by Kitty Neale
Tommy looked bewildered, his little face puckering. ‘Ain’t you coming wiv us, Angel?’
‘No, I’m staying with my daddy.’
‘I don’t wanna go then. I wanna stay here too.’
Ruth knelt down in front of him. ‘Listen darling, if you want to stay, you’ll have to live with your daddy. If . . . if that’s what you really want, then . . . then of course you don’t have to come with us.’
Tommy’s lower lip was trembling, his eyes full of confusion. Ruth hugged him to her, then said, ‘It’s up to you, darling, but I . . . I love you and would hate to leave you behind.’
Tommy looked at Ruth, his uncle, and then with his head down he plucked his earlobe, obviously deep in thought. The room was hushed, even Angel was silent, and then with a grin the boy looked up. ‘All right, I’ll come wiv you, Auntie Ruth.’
They all heard her sigh of relief, and, after giving Tommy another hug, she turned to look at Sally, her eyes full of unshed tears. ‘Oh, love, I’m so sorry for being selfish. You’re my daughter and I wanted you with me, but I was only thinking of myself. I can see now how happy you are, and . . . and I’m pleased for you.’
Sally ran across the room, wrapping her arms around her mother. ‘You’re not selfish. You’re the best mother anyone could have and I love you. I’m going to miss you so much, but you’re getting married soon, and no matter what, I’ll be there. We all will,’ she said, turning to look at Arthur.
He nodded, and now Sally went across to her gran, kneeling by her side. ‘I’m going to miss you too.’
‘And I you, but you’re doing the right thing.’
‘The van’s loaded,’ a voice said.
‘Right, thanks,’ Andrew replied brusquely. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, that sounds like our taxi.’
Sally’s breath caught in her throat and rising to her feet, she found herself in her father’s arms. ‘Be happy, my bonny lass.’
He let her go abruptly, his eyes moist, and Sally watched with tears as they all said goodbye to Angel. Her daughter looked upset, and as Arthur swept her up again, she clung to his neck.
Arthur crooked her with one arm, whilst he took Sally’s hand. ‘Come on,’ he urged, leading her outside.
Sally watched as her father helped her gran into the taxi, then Tommy climbed in, followed by her mother. She felt torn in two, one part of her wanting to be here with Arthur and Angel, the other half wanting to dive into the cab and go with her family. ‘No, no,’ she cried, unconsciously moving forward.
Andrew came to her side, hugging her again. ‘I know how you’re feeling, lassie, but I can see that your heart is here with your husband. We’ll all see each other soon, so hang on to that.’
He then turned swiftly, climbed into the taxi, and as the door closed behind him, the engine started.
They were all waving as the car pulled away, Sally watching and waving back until it turned the corner.
Arthur took her hand. ‘Don’t cry, darling. As your father said, we’ll see them all again soon.’
Sally drew in juddering breaths. She looked up at Arthur, saw the love reflected in his eyes, and knew that she had made the right decision.
Her place was here, with her husband. They loved each other, and just like Nelly and George Cox, many happy years stretched ahead of them.
Read on for Kitty’s memories of growing up in Battersea
The Battersea I see now is different in some ways to the one I grew up in, yet in others there is much that is still familiar. Battersea Town Hall as I knew it then is still there, but is now an Arts Centre. Battersea Power Station is a landmark, though it wasn’t visible from where I lived, nor was the Dogs’ Home.
All the shops I remember on Lavender Hill are gone, but when I was sent to do my mother’s shopping it was a trip to the butcher’s, the grocer’s, baker’s, greengrocer’s and the ironmonger for paraffin. Now of course we can buy all we want under one roof in a supermarket. I was always in trouble for eating the crust off one end of the freshly baked bread before I arrived home, and worse, one Easter I picked all of the fruit out of several hot-cross buns.
It was mostly a working class area, and the streets were our playground, along with bombsites left over from World War Two. We had Clapham Common close by, and a little further away, Battersea Park where there was once a funfair and small zoo. I loved the park and spent many hours playing there, though I rarely had the entrance fee for the funfair so I had to stick to the swings.
My parents worked in local factories and I became a latch key kid. I don’t remember feeling deprived, after all, our friends and neighbours were in the same boat, and in fact I felt we were rich when we got a black and white television in 1953, just in time to watch the Queen’s Coronation. We didn’t have a telephone, nor did any of our neighbours, and of course mobiles didn’t exist.
It’s only in retrospect that I realise what a hard life my mother had, working full time and then coming home to cook and clean for a family of five without all the wonderful gadgets we have nowadays. There were no ready meals or microwaves, and mostly everything had to be prepared from fresh produce. To give my mother a break from cooking we occasionally had fish and chips, or I would be sent to the pie and mash shop with a jug which they would fill with green, parsley liquor.
Our kitchen was nothing like the fitted ones seen nowadays. There was just a sink in one corner, and a cooker in the other, with a large cupboard for a larder. We mostly lived and ate in this room, with the sitting room kept for best.
Of course I remember lovely summers, but I also recall cold winters, coal fires, and without heating in our bedrooms, there would be ice on the inside of the windows every morning. No duvets either as they were unheard of, just blankets, and for extra warmth I had my dad’s old army overcoat thrown on top.
Washing was put in the bath to soak and then came what must have been a backbreaking job of rubbing it up and down on the scrubbing board, let alone all the rinsing and wringing out before it could go on the line. A little later my mother got a Baby Burco boiler complete with electric mangle and she felt very modern.
I came into contact with many local characters, from my extended family to those that lived around us, and of course they are an inspiration for my books. I tend to use just one trait, like an old lady who used to mix up her words and appeared in one of my books, to a man who used to abuse his wife.
We heard stories of the Kray brothers in East London, but in our area, South London, it was the Richardsons who were considered the local villains. All I heard was gossip and none of these characters touched my life. On the whole the locals were a mixture of good and bad, funny and sad, and all, I am sure, had stories to tell.
It’s their stories that I imagine, that I draw my inspiration from, and so a little of each of them goes into every book.
About the Author
Kitty Neale was raised in South London and this working class area became the inspiration for her novels. In the 1980s she moved to Surrey with her husband and two children, but in 1998 there was a catalyst in her life when her son died, aged just 27. After joining other bereaved parents in a support group, Kitty was inspired to take up writing and her books have been Sunday Times bestsellers. Kitty now lives in Spain with her husband.
To find out more about Kitty go to www.kittyneale.co.uk
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By the same author:
Nobody’s Girl
Sins of the Father
Family Betrayal
Desperate Measures
Lost and Found
Forgotten Child Lost Angel
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2006
Kitty Neale as
serts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN-13: 978-1-84756-230-2
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007432059
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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