Authors: Yelena Kopylova
"I'm going to make it up to you for all the love that I've withheld, and for all the love you've missed in your life."
May was saying, "This will be the first time in years that Lucy and Jim and the hairns haven't spent New Year's Eve with us. But she's on her time and not feeling too good. I haven't been long back. Good Lord!
I'll be a granny for the fifth time. It won't be all that long before Susan marries and then I'll be a great-grandmother. Oh, I'd hate to be a great-grandmother."
"You look as old as one now; and anyway, don't be daft, woman, Susan's only seven and in ten years' time you'll be in a wheelchair."
As Frank was talking his arm had gone round May's shoulder and he was hugging her to him, and of a sudden Peggy felt she must get away from this family scene or she'd burst out crying. She rose to her feet, saying, "Well, I'll be seeing you, that's if you're all sober enough to see me."
"Another cheeky monkey, suggesting we've been drinking." Frank stood up and, taking up an indignant posture" he placed one hand on his hip and pranced towards her, saying, " No alcohol ever crosses my lips, apart from cooking sherry. "
"Get out of the way, you big goof!" Charlie pushed his father to one side, then said, "Come on, Peggy;
I'll see you across. "
In the hallway, as Charlie helped her into her coat, his mother's voice came to them, shouting, "Half past eleven the recital starts with the Spanish Fandango."
Out on the pathway leading to the gate he took her arm, saying, "She gets dafter as she gets older," but there was such warmth in his tone that his words could have been translated as, "Isn't she marvelous!"
She stumbled off the edge of the concrete path, and immediately his flashlight was directed towards the ground and at the same time he pressed her arm more tightly into his side, and like this they walked on until they reached the wood, and there their steps slowed and quietly he asked, "Where's he gone tonight?"
It was the first time any one of them had asked her reasons for wanting to come across and see zi8
the New Year in, and she answered, "Some men's do, I suppose."
"Yes, yes, some men's do. He's a big noise now;
at least he imagines he is. How are things? "
"Oh, as usual, except She stopped and she turned to look at him, but she couldn't make out his face in the darkness of the wood, so it gave her the courage to say, " I'm worried, Charlie. It's about the child.
He practically eats her up. There's never a minute when he's in the house that he'll let her out of his sight. "
It was a moment before he answered, "Well, in a way that's
understandable; she's his daughter."
"Yes, in a way, Charlie, but ... but there are other things."
"What other things?"
"Oh." She moved restlessly and kicked at the crisp leaves at her feet.
"I ... I can't explain." But then, her voice lightening, she said,
"There's one nice thing happened today; I mean, tonight. Just before I came over. Gran and I ... well. Gran opened up and I know the reason for her succession of illnesses, real and imagined. She's had a
loveless life right from the beginning, a life domineered by
Great-gran. Maybe it's late, but we've come to know each other, and, you know, I don't feel lonely any more over there."
"Oh my God! Oh, Peggy, to hear you say that ... that you're lonely, cuts me to the bone. I lie up there night after night' she felt
rather than saw the motion of his head back towards his home 'but I'm with you over here. I'm in that house, following your every move until you go to bed. And then I'm pulling you from the bed and him. Oh Peggy. What am I going to do about you? I've tried to get you out of my system. I have. Yes, I have. I even went to the length of taking Kitty McKenna to the pictures last week. But that was a mistake in more ways than one. She sent me a Christmas present; it's a tie, one of those hand-knitted ones."
The note of laughter in his voice matched the rising gurgle in herself and it came over in her voice as she said, "Kitty McKenna? Oh, Charlie, you've done it now, because she's been after you for years.
Her mother teaches the piano, and, if I'm not mistaken, plays the fiddle. Oh no! the violin. She's very refeened; it would never be a fiddle, would it? Oh, Charlie. " She stopped; and they stood, each silent as if alone. The wind passed over them and rustled the bare branches of the trees and they still stood.
Whose arms went out first they would never know, but suddenly they were holding each other tightly, their mouths hungry for each other.
They swayed as if they, too, had come under the pressure of the wind.
When it was over she leant against him, the side of her face pressed against his neck and she was
22,0
muttering, "This ... it shouldn't have happened, Charlie. I told myself it must never happen."
"It happened a long rime ago, my dear, when we were quite small, romping in the wood. The thing now is, what are we going to do about it? Mainly, what are you going to do about it? I'm ready any time. We could go away ... She straightened herself.
"Charlie, Charlie, we ... we could never go away; there's the child,"
she said.
"Of course there's the child. We could take her with us; don't be silly."
"He'd never let that happen, don't you see? I've told you, he's got this mania for her: not only would he take us to court but ... but I think he'd kill anybody who dared to stand between her and him. That's that's what I'm frightened of, this unnatural feeling. Well, it is unnatural because he's not like an ordinary father at all. He doesn't act like a father, not that I've got much to go on, remembering mine.
But it's as if I'd never borne her, it's as if he himself had given birth to her. She's all his, he has said so. Only tonight we had a row and said things. I stand up to him but underneath I'm frightened; scared to death really."
"Well, if that's the case, something will have to be done. You can't go on living like this, scared to death. Tell me something. If it wasn't for her would you come away with me?"
"Oh yes, Charlie; yes, like a shot. Oh yes, my dear." She kissed him again softly, tenderly. Then she said, "I'm afraid for her; in some strange way, I'm afraid for her. But, Charlie, please don't mention this to your mother or dad, will you?"
"No, no, I won't. But me ma's no fool. She took his measure years ago, as she did your great-gran's."
"There's another thing, Charlie: you've got your career and it's going to be wonderful; London is only the start. And nothing must spoil that... " Listen to me, Peggy. I love my music, but I can tell you it takes second place in my life. I think I concentrated on it only because you got married. In fact, I'm sure I did. Likely I would have dropped it and returned to the strumming. "
"Never. Never."
"Well, that's as may be; but no matter what line my career takes, you'll always come first. Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, there'll be you always in front of it. Just remember that, will you? I haven't got his looks or his stature. I'm five-foot six and I'll likely run to fat later on because Ma says I'm the image of my grandfather, whom I can't remember ever having seen. But when I think about how I feel for you, it turns me into a Hercules and I feel I can conquer the world."
ZZ2
"Oh, Charlie." She gave a small laugh.
"You were always flowery; you got it from reading so much poetry. I still have that little book of selected poems you gave me on my twelfth birthday. Do you still read poetry?"
"No't very often; my ukulele takes up most of my time as you know."
"Your ukulele?" They laughed together now.
"Charlie."
"Yes, Peggy?"
"I'm very fond of your mother; in fact, you could say I love her. She seems to have always been there for me to run to. And I know she likes me, but I don't know how far her liking will stretch if she knows I'm the means of you ... well, not marrying. You mustn't let her know this has happened. And I should say I'll forget it too, but I won't.
It's something that will help me to go on. But Charlie, seriously, and I mean this, you've got to make your own life, and it must be a married life because I'll be stuck in that house until Emma is old enough to look after herself. And all I can say is. God help me in the years between, because there's going to be a fight and I don't know if I shall be strong enough or clever enough to last out. But there's one thing sure, Charlie, I'll never leave her, not in his care. "
The wind had an icy tang to it: it swirled about them right down to their feet, disturbing any loose leaves it could find; and for a minute or two its voice was the only sound they heard, until Charlie's broke into it, saying, "Well, don't worry, at least about me. I know what I'm going to do in the future.
Oh, come on, come on. Oh Peggy, don't cry. Please. I can't bear it when you cry. Look, I'll promise you one thing:
I'll not marry Kitty McKenna, not even if she sends me another tie.
"
"Oh, Charlie. Charlie. But ... but I will worry if I think you are hanging on waiting, because it's no good. I'll be near forty by the time she's ready for marriage, and that's a lifetime away; and it's your lifetime away, too. And you know something, I'm older than you by two and a half months."
"Yes, you are; and now let me tell you something:
years ago I made up my mind never to marry a woman older than myself.
So you see, you have nothing to worry about. Oh Peggy. Peggy. "
Again they were enfolded. But quickly now, she said, " I must go; but I don't regret this, Charlie. Oh no;
it'll be something to hang on to. " She didn't add, " And to know you're still there waiting," because, knowing Charlie as she did, she knew that that was what he would do, wait, hoping against hope. She had said he must marry only so as not to disappoint his mother; but should he come to her one day and say he was about to marry someone, that would assuredly beat her into the ground. He was all she
had to hope for. He didn't know it and he mustn't know it, but
nevertheless it was true.
"Happy New Year, darling." She had called Char lie 'darling'.
His reaction was not some other endearment but a tightening of his holding of her and saying again, "Oh Peggy. Peggy;' then, " A Happy New Year when it comes. "
Rosie Milburn was a joker; besides which, not only did she keep the house spotless but also she was a good cook. In short, Rosie was a treasure who had brought a lightness to the house. She hummed to herself when she was working and should you pass her when she was on her knees polishing the floor, or slapping dough on the board she made bread for them all she would come out with some remark that would either cause you to make a retort in similar vein or have you burst out laughing.
Altogether she was a nice woman, was Rosie Milburn. She got on with Victoria like a house on fire; as for Mrs. Funnell, she even chipped that old lady.
"How's your old wooden legs this morning? Mind the splinters!" she would say to her.
Mrs. Funnell had got used to this form of greeting, but it wasn't known whether she appreciated it or not. As for the master of the house, she chipped him, too.
"Make way for the Lord Mayor," she said one day on the front steps, as she moved her bucket aside, and he, bending over her, said, "Many a true word spoken in jest, Rosie," to which she had reacted quickly, saying, "Yes, Mr. Jones;
but those who sit on horsehair chairs generally get their burns
scratched," bringing from him the reaction of a push on the side of her head and their laughing together.
Yes, Rosie had brought lightness into the house. Peggy was aware that many of her sayings were threadbare, she had heard them many times before, but as the comedian said, it wasn't what was said, it was the way it was told. And it certainly was the way Rosie said it.
Apparently, too, Rosie enjoyed herself after working hours. Her
widowhood sat lightly on her shoulders, and from what Peggy gathered from her she had a favourite pub.
As for Emma, Emma loved Rosie.
"Rosie's being funny again. Mammy," she would say.
"She said a funny poem to me about an angel spitting."
"Angels don't spit."
"Oh, Rosie's angels do."
Yes, indeed, Rosie's angels spat. She was a dab hand at couplets, was Rosie.
So all went well, at least in the working part of the house, for more than two years. Then it seemed that all of a sudden Rosie wasn't so merry: her laughter was forced, and she didn't wisecrack as you were passing her, until Peggy felt she must seek the reason.
"Is anything the matter, Rosie? Aren't you well?" she asked her. And Rosie had replied in a sort of mumble, "I'm all right, Mrs. Jones; just a bit worried about my brother. He's not too good lately."
So that was it; she was worried about her brother.
Then came Monday morning. Her grandmother, as usual, was sorting the washing in the scullery. She herself had just returned from taking Emma to school. That was one thing Andrew couldn't do, because he had to be at the Works by eight o'clock and Emma didn't start school until nine. She had picked up the letters from the wire box behind the front door, dropped off her coat on her way across the hall and gone into the kitchen. And her grandmother called from the scullery, "Is that you, dear?" And when she answered, "Yes, it's me," then added, "Has Rosie arrived yet?" Victoria came to the kitchen door, saying, "No, she hasn't. Strange, isn't it? You would think that when she wasn't
coming she would have got some word round."
Peggy sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the mail.
There were three letters and an electricity bill addressed to Mrs.
Emma Funnell, three circulars and- she picked up the last envelope- a cheap blue paper one and addressed to herself, not as Mrs.
Margaret Jones, but Mrs. Peggy Jones. Who called her Peggy besides those in the household? Charlie. But Charlie was away and this
certainly wasn't his writing: last year she had received postcards sent by him while travelling abroad with the quartet, and they were