'Well, why don't you build it up,' Leah said. 'It'll be cold tonight.'

She noticed when she walked into the kitchen that Paddy had not been out all day (she'd only asked him if he had to make conversation, something she seemed to do a lot lately). He looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed, and although he had his faults she knew he had too much pride to be seen in public as he was: unwashed and a day and half growth of stubbly, black beard.

He was aware of Leah's scrutiny, which annoyed him further, because as usual, in spite of a day's work she looked as though she'd just stepped out of a band- box. Her close fitting grey wool dress showed how her figure had filled out in all the right places and although she'd borne three children her waist was till tiny, her hips trim and b.r.e.a.s.t.s firm, if a little fuller. Her face hadn't changed and if anything she was even more beautiful than when he'd married her, another thing which narked him because he knew he definitely looked the worse for wear.

So, because he was down in the dumps and could see no way out he decided to rile her further (something he was getting good at), for he could see she was riled by the set of her back as she stood at the kitchen sink.

'By the way Miss Smartypants, your mother said to tell you that she's having trouble getting up here, it's too steep and too far away and for you to call at Glebe Street after work. I told you didn't I, that this place is too far out.'

As Paddy spoke Leah was gazing with distaste into the sink. It was filthy, littered with odds and ends of wet food. Pushed into the small grate were two wet cigarette b.u.t.ts. She turned round quickly, anger flaring.

'It's not too far away. It's not a spit and a stride from the shop and Mam finds it hard to even go to the Co-op these days.' Her voice was sharp with irritation and rising by the time she had finished. Just what Paddy had hoped for!

'No need to get on your high horse with me,' Paddy yelled. He was just in the mood for it and he jumped so suddenly out of his chair that it fell over with a loud bang.

At his sudden movement, and the noise as the chair hit the floor Leah stepped backwards, hitting her spine on the edge of the sink. She had a birthmark on just that particular spot and it was always very tender.

As she came in contact with the hard edge an excruciating pain shot through her, as though a knife had been thrust into that vulnerable spot. For a moment the intensity of it made her almost faint. She gasped and turned to hold onto the edge of the cupboard. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to subside. Then the tears came. Not so much because of the pain but because she was tired and unhappy and she hated Paddy shouting. She felt a tight knot forming in her stomach, which always happened when she was upset. She was aware that Julia was crying loudly and that Paddy was trying to placate her.

She opened her eyes and turned around. Paddy was staring at her in alarm. She was deathly white. He was suddenly ashamed. Ashamed at the way he was, at the way he'd behaved towards her. He was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and she didn't deserve to be treated like that. He should be shot, that's what, he thought viciously.

He looked a moment longer into Leah's pale face, at the tears. Then he put Julia on the floor and impulsively reached over and pulled Leah to him.

'I'm sorry, Leah, sorry, love. I should be shot for carrying on like that.' He stroked her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder, her body shuddering.

Julia began another loud wail and Paddy bent down and picked her up, cradling them both. He was achingly aware of how much he needed Leah. As her sobs subsided he put her away from him. They looked at each other for a long moment, his blue eyes full of remorse. Julia struggled to get out of his arms now the shouting was over.

'We'll have to get ourselves sorted out.'

Leah nodded. Paddy put his arm round her shoulders and walked her out of the kitchen, up the pa.s.sage and into the living room. She was still white and drawn and he cleared some newspapers off the settee and made her sit down.

'I'll get the fire going. Then I'll make you a cup of tea and warm the pies up.'

Paddy felt for the ashtray in the dark and stubbed his cigarette out. Leah lay in his arms fast asleep, her hand resting lightly on his chest, her breath warm and sweet on his face. He kissed her forehead. Things were going to be different from now on! So he couldn't get a job? What of it! They weren't starving. There were thousands worse off, men without jobs all over the country and they didn't go to pieces. It wasn't his fault that things were bad. He should stop acting like an old goat and more like a man. He turned on his side, holding Leah close and for the first time in a long time he fell peacefully asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

Life goes in stages Paddy thinks. He's sitting in front of a roaring fire; it's cold outside, there's a Guinness on the table next to him (nice and handy) and he's in a philosophical mood (the Irish tend to this quite a lot).

In each of these stages he ponders, a different person emerges. Sometimes he's hard put to recognize just who it is. Sometimes it's even rather frightening. Child, boy, adolescent, man - all quite unconnected, or so they seem to him; it's experience, of course, that changes you into someone you hardly recognize. Is this me he's often thought, over the years? How did I get here? He's a stranger to himself. Yet, he's been lucky. He's missed out on conscription. He's married the girl he loves. And so on and so on until he reaches the conclusion he's been so lucky, he's boring. Still, he's a lot to be thankful for.

He settled himself in front of a roaring fire, a bottle of Guinness on the table next to him. He'd persuaded Leah to go to the pictures. Her first night out since Julia was born (well over a year ago). After 'that' night things had looked up and he'd used his gift of the gab to make her take more time off and, more importantly, not to open another shop.

He'd kept his promise, too, and cut down on the booze. Well, almost. A drop of Guinness wouldn't hurt. Good for you from all accounts: had a lot of iron in it. He took another swig from the bottle. He still wasn't having much luck as far as jobs went. b.l.o.o.d.y government; b.l.o.o.d.y strikes, and b.l.o.o.d.y everything! He took another swig. All his attempts had met with failure, but what was he trained for? b.u.g.g.e.r all really, except to go down the pit and most around here were either closed or only working a fraction of the time.

A loud cry from upstairs brought him out of his reverie (something which happened often in this house the crying, that is). Don't tell me, he thought, exasperated. Julia's awake again. She should have slept for hours yet. He listened intently. Perhaps she'd drop off. As this crossed his mind another loud wail drifted down the stairs, then a rattling sound as though the cot was being rattled to pieces; that made him bang his bottle down, jump out of the chair and run to the bottom of the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time. In the last cot episode Julia had got her head stuck between the cot rails and it had frightened them half to death.

He flung the bedroom door open where the three children slept. Julia was standing up, looking wide eyed and innocent through the bars of the cot, her mop of curly black hair endearingly tangled. When she saw Paddy she put her arms out.

'Dada, up, up!'

'No,' Paddy whispered, firmly. 'You're not getting up. Now go back to sleep, that's a good girl.' He tried to prise the small hands off the cot.

'No, no, up, up,' and she shook the cot again for emphasis.

Paddy looked as his youngest daughter in exasperation. She was the apple of his eye, but she'd also inherited his mother's Irish temper and had a stubborn streak as wide as his arm. It was no good, he thought as he tried a second time to make her lie down. She looked as bright as a b.u.t.ton and if he wasn't careful the other two would wake up and then his night of relaxation would be definitely over.

'All right, then, you little villain, come on.' He lifted her out of the cot and wrapped a blanket around her.

Christine and Stephen were still sleeping soundly.

He tiptoed out of the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. Julia laughed happily at getting her own way and pulled his hair. He'd just give her five minutes or so and she might get sleepy again.

He made his way down the stairs and into the living room. The fire was still blazing away. He put Julia on the floor next to him and gave her a doll to play with. She grasped it, chuckling delightedly. She was the picture of health with her plump, rosy cheeks. Paddy gazed at her fondly. How bonny she was! He reached over and picked up the Guinness.

He sat in the chair next to the fire, leant over and picked up the poker, stirring the coals then added a few more from the scuttle next to him. Julia stood up shakily and staggered to him (she still wasn't walking properly), the doll grasped tightly in her hands. He sighed, picked her up and sat her on his knee. She cuddled against him, sucking her thumb. She might just settle, Paddy thought, giving her head a light kiss. He sank further into the chair, put his head back and stared into the fire. He glanced down again at Julia. Her eyelids were drooping, her thumb still firmly in her mouth, one finger curled over her nose. His own head began to nod, the Guinness beginning to have its usual soporific effect. He was soon asleep.

The silence was shattered by a loud noise from outside. Julia woke with a jump and struggled to sit up. Paddy snored on. His arms dropped limply to his sides and Julia slid to the floor. She took a few shaky steps to where the blanket lay on the floor. She picked it up, flinging it over her head, chuckling with this new situation. She staggered around for a moment, moving closer and closer to the fire.

Paddy slept on.

After Leah and Emma went, Paddy sat at the table in silence. For a few days drink had dulled his grief, but when Leah smashed the last of his bottles, he decided it was time to 'go on the wagon'.

It was now two days since that decision. Two whole days! He was screaming for it! He put his hands to his head and moaned. The dullness had vanished, his brain like a razor. Each day his sorrow increased until he thought he'd go mad. If only he could have a drink, but he lacked even the willpower to go out. He wanted to bang his head against something, anything to take away this terrible feeling of guilt.

His little girl, his bonny little Julia, gone and the agony of his guilt was almost as unbearable as his grief. Leah had said she hated him, that she'd never forgive him, that she wished he were dead! Well, he wished he were dead, too.

How could it have happened? It had been an accident, an accident. He hadn't killed her! No, whatever Leah said, he hadn't killed her. The relentless voice in his head thought otherwise. It just wouldn't shut up. You did kill her. You killed your daughter. No, no, it was the drink. It made me fall asleep.

If you hadn't been sozzled, if you'd kept your promise Julia would still be alive.

You're twisting things, twisting things.

You're a murderer!

Paddy buried his head in his arms. His shoulders shook. After the paroxysm was over he pushed himself off the chair and went to rinse his face at the sink. There was a small mirror on a shelf next to the window. As he straightened up he caught sight of himself. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he thought, I look a hundred and I feel a hundred as well; a few days growth of black beard, eyes almost disappearing beneath the puffiness, face bloated as though in water for weeks (which it had been in a way pickled in booze).

He shuddered as he looked at his reflection. And they used to call me handsome, he thought bitterly, but who cares? He finished drying his face, then walked listlessly into the living area.

He had moved out of the Belmont Road house after what happened and was living above the shop again, although not for long. Leah had told him point blank, that she didn't want him anywhere near her, so he'd have to look for somewhere else to live. He was tired and drained from weeping and stared unseeingly for a moment at a photo on the mantelpiece taken on their wedding day. Leah had a shy smile on her face and the light had caught the brilliance of her eyes. Paddy picked up the photo, now studying it intently and walked back into the kitchen. He gazed vacantly at the gas stove for a few minutes. He was still thinking of the picture, of how much he loved Leah, how she was the only one for him. How could he live without her?

Then he walked purposefully back to the door leading to the living area and closed it. He got a few towels and stuffed them against the bottom of the door. He made sure the windows were closed, went to the oven and turned on all the gas jets. He was quite calm now, although his hands shook a little. He picked up the photo, which he'd placed on a cupboard. Holding it against his chest, he slowly sank onto the floor next to the open oven door.

The sickly sweet, cloying smell became stronger. He wouldn't let it bother him. He'd just look at the picture and think about the good times. There had been good times! Leah stared at him from the photo. She seemed to come alive. His gaze devoured that shyly smiling face. She was looking at him, joyfully. There was no one else, no one but the two of them. On the day the photo was taken, on their wedding day, he'd sung to her. The song he always sang to her. The picture was getting dim. He couldn't think straight, but he could remember what he'd sung. Sweet Sixteen! To him she would always be that. Sweet and sixteen! His eyes closed; the picture slipped from his hand. He was singing, singing as he'd never sung before, his voice soaring. It soared over the meadows, over the moors and dales, to the heavens and beyond...

'When you were swe...eet sixteen...'

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

Walter Hargraves made his usual weekly morning walk to the train station. From there he would take the train to Accrington where he worked as head clerk for the prestigious firm of solicitors, Lawson, Dunne and Grey.

Walter was a bachelor, thirty-nine years of age and moderately good looking in a rather prim way; neat suit, polished shoes, dapper moustache and hair slicked back from a narrow face. He turned to wave to his mother who always saw him off, then proceeded on down St. Hubert's Road, his mind not, as usual on what he would do that day, but on a visit he'd paid the day before to a certain Mrs. O'Shea.

His mother, Martha, watched his dapper walk down the street, a smile of satisfaction on her face. She was proud of her son, that his employment as head clerk in a law firm gave him some status in the town and, in doing so, also her. She waited for his usual last wave as he turned the corner. Yes, there it was! She raised her hand, then walked slowly back up the path.

The houses on St. Hubert's Road were larger than those in Glebe Street, just round the corner. Furthermore, the front door didn't open onto the pavement, but was separated from it by a low fence with a gate. There was a path to the front door and on one side a small area suitable for growing flowers. There was even room for a few shrubs. At the back of the house was a long, sloping lawn down to the back gate which led onto the back lane, the lawn divided by a path leading to the outside toilet. However, there was a bathroom upstairs, which again put them above Glebe Street. Martha's house was always spotless and 'you could eat off her floors' as most people, who had been inside, would tell you.

Walter continued on his walk to the station. He couldn't ever remember feeling as he did at the moment. For so long his life had been orderly; a life of specifics, schedules strictly adhered to, which gave him a feeling of security that all was as it should be. But since that visit to Leah Hammond at her shop on the Square he was at 'sixes and sevens', as his mother would have said. Even after the war, when most men had found it hard to adjust to civilian life, he'd picked up the thread of his existence with the same law firm as though nothing untoward had happened. Granted, there had been times when visions of the Front returned to him in his nightmares, when he'd wake sweating and wished he smoked. Unfortunately his mother had absolutely forbidden smoking and he'd never think of going against his mother. So he would turn over and turn his mind off any unpleasant thoughts tending to surface. Even the presence of three very bossy, spinster older sisters and a complaining semi-invalid father could not ruffle his outwardly placid and correct exterior.

His mouth was set in its usual prim line as he boarded the train, his briefcase clutched tight. He looked what he was, severe, correct, proper and parsimonious.

Not until recently had Walter thought much about women except that they were not like men (he had noticed this!) His relationship with his mother and sisters was cordial, yet distant. He really knew little at all about women and it hadn't worried him unduly. Until now! It was not in his nature to pursue women. Conversely women found they were not drawn to him. So, with regard to this situation there was a kind of stalemate.

Now, however, he suddenly had the desire to get to know a woman (Leah Hammond) in a more intimate way, but he'd no idea how to go about it. He'd no real male friends, for again men found him wanting. Not that he was inclined towards men. He would have been horrified at the intimation, although there had been a bit of surmising about this by those who knew him. But he was as straight as a dye as the saying went, proven by that day when he'd walked into the shop. When Leah Hammond levelled those pansy blue eyes at him he felt as though he'd been hit by a thunderbolt (he was not p.r.o.ne to exaggeration, but this is how he felt at the time, had anyone asked). He had been momentarily struck dumb and it wasn't until she'd asked him three times what he wanted that he'd collected himself, stuttering his name and his business like Simple Simon.

He was still pondering on how he could woo Leah when the train pulled into Accrington station, unaware that he'd been talking to himself and that people were staring at him as though he'd lost his senses (which he had, for the first time in his life).

The clock said a quarter to two. Leah took her dress out of the wardrobe. Walter wasn't coming to take her out until two thirty so she had plenty of time to get ready. She inspected the blue linen dress she intended to wear: it was pristine! Even Walter's mother would approve. After a walk in the War Memorial Park they were to have afternoon tea with Mrs. Hargraves. Leah wasn't looking forward to it at all. How that woman annoyed her! One day she might be her mother-in-law? Although Walter hadn't said anything yet she knew he had ideas on those lines. She shuddered. The last time Walter's mother had paid a visit to Belmont Road Leah caught her running her finger along the dresser. Mrs. Hargraves had not looked at all guilty at being 'caught out', just sniffed in that disdainful way of hers and asked when tea was ready.

'Why are your mirrors so high,' she said as she tried to look in the one above the mantelpiece.

'I can see quite well,' Leah said, trying to hide a smile. She knew how much it annoyed Martha that she was too short to see into the mirrors at Belmont Road.

Martha was vain (amazing for a woman who was so righteous), always primping and preening when at the house in St. Hubert's Road (which had a mirror, hung low, in every room). Leah had also recently discovered that Mrs. Hargraves had a secret vice. She liked a 'sup' of rum! More than a sup from all accounts!

Leah had discovered this amazing bit of information on a surprise visit one day to the St. Hubert's Road residence? Walter had opened the door and immediately she smelt burning feathers.

'What on earth's that for,' she said, indicating the feather in Walter's hand, from which a corkscrew of brown smoke made its way to the ceiling. He hid it behind his back, flushing.

'Oh, just getting rid of the smell. Come in, come in.'

'What smell?'

Then she realized. Burning feathers were evidently supposed to do this, with not much success this time. As she stepped into the hall she was aware of Walter's sisters, Ida, May and Bella running from room to room like demented banshees, holding up their burning feather.

'It's because of me Dad,' Walter said. 'He can't abide the smell of drink, or anyone who drinks.'

'Who drinks?' Leah said in surprise.

'Me Mam,' he said, looking embarra.s.sed.

You could have knocked her over with a feather!

Leah walked over to the bedroom window, which looked out onto the back garden. Her mother's voice drifted up.

'Watch out for that ball, Stephen love or you'll break a window.' Emma sat on a deck chair watching Stephen and Christine. Leah looked down on them from the bedroom window. What would she have done without her mother?

The deaths of Julia and Paddy had devastated her. She had wanted to die! Afterwards she realized just how strong her mother had been at the time, in spite of her own grief. Julia had meant just as much to her mother as she had to her. Even now, after two years Leah could hardly bear to form the name of her youngest child. She still had nightmares! In them she would be running home, a silent scream on her lips. Running to warn Paddy, but she was always too late. She'd wake up sweating, her heart hammering in her chest, that silent scream of anguish becoming an agonized moan as she surfaced; the reality worse than the nightmare.

She'd never forget that film, The Sheik, starring Rudolph Valentino, or what it came to signify: the death of her baby! It would be forever imprinted on her mind. How could the human body survive such grief? She had really thought she would go insane, had wanted to kill Paddy, especially when she smelt the drink, hurling abuse as she held her dying daughter in her arms. She was demented for weeks on end, the pain like a giant hand, which wrung and twisted her heart as though trying to squeeze out every drop of blood. Death would have been a blessed relief. Only the thought of Stephen and Christine had brought her back.

She'd wept until worn to a shadow. Then there had been the added sadness of Paddy's death, also the guilt, for although she blamed him for Julia's death, and rightly so she thought, when she recovered a little she knew she should have considered his feelings, for he had adored Julia.

When they found him, (her and her mother), lying on the kitchen floor, pathetically clutching the photo, she'd been cut to the heart. She couldn't have coped but for her mother!

She walked back to the bed and picked up her dress. She put it on over her slip and b.u.t.toned the front, gazing pensively at her reflection in the mirror. She looked better than she had in a long while. At last she'd lost that thinness, that wan look and her skin had regained that satiny l.u.s.tre. Her hair had been lank and lifeless for months. Now there was a shine and bounce to it and she picked up the comb and flicked it into place.

As she walked down the stairs she jumped as the knocker on the front door was being banged with force. How many times had she told Walter not to do that? He never took a bit of notice! He knew her nerves were still fragile. She wondered, sometimes, why on earth she had ever accepted his stuttered attempt to ask her out: boredom, probably and the fact that she was fed up of doing the same thing day in and day out. She never got out of the shop except to go home and look after the children. Walter had been a means of escape.

When she first met Walter she had thought him presentable enough, quite good looking. Strange, now she didn't think this at all! He was a bit of a fuddy duddy if she was honest with herself. And now she was just as imprisoned as she had been, but in a different way.

She opened the front door just as Walter was ready to knock again. He dropped his hand and flushed when he saw Leah. He hadn't got over this habit of turning a bright red, even after almost six months of courting.

'You're early, Walter,' Leah said, trying to hide her annoyance.

'Yes, sorry, but you know I don't like being late.'

He followed her down the pa.s.sage into the kitchen. He wore his suit (out-dated). This irritated her as well. Why couldn't he buy himself some decent clothes? He wasn't poor, just tight and she couldn't abide meanness in people. He needn't have worn a suit, either, since they were only going for a walk in the park. Just something casual would do, but Walter was always overdressed (and out of date). He must have had that suit before the war!

'Just sit down for a minute, Walter, and I'll call Stephen and Christine.'

Emma looked up as Leah walked towards her. 'I was just about to come in, la.s.s. I'll be on me way in a minute. Has Walter come yet? I thought I heard the front door.'

'Yes, he's just arrived.'

Emma nodded and patted Leah's hand. They found displays of affection difficult and Leah knew that the pat meant a lot. It meant, I love you, I'm worried about you, try to keep your chin up and so on and so on. Had it not been for her mother she would have left Harwood a long time ago. She would have gone to America, to California where Darkie and Marion still lived and where Janey was now in films (and making quite a name for herself). But she could never have left her mother and Emma, when asked tentatively how she would feel about going, had been adamant she didn't. She was aghast at the suggestion and Leah wondered why she'd even bothered to ask. Getting her to Blackpool was an effort.

'Darkie and the family will come over one of these days and till then I'll bide my time here,' she had said.

Leah must be mad, Emma thought to even think she'd contemplate going. Look what had happened to the t.i.tanic! Leah hadn't mentioned it again, especially when Annie Fitton had dropped dead of a heart attack six months ago so Emma's dependence on her daughter was now total.

She often wondered what it would be like to get away from this stuffy old town, but she'd have no peace of mind if she left her mother.

She watched for a moment as Stephen and Christine threw the ball backwards and forwards to each other.