by Kitty Neale
‘Did you know? Did my mother tell you about my father?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t remember her ever mentioning him, except to say he died of tuberculosis.’
Alec was sure he could see a shifty look in Mavis’s eyes and didn’t believe her. ‘Tell me the truth! What did she say?’
‘Alec, she didn’t say anything.’
‘You’re a liar! You’re as bad as my mother. In fact, women are all the same—all rotten, lying bitches,’ Alec shouted as he laid into Mavis, impervious to her cries of pain as, careful to avoid her face, he punched her again and again.
‘Daddy! Daddy, don’t…’
Alec spun around and seeing James standing in the kitchen doorway, Grace hovering behind him, he spat furiously, ‘Get out of my sight!’
Mavis pushed past him, hurrying over to the children. ‘It’s all right, James. It’s all right. Go back into the garden, both of you,’ she urged, pushing them outside and quickly closing the door.
‘I’ve a good mind to give the pair of them a thrashing too.’
‘No, Alec! No! You can do what you want to me, but if you touch the children, I…I’ll leave you.’
‘Huh, and go where?’
‘I don’t care, anywhere,’ Mavis said, her voice quavering.
‘Just try it, Mavis. Just try it,’ Alec warned, surging forward to hit her again. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me! You’re useless, an unfit mother, and if you try to leave with my children, I’ll drag you back.’
‘All right, but please, Alec, please stop,’ Mavis begged as she cowered from his blows.
At last, his temper cooling, Alec slumped onto a chair, hardly aware that Mavis had fled back outside. He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts returning to his mother’s diary, hate replacing the love he had once felt for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
On Monday, Lily was holding her son, gazing down on his face. There were none of her features—Robert was the image of his father, and Pete was already spoiling him. She stroked Robert’s soft cheek, her heart swelling with love, a love that had been born with him, from the moment she’d heard his first cry.
‘Are you busy, Lily?’
She glanced around to see Marilyn at the back door. ‘No, come on in.’
‘Gawd, Lily, are you sure you don’t want me to bleach your hair? You’ve got inches of root showing.’
‘No, I told you, I’m growing it out.’
‘Yeah, but how are you gonna feel if it comes through grey?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’m not old enough for grey hair.’
‘I’m only three years older than you, but look at that,’ she said, bending over in front of Lily to part her frizzy curls. ‘Oh, ain’t he gorgeous.’
‘He looks just like Pete,’ smiled Lily.
‘Yeah, but on him, it looks cute.’
‘Oh, so a flat nose doesn’t on Pete?’
‘Gawd, that didn’t come out right,’ Marilyn blustered, her cheeks red.
‘It’s all right,’ Lily chuckled. ‘I know Pete’s no oil painting.’
‘Looks ain’t everything and he’s a smashing bloke.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Lily agreed. Along with Robert’s birth had come a deep fondness for Pete, and though she didn’t know if it would turn to love, she was happier now than she’d been in a long time. When Ron was alive, deep down she had always been waiting for him to come back, but he was gone now and somehow it made it easier. Mavis would always keep his memory alive, and every time Lily saw her daughter she was reminded of him, but at least since Robert’s birth it was now without grief.
‘It was nice to meet your daughter the other day. She’s a beautiful girl, Lily, and them kids of hers are lovely too. Mind you, she doesn’t look much like you, or Pete.’
Lily was about to find an excuse, to say that Mavis resembled her late mother, but then decided that it would make life less complicated if she told Marilyn a version of the truth. ‘Mavis isn’t Pete’s. She’s a child from my first marriage.’
‘What? You’ve been married before?’
‘Yes, and I married Pete after my first husband died.’
Marilyn frowned. ‘So was your Mavis just a nipper at the time?’
‘Yes, she was,’ Lily said, and, though it was a lie, at least it was a small one. ‘Here, take the baby and I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
Marilyn cooed over him, and while she made the tea, Lily thought about her daughter. It was lovely to see Mavis with baby Robert. She was totally enchanted with her new half brother and her kids adored him too, but they had yet to explain that Robert was their uncle.
It was nice that Mavis had time to pay them the occasional visit now, but she still avoided inviting them to her home. Lily was sure there was something wrong, something going on, but every time she tried to talk to Mavis, the girl clammed up.
Still, at least the girl had a life of her own now, instead of being nothing but a slave to Edith Pugh. Oh, it was sad that the woman had died, and from what Mavis had said her funeral had been awful, with just the two of them there.
Alec must still be in an awful state, and Lily knew how hard it was to lose a mother, her own grief having devastated her. Yes, maybe that was it, Lily thought. Maybe Mavis felt that Alec wasn’t ready for visitors yet.
Jenny sat next to Mavis on a bench, both of them watching the children as they raced from swings to roundabouts, the slide and the seesaw. ‘Mavis, is Alec still blaming you for his mother’s death?’ Jenny asked gently.
‘Yes, of course he is, and he’s right.’
‘No, Mavis, he isn’t—I’ve told you that before.’
‘I know you have, but I still think I should have seen earlier that she was dying.’
‘All right, let’s say you did. Let’s say you noticed when you first got up that morning. She would’ve been in hospital a few hours earlier, but do you really think that would have made any difference?’
‘Alec said it would, but something else seems to be on his mind now. He was sorting out his mother’s things and asked me if she’d ever mentioned his father. I told him that she hadn’t, but he’s been in a terrible mood ever since.’
‘Did you ask him why?’
‘There’s no talking to him nowadays.’
‘So you’re just going to go on allowing him to make your life a misery?’ Jenny snapped. She was fed up with this. Since Edith Pugh had died, she often popped round to visit Mavis when Alec was at work. She had seen the lists Alec left every day, the drawings of housework he demanded Mavis carried out, the meals he insisted she cook. Alec even told her what shops to go to, how much to spend, and like an idiot Mavis obeyed his every command. All right, the man was still grieving, and maybe he needed someone to blame for his mother’s death, but to lay it on Mavis just wasn’t fair.
‘I’m all right, honestly, I am,’ Mavis insisted.
‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Jenny replied, deciding that it was no good, she’d never convince Mavis that she hadn’t done anything wrong and might as well give up. One day she hoped both she and Alec would come to their senses, but for now all she could do was to be a friend—there as always if Mavis needed her.
Alec knew he had let standards slip in the office, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. When his mother died he’d been unable to pull himself together. He’d been to see Dr Hayes, the man telling him that it wouldn’t have made any difference to the outcome if his mother had been admitted earlier, yet still he had blamed Mavis.
Now though, he didn’t care if his mother had been neglected or not. It wasn’t grief that made him angry now. It was his mother’s diary. Lips tight, Alec threw down his pen. He hadn’t been able to believe his eyes, and had searched frantically for a wedding certificate. Of course, he hadn’t found one, the proof had been in the diary, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. His mother had lied to him, said his father had died of tuberculosis when he was just a baby. All lies—and now he didn�
��t even know if Pugh was his real name or one she had manufactured to put on his birth certificate.
The telephone rang and Alec snatched it up. ‘Yes, what is it?’
He paused as he listened to the receptionist, then spat, ‘No, I can’t talk to him now. Tell him to ring back later.’
Alec heaved a sigh of annoyance as he sat back in his chair. He had told Dulcie not to disturb him unless it was important, but the blasted girl still tried to put calls through. There was a stack of correspondence on his desk waiting to be dealt with but he irritably pushed it to one side.
God, he had worshipped his mother, put her on a pedestal, and had deeply admired the way she had worked to bring him up without the support of his father—his father, a man he now knew was already married, one who had paid her off. The house she’d said had been left to her in an aunt’s will, the money she had supposedly left that had been invested to provide an income—fabrication, it was all fabrication. Instead, according to her diary, she’d been paid off for her silence, and handsomely.
Teeth clenched in fury, Alec knew that if it wasn’t for the diary he’d never have known. There was no paperwork, the transaction obviously destroyed, and no reference to his father’s name either, just the initial C, and that could be either a Christian or surname.
Alec’s lips now curled in disgust. His mother had had high moral standards, had instilled them in him, but it had all been a sham. She was nothing but a tart and he was a bastard! He stood up. It was no good. He had to get out of there, to breathe fresh air and his back was rigid as he marched out of the office.
‘Mr Pugh…Mr Pugh, can you take a look at this please?’ one of the girls called.
Alec ignored her. He hated women now, all women, and would never trust another one for as long as he lived.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Winter came in with force on a Friday in early December, an icy wind rattling the windows as Mavis piled more coal onto the fire. James was in school, Grace at the nursery, and though there was housework waiting to be done, Mavis couldn’t yet face going upstairs to tackle the freezing bedrooms.
As time had passed, and at Jenny’s urging, they had been to the reference library where her friend had looked up her mother-in-law’s symptoms, finally finding conclusive evidence that Mavis wasn’t to blame for Edith’s death. Mavis had tried to explain that to Alec but he wouldn’t listen, and, if anything, her efforts had increased his wrath.
She hated this house, and now that winter was here it was a prison again; only nowadays Mavis waited in fear for her jailer to come home. If only she were stronger, if only she could stand up to Alec, but if she tried he would turn on James or even Grace, and she couldn’t bear that.
As long as she could keep the children safe, that was all that mattered, Mavis thought as she sat by the fire, rubbing her bruised arm as she thought about what happened earlier that morning. All she had done was to break the yolk when she was frying an egg for Alec’s breakfast, but it had been enough to arouse his violence—violence that had steadily increased since August. There was nothing in Alec’s eyes but hate now. Hate when he took her body, inflicting yet more bruises over the old ones.
When there was a ring on the doorbell, she hurried along the hall. It would be Jenny, and Mavis forced a smile as she opened the door. ‘Hello, come on in.’
‘It’s bitter out there,’ Jenny said, leaving her coat on until she got to the kitchen where she eyed the blazing fire with appreciation. ‘I’ve banked mine up and it’ll be fine till I get back.’
‘Sit down,’ Mavis invited. ‘I’ll make us a coffee.’
‘Do you know what I hate about the winter, Mavis? I hate having wet washing draped all over my kitchen. How come I never see any in yours? In fact, your kitchen always looks immaculate and you put mine to shame.’
‘You know how fussy Alec is. I prefer yours. It’s homely, lived-in.’
‘You mean it’s always in a mess,’ Jenny said, chuckling as she held her hands out to the flames.
Yes, it might be a mess, Mavis thought as she made two cups of coffee, but she envied Jenny so much. Envied her happy home and marriage, and longed for such happiness too. She couldn’t go on for much longer, Mavis knew that, but with no money of her own, no means of supporting or feeding her children, she was trapped in this house, her marriage not only loveless, but violent now too.
‘How’s your mum and the baby, Mavis?’ asked Jenny.
‘They’re fine, though I haven’t seen them for a while. When the children break up from school I’ll be able to take them to Peckham again, and I can’t wait to see baby Bobby.’
‘Oh, it’s Bobby now, is it? Not Robert?’
‘Yes, and funnily enough it was Grace who started it off. She just couldn’t say Robert and it came out as Wobbert. It was my mum who suggested Bobby.’
‘For a baby, somehow it sounds cuter.’
Mavis had to stifle a groan as she turned too quickly, her back so sore from the punch Alec had taken pleasure in giving her last night.
Sharp-eyed Jenny missed nothing, her face showing concern as she asked, ‘What’s wrong, Mavis? You’ve gone a bit pale.’
‘It’s nothing, just a bit of backache,’ Mavis said as she handed Jenny her drink. She had hidden Alec’s violence since it started not long after Edith’s death, afraid that he would take it out on the children if she opened her mouth.
Even if she did tell Jenny, or her mum, Mavis knew there was no escape. Her mother didn’t have room to take her in and now only her dreams kept Mavis going. One day the children would grow up, would leave home, and when that happened she would do the same. She’d leave Alec, and if she had to spend her life cleaning for other people to raise enough money to live on, it would be heaven after this.
For now she had to endure it and, forcing another smile, she sat down opposite her friend. Jenny began to talk about Christmas and as it was only a few weeks away it remained the subject of the conversation until Jenny said that it was time for her to go.
Mavis walked with her to the door, shutting it behind her friend as the walls of the house closed in on her again. How many years stretched ahead of her before she could be free? So many, so many. Unbidden tears welled in her eyes.
She walked to the hall cupboard and took out the vacuum cleaner, her heart heavy as she began the housework.
Lily was battling the wind as she pushed the pram home. There were few people around, but as she turned into Harwood Street her eyes widened. There was a van parked outside Mrs Biggs’s house, men loading furniture onto it. The old girl must be moving and that suited Lily just fine.
Since Lily had married Pete, Mrs Biggs had been on a campaign against her, but thankfully she hadn’t won the battle. Few believed her story, but it hadn’t stopped the old girl from doing her utmost to make Lily’s life a misery. She was determined to get her out of the street, but all her efforts had backfired. Most people supported Lily and Mrs Biggs had become very unpopular.
Lily knocked on Marilyn’s door, a wide smile on her face. ‘Mrs Biggs is moving out.’
‘Yeah, I saw the van when it arrived. She’s lived here for donkey’s years and I can’t believe she’s leaving.’
Lily turned her head as Mrs Biggs appeared, berating the removals men to be careful with her sideboard.
‘Yes, you can look,’ the old woman snapped when she saw Lily, ‘and I hope you’re satisfied. You might have fooled everyone else but you haven’t fooled me and I refuse to live next door to a tart.’
‘Lily isn’t a tart,’ Marilyn snapped as she stepped over her doorstep, clutching her cardigan around her chest as she was hit by a blast of wind.
‘Yes, she is, and your daughter is going down the same road.’
‘How…how dare you!’ Marilyn blustered.
‘Oh, I dare, and what do you expect? No doubt she’s been tainted by the likes of her, and with this street going to wrack and ruin I’m glad I’m moving in with my son. Thank God he moved away
before he too became tainted.’
‘It’s more like you drove him away,’ Marilyn said. ‘Blimey, I don’t envy his wife if you’re moving in.’
To Lily’s surprise, the old woman’s face crumbled.
‘You’ve done this,’ she said, looking Lily in the eye. ‘I moved here on my wedding day and it’s been my home for over forty years, but you…you’ve turned everyone against me.’
‘No, she didn’t,’ Marilyn said. ‘It was your own doing and you shouldn’t have gone around spreading lies. Now come on, Lily, come inside. It’s freezing out here.’
Lily couldn’t look at Mrs Biggs as she pushed the pram over Marilyn’s doorstep. She felt awful. Mrs Biggs had told the truth, but just because she’d lived with Pete it didn’t make her a tart. She just thanked her lucky stars that nobody had believed Mrs Biggs—that she could continue to live in Harwood Street with her head held high.
Alec strode home from work, fuming. He’d been called in to see his superior, told that his work was no longer up to standard, and though the man had sympathised with his loss, he’d nevertheless warned that he’d been given enough leeway and there had to be a marked improvement in his office and management skills.
All right, Alec thought, he’d let things slide a bit, but there’d been no mention of all he’d achieved before—his successes in bringing the office up to scratch now forgotten.
Shivering after leaving his warm office, Alec thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, cursing that he’d been unable to find his leather gloves when he had left for work that morning. Of course, Mavis denied moving them, but Alec was sure he’d left them on the hall table. Useless, his wife was useless.
At last Alec arrived home, still fuming with anger as he went inside. He took off his overcoat, hung it in the cupboard, and as he approached the kitchen he could hear the children giggling.
All went silent as Alec walked in, three pairs of eyes looking at him in fear. This was what Alec loved, being in control, the house ruled by a man now instead of a woman. Yes, his mother had always been in charge, of the house, of him, but not any more. Not now.
