More Than Riches

by More Than Riches (retail) (epub)

  ‘You little bitch!’ he chuckled, quickly stripping off and lying over her. He had brought the cold in with him and it made her shiver. ‘I’ll soon warm you up,’ he promised. ‘You want it as much as me, and you never said.’ He would have taken her then, but she wriggled away, confusing him.

  ‘Don’t be in a such a hurry,’ she chided. ‘Play with me… like you used to.’ Easing him on to his back, she wrapped her small hands round his huge member, gently stroking it and whispering in his ear, ‘You don’t want it to be over too quickly, do you?’

  ‘Are you after driving me mad!’ he gasped. He was deeply flustered, unable to believe his luck. ‘You’re a wonder and no mistake,’ he said, roving his hands over her nakedness. ‘I really thought I’d have to fight you for what’s mine tonight.’

  Gently biting his lip with her teeth, she laughed softly. ‘Whatever made you think that?’ she asked innocently, stroking her thumb over the tip of his bursting penis.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman!’ he cried, arching his back and pulling away. ‘You’ll have me finished before I’m even started.’ She laughed out loud then, and he, anticipating the joys ahead, laughed too.

  Next door, Martha lay stiff in her bed, trying not to listen, but whatever the weather, she liked to feel the breeze coming into the bedroom, and just as Rosie had intended every lewd sound carried through the open window. Slithering out of bed so as not to waken her husband, she tiptoed to the window and closed it. But still the wanton sounds filtered through the paper-thin walls. She tried putting her hands over her ears, and buried herself under the clothes, almost suffocating. And still she could hear every groan, every moan and cry. And while she detested every sound, her husband revelled in them; lying beside her and pretending to be asleep, but all the while regretting the loss of his youth, and wishing he had chosen a more warm-blooded woman.

  She tossed and turned and tried to block out the sounds by pressing her hands to her ears. It was no use. Martha could hear every movement, the rusty bed springs creating telltale images and causing chaos in her mind; the ecstatic cries and frantic moans suggested they were now in the deeper throes of love-making. She felt her blood rising and her face growing redder and redder.

  In spite of it all, Martha might have remained in control until it was all over. But when the by now highly aroused Mr Selby rolled over and touched her beneath her nightgown, she screamed aloud and leapt out of bed.

  Too far gone to hear anything else but his own beating heart, Doug didn’t hear his mother’s scream. Rosie heard though, and deliberately drew Doug deeper into her, arching her back, widening her legs and moaning so loud that he was driven to greater heights.

  When she flung the door open to peer in, the sight of Doug’s bare rear thrashing in and out between those slim white thighs was more than Martha could stand. ‘I WANT YOU OUT OF MY HOUSE!’ she yelled from the doorway. Her round eyes were bulbous and she jabbed frantically at the air, as though fending off something awful.

  The intrusion triggered Doug’s orgasm, and he collapsed on to Rosie with a great sigh. It was all too much for Martha who fled downstairs and into the scullery where she twice dropped the tea-caddy in her haste to make herself a hot drink to soothe her frayed nerves, after which she sat hunched beside the fire-range until dawn came. When Doug came sheepishly into the parlour, she rounded on him. ‘Get shut of her! I don’t want her under my roof another night!’

  Fulfilled and immensely satisfied, Doug called her bluff. ‘Rosie is my wife. If she goes, I go.’ At the top of the stairs, Rosie kept her fingers crossed.

  ‘Then you can both bugger off.’ The idea of enduring another night like that was unthinkable. ‘I want the pair of you out today.’ Later, she would deal with her husband, and make him sorry he’d thought to have his wicked way with her!

  Rosie took the child out of its cot. ‘We’ve done it,’ she whispered, brushing her hand against his little pink face. ‘It cost more than I wanted, sweetheart, but I reckon it’s not too big a sacrifice if it means we’ll have a home of our own.’

  * * *

  The winter sun was unusually warm, and the work was laborious. Doug tipped the coal through the cellar chute, then, wiping the sweat from his face, he returned to the wagon. Throwing the empty sack over the others, he turned to the big man waiting there. ‘What do you think, Dad?’ he asked. It wasn’t often he asked his dad’s advice because it was usually his mam who had the most to say. This time, though, he felt the need to consult another man, and his dad was nearest.

  Mr Selby hitched the full sack on to his broad shoulders. He seemed astonished that anybody should ask him anything. ‘Do you really want to know what I think?’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you.’ He leaned his considerable weight against the side of the wagon, arms bent up above his head and the corner of the coal sack securely caught between thick strong fingers. ‘I’ve never said this afore but I’ll say it now… I made the worst mistake of my life when I wed your mam. It’s too late for me. But you’ve got a good lass in that wife o’ yourn, and if you let her go, then you’re a bigger bloody fool than I took you for!’

  Doug had never heard his father talk in such a forthright way. In fact, he couldn’t recall him ever stringing that many words together. Anger and astonishment welled up in him. ‘If your marriage ain’t as it should be, happen you should look at yourself for the reason,’ he snapped. ‘It can’t all be our mam’s fault.’

  ‘I thought it were you asking me for advice?’

  Frustrated that his comments had fallen on deaf ears, Doug stared his father out. ‘And I’ll thank you not to call me a fool,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘Then don’t act like one.’

  ‘If that’s all you’ve got to say, I wish I’d never asked you.’

  The big man shrugged his shoulders, hitched up the sack of coal, and turned away. He’d said his piece. Now Doug could either listen to him or be ruled by his mam.

  * * *

  All day Martha marched about the house doing her chores, and never a word to say to anyone. In the evening Doug came home with two pieces of news. The first was cause for celebration. The second a bitter blow to Rosie, and cruelly curtailed any joy she might have felt. ‘I’ve got us a house,’ he told her. ‘It’s the one you wanted, on Castle Street.’

  ‘Oh, Doug, that’s wonderful!’ she cried jubilantly. ‘When can we move in?’

  Swinging the key before her, he said, ‘I persuaded Dad to let me take the rest of the afternoon off. Get yourself ready, woman. We’re off to old Tom’s on Ainsworth Street.’

  Rosie couldn’t disguise her disappointment. Old Tom kept a second hand shop, selling all manner of paraphernalia. ‘Oh, can’t we afford new furniture?’

  ‘No, we can’t. Old Tom’ll have some good strong pieces there. That’ll do us. Now, are you coming or not?’

  Rosie didn’t need asking twice. In no time at all, she’d brushed her rich brown hair until it shone, changed into a clean jumper and skirt, put her tweed overcoat on, and got the child tucked up in its pram. ‘Ready,’ she said, all smiles and lighter of heart. Perhaps life wouldn’t be so bad with Doug after all, she thought hopefully.

  His next words not only wiped the smile from her face, but made her realise how wrong she was to assume he might be a better man. ‘By the way, I’ve been in to register the lad,’ he casually told her as they went down the street. Martha watched from the window, cursing Rosie and wondering how she could split the two of them up.

  ‘So you’ve been to the registrar? That’s good,’ Rosie acknowledged with a bright smile. ‘I was going to suggest that we do it on the way to old Tom’s.’ Recalling how Peggy was certain that Doug would choose ‘a manly name’, she asked eagerly, ‘What name have you given him?’

  He gazed down on her upturned face, and for one brief moment she saw the spite in his odd-coloured eyes. ‘Oh, you’ll like it… I’ve called him Adam,’ he said with a gri
n. ‘After your old lover… my best mate. What’s more, I reckon I’ll invite him to be godfather. What do you think of that?’

  Rosie was shocked. ‘I think you’re a bastard!’

  He feigned astonishment at her reaction. ‘My, my! And I thought you’d be pleased. After all, you did love the fella once, didn’t you, eh? In fact, if I hadn’t come along, you might even have wed him.’ He knew Adam Roach was a better man than he could ever be. He suspected also that Rosie still hankered after him. Naming their son Adam was a way of reminding them both that he hadn’t forgotten. And he wouldn’t forgive. ‘We don’t want you to forget a fine man like that, do we, eh?’ he sniped.

  Rosie continued walking in silence, keeping her distance and despairing of her life with him. Until now she hadn’t realised how insanely jealous he was. To name his son after Adam was a malicious act. It told her two things; firstly, that Doug wanted to hurt her for having been Adam’s love, constantly to remind her that Adam had no claim on her now, and that she and the child belonged to him. Furthermore, it revealed how afraid and insecure he was; although she had been careful never to mention Adam in Doug’s presence, he had somehow guessed that she was still in love with his best friend.

  What Doug hadn’t realised in his fever to hurt her, was that he himself would be hurt. Every time he spoke his son’s name, it would be like a knife through his heart.

  Anger seeped through her. If he’d intended breaking her spirit, he would be very disappointed. ‘On second thoughts, I think that was a lovely idea, Doug,’ she lied with the sweetest smile, gazing at the child and wishing it could have been Adam’s. ‘Yes, Adam. I think it suits him.’

  It was hard to pretend delight when her heart was heavy. But she must never let him know how vulnerable she was. Tomorrow, when he was out of the way, she would go to the registrar. There was time enough and hopefully there would be no problem in rectifying the mistake. For now, though, she would keep up the pretence and show her hand later, when the smile would be wiped off Doug’s face.

  Rosie kept her secret well. All the way to old Tom’s and right up to the day of the christening.

  Chapter Four

  Rosie had lived on Castle Street for three months now. The little two-bedroom back to back was her pride and joy. In a row of other like dwellings, it was conspicuous by its whiter stoned front step and new brass door-knocker. Though the window frames were rotten, and there were gaps in the roof where the tiles had fallen away, and though it was cold even in summer and bone-damp in winter, it was her beloved sanctuary, her consolation for having to suffer a man she could never love.

  Complaining the whole time, Doug had been persuaded to paint all the walls; cream in the front parlour, blue in the back parlour, and pale green in the scullery. Rosie had lovingly scrubbed the floorboards and helped to lay the pretty floral-patterned lino. The windows were polished until they shone, and at last the green tapestry curtains were hung.

  Two days before Christmas, old Tom had delivered the furniture on his wagon: a sturdy iron-framed double bed; a walnut wardrobe and matching set of drawers for the main bedroom; an oak sideboard; a square table and four ladder-back chairs for the back parlour; and a gas cooker that furiously spat out every time it was lit. Rosie went down Blackburn market and bought a number of scatter rugs for ten shillings, and a big flowered pot on a stand with a wilting aspidistra which revived only after a great deal of tender loving care. The furniture, curtains and bric-a-brac cost a grand total of four pounds eight shillings, and though Rosie considered that to be reasonable, Doug complained it was: ‘Bloody daylight robbery!’

  Rosie had risen early on this Saturday morning. Last night Doug had made love to her, and as always she had pretended to enjoy it. Afterwards she couldn’t sleep. She lay in her bed, listening to the rhythm of his snores and staring out of the window at the sky beyond. As the hours ticked away, the need for sleep fell from her. In the half-light of that room, alone with her most secret thoughts, she felt strangely at peace, yet somehow unfulfilled and empty inside.

  After a while she gave herself up to the beauty of a new day being born. There was something especially wonderful about watching the dawn break over the land; something so immense and miraculous it made everything else insignificant in comparison.

  Doug was away to his work early. ‘Jack Farnham’s retiring and Dad’s bought the best part of his round. Canny bugger never said a word to me neither,’ he said, winking at her with the air of a man who was pleased with himself. ‘There still ain’t enough work to take on another man, so it means we’ll have to work twice as hard ourselves. I’m not complaining though because Dad reckon’s it’ll put a few bob extra in my wage-packet.’

  ‘A few bob?’ Rosie had been feeding little Adam, but looked up at Doug’s words. ‘That’s not much for twice the work.’

  The smile slid from his face. ‘Whatever I get, you needn’t worry your head about it, my sweet, because I’ll be giving you a small increase as well… happen enough to put a decent breakfast in front of a working man, eh?’ he complained. ‘I’ve said nothing until now because I know money’s been tight, but you don’t come up to Mam’s standards. I’ll be expecting an improvement. So, think on.’

  Rosie met his sly gaze with accusing brown eyes. ‘That depends on how much extra I get in my wage packet,’ she said boldly.

  ‘Watch your tongue,’ he warned. ‘Don’t get clever with me.’ When she merely smiled and turned her attention to the infant, he slung his work-bag over his shoulder and stormed out.

  ‘And good shuts to you!’ Rosie whispered, smiling at the child and hugging him close when he touched his tiny finger against her lips. ‘I would have said he was very well looked after, wouldn’t you?’ she asked. ‘He’s never sent off to work without a full belly, and when he comes home of a night there’s always a hot meal waiting for him.’ Nuzzling her face against the child’s pink cheek, she grumbled, ‘But I can’t be expected to lay a king’s table with a peasant’s purse.’

  In no time at all, the table was cleared and the clean crockery put away; the housework was finished, and little Adam was sound asleep in his pram. The washing was done and blowing on the line outside in the yard, and Rosie was ready for her trip into Blackburn town centre. All that remained was for Peggy to show herself, and the two of them would be off.

  Studying herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece, Rosie stroked at the dark shadows beneath her eyes. ‘A good night’s sleep wouldn’t do you no harm!’ she chided. ‘And your hair wants cutting.’ Her brown tresses were shoulder-length, falling into deep shining waves and giving her the appearance of a little girl. But she looked tired. Excitement at having her very own home wouldn’t let her sleep, and lack of spare cash wouldn’t allow her a visit to the hairdresser. ‘Still, you don’t look too bad,’ she said, winking at her own image and thinking how vain she was. Suddenly she realised she had no real reason to look nice. ‘What does it matter?’ she asked herself. ‘Who’s to care what I look like?’ The thought of Adam flickered through her mind, but she immediately shut it out.

  ‘Where is she?’ Glancing at the clock, Rosie realised that Peggy was already overdue. She promised to be here at nine-thirty, and already it was a quarter to ten. ‘Don’t let me down, Peggy gal,’ Rosie muttered as she went along the passage to the front door. ‘I’ll go stark staring mad if I have to keep my own company for another minute!’

  It seemed a lifetime since she and Peggy had enjoyed any real time together. When they first came to live in Castle Street, Peggy came round almost every day. But Doug appeared to resent her intrusion and went out of his way to make her feel uncomfortable. Now the two friends got together only when he was out of the house.

  Out on the step, Rosie shivered in the keen March wind. Hopefully, she cast her gaze up the street towards Peggy’s house, but there was still no sign of her.

  ‘Morning, luv.’ Mrs Best from next-door was off to the shops. A big woman with a man-size face, she kept in touch wit
h everything that happened on Castle Street. If you wanted to know anything, you only had to ask Mrs Best. ‘Settling in all right, are you?’ she enquired as she went by.

  ‘Yes thank you.’ Rosie hoped she wouldn’t stop to chat, because once Mrs Best launched into conversation, there was no stopping her. Today, though, she appeared to be in a hurry.

  ‘That’s good,’ she called. ‘If you need anything, you’ve only to ask.’ Hitching her basket further up her arm, and bestowing a huge smile on her new neighbour, she quickened her step and was soon gone.

  Rosie smiled, her brown eyes growing wistful as she gazed after the woman. At the top of the street a group of children sat on a wall, swinging their legs and laughing aloud as the joker in the pack began doing something to entertain them. Rosie had only lived here for a very short time, but it felt so right. Castle Street was a place where good simple folk lived out their lives in full view of their neighbours. Ragged-arsed children played on the cobbles, and mangy dogs roamed the gutters in search of any tit-bit that might have been dropped. Old women sat on their rickety chairs outside the front door, watching life unfurl around them and dreaming of their own long lost youth. Old men leaned on the walls and sucked their pipes, chatting earnestly to a beloved neighbour and fervently putting the world to rights. Many households relied on wages earned at the mills, quarries and factories. Folks wandered in and out of other homes as though they were one big happy family, and there was a grand sense of belonging. A sense of comradeship. And now, Rosie felt part of it too.

  Fifteen more minutes and still there was no sign of Peggy. ‘That’s it!’ Returning indoors, Rosie tucked her brown jumper into the top of her long straight skirt, then put on her smart black coat and matching beret. ‘If she isn’t coming to us, then we must have arranged to go to her!’ she told the sleeping child. Softly singing, she pushed the pram up the passage and down the front steps where, locking the pram-brakes, she returned to close the front door. The sound of running feet made her turn round. It was Peggy.