‘That’ll teach you, you dirty old man,’ Cora cried, as she struck him over the head with her rolling pin. And giving a loud, piteous groan, Bernie slid heavily to the floor.
It took Jess some time to recover from her hysterics. Cora washed her bruised and sore body and settled her into her own bed. Even then, she was afraid her uncle might come upstairs and attack her again.
‘Nay, he’s out cold till morning. Drunk as the proverbial. He’ll not bother you again tonight, or any night after this, mark my words.’
‘How will you stop him? He thinks he can bully us all: Lizzie, you, and now me. I can’t stand it, Cora, I really can’t. He’s turned me into a victim too, completely in his power.’ And she began to sob, utterly losing control.
‘Now don’t take on. You’re nothing of the sort. Trust me, there’ll be no more victims in this house. He’ll not lay another finger on you, I swear. Nor on me neither. He’ll have learnt his lesson after this, I can tell you. So come on love, drink this hot milk, it’ll help you sleep. I’ve put a nip of brandy in it, for the shock. I’m sure the Sally Army will forgive you a little snifter for once. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.’
In a voice barely above a whisper, Jess murmured, ‘But how do I ever get over something like this?’
Cora tut tutted, not quite knowing how to answer. Then, coming to a decision, she gently asked the one question she’d thus far avoided. ‘Did I get him with the rolling pin quickly enough? He hadn’t - you know - gone all the way, had he? We certainly don’t want any repercussions.’
For a moment Jess felt bemused. What could be worse? And then understanding slowly dawned. Cora was talking about a possible pregnancy - of Jess having her own uncle’s child. All the colour drained from her face and bile rose in her throat. ‘Dear God, don’t let that happen. I’ll kill myself sooner.’
‘Take it easy, love. It won’t look half so bad come morning. Now think, did he or didn’t he?’
Jess swallowed painfully, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I did feel his. . .’ She choked on the word, . . .but I don’t remember what happened after that. One minute he was pushing and shoving at me, the next he’d gone. It’s all a bit of a blur.’
Cora looked anxious for a moment, then briskly attempted to console her. ‘I’m sure he didn’t. He were probably too drunk to finish what he started. I’m sure he can’t have got very far, love.’
Jess was shaking now, shock taking its effect upon her. ‘But how can I be sure? I’ve little experience of such things. Me and Steve. . . we only once ever. . .’ Remembering the magic of their first love making brought fresh tears springing to her eyes, to run unchecked down her cheeks. How could it ever be the same for them again?
Cora muttered under her breath what sounded very like a curse. ‘Like I say, best way is to put it out of your mind, like it never happened. You’ll get over it, in time. Your Steve will never know, if you don’t tell him.’
No, Jess thought, but I will. In the confusion and fear, she couldn’t be certain of anything. Nor could she simply sweep it aside as Cora urged her to do. That was quite beyond her. Her own uncle had attempted to force himself upon her, and Jess felt soiled by the brutal assault, made dirty by the violation, whether he’d actually raped her or not. She shuddered at the memory. How could she ever let Steve touch her after this? How could she even tell him?
The gentle weeping turned to tearing, heartbroken sobs, and for a long while Cora rocked her in her arms, tears rolling down her own plump cheeks. If she hadn’t already done so, she’d lay him out cold, to be sure.
Finally, when Jess grew calm again, she pushed back her sodden hair and asked after her aunt’s fate. ‘He hit you, didn’t he? I heard him. It woke me up. Oh no, just look at the state of you.’
Cora had done no more than slap a bit of iodine on to her own cuts and bruises. Now she gave a smile which looked more like a lop-sided grimace. One eye was half closed and was going strange shades of black and purple by the second. Her lip was split, a tooth missing, and blood spilled over her several chins to drip on to her ample bosom where it made a pool of scarlet on her floral pinny. She ineffectually swiped at it with the back of her hand. ‘Nothing I haven’t handled a million times afore.’
Jess kissed Cora’s soft flushed cheek before sipping the hot milk, as instructed. It was sweet and soothing, and did indeed calm her. ‘What was it you were arguing about?’
‘This public house of his, or club, whatever it is.’ Cora heaved a sigh. ‘That docker chap were right. Do you know what sort of club it’s going to be? A house of ill repute, no less. It will be a place for service men to have a drink, enjoy the girls and generally relax and have a good time. Up in that big, first floor room he’s put tables for gambling, entirely illegal, where he means to deprive the punters of their hard-earned brass. And after they get acquainted with the girls they can slip upstairs to avail themselves of their charms in those fancy bedrooms next to your little flat.’ At this point Cora looked her straight in the eye. ‘Lizzie was supposed to see to the girls, assuming she could manage not to get legless in the process. And you were to be the star attraction.’
‘What? Playing in the band?’
‘Aye, happen he might have agreed to that in the end. If you were a good girl and did as you were told. But he had other tricks in mind for you.’
A short pause, and then, ‘Oh, my God!’
‘Don’t worry, love. It’ll never happen, not now. I won’t let it. So don’t feel any guilt over me whopping him one. Serve the old bugger right. You’ve been spared that at least.’
Once Jess was asleep, Cora went back into the parlour to examine the prostrate form of her husband. She could feel a heat building up inside her, the muscles of her stomach bunching with a new fear. He was strangely quiet. Not like him to stay still for so long, drunk or no. She gave him a sharp kick in the ribs, and shook him by the shoulder.
‘Come on you lazy tyke. Gerrup! I can’t lift you on this sofa, not on my own. Not that you’re coming upstairs, not tonight. Happen not any night, after what you’ve done to young Jess. You’ve gone too far this time. I’ve put up with your temper long enough. No more. D’you hear me?’ She kicked him again and the heavy body rolled over, beady eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Cora sat by the fire, making her plans. Even as she put the final points into place she heard stumbling footsteps at the back door. She could only hope those lads of hers weren’t too far gone in drink.
Harry and Bert tumbled into the room, arms around each other’s shoulders, surprised to see their mother sitting there. She’d never been one to wait up, nor preach to them about their drinking habits, or any other bad habits, come to that. They were looking smart enough in their best suits, Harry’s a dark navy check, while Bert’s was a smooth brown, both lifted from the wardrobe of a house near Philips Park. Over these they wore beige raincoats, casually unbuttoned, again from the same address. Only the trilby hats had been legitimately paid for, and which they always wore to the club in their new role as entrepreneurs. It had been worth the sacrifice of a few quid as the hats provided status, and also paid good dividends when trying to impress a woman.
‘Hey up Ma, you look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a tanner.’
‘Harry, Bert, am I glad to see you two. No, don’t take your coats off, I’ve a little job that I want you to do for me. I was wondering if you knew of any bomb sites that haven’t been properly searched or cleared yet.’
‘Aye, any number. Why Mam, what you up to?’ Harry dug his brother in the ribs with one elbow and gave a guffaw of inebriated laughter. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to take up scavenging an’ all.’
‘I was thinking more of putting something back, burying something in the muddle and muck like.’
Harry took off the trilby hat and scratched his thatch of greasy hair. ‘Have you gone off your head, Mam? Why would you want to bury something on a bomb site?’
<
br /> ‘There’s been what you might call an accident here tonight. Your dad got a bit above himself and did something nasty to our Jess. Oh, she’s all right. Don’t look so alarmed, Bert. Not what she was, happen, but she’ll live. Your dad, however, isn’t right at all. I did for him good and proper with my rolling pin. I had to get him off her, d’you see?’
Cora met their startled expressions with a calm, if rueful, smile. ‘He’s out cold in the parlour, and I’d say we’ll be needing that big handcart what you use when you go out on your demolition work, Harry. And happen you’d best change after all. You don’t want to mess up them nice new clothes.’
Losing a body, even one as substantial as Bernie Delaney, amidst the bombed out ruins some safe distance from Deansgate proved to be surprisingly easy. Removing his gold watch, cufflinks, wallet and anything else which might identify their father, Harry and Bert buried him deep amongst the rubble. They hoped that, if and when he was finally unearthed, no one would recognise him or know who he was. They’d simply assume he’d copped it when the building got hit and had subsequently been overlooked by any rescue parties.
Back at the house, they quaffed a much needed glass of Guinness each as they watched the sun come up. Having heard the full, unexpurgated tale from their mother, they’d packed her off to bed and gone about their unsavoury business. Now they were contemplating the implications.
‘You don’t reckon Mam will be arrested, do you, Harry? Taken off to Strangeways and hanged.’
‘If you’ve nowt intelligent to say, shut your trap. What d’you reckon we’ve been up to this last hour or two, if not making sure nobody suspects what took place here tonight. What we have to do now is forget all about it, right? If you open your daft mouth and spill the beans we’ll all be in the soup. The only way to keep Mam, and us, safe, is to tie that loose tongue of yours in a knot. Understand?’
‘Oh aye, Harry. I’ll not say a word. You can rely on me.’
Harry gave his brother a withering look. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. We’ve no choice but to rely on you.’ He took a swallow of the rich black liquid, letting it slide down his dusty throat, wiping the froth from his mouth with the back of one hand. Then he eased off his boots and propped his feet in their sweat and dirt encrusted socks on the warm brass fender. ‘You know who’s really to blame, don’t you?’
‘Who’s that, Harry?’
‘Our beloved cousin. If it weren’t for her flaunting herself, Dad would never have been tempted to try his luck, and Mam wouldn’t have needed to clout him one with the rolling pin.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite fair to say it was our Jess’s fault.’
‘I’ve just said so, haven’t I?’ Harry snapped.
‘Oh, right, well it must be then, if you say it is, Harry. I was only thinking that Dad were always one to get in a paddy over nowt.’
‘Well it wasn’t over nowt this time. It was because she wouldn’t do as she was told. She wouldn’t agree to help out at the club. Jess defied him, as always.’
Bert was frowning. ‘But we’ve never done what Dad told us neither, Harry. Not properly. We’ve made out that we were, but underneath we always did as we pleased.’
Harry heaved a sigh of exasperation over Bert’s slowness at catching on but then allowed himself a small smile as a new thought took root. ‘That’s as maybe, but we won’t need to use subterfuge any more, will we? I’m in charge now, not Dad. He’s history.’
Harry got up from the hard chair on which he’d been sitting and took what he considered to be his rightful place in the battered old fireside chair where his father had sat night after night, reading his Sporting Chronicle and issuing orders. Harry settled into its dusty depths with a satisfied sigh.
He was top dog now, the one who would move up in the world, as he rightly deserved. He glanced about the shabby kitchen, at the milk jug turning sour on the battered deal table, the old Lancashire range which his mother black-leaded week after week. The tiny scullery where he could just catch sight of the old brown slop-stone sink where his she did the washing every Monday, half hidden behind a strung up curtain. She deserved better. They all did. And it was up to him to provide it.
He’d find them a better place to live, though not at the club where the spare bedrooms were needed for a more lucrative purpose. He’d maybe take a wife to give him that much needed air of respectability. Harry puffed out his chest, quite liking the idea. He reminded himself how he’d reached this exalted position, partly by his own skill, but also because of what had happened this night. He should never forget that.
‘Is there any more ale in that jug? Top us up then, there’s a good lad.’
And as Bert rushed to do his bidding, Harry blithely remarked, ‘We’ll make her pay for this mess, see if we don’t. We’ll make that lass sorry she ever upset a Delaney and put our mam’s life in jeopardy. She’ll wish this night’s business had never taken place.’
Chapter Twenty
Jess already did wish that last night’s events hadn’t taken place, with heartfelt agony. She knew, deep in her heart, that she could never see Steve again. She was not fit to be his girlfriend, not after what had happened. Not fit to be anyone’s girlfriend. Where was her hope for the future now? How could she bear to have a man touch her, even Steve, without bringing back painful memories which were rapidly turning into nightmares. Jess doubted she would ever feel clean again. Cora had bathed her afterwards, and again this morning at first light, Jess had crept down to the kitchen and washed herself from head to foot, striving to cleanse the filth which had penetrated her body, yet somehow it seemed to be lodged in her soul, and she simply couldn’t eradicate it.
Afterwards, Cora brought her breakfast in bed, telling her to stop where she was, that everything was at sixes and sevens, Harry and Bert having had a lie-in and the twins being particularly fractious but she’d have them on their way in no time. Jess was not to worry as she’d sent a note with Sandra to Mr Simmons to say she was a bit poorly and wouldn’t be in today. ‘A day in bed and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow, your old self again.’
Jess knew she would never be her old self ever again. She’d been assaulted by her own uncle, despite her determination over the years never to become one of his victims. Nor could she stay here. She’d have to go away, anywhere so long as it was as far from Uncle Bernie as possible. But for today, Cora was right. She needed to rest, to hide under the covers; once she’d washed herself yet again in the big basin of hot water her aunt had brought up.
When Jess finally did emerge downstairs later in the day, it was only because Cora had convinced her that he was nowhere around. Lizzie was sitting in her usual chair crying through a haze of cigarette smoke.
Cora took Jess’s hand and led her to a stool by the fire, which blazed halfway up the chimney despite it being a warm, sunny day, making the kitchen stiflingly hot.
‘Come on love, sit yourself down and have a nice cuppa. Take no notice of your mam. She’s a bit upset over Bernie doing a moonlight flit.’
‘He’s left me,’ Lizzie wailed, as if she were the wife and not Cora. ‘Without a word, not so much as a goodbye.’
‘What? You mean . . . ?’ Jess could scarcely take in the import of these words. Ignoring Lizzie’s wails, she turned to Cora, ‘Is she saying he’s gone?’
Cora’s tone was bitter. She’d been putting on an act for most of her married life, making out she was happy when really only the childer had brought her any comfort. It would be a relief to tell the truth about her marriage at last, though a few more lies would be needed to bring the matter to a satisfactory end. But if it made this lass feel better, it was all to the good.
‘Aye, up and done a runner, as he always does when things get sticky. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. Who needs him? We can make a do without him, see if we don’t. There you are love, I’ve put two sugars in, since we have plenty and you need to keep your strength up.’
‘But why has he gone? And wher
e to?’
‘Nay, I wouldn’t know and don’t want to. He’s slung his hook, that’s all that matters. He left a note on the mantelshelf to say he’d seen the error of his ways. I’d show it to you only I flung it on the fire.’ The lies were coming thick and fast now, smooth as butter. ‘He apologised for having crossed a line he shouldn’t have and thought it best if he took himself off to pastures new.’
This was the best explanation Cora’s feeble imagination could come up with. Aware it didn’t sound convincing because when had Bernie ever troubled himself about crossing lines or caring what folk thought, so she kept well away from Jess while she told her tale, busying herself giving the twins their daily dose of cod liver oil. ‘Keep still will you,’ she complained as they deftly evaded the spoon. ‘You’re like a pair of wriggling worms.’
This sent Sam and Seb flat on the floor, wriggling about on their stomachs, giggling uproariously. Cora slammed down the spoon and shook a fist at them, the grin on her round face giving the lie to her words. ‘I’ll batter you two when I catch you.’ Then she opened the back door and yelled in a voice that would carry not only to the bottom of the back yard where Sandra was sitting on the wall talking to her mates, but very likely to Salford docks as well, ‘Sandra, get inside this minute. I’ll not tell you again.’
After chasing the two wriggling worms around the room, now on all fours having grown arms and legs, Cora finally captured her quarry by the scruff of their collars and placed both children at the kitchen table where they were liberally dosed. They screwed up their little faces in distaste, attempting to spit out the vile liquid while she ladled more in.
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