by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)
‘Oh, Sam, I’m really sorry and know what I’m asking.’ She gave a little sob and fell into his arms, then he was nuzzling into her neck and the next minute half carried her upstairs. Pushing her down onto the clippy rug where the bed should be, he made love to her with an urgency she hadn’t known for a long time, as if he needed to reclaim her and prove that she still belonged to him. It was particularly romantic and felt so good that he still wanted her. Everything would be fine if Sam did love her as he surely did. This whole business had just upset him as much as it had her. But he was right, a solution had to be found to make Nifty Jack back off.
* * *
Matt offered to lend Dolly money. She could hardly believe it since they hadn’t spoken in an age. The memory of his disapproving words about her imminent marriage was still a nasty taste in her mouth. ‘I don’t need any charity, ta very much,’ she told him, holding on to her pride.
‘And I’m not offering any. I don’t have much to give in any case, but I heard you were in trouble and thought maybe I could help. I’m working in the timber yard, doing well.’
He looked different somehow, as if he’d filled out, grown more muscle. The fact he wasn’t wearing a suit half a size too small might have improved his looks considerably. Dressed in slacks and an open-necked blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, for once Matt Thornton looked almost presentable, a strong man to be reckoned with. He ran his fingers through dark brown curls, ruffling them more than the brisk breeze, which came off the canal as they stood watching the timber being loaded onto barges. Dolly had a sudden urge to tidy them for him and turned quickly away, pressing her lips tightly together for a moment while she sought the right words.
‘We might be in a bit of bother at the moment but it’s only temporary. I’m in the process of sorting it all out, so you don’t need to worry.’
‘You’re sorting it all out. Sam not being much help then? Why does that not surprise me?’
‘Of course he’s helping. I’ve no complaints.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ He sounded far from convinced.
‘He is, I tell you.’
‘It can’t be much fun having no furniture. Your poor mam must be going demented.’
‘I’ve told you we’re coping. I’ve been to see Nifty and he’s agreed to let us have our stuff back, giving us a bit more time to pay.’ She made no mention of the conditions attached.
They stood for a while staring out into space, not seeing the derricks as they swung containers on board, not hearing the shouts of the men. She felt oddly comforted by his quiet concern. Dolly realised that she’d missed having him around as a friend to turn to, even to chat to in a gossipy way, or share a bag of chips with. They’d always been friends for as long as she could remember. It had hurt that he’d turned away from her for no reason.
Yet she could kick herself for giving the impression Sam wasn’t helping, even if there was some truth in that. He never seemed prepared to talk the matter through with her, always going off in a temper, escaping to the pub, saying it was her fault they were in this pickle, which was true in a way. It was her mam’s debt, Maisie’s responsibility really. But how could she walk away and leave her mother with this burden round her neck? It would kill her.
Matt stirred himself, almost with reluctance. ‘Right then, I’d best be getting back to work. Just remember that I offered, Dolly. You know where to find me, if you ever need me.’
‘I don’t imagine I will, but thanks anyway.’ She kept her voice deliberately cool, although not unfriendly. Really Matt had no right to imply that Sam wasn’t looking after her properly. None of this was Sam’s fault, and wasn’t he the best husband in the world? He absolutely adored her, as she knew.
By the end of the month Dolly was back working for Nifty Jack. She went two mornings a week to clean house for him, and took him round a meal each evening, which she prepared in her own home. In addition, Maisie did all his washing and ironing, on top of all she did for her own family. And neither of them were paid a penny for the work they did, beyond the cost of the food or washing soda. They were his slaves. Dolly kept reassuring herself that it was only temporary, till they’d worked off the debt, and at least they had their bits and pieces back: the table and chairs, pots and pans, their precious beds and blankets, so they could at least live in a modicum of comfort.
But somehow or other she had to get rid of that debt completely.
A change of job was the answer but how to find one, that was the problem. Whenever Aggie came to visit, and entertained them with the latest tidbits of mill gossip, Dolly couldn’t help being smitten with jealousy, not for her sister’s comfortable marriage with dull old Harold Entwistle, but the fact that she had a good job, as did Nathan Barker’s daughter, apparently. Dolly would have given her eye teeth to change places with Evie Barker yet, perversely, neither of these two girls actually wanted or truly needed the work, while she ached for the chance. Sadly she saw little hope of getting her old job back. Her days as a spinner were over.
Never had she felt so low. Depression swamped her and for days she barely left her bed, let alone her bedroom, much to Sam’s annoyance.
‘It’s no good feeling sorry for yourself. A sickly, moping wife on top of everything else is no use to me.’
He was right, Dolly thought. She really didn’t know why he put up with her.
* * *
Sam was sitting in Evie’s car wondering if he’d strike lucky this time. It was true that things had grown a little easier between himself and Dolly since she’d gone back to work for Nifty Jack. At least their furniture had been returned and Nifty didn’t come knocking on the door quite so often. But the situation was still difficult, not a satisfactory start to married life, and the last thing he’d expected. Despite the fact he was fond of Dolly, he felt resentful of her obsession with this debt. He felt cheated in a way.
Sam had only taken her on to get his own back on Aggie, then somehow he’d found himself offering to wed her. He hadn’t minded at first as they seemed to be getting on all right, and she was a nice bit of stuff was Dolly. But he’d never expected anything of this sort. He enjoyed a bet now and then, had suffered a few close shaves with bookies himself, but preferred not to get involved with nasty money sharks of the Nifty Jack variety. Too dangerous by far. Now look at him, up to his neck in trouble of someone else’s making. It was damned unfair.
Their chance of a good life together had been ruined by the legacy of Calvin Tomkins, and, sorry as he was for Maisie, a part of him believed that if Dolly could bring herself to walk away from it, then Nifty Jack would stop his malicious campaign and leave well alone. Perhaps for no other reason than a widow like Maisie had no means of paying off such a debt herself, so how could he get it off her? Anyroad, why should Dolly make herself responsible? She wasn’t even getting on with her mother and Calvin wasn’t her real father. Nor had he been a good stepfather to her. Dolly was too soft and sensitive for her own good, and at what cost? He was the one suffering the most, the one she was neglecting: her own husband. She never gave a thought to him.
‘What can I do to make you smile?’
Sam looked into a pair of glistening blue eyes, a sultry mouth smiling wryly up at him, and couldn’t help but smile in response. Evie Barker was a tease, but irresistible all the same. It was such a relief to be with a woman who had time to pay him some attention. She was running her fingers through his hair, pulling his hand down over the curve of her breast and Sam felt a surge of hot desire. Seconds later he was kissing her, her mouth warm and eager beneath his, opening for his pleasure. His hands tightened on the slender waist, drawing that slender body close. Sam didn’t usually care for this latest fad for flat-chested beauties but Evie’s body had a beauty that owed nothing to fashion.
He began fiddling with the buttons on the back of her frock, dragging it down over her bare shoulders, wanting more. His hand was on her knee, now caressing the inside of her thigh. He’d never felt quite like this b
efore, so powerful, as if he could soar into the clouds and conquer the world. Could this be love? Whatever it was, he scented danger, excitement, a fiery intensity and the indefinable aura of sexual arousal. Nipping, biting, tongues entwined, kissing the beat of a pulse on that glorious sweep of white throat. Her body seemed to flow beneath his, rippling and shuddering to his touch. Groping, grabbing, fondling. He couldn’t get enough of her. It shook him how much he wanted her, the pain of his need overwhelming. She pushed him away.
‘Sam Clayton, what are you thinking of? A respectable married man shouldn’t have his hand up another girl’s skirt.’
His breathing was rapid and shallow, as was Evie’s, as needy as himself. He was dazed by desire, a shaming movement he couldn’t control in his trousers but she was pulling away from him, curling up in the corner of the back seat.
‘Evie, I’m sorry, have I hurt you? What have I done?’
‘Never apologise for wanting a girl, sweetie. But before we go any further, you should be absolutely certain that this is what you want. It’s certainly what I want. I adore you, you must know that.’ Her arms were back about his neck and she was kissing his chin, his mouth and eyes. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. Why do you imagine I stay in this god-forsaken place? You don’t imagine that I want to work in my father’s mill, do you? I don’t leave because I can’t resist being near to you. But I want to see you beg for it. Would you do that, sweetie?’
His heart was beating like a hammer in his chest and Sam ached to take her, a quick bang wallop, like he’d done with Myra the previous night, just to slake his lust. He needed her very, very badly. But Evie Barker was different to Myra Johnson and all the other girls who obliged his needs from time to time, and he was suddenly afraid. Her words had sobered him, reminding him who she was, the gaffer’s daughter.
If Nathan Barker ever heard about these goings-on he’d be out on his ear, without a job, money, anything. He’d be mincemeat. If he didn’t get out of this dratted car soon, he might just slam himself into her and ruin everything. Sam thrust open the door and felt a welcoming blast of cold night air.
‘I have to go.’ He was out of the car in a trice and Evie made no attempt to stop him, simply sat watching him, a smile playing about that wide, sensual mouth.
‘You’ll be back, sweetie. And I’ll be waiting.’
* * *
Dolly realised she must put all hope of going back to work at the mill out of her mind for good, and think of something else. All she possessed in the world were a few clothes hanging in her wardrobe and whatever was in her old carpet bag. She’d shoved it under the bed when she’d arrived back home that spring, and there it still was, evidence of her shame. No wonder she hadn’t even unpacked it.
Short of something better to do, she did so now, pulling out the tatty frock she’d worn for weeks on end. How she had come to hate it. A faint aroma of stale perfume, dirt and human sweat came with it, a painful reminder of the back streets of Salford, and of Cabbage Lil and her girls. She took out her apron and old boots, now with more holes than a sieve, a brown woollen shawl and a much-darned pair of warm stockings. The stockings were rolled up, as she’d always kept them, but they felt more solid than usual, as if there was something inside. Dolly carefully unrolled them so that she could investigate. There was something tucked within the folds. Dolly stared, unable to believe her eyes. It was a roll of notes, fastened with a clip, and a note from Cabbage Lil.
These are your wages love, for all that cooking and cleaning you did for my girls, and you deserve every penny. We’re going to miss you Dolly but don’t let me see you back here. Use the money wisely to follow your dreams.
Tears spilled from her eyes and Dolly could hardly see as she counted out the notes. There were six. Large and white, rather grubby and torn, but clearly genuine with the watermark and the King’s head and ‘pay the bearer Five Pounds’ written on each. It felt like a fortune. It was a fortune. She was sorely tempted to keep it. However Lil had come by it, Dolly herself had done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. And this money, this small fortune, represented a new beginning for them all.
But Dolly knew that she couldn’t possibly accept it. Even though this wasn’t money for favours but for hard graft, for cleaning and cooking, Aggie would almost certainly imply that it was. Oh, but it was so tempting. What should she do?
She ran to the bedroom door, anxious to find Sam and ask for his advice but then slithered to a halt half way down the stairs as a new thought struck her. How could she explain where the money had come from, without running the risk of too many questions about what sort of business, exactly, Cabbage Lil was running which enabled her to pay such excellent wages.
Details of what Lil really was would all come out, details that she’d kept from him and he’d be bound to think the worst. With the way things were between them these days, with him so prickly and tense over this debt, he wouldn’t have the patience to listen to the truth. Anyroad, how could he believe in her innocence with this kind of money as evidence?
Dolly crept back to sit on her bed cross-legged, gazing at the notes spread out in a fan on the eiderdown before her while tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. How unfair life was. She’d prayed for a bit of spare cash. Now that she had more money than she’d ever dreamed of, she daren’t use it.
Should she risk giving it to Nifty Jack off what they owed? That seemed to be the obvious solution. Except that it would clear little more than half the debt, in no way give them a clean slate. It would of course reduce the weekly payments and cut down on the relentless growth of interest but he too might be curious about where she’d got it from and start asking awkward questions.
Oh, what a tangle! If only she’d listened to Aggie and not Lil, she would have confessed everything to Sam right at the start, and wouldn’t be in this terrible muddle. She’d believed there were some secrets, which ought to be kept. Now she wasn’t so sure. Dolly realised that she’d made herself look guilty just by keeping quiet.
She folded the notes carefully away and then worried about where to hide them. No one must find them until she’d found the opportunity to return them. Certainly not Sam. She was forced to maintain her silence now. What alternative did she have? Dolly put the roll of notes in the only safe place she could think of, back where she’d found them in the rolled up stockings, tucked these under a loose floor board and hoped for the best. She’d go looking for Cabbage Lil first thing tomorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
Evie was delighted with the progress she’d made. She believed Sam Clayton might make an interesting lover, given the right encouragement. And she deserved some excitement in her life, otherwise, how would she survive? She’d never realised before how very grim life could be and found working at the factory a nightmare. Above all else, Evie hated the lavatory in the mill yard. She’d been utterly shocked the first time she’d set eyes on the building, a row of only three privies for sixty women. She’d refused, at first, to even contemplate using it. Aware of Elsie Crabtree sniggering behind her hand, she’d stormed off to her father’s office and insisted she use his, a beautifully appointed, mahogany-panelled cloakroom. Her father refused to allow it, was adamant that she must be treated exactly the same as everyone else. Evie had stamped her foot and screamed at him.
‘This is an outrage! Have you any idea how much they smell? So revolting, something should be done.’
‘A woman comes in to clean them twice a week, what more can I do?’
‘Have her come in twice a day. Or build new ones, inside the mill, and at least twice as many.’
Nathan had grunted with annoyance. ‘And what do you propose I use for money? Will building extra privies improve my profits? I doubt it. Cross your legs, lass, like the rest, or find yourself a job elsewhere.’
Evie was furious. The way the girls had to wait their turn was a scandal. Some of them, she was quite sure, deliberately took their time, either reading a newspaper in there, smoking a ciggy – as she
did too, of course – or up to God knows what mischief. Some of them took so long over this natural function; Harold had started setting his stopwatch on them, counting the minutes they took to relieve themselves. It was all dreadfully undignified. Ever since then, and quite against her father’s instructions, whenever he wasn’t around she would sneak into his cloakroom and avail herself of these palatial facilities, which surely, as his daughter, she had the right to do?
As she was today, seated on the linen basket where he put soiled towels, happily reading a magazine, smoking her Turkish and devising little plans of escape in her head.
Sam was a sweetie, if not the most exciting lover she’d ever had. But then anyone would be better than nothing in this dull, boring existence, so predictable and so incredibly tiring. It flattered her to have him want her, and she loved the smell of grease and oil on him, of his ‘muck and sweat’ as he called it, which she found titillating. Would she allow him to ‘go all the way’ soon? She rather thought she might.
Evie was beginning to harbour the dreadful suspicion that she’d missed the boat so far as chances of a good marriage were concerned. She certainly wouldn’t find a husband here, in this godforsaken hell-hole, and she’d need to do some fairly radical thinking if she was ever to make good her escape. Even Evie appreciated that her father’s benevolence was finally over. He’d pretty well washed his hands of her. Money, that was key. It really didn’t matter how she got it but it was a necessity of life. She’d never get away from this dreadful mill otherwise.
In the meantime, there was Sam Clayton to keep her amused. He was clearly nervous of the fact that she was the boss’s daughter. But Evie had every hope of him overcoming that particular worry and start to revel in her high status, once his need became too much to bear. The only other problem was that little wife of his. She could tell that he was tempted, but remained loyal and the ties needed to be severed, or at least untangled somewhat. Evie drew hard on her cigarette then flushed the stub down her father’s toilet. She needed some sort of wedge to drive the two apart. She knew where Dolly Tomkins, or rather, Dolly Clayton lived, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to watch and listen, and see if she could find one.