Dancing in the Moonlight (19 page)

Perce’s slack mouth fell open and it testified to his amazement that for once he had nothing to say.

After a moment she said dully, ‘It wasn’t my fault, he – he forced me. I don’t expect you to believe that, but it’s the truth. After Donald had gone, and he knew I
was alone with the bairns, he came to the house late at night when they were asleep and I was in the kitchen. That’s when he . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘Me and the bairns got away
the next morning because I knew he’d come back again. I’m – I’m not bad. I’m not.’

Perce stared at the little lass he’d come to admire and rely on over the last weeks. She had turned the flat into a home again, and had worked wonders with the lads. His life was back on
an even keel and running as smoothly as when Ada was alive and he was grateful for it. Furthermore she was bright up top, and as bonny as a summer’s day, and she and her siblings did the work
of twice their number. He knew he needn’t fret or worry that they had sticky fingers; he could leave Lucy or the other two in the shop without having to concern himself that the till would be
short at the end of the day. But this: a
bairn.
He hadn’t reckoned on this.

Feeling as though he’d just been punched hard in the stomach, he cleared his throat twice. ‘Who is he? This bloke?’

There was no reply from her, only a downward movement of her head.

‘You can tell me, lass.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Do’ – again he cleared his throat – ‘do you love him?’

‘
No.
’

There was something in the one word which settled that notion once and for all in his mind, and with it came the conviction that she was telling the truth; she had been used against her will. As
coarse and earthy as he was, Perce found the idea repugnant. What sort of scum would take a nice little lass like Lucy and treat her like that? His big hands clenched into fists at his sides.
‘Lass, if you tell me his name, I’ll go and see him. He needs to be told—’

‘No.’ She made a sound that was something between a groan and a whimper. ‘I can’t. He mustn’t know where I am.’

‘You’re frightened of him.’ It was a flat statement. ‘Did he threaten you afterwards? Cos I’ll knock his block off—’

‘No.’ Again she interrupted him and now she was wringing her hands in her anxiety. ‘You don’t understand. He’s dangerous, Perce, and he wants me. If he knew I was
expecting, he’d be pleased because he’d think he’d got me. Oh, I can’t explain, but if he knew, I’d never get away again. He’d think he’d got a hold on me
and somehow he’d make me marry him. I know he would.’

Perce’s simple face stretched in puzzlement as he stared at her. ‘But there’s the bairn,’ he said, as though whatever had gone before was of no account. ‘If
he’d marry you . . .’

‘I’d rather die than have him lay a hand on me again. And I don’t want his bairn, I can’t bear the thought of it. I wish it was dead. I wish
I
was
dead.’

‘Don’t talk like that, lass.’

‘Why?’ She suddenly rounded on him, her eyes wild. ‘He’s a vile, horrible man and he hurt me, and you think I should still marry him because of the baby? I hate him,
I’ve always hated him and I think my mam knew what he was like all along. She never liked him.’ She burst into tears, turning away from Perce to stand with her face in her hands as her
body shook.

Perce stood looking at her helplessly, not knowing what to say or do. A sudden thought struck him. ‘Is this bloke the same one who got your da an’ brother killed, an’
frightened Donald away down south?’

Lucy tried to pull herself together. Her voice a sob, she said brokenly, ‘Yes’, scrubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. ‘Like I said, he’s dangerous. No one
can stand up to him.’

They were looking at each other when they heard the back door in the house next door open and someone clatter into the yard, divided from theirs by a seven-foot-high wall. A long and profoundly
loud eruption from the unfortunate’s nether regions was followed by a male voice yelling, ‘Beattie? There’s no lav paper again. I thought you were goin’ to get the bairns to
cut up a few more newspapers?’

An equally irate female voice yelled back, ‘I did! There’s more backsides in this house than just yours, Arthur Briggs.’

‘Aye, well, be that as it may, I’m sittin’ here with me trousers round me ankles an’ this particular backside in need of wipin’, so if it’s not too much
trouble’ – this was said with great sarcasm – ‘a couple of pages of yesterday’s
Echo
would be appreciated.’

Lucy had shut her eyes during the exchange, but she opened them now when Perce said gruffly, ‘Get yourself inside an’ we’ll talk of this later, all right?’

She nodded, walking past him into the back room of the shop and making for the stairs which led to the flat, before turning on the first step. ‘I know this has put you in a spot, but would
you see your way clear to keeping Ruby and John and the twins on? Ruby can help in the house as well as the shop and John’s a good worker, you know he is, and the twins . . .’ She
floundered; he’d think the twins were too young to be of account. ‘The twins help with Charley and keep Matthew company,’ she finished weakly. ‘I promise I’ll
disappear and not bother you again, and no one will know about the – the bairn.’

He said nothing, staring at her across the room for a full ten seconds. Then he wetted his lips: ‘Like I said, we’ll talk later, lass, but for now there’s the day’s
business to get on with, an’ the bairns’ll be wanting their breakfast.’

She nodded again, but as he disappeared into the front of the shop called softly, ‘It’d be the workhouse, you see. That’s the thing.’

There was silence for a few moments and then she heard him begin to open up in readiness for the crates of fish and seafood that were delivered fresh every morning once it was light. Feeling as
though she was walking in ten-ton boots, she made her way upstairs to begin what had become her routine, since living at the fishmonger’s premises.

This might be the last morning she would wake up here, she told herself as she opened the front door of the flat, and it dawned on her, as she gazed around, how much of a home it had become. She
had tried to pretend to herself that life could be normal again, that she could forget what Tom Crawford had done, and live here quietly looking after the house and the bairns, but that dream was
over. She had something growing inside her. Not a tumour, like poor Gladys Lyndon had had. Gladys’s mam and da had gone mad at first when her belly had begun to swell. But when they’d
marched her to the doctor’s and he’d told them she hadn’t misbehaved as they’d assumed, Gladys’s mam had come to see her mam and she’d been crying and saying she
wished Gladys
had
been expecting, because the doctor had only given her a few months to live.

Lucy’s hand brushed her still-flat stomach and her mouth tightened. She’d give anything to have a tumour rather than a piece of Tom Crawford inside her. She couldn’t bear it,
she’d go mad. But no, she wouldn’t have to bear it. Once the bairns were settled one way or the other, she would do what she had to do. There were places where the river flowed deep and
fast, and undercurrents and debris made sure whatever went down never came up. If Jacob had died, would she see him, her mam and da and Ernie too? Or would she go straight to hell because what she
was going to do was a sin? Whatever, it made no difference. She was tired. Tired of fighting and trying. She had never felt so tired in her life, come to think of it. Or so sick and ill.

Rallying herself, she got Ruby and John up and sent them down to help Perce in the shop as usual, before tidying up and preparing breakfast for the household. Then she woke Charley and changed
his nappy and dressed him, before rousing Matthew and the twins. Once the four were sitting at the kitchen table she called Ruby and John. The children always had their breakfast together, before
Ruby and John disappeared downstairs to hold the fort while Perce came upstairs for his meal. Usually she sat at the table and ate with him, but today she set no place for herself, something he
noticed as soon as he came up.

‘You not eatin’?’ He frowned at her.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Hungry or not, you need somethin’ in your belly, lass.’ Then, realizing it was probably the worst thing he could have said in the circumstances, he covered himself by
blustering, ‘Everyone needs to stoke the boilers at the beginnin’ of the day, sets you up, so it does. Sit yourself down an’ have a bite of somethin’ with a sup tea. Come
on, lass, I mean it.’

She sat, only because she was feeling distinctly ill again and it was easier than arguing.

His voice softer, Perce murmured, ‘A dry biscuit or two always used to settle Ada at the beginning of the morning when she was . . . you know. An’ then an hour or so later
she’d be ready for something more. Little an’ often, lass. That does it.’

The kindness was almost too much. Knowing that if she started to cry she wouldn’t be able to stop, Lucy nodded and did as he suggested. Funnily enough, after a few minutes the nausea
receded enough for her to enjoy a cup of tea.

Perce ate his usual breakfast of a plate of smoked kippers with great chunks of buttered bread with every appearance of enjoyment, and once he had finished he clomped off downstairs so that Ruby
and John could get ready for school. The school was at the back of Holy Trinity Church in Church Street East just a short distance away, but Ruby, who would much have preferred to stay working in
the shop with Perce than sit in a classroom doing her lessons, always left the house at the last minute. Usually Lucy was patient with her sister’s dawdling, but today she found herself
snapping at Ruby several times. Ruby eventually left the house in a flounce with a face like thunder.

An hour later, with the four younger children playing happily, Lucy collected the dirty washing and took it down to the wash-house in the yard. A copper boiler stood in one corner with a tin
bath turned upright in another, and a table for scrubbing ran along one wall. There was room for the mangle and poss-tub too. When Lucy had first entered the wash-house some weeks back she had
considered it the height of luxury to be able to do the washing away from the flat, and it made bathing so much easier too.

Today, though, desolation and despair coloured her surroundings, sucking every last vestige of hope and courage from her spirit. She leaned her head against the brick wall of the wash-house,
shutting her eyes as she gave in to the dread filling her mind.
What was to become of them?
She touched the small silver heart in the hollow of her throat, her soul reaching out to Jacob
as the tears trickled down her face.

‘I love you,’ she whispered as she stood there, feeling very small and very alone. ‘For always, and I’m sorry. I’m so so, sorry . . .’

It had been three weeks before Enid and Aaron could bring Jacob home, and another two before his broken ribs would allow him to breathe easily, but now, at the beginning of
July, he was looking and feeling more like his old self. His nose would never be the same again, but not being a vain individual, its crookedness bothered him not a jot, nor was he concerned about
the scar which ran from his right eyebrow to his ear. A tiny fraction one way and he might have lost his eye, but he had been spared that misfortune. He was lucky. Everyone kept telling him so. And
he could have believed it if Lucy was next door.

He thought of her all the time and his thoughts were a torment to him, especially through the long night hours when the rest of the world was sleeping. Used to the hard physical work in the
forge, his enforced idleness was a subtle torture. Only the fact that the doctors had warned him that he could put himself back into hospital if he tried to rush his recovery prevented him from
returning to the blacksmith’s.

Over the last couple of weeks he had begun to take slow but lengthy walks, as much to get away from the house and his mother’s eagle eyes as to get his damaged body into shape. It had been
a day or two before he allowed himself to acknowledge that during these walks he was constantly searching every face for that one dear one. Crazy, he knew, because she was away down south
somewhere, but he couldn’t help it. And every moment his mind was giving him hell. She had gone. Without a word. Without a last goodbye even. He had been as near death as damn it, and she
hadn’t waited to see if he pulled through. He had said as much to his mother, and she had put the blame on Donald for making Lucy leave, but he couldn’t altogether buy that. If she had
loved him like he loved her, she would have waited. Hell, he’d been on the point of asking her to marry him and taking on the lot of them, hadn’t he? More fool him. Aye, more fool him.
Well, now he knew. She wasn’t the lass he had thought she was.

He was thinking along these lines as he sat eating his dinner with his parents and Frank and Ralph, lost in a morose brooding, which the other four couldn’t fail to notice, but which
they’d learned through experience they couldn’t jolly him out of. He was with them but not with them, and it was worrying Enid to death. She glanced at him now out of the corner of her
eye, wondering where her happy, cheerful son who always had a quip hovering on his lips had gone. It was as though a light had gone out, she told herself, forcing food past the hard lump in her
throat that such thoughts always produced. And she didn’t know what to do or how to help him. He’d nearly bitten her head off when she’d made the mistake of saying that there were
other fish in the sea besides Lucy, and since that time they’d all been careful not to speak her name or to allude to their old neighbours in any way. But he couldn’t go on like this.
It was as though he’d given up – that’s what frightened her. He needed something, anything, to snap him out of the dark place he was in.

The blacksmith and his wife came to the house an hour later. It wasn’t unusual for Abe Williamson to drop by; he’d called several times since Jacob had been at
home, but not with his wife. Jacob was sitting on a chair in the yard and the others were listening to the wireless when the knock came at the front door, sending Enid into a tizz. Only
Jacob’s employer, Dr Pearson and the vicar would knock on the front door; everyone else used the back. And when she opened the door and Abe’s homely face smiled at her she was relieved.
The blacksmith might be Jacob’s boss, but he was one of them – an ordinary bloke – unlike the doctor and the vicar; and with the dinner dishes still to see to and Aaron and the
lads in their slippers with their shirtsleeves rolled up, she’d have been mortified if it was either of the other two.