Then like I say, yer a bigger bloody fool than I took yer for.’ Thrusting her aside, he sneered: ‘All the same, it’s as well I were on hand to help you out with a bob or two, or you’d have lost this place – and serve yer bloody well right!’
Having gone to him cap in hand was her greatest regret. ‘If I could turn back the clock, I would never have come to you,’ she informed him quietly.
‘Well, yer did. An’ it were me as paid off all the debts, an’ never you forget that.’ Spitting on the ground he reminded her, ‘With the old fella too useless to put one foot afore the other, an’ folks knocking at your door for their money or your blood, you were in a sorry mess. All yer need to remember is that your husband left me to pick up the pieces, and that’s what I did. An’ for that, yer should be grateful, you and that daughter o’yourn!’
At his words, Emily shivered behind the barn door.
Surveying the land about him, Clem grinned with satisfaction. ‘I’ve saved all o’ this, and now it’s as good as mine! Matter o’ fact, if I wanted, I could throw the three of youse out on the streets right now.’ He took a step forward, his eyes glaring, his face contorted in triumph. ‘I might even do that!’ he threatened. ‘Yes, happen I’d be better off getting rid of the bloody lot o’ you. There’s allus cheap labour about to help me run this place.’ He gave her a push. ‘Go on. Get outta my sight!’
As she turned to leave, she thought it time to remind him of something he appeared to have forgotten. ‘This farm isn’t yours, and it never will be.’
‘It might be … if I decide to call in what’s owed me.’
‘I already told you: somehow or another we’ll pay you back. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Aye well, time and tide waits for no man, an’ I’ll not wait for ever to collect my money.’ Taking a long, laborious breath he finished, ‘Until I get back what I’ve paid out, with profit, this farm is as good as mine – an’ as far as I’m concerned, that meks me the master round ’ere.’
‘Enjoy it then, while you can,’ she retorted, ‘because I mean to pay you back at the first opportunity, and I will, or my name’s not Aggie Ramsden.’
‘Give it up, woman. Yer a dreamer.’ Though he didn’t much care for the look in her eyes nor the determination in her voice. However, he had the upper hand at the moment and there was nothing she could do. He knew it and she knew it, however defiant she might pretend to be.
‘You’ve not a brass farthing to yer name, none of yer! It’s my money as keeps this place up and running. If I took a mind to move on, you’d sink without trace.’ For good measure, he gave her a vicious dig in the ribs that made her gasp with surprise and pain. ‘Like it or not, yer all dancing to my tune. It might serve yer well to keep that in mind.’
She didn’t argue. But she looked at him … looked through him … wishing with all her heart that it might have been different.
He could almost read her thoughts. ‘You want me gone from ’ere so bad yer can taste it, can’t yer?’ he muttered curiously.
When she gave no answer, he took great pleasure in informing her: ‘Well, yer can want on, ’cause I’ll not be going nowhere!’ He smiled, a nasty little smile she had come to know only too well. ‘I mean, a man would be mad to leave such a nice, cosy set-up, wouldn’t he, eh?’
She looked at him for what seemed an age, during which his smile faded and a look of hardness fired his eyes. ‘Got summat else to say, ’ave yer … sister dear?’
To his consternation, she continued to observe him, wondering how this man who seemed like a stranger to her could ever have been her kith and kin. ‘I’d best go.’ She turned from him.
‘Oh, aye, that’s right!’ his taunting voice followed her. ‘You’d best hurry away to tend to them “things” you reckon are so pressing!’
His laughter grated on her, but she wasn’t about to rise to any more of his taunts. Too often she had experienced his rage at first-hand, and she knew only too well what monstrous things he was capable of.
Then there was the other, shocking thing. He hadn’t mentioned it yet, but he would. When it suited his purpose.
If only she could get rid of him once and for all, she wouldn’t even hesitate. But there was no way that she could see. At least, not without her being hanged for it.
His voice shattered her thoughts. ‘Who is it then?’
‘What!’ Startled, she looked up.
‘Wake up, woman! Yer said there were somebody to see me. Who is it?’
‘You’ll know when you get there, won’t you?’
With that she flounced off, leaving him cursing and grumbling as he stomped back to the farmhouse. ‘Bloody women!’ He spat on the ground in disgust. ‘The lot of ’em want shooting.’
Through the crack in the barn wall, Emily saw them leave; first her mammy, then him, that great bulk of a man, striding along as though he owned the place. ‘Good riddance to you!’ she muttered, though her face shone with love as she followed the homely figure of her dear mammy. Her heart ached. Given the chance, she would do anything to protect her.
When at last they were gone, the girl breathed a sigh of relief. So as to not trip over it, she gathered up the hem of her long skirt, and went at a run towards the ladder at the far end of the barn.
Unable to trust him, she frequently glanced back.
When Clem first arrived, after her daddy deserted them, she had tried hard to like him, for her mother’s sake. But she couldn’t. He was not the sort of man you could take to, and how he came to be her mother’s brother she would never know, for Aggie was a kind, gentle soul – though she did have a fierce temper when put out.
Clambering up the ladder, Emily pulled herself into the hayloft and made for the far corner. Here, she reached up on tiptoe, her arm stretching into the roof, where the two great wooden rafters joined together. The small brown notebook clutched tightly to her chest, soon she was seated cross-legged in the hay, her eyes closed and her heart beating fast with excitement.
In her mind’s eye she could see every word written there, all her secret thoughts: the sorrow she had suffered when her Granny Clare had sickened from consumption and died, nearly breaking her grandad’s heart; the wrenching sobs she and her family had wept at the tragic loss of her darling baby brother. Some tears trickled down her rosy cheeks as she remembered little Michael, so pale and still, wrapped in her own baby shawl that couldn’t warm him … Then her tears dried as bitter resentment took their place – hatred for the man who soon after had invaded their lives. She had written about her love for her mammy, and her grandad, and prayed for her daddy, wherever he was.
In fact, all her life as it was, had been entered in the pages of that little book.
More recently she had confided of her growing love for John; of her hopes for the future, and even a little prayer that Clem would go away and everything would be all right again, just like it used to be.
After a while, she laid the notebook on her lap and gingerly eased it open. She needed to
