Let it Shine

by Let it Shine (retail) (epub)

  ‘What do you mean?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Well, if you don’t know, how d’you expect me to?’ Making his way along the passage, the old fella chatted on: ‘When I turned the corner into Buncer Lane, some o’ the neighbours were standing about in little groups – all agitated, like. By the time I got along the street, they’d all gone back inside. Mind you, I can’t blame ’em. It’s enough to freeze the balls off a pawnshop sign out there.’

  Shivering, he came into the parlour, his ready smile encompassing them all. ‘How do!’ Rubbing his hands he made a beeline for the fireplace. ‘Brr! It’s wicked cold out there.’

  ‘Hello, Dad.’ Getting out of her chair, Sylvia kissed him soundly on the lips. ‘What’s brought you here?’

  ‘Shanks’s pony then the tram – what d’you think?’ A mischievous grin at the girls brought them running for a hug.

  Sylvia was used to his sense of humour. ‘Come on, Dad, you know what I mean. When you went home on Friday, you said you wouldn’t be seeing us again till Christmas morning.’

  ‘Aye, well, it gets a bit lonely on your own.’ Sitting in the armchair, he stretched out his legs and made himself at home. ‘A cuppa tea wouldn’t go amiss, lass… an’ a barmcake if there’s one going.’ Glancing over at his son-in-law, who was finishing his meal, he asked, ‘All right, are you, Jim lad?’

  ‘Right as rain, Dad.’ Jim had to smile. Sylvia’s father had always called him ‘lad’, and here he was with a son of twenty-four, and two lasses aged twelve.

  From the scullery, Sylvia chided, ‘How many times have I said you’ve no need to be on your own? Jim and me would be only too glad for you to stay with us.’ Coming into the room, she handed him the tea and barmcakes on a small tray. ‘I for one wouldn’t mind another man in the house,’ she said. ‘Not when there’s a strange fella been peeking over our yard wall.’

  Concerned, Bertie Hill sat up. ‘When were this?’ Taking the tray, he placed it on his lap and held it there.

  ‘Tonight,’ Jim answered quietly. ‘Larry’s all for telling the police.’

  Just then there was another knock on the door. ‘That’ll be Mick,’ Larry announced, clambering up. And this time, it was.

  Well-scrubbed and smart in his green shirt and corduroy trousers, Mick breezed in. ‘Did you hear the rumpus out there?’

  ‘See?’ The old fella wagged a finger at Larry. ‘I said there were summat going on!’

  Mick went on to explain, ‘It seems they’ve caught a Peeping Tom.’

  Realising the girls were listening, Jim told them, ‘If you go in the front room, you might find a bag o’ goodies for the tree.’ When they went off in search of it, he turned to Mick. ‘Right, lad. What happened exactly?’

  ‘Madge next door saw him loitering about in the alley. First he went into her back yard, then into mine. I must have been in the bedroom getting ready, ’cause I never saw him.’ He clenched his fist. ‘If I had seen him, he’d have gone down that street with his tail on fire an’ no mistake! Anyway, she grabbed Archie Benton and he caught the fellow red-handed. He held onto him, while his lad fetched the police. He denied he’d been peeping, but went quiet all the same.’

  ‘That’s it then. They’ve got the bugger.’ Walking across to Sylvia, Jim put his arm round her. ‘You can rest easy now, lass.’

  ‘Do you think it was the same man?’

  ‘Who else could it have been? Madge’s house is only three down from us. I’d bet my life it were the same bloke!’ With his information imparted, Mick nudged Larry in the ribs. ‘It’s time we were down the road,’ he suggested with a sly wink.

  ‘Give me five minutes.’ Having left his good jacket in the bedroom, Larry went up the stairs two at a time. ‘Hope you’ve got enough money,’ he called out. ‘And don’t forget you owe me two bob already!’

  To which Mick replied that he owed him nothing, because, ‘I bought the fish and chips last week, remember?’

  In no time at all, Larry had collected his jacket and was eager to be gone. ‘Right, Mam. We’d best be off.’ They had lingered too long already.

  ‘What have you two fine fellas got planned for tonight then, eh?’ Jim asked. ‘Got some pretty girls lined up, have you?’

  Mick started to answer. ‘Well…’

  But before he could finish, Larry hustled him out along the passage, with the parting words, ‘We’re in training for the darts match tomorrow night, Dad. See youse later.’ And they were off down the street without a backward glance.

  ‘Why didn’t you let me tell them about the girls?’ Mick was puzzled.

  ‘Because each time they know I’m seeing a lass, our mam gets all serious. First she’s talking engaged, then it’s wedding bells and down the aisle. Before I know it, she’ll have me with six kids and a house on Park Street.’

  ‘There’s nowt wrong with Park Street. All the big nobs five there.’

  ‘Yes, and they have servants and carriages… motor cars even! Not to mention factories and bank loans. By! The thought of having all that responsibility frightens the pants off me. All I want is a wife and two kids, and my own delivery wagon.’ He chuckled. ‘First though, I wouldn’t mind a good time, and a lass I’d be proud to walk down the street with.’

  ‘You never know,’ Mick teased him. ‘Tonight could be the night!’

  ‘We’ll see. I’ve not met her yet – don’t even know what she looks like,’ Larry groaned. ‘If she’s ten yards wide with a face like a navvy, I’ll have you to thank for it.’

  ‘Not me!’ Mick chuckled. ‘It were the landlord who set us up for tonight. “Pretty as a pair o’ pictures”, that’s what he said. Anyway, you’re not the only one that’s worried. What if mine’s uglier than yourn?’

  ‘In that case, there’ll only be one thing for it.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Run like the clappers!’

  The two young men quickened their steps, the street echoing with their laughter.

  * * *

  ‘Betsy! Ellie! Come on now. Into the scullery with you.’ When they showed their faces at the parlour door, Sylvia beckoned them in. ‘Make sure you wash behind your ears and clean your teeth,’ she instructed. ‘Then it’s upstairs and ready for bed.’

  As usual, the girls protested, but Sylvia was impervious. ‘You’ve had a long day, and so have I,’ she said. ‘So I’ll thank you not to give me an argument. And don’t forget to say goodnight to your grandad.’

  Jim and Bertie were still quietly talking about the intruder. ‘I hope they put the bugger away for a long time!’ Jim declared, and Bertie wholeheartedly agreed.

  While the girls washed at the big pot sink, Sylvia worked round them. She made two mugs of cocoa, one for her dad, one for Jim. The girls straggled behind her into the parlour, all shining and clean, still protesting.

  ‘Mam won’t let us stay up,’ Betsy sulked to her grandad.

  ‘Mams allus know best,’ he said, and kissed them goodnight.

  Ellie hung onto him for a moment longer. ‘I love you, Grandad,’ she said, and he knew she meant it. It was his duty to love both the twins, and he did, but somehow Ellie had found her way deeper into his heart.

  When Sylvia and the girls were on their way upstairs, Jim voiced his concern. ‘They’re growing up fast,’ he said. ‘Thirteen next birthday – it don’t bear thinking about.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘Before we know it, they’ll be young women, with lads at their heels.’

  ‘Aye well, there is a long ways to go afore that happens.’

  With one fearing the future, and the other fearing the past, the two men sipped their cocoa and lapsed into silence.

  When Sylvia returned, Jim was still harping on about ‘that bloody Peeping Tom’. ‘By,’ he said. ‘If I’d been here, I swear I’d have torn the bugger limb from limb!’

  ‘Then it’s just as well you weren’t here,’ Sylvia remarked as she came through the door, ‘or they might have carted you off instead!’

  ‘Peeping throug
h folks’s windows, the bastard! If there’s any justice they’ll lock him away for a good long stretch.’

  Sylvia made no comment, just went through to the scullery and heated herself a cup of cocoa, afterwards coming to sit with the two men by the fireside.

  The talk soon came round to Christmas. ‘I can’t believe it’s the day after tomorrow,’ Sylvia said. She was nowhere near ready for the big day. ‘I’ve a mountain of baking to do, and I still haven’t bought the twins their presents. Ellie’s never any trouble – she’s always happy with whatever she gets. But Betsy is so difficult to please. Still, I’d better get them the same thing, or there’ll be ructions.’

  They chatted on about this and that, a family together, content in each other’s company.

  When the clock struck ten, Jim began to doze. ‘I’m sorry.’ He gave a long, weary yawn, ‘I’m that tired I can’t keep my eyes open.’ Addressing Bertie, he asked, ‘I hope you’ll not be offended if I get meself off to bed?’

  ‘Not a bit of it, lad. If I’m to catch that last tram, I’ll have to be going meself in a few minutes.’

  While Jim went away to his bed, Sylvia took the empty cups into the scullery. On her way back into the parlour, she noticed how her father was sat forward in his seat, his gaze fixed on the dying embers. He had one hand clamped over his mouth – an old, familiar habit that betrayed his unease.

  Concerned, Sylvia crossed the room to him. ‘Are you all right, Dad?’

  At first he appeared not to have heard. Leaning down, she touched him on the arm. ‘Dad?’

  Startled, Bertie sat up, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘Yes, lass?’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He nodded. ‘Aye, why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘You were miles away.’ She sensed that something was troubling him. When he seemed to drift off in his thoughts again, she stooped closer. ‘Is there something on your mind? Is that why you came over tonight… because you needed to see me, for some reason?’

  Looking up at her, he took a moment to study her face. Such a pretty face, he thought sadly. So like her mam when she were younger.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ He had never looked at her like that before – as though she was someone else.

  He blinked, then looked away, redirecting his attention to the glowing coals. ‘You’re so like your mam.’ He spoke softly, his voice trembling. ‘She were a real beauty in her day.’

  Sylvia was shocked. All these years, whenever she had asked him about her mother, he would clam up, refusing even to discuss her. Now, all of a sudden here he was, talking about her as if it was the normal thing.

  Instinct told her not to ask any questions, at least for the time being. If she kept quiet, he might go on talking, and at long last she might learn something of the mother she had never known.

  Her instinct served her right, because as though he was the only one in the room, he continued to murmur, ‘Aye, she was a beauty all right. No wonder the men craved after ’er.’ His voice hardened. ‘I’ve tried forgiving her, but I can’t. I never will!’

  Suddenly, to Sylvia’s astonishment, he began to cry – heart-wrenching sobs that tore her apart. When she laid her arm round his shoulders, he seemed only then to realise she had been there all along. Wide-eyed and shaking, he looked into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass.’ He mopped his face and blew his nose, then gave a long, shuddering sigh. ‘I’d best go.’

  Sylvia was loath to leave it there. ‘Why don’t you tell me about her?’ she pleaded. ‘All you’ve ever told me is that she died when I were a babby. Aunt Margaret and you raised me, and you never married again. That’s all I know.’

  ‘That’s all there is to tell.’ Standing up, he prepared to leave.

  ‘Don’t go, Dad. Not yet.’ Desperate, she caught hold of his arm and hung on. ‘You have to tell me more! I can’t ask Aunt Margaret because she’s long gone. Besides, she always cried when I talked about Mam. So now I’m asking you.’

  The anger melted and her voice softened like that of a child. ‘Please, Dad. After all this time, I still think of her. I can’t help wondering what were she like… inside, I mean. Was she a good person? Was she kind? Did she really look as pretty as you said just now? And the most important question of all: Did she love me?’

  ‘For God’s sake, lass! O’ course she loved you! She were yer mam, weren’t she?’ The old man’s voice broke again.

  Sylvia was deeply moved, and tears rolled down her face. ‘Do you realise that’s the first time you’ve admitted that to me? Oh, Dad! There’s so much I want you to tell me.’

  Bertie glanced up at the mantel-clock. ‘Look, it’s late. I’d best go.’ Shrugging her off, he made for the door.

  When she called out, he paused, not daring to look back, but listening to what she had to say. He had deliberately not mentioned her mother all these years. He had hoped Sylvia had forgotten, but of course she couldn’t forget. He should have known. He heard her pleas now, and his heart went out to her. But he couldn’t tell. He knew from experience that if he raked up the past, it would only bring heartache. It always did!

  Not knowing the truth, Sylvia was persistent. ‘Why aren’t there any pictures of her? Where is she buried? Tell me, Dad. TELL ME!’

  Swinging round, he took hold of her, his fists hard against her shoulders, his eyes swimming with tears. ‘You have to accept it, lass! The past is gone and good shuts to it,’ he said hoarsely. ‘One churchyard is as good as another, and when you’re gone, you’re gone. You want to know what she were like? She were a woman like any other. And now she’s gone!’ He bowed his head. ‘And there’s nothing more to say.’

  Now, when he looked up, there was so much pain in his old eyes that Sylvia counted her own pain as nothing. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ She clung to him. He was glad of that.

  After a while he held her at arm’s length. ‘It’s a bad thing to torment yourself with what’s gone,’ he murmured. ‘We can none of us change the past. All you need to know is that me and your Aunt Margaret raised you with all the love in the world. To all intents and purpose, she were your mam. Not that shadowy woman who gave birth to you.’

  Something in his voice, in what he said, startled Sylvia. ‘Tell me just one thing?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  He took a moment to reflect on what she had said. Then he smiled, the most wonderful smile. ‘I adored her.’

  ‘Then why can’t you share her with me?’

  His features stiffened. ‘Because she’s not mine to share!’ Sylvia had no answer to that.

  He turned on his heel for the last time. ‘Goodnight, lass.’

  ‘Goodnight, Dad.’ She knew from old, it was no use questioning him further.

  At the door, he asked her, ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Right as rain. Now get off with you.’ She looked up at the darker skies. ‘It looks like we’ve more snow to come yet.’

  ‘A white Christmas,’ he chuckled. ‘That’ll please the girls.’

  ‘Go on, Dad,’ she urged, ‘before the heavens open.’

  ‘Aye. The old dog’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. Poor old bugger, he’s past his best, like me. He frets like a bairn when I’m not there.’

  ‘Remember what me and Jim told you.’ Sylvia knew how much her dad loved that old mongrel. ‘If he needs the vet, we’ll find the money.’

  ‘He don’t need no vet.’ The old man was ever proud. ‘And like I’ve told you afore, lass… he’s my responsibility, not yourn, though o’ course I’m grateful for the consideration.’ Stepping down onto the pavement, he reminded her in a sombre voice, ‘Mek sure this door’s pushed up proper after I’ve gone, now we know there’s bad ’uns hanging about.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad.’ Perhaps that was the reason he’d been deep in thought? ‘The Peeping Tom won’t come back now,’ she said confidently.

  ‘All the same, you do as I say.’

  ‘I will.’r />
  She watched him go down the street, a wave of sadness washing over her. Not too long ago, her father had been a broad, strong figure of a man, with straight shoulders and a smart step. Now, almost without her noticing, his shoulders had begun to stoop, and his step wasn’t quite so sprightly. ‘Goodnight, Dad,’ she murmured. ‘God bless.’

  After driving the bolt home on the front door, she hurried down the passage to the parlour. Momentarily pausing at the foot of the stairs, she cocked an ear, listening for any sound that would tell her if the girls were still awake. ‘Sleeping like angels,’ she whispered. ‘Just as well.’

  She turned to enter the parlour, but was stopped in her tracks for a while, her gaze roaming that familiar little room, with its cheery fire and pretty curtains, and the deep-pile rug nestling before the fire-range. ‘You’re a lucky woman, Sylvia Bolton,’ she chided herself. ‘You’ve three fine children, a cosy home, and the love of a good man.’ A fleeting regret darkened her eyes. ‘You mustn’t crave over what you can’t have.’

  Quickly now, she went from the parlour to the scullery, where she satisfied herself that the back door was securely bolted. She then checked all the windows and placed the fireguard round the fire. That done, she departed from the room, her thoughts going back to her mother. ‘Oh, Mam! I wish I’d known you,’ she murmured. It was as though a great void had been left in her life… a place no one else could ever fill.

  As she closed the door, she glanced again at the parlour and its familiar things, and her heart eased. ‘He won’t talk about you, and I can’t make him,’ she whispered. ‘But I know you must have been a kind, gentle woman, or he would never have given you the time of day.’

  In that moment, her father’s words echoed in her mind: ‘’Course she loved you. She were yer mam, weren’t she?’ Sylvia nodded, almost as though he was there, and she was acknowledging him. When she closed the door, she was smiling, a quiet, contented smile. Her mother had loved her. When it came right down to it, that was all she really needed to know.