Act of Will (29 page)

But on Monday morning, just before noon, the child had a relapse.

Audra’s worst fears had been confirmed.

Alfie had started to have convulsions and the tiny spots, which looked like bright red pin pricks, had begun to appear on his milky skin. Endeavouring to control her terrible fear for her child, Audra had wrapped him in several woollen shawls and rushed to the doctor’s surgery.

Doctor Stalkley had taken one look at Alfie and shaken his head. After a rapid examination he had dispatched Audra to St Mary’s Hospital, just a short distance away. He promised to visit Alfie as soon as his morning surgery was over, when he started his daily rounds in the district.

Whilst she had waited for Alfie to be admitted to the children’s ward, Audra had cradled him in her arms, cooing to him softly, fighting back her tears. It had been wrenching to leave him, but she had no choice. And she had fervently wished that she was a nurse at St Mary’s, so that she could care for her beloved child herself.

***

Four days later Alfie came home to them in a small pine coffin.

Burdened with sorrow, Vincent dragged himself to
every window in the cottage, closing the curtains to shut out the light until after the funeral, as was the custom in the North.

And then he went to comfort his wife.

Audra was inconsolable.

‘Why couldn’t I make him better?’ she kept asking Vincent as she stood by the side of the open coffin, blinded by her scalding tears. ‘Matron Lennox says I’m an exceptional nurse,’ she sobbed, ‘so why couldn’t I make our baby get well?’

‘Audra…
Audra love
, nobody could have helped our poor little Alfie. It’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault. Meningitis is generally fatal in small babies. Mike told me so,’ Vincent said quietly, ‘and you know that yourself, lovey.’

‘I should have kept him at home, nursed him myself, not left him to strangers,’ she cried, clutching Vincent’s arm, staring at him wildly. ‘If I hadn’t let Alfie go into the hospital, he’d be alive. He would, I just know he would!’

‘No, love, that’s not true,’ Vincent said gently, drawing her to him, smoothing her hair away from her ravaged face. ‘They did their very best up at St Mary’s, more than their best; they fought hard for Alfie’s life. It just wasn’t meant to be, Audra love.’

Vincent led her out of the sitting room where the coffin stood, and took her back to the kitchen. He held her in his arms and tried to give her solace and her tears drenched the front of his shirt as they wept together for the child whom they so loved.

Eliza and Alfred came to see their dead grandchild, to share the grief of their son and daughter-in-law, to offer condolences and do what they could to help.

Alfred, the ex-sergeant-major of the Seaforth Highlanders,
who considered himself to be so tough, broke down and sobbed quite openly at the coffin. He was profoundly moved at the sight of Alfie, his namesake. In death, the child’s beauty seemed more potent than ever and perfect in its wax-like state. For a moment Alfie looked as if he was merely sleeping. But when Alfred bent over and kissed the delicate cheek its immense coldness struck him like a knife in the chest and he clutched at Eliza’s arm. She tried to comfort him as best she could, though her own sorrow was enormous.

When they joined Vincent and Audra in the kitchen a while later, Alfred looked around him, as if dazed, and asked in a shaken voice, ‘
Why
? Why has our little Alfie’s life been snuffed out? He was only a baby, and nothing but pure joy and innocence… tell me why he has been taken from us so cruelly.’

No one had an answer for Alfred: there was no answer.

It was a golden day in late October, one of those especially glorious Indian Summer days that so often occur in the autumn, just before the harsh winter sets in. The sky was the colour of speedwells, luminous in the sunlight, and the breeze was light, almost warm.

What a grand afternoon it is, Vincent thought, lifting his eyes, enjoying the radiance of the day. I hope this weather lasts ’til the weekend. Turning off Town Street, he increased his pace as he heard the church clock strike three. He was heading down Ridge Road in the direction of H. E. Varley and Son, Builders, and he did not want to be late for his appointment with Mr Fred Varley.

It was a Thursday, almost the end of a week that had been exceptionally hard. He had pushed his men relentlessly to finish the warehouse they were building onto Pinfold’s woollen mill, and by noon tomorrow the job would be completed. No doubt that was why Mr Varley wanted to see him, to congratulate him, and there was bound to be a nice bonus for himself and his crew.

At the thought of a little extra money, Vincent began to whistle and he stepped out jauntily. He touched his cap, smiled and nodded as he passed the vicar’s wife near Christ Church Vicarage, and then crossed the road. A few seconds later he was entering the builder’s office and greeting Maureen, Mr Varley’s secretary.

‘Hello, love,’ he said, taking off his cap, giving her a broad smile. ‘Mr Varley sent for me.’

‘Good afternoon, Vincent,’ Maureen replied and nodded her head towards the door. ‘You can go in, he’s waiting for you.’

Mr Varley was speaking on the telephone, but as Vincent hove in view in the doorway, he immediately said goodbye, hung up and beckoned for Vincent to enter.

‘There you are, lad, come in, come in, and sit yourself down.’

‘Thanks, Mr Varley.’ Vincent lowered himself into the chair facing the desk. ‘The Pinfold job will be finished tomorrow at noon,’ he went on. ‘The lads have done right well, Mr Varley, and I know you’ll be pleased when you see the warehouse. It’s a bit of good building work, even though I do say so myself.’

‘Aye, I’m sure it is, lad, you’re a good worker, and a good foreman, the best I’ve ever had, in fact.’ Fred Varley cleared his throat. ‘That’s why it’s so hard for me to tell you this… I’ve got some right bad news for you, I’m afraid, Vincent, I do that. I’m going to have to shut up shop.’

Vincent stared at him, for a moment uncomprehending. ‘Close down?’ he said swiftly, raising his brows. ‘
Close
Varley’s?’

‘Aye lad—as of tomorrow.’

‘Oh my God!’ Vincent was shocked. ‘I don’t understand,’ he began, and then faltered, as all of the implications sank in.

‘I’m going to have to go into bankruptcy, I’ve no alternative,’ Varley said.

‘But why? We’ve had a lot of jobs in the last few months—’

‘Aye, I knows we have, lad,’ Mr Varley cut in, ‘but
some of the buggers haven’t paid up yet, and I’ve no bloody idea when they will. I’ve been operating on credit for a hell of a long time, Vincent, and I’m so heavily into the bank I don’t dare borrow more, and I doubt that they’d lend it to me now, anyway. I’m mortgaged up to the hilt.’ Shaking his head sadly, he finished, ‘There’s no two ways about it, I’ve got to cut my losses. Only one way to do that…
close down
.’

‘I can see what you mean,’ Vincent mumbled, his eyes troubled as he looked across the desk at his employer. He was thinking not only of himself but of the other men who would be thrown out of work tomorrow. They were all married men, too, except for Billie Johnson, the plumber’s mate.

Varley said, ‘Naturally, I’ll tell the lads meself. Tomorrow. I wouldn’t be leaving owt like that to you, shirking me duty, so to speak. I shall be able to meet this week’s pay roll, but that’s about it. No severance pay, no bonuses, nowt like that, I’m sorry to say.’ Fred Varley leaned over his desk, and added, concerned, ‘When you get your cards tomorrow, Vincent, I should go up and sign on at once at the Public Assistance Board, if I was you. Better start drawing the dole as soon as you can.’

Vincent nodded grimly.

‘I’m hoping I’ll be able to sort out this mess,’ Mr Varley remarked, rising, obviously wanting to terminate this difficult conversation. ‘And things are bound to turn around in the country right soon. The Depression can’t last forever. I intend to start afresh you knows, and in the not too distant future, and what I want to say is this—when I do open up again, there’ll be a job for you, Vincent. I do hope you’d come back to me.’

Vincent also stood up. ‘Thanks, Mr Varley, and yes, I would. You’ve always been very decent with me, very
fair indeed. And I’m sorry your business has gone down the drain, really sorry.’

‘Aye, lad, so am I. And I’m doubly sorry for you and the rest of the men. I know how rough it’s going to be on all of you.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Mr Varley. Ta’rar.’

‘Ta’rar, lad.’

Vincent Crowther sat in the recreation grounds, behind the park in Moorfield Road, smoking a Woodbine.

He was no longer aware of the beautiful Indian Summer afternoon, and all of his earlier jauntiness had dissipated. He was engulfed in his worries about earning a living in order to support himself and Audra.

Only the other day he had read in the
Yorkshire Post
that there were one million nine hundred thousand men out of work in England. ‘Plus one,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘now that I’m about to join them.’ The idea of going on the dole appalled him. But he would have to do so, since there was nothing else he
could
do until he found another job.

When he had left Varley’s office he had felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach and the feeling persisted. He had wandered into the little park twenty minutes ago, hoping to clear his befuddled head, marshal his swimming senses before he went home. But he was still stunned, and just a bit bewildered. He had believed Fred Varley to be shrewd and successful, had never once imagined that the firm could go out of business, that Fred Varley, of all people, would go down. Just goes to show, he thought, you never really know about anybody.

Vincent had no idea where to begin to find work, for the simple reason that there weren’t any jobs to be had.
Nor did he have any idea how he was going to break this terrible news to Audra.

What a blow it’ll be for her, he thought, and just when she was on her feet again after little Alfie’s death. He groaned out loud, then took a long, satisfying drag on his cigarette. He suddenly held it away, looked at it with a frown, asking himself how long he would be able to afford his Woodbines. And his pint of bitter. And a bet on the ponies on Saturday afternoons. A grimness settled over him. The prospects looked bleak. Bloody bleak indeed.

Rubbing his hand over his forehead, he closed his eyes, thinking about the money he had in the Yorkshire Penny Bank. Not much really. His savings would only tide them over for a month, at the most. And all he could expect to get on the dole was something like a pound a week for the two of them, perhaps a shilling or two more. Obviously he was going to have to do his damnedest to get a job, no matter what it was, or where it was, for that matter. He might well have to try other areas of Leeds, such as Bramley, Stanningley or Wortley, or go even farther afield to Pudsey and Farsley.

‘Well, well, well, if it’s not the gentleman of leisure! I wish I had time to sit on a park bench in the rec and idly fritter away the afternoon—
and
in the middle of the week no less!’

Vincent recognized the deep, masculine voice of his friend and brother-in-law. He opened his eyes, stared into Mike Lesley’s warm and friendly face peering down into his. ‘Yes, that’s what I am, Mike,’ he said with a weak laugh, ‘a gentleman of leisure… as of about half an hour ago. Yes, I’ve joined the ranks of the unemployed, like the rest of me mates, and half the bleeding country.’

Mike sat down heavily and frowned at his friend. ‘I know you’re not joking, Vince, I know you
wouldn’t
joke
about anything as serious as this, but what happened? I thought Varley’s was the one building firm in these parts that was doing well.’

‘So did
I
, so did
everybody
. But old man Varley just broke the news to me himself, about half an hour ago. He’s going into bankruptcy.’

Mike shook his sandy head slowly, his expression immediately turning dismal. ‘The situation’s dreadful. I heard of three other companies that have gone down in the last month and God knows where it’s all going to end. But look here, Vincent, you’re a skilled man, surely you’ll be able to find something fairly soon—’

‘Not bloody likely!’ Vincent interrupted. ‘Even Mr Varley has seen the writing on the wall, as far as I’m concerned, that is. He suggested that I sign on at the Labour Exchange at once.’

Mike was silent. He shrugged further into his tweed overcoat and his compassionate hazel eyes filled with concern for his best friend. He wondered if there was anything he could do to help Vincent find a job. He doubted it.

There was a momentary silence between these two young men who had gravitated to each other from the first moment they had met. They had grown even closer in the last couple of years and were like brothers now that Mike was married to Laurette. He was younger than Vincent, but he was blessed with great insight. If anyone understood the unusually complex man who was Vincent Crowther, then it was Mike Lesley.

Suddenly Vincent said, ‘However will I tell Audra that I’ve lost my job?’

Mike’s sandy brows drew together in a puzzled frown. ‘You’ll tell her in the same way that you’ve told me, very directly,’ Mike said.

‘She’s going to be upset, to put it mildly… I couldn’t stand it if she fell back into that awful depression. When I think of this spring, when she was so ill after Alfie died, I tremble in me boots, I do that, Mike. Audra was so odd, she was like a stranger to me.’

‘Yes, she
was
in a bad way,’ Mike conceded, ‘but a lot of women react as she did when they lose a child, especially when it’s the first baby. They’re demented for a while. And her loss was a terrible one, in that she’s had so many other losses in her life already.’

‘Yes, she has. Poor Audra.’

‘Look here, Vince, my money is on your wife. She’s an indomitable young woman. Why, she’s got more character in her little finger that most people have in their entire bodies. She’s plucky, a fighter, and she’s full of Yorkshire grit and determination. I have a strong feeling that that wife of yours will take this news without flinching.’