A Daughter's Duty (5 page)

‘Aye, well, I don’t see why. God helps those who help themselves,’ Kate stated firmly.

There were displaced persons, DPs as everyone called them, working on the farms all about and living in an old hall on the Durham road. They received a mixed reception from the locals. Mostly the pitfolk were welcoming, and some of the girls eyed these exotic-seeming young men with interest, but Kate, with a young daughter to protect, was instinctively against them.

Marina was getting ready to go to work. It was early on a bitterly cold Saturday morning and Kate had got out of bed to light the range and provide some warmth for the men when they got in after fore shift.

‘You’ll not be late the day, our Marina?’ She watched as her daughter pulled on her rubber overboots and tied a scarf round her head and neck. It would be a cold hour before she got to the office in Old Elvet and even then the heating might be cut off.

‘I’ll try not to, Mam. But you never know if the bus will be put off, do you?’

Sometimes Charlie met her out of work and they went to a restaurant frequented by students and had beans on toast. Marina felt a little thrill of anticipation at the thought. He might do that today, she hadn’t seen him for almost a week. She finished tying her scarf to her satisfaction and tucked a lock of mid-brown hair under it before picking up her handbag.

‘Got your sandwich?’ asked Kate. ‘It’s a long morning before you get home for your dinner.’

‘Yes, Mam,’ Marina answered patiently. After all, it had been her mother who had tucked it into the capacious handbag. ‘I’m off now, TTFN.’ And she closed the door behind her and ran off up the yard and along James Street to the main road. There was a little knot of people at the bus stop outside the newsagent’s, waiting for the bus into town. Marina bought a
Daily Mirror
so she could do the crossword on the bus to Durham, and joined the queue.

Later that morning, in the old house opposite the imposing Shire Hall, one of the many which took the overspill of the County Council offices, Marina sat at her punch-card machine, right hand flying over the keys as she punched in the hours and wages for the roadmen, ready for the tabulator. Only ten minutes and she would be free to go. The minute-hand on the clock on the end wall moved with agonising slowness round to midday. She finished her stack of cards and took them over to the sorting machine which was operated by Jean Morton, a girl from Crook.

‘No mistakes in this lot, I hope,’ said Jean as she took the bundle and slotted them into the machine. ‘I have my Christmas shopping to do before I go home, I want to be away on time.’ But everything was fine and when the clock struck twelve there was a sudden bustle as the girls covered their machines and made for the door.

There had been no let-up in the weather, there were icy patches underfoot in the street and the cold pinched the chins and noses of the girls and men as they streamed away from the offices. Marina felt a sense of sickening disappointment as she looked around and there was no Charlie lounging in a doorway waiting for her. She hesitated for a moment, having to step back against the wall to avoid the scurrying crowds, but no, there was no tall, rangy figure with a college scarf wound round and round his neck making his way against the tide. Oh, well, she thought, might as well join the queue at the bus station.

Durham was crowded with pre-Christmas shoppers and Marina had to watch two buses pull away before she managed to get on one, and it seemed to take hours to lurch its way through the villages on its roundabout way to Bishop Auckland. She was thoroughly depressed by the time she alighted in the market place. She still had Charlie on her mind. He must have gone home to Yorkshire, she thought. There was nothing to look forward to until after the holidays now, unless he had another job in Durham until term started again.

‘Now then, Marina Morland. Too stuck up to speak to us, are you?’

Marina had been gazing into Doggart’s window. Not really seeing anything as she walked to the corner, she’d almost bumped into Jeff Monroe. As usual he was with Brian Wearmouth. The pair of them must have been buying Christmas presents as both had brown-paper bundles in their arms.

‘Oh, Jeff, I didn’t see you there,’ she said. She stopped in her stride and smiled at him, more tall and handsome than ever, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘Hallo, Brian.’ She tipped back her head to speak to him, standing behind Jeff, fumbling with the string on a parcel.

He blushed and looked at her. ‘How are you doing, Marina?’ he said. His eyes were a rich dark brown, she’d forgotten how nice they were, and his complexion had cleared up. He seemed almost as good-looking as his friend, she saw, perhaps more so with his dark hair. And he had a lovely smile.

‘Are you off home?’ Jeff was asking.

‘Mmm.’ Marina nodded. ‘I finished at twelve but it’s a long ride from Durham.’

‘We’re off now an’ all,’ said Jeff. ‘We might as well keep you company.’ All three of them set off down Newgate Street for the bus to Jordan.

‘How’s Rose getting on?’ asked Jeff casually, but Marina could see by his eyes that he wasn’t feeling very casual. He liked Rose, she reminded herself, always had.

‘I haven’t seen her lately,’ she admitted. And thought of the time she had last seen Rose, hanging out the washing in the back yard. They hadn’t spoken. ‘Her mother’s bad, and getting worse,’ she added, feeling a wave of sympathy for her friend, for Rose still was her friend, wasn’t she?

‘Aye. She’s had to leave the factory to look after her, so her dad says,’ Jeff replied. ‘He’s the new night shift overman, you know.’ He sighed. Alf Sharpe was making his job purgatory. Jeff didn’t know why but the older man seemed to hold a grudge against him.

Oh, yes, Marina thought, she knew all right. Hadn’t Kate taken umbrage about it when she had offered to help Sarah and been rebuffed? She could talk about nothing else for days afterwards. ‘The man’s a brute,’ she had told Marina, full of indignation.

Jeff seemed to have forgotten about Rose for the minute; he was whispering something to Brian, grinning slyly. Somehow, and Marina was well aware that he was doing it, Jeff managed to nudge Brian forward so that he was walking with Marina while he himself trailed behind. Brian cleared his throat and looked sideways at her.

‘You going to the rink the night?’ he blurted out suddenly. ‘Because we could go – together I mean. There’s a few of us going.’

Marina shot him a startled glance. The rink was a dance hall with a sprung floor. Once it had been a roller-skating rink but now some of the big bands played there and it attracted dancers from miles around. Its real name was the Clarence Ballroom, but everyone still called it ‘the rink’. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no …’ she began, and Brian flushed again and fell back a step.

‘I just thought I’d ask,’ he muttered, and began fiddling with the string of his parcel again. Thankfully, when they turned the corner there was a bus for Jordan, and Marina sat in a front seat, the boys going further back.

Now why had she said that? she wondered. There was no chance of her seeing Charlie, and it would be a dull Christmas for her if she wasn’t going dancing at all. There would be nothing to look forward to except the carol concert on Christmas Eve, and she was going there with her mam and her mam’s friend, Edie Brown, from up the street. And she and Charlie weren’t exactly going out together, were they? He knew she liked dancing but never took her to a dance. In fact, now she thought about it, he never took her anywhere except for walks and maybe the coffee bars in Durham. Yes, she argued with herself, but he was a student, wasn’t he? He hadn’t much money.

Still, when the bus stopped at Jordan and they all piled off into the bitter wind which swept up the rows of colliery houses, ‘with nowt to stop it, that bleak this place is in the winter’, as her mother complained so often, Marina waited for Brian and Jeff.

‘Look, Brian,’ she said, trying to keep her voice low so that the people throwing them curious glances couldn’t hear, ‘I think I would like to go to the rink tonight. If that’s all right?’

Jeff grinned and Brian stammered, ‘Emm … yes. Why aye, of course, it’s champion. We’ll gan on the half-past-seven bus then? That’s the one we all catch. Can you make it?’

‘I will,’ Marina assured him, and wondered why he spoke so broad sometimes, not so much pitmatic but a bit like the old miners.

‘Right then, I’ll watch for you at the stop.’

‘I’ll be there,’ she promised and turned up James Street for home.

Rose swept the film of ash from the hearth plate in the front room. It was of enamelled tin and tiles with roses painted on them and was surrounded by a brass rail which sparkled in the firelight. Though the room was suffocatingly hot, she added a small shovel of coal to the flames before rising to her feet and turning to her mother.

‘You warm enough now, Mam?’

‘Aye, I’m fine, flower.’

Sarah Sharpe smiled faintly at her daughter and Rose sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully, so as not to cause the least disturbance. She was bone-weary. After her father had come in from work at one o’clock in the morning, she had hardly slept. She had heard her mother moaning downstairs. At least it had meant Sarah was asleep; she always moaned in her sleep now. But then there came her father’s step on the stairs and Rose had known he was standing just outside the bedroom door. Her hand had tightened around Mary and her sister had whimpered in protest and moved away.

‘Rose?’

His voice was soft, little more than a whisper. She lay absolutely still, not answering. It came again, a little louder this time. ‘Rose?’ And again. She couldn’t stand it any longer. After all, Mam
might
need her.

‘What is it, Da?’

‘Come here a minute, pet, I want you.’

‘What do you want? Is Mam worse?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘No, it’s not that …’ Then, ‘Just come out a minute. We don’t want to wake the little ’uns, do we?’

Rose lay rigid, feeling her mind had seized up along with her body.

‘Will I come in, Rose?’

‘No! No, don’t, Dad. Don’t!’ She sat up in bed. ‘What about the twins?’

‘Rose, I’m not going to hurt you, honest I’m not,’ he pleaded. ‘It’s just I feel so badly about your mam. Can you remember how we used to cuddle each other when you were little? Can you remember, Rose?’

‘Please …’ she began, but at last the talking woke Mary and Michael and the boy started to wail for Rose and from downstairs she could hear her mother calling weakly, ‘Is anything the matter, Rose? Alf? Alf, are you in bed yet? Will you come down here to bed? You won’t disturb me but you are disturbing the bairns. Anyroad I’m cold, you can build the fire up.’

He muttered something under his breath but after a moment turned and went back down the stairs. Rose had let out a sigh of relief.

‘Come on in bed with us, Michael,’ she’d called through to him. ‘Move up, Mary, make room for him.’ She’d spent the rest of the night between the twins, one arm around each of them. But not before she had placed a chair under the door handle. Around about dawn she fell into an exhausted sleep.

‘Your dad doesn’t touch you, does he not,’ said Sarah now and it was a statement rather than a question. ‘He doesn’t hurt you.’

Rose stood up from her seat on the edge of her mother’s bed and walked to the window, looking out across the street to the row opposite. She looked up. Behind the houses the trees were brown and bare against the cloud-laden sky. He didn’t hurt her. He’d never lifted a hand to her, no, but it was the look in his eyes, the note in his voice. She tried to analyse what he had said last night. He hadn’t actually said anything wrong, maybe had just wanted comfort after all, when her mam was so bad …

‘He doesn’t hurt me, Mam. Why should he? And why should he touch me? What do you mean?’ Touching could mean so many things, she thought dumbly. He didn’t touch her, not to hurt her, no, but sometimes his hand brushed against her breast and she wasn’t sure if it was an accident; sometimes when she was going out of the room into the kitchen he stood in the doorway and she had to brush past him, he didn’t give way.

She heard a sigh from the bed and turned round quickly but Sarah was all right, she was smiling. ‘You know, pet, he’s not a bad man. You could have worse for a dad. I know he likes a drink but he works hard and gets tired, you know. He’s done well an’ all, getting this new job.’

Rose said nothing. He was out at the Club now, had got out of Sarah’s bed and gone upstairs without a word when Rose had knocked on the door of the room at nine o’clock to take in her mother’s tea and help her prepare for the day. At eleven he’d come down again and gone out dressed in his good suit.

‘Will I do you some breakfast, Dad?’ Rose had asked him but Alf hadn’t looked at her, just grunted something and gone. The atmosphere in the house seemed to lighten after that.

The twins were out of it for today at least, they were asked to a birthday party over in James Street and Rose had dressed Mary up in a green pleated skirt she had made for her and a Fair Isle jumper on top. For Michael, she’d made a red velvet bow-tie and he looked a real treat in his blue suit. She was proud of them both. At least working at the factory had taught her how to sew and it was amazing what could be done with remnants off the market. Not that Dad kept them short of money, no, he was fair with the housekeeping.

Rose felt a twinge of regret for the factory, the other girls on the band, how they’d laughed and joked and had a good time. It seemed like another life, so far away.

‘Rose, I worry about you,’ her mother said, and Rose looked at her, thinking she meant about
him.

‘Don’t, Mam, I’m fine.’

‘Aye, but you shouldn’t be tied in here all the time with an invalid, never getting anywhere but the shops. You’re just a young lass. You used to love to go to the rink, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’ Oh, yes, the rink, she had liked the rink. She could quickstep with the best of them and the lads knew it, she’d never lacked for partners. She used to go with Marina, she thought, though she hardly saw her friend now. ‘But I don’t mind, Mam, honest I don’t. I like to stay in with you.’