Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (159 page)

He could see that World’s End had worked its magic once more but it was one thing being dry in the safety of this moorland retreat. At some time she must face the stresses and strains of the real world; the reality of her now being a widow with little income, the memories of this last year, the strictures of rationing and depression.

They were all aware that it would soon be the anniversary of Sylvia’s death and Mirren must get
through that day; a day forever celebrated as VE Day, not a day of mourning and regrets.

He must stick close by her and help her through the worst, and make sure there were no whisky bottles to hand. There was still a bit of him unsure enough to go round checking if he had missed any hidy-holes. One sip and she’d be off again. Doc Murray had explained that there was only so much he could do and that the choice to stay sober was always Mirren’s alone, but surely if he kept her safe…He couldn’t bear to think of her starting up again.

So far so good. She was sober and going about her farm business with gusto, doing extra shifts to make up for past misdemeanours. The women were heavily into spring cleaning, beating rugs, washing anything that wasn’t tied down, turning Cragside upside down. Turning from winter into spring was a serious business and there was no let-up as Florrie, Daisy and Mirren scrubbed, cleared out, beat, hung out, aired and generally got in everyone’s way. There was no place to sit down and then they started on the dairy and shippon and outside paintwork. Dieter had never seen such a palaver.

There was tension in the air between Florrie and Mirren, an undercurrent of blame and bitterness not easily healed by spring cleaning. Mirren decided to live alone up at World’s End for a while
until she felt stronger. Ben was glad that the two women were apart. She busied herself tearing up old clothes to make yet another rag rug.

If her eyes were a little too bright and her determination a little too brash, Ben felt it was just Mirren’s way of getting back to her bolshie old self.

She was brave in facing the embarrassment of her caution at the police station when the inspector tore her off a strip for her unreasonable behaviour. They decided to take into account the tragedy of her past year in mitigation for her conduct. She took it all on the chin, unflinching, and he was proud of her.

It was the first time she had left the farm for weeks. Her trips to market were supervised but she didn’t seem interested in socialising.

The anniversary hung over them like a black cloud. How would she get through that day? Then Uncle Tom had a brilliant idea.

‘Let’s give ourselves a day out,’ he suggested. ‘A proper day out on the train to the seaside or the Lakes–you lot choose. No use hanging around feeling morbid. It don’t change any of it but it’ll happen pass the time with a change of sky.’

They were all sitting down to Sunday dinner and it was good to see Mirren’s cheeks filling out, the dark circles under her eyes barely shadows now.

‘What do you think, Mother? Sea or lakes?’ Tom smiled at Florrie.

‘Oh, the sea–Morecambe or Blackpool or Southport. They have some nice shops there. I fancy a bit of Lord Street. A bit of sea air will do us all good, but it’s lambing time, Tom,’ Florrie said, knowing it was the busiest time of year.

‘We’ll see. I might have to stay back with Dieter. You do the first milking and we’ll manage the rest, but you three must make a day of it. We can’t take Sylvia or Jack but you’ll be taking them in yer hearts for all of us.’ Tom was not one for making speeches but he’d certainly come up with a solution for 8 May.

‘Are you going to bring that lass of yours, Ben?’ asked Florrie. ‘It’s about time you and her made it official.’

Ben found his cheeks flushing. ‘Lorna’s given me over for Harry Batty from Holly Bank. I think she got a bit fed up the way things were.’ He didn’t want to cite Mirren as the cause of their recent bust-up. He’d spent so much time keeping an eye on her that he’d stood Lorna up one time too many.

‘I’m sick of kicking my feet, waiting for you to show up on time. This time you’re free to chase the black widow, but you’d better watch your step, her with those big blue eyes. She’s a wild one. She’ll run you ragged, chew you up and spit you
out. Don’t make an ass of yourself mooning over her!’

There was nothing much to say after that outburst, for every word of it was true. He had no eyes for Lorna Dinsdale or anyone else as long as Mirren was in this world, sober or drunk. She was all he had ever wanted, but now was not the right time to share his hopes and heart with her. Every day must be a struggle for her.

Tom’s little speech was the first time anyone had dared mention Sylvia’s name for months; a rare treat in a house that had no reminders of her on show, no snapshots, no toys, nothing to prove she had ever existed.

Tom wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to be doing. It was all beyond him. Florrie hinted it was the only way to see Mirren through the next few weeks and stop her from going ‘funny’ again.

In the end it was Southport that got their vote. There was almost a direct line by train that they picked up at Hellifield.

Lambing was too far on for Tom to risk coming, and Ben offered to stay back but Tom insisted he escorted the women. His instinct was to go along and chivvy Auntie Florrie into having a break. The two women together might be a strain on both of them. Florrie didn’t get out much, and Jack’s death had aged her by decades. Her bitterness towards Mirren was tempered by the fact that Jack had
caused them problems and worries and she knew he had not been the best of husbands but he had died with honour. Now it was Mirren’s turn to show she was strong.

They stopped at Windebank on the way to the station halt just to lay daffodils at the graveside. Mirren kneeled while Florrie wept. They walked away silent and separate, lost in their own thoughts and grief.

The train drew into Southport station and they waded through traffic on Lord Street to head for the beach. The sands seemed to go on for miles and the sea was not to be seen. There was still evidence of coastal defences and everywhere was shuttered and grim, but some of the big hotels were getting a fresh lick of paint. It was all a bit depressing with no bustle of holidaymakers, just a few elderly gentlemen out for their constitutional. There were flags flying, reminding them of the day.

The pull of the shops was too much for the women and they sauntered back towards the main street and its parades of classy shops. Not Ben’s cup of tea at all but he had agreed to come and he was doing his duty.

To passers-by they must have looked like any young couple up from the country with one mother-in-law in tow. If only the truth were so simple, Ben sighed.

Mirren looked frozen and sullen, not enjoying herself much. Her eyes were glazed as if she was miles from the bustle of the shopping arcades.

‘Why don’t I leave you to go round the shops?’ he suggested, knowing Florrie would like to browse. He would go in search of some rock and novelties for the farm lads. How would he explain seaside rock to Dieter; pink candy-striped sticks with writing all through?

‘We’ll meet up by the Scarisbrick Hotel and find a table for our dinner. We deserve a treat,’ he smiled, looking up at the red-brick hotel. ‘Then we can just meander until it’s time for the train back.’

It was like flogging a dead horse. Mirren nodded glumly and turned away. He couldn’t reach her and she was merely going through the motions.

‘We shouldn’t have come,’ she whispered. ‘I should have stayed with Tom. I can’t forget. It’s no good. Let’s get the train home now,’ she pleaded.

‘But we’ve only just arrived,’ snapped Florrie, suddenly catching on. ‘I’ve a few things to buy while I’m here. It’s a shame to waste a good day out.’

‘You and Ben go off shopping then, and I’ll sit here by the war memorial on the bench. I’m feeling tired,’ Mirren replied in a sharp voice.

Oh no you won’t, thought Ben. We’ll all go together or not at all. He didn’t trust that look in
her eyes. ‘Let’s walk back down the Esplanade,’ he offered.

‘Not with my corns,’ protested Florrie. ‘You two go off and I’ll take a trip round myself. I wish you’d make your minds up!’ She was sensing the tension mounting. ‘We’ll meet up outside the hotel,’ she added, trying to be cheerful.

Ben marched Mirren back towards the sea and sand, hoping the breeze and fresh air would lift her mood. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed in Cragside after all, but this outing was only for one day.

They walked side by side in silence. Mirren was building a wall around herself with no door he could bash open. It was not the time to push her but he couldn’t help himself. He was worried now, but she spoke first.

‘When are you going to leave Cragside?’ she said out of the blue.

‘Who said anything about me leaving?’ he replied, taken aback.

‘I’m fine now. You’ve done your duty. It’s time you were looking after yourself. If Lorna’s dumped you, all the more reason to hit the trail,’ she snapped. ‘I thought you wanted to do some training.’

‘I do but…’ How could she be dismissing him out of her life?

‘No one’s stopping you, Ben,’ she sighed.

‘You are, if you must know. I just want to be
around a bit longer,’ he said, not looking at her as they walked.

‘You want to be my gaoler in case I’ve sneaked a bottle or two upstairs? Well, I haven’t, not yet, but if you hang around for much longer, I will, hovering over me like a mother hen. You did your job well at World’s End. We can manage without you at Cragside now we’ve got three POWs. Trust me, I’m a big girl, I’ve learned my lesson and I can look after myself.’

‘I do trust you, but not in this mood. It’s still early days. Doc Murray says—’

‘If Doc Murray wants to give me advice let him visit me himself instead of sending you as his messenger boy and his mouthpiece. I just want to be on my own. Can’t you read my lips? Leave me be!’

‘I care about you, Mirren, I always have. We look out for each other and I want to see you on the road to—’

‘Oh, grow up, Ben. There is no yellow brick road to wonderland when you’ve lost your whole world, when every time you shut your eyes you see your child lying there. I don’t want you around, reminding me of it all. Jack’s gone and it’s my fault. That’s another thing I have to live with. Why don’t you bugger off out of my life?’ Her eyes pierced him like icy daggers. ‘Do I have to spell it out? I don’t want you here!’

‘You don’t mean that. I lost Sylvie too. She was like my own daughter and many was the day I pretended she was. I loved her as my own. Don’t shut me out. I loved you both…’ His voice was raised in desperation. How could this be happening?

‘Don’t talk so soft. You get on my nerves. You should’ve married Lorna and been happy, not hanging round the farm being my gaoler. Go away and let me get on with my own life!’ she shouted, pushing him away.

‘Don’t say that!’ He shoved her back, unable to help himself.

‘Is that lad bothering you?’ said the man in a couple, hearing the argument as their voices rose.

‘Yes, he is,’ Mirren snapped, and stormed off, leaving Ben flushed, furious and lost for words. What had he done to deserve all that?

She hadn’t meant to say all those things to Ben. They were unfair and cruel, but he was getting on her nerves. Mirren stormed back towards the station, not wanting to spend another moment in the town. It wasn’t Southport’s fault. It was just the trip was a mistake and she could smell the beer coming out of the pub doors and alleys.

She wanted to get as far away as she could from shoppers and fish-and-chip stalls and hotels and cheerful people, back to the hills where she belonged and the silence of World’s End.

How did they think she could ever survive the anniversary in a strange place? There would be a train going east to Preston and from there she’d get on the first one that went towards Leeds if there was one, and blow the consequences. Florrie and Ben could have their treat in the Scarisbrick Hotel. What she needed was to be left alone.

All that hard work on the farm, the extra shifts and humble pie she’d eaten were taking their toll. If only she had the comfort of her nips. She knew that was dangerous but she needed something stronger than stewed tea to tide her along on the journey home. Not a nip, of course, but perhaps a glass of wine as a tonic. Just the one, though; she was not going down that road again…

Mirren sat in the buffet savouring the sweet taste of tonic wine. It was full of herbs and goodness and it slipped down easy, as did the next one and the next. It was only like pop, though. Three would have to be enough as she climbed on board the train with a smile on her face. What a relief to be heading back home. What a blessed relief to be away from their well-meant fussing.

She sat in the empty carriage watching the fields rush past. ‘Peter dum dick, peter dum dick,’ clacked the wheels over the rails, and she nodded off.

She woke when a guard shook her awake. ‘Ticket, please?’ he asked, and she rummaged in her bag for her return.

‘Where am I?’

‘You should’ve got off at Hellifield, love. You’ll have to pay extra and next stop’s Scarperton Junction. Better wait there for the up train.’

She staggered off the train, feeling silly and not a little fuzzy. The tonic wine must’ve been stronger than she thought. How stupid to have slept through her change. Then she stood and recognised just where she was: the other end of Scarperton, not far from Chapelside Cuttings. How strange to be only a few yards from where she was born. It was years since she’d been here.

Now she was hungry and feeling shaken. The wine had taken its toll. She’d have to wait for another connection, for a train going north from Leeds. It was like one of those eerie dreams when she couldn’t find the way home and it was still 8 May. Oh hell!

Florrie would be furious that she’d sent Ben packing, let them down with breaking her pledge–but it was only tonic wine and only three glasses…In for a penny, in for a pound, perhaps some more would make no difference. She couldn’t face them after this so she might as well make the most of the evening.

It was as if her feet knew the old paths by heart–through the side streets, on the cobblestones, past rows of terraces with corner shops, the sooty taste of chimney smoke up her nostrils, the smell
of the cotton mills and the clack of clogs on the pavements, neat doorsteps with whitened donkey-stoned steps and flags flying across the streets to celebrate the day.