One Snowy Night Read online

  Her face was bleached of colour, as white as the snow. He had expected her to shout and scream at him when he told her because she could be fiery at times, but all she said was, ‘Go home, Adam. It’s finished, we’re finished.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘Why? In case something bad happens to me?’ Now her words were coated in a bitterness that was tangible. ‘I want you to go, all right?’

  Adam stared at her. ‘We can’t leave it like this, not after all we’ve meant to each other. Please, Ruby, you must see that? We can sort it out. I promise you, we can sort it.’

  She said nothing but her small chin rose a fraction and her mouth tightened. He wouldn’t see her cry, she told herself.

  ‘I love you, Ruby.’ He wet his lips, one over the other. ‘I’ve been a fool, but you know I love you, don’t you?’

  After a few more seconds when she neither moved nor spoke, his head twitched in a little jerk. ‘I’ll go now if that’s what you want, but we have to talk some more. I won’t take no for an answer.’

  She remained straight and still as she watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched. It was only when he had disappeared from view that her body gave a visible shudder. In just a few short minutes her life had changed for ever – how was that possible? She had lost Adam and she had lost her sister too; however this turned out she wanted nothing to do with either of them again.

  She wasn’t crying. The pain was too fierce for the relief of tears, burning and consuming every emotion except that of furious rage. Now that Adam had gone, now he wasn’t standing in front of her, her anger was directed at Olive. She shut her eyes for a moment, picturing her sister creeping upstairs like a spider, knowing all the time what she intended to do. How could any lass lower herself to trick a lad like that, but especially when it was her own sister’s fiancé?

  She shivered, although not from the cold; her coat was thick and warm and kept her like toast. It was beautiful, a deep rich gold. Mrs Walton had presented it to her as her Christmas present and she had been beside herself with delight at the time and overcome by the elderly lady’s generosity. Her old coat had been worn and the sleeves too short, but she had been saving every penny for her forthcoming marriage and had been quite content to make do. She had floated home that night on cloud nine; now it seemed in another lifetime, a time in which she had actually been happy. How could she have taken her happiness for granted? But she had. Everything in the garden had been rosy and her future mapped out before her – she and Adam were both in work, unlike some, and he had been quite agreeable to her continuing with Mrs Walton, knowing how much she loved it there and how kind her employer was. Lots of men would have insisted their wives give up any outside work the minute they got wed, but Adam had said she could stay at her job until the first bairn came along.

  This thought caused a shaft of pain so intense she gasped. She would never have Adam’s babies now. How many times had she imagined how their bairns would look? In her mind’s eye they’d been so real – gurgling, rosy-cheeked infants with Adam’s brown curls and blue eyes, and maybe just one little lass with her brown eyes. But it was Olive who would bear his first child. Her sister had set out to hurt her on New Year’s Eve and her plan had worked better than perhaps even Olive had imagined.

  She wrapped her arms round her waist, swaying slightly as though it could ease the agony.

  Why had Olive done what she had? True, they had never been close. From a toddler, she’d learned to avoid being alone with her big sister unless she wanted a sly pinch or a slap, but this? This was something so huge, so fundamental, that she was forced to face the knowledge that she had always tried to bury. Olive didn’t like her, in fact she must hate her. In the past she’d tried to convince herself that lots of siblings didn’t get on, but it didn’t mean the love wasn’t there, deep down. Sisters and brothers argued and fought but when push came to shove, they were there for each other. Blood was thicker than water. She had believed that and she would certainly have been there for Olive.

  Had she loved her? Ruby searched herself. Yes, she had. Olive was her only sibling now, the lads having being killed in the war, and family was everything. How stupid, how utterly stupid and credulous did that make her? The sound she made was dragged up from the depths of her, something between a moan and a wail, and somewhere in the hedgerow a blackbird protested at it, sending out a warning call. Well, she would never make the mistake of trusting anyone again; she had learned her lesson. The rose-coloured glasses were well and truly off now.

  She stood for long minutes, gazing with burning-hot eyes down the lane. Tomorrow was supposed to be her wedding day. Her bridal dress and those of Olive and Ellie were hanging in the bedroom at home she shared with her sister. Her mam had been baking for days for the wedding feast after the ceremony. Adam’s family, and her mam’s two sisters and their families, were coming, along with Ellie and Mrs Walton. Her mam had borrowed extra chairs from the neighbours, and her aunties were bringing more plates and cups and saucers and cutlery. Her mam had even gone out and bought a fancy new lace tablecloth for the occasion, although she could ill afford it, and the beautiful iced wedding cake was already sitting on the table that normally held an aspidistra in the front room.

  Ruby shook her head at herself. Why on earth was she thinking of a cake, a cake, when her whole world was lying in fragments around her? And there was Olive, who had orchestrated the whole thing, sitting happily at home as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  That was it, she had to go back. Through the raging pain a section of her mind told her what to do. Home was where her mam was and she needed her mam like she’d never done before.

  For a moment tears threatened but then the anger rose up again, hot and fierce as she thought of her sister. She made herself begin to walk, putting one foot in front of another hesitantly in the way a blind person might move, but with each step her desire to leap on Olive and rend her limb from limb grew.

  Chapter Two

  Olive had watched from the kitchen window as Ruby left the backyard earlier. After a minute or two when she was sure her sister had gone, she went quietly into the hall and took her hat and coat from the row of pegs on the wall that held the family’s outdoor things. Putting them on, she changed her indoor shoes for her stout ankle boots and walked back into the kitchen, there to be greeted by her mother who said in some surprise, ‘Where on earth do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I’m just popping out for a breath of fresh air. I won’t be long.’

  ‘A breath of fresh air?’ If Olive had said she was going to take off her clothes and dance naked in the snow, her mother’s voice couldn’t have expressed more amazement. ‘It’s bitter out there and I need you to help me get ready for the morrer. I thought I was going to have the pair of you here tonight, and there’s Ruby gone off to meet Adam—’ Her mother stopped abruptly. ‘They haven’t had a tiff, have they?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  Cissy Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been all she needed. She was up to her eyes in it as it was. Coming back to the matter in hand, she said, ‘And now here’s you skedaddling off an’ all. It’s not good enough.’

  ‘I said I won’t be long. It’s hot in here and I’m feeling a bit off colour.’ This had the advantage of being true. In the last days since the morning sickness had kicked in she’d had a job to hide it from her mother, but now the sickness seemed to be all day and the smell from the remains of their evening meal added to the heat coming from the range was making her nauseous.

  ‘You do look a bit peaky.’ Now Cissy’s voice was anxious. She knew it was daft, but since the winter after the armistice when the Spanish flu had swept through the country killing tens of thousands of people, many of them young folk who, for some reason, had been especially susceptible to the terrible disease, she’d lived in fear of one of her girls being taken from her. Her lads were among the three-quarters of a million British soldiers who had given th
eir lives for King and country, and George would never be well again, she knew that, but after the weeping and wailing she had come to terms with that. Thousands of women were in the same boat as her, and some of them without the blessing of one surviving child. She had told God she would shoulder her cross as best she could, at the same time pleading with Him to spare Olive and Ruby as the flu had picked off folk as near as in their own street. When the epidemic was over she had lit goodness knows how many candles of thanks in church and she never missed Mass – it had been part of her bargain with the Almighty. Now she said, ‘You sickening for something, lass?’

  ‘I’m all right, Mam.’ Olive forced a smile. The roof was going to go off this house tonight one way or another, and much as she disliked Father McHaffie she needed the priest present when Ruby returned. Father McHaffie saw things in black and white and he ruled his flock with a rod of iron. Non-Catholics were in league with the Devil and on course for the fiery pit; his flock, one and all, were sinners and only confession each week and attending Mass regularly gave them any chance of avoiding the worse sufferings of purgatory, and lastly, and most importantly, his word was law. He had told her yesterday that Adam must marry her as soon as it could be arranged, just as she had known he would, and he had agreed he would be present when she confessed her sin and its consequences to her family, after which he would pay a visit to the Gilberts.

  Pulling her hat well down over her forehead she walked to the back door, opening it and turning for a moment to say, ‘I’ll be just a few minutes, Mam,’ and then stepping out into the icy-cold night.

  She hurried the short distance to the little church of St Mary but then hesitated before opening the arched wooden door. Once she walked over the threshold the die was cast and Father McHaffie would take over. But no, she corrected in the next moment. The die had been cast before this night, right from when she had suspected she might be pregnant, in fact, or even before that, on New Year’s Eve when she had crept upstairs to Adam’s bedroom. She had known what she was doing, she couldn’t pretend otherwise, but Adam hadn’t exactly fought her off either. True, he had been as pickled as an onion, but he hadn’t been so drunk that he was incapable, as the child growing in her belly proved. And he had known she wasn’t his precious Ruby when he had taken her, cursing her even as he had repeatedly thrust and groaned until it was over. It had been painful and brutal and not at all what she had expected from her first time, and afterwards he had flung her off him with a ferocity that had frightened her, shoving her out of the room and turning the key in the lock for good measure. She had stood on the landing feeling sick with shame and humiliation, but even then the jealousy and loathing she felt for her sister had been enough to carry her down the stairs and act as if nothing had happened. She had watched Ruby in the time before they had departed from the Gilberts’, and the knowledge that with the power of a few well-chosen words she could take the silly smug smile off her sister’s face for good had been enough to sustain her.

  Olive drew in a long shuddering breath. For years Ruby had flaunted Adam in front of her. All the lads had liked Ruby, but from when she and Adam were bairns they’d been as thick as thieves. Even so, why their mam had agreed for the two to begin courting at fourteen she’d never know. She’d told her mother that it was indecent and that Ruby would get herself talked about, but the only response she’d had was a pat on the arm and her mam saying quietly and kindly that her turn would come in time.

  Olive’s jaw moved as she ground her teeth. Her mam had known that was rubbish as well as she had. She remembered Ruby’s engagement do when Adam’s family had come round for a bit of a knees-up. His brothers had acted the goat as usual and everyone had been merry, going on about what a perfect couple they were. She’d suffered agonies that day, painfully aware of what the assembled throng had been thinking behind all the smiles and guffaws.

  ‘Shame about the older sister and her as plain as a pikestaff. How can two sisters be so different?’

  Oh, aye, she’d known, she told herself bitterly. No lad, not even the ugly ones or Wilbur Hardy with his club foot, had ever looked her way. Her nickname at school had been Scarecrow after one bright spark had said her face would frighten even the crows. She’d been eight or nine at the time and had pretended she didn’t care when the lads had bandied it about in the playground and the girls, even those who were supposed to be her friends, had sniggered.

  A sudden gust of wind prompted her to open the door of the church and as she stepped into the dimly lit interior the sweet, heavy scent of stale incense brought her stomach churning again. As a child she’d liked coming here, finding the services with their rituals and ceremony strangely comforting. Even the statue of Jesus lying in His mother’s arms with blood coming out of His side and His hands and feet torn hadn’t bothered her, although Ruby had had nightmares about it when she was a bairn. Olive’s lip curled. That was typical of the spoiled brat she’d been and still was. Everything had been handed on a plate to Ruby from the moment she was born, with her big brown eyes and blonde hair and simpering smiles. Well, no more. Now her sister was going to have to face the real world. Her perfect Adam wasn’t so perfect after all.

  Olive stood at the top of the centre aisle looking down the church towards the altar where the black-clad figure of Father McHaffie was kneeling before the statue of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. For the life of her she couldn’t walk or even move to sit in a pew, merely bowing her head and making a deep genuflection. She knew what the priest made of her conduct; he had made it abundantly clear at their last meeting.

  After a few moments had passed, the lean, tall figure rose to his feet and then turned to face her. His eyes were small and hard, his mouth was thin and he had a sharp beak of a nose that dominated his face, and with his black robes he resembled nothing so much as a giant crow. As he walked towards her Olive thought he was terrifying. He stopped within an arm’s length of her, his stare cold. ‘Does your situation remain the same?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘And you have made no mention of this to anyone other than Dr Upton and the father of the child?’

  ‘No, Father.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘And the father, Adam Gilbert, still refuses to marry you?’

  Olive gulped; her throat was dry with fear of the priest along with dread of what the next hour would bring. Her mam was going to be so disappointed in her, she knew that. She swallowed again before she could say, ‘He – Adam’s arranged to meet my sister tonight so I think he’s going to tell her, but this morning, at the doctor’s, he was still saying he wouldn’t get wed to me. I told him you were going to speak to his mam an’ da today.’

  Father McHaffie surveyed this girl who had sinned and his thin voice dripped condemnation when he said, ‘You have been wicked and foolish and as a result of your action the fruit of your womb will be tainted in the eyes of God unless Adam does his duty. The sooner he acknowledges his transgression before men and the Almighty, the sooner he can receive absolution. He will marry you as quickly as it can be arranged.’

  There was no doubt in his voice that he would be obeyed, and much as Olive feared the priest she knew a moment of deep thankfulness for the power he wielded. Adam’s family, like hers, were staunch Catholics, and although his da and brothers might drink themselves paralytic on a Saturday night, come Sunday they’d be at Mass and suitably penitent. Lowering her gaze, she murmured, ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Your father will accompany me to the Gilberts’. He is at home?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Then come along.’

  He walked past and opened the door of the church, standing aside for her to exit first and then shutting the door before striding ahead of her, his head high and his black robes flapping. Olive had a job to keep up with him but he didn’t turn to see if she was behind him at any point before they reached Devonshire Street. By the time she arrived at the house Father McHaffie had already knocked on the front door. Olive could imagine the cons
ternation her mother would be feeling as she hurried into the hall; no one ever used the front door except the doctor and the priest, and apart from her mam scrubbing the front step and whitening it each week the door remained closed.

  Sure enough, her mother’s face expressed a mixture of anxiety and surprise when the door swung open and she said, ‘Father McHaffie, we weren’t expecting you tonight, were we? Come in, come in, the weather’s dreadful, isn’t it, and with the wedding tomorrow an’ all. I was just saying to George—’ And then her mother stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Olive behind the priest.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Morgan.’ Father McHaffie swept into the house and straight down the hall into the kitchen, which further flustered Cissy. The priest, like the doctor, was of such standing in the community that he was only ever shown into Cissy’s mausoleum of a front room. She cast a desperate glance at Olive before scurrying after Father McHaffie. In the kitchen she found that George had stood to his feet and was rolling down his shirtsleeves as he said, ‘Good evening, Father,’ and now she twisted the corner of her pinny, saying, ‘Won’t you come into the front room, Father, and I’ll make some tea? You must be frozen.’

  ‘Here will do perfectly well.’ The priest seated himself on one of the hard-backed chairs at the kitchen table, and Cissy breathed a sigh of relief that she had just cleared the remains of the evening meal and wiped the oilcloth over it before putting the pot of hyacinths which had been a present from Ruby into the middle of the newly cleaned expanse.

  George had seated himself again once the priest had sat down. Cissy looked helplessly at her husband before she said, ‘I’ll make that pot of tea then, Father.’

  ‘That would be most welcome.’

  Olive had sidled just inside the kitchen doorway and she remained glued to the spot as her mother busied herself at the range. It was only when Cissy turned and said sharply, ‘Bring four cups to the table, girl,’ that she forced herself to move. From the tea set displayed on the kitchen dresser she took four cups and saucers of fine bone china. The set had been a wedding present from her mother’s grandparents and as such was only used on special occasions. She placed them on the table before filling the little milk jug and sugar bowl. Her legs were wobbly and her hands were trembling and the cups had rattled in their saucers as she’d put them down, causing her father to glance up at her. She didn’t meet his gaze, neither did anyone speak until her mother had filled the cups and everyone was seated.