by Kitty Neale
‘Stop it, Terry!’ Linda pushed him away, trying to keep it lighthearted. Normally she’d pretend to be shocked but secretly loved the thought of an early bed. They’d get June off to sleep and then it would be just the two of them. She still fancied Terry as much as when they were newlyweds and she knew how lucky she was. Plenty of her friends complained they found sex a chore or their husbands were getting bored of them, or even having affairs. Linda loved Terry with all her heart and was absolutely confident he felt the same. She fought against the doubts filling her head. But somehow the boxes in the shed were casting a gloom over her mood. She tried to smile and look enthusiastic as she made her way over to the oven but her heart wasn’t in it.
Grimly she set the water to boil to cook the potatoes she’d already peeled that afternoon. She usually prided herself on having a meal ready for Terry almost as soon as he set foot through the door and she didn’t intend anything to spoil that routine. If he worked hard outside their home then it was her job to keep him well fed and wanting for nothing. She threw in a couple of pinches of salt, angry with herself for getting upset probably over nothing. She couldn’t complain – she’d agreed to this and it would get them what they both wanted in the end, so they’d all benefit. She should be glad of it, not feeling like crying into the vegetables. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the boxes in the shed.
Chapter Eleven
Paul woke up to the sound of arguing. It was a moment before he could clear his head of sleep. Then he remembered. His dad had had an even worse loss on the track than usual and his two older brothers had had a go at him. That had been on Monday night, after he’d gone to the pub with Kenny. He’d misjudged it – everyone was still awake when he got back and shouting the place down. His dad had tried to hit his oldest brother and by bad luck Paul had been in the way. It wasn’t a case of heroics – he’d been trying to get out of the flat, but he’d been too slow. One moment he was trying to reach the front door, the next his father’s fist had landed in his stomach and he was lying in agony on the filthy hall floor. He’d been sick at once all over the ugly rag rug that was already covered in mud and God knows what else. Then he’d collapsed, winded and unable to move.
Next thing he knew he was in his bed – one of his brothers must have carried him there. His dark hair smelt of vomit and his stomach felt like it was on fire. For two days he’d stayed where he was, barely able to shuffle to the sink to clean himself up. There was no way he could have gone in to work, let alone lifted anything while he was there. One of his brothers went past the ironmonger’s and told the boss he was sick without explaining what it was. He thought he might lose his job but decided on balance he was safe. The old man liked him for some reason. He’d talk him round once he was able to get back on his feet.
Now it was the third morning and there was another argument going on. Paul couldn’t believe it. While he’d been lying in bed, wondering if he’d ever eat properly again, his father had taken the last of the housekeeping and gone to the bookies. He’d lost the lot. He was shouting excuses, claiming that it was the only way they’d ever get back their losses.
The brothers were having none of it and shouting back. Someone slammed a fist against a wall. They were in the next room but Paul could hear it all. This was a madhouse. He couldn’t stay in it for one moment longer. The dark and gloomy shop would be better than this. If he moved carefully it didn’t seem to hurt quite so much today. He’d manage it if he took things slowly. At least once he’d done up his shirt there was no sign of the damage his father had inflicted – for a drunk old man he packed a deadly punch. Paul wouldn’t have thought he had it in him, but now he knew differently.
Gradually he edged his way around the bedroom, stepping over piles of unwashed clothes and mouldy cups and plates. He made an effort to look as normal as possible, dragging on his work trousers and flinching as he bent to find his shoes. He felt in his pockets and to his relief discovered what was left of last week’s wages was still there – his father hadn’t got hold of it and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.
The more he moved, the better he felt. He was going to be all right. Quietly he let himself out of the house, not wanting to get involved in yet another family argument. Once he was a safe distance down the road, he paused and took out his cigarettes. Lighting one he drew in the tobacco and sighed with pleasure. It was his first one since Monday evening and his head swam a little, which felt good.
He was furious with his father. Why should he have to live like this, in a stinking flat, just because the old bastard couldn’t control his gambling? It had been getting steadily worse for the last few months. His friends didn’t have to put up with this. They had normal families, ones that ate together, in clean houses, which they stayed in for years without having to do a moonlight flit every now and again. Yes, the men went to the pub but they didn’t come home and hit their adult children or at least not without good reason. Paul wondered what would have happened if he’d been more prepared. Would he have hit his father back? He was almost as tall as the old man and far, far fitter. The way he felt now he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. He would have pounded his face until it was unrecognisable. Even then it wouldn’t have been enough to take away the red hot anger inside.
Somehow he was going to have to try to go about his work as normal and keep his temper with the stupid customers with their stupid requests. If that stuck-up woman from the solicitors came in he didn’t know how he’d avoid losing it. Everything about her drove him mad – her affected voice, her matching gloves and handbag, her scarf in its little gold ring. Well, he didn’t think so. He’d like to show her just how worthless she was. He’d slap her about and then … He stopped himself. He couldn’t go further at the moment, not with stomach muscles that screamed in agony if he stretched or bent over. But when he was feeling better he’d show them. Or he’d show somebody. He knew exactly who. That ugly bird in the butcher’s. She’d be perfect – she followed him around with her big doe eyes as it was. Better, he’d win the money from Kenny and he could hide that from his father. It was March tomorrow – the timing would be spot on as long as he didn’t take too long to recover.
Stubbing out his cigarette he resolved to get it over and done with as soon as possible. He needed the money. Even more he needed to show someone who was boss. He needed to get rid of the anger flooding his veins like poison before it drove him insane.
Alison was delighted to see that Paul was back at work at last, but he didn’t seem inclined to talk. He was little short of rude. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed as she’d watched for him all week, wondering if they would have any of the conversations she’d imagined in her daydreams. She’d fantasised that they would spend their lunch hour together, or he’d ask her to go for a walk with him after work. Sometimes she relived the moment by the shelves when she’d thought he was going to touch her before the old man broke the spell shouting for his assistant. Her imagination finished the scene in ever wilder ways, which left her confused and excited at the same time. What if they’d carried on, ignoring the old man? What might have happened? She could hardly breathe when she thought about it. Her face was very hot.
‘Snap out of it, Alison,’ said Fred. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you this past couple of days. Get your head out of the clouds and your feet back on the ground, my girl. We’ve got a busy morning ahead of us.’
‘Sorry, Fred,’ said Alison, embarrassed. Thank God he didn’t know what she’d been thinking about. She hoped there was no clue to it on her face. She didn’t want to annoy him – she liked working with Fred more and more.
‘I see your young friend next door is back,’ Fred went on.
‘He’s not …’ she began.
‘His boss said he’s had a bad stomach upset so don’t you go catching anything from him,’ said Fred sternly. ‘We can’t have anything infectious round here. Our hygiene has to come first at all times.’
‘Of course,’ said
Alison, thinking how unfair it was. As if she hung around with Paul long enough to catch anything. She’d only exchanged a handful of words, and Fred didn’t know about half of those. She supposed the old man had been talking. Even so, she and Paul could hardly be said to be friends. At least not yet. Chance would be a fine thing.
She looked up and saw Fred was grinning. He’d been teasing her.
‘We’ve got our first lot of eggs in,’ he told her. ‘If I start making space for them near the till, you can check them to make sure there’s no cracked ones. Then maybe you can write a sign. We’ll keep a careful eye out, and see who buys them and how many. You might want to make a note.’
‘All right,’ said Alison. She supposed she should feel pleased. This was her idea after all. But all she could think about was Paul.
‘Maybe we should fill the shop with smells of home cooking, to encourage people,’ Fred continued. ‘Fry an egg or two out the back, that sort of thing.’
‘I’m not sure the smell of fried egg would work,’ said Alison. ‘Might put people off. It sometimes makes me feel sick. I reckon the smell of bacon would be better. Make their mouths water.’
‘Let’s try that, then.’ Fred had thought she’d be more enthusiastic and want to do more, as this was her project. Maybe he’d been kidding himself that she was coming to enjoy the work at his shop. He reminded himself she was only seventeen – he couldn’t expect her to love the place like he did, to pour all her energy into making it a success. Go easy on her, he reminded himself. Most of the time he had to admit he valued her company – she was getting better with the customers and she’d taken to the job far more quickly than he’d expected. He hadn’t felt so optimistic in ages, but he wished he knew what was bothering her. Maybe her difficult sister had been having a go again, or Cora had been unkind in some way. He just didn’t know.
‘Hello, Paul.’ Alison forced herself to be casual as she came back from the post office that lunchtime. ‘Sorry to hear you’ve been ill. Hope you’re feeling better.’
Now that she’d cornered him by the ironmonger’s door, Paul had no alternative but speak to her, though he wanted nothing more than to buy some sandwiches and find somewhere quiet to eat them. The morning had been harder than he’d thought – he was in considerable pain and hadn’t realised how tired that would make him, not to mention irritable. He knew he was only just holding it together.
‘I’m fine,’ he said shortly. The sight of her face, full of concern but with those awful buck teeth, wasn’t doing much for his recovery. He stared at her tits instead and felt a bit better. Soon, he thought, soon. Then he winced as another spasm shot through him.
‘Are you hurt?’ she said, all anxious now.
God, he had to get away from her. He couldn’t breathe. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a tummy bug. It’s gone now but I’m not quite over it. I didn’t want to miss work though. Don’t like letting the boss down.’ He made himself smile. It wouldn’t hurt to have a comment like that get back to the miserable old sod, who clearly hadn’t really believed he was sick until he clapped eyes on him this morning.
‘Are you sure you should be here?’ she asked, still not getting out of the way. ‘Maybe you should go home. I bet your boss wouldn’t mind.’
That was the last place he needed to be. All he wanted was to buy something bland to eat and then retreat to the dark, damp little storeroom at the back for some peace. It didn’t seem too much to ask. Gritting his teeth he managed to reply and not just push past her.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he promised. ‘Right now I’m going to get some fresh air and walk to the end of the road and back. That’ll set me right. So don’t let me hold you up.’ With that he was free, hurrying away towards the corner.
Alison stared after him, feeling let down. That had been nothing like the way he spoke to her in her fantasies. He couldn’t wait to get away. Then she told herself not to be stupid. He had only just come back to work after being ill and he obviously wasn’t right yet. That was all it was. As soon as he was truly better they’d be back to how they were before. She could see it now. She couldn’t wait.
Hazel was waiting for Neville outside the factory gates when he finished his day shift. She’d checked with his mother and for once he wasn’t doing overtime so she made sure to get there well before they all came out. There he was, with Bill and Nobby. They were digging him in the ribs and she could hear their raucous laughter. Then all three noticed her.
Neville’s face immediately split into a big grin and Bill nodded with a small smile. Only Nobby looked disapproving. Well, she wasn’t going to worry about an ugly mug like him. From what she could gather he wasn’t much use at anything. She had to admit that beside his balding colleague Neville was better looking than ever. She was lucky.
‘Look who it is.’ Bill dug Neville in the ribs again.
‘Here to make sure he gets home all right?’ asked Nobby. The words were innocent enough but there was an edge behind them that she didn’t like. She could see what he was implying. She ignored him.
‘Thought I’d catch a few extra minutes with you.’ She beamed at her handsome boyfriend. ‘We’re both working so hard I hardly see you.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’ Neville sounded a bit embarrassed but she could tell he was pleased. She took his arm and gave it a squeeze.
‘Come on, Nobby,’ said Bill. ‘Let’s not get in the way. See you tomorrow, Nev, and remember you’re coming down the pub with us after.’
Hazel raised her eyebrows as the other two headed off.
‘Boys’ night out, is it?’
‘Not really,’ said Neville. ‘They keep asking me and when I say no, they have a go. So on Monday they asked again and obviously I’m not going to go drinking at the start of the week. The easiest thing was to say I’d go out on Friday. I’ll still be up for the early shift on Saturday though.’ He looked at her and saw her face was clouding over. ‘I’m not going to spend all my wages so no need to worry. It’s just a one-off.’
‘But Neville, like I said, we hardly see each other,’ Hazel protested. ‘Now when you do have a night off you’re going out with your mates. Don’t you want us to be together? Go out and have some fun like we used to?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Neville, confused by the turn this had taken. ‘That’s why I’m working so hard. Why we’re both working so hard. It’s just one evening down the pub. I won’t even stay that long.’
‘No, no, don’t come back early on my account,’ snapped Hazel. ‘Not when your precious friends mean more to you than I do. No point in short-changing them of your company.’ She could feel her temper building inside her. All these days of dashing around in the café, barely having a break, running herself ragged and only having boring Sundays off, no real shopping – it was beginning to get to her. And now she wasn’t even going to see her fiancé on Friday night. ‘They’re clearly more important than I am.’
‘Don’t be silly, Hazel …’ he began.
‘Silly? Silly, is it?’ She rounded on him. ‘I don’t think so. I’d say you’re thoughtless and selfish. When are you going to take me out? When are we going to buy a ring? People keep asking and I have to say no, we’re waiting to find the perfect one and haven’t seen it yet. I can’t very well tell them the truth, can I? That my boyfriend would rather be down the pub with his mates than seen out in public with me?’
Neville stared at her flashing eyes and the set of her mouth and thought he was looking at a stranger. This wasn’t his Hazel. He had no idea what to say to calm her down. Finally he took hold of her shoulders.
‘Tell you what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘If we set off now we can make the early show at the Granada. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My treat. Then on Saturday I can get a break between the early and late shifts and meet you when you finish at the café. We could go looking for a ring then. How would you like that?’ He held his breath, waiting to see if it would work.
Hazel looked at him suspiciou
sly. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time?’
‘Spare the time? Are you kidding? I’d walk barefoot over broken glass for you,’ he said. ‘I’d walk backwards. You just say the word. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You’re the most precious thing in my life.’
Suddenly she felt ashamed of doubting him and losing her temper. ‘I know,’ she sniffed. ‘It’s being so tired, that’s what it is. I’d love to go to the pictures. I don’t even care what’s on. I just want an evening with you, like we used to have. It feels like ages since we did anything like this.’
‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘Come on, let’s dash home to eat our dinner, then I’ll pick you up afterwards and we’ll head up the hill. Give me your hand. There. Now people will know I’m proud to be out with you. My princess.’
Wiping her eye with the back of her glove she told herself to buck up and not to be so stupid. He loved her, she loved him. There were bound to be a few ups and downs. Nothing was going to be handed to them on a plate.
‘Come on then,’ she said, catching his elbow and almost running towards Ennis Street. Her kitten heels clacked on the pavement as she hurried him along. ‘Let’s see if we can catch the trailers and everything. I want to make the most of a rare night out with the best-looking man in Battersea.’
Chapter Twelve
Alison spent Friday trying to catch a glimpse of Paul to see if he seemed any better but hardly got a moment to herself all day. For some reason the butcher’s was busier than she’d ever seen it. Everyone was coming in wanting to get meat for the weekend and they kept running out of stock in the front of the store and having to go to the fridges or back room to fetch more. Fred had no choice at one point but to ask her to deal with her pet hate: liver and kidneys.
‘Sooner you start, sooner you’ll finish,’ he said abruptly. He couldn’t afford to be soft about this. He knew she couldn’t stand the feel of them but she had to learn. ‘Just pretend they’re sausages or mince and sort them like that. I don’t want you shaking with nerves and having it all slithering about out front when someone wants a pound for steak and kidney pudding.’