by Anna King
Ellen shot her a grateful look. ‘Yes he did, Nora, thanks.’ Guilty at her earlier treatment of Arthur, Ellen strolled over to her husband’s side and took hold of his hand. ‘Actually I was trying to talk Ted into giving young Micky a job. I’m afraid I made a bit of a nuisance of myself.’ Looking back at Nora, Ellen said sheepishly, ‘Will you tell Ted I’m sorry for waylaying him in the street, please, Mrs Parker. He’s much too nice to tell me off for putting him on the spot.’
Nora patted Ellen’s arm affectionately. ‘Don’t be daft, love. He may be kind, but he ain’t no fool when it comes ter his business, but I’ll tell him what yer said.’ Putting her purchases into a straw basket she smiled widely at Ellen. ‘I’ll have ter get a move on, or I’ll be late fer me cleaning job. Not that I ’ave ter work…’ She directed a triumphant look at the now dejected Agnes. ‘My Ted’s always telling me ter stay at ’ome and put me feet up, ’cos he earns enough without me working. But like I said ter him, What else would I do with meself all day? Nah! I like ter keep busy. Still, it’s nice ter know there’s someone ter look after yer when you’re getting on in life; not like some poor cows with no family or friends ter fall back on. Anyway, I’ll be off now. ‘’Bye love, ’bye Arthur.’
The deliberate snub to Agnes was not lost on Ellen, but Arthur, his mind put at rest, didn’t notice. Squeezing Ellen’s hand he asked tentatively, ‘All right, love?’
Ellen smiled at him. ‘Yes, Arthur, I’m fine now. I just needed to get out for a while. I feel much better now.’ Turning to Agnes she said, ‘If you want a break, Agnes, I’ll take over now.’
Her teeth gritted tightly, Agnes answered scathingly, ‘I’ve only been working an hour. I think I can last a bit longer before I need a break.’
Ellen and Arthur exchanged amused glances, their differences forgotten. Relieved beyond measure that his fears had been unfounded, Arthur placed an affectionate arm around Ellen’s shoulder. ‘In that case, Agnes, I think me and Ellen will take our break now while you hold the fort. It may be just on eight, but we’ve been up since five-thirty.’
Humiliated beyond measure Agnes lowered her eyes and began to busy herself rearranging the already carefully stacked bread.
As soon as Ellen and Arthur had left Agnes stopped in her task. Praying there would be no more customers for a few minutes so she could have some time to herself she let her body sag. Then, like a woman 20 years her senior, she wearily sank down on the three-legged stool behind the counter, her mind in turmoil. When she had seen Ellen and Ted Parker together she had been sure she’d finally got one over on the young scut who had ruined her dreams of one day marrying the man who had been the centre of her life since she was 19 – over 23 years ago. Twenty-three wasted years.
She had just turned 19 when she’d come to the recently opened bakery in search of a job. At that time, Tom Mitson, Arthur’s father, had been in sole charge of the baking while Arthur served in the shop.
Wanting to train his only son in the same line of work, Tom Mitson had taken Agnes on so that Arthur would be free to learn his father’s trade. Tom had been a widower for five years and Agnes had become almost like a daughter to her employer. He had been a lovely man, kind and compassionate, always treating Agnes like family instead of an employee. She had been devastated when he had died of a heart attack at the age of fifty.
Arthur too had been beside himself with grief and, for a time, Agnes had thought the distraught young man would go to pieces. If Agnes hadn’t been there for him, to offer a shoulder to cry on, to listen to his outpouring of grief any time of the night or day coupled with genuine affection and support, Arthur would have shut himself away and let the business, the business his father had spent so many years building, go to the wall. At the time, all Agnes had wanted was to see Arthur through his grief. Then, about a month after his father’s death, Arthur had asked Agnes to stay the night and she had been only too happy to agree. The affair had been brief. While Agnes had fallen head over heels in love, it had soon become increasingly obvious that Arthur was regretting the affair. He would find excuses to avoid being alone with her and, being the timid man he was, he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to address the problem. Loving him as she did, Agnes had ended it, simply to ease his peace of mind. She had imagined that, given time and space, Arthur would come to love her as much as she loved him. But that had never happened. Over the years Agnes had been forced to accept that Arthur would only ever see her as a friend and she had been content with the arrangement. Like most people, just being in close contact with a loved one had kept her happy.
Then he had brought the young, frightened girl into their lives, and Agnes had known immediately the reason why Arthur had never married. She had known where he spent most of his weekends, for he would regale her with all the news of his friends, and their beautiful daughter. Agnes had listened dutifully, glad he was spending his spare time with old friends. But how could she have imagined that one day the child Arthur was besotted with would end up as his wife. Shaking her head in misery, Agnes lowered her head into her hands as she remembered that she had encouraged Arthur to keep in contact with his friends, believing that by doing so there would be less chance of him meeting another woman.
When his friends had died, it was Agnes who had helped him, once again, to deal with his grief. And although she had been genuinely sorry that the couple had died in such horrible circumstances, nonetheless she had been grateful to be needed again. She had even welcomed his decision to bring the orphaned Ellen into his home. But the moment she had clapped eyes on the pretty young girl and seen the open adoration shining from Arthur’s eyes whenever he looked at her, Agnes had known all the years she had devoted to the man she loved had been in vain. But what caused Agnes the most pain was the certain knowledge that she had forced the hasty marriage. If she hadn’t started to spread rumours, Ellen would have grown up eventually and moved on and out of Arthur’s life. But no, she had been so eaten up with jealousy she hadn’t been able to stop her tongue from cultivating vicious gossip. Banging her hands on her knees in despair she whispered to the empty shop, ‘Why couldn’t you have kept your big gob shut? If you’d welcomed Ellen with open arms it would have been easy enough to bring up the suggestion of adoption to Arthur and he would have done anything to keep Ellen by his side.’ And, in due course, she, Agnes, might have been able to persuade Arthur to make his family complete by marrying her. All this could have been possible, if she had made a friend of Ellen. Because, to be fair, the young girl had a kindly nature and would have been grateful to have an older woman to talk to, especially at a time when she was still getting over the loss of her mother. But Agnes, hurt beyond words and feeling betrayed, had turned into a nasty, spiteful woman. She knew too that Arthur wanted her out of the shop, but was too timid to sack her and that the new Mrs Mitson might not have any such qualms.
The change in Ellen since her marriage was incredible. During the past few months she had become more confident, more at ease with the customers, and had toughened up considerably. Judging by the fierce argument she had overheard about the coalman and the subsequent sighting of Ellen arm in arm with Ted Parker, Agnes was sure that Ellen was beginning to regret tying herself to an older man. The only hope Agnes had now was that the marriage would fail. Yet even if it did, unless she changed her ways she would never have Arthur.
Like Ellen, Agnes had also changed, but she had changed for the worse. She didn’t even like herself and if she didn’t, how could she expect anyone else to?
Was it too late to change? More importantly, could she change?
The bell sounded and immediately Agnes rose to her feet, a smile pasted onto her lips, ready to greet two of her regular customers.
* * *
Above the shop Ellen too was wrestling with her emotions. The short time she had spent in Ted Parker’s company had been a revelation to her. She had felt like a different person. Ted had made her laugh like she’d never laughed before and the memory of her cl
ose proximity to the charismatic man was enough to send shivers of delight tingling up her back. Then the image changed to the look of utter relief on Arthur’s face as Nora, bless her, had quickly defused what might have been a tricky situation. Well, she’d had her moment of reckless enjoyment, but it must never happen again. Not that anything untoward had happened between her and Ted, but she knew that in different circumstances things could have turned out very differently. She was painfully aware of the attraction she felt for Ted and, although she was still naive, she wasn’t that inexperienced to realise Ted Parker felt the same way.
Later that night, as she lay awake beside the sleeping Arthur, she tried to recapture the pleasant memory of being in Ted’s company, knowing that was all she would ever be able to have, a pleasant memory.
Yet instead of conjuring up the handsome features, the image that floated into Ellen’s mind was that of a pair of striking blue eyes staring out of a blackened face.
Chapter Five
‘Coo, Micky, are we rich? Can we get a place of our own now?’ Molly, her blue eyes as wide as saucers, stared in fascinated awe at the silver coins lying in her brother’s open palm. The open hero worship mirrored in Molly’s eyes was a much needed balm to Micky’s bruised ego. Now he was back at the place he called home, he forgot the feeling of hurt pride he had experienced on learning the deception Ellen had engineered in order to give him a job – and a very well-paid job at that. He had been so proud, thinking he was helping the pretty young woman, until he’d realised she had only given him the work out of pity. All the way home he had felt a curious feeling of despondency, unable to understand why he felt so low when he had five shillings in his pocket. The money was a small fortune to someone in his position, so why, he had kept asking himself, wasn’t he jumping for joy? Now he was with Molly, basking in her adoration, Micky found his self-respect returning.
Feeling quite pleased with himself he strutted up and down the cramped room. After all, he had every reason to be proud of himself. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet and already he had earned five bob. As soon as they had breakfasted on the currant buns Ellen had slipped under his arm on his way out of the shop he intended to try the markets to see if he couldn’t earn another couple of bob. Of course, to earn even a shilling, he would have to work without a break for the remainder of the day. The job he’d had this morning was a one off: he wouldn’t be that lucky again. And he said as much to his little sister who was still staring at him in awe, her cheeks bulging with the remains of one of the freshly cooked buns.
‘Come on, Moll, eat up. The sooner we get down the markets, the sooner I can earn some more money.’
The hope in Molly’s eyes dimmed. ‘Does that mean we’re not rich, Micky? Have we got to stay here forever?’
Seeing the disappointment in his little sister’s eyes, and hearing the resignation in her voice, Micky felt his elation deflating like a balloon suddenly deprived of air. Reaching out he caught hold of the small hands. ‘No, we’re not rich, Moll. But I promise you we ain’t gonna stay ’ere forever.’ But Molly remained unconvinced. Gently lifting her chin so he could look her straight in the eyes he said softly, ‘We’ll ’ave ter stay ’ere fer a while longer, Moll. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’m doing the best I can.’
Her chin wobbling, Molly asked tearfully, ‘Couldn’t we get a room somewhere, Micky, just fer a few nights?
I hate it ’ere when yer not with me. I’m always frightened that man will get me, but I wouldn’t be frightened if we was in a proper room with a lock on the door. Can’t we, Micky, please? Just fer a little while.’
Swinging his head from side to side Micky muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Moll, honest I am. I know five bob seems like a lot of money, but it won’t last long if we go spending it on lodging houses, then we’ll be right back here. And maybe even this place might be gone soon. If the council knocked the other ’ouses down, then they must be planning ter build something else here. That’s why I want ter save up as much money as I can so we can get a proper place ter live fer good, not just fer a few days.’ Pulling a face, Micky gave his sister a playful shove. ‘Come on, girl, eat up. Unless yer want ter stay here on yer own while I’m down the market.’
The threat, although made in a joking way, galvanised Molly into action. ‘All right, Micky, I’m hurrying,’ she said anxiously, swallowing the last remnants of food in a loud gulp. ‘You’ll ’ave ter have a wash first though, Micky. You look filthy.’
Taken aback, Micky looked down at himself. He’d forgotten he was covered in coal dust. Then he had an idea. They may not have enough money for proper lodgings, but they could afford a trip to the local baths. Micky quickly added up the money he had put by. With the five bob he’d earned this morning, plus the one and threepence he had hidden behind a loose brick in the bedroom, he had enough not only for a much needed bath for himself and Molly, but also, if they looked carefully around the stalls, they might even be able to afford a change of clothing. In their hasty departure from the workhouse, Micky hadn’t given a thought to the practicalities of life.
‘Yer right, Moll. I ain’t gonna get any work looking like this. Mind you, yer ain’t exactly smelling of roses either. How about we treat ourselves ter a real bath, and a new set of clothes… Well! Not new clothes, but we should be able ter pick up something on the rag stall. What d’yer say, Moll?’
Molly’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, that’d be lovely, Micky. Will we ’ave ter have a cold bath? Or can we afford a hot bath with real soap and a soft towel?’
Micky cast a reproachful look at his sister. Hot baths with nice soap and soft towels were a luxury they couldn’t afford, not at fourpence each – especially when they could have a cold bath with carbolic soap and a rough piece of cloth to dry themselves with for tuppence. Those opting for the second-class cubicles had to be in and out within ten minutes. Which, given the conditions, was all the time anyone wanted.
‘Hang on, Moll. I just told yer we ’ave ter be careful with the money we’ve got. A hot bath with soap and proper towels will cost eightpence for the pair of us, that’s unless we share a bath, an’ I don’t think that’s allowed… Oh, what the hell,’ he grinned, wanting nothing more at this minute than to put the smile back on Molly’s face. ‘All right, we’ll ’ave the best. After all, there’s no telling when we’ll be able ter afford it again. Besides, we deserve a treat. Just don’t go getting used ter the good life, girl. Don’t forget what Mum used ter say. Look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves.’
At the mention of their mother, Molly’s eyes filled with tears, her lower lip beginning to quiver as she whispered, ‘I miss me mum, Micky, and me dad. I wish they was still alive and we was all back in our old house.’
Looking into Molly’s tearful face Micky felt his own eyes begin to prickle. Sometimes, in those few seconds after waking, he would often forget the past, and expect to hear his mother shouting up the stairs for him to get up. Then harsh reality would set in. He would look at the sleeping Molly beside him, both of them lying on the filthy mattress, covered by blankets that were practically crawling. But it was the smell that sickened him the most. And not just the smell from the bedding, but from Molly and himself. A sudden resolution rose in his chest. If he had to work every minute of the day and night to get Molly out of this hell hole, then he would. In the meantime, he was going to give his little sister a day to remember.
* * *
At five o’clock that evening, Micky and Molly, tired but happier than they had been in a long time, returned to their dilapidated home. Two hours later Molly was fast asleep, leaving Micky to think back over their day.
First they had visited the second-hand clothes stall where Micky, after much good-natured haggling, had bought a thick jumper, a heavy black jacket and a pair of boots that still had plenty of life left in them. But his most cherished purchase was his first pair of long trousers. For Molly, he had splashed out on a red woollen dress and a grey coat. As she hadn�
��t been pounding the streets every day as he had the past months, Molly’s boots were still in reasonable condition. When it had come to the question of undergarments, however, the embarrassed Micky had left those essential purchases to his sister. Which would have been fine if Molly, never having shopped before, hadn’t picked up a pair of grey long johns, calling out at the top of her young voice, ‘Micky, will these fit yer? Come an’ ’ave a look.’ As amused glances came their way, Micky, mortified as only the young can be at being shown up in public, had quickly grabbed the offending garment, stuffing it into a tatty canvas bag someone had dropped in the street.
Their next stop had been the public baths in Mare Street. The attendant had looked at the two filthy children with open distaste. But Micky had stood his ground and when, some 20 minutes later, they had emerged clean in body and clothing, they had looked at each other and grinned widely. Their soiled clothing had been left in a cubicle, as a kind of present to the snooty attendant who had treated them so shabbily. Feeling very grown up in his long trousers, Micky had tried to maintain some kind of dignity. But Molly her waist-length blonde hair freshly washed and dripping wet, had grabbed his hand crying joyously, ‘Come on, Micky, race yer ter the market.’ And Micky, forgetting his new status, had broke into a run, dragging the laughing Molly alongside him.
The exciting day had continued with Micky getting six hours’ work in Well Street market. Even Molly had earned fourpence by fetching mugs of tea from the local café for the stallholders. By the time the traders had begun packing up for the day both children were exhausted. Yet it was an exhaustion tinged with happiness, for it was the first day since their escape from the workhouse that they had spent the entire day together.
To round off the day, Micky had bought fish and chips for their supper, and they ate the hot food straight out of the greasy paper.
