by Kitty Neale
‘That’ll be my sister.’
‘Very well, she can come in,’ he said, ‘but only for a few minutes. Your mother needs rest and she will shortly be moved to a ward.’
Mary was ushered in, and though she must have dressed in haste, she looked immaculate, as always. However, seeing Sadie, her usual formal manner collapsed. ‘Oh, Mother . . .’
‘Wha, whass . . .’
‘She’s trying to say something but I can’t understand her. Can you?’ Ruth asked her sister.
Mary shook her head, then raised her voice. ‘Mother, what do you want? Is there something I can get you?’
‘There’s no need to shout,’ Ruth admonished. ‘The doctor didn’t say that Mum’s lost her hearing.’
Sally could see the distress in her grandmother’s eyes and could sense her frustration. Though short and tubby, her gran was usually strong and wise, a tower of strength, but now, lying against the white pillows she looked grey, shrunken, a shadow of her former self.
‘Sha . . . Sha . . .’
‘I think she’s trying to say your name, Sally.’
Sally sat carefully on the side of the bed. ‘I’m here, Gran.’
Slowly, Sadie raised her good arm and touched Sally’s cheek to wipe her tears away. ‘Noo c cr . . .’
An involuntary sob escaped Sally’s lips. Was her gran telling her not to cry? She felt so selfish. It was her gran who needed comfort. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be all right and talking again soon,’ she said softly, hoping that her words would help.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now,’ the nurse said as she returned to the room. ‘Mrs Greenbrook is being taken up to a ward.’
Sally kissed her gran’s papery cheek, Ruth then doing the same before saying, ‘We’ve got to go now, Mum, but we’ll be back tomorrow.’
Next it was Mary’s turn. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Mother.’ Sally could hardly bear to leave her gran, but her aunt took charge, putting an arm around her as they left the hospital. ‘Don’t cry, Sally. My mother is a strong woman and I’m sure she’ll be fine. Now come on, get into my car and I’ll run you both home.’
There wasn’t a lot said as they drove back to Battersea, each with their own thoughts, Sally’s a continuing silent prayer. Please, God, please don’t let my gran die.
Chapter Two
Sally still missed her flat in Wandsworth, but the shop below had been sold and the new owners wanted to live on the premises. Arthur wasn’t worried as he had saved the deposit for them to buy their own house, however their plans had to be delayed when Sally’s prayers had been answered and her gran had re - covered enough to return home.
The problem had been that Gran was still frail and she couldn’t be left on her own. Sally knew that with her mother working full time at a local grocer’s shop, and Aunt Mary employed as a doctor’s receptionist, it only left her so she had offered to look after her gran.
Arthur wasn’t keen on the idea, but as it was for a short while, he’d agreed. With their furniture going into storage at the family firm, they had moved in with her mother in Candle Lane. It wasn’t easy for Sally. Her gran had changed so much. Most of the time she was bad-tempered, belligerent and moody, but on odd occasions her former personality shone through which made looking after her bearable.
It didn’t take long for the cracks to show. Arthur hated living here, hated that they slept in the double bedroom with Angela in a single bed alongside them. It made lovemaking impossible and Sally could sense her husband’s growing impatience. He wanted them to move on, but Sally just couldn’t agree. She had studied her gran’s aura, and though unable to see darkness other than that caused by arthritis, she couldn’t shake off her fears. Something was looming, something awful waiting to happen, and Sally was worried that her gran was going to have another stroke.
Four months had now passed and sighing, Sally went to check on Angel. Gran was often snappy and found Angel tiring, which was why Sally had allowed her daughter to play outside.
As Sally’s eyes roamed the lane, she felt a bolt of fear. Where was Angel? She had told her not to leave the front of the house, but there was no sign of her. Sally saw Jessie Stone, a woman who was known to be a gossipmonger, standing on her front step and called out to her, ‘Have you seen my daughter?’
‘She was around a few minutes ago, but if you ask me, the kid’s too young to be playing outside.’
Sally bit back an angry retort as she saw Angel flying round the corner, her curly hair bouncing on her shoulders, free of the plaits that had been carefully arranged that morning. Tommy Walters and his gang were a few steps behind Angela, but as soon as she skidded to a halt in front of Sally they veered off, ending up on the other side of the road. Tommy lived next door, and though only seven years old he was a little hooligan, running wild on the streets.
‘Are you coming out later?’ Tommy shouted, his dark, auburn hair standing up like a brush.
‘Nah, me auntie’s coming so I’ve gotta stay in.’
Sally stared at her daughter in despair. Her freckled face was dirty, her dress smeared with mud, and socks that had been clean less than an hour ago, were hanging baggily around her ankles. ‘Oh, Angela, your dress is filthy.’
‘I don’t like dresses. Why can’t I wear trousers?’
‘You’re a little girl, not a boy, and how many times have I told you not to run with that gang?’
‘But I like Tommy.’
‘He’s nothing but trouble. Anyway, I told you not to wander off.’
‘But we was playing tag.’
‘That’s no excuse. Wait till your father comes home and we’ll see what he has to say about it.’
‘Daddy won’t mind,’ she said confidently.
Sally sighed. Yes, Arthur would probably side with his daughter, he always did, she could do no wrong in his eyes. She tried unsuccessfully to discipline the child, but with the rest of her family giving in to Angel’s every demand, Sally felt she was fighting a losing battle.
‘Goodness, there’s Aunt Mary now,’ Sally said as she saw her aunt’s car turning into the lane. ‘Quick, let’s get you washed.’
‘Mary’s here, Gran,’ Sally gasped, grabbing a damp sponge, and giving Angel a quick lick before her aunt marched unceremoniously into the house.
‘What on earth has that child been doing?’ were Mary Taylor’s first words. ‘She looks like she’s been rolling in mud.’
‘She’s been playing outside.’
‘Angela is rather young for that. You should keep her inside.’
‘I can’t keep her cooped up in this kitchen and she wanted to try out her new skipping rope.’
‘The child wouldn’t have got in such a state if she was only skipping. It’s about time you took her in hand.’
‘I do my best,’ Sally said, her teeth clenched. She loved her Aunt Mary, but sometimes her hoity-toity ways were difficult to cope with.
Mary pursed her lips but changed the subject as she beckoned Angela towards her. ‘Here, darling,’ she said, delving into her handbag to pull out a packet of Spangles.
‘Fanks, Auntie.’
‘The word is thanks. Now, say it again.’
‘No,’ Angel scowled.
‘Sally, you shouldn’t allow her to be so cheeky,’ Mary said, sighing heavily. ‘And you really must do something about her diction.’
Sally grimaced. Yes, her daughter was cheeky, but at such a young age how was she supposed to tackle the way she spoke? Gran, along with everyone else in Candle Lane, spoke in the same way, and ever since they’d moved back here Angel was like a parrot, repeating everything she heard.
‘Give over, Mary. The child is fine as she is.’
Sally threw her gran a grateful smile, then sitting Angel down she again tried to brush her unruly locks, finding that it was like trying to pull a comb through a mop.
‘Ouch! Ouch! Stop it. Tell her, Gamma.’
‘It’s not gamma. It’s grandmamma,’ Mary admonished.
>
‘For Gawd’s sake leave the kid alone. I’ve been Gamma since she first started to talk, and anyway, I rather like it.’
Pleased that Gran was sounding more like her old self, and giving up with the brush, Sally said, ‘There, that’ll do, Angel.’
With the grace of a gazelle the child jumped to her feet, her eyes wide in appeal. ‘Mummy, can I go out to play again?’
‘No, darling. Daddy may be home soon and it’s time for your bath.’
Angel began to wail, and Gran’s mood abruptly changed. ‘Shut that kid up. She’s giving me a headache.’
With no other choice, Sally took her daughter’s hand to drag her kicking and screaming to the bathroom.
When Sally and Angel were out of earshot, Sadie sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness for that.’
‘How are you, Mother?’ Mary enquired.
‘I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘I only asked, and though Angel can be a handful I’m glad you have Sally here to keep an eye on you. I’d hate for you to be on your own like poor Nelly Cox.’
‘Nelly ain’t been the same since she lost her husband, but she’s a good sort and often pops in to see me. Anyway, I’m worried about Sally.’
‘Why? Is she ill?’
‘No, but it ain’t right that she has to stay here to look after me. She and Arthur should be in their own place, and I’ve noticed that he’s away from home more and more these days.’
‘The removals firm is busy and they’ve just expanded again.’
‘I know, but I can feel it in me water that something is wrong with their marriage.’
‘Rubbish! Arthur adores Sally.’
‘Yeah, maybe, but things don’t seem the same since they moved back here.’
‘I’m sure you’re just imagining things.’
‘Imagining what?’ Both women looked around as Ruth spoke. She had just arrived home from work, and as Mary studied her younger sister she saw a face drawn with tiredness. Ruth’s short brown hair was untidy and her complexion pasty. ‘You look washed out, my dear. Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, but with a new manager joining soon we’re doing a stock-take and it’s a lot of extra work. Now, tell me, what is Mum imagining?’
‘It’s nothing really. She’s just a bit concerned about Sally and Arthur.’
‘Concerned . . . why?’
‘I’ll let Mum tell you while I make a cup of tea. You look like you could do with one.’
Blissfully, Ruth sank into a chair, pushing off her shoes before fishing for a packet of Embassy in her cardigan pocket. It was only after lighting the cigarette that she spoke. ‘Right, Mum, what’s this about Sally and Arthur?’
‘I’m just worried that they’re drifting apart, that’s all.’
‘Of course they aren’t. I know Arthur’s away a lot, but with the firm being so busy, Sally understands.’
‘That’s more or less what Mary said, but I still think they should be in a place of their own.’
‘Maybe, but Sally doesn’t mind staying with us until you’ve recovered.’
‘I’m fine now.’
‘Well, tell Sally that.’
‘I have, but she won’t listen, and she’s forever looking at me aura. As a kid Sally used to say she was looking at our lights. Do you remember, Ruth?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured before turning away, her eyes veiled. She’d known that Sally was different, but it had been Arthur’s mother who had recognised her gifts. Elsie had offered to help Sally to develop her abilities, and though concerned that the church was against things to do with clairvoyance, Elsie had swayed Ruth’s decision. They are God-given gifts, Elsie pointed out, so how can the church say it’s wrong to use them?
Ruth pursed her lips. There was no getting away from the fact that Sally seemed to have a natural ability to ease people’s pain and surely it would have been a sin to waste such a gift? If Sally still sensed that her gran was unwell, she’d stay to look after her until it was safe to leave.
‘Talking about lights,’ Sadie said, ‘seeing you smoking that fag, I could do with a pinch of snuff.’
Mary turned swiftly, the teapot poised in her hand. ‘Mother! Surely you’re not thinking of using that disgusting stuff again!’
‘It’s all right for you, miss goody two shoes, but I miss my snuff.’
‘It’s bad for you, especially now you’ve had a stroke.’
‘Don’t nag, Mary. I just said I fancied some, that’s all.’
There was a shout, footsteps running down the stairs and, as Angel scampered into the room, she dived into Ruth’s arms. ‘Nanny, Nanny, got sweeties for me?’
‘I might ’ave.’
Angel giggled as she settled on Ruth’s lap, enjoying the nightly game. ‘What did you get me?’
‘Let me see. It might be a sherbet fountain, or maybe a gob- stopper and you could do with one of those,’ she said, chuckling at her own wit. ‘On the other hand it could be some black jacks or penny chews. You’ll ’ave to guess.’
‘I’ve already given her a packet of Spangles, Ruth.’
‘Is that right?’ Ruth said. ‘Now then, Angel, if you’ve already had sweets from Auntie Mary, I’ll save mine for tomorrow.’
‘No, Nanny. I want them now!’
Ruth moved Angel from her lap, and when the child was standing she gave her a small pat on the bottom. ‘You’ll get them tomorrow, madam. Now off you go. Mummy’s calling you, and I’m not surprised. It’s not nice to run around in your birthday suit. Go and get your nightdress on.’
‘Sweeties later?’
‘We’ll see. Now scat!’
Angel ran off with a giggle, but as her little white bottom disappeared, Mary said, ‘I hope you’re not going to give in to her as usual. One packet of sweets is quite enough and I hate to think what all this sugar is doing to her teeth.’
‘Oh, and Spangles are sugarless are they?’
‘Touché! Yes, I suppose I’m as bad as the rest of you, but she is irresistible.’
It was quiet for a while as Mary poured the tea. Just as she finished the door opened again and Arthur came into the kitchen.
‘Hello, love, you’re early,’ Ruth said.
‘Yes, it was a family moving to Farnham in Surrey today and they didn’t have a lot of furniture. It was a lovely-looking little town and I wouldn’t mind living there,’ he mused, his voice sounding wistful. ‘Still, it’s nice to get home before seven for a change. Where’s Sally?’
‘She’s just finished getting Angel ready for bed and as they’ll be down in a minute you might as well take the weight off your feet. Mary’s just made a pot of tea.’
‘Great,’ he said, drawing out a chair. ‘Mum said to tell you she’ll be popping in to see you on Tuesday.’
‘Luverly. I still miss your family living next door. Elsie was the best neighbour we ever had, and that lot who moved in six months ago are nothing but trouble.’
‘I agree the Walters are a rough lot, but they’ve only one child. It could have been worse.’
‘Yeah, but Tommy’s a little bugger,’ Sadie said. ‘Still, at least they’re white so I suppose we should count our blessings. We’ve got West Indians in two houses now and it’s getting like the bleedin’ jungle round here.’
Mary was listening to the conversation, but at her mother’s last words her temper flared. Angrily she stomped across the room, her face grim. ‘Mother, don’t talk about them like that! I can’t believe you’re so prejudiced.’
‘Here we go again, the same old record. Now you listen to me, Mary. Before the 1961 Immigration Act we hardly saw a coloured man in Battersea. I can remember dads telling their kids they’d get a penny for every black man they saw, and they didn’t get many I can tell you. Since the Immigration Act they’ve flooded in by the thousands, and nowadays kids round here could make a fortune in pennies. And not only that, they’re taking our men’s jobs and it ain’t right.’
‘Don’t be silly. The
jobs they’re doing are ones that employers couldn’t fill. They work on the railways, the buses, and in hospitals amongst other things. Our national health and public transport system would grind to a halt without them!’
‘Poppycock! Anyway they ain’t like us and should go back to where they came from.’
‘They came here because our government encouraged companies to recruit them. You seem to forget that they’re British, and many of the men fought alongside our soldiers during the war.’
‘They ain’t British!’
‘Yes they are, and have British passports. For goodness’ sake, they’re just people with a different skin colour . . . that’s all. They have the same feelings as us, the same dreams, and aspirations.
You should listen to yourself. Hitler’s prejudice killed millions of Jews, and now it sounds like you’re adopting his ideals!’
‘How dare you say that!’
‘Because it’s the truth. Maybe you should think about joining the organised racists.’
‘Someone’s got to do something. Perhaps Mosley had the right idea.’
‘Mother, as long as people think like you, things will never change.’
‘I’ve got a right to my opinions.’
‘Yes, but maybe you should keep them to yourself. I don’t think it’s right that my niece hears you spouting racial hatred.’
‘Come on, you two, calm down,’ Arthur cajoled. ‘I am calm,’ Mary said, fighting her feelings. ‘But what about you, Arthur? Are you happy for Angela to hear my mother’s claptrap?’
He slowly shook his head. ‘No, I’m not happy about it, but if she doesn’t hear it from Sadie, she’ll hear it as soon as she goes to school. It’s everywhere.’
‘And are you of the same opinion as my mother?’
‘No, I’m not. I hate the things Mosley stood for, and I think you’ll find that the majority of working class people hate his ideals too. Yes, there are those who still follow the man, but these are just ignorant louts who can’t think for themselves. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve had just about enough of this conversation.’
On that note Arthur abruptly stormed out of the room, leaving the women staring after him open-mouthed. ‘Blimey!’ Sadie said. ‘We certainly ruffled his feathers.’
