Polly's Pride

by Freda Lightfoot

  Polly had indeed missed all the obvious signs of a genuine problem for her son. Absorbed in her own distress, the tears fell unchecked as she stitched, dampening the worn cloth of the jacket, while her mind inevitably replayed the events of her friend’s death and the implications surrounding it.

  Could Joshua’s bitter grievance over religion truly have driven him to such lengths? All because she, a Catholic, had married into a non-conformist family? The man was sick. Polly paused in her stitching of the patch, staring through the window at the rain-sodden back yard, remembering Benny’s agonies as he’d been marched up and down, the pain in her own arm as Joshua had twisted it. A wave of sickness filled her at the memory and she had to wait till it eased before continuing, tight-lipped. with her sewing.

  If he really did mistake Eileen for her, why had he done nothing to rectify his mistake since? Was he biding his time? Watching and waiting for the right moment, so that he would in no way be implicated should some terrible accident befall her.

  For the first time it occurred to Polly that Matthew’s death might not have been an accident after all. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins at the very idea. Could Joshua possibly have engineered that too? No, surely she was letting her imagination run away with her? How could he know that Matthew would be there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped like an injured animal under the stampeding crowd? And Joshua was nowhere near Matthew at the time of his death. Wasn’t that what he’d told her?

  But what if that weren’t true?

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ she cried, hearing the tremor in her own voice. If that were the case then he was not only a bigot and a heartless rapist but a murderer too.

  It all seemed much too far-fetched to take in and she fought against the idea as fanciful, born of her natural distress and alarm.

  In that moment she ached for Charlie, for a friend to rely on and provide the support she needed. Yet she knew, deep down, that he could very easily be much more than a friend. He wanted her, she could see it in his eyes, and had discovered she was not indifferent to such emotions herself. One day soon she would go to him, as she so longed to do. But first she had some issues to resolve.

  Polly heard the sounds of her brother-in-law’s boots on the linoleum as he returned home, and bent her head to her sewing with a fervent vow to keep a sharper eve on him in future. Despite the very real grief she felt for her lost friend, Polly knew she must not allow grief to overwhelm her. This was no time for falling back into that trap.

  The first thing she did was carefully to count out the money that Eileen had left her. There was more than she had expected: sixteen pounds, ten shilling and ninepence in fact, which would set her up grand. The very next time Joshua went to one of his meetings, she put on her shawl and announced that she was off out too.

  Big Flo looked anxious. ‘Where to this time? He’ll ask, soon as he gets in.’

  ‘Tell him you don’t know because I didn’t tell you. Get your coat on, Lucy. You’re coming with me. It’s not too soon for you to learn a bit of business.’

  ‘What sort of business? Nay, Polly, thee’s not off with that carpet nonsense again? He’ll flay me alive for letting you wander,’ Big Flo wailed, following her to the door.

  ‘Like you once said yourself, this isn’t Strangeways and you’re not my jailer. Neither is Joshua.’ Then Polly was striding along Dove Street with such a determined spring in her step that Lucy had to run to catch up with her. Big Flo stood on the doorstep waving a ham-like fist and shouting for her to come back this minute, if she knew what was good for her.

  The empty shop on Ancoats Lane had been taken long since, of course, but the landlord, delighted to see her again, knew of something which might be equally suitable. ‘Not a shop,’ he told her. ‘But costing less in consequence. It will happen be just the ticket for you.’

  He rifled in a chest of drawers, found a rusty old key and led Polly and Lucy along Ancoats Lane, down Store Street and through a maze of interconnecting streets quite near the railway arches. Finally he stopped by a tall, soot-darkened red brick warehouse. Some of the casement windows were broken. There were many such buildings now in Manchester, following the slump.

  ‘Chap who owned it went bump, as many others have done. There’s been too much lost during the Crash.’

  He unlocked the big double doors and led them into a low-ceilinged room; the length of it broken at intervals by iron pillars. It had clearly served its time as a weaving shed as well as a warehouse, but Polly felt a stir of excitement.

  ‘We’re dividing the warehouse up into sections,’ the man explained. ‘This bit will happen do for your carpets. There’s this room, an office and a small kitchen. What d’you reckon?’

  It was ideal for her purposes. There was more than enough space here to store, cut and sew any number of carpets. Polly and Lucy exchanged a quick excited glance, hastily disguised as they had no wish to be taken advantage of.

  ‘How much? I’m not made of brass,’ Polly asked, borrowing some of Big Flo’s Lancashire bluntness. A fair rent was agreed, a deposit paid which was quickly pocketed, and the key handed over.

  ‘I like a body who pays in advance. If you’re looking for some place to lay your head as well as carpets, give us a shout. There’s the old caretaker’s flat next door.’

  Polly looked surprised. It was a tempting thought, but right now it was more important that she spend her money on the business. There would be time enough, once she’d got it going again, to find somewhere other than the house in Dove Street for herself and the children to live. She smiled her thanks. ‘I’d need to think about that. But I’ll remember the offer.’

  When the man had gone, well pleased with the deal, Polly and Lucy hugged each other in delight.

  Joshua suffered no remorse at his behaviour. Far from it. He was well pleased with the way things were turning out. In one respect, allowing Polly to go out that day had probably been a mistake. Ever since then she seemed to be gaining strength, growing more obstinate, even rebellious, no longer willing to take the powders which had kept her in his clutches for so long.

  However, he knew that although it may be diminished, he still held considerable power over her.

  That young son of hers would think twice in future before he risked bringing shame and humiliation upon his family again. As for the girl. . . His victim on that occasion may only have been the Irish woman’s son, but he’d keep an eye on Madam Lucy too, who was almost as full of sin as the mother.

  Joshua smiled as he turned up his coat collar against the rain, and set off to his meeting with a light heart.

  One day soon, the Irish woman’s turn would come. So far he had only chastised her a little, teaching her the lesson she deserved for daring to display such a show of temper. But he’d enjoyed the scuffle. He’d tried once to do more, of course, and failed, mistaking that slut next door for Polly, simply because she’d been wrapped in her shawl. Not that he felt any regret over Eileen Grimshaw. She was no loss to anyone, a woman like that. But next time he would be more certain of his quarry.

  He reached the Mission Hall and paused, brow furrowed in thought, barely aware of the greetings of the men as they passed by to enter the building.

  He would like to have had the satisfaction of accusing her of being responsible, as Matthew had been, for Cecil’s death. Joshua was convinced that if she hadn’t captivated his brother so completely with her feminine wiles, Cecil might be alive today. But it was too soon, he told himself. It might make her start asking questions about Matthew’s ‘accident’.

  As it was now, even if she did connect him with her husband’s death, which as an ignorant woman she surely wouldn’t have the wit to do, she was powerless to prove a thing against him. He had only to bide his time, choose his moment with care, and he’d enjoy inflicting just punishment upon her all the more. In the meantime, he’d at least ensured she would never slap him again.

  Now he stood before his fellow unemployed on the stage
of the Mission Hall, a man well pleased with himself and life in general. He lectured them sternly on the subject of politics, the evils of the Means Test and the success of their protests to date. The men drank in every word, believing implicitly that he was their only hope.

  ‘This is but the beginning,’ Joshua proclaimed. ‘Follow me, comrades, and every man amongst you will be given work, and the means to provide for your family.’

  He felt like a missionary, leading an entire people to salvation, almost as if he possessed the power of the Almighty Himself. On Judgement Day he would most certainly sit at the right hand of Our Lord, as one of the most blessed among men. A leader, very nearly a prophet. Joshua swelled with pride as the shouts and cheers rang in the hall.

  ‘We’ll follow you, Josh.’

  ‘Aye. Find us work and we’ll follow you to hell and back.’

  ‘Or Heaton Park,’ shouted one wag. ‘Which is the same thing.’

  Joshua smiled. Only one person that he knew of was destined for hell. And he meant to put her there himself.

  Afterwards he walked amongst them, taking a collection for the cause. Cal Eastwood approached.

  ‘You’re pushing ‘em too hard, Joshua.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘They’ve hardly enough money to feed themselves and their families, without lining your pockets.’

  ‘I resent that remark. This money is for the NUWM.’

  ‘After you’ve taken out your own expenses first, I reckon.’

  ‘I am not running a charity here. There’s the hire of the hall to pay for, stationery, postage, leaflets and posters advertising the next demonstration.’ Use of his home as an office had also to be taken into account, as did wear and tear on his shoe leather. If he put his mind to it, it came to quite a sum. Joshua exacted a similar recompense for his chapel duties but had no wish for the men, Cal Eastwood in particular, to know the full details.

  He shook the bowler hat under the nose of one man, who sheepishly dropped in a penny. His mate scurried away before he could be trapped too. Cal smirked, knowing his point had been proved.

  ‘Much good it’s doing us, giving our last pennies to these pie-in-the-sky dreams of yours. Don’t look worth it from where I’m standing. Happen I’ll give you a run for your money at the next elections.’

  Joshua was angry but unrepentant. Not for a moment did he believe that the likes of Cal Eastwood could oust him from his position of power. He’d tried once before, when they were both in the newly formed union. He’d failed then and would fail now. Joshua would make certain of it. Cal would learn that he was not a man to be trifled with, as had Matthew, to his cost.

  His brother had received his just deserts, suffering the same crime against him that he himself had perpetrated against Cecil. Just as it was written: ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’ It didn’t trouble Joshua in the slightest if some might judge him as a murderer. He didn’t see himself as such. It was true he could easily have pulled his brother from the path of the advancing mob, but no one else knew that.

  Dealing with his brother’s wife, who was equally culpable, would bring him the greatest satisfaction of all. Admittedly it would require special care and planning, if he were to succeed in his mission without drawing suspicion upon himself.

  With a sneering laugh he pocketed the money and, placing the bowler hat neatly back upon his head, turned to go. ‘You’re welcome to try,’ he called to Cal over his shoulder, knowing himself to be inviolable.

  Polly felt invigorated, almost reborn. Her head was buzzing with plans for what she would do with the warehouse. The small stock of carpets left in Eileen’s parlour had already been moved there. safely out of the way of the new neighbour. The next major task, once the warehouse had been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom, would be to add more, which wouldn’t be easy in these difficult times. But Polly was in no way daunted by the task ahead of her.

  ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ she’d say to her children as she simmered porridge for their breakfast, watching with satisfaction as they gulped it down. The statement was to become a litany as they swept and scrubbed, mended floorboards or blocked up broken windows in the days following. Lucy was eager to help whenever it wasn’t one of her days at the market. Benny too worked like a Trojan. The minute school was over, he’d be there beside his mother ready to do his bit, jacket off, sleeves rolled up.

  Polly knew that however hard she must work, in the end it would all be worth it. And at least the children seemed happy. She vowed never again to allow Joshua to hurt them. She even began issuing a string of dire warnings, just as in the old days.

  ‘Don’t think you can run wild, the pair of you, just because you’re getting older. Won’t I leather you myself if you go wandering off down the canal for no reason, or come home again with a tear in your coat? Ye never tell me where you are, neither of you, and don’t I need to know?’

  Benny might once have protested against this injustice, now he would grin from ear to ear, willingly pick up the hated cap and go off to school with a jaunty bounce to his step. His mam was herself again, and it felt good.

  Lucy dreamed of catching sight of Tom Shackleton. Maybe she could risk suggesting that she was open to invitations, now that her mam was well again. She made up her mind to hang around the street corner when they were done at the warehouse one day, in the hope of meeting him on his way home from work.

  Because of all the work needing to be done, Polly would always eat her own breakfast at breakneck speed, anxious to be on her way, absently making the usual consoling responses to Big Flo’s daily complaints of rheumatic aches and pains.

  She fully intended to justify Eileen’s unswerving belief in her. Nothing on God’s earth would persuade her to hand over any of her friend’s hard-earned money to her brother-in-law. She’d pay her way, but no longer was she willing to be ruled by him, no matter how many tantrums he might throw in his attempts to frighten her. When breakfast was over, she would quickly wash up the few dishes and reach at once for her shawl.

  The question always came, as expected. ‘Where you off to now?’

  ‘Out.’

  One morning Big Flo dropped her spoon and reached out a restraining hand. ‘Take care, lass. He were on about that friend o’ yours again yesterday, can’t remember his surname. You know, that chap who come asking after thee once. Charlie summat.’ The two women exchanged a long speaking glance.

  Polly, surprised by this unexpected show of concern from her mother-in-law, made no comment at all, merely tightening her lips to an obstinate line, gave a brief nod, then strode off in the direction of the city centre, taking Lucy with her.

  As well as sweeping out the room and disposing of thousands of cobwebs, hammering down floorboards and temporarily fixing boards over the broken window panes until they had the money to replace them with glass, they’d also fashioned a long wooden slide made out of old doors. It ran the length of the room so that the carpets could be slid from one end to the other, which would make the task of moving them much easier.

  Their final task had been to scrub out the tiny kitchen. It was little bigger than a cupboard with a sink and a gas jet, but it would serve. Mother and daughter sat in it now, eating a hot pie by way of reward for their labours, savouring the delicious flavour, licking the juices that ran between their fingers.

  ‘How will we manage, Mam, on our own? You’re good at bargaining and selling, but we can’t carry big carpets through the streets.’

  It had crossed Polly’s mind to ask Charlie to help but she’d dismissed the idea almost at once. Maybe she was still a bit nervous of Joshua, but she shied away from any contact which might embroil him too closely in her life. Not till she was ready, anyway. Yet somehow this decision, sensible as it seemed, had the effect of depressing her. ‘We can use the hand cart. I’m strong, and I’ll get stronger,’ she declared.

  Lucy at once offered to help. ‘I’m used to working with the carpets now, and I
enjoy it. I could give up the tripe and trotter stall.’

  ‘Not yet,’ her mother cautioned. ‘We need your income for a while longer. But our future is bright, love. Believe me. We’ll get this business going, and later I do have a friend who may help. He was very kind to me when I got lost looking for a tram that day. He was in the Merchant Navy once but is looking for work at the moment, like many another.’

  Polly was horrified to find herself blushing like a schoolgirl. ‘He might be interested, he might not,’ she finished, all in a rush.

  Lucy, listening with close attention, thought her mother had never looked better, younger and prettier than she had seen her in years. The pinched look had gone from about her mouth. her eyes were bright and her skin glowed. She wondered, with a start, if her mam could possibly be in love; realising she’d never considered such a possibility before. Yet the prospect pleased her. ‘I’m glad for you, Mam, really I am. He sounds a nice chap.’

  ‘He’s simply a friend,’ Polly hastened to assure her. ‘We met a few times, but only to talk.’

  Oh, and how they had talked, as if they’d known each other for years! Then he’d come to the house looking for her. If she now went looking for him, something deep inside Polly told her that Charlie would be glad to see her. But it was far too soon. She wasn’t ready for any more emotional turmoil just yet.

  By way of response, Lucy started to tell her mother all about Tom, about how he’d once asked her out but she had refused because the family had still been in mourning. Polly listened with sympathy and interest, then patted her daughter’s cheek.

  ‘There’s plenty of time. Mourning shouldn’t last for ever.’

  ‘I know, Mam, and he promised to wait.’ Lucy flushed. ‘But I wondered if it might be all right now if I - well - if I went out with him like?’