by Kitty Neale
Ron sat propped up, a pillow behind him as he rolled a cigarette, his eyes scanning the hut with disgust. God, it was like being back in the army training camp with a row of beds on each side of the room. Even the orphanage he’d grown up in had more comfort. ‘Blimey, Pete, when you said the contractor would arrange lodgings, I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘I know it ain’t much, but it’s been done up, and if that dinner was anything to go by, we’re bound to get a decent breakfast.’
‘Yeah, it was all right, but what about this dump? What was it? The cow shed?’
‘I dunno, mate, but it’s dry, cheap and warm. Anyway, what does it matter? With the hours we’ll be working, it’s just a place to crash at night.’
Four other men were sitting at a table close to the stove, one letting out a loud fart as he shuffled a deck of playing cards. He laughed, but then turned his head to call, ‘Sorry, boys. It’s that bloody cabbage the old girl gave us for dinner.’
‘Yeah, Gerry, I know what you mean,’ Pete called back.
‘Fancy a few hands of poker?’
‘No, thanks,’ Pete replied. ‘Maybe some other time.’
Ron stood up and ignoring the warning shake of Pete’s head he strolled down to that end of the room. He’d met the four blokes when they’d returned to the farm after work, all of them sitting round a large, wooden, well-scrubbed table in the farmhouse kitchen. They didn’t seem a bad bunch and he and Pete would be joining them on site in the morning. Gerry was another bricklayer, Eric his hod carrier, Martin was a plasterer and his younger brother, Andy, was there to learn the trade and knock up.
‘What about you, mate?’ Gerry asked. ‘Do you fancy a game?’
Ron eyed the money on the table. He could only see small coins and was tempted. It would give him a chance to see how they played, and, if they weren’t up to much, on payday he could up the stakes. He was about to answer, but then Pete called from the other end of the room.
‘Ron, can I have a word?’
‘Maybe later, Gerry,’ he said, annoyed at the interruption as he walked away.
‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ Pete hissed as soon as Ron reached his side.
‘Playing at? What are you on about?’
‘Poker! Gambling!’
‘Leave it out! They’re only playing for pennies.’
‘Yeah, now maybe, but I know you and it’ll soon turn to pounds. You’re supposed to be giving it up, or have you forgotten that already?’
‘It’s only cards, Pete. It ain’t the dogs.’
‘It’s still gambling and if you lose your money as usual, don’t expect me to pick up the pieces.’
‘That won’t happen. I’m good at poker and I can take them.’
‘Yeah, like you’re good at picking out winners down the dog track.’
‘Bloody hell, Pete, it sounds like you’re gonna turn out to be a bigger nag than Lily.’
Pete’s eyes narrowed with anger. ‘That’s it, Ron. I’ve had enough. You’ll never change and our first night here has proved that.’
‘Look, if it upsets you that much, I won’t play poker.’
With a shake of his head, Pete said, ‘Please yourself, Ron. I ain’t here to be your keeper and if you want to gamble your wages away every week, that’s up to you. I’m here to work, to earn enough to set up a decent future. I need a partner who’ll be reliable, one with a bit of ambition, and that obviously ain’t you. I’ll find someone else.’
Bewildered, Ron slumped onto the side of his bed. All this bloody fuss about a penny card game! Yet even as this thought crossed his mind, Ron knew that Pete was right. As soon as he had a few bob, he’d planned to up the stakes, so sure that he could win. With a wry smile he looked up. ‘I don’t blame you, mate. I know I’m a lost cause, but I really do want to change.’
‘Yeah, so you’ve said, and so many times that I’ve lost count.’
‘Don’t give up on me, Pete. Give me one more chance.’
Pete gazed back at him, about to answer when Gerry called out again. ‘Ron, do you want in on this game or not?’
‘Nah, sorry, mate, leave me out. Gambling’s a mug’s game.’
There was a choking sound and then Pete began to laugh, doubling over with mirth as he gasped between guffaws. ‘A mug’s game. You said it’s a mug’s game. Blimey, Ron, you’re priceless.’
Ron joined in his laughter, but as they sobered he appealed, ‘Don’t start up a business with someone else, Pete. We’re partners, you and me. Come on. Give me one more chance.’
Their eyes met, Pete’s hardening as he said, ‘Yeah, all right, but it’s your last one.’
He meant it, Ron could see that. This really was his last chance—he’d have to make sure he didn’t blow it.
CHAPTER TEN
Mavis wasn’t sure what was wrong with her mother. Last week, when she’d told her that Miss Harwood wanted to talk to her at the parents’ meeting, she’d been snappy, saying that she didn’t have time to go. Mavis had been crushed. Miss Harwood still insisted that she could go on to art college and if her mother had spoken to her it could have made all the difference.
Dad had been true to his word, sending a fiver every week, and with money coming in the rent was paid, with food on the table too. On her fifteenth birthday he’d sent her a present, and Mavis had been thrilled with the watercolour paints and thick paper. Gran had given her a lovely new pink hat and scarf and, for just that one week, her mother had let her keep two shillings of the money she earned at Mrs Pugh’s.
Mavis knew that her mum didn’t have any money worries now, but she still wasn’t happy. She was quiet most of the time, distant, and when Mavis looked back it seemed that her mother had been acting strangely almost since Dad had left. Mavis had thought she must be missing him, just as she herself was, but her gran had laughed at that idea.
Her mother’s unhappiness couldn’t have anything to do with Gran. Yes, she was in hospital now, but it wasn’t anything serious. It had been an ulcer that prevented her from eating—no wonder she’d become so thin. She had been admitted to hospital four days ago, and now that she’d had the small operation, surely her mother would take her to see Gran that evening.
Mavis clutched the small, precious canvas as she made her way home, holding it against her chest to shield it from the rain. Today had been the end of term, mid April, and her last day at school. This was it! She was so proud of her painting and when her mother saw it surely it would change everything. She couldn’t wait to see her face and decided that she would show it to her now; she’d quickly pop in before she went to Mrs Pugh’s.
She passed an alley, yelping when hands came out to yank the canvas from her grasp. Mavis spun around, finding herself face to face with Tommy Wilson.
‘What have we got here then?’ he sneered.
‘Give it back! Oh, please, give it back!’
Mavis had carefully wrapped brown paper around the canvas, but Tommy ripped it away, laughing as he held up the picture. ‘Bloody hell. Look at that face. In fact, no thanks,’ and with that he lifted his leg to boot the canvas down the alley.
‘Oh, no…No!’ Mavis cried, pushing past Tommy to rush after it.
It had landed face down in a puddle, but, as Mavis bent down to retrieve it, Tommy was at her side, shoving her out of the way as his foot came out to stamp on the canvas.
‘Oh, don’t…don’t,’ she begged.
Still not satisfied, Tommy picked up the canvas again, this time slamming it down face up and, with one boot holding it in place, he used the heel of the other to gouge into the painting.
Mavis saw all her work destroyed, her dream disintegrating before her eyes. She sank down onto the wet ground, sobbing, hardly aware of Tommy’s hand when it touched her shoulder.
‘What’s all the fuss about? It’s only a daft painting.’
The contrition in his voice surprised Mavis, but she could only look up at him mutely, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Look, it’s your own fault,’ he said defensively. ‘Larry told you not to blab, but you didn’t listen and then that bitch, Sandra, opened her mouth too. Me and Larry were in right trouble and all for a bit of fun, that’s all.’
Still Mavis couldn’t talk. She could only shake her head, her eyes resting on the painting again. It was ruined, beyond repair, and once again she sobbed.
‘I only mucked up your picture, that’s all. You should think yourself lucky I didn’t take it out on you.’ And with that Tommy abruptly walked away.
Mavis didn’t know how long she sat on the ground, rain falling heavily and soaking her coat. At last she got up, and with one last look at the ruined canvas she desolately made her way home.
‘My God, Mavis. What happened to you?’
‘Oh, Mum…’
‘Get that coat off. You look wet through. Now tell me what happened.’
Mavis found her hands shaking so badly that she could barely undo the buttons. ‘I…I was on my way home, but then Tom…Tommy…’
‘Tommy Wilson! What did he do?’ she cried. ‘Did he touch you?’
‘He…he grabbed my painting. He…he ruined it.’
‘You wouldn’t be in this state over a flaming picture. Tell the truth, Mavis. What did he do to you?’
‘I am telling the truth. He didn’t touch me, but he…he destroyed my canvas. Oh, Mum, it was a good painting. Really good.’
‘For Christ’s sake, I don’t believe this. You’re supposed to be at Edith Pugh’s, but instead you turn up here like a drowned rat, crying about nothing.’
‘It…it isn’t nothing. When you saw my painting I thought you might let me go to art college.’
‘Art college! Are you out of your mind, girl?’
‘Mum, please,’ Mavis begged. ‘It’s the only thing I’m any good at. If you’d seen the portrait of Gran…’
‘Shut up! Your gran’s dying and you come grizzling to me about a silly painting.’ Lily threw a hand over her mouth. ‘Now look what you’ve done! She didn’t want me to tell you.’
Mavis stiffened in shock, hardly aware that her mother had collapsed onto a chair. Her gran was dying? No! No! It couldn’t be true. ‘Oh…Mum…she can’t be. You said she had an ulcer. That she was in hospital for a small operation.’
There was no answer, and then Mavis saw her mother lay her arms on the table, bending over to rest her head on them as sobs began to rack her body. She hurried forward, a hand hovering uncertainly until it came to rest on her mum’s head.
Lily reared up, eyes wild. ‘Don’t touch me! Get out! Go on, get out of my sight!’
Mavis grabbed her still sodden coat, crying too as she dashed out of the house. She began to run, faster and faster as though trying to escape the terrible news. Gran couldn’t be dying! She just couldn’t!
Lily heard the front door slam, but didn’t care. All she cared about was her mother. The past couple of months had been hell and almost more than she could bear. If it hadn’t been for the money that Ron sent and Mavis’s scant earnings, it would have been impossible. At least she hadn’t had to worry about finding stock and selling it. Instead she’d been able to spend every possible hour with her mother, looking after her, making sure her pain relief was increased, until four days ago when it had become impossible for her to remain at home.
Before she’d gone into hospital, how her mother had been able to put on such a front when Mavis called round was beyond Lily, but rally she did. And how her daughter could be so naïve was beyond Lily too. She must have seen her grandmother fading away before her eyes, but the stupid girl had believed their story of an ulcer. An ulcer! God, if only it was that! Oh, Mum, why did you leave it so long before you saw a doctor? Why did you wait until it was too late? And when you found out—why didn’t you tell me?
Lily knew the answer. As usual her mother had been trying to protect her. Misguided love, that’s what it was. If only her mother had told her when she’d been diagnosed. Lily groaned. She could have spent more time with her mother, but all she’d done was to pop round every day, too busy to make it a long visit. Yes, and if she hadn’t been so busy, so trapped in trying to make enough to pay the rent every week, maybe she would’ve seen what was right in front of her eyes. Why! Why hadn’t she taken more notice of her mother’s weight loss?
When she’d found out the truth, Lily had begged her mother to move in with her, but she’d stubbornly refused. It would have made things so much easier and she could have nursed her mother at night too, but she wouldn’t even allow that, nor her suggestion that she and Mavis move in with her. Instead her close friend and fellow widow next door had taken on that role, until, finally, she became so racked with pain that the doctor had insisted she be admitted to hospital.
Lily dashed a hand across her eyes. There was little time left, she knew that, and as soon as Mavis came home she’d go to the hospital again. Mavis, yes, she’d sent her daughter off with a flea in her ear, and now Lily felt a surge of guilt. She shouldn’t have taken it out on Mavis. It wasn’t her fault, but all that fuss about a silly painting had been the last straw.
Had Mavis gone to Mrs Pugh’s? Lily didn’t know, but seeing how devastated her daughter had been, she doubted it. Mavis knew the truth now, so maybe she should think about taking her to the hospital, but how would her mother react?
‘Mavis, what is it?’ Edith asked as the girl staggered over the doorstep. Her coat was wet, filthy with mud, and her hair hung around her face like rats’ tails.
‘Oh, Mrs Pugh. My…my gran’s dying.’
Edith placed an arm around Mavis’s shoulder, gently leading her through to the kitchen as she murmured, ‘How awful for you. I’m so sorry, my dear. Sit there and tell me all about it.’
Mavis slumped onto a fireside chair, and, though the spring days were warmer than the preceding harsh winter, Edith had a small fire burning. The cold was no friend to her pain and it would be a long time yet before her hearth was left empty of the comforting flames.
At first Mavis could barely speak, but gradually the story emerged. ‘I…I thought she was just in hospital for a small operation. Oh, Mrs Pugh, I can’t believe she’s dying.’
Edith made sure that her tone was sympathetic. ‘How awful for you, but what happened, Mavis? Did you fall over on your way here? Is that why your coat is covered in mud?’
‘No…no…’ she said, going on to tell Edith about Tommy Wilson, the ruined painting, and her dream of art college.
Edith didn’t want Mavis to go to art college; it would ruin her plans and she was secretly pleased that Lily Jackson had refused to entertain the idea. ‘I know you’re disappointed, Mavis, but it isn’t as simple as you think to get into college. There are so many talented students who attend grammar school, and they have exam results to show for the limited places. Your teacher shouldn’t have raised your hopes.’
Mavis shook her head, saying sadly, ‘I don’t care about college now. All I care about is my gran.’
‘Have you been to see her, my dear?’
‘Not yet. Mum said that Gran doesn’t want me to know. What if she won’t take me to see her?’
‘You know now, so I’m sure she will, but maybe not in that state,’ Edith said as she looked at Mavis’s filthy coat. ‘You can’t go to the hospital looking like that so we’d better get you spruced up. Go upstairs and run a bath. Wash your hair too, and when you’re ready I’m sure I can find a dry coat for you to wear.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Mavis cried, tears once again filling her eyes.
‘Now then, you’ll need to be brave when you see your grandmother, so come on, no more crying.’
Mavis drew in a gulp of air and then standing up she once more murmured a thank you before leaving the room. Edith smiled happily. Mavis was beginning to trust her, to like her, and that was just what she wanted.
Mavis had often wondered what it must be like to have a bath, to immerse your whole body in hot water, but as she ran one and climbed in sh
e was too distraught about her gran to appreciate how wonderful it felt. Desolately she washed, and then seeing a bottle of shampoo she knelt in the bath, dipping her head into the water. As quickly as possible Mavis washed her hair, using the bath water to wash out the suds before climbing out. There were fluffy white towels hanging on a rack, and when dry, her hair vigorously rubbed, Mavis put her damp clothes back on. She left the bathroom to hear Mrs Pugh’s voice.
‘Mavis, come here, my dear.’
When Mavis walked into the woman’s bedroom, a room she knew well, having cleaned it every week, Edith Pugh was brandishing her pink, plastic hairdryer. Mavis was nervous as she stepped forward. She had never used a hairdryer before and didn’t know where to start, but after being given a brush to run through her hair she was shown how to use it, amazed at how nice her hair looked when it was finally dry. The curls that she usually hated looked soft and shiny as they framed her face. ‘Is…is that all right?’
‘It looks lovely, Mavis, and, my goodness, you’re even prettier than I realised.’
‘My ears stick out.’
‘With those curls you can’t see them. Now try this on. I’m afraid it’s a few years out of date, but I’ve hardly worn it,’ Edith said as she held up a brown, wool coat that was fitted at the waist before gently flaring to what looked to be below calf-length.
Mavis put it on but, though lovely, it was a little big for her slim frame. She didn’t care. It smelled of mothballs, but it was clean and surely she looked tidy enough to go to the hospital. ‘I’ll be really careful with it and make sure to return it unmarked.’
‘I don’t want it back, Mavis, but it will need a little altering to fit you properly.’
‘I can keep it? Oh, thank you. Thank you so much,’ Mavis cried as she took the coat off. ‘What would you like me to do today?’
‘Do! Oh, no, Mavis, the cleaning can wait. You get off home and when your mother sees how nice you look, I’m sure she’ll take you to visit your grandmother.’