‘Aye, all right. I’ll help you.’
Adam’s voice was soft, like his eyes. Hannah blinked, then as Adam smiled at her she returned the smile.
Adam Wood had kissed her
. She felt as though she was floating a foot above the ground as he followed her into the front room.
When the stout wooden clock on the mantelpiece began to chime midnight and the ship’s whistles down in the docks along with myriad church bells rang out, everyone began to embrace each other. The men shook each other’s hands or clapped each other on the back and everyone said, ‘Happy New Year. Happy New Year.’ There was some laughing and hugging and one or two of the women were crying but not in a sad way.
Hannah drank it in.This was lovely, lovely. Everything was lovely and Adam had kissed her.
When the clock struck for the twelfth time they heard a loud knocking at the front door. As though no one had any idea it was going to happen, there were shrieks and cries as Mr Fraser came into the house, grinning widely and shouting, ‘First foot! First foot!’
‘Happy New Year, Hannah.’ Naomi was laughing loudly and the two friends hugged each other for a moment before Naomi moved on. Then Hannah was in front of Joe who, at seventeen, was two years younger than Adam. She liked Joe, everyone did. Adam’s brother was the soul of gentleness and much quieter than Adam, she had never heard him raise his voice or argue with anyone.
‘Happy New Year,’ he said a little shyly.
She smiled at him and said, ‘The same to you, Joe.’
The next moment Joe was pushed aside by his brother but good-naturedly and the two grinned at each other before Joe turned away. ‘A happy New Year, Hannah.’ Adam didn’t kiss her, he didn’t even touch her. His eyes holding hers, he said, ‘When are you sixteen?’
Her heart raced. ‘March the tenth.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’ll have to be patient till then.’
Hannah stared at him. She was shivering inside, not with cold but exhilaration. She felt she could drown in the vivid blue of his eyes. And then Mrs Fraser bustled between them, stopping to say, ‘Happy New Year, lass, happy New Year,’ and when she had gone Adam was hugging his mother.
For the rest of the night she was aware of exactly where he was even though they didn’t talk again. She sat and chatted to Joe for a little while once everyone had calmed down. He startled her somewhat by saying quietly, ‘What do you want out of the new year, Hannah?’
‘Want out of it?’ She shrugged. It wasn’t the sort of question folk asked.‘I don’t know. Happiness, I suppose. Doesn’t everyone want that?’
He didn’t answer this directly but even more quietly said, ‘I’d like to get out of the pit but I can’t see that happening.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m a miner. Da’s a miner, Adam is and I suppose Stephen and Peter and the twins will follow suit.’
‘But you don’t like it?’
There was a look on his face she hadn’t seen before when he said, ‘I hate it. I mean, no one really wants to be underground but . . .’ He shook his head, looking down at his hands which were resting on his knees. ‘I hate it.’
‘But you don’t have to go down the pit just because your da does surely?’ She searched her mind for something positive to say to take the look of desolation away. ‘I mean your brother, Mr Fletcher, decided to do something else. Couldn’t you work at the farm with him? There might be a job there.’
Joe looked at her, a long look.‘Adam wouldn’t understand it if I did that.’ It ended the conversation.
Just after one o’clock, Hannah left the house. It was so cold outside it took her breath away. There was the odd light still burning in one or two houses as she picked her way along the frozen pavement. She let herself into the shop as quietly as she could and then stood with her hands pressed to her cheeks.Adam Wood wanted her for his lass, he’d all but said so. She couldn’t take his remark about him waiting until she was sixteen any other way, could she?
The shop’s normal rich blend of smells - smoked bacon and mature cheese, coffee, peppermint and liquorice - washed over her. From a small child she had loved being in here, often creeping down without her mother knowing. At those times her uncle had slipped her a penn’orth of bull’s eyes or a big fat bar of Fry’s chocolate cream.
She glanced round the interior, breathing deeply. Lately, since she had been working alone here with her uncle, the shop had lost its allure but tonight the magic was back. She walked across to a row of big glass jars of sweets and unscrewed the top of one containing love-hearts. Drawing out a handful, she sorted out one but couldn’t make out the little message inscribed on it in the dim light shining in from the street lamp outside.
Popping it in her pocket she passed through the shop and climbed the stairs leading to the flat. Her mother had promised to leave the flat front door unbolted for her return. On entering the hall she placed the key for the shop on the small table by the front door so her uncle could open up in the morning. All her actions had been silent, she didn’t want to bring her mother’s wrath down on her head for waking them. Not after the wonderful night she’d had. Neither did she want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to get to bed and think of Adam.
She was about to creep along the hall when she caught the murmur of voices from the sitting room. The door was slightly ajar but as far as she could see there was no lamp lit. Frowning to herself, she paused. And it was then she distinctly heard her uncle say, ‘I don’t know what’s the matter tonight but I can’t perform to order. I’m sorry but there it is.’
‘You’ve never had any problem before.’ It was her mother’s voice, thick and wobbly. ‘Is it me? Have . . . have I done something wrong?’
‘Don’t be silly, it isn’t that. It’s me. Look, I’m tired, lass. That’s all. It’s been a long day.’
There was silence for a moment or two and Hannah had actually taken a couple of tentative steps towards the bedroom, her brow wrinkled as she tried to sort out what had been said and what it meant, when her uncle’s voice came again, sharper this time. ‘For crying out loud, Miriam, leave it. I’ve told you.’
‘You don’t love me any more.’
‘I just want to get to bed, is that a crime? What if Aggie wakes up or Hannah comes back?’
Now her mother’s voice was more in the nature of a low hiss as she said, ‘How can you say that with the risks you’ve took at times? Couldn’t get enough of me in the early days, could you? Morning, noon and night you wanted it.’
‘Aye, well, you were willing. More than willing.’
‘I still am. It isn’t me who’s changed.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, woman? I’m tired, that’s all. It’s all right for you, you just have to lie back and enjoy it. It’s different for a man.’
‘Oh aye, it’s different for a man all right.’
She heard her uncle swear and then her mother say, ‘No, don’t go, Edward. Please. Not like this. Please, Edward.’
Hannah sped along the hall and into her bedroom, shutting the door soundlessly and divesting herself of her clothes with frantic haste. She pulled her nightdress over her head, slid into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She felt physically sick.
Her uncle and her mam.
Her feet were as cold as ice and she was shivering, her mind replaying every word she’d heard. Poor Aunt Aggie. For her uncle to do that and with her mam. Did her aunt know? And then she answered herself immediately with, of course she didn’t. She hadn’t known, had she, so why should her aunt? Aunt Aggie was confined to bed most of the time.
Her heart was drumming in her ears as she waited for her mother to enter the room but when after a minute or two nothing happened, her heartbeat gradually returned to normal and she began to relax. Curling herself into a little ball under the thick eiderdown to get warm, she tried to take in the enormity of the fact that her mother was carrying on with her Uncle Edward. Suddenly a hundred and one small incidents in the past took on a new significance.
They were horrible, the pair of them. To treat her Aunt Aggie like that. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know, it was still awful, disgusting. And her mam . . . Only last week she’d gone on and on about that woman from Swan Street running off with the milkman, she’d called her everything. And yet she was living in her aunt’s house and supposedly looking after her.
Her own sister-in-law.
Her eyes wide, Hannah stared up at the ceiling.Trust her mam to spoil everything. She had been so happy when she came in tonight and now it was all ruined. And then she felt guilty for being so selfish in view of how her aunt was being treated.
After a few minutes of tossing and turning she sat up in bed. She reached for her coat which she had slung on the chair next to her bed along with her other clothes and delved into the pocket and found the comfit. Her bed was situated under the window and now she knelt up, pulling the thin curtains aside so the light from the street lamp spilled over the window sill.
‘Let this say what Adam’s thinking,’ she prayed softly. ‘Let it be a sign. Please.’
Manoeuvring the little heart so she could read the tiny words, she peered down at the inscription. ‘Will you be mine?’
He wanted her for his sweetheart.
Sighing, she held the sweet close to her chest for a moment, the blood racing through her veins. Then she slipped it back into the pocket of her coat and slid down in bed again after closing the curtains.
He was going to wait until she was sixteen, knowing what Mrs Wood had told Naomi about no lads before her birthday, but then he would ask her. And when he did, she would say yes. He’d had lots of lassies after him, Naomi had told her that, and he had courted a few for a while, but then he was nineteen going on twenty. Lots of lads got married at twenty. She hugged her knees in sudden ecstasy. She’d marry him tomorrow if he asked.
She wanted to leave this house. She was sorry for Aunt Aggie and she hated what her mam and uncle were doing behind her aunt’s back, but it wasn’t as if she could make any difference if she stayed. And if she got married she’d still come and see her aunt regularly. It had been bad enough before but now she knew about her mam and uncle it was ten times worse. She felt dirty. Just knowing made her feel as if she was in on the conspiracy but she couldn’t tell her aunt. It would break her heart. Oh, how could her mam do that to another woman?
She was still wide awake when her mother entered the bedroom nearly half an hour later. Hannah shut her eyes and became as still as a mouse as the door opened, and she was aware of her mother crossing the room and standing looking down at her before she went to her own bed and began to get undressed. She heard the creak of the bed springs and then silence for a while, but just as she was drifting off to sleep she heard her mother sniff and then the unmistakable sound of a stifled sob.
Her mam was crying.The shock of it brought Hannah rigid. She had never once known her mam to cry, not even when she had slipped on the ice a couple of winters back and broken her arm. In spite of herself she felt a softening effect flood through her spirit and her face screwed up as though she herself was in pain. There was a pressure in her throat, the feeling would not allow her to swallow and she continued to lie stiff and straight until eventually the muffled sounds across the room died away and all was quiet.
Had they quarrelled? Maybe even ended their . . . well, she supposed the word was affair, incredible though it still seemed for her mother and uncle to be doing that. If so, she didn’t think it was what her mother wanted, not from what she had heard in the hall. She continued to chew everything over for a little while longer and by the time she eventually drifted off to sleep she was sure about one thing. Her uncle hadn’t played fair with either her aunt or her mother and he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. And she wished, she did so wish she didn’t have to work in the shop with him every day.
Chapter 7
‘We’re out.’ There was a note of exultation in Wilbur’s voice as he marched into the kitchen, closely followed by Adam and Joe. Slinging his bait can onto the kitchen table, he surveyed his wife. ‘They’ve closed every pit in the country and locked us out because we wouldn’t crawl to the blighters.’
Rose stared at her husband. She’d known it was coming, everyone did.The last few years most of Britain’s workers had had to accept reduced pay packets - those that still had jobs,that was.But this last stroke of the colliery owners, that of insisting wages be cut again and the minimum wage agreement of two years before abolished, was too much, especially when combined with the ‘temporary’ increase in the miners’ working day from seven to eight hours. Brushing a wisp of hair from her face, she said flatly, ‘And you think the TUC will back you?’