by Kitty Neale
Pamela nodded, but didn’t seem to be really listening. She was peering out of the window, obviously looking for their father, and by the way she was poised Gloria thought she was ready to sprint back upstairs if she saw him.
Gloria turned to Jenny. ‘Do you know where Mum is now?’
‘No, but she’s not with what’s-his-face. I heard Dad say that he’d dropped her like a ton of bricks. I’ll pop in to see Gran later, see if she knows anything.’
Gloria tutted. ‘Knowing Mum, she’s probably got some other bloke on the go and is shacking up with him.’
Jenny’s lips tightened, but she didn’t answer. Gloria knew her sister didn’t like it when she was derogatory about their mother, but for once she didn’t chastise her.
‘Can I come to see Gran with you?’ Pamela asked Jenny in an unsteady voice.
‘Yes, all right, love,’ Jenny told her.
Gloria was barely listening as her thoughts turned to her dad. She wished him dead and imagined sticking the bread knife in his chest whilst he slept. He’d turned Pamela into a bag of nerves, Peter was always crying, Timmy had nightmares and Jenny was covered in bruises. She couldn’t blame her mother for their father’s vehement mood swings. He’d always been like it for as far back as she could remember, only it was her mum that used to get slapped about, not them. Maybe if he’d been a better husband, she wouldn’t have walked out on them. Gloria wished she could do the same, just walk away and leave the bloody lot of them to it.
Chapter 2
Lizzie Lombard strode purposefully down Boundaries Road, thankful to put some distance between her and the three-bedroomed council house Henry lived in. It was her house too, her children lived there, and as far as she was concerned Henry had no bloody right to throw her out of it. But she was no match for his ferocious temper and knew that when Henry was in one of ‘those moods’, it was best to stay out of his way.
A car honked its horn as it passed her, which instantly put a smile back on Lizzie’s face. She enjoyed the attention she commanded from men, and though she’d recently celebrated her forty-second birthday, she prided herself on her looks. She wasn’t one of those old fuddy-duddy middle-aged women who dressed identically to their mothers. She liked the latest fashions and thought the new hemline, an inch above the knee, showed her shapely legs at their best. She’d heard women call her mutton dressed as lamb, but she put it down to their jealousy.
As she headed towards Balham High Road, her wavy blonde hair bounced up and down in time with her confident stride and sashaying slender hips. Earlier that morning, she’d put some lemon juice in her hair, and now, as the April sun shone on it, she hoped it would soon be a shade lighter. Roy liked her hair. He had complimented her on it many times. He said it was the blondest he’d ever seen and that it framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. She’d been seeing Roy Gumble for two weeks now, though she hadn’t admitted to him that he was sixteen years her junior. In fact, he was only four years older than her Jenny.
Lizzie passed under the railway bridge into Chestnut Grove and stopped at the sweetshop to buy Roy’s favourite, Barratt’s Sherbet Fountain. It amused her that he liked the childish sweet, and that he liked to share it with her. She took pleasure in seductively teasing him. He would react to anything suggestive and watch with desire as she’d suck the sherbet from the liquorice stick. They’d met in the ABC Café where she’d been sipping a glass of Coca-Cola. She’d spotted Roy watching her from a table opposite, and as she had lifted her lips from the glass, she’d lasciviously licked them. Roy’s jaw had dropped, and a few cheeky grins later he’d joined her. Soon afterwards he asked her out.
It was past noon, and the High Road was busy with shoppers milling around, though she guessed Roy would probably be just about waking up. They’d had a late night, and she smiled at the memory of their lovemaking when they’d returned home. Despite that, Lizzie had woken early, and if Roy questioned where she’d been it would be an easy lie to tell him she’d been up the market.
‘It’s me,’ Lizzie called as she let herself into Roy’s flat above the ironmonger’s. All the curtains were drawn, blocking out the bright sunshine and leaving the place in darkness.
‘Come and give me a cuddle,’ Roy shouted from the bedroom.
Lizzie smiled wryly. She knew what he wanted. His appetite for her was insatiable, and she couldn’t wait to climb between the sheets and feel his smooth, muscular body. He was like a finely tuned sports car, unlike the old jalopy she’d left a couple of years ago. Huh, she thought, Henry couldn’t even raise a smile, let alone anything else.
Gloria had moaned about it but stayed home to look after Peter and Timmy whilst Jenny and Pamela headed off to see Edith, their elderly gran. Jenny had left specific instructions with Gloria. She’d said that if their dad came home and he wasn’t drunk, she was to take the boys to Tooting Bec swings and not come home until teatime. The boys liked it there as they could wave to the trains as they passed. Gloria had agreed it was probably best to stay out of his way, though she’d said it was unlikely he’d come home sober. They all preferred it when their dad was drunk. He’d usually pass out.
When they arrived at their gran’s, Jenny pushed open the shared street door and stepped into the communal hall. The house was divided in two, her gran’s flat on the ground floor. Jenny had a key and let herself in and Pamela followed. The flat had one bedroom, a small lounge, a tiny kitchen and a toilet separate from the bathroom. It had recently been updated with modern conveniences, but her gran said she preferred it as it had been. She’d lived there for the past twenty years, ten of them alone since her husband had died.
The smell of freshly baked bread greeted them, making Jenny’s nostrils twitch. She breathed in the aroma and her mouth watered. Her gran’s eyesight was failing, probably caused by cataracts, but she still managed to bake a loaf every Saturday and treat them all to jam tarts.
‘Hello, love, you’re early,’ her gran said warmly when she saw Jenny in the lounge doorway.
‘Hiya, Gran. I’ve got Pamela with me today. How are you?’ Jenny asked as she bent to kiss her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek. She visited her as often as possible, always on a Saturday, and during the week when she could. It wasn’t easy, what with working full-time in Mullard’s factory and her younger siblings at home.
‘I’m all right, love,’ the old lady answered, ‘but I miss the Stewart family from upstairs. It used to be handy to bang me broomstick on the ceiling and Moira would pop down, but that new chap up there, he’s as deaf as a bleedin’ post. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely young man and nice enough, but it ain’t no good to me if he can’t hear me when I need something.’
‘What do you need, Gran?’ Jenny asked. She missed the Stewarts too. It had given her peace of mind to know they were keeping an eye on her gran, but they’d moved back to Scotland.
‘Nothing, but I had the fright of my life the other evening. I was sat here, minding my own business, and I’m sure a mickey ran over my feet.’ Edith shuddered at the memory. ‘I can’t stand the little blighters, ergh! Trouble is, my eyes ain’t what they used to be, and I can’t see ’em. Moira would have come down and checked the room for me.’
‘We’ll have to do something about them, Gran.’
‘Yeah, I know. Pamela, take some coins out of my purse, it’s in my bag on the sideboard. Be a good girl and pop to the shops for a few of them mice trap things. I hate the snapping noise they make, but I’d prefer ’em with broken necks rather than running riot in my flat.’
Pamela fished out a few coins, quietly left and Edith frowned. ‘Is she all right? She ain’t said two words since she’s been here. Has your father been kicking off again?’
Jenny sighed. She didn’t like telling her gran about the unbearable situation at home, but Edith had always been her confidante and she’d found solace in her gran’s small but homely flat. ‘Yes, he went berserk this morning after Mum called in to see the boys.’
‘Oh, Jenny, who
got it this time?’
‘Me … again. The rest of them were hiding upstairs, and Gloria told me that Pam had her hands over her ears from the minute Mum and Dad started arguing.’
‘Oh dear, you poor loves. I wish I had the strength to go round there and give him a piece of my mind! Did he hurt you?’
Before they’d left the house, Jenny had run a brush through her hair and found a sore place on her head where her dad had punched her. ‘No, not really,’ she fibbed, ‘sometimes his bark is worse than his bite. It puts us all on edge though, Pam especially. She’s always been a bit more sensitive than the rest of us.’
‘Yes, she has, bless her. Is she still wetting the bed?’
‘Occasionally, but don’t mention it in front of her ’cos she gets ever so embarrassed about it. I’ve tried putting plastic bags under the sheets, but Gloria moans that they make a crinkling racket when she turns over. I don’t know what to do for the best, Gran. They need a new mattress, but I can’t afford one and I daren’t ask me dad.’
‘Have you tried getting her up in the night and making her use the loo?’
‘Yes, but all that achieved was wearing myself out for work the next day. I’m hoping she’ll grow out of it soon.’
‘You said your mother called in earlier. How is she? I know she’s me daughter, but you wouldn’t think so! She ain’t been in to see me for weeks now.’
‘It’s the same for us. She doesn’t come to see us regularly, and sometimes it’s months before she turns up again. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her this time, but I think she’s split up with Lesley,’ Jenny said, glad about that. She’d only met him once but had taken an instant dislike to the man.
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. They never seem to last long with your mother. Anyway, I’m parched, so make us a cup of tea, love. You’ll find jam tarts in the usual place. I’ve made enough to sink a battleship, but I don’t suppose they’ll last two minutes with the boys.’ Edith chuckled. ‘You should’ve brought them to see me too.’
‘I will next time,’ Jenny told her.
She went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. The walls were painted bright orange, and the four cupboards chocolate brown. As she waited for the water to boil, she took a biscuit tin from the larder cupboard. It was filled to the brim with the home-baked jam tarts. Her gran was right, Peter and Timmy would gorge on them later and make themselves sick if she didn’t ration them.
A few minutes later, with a pot of tea beside them, she sat on an armchair next to her gran. She studied the woman’s face. Her eyes looked cloudy but, despite her poor sight, her grey hair was neatly pinned up in a bun, and her clothes were freshly laundered and ironed. Jenny was pleased to see her gran was still managing to take good care of herself. ‘How’s your hip, Gran?’
Her gran rubbed her left side. She was a wide woman, small-busted but with thick thighs. ‘Not too bad, love. It’s a lot better now the weather is warming up. What about you, have you found yourself a nice young man yet?’
‘Oh, Gran … no. I’ve told you, I’m not interested in meeting blokes. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.’ Jenny could feel her cheeks had flushed at the mere mention of a man.
‘You’re a pretty little thing and I’d hate to see you become a washed-up old spinster. You should go out more. There’s always a fancy dance going on at the ballroom above the ABC.’
Jenny sat back in her chair and heaved a sigh. Just the thought of walking into the ballroom made her heart race. A few of the girls at work went regularly and had encouraged her to join them, but she couldn’t pluck up the courage to go. ‘No, Gran, I prefer being here with you, or at home looking after the boys.’
‘Oh, get orf with you! You’re a young woman in your prime. You shouldn’t be sat with an old woman or babysitting your brothers. Gloria and Pamela are old enough to do that, and anyway, they’re your dad’s responsibility, not yours. You should be out enjoying yourself. So next Saturday, just to please me, I want you to get spruced up and go to the dance.’
Jenny would do anything to please her gran, but she could feel her face burning again. She reckoned her cheeks were probably as red as her hair and was grateful when she heard a knock on the door. ‘That must be Pam back with your mousetraps,’ she said as she got up, avoiding answering her gran’s request.
‘That was quick,’ Jenny said as she opened the door, but was surprised to find a man on the doorstep. He looked young, possibly about the same age as her or maybe a few years older. He had light brown eyes and longish sandy-coloured hair. Flushing, she lowered her eyes, and was surprised to see that he was wearing slippers.
‘Hello, I’m Craig from upstairs,’ he said.
That explains the slippers, Jenny thought, too shy to look up at him again. ‘Oh … erm … hi,’ she managed to stutter.
‘Is that Craig?’ Edith shouted.
Jenny spun around towards the lounge. ‘Yes, Gran.’
‘Bring him in … tell him you’ve just made a pot of tea.’
Jenny slowly turned back to face Craig and looked at him through the hood of her amber lashes. ‘You’d, er, best come in.’
Craig followed Jenny through to the lounge. She could feel his eyes on her back and felt very self-conscious.
‘Hello, sit yourself down, and Jenny, fetch another cup,’ her gran instructed in her usual friendly manner.
Jenny was pleased to be away from the lounge and out of Craig’s sight. She found his long gaze intimidating, and as usual didn’t know what to say. Unfortunately, with no excuse to dawdle, she was soon back in the lounge and pouring Craig a cup of tea.
‘So you’re Jenny,’ Craig said, smiling warmly. ‘You’re Edith’s eldest granddaughter. I’ve heard lots about you.’
‘Don’t worry, girl. I’ve only said nice things,’ her gran said, chuckling.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Craig agreed. ‘She told me you work at that electrical component place. A fiddly job that. I’m quite handy with my hands too – I make small items of furniture.’
It was obvious he was trying to make conversation, and, much as Jenny would have liked to participate, she was finding it very difficult. It didn’t help that her gran seemed to be scrutinising her, though Jenny doubted the old woman could see very much. ‘Would … would you … like a jam tart?’ Jenny offered quietly.
‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that please?’ Craig asked.
Edith interrupted. ‘I’ve already told you he’s deaf, Jen. You have to make sure he can see your face when you talk to him, and then he can read your lips.’
‘Oh! Sorry,’ Jenny said to Craig, more embarrassed than ever, and slowly repeated her question.
‘Yes, please. I love your gran’s cooking,’ Craig replied with gusto.
Jenny went through to the kitchen and fumbled in the biscuit tin. Pull yourself together, she thought. Not only was she incredibly shy, she’d never met a deaf person before, though if her gran hadn’t told her she’d never have guessed that Craig was hard of hearing.
There were only two armchairs in the lounge, bottle-green fabric with wooden armrests. Craig was sitting in one and her gran in the other, but when Jenny came back into the lounge, he was quick to offer her his seat. She politely declined, and instead sat at a small table tucked up against the wall.
‘These are delicious, Edith, melt in your mouth,’ Craig said as he swallowed the last of his tart.
‘My granddaughter’s a good cook too, ain’t that right, Jen?’
Jenny’s heart sank as she realised her gran was playing Cupid. If that was her game, she could think again and re-aim her crooked arrow, Jenny thought. She wondered if Craig had cottoned on.
‘Well, she’s had the best teacher.’
‘’Ere, I’ve just had a thought,’ Edith said, and moved to the edge of her chair. ‘Why don’t you take Jenny to the dance in the ballroom next Saturday?’
Jenny could feel herself squirming and wanted to tell her gran to shut up. She lowered her head, no
t daring to look at Craig, wondering if he felt just as embarrassed.
‘I’d love to, Edith, but I’m not a good dancer. I can’t hear the music and I’ve got two left feet. But there’s a St Trinian’s film playing at the cinema. It stars George Cole, he’s a right funny one. Do you fancy coming with me to watch it, Jenny?’
Jenny looked up but couldn’t find her voice. Craig was good-looking, and she liked him, but he was probably only asking her out because her gran had put him on the spot.
‘Yes, she’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jen?’ her gran said, answering for her.
‘Er … yes … I suppose,’ Jenny eventually stuttered.
‘Great,’ Craig said, smiling.
To her relief, Jenny heard another knock on the door and jumped up. ‘I’ll get it. It’ll be Pamela,’ she said, relieved to escape for a moment to gather her thoughts. Craig had a relaxed, easy-going air about him, but she’d never been on a date before and the thought terrified her. Maybe she could say that she’d just realised that she was busy and couldn’t go.
‘You look at bit pale. What’s wrong?’ Pamela asked worriedly as she stepped into the flat.
‘Nothing,’ Jenny whispered in reply. ‘Gran has a visitor.’
‘Oh, who?’
‘The bloke from upstairs, Craig. He’s deaf but he can tell what you’re saying by reading your lips.’
‘Deaf? What, he can’t hear anything?’
‘Not a word, so when you talk make sure you’re facing him.’
‘Blimey, I’ve never spoken to a deaf person before. I wouldn’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t worry, other than his hearing he’s just like anyone else. Just be yourself,’ Jenny answered, thinking it ironic that she was giving advice to her younger sister, yet she herself was struggling to communicate without blushing.
