Tangled Threads by Margaret Dickinson

wants to tell
you what’s going on. Wants to confide in you. Needs her mother’s guidance.’
    Mary, too, was on her feet now, leaning across the table shouting at her husband. ‘I’ve given her a mother’s guidance, but she ignores it.’
    ‘No, you haven’t, Mary. You’ve not talked it out with her, explained to her why you feel the way you do. And you, Eveleen.’ He pointed at his daughter. ‘For
disobeying your mother. You should know her well enough to know that she would not be demanding this of you without a very good reason, even if she does not feel able to explain that reason to you.
And as for you.’ Now he turned to Jimmy. ‘You’re just enjoying stoking up the fires, aren’t you?’
    Eveleen now sprang to her feet. ‘Oh, Dad, I’m sorry.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Mam, please—’
    ‘He’ll get you with child and then cast you off.’ Mary was hysterical now, the words pouring from her mouth in a torrent. ‘Leave you to face the shame alone. He
won’t care whether your family stands by you or not. He’ll not care if you have to live rough. In the woods, in a barn, any shelter you can find. He’ll not care if you give birth
alone in a dirty, stinking ditch at the side of a field when you’re tatie picking, trying to earn pennies to keep yourself and your child alive. Only you won’t keep it alive.
It’ll die. There in the ditch and mebbe you along with it.’
    Tears were coursing down Mary’s face as she painted the tragic picture. A picture, Eveleen realized, that had a dreadful ring of truth about it. She watched as Walter put his arms around
his wife and drew her close, resting his cheek against her hair while Mary sobbed against his chest.
    ‘There, there, Mary love. Don’t fret.’ Above his wife’s head, Walter’s sorrowful eyes met Eveleen’s. Then he asked the question he had to ask, even though he
feared the answer. ‘Has he – have you let him – touch you?’ His tone was stern as he added, ‘The truth now.’
    She shook her head firmly. ‘No, Dad. I haven’t. Not the way you mean.’
    He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to read from her expression if she was now telling him the truth. ‘No more lies, Eveleen,’ he said.
    Eveleen bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. As she shook her head, she saw his shoulders relax. This time, he did believe her.
    Walter led his wife to her chair by the fire. ‘Sit there, love, and Eveleen will make you a cup of tea.’ He straightened up and turned to Jimmy. ‘And as for you, young man,
you’re going nowhere tonight. You can clear away the supper dishes and wash up.’
    Jimmy’s face was a picture. ‘That’s women’s work. I aren’t washing up.’
    ‘You’ll do as I say,’ Walter said calmly, but there was a hint of steel in his tone.
    Muttering under his breath, Jimmy began to stack the plates, crashing them together as if he would like to break every one to save him the trouble of having to wash them.
    ‘Be careful, else I’ll be taking the cost of any breakages out of your wages,’ Walter frowned.
    Eveleen busied herself making tea for her mother. As she stood over her, holding out the cup and saucer, Mary looked up at her. All the anger and the hysteria had drained out of her now and just
a dreadful sadness seemed to have settled upon her. ‘So now you know the whole shameful tale. I hope you’re satisfied.’
    ‘Oh, Mam,’ Eveleen cried with tears in her eyes, ‘I’m so sorry. If only you’d said. If only you’d explained, I—’
    ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You’d have still done exactly what you wanted. You’re headstrong and disobedient.’ As she took the proffered cup of tea, Mary
shook her head sadly. ‘Stubborn and wilful . . .’ she murmured and a tiny smile touched her mouth. ‘Just like I was at your age.’
    Later, when the supper dishes were washed and put away and Jimmy had stamped angrily up the stairs to his room, Walter followed