A Mother's Gift (34 page)

Mary Anne had thought it was a prostitute in the town and dreaded him picking up some awful disease. But she had been thankful that he stopped coming to her room. She wondered briefly how Kate could have stood for Matthew’s crude methods of lovemaking. Perhaps he had been different with Kate.

Mary Anne dismissed the subject from her mind as she switched on the wireless and settled down before the fire in the small sitting-room. It was time for the news. Robert had said something about footwear rationing coming to an end and she wanted to know if it was true.

Kate was driving along the road from Hamilton Hall to the bridge over the Tees where she turned off for Fern Moor. She stared fixedly at the road ahead and her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Realising it, she began to breathe deeply, evenly, and forced her hands to relax.

She had thought she would never get into a car again and certainly not to drive one. It had been Robert who had persuaded her.

‘It’s like falling off a horse, you must get straight back on,’ he had said. She had given him a hard stare.

‘The crash was not like falling off a horse,’ she had said. And he had looked stricken.

‘I’m sorry, it was a stupid analogy,’ he said.

‘Never mind, I know you meant nothing by it,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I can ever drive again.’

‘You will,’ he insisted.

Kate didn’t tell him of the nightmares she had every night and always she was in the car and the threat of what
was
going to happen hung over her, the terror engulfing her. Nor of the times she dreamed Georgina was alive and she never questioned the fact that Billy was there too, they were happy, eating a picnic up by the bunny banks at Winton. Then she would wake up and try to hold on to the dream but it would fade and reality came down on her like a heavy weight and there was no one there but herself.

‘Come on,’ Robert said now. ‘I will take you out for a drive. The fresh air will do you good. I have to go to Whitworth Hall, I’ll bring you back in good time for Dorothy coming home.’

‘Very well, I’ll go.’

For Dorothy had gone to Hartlepool where she had some second cousins and the house would be very quiet when Robert went away. Still it took a great effort of will. She had to fight down her panic, keep a tight control of it in order to get in the car, even to stay in the car.

‘I just have to pick up something;’ he said as they drove up to the house. It was a lovely old house, not at all pretentious like Hamilton Hall. It looked like a family home, she thought and should have children running about on the lawns or playing on the swings that hung from an old oak tree to the side. She looked at him, he was in his early thirties she surmised. He had time to marry yet.

‘Will you come in for a minute or two?’ he asked.

‘No!’ she cried then realised how emphatic she sounded. ‘I mean, I’ll just stay in the car if you don’t mind. You said you just had to pick something up?’

If she got out of the car she might not be able to get back in. For a few seconds, looking at the old house she
had
almost forgotten where she was sitting and her rigid posture had relaxed very slightly. But now she stiffened, her back straight, not even resting on the back of the seat.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said swiftly. ‘Just sit there, I will be back in a jiffy.’ And he was. That was one thing she had discovered about Robert Richards, if he said he would do a thing he did.

Over the next few weeks he had coaxed her and bullied her until in the end she had got in the driver’s seat and driven. And she was grateful to him, of course she was. She needed to be able to get about, especially living on the moor as she did. But now she was leaving the moor and she couldn’t wait for the day. Every day there reminded her of what she had lost. The place was thick with memories of Georgina, her lovely, clever girl.

Coming back from Hamilton Hall as the late sun slanted across the moor, picking out patches of heather with the purple fading fast by now and turning to brown, Kate felt so alone, despite that fact that Dorothy was home; she had lit the electric light in the hall and in the kitchen of Fern Moor Cottage. The light shone out in the gathering gloom.

Dorothy loved the electricity that Kate had had brought across the moor. She could hardly believe what it could do, the toaster and the electric oven, the small refrigerator and washing machine Kate had had installed only a year ago. A year ago, thought Kate. When it was another world from the grey, hopeless world she inhabited now.

She pulled up in front of the house and got out of the car, still with that feeling of relief and easing of tension
she
had every time. Inside the house there was a delicious smell of cooking. Dorothy must have called in at the butchers in Roseley and brought the meat ration back with her, it smelled like a beef casserole was in the oven. The smell even made Kate feel a little hungry – she might eat some of it without having to choke it down to please Dorothy. But no doubt that was Dorothy’s intention in cooking it.

‘I’m home, Dorothy!’ she called and, slinging her coat on to a hook on the hallstand, went into the kitchen, pinning on a smile as she went.

KATE DECIDED ON
a house neither in Winton Old Village nor in Winton Colliery. It was built round about the 1880s when the first shaft was sunk and the Main seam found to be workable and had originally been the manager’s house. It was about half a mile up the road from Winton Colliery, far enough to escape the most noxious of the gases from the pit and coke works, not to mention any fevers which at that time were prevalent in colliery villages due to the absence of clean water and sanitation.

Kate had always liked the house. When she was a child she would come with the Sunday School choir to sing carols on Christmas Eve and be given sweet mince pies to eat and ginger wine to drink.

The house was called Four Winds and stood on the brow of a hill facing over the valley with a medium-size garden surrounding and a stand of trees behind and to the north to protect it from the worst of the wind; a solid house, but not over large. The wind soughed through the trees, creating a singing sound and she found it soothing
somehow
. On the moors the wind had sung too, but it was not the same, there weren’t the trees there for one thing.

The house had been modernised of course and one of its five bedrooms had been converted into a bathroom and there was a cloakroom with toilet and washbasin on the ground floor, both decorated with trailing leaves of bright green ivy.

‘Do you think it’s a bit grand for me?’ Kate asked Dorothy the day they moved in.

‘Indeed it is not!’ she replied. ‘And just look at the kitchen, with all the cupboards and a gas cooker and everything. Mind, I don’t want any of those new-fangled kitchen cabinets, these will do me nicely.’

Kate had had the walls painted a sunshine yellow for the windows faced north. As she looked around now, Robert walked into the kitchen.

‘I hope you don’t mind, the door was open and so I walked in,’ he said.

‘No, of course not,’ said Kate. But what was he doing here? she wondered to herself. He had got into the habit of arriving to see her unannounced, sometimes once or twice a week in spite of his busy schedule. And she was determined that she was not going to get to rely on him. She was not even going to get to be glad to see him. He was, after all, the stepson of her lover and the son of Mary Anne and she had wronged Mary Anne Hamilton, hadn’t she? So why was it that her heart lifted when she saw him? She had no feelings for him, of course she hadn’t. Anyway, she had sworn to herself that she would have nothing to do with any man ever again, at least not in that
sense
. What sense? For goodness sake, she told herself now, he was just being helpful that was all. If he thought she had read any more into it he would run a mile and who could blame him?

‘Did you want something in particular?’ she asked coolly. ‘Only I am rather busy …’

Robert still wore a smile but not in his eyes. ‘Sorry if I’m in the way,’ he said. ‘However I needed your signature on a few documents.’

There then, Kate told herself. He’s only here for business reasons, of course he is. He took papers out of his briefcase and showed her where to sign.

‘You should read them, perhaps,’ he said formally.

‘No, I’m sure it’ll be all right if you say so. I haven’t time in any case, I must get on.’

‘Of course.’

He had been going to suggest that they have lunch together, maybe at the attractive-looking pub he had seen just up the road from here. Now he felt he couldn’t. He gathered the papers together and replaced them in the case.

‘I’ll be off then, I am busy too,’ he said brusquely. ‘Goodbye.’ He held out his hand and she shook it. ‘Please don’t bother to see me to the door.’

‘Goodbye then.’

He went out to his car feeling very flat indeed for he had woken up that morning in pleased anticipation of seeing her again. But she had been so cool to him; made him feel a nuisance even.

Kate’s enthusiasm for the day ahead had dulled too.
Suddenly
she couldn’t stand being in the house despite all the work there was to do.

‘Come on, Dorothy, let’s walk down the bank and I’ll show you Winton,’ she said, pulling off her overall. ‘There’s plenty of time to do this later.’

Dorothy looked at her. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’d like to get on here. I’d rather get it done this morning. I’ll see Winton another day.’

Kate couldn’t argue, the black demon of depression on her shoulder was growing and sometimes only a brisk walk in the fresh air backened it.

‘I won’t be too long,’ she promised. She started walking down the bank towards the colliery but on impulse cut off along a farm track. So far along was the footpath that led to the old line between Eden Hope Colliery and Winton. She walked down the path to the side of the field. It was empty now, evidently hay had been harvested and the stubble stood proud above a few straggly green shoots. There was no pit ponies in the field, no doubt they were all down the pits, for the mines were in full production now, coal was at a premium.

She climbed the stile and started walking along between the old rails. The line was overgrown with grass and bracken, yellowing now as the back end of the year drew ever nearer.

It reminded her of the time when she was a little girl and had come this way with her grandda, looking for pitch to make into balls for fuel. It was the first time she had seen Matthew, she thought suddenly. Oh God, why couldn’t she stop her mind from working? All she wanted
to
do was not think about any of it any more, to walk and enjoy it all, even the smells from the coke ovens, coaly and sulphurous. So why had she come this way? It was opening old wounds, bringing back memories of her grandda and Billy. And if she had not met Matthew, there would not have been a Georgina and she would not have had this heartache … No! Kate was horrified at where this line of thought had taken her. She could never wish Georgina had never been, never, never.

And her misery at Georgie’s death overwhelmed her again and she sat down on a mound by the side of the track and wept long and hard.

‘Are you all right, Missus?’

Kate started and looked up at the man who had asked the question. She had stopped crying for a while and sat on until it must be midday or later, quiet, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms resting on them and cradling her head. The shock of seeing the miner made her jump up and back away. For a minute she thought she had conjured him up, it was her grandfather!

‘Eeh, Missus, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said. ‘I just thought—’

‘No, no, it’s all right,’ she said shakily. Now she looked properly at him she could see it was not her grandfather. He had the same eyes looking out of the coal dust which plastered his face, he had his helmet pushed to the back of his head showing the white skin above the black line but he was younger. She peered at him, her eyes were so sore from the weeping she felt she could hardly see.

‘Willie? It is Willie, isn’t it? For a minute I thought it
was
me grandda! You’re the spitting image of him! Don’t you know me? I’m your sister Kate.’

‘Kate? Eeh, Kate, you look like something the cat brought in. I heard you were coming back from our Ethel, like. But what are you doing up along the line here?’

Kate sat back down on the mound before her legs gave out altogether and after a moment her brother sat down beside her. He looked at her closely, his eyes, the same as Kate’s, looking even more striking than hers from out of the blackness of his face.

‘Are you all right, lass?’ he said softly.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘It was just the shock.’

She hardly knew this brother of hers, she thought. Her oldest brother, he had been down the pit since he was thirteen and passed the literacy test so he could leave school. He was a quiet man, his mother’s boy she had used to think. He had stayed with his mother anyway when she had been taken by her gran and she had seen little of him since. It was Betty she had had more to do with. At school the girls were separated from the boys into different sides of the building and did not meet even in playtime.

‘I heard you had lost your bit lass,’ he said. ‘I was sorry to hear that. When I see our Ethel I always ask after you, like.’