Read Online The River Folk by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online

to the wall and, from where Bessie was standing near the door, Elsie Clark did not appear to be breathing, although in the light from the dirty window Bessie could not see clearly. She tiptoed across the room, went around the end of the bed to bend over the woman, whose head was buried beneath the thin blanket. Gently, she touched her shoulder. ‘Elsie?’
    To Bessie’s great relief the form stirred and a muffled voice said, ‘Go away. I’ve got flu or summat. You don’t want to catch it.’
    Bessie laughed aloud in relief. ‘A bit of the sniffles doesn’t bother me. I haven’t had a day’s illness in me life. Not that I can remember, anyway. Great strapping lass like me,’ she joked. ‘Come on now, sit up and I’ll make you a cuppa.’
    ‘Please . . .’ The woman’s tone was pleading, fearful almost, Bessie thought. ‘Leave me alone. If Sid finds you here . . .’
    ‘And I aren’t frit of him, neither,’ Bessie snorted, ‘so come on, let’s be having ya.’
    She tugged at the blanket until, with a sigh of resignation, the woman gave in and sat up with a wince of pain.
    ‘Oh, my good night!’ Bessie exclaimed. She didn’t need to ask what had happened. She could see.
    Elsie’s face was a mass of bruises, some older than others. The most recent injury appeared to be to her left eye, which was so swollen it was closed. She sat up in the bed holding her left arm and, through a lip that was still swollen from two days previously, murmured, ‘I reckon me arm’s broken.’
    Bessie, staring at her, sat down heavily on the end of the bed as she asked, yet again, ‘Aw lass, why do you put up with it?’
    The woman shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. And I can’t explain it all. He doesn’t mean it. I know he doesn’t and he’s so sorry afterwards.’
    ‘Huh, I’d make the bugger sorry,’ Bessie muttered and added to herself, and I probably will. Aloud, she said, ‘I’ll make you that tea I promised and a slice of toast and then I’m calling the doctor to you, me girl.’
    ‘Oh Bessie, no. I can’t afford . . .’
    ‘Ne’er mind about that. I’ll pay, if necessary. If that arm is broken, it’s got to be seen to.’
    That evening, Bessie was waiting for Sid Clark to arrive home. When she saw him with a pathetic bunch of flowers in his hand, she stepped out of her door and barred his way.
    ‘Oh aye, and where did you pinch them from, eh? Off some poor beggar’s grave in the churchyard?’
    ‘Get out of me way. The missis’ll have me tea ready.’
    ‘She will, will she? She’ll have a job. She’s in hospital.’
    ‘Eh?’ To Bessie’s satisfaction, the man had the grace to look startled and even a little afraid. ‘What’s up with her?’
    Bessie let out a wry, humourless laugh as she felt, rather than saw, Bert and two of her sons appear and come to stand behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Minnie and Stan Eccleshall emerge from their house across the yard, to be joined by their neighbours, Gladys Merryweather and her husband, Walter. And Phyllis Horberry, never one to miss a bit of drama, peered out from her half-open door.
    ‘What’s up?’ Bessie raised her voice so that it was loud enough for the whole yard to hear. ‘You have the gall to ask, “what’s up?” ’
    Sid Clark shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, glancing around him at the watching faces, but Bessie continued without pity. ‘She’s black and blue from head to foot, Sid Clark, and her arm’s broken. That’s what’s up.’
    There was a murmuring around the yard like a cool breeze of disapproval and the Eccleshalls and the Merryweathers moved closer.
    Sid dropped the flowers to the ground and stepped back, glancing fearfully about him. Bessie stepped towards him and wagged her forefinger in his face. ‘Now listen here, you. It’s got to stop. While you live in this yard, you don’t lay another finger on her, you hear? Else you’ll get a taste of your own medicine.’
    Sid