Christmas Past (16 page)

‘How do you know? Even Dr Sellers doesn’t know.’

Jack looked down at his daughter. ‘I have a feeling. Besides, there’s no point in looking on the black side.’

‘It’s all my fault. I’ve never set foot in church since the wedding, except for the christening. I should have gone.’

‘Don’t talk daft.’

‘It’s God’s way of punishing me.’

‘Then He’s a bloody cruel God, that’s all I can say, to punish an innocent child.’

Mary started to cry again. It wasn’t so much her failure to attend church which was preying on her conscience, as the sin she had committed with Tom the Christmas before he died. God had
given him the ultimate punishment; now she prayed it wasn’t to be her daughter who was to suffer, instead of her.

‘Don’t cry, Mary.’ Jack took her hand in his. ‘I understand how you feel, but you must keep up for our Jacqueline’s sake.’

She wanted to scream out that he didn’t understand, couldn’t, because he didn’t know, would never know, because to know would cause him sadness, and she would never knowingly
hurt this man, this husband, this father whom she loved so much. She prayed then, her head in her hands, that if the sin was to be paid for, she alone would pay the penalty. She prayed for
forgiveness and that her daughter would recover, but felt only a grain of comfort at the end of it.

‘Come on, love. I’ll mash a pot of tea, and then you get yourself off to bed. I promise I won’t take my eyes off her all night.’ He lifted the kettle off the fire and
emptied it into the teapot.

‘I’ll get your supper ready.’ Mary got up to go to the cellar head, but Jack sat her down again.

‘No, I’ll get yours,’ he said.

‘I don’t want any.’

‘No, neither do I.’ Jack sat beside her. She looked at his face, all white and drawn, and placed her hand in his. He searched her haunted face, then they came together, clutching at
each other, each intent on comforting the other, and finding solace in the closeness.

Jack murmured, ‘She’ll recover, love. She’s too precious to be taken from us.’ His voice broke over the words and they clung tearfully together, even closer in their
anxiety.

Jacqueline Mary Holmes did recover, but it was a harrowing several weeks before her parents ceased to worry. After that she went from strength to strength and by Easter she was
blooming like the daffodils in the front garden.

It was also Easter when Mary realised she was pregnant again. The realisation was met with mixed feelings, but after the initial shock they became resigned to the idea. Besides, they might as
well raise two as one, and it would be good for Jacqueline to have a sister or brother.

Jacqueline stood up in the cot. She could hear her father’s raised voice through the wall, and although she was too young to understand she didn’t like it and could
hear a pounding in her ears. Perhaps it was the sound of soldiers marching across the field. She had never seen any soldiers except for the set of lead ones in the toy cupboard at Grandma
Holmes’s house, but somehow she connected them with the thudding sound and the feeling of fear.

She felt hot and the throbbing increased. Perhaps the soldiers were in the garden, or even coming up the stairs. She screamed in desperation.

Mary ran into the room, taking up her daughter in her arms, relieved that her cries hadn’t disturbed her little brother, but then nothing seemed to disturb Alan, who at two and a half was
fair, placid and cuddly. In fact the exact opposite of Jacqueline, who although twelve months his senior tipped the scales at only a couple of pounds more. Jacqueline was a strange child and far
too old for her years. Despite their differences Jacqueline adored her baby brother, and he in his quiet manner idolised his sister. Mary loved her children dearly and equally but wished sometimes
that her daughter was easier to understand.

She rocked her gently in her arms, soothing away her fears, until the rapid beating of the child’s heart slowed to normal. Mary placed her back in the cot, taking her time, subconsciously
delaying her return to her husband. Why couldn’t he use a little restraint; try to understand? Didn’t he realise it was just as difficult for her to resist the closeness of his body?
After all, in a few more days she would be safe again, but no, instead of delaying their coming together he insisted on using one of those nasty contraceptives he had taken to buying since Alan was
born. In the stark light of day she knew Jack was only thinking of her, of them all as a family, wanting the best for them. It was only after their lovemaking was over and she was lying in the
darkness that the guilt descended on her, filling her with shame, and fear of what would happen to the children if she defied the teachings of the church. Since Jacqueline’s illness she had
looked upon that time as a punishment for her lapse, and had attended St Catherine’s regularly ever since.

Jack damned the church as he lay waiting for Mary to return to her place in the marriage bed, knowing there would be no lovemaking tonight. He failed to see what could possibly be sinful about
limiting one’s family. He supposed it was all a ploy to keep the Catholic congregation rising in number and he knew his wife had been brainwashed from an early age. Even so, he didn’t
trust the so-called safe time of the month and didn’t intend risking another child yet, much as he loved his children. At the same time he couldn’t understand how his wife could
possibly love him, and expect him to love her, to order. He turned over, pulled up the bedclothes and attempted to sleep, lying stiff and wide awake as Mary returned to the bed. He ignored her
proffered hand, knowing that if he turned to face her, pressed himself against the softness of her slim, youthful body, he would be unable to resist the feelings she would arouse in him, and he
couldn’t bear a further rejection.

Neither his body nor his pride could stand the strain.

Marjory Bacon counted the rent money and placed it inside the rent book, ready for collection first thing in the morning. Then she placed a few shillings in the savings tin in
the top shelf in the cupboard, and a pile of pennies in the window bottom to cover the gas meter. The doctor’s money had already been collected and she sighed contentedly. Bill had been
promoted to pit deputy with a substantial rise in wages, but her thrifty upbringing still meant she couldn’t rest until all the week’s payments had been accounted for.

Now she felt free to spend a little on new socks for Una and any small luxury available, such as biscuits or sweets. She liked Fridays; they meant she and Mary could get dolled up a bit and take
Jacqueline and Alan to the weekly market. It was the meeting place for all the young mothers to compare babies and pass on any morsel of local gossip. She would miss the weekly jaunts when she
began work the following Monday; she was to start in the canteen at the steel works, serving the dinners. It was an ideal job as she would be home before Una and it would relieve the feeling of
guilt she had been experiencing at not doing something useful with her life. She and Mary had become close friends, and it was nice to have her brother and his family for neighbours. Just lately,
though, she had begun to worry about Mary. She wasn’t the same happy-go-lucky girl she used to be, and Marjory had decided to question her, try to get her to confide in her. It was Bill who
had made her mind up, by mentioning a change in Jack too. Marjory wasn’t going to stand by and watch a perfect marriage fall apart, not if she could help it.

The kettle was singing on the gas ring. She warmed the pot and mashed a pot of tea just as Jacqueline pressed the brass sneck and opened the door.

‘Are you ready, Auntie Marjory?’ she called.

‘Nearly. We’ll have a cup of tea first, love.’

Jacqueline noticed the tray of newly baked biscuits. ‘I’m going to ask my mam to make some biscuits like yours,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said Marjory, trying not to smile. ‘Why, would you like one?’

‘Yes please, but will you tell my mam I didn’t ask? She says I haven’t got to ask.’

‘But you didn’t ask, did you?’

‘No, but will you tell my mam?’

‘OK. Is she nearly ready?’

‘She’s just changing our Alan’s cardy, then she’s coming.’

The squeaking of the pushchair along the flags heralded their arrival and Marjory poured the tea.

The pile of biscuits soon diminished in size and Marjory wondered how to get Mary on her own for a heart to heart. She knew Jacqueline never missed a thing and didn’t want her niece to
hear the conversation. ‘Do you want to feed the chickens while we finish our tea?’ she said, handing the little girl a newspaper containing some scraps. Jacqueline took the parcel
eagerly and made her way out through the front room to the garden beyond.

Each of the houses in Barker’s Row had a neatly kept garden, divided by pathways edged by brown glazed tiles. Along the bottom was an iron railing dividing the gardens from Barker’s
Fields. Across the meadow stood the farm, with one corner of the grass partitioned off for the chicken houses, the rest being pastureland for the large herd of cattle. Higher up the fields were
already sprouting oats, barley and root vegetables.

Jacqueline squeezed herself through the railings, not flinching at all when a number of cows, heavy with milk, ambled towards her. She trod carefully, avoiding the large sloppy cowpats, and made
her way to the chicken run. Farmer Barker had told her the names of all the clucking creatures and she lifted the latch of the wooden door in the netting and stepped inside. The birds, some
running, others flapping their large white wings in an attempt to fly, almost knocked her off her feet, pecking at her coat bottom and devouring the scraps before she could even let go of them.
Jacqueline chided the birds and laughed with glee.

‘Get away, Cissy, you silly old hen,’ she shouted, backing out of the coop and closing the door carefully behind her. She decided to gather a bunch of daisies for Auntie Marjory.

Taking advantage of Jacqueline’s absence, Marjory poured two more cups of tea and mentioned that Mary looked rather pale.

‘You are OK, aren’t you? I mean you’re not poorly or anything?’

Mary made an effort to smile. ‘Course I’m not ill. Why do you ask?’ She settled Alan more comfortably, sleeping soundly in his pushchair.

‘Well, I don’t know, you’ve been looking rather miserable lately and you used to be so cheerful. You know, Mary, if anything’s bothering you, I’d like to think
I’m a good enough friend for you to confide in, especially as your own sisters are so far away.’

Mary got up and carried the empty cups to the sink, placing them in the enamel bowl. She kept her back to Marjory, and suddenly her sister-in-law realised that her visitor was in tears. She
walked over and placed her hand tenderly on Mary’s arm, leading her back to her chair by the table.

‘Come on, love, let’s get it out in the open. There’s no good comes of bottling things up.’ It suddenly occurred to her what might be wrong. ‘You’re not
expecting again, are you?’

Mary was hardly able to speak for the choking tears. ‘Not much chance of that,’ she managed.

Marjory misunderstood. ‘But surely that’s not the trouble? You’re not trying for another baby, are you?’

‘No, it’s not that, it’s just that Jack doesn’t make love to me any more.’

‘What? Oh, come on, our Jack idolises you.’ Marjory stared at Mary in disbelief.

‘He did, but not any more. All he does is ignore me. He doesn’t even talk about it any more, and it’s been three months now.’

‘Well.’ Marjory looked perplexed. ‘Is he ill or what?’

Mary thought she might as well come out with it straight. ‘It’s all my fault. I won’t let him take precautions, so he doesn’t do anything.’

Marjory almost laughed. ‘Is that all?’

‘Isn’t it enough?’

‘But everyone uses something these days, unless they want a houseful of kids, and who can afford that?’ She suddenly tumbled to what the problem was. ‘Oh, I see. Of course,
you’re a Catholic’

‘And Jack isn’t,’ said Mary glumly.

‘So you’re going to ruin a perfectly good marriage for the sake of the Church. It’s our Jack who cares for you, not the bloody priest.’

‘Marjory!’ Mary sounded shocked.

‘Well, sorry about that, but I’m right, you know I am. Who was it went without sleep for weeks on end, caring for our Jacqueline when she was ill? Not the priest. Not once did he
come near, give you a bit of comfort or hope. In fact, the only Catholic to come and offer you any help at all was Theresa Murphy, and she’d be the last one to advise you to have a houseful
of kids. You didn’t see that family when they were all small, Mary, but I did. I remember when the walls in their house were down to the bare brick, and the only drinking utensils they owned
were jam jars.

‘Our Jack says your family didn’t have much back in Newcastle, but I’m telling you, Mary, the Murphys weren’t just poor, they were destitute. The old man out every day
looking for work – that was before the poor old soul had his heart attack, and then they had to go on relief, and that desperate woman had to trek a good eight miles to be means-tested. Many a
day the poor thing’s feet were so swollen she couldn’t get her shoes off when she got home, and it was only for half a crown.’

Mary looked subdued as Marjory continued. ‘I’m telling you, Mary, even though the family was starving the priest still called for the church collection every week, virtually taking
the food out of the kids’ mouths.’

Mary blinked hard and blew her nose loudly. ‘But Father Flynn wasn’t like that.’

‘Maybe not, but I’m telling you, you should think yourself fortunate our Jack has the common sense to want to use contraceptives.’

‘You don’t think our Jacqueline’s illness could have been a judgement then, for me not keeping up with the faith?’

‘Now that’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard. Do what you think is right, go to church if you like, but don’t for God’s sake let it ruin your love life and your
marriage, love.’

‘You don’t think it’s wrong then, using contraceptives?’

‘Well, Bill and me have been using them ever since our Una was born and nothing bad has befallen her.’