Shameful Secrets on Coronation Close, page 10
‘Robin’s delivering it tomorrow. He’s such a good friend.’
She immediately regretted mentioning how good a friend he was, fully expecting Thelma to rib her about how Robin would like to be more than a friend.
‘That’s nice.’ Such an uncharacteristic response. It seemed Thelma’s mind was elsewhere.
‘You look tired,’ Jenny remarked. Of course that could be all it was, but she couldn’t help thinking there was something else. After all, nobody was as energetic and steadfast as Thelma Dawson! But of late her energy had seemed depleted.
Just as she was thinking that, Thelma broke out of her musing, a bright expression flashing like lightning in her eyes. ‘It’s the street party making me so tired. There’s still so much to do.’
‘And lots to look forward to,’ Jenny agreed, though she didn’t entirely believe it to be the reason.
The brightness intensified. ‘Yes. I’m doing my best to persuade Bert to come, but he won’t come without his mother. Says he can’t leave her alone by herself on such an important day.’
‘She hasn’t met you.’
Thelma shook her head and looked contrite.
Jenny took it one step further. ‘He hasn’t told her about you?’
Thelma pulled a face and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m afraid not.’
Jenny thought it over. Thelma and Bert had been close friends for at least eighteen months, their relationship beginning in the months prior to her arrival in the close. ‘Isn’t it about time she did know? Don’t you think he should tell her? You could write to her.’
‘Hah,’ returned Thelma, slapping her thigh. ‘Like that old cow over the road in number one? You know I shouldn’t say this, but I hope and pray that she doesn’t come out of hospital ever again. Anyway, it’s a coward’s way out. If Bert won’t tell her about me, then the only alternative is for me to visit her and tell her myself.’
Jenny’s jaw dropped. ‘You’d really do that?’
This was hardly what she’d had in mind and fancied there was a specific reason for Thelma’s flagrant and slightly unnerving statement. Surely it would set Bert’s mother against Thelma.
They might have discussed it at further length if George hadn’t come barging in the back door, cap set off centre, cheeks flushed and the smell of booze on his breath.
He greeted his mother and Jenny with a cheeky grin, dipped into his pocket and drew out a pair of silk stockings still in their cellophane wrapping.
‘What you got there?’ asked Thelma, surprise and disapproval etched on her face in equal measure.
He laughed. ‘You can see what it is. Stockings. Bought them for one and eleven from a bloke in the pub.’
‘Who are they for?’
‘A girl,’ he replied, his grin expanding into a smirk that Jenny felt bordered on lascivious.
Thelma asked if she had a name and why hadn’t he told her before. ‘And when’s she coming for tea?’
The drink made him wobble a bit, but the smug expression remained. ‘I can’t bring ’er to tea. I ain’t met ’er yet. I give ’er the stockings and she gives me...'
Thelma was up like a flash. She grabbed the stockings, opened the dresser drawer, shoved them in and shut it. She looked furious. Two steps and she was inches from his face, wagging her finger and shouting that she was having none of that in her house. Giving a girl a pair of stockings purely to get his wicked way with her. ‘You could ruin a girl’s life.’
George almost fell over, just about keeping himself upright by grabbing at the dresser, steadying himself only to have Thelma have another go at him.
‘I know what you’re up to. And I won’t have it, George Dawson. I bloody well won’t have it.’
The man that George Dawson had grown into vanished. He was again the little boy Thelma had brought up by herself, praised when he did right and shamed when he did wrong.
Befuddled by drink, he looked unsure what to say or what to do.
Thelma made the decision for him, pointing a manicured, red-painted finger at the living-room door. ‘Get to bed, George Dawson. And don’t let me see you until you’re sober.’
Amazingly, he did as she ordered, looking confused and instantly sober.
Even after he’d gone, Thelma’s anger remained. Her face was flushed, her shoulders rigid, her eyes downcast to the hearth-rug that couldn’t possibly share any blame.
‘Thelma. I’d better be going.’
Thelma shuddered as she came to, blinking at Jenny as though she’d forgotten she was there. She clapped a hand to her heart, sat down. Her breathing was erratic.
Feeling instantly concerned, Jenny urged her to take deep breaths. ‘Do you really think he would do what you said – you know – give a girl a pair of stockings in exchange for sex?’
Thelma sat back in her chair. For the first time since Jenny had known her, she looked defeated and incredibly angry. Was it all down to George? Jenny wasn’t convinced. Thelma had acted a bit strange for some time. She couldn’t put her finger on it with any great certainty. In time, Thelma might disclose what was troubling her.
When Thelma at last raised her eyes, Jenny had expected the forthright look to be back. To her dismay, they were moist with tears.
‘Oh Jenny. I don’t know what to do. It wasn’t my fault and I’m all at sixes and sevens…’ Her bottom lip quivered, the words dried up and she sobbed.
Jenny felt at a loss. Ever since she’d known her – which admittedly wasn’t that long – she’d regarded Thelma as – not exactly formidable – but pragmatic, the kind who could sort things out when nobody else could.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Thelma sniffed, got out a handkerchief and blew her nose. She shook her head, held it a bit higher, then set her jaw firm. ‘Sometimes I hate men.’
There was nothing Jenny could say except that sometimes she did too – which seemed a bit lame.
Thelma’s watery eyes held hers as she said, ‘I’m expecting.’
Jenny’s jaw dropped as she processed several thoughts, questions that popped into her mind.
‘Is it…?’
Thelma shook her head vehemently. ‘Bert’s? No. Bert is a gentleman – one of the few I’ve ever met.’
‘Then who?’
Thelma blew her nose again, took a deep breath and began to outline what had happened to bring her to this sorry state.
‘Do you remember that blizzard back in January on the night when George was due home?’
Jenny nodded silently and waited for Thelma to continue.
‘I was late home from work because I’d had to walk.’
‘The bus broke down. I remember you saying.’
‘That’s right.’ She paused. ‘That was when it happened. I didn’t know him. He helped me down off the platform and then offered to accompany me through the snow. If I’d put my boots on that morning instead of my court shoes, I might not have been slipping and sliding all over the place. Anyway, he took my arm. Seemed kind of him at first – until we got to the top of Donegal Road where the houses fall back behind the trees. You know where I mean? That little cul-de-sac set around the green. Just a path going round. It was pitch black there.’
She looked down at her handkerchief as she twisted it around one thumb and then the other. Her eyes remained downcast.
‘I screamed and shouted, but nobody would have heard in that storm. The houses were too far away and there wasn’t a solitary soul around.’ She raised her head. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, looked at Jenny. ‘It wasn’t my fault, Jenny. There was nothing I could do to fight him off.’
‘Of course you weren’t to blame, Thelma. Of course you weren’t.’ She swallowed. ‘Have you told anyone else? George? Bert? Anyone?’ She didn’t mention the police, who tended to take a hostile view. What was she doing taking the arm of a man she didn’t know on a pitch-black night? She was asking for it. That’s what they tended to say.
Again, a shaking of Thelma’s head. ‘I’ve only told you and the truth is… I’m not sure I’ve got the heart to get rid of it. I’d feel so guilty, but on the other hand… What shall I do, Jenny? What shall I do?’
Taken aback, Jenny looked down at her hands. Never had she seen Thelma look so dejected or so confused. On the surface, her dear friend and neighbour was full of confidence. Beneath the surface lurked a more uncertain person, a soft centre.
She thought about Cath buying the laxatives in the chemist. It had worked for her. She mentioned it to Thelma.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve already tried them. It didn’t work.’ She took a deep breath. ‘There’s a woman in City Road. I might have to go to her, but time’s marching on. I’ll have to go soon or keep it. Poor thing didn’t ask to come into the world, did it? The woman in City Road could get rid of it for me – for a price.’
Jenny didn’t mention that she knew that woman, had made use of her services when she’d found herself pregnant again and unable to face the consequences – especially with Roy the way he was.
She bit her bottom lip, then cautiously said, ‘I’ve heard of that woman, but could you do it. Could you really do that?’
The broad shoulders shrugged from beneath her favourite green satin blouse. ‘I don’t know.’
Silence reigned until Jenny finally advised her to sleep on it.
‘It’s a big decision, but it’s your decision Thelma. Remember that any time of the day or night I’m there if you need me.’
12
Thoughts of Thelma and her little problem were still in Jenny’s thoughts the next day. She recalled the snowstorm on the night George had come home and that Thelma had arrived home late. It had been somewhat surprising, given how much she’d been looking forward to his return.
Since then, she’d told nobody about what had happened to her except for Jenny. How far gone must she be? Three months? If she did decide to get rid of it, she’d have to do it soon. The thought of it cast a gloom over the morning, one spent in general housework and some mending, but it was hard to concentrate. It also kept thoughts of Charlie from her mind. For the most part, she now accepted that he was out of her league.
In between household tasks, she got up and looked out of the window across to number twelve, Thelma’s house. Her gaze travelled across the green and around the close to the other houses, grouped in a horseshoe fashion, the narrow access road keeping them apart from the green and the trees in the middle. Thelma had been so looking forward to the coronation street party and still was. Busying herself in the preparations was no doubt keeping her predicament from her mind.
Jenny was just about to turn back to the pile of freshly ironed bedding. It had taken the last two hours to iron and was now ready to be put away in the airing cupboard. The airing cupboard was at the side of the fireplace in the living room. It was whilst she was doing this that her attention was suddenly drawn to the sight of an ambulance coming into the close and pulling up outside number one.
The doors of the ambulance were thrown open. A figure emerged swathed in blankets and was taken into next door by two ambulancemen. Snatches of conversation drifted in her direction – the Crittall windows kept out little sound and not enough wintry weather.
She couldn’t see from her living-room window but presumed that Harriet had answered the door. Her immediate conclusion was that Dorothy was home from hospital.
So how would it be inside that pristine house now she was home? Not warmer, she thought. Dorothy didn’t come over as a warm person though she sympathised that she’d been in hospital. She didn’t so much feel sorry for Dorothy as she did for Harriet, who had admitted that things were much more peaceful without her. She wondered how long it would be before Dorothy was healthy enough to return to her old ways. Thelma was the number one subject of her malice, though she wasn’t the only one.
I might be next, Jenny thought to herself. How long would it be before Dorothy learned that Harriet had invited her for tea within the hallowed portals of number one, Coronation Close? She couldn’t see her liking it. Dorothy wasn’t the sort to welcome visitors, though Jenny had seen the vicar call in.
Poor Harriet. She felt sorry for her. She’d been so nice, so open until mention of the army that is.
Well, the ice had been broken. With an air of resolution, Jenny determined to knock on her door now Dorothy was home, perhaps take in a few homemade rock cakes. One good turn deserves another, she thought – at least as far as the amiable Harriet was concerned.
And what about the things that had happened in her absence? Would Harriet tell her sister any of it? She presumed she would learn of the gas explosion, though doubted she would approve of her sister’s act of kindness inviting her in for tea and most definitely not inviting her to move in for a while.
Today wasn’t the time to present herself at the door of number one. Besides which her new table and chairs were being delivered.
Just after lunch, Robin arrived, his van pulling up outside in a puff of blue smoke, the crunching of worn gears enough to set teeth on edge.
She waved at him from the front door. He waved back, then beckoned her.
‘You take two chairs; I’ll take two, then we’ll handle the table between us.’
Being smaller, the new table and chairs were easy enough, but heaving out the old oak table took some doing, but a quick shout to George, who was on his way out, made the job a lot easier. The chairs were not such a problem.
Jenny stood there admiring her new furniture, feeling lighter for several reasons, mostly because there seemed to be much more room. A shaft of springtime sunshine chose that moment to show its face. What with its fresh paint and pine furniture, the kitchen gleamed.
Jenny sighed with happiness. It really was like a picture in a magazine. There was so much more space. Without the dining table clogging up the centre of the living room, the second-hand armchairs and settee were accessible. A floor lamp with a parchment shade was more easily seen. The bamboo table on which the wireless balanced looked less crowded, hidden as it had been against the wall. The dresser drawers and cupboards were easier to open.
Undoubtedly, the living room was much improved, but as far as Jenny was concerned, it was the kitchen that took centre stage. The light-coloured country-style furniture and daisy-patterned curtains and the sunshine coming through the window made it glow. In fact, it seemed more like May than April, inside the house as well as outside.
In the garden, early buds had appeared on the apple tree, vegetables were sending green shoots through the dark earth, along with the peeping heads of cowslips, remnants of the meadow that used to be from the time when the estate was fields. The smell of spring was in the air.
Absorbed in her thoughts, Jenny forgot that Robin was still there, one elbow bent and resting on the door surround, a slight smile tweaking his lips as he watched her looking so pleased with everything.
Receiving no reaction from her, he eventually asked, ‘How about a cuppa after all that ’ard work?’
It was as though she’d awoken from a deep sleep.
She laughed in a light-hearted, distracted manner. ‘Oh, Robin. I’m so sorry. I forgot you were there. I’ll fill the kettle.’
Robin continued to watch her. He loved her laughter, loved the fact that in some small way he’d brought her happiness. Amazing, he thought, what a bit of old furniture could do.
She wasn’t to know that he’d paid more than he’d sold it to her. That was for him to know and keep locked away. Like his love for her. That too was locked away, ready to be declared when the moment was right. He couldn’t guess as to when that would be, but one thing he had in abundance was patience. He would never have put up with Doreen so long if he hadn’t had patience.
Water gushed from the tap into the kettle. As she filled it, he got out a box of matches and lit the gas. The kettle went straight onto it.
‘I’m so grateful,’ she said to him. ‘You’ve been so kind. I’m sure you would have got more than ten shillings for it.’
‘We’re old mates,’ he said, unwilling to admit anything. He pulled out one of the new chairs from beneath the table. ‘If you can’t ’elp an old mate, then you ain’t worth a light.’
He lit up a cigarette. Jenny provided an old tea saucer to use as an ashtray.
She was wary of asking whether he was still living apart from Doreen and how often he got to see the children. Best, she decided, to stick to details of his furniture business. His personal life was a mess, his marriage broken. She feared going there.
Pouring tea into his cup, she asked how the business was doing. ‘Any plans to expand?’
After swigging his tea, he wiped his mouth and looked pleased with himself when he outlined what he was planning. ‘I’m reopening the pawnbroking business. There’s a need for it around ’ere, so might as well jump in.’
‘Will you be able to manage?’ she asked whilst pouring a second helping of tea and spooning sugar into his cup.
‘I’ll need to employ someone. I can’t do it all meself.’
She didn’t ask about his wife helping. She already knew the answer to that. As it turned out, he mentioned her first.
‘I need to make more money. Doreen wants a toaster and loads of other things besides.’
‘That’s expensive.’
‘Yeah, and even though we’re separated, she says I’ve got a responsibility to keep ’er just as if we were still together. I told ’er to use a toasting fork like everybody else, but she weren’t ’aving none of that. She wants a toaster that she can plug in. And one of them irons that plugs in to the light socket.’
Jenny puffed out her cheeks. ‘Goodness. I’d like one too, but for now it’s the old way.’
In the world she knew, there were two heavy irons placed on the hobs at the side of the fire. Or on the gas. Either way, that was the accepted way of ironing and hadn’t changed much for over a hundred years or more. Take one off, put the other one on; once the heat had gone out of one, it was put back on the gas and the one heated taken off and used. It took hours, but that was how it was.
