‘Where’s my ma?’ Ted went towards Fowler. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Mind your own ruddy business,’ Fowler grunted. ‘Get out o’ my way, you recklin’. I need my bed. I’m just about all in.’
Ted put his fist towards Fowler. ‘It is my business. Tell me where she is. Have you left her somewhere? Is she sick?’
Fowler sneered. ‘She’s sick all right, and so will you be if you don’t shift out o’ my road.’
‘I’m not moving till you’ve told me where they are.’ Ted drew himself up. He was the same height as Fowler, prepared to fight him if necessary. ‘Where’ve you been? Patrington?’
Fowler’s lip curled. ‘Further than that, and they’re not anywhere that you’ll find ’em.’ Maliciously he stared at the boy. ‘And you can pack your things and clear off. You needn’t think you’re stopping here wi’ me cos you’re not.’
Ted felt sick and angry. What had Fowler done? His mother wouldn’t have just gone off without telling him. He grabbed hold of Fowler’s coat and felt the wetness of it. ‘You’ll tell me where she is first or I’ll drop you ower ’side of ’cliff.’
‘You and who else?’ Fowler jeered, pushing him away. ‘You’ve nowt on you, you little ratbag.’
Ted tightened his grip, almost lifting Fowler off his feet. Though he was thin, he was stronger than Fowler, and had large hands and feet. Fowler was flabby and indolent and only ever moved slowly. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, pulling him towards him. ‘Tide’s in – you’d get a soaking.’
Fowler wrenched himself away. ‘They’ve stopped in Hull if you must know. Your ma said she wasn’t coming back. Fed up wi’ ’country, she said, and wanted to stop in town.’
‘I don’t believe you. Ma’s a countrywoman! Never been in town in her life. You’ve left her there, haven’t you?’ Ted shouted. ‘Left ’em both on their own! How will they get back? Where’s ’cart? Hoss came back on his own. Summat’s gone on that you’re not telling me.’
‘Axle broke.’ Fowler shrugged. ‘I had to push ’cart under a hedge. Damned hoss cantered off. I’ve walked from God knows where. Miles I’ve walked; now get out o’ my way!’
‘And that’s where you left Ma and Daisy? In ’middle o’ nowhere?’
Fowler grinned. ‘I just telled you. She’s stopped in Hull. Last time I saw her was in ’Market Place.’
‘But – but she’s—’ Ted didn’t like to mention his mother’s condition. He knew, of course; but it wasn’t something to be talked about, and certainly not to Fowler. The very idea of his mother and him together made him want to vomit.
‘In ’pudding club! Aye, I know that, don’t I? And that’s why I wanted rid of her; aye, and that sister o’ yourn as well. Now I’m shut o’ them both.’
Ted threw himself at Fowler, knocking him to the ground. ‘You’ve killed ’em,’ he yelled. ‘You’re a murderer!’
Fowler levered himself up, thrusting Ted away. ‘Daft young beggar! Course I haven’t killed ’em! I’ve sold her. Told ’chap what bought her he could have your lass as well for ’same price.’
Ted rocked back on to his heels. ‘You never! I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t do owt like that.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Fowler got to his hands and knees. ‘It’s not against ’law; anybody’ll tell you that, and I’m sick to death of having somebody telling me what to do in me own house. I like being on me own.’ He looked up at Ted. ‘So like I just said, you can clear off; pack your things, such as you’ve got, and go. Go on! Beat it!’
Ted saw red. His mother sold! That couldn’t be right. It had to be against the law. She wouldn’t have gone willingly, that was for certain, and she wouldn’t have left him. He grabbed Fowler by his jacket, pulling at him and shaking him violently. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he shouted.
Fowler tussled with him as he rose, throwing wild punches to Ted’s face and swearing. ‘You haven’t got ’strength,’ he rasped, kicking out with his boot, catching Ted on his shin and making him wince. ‘Mammy’s little milksop. Think you can fight, do you?’ He lashed out, a glancing blow which struck the side of Ted’s cheek. ‘I’ll show you how to fight.’
Furious, Ted threw himself at Fowler, catching him off balance. They both fell heavily, and Ted, on top of the older man, rained blows on his head until Fowler called out, ‘All right! All right!’
They drew apart and Ted, breathing heavily, stared at his opponent. In those few seconds he was unprepared for Fowler’s fist as it landed under his chin. He drew in a sharp breath as he reeled and Fowler, with an unexpected spurt of energy, sprang to his feet and launched a boot at his ribs. ‘That’ll larn you to mess wi’ me, tha young varmint.’ He stood over Ted as he lay curled up, winded. ‘Now clear off and don’t come back.’
Ted started to rise, saw Fowler’s boot poised to kick again and caught it, bringing the older man crashing down. They rolled over and over on the muddy ground, slithering and sliding, punching and kicking, but Fowler was tiring and Ted felt that the blows aimed at him were lessening. He pulled back his fist to aim another blow, but Fowler saw it coming and rolled over, trying to get to his feet. ‘Young whelp,’ he snarled. ‘Get off into Hull and find your ma and tell her how you tried to fight, but hadn’t got ’marra.’
Ted jumped to his feet and grabbed Fowler. ‘Haven’t got ’marra? Haven’t got ’marra? I’ll show you what I’ve got, you clodhopping lumpkin.’ He shook Fowler and they shouted abuse at each other, pushing, shoving, aiming blows, and skidding on the wet and muddy cliff top.
Ted’s cold hands grasped Fowler’s jacket; it was soaked with rain and mud and he could barely keep a grip. He had pulled back a fist to aim another blow when his feet skidded from beneath him. Fowler started to laugh derisively but his laugh turned to a startled shout as Ted’s feet became entangled with his and he too began to fall. They had rolled about on the quaggy ground oblivious of how close they were to the cliff edge. Fowler’s arms began to flail as he fought to get a grip with his feet.
It was almost like slow motion, Ted thought, as, flat on his stomach, he gazed over the brink. One minute Fowler was there and the next he was falling backwards, first have that midwife his head, shoulders and body and then his legs and feet disappearing over the edge.
‘He’s done for,’ Ted muttered. ‘It’s not my fault. I couldn’t have hauled him back.’ He thought guiltily that even if he had been able to, he didn’t know if he would have stretched out a hand to Fowler. ‘I can’t see him. He’s gone straight into ’sea.’
The sea below him roared and lashed, foamy crests of wild water crashing against the cliff. He felt the sting of sharp sand as the spume spattered against his face. I hope nobody thinks I knocked him over. I know I said I’d kill him and throw him over, but I didn’t really mean it, and anyway, it might have been me gone down instead of him. He wouldn’t have helped me back either. Pushed me, more like. He glanced round nervously. Still, it’s a good job there’s nobody about to see us fighting or they might think I’d done it on purpose.
The waves were battering all along the cliffs as far as he could see. There was no shore at all; the sand was completely covered by deep water. ‘What’ll I do?’ he muttered. ‘If I go into ’village for help, by ’time I get back wi’ somebody it’ll be too late. And what if they start questioning me; what if they ask me what he was doing standing right on ’edge? What’d I tell ’em then?’
He got to his feet and the enormity of the situation made him shake. He put his hand to his mouth. Is it my fault? No, it’s his. He shouldn’t have said he’d sold my ma. No decent man would have done that. I didn’t want to kill him, not really. If he’d just tummelled over accidental like, I wouldn’t have been that bothered. I didn’t like him. Hated him even. But still!
He stood dithering with uncertainty. I wish Ma was here. I don’t know what to do. He looked again over the edge but could see nothing but battering waves; the sky was darkening and a huge rain cloud was hanging threateningly overhead.
‘Nobody’ll ever find him now anyway.’ He bit into his lip. ‘Even if they put a boat out. He’ll be washed up further down ’coast. Mebbe at Kilnsea or Spurn and nobody’ll know him down there.’
He made a sudden decision and with one last look over his shoulder he ran towards the cottage. He took a blanket from the bed and wrapped a clean flannel shirt, his other pair of trousers and a pair of socks into it and rolled them up into a knotted bundle, and he went outside to the wood pile and found a stout stick and threaded it through the knot. He stopped and considered. What to do about the hens and goats, and the cow which was over in John Ward’s meadow? Nowt’s ever straightforward, he pondered. I can’t just leave them.
He nibbled on his fingers as he cogitated. But I can’t take them with me either. I’ll take ’hoss and ride him into Hull. He sighed and put down the bundle and went into his precious vegetable plot. He’d only just started planting seeds and beans so he reckoned that not much would be wasted. He scurried across to the henhouse and began to unravel the chicken wire which surrounded it. The hens rushed squawking on to the fresh piece of earth and began scratching about. He went inside the henhouse and came out with two eggs; one he cracked and swallowed raw and the other he put into his coat pocket. He unfastened the goats from their tether and let them free. That just left the cow, and he was sorry to leave her; they hadn’t had her long, having swapped her for the old one, a clutch of eggs and a basket of vegetables. He knew that she would let John Ward know that she needed milking the next morning. He had often found her standing near the fence next to Ward’s yard and he was certain that the farmer would milk her when no one else came to do it.
Back inside the house he beat up the other egg into a cup of milk and drank that, then picked up his bundle of clothes. ‘Nowt else to take,’ he murmured. ‘And I’d best be off now rather than wait till morning. Nobody’ll see me now that it’s nearly dark.’
His eye caught Fowler’s rubber coat hanging behind the door. Fowler hadn’t thought fit to take it when he set off on the journey to Hull, and Ted recalled how wet his jacket was. I’ll take that. It’s no good to him where he is, he told himself, and he gave a shudder at the thought of his stepfather’s body being washed down the coast. He put on the coat and was glad of it when he stepped outside, for the cloud had opened up and heavy rain was pelting down.
He closed the door behind him and went to the shelter, fetching out the agitated, nervous horse, tacking him up with an old and worn saddle, and placing the blanket across his neck. He put his foot in the stirrup and jumped on his back, setting his bundle in front of him. ‘Cheerio, Seathorne,’ he muttered as he wheeled round towards the track. ‘Shan’t be seeing you again. Not if I can help it, anyway.’
As he rode off he heard a crashing, reverberating thud and lifted his head thinking it was thunder; then it came again, a slithering, rumbling sound, like muffled drums. He glanced over his shoulder and his mouth dropped open. The cottage door, which he had closed, was swinging wide, banging against the frame. The ground in front of the cottage where a moment ago he had been standing had fallen away, leaving nothing beneath it but broken cliffs and foaming turbulent water.