Annie glared. ‘You’re letting your imagination get the better of you,’ she snapped, her composure recovered. ‘Don’t go making out I was a wicked stepmother. It’s not a fairytale you’re telling.’
She turned on her heel, intent on walking away but Cally, impassioned by the desire to have her questions answered, grabbed her by the arm. ‘Do you think I don’t remember how you forced my dad to choose between us. And he chose to keep in with you to try and stop you making our lives a misery. Even then you weren’t satisfied; you nearly drove him mad.’
Annie shook herself free of Cally’s grip. ‘He got what he deserved,’ she said, bitterly.
‘And what did I deserve, Annie?’ asked Cally, her tone and expression profoundly sad. ‘Not to go to the Grammar School, not allowed my books or my treasures. Do you still have the box with my mam’s things in it? You’re wearing the brooch.’
Annie’s hand flew to the lapel of her jacket.
‘Have you still got my pen and the flowers?’ Cally asked, hopefully.
Annie scowled. ‘No. I got rid of them just like I got rid of you,’ she said, her words tipped with venom.
Cally’s heart crumbled. ‘You must hate all of us; me, my mam, my dad; even your own children,’ Cally’s voice wobbled with emotion.
Annie eyes blazed. ‘You don’t know the half of it. It was staying to look after you that ruined my life. If our Ada hadn’t died I’d never have been saddled with you, and everything else that came after it.’
‘You could have left after she died. Me and my dad would have managed.’
‘You and your precious dad: it was his fault I had to stay,’ she shrieked, ‘he forced himself on me the night we buried your mam.’
Suddenly Annie’s shoulders slumped, her eyes and mouth those of an utterly dejected woman. Close to tears she said, ‘He got me in t’family way. I had no choice. I was seventeen: I could have gone anywhere and done anything I wanted but for him. And after our Ada died he didn’t want me. He made my name muck in Calthorpe, and if that wasn’t bad enough he brought the bloody Godbers into the house and committed me to a life of drudgery. You think you had it hard, don’t you? Well, what about me?’
Cally felt sick. Annie’s version of events didn’t quite match George’s, yet somehow Cally knew there was an element of truth in it. She reached out for Annie’s hand, her eyes filled with pity and remorse. This time Annie didn’t pull away. As if trying to lessen the blow and excuse George’s behaviour, she muttered, ‘It was grief – and drink – made him do it. He regretted it as much I did.’
‘Oh, Annie, I thought you married him because you wanted him. He told me you were already pregnant when you married, but I imagined you’d fallen in love with him.’
Annie shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Well, you imagined wrong. When I came to look after our Ada I thought I fancied him, but it was only for a bit of fun. And look where it got me.’
Cally placed her hand gently on the older woman’s arm. ‘Nobody should have to live a life filled with regret, Annie, and for that I’m sorry – but what I find hard to forgive is you sending me to Cratchley’s when you knew what sort of man he was, and because of that you’ve condemned me to a life of regret.’ She turned away, saying, ‘you always wanted to win, didn’t you, Annie? Well, it looks like you’ve won again.’
Cally strode back down the track. Annie hurried after her calling, ‘what do you mean, won again?’ Cally stopped walking but she didn’t turn round.
Sadly, she related the awful incident on the night of the wool convention. ‘So you see, Annie, you’re not the only one who lost her hopes and dreams for the future.’
They plodded back to Copley in silence, Sykes and George catching up with them as they approached the house.
‘You missed a grand view up top, Annie,’ George exclaimed, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes shining. ‘What were you two doin’?’
Cally threw him a bright smile. ‘We were talking. Isn’t that right, Annie?’
Annie nodded. Bemused, George raised his eyebrows but Cally shook her head, warningly.
The rest of the weekend passed peacefully, and by the time Cally drove George and Annie to the station, an uneasy truce had been called.
‘I hope your young man comes to his senses,’ Annie whispered, as she boarded the train.
*
Later that night, unable to sleep, Cally curled up on the window seat in her bedroom and opened the casement. She gazed into the darkness, wondering where Red might be and what he was doing. Would he ever come back to her? As she dwelt on this possibility the lines of a favourite poem formed in her mind. ‘He did not come at dawning, he did not come at noon, and when the road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor…’
Cally sighed. Bess, the heroine of the poem, had waited in vain for her highwayman. Just as I’m doing now, thought Cally, except Red’s no highwayman. He’s a fixer of things, a dreamer fascinated by the make-believe world of cinematography and invention. He has no regular income and no positive ambition, other than to do exactly what he feels like at the time. Maybe he isn’t good marriage material, too airy-fairy, she reasoned, but I love him and miss his company. That he hadn’t loved her enough to believe in her hurt beyond bearing.
She listened to the shuffle of autumn leaves and the insistent tapping of ivy against the windowpanes. Then she heard it. It was none of the usual sounds. It was the soft thud of feet on grass. Someone was out there. A smothered cough had her pushing the window wide open and peering over the sill. The tangle of ivy and clematis masking her immediate view, she leaned out further. On the ground below the window she saw the toes of a pair of familiar brown leather boots protruding from the foliage. Her heart lurched.
‘Red?’ she called softly. ‘Is that you?’
The boots stepped forward and Red came into view, his hair silvered in the moonlight. He swung round and looked up, his face pale and distraught. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his hacking jacket and hunched his shoulders, the picture of dejection.
‘Wait there. Don’t move. I’ll be right down.’
*
In the week following their reunion, although Cally was overjoyed to have Red back, she still felt the need to question his loyalty.
‘Why did you wait so long before coming to see me?’ she asked, one night as they walked back from the Cinema.
Red dropped his chin to his chest. ‘I didn’t know what do,’ he mumbled. ‘Cratchley opened up a right can of worms, I can tell you. Mum asking how well did I really know you. Dad telling me I should forget all about you. When my sisters got to hear of it they crowed like a pair of old witches, insisting you’re not good enough for me. Albert’s the only one who doesn’t have an opinion.’
‘Your sisters have never met me. They’re not entitled to an opinion,’ retorted Cally, irritated by how easily he had been influenced. ‘But good for Albert; at least your brother has some sense.’
Red shrugged then said, ‘Sybil and Lucy have been against you from the start, particularly Sybil. She’s the oldest. She dominates everyone, except Albert; he listens to no one.’
Cally liked the sound of Albert. ‘Was it Sybil who told you not to see me again?’
Red looked sheepish. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, embarrassed by his weakness. ‘At the time it seemed to make sense. She kept going on about your murky past, how it had come back to haunt you. She reckons you’ll have other dirty secrets hidden away.’
Cally exploded. ‘The cheeky bitch!’ Already she disliked Sybil intensely.
‘You’ve got to admit she has a point,’ reasoned Red. ‘After all, if Cratchley hadn’t shown up I’d be none the wiser.’
Cally felt her temper rising. ‘Maybe you’re not wise at all,’ she snapped, ‘you never gave me a chance to explain what really happened. You ran away. If you prefer to believe I’m a whore then I think we’d better call it a day.’ She pulled her arm from his and stormed back the w
ay they had come, Red running to catch up with her.
‘Don’t do this, Cally, because I don’t think I can live without you,’ begged Red.
Cally glared at him. ‘You seemed to be managing well enough when I saw you outside the George Hotel about a month ago. Who was the pretty blonde?’
Red looked puzzled, then, realisation dawning, he said, ‘Oh, that was my sister, Lucy.’
Cally raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘You kissed her.’
Red shrugged. ‘I’m sure I did. My sisters always insist on a kiss whenever they see me.’
‘Good Lord, they sound like a pair of clinging vines. It seems to me they’ve got you tied up in knots. Do you always do as they ask? And do you believe everything they say?’
‘No! I don’t care what they think.’ He caught at her hand, and holding it to his chest he gazed ardently into her face. ‘I love you and I want us to be together, no matter what.’
‘Then you’d better start believing in me, trust what I say, because it’s the truth. I’d never lie to you. I love you too much.’
Before they arrived back at Copley House, Cally had relayed the whole, miserable story of Cratchley, no detail spared. Red listened solemnly, and when she had finished he said, ‘I believe you, Cally, and love you more because of it.’
*
The months that followed were fraught with a gamut of emotions. Elizabeth Blackstone was easily won over; her initial liking of Cally soon restored. Red confided in his mother and she, blessed with a kind and perspicacious nature understood Cally’s past predicaments. Gradually, if somewhat grudgingly, Gilmore also capitulated, and as he got to know Cally his opinion altered to one of positive admiration. However, Red’s sisters were not appeased, Sybil openly hostile and Lucy, who tended to follow Sybil’s example in all matters, offensively condescending.
20
Cally married Red in the ancient little church in Copley village, an occasion made all the more joyful for her when George agreed to give her away. ‘You’ve never looked lovelier; your mam would have been proud,’ he said, as he walked her down the aisle to her waiting groom. And after the ceremony he advised, ‘Think on now, make the most of it. Don’t go makin’ a mess of it like I did. I didn’t know how precious your mam was until it wa’ too late.’
Cally had smiled then and assured him she would take his advice to heart but the promise was soon forgotten.
‘You care more about Copley House than you do about me,’ Red complained, one night some three months later when she returned shortly before midnight to the converted coach-house they now lived in.
‘It’s my job,’ Cally snapped, ‘I have to be there to make sure things are done properly. I don’t quibble when you spend all day in your workshop or, like tonight, at the Cinema, so don’t complain about my work.’
‘I only do that because you’re never around to do anything with,’ Red retorted sulkily.
Later, in bed, they settled their differences in the usual way, their love-making rapturous.
However, the brevity of the time they spent together offered scant opportunity for developing a deeper, more meaningful relationship. Cally’s passion for Copley House was all consuming and she gave little thought to Red’s ambitions. She never suggested he participate in her enterprise, neither did he offer to do so. To appease his nagging she contrived to take at least one full afternoon and an evening away from Copley House. This pleased Red but it did little towards improving Cally’s relationship with his sisters.
‘Do we have to go again this Sunday? It’s a glorious afternoon; let’s go up the moor, just the two of us.’ It was Cally’s day off and she made it quite plain that the last thing she wanted to do was sit in Sybil and Lucy’s company at Blackstone Farm.
‘They’ll never get to know you if you keep avoiding them,’ reasoned Red.
‘I wouldn’t want to avoid them if they were pleasant, but Sybil’s arrogance makes my blood boil every time we meet,’ Cally argued. ‘Just because she married into one of the biggest mills in the valley doesn’t give her the right to look down on me. And Lucy’s so condescending she makes me sick. She hides her nastiness behind all that prissy dithering but her tiresome prattle is just as hurtful as Sybil’s abuse. How Arthur Hirst and Joe Barker put up with them, I’ll never understand.’
Red looked hurt. ‘You’re too harsh. They’re my family, and if they make you feel like that it’s your own insecurity allows it.’
It was Cally’s turn to look hurt. Why did Red refuse to acknowledge Sybil and Lucy’s antagonism? ‘My insecurity!’ she exclaimed, ‘At least I have the good manners not to be openly offensive, which is more than I can say for them.’
Red shrugged. ‘Come on,’ he cajoled, ‘get your coat. Just a couple of hours then we’ll be off to the theatre. It’ll be all right.’ He smiled winningly.
Cally pulled on her coat, admitting defeat and thinking, he’s like a little boy always wanting his own way, and I give in every time. Even so, she couldn’t help adding, ‘It’ll be all right for you. I think you take some perverse pleasure from the way they manipulate you. You like being the apple of their eyes.’
Red flushed. ‘They mean well,’ he said lamely. ‘It’s their way of showing they care,’ which is something you never seem to have time to do, he thought.
‘It’s their way of proving ownership,’ grumbled Cally, following him out into the yard. They walked in uncomfortable silence to Blackstone Farm.
Sybil struck within minutes of their arrival. ‘I see the miners are creating problems again, but what else can one expect from such an uncouth, uneducated rabble. They strike at the drop of a hat. One tires of them holding the country to ransom.’ Her challenging gaze met Cally’s enraged glare.
‘You’ve no idea how dangerous mining is, Sybil. If mine owners paid decent wages and improved the appalling conditions underground, the colliers wouldn’t need to strike,’ Cally retorted.
‘But it’s so inconvenient when they do,’ Lucy twittered.
‘Inconvenient for who exactly? You and the mine owners, or the colliers and their families? They’re the ones who go hungry whenever there’s a strike.’
Cally’s sharp retaliation made Lucy blink then, making a cowardly attempt to redress the situation, she tweeted, ‘but it must be simply awful living in dreary little houses with those great mountains of dirt at their doorsteps. No wonder they’re such dirty, dissatisfied creatures.’
‘Those mountains of dirt are called slag heaps, Lucy; something else you know nothing about. And if the miners and their families are dissatisfied it’s the greedy mine owners make them so.’
‘Has anyone yet visited the new haberdashers in Copley village?’ Elizabeth Blackstone intervened loudly and brightly. Quick to avert an unpleasant situation worsening she prattled on about the new shop’s attributes, the heat of the moment quenched. By the time they sat down to tea, the atmosphere was almost amicable.
Although Cally had been angered and disgusted by Lucy’s false pity and Sybil’s caustic comments, these feelings paled in comparison to the seething wrath that next consumed her.
‘We’re off now,’ announced Red, standing and signalling for Cally to do the same. ‘We’re going into Huddersfield to see the new musical show at the Palace.’
Sybil sniggered. ‘Don’t waste your money, darling. Arthur and I went last night. It’s an awful flop.’
‘Yes, it’s dreadful,’ squeaked Lucy. ‘Stay here and play cards instead.’
Red sat down again and Cally, already on her feet, glared at him. ‘If we don’t leave now we’ll be late.’
‘Didn’t you hear what Sybil and Lucy said? The show’s no good.’ Red pulled at Cally’s hand, indicating for her to sit.
Sybil produced a pack of cards. ‘You can thank me for saving you a wasted journey, and the price of the tickets.’ She dealt the cards.
Elizabeth gave Red a meaningful look. ‘I think perhaps Cally would prefer to judge the show for herself.’
Later, as Red and Cally walked back across the paddock to Copley House, she vented her feelings. ‘It’s my night off. I should have been the one to decide what we did, not you, and certainly not Sybil. The vindictive cow said the show was a flop just to spite me.’
Red jumped to Sybil’s defence. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. She just wanted to prove she has you completely under her thumb. You never consider my feelings.’
‘Nor you mine,’ Red muttered, opening the coach-house door.
Cally stamped inside then immediately flounced out again, across the yard to the big house.
‘Those blasted sisters of his,’ she complained to Mary, ’thank God I don’t have to live with either of them. They’re positively hateful.’
When she returned to the coach-house an hour or so later Red greeted her with a conciliatory smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t being fair.’
Unappeased, Cally said, ‘No, you weren’t; you work when you want and play when you want but I’m governed by a job that keeps me on my toes from morning till night, and my nights off are precious.’ She considered saying more, but it was late and she was weary and disappointed. She’d save it for another time. She slammed the kettle on the stove to make a bedtime drink. He watched her carry out the night time ritual, his eyes full of remorse. They drank the cocoa in silence.
In bed he cuddled close to her, Cally shrugging him away irritably. Red turned his back on her and slept. Eventually, so did Cally.
She woke some time later and lay listening to his even breathing. She loved him; would always love him but, as the minutes ticked by and night turned to day she solemnly acknowledged certain truths about her husband. He was weak-willed and too easily influenced by those who sought to manipulate him for their own ends, his indolent attitude to life allowing them to govern him rather than him being his own man: the sort of man she wanted.
The Child from the Ash Pits Page 19