by Kitty Neale
Though Roy didn’t know it, he had no need to worry. In turmoil, Carol had eventually found the main road and a bus that would take her to Clapham Junction. She was now walking along Lavender Hill, her head bowed in shame.
Close to the top of the hill she would have to pass the police station, and a part of her inwardly screamed out in her need to make Roy pay for what he had done. Yet upon reaching it, Carol didn’t pause to go inside. It wasn’t just that the police might not believe her – worse was her fear of Roy’s threat if she accused him of rape, the lies he would tell his friend on the local newspaper.
She’d be branded a tart and imagining her parents’ reaction, Carol trembled with fear and shame. They must never find out! Never!
It wasn’t yet ten o’clock when she turned the corner onto Lark Rise and she fought to compose herself. She had to pretend that nothing was wrong, and as Carol arrived home, she somehow managed to hold herself together.
‘Hello, you’re early,’ her father said.
‘Yeah, I know. The bloke I went out with was a bit boring so I made an excuse to leave,’ she lied. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘She’s round your gran’s again. Since the day your gran got a television I reckon your mum got hooked on it. She’s always going on about some programme she likes to watch a few nights a week, but I’m no mug and I know what she’s up to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She thinks that I’ll get fed up with her going to your gran’s and I’ll buy our own television. It’s working, I’m saving up, but it’ll be a month or two before I’ve got enough,’ he said, glancing at the clock. ‘She should be home soon, but keep it to yourself. I want the new television to be a surprise.’
‘All right. I’m a bit tired so I think I’ll have an early night. Tell Mum I said goodnight.’
‘Will do,’ he said. ‘’Night, love.’
Carol hurried upstairs. She had got away with it, yet she still felt filthy, sullied and going into their tiny bathroom she washed herself over and over again.
At last Carol went to bed, but found sleep was impossible as behind closed lids she couldn’t stop the scene from replaying in her mind. She felt Roy’s hands on her again, the fear, the shock and the pain. She hated Roy, loathed him, but along with that came feelings of self-disgust, shame, her mind tortured until at last, Carol fell asleep.
Chapter Ten
March came, heralding spring, and by mid-May there was clement weather. Amy had watched her mother carefully since Winnie had passed away, and was pleased to see that she no longer looked tired. There was colour in her cheeks again, but as the concern for her mother diminished, she became worried about Carol.
Her friend had been vivacious, outgoing and confident, but now Carol’s love of music and dancing was a thing of the past. Carol was now eighteen and the days when they had talked about everything had gone as her friend became withdrawn, though when questioned Carol continued to insist crossly that nothing was wrong.
It was Sunday afternoon and Amy would be seeing Tommy later, but now as she helped her mother with the washing up she told her, ‘Lena Winters is being transferred to a larger branch. We’ll have to get used to a new manageress soon.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
Amy hoped so, but her mind drifted back to Carol and she voiced her concerns again. ‘Mum, I wish I knew what was wrong with Carol.’
‘Maybe she’s mooning over a boy or something.’
‘No, I don’t think so. The last date Carol had was back in February and she said that was a washout. She hasn’t mentioned anyone since.’
‘In that case, maybe Carol’s seeing someone she doesn’t want you to know about.’
Amy mulled that over, but she couldn’t see why Carol would keep a boyfriend a secret from her … unless? Surely not, Amy thought – but if that shop fitter Carol had been out with was a married man, it was the only thing that made any sense. Carol had certainly been very keen on him, and maybe she was still seeing him, perhaps unhappy now because he wouldn’t leave his wife?
‘You’ve gone quiet, Amy. Do you think I’m right?’
‘No, I don’t. Carol has never hidden anything from me, so I think it must be something else,’ she replied, keeping her suspicions to herself.
‘That’s the washing up done,’ her mother said, tipping the water down the sink and then helping Amy to put the dishes away.
Other than her concern for Carol, in all other ways Amy was happy. Her mother was her old self again, and Tommy had been fine since his last bout of bronchitis. If only Carol was happy too, then everything would be perfect, but if her friend was really going out with a married man, Amy feared it would all end in tears.
Celia was moaning again, and George was fed up with it. She’d obviously had plans for Thomas and Melissa, but they had come to nothing. Now, after having dinner in the Willards’ home last night, she had another bee in her bonnet.
‘I could have screamed when Libby went on and on about that chap that Melissa is seeing now. Did you notice that supercilious smile on her face when she was bragging about him being a trainee accountant with wonderful prospects?’
‘No, can’t say I did,’ George replied, wishing that Celia would give the subject a rest.
‘Libby didn’t actually say the words, but she was obviously letting me know that she doesn’t think Thomas is good enough for her daughter.’
‘I don’t know where you get your daft ideas from – I didn’t get that impression. If you ask me, you’re just peeved because your bit of matchmaking didn’t come off.’
Celia glowered at him, but then Thomas came downstairs, dressed to go out and she turned her attention to him. ‘I suppose you’re seeing that girl again,’ she snapped.
‘If by that girl, you mean Amy, then yes,’ Thomas replied stiffly.
‘I don’t know what you see in her. She’s as common as muck.’
‘She is not!’ Thomas protested.
‘Yes she …’
‘Shut up, Celia,’ George growled. ‘Come on, son, let’s get out of here. I need a bit of air so I’ll walk down the Rise with you.’
‘Go then, George,’ Celia said, ‘leave me on my own, as usual.’
‘You might as well get used to it, Celia,’ he snapped, and as they walked outside, George took a deep breath. He had done it again, shot his mouth off, and this time in front of Thomas. Yet did it really matter? Everything was in place now, and he’d ensured that Thomas was skilled enough in handling glass to take over the business. With Thomas’s other skills, George was sure that the firm could generate enough income to support both him and his mother. In fact his son would probably do far better than he ever had.
‘Dad, what did you mean by that?’ Thomas asked as they began to walk down the hill.
‘By what, son?’ he asked, playing for time.
‘That parting shot about Mum getting used to being alone.’
‘Oh, that … well … it’s just that when she gets on her high horse it drives me out, and it’s something your mum’s been doing a lot lately.’
Thomas didn’t look convinced and, anxious to change the subject, George said, ‘You’ve been seeing a lot of Amy. Are things getting serious?’
‘I like her, Dad. I like her a lot and yes, I’m serious about her.’
Would it lead to marriage? George wondered, baulking at the thought. It was something he hadn’t taken into consideration. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, in his own wants and needs, but if Amy was the girl for Thomas, he would one day want to marry her. His son would then have to support a wife and eventually a family, with the added burden of his mother. How could he do that to him?
With a feeling of despair, George saw his dreams slipping away. He desperately tried to cling on to them, and clutched on to the thought that his son could be very astute. There had been signs of his mother’s ambition in Thomas and on more than one occasion he’d suggested ways to expand the business. Of course, George thoug
ht, he’d always dismissed his son’s ideas, but if he was left to get on with it, Thomas could put them in practice, and surely he’d make them succeed.
‘See you later, Dad.’
George had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t realised they’d reached the Millers’ house. ‘Yeah, see you, son,’ he replied, walking on as Thomas knocked on the door.
At the bottom of the Rise, George turned the corner. All the final arrangements for tomorrow had been made so he wasn’t seeing her today, yet, still fretting about the ramifications of what he was going to do, George didn’t feel like returning home either.
George thought about some of Thomas’s suggestions to expand the business and at last, after trudging for half an hour he smiled, his guilt assuaged by the realisation that if he stayed, all he’d do was hold his son back. Thomas would make a huge success of the firm, while he’d start up again somewhere else, keeping it to a one-man band that he could cope with.
George thought about the new life he’d be starting tomorrow. He hadn’t made the same mistakes and had been honest from the start. She knew his problem and wouldn’t be like Celia, with her constant complaints about his lack of ambition. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. From now on his life would be a simpler one, alongside a woman that he truly loved.
‘Winnie’s place has been empty since her daughter cleared her stuff out, but that could be about to change,’ Mabel said to her husband. ‘I still can’t get over how Susan gave all her furniture and stuff to that junk man. There were a few nice bits and the least she could have done was to offer them to Phyllis.’
‘Hmmm,’ was the only sound Jack made.
For all the notice he took, Mabel felt she might just as well talk to herself, but she continued. ‘Phyllis looked after Winnie for all that time, but she didn’t even get a thank you. The funeral was a paltry affair too, with Susan shooting back to Devon more or less as soon as her mother was put in the ground.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Jack, are you listening to me?’ Mabel said loudly.
‘What … yes … of course I am.’
‘What did I just say then?’
‘Err … something about Winnie’s place.’
‘I saw the agent showing it to a young couple yesterday. If it’s anything like this place, with a leaky roof and damp, I doubt they’ll want it. Nobody else has.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Jack agreed and Mabel knew she had lost him again as he stuck his nose back in his book.
She looked around the living room, thinking that if anyone was shown this place they’d probably turn their noses up too. ‘Jack, don’t you think it’s time we thought about redecorating? We haven’t had new wallpaper and paint for years.’
With a huge sigh he looked up. ‘What’s the point? You just said yourself that these places are riddled with damp.’
‘Some new furniture then; a sofa and armchairs to replace these tatty ones.’
‘Why waste money? Anyway, I like my chair. It’s comfortable and fits me like an old glove.’
Mabel gave up. Jack had never liked spending money, preferring to save it for a rainy day. Sighing, she walked to the window. She had seen George Frost walking past and had wondered where he was going. The pubs were shut, and other than kids playing outside, there weren’t many people to be seen on a Sunday afternoon. Only five minutes later, as though to disprove Mabel’s theory, Amy Miller had walked past, arm in arm with Tommy Frost, the two of them so wrapped up in each other that they hadn’t spotted her looking out of the window.
Young love, Mabel thought, sighing now. There had once been a time when Jack had looked at her like that, with adoration. Nowadays though, she was lucky if he looked at her at all. She turned to gaze at her husband now, seeing that although he was only in his mid-forties, he looked more like he was fifty. Jack was balding, growing tubby around the middle, but there were still remnants of the good-looking young man she’d fallen in love with. They had let themselves go, Mabel decided, both looking older than their years in comparison to Daphne and Frank Cole.
Mabel scowled. At forty-six, Daphne was two years older than her, yet she looked years younger. Of course she wore fashionable clothes and make-up, so that helped, yet the stuff she plastered on her face was light in comparison to Phyllis’s cousin, Rose. There was still gossip going round that Rose was seeing a married man, but as yet nobody had put a name to him. Mabel felt sorry for the man’s wife, and she glanced at Jack again, thinking that at least she didn’t have to worry about her husband straying.
Tommy was holding Amy’s hand, happy to be with her as they headed for Battersea Park. The funfair had opened again when Easter fell at the beginning of the month and once he’d paid for them to get in, he was planning to take Amy for a ride on the big dipper.
After chatting for a while they walked in companionable silence, Tommy’s thoughts drifting to his father. He’d been acting strangely, sitting back and giving him more responsibility at work. They had taken it in turns to go out on repairs or replacements, but it had never made sense to Tommy that they didn’t have two vehicles. It would have doubled the amount of work they could take on. He’d suggested it many times, along with other ways they could expand, but his father had always dismissed his ideas.
Tommy hadn’t understood why until just recently, when he’d at last been allowed to look at the books. Once again he felt a surge of pity for his father, and remained amazed that he’d hidden the truth for so long. The books were a mess, his father’s handwriting almost illegible, and there were numerous mistakes in accounting. His father was an intelligent man, and a craftsman when he handled glass, but it was obvious the paperwork involved in running a firm was beyond his capabilities. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to expand. More work, perhaps taking on a council contract, meant sending written quotes, proper invoicing and accounting.
‘I love the funfair,’ Amy said excitedly as they walked through the park gates.
‘Me too,’ Thomas agreed. He’d have a word with his dad; suggest taking on the paperwork permanently. By doing that they could expand the business and with it would come a rise in pay. If Amy agreed to marry him that meant it wouldn’t have to be a long engagement before they could afford to get married.
It was a wonderful thought, but as they approached the funfair, Tommy was unaware that his father had other plans – ones that would have a profound effect on his future.
Chapter Eleven
Celia woke up on Monday morning to find the bed empty beside her. She threw on her dressing gown, expecting to find George downstairs, but instead saw two letters propped on the mantelshelf.
Puzzled, she picked up the one with her name on it, and after managing to decipher the dreadful handwriting she stood frozen in shock; stunned. George had gone! He’d left her for another woman!
At last, after reading the contents again, Celia came to life and, grabbing the other letter, she hurried back upstairs and into her son’s room. ‘Thomas! Thomas! Wake up!’
When he didn’t respond, she shook him. ‘Thomas! Come on, wake up!’
His eyes slowly opened, he blinked, and as they cleared she cried, ‘Thomas, your father has left me.’
‘Wh … what?’
‘Your father has gone! Here, he left you this letter.’
Thomas shook his head as though to clear it and then sat up, taking the letter from her hand. He ripped it open, his reaction when he managed to read it the same as his mother’s at first. ‘I can’t believe this,’ he finally murmured, after the initial shock had sunk in. ‘He … he’s handed over the business to me.’
‘To you! What about me? What about your brother?’
‘There’s no mention of you, and Jeremy isn’t here to run the place.’
‘Give that letter to me,’ Celia demanded.
Thomas passed it to her and said, ‘Mum, let me get dressed then I’ll come downstairs and we can sort this out.’
‘Yes, yes, all right,
’ she agreed.
It wasn’t long before Thomas walked into the living room, but by that time Celia was sitting with his letter clutched in her hand. It was bad enough that George had gone off with another woman, but he had also left her financial future in the hands of their son. ‘Did you know about this?’ she snapped, waving the letter.
‘Of course not.’
‘Surely you noticed something, had some inkling.’
‘Not really, though Dad’s been giving me more responsibility at work, sorting the books and things. I didn’t realise that he had a problem until then. Did you know?’
‘Yes, of course, but he would never accept my help,’ Celia said as her stomach began to churn. George had left her! Why hadn’t she seen the signs? They had been there, she now realised, thinking about how George had been going out more lately, but she had never suspected that he was seeing another woman. Her emotions were on a rollercoaster; first there had been shock, then anger, but now the tears came – tears she couldn’t stem, and her body shook with emotion. Thomas tried to comfort her, but she pushed away from him.
‘Mum,’ he said, ‘you can’t go on like this. I’m going next door to get Libby.’
‘No! No, don’t do that,’ Celia cried, unable to bear the shame of it, the gossip that would fly when it became known that George had left her. With a supreme effort she fought to calm down, able to say at last, ‘I’m all right now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll make us both a cup of tea and then we’ll have to work out what we’re going to do,’ she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she went through to the kitchen. Anger and bitterness rose again to replace her tears. She had given George the best years of her life, and two sons, but he had left her for another woman. Well, whoever she was, she was welcome to him, Celia decided, determined not to let this beat her. But her bravado didn’t sustain her for long and she had to choke back a sob.
Rose looked around her small, dank flat for the last time, happy to leave it. She had fallen on her feet at last, even if she knew some would be scandalised when it came out –including her cousin Phyllis.
