All I Have to Give (14 page)

‘You are coming, Edith! Me life is worth nothing without you.’

The cold steel of the barrel of his gun dug into her neck. Stunned, she gasped for breath, drawing droplets of rain into her mouth. ‘No! No, don’t do this. I will scream.’

Choking from his hand clutching her mouth, she felt her body being wrenched towards him. Not wanting to hurt him more than she was already, but having no choice, she kicked out at his shins. But
she was no match for his strength, and felt her feet dragged from beneath her as he pulled her along with him.

Though her wits wouldn’t give her a way of escaping Albert, she did think to dig her boots into the mud, in the hope that they would make a trail. But even as she did so, part of her
didn’t want him to be caught. His actions were not those of a man who is right in his mind. Something had tipped him over the edge. This was not Albert doing this terrible thing, but
something in him that might have lain dormant all his life, had it not been released by some horrific trigger. She could only guess that the trigger must have been Jimmy’s death.

As he dragged her with his hand over her mouth, she had to take gasping breaths. Her neck hurt from the strong hold he had around it. The sound of his breath labouring, as hers was, gave her
hope; the struggle was sapping his strength. Making one last effort, she pushed at him. Albert’s hold on her broke, sending her sinking into the mud. Spitting the rain and dirt from her
mouth, she allowed a sob to escape her and begged of him once more, ‘P – please, Albert, just go. Go!’ But then her fear was compounded to horror.

‘I am going. Forgive me.’

And she saw, in the dawning light, his gun being placed in his mouth. ‘No, no, Albert. Not that. I’ll come. I’ll come with you . . . Please, not that!’

Lifting herself, Edith went to him and helped to take the gun from his mouth. His body leaned heavily on her, and his pitiful words tugged at the inner part of her that knew she loved him.
“Elp me . . .’Elp me.’

‘I will. Don’t worry, I will help you.’ A sudden thought came to her:
Marianne!
They could make their way to Marianne’s apartment. She would help them and then,
when Albert was safe, she could come back here and resume her work, telling them that she’d escaped. Wiping the tears and rain from her eyes, she took hold of Albert’s hand. ‘I
have a friend who may help us. She lives in the South of France. We can sort out getting to her later, but for now let’s just get as far away from here as we can. Which is the safest route to
take?’

‘I think we should keep to the coast and make our way down towards Spain. But it’s going to be ’ard going, Edith, and I ’ave to make it look as though you are me
prisoner, in case they catch up with us.’

‘Will they be looking for you now?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s been an hour or more since it ’appened. So I think them at base-camp know by now what’s gone on. They may wait for it to get lighter and send a
party out after me, or they may not be able to spare the men. There’s an offensive planned for later today, and it means splitting the battalion as it is – or, rather, what’s left
of it.’

Edith assumed he was referring to the planned offensive on Delville Wood. ‘Yes, I know. I told you, my brother is leading part of it. He was relying on you.’

Albert’s demeanour changed in an instant. He was once more in command of himself and the situation. His hand tightened on hers. ‘I can’t ’elp that. Come on, let’s
take the coastal road. But if we see anyone, I will grab you and make it look like you are with me against your will.’

Protesting no more, she did as he said, but inside she thought,
I
am
going against my will, but yet, at the same time, I am willing, if it will save him.
With this thought came
a self-loathing at the weakness her love for Albert had given her. How could she think like that when so many relied on her to save their lives?

Everything in her wanted to turn and run, but his grip on her felt as though she was being held by an iron fist. What choice did she have? Putting her head down against the onslaught of the wind
and the rain, and matching his step, she took no heed of the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

Low Moor, late July 1916
A heart can only take so much pain

Ada lifted the latch of her front door. The smell of cigarette smoke told her Paddy was in. Her insides clenched. He had become a monster that she feared – and fear was
one of the few emotions she felt these days, as most of the time she was devoid of emotion.

Life had become something to get through, rather than to live. Somehow she got up each day and went to her work at the munitions factory. Somehow she endured Paddy’s onslaughts on her
body, and the pain of his and her sister’s betrayal.

Peering around the door, she saw the empty scullery. There was nothing out of place except a butt-end smouldering in the tin lid that Paddy used as an ashtray. He must be out the back, as she
could see the back door was ajar. As she stepped inside, the sound of Paddy crying stopped her in her tracks. By the direction from which the sound was coming, she knew he was in their loft
bedroom. Her body stiffened against the pain she could hear in his sobs. Afraid to ask, she waited. Hardly able to breathe, she clung onto the high-backed wooden chair.

‘Ada, me Ada. Oh God, how is it that I should give you this news? I can’t . . . I can’t. Christ! Why, why?’

Looking up at his haggard face, staring down at her from the top of the ladder that led to the loft, gave her heart a jolt, and an urge to scream at what she knew to be a truth. But no sound
came when she opened her mouth. Her body crumpled. Barely making it to the fireside chair, she slumped into it. Vomit rose to her throat. She grabbed the empty coal scuttle and retched into it.

Paddy’s footsteps resounded around the room as he descended the wooden ladder. At the bottom he staggered. Was he drunk?

Picking up the stub of his cigarette, he threw it past her and into the empty fire grate. The thought came to her, as she wiped her mouth with her pinny, that she should get the blackening out
and clean up the stove. It had been a long time since it had been done. But then she was working all hours God sent her, and her bones ached with tiredness. Some chores she just had to let
slip.

Still ignoring Paddy, she thought about her stash. Now amounting to the huge sum of twenty pounds, she knew she would be able to leave soon and make a new life for herself. Twenty pounds! She
couldn’t believe it, and felt rich beyond her dreams. But then the long hours of shift work and piece-work and her working in the most dangerous shop meant that she had netted just over six
pounds a week. Paddy didn’t know. He tried to guess, but as he got a fair whack of it, he thought she was tipping up the lot. God knows what he would do if he found out the truth. But she
hoped to be long gone before that day.

His cries penetrated her thoughts. Why had her mind gone off on such a tangent, when there was terrible news to face?

‘Tell me, Paddy. Tell me.’

‘I – I don’t know how to. Here, it is better that you read this for yourself.’

Taking the crisp paper from him, Ada let her eyes fall on the words:
Tour son, James O’Flynn, has been killed in action.

Just that. No ‘We regret to inform you’, as had been written for Bobby and Jack. Nor did it say ‘He died bravely’, as it was said they had. Nothing – just
‘killed’. Her mind repeated the word over and over: ‘killed . . . killed . . . killed’! The last time turned into a scream that sounded as if it came from a mad woman, as
her heart ripped in two. Tears didn’t come, though; this was too much for tears, but hatred came. Hatred and blame.

‘You killed him, Paddy! You, with your thinking he was his own man. I could have got him off – the bloody King said I could – but no, you said Jimmy should go. I hate you . . .
I HATE YOU!’

Paddy didn’t move. His body remained bent over the table, but Ada hadn’t finished with him, because while she felt like this she’d give him all the pain that clutched at her
chest.

‘But you don’t care, do you? You can spawn as many bairns as you want, can’t you? Beryl’s carrying one for you already. You’ve shagged me own sister! So what price
me lads, eh? What d’you care.’

‘Will you shut your mouth? Care? Me strapping boys gone – all gone – and you are for saying I don’t care!’

The strength had come back into him, as now he stood at his full height. Anger flared from every pore of him. Snatching up the poker, Ada stood brandishing it in front of her, spitting out her
guts at him. ‘You come near me and I’ll smash your head to pieces. Murderer! Vile, wife-cheating, wife-beating bastard!’

‘Enough, woman. A man can only take so much. Come into me arms and let me give comfort to you. It is together we should stand at such a time.’

‘Comfort! I’d as soon jump into the fire as into your arms, you murdering swine.’

The blow came without her seeing him move, he was that fast. His hand slapped her face, shocking her and rendering her unable to see what was coming. And so, before she was ready, a punch sank
into her belly, taking the wind from her.

Paddy caught her sinking body and held her to him. His tears wet her hair and her face; his cries held the agony of grief. Gasping for breath, Ada could do nothing to stop him carrying her to
their bed. But if she had the strength she would kick his proud manhood – kick and kick it till it lay, never to harden again. Instead, all she could do was lie limply while he stripped her
of her knickers and entered her.

She had never been taken like it, and she never wanted to be taken like it again. Howling his sorrow with every thrust, Paddy gave her no pleasure, but only increased her heartache and grief. He
had been her man, and now he had gone, just as those he’d sired had. He was nothing to her – nothing.

His groan and the stiffening of his body told her he’d reached his end. She took his weight as he slumped down on her. He remained still, causing her further pain with the heaviness of him
on her bruised body. She hadn’t the strength to move him from her, but she had to, or she would suffocate. ‘Sh – shift yourself, Paddy, you . . . you’ve had what you wanted.
You . . . beat it out of – of . . . me again. For God’s – s – sake, let me breathe.’

As his body rolled off her and he withdrew from her, he muttered, ‘You bitch!’

She took no notice of him as she gasped in deeply, trying to fill her lungs.

You drive me to do what I do, then you blame me and make me feel like I’ve raped me own wife. You give me nothing now. Nothing. It’s like shagging a rice pudding – and
that’s for insulting the pudding me mammy used to make me. I’m telling you, I’m for taking up the offer I’ve had from that young widow up the road, Rosie Parfit. She’s
after me giving her what she’s missing, now her Dean’s gone. And she ain’t a bad looker, and promises to be a good little shag.’

It surprised Ada how much this hurt, but she wasn’t going to show it. ‘By, she’ll soon ditch you. You’re past it. Any man as can’t keep his own wife happy
ain’t worth a light. Eeh, they all know as you’re searching for sommat as you haven’t had in a long while. They say you go from woman to woman ’cause you’re trying to
prove you’re still the man you were. Ha, they laugh at thee, Paddy O’Flynn!’

Paddy drew himself to his full height, but this stance only lasted a few seconds as he collapsed into a heap. His body hit the wooden floor with a thud.

‘Paddy, Paddy . . .’

A growl that could have come from an animal shuddered through him. With it, Paddy regained consciousness, looked up at her and released a strangled cry. ‘Our boys, our babbies – all
gone . . . all gone. Gone, Ada. By Jesus, how are we to go on, Ada? How?’

She could not answer him. Her anger had gone. He only had two ways of coping: one was to hit out, and the other was to take a woman – any woman. She realized that. This crying and giving
up wasn’t Paddy, but she couldn’t help him now. She needed her own release from the pain of her loss, and from the pain of the treatment Paddy had meted out to her. Rising, she left him
lying there and ran from the room.

Once down the ladder, she ran out of the door, not caring that her hair was matted, her face bruised, her stomach hurt, and that between her legs she was wet and sticky and had no knickers on,
because none of these things mattered. Nothing mattered. Jimmy was gone.

Reaching the beck, she waded in. How often had she brought her lads here with a bottle of water and some butties of bread and jam? They had fished with empty jam jars, catching tiddlers, and she
had let the sun warm her and had dreamed her dreams as she lay on the grass. Now she stood in the middle of the beck, with the water swirling around her, and there were no cries of ‘Mam,
I’ve caught one’ or ‘Mam, our Jimmy’s scaring the fish – he’s too noisy’.

There were no hungry lads stuffing themselves and leaving trails of sticky jam around their mouths. There were no quarrels breaking out over Jimmy’s crusts. Jimmy never liked to eat the
crust of the bread, and the other two had vied for them, grabbing them from him, wrestling them away from the other.
Eeh, I shouted at them to give over, or I’d clip their ears!
‘WHERE ARE YOU NOW, ME LADS! WHERE ARE YOU!’ Her screams assaulted her ears, and water sprayed over her as she thrashed the surface of the beck in her anguish. ‘I WANT ME LADS. I
WANT ME LADS!’

‘Eeh, Ada. Ada, me lass.’

Arms that she knew held only kindness came around her. Through swollen eyes she looked into the gentle face of Joe. He – he’s gone, Joe. Jimmy: me lad. He’s gone,
Joe.’

Aw, lass, lass.’

Help me, Joe. Help me!’

‘Come on, let’s get out of the water.’

Her feet squelched in the mud and her soft shoes came off. Realizing this when they reached the bank, Joe waded back in and retrieved them. Here, Ada, love. I’ve a flask just up the bank.
I’d come down to do a spot of fishing. I allus bring a picnic with me when the weather’s nice. When I’m on late shift, that is. Come and sit down and have a sup. It’ll not
be hot, but warm and sweet, so it’ll help you.’