Ellie closed her eyes, immersing herself in that wonderful kiss; a gentle kiss at first, then stronger and more passionate. When at last she opened her eyes, it was to see him looking down on her. ‘I love you, Ellie Bolton,’ he murmured, and she kissed him again, briefly this time. ‘You’d best go,’ she suggested with a smile, ‘before they come looking for me.’
When he’d gone, she commenced singing again. With the scullery being close to the main doors, her voice carried to the street; to the ears of the new rent-collector. About to enter the premises, John paused, cocking an ear to her voice and smiling when he recognised it as belonging to Ellie Bolton, the girl to whom he had long since taken a fancy.
Unaware of his approach, she was still singing when John found his way to her. ‘Well now, if it isn’t our Ellie!’
Ellie had been surprised when she discovered he was working for Peter Williams, and she was even more surprised to see him here, in the scullery. ‘You’ve just missed Mick,’ she said. ‘He’s up in the office if you’re after the rent.’
He glanced at the row of mugs, all steaming with freshly brewed tea. ‘I wouldn’t mind one of them,’ he said. ‘It’s bloody freezing outside.’ He rubbed his hands together and blew in them, and though she had never really taken a liking to him, Ellie took pity.
Removing her own mug from the row, she handed it to him. ‘There you are. Look, I’ve got to go, or the tea will be cold. But don’t hang about in here. It’s out of bounds for visitors.’
As she turned to put the mugs on the tray, he put his tea on the table, and grabbed her so hard round the waist that she let out a cry. ‘This is nice,’ he whispered suggestively, his mouth against her ear. ‘You and me all alone in here.’
Unfortunately for Ellie, the machines outside were now in full flow, drowning out her cry. However, Mick had seen John come in, and then, when he had the rent-money to hand, and was about to run down the steps, he noticed John making his way into the scullery.
In a minute he was on him.
Dragging him along by the scruff of his collar, he took him all the way to the exit door, throwing him out with such force that he rolled over and over on the ground – unhurt but with his pride deeply wounded. ‘There’s your rent-money!’ Mick flung the envelope across the ground after him. ‘Now be off with you.’
‘What about the book?’ John stood up shakily, retrieved his briefcase from the ground. He had Peter’s instructions in mind. ‘You have to sign the book!’
‘To hell with the book!’ Mick retorted. ‘Tell your boss why it’s not signed, and tell him this an’ all: if you ever come inside this factory and lay a hand on any of these women again, I’ll make sure you never get through that door again. You tell him that, and see what he has to say.’
‘It was just a friendly gesture,’ John shouted. ‘I didn’t mean no harm. There was no need for you to go bloody mad!’
When Mick took a step forward, John grabbed up his envelope and made a hasty retreat. ‘I’ll be back next week,’ he called while on the run. ‘You can sign the book then.’
As Mick watched him go hell-for-leather down the street, he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Silly young bugger,’ he chuckled. ‘He’s got a lot to learn. Still, I’ll not see him in trouble. I’ll sign his precious book next week, and we’ll say no more about the matter.’
When Mick returned to the factory, he was still chuckling. ‘I don’t think he’ll bother you again,’ he told Ellie, and it turned out that John had made approaches to several other women at different times, since he took over the collection from Peter Williams.
‘Were he the one you had last night?’ Tilly asked Bertha slyly.
‘Were he heckaslike!’ The big woman laughed. ‘That little runt ain’t got enough to keep me going for two minutes, never mind two hours,’ she boasted.
And the factory rocked with laughter.
* * *
John’s next port of call was the top end of Blackburn. Pausing to brush the dust off his clothes, he took out his book and consulted it. ‘Freda and Ernie Fellowes.’
Having entrusted the address to mind, he then thrust the book into his briefcase. ‘Freda Fellowes.’ He groaned. ‘That’s the woman who hides every time she sees me coming.’ With his pride sorely bruised at Mick’s treatment of him, he squared his shoulders and strode ahead with purpose. ‘She’ll not bloody well hide from me this time,’ he vowed. ‘I’ve had enough aggravation to last me a lifetime!’
He muttered all the way down the street. ‘I’m already going back with the factory book not signed. I’m damned if I’ll go back for the third week running without rent from that harpy!’
* * *
Freda was ready for off. ‘I’ll not be long,’ she told Ruth. ‘If the rent man comes, tell him I’ll see him next week.’
‘You can’t do that, our Mam!’ Much as she had come to love her mam all over again, Ruth was exasperated by her cavalier attitude to paying the rent. ‘You’ve already missed him twice.’
‘Aye, well, I’m a bit short this week. Tell him I’ll catch up next time.’ Pausing on the doorstep, Freda took a tube of lipstick from her bag. Impatiently removing the top, she pushed the crimson stick until it was half-exposed, then traced it over her mouth. ‘Tastes like peppermint,’ she said, smacking her lips together. Replacing the lipstick, she took out a comb and fluffed up her hair, until it looked like she’d had a fright. ‘Right, lass.’ Turning round for inspection, she asked, ‘How do I look?’
Dropping the shammy-leather back into the bucket, Ruth looked at her mam, and couldn’t help but smile. She saw the new black coat, fitting at the waist, and open at the neck; she observed the tight-fitting jumper beneath and the high-heeled shoes that showed off her slim ankles, and the made-up face, and she wondered, ‘Are you off to a party or summat?’
‘Don’t be daft! You know very well I’m joining Ernie for a pint at the pub.’
‘Well, you’re overdressed, if you ask me.’
Freda didn’t care. ‘I’m not asking you, then, and anyway, yer never know who yer might meet down the pub. I mean, I might come across some wealthy old fool who could whisk me away to foreign parts.’ As she spoke, she went all dreamy. ‘This time next week I could be swanning about in New York, or lying on a beach in some exotic land.’
‘So, you’d leave Ernie behind then, would you?’
Her mother thought a moment. ‘Well no, happen not,’ she admitted with a warm smile. ‘I’ve kinda got used to my Ernie. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t know what to do without him now.’ All the same, as she tottered off down the street on those magnificent high heels, she laughed out loud. ‘Happen I could keep Ernie, and the wealthy old fool an’ all,’ she cackled. ‘Then I could tell the rent man to take a running jump.’
‘Be sure and tell Ernie you’ve not left the money for the rent again – for the third week running,’ Ruth called out. ‘Happen he’ll not be so fond of you when he finds out you’ve been risking him losing the roof from over his head.’
Unconcerned, Freda waved a hand. ‘I’ve told yer – I’ll catch up.’
‘So you keep saying!’
All she got for her trouble was a rude gesture and a smile. ‘See yer later, our kid,’ she warbled. In a minute she was gone, out of sight, but not out of mind.
‘You’ll be the death of me,’ Ruth groaned. And went back to her window-cleaning before it got too cold. She had finished the downstairs windows and was started on the upstairs, when John came into sight.
Seeing this woman up the ladder, donned in long skirt and brightly coloured turban that hid her hair, he thought at first it must be the lady of the house. ‘Gotcha!’ Quickening his steps, he hurried towards her. On reaching the bottom of the ladder, he realised that she was so intent on her task, she had no idea he was there. So, having been cheated of a private minute or two with Ellie, he decided to take stock of this woman before making his presence known.
Almost directly beneath the ladder, he took
a moment or two to enjoy the view. Polishing the window meant Ruth reaching up and down, then backwards and forwards, and as she did so, her skirt stretched higher and higher. He could see right up to her bare thighs, the shape of which sent a thrill through him.
‘Them’s a smashing pair o’ legs you’ve got there, missus!’ he called up cheekily, and now, as she looked down on him with astonishment, he thought her a most attractive woman.
‘What the devil d’you think you’re doing?’ Throwing the cloth down before her, Ruth almost slapped him in the face with it. ‘What gives you the bloody right to stand there and look up my skirt, you dirty little ponce. Get away!’ Now on his level, she gave him a push. ‘Go on! Clear off, before I call the police!’
Protecting himself when she began smacking him, he cried out with a laugh. ‘Hey! Leave off! I’m here for the rent. It ain’t my fault if you were up the ladder showing yer fanny to all and sundry!’
‘The rent!’ Her temper melted away and now she was looking at him in a different light.
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re not the usual man. He’s short and round with a bald head – Mr Collins, he’s called.’
‘Aye, well, Mr Collins sold his entire properties to my boss, and now I’m your new rent-collector.’
He saw how she was with child and he was puzzled. According to his notes, the woman who lived here was older. ‘A right scrawny bitch who doesn’t pay her rent from one week’s end to the next and was twice threatened with eviction.’
This woman must be what… in her early twenties, not much older than himself. And she could never be described as ‘scrawny’. Even with her swollen belly, she was very attractive. ‘Three weeks,’ he repeated, tapping the book under his arm. ‘It’s all in here.’
‘Would you settle for this week’s, and another week off the arrears?’ Ruth thought it worth a try, but wasn’t surprised by his answer.
‘Nope. I’m under strict instructions to collect for all three weeks.’ He looked her in the eye and thought she had the loveliest face, even if it was smudged and dirty. ‘There’s three weeks owing, and I’m not leaving without it.’
Now it was Ruth’s turn to observe him, and even though he was here making threats after her money, she had taken a liking to him. She wondered if it was because she hadn’t had a man’s arms round her in so long, she was prepared to consider anything in trousers. But no, she decided, it wasn’t that. It was the bold manner in which he had lingered under the ladder to see up her skirt, and the twinkle in his eye when she faced him about it. ‘Rent aside, you’re a cheeky devil,’ she said, and couldn’t help the little smile twitching at her mouth.
‘That’s me,’ he said, having taken a liking to her also. ‘Cheeky Charlie, that’s what they call me.’
‘Well, Cheeky Charlie, you’d best get yourself inside. I’ll see if me mam’s left a bob or two for you.’ But she held out little hope of that. Instead, she suspected she would have to raid her own store of money, and not for the first time neither.
She smiled, and for a minute he was lost. She really was the loveliest thing.
‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Inside with you, while I empty this bucket.’
When she went to pick up the bucket he stopped her. ‘That’s too heavy for a woman in your condition,’ he said. ‘Give it here.’ Taking the bucket from her, he tipped the grimy water into the gutter. Keeping hold of the bucket, he walked before her down the passage to the parlour. ‘I meant what I said,’ he flattered her. ‘You’ve got a lovely pair of shapely legs, if you don’t mind me saying?’
Ruth looked him up and down as they came into the parlour; not a big-built fella, she thought, but not bad. Not bad at all. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you’ve got a great pair of bow legs. By! You could run a tram through them and still have room for a wagon.’
‘What!’ He looked shocked, until he saw her grinning and knew she was only getting her own back. ‘OK,’ he laughed. ‘I asked for that.’
Ruth paid him the rent and signed the book and would have sent him on his merry way, only she had not laughed like this in ages. ‘You can stay for a brew if you like,’ she said, hoping he would say yes.
When he accepted, she told him to settle himself. ‘I’ll not be long. Oh, and would you like a biscuit?’
‘I’d love one – two, if they’re going.’
‘I’ll fetch a plateful,’ she promised. ‘We’ll share ’em.’ Taking off her coat, she went into the kitchen, while John eased himself into the armchair beside the fire.
‘I bet you were cold up that ladder,’ he remarked. He chatted across the room, making pleasant conversation and feeling easier with her than he could ever have imagined. After all, she was a complete stranger to him, wasn’t she?
‘I don’t feel the cold,’ she replied, and he didn’t wonder at it. A capable woman, this one, he thought.
‘I expect your husband normally cleans the windows, does he?’ he probed.
Returning with tea and biscuits, she told him, ‘I haven’t got a husband. There was a man I might have wed. Instead, I ran off and left him.’
Shocked and delighted, he asked, ‘Can I ask why you did that… seeing as you’re…’ He glanced at her swollen belly. ‘I mean, it can’t have been an easy decision.’
Setting the tray on the table, she told him plainly, ‘I left him because he was the worst bastard. He doesn’t know I’m carrying his child, and if I have my way, he never will.’
‘Were you frightened of him?’
She handed him his tea. ‘Not at first. Not until I found out what terrible things he was capable of.’ Sitting in the armchair opposite, she rolled the warm cup between her cold hands and took a sip of tea. After a moment, she placed the cup in the hearth and suddenly whisked off her turban. ‘By! It’s good to get that off. I’m not used to wearing turbans. It’s me mam’s.’
Looking up on her comment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘My God! You’re beautiful!’ It was like he’d suddenly been frozen; with his cup halfway to his mouth he stared at her, eyes wide open, disbelieving. In that moment when she had whipped away the turban, he didn’t know why, but he had the strongest sensation; almost as though he’d been kicked in the stomach by a navvy.
Now, as she shook her hair, he was half-blinded by the dazzling reds and gold in that mass of glory; lit by the firelight and framing her face, it was a splendid sight.
‘I don’t know about beautiful,’ she laughed, running her two hands through her hair, before collecting her cup. ‘Lately, when I look in the mirror, I see “fat and ugly”, and it feels like it will never end. I’ve no husband, no home, and when this comes along,’ she patted her bulging stomach, ‘things can only get worse.’
‘So, when you ran off from this bloke, your mam took you in? That was good of her.’ Deep down, something about her worried him, but John didn’t yet know what it was.
Ruth laughed. ‘Years ago, I ran off from her an’ all,’ she admitted. ‘You can’t know what she was like. She’s got a filthy temper, and a mouth that could shame a truck-driver. My mam can be a right sod… come to think of it, I were no different. We fought like cat and dog, and in the end, I couldn’t live with her. We hadn’t seen each other in years, until this.’ Again, she patted her bulge. ‘But she’s been good to me. She’s changed in her old age. I think we both have.’
‘I envy you,’ he said. ‘My parents are miles away down South, and I’ve allus been a bit of a loner.’ He held out his hand. ‘The name’s John.’
Shaking his hand, she felt as if she’d known him all her life. ‘I’m Ruth,’ she said, ‘Ruth Clegg,’ and when she smiled, her eyes fighting with pleasure, it hit him like a ton of bricks.
‘Jesus! You’re Peter Williams’s woman, aren’t you?’
For what seemed an eternity, she stared at him, her eyes widening with terror. Then she was on her feet, screaming at him. ‘He sent you here, didn’t he? He sent you here to root me out! Oh dear God! What shal
l I do? What shall I do?’ She was screaming and sobbing, and John was shocked and helpless. ‘You can tell him I’ll be gone when he comes here,’ she gabbled. ‘I’ll be gone, to somewhere he’ll never find me. Tell him that. GO ON!’ Beating his chest with her two fists, she gave a cry and seemed to collapse in his arms, but he held her there, whispering softly to calm her.
‘No, he didn’t send me. He has no idea where you are, and he won’t learn it from me. I know I’m a bit of a bugger, and there are some things I might do for money, but shopping you to that bastard isn’t one of them.’ John led her to the chair and this time it was his turn to make the tea. While she sat and contemplated the consequences of being found out, he searched the cupboards and located a half-filled bottle of brandy. ‘That’s our mam’s,’ she warned. ‘Leave it be.’
‘From what you tell me, she wouldn’t mind – not after the shock I gave you just now.’
A few moments later, he returned from the kitchen with a freshly brewed mug of tea, and in it a sizeable measure of brandy.
Ruth took one sip and made a face. ‘Ohh! It tastes awful!’ Inside her the baby gave a tiny leap. But she drank it all down, and afterwards felt a great deal calmer; it was an odd thing, but she felt as if she could trust this man. ‘Please, John. You won’t tell him you’ve found me, will you?’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve nowhere else to run, and very little money. When I came here I did have a bit put by, but it’s nearly all gone now.’
John looked at her tear-stained face and for the first time in his life he was about to put someone else before himself. He recalled Peter Williams’s earlier threats about stealing what belonged to him; he knew he was supposed to report the finding of Ruth Clegg, or face the consequences.
Knowing that man’s reputation, he was confused and afraid, but most of all, he was in love. For the first time in his miserable life, he was really in love. If someone had told him it could happen as quickly as that, he would have laughed in their face. But it was true, and he was the proof.
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