The Miner’s Girl (18 page)

‘I'm all right,' said Merry.

‘Aye, I see that,' Mrs Turner replied dryly.

‘I am. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me, that's all.'

‘Like you did yesterday and the day before?'

Merry's shoulders slumped for she couldn't think of an answer.

‘Do you think I'm daft, like? I've been around a few years, you know. No, I'd say you're carrying. Fallen wrong, going to have a bairn, put it how you will, it comes to the same thing.' Mrs Turner sighed. ‘Eeh, lass,
you'd best sit down afore you fall down. I've got the kettle boiled, so I'll make us both a nice cup of tea.'

Tea, the cure-all for everything, thought Merry wearily, but she sank down on a chair after glancing at the closed door to the shop just in case Mr Turner might have heard.

‘I suppose it means I'll lose me job,' she said.

‘Well you can hardly run about with a bag full of papers when you have a big belly, can you?' Mrs Turner thrust a cup of tea into the girl's right hand and a sandwich into the other. Merry looked at it bleakly.

‘Get it down, you'll feel better, you'll see,' she said. ‘I might not have any bairns but I carried a few and I know what it's like.' Merry remembered the time Mrs Turner had told her how she'd lost two children stillborn and felt a new sympathy for her. To go through all this and more and not have a baby to show for it! She took a small bite from the sandwich and a sip of tea and after a minute realised that she did feel better.

‘I don't know what I'm going to do,' she said. ‘I have to work and I'm not going into the workhouse.'

‘Nay lass, there's no need for that, is there? The lad's keen to wed you, anyone can see that.'

Merry looked up at her, unable to tell her the truth; it wasn't Robbie's baby was it? And when he found out about it he wouldn't have anything more to do with her, would he?

‘Besides, I won't say a word to Jos,' Mrs Turner nodded her head at the door behind which Jos Turner could be heard speaking to a customer. He was becoming deaf as he got older and his speaking voice had got louder to compensate. ‘You can work here a few weeks longer if you have to, but the best thing you can do is have a word with your lad, as I told you.'

‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Turner,' Merry breathed. She took another bite of sandwich and realised she was ravenous so finished it off quickly. Even a few weeks would give her time to work out what she was going to do. And this week Robbie was not coming by the shop for he was on night shift, going out at midday and working until almost midnight. On Sunday though, she would have to tell him about the baby. She put her hand on her stomach, imagining it was already beginning to swell. She would look after it somehow, she told herself.

‘We'll walk through the wood back to Winton Colliery,' said Robbie. ‘I told me mam I was bringing you back for your tea.'

It was Sunday and he had picked Merry up at the corner of Bondgate; now they were walking along Kingsway.

‘No, Robbie, I don't want to,' Merry protested. ‘I have to talk to you anyway, so we're best on our own.'

‘You can talk on the way back,' said Robbie, taking hold of her arm and pulling her along with him. Merry dragged her feet.

The one thing she did not want to do was meet his mother. Not until she had told Robbie about the baby and then he wouldn't want to take her to his home. But Robbie was refusing to take no for an answer and walked on determinedly. Well, she thought, she would wait until they were away from the town before saying anything. It would be better in the woods when they were truly on their own. As it was there were people about, taking advantage of the bright sunshine and the fact that at last there was some warmth from the sun.

In the wood the sunshine was dappled under the trees and there was a smell of wild garlic and fresh new growth. There were clumps of bluebells in bud almost ready to open and patches of new grass, a pure bright green. Robbie slowed his pace and took hold of her hand. His felt hard and there were calluses, but it was also large and warm and capable.

‘We could get wed at Whitsuntide,' said Robbie and Merry came to an abrupt halt. He turned to her, smiling. ‘I know, I know you haven't said yes yet but you will, lass, you will. It's going to happen, I told you.'

‘Robbie,' she said.

‘What?'

They had reached the stile that led on to the path to Winton and he leaned against the fence, prepared to humour her.

‘I have to tell you something.'

‘Go on then.'

‘You won't like it.'

‘Well, spit it out, whatever it is. If we're late for tea me mam will go mad. You're not wed already, are you? Tell us an' I'll kill the bugger.'

Merry bit her lip and she too leaned on the fence for support. ‘I'm not married, no. But mebbe I should have been. I'm having a bairn, Robbie.'

There was a silence that seemed to stretch out for minutes. Merry kept her head bowed. Her heart beat so loudly she thought he must hear it too.

‘Say that again.'

This time Merry did look up. Robbie was standing up straight and seeming to tower over her.

‘I said, I'm—'

‘I heard,' he said savagely. ‘Who was it? Did some lad take you down?' He caught hold of her by the upper arms and shook her. ‘Say it! Say who the bastard is. By God I'll murder him.' His fingers dug into her flesh, bruising the bones.

‘No! I can't, Robbie, I can't. I don't know who it was, I don't. Leave go of me, Robbie, please.' An image of
Tom flashed before her but she lied, improvising wildly. ‘It just happened, that's all. I'm sorry, Robbie.'

‘Sorry are you? Why, you little whore, I'll make you sorry all right. There was that many you don't know who it was, eh? Well, I'll give you something to be sorry about!'

Robbie was pushing her down the bank towards the river. At the bottom he flung her on a patch of grass and started to unbutton his trousers. Merry realised what he meant to do and tried to scramble away but he was too quick for her, caught her and dragged her back before she even got to her feet; in a second he was on top of her and had her skirt over her head. He held her down with an iron hand on her already sore breast and when she cried out he moved his hand to her mouth.

‘Everybody else seems to have had a slice; I reckon it's my turn. Lie still, you whore or it'll be the worse for you,' he grated out through his teeth. Tearing her drawers aside he began thrusting into her, grunting and panting like a wild animal.

The pain was excruciating. She couldn't move, she couldn't cry out and in spite of her struggles all she could do was pray for it to end. When it did, he still lay on top of her, panting. She could feel the wetness on her belly, warm and slimy.

‘Get off me,' she croaked, hardly able to talk. The inside of her lip was bruised from being pressed against her teeth and she could taste blood.

Robbie didn't move so she pushed up at him, trying to heave him away but to no effect. Eventually he did roll off her and started to get to his feet.

‘What's the matter? You're used to it, aren't you?' he asked. He was buttoning his flies and hitching his braces. ‘By, you had me fooled all right there, I was going to marry you. You lying little—' He broke off and turned away. ‘You're lucky I don't give you a bloody good hiding for making a fool of me.' He fingered his belt and for a minute Merry shrank back, her pulse racing even faster.

However, Robbie turned on his heel and set off up the bank to the stile and the path to Winton Colliery. She waited until he was gone and then went to the water's edge and stepped in. The icy water made her gasp, but she welcomed it. She took her torn drawers and bent down to soak them in the peat-coloured water and used them to wash herself; to wash all traces of him from her body. Her skirt got wet in the process but she didn't care.

What a fool she had been to think even for a moment that he might stand by her, that he might even think enough of her to take her on, though the baby wasn't his. Why should a man do that? Why should a man like Robbie do anything he didn't want to do?

Oh God, the baby, please don't let the baby be hurt. As if in reply or reassurance she felt a tiny tremor inside her. She paused in the act of climbing out on to the bank. It couldn't be, of course it couldn't. But yet it was over four months since that night in Old Pit. It had been snowing, she remembered, every minute of that night etched in her memory. It was the worst snowfall of the winter – was it before Christmas or after? She couldn't think straight so pulled herself out of the water. Her feet were numb with the cold as she sat down on the grass and rubbed at them with her skirt. After a minute they began to glow with heat and she pulled on her stockings and shoes. She got back to her feet and the tremor came again. She laid a hand on her stomach but there was nothing to feel from the outside.

She climbed the bank from tree to tree and rested at the top, leaning against the solid trunk of an oak. She was bruised and battered, humiliated and angry at the same time but her baby was alive.

The smell of wild garlic was pungent but she breathed it in, for it smelled of spring. As she set off along the path back to Auckland she saw a flash of blue to one side. A bluebell bud had broken open and the flower danced gently in the breeze. She walked back, her thighs and back aching and her lip swelling against her teeth, but she was determined not to think of anything, not until
she was in her own little room in Bondgate with the door closed against the world.

Surprisingly she was hungry but she had the heel of a loaf in her cupboard and a scraping of pork dripping. She made herself a cup of tea in the communal kitchen and took it up with her, then got out of her damp clothes and pulled on her flannel nightgown. She climbed into bed, ate her bread and dripping and drank the tea, sweetened with a little condensed milk. The memory of Ben, which was never far from her thoughts, came again. She prayed for him – surely he wasn't dead, she didn't feel that he was dead. The men had said he wasn't there among the rubble at the entrance of the old drift and that had given her hope. She wept inside a little for him. Then she lay down and slept.

Merry had forced herself not to think while she was awake but she could not control her dreams and nightmares. And her nightmares were of the workhouse and also of Robbie Wright, so she slept restlessly, tossing and turning and waking every now and then. But towards morning she fell into a deeper sleep and eventually dreamed of Tom.

‘Come with me, Merry,' he said to her, holding out his arms to her and she ran towards him, her whole being flooded with happiness. Then she woke up, still feeling. happy and sure everything would be all right. Not only
all right but better than that. She would find Tom. But of course, as she got out of bed and dressed in the meager light from the moonlit window, her thighs and back still ached, her mouth was sore and she remembered yesterday. She remembered too the last time she had seen Tom and the way he had glanced so impersonally at her in the street. He didn't want her and if she did manage to see him and tell him about the baby it would just be an embarrassment to him. She had to face the fact that he did not love her.

Merry went to the shop and sorted the newspapers, before slinging the bag full of them over her shoulder as she prepared to go out with the paper boys.

‘Put your shawl over your head,' said Jos, surprising her. He didn't usually take an interest in her welfare. ‘That's a raw wind out there and you look a bit femmer to me. I expect you're not sickening for something.'

‘I'm all right,' Merry replied. ‘You needn't worry about me.'

‘Aw, I don't,' said Jos, ‘but if you were off work I'd have to train up that gormless Charlie there and that might be well nigh impossible.'

Charlie looked round on hearing his name and grinned, then went out into the dark morning whistling. Merry followed him, smiling herself. She might have known Jos Turner was more interested in how it would affect the business if she were poorly rather than how she was herself.

‘Have you told your lad yet?' Mrs Turner asked a few days later.

Merry nodded. ‘I did.'

‘Well, are you going to get wed?'

‘No.' Merry couldn't say any more. She wished Mrs Turner would just shut up. She couldn't bear to discuss it with her, not Robbie or why he didn't want to marry her any more.

‘The dirty swine,' said Mrs Turner forcefully. ‘He's had his fun and now he won't pay.'

‘It's not like that, Mrs Turner.'

‘No? Then what is it like? Something will have to be done about it, you know it will. And the sooner the better in my opinion. You should go after him, lass, he was keen enough, hanging after you like a dog after a bone—'

‘I don't want to talk about it, Mrs Turner.'

Merry turned her back and began dusting the shelves behind her, tidying the pencils and stacking the notepaper evenly, trying to think only of what she was doing.

‘Well, if you feel like that I'll away home,' said Mrs Turner, sounding very offended.

‘Oh, Mrs Turner,' said Merry, looking round at the older woman, but Mrs Turner was tight lipped and with heightened colour she picked up her basket and went out, the shop bell jangling behind her.

‘Has she gone?' Her husband emerged from the back shop looking annoyed. ‘I wanted to ask her to get me something different for me tea the night, I'm sick of cow's heel, every Friday night it's jellied cow's heel.'

Merry said nothing; she turned back to the shelves, knocking over a box of indelible pencils as she did so that she had to scrabble about on the floor to retrieve them. She heard the bell jangle again but didn't see who had come in until she heard Robbie's voice asking for her. She began to tremble, the last time he had been with her vivid in her mind but she wasn't going to let it show if she could help it. Taking a tight hold on her emotions she got to her feet.