The Good Provider Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jessica Stirling
answer.’
‘Don’t go there, Craig, please,’ Kirsty sobbed.
Craig hesitated, then dropped his boots to the floor.
‘What can we do, then?’
‘Sleep on it,’ Bob Nicholson advised.
‘What about Kirsty?’
‘She can bide here the night,’ Bob said.
‘No, she cannot,’ Madge said. ‘Let her go back where she belongs.’
Craig said, ‘If Kirsty goes, I go too.’
Madge Nicholson’s eyes were full of suspicion. ‘What’s been goin’ on between you two that I don’t know about?’
It was Kirsty who blurted out, ‘Nothin’ like that, Mrs Nicholson, I swear.’
‘Am I expected to take the word of a Baird Home brat?’
Craig shouted, ‘Believe what you bloody like, Mother. Either Kirsty stays or we both go.’
‘You’re upset, Craig. You don’t know what you’re sayin’.’
‘I know fine what I’m sayin’,’ Craig retorted. ‘I’m sayin’ straight out that I intend to marry Kirsty just as soon as I’m able.’
Madge Nicholson swayed and sat down hard on her husband’s chair. Her heart-shaped face seemed puffed up and her plump cheeks turned a fiery red.
‘God! Oh, God! You can’t marry her !’
Like the Nicholson children Kirsty said nothing. She did not dare intrude upon the crisis which had flared between mother and son, even if she was the cause of it. Even Bob was rendered speechless by his son’s announcement, the empty whisky glass in his fingers like a talisman that had lost its power to protect.
Quietly Craig said, ‘I mean it, Mother. I mean what I say.’
For over a minute Madge Nicholson sat motionless, spine straight, hands in her lap. The lick of coal flames sounded loud and the whirring of the clock, prior to striking the hour, made Kirsty start. At length Madge drew in a breath, clapped her hands to her knees and pushed herself upright. She did not so much as glance at Bob or Craig or at the intruder who had thrust her way into her life.
She said, ‘We’ll discuss it tomorrow in a calmer frame of mind.’
‘What about Kirsty?’ said Craig.
‘Oh, she’d better stay, I suppose. Find her a place in the barn.’
‘Not the barn,’ Craig said. ‘Lorna’s room.’
A strange dry glance passed between mother and son. The woman almost smiled but it was not a sign of amusement or of capitulation.
She said, ‘I’ll fetch blankets,’ and without another word left the kitchen.
Craig sighed. He took off his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair while Bob Nicholson, still with the empty whisky glass in his hand, seated himself in his chair by the fire as if he had weathered the full term of the latest little storm. He scratched his ear-lobe then, without a trace of humour, said, ‘Did it not occur t’ you, Craig, that maybe the lass doesn’t want you for a husband?’
Craig swung round belligerently, challenging Kirsty.
‘Well, do you?’
She answered softly, ‘Aye, I do.’
‘Are ye sure you mean it, lass?’ Bob Nicholson said.
‘With all my heart,’ Kirsty answered.
Wrapped in a blanket on boards in the slot by Lorna Nicholson’s bed, Kirsty listened to the soft shallow breathing of the child. Lorna had been eager to chat, to put all manner of questions after the door had been closed and they were left alone. But Kirsty’s mind whirled with too many questions of her own to indulge the young girl and she had pretended that she was very sleepy, too sleepy to talk.
Some time about eleven Mrs Nicholson had entered the tiny back bedroom and had stooped over her daughter to kiss her and tuck her in. Kirsty had kept her eyes closed until the woman had gone off again and then she had come awake once more, shiningly awake, lit by all that had happened that day and, most of all, by Craig’s astonishing promise.
Marriage had never been mentioned between them, not even as a remote possibility. Their courtship had been restrained but not dour. They had been to each other whimsical and teasing by turns in the short hours of meeting, not
‘Don’t go there, Craig, please,’ Kirsty sobbed.
Craig hesitated, then dropped his boots to the floor.
‘What can we do, then?’
‘Sleep on it,’ Bob Nicholson advised.
‘What about Kirsty?’
‘She can bide here the night,’ Bob said.
‘No, she cannot,’ Madge said. ‘Let her go back where she belongs.’
Craig said, ‘If Kirsty goes, I go too.’
Madge Nicholson’s eyes were full of suspicion. ‘What’s been goin’ on between you two that I don’t know about?’
It was Kirsty who blurted out, ‘Nothin’ like that, Mrs Nicholson, I swear.’
‘Am I expected to take the word of a Baird Home brat?’
Craig shouted, ‘Believe what you bloody like, Mother. Either Kirsty stays or we both go.’
‘You’re upset, Craig. You don’t know what you’re sayin’.’
‘I know fine what I’m sayin’,’ Craig retorted. ‘I’m sayin’ straight out that I intend to marry Kirsty just as soon as I’m able.’
Madge Nicholson swayed and sat down hard on her husband’s chair. Her heart-shaped face seemed puffed up and her plump cheeks turned a fiery red.
‘God! Oh, God! You can’t marry her !’
Like the Nicholson children Kirsty said nothing. She did not dare intrude upon the crisis which had flared between mother and son, even if she was the cause of it. Even Bob was rendered speechless by his son’s announcement, the empty whisky glass in his fingers like a talisman that had lost its power to protect.
Quietly Craig said, ‘I mean it, Mother. I mean what I say.’
For over a minute Madge Nicholson sat motionless, spine straight, hands in her lap. The lick of coal flames sounded loud and the whirring of the clock, prior to striking the hour, made Kirsty start. At length Madge drew in a breath, clapped her hands to her knees and pushed herself upright. She did not so much as glance at Bob or Craig or at the intruder who had thrust her way into her life.
She said, ‘We’ll discuss it tomorrow in a calmer frame of mind.’
‘What about Kirsty?’ said Craig.
‘Oh, she’d better stay, I suppose. Find her a place in the barn.’
‘Not the barn,’ Craig said. ‘Lorna’s room.’
A strange dry glance passed between mother and son. The woman almost smiled but it was not a sign of amusement or of capitulation.
She said, ‘I’ll fetch blankets,’ and without another word left the kitchen.
Craig sighed. He took off his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair while Bob Nicholson, still with the empty whisky glass in his hand, seated himself in his chair by the fire as if he had weathered the full term of the latest little storm. He scratched his ear-lobe then, without a trace of humour, said, ‘Did it not occur t’ you, Craig, that maybe the lass doesn’t want you for a husband?’
Craig swung round belligerently, challenging Kirsty.
‘Well, do you?’
She answered softly, ‘Aye, I do.’
‘Are ye sure you mean it, lass?’ Bob Nicholson said.
‘With all my heart,’ Kirsty answered.
Wrapped in a blanket on boards in the slot by Lorna Nicholson’s bed, Kirsty listened to the soft shallow breathing of the child. Lorna had been eager to chat, to put all manner of questions after the door had been closed and they were left alone. But Kirsty’s mind whirled with too many questions of her own to indulge the young girl and she had pretended that she was very sleepy, too sleepy to talk.
Some time about eleven Mrs Nicholson had entered the tiny back bedroom and had stooped over her daughter to kiss her and tuck her in. Kirsty had kept her eyes closed until the woman had gone off again and then she had come awake once more, shiningly awake, lit by all that had happened that day and, most of all, by Craig’s astonishing promise.
Marriage had never been mentioned between them, not even as a remote possibility. Their courtship had been restrained but not dour. They had been to each other whimsical and teasing by turns in the short hours of meeting, not