‘All this worrying’ll see me in me grave …’
‘Then stop worrying,’ Sally told her.
‘It’s just so inconsiderable.’
Sally looked at her. ‘You mean inconsiderate, I suppose, but we all have to put up with things like this during a war.’
‘She’s not come back yet.’
‘Who?’
‘Her, the music teacher. Two weeks they’ve been away, her and the young one. She ought to be ashamed of ’erself.’
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.’
‘She wants throwing out! She’s a disgrace to the neighbourhood.’
‘She hasn’t done anything to hurt anyone, as far as I can see.’
‘Well, you would stick up for ’er. None of you young ones ’ave any shame.’
‘I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.’ Sally took the long brush outside to scrub the flags, relieved to escape Ida’s wicked tongue. No wonder the woman’s nephew never came to visit! When she came back inside, Miss Appleby said, ‘Do yer ’appen to be going to’t market on Friday?’
‘Why?’
‘I wondered if you could bring me …’ she lowered her voice ‘… two pairs of knickers.’ Sally knew that would mean a visit to Old Misery’s stall and her stomach lurched at the thought of it. Well, she supposed it was time she faced the poor man again. After all, she was cutting her nose off to spite her face, going to Judith McCall’s and paying top prices.
‘Yes,’ she told Ida. ‘I’ll bring you some. What size?’
‘Outsize, with elastic legs.’
‘Oh! You’re never outsize.’
‘I am. I’m deceitful.’
‘Aye, you are,’ Sally muttered to herself. ‘You mean deceiving,’ she said out loud.
Thirty inches of snow fell in the New Year, causing chaos on the roads on top of the constant hold-ups due to shortage of public transport. Workers who usually used their own cars to travel into the city were now travelling by bus or tram, due to the unavailability of petrol. Snow-shifters were also in short supply and the roads became packed with hard snow. The only ones enjoying these conditions were the children. Tramping to school on top of the drifting snow was a game to them. One day Daisy came running home as fast as her wellingtons would allow.
‘Mam, Mam, come quick!’
Sally, worried by her daughter’s urgent cries, grabbed her coat.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s an old man, he’s fallen and can’t get up. He’s only got one leg. And half a leg,’ she added.
‘Where? Come on, show me.’ Sally set off after her.
‘On the estate, the second house.’
The poor man had obviously come out to fetch in his milk. Sally blamed his milkman. Mr Harrison would never have left it outside for a crippled man in this weather. The poor man had fallen and one of his crutches had slipped out of his reach.
‘Come on.’ Sally bent to help him up but he seemed to be a dead weight. ‘Let’s see if we can get you in out of the cold.’ She tried to lift him again but couldn’t.
‘If yer can get me me crutch, I can manage wi’ a bit of ’elp,’ the man said. Daisy gave him the wooden crutch and he managed to turn over and rise up on one knee, then with Sally supporting his arm, he got up on to his foot.
‘There! Let’s get you inside.’
The poor man was icy cold and couldn’t stop trembling. Sally looked round for the kettle, filled it and put it on the gas ring. ‘How long have you been lying there? Mr …’
‘Powell, but call me Danny.’ It was obvious he was struggling to hear her. Danny was in his sixties and as deaf as he was lame. He was a happy individual, though, and soon began to joke about his fall.
‘I’m a daft owd devil!’ he laughed. ‘Going skating at my age.’
Sally raised her voice to speak to him this time. ‘How long have you been out there?’
‘Since about two.’
‘Two hours?’ She shuddered. ‘It’s a wonder you haven’t got hypothermia.’
‘Nay, I’m all right, lass. Strong as an ox, I am.’
Sally glanced around. It was a small kitchen and not an inch of space on the table or draining board was left unfilled. It was all a clutter of mucky pots, filthy dishcloths and pans. There was no sign of any cleaning materials except for a lump of brown carbolic soap. Sally found the tea caddy amongst the clutter and rinsed out a cup that should have been white but was stained brown.
‘I’ll wash these pots up before I go, if you like.’
‘Eeh, lass, don’t bother about that. A bit of muck never hurt anybody.’
Sally cringed. ‘Maybe not, but I’ll wash them anyway.’ She thought Danny looked a bit better now. She glanced out of the window to see what Daisy was up to. She was tramping about the garden where none of the snow had been disturbed, making marks with her wellies. Sally thought she’d be happy enough for a while. She boiled the kettle again, deciding to wash the pots and pans so she could leave the old man more comfortable.
‘Do you have any wire wool for the pans?’ she asked.
‘Eeh, no, lass. My missis always used soap, as far as I can remember. She used it for everything: clothes, pots, floors … and bodies,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t believe in new-fangled things meself.’
‘Well, perhaps not, but this brown soap’s a bit harsh. Doesn’t it make your cups taste?’
‘Aye, but yer get used to it.’
‘Right!’ Sally said. ‘But I can’t get these clean without a scrubber.’ It didn’t take her long to tidy the kitchen. Then she looked at the floor. ‘Do you have a mop and bucket?’ She would never sleep if she went home and left the poor old thing amongst all this filth.
‘Eeh, no, lass. My missis all’s used a floor clart.’
‘Right.’ Sally wondered how long his missis had been dead and if the floor had been touched since. ‘Who’s been looking after you since your wife died?’
‘Fanny next-door, but then she died as well.’
‘Hmm.’ Fanny and Danny … Mary would no doubt find that amusing when Sally told her .
‘How old was Fanny, then?’
‘Oh, just a spring chicken, only sixty-six. A grand lass. Bosom on her better than any film star’s. Had to ’ave one of ’em off, though, ’cos of cancer. A pity to spoil a pair like that!’ Danny chuckled. ‘A great couple we were, me wi’ one leg and her wi’ one tit.’
Sally stifled a giggle, deciding she’d better not encourage him.
‘Poor Fanny. And what do you have for your dinner?’
‘Depends. Me rations are delivered from Co-op once a week, and a woman from Salvation Army comes and does me some shopping. Nice-looking woman she is. I only ’ave to warm summat up. If she’s time, she warms it for me. Wouldn’t mind ’er warming me up, ’specially today when I’ve been out skating. Trouble is, she can’t get here when it snows.’
His grin was infectious and Sally thought what a jolly old thing Danny Powell was compared to Ida Appleby.
‘So what are you having today then?’
‘Owt.’
Sally looked in the pantry but there was no sign of any fresh food, only a few slices of dry bread. Well, at least he had a good fire. She went to the door. ‘Daisy, pop over to our house and fetch an egg – and don’t drop it!’ While Daisy was on the errand, Sally toasted a couple of slices of bread.
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Danny protested.
‘No trouble,’ Sally said, and she meant it. Despite all the mess she’d had to tackle, it was a pleasure to help Danny Powell. Even so, she wondered what Jim would have to say about it.
Charlotte had been drinking all day. Her husband hadn’t put in an appearance for three nights now and she hadn’t been to bed for twenty-four hours, not daring to venture upstairs because of the dogs. The night before that she had retired early, hoping to be asleep before one o’clock. She had been. Then the clock had chimed and woken her, and it had als
o woken the dogs. She had heard them pattering around the room. Then she had felt the bedspread being tugged, and for the first time they had actually jumped on to the bed, pawing at her face and licking her until she screamed. Then the whimpers changed to snarls as the dogs became aggressive.
Charlotte managed to run out and close the door behind her. Now she daren’t even go upstairs. Where was Mark? She knew he wouldn’t believe her, though. He would say she was insane. Deny there were any dogs or that the clock had chimed. They were all against her. Uncle Walter, Mark, that woman … they were all conspiring against her. Well, she would show them! She would show them all. Nobody would ever get the better of Charlotte Kaye.
She just needed Mark to remove the panel from the wall and take out the valuables. It was time to be rid of them. If no one had yet reported them missing it was obvious they had decided not to do so. Once she had the money from selling them safely in the bank, that woman had better watch out. Charlotte had already planned her revenge.
Betty Hayes had acquired a job, and she hadn’t even to travel to the city. She’d never felt safe there since the blitz and worried about Ernie when she was so far away.
Enid Cartwright had put a good word in for her. She worked as a school cleaner, and with the announcement that the school was to start serving school dinners had volunteered the information to Sally. ‘Put Betty’s name down,’ Sally told her. ‘She loves cooking, it’ll be ideal for her.’
Betty did love cooking: she also loved her new job. Mrs Radcliffe, the caretaker’s wife, was the supervisor and declared herself well pleased with the effort Betty Hayes put into her work. Betty enjoyed serving the children, and never gave them anything they didn’t like. Daisy for instance, detested mashed potatoes – just like Betty had when she had been the same age. So, unlike some of the dinner ladies, she soon found out the children’s individual likes and dislikes and served them accordingly.
With little Ernie thriving and being well looked after by Amy and Sally in her absence, Betty was completely content for the first time in her life.
‘Anybody in?’ Nellie called as she popped her head round the door. ‘A special today.’ She held aloft a thin blue letter. Sally couldn’t wait to open it and read Ernest’s news. Actually, there never was much news of her brother in his letters, just a few lines to say he was fine and that his shoulder was back to normal. Most of the letter would be devoted to hoping Daisy was well and being a good girl, and this time he hoped Betty and the baby were both well too. Had they heard from Clarence? Ernest said he was hoping for some home leave soon. He hoped they liked the new house, and thank God they’d taken the bloody piano! Not a word about what was happening at his end. Still, the letter proved he was well and that was worth a lot.
Nellie was always delighted to bring news from servicemen. She had known most of the young men locally from the day they were born. If there was any bad news to be delivered, Nellie would go home almost as downhearted as the recipent of the letter. Today she went on her way with a spring in her step. She had a letter for the Harrisons, the first one since the day their son went away. She couldn’t wait to see Mrs Harrison’s face! Oh, Nellie did love her job sometimes, almost as much as she loved the friends on her round. She hoped she didn’t come across the milkman this morning, though. She had learned over the years that the men never shared their letters, not like women did, and she did so want to be there to witness the joy on Mrs Harrison’s face.
Apart from Physical Training there was another thing now that Daisy didn’t like about school: the dinners. However, Sally said she must stay so every Monday morning, as well as her bank money, she now carried her fivepence dinner money in her little shoulder bag. If Aunty Betty happened to be one of the servers Daisy would be happy, knowing she wouldn’t be served any mashed potatoes.
Today, however, Aunty Betty happened to be serving the junior children. Miss Clarke the headmistress, who always supervised their meals, noticed Daisy’s untouched helping of mashed potatoes and came to stand beside her. Loading a fork with lukewarm white lumps, she forced them into Daisy’s mouth. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Your mother has paid for this and it will make you a big girl.’
Daisy made an effort to gulp it down and then managed to say, ‘Please, Miss, I feel sick.’
‘Nonsense!’ Miss Clarke briskly shovelled in another mouthful – and up the whole lot came. All over Miss Clarke’s flowered smock, all down her thick lisle stockings, and even into her shoes. The headmistress’s face turned the same colour as the chewed-up carrots adorning her smock. ‘Right then,’ she said, ‘go and ask Mr Radcliffe for some sawdust.’
Daisy had no idea where to find Mr Radcliffe or even what he looked like but she escaped willingly – and was never made to eat mashed potatoes again.
It was Daisy who told Jim about the old man with the one and a half legs. ‘Well, you were a good girl for fetching your mam. It’s good to help people,’ he emphasised. He soon changed his tune, though, when Sally told him she had cleaned up the kitchen and made the old gent his tea.
‘I hope you’re not taking on another lame duck.’
‘No, of course not! But I couldn’t just leave him there and walk away. I mean, he might have been suffering from shock or something.’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’
‘Anyway, I’d better just pop across tomorrow, see if he’s all right.’
Jim didn’t answer but the look he gave his wife spoke volumes. Sally would never alter, if she lived to be a hundred.
After Daisy had gone to bed, Jim asked, ‘So what’s he like then?’
‘Who?’
‘Your new old man?’
‘He’s not my old man.’
‘Oh, no?’
‘No. Anyway, he’s extremely cheerful, considering he’s lost half his leg and is as deaf as a doornail. Oh, and he seems to fancy the ladies, especially the ones with big tits.’
Jim couldn’t help laughing. ‘You’d better keep yer distance then, if he’s the randy sort.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sally glanced down at her chest. ‘I doubt I’m well enough endowed to suit his tastes. Besides, he fancies the Sally Army woman.’
‘What’s the house like?’
‘Don’t even ask.’
‘Oh, as bad as that?’
‘Worse. I’d soon get it shipshape, though, if I had the chance. Once it was bottomed, it would be a doddle.’
‘Don’t dare think about it.’
‘He hasn’t asked.’
‘But he might.’
‘No! He’s as happy as a pig in muck.’
‘Good.’
‘But if he did ask? I mean, if he needed a bit of help, would you mind?’
‘Yes. You’ve got Ernie to look after.’
‘Oh, only for three hours. Besides, Mary’s started taking him out walking when the weather’s fit. It’s good for her. You know she’s longing for another child. And your mother’s so much better … I think it’s because she’s stopped worrying about Betty.’
‘And what if we have another child?’
‘Ah, now that would be different, I would never leave it for a minute. But it hasn’t happened.’
‘Well, we could go and have another try …’ Jim glanced at the clock. ‘Before the bloody fire-watching! I’ve at least two hours.’
‘Is that all?’ Sally grinned. ‘Come on then, let’s get on with it.’
The fire-watching, Danny Powell, and even little Ernie were all forgotten then. Trying for a baby was the best fun in the world. Especially when they’d two hours in which to do it.
‘I heard that car draw up last night and then another following it. She ought to be hung, drawn and quartered! Nothing but a prostitute, that’s what she is.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re on about the music teacher again?’
‘ ’Course I am. And what about the day they came back together, carrying a case? Fair brazen, she is.’
A knock on the door silenced Ida then and Sa
lly went to answer it. Emily Simms stood there, looking pale and drawn. ‘Have yer heard?’ she asked.
‘Heard what?’
‘About the poor woman on St George’s.’
‘What poor woman?’ Ida looked puzzled.
‘The music teacher. She passed away during the night. I saw them carry her out first thing this morning.’
‘Oh, no, not another death. My mother always says they come in threes.’
‘I’m sorry to tell yer, Sally love, on top of old Walter and yer friend’s little baby.’
‘I didn’t know she were ill,’ Ida Appleby mumbled.
‘Well, not many did … she didn’t want anyone to know except for Mrs Watson. She’s been staying with ’er for a couple of nights. Could see she hadn’t long, though, fading away before her eyes, she was. She rang the lady’s brother but she’d gone by the time he got ’ere. It’s a wonder you didn’t hear the car.’
‘I did, but I didn’t know what he was there for.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t. Can’t say it isn’t a blessing, though. Suffered for months, she has. According to Mrs Watson, she was the bravest woman she’s ever known. Not an ounce of flesh left on ’er and in so much pain, but still determined to keep herself smart, dressing herself up, putting on her make up … all so nobody would know how ill she was.’
‘I’ve only been saying recently how ill she looked,’ Ida mumbled.
‘What? You said she was slimming herself to look nice for all her men friends!’ Sally protested.
‘Can’t say as she had any men friends,’ Emily observed. ‘That young brother of hers ’as been an angel, though. He even took her away for a holiday, but it was too late to do her any good.’
‘He looks a nice young man,’ said Ida unctuously.
‘You said he was sleeping with her!’ Sally couldn’t believe the soft words gushing so easily from Miss Appleby’s tongue.
‘Ah! But what about the older one?’
‘He was a spiritual healer, brought in as a last resort. Came every day. Kindness itself, so Mrs Watson says. The poor man sapped all his own energy, passing it out of his body through his hands and into her. No good, though. The cancer had spread from ’er stomach to ’er brain. If only she’d gone to the doctor sooner …’
The Ever Open Door Page 15
