A Crimson Dawn (52 page)

‘Come on, Emmie,' Rab urged. ‘Let's get out of here.'

Emmie searched around quickly for clothes but could find none.

‘Just wrap them in blankets,' Rab suggested.

As they made for the door, they heard shouts across the yard. Emmie froze. Barny began to whimper again, clinging on to his mother.

‘Th-that's me da,' he said in a small voice. ‘He's been drinkin'.'

Nell's voice laughed harshly as she shouted back. Tom banged into something and cursed loudly.

‘Out the front door,' Emmie ordered.

They ran from the room and down the narrow corridor. Emmie seized the handle. The door was firmly bolted, no key in the lock. The back door banged open, blowing out the guttering candle. They could hear Nell laughing and Tom fumbling about and knocking into furniture as he tried to light a lamp.

‘Try the bedroom window,' Emmie whispered.

She followed Rab back, but as they passed the open door to the kitchen, the lamplight flared and Nell spotted them. She screamed. Mary wailed in fright. Rab turned to Emmie with a warm look of encouragement.

‘Follow me,' he murmured and walked straight into the kitchen.

When Tom saw them, he swayed in astonishment.

‘What the hell—'

‘Emmie!' Nell cried in disbelief.

Tom stared at her, open-mouthed, then focused on Rab. ‘What you doin' here, MacRae? Put her down! She's my lass.'

Rab held on to the crying Mary. ‘You're not fit to be anyone's father,' he said with contempt. ‘I've not seen animals tret worse. Mary's mine and Emmie's - and we're taking her and Barny with us.'

‘Like hell you are!' Tom snarled. ‘Mary's good as mine. She makes up for the bairn Emmie lost in prison - that bairn would've lived if you hadn't got my missus mixed up in bloody conchie business!'

Emmie gasped, looking accusingly at Nell. ‘How dare you tell him!'

Nell's look was defensive. ‘What did it matter? Made Tom feel better about keeping the lass. And don't blame me for finding a bit comfort where I can - you've always had it easier than me, always,' she slurred with drunken self-pity. ‘Anyhow, your marriage was over - you'd got Rab. Isn't that what you always wanted?'

‘I want my children,' Emmie replied. ‘You've no right to keep them.'

‘But I have,' Tom growled, shoving away a chair and lurching towards her.

Quickly thrusting Mary into Emmie's arms, Rab barred Tom's way. Tom took a wild swing at him, which Rab dodged easily.

‘Come on, nancy boy pacifist,' Tom goaded. ‘Fight me for 'em like a man.' He lunged at Rab again, who blocked his fist and pushed him back. Tom fell into a chair.

‘Haway, Emmie,' Rab said, turning quickly and steering Barny to the back door.

Emmie hurried into the yard and was halfway across, carrying Mary, when Tom bawled behind them.

‘Stop, you're not ganin' anywhere!'

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting crack. Emmie swung round to see Tom waving a gun at them. Her heart pounded in shock. The smell of gunshot filled the sharp air. Nell screamed. Rab was clutching his shoulder, his face set in a startled grimace.

‘Rab!' Emmie cried in horror.

‘Oh my God, Tom!' Nell whimpered in disbelief. ‘You've shot him.'

‘Go with the bairns,' Rab panted, leaning against the yard wall.

‘No, she's mine,' Tom thundered, staggering across the yard, aiming the pistol at Rab's head. ‘You'll not take her, MacRae.'

‘No, Tom!' Emmie cried.

‘Put the gun down, Tom, for God's sake,' Nell bawled.

Barny clung to Emmie. Mary wailed loudly. Beyond there was noise in the back lane, running and shouting. Rab was hunched against the wall, Tom standing over him.

‘I'll finish off the job the army should've done years ago,' he raged. ‘Put you out yer misery, yer yellow-bellied bastard! If it wasn't for you, Emmie would still be with me. You took what was mine, now I'm takin' it back.'

‘She's - not - yours for the taking,' Rab answered breathlessly. ‘Emmie's a woman - not a possession.' He winced at the red-hot pain searing his shoulder.

‘Well, you'll not have her,' Tom said in fury, thrusting the gun at him and cocking it.

Rab looked back in defiance. ‘You think you can take my freedom that easily?' he grimaced. ‘I've - had - what no other man has had - real freedom with Emmie - freedom of mind - and - spirit… no one … can take … that away …' Rab closed his eyes as the pain engulfed him.

Emmie clutched at the children, hiding Barny's face from the terrible scene.

‘Please, Tom, no!' she begged. ‘Killin' him won't change anything. Let him live and be a father to Mary. That's all I ask, Tom.'

Tom swung round to face her, his features contorted in hatred. He stared at her blindly, then something in his expression changed.

‘I want you back, Emmie,' he cried. ‘That's all I want - for things to be like they always were - you and me and Barny. It wasn't meant to be like this.'

She gazed at him in disbelief. His angry face crumpled in despair.

‘I need you, Emmie …' A noise rose up in his throat like the cry of a wounded animal.

Emmie held his look. ‘Let us go, Tom,' she pleaded softly. ‘Please let us go.'

Suddenly, behind her came a shrill whistle and the stamp of running boots. The commotion in the back lane erupted into the yard. Johnny Collier and another policeman pushed their way past Emmie.

‘Tom!' Collier shouted. ‘Give me that.' He stretched out his hand for the gun.

Tom seemed on the point of handing it over, then hesitated.

‘Goodbye, Emmie,' he whispered. Then in one swift move, he pressed the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Tom's suicide and the attempted murder of Rab were headline news the following few days, but Emmie did not read them. She stayed at the hospital keeping vigil by Rab, while Flora and Helen looked after her children. The bullet was removed, but Rab developed a high fever and his life hung on a thread.

When she was allowed in to see him, Emmie stroked his head, talking to him quietly about the old days at China Street with his family, of India Street and the Blackton Messenger, of The Grove and their short months of happiness together. She sang to him and read poetry.

‘Don't you dare die on me!' she railed at him one afternoon, despairing of his pulling through.

Charles came to sit and pray with him, even though they knew Rab would not want it. But Emmie would do anything to keep Rab alive.

The next day, as she paced the hospital grounds, waiting to see him, Nell appeared.

‘I'm not stopping,' she said defensively, before Emmie could speak. ‘Just came to say goodbye. I'll not be bothering you again - I'm off for good this time. There's nothing to keep me here.'

They stared at each other. Emmie's disgust at the way her sister had treated the children gave way to pity. Nell looked so forlorn despite her defiant words.

‘How's Rab?' Nell asked more gently.

Emmie gulped. ‘Fighting for his life.'

Unexpectedly, Nell dashed forward and hugged her. ‘I hope he pulls through. I know how you care for him.' Nell kissed her forehead like she was a child. ‘I don't know what it's like to love a man,' Nell murmured. ‘Apart from Da.'

Emmie clung to her sister, swallowing tears. Then just as swiftly, Nell pulled away and turned to go.

‘Stay, Nelly.' Emmie reached out. ‘I can't bear to think of you with no place to live. Flora would help—'

‘No,' Nell cut her off. ‘I've caused you all enough bother. Anyway, I'm off down Leeds to look for Jackman. Don't worry about me.'

Briskly, Nell walked away with a tap of high heels, turning once to wave, and then was gone.

Trembling, Emmie sat down on a bench and tried to calm herself. For a long time, she thought back to their childhood days and her tempestuous relationship with Nell. With regret she had to admit it had never recovered from their abrupt separation and their mother's momentous decision to send her to the MacRaes. Dear beloved Helen and Jonas.

All at once she was filled with a sudden strong presence of Jonas. Emmie's heart stopped. She could almost hear the old man talking of Rab. His loud laughter rang in her ears.
No one makes me as angry as that lad - and no one makes me more proud!

Emmie had an overwhelming feeling that something had happened. Jonas had appeared to her. He was calling Rab home. In panic, she fled back to the hospital. It was not yet visiting time, but she barged past the matron on to the ward.

‘Rab!' she gasped in horror. His bed was empty, stripped back. Tears of despair stung her eyes. Her beloved Rab was gone.

‘Look here!' the matron called, bustling after her. ‘What do you think you're doing?'

‘Where have you taken his body?' Emmie cried.

‘Body?' Matron repeated. ‘Mr MacRae's taking a bath. Now will you please—'

‘Emmie?'

Emmie spun round at the familiar voice. Rab was being wheeled into the room in a bath chair.

‘Rab!' she sobbed, and flew to greet him. She crumpled at his feet, crying and laughing in relief. ‘I thought you were . . .'

The matron followed, tutting in disapproval. ‘What a fuss!'

Rab laid a tender hand on Emmie's head and ruffled her hair. She clung to him, choked with emotion.

‘She causes a stir wherever she goes, Matron,' Rab joked weakly.

‘That I can believe,' Matron snorted, and left them alone.

Emmie looked up into Rab's loving eyes, full of their old vitality.

‘I had a premonition,' she whispered. ‘Jonas came to me - it was like he was calling you back - said he was proud of you. I thought it must mean the end.'

Rab smiled. ‘I never did do what the old man told me.' He stroked her face. ‘Maybes he's giving us his blessing. Not the end, Emmie, but a new beginning - for us and the bairns, eh?'

She seized his hand in exultation and kissed it.

‘Aye, Rab,' she smiled, her heart brimming with love, ‘nothing can stop it now - our crimson dawn.'

***

If you have enjoyed A CRIMSON DAWN, you might like to read another of The Tyneside Sagas – A HANDFUL OF STARS.

It's 1931 and the Depression has brought Tyneside to its knees. Young, pretty Clara Magee is devastated when her father commits suicide leaving secrets behind him and the family is forced to sell their fancy-goods shop to a German couple. Despite her mother Patience's disapproval, Clara befriends their daughter Rennie and hot-headed son Benny, but her heart lies with their dashing elder brother Frank. Patience thinks businessman Vinnie Craven, who runs the local boxing hall, a far better catch for Clara. When Frank leaves abruptly for Germany, Vinnie single-mindedly pursues the vivacious Clara, determined to make her his wife. Tempted by the glamorous life-style Vinnie is offering and security for her family, Clara buries her feelings for Frank. But she hadn't bargained for Vinnie's ruthless nature or growing fascination for Mosley's Fascist Party. Yet the greatest shock is still to come …

Set against the momentous backdrop of rising fascism in the 1930s, A Handful of Stars is an enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival with a captivating young heroine.

Praise for A Handful of Stars:

‘A vivid and compelling read … If you like books that reflect a particular point in history then you will find this one fascinating.'
Derby Evening Telegraph

‘Weaving vivid history with a heart-breaking love story
,
A Handful of Stars, is an outstanding depiction of the tensions and turbulence of life in the 1930s. Janet is often compared to Catherine Cookson, but she is a true original - and an author you'll take straight to your heart after just one chapter!'
World Books

‘MacLeod Trotter writes with confidence and conviction, weaving together a panorama of inter-connected incidents, all charged with feeling and emotion. It's another good read and it proceeds to a dramatic climax.'
The Newcastle Journal

‘An enjoyable read giving a vivid picture of the Depression years.'
Bradford Telegraph and Argus

Read a bonus chapter from A Handful of Stars

Clara woke abruptly. There was a muffled explosion and a cry. She was halfway out of bed, one foot on the wool rug, when she realised what it was. It came again, this time with a loud shout of satisfaction. She sank back, amusement overtaking her fear. Her father was sneezing in the shop downstairs. Harry Magee would be up, shaved, dressed and having his first snort of Prince Royal snuff with his early morning pot of tea.

‘Helps the sun come up over the yardarm,' he always declared, still stuck in the idiom of his Navy days. She waited for the third sneeze, stretching and yawning in the dawn light that spilled round the edges of the brown velvet curtains in her narrow bedroom.

Brown and beige: her mother's favourite colours. The doors, floors and window sills of their flat were painted chocolate brown, while the wallpapers were various shades of cream. The parlour furniture was upholstered in tan brocade or faux leather and the kitchen linoleum was the colour of toffee. The tea set was ivory, the teapot mahogany, the table linen off-white fringed with cream lace. Patience Magee adored the new Bakelite switches and fittings, installed when the street had been electrified.

‘The colour of Fry's chocolate,' she sighed. ‘Don't you just want to eat it?'

Clara and her younger brother, Jimmy, liked to tease her. They danced around the kitchen when they should have been washing up the dishes.

‘Look at the colour of Dad's snuff,' Clara would swoon.

‘Don't you just want to eat it!' Jimmy would shout and double over laughing.