A Daughter's Duty

by Maggie Hope

  He thought of what the landlady had said. A young woman? Who could it be but young Mrs Wearmouth? Yet she had said she was busy that weekend. He glanced across the road and saw Marina sitting in the window of a coffee shop. Bob hurried across and went in, bought a cup of coffee and sat down opposite her.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Doctor! Yes, of course.’ Marina was stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. She put down her spoon.

  ‘I thought I’d come today after all. Jeff didn’t come home, you know, and Mam didn’t mind. She’s making the meal for tonight. In her element, she is. I thought I’d see Rose, be able to tell them how she is and everything. No luck, though. She’s out, according to her landlady.’

  ‘I know, I’ve just been here myself. I can’t understand it, she knew I was coming.’

  ‘She might have forgotten.’ Marina rose to her feet, leaving her coffee untouched, and he did too. ‘Look, I’d better be getting back. It was daft me coming out when me mam’s there and Brian coming in and all. I’ll get this bus.’

  ‘Look, I’ll give you my telephone number, you can ring me tomorrow. Will you do that? I’m sure she won’t be long. We were going to the pictures.’

  Marina took the slip of paper on which Bob had jotted down the number and put it in her bag. ‘If I don’t hurry I’ll miss my bus,’ she said. He didn’t offer to take her home, wanted to stay close to the boarding house in case Rose came back. He had a sense of foreboding which was growing stronger by the minute.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘You are the boy’s sister?’ the doctor asked. ‘Are you his next of kin?’ They were still in the waiting room. Both Rose and Jeff had risen to their feet when the doctor appeared.

  Rose’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs. Oh, God, he was going to say Michael was dead and she couldn’t bear that. She held out an unsteady hand and Jeff stepped swiftly forward and took it.

  ‘She is, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Their mother passed away about three years ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. And the father was killed …’ He looked down at the notes he was carrying. ‘Will you come with me?’ he said. ‘Somewhere more private, I think.’

  Now he was going to say it, Rose thought. She followed him into a small office, Jeff close behind. The doctor glanced at him.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Her fiancé,’ Jeff said firmly.

  Rose heard the words but nothing was really registering with her, her mind was fully focused on the children. Why didn’t he say it?

  ‘Well, Miss Sharpe,’ said the doctor, after she had sat down in the chair he offered, Jeff beside her. ‘I’m pleased to tell you that the girl, Mary, is not too seriously injured. She has a dislocated shoulder and we believe there is some concussion. We would like to keep her in for a few days at least, but she should make a full recovery.’

  ‘Thank God. Oh, thank God,’ Rose breathed. ‘But Michael? What about him?’ Her voice rose when the doctor didn’t answer immediately and Jeff pressed his fingers into hers.

  ‘Steady, lass,’ he said, and amazingly her panic subsided slightly.

  ‘Michael also is suffering from concussion. There are abrasions on his legs too. I understand he was thrown out of the car and over a bridge. He is a very lucky little boy in that case. We will be keeping a careful eye on him, though. There is a hairline fracture of the skull. Not too serious –’ He stopped suddenly, cursing himself for not seeing how close the girl was to collapse. She had slumped in her seat, her face deathly pale, a pulse beating wildly at the base of her ear. Oh, dear, what a day this was turning out to be.

  Rose opened her eyes to find herself stretched out on an examination couch, a blanket covering her. A nurse was holding a glass to her lips. It tasted vile and she struggled to get away from the colourless liquid.

  ‘Now then, it won’t hurt you, it’s just to calm your nerves. You’ve had a bad time, haven’t you? Come on now, the little ones need you, don’t let them down. You’ve been a brick, haven’t you? The ambulance man told me …’

  ‘Drink it, Rose, it won’t hurt you,’ said Jeff and she saw him hovering near, looking so desperately anxious she obeyed him at once and drank the foul stuff. And she had to admit she felt better. When she sat up the world had stopped spinning.

  ‘Can I see the children?’ she asked the nurse. She had to see for herself that they were going to be all right, she had to.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  Rose got to her feet and held her head up high. She was determined to show that she was in full control of herself now, wasn’t going to collapse again. ‘Is there a cloakroom? If I could just make myself presentable, comb my hair …’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The nurse looked at Jeff. ‘You’ll be with her?’ she asked and he nodded.

  ‘All the time.’ For ever, he thought. He was not going to lose her again.

  Rose walked up the corridor of the children’s ward, outwardly composed and with an expectant smile on her face, but her hand was clutching Jeff’s tightly and he could feel the slight tremor she was fighting to subdue. The twins were in a small two-bedded room adjacent to the main ward, both lying flat, their bedheads padded with pillows.

  ‘Five minutes, that’s all,’ said Sister firmly. ‘They need to rest after that ordeal.’ She left the door ajar, just in case. She had been Sister on this ward for a long time and was well aware that relatives of the tiny patients often burst into tears when they saw them, causing more upset than good for her patients, in her opinion at least.

  ‘Rose!’ Mary, looking almost her old self except for her arm being bandaged close to her side, tried to sit up and had to be shushed. And, thank God, Michael was awake too, his dark eyes, so like Mary’s and Rose’s own, looking up solemnly at her.

  ‘There were cows, Rose,’ he confided when his sister had kissed them both carefully, hardly daring to touch them. Rose was surprised he remembered. She cast a startled glance at Jeff, standing just inside the door. ‘I fell right among the cows,’ he went on. ‘Black and white, they were. Aren’t cows big, Rose?’

  ‘They are,’ she agreed. ‘Hush now, Michael, my pet. You’re going to be fine.’

  ‘Where’s Auntie Elsie?’ asked Mary, suddenly fretful. ‘I want Auntie Elsie. My shoulder hurts, Rose.’

  Rose stared at Jeff. She had completely forgotten about her aunt, and what was more, her first instinct was to leave Elsie to stew. But she could see that Mary at least had grown fond of her, naturally enough as she’d had been the mother figure in their young lives since their own mother died. If Rose felt a tiny pang of jealousy to find that Mary wanted Aunt Elsie rather than her when she was hurt, it was quickly stifled. Of course Elsie had to be told and brought to see the children.

  ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to go now,’ said Sister from the doorway, and Rose opened her mouth to protest but one glance at the other woman’s determined expression convinced her it was a waste of time. She kissed the children, whispered she’d be back soon and went out.

  ‘And Auntie Elsie?’ asked Mary, inclined to tears now. Rose was forced to nod.

  ‘Visiting two until four tomorrow afternoon,’ Sister stated. ‘Only two visitors, mind.’

  ‘Dragon,’ said Jeff with feeling as they walked out into the fresh air, and they smiled at each other. When they got to the car, instead of getting in they stood close together, arms around each other, her head resting on his shoulder, not needing to say anything. The relief and relaxation of tension had given Rose a feeling of deep lethargy. She felt she could never worry about anything ever again. For the time being, especially after the terrible events of the day, it was enough that they were together, the twins were going to recover, and she and Jeff were as deeply in love as they had ever been.

  There was a sweet communion between them, the fear all gone. Rose felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her, an impenetrable cloud had rolled away from the sun and let the light shine through. Its golden
light was wrapped around the two of them, enveloping and warm.

  Bob Morris saw the couple as he turned into the hospital grounds, two people, standing as one, so obviously deeply in love. Rather, he saw the shape of them for the light was rapidly fading. His heart went out to them. Their very bearing expressed his own deep feeling for Rose. He realised he was in love with her and decided he would ask her to marry him soon. A twinge of anxiety shot through his mind. Where was she? There must be some simple explanation for her disappearance. He couldn’t think what it could be but there had to be something. She would come back.

  For now, however, he had been called to the hospital. Yet another young girl had put her faith in the hands of a back-street abortionist and he was required to repair the damage. He parked the car and walked back to the main building of the hospital, having to pass the young couple, still standing so still, so close, so united. He couldn’t help glancing at them as he passed then felt as if a great cold hand had taken hold of him and squeezed, forcing the breath out of him.

  ‘Rose?’ Someone said the name, he wasn’t aware that it was himself. The couple didn’t move for a moment. He felt as though he were watching the three of them, all so still and silent, the young couple and himself. He couldn’t believe it, no, this couldn’t be Rose. It seemed an age before she lifted her head from the man’s shoulder, and indeed it was Rose, his lovely Rose.

  ‘Bob? Dr Morris?’

  A car drove past, headlights illuminating the scene, and his disbelieving eyes recognised the man. It was her friend’s man, her friend’s husband, the girl he had been talking to only a few hours ago, the one who had told him the dreadful story about Rose and her father. A tale of incest and degradation. And here Rose was, with that girl’s husband, the newly married husband. ‘Blood will out.’ That was a phrase his mother was fond of using but he had never believed it. Not until now.

  Suddenly, he collected himself. Muttering something inarticulate, he started to walk rapidly away. By the time he got to the corner he was almost running.

  Rose gazed sadly after him. That one look into his eyes had shown her the shock he had suffered, and it was all her fault. He was in love with her, she realised, something she had refused to consider until now. But she had used him, she knew that too, and acknowledged it. He had been there and she had needed someone. She had had nowhere to turn, no one to turn to, and she had missed Jeff so.

  ‘Rose? Come on, love, get in the car, it’s growing cold. Come on now, sweetheart, I’m going to look after you.’ She turned to see Jeff holding open the door of the car for her to get in. Oh, Jeff, her dearest Jeff. Somehow she couldn’t think about Bob Morris, not now, not tonight. Tonight she was going to be steeped in Jeff’s love, the love which had been denied her for so long. Tomorrow everything might be different, tomorrow she would have to tell him the truth, but not tonight.

  ‘Let’s go home, love,’ he said and it was the sweetest sentence there had ever been in the English language. Tomorrow she would think about Bob and what she was going to say to him. Tomorrow she would think about Aunt Elsie. Both of them would have to be faced. Yes, there was a lot to be faced tomorrow. But not tonight. She was so tired, deathly tired, she couldn’t even think how she was going to tell Jeff about her father, what he had done, what he had been.

  Jeff also had things he didn’t want to go into tonight, not least the chap who had called to Rose as they stood by the car. He could have sworn it was the same one who had come to the house early this morning. But nothing else mattered to him very much now except that he had his Rose and that devil, her so-called father – for what real father would torture a girl as he had done – that demon from hell, was dead and Jeff couldn’t find an ounce of pity for him in his heart.

  ‘Is this yours?’ asked Rose as they drove up to the terraced house in Easington Colliery. The curtains of the front room were drawn together but chinks of light were showing, reminding Jeff that he had company. He groaned inwardly. The last thing he or Rose wanted now was to meet Kate Morland. They might have managed Brian and Marina at a pinch but no more. He restarted the car.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Rose, not really minding, trusting him completely.

  ‘On our honeymoon,’ he said. ‘We’re going to be different, put the cart before the horse.’

  They didn’t go far away. Rose wanted to be near the children so they took a room in an hotel in Seaton Carew on the outskirts of Hartlepool. It was nine o’clock on a cold winter’s night but the room was cosy with the curtains drawn and an electric fire on the wall. The bedside lamps cast a rosy glow over the room; the bed with its covers turned back looked clear and fresh against the old furniture. It looked comfortable. The bed …A niggle of worry intruded on Rose’s happiness but Jeff had his arms around her. He was drawing her to him and she was lost in the golden haze once again.

  ‘Let me look at you,’ he whispered and began to take off her twinset, fingers fumbling over the buttons of her cardigan so that Rose laughed softly and helped him. He took off her skirt and folded it carefully over the back of a chair, pulled down the straps of her bra, kissed the tops of her gently swelling breasts. At last she was fully undressed and he stood for a moment, drinking in the sight of her.

  ‘I’m too thin,’ Rose murmured, suddenly shy, and he laughed softly and scooped her up in his arms and laid her in the bed.

  ‘You’re perfect,’ he said.

  She watched as he threw off his own clothes and stood before her. And, oh, he was perfect, he was, his shoulders broad with rippling muscles, his stomach so flat, and below his manhood stood erect and proud. He was trembling with his need for her yet he lifted the covers and got into the bed beside her carefully. Gently he kissed her eyelids, her lips, the nape of her neck, and brushed his tongue over the rosy tips of her breasts which sprang up in instant response.

  Rose stiffened once, a trace of panic on the edge of her mind when his hand strayed to her secret place, the urge to freeze, to get away, striking with a sudden image of her father, the hated feel of his hands. But this was Jeff, not Alf Sharpe, this was her beloved, her Jeff, her own lovely man and the image fled, lost in the overpowering sensations which Jeff had aroused in her. Jeff, her love.

  He had stopped instantly as he felt her stiffen, her instant of withdrawal, though his own needs were causing a clamouring in his blood that took all of his will to control. ‘Rose,’ he murmured. ‘Rose. My own darling Rose.’ His head against her breast he could feel the panicky quickening of her heartbeat but then she relaxed, moved against him and he knew it was going to be all right.

  It was in the early morning that she awoke, filled with a sense of contentment, happiness singing in her veins as she felt the length of his body so close to hers, his arm flung across her, his head snuggled into her shoulder. There was a grey light filtering through the curtains. Rose looked sideways down at his beloved face, breathed in the essence of him. A tiny blue scar marked his left temple. In this light it looked darker against his skin. She placed a forefinger against it, ran the finger gently along. He’d been hurt sometime, she thought, and she hadn’t even known. How could that be?

  She shivered but not with cold. As she came fully awake she began to feel a terrible sense of foreboding, of guilt … she didn’t know what it was. Sliding her arm carefully from under Jeff she moved away to the edge of the bed. He murmured in protest, flinging the bedclothes back to his waist and turning on his back. Carefully she pulled up the covers, tucking them into his neck as she would with one of the twins.

  A terrible feeling of desolation was creeping over her, all the more intense for the joy and happiness which had gone before. There was a spare blanket on a chair. She wrapped herself in it and went to the window. Pulling the curtain back so that she could see out, she stared out over the sands to the sea. She had cheated him. Only now did she realise how badly she had cheated him. She should have told him. She folded her arms before her, holding on to the blanket, head bent as she stared out, se
eing nothing at all.

  Jeff woke with a start and instantly felt bereft. Where was she? He had been having a bad dream, had dreamed that Rose was going away yet again. ‘I have to go, I have to,’ she was saying in the dream and she was crying, great teardrops rolling down her face in hopeless abandon. ‘Don’t go! Don’t go, darling,’ he called. He was racing after her, calling her name, and when he woke the euphoria of the night before was gone.

  Rose was standing by the window, the picture of dejection, tears rolling down her cheeks as they had in his terrifying dream. He jumped out of bed and hurried to her, gathered her in his arms, held her to him.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Don’t go. I won’t let you, Rose, do you hear me?’ He picked her up and carried her back to the bed where she lay listlessly in his arms. ‘Tell me what it is? Tell me!’ he said. ‘Rose, there’s nothing you can say that will ever turn me from you. Nothing.’

  It was her father. He saw now what it had been with sudden clarity. It had to be her father. She must have had some feeling for him, he thought, and now Alf was dead. But, no. Everything bad in her life had been due to her father, he knew that. How could she miss him? ‘Tell me,’ he insisted again; he was not to be denied. And Rose began to speak. Slowly, it all came out: the years of growing to be a teenager, the way it had caused her mother’s death earlier than need be, the fears she had had for her little sister Mary, the infamous bargain she had made with her father because of it. And last, worst, the dead baby and her father’s callous treatment of her, even to leaving her in the dene to die.

  ‘I had nowhere to turn, no one to turn to,’ she said, dry-eyed now. ‘Aunt Elsie helped him, Jeff. She was so terrified that he would take the twins from her.’ She was silent now, reliving the awful sense of betrayal when her aunt did what she had.

  ‘You had me,’ he said. He could hardly speak, filled with such a sense of loathing for Alf Sharpe. And self-loathing too. Oh, he had heard rumours when he lived in Jordan, talk among the men at the pit about Alf Sharpe’s unnatural obsession with Rose. He had been on the receiving end of the man’s hatred when he had thought Jeff was too fond of his daughter. But he hadn’t wanted to believe it, couldn’t bring himself to believe it. And he could have done something! Anything. He could surely have got Rose out of that hell. But he’d been so young, had had nothing to offer her, had thought he was doing the best thing by getting away out of Alf’s sight. But he had let her down. She had said it herself. She’d had nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. He had been useless to her. Holding her to him Jeff began to cry himself, for the first time since his mother had died when he was a youngster.