by Pam Weaver
‘Who is building up there?’ she said in schoolgirl German. He smiled at her effort and answered in good English. ‘I help Herr Ben for his sweetheart, I think.’ He patted his chest. ‘He make new home, I think, but it is top secret, I think.’
Mirren took in his information in one gulp. How dare he? How dare Ben go behind her back and take her dream and make it his own? Behind her back take Miss Goody Two-Shoes Dinsdale and live up there all cosy and lovey-dovey. It was not his World’s End, it was hers!
She was so angry she forgot her mission to find him. If she saw him she would have screamed at him. Best to avoid him, the serpent, getting wed and not telling her. How could he steal her dream? The tears dripped down her cheeks but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she knew his little secret. All she needed was a drink. She raced back to Cragside and hid in her bedroom all afternoon, burying her head in the pillow, sick at heart. World’s End had been her secret refuge and now it was gone.
‘Jack’s coming home for the weekend. We’ve had a telegram,’ yelled Florrie from the foot of the stairs, rushing round giving everyone the good news. They were busy getting the beef stock ready for the Christmas fat stock show. It was all hands to the pump in the rush to make them secure in the cattle truck.
Ben watched Mirren’s face drop at the news. ‘It’s too soon, surely. Who said he could come out?’
‘The Polish chap, the nice doctor with the beard. I heard he was rescued from one of them concentration camps, poor devil. There’s a few of them round Leeds doing a good job, if our Jack’s anything to go by. Dr Murray says if he settles he’ll come out for Christmas too,’ Florrie beamed. ‘It’s an answer to prayer.’
Mirren shook her head. ‘You and Tom’ll have to go and fetch him then. We’re too busy with all this palaver, aren’t we, Ben?’ She looked him straight in the eye for the first time in weeks. He’d begun to think she was avoiding him and he put it down to her shame at being caught drunk. They’d not talked since, but she was careful to show him how sober she was and she was back on form for the cattle show, which was a relief.
‘We’ll be proud to bring him home in the van. He needs a rest and feeding up. The sight of these hills will perk him up, and your cheery face, Mirren. I’m going to bake a right big sponge if I can find some eggs. I’ll be wringing their necks if those hens don’t do their duty. We allus seem short these days,’ she sighed.
Ben looked at Mirren, willing her to own up to her secret egg round but she looked away with pink cheeks.
Having Jack back would be the best medicine, Ben thought. Then he would show them his surprise and give them a chance to get to know each other again. No more trips to hospital and no temptation for Mirren. He’d not smelled spirits on her breath, just mint imperials, which she sucked furiously, perhaps to give her mouth something to chew on. If she was making an effort he wasn’t going to tell tales.
It had been such a bad year and now she was seeing sense. The egg episode would stop now that winter was on them. Mirren was sensible. She knew enough was enough, but even he knew this weekend visit would be difficult for all of them. It was the first time Jack had faced the farm since the accident.
It was hard not to feel sorry for him. He wouldn’t wish Mirren and Jack’s suffering on his worst enemy. It still felt like some nightmare. They were dreading Christmas without the fun of seeing a little kiddy opening her presents and her stocking. Children made Christmas special.
His mam and dad were coming, and maybe Bert with his foreign fiancée, Irina, if he could get her into the country. They’d met when his camp was liberated. She was an interpreter. It was the talk of the district how he’d come home safe at last with a pretty foreign bride in tow. Her arrival was going to take some stomaching for some, seeing as she was German. She’d helped Bert after the war and now he was going back into teaching woodwork. Ben couldn’t wait to see his brother again.
The war had changed them all but drawn them closer as a family. His mother and dad were full of Bert’s adventures. He hoped family closeness would hold up Jack and Mirren at the worst time of the year.
‘Come on, slow coach,’ yelled Mirren. ‘We’ll be late. I want a rosette at least out of this lot. This is the first big show since hostilities ceased,’ she laughed. ‘Mind you, there’ll be a few hostilities in the auction ring when the judges give their verdict.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Ben sighed with relief, she was back to her old self. How silly he was to think she wouldn’t straighten herself out, given time and some understanding.
Scarperton Auction Mart was buzzing with good humour. The white coats were parading their beasts round the ring, heifers, bulls, calves, all rippling with good meat. Local farmers in tweeds were gathered in flat caps, chewing over the entries, eyeing up the opposition. Butchers were out in force choosing their Christmas stock while the auctioneer rattled off the prices. There were stalls of produce, farm wear and fancy goods, and wives with baskets, on the prowl for a bargain.
The Yewells were grooming the last of their beefers, polishing them off to show off their haunches but all Mirren could think of was Jack coming home and having to share her bed. How would she take her medicine with him around the room?
She’d have to shift her dwindling supplies. Her nerves jangled every time she thought of him coming home for good: all of them together and no Sylvia.
She couldn’t bear the thought of her lying in the ground and not jumping on their bed with glee on Christmas morning. She just wanted to forget the whole damn business. This wretched season ought to be banned.
She’d made sure in the past weeks to avoid the toy shop windows, the Christmas displays and festive decorations, meagre though the post-war ones were. To see children pointing out Dinky toys and dolls in boxes, toy prams and dressing-up clothes was agony.
She was going to need supplies to get her through the coming weeks, and there were no spare eggs or provisions to barter, just the brooch that had belonged to Gran, the one she’d have passed on to Sylvie, had she lived. What was the point now? Better to buy medicine and give everyone a hearty Christmas. If she dulled the pain, she’d be better company, but pawning her brooch for drink didn’t sit easy. Gran would turn in her grave.
She slipped away from the Auction Mart in the centre of town, down to the old second-hand shop at the back of the Town Hall where Sam Layberg sold watches, second-hand jewellery and junk. There was a discreet sign with three golden balls over the door. She slipped into the shop and produced the brooch from its box: a large amethyst surrounded by seed pearls in a gold setting.
He examined it carefully. ‘Nice piece, Regency, family? I can’t give you more than two guineas for it. There’s not much call for big stuff.’ He sighed over his half-moon glasses.
She knew and he knew it was worth a lot more but she nodded. ‘Don’t sell it. I’ll be back for it,’ she smiled, taking the cash quickly, trying not to gasp at what she had just done. It was so disloyal, but needs must…
‘That’s what they all say, young lady. Now I have a shop full of stuff I can’t sell,’ he whispered.
The coins were burning through her purse. It was just about opening time and if she trawled enough off-licences she might get herself a full bottle of whisky and some halves. There were one or two places to avoid, for they sold duff bottles, watered down with God knew what; she dreaded to think. She needed full strength to see her through. This time she checked every entrance to make sure no one recognised her. It wouldn’t do to be caught red-handed.
By two o’clock she’d spent every penny, wrapped her purchases carefully in her shopping bag and headed back to the show. Ben was waiting with a face like thunder.
‘Where’ve you been?’ He drew close to smell her breath again.
‘Never you mind. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Haven’t you heard of Christmas shopping or am I expected to buy it all here? Jack needed new pyjamas and I’d got enough coupons. I saw a little scarf for Florrie. No peeking
until Christmas.’ She smiled sweetly through her lies. That took the shine off his shoes. ‘You thought I’d been down the Golden Lion again. Go on, admit it? You’ll have to trust me. Those days are over now. We’ve got Jack home and we’ll give him a good time.’ It hurt to play-act in front of him but what else could she do?
Ben stepped back, looking relieved. ‘We got a second for Gertie and a third for Horace. Pity you weren’t here to see it, but I suppose you ladies have to make the most of an outing to the shops now you’ll not be gadding off each week.’
Was there a warning in his voice? It was hard to tell. Ben was acting like her policeman and it got on Mirren’s nerves.
‘I’ll gad where I like,’ she snapped, ‘and when I like. You’re not my keeper and I’m not a child!’
‘Someone has to look after you. You’ve got so thin and I never see you eat a square meal. I never see you pick up a book either, or peg rugs with Florrie like you used to.’
‘Nothing is like it used to be, or have you forgotten? You’ve got your life to live and I’ve got mine,’ she said, and walked away from him.
The sooner he got wed the sooner she could settle down with Jack and try to make a go of it. Ben unnerved her when he drew too close. There was something in his eyes that stirred up stuff. He was young and strong and fit and bursting with energy.
Perhaps she and Jack should move right away and go down south, as he wanted to. This new Jack didn’t seem so eager. Once he was at Cragside he’d be fed up in five minutes and want to move on.
Mirren took her bag to the ladies’ room and had a swig to calm her nerves, chewed on a peppermint and splashed on some lavender water, just in case her gaoler was on the prowl.
Now she had to think where to hide her supplies away from prying eyes. World’s End would have been ideal if it wasn’t so far to trek, but now it wasn’t hers. She didn’t want Tom and Florrie finding out her secret habit. They had enough on their plate worrying about Jack. He wouldn’t care either way.
It was funny how she was getting an expert on how to find black-market booze around the district. It was as if there was a secret little network of cronies all after the same stuff and all helping each other find new suppliers, word of mouth round the pubs and shops. She’d make sure Tom got in some stuff for Christmas. Beer or brandy–anything would do to eke out her own bottles. They were not for sharing. She had to be strong for Jack and to stop Ben from nagging and get through the festive season without making a fool of herself. Christmas was an endurance test and she had to look after her own interest if she was to survive.
Ben could like it or lump it. It was none of his business. If he didn’t like it he could camp out with his ladylove at World’s End and leave her to get on with living her way. She still hadn’t forgiven him for stealing her dream.
14
Jack shuffled through that first visit in a dream, drawn, bent and so tired he fell asleep even when they were talking. That weekend was to be the first of many and it was a strain trying to be bright and breezy, chipper and cheerful. Florrie did her best to cajole her son into eating some of her best baking but he barely had a spoonful. It was hard to make conversation with him. He didn’t seem to hear what they were saying, had not a spark of interest in farm chitchat. He avoided Dieter as if he was a bad smell and just stared out of the window across the valley, lost in his own world.
‘Come on,’ said Mirren, trying to stay patient. ‘Snap out of it. We’re going to make the best of the season whatever. Pam and Wes have made the effort to come and visit. Your mam’s doing her best. Buck up!’
‘You don’t know what it’s like. I feel tired all the time.’
‘But you do nothing but sit around,’ she replied. ‘Let’s walk the fields. It’s time we had a chat.’
‘What about? I should think you said it all in hospital. I know you’re only going through the motions. You look worse than me in the mornings.’
‘That’s because I’m trying to stay on top of the job. One day at a time, and I’ve no time to indulge myself in self-pity. What’s done can’t be undone,’ she replied.
‘Do you think I like feeling like this?’
‘There you go, feeling sorry for yourself again. Buck up and come and help me muck out. The doctor said exercise would do you good.’ His whining was getting on her nerves.
‘Not with that Jerry on the prowl,’ came his reply. ‘Why did you let them bring Krauts here?’
‘Because Dieter is hard-working and cheap labour and he does the job.’ What had Dieter got to do with anything?
‘So you prefer Jerry to me now, is it?’ He stared at her hard.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She avoided his gaze.
‘You’ve not looked the road I’m on since I came back,’ he added.
‘And why should I want to? You’ve not made any effort. You don’t wash or shave unless I badger you, your armpits smell of sweat. I’m doing my best trying to put things behind me…for better or worse, Jack. That’s what we promised but it’s hard.’
‘You ignore me as if I’m some weak-willed idiot. I can’t help how I feel,’ he argued back.
‘Feel, feel…feel. I’m sick of how you feel. What about how I feel, trapped in these hills with only memories of how it once was?’
‘But you’ve changed, Mirren, grown that hard you’ll snap. Strong you may be but it feels I’m being punished night and day, in my dreams, every waking moment, and when I see the look on your face it’s like sore feet. How’s a chap supposed to feel? And why’s Lanky still sniffing around here? I thought he was wedding Freddy’s sister?’
‘He will. Give them time. Those two are on the slow boat to China, blowing hot and cold. Enough of them. What are we going to do? We can’t stay here for ever, not now…’
‘I’m not ready to shift yet, love. I’ve got to get my head together. There’s whole bits I can’t piece together. It’s the shock treatment. I don’t want any more of that. It burns your brains.’ He fidgeted with his hair.
‘Then buck up, smarten up, and we’ll go down The Fleece and have a little celebration.’
‘But you don’t drink.’ He looked up at her with surprise.
‘That was before Sylvie died. I’ll not refuse a sherry or two, or a beer even. I need to get out of this place and I can’t go on my own, now, can I?’
‘I can’t drink with my tablets. Dr Kaplinsky says I’m dried out now and better to stay off it. It was doing me no good, as well you know. Thanks but I’ll give it a miss.’
‘That’s not like you to miss a treat. Where’s that esprit de corps? It’ll do us both good just to go down and see your pals. Come on, one won’t do you any harm.’
And that was how they found themselves propping up the bar at Windebank amidst the faded tinsel and tatty paper decorations, the spit-and-sawdust brigade, listening to gossip. Everyone made a fuss of Jack and bought him drinks and he began to liven up.
Mirren slipped down as many as she decently could before the bell rang and Bill suggested a lock-up. Those who were still at the bar when the bell rang were locked in. They were still there at two in the morning.
Somehow they staggered home and into bed without too much noise, laughing and giggling like naughty schoolkids, fumbling into a drunken cuddle, snoring and waking up with heads like helter-skelters.
Now that was better, Mirren smiled. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, she reasoned. Better to share the same hobby.
Suddenly Christmas at Cragside was nothing to fear.
‘What’s got into Mirren?’ said Ben’s mother, Pam, eyeing her at the table with concern. ‘She’s up and down like a yo-yo, never still and that thin, and she was always such a bonny lass. Now she’s shrunk to nothing. Still, it can’t be easy for her with Jack on the bottle again. Florrie’s that worried. They stay out all hours. It’s the talk of Windebank how they’ve perked up. I hope Mirren will keep him on the straight and narrow. She always was a stickler before but lately…I’m not s
ure.’
It was as if Sylvia’s death hovered over them all like a dark cloud, never spoken of but always there, and those two were partying as if there was no tomorrow.
Mirren was hitting the bottle again, down the pub laughing and joking, pretending all was well, glassy-eyed, tanked up one minute and miserable the next. Ben knew the signs by now. It made him sick to watch her.
Lorna was avoiding him too, trying to play hard to get, but he didn’t have time for games. There were enough games going on here.
Nothing was ever addressed. Tom and Florrie didn’t want to upset Jack, and he was treading a fine line trying to hold himself together, but Mirren wasn’t helping at all, taking him down to the very place that had caused his first trouble. Ben didn’t understand her any more.
He caught her by the outbarn, loading hay, for the weather was set for snow.
‘What’s your game, setting Jack back on the booze?’ he yelled, not caring who heard him. ‘He was dry for months and now he’s as bad as ever. I’d have thought you had more sense. I’m that worried about you, Mirren. Drink’s not the answer.’
‘How would you know?’ she said, her eyes blazing hatred.
‘It doesn’t bring out the best in you. Cut it out for a while…sober up. Everyone’s beginning to notice.’
‘So what? It’s my life. I can live it how I please. I will take my medicine when I like, where I like. You can’t stop me.’
‘Medicine–is that how you see it? Poison, more like. It’s changed you from being my reliable friend into someone I can’t trust any more.’
‘Who says I need your friendship anyway? You stole what was mine for your girlfriend. I don’t trust you either,’ she said.
‘Don’t talk daft. When did I ever steal anything of yours?’
‘World’s End. I’ve seen what you’ve done with it…for her. Dieter told me. That place was mine first.’ She stared back defiantly at him, waiting for a response.