Renee gulped, her voice changing yet again. ‘Please, lass, just this once. I’ve never asked you before, have I?’
It said volumes. ‘So this has been going on for some time?’ Hughie Fleming, the manager of the factory. Carrie had always liked him before this moment; he’d been a good boss to work for, friendly and kind, but now several things were fitting into place. The ease with which she and Lillian had got jobs at the firework factory on leaving school, Hughie agreeing to give her work at home before Matthew was born, Renee getting the promotion to forewoman . . . ‘Were you carrying on before you were married?’
‘No, honest, but I sort of knew he liked me and we’d have a crack together. I didn’t let him . . . you know, till after I went back to work when Veronica was born. But he’s nice, Carrie, and good fun, and his wife is a right old nag. Didn’t want anything to do with him once she’d had the bairns. He says she only married him to have a nice house and a family. Used to lie back and think of England right from their wedding night. He says it was like making on with a stuffed pillowcase.’
‘I don’t want to know, Renee.’
‘Oh, Carrie!’ The irritation was back. ‘Don’t be so childish, it’s not as if we’re hurting anybody. No one knows. And I tell you, lass, having Hughie has kept me sane these last few years.’
‘Do you love him?’
Renee looked at her, and for the first time her face held a touch of tenderness as she said, ‘Aye, I do. It was a bit of fun at first, but now . . . Aye, I love him. He’s generous and warm and funny, and he knows how to treat a lass.’
Carrie put a hand over her eyes, rubbing at her brow with her fingers before she raised her head. ‘What about Walter?’
‘What
about
Walter?’ Renee tossed her head in the old way. ‘I did my duty and gave him a bairn, didn’t I, and he dotes on her and she on him. He’s happy enough.’
‘He’s miserable, Renee. He’s been miserable for years and you know it.’
‘I don’t care.’ Renee wet her lips, digging her teeth into the flesh of the lower one. ‘And I know how that makes me sound but I can’t help that. He drives me round the bend, if you want to know. He’s a right old woman, moping about the house when he hasn’t got work and coming in tired and dirty when he has. I hate it; him, the pit, all of it.’
‘You knew he was a miner when you married him.’
‘It was different then. Look.’ Renee paused, and there was a fawning quality to her voice when she said, ‘Just help me out this once, lass, that’s all I ask. I swear I’ll never ask you again. Usually we cover ourselves fine but it was his birthday, and he’d had a row with his wife and she hadn’t even got any of the bairns to make him a card . . . He had to go to Durham on business and I went along for the ride to cheer him up. I did, an’ all,’ she added with a wink.
Carrie didn’t smile. ‘I’m furious with you for involving me.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Let’s just hope Walter doesn’t say anything to me.’
Carrie watched her sister’s face stretch as she said, ‘You wouldn’t drop me in the mire?’
‘I like Walter, Renee, and I’ve seen plenty of him over the years. Let’s face it, he’s round here almost as much as Veronica and for the same reason. He’s lonely at home. You’re my sister and I love you, but Walter feels like a brother, I tell you straight. And you’re in the wrong in this, not him. You made up your mind you were going to lead him a dog’s life once you’d had the bairn and that’s the truth of it.’
‘Plain speaking, is it?’ Renee glared at her, anger turning her face brick red. ‘Well, now I know.’
‘Like I said, Renee, let’s just hope Walter doesn’t do any checking up.’
There was silence, a long, vibrating silence, and when Renee broke it her voice was a hiss. ‘Thanks for nowt. I shan’t forget this.’
‘I hope you don’t because I’d hate to have to say it all over again.’
Renee swung round and left the room, and for a moment Carrie thought she was going to bang the door but in the event she obviously thought better of it.
Carrie sank down on one of the dining chairs, her head reeling. Renee took the biscuit and then some, she thought angrily. To begin with, her sister’s manner had been one of airy confidence that she would fall in with whatever Renee wanted, almost as if she was asking for a favour along the lines of leaving Veronica with them for a while or something similar. She wouldn’t betray Renee, there’d never been any likelihood of that, but she hoped she’d managed to put the wind up her sister. It might bring her up short, although Carrie doubted it.
Hughie Fleming
. Renee had been carrying on with Hughie Fleming for years and years; she could hardly believe it. Mind, thinking back she could remember Renee saying little things about him - that he’d married young, that he didn’t get on with his wife, that he dressed really well, things like that. It would destroy Walter if he found out, and what about Veronica? In spite of the fact that her niece saw very little of her mother on a day-to-day basis, Veronica adored her mam. What a mess.
After a moment or two, Carrie rose from the chair and smoothed down her dress, taking a deep breath. This was turning into a day and a half and no mistake. Him out there with his grand presents, Renee carrying on with a fancy man and David’s mam sitting in the kitchen with a face like a smacked backside because Ned had rolled home from the allotments after midnight well oiled.
Apparently the old miner who owned the plot next to Amos’s, Benny Shield, had brought out a number of bottles of his homemade wine just as Ned had been about to leave. ‘He must have bin hoardin’ ’em for years,’ Ned had whispered to her and David when he’d told them the reason for his wife’s glowering face. ‘Blackcurrant, rhubarb, gooseberry, sloes, he’d got the lot an’ with his wife havin’ just passed away he was feelin’ a bit down. I said to him, “Benny, you’re drinkin’ to ease the pain of yours havin’ gone an’ I’m drinkin’ to ease the pain that mine’s still with me.” By, like paint stripper one or two of ’em were; I’ve had the skitters all mornin’.’
Poor Ned. He was another one who was round here all the time because he didn’t want to be at home, Carrie thought ruefully, which was another nail in her coffin as far as Olive was concerned. Renee had tipped her the wink a long time ago that their mother-in-law had been ranting and raving at both Walter and Ned for visiting Dock Street too often. ‘I’m sure she thinks you’re some sort of femme fatale,’ Renee had giggled when she’d told her. ‘Luring all and sundry into your kitchen.’
Carrie had laughed with her sister at the time but Olive’s dislike of her had nevertheless caused her to lie awake for a good few nights afterwards. That had been five years ago. Now she accepted she would never do anything right as far as her mother-in-law was concerned, and that even Olive’s adoration of her grandson was not enough to bridge the divide.
When Carrie entered the kitchen it was to see Margaret, still and quiet, her thin face as white as a sheet, listening to Olive expound on Alec’s virtues of generosity and kindness. ‘And he’s promised your Veronica a bike on her birthday an’ all,’ she was saying to Renee. ‘Did you know that? Still, fair barmy about them two bairns, he is. Nothing’s too much trouble for them.’
Carrie stared at her mother-in-law. She was a cruel, hateful woman. She glanced at her own mother’s uncomfortable face and then at Lillian and Ada who were positively squirming, before her gaze came back to Olive. David’s mother knew exactly what she was doing to Margaret, turning the knife in the wound of her inability to carry her own child with devastating effect, whilst outwardly displaying the same ingratiating manner towards Margaret she’d always accorded ‘Mr Reed’s daughter’.
‘Shall we see about getting the men in and having tea?’ Carrie cut across what Olive had begun to say next with a coolness that was not lost on her mother-in-law.
‘Aye, lass, I’ll give ’em a call.’ Joan was out of her seat like a shot, with Lillian close behind. And when Carrie ignored Olive’s outraged face and said to Margaret, ‘Could you put the kettle on for a fresh brew, lass?’ she could almost see the steam rising from the top of her mother-in-law’s head.
Olive had been holding court as she was wont to do given half a chance, Carrie thought grimly, but she wasn’t going to get away with her spitefulness in
this
house. Carrie had lost count of how many times over the last years Olive had put the cat amongst the pigeons in some way or other, but she was in no mood for her mother-in-law’s antics today. She caught Ada’s eye and could tell that the old woman approved of her stand.
Margaret’s gratitude at being given something to do was not lost on Carrie, and not for the first time she thought, that poor lass. It was clear Margaret never really felt included when the family was together like this, and Alec spoke to her as though she was less than the muck under his boots at times - and in front of them all, too. Carrie hated to think what life was like for her in that grand mausoleum of a house near Ashbrooke Hall in Hendon, which she and Alec had moved to three years ago. Margaret might have a housekeeper and maid, and a gardener three times a week, but Carrie wouldn’t have her life for one hour for all the tea in China.
Renee must have been thinking along the same lines because now she rose to her feet and chatted to Margaret as the pair of them saw to the filling of the two big brown teapots Carrie had left ready at the side of the hob.
Even from across the room Carrie could see that Margaret’s hands were shaking, and the nervous twitch - which had developed about the time of her fifth miscarriage - was very obvious today. So it was with a softening towards her sister that Carrie heard Margaret laugh weakly at something - no doubt outrageous and probably concerning their mother-in-law - Renee was whispering.
For her part, Margaret was praying that the afternoon would soon be over and she could go home. Home to Mrs Browell, the housekeeper, who had virtually taken the place of her mother the last years. She felt safe at home, less . . . conspicuous. And she was conspicuous in this gathering, however kind Carrie and Renee were, she told herself miserably. She wasn’t like them, not in any way. Renee could laugh and joke about their mother-in-law and how dreadful she was, but she could never bring herself to do that. Olive Sutton terrified her.
When she was once again seated at the table opposite a glowering Olive, Margaret observed the way the other women spoke to each other. There was an ease, a familiarity that she envied with all her heart. Oh, they tried to include her time after time, she knew that, but she wasn’t
one
of them, that was the thing. And without a child to bridge the divide, she never would be. She closed her eyes momentarily, the pain sharp.
After the first miscarriage, Alec had been so sweet to her, nothing had been too much trouble for him. It had been the same the second time, but after that he had progressively withdrawn from her. She was not imagining this. Sometimes he acted as though he thought she didn’t
want
a baby and yet he knew this was not the case.
‘Are you feeling unwell, Margaret?’
As Carrie bent over her, her voice low, Margaret shook her head quickly. ‘I’m quite well, thank you,’ she said with a smile. ‘Just a little tired perhaps. I did not sleep soundly last night.’ In fact she did not sleep soundly any night. How could she, with Alec turned away from her in spirit as well as body, and everything that had been so right at first now so wrong? But she
would
give him a child whatever it took, even if she had to lie in bed the whole nine months like the last physician had suggested. As Renee leaned across to talk to her, Margaret shut her mind to the little voice deep inside that whispered, ah, but
will
you be able to make him a father? Wishing for it is not enough.
Matthew’s birthday tea was over and had been voted a great success by everyone other than Olive Sutton. David’s mother had sat stony-faced throughout the afternoon and early evening, but her umbrage had not stopped her from filling her face, as Renee murmured to Carrie. ‘I never believed in fairy stories when I was a bairn,’ she added, ‘but if ever there’s a wicked witch, it’s her.’
Carrie smiled faintly. It had been a long day with more than one surprise tucked in it.
‘Me and Walter an’ the bairn are off now, lass.’ Renee leaned closer to her sister. ‘And whatever you say, I know you won’t let me down. You’re not made like that.’
Carrie looked into the rosy-cheeked face and she really couldn’t have said whether she wanted to slap Renee or hug her. In the event she did neither, merely saying, ‘You hope.’