New Neighbors for Coronation Close, page 26
‘Yes. All right.’
‘And as for next Wednesday, go, Jenny. You might as well. There’s nothing to stop you.’
‘Except—’
‘Don’t even say it,’ said Thelma, wagging a red fingernail in front of her eyes. ‘You can’t hide forever and in time…’
Somehow Jenny knew what she was going to say. ‘The money won’t come. He won’t come back.’
‘Correct. So you need some kind of insurance policy for when the sun goes in and it rains. You have to prepare yourself.’
Jenny gripped the back of the dining chair, summoning resolve. Thelma was good at giving advice. A bit of her courage certainly wouldn’t go amiss.
‘I’ve taken up enough of your time. ’
‘I’ll see you later. My stomach’s already rumbling at the thought of fish and chips eaten straight out of the paper.’ Before Thelma had chance to leave, a sudden draught of frosty air accompanied the banging open of the back door, then the inner door separating the kitchen from the bathroom.
‘Thelma. I thought you were over here.’ Bert glanced at Jenny apologetically. ‘Sorry to intrude Jenny, but Thelma…’ back to her again. ‘You’ve got to read this.’
He was waving a newspaper with almost patriotic fervour.
‘Sorry for barging in, Jenny, but this can’t wait. It’s incredible. Quite incredible.’
Thelma frowned. ‘What is it? Is your mother…’
He thrust the newspaper at her. ‘I don’t usually read the Sunday papers, but today I saw the headline and had to buy one. You’d better sit down, Thelma. Your legs are likely to go once you read it.’ The headlines screamed:
The King and Mrs Simpson
Thelma gasped. ‘I’ve got to sit down.’
She almost collapsed onto a chair.
Jenny leaned over her shoulder and read aloud the first sentence immediately beneath the headline.
A constitutional crisis has occurred…
‘I don’t understand. Jenny, please explain. Please say it’s not what I think?’
‘I’m afraid it is. It’s saying is that the king wants to marry a thrice divorced American woman. If he does, there might not be a coronation. Talks on the subject are ongoing.’
Thelma looked appalled, her shocked face upturned and looking at Jenny as though somehow, she might have read it wrong. ‘He wouldn’t! Surely!’
‘It’s all over the newspapers,’ added Bert. ‘They’ve been keeping it under wraps for a long time, then a bishop spoke out and all hell broke loose. Beg pardon.’
‘No,’ Thelma said at last, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘No. He’ll ditch her. He’ll do his duty and become king. Here, let me put this filthy rag where it belongs.’ The whole newspaper was consigned to the coal fire, where it curled and blackened.
35
Jenny was standing in the queue at the Co-op. Ahead of her, she spotted Harriet looking like a tent on legs.
Dorothy Partridge’s sister was far from being the most becoming of women. Her clothes didn’t help. She was wearing a voluminous dress of dark blue with a lace colour and cuffs that swamped any curves she might have.
Fred Stacey, the brown-coated manager, was pushing the bacon slicer backwards and forwards.
‘And a pound of cheese,’ she heard Harriet say from behind the net veil that hung over her face from a hat that resembled a pancake.
Fred wrapped the pound of back bacon in greaseproof paper before slipping it into a brown paper bag and writing the price on the bill pad in front of him. From there, the bill was placed into a metal cartridge. A quick pull on a wind-up mechanism, it whizzed along on the overhead wire to the cashier’s desk.
Head down, Harriet made her way to pay for her purchases, handbag unclipped and purse in hand, not looking to left or right.
Once at the kiosk, she raised her head, eyeing the woman behind the glass partition with a marked degree of impatience. There was only one woman ahead of her.
Thelma continued to be hostile towards Dorothy Partridge, which Jenny could quite understand. However, she didn’t feel Harriet deserved the same dislike. On two separate occasions now, Harriet had rescued her from instances that could have had dire consequences. She decided that this was one person who deserved thanks and accordingly stepped out from her place in the queue. ‘I’ll be back,’ she shouted over her shoulder.
Fred Stacey raised a hand in acknowledgement and continued serving.
‘Harriet. I want a word with you.’
Though Jenny had spoken softly, Mrs Partridge’s sister was startled. Even though her veil was extremely dense, it was possible to discern her round-eyed surprise.
Jenny clutched her shopping bag with both hands.
Harriet snatched her bill from the ink-besmirched pay desk, shoved it in her handbag and snapped it shut. She was wearing gloves made of wool and just as ugly as her dress.
A whisper came from behind the veil. ‘I have to go.’ Her voice seemed far softer than it had on the night when Roy had got whacked over the head with Thelma’s frying pan.
As she turned to leave, Jenny stepped in front of her. ‘I just wanted to thank you for wrestling my husband off me. I know it was you.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘And for coming around to borrow that cup of sugar you didn’t need.’
Harriet shrugged. ‘I did what had to be done.’
‘Was your sister responsible for him calling on me? And that woman who came the other day? Was she responsible for her too?’
‘No.’ Harriet shook her head vehemently.
‘And Thelma Dawkins? Was she responsible for the letter claiming she entertains men for money?’
Harriet sighed. ‘She’s got it in for Mrs Dawkins. I try to persuade her otherwise and grab the letters before they get posted but am not always successful.’
Everyone in the shop, even Fred, had stopped carrying out their transactions, and listened.
Jenny touched Harriet’s arm. ‘I’m really grateful for what you did.’
It occurred to her after Harriet had left and she’d re-joined the queue that Harriet’s arm had felt muscular, too muscular for that of a woman.
But lucky for me, she thought, and unlucky for Roy who must have been surprised at the strength of the person who had stopped him beating up his wife. Lucky also for Harriet intervening when Mr Collins from the council had called on her.
She still questioned why Mr Collins had found it necessary to call on her. Could it be possible that Mrs Partridge had sent him a letter complaining about her? Or was the reason closer to home and driven by the fact that he knew Roy was away?
They were both members of the same organisation and of course, it was Trevor Collins who had swung the house for them and had also had a hand in this new job Roy had willingly gone to.
Deep in thought, she didn’t respond when Fred asked her what she wanted. He raised his voice. ‘Come on, Mrs Crawford. I ain’t got all day.’
The women in the queue tittered.
One of them commented that she was miles away.
‘Must be love,’ said another.
Jenny coloured with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, Fred. A pound of bacon please, a pound of pork sausages and a piece of scrag end – enough for three.’
‘Husband not back yet?’
‘No,’ she said, a terse smile on her face. ‘He’s a bit busy.’
‘As long as he’s got a job. There’s plenty that ain’t.’
‘That’s right. There’s plenty that haven’t.’
‘He’ll be back soon enough.’
‘Yes. I expect he will.’
She smiled as though it was something she really wanted. But she didn’t. She’d never been so happy. Roy coming home would end that.
36
Jenny had immersed herself in a hot bath. She’d added scented bath salts to the water and sighed as she lowered herself into it.
‘Ecstasy,’ she murmured, closing her eyes.
A real bathroom. Such a luxury. She could hardly believe it. Apart from the lack of money, she was happy. And tonight…
She dipped her head beneath the water and was laughing when she came up again. Tonight, she was meeting Charlie Talbot down at the Bunch of Grapes in King Street. The prospect was exhilarating. Tonight, she would let him kiss her again. And again, and again.
Thrilled at the thought of it, she submerged herself beneath the water once again, her hair trailing out around her like shadowy fronds of seaweed.
Laughter still gurgled in her throat when she came up again, and that was when she heard something.
She tensed. The girls were over the road at number twelve. If they had come home unexpectedly, they would have come in through the back door. She’d not locked the back door, but she had locked the bathroom door.
The footsteps were not loud, but they were stealthy. At first, they seemed to come her way, and then, as though a decision had been made, there came the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.
She thought she heard the door of her bedroom being flung open. Then the girls’ bedrooms.
If it wasn’t the girls, then who…?
The footsteps came thundering down the stairs, far louder, far more swiftly.
‘Jenny? Are you in there?’
The door to the bathroom rattled.
‘Yes, Roy.’
It was as though a fist had punched her in the head. The hot water felt suddenly cold and menace formed into faces in the rising steam.
'Just a minute.'
Not wasting time to pull out the plug, she wrapped herself in a towel and unlocked the bathroom door.
‘I didn’t think we had a lock on the bathroom door,’ he said brusquely.
‘I tend to leave the back door open for the girls but thought a bolt on the bathroom door was a good idea.’
He looked suspicious. ‘Who put it on?’
‘I did. I do know how to use a screwdriver. I’ve had to learn to do it myself when you’re away.’
She was lying. Maude’s husband had fitted it for her, but she wouldn’t mention that. Roy wouldn’t like the thought of a man – any man – entering the house when he wasn’t around. He looked behind her at the hot water remaining in the bath, the windows and walls beginning to run with condensation. ‘No point letting that water go to waste.’ There and then he began to undress. ‘Better take off the rest in here in case the girls walk in.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Better get used to it. I’m home for good.’
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She forced herself to think straight. Why was he home? Why now? Why when she’d come to the decision to meet Charlie?
‘I’m off to get dressed. Is there anything you need?’
‘No. There’s a towel in here. That’ll do me.’
She raced up the stairs. Yes, she had to get dressed but not in the green sparkly top and speckled tweed skirt Thelma had given her. The skirt was hung up, closely followed by the top. She’d been so looking forward to wearing these and seeing approval in Charlie’s eyes.
A dream, she thought. Just a dream. Reality had struck. Her husband was home. This was her life. But why now? she wondered again. What had happened with his association with the British Union of Fascists? Had he become disillusioned?
All these things went through her mind as she donned her everyday dress and tied a pinny around her waist.
She took fresh clothes down for Roy. Trousers, shirt, pullover and clean socks. By the time she got downstairs, he was out of the bath, his hair wet, a towel around his waist. Lowering her eyes, she handed him the clean clothes.
‘The girls will be home soon. There’s suet pudding with jam and custard for tea. I’ll get something more substantial later.’
She busied herself relighting the gas and setting out plates. Keeping busy with the cotton-wrapped pudding meant she didn’t have to meet the lust in his eyes. This evening loomed and not in the way she’d envisioned. Oh how different would have been the lovemaking between her and Charlie. A simple kiss, a caress, not the demands of a man who’d long forgotten how to be gentle.
He sat there silently. Whether he was watching her or not, she couldn’t tell. The silence reigned heavy like the air prior to a thunderstorm.
‘When you’ve finished with that, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Bet you’ve brought me a load of washing,’ she said somewhat whimsically, indicating the suitcase he’d left next to the zinc wash boiler.
When he didn’t answer, she dared to look at him over her shoulder. He was staring down at the table, playing with the spoon and fork she’d put there with one hand. The fingers of his other hand tapped the table.
‘Is something wrong?’
He caught her looking and pointed at a chair. ‘Sit down.’
She knew better than to say no and, anyway, she was intrigued.
Telling her that he was going back to work on the docks was the most obvious option open to him. ‘I’m going away. I’m joining the army.’
Jenny was astounded. Him becoming a soldier was a complete surprise – and something of a relief.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
She couldn’t bring herself to say that she’d miss him because she wouldn’t, but she had to say something along those lines.
‘Wait until we tell the girls. I can’t imagine what they’ll say about their dad in the army. They’ll think their father very brave.’
A slight smile lengthened his lips and the thin black moustache he still favoured. ‘We’re not at war. I don’t need to be brave.’
‘So why…?’
‘I’m joining with a friend. Someone I’ve become very close to. We’re pals.’
There was hatred in the look he gave her and a cruel cynicism to that pristine dark line tracing his upper lip.
‘You don’t get it do you? There’s someone else in my life who I love more than you.’
In a way, she felt relief. There was also a sense of betrayal and stupidity. Surely, she should have noticed, smelt someone else’s perfume on him, noticed lipstick on his collar.
I’m a fool. I should have noticed. Another woman, and here was me feeling guilty about going out with another man – even when that man was only a friend.
She frowned as she thought it through. ‘What do we do next?’
‘Do next? We stay married.’
Her thoughts reeled. He’d finally made up his mind about her and fallen for someone else so strongly that he was prepared to throw her aside, the house and the children.
‘But if you want to be with this woman…’
‘I want to be with my pal.’
She stared down at his tightly clasped hands, the way he hung his head, hiding the guilt in his eyes, the alien expression.
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘He must be a very good friend indeed for you to want to go with him into the army.’
He raised his head. The look he gave her made her wince. ‘You women. You don’t understand how close blokes can get when they’re under fire. I prefer being with men in uniform. We understand each other as women never can.’
The memory of him burning letters came to mind. He’d been close to crying over those letters. They had been from an old friend of his in the army, someone of whom he was immensely fond. Simon. She suddenly remembered his name. Simon.
‘My word. My word.’ Her head fell forward onto her hand. She felt dizzy, she felt sick, but thought she understood what he was saying.
‘What happens next?’
‘What do you mean, what happens next? Nothing will change. Not really. I’ll be in the army and you’ll be here with the girls. I’ll get leave now and again. I’ll pop back to see you and the girls.’
‘You’ll pop back?’ She found it quite incredulous. ‘You’ll pop back,’ she repeated and the room around her spun like a child’s spinning top.
‘I want to remain married. I want to remain respectable. But I don’t want to be your husband. I want to be with the blokes and with Ian.’
‘Ian.’ She repeated the name of the man he was leaving her for. A close friend, a fellow soldier, or at least that was their intention.
She thought of his love for a uniform. There was more than one reason for him having joined the Black shirts. He’d loved that uniform. It was too far back to recall how he’d felt about his uniform during the war. She couldn’t quite remember.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer a divorce?’
‘No. That’s for rich people to do and as I told you, I need to be married. It gives me respectability. Blokes – my type of bloke – get done over if they ain’t married. I needs to remain married.’
Again Jenny shook her head in disbelief feeling punch drunk, a term she’d heard but never had experience of. She was his shield against what people felt about men who were attracted to each other. As of old he was being selfish, thinking of his own needs, his own position, not of hers. She glared at him, anger in her eyes and pouring from her mouth.
‘You’re leaving me in a kind of purgatory.’
‘Well that’s the way it’s going to be. I’ll make sure you still get the army pay on time. No fear of that.‘
No fear. In effect he would be paying her to keep her mouth shut, to watch his back, to live a lie because that suited him.
Adultery was the only excuse for divorcing. She vaguely remembered that at one time a husband could divorce a wife for adultery but not the other way round. That had changed of late. The world was changing. One day it might change yet again. Divorce for other reasons might happen.
Digesting all this whilst controlling her anger took some time. All the while, she sat there as stiff as a stone statue. Once the anger had subsided something else took over. Logic coupled with her own needs. The germ of a truth grew into something more strident, a truth she thought she could live with. Roy wanted to live his own life on his own terms and be happy with the person he was with. The same applied to her. She would have the freedom to live her own life, perhaps not getting married but at least being able to do what she wanted.
