Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (160 page)

In a daze of confusion and nostalgia she found her way back to the Cuttings and the line of carriages that had been her first home. The little allotments were still there but there was no sign of life at number five.

Granny Simms would’ve long gone. The faces peering at her through net valances were the faces of strangers, not neighbours, unfamiliar in turban headscarves. She was a country lady now, not a townie, in her summer frock and short jacket and sandals.

The child had come home one more time, she smiled, standing by the railway line, sniffing the soot and seeing weeds sprouting by the tracks.

There was Dad, picking docks to boil with nettles and oats, thickened with onions to make his special dock pudding when funds were tight. It tasted all green and slimy in her mouth but she swallowed it so as not to hurt his feelings. Why had she remembered that?

Mirren wandered past St Mary’s school where she’d sat obelliently on the bench, looking up at the blackboard. It was still there, only smaller and shabbier than when she attended.

Then she saw the long low roof of the Green
Man. It looked now to her adult eyes like an old farmhouse converted into a public house, tucked away in what once must have been fields. How many times had she waited on that bench for Dad to come out with her heart in her mouth, waiting, waiting. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, tears for that little girl who waited for the man who never came, and she wept for the little girl who she’d never see again, who would never be eight or twenty or have children of her own.

In her throat rose up that familiar acid of bitterness for those lost years and all the broken dreams. Well, Mirren Sowerby, she decided, you’re a big girl now; it’s about time you saw for yourself what the inside of Dad’s hiding place is like. What is so special about it that Dad preferred it to me?

Without a moment’s hesitation she walked inside and shut the door.

16

Ben brought Florrie back to Cragside after their silent lunch. The pork was tough and stuck in his gullet. She was tired and tearful, and there was no point hanging about after Mirren’s desertion. Over lunch he had tried to cover for her but Florrie was not fooled.

‘It were a mistake to shift her. She’s a stubborn mare, is that one, but she’ll come round given time. I hope she’s not done something silly. It’s about time you looked to yourself, young man…’

Ben smiled at her concern. ‘That’s just what Mirren said. Time for me to move on then?’

‘Mirren talks through her behind sometimes but a change of sky might do you good. No good hankering after what’s never going to happen, lad.’

He could see she meant well but it was not what he wanted to hear.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Ben blushed and spluttered on his crackling.

‘From the day you came with Pam and Wesley, all those years ago, to help out at the eclipse. She’s allus been the one for you, cousin or not. You Yewell men are all the same, thank goodness, but lazy when it comes to doing something about it. Look at Tom. It took him years to pluck up courage to ask me to walk out with him,’ she laughed. ‘I know when Wilf went west I thought the world had come to an end, and then up pops Tom and I’ve been twice blessed. Pity that Jack and her were never suited. We all knew that, but folk have to go their own gait, as they say.

‘There’s some lovely young lass out there waiting for you so don’t waste your time on what’s not for you. Mirren’s that twisted up inside, she’s not to be trusted. Don’t think we didn’t know what was going on…It’s in the blood. Ellie was a fool to follow Paddy Gilchrist. He was always a devil for his drink, so Tom says. Mirren’s the same but no one can do owt about it…It’s her show, not yours, so leave her be, Ben. You’re putting good money after bad there.’

‘But I tried.’

‘You did your best but it’s not enough with them as can’t take it. Jack was finding his way through his problems with help. Going back to her undid it all. She’ll have to do the same. I’m trying not to be bitter but it’s hard. They were two of a kind and that didn’t bring out the best in either of them.
Then with the war and Sylvia…It’s in the Good Lord’s hands now, not yours…I’ll be praying she finds salvation one of these days. I wish we were rid of her but she’s family. There, I’ve said my piece.’

Ben was stunned at this outburst.

They sat in silence in the carriage on the way home. Then, as they neared Hellifield, Florrie whispered again, ‘Mirren’s said one good thing, though. It’s time for pastures new for you. She’s letting you off the hook by her way of it. We’ll manage. You’ve been like a son to us and seen us through the worst. We’ll be sorry to see you go but you’ve only got the one life, Ben. Look to it and to yourself for a change. No one will think the worst of you for that.’

Ben listened with a heavy heart to yet another dismissal. Perhaps it was time to leave Cragside after all, leave all that he loved about the place, leave the stock and the hills and find other experiences, see a bit of the world outside this dale. His heart was heavy at the thought of going. Why did it feel like exile and banishment?

The inside of the Green Man was little more than a smoky hovel with sawdust on the floor, a thin fire of sorts, and old men sitting around staring at her as if she was a creature from another planet, in her cotton frock and tweed jacket, not the usual
mill girl in clogs with curlers wrapped in a headscarf.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, to the fug of smoke and fumes and rough coughs from old men hugging the fire. The barman stood and stared.

‘Looking for someone, are you?’ he said.

‘Now you come to mention it, yes, I’m looking for my dad. I just wanted to see what the attraction was in here,’ she replied as they all stared.

‘Yer not from here, are you?’ said one old man.

‘Oh, but I am, number five Chapelside Cuttings…Gilchrist, Paddy Gilchrist’s daughter–you know, the one that got killed on the line a good few years back.’ She saw their faces change.

‘Oh, aye, Paddy,’ said one old man. ‘Scotch navvy on the railway. Sad do was that.’ She was the object of interest now.

‘Poor man missed his footing, they said,’ said another.

‘I heard that he lay on the line…’

‘Shut up, not in front of the lady. So where’s you living now?’ said the barman with the moustache and come-hither eyes, beckoning her to the bar. ‘On the house.’

‘Up the dale on a farm, my mother’s side–and make it a double whisky,’ she added. ‘And no water.’

‘So what brings you to this armpit of the world?’ someone joked.

‘Just passing through.’

‘Nothing passes through this pub but piss and wind, pardon my French, or passes out on all fours or I’ve not done my business. Another?’

‘I know all about that, and thanks,’ she said, swallowing it down quickly.

For the price of a pint they all had a tale to tell about roaring Paddy, the Scottish soldier who could spin a yarn. She didn’t recognise her dad in any of their tall tales but she let them talk on while she supped.

Someone jangled the ivories and she forgot she was a lady and told some of the filthy jokes she’d heard in the Golden Lion, to their obvious enjoyment.

Suddenly in the fug she saw him there in the shadows, laughing and joking, emptying his pockets of all his wages, lingering over the last drop, forgetting her outside, and she felt her fury rise up.

‘Don’t you lot have homes to go to? Children to put to bed and wives to talk to? What a waste of hard-earned brass, just going down your throats.’

Why had he left her alone? What was wrong with her that he preferred their company to hers?

‘Now, none of that, young lady. You’ve had a skinful yourself and you can’t hold it like we can. I hate seeing women drunk; they make such fools
of themselves. There’s the door. I reckon this lass’s Paddy’s girl, after all, whoever he was,’ sneered the barman, and she could have hit him.

‘Chip off the old block!’ said another.

‘No, I’m not,’ she said, trying to get up with dignity.

‘Just look at the state of her. Next stop she’ll be out in the alley for a pee and a puke, by the looks of her. Shame on you, lass. Don’t come in here tellin’ us what’s what!’ The old men were ganging up against her now.

Mirren staggered into the street and the cold hit her. She made for the nearest lamppost and leaned on it to steady herself. She was about to turn when a middle-aged man in a grey mac and trilby came up to her.

‘How much?’

‘How much for what?’ she replied.

‘How much for the business? Just up the wall, nothing fancy, a hand job’ll do…’

She still hadn’t cottoned on. Then it clicked and she saw Woodbine Winnie, with her back to the wall and her drawers round her ankles while some man humped her up and down; the other girls pacing the pavements, looking for trade while she sat outside this wretched place.

‘I’ve got nothing for sale,’ she snapped.

‘What, a looker like you, all dolled up and asking for it? How much?’

‘Bugger off or I’ll call the police. What do you take me for?’

‘A drunken tart who’s down to her last sixpence and needs a punter, or aren’t I good enough for you?’ he shouted.

‘Just leave me alone,’ she shouted, trying not to shake at the enormity of his words. Had it come to this?

She stumbled down familiar streets, feeling dizzy and sick, and then she threw up over the pavement and gasped at the danger she was finding herself in.

So it had come to this: back in the gutter where she belonged, skint, gasping for another drink, cold and out of her head with whisky. She was no different from her dad after all, just another loser, another lost cause. What was the point?

All those broken promises: everything she touched she destroyed. All her promises to be sober had turned to farce. What was there to be sober for? There was nothing worth living for.

Jack had tried to help and died in the attempt. Ben had tried to protect her from herself and she’d sent him packing. She was nothing but a useless bit of cow muck with no willpower and no pride left. One difficult day and it was back to square one. What was the point of going on?

It was still 8 May, the date forever branded into her brain. Victory in Europe. Where was her victory?

She found herself walking towards the railway
station along the side of the track, a familiar path she knew since childhood. How many times had she guided her drunken father carefully over the rails, the short cut across towards their carriage home? The one night she hadn’t bothered he’d been killed. There was another life she’d destroyed but it was not going to happen again.

Like father, like daughter, better just to follow in his footsteps and get it over with, no more messing up, letting people down. She just wanted to go to sleep and put an end to the misery. No point in troubling anyone ever again. There was nothing to live for, not now, and no one cared if she lived or died. Better to call it quits and let them off the hook.

Mirren lay across the track–at least it would be quick–but the iron rails dug into her back and she shifted into a ball between the rails. Nothing came.

Perhaps it was just a shunting line. Perhaps it was easier to keep walking and be hit in the guts by one of those big black steaming monsters that scared her as a child. It wouldn’t see her coming but she would hear it in the distance.

Her head was spinning and she was sobering up in the chill air. Her courage was failing.

‘Oh, for God’s sake come quickly,’ she yelled into the darkness but nothing came. Now she was shivering and sobering fast. It had to come soon…

‘Don’t be a numpty, Mirren. Away to yer scratcher!’ A long-forgotten voice pierced her head. ‘Away home to yer bed, the now!’ There it was again.

‘Dad?’ she called out, seeing him walking along the line swinging a lantern into her face. ‘Away home. This is no place for yer, mo ghoil!’

‘Dad? I’m here!’ she shouted, running towards him.

‘Who’s that on my line? Get off, you bloody fool. Don’t you know there’s a train coming?’

The guardsman swung the lantern into her face. ‘What on earth are you doing here, miss? You’re trespassing. Get off at once!’

‘I was just taking a short cut,’ she heard herself say.

‘Like hell you were…I know what you were up to: taking a short cut to hell, more like. Just get off this line at once and don’t come back! It’s me as has to scrape you off the track and I’ve done a fair too many of late to want any more messy jobs. Don’t you have a home to go to? This is the end of the world for you, the end of the line, if you step back on.’

Meekly she hurried back to the embankment and scrambled up, shaking at what she had just been about to do, and sat down trembling. He was right. This was the end of her world. So easy to give up. No more worries. How could she even think of it?

Not now, when she was sure she’d heard Dad
calling her like he did when she was lost in the snow on the night she found World’s End. She had seen it sparkling in the snow, her refuge and comfort through so many sorrows. There was another end of the world after all, she remembered. Her heart was thudding with confusion.

How could she go back and face World’s End, knowing what she had tried to do? Whose was the voice she had heard? Had her father come to rescue her? She’d gone in search of him and he had found her. Her dad had stopped her in his tracks. Why? Who would rescue a girl like her? How could he think her worthy of saving after all she’d done? But he had!

She sat on the chilly grass and sobbed and sobbed. The dam had burst and the floodgates opened at long last. She wept for Sylvie and howled for Jack’s needless accident and the fact that she’d never said goodbye. He tried to do his best. She wept for the woman she’d become and the shame she’d brought on her family. What a mess, what a sorry mess she’d made of everything.

‘I am weak and I have no more strength left.’ In a flash she knew she had sunk so low and come to the end of the line. ‘Dad,’ she cried out into the darkness. ‘I can’t stay sober on my own. I need help. Oh God, Dad, please help me. I can’t go back to World’s End like this. Where can I go?’