She’d cook Rosie a nice lunch, and while they were eating quietly she would apologise. And she was sorry – Lord, she’d never been so sorry about anything in all her life as she was about last night. So what if Rosie had stayed at that fellow’s place most of the evening. It didn’t mean anything, did it? Course it didn’t. She shook her head emphatically, then winced as another blinding shaft of pain seared her temples. Gawd! Never as long as she lived would she ever touch another drop of port! Never. Fumbling down the side of the chair she lifted up a small tin, in which she kept her store of medicines, and swallowed three aspirins, then rested her head against the back of the armchair to give the white tablets time to take hold.
It was an hour later before she felt able to rise, and when she finally lurched to her feet, a grim smile of determination settled on her lips. She’d make things right with Rosie the minute she walked through the door. She’d get down on her knees if she had to: where Rose was concerned she had no pride.
But Rose didn’t come home for lunch. The steak and kidney pie Mary had lovingly prepared grew cold as she waited for her niece to appear. And as each hour passed so Mary’s repentant mood melted away, leaving in its place an angry resentment that seemed to grow and gather force with each passing minute.
So it was that by the time Rose arrived home, Mary had worked herself into a state of indignant fury.
Even then, things might have been smoothed over, if Rose hadn’t gone immediately to her room pleading a headache, and stayed there until the following morning. Once again she left the house while her aunt slept, giving Mary no opportunity to speak.
And human nature being what it is, by the time Rose had calmed down enough to talk to her aunt, that formidable woman, incensed by her niece’s aloof attitude, had taken umbrage and had even convinced herself that maybe her behaviour that night hadn’t been as bad as she’d first thought. So the words of apology were left unsaid, and both women, equally stubborn, refused to be the first to capitulate;
A long week followed, bringing with it a tension between aunt and niece that had never been present in all the years they had lived together. Now they were near to buckling under the strain.
Rose went to work each day as normal, arrived home later to a frosty reception, then departed silently to meet Jack at his flat. The little time the women spent together they passed in stilted small-talk, until Rose mumbled a quiet goodnight before escaping up the stairs to her room.
Downstairs, Mary would sit up in her bed, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she urged herself to make peace with Rose. Her last thought every night was to try to make amends in the morning, but when morning came, and Rose brought her her tea, a hopeful, cautious look on her lovely face, something inside Mary refused to yield. She would take the tea with a bluff ‘Ta’, then ignore the young woman standing by her bed.
Of the cause of the conflict, there was no sign. Neither Frankie nor Jack had set foot in or near the house since the set-to, both men thinking privately that it would be better to let the women sort out the dilemma by themselves.
A week to the day of the start of the trouble, Rose, her Sunday dinner eaten without the usual appreciation of the joint of beef and Yorkshire pudding, pushed away her plate and stood up. She said coolly, ‘I’m seeing Jack this afternoon. We’re going to hear the band play in Vicky Park.’
Without looking up from her plate, Mary said gruffly, ‘I hope it keeps fine for you.’
Rose picked up her plate, and said brusquely, ‘Have it your own way, Auntie. I was only trying to be friendly.’
Left alone, Mary stared after the slim form disappearing into the scullery. This was killing her. She so wanted things to be back as they used to be. Well! You’d better buck your ideas up, woman, else the next time Rosie speaks to you, it’ll be to tell you she’s leaving. And it’s no good you going on about her not being old enough to get married without your consent, ’cos if it comes right down to it, you ain’t got any legal hold over her. Mary’s head dropped. She had never imagined once during the past sixteen years that she would need the power of the law to keep her niece by her side: she had always thought that love and family loyalty would keep them together. Of course, she had known that Rose would marry one day – it was only natural – but in Mary’s daydreams, Rose had first enjoyed a long courtship with a man of means, giving Mary the chance to get used to the idea of Rose leaving her. And, of course, the man would be someone of whom Mary approved and whom she liked. In Mary’s vision, Frankie was at Rose’s side, standing in for the father Rose had never known, as he smilingly gave her away.
Somehow over the past couple of years this last picture had become awkward. She knew now that Frankie would never be smiling the day he gave Rose away at the altar, if he ever did. Like Mary, he didn’t think any man was good enough for Rose, but never in their wildest nightmare had either of them imagined their precious little girl would tie the knot with a copper.
A loud yell came from the other room. Mary’s head jerked back and, without stopping to think, she called out, ‘You all right in there, Rosie?’
Rose appeared in the doorway holding a cloth around her hand. ‘I think so. I caught my hand on one of the knives. Serves me right for chucking them about. Still, no harm done.’ She hesitated, as if she had been going to say more, then turned back to the sink.
Mary had started to rise, ready to inspect the wound, when Rose turned away. Disappointment almost gagged her and she clutched at the table for support. This had gone on long enough. It was obvious that Rose wasn’t going to make the first move, so it was down to her. Mary was ready to make amends now, more than ready. She couldn’t change what had happened, any more than she could change Rose’s mind about Jack Adams, but she could make life easier for them all.
Sounds of pots and pans and crockery being stacked noisily in the sink resounded from the scullery, bringing a ghost of a smile to Mary’s lips. Rose sounded like she was in a right old temper out there. Mary shuffled to the scullery doorway, her hand rubbing at a place beneath her pendulous breasts as if to ease the sudden tightness around her heart.
‘I’m sorry, Rose.’
There! She’d said it. Just two little words, yet those two words transformed Rose. Spinning round from the stone sink, her soapy hands still clutching the heavy roasting dish, she stared in undisguised joy at the awkward figure.
‘Oh, Aunt Mary,’ she breathed, ‘oh, it’s all right. It was as much my fault. I should have said something sooner, only I—’
‘Yeah, I know, love,’ Mary muttered clumsily. ‘I ain’t the easiest person to talk to. Anyway… We still friends, Rosie love?’
For answer, Rose almost flung herself against the huge body, her words tumbling over each other in her relief. ‘Oh, of course we are, Auntie. How could we ever be anything else?’ Standing back a pace, Rose saw that Mary’s pale blue eyes had become suspiciously bright, and found her own suddenly blurred. Then, in a voice that was both happy and tearful, she babbled, ‘I don’t think I could have gone on much longer living like this, it’s been awful, really awful.’ It didn’t matter any more about whose fault it had been, or why, and in this moment, Rose would have accepted blame for the Crucifixion, if by doing so it would smooth things over. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened, Auntie. It was all my fault, and you were quite right to be angry, but I promise you things will be different from now on. Just… just don’t let us ever fall out again.’ She hiccuped. ‘I don’t think my nerves could stand it. I love you so much, Auntie, and – and I can’t bear it when you’re angry with me.’ Overcome with emotion, Rose fell against the stout figure and buried her head in the soft folds of Mary’s neck. ,
Mary patted the slim back, blustering, ‘Yeah, all right, we were both in the wrong. There’s no need to tear the arse out of it,’ yet the relief in her voice was unmistakable. Mary prised herself free from Rose’s embrace; her eyes darted uncomfortably over her niece’s head. ‘I should’ve known better than to drink all that port �
�� not that that’s an excuse. Like I’ve been telling meself all week, nobody poured the stuff down me throat. Anyways…’ She fought for the words to express her feelings. She wasn’t used to emotional outbursts, and this was evident in her restless movements and the uncomfortable flickering of her eyes.
‘Auntie, it’s all right, there’s no need for you to explain,’ Rose cut in, not wishing to rake over old coals. The sooner the whole sorry episode was forgotten the better, but Mary, having come this far, wasn’t to be deterred so easily. She pulled a large handkerchief from the pocket of a floral pinafore and wiped her round, glistening face as she stated firmly, ‘Let me have me say, Rose. It ain’t often I apologise, so make the most of it.’ Drawing in a deep breath that seemed to swell her enormous breasts even more, Mary gave her nose a perfunctory swipe before continuing. “The truth is, I can’t remember much about that night, but I remember enough to know I said things to you that I’d kill anyone else for saying, an’ for that I’m truly sorry. But I ain’t changed me mind about the other business.’ Her head up, she now looked directly into Rose’s eyes. ‘I stand by what I said about Jack. He’s a decent enough bloke, and he’s got guts standing up to me and Frankie like he did, but I still say he ain’t good enough for you.’ Rose’s eyes took on a mutinous sheen and Mary heard her own voice rise in desperation. ‘Now don’t go getting all riled up just ’cos I’m telling you the truth as I see it. I know you’ll do just what you want in the end, but that don’t mean to say I can’t have my opinion.’ Her voice softened, lending a note of entreaty to her tone. ‘I want to see you settled with somebody who can take care of you properly… I mean, who can support you so you don’t have to work all your life, like I’ve had to. Now, like I’ve said, Jack’s a likeable fellow, but he’s never gonna amount to much, is he? Oh, now, don’t look at me like that, love.’ Rose had backed away, anger written over her features, and Mary knew she was beaten. Sighing heavily, her shoulders sagged as she muttered, ‘All right, love. If Jack’s the man you want, then I’ll say no more. I just hope you know what you’re doing. ’Cos marriage is for life. And, believe me, I’ve seen enough to know that life can seem bloody long if you’re spending it with the wrong person.’
Rose clutched at Mary’s hands. ‘Jack’s the right person for me, Auntie. I’ve known it for a long time, I just couldn’t see it until now.’
Mary sniffed loudly. ‘Yeah, well, you’d better not keep him waiting, then.’
Anxious for something to do, Mary barged her way back to the sink and plunged her arms deep into the rapidly cooling water. ‘Go on, then,’ she said, gruffly. ‘I’ll finish the washing-up. You get yourself off. Oh, and I suppose you’d better bring him back home with you. If he’s gonna be related to me, I’ll have to get used to having him around. Just don’t expect me to fall on his neck, that’s all. I ain’t never been one for toadying to people, and I don’t plan to start now. He’ll have to take me as he finds me.’ Then she jerked her head towards Rose and added tersely, ‘Still, there’s no great rush, is there? I mean, you ain’t thinking of getting hitched straight away, are you?’
The underlining meaning of the words wasn’t lost on Rose and her cheeks reddened. She lowered her eyes and murmured, ‘No, Auntie. There’s no great rush.’
Mary’s great body seemed to deflate as she cried shrilly, ‘Course, there ain’t. I never said there was, did I?’
But her tone couldn’t quite hide the note of uneasiness in Mary’s voice. And Rose, knowing the reason, held Mary’s gaze boldly, until the older woman turned back to the sink in confusion. ‘Well, what you waiting for? A bleeding brass band to see you off? Go on, get out of me way. If we’re having company tonight, I’d better see about cooking something for tea.’
‘Thanks, Auntie.’ Rose, subdued now, was busily tying the ribbons of her best bonnet under her chin. The simple task complete, she tiptoed across to the woman at the sink and kissed the smooth cheek, saying lightly, ‘I’ll be back about five, all right?’
A few minutes later Rose let herself out of the house and breathed in the warm summer air, then expelled a heartfelt sigh of relief. Lord! That had been hard going. And it wasn’t going to get any better either.
The sound of a door opening brought her head round to greet her neighbour. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Thorpe. Lovely day, isn’t it?’
Mavis Thorpe, a quiet, unassuming woman in her mid-forties, glanced at Rose and smiled. Pulling her door to, she answered cheerfully, ‘You look pleased with yourself, love. Going to meet your policeman friend, are you?’
Rose smiled wryly at the inquisitive woman. ‘Yes, I am, Mrs Thorpe. We’re going to hear the band play in the park, then come back here for tea. Aunt Mary’s already getting out her baking trays.’
The woman fell in beside Rose as they walked down the narrow road into the high street. ‘Any chance of hearing wedding bells in the near future, Rosie love? We ain’t had a wedding in the street for years. It’d be nice to have something to celebrate for a change. We could all do with a bit of cheering up since the old Queen died, Gawd rest her soul. Mind you, I never expected you to marry a copper, not with you being so close to Frankie, ’cos—’
‘There’s no immediate plans, Mrs Thorpe,’ Rose said sharply, annoyed at the woman’s presumptuous manner. It wasn’t as if Mavis Thorpe was a good friend of either her or Mary. They were merely neighbours, who exchanged a few words when they met by chance.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t mean any harm.’ The woman was instantly contrite. ‘Only I was just wondering out loud, that’s all. You ain’t offended, are yer, love?’
Chastened, Rose touched her arm and said apologetically, ‘No, it’s me that should be saying sorry, Mrs Thorpe. I didn’t mean to rude, but I don’t want everyone in the street thinking I’m getting married. But if there’s any news in that direction, my aunt will let you and the rest of the neighbours know.’
At mention of the fearsome Mary Miller, the timid woman said hastily, ‘Of course, love. I ain’t a gossip, you should know that by now.’
And it was true. Mavis Thorpe wasn’t one for spreading rumours, unlike some of her neighbours, Mary included.
They parted at the top of Mare Street, and as Rose ran to catch the tram that would take her nearer to the park, Mavis Thorpe shouted after her, ‘Remember me to Frankie, will you, Rosie? Tell him I was asking after him.’
Sinking down on to the slatted bench on the tram, Rose’s face fell. Everyone wanted to be remembered to Frankie. Everyone wanted to be his friend – even shy, unassuming Mavis Thorpe.
Except Jack, of course. And the entire London Constabulary. Yet if Frankie was to be believed, even some of the blue-uniformed men weren’t averse to hobnobbing with the local villain! She spent the short journey in deep thought.
Chapter Nine
Alighting at the stop opposite the chemical firm Bush, Boake & Allen, Rosie walked leisurely down tree-lined streets until she came to the gates in Victoria Park Road. She saw Jack immediately, sitting on a bench under a sprawling oak tree, his nose buried in the News of the World. She took off her shoes to let her feet savour the feel of the lush green grass as she made her way towards the preoccupied figure. Creeping up behind him, Rose placed her hands over his eyes and bent to kiss him. ‘Guess who?’ she whispered into his ear.
Jack reached up and took her hands saying, with a grin, ‘Susie!’
‘I’ll give you Susie, you cheeky devil.’ Rose chuckled and flopped down beside him. She held up her face for a welcoming kiss, then snuggled close to his side, delighting in the new intimacy they now shared. Anything interesting?’ She nodded towards the newspaper lying in his lap. ‘Aunt Mary won’t have that in the house. She says it’s a wicked piece of scandalmongering that no decent person would be seen dead reading.’
‘How does she know if she’s never read it? And how can someone be caught reading if they’re dead? Sounds double Dutch to me.’
Rose nudged him none too gently in the ribs. ‘D
on’t be clever. You know what I mean. Anyway, speaking of Aunt Mary, I’ve got some good news. She’s come round, at last, thank goodness, and you’re invited for tea, so you’d better be on your best behaviour and start using that charm you keep telling me about to get in her good books.’
Jack’s eyebrows rose in delight. ‘Blimey! How did you manage that? I thought after that bust-up, I’d never be able to put me head round the door again – well, not and come out in one piece.’ He cocked his head to one side, his eyes appraising her.
Rose laughed softly and snuggled closer. ‘I didn’t do anything. I was too frightened to bring the subject up in case it started her off again. But suddenly she just said sorry, then we had a good talk, and she asked me to bring you back home for tea.’
‘And that’s it? Everything’s back to normal, just like that?’ The grey eyes stared down at her, perplexed. ‘You sure it’s not just a trick to get me in the line of fire? I mean, she ain’t gonna be waiting for me with a frying-pan, is she?’
Rose gazed at the top button of Jack’s white shirt.
She hadn’t told him the whole truth about the reception Mary had given her that night. To do that would have meant repeating the dreadful words and accusations levelled at her in a drunken rage. But it was more than that. Something deep inside Rose refused to admit to the nasty side of her aunt: it would seem like an act of betrayal. So she had told Jack that Mary was angry that she had walked out on her and Frank, and for staying out so late. Which was all true, to a point. And, as far as Rose could see, there was no good to be had in relating the whole gory incident.
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