The Loom Part 9

The front door had become a symbol to Emma. A symbol of waiting! She must have opened it a hundred times on this day: January 19, 1918. She stuck her head out and looked up and down the street and for the umpteenth time gave a loud sigh. Where was he? He should have been home by now. As she turned to go back in, Annie Fitton, who was standing on her front step, called out.

'Is he not here then, Emma?'

'No, no I feel like I don't know whether I'm coming or going I've been that het up all morning. I just can't seem to settle to anything proper.'

'Now it's no good getting in a dither, Emma. He'll turn up sooner or later.'

Emma smoothed her ap.r.o.n and couldn't help another glance up the street. 'Aye, aye, you're right, Annie, but I wish he'd hurry up. Ee, I can't wait to see him again. It seems like years and I haven't had a minute's peace since he went away.'

'I know just how you feel, Emma. I've been through it all, as you well know. He's been lucky has your Darkie, he has that.' Annie started to get wound up in her sad reminiscences. 'Why don't you come over and have a cuppa. It'll take your mind off him.'

Emma shook her head. 'Thanks, Annie, but I'd better not. You never know. He could come when I'm in your place. Janey's still in bed and he might think no one's home.'

'Oh well have it your way.' Annie wished she could do something. Emma had been like a cat on hot bricks since she'd had word that Darkie was coming home on leave. 'I'll let you get back in then,' she said.

'Aye, I've still got a few odds and ends to do. You're coming over later, aren't you, Annie? We're just having a bit of a celebration like to welcome Darkie home. Shamus and Mara and the rest of the family are coming and me cousin, Johnny Braithwaite's over from Blackburn. There'll probably be a few others as well.'

Annie nodded, her fat face beaming enthusiastically. 'Oh, aye, I wouldn't miss it for anything. It'll be good to see Darkie again. He's a grand lad your Darkie. Do you want me to bring anything over for you?'

'No, no don't worry about a thing, Annie. I've been baking since six, on and off and I've enough to feed an army. It was a bit of a struggle but I'm not stinting on this day. We'll just make do for the rest of the week. Bread and dripping till pay day.'

'All right then, Emma.' Annie waved and went inside. Emma gave another last look. No, he still wasn't coming and she shouldn't be wasting her time keep rus.h.i.+ng to the door. He'd come in his own good time and worrying herself sick wasn't going to bring him any faster.

Darkie huddled further into his greatcoat and pulled the collar up as far as it would go. He'd sat in this position all the way from Manchester. The weather had turned icy and the railway carriage was as cold as a coffin. The wind whipped under the end door and through any c.h.i.n.k it could find and from the look of the leaden sky outside it would snow at any minute.

The two other soldiers in the carriage looked as frozen and miserable as Darkie. As the train huffed and puffed and rattled its way into the station they roused themselves, reaching up to the rack above to lift their kit bags, letting them fall to the floor with a loud thud.

Darkie looked out of the window as the station-master's hut slid past. 'Doesn't look like it's changed much,' he said with a grimace.

Peter Duxbury gave a snort. 'No, it doesn't. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, I can't wait to get home and get some sleep in a proper bed and without me feet being wet all the b.l.o.o.d.y time.'

Darkie stared at Peter's weary, gaunt face. Did he look as bad?

'Aye, if I know Mam, she'll have a good feed ready and a good fire,' he said. 'I can't wait to sink my teeth into one of her steak pies. And to think we couldn't wait to get away! Just goes to show what people b.l.o.o.d.y know, doesn't it?'

Bill Dixon remained seated. He was going on to c.l.i.theroe.

'Well, enjoy your leave, lads. I know I will. I feel like sleeping for a week. I wish we had longer. It'll go like a flash and we'll feel like we've not been back.'

'Shut up, will you, you b.l.o.o.d.y wet blanket.' Darkie aimed a mock punch at him, which Bill pretended to dodge. 'That's all we need.'

The train drew to a stop and Darkie and Peter jumped off. 'We'll see you on the way back then, Bill. Don't go getting into trouble now, will you?'

Bill grinned and made a rude sign. They stood on the platform until the train departed, watching until Bill's face disappeared from sight. Darkie looked along the cold wet platform and stamped his feet. 'I'll be on me way then, Peter.'

Peter nodded. 'Aye, all right then. It looks like it's going to pour down or snow and me feet are b.l.o.o.d.y frozen.'

They split up as they walked out of the station. The place was deserted. Darkie was glad. He felt dead from his brain to his feet and couldn't have spoken to any one if he'd tried. 'I'll see you at the Wellington tomorrow,' Darkie called after Peter.

Peter turned back. 'Aye, all right, there's nowt much else to do here.'

The two soldiers went their separate ways, back to the life before the war, but which to them was now as unreal as war had been to them before it began.

The small living room was packed. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, or laughing out loud, great gusts of noisy merriment interrupting the hum of conversation.

The party was in full swing, all determined to enjoy Emma's welcome home party for Darkie.

Shamus was already swaying, his arm around Mara's ample waist like an anchor. Annie Fitton stood next to them, her round face red and puffed up with the heat and excitement, her toothless smile stretched from ear to ear. Next to Annie was Uncle d.i.c.kie. You could die of boredom with Uncle d.i.c.kie. The extent of his conversation was either ay um or ay ei in between puffs on his pipe. Annie's deafness saved her from what Leah described as a fate worse than death. 'I wanted to hit him with a frying pan the last time he came over.'

Friends and neighbours had been popping in all day, so Emma had been busy and she'd hardly got to say a word to Darkie. The room was almost suffocating with all the people and the roaring fire blazing up the chimney. Emma sat in her old chair and watched the festivities. Her eyes strayed frequently to the tall figure of Darkie, who was talking to Paddy in the corner, squashed next to her cousin and Uncle d.i.c.kie.

She had been shocked at the change in her son: that pasty white face, so thin his eyes seemed to stick out of it as though they were on stalks. She'd have to feed him up before he went back. She blinked to hide the tears when she thought of this. She should be laughing not crying now he was home, but it was as though sadness and happiness lay so close in her she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Darkie stood in the corner and made small talk to Paddy. He knew Paddy was dying to talk about the war, but he couldn't. He felt strange, disorientated when he saw his mother. His emotions had run the whole gamut. She'd changed, seemed to have shrunk, too. Had she always been so small? And those lines, he was sure they'd not been there before he went away. He had felt like crying but hadn't. Harwood men didn't cry!

He was trying to act normal, but it was hard. He'd arrived home to an emotional welcome from his Mother, this in itself unusual from the normally reticent Emma. He hadn't known how to behave; one minute he wanting to laugh like a madman, the next, to put his head down and cry like a baby. His nerves were shot to pieces! Any sound and he almost jumped out of his skin. Perversely the peace and quiet seemed to accentuate his tension.

His gaze roved the room, now full of people, and felt strangely detached from them all. To him the real world was no longer Harwood! It was the whine of bullets, detonating sh.e.l.ls, the stench of death and above it all the mud. The stinking, cloying, sucking mud and even in his sleep he couldn't escape, for it was ravaged by the same nightmare quality as his waking hours.

'Come on Johnny, give us a dance,' Shamus called. More voices joined in the demand. Johnny was known as the best clog dancer in two counties and Emma had seen him take a flying leap onto his mother's wood table at one of their parties and clog dance on that.

'Where's Ben with his fiddle?' Ben was pushed forward, the clippy mat rolled back and every one moved to the side.

Johnny, (Emma's cousin) was a small, dapper man in his mid thirties. He removed his coat with a flourish.

'Ready Ben,' he said and Ben nodded and Johnny was off, his clogs clacking on the floor to the rhythm and people singing and clapping to the music.

Darkie stood and watched. He noticed that Paddy had taken this opportunity to stare at Leah with something akin to rapture. He's got it bad, he thought, poor sod. It made him think of Kitty. He hadn't thought of Kitty for some time. The war had done that, at least.

Darkie had been surprised at the change in Leah. She was now almost sixteen. A bonny sixteen! That had not surprised him so much as her self-a.s.surance. And that voice; as though she'd been brought up in Buckingham Palace. He noticed some people didn't like it, but then again, Harwood people didn't like change. They were shocked if you wore a different jacket. He'd changed, too. At one time he would have felt like all the rest. That's what being away from home had done for him. He wasn't sure it was a good thing. It had all seemed easier before.

Leah watched Johnny with enjoyment. She loved to watch him. He was a character, too she thought affectionately. Most people liked Johnny because he was like her mother: he could make people laugh at nothing. She puzzled about Johnny. He lived with his widowed mother in Blackburn and sometimes she'd visit him with Mam. Most times when they saw him he was dressed like a woman. No-one seemed to think this at all strange, so she'd come to accept it, too. She'd even heard her mother compliment him on some of the dresses he wore, which Johnny acknowledged graciously as though it was the most natural thing in the world. When she'd questioned her mother Emma been a bit vague with her reply.

'Ee, I don't know why he likes to wear dresses, love. He just does. It's like dressing up, I suppose. Even when we were little, he always wanted the frocks. But you know that old saying 'there's nowt queerer than folk'.'

The room seemed to be full of watchers: Emma watching Darkie; Paddy watching Leah and Janey watched Paddy, with mounting annoyance! Why couldn't he look at her like that, she thought, as Paddy continued to stare at Leah? He was lovely was Paddy O'Shea and she'd set her cap for him as soon as Leah had gone. It hadn't made any difference though, because he was smitten with their Leah. And she's still as thin as a lathe, Janey thought angrily. You'd think he'd want someone with curves, like me. Janey had a lush figure, which she was proud of. Men stared at Janey, all of them except Paddy. And all the women stared at Paddy! No wonder, she thought he's a smasher. Paddy was black Irish with startling blue eyes and black curly hair. He was tall, although not as tall as their Darkie, but more handsome Janey thought. What did he see in Leah?

Janey fixed her gaze on Paddy, trying to will him to look at her. He refused to be drawn. Leah's indifference only seemed to increase his ardour. The clog dance had finished and now there were calls to Paddy.

'Come on Paddy lad, give us a song.' Paddy took his gaze off Leah. 'Nay, nay,' he said.

'Go on, Paddy,' Leah said. 'I love to hear you sing.' Paddy looked uncomfortable. It was one thing to sing in church in the choir, quite another on his own in front of all these people.

'Go on, love,' his mother said. 'Don't be shy.'

He looked at Leah in her blue wool dress. He'd been daydreaming about her again. Of her flinging her arms around him and kissing him. Now he felt daft. He wasn't easy with her either since she'd begun to talk so posh. It was that sn.o.bby Miss Fenton's fault!

He blushed as Leah smiled at him encouragingly.

'Oh, all right.' He walked self-consciously to the middle of the room.

'Sweet Sixteen, Ben?' he said.

'Right, lad.'

Leah watched Paddy, her blue eyes enhanced by the blue dress. The room fell silent as the strains of the lilting Irish ballad filled the room. Paddy's voice soared effortlessly. The sad, sweet notes and the nostalgia of the occasion soon had people in tears. Emma snuffled into a piece of calico thinking of Darkie going back and watched Paddy as he stood in youthful glory, his earlier self-consciousness forgotten. Singing did that to him. It transported him somewhere else. Somewhere wonderful!

His gaze was on Leah, his blue eyes piercing. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that. She liked Paddy, but not that way. Her gaze fell under his and she twisted her fingers curled on her lap. She wished he'd stop. Everyone was looking!

Darkie heaved a sigh of relief as he closed the door on the noisy household. The party was still going strong and he'd stood with a forced smile for so long he thought his face would crack.

It had been b.l.o.o.d.y hard work in there, trying to look happy. He was happy to be back, but smiling was something he hadn't done in a long time. What he'd been through in the last few months seemed to have completely shattered his sense of humour. And there was no one who'd liked a good laugh more than he did. No one! Yet, in that room full of laughing people, it had been murder, b.l.o.o.d.y murder!

He walked on up the street, a hunched solitary figure. A few snowflakes drifted onto his shoulders and he pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. It was freezing and he was a numbskull to have left that warm house.

A shout caused him to stop and look back.

'Hold on there, Darkie.' He recognized Paddy's voice.

'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here, Paddy? It's freezing.'

'I could say the same for you,' Paddy said, s.h.i.+vering, 'just thought you might need some company.'

Darkie nodded. He couldn't very well say he'd rather be on his own. 'Aye, thanks. Come on then if you're coming or we'll freeze to death.'

'Why didn't you stay,' Paddy asked as they hurried up the street.

'I just felt a bit smothered in there,' Darkie said.

'Thought I'd go and have a pint on me own.'

'Aye,' Paddy said, his teeth chattering with cold. 'They are a bit overpowering aren't they? You're all right now, though, aren't you?'

'Aye, I'm all right. But it takes a bit of getting used to being back here in Harwood.'

'I'll bet you could tell a few stories that would make me hair curl.'

'Aye, I could that, but I'd rather forget 'em.'

Paddy nodded. He'd been shocked at the change in Darkie. Darkie had always been taller, but big with it. Now he felt as though Darkie towered over him because he was so thin. Like a bean-pole! Darkie's face seemed to have shrunk and his black eyes looked enormous in his white face.

'I'm not getting in your way, am I?' Paddy said.

'No, no. We'll go to the Wellington. Me Dad might be there and I can have a word with him. But don't let on to Mam, will you. She doesn't like me seeing him.'

'Don't worry. I'll keep me gob shut.'

'I could give him a good hiding I could that, big as he is.' Emma looked in exasperation at Darkie, who had been brought home much to her embarra.s.sment, by Harry Huxtable, the local constable.

'Just look at you,' and she gave Darkie a shove into the back room, 'sozzled up to your eyeb.a.l.l.s again.'

She turned to Harry. 'I'm sorry he's giving you trouble, Harry. I don't know what's come over him.'

'Don't tha worry, Emma; he's still only a lad and he's letting off steam and you can't blame him after what he's been through. I'm sorry we had to lock 'em up last night, but Jack at the pub had had enough. They were carrying on a bit and people were getting fed up, especially when they kept thinking the back of the bar was the petty. There wasn't half a to do as you can imagine. They were like the b.l.o.o.d.y Co-op hosses, so Jack said; nearly flooded him out.' Harry laughed. He was a good sort, but Emma was embarra.s.sed again.

'I don't know what things are coming to, I don't. I know they've had a time of it, but there's no need to carry on like that.'

This was the second time it had happened, Darkie getting drunk and he knew she couldn't abide drunken men. That was one of the reasons she'd left Harold. Darkie knew that and he was still putting her through it all again. She wasn't going to stand for it, war or no war. Darkie was standing in the doorway of the back room, swaying and hanging onto the doorframe.

'Go on you daft happorth.' She gave him another push. 'You smell like you need a good possing.'

'I'm sorry, Mam,' Darkie said, his words slurring.

'Sorry's not good enough.' Emma turned back to Harry. 'I'm sorry he's put you to so much trouble, Harry, but I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again.'

'That's all right Emma. As I said they were just letting off steam.'

'Aye, well, there'd better not be any more steam or he might just get scalded with it.'

She went back into the house. Darkie was staggering around in the back room, b.u.mping into things.

'Get on up to bed,' she said sharply. Men, they were all the same!

The band struck up a rousing tune, appropriately 'pack up your troubles in your old kit bag' and the seven young men, spruce in their uniforms began to march.

The Salvation Army Band made its way from the Town Square and down Queen Street to the railway station, the soldiers striding along behind. People lined the street to see them off.

'Take good care of yourselves, lads.'

'Aye, good luck and give the Huns one from us.'

'Aye, make sure you don't get sozzled before you do, though.'

The band thumped and trumpeted in front, a seemly escort to Darkie, and company.

Emma stood listening to the comments. She didn't care now what he'd done, just as long as he came back safe and sound. She gazed after the procession, Darkie towering above the other soldiers, his shoulders wide and strong as he swung his arms. He turned round once for a final wave. She raised her hand and then put it to her mouth to stifle a sob.

She'd been so relieved when he came back, but the change in him had worried her. He didn't seem like her Darkie anymore! Now he was a man, withdrawn, haggard, with a core deep in him she couldn't reach. He had tried to drown whatever was bothering him in drink.

That was all he and his friends had done since they came back. Drink! For the two full weeks of leave he'd been on the booze. Then he'd refused to go back to his regiment. She'd been floored when he told her.

'But you have to go back, Darkie lad,' she'd said. 'Although G.o.d knows I don't want you to.'

'I'm not b.l.o.o.d.y going back to that h.e.l.l hole,' he said.

Nothing any one had said had been able to persuade him. Then a few others had got the same idea, so the Redcaps had come to make them. But Darkie had the gift of the gab like his Dad and the Redcaps had ended on the booze as well.