A Hopscotch Summer

by Annie Murray

  Cynthia’s emotion welled up in tears. ‘Bob, you’re my husband and I want you home – we all do. It’s not all your fault. I wasn’t myself and I frightened you away. But come home now, come and be with your family, please!’

  Bob looked in anguish from one weeping woman to another, seemingly unable to think what to do. After a moment he broke away from Cynthia.

  ‘Christ, I can’t stand this. I’ve got to get out – just let me out . . .’

  He rushed from the house and they heard the front door slam behind him.

  Cynthia and Dot returned to eighteen Kenilworth Street, leaving a sobbing Flossie Dawson. Em, Sid and Joyce’s faces were all anxiously at the window. Molly was waiting with them.

  ‘Where’s our dad?’ Sid burst out as they came in. Em had told them she thought he’d be coming home with them.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cynthia said wearily. Violet was crying and she went to her and picked her up. ‘He just went off.’ She hadn’t the strength to think up any other excuse that would soften the blow.

  ‘Your dad just wanted to think things out a bit,’ Dot told them, hardly able to look at the children’s faces, especially Em’s, so deep was their disappointment. She knew Em felt everything so keenly, was so desperate for her family to be together the way they used to be.

  ‘He’s got to come back,’ Em said, backing towards the door.

  ‘I expect he will,’ Dot was saying, but Em was already on her way out of the house.

  ‘He’s got to!’ she cried, gone before anyone could stop her.

  Fifty-Three

  Em tore along the street, dodging the flying skipping ropes, with groups twirling and chanting rhymes.

  Someone called to her, but she took no notice. She could only think of one thing and it felt like the most urgent and important thing in the world. She had to find her dad, had to, her thumping heart told her over and over again as she dashed past the Prices’ shop and the timber yard and on and on along the neighbouring streets.

  The rubber soles of her shoes slapped on the pavement and her long cotton skirt with the blue and white checks swished round her skinny legs . . . Dad, my dad . . . She ran so hard it felt as if her lungs would burst.

  ‘Steady on!’ With the bright sun in her eyes she almost collided with a man turning the corner but she ignored him, barely aware of anyone else, so intent was she on her mission.

  Almost certainly she knew where he would be. She ran on along the side of the power station, its cooling towers smudging the spring sky with its manufactured weather. She had to stop for a moment to catch her breath, hearing the chuff-chuff of a train shunting in the goods yard on the other side of the road. Grit blew into her eyes and she blinked hard, then she ran on, limping now as her too-small left shoe was chafing her little toe.

  Soon she saw him, where she’d hoped he would be when he needed to try to think straight: on the little bridge close to the tube works where you could look over the cut. He was a dark, hunched figure in the sunlight, his head bent, eyes fixed on the water, so lost in thought that he didn’t notice her coming.

  Her heart thudding, she went up to him and touched his arm.

  ‘Dad?’

  Bob jumped, startled. His expression was very grim, but softened a fraction on seeing her.

  ‘Oh, Em – it’s you.’ He seemed dazed and suddenly she was tongue-tied as well. They stood staring at one another. Then he looked down again into the murky water. ‘I’ve made a right ruddy mess, haven’t I?’

  Em examined his profile. He looked worn, and older. Although he was still her good-looking king of a father, there was a sad droop to his cheeks. ‘Come home, Dad,’ she said at last.

  Bob’s blue, watery eyes rested on her face in a troubled way, and for a moment he couldn’t seem to speak.

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ he said at last. ‘I—’ He drew his head back, looking over towards the power-station chimney with its flag of smoke. ‘I don’t know if . . . if yer mother’s all right, if I can do it. I don’t know how I could’ve been such a fool. Flossie lied to me – lied to me so bad. I don’t even know what’s right any more . . . I don’t know nothing . . .’

  ‘Dad, please . . .’

  Hearing the tears in Em’s voice he turned to her properly again.

  ‘Just come home, that’s all. We all want you home. Can’t we just be together again like before?’

  He looked down, ashamed, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Em. I was frightened of your mother – of the way she was. I was weak . . . You were right, I was stupid. I don’t even know what I was doing.’ He shrugged. ‘Not much of a father to yer, am I?’

  Crying now, tears that never seemed to stop, Em went to him and tugged at his coat. She turned her wet face up pleadingly to him. ‘Come on, Dad.’

  After a moment, he reached down and took her hand.

  ‘Is everyone home?’ he asked, as they walked along, and she told him they were. They didn’t say anything else.

  She felt proud, walking back along Kenilworth Street, holding her father’s hand. When they reached the house, he said, ‘Here goes,’ and she could hear from his breathing that he was scared stiff.

  Cynthia was in the scullery, but she heard them and came through.

  ‘Em?’ she said, with worried eyes.

  ‘Dad’s here,’ Em said.

  She saw her mother take in the sight of him, standing humbly just inside the door, his hat between his hands. There was silence for a few seconds. Bob cleared his throat.

  ‘I’ve come back home,’ he said. ‘If you’ll have me.’

  Em saw in her mother’s face the depth of her relief. Quietly, calmly, Cynthia said, ‘Yes, Bob, I’ll have you. Course I will.’

  Only after the children were asleep were the two of them able to be alone. They had all sat round the table together for tea as a family, and the children were all happy and excited that both their mom and dad were home together and things looked hopeful. Cynthia sat there, with Violet in her arms, gazing round at her family, hardly able to believe it. It was all so fragile, but it was right – at last.

  ‘You won’t go away again, Dad, will yer?’ Joycie said before she went sleepily up to bed.

  ‘No, bab. Now come ’ere and give us a kiss.’

  Cynthia watched Bob say goodnight to each of them in turn, holding them as if they were the most precious things ever. Then he got up. ‘I’ll come and tuck you in. Let yer mother have a rest.’

  ‘I ain’t half missed them,’ he said sheepishly, when he came down.

  It was on the tip of Cynthia’s tongue to say something nasty about how he’d gone off to replace their children with Daisy Dawson, but she bit the words back. They hadn’t had a chance to talk yet – it was no good spoiling a new start with angry accusations.

  Getting ready for bed in their candlelit room, it was with the sudden shyness of newly-weds. Cynthia turned away from him to unfasten her blouse, almost as if Bob was a stranger to her.

  ‘Cynth . . .’ He spoke softly, coming round the big wooden bed to her.

  She turned, her breasts half exposed, pulling the sides of her shirt together again.

  ‘No, don’t,’ he said. ‘Let me see yer.’

  He spoke so sweetly that even after all her pain and anguish she felt very tender towards him. He was nothing but a boy in some ways, a frightened, hurt boy who needed her, deep down, far more than he knew.

  ‘I’m all skinny now,’ she said apologetically. ‘Not much there.’

  Taking his hand she pulled him to her and sat down on the edge of the bed. He gave a sob, ‘No – Christ – you’re so beautiful, Cynth.’ For a second he gazed at her, as if about to kiss or caress her breasts, but then he knelt beside her, burying his head in her lap, and broke down in tears.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The words choked out brokenly. ‘I’ve been such a fool . . . I don’t know how I can’ve done what I did. That woman, she bewitched me. I couldn’t seem to think straight.’

  Cynth
ia sat, bare-breasted, the warmth of his head in her lap, stroking his dark hair, the curling bits at his neckline, gently trying to reassure him. She felt overwhelmed with tenderness.

  ‘I’ve been no good to yer,’ he went on. ‘I know I should’ve been better – but when you were bad you were like someone else. I couldn’t seem to think what to do. It felt as if I’d lost you! I couldn’t stand it, Cynth. It was like being in the Boys’ Home all over again, with no one to care about yer. You were my wife, but you’re like a mom to me an’ all, I know that now. And when you were poorly it was as if you’d died like she did . . .’

  He raised his head, seeming bemused by what he had just said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to leave you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what happened to me. What with the babby, then our Joycie going missing, everything got on top of me. It was like the floor opening and there being nothing underneath to catch you. D’you get me?’

  He stared ahead, then nodded. ‘I think I do. A bit, anyhow.’

  Her eyes were frightened. ‘I feel different. As if I’ll never be who I was before, not ever completely.’

  ‘But you’re better?’

  ‘Better than I was, yes.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘You won’t go back to her, will you – that woman?’

  Bob grasped her hand. ‘Course not. Here’s where I belong. It’s like I went blind for a bit and couldn’t see. She’s a scheming bitch, I can see that now an’ all, but God knows, she had me taken in. There’s summat not right with her.’ He got to his feet, taking her hand. ‘You’re my wife, and by God I need yer, Cynth. I want to hold yer close and stay here – in our house where we belong.’

  Gently, he pulled her to him and she felt his warm, strong chest against her bare breasts, and his heartbeat and the hard strength of him, and she longed to take him to her and love him and begin to make everything right.

  Fifty-Four

  A few days later, Molly was absent from school and Em decided to go and see if she was all right. She had to dare herself even to go anywhere near the Foxes’ yard, but Molly was her pal now, after all they had been through together.

  Her heart thudding, she crept along the entry, but even before she reached the house she could hear the sound of someone weeping unrestrainedly. The loud, aggrieved bawling was coming out of the door of Molly’s house, which as usual was not closed. Em peeped in and was met by the sight of Iris Fox’s immense form crouched on the chair by the fire, which was where the old man usually sat. Her hands were over her face and she was rocking back and forth and wailing fit to burst.

  Em was fascinated by the sight, but didn’t know what to do. She could just see Molly’s dad’s feet sticking out opposite Iris, and not wanting to interrupt this scene she dithered outside the door. But as she stood there Molly came charging out and knocked right into her.

  ‘Ow!’ Em rubbed her forehead.

  Molly looked taken aback. ‘What’re you doing ’ere?’

  ‘I came to see why you weren’t at school.’ She was taken aback to see that Molly looked tear-stained as well. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s my grandad,’ Molly said, closing the door on her distraught mother. ‘They’ve taken him off up the hospital. They said he won’t last long – he’s got poison in his blood.’

  ‘Oh,’ Em said. ‘Is that . . . ?’ She’d been about to ask if that was why he stank so bad. The last time she’d been to the house the smell had been appalling.

  ‘He lost his toes on one foot and then it was all through him,’ Molly said miserably. ‘Septi – septi something.’

  ‘Oh,’ Em said, not sure about this. ‘I’ve got a penny our dad gave me. Want to get some sweets?’

  ‘All right,’ Molly said, cheering up visibly.

  The girls hurried along to the Miss Prices’ shop and chose as many sweets as they could get for a penny. Molly chose a gobstopper and Em had some sherbert. Then they popped in to see Mr and Mrs Button, Molly’s home from home, and Mrs Button was kind about Molly’s sick grandfather.

  ‘Come and see me tomorrow, won’t you?’ she said, as they ran out into the sun.

  The pavements were busy with children and a group were swinging a long rope right across the street in a big skipping game. Two of the eldest were turning the rope, and everyone was chanting together.

  ‘I like coffee, I like tea . . .’

  ‘Hey, Em, Molly – come and play!’ a voice shouted.

  Molly’s eyes lit up. ‘Come on, Em,’ she said.

  And they launched themselves into the game as the rope rose high over the road, ready to jump as it swung round.

  George Washington never told a lie

  He went into the larder and stole a cherry pie . . .

  The girls chanted with the rhythm of the rope. Molly’s cheek was bulging with the gobstopper and Em had her little bag of sherbet in her hand as she skipped. She looked at Molly, beaming with happiness. Mom was at home, and so was Dad now, and things were beginning to get back to normal, blessed ordinary-normal. Flossie Dawson had disappeared from her house – she and Molly had been to see – and the place was deserted. Flossie had vanished from the area. She was gone gone gone. Without trace! Em beamed, celebrating with every jump at the thought, and she felt so happy and tireless and in tune with the rhythm, as if she could never make a mistake.

  Fifty-Five

  Though the family had its ups and downs as usual, things started to settle, and as the summer arrived the Brown children got back to their routine and began to try and forget all the sad things that had happened. Sid’s bed gradually became dry at night, Joycie didn’t have so many tantrums and Em started to fill out a little. Dot and Cynthia went back to their friendly routine of helping each other out.

  One evening after dark, though, there came an unexpected caller at the door. Bob went to open up.

  ‘Ah, Mr Brown! I’ve something for you!’

  The children, recognizing the voice, looked at each other in amazement and crowded into the front room to look. It was one of the Miss Prices, Madeleine, they realized, because of the mole. They were full of curiosity. They had scarcely ever seen one of the Miss Prices outside the shop, let alone calling at their house!

  ‘It’s a very strange thing,’ Miss Price began in her dithery way. ‘And I’m sorry to disturb you, only a lady has just called into the shop. Of course we were closed, but she was very determined. In fact she kept hammering on the door. She asked me to give you this – it’s to be delivered to you.’

  In her hand was an envelope which she held out to Bob Brown.

  ‘Well, who was she? Why didn’t she just come here?’ Bob said, taking the envelope from her.

  ‘Ah, well, this was it, you see, she didn’t know where you were. She said she knew you lived in this street but she didn’t know the number of the house. And she asked me to be discreet, you see. So I’ve brought it straight across to you. She wouldn’t tell me who she was, I’m afraid, though I’ve an idea she might have been someone’s maid, by the way she was dressed.’

  Bob looked up and down the street, bemused. ‘Where’s she gone now, then?’

  ‘Oh, she disappeared straight away. Seemed most eager to get back.’

  He thanked Madeleine Price and, frowning, brought the letter through to the back. Cynthia was still sitting at the table with Violet asleep on her shoulder.

  ‘What was all that about?’ she asked. It was remarkable for the family to receive any letters.

  ‘I dunno.’ Bob sank down at the table and slid his knife along the flap. They all watched him as he slowly read. Em felt her chest tighten with dread, until she saw his expression alter from puzzled to astonished as he did so. He raised his head, looking round at them all, speechless.

  ‘What is it, Bob, for goodness sake!’ Cynthia demanded. ‘It’s not bad news, is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Hardly – read that out. I can hardly take it in.’

  Cynthia took the letter impatiently. ‘Should I – is it all right for the kid
s to hear?’

  ‘Yeah, go on.’

  She read:

  Dear Mr and Mrs Brown,

  I have had it on my conscience to write to you for many months, but have not been able to find the courage until now.

  It was I, foolish, foolish woman, who took your lovely little girl, Joyce, with me to visit my house last summer, and she stayed the night with me, as I’m sure she told you. It was a great pleasure to me and I cared for her so very well, but it has grown on me how much distress I must have caused you, and I realize that I did a terrible thing. But I was not myself in those days. I have not been well.

  You see, I had a daughter once. Her name was Alice, but my little darling went to rest in the arms of her Saviour when she was only just twelve months old and I have had no children since. Alice would have had her fourth birthday just before I met your beautiful daughter Joyce and I’m afraid the great longing to be in the company of a little one such as her overtook me completely and I was led into temptation. She is such a darling child! And I reasoned that a child from such a poor area would be glad of a better home. Of course, when my husband came home I was discovered. I had my maid bring her back to you, hoping and praying that no damage was done and that I could be forgiven.

  I hope you will accept the enclosed as a token of my repentance and good will towards your family. And I do hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me, a broken-hearted mother. I meant no harm by it, please believe me. I would have loved her as my own.

  Yours sincerely.

  Cynthia’s voice grew increasingly full of wonder as she read and she looked up at last, deeply shocked.

  ‘She was going to keep our Joyce, if she hadn’t been found out, the evil cow . . .’ She reached out and pulled Joyce to her, cuddling her. ‘God, the poor woman losing her babby – but if she ever came anywhere near here again I don’t know what I might do to her . . .’ She looked across, seeing Bob opening the other little fold of paper which had been inside the envelope. ‘What’s in there?’