Stay as Sweet as You Are

by Joan Jonker

  ‘I’m sorry, my love.’ George stood up and collected the ladies’ glasses. ‘It was Bob’s fault, he took me mind off things with his startling revelation. And now Titch, of all people, is on the look-out for a good woman. If they both get their wish, we’ll have to put an order in with Alec for a bigger table. We’ll not get many more glasses on this fiddling little thing.’ He began to walk away, thought of something and came back. ‘D’yer realise it’ll take a full week’s wages to buy one round of drinks?’

  Titch chuckled. ‘I never thought of that. It does put a different complexion on things. Unless the women find themselves a job to pay their way. Or they could take in washing.’

  ‘Yer can sod off, Titch McBride,’ Irene said. ‘My working days are over.’

  ‘And I’ll have a job finding yer a good woman, Titch,’ Olive said. ‘It’s no good me singing yer praises and then saying yer’d stipulated that the woman ye’re looking for has to go out to work. I think ye’re doomed to stay a bachelor.’

  ‘And yer can count me out, ’cos my dreams are too good to come true.’ Bob spread out his hands. ‘So we won’t be needing a bigger table after all, George.’

  Bob lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Ruby wasn’t home yet so he was free to let his thoughts wander. And he was going over what he’d said in the pub. Perhaps he should never have mentioned Kate because now his friends would be asking about her and he’d have nothing to tell. They wouldn’t ask out of curiosity, or because they were nosy, but because they really cared about him and Lucy. He’d be a very lonely man indeed without his good neighbours. It was his loneliness that had brought about his outpourings tonight. He was always the listener, as his friends talked about their wives, husbands and families. But apart from his beloved Lucy, he had no one to talk about. He couldn’t talk about his wife because there was nothing good he could say about her. She lived her own life and didn’t give a damn about him. Like tonight – she’d gone out without even telling him. Where she got to, God only knows, and he’d reached the state where he didn’t even care. So just for once, when Irene and George were telling of their love for each other, he had felt the need to have someone in his life that he could talk about.

  Stretching his arms high, Bob laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head. This was one of the times he craved the love of a woman. Someone whom he could hold, who would cuddle up in bed beside him and tell him she loved him. Surely that wasn’t too much for a man of thirty-eight to ask for? And he knew without any doubt that the woman he wanted was Kate Brown. But it would take a miracle to bring them together, and miracles were few and far between.

  Bob heard the key in the front door and glanced at the alarm clock on the tallboy. The illuminated hands told him it was a quarter to twelve. Where the hell had his wife been until this time of night? He gave a deep sigh and was about to turn on his side when he heard a clatter on the stairs, followed by a loud thud. Then the bedroom door was pushed open to bang against the wardrobe and Ruby walked into the end of the bed. Cursing under her breath, she felt her way round to the side she slept on and, so drunk she couldn’t stand, she fell on the bed. The smell of alcohol filled the room and Bob felt sick. He’d been in the company of three women tonight, and two drinks each was all they’d had. Sherry for Irene and Olive, and milk stout for Aggie. Yet his wife, this drunken woman who wasn’t even capable of undressing herself, must have had ten times that amount to get in this state. And where had the money come from to pay for it?

  The smell was overpowering, and filled with disgust, Bob moved as far away from Ruby as the bed would allow. There was no movement from her now, and he assumed she was too drunk to undress herself properly and had fallen asleep on top of the bedclothes. But minutes later he could feel the mattress on the bed being pushed down and knew Ruby was trying to sit up. At this rate he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight. He could feel his temper rising, but knew it was no use trying to talk sense into her, she was far too drunk. It would end up in a blazing row and Lucy would be disturbed. The best thing he could do was sleep on the couch.

  Bob pushed the bedclothes back and was about to slip his legs over the side of the bed when he heard a match being struck. He turned his head to see Ruby trying to light a cigarette. Her eyes wouldn’t focus and the hand holding the match was waving all over the place. ‘Oh no, you don’t.’ He quickly rounded the bed, and seeing the matchbox lying on the eiderdown he picked it up before taking the flickering match from between her fingers. ‘I don’t mind yer setting yerself on fire, but yer’ll not set the house on fire.’

  Her words slurred, Ruby said, ‘Give them here.’ She hiccuped several times and the stench caused Bob to step backwards. But he didn’t move fast enough, and as she made a grab for him her nails raked the back of his hand. ‘Ye’re a bleedin’ miserable swine, that’s what yer are. Call yerself a man, do yer? Ye’re not a man, ye’re a bleedin’ little sissy.’

  Bob didn’t answer. He knew if he didn’t get out of the room quick he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. So, keeping the box of matches in his hand so she couldn’t cause any damage, he walked out and crept down the stairs, hoping Lucy had slept through the last fifteen minutes.

  But Lucy had been wakened by the noise her mother made coming up the stairs and had heard every sound and word. Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt like running down the stairs after her dad. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him how much she loved him. But it would upset him to know she’d heard what had gone on. So she pulled the sheet over her head and curled up like a baby. All her life she’d tried to win her mother’s love. She’d done everything to try and find favour with her. But right now, her heart filled with sadness for the father she adored, the girl knew she would never again crave the love of a woman who said such wicked things to hurt him. He had never wronged her, but she thought nothing of cheating on him.

  Lucy sniffed up and used the sheet to dry her eyes. You were supposed to honour your mother, but how could you honour someone who couldn’t speak without using bad language? Who came in drunk at this time of night, and who told terrible lies? No, she couldn’t honour the woman whom she could hear muttering drunkenly in the next room. She wasn’t a real mother. Not like Mrs Pollard and Mrs Aggie, who loved their children. And Steve’s mam, who loved him to bits.

  Downstairs, Bob put a match to the gas mantle and the room flooded with light. He blinked for a few seconds until his eyes became accustomed to the brightness, then gazed down at his hand. There was blood running from three deep scratches and dripping on to the floor. Shaking his head, partly in anger and partly in sadness, he went to hold his hand under the tap in the kitchen. He’d need to find something to use as a bandage to stem the bleeding for tonight. Then tomorrow he’d see if the corner shop had any large plasters to cover the back of his hand completely. If they couldn’t be seen he could always say he’d injured himself while doing a job in the house. He’d rather tell a lie than admit to the truth.

  Bob opened the cupboard that was set in the recess at the side of the hearth and took out a pillowslip. After folding it, he wrapped it around his hand several times. The cuts were stinging like mad, but he knew there’d be no ointment in the house so there was no point in looking. Ruby didn’t believe in spending money on the likes of that. ‘No,’ he muttered softly as he brought his coat in from the hall, ‘but she can find money for booze.’

  After placing two cushions at the end of the couch, Bob put the light out and lay down. He shivered as he pulled his coat around him and the cold lining came into contact with his bare skin. Taking a deep breath, he spoke softly to the empty room. ‘What sort of a life is this? I can’t stand much more of it and one of these days I’ll just snap. Then Ruby won’t know what’s hit her.’ He moved his position to try and find comfort, but the couch wasn’t made to accommodate his long frame and his feet were hanging over the side. ‘I won’t say anything to her tomorrow, I’d only be wasting me breath. But one thing I c
an do is cut her money again. It won’t change her attitude but it will stop her from coming home blind drunk.’ His eyes closed tight, he said, ‘May God forgive me, but I wish she would go out one day and never come back. And if I’m wicked for saying so, then it’s her who’s made me wicked.’

  Kate was already seated in the canteen when Bob sat down. And right away she noticed the plasters on his hand. ‘What have you been doing with yerself?’

  Billy Gleeson answered her. ‘I bet he’s hit his hand with a hammer, the silly bugger. I’ve told him to lay off the whisky.’

  ‘Ye’re wrong, as per usual,’ Bob said. He’d had time to think clearly and he knew the scratch-marks would be there for weeks, long after the plasters came off. ‘Not wrong about me being a silly bugger, ’cos I’m that all right. And I’m paying the price for it. A flaming shelf in the kitchen fell down yesterday, and soft lad here,’ Bob poked a finger in his chest, ‘stood it up against the wall with the nails sticking out. Well, yer can guess the rest. I raised me arm and scratched meself to blazes on the nails.’

  ‘Ay, ye’re not the only wounded soldier,’ Billy said. ‘Look at the black eye on Elsie. It’s a real beauty.’

  ‘I heard that, Billy Gleeson.’ Elsie glared at him. ‘Yer don’t miss much, do yer?’

  ‘Don’t miss much!’ Billy grinned. ‘Blimey, anyone would have to be blind to miss that. Who the hell did that to yer?’

  ‘I walked into a door, if yer must know.’ Elsie definitely didn’t think it was funny. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  Peg Butterworth was struggling to keep her face straight. ‘Which door was it, girl? The lavvy door?’

  It was difficult for Elsie to put on a haughty expression because her eye was almost lost in the swelling of the angry black and blue bruise. But to her eternal credit she did her best to look down her nose at her friend. ‘I’ve already told yer what happened, so d’yer mind if we forget about it?’

  ‘The only way I can forget about it, girl, is if I stop looking at yer altogether.’

  Elsie bit into a sandwich. ‘Then don’t look at me. Nobody’s forcing yer to.’

  ‘But I want to look at yer. Ye’re me best mate, aren’t yer?’ Peg put an arm across the wide shoulders. ‘I always thought yer liked a bit of fun and a joke.’

  ‘I do like a joke, queen, yer know that.’

  ‘Then why don’t yer loosen up and see the funny side of what happened?’

  ‘The funny side!’ Elsie’s voice was shrill as she pointed to the offending eye. ‘Yer expect me to see the funny side of this?’

  ‘No, girl, ’cos that’s not a bit funny.’ Peg’s tummy was shaking. ‘But how yer got it is bloody hilarious. The funniest thing I’ve heard in years.’

  ‘Yer can sod off, Peg Butterworth. And if yer say one word, I’ll never speak to yer again as long as I live.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say anything, girl, ’cos nobody can tell a story like you. But yer have to admit that being on night shift is miserable, and a good laugh would cheer us all up.’ Peg gave the shoulders a squeeze. ‘And I don’t know anyone who can make us laugh like you do.’

  ‘Ooh, I don’t know, queen.’ Elsie was beginning to weaken. ‘I’d feel daft.’

  Bob had spent the day in a house where the atmosphere was so tense you could almost touch it. A good laugh right now would be a tonic to him. ‘Elsie, never a day has gone by that yer haven’t livened up our dinner break. Yer really cheer us up, and not once have we ever thought of yer as being daft. In fact, you are anything but daft.’

  The buttons nearly popped off Elsie’s overall as her chest expanded with pride. That was praise indeed, and she’d have to remember every word so she could tell her feller.

  Peg could tell they were nearly there, so she added a little more pressure. ‘Go on, girl, tell them what really happened. And I bet by the time ye’re halfway through it, yer’ll be laughing yer bleedin’ head off.’

  ‘Okay, queen. And before yer say it, I will start at the very beginning.’ Elsie shuffled her bottom on the chair and hitched up her bosom. ‘It was on Saturday teatime and I was in the kitchen getting our eats ready. Tiger had gone to find the bookie who owed him a couple of bob from the day before, and the kids were playing in the street. Then suddenly I heard this screaming and our Rosie came dashing in, crying her eyes out and holding her nose. When I asked her what had happened, she said Joan had punched her in the face.’ Elsie stopped for a second, then said, ‘By the way, Rosie is me next to youngest – she’s seven. Anyway, I did no more than dash out into the street. I found Joan Craven playing with a mate outside her house and I was that mad, I grabbed hold of her arm and started shaking her. I told her if she ever hit me daughter again I’d give her a good hiding. The next minute her mam, Annie Craven, came flying out of the house screaming, “Take yer bleedin’ hands off my daughter before I brain yer.” I was going to say I wouldn’t let go until the girl had said she was sorry, but before I got the words out, this fist came flying through the air and nearly knocked me over. Yer think I’m big, but yer want to see Annie Craven. She’s as big as a ruddy six-roomed house. Anyway, the pair of us were going at it hammer and tongs, and we had an audience by this time. Half the flaming street was out and the neighbours were egging us on. “Go ’ed there, Annie!” they were shouting, and: “Get stuck into her, Elsie.” The next thing I know, our Rosie’s pulling at me skirt and screaming, “What are yer fighting for, Mam?”’

  Elsie couldn’t say any more for laughing. She covered her face with her two hands and her whole body shook with laughter. ‘Yer were right, queen,’ she spluttered, ‘it is bleedin’ funny.’

  ‘Ah, ay, Elsie, come on.’ Billy was sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation. ‘What happened next?’

  Elsie wiped her chubby hands across her eyes, savouring the words that were to come from her mouth. ‘Well, in between trading punches, I told our Rosie I was trying to get Joan to apologise for hitting her. And Rosie started jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box. “It wasn’t this Joan what hit me, Mam, it was Joan Smedley.”’

  In the midst of all the laughter, Bob felt like giving Elsie a big kiss. This time last night, lying on the hard couch, his mind in turmoil, he thought he would never laugh again. ‘Elsie, you are one good sport.’

  ‘I thought I was a good boxer, too, until I came up against Annie Craven. She can’t half pack a punch, believe me. The tops of me arms are black and blue.’

  Ada Smithson’s thin lips were working overtime. ‘It serves yer bloody well right for jumping to the wrong conclusion.’

  Elsie leaned across the table. ‘I might not be a match for Annie Craven, but a little one like you I could make mincemeat out of. So just watch it.’

  ‘Yer must have landed a few punches, though, Elsie,’ Billy said. ‘I mean, ye’re capable of handling yerself.’

  ‘Oh, I landed more than a few, Billy. But the crafty cow made sure she kept her bleedin’ face out of the way. Still, she took it in good part and we shook hands to make up. And the neighbours didn’t half enjoy it – they fell about laughing. I met a woman this morning who said she laughed that much she wet her knickers.’

  ‘What did yer husband have to say about it?’ Kate asked. ‘Did he think it was funny?’

  ‘Did he hell’s like! He ranted and raved until me head was splitting. “Fighting in the street like a fishwife! Only women as common as muck do that.”’ Elsie’s round face beamed. ‘But I got round him in bed with some sweet-talking and a few other things, and he went to sleep with a smile on his face. And another good thing came out of it. If the kids in the street break every bone in our Rosie’s body, she’ll never come crying to me again.’

  Bob smiled across at Kate. ‘I could do with Elsie in our house. I bet there’s never a dull moment when she’s around.’

  ‘She is a case, there’s no doubt about that.’ Kate leaned her elbows on the table. ‘I didn’t have you down as someone careless enough to cut yerself on nai
ls that yer knew darn well were sticking out of the wood. It doesn’t sound like you, somehow.’

  Bob made sure Billy was still listening to the women talking before replying: ‘It’s my story and I’m sticking to it, Kate. Except to you. I’m not going to lie to you. My wife came home on Saturday night at a quarter to twelve, rotten drunk. She could barely walk or stand up. I’d been out for a drink meself, with the neighbours, but we got home just after ten, when the pubs close, and I was in bed when Ruby came in. We don’t even speak to each other now, so I turned on me side and was going to leave her to get on with it. But I heard her striking a match to light a ciggie, and the condition she was in, I was afraid of her setting the house on fire. So I took the matches from her for safety. She made a grab for them and scratched the back of me hand in the process. They’re quite deep scratches, too, ’cos she has her nails very long and painted a bright red.’ Bob gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s a good thing for me that she was too drunk to stand or she’d have made for me face.’

  Kate pursed her lips and blew out her breath. ‘That’s terrible, Bob. I don’t know what to say, except I really am sorry.’

  ‘Can yer imagine what this lot would say if I told the truth? I’d be a laughing stock.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Stick to yer story. They’ll believe yer ’cos they’ve no reason not to. It’s just that I’ve come to know yer so well over the months, I can tell when yer’ve got something on yer mind.’

  Bob puffed on his cigarette and made a smoke ring. He watched it rise towards the ceiling as his heart urged him to say what was on his mind. ‘Kate, I want to ask yer something. Yer don’t have to answer if yer don’t want to, but whether yer do or not, I’m asking yer not to fall out with me over it.’

  ‘What is it, Bob?’

  ‘If I was a single man, and I asked yer to come out with me one night, for a drink or to the flicks, would yer come?’

  ‘If yer were single, Bob, yes, I would go out with yer.’

  ‘Thanks, Kate, yer’ve made me a very happy man. I’m not in a position at the moment to take yer up on it, but who knows what the future holds?’