Sins of the Father (25 page)

‘I’m fine now so there’s no reason why Luke can’t return to work.’

A glance passed between her brothers, and she saw Dick shake his head.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’

‘It’s nothing for you to worry about,’ Dick said.

‘Stop treating me like a child! I told you, I’m fine now.’

‘She’ll have to be told, Dick. It can’t wait much longer.’

‘All right, tell her, but I just hope it doesn’t set her off again.’

Luke swallowed deeply. ‘I’m not going back to work on the stall, Em.’

‘You aren’t, but why?’

‘It just isn’t my cup of tea. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it was great of Dick to take me on, and to let me live with him, but it’s made me realise that it isn’t what I want to do with my life.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that. Are you going to learn a trade?’

‘Well, yes, in a way. You see I’m going to Ireland, to a sort of school, then college, and…and eventually I hope to become a priest.’

‘What! But you aren’t even a Catholic; we don’t belong to any Church.’

‘I’ve been going to church for years, Em.’

She stared at her brother in amazement. ‘You have? But I thought it was only recently.’

‘I used to sneak off to St Margaret’s every chance I got. I didn’t say anything, because, let’s face it, Em, you’d all have laughed at me, especially Dad.’

‘No, Luke, I for one wouldn’t have laughed. But hold on…surely you’re too young for this? Surely you need Dad’s permission?’

‘He gave it, Em, though he treated it as a joke. What we haven’t told you is that before Dad left for Kent, Father O’Malley went to see him.’

Emma swallowed deeply. Was Luke serious or, like her, was he trying to run away from life? He must still be racked with guilt over Polly, and
thought this was the only way to make amends. ‘Luke, are you doing this to clear your conscience? Because if you are there’s no need. The fault lies with Polly–you didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Em, this has nothing to do with Polly. Yes, I’ve been tearing myself apart over it, but I’ve been to confession and made my penance. I’ve also been praying, and have found peace now.’

‘You’re…you’re not running away then?’

‘No, of course not. I don’t know how to explain this, Emma, but you see, when I’m at church I feel a sort of calling. I resisted it at first, but once I allowed my heart to open to God, I felt such a sense of relief, as if my whole life had led me to this point.’

‘But, Luke, you’re so young and…and Ireland! We’ll never see you.’

‘Believe me, this isn’t something I’ve taken lightly and it hasn’t been easy to arrange.’

Once again Emma stared at Luke. Now that she had got over the shock, she wasn’t all that surprised. He had always been different, somehow spiritual, but he’d be so far away! Unbidden, tears welled again.

‘Oh, Em, please don’t cry.’

‘Everyone has gone,’ she sobbed. ‘First the girls to Kent, and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Now you’re going away too.’

‘We’ll keep in touch, Em. I promise,’ Luke said.

‘I ain’t going anywhere,’ Dick said. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, he added, ‘Come on, Em. You’ve still got me, and little Tinker.’

Luke looked so anxious and, seeing this, Emma managed to smile through her tears. She took his hand. ‘As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters, but I’m going to miss you so much.’

‘I’ll miss you too, but I have to do this, Em.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘On Monday.’

‘What! So soon?’

‘Yes, it’s all arranged, but I must admit I’ve been getting a bit worried. You’ve been rough for weeks and I couldn’t have left you in that state.’

‘Well, I’m fine now,’ she said lightly, adding, ‘and no doubt you’ve been praying for my recovery.’

‘Yes, and it seems my prayers have been answered. You’re like your old self again, and as Dick said, you’ve still got him.’

Emma didn’t voice her thoughts. Yes, she still had Dick and she loved her brother, but he wasn’t Luke.
Oh Mum, I wonder how you would have felt about this? Your son is going to be a priest
.

‘Emma, I know that Horace has left you in a fix, but you won’t do anything silly, will you?’ Luke asked.

‘Silly? What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know. But if things ever become desperate, go to Dick. He’ll help you out.’

‘Yeah, I can still chuck a few vegetables your way,’ Dick said.

‘I’ll be fine, Luke. I’ve still got loads of stuff to sell, enough to keep me going for ages.’

He nodded, his face clearing of concern. ‘Yes, of course you have.’

Emma smiled. Just hark at the pair of them, acting as though she was a child that needed babysitting. Mind you, she must have given them both a bit of a scare. Still, she was all right now, and from now on she’d sort her own life out, stand on her own two feet. Yes, she’d miss Luke, miss him badly, but she had Dick, and best of all, she had her lovely daughter. It was time for a fresh start.

By the time almost another year had passed, instead of growing closer, Emma and Dick had drifted apart. Dick was courting now, spending most evenings with Mandy, a local girl from a large family who had taken Dick under their wing. The whole family were Salvationists, and though Dick hadn’t joined the Sally Army yet, Emma had a feeling that it was only a matter of time. She had met Mandy, a buxom, homely girl who obviously thought the world of Dick, but their visits were rare nowadays, and likewise, she stayed away from Dick’s stall, embarrassed by the way he always loaded her up with vegetables. But oh, how she could do with some now.

It was odd really. If anyone had predicted that both Luke and Dick would become tied up in religion, she’d have laughed, thinking it ridiculous. Well, maybe not with Luke, as he’d always been different and she had recognised his spirituality,
but it was the last thing she expected of Dick. As a child he had been a bit of a rogue, stealing to keep the family going.

She heard from Luke occasionally, intent on his studies in Ireland. It seemed so long since she had seen him. He had his own life now, his ever-deepening beliefs and goals, and the distance between them seemed to grow wider.

There wasn’t much left to sell now, and Emma was growing desperate. The ornaments had been depleted a long time ago, and then she had started on the paintings and furniture. The dining room was empty, the lovely inlaid mahogany chairs, along with the table, fetching a good price from an antique dealer. The once plush drawing room looked almost empty too, with only one sofa and a side table that was too scratched to sell. With Patricia to look after, a job was impossible, and it would be years yet before she started school.

The winter had been awful, fuel Emma’s main concern, but now it was a hot July evening and as she stood looking out of the window, her stomach rumbled with hunger. The woman was there again, standing at the edge of the Common and hanging around for a pick-up as usual. She’d been there every night for a week now and Emma’s lips once again tightened. A prostitute. A woman who sold her body for money. How could she do that? How could she stand sex with so many different men?

Emma shuddered. She had thought it bad enough with Horace, and he’d been her husband. There had been no word from him, no sightings, and no rumours about where he might be. Sometimes she wondered if her father had been right, that Horace was a rich man. As he hadn’t carried out his threat to sell this house from under her, maybe it was true. Oh, what did it matter? She’d never be able to find him and, if truth be known, desperate as she was, she didn’t want to. She was still his wife, this was still his house, and the thought of his return only filled her with dread.

Emma’s eyes remained on the woman as her thoughts continued to turn. She had written to her sisters and Polly, only to get a reply from her father saying that he and they wanted nothing to do with her. Emma didn’t believe him, sure that they hadn’t been given the letters. One day, when she could afford it, and despite what her father said, she was determined to travel to Kent to see her sisters.

She missed her family, missed the closeness they had once shared. In truth, she was lonely. Yet she had become reclusive, keeping away from her neighbours because she was ashamed at the thought of them calling round and seeing the inside of her house. There were no comforts now, and with the sale of so much, the large rooms
looked desolate. She had no friends–her marriage to Horace had seen to that–and, other than going out to sell things or to the shops, she spent all of her time alone with just Patricia for company.

Emma’s eyes widened. A man had approached the woman, his arms waving in obvious anger. The prostitute backed away, but not far enough and he floored her with one blow. She was still on the ground when he started to kick her, the woman curling into a ball. Emma continued to watch, horrified as he lashed out, his heavy boots driving again and again into her defenceless body.

Frozen to the spot, Emma was unable to think coherently, but then instinct took over. She had to do something–anything–and without thought she flew outside.

‘Hey!’ she yelled from the end of the drive. ‘Stop or I’ll call the police!’

The man heard her. He delivered one last kick before running off across the Common. Emma remained where she was, but when she saw no movement from the woman, she ran across the road, flinging herself down onto the grass by her side. ‘Are you all right?’

There a groan and, as she turned her head, Emma saw that the woman’s nose was streaming with blood. ‘Gawd,’ she gasped. ‘Has he gone?’

‘Yes, he ran off,’ Emma said, hurriedly pulling
a handkerchief from her sleeve and handing to the woman. ‘Why did he attack you like that?’

‘I dunno. I’ve never seen him before in me life.’

She tried to move, but gasped in pain, and Emma floundered. What should she do? She couldn’t leave the woman in this state.

‘If you think you can make it, I only live across the road. Come on, let me help you up,’ she said impulsively.

It took a while, each movement obviously agony for the woman, but at last, leaning heavily on Emma, she staggered up the drive and through to the kitchen.

As soon as the woman was sitting down, Emma rushed to the sink, wetted a tea towel and handed it to her. ‘Here, put that to your nose to stem the blood.’

She then set the kettle on to boil, but with only a tiny amount of tea left she had to leave it to brew for a while before pouring it. Even so, it was weak, but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she gulped it down.

‘Thanks, ducks,’ she gasped. ‘Christ, every breath feels like agony.’

‘You may have broken ribs or something. I think you should see a doctor.’

‘No, I’ll be all right. I’ve had worse.’

‘What! Have you been beaten up before?’

‘Yeah, a few times. It’s a risk of the game.’

Emma at last took a seat, unable to resist asking, ‘Why do you do it?’

‘Look, love, I appreciate your help, but don’t go all high and mighty on me. All right, I’m on the game, but why I do it is my business. I’m fine now and I’ll get out of your hair.’ She tried to stand, but cried out, collapsing back onto the chair.

‘You can’t leave in that state,’ Emma told her.

‘I can’t stay here.’

‘Until you’re feeling better, you’ll have to,’ Emma said firmly. ‘Now come on, I think you’d better lie down. Can you manage to walk to the drawing room?’

‘If you insist, I’ll give it a go.’

Emma returned her smile. Strangely enough, she found herself liking the woman. A woman she had looked down on with disgust. There was something about her, something honest and straightforward, and Emma was happy to have some company at long last.

Three days passed, and Doris Hewlett slowly recovered. Without her thick make-up she was attractive, about thirty, with shoulder-length brunette hair and warm brown eyes. When she was up to it, the two women talked, their conversations stilted at first, but gradually an unlikely friendship began to form. Emma found that she
could talk to Doris as she had never spoken to anyone before. She talked about her childhood, her mother’s death, her family, the marriage to Horace, and Doris listened without censure.

When she realised Emma’s financial situation she dug into her pocket, handing over five shillings. ‘Here,’ she urged. ‘Go and get some grub in. Tasty as it is, I’m sick to death of that vegetable stew that you live on.’

‘No, I can’t take your money.’

‘Why not? Ain’t it good enough for you? Do you think it’s tainted?’

‘Oh, Doris, of course I don’t. To do what you’ve been doing, you must be desperate for money, and well, taking it from you wouldn’t be right.’

Doris heaved herself up, the effort obviously painful. ‘You’ve told me all about yourself, and now it’s my turn. I just wish I could get off this sofa and go home. My poor mum must be worried sick. No doubt the old girl next door is keeping an eye on her, but even so, I need to get back.’

‘Your mother!’

‘Don’t look so shocked, love. Of course I’ve got a mother, but she’s all I’ve got.’

‘What happened to your father?’

‘I’ve never had one of those. Christ, you’re looking shocked again. Bloody hell, you’re a married woman, you’ve had a baby, but you still
seem so innocent. Look, my mother was left pregnant when the bloke ran off. She brought me up on her own, and I can tell you she had a hard time of it. Now, though, she’s ill, confined to her bed, and it’s my turn to look after her.’

‘Is that why you became a…a…’

‘A tart,’ Doris supplied. ‘You can use the word, I don’t care. Yeah, it was how I got started, and anyway, doing this is the only way I can earn enough to support us.’

‘I still don’t understand why you get beaten up.’ ‘Neither do I, but it happens. Maybe some men get a kick out of giving prostitutes a hiding, maybe they can’t do the act and it’s a way of getting rid of their frustration.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve been on the game since the war, and nothing about men surprises me any more.’

‘You haven’t always done it then?’ ‘No, love, I had a legitimate job once, but when my mum got so ill that she couldn’t get out of bed, I had to give it up.’