New Neighbors for Coronation Close, page 17
‘Alice and Mary clear their own dishes away. And they cook. Can we learn to cook, Ma?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
She left the girls, picked up a magazine – one Thelma had bequeathed to her – and began to read.
Before she’d hardly got going, she prodded in her pocket for a handkerchief, fumbling in one cardigan pocket and then in another. In doing so, her fingertips touched the screwed-up piece of paper that had flown into her face.
The paper was blue and likely from a Basildon Bond writing pad. The right thing would be to throw it onto the fire but she didn’t. Old words spoken by her mother popped into mind.
Curiosity killed the cat.
Something about that made her smile, even made her defiant. She just had to read it.
She unfurled the paper and laid it on her thigh. Crinkles were smoothed out. To her eyes, it seemed someone had begun writing a letter, then stopped halfway. Words were crossed out, a line scrawled through the rest. She could imagine whoever it was, pen tapping against teeth as they thought about what they’d written and decided it wasn’t right.
It's a private letter, she thought. I’ve got no right reading it.
Then and there she might have thrown it into the fire if her gaze hadn’t landed on the first words.
Dear Mr Bertram,
Although Mrs Thelma Dawson is a very good friend of mine, I do feel you should be aware that not only is she unmarried, but all three of her children were born out of wedlock. She also likes men too much and I think…
The ink trailed off into a series of scratches.
A very good friend of mine…
Thelma believed that Mrs Partridge had sent the accusing letters, but would she really describe herself as a friend? It didn’t seem likely.
Placing the crumpled piece of paper between the pages of the magazine, she went out into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She needed to think about this and decide what to do. Cath Lockhart was Thelma’s closest friend. Was it possible that Thelma had been barking up the wrong tree?
Cath and Thelma had always struck her as complete opposites. Whereas Thelma resembled a mannequin from a shop window, Cath was casual in the extreme. Rarely was she seen without her hair being in curlers and scuffing along in her slippers. She’d also seen her curling her lip in a surly manner when Thelma had altered yet another item of clothing to suit Jenny’s trimmer figure.
As she sipped her last cup of tea of the day, Jenny thought long and hard. Should she mention it to Thelma or not?
‘No,’ she said softly to herself. ‘I can’t.’
With that, she screwed the letter back up and consigned it to the glowing coals of the fire.
Let sleeping dogs lie. Another one of her mother’s old sayings. On this occasion, she would take her advice until one way or another she knew for sure.
18
Around two in the afternoon on Wednesday, half-day closing for most shops, Thelma came dashing across to Jenny’s house, scuttling round to the back door and letting herself in.
‘Look,’ she said, buzzing with excitement and waving an envelope and a piece of paper above her head. ‘I’ve got a letter from my boy George.’
In response to Thelma’s infectious joy, Jenny grabbed the kettle. ‘That calls for a cuppa and a digestive biscuit.’
‘Calls for two. Calls for something a bit stronger too, but I’ll leave that until later.’
There was a girlish blush to her face when she said it. Jenny guessed she had a date with Bert that evening.
Before the kettle had chance to boil, Cath also entered the kitchen. As usual, she was dressed in slopping slippers, headscarf and rattling metal curlers.
‘Saw you cross the road in a hurry, so thought something must be up,’ she said to Thelma.
‘There’ll be enough in the pot for three,’ said Jenny.
It had become noticeable that whenever Thelma entered Jenny’s house, Cath was not far behind her. She wondered whether Thelma had noticed but assumed that she had.
‘I’ve got a letter from George,’ said Thelma once she’d got her breath. ‘Short and to the point. But then that’s my boy. He never did have much to say for himself.’
‘I’ll make the tea. Read it out. I can hear well enough in the kitchen.’
A clatter at the back door heralded the arrival of Tilly and Gloria accompanied by Thelma’s two girls.
A hammering at the front door was answered by Tilly.
‘It’s Fred and Paul,’ she called over her shoulder to her sister and her friends. ‘They want to know if we’re coming out to play knock out ginger.’
Thelma nearly choked. ‘Just don’t go knocking at next door. I don’t want that old bat spoiling my evening.’
The girls disappeared, leaving Thelma still breathless and patting her chest.
‘Well read it out,’ Jenny shouted from the kitchen.
‘I’m too breathless. I’ll be needing that tea.’
‘Well, Cath can read it out for you.’
There was a pause, then a shout of, ‘I’ll wait for you to come back in. You can read it.’
As Jenny placed the tea things on the table, Thelma explained that being at sea, George had little time to post letters. ‘Let alone write them,’ she added with a chesty chuckle.
As she took her teacup and saucer from Jenny, she passed her the letter. ‘Read it for me, will you, my lover?’
Jenny glanced at Cath, the prospect of seeing envy on her face. There was none, but there was a look she couldn’t quite make out. Surprisingly, she thought she detected embarrassment.
After a good swig of tea, Thelma said, ‘I’m all ears.’
‘I thought you’d already read it?’
Thelma chuckled. ‘I have but would love to hear you read it out. You’ve got a good voice for reading.’
Sighing, Thelma settled back in her chair, cup and saucer balanced on her belly.
‘Right.’
Jenny took a deep breath:
Dear Ma, hope you are well. I am fine. Be home in New Year. Have my room shipshape and Bristol fashion. See you then. Love, George.
Jenny passed her back the letter. ‘You’re right about him being short on words, Thelma.’
Yet another bout of banging at the front door knocker was accompanied by a boyish voice ringing out.
‘Ma! Our dad’s ’ome and wants ’is dinner.’
Cath swigged back the rest of her tea. ‘I’d better be off. He was on the early morning shift so gets ‘ome early for ‘is dinner.’
‘Lunch?’ Jenny queried.
‘Yeah. Lunch. That’s it.’
The living-room door slammed behind her.
‘I bet you’re over the moon,’ Jenny said.
In response, Thelma reached for another biscuit. ‘I can’t wait.’
Jenny laughed. ‘I like his comment about making his room shipshape and Bristol fashion.’
Thelma frowned. ‘The old chest of drawers in his room’s got a touch of woodworm. It needs a new one, but I can’t take the time off work to find one. On top of that, I haven’t much money to buy one. Paying off the rent arrears a while back didn’t help, plus the girls needing new clothes. Not that I buy new dresses. You know me, buy cheap at the jumbles and wave my magic wand.’
Jenny laughed. ‘The magic wand being your sewing machine.’
They laughed in unison, reaching for another biscuit as they did so.
Although Jenny smiled, serious thoughts were going on behind her happy face. She’d been thinking for a while how best to pay Thelma back for all she’d done. Mention of sourcing an inexpensive chest of drawers got her thinking. She now had three new outfits hanging in the wardrobe, all of them given to her by Thelma. The woman was a wonder with the sewing machine and everything Jenny had been given was eminently wearable – even the one Roy had thrown into the pig bin. After three washes, she’d managed to get out all the stains.
‘Thelma, I know where I can get you a chest of drawers and they’ll deliver. I can guarantee it will have no woodworm.’
Thelma looked deeply interested. ‘Before the New Year?’
‘Easily. It’ll probably come by horse and cart, the same chap who moved me in.’
Thelma beamed. ‘I saw the bloke. Nice-looking with dark curly hair and more muscles than the horse.’
‘I’m not sure Robin would like to be compared to a horse.’
‘Jenny, my love if you could do me that favour, I’ll be in your debt forever.’
‘Nonsense. I’m already in yours. Those clothes you made for me. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘They cost pennies.’
‘Pennies make pounds.’
‘If you could do that, Jenny… do you have the time? And what about Roy?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s here less and less. I can fit it in easily.’
‘How much do you think I need to pay?’
‘Hard to say. How about ten shillings or did you want to pay a bit more?’
‘I’ll pay that and a bit more willingly. We’ll settle that and I’ll leave you to it. Oh well.’ She got up from the chair and stretched, arms bent, hands above her head. ‘Better get on home. My girls have promised me jam tarts to go with a cuppa – as if I haven’t drank enough,’ she laughed. ‘They are so good you know.’
‘They’re a credit to you.’
Mention of Thelma’s daughters brought the letter that had flown into her face to mind.
‘I’d better get going. I’ll get you the money for the new chest of drawers. And make sure it’s that handsome bloke who delivers on his horse and cart. It’ll make my day.’
‘I’ll let you out the front way. It’s getting dark out there.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Thelma, already yanking open the back door. ‘I know my way. You didn’t mind reading that letter for me, did you? Only I couldn’t catch my breath. I was that excited.’
‘Of course not. You could have let Cath read it though. It didn’t have to be me.’
Thelma paused before stepping out into the night. ‘Of course you did, Jen. Cath can’t read or write. Best not to mention it though. Don’t want to embarrass the poor girl, do we.’
Jenny was dumbstruck. ‘No. Of course we don’t.’
She didn’t mention the letter. It was burned to ashes and anyway she knew for sure that Cath had not written it. Thelma was right in accusing Dorothy Partridge. She should have known she would be.
19
Roy had arrived home from work early and told her he was going to have a bath.
‘Make sure the girls are yer when I come out of there,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something important to tell the lot of you.’
Long before he emerged from the bathroom she went outside to call the girls in and told them that their father wanted to speak to them.
Tilly scowled but Gloria bubbled with joy. ‘I bet he’s bought me a present. My dad knows I like presents.’
Tilly rolled her eyes and Jenny thought yet again that one daughter was chalk and the other cheese. So different, but still loveable. She would always love her daughters. She just couldn’t help herself.
A daughter standing either side of her, Jenny stood frozen to the spot. Roy was home and he had news to tell.
He’d shaved and had a bath. Now he stood before her wearing a black polo neck, matching trousers and polished black boots – just like his hero, Sir Oswald Moseley.
A packed suitcase nudged against his leg, not the old battered one that had held some of their clothes when they’d moved in. This one was brown and glossy, not exactly brand new but far nicer than the old thing with one broken clasp, scraped and scratched from age and wear. She guessed it was recently bought. Roy was out to make an impression.
‘I ain’t working on the docks any more. I’ve got a new job. No more heaving heavy stuff around off the ships or loading stuff onto them. I’ve got a job working for the party. It’s in London. Everything important ‘appens in London. Trevor put my name forward.’
‘They’ll pay you?’
He scowled at her as though she was stupid. ‘Of course they’ll bloody pay me, and more than I was getting at the docks, and I don’t have to wait around for work. It’s regular. I get paid weekly. I’ll send you housekeepin’ and rent money by postal order for you to cash at the Post Office. I’ll be getting paid a bit more so you can ’ave a bit more, though I ’ave to allow for accommodation and transport. You won’t go short though. And my girls won’t go short, especially my darling Gloria.’
His thin black moustache stretched along with a smile that held more pride than warmth. He reached out one arm to their youngest daughter, inviting her to fit herself beneath it.
Jenny knew he was waiting for her to applaud his success. A fixed smile remained on her face. ‘That’s wonderful, and if it’s what you want then I’m pleased for you. What exactly will you be doing?’
‘I’ll be a kind of policeman, there to protect the party’s integrity.’
Jenny’s heart sank. Integrity. Like the attack on Isaac? She swallowed her revulsion and kept her mouth tightly shut, still smiling a faint, pleasant smile, oddly sincere. In her heart of hearts, she would be glad to see him go.
For some strange reason, and quite unlike him, he couldn’t seem to look directly into her eyes. It struck her as odd. He’d never had any problem beating her down with a look before. It was as though he feared she might read the look in his eyes, a look that might betray his inner thoughts, something he didn’t want her to know.
He hugged and kissed Gloria on the top of her head. Tilly leaned stiffly into him when he belatedly wrapped an arm around her and repeated the act.
A peck on the cheek was all Jenny received. Not that she wanted more. Intimacy between them had become negligible since moving here and for that she was thankful. A dream had come true. She had a new house with a garden. She also had her girls to herself.
He gave her a five-pound note before leaving with instructions to make it last.
That crisp white note held her attention long after he’d left. She stared at it. Never had he given her so much before. It was like giving her a flag of surrender – his surrender. He was off to carry out more important matters than keep his wife in check. He was out to keep the country, and perhaps even the world at large, in check.
Arms around her daughters’ shoulders, she watched him go. Gloria was tearful, her bottom lip pouting as she swiped at the wetness in her eyes. Tilly showed no emotion in her expression, but her eyes looked brighter.
It surprised Jenny when she saw him pause outside next door, where Mrs Partridge was deadheading the roses growing just behind the privet hedge. Out of everyone else in the street, number one was the house with the most immaculate garden front and rear. Everything was about flowers, a riot of colour and not a vegetable in sight. Beans, potatoes, cabbages and carrots were lovingly tended in most back gardens when in season, a few flowers or just lawn at the front. Several of her neighbors kept chickens. Maude kept a pair of goats – a billy and a nanny.
Whatever her husband said to her next-door neighbor, Dorothy Partridge paused in her task. Jenny saw Mrs Partridge’s sour expression soften and for one fleeting moment she was almost certain a smile had appeared.
And then he was gone. She drew back from the window with mixed feelings. She wouldn’t miss him and neither would he miss her. He was going where he wanted to go and she would be content staying behind, keeping house, enjoying both it and her children without fear or reprimand.
The slamming of the front door had possessed the same air of finality as closing a book and she felt satisfied that this particular story was over. In time, other stories would emerge, but already the house seemed lighter without him.
‘It’ll be all right, darling,’ she said, wiping Gloria’s tears away. ‘Daddy has just gone away to work. He has a very important job now. You should be proud of him.’
Though I won’t, she thought. I know the kinds of things he’ll do in the name of new work, new horizons.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ she asked, smoothing Tilly’s glossy brown hair back from her face.
Tilly beamed. Her eyes sparkled, then darkened as she voiced a thought that had surfaced. ‘Will he come home for Christmas?’
‘I expect so.’
Tilly’s face dropped. ‘Dad spoils things.’
‘No, he does not,’ chirped Gloria, her sobs diminished.
‘He does for me,’ said Tilly. ‘And for Mum. You were his favourite. He didn’t hit you.’
Jenny felt a lump in her throat. Tilly implied that her father had hit her. She had witnessed a few occasions of a quick slap, but on the whole Tilly had kept out of his way.
She wrapped her arms around both her children, held them close and whispered wonders into their clean, soft hair. ‘No matter what, we’ll have great fun together, just the three of us. There are all kinds of fun we can fill our time with whilst he’s away. How about we begin making paper chains for Christmas? And how about thinking about fancy dress for the coronation next year? There are so many things we can do whilst your father is away. We’ll be too busy to notice he’s gone and the time will fly.’
Gloria perked up at this. Tilly liked the idea of making paper chains and fancy dress. The fact was that she didn’t like her father and it showed.
Jenny shook Robin from her mind, though felt him lingering there. Like her, he was married, unhappily, she decided. Vows do not a marriage make! Who was it had said that? She didn’t know who had said it, only that it was the truth.
An odd thought suddenly occurred to her. How did Roy feel about their marriage? Could it be that he was as unhappy as she was? Was she wrong in assuming he accepted his lot just as she did?
The thought surprised her and made her wonder if he was unhappy what sort of circumstances would make him happier?
She had no answer to that.
‘Ooow, look at this,’ she said, picking up a lacy doyley that Thelma had given her. ‘I think I can make a fairy for the top of the tree with this. There’s plenty enough time between now and Christmas.'
