by June Francis
Amelia lay awake, tortured by what Peter had told her. The evening Rosie had visited, he had overheard the girls talking on the path below and been so stunned he’d had to tell her. Amelia could still scarcely take it in. She was shocked that Chris believed she could have wanted to kill Tess. He couldn’t be thinking straight. Grief had twisted his mind. But even worse than his believing such a thing of her was that he had expressed his beliefs to Dotty. Worse still was the thought that Peter’s fears when they’d married had seeded themselves in his son. How could Chris believe they could have driven Tess into an early grave? Oh, God! she thought, pressing her fists against her cheeks. How many other people had thought that, even for a moment?
Bernard, for one, said a voice in her head.
Amelia glanced across at Peter and wondered what he was feeling right now. Her heart ached with longing to be able to be honest with him, to give in to her emotions, but at the moment that was impossible. It might drive Chris into doing something even more stupid than confiding in her besotted young niece. She had to keep up with the play-acting.
As if sensing her eyes upon him, Peter’s hunched shape shifted and he turned in her direction. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘No,’ she sighed.
‘I shouldn’t have told you.’ He sounded annoyed with himself.
‘You were right to tell me.’
‘At least you know Rosie believes the whole idea’s ridiculous.’
‘I’m coming round to really liking Rosie,’ said Amelia, a warm feeling inside. Her niece’s defence of her had touched her deeply.
Peter made a noise in his throat that sounded like a chuckle. ‘She’s worried about her granddad being up to something with someone!’
Amelia pushed herself up on an elbow. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’
‘I’ve only just remembered. Dotty said he was committing a mortal sin. You’re the Catholic so what d’you make of that?’
She was silenced, mind hopping around like a frog on a lily pad, thinking of sexual sins in connection with herself now. Surely Chris could not have believed she and Peter had gone that far? No. They would have seized the double bed in the other room for themselves immediately they had married if they had secretly loved each other for years. She flopped down again, mind drifting, forming images that filled her with aching dissatisfaction.
Peter’s voice brought her back to reality again. ‘Rosie thought her granddad must have been lonely living all these years apart from her granny and that’s why he has someone,’ he murmured. ‘Understanding for her age.’
‘Rosie? Yes.’ Amelia sat up, hugging her knees. ‘You don’t think the neighbours heard the girls?’
‘I worried about that at the time but what are the odds? I was up in the bedroom with nothing better to do than lie there feeling ill. Anyway, we both know it’s ridiculous.’
A thought suddenly struck Amelia. ‘You never once believed I could have done it?’
He laughed. ‘You’re worse than the kids! The pills were prescribed by the doctor and made up by Mr Brown. How could you?’
Her panic subsided and she lay down again. ‘Are you going to speak to Chris?’
‘Yeah. When I feel up to it. He’ll get all tight-lipped but I can’t let him get away with saying such things to an impressionable girl like Dotty.’
‘Rosie would have put him in his place.’
‘Some girls mature earlier than others.’
Amelia lay down again, thinking now of Rosie and her relationship with Davey. Thinking also of Rosie’s suggestion that Peter run the shop. It made sense but she could not risk him and Bernard meeting again. She should have banned Bernard from the shop, but she had never been able to rid herself of the feeling that in rejecting him she had damaged him somehow and changed him for the worse. Next she thought about Rosie’s granddad. If he was committing a mortal sin, did that make him the best kind of man to live under the same roof as her niece? She would have to have a word with Rosie the next time she saw her.
Rosie had put on her Sunday best coat, given to her by Amelia last Christmas. It was royal-blue and she wore a navy-blue beret and gloves to match. She looked up at the house. It was three storeys high and had a metal hand rail and steps leading up to the front door from the pavement. She remembered what her granddad had said and knew he had lied. There was definitely room inside for more than two people.
She ran up the steps, aware of being watched. The lace curtain had moved slightly in the window next door and a group of kids noisily gathered beneath a lamp post also had their eye on her. She almost wished she had not come, but there was no backing down now. She was here so she would do it. She raised her hand and rat-tatted on the brown front door.
She heard the sound of slippered feet approaching and then the door opened. A woman Rosie immediately recognised stood before her. She was wearing a green and white spotted frock beneath a capacious pinafore, and although most of her hair was hidden by a tartan turban, her face was fully made up. Eyebrows had been plucked and lines drawn in their place, cheeks were rouged, and a cigarette dangled from full lips painted scarlet. The girl reckoned the woman was sixty if she was a day.
‘Yeah! What d’yer want?’ Her expression was unfriendly.
‘I’m looking for my granddad.’ That was untrue because Rosie knew exactly where Walter was.
‘And who would he be when he’s at home?’ The cigarette somehow managed to cling to her lower lip as the woman spoke.
‘Walter Kilshaw.’
The woman caught the cigarette as it fell. Leaning towards Rosie, she poked her with a long fingernail. ‘I’m not very good with jokes. Shove off!’
‘It’s not a joke.’ Rosie frowned, rubbing her upper right breast. ‘I’d like to speak to his landlady, please?’
‘I’m his landlady and I don’t want to speak to you. So shove off like I said.’ As her hand shot out, Rosie moved swiftly down a step. She tilted her chin. ‘I don’t want to shove off. I’m his granddaughter and I want to know what you are to him.’
The woman’s expression turned ugly. She stubbed out the cigarette on the hand rail and placed it in her pocket. ‘Who sent yer here? What are yer after? Money? Joe get yer mother into trouble, did he? Well, I tell yer, girl, yer granddad hasn’t two brass farthings to rub together – so beat it!’
Rosie laughed. ‘I’m not after his money! And my mother’s dead so I live with Gran.’
‘Yer gran?’ The woman’s eyes started in her head.
‘Maggie Kilshaw. Don’t you know about her?’
The woman pressed her lips together, measuring Rosie up. Then she stepped down and poked her in the chest again. ‘Of course I do. We were at school together. Yer’ll take me to her. Show me where she lives – now!’
‘Don’t poke me!’ said Rosie, flaring up. ‘It blinking hurts!’
‘I’m upset!’ The woman folded her arms, glaring down at her. ‘Real upset. He never told me about you. As for the owld cow . . . made his life a misery, she did.’
‘She’s changed.’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed the woman, turning and going inside. ‘You wait!’ she called over her shoulder.
Rosie decided she was not going to do any such thing. She had found out what she wanted and it proved she just could not trust her granddad to be honest. She clattered down the steps and walked up the street but had barely turned the corner when the woman caught up with her.
‘The name’s Vera McIver,’ she said. ‘And yer granddad’s been lodging with me for more than twenty-five years – and it’s the first I’ve heard tell he had a granddaughter. I hate kids, he knows that. Are yer sure yer not telling me lies?’
‘Why should I?’ said Rosie, wishing Vera would go away. ‘And there’s more than one of us. In fact,’ she added, giving vent to her imagination and the devil inside, ‘there’s ten of us.’
‘Ten? Holy Mary!’ Vera crossed herself. ‘Has he known about you all these years?’
‘He was at the christenin
gs. There’s Josephine, Bernadette, Mary, Dorothy, Iris, Amelia, Babs, Eileen, Veronica and me.’ Rosie’s eyes glinted wickedly. ‘You just can’t trust men to tell you the truth, can you?’
Vera looked outraged. ‘I don’t know how he had the nerve! I suppose that woman was at the christenings as well?’
‘Gran wouldn’t miss out on a christening,’ said Rosie, enjoying herself. ‘She mightn’t believe in going to church, but give her the chance to wear a decent hat and she’s in there with the best of them.’
‘Wait ’til I see him,’ said Vera wrathfully, taking a grip on her umbrella. ‘He’ll rue the day he was born.’ There was the rattle of a tram and her head turned. ‘Is this yours?’
Rosie could see there was no stopping her so did not bother lying. Vera sat on the seat behind Rosie and she realised her grandfather’s fancy woman had no intention of letting her out of her sight. The girl could hear her muttering beneath her breath and tried not to think about what was going to happen when they reached Gran’s. She only hoped Maggie did not have another stroke.
Rosie prayed she would be asleep and that Walter could whisk his fancy woman away before Gran woke up. She decided it would be best to go in the back way. If her grandfather was behind the counter and there was a customer, things might work out. Then she could really get to work on him to give up this woman, make him feel guilty and a no-good adulterer.
Unfortunately, both her grandparents were in the shop, bagging sugar.
‘Yer late, girl. Where’ve yous been?’ said Maggie, smiling at Rosie as she came through the door in a rush.
The girl did not get a chance to speak. Vera pushed past her yelling, ‘Yer swine!’
Walter’s pipe fell out of his mouth as he ducked behind the counter.
‘It’s no good hiding!’ cried Vera, rushing round the side. She picked up a pound weight from the scales and was about to throw it at him when Rosie grabbed her arm.
‘Leave him alone – he’s an old man!’
‘What’s going on?’ said Maggie, looking bewildered.
‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ said a struggling Vera, almost choking on the words. ‘Walt’s had two of us on the go. He’s been promising me marriage for the last year but yer still here!’
‘What d’yer expect me to do?’ said Walter, bobbing up from behind the counter, pipe clamped between his teeth. ‘She’s tough as old boots!’
‘To behave like a gentleman!’ yelled Vera, still struggling. ‘But I should have listened to me sister. She had yer measure! Said yer were too good to be true. Helping at the boys’ club. Always keeping yer room nice and tidy and yerself clean – and all the time yer’ve been living a double life. Ten granddaughters! She won’t have any money over from that lot when she kicks the bucket.’
‘She’s the cat’s mother,’ said Maggie, eyes intent on Vera’s face. ‘But who are you?’
‘She’s ranting, Mag. Take no notice of her,’ said Walter.
‘I’m his landlady. Or should I say was!’ said Vera, dropping the weight.
‘But yous have all yer faculties,’ said Maggie, apparently bewildered.
Rosie thought, You’re not so daft, Gran!
A knowing expression came over Maggie’s face. ‘How old are yous?’
Vera smoothed her sleeve. ‘None of yer business.’ She glared at Rosie. ‘Has she got a slate loose?’
‘She’s had a stroke.’ Rosie could barely stop herself from giggling. Perhaps, she thought, she did owe Vera the truth. ‘Granddad’s only been helping us for the last few months. I want him to live here. I don’t have ten sisters, only two, and one brother.’
Vera stiffened and her eyes went as hard as stone. ‘Then yer’ve got yer way, haven’t yer, queen? Because I don’t want him now. The lying sod!’
‘Yes. Shall I see you out?’ said Rosie politely.
‘I can do that meself.’ Vera turned a scathing look on Walter. ‘As for you, don’t you be showing yer face round my place again.’
He looked even more alarmed. ‘Hey! What about me clothes?’
Vera walked towards the door before answering, ‘I’ll give them to the ragman.’
‘Hey, Vera, yer can’t do that!’ he said, hurrying after her. He reached the door and a tin of peas hit the wall next to him.
‘Tart!’ bellowed Maggie.
Walter ducked. A bag of sugar followed the peas.
Vera scurried into the yard as Walter fielded a second bag of sugar. ‘Maggie, think of the profits!’ he said.
Rosie doubled up over the counter.
‘Maggie, calm down,’ said Walter, waving his arms at her. ‘It’s not good for yer!’
Her only response was to throw another pound of sugar.
Later, when Rosie had control of herself, Maggie stopped throwing things and a pot of tea was made. Walter grovelled before them, saying how much he had wanted to be with them but how difficult it had been for him.
‘I’m not speaking to you,’ said Maggie, then her face crumpled and she began to cry.
‘Oh, Lor’!’ said Rosie, putting an arm round her. ‘I’m sorry, Gran. I did it all wrong. I didn’t want it to come out like this.’
‘Not your fault,’ said Walter gloomily. ‘I should have told yer the truth. I wanted to but I thought you wouldn’t want to know me.’
‘You’re my granddad,’ said Rosie, pacified. ‘We all do wrong things.’
‘What about me?’ wailed Maggie, lifting a tear-blotched face.
Walter gazed at her and his knees cracked as he got down on to them. ‘Forgive me, Mag. I’ve made a real muck of things. Let me make it up to yer? Let me come and look after yer properly?’
There was a silence which seemed to go on for ever, and Rosie could see her granddad was finding it difficult to keep his pose. Then Maggie said in a disgruntled voice, ‘I’m a fool to meself but I’ll give yer a fortnight. No monkeying about and thinking yer can get yer hands on me money, though.’
‘Mag, I’m not after yer money, queen! How many times do I have to tell yer? Honest!’ He sounded distressed.
‘A hundred times and I still wouldn’t believe yous,’ she said. ‘But I do believe you care about this girl of ours and I want her to have all me jewellery. D’yer hear me, girl? Yous is my witness.’
Rosie could scarcely believe it. ‘That’s good of you, Gran. But I hope it won’t be for years yet.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Aye, well, we’ll see. Yous just carry on looking after me and I might survive that long.’
‘We’ll do that, won’t we, Rosie?’ said Walter, eagerly struggling to his feet and wincing as he did so. ‘I can hear someone coming up the yard. Will I see to them, Mag?’
She scowled at him. ‘No, Rosie can go. I don’t want you sticking yer fingers in me till.’
He looked hurt. ‘You haven’t got a till, and I wouldn’t anyway. You’ve got to trust me or me living here won’t work.’
Maggie gave him a look that said it all. ‘A fancy woman with a feather in her hat taken from some poor dumb bird,’ she growled. ‘Well, I’m no dumb cluck, Walter Kilshaw, so don’t be thinking yer can bleat on about how hard done by yous are. Yous broke the seventh commandment and yer being punished for it now.’
She would punish him, too, thought Rosie, feeling sorry for him and thinking that maybe she and Davey could go and pick up his clothes. She thought of Joe and felt sure he would have approved of her actions and that maybe he was laughing somewhere.
Chapter Sixteen
‘“Clang, clang, clang went the trolley,”’ sang Rosie, slamming shut the till.
‘Someone sounds cheerful.’
Rosie spun round. ‘Good morning, Aunt Amelia. I didn’t expect to see you here today, it not being Friday.’
‘I’ve been to TJ’s. They advertised underwear so I’ve been queuing up.’ She placed her shopping basket on the counter and nodded in the direction of Irene, the new shop assistant, before addressing Rosie again. ‘Everything still OK at your gra
ndmother’s?’
‘Fine. Although Gran seems to be reverting to her old self.’ Rosie grinned, thinking that Maggie had Walter under her thumb now. It was just over four months since he had come to stay, and if it had not been for Davey’s mam having hung on to her husband’s clothes, he would only have had those he stood up in, because Vera had given his stuff to the ragman as she had threatened. They had been lucky to get his ration book. ‘Gran has him doing his whack. Although he does manage to skive off sometimes.’
‘Let’s hope it lasts,’ murmured Amelia. ‘Did you put up that notice on saving soap?’
‘Over there,’ said Rosie, coming out from behind the counter to show her. ‘Who’d ever have thought soap would be rationed?’
‘The twins think it’s a good excuse not to wash.’
‘How is Uncle Pete?’
‘Still not A1 but he’s back at the Post Office and says he’s OK.’ Amelia avoided her eyes, reading again about skewering soaps and hanging them on a string to dry and harden. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking of how strained the atmosphere was at home since Peter had had it out with Chris. Amelia had received an apology of sorts, but since then her stepson’s manner had been downright insolent; not that he said much, it was just his manner. Peter had no time for such behaviour and had threatened that if Chris did not change his ways, he would be out on his ear. She had tried to reason with them both but it had only led to more arguments.
‘Won’t Uncle Pete be having his holiday week soon?’ said Rosie.
‘Yes, I’m hoping he’ll paint the house.’
‘You could do with a proper holiday away together,’ said Rosie, elbows on the counter.
Amelia gave a wry smile. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. But maybe we’ll manage a day trip to Chester. Everything OK here? No awkward customers? Salesmen?’ Her tone was casual.
Rosie smiled. ‘I hand them over to Mr Brown.’
‘Sensible girl.’ Amelia touched her shoulder and left.
Ten minutes later, Bernard breezed into the shop, giving Rosie a wink, and as usual asked if the boss was in.