Shameful Secrets on Coronation Close, page 9
‘Have you heard anything from your husband?’
The change of subject was sudden.
Jenny explained that her husband was abroad so wrote infrequently. ‘He’s never been one for writing letters. Not even when he was serving in France. He served in the last year of the war and was lucky enough to come home unharmed. So many did not,’ she added sadly. ‘Hard to believe that it ended nearly twenty years ago.’
Nothing more was said. Jenny sipped at her tea. Over the rim of her cup, she noted that her companion’s cup was suspended halfway on its journey to her mouth. The face itself had turned as rigid as that of a statue looking down on a tomb and the clear eyes were suddenly misted.
The comparison she’d made that Harriet resembled a statue had come out of nowhere. That’s what she told herself. On reflection, it was deadly accurate. Cold and white as marble, she thought, as though she'd suddenly become shrouded in ice. As for the look in those pale blue eyes…
Yet again, Jenny’s gaze strayed back to the photographs and the young man who looked so like his father. She presumed he was a brother, one who’d likely died in the war. The wedding couple she presumed was Dorothy and her late husband. She wouldn’t ask. This was not the right time to open old wounds and sad memories.
All the same, her eyes returned there again. She just couldn’t help herself – and then it struck her. Dorothy’s husband looked just like the older man standing in front of the bungalow in India. Had she got this wrong? Were the couple Dorothy’s in-laws? She was getting confused and decided it would be rude to ask any more questions.
Harriet had a faraway look, a small frown between her thick eyebrows. Jenny reminded herself that she was bound to be concerned about her sister, Dorothy still being in hospital.
She decided the time had come to leave Harriet to her own thoughts. ‘I think I should be going.’ She placed her cup and saucer back on the tray and got to her feet. ‘I promised Thelma I would do some mending for her. It’s the least I can do under the circumstances. Thank you for helping me – and for the tea.’
The ice-white face that had been so still lived again. It was like watching someone waking from a deep sleep. ‘I was happy to help. We must have tea together again. I was glad of the company.’
‘What will you do for the rest of the afternoon?’ Jenny asked her as Harriet escorted her to the door.
‘Read the paper. I like to keep abreast of the news.’
‘I try not to,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s too worrying, what with all that’s happening in Germany. There’s even talk of another war. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.’
A dark, traumatic look came to Harriet’s face. ‘No. Let’s hope not.’
10
Ruth’s funeral occurred a week after the gas explosion and turned out to be a lonely event. Her husband, Isaac, was chief mourner. The only others besides Jenny were ex neighbours from Blue Bowl Alley and workmates from the fruit market. Each one of them offered Isaac their sympathy.
Jenny searched figures wreathed in funereal black for Charlie, but he wasn’t there. She couldn’t grasp why. He’d gone out of his way to take care of these people and to keep her informed as to how they were. Could it be that they’d only been an excuse to see her?
She asked Isaac whether he had seen Charlie. He shook his head sadly.
‘He visited and gave me his condolences but said he wouldn’t be able to come today. Politics.’ The wetness in his eyes spilled onto the puffiness hanging under them. ‘Getting involved with politics is a lonely task and dark too – and half the time thankless.’
Jenny was disappointed and also disbelieving that Charlie regarded politics as more important than seeing old friends in their hour of need. It hurt a little to think that it was also more important too than seeing her.
She said she would see Isaac again, to which he countered that she would not.
‘I’m moving in with my sister in Whitechapel, London. She’ll look after me.’
It felt to Jenny as though part of her past had broken away. Ruth was gone. Isaac was going. As for Charlie, it almost seemed as though he was in hiding. But why?
It had been two weeks since the gas explosion at Jenny’s place. Council workers had repaired the damage, including installing a new boiler. Like the old one, it was a round galvanised drum but with new pipework and more efficient jets.
From its place in the kitchen, it provided hot water via a four-inch pipe through the wall to the bath. On Mondays, it was full to the brim with laundry and every window in the house still ran with condensation, as they always had.
Life returned to something like normal at number two, Coronation Close, although Jenny did need new curtains and other things to replace those that had been torn to shreds.
Thelma’s answer was the jumble sale at St Dunstan’s, which had turned out to be an unqualified success.
After a good rummage amongst a pile of fabric and bedding, Thelma threw Jenny a pair of flowery curtains, which she caught with one hand.
‘A new pair for the kitchen windows,’ she called out.
Thelma bought an ankle-length dress in pale mauve heavyweight lamé.
‘You going to a ball, love?’ asked the woman behind the counter.
‘It’s for the street party in May. I’m going as a film star. Hedy Lamarr, I think. Or Jean Harlow. A bit of taking out and it’ll do me fine.’
The pale mauve and very sparkly dress wasn’t the only one she bought. The others were larger than she presently wore. Some would need letting out. If the worst happened. Thelma stared at these the longest, trying to imagine how it would be and for the most part doing her best to wish it away.
If it comes, it comes, she told herself. And it’ll be loved. After all, it didn’t ask to come into the world.
She bit her lip at the thought of it, but she’d never been one for looking on the dark side of things. There was always a silver lining. That was her creed.
‘You’ve got a load,’ Jenny remarked laughingly. ‘And they’re huge. You’ll be clothing the whole street at this rate.’
There was no way Thelma was going to admit that she had a new reason for buying larger clothes and plenty of them. She stuck to her usual reasons. ‘The girls are growing up and it isn’t every jumble sale you get such nice stuff as they’ve got here. And all donated for free.’
Rarely did Thelma allow herself to dwell on old memories. The past was like a narrow road to some things she’d prefer to forget. The future was a wider road and the present she could deal with. Some things in her past saddened her – as they did now. Ned, Alice’s father, had been in the navy. He’d come back from war blinded when a torpedo had hit the magazine. He’d told her that the shells had shot heavenward like a whole series of rockets on Guy Fawkes Night. They were the last things he’d seen. They’d met some time after that and although he’d suffered from depression, she’d jollied him along in her inimitable way, assuring him that they’d have a great life together.
He’d not shared her positive outlook, not that she’d been aware of that at the time. Before she had chance to tell him she was pregnant – which she was sure would have raised his spirits – he’d climbed up onto the parapet of Clifton Suspension Bridge and thrown himself over. He might have survived if he’d landed in the mud, but not being able to see, he’d felt his way but not got far. When he threw himself over, he landed on the road.
For a few months, she’d been devastated but determined she couldn’t be like that for long. She had George and Mary to consider. She’d also had the reason for her thickening girth to consider. A new life had been growing within her – just as it was now. But the circumstances of Alice’s conception had been a different matter. She'd loved Ned and consequently loved the baby he’d given her. Finding herself pregnant at her age had unsettled her and put her in two minds of what she really did want. In a way, she didn’t want it and had considered seeing a woman she’d heard of over in City Road. On the other hand, she knew she would wonder about how it would turn out as a grown man or woman for the rest of her life. A decision was half formed. As yet, she wasn’t sure which way she would go. She needed a little more time.
Back in her living room, Thelma sorted through what she’d bought before putting everything away in a cupboard and getting ready to go out. Bert was taking her to the pictures and she was looking forward to it.
Nowadays, he had his own key. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror of her wardrobe when she heard him come in.
‘Won’t be long,’ she shouted down.
Her dress was navy blue, her hat was red and her coat was dark blue with a faint red check pattern. It was also a swagger design, fullness falling from the seam at the back of the coat, less so at the front.
Just for the tiniest moment, she took another look in the mirror and laid her hand over her stomach. Nothing much to show yet. Perhaps there never would be. At her age, there was always the chance that she would lose it. In the circumstances, she hoped she’d be out of the woods. But what if she wasn’t?
She heard Bert call up the stairs, asking her if she was ready.
What would he do if this baby clung on and was born? Run for the hills. That’s what. But in the meantime he was still around and she was grateful for that.
‘Coming,’ she shouted back down and plastered a smile on her face. Live for the moment. That’s what she’d always done and that’s what she would do now.
11
It was some time after she’d moved back into her house that Jenny was in Filwood Broadway and spotted a table and chairs in Robin Hubert’s shop window. Thanks to the council, her repainted, refurbished kitchen was as neat as a pin. At the window hung the daisy-patterned curtains thrown in her direction at the jumble sale she’d gone to with Thelma. The bulky square table and chairs, the wood dark and too big to fit in the kitchen, took up much-needed space in the living room. When people called, they had to sit on the dining chairs. It was like that in most houses on the estate. Eating meals from a table in the kitchen would be a big improvement.
Gazing at the table and chairs in the window display, Jenny began imagining them in her kitchen. This set looked to be made of pine or some other lighter-coloured wood. She tried to guess at the price. Perhaps ten shillings? Perhaps fifteen or even a pound. Either way, she had a bit to spare this week. Roy’s army pay came through like clockwork – over the back fence in the garden, Harriet from next door had told her it did when a soldier served abroad.
The surplus this week was partly due to that but also due to her own diligence. Like Thelma, she had begun making things. The rags left over were stuffed into a sack and sold to the rag and bone man when he came by on his rounds. As well as rags, he’d also given her money for some scrap bits of metal she’d had the presence of mind to store before the council workers could take them away.
For the past few weeks, she’d only waved to Robin from a distance. She’d heard he was living above the shop and that sometimes his children were with him, but not always. His marriage, it seemed, was still fractured. Sad, she thought. Robin deserved to be happy.
He’d wanted her to renew their old friendship, perhaps in time to become more than just a friend. No, she’d told him. She could have added not yet, but at the time had been adamant. Charlie Talbot had been on the scene and it was him that made her heart race.
Previously, there’d been a hand-painted sign hanging in the shop window proclaiming Hubert’s Quality Second Hand Furniture. Now the same words were painted in green on a cream background on the fascia board above the shop windows.
There were always people, mostly women, looking in his window, turning over a ten-shilling note when they’d spotted something they needed. That was what happened now.
One woman was remarking to her neighbour that she quite liked the table and chairs Jenny herself was interested in.
‘If it’s the right price, I might ’ave it.’
Any hesitation on Jenny’s part was swiftly ignored. She was a woman on a mission. Nobody else was going to have that dining set if she could help it.
A brass bell, a recent addition in Robin’s shop, jangled as she pushed open the door and stepped inside, holding her breath, anticipating the smell of old furniture. She was surprised by the strong smell of beeswax.
Once inside and the door firmly shut behind her, she made for the window display and the dining set she had her eyes on. The women outside the window eyed her with a touch of hostility, even envy, as Jenny ran her hand along the table top.
‘Can I ’elp you, love?’
Once she’d turned round and he recognised her, a bright smile spread from ear to ear and Robin exuded warmth, that of a man who was suddenly at total ease.
‘Jenny.’
‘Nice to see you, Robin.’
‘You too.’ He jerked his chin at the table and chairs she’d fallen in love with. ‘That set in the window caught yer eye, has it?’
A flat cap sat like a plate on his thatch of dark hair. Her neighbour Cath had remarked to her that he looked like a gypsy. ‘Not one of them selling pegs. More like that one in that song.’
‘A gypsy rover came over the hill?’
Jenny smiled at the memory of that conversation and Cath’s confirmation and air of romanticism about the song.
The women leering through the window who had also been interested in the set dispersed. Jenny fancied she could hear their grumbling and wondered what they were up to. They hadn’t gone entirely away but stopped and stood some way off, looking at the shop window.
‘You have an audience,’ she said to Robin, her smile as wide as his.
‘Well, you know me. If they can’t get Clark Gable, they come for me.’
She laughed and he laughed with her.
‘That table and chairs are just the right size to fit in my kitchen,’ she said, brushing her hand along the top. The top of the table had a soft velvety feel around it and the colour resembled honey. The chairs too.
Robin tapped the front of his cap with two fingers, sending it to sit further back on his head. ‘I hear you had a bit of an accident.’
She nodded. She hadn’t been going to mention it, but news got round the estate quickly. ‘The boiler I do the washing in. Apparently it had a faulty tap. There was nothing much left of it afterwards.’
She didn’t mention that she’d been out that night and come home to devastation. That might lead to more questions, such as who she’d been out with. Neither did she tell him that she’d moved in with Thelma for a few days. He would have said why didn’t you come to me. But she couldn’t have. Tongues would have wagged; fingers would have been pointed.
Charlie had vanished and not been in touch. He might do one day, or he might not. Sometimes she admitted to herself that she missed Roy’s maleness next to her in bed. But that was only sometimes. For the most part, she kept her desires at bay, threw herself into being a housewife and mother, dug in the back garden until her hands were blistered. Robin was saying that he was glad that she and the children were all right.
She replied that they were. ‘We were lucky. The council repaired everything and repainted the kitchen.’ She stopped trailing her fingers along the table and turned to face him with a happy smile. ‘It looks so fresh and clean. Time, I think, to dispose of my old table and chairs – not that there’s anything wrong with them,’ she added quickly. ‘Will you do part exchange?’
He laughed. ‘You’re taking advantage of my liking for you. You won’t be asking to ’ave it on tick as well, will you?’
The small blush she’d had outside the shop intensified.
‘No. I won’t,’ she replied, somewhat defensively. ‘I’ve got money.’ She pulled her purse from her handbag. ‘I can give you up to thirty shillings.’ There was both defiance and pride in the way she said it.
‘Jenny Crawford.’ He tutted and shook his head, fists resting on his narrow hips. ‘I wouldn’t do it for thirty shillings.’
‘Oh.’ Her high spirits were dented. ‘You wouldn’t?’
He shook his head again, somewhat more vehemently this time. ‘Would I rob a friend? Sight unseen, I’ll take your old table and chairs in part exchange. The price will then be ten shillings.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Ten shillings?’
‘Ten shillings.’
Robin is a good man, she told herself as she pulled out a ten-shilling note in her purse and handed it to him.
As he took the note, he closed his hand over hers. ‘You know I’d do anything for you, Jenny.’
His comment came out of the blue and she was flattered.
‘That’s good to know. Can I have my hand back now?’
‘Reluctantly.’ He grinned.
Jenny kept her blushes under control and turned her attention back to the dining suite. ‘It’s such a lovely colour. Like honey.’ She ran her hand along the back of a chair.
‘It’s pine. It came from a cottage in the country that was being pulled down.’
‘It’s lovely.’
He grimaced. ‘So was the cottage, but it still got pulled down so they could build a longer runway – for aeroplanes. Airfields are sprouting up all over the place.’ His grimace deepened. ‘I’m trying not to think of the reasons why.’
Jenny didn’t want to think why either. The newsreels at the Broadway Picture House painted a worrying picture of men in uniform marching in a place called Nuremburg, or a small man with a toothbrush moustache who had a vision for his country that seemed a bit unnerving to say the least.
Robin’s eyes darkened and he frowned. The presence of Jenny Crawford helped disperse the concerns that plagued his mind. ‘Now, about delivery…’
‘I’m in all week.’
‘No need to wait in all week. I’ll be around tomorrow.’
That evening, Jenny told Thelma about her new dining suite that would fit in her kitchen. She also told her that the old dining suite would be collected and taken in part exchange.
