‘Good for you,’ said Mrs Clancy. ‘There’s plenty who’d solve their problems by latching onto the first bloke what came along, but not you. You’re standing up for yourself. It’s lucky you weren’t at work today.’
‘I don’t work on Wednesday afternoons because of half-day closing, even if I’m not in the shop; and I didn’t have any appointments this morning because I’m working a half-day on Saturday. Have the children been good?’
‘Eh, she can get about a bit, your Cassie, can’t she? Never stops moving.’
‘I hope she hasn’t been any trouble.’
‘Has she heck as like. She’s a little angel.’
Nell laughed. ‘Maybe when she’s asleep. Even ladder-monkeys go to sleep sometimes, don’t they, Alf?’
She took the children home and made bubble-and-squeak for tea. Then she placed a bucket of ‘hot but not too hot’ water, as Alf called it, on the kitchen hearthrug and gave the children an all-over wash before bundling them into their nightclothes.
Cassie was put to bed right away. Nell had bought a cot from the second-hand furniture shop, but it had turned out to be the worst purchase ever, since Cassie hauled herself out of it every time she was lifted in. Even if you waited for her to drop off to sleep before putting her in, she would be out of it before you turned your back. So now there were three of them scrunched into the bed together, children at one end, her at the other, though both children generally switched ends during the night and it was impossible for her not to revel in having their little bodies cuddled up to her.
Alf had a story, then he said his prayers, ending with his nightly plea for the house to dry off so Violet could come home.
Downstairs again, all Nell wanted was to take the weight off her feet, but she needed to run to the corner shop or there would be no sugar in the morning, not to mention the cup of sugar she owed Mrs O’Rourke from this afternoon. She threw on her coat and hat and hurried out. It wouldn’t be long before the days grew too warm for her old cavalry-twill. Would she have time to make herself a jacket? Or maybe one of those long, edge-to-edge jackets, like a cross between a coat and a jacket, that she had sometimes made at the factory. No, things like that weren’t for the likes of her.
But why weren’t they? Why shouldn’t working-class women dress with a bit of flair?
‘Hello, Mrs Hibbert.’
She stopped. ‘Posy – and Mrs Brent. This is a nice surprise.’
‘Our Hilda is feeling poorly, so we’re getting her a bottle of Wincarnis tonic before Posy’s bedtime.’
‘I’m going to the shop an’ all.’
She matched her pace to theirs and they headed for the shop. There was a girl of Posy’s age inside, carrying a bag nearly as big as she was. Posy knew her and they were soon engrossed in conversation.
‘So what’s the matter with your Hilda?’ asked Nell.
‘She’s under the weather. She says she has a lot on her mind and she’s tired from the move. A tonic will buck her up.’
Aye, and so would a kick up the backside. Nell hung onto her eyebrows to stop them climbing up her forehead. How two such sensible folk as the Brents had managed to produce a lame duck like Hilda beggared belief.
It was Posy’s friend’s turn to be served and Posy gravitated towards her gran.
‘How’s Violet?’ Nell asked. ‘I’m sure you’re taking good care of her.’
Posy’s face crinkled into troubled lines. ‘Yes, but she doesn’t like sleeping in the scullery.’
‘In the scullery?’
Mrs Brent looked awkward. ‘It’s Edmund. He—’
Edmund! It would be. She didn’t listen to the rest. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she assured her friend. ‘I know we spoilt her. You won’t need to keep her for much longer.’
‘I know how she feels,’ said Posy, ‘because I never liked sleeping in the scullery in our old flat, but I sleep in a real bed now with Gran.’
‘Do you like that?’
‘Oh, yes. I’m like the Princess and the Pea, but with one mattress.’
Her annoyance vanished like morning mist. ‘Your mum’s lucky to have you. So is your gran.’
‘Let’s get you home, miss,’ said Mrs Brent, ‘before your head swells so much you can’t get through the door.’
‘Can that happen? Would I have to pin my ears back?’
Nell laughed and saw them on their way. Armed with her blue bag of sugar, she walked home, turning the corner into Wilton Lane to see someone at her door – a man taking a step backwards as if realising no one was home. Please don’t let his knock have woken the children. He turned from the door: Jim Franks.
‘Were you looking for me?’ She hurried along the pavement. What did he think he was doing, knocking on a woman’s door of an evening? Did he want to get her a bad reputation?
He came to meet her halfway. He looked neater than he did when he was working, in a tweed jacket, with his shirt done up to the collar, round which was a tie. Lord, he hadn’t togged himself up for her, had he? Don’t be stupid. He was wearing ordinary clothes, the same as every other decent working man at the end of the day.
‘I shan’t keep you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a friend who lost both legs in the war. He makes wooden toys and they’re rather good. In his latest batch is a little monkey figure that flips its way up a ladder and down again when you turn a handle, and I thought—’
‘Cassie.’ The ladder-monkey. Her heart turned to putty. What a kind man. Then she panicked. ‘You haven’t bought one, have you? I couldn’t—’
‘I thought I’d tell you about it and where my friend lives.’
Tension seeped away. He had known the appropriate thing to do. They had gone from the kindness of strangers to the thoughtfulness of a real friend. Warmth filled her. Gratitude. Appreciation. Pleasure at the thought of the children’s delight.
And an unaccustomed fluttering inside her chest, such as she hadn’t experienced since she was seventeen years old and meeting Stan Hibbert for the first time.
‘Are you feeling better, Hilda?’ Leonie asked. ‘I could do the shopping if you don’t feel like it.’ Her heart leapt in anticipation. She missed her daily toddle round the shops, passing the time of day with the other housewives.
‘There’s nowt wrong with me, Mother.’
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Edmund had gone to work, Posy to school. Breakfast had been washed up – and Leonie had popped the kettle back on to top up the pot for another cup. She did this every morning now. Anything to postpone the housework, which was odd because she had never minded housework before; but now that it was all she did, she hated it. She felt bored and taken for granted, which was another odd thing, because Edmund made a point of praising her cleaning. At first she had appreciated his compliments, but the other day, the thought had flashed across her mind: Who are you to comment on the cleaning I do in my own house?
‘You didn’t need to fetch that tonic,’ said Hilda.
‘You looked peaky.’ Trying to sound casual, she added, ‘You said you had things on your mind.’
Hilda bit her lip and suddenly she was a little girl again, but in those days the bitten lip would have been followed by an endearing smile and a gurgle of laughter. Now it was followed by downcast eyes and a huff of breath.
Leonie poured the tea. She wouldn’t get anywhere if she pushed. Hilda the child had been an open book. Hilda the adult was a stranger. Was it her fault? Had she failed as a mother?
‘There’s summat I want you to think about,’ said Hilda, ‘only I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.’
Lord, surely not a complaint about her cleaning? And from her own daughter.
The moment stretched.
‘What is it, love?’ Leonie asked gently.
‘You wanted us to move in with you.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. Hilda made it sound like she had begged them to, but she let that go. They had all wanted it.
‘And for us all to live together.’
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s like we’re your lodgers, Mother.’
‘Lodgers!’ She hadn’t expected that. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s your house and—’
‘Well, there were no room for me in your flat. I could hardly have slept in the scullery with Posy.’
Hilda flushed. ‘It’s like we’re nothing more than the Hibberts. You’ve swapped one set of lodgers for another.’
‘Oh, Hilda, never. You’re family.’
‘Aye, but we’re living under your roof.’
‘That’s what you wanted. It’s what we all wanted.’
‘Your roof, Mother, not ours.’
Her eyebrows squeezed together. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about. All this talk about lodgers and whose house it is.’
‘You must know.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
Hilda got up and started to clear the table even though they hadn’t finished.
‘Hilda, love, sit down – please. That’s better.’
Leonie rested an elbow on the table, leaning forward. They mustn’t have words. They had never had words, but they seemed on the brink of it now. She smiled and picked up her tea. Sharing a cup of tea was chummy. It had gone cold, but that didn’t matter. Two women having a cosy chat over a cuppa could sort out anything.
‘What’s this about?’ She used a kindly, humorous voice. ‘I won’t know if you don’t tell me.’
Hilda didn’t look up. She picked at the oilcloth.
‘You and your little lot, you’re my family,’ said Leonie. ‘I’d do owt for you.’
Hilda’s fingers stilled. ‘Would you?’
‘You know I would.’
Hilda looked straight at her. ‘Will you put Edmund’s name on the rent book?’
The children adored the wooden monkey. Alf never tired of making it clamber up and down the ladder, repeatedly telling Cassie, ‘That’s you, that is. You’re the ladder-monkey,’ making her crow with delight. Nell had also bought a wooden spinning top from Mr Franks’s talented friend. He had painted it in vivid stripes, which merged into a wonderful rainbow blur when the top whizzed round.
That was how her life felt. She had its separate parts all sorted out, the children, her Ingleby’s job, her private work, so it ought to feel straightforward; but actually it felt more of a whirling blur, with everything mixed up together and although she had more time in the mornings and evenings, her days rattled by at top speed.
But that was good. It meant she was busy, making more money and providing a secure home for her children; and best of all, watching them grow up. She didn’t want them one day looking back at their childhood and remembering their childminders. She wanted them to remember her and everything they had done together. So she played cat’s cradle and snap and hide-and-seek; she sang songs and told stories; took them for walks, let them help in the kitchen and, one surprisingly warm teatime, she set up the tin bathtub in the backyard and filled it with water so they could play at seasides.
If Stan had been a better husband and father, if he had done right by them, she and the children might have had all this and more right from the start. Imagine not needing childminders. Both her kids had been looked after from day one.
It was rare to think of Stan these days. He was dead in every way that mattered. Occasionally she was obliged to talk about him when Alf had questions – the same questions time and again, to which she gave the same answers, rather like telling a favourite bedtime story. Daddy had fought in the war and been a brave soldier; Daddy was clever with his hands and had made furniture. They all used to live together in a valley at the top of the hill on the moors. One of Alf’s favourite games was to go onto the meadows that bordered the Mersey and pretend they were on the moors.
As for the inevitable question, ‘How did Daddy die?’, that was set aside with a quiet, ‘I’ll tell you when you’re old enough,’ something that good-natured Alf happily accepted, though Nell suspected she wouldn’t get off so lightly when Cassie started asking questions.
Was she thinking of Stan because … because she had no business thinking of Jim Franks?
She couldn’t think about him. She mustn’t. Everyone in this new life she had built for herself and her children believed her to be a widow – even the children believed it. But she was a married woman.
She had fought hard to create this new life. It wasn’t easy for a woman on her own, especially one with a young family, but she had done it. They had their own roof now; she had more time at home; her private work made the future feel brighter. The last thing she needed was … complications.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday rolled round again. When Mrs Brent had looked after the children last Saturday, they had loved it … until the time came for her to leave. Then Alf welled up and started to snivel. Nell hadn’t minded that: it was easy to jolly him out of it. But the big surprise was stolid little Cassie, who opened her mouth to its fullest extent and howled her head off as if she were being butchered. Still wincing at the memory of her daughter’s spectacular performance, Nell made child-minding arrangements with Mrs Watson’s Annie for Saturday afternoon when she was due to visit a new customer in Parrs Wood. Annie was the children’s regular minder now and if she couldn’t manage it, Mrs Clancy stepped in.
Nell packed their usual bag of things to take.
‘Can I carry the ladder-monkey?’ Alf begged. ‘I won’t drop him. And Cassie can carry something too,’ he added as his sister popped up, fingers at the ready.
‘Cassie can carry the spinning top,’ said Nell.
She checked she had everything for her new pupil’s first lesson, then they set off.
‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite children … after Posy, of course.’ Mrs Brent crossed the road to greet them, a shopping bag over her arm. ‘I’m taking my library books back. Where are you off to?’
‘Mrs Watson’s Annie’s,’ said Alf, ‘because Mummy’s working.’
Nell rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve told you before, Alf. She’s Mrs Lipton to you.’
‘I know, but Mrs Brent might not know who Mrs Lipton is compared to Mrs Watson’s Annie.’
Leonie laughed. ‘I know who Mrs Lipton is. What’s this you’ve got?’
Alf displayed it proudly. ‘The ladder-monkey.’
‘Is it yours?’
‘It’s both-of-us’s.’
Mrs Brent raised her eyebrows at Nell. ‘Carrying toys in the street, for all to see? That’s a bit—’
A flash of anxiety. ‘A bit what?’
‘Nay, lass, forget I spoke. It’s nowt. I wouldn’t dream of criticising.’
Something fluttered inside Nell. Was she being showy? There were plenty of kids hereabouts who would regard the ladder-monkey and the spinning top as riches.
‘I’ll see the children round to Annie’s,’ Mrs Brent offered, ‘and you can get on your way.’
It would make a difference of all of two minutes, but even that would help. A last-minute wee by Cassie had broken into her timetable and she could barely spare these moments to stand here, talking. But – and it was a big but – she didn’t want to be known as one of those working women who fobbed off their children onto someone else every chance she got.
‘Let’s walk together.’
‘I’ll come to the bus stop with you and we can have a chinwag while you wait for’t bus.’
‘I hope you don’t mind that I asked Annie to have the children,’ said Nell, ‘only after last time …’
‘I know, love, but I’ll always come round to yours if you need me to. I feel bad, seeing you having to lug a bag of their things around.’
Nell laughed. ‘It’s not heavy. Mostly it’s a change of clothes for little madam here. She has a gift for getting plastered in water, mud or dirt even when there’s no water, mud or dirt to be seen. Fortunately, Annie doesn’t mind.’
They dropped off the children and headed for the bus stop. When it came in sight, Nell slowed her pace. She
didn’t want to have the next bit of the conversation with the queue listening.
‘Could I ask your advice?’
‘Course you can.’
‘It’s what you said before about the kids carrying their toys.’
‘Oh, that.’ Mrs Brent picked up speed.
‘Did it look showy-offy?’
‘As if my opinion matters. You do what’s right for you, love. Friends don’t judge one another. I’ll leave you here. My arm’s dropping off, carrying these books.’
She walked away – no, not just walked: hurried. Nell stared. What had she done wrong to make Mrs Brent dodge the question like that?
Leonie didn’t need to go to the library. She just had to get out of the house.
Edmund had offered to take care of her money. She didn’t want that, but how could she refuse? It would look like she didn’t trust him; and she did trust him, of course she did. Hadn’t she put his name on the rent book? What was that if not a show of trust? It meant he was the man of the house.
And now the man of the house wanted her money.
No. That made it sound like he wanted to grab it off her, when he had simply offered to look after it. She wouldn’t have thought twice about handing over every farthing to Hedley, but he had never asked it of her. In fact, it had been t’other way round. He had tipped up all his wages, except for his beer and baccy money.
She was good with money. She didn’t need to have it looked after … or did she? She was a different person since losing Hedley. She used to be confident. Not pushy or bossy, but self-assured in a modest way. Now, though, she felt uncertain about everything. She kept finding herself biting the inside of her cheek, or twisting her hands together to stop them from fidgeting; and when she decided something, she was plagued by questions afterwards as self-doubt bled into every situation.
Take yesterday: Edmund had made a small observation about her cleaning.
‘It’s not a criticism, Mother-in-law,’ he said, ‘just an observation.’
But instead of explaining her rota, and how the stair carpet would be brushed tomorrow, she had felt embarrassed at having seemed to do shoddy work. Caught out: that was how she felt.
A Respectable Woman Page 14
