The Old House on the Corner

by Maureen Lee

  ‘I can’t stay long, love. Steve and I have to go out. Another ten minutes or so and I’ll have to leave.’

  Steve was in the garden when she got home, breathless from the short run from Rachel’s house. ‘I’m sorry I took so long,’ she panted.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said easily. ‘I’ve made a list of things to get from the nursery. Apart from plants, we’ll need some garden tools and a hose. Are you ready to go now?’

  ‘In just a minute.’ She took the car keys out of her bag. ‘Will you get the car out? I just want to have a quick word with Victoria.’

  ‘Who’s Victoria?’

  ‘She lives in the old house on the corner. I met her yesterday and she’s awfully nice. I want to ask if she’d call on Rachel. The state she’s in, she shouldn’t be left on her own.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay with her, luv? We can always go out tomorrow.’

  ‘Would you mind? I was worried I’d upset you.’

  ‘You must think I’m a monster.’ He looked almost ashamed. ‘I suppose I did feel a bit put out when you came back late the other day, but I was worried about you more than anything. If the woman’s hurting, Kath, I’d feel a louse if you left her alone on my account. While you’re gone, I’ll find out where the nearest nursery is and get the stuff today.’

  ‘Steve!’ She threw her arms around his neck. ‘Kiss me before I go. Shall we go out to dinner tonight? Unhappiness is catching. I’ll need you to cheer me up as soon as I’m home.’

  ‘I know the best way of doing that – we’ll have dinner afterwards.’ He kissed her soundly and Kathleen went back to Rachel.

  They sat on the settee together talking about nothing much, until mid-afternoon when Rachel fell asleep. Kathleen eased her arm from behind her back and crept into the kitchen to tidy up. She had just finished washing the dishes and was looking for a tea towel when the phone on the wall beside the fridge rang. She took it off and said, ‘Hello.’

  ‘So, you’re still managing to live with yourself I see,’ a man’s gruff voice said. ‘Happy, are you?’

  ‘Who is this speaking?’

  There was a long pause then a clicking sound and the phone went dead. Kathleen stood holding the receiver for quite a long time. Was Rachel being terrorized? Was the man a stranger or someone she knew?

  The phone must have woken Rachel. In a shaky voice, she called, ‘Who was that? Are you still here, Kathleen?’

  ‘I’m still here, yes. It was a wrong number.’ Earlier, Rachel had told her that Frank had said something this morning, but she wasn’t to ask what it was. So far, Kathleen hadn’t even glimpsed Rachel’s husband, let alone met him. Had that been him on the phone? If so, what the hell was he up to?

  Charlie Burtonshaw arrived on the dot of six. He was shorter than Ernest by a good six inches and in remarkably good condition for a man not far off seventy. The skin on his face was pink and looked as soft and silky as a baby’s and his white hair was tinged with yellow. He wore a white T-shirt tucked inside cream Terylene trousers held up with a frayed imitation crocodile belt.

  ‘Long time no see,’ he quipped in a hearty voice when he shook hands with his long-lost half brother.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Ernest, not a loquacious man under normal circumstances, was stuck for words. ‘Come in,’ he gulped. ‘Come and meet me wife.’

  ‘That’ll be a pleasure.’ Charlie stepped inside. ‘Nice little place you’ve got here, Ernie. Nicely situated an’ all.’

  ‘It’s the door on the right.’

  Charlie disappeared into the living room to be greeted by a welcome cry from Anna. Ernest took a deep breath and followed. There was no need for introductions, Anna had already done it herself and was patting the chair beside her for Charlie to sit down.

  ‘Would you like something to drink, Charlie?’ she cooed. ‘We’ve coffee, tea, whisky, and there’s beer in the fridge, isn’t there, Ernie?’

  ‘Beer’ll do me fine, ta. D’you mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Go right ahead, Charlie. Ernie, is there an ashtray in the kitchen?’

  ‘I’ll have a look.’ The smoke would get on Anna’s chest. Ernest felt annoyed with Charlie for asking. He found an ashtray that hadn’t been used in years, collected the beer and two glasses, and poured about half an inch of sherry for his wife.

  ‘How’s life treated you, Charlie?’ he asked when he carried everything in, attempting joviality, but failing miserably.

  ‘Well, Ernie, very well,’ Charlie said in the same hearty voice. ‘Served an apprenticeship as a turner and worked in the same place, Denver Tools on Kirkby Trading Estate, until I was sixty-five. Married Evelyn in nineteen fifty-eight, and we’ve got two kids, Ronnie and Tessa. Now we’ve got three grandkids,’ he finished proudly.

  ‘And Gaynor?’

  ‘Gaynor’s not been quite so lucky: married twice, widowed twice. Only son, Brian, works abroad most of the time: something to do with oil. Me and Ev go to see her as often as we can, but she’s lonely on her own.’

  ‘Poor dear,’ Anna said sympathetically. ‘We can go and see her now, can’t we, Ernie?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ernest muttered, and then asked the question he’d been wanting to ask ever since Charlie had arrived. ‘What happened to Mam?’

  ‘Died two years after the war ended, I’m sorry to say.’ Charlie blinked. His eyes were the palest blue Ernest had ever seen, surrounded by stubby, white lashes. ‘She was only forty-four. Desmond Whitely looked after me and Gaynor, otherwise we’d have gone in an orphanage. Do you remember Des?’

  ‘I remember him well. I always assumed Des was my father.’

  ‘He moved in with Mam permanently as soon his own kids had grown up. We found out they’d had an affair years before and you were the result. Lived till nearly ninety, Des did, and was completely in possession of his senses until the day he popped his clogs.’

  Anna raised her eyebrows questioningly at Ernest, but he ignored her. She must never have heard of the expression before.

  Charlie took several mouthfuls of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, ‘What about you, Ernie? What have you and your lovely wife been up to for the last sixty years?’

  ‘Not much,’ Ernest grunted. ‘We just travelled around a bit and ended up here.’

  ‘Darling,’ Anna trilled. ‘You make our lives sound awfully dull.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘We’ve had some wonderful times, Charlie. We lived in Egypt for a while – that’s where we met during the war. Then it was to and fro between Paris and Monte Carlo and all sorts of other exciting places.’

  ‘You never had any kids, then?’

  Anna’s face changed, became sombre. ‘We wanted children, but it just didn’t seem to happen.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ Charlie slapped his knees and got to his feet. ‘Well, I’d better be going. I told Ev I wouldn’t be long. Tonight’s Bingo night and she’s always expecting us to win the jackpot.’

  ‘You’re not going already? You’ve hardly been here five minutes. We were going to offer you dinner, weren’t we, Ernie?’

  ‘I had me tea before I came. I couldn’t eat another thing. Tara, Anna.’ He shook hands. ‘It’s been nice meeting you. You too, Ernie.’

  ‘I’ll see you out.’ Ernest went into the hall and opened the door. ‘Perhaps you and Evelyn would like to come another night,’ he said politely. ‘Or Anna and I could take you both out for a meal.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Charlie’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I never want to see you again, Ernie. I only came this time out of curiosity. Do you know why Mam died when she did, eh? Eh?’ he added belligerently when Ernest didn’t answer. ‘You broke her heart when you didn’t come home after the war, that’s why. She knew you weren’t dead, Des wrote and checked. I don’t think a day passed when she didn’t cry her eyes out wondering where you were. After a while, she gave up hope, took to her bed and died. It would have been such a little thing to do, to send a letter and tell her you were safe. Bu
t you were too busy, flitting around the world, having a good time.’ He started to back away and Ernest couldn’t help but notice that his trousers were too short and his T-shirt misshapen, as if it had been washed hundreds of times. ‘I told our Gaynor where I was going and she said to tell you you’re the last person on earth she wants to see. So, there you are, Ernie. Me and Gaynor want nothing to do with you.’ His tone was triumphant, as if this was a speech he’d been practising for the best part of his life, but had never imagined it being delivered.

  Ernest closed the door, shoulders bowed, hands trembling. He shuffled back into the living room where Anna was saying how nice Charlie had seemed. ‘But he looked terribly poor. Did you notice all the snags in his trousers? Are you all right, Ernie? You’re very pale.’

  ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy,’ Ernest admitted.

  ‘Go and lie down for half an hour, darling, but pour me another sherry before you do – a proper one this time. There was barely two sips in the one you gave me.’ She settled back in her chair and said contentedly. ‘There’s a good film on soon: Notorious, with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. I’ve seen it loads of times before, but I love it.’

  Ernie gave her the sherry and went to lie on his bed. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Mam had gone to an early grave and it was his fault. Charlie was right: all that had been needed was a letter just to show he cared, was still thinking about her. This morning, Anna had confessed to being selfish, but she was nothing compared to him. He called himself a socialist, yet he hadn’t done a decent day’s work since he’d left Cairo. He’d lived by his wits: a professional gambler. Ernest groaned and buried his head in the pillow. What an epitaph to put on someone’s grave!

  Sarah didn’t seem to notice anything odd about Gareth’s presence that night when she came to Victoria’s laden with bedding and accompanied by the two older children. She returned to fetch Alastair who was already asleep in his carrycot.

  ‘Oliver’s looking forward to sleeping in your house, Victoria,’ Tiffany said. ‘He told me so earlier.’

  ‘Did he now?’

  ‘Oliver seems to have lost an eye,’ Gareth pointed out.

  ‘I know. Mummy’s going to make a patch and he’ll look like Nelson McDella.’

  ‘You mean Nelson Mandela?’

  ‘I think Mummy meant Lord Horatio Nelson, Tiffany,’ Victoria said. ‘He lost an eye, just like Oliver?’

  Gareth shook his head dazedly. ‘This child always confuses me something rotten.’

  ‘Victoria, Oliver wants to watch EastEnders.’

  ‘Then take him into the parlour: you know how to switch the TV on, don’t you?’

  ‘Oliver does.’

  Victoria grinned and Sarah came in with the carrycot. ‘Jack’s nearly dead on his feet. I’ll take him and Alastair upstairs.’

  Gareth offered to help and Victoria said she’d make a drink. ‘Where’s Tabitha?’

  ‘Asleep on your bed,’ Gareth said on his way upstairs.

  A shriek came from the front room and Tiffany came galloping out, minus Oliver. ‘Is Tabitha here? Can I nurse him?’

  ‘I’ll bring him down with me.’

  ‘Won’t Oliver be jealous?’ Gareth enquired when he put the kitten in Tiffany’s eager arms.

  ‘Of course he won’t, silly. He knows how much I love him. Come on, Tabitha, you can watch EastEnders with us.’

  Gareth rolled his eyes. ‘What time is she likely to go to bed?’ he hissed.

  Victoria shrugged and said she had no idea.

  ‘Are you sure this Alex guy is going to come back tonight?’

  ‘Pretty sure. I rang Speke airport earlier, said I had some important papers to deliver to Mr Rees-James and what time was his plane taking off. They said at half-past two in the morning.’

  ‘Cor! That was clever of you, Vic.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Victoria looked pleased with herself. ‘Sarah and I reckon he’ll come – if he comes at all – at about half one. Once he’s grabbed the children, he’ll want to get out of the country as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Have the cops been alerted?’

  ‘They’re on standby or something.’

  Gareth grinned, though it wasn’t the least bit funny. ‘This is all very cloak and dagger.’

  ‘You know what to do, don’t you?’

  Gareth saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am. Do you think Tiffany will be asleep by then? More importantly, will Oliver? I don’t trust that bloody little bear not to give the game away.’

  The plan went like a dream. At twenty-five past one, Gareth, who was watching from the front window of Victoria’s bedroom, hissed, ‘They’re here,’ at Victoria and Sarah who were watching from the other. ‘The Rolls has just stopped outside. Two men have got out and they’re walking into the square at this very minute. I’m about to call the cops on the mobile and then I’ll go out and let down the tyres.’ This was merely a precautionary measure.

  The women watched as the men walked quietly into the square and approached the house where Sarah and her children would normally have been peacefully asleep.

  ‘The tallest one is definitely Alex,’ Sarah whispered. ‘I recognize his walk. Thank goodness you were awake last night and saw him. Oh, look! He’s going to kick down the door.’

  Alex gave the door a single kick and it flew open. He beckoned to the other man and they entered the house. Within minutes, two police cars were at the scene, lights flashing. A struggling Alex and his partner were escorted from the house. ‘I only wanted my kids,’ Alex screamed. ‘That’s all I wanted, my children.’

  ‘I almost feel sorry for him,’ a shaken Sarah said when it was all over and the square was quiet again.

  ‘Save your pity for someone more deserving,’ Victoria advised.

  Sarah yawned. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. Thank goodness the children didn’t wake up. Goodnight, you two. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Is it all right if I stay, do you think?’ Gareth asked when Sarah had gone.

  ‘Yes, but you’d better leave early in the morning.’

  ‘Is there a lock on your bedroom door?’

  ‘There’s a hook. Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t want Tiffany, Oliver and Tabitha barging in disturbing our slumber or whatever else we might be up to.’

  Judy Moon let the bedroom curtain fall when the excitement appeared to be over and went into the kitchen to heat a cup of milk in the microwave. It didn’t bode well for the future that, after only a few hours in her new home, there’d been a police raid. Donna said that Victoria Square appeared eminently respectable, the people very nice, although when she’d come the other day to put up the curtains, the woman from next door, Rachel Williams, had been very pushy. She’d come again next morning and invited Donna for coffee.

  ‘Pushy, but helpful,’ Donna said in the crisp, no-nonsense tones that had scared the living daylights out of Judy when Joe had first brought her home and she could tell straight away it was serious. She had always expected that one day she would have two daughters-in-law and had vowed never to interfere, criticize or take sides, but to make friends with the girls so they had nice, easy-going relationships.

  The microwave beeped and Judy carried the milk into the bedroom, switched on the bedside lamp, and hoisted a pillow behind her back. Making friends with Donna had proved easier said than done. For years, the girl had been positively unfriendly.

  But now that was all water under the bridge. In the course of time, Donna had turned out to be worth her weight in gold. It was all due to Sam. Judy smiled wryly. Because of Sam, she’d made a friend of her daughter-in-law and an enemy of her husband.

  The milk finished, Judy didn’t feel remotely like sleeping – she’d been tossing and turning when the police cars had arrived, blue lights flashing and casting an eerie glow over the room. She clasped her hands on top of the duvet. ‘This is the first day of the rest of me life,’ she told herself. It was a saying that applied to every day, but in he
r case was particularly apt: from this day onwards, she would be living alone for the first time, beholden to no one, able to go anywhere, do anything she wanted. It was a daunting prospect, vaguely frightening but, at the same time, exciting.

  She’d never go to sleep at this rate. There was something missing. After a few minutes, she remembered what it was and went over to her luggage, still unpacked, and rooted through a suitcase until she found a packet of incense sticks, a holder, and a box of matches. She chose Golden Orchid, lit the stick and put it on the chest that Josh had painted so beautifully, and got back into bed.

  Almost immediately, the room was pervaded by a musky, pungent scent. She snuggled under the clothes, acutely aware that she was lying in Sam’s bed, underneath his duvet, her head on his pillow and surrounded by his furniture. She was back again in the basement flat in Islington and, as she drifted into sleep, she could have sworn she could hear Isabella singing …

  Judy Moon

  Chapter 12

  Judy Smith was a war baby. She was born in 1941 while her mum and dad, both avid film fans, were watching The Wizard of Oz in the Palais de Luxe in Lime Street. Mum experienced the first contraction just as Dorothy and her companions arrived at Oz and were waiting to see the wizard. She’d rather hoped to last the film out, but had another contraction almost immediately, more severe than the first. Time seemed to be at a premium. The manager had been asked to phone for an ambulance, but said it would be quicker if he took them to the maternity hospital in his car. After he’d delivered Mum – he meant to the hospital, not in his car – he’d take Dad back to Penny Lane where a neighbour was looking after the other children.

  ‘If this one’s a girl, you’ll have to call her Dorothy,’ he said on the way.

  ‘Can’t,’ said Dad. ‘We’ve already got a Dorothy, after Dorothy Gish. Orphans of the Storm was the first film I ever saw. I was only eleven and I’ve been hooked every since.’

  ‘Judy then. Judy Garland’s a real heart-stopper.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Dad mused. ‘All our four kids are named after film stars. We were going to call this one Glenda, after Glenda Farrell who was in I am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang. It’s my favourite film.’