Women on the Home Front

by Annie Groves

  Hugh lunged for one of her arms, gripping it tightly as she would have yanked it away. He glanced furtively about to make sure nobody was watching them tussle.

  ‘Get your hand off me, and don’t you dare contact me again, do you hear?’ Grace spat in an undertone. She jerked herself free with such force that she knocked her half-full glass onto the floor where it shattered.

  Ignoring the stares she strode out of the pub and headed back towards her place of work.

  Tears of rage and frustration were glittering in her eyes as she marched on. She’d thought that when she saw Chris later she’d have some good news for him. She’d known all along he’d be angry when he found out she’d met Hugh, but had hoped he’d understand why she’d done it when she produced fifty pounds to be put in their wedding kitty.

  Christopher was still paying Kieran from his wages and doing any overtime he could get hold of to try and make up the shortfall. They were trying hard to save for a deposit on a property, but Grace felt guilty that she’d contributed very little to the pot. Once she gave her mother some housekeeping money, and laid out for her fares and dinners, there was little left from her pay to contribute towards their future. Christopher told her he didn’t mind, and it was his job to provide for them both. Neither of them wanted a long engagement, yet they were both adamant they’d rather wait till they had enough for their own place than start married life living with either of their parents. Dejectedly, Grace realised the wedding was going to be some way off yet.

  Once they’d announced their engagement on Boxing Day both Shirley and Stevie had offered to house them on hearing they wanted to get married as soon as possible. Grace had understood her mum’s proposal had been prompted more by economics than generosity. Shirley would be able to supplement her small income with their rent, and Grace didn’t blame her for being practical about it.

  Stevie had said they could have the second bedroom in his place free of charge, but Grace had known from Pearl’s strained smile that only conflict would ensue from that situation. In any case, neither offer had tempted her and Chris because they remained determined to start off married life in their own little home …

  ‘Piss off,’ Grace muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. Hugh had sped up and tried to halt her by swerving in front of her. She shoved him aside and carried on.

  ‘This bloke you’re with hasn’t done you any favours, you know.’ Hugh loped after her again. ‘You sound common as muck, you know that?’ he jeered.

  Grace sent a shout of laughter over a shoulder. ‘Good. I hope I’m just like him. He’s the only reason I met you today. Know why? ’Cos I love him and can’t wait to be his wife, and I’m damned if I’ll let a good, decent man like him work his fingers to the bone to get the money for us to get married when I ought to have had savings to chip in.’

  ‘Managed to get you into bed, has he? Or are you still frigid?’

  Grace whirled about and cracked a hand against his cheek, unaware of a blue Bedford van pulling up at the kerb.

  Chris leapt out and was by her side in a matter of a few seconds.

  ‘Don’t think I need to ask you who you are, pal,’ he ejected through his teeth. His hand snaked to Hugh’s throat, squeezing, before he shoved him forcefully away.

  ‘This him?’ he asked Grace.

  She nodded, whitening in shock at his sudden appearance before a guilty blush stole across her cheeks.

  ‘She’s told you to leave her alone. Now I’m telling you. Bother her again and it’ll be the last thing you do … understand?’

  ‘She met me for a drink of her own free will. Ask her …’ Hugh gasped out, rubbing his grazed throat. His expression was vindictive and pinned on Grace. Then he looked Chris up and down, a sneer on his face, as he took in his grubby workman’s overalls. With deliberate contempt he straightened his tie then started brushing down his dark suit as though to rid it of contamination. ‘Don’t worry, mate, you’re welcome to my leftovers,’ Hugh drawled, then with a laugh he turned to walk off.

  Chris yanked him back by a shoulder and gave him a short sharp one to the jaw. ‘Need to learn a bit of respect when you’re speaking to my fiancée, mate.’

  Hugh staggered back against a wall clutching his aching face but he didn’t retaliate even though Chris allowed him time to get his balance and throw a punch. Hugh wasn’t looking so superior a few seconds later when he slunk off, ignoring the few bystanders who were gawping at the scene.

  Chris pivoted about to stare at Grace. ‘That true, what he said? You’ve had a drink with him?’

  ‘It’s not like that …’

  ‘What is it like?’

  ‘What are you doing here at this time of the day?’ Grace blurted out. Chris never came to her office during her dinner break although he had picked her up after work on occasions when he had to visit a merchant’s in the area. It had always been a lovely surprise to see his blue van parked at the kerb when she came down the steps.

  ‘Come to tell you me uncle Rob knows of a house going cheap. He said to look at it straight away when we finish work today ’cos it’s going to auction this week. So I got off work to tell you but …’ He gave her a hard stare. ‘Perhaps we won’t bother, eh?’ he finished softly.

  ‘You’ve not let me explain,’ Grace started. ‘You don’t understand what’s gone on.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Chris said quietly.

  ‘I did go for a drink with him but only ’cos he said he’d give me fifty pounds.’

  ‘Yeah? And what was he expecting in return?’ Chris sounded viciously sardonic.

  Grace felt her temper rising. Everything she’d done, she’d done while thinking about him, so he wouldn’t need to work so hard, because she felt it was only fair that she contributed towards their future. Now he was allowing stupid jealousy to make him lewd and nasty. She noticed Wendy a way along the street, waving to her and pointing to her watch.

  ‘I’ve got to go; me dinner break’s over and I need to get back.’

  ‘You’ve not told me why you’ve been for a drink with him.’

  ‘You know why; I’ve told you before he’s promised to give me back some of the money I lost when we cancelled our wedding.’

  ‘Yeah, and I thought we’d agreed you’d let it go and never see him again. You’re engaged to me now, or so I thought …’

  ‘You’re being daft, Chris.’ Grace looked close to tears. ‘I just want us to get the money together so we can get married. It’s not fair you do it all on your own. I want to be able to help us set up home.’

  ‘You saying you think I can’t support you and that you’ll have to carry on working after we’re married?’

  ‘I don’t mind carrying on working till we start a family, I’ve told you I think that’s a good idea.’ Grace spun on the spot, looking harassed. ‘We can’t talk about it now. I’ve got to get back to the office, but I’d love to look at this house after work with you. Where is it?’

  He walked away from her then stopped a few yards from the van to lob over a shoulder, ‘Don’t matter. Seems to me we’ve got a lot of things to iron out before we take the plunge on a property. I’ll tell me uncle Rob we’re gonna give this one a miss.’

  ‘Hello there, Kathleen,’ Matilda called out in greeting as she approached Smithie’s shop. The Murphys’ little girl was loitering outside. ‘Where’s your mum? Getting something for your tea, is she?’

  Kathleen nodded and pointed to the door, indicating Noreen was inside.

  ‘Reckon I might find a couple of pennies fer sweeties. Been good fer yer mummy, have you?’

  Kathleen grinned up at Matilda. It was a bitterly cold February day and as Matilda took hold of Kathleen’s hand she could feel her small, icy fingers clutching tightly at her glove. Matilda entered the shop to find Noreen with baby Rosie, swaddled in a shawl, in her arms. It seemed she’d been unsuccessfully asking old Smithie for stuff on the strap.

  ‘Gotta pay up something for what you’ve already had, Mrs Mur
phy, before I let you take more,’ he grumbled with much head-shaking. He dragged her groceries back towards him on the counter. ‘Only doin’ it fer yer own good, y’know. Yer husband’s gonna be after me if I let you chalk up a long tab he can’t settle.’

  ‘There’s no need to tell him. I can bring in something Friday, so I can,’ Noreen pleaded in a whisper, turning about at hearing the doorbell’s clatter. She grew red on seeing Matilda leading her daughter in from the cold.

  ‘Kathleen! I told you to stay here with me. Thought she was behind me there,’ she told Matilda. ‘She must’ve followed Beattie Evans out a short while ago.’

  ‘Give her the stuff she needs, you miserable old git,’ Matilda growled at Smithie.

  Matilda had known the Smith family for a long while and spoke to Peter Smith in the same way she’d addressed his father, Godfrey, half a century previously: in any way she pleased. Godfrey had not been such a stickler for weekly payments from creditors as was his son.

  Before the Great War, when Matilda’s darling Jack had been alive, and her middle-aged daughters were still schoolgirls, the majority of families living in Campbell Road had lived hand-to-mouth. Godfrey had kept the Keivers and the Wilds afloat by allowing them groceries on tick. In those tough times – that Matilda nevertheless reflected on nostalgically – finding a forgotten farthing was akin to unearthing treasure. Godfrey would dole out small amounts of tea or jam or broken biscuits in return for the tiny copper to assist the destitute in their fight for survival.

  ‘Listen ’ere, Tilly, I’ve got a business ter run …’ Smithie started moaning.

  ‘You can afford it,’ Matilda muttered. ‘Made yourself a tidy amount out of what I’ve bought off yer over the years, don’t say you ain’t,’ she mocked. ‘And I’ll have a bag o’ sweets fer that.’ She plonked down her two pennies.

  ‘It’s alright, you don’t have to do that,’ Noreen said in her soft Irish tone. She still seemed embarrassed at having been overheard begging for credit.

  ‘Fill it up … that ain’t two penn’orth …’ Matilda grumbled as Smithie held out a brown paper bag containing an assortment of liquorice and sherbet and chews.

  ‘You’ll be the ruin of me, Matilda Keiver,’ Smithie complained, winding more black bootlaces into the bag.

  ‘Yeah … you told me that more’n twenty year ago,’ Matilda returned dryly. ‘And since then you’ve had two new cars, and a new wife, so don’t you go pleadin’ poverty.’

  Noreen was about to forget her groceries and slip out of the shop while Matilda was engaged in a verbal duel with the shopkeeper.

  Matilda caught at one of her thin arms and gave Smithie a significant stare.

  ‘Just this lot then, Mrs Murphy … but bring in something before the weekend.’ Peter Smith sighed.

  Noreen quickly put Rosie on her unsteady little feet. She started loading bread and tea and milk into her shopping bag and mumbled her gratitude before quickly whipping her youngest up, settling her on her hip and heading for the door in case he changed his mind.

  When they were outside, being buffeted by a bitter breeze, Noreen again tucked the wool shawl about Rosie’s shoulders to protect her from the cold.

  ‘Why don’t you come over mine fer a cup of tea before you head home,’ Matilda said kindly.

  Noreen gave a brief nod and a grateful smile. She knew Matilda’s room was little better than her own but at least it was a different dump. Besides, it was somebody to talk to and, ashamed as she was to acknowledge it, she knew her neighbour would ply the children with biscuits to fill them up for a while and save her the necessity of doing it. She could present her husband with a fresh uncut loaf when he came in for his tea later.

  ‘She’s looking bonny now. Wouldn’t think you’d had that scare with her in the dreadful smog.’ Matilda nodded at Noreen’s youngest. Little Rosie’s cheeks were pink with cold but at the moment she was toddling, giggling, from one to the other of Matilda’s battered old chairs to clutch at the seats. ‘How old is she now?’ Matilda asked, shaking the kettle to judge what was in it.

  ‘Sixteen months,’ Noreen said, gathering her daughters to her side to prevent them chasing about in Matilda’s home.

  ‘Let ’em play,’ Matilda said gruffly. ‘Not doing any harm and I like to see kids enjoying themselves.’ She put the kettle to boil on the hob and set two cups. ‘Now I reckon I might find something nice for two good little gels. Know any gels who’s been good?’ she bent down to ask Kathleen.

  ‘Me ’n’ Rosie’s been good …’ Kathleen piped up, glancing shyly at Matilda’s biscuit box on the shelf.‘Your Kieran not managed to turn up some more work?’ Matilda asked bluntly as they sat sipping from their cups and Rosie and Kathleen sat side by side on Matilda’s bed, eagerly chewing digestives.

  ‘He’s out now looking,’ Noreen said on a sigh.

  ‘Not working along the road today?’

  Noreen shook her head. ‘He’s got nothing. Christopher put him off last week …’ She glanced quickly at Matilda. ‘Oh, I’m not complaining, neither is Kieran. Not at all. It was good of your nephew to give Kieran work to get us over Christmas. And he kept Kieran on longer than he said he would; he was good to us because he knew that divil O’Connor had kept hold of Kieran’s pay.’ She paused. ‘He was a cheat and a liar and those other Irish fellows who were working in the road were always looking for trouble with Christopher and his men. Kieran fretted at first that we’d be thought of as trouble as well after he got a job with O’Connor. But you’ve all been kind. We’re grateful to you for helping.’

  ‘Don’t mind doin’ good turns fer them wot deserve it,’ Matilda announced. ‘And that O’Connor’ll get what’s coming to him sooner or later. But I didn’t know Chris had put yer husband off ’cos I ain’t seen much of him fer a few weeks.’

  Yesterday she’d spied her nephew at a distance and had given him a wave. As they’d barely had an opportunity to speak since Christmas, Matilda had expected him to jog over and have a quick natter. But he’d simply raised a hand then gone back to work.

  Matilda had a nose for trouble brewing and she was wondering if perhaps she ought to amble down the road later and have a word …

  From the start she’d had an inkling that Chris might have taken Kieran Murphy on off his own back. At Christmas she’d mentioned to Rob that Kieran seemed to get along alright with the other lads in the firm. She’d noticed Chris shoot her a quelling look, and Rob frown in puzzlement, so she’d said no more on the subject because Christmas was a time for putting work aside and concentrating on family. But Matilda was cute enough to put two and two together and come up with a bit of a problem.

  Despite the short, freezing-cold days putting folk off loitering to chat Matilda knew it was unlike Chris not to pop by. He usually poked his head in to say hello at least once a week. Previously she’d not given it much thought because she knew he now had Grace to think about, and lots of exciting plans to make with his future wife.

  Of course, there was also Pamela still in the background. Matilda wondered if Christopher had yet found the right opportunity to tell Stevie that he’d managed to contact his mum and, following a tricky start, there had been an improvement in their relationship.

  Matilda hadn’t questioned Chris because she accepted it was his business whether he kept her informed about how things were progressing with his mother. Besides, Matilda reasoned the less she knew, the less she’d have to own up to if Stevie should try to cross-examine her on the subject.

  After Noreen had gone home with her children, filled to the gills with tea and biscuits, Matilda got her coat and headed off down the road in the gathering twilight. She could see Chris’s van parked so knew he was still about somewhere.

  ‘Ain’t been up to see me in a while. You alright?’ she called up to Chris as he stuck his head out of a window to talk to her.

  ‘Yeah … I’m alright. Sorry I’ve not been in; been a bit busy. I’ll pop along when I knock off.’

  CH
APTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘Saw Noreen Murphy earlier. She says you’ve put Kieran off.’

  As soon as Matilda saw Chris heading up the stairs towards her she let him know what was on her mind.

  She’d been filling the kettle at the sink on the landing. When done, she followed her nephew into her room and closed the door against the gloomy cold. Having kicked back into place the sausage of rags that served as a draught excluder, she set the kettle on the hob.

  ‘Had to …’ Chris sighed a reply as he sat down. ‘Didn’t want to, but …’ His voice tailed away.

  ‘Rob know, does he?’

  Chris gave a noncommittal shrug.

  ‘Your uncle never knew you took him on, did he? You’ve been paying Kieran outta yer own wages ’cos that bastard O’Connor wouldn’t settle up with him, and the Murphys didn’t have a pot ter piss in over Christmas.’ She gave Chris an admiring smile. ‘That’s a fine and generous thing to do fer someone you hardly know.’

  ‘Wish I could’ve done more, but I can’t … not now …’

  ‘Can’t be expected to. Things have changed for you in a big way.’

  Chris planted his elbows on the battered table and cupped his face in his hands. ‘Feel bad about taking back all me pay but … never gonna get enough saved to get married otherwise.’

  ‘Grace been on to you to get shot of Kieran?’ There was no accusation in Matilda’s tone. It was sensible and acceptable in her estimation for a young woman to scrape together every penny she could get hold of to set up her own home with her future husband.

  ‘No.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘If she knew she’d be upset I’d done it.’

  ‘Not told her then?’

  Chris shook his head.

  ‘Seen yer mum lately?’ Matilda fired off another question that had been niggling at her.

  ‘Saw her Christmas Day. Took her a present. Ain’t seen her since,’ Chris stated, staccato-voiced, avoiding Matilda’s astute gaze.