by Anna King
Shaun released his hold cautiously. Then Josie and Jane were by his side, surrounding Annie in a show of unity and friendship. With the two girls on one side and Shaun on the other, Annie let herself be led into Josie’s house. Shaun entered first, stepping aside to let the women in. Josie was the last to enter, but instead of shutting the door on the curious faces, she faced her neighbours defiantly.
‘I know there’s a lot of you that think I should be dressed in black and mourning me mother; and for the life of me I can’t understand why. You all knew me mother and the way she treated me. You also know she never loved me, so why should I mourn a woman who treated me like dirt? Well, now I’m free, and I’m gonna make up for all the time she stole from me. I’ve known all of you since I could walk, and if you’re real friends, then you’ll always be welcome in my house. Those of you who think I’m a cold-hearted woman because I refuse to be a hypocrite, well then, you’re no friends of mine.’
A few of the women looked away from Josie’s gaze, but the majority of the neighbours applauded her bravery in not being coerced into playing the role that was expected of her.
One woman across the street shouted out, ‘You tell ’em, Josie love.’
Josie smiled broadly.
‘Thanks, Mrs Truman, I intend to.’
As she went to close the door, she looked at Ida Black still sprawled on the pavement, a handkerchief held to her bleeding mouth. The woman was looking round for some kind of sympathy vote, but none seemed forthcoming. Josie stared hard at her before addressing the assembled neighbours.
‘Can one of you help Ida up? I’d do it meself, but I’ve gotta get meself tarted up and go looking for a man.’ She gazed down at the thin figure. ‘That is what you think of me, ain’t it?’ Before the woman could answer, Josie added calmly, ‘Oh, one more thing, Mrs Black. If in the future you ’appen to pass my ’ouse… Well, let’s just say, I’d appreciate it.’ With that parting shot Josie took one last look at the rumpled woman and closed the door.
Outside Ida Black waited for some assistance, along with a sympathetic ear to listen to her grievances. Feeling braver now that Annie was safely indoors, she looked around, her face falling as one by one the doors closed, leaving her alone, feeling betrayed and somewhat foolish. Getting to her feet, she forgot her shopping trip and returned to the safety of her home.
* * *
‘Here you are, Annie. Get that down your throat, it’ll calm your nerves.’
Josie put a small glass of brandy in front of Annie. Annie looked at it in amazement.
‘Begod! If your mother wasn’t already dead, the shock of seeing alcohol in the house would’ve killed her for sure.’
Josie slid on to the chair opposite Annie, with Shaun and Jane either side of her, and felt a wave of affection flow over her. If only she’d been born into a family like the Flynns, how different her life might have turned out.
‘Actually, Annie, I found it tucked away at the back of the bedroom closet. Me dad must have hidden it there, poor old sod!’ Josie said wistfully. Then she brightened. ‘Let’s have a toast to me dad.’ Holding up her glass she said, ‘Cheers, Dad! The drinks are on you.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Shaun responded. Picking up his own glass, he took a long gulp of the brandy, with his mother following his example. Jane had to make do with a cup of tea.
The brandy slid down Annie’s throat like warm silk. Taking another, smaller gulp, she held on to the glass and looked around the kitchen, her jaw dropping at the changes that had been made. She hadn’t noticed at first; her mind had been too busy dwelling on Ida Black’s vicious words. Now she took another look, not knowing if she liked what Josie, or rather Shaun, had done.
All the walls had been stripped of their dull brown paper and painted white. Gone were the old sepia photos and depressing pictures, leaving the walls completely bare. Then Annie raised her eyes and blinked, for the ceiling had been painted a pale blue. She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
The three young people around the table exchanged glances, but it was Jane that spoke.
‘It does look a bit bare at the moment, Mum. But Josie’s got a lot of ideas to make it look like a proper kitchen, haven’t you, Josie?’
Josie took hold of Jane’s slim fingers and smiled.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jane, but I haven’t a clue what I’m gonna do next. There’s still a lot to do. I’m just gonna make up plans as I go along. Now then, I’ve got a lot of things to sort out, mostly Dad’s stuff. You know, his medals and things he valued.’ She released Jane’s hand and stood up. ‘I’m really grateful for all your help, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to chuck you out now. I’ve been putting off going through Dad’s things, but it needs to be done, and it’s something I have to do on me own.’
Draining the last of her brandy, Annie stood up, then staggered and giggled. Jane and Shaun looked at their mother and laughed.
‘Blooming ’ell, Mum. You’ve only ’ad the one drink, and yer look pi— I mean drunk,’ Shaun amended hastily. ‘We’d best get yer home ter bed, but try and keep on yer feet, will yer? We don’t want people thinking you make a regular ’abit of drinking in the middle of the day.’
His words hit Annie like a bucket of cold water. After that business with Ida Black, the last thing she wanted was to add any more fuel to that vicious woman’s tongue. Straightening up, she said firmly, ‘Drunk, ye say? I’ll give ye drunk, our Shaun. Out of the way with ye, I can walk without your help, so I can.’ Then her mind conjured up a picture of Ida Black’s skinny carcass sprawled on the pavement, and she started giggling again.
‘We’d better go, Josie.’ Shaun looked at her, his face and hands smeared with paint. ‘You know where to find me if yer need anything.’
‘Thanks, Shaun, but I warn you, I’ll probably take you up on that offer. Like I said, there’s still a lot to be done. And thank Pat for me, will you, for letting you have the time off to help me.’
Shaun lifted his shoulders.
‘Yeah, I will. We only work mornings on a Saturday anyway, and me dad stood in for me. So it worked out fine all round.’
* * *
When they had gone, Josie returned to the kitchen and sat down, the smile no longer on her face. She had thoroughly enjoyed the morning spent with Shaun and Jane; oh, and she mustn’t forget Annie. A wry smile touched her lips. Dear Annie. What would she have done without her and the Flynn family all these years? Even if Rory had never existed, she would still have blessed her good fortune at having such staunch friends. But Rory did exist, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
A frown creased her forehead as she recalled Ida Black’s spiteful words concerning Shaun. She was very fond of Shaun, always had been. It would be hard not to like the amiable young man. But she would never feel for him what she felt for Rory; even though, deep down, she knew Shaun was a far better man than Rory could ever be. Since the affair with Cathy Meadows, Josie had said nothing against Rory, and when Cathy had disappeared Josie had waited and prayed that he would come back to her. All that time there she had been, like the big fool she was, hoping against hope that one day Rory would knock at her front door. Every day she had prayed, mostly even without being aware of it, that he would seek her out and ask if they could take up where they had left off; but that day had never come, and now that Cathy had returned, she must try to accept that he was never coming back to her. Such was her love for him, it saddened her that almost everyone, including his own family, had offered no sympathy for him when Cathy had dropped him for someone with more money. Now that same woman was back, and although no one knew for sure if Rory was seeing her, their condemnation of his actions was well known.
Aware that she was in danger of slipping into a maudlin state, she rose from the table and, with a deep breath, ventured upstairs to go through her beloved father’s meagre possessions. Not for him the rag and bone man. Oh no! He deserved better than that. Her mother had given his cl
othes to the Salvation Army only two days after his death, before Josie could stop her. She would have sold his medals and gold hunter watch too if she’d been able to get her hands on them. But Josie had been one step ahead of her mother on that occasion. She had taken the old biscuit tin her father had kept his possessions in and hidden it at the top of her wardrobe. Her mother had been furious, but for once Josie had stood her ground. No matter how much Elsie had shouted and threatened, her normally pliable daughter had remained steadfastly silent. For two weeks Josie had to keep moving the box from one hiding place to another, for fear her mother would find it. Then, just as she was about to ask Annie if she would keep the box at her house, Elsie had fallen ill and taken to her bed. After that, Josie could have looked through her father’s tin at any time, but she hadn’t been able to face delving into the past, afraid that the distant memories would only serve to upset her fragile state.
Now, as she looked at the treasured possessions her father had left, Josie felt a sudden rush of emotion. There was the hunter watch and the three medals he had won during the Boer War, together with four faded photographs of him with his parents; the grandparents who had died shortly after her birth. There was also a framed photograph of herself taken the week before she had started school. She could still remember the row that had ensued, with her mother going on and on at her father for wasting money. Josie had been so proud of her dad that day, because instead of giving in like he normally did, he had gone straight back out and had it framed. Tears misted her eyes at the memory. He hadn’t dared leave it around the house, knowing that his wife, if she got her hands on it, would destroy it out of spite. So he had kept it in his tin box, and every now and then they would look at it together when they had the house to themselves. Hugging the frame to her chest she shed a few tears for her dead father.
There was one other thing her father had kept in his box that puzzled Josie: the wedding photograph of himself and her mother; this too was framed. Josie looked at it more closely, shaking her head in puzzlement. Taking it over to the window for a better look, she stared down at her parents. Even that far back Elsie looked as if she’d just trodden in something unpleasant. A small laugh escaped her lips as she recalled one of Rory’s numerous comments about her mother. Josie had just come down the stairs for the fourth time that particular evening, and Rory had said sarcastically, ‘That bleeding woman’s the type whose nose would be put out at a funeral, just ’cos she’s not the centre of attention.’
She was about to put the photo back in the box but paused. For whatever reason, her father had held on to it. Maybe it had reminded him of happier times. He must have loved her mother once. Who was she to question his motives in keeping his wedding photograph?
At the bottom of the well-worn tin were some loose documents pertaining to the Boer War; a bank book, which, judging by its condition, had been in the tin for a good many years; and a small bundle of old letters, written by friends who had fought alongside her dad. Josie could vaguely remember several men dressed in khaki uniforms visiting the house, but her mum had soon put a stop to that. Instead of greeting them as war heroes, like a normal person would, Elsie Guntrip had deliberately made them feel uncomfortable, just because she couldn’t bear to see her husband happy. She would stay in the room, knitting or reading, her hostile manner making it quite clear that the men weren’t welcome in her house. After a while her dad’s friends had started to drift away, until finally they had stopped coming. That was probably why her dad had kept the letters, few as they were. She knew they had given him comfort, and reminded him that he had once had such good friends. Josie put them to one side. She would find a safe place for them later.
For now she had something more important to do.
Holding both frames to her chest, she went back downstairs and placed them on the mantelpiece in the parlour, then stepped back to see the effect.
‘There you are, Dad,’ she said, smiling. ‘Your favourite photographs are on show at last.’
* * *
‘Please, Mum, let me go on my own. I’m not a child any more. I’m perfectly capable of running a simple errand.’
Jane was sitting by Annie’s bedside, holding a cold flannel to her mother’s head.
‘Go on, Mum. Mrs Collins will be waiting for the dress. You promised you’d bring it around today. She was expecting you over an hour ago.’
Annie groaned. That blasted brandy. She never had been able to hold her drink. The annoying thing was that she had only stopped by Josie’s on the way to deliver a dress to one of her customers; and to see if Jane fancied going for a walk with her. But after that altercation with Ida Black she’d felt in need of the inviting brandy. Perhaps if she’d sipped at it slowly, instead of gulping it down like it was water, she wouldn’t be paying the price now, but that was beside the point. She had been making clothes from home for years now. It wasn’t what anyone could call a business, far from it. She could go months at a time between orders, so she couldn’t afford to lose custom, as small as it was.
Gingerly opening her eyes, she winced and nodded carefully.
‘All right, all right, child, don’t be going on at me. Take the dress, just take it and leave me to die in peace.’
Before she could finish speaking, Jane was off the bed and out of the door in case her mother suddenly changed her mind, or her dad and older brothers arrived home from work. Shaun was in the scullery scrubbing the paint off his face and hands, so the coast was clear.
Apart from meeting her brothers on Sunday, Jane was never allowed out on her own. And although she knew that her almost captive existence was due solely to her family’s love for her, nevertheless she had begun to resent their smothering attention. With the wrapped parcel under her arm, she slipped out of the back door and headed towards her destination.
Fifteen minutes later, Jane was walking happily across Victoria Park. It was a lovely warm summer day, and if it hadn’t been for the birthmark she would have taken off the wide-brimmed straw hat tied with equally wide ribbons that formed a bow under her chin, and lifted her face to the sun. Normally this notion would have depressed her, but not today. For today she was on her own, with no mother or watchful brother by her side, and it was giving her the same feeling of euphoria the brandy had given her mother, though without the painful hangover. Almost skipping now, she hummed cheerfully on her way across the park.
Mrs Collins, one of her mother’s regular customers, showed her surprise at seeing Jane standing on her doorstep unaccompanied. She tried to engage the girl in conversation, hoping there might be a bit of gossip as to why she had been allowed out on her own, but Jane, smiling sweetly, expertly avoided the obvious curiosity.
With the dress delivered and the five shillings owed to her mother tucked safely in her purse, Jane strolled aimlessly back across the park, enjoying her freedom and making it last as long as possible. She was walking past the duck pond when, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Rory, and for once she wasn’t pleased to see him. She had been enjoying her walk so much; now Rory would probably drag her home. Her step slowed, then she stopped completely. Her eyes wide with shock, she watched in disbelief as her adored brother walked quickly towards the pagoda, where Cathy Meadows was sitting elegantly on a green wrought-iron chair, obviously waiting for someone.
Jane stepped behind a tree, hardly daring to breathe, her mind begging over and over, ‘Oh, please, Rory, don’t… Please, don’t.’ But she knew her silent appeal was useless. All she wanted to do now was to slip quietly away, but first she had to make sure; she owed Rory that much. Peeping around the huge trunk, she watched in despair as Rory pulled Cathy into his arms. She heard the woman’s deep, throaty laugh, then they were walking away, further into the park, heading for the spot that was known to be frequented by courting couples.
Tears stung at Jane’s eyes. The day had started out so well. First those few hours at Josie’s house, and then the unexpected pleasure of being out on her own. Now her day was ruined
. She walked slowly on, all the joy in her wiped away. All she could say on the way home was, ‘Oh, Rory, how could you?’ These words were soon followed by ‘Poor Josie, poor, poor Josie.’
Chapter Six
‘Am I gonna see you tonight, Barney? ’Cos to be honest, I’m getting a bit fed up with being mucked about. One minute you’re all over me, and the next you act as if I don’t exist… Are you listening to me, Barney?’
‘What?’ Barney remarked absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.
This fact wasn’t lost on the girl holding his arm. Pulling away from him, she said petulantly, ‘You ain’t ’eard a word I’ve said, ’ave yer? Well, that does it, Barney Hobbs, we’re finished. So don’t bother trying ter see me again… D’yer ’ear me? Oh, sod you, I’m going. But don’t think I don’t know what’s going on. It’s that Meadows bitch, ain’t it? Ever since she came back you’ve been walking about like you’ve swallowed a bleeding wasp. Ain’t yer got any pride? If she wanted to see yer, she’d ’ave got in touch with you, wouldn’t she, instead of running back to Rory Flynn. So, why don’t yer take the ’int? She don’t want yer.’
Her words finally penetrated Barney’s distracted mind. With lightning speed he grabbed the girl’s throat, cutting off the flow of spiteful words.
‘You shut yer gob before I shut it for you.’ His face, livid with anger, hovered over the now thoroughly frightened girl. Then, with a gesture of contempt, he released his hold and threw her from him, snarling, ‘Now piss off, you slag. Go on, get going.’
Clutching her throat, the girl staggered back, her eyes fastened on the enraged man until she felt safe enough to turn her back on him and run away.
Barney watched her go, his eyes blazing with fury. Yet he was honest enough to admit that the powerful emotion he was experiencing was directed at himself. It was just unfortunate that… His forehead screwed in puzzlement as he tried to recall the girl’s name, but the memory eluded him. Oh, what the hell. She was only another little tart in a line of dozens just like her. But she had spoken the truth, thrown it in his face, and knowing she was right had only fuelled his anger. No man worth his salt liked being made a fool of, especially a man like him – a man who was used to getting his own way.