she’d said to the chauffeur, ‘I need the air.’ And what a shock she had got too. That horrible street with the unmade road, and the doors opening straight on to the filthy pavement. She had lifted her skirt to keep it out of the muck and a couple of men had leered at her and the women in the doorways laughed and jeered as she turned and fled back to the safety of Linthorpe Road. Did Matthew go there or somewhere like it? Certainly he didn’t enter her bedroom, not since she had told him about the baby and for that she was thankful.
Yet men had appetites, she knew that, she had been married before hadn’t she? Her darling Rob. The familiar stab of pain and loss shot through her. She sighed. She had to think of other things now, brighter things, happy; she had the new baby to think of. But this hadn’t been a happy pregnancy, oh no.
‘They aren’t all the same,’ her mama had said to her when she whispered her misgivings about it to her. ‘You just have to endure it, that’s all, Mary Anne. Think of happy things.’
The trouble was she couldn’t always think of anything happy. Oh, how could she say that when she had these two lovely children? she reproached herself. Maisie was at her knee now, holding out the new china doll she had received from Father Christmas. Her eyes were lit with wonderment, she touched the porcelain cheeks delicately with her fingers; patted the nut-brown curls peeping out from under the straw bonnet.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Mama?’
Mary Anne agreed the doll was indeed absolutely lovely. So it should be, it had been the finest in the catalogue she had sent for from Harrods and had cost a fortune …
‘The girl’s too big for dolls,’ Matthew had said when she gave him the list of things she wanted ordering. ‘You mark my words, some lad will see her playing with dolls and try to give her a real baby.’
‘Matthew!’ Mary Anne had gasped and he laughed coarsely. Why was he like that sometimes? Most of the time he was a perfect gentleman. But he hadn’t quibbled at the price, he never did, she allowed him that. He had argued as to why she hadn’t gone into Middlesbrough to shop.
‘You’ll get just as good quality in Middlesbrough as in London,’ he had grumbled. But Mary Anne didn’t go into Middlesbrough any more, not since that upsetting day when – no, she was not to think of that.
She put a hand on her back and rubbed it gently. The ache was getting stronger. Where was Matthew? He had promised to be back in time for tea with the children. This was Christmas Day after all. Was he at the works or was he in one of those unspeakable streets, in one of those hovels with one of those women? Sometimes when he came in there was a strange smell about him, sweet, cloying, an animal smell.
Mary Anne got to her feet and went over to the bell rope hanging on the opposite side of the fireplace. She would ring for Daisy to bring in the tea; her throat was dry and parched from the fire. Never mind that Matthew wasn’t in. The children were probably happier in his absence anyway.
Matthew was, in fact, at the ironworks. He was looking at a giant overhead crane which, when working, lifted and slung the steel ingots to their allotted positions.
It was old, no doubt about it – 1901 this shed had been built and the crane too probably. If it hadn’t been for the depression it would have been replaced years ago. It broke down regularly, no matter how much the mechanics tried to patch it up. Now that fresh orders had been secured at last it would have to be replaced. It might mean laying some of the men off for a while when the new one was being installed but they would no doubt welcome that. Welcome the chance to have a booze-up over the New Year.
Beside him, Jackson, the manager stood quietly, resentful that he had been dragged from his Christmas lunch for this. What was so urgent about it anyway? The boss was a bloody workaholic, that was what he was. Tomorrow would
Yet men had appetites, she knew that, she had been married before hadn’t she? Her darling Rob. The familiar stab of pain and loss shot through her. She sighed. She had to think of other things now, brighter things, happy; she had the new baby to think of. But this hadn’t been a happy pregnancy, oh no.
‘They aren’t all the same,’ her mama had said to her when she whispered her misgivings about it to her. ‘You just have to endure it, that’s all, Mary Anne. Think of happy things.’
The trouble was she couldn’t always think of anything happy. Oh, how could she say that when she had these two lovely children? she reproached herself. Maisie was at her knee now, holding out the new china doll she had received from Father Christmas. Her eyes were lit with wonderment, she touched the porcelain cheeks delicately with her fingers; patted the nut-brown curls peeping out from under the straw bonnet.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Mama?’
Mary Anne agreed the doll was indeed absolutely lovely. So it should be, it had been the finest in the catalogue she had sent for from Harrods and had cost a fortune …
‘The girl’s too big for dolls,’ Matthew had said when she gave him the list of things she wanted ordering. ‘You mark my words, some lad will see her playing with dolls and try to give her a real baby.’
‘Matthew!’ Mary Anne had gasped and he laughed coarsely. Why was he like that sometimes? Most of the time he was a perfect gentleman. But he hadn’t quibbled at the price, he never did, she allowed him that. He had argued as to why she hadn’t gone into Middlesbrough to shop.
‘You’ll get just as good quality in Middlesbrough as in London,’ he had grumbled. But Mary Anne didn’t go into Middlesbrough any more, not since that upsetting day when – no, she was not to think of that.
She put a hand on her back and rubbed it gently. The ache was getting stronger. Where was Matthew? He had promised to be back in time for tea with the children. This was Christmas Day after all. Was he at the works or was he in one of those unspeakable streets, in one of those hovels with one of those women? Sometimes when he came in there was a strange smell about him, sweet, cloying, an animal smell.
Mary Anne got to her feet and went over to the bell rope hanging on the opposite side of the fireplace. She would ring for Daisy to bring in the tea; her throat was dry and parched from the fire. Never mind that Matthew wasn’t in. The children were probably happier in his absence anyway.
Matthew was, in fact, at the ironworks. He was looking at a giant overhead crane which, when working, lifted and slung the steel ingots to their allotted positions.
It was old, no doubt about it – 1901 this shed had been built and the crane too probably. If it hadn’t been for the depression it would have been replaced years ago. It broke down regularly, no matter how much the mechanics tried to patch it up. Now that fresh orders had been secured at last it would have to be replaced. It might mean laying some of the men off for a while when the new one was being installed but they would no doubt welcome that. Welcome the chance to have a booze-up over the New Year.
Beside him, Jackson, the manager stood quietly, resentful that he had been dragged from his Christmas lunch for this. What was so urgent about it anyway? The boss was a bloody workaholic, that was what he was. Tomorrow would
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