The Tide of Life

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘It all depends on what you call sense. Your bravery could lead you into trouble; I’ve no need to tell you what they’re like down there.’

  ‘People change. Anyway, they’re not all alike.’

  ‘Aw-w, Emily!’ He closed his eyes and turned his head away and his lips moved back from his teeth as if he were smelling something stinking, and, his head still turned from her, he said, ‘They’re still worrying me alive down there. Don’t you know that? They’re still licking their chops, the lot of them. An’ not only them, but for miles around. I’m the man who stepped out of his class and I’ve been put back in me place. From all sides they’re seeing it that way, and they’re laughing as they’ve never laughed for years.’

  ‘Well, we’ll only have to try to wipe the laugh off their faces, won’t we? Anyway’—she jerked her chin upwards—‘I’m going down ’cos we can’t remain buried alive here for evermore. And the first time’s always the worst…with everything,’ she added, ‘an’ I’ll never feel more like tacklin’ them than I do at this minute. So you can’t stop me. The only thing I ask of you is for you to come to the bridge near the beck in about a couple of hours’ time. I’ll leave the stuff I get in the village there afore I catch the cart into Fellburn.’

  ‘Why do you want to go into Fellburn if you mean to get the stuff in the village?’

  She gathered up the dishes now and went to the corner of the room and put them into the tin dish which was standing on a little table, and as she poured the water on them from an enamelled jug, she said, ‘I’ve got a hankering to see me Aunt Mary.’

  ‘A hankering?’

  ‘Aye, a hankering.’

  ‘… You’re lonely?’

  ‘No, I’m not lonely.’ She turned her head sharply over her shoulder and looked at him. ‘But I just want to see me Aunt Mary and—’ Only just in time she stopped herself from adding ‘And have a bit of a natter an’ a laugh.’ She hadn’t laughed since coming into this cottage; she had never even smiled, and she needed to smile, to have something to smile about…something to laugh about. And, of course, she was anxious to know if Mr Tooton had sold the watch.

  ‘She’ll tell you not to come back.’

  ‘What!’ She again looked over her shoulder. ‘Me Aunt Mary? You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You should see her, an’ hear her. The last time we chatted she told me if she had her time over again she’d start up a house for fallen women, not to redeem them like, those were her own words, but to let them get on with the job.’

  She turned her face towards the wall again. A house for fallen women, not to redeem them, but to let them get on with the job. Was it laughter that was bubbling up in her? Whatever it was was choking her, but when it burst through her lips it surprised her, for it was high and uncontrolled, and when her face was pressed against his shoulder it turned into sobs, and the more he murmured, ‘Oh, Emily, Emily,’ the louder these became.

  She didn’t go down to the village that day because her eyes were too red and swollen, but she went down the next morning; and he stood and watched her go from the doorway. When she reached the bottom of the slope she could still feel his eyes on her back, and so she turned and, cupping her mouth with her hand, she yelled, ‘Don’t forget, around three o’clock.’ And she waited until he raised his hand before going on her way again.

  The sun was shining again today, again the world was bright. Once upon a time on a day like this she would have felt glad.

  She entered the village street by the top end, as she would have done had she been driving into it in the trap. As she passed the forge she turned her head fully and looked in. There was a new man at the anvil. He raised his head and glanced at her, that was all; but when she passed the two women standing outside the house-window haberdashery shop they actually turned their bodies fully round and gaped at her.

  A little way farther on down the street she stepped off the cobbled pavement onto the dried mud road so as not to disturb some children playing there; then she was passing The Running Fox, and again she turned her head fully and looked towards it before walking on. And now she was outside the butcher’s shop with its high window headed by the words: DAVID COLE. PRIME BEEF.

  There were three women in the shop, and the reactions of two of them were as if they were seeing an apparition, for, like the women in the street, they too turned fully about and their mouths fell agape.

  Mr Cole was at his block, a chopper in his hand, chining a neck of mutton. He held the chopper poised for a moment while he stared at Emily, and his look became a glare before he turned to his lady customers again. Addressing one of them, he said, ‘About…about two pounds you said, Mrs Robinson?’

  Mrs Robinson gulped, then repeated, ‘Aye, two pounds, Mr Cole.’

  Emily remained standing to the side while Mr Cole served his three customers. In the meantime, two more came into the shop, and the only sound between question and answer was Mr Cole’s knife sliding softly through steak or his chopper going through bone.

  Two of the very surprised ladies left the shop together, one of them remarking to the other as she kicked at the sawdust on the floor, ‘’Tis a wonder it doesn’t catch fire.’

  ‘Well’—Mr Cole was addressing himself solely to Emily now—‘What…what can I do for you, madam…Mrs…’

  ‘Miss.’

  ‘Oh aye’—He nodded at her, gave a slight leering smile, and repeated, ‘Miss.’

  ‘I’ll take a pound of hoff meat, a pound of sausages, and that brisket point there.’ She extended her finger towards a slab on which were some pieces of beef.

  Silently Mr Cole weighed out the sausages, the hoff meat, and when he came to weighing the brisket he said, ‘It’s big, weighs just over eight and a half pounds. It’ll cost you’—he started to reckon in his head—‘half a crown.’

  ‘Thank you; I’ll take it.’ She had adopted a slightly high-falutin tone, and he, following her pattern, now bent slightly towards her and said, ‘Will I send it…miss?’

  She did not turn her head in the direction of the titter behind her but, looking straight back into the butcher’s eyes, she said, ‘Yes, you can do that, Mr…Mr…Cole. You know the cottage, Rill Cottage on Bailey’s Rise?’

  She watched the colour flooding up over his already ruddy countenance and his lips formed a thin line before he replied, ‘The…the lad doesn’t get that far.’

  ‘Oh. Well, in that case I’ll take it with me.’

  She watched him parcel the meat up roughly, and when he thrust it at her she offered him a full sovereign, which he stared at for a moment before putting it in the till and giving her the change.

  ‘Good day, Mr Cole.’

  The only response to her farewell was a telling silence.

  It was odd, but as she walked out of the shop she imagined that her manner had been similar to that which Rona Birch would have used towards the butcher, and the thought made her feel slightly elated.

  She knew that Mr Cole’s eyes and those of his customers were watching her progress across the street to the baker’s shop, which was also part corn chandler’s, and so she held her head high, and lightly pulled up the edge of her skirt so that her walk across the rough road should be unimpeded.

  Mr Waite was behind the counter, as was Mrs Waite. They both stopped what they were doing and gazed at their new customer; then Mrs Waite, after taking a deep breath, swung a small paper bag between her two hands until its ends formed corkscrew points before handing it across the counter to a small boy, who after proffering her a penny, was about to disappear through the door when she brought her attention quickly to him as she cried at him, ‘Don’t you eat that yeast, mind, Eddie! You take it straight home.’ The boy made no reply, he just grinned at her and went out.

  And now Mrs Waite was about to turn her attention to this brazen piece when her husband forestalled her. His voice quite civil sounding, he said, ‘And what can I do for you, miss?’

  His manner and tone was almost Emily’s
undoing for it threatened to take the stiffness out of her back, the tilt from her chin, and the self-confidence from her manner.

  ‘Could I have a half-stone of flour, please?’

  ‘Aye, you could.’ He bounced his head at her. Then turning and looking straight at his wife, he said, ‘Weigh up half a stone of flour, Sarah.’

  His Sarah glared back at him for a moment, but only for a moment; then she went into the back shop and there was a sound of a heavy weight being banged onto a scale.

  ‘Is there anything more I can get you?’

  She wanted to say, ‘Yes, I’ll take a stone of boxings and some corn. And could you drop a bale of hay near the bridge?’ for she had realised before entering the village that you couldn’t walk with much dignity if you were laden down with bags, and she wanted to walk out of this village with dignity, at least today, and so she said, ‘I’ll have a quarter of yeast, please, and half a dozen of your nice teacakes.’ She nodded towards a tray of freshly baked teacakes.

  ‘And that you shall have…a quarter of yeast and half a dozen teacakes.’

  The teacakes had been put in the bag and placed on the counter before her, and the clicking of the scale told her that the flour had been weighed, and so, quickly now, she leant slightly towards Mr Waite and said below her breath, ‘Thank you, thank you, Mr Waite, for receiving me in this way.’

  For a moment he looked surprised, then he said, ‘Aw, hinny’—he shook his head slowly—‘I’m sorry for you. And him an’ all. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  She did not pause a moment before she whispered, ‘Oh, if only you’d drop a stone of corn and one of boxings, an’ a bale of hay near the bridge. I’d…I’d be ever so obliged.’

  ‘All right, lass; I’ll do that.’ His voice had been just above a whisper, but it rose sharply when his wife, her skirts flouncing, came into the shop again and he said, ‘Now, let’s see. Half a stone of flour, six teacakes and a quarter of yeast, you’re takin’ with you, and you want delivered one bale of hay, one stone of boxings, and one stone of wheat.’ He paused, and his smile widening, he said, ‘What about some sausage rolls and meat pasties, made fresh this mornin’?’ He pointed towards a wooden tray.

  Her voice now had a slight break in it as she answered, ‘Thank you. Yes, I’ll take some. Four…four of each.’

  ‘Four of each. Wrap them up, missis.’ He turned his head and looked at his wife, then added up the purchases on the back of a paper bag, and when he turned it towards her he said, ‘All right, miss?’ and after barely glancing at the total, she answered, ‘Yes, Mr Waite. Quite all right.’

  A few moments later, as she was leaving the shop, she said, ‘Good day, Mr Waite. And thank you. Good day, Mrs Waite.’ She nodded to the silent, prim-faced woman, who made no reply, but her husband called loudly, ‘Good day, miss. Good day. Call again.’

  Carrying the half-stone of flour on the crook of one arm and the rest of her purchases in the bass bag, she walked smartly on down the village street that had quite suddenly become alive with people, people in their gardens, people cleaning their windows, people standing talking together. And no-one spoke to her; and no-one seemed to look at her; and only one remark came to her ears. It was from a woman who was picking up a child from the middle of the road where it was sitting playing in the dust, and as if she were talking to the child, she said, ‘Pity the stocks are not in use no more.’

  But what did it matter? The baker had been nice to her, more than nice, most kind. When she got back to the cottage she’d say to Larry triumphantly, ‘I was right; people are not all alike.’

  Having reached the broken-down bridge and placed the bags under cover of some old wood and stones, she sat for a moment on what remained of the parapet, for of a sudden she felt tired, drained. And she wanted to cry again, as she had done yesterday, but she checked herself, muttering aloud, ‘No more of that. No more of that. Get yourself up and on your way, else you’ll miss the cart.’

  Mary Southern greeted her with open arms. She hugged her to her flabby breasts and she kissed her and she cried over her, ‘Eeh, lass!’ she said, ‘I thought you’d never come. From what our Pat read out of your letter I thought, the silly little bitch, she’ll keep away, thinkin’ she should be ashamed to show her face.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done, Aunt Mary.’ Emily released herself from the hefty arms and, looking into the kindly face, she said, ‘It’s me own life.’

  ‘Aye, lass, you’re right, it’s your own life. Come on and sit down. Get your things off first. The tea’s on the hob, I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.’

  ‘I can’t stay long. And Aunt Mary. Was there a letter come for me?’

  ‘Oh aye, a letter.’ Mary tossed her head from side to side; then grabbing up the tea caddy from the mantelpiece, she lifted the lid and said, ‘I stuck it down here ’cos it’s the only place me squad don’t put their fingers into ’cos if I caught them I’d cut ’em off.’ She now knocked the tea dust off the letter against the side of the tin canister, then handed it to Emily; and she watched her open it and take out two pieces of paper. One was a sheet of ordinary writing paper, the other was a narrow slip of paper. It was at this slip that Emily looked first. Then she looked at her aunt, and Mary said, ‘Bad news?’

  ‘No, no, Aunt Mary, but…but I’m just a little disappointed. You see…Oh, it’s a long story. I never told you, I’ve never told anybody, it’s only Lucy knows, but…but Sep gave me a watch.’

  ‘A watch! A good one?’

  ‘Oh aye, a bonny one.’ She now went to the table and sat down, the two pieces of paper still in her hand, and briefly she described to Mary how she had come into possession of the watch and how she had asked Mr Tooton to sell it for her. But she finished up wagging the slip of paper between her finger and thumb, saying, ‘It wasn’t as valuable as I thought. He said he could only get twenty pounds for it. This is a cheque, he says, but…but what can I do with this? I haven’t got any bankin’ account.’

  ‘Oh, you needn’t trouble about gettin’ it changed. Ma Harris’ll change it for you if it’s genuine like. She’s the one that runs all the clubs an’ things. You know, the money clubs. I’ve told you about her: a shilling on a pound club and a bit of a backhander when you get your money, not forgettin’ a penny in the shilling a week for borrowing. She does all right, that one; loaded up to the eyebrows I’d say. Oh, she’ll change it, but she’ll charge you a bit. Twenty pounds? Oh well, you’ll likely have to stump up a pound, lass.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll do that, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Well, don’t look so glum; you’ll still have nineteen left, an’ that’s a small fortune.’

  ‘I think we’re going to need all the small fortunes we can come by afore we’re finished up there, Aunt Mary.’

  ‘Is it as bad as that, lass?’

  ‘Well’—Emily lowered her head—‘’tisn’t bad, at least for me, but for him it’s…it’s awful.’

  ‘Aye, I bet it is, even goin’ by what was in the papers. An’ to think you’re living with him, lass. Eeh! Life’s funny, isn’t it?…Is he kind to you?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, he’s kind enough.’

  Mary, leaning across the table and her breasts hanging on her forearms, asked quietly, ‘You didn’t say that with much conviction, lass. Do…do you care for him?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Mary; yes, I care for him.’

  ‘Big enough, an’ deep enough to spend the rest of your life up there with him?’

  Emily considered for a moment, and then she chided herself inwardly that she had to consider; then she said, ‘Aye…aye, for the rest of me life with him.’

  ‘He must be some man.’

  ‘He’s not…’ Now why had she said that? But then she could talk from her heart to her Aunt Mary. ‘Well, I didn’t mean what that sounded like. In looks he’s all right, I’d suppose you would call him handsome, at least when he smiles. But he doesn’t often smile…or laugh.’

  ‘That’s a pity. A f
ace can lose something if it never stretches in a laugh; it sort of becomes wantin’.’

  ‘Aye, I think so an’ all, Aunt Mary. But it isn’t so much in his looks that he’s wantin’, it’s…it’s in something inside; he kind of lacks something that should make him fight back. Even the solicitor said…well, the solicitor’s clerk, Mr Tooton, the man who sold the watch for me, even he said that he had a case, and he could have taken it to court. At least he would have got some decent compensation for his years of work, not just what she would have paid the lowest lad on her farm. But you see he wouldn’t, Aunt Mary, he wouldn’t fight. He’s kind of stubborn and fearful inside. He thinks of it as bein’ proud, but…but I don’t see it like that. There’s nothin’ to be proud of in letting other people walk over you. What do you think, Aunt Mary?’

  ‘No, begod, there’s nothing to be proud of in that, lass. Once you let anybody wipe their feet on you, you begin to think of yourself as a doormat. You’ve got to talk him out of that state.’

  ‘I doubt if I ever will.’

  ‘Well, does he intend to remain up in that eagle’s nest for the rest of his life? Because I know where that place is, an’ Windy Nook isn’t in it. The wind up there would take the lugs off an elephant. You’ve got something afore you this winter, lass.’

  Emily didn’t comment on this but she sighed, and Mary said, ‘Aw well, never say die. That’s your motto, isn’t it, lass? So never fear, you’ll pull through. If there weren’t any valleys there’d be no hills. I tell meself this often. Oh yes’—she wagged her head now at Emily—‘there’s days when I’m so down I couldn’t get any lower unless I went down the pit. But then I say to meself, Come on, climb up and look out of the window. Now what’s up there?…The sky. An’ who’s in it? God. Well, remember, God helps those who help themselves. Aye, an’ God helps those who are found helpin’ themselves. Six months. Stand down.’