Who's Sorry Now (2008)

by Lightfoot, Freda

  Patsy’s eyebrows rose, meeting the fringe of her silver fair hair. ‘Don’t tell me you really are having it away with Jimmy Ramsay?’

  ‘Stop it, this isn’t a joke, this is deadly serious. The truth is I’ve joined the CND, and I can’t pluck up the courage to tell Chris because I know he won’t approve. Worse, he’ll make me give it up and I really have no intention of doing so.’

  Now it was Patsy’s turn to say, ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘I know, it’s all got a bit out of hand. The longer I leave it, the harder it is to tell him.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea to keep secrets, particularly from a husband. Tell him the truth, Amy. And tell him soon.’

  ‘I will,’ Amy agreed, staring into her ice cream. ‘I will, I promise.’ But both girls knew there was little conviction in her tone.

  Mavis remained a thorn in Amy’s side. She objected strongly to her daughter-in-law’s intention of going back to work, accusing her of neglecting her child even though she intended to take Danny with her. ‘I want no grandson of mine growing up as a ‘latch-key kid’.’

  He’s only a few months old. How could I give him a key?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Mavis said, as if she’d proved her point. ‘Haven’t I been shamed enough by Chris’s father?’ This was always the way she referred to her husband nowadays, ever since he’d set up home in his allotment shed.

  ‘How is Thomas?’ Amy asked, although she knew perfectly well since she visited him most days, taking him a plate of dinner, or collecting his dirty washing.

  ‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Mavis sniffed, and then spotting a row of her husband’s socks hanging on the clothes rack, added frostily. ‘I hope he isn’t taking advantage of you.’

  Amy smiled and shook her head. ‘Not at all.’ Not half so much as you used to, she might have added, but managed to hold that acid comment in check. ‘I do at least have running hot water, which he doesn’t.’

  ‘I’ve never refused to do his washing for him,’ Mavis snapped, voice rising in high dudgeon. ‘Nor did I suggest he live in that nasty little shed.’

  ‘Hopefully he’ll come home before winter sets in,’ Amy said. ‘Maybe you could suggest that he does. We don’t want him catching pneumonia, do we?’

  The expression on Mavis’s face darkened, but no such promise was forthcoming. Switching the line of her argument, she returned instead to the inadequacies of Amy’s housekeeping, running her finger along the edge of the mahogany dresser.

  ‘It could do with a good wax polish, dear. I used to do it every week, remember? And this is a respectable street,’ Mavis reminded her daughter-in-law, offering her sour smile. ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you haven’t donkey-stoned your doorstep, or the window-sills either. And don’t forget to polish the letter-box. Standards must be maintained.’

  ‘I’ve a new baby,’ Amy patiently reminded her, elbow deep in soap-suds as she scrubbed nappies, baby vests and her husband’s work overalls. They still hadn’t got round to buying a washing machine, she’d been up half the night with Danny again, Chris was still in a sulk over something or other and she really wasn’t in the mood for her mother-in-law this morning. ‘I haven’t time for such niceties.’

  ‘Which exactly proves my point. You should never have removed my son into a slum like this. With your background, is it any wonder that you are quite incapable of looking after things properly?’

  Right, Amy thought, that’s it. I’ve had enough.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Chris grumbled, curiosity overcoming his black mood for a moment as a day or two later Amy dragged him along Champion Street and on to a bus heading for the city centre.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough when we get there,’ giving him a sly wink which once would have made him chuckle. He’d always loved Amy’s teasing sense of humour, now he felt infuriated by it, as if she had no right to be happy.

  Amy wasn’t interested in her husband’s sulks today, only in bettering her own lot in life. Thomas was showing no inclination to return either to work or to his wife. His semi-retirement seemed to have turned into full-time, and he did little more than dig his plot and play cards with his friends. He also obstinately refused to say how he would cope when the nights started drawing in and the days grew colder. And if all of this meant that Chris was overworked, overtired and worried, well so was she.

  She took Chris to the Electricity Showrooms where a young woman was holding a demonstration of a new washing machine. Chris was instantly alarmed and whispered furiously in his wife’s ear.

  ‘We don’t need a washing machine. We can’t afford one.’

  ‘We do need one, and we’ll have to afford one,’ Amy insisted. ‘I can’t go on like this, washing everything by hand, not and hold down a job as well.’

  ‘You don’t have to work,’ Chris protested. ‘That was your idea.’

  ‘It’s a necessity,’ Amy patiently pointed out, ‘if we are ever to get out of this house your mother calls a slum.’

  ‘Take no notice of her, she over-dramatises everything. Come on, we’re going home.’

  He took hold of her arm, about to march her out of the shop when the young woman clapped her hands to welcome them to the demonstration, announcing she was about to show them something truly wonderful.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, which would you prefer to come home to, an exhausted wife and a house full of wet sheets and nappies, or a beautiful wife content with her lot, dinner on the table and the laundry already dried, folded and put to air?’

  Chris paused to think about this for a moment and Amy took advantage of his hesitation to gently push him nearer to the front.

  She could see how the demonstrator flirted unashamedly with the husbands, appealing to their desire for comfort and no hassle in their lives. And as she fluttered her eyelashes at the men, and told them how economical a Hoovermatic was to run, she managed to give sideways smiles and little winks to the women, to prove that she was really on their side.

  She talked of ‘superlative water washing action that gives the cleanest, quickest and most thorough wash’, of a full family wash taking only half an hour; of automatic timers and controls for all types of fabric. She pandered to the men’s love of technical details while assuring the women the machine would be easy to operate and the stainless steel tub wouldn’t rust or chip.

  It all worked splendidly and at the conclusion, when the startlingly white shirt had been put through the spin dryer and hung up on a hanger to air, Chris was easily persuaded to sign a hire purchase agreement on the promise that one of these marvellous machines would be delivered to their door the very next day.

  ‘Can we just take a peep at these new electric cookers while we’re here?’ Amy suggested, thinking it was worth a try as she seemed to be on a winning run.

  But that was one step too far for Chris who instantly hustled her out of the shop before she spent any more money he didn’t have. Still, it was a start, Amy thought with secret joy. No more scrubbing messy nappies by hand. Utter bliss!

  Let her mother-in-law find fault with that.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  September came in balmy and mild, the trees by the River Irwell rich with scarlet berries and the smell of bonfires. Each morning Betty Hemley’s stall was bright with chrysanthemums, the market bustling with huge lorries bringing potatoes from Norfolk, apples from Kent, oranges and lemons from the continent. Small vans carrying local produce edged their way between the stalls to deposit crates of cabbages and leeks, peas and carrots from the farms of Cheshire and Lancashire, or fish from Grimsby and Whitby.

  Gina had loved to watch all of this activity from her bedroom window. She missed looking out upon the familiar stalls with their iridescent display of mackerel, cod and salmon, the cries of the fishmongers calling out their wares as they gutted and sliced. She missed the sound of canvas flapping in the rain, of people laughing and shouting, the cheerful banter that was a focal part of any market.

  Even when she’d been ill and c
onfined to her room, she’d never felt quite so isolated as she did now.

  She was struggling to learn the rules and to toe the line. She’d put her name down for any number of education courses and workshops from basketwork to Egyptian history, from cookery to embroidery. Anything to fill each long day, to help maintain her sanity. Perhaps then prison wouldn’t be quite so bad, she thought. Losing her liberty was bad enough without losing her mind too.

  Unfortunately things didn’t quite work out as she’d hoped. More often than not the class would be cancelled. She would be called upon to do kitchen duties, work in the laundry, or to sew the coarse prison dresses, or simply be left with yet more empty hours to fill.

  She soon learned that while much was offered in theory to rehabilitate and educate the prisoners, little took place in practice. Wisely, she made not one word of complaint. She’d learned that too.

  Discovering that the prison housed a library, Gina tried to fill her time with reading. She borrowed countless books, gobbling them up quickly at first, as she would at home, eager to finish one story and move on to the next. Experience, however, taught her to slow down, as there were times when the library would be locked, possibly for days on end, for no apparent reason, or perhaps because something had happened to displease the staff and it was considered necessary to inflict punishment by closing it. Once again she would be left staring into space for hours on end, with nothing to read and too afraid to risk borrowing a book from another inmate.

  And every morning she would queue for what seemed like hours in the hope of a shower, or better still a bath, and not complain if she missed out, which very often she did. The other women, the old hands who’d been here for months or even years, would shove ahead of her in the queue, steal her soap, or trample on her towel, and Gina never dared to object.

  She kept her head down, as instructed by Alice, and said not a word. But the endless empty hours were stultifying, leaving her mind numb with boredom and paralysed by fear.

  Gina discovered that some of the staff appeared friendly enough, one in particular, a plump woman known as Wilcox with dark curly hair, cut excessively short, very like Gina’s younger brother, Allessandro. She made a point of talking to Gina and asking her how she was settling.

  Gina admitted that she was finding it difficult. ‘There’s no one but Alice willing even to talk to me.’

  Wilcox laughed. ‘You’d be wise not to trust our Alice. Very fond of dipping her fingers into shop tills and other folk’s pockets.’

  ‘Yes, she told me, but only in order to feed her children.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Those would be the same two children who were taken into care when they were found abandoned while she plied her trade, would they?’

  ‘Trade?’

  ‘I surely don’t have to draw a picture. Among her other many talents, our Alice is a prostitute.’

  Gina was shocked. She tried not to be. She strived to appreciate that she’d entered a different world, and that Alice possibly had good reason for doing what she did. Yet a part of her shuddered at the thought of letting men do as they wished with you, quite unable to imagine ever being quite that desperate.

  Despite her disapproval, she stoutly defended her new friend. ‘Oh, but she seems so nice, and has really been very helpful.’

  ‘Don’t try making friends in here, love,’ Wilcox warned, oddly echoing Alice’s own advice. ‘Particularly since you’re obviously from a decent home background and this place is a den of thieves, prossies and women not quite right in the head. Someone like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.’

  ‘I know. I keep saying I’m innocent but nobody will believe me.’

  ‘Poor love!’ The woman stroked Gina’s smooth cheek, looked deep into her lovely dark-fringed, tear-filled eyes. ‘Is there something I can do for you? Some little personal item you might need, for instance, to make life more comfortable?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. I’ve a photo of my boy friend in my bag, but they took it from me at reception.’ She still wanted it with her, still loved Luc, despite his betrayal. She couldn’t seem to help herself. In any case, they’d been getting along much better recently, ever since he’d kissed her in the cinema when they were watching Elvis sing Jailhouse Rock. Their choice of film seemed almost prophetic in a way, she thought bleakly.

  The woman officer smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do, love.’

  The picture was returned to her later that day.

  ‘Oh, thank you so much,’ Gina cried, hugging it to her, deeply grateful for this small act of kindness.

  Wilcox squeezed her arm, her breath warm on Gina’s face, smelling faintly of the rice pudding she’d eaten at dinner time. ‘I’ll think of a way you can repay the favour one day.’

  Alice appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and drew Gina firmly away. ‘Are you stupid, or what? Don’t mess with old Wilcox, for God’s sake. What was she after? You don’t get owt for nowt in this place.’

  ‘‘She’s let me have my boy friend’s photo back,’ Gina said. ’I don’t mind doing her a favour in return.’

  ‘You will when you find out what it is.’

  And by the time Alice had finished filling Gina in on some facts of life which had hitherto passed her by, she knew there was indeed nobody she could trust in this place, not here in Strangeways, nor back in Champion Street Market. She was on her own.

  One morning during what was known as association when the cell doors were unlocked and the women were free to move about for a while, to play cards, attend a class if there was one, listen to the radio or simply chat, a trio suddenly appeared at the door of Gina’s cell, crowding in, filling the small confined space.

  ‘So this is the new girl, eh?’ said one, clearly the leader. She was taller than Gina by several inches, athletic and strong with a long, narrow face framed by greasy blond hair, a high forehead and green, heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to rake over Gina with cold distaste. Her mouth was all dry and cracked, and running with sores.

  ‘Me name’s Lorna Griffith but you can call me Griff. Everyone else does. Have you explained how things work in here?’ she demanded of Alice, without taking her gaze off Gina who was visibly shaking. The three girls who accompanied her were poking about in the cell, riffling through her few belongings and throwing things around; turning back the sheets and blankets on her bunk, stripping the pillow case off Gina’s pillow, searching through her clothes. Gina hated them for this intrusion.

  ‘She came in wi’ nowt,’ Alice told them. ‘Yer wasting yer time. She’s clean as a whistle.’

  ‘Oh, dear, nothing to contribute to the Griff fund then? I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘She doesn’t even smoke,’ Alice said.

  Gina said nothing. She’d no idea what they were looking for but prayed they’d soon grow bored and leave.

  ‘Maggie, add her to the sheet,’ Griff instructed a small wiry woman with red hair and a beautiful heart-shaped face. Her mouth was a perfect cupid’s bow, seeming to curl up at the corners as if she were smiling over some secret known only to her.

  The expression on Griff’s own face might have been classed as a smile, if you considered a slight stretching of her sour cracked mouth worthy of the word. ‘A girl like you needs looking after. I dare say Alice here has explained? Sadly, some girls take more looking after than others. With a lovely face like yours, you’ll be very popular with the bent screws, and hated by the old lags, if you catch me drift.’

  She stepped closer to tower over Gina, her voice dropping to a hissing whisper. ‘I’ll be generous though and settle for a shilling a day.’

  ‘I don’t understand. A shilling a day for what?’

  ‘Nay, Alice, You said you’d told this lass the facts of life, in prison terms, that is, though perhaps not quite clearly enough, eh? A bob a day my little innocent, is for protection.’

  ‘But I haven’t any money,’ Gina protested, hating the whining note in her own voice but fear was overwhelming her for she really
didn’t know how to deal with this frightening woman, or what she was offering to protect her from.

  ‘Your family isn’t short of a bob or two, I’ll warrant, and they’ll be only too happy to make your life as comfortable as possible during your stay here. Have a word with them when next they visit.’ Turning back to Alice, she said, ‘Fill her in on the fine details, love, and do it properly this time. You know I don’t like to be messed about.’

  Then pinching Gina’s cheek, showed off a row of bad teeth in an evil smile. ‘Who else is there to look after you, chuck, but good old Griff? And by the look of you, scrawny thing that you are with that limp, you’ll need a lot of attention, wouldn’t you agree, Alice me old chum? A cripple always costs extra.’

  Griff and her band of mischief-makers turned to go but Gina’s face had turned crimson. Something had snapped inside her, that part of her which hated to be referred to as a cripple. ‘I’ll pay you nothing, not a bean! I won’t be bullied just because I have a limp, and don’t you dare call me names!’

  The silence following this unwise outburst was terrible to behold. The woman’s green eyes seemed to blaze, her entire body swelled and puffed out, her face turning purple. Gina was certain, in that moment, that Griff, as she termed herself, would lash out and strike her. A part of her almost wished that she would, then she could hit back and get rid of some of the pent-up anger that had built up inside without her even realising it.

  Instead, Griff burst out laughing then perched herself on Gina’s bunk, pulled down her knickers and urinated on the mattress that had been stripped bare by her friends. They seemed to find this highly amusing and roared with laughter while Gina looked on, her face a mask of horror.

  When she was done, the girl calmly pulled up her knickers again and said, ‘Oh, dear, you seem to have wet your bed, chuck. What a shame! And getting someone to dry it for you in this rotten hell-hole is well nigh impossible.’