Red Sky in the Morning (24 page)

Maisie nodded, remembering one or two of those occasions for herself.

‘You mustn’t believe everything that Bertha told you. There are kind men in the world. I was married to a wonderful man, but he was killed in the war. But we were happy together and
– and what happens between a man and a woman who truly love each other is beautiful. Remember that, Maisie, because what I’m telling you is true. What Bertha told you is true from a
– a factual point of view, but she made it sound dirty and horrible. And it isn’t. Believe me, ducky, it isn’t.’

‘You evil, wicked, owd beezum.’ Pat shouted and actually shook her fist in Bertha’s face when the woman opened the door to Pat’s banging on it. Before
Bertha had time to close it again, Pat had stepped inside. ‘You’ve bided your time all these years. Waited for an opportunity to stick the knife in, haven’t you? And now
you’ve done it.’

With troubled eyes, Pat had watched Maisie leave. She hoped she had done enough to minimize the damage to the young girl, but she doubted that Maisie would ever quite forget Bertha’s
tales. Pat’s anger had boiled over and, before she knew what she was doing, the district nurse was pedalling furiously towards Cackle Hill Farm.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about and you can get out of my kitchen, Pat Jessop.’ Bertha glowered at her. ‘I don’t want your sort in my house.
You’re no better than you should be. No better than that little trollop over the hill.’

‘You’re sick, Bertha. Do you know that? Sick and twisted. Oh, I know your dad gave you and your poor mam a rough time, but you’ve let him wreck your life. And you needn’t
have done because somehow, Bertha, and God alone knows how, you managed to hook yourself a decent man. A lovely man. And yet you still can’t put the past behind you, can you? You’ve let
it blight your life with Eddie and now you’re trying to twist an innocent girl’s mind and wreck her life an’ all.’

‘It’s not the girl so much,’ Bertha muttered and jerked her thumb over her shoulder, ‘as her trollop of a mother.’ She glared at Pat, her eyes full of bitterness
and hatred. ‘I’ll swing for her one day. You mark my words. I’ll swing for her.’

Pat shook her head slowly, more sad now than angry. ‘Oh Bertha, why? You don’t really believe that Maisie is Eddie’s child, do you? He’s just a kind and gentle man who
helped a young lass in trouble. Look how he was in the floods. He was a hero. Can’t you understand? That’s just how Eddie is. He puts others afore himself.’

‘He’s a fool. Look after Number One, that’s what I say.’

Pat nodded and glanced around her. ‘Well, you’ve done all right for Number One, haven’t you, Bertha? Got your feet well under the Appleyard table years ago.’

‘Get out! Get out of my kitchen right now,’ Bertha shouted, waving her arms.

‘Oh I’m going. I’ve said what I came to say. Except,’ she added pointedly, ‘that I need to see Eddie and tell him what’s been going on.’

Bertha’s reaction was not what she had expected or hoped for. The woman merely shrugged her shoulders and muttered, ‘Meks no odds to me. Tell him what you like.’

Pat’s anger seethed once more. She thrust her face close to Bertha’s. ‘And what about Tony? Do you want him to know just what a horrible woman you really are.’

Again Bertha shrugged. ‘Tony thinks same as me. He hates ’em. Both of ’em.’

‘Well, there, Bertha, I think you’re wrong. I think your Tony is very fond of them. Specially,’ she added and she could not prevent a little thrill of malicious triumph,
‘Maisie. I think he’s very fond of Maisie. And I don’t think for a minute that he’ll like what you’ve done. He’s got a lot of his dad in him, has
Tony.’

Now the look on Bertha’s face was exactly what Pat had hoped to see.

‘Has the busybody nurse told you then?’ was Bertha’s greeting when Eddie came into the house for his dinner.

Wearily he said, ‘Why, Bertha? Just tell me why you want to hurt that kiddie? You must know it’s not true. She’s not mine and you know it. And then to take the job upon
yourself of telling her what her mother should tell her, well – ’ he shook his head in disbelief – ‘that beats all. It really does.’

Bertha turned away. For once she had no answer. She didn’t care what Eddie thought of her, but her son was a different matter.

‘It isn’t true, love,’ Eddie said gently.

He had waited in the lane, watching for Maisie to come home from school.

Maisie didn’t pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead, she returned his steady gaze with her soft brown eyes that, to his sorrow, now held a more worldly
look. ‘Do you swear it? On – on Tony’s life?’ Tony was the only person that Maisie could think of on whose life Eddie would not risk tempting a cruel Fate.

Without hesitation Eddie nodded. ‘I swear on Tony’s life that I am not your father.’ Then he smiled gently. ‘Though I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wished I
was.’

For a moment Maisie stared at him. Then she let out a deep sigh and seemed to relax.

‘There’s never been anything – like that – between your mother and me.’ His voice deepened. ‘I am very fond of your mam, as I am of you. But I’m nearly
old enough to be your
mam’s
father, let alone yours. No, lass, I promise you that what my wife said is not true.’

‘Some of it is, though, isn’t it?’ Maisie said in a small voice.

‘What?’

‘About – about what men – well, some men,’ Maisie, remembering Pat’s words, amended the sweeping statement, ‘are like.’

‘Ah,’ Eddie said, understanding. ‘That.’ He paused a moment then went on. ‘Well, love, I can’t deny that there are some men in the world just like Mrs Bertha
told you, but she made it sound as if all men are like that. You see, she was unlucky. Her father was a wrong ’un, so she thinks all men are bad. And they’re not. Your difficulty, lass,
is going to be recognizing a wrong ’un when you see one. But a good sort will respect you as well as love you.’ He glanced down at her worriedly. She was very young to be taking all
this in. Silently he cursed his wife for her vicious tongue. ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, Maisie?’

‘I – think so.’

‘Well, when you’re older and the boys start flocking round, you just come and ask me if you’ve any doubts about ’em.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll sort
’em out for you.’

Maisie smiled thinly, but said nothing. How could she, an eleven-year-old child in his eyes – in everyone’s eyes – tell him that she didn’t want a flock of young men, as
he put it, round her. There was only one boy she wanted. Only one boy she had ever wanted or would ever want.

Tony.

That was why Mrs Bertha’s words had hurt her so much. The last thing that Maisie wanted in the whole wide world was for Tony to be her half-brother.

If Anna had known about Bertha’s nastiness, more than likely she would have started to pack their belongings and threatened to leave. And this time she might have really
meant it.

But for some reason that was never discussed, no one told Anna what had happened. And, unfortunately, no one thought to tell Tony either when he next came home from college.

If they had, it might have settled the turmoil in his mind about the truth of Maisie’s parentage. It was something that had plagued the boy from the night that Anna had first appeared in
the kitchen. A story perpetuated in his mind by his mother yet denied by his father.

Tony had never been able to decide whom he believed, and in the meantime Anna and Maisie continued to live in the little white thatched cottage near the woods.

But now Maisie never called at the farm to see Mrs Bertha.

In the September of 1958 Maisie started at the grammar school in Ludthorpe, travelling on the bus that trundled through the narrow lanes gathering up the children from the
outlying district. As it had for Tony before her, the bus stopped for her at the bridge over the stream and she walked alongside the wood to her home.

Tony had completed his course at agricultural college and was now working on the farm that would one day belong to him. He bought himself a motorbike and even from their isolated cottage Anna
and Maisie could hear the machine roaring through the country lanes, sometimes late at night. When she heard it, Anna could not resist the urge to smile.
That’ll not best please
Bertha
, she thought.

Maisie grew tall, slim and leggy. Coltish was the word that Pat used. The district nurse still visited the cottage as a friend. In fact, she was Anna’s only female friend.

‘She’s going to be a real beauty,’ Pat would say, laughing. ‘A few more curves in the right places, Anna, and you’ll have ’em queuing down the track as far as
the lane.’

‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Anna said darkly.

‘Aw, ducky, you’ve got to let her grow and flourish.’ Pat sighed. ‘You’ve kept her hidden away all these years. Never let her have any friends to speak
of.’

‘She hasn’t wanted them,’ Anna retorted swiftly. ‘She’s quite happy with the animals. That’s all she needs. We don’t need people.’

‘Ta very much, I’m sure.’ Pat pretended to be offended.

Anna smiled and said, ‘You know I don’t mean you. You’re not people.’

Pat laughed. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it as one.’ Then she sighed again. ‘But you ought to let her mix a bit more. Go to her
friends’ birthday parties. And as she gets older, you ought to let her go out and enjoy herself a bit. This rock and roll that’s all the rage amongst the youngsters now. I
wouldn’t mind a bit of jiving myself.’

‘And what would happen then? She’d get in with the wrong crowd and get herself into trouble.’

Pat put her head on one side and regarded Anna thoughtfully. ‘Is that what happened to you?’

Over all the years, Anna had never confided in anyone about her past. And again she turned away, muttering, ‘Never mind about that. It’s Maisie we’ve to worry about.’

‘Aye.’ Pat nodded sagely. ‘We have.’ But her meaning was not quite the same as Anna’s. The kindly Pat Jessop was concerned that the girl was going to be kept as a
virtual recluse all her young life. It was bad enough that a lovely young woman like Anna should have chosen such an existence for herself, but to inflict it upon her daughter was little short of
criminal. The youngsters of today were a different breed. They had no memory of the austerity of the war. As the Prime Minister said, they’d never had it so good. They demanded, and got, a
better standard of living. As well as working, they wanted to play too.
And why shouldn’t they?
Pat thought.
Why shouldn’t they have a bit of fun in their youth?
They’ll be a long time grown up.

She got up to leave. There was time yet for her to work on the problem, but if Anna wasn’t very careful, when she was older Maisie would rebel.

And then Anna would know what trouble was.

On Maisie’s fifteenth birthday Eddie presented her with a battery-operated radio. Maisie was ecstatic.

‘Will it tune into Radio Luxembourg? I heard it at Sally’s once. They play all the latest songs.’

‘Oh, I reckon it will.’ Eddie laughed and winked at Anna. ‘She’ll probably drive you mad playing all this rock and roll, but I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

Anna did not join in. She frowned at the machine and murmured, ‘Just so long as that’s all she does.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t mind her listening to the music, but she needn’t think she’s going to the village dances.’

The previous year the local Young Farmers’ Club had started a Friday-night dance for their members. Maisie had begged to go. ‘Everyone’s going from school, Mam.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ Anna had replied shortly. ‘The village hall wouldn’t hold everyone from your school.’

‘You know what I mean,’ Maisie snapped back impatiently. ‘I didn’t mean it literally.’ For once her soft brown eyes were sparkling with resentment. ‘Why
can’t I go?’

‘We keep ourselves to ourselves.’

‘But why?’ the girl cried passionately. ‘Why do we have to live like this?’ When her mother didn’t answer, Maisie said, ‘Do you know what they call you in the
village? A witch.’

Anna smiled. ‘I can think of worse names they could call me.’

Maisie gasped. ‘But it’s awful. Years ago they’d have burned you alive.’

Anna chuckled. ‘But they won’t, will they? And if it keeps them away from here – all the better.’

The girl stared at her. Over the last two or three years she had begun to realize that she lived a very different life from most of her schoolfriends. All her friends, if she was honest. It
hadn’t seemed as noticeable when she had been at the village school. Several of her classmates lived on isolated farms and the difference had not seemed so great. But now she was older and
mixing with youngsters from the town, she had begun to see how odd her own life was compared with theirs.

‘Ask your mam if you can stay the night at mine,’ her best friend Sally had asked Maisie more than once. ‘We could go to the pictures and all meet up in the coffee bar.
You’d love it. It’s what we do most Saturday nights.’

Maisie had shaken her head. ‘She won’t let me. I don’t even have to ask her. I know what the answer’ll be.’

‘Well, try.’ Sally, a good-natured plump girl with mischievous eyes and curly brown hair, had linked her arm through Maisie’s. ‘We’d have such fun.’

But Maisie had been right. Anna’s answer was ‘No’.

Late in the afternoon of her birthday, when she arrived home from school, Tony was waiting for her at the cottage.

‘I’ve brought you these,’ he said, handing over two magazines. ‘There’s some pictures of all those fellers you’re always going on about. Elvis Presley, Cliff
Richard and Adam Faith, is it?’

Maisie opened the pages. ‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed over one of a handsome, dark-haired, moody-looking young man.

‘Who on earth is that?’ Anna asked.

‘Elvis,’ Maisie breathed. ‘Oh, it’s Elvis.’

Tony grinned. ‘Reckon I look a bit like him, don’t you?’

Maisie laughed. ‘Well, a bit, but can you sing like him?’

Tony dropped the magazine onto the table. He adopted the pose of the guitar-playing idol and began to sing ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’