New Neighbors for Coronation Close, page 25
‘You have a double bed.’
‘I sleep better in a double bed. It’s not a crime, is it?’
The purple lips pursed. The sharp jaw tightened. ‘A double bed is usually for two people.’
‘Not in this house,’ Thelma declared defiantly.
‘Or when one of your children has a nightmare…’
There was sarcasm in Miss Venables’ comment, plus a glittering satisfaction in her eyes.
Thelma glanced at the open window. It wouldn’t take that much effort to throw this shrewish old maid out of it.
Pen poised in her hand; the poker-thin woman slid her fingers along the cast-iron mantelpiece – a small bedroom version of the larger one downstairs. After inspecting her fingertips, she once again wrote in her notebook.
She carried out the same procedure with the dressing table, running her fingers even between a powder compact, hairbrush and comb, mascara and tubes of lipstick.
Unable to contain herself, Thelma blurted, ‘That was only dusted yesterday.’
Thin eyebrows arched as if surprised. ‘Not today?’
‘Do you dust your bedroom every day?’
Something was written down.
‘I don’t suppose you would dust every day, would you. Not having a husband and children.’ Thelma couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t take this lying down.
Miss Venables made no comment. However, Thelma knew she’d hit a raw nerve. The bony jaw clenched and a dot of colour popped on both cheeks.
Her instinct told her in no uncertain terms that Miss Venables was out to get her by fair means or foul.
In a predatory manner, Miss Venables circled the bed, making notes all the way. Thelma regretted not changing this bed but consoled herself with the fact that the sheets were merely creased and not yet spoiled enough to put in the boiler.
The same fingers that had sought dust now picked up a pillow, felt it and, to Thelma’s great surprise, raised it to the aquiline nose and sniffed. In the blink of an eye, the bedcovers were pulled back, not halfway as she’d done to the children’s beds, but all the way down to the foot.
Thelma’s jaw dropped. ‘You going to sniff that too?’
No answer, of course, just a bending closer to the centre of the bed, eyes narrowed.
Thelma could stand no more. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The council had a rule that you could be in a lot of trouble for swearing at officials, or at anyone else for that matter.
Miss Venables straightened, showed no reaction to Thelma’s expletives, but wrote in her notebook. Once that was done, she held her chin high, lips clamped in a straight line. ‘It’s my job to check that you are not entertaining diverse men on a regular basis.’
Thelma frowned. The penny had dropped. ‘Don’t tell me. Someone’s said that a whole regiment of blokes comes in and out of this house.’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Miss Venables as, straight-backed, pen and notebook now both secreted to her leather bag which was as stiff as she was, she prepared to leave.
Angry now, Thelma tramped down the stairs after her. ‘That old cow from over the road ’as put her oar in. I’m right, aren’t I?’
Miss Venables headed for the front door at the same stride as she had ascended and descended the stairs and made her inspection of the rooms. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’
‘I’ve got just one gentleman friend. Just one. And that’s…’ She was about to say it was Bert Throgmorton but stopped herself just in case there was a chance it would get him into trouble.
In no doubt of the identity of her accuser, Thelma watched Miss Venables stride off down the garden path.
A curtain moved in Mrs Partridge’s living-room window.
Thelma scowled. Mrs Partridge and sister had downed their garden shears, gone into the house and were watching at the window.
She shouted across the road at them. ‘Nosey old cows.’
The sound of the woman’s determined knocking came from Jenny’s front garden.
‘She’s out,’ Thelma shouted. ‘Gone up the shops.’
The angular face regarded her from over the top of her angular shoulder. ‘I’ll wait.’
33
Loaded with two bags of shopping, Jenny was longing to get home. Money was a bit short until more postal orders came. She’d bought more potatoes and carrots than anything else. Onions had also been a necessary purchase. A little meat would stretch a long way when vegetables were added, so she was forever making stew and suet pudding.
Walking along the shop frontages in Filwood Broadway, the smell coming out of the fish and chip shop, which was closed until this evening, tickled her taste buds. If only, she thought, as her stomach rumbled in protest. She had no idea when she would indulge again the scrumptious feast she’d tasted that night she went with Thelma to the pictures.
Breakfast had been a slice of toast cut from a stale loaf and smeared with pork dripping and salt. Lunch had been the same. This evening, she would taste some of the stew she intended to make from the vegetables and beef scraps. A few flakes of dried apple remained, perhaps enough to make an apple tart – a pastry base, of course, but no topping. She didn’t have enough flour and fat for that.
No wonder I’m getting so thin, she thought to herself and sighed.
The latest postal order payment had arrived four days ago, late as usual. Her priority had been to pay the rent. Food and pennies for the gas and electricity meters came after that. She had been hoping to save up for a new wireless but worried it might never happen. Arrival of the postal orders was becoming less frequent. She’d dared write one letter to Roy telling him so; he had not replied.
Her attention was taken by a group of women who’d gathered outside a double-fronted shop that had been empty for some time. The windows had been whitewashed over, but still they were doing their best to peer through the places where a finger had rubbed it away on the inside.
She would have walked on if a familiar voice hadn’t shouted out to her.
Cath pushed her way through the gathered women. As usual, her curlers were hidden beneath a headscarf. Like Jenny she’d been shopping, a big leather shopping bag bouncing against one leg, a straw one against the other.
‘Finished shopping?’ she asked.
Jenny said that she had.
‘Might as well walk ’ome with you then.’
Jenny jerked her chin towards the huddle of women gathered around the shop window. ‘There’s a new shop opening?’
‘There’s a notice in the window. Mrs Allen from Newquay Road told me they’re going to be selling furniture. Second-hand furniture.’
Cath mentioning second-hand furniture stayed Jenny’s step.
Knowing Cath had not read the poster simply because she couldn’t read, Jenny looked. Her surprise must have registered on her face.
‘What does it say?’ Cath whispered.
Taken by surprise, Jenny took a deep breath. ‘It says that everything being sold is guaranteed to be free of bed bugs and woodworm. And easy payment terms are available.’
Cath expressed surprise. ‘Well, that’s worth knowing.’
‘I dare say it is.’
Was Robin taking over the shop? She could hardly believe it.
The tooting of a car horn sounded at the same time as a black van she recognised pulled up against the kerb.
He got out of the van, swiped his cap from his head and passed the back of his hand across his sweating brow.
‘Robin Hubert has arrived,’ he said with a laugh and a bow fit for a queen.
The little huddle of women tittered amongst themselves. Even those with no teeth and grey hair appreciated cheekiness and a man who treated women as though each was a duchess.
Shaking her head and smiling, Jenny said, ‘You are incorrigible.’
‘I try to be,’ he said, his smile as warm as her own.
‘So you’re leaving City Road?’
‘I’ve sold it.’ He nodded at the metal-framed windows above the shop. ‘I’m moving in here.’ He looked pointedly at her shopping bags. ‘Wanna lift?’
‘Can you take two of us?’ Cath asked.
‘Only if you don’t mind getting in the back.’
Cath scrambled into the back of the van; Jenny sat in the front passenger seat.
The smell of petrol was strong, but as Robin explained, the van was getting on in years. ‘Can’t expect it to be perfect.’
It was a short run from Filwood Broadway back to Coronation Close. The van chugged in.
The moment they pulled up outside Jenny’s house, Thelma came tearing out of her front gate. Jenny surmised she must have been watching from her window to have raced out like that.
‘You’ve got a visitor,’ she said, nudging Jenny to look in the direction of her front garden, where Miss Venables had taken up station on the dustbin.
Robin came out from his side of the van.
The indignant figure of Miss Venables headed for Jenny.
‘Mr Crawford?’ She addressed Robin.
He shook his head. ‘No. He’s not around.’
Miss Venables sniffed as though she’d just detected an offensive smell under her nose. ‘I see. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. Your husband is away isn’t he, Mrs Crawford?’
Jenny frowned. Who was this woman and what business was it of hers. She thought she recognised her from somewhere but couldn’t quite remember where.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, who are you?’
Miss Venables replied who she was and what she was there for.
Then Jenny remembered the name and this woman who had been quite officious when they had met before.
Thelma came across the road. ‘She’s snooping.’
‘Inspecting,’ said an increasingly indignant Miss Venables. ‘I need to check that you’re keeping the house clean and are not entertaining male visitors unless related.’ Her look of condemnation was aimed directly at Robin.
Robin’s expression, usually so open and pleasant, turned dark. ‘Don’t look at me that way, lady. I’ve done nothing wrong. And neither has Jenny.’
‘Alone in a van together.’
A loud banging came from the back of the van. ‘Will somebody let me out of yer.’
Accompanied by laughter, Robin went to the back door of the van and let Cath out.
‘We were not alone in the van,’ said Robin and looked quite triumphant about it. ‘We had a chaperone, someone who can vouch for our behaviour all the way from Filwood Broadway.’
‘She wants to check your bedding,’ said Thelma, fists resting on hips. ‘She’s checked mine – thoroughly,’ she added.
Jenny beamed at the stick-thin woman with the stern bun and a mouth that looked desperately trying to keep itself closed. ‘You’re quite welcome. You’ll have to make it snappy. My daughters will be home from school at around four fifteen. Will that give you enough time?’
Miss Venables accepted the challenge. Whether she really wanted to get out before the children came home wasn’t very clear. Whatever the reason, she did shoot around the house at incredible speed. At the end of it, she proclaimed everything to be in order.
‘Thank you,’ said Jenny, having laid the shopping on the table and taken off her hat and coat. Her hair swung around her shoulders. Her cheeks had been pinched pink by the cold, clear weather.
Miss Venables took in her slender form, not stick-thin as her own figure, but lithe and graceful. Her face was beautiful, her hair a glorious blur of dark, glossy tresses.
She left the house and collected her bicycle. Cycling was mostly downhill all the way. She chose to go down the hill that ran parallel to the main bus route. Eventually, the lesser road would join up with the major one.
Usually she didn’t freewheel, preferring to keep control and slow the speed. On this occasion, she failed to do that. Her mind was in turmoil. Mrs Dawkins had been blowsy and statuesque, a good-looking woman by any standards. It would have been no surprise that she had several admirers. Mrs Crawford, on the other hand, was outstandingly beautiful. There had been no need for her to be investigated, so why had Mr Collins sent her there?
She had noticed a peculiar look on his face when he was giving her instructions. She also recalled that he’d visited the close recently. He must have seen her, but what…?
She spilled at too fast a speed onto the main thoroughfare that led downhill from Knowle West to the junction with St John’s Lane. The brakes did not respond. Her front wheel wobbled.
The driver of the double-decker bus had no chance. The bicycle came out in front of him and there was no time to stop.
The front wheel of the bicycle spun, the spokes making a clinking noise which gradually slowed along with the breathing of the woman who had been riding it. Then both stopped. The conductor got off the bus and stood beside the driver. Then he ran across the road and threw up into the hedge.
34
It was Sunday and Jenny was undecided about meeting Charlie on the following Wednesday but was unnerved by the prospect. She needed someone to talk it over with. She needed to see Thelma. Thelma knew all about men, or so it seemed. A cup of tea and a chat always went down well at number two Coronation Close.
Just as she got to the front door meaning to go across the road and speak to Thelma, there she was about to come across the road to her.
‘Thelma, I need to talk to you.’
‘Anything juicy,’ said Thelma with a salacious wink.
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Now get that kettle on and you can tell me all about it after I give you this knitted top I got at the jumble sale. It looks and feels like silk.’ She held up a dark green item that sparkled in places. ‘It’s got sequins on the sleeves, so is ideal for Christmas.
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Hang on a minute.’
Before entering Jenny’s front door, Thelma blew a raspberry to the gap in next-door’s living-room curtains.
‘That woman’s like a wasp circling, just waiting to sting,’ said Thelma as she set the jumper on the table and flopped onto a wooden dining chair.
Jenny fluttered around the kitchen, forcing herself to concentrate on making tea whilst she got her thoughts in some sort of order.
Teacups on table, Thelma sprang straight in. ‘Out with it.’
Jenny put down her cup. ‘It’s like this…’
‘That Robin chap is sweet on you.’
Jenny rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve known Robin for a long time. He’s just a friend.’
Thelma sniffed and took a sip of tea. ‘Struck me as more than that the way he was looking at you.’
‘Honestly, Thelma.’
‘So what is it?’
‘I’m married to a man I don’t love. I’m hearing less and less from him now. I’m living on tenterhooks, worrying whether the postal orders are going to arrive.’
‘Have they so far?’
She nodded. ‘But the gaps in between them arriving is getting longer. I’m managing, but only just about.’
‘Fancy getting a job?’
Jenny shrugged. ‘Who would have me? I’ve got two children and if Roy does come back unannounced, there’ll be hell to pay.’
Thelma rested her elbows on the table and looked at Jenny over her clenched hands. ‘Why do I get the impression that isn’t all you have to say?’
She bit her bottom lip hard and tried very hard to form what she wanted to say before she actually said it. ‘There’s a man…’
‘Not Robin.’
‘Not Robin.’
Thelma cocked her head. Jenny felt helpless beneath that intense gaze.
‘It wouldn’t be that handsome chap who took you out in his car, would it?’
‘Ah! Cath saw us.’
‘And she told me.’
‘You didn’t say you knew.’
‘I thought I’d wait until you told me. I knew you would. Eventually. So who is he?’
Jenny outlined the events of that rainy day when Charlie had come to the aid of her good neighbors, Isaac and Ruth.
Thelma murmured approval. ‘I like the sound of this man. Gutsy and good-looking.’
‘You haven’t seen him.’
‘No but Cath has. She was almost tripping over her tongue.’
‘Ah. The thing is he’s asked me to meet him in the pub on Wednesday.’ She shook her head. ‘I want to, but I can’t.’
‘You feel guilty.’
Jenny nodded.
‘Because you’re married.’
Jenny nodded again. It seemed Thelma was always one step ahead of her. ‘When I was living in Blue Bowl Alley, I wouldn’t have dared, but now… well…’
Thelma shook her head in a warning fashion. ‘Don’t be a doormat all your life, my girl. Stand up and be counted. Haven’t I told you that already?’
‘You have.’
‘Right. That’s the guilt out of the way. Now how about trying on this jumper. Dark green with your dark hair – and your eyes are green too, aren’t they?’
‘Brown.’
‘Green in a certain light,’ returned Thelma.
Standing in her underwear, Jenny pulled the silk jumper over her head. ‘I love it,’ she said, twirling from side to side.
Thelma sat silently; her smile faded into alarm.
Jenny looked at her. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘I’m going up the fish and chip shop tonight. Fancy coming with me?’
The lovely jumper was pulled off. Realising why Thelma’s expression had changed, Jenny quickly put her other clothes back on.
‘Thelma, I don’t need charity.’
‘What have you had to eat today?’
Jenny turned away before answering. ‘I’m not hungry.’
The chair scraped the floor as Thelma got up, plastered her fists to her hips and gave Jenny a withering look. ‘We’re off to the chip shop tonight. My girls have made a pie, so your girls can share with them. We can walk back eating our fish and chips out of the newspaper, look up at the stars and get away from our problems. Do you agree to that?’
