by Kitty Neale
‘I…I’ll do an extra hour tomorrow.’
‘Mavis, in the circumstances, just come whenever you can. For the time being, now that you’ve left school, I’m happy to fit in with your hours. Now put that coat back on and off you go.’
The woman’s kindness almost made Mavis break down again. She managed a croaky thank you, and then left, praying all the way home that Edith Pugh was right. That she would be allowed to visit her beloved grandmother.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ron hated being away from home. He didn’t like the barrack-like accommodation, or the extra hours of back-breaking work they were putting in. Yes, he and Pete were coining it in, their savings mounting, but when they returned to the hut every evening he’d become bored with just sitting around until it was time to turn in. It was all right for Pete, the man happy to have his nose in a book, but Ron craved a few beers, a chance to unwind.
‘Ron, are you joining us?’ Gerry called.
Pete looked up from his book, his annoyance plain. ‘Don’t you think you should knock it on the head?’
Ron knew Pete wasn’t happy that he now joined Gerry and the others in a game of cards almost every evening, but he didn’t know what all the fuss was about. He’d proved his point, shown Pete that he was making money, not losing it, and he’d do the same tonight too. ‘Why should I knock it on the head? I’m quids in.’
‘Yeah, but your luck could change.’
‘There’s no chance of that. That lot haven’t got a clue and I’ve sussed them out. Take Martin for instance. When he’s got a good hand he repeatedly looks at his cards, but with a bad one he can’t help pulling his ear. Taking money off of them is a piece of cake.’
‘So much for knocking gambling on the head,’ Pete snapped.
‘Leave it out. It’s only a game of cards,’ Ron retorted before walking off and joining the others.
‘Was your old woman nagging you again?’ Gerry quipped.
‘Huh, he’s worse than Lily,’ Ron said as he took his usual seat, ‘but sod him. Deal them out, Gerry.’
They’d upped the stakes from playing for pennies, and that suited Ron just fine. Why play for pennies when you could play for pounds—and as the last few weeks had proved, he had no reason to fear losing his hard-earned wages.
The game commenced, and though Gerry won a few hands, Ron wasn’t bothered, and he remained that way even when Eric took the next. The next game went to him, but as the others had folded quickly, the pot was small.
‘Not doing so well tonight, are you, Ron?’ Gerry commented.
‘No, but there’s plenty of time,’ he said, picking up his newly dealt cards. Not bad, Ron thought, discarding two, but then had to fight to keep a poker face as he looked at the replacements. Bloody hell, now he could do some damage. Careful to keep his expression neutral he surreptitiously looked at the others and was satisfied that he could read them.
The betting commenced, becoming heavy, but with four of a kind, and tens at that, Ron wasn’t worried.
‘This is too hot for me. I’m out,’ Martin the plasterer said, folding his cards and looking worriedly at Andy, his younger brother.
Andy continued to bet, even upped the stakes, but when both Ron and Gerry remained in, he too eventually threw his cards down in disgust. ‘That’s it, I’m cleaned out.’
With a smile, Gerry said, ‘Better luck tomorrow, mate.’
That just left Gerry and him in the game and Ron hid a smile. As usual, Gerry was giving himself away, pretending bravado, but Ron had noted over the weeks that Gerry always drummed his fingers on the table when he was bluffing. Picking up on this had served him well over the weeks, and Ron knew it would do so again. He raised the stakes again and was pleased when Gerry did the same, five-pound notes piling up in the middle of the table.
‘Not had enough yet, Ron?’ Gerry asked as he stuck his hand in his pocket to pull out a wad of notes and, peeling off a tenner, he increased the bet again.
Ron was surprised, but still certain that Gerry was bluffing, he shrugged. ‘If you want to make it more interesting, that’s fine with me,’ he said, ‘I just need to get a few more quid.’
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Pete asked as Ron walked down the room to hastily dip into their savings.
‘It’s all right, I’m only taking my share, but I’ll double it,’ Ron whispered. ‘I’ve got Gerry just where I want him and if he keeps on betting, I might even treble it.’
Ignoring Pete’s protests, Ron walked back to the table and brandishing an equally large wad of notes he casually chucked another ten-pound note onto the growing pile.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to fold?’ Gerry asked as he threw in another bet.
‘It’s you who should fold, mate, not me,’ Pete said.
As the pot grew the tension in the room became palpable. Ron began to sweat, barely aware of the others watching, or that Pete was standing behind him.
‘Ron,’ Pete warned.
Ron licked his lips in anticipation of taking the huge pot, and, at last, with only just enough money left to call, he threw it onto the centre of the table before flourishing his cards. ‘Right, Gerry. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
Hands stretched out, Ron was about to rake the notes towards him, but his hands were stayed when Gerry spoke.
‘Not so fast, mate,’ he said, turning over his cards.
‘No…no,’ Ron choked, unable to believe his eyes. Four queens! The bastard had four queens!
It was Gerry who now leaned forward to rake in the money; and, throwing his chair back, hardly aware that it crashed onto the floor behind him, Ron almost ran out of the hut, bending over to draw in great gulps of air. Bloody hell, he’d blown it, lost all of his savings, but how? He was so sure that Gerry had been bluffing, was sure he hadn’t misread the signs.
‘I hope you’re satisfied now,’ Pete said in disgust as he too walked outside. ‘You’ve done it again, gambled away your money, our money.’
‘I didn’t touch your share.’
‘Maybe not, and I expect you think that makes it all right. Well, it doesn’t. We were supposed to be pooling the cash to go into business, but there’s no chance of that now. You’re hopeless, Ron, and I’m finished. Forget the partnership. I’m going it alone.’
Still unable to believe that he’d misread Gerry and angry at the thought that he might have been set up, Ron was in no mood to listen. ‘Please yourself,’ he snapped before marching back into the hut.
‘You bastard, Gerry. You set me up.’
‘I can’t stand a sore loser, and that’s what you are, Ron. A loser. You were so sure of yourself, so sure that you had me and the others sussed, but I bet you don’t feel so clever now.’
‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Ron yelled as he advanced towards Gerry, but his cronies quickly jumped off their beds to stand next to him.
‘I wouldn’t if I was you,’ Martin threatened.
Ron glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Pete behind him, but instead he was standing by the door at the other end of the room.
‘You’re on your own, Ron,’ he called. ‘I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen.’
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. When there was trouble, he and Pete had always backed each other up. He hated turning away, but four against one weren’t odds he was prepared to take a chance on. ‘Ain’t you got the nerve to face me on your own?’ he said, scowling at Gerry.
‘Why should I? It’s you who wants a fight not me.’
With no other choice, Ron angrily marched back to his locker and, grabbing his cardboard suitcase, he began to stuff his gear haphazardly into it.
‘So you’re leaving,’ Pete said.
‘Yeah, I’m off. I’ve had enough of this dump, that lot, and you,’ Ron snapped. Some friend Pete had turned out to be, but sod him, Ron thought, he’d do fine on his own. Without sparing him or the others a glance, or saying another word, Ron stormed out of the building.
CHAPTER T
WELVE
Mavis found her prayer answered when she had gone home in her new coat. Her mother had taken her to the hospital, and from then on they had spent many hours beside her gran’s bed. Gran hadn’t been pleased at first and had tried to rally, but it was too much for her. During the next four weeks it was awful to see her deteriorating until she just lay weakly, clutching one of their hands.
For Mavis the initial shock had worn off, replaced now with a deep sadness, and for the past few days she’d had a hidden longing for her gran to just slip away. She was almost unrecognisable now: her body skeletal, her face so sunken and gaunt that it looked as if only skin covered the bone. On Monday she had slipped into a coma and if anything it was a relief. Gran seemed pain-free now, almost at peace, but she was still hanging on to life by a thread.
Mavis looked across the bed to see her mother with her eyes closed, lips moving as though in silent prayer. There had been no money from Bracknell for weeks now and for the first time in her life Mavis was furious with her father. How could he? How could he let Mum down at a time like this? Gran was dying and the last thing her mother needed was money worries.
When the bell sounded to signal the end of visiting time, Mavis leaned forward to gently kiss her grandmother. There was no response, but she whispered, ‘Bye, Gran. See you tomorrow.’
She stood up and then her mother did the same before they silently left the ward. ‘I hate seeing Gran like that,’ Mavis said as the doors swung shut behind them.
‘Yeah, I know. Me too, but…but I don’t think she’s gonna last much longer.’
‘Oh, Mum…’
‘Don’t start blubbing again or you’ll set me off,’ she said brusquely. ‘Come on, get a move on. You need to get yourself round to Mrs Pugh’s, but we’ll come back this evening.’
Mavis picked up her pace. Mrs Pugh had been wonderful, happy to let her fit in the two hours she now did every day around visiting her gran. Most of the extra hour was spent learning to cook, and under Mrs Pugh’s tutelage Mavis found that her confidence had grown. As she was unable to read, Mavis had to commit many recipes to memory, but Mrs Pugh had come up with a wonderful idea. She had given Mavis a notebook in which to draw pictures of the ingredients; a cow for beef, the cut, for instance, shoulder, marked with a dotted line. The same for other meats, and vegetables were easy to draw. Mavis found that making her unique recipe book was absorbing, enough to take her mind off her grandmother, if only for a short while. She’d been shy and embarrassed when Mrs Pugh had taken her appearance in hand too, but now she loved the feel of being clean from top to toe, her hair shiny from regular shampoos.
As usual, Mavis found her mother silent as they walked along, only calling a clipped goodbye when they parted at the crossroads. Mavis was used to this. Her mother still rarely made conversation, but Mrs Pugh was different. Despite her un-happiness over Gran, Mavis now liked working for her, the two hours spent in Ellington Avenue being an escape from the misery at home.
When she turned into the avenue, Mavis barely noticed the beauty of the May blossom that dripped from the trees. She was thinking about her gran again, and though it would be a kind release she dreaded losing her.
Lily was deep in her own thoughts, she too dreading her mother’s end. She hated the way her mind skipped ahead to her mother’s funeral, but with no money to pay for it she was almost out of her mind with worry.
Frantic, she had written to Ron, but instead of sending more money, she hadn’t received a penny for over three weeks. She’d written again, but to no avail, and when the postman had passed the house again she seethed with anger as it sunk in that Ron wasn’t going to send her anything. Her mother was dying, she was desperate, but he obviously didn’t give a toss. She’d never forgive him for this. Never! As far as she was concerned, their marriage was over.
Lily was barely inside the door when Kate came round, her face as always showing sympathy as she asked, ‘How’s your mum doing?’
‘She’s still in a coma and…and I think it won’t be long now.’
‘Oh, Lily, I’m so sorry.’
Sympathy was always Lily’s downfall and she fought tears, saying quickly, ‘Are you staying for a cuppa?’
‘Yeah, I won’t say no.’
Lily busied herself, but when the tea was made she said, ‘It’s a bit weak and I ain’t got any sugar.’
‘Oh, blimey, don’t tell me that Ron hasn’t sent you any money.’
‘Of course he has,’ Lily lied. ‘It’s just that I haven’t had time to do any shopping.’
Kate looked doubtful, but Lily wasn’t about to tell her the truth. She didn’t want pity, didn’t want Kate to spread the news that, as usual, Ron had let her down.
‘Well, if you want anything from the shops, you know you only have to ask.’
‘Yes, and thanks, Kate.’
‘Where’s Mavis?’
‘She’s at Edith Pugh’s and, Kate, if you hear of anyone else looking for a cleaner, will you let me know?’
‘Yeah, but it ain’t likely. Nobody around here can afford a cleaner, and to be honest, I’m surprised that Edith Pugh can find the money. After all, she’s a widow and I can’t believe that her son earns that much.’
‘Maybe she was left comfortably off when her husband died.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Kate mused. ‘Here, did I tell you about Jill Barnet?’
‘No,’ Lily said tiredly, wishing Kate gone. She wasn’t in the mood for gossip, but once Kate got into full flow there was no stopping her.
‘Her old man’s been nicked. He was pinching stuff from the factory where he works and got caught red-handed. Of course, it doesn’t surprise me. He always looked a shifty sod and, as you can imagine, it’s brought Jill down a peg or two.’
Kate’s words washed over Lily and seeing that the woman’s cup was now empty she laid the hint by picking it up and taking it over to the sink. Thankfully the ploy worked and Kate rose to her feet.
‘Well, thanks for the tea, Lily, and don’t forget, if you need anything, let me know.’
Lily managed a smile. Despite being a gossip, Kate was kind and a good friend—as long as you kept your private life just that. Not that it was easy living in houses with walls so thin between them. ‘Thanks, love,’ she called as the woman left, but as the door closed, Lily broke down. Oh, Mum, Mum, what am I gonna do without you? You’ve always been there for me. Always helped me out when I’ve been in dire straits, and now…now I can’t even afford to give you a decent funeral.
Pete Culling didn’t know what to do when he finished work that Wednesday evening. He hadn’t expected any letters to arrive for Ron, but two had been delivered so far, and he now knew his assumption that Ron had gone home was wrong.
Sod it, this wasn’t his problem. He’d helped Ron out time and time again, but no more. He’d been mad to think Ron would change, that the two of them could make a go of their own business, and now, deep down, he was relieved that their friendship was well and truly over. Yes, Ron had saved his skin during the war and he would always be grateful to him for that, but years and years of picking up the pieces when the man blew his wages every week on gambling had finally taken its toll.
At first he’d been able to talk Ron out of playing poker and everything had been going well. They’d worked long hours, weekends too, and their pooled money was building up nicely. Then, despite his warnings, only about six weeks after they arrived, Ron had joined a game. He’d soon become hooked—too stupid to realise that his early winnings had been a set-up to draw him in.
Pete slumped onto the side of his bed, his thoughts now on Lily. Despite deciding that this wasn’t his problem, he knew he had to tell her. She didn’t deserve this, to be left up in the air, her letters to Ron unopened and unanswered. He’d have a word with the gaffer in the morning, tell the man that he was taking the day off. With the hours he’d been working, Pete doubted there’d be any complaint, but if there was, well, bugger the job. He’d soon find another. In truth
, Pete wouldn’t mind packing this one in. He hated the accommodation, along with some of the men who shared it. Most of all he hated Gerry, the bastard who had sucked Ron in.
As if he’d conjured up the man in his mind, Gerry walked into the hut. Pete ignored him, deciding to read for a while before getting his head down for some well-earned kip. It was ironic really, here he was, reading an Ian Fleming book called Casino Royale, with playing cards featured on the front cover—but it was a good read and he’d become absorbed with the main character.
It wasn’t long before Gerry and his cronies gathered around the table and Pete stiffened when the man called out. ‘Here, Pete, now that your mate’s out, we’re a man short. How about joining us in a game?’
‘Fuck off!’
There was laughter, and Pete stood up, grinding his teeth. He’d had enough. Working quickly, he shoved all his belongings into a rucksack, leaving it on top of his bed while he marched down the room. ‘Here, Gerry,’ he said.
‘What?’ the man said as he looked up at him.
Pete grinned as his fist connected with Gerry’s chin, the force sending the man backwards, both he and his chair crashing onto the floor.
‘A parting gift,’ he spat, before turning on his heel to stride back down the room. He picked up his rucksack, flung it over his shoulder and then walked out, still smiling as he headed for the railway station.
Pete only sobered as he sat waiting for the train. He’d walked out on the job, and would lose a few days’ pay, but what did it matter? He had plenty to tide him over. Though maybe he shouldn’t have decked Gerry. Mind you, he’d enjoyed wiping the smile off the bastard’s face. Yes, Gerry had sucked Ron in, but in truth Ron wasn’t green and should’ve seen it coming. Pete wasn’t a gambler, but even he had spotted what the man was up to. Ron had ignored his warnings, so sure that he was in control, until that last game when he’d taken his money from their joint savings and lost the lot.
At last a train pulled in, but it would mean a few changes before Pete finally reached his destination. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Lily that Ron had buggered off. She’d either fall to pieces, or go bloody mad. Knowing Lily it would be the latter, and in truth he wouldn’t blame her.
