Some Old Lover's Ghost by Judith Lennox Read Free Book Online Page B

unabashed. ‘And I was just passing through Southam—’
    ‘No-one passes through Southam.’ Aunt Sarah raised the axe again. ‘Do not take me for a fool.’
    ‘Well then. You have found me out. I admit it. I’m a long way from home, and the young lady was pleasant to me today, and I wanted to see a friendly face. I miss my family – I miss my ma most of all. And my sister, Caitlin. She’s a fine girl, like Miss Greenlees. And as it was my evening off, and such a fine night of it, I thought a walk might cheer me up.’
    Sarah’s eyes had narrowed. ‘Where do you work, Mr Canavan?’
    ‘At the Fox and Hounds in Ely.’
    The axe crashed down with a disapproving thump, cleaving the log, splitting it in two. Aunt Sarah flung shards of wood into the log basket.
    ‘I was peat-cutting in March, and in the winter I was in London, doing this and that. London’s a terrible place, though. I was desperate to leave the city. So I came here to look for farm work.’
    ‘Times have been hard,’ Aunt Sarah said, softening a little.
    Daragh glanced at the axe. ‘And I could cut that great pile of wood in the flick of an eye, if you’d be so good as toallow me, missus. To say thank you for passing the time of day with me.’
    Aunt Sarah said austerely, ‘I am Miss Greenlees, not Mrs, if you please, young man. Tilda is my niece, not my daughter.’ Yet she stood aside and handed Daragh the axe.
    The metal axehead bit down on the log. Chips of splintered wood flew up in the air. The two women went back into the house. Daragh threw his jacket aside, and rolled up his sleeves. His body arched and his muscles tautened as he swung the axe back and brought it down again.
    He called once a week, to cut the wood. After three weeks, Aunt Sarah relented and invited him into the house when he had finished. Daragh stood while he drank his tea, and was hurried out of the house the moment his cup was empty. Sarah, shutting the door behind him, turned to Tilda and said, ‘He’s a rascal. A rascal. You must remember that.’ Because Aunt Sarah thought all men were rascals, Tilda didn’t take much notice. She was evasive, though, about Daragh Canavan. Occasionally Aunt Sarah asked suspiciously, ‘He’s not bothering you, is he, Tilda? That young man isn’t bothering you?’
    Tilda answered, with a degree of honesty, that he wasn’t bothering her at all. Daragh Canavan met her and Emily once or twice a week and chatted to them as they walked home. The chats had recently extended into an invitation for a cup of tea in a café, a new experience for Tilda. Aunt Sarah thought cafés were a waste of money.
    Daragh made them both laugh, and relieved the boredom and pointlessness of Miss Clare’s Academy. One afternoon, they went to the cinema, where they saw Hindle Wakes . Emily sobbed into a handkerchief; Tilda, surrounded by gilt and crimson plush as she watched the huge, mouthing figures on the screen, was overwhelmed. When the film finished and they left the picture house, the sun was fiercely bright, the bustle of the street stupefying.
    Emily sighed. ‘Wasn’t it sad? Thank you so much, Daragh.’
    A car drew up on the far side of the road. A young man leaned out and called, ‘Em! Emily! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
    Emily stared and shrieked, ‘Roland ! Oh – Roland!’ She darted through the traffic. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home, you beast? Come and meet my friends.’
    Roland was short and plump, like Emily. ‘Rollo,’ said Emily, after she had hugged him, ‘let me introduce you to Tilda Greenlees, my dearest friend. Tilda, this is my big brother, Roland.’ Roland shook hands with Tilda.
    ‘And this is Daragh Canavan. We’ve just been to the cinema.’ Roland nodded at Daragh, but did not take his hand.
    ‘Good film?’
    ‘Oh yes ! Almost as good as The Constant Nymph . That’s my favourite film.’
    ‘I know.’ Roland grimaced. ‘I had to take Em to see it three times, Miss