A Daughter's Duty

by Maggie Hope

  Please God, let them stay at Shotton with her until they were grown. No, longer than that. Until Mary was married and out of her dad’s reach altogether. Rose couldn’t bear it if … but her thoughts shied away from that.

  She finished the seam she was working on and folded the work up carefully and put it aside. Dad would be in soon, she had to start the supper. She peeled potatoes for chips and sliced corned beef, all the time listening for his step in the yard. Let him be sober, I can handle him when he’s sober, she repeated over and over, a silent chant in her mind.

  Since that night after the twins went away, she had done it every night and sometimes it worked. She brought the chip pan down from the shelf and settled it on a bar of the fire to heat. The fat began to crackle and sizzle and she put the chips in the wire basket and plunged it into the fat. The sizzling heightened for a few minutes so that she didn’t hear his steps in the yard, not until he opened the door and came in.

  ‘Supper ready?’ was all he said by way of greeting. Alf hung his overcoat on the hook on the back door and sat down on the chair by the side of the fire, crossing his legs, looking up at her as she bent over the chip pan to test a chip.

  ‘Just a few more minutes,’ replied Rose, keeping her back to him, watching the bubbling fat. He sat for a minute then began humming to himself and swinging his leg until it hooked under her skirt, lifting it. She moved sharply away and he stretched out his leg again, hooking the toe of his shoe just under the hem of her skirt and lifting it again. He giggled.

  ‘Let me alone, Dad!’

  Rose turned to face him. He smelled of beer, she realised, a sour repellent smell. The chanting hadn’t worked this time.

  ‘Oh, come on, Rose, it’s only a bit of fun.’

  She eased the chip pan off the fire on to the bar but kept her hand on the handle. She didn’t look at him. ‘Let me alone, Dad, or I swear I’ll tip this over you,’ she said evenly.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t!’ he cried, but she could hear uncertainty in his voice.

  ‘Oh, but I would,’ she warned.

  Alf got to his feet and went to the table. He drew out a chair and sat down, picking up the knife and fork she had set out for him. ‘Come on then,’ he said harshly, ‘where’s me supper? A man could starve waiting for you.’

  She put his meal before him in silence. By, how she wished it was tomorrow and she was nicely away from this house, if only for one day.

  ‘Rose! Look, Michael, Rose has come. I told you she would come,’ shouted Mary as she met her sister halfway down the street and flung herself upon her. ‘Rose, where have you been? You promised you would and we’ve been here ages and you didn’t.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ said Rose, hugging the small body to her, burying her nose in Mary’s nape and breathing in the clean little-girl scent of her, feeling the tickle of her fine straight hair on her face. Mary began to wriggle.

  ‘Put me down, Rose, you’ll crease my dress. Isn’t it lovely? Aunt Elsie bought it for me. And look I’ve got shiny shoes to go with it.’ Mary pirouetted on the pavement, delighting in the way the skirt of her pink dress swung out, showing the lawn petticoat beneath.

  ‘Oh, it’s grand, Mary, it really is. Pretty as a picture you are.’

  ‘Like Shirley Temple?’

  ‘Yes, just like Shirley Temple in The Little Princess.’

  She did look lovely, and must have grown three inches, but the best thing was the way she chattered. No more shyness, no more fears and nightmares. She’d done the right thing for Mary, Rose told herself, and was thankful.

  ‘But where’s Michael?’ she asked, looking along the street. There was no sign of him and she was struck by a moment’s panic.

  ‘He’s not poorly, is he?’

  Mary shook her head and the ribbon in her hair fluttered.

  ‘No, he’s not poorly. He’s only hiding.’

  Then Rose saw him, or rather his head, peeping round the door jamb of Aunt Elsie’s house. She ran to him and swept him up in her arms, swinging him round too, but when she put him down again he stood still, gazing solemnly up at her.

  ‘Aren’t you glad to see me, Michael?’

  He nodded, still unspeaking. His hair had been recently cut in a short back and sides style and the top was slicked back with a touch of Brylcreem. A schoolboy now, not an infant. His bow-tie was slightly askew and Rose squatted in front of him and straightened it.

  ‘Michael cried for you,’ said Mary.

  ‘Didn’t,’ he refuted.

  ‘Yes, you did, at first,’ Mary insisted then dropped her eyes as he glared at her. ‘Well, you did,’ she muttered. ‘You said we wouldn’t see our Rose again.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Are you going to let me in? These parcels are heavy.’ Michael turned and walked ahead of her up the passage to the kitchen at the back where Aunt Elsie stood fussing over the range.

  ‘Oh, you’re here! I told them to give me a shout when they saw you. How are you, lass?’

  Elsie moved forward to hug Rose; she was fatter, Rose realised, her cheeks rounded out, her voice softer than Rose remembered it. It was plain to see that she was happy, that she loved the children. Oh, yes, thought Rose as she returned the hug, she had done the right thing.

  Throughout the day there were small, tell-tale signs that Mary liked it here, loved Aunt Elsie, had blossomed in this place. And Michael, well, he thawed a little, lost some of his initial stiffness, began to talk to her about his new friends and how well he was doing at school. They brought out pictures they had drawn to be admired, school books to show how they had both won gold stars for their work.

  Rose sipped the tea Elsie had made, nibbled at Shrewsbury biscuits and made admiring comments on everything she was shown. But she saw how Mary leaned on Aunt Elsie; said, ‘Didn’t I, Auntie Elsie?’ or ‘Can’t I, Auntie Elsie?’ and in spite of herself felt tiny stabs of pain which she refused to acknowledge as jealousy. Yet she knew she was wrong to be glad that Michael stood by her side all the while, touching her and looking up into her face. One of the children at least still loved her the best.

  They went to the Sunday School anniversary and the chapel was packed with proud parents. All the children had their ‘pieces’ to recite, of course. They sat in the choir stalls behind the minister and Mary stood forward when it was her turn and recited a poem based on Matthew, Chapter 19, Verses 13 and 14: ‘Suffer the children to come unto Me’. She said it loudly and confidently and there were murmurs of appreciation and then it was Michael’s turn and Rose trembled for him.

  He didn’t recite but sang a little song about God’s love, in a high treble voice that was sweet and true, and Rose felt like crying because he never faltered once and held the tune perfectly, and most of all because she hadn’t even realised he could sing. She found a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes and looked at Aunt Elsie and saw she was doing the same and they smiled mistily at each other. Michael bowed his head gracefully at the end and went back to his seat and the whole Sunday School rose to sing ‘I’ve Found a Friend’. Soon they were spilling out on to the pavement, parents and grandparents waiting for the children to join them from choir stalls.

  ‘Nice voice the little lad has,’ the minister commented as he shook hands with them at the door. ‘He’ll be an asset to the choir when he gets a bit older.’

  Rose swelled with pride and didn’t even mind that it was Aunt Elsie he said it to, Aunt Elsie who said, ‘Thank you, I hope he will be.’

  Later, when the children were in bed, Rose said, ‘Do you mind if I go out for an hour? I sort of promised to visit a friend.’

  Elsie looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know you knew anyone over here, Rose?’

  ‘This friend came to live here and we write to each other.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s grand. I’m all right, I want to listen to the wireless anyroad. Shattered, I am. An hour on me own will just suit me.’

  Dear Aunt Elsie, Rose thought as she hurr
ied up to Front Street, she never pried, didn’t want to know all the whys and wherefores but treated Rose as another adult. A small voice in the back of her mind said that Elsie didn’t pry into her life since the one time Rose had tried to confide in her and she had been so horrified and disbelieving. No, kind as she was to the twins and Rose herself, she shied away from any such confidences.

  Rose forgot all about Aunt Elsie as a voice hailed her from a car just pulling up beside her.

  ‘Jeff! You never told me you’d bought a car. Here was I walking to the bus stop, expecting you to be on a bus.’

  Jeff got out of the car with a flourish and bounded on to the pavement. For a moment she thought he was going to put his arms around her but he checked himself and took her hands in his.

  ‘Oh, Rose, let me look at you. You’re as pretty as ever, a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, but his old bantering tone was gone. He looked and sounded so sincere as he gazed down at her. His voice had deepened and he tipped his head and smiled lopsidedly. His face was thinner than she remembered and a lock of fair hair fell over his forehead. He shook his head to throw it back. Impatiently, for his hands were still grasping hers in a strong, confident grip. She couldn’t get over how he had changed, grown up, in the short time he had been in Easington.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me you’re glad to see me?’ he teased, and for a second the old Jeff was back.

  ‘Oh, I am, Jeff, I am,’ she said, and was surprised to find she was slightly breathless. His smile widened and he released one of her hands and led her to the car.

  ‘It’s a Morris. Do you like it? Only small, but it’s a little gem. Come on, get in.’ He opened the door and handed her into the seat with a flourish. Like a princess, she thought, and blushed as she noticed the queue at the bus stop staring with undisguised interest.

  ‘But where are we going?’

  ‘Just wait and see.’ He drove off down Front Street, heading towards the coast, and she wondered if he was taking her to Easington or even Sunderland. But no, he turned right down a small country road which wound round and back until she hadn’t an idea in which direction they were heading.

  She glanced sideways at Jeff. He was concentrating on negotiating the bends and looked serious. She noticed how strong his profile was, how fair his complexion apart from two tiny blue marks on his left cheek and a white scar over the bone. Marks of the coal miner. Had he been caught in a fall of stone? He hadn’t told her if he had. She felt a quick spasm of anxiety. Was this pit more dangerous than Jordan? But she didn’t ask.

  He turned on to the main coast road. She saw they were on the edge of Horden or Blackball, one of the mining villages on the coast, she wasn’t sure which.

  ‘Are we going to Hartlepool?’ she asked.

  Jeff gave her a brief glance. ‘Wait and see,’ he said and turned left. They were driving on to the top of the cliffs at Crimdon, past the caravans until they were right on the edge. He parked the car and they got out and stood high above the sea. The sun was low in the sky and cast beams across the water, glistening gold and red. In the distance a ship, looking no bigger than Michael’s toy boat, sailed south.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Jeff. He put an arm around her shoulders and she found the moment so magical she hardly dared breathe in case it was spoiled. But then his hand took hers and he was pulling her off to the side, down a steep grassy bank and across a wooden footbridge and they were in the dene, with woods to the side and in front of them a path leading down to the beach.

  ‘Not so fast, Jeff!’ she cried and he slowed as she took off her court shoes. He slipped one in each pocket and she ran with him to the sands in her bare feet. Rose flinched as she trod on the shingle and Jeff picked her up and carried her over it, putting her down on the soft sand. They sat with their backs against the concrete wall of a pill box left over from the war, saying little, content just to be there together.

  ‘I watch for your letters all the time,’ he said. ‘Your writing to me is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Rose. Every day she walked by the Morlands’ house when she went to the shops. A roundabout way it was but her dad never questioned her route, which was one blessing. The days when Kate beckoned to her and gave her a letter … oh, they stood out from all the rest. Those were grey, sometimes black days. Jeff poured out all that had happened to him in those letters, all his hopes and fears, his feelings for her. And Rose was beginning to reply in the same way. Sometimes she wanted to tell him all her troubles, her dark, dark secret. But of course she couldn’t. She sighed and leaned her head against his arm and he kissed her lightly on the lips. And it was so different from the other, as different as … as … well, she just couldn’t think of a strong enough alternative.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jeff, rising to his feet and pulling her up too. ‘Let’s walk.’ He had to move before his feelings got the better of him and he went further. He wanted their love to be perfect. What he didn’t want was to make her do something for which she wasn’t ready.

  The beach stretched for miles, to Blackhall Rocks in the north and Hartlepool to the south. They ran to the edge of the sea and walked along the shore to where sea coalers were harvesting the thin line of sparkling small coal, ponies standing by patiently as the men shovelled it into bags and on to the cart, seeming to know just when it was time to move on, a split second before the men clicked their tongues and called, ‘Gee up!’

  ‘Wot cheor,’ they said and nodded to the young couple as they went by, and, ‘Now then,’ Jeff replied.

  ‘I was going to show you the fossils in the cliffs,’ he said as they approached Blackhall Rocks. ‘But the light’s going.’

  It was. A collier going north was lit up, and lights were appearing all along the shoreline.

  ‘There’ll be another time,’ said Rose.

  They turned and walked back to where a path led up the cliff, no doubt for the benefit of the caravanners. At the top they stood close together, catching their breath before making their way back to the car. Rose was filled with unutterable sadness because their time together was almost over.

  ‘Why don’t we have supper at the restaurant on the caravan site?’ Jeff asked suddenly. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Oh, can we?’ Anything, anything at all, to prolong this magical evening.

  ‘Well, they’re bound to have something.’ He had the keys to the car in his hand but gladly dropped them back in his pocket and they turned in their tracks and headed towards the barn-like building which housed the restaurant. There was a dance floor though no dance going on, for after all it was Sunday, but there was a man playing a piano and a few people singing along.

  In one corner was the restaurant and they sat there and ate Cornish pasties, reminiscent of Lord Woolton’s vegetable pie during the war, and drank hot strong tea. But it didn’t matter what they ate, they were still together and Rose resolutely avoided looking at the clock on the wall. Though, of course, they had to go sometime.

  At her insistence Jeff dropped her at the top of Front Street though he protested that no one would see them, no one knew them in fact, and what was more he didn’t care if they did.

  ‘We’ll get engaged, Rose,’ he said. ‘Your dad can’t stop us.’ He leaned across her as they sat in the car and kissed her lightly on the lips, once then twice, lingering, and in spite of herself her mouth opened just enough for her to feel the tip of his tongue, to taste his mouth, fresh and oh so sweet.

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes,’ she breathed and leaned against him, allowing herself to believe it. Then he opened the car door for her and drew back.

  ‘Go on then, sweetheart. I’ll write tomorrow as soon as I come off shift. Go on before I change my mind and take you with me, kidnap you.’ He laughed softly.

  Suddenly, more than anything she had ever wanted in her life, she wanted him to make her stay, for him to take charge of her life, take her with him so she would never see her dad again. But instead she got
out of the car and stood quietly on the pavement as he started the engine and put it into gear. He raised a hand, called, ‘Ta ra, love,’ and set off down Front Street. Rose watched his tail lights disappear into the dip in the road. When the sound of the engine died away altogether she turned away at last and walked to Aunt Elsie’s house.

  ‘Did you have a good time, pet?’ her aunt asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s been such a good programme on the wireless, you missed yourself, mind.’

  She went on to tell Rose all about it but Rose didn’t hear a word. As soon as Aunt Elsie paused for breath she intervened.

  ‘I think I’ll go straight up, Auntie. I’m tired and I have to take the early bus tomorrow.’

  ‘But what about your supper?’

  ‘It’s all right, I had some with … with my friend.’

  ‘Go on then, pet. I’ll be going to bed myself in a minute or two.’

  Monday morning, sitting on the number 18 United bus to Spennymoor where she changed for Bishop Auckland, it all seemed like a dream. It was a dream, thought Rose miserably. Unattainable. And even if her dad let her go, Jeff wouldn’t want her when he knew what she had done. She felt dirty, her head ached, she was the lowest of the low, leading Jeff on to think she could marry him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sometimes Marina ached unbearably for Charlie. Every evening in fact, just like this one in late September when a few copper-coloured leaves were already drifting down from the trees. As she came out of work she would glance up and down Old Elvet, desperately hoping he would be there and would say, ‘Marina, I’ve missed you!’ Of course he would have to have an excuse for his absence and she invented possible reasons why he couldn’t have come before now. A project at the university which couldn’t be finished without his total commitment, or perhaps his mother was seriously ill, dying in fact. No, his mother was already dead, she remembered.