Lonely Teardrops (2008) (6 page)

‘What a family!’

It wasn’t really a laughing matter though. He’d been happily seeing himself as better than Harriet, a cut above, as it were, since he’d been born in wedlock. Now it seemed they were tarred by the same brush, both by-blows of somebody or other in this farce of a marriage. All that mocking he’d done, calling Harriet a bastard, and now he’d discovered he was one himself, although he had still been born in wedlock, so maybe he wasn’t.

Grant glowered, his agile brain clicking over like tumblers unlocking a door. It might be worth finding out who his father really was though. If he’d been a married man, which was likely since the pair of them had obviously been unable to marry, the chap might be none too pleased to find a forgotten son emerging out of the woodwork. And he might well be willing to pay to keep his mouth shut on the matter. Grant made a mental note to try to find out the names of some of his mother’s war-time friends from Nan. Rose would be bound to know. But he’d do it without arousing suspicion if he could, at least until he knew a bit more. Such information could prove to be very useful. Money, after all, was far more important than whose blood ran in your veins.

What this revelation also meant, of course, was that he and Harriet were not related at all. They didn’t share a single parent so she wasn’t even his half-sister. Funny that. He’d always rather fancied her in an odd sort of way. Grant had little time for taboos but he supposed he could savour that feeling to the full now. It would be all the more fascinating because Harriet wouldn’t know anything of what he’d just learned. She would continue to think they were related, which would be all the more fun for him.

He chuckled softly at the thought.

Neither were his mother and grandmother aware that he’d overheard their conversation. So really he was free to do as he pleased with this fascinating piece of information, and perhaps use it one day to his advantage, if only with this so-called half-sister of his.

Chapter Five

Harriet couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the poor girl who’d given birth to her. How old had she been? What on earth did it feel like to find yourself pregnant and with no chance of putting things right by marrying the man responsible? She shivered at the thought. Even more dreadful was to die like that under a pile of rubble, or burned to death in the fire that always followed such bombing raids.

And what amazing luck that she herself had survived. Where had they found her, that little baby? Harriet wondered. How come she too hadn’t been killed by the bomb? Didn’t people usually hide under the stairs during an air raid, or in an Anderson shelter in the back yard? Maybe she’d been flung clear by the blast. Harriet decided she must ask Nan for more details, just as soon as she felt strong enough to cope with the answers.

Once her afternoon shift at the salon was over Harriet had walked down to her favourite place by the river, this time quite alone, needing time to think. She was still struggling to come to terms with all that had happened to her, and somehow, knowing that her friend Patsy was about to get married on Saturday seemed to emphasise the precariousness of her own situation. Patsy had found a place for herself at last, a man to love, a family to belong to, something Harriet had always taken for granted. Now she couldn’t, not any longer.

Harriet thought about her mother, her
real
mother, and wondered what she’d been like, wishing she had a picture of her. Had she been a strawberry blonde with the same stormy grey eyes as her own? No, she got those from her dad. Had she too been afraid of spiders, hated rhubarb and loved to walk by the river so she could smell the new grass and pretend she was in the country?

Had she intended to keep this unexpected baby, dreamed of a good future for the two of them before she died in that terrible bomb raid? Or was the poor girl upset at finding herself in such a predicament and at a loss to know how to cope?
 

And what about her own future? Would Joyce even want her around now? Did
she
herself wish to stay?

Harriet glanced about her, at the rickety old footbridge that straddled the lock, the cracked paving stones beneath her feet that looked like a map of the world, and began, very softly, to weep. A part of her wanted to run away from this miserable situation and escape into a different world, to a place where no one knew her, where she could start afresh as someone new.

Yet the thought of leaving home, leaving Champion Street and all her friends, filled her with fear. She loved the market and the people who worked on it. Most of all she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her nan. Harriet loved that old woman, and, whether they were blood related or not, would always think of Rose as her grandmother.

Something rustled in the undergrowth and Harriet jerked round in her seat, dashing the tears from her eyes as she listened for the sound of a footfall. Was this Steve coming to look for her? She could do with a comforting hug right now. ‘Hello, is there anyone there?’

When no answer came she sank back into her gloom, her face cupped in her hands, her thoughts and grief utterly consuming.

She’d tried all her life to be a good daughter. She’d always done what she could to help in a practical way, for Nan’s sake, if nothing else. She put a good meal on the table each night, kept the small flat clean while Joyce worked in the salon below, and Rose helped with the washing and ironing.

They both saw this as their contribution, their share of the chores, which was fair enough. Harriet had sometimes felt as if she did more than her fair share, often being required to work in the salon in between attending the dreaded shorthand and typing course. She would have liked to see her brother making an offer to do the dishes once in a while, but mentioning this complaint to Joyce brought no response at all. Favourite sons, apparently, were spared such mundane tasks.

She’d tried to be loving and affectionate, although having been ignored or pushed away so often Harriet had largely given up the effort where her mother – stepmother - was concerned. She’d grown used to coping with Joyce’s ill temper, to her sharp tongue and the way she veered from total indifference to bitter criticism.

But as long as she’d still had Dad, Harriet had learned not to let her mother’s coldness bother her too much. Now this behaviour had taken on a whole new significance.

As the sun dropped lower in the sky she plucked a few daisies and began to thread them into a chain. Dad used to make daisy chains for her when she’d pushed him out in his wheelchair. He had indeed called her his little princess, worthy of a crown, even if it was only made of daisies. Oh, how she missed him.
 

And this poor girl, her
mother
, must’ve loved him too, or why would they have stayed in touch, as they surely must have done throughout her pregnancy? He must have cared for the girl or else he wouldn’t have insisted that Joyce adopt the child, despite the difficult circumstances.
 

Harriet chewed on a piece of grass and thought about this for a while.
 

Could anyone have coped any better than Joyce had? Could she accept a child in similar circumstances, if it were Steve’s, for instance? Harriet shuddered even at the thought of Steve being with another girl, let alone getting her pregnant and producing a child. Was it any wonder if Joyce had been cold and lacking in affection towards Harriet throughout her childhood? Maybe it was time to stop blaming her adopted mother for being all frozen and bitter, now that she understood the reason. Maybe they could at last be friends.

But Harriet knew in her heart that it was far too late for them ever to be close. Joyce would never love her, however much Harriet might long for her to do so. Life had changed. Stan was dead, and Nan had finally revealed some uncomfortable facts about her birth. Nothing would ever be the same again.
 

Oh, but she loved her nan. She loved Steve. She loved Champion Street Market. So the most important question was, could they all make a fresh start and be a family again, despite everything? Somehow, Harriet very much doubted it.

Again there came the sound of rustling in the hedgerow and Harriet abruptly sat up, staring around with wide eyes, quite certain that she really had heard something this time. She really should be getting home, making a start on the evening meal and her chores. This wasn’t deep in the country, even though she liked to think it was. It was a pretty rough area, right in the heart of the city. There might be rats, the two legged kind as well as those that scurried about in dank riverbanks.

Harriet suddenly realised that it must be quite late as the sun was setting, slipping down below the horizon, looking very like the ball of fire that must have destroyed her mother. Hooking her red-gold hair behind her ears she was about to get up and head for home when she heard a snort of laughter, and then a loud thump as a male figure dropped on to the path ahead of her.

‘Grant, what on earth . . . You scared the life out of me, for goodness sake. Have you been following me?’

Her half-brother snorted with laughter, as he always did when he’d taken her by surprise or played some nasty joke on her. ‘I’ve come to walk you home, since your weedy boy friend doesn’t seem to be around.’ He put a hand on her arm and Harriet shook it off.

‘I can walk myself home, ta very much.’

‘No need,’ he said, taking her arm again and tucking it firmly into his. ‘You’ll never be alone while I’m around.’

Harriet pulled away, angry now. ‘Keep your hands off me. I want to be alone, right? And I certainly don’t need your help. Anyway, I thought you wanted rid of me.’

Grant chuckled softly, but it wasn’t a comforting sound. ‘Maybe I’m changing my mind. Maybe you and I might find we have more in common than we might think. Like I say, there’s nothing for you now from the Ashton family, except what I’d be prepared to allow you. You no longer belong.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Stan is still my dad.’

‘Unfortunately your beloved father is dead and gone, so can do little to help. Mam is hardly likely to be on your side and Nan’s getting on, just an old lady who probably hasn’t got long for this world. So your only option is to be
very
nice to me in future, if you don’t want to find yourself cast out and penniless.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Harriet snapped, and marched off ahead of him on the path.

Grant wouldn’t allow her to escape. Having trailed after her all the way home he was still being a pest when supper was over, still wearing that strange smirking smile. Harriet ignored him and got on with the washing up. But once again he took up his favourite position, leaning against the doorjamb to watch her work.

‘I should’ve guessed all along that you were a cuckoo in the nest. You’re not a bit like Mam and me.’

‘Praise the Lord for that,’ Harriet smartly responded. ‘I take after Dad. I’ve got his grey eyes, and the red-blond hair he had before it turned grey. As a matter of fact, I’d like to think that I take after him in other ways too: his gentleness and courage, his determination not to let things get him down, even when he was in pain. His sense of fun.’

‘You’ve got his bloody-mindedness, I’ll give you that.’

Harriet lifted her chin. ‘I hope so. You’re such an evil little toad, Grant. You’re one on your own.’

‘You say the sweetest things, sister dear. Oops, I keep forgetting, you’re only my half-sister, aren’t you? Poor little bastard!’

‘I assume it gives you a kick to keep saying that.’

He grinned at her. ‘Oh, it does, it does indeed.’

Grant came closer to station himself right beside her, his breath fanning her face so that she could smell the beer he’d recently consumed in the Dog and Duck. Harriet edged away and set the tap running to fill the sink with hot soapy water.

‘It’s nowt, is it, half-brother? Hardly any relation at all.’
 

Harriet rewarded him with a scathing glance. ‘It certainly explains a lot.’
 

His mean little mouth twisted into a mocking smile then he ran the back of one finger down her cheek. ‘No wonder I’ve always felt this magnetic attraction towards you, even though I loathe the sight of you.’

She slapped his hand away, sending soap suds flying. ‘Magnetic attraction? What rubbish are you talking now?’

‘I’ve allus felt it, and I know you have, that’s why we argue all the time. You simply can’t resist me. Admit it, it’s compulsive, this love-hate thing we have going between us.’

‘Love-hate?’ A shudder rippled down her spine as Harriet snorted her derision. ‘Get out of my way.’ Plunging the dirty dishes in the hot soapy water she turned her back on him, then felt the heat of his bulky body press hard against her, trapping her against the sink.

‘Aw, come on, admit it. You like me really, half-brother or not. You find me utterly fascinating.’

Harriet was struggling to free herself, feeling completely powerless as she used the only means available to fight him with, slapping hot soap suds in his laughing face. ‘Utterly revolting, you mean.’

‘Of course, and totally compelling. We’re chalk and cheese, oil and water, Beauty and the Beast, you and me. But you can’t resist my fatal charm.’

Finally, she slapped him in the face with the hot dish cloth and he quickly backed off, rubbing his face dry on the roller towel as he tried to regain his dignity.