Tangled Threads (12 page)

She took a deep breath and said, ‘We do need work, yes, but we’ve come to see your father because – because he’s our uncle. Our mam’s outside on the dray.
She’s – she’s his sister.’

The girl’s eyes widened as she stared at them. ‘His sister? I didn’t even know he had a sister.’

So, Eveleen thought grimly, the family rift went so deep that this girl did not even know of their existence. And yet, she reminded herself, until a short time ago, she had not known of hers.
She forced herself to smile and say brightly. ‘Can we see him?’

‘Well,’ the girl looked about her uncertainly, ‘I don’t know. He’s working and he doesn’t like to be stopped. Not until teatime and that’s an hour or so
yet. Six o’clock, he’ll stop.’ The girl bit her lip, hesitating. Then slowly, she said, ‘I suppose you could see Gran, if you want.’

‘Your gran?’ Eveleen thought quickly. ‘Is she your father’s mother?’

The girl nodded.

‘Then she must be my gran too,’ Eveleen smiled.

‘I suppose so.’ For a moment doubt crossed the girl’s face, looking as if she felt she had offered more than she should have done. ‘I’ll go and ask her if you like.
Who – who shall I say it is?’

‘I’m Eveleen and this is Jimmy. We’re Mary’s children.’

‘And your mam is here too?’

‘Yes, she’s waiting for me. I think she’s a bit nervous.’

The girl stared at her, clearly not understanding. ‘I’ll – I’ll go and tell her. You’d best wait here.’

She was gone for what seemed an age to the youngsters who waited. Workers from the machine shops passed through the yard to the communal lavatory and stared curiously at the strangers. One or
two nodded and smiled and one young man winked at Eveleen as he looked her up and down with a bold, appraising glance.

Eveleen sniffed and turned her back. She’d had quite enough of good-looking young men to last her a lifetime.

‘Gran says she’ll see you, but be careful what you say to her. It’s put her in one of her moods.’

So, Eveleen thought, as she and Jimmy followed their cousin, our grandmother has moods too, does she?

The girl led them to the end house and in through a green painted door. The small room was dim, lit only through the one window facing out into the yard. It was hot and stuffy and when her eyes
grew accustomed to the light, Eveleen could see that an old woman sat in an armchair close to the range where a fire burnt brightly. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she saw that the
woman wore a high-necked black dress with leg o’ mutton sleeves. At her throat was pinned a cameo brooch and her hair was drawn tightly back beneath a white lace cap. Eveleen didn’t
think she had ever seen anyone with so many wrinkles on her face. Her mouth was shrunken, the lips almost lost, but her eyes were bright and sharp.

‘Come here where I can see you.’ The voice was high-pitched yet strong and commanding. Eveleen stepped forward and stood on the hearthrug facing the woman, but Jimmy hung back,
hovering near the door, ready to escape.

‘You too, boy.’

Reluctantly he came to stand beside his sister and submit himself to the old woman’s scrutiny. She squinted up at them. ‘My eyes aren’t as good as they were.’ There was a
pause as she took in their appearance. ‘You don’t look like her. How do I know if you’re hers? You could be anybody’s. Is she dead? Is that why you’ve come?’

Eveleen hurried to explain. ‘No, no. She’s outside on the dray. But she wanted us to come in first to see – to—’

‘To see if we’d a welcome for the prodigal, eh?’ The old woman gave a toothless grin, but the gesture was without humour. ‘We’ve no fatted calf, but I’ll see
her. Bring her in, girl.’

Eveleen hurried out expecting to leave Jimmy with the old lady but found him following her closely.

‘I aren’t staying there with that old witch,’ he muttered as they reached the gates.

‘Shush,’ Eveleen tried to scold him but found herself overcome by a fit of the giggles. ‘Someone might hear you and then where would you be?’

‘I wouldn’t care. I don’t reckon much to it here anyway.’ He glanced around dismally at the narrow street and the terraced houses.

‘It’s very different,’ Eveleen had to agree, her laughter dying. Then, with stout determination, she said, ‘Come on, don’t let our mam see you looking so glum. Just
think how difficult this must be for her.’

Jimmy’s only reply was to pull an unsympathetic face and as they reached the dray he said, ‘I’ll wait here with Bill. You take Mam in.’

Eveleen held her mother’s arm as they went back to the house. She could feel Mary trembling even through the thick clothing they had both worn for the long journey on the front of the
dray. As they paused outside the door, she was concerned to see that her mother’s face was white and she held one hand to her chest as if her breathing was difficult.

‘It’s all right, Mam. Don’t get upset. If they don’t want us, we’ll go somewhere else.’

‘Oh, Evie,’ Mary’s voice was unsteady. ‘But where?’

To that Eveleen had no answer.

‘Hello, Mother.’

They were standing side by side, like two naughty children awaiting their punishment, facing the old woman. Eveleen was aware that the young girl was hovering beyond the door leading further
into the house, listening to every word.

‘So, Mary Singleton,’ Bridget, Mary’s mother, demanded. ‘What brings you back home after all this time?’

‘It’s – it’s Mary Hardcastle now,’ Mary mumbled, her head lowered almost to her chest.

‘Oh.’ The old woman’s tone was laced with sarcasm. ‘So you did find some poor deluded feller to marry you then?’

Eveleen felt her mother stiffen and her head came up a fraction. ‘He was a good, kind man.’

‘Oh aye, good enough to take on another feller’s bastard. He must have been a good man to do that.’ Her screwed up eyes rested upon Eveleen. ‘Is this her? Is this
Brinsley Stokes’s by-blow?’

Mary shuddered and she stumbled over the words. ‘No. No. That – that baby died. This is Walter’s child.’

‘Walter? Who’s Walter?’

‘My husband. Walter Hardcastle. I – I met him just after . . .’ Her voice trailed away, beaten and defeated.

‘You’ve been a very lucky woman to find someone to take you on. A very lucky woman.’ Bridget paused and then asked, ‘And where is this paragon of virtue? Where is Walter
Hardcastle?’

Now Eveleen felt her mother sway and sag against her, so that she put her arm about Mary to support her. She faced her grandmother squarely and said, ‘My father died two weeks ago. The
cottage we lived in was tied to the job, so—’

‘So you’re homeless,’ the old woman stated baldly. Her gaze returned to Mary, ‘And you thought you’d come running home.’

Eveleen lifted her chin. ‘If we’re not welcome, we’ll go. Right now.’

The old woman’s eyes were on the young girl’s face, now flushed with indignation. She smiled. ‘My, but you’ve a fiery one here, Mary.’ The smiled widened. ‘I
like a girl with spirit. Maybe we’ll let you stay a while after all. I reckon you an’ me would get on together all right, lass.’

‘We aren’t looking for charity,’ Eveleen said. ‘We’ll work. All of us. My mother makes pillow lace and—’

‘Oho, so you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you then?’ Bridget’s words were heavy with sarcasm again, and Mary’s face, from being deathly white, now flushed
with embarrassment.

‘No, Mother, I haven’t forgotten.’

The old woman sniffed. ‘We’ll have to see what Harry says, mind you. He’s head of the family since your father died.’

Mary asked, ‘When – when did that happen?’

‘Oh years ago,’ Bridget said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Fifteen, maybe. Or is it sixteen now. I forget.’

Eveleen was struck by the lack of emotion shown by her grandmother. There had been no show of feelings on meeting her daughter after more than twenty years and now there was not a shred of
sorrow in her tone when speaking of her dead husband. Perhaps it was because the event had happened some time ago, whereas their own loss was so recent that each time she even thought about it
Eveleen could feel the prickle of tears and the pain in her throat. But the woman sitting before them seemed hard and unfeeling.

What mother greets her long-lost daughter without even reaching out to touch her or rising from her chair to greet her? But this one had. Unless, of course, the hurt went so deep and the
bitterness was still so strong that she could not bring herself to welcome her child back even after all these years.

Eveleen sighed inwardly. Her own mother had been right. Her family did not want them. She tightened her hold around her mother’s waist and said, ‘Mam, I think we’d better
go.’

Before Mary could answer, the old woman said, ‘Now then, lass, don’t be so hasty. I said we’ll ask Harry.’ She raised her voice. ‘Rebecca, get back in here, girl,
’cos I know you’re listening at the keyhole.’ There was a slight pause before the girl opened the door and slid back into the room.

‘Did you call, Gran?’ she said innocently.

‘You know very well I did. Fetch your father across here.’

‘He won’t like being fetched from his work.’

‘Tell him I sent you.’

Eveleen hid a smile. Harry might well be the notional head of the family, but it seemed to her that, in practice, it was this spirited old lady who ruled the roost. Despite her astonishment at
Bridget’s callous greeting, Eveleen could not help have a sliver of admiration for her grandmother. Now she was turning back to Eveleen. ‘And you, girl. What do you say your name
is?’

‘Eveleen.’

For the first time, real emotion flickered on Bridget’s face as she looked back at Mary. ‘So, you still thought enough about us to name her after my mother, eh?’ Her mouth
stretched into a wistful smile. ‘Another Irish colleen, eh?’

‘Irish?’ Eveleen blurted out before she could stop her inquisitive tongue. ‘You don’t sound Irish.’ Eveleen had only ever met an Irishman once; a travelling man who
had passed through Bernby, pots and pans rattling on his carrier’s cart. There was no hint of his rich brogue in Bridget’s speech.

The old woman sniffed. ‘You should have heard my father.’ Suddenly she lapsed into such a perfect imitation of the Irish brogue that Eveleen laughed aloud. ‘His name was
Michael O’Hallaran, so it was, and a foiner man you never did see. He could drink anyone under the table, so he could. God love him.’

There was a mischievous sparkle in Bridget’s eyes, but then, reverting to her normal speech she said, ‘Now, go and fetch the boy back here. We’d best be seeing what we’re
taking on.’

Eveleen gave her mother’s arm a squeeze. ‘You’ll be all right?’

‘Of course, she’ll be all right. What do you think I’m going to do to her? Eat her alive?’

Mirth unexpectedly bubbled up inside Eveleen. Her eyes sparkled and her laughter spilled over. Catching her merriment, the old woman cackled with laughter and the tension in the room eased.

‘Oh sit down, Mary,’ Bridget waved a bony hand towards a chair. ‘You make the place look untidy.’

The room, though small and cluttered with a lifetime of belongings, was anything but untidy. Eveleen settled her mother into a chair opposite Bridget. ‘I’ll get Jimmy,’ she
said and hurried out of the door and along the path. As she did so, she saw a man emerge from one of the buildings. A big man with broad shoulders and strong limbs who, despite his size, seemed to
spring along as he walked. Eveleen faltered a moment and paused to look at him. His gaze met hers and he frowned, his heavy eyebrows meeting across the bridge of his large nose. He had a bushy grey
beard and moustache that completely hid his mouth, but his dark eyes were piercing. For a workman he was smartly dressed, Eveleen thought. A white shirt and tie and a dark suit that even had a
waistcoat. On his head was a bowler hat. Irrationally at such a moment, Eveleen could not help wondering if he wore his hat when working at his machine. The picture in her mind made her want to
laugh, but she kept her face straight as she returned his stare.

Behind the man, taking little running steps to keep up with his huge strides, was Rebecca.

This, thought Eveleen, must be her uncle, Harry Singleton. Now she gave an uncertain smile, but her tentative greeting was answered only by a deepening frown.

Eveleen pulled her shawl more closely about her and hurried away to find Jimmy.

Moments later they returned to the house and walked into a violent family quarrel between Harry and the old woman. Mary was still seated by the fire, saying nothing, and
Rebecca was standing nervously behind her grandmother’s chair, twisting her fingers together, her dark blue eyes huge in her pale face.

Eveleen looked swiftly towards her mother. Mary’s face was ashen and the girl guessed that for her it must seem as if the intervening twenty or so years had never happened. Mary was back
with her family, about to be cast out once again.

Eveleen hurried to her side leaving Jimmy standing awkwardly by the door. ‘Come on, Mam, we’re going. We’re not staying here for you to be insulted like this.’

‘Insulted, you say?’ Harry’s deep, booming voice was shouting so loudly that the ornaments on the mantelpiece seemed to dance. ‘And didn’t she insult the name of
Singleton? Bringing disgrace on to this family?’

Eveleen whirled around and faced him, her fists clenched at her sides. ‘Maybe in your eyes, she did. But she’s suffered for whatever she’s done and if my father could forgive
her and’ – she glanced meaningfully at Bridget – ‘take her on, then I would have thought her own family could do as much.’

She dredged around in her memory for something her mother had told her about the man standing in front of her. Then she remembered. Slowly and deliberately she said, ‘I understand
you’re a chapel-goer?’ And now, latching on to the words her grandmother had used only minutes earlier, she added, ‘Well, we don’t expect a fatted calf, but I’d have
thought you could have welcomed her back into the family fold.’

‘Don’t you dare preach to me, girl.’ The man shook his fist in her face, but Eveleen stood her ground.

Behind them the old woman was cackling with laughter. ‘You’ve met your match now, Harry. She reminds me of myself when I was young. She even looks like me. And she’s got my
hair.’ The last words were said wistfully, for only wisps of white hair peeped from beneath Bridget’s lace cap.