Reach for Tomorrow (50 page)
Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring at Flora and Davey, and then Davey said again, ‘Rosie, lass. Are you all right? Where is he?’
Davey had been gripped by a terrible fear for Erik as they had walked round the corner of the passageway and seen her standing there, her head bent and her face as white as a sheet. In all the years he had known Rosie, even in the caustic aftermath of Zachariah’s death, he had never seen her shoulders bowed in defeat or such an expression of agony on her face, and now the unexpected defencelessness made him want to gather her up in his arms and smother her face with kisses.
‘He . . . he’s in there.’ Rosie managed to lift her hand to the ward but she didn’t take her eyes off Davey’s face. In this moment of consuming need he was the person in all the world she most wanted with her, and for a moment she was quite oblivious to Flora’s presence. ‘He’s so small and so poorly.’
‘I know, I know.’ And now Davey followed through on his initial impulse to take Rosie into his arms; he gently drew her close, bending his head and murmuring soothing words of comfort into the fine silk of her hair as he endeavoured to comfort the woman he loved.
They could only have stood together like that for a moment or two and then Rosie straightened and drew away, and Davey made no effort to restrain her. ‘How . . . Who told you I was here?’ Rosie was talking directly to Flora now and she took her friend’s hands adding, ‘Oh, I’m so pleased to see you, you don’t know how pleased.’
‘We called at the house this afternoon with Erik’s Christmas present, didn’t your mother tell you?’
Flora’s voice held nothing but gentle concern, and when Rosie shook her head saying, ‘She’s in such a state herself she doesn’t know if she’s on foot or horseback,’ and Davey’s voice came brisk and even as he nodded and said, ‘That’s understandable of course, she is Erik’s grandma when all’s said and done,’ Flora didn’t look at her fiancé but kept her eyes on Rosie.
And in the few minutes that followed before Rosie went back to Erik - visiting time had finished so Flora and Davey weren’t allowed in the ward - Flora didn’t once glance Davey’s way.
Erik remained in the Sunderland Infirmary for four more days before the doctors were satisfied Rosie could take him home. The enforced rest meant he seemed to have twice his normal energy in the days that followed, and he ran Rosie ragged, but she was so thrilled he had fully recovered she didn’t even notice. He was very proud of his ‘war wound’ as Joseph had christened the scar on the child’s forehead, and when Jessie’s husband bought Erik a tiny soldier’s hat - it was really a play tram conductor’s cap, but Joseph had adapted it for his purposes - and whittled a small gun out of a piece of wood, Erik was transported to seventh heaven. He spent hours strutting around and giving orders in his baby jargon to all and sundry, and insisted on sleeping with both the cap and the gun at his side every night.
In that last week of December, 1927, Britain was swept by freezing blizzards and food supplies had to be air-dropped into villages cut off by snow. The atrocious weather seemed like the last straw to many of Sunderland’s miners and steelworkers who had been out of work for months. Boots could only be cobbled so many times, clothes patched in so many places before they fell apart, and the squalor and decay that had been just about bearable through the warmth of the summer became intolerable in the harsh, unrelenting winter.
The childhood complaints that had begun to die out at the end of the nineteenth century such as rickets and other wasting diseases were rearing their ugly heads again, and the non-attendance of doctors and midwives at births - and who could afford to pay for their services when there was no coal or even cinders for the fire, and no food for the table? - produced a terrible culling of the weakest among the stricken north’s working-class families.
Men were angry and bitter - whole communities were angry and bitter - and yet it was a time when one man would lend another his only pair of boots for the day when the need was great, and know that they would be returned with some spit and polish on the patched leather. Housewives would band together to provide a pot of broth for a new nursing mother, and bread and dripping for the rest of the family. The colour and furore might be dying in the docks, and the steelworks and mines gasping for breath, but the northern people looked after their own where they could.
But now it was Saturday, 31st December - New Year’s Eve - and Flora had come to a decision. She was meeting Davey at Mrs Prinn’s café before they went to the Cora Picture Palace at the corner of Southwick Road and Newcastle Road, but as she slowly got ready she knew she had to face the truth she had been putting to the back of her mind whilst concern for the child had still run high.
She had always known deep inside, hadn’t she, however much she had tried to fool herself over the last few months? Aye, she had. She’d known all along. Davey’s easy acceptance of the unwritten law that they should wait a respectable period after her parents’ deaths before they set a date for the wedding, his coolness on occasion, his lack of ardour and considerate, almost benevolent attitude towards her - it was all linked with Rosie. Davey had never been the eager fiancé, and he had certainly never behaved as a man madly in love with his sweetheart.
If Zachariah hadn’t died, if Rosie hadn’t effectively become free again, things might have been different. She could perhaps have carried on fooling herself then. They could have moved away and started afresh. And when she’d had his children - and she longed for children, oh, she did - that would have been a bond between them that could have been nurtured and built on. But Zachariah
had
died. And she couldn’t fool herself any more.
had
died. And she couldn’t fool herself any more.
Davey would never look at her the way he had looked at Rosie that night at the hospital.
The knowledge she had been fighting against for days was like a physical pain in her chest and she flinched under it. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t Rosie’s fault, it was just a fact. Oh, she didn’t doubt she could bring him up to scratch if she so chose. Her lip curled slightly at the thought. He was a decent man, honourable and kind, and if she pressed him he would go through with the marriage. She could be Mrs Connor by the summer if she set her heart on it.
She buttoned her coat and pulled her hat down over her ears before picking up her gloves and her handbag, and leaving her room. She walked quickly down the stairs and opened the front door without speaking to her landlady; she couldn’t have faced idle chatter today.
The raw December afternoon was so cold it took her breath away, and she was conscious of thinking, There’s more snow in the air, I can smell it, before she came back to the dilemma she now knew she had been trying to ignore for months. She could have prompted Davey to marry her before this but she hadn’t because she had wanted him to fall in love with her. And it wasn’t going to happen. He cared about her, in his own way she didn’t doubt he was very fond of her, but it wasn’t
love
in the real sense of the word. Not like she had for him, like Zachariah had had for Rosie, like Peter had for her . . . The last thought caused her to bring her lips together and draw them inwards. Poor Peter. Poor, poor Peter.
love
in the real sense of the word. Not like she had for him, like Zachariah had had for Rosie, like Peter had for her . . . The last thought caused her to bring her lips together and draw them inwards. Poor Peter. Poor, poor Peter.
Davey loved Rosie. Flora drew the freezing air deep into her lungs as she neared the end of the street. She herself had ceased to exist for him in those few moments when he had seen Rosie’s distress. She had thought she could live with it, master her own feelings and
make
him fall in love with her, but it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Deep in the heart of him it would always be Rosie.
make
him fall in love with her, but it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Deep in the heart of him it would always be Rosie.
She clenched her teeth against the pain. If she kept Davey to his word and forced this marriage through, she would live to regret it bitterly.
The wind was raw, and as she pulled her hat even further down over her ears the first fat snowflakes began to whirl and soar from a laden sky. She had to tell him. She had to let him go.
Davey was waiting outside Prinn’s when Flora turned the corner, and as she saw his face break into a smile at the sight of her she felt her heart crack. He wasn’t smiling by the time she reached him - the look on her face must have told him something was wrong. ‘What is it? Is it Erik?’
Flora was surprised by the sudden anger that flooded her. Here was she, tearing herself apart, and still he could only think of Rosie - or her child, to be more precise. ‘No.’ Her voice was crisp. ‘As far as I know Erik is absolutely fine.’ And then, as he went to open the door of the café, she said, ‘No, don’t let’s go in there. I . . . I need to talk to you. Privately.’
She turned and began walking back the way she had come without waiting for his agreement, and when he fell into step beside her, and before he could speak, Flora said, ‘I need to tell you something, Davey, and just listen, will you? Without saying anything? It’s about Rosie, Rosie and Shane, and that night you saw them in the snow.’
She didn’t look at him as she related exactly what had happened that night so many years ago, and Shane’s subsequent visit to Zachariah’s house when his hatred of the other man had been born, and she finished with, ‘She’s always hated Shane, Davey, always. There was never anything between them except in his sick mind.’
It was some moments before he said, ‘Why are you telling me this now, Flora?’
She glanced his way and although it might have been her imagination he looked different - younger, lighter - and it made her voice sharp as she said, ‘You know why. I think it’s about time we faced facts, don’t you? It isn’t working between us and we both know it. We should have stayed friends, Davey, and that’s all.’
The effect of her words on Davey was paralysing for a second. He stood stock still so that Flora was forced to slow her footsteps and then turn and face him. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he asked slowly.
‘I’m talking about me getting on with my life, Davey. I think I shall start looking around for different accommodation in the spring, perhaps even a little house of my own. I think I would like that. I’m tired of lodgings.’
‘Flora--’
She spoke quickly now in an effort to stop herself breaking down, but she had seen the relief and surprise in his eyes. ‘I’d like us to go back to how we were before my parents died, that’s what I’m trying to say. I wasn’t thinking straight after they had gone, it was a difficult time all round, and I know you wanted to see me through it but I’m better now. I want . . .’ She paused. This was hard, so hard, but she intended to come out of this whole miserable affair with a remnant of dignity if nothing else. ‘I want there to be a spark with the man I marry, you know what I mean? And it isn’t there with us, is it?’ Not on your side anyway, she added silently.
‘I don’t understand.’ He was looking hard at her now. ‘Is this because of Christmas Eve? When I comforted . . .’
If he had said Rosie’s name, if he had actually
said
it, she might still have thought there was some hope for them. ‘When you hugged Rosie?’ Flora shook her head slowly. ‘Oh, Davey, what do you take me for? This isn’t because of a hug.’ And it wasn’t, not really. When he had taken Rosie into his arms it had merely been the catalyst. ‘I care about you very much, you know that.’ She was standing straight and still and the snow was whirling about them in fierce gusts, and now she turned, saying, ‘It’s coming down thicker, we’d better keep walking. ’
said
it, she might still have thought there was some hope for them. ‘When you hugged Rosie?’ Flora shook her head slowly. ‘Oh, Davey, what do you take me for? This isn’t because of a hug.’ And it wasn’t, not really. When he had taken Rosie into his arms it had merely been the catalyst. ‘I care about you very much, you know that.’ She was standing straight and still and the snow was whirling about them in fierce gusts, and now she turned, saying, ‘It’s coming down thicker, we’d better keep walking. ’
‘Flora, listen to me.’ Davey caught her arm, turning her to face him again. ‘I’ll try harder--’
‘
I don’t want you to have to try!
’ It was fierce, and her face was white when she said again, but more quietly this time, ‘I don’t want you to have to try, Davey. Don’t you see? That’s the whole point. And I want you to know you are completely free to approach anyone you like.’
I don’t want you to have to try!
’ It was fierce, and her face was white when she said again, but more quietly this time, ‘I don’t want you to have to try, Davey. Don’t you see? That’s the whole point. And I want you to know you are completely free to approach anyone you like.’
‘What does that mean?’ His voice was sharp but then, as he stared into the dark grey of her eyes, what he saw there humbled him. ‘Oh, Flora.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I can tell you now you’re barking up the wrong tree, lass.’
‘You still love her.’
He did not deny it, but what he did say was, ‘She’s a wealthy young woman, and once the necessary proprieties have been observed there will no doubt be countless men of similar wealth beating a path to her door.’
It was a slight exaggeration but Flora didn’t take him up on it. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Everything.’
Everything. He could say everything and mean it, and yet he had taken the job at Peter’s father’s shipyard that she had arranged, and he would have married
her
, knowing about her money, without a second thought. Not that her wealth was on the same lines as Rosie’s, of course it wasn’t, but in these days of increasing depression and poverty it wasn’t to be sneezed at either.
her
, knowing about her money, without a second thought. Not that her wealth was on the same lines as Rosie’s, of course it wasn’t, but in these days of increasing depression and poverty it wasn’t to be sneezed at either.
But Davey had looked at it as though he was doing her the favour, that was the thing. And he had been. He had loathed every day working in the shipyard, she knew that, and but for her parents dying he would be long since gone. In the first weeks of his homecoming he had been full of working on a farm somewhere down south and he would have followed through on that.
Other books
Miss Taken by Milly Taiden
Exit Wounds by Aaron Fisher
Swimming with Sharks by Neuhaus, Nele
The Lost Painting by Jonathan Harr
The Owner of His Heart by Taylor, Theodora
Blood Ties by Cathryn Fox
Sex Practice by Ray Gordon
Ian by Elizabeth Rose
Scoop by Rene Gutteridge