A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel (15 page)

Tim stood up, shoving the table towards his da. For God's sake – parents, letters, bloody kids where they shouldn't be . . . He could feel his fist driving into Bridie's ribs. He'd enjoyed it, but he hadn't known it was Bridie. Or had he? That was the problem: had he?

He stared at his beer juddering inside the glass.

Jack said. ‘Never fear, lad. You had our love.'

Had? Tim thought.

He lifted his head, and stared at his da. Around him he heard the murmur of the pitmen. Had? What did he care? This wasn't his world, it never had been; his da had seen to that, just like his mother had said. He was shuffled off to work in Newcastle as an engineer, when he could have sat his certificate and been in management here, as part of the family. But they weren't his family. Oh Christ.

His da still sat, looking up at him, shaking his head, as though to clear it.

Tim leaned over him. ‘Had your love, eh? Just like it was for my mother, eh? As long as people do as you say, you'll love 'em. As long as the miners behave, you'll take care of them. If they step out of line, you'll get yourselves together and sort 'em out like you're about to do right now, together with Jeb and Mart?'

Jack stood up then, coming round the table, forcing his son to step back. ‘What on earth . . . ?'

‘Like my mother, I suppose. You lot fitted her up by forging that letter about the silver theft. It was you, wasn't it, just to spoil her new life? Well, be bloody glad, because you finally have. Without it she can't marry Heine, the SS have rules. You go on and sort the miners, because I'm going out to my mother and step-father tomorrow and I wish you well with the whole damn mess, and when I get back, if I ever come back, don't expect to see me. You and Mam are nothing to me, not any more.'

Around them, the men had fallen silent. This time Jack didn't laugh and make it alright. Instead he said quietly, ‘Listen to me, son.'

Tim shook his head. ‘I'm not listening any more, just as you're not. But hear this: I'm not your son, I'm not Mam's son either. You're so damned satisfied with yourselves and you'll do exactly what suits you, and to hell with anyone else. I know how my mother felt now and it must have been a great big loneliness.'

He turned away from his da, who had paled, his scars standing vivid and blue, and walked straight into Mart, who blocked his way. ‘You're right out of order, you bloody little fascist. Apologise to your da, now.'

Jack moved then, pulling Mart to one side. ‘Enough, man, he doesn't mean it. He might think he does, but he doesn't.'

The miners made a path for Tim to walk through. There was utter silence. He reached the door. Jeb was there. He too blocked his way for just a moment. ‘You're bang out of order, son. You'll not come in here again until you've said, and meant, that you're right sorry. He's the best man out, your da is.'

Tim shouldered the elderly man aside, wanting to smash his fist in his face. ‘Well, looking around, that's not saying a lot, is it? And they're not my parents, didn't you hear? Not any more.'

At his motorbike he dragged his gloves from his pocket. He swung his leg over the saddle and started the engine, looking towards the door. His da didn't come. He waited. Still he didn't come. He drove away and didn't know why he was weeping.

Bridie came in from feeding the chickens while it was still dark the following morning. Her mam had already left to supervise the breakfasts and lunch preparations at Easterleigh Hall. James had arrived at seven to head out with her father to ditch the top field and her father had cocked an eyebrow at James' black eye and swollen nose, but believed James when it was explained away as a slip in the snow. Bridie had exchanged a smile with her cousin and answered his own cocked eyebrow.
I'm fine
, she had mouthed.
Me too
, he had replied. Both were lying.

Her ribs hurt and were perhaps cracked, but she knew there was nothing to be done, except bear it. She put the empty feed bowls in the scullery
cupboard, and passed through the kitchen to the hall. She heard her da in his study, and called, ‘What did you forget, Da?' There was no answer. She entered. Tim was by the desk, his motorbike goggles on top of his head, his gloves stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

‘You, in someone's study, again?' She could barely look at him, feeling the crunch of his fist, seeing the light of enjoyment in his face.

He said, ‘I didn't know it was you.'

‘What are you doing here?' Her throat was thick, but it had been ever since she had walked away from him yesterday.

He was quite still, and so was she. He was pale, but so was she. He said, ‘I need something which might be in the safe. My mother thinks your mother might have it. If you never speak to me again, do this one thing for me, open the safe. It might contain something that will enable her to marry Heine. It's too difficult to explain.'

She still stood motionless. ‘Ask Mam.'

‘My mother thinks she won't tell me, because she hates her.'

‘I don't think my family hates anyone. You are the one with hate in your heart, which is something I don't understand.' She paused. ‘I don't know the combination.'

‘Please find it for me.' His face moved strangely, as though it was made of wood, and he looked anywhere but at her.

She made a show of checking in the two drawers, bending carefully, leafing through the papers, forcing herself to ignore the pain. She looked inside an address book. The combination was there, as her father had once shown her, the four numbers broken up, under A, C, F and G. She said, ‘I can't find it. Look if you like.' She placed the address book on the table and stepped away from the drawer.

Tim searched through it. Bridie held her breath. He moved to the drawer and searched. He straightened, still unable to meet her eyes. He headed towards the door, his shoulders slumped, and said, ‘Please, not a word, I beg you. I can't explain it, I hardly understand myself, but it will make my mother happy if I find it. It is something I can do for her, after all the years of her being without me.'

He walked on as Bridie stared after him. Why were his eyes so red? What must it be to have a mother in another land, one that had left you to go with a lover, who then asked you to get things, secretly? How would she feel if it happened to her? She snatched up the book. ‘Wait, I have the combination here.'

She crossed to the safe and entered the combination, opening the door and standing aside. Now it was she who didn't look, as he hurried across. Instead she looked out of the window, and saw it was snowing again. Would her father give up the ditching? Would James return with him? Would they see Tim? Would he rush off on his motorbike, slide
and crash? She felt nothing at the thought. She watched him now as he searched through the papers, opening envelopes.

He stared into the safe when he had finished and his shoulders were even more slumped, if that was possible. ‘No, nothing. So perhaps it no longer exists.'

He carefully closed the safe door, spun the combination lock, sighed. She said to his back, ‘If you'd asked Da, he would have let you look, you know.'

He nodded, and came to her. At last he lifted his head and met her eyes. She felt nothing. He kissed her cheek. ‘I'm so sorry, Bridie. Sorry about it all.'

He left then, and she called after him, ‘She's your mother. She'll love you whether you find it or not. Just as Grace would. All will be well.'

He let himself out through the front door. She moved to the window. He kicked the motorbike into action, dragged on his gloves, slipped his goggles down, and rode away without turning. The snow was still falling. She watched until he was out of sight, and then she leaned her head on the cold glass.

In the Easterleigh Hall kitchen Evie turned the bacon. She loved the smell but somehow, for her, the taste was a bit of a let-down and, anyway, she preferred it smoked, while the guests today had requested green. At the kitchen table Mrs Moore was beating the eggs ready for scrambling, the dogs were on the chairs, and Pearl was bashing pots in the scullery.
All was as it should be, cosy and rather less frantic than the rest of the day.

Once the bacon was frying gently she joined Mrs Moore and wiped the mushrooms, slicing off just the base of the stalks. She maintained that stalks were the tastiest part of a mushroom, and wouldn't toss them aside as some did. Now she scooped together the earthy bases and dropped them into the compost bin set to the left of the ranges. As she returned to the table, the side door opened. She looked up, and dropped her knife onto the cutting board. ‘Gracie?'

Mrs Moore stopped beating the eggs and wiped her hands on her white starched apron. ‘Oh my.'

Evie rushed across to Grace, who stood at the end of the table, bowed and weeping. ‘Pet, bonny lass. Who? Jack? Who? What?' She held her friend close, feeling her shuddering sobs.

‘It's such a mess, Evie. Tim went to the Miners' Club, he and Jack had words, the like of which they've never had before, and my lad stormed out. Jack didn't say any more than it was just Millie and her stupidity, and the boy's confusion over everything. But he cried, Evie, our Jack cried.'

Evie gripped her tighter and stared over Grace's shoulder at Mrs Moore, and Pearl who had come into the kitchen from the scullery. Gracie pulled away and stared at them all, disbelief in her eyes. ‘Tim said, “
I'm not your son
.” Oh Evie, what are we to do?'

Evie tried to picture those words falling from Tim's mouth. Surely not? She said, ‘Are you sure?'

Gracie shouted, ‘Of course I'm damn sure, Evie ruddy Brampton.'

She stared wildly around, then fixed her attention on the table, wrenching off her leather gloves and thrusting them into her coat pocket. Evie put her hand out to her but Gracie rushed past and started tearing the mushroom stalks free of the cups, throwing them onto the floor. Pearl disappeared again into the scullery while Evie and Mrs Moore watched Gracie frenziedly chopping first one mushroom then another, and another, into little pieces. Her hair had fallen from beneath her felt hat, she thrust it back, then the chopping continued. After a moment, Evie moved across and gripped her hand, trying to make her stop, but Grace wouldn't release the knife. Mrs Moore tiptoed to the range and rescued the bacon, which had begun to burn.

Evie said, her hand still gripping Grace's, ‘You can pretend these poor old mushrooms are Millie, Heine, or the devil himself, but it means no-one will have any for breakfast, unless you're prepared to run out to the fields and gather up a load more, bonny lass. Enough now.'

For a moment more Gracie resisted, but then she relaxed and let Evie take the knife, standing while Evie scooped the mushrooms, some chopped, some not, into a bowl, which she passed to Mrs Moore to sauté. Finally Gracie laughed. It was shaky,
but it was a laugh. ‘Oh Evie, thank heavens for you, and Mrs Moore, and Easterleigh. Of course breakfast is important. Everything must go on. You're quite right.' She sat on Mrs Moore's stool, quite suddenly, as though her legs had gone from under her.

Evie and Mrs Moore exchanged a look. ‘Tea,' Mrs Moore insisted. She poured three mugs, and all three women sat around the table.

‘How many times have we done this?' Evie pondered.

‘Many,' Mrs Moore said. ‘And there will be many more problems to solve in just the same way.'

Gracie muttered, ‘But can this one ever be solved?'

The women sipped their tea, alone with their thoughts, but Evie knew that they would all arrive at the same conclusion. Only time would tell, and until then they just had to move forward, sticking together, and doing the best they could.

It was then that Jack appeared, pale and sad. He joined them, but said little. It was enough that he had come, knowing where he would find his wife, and needing the comfort of his family.

Tim lay in bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling, feeling totally alone. Well, perhaps he was, and who was to blame for that? He closed his eyes, not wanting to think of his empty-handed arrival yesterday evening, and the fury it had provoked. He turned on his side, burying his face in the down pillow, wanting to shut out the sight of her face, the spittle spray as she had shouted, the slap.

It didn't work. He sat up and checked the alarm clock. He usually woke before it went off but this time he'd forgotten to set the damn thing. It was nearly nine o'clock. His mother would be even more furious with him, if that was possible. There was a knock at the door. Amala called, ‘Good morning, Herr Forbes.'

He dragged his fingers through his hair. He didn't even know his name, not really. Was he Smith, like Roger? Or Thomas, like his mother's family?

‘Good morning, Frau Dreher.'

‘Amala is good,' she said. He had not known until now that the maid knew any English. He washed, shaved and dressed, noticing that he had the start of a bruise and a cut on his cheekbone from his mother's ring. He did not want to leave his bedroom.
Had his mother calmed down? Were the disappointment and anger of yesterday finished? Of course she was right, he deserved it because he had failed her, but as he said, there didn't seem to be any letter. He had obeyed her instructions, but to no avail.

He hurried to the dining room to get it over with, but there was only a plate with ham and cheese, some toast and coffee. And a letter propped on the coffee pot.