The Rainbow Years (9 page)
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Ronald nodded but did not pursue the conversation, realising too late he’d probably put his foot in it with May by mentioning Kitty’s job. Her promotion to manageress at the laundry had been a sore point with his wife since she’d heard the news. But then May had never liked Bess’s friend or the interest she took in Amy. He couldn’t understand why. Kitty was a grand little lass and always cheerful, whatever might ail her. May could do worse than take a leaf out of Kitty’s book, in his opinion. He smiled at Kitty and she smiled back at him, her plain face with its slightly pock-marked skin lighting up as it always did when she smiled.
Amy reappeared in the next moment and Ronald reflected for the hundredth time how bonny his niece was. His daughters had inherited May’s sallow skin and straight, thin hair, with the added encumbrance of the O’Leary large nose, whereas his lads had all taken after his own da and had thick curly hair and attractive features, but Amy was in a class of her own.
Amy’s eyes were shining as she fetched her hat and coat from the scullery and quickly pulled them on while Kitty, pleasant as ever in spite of May’s sour face, made her good-byes. Only Ronald answered her, the others merely inclining their heads and the younger children squabbling over the last piece of fried bread.
Ronald left his seat and followed his niece and Kitty into the backyard, pressing a shilling into Amy’s gloved hand after he had glanced over his shoulder to make sure May hadn’t followed him. ‘Late birthday present,’ he said gruffly as Amy stared at him in surprise. ‘Our little secret, lass. All right?’
Dear oh dear. If ever a man was henpecked, thought Kitty, this one was. And it was a shame because Ronald was so nice. More than nice. Kitty kept her thoughts to herself, smiling at Ronald before saying briskly to Amy who had just thanked her uncle, ‘Come on then, hinny, your grandma is on tenterhooks to see you. We might be a little late back the night, Ron, what with going to Binns and all. That won’t upset the apple cart, will it?’
Kitty’s meaning was clear and Ronald shook his head, his voice low as he said, ‘No, no, that’ll be all right. I’ll explain to May.You two have a nice time and give my love to Gran, Amy.’
Out in the narrow back lane which ran between terraced backyards, they slipped and slithered their way along frozen ridged snow, giggling when one or the other of them nearly went full length. This part of Fulwell housed quite a few solicitors, bank managers and the like and was almost middle-class. There were no overflowing lavatory hatches with their accompanying smell as most of the large terraced houses had had similar conversions to that of Ronald and May’s home, and some of the backyards had even been laid to grass.
If Amy’s life had been different, thought Kitty, if the bairn had had even a little affection shown her by her Aunt May, she’d have landed on her feet. As it was, she was nowt but a skivvy and an unpaid one at that. But at least Bess’s da hadn’t had his way. Kitty rammed her hat further on her head as a gust of icy wind nearly took it. Ronald had stood up to him and the others once in his life at least.
‘My mam wants to see you,’ she said to Amy once they’d exited the back lane and begun the walk to the tram stop. ‘She’s got something for you for your birthday.’
‘Really?’ Amy gave a little skip and a hop, curbing the impulse to pivot round two or three times as she was wont to do when the peculiar joy of living filled her. Anything could cause these brief explosions of sheer happiness - a beautiful sunset, the blackbird singing his heart out at twilight on the brick wall at the end of the yard, even the sight of newly fallen snow when it glittered like diamond dust - but since the incident with Eva in the summer she hadn’t felt the inexpressible emotion welling up until it filled every part of her. Until now. She caught hold of Kitty’s hand, her voice shy as she said, ‘I love you, Aunt Kitty.’
‘And I love you, hinny.’
‘I wish ...’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ How could she say she wished Aunt Kitty was her real aunty and that she lived with her and Mr and Mrs Price in their little house in Deptford Road? Kitty might tell Mrs Price and she might let on to Gran and then her gran would be upset. Her gran thought the world of Uncle Ronald. But when she was with Kitty and her mam and da she felt . . . normal. They liked her. Just as she was they liked her. ‘I just wish it could be Saturday every day of the week, that’s all.’
They stood with arms linked until the tram came. The journey was just a few minutes and when they alighted, Kitty said, ‘We’ll go in and see your gran first, shall we? And then Mam before we go to Binns.’
Amy nodded. Much as she liked Kitty’s mother, she couldn’t wait to see her grandma. Every Saturday when she had to leave her for another week she had a physical ache in her chest that didn’t go away all the rest of the evening.
Muriel’s eyes were fixed on the door when Amy and Kitty entered the front room. The four walls had enclosed her world since the stroke twelve years before. Although she had recovered her speech after a while, her heart had been severely affected. From the time she had left the infirmary she had remained virtually bedridden, moving only from the single bed which had been brought downstairs from Bess’s room to the large leather-covered commode which also served as a chair for any visitors. She knew her neighbours and friends pitied her and she could understand it - most folk in her condition would find life a trial. What they could never understand because she could never tell them was that the last twelve years had been the happiest of her life in some ways. Of course she still grieved for Bess, there wasn’t a day went by when she didn’t have a little tear, but each day since she’d come home from the hospital had been an extension of the two nine-month periods when Wilbur hadn’t touched her. Then it had been because she was carrying a child, now it was the fact that he found any sort of illness repulsive. If only she could have had Amy living with her she would have been the happiest woman alive, but it was a comfort to know her Ronald was bringing up the lass with his bairns. Young folk needed other young folk.
‘Hello, me bairn.’ Muriel held out her arms and Amy ran to the bed and kissed her grandmother before perching beside her while Kitty seated herself in the leather chair.
‘Has he gone?’ Kitty asked quietly.
‘Oh aye, over twenty minutes ago.’ Muriel smiled at them both. ‘It’s just the three of us.’
Amy wriggled her contentment. When she was with her grandma like this she often wished she could stay nestled into her side for ever. ‘Look what Aunt Kitty gave me.’ She had been pulling off her coat and scarf as she spoke and now lifted up the little cross which was lying in the hollow of her throat. And then, because she knew it would please her grandmother, she added,‘And Uncle Ronald gave me a whole shilling for my birthday to spend however I like.’
‘Fancy.’ Muriel smiled at the light of her life. ‘Well, I’ve got somethin’ for you an’ all now you’re all grown up an’ about to leave school.’ She didn’t dwell on this. She knew the lass had wanted to go to the secondary school, bright as a button Amy was, but she could understand Ronald and May’s reasoning that if their lads had had to leave at fourteen and work, it was only right that Amy should. Mind, Ronald’s bairns didn’t have as much up top as Amy did from what she could make out. Not that she saw much of any of them. Still, she shouldn’t complain. At least Ronald came once a week to see her.
‘Go across to the fire,’ she said to Amy, and when Amy slid off the bed and did as she was told, she added, ‘Now pull the rug back a bit.’
Amy turned with a questioning look on her face but Muriel, enjoying herself, said, ‘Go on, go on, it won’t bite you, lass.’
The shop-bought rug was a leftover from the days when the room had been Muriel’s pride and joy, a mausoleum for only the most honoured visitors. It covered half the bare floorboards which once had been polished to perfection.
Amy knelt and pulled the thin fringed material to one side. ‘There’s nothing here, Gran.’
‘That’s what folk are supposed to think. See that floorboard with the little chip out of it? Put your finger in there an’ lever it up. That’s right, go on. There’s summat wrapped in a bit of old sacking an’ a little bag beside it. Bring ’em here, hinny.’
Beside herself with excitement, Amy brought the square package and little dusty pouch to her grandmother, laying them on the eiderdown. Muriel leaned back on her pillows for a moment or two, her gnarled, veined hands resting on the sacking as she caught her breath.
Kitty hadn’t said a word during the proceedings but when Amy glanced at her she raised her eyebrows, expressing curiosity and surprise.
‘Now you’re not goin’ to be able to tell anyone about this in case it gets back to your granda, all right?’
Amy nodded, and when Muriel turned her gaze on Kitty the younger woman said quietly, ‘You know me, Mrs Shawe. I won’t say nowt.’
‘I know that, Kitty. By, I do. You’re a good lass and no mistake. What I would have done without you an’ your mam the last few years since I’ve been in this bed I don’t know.’ The two women smiled at each other before Muriel lifted the item wrapped in the sacking and said to Amy, ‘Take a look at this, hinny.You’re goin’ to have to hide it for the time being’ - she didn’t say until she had passed on but that was what she meant - ‘’cos the roof nearly went off this house when your mam gave it to me for me birthday. She was sixteen when she had it took.’
‘Oh, Gran.’ Amy stared down at the photograph of her mother, a shiver of sheer wonder vying with the lump in her throat. This was her mam, her
mam
. Her grandma and Kitty had described her mother to her but it wasn’t the same as seeing her. Before now there had only been the picture of her mam as a little baby lying on a sheepskin rug, the same as her grandma had had taken of Uncle Ronald when he was a bairn. These were on her grandma’s mantelpiece - her eyes flashed briefly to them - but they just looked the same as any baby to her. This was different. She gazed into the large dark eyes in the photograph. They looked dreamy, soft, and the bow-shaped mouth was half smiling. This was her mam when she was only two years older than she was now, before she met the man who had hurt her so badly. Amy never referred to him as her father, not even in her mind. Suddenly she burst into tears.
mam
. Her grandma and Kitty had described her mother to her but it wasn’t the same as seeing her. Before now there had only been the picture of her mam as a little baby lying on a sheepskin rug, the same as her grandma had had taken of Uncle Ronald when he was a bairn. These were on her grandma’s mantelpiece - her eyes flashed briefly to them - but they just looked the same as any baby to her. This was different. She gazed into the large dark eyes in the photograph. They looked dreamy, soft, and the bow-shaped mouth was half smiling. This was her mam when she was only two years older than she was now, before she met the man who had hurt her so badly. Amy never referred to him as her father, not even in her mind. Suddenly she burst into tears.
‘Ee, come on, me bairn.’ Muriel’s voice was gentle but it held a gratified note. ‘I knew you’d like to see her proper. I was goin’ to keep the picture till you got wed or somethin’ but . . .’ Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t say that there were more and more days lately when she doubted she’d still be alive to see that occasion; she didn’t want to upset the lass by speaking of her death.‘But I thought you were old enough now not to let on to your granda,’ she went on. ‘He said it was a waste of money, your mam havin’ it done for me. Said she’d got ideas above her station, her goin’ to a fancy photographer in town an’ all. On an’ on he went till I put it away for safe keepin’.’
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Gran?’ Amy’s eyes, luminous with tears, met her grandmother’s.
Muriel stared into the great blue pools. Her Bess had been bonny, she had taken after Wilbur in her colouring and thick curly hair and had turned heads from the minute she’d been born. But bonny as Bess had been, she wasn’t a patch on Amy. There was something about her granddaughter’s face, a delicacy, a fragility - oh, she didn’t have the learning to know the words to describe it. And the bairn’s eyes, she had seen blue eyes before but never the vivid violet shade looking at her so tenderly now.
Men would want her. Panic brought her hand fluttering to her throat, her heart undergoing a number of rapid palpitations.
‘You’re goin’ to be leavin’ school soon, hinny.’ Muriel leaned forward and touched Amy’s arm, bringing her granddaughter’s gaze from the photograph. ‘An’ not everyone out there in the world is what they seem on the surface. You’ll have to be careful, you understand me? You know what happened to your mam an’ she wasn’t bad, far from it, but she was gullible. An’ some men see a bonny lass an’ have to have them, right or wrong.’
Gran was talking about
him
. Amy stared at her grandmother, her face growing pink. She blinked. ‘Don’t worry, Gran.’
him
. Amy stared at her grandmother, her face growing pink. She blinked. ‘Don’t worry, Gran.’
‘But I do, hinny.’ Muriel’s breathing was laboured. ‘Your mam was a sweet trustin’ soul an’ look where that got her.’
Amy didn’t know what to say. Her grandmother had never spoken like this before. In all their conversations about her mother she had only related incidents from Bess’s childhood or things her mam had said and done which illustrated how loving and considerate she’d been. It had been Kitty who had told her about Christopher Lyndon. She was glad he was dead. It was not a new thought. After what he’d done to her mam, he hadn’t deserved to live and be happy.
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