by Kitty Neale
Stan had gone to the bar, and was soon chatting to another bloke, while George continued to think about Celia. It really riled him that she looked down on people, especially the Millers. Stan had been reduced to poorly paid factory work since he’d been wounded during the war, and Phyllis had to work to supplement their income, yet Celia had never taken that into consideration.
A grim smile of satisfaction crossed George’s face. If things worked out the way he hoped, Celia had a shock coming. He finished his pint and rose to leave. It was time for his next port of call, and he couldn’t wait to get there.
Stan lifted his arm to wave to George as the man left the pub, feeling sorry for him. Fancy having to go home to a wife like Celia Frost, he thought, old frosty knickers. Stan frowned as a thought crossed his mind. It was Rose’s night off. Was George going home to his wife, or was he headed in the other direction? No, surely the bloke wouldn’t be daft enough to get mixed up with Rose. If he was going to have an affair, it wouldn’t be so close to home – at least Stan hoped that was the case, especially as Amy was still seeing Tommy.
Stan had never been tempted by another woman, not that a nice pair of legs didn’t catch his eye. His thoughts turned to Phyllis and despite her saying she was fine, he couldn’t help worrying a bit about what had made her pass out. It wasn’t like Phyllis. She was usually as tough as a horse and the cleaning jobs had never over-tired her before. Of course she was now looking after Winnie Morrison too; mornings, lunchtimes and after work she’d sort the old girl out, getting her to bed before coming home. Winnie wasn’t a relative, she was just a neighbour, and it wasn’t as if Phyllis was getting paid to look after her.
That thought led to another, and though it hadn’t crossed his mind before, he wondered if Winnie stumped up anything towards the meals that Phyllis provided.
He’d have to find out, have a word with Phyllis, because there was no way he was going to fork out for Winnie Morrison too. As it was, he handed over Phyllis’s housekeeping money every week, and with her two cleaning jobs, she always seemed to manage. The rest of his wages he kept as spending money, enough to ensure that he could buy a few pints of beer most evenings.
Frank Cole came in and went to join the darts team, while Stan ordered another pint, his mind still on Phyllis. He was still worried about her fainting and he began to fret. He’d have to put his foot down about Winnie, tell Phyllis that the old girl would have to find someone else to look after her. After all, he didn’t want Phyllis becoming so worn out that she had to give up one, or even both of her cleaning jobs. That would mean stumping up more housekeeping money and Stan really didn’t want to do that.
Mabel had seen George Frost earlier, illuminated by a street light before he passed her window. She’d been puzzled. He wasn’t in his van so he wasn’t working, and it had seemed a bit early for him to be going out. Maybe he’d had words with his stuck-up wife and was going to the pub to drown his sorrows. She’d tell Phyllis about it in the morning, but to make it interesting she’d have to weave it out a bit.
She had seen Phyllis leave for work, followed soon after by Stan, limping down the Rise en route to the pub. He did this most evenings while Phyllis was at work and Mabel hadn’t really thought about it before, but this time she’d felt a surge of anger. He must have seen how worn out Phyllis looked. Instead of putting money over the bar, he could increase Phyllis’s housekeeping money so she could cut down on the hours she worked.
Mabel turned away, her eyes settling on Jack, her husband. He was a good provider, didn’t drink, never had, and he worked as a guard on the railway. It was shift work, but this week Jack was on normal hours. He’d been a quiet man when she married him, and he still was, but since they had lost their son all those years ago, he’d also become morose. The only thing that interested him was history books – he always had his nose stuck in one.
Mabel looked outside again, but there was nobody about. It was dark, cold, and there weren’t any children playing outside now. She had seen some earlier, playing marbles in the gutter, their fingers blue with the cold which Mabel thought disgraceful. If her son had lived she’d have made sure he was well wrapped up before letting him play outside.
With nothing to see now, Mabel moved away to sit down opposite Jack. The silence of the room was only broken by the ticking of the clock, and for want of some sort of conversation she asked, ‘What are you reading now?’
There was an audible sigh before Jack looked up, but he finally answered, ‘It’s a history of Battersea.’
‘What on earth do you want to read that for?’
‘It’s interesting.’
‘Why’s that?’ Mabel asked shortly, hoping to draw Jack out.
‘Because Battersea wasn’t written about until the end of the seventeenth century, and it was a lot different then.’
‘In what way?’
Jack flicked back a couple of pages and said, ‘For instance, in those days, Battersea Park was just marshland. It goes on to describe gentle slopes leading up to Lavender Hill that gave way to untamed heath, sweeping away to the wilds of Surrey.’
‘It’s all built up around here now and I just can’t picture it,’ Mabel said, surprised to find that she was interested. ‘It must have been like living in the country.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Jack said, ‘and in eighteen forty-six, Battersea Park was known as Battersea Fields. It was fertile land where crops were grown, such as carrots, melons and lavender. Not only that,’ he continued, his voice animated, ‘where Battersea Power Station stands now, there was a bawdy pub called the Red House Tavern, patronised by Charles Dickens. Now what do you think of that?’
‘I still can’t picture it, and bawdy? What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked.
‘Rough and rowdy I should think,’ Stan said as he lowered his eyes to the book again.
Mabel knew the signs. She wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, and her thoughts turned to Phyllis again. She was fond of her friend, but secretly envied her too – envied that she had a happy marriage, and though he was a drinker Stan was always laughing and joking. Maybe Jack would cheer up a bit if he had a few pints of beer instead of his nose stuck in books.
In truth though, the thing that Mabel envied most was that Phyllis had a daughter. In fact nearly everyone in the street had kids. Daphne Cole had three, two sons and her flighty daughter, Carol.
Mabel felt a surge of deep sorrow. She tried to hide it, buried her unhappiness in gossip, but in reality her life felt empty, meaningless, and she had felt like this since the day her son had died.
Chapter Six
Thomas was almost fully recovered by Thursday, and despite what his mother said, at a quarter to seven that evening nothing was going to keep him in. Thankfully he found he had an ally in his father.
‘Thomas, it’s far too cold to go out,’ his mother complained. ‘You’ve only just got over that nasty bout of bronchitis.’
‘I feel fine, Mum.’
‘It’s damp outside and you need to keep warm.’
‘Leave him alone, Celia. He wants to call on Amy and he looks fine to me. A bit of fresh air won’t do him any harm.’
‘Since when have we had fresh air around here? We’d only get that if we moved out of London. We could find a nice place in the country.’
‘Not this again? My work is here, Celia, and I doubt I’d get many, if any, call outs in the country.’
‘Your son’s health is more important than your volume of work.’
‘So you’d be happy if I could only give you a fraction of the money you get now?’
‘Money isn’t everything.’
‘It is with you, Celia.’
Thomas could see this was going to develop into yet another argument between his parents, and quickly said, ‘I’m off. I’ll see you later.’
‘Thomas!’
He ignored his mother’s shout, and hurried out, heading down the Rise to see Amy. He couldn’t understand why she hadn’t at l
east called in to see how he was. During his time in bed he had at first been bewildered, but then he began to think that she must have found someone else.
Thomas’s stomach tightened at the thought. He liked Amy, really liked her and had hoped she had felt the same way about him. If she had another boyfriend, when was she going to tell him? Thomas couldn’t stand the wait, he wanted to know and as he reached her house to knock on the door, he found his guts churning with nerves.
Amy opened it, her eyes widening when she saw him, but she also smiled with delight. ‘Tommy! Oh, I’m so pleased to see you. Are you all right now?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Can you come out for a walk?’
‘Of course. I’ll just get my coat.’
Thomas waited, puzzled. Amy had certainly looked pleased to see him. Was that a good sign? In less than a minute Amy was hurrying outside and after pulling the door closed behind her, she tucked a hand into his arm.
They began to walk and Thomas found that he didn’t know what to say. If he complained that she hadn’t been to see him it would make him appear a bit petulant. He bit on his lower lip, and then said instead, ‘What have you been up to while I’ve been stuck in bed?’
‘I’ve just been to work as usual and then spent the evenings at home.’
‘That can’t have been much fun,’ he said, but his mood lightened. ‘There was I thinking you would have been out having a good time.’
‘Well I wasn’t,’ Amy said, smiling up at him. ‘I couldn’t have a good time without you.’
His heart skipped a beat. Amy was so cute and pretty. He didn’t care that she was less than five feet tall – he loved that about her too. Since childhood Tommy had felt like a weakling and he’d been bullied at school, yet when he was with Amy he felt so tall and manly. ‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,’ he said.
‘I’ve missed you too, Tommy.’
They had turned the corner, and with nobody in sight, Thomas drew to a halt. He enfolded Amy into his arms, bent his head and she lifted hers, standing on tiptoe as they kissed.
She hadn’t found anyone else; Amy was still his, and Thomas was happy. She was definitely the girl for him, and though it was too soon to do it yet, in a few more months, if only she’d agree, he hoped to put an engagement ring on her finger.
‘After telling us that Tommy was at the door, Amy soon shot off,’ Phyllis said to her husband. ‘Not that I mind. It was her half day off today and she spent it helping me to do the housework.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ Stan said.
‘Tommy must be all right now, but I still don’t think that he’s right for her.’
‘I know, but if you remember, your mum was dead against me too.’
‘What do you expect? She found you taking liberties with me on the doorstep.’
‘Liberties!’ Stan exclaimed. ‘I only had my hand up your jumper and I didn’t get far before you pushed it away.’
‘True, but it looked bad.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so, but there was no need for her to act like I was some sort of sex maniac. She bashed me over the head with a vase – it’s a wonder she didn’t leave me brain damaged.’
Phyllis chuckled. ‘If you ask me, she did.’
‘Cheeky,’ Stan said. ‘Still, I suppose it’s possible. After all, I went on to marry you.’
‘Now who’s being cheeky?’
Stan pulled her into his arms and said, ‘I’m only joking. It’s the best thing I ever did. In fact, gorgeous, how about an early night?’
‘Get off, you daft sod. I’ve got to leave for work in a minute.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I’m still not happy about you looking after Winnie.’
‘Stan, we’ve talked about this and I told you that I can cope.’
‘You’re as stubborn as your mother.’
‘Maybe, but I still miss her,’ Phyllis mused. ‘I still can’t believe that my dad married again just a few months after she died.’
‘I know it was a shock, love, but don’t you think it’s about time you buried the hatchet?’
‘Never! I can’t stand that money-grabbing woman that he married, and as I protested when Dad gave her all Mum’s jewellery, she hates me too. I’ll never go to visit them, and I told Dad that he wouldn’t be welcome here unless he comes alone.’
‘It’s not like you to be so hard, love.’
‘I can’t help how I feel. That woman will bleed him dry, I just know it, but he just wouldn’t listen to me,’ Phyllis said, glancing at the clock. ‘I must go, but talking about my family has reminded me of something. Mabel told me that there’s gossip about Rose again, that she’s got her eye on someone and he might be a married man. You see her behind the bar in the pub. Have you noticed anything?’
‘No, I can’t say I have,’ Stan lied. He’d noticed all right, seen Rose flirting with George Frost and suspected that something was going on. Of course he couldn’t be sure, and he wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire by adding to the gossip.
With a flurry of activity Phyllis flung her coat on, and this was followed by Stan getting a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘Let’s hope Mabel’s got it wrong then,’ she said. ‘See you in a couple of hours or so.’
After a few minutes Stan checked his pockets. It wasn’t payday until tomorrow, but he had just enough money left for a couple of pints. He sorted out the fire, put the guard around it and then he was on his way out, taking his usual route to the pub.
At the bottom of the Rise, had Stan turned in the other direction, he would have seen his daughter still wrapped in Tommy’s arms.
Phyllis had been keeping up an act to hide her tiredness and when she’d left for work she hadn’t seen her daughter either. She was just relieved that she was out of sight of anyone now and her steps slowed. The thought of the cleaning waiting for her at the factory was almost more than she could bear, and when her shift finished she still had Winnie to sort out. As her steps faltered, Phyllis wondered again what was wrong with her. She didn’t feel ill and wasn’t in any pain. It was just so hard to stay awake and on her feet.
‘Watcha, Phyllis, long time no see. You’d think we lived miles apart instead of a few streets.’
The voice startled her, but she recognised it, thinking that it was as though talking about her cousin had conjured her up. ‘Rose,’ she said, her voice clipped. ‘I can’t stop to chat. I’m on my way to work.’
‘Yeah, me too. My stint behind the bar starts at seven.’
‘Then like me, you’d best get a move on,’ Phyllis said, not waiting for a reply as she hurried past Rose. As children they had played together and attended the same school. They’d been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, but in those days Rose had been a nice woman. She was far from that now though, yet when the gossip had first started Phyllis had tried to warn her cousin that she was ruining her reputation. She’d told Rose that losing her husband during the war was no excuse for her behaviour. Other women had suffered the same loss, but they still remained respectable.
Rose refused to listen, and the final straw had been when she had an affair with a married man. Of course it gave credence to the local gossip that she’d go after anything in trousers, and if Mabel was right, Rose was at it again. Ashamed to be associated with her, Phyllis wanted to avoid her cousin like the plague.
Phyllis’s thoughts about Rose abruptly ended when she arrived at the factory, the other cleaner, Joyce Brewster, turning up at the same time from the other direction. The walk, though not long, had exhausted Phyllis and it was as much as she could do to carry on through the yard to the entrance. ‘I … I’m just going to the toilets,’ she tiredly told Joyce once inside, ‘and as I’ll be in there, I might as well make a start on them.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ Joyce agreed. ‘I’ll do the manager’s office before we both have a go at the factory floor.’
Phyllis just nodded, but no sooner had she gone into the toilets than her head began to swim. With nowhere else to sit she managed
to open a cubicle door and with the lid down she sat on the toilet, leaning forward until the dizziness passed. Tears filled her eyes. What was wrong with her?
‘Phyllis, are you all right?’
She looked up at Joyce and found herself blurting out, ‘I … I’m so tired.’
‘If you ask me, you should get yourself to the doctor’s.’
Phyllis nodded. Perhaps Joyce was right, maybe she should get herself checked out. She stood up and swayed, grateful that Joyce squeezed into the small space to give her a hand. ‘Thanks. I … I’ll be fine in a minute, and then I’ll get on with the cleaning.’
‘I think you should go home,’ Joyce advised.
‘No, I can’t afford to do that. I’m already skint, but at least it’s payday tomorrow.’
‘I’ll cover for you. Go home, have an early night, and if you still feel rough tomorrow, get yourself to the doctors.’
‘I can’t leave you to clean this place on your own.’
‘I’ll manage, skimp on a few things, and with any luck nobody will notice.’
‘Thanks, Joyce,’ Phyllis said gratefully as she doubted she could even pick up a broom at the moment.
‘You’d do the same for me,’ Joyce said brusquely. ‘Now off you go.’
With a small, weak smile, Phyllis left, but found that the short walk home felt more like miles.
At last she arrived to find the house in darkness. Amy was out with Tommy, and no doubt Stan was at the pub. She took off her coat, sat beside the banked-up fire and closed her eyes. Winnie wouldn’t need sorting out for a couple of hours so she could have a little nap.
The warmth of the fire was comforting, and in minutes Phyllis was asleep.
At nine o’clock, after just walking along, with no particular destination in mind, talking, and stopping for the occasional kiss and cuddle, Amy could see that Tommy was tired. She insisted that they make their way back home and outside her door, as she kissed Tommy goodnight, he asked, ‘Can I see you again tomorrow night?’
She smiled happily as she looked up at him. ‘Of course you can.’