A Crimson Dawn (38 page)

He rounded on her. ‘I hear you've been helping conchies escape. I've been defendin' me country - me family - and all the time you've been hidin' yellow-bellies. Where do you hide them, Emmie? In the coalhouse? Under me bloody bed?'

‘Don't talk daft,' she replied. ‘I've hid no one. Who's told you such tales?'

‘That's what they're sayin' round Blackton,' he said angrily, grabbing her by the arm.

‘So that's where you've been drinkin',' she said impatiently, ‘and listening to bar-room tittle-tattle when you should've been looking after our son.'

‘I'm not a nursemaid!' he bawled.

‘No, you're a father.' She glared. ‘Not that you've paid your son more than two minutes' attention since you came back.'

‘Shurrup.' He struck her hard with the back of his hand.

Emmie grabbed at the table to stop herself falling. She tasted the sweet bitterness of blood on her lip. She faced him, her eyes defiant. Barny ran to her and flung his arms about her legs, staring in mute terror at his father. Tom looked at them in fury.

‘That's right, turn the lad against me,' he accused. ‘He hates me and it's all your fault! Well, the pair of you can gan to hell!'

Tom shoved the table at them, threw a chair out of his way and stormed out of the door. He banged it angrily behind him. Emmie listened to his footsteps march away down the lane, clutching Barny to her. When she could hear them no longer, she let go a long breath.

‘Oh, dear God,' she whispered, ‘where is this going to end?'

***

Tom went missing. The next day, Emmie went round to the Currans' looking for him, but he had not gone there. They searched around the village and went over to Blackton, but no one had seen him. After two days, the police were called in and the scandal of his argument with Emmie and disappearance was fanned like fire around the village. Sergeant Graham came to interview her, asking strange questions about her political friends.

‘What's this got to do with Tom?' Emmie demanded in confusion. But he would not say.

It was the day Peter was leaving. She rushed round to wave him off, steeling herself against the disapproving glances and whispered comments of her neighbours. Even Mrs Haile from upstairs, a long-time friend, would not speak to her. Barny gave Peter his indecipherable drawing of a horse and Peter gave him his spare tin whistle in return. Emmie hugged him goodbye and he wept like a baby, until Mr Speed chivvied him into the van for the journey to the station.

‘I'll come round when I get back,' Helen promised, with an encouraging smile.

After fruitless searches up on the fell, Emmie kept to the house with Barny, as the gossip about her grew.

Louise relayed the wilder accusations.

‘They say you're in with dangerous revolutionaries,' she said suspiciously. ‘Some say you're carrying on with a conchie - that Tom's found out. You're not, are you?' Louise blushed as she asked.

Emmie laughed in shock. ‘Course I'm not. We had a row over Barny, like I said,' she repeated wearily. ‘Tom hit me and walked out.'

‘You must have really got him angry for Tom to do that,' Louise accused hotly. ‘If he's gone and done some'at to himself, I'll never forgive you!'

That was what plagued Emmie's mind too - the thought that Tom might take his own life. He was so unstable, he was capable of anything.

Helen and Jonas were Emmie's strongest support.

‘Come and stay with us till you hear some'at,' Helen pleaded.

But Emmie refused. If Tom returned and found her gone to the MacRaes it might tip him into madness for good.

Five days after his disappearance, Tom rolled up in the village on a passing farm wagon with his drinking friend Danny. He staggered home, stinking and dishevelled, demanding food for himself and his friend. Emmie's wave of relief on seeing him alive turned quickly to fury.

‘We've been out of our minds with worry, Tom!' She took him to task. ‘How dare you gan off like that without a word? The things they've said about me this past week don't bear repeating. And all the time you were boozin' in Newcastle!'

Tom laughed as if it was all a big joke. ‘Told you she was fiery, Danny lad.' He nudged his mate. ‘Sit yourself down and wor lass'll fetch you a plate of some'at tasty.'

‘Fetch you some'at tasty?' Emmie railed. ‘You'll gan to Sergeant Graham and tell him you're alive, else you'll get nowt.'

But Tom ignored her and the men settled by the fire to play cards, filling the room with smoke from their cigarettes. Emmie was furious. She was about to storm off to the Currans with the news, when she realised Barny had fled the house. Gnawing panic gripped her. She pulled off her apron and went to look for him. Halfway down the street, she saw him running towards her with PC Collier.

‘Lad tells me his da's returned,' Johnny grinned.

Emmie stared at Barny in astonishment. ‘He did?'

‘Aye, and he's brought a friend called Danny, so I hear.'

Emmie ruffled her son's hair. ‘By, you're a clever lad.'

Johnny agreed. ‘Not much gets past this young ‘un. I'll just come and see for myself, then I'll leave you to it.'

The young policeman took a quick statement from Tom. He was vague about his movements, but the Blacksmith's Arms in Newcastle seemed to have been his home all week. Emmie had no idea where he had got the money to drink, but no doubt the sight of his uniform provoked people into buying him liquor.

That night, Danny slept on their sofa and Tom made love to her with the same aggressive indifference as the first night. She was nauseous at the smell of his grubbiness and stale breath, glad only at the brevity of the sex.

Danny stayed on for several days, an amiable but selfish guest who did not lift a finger to help or offer a penny towards his keep. Tom treated her with contempt, Danny with benign indifference.

Louise visited, but Tom's parents stayed away. By all accounts they were scandalised by his behaviour and refused to see him until he sobered up.

‘They blame you, Emmie,' Louise told her.

‘They would,' Emmie sighed impatiently.

‘Well, Tom would never have tret us like this unless you'd pushed him to it with all your politics.'

Emmie had had enough. ‘There was a time when you and Sam used to think the way I did,' she reminded her. ‘When standing up for what you believed counted for some'at round here. Now all you seem to care about is keepin' up appearances. Your parents won't even come round to see Tom, they're so frightened of losing their precious dignity. If they cared about their son at all - or you your brother - you'd be fetching in the doctor and asking why he's acting like a monster!'

Louise went puce with indignation. ‘Don't you lecture me about me own flesh and blood.'

Tom swayed to the yard door. ‘Hoy, what's all the shoutin' for?'

Louise snapped, ‘Ask her — she's the cause of all the trouble.' She turned on her heels and stalked out of the yard.

Tom and Emmie stared at each other hopelessly.

‘Tom,' she hesitated, ‘I've been thinking. Maybe you should gan and talk to the doctor.'

‘Doctor?' he snorted. ‘What for? I'm fit as a lop.'

‘Night-times,' she struggled for words, ‘you're gettin' nightmares - you shout out in your sleep - not gettin' proper rest. I know there's some'at on your mind—'

‘Bloody rubbish!' Tom growled. ‘I'll not have any quack tellin' me I'm a loony.'

‘They won't, Tom,' Emmie tried to reason, ‘but they might have medicine—'

‘Shurrup and fetch us some'at to eat, woman,' he demanded, and retreated indoors.

Tom's leave drew to an end. He treated home like a barracks; eating, sleeping and whiling away the dead time, waiting with Danny for the pubs to open. He pawned bits of china and linen to fund their drinking.

‘You can fetch it back with next month's wages,' he told Emmie when she complained.

Two days before he was due to leave, she faced up to them.

‘Danny, it's time you left. Tom needs to see his family before he gans away. No doubt you need to see yours,' she added pointedly. He had talked of a wife and three children. She pitied them more than herself.

Emmie ignored Tom's protests and made up a picnic for Danny. ‘Here, this is the last you'll get from me. It's a forty-minute walk down the bank to Gateshead to the nearest tram stand. Ta-ra, Danny.'

The man left meekly, seeing his scrounging days had run out.

‘See you in a couple of days, Tom lad,' he grinned and left.

Emmie set about cleaning up the mess of cigarette butts and empty bottles, washing the blankets that Danny had used on the sofa and hanging them out in the April breeze.

‘Tonight,' she told Tom, ‘you'll gan and make your peace with your family. Tomorrow's for us and Barny. We'll take him up on the fell for a picnic, eh?'

Tom nodded in resignation.

Emmie did not go with him to see the Currans. She was still smarting from the way they had colluded in the rumourmongering and blamed her for Tom's bad behaviour. But she let Tom take Barny. They returned, chatting together as they crossed the yard, and Emmie prayed the worst of his stormy moods were over.

That night in bed, Tom did not roll over and shut her out after making love.

‘Emmie,' he whispered, ‘I don't want to gan back.'

She put out a hand and touched his face. ‘Tell me,' she answered.

For a long moment there was silence, then his voice came low and rasping.

‘There was this raid … bloody shambles … didn't see the Germans till they were flying in over the top. Some lads -' he hesitated - ‘well, it was too much and they ran off.' He took a deep breath. ‘Top brass came down hard - make an example of ‘em, they said. Two dozen got death sentences.'

‘Two dozen!' Emmie gasped.

‘Aye, but most got off with prison - commanding officers spoke up for 'em.'

‘Most?' Emmie queried.

Tom's voice was husky. ‘Three didn't. One was a lad named Curly - been in since 1915 - came from Sunderland way. Used to volunteer for night skirmishes - nowt he wouldn't do. Except that day … ran off screaming like a bairn. That put the wind up us more than the Germans. If Curly could lose it …' Tom's voice trailed off.

‘Oh, Tom,' Emmie murmured, putting an arm about him, ‘that's terrible. You never said you'd lost a marra.'

Tom stiffened. ‘He wasn't a marra. Just knew of him - him being one of the old-timers.'

‘But still…'

‘That's not the worst of it,' Tom said harshly. ‘I'm not bloody soft - lads die around us all the time. And he was a deserter, so they had to do some'at.'

‘Then what, Tom?' Emmie asked quietly.

She heard him gulping, struggling with the words. ‘It wouldn't happen normally - but it was up the Front line and things were a mess - they had to act quick. So they got the firing squad from our unit - we got Curly.'

Emmie froze in horror. ‘Not you, Tom?'

‘Aye, me!' he croaked. ‘We had to line up - twelve of us; six standin', six kneelin'. And Curly's sittin' on this chair, blindfolded with a scrap of paper pinned on him. And we had to turn about and some of our rifles were unloaded - then they mixed them up and gave them back to us … I tell you, me legs were like water. And we fired at that bit o' paper.' Tom shuddered. ‘But he was still kickin',' he moaned.

‘No, Tom!' Emmie cried.

‘Doctor said he wasn't dead. So this officer - the marshal - he goes up and fires right into Curly's head!' He sobbed loudly.

Emmie grabbed him to her. ‘Oh, my poor, poor man!' She stroked his head and tried to soothe his juddering, weeping body. ‘It wasn't your fault. You should never have been made to do such a thing - it's barbaric.'

He curled up in her hold like a small boy desperate to be comforted.

‘No one should have to go through what you went through,' she said bitterly. ‘Killin' our own men just to terrorise others into carryin' on this terrible slaughter. When will they stop?'

Tom's sobbing lessened. They lay together, numbed by the outpouring.

Emmie whispered, ‘I don't want you to go back, Tom. You don't have to. The doctor could sign you off with shell shock - get you to a hospital for a bit. You need a proper rest - let your mind heal.'

‘I'm not a bloody basket case,' he bristled, suddenly tense. ‘And I'll not hide behind any doctors. I'm not a shirker like your precious conchies.'

‘They're not shirkers,' Emmie protested wearily. ‘Rab was sentenced to death as well, you know - was saved from the firing squad at the last hour. But he was prepared to die for the cause. Thousands of men like him are resisting. You could too.'

‘Me? Never!' Tom said savagely, pulling away from her. ‘They should've shot the bastard.'

‘You don't mean that,' Emmie said in dismay.

‘Aye, I do. Curly was worth ten o' his kind.' Tom was suddenly suspicious. ‘Where is he now? Have you got him in hidin'? You have, haven't you? He's the bloody conchie they say you're having a fling with.' He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘Always knew Rab MacRae was after you. Just waited till me back was turned—'

‘Stop it, Tom!' Emmie protested, frightened at his sudden volatility. ‘Rab's in gaol and I'm not having any fling.'

‘I don't believe you,' he cried.

‘Why not?'

‘Cos there's this lad ganin' round Blackton spoutin' off that he knows things about you - that you trick lads into being conchies and promise to get them away to Ireland or some'at. Lure them in.'

‘Who said?' Emmie's heart banged in fear.

‘Some lad called Osborne. Said he knew you well - one of MacRae's bloody socialists. Nearly knocked his block off. But there's no smoke without fire.'