Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (best reads of all time .TXT) 📗

it properly. He got down on one knee in front of the stove and asked, with the utmost sincerity. ‘Will you marry me, Alice?’

I didn’t really have to think about it.

‘No, Frank, I can’t. You’re being a gentleman, and I really think you deserve a lot of credit for that. I wouldn’t like to be you when you get home to your mother, either, but I’m afraid the answer has to be no.’

I smiled at him gently. ‘Please, get up,’ I said.

Frank got to his feet. He didn’t look relieved, he didn’t look angry, he just had a look of total bewilderment on his face.

‘But your friend said—’

‘She’s my best friend and she’s trying to look out for me,’ I replied. ‘However, she isn’t the one who’s pregnant. I am, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you, Frank.’

He sat down heavily.

‘Let me make you some cocoa,’ I offered.

‘That’s kind of you,’ he muttered.

I poured some milk into a pan and put it on the stove to warm up.

‘Why not?’ he suddenly blurted out. ‘Why won’t you marry me? What’s wrong with me? Aren’t I good enough?’

‘You’d be a fine catch for someone, Frank, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a good-looking man. I just don’t want to get married, that’s all.’

‘But what about the baby?’

‘It’s good of you to offer, but I’m sure I can bring up my own child. Plenty of other women have managed it.’ I replied.

‘It’s my child too,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘The way it happened… well, it wasn’t right, I admit that, but I’m still the father. Don’t I get a say?’

I have to admit I was quite taken aback by his insistence on being part of the baby’s life.

I tipped two teaspoons of cocoa powder into a tall mug, took the pan from the stove and poured in the milk. I put it on the table at the side of him, with the sugar bowl and a spoon.

‘I have to say, I’m quite taken by your attitude, Frank. I really didn’t expect it.’

‘We have to do something, girl,’ he said. ‘Amy was right, tongues will wag and I’ll only get the good end of it all. You’ll get the bad.’

An Idea suddenly lit up like a roman candle in my brain.

‘I have an idea, and it might just work out for the both of us,’ I said.

Frank scooped two spoons of sugar into his drink and stirred it. He was about to put the wet spoon back into the sugar bowl, but catching my look, he quickly changed his mind, sucked the moisture from it and placed it on the table instead. He put both hands around the mug, took a sip and leaned forward.

‘What do you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘Move in here,’ I said. ‘Not in my bed,’ I added quickly. ‘We can put you up on a foldaway trestle bed in the parlour for now. Later, we’ll see how it goes, perhaps you could move into one of the unused bedrooms. People will perhaps see that as an acknowledgement of your parenthood,’ I answered.

Frank wasn’t convinced.

‘I’d much rather do the right thing. I’m a good worker, Alice. I won’t let you down, there are jobs going at the mill.’

‘Work here,’ I said.

‘Here?’

‘Why not? There’s always work on the farm. It will be a proper job, with proper wages. But you’ll have to work your way in with the lads. They won’t just accept you because you’re living in the big house. I’ll pay you a bit more than they’re on, but you must never let them know.’

It was Frank’s turn to think.

‘It’s a plan, of sorts,’ he said. ‘What about later on – if it all works out, and we get on really well? How about marrying me then?’ He looked around the kitchen, its warm hearth, the horse brasses on the wall and the feeling of permanence that went with it. ‘I quite fancy myself as a farmer.’

Alarm bells rang. I was adamant that I wasn’t going to hand the farm over to a stranger, it had been in my family for generations, and once my father had gone, if I married Frank, the farm would be pretty much his. The law didn’t care about women. Justice was a device for men to utilise.

‘I’m not saying, no, Frank,’ I said carefully, ‘and I won’t rule the idea out completely. Maybe in a few years? As you said, we will have to get to know each other.’

‘A few years?’ Frank thought about it. ‘I think we should at least pretend we’re married. To the locals if no one else.’

‘We could,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve no problem with that.’

‘Let’s go away for a weekend,’ he suggested. ‘We could come back and say we got married while we were at the seaside or something. Maybe Gretna Green? that really would get their tongues wagging. No bugger will ever ask to see the marriage certificate.’

‘Now you’re getting it,’ I said. ‘That’s a masterstroke.’ Another idea came to me, but not one I was certain I wanted to take up. I looked at Frank, sitting on the chair warming his hands in front of the boiler, and stupidly, felt sorry for him. ‘Tell you what? Wait until just before the baby is here and I’ll change my name by deed poll. That way all three of us will have the same surname. That ought to convince the most ardent of doubters.’

Frank finished his drink and got up from the chair.

‘When do I start?’ he asked.

‘Monday?’ I suggested. ‘Bring your stuff over at the weekend.’ I hesitated a moment and then spoke in the firmest voice I could muster. ‘Frank, never forget, I’m the boss here?’

I’m not sure he really liked that idea much. He walked to the back door before turning to face me.

‘That’s reasonable, for now, but don’t show me up in front of the other lads by ordering me about,’ he said. ‘Let me have a modicum of dignity.’

‘The other lads don’t