Can Dreams Come True?

by Oliver, Marina

  Daphne frowned. Her mother had not yet been to see Maggie, she'd been too ill, but she'd promised to go and to take Daphne's letter as soon as she was well enough.

  'Has the school closed? I never did hear the full story, just that the Head Mistress had departed in a hurry, and half the girls had been withdrawn by concerned parents.'

  Daphne giggled. 'Did you know Moaner Mac? That's what we all called him, for we never knew his real name, and he wandered round the place moaning a queer sort of humming noise all the time.'

  'I've heard you and Stella mention him.'

  'Well, he attacked a girl one afternoon.' Daphne paused. It would be better not to mention Kate. She did not want Robert feeling even more sorry for her, or even to be reminded of her. Surely here in Paris he would have forgotten that brief infatuation? 'The police caught him,' she went on hurriedly. 'And he began to cry, calling for his mother. We'd always been told Miss MacDonald was his sister, but it appears she was his mother, so it was all a dreadful scandal, and the parents started to take the girls away. Then the two of them, Moaner and his mother, left one day without telling anyone.'

  'And your mother has been trying to find another Head?'

  'Yes. She has someone now, but no one knows what will happen when term begins, whether any of the girls will come back.'

  'Surely they will, after the panic has died down. But how is Stella? Have you heard from her? They went to Scotland, I believe?'

  'Yes, and she's revelling in having hundreds of acres to call her own! She sends her best wishes, by the way. But how much longer are you in Paris? And have you found a suitable site for the new factory?'

  'I must go home tomorrow, I'm afraid, so I've arranged with your Principal to take you out for dinner this evening.'

  Daphne hid her disappointment. She'd hoped to see more of him than this. 'Oh, how lovely! Thank you, Robert! I didn't know if I would be allowed to go out with anyone except my parents. Will you be back again soon, if you have a site? Surely you will have to supervise the building, and so on?'

  'The notary is dealing with the legal side, and yes, I'll be back again in a few weeks. Certainly before Christmas. Are you going home for the holidays?'

  'If I can face that crossing! It will be even worse in December, I expect.'

  Robert grinned at her. 'Not always. Look, here we are. Have you seen Kate recently?' he added hurriedly. 'As I recall you were good friends. Will she be returning to the school?'

  *

  It proved to be a humiliating experience, venturing into the nearest pawn shop. Kate had passed it by hundreds of times, and she knew that the clothes hung on a pole outside were those which had never been redeemed by their owners. She shuddered. Would Alf's best suit ever be hung there?

  The window was full of small items, watches and clocks, crockery, a tray of rings, mostly the plain gold bands. What desperation had forced women to give up what was for many their most cherished possession?

  The shop, which Kate had expected to be dark and dingy inside, smelling of old unwashed clothes, was surprisingly clean, well-lit from the front window, and with shelves round the walls holding yet more small items, mainly crockery and ornaments.

  There was a small queue, women and children clutching bundles, and obviously most of them knew one another, from the conversation she overheard. Monday was the day for bringing in what goods could be spared, for a few shillings to carry them through the week until, they hoped, there would be cash to redeem them on Saturday. Kate saw Sunday-best clothes, blankets, even a meat jack used for roasting joints of meat.

  As the regulars became aware of Kate there were a few speculative glances at her own burden, which Kate had wrapped neatly in paper. Most carried the clothes openly over their arms. One of the women knew Kate from the market, and nodded a greeting, but did not speak. Kate burned with embarrassment, but it had to be endured.

  She watched carefully as the manageress, a small woman with a scraggy neck, looked over each parcel, named a price, and entered the details in a book before handing over the cash and a ticket. A matching ticket was pinned to the bundle, and a child no more than six or seven, who surely ought to have been at school, then hauled them into a back room.

  At last it was Kate's turn. Mutely she handed over the bundle, winced as the woman tutted loudly at having to undo string and paper, and waited in resigned patience for the offer.

  'Half a crown, Miss. They're very worn.'

  'But – you gave the woman in front of me four shillings!' Kate protested, pulled out of her apathy. 'All she had was a jacket.'

  'I knows Joannie, she'll be back on Saturday, the moment her man comes in the door and hands over his wages. I never saw you before.'

  Briefly Kate wondered whether she should go elsewhere, but it took so much time, time she could not spare if she were to be about the market today, selling what she could to try and stave off this disaster.

  'I see,' she replied, and meekly took the coin, tucking it into her purse along with the ticket. Perhaps, she thought as she walked back home to collect her barrow, if this became a regular event she might in time progress to three shillings.

  It was little enough, but she was able to buy bread. They wouldn't starve just yet.

  For some reason the sale of pens and pencils did not go as briskly as in the previous weeks. Bella guessed why when she came out of the Market Hall.

  'I needs a breath of air, it's so hot,' she complained as she stood beside Kate. 'The kiddies are all back at school now, they won't want new pencils for a while, until the new 'uns wear down.'

  'Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Of course they won't. What else can I get to sell instead?'

  At least, Kate was thinking, she need not worry about a bulk order to replenish her stock for a few weeks. But the pens and pencils had been good sellers, so her profit was certain to be down, adding to her difficulties.

  *

  'You're still not well,' Mr Carstairs said. 'Why not leave it a day or two more?'

  Mrs Carstairs shook her head. She'd left it far too long already, she thought. First there were all the arrangements for Stella's wedding, then getting Daphne prepared for Paris. She'd managed to do all that, but the inevitable collapse had come.

  'I need not be long, but I did Maggie an injustice, and it's high time I put it right.'

  'I wish I could come with you, but I have people I must see today.'

  'There's no need. Norman is here, he'll drive me, so I won't have to exert myself. I'll be home before lunch, and will rest on my bed all afternoon.'

  Norman drove her through the centre of the city, and towards the street in Deritend where Maggie lived.

  'She's an excellent, willing worker,' she said, 'yet she has so much trouble in her life, with a feckless husband and all those children. I must offer her compensation, to make up for the wages I would have paid her.'

  'Take care she doesn't play too much on your sympathy,' Norman said. 'Some of these people will do anything to scrounge a few more pounds.'

  His mother looked at him, and shook her head. 'I know some are rogues, but not Maggie, nor Kate.'

  'But look where they live,' Norman said, drawing the car to a halt outside Maggie's house. 'It's a dreadful slum! Look, there are even houses boarded up, empty. No doubt they're overrun with rats and lice. Only the most shiftless can endure these conditions.'

  'And those poor through no fault of their own,' Mrs Carstairs said.

  How had Norman grown to be so hard? She'd tried to instill in all her children a sense of duty towards those less fortunate than themselves, but only Daphne seemed to understand it. Stella's main aim in life was to enjoy herself, Norman's to amass as great a fortune as he could through his dealings on the stock market. She didn't admit to herself how shocked she was at the conditions. She'd never imagined Maggie's home could be so dreadful. Maggie had always come to work in clean, respectable if darned clothes. How had she managed that in such depressing surroundings?

  'Shall I k
nock on the door?'

  'Please, Norman. They have only two rooms, Maggie said once, so maybe a landlady will come.'

  She stepped out of the motor car as the door opened, and a slatternly woman, cigarette dangling in the corner of her mouth, wearing a dirty apron and shabby slippers, appeared.

  'I'm looking for Maggie Pritchard, I think she lives here,' Mrs Carstairs said, conscious of Norman's disapproving face beside her.

  'Maggie? Yer too late, Missus. Maggie an' the rest of 'em went off ter Coventry a while back.'

  'Coventry? Why there?'

  She shrugged. 'I mind me own business,' she said. 'What folks don't tell me I don't ask.'

  'Do you have an address for her?'

  'No.'

  Mrs Carstairs opened her handbag, and the woman eyed it with interest. Norman took a step forward and held out his arm as if to protect her, but Mrs Carstairs gently pushed it away.

  'Is there anything you can tell me which might help me to find her?'

  She glared with undiminished hostility, but suddenly became talkative. 'Not coppers, are yer? Nah, too posh. Not after Sam then. One o' these days 'e'll go too far, and then 'e'll get 'is comeuppance. If I'd bin Maggie, I'd 'ave sent 'im off years since.'

  Mrs Carstairs waited, and after a moment started to close her handbag. The woman burst into speech again.

  'Sam, 'e got a job in a factory in Coventry,' she said quickly. 'It were just after Maggie's Dad were killed, so they all upped sticks an' went. Dain't even give me proper notice,' she added. 'Left me with rooms I could 'ave let again if I'd known in time. Lost me a week's rent, they did.'

  'Maggie's father was killed? How?' Mrs Carstairs demanded, at last able to break into the stream of complaint.

  'In market, run over by a mad 'oss.'

  Aghast at this news, Mrs Carstairs handed the woman a couple of coins and turned back to the motor. Norman helped her in and closed the door, then went round to the driver's side.

  'So that's that. She's well cared for if her husband is working in one of Coventry's factories. No need for you to bother any more.'

  'Yes there is. Poor Kate, and we never knew! I must go and see her, but not today. I'm too shocked and tired. Take me home, Norman.'

  'Willingly! At least you won't need to come here again.'

  *

  Maggie had been delighted at how easy it had been to find a job, just five minutes from their new rooms, in a clean factory making rayon stockings. Sam seemed content, even though he had to walk some distance to and from work. He dutifully handed over his wage packet each week, and Maggie gave him back money to spend on himself.

  At last, she thought as she opened an account at the savings bank, they might be able to escape from grinding poverty. She was careful with the money, but they had enough to pay the rent, buy decent food, and new shoes and coats for the children who were at school.

  Mrs Lloyd, their landlady, asked very little for looking after the two little ones, and soon the older girl would also be at school, which would help even more.

  Kate had sent one letter, telling her about the loss of the cart, and how it had been a blessing in the end, for she now had a regular job which paid the rent, and was beginning to make more profit with her pens and pencils. Mum could stay inside all day carding pins and hairgrips, and being able to stay in the warm would help her rheumatism when the colder weather came.

  'She seems happy,' Maggie said that evening to Sam, when the children were in bed in the other room, and she'd shown him the letter. 'I worried about leaving them, so soon after Dad died, but Kate's a bright lass. She's make a go of it.'

  'Course she will. Like my Maggie. That were a tasty pie yer made. I'll be getting fat if yer feeds me this well.'

  'We could all do with a bit more flesh on our bones.'

  'You're OK,' Sam said, and stretched out an arm to catch Maggie as she moved past his chair. 'Come on, gi' us a kiss! It's bin months, and I miss yer!'

  'No, Sam,' Maggie protested, wriggling out of his embrace. 'It's too risky. I don't want another kid.'

  'Yer wouldn't lose another, pet, that were just bad luck.'

  'You don't know that. And you don't have to carry it and then go through birthing it. But I'd lose me job, for certain, and any chance the rest of us have of getting a decent life. I want the kids we've got to do well, perhaps as well as Kate, not ter go hungry and barefoot, to have a better chance in life than we ever had.'

  Sam shrugged. 'Then I might as well go ter pub. But I've only got enough for a half.'

  Maggie reached into her purse. 'Here you are, at least you can have a pint!'

  'Thanks, pet.'

  Until now he had been easy to put off, but Maggie sensed that soon he would become more demanding. Maybe she could do something about it. The other women at the factory talked freely about how they avoided unwanted pregnancies, and they would tell her where to go for help.

  Before she could make any arrangements, though, she developed a streaming cold, and the foreman sent her home soon after dinnertime.

  'Get into bed, have a hot drink, and stay there until you're better. We've a rush order on, and I don't want all the other women to catch whatever it is.'

  Maggie was feeling wretched by the time she got to their rooms, but she ought to let Mrs Lloyd know she was back, and take the children upstairs.

  She was just about to knock on the door to her landlady's downstairs rooms, when she heard someone screaming abuse, and children crying. Without further thought Maggie opened the door and rushed in, to find four children cowering in a corner while Mrs Lloyd, brandishing a stout walking stick, stood and shouted at them, her spittle showering them, and the end of the stick just missing their heads as she threatened them.

  'What are you doing?' Maggie shouted, and the woman turned towards her, eyes glittering.

  Then she lowered the stick, forced her lips to smile, and laughed.

  'It's a game,' she said. 'They like to pretend I really am going to thrash them. Children enjoy being frightened. Don't you, my lambs?'

  The children nodded dutifully, but Maggie didn't think they believed it.

  'Well, I'm sent home early, so I'll take mine up with me. Thank you for taking such good care of them.'

  Mrs Lloyd cast her a swift glance, then smiled. 'I do my best. Will I see them tomorrow?'

  'No, I have a few days off work, so I can enjoy having them to myself for once.'

  Maggie trudged up the stairs, her brief burst of energy evaporating as her cold, momentarily forgotten, returned, and she had a fit of uncontrollable sneezing. She managed to give the children their tea, and put them to bed, and then she lay down, shivering despite the blankets she'd heaped on top of herself, on the bed she shared with Sam in the kitchen.

  'I won't leave them with her again,' she said to Sam when he came home. 'I'm sure she meant to hit them, whatever she says about it being a game.'

  'Did you ask them?' Sam asked. 'If she's hurt them, I'll go down and show her what for!'

  'Of course I asked them, but they said she only hit them by accident. Huh! The woman's mad!'

  'Mad? Plain vicious, more like! I'll go and put the fear of God into her,' Sam said, turning towards the door.

  'No, Sam! If you do she'll turn us out, and then what will we do?'

  'Then yer'll have ter give up work and look after 'em.'

  'No. I've been thinking, lying here. Mom ought ter come. There's room for her in with the kids. She can look after them. What I save paying Mrs Lloyd will cover Mom's keep.'

  'There ain't room fer Kate as well!' he warned.

  'I know, but our Kate can get on with her own life without having to work for the two of them. On her own she could do well. Perhaps she could rent a room nearby, be on her own, get a job here in Coventry, and have us to help if need be.'

  *

  Kate was exhausted. She spent every free hour trying to sell her wares, always the first in the Bull Ring each morning, but she had barely enough saved for the
rent in two days time, and she couldn't go and redeem Alf's clothes. They'd soon be swinging on the pole along with all the others. She lay awake half the night wondering if she could pawn anything else, but they had so little, and it would only put off the problem, not solve it.

  'Yer should ask yer posh friends fer a loan,' Hattie suggested. 'They wouldn't notice a few quid.'

  'No,' Kate replied. Under no circumstances would she ever ask Daphne to help her. Last time it had caused no end of trouble, and she could not bear to endure anything like that again.

  She thought Hattie had forgotten, but when she awoke, late for once after her restless night, Hattie had gone out.

  Kate reached for the purse which she always kept under her pillow. It felt suspiciously thin, and she opened it swiftly. All but the coppers had gone. Kate buried her head in her hands. Surely her mother had not taken it while she slept? Hattie knew what difficulties they were having.

  Wearily she prepared to go out. She couldn't afford not to, so any confrontation would have to wait for Hattie's return. If she had spent the money they were in real trouble.

  Hattie was not there when Kate returned that evening, and Kate, not knowing what to do, whether to go and ask the police if they knew whether her mother had been wandering again, sat up until almost dawn waiting for news.

  None came, and throughout Sunday Kate fretted. Then, around six o'clock, Hattie was brought home by yet another policeman.

  'Wandering, out Walsall way,' the policeman explained, anxious to be gone. 'She's slept under a hedge by the looks of her. Yer needs ter keep a good eye on her. Some old 'uns get like this.'

  Hattie's hair was loose and matted, her clothes rumpled and dirty with soil and leaves. She was shivering despite the day being warm, and Kate hurried her into bed without asking about the money. It was too late, tomorrow they'd be told to leave these rooms which had been her only home. For the first time Kate allowed herself to despair. She didn't know what more she could do.

  Hattie had a ferocious cold the next morning, and her throat was so sore she could eat nothing. Perhaps as well, for there was nothing but a stale crust available, Kate thought.