Lovers and Liars (36 page)

As Lizzie climbed the two steps, it felt like she was climbing a mountain. ‘I haven’t been on no holiday,’ she informed him. ‘I’ve been to a wedding.’

‘A wedding, eh?’ Remaining on the platform while she made her way to a seat, he called after her, ‘Now I see. It’s late nights and too much booze that’s wrong with you. A face the colour of chalk and not hardly able to put one foot afore the other – it gets me the very same way.’

Lizzie thought it best not to put him right. Instead she merely smiled at him. ‘Mind you tek care o’ my bag.’ She was beginning to wish she hadn’t let the cheeky monkey take it from her.

‘Don’t you worry about your bag, missus,’ he called back. ‘I’ll put it here, under the stairs. Don’t forget to ask for it as you get off.’ He didn’t hear Lizzie thank him, because now he had to contend with a woman and three boisterous infants, and not too far behind them came a miserable round, balding runt of a man, accompanied by his shrew-faced wife who went at him like a pecking hen. ‘I told you we should ’ave caught the earlier tram!’ she crowed. ‘Now we’ll be late and it’s all thanks to you!’

‘Yes, dear,’ he answered meekly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘You’re right, it won’t,’ she replied sharply. ‘Because next time, I intend going shopping on my own.’ It was just as well she didn’t see the look of pure joy on his face at such a promise.

Thankful that her queasy stomach was beginning to settle, Lizzie dropped into her seat. With home in sight, she was feeling more like her old self, well enough now to chat with the woman who was desperately trying to control her three offspring. ‘I never had children of my own,’ Lizzie confided.

‘Well, I’ve got five … these three lasses and two big lads!’ The poor woman was haggard and frantic. ‘The boys are away at board-school, thank Gawd.’ Loaded down with bags, which she had refused to leave under the stairs and, not wanting to cause a riot, the conductor had wisely allowed her to take them inside.

‘I want a toffee!’ The oldest girl looked to be about three. ‘Sally ’ad a toffee, an’ now I want one.’

Sighing from the bottom of her boots, the beleaguered woman dipped into her bag and, taking out a wrapped paper cone of sweeties, gave one to each child. ‘That’s all you’re getting for today,’ she warned.

Sitting back in their seats, the children were astonishingly quiet, until the toffees were sucked away and the arguments began. ‘If you don’t behave yerselves, I’ll tell yer dad when we get home,’ she threatened. ‘He won’t take no nonsense. He’ll tan yer arses good an’ proper!’ That did the trick. Peace was restored, at least until Lizzie reached her stop.

As she climbed off the tram, she heard them starting up again. ‘I’ll not have arguing and fighting aboard my tram!’ The conductor’s voice sailed down the street. ‘Any more hanky-panky and you’ll be thrown off, the lot of yer!’

There then came the sound of the woman’s voice, raised in anger. ‘Don’t you dare threaten to throw my kids off this tram!’ she screamed. ‘My husband’s a big man!’

At that, Lizzie went away chuckling.

Instead of walking the whole distance along the winding Potts End Lane, she decided to take the short-cut across the fields; that way her cottage was only half a mile as the crow flies.

It wasn’t the easiest of journeys, though – not with the weather suddenly turning and the drizzle beginning to trickle down the collar of her coat. Before long, the soil underfoot became boggy, and the going got harder.

When the drizzle thickened to a torrent, Lizzie found shelter under an aged oak tree, its outstretched branches protecting her from the weather like a giant umbrella.

She looked across the valley and thought how beautiful it was. The rain poured down, and right there before her eyes, the grass began to sparkle clean and bright, glinting under the darkening skies, like an endless carpet of shining emeralds.

As quickly as it had started, the rain stopped and the skies cleared. The air smelled fresh and everywhere was newly cleansed and sharper to the eye.

Lizzie continued her journey along the valley’s edge and up towards the brow of the hill. In the far distance she could see the sheep grazing, their heads bent and their bellies swollen with the weight of new life. Seemingly content with their lot, they relentlessly moved along, a white mass of munching machines.

At the top of the hill, Lizzie paused for breath; the sense of weakness was creeping back. ‘Tek your time, Lizzie!’ she chided herself. ‘You might wish you were a young lass, but you’re not. You’re a silly old fool, with no right to be tackling this long trip across the fields.’ She wished now that she had gone down the lane. At least that would have been firm underfoot, and there were no hills to climb. It was high time she learned that she couldn’t do what she used to. Like it or not, them days were long gone.

Taking a moment or two to regain her composure, she roved her quiet gaze over the landscape. She was a fortunate woman to be living amidst such beauty. There were many folk who would give a lot for just a glimpse of this little piece of God’s Heaven.

From where she stood, the view went on for miles. She could see her own little cottage tucked into the ring of trees like an egg in a bird’s nest, and beyond that she located Potts End farmhouse, with its smoking chimney and pretty orchard – and oh, look there! Surely that was Danny the milkman, striding out across the fields.

She walked on a little way and stopped again, her legs feeling like a ton weight; although she was without the patchwork counterpane, the bag was beginning to weigh heavier at every step. She wondered if she should leave it behind and fetch it later, when she felt more able. Or maybe that nice young man Danny would pick it up tomorrow, when out on his morning rounds.

Her thoughts switched to Emily. First thing tomorrow, she must go and see Aggie. There were things the other woman needed to know. With that in mind she struggled on, pausing every now and then to rest awhile.

Her cottage lay away to the right, across Aggie’s top field then over the little bridge. Thrilled at the prospect of being back in her own home, Lizzie quickened her pace.

Coming up from the farm, Danny saw her – a small figure in the distance, wending her way across the fields, and seeming to find it hard work. Concerned as to what Lizzie was doing out there in the middle of nowhere, he set off towards her.

He didn’t see Clem Jackson until he’d gone across the bottom field, but then he straightaway recognised the burly, upright figure pushing across the hills, with his fearful dog Badger walking obediently by his side. Whenever the animal began to trot off on its own, it was soon brought back under control by a whack of the thick birch-stick in its master’s iron fist.

‘Somebody should put that stick across his own damned back!’ Danny said aloud. Angered by Jackson’s cruelty, and seeing how Lizzie was not too far from crossing that madman’s path, Danny broke into a run. ‘LIZZIE!’

She didn’t hear him. Too far away and intent on her journey, Lizzie pushed on, eager to be home and in her own cosy parlour.

‘LIZZIE, WAIT ON!’ Danny’s voice was carried by the heightening breeze, but still she didn’t hear him. Nor did she see Clem Jackson coming up behind her.

Skirting the spinney, Danny was unable to see exactly what was happening, though when he emerged, he was horrified to see the dog bounding towards Lizzie. He saw how she cowered, her arms across her face, and Jackson running up, waving the stick and shouting, though Danny could not make out what was being said.

His first instinct was that Jackson had set the dog on Lizzie. ‘JACKSON, YOU BASTARD!’ This time his voice
was
heard, and as he came on them, Jackson was dragging his dog off Lizzie, who by now was on the ground.

Danny’s first instinct was to help Lizzie. Thrusting the other man aside, he fell to his knees, greatly relieved to see she was not badly mauled. All the same, she was frighteningly pale and shaking uncontrollably. Sliding his arms round her, he sat her up, his face turned now to the other man. Enraged, he demanded, ‘What the hell were you thinking of, you mad bugger, setting your dog on a helpless woman! What kind of monster are you?’

He would have gone for Jackson, but Lizzie put her hand across his arm. ‘No! He didn’t set the dog on me,’ she lied. ‘The dog saw me stumble and he wanted to play. I just fell over.’ She managed a smile. ‘It was nobody’s fault. Look, I’m all right. I just need to get home. Please. Get me home.’

Falling back into his arms, she closed her eyes. ‘I’m tired, that’s all … so tired.’ She had been terrified out of her wits when Jackson sent the dog after her. She heard: ‘Look ’ere, boy, we’ve a trespasser. Mekking for my field, are you, old woman? It seems to me you need teaching a lesson.’ With one, swift command he had sent the dog hurtling towards her.

In the moment she was knocked to the ground, Jackson heard Danny’s voice, and quickly called the dog to heel. ‘Keep your trap shut, you stupid old fool,’ he warned her. ‘Unless you want more trouble than you can handle.’

The last thing Lizzie wanted was trouble, either for herself, or for Aggie’s family. Besides, she was so relieved to see Danny, the attack didn’t seem important. She wasn’t hurt, and apart from a few bruises and a quickening heart, there was no harm done that she could see.

Danny wasn’t convinced by Lizzie’s explanation, but he could see she was ill. ‘I’ll get you home,’ he promised.

Collecting her bag from where it had fallen, he then gently lifted her into his arms, at the same time giving the other man a stark warning. ‘If I thought you
had
set the dog on her, you’d be a sorry man, Jackson!’

Jackson merely grinned in that unbearable, sly manner he had. ‘You’d best mind yer mouth, Williams,’ he said. ‘You heard what the old woman said. Nobody touched her. She fell over … the dog thought she wanted to play – didn’t yer, Badge? – and he ran across. There’s nowt more to it than that.’

He watched them leave; Danny holding Lizzie close, and Lizzie glancing warily backwards. He deliberately winked at her, laughing when she wearily turned away. ‘You’re a wise old owl,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘You’ll keep your trap shut all right.’

By the time Danny had got to the door of the cottage, Lizzie seemed to have revived a little. ‘Put me down, please, son.’

With the same tenderness with which he’d picked her up, Danny put her down, noting how unsteady she was on her feet. ‘If you tell me where the key is, I’ll unlock the door for you.’

Lizzie pointed to the bag. ‘Look in the purse at the side,’ she instructed. ‘You’ll find it in there.’

Danny found the key and, opening the door, led her inside. As they entered the parlour, the cold air struck damp. ‘I’ll have a fire going in no time,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll make you a hot drink before I fetch the doctor.’ Leading her to the armchair he sat her down.

‘I don’t want no doctor.’ Lizzie had no time for that sort of thing.

‘You’re proper poorly, my love. Even I can see that.’

Being as Lizzie had already set the fire for when she returned home, Danny soon had it lit and crackling away. ‘By!’ He rubbed his hands together and held them up against the flames. ‘That’ll soon warm your bones,’ he told her.

Next he went to the scullery and, on Lizzie’s instructions, located everything he needed to make her a brew of cocoa. There was no fresh milk, so he used boiling water and a grating of nutmeg to pep it up. He found a tiny bottle of old-looking brandy and added a teaspoon of that, too. ‘Sip it gently,’ he urged, ‘but drink it all down.’ Which she did.

‘Now then, where will I find a blanket? You need something to keep out the cold until the room warms up.’

Lizzie didn’t argue. ‘Upstairs in the chest of drawers – front bedroom, bottom drawer,’ she said, her teeth chattering.

He was up the stairs and back down in a matter of minutes. Tucking the blanket tightly about her, he asked worriedly, ‘Wouldn’t it be better if we got you up to your bed?’

‘No. I’ll be fine where I am, thank you all the same, Danny.’

He sighed through his smile. ‘Are you always this stubborn?’

‘Some might say so.’

‘Right! Well, you sit tight while I fetch the doctor.’

‘Didn’t I already tell you, I don’t want no doctor!’

‘Now look here, Lizzie.’ He tried to reason with her. ‘You’re not well. Let him look you over, that’s all I’m asking.’

‘No.’ She spelled out her words slowly and deliberately. ‘NO DOCTOR.’

‘Oh, what am I going to do with you, eh?’

‘Fetch Aggie.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

‘It’s what I said, isn’t it?’

He was relieved that at least she was admitting she needed somebody, if not the doctor. ‘And will you be all right while I’m gone?’

Reaching out, Lizzie placed her hand in his. ‘You’re a lovely man,’ she said gratefully. ‘You’ve brought me home just as you promised, and you’ve made me warm and comfortable. I thank you for that, but now, I’d be obliged if you’d please fetch Aggie.’

Lizzie was fond of Danny. In her heart she believed she had done him a terrible wrong, just as she had wronged Emily, John and Rosie, for they were all caught up in a mess of her making.

That was what she truly believed. And that was what she must confess, God help her! For some reason, it seemed vitally important that she did it this day – this minute, even.

Before he left, Danny made her promise that she would not move, or try to do anything, until Aggie got there. Once he had secured that promise, he was on his way, running across the fields as though his own life depended on it. Stubborn as a mule, she was. Didn’t want a doctor … wanted Aggie instead. He chuckled to himself. The old dear certainly knew her own mind.

When he burst in through the kitchen door, Aggie almost leaped out of her shoes; as it was she dropped the cabbage she was slicing, and the knife with it. ‘Danny! What’s wrong, lad?’

‘It’s Lizzie,’ he answered breathlessly. ‘She collapsed near the top field. I carried her home and made her comfortable.’ For the moment he said nothing about Clem Jackson and the dog. ‘She really ought to see a doctor, but she won’t. It’s you she wants. “Fetch Aggie”, that’s what she said, and if I were you I’d get up there a bit sharpish. The poor old dear doesn’t look at all well.’