Above the Harvest Moon by Rita Bradshaw Page A

what.’
     
    ‘You didn’t have to go down the pit any more than I did,’ Jake said quietly. ‘I looked for work elsewhere, you could have done the same, but you chose to follow your da. Don’t gripe about it now.’
     
    ‘Who are you to tell me anything, you freak?’
     
    ‘ Adam! ’ Rose had sprung in front of Jake as he made a sudden movement towards the younger man. Holding on to Jake but speaking to Adam, she said, ‘You talk like that again and so help me you’ll be looking for somewhere else to lay your head. And get out of my kitchen.’
     
    Jake’s face was bereft of colour, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing, but he could not push his mother aside without being rough, so tightly was she clinging to him. ‘I’ll see my day with you, boy,’ he ground out, the threat soft but deadly as he looked at his brother.
     
    ‘You and whose army?’
     
    The defiance in the words belied the expression on Adam’s face. Hannah had seen him jump when Jake had made to get to him and she knew he was frightened. She didn’t blame him. He was half the size of his brother. She lowered her eyes again, not wishing to add to his humiliation. Then ten-year-old Stephen came rushing into the kitchen, saying, ‘Mam, Mam, the Father’s just arrived,’ and she experienced a feeling of deep relief as the tension broke.
     
    As Adam left the kitchen with Stephen, Rose turned to Jake who was now pulling on his cap and muffler. ‘I shall have to go and say hello to Father Gilbert.’
     
    ‘Aye, you go, Mam. I told you I was only staying for an hour.’
     
    ‘Thanks for all the stuff, lad.’ Rose’s voice was low, apologetic. ‘And for dropping by. It wouldn’t have been the same if I hadn’t seen you although that’s daft in a way. New Year’s Eve is only a night like any other.’
     
    ‘Aye, mebbe.’
     
    ‘Lad, about Adam—’
     
    ‘Leave it, Mam.’ And then as though to make up for his brusqueness, Jake said quietly,‘It’s all right, don’t fret. I’ve had folk say worse and it’s water off a duck’s back. You go and enjoy yourself the night. If anyone deserves a bit of jollification, you do.’
     
    ‘You sure you won’t stay?’ And as her son lifted his eyebrows, she bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, lad.’
     
    The catch in his mother’s voice brought a tenderness to Jake’s face. ‘I’ve told you, don’t fret.’ Turning to Naomi who, like Hannah, was keeping her gaze fixed on the sandwiches they were making, he added, ‘You make sure your mam enjoys herself tonight. All right, lass?’
     
    ‘Aye, all right, Jake.’ Naomi’s face had brightened. The fight had been averted. Jake wasn’t going off in a strop which would have meant her mam would have been miserable the whole night long. All was well.
     
    Jake walked across the room but before he stepped into the scullery and left by way of the backyard, he turned. ‘Happy New Year.’
     
    Hannah added her voice to those of Naomi and Mrs Wood, but when after a moment or two Naomi said, ‘I wish Jake could have stayed for once, Mam,’ she remained silent. She was glad he had gone.
     
     
    In the back lane Jake stood for a moment breathing deeply with his eyes shut. Then he drove his fist into the brick wall with a sickening thud, not so hard as to break bones but enough to relieve some of the murderous rage inside him. At least, that’s what he told himself he was feeling - rage. Never for a moment would he allow himself to term it pain.
     
    The cocky little snot. He flexed his bruised hand, wiping the blood from his knuckles with his handkerchief. Showing off in front of the Casey lass.
     
    It was a fine night, the snow crisp with a coating of frost beneath his feet and the air as sharp as a blade. He looked up into the black sky. It was high and star filled, beautiful, and for once the stench of the privies was absent. Nevertheless, the sensation which always assailed him when he came into town to visit his mother, that of