My Beloved Son Page 5

  Joe made no answer, he just continued to stare at Mick; and Mick, heaving in a big deep breath now, said, ‘Our Florrie’s gonna have a bairn and she says it was given to her by Master Martin.’ His voice faded away on the name, and he now sat back on his hunkers and returned Joe’s stare; and like this they remained for some time before Joe, turning slowly around, lay face down on the grass and began once again to pull at the tough stems. It was a full minute before he turned his head and looked at Mick and asked calmly, ‘Aren’t they going to be married then?’

  ‘No, ’tain’t possible.’

  ‘I see.’

  Rising to his feet now, Joe stood looking towards the river as he asked, ‘Am I backward for my age, Mick?’

  ‘No, no, Joe: I’d say you’ve a head on your shoulders, but at the same time…well, you’re a bit airy-fairy.’

  ‘Airy-fairy?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not very good at explaining things but, you know, you get lost at times, Joe, when you start writing your bits of poetry.’

  ‘Does that make me airy-fairy?’

  ‘Aye, in a way, ’cos you don’t see things that are happenin’ under your nose.’

  ‘I’ll have to stop being airy-fairy then, won’t I?’

  ‘No. Now, no; don’t you do no such thing; you’re all right as you are. I heard Master saying he wouldn’t be surprised if you make something of yourself one day with your bits and pieces, ’cos you’ve got a head for it, and I agree with him. It’ll be fine if one day I can say to somebody, “Oh, Mr Joseph Jebeau? Oh aye, I know him. I’ll say I do, ’cos I was practically brought up alongside of him. We walked together, fished together, and one early mornin’ around dawn he slipped out and we saw the dawn from the top of the moor.” That was a mornin’ I’ll always remember; I’ll take it with me down the years, that mornin’.’

  The muscles of Joe’s face twitched slightly as he stared up at his tall gangling friend and more than anything at this moment he wanted to say, ‘I have the same feeling for you as I have for Martin and Carrie,’ instead he said, ‘You could write poetry yourself, Mick.’

  ‘Me write poetry! You’re kiddin’, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not. Sometimes it’s the way you say things, it sounds like poetry to me.’

  ‘That’ll be the day, when I write me first line of poetry. Mind you’—he nodded at Joe—‘it isn’t because I can’t write; I write a very good hand and I can put a letter together better than most, oh aye’—he jerked his head in praise of himself—‘but poetry, no. No, Joe; me mind doesn’t run along those lines, in fact I can never get me mind higher than me head, and me feet are so firmly planted on the ground that I couldn’t fly even if God gave me wings this minute.’

  ‘There you are, that’s what I mean, Mick’—Joe laughed outright—‘you could write poetry.’

  ‘Ah well, I’ll let you have your joke, but now let’s pick up the lines and get back to the yard. I’ve got work to do in the stables an’ I’d better be there when Master Harry comes back, because Neptune will be running grease, if I know anything the day. For a young man who says he doesn’t care for horse ridin’, Master Harry certainly takes it out of a beast when he gets on its back. The quicker he gets that motorcycle of his the better, that’s what I say. And then there’s your mother; she should be back about five. And another thing, we’d better make our way around the back, because if Bill Swann and Danny spot me, they’re not above tellin’ the boss I was skivin’. Why do gardeners always think it’s only them who does any work, eh?’

  ‘Do they? I mean, do they think they’re the only ones who do any work?’

  ‘Oh aye, oh aye. Well now, have we got everything? Come on, let’s get going.’ …

  Five minutes later they were nearing the house when Joe drew them to a stop by saying, ‘Will you do something for me, Mick?’

  Mick turned and, looking down on Joe, said, ‘Aye, anything I can, short of kicking you in the backside.’

  He laughed while waiting for Joe to speak again, but when Joe said, ‘Will you let me see Carrie just once to say goodbye, because…because I have a present for her.’ The grin slipped from Mick’s face, his eyes narrowed and he said, ‘Well now, that’s asking something, but—’ He jerked his head up out of his collarless shirt and remained silent for a moment, before ending, ‘Well, it’s your last day, an’ from where I stand I can see no harm in it, but you’ll be careful, now, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mick, I’ll be careful.’

  ‘It’ll all depend if she’s outside the house. If she’s indoors I can’t do anything about it; if she’s outside I’ll send her round to the back. Meanwhile, you keep out of the way. Stand in the doorway to the back stairs; and don’t keep her long, mind, for if you’re found, you’ll get me into a hell of a row. Me dad would skin me! I wouldn’t do it at all if he was about the place. Go on, put your stuff away, then look slippy.’

  They parted, Mick making his way now directly to the yard while Joe skirted the shrubbery and the rose garden, then ran over the stretch of lawn towards the back of the house. He paused for a moment near the staircase door. If he were to go and put his tackle away it might mean missing a few moments extra with Carrie, so, slipping the bag from his shoulder, he threw it into the corner of the passageway from which the back stairs led, and leaned his rod up against the wall; he then rubbed his hands down the length of his short trousers and stroked the dark lick of hair from his brow before, standing within the shadow of the doorway, he moved his head slightly forward until he could take in the length of the house to where the kitchen quarters jutted out.

  It was only minutes later when he saw Carrie coming around the end wall. She was running with her head down, and she didn’t lift it until she came to the doorway where, moving quickly into its shelter, she stood panting for a moment before raising her head and looking at him.

  As he gazed back into her round eyes he found, as usual, it was difficult to formulate words. When he was with her he just wanted to keep looking at her. Presently he did speak, but his voice was low and weighted as if with sorrow as he said, ‘I go back to school tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ll miss seeing you.’

  ‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘So will I.’

  She never seemed to waste words, she always came straight to the point. That’s what he liked about her. Other people, young and old, seemed to beat about the bush; and girls of his own age he found always acted coy, but not Carrie.

  ‘I have a present for you,’ he said. ‘I…I did it from memory. I…I don’t think it’s very good.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s your picture.’

  ‘Me picture!’ Her mouth widened into a smile. ‘You’ve drawn me?’

  He nodded at her, answering her smile now. Then, his voice eager, he said, ‘I’ll go and get it, I won’t be a minute.’

  He had reached the third step when he stopped and looked down on her. His mind was telling him that there was no-one in the house, not of any importance. His uncle was at work in Newcastle. His mother was in Newcastle, too; and she would likely return with his uncle. She used to do that a lot at one time, go to Newcastle and have dinner with his uncle, but not so lately. Still she had gone today. And Harry wasn’t in, either.

  Holding out his hand, he said, briskly now, ‘Come on. Come on up to my room.’

  When she hesitated he said, ‘There’s no-one in; and I’ve written some poetry; it’s about you an’ all. Come on.’

  Her eyes wide, her lips apart, she gave him her hand; then they were running up the stairs together. But at the door leading onto the landing he brought them to a halt before gently pushing it open and peeping round it. As he paused, Carrie whispered, ‘Our Helen’s down in the kitchen with Mary.’

  ‘Oh, they won’t mind.’ He grinned at her now, pushed the door wide, then still holding her hand he hurried her along the gallery, down the wide corridor to the end and so into his room. There, releasing he
r hand, he went hurriedly to a chest of drawers and, pulling open the bottom drawer, he took out a piece of cardboard edged with passepartout. Returning to where she was standing near the closed door, he thrust it into her hand saying, ‘There!’

  Carrie looked down at the drawing and she recognised herself immediately, and such was her pleasure that her face became alight: her eyes shone, her rosy coloured cheeks formed apples at each side of her nose, her lips stretched themselves into a wide smile, showing her teeth and the gap in the left side of her upper set.

  Gazing at him, she said, ‘It’s me!’

  ‘You think it looks like you?’

  ‘Aye. Oh aye! Yes; it’s lovely. Thank you, Joe.’

  His expression now as tentative as his words, he said, ‘Do you think your mother will let you keep it?’

  For answer she said, ‘I won’t let anybody see it. I’ve got a hidey place, it’s down by the burn. If I get any extra pennies I keep them down there.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded at him.

  As they looked at each other a silence fell on them. It was like a pressure on them. He knew he was sweating, and he could see that she was too. Her chin was wet and there was a damp patch near her oxter. ‘I’ve got a bottle of pop in the drawer,’ he said. ‘It’s American cream soda. It’ll be warm. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He went again to the chest of drawers and now rummaged under some underwear in the top drawer. Bringing out the bottle, he took it to the wash-hand stand where he opened it and poured half the contents into a tooth mug. As he handed it to her he said, ‘It’s still fizzy, so that might cool you.’

  Before she drank it she looked towards the wash-hand stand, saying, ‘Have you got any left?’

  ‘Oh yes; but I’ve only got the one mug. Anyway, I can drink out of the bottle.’ He now went and picked up the bottle, and having taken a drink from it, he sat down on the side of his bed. It was an automatic action and he seemed to realise this for, getting up quickly, he said, ‘Come and sit down; you can sit on that chair.’ He pointed to the chair to the left of him. But Carrie didn’t take the chair; she sat down on the side of the bed near the foot, hooking one arm over the lower wooden rail as she continued to sip slowly from the mug.

  ‘Would you like to hear the piece I wrote about you?’

  She gulped on the soda, wrinkled her nose, then nodded.

  He rose from the bed and walked towards a desk that was set under the window, pulled open a drawer, took out a notebook and from it a loose sheet; then returning to the bed, he sat near her, but not too near, saying, ‘It’s very short,’ then swallowing deeply, he began to read:

  ‘The morning brings the chorus of the birds;

  And the lark soars to the sun at noon,

  And evening the thrush and blackbird vie,

  And night brings the moon,

  The stars, and the owl’s cry;

  But the song in my heart beats them all,

  For it sings: Carrie, Carrie, Carrie.’

  His face was scarlet as he finished and he kept his head down for a moment, and when there was no comment forthcoming from her he said, ‘You think it silly?’

  ‘Oh no!’ The words were firm, her voice loud, and again she said, ‘Oh no! No! I think it’s lovely.’

  He was gazing at her; they were gazing at each other, and what she said now almost brought the tears to his eyes. ‘Our Mick says you’re clever with words an’…an’ he says you’re goin’ places. He…he likes you, our Mick does.’

  There was a catch in his voice as he said, ‘And I like him very much too.’

  ‘I…I love our Mick, I…I love him better than anybody else in the family; he’s good, is our Mick, I do love him…An’ there’s something else.’

  He waited.

  ‘I love you, Joe, I do. I know I shouldn’t—me da would lather me if he was to know I said such a thing—but you’re goin’ to school the morrow and…and I likely won’t see you again ever, ever.’

  He seemed stunned by her declaration of love, but her last remark brought him jerking along the bed towards her, asking, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Me dad’s talkin’ about sendin’ me to Cousin Alice’s. He’s been fightin’ with me ma over it; if he gets his way I’ll have to go. I don’t want to, but I’ll have to go, so I might never see you again, ’cos she lives miles away in a place called Howdon. It’s miles and miles away.’

  ‘Oh, Carrie!’ He reached out and took the mug from her hand and, stooping, put it on the floor; then he was holding both her hands in his tightly against his damp shirt front. And now there were actual tears in his eyes as he said, ‘I couldn’t bear it if I was never to see you again, Carrie, because I love you too. Oh I do. Yes, I do.’

  Her head was moving in small jerks now and her voice was a whisper as she said, ‘I’ll never forget you, and if I go I’ll take your picture with me.’

  ‘And I’ll never forget you, Carrie, never, never, never. And when I’m old enough to leave school I’ll come and find you and…’

  For a seeming age they gazed at each other; then their hands still joined together they swayed, their bodies in unison. Slowly they fell sidewards onto the bed. The action seemed to freeze them for a moment, until a little self-conscious giggle rippled through Carrie and she bit on her lip; and this brought a grin and a chuckle from Joe too, and their brows came together as they laughed softly.

  And there the compromising situation would have ended for Carrie, wriggling her legs, which were hanging over the edge of the bed and still mostly covered by her ankle-length frock, was about to raise herself on her elbow, when the door opened and a gasp that sounded like a roar swept over them and caused them to huddle together for a moment in sheer terror.

  Then the figure was above them, glaring down at them, the face so distorted that Joe couldn’t recognise it as his mother’s and when Carrie was wrenched from his hold he went to cry out, but the sound seemed to be knocked down his throat with his mother screaming, ‘You dirty little hussy! You filthy little scheming little hussy, you!’ When her hand came with resounding cracks on both sides of Carrie’s face, Joe sprang from the bed and, clutching his mother’s arm, he yelled at her, ‘Stop it! Stop it! Don’t!’

  ‘Out of my way! I’ll deal with you later.’ The thrust of her arm sent him flying against the wash-hand stand, and then her two hands gripped the terrified girl’s shoulders and Carrie, crying, struggling and screaming, was thrust out through the open door, across the landing and gallery and down the main staircase with such force that they both nearly tumbled the last steps into the hall.

  Mary and Helen Paxstone had come running from the direction of the kitchen, only to be brought to a wide-eyed and open-mouthed stop by the sight of the mistress, as they now thought of Ellen, shaking their Carrie like a terrier shakes a rat, and their Carrie sobbing as they’d never heard her sob and holding out her hands in appeal to them.

  It was Mary who now rushed forward demanding, ‘What’s this! What you done to her, ma’am? What’s she done, anyway? Leave go of her!’

  It was Ellen Jebeau’s turn now to find herself thrust so roughly aside that she almost fell back onto the stairs; and now Mary Smith, holding her young sister to her, dared to look at her mistress and say, ‘You gone mad?’

  Ellen stood gasping while beads of sweat dripped from the ends of her chin, and she had to draw in a deep breath before she could speak. ‘Yes, I have gone mad, for I have just seen that dirty little creature aiming to seduce my son.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind, ma’am.’ Helen Paxstone’s voice was quiet and her eyes narrowed as she squinted at the enraged woman.

  ‘Out of my mind, am I? I can’t believe my own eyes? She had him on the bed, her arms about him.’

  ‘It could have been t’other way about, he could have had her on the bed, his arms about her; an’ it was on his bed.’ It was Mary speaking now. ‘And they’re but children.’


  ‘Children! None of your family are children where sex is concerned; you’re all sex mad.’

  ‘Well, ’twould appear we’re in good company, wouldn’t it, ma’am?’

  Ellen now rounded on the housemaid and her voice almost a thin scream, she cried, ‘Don’t you dare talk in that fashion to me!’

  ‘Well, don’t you dare talk in that fashion to us, ma’am. You be careful what you’re sayin’ about our family. I have a good name, so has Mary here, and there’s no-one can point a smirking finger at us. And it isn’t everybody that’s in that position the day, ma’am, is it, ma’am?’

  ‘Get into the kitchen! I’ll report you to your master when he comes in.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be more than one doin’ that, ma’am, let me tell you. It isn’t finished this, not by the looks of Carrie’s face; there’s a weal rising right down by her eye.’ She nodded down to Carrie where the child was clinging to her waist. ‘An’ that didn’t get there by a tap. Oh yes, there’ll be more than you seein’ the master afore the night’s out. Come! The air stinks around here.’ Helen now grabbed hold of her elder sister’s arm and with her other hand on Carrie’s shoulder she propelled them towards the kitchen; but before she passed through the door she turned her head back and looked at Ellen Jebeau, who was standing rigidly stiff, the nails of her joined hands pressing into her flesh, and she called to her, ‘We was here afore you came and we’ll be here when you’re gone.’

  For a moment Ellen thought she was going to choke. Unclasping her hands, she began to stroke her neck, and after a moment she turned and rushed up the stairs.

  Once again she was in the bedroom and staring at her son.

  Joe seemed to have been waiting for her, for he was standing with his back to his desk, and when she stopped a yard or so from him and stood glaring at him, he said, ‘We weren’t doing anything bad. And it was me to blame. I brought her upstairs to give her a present, a going-away present.’ He put out his hand and picked up the passepartout picture from the desk and, turning it towards her, he said, ‘I had done a drawing of her.’