Saturday's Child (26 page)

‘You,’ ordered Nellie. ‘Your turn.’

Lily’s chin dropped so suddenly that she thought her face would split in half. What the bloody hell was going on at all? ‘I can’t do that,’ she mee-mawed, the words
exaggerated. ‘This is not for me, Nellie.’

Nellie frowned. ‘Do it.’

‘Bugger,’ muttered Lily under her breath.

Nellie shoved a piece of paper under her neighbour’s nose and Lily read,
Right. You need money to look after the boys so you can’t go to work so you can make lace and I will pay
you. Is your eyesight good?

Lily blinked. She had good eyesight, but lace? Another piece of paper appeared.
And if you can crochet and knit we can sell things on the market. I have a deaf friend who has a stall.

It was hopeless. For a start, complicated explanations were never easy when the recipient was deaf. Lily picked up the paper, wrote,
I can sew clothes but I can’t do lace,
Nellie.

‘Yes, you can,’ mouthed the lady of this much improved house.

Well, there was no use arguing with a woman as stubborn as Nellie Hulme. Deaf she might be, stupid she certainly was not. And she was right, too. When the boys came home, Lily would be needing
work, the sort of work she could do at home. But what was she doing sitting here with a load of nails and wool when she was a woman in mourning? Nellie was magic, it seemed. She made everything
calm just by being here, just by being Nellie.

Nellie left the room and Lily found herself gazing down at a pricked paper pattern, four pairs of bobbins and some green wool. God. Where to start? She wound the wool round a nail, wound another
pair of bobbins, made a hole in the windings and thrust a nail in. That was it, more or less. Wasn’t it? Ah, no. Nellie’s wool had gone the other way – that way – no . .
.

Several minutes later, Lily had produced a wonderful mess. There were nails everywhere, while a bulky mass of confused wool lay impaled upon the cushion. She was sweating. A husband to bury, and
here she sat, confused, dazed and hating the colour green with a passion. Now, if she had pushed the wool twice round the first nail, happen it might have come out – ah. She could see where
she had gone wrong. Nellie was coming. Lily could hear those heavy footfalls on the stairs.

Nellie looked down at the mess. She picked up the paper and pen, wrote laboriously, tongue protruding from a corner of her mouth. Lily waited, a child from Standard Three who knew that her
report would be bad.

The note read,
Yes, a good try, so after the funeral we do some more and you will be my apprentice.

The apprentice looked up, saw kindness and goodness in Nellie’s eyes. This deaf woman was splendid, she was the best. She reached out and took a hand that was plump, yet thinner than it
had been. ‘Thanks, Nellie,’ she mouthed. The tears flowed, streamed everywhere, damping the green wool to a colour even more hideous. He was dead and she could never bring him back. Roy
was unconscious, the other two were still poorly.

But Nellie was here and now, was solid, was ‘talking’ about making tea and toast. Outside the door, dogs were snuffling, each waiting for the mistress, each ready for that walk.
Nellie mattered, by God, she did. Because Nellie made a difference.

And that, concluded Lily Hardcastle, was the true secret of life. Each person was here to make a difference – and not all wool was green.

Beth was quieter than usual. She took the news about Sam’s death well, but her brow knitted when she heard about the Hardcastle boys. She drank milk, chewed on a biscuit,
broke off a bit for her delighted dog. ‘I might not be a doctor,’ she announced when her snack was finished. ‘I might go into germs instead.’

Magsy lifted the iron and placed it on the table. So now Beth was planning a career in medical research. She would probably go through teaching, law and several other possibilities before
reaching adulthood. ‘How are you feeling now, sweetheart?’

Sweetheart shrugged. ‘I’ve been better for ages.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Magsy, ‘I think they kept you in for the entertainment value. Weren’t you telling them how to do their jobs?’

‘No, I wasn’t. I just made suggestions. Anyway, I think scientists are far more important than doctors, because they find the germs. Doctors just try to mend people, but scientists
can discover the trouble before everybody starts dying.’ She paused for thought. ‘Poor Roy.’

‘Yes, we must pray for him.’

‘Is it menin . . . What’s it called?’

‘Meningitis.’

‘Hmmm. Well, I hope he gets better. I shall look after him when he comes home.’

Magsy pressed a sheet. It was best to get things over quickly with Beth. The child did not respond when a subject was skirted – no, Beth wanted facts, the truth, the whole truth. ‘I
was thinking of a move,’ she began.

The child frowned. ‘A move? Where to?’

‘North. Into the countryside. I thought we might go up together tomorrow and take a look. It’s beautiful up there, just what you need to get those roses back into your
cheeks.’

Beth stood up and looked through the window. She had always lived here, could not imagine living anywhere else. Why was this happening now? ‘Is it because I’ve been ill? Is that why
we have to move?’

‘Partly, yes.’ Telling lies to Beth was useless. Sometimes, it was necessary to minimize information, but direct untruths never went down well. Anyway, Magsy was no good at lies. Had
she sat an exam in deceit, she would have failed spectacularly. ‘We don’t need to go up there yet. Paul will take us.’

Beth swung round. ‘He’s nice.’

‘Yes.’

‘Visited me twice.’

‘I know.’

Beth sat down again, a hand straying to pet the ever-present Tinker. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

Oh, God, not again. This one would have Magsy married in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, papal blessing, nuptial Mass and the massed bands of the king’s guards. ‘He is male and he
is a good friend.’

‘With a motorbike.’

‘Yes, but we shall travel to Hesford in a van. I am not getting on one of those things and there is no sidecar, so forget it. It would not carry the three of us.’

Beth pondered. ‘He could visit us on his motorbike, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’d let him?’

‘Yes.’

Beth sighed happily. ‘That’s all right, then. Shall I make some toast?’

Magsy turned to dash a tear from her eye. She thought back to a time not too long ago when she had not been able to visit this precious girl, when she had feared the sort of complications now
suffered by poor Roy Hardcastle. People died from influenza. How lucky she was to have this child, this wonderful, troublesome girl who, today, possibly for one day only, was going to become a
leading microbiologist.

‘I love you, Beth,’ she whispered.

‘That’s all right then, because I love you, too. How many slices do you want?’ She picked up the toasting fork and got on with life.

Lois Horrocks was furious. Her several chins wobbled with anger as she spoke to her son. ‘You know I don’t like them things. Bella Eckersley’s lad’s
like a bloody cabbage now, brain gone after he went under that tram. You’ve done it on purpose. You’ve done it so as I’ll die and you’ll have nowt to worry about.’

For a woman about to die, Lois had a lot of energy, her son thought as he watched and listened. She didn’t like motorbikes. She didn’t like girlfriends, work mates, pub mates, any
kinds of mates. She didn’t like cheap sheets on her bed, chip shop dinners, tripe without onions, wool next to her skin. She didn’t like Dick Barton on the wireless, being on her own,
didn’t like visitors.

‘I’m sick to death with worry,’ she concluded.

‘I can tell,’ he answered, knowing that irony was lost on his mother. She wanted him to bring the money in, look after her, stay in the house with her for ever. Yes, she wanted it
all her own way and nobody else’s way mattered.

‘You’ll be killed,’ she shouted.

‘Then there’ll be nobody to look after you.’

She opened her mouth, closed it, kept the response inside.

‘Is this going to be my life, Mam?’ he asked.

‘I never asked to get crippled,’ she moaned.

He hadn’t asked to become unpaid nurse, cook and bottle-washer, but he made no comment about that side of things. ‘I want a life, Mam,’ was what he said after a pause. ‘I
want a wife, children, a house of my own.’

‘You want Magsy bloody O’Gara.’

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

She puffed and panted, pulled herself up against the pillows. ‘And the bike’s for her, I suppose.’

Paul shrugged lightly. ‘Not particularly, no. It’s for getting me to work and up to Hesford if needs be. She doesn’t like motorbikes, either, so it’s not for her to
ride.’

‘Who do you know up Hesford?’ was the next bullet from her gun.

‘Nobody yet.’

Clearly frustrated, she closed her eyes for a second before beginning again. ‘Why would you want to go somewhere where you don’t know nobody?’

He couldn’t be bothered. What was the point of explaining the truth to a woman who was so self-centred that she chose to understand nothing unless it affected her own comfort? She had
ruined Dad’s life and was now attempting to spoil her son’s.

Paul turned on his heel and went out into the yard. Wishing his own mother dead was not nice. Even if Magsy did agree to have him, he could not impose his mother on her, on Beth. He lit a
cigarette, made a smoke ring, watched it disappear as surely as Magsy would after meeting Lois Horrocks.

He closed his eyes and imagined the scene, Magsy cooking, Lois refusing to eat, Magsy changing shitty, wet sheets, Magsy trying to move the mountain that was Lois. Yes, she would be doing that
at the hospital if she stayed and took promotion; yes she might well be performing such tasks for the woman in Hesford, but that was paid work, chosen work. Whereas . . .

‘I am stuck,’ he told the wall quietly. He was glued to Lois, umbilically fixed, impaled, welded. He could not simply go off and leave her to die, could not impose on the goodwill of
neighbours. ‘Are parents our fault,’ he mused, ‘just as we are theirs?’ No, it was not supposed to be like this. He should have been married by now, married and with a
couple of children.

Today, he was taking Magsy and Beth up to Hesford for Magsy’s second interview. The woman would take her on, he felt sure. Anyone would employ her, as she was diligent, honest and caring.
And cheap. Yes, this was a rich man’s world. Beth needed the air, Magsy needed the money, he needed Magsy and was very fond of the child, too.

He murdered the cigarette end under a heel, took a deep breath, went back indoors. It was time for plain speaking, time for his opinion to matter.

She glared at him. ‘Having a tantrum, were you?’

This woman, who had given him life, plainly believed that she had the right to remove that life from him. He cleared his throat. ‘Right. I want you to do something that you have never
managed before, I want you to shut up and listen.’

Something in his voice, the quietness of it, the strength behind the softness, made her squirm. Was this the moment she had dreaded all her life? She snorted, but said nothing.

He launched straight in. ‘Mam, I think you are the most selfish, ungrateful woman on this earth. I know you are ill, but you gave up far too soon and now, because you can hardly walk, you
expect me to be at your beck and call except when I am at work.’

She blinked rapidly, opened her mouth, shut it.

‘If Magsy will have me – and I am intending to wear her down – I will be getting married. If I have to turn Catholic, I don’t care, because I will do anything she wants.
That’s love. That’s real love, Mam, something you don’t know about.’

He shook his head in despair. ‘Magsy is going for a job in Hesford. She needs the countryside for the kiddy – she’s only just out of hospital. Now, I don’t know what I
can work out, but if she will have me, you are not living with us. You would spoil my marriage within a week and I won’t have that.’

Lois pressed a hand against a rapid heartbeat, but she maintained her silence.

‘You’ll be living on your own,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay Bertha to do your meals and keep you clean, because I wouldn’t ask anybody to deal with your moods for
free, but you will have to shift yourself from yon bed and start trying. If it kills you, that’s not my fault. I’ve been stuck here long enough. Even if Magsy won’t have me,
it’s time I was off. There’s plenty of work down London way after the bombings, houses being built all the time.’

Her mouth was suddenly as dry as blotting paper. She wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he had allowed it. Her chest felt tight and her hands tingled. He was killing her. He was
murdering her as surely as if he had put a pillow over her face.

‘I’m going now.’ His tone was conversational. ‘I am driving to Hesford with Magsy O’Gara and her little girl. We will be eating in a café, so I’ve left
you some tea and ham butties. Bertha will come in at three o’clock. If you want the wireless on, get out of bed. I know you get out of bed when I’m not here, because I’ve seen
stuff moved when Bertha hasn’t been in.’ He pulled on his coat. ‘If Ernest Barnes can manage without Dot, you can do without me, Mam. See you later, but I don’t know how
long I’ll be.’

Alone, she shivered in the warm room. She would be stuck here for going on five hours now, fastened to this room, waiting for Bertha. He had taken a day off work for Magsy O’Gara, would
never get time off for his own sick mother. Well, if he wanted to pike off to London, there was nowt she could do about that.

As for Magsy flaming O’Gara, Lois would put that one straight, oh yes. It was time to meet that bloody woman. With nothing to lose, Lois Horrocks put her thinking cap on. It was time to
take that cow by the horns.

Beth, wrapped up warmly in coat, hat, scarf and gloves, stood at the top of Hesford Brow and scanned the countryside. It was all frost, silver in the low sun of winter, fields
spread like carpets as far as the eye could reach. Hollows became rises, smoke streamed in straight lines from farmhouse chimneys, brave birds swooped and lifted, wings spread across a sky whose
blue was not believable, the kind of colour that comes straight from an infant’s paintbox, no refinement, just solid bright sapphire.