Eve and Her Sisters (5 page)

‘Just a cup of tea please.’ Phoebe slid down in the bed a little and shut her eyes. ‘Mam will be coming later before Nell and Mary leave for school. She’ll see to me.’

After seeing the midwife out, Eve put the kettle on the hob and then walked into the yard where the pink light of dawn was streaking the sky. The air was cooler than in the house although the smell from the privies in the lane was strong. Again she thought of the Cunninghams and their world, a world devoid of the odours associated with human beings being crammed in together like sardines in a can. Everyone should be able to live like the vicar and his wife.

A blackbird’s song pierced the early morning and a moment later she heard Josiah come downstairs. Turning quickly she went back into the house to make the tea, thinking as she did so, I must ask Mary if she’s feeling well this morning, she looked peaky last night.

As it turned out, the morning proved so hectic before she left for work, it went right out of her head.

 

Nell cast a sidelong glance at Mary as they left the yard to walk to school. The dust was thick in the lane and she kicked at it with the toe of her boot as she said, ‘What’s up with you? You’re quiet this morning. Don’t you like the new babbie?’

Mary shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘It’s all right I suppose.’

‘Worried it’ll push your nose out of joint with Mr Finnigan?’

‘No, he don’t even like babies. He told me so.’

‘Huh.’ Nell’s jealousy was to the fore this morning. She knew Mary had a shiny sixpence in her pocket that Mr Finnigan had given her because it had fallen out on the floor the night before when Mary had flung her frock down as she’d got ready for bed.

‘It’s true. He said you just shove milk in one end and it comes out of the other and that’s all there is to babies.’

‘What’s the matter then?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Nothing? Come off it, you’re in a mood about something.’

‘I’m not.’

Just the fact her sister had spoken quietly rather than snapping at her to mind her own business told Nell that Mary wasn’t herself. As they came to the end of the lane and passed the Methodist chapel, her voice gentled as she said, ‘You got belly ache or something?’

‘A bit.’

‘You should have said before we left. They’d have let you stay off school for a day.’

‘I don’t want to stay off school.’

‘Well, if you’ve got the belly ache—’

‘
I said I’d got it a bit, all right?
’ Then, as if realising her voice had been sharp, Mary added,‘You can come with me to the shop on the way home and get some sweets.’

‘With the sixpence Mr Finnigan gave you?’

Mary nodded.

‘He never gives me anything.’

‘I’ve told you I’ll share an’ I will if you say nowt.’

‘Why aren’t you supposed to say anything to anyone when he gives you money? I don’t see why it has to be a secret.’

Again Mary shrugged. Her voice low and without looking at her sister, she said, ‘You promised, Nellie.’

‘Aye, I know, but Eve’s different, isn’t she? It’s not like letting on to Phoebe.’

‘No one, Nellie.’They were approaching the school gates now and Mary sprinted forward.‘There’s Hannah. I’ll see you later at home time and we’ll go to the shop.’

Later, once the register had been taken and the class were settled writing a story about an adventure they would like to have, Mary sat chewing on the end of her pencil. She shouldn’t have told Nell about the sixpence being from Mr Finnigan but once she’d seen it, what else could she have done? But Nellie wouldn’t let on, not if she knew she was going to get some sweets. She stared at the couple of lines she had written but her mind was a million miles away from what she was supposed to be doing.

She raised her head, glancing round at the rows of wooden desks and Mrs Price dressed all in black at the front of the class.The room was already warm and muggy and as her gaze went to the window she wished she was outside.

She hadn’t liked what Mr Finnigan had done to her last night. It hadn’t been like the kissing and cuddling or when he stroked her arms and belly when she sat on his lap and he moved her up and down over the hard thing in his trousers. Last night he had hurt her when he’d put his hand inside her knickers and pushed his finger into her private place. She liked being his special girl, she did, but this new thing had frightened her and last night she had been too sore to pee before she went to bed. She was still sore.

Tears smarted and she blinked them away. She wriggled slightly on the hard wooden seat, trying to get comfortable, but the ache between her legs was still there.

Why hadn’t Mr Finnigan stopped when she had wanted him to? But he had said she would like it. She hadn’t liked it, it had been horrible, and she had been glad when Eve and Nell had come and he’d had to stop. But he
had
given her a whole sixpence.

Her small fingers closed over the coin in her pocket and she felt the thrill of her wealth again. And he had promised to buy her an even nicer hair ribbon than Hannah’s when it was her birthday in a few weeks’ time. She cast a sidelong glance at her friend. Hannah’s new red ribbon had been a bone of contention for days. And it was true what she’d said to Nell, Mr Finnigan didn’t like babies and with the new bairn being another little lad she would still be his special girl.

‘Mary Baxter?’

She became aware Mrs Price was frowning at her and quickly bent her head to her work. Mrs Price wasn’t as nice as she had been before her husband was killed at the pit. These days she was moany and her face was all tight and not a bit pretty. Mr Finnigan said
she
was pretty, bonny he called her. Like the fairy queen in that fairytale he’d told them the other night.

The thought went some way to mollifying the aggrievement she’d felt after the fright of the night before, and with Mrs Price’s eyes still on her she gave all her attention to the story and began to write.

 

The summer was a hot one relieved only by the odd shower or two which had barely dampened the thirsty ground. The water cart had been out often spraying the dusty dry roads. But now it was the last week of September. The fields of corn that Eve had passed on her way to work now lay fallow, and the mornings had become fresh with mists that hinted of chilliness. The field behind the Cunninghams’ property saw flocks of swallows gathering to migrate, their screaming cries becoming more urgent as the month progressed, and the garden was full of bumble-bees and butterflies making the most of the gentle sunshine of late summer.

The vicarage’s apple and plum trees at the end of the garden were weighed down with fruit and the day before, the gardener had propped his ladder against the gnarled trunks and worked most of the day filling basket after basket with blushing apples and Victoria plums.To Eve’s delight Mrs Cunningham had given her two baskets to take home that morning, on top of which she’d told her she could leave at midday rather than two o’clock as was usual on her half-day due to the fact the vicar and herself were going out to lunch after church.

As she walked home Eve found herself smiling in anticipation of the pleasure the windfall of fruit would give to the household. There hadn’t been too much to smile about lately. The new baby had proved to be a fretful child who cried most of the night and Phoebe was exhausted and tearful. The twins were with Phoebe’s mother more than they were at home, often staying overnight, and she knew for a fact that Josiah and Phoebe quarrelled once they were alone at night. She could hear them through the wall as she lay beside Nell and Mary trying to sleep. Mary . . .

She stopped for a moment, putting the heavy baskets down at her feet and flexing her fingers. She was approaching the grid of terraced streets of the town now; the nice part of the walk - as she always termed the distance from the vicarage to this point - was over. She stood gazing down the main street from which the terraces branched off on either side but she wasn’t really seeing the town, her mind was occupied with Mary. She’d been worried about her sister for weeks but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Certainly Mary was a bit up and down lately and moody with it, but then the child had always been something of an attention-seeker and with her blonde curls and big blue eyes people tended to indulge her. If she had asked Mary once over the last weeks if she was all right, she’d asked her a hundred times, and always the answer was the same. She was fine. Nell had assured her there was no trouble at school and Phoebe said Mary always did her share in the house without being prompted, but still . . .

Eve picked up the baskets and walked on. In spite of the September day having a definite nip to it she could feel the perspiration on her brow and her arms felt as if they had been stretched another six inches by the time she reached the back lane. She would be glad to get home.

The kitchen was empty; clearly the others weren’t back from chapel yet. A new parson had started at the chapel recently after the old minister had retired and gone to live with his sister down south, and although he was nice enough, his sermons were twice as long as old Parson Riley’s. Eve placed the baskets in a corner of the room and sank down on to a chair, only to rise again in the next moment. She’d brush her hair and change into her Sunday frock before everyone came back; she would be ready to help with the dinner then. Phoebe’s mother had hurt her back at the end of last week and couldn’t have the twins which meant everything was noise and activity once the lively two-year-olds were home.

She walked into the hall and reached the foot of the stairs before a sound above her alerted her to the fact she was not alone. She could never explain afterwards why she didn’t call out and ask who was there; maybe in the back of her mind she imagined Phoebe might have stayed at home with little Josiah to try and get some sleep, but if so it was not a conscious thought. Whatever, she climbed the stairs soundlessly and when she reached the small landing the sound came again, a kind of grunt followed by Josiah’s voice saying, ‘That’s it, that’s it, keep going, lass.’

She might still have gone into the bedroom she shared with her sisters and the twins and begun to change, but for Mary’s voice, small and flat, reaching her. ‘My hand’s aching.’

The door to Josiah and Phoebe’s room was open a crack and she crossed the landing, her heart beginning to thump. She pushed it wide open. Josiah was sitting on the edge of the bed, his trousers unbuttoned, with Mary standing between his legs. Eve looked at the thing in Mary’s hand; it seemed to have a life of its own because even as her sister saw her and sprang back from Josiah, it continued to twitch and move.

‘No!’ She didn’t recognise the cry as coming from herself. Her fingers reached for the thick jug standing in a bowl on top of the small table by the door, and she threw it as hard as she could. Josiah was fumbling with his clothing and didn’t see it coming. It hit the side of his head, sending him sprawling on to the floor where the water it had contained mingled with the blood pouring from the wound to his scalp.

Mary was screaming but as Josiah rolled over and then sat up, Eve didn’t wait to see what he would do. Grabbing her sister’s hand she pulled her out of the room and down the stairs. In the kitchen she had to shake Mary hard to stop her screaming and then the child burst into noisy sobs just as Phoebe and Nell and the twins walked in.

‘What on earth . . .’ Nell was open-mouthed. ‘What’s happened? I thought Mary stayed at home because she had a headache.’

Phoebe’s face, too, was a study in surprise, but before Eve could answer she heard Josiah pounding down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen holding a thick wad of blood-soaked towelling to the side of his head, and immediately Eve sensed he was going to try and brazen it out. The gasps of shock from Phoebe and Nell and cries of fright from the twins at the sight of their father’s blood-splattered clothes came in unison with Josiah shouting, ‘Aye, you might well look like that. See what that little scut has done to me? She tried to brain me’ - he pointed at Eve - ‘and all because I found the other one pilfering when I nipped back from church to make sure she was all right. At our chest of drawers in the bedroom she was, bold as brass.’ ‘You liar.’ Eve could hardly believe her ears. ‘You were . . . I found you . . .’ Her horror and disgust worked against her, the enormity of what she’d seen tied her tongue.

Josiah was quick to press his advantage. ‘That’s right, think up some story or other, but the truth of it is I caught her red-handed and you know it. I’d got hold of her and she was yelling her head off and the next thing I know Eve’s joining in.’ He was speaking to Phoebe now, who had the baby in her arms and the twins pressed into her skirts, wailing. ‘Hit me with the water jug and damn near did for me an’ all. Look.’ He moved the towel to expose a deep cut at the side of his head which immediately oozed blood.

‘I wish I had done for you.’ Eve found her tongue, her voice harsh. ‘You’re filthy, filthy. He was making Mary . . .’ She didn’t know how to explain it, couldn’t find the words to describe what she’d seen. She had always known that lads were different to lassies, of course, and she had seen the twins’ naked bodies and little Josiah’s too, but never a full-grown man’s genitalia. Her father and her brothers had been private in their habits. She knew her mother had often washed the backs of the menfolk when they’d had their wash-downs in the old tin bath in front of the range, but she and her sisters had not been allowed in the kitchen until the menfolk were clothed again. And from the time her mother had died she had prepared the bath and then left the kitchen until she was called once they were dressed.That this thing males had between their legs could assume such a monstrous size was outside her comprehension. ‘He was making Mary do something to him,’ she finished thickly. ‘Wasn’t he?’ She turned to her sister, holding her arms as she looked down into Mary’s white face. ‘Tell them, lass. Tell them what he was making you do.’