Red needs to prove his worth, she told herself. And if he can’t or won’t, an inner voice taunted, you’ll have to be the one who’s strong. Not once did she consider her own shortcomings.
21
The day Cally’s son was born his father, Red Blackstone, was in Leeds with his boyhood chums, Barty and Wilf.
Cally woke at first light, and the moment her feet touched the floor she knew today was the day. She felt a quickening inside, as though some unseen ministration had been at work during the long hours of the night, leaving her prepared and ready.
She stretched lethargically, her nightdress tightening over the well-rounded mound of her abdomen. Patting the bump, she said, ‘Before this day is over you’ll be released into the great big world alive and kicking, please God.’
She washed and dressed, every movement making her conscious of the change in her body. As yet she felt no pain, more a bearing down of the weight inside her. She wondered how long it would be before the pains started. Pain was to be expected, she knew that much. During the past few weeks she’d spent some considerable time quizzing Peggy on the finer details of childbirth, Cally fascinated and scared by the gruesome information. With nine children of her own, Peggy was something of an authority.
However, Helen Dandridge, the district midwife had a more didactic approach, tediously issuing instructions from the midwifery manual. Melding the hair-raising with the pedantic, Cally had a fair idea of what to expect. She sat down in front of the mirror to do her hair.
Red wakened. Seeing Cally dressed and almost ready for the day ahead, he sat bolt upright in alarm. ‘Good God, what time is it?’
‘Nearly half seven: I couldn’t sleep, but you lay in for a while. It’s early yet.’
He flopped back, pulling the bedclothes up to his chin. ‘Give me a shout at quarter to eight. I’m meeting Barty and Wilf in Leeds at ten.’
Cally lost her grip on the coil of hair she was pinning into place. This was the first she’d heard of the intended outing. Adopting a deliberately cheerful tone she said, ‘I think I’ll have the baby today, Red.’
His head shot from under the covers. Tousled and bleary eyed he stared at her, his expression one of surprise followed by disappointment. ‘It’s only Wednesday. Helen said it would be Friday at the earliest.’
‘She did, but Peggy says you can never be sure with a first baby. I have a feeling it’ll be today.’
‘Are you sure?’ whined Red. ‘I’ve promised Barty and Wilf I’d go to the Motor Show in Leeds. They’ll be disappointed if I don’t.’
And I’ll be disappointed if you do, thought Cally, in fact I’ll be blazing mad. She didn’t, however, put her thoughts into words. She stabbed a final hairpin into place and through the mirror watched Red wrestle with his conscience. Let’s see who wins, she seethed, me and the new baby, or Barty, Wilf and the Motor Show?
‘You could be wrong.’ Red’s eyes pleaded for her to agree.
‘And I could be right,’ Cally snapped; saddened to think she’d lost the toss.
Red visibly brightened. ‘I tell you what. If nothing happens before I’m ready to leave I’ll go and come back as soon as I can. That way I won’t be letting the chaps down – and Helen did say Friday.’
A mixture of disappointment and disgust swelled in Cally’s chest. Red was intent on going. So much for being the faithful, supportive husband and caring father: would he never grow up?
‘Go if you must,’ she hissed, barging from the room.
‘I’m sure it’ll be O.K.’ Red called after her.
*
The first real spasm came as Cally reached up to put the milk pan back on the shelf above the sink. Pain shot through her back then into her womb and thighs and she gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening. As she waited for the pain to diminish she glanced at the clock on the wall, its large moon face telling her it was ten minutes past nine. Red had left at half past eight.
Cally gazed pensively at the clock, watching the large minute hand tick its journey. Helen had told her to time the pains.
At nine thirty the coach-house door opened. ‘Good morning, is anyone up and about?’ It was Mary.
‘In the kitchen,’ Cally called back.
Always one to take advantage of a lie-in when there were no guests in the hotel, Mary had slept late. In true motherly fashion she’d hurried over to the coach-house to check on Cally’s welfare. Bleary eyed and yawning she entered the kitchen. One look at Cally’s face and the last vestiges of sleep left her.
‘Have you started?’ Mary’s voice was high with excitement tinged with fear. Never having given birth herself, Mary had even less knowledge than Cally, but she too had listened to Peggy and had a vague idea of what to expect.
Cally smiled shakily. ‘I think I’ve just had my first contraction.’
‘Sit down! Sit down! Take the weight off your feet.’ Mary dragged a chair away from the table and made Cally sit on it. ‘What shall I do?’
‘I don’t know. I feel perfectly fine now the pain’s gone. Helen told me to time them, so I suppose I’ll just sit here and wait for the next one.’
‘Where’s Red?’ Mary asked, her sharp tone indicating surprise at finding Cally alone at a time like this.
‘He’s gone to Leeds.’
‘Gone to Leeds,’ squealed Mary, ‘whatever for? He knows the baby’s due any day.’
Cally dropped her gaze, too ashamed to meet Mary’s concerned eyes. ‘He’s promised to meet Barty and Wilf and doesn’t want to let them down.’
Mary emitted a cry of disbelief. ‘Doesn’t want to let them down?’ Angry red patches suffused her plump cheeks. ‘What about you? Surely you’re more important than a couple of old pals?’
Cally shrugged. ‘Obviously not,’ she said airily, attempting to make light of the matter. She hated it when people criticised Red, even when he deserved it, so she defended him yet again. ‘Even if he was here he wouldn’t be much use. He’d only panic and get in the way.’ Her forced laughter didn’t fool Mary.
They sat nursing cups of tea, the panacea for all ills. Eventually Cally came to the conclusion that her intuition had played her false. She stood up and grinned apologetically. ‘False alarm.’
‘In that case I’ll go back over and make some breakfast. Sykes should be up by now. If you need me give a shout.’
Cally reached out and hugged the plump little body. ‘What would I do without you, Mary? You’ll make the best grandmother in the world.’
Mary flushed with pleasure. Trotting back across the garden she told herself she might never have had the privilege of being a mother, but she’d make up for it with this child.
The kitchen in the main house was eerily quiet. Peggy, Sally and Susan were at home, the bleak January weather doing little to attract visitors to the moors at this time of year. Mary shivered as she lit the gas stove, chilled by her brief outing and worried by leaving Cally alone. By the time Sykes appeared she had filled two plates with bacon, sausage and fried bread. In between mouthfuls she cursed Red for his thoughtlessness.
*
Throughout the day Mary popped in and out, keen to be on hand should she be needed. In her absence, Cally pottered about the house waiting for, and wanting, the pains to start again. In the bedroom she shared with Red, Cally gazed fondly at the old-fashioned crib Mary had given her. It had been Sykes’s and was perfect for a new baby. In her mind’s eye she pictured herself waking to peer into the crib at a sweet little face and bright eyes.
Then, unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes and with them a kaleidoscope of memories: her mam’s warm smile, her gentle voice and loving ways; Annie’s harsh words and the malicious pleasure she had taken from burning her books, and throwing her out of the house on her fourteenth birthday into the evil path of William Cratchley. I’ll never be cruel to my child, Cally vowed, thrusting the thoughts from her mind. I’ll love and provide for it with every sinew of my being and let no harm befall it.
*
The next searing pain came twenty minutes later. Cally broke out in a sweat, her body arching as one contraction followed another, time lessening between each one. When she heard the outer door open, relief flooded her veins. ‘Mary, Mary,’ she called out, ‘I think you’d better send for Helen.’
Mary gave a squawk and fled back the way she had come, returning minutes later, panting for breath. ‘Sykes has gone to get her,’ she gabbled. ‘He says it’ll be quicker than ringing. It’ll take her all day to get here on that old bike of hers.’ Cally smiled her thanks, the smile turning to a grimace as yet another pain shot through her. ‘Best get you into bed,’ Mary said, ushering Cally from the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later Helen Dandridge, uniform stiffly starched, creaked into the bedroom and took command. Nervously, Sykes and Mary hovered between bedroom and kitchen, making endless cups of tea, more for their own benefit than for Helen’s or Cally’s. They were still there at nine.
Sykes banked up the fires and brought in more logs. Every so often he walked to the front of the main house and gazed down the driveway, assuming this was the direction Red would take on his return. At other times he gazed out over the paddock, in case he should come that way.
‘Still no sign of him,’ he muttered, entering the coach-house for the umpteenth time.
Mary tossed her head dismissively. ‘She’s been calling for him again. He said he’d be back as soon as he could and it’s gone ten. I’ll give him Motor Show when he returns.’
As the clock on the mantelpiece chimed ten thirty, Richard George Gilmore Blackstone lustily squalled his way into the world.
*
Close on midnight, Red Blackstone cautiously eased the coach-house door open, cringing when it squeaked on its hinges. With even more care he closed it and tiptoed into the sitting room. Slumped in chairs on either side of the fireplace, Sykes and Mary snored peacefully. Taken aback by their presence at this time of night, Red stared, uncertain. A shaft of fear ran from his head to his toes and, turning too quickly, he stumbled into a small table by the door, sending a bowl of winter chrysanthemums crashing to the floor.
Mary reared up and peered into the gloom, the only light that from the fire. Seeing Red casting about him in an attempt to rectify the mess, her lip curled. ‘So – you’ve finally returned, Mr Blackstone.’ Her harsh remark wakened Sykes.
Red whirled round, his eyes darting from one to the other. ‘Why are you here? What’s happened? Is Cally all right?’ He sounded genuinely perturbed but Mary wasn’t appeased.
‘What’s happened? Is Cally all right? Do you really care, Red?’ Mary’s sardonic intonation as she asked each question cut him to the bone.
Sykes reared up. ‘What happened, lad, is while you were off playing silly beggars you became a father. You have a fine son.’
Red made to leave the room but Sykes was up and out of his chair with speed belying his years. ‘Not so fast, Cally’s sleeping, they both are and they won’t want you barging in. She’s had a hard enough time without being woken in the middle of the night.’
Contrite, Red hung his head and shuffled his feet, fervently wishing he’d drunk less and arrived home sooner. ‘I didn’t think it would be today. Helen said Friday. I tried to get back early but I got caught up in things and missed the train; and the roads are icy. It was awfully slow going once we left Huddersfield.’
A stony silence met his excuses. He looked like a small boy caught stealing apples. ‘If I go in quietly can I see them?’ he asked plaintively.
Mary nodded assent, her kind heart incapable of staying hardened for long. The three of them crept into the bedroom. Red’s hangdog demeanour assuring Mary he would not disturb his wife and child, she beckoned Sykes to leave him.
Cally was curled on her side, her long dark hair fanning the pillow, a healthy bloom warming her cheeks and lips. She breathed deeply and steadily. Red gazed into her sleeping face. How could he have left her? He cursed silently. He should have stayed at home. He should have listened to her. Cowed by regret he suddenly remembered the baby. She’d given birth to a son. He was a father.
On silent feet he approached the crib. A well-shaped head with hair the colour of Red’s own showed above the edge of the blankets. Two large blue eyes, wide open, stared directly up at him. Mesmerised, he stared back. This was his son.
He smiled at the baby but received no smile in return. Instead the blue eyes continued to stare into his. ‘Where were you?’ they seemed to say. Unnerved, Red tiptoed away.
22
‘Let me carry him,’ Mary begged, reaching out to take the baby from Cally’s arms. Grinning at her enthusiasm, Cally passed him over. Richard Blackstone went willingly. ‘He gets bonnier by the day,’ said Mary, plopping a kiss on his rosy cheek, her own pinking with pleasure. Mary was every inch the doting grandmother.
They walked along the gravel path to the stables adjoining the coach-house. Inside, stepping carefully round stacks of timber and sacks of plaster they walked the length of the building, peering into each of the six partially converted rooms and calling out cheery hellos to the workmen there.
‘It’ll be just grand when it’s finished,’ Mary said, her voice barely audible above the noise of hammering and sawing. ‘The time and effort you put into Copley House never fails to amaze me. I hope it pays off.’
Cally flushed with pleasure. After all, it had been her idea to renovate the stables.
‘It will. We’re providing accommodation specifically designed to cater for parties of ramblers, youth groups, hikers and the like, at economical rates; nowhere else in the valley does that. We’ll corner the market once we get started.’
‘Just don’t go taking too much on,’ warned Mary. Her face creased with worry, she passed Richard back to Cally and walked out of the stables. After a brief word with the foreman, Cally followed her.
Back in the main house Cally sat Richard in his pram in the corner of the kitchen. He gurgled happily, well used to the hustle and bustle and the rattle of pots and pans. He was a placid child, demanding little more than feeding and changing. Needless to say he received far more than these basic requirements.
‘What time’s his next feed?’ Peggy asked, casting a seasoned eye in Richard’s direction.
‘Not till twelve,’ Cally replied, walking towards the door leading into the hallway. ‘I’ll be back long before then.’
Sally waved the dishcloth in Cally’s direction. ‘Take your time. I’ll walk him round the garden when I’ve finished washing these pans. It’s glorious weather for May.’
Cally smiled her thanks and went to find Mary and Sykes. They were in their sitting room, Mary still wearing a worried expression, and Cally suspecting she’d shared her misgivings with Sykes.
‘What’s worrying you, Mary?’
‘You! Copley House is all you think about, and whilst it’s good for business it’s not good for your family. Sometimes I wonder if Red knows he has a wife.’
Cally laughed. ‘Oh, Mary! Whatever gave you that idea?’
Sykes chuckled. ‘Now then, Mary; don’t interfere. Cally knows what she’s doing.’
In need of fresh air, Cally left them and walked out through the front door into the garden, Sykes’s words uppermost in her mind. Did she know what she was doing? These days I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, she told herself, feeling suddenly drained.
She’d been up since five and done a thousand chores before taking her stroll to the stables with Mary and Richard. Doing her job and caring for a new baby involved far more than she had anticipated, and the only time she seemed to spend with Red, she thought, was in bed, sleeping.
Strong, red-green shoots of gladioli pockmarked the flowerbeds, signs of summer and Jim Gibson’s labours reminding Cally that an
other busy season in Copley House awaited her. Retracing her footsteps she trudged back to the kitchen. It’s not yet dinner time, Cally thought, and I’m whacked already.
To her surprise Red was in the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hand. Not the earliest of risers, he’d stayed in bed till gone nine and then taken himself off to repair a tractor at a nearby farm. Now he was back, laughing and joking with the kitchen staff.
Through slightly jaundiced eyes, Cally watched him ply his easy charm. Doesn’t he have it easy, she thought; he might have earned a few bob this morning but he has no sense of responsibility. She sighed, for in reality Cally was still the main breadwinner although she was careful not to make an issue of it.
‘What brings you back?’
Red threw her a cheery grin and winked. ‘I fixed the tractor so I thought I’d call and collect Richard. Take him over to see Ma and Pa.’
Surprised by the offer, Cally beamed. It pleased her when Red showed an interest in Richard. She desperately wanted him to form a strong bond with his son but most of the time he left her to do the nursing.
‘That ’ud be lovely,’ she praised, pecking Red’s cheek. She lifted Richard from his pram. ‘I just have to feed him, then he’s all yours for the next four hours.’ Her weariness forgotten and her heart filled with love, Cally briefly concentrated on her husband and son.
23
Cally squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Its hands pointing to quarter past five she said, ‘Who needs a wake-up call when I’ve got you?’
Richard’s cries threatening to wake Red, she slipped out of bed, reached into the crib then opened the front of her nightdress.
Richard’s rosy lips latched onto her nipple, soft snuffles the only sound in the room as he suckled. His blue eyes, wide and trusting, gazed into Cally’s own and she felt her heart melting.
‘Anyone would think you know I need an early start today,’ she said, buttoning her nightdress then lifting the child up to her shoulder. She shoved her feet into her slippers and hurried to the kitchen.
The Child from the Ash Pits Page 20