by Kitty Neale
‘Be careful, girl.’
‘I…I’m sorry, Mrs Pugh,’ Mavis stammered as she hastily veered to one side.
‘You nearly barged into me. Where are you off to? It’s Monday morning and surely you should be on your way to school?’
‘My…my mum needs more stock.’
Edith Pugh’s neck stretched with indignation. ‘Don’t your parents realise how important your education is? My son is twenty-two now, but when he was at school I made sure he never missed a day. Now look at him. Alec works in an office and is doing really well. You’ll learn nothing trawling the streets. As I’m going past your house, I think I’ll have a word with your mother.’
‘Oh, no, please, don’t do that! I leave school at Easter and…and it’s not as if a day off will make much difference.’
The woman’s face softened imperceptibly, her tone a little kinder. ‘No, I suppose not, but despite your difficulties I’m sure you’re bright. I think you just need a bit of extra help and it’s a shame you aren’t getting it.’
Once again Mavis felt her cheeks burning. Until last year, Mrs Pugh had been the school secretary and she hated it that the woman knew of her failings. Anxious to get away, she stuttered, ‘I…I think my English teacher has given up on me.’
‘What about your parents? Have they tried to help you?’
‘Er…yes,’ Mavis lied, and to avoid any more questions, she added, ‘I really must go now.’
‘Very well, but watch where you’re going with that pram. You nearly had me off my feet.’
With this curt comment Mrs Pugh walked away, her back bent and walking stick tapping the pavement, and Mavis too resumed her journey. She had always been in awe of Edith Pugh, and on their previous encounters when the woman had worked at her school, Mavis found her changing personality bewildering. She could be very strict, blunt, and opinionated, yet there’d been times when she’d shown kindness when questioning her absenteeism. Edith Pugh and her son lived in Ellington Avenue, only a ten-minute walk from her own home in Cullen Street, but the difference between the two was stark. Ellington Avenue was tree lined, with bay-fronted houses that had gardens back and front. In complete contrast, the houses in Cullen Street were flat-fronted, two-up-two-down terraces, with just small, concrete backyards. There were no trees, and the only view was of the dismal houses opposite.
Mavis had been out so many times with the pram that she knew every road, lane, street and avenue in the whole area, but Ellington Avenue was one of her favourites, especially in May when the trees bloomed with froths of pink and white blossom.
At last Mavis reached Battersea Bridge, the river grey and sluggish, and the wind stinging her cheeks as she walked to the other side. On Cheyne Walk now, she hesitated while deciding which direction to take. She could try the houses facing the embankment, or those along Beaufort Street. Mavis crossed the road and turned left, a different route from her last forage. She was immune now to the looks of pity or disdain from people she passed; her one hope was that it wouldn’t take all day to fill the pram.
Edith Pugh was deep in thought. Despite the girl’s inability to read and write, she was sure that Mavis Jackson was bright, and not only that, the girl was pretty. Yes, but was Mavis malleable? There was only one way she could think of to find out and now, raising the handle of her cane, Edith rapped loudly on the door. Despite the pain, she managed to keep her back straight and her head high when it was opened.
‘Blimey, Edith Pugh. And to what do I owe this honour?’
Edith hid her feelings of disdain as she looked at Mavis’s mother. Despite being pretty, with a good figure, the woman looked a mess, her peroxide blonde hair resembling straw and her clothes totally unsuitable for a woman in her mid thirties. Edith knew her own hair was mousy brown, but she kept it immaculately permed, and made sure she always looked smart, her clothes nicely tailored. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘I’d like a word with you about your daughter.’
‘Why? What’s she been up to?’
‘Nothing, other than the fact that Mavis isn’t in school—but as she’s leaving soon I think it’s time you thought about her future.’
Lily’s head reared with indignation. ‘Now listen, lady, you may have been the school secretary but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do about my daughter.’
‘No, I’m not trying to do that,’ Edith said hastily. She hated that she had to affect an air of humility but nevertheless forced her tone to sound contrite. ‘Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. You see, I came to see you about offering Mavis a job.’
‘A job? What sort of job?’
‘I’d rather not discuss it on the doorstep. May I come in?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Lily said, ‘but you’ll have to excuse the mess.’
Edith was unable to help her eyebrows rising as she went inside. The room was indeed a mess, with piles of junk spread over the linoleum. She could see rusted old saucepans, a frying pan black with grease, and a few odd pieces of cutlery amongst the jumble. In another heap she saw china, mostly chipped, and in her opinion only fit for the dustbin. There was a sheet of newspaper on the table on top of which Edith saw an old, dented kettle that Lily had obviously been trying to polish up.
‘You’d best sit down,’ Lily said.
Edith pulled out a chair and looked at it fastidiously before sitting.
‘Right, what’s this about a job?’ Lily asked as she too sat down.
‘I’m afraid it’s only part time, but I’d like Mavis to work for me. You see, in my early thirties I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and, due to relapses, I had to give up work last year.’
‘Yeah, I’d heard, but didn’t know why.’
Edith ignored the interruption. She wanted to get this over with, to leave this dirty house and its many germs behind. ‘I’m only forty-three now, but my disabilities are worsening, so much so that I need help around the house and with cooking. With your agreement, I’d like Mavis for two hours a day, and an hour at weekends.’
‘Two hours a day ain’t much of a job and, anyway, Mavis is a clumsy cow. I don’t think you could trust her not to break anything.’
‘I’m sure she’d be fine with simple tasks, and I can teach her to be less clumsy. It’s just a matter of training.’
‘Leave it out. I know my daughter and gave up on her years ago.’
‘I’m willing to take the risk. I’ll also pay her one shilling an hour, which is a good rate for a young, unskilled domestic worker.’
‘It ain’t bad, but I want her to work for me when she leaves school.’
‘Surely you could spare her for a couple of hours a day?’
Lily’s eyes narrowed in thought, and then she began to count on her fingers. ‘I make it twelve hours in total, and she’d earn twelve bob. Yeah, all right, for that money I can spare her, but I warn you, don’t come complaining to me if she breaks anything.’
‘I won’t. I’d like to show Mavis her duties before she starts. Would you send her round to see me?’
‘Yeah, but there’s no hurry. She doesn’t leave school until the end of term.’
‘I really could do with her before then. Until she leaves, could she perhaps do an hour after school, and two on Saturdays and Sundays?’
‘Yeah, but she can’t start today. It’ll have to be tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘I’ll send her round to see you later.’
‘Thank you,’ Edith said, but as she stood up a muscle spasm caused her to gasp in pain. For a moment her vision blurred and she felt off balance, but then thankfully the moment passed. She reached out to grasp her cane and walked slowly to the door, saying as she was shown out, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Jackson.’
‘Bye,’ Lily chirped back.
When the door closed behind her, Edith heaved in a breath of fresh air. She’d done it. The first stage of her plan was in place. She just hoped Mavis was the perfect choice.
Lily
picked up the half-polished kettle, her mind full of the visit as she started to polish the other side. If Edith Pugh really could teach Mavis to be less clumsy, it would make all the difference. The woman had said she was forty-three, but dressed as though she was middle aged. Matronly, that was the only way to describe Edith Pugh; but she had sounded so sure of herself when talking about Mavis. Maybe she was right—maybe it was down to training.
Lily knew she should have tried harder with Mavis but, busy trying to make ends meet, she just hadn’t had the time, or patience. When Mavis left school, she’d planned to put her to work, sending her out most days with the pram, and using her on other days to tart up any metal stuff. More stock would increase her profits, but now Lily decided there could be an alternative. She turned the idea over in her mind. Yes, it should work, but Lily didn’t want to count her chickens before they were hatched. Of course, if Ron would stop gambling they’d be in clover, but that was a pipe dream. However, if her future plans for Mavis worked out, she’d be able to take it easy—have a bit of time to put her feet up for a change.
By the end of another hour, Lily’s arms were aching, but at last she had a pile of now shiny, if dented, saucepans to flog, not that she’d get much for them. Her sigh was heavy as she washed the muck off her hands, but then the door swung open and Lily spun around, her eyes widening. ‘Bloody hell, Ron! What are you doing home?’
‘We got laid off.’
‘Why? What did you do this time?’ Lily asked in exasperation as she hastily dried her hands.
‘I fell out with the foreman, but before you do your nut, don’t worry. Pete’s already found us another job and the pay’s a lot better.’
‘Is it now? Knowing you, I doubt I’ll see any of it.’
Ron moved closer, pulling her into his arms. ‘Yes you will, love. Things are going to change, you’ll see.’
Lily stiffened at first as Ron’s lips caressed her neck, but sixteen years of marriage hadn’t dimmed her passion for this man. He might be a gambler, his wages gone most weeks before she saw a penny, but his body never failed to thrill her. She moved her hands over him, felt his muscles ripple, and melted. It was always the same. She would threaten to leave him, but then be left helpless with desire at his touch. Not this time, she thought, fighting her emotions and pulling away. ‘No, Ron.’
‘Come on, Lily, you know you don’t mean it,’ he urged, pulling her close again, the hardness of his desire obvious as he pressed against her.
It was almost her undoing, but once again she fought her feelings. ‘I said no!’
‘Lily…Lily, we should make the most of this. When I’m working away we won’t see each other for months.’
Ron’s words were like a dash of cold water. ‘Working away! What do you mean?’
‘Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I’d planned to tell you when you were feeling all warm and cosy after a bit of slap and tickle.’
‘Oh, I see, soften me up first and then break the news. Well, forget it. You can tell me now.’
Ron released her. ‘All right, but you ain’t gonna like it,’ he said, taking a seat before going on to tell her about the job in Bracknell.
Lily sat down to hear him out, only speaking when he came to an end. ‘So let me get this straight. You’re saying that if you take this job you’ll be able to give up gambling, and, not only that, you and Pete are going to pool your money, saving up enough to go into partnership?’
‘You’ve got it in one. I know being apart is gonna be rotten, but I’ll send you money every week.’
‘That’ll be a change. I get sod all off you now.’
‘I know, love, I know, but I really am going to give up gambling this time. And don’t forget, without me to keep, you’ll be quids in.’
‘Why can’t you come home at weekends?’
‘’Cos we’re going to put in as much overtime as we can. The more hours we work, the more we’ll earn, and by the end of the contract Pete thinks we’ll have enough to buy a van and all the stuff we’ll need, mixers and such, to start up our own firm.’
Lily’s mind was racing. If Ron really did mean it this time, their lives would be transformed. He’d be able to go into partnership with Pete, and the money would come rolling in…Oh, what was the matter with her? It was a silly dream. Ron would never give up gambling—years of broken promises were enough to prove that. ‘It’s all pie in the sky,’ she snapped. ‘As soon as you get your first pay packet you’ll be down the dog track.’
‘Ah, that’s just it. I won’t be able to. There’s no greyhound racing in Bracknell.’
For a moment, Lily dared to believe that Ron could change, but then common sense prevailed. ‘You’d find a track somewhere, or something else to gamble on. It’s a sickness with you, Ron, and you know it.’
‘Yes, but this time I really do want the cure. Pete and me will be in the same accommodation and if I’m tempted he’ll keep me on the straight and narrow, you’ll see.’
‘So you say, but I won’t be there to see it. You could be up to anything and I wouldn’t know.’
‘All right, you don’t trust me and I can understand that, but surely you trust Pete?’
‘Yes, he’s a good bloke, but he ain’t your keeper. If you really want to give up gambling, it’s down to you.’
‘Lily, I promise you, cross my heart and hope to die, I really am going to make it this time,’ Ron said as he stood up to pull her into his arms again. ‘I don’t deserve you, I know that, but I’ll make you proud this time.’
Once again his lips caressed her neck, and this time Lily didn’t pull away. Ron lifted her up with ease, cupping her legs in his arms as he carried her upstairs.
CHAPTER THREE
Mavis was so tired, her feet throbbing and the pram three-quarters full as she knocked on the last door in the street. The houses were large, with several steps leading up to the front doors, but she’d had many shut in her face. She’d also narrowly avoided a copper on his beat by diving out of sight. If she got a few things from this last house, with any luck she could make her way home. Mavis waited, fingers crossed, and when the door opened, she found herself confronted by a wizened old woman bundled up in what looked like several jumpers and a cardigan.
Blimey, Mavis thought, she looks scruffier than me but, taking a deep breath, she said politely, ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but have you got any household items or clothes that you want to get rid of?’
‘Get rid of! Do you mean sell them to you?’
Mavis told the usual lie, the one her mother had advised. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want to buy anything. I’m collecting for charity, stuff to pass on to the Salvation Army.’
‘I see,’ the tiny woman said. ‘In that case, you’d better come in and I’ll see what I can find.’
It was unusual to be invited in, but Mavis followed her into the house, along a hall and into a living room. There was no fire burning in the huge grate; the room was freezing, and she saw an old quilt draped over a chair that had been pushed to one side. Was that all she had for warmth? The room was huge, but with wallpaper peeling and an absence of any pictures or ornaments, it felt bleak.
‘I haven’t got much, my dear, but perhaps these candlesticks,’ the woman said as she reached up to remove them from the mantelpiece, handing them to Mavis.
They weren’t very large, blackened, and it was no wonder she hadn’t noticed them, Mavis thought, as she took them from the woman’s hands. She saw the marks through the grime but, after another swift look around the dismal room, Mavis quickly handed them back. This might be a large house, the outside appearance one of wealth, but even her small home in Cullen Street had a little more comfort. ‘No, no, I can’t take these. I’m sure they’re made of silver.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
Mavis couldn’t decipher the symbols, but knew what they were called. ‘Yes, look, you can just about see the hallmarks.’
‘Oh, dear, in that case I’m afraid I can’
t give them to you. They’re saleable, but surely I can find something for the Salvation Army. Let’s have a look in the kitchen.’
Once again Mavis followed the old woman, but found the kitchen as austere as the living room. Oh, this was dreadful, she thought. The poor woman must be penniless to live like this. Cupboards were opened, most almost empty, including the pantry. Once again Mavis was swamped with guilt. She had lied to the woman and now all she wanted was to get away. ‘It’s all right. It doesn’t matter. I’ve collected loads of stuff already and I really must go now.’
‘But it’s such a worthy cause and I’d like to help,’ the woman insisted, pulling something from a bottom cupboard. ‘What about this?’
Mavis carefully took the china biscuit barrel, its metal lid black with dirt. ‘Thank you. This is fine and more than enough,’ she said. Before the old lady could protest, Mavis fled the kitchen, ran down the hall, pulling the front door closed behind her before almost skidding down the few stairs and onto the pavement.
Full pram or not, Mavis just wanted to go home. She had looked with envy at the large houses, imagined the luxurious interiors, but seeing inside one was a revelation. That poor old woman had nothing, yet was still prepared to donate something to charity.
Mavis put the biscuit barrel in the pram. And then, deciding to risk her mother’s wrath that the pram wasn’t full, she started the long walk home. Oh, if only she didn’t have to do this. If only she could find a job when she left school, but, as her mother always pointed out, nobody in their right mind would employ her. Downcast, she trudged along, worn out and hungry by the time she reached Cullen Street.
Lily was feeling warm and mellow. After making love they had come downstairs again and now Ron was sitting by the fire, his feet on the surround, talking so enthusiastically about his plans that Lily was beginning to feel that he really could make it this time.
