Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (147 page)

He lay in the darkness, powerless, trying not to think what was going on down the corridor. What had Jack got that he hadn’t? Easy to answer that, he mused. Florrie’s son had a way with girls, a confidence and patter, but he was also a man’s man and could drink any of them under the table and still seem sober. He made Ben feel like a clodhopper, a homespun bumpkin with two left feet.

His mind was raging with scenarios of murderous revenge: sabotaging Jack’s motor bike brake cable, ambushing him in the dark–jealous fantasies that shocked him. It was Christmas and goodwill to all men was the order of the day. Mirren had made her choice and it was none of his business.

In the early hours, Jack crept back into the room and Ben shone his torch in his face. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘None of your bloody business.’

‘If you’re just messing about with our Mirren…’

‘What’s it to you? She’s your cousin, remember.’

‘She’s one of the best and deserves to be treated right. If you get her into trouble, I’ll kill you,’ Ben snapped.

‘You’ll do what? You and whose army? What do you know about girls? You’re too scared to lay a finger on any of them!’ Jack was mocking him.

‘Shut it!’ Ben leaped out of bed and pinned Jack by the neck. ‘You’d better be marrying her or you’ll have me to answer to. Don’t go breaking her heart. I heard about you and Doris Hargrave, last summer. She went to pot when you dumped her. Tongues wag in a small village.’

‘Get off me, Lanky…That was ages ago, nothing to do with how I feel about Mirren.’ Jack shrugged and smirked, which only made things worse.

Ben grabbed him and shoved him against the door in a stranglehold. ‘I mean every word. If you so much as—’

‘Hold yer sweat. What’s got into you, the parsnip wine? You never could hold your liquor. Don’t jump the gun. As a matter of fact I’ve just popped the question and she’s said, yes…so shut up. Needless to say I’ll not be asking you to be best man.’

‘That’s all right then,’ said Ben, releasing his hold, feeling sick at this news. ‘I only want what’s best for her.’

‘You want her for yourself but I got in there first,’ Jack laughed. There was a cruel glint in his eye. ‘I don’t need to explain, do I? First come, first served, so keep your filthy paws off her.’

‘I don’t think of her like that,’ Ben replied.

‘You’re no man if you don’t. Believe me, she’s hot stuff under the sheets,’ came the boast.

‘Oh, shut the fuck up!’ Ben snapped. This was not the old Jack he used to muck about with as a lad. He’d always been easy-going. There was a cold edge to his tongue now, a cruel ruthless streak Ben had never seen on display before and he was worried.

‘Go screw yourself, boyo!’ Jack taunted.

Ben grabbed a blanket and took himself down to kip by the hearth. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Jack. His homecoming had spoiled everything and Ben wished he’d gone back to Leeds. He kept thinking about Bert, lying dead, broken somewhere, or caged up in a camp. The sofa was too small for him but this discomfort was nothing to what his brother would be suffering out there if he was still alive. It was a long restless night.

‘I’ve got some good news. Jack and me are thinking of getting wed soon,’ Mirren announced the next day as she sat perched on Gran’s bed.

All the Christmas excitement had been too much for Adey and she was staying in bed for the day under strict orders not to budge.

‘We want to do it quickly in case he’s sent abroad soon.’

There was silence for a second as the news sank in. Gran looked at Joe and back at Mirren. ‘Eeh, you’ve caught us on the hop there. I allus thought
it’d be young…Are you sure? Jack Sowerby…Florrie’ll be chuffed but it’s a big step to take, lass.’

‘I’ve known him since I was eight. We’re well suited.’ Mirren was surprised that Gran wasn’t more excited.

‘But we thought you were staying on the farm like Ben for the duration,’ said Grandpa.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ she said, puzzled. ‘Who said anything about leaving the farm? I’ll be going nowhere. I’m still a Land Girl and there’s a war on. It’s going to make no difference while Jack’s away.’

‘Once the war’s over, Jack’ll want to be making tracks to better himself. You know what Kerrs are like. He’ll never make a farmer and you’ll be going with him then,’ croaked Gran, her sharp grey eyes piercing into Mirren’s.

‘We’ll see when the time comes. Anyway, that’s a long way off. People change their plans. I thought you’d be pleased,’ Mirren added. It was not quite the joyous reaction she had hoped for.

‘As long as you’re sure, love. We just want you to be happy. If Jack is Mister Right who are we to gainsay it? Marriage takes two and Jack’s always been a wild ’un. Florrie will tell you that. I reckon it was not having a dad around when he was a kiddy. I allus remember him jumping off the foss straight down into that water, a right little devil with no sense of danger.’

‘That’s not his fault. I didn’t have a mother,’ Mirren snapped.

‘I know, but happen a wedding will help him find his roots. No one can say you aren’t a solid and sensible girl. Where would we be without you now?’ said Gran, stretching out her hand. ‘Congratulations! We were blessed the day the Lord brought you to our door; a second chance to put things right with Ellie. Love lists where it wills, lass, we know that,’ she sighed, looking towards her husband.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not Mam or Dad. No hole-in-the-corner wedding for me. War or no war, I’ve set my heart on him and a proper chapel do. He’ll make us proud no matter what the future brings.’

‘Then we’ll have to get our skates on and get cracking. A real chapel do means a choir, sit-down breakfast in the barn, if needs be. Let no one say the Yewells don’t know how to put on a show, but it’ll all have to be above board, no under-the-counter dealings or any alcohol. We’re not footing the bill for Satan’s brew.’ Gran sat up already looking brighter.

‘That’s more like it. Don’t you worry, I’ll see to it all. Ben can help me. You just get yourself fit again. A wedding is just what we all need to cheer us up!’

Ben couldn’t believe Mirren would go ahead with marrying that scumbag. Jack didn’t love Mirren as a man should with all his heart and soul. It was
all sex. He wanted her body to keep him warm when he came home on leave. He’d make promises he’d never keep. It wasn’t in his nature.

Jack was not cut out for country life. He’d been one of the first to volunteer to see the world. Sooner or later he’d take his cousin far away from everyone she loved here, far from them into towns and cities. Then he’d get bored with her and drink too much. Mirren deserved better.

Now, if it were him going down the aisle with her he’d get that little house she loved so much shipshape, reroofed and made spick and span, new windows and floorboards, a lick of distemper. He’d build her a kitchen with cupboards and they could live on the tops content. Only it wasn’t him she wanted.

Not once had she looked in his direction with the sort of cow eyes Lorna Dinsdale was making at him when she called. Lorna was always hanging on his every word and lingering in the yard, holding him up from his jobs. Trouble was, when he looked at her there was no spark. It was a shame because she was a nice enough lass, nice figure, shiny hair and pleasant voice, and she’d just lost her brother in the RAF.

You don’t choose who you love, he thought, stretching his long legs under the table, disturbing the house dog who rested her head in his lap. Pity!

It was time to look over Mirren’s list. She might
not love him but she knew how to make him jump to her bidding.

Mirren could hardly believe how quickly they could organise a wedding once the family got used to the idea. If Jack was going to go abroad it was better that they spent some private time together before he went, they argued. Everyone could see they were in love.

Auntie Florrie was a bit subdued at first, but then got into the swing of the arrangements in the time-honoured place of her own mother. Granny was failing but was determined to attend the wedding in the chapel on 21 March: the first day of spring.

Finding enough coupons to buy a wedding dress was out of the question so Mirren found a dressmaker in Scarperton who ran her up a lovely two-piece dress and jacket in pale turquoise wool crepe. She found a sharp black hat with a feather in the side and matching gloves and shoes. The girls in the hostel gave her some dyed parachute silk to make underwear and she felt like a princess in all her finery.

Only Ben ignored all the fuss as if it wasn’t happening, and every time she asked what was the matter, all he’d say was, ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? What’s the rush?’ which was no help at all.

Mirren assumed his indifference was because he thought she’d have to give up her work, but there was no possibility of her leaving Cragside, nor did she want to with Gran in such bad health.

The day dawned fine for a change; the first day of spring in all its glory. Outside, the daffodils were nestling in the shelter of the stone walls, the tired snowdrops flopping and the sky set fair for the day.

Mirren lay in bed gazing up at the ceiling. As from today she’d be Mrs Jack Sowerby, a proper married woman with a husband in the Forces. She was the envy of all the Land Girls, who took great delight in plying her with lurid details of what to expect on her wedding night. She’d sat wide-eyed, looking all innocence. It was nobody else’s business what they’d already been up to in bed.

Daisy helped her get dressed, fussing over the angle of her hat so it showed off her new shorter hairstyle. There was a small posy of spring flowers to carry and all the guests were given buttonholes and sprays, which Mirren and Daisy had sat up half the night putting together.

Yesterday Florrie, Daisy and Mirren set out the trestle tables with white starched linen cloths in the Chapel Hall for a stand-up buffet. No one was allowed to sit down to eat in case there was an air raid! Gran was overwhelmed with gifts of ham
and pies and home baking. The wedding cake was a plain sponge sandwiched together with jam and frosted over with butter cream. It was the best they could do at short notice. Mirren was going to give Jack an old family signet ring and she was making do with a second-hand wedding band as gold was scarce.

This upset Florrie for some reason. ‘I hope you’re not tempting fate,’ she whispered. ‘It ought to be a new one. You haven’t even got an engagement ring.’

‘There is a war on,’ snapped Mirren, tired with all the preparations. What did it matter if someone had already got some joy out of the ring? It was the best Mr Soames, the jeweller, could offer at short notice.

She drove down to Windebank in Mr Bennett’s ambulance saloon cum taxi with Grandpa looking dapper in his preaching suit and Gran with her fox fur tippet and best hat. Lorna was the bridesmaid, wearing a borrowed tweed coat and hat and a new dress underneath. It wasn’t the most stylish wedding party in the dale but it was going to be one of the happiest.

It was a lovely family wedding. Jack brought a soldier friend, Eddie Minshall, to be his best man. Uncle Wes and Auntie Pam came from Leeds. They had heard that Bert was captured and safe at long last. Ben looked splendid in his Home Guard
uniform, towering over everyone with a face like thunder. The reception went without a hitch until some of Jack’s mates got a little tipsy by tripping over to The Fleece to top him up. Grandpa was on his feet to toast the couple with elderberry cordial.

‘Raise your glasses to this brave couple setting out on the most exciting journey of their lives. May the Lord grant them the blessing of a happy hearth and the patter of tiny feet in due course. May He bring our Jack safely through the dangers to come.’ He turned then to Gran with a wink. ‘If they’re as happy as we’ve been these fifty years, I shall be content, eh, Mother?’

Mirren thought her heart would burst with joy and love. All she loved were sitting around them wishing them well. If only Paddy and Ellie, her parents, were here to share this precious moment…When she turned towards Jack she thought her heart would burst with pride. We’re so lucky, she smiled to herself. Soon it would be time to toss her bouquet, say her goodbyes and suffer the blizzard of confetti when they went to catch the train up to the Lake District for three nights in a hotel by the shores of Lake Windermere.

She tried to hold on to every second of those magical days, knowing that in the months and years to come it would be the one precious unsullied time when they lay in bed all morning, walked
in the hills in the afternoon to see the famous daffodils, and then dining by the lake.

Jack was gentle with his lovemaking and took her slowly, waiting at first, but she could never quite catch him up. There was an art to this malarkey that neither of them had quite got the hang of yet, but it was wonderful to be lying in his arms so close. In that chilly hotel bedroom there was such a heat and energy when they came together, and for those few nights the war went away.

Mirren wished she could stop the clocks and that they wouldn’t have to separate at Carnforth station, but Jack was due to report to a base in Scotland for yet more hush-hush training. Who knew when they would meet again?

Once back at Cragside it was as if it was all some dream. The cows didn’t know she was married, or the sheep, which were soon due to lamb. By April she knew she mustn’t go near them for a while. Ben would have to see to them and she would concentrate on the dairy for a while. He was furious at her desertion and wanted to know why.

‘Can’t you guess? An expectant woman doesn’t risk being close to the lambs just in case…’ she replied, not able to look him in the face.

Auntie Florrie was ecstatic and got out her knitting needles. It was all round Windebank in hours
that there’d be a Christmas baby at Cragside.

In the months that followed Mirren’s whole life was turned upside down. Jack sailed to somewhere hot and dry. Gran was looking tired.

Uncle Tom and Ben took over the farm, with Mirren and another farm hand trying to salvage the oats and barley that were flattened by storms. The stooks flopped over and wouldn’t ripen off. All that effort for a poor yield, just as Grandpa had said, and they all bemoaned the waste of prime pasture.