The Ever Open Door

by Glenice Crossland

  He sauntered on to the allotment, where he could sit and enjoy a Woodbine without Lizzie complaining about the smoke. It was nice here, with the chapel on one side and the stream on the other. He never noticed the noise from the steelworks or the coke ovens; Joe had been born here and had become immune to the clanging and screeching over the years. All he was aware of was the trickling stream and the bird song in the trees above the graveyard.

  He gazed with satisfaction at the beans climbing up their sticks. They hung, green and tender, waiting to be gathered. Peas were filling out nicely, too, Lizzie would enjoy those. He grinned. That was, if his grand-daughters didn’t get to them first. Eeh, but the joy those three lasses gave to Joe Denman was worth all the peas in Millington, especially little Daisy. Just the thought of her made him smile.

  Ernest Denman hadn’t told anyone what had happened to dislocate his shoulder. Nor did he let on that he was training with Fighter Squadron and that, provided his shoulder allowed it, he was waiting for the call to action at any time. It was because Ernest was outstandingly fit and intelligent that he had been selected. If his shoulder didn’t regain full mobility all that training would have been in vain.

  To tell the truth, though, he wasn’t the cool, confident young man he presented himself as. In fact, as he manoeuvred his equipment – which weighed sixty pounds – on board a Spitfire, he, like most of his fellow fighters, was usually so scared he was almost shitting himself. But he and his comrades were willing to forfeit their lives for their country.

  For a week Ernest wasn’t allowed to use his shoulder at all. After that he was determined to work the bloody thing back to its original strength. The enemy had to be defeated and Ernest Denman would never shrink from the task.

  * * *

  Betty had found her mother’s old Bestway Cookery Book and was itching to try out some of the recipes, but of course it was impossible with rationing. However, she was proud of the corned beef pie she had made. She had managed to buy a couple of onions by queueing at Mr Baraclough’s door, waiting for the delivery of the greens. She had discovered some old dried herbs in the back of the cupboard and experimented until the seasoning was just right; her pastry was as good as it could be with the limited amount of fat available. Even Clarence complimented her on the finished meal, and Amy said her daughter had turned out a better pastry cook than she herself would ever be.

  ‘You’ve a pastry cook’s light hand,’ she praised her daughter.

  The truth was that Betty Hayes had at last discovered her forte. She loved cooking. She had even begun sewing, and had made a couple of tiny bibs for the forthcoming baby. The thought that she might soon have a home of her own seemed to have boosted her household skills no end. She also felt more kindly disposed towards Clarence. Amy thought it was a bit soon to sigh with relief but at least things were looking brighter.

  If she had but known it, this peaceful interval was just a lull before the storm.

  Clarence watched Ernest Denman visiting his sister, marching straight and proud despite the sling on his arm. Clarence pulled back his own shoulders and wondered how long it would be before he developed the hunched back some of the older miners were lumbered with. He hated that mine. Hated working ankle-deep in water, and in seams so low that the men’s backs were permanently stooped. He hated the coal that ground itself into the skin and worked its dust deep into the lungs of the colliers. Clarence had had enough.

  On pay day he handed in his lamp and collected his wages, then he went home to the meal Betty placed proudly in front of him which he devoured with relish, praising her for her culinary efforts. Then he went upstairs, packed a bag and told his wife he was going to the Miners’ Club for a bath. He placed his wages and the money he had made on the side, illegally, on the dressing table where she wouldn’t find it until bedtime.

  He kept little for himself; she would need it all for the kid. He couldn’t think of the child as his, too many men had been there before him. He didn’t think badly of Betty, though. All she had wanted was a good time, just like him really. He doubted he would have a good time where he was going but at least he would see some action. If he was killed in the process, so be it.

  Clarence kissed Betty warmly, went to the Miners’ Club and rid himself of the bloody coal muck, then he caught a bus to Sheffield and enlisted.

  * * *

  Jim didn’t like the idea of his wife being a servant to Miss Appleby; he didn’t like the thought of her working at all. He just knew what would happen next. Sally would start by working the hours agreed upon, then she would begin bringing washing home, then she would just be popping over to take Miss Appleby this or fetch Miss Appleby that. His wife, of course, had an answer to every argument he raised.

  ‘I promise I won’t bring work home,’ she said. ‘And where else would I find a job where I can take Daisy with me?’

  ‘She won’t like it, cooped up with that woman,’ Jim pointed out.

  ‘Well, our Enid’s offered to have her. After all, she doesn’t work in the school holidays and they’re almost upon us. Break up this week actually.’ The one argument Sally didn’t put forward was about the extra money. She had the sense to know her husband wouldn’t like that. Jim liked to be the breadwinner, and if he thought he couldn’t provide for his family it would be a blow to his pride. ‘I feel sorry for her, she’s lonely.’

  ‘And who’s fault is that? She’s never put herself out to mix wi’ the neighbours or owt.’

  ‘I know. I’d like to give it a try, though, see how it goes.’

  ‘All right, all right. Have it yer own way, you usually do.’ Then he added, ‘On one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That our Daisy doesn’t suffer.’

  ‘Of course she won’t, what do you take me for?’

  The wage offered to Sally was quite fair, compared to Enid’s for school cleaning. It was agreed that Sally would begin the following Tuesday by working two hours and they’d go from there. In the meantime she wondered how long it would be before she could safely say she was the owner of the Jessops’ house. The boxes she and Emily Simms had packed remained where they had left them. Or so they thought.

  It was eleven o’clock before Betty found the letter. Because she was used to Clarence disappearing for hours on end she hadn’t missed him. Amy had just dropped off to sleep, having left her daughter reading her Secrets and Flame by the fire.

  Betty let out a shriek fit to wake the dead so that Amy almost fell out of bed in her haste to reach her daughter. Betty’s face looked ghastly in the candlelight.

  ‘What is it? Is it the baby?’

  Betty shook her head. ‘Clarence … he’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘He’s joined up, left the pit and joined up.’

  ‘Oh, well, we’ve got to admire him for that.’

  ‘Admire him? What about me and the baby? And what about the house?’

  ‘You ’aven’t actually got the house yet, love.’

  ‘But we would have! Oh, Mam, he must not care about me at all, to go away and leave me now.’

  ‘ ’Course he cares about yer. You can’t condemn him for going to war. Thousands of wives are in the same position.’

  Betty opened the other envelope and looked at the money.

  ‘Well, at least he hasn’t left yer destitute.’

  ‘No, he’s never been mean, I’ll say that for him. Oh, Mam, where do you think he got all this money from? Not from the pit, I’m sure.’

  ‘No, no, lass, not from’t pit. I’d say ’e’s had ’is fingers in some other little pies, by the look of that lot.’

  Betty seemed a bit brighter. ‘He could just have left me his wages from the pit and I’d have been none the wiser about this. So he must have cared about me, mustn’t he, Mam?’

  ‘ ’Course he cared, love, and for the baby. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  Betty grinned then. ‘Being as he was never at home, I’m not goin
g to notice much difference, am I?’

  Amy drew her daughter towards her. ‘That’s my lass,’ she said, hugging Betty close. ‘I should get that little lot in’t bank tomorrer.’

  ‘After I’ve bought a pram,’ Betty said.

  Jim got up after the nightshift on Saturday and said he was going to Sheffield. ‘Are yer coming? It’ll be an outing,’ he said.

  Sally got herself and Daisy ready and they took a short cut down the Donkey Path to the bus stop. Daisy – as usual – made it impossible for them to complete the journey and they had to get off the bus just past the Infirmary, due to her travel sickness. It would be the same on the return journey when they would end up walking the last few miles.

  In town, Jim made his usual visit to the book stall in Norfolk Market where he allowed Daisy to pick a book for herself. He also enquired about a book called Brother to the Ox, by Fred Kitchen. The bookseller promised to order it for him in time for next week. Apparently it was one of the year’s bestsellers, and written by a Derbyshire farmer.

  Daisy chose a brightly coloured picture book and Jim also purchased a second-hand copy of Tom Sawyer. ‘Our Daisy’ll enjoy that in a few years’ time,’ He told Sally. She thought about all the books at Mr Jessops’. Jim would be thrilled with all the classics there such as Uncle Tom’s Cabin and The Coral Island.

  After a walk round the Rag Market, Jim took Daisy to the pet stalls. She was delighted with the pups and kittens. He lifted her up on his shoulders so she could see the budgerigars and canaries. Sally refused to go near the pet stalls, making the excuse that the smell made her feel ill, but Jim knew it was the sight of the poor creatures shut up in cages that upset his sensitive wife.

  He took them next to one of the cafes that had begun selling wartime lunches, then said he would see them later. Curiosity almost got the better of Sally, but she resisted questioning him about where he was off to. She took Daisy to Lewis’s instead, to look at the fashions, hoping they were still advertised at being at pre-war prices, but she was out of luck there. Unperturbed, she bought a dress of blue crêpe-de-Chine for Daisy, adorned at the bodice with pretty pink rosebuds. She also bought navy blue knickers in readiness for her starting school. Daisy hated navy blue, but if they were for school she decided she wouldn’t complain. She wondered if Una Bacon would change from pink to navy when she started school. Their next call was to Walsh’s where Sally was fascinated by the famous gypsy, Leon Petulengro, who was giving a talk about Romany folklore. The talk was almost at an end when suddenly he left the stragglers and approached Sally.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘but I feel I must warn you that you’re in for a disappointment. Somebody has taken something away from you, something you hold very dear. Beware. The woman is out for revenge and will stop at nothing.’

  Sally felt a shiver run the length of her spine.

  ‘A woman?’ was all she managed to say.

  ‘A beautiful woman on the surface, but ugly to the core.’ The gypsy looked at Daisy and smiled. ‘Your daughter is a child of fortune and a gifted one at that. She will see the inside of a hospital soon, but all will be for the best. Ah, you are indeed a gifted child.’

  He ruffled Daisy’s curls and walked away. Sally felt as though a cold hand had descended upon her and ruined her day. On the bright side, her daughter had been promised good luck. A gifted child of fortune. If Daisy was all the gypsy had promised, no ugly-hearted woman could take that away from Sally. Her daughter’s future was all she cared about. They went to meet Jim then, Sally still curious to hear about his whereabouts in the meantime.

  He came towards them, all smiles, and handed Daisy a brown paper bag. She looked inside. Her eyes gleamed as she lifted out her beloved Baby Doll. ‘She’s all better.’ Daisy cuddled the perfect doll.

  ‘Yes, she’s been to the hospital, they can do miracles at the doll’s hospital.’

  ‘What’s a miracle?’ Daisy enquired.

  ‘What they’ve done to Baby Doll, that’s a miracle.’

  ‘Ah, like making her eyes a different colour?’

  Sally and Jim looked at each other, then at the doll which had been fitted today with a brand new head. Baby Doll’s face was identical to the ruined one except for the eyes which were now a beautiful, warm brown. And Jim had never noticed.

  Early on Sunday morning a knock on the door startled Sally, who was only half-awake. There was another more urgent one, and then a voice calling,

  ‘Sally … Sally, are yer there?’

  Jim was sitting up by this time. ‘What the … where the bloody ’ell does she think yer are at this time of the morning?’

  ‘It’s Mrs Simms,’ Sally informed him as she struggled into her undies. ‘Something must be wrong.’

  ‘Aye, summat is. She’s spoiled our Sunday morning lie in, that’s what’s wrong. Ever open bloody door, that’s what ours is.’

  Sally hurried downstairs. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘Eeh, lass, it might be nothing. On the other hand, I’m sure summat’s not right at Mr Jessops’. Yer know how we made sure all’t windows were blacked out and curtains drawn?’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘Well, they’re not. Curtains, I mean. And there’s what looks like blood on’t back doorstep. Well, it might be from a cat or summat, but a cat can’t open’t curtains, can it? I wouldn’t ’ave noticed if I ’adn’t done the step.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Sally didn’t stop to comb her hair but set off across the field with Emily still chattering beside her.

  ‘I wouldn’t ’ave noticed … I mean, I’m not one to pry … but I thought while I was doing me steps and lav I might as well do Walter’s as well, like I ’ave for years. But this time I could tell summat wasn’t right. Well! I thought. It’s none of my business. But when I got in bed, I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. I made me mind up that first thing this morning I’d come and tell yer.’ Emily paused to draw breath as she tried to keep pace with the younger woman. ‘I forgot that not everybody rises with the lark like I do. I hope your Jim wasn’t annoyed?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sally fibbed. ‘You did the right thing.’ She knew as soon as she unlocked the door that someone had been in here. The strong smell of men’s hair oil or some kind of toiletry permeated the air and the broken crockery spilled over the floor caught her attention immediately. A trail of blood from the door and across the kitchen floor stopped her in her tracks. ‘Oh, God, someone’s been in!’ She knew even then who that someone was, either Charlotte or someone sent by her.

  At that moment Jim walked in. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Someone’s been in. Burglars, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Mrs Simms said.

  Jim looked at the bric-à-brac broken and strewn in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Charlotte,’ Sally said.

  ‘What? Who’s Charlotte?’

  ‘The niece,’ Emily explained.

  ‘I’ve told you about her,’ Sally snapped. ‘Surely you were listening.’

  ‘Yes, ’course I was. I didn’t know her name, though.’

  ‘The vases have gone, and look at the bookcase … it’s almost empty. We never left it like that.’ Sally hurried to the old chair in the corner and searched underneath the cushion until she found the leather box. Sighing with relief, she checked the contents.

  ‘At least she hasn’t got her aunt’s jewellery.’ She sat down, her hands trembling.

  Jim went towards the door. ‘I’m off to the police station.’

  ‘No!’ Sally jumped to her feet. ‘No, everything should be hers by rights. I said from the beginning it should all be hers.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, Sally.’ Jim was livid that the old man’s wishes had been thwarted in this way. ‘He gave it all to you. You can’t let her get away with this. Besides, it might not be her. Burglary happens all the time.’

  ‘Not round here. It is her, I know it is, and if it isn’t, it’s someone acting on her behalf.’ Sally wearily climbed t
he stairs, wondering about the beautiful clocks and the watercolours on the landing. The pictures were still hanging there. The clocks were gone. She came downstairs, tears blinding her at the thought of the old gentleman’s treasured possessions ending up in some stranger’s home. Then she noticed that the pictures of the girls with the dogs had gone. Those pictures were the only thing of Walter’s Sally had coveted, not for their value but because they would always remind her of the wonderful old couple. She sat down and cried for their loss. The events of the last few weeks had suddenly become more than she could bear.

  Emily Simms hurried out, intending to mash a pot of tea. The lass needed a good strong cup to buck her up. Eeh, but that bad bitch had a lot to answer for! She would go to the devil, that one would, and it wouldn’t be a day too soon when she did.

  Jim knelt before his wife and hugged her to him. ‘Don’t, Sally.’ He was overcome himself and pressed her head to his shoulder so she wouldn’t see his own tears.

  He was rocking her gently when Emily returned with a tray. The break-in hadn’t really been a surprise to her. ‘I said all the time she’d be trouble, that one. All the same, you should let the police know.’

  ‘No.’ Sally was adamant. ‘I don’t want anything she’s handled. Just leave it. At least I’ve got the rings. I couldn’t bear knowing she was wearing those.’ She stood up, drank the tea Emily had made, and pulled herself together. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘it looks like the sooner we sort this house out the better. If Charlotte had heard from Dunstone & Sedgewick, she wouldn’t have needed to nick her uncle’s things, so it looks like what’s left is ours.’

  Jim began to clear up the broken crockery.

  ‘There’s one consolation,’ Emily said. ‘Whoever it was’ll not be feeling too good. It looks like a slaughterhouse round the back.’

  Mark Kaye wasn’t feeling too good at all. He’d had to cancel his appointments until further notice; after all, he couldn’t face the public in his work at the Town Hall with a great wad of lint covering half his face. He had also needed a dentist to cap two broken teeth. In fact, he looked more like a gangster than a civil servant. On top of that, he was far too jittery to drive to the city, expecting the police to stop him at any time.