Secrets to Keep (5 page)

Bertha Rider suddenly sensed that she and her granddaughter were not alone. Her beady, short-sighted eyes were directed at Ty as she demanded, ‘And who a’ you?’ She then told him in a warning tone, ‘Not a salesman, I hope, ’cos we don’t want anything
you’re
trying to flog.’

Ty was not in the least amused by being mistaken for a salesman. He sharply introduced himself. ‘I’m Doctor Strathmore. I’ve taken over the local surgery from Doctor McHinney.’

Squinting, Bertha scanned him closely. ‘Bit young to be a doctor, ain’t yer? Hardly out of short pants. I’ve been hearing about you. Doctor Mac’d be turning in his grave if he knew how you was changing things at the surgery. Anyway, what yer doing here? No one in this house is sick enough to need your help … well, they weren’t when I left an hour or so ago.’ She then caught sight of something on the floor by the doctor’s feet and squinted harder. ‘What’s that on the floor?’ She peered at it. ‘That our Jessie?’ Her aged face was wreathed in bewilderment. ‘What’s she
doing down there? Get up, our Jessie, you’ll catch yer death on those cold flags. Jessie, you hear me?’

Aidy stepped over to her grandmother, placed one hand tenderly on her arm and said tremulously, ‘Mam can’t hear you, Gran.’

Very aware of the passing of time and the patients waiting for his return, Ty spoke up. ‘I’m sorry to inform you, Mrs … er … your daughter passed away a short time ago.’

Bertha glared at him. ‘Passed away?’ Then she snapped harshly, ‘Don’t be stupid. She was as right as rain when I left here an hour ago after helping her with the dinner pots. She was going to do a bit of ironing before she settled down with her knitting. She’s in the middle of a new school pullover for George that she’s desperate to get finished as his other one ain’t fit for the rag bag. I can’t finish it off as me stiff knuckles won’t let me, and Aidy can turn her hand to lots of things but knitting in’t one of her talents. So Jessie is the only one that can finish George’s jumper.’ She gave a disdainful click of her tongue. ‘Some doctor you are who doesn’t know a live woman from a dead one.’ She then looked over at the body on the floor and demanded, ‘Come on, Jessie, get up, lovey. I don’t know what yer playing at but it ain’t funny.’

Aidy’s grip on her arm tightened. ‘Mam’s not playing a joke on us, Gran.’

Bertha stared at her granddaughter for several long moments before she whispered, ‘She’s not?’

‘Doc said her heart just stopped.’

Bertha stared back at her, desperate to find any sign that this was all a bad joke. When she couldn’t, she seemed visibly to shrink inside her clothes. With pleading eyes, she uttered, ‘My Jessie really gone?’

A lone tear escaped from the flood that was building behind Aidy’s eyes. She swiped it away and nodded.

Bertha’s aged face sagged with grief. Shrugging her arm free from her granddaughter’s hold, she shuffled over to her daughter’s body and slumped down beside it, tenderly lifting Jessie’s head on to her lap and cradling it. The tears came then. As she rocked backwards and forwards, she softly moaned, ‘Oh, Jessie love, Jessie love. How could you do this to us?’

Aidy’s tears started in earnest then and both women were too consumed by their grief to notice Ty take his leave.

A
look of annoyance filled Archibald Nelson’s face at the sight that met him when he walked into the kitchen of the Greenwood household two hours later. Hungry and work-weary, he was too preoccupied with his own worries to notice the atmosphere of sadness permeating the house.

In the hard times of 1930, when any job, no matter how menial, was hard fought or even murdered for, Arch was extremely fortunate to be permanently employed at a local factory that had been in business since the middle of the last century, producing working boots and shoes, albeit his wage only just paid for basics. To earn it he worked a gruelling ten-hour shift, six days a week, operating antiquated machinery in conditions hardly improved since Victorian times. The fact that his wife Aidy worked too, however, meant the Nelsons had a marginally better standard of living than many of their kind. They were dressed a little smarter, in good-quality,
second-hand clothes, and could afford a cheap cut of meat three times a week; they could also fund a night out at the pictures once a week, or cheap seats in a variety theatre, or a few drinks in the pub.

Twenty-five-year-old Arch was a good-looking man, topping six feet tall and broad shouldered, his dark brown hair neatly cut into a short back and sides and groomed into place with hair cream. During work he looked as shabby as his fellows, but outside he tried to dress as sprucely as funds would allow. The same went for his wife. Many hopes had been shattered, both male and female, the day Aidy and Arch had said their vows.

For the majority of the time their relationship was harmonious, with just the occasional spat even happily married couples have, but one subject did cause friction between them which occasionally flared into a full-scale row. After five years of marriage Aidy was more than ready to start a family whereas Arch was adamant they should wait until he’d been given his promised promotion to foreman, albeit it was anyone’s guess when that would be as the present sixty-one-year-old incumbent had held the post for twenty years and didn’t look like relinquishing it until forced to retire. But the eventual increase in wages would enable Arch to support his family in a lifestyle far better than the hand-to-mouth one he’d had himself as a child, and without their having to
scrimp and scrape any longer. To ensure he got his way, Arch insisted they took precautions whenever they made love, which in their case was frequently.

Pushing the door shut behind him, he snapped at his wife, ‘Aidy, do you know what time it is? Why are you still here and not at home, getting my dinner?’

Her face cast into shadow by the light of the flickering gas mantle, she was sitting at the rickety kitchen table, cradling her eight-year-old sister Marion on her knee.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, the unexpected sound of Arch’s voice made her jump. She turned to look at him and whispered, ‘Keep your voice down, Arch, I’ve only just got our Marion off. Could you put her to bed for me while I mash Gran a cuppa?’

He looked questioningly at her. ‘But what about my dinner? I’m famished. Can’t yer mam see to Marion and mashing yer gran a cuppa?’

Stroking her hand tenderly over the top of her sister’s head, in a choked voice Aidy uttered, ‘No, Mam can’t, Arch.’

As he advanced towards her, he was disturbed to see that her face was swollen, red and blotchy. She’d been crying. Wondering what could have caused her to be so upset, he demanded, ‘What’s happened, love?’ Automatically, because of her age, he assumed, ‘Is it your gran? Has she been took sick?’ He put his hand
on Aidy’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘She’ll rally round, love. Tough as old boots is your gran.’

‘It’s not Gran, Arch, it’s me mam.’ Her bottom lip trembling, Aidy told him, ‘She’s dead.’

He was visibly shaken by this unexpected news. He had got on well with his mother-in-law, felt a deep respect for her, had secretly wished he’d her sort as his own mother and not the type he did have. ‘Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry, Aidy,’ he said in all sincerity. ‘Accident at one of her jobs, was it?’

She shook her head. ‘It happened here in the kitchen, this evening, just before I got here. Doc said her heart just stopped. He couldn’t do anything for her. She died just like that,’ she said, clicking two fingers. Her face puckered then, a fresh flow of tears rolling down her cheeks, and she miserably sobbed, ‘Oh, Arch, I can’t bear it! She wasn’t just my mother, she was my friend.’

He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and offer her what comfort he could, but the child in her arms was preventing him. Easing Marion out of her em brace as gently as he could so as not to wake her, he said, ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He found Aidy where he’d left her when he came back down several moments later. ‘Marion never stirred,’ he informed her. ‘Betty is spark out too, and I poked my head around George’s door and so is he.’

How Aidy wished she herself could escape into the oblivion of sleep, but that was out of the question for a while yet. Her younger siblings were not in need of her now but her grandmother would be. And, besides, first you had to fall asleep, and how did you do that when every fibre of your being was consumed by an emotional pain so strong it felt as if your heart had been ripped out?

Arch was continuing, ‘I put my ear to your gran’s door and couldn’t hear anything, so I gather she’s asleep too.’

‘Gran’s not in bed, Arch. She’s in the parlour, laying out Mam.’

He looked astounded. ‘Your gran’s doing that herself!’

‘She insisted. I offered to go and fetch Mrs Doubleday who sees to all that sort of thing around here, but she said no stranger was messing with her daughter. Was adamant, in fact. She shocked me, Arch. When me granddad died she fell to pieces, couldn’t even go to the privy by herself for ages afterwards. She broke down when she first heard about Mam, but now it seems like a … well, a determination has come over her to get on with what she needs to do for Mam. Whether she’ll fall apart after she’s finished laying her out remains to be seen. You know how close me gran and mam were.’

Aidy paused to take a deep breath, the pain she was
suffering creasing her face, and whispered, ‘I know it’s me mam, but I couldn’t offer to help Gran. The thought just made me feel sick. But she understood. In fact, she was relieved. She really wanted to attend to it by herself. She said her mother was the first to see to Mam when she was born, and being’s she is still alive, it should be her mother who is the last to see to her too.’

The look on Arch’s face betrayed the fact that, like his wife, he found the thought of what Bertha was doing totally repellent.

Getting up from her chair, Aidy said, ‘I’ll mash a cuppa.’ As she was busying herself with her task, she told him, ‘I’ll be staying here tonight, Arch.’

He was sitting at the table now. Thankfully Aidy’s back was to him so she didn’t see the expression he pulled. Despite the circumstances, he selfishly didn’t like the thought of not having his wife beside him in bed to snuggle up to tonight. This would be the first night in five years of marriage they had not slept together. He knew better than to voice his thoughts, though, as his wife would not hold back from telling him exactly what she thought of him for thinking purely of his own needs at a time when he should be thinking of others. He said, ‘I suppose I’d better go and tell me mam what’s happened.’

Aidy spun round to look at him, horrified. ‘Can’t that wait until tomorrow? I couldn’t cope with her tonight, and I know Gran couldn’t either.’

Arch didn’t take offence at his wife’s words about his mother. Pat Nelson was a big woman, in body and character. Despite Aidy herself being strong enough never to let the likes of her mother-in-law dominate her, Pat would feel duty bound to interfere. As soon as she learned the news of Jessie Greenwood’s death, regardless of her son asking her not to, she would be round here, taking over in her bossy way, getting on her son’s nerves, let alone his wife’s at this extremely difficult time.

‘I’ll pop around tomorrow after work. What about your work, Aidy? They’ll need to be told what’s gone on.’

‘Oh, I hadn’t given work a thought. Could you call in at lunchtime and tell them for me?’

He nodded and told her that of course he would. As Aidy returned to the task of making the tea, he opened his mouth to ask if her mother’s funeral arrangements had been discussed, but then thought that might not have been tackled yet. He didn’t want to upset her further by bringing to mind that additional trauma when she was still trying to accept that her mother had actually died. Anything else he could think of to ask her, like how her day at work had gone, seemed trivial in the circumstances so a silence reigned between them, broken only by the clattering of cups as Aidy gathered them together and the sound of the water coming to boil in the kettle on the stove.

As Aidy put a cup of tea before him, a thought occurred to her and she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Arch, I’m so sorry, I’ve completely forgotten about your dinner. I was going to heat up the remains of last night’s stew and boil you some spuds. Do you think you can see to that yourself when you get back home?’

He supposed he had no choice, in the circumstances, unless he wanted to go hungry. In truth, though, he wasn’t actually sure how to put the stove on. Aidy had always seen to the cooking of their meals, and his mother before her … He once used to enjoy Pat’s food, but now he had Aidy’s cooking to compare it with, he could see his mother was barely an adequate cook. Oh, he knew what he’d do. He’d leave the stew for them to have the following night, when Aidy would do it, and he’d settle for fish and chips tonight. He told his wife, ‘I’ll leave the stew for us to have tomorrow … save you cooking, won’t it? … and get meself a bag of chips on the way home.’

Save her cooking? What a laugh! Save him the bother of preparing a meal himself, Aidy thought. Men! What would they do without a woman in their lives, to fetch and carry for them?

Arch heard a door opening and closing. It sounded like the parlour door to him. It had a peculiar squeak to it which, despite his oiling it, would not go away. Bertha was returning. He was quite fond of the old girl and got along with her well enough, but tonight
he could just about cope with comforting his wife in her grief. He didn’t need her grandmother too. He was like most men: not much use around wailing women. They made him feel uncomfortable. He preferred to come to terms with his mother-in-law’s death in his own way. Over a pint at the pub.