Blood Ties: Part 3 of 3: Family is not always a place of safety. Julie Shaw

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      Kathleen stepped forward and hugged her father, who smelled exactly as he always did of the woody aftershave he’d used for as long as she could remember. He returned her hug tightly, then let her go and stepped back, his face, seeing their expressions, now becoming anxious.

      ‘You on your own, Dad?’ Kathleen asked. Then, ‘It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong. We just have something important to talk to you about, that’s all.’

      ‘No, he’s not on his own!’

      Kathleen felt her heart plummet. It was Irene’s voice. She appeared at the back of the bar just as they stepped into the taproom. ‘So if you’ve sneaked in here asking for money,’ she said, lifting the counter and coming around it, ‘you’ve no bleeding chance. We’re completely skint.’

      Kathleen glanced in dismay at Terry, who was eyeing Irene with cold distaste. And then beyond Irene, she felt further dismayed, as Monica had appeared too. Seemed the routines had changed somewhat since she’d stopped doing all the donkey work. But no, it looked like Monica had just come in from work. She certainly didn’t look as if she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing any toilets.

      Kathleen’s stepsister gave her a long slow appraisal – head to foot and back up again. What little bond they’d shared seemed to have vanished completely, and Kathleen supposed it was probably for much the same reason; that her underling wasn’t there to be bossed about any more. ‘Oh look,’ Monica said sarcastically, ‘it’s Kathleen and her old man. Literally.’ She then grinned smugly at her own joke, threw down the tea towel she’d been holding and got herself a glass so she could pour herself a drink.

      John glared at her, but he still looked as uncomfortable as Kathleen was feeling. And once again, seemed unable to speak up himself. ‘You alright, Terry?’ he asked instead, touching the younger man’s forearm. ‘Why don’t you sit down, the pair of you, and you can tell me what’s up.’

      ‘There’s nothing up,’ Kathleen responded, looking pointedly at Irene, who had now crossed the room and stood behind John, hands on hips.

      Neither sat. ‘Kathy?’ Terry said, gently, squeezing her hand. ‘Do you want to tell them, love?’

      In for a penny, Kathleen thought, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. She’d rehearsed this. And also a mantra to keep in her head. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is my life. They can’t hurt me. Be brave.

      ‘It’s just as well you’re all here anyway,’ she started. ‘Because we’ve come round to let you know that we’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant. We don’t know how far yet, but a good few weeks I think. Anyway, that’s it. That’s our news.’ She paused and held her father’s astonished gaze. ‘And we’re both really happy about it,’ she finished.

      She felt the pressure of Terry’s hand holding hers and was grateful for it, too, as now she’d made her speech she felt lightheaded.

      Low blood pressure, she remembered, from her visit to the doctor’s. Perhaps she should sit down. But she didn’t. In a situation like this, her height mattered to her.

      Irene and Monica were both staring at each other, open-mouthed. Which was gratifying. An image she liked to think she would remember. But it was her father’s reaction that she cared about the most. After Terry, he was the person she most wanted to be pleased for them. Not to condemn, not to judge, just to be thrilled. Stupid society could go to hell, she thought. And she willed him to think that too. And little by little, as the news seemed to settle into his brain, she saw the ghost of a smile, then an actual smile, light his drawn features.

      Is he thinking what I’m thinking? she wondered, returning his smile. That Mum’s grandchild is going to come into the world?

      And then she was in her father’s arms, and he was shaking Terry’s hand and congratulating him, and there was a smiling exchange about Terry promising to ‘make an honest woman’ of her and for a moment it was as if Irene and Monica didn’t exist. And, of course, they were not having that.

      ‘Congratu-fucking-lations?’ Irene yelled at him, ‘is that all you have to say?’

      She marched up to John, her face red and angry. ‘This little slut calmly tells you she’s going to be an unmarried mother, and you pat her – and him – on the pissing back? Oh this is going to be the final nail in our coffin, is this!’ She threw her hands up in the air, as if beseeching some deity. ‘Can you imagine it? Oh the shame. We’ll be the talk of frigging Canterbury, yet again!’

      ‘Not an unmarried mother, Irene,’ Terry quickly corrected her. ‘As I just told John, we’ll get wed just as soon as we can afford a proper do.’

      ‘Oh, and you think that’ll make any difference? People can count, you know!’

      ‘I dare say they can, and they will, but you really think we care about the sleazy opinions of folk who have nothing better to do than will ill on other folk and spread gossip?’

      ‘Er, excuse me! You’re calling folk sleazy? You? You, carrying on with that little dolt who’s half your age?’

      Terry automatically put a protective arm around Kathleen and pulled her towards him. There was a little tic working in his jaw and Kathleen feared he might lose his cool completely. But his voice was level as he spoke. ‘Irene, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, so long as we’re happy about it. My fiancée and I. That’s all that counts.’

      Irene flinched at the term. ‘Happy about it?’ Irene spluttered before turning to Monica. ‘Have you heard this? Aah, how sweet. They’re happy about it.’

      Monica’s lip curled, and Kathleen wondered what she’d ever done to deserve the cruelty and derision she routinely got from her stepsister. And wondered again how one woman’s corrosive influence could be so strong that Monica could be so full of spite. She vowed instantly that she would be a better mother to her own child, and her hand went reflexively to her belly. ‘They don’t look right happy to me,’ Monica said to Irene. ‘And no wonder. Tongues’ll be wagging all over Bradford about this.’

      Kathleen caught her dad moving out of the corner of her eye. Not much. Just standing up that little bit taller. ‘Irene,’ he said, addressing his wife for the first time, ‘she isn’t the first and she won’t be the last. She’s having a baby, my first grandchild,’ he glanced over at Kathleen. ‘And bugger what anyone else thinks!’

      That seemed to be the spark that lit the flame. To Terry’s shock and Kathleen’s horror, her stepmother launched herself, fists flying, at her poor dad.

      ‘You horrible bastard!’ she screamed as she punched anywhere she could find a target. ‘Her! Having a baby! Her?’ She seemed apoplectic at the thought. ‘Up the duff, her?’ she seemed to be directing this now mostly at Monica, as if her daughter had failed her in not being pregnant first. In not having a man. In not coming up with the goods. And Monica’s expression said it all – that she was finally in accord with Kathleen, that their mam had really lost it, and that she was perplexed about why any of her vitriol should be aimed at her.

      Terry bent and brushed his lips against Kathleen’s ear. ‘Come on, love,’ he whispered, ‘let’s get out of here. This is just sick.’

      Irene СКАЧАТЬ