ... can I talk to you later, Miss Collins? There’s ... We have a difficulty that’s arisen. I’m sorry.’
‘Of course, my dear, of course.’ And then, as the sound of raised voices from within became louder, Gwendoline said quickly, ‘You go in, Polly, and we’ll talk another time, but if there is anything I can do please don’t hesitate to call. Goodbye, and ... happy birthday, my dear.’
Happy birthday! As Polly stepped back into the kitchen it was to see Michael bodily restraining his mother from leaving as he shouted, ‘You’ll stay here and explain to me rather than run after him!’ only to be shaken off like a leaf from a tree in autumn by one of Eva’s powerful forearms.
‘What do you want me to say?’ Eva’s voice had changed. The frantic entreating with which she had addressed her brother had been replaced by a low growl that came from deep in her throat. ‘That it isn’t true? That that numbskull of a pit yakker is your da? Well, Nathaniel has no claim on you, none, do you hear? Henry is your da.’
‘Don’t you know what that means?’ Michael stared at the woman who had given birth to him, but who he felt at this moment was the devil incarnate. ‘It makes Polly my sister, my sister! And me a bastard born of incest.’ And as Alice gave a long, low moan, he swung round to look at his grandparents, his eyes moving from one to the other as he said, ‘And you knew. All the time you knew.’
‘Aye, they knew all right.’ Eva brought Michael’s attention back to herself. ‘Sacrifical lamb, I was.’
‘Michael, please.’ Polly had moved to his side and now she put her hand on his arm, only to find it shaken off as violently as Eva had dealt with her son. She stepped back a pace, her face expressing her hurt surprise, before she said, and quietly, ‘We need to find my da, Michael, and let him explain. He wouldn’t ... There’s got to be an explanation.’
‘Our da, you mean.’ The words were coated with a terrible bitterness. ‘And he can talk until he’s blue in the face but it won’t alter the facts. We’re brother and sister, Polly. Brother and sister!’ And as though the words had to be repeated to be believed he said again, ‘Brother and sister.’
Polly had her hand to her mouth now and she was dimly aware of Frederick comforting her mother on the saddle, her grandfather rigid in his seat and Luke saying to the room in general, ‘Look, we all need to calm down, all right?’ before her aunt brought all eyes back to herself as she said, her voice once again coming deep and guttural, ‘I’m not ashamed of it and I’m not going to pretend I am. I love him. I always have and I always will, so there.’ As she glanced round the room her eyes were fierce. ‘We should have been together, we would have been if it hadn’t been for our mam and da interfering. And as for you!’ Her gaze fastened on Hilda and it became demented, and Ruth, who was huddled on the floor against Frederick’s legs, whimpered with fright as Eva growled, ‘You were never a wife to him.’
‘Oh yes she was, Mam, a legal wife all right and proper.’ There was no vestige of the shy, gentle, sweet lad they all knew in Michael’s voice or manner now. His head was forward, his upper lip curled right back, exposing his teeth, and his chin uplifted. ‘Whereas you ... You’re nothing, nothing! You don’t care you’ve robbed me of everything I thought was mine, do you? Me da, me brothers, who I thought I was, but I could have taken all that if you’d left me Polly. But now—’ For a second Polly thought Michael was going to hit his mother, and it was clear everyone else did too because she saw Luke make a sudden movement towards them, but Michael’s fist merely hit into the palm of his other hand. ‘Now everything is gone. You’ve never been much of a mother, not to any of us, but I didn’t think you capable of this.’
‘Well, now you know.’ Eva stepped back from her son, making a wide sweep of her arm to embrace the room as she cried, ‘Now you all know, and I’m glad it’s out in the open. I am! No one has thought of me for years.’ She wagged her head as though someone had denied it. ‘No, no one. I was packed off and got out of the way and I’ve had to put a face on things for the last sixteen years. Well, I’m tired of it, do you hear me? Tired of it!’ She fairly spat the words into her mother’s face, and as Walter rose and – so it seemed – in the same movement brought his open hand in a ringing slap across Eva’s face, pandemonium reigned.
In the mêlée, no one noticed Michael turn and leave the kitchen except Polly, and she was hot on his heels as she followed him out into the bitterly cold afternoon, grabbing her coat from the back of the kitchen door as she left.
‘Michael! Wait, Michael!’
She caught him up as he left the yard for the lane beyond, but his stride didn’t alter, his voice terse as he said, ‘Go back, Polly.’
‘No, I have to talk to you. Please, wait a minute, Michael.’
‘All the talking in the world won’t make any difference. I hate them, I hate them both, an’ Gran and Grandda. I can see now why he’s never liked me, and he hasn’t, you know.’
He was walking with his head and shoulders hunched forward and his cap pulled low over his forehead, and so quickly Polly found herself running and stumbling to keep up with him. ‘You can’t go, not like this.’ She almost went headlong, and when he still didn’t slow down she said again, her voice desperate, ‘Please wait a minute, please.’
The appeal brought his face round to look at her, and she saw his teeth clamp down on his lower lip before he said thickly, ‘It’s no use, don’t you see, Polly?’ Nevertheless he slowed his stride, enabling her to come alongside him on the path without slipping and sliding.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What can I do?’ The sob in his voice wrenched at her heart, but when he stopped and turned to face her on the snow-covered path she saw his eyes were dry and burning. ‘I can’t go back home, not now I know. I’d kill her, I would, I tell you.’
‘Oh, Michael. Michael.’
‘I ... I don’t know what I’m going to do, where I’m going to go. It’ll have to be far away, far far away, that’s for sure, because Arnold won’t keep his mouth shut about this little lot. He hates me, he always has since he knew you an’ me cared for each other, and he won’t miss the chance to put the knife in.’
‘He won’t,’ Polly said feverishly. ‘Luke won’t let him say anything.’ A separate part of her brain that seemed to be working quite independently at the moment noticed he hadn’t said the word love – that they loved each other – but cared instead, and she realised in that moment he had already gone from her. And he had to go – she knew he had to go – but how was she going to be able to bear it? She would never love anyone other than Michael, never.
‘I have to go anyway.’ His eyes were moving over her face now, his own face very white and strained. They seemed to drink in each feature, each little chestnut curl dancing free of its confines in the icy wind. ‘You know I do. I can’t stay here and not see you, and ...
and I can’t see you.’
He bowed his head and began to cry. It was silent crying at first, evident only in the shaking of his body, and then as Polly gave a little moan and put her arms round his waist with her head resting against his chest, he gave vent to his despair, holding her close for the last time as they both sobbed against the cruelty of fate. It was Polly who pulled herself together first, raising her head and sniffing desperately as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her deep blue eyes looking almost black in her white face, she said brokenly, ‘You can’t just go, Michael, without knowing where.’
‘It doesn’t matter where.’
The agony in his voice was too much and it brought Polly’s hands to her eyes to press her tears back. She mustn’t cry any more, that could come later when she was in bed and Ruth was asleep. For the moment she had to make Michael see that he wouldn’t be able to cope if he just went off, he wasn’t made that way. Her lips moved hard, one over the other, before she said, ‘It does matter, to me. If you did anything silly ...’
The Stony Path Page 15