Dancing in the Moonlight (12 page)

‘But he might,
you
don’t know, and what’ll he say if you’ve pawned everything? An’ anyway’ – Ruby’s chin lifted belligerently –
‘
I
wanted to sleep in that bed; ours is too crowded, an’ Flora and Bess are always kicking me.’

It was the last straw. Rounding on her sister, Lucy hissed, ‘Do you want to eat tonight?
Do
you?’ And at Ruby’s sulky nod: ‘Then get your backside down to old
Lonnie’s with that lot.’

‘Me?’ Ruby glared at her. ‘I’m not going. You always go to the pawn.’

‘Well, today you’re going, madam.’ She didn’t want to be away from the house in case Frank came round.

‘That’s not
fair
.’ Ruby stamped her foot. ‘You’re horrible, our Lucy. I don’t blame Donald for going. I wish I could.’

Lucy’s hand shot out and the sound of the slap echoed in the kitchen.

Ruby was so surprised that Lucy – gentle, sweet-tempered Lucy – had smacked her that for a moment or two she remained open-mouthed and unmoving. And her surprise was compounded when,
instead of saying she was sorry, Lucy picked up the parcel of bedding and dumped it in her sister’s arms. ‘John will go with you,’ she said tersely, ‘and you can get some
shopping on the way back with what Lonnie gives you.’ She gave John a list and the basket. ‘And you come straight home, no messing about.’

John hadn’t said a word, but when Ruby flounced out of the kitchen he put his small hand on Lucy’s arm for a moment before following Ruby into the back yard. The brief gesture of
comfort was almost too much, but aware of the twins’ big eyes on her, Lucy pulled herself together. A few weeks ago she had thought life was a struggle, but then she’d had her da and
brothers, and Jacob had been fit and well. She hadn’t known how lucky she was.

She caressed the little silver heart as she fought back the tears, the tangible link with Jacob infinitely precious now. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t, not her Jacob. She pictured him
as he’d been the day before, so strong and tall, so alive, so
hers.
Now he was fighting for his life and she wasn’t even allowed to go to him. She couldn’t bear it. And
Donald was gone, their only means of support. Her world had fragmented and she didn’t know what to do.

Ruby’s round face was set in a puggish frown as she plodded along cradling the parcel in her arms, John trailing behind her. O’Leary’s the pawnshop, known
locally as ‘old Lonnie’s’, was situated at the end of Dock Street just a short walk away and deep in the heart of Monkwearmouth. Since the unemployment had worsened it was a
regular route for some, and the growing Depression meant there were always groups of men lounging about at street corners watching passers-by with hooded eyes. Ruby didn’t mind them if she
was going to school or out playing, but she knew every one of them would see the package she was carrying and know she was going to the pawn.

Her scowl deepened. Hopefully all her friends were in school, but she’d die if she saw any of them. She couldn’t have verbalized the stigma associated with visiting old
Lonnie’s. She only knew it was something spoken about with long faces and shakes of the head, but with a certain amount of covert satisfaction by those who weren’t reduced to gracing
the shop in Dock Street when they gossiped about their less-fortunate neighbours.

She hated their Lucy. She swung round to John, her voice a snarl as she spat, ‘Come on, you.’

Never one to be intimidated, and especially not by Ruby, John made a face. ‘Shut up, Ratbag Ruby.’ He’d coined this particular form of address some time ago and the results had
been so gratifying that he’d continued to use it, knowing it drove his sister demented.

In the present circumstances it really hit the spot. Ruby was on the verge of dropping the parcel and going for him, when a voice above her head said coolly, ‘Hello there, what are you up
to? Shouldn’t you be at school? On an errand, are we?’

Ruby froze. Tom Crawford was her idol. He was so good-looking for one thing, and he always dressed like a gentleman, his clothes being a notch or two above what the other men in the streets
round about wore. His mam, Mrs Crawford, was forever going on about his fancy house and his housekeeper and whatnot, and now this . . . this
god
was here, at the height of her humiliation.
Wishing the ground would open and swallow her, Ruby gave up all hope of pretending things were other than they were. Her idol’s words had revealed that he knew what she was about.
‘Hello, Mr Crawford,’ she said woodenly.

‘So?’ Tom waited for John to join his sister, whereupon he tweaked the boy’s cap over his eyes. ‘Playing the wag, are you?’

‘No.’ John was indignant. He didn’t mind taking the blame when he’d been caught fair and square, but he was blowed if he was being blamed when he hadn’t done
anything. Unwittingly he added to his sister’s mortification, saying, ‘Our Lucy’s sent us to old Lonnie’s, an’ we’ve got shopping to do after.’

Tom nodded, but didn’t comment and, needing to explain, Ruby muttered, ‘It’s Donald’s fault. If he hadn’t gone we’d have been all right.’ She
didn’t know if this was true, but it sounded better. The Crawfords had never visited old Lonnie’s in their life, and her shame was intensified by the vague feeling that if the Crawfords
could manage, so should they.

Tom stiffened, but his voice sounded the same when he said, ‘Donald’s gone? Gone where?’

‘We don’t know. Down south somewhere; he left a note for Lucy this morning and he took every penny Lucy had.’

‘I see.’ Tom ruffled the child’s hair, but beneath his calm facade his mind was racing. Struggling to hide his elation, he fished in his pocket and sorted through his change.
‘Here.’ He handed the two of them a shiny sixpence each. ‘You go and get yourselves a comic and some sweets when you do the shopping.’

Ruby and John stared at the coin in their hands and then at Tom, who was smiling down on them benevolently. They both thanked him and Ruby’s voice reflected her adulation in a way that
caused his smile to widen. He’d have no problem with these two, and the twins were too young to be of account. It couldn’t have worked out better. In two or three years Ruby would
finish school and could be put into service, and John a couple of years after that. He wouldn’t mind providing for them till then. And the twins would be no trouble. Taking on the family
would be seen as an act of altruism, which would do no harm at all to his standing in the community. He’d set his mind on becoming a town councillor in the next few years. He’d seen how
backhanders could smooth the way and he would make sure no scandal queered his pitch. To all intents and purposes he was a businessman; he’d been meticulous in setting up a legitimate front,
and those who knew differently would look the other way. He had the backing of the Kanes, after all.

He stood staring down the street long after the two children had disappeared, excitement causing his heart to thud. Should he go and see Lucy right now? He was sure to get a warmer reception
than the last two times he’d called, because she’d had Donald then, or so she’d imagined. Now the last prop had been pulled from underneath her and she was his for the taking
– Jacob having been satisfactorily dealt with.

The thought of Jacob caused him to frown. He was on his way to his mother’s to play the dutiful brother; it wouldn’t look good if he was seen sniffing around Lucy. Better to wait
until it was quieter, without folk about. If he visited under cover of darkness the children would be asleep, another bonus. He would have her to himself. The palms of his hands were damp and he
rubbed them down the sides of his trousers, his body involuntarily hardening in relish at the coming encounter.

‘You didn’t oughta ’ve said about Donald. Lucy said not to tell anyone.’ Ruby and John had paused outside old Lonnie’s to look in the dusty shop
window. Watches, clocks, all manner of jewellery and knick-knacks on one side were divided from an assortment of clothes on the other – moleskin trousers, stiffly starched shirts, dresses,
smocks and baby clothes – by a mahogany-framed silk-embroidered fire screen, the fine embroidery in silver and pale rose tones on a blue background enchanting. Unfortunately the effect was
somewhat spoilt by the couple of pairs of great sailors’ boots parked in front of the screen.

Ruby dragged her eyes away from a gold locket to look at her brother. ‘Well, she won’t know, will she?’ she said meaningfully, adding, when John looked uncooperative, ‘if
you say we saw Tom, we’ll have to tell about the sixpences he gave us, and she’ll have them.’

John considered this. ‘Not if we’ve spent them,’ he said practically.

‘And then she’d go mad, you know she would.’

‘We don’t
have
to tell her about the sixpences.’

‘If you tell on me, I shall say about them.’

John’s brown eyes mirrored his dilemma. Honesty against the unheard-of good fortune of a sixpence all to himself.

‘We could buy a box of chocolates and eat them on the way home,’ Ruby wheedled. They had never tasted the different centres in a box of chocolates, only ever having had the odd
ha’penny or penny to spend on sweets or a comic in the past, when their father or one of their brothers had slipped them a coin. It did the trick. John nodded. ‘All right. I won’t
say nowt.’

Ruby smiled. She had known that her blackmail would prevail. Besides, what harm was there in telling Tom Crawford about Donald leaving them? Everyone was going to know sooner or later –
they couldn’t keep it a secret forever.

Lucy sat at the kitchen table feeling too tired to move. She should go to bed, she told herself. It was close on midnight and she wouldn’t hear anything further about
Jacob until tomorrow. Frank had been as good as his word and had popped round shortly before ten o’clock to say that his da had just got back and there was no change. Jacob was in a coma and
it didn’t look good. His mam, he’d added, was refusing to budge, and nothing his da or the hospital staff had said had been able to convince Enid to come home and rest.

‘Is there no hope?’ she’d asked Frank, hearing the pleading in her voice and feeling ashamed for putting added pressure on him at such a time. But she’d had to ask.

Frank had rubbed his mouth. ‘From what they’ve said to Da, it might be better if he goes quick, lass. Oh, I’m sorry, Lucy, don’t look like that, but if he got over this,
the odds are he’d be left in a right mess. Broken bones heal, but he could be blind or deaf and unable to walk, talk, feed himself even. They can’t tell yet, but it don’t look
good.’

After Frank had gone she’d cried until she was cried-out. Now a kind of stupor had come over her and her mind had retreated into a dull numbness. All day her mind had grappled with ways of
keeping the family together until she’d driven herself mad.

When she heard the back door into the scullery open, for a wild, breathless moment she thought Donald had come home. Not breathing, she watched the door into the kitchen open, but it
wasn’t her brother who stood framed in the doorway.

Tom Crawford’s face was unsmiling and his voice was deep in his throat as he said, ‘I saw the light, so I knew you were still up.’

Lucy rose, clutching the back of her chair for support. ‘Is it Jacob? He’s not . . .’

‘Jacob?’ he asked on a note of surprise, before saying, ‘Oh, Jacob. No, no it’s not Jacob,’ an edge to his voice. ‘Look,’ he said after a moment’s
pause, and now his tone was commiserating, ‘I know how you’re fixed – Donald leaving and everything – and I’m sorry, lass. Heart-sorry. You must be worried sick with
the little ones to look after.’

As he came further into the room every muscle in Lucy’s body tensed. The fear and unease she’d felt in his presence before were stronger, and it was this that made her say, ‘I
don’t know what you mean.’

‘So Donald hasn’t upped and gone?’

‘No, he’s here.’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘Asleep in bed.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’ He smiled as he stopped a foot or so away. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that?’

She shivered inside, but now that the shock was receding, her voice was stronger as she said, ‘I tell you, he’s here. Where else would he be?’

‘Then would you mind waking him, so I can have a word? He was supposed to do a job for me tonight and he didn’t turn up.’

Her brain refused to work quickly enough and she gazed at him dumbly.

‘I thought so.’ His smile widened. ‘And don’t get me wrong – I like it that you don’t lie well. So many girls have got it down to a fine art. But then
you’re not like any other lass. Not to me, anyway,’ he added, and his voice had a funny quiver to it.

She knew she had to get him to leave, but she didn’t know how. Gathering her scattered wits, she tried to inject authority into her voice. ‘It’s late and I think you ought to
go. It’s not right you’re here at this time of night.’

‘I haven’t told you why I’ve come.’

‘I don’t want to know. I want you to leave.’

He stared at her, his smile dying as his jaw reacted to her stance by tensing a muscle in his cheek. ‘So I’m shown the door, while Jacob’s made welcome any time. Is that it?
I’ve seen you, dancing with him out there.’ He flicked his head towards the yard. ‘Well, you can forget Jacob now. If he lasts the night it’ll be a miracle, and the way I
see it, that’s what
you
need – a miracle, or it’ll be the workhouse for the bairns for sure.’

A terrible suspicion was taking form in Lucy’s mind. One part of her was saying: No, no, he wouldn’t do that, not to his own brother; but there had been something in Tom’s
voice when he’d spoken Jacob’s name . . . ‘What do you know about the attack on Jacob?’ she whispered, her hand at her throat.

Tom shrugged. ‘He’d clearly riled someone, but then Jacob has a talent in that direction. Maybe they decided he needed to be taught a lesson, I don’t know. Frankly, I
don’t care. I’m not going to pretend there’s any love lost between us. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about him. Lucy’ – he reached out and took her hands in his
before she could stop him – ‘I’m prepared to take care of you and the others. I want you, I always have, and if you marry me I’ll be good to you, I swear it. You’ll
want for nothing.’