by Joan Jonker
He shifted restlessly in the chair. Surely to God, in all those years, when she never once kissed or hugged him spontaneously, he should have realised she didn’t have any love or affection to give. He must have been blind, or was it simply that he didn’t want to rock the boat? Anything for an easy life, that was him. But he should have realised his baby daughter wasn’t getting the love she deserved, either. When he wasn’t at work, the child was always handed over to him to nurse and play with. He was the one who tucked her up in bed after a kiss and cuddle. The signs were there, but he didn’t see them. He thought Ruby lavished her love on the child when he was at work. How could he have been so wrong? Lucy was nearly twelve years of age now, and had never known a mother’s love.
‘It’s a quarter to ten,’ Ruby said, through gritted teeth. ‘Yer’d better go and get her because they wouldn’t think of sending her home.’
Bob threw the paper down and left the room without a word. He had nothing to say to this woman who left her child on her own while she was in a pub drinking with her so-called friends. A woman who gave clouts instead of kisses and used foul language instead of words of praise. A woman who had the gall to scoff at a fine person like Irene Pollard for putting her beloved children before herself.
Jack opened the door wide. ‘Come in, Mr Mellor, we’re just finishing a game.’
Bob’s troubled mind eased when he saw the joy on his daughter’s face. She was bouncing up and down on the chair looking more relaxed and happy than he’d ever seen her. ‘There’s no need to ask if yer’ve enjoyed yerself, pet, it’s written all over yer.’
Lucy held out her hand. ‘Look, Dad, I’ve won six buttons. That means I’ve won two games.’
‘Has she behaved herself, Irene?’ Bob asked.
‘Behaved herself! She hasn’t been a ha’porth of trouble. In fact, we’ve had more of a laugh tonight than we’ve ever had. She’s got quite a sense of humour, has Lucy, she’s had us in stitches. My sons are not very good losers, I’m afraid, but tonight they paid up without any argument. In fact, it was worth losing to see her face.’
‘Can she come again, Mr Mellor?’ Jack asked. ‘We haven’t half enjoyed ourselves.’
‘As long as yer mam doesn’t mind. But not when it’s school the next day.’
Jack’s shoulders went back and his chest came out. ‘I won’t have to worry about school soon – I leave in four weeks. I’ll be getting meself a job, then, and me mam’s going to buy me some long trousers.’
‘Good for you, son. I can still remember getting me first pair of long trousers, and me first pay packet. And did I think I was somebody that day! Oh boy, me head was so big I couldn’t get through the front door. And me mam, God rest her soul, was standing in the hallway with her hand out for me pay packet. She was only joking, like, and we had a good laugh about it. Not that I didn’t have to give it to her unopened, mind, ’cos I did. And with me shilling pocket money burning a hole in me pocket, I swaggered down the street like James Cagney. I went to the picturehouse and bought meself a fourpenny ticket for the front stalls.’
‘Good old days, eh, Bob?’ Irene smiled. ‘A shilling in yer pocket and not a care in the world. And a bob went a long way in those days, I can remember.’
‘It went up to one and six when I got me first rise, and I thought meself a rich man.’ Bob sighed inwardly, thinking how carefree life had been when he was a youngster. ‘Come on, pet, it’s ten o’clock, Mrs Pollard will be wanting to get the boys to bed.’
‘Ah, ay!’ Greg cried. ‘We’re in the middle of a hand. Can’t we finish it?’
‘No,’ Irene said firmly. ‘Yer dad will be in any minute. Put the cards back in the boxes and put them in the sideboard, ready for next time.’
Lucy didn’t want the night to end and was sad as she pushed her chair back under the table. ‘Thank you for having me, Mrs Pollard, I’ve had a smashing time.’
‘It’s been a pleasure having yer, sunshine, and ye’re welcome to come at any time. And don’t forget that, either. Any time, night or day, for whatever reason, just give us a knock.’
Bob was working the night shift the following week, and on the Monday night he was hammering an iron rod into shape when the whistle sounded to down tools for their break. He worked in an iron foundry near the Dock Road, where they made everything from small nuts and bolts to huge girders. He’d worked there since he left school and was skilled in all the jobs, so was able to move from a furnace to one of the machines when needed. He got on well with the blokes he worked with, who were easygoing and always willing to help. If one of them was off-colour and not able to keep up the pace, they’d all muck in to keep his job going so he wouldn’t have any pay docked from his wages. They all had families to support and every penny counted.
Bob brought the hammer down one more time, then satisfied the rod was perfect he laid it beside the pile he’d been working on, and reached for his carry-out. He could just go a cup of tea, his mouth was parched. He quickened his steps and caught up with Billy Gleeson, who’d been working nearby. ‘Me mouth feels like sandpaper.’
‘Aye,’ said Billy, ‘it’s the heat from those bleedin’ furnaces what does it. The sweat pours off yer, but yer mouth stays as dry as a ruddy bone.’
They walked past the nut and bolt section to the canteen, and as soon as they walked through the door, Billy groaned. ‘Blimey, listen to those cackling women. They put me in mind of a flock of turkeys being chased by a farmer with a ruddy hatchet.’
‘I heard that, Billy Gleeson, yer cheeky bugger,’ one of the women shouted. ‘Yer want to listen to yerself some time.’
‘Oh, ye’re there, are yer, Peg? If yer’ve nowt else going for yer, girl, yer’ve got a good pair of lug-holes on yer. I bet if yer shut up long enough to listen, yer’d hear Big Ben chiming.’ Billy was smiling as he made his way to the table where the women were sitting. ‘Move up and make room for me and Bob.’
‘I’ve a good mind to tell yer to sod off,’ Peg Butterworth said as she shuffled her bottom along the wooden bench. ‘Turkeys, indeed.’
Bob waited for his mate to sit down, then slid on to the end of the seat. He winked at the woman facing him. ‘Billy knows how to flatter a woman, doesn’t he, Kate? He’s just oozing with charm.’
There were eight women on the shift and their job was sorting and inspecting the thousands of nuts and bolts turned out every day. They were a happy bunch, even if their language would make your hair curl. They could certainly hold their own, too, and gave the men back as good as they got. But Kate Brown was the odd one out. She was always pleasant but kept herself to herself. She was quietly spoken and never a swearword passed her lips. Bob knew she was a widow with a young daughter to keep, and he often thought it must be hard for her trying to hold down a job and bring up a child. But apparently her mother was good and helped out by minding the daughter when Kate was at work.
‘That’s why all the women run after him,’ she said now, her shy smile appearing. ‘With his looks and personality, he’s a real ladykiller.’
‘I’ll have to keep me eye on him, then, to see if I can pick up a few tips.’ Bob was smiling when he took the lid off his carry-out box, but when he saw the contents his jaw dropped and he couldn’t keep the words back. ‘Bloody hell!’
Kate followed his eyes and gasped. There were two rounds of bread in the box and they were cut as thick as doorsteps. ‘Did yer daughter do yer carry-out?’
Bob tried to control his temper as he shook his head. ‘No, the missus did it.’ He lifted the top slice of bread and it took all his willpower not to shout out in anger. In the centre of the sandwich was a piece of brawn about two inches square. He couldn’t believe his eyes. What the hell did his wife take him for? Did she think he was a bloody fool who wouldn’t mind being belittled in front of his workmates? She hadn’t even bothered to cut the bread in two, and if he lifted the huge sandwich out of the box as it was, he’d be a laughing stock. Thankfully, apart from Kate, the others were too b
usy yapping to have noticed.
He put the lid back on the box in disgust. He’d throw it at her when he got home, along with a piece of his mind. He’d rather starve than eat it. ‘We had a blazing row over the weekend, and this is my dear wife’s way of getting her own back.’
Kate’s heart went out to him. ‘A bit drastic, isn’t it?’
‘I think the word that suits her best is spiteful. Still, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Kate’s eyes swept around those sitting at the table and, confident that no one was looking, she slipped two of her sandwiches across the table and put them at the side of his box, out of sight. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll keep the hunger pangs at bay. And I’ve got a cake yer can have, too, thanks to me mam. She does the baking, and even though I shouldn’t boast, she’s a dab hand at it. My sandwich cakes always sink in the middle, but not hers. And her fairy cakes melt in yer mouth.’
Kate knew she was talking too much, but it was only to stop any embarrassment Bob might feel. And she sighed with relief when he nodded his thanks and picked up one of the butties. ‘They’re only meat-paste, I’m afraid, me money doesn’t run to boiled ham. But they’ll fill a hole.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Kate, and besides, they’re very tasty. I’m beholden to yer on two counts.’
Kate raised her brows questioningly. ‘How d’yer make that out?’
‘Well, for helping to stop my tummy from rumbling for one thing, and for not laughing yer head off like some would have done. I really appreciate that.’
A faint blush came over Kate’s face. ‘I’ve not done anything the others wouldn’t have done if they’d known.’
‘Oh, they’d have helped, I know that. But they’d have made a song and dance about it.’ Bob leaned closer. ‘I could have said me wife had played a joke on me, and they’d have laughed their heads off. But I’m not lying about it. It was done for spite, and the missus will be sorry she signed when I get home.’
Kate, her hair hidden beneath the turban all the women had to wear on the shop floor, showed a set of strong white teeth when she smiled. ‘Having a row won’t solve anything, it seldom does. Wouldn’t it be better to just kiss and make up?’
Bob gazed at her for a second before lowering his head. He had no right to burden this woman with his problems, she probably had more than enough of her own. So he met her hazel eyes and smiled. ‘Yeah, ye’re right. I’ll probably throw me carry-out at her, then give her a cuddle. It beats a black eye any day, doesn’t it?’
Billy Gleeson, who’d suddenly realised Bob hadn’t contributed anything to the general conversation going on around the table, turned to him. ‘What beats a black eye, mate?’
Kate surprised herself by stepping in. ‘A fairy cake. I was just asking Bob if he’d like one. Me mam baked a batch today and put two in with me carry-out. I couldn’t eat both of them so I was trying to palm one off on Bob.’
Holding out his hand, Bob said, ‘Which I accept with pleasure.’
Billy pursed his lips and tapped the side of his long, thin nose. ‘They say the way to a man’s heart is through his tummy, Kate, but don’t forget this feller’s a married man. In other words he’s took, spoken for.’
‘Men are the last thing on me mind, Billy.’ Kate flicked a crumb from her chin. ‘I’d rather have a fairy cake any day.’
‘That’s put me in me place,’ Billy chuckled. ‘And you, Bob.’
Peg Butterworth stood up when the whistle sounded. ‘Back to the grind, folks.’ She leaned over the table and grinned in Billy’s face. ‘Kate’s right. All men are nothing but a load of bleedin’ trouble. The only time they’re happy is when they’re in the pub supping beer, or in bed taking advantage of their poor, longsuffering wives.’
There was a surge towards the door, and Bob just had time to smile at Kate, and say, ‘Thanks a million.’
Bob let himself in and closed the front door quietly behind him. He felt like flying up the stairs and having it out with Ruby, but the thought of waking Lucy held him back. He’d keep it bottled up until she’d left for school, then he’d have his say. Usually, when he was on nights, he’d make himself a pot of tea and some toast, then slip into bed as Ruby was getting out to see to Lucy. But today he only made himself a pot of tea. This was one morning he’d have his breakfast cooked for him.
Sitting at the table, smoking a Woodbine and supping his tea, Bob was asking himself where it was going to end. They couldn’t carry on like this, at loggerheads with each other all the time. It was no way for a married couple to live, and certainly not the right atmosphere to bring up a child in. Something had to be sorted out, and quickly, because he couldn’t stand much more. A row between man and wife was one thing, it happened in every household, but in most cases it could be ended with a bit of coaxing and a kiss. But what was happening here was no ordinary row; it had gone too far to be sorted out with coaxing and a kiss.
He heard a sound from the room above and knew Ruby would be down any minute. He didn’t move, just stared at the door. And when it opened and she walked through, yawning and scratching her head, he never uttered a sound, just stared.
‘What’s the matter with you? Why haven’t yer gone to bed?’
Bob closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her matted, dyed blonde hair, the hardness in her eyes and her bloated face still caked with yesterday’s make-up. Was this really the girl he’d fallen in love with and married? He opened his eyes and sighed. ‘I’m waiting for yer to cook me breakfast.’
‘Yer what! You cook yer own breakfast!’
Bob picked up his carry-out box and threw it on the floor at her feet. ‘Not after the little trick yer pulled on me last night, I don’t.’
‘What are yer on about? I didn’t pull no trick on yer! I did yer carry-out, didn’t I? What more d’yer expect?’
‘I’m not going to argue with yer, Ruby, I’m not even going to raise me voice. At least not until Lucy has left for school. Then I intend to raise the roof, and I don’t care who hears me. So while I’m waiting, yer can cook me breakfast.’
‘I don’t know what the bleedin’ hell ye’re on about, and I don’t ruddy well care, anyway.’ The washed-out cardigan Ruby was wearing was wrapped across her chest as she bustled out to the kitchen. ‘Yer’ve sat there for an hour, like a stuffed dummy, too bloody lazy to toast two pieces of bread! Yer want yer head testing, you do.’
‘No, Ruby, that’s where ye’re wrong. The day I needed me head testing was the day I married you. But we’ll discuss all this later, when Lucy doesn’t have to listen to her parents pulling each other to pieces. Right now, though, I’ll have me two rounds of toast, lightly done, and a fresh pot of tea.’
Lucy was surprised and pleased to see her father sitting at the table. ‘I thought yer’d be in bed by now, Dad. Yer usually are.’
Bob gave her the brightest smile he could muster before biting into a piece of toast. ‘I felt like some company with me breakfast this morning, so I waited for yer.’
‘That’s nice, I’m glad yer did.’ Lucy looked down at the plate her mother put in front of her. There was no burnt offering this morning, the bread was toasted to a nice golden brown. She knew her father’s presence accounted for this, and she also knew this would be one morning she wouldn’t be subjected to her mother’s taunts or clouts. ‘How did work go, Dad?’
‘Same as usual, pet, I can’t complain. It’s a job, and I’m lucky to have one with so many men out of work.’ He looked across at his wife who was sat on a fireside chair with a plate on her lap and her cup of tea close to hand on the fire hob. ‘We wouldn’t know what had hit us if I wasn’t working. We’d really be in Queer Street.’
‘I know it’s a long way off,’ Lucy said, ‘but when I leave school my wages will help out, won’t they?’
Ruby snorted. ‘Blimey, we might all be dead and buried by then.’
‘That’s right, Ruby, there’s nothing like starting the day on a happy note.’ There was sarca
sm in Bob’s voice. ‘Always laughing and joking, that’s you. The life and soul of the party.’
‘Well, I’m not going to die, I’m too young.’ Lucy nodded her head to show she meant it. ‘I’m going to live until I’m as old as Mrs Aggie.’
‘Don’t let Aggie hear yer say that, pet, ’cos she’s not that old, yer know. I’d say in her early sixties.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean I thought Mrs Aggie should die, Dad!’ Lucy said. ‘I’d be very sad if anything happened to her, she’s lovely and she’s me friend.’
‘She’s a nosy old witch,’ Ruby snorted. ‘All she needs is a broomstick and she could fly away over the houses. And it would be good riddance to her.’
Lucy looked down at her clasped hands for a second, then twisted in her chair. ‘Mrs Aggie’s not wicked, she’s nice and kind.’
‘That’s enough now.’ Bob pointed to the clock. ‘Don’t yer think yer’d better be making tracks, pet? Yer don’t want to be late for school.’
Lucy’s heart was beating fast. She’d rather have had a clout off her mam than have her say those things about Mrs Aggie. Why did she hate everyone so much? There wasn’t one neighbour she had a kind word for. ‘I’ll get me coat, Dad.’ She pushed her chair back under the table, and knowing her father’s presence would prevent her from getting a hiding, she had the courage to face her mother. ‘You don’t like no one, you don’t.’
Bob stood up. ‘Come on, get yer coat on and I’ll see yer out. One of the reasons I stayed up was to sneak a kiss off yer. I don’t get nearly enough.’