Coronation Wives

by Lizzie Lane

  Mickey’s voice, all tenderness extracted, brought her back to the present. ‘You don’t regret what happened the other night, do you, Polly? It would upset me no end if you did.’ He was being sarcastic and she heard Ginger snigger. But she mustn’t upset him.

  She managed to smile, but it felt tight and alien across her mouth. ‘Of course not.’ Her gaze shifted to Ginger, who had adjusted the rear-view mirror. She could see his grin and the mockery in his eyes.

  ‘Not with him looking.’

  ‘You don’t want him looking?’ Now it was Mickey who was mocking her. ‘I can’t say I mind meself, but then, we’ve all got our own personal tastes, isn’t that right, Polly? Some women prefer fair men, some women prefer dark men, some women prefer them the darker the better. Is that not so?’

  Polly managed to maintain her smile under the intensity of his stare. The statement was delivered with menace. It seemed Mickey was referring to her relationship with Aaron. Yet she couldn’t let him know that she understood, that she remembered him from the time she’d gone to see Aaron at the camp. Mickey Noble – now called O’Hara – had been the sergeant who had told her he’d been shipped home. He was dangerous, deadly.

  He pulled her tightly to him. ‘And tonight, honey, you’ve got me.’

  ‘Please don’t.’ She struggled to untangle herself from him, annoyed that Ginger was chuckling to himself in the front seat.

  ‘Please,’ she said again and purposely ran her hand down his chest, down further to the warmth of his loins. There was a hardening beneath her hand. Suddenly it was easier to smile because that meant she still had some control. Well, that was a turn up for the books! Polly Hills still had the power to arouse and, perhaps, just for a while she would make him forget to be too vigilant and could find something to destroy him.

  Aunty Meg was at her friend Bridget’s and both were bent over a copy of the local sporting paper, checking their football pools.

  Bridget had made herself comfortable. Her teeth sat in a saucer next to another saucer in which she’d poured her tea. Corsets the colour of tinned salmon had been discarded and tossed onto the sideboard. Due to this noticeable lack of support, her stockings nestled around her ankles like circular sausages.

  Overcome by the knowledge that, yet again, she’d only thrown good money after bad, Meg sighed and sat back on the decrepit dining chair that must once have belonged to Bridget’s grandmother, if the state of the springs and the picture of the large fat lady over the mantelpiece were anything to go by. The chair had been worn down with weight a long time ago.

  ‘I’d have bought a house if I’d won,’ said Meg. ‘And a van for our Billy, a pony for our Carol, and a bedroom suite for our Polly. What would you buy?’

  Bridget looked round her as though assessing what she did have and wondering whether it was worth replacing at all. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Not a new house?’

  ‘What’s wrong with this one?’

  ‘It belongs to the council. Wouldn’t you like one of yer own?’

  Bridget thought about it for a minute, her diverse eyes seeming to focus on two different aspects of the room at the same time. Did she think different thoughts at the same time too?’ Meg wondered.

  ‘No,’ said Bridget at last. ‘I’d pay off the rent arrears, then, just for the hell of it, let it all mount up again.’

  Bewildered, Meg blinked at her and waited for an explanation.

  Bridget grinned. ‘Got to ’ave me fun. Every time the rent man knocks on that door …’

  As if on cue the front door knocker was banged and banged again.

  ‘Blimey, Bridget. Someone’s trying to knock yer door in!’

  Bridget went back to studying the football pools. ‘Let ’em knock.’

  Whoever was outside had no intention of waiting. A loud grating sound followed as if someone was lifting the letterbox.

  ‘Aunty Meg!’

  Meg lurched to her feet. ‘It’s our Carol.’

  Bridget went to the door and Carol came tumbling into the room. ‘He’s home!’ she shouted excitedly.

  Meg’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t need any explanation about who it was and her face lit up with glee even before she clapped eyes on him.

  ‘Meg! Me old China!’ Billy rushed from behind Carol and threw his arms around her ample proportions.

  Meg was speechless and blushing like a filly. ‘You’re home!’

  ‘You’re right there!’

  ‘But no one said …’

  ‘It was in the pipeline at a rate of knots once I ’ad that letter from our Carol telling me what’s been going on. But I wanted to be sure. I figured there were some people outside of prison in need of a surprise so they’ve gone in the frame and I’ve flown the coop.’

  Meg gulped. The Irishman in the slinky car had picked Polly up earlier that evening. For some reason Polly had insisted that Meg see her off, and although she’d been loath to be party to what she regarded as a betrayal of Billy’s trust, she’d felt obliged to do so. But she told Billy that Polly had seemed nervous, had stated that if she wasn’t home by the following morning that she was to tell Charlotte and she would know what to do.

  ‘Do you know what her and Charlotte are up to? I reckon it’s got something to do with that bloke who sent his apes round ’ere … I think they’ve got it in mind to sort ’im out.’

  Billy threw his head back and groaned.

  Meg was frightened. ‘Will she be all right?’

  Billy headed for the door. Meg grabbed his arm. ‘Well?’ she said, desperate for his answer. ‘Will she?’

  His grin was tight and there was an earnest look in his eyes. ‘Depends on how quick I can get there. Got some pennies for the phone box?’

  Meg gave him a handful from the gas money and watched him go, afraid for him and afraid for Polly.

  Billy ran like a madman to the red phone box on the corner of Newquay Road, the pennies jingling in his pocket. He phoned Charlotte.

  Once she’d got over her surprise that he was out of prison, Charlotte outlined what Polly was up to. In response Billy said, ‘I’ve shopped them, Charlotte. The coppers’ll be up there any minute. You have to help me. I have to be there. If O’Hara finds out it was me and the police don’t get there in time, then he’ll take it out on Poll.’

  Charlotte’s response was immediate. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Janet chose that moment to arrive back from Edna’s where she’d been outlining the details regarding Carlos. Just as she was about to remove her coat, Charlotte came rushing down the stairs looking as though the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. ‘Is there a war?’

  Her mother headed for the door as she answered. ‘You could say that.’

  Janet held her arm. ‘Tell me!’

  Grabbing her car keys and handbag, Charlotte explained things as quickly as she could.

  ‘You can’t go alone.’

  Disturbed by the noise, Ivan appeared from the garden where he’d taken to growing plants in the greenhouse and spending a lot of time out there. He looked questioningly at both women. ‘What has happened?’

  Janet explained quickly, then added, ‘She’s off to fight a war – single-handed.’

  ‘Don’t try and persuade me not to go,’ snapped Charlotte.

  Ivan began stripping off David’s old gardening gloves. ‘I won’t. We’re going with you!’

  Janet snatched Charlotte’s car keys. ‘I’m driving!’

  Janet drove like a maniac. The tyres squealed all the way to Camborne Road where Billy was waiting by the phone box and piled into the back of the car as quickly as he could. Carol tried to get in as well, complete with her hockey stick.

  Billy pushed her back and slammed the car door. ‘You’re too young. You stay here with Aunty Meg.’

  Carol swore and flung the hockey stick into the privet hedge.

  The tyres continued to squeal around every bend between Camborne Road and Melvin Square.

  ‘Just pr
ay we get there in time,’ said Janet.

  ‘Preferably alive,’ said Ivan as Janet sped across Melvin Square and took a left into Clonmel Road.

  Polly was nervous. She’d expected Mickey to fix drinks from the cabinet in the sitting room then perhaps use the bathroom while she sat innocently sipping at her drink. It wouldn’t have given her much time to investigate the cabinet, but perhaps just enough.

  Unfortunately, he did not do that.

  ‘Up here,’ he said as he pulled her towards the stairs that swept upwards in wrought iron splendour from the open-plan sitting room, and she knew he wasn’t going to take her on a guided tour. In that instant, her courage failed her.

  ‘Just a minute. My shoes are killing me.’

  She ran back down the stairs meaning to head for the door and get the hell out of there. But Ginger was between her and the door, smirking above his velvet-collared Teddy Boy coat.

  As if it had been her original intention, she slipped off her shoes and flung her handbag onto the white leather settee.

  By the time she got back up the stairs, Mickey had an impatient scowl on his face.

  ‘You won’t be needing anything,’ he said, grinning wickedly as his fingers pulled at the buttons of her jacket. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Polly was frightened. Thoughts of passion were squashed dead. She had to get out of this, wait for the opportunity, but until then, she had to play a part.

  She covered his hands with her own and smiled as coquettishly as she knew how. ‘Now come on, darlin’. Ain’t the best things worth waiting for?’

  His scowl deepened. ‘No!’

  Polly knew when not to protest and when she was in danger. She went along with it, smiling as though she was really looking forward to him stripping her naked and thrusting his equally naked body against hers.

  He pulled her jacket and blouse away from her shoulders, down to her elbows so that her arms were pinioned at her sides. ‘I’m going to have you here.’

  ‘On the stairs?’

  ‘Why not?’

  His mouth bit into the soft flesh between her shoulder and her neck and it hurt. Polly bit her lip and closed her eyes. This was not what she wanted and certainly not what she’d expected. How the hell could she get out of it?

  He pushed her back onto the stairs, fell on top of her and used the vilest language possible to describe what he intended doing to her. Polly squeezed her eyes shut and wished and hoped for another guardian angel like the one who’d come crashing into Griffiths’s place armed only with a hockey stick and the bus fare home.

  Mickey’s hands were under her skirt, tearing at her underwear, pushing her legs apart.

  ‘It hurts,’ she shouted referring to the stair riser that was digging into her back.

  ‘Not so much as …’

  Everything stopped as a heavy banging echoed through the house. Someone sounded determined to get in.

  Ginger’s self-satisfied smirk had been replaced with confusion. He looked up at Mickey for guidance.

  ‘Answer it.’

  Mickey’s weight pinned her down. Like him she watched Ginger make his way to the front door and prayed that the police were on the other side of it.

  Ginger sounded surprised. ‘What the hell do you want?’

  ‘My wife!’

  Billy came charging towards the staircase, his thin face creased with anger and his fists clenched as big as he could get them.

  Polly struggled. Mickey laughed and pressed her tighter against the stairs.

  ‘Let him see you. Let him see what a tart you are!’

  Polly screamed as Ginger landed a blow on Billy that sent him flat onto his back. Billy might be streetwise, but he was certainly no fighter and she could tell from Ginger’s grin that he knew it too.

  The grin was wiped off his face as thick arms pulled his behind his back, spun him round and with one powerful punch sent him flying across the room, crashing into the circular drinks cabinet which toppled and fell forward spilling glass, drinks and paperwork all over him.

  ‘Ivan!’

  Mickey glared, then raised a fist. ‘Stupid broad! I should have known better!’

  The Irish accent had disappeared. In that split instant before the fist fell on her she saw the man he truly was, the US sergeant who had treated her with callous contempt because she’d been involved with a coloured GI.

  Ivan did not get there in time to stop the first blow, but he did stop any more from falling. Mickey had spent his war years as a prison guard, or in stores, transport or catering. Never had he braved battlefields, lived in wild places and built up the muscles of a hunted man. Ivan was stronger and more agile than him and held him in a stranglehold until the men in blue arrived to clean things up.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Ivan asked Janet when everything was over and Polly was lying side by side with her husband.

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Polly’s too tough for the likes of Mickey Noble to damage,’ said Charlotte as she applied a cold compress to Polly’s jaw.

  When Polly was at home recovering, the police came round to say that they’d got all the information they needed to send Mickey Noble back to America to face justice, thanks to Billy. Janet and Ivan arrived just after they’d left. Things were busy at the factory and Ivan had been delegated the task of offering Billy a job.

  ‘He’s out at the moment,’ said Polly, who was draped over the settee eating chocolate misshapes from a brown paper bag. Magazines trailed from her lap, along the back of the settee and onto the floor. Some of them looked like Christmas issues, most seemed out of date. ‘Nice of you to take a day off work to come and see me,’ she said to Janet.

  ‘I’ve left the job at the sanatorium. I don’t want to be a secretary any more.’

  Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t it pay well?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ said Janet, ‘but I think I’ve found my vocation in life.’

  Polly grinned and looked meaningfully at Ivan. ‘Oh yeah?’

  Janet and Ivan exchanged looks of mutual understanding.

  ‘Alas,’ said Ivan and shrugged sadly, but all the time he smiled.

  Janet laughed. ‘You’re a wonderful man, Ivan Bronowsky.’ She took his hand and squeezed it tight. ‘But that isn’t exactly what I meant.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I’ve decided to look into becoming a doctor. If I can’t do that I will do something similar to what my mother’s been doing all these years, something more worthwhile than taking down notes and typing out reports. I will be helping Mother for a while. She doesn’t show it, but she’s not really got over Father’s death.’

  When Ivan excused himself to use the bathroom, Polly leaned closer to Janet and softly asked, ‘Billy didn’t see me and Mickey – you know – doing anything, did he?’ All the cockiness was gone. She looked really concerned.

  ‘Billy was out cold and my mother explained that she’d asked you to gain his confidence and get evidence against him. So in fact you’re something of a heroine.’

  Polly looked embarrassed. ‘More like a bloody fool.’

  Janet sighed. ‘We’ve all been that in our time.’ It occurred to her then just how much she had in common with her mother’s generation. ‘I wonder why we fear to be less than perfect?’

  Polly slapped her on the shoulder. ‘’Cos it’s the truth. We’re all human!’

  It was easy to grin, to be pleased that Polly was again the buxom blonde with a winning smile, a playful look in her eyes and a tart remark on her lips.

  Blustering into the house like a whirlwind, Carol kicked the carpet aside and scattered piles of newspapers from off the arm of the chair. She was waving a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Sean’s sent me a love letter,’ she shouted, then flung her arms around her mother’s neck so that the piece of paper, which looked like the rough stuff the butcher used to wrap sausages, fluttered under her mother’s nose.

  Polly laughed, a loud raucous sound that only a mature woman of her particular character could get away
with. She patted Carol’s hand. ‘You’ll get plenty more of them in yer time, my girl.’ She glanced at the paper and wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells offish.’

  Ah, thought Janet wryly. I was wrong. It wasn’t the butcher.

  ‘I’m going to write him one back,’ said Carol, her head cocked to one side, a cheeky look that she’d inherited from her mother. ‘I’m good at writing letters.’

  ‘So I hear,’ said Polly wryly, turned to Janet and said, ‘Do you know what she wrote to Billy?’

  ‘Only if you want to tell me.’

  Polly dug her elbow into Carol’s side. ‘Go on then. Tell her.’

  Carol tossed her blonde plaits and their tired white bows back from her shoulders. ‘I said that mum was like a lonely princess and a lot of wicked wizards were out to get her.’

  Janet nodded approvingly. ‘You have a wonderful imagination.’

  Carol went on. ‘And then I told him about them men I belted with my hockey stick.’

  Janet raised her eyebrows and looked to Polly for an explanation and was almost disappointed that Ivan chose that exact moment to return.

  Polly grinned and hugged Carol close. ‘She told Billy what I was afraid to tell him.’ She explained a little further. ‘If he’d known that the heavy mob had been round, he’d have shopped them sooner, but I was annoyed with ’im. We couldn’t go to Australia, you see, not with ’is record.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Bloody sod! He’d let me down. I thought he deserved to stay there a while.’

  When Billy finally came in, Ivan put it to him about the job. Billy began shaking his head, though his eyes were locked with those of his wife.

  ‘It all depends,’ he began and shifted nervously from one foot to another.

  Sensing that an explanation was in order, everyone looked at everyone else. After pinching a chocolate from the brown paper bag, it was Carol who burst the bubble.

  ‘We’re going to Canada!’

  Polly beamed from ear to ear. ‘It’s true. They don’t mind a bit of form and Aunty Meg can come too, especially since she had that win on the pools. It ain’t much, but enough to keep her over there.’ She threw Billy an accusing look. ‘And he can take that job with Colin while we’re waiting for things to ’appen. It’ll keep him out of mischief.’