A Daughter's Duty (23 page)

‘Take a seat, missus.’

‘Never mind that. Just tell us what has happened, will you?’

The policeman cleared his throat and glanced at Marina before opening his notebook. ‘Are you Mrs Kate Morland?’ he asked. Kate opened her mouth to tell him to get on with it but he was before her. ‘You husband is – was – Sam Morland?’

‘Yes.’

The single word came out in a whisper for now Kate knew for sure what was coming. Marina moved to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you he was knocked down by a bus at half-past twelve this morning. He was killed outright, missus, wouldn’t have known what hit him.’

‘There aren’t any buses at half-past twelve, the last bus would go ages before that!’ Marina burst out.

‘I’m sorry, pet, but there was. It was the fore-shift bus taking men to Fishburn. If someone could come down and identify him for us …’

After the policeman had gone Lance came in, still in his pit clothes where they had called him out of the pit. Marina saw to his bath, made him some tea, did all the small homely tasks necessary. She felt numb and went about them in a daze, startled from it only when she came out of the pantry and heard what Kate was saying to him.

‘You won’t be going now, will you, son? To Australia? Not now this has happened?’

Lance didn’t answer directly. ‘We won’t talk about that now, Mam,’ he said. ‘Plenty of time for that. Howay now, you’d be better in bed and I have to go down and identify him. Come on, Mam, it’ll be a long day tomorrow.’

‘Aye,’ his mother said and stood up obediently.

‘I’ll go up with you, Mam.’ Marina moved to her side and put an arm around her mother’s shoulders, but Kate shrugged it off impatiently.

‘I can go by myself. I’m not senile, you know,’ she snapped. Marina and Lance looked at each other as she went out and up the stairs, talking as she went. ‘What a day this has been! Eeh, could anything else happen, do you think?’ She sobbed suddenly. ‘Aw, Sam, Sam! You know I didn’t mean it. Why did you have to throw yourself under a bus?’

‘He didn’t! It was an accident. Dad didn’t!’ Marina shouted, almost in unison with Lance. They had both jumped to their feet in shock. Marina ran to the bottom of the stairs. ‘It was an accident, Mam!’ she shouted again and Kate turned on the landing and looked down at her.

‘Aye, mebbe,’ she said. ‘Mebbe it was.’

It was a full week before the funeral could be held. There had to be a post-mortem and an inquest. ‘Accidental death’ was the verdict. ‘I told you,’ Marina said to Kate. ‘The coroner said it was an accident.’

‘Aye,’ said her mother. ‘But him saying it doesn’t make it so.’ She sat in the corner of the fireplace, saying little and eating less. In the week since Sam had died, the flesh looked to be falling from her. Marina worried about her. She knew her mother was still blaming herself, going over and over that last scene with Dad.

‘It’s the shock, that’s all,’ Brian tried to comfort her. ‘She’ll come round, you’ll see.’ He was a rock in all this, Marina thought, and found herself leaning on him more and more.

The funeral was small and private. Kate had insisted on that even though Sam had been a popular man in the village in spite of his propensity for gambling and borrowing money. Normally every man off shift would have gone to the chapel service at least. Marina knew why, though. Her mother was worried he had owed more money to the neighbours; it wasn’t just sorrow which kept her head bowed; she was ashamed. At the chapel service she looked neither to left nor right, acknowledging none of her neighbours or friends, imagining they were pointing the finger at her and her family. She barely answered the minister’s condolences. And afterwards she sat by the fire, eating nothing, occasionally wiping her eyes with a handkerchief which she had rolled up in her hand.

That night, Marina and Brian were sitting quietly in the front room, Kate had gone to bed and Lance had disappeared – to his girl’s or to the Club, Marina didn’t know or care. Before he went he’d confided his plans in Marina.

‘I haven’t told Mam yet,’ he said, ‘but we’re going the week after next. We decided today. Just a quiet register office wedding next week then we’re away, out of here.’

‘You decided today, when it was Dad’s funeral?’ Marina was shocked into saying. Sometimes she felt Lance was not her brother at all but a stranger. She couldn’t understand him. Not like the big brother who had looked out for her when she was small, almost a second father to her.

‘Don’t look at me like that, you know we can’t put it off,’ he retorted, and a minute or two later he had gone out.

Marina leaned her head against Brian’s shoulder and sighed. ‘You know, I wish I could just leave everything, forget all about Jordan, get away to a place where everyone doesn’t know our business,’ she cried. ‘We could make a fresh start just like Lance and Joan. I don’t blame him when I think about it, he does right to get away from here. It’s horrible, full of busybodies, always talking about us.’

‘Aw, come on, it’s not so bad,’ Brian protested. ‘The folk aren’t so bad either.’ He grinned, trying to lift her out of her mood. ‘At least, me and my family aren’t bad, are we?’

Marina leaned back against his arm. She felt so tired. The emotions of the last week had drained her, the tiny surge of resentment which had given her the energy to say what she did had died. ‘No. But you know what I mean,’ she said weakly, and stared into the fire.

Aunt Hetty and Penny had come to the funeral. Aunt Hetty was Mam’s cousin, family, but somehow Marina hadn’t thought of them coming. When they had walked in the door her heart had jumped in anticipation of seeing Charlie and this in spite of her misery over Dad. But he wasn’t with them and she was glad, she told herself now. She couldn’t have coped with seeing him, not today. She could hardly speak to Penny, but thank goodness her cousin had smiled in understanding, obviously thinking it was because Marina was so upset over Dad’s death. They had gone straight after the service, kissing Kate and Marina and promising to keep in touch. No thanks, Marina had thought.

She closed her eyes and Brian, ever observant, saw and eased his arm from under her.

‘Come on, bed for you,’ he said. ‘It’s been a hard day for everyone. I’ll go now.’ They got to their feet and he kissed her gently. ‘Tomorrow is another day,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ll see you then. I’ll always be here for you. I love you, Marina.’ She had never doubted that.

Her mother called out as she trailed wearily up the stairs, ‘Brian gone home?’

‘Yes, Mam.’

‘He’s a lovely man, our Marina,’ said Kate. ‘And you’re a lucky girl to have him.’

‘Yes, Mam,’ said Marina. And she was, yes, she knew she was.

‘Sam was a lovely man an’ all,’ said Kate and choked on a sob. ‘Your poor dad.’

‘Yes, Mam.’

Marina paused on the landing, wondering whether to go in to her mother but Kate called, ‘Goodnight, pet,’ and Marina went into her own room and closed the door. That wasn’t what her mam had called him only a short week ago.

The work was easy, that was one thing about it. Oh, the sewing room was busy enough, always bed linen to mend, uniforms to alter to fit as staff came and went in the hospital. But there was no piece work, nothing driving her to go faster and faster all the time. Not as there had been in the factory. Rose would have been contented enough in the small world of the sewing room were it not for the worry about Michael and Mary always nagging at the back of her mind.

‘Another batch for you, Lily,’ said Alice, dumping a pile of torn sheets on the table by her side. Alice was the boss of the sewing room, under Mrs Timms of course. She was a bustling, middle-aged woman, always cheery, working alongside Rose and the other girls.

‘Thanks, Alice,’ said Rose, and picking up the first item began the meticulous patching and mending for which she was beginning to get a reputation among the sewing-room staff. She applied herself to the job, taking pride in the neat patching and darning, and by elevenses had a good pile on the table of neatly mended and folded bed linen.

The other women gathered in a bunch but Rose sat on alone by her machine. As she drank her tea she reflected that Marina should have got her note by now, so at least she would know Rose was doing OK. It had been a good idea when one of the girls had been going to London last week to ask her to post the letter for her. If Marina let it out to Dad he would never dream she was so close, only twenty-odd miles away, and only about five miles from the twins and Aunt Elsie.

Aunt Elsie … Rose couldn’t think of her without feeling betrayed. But Aunt Elsie wouldn’t hurt the twins, no, she loved them too much for that. But did she still have them with her? Oh, dear Lord, let it be so.

‘Lily?’ At first Rose didn’t answer. She was thinking about the past and didn’t realise Alice meant her. She had to repeat herself. ‘Lily? Now then, stop your day-dreaming, it’s time we were all back to work. Besides, Mrs Timms will be in any minute.’ Alice put a hand on her shoulder, kindly but firm, and Rose put her cup back on the tray and switched on her sewing machine.

Of course Rose had had to get a replacement identity card and the hospital authorities, including Mrs Timms presumably, knew her correct name. But it was assumed that Lily was the name Rose went by, for whatever reason, and no one commented on it. And she was grateful for their lack of curiosity. She was even becoming used to being called Lily. Most of the time, anyway. Were it not for Mary and Michael …An idea occurred to her. She would ring the junior school at Shotton. Surely they would tell her if the twins were still pupils there? Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

The time dragged after that, but at last it was one o’clock and dinnertime and she could slip along to the telephones in the main entrance and for once her luck was in. There was a directory hanging by a string from the shelf in the booth.

‘Shotton Colliery Junior School. Head mistress speaking.’

For a second or two Rose couldn’t speak. Her throat closed up, her pulse began to race.

‘Hallo? Can I help you?’

‘Emm … Can you tell me … I think you have Michael and Mary Sharpe in the school?’

‘Well?’

‘I mean, do you have Michael and Mary Sharpe as pupils there?’

There was a brief silence. ‘Who’s speaking? Who wants to know?’

‘I’m a relative, I –’

‘I’m afraid I can’t give out information about the children on the telephone, especially when I don’t know who you are.’ The voice was hardening, becoming suspicious, Rose could hear it over the wire. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

‘Well, if that’s all, I have work to do. Goodbye.’ The line went dead. Rose stood there, tears springing hot to her eyes. She had really banked on finding out where the twins were this way, or at least if they had left Shotton and Aunt Elsie.

‘Are you finished, caller? I’m afraid the party has hung up. Do you wish me to try again? That would be another fourpence, please.’ The operator’s voice was bright and impersonal.

‘No, thank you,’ Rose blurted and hung up. She leaned against the wooden partition of the booth and closed her eyes.

‘Are you finished? Come on, don’t hog the phone.’ A second-year nurse was banging on the door and Rose swallowed and came out, muttering, ‘Sorry’, not looking at the nurse. After buoying herself up she was all the more down at this disappointment.

‘Lily? Are you all right?’ Rose jumped. She had almost bumped into Dr Morris as she turned a corner in the corridor leading to the sewing room. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Doctor.’

Dr Morris studied her pale face and suspiciously red eyes. ‘Well, you look a bit under the weather to me,’ he observed. ‘Where are you off to now? Have you had lunch?’

‘I wasn’t going to bother, there’s a lot of work waiting –’

‘Nonsense, girl, you have to eat,’ he said tersely, though his hazel eyes were smiling. ‘Look.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s my half-day. So go and get your coat, there’s a good girl. We’ll go to the cafe over the road. I’m a bit peckish myself.’

Rose blinked. Doctors just didn’t go out with domestic staff. If anyone saw them the hospital would be buzzing with it, making a mountain out of a molehill too, no doubt. But it would be nice, he was such a kind man. And she did need something to cheer her up. Oh yes, she did indeed.

He saw her indecision and took her arm. ‘Come on, I’m going to see you get some good food into you, do you hear? You’re far too thin anyhow.’

Sitting opposite Dr Morris in the cafe, eating corned beef slice and chips and limp bread and margarine, Rose had to grin at him. ‘I bet you’d have eaten better in the doctors’ dining room,’ she remarked. ‘I would have, even in the canteen.’ They were both of them a little damp as it had begun to rain outside. He had laid her old coat over the back of an empty chair carefully, as though it were a Dior model. It was all very strange to Rose, his manners, everything about him.

‘Call me Bob, you’re not a patient now,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s good to get away from hospital food sometimes, even if it is just across the road here.’ He speared a chip on the end of his fork and dipped it into a blob of brown sauce on his plate and chewed it thoughtfully, watching her as he did so.

Rose put down her knife and fork and took out her hankie and patted her mouth. This wasn’t the sort of place where there were napkins or even paper serviettes. She glanced up and saw he was still watching her.

‘What?’ she felt compelled to ask, his expression was so quizzical.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. At least not if you don’t want to tell me.’

It was warm in the cafe and Rose put a hand to her forehead. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ he asked immediately and jumped up and went over to the counter and came back with some. ‘You looked so worried, I was alarmed,’ he said.

He was so kind her resistance was worn down, and she had to talk to someone, she told herself. Except about
that
, of course. ‘It’s the twins, you see,’ she said, and then it all came out in a rush. How she didn’t know if they were with her aunt, how she couldn’t go and see, couldn’t let her aunt know where she was …