New Neighbours for Coronation Close, page 13
‘I can stay at Trevor’s place if I must. There’re important things to discuss besides fitting in the job at the docks.’ He’d sounded both pleased and slightly apprehensive about so doing.
‘You do what you must,’ she’d said to him.
She didn’t mind one little bit. She had her house and the more Roy was absent from it, the happier she would be.
Even though it was Sunday, she had no intention of going to church. She’d got out of that habit a long time ago. For the children, it was something to occupy them and help them make friends. The same children they were with for Sunday school would also be at their new school. It made sense to get them acquainted.
Jenny tingled with delight as she wandered from room to room, straightening things, putting things away, deciding that a cushion looked better in the centre of the sofa rather than against one of the arms.
Upstairs, she made beds and opened windows to let in the fresh air. In the kitchen, she checked the stone base of the larder where a bullock’s heart, already stuffed with sage and onion, awaited transfer to the oven. A gas oven! She laughed out loud. She might have missed some of her neighbours at Blue Bowl Alley, but she certainly didn’t miss that temperamental old range.
In a way, she felt like a child playing at house, making a home from bits and pieces that had seen better days. The house deserved something better, but for now it would have to do.
A breeze ruffled at her hair as she took a bundle of washing out to peg onto the line. Whilst doing so, she heard clattering pans from the house next door.
The lid of a dustbin clanged as the woman she’d seen on the day she’d moved in placed rubbish into the bin and slammed the lid.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m Jenny Crawford. We met the day I moved here.’
The woman ignored her and went inside. The back door slammed.
It was disappointing. Perhaps she hadn’t heard, though Jenny couldn’t quite believe that.
The day was too bright and the house was too exciting to dent her spirits. Besides, she had so much to do.
The curtains she was hanging at the living-room window had been a moving-in ‘present’ from Gladys Hubert.
‘Seeing as I knew yer mother, I’ll let you have them cheap. The neighbours will judge on how good a housewife you are by the quality of your curtains. They’re a snip at two shillings though I should charge five.’
As Jenny stepped up onto a chair to hang them, her attention was drawn to a strident figure who looked to be heading her way.
Dressed in a summery dress of blue flowers with a crisp Peter Pan collar and cuffs, Thelma was marching out from her house across the road. At the same time, another slight movement drew her attention to another woman exiting number seven at the end of the road.
There was purpose in the way both smiling women walked towards each other then came to a halt outside her garden gate. She knew at once that at least two of her neighbours were coming to make friends, recompense for the woman next door ignoring her.
Thank God Roy wasn’t in.
Thelma waved one hand. The other held a teapot. The other woman, mousier than Thelma and nowhere near as well dressed despite it being Sunday, held a plate covered with a tea towel.
The garden gate squeaked on metal hinges as it was pushed open.
‘Oh my,’ breathed Jenny as she carefully stepped down from the chair. She felt a little guilty she hadn’t taken her new neighbour up on her invitation.
A ready excuse on her tongue and a new joy in her heart, she rushed to the front door.
Thelma’s teeth beamed ultra-white against her bright red lips. ‘Brought you a brew. Thought you could do with it after yer busy day,’ said Thelma. Without waiting for an invite, Thelma stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, her mate following in behind her.
Jenny began her apology. ‘I’m sorry about that, but I got so caught up with the unpacking and everything.’
‘My fault,’ said Thelma. ‘I should ’ave known you’d be whacked. Besides which I ’ad to be out by seven thirty.’
A small head swathed in a halo of metal curlers tipped sideways behind her. ‘I’m Cath Lockhart. I lives up the far end at number seven.’
On getting a better look at her, Jenny saw that Cath wasn’t very mousy at all. Blonde hair gleamed from around the steel curlers. Her eyes were blue and she had a pert nose. Perhaps it was just her being alongside the more vibrant and dark-haired Thelma that lessened her impact.
Without waiting for an invitation, Thelma barged into the living room, pulled out a dining chair and plonked herself on it. At the same time she set the teapot down on the scratched and scuffed surface of the dining table. ‘Me mate Cath’s brought you biscuits. Thought you might need something a bit sweet to boost your energy.’
Cath jerked her chin at her companion. ‘Thelma Dawson. Widow of this parish, three kids and two cats named Albert and Victoria.’
Jenny smiled. ‘I know. We’ve already met.’
‘Oh yes. Of course.’
Thelma laughed. ‘Seen enough of me to know that she’s likely to see me big bosom coming round the corner before she sees me.’
They laughed as though they’d known each other for years.
Cath set the plate of biscuits she’d brought with her in the middle of the table. ‘Do you want us to use tea plates?’ she asked. ‘Wouldn’t want to scatter crumbs all over the floor.’
Jenny fetched three from the pile on the dresser waiting to be put away.
‘I’ll fetch milk and sugar from the kitchen,’ said Thelma. ‘Don’t bother to tell me where it is. I can guess.’
She came back with both sugar and milk and put them beside the teapot whilst Jenny laid out cups, saucers and spoons.
‘Right. We’ve got everything now,’ Thelma declared, returning to her chair with a contented sigh.
Cath pushed the plate of biscuits in Jenny’s direction, leaned over them and whispered. ‘We thought you could do with making new friends.’
Thelma added, ‘Are we right, or are we right?’
‘You’re right. You cannot imagine how pleased I am to be here. It’s so different to the place we lived before. I feel so grateful to have this house.’
‘And new friends to go with it,’ said Cath with a soft sigh. Everything about Cath was soft, except for the curlers jangling like a brace of teaspoons suspended in her hair. Jenny couldn’t help liking her.
Thelma was bouncy, brazen and larger than life. Her hair was shoulder length, her face powdered, and the buttons of her green satin blouse barely restrained her voluptuous breasts.
Jenny had liked her on first meeting and now decided that she liked her even more.
‘So where did you live before you came yer?’ asked Cath.
Feeling a blush come to her face, Jenny’s hair swiped around her face as she looked down into her teacup. ‘The Pithay. We had rooms.’
Cath said nothing and sipped at her tea.
Thelma nodded knowingly. ‘Well, you ain’t living there now. You’ll soon settle in.’
‘I already have.’
‘Lot to do though.’
Recovered from embarrassment, Jenny laughed lightly. ‘I haven’t even put the curtains up yet.’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Thelma. ‘We’ll give you a hand.’
‘Tea first though,’ said Cath, ‘or it’ll get cold.’
Over the cuppa and biscuits, they told Jenny all about themselves, that Cath’s husband’s name was Bill, that she had three children and that she’d lived in Coronation Close for ten years.
‘Course, it was called Truro Close back at the beginning of the year before the old king died. A lot of the roads around yer are named after places in Cornwall or Ireland. So you ’ave Newquay Road, Kildare Road and what ’ave you. Then, a few weeks back, the council decided to rename Truro Close in time for the coronation next year. The Lord Mayor came along to rename it. We ’ad a lot of clapping and people from the newspaper, but nobody brought cake or anything. I thought they would ’ave’
‘Cath does love a bit of cake,’ said Thelma. ‘But never mind that. That weren’t what counted. I can’t tell you how pleased I was,’ gushed Thelma, patting her chest as though she might faint away with the excitement of it all. She heaved a huge sigh and, in doing so, a button came undone and yet more pale flesh, as wobbly as blancmange, was exposed to view. ‘Mind you,’ she said with a hint of pride. ‘It was partly down to me. I mentioned it to a certain friend of mine. He thought it was a good idea and put it to those whose job it is to decide these things. Chuffed to bits I was when they agreed. Ain’t that bloody marvellous!’
Jenny agreed that it was. Never in her wildest dreams would she have any idea of how to contact somebody in the know to make things like that happen. She might have done at one time, but that time was long past. It seemed that knowing people in power was something both Thelma and Roy had in common.
She spotted Cath rolling her eyes.
Thelma appeared not to notice and carried on with her story. ‘A bloke from the newspaper came round to ask me where I got the idea. Well, course, I showed him me knick-knacks and photos and that. Cath knows about me collection. I’ve got coronation mugs from the last coronation, George the Fifth, God bless his soul. And I’ve got one for Edward the Seventh and the diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria. Pictures too. I cuts out everything about the royal family.’ She shrugged her shoulders in another satisfied sigh and said, ‘I can’t get enough of royalty. I’ve got quite a collection. I’ll show them to you sometime once you’re settled in.’
Cath Lockhart had been sitting quietly munching biscuits and leaving Thelma to do the talking. Now she butted in.
‘It’s about the coronation that we’re ’ere. We want to arrange a street party and wondered if you’d like to join our committee.’
‘But that won’t be until next year.’
‘May the twelfth to be exact,’ said Thelma. ‘I can’t wait meself. Flags everywhere, loads of food and drink. No obligation of course, but we thought you might like to. It might help you getting to know the neighbours. You’ll find them a friendly lot – overall,’ she added.
An unfathomable look passed between the two women. She guessed they assumed she might refuse. It was the last thing she was likely to do even though Roy might have a fit if he found out. She was so happy to have good neighbours so openly offering her friendship.
‘That’s a lovely bit of grass out there,’ Jenny said, nodding towards the window.
‘It belongs to all of us,’ stated Cath. ‘Though there’s some that thinks otherwise.’ Cath grimaced. Again, a look passed between her and Thelma.
‘She’s the problem,’ said Thelma, gritting her teeth and jerking her chin to sudden activity at the end of the close. ‘Old Mother Partridge next door to you. She thinks she bloody owns it!’
Cath craned her neck so she could better see out of the living-room window. ‘She’s out there now. Washing the street sign.’
‘Washing what?’ exclaimed Jenny.
‘The street sign,’ said Thelma. ‘You come and see.’
The legs of three dining chairs scraped across the floorboards.
Together all three women stood at the living-room window eyeing the oval of green grass. Two women stood at the bottom of the sign which was wooden and perched on top a concrete post.
‘Fancy. On a Sunday too.’
‘They go to the evening service. They’re sisters,’ Thelma added. ‘Mrs Dorothy Partridge and Miss Harriet Smith. Or at least I think she’s a Miss. Hard to tell, though my guess is that she is. Dot Partridge lost her old man in the war, so I hear. I think her sister was engaged but her man never came back. Just like me.’
Three heads together, they continued to peer at what was going on. One woman, the thinnest, climbed a rickety-looking stepladder. The other stood at the bottom, a heavy foot placed on the bottom step to prevent it from toppling.
With great deliberation, the woman on the top step of the ladder began washing the newly erected sign stating that the name of the cul-de-sac was Coronation Close.
‘Thinks even that is her private property,' growled Thelma.
'But it ain’t.’ Cath shook her head, an action that sent her curlers singing.
‘Of course it isn’t.’ Thelma sounded as though the very idea was heresy. ‘She tells the boys they’ve got no business playing football on the grass and the girls not to run around like gypsies. I can tell you now, I’ve had a few run-ins with the old sow. Cath too.’
Up until now Jenny had truly believed she’d landed on her feet. Now it seemed that the woman next door might be a fly in the ointment. Her new house meant everything to her. She vowed there and then to avoid the woman at all costs. It was all she could do. ‘Sounds a right old dragon.’
Thelma grimaced. ‘She is. And Welsh at that.’
‘Is she likely to join in the coronation celebrations?
‘We’ll be celebrating the coronation of our new king. If she don’t want to take part, then that’s up to her. But I’m telling you now, there’ll be repercussions. She’ll be a traitor! Unpatriotic! Never mind hanging her at the Tower of London if she comes out with any of her nonsense. I’ll ’ang – sorry – hang her meself.’ Thelma’s voice rang around the room. Arched eyebrows furrowed above her eyes. The cheery expression had turned dark with indignation.
Jenny had noticed every so often she slipped into a strong Bristol accent dropping her aitches and rolling her ‘r’s. Jenny guessed that working in a dress shop had made her change her ways. She’d heard Bertrams were a bit posh. All the same hanging a neighbour seemed a bit far fetched.
Cath saw Jenny’s puzzled look and smiled. ‘If she protests, Thelma will be round there accusing ’er of being disloyal. Ain’t that right, Thelma?’
‘Too right I will,’ said Thelma.
‘You’ll ’ave to see her collection of mugs and cups and suchlike. Wonderful they are. Already got one for the new king, ain’t you, Thelma.’
Thelma beamed. ‘Two mugs so far and one tile. And pictures. I cut out a picture from the newspaper the other day of the king visiting the mines in South Wales. Saw the same thing at the pictures. Everyone was cheering him.’ She sighed. ‘I reckon he’ll be the best king we’ve ever had.’
Cath threw Jenny a rueful grin. ‘Sounds as if you’re in love with ’im.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Thelma bristled. ‘I’m just patriotic and aching for a bit of change in this world. You mark my words; he’ll be like a breath of fresh air.’
Cath and Jenny finished off their tea without saying anything.
Thelma resumed. ‘We don’t need to sort out food just yet. Let’s get Christmas over first before we start doing that, but we could start making things such as fancy dress and bunting.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Jenny. She found herself getting quite excited about becoming involved. ‘Will this party be just for Coronation Close or for everyone else around here?’
‘Coronation Close only,’ said Thelma, stressing the name with a superior sniff and a queenly tossing of her head. She slapped a curvaceous thigh. ‘We’ve been singled out to be royal, you might say, so let’s keep it to ourselves. I’ve counted. There should be over thirty of us, including the kids and invited grannies, uncles, aunts and suchlike. That’s more than enough. We can dress up and run games and give prizes to the kids. P’raps we can get hold of a gramophone so we can have a dance.’
‘Mrs Partridge ’as got a gramophone. Doubt she’ll lend it though.’
Thelma grimaced. ‘We’ll get hold of one somehow.’
Jenny positively glowed with enthusiasm. She had friends close at hand. She’d done so at the old place, but Roy had forbidden her to meet up with them. Something told her that he’d be hard pushed to keep Thelma Dawson at bay.
Her spirit soared. ‘It sounds wonderful. I’d really like to help. Just ask and I’ll do what I can.’
‘Any good with a sewing machine?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘I haven’t got one. I only wish I did. I sew by hand. Only small things, taking down the hems on the girls’ dresses – they grow so quickly.’
‘I was thinking about fancy dress costumes. You’ll need a sewing machine for that.’
‘I wish,’ said Jenny with a heartfelt sigh. ‘I would love to make the girls some new clothes – and myself for that matter.’ No smoothing or altering could make the clothes she wore less shabby. She’d had them for years. She felt Thelma’s eyes scrutinising the faded dress she wore, the darns and patches that held it together.
‘Well, that’s sorted,’ said Thelma, getting to her feet and picking up the teapot. She smoothed her skirt down over her ample hips. ‘I’ll give you a hand with them curtains before I go.’
‘Me too,’ said Cath, returning her plate to the table. ‘I’ll take the plates and stuff out into the kitchen and get the washing-up done.’
It didn’t take long for the three of them to put the curtains up. Afterwards, they took a moment to admire their handiwork.
Thelma declared it a job well done.
‘Them curtains look nice there. If you want some more help with anything, come and knock.’
Jenny noticed that although Thelma had ample hips and bosom, her waist was narrow, the classic hourglass figure. Edwardian ladies came to mind, tightly corseted, bosoms held high and a bustle making their hips and bottoms look twice the size they really were.
Jenny’s new friends paused at the door before leaving and looked to where Gloria and Tilly, still in their best clothes after Sunday School, were playing on the green.
‘Your girls look as though they’ve settled in all right,’ Thelma remarked and nodded to where Tilly and Gloria were throwing a ball between themselves and two other young girls of their age. One of the girls had copper-coloured hair, the other whitish blonde.
Jenny smiled. ‘It looks that way.’
‘How about yer old man?’
An excuse fell easily from her tongue. ‘Oh, you won’t see too much of him. He’s a docker. They’ve got him working nights.’
