by Tania Crosse
‘Not working today?’ she asked, neatly changing the subject.
‘Night shift,’ Kit told her without turning his head. ‘Passenger trains might stop, but freights go all night.’
Hillie nodded. Bright was Kit. Now when he had been offered a place at the grammar school, Stan and Eva had scraped every penny to afford the uniform and all the extras that hadn’t come free with the scholarship. But Kit had a passion for trains and when he was sixteen, his uncle – Stan’s brother – who’d worked at Clapham Junction himself from a boy, had managed to get his nephew taken on in the office. Being one of the brightest recruits, Kit had been selected to be trained on the telegraph. It was a lowly but good start. Kit had been there for six years now, and was gradually working his way up the ladder.
‘You still planning on being stationmaster one day, then?’ Hillie enquired, half teasing.
Kit’s strong mouth spread into a grin. ‘Of course!’
‘Bit ambitious, aren’t you? Clapham Junction’s one of the busiest stations in the world. And the biggest in Britain, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what they say,’ Kit confirmed. ‘And I intend to be in charge of the whole operation by the time I’m forty.’ His grin broadened, eyes shining like stars. Hillie wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, but somehow felt she could detect solemnity behind his jocular smile. Perhaps it wasn’t a joke but a deadly serious ambition. And why not?
‘Your digs still OK?’ Hillie asked next.
‘Yes, thanks, Hill. Works out well and I couldn’t go on living in this bedlam. Right, all finished, Gran.’ He turned his attention back to Old Sal, wiping her mouth with a stained cloth which didn’t look as if it’d seen the inside of a washtub for weeks. ‘All right?’
Old Sal smacked her lips over her toothless mouth as she nodded, and her dull, drooping eyes brightened as she noticed their visitor. ‘Hello, Hillie dear,’ her chin appeared to articulate without her lips making any contact with each other.
‘Hello, Sal,’ Hillie beamed back at her. ‘Enjoy your dinner?’
‘Yeah. This nice young man give it to me.’
‘I’m sure that’s a compliment, Gran, but I’m your grandson, Kit. Christopher.’
The old lady peered at him through a bemused frown. ‘No, you’re not. He’s only this high.’
‘I’ve grown, Gran. I’m twenty-two now.’
‘How old?’ Old Sal still looked puzzled. ‘How old am I, then?’
‘You’re eighty-six, Gran.’
The frown deepened. ‘And who’s this, then? Do I know her?’
‘Yes. It’s Hillie. From a few doors down. You’ve known her since she was a baby. You said hello to her just now.’
‘No, I didn’t. Who is she?’
‘Oh, dear. Not a good day.’ Eva plonked herself down in the next chair, spilling tea from her chipped mug all over the table. The cloth she pulled from the pocket of her dirty apron was not, however, for mopping up spills. It turned out to be a scarf, remarkably clean for her, which she proceeded to tie over the curlers in her hair. ‘There,’ she announced proudly. ‘Just swallow me tea and use the lav and I’ll be ready.’
‘You coming with us, Kit?’ Hillie asked, feeling so much happier than when she’d left her own house.
‘If you’ll have me. Shift doesn’t start till six. That’s if you can manage on your own, Dad?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Stan flapped his hand at his eldest offspring. ‘You go and enjoy yourself with the others.’
There were relaxed, genuine smiles all round, and yet again, Hillie felt so envious. If only her family were allowed to be like this! She gritted her teeth, driving away the odious shadow of her father. It was a beautiful afternoon, hot for the time of year, and she was about to spend a few hours with her best friend and her family among the grassy spaces and neatly tended flowerbeds of Battersea Park.
But the image of what Harold was doing to her poor mother kept coming back to haunt her.
Chapter Three
Harold Hardwick swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress to pull his drawers back on. He looked down between his legs and a smirk twisted his face. He’d performed well, but twice was enough for him. Nell was too much of a cold fish in the bedroom department for his liking. Always had been. He knew why, of course. It still galled him how he’d been tricked all those years before. So he always enjoyed taking his revenge, and it made him feel good that he could still make the hussy suffer in such an intimate way.
He glanced over his shoulder at his wife’s naked form on the sheets beside him, curled up on her side with her back to him. From behind, she still looked like a young woman, slender-limbed, firm buttocks, graceful neck. Even from the front, she was still attractive, face only faintly lined and her hair in the neat perm he insisted on. It was only the loose skin on her otherwise flat stomach that gave away her multiple pregnancies, and her breasts didn’t sag so much that he didn’t enjoy kneading them, seeing the pain and fear in her eyes. He swallowed the saliva that had collected in his mouth. Perhaps he should turn her on her back again. Take his pleasure for a third time. But he was hot, his armpits running with sweat. He didn’t want to humiliate himself by not being able to finish what he’d started.
He pulled his shirt on over his vest, his mind wandering, unsatisfied. Perhaps he should seek out some younger comfort. He never had before. It somehow seemed beneath him, and besides, he’d seen young lads who’d got the clap out in France during the war and the agonising treatment they’d had to endure. So perhaps he’d better stick with humiliating Nell as often as he could.
He picked up his trousers from the floor and put them on again. Now what? The entire house was like a new pin. He saw to it that Nell was too terrified to let it be otherwise. Part of her punishment. But none of it was enough for him. He was always looking for ways to make her pay for what she’d done.
He went to go downstairs, but as he stepped on the tiny square of landing, he noticed that the door to the back bedroom was ajar. Perhaps he could find something amiss there that would be cause to reprimand young Hillie. He could punish her, and that would be even greater torture to her mother. But to his annoyance, the room couldn’t be tidier and you could eat off any of the surfaces, or the floor for that matter.
Harold lowered himself onto the narrow bed the girl occupied. It was underneath the window, on the opposite side from the bunks Joan and Trixie slept in, with Daisy’s little cot-bed slotted behind the door. The wardrobe the four girls shared stood on one side of the chimney breast, and the chest of drawers on the other. It was cramped, but with the military tidiness Harold expected, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
He lay back on the bed, hands behind his head. To think this was where the little madam rested each night. The pillow was hard, though. Why was that? He slipped his hand beneath. Ah, a book, of course. She had nowhere else to keep it, after all. So, what was she reading that kept her so engrossed?
As he pulled the book from its resting place, something slid from between its pages. An envelope. So what was the sly monkey hiding? A love letter? Well, he’d soon put a stop to any secret relationship she might be having. No one was going to try and trick him and get away with it ever again!
He turned the envelope over in his hands, anger simmering deep inside. It wasn’t addressed to anyone. What did that mean? It was sealed, but not all the way, as if it had been done in haste. So could he possibly steam it open?
He slunk down the stairs to the scullery and turned on the gas under the kettle. Nell wouldn’t be down, but he’d listen out just in case. But he wasn’t disturbed. As the steam loosened the glue, he slid the blade of a knife underneath and, hey presto, the envelope revealed its secret.
For a few seconds, Harold was confused. Why would Hillie not tell them she was applying for another job? It didn’t make sense. And then it hit him like a fist in the belly. If she got the job, it’d be more money, possibly enough for her to leave home. She’d hav
e it all arranged before she told them, wouldn’t she? The crafty little so-and-so. And then he couldn’t go on using her to get back at her mother. Couldn’t go on punishing her. Not only that, but the brat could taunt him by claiming she had a better job than him, was climbing the ladder when he’d only be a candle moulder for the rest of his life. With her tongue, he wouldn’t put it past her.
Well, he’d damned well make sure she wouldn’t get the job! So what could he do? She believed the envelope was sealed, so she wouldn’t be looking at the form again, would she? It was almost a work of art, it was so neat. But what if the ink was badly smudged? A sly leer twisted Harold’s lips as he wetted his hands under the tap and allowed the water to drip from his fingers onto the paper. The ink leeched out of the words in pretty blue stars. Not too many or it would look deliberate, but just enough to ruin Hillie’s chances. A few moments to let it dry, then return it to the envelope, seal it up and replace it in the book. Hillie would never realise what had happened and would think she didn’t get the job because she wasn’t bloody good enough! That’d teach her to go behind his back and think she was cleverer than him.
Oh, what joy! Harold’s heart danced as he crept back up the stairs.
*
They made a motley procession walking down to Battersea Park that sunny June afternoon. Leading the way was Eva Parker, pushing the battered old pram with nine-month-old Primrose, pretty as a picture, asleep on her back. Proud as Punch was Eva of all her offspring and it was a delight to her to have them all together on an outing, especially her eldest, Kit, who didn’t live with them anymore. He was piggybacking little Trudy – now in dry knickers – while Gertie herded Mildred and Jake across Battersea Bridge Road, minding the rattling trams, and Hillie did the same with her three youngest sisters. Kit was smartly attired in his railway uniform as he was going straight to work afterwards, but apart from that, the difference between the two families was that while the Parkers provided a scruffy sight, the Hardwicks were clean and neatly turned out, even if their clothes were all hand-me-downs. Nell wouldn’t dare let her children be otherwise unless she wanted to answer to Harold!
‘You’d think me mum was the flipping queen, wouldn’t you?’ Gert chuckled in a low voice, jabbing her head at Eva who was several paces ahead as they trooped down Cambridge Road. ‘If she had a crown on her head instead of curlers and a scarf, you could be mistaken, she looks so proud and royal like.’
‘And if she’d taken her apron off,’ Kit observed, trying to keep a straight face. ‘Remembered to change out of her slippers, mind.’
‘That’s a wonder,’ Gert grinned. ‘Right, hold me hand, you two,’ she commanded as they reached the vast junction of Albert Bridge Road and Prince of Wales Drive.
They all crossed over in dribs and drabs according to the traffic, Eva waiting by the lodge house just inside the ornate, wrought-iron gates and arched stone pillars of the park’s Sun Gate. Her warm, maternal smile graced her homely face as they all caught her up.
‘Right, where shall we go, then?’ she asked brightly.
‘I wanna play wiv me football,’ Jake whined. ‘That’s why I bringed it all this way,’ he moaned, twirling said object in its string bag.
‘I want to go to the aviaries,’ Trixie pouted.
‘We can do everything,’ Hillie told them. ‘Got plenty of time.’
‘And I’ve got some crusts to feed the ducks and the swans,’ Eva put in. ‘Do that first, shall we?’ Not that she gave anyone the chance to disagree as she set off in the direction of the lakes, everyone trailing along around her in a little cluster. ‘Your mum not wanted to come, then?’ she asked, glancing sideways at Hillie.
Hillie hoped the rush of heat she felt in her cheeks didn’t show. ‘Thought she and Dad would have a bit of peace together,’ she replied, cringing at the half-truth.
‘Pity. Poor Nell works so hard, I hardly ever see her, and her living only a few doors down and us being friends since we was kids. Well, you tell her I’m coming to see her in the week, no matter how busy she says she is,’ Eva announced, heaving up her bosom so that Hillie wondered quite what she was thinking.
Hillie would never have guessed, of course. Eva’s thoughts had wandered back to the time when she’d befriended the little girl at the grocers’ when she was running errands for her own mother, Old Sal. Nellie Fenton, as she’d been then, was a pretty, shy soul, a bit vulnerable and not streetwise like Evangeline. But the two had become bosom pals. Then the war had come along and Nell’s parents had eventually lost all their money. With all the food shortages, they’d refused to deal in under-the-counter goings-on, and as a result of their scruples, business had collapsed. They’d both died in poverty in the 1919 influenza pandemic.
By then, of course, Nell had been married to Harold for five years, Hillie was a little tot of four and Nell had been pregnant with Luke. Unlike the Hardwicks, when Stan had returned from the war, he and Eva had waited to see what life would bring before they extended their family. They’d used those rubber things to stop anything happening; how they’d fallen about laughing the first time Stan had tried to put one on! But when he’d got the job at the sawmill at Price’s factory and his future looked secure, the babies hadn’t come straightaway – unlike Nell who seemed to produce them on a regular basis, the four-year gap between Trixie and Daisy being the longest interval. But now Eva had six children of her own, perhaps it was time she shut up shop. She wasn’t getting any younger, after all.
‘Got the bread then, Mum?’ Mildred asked, tugging at her sleeve and snapping her from her reverie.
‘Yeah, here you go. There’s not much. Can’t afford to feed the blooming ducks that much. So make sure you share it equal like.’
Eva lowered her plump frame onto a bench by the hooped railings and released a sigh of contentment. Ah, how lucky they were to have this whacking great park on their doorstep with its lovely lakes, wide open spaces and all the other amenities. The huge formal flower beds were carpeted in colour, and some flowering shrubs whose names Eva didn’t know were still covered in frothy blossom. Nell would’ve loved it. Perhaps if there was another fine day in the week, Eva could persuade her to come for a stroll in the park. Eva’s brow furrowed in pensive bitterness. Poor Nell. But Eva’s lips were sealed. What good would it do, anyway?
‘Bread’s all gone now,’ Gert announced cheerily.
‘Blimey, you didn’t half make short work of that!’ Eva laughed, her comely bosom wobbling. ‘So, bird cages next, is it, young Trixie?’ she asked, since she couldn’t quite remember the posh word Trixie had used for them.
The little army set off again, this time with Eva and the pram bringing up the rear. The younger ones skipped and danced on ahead while Hillie, Gert and her brother were in the middle. Kit obviously said something funny and teasing, and Hillie playfully pushed his arm in response. Eva’s heart gave a little bound. It’d be nice if those two got together. Her Kit needed someone intelligent, and she was a pretty kid, too. No, not just pretty. She was beautiful. And Kit wouldn’t be a bad catch either, even if Eva said so herself.
‘Right, who’s for an ice cream?’ Kit asked when they’d had their fill of poking their fingers through the wire of the enclosures and being told off by a brown-uniformed keeper.
Kit was met by a chorus of delight, and ushered the troop away with a blushing apology to the keeper. Taking his hands, Mildred and Jake almost dragged their big brother along to the pavilion near the river embankment. They queued patiently enough, though, even if they were jumping up and down with excitement.
‘Now calm down and hold it carefully. Look, like Trixie,’ Kit ordered as he handed each of his younger two siblings their treats. ‘If you drop them, you won’t get another one. Hill?’ he asked, turning to Hillie who was overseeing little Daisy and Frances as they carefully licked their cones.
Hillie was sure she flushed. ‘Can you afford it?’ she replied in a low whisper. ‘There’s an awful lot of us.’
‘Co
urse I can,’ Kit assured her, dismayed that she’d felt she had to ask. But he knew from Gert how tight Harold Hardwick was with money and how he snatched most of Hillie’s wages, so she certainly wasn’t used to having a treat very often! ‘I’m on reasonable money,’ he explained, to make her feel better about it. ‘My digs are quite cheap so I manage to save a bit each week, so I’m sure I can afford to buy the girl of my dreams an ice cream.’
His eyes had gleamed rakishly as he said it and Hillie laughed aloud as he ordered another cone. ‘Give over,’ she grinned, and would have dug him in the ribs if there hadn’t been the risk of his dropping her ice cream as he’d warned the younger ones not to do.
They were lucky to find an empty bench nearby and sat the little ones down in a row to enjoy their cones without mishap. When they’d finished, they skirted the bandstand where military marches were enthralling the audience, pausing for ten minutes to listen to the music before ambling off through the extensive cricket grounds where a match was in full swing on one of the immaculate pitches. They at last reached the vast grassy area devoted to football. With the season over, it was less well-tended, and people were dotted about the edges, sitting on picnic rugs. They managed to find yet another bench for Eva to rest on so that she could jiggle the pram back and forth on the flat path since Primrose was threatening to wake up. The others all went off to a patch of grass to knock Jake’s football around where they wouldn’t disturb others, until the two youngest, Frances and Trudy, were getting tired, and Gert and Hillie brought them back to stretch out on the grass beside them and have forty winks.
‘Good with the little ones, isn’t he, your Kit?’ Hillie said lazily as she watched a bee investigating the first daisies to appear that year.
Gert wrinkled up her nose in a shrug. ‘Get used to it, I suppose, if you’re the eldest of a big family. But you should know that, Hillie. Hey, you don’t fancy our Kit, do you?’ she giggled after a moment’s pause.
