“He con work when he’s a mind,” Bert said. “It’s just that he likes truckin’ . . .”
“Ay, I was up by his place an’ the junk ’e’s got there, it’s surprisin’.” Clem stopped to pick out of his mouth a tiny hard black nodule which had somehow got into the bread in place of a currant. “What the hell done you call that?” he demanded. “Damn near broke me tooth.”
“There’d non ’a bin much loss if it had choked thee,” said Mrs. Nadin promptly.
“Ay, I heeard as he’d bought that there shed o’ Marley’s, an’ all as there were in it. What’s ’e goin’ ta do wi’ it?” asked Mr. Nadin looking towards Clem.
“Goin’ in for market gardenin’, or summat. They say as ’e’s goin’ ta mek a greenhouse. There’s a tidy bit o’ wood piled in th’ yard there, anyway.”
“See owt o’ Barbara?” asked Mrs. Nadin. “They reckon oo’s non likely to get about agen.”
“I heard it was cancer in the throat,” said Dot. “They wrote for Inez to come, but she wouldn’t . . . that’s what they say.”
“She’s school-teachin’, isna she?”
“Yes; somewhere near London.”
“It’s non many ’ud do as Jack’s doing,” said Bert. “I reckon lookin’ after her is one o’ the reasons as ’e canna tek a reg’lar job. Of course, he’s fond of a gal?. ’E were comical wi’ that there fish. It didna fight as much as you’d ’a thought, an’ Dick had it to the side. Jack come runnin’ an’ grabbed the landin’ net an’ were mekkin’ a put for it when ’is feet slipped. I bet ’e picked up some mud on ’is backside.”
“That wouldna worry ’im,” commented Mrs. Nadin, getting off her chair with a single swift movement and reaching the brown tea-pot off the hob.
“’E didna waste much time, anyway. ’E were up in a jiff an’ had it. Twelve pounds doesna sound too much ta me; it were as long as my arm.”
“There’s non many fish as gets caught out o’ theer as isna as long as your arm,” commented Clem, pushing his plate away.
Bert got up and went for an ash stick out of the corner farthest from the fire. “If you’d caught it it ’ud aweighed twenty pounds,” he said drily. The ash stick had a heavy knob handle carved out of the root. He hefted it like a club and then went out.
“I’m tekkin’ Emmott to Manchester to-morrow,” said Mrs. Nadin, surprising Flo. “Dunna you an’ Dot be knockin’ yeads tagether; an’ dunna forget as there’s some work ta get through. You’d best be up early. We’ll side this lot, then off you go.”
Flo was glad to get to her room. She put the candle out of draught close against the wall, on the drawers, and then sat on the window-sill as was becoming a habit. She questioned whether Bert could see her, but it didn’t matter. She thought again about the big fish and wondered if she would have dared to have landed it had Dick Goldbourn called her for that instead of to help him out of the mud. Jack Knight hadn’t been afraid. She laughed softly as she imagined him sitting down unexpectedly. Did it scare the fish, or was it too weary and beaten? she wondered. This saddened her, and she began to think of the woman lying with cancer in her throat. Was it Jack’s mother, or who? She would try to remember to ask. Then she thought of her own mother, and as she did so, turned her eyes up to the stars. They were very tiny, very far off, but mother and Ivy seemed even farther off. If only she could see them like that; as tiny as could be, like looking down the wrong end of the opera glasses, yet there, that would do. At least, then she would know that they were all right. Now she knew nothing. They might be dead; they might . . . ough! She jerked herself up and let the dark blue rocker blind down and began to undress. As she lay in the dark with the blind rolled up again she heard Clem pad past. He seemed to pause outside her door, but perhaps it was only her imagining. Then she stared at a dim solitary star and felt lonely and sad. She had been at Prettyfield three weeks, and felt that she knew what life she could expect. A lot of the work was hard, but that she didn’t mind; some of it was interesting, and that she liked. The Nadins had accepted her, and generally they were all right. But she felt somehow that their attitude would remain always the same. She was accepted, but she was not quite one of them and never would be. Was it always like that in service? she pondered. When she had worked in the offices of the Thistle Trust Limited there had been a comradeship with the other girls, which was lacking here. If only she could find a friend nearby, then perhaps it would be all right, and yet at home she had never had any one special friend; only somehow there everybody had been friendly. At least, she had felt that they were; no doubt because they talked in the same way, and were familiar with the same streets and shops and places. But here she felt out of place, alien. Her view of the solitary star became blurred and suddenly she dragged the sheet over her face, muffling herself in close darkness. She thought that she would never sleep, but she lost consciousness without difficulty, almost at once.
In the morning there was bustle. Mrs. Nadin sent her to help with milking at once. At half-past six when they were only two-thirds through, Mrs. Nadin poked her round head over the shippon door and called: “Emmott, thee come an’ get thi breeches on,” just as if he were a child. The lanky farmer finished his cow, then got up obediently.
“Ma’s goin’ ta keep her eye on ’im, but oo’ll have a job,” said Clem, looking round the back of the roan polly cow he was finishing next to Flo.
“How d’you mean . . . he might get lost?”
“He’ll get lost if he con, all right,” said Clem with a chuckle.
Then Flo and Bert were left while Clem wheeled the float from the open shed at the end of the yard facing the gate and hooked Job in. While Clem was still busy, Mrs. Nadin came out in a navy-blue coat to her ankles and a flat black hat tilted slightly forward because it wouldn’t go over the small tight knob of her hair at the back. There was a yellow lily in the hat which bobbed about as she energetically moved her head. Her umbrella was only eighteen inches shorter than she was, and she walked with it as a shepherd walks with a crook. She went round and watched the finishing of the fixing of traces and belly-band as if she doubted whether Clem knew anything about the job. Dot brought one of the wooden kitchen chairs to put in the float and Mrs. Nadin briskly hauled herself in at the back and then sat sternly facing the house.
“Tell that theer mutton-yead ta be shaping” she called shrilly after Dot. The two churns were swung in and strapped in place. While Clem went to the house Bert got a brush and tidied Job’s mane and forelock. “Where is he?” demanded Mrs. Nadin, looking at Flo. “Goo an’ see if ’e’s got stuck in ’is porridge or swallowed ’is teacup; ’e’s gormless enough fer owt.”
Flo set off up the path but at the door she heard the harness jingle and glancing back she saw Mrs. Nadin getting out. Mr. Nadin was placidly chewing. When he saw Flo he winked, stopped chewing to take a swig at his pint pot, and started chewing again.
“Stuffin’ your guts!” snapped Mrs. Nadin before Flo could speak. “Yo’re the slowest gutser i’ Darbyshire. What about the train?”
“I reckon it winna goo before it’s time,” said the farmer, taking another swig.
“By gum, if I have ta be worried bi you, I’d sooner goo mysen,” she retorted, abruptly turning and going out once more, as if afraid now that the float would go without her. Mr. Nadin finished his pot and then leisurely followed. His light grey whipcord suit, nearly skin-tight in the legs, made him appear taller and thinner than ever. Clem went out last, still chewing. Bert turned Job’s head to the gate, and as his shuffle rocked the float fore and aft the yellow lily in Mrs. Nadin’s hat seemed to nod good-bye.