Weak with fresh love for her, Benny could do nothing but agree. And his mam would give him gyp next time she saw him.
While Belinda went to put the kettle on to make him a fresh pot of tea, Benny pushed aside the half-eaten meal, a bleak expression tightening his jaw, bitterly aware that for all their undoubted love for each other, the marriage was equal only in the sense that they occupied the same flat and the same bed. Apart from that, Belinda supplied the money and he spent it.
Hubert sat back in his chair and steepled the tips of his fingers together. His smile, if you could call it that, beneath the crisp moustache showed a row of pearly teeth, but did not reach the narrowed eyes beneath the beetle brow. He’d unnerved the lad, or so his sources reliably informed him. Stubborn as Belinda herself, Benny Pride still hadn’t given up, so which card should he play next? Hubert never liked to lose.
It took very little effort to discover the name of Benny’s landlord. The handing over of a few paltry pounds elicited an agreement to evict the pair from the premises at the first opportunity, on the grounds that they’d never opened the shop.
Chapter Twelve
Summer changed into a damp autumn when the rains never seemed to stop and as the days shortened and winter approached Belinda was forced to give up her part-time job at the insurance office because of her advanced pregnancy. Several local cotton mills had closed and there was talk of a coming coal shortage, not that they could afford much in any case. Benny was more worried about the threat to nationalise ports and road haulage as these were the only areas where he was finding work. Permanent employment now seemed an impossible dream, and he’d lost all hope of ever getting an allocation licence so he bought a few bits of second-hand wood from a mate and set about fashioning a stool. He thought this would be easier than a chair but somehow memories of woodwork at school had grown surprisingly hazy and after hitting his thumb with the hammer several times and almost slicing a finger off, he announced that he’d changed his mind about being a joiner. The dream was dead.
He stuck an advert up in the fish shop window and sold off the work bench together with all the tools to the first half decent offer he received.
‘Something will turn up,’ he told Belinda with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. ‘Just wait and see.’
What did turn up was the eviction notice. Benny stared at it horror-struck. It seemed like the last straw. How were they going to manage without even a roof over their heads? The prospect of going back home to number 32 and the pair of them squeezing into Big Flo’s single bed seemed too much of a defeat for Benny to swallow. There’d been severe flooding in September when the River Irwell burst its banks in neighbouring Salford and Benny knew they were lucky to have a roof over their heads at all. Housing was in short supply and the floods hadn’t made it any easier. The last thing he wanted was to have to take Belinda to a municipal lodging house. He’d die sooner.
Desperate not to upset her, since she’d spent most of the morning feeling ill and all afternoon sleeping, he tucked the eviction notice into his pocket, hoping for some inspiration before it was taken into effect. He’d have a word with Percy Sympkin, the landlord, and make it clear they were up to date with their rent, though how much longer that state of affairs would last, he couldn’t say. Surely no one would be so cruel as to turn a pregnant woman out on the streets?
Polly was keeping a close eye on the goings on of her son and daughter-in-law. She’d enjoyed the Sunday roast Belinda had made for them, the meat a touch overdone perhaps and the potatoes a mite greasy but then it was the girl’s first effort. That Benny hadn’t turned up to eat it had troubled her somewhat at the time, but the fact there’d been no invitation since, concerned her even more, seeming to indicate that there were problems the young couple weren’t owning up to. Polly was so worried she could barely stop talking about them.
‘It’s nowt to do with us,’ Charlie constantly warned her. ‘Don’t interfere.’
‘I’m not,’ Polly protested, even as she wondered what she could do to put matters right. She could guess what it was. Benny hadn’t found work and was too proud to crawl back and accept her offer. She’d grown tired of trying, deciding to let him stew in his own juices in the hope that would bring him round quicker. It didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps a quiet word with Belinda wouldn’t go amiss, woman to woman, as it were.
She saw Belinda rarely but once or twice caught sight of her out shopping and felt again that nudge of worry as the girl quickly hurried out of sight, as if not wanting to be seen. But then she wasn’t exactly blooming. Pregnancy didn’t seem to be sitting well on her and so far as Polly was aware, Benny was still stubbornly waiting for that dratted licence.
Christmas came and went, dull and damp, the shortages seeming to bite ever deeper. Lucy was having a hard time finding the money for presents for young Sean and Sarah Jane. Michael Hopkins managed it though, buying Sean a fire engine and Sarah Jane a high chair for her dolly of which Polly didn’t entirely approve. After all, as she constantly reminded Lucy, Tom was only missing.
One Monday morning in early January, Polly decided to pop round to Belinda’s for a quick cuppa. Uncle Nobby and Aunt Ida were keen for them all to attend a New Year Coffee and Bun Social at the Methodist Church. Not being a strong Catholic, Polly had no problem with this, particularly since Big Flo had been strong chapel throughout her long life. Maybe she could persuade Benny to bring Belinda along. It would certainly make a good enough reason for Polly to call on the grounds it might do the lass good to have a night out.
She was appalled to find the little flat freezing cold despite the haze of steam coming from the wash tub in the small back scullery. The swollen figure of her daughter-in-law was propped on a kitchen chair, evidently trying to catch her breath before starting the mangling. Mindful of Charlie’s warning, Polly tried not to show the shock and concern she felt at sight of her. There were dark patches under the girl’s eyes and she looked far too thin for so late a stage in her pregnancy. ‘And how are you this fine day, me lovely girl?’
‘Fine, apart from feeling a bit sick, as usual,’ Belinda confessed. ‘It never seems to get any better.’
‘Then it’s a cuppa you’re needing, and one of these lovely custard tarts I’ve brought you.’ Polly helped Belinda up the narrow stairs to the small living room, insisting she take a short rest. While she waited for the kettle to boil she went in search of a few scraps of wood and coal to light a fire, and found none. The coal man, Belinda told her when she tentatively enquired, had forgotten to come this week.
Polly managed to bite her tongue though she felt sure it was more likely her dozy son had forgotten to pay the last coal bill. She couldn’t think what had got into the daft eejit. She put a shilling in the metre and switched on the small electric fire instead, more expensive but there seemed no alternative. Something would have to be done, of that she was certain. ‘Sickness is common enough,’ she said brightly. ‘And you’ve nought to be afeared of, a fine healthy girl like yourself.’
‘I’m not frightened, just over-tired, that’s all. This little monster keeps me awake half the night kicking and churning inside of me. I’m lucky if I sleep a wink.’ Belinda rubbed at the burning stitch that ran down the inside of her right leg but Polly didn’t notice as she was brewing the tea.
While she poured out, Polly told her about the Coffee and Bun Social and watched with increasing concern as Belinda quickly took a scalding sip and then bit deep into the custard tart as if she hadn’t eaten a square meal in days. ‘Wait till the baby comes,’ Polly consoled her with a cheery grin. ‘You won’t sleep at all then.’
‘Thanks,’ but Belinda did see the funny side and gave a little smile. ‘I’m sorry you’ve found me in a bit of a state. I got up late this morning so now the dolly tub will be under our feet all day.’ It took ages because she found it hard bending over the galvanised washtub, not to mention operating the heavy, copper-bottomed posser. Even so, when they’d finished their tea and e
njoyed a bit of a crack, as Polly called it, Belinda insisted on returning to the washing. Polly took hold of the posser, a long wooden stick with a disk of copper on the bottom and started swirling and thumping the sheets.
‘Where is your husband, the lazy tyke? If he’s no work on, he should be giving you a hand.’
Benny had brought the tub in from the yard and helped her to fill it but then had dashed off on important business, or so he’d claimed. Belinda chuckled, easing herself into a more comfortable position, feeling better already at having eaten the delicious tart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted anything as good. ‘Benny’s very good and tidy about the house, army training you know, but that’ll be the day when a man helps to wash grubby sheets, eh?’
‘Aye, the sky will fall on our heads, and that’s the truth.’
‘According to him, having a baby is a perfectly normal state, which doesn’t prevent washing being on the line by nine, ten at the latest.’ He’d grown surprisingly critical of her lately, an attitude which was not going down too well. Belinda knew why of course, all because she wouldn’t ask Hubert for help. But since he refused to work for his mother, you’d think he’d understand.
Polly frowned, wisely refraining from enquiring what it was that had got her son into such a lather. He’d never shown any interest in when the washing was done before. There had to be something more important on his mind than that. ‘Well, tis certainly true that having a baby is a perfectly natural state of affairs, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pander yourself with a bit more rest. I’m sorry you’re having all this sickness, lass, I’d no trouble at all with either of mine.’
‘Are you saying it’s all in the mind?’
‘Indeed I’m not. I’m thinking it’s in your belly,’ Polly said with a grin and, startled by her mother-in-law’s flippancy, Belinda burst out laughing. She realised at once that it was the first time she’d laughed properly in days, and it felt good.
‘Aw, now that’s brought a bit of colour into your cheeks. You’re looking better already.’ Polly returned to her mission with increased vigour. ‘It would do you both good to have a night out. And wouldn’t I welcome the chance to have a word with the daft galoot and give him a piece of my mind for neglecting you so. If ever you should feel poorly again, send our Benny over, won’t me or Lucy be glad to come and sit with you for a while.’
A rush of tears came into Belinda’s eyes, in gratitude for the warmth in Polly’s voice. ‘There’s really no need. It’s just getting me down I suppose, being stuck in this place every day.’ Pregnancy, so far as Belinda was concerned, was proving to be a far from a joyful experience. Her legs throbbed, the sickness lingered, her blood pressure was up and her spirits were sinking lower by the day. And although Benny continued to get some casual work which just about kept the wolf from the door, she’d begun to despair whether he’d ever get a business off the ground. But how could she admit this failure to his own mother.
As if reading her thoughts Polly asked, ‘so what about the shop? Has any progress been made?’
Belinda shook her head. ‘You’ve seen that the work bench and everything have gone?’
‘I did notice.’ Polly sounded grim.
‘No demand, apparently. He’s looking for something better, and I’m sure he’ll find it - eventually.’ Belinda rubbed a hand down the inside of her thigh, then quickly stopped when she saw Polly glance at her with an anxious frown. ‘We’re just running out of time.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘This baby seems to be growing bigger by the day.’
Polly dragged a soaking wet pillow sheet from out the dolly tub, and insisting Belinda remain seated, began to wring it between her hands for all the world as if it were her son’s neck. Sweat was pouring off her by the time she was done. ‘Sure and I’ll have a word with him about that too.’ Tight-lipped, Polly handed Belinda one end of the wet sheet and as they folded it and set it ready to go through the mangle, her mind was racing. She’d have a word with the lad all right and some decisions would have to be made, like it or not. Independence was one thing, sheer pigheadedness was another matter entirely.
Never short on courage, Polly wasted no time in calling on Hubert Clarke, eager to confront him with the reality of his daughter’s situation. She watched as his lips thinned into a rigid line of disapproval even as he offered her a seat in the plushness of his mahogany and leather study, after sending his wife scurrying for coffee.
‘I don’t believe in interfering in young folk’s business,’ he sanctimoniously and falsely announced. He looked as if he’d been knocked a bit off balance by Polly’s bluntness. ‘It’s up to them what they make of their lives. Not my problem.’
‘Oh I do agree, but there are times, like this current situation with Belinda pregnant and in need of good food and care, when no one but a heartless beast would ignore the poor girl’s plight. Which I know you aren’t, Councillor Clarke.’ She gave him the benefit of her fine Irish smile so that even Hubert was slightly mollified.
‘Aye well,’ he blustered. ‘She’s her husband’s responsibility now, by my reckoning.’
‘And hasn’t Benny done his best? Couldn’t he have had a fine job with me in the carpet warehouse, had he not wanted to prove himself and be independent, the daft galoot.’ Polly slanted her greeny-grey eyes up at him, hoping her charms hadn’t quite faded, and again offered the benefit of her soft smile. ‘Couldn’t you find it in that great heart of yours to give your son-in-law a first foot on the ladder? He’d mebbe take it from you, rather than his mam.’
Hubert’s mind had been working overtime through all of this embarrassing conversation. Not until Polly had mentioned the carpets did he make the connection. Of course! What a blind fool he’d been not to realise before. Pride Carpets, an up-and-coming firm which his accountant had mentioned to him more than once. Now that little gem of information, Hubert thought, put an entirely different complexion on the matter and would demand most careful thought, maybe even some revision to his plans. Funny thing about life, it could often throw up a wild card that turned out to be the very one you were seeking.
He was saved from answering by the door opening. Joanna appeared, looking flustered and precariously balancing a silver tray loaded with coffee jug, cups and saucers and tiny petit fours. Hubert got briskly to his feet and took the tray from her in a gesture of good will which left her standing with empty arms and mouth open in an "Oh" of surprise.
‘Now then,’ Hubert said, as he magnanimously started to pour coffee. ‘What are we going to do then, for these youngsters of ours?’
‘Whatever it is,’ Polly said, agreeably pleased by his unexpectedly positive response, ‘it must look as if it has come about through their own efforts. Not a sniff of interference on our part, d’you not agree?’
Hubert took a slurp of coffee before beaming upon his guest. ‘Indeed I do, my good lady. Indeed I do.’
They talked for some time over the delicious coffee and cakes. When he had showed his visitor out Hubert returned to his study, closed the door and lit one of his best Havana cigars, to consider the implications. In his unswerving opinion, poverty was the fault of the individual. The fact that Benny wasn’t alone in failing to find full-time employment or get a business going in post-war Britain cut no ice with him. Hubert didn’t hold with this newly created Ministry of National Insurance or the Family Allowances Bill, which only encouraged laziness. If a couple were bringing a child into the world, they should be entirely responsible for it. The lad must be daft if he’d had a good job offered him by his mother, and refused it.
And wasn’t Pride Carpets exactly the sort of enterprise that he enjoyed swallowing up with his own greedy empire. This one would be a particular pleasure.
Lucy sat in the corner of the school hall where she could watch Sarah Jane and Sean sliding up and down the polished floor with their friends. Everyone seemed to be dancing and laughing and having a good time, except her, which made her sense of anticipation bite even dee
per. At least from here she could keep an eye on the door. She longed for Michael to come, yet worried over how she could possibly face him in front of her family and friends without showing plainly how she felt about him.
The slightest inkling of the way they felt about each other, and the matriarchs of Pansy Street would tear the pair of them apart with their gnashing teeth and malicious tongues. Lucy had seen the groups of women gather, heard the scrape of chairs as they pulled closer together at their front doors to exchange salacious gossip.
At least Belinda and Benny seemed happy. Lucy could see them now, dancing a quickstep, the skirts of Belinda’s dress, clearly silk and a beautiful peacock blue, swirling about her legs with a grace that seemed to defy she was only a matter of two months from giving birth. She might well complain it looked untidy with its let-out seams and her bump making the hem lift at the front, but to Lucy she looked marvellous, about as out of place in this room as a butterfly would in an Anderson shelter.
Sitting on the hard Sunday School chair watching everyone dance and laugh, Lucy felt quite old and dowdy in her navy two-piece, it’s plainness relieved only by a double row of buttons down the front, and a touch of white at the collar and cuffs. But then she supposed it was perfectly appropriate for a widow, and if nobody asked her out on to the floor, what did it matter? There was only one person she wished to dance with.
‘Please may I have the pleasure of this dance?’ She started, but it was only Johnny Parkinson grinning down at her. Determined not to show her blushing disappointment, she grinned back. ‘Hey up, chuck, eaten t’dictionary for thy tea, have you?’ she teased, using dialect to make him laugh. Grasping the blushing young man’s hand she let him lead her out on to the dance floor, then wrapped his arm tight about her slim waist and pressed herself close against him, making him go bright red to the tips of his ears. ‘Pity it isn’t a tango. Very passionate dance, a tango.’
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