Road to Berry Edge, The (23 page)

They had been children together in those cold childhood evenings playing within distance of the railway line, and rather than go home to their respective awful existences they would stay there while the dusk deepened and the cold took over.

Regardless of thin shirts and bare legs they would stay. He thought of the fires they had built, the rhubarb they had stolen and cooked in an old pan, of the walls they had climbed and the orchards they had raided and the fields they had run through. He thought of their secret meeting places, the old henhouse, the loft above the carriage house at Rob's. He didn't want to take it a step further and think of what had happened, how Rob's brother had died, how Rob had come to him and begged him to leave; how he had not thought that he could, because Sean would have knocked their mother and sisters around and kept them short of everything they needed, and also because he loved Berry Edge so much. He didn't want to leave it. It would be an act of betrayal that he could never take back, but he knew also that Rob had no alternative but to go ahead with that act of betrayal. His parents had turned from him, Berry Edge had condemned him. He had to go.

It seemed so awful to Michael to know that Rob himself was turning him out of Berry Edge. He could not go back now. Strange to think that if Rob had not come home, Michael would probably still be there. He would never have a job there again, and in a way it seemed connected to Rob's leaving, as though it was only a matter of time before everybody was flung from their paradise, as though nobody was deserving of the beauty of the fell above Berry Edge where the wind and snow cut you, where the heather was a mass of purple velvet in August, where God himself could have been pleased that there was on earth a place so finely tuned to nature that each breath of wind was prayer.

Michael would close his eyes and pretend that he was alone and that he could hear Nancy's voice calling down the yard to the children to come inside for tea. It was that perfect moment when the children were playing in the back lane and the kettle was boiling, the teapot was warmed and the table was laid, and night was about to fall slowly, gently, softly like a bedcover, embracing all of Berry
Edge, Nancy and her house, the children and himself. They would soon be inside, the children rosy-cheeked from the cold, and Nancy would be cutting egg and bacon pie. She would be pouring tea and offering cake and smiling. She was always smiling when he went to sleep. It was the only comfort that he had.

Faith didn't realise that she had fallen asleep. All through the night Rob had tossed and turned and sweated and beseeched Sarah not to leave him. Faith began to understand that he had loved his wife as much as she had loved John. She could not convince him that she was still there, he begged and pleaded with her not to go. Finally, when daylight broke, he went to sleep, cool and peaceful.

She didn't know what time it was, only that it felt late. For the first time in her life she awoke to find herself lying on a bed with a man, almost the man she had wanted to find herself lying on a bed with. He was awake and smiling, and he looked across the pillows at her and said hoarsely, ‘Hello, Faith.'

Faith sat up abruptly and glanced around the room and then back at him.

‘How do you feel?' she said.

‘It hurts like hell,' he said. And it did, she could see by the dullness of his eyes.

‘I'll go and get somebody.'

‘Tell me what happened first.'

Faith did as simply as she could.

‘Is Michael all right?'

‘As far as I know. Let me go and get the nurse.'

‘Will you come back? I had this dream …'

‘I'll come back,' Faith said.

When they let her in, a long time later that morning, he looked better, his eyes were clearer. Faith was embarrassed and didn't go too close. He even smiled.

‘Were you here all night?' he said. ‘You must be exhausted.'

‘I'm not tired at all,' Faith said, and she wasn't. He put out a hand.

‘Come closer.'

‘I shouldn't.'

‘You didn't mind before.'

‘You were asleep before.' She went across. ‘I'm not supposed to sit on the bed.'

‘You were lying there when I woke up.'

‘I had drifted off just for a little while.'

She had to sit on the bed to take hold of his hand. Eventually he went back to sleep. Then she left him and Vincent took her home. Her mother insisted that she went to bed. Rob's mother visited the hospital that day and, for the first few days, until the doctors decided that Rob would make a complete recovery, Harry stayed there. No one could persuade him to leave. The first thing Rob asked when she and Harry were there together was, ‘The police didn't take Michael, did they?'

‘Don't worry about that,' Harry said.

‘He didn't do it.'

‘Nobody thinks he did.'

As Harry and Faith left later he said to her from the other side of Rob's door, ‘They should hang the bastard, it was all his fault.'

‘What will he get, Harry?'

‘A few months if we're lucky,' Harry said.

By Christmas Rob was at home; at least, at Faith's home, his own house across the way was a blackened shell. Vincent had tried to insist that they should rent a house but nobody wanted to, they were clinging together almost like children. Vincent and Harry went to work every day
and Berry Edge went back to its usual self. It was amazing how soon it did.

*

Every afternoon when Harry got in from work at half past five he would run up the stairs and burst into Rob's bedroom and Faith would be reminded of how Harry had cried. It was as though he could not bear to be away for too long in case something awful happened to Rob, even though Rob began to get better right from the start.

One such January evening she was sitting in the room sewing. She was there most of the time; she had had awful visions of having to go to Rob's grave as well as John's, and it was not exactly a comfortable thought. Rob was really getting better, she thought, questioning Harry minutely about things. Firstly it had been Cowan's wife.

‘I want you to get somebody round to Cowan's.'

‘Whatever the hell for?'

‘Because Tom Cowan's wife has four children.'

‘He tried to kill you, for God's sake.'

‘We don't know that for certain, and even if he did it was hardly her fault. You haven't had her evicted, have you?'

‘What do you think I am?'

‘Have you given her any money?'

‘Of course I haven't.'

‘Do it then.'

Straight away too he wanted Nancy safe.

‘Have you found Nancy?'

‘No.'

‘Get somebody else on to it.'

Now it was the works. He wanted to know everything that was happening, and nothing that Harry and Vincent were doing was right. Only the fact that Rob was not better saved him from a dose of Harry's temper.

One night, when Harry had said nothing but shut the door rather firmly as he went downstairs, Faith went over to the bed and straightened Rob's pillows. ‘Ought you to do that?'

‘What?'

‘Come down on him like he doesn't know what he's doing?'

‘Did I?'

‘You do it every night.'

‘Do I? My father used to do that to me. I didn't realise.'

‘Shall I read to you?'

‘Please.'

She sat down by the fire and read. Rob rarely listened. He sometimes fell asleep, but often he would just lie staring into the fire. She thought that he was probably thinking about Sarah. He wasn't aware that he had thought she was Sarah and he never spoke about his wife, but she thought by the softness in his eyes that he was thinking about her. Faith was surprised to find that she was jealous. She had never thought she would have a good feeling for Rob again, but she did now. She liked being there with him as much as she could. One day, the doctor took her aside on the landing and said, ‘You need some rest and fresh air. Go for a walk.'

‘But Rob—'

‘Robert looks a lot better than you do, miss.'

It was Saturday. That afternoon Harry was not at work, and when she said she was going out he offered her his company. They went out of the town and up on to the fell. It was a cold bright day.

‘Did you know that my mother and father are talking about taking Rob home for Easter?' Harry said.

‘Yes, they did mention it.'

‘I thought you might like to go too.'

‘What about you?'

‘Somebody has to see to the works, we can't all go. I think Rob could do with the company.'

‘You mean you need somebody to keep an eye on him because you won't be there.'

‘Something like that, yes. I'm afraid to let him out of my sight. I feel as if I should have done something.'

‘You did. I hear you gave money to Tom Cowan's wife.'

‘I sent somebody. I just hope he's dead,' Harry said savagely.

‘You shouldn't wish people dead, Harry, it's not a healthy pastime.'

‘And endanger my immortal soul, do you mean?' Harry said, with a slow smile. ‘I'd go to Hell over it.'

‘Rob wouldn't like that.'

‘I wish Rob was better.'

‘He is better.'

‘No, I mean properly better. The day he's declared better I'm going to take him outside and make him wish himself in Nottingham. He never talks to me any more, he just gives bloody orders. I can't stop thinking about what happened. He needs to get away from here for both our sakes.'

*

That afternoon, when the women were making tea in the kitchen and Vincent and Harry were alone in the sitting room, Harry said to his father, ‘I want you to invite Faith formally to Nottingham for Easter.'

‘Whatever for?'

‘Because I've already asked her and I want Rob to think that he should go with her. He won't go otherwise, you know he won't, fretting about the bloody works, and she won't go unless you ask her properly.'

‘That doesn't seem a very good idea to me.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because his mother and her parents seem determined he will marry her.'

‘He won't,' said Harry.

‘Why won't he?'

‘Because there's another woman.'

‘I thought as much. What is she like?'

‘I'm not going to tell you anything about her. Just ask my mother to invite Faith to stay.'

Ida shook her head over it that night as they got into bed.

‘It is not a good idea, Vincent.'

‘That's exactly what I said.'

‘I have nothing against Faith, but I don't think I want her in my house taking over Sarah's role. She's a nice girl but she isn't for him, he can do much better than that.'

‘Harry has, I gather, already asked her.'

‘Harry has? He's not even going to be there.'

‘He seems to think that there's somebody else.'

Ida looked hard at Vincent.

‘Then where is she?' she said.

*

Faith's first glimpse of the Abbey was in the afternoon just before the spring sun went down. There was a long drive leading up to the golden stone house. There were huge lawns to the front and a sweeping drive. The old part of the house from which it took its name was high and open and had big arched windows and a great long front. When the carriage drew to a halt at the front door Faith couldn't have said a word. She had had no idea that Vincent Shaw and his family lived at this scale. She had never been in such a house. She was only glad that her mother had persuaded her to have made, very quickly, a great many new clothes so that she could look her best. Her mother had obviously realised, as Faith had not, that she would need them.

There was, Faith saw from the beginning, something special in the way that they lived. Perhaps it was prosperity which she had never seen before. There were no cold draughty corners, no dark shadows and, even though there were pictures of Sarah, she was talked about openly here but did not get in the way, as though they had done their grieving and come through.

The house was comfortable as Faith had not known comfort, and it had a happy atmosphere which put her at her ease straight away. She was given a maid to herself, a girl called Jenny who enthused over her new clothes, told Faith what lovely hair she had and spent a great deal of
time dressing it and seeing to Faith's clothes before she went down to dinner. Faith had never before seen herself as elegant, but she did now. Her mother had chosen most of her clothes, she had no particular interest in such things, but the dress was green and cream and it flattered her. She saw also something she had not seen in her own eyes before: warmth and excitement. Even though there were no dinner guests that first evening, Faith enjoyed herself. The dining room was so big it had two great fires, and the crockery and silver winked in the candlelight. Vincent grumbled about having to eat like that.

‘I can't see what the hell I'm eating,' he protested.

Faith was used to Vincent by now. She had been shocked at his language at first, but she secretly rather liked him because he made her want to laugh sometimes when she shouldn't.

‘We should have eaten in the small dining room. It's like a bloody barn in here.'

‘I like it,' Ida said. ‘It's our first night back and I wanted it to be special. Just eat your dinner, Vincent, and try to be mannerly.'

Vincent encouraged Faith to drink wine. He seemed to think this was an essential part of her education, and Faith was in no mood to tell him that she wasn't supposed to. It was pink and slightly fizzy and seemed innocuous, though she refused the red which the men drank. After that there was a light lemon pudding. She could have had chocolate mousse and then cheese as well if she had had any room.

Faith played the piano later. Her fingers had never touched the keys of a really good grand piano and nobody made her feel selfconscious by sitting around listening intently, but afterwards Ida came to her and said, ‘That instrument hasn't been touched since Sarah died. I'm so glad you play, and you do it so well.' She kissed Faith and hurried away to see about the coffee. Faith saw Rob and Vincent sitting by the fire, talking softly together, so
she just carried on playing until the coffee was brought in. Vincent smoked a cigar and poured brandy into his coffee, a habit his wife said she deplored. They offered Faith brandy, something she felt sure nobody else in the world would have done, but the pink wine had been sufficient. She shook her head and thanked Vincent and sat down in a comfortable chair by the fire with her coffee and smiled at them.