Above the Harvest Moon Page 4

  He stood for a moment, raising his face to the starry snowflakes tumbling to the ground in their thousands, and it was like that, with his head thrown back to the heavens, that he laughed out loud. It was a joyous sound, without restraint, ringing in the dark night like the sound of bells on a Sunday morning.

  And then he began walking again.

  PART TWO

  1925 - Entanglements

  Chapter 4

  ‘Don’t be so gormless, girl.You’ve got eyes in your head, I shouldn’t have to tell you everything that wants doing. You know your aunt’s been bad this week and I’ve been run off my feet. I was banking on you coming straight home after church and helping me. Where have you been anyway? As if I didn’t know.’

  Hannah stared at her mother. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Why ask then, if you know?’ but she knew she would be playing into her mother’s hands. Her mam was itching for a row. She’d been the same for the last week, since Christmas Day in fact. Hannah felt her bad mood might have something to do with the bracelet her aunt and uncle had given her for Christmas. Her fingers instinctively felt for the silver charm bracelet on her wrist as she took off her coat and she moved it under the sleeve of her dress. She’d seen the way her mam’s face had changed when her uncle had put the little box in her hands. But her aunt and uncle had given her mam a lovely big box of chocolates with a picture of a thatched cottage on the ribboned lid, along with a pair of fine gloves, so she didn’t understand why her mam was vexed. Or perhaps it wasn’t that. There was no telling with her mam.

  ‘Well, miss, answer me.’ Miriam Casey’s thin face with its sharp-pointed nose displayed her irritation in deep lines either side of her mouth, making her appear far older than her thirty-six years.‘And none of your cheek, mind. Not unless you want to feel the back of my hand. You’re getting too big for your boots lately.’

  ‘I called in at Naomi’s for a few minutes,’ Hannah said flatly. ‘She wanted to show me the kittens.’

  ‘Kittens?’ It was disparaging. ‘There’s nine of them crammed in that place as it is and then the cat has kittens. I’d have thought Rose would have drowned them at birth.’

  ‘Naomi’s mam wouldn’t do that,’ Hannah said indignantly. ‘She’s already found homes for all the kittens but one.’

  ‘Has she indeed?’ Miriam’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘Well, don’t run away with the idea you’re having it, girl. I’ve told you before, there’ll be no cats in this house. Filthy creatures cats are, full of fleas and disease.’

  ‘Naomi’s cat hasn’t got fleas.’

  ‘No, well, it wouldn’t have, would it? Not with everything being so perfect within those four walls, according to you.’ Miriam glared at her daughter. Flapping her hand an inch from Hannah’s face, she said, ‘I’ve been waiting an hour for a scuttle of coal. Make yourself useful now you’re back. And you can see to the taties after. I’ve been in and out to your aunt all morning while you’ve been gallivanting. I’m fair worn out.’

  Fair worn out, that was a joke. Hannah turned on her heel and walked through to the bedroom she shared with her mother in the flat above the shop in Wayman Street, close to the Wearmouth colliery. She didn’t want to risk dirtying her Sunday clothes when she fetched the coal. She didn’t immediately begin to change however, but walked across to the sash window, peering out at the patch of grey sky above the rooftops opposite.

  The small protesting voice deep inside which had got louder and louder of late brought her soft full mouth into a tight line. Her mam worn out! That would be the day. Her mam enjoyed the life of old Riley and they both knew it. Half the time she sat about like Lady Muck, drinking tea and reading magazines or one of the novels she borrowed from the town library.

  Turning abruptly, she took off her Sunday dress and pulled on her weekday skirt and blouse, her mind churning. All her mother had to do all day was to see to poor Aunt Aggie who tried to be as little trouble as possible, and cook and clean these four rooms above the shop.Whereas she worked from seven in the morning until eight at night in the shop - half past ten on a Saturday - and even then her mam expected her to see to the ironing and help with the household chores. Every Sunday morning there was a list as long as her arm of the jobs her mam had lined up for her for the day.

  On leaving the bedroom, Hannah collected the coal scuttle from the sitting-room hearth. Her mother was sitting in an armchair reading Good Housekeeping, one of the newer magazines her uncle stocked in the shop below, which Miriam brought upstairs to read before putting it back on the shelf to be sold. Even in her present state of burning resentment, Hannah had to smile to herself. Her mother wasn’t a natural home-maker, she loathed housekeeping of any kind and cooking still more.

  Hannah went downstairs to the backyard. This area was full with packing cases holding this and that, the privy and boiler house, and the brick-built coal-hole. Besides the four rooms in the flat above the shop premises - a sitting room, two bedrooms and kitchen - there were two rooms behind the shop. One was a large and useful scullery-cum-kitchen which had an inside tap, and the other was a storeroom holding all kinds of produce from tubs of butter and sacks of flour to large sides of bacon and cured ham. Her mother had told her that once her uncle’s shop and flat had been two separate houses which had been knocked into one. When Hannah had been a child her mother used to help out in the shop for a few hours most days, and her uncle had employed a full-time assistant too. The assistant had been given notice a couple of weeks before Hannah had left school at fourteen, nearly two years ago now, and her mother had gradually stopped working in the shop over the last twelve months.

  Hannah began to fill the scuttle using the long-handled shovel which stood at the side of the coal-hole. She frowned to herself as she worked. In spite of the saving her uncle had made in paying out wages, she received no regular income. He merely slipped her a shilling or two when he felt like it. Her mam had explained the arrangement by saying she ought to be thankful she had a way of repaying the kindness she’d received by way of free board and lodging since they’d come to live here when she was a babe in arms. Her father had died from a disease of the stomach shortly after she had been born, and but for his elder brother taking them in, her mother assured her they would have been destitute and consigned to the workhouse.

  And she was grateful to Aunt Aggie and Uncle Edward, Hannah thought now, shivering in the icy wind. She really was. But she wished she didn’t have to work in the shop nonetheless. It wasn’t that she didn’t get paid even, but more . . . She screwed up her face for a moment as she tried to find words to describe the feeling which assailed her of late when she was alone with her uncle.

  It was starting to snow again. As a starry snowflake landed on her eyelashes, Hannah shook her head at her muddled thoughts, grabbed the coal scuttle - which was now heavy - and carried it into the house. Her aunt and uncle were good, they were. They often said they looked on her as the daughter they’d never had. Maybe her mam was right, perhaps she was an ungrateful little madam who didn’t know which side her bread was buttered.

  She shut the back door behind her and walked across the shop kitchen, keeping her gaze away from the far corner of the room where two dead pheasants were hanging on a hook by a piece of string secured round their feet. Billy Hogarth had been out with his traps again by the look of it. He always dropped off a couple of birds or a rabbit or two for her uncle on his way home and because this room was used for any mucky jobs and as an overflow from the storeroom, Hannah was never sure what she would find. It was daft, she knew that, but she hated seeing the beautiful pheasants hanging limp and lifeless when earlier that morning they had been gloriously alive. She didn’t like seeing anything dead but it seemed worse somehow, them being wild birds. She could never bring herself to eat pheasant, a strong bone of contention with her mother. At those times Miriam always took pleasure in pointing out how good she had it compared to Naomi.

  As she carried the scuttle up the stairs which led to th
e flat, Hannah’s thoughts turned to her friend. With just a few days between them in age they had been best friends since they could toddle, and she loved Naomi’s mam. Mrs Wood always made her welcome in their house, slipping her a shive of stottie cake or a teacake whether Mr Wood and Naomi’s two older brothers were on short time or not. Not that she stayed long if Mr Wood was in. He was a dour man and she found his presence intimidating. But with four younger brothers still at school, things were constantly tight in her friend’s house, so maybe Mr Wood had something to moan about. Naomi had told her she gave all of the wage she earned at the jam factory to her mam each week, and whereas her mam had once given her half of it back, she now got only her tram fare and a few pennies for herself.

  Hannah opened the front door of the flat and walked into the sitting room, placing the scuttle on the hearth. Her mother didn’t look up from her magazine. Hannah had reached the door again before Miriam said, ‘Your aunt could do with a cup of tea. Put the kettle on before you start on the taties.’

  There was no doubt in Hannah’s mind who it was who wanted the tea but she said nothing, continuing through to the kitchen. There she found the kettle and bucket empty, not an unusual occurrence. Gritting her teeth, Hannah retraced her steps down the stairs and filled both the kettle and bucket before lugging them back up the stairs. Once the kettle was on the hob she started peeling the potatoes, her thoughts again returning to Naomi’s family. She didn’t know how they’d manage without Naomi’s eldest brother, Jake, bringing Mrs Wood a load of stuff each week from the farm where he lived and worked.

  She paused, her hands becoming still for a moment. Well, he was Naomi’s half-brother really, which was strange, because she thought Jake Fletcher was just like Mr Wood. Much more like him than his own children were. Not in looks, but then with Jake having had that awful accident when he was a bairn and being so scarred, he wouldn’t be, would he? But Jake was every bit as dour and taciturn as Mr Wood and she didn’t know which of the two scared her more. Whereas Adam . . . Her eyes became dreamy. There wasn’t a lass for miles around who didn’t long to walk out with Adam Wood.

  The boiling kettle brought her back to reality. She quickly made the tea and left it to mash while she finished the potatoes, adding them to the juices of the joint sizzling in the range oven.

  After taking her mother a cup of tea she placed her own and her aunt’s on a tray with a plate of ginger nuts. She crossed the hall and knocked on her aunt’s door before opening it and smiling at the woman sitting propped against a mountain of pillows in the double bed facing the window. ‘I’ve brought you a cup of tea, Aunty. You feeling any better?’

  ‘I’m all right, lass.’ It was her aunt’s stock answer unless she was very ill indeed. ‘How was church?’

  The bedroom was larger than the one Hannah shared with her mother and well furnished.There was a wardrobe and chest of drawers, several woollen rugs on the polished floor and two chintz armchairs either side of the window. Hannah ignored these, perching herself on the end of the bed and handing her aunt a cup of tea and the biscuits, before she said, ‘Church was the same as usual. Father Gilbert sends his regards and says he’ll look in tomorrow afternoon, all being well. And Mrs Mullen and Mrs Chapman are coming on Tuesday afternoon.’

  Agatha Casey did not comment on this. What she did say was, and in an undertone, ‘Did you get to see the kittens?’

  Hannah nodded.‘It’s all right, Mam knows. She went on and on when I got in so I had to tell her where I’d been. I was only fifteen minutes or so in Naomi’s but I think Mam puts a stopwatch on me when I leave the house. She doesn’t seem to realise other girls go out in the evening sometimes or on a Sunday afternoon. ’ And then, as if her words might be taken for a criticism of her aunt and uncle, she added hastily, ‘Not that I mind most of the time.’

  Agatha nodded, her voice soft when she said, ‘Don’t worry, lass. I know how four walls can press in on you.’

  Immediately Hannah was filled with contrition. Reaching forward in the warm impetuous way she had, she said,‘Oh, I’m sorry,Aunt Aggie,’ squeezing her aunt’s arm as she spoke. ‘Here am I rabbiting on when you have to lie in this bed all day every day and never a word of complaint.’

  ‘Go on with you, lass. I’m no saint, nor do I pretend to be. Besides, you’re young, it’s the most natural thing in the world to want to spread your wings a bit. It doesn’t mean you’re not thankful for what you’ve got.’

  Hannah smiled at her aunt.Aunt Aggie always understood. For as long as she could remember she’d harboured the secret wish that it could have been her aunt who had borne her rather than her own mam although she would never voice it.

  Agatha smiled back into the young face. If she had but known it her thoughts were on a par with her niece’s. If one of her many pregnancies had gone full term and she had been able to bear a child of her own, she would have liked it to be exactly like the young girl in front of her. It wasn’t so much that her niece showed promise of great beauty with her warm creamy skin, heavily lashed dark-brown eyes and dark-chestnut hair with its hint of red, it was Hannah herself who was captivating. Her warmth, her kindness, her brightness.

  Agatha took a sip of her tea. How Hannah had come from the body of her sister-in-law she’d never understand, because if ever two personalities were at opposite ends of the spectrum, Hannah’s and her mother’s were. Did Miriam really think she was unaware of what was going on between her and Edward? More likely she didn’t care, truth be known. How she would love to confront them both but where would that leave her? Part of her felt Edward had been manipulated into the affair, that it wasn’t of his choosing, but that could be wishful thinking on her part. She just didn’t know any more. Her husband was most solicitous on her behalf, one could say almost overwhelmingly so, and since she had been confined to her bed the last eight years he had never once shown any irritation or annoyance that that side of their marriage was over. But then he wouldn’t, would he, if he was getting what he wanted elsewhere? And Edward had been a very physical man in the early days of their marriage, exhaustingly so.

  ‘. . . suits her to say that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, hinny?’ Agatha realised her niece had been talking and she hadn’t heard a word. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said Mam was going on again about me not having one of Naomi’s kittens, not that I’d asked for one anyway. She said it’s because of the shop downstairs but I don’t think it’s anything to do with that. She just doesn’t like animals, any animals. She says they’re all dirty and full of fleas and take too much looking after.’

  Aye, she would. Miriam spent most of her days with her legs up on the sofa reading magazines she’d borrowed from the shop and drinking endless cups of tea, only to spring into action once Edward made an appearance. She knew, oh yes, she knew. She might be confined to this bed most of the time but that didn’t mean she was half sharp. Keeping her thoughts to herself, Agatha said, ‘Your mother has never had anything to do with cats or dogs, that’s the thing. What folk don’t understand they’re often nervous of.’

  Her mam nervous about anything! Hannah could have laughed out loud. Instead she said quietly,‘Perhaps. But she needn’t have said Mrs Wood should have drowned them when they were born. They’re such bonny little things, Aunty. So helpless and small.’

  ‘She said that?’

  Hannah nodded. They stared at each other for a moment, Agatha shaking her head slowly, and then they continued to drink their tea without further conversation.

  Hannah was just leaving her aunt’s room with the tray a few minutes later when her uncle came in from his Sunday morning visit to the Oak Tree in North Bridge Street. He smiled as she passed him, his voice soft as he said, ‘You been looking after your aunt, lass? There’s a good girl.’

  Before she could say anything, Miriam appeared in the doorway to the sitting room.‘There you are, Edward. Dinner will be a little while but I’ve poured you a glass of beer and put your slippers by the fire. C
ome and sit down.’ Her gaze switched to her daughter. ‘Turn the roast potatoes and check on the Yorkshire pudding while you’re in the kitchen.’

  Edward stared at his sister-in-law. For a moment he seemed to be about to say something but then he walked across the hall and joined her in the sitting room where he sat down before the fire and picked up the newspaper. He hadn’t spoken and he did not do so now, settling back in his chair and beginning to read.

  ‘Here.’ Miriam knelt at his feet, his slippers in her hands. ‘Let me take your boots off and you put these on.’

  He submitted to her ministrations with merely a grunt, the newspaper held in front of his face, and after she had fitted the slippers on his feet, Miriam stood up and looked at him for a moment. When he continued to read, she bit her lip and then returned quietly to the seat she’d vacated when she heard him come in.

  Edward Casey was a large man in breadth as well as height. He had a rough, pockmarked complexion, thick grizzled hair and a bulbous red nose, the result of a penchant for several glasses of port of an evening and beer throughout the day. It was his wide, thick-lipped mouth that dominated his features and revealed the sensual nature of Hannah’s uncle.