Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (154 page)

Now the war was over there seemed to be even more regulations and rationing as the shortage of manpower and foodstuffs began to kick in. Ben put his own plans to move away on hold. This was no time to be heading out of the dale.

He was still involved with the Young Farmers,
and drifted back under the wing of the ever-faithful Lorna, who was teaching at the village school. They went for walks together and dances. She helped him show some sheep at the Ribblehead Show, grooming their coats when Mirren forgot to turn up on time. She was good company and Ben could forget his worries when she was chattering away.

The whole dale knew about their recent tragellies and asked about Jack. What was there to say but that progress was slow? Ben must see more improvement in the family’s spirits before he departed and there was his secret project to finish. He didn’t visit Jack himself. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome.

Over the weeks World’s End was shaping up well; one big living room with store room and kitchen off, some proper stairs to two bedrooms above. All the upper floor was boarded with timber they had scrounged. Materials were now in short supply so it was a matter of make do and mend, and don’t ask too many questions.

There was water from the sunken well and a little stone WC to the side. Mirren would soon make a home of it out of everyone’s way. Somehow he couldn’t see Jack being too suited but it was a start and it was better than living with his parents.

Tom and Florrie were thinking of letting Cragside as holiday lodgings in the summer. It was too big for the family now and ought to be sold
off but who would want this cold barn of a house? Better to let it earn its keep.

Mirren assumed everyone would be living at Scar Head farm but she showed little interest in the plans. This indifference was a habit hard to get out of, Ben thought. Sometimes she was like her old self, busy in the kitchen and garden, going to market. Other times she was weepy and retired to her bedroom. They were all pleased she was visiting Jack but her absence when she went got longer and longer, and her timekeeping unpredictable. Funny, her being such a stickler for punctuality.

It was all part of losing Sylvia, Ben sighed. Cragside would never be the same again. He was glad Gran and Grandpa weren’t around to see this change of fortune. Ben trusted that his surprise would stir Mirren and Jack back to life and give them hope for the future. The rest was up to them after that.

Mirren made sure she had the eggs hidden in her basket, safely wrapped in Jack’s change of pyjamas. Fresh eggs were like gold in the town, and butter too; all strictly rationed and under the counter but her supplies were much appreciated, with customers willing to pay over the odds for farm produce. No one missed a few eggs in season. She always packed a few sweets and buns to take
to Jack as a treat but he had no appetite. Her visits were getting shorter and shorter and she tried to avoid that awful doctor if he came in view. At least she did put her head round the door before skiving off for the day.

Jack deserved everything that was coming to him. She wanted him to be stunned back into remembering everything so he could feel the pain she was feeling and more, the guilt and anger in full measure. That thought made these weary visits worthwhile.

She was getting used to being back in a town, part of a crowd and anonymous. No one knew her history here in Scarperton. She could saunter through the streets staring at half-empty shop windows, putting off the evil hour when she must face the big iron gates and locked doors.

For that she needed some comfort and it was there waiting round the corner in the back door of Brennan’s licensed grocery store: her usual bottle of amber nectar, the medicine, if taken in small doses, that would see her through the coming visit.

Theirs was an amicable arrangement. She delivered her produce and Alf Brennan produced a bottle: no names, no questions asked. It wasn’t as if she was overdoing it. In truth she’d broken a life-long pledge of temperance but she was a grown-up now and knew how to spoon out the
spirit, carefully sipping it slowly. It was no different from Doc Murray’s pills but this medicine worked, and it was only for a while, until she felt better. Something had to see her through this terrible time.

No one knew her here, deals were strictly tit for tat, but she brought extra this week so that if she missed a trip then she needn’t be without her medicine up the dale.

She had hated the smell of it at first. It took her back to Dad’s breath, but now she found it strangely comforting. At first she would shut her eyes and gulp, but now she could sip it and not squirm. She didn’t want to enjoy the taste. That might make her make a habit of it and end up like Dad with his ‘wee drams’. Oh, no! That’d never do, but it was her little secret and it dulled the edge of her pain, her reward at the end of a tough day. It helped her sleep without dreaming.

It wasn’t as if she was wasting anyone’s coupons or stealing cash. It was her way of staying strong for Jack, of forgetting Sylvie’s broken body. No one could deny her such comfort when her husband was tucked up safe in hospital, drugged to the eyeballs…

‘I’ll take two this week,’ she smiled at the grocer. ‘In fact, three might be better.’ It was always a relief to have those bottles tucked down in her basket as she sat on the train heading north. It helped
her face the going back to Windebank and the walk home.

‘Sorry, love, two’s all I can manage. I’ve got regulars I can’t disappoint, but if you come down on Saturday I’ll see what I can do. I’m expecting another supply…Oh, and if you could bring some bacon too…’

She scurried out to the street on edge. Coming out of the asylum always made her knees buckle. She needed a pick-me-up just to get through the gate. Perhaps she ought to try somewhere else or, better still, save her supplies and wait until the Golden Lion opened and have a little nip to warm her through for the journey. She could catch the bus home. The world wouldn’t miss her for another hour or two. No one would begrudge her a little free time.

To step over the threshold of a public house on her own took some doing. She breezed in and said she was freezing and could she have a nip to keep out the cold. The woman at the bar, all dolled up, looked her up and down with suspicion. There was only one sort of woman who went in a pub alone and that was to pick up men. She eyed her thick tweed suit and felt hat, her sensible brogues. There was no mistaking Mirren for a lady of the night.

Soon she popped in every week and they passed pleasantries and she told them she was visiting a sick aunt in the asylum and the chaps around looked
at her with pity and bought her a round. Her presence was now fully understood. ‘Wouldn’t catch me in one of them places,’ was the general opinion.

The pub was cosy and warm and the fug of stale ale and cigarettes, soot and sawdust no longer bothered her. She chatted to the regulars and watched the old men play dominoes. She gave accounts of the imaginary progress of her sick aunt. Here she felt safe among chums, who took her at face value: just a farmer’s wife down from the dale to shop and do good. There was nothing wrong in that and yet…

Sometimes as the nights grew darker and colder it got harder to face that lonely trek on the last bus home, walking through the copse in the dark, the wind in her face, the look on Ben’s face. That ‘Where’ve you been till this hour?’ sort of look.

She got into the habit of telling tales about not wanting to leave Jack, doing shopping for him, popping back, all lies. She said she’d eaten in a café so no need to heat up any tea, and by the way she was going to pop back on Saturday to give Jack a surprise.

Sometimes Mirren didn’t recognise herself, her brash lies and skin-deep answers, quick to snap at Ben if he looked put out. It is easy to lie when you are trusted, she noted with concern.

‘I was hoping to get off early on Saturday. I’m taking Lorna to the pictures,’ he said.

‘I’m not stopping you. Uncle Tom’ll cover with Dieter, and I’ll do the morning milking,’ she offered. ‘So it’s back on with you two then? About time,’ she smiled, but as she climbed the stairs she felt put out and jumpy that Ben was getting his life together. He’d be leaving them soon. It didn’t take long for him to forget his goddaughter.

Ben and Lorna, Jack in hospital, Tom and Florrie had each other. Who was there for her?

She unpacked the bottles carefully, tucking them deep into her wardrobe and shoving the empties into her bottom drawer. It was time for her medicine, a big swig. She wanted to sleep tonight. It was going to be a long trek until Saturday.

By Friday night she was down to the last dregs of the second bottle. The medicine was not working as well as it used to for she was awake all night watching the dawn creep through the gap in the curtains. She rose early and went in search of their secret hoard of bacon flitches. How was she going to cut off a hunk and get it out of the farm in her basket? She would need a suitcase, but Jack might need some fresh clothes. No one would suspect anything. They’d be glad he was up and about and dressed. It would mean he was soon coming home. The thought of his return made her sweat.

Ben sat through
Brief Encounter
holding Lorna’s hand and trying not to yawn. It was a woman’s
film about a housewife and a doctor having an affair in some small town. He perked up when he recognised Carnforth station in the shot, recognising the tunnel and the platform, and the music wasn’t bad. Lorna was weeping buckets.

‘Wasn’t it sad? They were made for each other but she had to go back to her real life and do her duty…’

He patted her on the hand and looked at his watch. They might catch the fish-and-chip shop open on the way back. It was time he stepped up this on-and-off romance, give her a bit of attention. He’d never kissed a girl properly before, or made love, for that matter. Lorna was not the sort of girl to experiment on either. He couldn’t lead her on without it being serious. She was a straightforward Yorkshire girl, a no-nonsense sort with a kind heart. He could do far worse than stick with her but deep inside, it was Mirren’s lips he wanted to kiss, her body he wanted to hold. God help him if he was just a one-girl man. He was doomed.

How could he go on fooling himself that all this work at World’s End was anything other than a chance to pretend that he would be sharing it with her himself? He was a right muggins.

Mirren would stick with Jack, like it or not. Lately she was so unreliable in the mornings he’d begun to think she was sickening for something.
Mirren–all he ever thought about was her when it should be Lorna on his mind.

They walked up the high road through the village, dawdling and chatting while he plucked up the courage to make a move. He could see her eager, her eyes sparkling with expectation. Be a man and get it over with, he thought as he reached for the gate to open it but a shout from the post office house stopped him in his tracks.

‘Ben? Is that you? You’ve saved me a right hike. ’A’ve just had Sowerby missus on the phone. She’s stuck in Scarperton, daft bugger missed the last train. She asked me to say she’ll not be fit in the morning. Poor lass, and her having to go all that way to visit Jack. She didn’t want you to be worried.’

‘Thanks, Harold.’ Ben waved his hand at the postmaster. ‘I’ll have to go, Lorna. You heard the gist of it. I can’t have her walking in the dark. There’s tramps and deserters on the run. Daft happorth, visiting finished hours ago. What’s she been up to? You women and the pictures…all that romancing…’

‘Well, we don’t get much in these parts, Reuben Yewell,’ she snapped at him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? I took you out,’ he said, puzzled.

‘I might as well have gone myself, the interest you took. You were asleep in five minutes.’

‘I was up at the crack of dawn,’ he offered, knowing it was true.

‘Did madam not surface again? They say she’s a right lady of leisure, swanning round Scarperton, twice a week. I thought you farmers were having a rough time? She’s been seen going in the Golden Lion of a night, and on market day,’ Lorna added.

‘Don’t be daft. Mirren’s teetotal and always has been,’ he snapped back.

‘That’s not what I heard,’ she sneered. ‘Bold as brass through the front door.’

‘I thought she was your friend,’ he said, feeling his pulse racing at this news. ‘After what she’s been through, I’d not begrudge her a port and lemon or two…Who’s been spreading this nonsense?’

‘No one you know, but it’s true so you’d better get off and rescue the damsel in distress before she wears out her precious shoe leather.’

This was a side to Lorna he didn’t like. ‘You can come with me if you like,’ he offered.

‘What, and play gooseberry? I’m not blind. Everyone knows you slaver over her like a puppy. I’m not playing second fiddle to her tune. Go on, beat it!’

‘Oh, Lorna,’ Ben stuttered, not knowing what to say. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt your evening. I’ll make it up to you.’

‘No you won’t. I’m sick of excuses, excuses. If it’s not the farm, it’s that ruin you’re restoring.’

‘Who told you about that?’

‘Does it matter? Everyone knows everyone else’s business in Windebank. I’m sorry about what happened to Jack and Mirren, we all are, but it’s about time they pulled themselves together and didn’t expect you to pick up the crumbs under their table,’ she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

‘If that’s how you feel…’ Ben sighed, suddenly bone weary.

‘Yes it is, and the sad thing is you’ve never noticed how I felt before and never will while yon girl from World’s End is on the loose. Watch it, Ben, you may get more than you bargain for meddling with those two. Oil and water don’t mix, or should I say, whisky and wine,’ she said, and with that warning she swung through the gate, put her key into the front door and slammed it behind her.

Ben drove the truck slowly with the pinwheel headlights on, peering into the darkness, trying to spot a glimpse of Mirren on the road. Surely she was not trying to thumb a lift on the main road? How could she think of such a thing unless she was not right in the head? Surely not?

He spotted her three miles out of Scarperton, barefoot, carrying her shoes and basket as if she was off to market, her headscarf was round her head with her hat plonked on top.