by Annie Murray
‘Oh, will yer?’ Iris’s foul temper soon surfaced. ‘Yer sodding nosy cow! What’s it got to do with you? Who’re you gunna report me to any road? There ain’t no one knows us.’
‘Oh, make no mistake,’ Jenny came back at her. ‘There’s the Welfare people, the police, the NSPCC – they come and take children away when the family ain’t fit. And I’ll tell you something, you filthy slattern – you do anything to hurt this young wench and I’ll take her away myself. Oh,’ she added. ‘And I expect your old landlord’d like to know where you are an’ all . . .’
‘Don’t you bloody dare tell ’im, the bastard!’ Iris roared, bunching her fist.
‘You gunna hit me an’ all, then?’ Jenny turned away with a disgusted look. ‘You’d better remember what I’ve said.’
‘That’s right, you get out of ’ere before I punch yer lights out!’ Iris bawled after her. ‘Yer nosy, meddling bitch!’
Jenny picked her way with dignity back down the entry and out into Lupin Street. Lord, if she could only get that child away from that house! The vile stench of the place seemed to be burned into her nostrils, almost making her gag. There was something horribly familiar about it and it was only as she was walking back across Great Lister Street that it came to her what it was. Old Reggie, a friend of Stan’s, had died shortly after the war, of a wound that never healed. His house had also been filled with that ghastly, suppurating smell, which she now recognized as the deathly odour of gangrene.
Fifty
On Saturday afternoon, Cynthia and Dot set off for Aston with Molly and Em in tow. They had been discussing it all week. Molly was to show them the way.
‘Why does your mom want to go and see Mrs Floozy’s sister anyway?’ Molly asked Em. They always called Flossie Mrs Floozy now.
Em shrugged angrily. ‘Dunno.’ She didn’t care. She just wanted Flossie Dawson to disappear in a puff of smoke and have everything back as it should be.
‘There’s no point in all of us going,’ Cynthia had argued to Dot. ‘Molly can show me where the house is . . .’
‘No – I’m not having you going off on your own, the state you’re in. You don’t know how you might be treated by that trollop’s sister! And if Molly’s got to come, Em can keep her company.’
‘It’ll cost us in tram fares . . .’ Cynthia was all nerves.
‘Don’t be daft – we’ll walk,’ Dot said. ‘That’s if you’re up to it.’
It was a couple of miles away, but Saturday dawned dry and quite warm and the four of them set off, leaving the younger children to be minded by a neighbour. They even took bread and butter, some cake and bottles of tea.
‘Might as well make an outing of it,’ Dot said.
Em’s spirits rose once they’d set off and they were away from the familiar streets of home. It suddenly felt like fun, an adventure, and Dot had brought a picnic! She and Molly skipped along, chattering away behind the two mothers.
‘What if she’s not in?’ Cynthia said uneasily to Dot.
‘Well, we’ll have to wait till she is,’ Dot said. ‘Don’t s’pose she’ll go far.’
‘I just hope Molly knows what she’s on about after all this,’ Cynthia said doubtfully. Molly was certain that the address was close to the park in Aston, because she had been on her way there that day she had spotted Daisy Dawson.
‘It’s quite a tall house,’ she said. ‘With a black front door and a big brass knocker.’
‘All right, bab,’ Dot told her. ‘Well, we’re counting on you.’
Em was impressed by Molly’s sense of direction. Aston, to her, seemed a confusing place, stinking of vinegar from the sauce factory and with streets leading off in every direction, jam-packed with houses, and she was sure she would never be able to find her way back home from here. But Molly led them with hardly any hesitation towards Aston Park and off along a street of solid, respectable-looking terraces, bigger than they were used to seeing in Kenilworth Street, with little gardens at the front.
‘You sure about this, Molly?’ Dot said, looking anxious.
Molly nodded. She was walking faster now. ‘It’s just up ’ere, on the left.’
She stopped suddenly, pointing.
‘Well, I never,’ Cynthia said. And then, ‘Oh, I don’t know about this . . .’
There was the black front door with its brass knocker. The house was three storeys and seemed to loom over them. At the front were a couple of sad, scrubby-looking bushes and the flower beds along the front of the house were neglected and choked with weeds.
‘This doesn’t feel right,’ Cynthia said shakily. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say . . .’
‘You can just say what’s happened. Polite, like. God knows, Cynth, you’ve got a right to know a bit about the woman. She’s stolen your husband! Look, shall I come in with yer?’
‘No – best not. It’ll look like a gang turning up. You wait with the girls.’ Cynthia took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. ‘Oh – I don’t know why I’m doing this. I must be off my head . . . Still – ’ there was a wry flicker of a smile – ‘I have just come out of the asylum.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ Dot said. She suddenly took each of the girls by the hand and they retreated even further and stood by someone’s front gate. Em liked the feeling of holding Dot’s hand, though she didn’t enjoy the idea of her mother disappearing into this strange house.
They saw Cynthia look up and down the road then go to the front door. The sound of the knocker rat-tatted along the street. Then it went quiet.
‘Come on!’ Dot said. ‘We’ll just walk past.’
As they strolled along the street they were just in time to catch sight of Cynthia’s back disappearing into the dark hall of the house. The door closed.
It seemed an age that they waited, walking round and round the block, not liking to go too far away in case Cynthia came out again. Dot was left with the task of jollying the children along in these odd circumstances.
‘After this is over,’ she said, ‘we’ll go and have our bit of picnic. Nice day for it.’
She chatted to the two girls, trying to make things sound calm and normal, and they brightened when she promised them some sweets as well. But every so often she’d say in a worried voice, ‘Oh my goodness, I wonder what on earth’s going on . . .’
At last, when they had done another turn-about of the roads close to Flossie’s sister’s house, rounding the corner past the little shop, which was by now coming to seem familiar after several laps, they saw Cynthia coming along towards them.
‘Mom!’ Em broke away and ran towards her.
‘You’ve been ages!’ Dot cried, as she and Molly ran to catch up. ‘Are you all right? What did she say?’
It was then that they all took in the stunned expression on Cynthia’s face. She was shaking her head as if she could not find the words.
‘It wasn’t a she,’ she gobbled at last, pointing back, wide-eyed, at the house. ‘It was a he. That man in there is Flossie Dawson’s husband – and she’s still married to him.’
Fifty-One
They sat at the edge of the park, with the Jacobean edifice of Aston Hall looming grandly at the top of the slope in front of them. But none of them took much notice of this, or even of the bread and cake, because they were all desperate to hear Cynthia’s story.
‘He seems quite a nice bloke really,’ Cynthia said, her bewilderment still plain in her face. Behind it they could sense a deep excitement which was hard to fathom as yet. ‘I mean, he’s angry all right, but otherwise he seems quite decent. Quite a bit older than her, I’d say. I think he still loves her, in his way . . . He’s still keeping her, despite it all. And Daisy must be fond of him to keep going and seeing him.’
‘Well, what the hell’s she playing at, then?’ Dot erupted, desperate to know the whole picture.
‘You might well ask. It’s a queer story all right.’ Cynthia swallowed her mouthful and, seeing the rapt faces all round her, her face suddenl
y broke into a delicious grin which made the rest of them smile. They could see she was bursting to tell them what she’d found.
‘Flossie Dawson’s been married to him for fourteen years – only his name’s not Dawson – that’s her maiden name. He’s a Welshman; his name’s Dai Owen. He’s a gentle, dithery sort of bloke – wouldn’t say boo to a goose. He works in a bank.’
‘Goodness,’ Dot said. ‘Well, they’re not too poor, then – the house is big enough.’
‘He said he’d inherited it from his mom and dad,’ Cynthia said.
‘Never mind the house – go on!’ Dot insisted, impatient as a child.
‘He said Flossie and he got wed just after the war. He’s a good bit older, fifteen years or so. Everything went all right at the start, only they were trying for a babby. Time went by and nothing seemed to be happening and she started to get very down in herself over it. She started blaming him to begin with, but in the end she went to the doctor and they had a look at her up the hospital because they couldn’t seem to find what was wrong. But there’s summat the matter with her – I don’t know what – and she can’t have children . . .’
Em and Molly looked at each other and frowned, not sure of the implications of this.
‘But . . . !’ Dot’s mind was racing round these fragments. ‘What about Daisy? And that means . . . Christ, Cynth – she can’t be expecting your Bob’s babby!’
The girls gasped. ‘She’s a liar and a cheater!’ Em burst out. ‘She’s a wicked, wicked woman!’
‘Daisy’s not theirs,’ Cynthia said. ‘Flossie got in such a state over not being able to have her own that they decided to take in a child from the orphanage, and they got Daisy when she was just about three. When you think of it, she’s nothing like Flossie . . . Any road, that was all right for a bit. She spent a couple of years wrapped up in having Daisy. But then, he said – he seemed quite keen to pour it out to me, surprising really – then Daisy went to school, and that was when things went down the pan even further. Flossie got very funny about men. I s’pose you girls oughtn’t to hear all this, but still – I’ll say it short, like . . .’ Cynthia took a swig of tea from one of the bottles. Giving Dot a meaningful look she went on, ‘She started to wander, if you know what I mean, and she weren’t too fussy either, apparently, even with her being quite respectable. Mr Owen said it was like a kind of drug to her – she had to have men. As if she wanted to cast a spell over them, that was what he said. And of course she’s a looker, got summat about her that hooks them in.’
‘Blimey,’ Dot said. ‘I wonder he stood for it. So he threw her out?’
‘No, not straight away. Course, it upset him terribly, you could see, but he’s a kindly soul. He’s not the ruling with a rod of iron sort, and I don’t think he knew what to do, especially seeing the kind of men she was going for – you know, not her class. He thinks she likes to lord it over them. He turned a blind eye so far as he could and kept hoping she’d just stop it. And he’s ever so fond of Daisy. Flossie didn’t leave home, but she was in and out, playing about . . . He said it would stop for a time and things would go back to normal, but then it would all start off again. He said she was like two people: his loving wife and a prostitute all in one. That was his words. He put it down to her not being able to have a babby of her own, that it had turned her head somehow. Anyway, this went on for some years until about eighteen months ago he’d had enough. Said he couldn’t stand any more. He’d see her all right but she’d got to go. He said he didn’t know where she went first of all, but then of course she came to our neck of the woods.’
‘And started on your husband, the handsome so-and-so.’
Cynthia nodded. Her eyes shone with a mixture of deep hurt and great hope. She looked at Em and Molly, and stroked Em’s head for a second. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that, girls. But I know you’ve already been forced into seeing what kind of person Mrs Dawson can be.’
Em gave a quick smile, but her eyes remained sad. She still didn’t know what any of this meant. Would it bring Dad home again?
‘You and Bob have always been good together,’ Dot said, laying a hand on her friend’s shoulder for a second. ‘That woman’s cast a spell on him. That’s just how it feels. But she’s deceived him every step of the way!’
Cynthia sighed, staring longingly at Dot. ‘Well, I hope so. I just don’t know now whether he can break the spell, even if he finds out the truth, or if it’s too late.’ She looked unbearably sad. ‘Maybe it’s her he really wants now.’
‘What, when she’s lied to him and led him up the garden path with all her carry-on and her tall tales! He’s not going to want to stay with her now, when there’s no babby for her to hold over him!’
Suddenly the strain of it all became too much for Cynthia and she clasped her hands over her face.
‘Oh God, Dot!’ she said, dissolving into tears. ‘I just want my husband back. I just want things to be the way they used to be!’
Dot put her arm round her friend. Em and Molly watched, wide-eyed.
‘Come on, love, it’ll be all right. Let’s just get back. We could wait till tomorrow to go round. It’s all a bit much for you, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ Cynthia wiped her eyes and looked fiercely at Dot. ‘I’ve got to do it, face up to it. I’ve got to know one way or another.’
Fifty-Two
It was Flossie who opened the door. For a second she looked shocked when she saw who was outside, but covered it up with an insincere smile which glinted with triumph.
‘Oh, I’m surprised to see you,’ she said, looking at Cynthia and pretending to ignore Dot. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
‘We want to come in,’ Dot said brusquely. ‘Is Bob here?’
Flossie affected to look shocked and gave a little laugh. ‘What’s that to you? And why would I want to invite you into my house?’
‘Look, bab, just step out of the way before I make yer.’ Dot pushed in past her, with Cynthia following. ‘There’s a few things poor Bob needs to know.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Bob said, looking extremely worried when he saw them crowding through into the back room. ‘Cynth, Dot, what’re you doing?’
Dot didn’t waste a second. ‘We’ve come to tell you a few home truths about Mrs Dawson here,’ she said loud and clear. ‘Or rather, Mrs Owen.’
There was an immediate shocked intake of breath from Flossie and an ugly blush spread over her face. Her eyes narrowed viciously.
‘What’re you going on about?’ She tried to cover up, giving another little laugh. ‘Bob, I’ve really no idea what they’re talking about! Some spiteful story they’ve cooked up between them, no doubt. Tell them to leave my house, will you, please, dear?’
‘Bob,’ Cynthia went to him urgently, ‘don’t listen to her! She’s not what she seems at all – she’s been lying to you all along. What she said about being a widow, it’s all lies. All this time, she’s still married. Her husband’s in Aston. Dot and I went to see him.’
‘Yes, the poor bugger,’ Dot put in, standing with hands on hips. ‘If ever anyone had a fool made of him it’s Dai Owen.’
‘What are you doing, spreading all these ridiculous lies!’ Flossie cried shrilly. She was panicking and quickly losing control of herself. ‘Bob, make them get out! They’re just vicious gossip-mongers. They’re lying to you. You know your wife’s not right in the head. Get out, the pair of you!’
So saying, she grabbed Cynthia’s arm and tried to drag her away.
‘Get your filthy, deceiving hands off me!’ Cynthia cried as Dot, by far the strongest of the three women, intervened, seizing Flossie round the waist and dragging her away from Cynthia.
‘You come over ’ere and shut yer cake’ole for a minute – we’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime. Go on, Cynth, tell him!’
Bob looked utterly bewildered, not knowing who to believe about anything.
‘Bob, listen, for God’s sake,’ Cynthia gabbled, grasping Bob�
�s arm in her urgency. ‘Daisy’s not her real daughter. She’s married but she can’t have children, so she’s not expecting your babby now. She’s not capable of it!’
‘No-o-o!’ A terrible, shrill wail poured out of Flossie. ‘Don’t say that! It’s not true. It’s all lies. She’s just trying to come between us, Bob.’
‘You know it’s true,’ Dot said, still holding onto her tightly. ‘You know damn well you’re not expecting his child and you’ve wheedled your way into this family and bloody nearly wrecked everything, you scheming little bitch. Go on, tell him the truth for once. You’re not having a babby, are you? Because you’re barren, and you’re not a widow. In fact you’re not anything you seem to be. Everything about you is a bloody sham!’
Bob looked stunned but they could see he was starting to believe them.
‘It’s not true!’ Flossie crumpled, starting to shake and sob. ‘I can have a baby with you, Bob, I know I can,’ she pleaded. ‘If we keep trying I know it’ll happen. It’s different with you. It was Dai who couldn’t have children. I should never have married him.’
‘Oh yes, and what about all the other men you’ve been with?’ Dot flung back at her. ‘I suppose it was all their fault as well?’
‘Is it true?’ Bob said quietly. ‘Floss – tell me the truth. Have you been lying to me, all this time, about everything?’
‘Yes, she flaming well has!’ Dot said, her impatience getting the better of her. ‘And you swallowed every word of it, you bleeding idiot.’
‘Floss?’ He spoke quietly.
Flossie didn’t say anything, not then. She couldn’t even look at him. It was obvious from the state of her, the way she crumpled within Dot’s grasp, that they had exposed all her strange pretence, and she seemed to have no fight left in her. Dot propelled her to a chair where she bent over, sobbing hysterically.
‘You can’t do this to me! Don’t leave me, Bob. We’ll be happy together, we will have a child, we will!’