A Cuckoo in Candle Lane

by Kitty Neale

  With a hand covering her mouth in horror, she stumbled to her feet and staggered into the kitchen, half-falling onto a chair.

  Leaning forward, arms wrapped around her waist, Ruth rocked back and forth, oblivious to the keening, wailing sounds that were torn from her throat. Tears cascaded unchecked down her face. She was wrapped in a nightmare, an agony of self-recrimination. It should be me that’s dead, she thought, over and over again. I ain’t fit to live.

  Gradually her thoughts became still, and numbness permeated her mind. She felt as though she was sinking into a black tunnel of oblivion, and went willingly. It was safe there; nothing could ever touch her again.

  Elsie impatiently drummed her fingers on the table. ‘I don’t care what you say, Bert, I’m going round there. Something’s wrong, I just know it.’

  ‘Don’t interfere, Elsie, it’s none of our business.’

  ‘I can’t just leave it, love. First there was that terrible row, and now for over half an hour it’s been deathly quiet. I’m worried sick.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  She scurried out anxiously. ‘Ruth, Ruth, are you there?’ she called, banging loudly on the door. ‘Come on, Ruth, let me in!’

  Peggy Green and Joan Mason appeared at her side, their faces concerned. ‘We heard the commotion earlier on. What’s going on, Elsie?’ Joan asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m worried,’ she told them, bending down to look through the letterbox. Elsie couldn’t see much, just the bottom of the stairs, but then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw what looked like a leg.

  ‘Bert, Bert!’ she screamed, rushing back to her own front door. ‘Come quick, I need your help.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said, peering through the letterbox. ‘I don’t like the look of it.’ He stood up, turning to Elsie with concern in his eyes. ‘We need to get in there – and quick by the look of it.’ Lifting his foot he ordered, ‘Stand back, I’m going to break the door in.’

  Glancing around, Elsie saw Arthur and Ann hovering behind her. ‘Get inside, you two,’ she snapped, noticing other neighbours standing on their doorsteps, watching the scene with avid interest.

  There was a loud crash when Bert kicked the door, and as it flew open Elsie rushed in, her face paling at the sight of Sally lying crumpled on the floor like a broken doll. ‘Sally, Sally,’ she cried, rushing to kneel at her side, heaving a sigh of relief when she heard a faint groan. Oh God, where was Ruth? She wouldn’t leave her daughter like this. ‘Bert, look after Sally. I must see if Ruth’s all right.’

  As Elsie entered the kitchen, her eyes stretched in amazement. Ruth was sitting in a chair, a glasslike expression in her eyes as she stared into the dying embers of the fire. ‘Ruth, are you all right?’ Elsie asked anxiously, hurrying to her side, her face creasing with concern when there was no response.

  ‘Elsie, I don’t like the look of Sally, I think we should call the doctor.’

  ‘What? Yes, all right, Bert, but something’s wrong with Ruth too. Look, can you carry her into our place? I’ll bring Sally. We can’t leave them in here, it’s freezing, and anyway Ken might come back.’

  ‘That bastard had better not show his face around here again. I can’t stand a man who hits women and children,’ Bert said darkly, bending to pick Ruth up. ‘Christ, there’s nothing of her, she’s all skin and bones.’

  Elsie was shocked to hear Bert swear, but didn’t blame him; she’d like to get her hands on Ken too. Gently lifting Sally and holding her close to her chest, she followed her husband out of the house.

  Earlier, in Balham, Barbara had quietly opened the side door of the pub. With bated breath she crept into the hall, padded to the bottom of the stairs and strained her ears for sounds of movement from above. Her nerves were taut and she sighed with relief at the sound of rumbling snores. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and just as she thought, the lazy git was still asleep – he didn’t usually surface until after ten.

  Creeping into the back room, she closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  Every sound seemed accentuated as she knelt in front of the safe. The noise of the dial spinning sounded like the rattle of a roulette wheel. The clang of the handle as she yanked it down appeared to echo loudly in the small room.

  Tensing, she paused, her heart thumping as she gazed up at the ceiling. Then, drawing in a deep gulp of air in an effort to compose herself, she pulled open the heavy door, eyes gleaming as she grabbed the small stack of notes. Ignoring the coppers, she stuffed bags of silver into her shopping bag, pleased that two darts matches in the bar that week had swelled the takings. Lowering her head, she gave the bottom shelf a cursory glance that revealed a metal box secreted at the back, partially covered by a black cloth. Her eyes narrowed. I haven’t seen that before, she thought, snatching it and stuffing it quickly into her bag.

  She left hurriedly, anxious to pick up her suitcase from the flat. It was far too early to meet Ken, but she couldn’t risk hanging about. The sooner she got away the better.

  With her case in one hand and the heavy shopping bag slung over her shoulder, she hurried to Clapham Junction, making her way to Joe’s Café. Ordering a cup of tea, she sat dragging nervously on her cigarette while glancing anxiously at the clock. Bloody hell, she had ages to wait yet, and her nerves were jangling.

  She stared absentmindedly at the scene behind the counter. Joe was busily cooking a batch of sausages with a fag sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and every time he took a puff, the ash on the end grew longer and longer. To distract herself she counted the seconds, trying to anticipate when it would break off and fall into the frying pan. It dropped, smack in the middle, and she blinked as Joe just carried on turning the sausages. The dirty old sod, she thought. He should be shut down.

  Raising the thick white cup to her lips, she grimaced with distaste at the bitter acrid tea. One more hour, that was all, and they would be on their way. Finally, unable to sit any longer, she left the café and went outside.

  ‘Ken, Ken, over here,’ she called from her vantage point on the corner, thankful that at last, he had arrived. Picking up her suitcase and heaving her shopping bag over her shoulder again, she rushed to meet him. ‘Is everything all right? Did you get the money?’

  ‘Yeah, it was a piece of cake. He was putty in me hands.’

  ‘I’ve asked at the enquiry desk and we ’ave to go to Euston to catch a train to Blackpool.’

  ‘Good girl. Come on then, let’s go. I don’t want to hang about round here.’

  They made it to Euston just as a train was due to depart, and running down the platform jumped into a compartment, surprised but pleased to find it empty.

  Now, sitting beside Ken, Barbara watched the scenery changing from town to countryside. She took a deep breath, turning to face him, wondering what his reaction would be. ‘Ken, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Fidgeting nervously in her seat she added, ‘I … I er … I done something before we left.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Spit it out then.’

  ‘I turned over the King’s Head, had it away with the week’s takings.’

  ‘You what?’ Ken spluttered.

  ‘The money’s in me shopping bag.’

  ‘You stupid bleedin’ cow!’ Jumping up in agitation, he gripped the luggage rack to steady himself as the train swayed, saying hoarsely, ‘Christ, Barbara, don’t you realise what you’ve done?’

  ‘But, Ken, I thought it would help us. If we pool our money we could buy a house and start a bed and breakfast business. We could make a bomb in Blackpool.’

  He flopped onto the seat opposite her, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘My God, you silly bitch. Don’t you realise we was in the clear, with nobody after us.’ He raised his eyes then, asking hopefully, ‘Did you make it look like a break-in?’

  She shook her head. ‘Well, no.
I had the keys, didn’t I.’

  ‘Yeah, and now when the landlord reports the robbery, who do you think the police will be looking for?’ he asked sarcastically.

  Barbara closed her eyes, slumping in her seat. Why didn’t I think of that, she thought. Oh flaming hell, what have I done?

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Well, Mrs Jones,’ the doctor said, closing his black bag, ‘the little girl will be fine, just a slight concussion, and if she doesn’t show any signs of disorientation or nausea she should recover in a few days. However, her mother is in some kind of shock, and unless she snaps out of it shortly she will have to be admitted for psychiatric care. I will need to discuss it with her husband. Do you know where he is?’

  Psychiatric care? Over my dead body, Elsie thought. She’d heard some terrible things about that loony hospital. ‘I’ve told you, Doctor. I think he’s left them and I don’t know where he’s gone.’

  ‘Do you know if she has any other relatives?’

  ‘She’s got a sister who lives in Tooting, but I don’t know her address.’

  ‘Hmm, well, she will need constant care until I can review her in a day or two.’ He picked up his bag, adding, ‘As we can’t get in touch with her family, I had better make arrangements for her to be admitted straight away.’

  Elsie shook her head frantically. ‘There’s no need for that. She can stay here and I’ll look after her.’

  He peered at her thoughtfully over the top of his half-moon glasses. ‘Are you sure it won’t be too much for you, Mrs Jones?’

  ‘No, of course not. I can manage,’ she assured him.

  After a slight pause, he nodded slowly. ‘Very well, but if she doesn’t show any signs of recovery by Wednesday, she will have to go into hospital.’

  Elsie heaved a sigh of relief and after showing the doctor out, she went back upstairs. Finding Sally asleep, and tucking the blankets around her, she crossed into Arthur’s room to see Ruth. ‘Sally’s going to be fine,’ she told her. ‘Now can I get you anything, love? A cup of tea perhaps?’

  There was no response. Ruth was staring into space, the glasslike expression still in her eyes. ‘Come on, talk to me,’ Elsie begged, but there was no answer, and not even a glimmer of movement.

  Shaking her head sadly, the chubby little woman sat on the side of the bed, gently stroking the hair back from her friend’s forehead.

  By early afternoon Elsie’s legs were feeling the strain as she trod heavily up the stairs again. Peggy had called earlier offering to help, and soon after that Nelly Cox. She tightened her lips. A few others had been round, but it soon became obvious that they were only after gossip.

  Christ, she thought, it hadn’t taken long for the news to spread that Ruth’s husband had run out on her. Still, there were some good neighbours in Candle Lane, the salt of the earth most of them, but knowing what a private person Ruth was, she had assured both Peggy and Nelly that she could manage.

  Now she quietly entered Ann’s room and sat down beside Sally, gently bathing her forehead with a damp cloth.

  ‘Mum, my head hurts,’ she whimpered, her eyelids beginning to flicker.

  ‘Shh, darling.’ Elsie soothed. ‘You’ve had a nasty bump, but rest quietly and you’ll soon feel better.’

  Sally turned her head, groaning with pain at the sudden movement. ‘Where’s me mum? I want me mum.’

  ‘It’s all right, darling, you’ll be able to see her soon. She’s not far away, just next door in Arthur’s room.’

  ‘Why can’t she come in here to see me? Is there something wrong with her?’ she asked anxiously, struggling to sit up but falling back on the pillows, her face contorted with pain.

  ‘There, there, it’s nothing to worry about,’ Elsie crooned. ‘Your mum’s just a bit poorly, that’s all.’

  She watched Sally trying to fight the exhaustion that clouded her eyes, relieved when with a sigh she sank into her pillows, almost immediately falling asleep again.

  Poor little love, she thought, quietly closing the door and making her way to Arthur’s room, wrinkling her nose at the smell that assailed her nostrils as she entered. Shaking her head sadly, Elsie approached the bed. ‘Come on, dear, let’s get you nice and dry,’ she urged, gently raising Ruth’s arms to take off her wet nightdress.

  There was no resistance when she rolled her first to one side, then the other, deftly whipping away the sodden sheet. The same procedure was carried out in reverse and, as she lowered one of her own ample nightdresses over Ruth’s head, she tried to get some response from her friend. ‘Sally woke up just now, she looks a lot better and I think she’ll be able to pay you a visit soon.’

  ‘She just stares into space, Bert!’ Elsie exclaimed on returning to the kitchen, the sopping sheets tucked under her arm. ‘I’ll give these a soak. Poor Ruth, she must be in a bad way to wet the bed.’

  ‘Elsie, are you sure you’re not taking on too much? How are you going to cope if Ruth carries on like this?’

  ‘I’ll manage, and anyway, I’m sure she’ll be all right soon. What else could I do, Bert? She’s my friend and I couldn’t let her go into the loony hospital, I’d never forgive myself.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but I’ve got to go to Richmond this evening. We’ve been asked to give an estimate for quite a big job.’ He shook his head worriedly as he studied her face. ‘You look tired, love.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, stop worrying.’ She stood on tiptoe, snaking her arms around his neck, and holding her face up for a kiss.

  Bert grinned, and putting his hands under her arms, lifted her up effortlessly. With her feet dangling about nine inches from the floor, Elsie pounded playfully on his chest. ‘Put me down, you brute,’ she joked.

  He pulled her towards him and planted a smacking kiss on her lips, before lowering her to the floor. ‘There, you little spitfire,’ he laughed, patting her on her backside. ‘I’m off, I’ll see you later.’

  Elsie sat by Sally, deep in thought. It had been two days now and Ruth was showing no signs of improvement. She had just changed the sheets again and had managed to get her to drink a little soup, but there was still no response. It was like looking after a rag doll. If Ruth didn’t snap out of it by tomorrow, she feared the doctor would insist that she be admitted to the psychiatric hospital. She felt helpless. How could she protect her friend?

  Puffing out her cheeks, she glanced at the bedside clock. The kids would be home from school soon and she still had to get the dinner on. ‘Hello,’ she smiled, as Sally suddenly opened her eyes. ‘Are you feeling any better?’

  ‘Yeah, me head doesn’t hurt so much now,’ she answered, struggling to sit up. ‘Can I see me mum?’

  Elsie looked into Sally’s worried eyes. It had been the devil of a job to keep her in bed for the last forty-eight hours and she was running out of excuses. ‘Look, pet, your mum still isn’t very well, but I’ll take you in to see her. Don’t worry if she seems a bit strange, she may not talk to you or anything, but that’s because she’s very tired. Now come on, I’ll help you up, you may feel a bit giddy at first.’

  ‘There now,’ Elsie said as they stood beside Ruth. ‘She’s asleep, so we had better not disturb her.’

  ‘But she’s got her eyes open. Can I stay in here, please? I’ll be ever so quiet, honest,’ Sally appealed, her voice high.

  Ruth stirred and Elsie’s heart leaped. Was that a flicker of response in her eyes? Was it Sally’s voice she was responding to? ‘It looks like your mum’s waking up, Sally. I tell you what, sit in that chair and you can talk to her. She might be a bit muzzy-headed, darling, but don’t let it worry you.’

  ‘Mum, it’s me, are you all right?’ Sally asked worriedly as she leaned over in the chair, grasping her mother’s hand.

  Elsie watched as Ruth turned her head, her face no longer glazed but filled with confusion. ‘Sally,’ she croaked. ‘Sally, is it really you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, of course it is.’

  There was a choking sou
nd followed by a loud wail, and tears spurted from Ruth’s eyes. Her voice rose in anguish. ‘You’re alive!’ she cried. ‘Oh, my baby, you’re alive!’

  ‘Mum, Mum, don’t cry,’ Sally begged, throwing herself onto the bed and into her mother’s arms.

  Elsie felt a lump in her throat as she watched them clinging to each other, her own eyes filling with tears. Thank God, she thought, thank God.

  A week later Sally was sitting at the kitchen table, and other than the sore bump on her head, she was fully recovered.

  ‘So your mum’s all right now, Sal?’

  ‘I dunno, Ann, she still won’t get out of bed and she just wants to sleep all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, and it’s my bed she won’t get out of. I’m fed up with sleeping on the sofa.’

  ‘You selfish pig, Arthur, no wonder you can’t make any friends,’ Ann snapped, glaring at her brother.

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, clever clogs. I’ve got lots of friends now and mum said I can go camping with them in August – so there!’ he shouted, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his sister.

  ‘Oh, you make me sick,’ Ann said huffily, rising from her chair. ‘Come on, Sally, let’s go upstairs to my room.’

  ‘Huh, well at least you’ve got a room to go to, even if you are sharing it with her. It’s all right for you.’

  ‘Arthur,’ Sally placated, ‘I’m sorry that you’ve got to sleep on the sofa, but I’m sure it won’t be for much longer.’

  He lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. ‘Yeah, right,’ he mumbled.

  Following Ann upstairs, she wished her mum would get out of bed so they could go home. She liked being with Ann, and Elsie was lovely, but when Bert came home she felt sick with nerves, especially when he pulled Ann onto his lap. Her heart would pound uncomfortably, wondering if he would do the same naughty things as Uncle Harry.