Shelter from the Storm (12 page)

At midday Dryden went to the pub and came back at three. He didn’t eat the food that she had prepared, he went to bed, and at six o’clock he got up and went back to the pub and she didn’t see him any more that day.

*

She ran out of money that first week and said to Dryden, ‘Have you got any money?’

‘Not until I get paid.’

‘There’s nothing to eat.’

‘We’ll have to do without, then, won’t we?’

‘It doesn’t stop you drinking, though, does it? It doesn’t stop you going to the pub.’

‘I need to do that,’ he said slowly.

‘And we don’t need to eat? And me in my condition?’

He tried to go to her. Esther Margaret drew away.

‘I can’t be bought,’ she said.

‘We’re married.’

‘If you think I will ever let you touch me again you are mistaken. This is entirely your fault. You are sinful. You were conceived in sin and born out of marriage. You came from violence. There’s no good in you and I will not have you near me. You can force me, of course, like your father did with your mother.’

‘I don’t have to force women. They want me,’ Dryden said.

‘Sluts want you.’

‘Then you were a slut.’

‘I was an innocent!’

‘So is everyone at the beginning.’

‘Not you,’ she said.

Before the end of the week Esther Margaret put the problem before Vinia. Her solution was simple.

‘Go and take it off him when he gets paid.’

‘To the pit office?’

‘That’s what plenty of other people do.’

‘Do you do that?’

Vinia laughed shortly.

‘Tom would kill me,’ she said.

Pay day arrived. Esther Margaret passed out that morning; she wasn’t sure whether it was the baby or her nerves. Vinia called in.

‘Thought you were going to the pit,’ she said. ‘You look terrible. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Do you want me to ask him? Tom’s at home, he had a bad night. I’m going up for his pay.’

Esther Margaret begged her not to.

‘I’m frightened of him,’ she said.

‘He hasn’t done anything yet,’ Vinia pointed out. ‘And he can hardly do much to me, can he?’

*

Vinia regretted immediately having offered to help. Dryden was that most dangerous sort of man, unknown. He looked the kind who would not tolerate opposition, but so far he had provided not a penny and Esther Margaret couldn’t go on like that.

It wasn’t far from Prince Row to the pit and she had timed it well. She knew that Dryden went drinking with Tom, but she also knew that without Tom nobody would bother with him, so he was alone when he came away from the pit. It had not once occurred to her that she could like Dryden. Nobody liked him except Tom, and to her that was no recommendation. The times Tom had brought Dryden to the house for dinner the only thing that kept her silent was her fear of her husband. She would not have had him over the threshold. She went jauntily up to him.

‘Hello, Dryden.’

‘Now.’ Dryden stopped.

‘I’m going shopping for Esther Margaret. Have you got any money?’

Dryden laughed. It was the last thing she had expected. She had never seen even a glimpse of humour in all the times they had been together recently, and as far as she was concerned there had been too many. Mind you, most of the time Dryden had been drunk and they had not, as far as she could recollect, addressed a word directly to one another.

‘Aye, I’ve got plenty of money,’ he said.

‘Let’s see it.’

He poured it into her hands and it sat there all bright and heavy and shiny. Vinia had never seen so much money. Tom doled out very small amounts and she had learned never to spend a farthing more than was necessary because some weeks he gave her nothing.

‘Why don’t you have that much,’ she said bravely as she counted it into his hand, ‘and I’ll give this to Esther Margaret.’

‘I was actually on my way home,’ Dryden pointed out. ‘I can give her it.’

‘No, it’s all right.’

He didn’t say anything else, he just stood there while she sorted the money out, but she got a strange feeling about it, and when she looked up there was quiet amusement in Dryden’s eyes which she was sure had not been there before. She could not understand why he gave in, and so quickly. If she had done such a thing to Tom he would have slapped her round the ear there and then, and done much worse when he got her home. She did not deceive herself either that Dryden was a better man. There was no pub between the pit and the Row but she knew very well that Dryden would most likely turn the corner and go to the nearest pub before he got home and that very likely Esther Margaret would see little of his pay.

Not that Dryden could have slapped her around the ear but
he could have refused or he could have grudgingly handed her a few pennies. She didn’t understand it. He behaved as though it were some kind of game and he was letting her win without any contest. He could of course be the sort of man who tipped his pay up, but she didn’t believe that. She knew that they had had little food in the house for the last three days because they had no money, and Esther Margaret was too proud to ask for tick and she wouldn’t run up bills like other women did because she hadn’t got the hang of housekeeping. She had borrowed what she could from Vinia but Vinia had little enough, especially by the end of the fortnight. She was just lucky Tom wasn’t feeling well and had sent her for his pay. She wouldn’t dare touch it; she would wait to have it doled out to her in small grudging amounts when she was brave enough to ask. She understood what Esther Margaret meant when she said that she was afraid of him. He was unpredictable.

‘I’ve got nowt more,’ he said as she stood there.

‘No, I … no, I know.’

‘Can I go, then?’ Flirting, Vinia thought, amazed, standing there in the pit yard, black from work and probably very tired, flirting with her. She didn’t remember any man having done that before. His cold black eyes were dancing. Vinia felt her cheeks getting warmer. She had not been able to understand how a girl like Esther Margaret could have succumbed to Dryden’s charms, but she did now. Clutching the money in her fists, she muttered something and then walked on towards the pit office, stuffing it into the pockets of her dress before she got there in case Joe Forster thought she was mad.

Vinia was interested in Joe. Esther Margaret often talked about him and Vinia wondered what it would be like to be married to somebody really nice like Joe. He was nothing like his father, and he didn’t play the big man. He knew everybody by name, and as she came in he called her through into the little office, though he needn’t have done so, and gave her Tom’s pay himself. She would have taken it from any of the clerks but Joe
wasn’t like that. He asked after Tom, even though she had no doubt he knew that Tom had just drunk too much and couldn’t get out of bed. No doubt he had seen other women in her predicament. As he chatted, Vinia watched him. He was lovely, gentle and kind and he ran the pit better than his father had ever done, simply because he cared about the men and their families, and because he was well liked the men gave their best, even though Tom complained because Joe spent too much time down the pit and not enough on the surface, he said.

He greeted her with, ‘How are you, Mrs Cameron?’ as though this was polite society and they met every day.

‘I’m very well, thank you, Mr Forster. I’ve just come to collect Tom’s pay. He wasn’t feeling too good this morning.’

‘I hope he’ll soon be a lot better. We’re back on full time next week.’

He smiled and gave her the money and Vinia walked down the bank towards the shops, imagining what it would be like to be married to him, without his father of course, but with that great big house and him coming in all polite and nice and maybe even having some money and not wondering how drunk he would be when he came back. Joe didn’t get drunk, she was sure he didn’t.

*

Joe watched her as she walked back down the pit yard. There was a defeated look about her. He had seen it many times before. Some people couldn’t take the isolation, some people couldn’t take the drinking, some women had children and managed. Vinia Cameron was unhappy. He understood that. He was unhappy himself. He had been able to bear the idea of Esther Margaret not marrying him but he couldn’t bear her married to Dryden Cameron, who quite obviously didn’t care about her and had got her pregnant. It hurt Joe to think that she would rather give herself to a young man like that than go off with him.

He wished that he had an excuse to get rid of Dryden
Cameron. He treated Dryden badly that summer and did not bother to hide the fact that he did not like him. Dryden ended up working in a lot of wet areas, being told that his pay was docked for bad language or for fighting. He was guilty of both, Joe was sure, but as far as he was concerned it was a personal thing. Dryden was pushed around, was told that his tubs had slack in them, got his pay docked for that too and it was unfair, Joe knew it was, because Dryden was a good worker. There were a lot of men in the pit who weren’t as good. Joe wished that Dryden would leave instead of going home to his wife at the end of each shift. Esther Margaret was so near each day, in the little house in the pit row beside the office and the Black Prince, and Joe had to make himself not look for her.

Dryden didn’t leave, he didn’t even seem particularly unhappy, at least no more so than usual. He just went on working regardless. He didn’t complain about his treatment or his pay until Joe gave up in disgust, ashamed of himself. Worse was to follow. One day that October, when Joe was below ground, chatting to the deputy, there was a rush of air and a movement above him and then an almighty crash and at the same time he was shoved heavily sideways and the whole world caved in and the noise bounced and echoed against the walls. When the world stopped Joe was flat on the ground with somebody on top of him so that he was away from whatever had happened and protected. It was a weird feeling, the sort of thing that a father might do for a child, or a good mate for his own.

For Joe it was a first, and he was surprised to see Dryden Cameron launch himself up and run back to the scene of destruction. Joe followed him. Under a huge piece of rock a man was trapped. It was the deputy, Carrington. Dryden didn’t wait for anybody; he started trying to lift the rock off him and other men soon appeared and helped. Joe didn’t think that in normal circumstances men could have moved such a heavy burden but they did it. When they got a closer look at him it was obvious that the man was hurt badly. Dryden got down on
his knees and held the man’s head and gave him a drink, wiping a dirty handkerchief around his face to clear his eyes. Joe had seen accidents before but it never got any easier and he didn’t think it should. There was blood everywhere. Carrington didn’t even speak, he lay there and died, and Joe had the unpleasant sensation of being both sorry for the man dying, and down his pit, and glad that it wasn’t him. It might have been him if it hadn’t been for Dryden Cameron and his quick reactions.

There was a lot to do afterwards — the doctor came, and Joe went to tell Carrington’s widow. He could not get over the whole thing, it had been such a shock. He had not been so close to death before and he began then to wish it had been him, though what would have happened to the pit he could not think. When he went to see Mrs Carrington at her house in Ironworks Road there were two small children beside her as she opened the door, and Joe knew it was a bigger death than his would have been. There wasn’t a single person who would have mourned his passing. It was a sobering thought. He promised to look after her but it was so little to offer, and in the days that followed he couldn’t sleep or eat or find anything normal.

On the Saturday evening, without thinking, he went down Prince Row and knocked on the door of Dryden’s house. Esther Margaret answered it. She was huge; the baby must be due, Joe thought. There was another shock. She looked like a different person; her looks had gone. She wore a plain dress which somehow made her look bigger. She moved clumsily, as though she could not get used to the baby inside her, and seeing her Joe felt physical pain and a dislike of Dryden that was like nausea. Her hair was scraped back and dull and her face was pale, her eyes dark and unhappy. She let him in with scarcely a word. Dryden was seated at the kitchen table. They had just finished eating and he had a mug of tea in his hands. Joe was astonished at how bare the house was. They had nothing. He had not seen them together before and to him they looked less like man and wife than anybody he knew. Dryden got up, though Joe urged
him not to, and Esther Margaret offered him tea and a seat. Joe wanted to refuse but he didn’t like to, so he sat at the table with Dryden while she hovered with the teapot.

‘I didn’t thank you,’ Joe said, trying to concentrate on the reason he was there.

Dryden looked blankly at him.

‘The accident. You saved my life.’ Dryden didn’t answer that either, almost as if Joe hadn’t said anything.

‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’

‘Why him and not you?’ Dryden said at once.

Joe was astonished at his quickness of mind.

‘Yes.’

‘Luck.’

‘Not this time.’ Joe shook his head. ‘You were there. Unless you call that luck. You could have pushed Carrington out of the way instead.’ Joe thought he detected a glimmer of amusement in the depths of Dryden’s dark eyes, but he could have been wrong. ‘Let me do something for you—’

‘I didn’t do owt,’ Dryden said.

Joe would have been glad to leave it at that. He had argued with himself over it, tried to tell himself that he had not treated Dryden badly and that Dryden had not saved him. It seemed to him, in spite of what Dryden said, that there had been a conscious choice to make between himself and Carrington and that Dryden had made it. Perhaps he hadn’t, perhaps he had thought that Joe was closer or had not cared enough to do anything deliberately, it had just been chance. The hard fact was that Dryden didn’t have to attempt to save either of them; he could just have got himself out of the way, as the other men had done.

The trouble was, Joe thought as he left, that Dryden had already taken everything. The golden-haired girl, teapot in hand, was the biggest prize of all, though he doubted Dryden knew it. She was awkward with child and he was sorry for her. She had no comforts, nor would Dryden allow her any by the looks of
things, so Joe went back to his own comforts, wishing he was not so much in debt to a man he couldn’t like. Dryden hadn’t considered his own death, hadn’t thought about it; he had just pushed Joe well clear and let his own body follow. It occurred to Joe that Dryden had no fear of death and maybe even no particular reason to live, certainly not the love of the woman he was married to or the regard of the village people. It could have been himself or Dryden underneath that rock and dying, with massive injuries inside and eyes that filled with blood.