Union Belle (24 page)

‘Before that,’ Ellen said.

‘So how long?’

‘About seven weeks.’

Gloria took her time pouring the tea before she asked her next question. ‘How serious is it, Ellen?’

Feeling slightly insulted, she replied, ‘Do you really think I would hop into bed with someone who wasn’t my husband if it wasn’t serious?’

‘So you have slept with him?’

Now Ellen felt silly. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘So, is it serious?’

Ellen nodded.

‘Well, then, what are you going to do about it? Because you can’t go on like this. It just won’t work, these sorts of arrangements never do, and I should know.’

Ellen put her finger against the handle of her cup and swivelled it around and around in its saucer. When it finally spilled, she said, ‘I don’t know, Mum. I don’t know what to do.’

Gloria shook her head. ‘I said you should never have married Thomas. I told you he wouldn’t make you happy.’

‘He did make me happy. He still does.’

‘Clearly.’

‘No, he does. He’s a good man and a good provider and he always does his best for us, but…’

‘But what?’

‘He’s not Jack.’

‘Well, you’ll have to make up your mind sooner or later. Or did you think you could have both of them? It won’t work, Ellen, not in a town like this.’

‘I don’t want both of them,’ Ellen said, although that wasn’t true. Then she said something she didn’t really mean, but her shame was now turning into anger. ‘I thought you’d be happy that Tom and I are having problems.’

Gloria looked at her sharply. ‘Of course I’m not bloody well happy! And Thomas isn’t having problems. Well, not yet anyway. You’re the one with the problem. I like Thomas, you know that, he’s just not the man I wanted for you. But you had to have him, though, didn’t you? And now you’ve changed your mind. What about Neil and Davey, Ellen? What’s going to happen to them when all this comes out?’

‘It won’t,’ Ellen said.

‘Oh, yes it will.’

Ellen knew her mother was right; she’d always known that, and resented Gloria for making her think about it.

‘Well, what did you do with Hazel when you ran off?’

There was a short, brittle silence before Gloria replied icily, ‘You know what I did. I chose to leave her behind, and a day hasn’t gone by since that I haven’t looked back and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing.’

‘But what does it matter now? She doesn’t even know you went away, does she?’

‘Of course she does, but she thought I’d gone off for a rest because I wasn’t well. It was your father’s idea to tell her that, another thing I’ve always been grateful to him for, and don’t you dare tell her otherwise!’

Ellen felt stung. ‘Mum, I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t!’

‘I hope not. I only told you because I thought you were owed the truth about your father. There’s no need to upset Hazel as well.’

‘Why, so you don’t have to feel terrible all over again?’ Ellen said. Then she closed her eyes in dismay, appalled at what had just come out of her mouth.

Gloria’s eyes hardened. ‘Listen to me, young lady, you brought this on yourself so don’t get snaky at me about it. You’ve made your bed and now you’re going to have to lie in it.’

Feeling so upset now that she thought she was going to be sick, Ellen half rose from her chair, but the nausea passed as suddenly as it had arrived and she sat down again. She pressed her hands over her face and gritted her teeth, but couldn’t stop the tears.

Gloria let her cry for five minutes, then fetched her a handkerchief. The sight of Ellen in such distress was upsetting, even if her misery was of her own making, but she was hardly in a position to take the moral high ground. And there was no point the pair of them falling out over it; Ellen would find she had few enough allies when all this got out. No one admired a woman who cheated on her husband, especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it.

‘Look,’ she said, when Ellen’s tears finally seemed to be subsiding, ‘what is it about this fellow? Oh, I know he’s a fine figure of a man and a charmer to boot, but there has to be more to it than that, love, and you know it. Yes, it’d be lovely for the first six months, or even the first year, but then the shine would wear off and you’d be back to doing exactly what you’re doing now—picking up someone’s dirty socks and underpants, listening to him snoring and blowing off next to you in bed every night, putting up with
him coming home from the pub smelling like a brewery and expecting his conjugals, complaining if his chips aren’t crispy enough. Or do you think Jack Vaughan isn’t going to do all those things? Because he will, you know, no matter how much you love him and he loves you. It’s just the way it is, Ellen, and it’s the way it always will be.’

Ellen blew her nose. ‘I know all that, Mum,’ she said, her voice muffled by the handkerchief. ‘But I haven’t thought that far, I really haven’t.’

She hadn’t either, and neither, she assumed, had Jack. He certainly hadn’t said anything about it.

Gloria raised her eyebrows sceptically. ‘Haven’t you? You’re not planning to run off with him, then?’

‘No.’ Ellen couldn’t understand why her mother was making it all sound so sordid.

‘So why are you risking your marriage for him?’

Ellen folded the handkerchief into a neat, damp square while she thought about her answer. ‘You know the other day when you were telling me about my real father?’

Gloria nodded.

‘Well, you said then that there was something about him, but not to ask what it was because you didn’t know, but it was the one thing that made him so special, remember? Well, to me, Jack is like that. He…well, he just feels right, Mum. In my mind and in my heart, he feels exactly right.’ Ellen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me I’m the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to him, and he doesn’t say all the time that he loves me…’

‘They never do, men,’ Gloria said. ‘They’re just not made like that.’

‘It’s more in the way he looks at me, and the way he touches me. And sometimes he’ll say something, just something little, that tells me I really do matter to him, a lot, and when he does, it makes my heart just fly, and that’s
when I know.’ Ellen shrugged. ‘That’s it, really. It doesn’t sound much, but that really is it.’

‘That’s when you know what?’

‘That he’s the one.’

‘Look, love, sometimes “the one” isn’t even the one. If that was the way it worked, you’d still be happy with Thomas, wouldn’t you? I seem to remember you insisting that he was “the one” when you told me and your father you would die if you couldn’t marry him.’

‘But this is different, Mum. You don’t understand.’

Gloria snorted. ‘Oh, yes I do. You’re infatuated, Ellen. You’re not in love with Jack Vaughan, you’re in lust. And I’ll bet you anything you like that if you did run off with him, you’d find that out a lot sooner than you bargained for. And lust isn’t love, not by a long shot.’ She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms again. ‘No, I’m sorry, love, but you’re going to have to put an end to it.’

Ellen knew her mother had been going to say that, but knowing it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

‘No,’ she said, ‘No, I won’t, Mum, I can’t.’ She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded, when even the thought of it filled her with an intolerable sense of loss.

‘Well, you’re going to have to. It’s not just you, Ellen, there are the boys to think about as well. And Thomas. You’ll have to tell Jack soon, now, before it’s too late, before somebody says something and lets the cat out of the bag. Because they will you know, you can’t hide something like this for long. I thought I had, but of course I hadn’t. Everyone knew what I’d done, that I’d gone off with a fancy man, in spite of what Alf told them all, and I still haven’t lived it down, not as far as some people in this town are concerned.’

‘I don’t care, Mum, I don’t care about that at all.’

Gloria regarded her daughter sadly. ‘Oh, you will, dear, you will.’

Someone did let the cat out of the bag.

Tom went to Auckland as usual on Friday but the meeting didn’t go well, and his mood was grim by the time he and Pat walked into the noisy, smoke-filled public bar of the Huntly pub at about half past three that afternoon. The only redeeming feature of the day was that they’d thumbed a ride with a bloke who’d brought them all the way from Auckland to Huntly; usually it took them two or three rides to get home, with endless standing around on the side of the road in between.

The bar was full, as usual, and they headed over to their customary table. Or rather, their customary bench—there were no tables and chairs in the public bar, merely a collection of tall benches that the men leaned on while they drank. Bert, Vic and Lew were already there. Jack wasn’t, Tom noticed, then he remembered he’d gone down to Ohura this afternoon for the latest gen on what was happening in Taranaki.

They’d had a bastard of a time at Ohura. In April they’d complied with Prendiville and Crook’s order to hold a secret ballot but, all credit to them, had voted to stay out. But then Crook had sent them a suspiciously confusing telegram they interpreted to mean that all other miners in the country were going back to work, and because they were so isolated they didn’t know any better and decided they might as well go back themselves. But when some of the jokers from the Benneydale pit up near Mangapehi had turned up to tell the Ohura men they’d got it wrong, the cops stepped in and refused to allow a meeting. This had annoyed the Ohura blokes so much that they’d decided to stay out after all, no matter what. But they were still isolated, and the Waikato central council had decided after that that it might be a good idea to keep in regular touch
with them. And Jack had worked there for a few years, so it made sense that he’d be the one to do it.

‘Just in time,’ Bert said. ‘I’m just getting a round in.’

‘Not baby-sitting this afternoon?’ Pat asked.

‘My mother’s got them for the night.’

Pat stowed his rucksack under the table and dug in his coat pocket for his tobacco. ‘How is the wife?’

‘She’s coming right.’ Bert didn’t bother examining Pats face for signs of sarcasm because he knew there wouldn’t be any; Pat was a hard man but he’d always been sympathetic towards Bert’s predicament. ‘Doctor says she could be home soon.’

‘That’d be good. Wouldn’t it?’

‘Don’t know if it would, actually,’ Bert said with his usual honesty, peering into his wallet to make sure he had enough money for his round. ‘We’re in worse shit now than we were when she went away. She might come home and end up having to go straight back again.’

Nobody said anything because he was probably right.

Tom watched Bert as he made his way over to the bar. Harry the barman lined up the handles and ran the beer hose over them, not even bothering to take his thumb off the button between glasses, because he knew the punters would drink gallons more than the amount that would end up going down the drain.

Bert carried the handles back, the beer frothing and spilling over the sides.

‘Cheers,’ Pat said as he raised his glass.

‘Cheers,’ everybody else said, and there was a moment’s silence as the beer went smoothly down.

‘Anything happen at the meeting?’ Vic asked as he wiped froth off his top lip.

Pat shrugged. ‘Not much.’

‘Not much that was good,’ Tom added.

‘There was talk that there might not be much more money from the watersiders in Aussie, because of that business with the ACTU telling them to pull their horns in.’

‘Shit,’ Lew said, ‘that’ll put a damper on things, won’t it?’

There were nods all round. Although the miners’ strike fund had run out a while ago, the Auckland watersiders had been managing to send a bit of money down now and then, which had been greatly appreciated, even if it wasn’t very much. There was still the money that was coming more or less illegally from the Australian miners, but the funds donated by the Australian wharfies would be missed.

‘Anything else?’ Vic said.

‘Just stuff about Barnes’ wife being fined,’ Pat replied, ‘and the watersiders getting banned from the wharves for good. Don’t know how the port employees think they’re going to get any decent work done with those clowns they’ve got now.’

‘The scab union?’ Lew said.

‘Yeah, and the military boys. They won’t have the use of them forever’ Pat laughed. ‘There might be another war, and then they’ll be in the shit.’

‘There is another war—in Korea,’ Vic said.

‘No, a proper war.’

‘Korea is a proper war. Haven’t you been reading the papers?’

‘If it was a proper war,’ Pat said, ‘wouldn’t all our blokes be over there already?’

Vic shrugged. ‘How should I know? I’m only a coalminer.’

Tom let Pat and Vic’s bickering wash over him, concentrating instead on how soothing the beer felt on his dry throat. He drained his handle and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

‘My round,’ he said, and nodded at Bert and Lew to drink up.

They went on like that for the next hour and a half and, by twenty minutes to closing time, were all well on their way.

It might have been all right if Tom had decided to wander down to the Bluebird for a parcel of chips before the booze train pulled out, but he didn’t, he stayed in the pub for the last couple of rounds before the barman called time.

He was chatting to Vic when Red Canning materialised in front of him. Tom didn’t like Canning; he’d known him and even worked next to him on occasion for years, and he was a belligerent bastard at the best of times. There had been bit of trouble after Johnno Batten had died, too, and Canning had been at the bottom of it, going around saying that the roof had come in because Tom had used too much powder when he’d set up the blast. What came out of Canning’s mouth normally wouldn’t have bothered Tom, but the suggestion that his negligence had killed Johnno had, because he’d already been racked with guilt over what had happened. There’d been an inquiry at the time and the official verdict had been that no one had been to blame, but while Tom had been in hospital Red Canning had made a meal out of it until Pat had taken him to one side and told him that if he didn’t shut the fuck up, he’d be out of the union, and therefore out of a job.