‘Oh, Miriam’s been making some at school. I’ll ask her to bring them round.’
And on Christmas Day the family sat around the table in Roland’s best front room – a room that had been long unused – lingering over the wonderful meal. William raised his glass of the beer that Roland had brought home.
‘To the Longdens and the Spicers . . .’ He began.
‘And the Fowlers,’ Violet piped up. ‘Michael’s a Fowler, don’t forget.’
William frowned. ‘No, he ain’t. He’s a Longden. That’s his name. And you wouldn’t have included that bugger’s name on the lad’s birth certificate if I’d had anything to do with it.’
‘Now, now, no squabbling today,’ Polly said as she, too, raised her glass. ‘Here’s to us all, whatever our names are.’
‘Aye, well said, Poll.’ William’s dour expression cleared. ‘And here’s to a long and happy marriage for the two of you.’
After the remnants of the meal had been cleared away, Polly made up a parcel of food for Violet to take back to the Longdens’ home. ‘We shan’t eat all this, just the two of us. It’ll help see you through the week. Now, let’s get everyone into some noisy games.’
The house – just for a few hours – was filled with merriment, with Michael at the centre of everyone’s attention. He was growing into a lovely boy with dark hair and dark brown eyes and a smile that could soften the hardest of hearts. Even William, who’d never been very good with young children, took the little boy onto his knee and bounced him up and down playing, ‘Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop.’
They left, close on midnight. William, carrying the now sleeping child, said, ‘That were a grand day, Poll. And you, too, Roland.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re very welcome, Mr Longden. Thank you. This has been the best Christmas this house has seen in a long time.’
As they stood side by side in the doorway, Polly slipped her arm through Roland’s, feeling a surge of affection for this man who’d had such a lonely time caring for his ailing and, by all accounts, bad-tempered mother for years.
Tonight, she promised silently, I’ll be extra loving . . .
Forty-Five
They settled down after the festivities and, with the New Year, fell into a routine that suited them both; Polly was a good and dutiful wife and she found solace in attacking the dust and grime of years in the little house.
Once again she had left work at the glue factory to become a housewife.
‘Now don’t you lose touch this time,’ Nelly told her.
‘You’re welcome to come round any time,’ Polly invited. ‘I’ll always be pleased to see you.’
To her surprise, Polly revelled in being able to make a real home. She bought remnants of material from the market and painstakingly stitched new curtains by hand. She paid only coppers for a bundle of scraps of material from the same stallholder to make patchwork cushions.
‘You’re Eddie’s sister, aren’t you?’ he asked her one day.
Polly looked at him warily, wondering how the man knew her brother and, more frighteningly, what he knew about Eddie.
The big man laughed. ‘Don’t look so scared, duck. I’m a mate of your brother’s. He worked for me for a while.’ He stuck out a huge paw of a hand. ‘Me name’s Albert Thorpe. Folks call me “Albie”.’ He laughed heartily. ‘Too many Berts around here already, so they call me Albie. Pleased to meet you, lass. Eddie was allus talking about you.’ Polly put her hand into his to find it almost crushed by a hearty grip. He laughed again. ‘Young Eddie was a rascal and no mistake. Got hissen into a bit of bother.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards a thin weaselly looking man. He was standing behind a stall selling cheap jewellery. ‘With him yonder – Vince Norton, they call him. We all like a good deal, us market traders, but we like ’em on the right side of the law, see. Now, Vince, he’s not above stepping across the line, if you get my meaning. If you ever get owt pinched, you look on Vince’s stall a week or two later.’ He tapped the side of his nose knowingly. ‘Chances are you’ll find it there.’
Polly smiled wryly. ‘I don’t reckon we’ve got much worth pinching, Mr Thorpe. But thanks for the tip.’
‘You keep well away from Vince Norton, duck. He gets the rest of us market traders a bad name. We’ve tried to get rid of him, but we ain’t managed it.’ He grinned widely, showing uneven teeth. ‘Not yet anyways.’
Polly shuddered, glad that Eddie was now out of the man’s clutches.
Albie leant across his stall and lowered his voice. ‘You heard from Eddie? I hope he’s all right. I liked the lad, even though he was bit of a tearaway.’
‘Just – just a brief note after he left. I’ve heard nothing since.’
The man lowered his voice even further. ‘Rumour has it that Eddie’s gone in the army. Went up the hill to the New Barracks the very next day after he left home to see what he had to do to join up. Now whether he was able to right there and then, I don’t know, but evidently, he saw a sergeant up there who’s always trying to find recruits for the regiment. So by the time the peelers caught up with young Eddie, he was signed up so they didn’t bother any more. Mind you, your brother didn’t do us any favours. We had the peelers sniffing round here for weeks.’ He straightened up and laughed again. ‘Still, it’s all blown over now and the rest of us keep an eye on Vince.’
Polly smiled. She knew a lot of the traders by their first names and mostly they were a good bunch. She – and her mother before her – had been regular customers, especially on a Saturday night when perishable food was sold off cheaply. She could feed the family for the rest of the week for less than half the price it would have cost her in the High Street shops. And Polly still came here. Although Roland earned a good wage and he was generous and trusting with her housekeeping money, she strove to be as thrifty and shrewd as she’d always had to be. The difference was that now she could save a few pennies each week and buy material to smarten up her home.
‘So,’ Albie said, ‘what can I do for you today, love?’
The man’s generosity knew no bounds and she staggered home with bundles of fabric remnants that she’d only paid him a few pence for. ‘No one else wants ’em, love. No offence, but not all women are as clever with a needle and thread as you must be. And do you need any thicker bits of material for making peg rugs? Now, they are popular so I can’t let you have them for nothing.’
‘Peg rugs?’ Polly said above the mound of material in her arms. ‘I – I don’t know how to make them.’
‘Oh, it’s easy. My missus makes ’em by the dozen.’ He pointed to two peg rugs displayed at the side of his stall, which seemed to sell anything and everything. ‘She makes ’em an’ I sell ’em. I could get her to show you how to do it, if you’d like.’
Polly was thinking quickly. They needed new rugs; the ones in Roland’s house were old and full of dust that wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard she beat them over the washing line in the backyard. And at home – she still couldn’t help but refer to the house her family lived in as home – they were in dire need of new rugs in all the rooms. The task would keep her busy for weeks – months, probably.
‘Would she mind?’
‘My Selina? Course she wouldn’t. She’s as much as she can manage to keep me supplied, let alone the few she gets asked to make. Mebbe – if you get good at it – you could help her out.’
Polly smiled doubtfully. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll get her to call round. Where do you live?’
Polly gave him Roland’s address. ‘Why, that’s only a couple of streets from us. I’ll tell her tonight, so you can expect a visit.’
And so Polly went home with her purchases and set about sorting out all the materials in the spare bedroom. Her mind was busy. There was enough for her to make a new patchwork quilt for their double bed. Her mind shied away from thoughts of what she had to endure in their marital bed.
‘Polly – where are you?’ It was Violet’s
voice from below.
‘I’m up here. I’ll come down.’
She didn’t want Violet seeing all the fabric; she’d want Polly to make her a new dress. But when she went downstairs, picked up her nephew and cuddled him, she found that it was far more than a bit of sewing that Violet wanted.
‘I’m going mad in that house,’ her sister blurted out. ‘I don’t know how you’ve stood it all these years. Looking after such an ungrateful lot. And yes, before you say anything, I was one of them. I know that. But I’m no angel. Not like you. You gave up everything for our family. Oh, don’t deny it, Poll. We all know how you loved Leo yet you sent him away because of what he did to Dad. You’ve always put family first, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness.’
‘Roland’s a good man.’
‘I know that.’ And then, in a tone more gentle than Polly had ever heard her sister use, Violet said softly, ‘But he’s not Leo, is he?’
Her unexpected kindness and her understanding threatened to be Polly’s undoing. She’d never had anyone she could confide in, except perhaps Bertha once upon a time. She’d never trusted Violet with her secrets. But in that moment she came the closest she would ever come to unburdening herself to her sister. Just in time she remembered Violet’s innate selfishness, her spitefulness, and the words remained unspoken. Within only a few minutes, she knew she had been right to keep her counsel.
‘Anyway, what I came to ask you is, would you look after Michael while I go out to work?’
Polly stared at her. ‘But he’s only just over a year old. He needs his mother.’
‘Nonsense,’ Violet said briskly. ‘As long as he’s fed and changed, what else can a baby need?’
‘He needs love, that’s what. The same as I tried to give to Miriam after Mam died. The same as I tried to give all of you.’
Violet wriggled her shoulders. ‘Like I said, I’m not you. I want more out of life than stuck in a house all day. Housework’s just drudgery, Poll.’
Polly smiled. The best thing about having married Roland was that she had her own home now and she lavished all her love and attention on it. She didn’t regard cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing as drudgery. Not for a minute. In fact, she loved it. If only . . .
‘Besides, we need the money,’ Violet went on, knowing that this was the best way to pull at Polly’s heartstrings. ‘Dad picks up the odd labouring job where they’re not too fussy about his murky past, but with Eddie gone and Stevie’s money’s only a pittance, we’re getting desperate.’
Resolutely, Polly turned her attention back to her sister. She sighed heavily. ‘I’ll have to talk it over with Roland. Make sure he doesn’t mind.’
Violet pulled a face. ‘It’d only be in the daytime, Poll. He’s at work then. It won’t interfere with him. In fact – ’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t even have to tell him.’
‘Oh no. Let’s not start that. I’m having no secrets from my husband. If I do it – and I’m not saying I will yet – it will have to be with his blessing.’ There was a brief pause in which the two sisters regarded one another, each challenging the other. Violet was the first to drop her gaze.
‘So – have you got a job?’ Polly asked. ‘Are you going back to Mawer and Collingham’s?’
‘No!’ Violet snapped. ‘Miss Carr heard about Michael and she – ’ Violet’s cheeks flamed – ‘told me they don’t employ “fallen women”. She actually called me that, Poll. A fallen woman.’
‘What are you going to do then?’
‘Well . . .’ Violet ran her tongue nervously round her lips. ‘I was wondering if Roland could find me something.’
Polly gaped at her and then burst out laughing. ‘If you were thinking of asking Roland to get you a job, didn’t you think he’d ask what was going to happen to the baby?’
‘In that case, I wouldn’t have asked him, would I?’ Violet’s tone was impatient. ‘But since you’re going to tell him anyway.’
‘Look, Vi. I don’t agree with what you want to do, but if it makes you happy then let me ask him about me looking after Michael first and then – well, we’ll see what he says.’
‘Oh, Poll.’ Violet, her eyes shining, flung her arms around her sister, enveloping Polly and the baby. ‘You are good to me. I don’t deserve it.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Polly agreed wryly, but she was smiling as she said it.
Roland was reluctant at first.
‘But haven’t you enough to do, Polly dear?’ He glanced appreciatively around him. ‘You’ve got this house looking grand. You cook the most wonderful meals.’ He smiled and patted his stomach. ‘I’ll be putting on weight at this rate.’ As Roland was as thin as the proverbial lath, she thought an extra pound or two wouldn’t do him any harm. ‘I mean,’ he went on, ‘you go round there to help out most days already, don’t you?’
Polly shrugged. ‘Yes, but I don’t stay all day. Not like I’d have to if I looked after Michael. Mind you, I’d have him here so I could get on with my own work.’
His expression softened. ‘But what if we have our own baby?’
Roland’s love-making was tender and thoughtful. He never made rough demands on her, but sought her willingness shyly. And his whole attitude towards her was gentle and loving – and grateful. Everything he did was for her and she was humbled by his overwhelming love for her. If only, she thought, she could love him in return.
She was fond of him – very fond – and that fondness was growing into a kind of love. But it was not the exhilarating, tingling, heart-racing love she’d felt for Leo. And sadly, for them both, she didn’t think it ever would be. But Roland was a good man and he deserved her devotion. And she knew instinctively that he would be a good father. She hoped that they would have a child of their own. He deserved that much and she knew her own happiness and contentment lay in having children of her own. Her love for them would know no bounds.
‘I hope we do,’ she told him softly. ‘And I’m only prepared to look after Michael if I can. If I find it’s too much, I’ll tell her. I shall make that plain from the start.’
‘Well, as long as you don’t overdo it, I don’t mind. And don’t think you have to get rid of him before I arrive home. I quite like the little chap.’ He smiled shyly at her. ‘It’ll be good practice for me, won’t it? I’ve never had the chance to be around children much.’ There was a brief pause before he asked, ‘Has she got a job lined up then?’
Polly laughed. ‘No. She wondered if there are any jobs going at Cannon’s.’
Roland stared at her for a moment and then joined in her laughter. ‘Your young sister certainly has a nerve.’
Forty-Six
Violet started work at the glue factory the following week, bringing Michael to Polly’s home each morning and collecting him each evening.
‘Your Roland’s a lovely feller,’ she said to Polly at the end of her first week. ‘And I’m not saying that just because he found me a job and he’s letting you look after Michael. He’s been great this week at work, keeping an eye on me and helping me settle in. He even watches that the other women don’t get on to me. Mind you,’ her eyes glinted. ‘I don’t need anyone to stick up for me. I can look after mesen.’
‘I bet you can,’ Polly remarked wryly.
‘They’re all right – the other women. Quite a good bunch, really.’
Polly nodded. ‘Nelly Rawdon will look out for you. Have you met her yet?’
Violet laughed. ‘Oh yes. Our Nelly. She’s a character and a half, isn’t she?’
‘Get her on your side, Vi, and you’ll be all right.’
‘Oh, I already have,’ Violet said airily. ‘She’s the ringleader, isn’t she? I’d sussed that out by Tuesday. We’re bosom pals now, though Ida doesn’t like it.’
Polly laughed, enjoying hearing about her former workmates. ‘Ida Norton and Nelly have been sworn enemies for years. But you’re best with Nelly. She’s loud and vulgar, but she’s a heart of gold. And she’s loyal to her mates. Ida
isn’t; she’s spiteful. She can be a friend one day and fall out with you the next. No, no, you stick with Nelly, Vi, and you’ll be all right. Besides, Ida is Vince Norton’s wife.’
Violet’s eyes widened. ‘The bloke that Eddie worked for?’
Polly nodded grimly. ‘He all but got our Eddie put in jail. If Eddie hadn’t joined the army pretty sharpish, I reckon that’s where our dear brother would have ended up.’
Now Violet’s eyes narrowed. ‘Vince Norton’s wife, eh? Well, well, well,’ she murmured as she stored away the piece of information, which just might come in handy one day.
‘Nelly was asking after you,’ she told Polly. ’Course, it’s all round the works that Roland’s me brother-in-law. Put their backs up a bit until I let ’em know I’m not expecting any favours.’
‘Give her my regards. Tell her to come round sometime if she likes. I’d love a good gossip and a catch up.’
Nelly arrived on Polly’s doorstep the following Sunday afternoon.
‘Not interrupting owt, am I?’
Polly smiled a welcome and threw the door open wide, welcoming the woman into her home.
‘Of course not. Roland’s having his Sunday afternoon nap in the front room. We can have a good old gossip in the kitchen. That’s if you don’t mind sitting in the kitchen.’ Polly would have loved to have shown off her smart front room with its new curtains and polished furniture, but she was anxious to replace the worn rugs too, before showing it to anyone other than her husband. And Albie’s Selina hadn’t visited yet to teach her how to make peg rugs.
‘I prefer it, duck,’ Nelly said, sitting her huge bulk down on one of Polly’s kitchen chairs to wait for a cup of tea and a home-made scone with jam and cream. She was already licking her lips as she eyed the plate Polly set before her.
Nelly Rawdon was something of a legend. She was a big woman in all senses of the word and was afraid of no one, man or woman. She made friends easily and enemies just as easily and probably in equal measure, but it was to Nelly folk went if they were in trouble or needed help. She was another Bertha Halliday, but without Bertha’s skill and knowledge to bring babies into the world and ease the elderly out of it. Yet she was often to be found at both events, giving moral support and practical help where she could. She knew Bertha well as they ran into each other frequently. They were not particularly friendly, but respected each other for what they did. And Bertha had, on more than one occasion, been thankful for the other woman’s larger-than-life presence. Nelly was red-cheeked, with light brown hair that had recently acquired a peppering of grey. Maybe, Polly thought, despite the woman’s cheerful smile and laughing eyes, she’d also had anxieties of late. Her husband, Sid, had been arrested a day after William and had served three months ‘up the hill’ for his part in the riots.
Forgive and Forget Page 25
