A Daughter's Disgrace

by Kitty Neale

  Someone pushed open the door to the shop and set the bell ringing. Cora hurriedly looked up from the counter, where she’d been reading the Daily Mail. She’d been enjoying the story of the new princess in Monaco. She’d always been a Grace Kelly fan and now the former film star had a daughter who was born a princess. Sighing, Cora put from her mind her worries about her own family.

  Then she realised she recognised the figure who’d just walked in.

  ‘Fred Chapman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Where’ve you been hidin’ yourself?’

  ‘Cora Butler, as I live and breathe,’ said Fred, wheezing as the warm air hit him. He was a short man with a balding head and a face red from the chilly January weather. His hands were large and coarse, from heavy lifting and hard work, but his smile was genuine and lit up his plain face. ‘Didn’t realise you worked here. You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been that long ago then, Fred.’ Cora gave him a straight look. ‘But how have you been keeping? Have you still got that butcher’s shop on Falcon Road? And how’s your mother?’

  Fred’s expression changed. ‘That’ll be why you haven’t seen me in a while,’ he said. ‘Mother died last year and I’ve been trying to get things sorted ever since. It hasn’t been easy, what with it being just me to do everything and keep the shop going too. But she hadn’t been well for ages so I couldn’t have wanted her to go on the way she was.’

  ‘A blessing, then,’ said Cora. Privately she thought it was just as well. Old Mrs Chapman had been a proper harridan, bullying her mild-mannered son and taking out her disappointments on anybody stupid enough to go near her. Cora remembered many years ago, when her husband had still been alive, going round to the flat above the shop and getting her head bitten off for nothing more than saying hello. Jack Butler had been good friends with Fred Chapman before the war, despite being a few years older, but that had made no difference to the spiteful old woman. Looking at Fred, she wondered where the time had gone, realising that he must be in his early forties now.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Fred, rubbing his hands and looking around. ‘So how long you been here, then, Cora?’

  ‘The job came up just when me back got too stiff to take in the laundry, and I have to say it suits me down to the ground,’ beamed Cora. ‘And how’s business these days?’

  ‘Not so bad,’ said Fred, who was never keen to talk shop when he was away from work. He didn’t like to blow his own trumpet for fear it would change his luck – his business had flourished in the years since rationing ended. The reason he was away from the premises now was that he was having some new fridges installed, the very latest models, but he didn’t imagine anyone would be very interested in that. ‘You should stop by sometime, Cora. Are you still getting your meat from the market? You should come to me instead. I won’t charge you the earth, you being an old friend and everything.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Fred,’ said Cora, delighted at the thought of a bargain piece of good-quality meat. ‘My girls eat me out of house and home. I’ve got a day off early next week so maybe I’ll come and see you then.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it.’ Fred reached into his pocket for his change. ‘I only came in here for a pack of Lucky Strikes. So bumping into you again is an unexpected bonus.’ He took the cigarettes and offered one to Cora.

  ‘No thanks, can’t stand the things,’ she replied. There had been no money for luxuries like tobacco for many years and now she’d got out of the habit. Besides, she didn’t want to end up wheezing like Fred. Shaking her head as he went through the door, she wondered how someone as sour and bitter as Mrs Chapman could have such a friendly son. Pity he looked the way he did. Then again, she should know all about children who didn’t resemble their parents. She turned back to the story of Princess Grace with her new daughter, a world away from the overcrowded house and the useless out-of-work girl in it.

  Alison had forced herself to have another attempt to find work. She’d gone up and down all the roads around Clapham Junction, trying the shops, the offices, even the station itself. It wouldn’t be so bad to be behind the scenes somewhere, in a back room where she didn’t have to face the public. She had her reference from the factory and it said she was a reliable worker, but it did no good. Nobody was hiring, or that’s what they said as soon as they saw her. ‘Try again in a few weeks, love,’ said the woman in the ticket office. ‘You never know. Don’t give up.’

  Easy for her to say, thought Alison. She had a warm office, friendly people to chat to and she probably had a loving family at home as well. Why did some people have all the luck? When she’d been younger she’d thought all families were like her own but now she knew differently. She wished her mother and Hazel would stop picking on her and yet she knew she was so awkward she probably deserved it all.

  Rounding a corner she was dismayed to find two of the paperboys from the newsagent’s coming towards her. ‘Look, it’s horse face!’ shouted one, pulling his hand out of his pocket to point at her. A shower of coins fell onto the pavement.

  ‘Horse face, horse face!’ called his friend, pretending to gallop. ‘Imagine seeing that when you look in the mirror! Nay-y-y-y!’

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ demanded Alison, too fed up to ignore them. ‘What’s all that money? Have you been stealing from my mum’s shop? She’ll get the police on you if you do that.’ Even though Cora wouldn’t care about them teasing her daughter, she’d be down like a ton of bricks if any of them had been putting their hands in the till.

  ‘No we ain’t. We won the money in the penny arcade and don’t go telling your mum any different,’ said one boy menacingly as he shoved her against a wall, while the other one scooped up the coins.

  Alison pushed him away and grimly turned for home. Her sleeve had ripped where the boy had gripped it but she already knew that she wouldn’t say anything – not because she was frightened, it was far from the worst thing that had happened to her, but because she was ashamed. Being pushed around by a boy half her size and half her age – she didn’t want anyone to know about it. All it had done was make a miserable day even worse. But the most worrying thing was, she couldn’t see how her life could ever get any better.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Good weekend, Nev?’ asked Nobby on Monday morning. ‘Were you out down the pub? Making the most of your final months being young, free and single?’

  Neville rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to admit it but working back-to-back shifts over the past couple of days had been more tiring than he’d thought. He’d had hardly any sleep and, worse still, he’d hardly seen Hazel. But it was going to be worth it, to give her the wedding she so badly wanted. ‘Did a spot of overtime,’ he said. ‘Saves me spendin’ the cash down the boozer.’

  Nobby raised his eyebrows. He didn’t believe in working weekends. Nothing kept him from the pub on Friday and Saturday nights; that was the whole point of going to work – to have the money to sink a few pints with his mates. ‘Don’t you go wasting your youth,’ he told the younger man. ‘These are the best years of your life, these are. Plenty of time for overtime when you’re hitched.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Neville, keen to get away from Nobby, who he found annoying at the best of times, even when he wasn’t half-asleep on his feet. He turned to hang up his coat. ‘Right, back to me usual station.’ He dragged himself over to his bench.

  Nobby pulled a face. Seemed as if young Neville wasn’t cut out to be the life and soul of the party after all. ‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Bill, unwinding his scarf in Chelsea colours.

  Nobby shook his head. ‘Probably nothing,’ he said. ‘That Neville’s missed a weekend down the pub so he could do overtime. Funny way of enjoying yourself, ain’t it?’

  ‘That’ll be his bird,’ said Bill. ‘I bumped into her last week down the market and she said he was going to do more shifts. They’re saving up.’


  ‘Bloody hell, he don’t want to be dancing to her tune already.’ Nobby didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Time enough for all that, that’s what I told him.’

  ‘I take it you were down the Queen Vic as usual, then,’ said Bill, not wanting to start the week with Nobby in a bad temper. ‘I went to the game. Bloody freezing it was too.’

  ‘That’s why you want to spend your weekend in a nice warm pub,’ Nobby told him. ‘You take my advice next time and read about your game in the paper somewhere where you can sit by the fire and have a drop of beer.’

  ‘That’s called my own front room, mate,’ said Bill cheerfully. ‘But love my mum as I do, you can’t beat the terraces on a Saturday. We’ll agree to differ, shall we?’

  Nobby pretended to agree. But he wasn’t happy.

  Cora stood on the sawdust-covered floor of Fred Chapman’s butcher’s shop, nodding her head in approval. ‘You ain’t done bad for yourself even with all the upset of your mum passing away,’ she said. ‘You keep this place in good nick, I’ll say that much.’

  Fred nodded as he wiped his hands on his butcher’s apron. He could tell it was tighter than ever but try as he might, his waistline kept on growing. Not like Cora. She was skinny as a rake, always had been. ‘Now you need feeding up a bit,’ he said. ‘How about a nice piece of brisket? Or some chuck steak?’

  ‘My girls would be thrilled,’ said Cora. Usually she would have offal or oxtail, and make it go further by cooking lots of pearl barley or potatoes with it. What a good job Fred had needed that pack of cigarettes when he did.

  ‘Look, you can have this bit and I’ll add the rest of the tray as well.’ Fred leant over the counter and began putting the bright red meat into a bag. ‘This was left over as a customer ordered it but never turned up. So you’d be doing me a favour.’ It was a lie but Cora didn’t need to know that. He could tell she wouldn’t want charity. ‘And how are the girls? They must be all grown up now.’

  ‘Linda’s married, living down in Kent, and got a three-year-old,’ said Cora, her face lighting up at the thought of her beloved June. ‘She’s done well for herself. Hazel’s just got engaged, nice enough boy but never going to set the world on fire. Still, he loves her and that counts for somethin’. As for Alison …’ She looked heavenwards. ‘May God forgive me, I don’t know what to do with that girl. She’s seventeen now. She’s not long got the push from the factory she was at and can’t get nothing else, just when we got the expense of the wedding to cope with. She don’t seem to have no get up and go. Just sits around moping.’

  ‘Really?’ Fred tried to think of the last time he’d seen Cora’s daughters. It would have been well before his mother had her final illness. Even so, he didn’t remember Alison being useless. He could tell from Cora’s expression that this was a sore point and didn’t want to get himself involved in something he’d regret; it wasn’t like him to make rash decisions. But the coincidence seemed too good to miss.

  ‘Really,’ Cora said bitterly. ‘Though I says it as shouldn’t, she’s got no vim at all. I can’t understand who she takes after. You know what Jack was like.’

  ‘I do,’ said Fred at once. ‘He was a good man, Cora, a man in a million. He was like a big brother to me and I know how tough it was for you when he was killed.’ He paused and made up his mind. Jack had stood up for him on many occasions when he was growing up; now was his chance to pay him back by helping his family. ‘I just found out my shop girl is leaving Battersea. Says her folks want to get away.’

  ‘Can’t blame them,’ said Cora instantly. ‘I’d do the same if I could.’

  ‘But it leaves me short,’ Fred went on. ‘I can’t run this place on my own, not and keep up standards. I don’t know if your Alison would be interested, but I need someone to start tomorrow. She wouldn’t have to know the business, I could teach her everything. I just need someone I can trust, and I could trust her, couldn’t I?’

  You could trust her to spoil your day, Cora had to stop herself from saying. Then she gave herself a shake. This was an ideal offer. It might not bring Hazel the wedding dress of her dreams, but they would all eat better than they’d done for years and it would get Alison out from under her feet. ‘I have to warn you that she ain’t improved in looks or temperament at all,’ she said. ‘She might scare off your customers so you’ll want to keep her out the back. But credit where credit’s due,’ she added, hoping she hadn’t said too much and made him change his mind. ‘She’s reliable, that’s what her reference says.’

  ‘There you are then,’ said Fred. ‘I don’t need someone with film star looks round here. If she can add up orders and sweep a floor, that’ll do me to start with. And from what I remember she’s a bright girl.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get her to come down tomorrow and you can see if she’s suitable. She should be very grateful. You’re a good man, Fred Chapman, and don’t think I don’t know it.’

  ‘So we’ll be happy all round,’ beamed Fred. ‘You get that nice bit of beef home and have a slap-up meal. I’d stew it, myself. Tasty as can be when it’s stewed. And I’ll see your girl tomorrow.’ As Cora saw herself out, Fred hoped he’d done the right thing. But surely the daughter of his old friend couldn’t be all bad. Her mother was just tired. He knew how difficult it was to be cooped up with a family member all day every day. As for the girl, he’d find out soon enough what she was really like.

  ‘A butcher’s?’ said Alison as they were sitting at the dinner table that evening.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ demanded Cora. ‘There’s no room for you to be la-di-da, it’s a good honest job so make sure you’re there first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything about it,’ Alison said. She was terrified of the idea. A shop – talking to people who’d be whispering about her as soon as her back was turned. What if she got it all wrong? And there would be blood from the meat everywhere.

  ‘What do you need to know about it?’ Hazel was scornful. How typical of her sister to make a fuss before she’d even started. ‘You ain’t got to kill anything. You just shove it in bags and take people’s money. Even you must be able to manage that.’

  ‘But the blood …’ Alison began.

  ‘Don’t tell me you mind a bit of blood,’ Cora said. ‘You know where meat comes from. You’re happy enough to eat it.’ She looked pointedly at Alison’s empty plate. They’d all enjoyed the stew. Fred had been right – it had been a very tasty piece of beef and they hadn’t eaten that well for ages.

  Hazel wasn’t going to back off. ‘You know we need the money. And you haven’t exactly been flooded with job offers, have you? So that settles it. End of.’ She got up to help clear the table. ‘Come on, pass me your plate. I’m in a hurry as I’m going to see Neville. He’s got a night off at last.’

  Alison was silent as she did as she was asked. She tried to remember what Fred Chapman was like. She’d seen him when she was little but that wasn’t much help. Had he brought them sweets? It might have been someone else. Yet it was a rare enough event for it to have stuck in her memory.

  ‘Don’t just sit there, help your sister,’ snapped Cora.

  Alison slowly got to her feet. ‘Did Fred once bring us sweets when we were kids?’ she asked.

  Cora thought for a moment. ‘Don’t know. But it’s the sort of thing he’d do. He’s a kind man, Fred is. You’re lucky.’ Then she laughed. ‘At least you won’t be struck dumb by his good looks. He’s shorter than you are, twice as wide, nearly bald and wheezes like he’s just run all the way from the park up to Clapham Junction.’

  ‘You’ll be the perfect pair!’ crowed Hazel. ‘Short fat Fred and long tall Alison with the face that could sink a thousand ships. You’ll draw the crowds, you will. People will come for miles.’ She finished stacking the dirty dishes. ‘There you are, your turn to wash up. I’m off.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll be good for business then,’ Alison said, trying to persuade herself that this might turn out all right, despite he
r sister’s comments. ‘I must be good for something.’

  ‘First time for everything,’ said Cora dismissively.

  Chapter Six

  Falcon Road was busy, full of people going to work, heading for Clapham Junction or coming from there, or waiting for buses to take them up the hill. Alison huddled in her gabardine mac, wishing she’d put on her worn-out coat, which although shabbier, was slightly warmer. Would it be any better in the shop? If there was raw meat around it would probably be cold. Just what she needed on a day like this. As she reached the door it started to rain and she hurried inside, chilled to the bone.

  At once she was hit by the smell. It made her want to run outside again. But before she could turn to leave, Fred Chapman came through the plastic curtain that divided the shop area from whatever lay behind and smiled in welcome. She was trapped.

  ‘Alison! Well, look at you,’ he said, looking up at her – he was quite a bit shorter and she could see the top of his nearly bald head. ‘Grown so tall! I hope we can get you an apron to fit. The last assistant was much smaller than you.’

  Marvellous, thought Alison. I’ve done something wrong already. What a good start.

  But Fred was fussing round and found something he thought would do. ‘You take this and come through to the back. We won’t open until nine so we’ve time for a cup of tea and to get you settled in.’ He pushed his way through the curtain and gulping, trying not to breathe too deeply, Alison followed him.

  There were two enormous fridges on the right but on the left, a door led into a surprisingly cosy room. A gas fire was on full and Alison was irresistibly drawn to it, holding out her red hands to warm them. Fred was making himself busy at a small counter in the corner, where there was a kettle and various tins. ‘Tea, sugar, and the milk’s in here,’ he said. ‘This big one’s for biscuits. Fancy a digestive to settle your stomach?’