A Crimson Dawn (16 page)

She came towards Emmie grinning, with hands outstretched. As Emmie stood up to greet her sister, Nell caught sight of her pregnant state and froze.

‘Emmie, you're expecting!'

Emmie smiled and went to hug her. They embraced awkwardly over Emmie's bulge.

‘I married Tom,' Emmie said proudly, turning to nod at her husband. He was looking handsome in his best suit and stiff collar, grinning bashfully as Nell came forward to shake his hand.

‘Congratulations. Our Emmie's a lucky girl.'

‘I am,' Emmie agreed. ‘Eeh, it's grand to see you, Nelly! Why did you run off like that? You had everyone that worried. And not even a card—'

‘Don't nag,' Nell said, rolling her eyes. ‘I bet the fuss was over in days. I told you I couldn't go and live in that mission place.'

Emmie stopped herself asking about the money. ‘Dr Flora missed you a lot. Will you gan and see her while you're in the area?'

Nell shrugged. ‘We're near the end of the tour - I might do.'

‘I've so much to tell you. Sam got married to Louise and we got wed at the Settlement and—'

Tom interrupted. ‘Emmie, the minister's waiting outside to take us home.'

Emmie looked at him in dismay. ‘Can Nell come back with us? I just want a bit of time with her.'

Tom looked unsure.

‘Can you come, Nelly?' she urged. ‘Stay the night at ours and catch up with the others the morra. That's all right, isn't it, Tom?'

Tom hesitated then nodded. Nell looked between them. ‘I suppose I could - I mean, I'd like to. Give me a few minutes to fetch my bags.'

They went outside to explain to the minister. He laughed and said he might get her to lead the singing in chapel on Sunday.

‘Oh, she'll not be stoppin' that long,' Emmie said hastily, imagining the consternation Nell's brash appearance would cause in their spartan chapel.

Tom helped Emmie up into the carriage and stood around whistling while they waited.

‘She talks posh, doesn't she?' he mused. ‘Not like you, Emmie.'

Emmie flushed. ‘That's just an act - some'at she's learned for the stage.'

‘Still,' Tom said, ‘it's canny to listen to.'

That evening, they sat up late, listening to Nell's amazing tales of travel through England with different theatre troupes. She had parted company with Jackman soon after leaving Tyneside. Nell was vague about how she had managed to break into music hall.

‘I made a name for myself singing in various establishments around Leeds,' she said grandly. ‘Jackman got me introductions, but he wanted me to stay put. I told him I wouldn't end up in the West End of London by hanging round Leeds beer halls all my life.'

‘Beer halls?' Tom said, wide-eyed.

‘Concert halls,' Nell smiled.

Emmie found it hard to keep her eyes open or stop yawning. While Nell carried on chatting to Tom, she made up a bed for her sister on the horsehair sofa, a wedding present from the Currans.

‘Tom needs to be up for the early shift,' Emmie told Nell.

‘Get yourself to bed,' Tom told her. ‘I'll come when I'm ready.'

Emmie lay in the stuffy bedroom, unable to get comfortable, listening to the drone of conversation and laughter. It struck her that she and Tom did not laugh together like that any more. When had it stopped? After their courting days or the first few weeks of marriage, when it had all been new and exciting? The boundaries of her world had gradually shrunk. Life had become dull; she had become dull. Perhaps Tom found her so, compared to the vivacious Nell. He had never met anyone of Nell's type before.

Emmie tried to be optimistic. It was just because she was pregnant and not able to do as much. Once the baby was here, there would be plenty to laugh about together.

Emmie turned over again, a sharp pain gripping her, as if an invisible hand squeezed her womb. She stifled a cry. It eased off, but as soon as she closed her eyes, it came again. The pain came and went for half an hour or more. She longed for Tom to come to bed, but did not want to make a fuss. Was this normal, or was something terrible happening to the baby?

When Tom finally crept to bed at two o'clock, the pain had worn off. He leaned over and kissed her. There was a sour smell to his breath.

‘You've been drinking,' she whispered in astonishment. ‘You never drink.'

Tom sniggered. ‘That sister of yours had a drop of brandy. Said it helps her sleep after performin'. Seemed bad manners not to join her.'

Emmie was surprised, but did not really mind. Jonas and the boys had a drop of whisky on holidays without coming to harm. And this was a special occasion, being reunited with the wandering Nell. She decided to say nothing about the pains. She would ask Helen in the morning.

But rising early to make Tom breakfast before he left for work, she felt ill. And when she went to the outside water closet, a rush of colourless liquid poured between her legs. She leaned against the wall, shaking. Returning to the kitchen, she felt faint.

‘Tom, I don't feel well…'

He eyed her groggily over a cup of tea. Behind him, Nell slept deeply.

‘I think the baby …'

At once he was alert. ‘The baby?'

‘I had pains in the night,' she confessed, ‘and just now — I - wet mesel'.'

Tom sprang up. ‘Why didn't you say owt?' he cried. ‘I'll fetch Mam.'

Emmie wanted to stop him, tell him to go and call on Helen for help. The house was not clean enough for her mother-in-law and she would disapprove of Nell.

‘What about me sister?' Emmie whispered.

Tom hesitated, glancing at the sleeping Nell, her arms thrown out, mouth open, golden hair loose across the pillow. Emmie noticed the flush that came to his cheeks.

‘Why don't you call on Auntie Helen? Let's not bother your mam yet,' Emmie said quickly.

To her surprise, Tom nodded. He jammed on his cap and made for the door.

‘You gan back to bed and stay there,' he ordered. Then he dodged back and gave her a quick kiss of encouragement.

She climbed under the covers and closed her eyes. Dull twinges of pain came and went. Within twenty minutes, Helen was knocking on the door and bustling in.

‘My poor lamb! Have your waters broken? Let's get you comfy. Are you feeling any twinges yet?'

Emmie nodded, gulping back tears at her aunt's kind fussing. Helen changed her into a clean nightgown and lined the bed with brown paper that she had brought with her.

‘It may be ages yet,' she reassured, ‘but best be prepared.' She sat on the edge of the bed, taking Emmie's hand. ‘And who's Sleepin' Beauty in the kitchen?'

Emmie smiled. ‘That's Nelly.'

Helen gaped in disbelief. ‘Never in the world!'

Emmie explained what had happened the previous day. As she finished, a tousled-haired, yawning Nell padded into the room. Helen greeted her warmly.

‘Can you stay and help your sister?' Helen asked. ‘The baby's on its way.'

Nell played with her hair as she considered. ‘I could stay a day or two, I expect.'

‘But aren't you performing tonight?' Emmie asked.

‘A couple more pit villages,' Nell shrugged dismissively, ‘then the tour is over. I was thinking of looking for work in Newcastle anyway.' She gave a generous smile. ‘They can do without me. I'd rather stay and be of use to my little sister.'

Emmie eyed her warily. It was the same sarcastic tone Nell had used when they were young, a prelude to being pinched or having her hair pulled. But Helen was pleased.

‘That's grand, isn't it, Emmie?'

‘Aye.' Emmie mustered a smile, then closed her eyes as a new sharper pain gripped her.

***

The room grew hot and fetid as the day wore on. Helen opened the small window, but it brought little relief. She organised Nell into sitting by her sister, wiping her face and arms with a damp cloth. Nell did it distractedly, while chattering about her itinerant life.

By tea time, word had spread to the Currans. Louise and her mother came hurrying round.

‘Fancy taking Emmie over to Blackton in her state - and calling out the minister,' Tom's mother scolded her son. Tom was hovering in the doorway, anxious yet embarrassed by the sight of Emmie in bed surrounded by helpers. ‘And to a variety show,' Mrs Curran said with such distaste that Emmie wanted to laugh.

‘It was very sweet of Tom to do so,' Nell defended him. ‘Otherwise I would never have been reunited with my dear sister. You should be proud of your son, Mrs Curran, for his mission of mercy.'

Mrs Curran flashed her a look of disapproval, unsure if she was being made fun of. Emmie glanced at Nell, knowing full well her sister was mocking Tom's upright mother. She lay back, letting them spar with each other, too hot and uncomfortable to care. The contractions continued, weak but robbing her of rest. Helen left to see to her own family and the Curran women to their husbands.

‘Fetch Mrs Haile from upstairs if the pains get stronger,' Mrs Curran commanded her son.

Nell declared she would make them all cheesy potato pie, commandeering Tom to peel the potatoes. Amazingly, Tom did not protest. Emmie listened to them clattering about in the kitchen, joking and chatting over the task. She heard Nell offer Tom a brandy in a loud stage whisper.

‘A nip for the cooks,' she laughed conspiratorially.

Emmie longed to get up and join them, but she was pinned to the bed with nagging pain and fatigue. She lay awake through the long night. Tom came to bed late, lying on top of the covers as if she was somehow contaminated.

For the second night running, she smelled alcohol on his breath and felt a stab of annoyance at Nell for encouraging it.

In the early morning, she shook Tom awake. ‘Can you get your own breakfast?' she asked, as he sleepily pulled on his work clothes. He grunted an agreement.

‘Mam'll be down shortly,' he told her, with a peck on her forehead as he left.

Twenty minutes after he left for the pit, Emmie was seized by a wave of acute pain.

‘Nelly? Nell!' she cried out. When her sister did not stir, she screamed her name louder.

Nell came stumbling in, dishevelled and bleary-eyed.

‘Emmie, what's happened?'

Emmie shouted in pain, ‘Gan and fetch Auntie Helen - quickly - please, Nell!'

Nell looked aghast. ‘I'll have to get dressed, Emmie. Can you hang on?'

‘Just hurry,' Emmie groaned, and clutched the bedclothes.

Nell fled. Emmie could hear her pulling on clothes and brushing out her hair. Beyond the door, she could see Nell in front of the mirror, pinning up her dyed hair. Emmie felt a sudden pushing sensation between her legs. She shuddered and gasped at the acuteness of the pain.

‘Nelly, don't go!' she called out. She flung back the covers, her body drenched from the heat of the wool blankets. She screamed again for her sister.

Nell appeared in the doorway. ‘Emmie, you're not…?'

‘Aye, I am. You'll have to stay—'

‘I don't know what to do,' Nell protested.

‘Well, neither do I!'

Nell inched round the bed, nose wrinkling at the stench of labour.

‘Help me sit up,' Emmie panted. Nell took hold of her arm and hauled her upright. Emmie pulled up her sodden nightgown and let her legs fall open.

Nell screamed in disgust. ‘My God, Emmie! It's coming.'

She would have fled if Emmie had not been clinging on to her like a limpet. Nell stared in fascinated horror at the birth unfolding before her reluctant gaze. One moment Emmie was roaring at the agony, the next a bloodied, slippery creature was lying on the crumpled brown paper between her shaking legs.

‘Is - it - all right?' Emmie gasped, breathless.

Nell stared at the ugly specimen covered in mucus and blood. She snatched a towel from the rail at the end of the bed and threw it over the baby, dabbing at the blood and trying not to retch. This provoked a querulous howl from the infant. Emmie reached forward and pulled the bundle into her arms. She pressed her lips to its tiny crinkled face.

There was a call at the back door, and the neighbour from upstairs came in.

‘I heard the noise and thought you might— By heck, it's here already!' Mrs Haile exclaimed.

Emmie beamed, exhausted but triumphant. ‘Me sister helped me, Mrs Haile.'

Nell swiftly recovered her composure and smiled. ‘It came so quick - I couldn't have left Emmie to fetch anyone.'

Mrs Haile nodded. ‘You look a bit green round the gills. You put the kettle on, lass, and I'll see to the clearing-up.'

Nell sped from the room, grabbed one of Tom's rationed Woodbines and rushed into the back yard. She lit up the cigarette, coughed as it burned the back of her throat and breathed in the aromatic smoke, trying to rid her nostrils of the sweet stench of blood. She swore to herself, then and there, that she would never make her sister's stupid mistake of getting pregnant.

Yet, when she returned to the bedroom later and saw the cleaned-up baby nestling beside Emmie, swaddled in a white sheet, she felt a surge of envy. Emmie lay dozing, her smile tired but happy, her wavy black hair streaming across the pillow. Nell was struck by how beautiful her sister looked, a grown woman. She had never noticed before. Jealousy twisted inside. Why was Emmie always the lucky one, the one everyone fussed over and took to their hearts - their mother, the MacRaes, even Dr Flora? And now she had handsome Tom and this baby to love her. Life was so unfair.

‘He's a little laddie,' Mrs Haile told her.

Emmie smiled. ‘You've got a nephew, Nelly. Tom said if we had a boy, he wants to call him Barnabas after his father.'

‘Well, if Tom wants it, Tom must have it,' Nell said breezily.

Mrs Haile threw her a cautious look. ‘Will you be all right looking after them?'

‘Of course,' Nell beamed. ‘I'll make us some tea and toast. How about that, Emmie?'