by Pam Weaver
‘What is this?’ he demanded.
Her heart was pounding and her head felt terrible. Don’t make me do this, she thought. Don’t, Archie, please …
‘Look me in the eye and say all that again, Gracie.’
She turned her head and faced him. ‘I don’t want to see you again,’ she said with a strength she didn’t know she had. He looked totally shocked. He let go of her and she walked briskly away. ‘And I think it would be better if you didn’t come to my house any more.’
‘Gracie,’ he called after her. ‘Gracie, wait a minute …’
But she couldn’t. She daren’t. If she turned back she’d be in his arms and he’d be kissing her.
‘Gracie …’
Goodbye dear, dear Archie, she thought. Be happy. Never had she been so glad to reach her own front door.
Rita had spent the day in Alice Chamberlain’s house. It was very dark, old fashioned and cluttered. Dinah had persuaded a few of her friends from WMCS and Rita to give her a hand with a big clear out. Rita had been the first to arrive.
Dinah, looking very elegant in an apron and a turban around her head, opened the door. ‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ she told Rita. ‘I know it’s an awful cliché, but you could have knocked me down with a feather when they told me Granny had left me the house.’
‘She owned the house?’ Rita gasped.
‘Apparently Granddad had the opportunity to buy it in the 1930s,’ Dinah went on. ‘The owner needed some money pretty darned quick so Granddad took out a loan and bought the house for £78.’
‘Will you sell it?’ Rita asked.
‘Not for the moment,’ said Dinah, ‘although I must say, I have had an offer. Can you be a darling and help me move this sofa? I’m sure there’s loads of things down the back of it.’
They pushed and pulled the heavy furniture away from the wall and Dinah was right. Books, magazines, old newspapers and even a box of old Christmas cards tumbled in disarray to the floor when the sofa was moved.
‘Who made you an offer?’ Rita asked and she knelt down and began to pick up everything. She put it on the seat.
‘Umm? Norris Finley,’ said Dinah, distracted by an old birthday card. ‘I gave this to Granny. It must be the last time I sent her a card.’
‘Mr Finley owns just about every house in the road,’ said Rita.
‘Including yours?’
Rita shrugged. ‘Our house belongs to my father’s family.’ She suddenly felt uncomfortable. That implied that she and her family owned their house and yet Rita knew her mother paid rent. She’d never bothered to think of that before. ‘Actually, my mother pays some sort of rent to Riverside Properties.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s the name of Mr Finley’s companies,’ said Dinah.
‘Oh,’ said Rita.
Someone knocked on the door and Dinah went to answer it. Some friends from the WMCS came in, and Bob Dawson with them.
‘Hope you don’t mind me gate-crashing,’ he said.
‘Hey,’ cried Dinah. ‘You’re out of the army at last!’
‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘On leave, but I only have a few months to do.’
Rita smiled and to her surprise was pleased to see him. He looked a lot better for the time he’d been in the army. His spots had gone and apart from his awful army short back and sides haircut, he looked quite handsome. ‘I never did write and thank you for that mention in Forces Favourites at Christmas,’ she said.
‘I couldn’t get you out of my mind,’ he said. ‘Did you miss me?’
Emilio sauntered in through the door to another flurry of welcome. Rita’s face lit up. ‘Emilio came this year.’
Emilio flashed a smile. ‘It was good,’ he said. ‘Good time.’
Rita slipped her arm through Emilio’s. ‘Come on, let me show you both what Dinah was doing.’
Crestfallen, Bob followed them into the kitchen.
‘It’s obvious that my granny was a hoarder,’ said Dinah once everyone was ready to start. ‘I’ll have to get rid of most of it but I don’t want to throw everything out.’
As they went through the drawers they found everything from bus tickets to old newspapers, magazines, buttons, knitting patterns, old dollies, dresses and photographs.
‘It’ll take you ages to work through this lot,’ someone said.
‘There’s no hurry,’ said Dinah. ‘We can take our time.’
Rita was given the job of sorting out the scullery and to her absolute joy, Emilio was sent to join her. They began by turning out the old Rinso packets, half empty used blocks of Drummerboy Blue, bottles with just a dribble of bleach left in them and old milk bottles. They piled everything into the dustbin, put the milk bottles back outside for the milkman and set about cleaning the surfaces.
Being so close to Emilio left Rita feeling quite breathless. She struggled to think of anything to say but she had already worked out that Emilio didn’t seem as happy as he had done at Christmas.
How are you enjoying the fishing? Do you have any other brothers and sisters? What did you think of the show? All her questions seemed like an interrogation especially when he didn’t elaborate much when he answered.
‘I enjoy,’ didn’t tell her much when it came to the fishing for instance. He was a little more forthcoming when it came to his family but Rita would have liked to be told much, much more.
‘My sister, she marry American G.I.’ he told her. ‘She go to New York. She have good life in America.’
‘You didn’t want to join her?’
‘She say she kill me,’ he laughed. ‘I come to Uncle Salvatore. He have good business.’
Rita smiled. He sounded almost envious of Salvatore’s café and yet he’d made it perfectly clear that he was a fisherman. She had pulled the old copper away from the wall so that she could brush behind it and a couple of mice skittled across the floor. Rita squealed before she could stop herself and Emilio laughed. Dinah poked her head around the corner.
‘You’ve got mice,’ Rita blurted out.
Dinah looked horrified. ‘Mice! Emilio, do something.’
Bob appeared in the doorway with a long-handled broom.
Jeremy got in on the act as well. ‘You need to set a trap, or better still, do you have a cat?’
‘Next door does, said Rita, ‘and so does Elsie Dawson over the road.’
With Emilio and Jeremy’s help, she borrowed the cat from next door but after an initial show of vague interest he sauntered off. However, Elsie’s cat was a lot leaner and before long she was chasing a mouse out of the back door. Jeremy put his arms around Emilio’s and Rita’s shoulders and laughed. ‘Give pussy a medal, darling.’
By the end of the afternoon, Dinah had three piles in the middle of the sitting room floor, one for a jumble sale, one to keep and one to throw away. The house itself had been virtually gutted.
‘All we need now are the decorators,’ said Dinah.
‘I could do a bit for you,’ said Bob. ‘I don’t have to go back until next week.’
‘Oh Bob, could you?’ Dinah gushed. ‘How much should I give you?’
‘No charge,’ said Bob firmly and Dinah kissed his cheek.
‘When are you moving in?’ Rita asked.
‘I’m not,’ said Dinah. ‘I told you, I’m off to RADA next month. Jeremy is going to rent it.’
Rita looked at Jeremy and he did a deep bow.
It seemed a little odd that someone like Jeremy, obviously well educated and talented, should want to live in what was a working-class area. Rita supposed it must be because it was near the station and one of the girls had told her he had a job in London. All the same, why not get a larger house more in keeping with his position in life?
‘We’re all going back to Emilio’s place,’ Dinah announced. ‘Thank you for your help and I’m buying all of you a meal.’ She linked arms with Bob and walked ahead of them.
As Rita walked back up the road with Emilio on one arm and Jeremy on the other, she
couldn’t have been happier. After all the dark days since her sister vanished, things were finally on the up.
Nineteen
Grace had had a terrible week. Saying goodbye to Archie had been the worst thing she’d ever had to do. She’d tried to keep her crying private but Rita had noticed.
‘Is everything all right between you and Mr Warren, Mum?’
Grace had the ironing board out and was ironing the sheets. Rita was getting ready to go out. ‘There’s no Mr Warren and me,’ said Grace firmly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rita. ‘I liked him.’
‘I’ve got a new job,’ said Grace.
‘You’re giving up your job at the factory?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Grace impatiently. ‘This is to earn a little bit of extra money. Mr Finley wants me to do some cleaning.’ Grace kept her head down and hoped that Rita would put her flushed cheeks down to the heat of the iron.
‘So are you going back to the factory to clean it?’ asked Rita anxiously. ‘Oh Mum, if you have to walk out and about in the winter, will you be safe? I mean, you know what happened last time.’
‘He wants me to clean one of his houses,’ said Grace. ‘I’m going there on Thursday night.’
‘One of his houses? How many has he got?’
‘No idea,’ Grace shrugged. ‘He rents them out. Anyway, where are you off to tonight?’
‘Dinah has invited me to the WMCS auditions.’
‘I thought they’d only just finished their show,’ Grace frowned.
‘They do two shows a year,’ said Rita patiently. ‘This is for the October show. They’re doing Mr Cinders.’
‘Very nice,’ said Grace.
‘I wish you didn’t have to work for that Mr Finley, Mum. He’s horrible.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He came into the shop the other day and he was really nasty to Miss Bridewell.’
‘Oh?’ said Grace, suddenly interested. ‘What on earth was he doing in Hubbard’s dress department?’
‘Buying a dress for his fancy woman,’ said Rita. ‘He chose this lovely midnight blue dress and when Miss Bridewell asked him if he’d like it delivered to his home address, he told her, in front of everybody, to mind her own bloody business and to wrap it up for him to take now.’
Grace stared at her daughter in disbelief.
‘And while she was doing that,’ said Rita carrying on regardless, ‘he told her that if she mentioned the dress to anyone, and I mean anyone,’ Rita was beginning to mimic Norris Finley’s voice, ‘“I shall see to it that none of you can get work anywhere between here and Portsmouth.”’
Rita pushed her feet into her shoes. ‘I mean, I don’t like Miss Bridewell very much but there’s no need to be nasty, is there? All the girls are talking about it.’
There was a knock at the door. Rita opened it and Elsie Dawson was on the doorstep. ‘Is your mother in?’
Grace looked up from her ironing. ‘Come in, Else,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of ironing and you’re just the excuse I need to put the kettle on.’
Grace began putting the ironing board back and Rita put her coat on. ‘Don’t wait up, Mum. We may be late.’
‘Don’t I get a kiss now?’ Grace complained good-naturedly.
Rita blew her one from the doorway.
‘I suppose you’ve heard?’ said Elsie when she’d gone.
‘Heard what?’ said Grace.
‘They’re burying poor George Matthews tomorrow. Nobody’s come forward to claim the body so the council is having to do it.’
Thursday came all too soon. Grace was on time and let herself in with the key. The house was bigger than hers, white fronted with a small front garden protected from the road by a flint wall. It had three floors and back in her mother’s day in the thirties, it had been called Montpelier Terrace. Grace remembered old Mrs Pratt who lived there but now it was empty. The house smelled musty and damp.
Grace felt sick with apprehension. She hated the fact that she was even in this position. She should tell Norris to go to hell, but she daren’t. What if he did go to the police? Bonnie might be dragged back to town. Even if it were proven in the end that she’d done nothing wrong, Grace knew that the mud would stick. What if she had done something to that boy? Grace shuddered. No, not Bonnie. The other puzzle was why she had taken the letter from John’s grandfather. Could she be hoping to find him?
A key turned in the lock and Grace jumped as the door opened. It was Norris. Grace tasted the bile in her mouth. She was trembling and her heart had started banging in her chest.
He smiled and took off his coat. ‘Hello, Grace,’ he purred. ‘Make yourself at home. Take off your coat.’
She closed her eyes. The full horror of what was about to happen made her sway. She took off her coat and let it fall to the couch.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
‘Norris,’ she whispered, ‘please don’t make me do this.’
‘I told you, nobody’s making you do anything,’ he said again. He took her arm roughly and pushed her towards the hallway and the stairs. She felt like she was being frogmarched. They reached the bedroom door.
‘It’s nothing you haven’t done before, now is it?’ he said silkily.
‘But I …’ She turned towards him and his mouth was over hers. She felt his arm tighten around her waist drawing her towards him while his right hand kneaded her breast. Her heart was pounding, not with desire, but with a plethora of other feelings. Betrayal … she was falling or perhaps had already fallen in love with Archie. She had wanted to give herself to him but here she was with this creep. Disgust … how could she make love, no it would never be like that with Norris, have intercourse with a man she didn’t even like? She was nothing more than a tart. Fear … what if he got her pregnant? She and Michael always joked that he only had to hang his trousers on the bedpost and she’d be pregnant. She wasn’t old. She was 41 and would be 42 in June. There was still plenty of time for babies. What if she had yet another Finley out of wedlock?
By now he had her blouse off, her petticoat pulled down and her bra off and was kissing her breasts. She wanted to throw up. He pulled back and looked at her. ‘Enjoy it, Grace,’ he said. ‘You know you want it. It’s been a long time since Michael.’
‘I’m only here because you’ve forced me into it,’ she said curling her lip. ‘I’ll never enjoy it with you.’
Norris glared at her with such a terrible expression she honestly thought he was going to hit her. ‘I’ve always wanted you, Grace,’ he said in a measured tone. ‘And one way or another, I shall have you. You can be nice to me. It won’t make any difference what you do but it might be a lot nicer for you if you co-operate.’
She felt her skirt slide to the floor and as he pressed his mouth over hers once again, he was already fully aroused. He pushed her to the bed, spread her legs roughly and mounted her. He was so heavy she could hardly breathe. ‘Relax,’ he said hoarsely. ‘If you think the past was good, you’re in for a treat. Now you’re in the hands of a real man.’
When it was finally over Grace waited until he fell asleep. It didn’t take long. She slipped out of bed and reached for her things. Fully dressed she stared down at him. Where was the locket? His trousers lay in a heap on the floor. She picked them up and felt the pockets. Some loose change made a clinking sound and she froze. She didn’t see him open his eyes because as she slowly turned, he snapped them shut. To her way of thinking, he hadn’t moved. She laid the trousers on the chair at the end of the bed and picked up his jacket. It had three pockets, two on the outside and an inside breast pocket. One of the outside pockets had a soiled handkerchief but the other was empty. The inside pocket contained his wallet, a style which only took notes. She put it back and hung the coat neatly around the back of the chair and put her hand to her mouth. What an idiot she’d been. He had no intention of giving her the locket, had he? She stared at him, hatred and loathing welling up in her chest
like a fiery rod and then he opened his eyes.
‘Going somewhere, Grace?’
She couldn’t speak. Her heart was racing and her voice died in her throat. She wanted to hit him. He smiled but it was more than a smile. It was a look of triumph, a look of superiority. She’d seen that look before. The first time was when they were kids. She and a whole crowd of other children played with him during the long summer holidays when he’d bullied Eric Millam to climb a tree over by Northbrook Farm. It was far too big of course, and Eric fell. He’d broken his leg and walked with a pronounced limp ever since. The second time was the day his brother died and he’d come all the way over to Mum’s house to tell her.
She raised her hand at him but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her down towards him.
‘Where is it?’ she hissed.
He pulled her hand onto his member. ‘Here.’
She tried to snatch her hand away, refusing to touch him. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said coldly. ‘The locket.’
‘Oh, the locket,’ he mocked. ‘Sorry, I forgot to bring it.’
‘Then we’re finished here, Norris,’ she said, tugging at her arm.
‘Were you going to hit me, Grace?’ He tightened his grip and she couldn’t break free. ‘You could get into serious trouble if you hit your boss, you know. It might even cost you your job.’
She stared at him in horror. Still keeping hold of her wrist, he began to unbutton her blouse again. She tried to jerk away but he was too strong for her. ‘And if you upset your landlord as well …’
Their eyes met and they both knew she was defeated. She closed her eyes and threw her head back with an anguished moan.
He carried on undoing her blouse, and then slipped his hand into her bra. ‘But let’s not waste time talking about all that, Grace. It’s far too early to go home just yet. You still have some more cleaning to do.’
He let her go at around 9.30pm. She slunk out of the house, terrified that someone, a neighbour or a passing policeman, might see her. She had never before felt such utter shame. It scalded her whole body. She wanted to die but even that wasn’t an option. There was still Rita to consider. She shuddered. Dear Lord, what if Rita found out? She was crying silent tears when she reached the house. Wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, she braced herself and unlocked the door.