Mud and Gold (50 page)

‘I wanted to rock him,’ David sniffed. ‘Like
Dolly does.’

‘Oh, you mean like when you and Dolly rocked
the doll in the little cradle?’

David nodded. ‘Ginger doesn’t like me any
more,’ he said plaintively.

‘Of course he does, Davie. Ginger loves
you.’ As if to illustrate his agreement, Ginger rubbed against
David’s legs as the little boy sat on Amy’s lap. ‘But you can’t
play with him like that, darling, he doesn’t like being rocked.
It’s like when you tried to cuddle that chook the other day—she
scratched you too, remember? Just stroke Ginger. I’ll tie a bit of
paper on some string for you later, then you can play a game with
him.’

‘Why don’t we got a baby, Mama?’

His innocent question sent a jolt through
Amy. ‘Why do you ask that, Davie?’

‘Dolly’s got a baby. Aunt Sophie’s got a
baby. Why don’t we got one?’

Amy did not want David to see her crying,
but it was difficult to hold back the tears. ‘I don’t know, Davie.
Maybe we’ll have one soon.’

‘Don’t Papa want a baby?’

‘Oh yes, Davie. Papa wants lots of babies.’
Amy hugged him tightly. ‘It’s too hard for Mama to explain,
sweetheart. You’ll have to be my baby for a bit longer.’

‘I’m not a baby!’

‘No, that’s right, of course you’re not a
baby. But you’re my little boy, aren’t you? You love Mama, don’t
you?’

‘Yes, Mama.’ David wound his arms around her
neck and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. His big blue eyes studied
her solemnly from under his long, dark lashes, and Amy stroked his
hair, twining her fingers in the thick mass that fell in natural
ringlets. Edie had always said David was too pretty to be a boy,
and in his little dress with his hair falling to his collar he
looked far more like a girl.

Sometimes the force of her love for him
almost frightened Amy. David’s sunny temper and affectionate nature
made him easy to love, but she was never quite sure whether she
loved him more for himself or for the likeness she knew he must
bear to her daughter. If she loved him too much she would lose him,
just as she had lost Ann. In her sensible moments she knew that was
nonsense, but it was hard to be sensible when she was so tired, and
when everything hurt so much. ‘You won’t go away and leave Mama,
will you, Davie?’ she murmured.

‘No, Mama,’ David said, confusion in his
face.

‘Of course you won’t, Mama’s being silly.
Come on, let’s go and try out some of these cakes I’ve been
making.’ She stood up with David in her arms, ignoring the pain his
weight gave her.

‘And play a game with Ginger!’

‘That’s right, Davie, I’ll make a paper and
string toy. Just as soon as we’ve given poor old Ginger some
milk.’

After Ginger had been compensated for his
indignities with a saucer of milk, David skipped around the kitchen
dragging the makeshift toy, Ginger scampering after him, until the
two of them curled up on the floor together, tired out by their
game.

Amy put away the last of her baking and
glanced at the clock. ‘Look at the time! I’ll have to hurry and get
dinner on or it’ll be late.’

But try as she might to rush, the hands of
the clock raced on cruelly. The pot of potatoes had barely begun to
boil and she was still mixing up a pudding when Ginger disentangled
himself from David’s arms and jumped over the windowsill. ‘That
must mean Papa’s coming,’ Amy said, glancing anxiously through the
window. ‘I hope Mal was a good boy.’

Charlie did not come in as quickly as she
expected, and a loud wail a few moments later told her why. He must
have taken Malcolm behind the shed to use a stick on him. Malcolm
burst through the room a short time later, howling as he ran
towards his room, and Charlie soon entered in his wake, grim-faced
as he sat down heavily at the table.

‘What happened?’ Amy asked, glancing over
her shoulder as she replaced the lid on a pot of beans, willing the
vegetables to boil faster.

‘Had to give the boy a hiding.’ Charlie
banged his fist on the table. ‘He won’t do as I tell him. Racing
around like a fool, scaring the cows. That white-faced brute kicked
me before I could get the leg rope tied because the boy rushed up
behind her and yelled out some nonsense.’ He rolled up one trouser
leg and revealed a red blotch already darkening into a livid
bruise.

‘He’s lively, Charlie. I’m sure he didn’t
mean to be naughty, he just gets excited and forgets what you tell
him.’

‘He’s got to learn. He’s got to do as he’s
told.’ Charlie repeated it like a litany. Amy glanced down at
David, who was standing close to her, wisely avoiding his father
for the moment. It had troubled her earlier to see David upset at
not being allowed to go out with his father and brother; now she
was glad he was still considered too young.

Charlie looked at the table as if noticing
for the first time that there was no food laid before him. ‘Where’s
my dinner?’ he demanded.

‘It’ll be a couple of minutes yet,’ Amy
said. ‘I’m a bit slow today, I’m sorry.’

‘What have you been doing all day? Can’t you
even get a bit of food on the table? God knows you’re no use for
anything else.’ He shoved himself upright and crossed the kitchen
to tower over Amy as she stood by the range. ‘You lazy,
good-for-nothing bitch!’ He slapped her across the side of her
head, making her eyes water.

‘Mama!’ David cried out. ‘Don’t hit
Mama!’

Amy pushed him behind her and held him
there, out of Charlie’s sight. ‘I’m sorry. I just… I feel a bit
sick today. I’m going as fast as I can.’ She had both hands busy
holding David, so she could not wipe away the tears she felt
brimming over.

‘Don’t whine at me, woman, for God’s sake.
Hurry up.’ Charlie took his seat once again and watched Amy, a
scowl on his face, until the food was at last dished up and placed
in front of him.

‘Is Mal allowed any dinner?’

‘All right,’ Charlie said after a moment’s
thought. ‘If he behaves himself.’

There were few words spoken during the meal.
Charlie kept a stern eye on Malcolm, who sniffed from time to time
as he sat perched on the pillow Amy had placed under him to protect
his tender buttocks. ‘No snivelling, boy,’ Charlie warned. Amy’s
head ached from the slap he had given her. She fought against
dizziness as she rushed back and forth between the table and the
range.

Charlie scowled at her tear-streaked face as
she placed a bowl of jam pudding in front of him. He cast a glance
around the table, taking in Malcolm’s red eyes and David’s
trembling lower lip. ‘Look at you all. Three babies at my table.
You drive a man to distraction.’ He fetched a bottle of beer from a
shelf and poured himself a mug full.

Amy put the boys to bed as soon as they had
finished eating; neither of them showed any reluctance to get out
of their father’s brooding presence. She did the dishes and mixed
up the next morning’s bread dough under his watchful gaze, wishing
he would go into the parlour, but instead Charlie finished his
bottle then switched to a large glass of whisky.

‘What the hell’s wrong with you, woman?’ he
said in a growl.

Amy kneaded at the bread dough, each punch
sending a jolt of pain through her head. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. It
makes me slow. I’m sorry dinner was late, Charlie. I’ll try and do
better.’

‘Why can’t you hold a child any more?’ So
that was the real cause of his anger.

‘I don’t know. Maybe next time it’ll be all
right.’

‘You must be doing something wrong. It’s not
natural, dropping your bairns early all the time.’ He took a gulp
of whisky. ‘Why aren’t you carrying my children properly?’

‘I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know.’

‘Kelly’s wife’s got three bairns now,’ he
said, emptying his glass and pouring another, his hand shaking
slightly. ‘She’s a good breeder. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t get rid of the other fellow’s
bairn, did you? You held on to that one all right. You could carry
a bastard.’

Amy caught her breath in shock, but there
was no reply she could give that would not anger him. She carried
on kneading the dough as if she had not heard him.

‘Well? What’s going on with you? Answer me,
woman!’ His voice rose, and he slapped down his glass, spilling a
little whisky.

Amy weighed up whether ignoring him or
telling the truth would anger him more, and chose frankness. ‘I
think maybe I’m having them a bit too fast. Maybe if I could… if I
could have a rest from bearing for a few months, I might come
right…’ She stopped, frightened at what she saw in his face.

‘Bitch!’ he roared, lashing out with one of
his long arms to slap her across the cheek. ‘Who put that in your
head? Was it that interfering shrew of a nurse? You’ll not get away
with it, woman. You’re not sneaking out of my bed.’

‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to annoy
you. But you asked me and that’s what I think—no one told me to say
it. I won’t say it again. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to cry, but that
would only make him angrier.

He glowered at her as he took another swig
from his glass. ‘Stupid bitch,’ he muttered. ‘Useless,
good-for-nothing bitch.’

Amy finished kneading the dough at last, and
placed it in front of the range, relieved at having finished the
heavy work of the day. ‘I’ll just check on the boys,’ she said.
Charlie did not answer.

David touched the red mark of Charlie’s
latest slap as she leaned over to give him a goodnight kiss, his
face crumpling with threatened tears. ‘Why Papa hit you, Mama?’

‘Because I was silly, and I annoyed him. We
all have to try and do what Papa says and not annoy him. Papa works
hard and he gets tired. Shh, Davie, Mama’s all right. Go to sleep
now.’ She tucked him in and closed his door.

Malcolm’s room was silent. Amy thought he
was asleep until she heard a muffled sob as she tucked him. ‘Are
you all right, Mal?’ she asked softly.

‘It’s not fair,’ Malcolm mumbled into his
pillow. ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong.’

‘You annoyed Papa, Mal. I know you didn’t
mean to, but you must do what he tells you. Never mind, maybe Papa
will take you milking again tomorrow and you can show him what a
good boy you are really. Good night.’ She tried to sneak a kiss,
but Malcolm thrust his head under the pillow to avoid it.

The lamp had still not been lit when Amy
went back into the parlour. She saw that the door of the main
bedroom was open; perhaps Charlie had left his newspaper in there.
She bent down to the lamp, but Charlie’s voice stopped her before
she had taken hold of it.

‘Get in here,’ he called from the bedroom.
She straightened and hurried through, seeing to her surprise that
Charlie was already in his nightshirt. ‘Come to bed,’ he said, his
voice slurring a little.

‘Now?’ Amy said stupidly. ‘It’s very
early.’

‘Are you arguing with me, woman?’

‘No. I was just… surprised.’ She turned her
back on him and began taking off her clothes, her heart pounding.
Should I tell him he can’t do that thing? He’ll get annoyed.
I’ve got to tell him
. She felt his eyes on her as she took off
her chemise and pulled her nightdress over her head, leaving her
drawers on underneath. ‘Charlie, I’m… I’m still—’

‘What are you mumbling about?’

She turned to face him. ‘I’m still bleeding
from the baby.’

‘A bit of blood won’t kill you,’ he said,
his voice harsh.

Amy closed her eyes for a moment against a
wave of fear and disgust. She untied her drawers and rolled them up
around the blood-soaked rag they had held between her thighs all
day, pushing the wadded mass under the bed before climbing between
the sheets.

He was groping at her nightdress before she
had had the chance to lie down properly. Amy heard the ripping
noise of a seam giving way as he snatched at the fabric. She kept
her eyes tightly closed, hoping that he might at least be quick
about it.

It was much like being beaten. There was the
same sense of a rhythmic series of blows to her body; the same
blend of pain and degradation. And, like a beating, she never knew
how long it was going to last.

Tonight the alcohol seemed to be hindering
his efforts, but he was determined. When he at last rolled away
from her, Amy choked back the bitter-tasting vomit that was trying
to make its way out of her throat; she felt too weak to trust
herself to get up and scrabble under the bed for the chamber
pot.

There was blood trickling between her
thighs, mingled with what he had left there. In the morning she
would have to face stained sheets and a torn and bloodied
nightdress. Charlie would find her blood on himself when he got out
of bed.

Why did he have to do that to me while
I’m bleeding? Why couldn’t he have gone to one of his whores?
She knew part of the answer before the thought was fully-formed: he
wanted her with child again. But there was more to it than that.
There were things he wanted from her that Amy was only dimly aware
of, but aware enough to know that she could not give them. Try as
she might to be obedient, she could not make herself feel what he
wanted her to feel.

She shifted a fraction, trying to find a
more comfortable position for legs that had been constricted by
Charlie’s weight. But even the slight movement made her body rub
against his in the narrow bed. She would sooner lie still in the
awkward pose he had forced her into than touch him again.

There was a bone-aching weariness all over
her body. She felt her blood drying stickily between her thighs
while fresh blood seeped out from what felt like an open wound. She
did not move. If she moved she would vomit; if she stood up she
would faint.

I don’t know if I can put up with much
more of this
. The bleak thought edged into her awareness, and
made her angry at her own stupidity.
I have to put up with it.
He can do whatever he likes with me. I can’t stop him. I can’t do
anything
.