Rosie shivered as she got out of bed. Though it was June and the sun was already shining outside, the air inside the house struck cold. Like all the other dwellings along this street, it was damp and old, and never properly warmed up until the sun had been high in the heavens for at least two hours.
Creeping about so as not to disturb Doug, Rosie threw her robe on and reached into the cot. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she told the sleeping child. ‘You’d best come with your mammy because if you start crying for your breakfast and get him out of his bed, we’ll not hear the end of it, will we, eh?’ Doug had a nasty temper if he was woken before ten o’clock on his Saturday off.
Wrapping the infant in his shawl, she pressed him close and went out of the door. These days, with Rosie nearly seven months pregnant and with a child in arms, it was increasingly difficult to negotiate the narrow stairs so she took her time, inching her way along and being especially careful where the steps curved dangerously halfway down. Behind her she could hear Doug loudly snoring, ‘Sounds like a train in full steam,’ she chuckled.
Downstairs, she wedged the child between cushions in the corner of the settee. ‘You’ll be fine while I treat myself to a cup of tea, won’t you, darling?’ she cooed. But the infant had other ideas. In answer to her question, he opened his big eyes and began sucking on his fist. ‘Hungry are you?’ she asked, settling herself on the settee beside him. She had hoped he might allow her a few quiet minutes when she could gather her thoughts, but babies were unpredictable as she well knew. ‘All right, I’ll see to you first,’ she conceded. ‘Then I’ll make myself a cup of tea before getting your daddy’s breakfast ready.’
Undoing the front of her nightie, she lifted the child to her breast, laughing when he instantly clamped his mouth round her nipple and began frantically sucking. ‘Where are your manners?’ she teased. ‘Going at your poor mammy like a sink plunger!’ But she was never happier than when the child was feeding. Somehow she felt closer to him. While he fed, she allowed her mind to wander, and as always it wandered to the time before Doug, to the time when she and Adam had been together.
The infant was soon fed, washed and changed into his day clothes. Rosie glanced at the clock. It was already half-past eight. There was the dusting to be done, the mats to be taken out and beaten, and a pile of washing a mile high sitting in the dolly-tub. ‘No good looking at it,’ she said aloud, ‘the work won’t do itself.’
It was quarter to ten when she came in from the yard where she had been hanging out the washing. ‘That’s it for now,’ she told herself in the parlour mirror. ‘You look like something the cat dragged in. Best wash and dress. You know His Majesty moans if you’re still in your nightie by the time he gets up.’ Going to the stairs cupboard she dragged the ironing basket out and found a clean blue blouse, a straight grey skirt and clean underwear. Taking the garments into the scullery, she heated the iron and ran it over them. In no time at all she was washed, dressed, and feeling good. By the time she had finished washing herself, the water in the bowl had gone cold, and she soon discovered that there was nothing more revitalising than a rush of cold water on your skin.
The aroma of sizzling sausages and frying eggs began to fill the little house. Going into the parlour, she laid the table and checked that the baby was all right. He was fast asleep. ‘You’re a little beauty,’ she told him, tenderly stroking his face. These past few weeks he had changed. His eyes were colouring to a soft hazel hue, and his hair was deepening to a rich brown colour like his mammy’s. ‘It’s been weeks since he mentioned about you being christened,’ she said. ‘But if he thinks I’ve forgotten, he’s very much mistaken. I intend having another go at him this morning. I mean to get you christened, and I’ll fight him tooth and nail until he gives in!’
Returning to the scullery, she glanced at the calendar on the wall. ‘June the twenty-fourth,’ she said aloud. ‘Half the year nearly gone and the bugger’s still playing games!’ She was angry, frustrated, and determined that, one way or another, the christening would take place before the year was out.
She was turning the eggs when suddenly she froze. ‘Good God!’ A smile spread over her face as she perused the calendar. ‘Look at that, gal,’ she chuckled. ‘June the twenty-fourth 1949. It’s my birthday, and I’m twenty-one!’ Going into the parlour she leaned over her son to whisper in his ear, ‘Shame on you! Fancy sleeping on your mammy’s twenty-first birthday!’
She had completely forgotten that this was a special day and, for just a brief moment, there was joy in her heart. But it was soon curtailed when Doug appeared at the parlour door, dishevelled and irritable. ‘Ain’t my breakfast ready yet, woman?’
His irritation transferred itself to her. She wasn’t surprised to realise that he too had forgotten her birthday. ‘I’ve only got one pair of hands!’ she snapped. ‘Your breakfast will be on the table in a minute.’ With that she went smartly into the scullery while he seated himself at the table.
Rosie picked at her toast. After all the work she had done in the past two hours, she was famished. Now, though, her appetite had vanished at the sight of his sullen face. Her instinct told her not to broach the subject of the christening just yet. There would be time enough later, after he’d been to the betting shop, when he might come home in a better frame of mind.
‘I don’t need to ask what you’ll be up to today,’ he grumbled. ‘I expect you’ll be gadding about with that bloody Peggy.’ Viciously stabbing at his food with the prongs of his fork, he rammed it into his mouth, all the while staring at her with those odd-coloured eyes.
‘We’ll be going to the market together, yes,’ she said defiantly.
Jabbing the fork at her, he said, ‘I don’t like you going about with that one.’
‘She’s my best friend. My only friend, as it happens.’
‘That’s beside the point. You’re a married woman, and she’s not. To my mind that spells trouble.’
‘Oh? And are you forbidding me to see her?’ There was a note of warning in her voice that cautioned him. ‘And who says it spells trouble? Your mother, I suppose?’
‘Watch your bloody tongue when you speak about my mother. She’s been a better friend to you than ever your precious Peggy could be… let you move in when we had nowhere to go, didn’t she? Gives you advice on the lad here, doesn’t she?’ He jabbed his fork again, this time towards the sleeping child. ‘And all you’ve ever done is throw it all back in her face.’
Wisely ignoring his attempt to draw her into an argument concerning his mother, she asked in a calm voice, ‘So, does all this mean you’re forbidding me to see Peggy?’
He looked at her then, at her strong brown eyes and the determined set of her pretty jaw, and he knew he was on dangerous ground. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he snarled. Picking up his mug of tea, he swilled the hot liquid down his throat. ‘Just think on,’ he warned slamming the mug down. ‘There’s folk watching you, that’s all I’m saying.’ Pushing his chair away, he left the table and went into the scullery where he quickly washed. Coming back to the parlour, he took his jacket from the nail behind the door. ‘I’m off out,’ he said, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. As he did so, a white envelope fell out of his pocket. Before Rosie could see what it was, he scraped it up and thrust it out of sight.
‘What time will you be back?’
‘When I think fit.’ Flinging open the parlour door, he went down the passage and out of the house, leaving the front door open and a chill whipping down the passage and into the parlour.
Hurrying up the passage, Rosie closed the door. ‘HEATHEN!’ she called after him.
Suddenly a smile lit her face. ‘Why, Rosie darling,’ she mimicked his voice perfectly, ‘isn’t it your twenty-first birthday today?’ Pursing her lips she feigned a kiss. ‘Now then, sweetheart, where would you like to go? We can get the old battleaxe to babysit if you like? How about an evening at the Palais? Or we could go to that nice little restaurant on the corner of Dewhurst Street. I’ll buy you a nice big box of chocolates afterwards… or a bunch of flowers. Or would you prefer a pretty silk scarf? No? What then? Oh! I know. Of course, why didn’t I think of it before… a diamond ring! That’s what I’ll get you, sweetheart… a beautiful diamond ring. And a new dress! After all, you deserve the very best.’
She smiled and she cooed and she pranced up and down the passageway, fancying herself in this and that, holding out her work-work fingers to admire the diamond ring. ‘My! See how it glints and sparkles!’ she exclaimed with big surprised eyes. Sweeping into the parlour, she fell into the nearest chair and laughed until she cried.
The stain of tears was still under her soft brown eyes when the knock came on the door. ‘Who the devil’s that?’ she muttered, going up the passage and hoping it wasn’t Doug come back.
It wasn’t Doug, nor was it the devil. It was Peggy. ‘Took your time opening the door, didn’t you?’ she remarked, following Rosie into the parlour. ‘Anybody would think I were the rentman.’ The two often laughed at how Peggy’s mam had occasion to hide from the rentman some years back, and one of her indignant brood told the visitor through the letterbox, ‘If you’re the rentman, our mam says she ain’t here!’ To which he promptly yelled back, ‘You tell your mam who “ain’t here” that I’ve been called some things in my time, but never a rentman. You tell her I’m from the Widows’ and Orphans’ Charity, and I’ve brought her a free sack of firewood. But if she “ain’t here” I’d best take it to some other deserving case.’
Before he’d even finished speaking, Peggy’s mam flung open the door. ‘Get inside, you!’ She clipped the foolish boy’s ear and sent him scurrying to the back room. ‘And as for you,’ she addressed the young man, ‘you’ll not find a more deserving cause than me in the whole of Blackburn, so kindly drop the sack of firewood on the step and bugger off!’ Instructing the driver to offload one sack of firewood from the wagon, he doffed his flat cap and bade her good morning, and was still laughing as he climbed back into the cab. The incident had been a source of amusement ever since. After that, whenever she found the need to hide from the rentman, Peggy’s mam bundled the children behind the settee with her.
Remembering the occasion, Rosie chuckled. ‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,’ she apologised. ‘I thought it might be Doug coming back for something, that’s all.’ Realising Peggy was intently studying her face, she said hastily, ‘I’ll make us a brew, eh?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘No, thank you all the same. I’ve just had my breakfast. But you can tell me why you’ve been crying.’
Seating herself opposite her observant friend, Rosie feigned surprise. ‘What makes you think I’ve been crying?’
‘Oh, nothing much… just the time it took you to open the door, and your eyes, all red and swollen.’ Peggy would not be put off. ‘Then there’s your frantic hurry to get into the scullery and make a brew, when you know very well I always make you one since you’ve got big with child.’
‘You’re too clever for your own good, my girl,’ Rosie said light-heartedly. She knew there was no use trying to hide anything from Peggy. ‘Anyway, I might be “big with child”, but I’m not an invalid.’
‘Come on. Out with it.’
Rosie sighed wearily. ‘It’s nothing. Honest.’
‘Liar!’
‘I had a set to with Doug, that’s all.’
‘Oh? What about?’
‘This and that… his mother mostly.’ Rosie thought it might sound childish to say she was peeved because he’d forgotten her birthday.
‘Has the old cow been interfering again?’
‘She thinks our friendship is bound to cause trouble, what with me being married and you being single.’
‘I’ve a bloody good mind to go and have it out with her!’
‘Not a good idea.’ All the same, the thought of Doug’s mam and Peggy going at it hammer and tongs on the street tickled Rosie’s imagination.
‘Well then, tell her to piss off and mind her own business!’ ‘Oh, don’t you worry. Soon as ever I get the chance, that’s exactly what I’ll do.’
‘Good for you!’ Getting out of the chair, Peggy asked coyly, Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m not at work this morning.’ Going along with her, Rosie put the question. All right then. Why aren’t you at work this morning?’
‘Because our mam’s thinking of decorating the parlour and she wants the furniture moved. I told her we could do it tomorrow, but she said not on the Sabbath. Anyway, you know what our mam’s like. Once she’s made up her mind there’s no changing it. I was due a Saturday off, so I thought I might as well get the agony over with. As it is, there’s not much hope of that trip to the market this afternoon. I’m sorry.’
‘Do you need any help? Though I won’t be any good at shifting the heavier stuff.’
‘You’re a mind-reader.’
It took fifteen minutes for the two of them to clear away and wash the breakfast things. After which Rosie put the child in its pram and the three of them made their way to Peggy’s home.
Peggy’s mam was waiting, and so were the children, all standing round the table which was laid with a white cloth, a mountain of home-made goodies, and a round cake in the centre, with icing that spelled out her name. Rosie was completely taken by surprise.
‘Well? Ain’t you got nothing to say?’ Peggy laughed. ‘Surely you didn’t think I’d forget me best mate’s twenty-first?’ Taking the child from Rosie’s arms, she sat him in the deep armchair and grabbed Rosie in a great big hug. ‘Happy Birthday, sunshine,’ she said, and the tears ran down Rosie’s face.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘I was sure nobody would remember.’
‘Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?’ Peggy chided. And without further ado, she fetched a box of matches for Rosie to light the candles on her cake. ‘You ain’t getting any younger, gal,’ she teased. ‘There’s all twenty-one there, so you’d best take a deep breath and blow them all out together.’
Most of them went out in one blow, but it took two more little tries to extinguish them all; at which point a loud cheer went up and the party began. Twenty-one balloons, blown up the night before by Peggy and the children, were set loose across the room, with the young ones scrambling to pop them before they stuck to the ceiling. The children squealed and laughed and filled their bellies with jelly, cakes, cheese butties, and finally a large wedge of birthday cake, which Rosie vowed was, ‘The most delicious I’ve ever tasted.’
‘I’ve allus been known for my cakes,’ Peggy’s mam boasted, and Peggy laughingly told her not to get a big head. Rosie gave the kindly woman a heartfelt kiss, and she blushed a warm shade of pink. ‘Why’s our mam gone all red?’ piped up a little voice, and Peggy’s mam playfully clipped him round the ear.
By midday, the food was gone and so were the children. ‘Gone out to terrorise the neighbourhood,’ Peggy joked. The three women set to and tidied up, but when Rosie offered to help wash the dishes, Peggy’s mam told her, ‘You’re a good lass, Rosie Selby, and you’ve been a good friend to my lass. I’m ashamed to say there have been times when I’ve been a sour-faced old sod, and I’m sorry about that. I didn’t need no asking twice when our Peggy said she was planning a party and needed my help. I’ve been glad to do it, and now I’ll be glad to wash up.’
‘Come on, gal,’ Peggy said. ‘You look worn out. Put your feet up, and I’ll do your hair for you… a special birthday treat, you might say.’
Rosie was tired and couldn’t deny it. Her feet ached, her face was flushed and the unborn child inside her felt like a ton weight. Easing herself into the standchair by the table, she watched as Peggy went to the sideboard and took out a shoe-box. ‘What are you up to?’ she asked suspiciously when Peggy put the box on the table; she was visibly startled when her mam charged in from the scullery, crying, ‘It’s bad luck to put a shoebox on the table!’
‘You mean shoes!’ Peggy corrected.
‘You keep shoes in that box, don’t you?’ her mam argued. ‘So do as you’re told and get it off the table.’
Placing the box on a nearby chair, Peggy took out a bowl and another small box. Inside the box was a sachet of dark liquid, a wad of cotton wool, and a small comb. ‘I’m going to turn you into a raving redhead,’ she told Rosie.
Rosie was horrified. ‘You’re not, you know!’
‘Well, happen I’ll just bring out the pretty highlights in your hair then?’
‘What’s wrong with my hair as it is?’ In spite of her fears, Rosie was intrigued.
‘There’s nothing at all wrong with it,’ Peggy assured her. ‘It’s very pretty. But I can make it glint like gold if you’ll let me.’ She laid the things out on the table. ‘I got it at discount. We’ve just started this new line in cosmetics, you see, and like I said, it’s a special birthday present for you.’ She saw how hesitant Rosie was. ‘Go on, gal,’ she entreated, ‘I promise you’ll look great.’ Rosie thought of how she never did anything exciting, and how every day ran one into the other without anything to distinguish them. Lately she had been feeling like an old woman, instead of someone only twenty-one. She remembered how Doug had forgotten her birthday and she thought how good it would be to shock him. ‘Do what you like,’ she told Peggy. ‘If I go bald, happen Doug won’t want me in bed.’
Peggy’s mam could be heard laughing in the kitchen. ‘You’re a pair o’ buggers!’ she said, and she was right.
It was ten o’clock at night when Doug came home. He wasn’t drunk, but he was in a foul mood. ‘What money have you got in your purse?’ he asked, glaring at her from the doorway.
‘A few shillings,’ she answered. ‘Enough to see us through ’til payday.’
‘Give it here.’
‘What for?’
‘Never mind what for. I said… give it here.’ Striding into the room he stretched out his hand and waited for her to empty her purse into it. ‘I ain’t got time to argue.’
Rosie didn’t argue either. She knew it wouldn’t make the slightest difference if she did. Besides, she wanted to humour him so she could ask about the date for the christening. With this in mind, she gave him half of what she had. It was enough to placate him. When he turned sharply and went out of the house again, she ran into the front room and peeped through the window. There were two other men waiting on the doorstep. They hurried away once Doug had paid his dues. Rosie suspected they were gambling partners. ‘You’re a fool, Doug Selby,’ she whispered, hurrying back to the parlour. ‘One of these days you’ll get in over your head.’
When he came back he was smiling. ‘I could drink the sea dry,’ he said, throwing himself into the armchair. ‘Put the kettle on, sweetheart,’ he coaxed.
Rosie hated him when he turned on the charm like that. She was about to say she was tired and off to bed, when she stopped herself. Until he set the date for the christening, she would have to humour him. Without a word she went into the scullery, returning with his tea a few minutes later. ‘Have you been to see the vicar?’ she asked, giving the hot mug into his outstretched hands.
For a moment he stared at her. ‘There’s something different about you,’ he commented, sitting up in his chair.
Knowing how he would react when he saw the red highlights in her brown hair, Rosie had deliberately kept in the shadows. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked innocently.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure… something.’ He stared a moment longer, but he had drunk a pint or two and his vision wasn’t perfect at the minute. Puzzled, he sank back in the chair, sipping at his tea and infuriating her.
Just as she opened her mouth to remind him of her question, he astonished her by saying with a smug little smile, ‘Not only have I been to see the vicar, but I’ve set the date for Sunday next.’
Rosie was thrilled. ‘Oh, Doug! You can’t know what a weight you’ve lifted off my mind.’ If only he hadn’t put her through so much, she might have embraced him. But he was too cunning, too arrogant. And her memory was too vivid.
Besides, she thought with amusement, she’d better stay in the shadows. If he was to see the carrot-coloured streaks in her hair, there would be an unholy row. She could handle that all right, but the little one had been fretful with his teething, and she didn’t want him woken again. ‘I began to think we’d be getting the two children baptised together,’ she remarked coolly. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘I got what I wanted, that’s why.’
‘In what way?’
He stared at her again, trying to distinguish what was different about her. ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked, getting out of the chair and starting towards her. It was then that his eyes caught sight of Peggy’s birthday card, which Rosie had stood proudly on the mantelpiece. ‘What the hell’s this?’ Snatching it up, he ran his eyes over it. A look of surprise came over his features, and for a moment it seemed as though he was about to make a comment but he replaced it without saying a word. Instead, he came to where she sat and proceeded to look her up and down. ‘It’s your bloody hair!’ he gasped. ‘You’ve had it dyed ginger.’
Summoning every ounce of courage, Rosie bestowed her loveliest smile on him. ‘Don’t you like it then?’ she asked coyly. She didn’t like it either, but she wasn’t about to admit that.
He ran his fingers over the top of her head, ruffling the thick strands of hair before viciously grabbing a fistful and demanding: ‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she lied, ‘I do.’ Standing up to face him, she waited for the outburst but was unprepared for what happened next.
‘Your hair’s pretty enough the way the good Lord made it, but yes, I think it suits you,’ he replied, astounding her.
Before she could answer, he took out the envelope from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. ‘After all, I do want you to look your best for the christening. We wouldn’t want him to think the goods had become soiled, would we, eh?’
‘What game are you playing, Doug?’ She had known him long enough to realise that he was up to something.
‘No game, sweetheart. It’s just that things have turned out exactly how I wanted them to.’ With that he went up the stairs, chuckling all the way.
Opening the envelope, she read the letter from Adam. It was short and polite, not at all like that of a friend. But it confirmed that Adam had graciously accepted the invitation to be godfather to Doug and Rosie’s son. ‘Oh, Adam, I thought you of all people might see through him,’ Rosie sighed. ‘He’s using you, just like he uses me.’ Now she saw what Doug had meant when he said things had turned out exactly like he wanted them to.
Pacing the room with the letter clutched in her hand, Rosie was tempted to sit down and write to Adam, warning him how Doug had intended to name his son after him only to antagonise her – though he was in for a real surprise when they got to the church. All the same, she wanted Adam to know that he had been asked to be godfather for the very same reason… to punish the two of them for having dared to love each other.
But then she realised she would only be hurting herself more by persuading Adam to stay away, because then Doug would never allow their son to be christened. ‘And in spite of everything, I do so much want to see you, Adam,’ she murmured, putting the letter against her face. She was both excited and afraid. Excited at the prospect of being in the same room as Adam again, and afraid because, though he was forever out of her reach, she would never stop loving him.
Carefully, she laid the letter on the sideboard where Doug would find it. A week,’ she whispered, going up the stairs to bed. ‘Only one week, and then he’ll be here, in this house.’ She shivered with delight. When she entered the bedroom and saw Doug waiting for her, the delight turned to dread.
Monday morning brought a wonderful surprise, but not before Doug had alarmed her with the news, ‘Dad’s losing work hand over fist. There are more folk out of work, and consequently they’re counting their pennies. Last month we only sold a hundred and fifty bags of coal, when we normally sell upwards of four hundred.’
As always, Rosie was optimistic. ‘Happen it’s just a bad month. After all, it is June, and there are only a few people who light a fire in summer… old folk and them with small bairns.’
Scraping back his chair, he got up from the breakfast table. ‘Don’t talk daft, woman!’ he snapped, glaring at her as though she was a total imbecile. ‘The summer’s always been a good time for selling coal. Folks have allus stocked up their cellars while it’s cheap, and you bloody well know that.’
Rosie made no comment. Instead, she concentrated on clearing away the breakfast things. Only when she heard him slamming down the passage and out of the front door did she straighten herself from the task, and that was to roll her eyes to the ceiling and say, ‘Dear Lord, you made a miserable soul when you made that one!’
The postman was late, but Rosie wasn’t worried. He never brought anything exciting, just bills and circulars. When she heard the familiar plop of letters on the carpet, she went down the passage to collect them, absent-mindedly sifting through them as she returned to the parlour. ‘Same as usual,’ she muttered; there was a gas bill, a reminder about the instalment on the new gramophone, and a leaflet from the chimney-sweep, saying how he could ‘Sweep a chimney so clean you could hang your Sunday best coat in it’.
Rosie was still chuckling at that when she came into the parlour. But as her smiling brown eyes saw the writing on the last envelope, her heart almost stopped. The letter was addressed to her, and she had seen enough of his letters to know without a doubt that this one was from Adam.
Seating herself at the table, she opened the envelope and took out the contents. What she saw made her gasp. It was the most beautiful birthday card; in the cream-coloured background, little robins and kittens could be seen nuzzling up to each other, and there were clusters of exquisite red roses in all four corners. Inside there was a simple message that tore at her heart and filled her eyes with tears. It read:
To Rosie,
Did you think I would forget your birthday?
It was signed ‘Adam’. There was no other message, nothing about the christening or Doug. At first she was puzzled, but then she understood. Adam had effectively shut out everyone but the two of them, and because of that, she would cherish the card all the more.
Her first instinct was to hide it. In fact, she even went so far as to turn back the lace-cover on the sideboard, ‘No!’ she declared. ‘I won’t hide it. Why should I? It can’t hurt Doug to know there are people who think enough of me to remember my birthday.’ Having decided to display it, she put it on the mantelpiece alongside Peggy’s. ‘There you are, Rosie gal,’ she said, hands on hips as she stared at the two pretty cards. ‘Don’t ever say nobody loves you.’ She daren’t wonder whether Adam might love her still. It would only be wishful thinking, and anyway, even if it were true, all it could ever bring was heartache.
All day long, Rosie went about her work with a song in her heart. That song was cruelly ended when Doug walked in and saw the card there. ‘Who’s that from?’ he wanted to know, striding across the room and snatching it up. He opened the inside and read the message. ‘Bastard!’ he roared. ‘What gives him the sodding right?’ Taking the card between his fingers, he began tearing it apart.
Seeing that precious card torn in front of her eyes was like a red rag to a bull. Darting forward, Rosie grabbed at it. There was a fury inside her, an insane rage that had built up over many months and now was let loose like a burst dam. ‘He’s got every right!’ she cried, her nails scoring his arm as she struggled to take the card from him. ‘Just because I married you instead of him, doesn’t mean he can’t still be a friend.’
Holding her at arm’s length, he peered at her through red, dirt-rimmed eyes. ‘Why, you little whore! You want him, don’t you?’ His voice was low, unsure. Then, when her gaze fell from him, he shook her, his voice rising in a fury. ‘Admit it, or I swear I’ll take your bloody head off at the shoulders!’
‘Oh, aren’t you the big man?’ she demanded, her brown eyes mocking him. ‘If you think there’s something going on between me and Adam, why don’t you ask him? After all, he’ll be here on Sunday.’
‘You little cow!’ With one backward swipe of his hand he sent her crashing against the table. ‘If I ever thought you and he…’ Stretching himself to his full height, he glared down on her. ‘So help me, I’ll swing for the pair of you!’ He made a low guttural sound in the base of his throat, then he was gone: unwashed, unfed, back on to the streets and into the pub, where he could drown his terrible thoughts in a jug of ale.
Covered in the fine coal-dust that had fallen from his clothes, Rosie remained bent across the table, using it to hold her steady. ‘You’re the bastard!’ she said softly. Any affection she had felt for him had grown cold long since. To tell the truth, she wouldn’t care if she never saw him again.
Long after she had washed and changed and all the work was done, she was so churned up inside, she could hardly keep a limb still. Only when the child cooed on her lap and smiled up at her did she begin to melt, and love again. ‘I’ve still got you, ain’t I?’ she said, holding the child closer. She glanced up at the crumpled card on the table. ‘What shall I do with it?’ she mused aloud. ‘I ought to put it right back on the mantelpiece!’ Shaking her head, she gave an odd little smile. ‘Better not, eh?’ She had been darkly angry, then indignant, and now she was filled with a terrible fear. Fear for Adam, fear that once the two of them came face to face again, so many feelings would be unleashed. ‘It would be better if you stayed away, Adam,’ she whispered. ‘For all our sakes.’
Later, when the child was asleep in its pram, she took the card, held it close for the briefest moment when she could feel him near. Then, with a firm and final gesture, she threw it in the midden. ‘Sorry, Adam,’ she said with a wry little laugh. ‘The time for pretty things is long gone.’
During the following two days, Rosie remained inside the house, venturing out only to collect the milk from the doorstep; even then she made sure no one saw her. ‘Don’t want the world and its neighbour to know he’s been belting me,’ she said, glancing in the mirror at the dark bruise that coloured her eye and cheek bone. ‘Best keep myself to myself for a while.’
She reckoned without Peggy’s determination though. Twice she had been round to see her friend, and each time she had been sent away by Doug. ‘She’s not well,’ he told her. ‘She’s taken to her bed.’
Now, when the knock came on the door, Rosie wasn’t certain whether to answer it or stay quiet until whoever it was had gone away. She decided to remain quiet, holding her breath and hoping the child wouldn’t wake and start crying.
The sound of the letter box being opened almost turned her heart over. ‘Rosie!’ Peggy’s voice sailed down the passage. ‘I know you’re in there. Open this bloody door or I’ll scream blue murder up and down the street.’
Half laughing, half crying, Rosie ran down the passage and flung open the door. ‘It’s you!’ she said, ushering her friend in and closing the door before any nosy neighbour might look in.
‘’Course it’s me!’ Peggy replied, making her way before Rosie. ‘Who the sodding hell did you think it was?’ Once inside the parlour she turned to examine Rosie’s face. ‘I thought so!’ Her voice hardened with anger. ‘I had an idea you two had been fighting. By! He’s a worse coward than I imagined.’ Going into the scullery, she put the kettle on. Peering at Rosie through the doorway, she insisted, ‘Any man who’d do that to a woman ain’t worth spit!’
When she came back into the parlour, carrying two mugs of piping hot tea, she asked, ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but they do say a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’ Giving one of the mugs to Rosie, Peggy waited for her to sit down on the chair opposite. Through the scullery window she had seen the sheets and bedding hanging out on the line; the flagstoned floor had been scrubbed until it shone; the mats had been beaten and relaid in the parlour; even the fire-grate was blackleaded, and one glance told her that the child was washed and now fast asleep in its pram. ‘Good Lord, you must have been up at the crack of dawn,’ she remarked.
‘Four o’clock,’ Rosie informed her. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t slept properly these past two days.’ After all that had happened, she had been at sixes and sevens. ‘Doug wrote asking Adam to be godfather, and he’s accepted.’
Peggy’s face said it all. ‘So that’s what you’ve been fighting about?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘You may well ask. I’ve been round here twice and that bloody husband of yours has sent me away each time. I began to think the only way I’d find out what was going on was to take an hour off work, so here I am.’
‘Oh, Peggy! You’ll get the sack.’
She chuckled at that. ‘Give over. Didn’t you know they’ve got their eye on me as the next manager?’ The smile fell from her face. ‘You don’t want to tell me then?’
‘He saw the birthday card you gave me.’ She decided she might as well tell it all. ‘Then he saw the one Adam sent.’
Peggy looked surprised. ‘Adam sent you a birthday card?’
‘It was innocent enough… a simple card, with a simple message.’
‘But your old man didn’t see it that way, eh?’
Rosie had to laugh. ‘He went berserk.’
‘That were his lousy conscience, I expect. I don’t suppose you had a card from him, did you, eh?’ When Rosie shook her head, Peggy asked, ‘How did he come to see Adam’s card?’
‘I displayed it next to yours on the mantelpiece.’
Punching the air with her fist, Peggy said, ‘Good for you, gal!’
‘Now I’ve got this to show for it.’ Rosie pointed to the bruise on her face.
‘But you stood up to him, that’s all that matters.’
‘I sometimes wonder whether it’s worth it though.’ She smiled a sad smile. ‘Oh, Peggy, you should have seen Adam’s card. It was so pretty, with roses and everything.’
‘I suppose he tore it up, did he?’
‘No. It were me who tore it up.’ Seeing the look on Peggy’s face, she explained, ‘I had to, don’t you see? I made my mistake way back, and now there’s no point spending my days dreaming and wishing. What’s done is done, and that’s an end to it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Peggy saw how desperately unhappy Rosie was, and couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way out of it.
‘Oh, Peggy! Of course I’m sure. What’s to be gained by clinging to the past? Adam must have a life of his own now… I’m wed to Doug.’ She pointed to the pram. ‘There’s the lad to consider, and I’m nearly seven months with another. Ask yourself, what chance could there be for a woman like me on my own?’ When Peggy seemed lost for words, she went on in a softer tone, ‘If Adam were to knock on that door right now and ask me to come away with him… which I’m sure would never happen… I would still have to think twice. Doug Selby is a vindictive and possessive man. You can depend on one thing. He would fight for the children and leave no stone unturned to make my life a misery.’ She made an odd little sound that might have been a sob. ‘You can depend on something else too. His mother would be right behind him, spurring him on with her hatred.’
‘I suppose you’re right, gal,’ Peggy was loth to admit it, but she could see the awful truth in Rosie’s words. ‘But I swear if he hits you again…’
Rosie interrupted. ‘Don’t worry,’ she promised in a serious voice, ‘this is the last time he raises a bruise on me.’
‘By! You sound as though you might kill the bugger.’
‘Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.’
A strange silence fell over the little parlour while each young woman considered the implications of what had been said. ‘I’m surprised Adam agreed to be godfather,’ Peggy commented finally.
‘So am I.’
‘Are you glad?’
‘It means my son can be baptised at last.’
‘Oh? And you’re not pleased because you’ll see Adam again?’ Peggy teased with a knowing little smile.
Rosie returned her smile. ‘All right then, yes,’ she admitted. ‘But one look at me and he’ll thank his lucky stars he went when he did.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Peggy looked at her. Though Rosie’s face was bruised, she was still the loveliest creature on two legs. ‘The bruise will be cleared up in time.’
‘Maybe. But I wasn’t just talking about that.’ Stretching her arms out, she invited Peggy to take a closer look. ‘I’m big as a barge, my hair needs cutting, and there are bags under my eyes where the baby’s kept me awake night after night.’ It was a hot and humid July afternoon, and she felt completely drained of energy.
‘You’re too hard on yourself, gal!’ Peggy reprimanded. ‘Anyway, you’ve forgotten about my considerable talents. I haven’t been put on the cosmetics counter for no reason, you know.’
‘You’re not dyeing my hair again!’
‘Why not? The dye washed out, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, and so did handfuls of my hair.’
‘All right then, we’ll forget that.’
‘And anything else you’ve got in mind,’ Rosie said good-naturedly, ‘I’m past being a guinea-pig.’
The child woke then. ‘It was early when I fed him, so I expect he’s bawling for his titty.’ In a minute Rosie had collected him and was preparing to feed him.
Lately, Peggy’s career had overtaken her desire for husband and children. But now she watched how tenderly Rosie held the boy, and how lovingly she let him suck the milk from her. There was something uniquely special about the relationship that deeply moved her. Oh, she had seen her own mother feed the young ones, but with Rosie it always seemed different. Peggy wondered if it was because her friend was younger than her, yet here Rosie was with an infant son and another bairn due soon. There was no denying that she was not only beautiful in appearance but that she had a warm and giving soul. ‘You’re so lovely, Rosie,’ Peggy told her, ‘Adam will rue the day he let you go.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘That’s the trouble with you, my girl!’ Peggy’s hackles were up. ‘You’ve too low an opinion of yourself. You’ll see! I’ll have you looking like a million dollars on Sunday.’
Rosie laughed. ‘That’ll take some doing,’ she said, cuddling the boy on her lap. ‘I’m a wreck.’
As Peggy cast a gaze over her friend, she experienced a fleeting pang of envy. With her rich brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes and those classic features, Rosie was very special. And even though she had been through the mill with Doug and his hateful mother, her strength of mind had carried her above it all with a dignity that was impressive. ‘Trust me,’ she said now. ‘When Adam claps eyes on you, he’ll want you all over again.’
‘I’m not sure that would be a good thing.’
‘If it makes that bloody husband of yours value you more, then it will be a good thing.’ Peggy chuckled. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if on Sunday we don’t see the cat among the pigeons.’
‘I’ve been thinking that myself.’
And are you worried?’
Rosie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘I was. But now I’m really looking forward to it.’
The two friends laughed and talked, and the hours ticked away. When Peggy was gone, Rosie thought about the christening, and how she had told her friend she was looking forward to it. Now, though, in her solitude, she wondered what Sunday would really bring, and a feeling of mounting trepidation rose within her.