by Kitty Neale
Once he realised she would be of no use to him, Albie lost interest. She wasn’t much to look at, but it was mostly because she was too well educated, and talked about subjects he knew nothing about. He didn’t want to sound stupid every time he took her out, so he decided to leave posh totty alone in future.
His gran was pleased to see him, telling Mary to pour him a cup of tea as she cut him a piece of fruit cake. He loved his gran’s cooking and demolished it, but then she got rid of Mary and the interrogation began.
‘Right, Albie, you said you’d been arrested for petty theft. What did you take and from where?’
‘It wasn’t much, Gran. I was making a delivery to a warehouse, and just nicked a carton of cigarettes, that’s all,’ he told her, trying to make light of it, but as well as getting caught and doing time, he’d lost his job. With a record now and no reference it would be hard to find another one, and once his savings ran out he’d only have his dole money to live on.
‘I know you’re a bit of a rogue, Albie, but I never took you for a thief.’
Albie hated it that his gran thought badly of him and said, ‘I’m not. It was a one-off.’
‘I hope so. I suppose you’ve lost your job now?’
‘Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ll find another one. There’s a job going in a factory, but it’s the night shift and I don’t really fancy it. Mind you, I can’t afford to be out of work for long so I’ll take it if nothing else comes up.’
Ethel rose to her feet, hobbling as she went towards her bedroom, saying, ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Albie frowned. His gran’s ankles were so swollen that they hung over the sides of her slippers. It wasn’t right. She should retire, but no matter how many times he suggested it, she shot him down. Of course he understood that her accommodation came with the job, but she couldn’t go on like this. He’d have a word with his mother again, tell her that Gran needed to stop work, and this time he’d be more forceful in insisting that they give her a home.
When his gran returned she held out an envelope and said, ‘Here you are, love. This should help you out.’
Albie opened it and immediately handed it back. ‘No, Gran, I ain’t taking your money.’
‘Look, I hardly touch my wages. I have my home here, my food, and as there isn’t anything else I need, I’ve saved a substantial amount.’
‘Good, you’ve earned every penny and I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Please, Albie, take this. I don’t need it.’
‘No, Gran.’
‘Call it a loan then. Once you get a job you can start paying me back.’
‘Gran, I don’t need your money. I was saving for a car, remember? So I’ve still got a few bob tucked away.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, but if ever you need a bit of cash you know now that I can help you out.’
‘Thanks, Gran,’ he said, as Mary came back into the room. The girl’s eyes went straight to the envelope as she rubbed her nose on her cuff and Albie wondered if she’d been listening to their conversation from behind the door.
‘Sorry, I forgot my comic,’ she said, and after scurrying to pick it up she hurriedly left the room again.
‘Gran,’ he whispered. ‘Where do you keep your savings?’
‘In an old bag in the bottom of my wardrobe. Why?’
‘It’s not safe there. You should pay the money into a post office savings account.’
‘There’s no need for that. The money is fine where it is.’
‘I’m not so sure. Mary was interested in that envelope.’
‘You don’t have to worry about Mary. The girl isn’t very bright and she doesn’t show any interest in money. When she gets paid, all she wants to buy is sweets and her silly comics. I’ve managed to get her to save the rest so she certainly doesn’t need to steal my little hoard.’
Albie lowered his head in thought. So, Mary had a stash of cash too. If his money ran out before he got another job it could be easy pickings.
‘Do you want another bit of cake, love?’
‘No, thanks, Gran, I’d best be off. You look worn out and I think you need an early night.’
‘There’s no need to rush off. I ain’t seen you for ages.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll call in again in a couple of days,’ Albie reassured her.
‘In that case, I must admit I wouldn’t mind turning in.’
‘Right then, see you soon,’ he said, leaning down to kiss the papery skin on Ethel’s cheek.
His gran waved goodbye, her smile warm, and on his way home Albie was still determined to have a talk with his mother about taking her in. She might have enough saved to rent a place, and no doubt she’d have her pension, but he worried she was getting to the stage where she might be unfit to live alone. It was time for her family, small as it was, to step in.
As soon as her son walked in, Dora tensed. She knew what was coming. Every time Albie visited his gran it was the same old thing and she was sick of fobbing him off. She leaned forward to turn up the radio, the sound of the Rolling Stones’ hit single ‘It’s All Over Now’ filling the air.
Albie walked up to the radio, turned the volume down and said, ‘Gran looked rough again and her feet are badly swollen.’
Dora didn’t answer, her head low over her knitting.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, and there’s no need to shout.’
‘I’ve told you before, she needs to retire.’
‘And as I’ve told you before, your gran isn’t my problem.’
‘But she’s your mother.’
Unable to take this any more, Dora croaked, ‘You have no idea what she did to me.’
‘Then tell me. I’m not a child, Mum. I’m twenty-four years old and it’s time you told me what happened between you.’
Dora put down her knitting and said quietly, ‘I don’t know where to start. It happened a long time ago and it’s a long story.’
‘Try the beginning, Mum.’
Dora was sick of her son thinking badly of her, and maybe he was right – maybe he was old enough to be told the truth. With a sigh, she gathered her thoughts and began, ‘I was only sixteen when I met your dad, but as soon as I saw him I knew he was the only man for me. Billy was nineteen and we saw each other as often as we could. On my seventeenth birthday, he proposed, and insisted on talking to my dad, who I think would have agreed to us getting married. My mum, though, she was dead set against it. She said I was too young and that I needed to see a bit more of life before I thought about settling down.’
‘I can see the sense in that,’ Albie mused.
‘The following week war was declared, and being the young man he was, Billy was quick to sign up for the army. He was sent to a training camp, and then all I had were his letters, until …’
‘Until what? Don’t stop now, Mum.’
‘Until a couple of months later when I had an accident and broke my leg. It was put in plaster and I was soon allowed home, but at the same time I realised … I realised that I was pregnant. I was too scared to tell my parents but I wrote to your dad, asking him to get urgent permission to marry me before he was deployed.’
‘So that’s what all the secrecy has been about. You were already pregnant when you and Dad got married. It doesn’t bother me, Mum. I should think there were lots of so-called early babies born during the war,’ Albie said, then frowned. ‘It still doesn’t explain the animosity you have towards Gran.’
Dora rose to her feet. She’d always dreaded this, but Albie had to find out at some time and it might as well be now. ‘I’m just going to get something. I won’t be a tick.’
‘What’s this?’ Albie asked when she returned and placed a folded document in front of him.
‘It’s your birth certificate.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said and quickly scanned it.
‘Look at where it gives your father’s name.’
‘William Edward Anderson,’ Albie read out.
�
�Look at the document again. Doesn’t anything strike you as strange?’
‘Like what?’
‘Read my name.’
‘Dora Alison Jones. I didn’t know you have a middle name. Alison, I like it.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Albie. Do I have to spell it out?’
‘All right, there’s no need to lose your rag. Just tell me what you’re getting at.’
‘Hasn’t it ever struck you as odd that our surname is the same as your gran’s?’
‘No. Why would it? You’re her daughter.’
‘Yes, but if I married, I’d take on my husband’s name. You and I would be Andersons.’
At last the penny dropped and Albie surged to his feet, his face suffusing with anger. ‘So my dad never married you! The bastard! No, it makes me the bastard! It’s just as well he’s dead, ’cos if he was still alive I’d bloody kill him.’
‘Calm down and don’t blame your father. It wasn’t his fault. It was down to your gran,’ Dora said, and, urging her son to sit down again, she continued. ‘As I said, I had a broken leg when I wrote to your father to tell him I was pregnant. He didn’t reply to my letter, so I sent another one, and then another, becoming more and more frantic, but I never heard from him again.’
‘I don’t see how that’s down to Gran.’
‘Please, Albie, let me finish,’ Dora said.
‘Yeah, sorry.’ Albie looked at Dora directly for a moment before she broke eye contact and continued her story, looking down at the floor.
‘When I was close to five months pregnant I couldn’t hide it any longer and had to tell my parents. My father was appalled, but surprisingly, my mother was marvellous about it. She made me some baggy clothes to cover my tummy, and then at seven months she sent me to stay with her sister in Kent.’
‘What about my dad? Did you hear from him?’
‘No, and when I went to Kent I was so distraught that he hadn’t replied to any of my letters that I stopped writing to him. Then, by the time you were born, my parents had moved to another area and so I was able to live with them again. As far as our new neighbours were concerned, I was a war widow.’
‘Was that when you found out that my dad had been killed in action?’
‘No, Albie. I assumed he was still alive. It was my father who insisted that I get in touch with his regiment, asking the commanding officer to tell Billy that he now had a son,’ Dora said, tears threatening.
‘And did he?’ Albie asked.
‘No doubt if he’d received the letter he would have,’ Dora said bitterly.
‘Why wouldn’t he have received it?’
‘Because it was never sent. And nor were any of my letters to your father. Yes, I can see you’re confused, but it’s the reason why I’ll never forgive your gran. You see, with a broken leg, I relied on her to post my letters – the ones telling your father I was pregnant. She also offered to post the one to his commanding officer.’
‘How did you find out she hadn’t posted them?’
‘It was by sheer chance. I was looking for my own birth certificate to compare it with yours. I wanted to see if it was obvious that I hadn’t married your father.’
‘I didn’t spot it until you pointed it out to me.’
‘Yeah, well, I knew your gran kept important papers in an old bag at the bottom of her wardrobe. If she’d had the sense to get rid of them I wouldn’t have found out, but there they were, all my letters, unopened and unposted.’
‘So my dad didn’t know you were pregnant?’
‘No, Albie. He didn’t have a clue.’
‘But … but I don’t understand. Why didn’t Gran post your letters?’
‘As I told you, she was against us getting married, and if Billy wrote to me she must have intercepted his letters. No doubt she hoped that if he didn’t hear from me, he’d think I had found someone else. Of course she had no idea that the letters I asked her to post were to tell Billy that I was pregnant.’
Albie frowned and Dora could see that he was struggling to understand. ‘But … but months later, when you had to tell her you were pregnant, surely she’d have wanted Billy to marry you?’
‘You’d think so, but I know your gran. She wouldn’t have wanted my dad to find out that she hadn’t posted my letters. He’d have gone mad, so she kept her mouth shut, preferring me to be an unmarried mother and have you born a bastard than admit the truth.’
‘I can’t believe Gran did that.’
‘Well, believe me, she did. Your father died never knowing that he had a son, and that’s all down to your gran,’ Dora told him as emotional exhaustion washed over her. She had managed not to break down in front of Albie, but now just wanted to go to bed where she could vent her feelings in private. Albie knew the truth now, and maybe he’d stop nagging her to take her mother in. She would never do that – never live under the same roof as her again. Not only had the love of her life died not knowing he had a son, he had died not knowing that she still loved him, and always would.
Chapter 7
‘Miss Constance hardly touched her dinner again,’ Mary said on a Saturday at the end of November as she carried dishes from the dumbwaiter to the sink.
Ethel was sitting in a fireside chair, her feet up, and feeling guilty that she was leaving all the work to Mary. Yet there was no way she could help the girl – if she stood up, she doubted her throbbing and swollen feet would support her.
‘Madam didn’t eat much either,’ Mary continued. ‘Not that she ever does. She lives mostly on gin.’
‘Mary, that’s disrespectful and I don’t want to hear you talking about the mistress like that again.’
‘Sorry, Ethel. The master was talking about when he ret … ret …’
‘Retires,’ Ethel finished for her.
‘Yeah, that’s the word. When he retires in a few days.’
‘What did he say about it?’ Ethel urged. She found out about the goings-on upstairs through Mary; the girl was so quiet and unobtrusive that when she served the Burton Blakes they seemed to forget she was there.
‘He said he’ll still be doing work as a private consul …’
‘Consultant,’ Ethel offered.
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘What did the mistress say about that?’
‘She didn’t say much, and if anything she looked happy about it.’
‘I suppose she’ll be glad that he won’t be under her feet all day,’ Ethel mused.
‘Yeah, ’cos if he was, he’d put the kibosh on her drinking.’
‘Mary, what did I just tell you about being disrespectful?’
‘Yeah, sorry,’ Mary said as she ran water into the sink. ‘I’d best get stuck into these dishes.’
Ethel was tired, worn out, her feet more swollen than ever. She knew that Albie was right when he said it was time for her to retire, but that meant leaving her apartment. She’d have to find somewhere else to live, but with only her pension to support herself, the rent would have to be cheap. She had no idea where to start, or how to go about finding a flat, but was sure that Albie would help her. He might be able to suggest somewhere near to where he lived with his mother in Battersea. Living closer, and not working such long hours here, she’d be able to see him more often.
Ethel shifted in her chair, her thoughts still turning. Though she wasn’t overly worried yet, it had been weeks since she’d seen Albie. Maybe he’d found a job, like the night shift one in a local factory that he’d mentioned, and if that was the case he’d have little time to visit her. Still, no doubt as soon as he could, Albie would call in – and when he did, Ethel would tell him that she was going to take his advice and retire. She knew that he was worried about her, so he’d be chuffed and she was sure he’d be happy to help her.
The view from Constance’s bedroom window changed with the seasons. In autumn the leaves on the trees had turned from green to various shades of gold, red and brown. Now, at the end of November, the branches were mostly bare, skeletal,
though the darkness hid the bleak vista until morning.
Her mood bleak too, Constance had left her bedroom door ajar, waiting to hear Mary go up to her room on the fourth floor. She needed to speak to Ethel but it had to be in private.
When Constance finally heard Mary retiring to bed at just after ten-thirty, she sneaked downstairs, pleased to see that her mother was asleep on the sofa. Softly closing the drawing room door, Constance went down to the basement to find it in darkness. Ethel must have gone to bed too, and Constance stood, biting her lip, before desperation led her to rap on the woman’s bedroom door, whispering, ‘Ethel … Ethel, are you awake?’
‘What? Yes. Hold on.’
Shortly after, Ethel appeared, the light behind her showing her in a pink hairnet and dressing gown. She asked worriedly, ‘What’s wrong, Constance? Is it your mother?’
‘No, she’s fine,’ Constance said hastily. ‘I … I just need to talk to you.’
‘Talk to me?’ Ethel protested. ‘At this time of night?’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s important and I don’t know who else to turn to.’
Ethel signed heavily but said kindly, ‘All right, but let’s go into the kitchen. With the fire banked up it’ll still be warm.’
At Ethel’s soft tone, Constance almost broke down, but she managed to stem her tears and followed Ethel into the kitchen, where the woman sat down at one side of the hearth, gesturing to her to sit on the other.
‘Right, now, what’s this all about?’ Ethel asked.
‘I … I had dreamed of a career in medicine, or the law, but that’s going to be impossible now.’
‘Why? What’s changed?’
