Read Always I'Ll Remember Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Always I'Ll Remember (4 page)
‘No thanks, Aunty, just the tea. I’m supposed to have breakfast ready for when Mam gets back. Da’s still in bed.’
Audrey nodded, turning the bacon which sizzled madly in protest before she began cooking the first batch of griddle cakes. ‘So, let’s have it,’ she said, her broad back to Abby. ‘What’s upset the apple cart this time?’
‘I got in for the college and so I told her about the lessons.’
The effect of this statement was to spin Audrey round with a lightness which belied her bulk, and the next moment Abby was enfolded in her aunt’s embrace. ‘I knew you’d get in, lass. Didn’t I say you would? Oh, hinny, I’m right pleased for you. When did you hear?’
Once she could breathe again, Abby said, ‘Yesterday morning. At least I won’t have to wait at the top of the street for the postie any more. I think he was beginning to believe I was soft on him.’
Audrey chuckled and returned to the range. ‘He should be so lucky! And your man played up, did she? Well, lass, if nothing else it confirms you were right to say nowt until you knew for sure.’
‘She was horrible.’ Abby looked down at the mug in her hand. ‘And when Da stuck up for me she went for him an’ all.’
‘When does your da sail again?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Abby’s voice was flat. After turning the griddle cakes Audrey surveyed her niece whom she loved every bit as much as her own lads. Nora was mental the way she was with this bairn, but then her sister had never known which side her bread was buttered. Right from when Abby could toddle she’d made her way into this kitchen, and was it surprising the way her mam was? She had lost count of the times Nora had knocked Abby into next weekend for some little thing no one else would have bothered about. And Nora had had the cheek to come round here accusing her of stealing the bairn’s affections when there’d been all that carry-on about the lass being forced into the pickle factory. Anyone with eyes in their head could have seen Nora had lost her daughter long before that. She seemed incapable of love, did her sister. In fact she didn’t think Nora had ever really loved anyone, including Raymond, in the whole of her life.
Audrey turned her gaze to the ceiling, giving mental thanks for her own husband, before transferring the griddle cakes to a big tin dish standing on the hot steel shelf to one side of the hob. As she began the second batch, she said quietly, ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing, lass. That factory is sending you round the bend and you won’t get free of it by just wishing. At least now you can go back knowing an end is in sight and it’ll make all the difference.’
Abby nodded. ‘I know.’
‘You going to nip in and tell your granda the news before you go back? He’s had another bad night an’ likely it’ll cheer him up.’
‘Aye, all right.’ Abby slid off the chair. ‘Shall I take him a cup of tea?’
‘Do that, hinny. He’s only had the one this morning so his tongue will be hanging out if I know anything about it.’
The last of the tea was black and strong which was just how her grandfather liked it. Abby had often heard her aunt remark it was only the countless cups of tea he consumed a day which kept the old man going, and maybe it was.
In the hall she knocked on the front room door which was half open. She had always done this and she didn’t know why - her grandfather said she was the only one who accorded him such a privilege - but it seemed the right thing to do somehow.
‘Hello, me bairn.’
Her grandfather’s gaunt face lit up at the sight of her. Abby walked across to the double bed set under the sash window so the old man could see the happenings in the street beyond, bent down and kissed him before saying softly, ‘Aunty thought you might like another cup of tea, Granda.’
‘An’ she’s not wrong.’ He took the cup from her, patting the side of the bed as he said, ‘Take the weight off, lass.’
‘I can’t stop long, Granda. I’m supposed to be seeing to breakfast right now. Mam’s gone to first Mass.’
‘Oh aye?’ He blinked at her, his rheumy eyes sharp with understanding despite their cloudiness. ‘An’ what’s sent her off to Father Finlay so early then? Got a gripe with your da, has she?’
Abby shook her head. ‘It’s me. I told her last night I was going to have shorthand and typing lessons at the tech. I’ve paid for them myself but she still created. You know what she’s like.’
Aye, he knew what Nora was like all right. Silas Dodds looked at his favourite grandchild understandingly. Six bairns he and his Elsie had had and the good Lord had seen fit to take the lads, all four of ’em, and each before they had barely drawn breath, and leave the two lasses, Nora and Audrey. And it had been touch and go with Audrey for the first couple of years; sickly little thing she’d been although you’d never think it to look at her now. But Nora . . . Strong as an ox from the day she was born. Funny that the first babbie and the last had been the ones to survive, and eight years between them. Never were two sisters more different. And he thanked God daily they were. As sure as eggs were eggs, he’d have been packed off to the workhouse double quick if it had been left to his eldest.
Silas drew in a careful breath - anything too deep these days and the pain shot through him like a knife - and took a long pull at the black tea.
Did anyone else see what he saw when they looked at Nora? No, of course they didn’t, else something would have been said before now. Audrey might be an easy-going lass with a heart of gold but she worshipped the ground her Ivor walked on. If she thought for a minute . . .
‘Da’s sailing again tomorrow morning.’
This statement was telling in its brevity. Silas nodded slowly. ‘What did he say about all this then?’
‘He’s for me.’
Which would mean Raymond was in the doghouse too. Like Elsie, he’d been against Nora marrying a sailor and one not of the Church to boot, but he’d long since come round to the opinion it was Raymond who’d got the rough end of the deal.
Silas took his granddaughter’s hand. ‘Don’t you let your mam change your mind once your da’s gone.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t, Granda.’
It was too definite not to be believed, and a slow grin spread over Silas’s thin face. Nora had met her match with this one, but wasn’t it strange that alike as his daughter and granddaughter were in strength of will and determination, Abby was all softness and her mother as hard as nails? He handed the empty cup over. ‘You’d better get back, hinny, but I’m right pleased for you, I am that. You’re worth more than that bloomin’ pickle factory and haven’t I always said so?’
‘Thanks, Granda.’
Again the warm lips pressed against his face, and when Abby touched the parchment-like skin of his cheek with her fingers in a parting endearment which had begun in childhood, Silas swallowed hard. One in a million, this bairn was. A little ray of sunshine his Elsie had called their granddaughter, and she’d been right an’ all.
As he watched the young figure leave the room the feeling of apprehension which had come on him more and more of late was strong. If he was right in his suspicions about Nora and Ivor - and his gut had never let him down yet - a cartload of trouble was being stored up. Folk thought they could bury such things but they never stayed buried, certainly not when someone was as discontented with her lot as his eldest daughter anyway.
He adjusted his position on the pillows; his crushed legs, which had withered away to mere sticks over the years, pained him.
How far had the pair of them gone? A bit of making on and teasing, or something more? He brought his lips one over the other a few times. Whatever had happened, he’d bet his eye teeth it was Ivor who had called a halt. His son-in-law couldn’t get out of the room quick enough if Nora came in, and he was positively sheepish if forced to be in her company, like at Christmas for example. He just thanked the Lord Nora didn’t pop round as much as she used to since her and Audrey had had the set to when Abby had started at the pickle factory. But if he knew Nora, she wouldn’t take Ivor’s rejection lying down. She was biding her time, and sooner or later she’d strike back.
Should he tackle Ivor about it? Would it do any good? He couldn’t see it somehow. Aw, he wished Elsie was here. The blue lips worked again. She would have known what to do, would his Elsie. Grand lass and a bonny wife, she’d been. He sighed deeply, his eyes shutting as his tired mind took refuge in sleep.
In the hall, Audrey was at the foot of the stairs, rubbing her hands on her pinny. ‘Come on, you lot!’ she bellowed. ‘This is the last time of calling! I haven’t been slaving over a hot stove for breakfast to get clart cold. And bring Jed down with you.’
‘I’m off, Aunty,’ Abby said.
‘All right, hinny.’ Audrey followed her niece into the kitchen, shaking her head as she said, ‘Trouble with their backs again, can’t get ’em off the bed of a morning. Now ...’ A plump hand was placed on Abby’s arm. ‘If it gets too bad with your da gone, don’t forget we’re next door and Ivor will always have a word with her. She’s more likely to listen to reason from him. If I say anything it’ll be the wrong thing.’
Abby nodded but said nothing to this. The Pope himself could have a word with her mother but if she was in one of her moods he’d get short shrift.
‘Hello, what’s this then? Taking me name in vain again?’
The tall, broad man who appeared in the kitchen doorway was grinning as he spoke, and as Audrey turned and flapped her hand at him, she said, ‘Ears like a cuddy, you’ve got. You should know by now you never hear anything good if you flap ’em where they’re not wanted.’
‘Hark at her.’ Ivor raised his hands to his ears, pulling at the lobes as he said, ‘There’s many as admire these, I’ll have you know. “You’re a fine man, Ivor,” they say, “and with a grand pair of lugholes an’ all”.’
‘Half sharp, you are.’ But Audrey was laughing as she spoke, and her husband gave her bottom a playful slap. ‘If you must know,’ she continued, turning back to the griddle cakes, ‘Nora’s in a tear with the lass again and I said with Raymond going tomorrow you’d speak to her if things get too bad.’
Ivor didn’t comment on this but the smile left his face. ‘What’s the trouble this time, lass?’
Abby told him quickly, adding, ‘But don’t say anything, Uncle Ivor, there’s no need.’ She knew he didn’t want to, she’d seen it in his face as her aunt spoke. ‘I’m going to go and nothing she can do or say will stop me.’
He nodded, seating himself at the kitchen table. ‘That’s all right then, isn’t it?’ he said flatly, reaching for the teapot.
Abby said goodbye and walked through to the scullery and out of the back door, but after closing the rickety gate to her aunt’s backyard she stood in the narrow lane and looked up into the sky. The lane could be a sea of mud in the winter but it hadn’t rained to speak of in weeks and the ground beneath her feet was cracked and dusty, the sky above clear and vividly blue. The air was fresh, at least where she was standing although she knew at the far end of the path where the Craggs and McArthurs lived the privies would be stinking to high heaven.
A blackbird flew right past her ear, settling on the yard wall a couple of houses down, where it proceeded to sing its little heart out. It was a lovely morning. Abby frowned to herself. She’d felt fine in spite of her mam until her Uncle Ivor had put a damper on things. Not that he’d meant to, she thought, trying to be fair, but he would never say anything about her mam or indicate he cared about how things were at home.
She shrugged the disgruntlement away, drawing the bright summer morning into her lungs. She wouldn’t let anyone spoil things. She’d made her stand and this was a new beginning. Why, this time next year she might even have left the factory and be working in an office!
When Abby got home from work the next day and stepped into the hall, her gaze went immediately to the front room door which was ajar. Even before she heard the voices within she stifled a groan. Father Finlay. It had to be Father Finlay ensconced with her mother because no one else who called, except maybe Dr Jefferson, would be shown into the front room. And everyone was well at the moment. Added to which, her father had sailed that morning so her mother would have felt the coast was clear to call in the priest.
Abby slipped off her coat and hung it on a peg. As she did so Clara appeared from the kitchen at the far end of the hall, her eyes red and puffy, but before she could reach her sister her mother’s voice called, ‘Abigail? Is that you? Come into the parlour please.’
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