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Authors: Rita Bradshaw
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the salt water hasn’t done for him you certainly will,’ Molly commented as they watched the pummelling. The older woman lifted her head to give what was obviously going to be a tart retort, but just then the man’s body went into a quivering spasm and he vomited water again and again.
Enid had been busy rubbing life into Daisy’s frozen limbs before wrapping her in a blanket one of the other women had had the presence of mind to fetch. Now Daisy crawled over to the man as the retching ceased and his limbs gradually went limp again.
He was young, much younger than she had expected, probably Tom’s age or thereabouts, and his clothes weren’t those of a working man. Daisy gazed down at the waxen face as two of the women carefully turned the young man on to his back. There was an egg-sized lump on his forehead, and the right sleeve of his fine cloth coat was ripped, revealing a jagged gash on his forearm which, however, was not bleeding and did not appear to be deep.
All this Daisy gave only a passing glance to, her gaze caught and held by the almost beautiful face in front of her. The straight nose, the high chiselled cheekbones and firm but not over-large mouth reminded her of someone or something. And then she remembered. Miss Wright, the old school-marm in the village school at Whitburn, had been quite an artistic soul, and had brought in a book of paintings one day for them to look at as a reward for being well behaved. There had been one picture which had captivated Daisy, and Miss Wright had told her it was a photograph of a famous sculpture by an Italian gentleman named Michelangelo. The sculpture was called David.
‘He . . . he’s not movin’, Mrs McCabe.’
Daisy appealed to the buxom fisherwoman who had ministered so roughly to the young man, and Ethel McCabe pursed her lips before saying, ‘He’s taken a fair crack on the head, lass. Look at the size of that bump. What with that an’ the salt water he’s lucky to be breathin’, but it remains to be seen how he’ll do.’
Daisy pulled the enveloping blanket more closely round her, then forgot all about how cold she felt when the man’s long eyelashes flickered and his heavy lids rose. Piercingly blue eyes, the bluest she had ever seen, looked into hers, and she made a little inarticulate sound at the back of her throat as something leapt within her. She inhaled jerkily, knowing she ought to say something to reassure the young man he was safe, but the words wouldn’t come.
Daisy was never very sure afterwards how long they stared at each other - it could have been just for a second or two or much longer - then his eyes closed again and the stillness which had descended on her mind and body was broken.
She shivered, swaying slightly as her body reminded her of its recent ordeal, and when Enid said briskly, ‘Come on, lass, come on. It’s a hot mustard bath you’re needin’ an’ somethin’ inside you a mite stronger than my blackcurrant wine,’ Daisy did not argue. In fact she suddenly felt too exhausted to say a word.
She allowed Alf’s mother to help her to her feet and support her as the whole group trudged up the beach towards the cottages. Molly and Lorna along with Jenny and Maggie were carrying the young man between them, he appeared to be unconscious once more, and it was only when Mrs McCabe suggested the patient be taken to her house that Daisy found her voice again. ‘Thank you, Mrs McCabe, but me an’ Mrs Hardy’ll see to him in my house. You’ve got the bairns to see to, an’ likely he’ll do better if he’s kept quiet,’ she added tactfully when it looked as though the older woman was going to object.
‘Is that all right?’ she belatedly asked Enid in an undertone. ‘Could you stay for a while?’
‘ ’Course, lass. There’s nowt at home that won’t wait an hour or two with Alf bein’ away.’
Daisy nodded, her thoughts immediately flying to her da and the
Enid had been busy rubbing life into Daisy’s frozen limbs before wrapping her in a blanket one of the other women had had the presence of mind to fetch. Now Daisy crawled over to the man as the retching ceased and his limbs gradually went limp again.
He was young, much younger than she had expected, probably Tom’s age or thereabouts, and his clothes weren’t those of a working man. Daisy gazed down at the waxen face as two of the women carefully turned the young man on to his back. There was an egg-sized lump on his forehead, and the right sleeve of his fine cloth coat was ripped, revealing a jagged gash on his forearm which, however, was not bleeding and did not appear to be deep.
All this Daisy gave only a passing glance to, her gaze caught and held by the almost beautiful face in front of her. The straight nose, the high chiselled cheekbones and firm but not over-large mouth reminded her of someone or something. And then she remembered. Miss Wright, the old school-marm in the village school at Whitburn, had been quite an artistic soul, and had brought in a book of paintings one day for them to look at as a reward for being well behaved. There had been one picture which had captivated Daisy, and Miss Wright had told her it was a photograph of a famous sculpture by an Italian gentleman named Michelangelo. The sculpture was called David.
‘He . . . he’s not movin’, Mrs McCabe.’
Daisy appealed to the buxom fisherwoman who had ministered so roughly to the young man, and Ethel McCabe pursed her lips before saying, ‘He’s taken a fair crack on the head, lass. Look at the size of that bump. What with that an’ the salt water he’s lucky to be breathin’, but it remains to be seen how he’ll do.’
Daisy pulled the enveloping blanket more closely round her, then forgot all about how cold she felt when the man’s long eyelashes flickered and his heavy lids rose. Piercingly blue eyes, the bluest she had ever seen, looked into hers, and she made a little inarticulate sound at the back of her throat as something leapt within her. She inhaled jerkily, knowing she ought to say something to reassure the young man he was safe, but the words wouldn’t come.
Daisy was never very sure afterwards how long they stared at each other - it could have been just for a second or two or much longer - then his eyes closed again and the stillness which had descended on her mind and body was broken.
She shivered, swaying slightly as her body reminded her of its recent ordeal, and when Enid said briskly, ‘Come on, lass, come on. It’s a hot mustard bath you’re needin’ an’ somethin’ inside you a mite stronger than my blackcurrant wine,’ Daisy did not argue. In fact she suddenly felt too exhausted to say a word.
She allowed Alf’s mother to help her to her feet and support her as the whole group trudged up the beach towards the cottages. Molly and Lorna along with Jenny and Maggie were carrying the young man between them, he appeared to be unconscious once more, and it was only when Mrs McCabe suggested the patient be taken to her house that Daisy found her voice again. ‘Thank you, Mrs McCabe, but me an’ Mrs Hardy’ll see to him in my house. You’ve got the bairns to see to, an’ likely he’ll do better if he’s kept quiet,’ she added tactfully when it looked as though the older woman was going to object.
‘Is that all right?’ she belatedly asked Enid in an undertone. ‘Could you stay for a while?’
‘ ’Course, lass. There’s nowt at home that won’t wait an hour or two with Alf bein’ away.’
Daisy nodded, her thoughts immediately flying to her da and the
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