Dancing in the Moonlight (22 page)

But that was a long way off, she comforted herself quickly. Months and months. For now things would remain the same as they had been, except that she would no longer be sleeping in the bedroom
with Ruby and the twins, but would join Perce in the room he had shared with his first wife. He had made it clear that was what he expected, making the point that Ruby and John were old enough to
ask awkward questions if they did otherwise, and she’d been forced to agree with him.

In truth she had been surprised that Ruby and John had accepted her marrying Perce so easily, but then they both liked the big, tough fishmonger very much, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange.
She had told them nothing about the position she found herself in. They would leave announcing that she was expecting a baby as long as they could, and when they did tell the children, the baby
would be Perce’s. That was what they’d agreed. The child would come early of course, but that happened on occasion, and if some folk assumed they’d jumped the gun, that
wouldn’t matter now they were married.

She glanced down at the thin gold band on the third finger of her left hand and shuddered. It felt alien and curiously heavy.

There were plenty of couples who enjoyed the wedding night before the wedding, as Perce had put it, adding that he and Ada had been at it for more than a year before they were wed.

It.
Lucy’s stomach turned over and she tasted bile in her mouth. It was because of
it
that she was here now, Tom Crawford’s seed growing inside her womb and her
life ruined. And there was still the night to come and the close proximity of Perce in their marital bed . . .

She had always disappeared into the bedroom she shared with Ruby and the twins before Perce went to bed, leaving him sitting contentedly puffing his pipe and reading the paper
most nights. She knew he went downstairs after she’d turned in, presumably to use the privy and check the bolts on the doors, because she had heard him, but she was always asleep before his
heavy tread came up the stairs once more.

This evening was different. Her nightdress was lying on top of the double bed in Perce’s room and her personal items and clothes were in the big oak wardrobe and chest of drawers. The room
itself was familiar to her. She dusted it, changed the sheets and pillowcases on the bed when necessary, and took the thick shop-bought rug at the foot of the bed downstairs to the yard to shake
every so often. It was a nice room, reflecting Ada’s good taste, like the rest of the flat. Tonight, though, the thought of it was terrifying.

Lucy felt frozen to her chair on one side of the fireplace as she pretended to read the
Woman’s Weekly
magazine Perce had bought her that day. He often presented her with one of
the weekly or monthly periodicals –
Good Housekeeping, People’s Friend
or the newer
Woman and Home
which had only been published for a couple of years and had been
Ada’s favourite – and she usually read them eagerly from cover to cover, never having had such a luxury at home. Tonight, though, the words and pictures danced in front of her eyes,
making no sense. All she could see was the big brass bed.

She glanced at Perce, hidden behind his paper with the odd curl or two of smoke rising above it now and again. She liked the smell of his pipe; if nothing else, it masked the sickly aroma of
fish that clung to his hair and skin. It was a warm evening and she knew his face would have beads of perspiration glistening on it and that his bristly hair would be damp. She had never come
across a man who sweated so much.

She felt a soft ball of nausea rise up into her throat, which had nothing to do with the morning sickness that seemed to linger most of the day, and swallowed hard. She had to make the best of
this. There weren’t many men who would have done what Perce had done and she was grateful to him; she was, but . . .

She jumped visibly as the newspaper lowered. ‘You need to use the privy afore we turn in, lass?’ Perce said quietly.

‘Aye, yes, th-thank you.’ She virtually scampered from the room, but once outside in the yard she didn’t go directly into the privy, which she kept smelling as sweet as plenty
of buckets of ash and a daily scrubbing could make it.

The humid summer’s night bore no resemblance to the frosty cold evening when Jacob had held her in his arms and told her about the stars, but suddenly she was back there again, dancing in
the moonlight as she looked up into the black velvet sky studded with twinkling lights. Her arms tight around her waist, she moaned out loud. She
had
to find out if he was dead or alive,
she couldn’t go on wondering. If he was alive and in his right mind she would be content, she could put up with anything then.

But almost immediately reason kicked in. If he was dead, nothing could bring him back. But if, somehow, he had been spared and, in her trying to find out, Tom got to know where she was, then . .
. She shook her head, her heart thudding. Who knew what Tom would do? And if Jacob discovered her whereabouts, what could she say to him? That his own brother had forced her and she was pregnant
with Tom’s child? He wouldn’t believe her story that she had married Perce freely and was expecting the fishmonger’s baby – she wouldn’t be able to lie that
convincingly to Jacob. He would confront his brother and all hell would be let loose, and somehow Tom would see to it that Jacob was done away with. She believed that absolutely, and the more she
had thought about the attack on Jacob by person or persons unknown, the more she’d wondered.

She lowered her head, her eyes dry, but her heart bleeding tears. The best thing she could do for Jacob was stay out of his life. Anyway – she turned and looked at the building behind her
– she was married now. She wasn’t the young, innocent girl Jacob had loved. He would probably be disgusted to see her now; she was used goods, tarnished and second-hand. He might even
think she had led Tom on and got what she’d asked for.

No. She moved her head. Jacob wouldn’t think that. Not her Jacob.

But he wasn’t her Jacob any longer. A voice in her mind spoke clearly and coldly. Today she had stood at the altar with Perce and taken her marriage vows. Perce had offered her a way out
and she had taken it. In doing so, she had made her bed and now she had to lie on it. Literally.

Perce was still reading the paper when she came back into the sitting room. He didn’t lower it or look up when she said in a small voice, ‘I’ll get ready for bed now’,
merely saying, ‘Aye, all right, lass. I’ll be in shortly.’

Alone in the bedroom, she stared at herself in the long cheval mirror and for a moment thought of Ada. What would Perce’s wife think of another woman taking her role so soon after she had
passed away? But then if Ada knew, she’d also know that Perce hadn’t married her because he loved her, but because, as he’d termed it, she was in a fix, and also because he needed
a mother for his two boys. ‘I promise I’ll keep your memory alive for them,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not taking your place, not really.’ And then she heard a noise
from the sitting room and all thoughts of Ada went out of her head. She tore off her clothes in a panic and pulled on her nightdress, climbing into the strange bed, which felt much softer than it
looked, and lying on the very edge of the side Perce had told her was hers. She had changed the sheets and pillowcases that afternoon and the somewhat unyielding cotton smelt fresh and clean as she
pulled the covers up to her chin.

Then she remembered her hair was still pinned up in the tight bun she’d taken to wearing. Sitting up and keeping her gaze fixed on the door, she extracted the pins and combed out her hair
with her fingers, before quickly plaiting it and lying down once more. Her body rigid and her heart thumping fit to burst, she waited.

Perce was a surprisingly long time and when at last she heard him outside the door, she had composed herself to some extent. When he came into the room she stared at him in surprise. He was
already in his nightshirt and, by the look of it, had had a shave. Catching her look, he said a little sheepishly, ‘Ada wouldn’t let me in the bed until I’d had a shave an’
wash down. She said she had to put up with the smell of fish all day, an’ she was blowed if she was puttin’ up with it all night an’ all.’

Lucy nodded. She wanted to say something, but her mouth was too dry with fear. She watched him extinguish the oil lamp on top of the chest of drawers, sending the room into a darkness that was
both welcome and unnerving, and then his great bulk caused the bed to sag and creak as he slid in beside her. As taut as a piano wire, she held her breath.

Aware of the stiff woodenness of the slender figure on the other side of the bed and the reason for it, Perce spoke the words he would have found it impossible to say, but for the darkness.
‘Lass, I’ll say this once an’ then we’ll not talk of it again, all right? I know you wouldn’t have looked the side I was on, but for your misfortune, an’
it’s heart-sorry I am that a nice lass like you was taken advantage of by scum like him, but not all blokes are like that. I don’t pretend to be what I’m not, an’ I know
I’m no young maiden’s prayer, but I can promise you right now I’ll not hurt you or misuse you. There’ll be no funny business, so you can rest your mind on that score.
An’ after the babby’s born it’ll be up to you when . . . you know.’

He cleared his throat, his face scarlet in the blackness.

‘What I mean to say is, I’ll wait till you’re ready, however long that is. I don’t want nowt but what’s freely given; it’d stick in me craw otherwise. Do you
believe me, lass, cos it’s important you do?’

His words were warm, soothing oil on an open sore. Lucy couldn’t have expressed the comfort and ease they brought to her mind and body, or how his humility had melted the core of fear that
had been at the heart of her since she had first set eyes on him. With a bolt of revelation she realized Perce was finding this difficult and embarrassing too, and it was from that moment on that
something approaching tenderness came into her for the big, lumbering man who had taken her and her siblings in. Her voice a whisper, she said, ‘I believe you.’ He didn’t smell
like the Perce of daylight hours; instead the only odour was one of carbolic soap and the faint aroma of pipe smoke. ‘And I’m grateful, we all are, for what you’ve done for
us.’

‘Well, the way I see it, you’ve done plenty for me an’ the bairns an’ all, lass, so we’ll call it quits, eh?’ Perce’s voice expressed his relief that
the conversation he’d been working himself up to all night was over. ‘I’ll say goodnight then. I’ve got to open up earlier than usual tomorrow. Seamus Riley is comin’
with a load, an’ he’s always here at the crack of dawn, but he’s a canny old blighter, is Seamus. Always seems to fish where the best catches are, not like some of the young
’uns.’

‘Goodnight.’

The reply was timid, but the trembling note that had been at the back of her voice during the wedding service and thereafter was gone, and Perce smiled to himself. It was a rum do, he thought to
himself, that his wedding night had been spent reassuring his young bride that he had no intention of laying a finger on her. When he and Ada had got wed they’d been at it for half the night,
but then they’d had plenty of practice beforehand and Ada had liked her oats. She’d been a big lass and lusty; he missed her more than a bit, God rest her soul.

He turned over onto his side with his back to Lucy and shut his eyes. Things would pan out in time, they always did. No use fretting or wishing for something different.

The simple, homespun philosophy that was such a part of him had him sleeping like a baby within a moment or two, and as he began to snore Lucy found herself relaxing into the soft warmth of the
feather-and-down mattress. Even when, a few minutes later, he moved, one great brawny shoulder coming to rest against her, she didn’t flinch or adjust her position. She trusted him, she
thought with a stab of wonder. More than that, she felt safe for the first time since the night Tom Crawford had come to the house. Perce wouldn’t let anything, or anyone, hurt her.

PART FOUR

It had been a long, hard winter. Snow, sleet, blizzards and packed ice had meant week upon week when Lucy ventured no further than the back yard and saw no one but Perce and
the children. He had refused to let her work in the shop once they were married; initially because he’d realized the sight and smell of the fish, eels and other seafood made the nausea worse,
and then because, as her shape changed, they agreed it would add more credence to the story about the baby coming early if her belly wasn’t monitored by the housewives who came into the
shop.

Normally the enforced seclusion would have driven Lucy mad, but owing to the fact that the nausea remained persistent, along with a consuming tiredness that saw her falling asleep by the
fireside every afternoon when Charley had his nap, she was grateful for it. The twins and Matthew had started school together at the end of the summer and trotted off with Ruby and John every
morning, but even so her days were full with washing and ironing and cooking, along with keeping the rooms above the shop spick and span and caring for Charley. It didn’t help that she was
carrying the child in her womb all at the front, either. From the back she didn’t look any different, but by the beginning of February her stomach appeared ready to explode and she was
reduced to waddling like a duck, as she remarked bitterly to Perce. But none of this would have mattered if the baby wasn’t Tom Crawford’s. As her belly had grown, so had her aversion
to and revulsion of this ‘thing’ – she couldn’t think of it in any other way – that was his.

Every time the child moved or kicked, she wanted to tear it out of her; it was as though its father was violating her again and it was a constant reminder of what had happened. Each night she
prayed it would be stillborn. In truth she had little hope that a holy God would answer such a prayer, but she prayed it nonetheless in spite of her immortal soul. She wouldn’t let herself
think about what she would do if He refused her.