Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (149 page)

Mirren would stick with Jack, like it or not. Lately she was so unreliable in the mornings he'd begun to think she was sickening for something.
Mirren–all he ever thought about was her when it should be Lorna on his mind.

They walked up the high road through the village, dawdling and chatting while he plucked up the courage to make a move. He could see her eager, her eyes sparkling with expectation. Be a man and get it over with, he thought as he reached for the gate to open it but a shout from the post office house stopped him in his tracks.

‘Ben? Is that you? You've saved me a right hike. 'A've just had Sowerby missus on the phone. She's stuck in Scarperton, daft bugger missed the last train. She asked me to say she'll not be fit in the morning. Poor lass, and her having to go all that way to visit Jack. She didn't want you to be worried.'

‘Thanks, Harold.' Ben waved his hand at the postmaster. ‘I'll have to go, Lorna. You heard the gist of it. I can't have her walking in the dark. There's tramps and deserters on the run. Daft happorth, visiting finished hours ago. What's she been up to? You women and the pictures…all that romancing…'

‘Well, we don't get much in these parts, Reuben Yewell,' she snapped at him.

‘What's that supposed to mean? I took you out,' he said, puzzled.

‘I might as well have gone myself, the interest you took. You were asleep in five minutes.'

‘I was up at the crack of dawn,' he offered, knowing it was true.

‘Did madam not surface again? They say she's a right lady of leisure, swanning round Scarperton, twice a week. I thought you farmers were having a rough time? She's been seen going in the Golden Lion of a night, and on market day,' Lorna added.

‘Don't be daft. Mirren's teetotal and always has been,' he snapped back.

‘That's not what I heard,' she sneered. ‘Bold as brass through the front door.'

‘I thought she was your friend,' he said, feeling his pulse racing at this news. ‘After what she's been through, I'd not begrudge her a port and lemon or two…Who's been spreading this nonsense?'

‘No one you know, but it's true so you'd better get off and rescue the damsel in distress before she wears out her precious shoe leather.'

This was a side to Lorna he didn't like. ‘You can come with me if you like,' he offered.

‘What, and play gooseberry? I'm not blind. Everyone knows you slaver over her like a puppy. I'm not playing second fiddle to her tune. Go on, beat it!'

‘Oh, Lorna,' Ben stuttered, not knowing what to say. ‘I'm sorry if I've spoilt your evening. I'll make it up to you.'

‘No you won't. I'm sick of excuses, excuses. If it's not the farm, it's that ruin you're restoring.'

‘Who told you about that?'

‘Does it matter? Everyone knows everyone else's business in Windebank. I'm sorry about what happened to Jack and Mirren, we all are, but it's about time they pulled themselves together and didn't expect you to pick up the crumbs under their table,' she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

‘If that's how you feel…' Ben sighed, suddenly bone weary.

‘Yes it is, and the sad thing is you've never noticed how I felt before and never will while yon girl from World's End is on the loose. Watch it, Ben, you may get more than you bargain for meddling with those two. Oil and water don't mix, or should I say, whisky and wine,' she said, and with that warning she swung through the gate, put her key into the front door and slammed it behind her.

Ben drove the truck slowly with the pinwheel headlights on, peering into the darkness, trying to spot a glimpse of Mirren on the road. Surely she was not trying to thumb a lift on the main road? How could she think of such a thing unless she was not right in the head? Surely not?

He spotted her three miles out of Scarperton, barefoot, carrying her shoes and basket as if she was off to market, her headscarf was round her head with her hat plonked on top.

‘Get in!' he shouted, leaning across the seat. ‘What the hell are you doing at this time of night? Do you want to get run over?'

‘I'm fine,' she smiled. ‘The fresh air has done me good. I went to the pictures and fell asleep through the second house.' She smiled sweetly, looking at the road ahead, not at him and he knew she lied.

‘What did you see?' he snapped, knowing it would be
Brief Encounter
on at the Plaza too.

‘Oh, I don't know, some cowboy so boring I dozed off. The usherette woke me up. It's been a long day,' she sighed.

‘Don't tell me lies. You've been in the pub, drinking.'

‘Why, Ben, what a cruel thing to say. You know I don't drink. I'd never go in one of those places,' she replied without a shake in her voice.

‘So how come you've been seen going in the Golden Lion, regular as clockwork?' His voice was cracked with fury.

‘I just popped in to sell them some eggs, didn't I tell you? I've got quite a little round going.' She had an excuse for everything.

‘Oh, you've had a round or two, I can smell it on your breath. I didn't come up the Wharfe on a biscuit tin. You stink of smoke and there's whisky on your breath, not just on your clothes.'

‘I had just the one to tide me over. Jack's visits
are such a strain and I was frozen. It seemed like a good idea. No harm done…' Her excuses drained away.

‘Pull the other one, Mirren. I wasn't born yesterday, you must be tipsy to be taking a risk like this,' he said. His hands were gripping the wheel. He wanted to shake her.

‘Oh, shut up! Don't be so po-faced. You sound like my Sunday school teacher. Did little Miss Lorna give you the push? Have I spoiled your evening?'

‘Mirren, this isn't you talking. If you're in trouble you only have to talk to me about it, not bottle things up and drink it. Nothing good comes out of those sort of bottles. How many times've you told me? It's a mug's game,' he pleaded.

‘Oh, but it does, you're wrong. It's only medicine. It calms me down and gets me to sleep and makes me forget. There's no harm in a nip or two and I'm not bothering anyone else,' she said with her arms folded in defiance or defence–he wasn't sure which.

‘But you bother me, wasting petrol coming to find you. Don't you think I'd rather be doing something else than ferreting around looking for you?'

‘I didn't ask you to come. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Is that enough? Now shut up and let me sleep.'

What else could he say? Lorna was right. The gossip was true. He was too stunned by her casualness, her lies to argue. She was drunk
enough to be beyond reach and soon she was snoring away, flopping her head on the side window all the way home.

Ben drew up in the yard, lifted her out of the truck and carried her upstairs. No one was up. He took off her stockings, loosened her jacket and blouse. She looked so peaceful, lying there. He felt such a desire rise up but he daren't do anything. How he longed to hold her close and take this terrible pain away from her, the pain she was trying to blot out. If she had his love wrapped around her, there would be no need for whisky or booze. They would fight the demons together.

Mirren woke with a fuzzy head and a tongue like cork matting. The room spun around her and she lifted herself slowly. How had she got back home? Her clothes were crumpled up, her stockings were in tatters on the chair. She could recall going into the pub and chatting to Monica, the barmaid. Then they were chucked out at closing time and the station was shuttered. How had she managed to get back here?

There was the long black road, headlamps, a stretch of stars torching her path. It was like a jigsaw all broken up with a few corners filled in. There was an argument and a man's voice…

Her watch said ten o'clock in the morning. Hellfire, she'd missed morning milking again and
it was Sunday. There'd be ructions. Time to pull off her suit and girdle, throw on her farm stuff. Aiming for the door, she banged her shins. Blood and sand! I'm in for it, she thought.

She crept down the grand stairs slowly, not wanting to trip. Florrie was bustling about singing hymn tunes in her best frock. Since Sylvia died she'd taken to chapel big time and would be off to the service.

‘You're up then? Ben said you were unwell and he had to fetch you…a bit of a tummy upset, was it? How's Jack?' No further questions so all was well there then.

‘He's fine. The treatment is making him remember stuff,' she smiled. Jack was slowly coming round–well, a version of Jack, not the one she used to know; a bit like herself. She was forgetting the Mirren she used to be. ‘It was just a gippy tummy but I'm fine now. I'd better get cracking. I owe Ben a favour. Is he doing his rounds?'

‘No, he's up the tops, as usual. I'm glad you're feeling better. He said you were right poorly in the night. Would you like to go to chapel?'

Mirren shook her head and patted her stomach. ‘No, I daren't risk it,' she lied. All she could think about was making sure Ben hadn't spilled the beans. She must apologise to him and put things right, but first there was another thing she must do.

She crept back up the dark oak staircase to her room and rummaged in her basket, just in case he'd spotted her medicine. There was nothing there and she felt panic rising. She rifled through her wardrobe and the drawer of empties, then her knicker drawer–all her private places–but there was nothing and she began to shake.

Then she remembered the last resort, the tin box under her bed. Opening the tin she grabbed the spare bottle but not before she saw Sylvia's face in that photograph looking up, scowling, the last one they ever had, and she slammed down the lid, swallowing her whisky quickly. This was going to have to last.

It was time to get out into the field and find Ben. There must be no tales told out of school. As she trudged up the track, there was no sign of him walling, just Dieter who was waving frantically and running over, but she dodged him and took a short cut over a stone stile. Onwards and upwards to the high fells where the air would clear her head, fresh and cool. The loose limestone scree slowed her down. It was a long time since she'd visited World's End–not since VE Day. For a while it had been her refuge but lately it was too much bother. Let it go to rack and ruin, she didn't care. All the days were the same, grey, flat and empty, since Sylvia left them.

At least in Scarperton she could meet new
people and be one of a crowd who laughed and worked in the mills and shops, clocking on and off, not like farmers who never got a chance to clock off.

Perhaps when Jack came out they would have a change of sky, as Granny Simms used to say. Funny how she could hardly recall any of that time, as if there was a wall between her and her childhood with no door in it.

She panted up the hill, unused to its steepness, and then stopped in shock at the sight before her, not sure if she had come to the right place.

The ruin was no more, but in its place was a fine cottage with a roof, new windows, signs of building rubble and activity. Someone had been hard at work rebuilding World's End and they were making a fine job of it too. She walked around, stunned at the detail and effort into the little place that had saved her life so many years before.

She could hardly bear to look. No one had said anything about it being renovated but it was months since she'd bothered to come. Funny how she'd always thought of it as her World's End, but the land probably belonged to Lord Benton. The Yewells must only rent it and now it was taken back.

She trekked back down the hill disconsolate, her insides churning like a butter tub. Who would go to all the trouble? She spotted Dieter in his
battledress with the yellow circle at his back. He was waiting for her, cap in hand.

‘Who is building up there?' she said in schoolgirl German. He smiled at her effort and answered in good English. ‘I help Herr Ben for his sweetheart, I think.' He patted his chest. ‘He make new home, I think, but it is top secret, I think.'

Mirren took in his information in one gulp. How dare he? How dare Ben go behind her back and take her dream and make it his own? Behind her back take Miss Goody Two-Shoes Dinsdale and live up there all cosy and lovey-dovey. It was not his World's End, it was hers!

She was so angry she forgot her mission to find him. If she saw him she would have screamed at him. Best to avoid him, the serpent, getting wed and not telling her. How could he steal her dream? The tears dripped down her cheeks but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she knew his little secret. All she needed was a drink. She raced back to Cragside and hid in her bedroom all afternoon, burying her head in the pillow, sick at heart. World's End had been her secret refuge and now it was gone.

‘Jack's coming home for the weekend. We've had a telegram,' yelled Florrie from the foot of the stairs, rushing round giving everyone the good news. They were busy getting the beef stock ready
for the Christmas fat stock show. It was all hands to the pump in the rush to make them secure in the cattle truck.

Ben watched Mirren's face drop at the news. ‘It's too soon, surely. Who said he could come out?'

‘The Polish chap, the nice doctor with the beard. I heard he was rescued from one of them concentration camps, poor devil. There's a few of them round Leeds doing a good job, if our Jack's anything to go by. Dr Murray says if he settles he'll come out for Christmas too,' Florrie beamed. ‘It's an answer to prayer.'

Mirren shook her head. ‘You and Tom'll have to go and fetch him then. We're too busy with all this palaver, aren't we, Ben?' She looked him straight in the eye for the first time in weeks. He'd begun to think she was avoiding him and he put it down to her shame at being caught drunk. They'd not talked since, but she was careful to show him how sober she was and she was back on form for the cattle show, which was a relief.