by Kitty Neale
‘We ruffled his feathers! No, Mum, it was you,’ Ruth said, speaking for the first time since the argument started.
‘Yes,’ Mary agreed, ‘and every time I come to see you, Mum, it’s to hear the same old rubbish. Like me, I think Arthur is sick of it. It’s almost becoming an obsession with you and what next? Will you be hanging the Black Shirts flag out of the window?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t you dare talk to me like that! I’m your mother and you should show me some respect.’
‘You have to earn respect. We’ve always looked up to you, come to you with our problems, and listened to your words of wisdom. Yet since those two West Indian families moved into Candle Lane you’ve changed, and nowadays you just sound like a bigot. And I’ll say it again – I’m ashamed of you.’
‘I ain’t standing for that! You think you’re so high and mighty with your sanctimonious preaching, but you’re no better than the rest of us, despite talking as though you’ve got a plum in yer mouth. Now get out of my house, you cheeky bitch!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going, and you seem to forget that the tenancy of this house is in Ruth’s name, not yours,’ Mary said, ignoring her sister’s cry as she snatched up her bag before running out of the door.
As Mary marched down Candle Lane, her shoulders were stiff, but by the time she reached the corner they were slumped in despair. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, yet the things her mother said made her blood boil. Oh, what am I going to do? she cried inwardly. I’ve got to tell her, and soon.
Chapter Three
‘Daddy,’ Angel cried as she bounced on the bed, bobbing along the mattress to reach him. Her foot caught in the hem of her nightdress and she squealed with delight when her father averted a nasty fall by swooping her up into his arms.
His expression soft now, Arthur kissed his daughter’s cheek. ‘You silly sausage,’ he gently admonished. ‘You could have hurt yourself. Now tell me, what else have you been up to? Have you been a good girl today?’
‘Yes, I’ve been good . . . ain’t I, Mummy?’
Sally raised her eyes heavenward at the ‘ain’t’ but only said, ‘Other than playing with Tommy Walters again, I suppose so.’
‘I thought Mummy told you to stay away from that boy.’
Angel hung her head for a moment, but raised it, her eyes wide with innocence. ‘I didn’t mean to play with him, but he asked me and it would have been rude to say no, wouldn’t it?’
Arthur laughed, but then trying to pull a stern face he said, ‘Well, missy, don’t do it again. If Tommy asks you to play, just tell him that you’re not allowed.’
‘Awright, Daddy.’
‘Good girl. Now come on, hop into bed and I’ll tuck you in.’
‘But I haven’t said goodnight to Gamma, Nanny and Auntie Mary.’
‘All right, pop downstairs, but then come straight back.’
‘No, I don’t want to go to bed yet. Pleeease, Daddy.’
‘I don’t suppose an extra half an hour or so will hurt, but no longer.’
‘Arthur!’ Sally protested. ‘Angel starts school on Monday and she needs to get used to early nights. I’m trying to settle her into a routine.’
‘I’ve hardly seen her today and as I said, half an hour won’t hurt.’
Sally was left looking at her husband’s back as he carried Angel from the room. Arthur hadn’t even given her a kiss on the cheek and she felt the gulf that had grown between them. In August they had celebrated Angel’s fifth birthday, and now her daughter would be going to school. Five years had flown past, five wonderful, happy years that had come to an abrupt halt when they’d moved back to Candle Lane.
Sadly, Sally followed them downstairs, puzzled when she went into the kitchen. ‘Where’s Mum and Aunt Mary?’
‘Mary’s gone, and good riddance too,’ Sadie snapped. ‘I dunno who she thinks she is.’
‘Are you cross, Gamma?’
Looking at her great-granddaughter, Sadie smiled wanly. ‘Nah, I’m all right, ducks. Mind you, a cuddle might be nice.’
Angel scampered across to Sadie. She gave her a quick hug, but then rushed back to her father. ‘Play horses, Daddy,’ she appealed.
‘Not tonight, princess. I’m afraid my back is playing up. Go and get a book and I’ll read to you.’
Sally smiled at her gran, pleased that she had been nice to Angel for a change. When her daughter returned with a book, she climbed back onto her father’s lap and Sally heaved a sigh of relief. No rough game, no hysterical giggles, just listening to a story and with any luck, Angel would fall asleep.
As the child was settled, thumb in her mouth, Sally went to find her mother. The front room had been turned into a bedroom for Gran a long time ago, and it was here that she found her. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’
‘I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet. Sometimes when your gran gets on her high horse it drives me mad.’
‘I’ve been reading up about strokes and they’re caused by a clot of blood touching the brain. It explains the changes to her personality and we must make allowances for her.’
‘Tell me the truth, Sally. How is she?’
‘Her aura doesn’t look too bad, but her arm is still weak. I give her a bit of healing every day, but it only seems to ease her arthritis.’
‘She was in fine fettle when she was arguing with Mary.’
‘If Gran loses her temper it can’t be good for her. We should all try not to upset her.’
‘It wasn’t me, I hardly said a word, but Mary really got out of her pram. She hates it that your gran is so against the blacks.’
‘It’s understandable. She works in a doctor’s surgery and comes into contact with lots of immigrants. From what she’s told me they seem to be having a rough time of it. Can you imagine what it must be like to face racial hatred every day?’
‘There’s no need to preach to me. Live and let live, that’s what I say. Still, I’ll tell Mary not to argue with her again.’
‘Yes, good idea. Now, are you coming back to the kitchen? Angel will want to say goodnight. With her starting school soon I want to get her used to going to bed earlier.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘You should know, Sal. Haven’t you looked at my aura?’
‘Of course I have and it looks fine, but you still seem a bit down in the dumps.’
‘I’m fine, now just bugger off and leave me in peace for five minutes.’
‘All right, I’m going,’ Sally said. She hadn’t seen anything to worry about in her mother’s aura, but something was obviously wrong. Was it just that she was a bit fed up or was there more to it?
* * *
Alone again, Ruth stared disconsolately out of the window seeing a mean little terraced house identical to her own across the narrow, grey vista. Secretly she’d been pleased when Sally and Arthur had moved in. It was wonderful to have her granddaughter under the same roof, a joy, but there was no getting away from the fact that the house was bursting at the seams. Oddly, despite this, there were times, like now, when she felt lonely, yet memories of the past always held her back from seeking another relationship. Her marriage to Ken had been a disaster, and when she remembered the way he had treated Sally, Ruth was, as always, swamped with guilt.
When Ken had been away during World War Two she’d had no news of him for a long, long time and had feared he’d been killed in action. In a moment of madness she’d walked into the arms of another man, and had an affair that left her pregnant.
Shortly after Ken had come home and despite her affair he had begged her to stay with him. He’d suggested that they tell everyone that the baby was his, had promised to bring Sally up as his own and Ruth had agreed. She had sent a letter to Andrew at his unit, told him that her pregnancy was a false alarm, and that as her husband had returned she could never see him again.
All Ken’s promises came to nothing when Sally was born. He h
ad hated her on sight, obviously seeing her as a constant reminder of the affair. He had changed so much that fearing his violence she had kept Sally confined to her room when he was at home, her daughter a virtual prisoner and a sad, lonely child.
Ruth closed her eyes as once again she was swamped with guilt. Instead of kowtowing to Ken, she should have put her daughter first. She’d been a selfish mother so was it any wonder that Sally clung to her grandmother?
When Ken had gone off with another woman and Sally found out that he wasn’t her father the questions had begun. She had wanted to know who her real father was. All Ruth could tell her was that Andrew had been a soldier, married too, with a young son, and after ending the affair she had no idea what happened to him.
Ruth slumped on the side of her mother’s bed. She didn’t even know if Andrew had survived the war. Stop it, she berated herself, stop thinking about him. It was all best left in the past, but why, oh why, did the memory of being in Andrew’s arms still haunt her?
Angela had fallen asleep so Arthur carried her upstairs where he gently tucked her into bed.
For a while he stood gazing down at his daughter’s innocent face and then his eyes flicked around the cramped bedroom. Angela shouldn’t be in here with them, she should be in her own room again.
Arthur’s thoughts turned to Sally and he wondered what was happening to their marriage. When he’d agreed to return to Candle Lane it was only supposed to be for a short while and he’d soon found the perfect house for them in Richmond. It was a bit pricey, but the firm was doing well and he could afford the mortgage. Huh, so much for that plan. Sally stubbornly refused to leave. Her gran was too ill, she insisted, and might never fully recover. Why not look for a house close to Candle Lane, Sally had suggested, one that allowed her to stay with her gran during the day. Arthur wasn’t having that. He wanted them to live in or around Richmond where Angel could breathe clean fresh air instead of the muck that the factories churned out around here. As far as he could see, Sadie looked all right and, though testy at times, she was sounding more and more like her old self. It was time for them to move out, to move on. He intended to put his foot down.
‘Is Angel asleep?’ Sally whispered, entering the room. ‘Yes, she’s out for the count. Oh, and I’ve got to go out again after dinner.’
‘Oh Arthur, this is the first time you’ve been home early all week. I hardly see you these days.’
‘I know, but we’ve just heard about a larger yard in Clapham. It’s just what we need and will hold eight vans. Dad’s arranged to see it and he wants me with him.’
‘Why can’t he go on his own?’
‘I’m his partner, Sally, and it’s natural that he wants my opinion.’
‘But you’ve been on the road all day. Can’t you talk to your dad about your hours?’
‘I’ve told you, we’re exceptionally busy at the moment and it can’t be helped,’ said Arthur, glad to be going out again. They had no privacy now and if he stayed in it would be an evening stuck with Sally’s mother and gran in front of the television. If Sadie was in a bad mood it was hell and woe betide them if they spoke while she was watching her favourite programme. It drove him mad and he didn’t know how Sally stood it.
‘I suppose you have to go then,’ Sally said, ‘but surely it won’t take too long just to look at a yard.’
‘I shouldn’t think so, but I’m meeting an old friend afterwards.’
‘What old friend?’
‘A bloke I met in Australia,’ Arthur said. He felt a bit rotten when he saw Sally’s face fall, but then quickly decided that he had nothing to feel guilty about. She was putting her gran first, refused to move out of this dump and he’d had just about enough of it. ‘Right then, I’m off for a wash and shave.’
Sally was despondent when Arthur left, her mood low as she went into the kitchen.
‘I didn’t expect Arthur to go out again,’ Sadie said. ‘Nor did I, but he and Bert are going to look at larger premises.’
‘What! On a Saturday night?’
‘They don’t get time during the day. The firm has gone from strength to strength and I suppose I shouldn’t complain, yet Arthur is rarely home these days.’
‘I don’t know why he still has to do the humping and driving. Surely they employ enough men now to do the heavy work.’
‘Yes, but what else is there for Arthur to do? His dad’s back has gone and so he handles all the office work.’
‘Yeah, well, over the years I suppose Bert has done his share of hard work. He built up the business from nothing really and it was thanks to him that he and Elsie were able to buy their lovely house in Wimbledon.’
‘Arthur wants us to move out of Battersea too.’
‘I don’t blame him. I miss Elsie, yet I don’t blame her either for wanting to move away from this dump. We’re being surrounded by huge blocks of flats and nearly all the old streets have been demolished, with this one no doubt on the list as well. And have you seen the way they build them tower blocks?’
Sally opened her mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance to say anything. Her gran was off again, in full sail.
‘Great slabs of concrete, Sally, that’s what they use, lifted into place by massive cranes. Twelve floors are built in a jiffy, but I can’t believe they’re safe. You won’t catch me living in one, I can tell you. I’ll stick to good old bricks and mortar.’
‘I expect they’re lovely and modern inside.’
‘Modern or not it’d be like living in a matchbox. Arthur’s right, my girl, you should get away from this area. It’s gone to the dogs. The factories are still here, belching smoke, and that peculiar smell that drifts in when the wind’s in a certain direction makes my stomach churn. You’d think I’d be used to it after all these years, but no such luck.’
‘I think with the hops, yeast and other paraphernalia used, the smell comes from the brewery.’
‘Yeah, you could be right, but others blame Gartons Glucose factory, or Price’s where they make candles. Now come on, cheer up and see what’s on the telly.’
Sally forced a smile, pleased that her gran was feeling chatty. ‘When Arthur came home early I hoped he’d take me out, if only to the pictures or something.’
‘When was the last time the pair of you had a night out?’
‘It was a couple of months ago.’
‘No wonder you look a bit fed up. You’re only young and shouldn’t be stuck indoors all the time.’
Both heads turned as Ruth came into the room, her hair wrapped turban-style in a towel. ‘I’ve used the hot water, Sal. If you want a bath you’ll have to wait an hour for the immersion to heat up again.’
‘Sally needs a break, Ruth, not a bath. She’s stuck in all day, every day, looking after Angel and me. Arthur is rarely home before eight and he hardly ever takes her out.’
Ruth pursed her lips then said, ‘Once married, men seem to think that their wives are happy to stay at home while they go off out to the pub. Still, things have changed and there’s nothing to stop you going out on your own too, Sally. Take now for instance. Angel’s asleep and if she wakes up I’m here to see to her.’
‘Where would I go on my own?’
‘You used to do a healing service in the hall down the road and as you’ve been keeping your hand in you could go back to it.’
A silence followed whilst Sally digested her mother’s words. Now that Angel was starting school she’d be in bed early, and if her mother didn’t mind keeping an ear out for her, there was no reason why she couldn’t go out for a couple of evenings a week. ‘I’d like to go back to healing, Mum, but I’ll have to see what Arthur says about it.’
‘He won’t mind. It’s not as if you’ll be out all hours. The service is over by ten.’
‘Yes, but if he doesn’t arrive home before I leave, what about his dinner?’
‘I can sort that out.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Mum?’
‘I offered, didn’t I
?’
‘Right, that’s sorted then,’ Sadie said. ‘Now shut up the pair of you and let me watch the telly in peace.’
Sally settled down for another night in front of the television, yet she hardly saw what was on the screen. Surely Arthur wouldn’t object? No, of course he wouldn’t, yet even as she told herself this, Sally felt a moment of doubt.
Chapter Four
Tommy Walters saw Angel’s dad leaving his house, and dying to find out what it was like to ride in a car, he begged, ‘Gis us a ride in yer motor, mister.’
Arthur Jones just shook his head, but then he paused, a funny expression on his face. ‘Have you had any dinner today?’
‘I had a bit of bread and dripping,’ Tommy told him, wondering why he was asking. Mr Jones was huge, but there was a sort of softness about him too. Tommy envied Angel her parents who, unlike his, he had never seen drunk.
‘Here, go and get yourself a bag of chips or something,’ Mr Jones said, tossing him a coin.
Tommy caught it deftly, saw it was a tanner and his eyes lit up. ‘Fanks, mister,’ he called, his mouth salivating at the thought of chips smothered in salt and vinegar as he ran off. It didn’t take him long to reach the chip shop and soon he was licking the last remnant of fat from his fingers. He screwed up the paper, chucked it in the gutter, scowling when he turned back into Candle Lane to see his mother on the doorstep.
‘Tommy, get in here!’
‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ he said, reluctantly following her indoors.
‘Here, take this and go and get me a bottle of cider.’
If anyone else had seen inside the Walters’ house they might have been appalled, but Tommy was used to the grime. His mother was swaying, her breath reeking as she gave him some money. He grimaced. ‘Do I have to? You’re already pissed.’
‘You cheeky little bugger,’ his mother said, raising a hand as if to strike him. ‘Do as you’re told.’
‘I’m going,’ and with that Tommy snatched the coins and left, used to these regular trips to buy his mother’s booze.
