by Kitty Neale
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he said. ‘How about I pick you up at around the same time.’
‘Yes, that would be fine.’
‘Right then, that’s sorted so I’ll be off,’ Albie said, and knowing he had to make the effort he walked up to Constance, pulled her towards him and kissed her. She felt stiff in his arms and the kiss was unreturned but that didn’t worry him. If she was a cold fish that suited him just fine. The less affection he had to show her, the better.
Constance barely looked at him as she led him to the door, her voice little more than a whisper as she said, ‘Goodbye, Albie. I–I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you,’ he called, smiling as he climbed onto his scooter but inwardly thinking she was a mug, taken in by his act. He hadn’t thought she looked nice at all – she was plain, her dress drab and her face devoid of make-up. Not that make-up would make any difference; he doubted anything could improve her looks, and for a moment he felt a twinge of doubt about marrying her. But then he looked at the house again, coveting it and the money that could come his way when Constance inherited her father’s estate.
Yeah, he’d have to put up with her plain face, but being married wouldn’t stop him from seeing others – ones who aroused him in ways that Constance never could.
Constance watched Albie drive off, giving her a jaunty wave. She hadn’t expected to see him and felt bewildered, her emotions all over the place. As she’d pointed out to him, the last time he’d spoken to her he’d made it clear that they wouldn’t meet again until the wedding day, and his manner had been contemptuous. Today, though, he’d been different. She’d found him kind, he’d complimented her and even kissed her, though the shock of that had caused her to go rigid in his arms.
She closed the door and twirling her hair round her finger she wandered back into the drawing room, picturing Albie in her mind’s eye. She liked his face, his smile, but something didn’t feel right. His manner had seemed false, and though his smile was charming, it hadn’t reached his eyes – in fact it was almost as if he’d been acting. Yet why?
With no answers, Constance shook her head and went to get ready to see Ethel and Mary in their new home. She hadn’t told Albie where she was going, and wondered how he’d have reacted if she had. Would he have tried to stop her? Would he try to stop her when they married? Constance hoped not, because no matter what they said about Ethel, nothing would keep her away from the woman who had been so caring and comforting to her since she’d been a child. Ethel had been her refuge, and had held her when she cried over her mother’s coldness and distant manner.
Her mother might be coming home on Wednesday. Constance anxiously wrapped her arms around herself. She had always coveted her mother’s love, but now that she had let her down so badly she feared only continued rejection.
Sad, but ready to go out now, Constance picked up her bag and opened the front door to the waiting taxi driver who helped her down the steps with Ethel’s case. At least she’d get a warm welcome from Ethel, and that was something to look forward to.
Chapter 17
On Tuesday, Charles was trying to get the last of everything in place for Hettie to come home. He’d spoken to an agency who, as well as recommending a daily carer, also suggested getting some equipment that would be of help. Amongst other things he’d ordered a commode, which alerted him to the fact that with only a daily carer, there would be nobody to help Hettie if she needed to use the thing during the night. Charles didn’t like the thought of that distasteful task falling on him, so decided to change his mind and employ a night carer too.
It would mean added expense, but without a mistress with expensive tastes he could now afford it. He was still angry with Jessica, fuming that she had made a fool of him, and had decided not to replace her. He’d sell the flat, and with the property market doing well, he expected to make a considerable profit.
When the telephone rang at eleven-thirty he answered it, frowning as he listened, and then went to get his coat. ‘Constance,’ he called.
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said, appearing in the hall.
‘I have to go the hospital. Your mother has developed a chest infection’
‘Oh, no, does that mean she won’t be home tomorrow?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘Her consultant has asked to see me.’
‘Please, can I come with you?’
‘No. If your mother has taken a turn for the worse I don’t want her upset.’
Constance looked desolated, but Charles didn’t soften, only saying, ‘Tell Cook not to prepare lunch for me,’ and with that he hurried out.
Constance was distracted as she finished getting ready to see Albie. She was worried about her mother and wished she could put him off, but maybe going out for a while would give her something else to think about until her father returned.
She was aware of the changes to her body and all her clothes were tight now. She had to leave the button undone on the waist of her grey skirt and to hide this she wore a navy-blue jumper, though it too was a bit tight. She brushed her hair, wishing it was a prettier colour, and applied some pink lipstick.
She wondered what sort of welcome she’d get from Albie’s mother, and doubted it would be as nice as the one she’d received from Ethel and Mary yesterday. They had been pleased to see her, ushering her in and proudly showing her their flat. It had seemed small to her, but it was lovely to see them so happy. She’d cut her visit short, though she would have liked to stay longer, but she needed to go to the loo, and the thought of using the dreadful outside lavatory had filled her with dismay. Instead, to spare their feelings, Constance had held on and had left rather hastily. They’d told her to call in at any time and Constance knew that it was an invitation she would often take up, though she’d make sure she used the toilet before visiting next time.
At noon the doorbell rang and she ran downstairs, saying as she opened it, ‘Hello, Albie. Do come in.’
‘Hello. You look nice, but as you’ll be riding on the back of my scooter you’ll need a warm coat and a scarf or something to tie around your hair.’
‘All right, I’ll find one,’ she said, and as she had never been on a scooter before she wondered what it would be like. ‘I can only stay out for a couple of hours. My mother is unwell and I want be here when my father comes home from the hospital, to find out how she is.’
‘Yeah, fine,’ he readily agreed.
When they left, Constance climbed onto the back of the scooter and when Albie sped off, she wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging on as if her life depended on it. Though frightened at first, she then found the ride exhilarating, the cold wind stinging her cheeks and making her eyes water. When they at last arrived outside his house she climbed off, smiling widely. ‘That was wonderful,’ she exclaimed.
‘Blimey, it doesn’t take much to please you, but you look frozen. Come on, let’s get inside.’
‘Hello,’ Constance said shyly to the woman who stood up to greet them.
‘Hello, love. I’m Dora and it’s nice to meet you. You look cold, so come and sit by the fire.’
Constance relaxed a little. Dora seemed nice. What surprised her though was the size of the room. It seemed tiny, and apart from a small Christmas tree and some paper garlands, drab, with old, worn furniture, the chair she’d been offered threadbare. ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the seat.
‘Chuck your coat on the back of that chair, and can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’ Dora asked.
‘Tea would be lovely. Thank you.’
‘Blimey, you don’t ’arf sound posh,’ Dora said. ‘I can’t see you fitting in around here.’
‘She’ll have to, Mum.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Dora replied, then left the room to return shortly after, carrying two cups of tea. She handed one to Constance. ‘Here you are. I had a pot ready made for when you arrived.’
‘Thank you,’ Constance said.
Albie laughed. ‘All you’ve said since you got he
re is mostly “Thank you.”’
‘Give the girl a chance,’ Dora admonished. ‘Get that tea down you, Constance, and I’ll show you around. Not that there’s much to see.’
Constance managed to swallow the strong, sugarless brew and then rose to her feet to follow Dora into a tiny kitchen. There was just a cooker, sink and a couple of cupboards, the window looking out onto a small back yard. ‘It … it’s very nice,’ she said politely.
‘We’re lucky,’ Dora said as she led her upstairs. ‘We’ve got an indoor bathroom and toilet. It’s between the bedrooms. That’s my room there, and you’ll be sharing this one with Albie.’
Constance tried not to look appalled. Everything she had seen was spotlessly clean, but so small. She noted the two single beds in Albie’s room, and at least felt some relief. It meant they wouldn’t be sharing a bed and for that she was grateful.
‘How have you been carrying the baby?’ Dora asked when they went back downstairs. ‘Have you had any morning sickness?’
‘No, none.’
‘You’re lucky. I was vomiting every morning with Albie.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds awful,’ Constance said.
‘Blimey, Mum, can you talk about something else,’ Albie urged. ‘It’s enough to put me off me dinner.’
‘Yeah, sorry, son,’ Dora said and then looked at Constance. ‘Him and his weak stomach.’
Constance was surprised, but then there was so much she didn’t know about Albie. She wondered what his taste was in music, and doubted it was the same as hers. She loved the classics, Debussy, Beethoven, Chopin and many others. Somehow she felt that Albie would be more into pop or jazz, but didn’t ask him. It was something she’d find out as time went by.
‘Have you two given any thought to what the baby will need?’ Dora asked.
‘Leave it out, Mum. There’s plenty of time for that.’
‘You’ll be surprised at how quickly the months pass, and you should start stocking up. You’ll need terry nappies, vests, nighties, cardigans and pram sets to name a few things, let alone the bigger stuff like a pram and a cot. Can you knit, Constance?’
‘No, I’m afraid not, Mrs Jones.’
‘Less of the Mrs Jones. Dora is fine. I suppose I’d better get my knitting needles out and make a start on some bits and bobs.’
‘Thank you. That is so kind.’
‘Bloomin’ ’eck, I still can’t get over how polite you are. Still, no doubt as we’ll be living together I’ll get used to it.’
‘It’s lovely of you to offer us a home.’
‘Yeah, well, Albie said you don’t know how to cook and clean, let alone tackle the washing and ironing. I’ll do my best to show you how, and as long as you pull your weight, I’ll be happy.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘That’s good enough for me. Now then, do you want another cuppa?’
‘No, thank you,’ Constance said and as they went on to talk about other things, the neighbourhood, the shops, the park, she tried to show an interest but in reality she just wanted to find out how her mother was. Eventually she said, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m worried about my mother and really need to go home now.’
‘Albie said something about her having a stroke and I was sorry to hear that.’
‘My father was called to the hospital this morning as she has a chest infection.’
‘Blimey, poor cow. Well, love, I hope she soon gets over it.’
‘Thank you,’ Constance said as she put on her coat and scarf.
‘Come on then,’ Albie said, hovering by the street door.
‘Goodbye, Dora, and it was lovely to meet you.’
‘It was nice to meet you too. Come again to see me. Maybe next week?’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Constance said, and then gave a small wave as she followed Albie outside. Her eyes briefly roamed the street, and then over Albie’s terraced house, wondering what it would be like living there. She saw a curtain twitch in next door’s window and remembered the same thing happening the last time she was here. People seemed to be nosy, watching everything that went on in the street, and no doubt she and Albie would be a source of gossip.
‘Come on, girl, get a move on,’ Albie urged.
Constance climbed on behind him, putting thoughts of living in Kibble Street from her mind, and focused on news of her mother.
Charles was worried and in a low mood when he returned home. After all the years they’d been married, and watching his cold wife turn to alcohol, he hadn’t thought he still harboured any feeling for Hettie. However, after speaking to the consultant, he feared the worst and found himself greatly upset.
When he pulled up outside his house, he saw Constance getting off a motor scooter, her wave jaunty as Albert Jones drove off. His mood, already low, turned to anger and no sooner had they both gone inside than he turned on his daughter when she asked, ‘How’s Mummy?’
‘Don’t pretend you care,’ he thundered. ‘You were out, obviously enjoying yourself without a thought for your mother.’
‘That isn’t true. Albie took me to meet his mother, that’s all.’
‘That could have waited.’
‘I needed something to fill my mind, Daddy. Something to stop me constantly fretting until you came home. Please, tell me how Mummy is.’
Charles could see the tears close to the surface in his daughter’s eyes and slumped. He knew he was taking his fears and angst out on her – knew that deep down a part of him blamed Constance for Hettie’s stroke. ‘I spoke to your mother’s consultant and there are concerns that in her weakened condition the chest infection might turn to pneumonia.’
‘Oh no … no … Granddad died of pneumo—’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Charles cut in. ‘However, your mother is in the best place, and is being treated with antibiotics. She is also dehydrated so is on a fluid drip.’
‘Why is she dehydrated?’
‘Because she’s been refusing to drink.’
‘But why?’
‘I have no idea, perhaps because it isn’t gin,’ he said, then immediately regretted it. He was distraught, and though worried sick about Hettie, he was angry that she wasn’t fighting to survive. ‘I’m going to my study now, and I don’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Can I get you anything, tea, coffee?’
‘No, I just want to be left in peace,’ Charles said, knowing that he was close to breaking down and that was something he would never do in front of his daughter, or anyone else. He’d been raised to keep a stiff upper lip in all circumstances, and he fought to do just that.
Chapter 18
The following week was a fraught one, in which her father spent many hours at the hospital. Constance felt so alone, so isolated, and longed for someone to talk to. She missed Ethel and Mary so much and today had cycled to see them.
‘How’s your mum, love?’ Ethel asked as always.
‘I think I told you that the chest infection has developed into pneumonia, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, pet.’
‘Last night, when he came home from the hospital, my father said she’s hanging on, but I fear the worst, Ethel.’
‘Try not to worry. You said she’s on antibiotics so let’s hope they do the trick.’
‘Where’s Mary?’ Constance asked, suddenly realising that she wasn’t there.
‘She’s gone to the market to buy some vegetables, but I don’t expect her back any time soon. She loves talking to the costermongers and I think she walks the whole market chatting to most of them before she comes home.’
‘You both seem to have settled in well.’
‘Yes, we have. We’ve already made friends with our neighbours, and they’re a nice lot. How are you getting on with the new cook and cleaner?’
‘I only talk to Cook about menus, but with just my father and myself, they are hardly taxing. Cook is a cold fish, but the cleaner is friendlier. Not that I talk to her much either. My father doesn’t approve of being
friendly with the servants, as he calls them, and has told me to keep my distance.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s a cut above the rest of us and lets us know it,’ Ethel said, her hand then flying to her mouth and her eyes widening. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Please stop calling me Miss, and you are entitled to say what you like. After all, you no longer work for my father and are free to speak as you please.’
‘In the old days there was a sharp divide between employer and staff. When I went to work for your parents it’s what I expected so it didn’t bother me. Nowadays, though, I think youngsters are kicking against those attitudes.’
‘I used to think that my father was forward-thinking, especially when he encouraged me to go to university. I was wrong, though, his attitude was just a façade.’
Ethel nodded sagely and they continued to chat until Mary came home half an hour later, grinning widely when she saw Constance. ‘Wotcher. It’s a shame you weren’t here earlier. You could have come to the market with me. Them costers are a right laugh.’
‘Those costermongers,’ Constance corrected, then held a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mary, I had no right to correct your diction.’
‘That’s all right. I wish I sounded a bit more like you.’
‘You are fine as you are and a visit to the market sounds like fun. Maybe next time I’m here.’
‘Talking about diction,’ Ethel observed, ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when the market lot hear your voice. You’ll probably get called all sorts of things, like the Duchess, or Lady someone or other. They’re a lovely bunch so they won’t mean it maliciously, but be prepared.’
‘Thanks, I will, but I’d best be off now. I’ll call in again soon.’
‘Yeah, do that,’ Ethel encouraged.
Constance saw herself out, but as she cycled home there was only one thing on her mind again. Her mother.
The call came at one-fifteen in the morning. Charles was groggy with sleep as he put the receiver to his ear, but then he was instantly alert. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’