The Letter (21 page)

Jackie picked up the four trotters that he had cut from the pig.

‘Do you fancy these for tea?’

Chrissie wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘I certainly do not. I know what that pig has stepped in!’

Jackie laughed and tried not to think about how much he was going to miss her when she returned to Manchester after the baby was born.

A couple of weeks later, Jackie was alerted by an unfamiliar sound in the yard. The dogs were barking wildly and the chickens flew up in the air in a cloud of dust as a little donkey cart entered the yard and Father Drummond climbed down from his seat. He tied the donkey to a post and called out to Jackie.

‘Father Drummond, this is an unexpected pleasure, to be sure. Won’t you come in for a cup of tea?’

‘I wouldn’t say no, Jackie, thank you.’

The two men heaved open the stiff front door of the cottage, where Chrissie was knitting by the fireside.

She looked up in surprise. ‘Father Drummond! How nice to see you. I’ll put the water on. Jackie, find the best cups would you?’ She couldn’t have a man of the cloth drinking out of a jam jar.

When they were all settled with their drinks, Father Drummond cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘The thing is, people are, well, you know…talking.’

‘About what?’ asked Chrissie, immediately bristling.

Father Drummond looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Erm, your aunt always used to put a nip of whisky in my tea.’ He held out his cup. ‘Would you mind?’

Jackie reached for the bottle from the top shelf, blew off the dust and poured some into their visitor’s cup. He took a sip. ‘Ahh, much better. Now where was I?’

‘People are talking.’ Chrissie put down her knitting and folded her arms defiantly.

‘Ahh, yes, well. This situation you find yourselves in. I mean, living as man and wife when you are not even married and…’

Chrissie interrupted. ‘We are not living as man and wife. I sleep upstairs in my aunt’s old room and Jackie sleeps over there.’ She indicated the cot in the corner.

‘I see, but the baby…’

Jackie spoke quietly. ‘The baby is nothing to do with me, Father. I mean, I am not the father, Father. Chrissie is here as my guest and I will take care of her and the baby until she decides it is time for them to leave. It is my fervent hope that that day will never come, but Chrissie is free to return to her old life anytime she wants. It is nobody’s business but ours, Father, and I will not have gossips making out this is a sordid little affair. Chrissie means the world to me. I could not have got through the last few months without her, and I have no idea what I am going to do if she decides to leave.’

He stood behind Chrissie and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. She reached up and grasped one of his hands. They both stared defiantly at Father Drummond, who at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

‘Well, I can see you have inherited your aunt’s stubbornness, Chrissie. However, arrangements were made long ago for the birth of your baby.’

‘Arrangements? What kind of arrangements? ‘

Father Drummond spoke quietly, but with determination.

‘Your aunt told me about your condition.’

‘Pregnancy,’ interrupted Chrissie.

‘Yes, quite. Well, Kathleen asked me to find a place for you to give birth, a place that would be away from prying eyes and gossips, a place where you could have your baby safely and peacefully.’

‘You mean a hospital?’

‘Erm, no. But the next best thing. I have arranged for you to go to the convent and have the baby there.’

‘A convent? But I’m not even Catholic. Would that even be allowed?’

‘As I said, your aunt begged me to help and I promised I would. Trust me, this is the best thing for you.’

Jackie spoke up. ‘Maybe he’s right, Chrissie. Imagine giving birth here in this damp cottage with no running water or heating, and what if something was to go wrong?’

Chrissie had to admit he had a point. With all her experience of watching her mother’s patients go through labour, she was well aware of the risks involved.

‘What would it cost?’

‘Why, nothing, Chrissie,’ explained Father Drummond. ‘That’s the beauty of it. You enter the convent and they look after you and the baby and in return you work for the nuns for a while.’

Chrissie felt uneasy. ‘What sort of work?’

‘Well, let’s see. They take in laundry from local hotels, restaurants, priest’s houses, that kind of thing, and they also have a small farm where they grow vegetables to sell. You’re used to that.’

‘What do you think, Chrissie?’ asked Jackie. ‘It sounds like the perfect solution. We could never afford to pay for a hospital and your aunt obviously thought it would be for the best.’

‘Listen to Jackie,’ insisted Father Drummond. ‘He talks sense, so he does.’

‘How long would I have to stay there?’

Father Drummond hesitated before giving his answer. ‘Erm, that’s up to you, Chrissie. You could stay as long as you liked.’

‘You make it sound like a holiday.’

He gave a nervous laugh. ‘Well, you would be well looked after.’

‘I think you should go,’ urged Jackie. ‘It sounds like the perfect solution.’

‘Could you cope without me for a couple of weeks?’

Father Drummond looked at the floor.

‘I’ll miss you, to be sure.’ He kissed the top of her head.

Chrissie smiled weakly. ‘Alright then, Father. Please finalise the arrangements, would you?’

Father Drummond stood up and held out his hand to Jackie. The two men shook hands and Jackie showed him to the door.

‘Thank you very much, Father. We appreciate your help.’

He found it difficult to look Jackie in the eye.

‘It was all down to Miss McBride. You remember that, son.’

Jackie frowned. ‘Of course, Father. Mind how you go.’

As Father Drummond climbed back onto the donkey cart he patted Kathleen McBride’s note in his breast pocket. How was he supposed to ignore the wishes of a dying woman, no matter that they spelled heartache for her young niece?

Chapter 20

1973

Tina lay on the couch in the lounge with no recollection of how she had come to be there. Her head throbbed with each beat of her heart as the blood was forced through her veins. Her cracked lips felt enormous and one eye was fixed tightly shut as though someone had poured glue between the lids and sandwiched them together. Through her one good eye, Tina could just make out the shadowy form of Rick as he hovered over her. She tried to speak but her tongue would not co-operate and remained stubbornly fixed to the roof of her mouth. She could taste the congealed blood in her mouth, which reminded her of a childhood visit to the dentist when she had had two teeth removed. The memory was suddenly so vivid she could smell the gas that had been used to send her to sleep. Sleep. That was what she needed, what she craved. If only she could sleep she would wake up and find this was all a terrible nightmare. She felt herself falling, deeper and deeper into oblivion and she welcomed the comforting blackness of it.

Sometime later, she was aware of a warm sensation on her lips. She forced open her eye and saw Rick’s face only inches from hers. He gently pressed a warm flannel to her swollen mouth.

‘Morning, love. How are you feeling?’

It took Tina a while to register this question and even longer to formulate an answer.

‘What happened?’ This was all she could manage.

Rick turned away as he wrung out the flannel in the bowl of warm water and re-applied it to Tina’s cheek.

‘You had an accident. Last night, you came in late, it was dark, I came to meet you in the hall to find out where you’d been, if you were alright, and you must have tripped. I tried to catch you, but you fell and hit your head on the banister. I’ve been worried sick. I sat up here all night with you.’

Tina’s thoughts were muddled. She had a vague memory of meeting Rick in the hall and after that all she could remember was the searing pain. She was sure there was something, though.

‘The baby!’ Tina suddenly tried to sit up, but the effort made her head swim.

‘Sshh, the baby’s fine,’ Rick placated.

‘How can you be sure? I need to see a doctor.’

‘No,’ Rick almost shouted. ‘No doctors.’

Tina lay back on the couch. ‘My head hurts, Rick.’ She began to weep softly.

Rick gently smoothed his hand over her brow. ‘I’ll fetch you a couple of paracetamols.’

He returned a few minutes later with the tablets, a cup of tea and a slice of toast.

‘Here, I’ve made you some breakfast. You can’t take those tablets on an empty stomach.’

He placed his arm around Tina’s back and eased her into a sitting position, plumping the cushions up to make her more comfortable.

‘Thank you.’

She winced as the hot tea touched her lips. ‘I’m sorry to cause you all this trouble, Rick.’

‘Tina, you’re my wife. In sickness and in health and all that.’

‘But what about work?’

Rick glanced at the clock on mantelpiece. He had forgotten to wind it up again. He pushed back his sleeve and looked at his watch instead. ‘I need to be at work in an hour. Will you be alright?’

‘Yes, of course. You go to work, I’ll be fine.’

‘Good girl.’ He planted a firm kiss on her lips, making her wince once more.

Rick had been gone for a few hours when Tina began to feel hungry again. She gingerly swung her legs off the sofa and sat upright. Dizziness overcame her for a few seconds, but then she steadied herself and stood up carefully. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and she felt grubby and sticky with blood and sweat. She teetered into the kitchen and surveyed the carnage. Rick had obviously made himself a meal the night before and the remnants of this were in evidence on every surface. There were dried baked beans welded to the bottom of a saucepan. Empty eggshells lay on the working tops, the raw whites having run and cemented the shells to the Formica, and two pieces of blackened toast had been abandoned on a greasy plate.

Tina sighed and began to clear away the dishes. She picked up a glass and noticed that the bottom of it was covered with a thin brown stain. Hating herself for what felt like snooping, she raised the glass to her nose and inhaled deeply. As she sniffed the stale aroma of the whisky, the events of the previous evening were brought into sharp focus. She hadn’t tripped at all and the blow to her face was not caused by the banister. It was caused by something just as hard, but far more dangerous - her husband’s fist. She stumbled into the hall and stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the banister. Her husband was a violent drunk who would never change. The realisation hurt far more than any bruise he had ever given her.

As she lay soaking in the bath, Tina pondered what to do. She was seven months pregnant and felt trapped in this violent marriage. Graham and Linda had been right all along. She felt ashamed and embarrassed that she had got herself into this situation. She would have to leave for good now for the sake of herself and her baby, but the thought of returning to that grubby little bedsit filled her with dread. Besides, there was no way she could be seen in public now. She looked as though she had gone ten rounds with Henry Cooper.

By the time Rick returned home from work, Tina was feeling a little better, physically at least. She had managed to prepare a meal for their tea and they sat at the kitchen table attempting to make normal conversation. She was biding her time before she told Rick she knew the truth.

‘How was work?’ asked Tina casually.

‘Not bad. Had a couple of yobs do a runner without paying. Conductor chased after them, but he didn’t have a hope in hell of catching the little blighters. Then a snotty little kid wet himself so the seat smelt of piss all day.’

He pushed another forkful of food into his mouth. ‘Thanks for the tea, love. I would have made it you know. You need to rest.’

‘I’m alright.’ Tina pushed away her plate of uneaten food.

‘Don’t you want that?’ asked Rick, as he reached across the table and helped himself to a forkful of her mashed potato.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need to keep your strength up, if not for you then for the baby.’

Tina took a deep breath and covered her face with her hands. Her voice was therefore muffled when she spoke her next sentence.

‘I know it was you, Rick.’

Silence descended as Rick put down his knife and fork. He peeled her fingers away from her face and stared straight into her eyes.

‘You know
what
was me?’

‘Last night. I didn’t trip at all. You punched me in the face. I remember the smell of the whisky and…’

Rick was on his feet in an instant.

‘What? How can you think such a thing? Punch you in the face? I would never do that.’

He noticed Tina’s disbelieving expression. ‘I mean I know I’ve hit you in the past and I regret that more than anything, but I’ve changed, you must realise that. We’re going to be a family now. I wouldn’t jeopardise that for anything.’

Rick sank to his knees at Tina’s side and laid his head in her lap. ‘I can’t believe you would think that of me. I wouldn’t dream of hitting a pregnant woman.’

Tina was in turmoil now. He sounded so contrite and seemed genuinely horrified that she could think he was capable of such violence. Maybe she hadn’t remembered the events of yesterday correctly after all. She placed her hand on Rick’s head and ran her hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘I’m sorry, Rick. My memory must be playing tricks on me.’

Rick looked up at her and she stared at his tear-stained face.

‘Please Tina. You have got to start trusting me again if this is going to work.’ He gripped her wrists firmly.

‘I know. It’s just that....’

He reached up and put his finger to her lips to silence her.

‘No more talking. Let’s just forget about it.’

He took hold of both her hands in his and she smiled as she tried to ignore the purple bruising that was now visible across his right knuckles.

Chapter 21

The December weather grew ever more cold and damp. In fact the whole country sank into a depression as the oil crisis grew and power cuts were introduced. Rick and Tina had listened to Prime Minister Heath’s broadcast where he had warned of ‘a harder Christmas than we have known since the War.’ The next day, in a move guaranteed to depress the nation even further, all six hundred and fifty bulbs were turned out on the Christmas Tree in Trafalgar Square.