The Loom (27 page)

‘
You know your father would come after us and bring you back,’ Darkie said.

‘
Not if we run far enough away.’

‘
How far away,’ Darkie asked, looking at her skeptically.

‘
Mm…America?’

‘
America! That is a bloody long way.’

It was Marion’s turn to laugh at Darkie’s incredulous expression, which gradually changed as he thought of what Marion had just said.

‘
What are you thinking about now,’ she said.

‘
That might not be such a bad idea. I have a relative in America who started those penny bazaars, an uncle on my mother’s side, the Winfields. They might be able to help us when we get there. I’ve got some money saved, so that’s no problem.’

America! Raymond’s mind raced. He’d always wanted to go to America. That was it! If Marion and Darkie were going to America then he would go with them. He was fed up of Harwood, fed up of studying, didn’t really want to go to Oxford and read dreary law. It was also a chance to get away from all that had gone on, away from his mother who was a daily reminder, when he was home, of everything that had happened. He was still bitter and unhappy, unable to handle the situation, often lashing out at anyone indiscriminately.

Marion and Darkie turned as the door burst open.

‘
I heard,’ Raymond said.

Darkie went to the door and closed it quickly.

‘
Keep your mouth shut then,’ he said sharply.

‘
I want to come with you.’

‘
What do you mean, come with us?’ Marion said. That was all they needed, Raymond’s meddling.

‘
To America,’ Raymond said.

‘
Don’t be stupid, Raymond.’

‘
Why not, I hate it here.’

‘
I thought you were doing so well at your studies, Ray, and looking forward to going to Oxford,’ Marion said in surprise.

‘
Well, I’m not and it’s not only that.’

‘
You can’t come with us and that’s that. And don’t you dare say anything.’ Marion glared at him.

‘
Please, Marion.’

‘
I’ve told you, no.’

Raymond stared back. He was stuck. Could he tell her what had happened? He’d no alternative.

‘
It’s because of mother,’ he began haltingly. Then it poured from him, purging him. He’d held it inside him for two years, slowly festering. Like a canker cauterized he was released, relief seeped through him, healing. Marion and Darkie listened in amazement. Marion studied him as he spoke. He seemed more mature than his seventeen years and why hadn’t she noticed that sadness in his eyes before? She’d been too wrapped up in herself. Raymond had his share of troubles as well. If only she’d known.

The hoot of the steamer echoed loudly in the morning air. The fog had lain heavy since dawn, but now the slight mist began to clear and the faint outline of the Corona could be seen. Her funnels suddenly belched black smoke. A tug made its determined way back to the wharf, sturdy and solid, fighting the rough seas like a pugnacious little bulldog.

The man pounded along the dock, his expensive Saville Row overcoat billowing from him as he ran. His hand made leather shoes thudded loudly, startling the three other people on the dock. Only a short time ago there had been throngs of people seeing relatives and friends off to the other side of the world. Now only these three remained. They watched as the ship faded gradually into the distance.

The man seemed unaware of them. The pounding of his feet had taken on the reverberations of a giant hammer on an anvil. Sweat ran down the side of his face. He finally recognized the futility of his mad race and stopped abruptly, bleakly watching the Corona disappear over the horizon. He looked around, conscious suddenly of the three other dejected figures, now staring silently at him. He walked slowly towards them, his breathing easing.

‘
Well, Mrs. Hammond, it seems that the birds have flown!’ George Townsend took out an immaculate linen handkerchief and wiped his face.

Emma’s face was tear-stained. He checked the angry words when he saw her misery.

‘
Aye, they’ve gone,’ Emma said heavily. She looked at the well-dressed man in front of her. Grief was etched deep. All his brass can’t fix that, she thought. She would have given all the money in the world to bring Darkie back. This one in front of her had lost a son and a daughter! If only America wasn’t such a long way off. All that misery and worry during the war and now she’d lost Darkie in another way. She couldn’t envisage ever seeing him again.

‘
Aye, they’re gone,’ she said again and looked out across the vastness of grey, at the grey mist, the grey outlines of the buildings on the docks. All different tonings of grey - like her mind at the moment.

Despondency settled on her, like a covering of cement, choking. Janey and Leah began to sob again.

‘
That’s enough you two,’ Emma said sharply, hiding her own unhappiness. ‘That’ll do no one any good. He’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it.’ She studied the man standing in front of her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry Mr. Townsend. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. They’d made up their minds and nothing and nobody would have been able to change them.’

George flinched as though the revelation had only just hit him. He’d been angry, furious at what had happened. Now he realized he might never see his son and daughter again. He made a choking sound in his throat and turned away, shoulders heaving. He couldn’t break down here!

Emma stared at him with compassion. With all his brass, she thought, he’s only a man just like all the rest of ‘em. This surprised her. Like most people in Harwood she was a little intimidated by the ‘nobs’. She looked upon them as almost god-like figures, untouchable and unattainable. All his brass, she thought again, won’t bring his children back.

George turned to Emma and put his hand tentatively on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, too, Mrs. Hammond. There’s something I didn’t do right and I’ve paid the price, very heavily I’m afraid. If there’s anything I can do for you please let me know.’

He noticed Emma’s surprise. ‘I mean that, Mrs. Hammond, because I feel it’s my fault they left. There’s also another point to consider.’

‘
What’s that, Mr. Townsend?’

‘
Darkie and Marion, o
ur
children,’ he said.

‘
Aye,’ Emma replied bleakly.

‘
Well, then, please don’t hesitate to contact us if anything comes up. I think what happened has taught me quite a few lessons, Mrs. Hammond.’

Emma nodded. She was still too full of emotion to consider seriously what he’d just said. Contact them! What did that mean?

‘
Well, good day Mrs. Hammond and you, too, Leah and Janey.’ He nodded to them and walked slowly away down the dock.

‘
Aye,’ Emma said quietly, almost to herself. ‘I think he has learnt a few lessons, but he’s learnt them a bit late.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S
tephen Townsend is all wrapped up – in Leah Hammond!

That’s an expression, used often in these parts, ‘all wrapped up’. ‘He’s all wrapped up in her’, he’s heard numerous times, or ‘she’s all wrapped up in him’, and even ‘they’re all wrapped up in each other’. Stupid saying, he used to think. Not anymore! Without even being aware that it’s happened, it seems that both he and Leah have amazingly become unravelled and knit neatly up again, each into the fabric of the other. They are indeed, all wrapped up in each other as the saying goes, in the truest sense of the word. He’ll never sneer at that expression again.

He’s taking Leah on a picnic today and they are going on the Harley (his father
will
be pleased).

Stephen rolled up the tartan rug (used for picnics in what seemed like another lifetime) and strapped it to the pillion. He checked the bags again. Everything was wrapped and packed carefully in the carrier bags: the chicken and salad, cake and biscuits that Maud had prepared for him that morning. And last but not least a bottle of champagne, French (also carefully wrapped in snowy napkins and cooled overnight in iced water).

He swung his leg over the pillion and kick started the bike, which immediately sprang into life. He revved the engine and noticed that his father had come out onto the terrace, a smile lighting his face as he saw Stephen. George lifted his hand to him as he shot off down the drive.

His parents were still in shock and he had to shake himself at times for it to register that his siblings were no longer with them at Hyndburn. So far they had not heard from them, but it was early days yet.

He drove slowly down the drive, the Harley picking up speed on the straight sections, leaning as he took the corners, branches and long grass brushing his face or his boots. It was a perfect summer’s morning, warm, a light breeze, the hills a blue grey in the distance.

He was soon out of the gates of Hyndburn and making for Harwood, across the Cock Bridge, Peel Street, skirting the poorer sections, up High Street, Church Road, St. Hubert’s Road and then down Glebe.

He slowed down in Glebe Street, the bike bumping over the cobbles, aware of curtains fluttering, faces peering. This invariably happened when he made an appearance. He was used to it. A smile tugged at his mouth, nosey parkers Leah called them, and they were, but not malicious, just curious. He was a novelty, ‘a bit of excitement’ (Annie Fitton’s words), or ‘a feather in her cap’ (also Annie’s).

He pulled up outside number five, kicked the stand down and leant the bike over. He walked the short distance to the front door and knocked thinking, as he did every time he came here, how dreary it looked. All grey, grey cobbles, grey houses, usually grey sky, but not today. Today it was azure without even the blemish of a cloud. He’d asked Leah once how she could bear to live here.

‘
What choice do I have,’ she replied. ‘You get used to it and don’t even notice after a while, y
ou
would, of course, knowing a different kind of life.’

As he waited he thought that now she would have a choice, no more shilly shallying, no more dithering about because he knew he didn’t want to live without Leah.

‘
You’re early,’ Leah said as she opened the door. ‘I heard the bike a mile away and so did the street. They’re having a field day as usual. Come in for a minute while I finish getting ready.’

‘
I noticed the welcome committee,’ he said, grinning. He followed her into the back room, watching her neat little backside swaying under the white dress, her trim ankles; hair thick in waves to her shoulders. He liked it long.

‘
Grow it down to your waist,’ he’d said one day as he ran his hand through it.

‘
Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Oops, Miss Fenton wouldn’t like that.’

Stephen laughed. ‘I like being daft; go on, grow it as long as Lady Godiva so that you don’t need to wear any clothes.’

‘
You
are
daft!’

The living room was empty. ‘No one home today?’

‘
Janey’s still in bed and Mam’s at Annie’s.’

‘
Ha, ha,’ Stephen said, his eyes lighting up. ‘So we’re on our own, are we?’ He went over to Leah who had begun to comb her hair in front of the mirror. He pulled her around to him. She felt the familiar tingle as he pressed her to him. He only needed to touch her. She wondered if it would always be this way, this spine tingling sensation, that look which made her go weak. He hugged her closer and buried his face in her hair.

‘
Mm…you smell good.’ He nibbled her ear, nuzzled her neck and she felt his warm breath, faint cigarette smell, some piney cologne,
male
smell. His lips found hers, soft, moist and sweet like a rich ripe plum.

The sound of the front door opening made them jump apart. Leah turned back to the mirror, noting that her cheeks were red, eyes glittering. A dead give-away! Stephen walked over to gaze out of the back window onto the yard, a scene just as dreary as the front.

Emma watched through the curtains in Annie’s place as Stephen parked the bike and Leah let him in.

‘
He’s here, Annie.’

‘
Ee, he’s never away when she’s home, is he Emma?’

‘
Aye, I wish he wouldn’t come so often.’

‘
Why ever not, Emma, he must think a lot of your Leah, but I’m not a bit surprised. She’s a lovely lass your Leah. A real credit to you but I’ve always thought that. Do you think anything’ll come of it?’

‘
I don’t know, Annie. They seem besotted with each other and I feel real embarrassed at times watching ‘em. I don’t like all this lovey dovey stuff and you never know, do you, especially with the nobs. They’re different to us and I’ve tried to tell Leah but it’s like talking to a stone wall. All I hear is Stephen this and Stephen that until I feel like throwing something at her.’

‘
Aye, well,’ Annie said, rising from her chair with difficulty. ‘It’ll sort itself out, don’t worry and it’s no use trying to tell ‘em how to live their life, is it? People have to do things their own way.’