by Kitty Neale
Soon the sound of ‘La Bamba’ filled the room and a few people got up to dance, though there wasn’t a lot of space in the living room. Constance found a chair in a corner and sat down, feeling totally out of place, and when that record finished, ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ was played. She knew none of these songs, though everyone else in the room was singing along boisterously.
With the stress of the day Constance’s head was aching, and her thoughts drifted to her mother. She had ached for her love, but had never received it, and it was too late now. On Tuesday she would be going to her funeral and dreaded it. Tears filled her eyes, but she managed to blink them away. She continually twirled a strand of hair until a soft hand touched her shoulder.
In a kindly voice, Dora said, ‘Connie, have you eaten today?’
She looked up at her mother-in-law, and shook her head.
‘Here then, get this down you,’ Dora said, handing her a plate with a sandwich on it. ‘It’s cheese.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and, despite her unhappiness, managed to eat.
The party went on for hours, but thankfully when the beer and food were almost gone, people began to drift off. By then Constance was fighting exhaustion and though she offered to help Dora to clear up, her mother-in-law told her that as this was her wedding day, she wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You get yourself off to bed,’ she urged.
‘Thank you, and … and goodnight.’
‘Night, pet, sleep tight,’ Dora said kindly.
Albie said nothing and she avoided looking at him, thankful that he didn’t follow her up. In their bedroom she saw her cases, still not unpacked, but couldn’t face tackling them until the next morning. Tiredly, she opened a case to rummage for her nightdress and spongebag, then after going to the bathroom to clean her teeth, she slipped into bed, so exhausted that she almost immediately fell asleep.
Her wedding day was over, and her marriage would remain unconsummated.
Chapter 20
When Constance woke up the next morning, she found the other bed empty. Reaching for her watch on the bedside table, she was stunned to see that it was past eight-thirty. She quickly washed and dressed and then ran downstairs to see Albie sitting by the fire reading a Sunday newspaper.
‘It’s about time you got out of bed,’ he said. ‘Mum’s doing my breakfast so I suggest you give her a hand.’
She said nothing in reply, and going into the kitchen found Dora at the cooker. ‘I’m so sorry I overslept.’
‘Don’t worry about it. We always have a bit of a lie-in on a Sunday and I’ve only been up for about fifteen minutes. There’s tea in the pot though if you want to pour yourself a cup.’
‘Albie said I should give you a hand with his breakfast.’
‘Yeah, I suppose the sooner you learn to cook the better, but have a cuppa first.’
Constance poured the tea and then went to stand beside Dora, watching as the woman deftly cooked the breakfast. ‘Albie has a fry-up on Sundays and likes his egg yolks runny,’ she said. ‘The rest of the week, when I have to leave early for work, he has cornflakes or toast.’
‘It looks fairly uncomplicated,’ Constance said, ‘but I’m a bit nervous when it comes to frying the eggs.’
‘You just need practice, that’s all. When I’ve finished this one, you can have a go at cooking something for me, maybe just bacon and eggs.’
‘Yes, all right, but you’ll have to keep a watchful eye over me.’
‘Of course I will,’ Dora said as she plated up Albie’s breakfast. ‘Take this through to him, and he’ll want some HP Sauce.’
‘HP Sauce. What is that?’
‘Blimey, girl, you ain’t lived,’ Dora said and pulling open a cupboard she took out a bottle. ‘Here it is, but I’ll bring it through with some bread and butter.’
Constance carefully carried the plate and placed it on the small dining table under the window. ‘Here’s your breakfast, Albie.’
He walked across to sit down, and when his mother placed the sauce and bread on the table, he said shortly, ‘Thanks, Mum, and, Connie, fetch me another cup of tea.’
Constance managed to bite back a retort though it wasn’t easy. She didn’t like being treated as a servant with Albie expecting to be waited on. And the way in which he ordered her to do his bidding really grated – she’d have never spoken to the staff in Clapham in the belittling way Albie spoke to her. But for now she’d put up with it. However, once she’d found her feet, Albie was going to find that she wasn’t going to be a submissive little wife.
When they went back in the kitchen she managed to cook bacon and an egg for Dora, but broke the yolk. Dora didn’t mind, and on her second attempt, when she cooked her own breakfast, the egg remained intact. Pleased with herself she sat down to eat, only to be told that after making her and Albie’s beds, she would have to go back into the kitchen with Dora to learn how to make a Sunday roast. ‘And what will you be doing, Albie?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘Me? I’ll finish reading my paper and then I’ll be going to the local for a few pints. I’ll be back in time for dinner.’
‘What! You’ll be out until eight?’
‘Don’t be daft. Sunday dinner is at two-thirty, not eight.’
‘Oh, I see. In that case I would have called it Sunday lunch.’
Albie’s face darkened with anger. ‘If I want to call it Sunday dinner I will, and don’t you dare correct anything I say again.’
‘All right, Albie, there’s no need to lose your rag. Connie didn’t mean any harm.’
‘Keep out of it, Mum. She thinks she’s a cut above us and it’s about time she got taken down a peg or two.’
‘Give the girl a chance. Everything is strange to her but she’ll learn, won’t you, love? Not only that, are you forgetting that the poor girl has recently lost her mother and has to go to her funeral on Tuesday?’
‘No, I ain’t forgotten, especially as her father has said I won’t be welcome. Stuck-up git.’
Constance said nothing. Dora said she had a lot to learn, but in her heart of hearts she thought it was Albie who had more to learn, and one of those things was compassion. He had barely shown her any sympathy, his manner towards her abrupt and uncaring. She wished that she had refused to marry him – that she had asked Ethel to take her in – but it was too late now.
Penny Nelson stood outside her front door, waiting for Albie to appear. She’d had a crush on him since she was thirteen, and now five years later, she still really fancied him. She’d tried everything she could to attract his attention, and was sure he fancied her too, but now he’d gone and married that plain, stuck-up girl, and worse, Connie was having his baby.
Today Penny was wearing a red leather jacket, with lipstick to match, and black trousers. She’d brushed her hair until it shone, and knew she looked good. On cue, at midday Albie appeared and she joined him as he walked along the street. ‘Wotcher, Albie. How’s married life?’ she asked.
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘Connie’s a bit different from your usual type. She’s a bit dowdy, but it’s obvious why you married her.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he snapped.
‘Well, we could see that’s she’s pregnant.’
‘Yeah, yeah, of course. I thought you was talking about the arrangement I had with her father.’
‘What arrangement?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
‘I’m still curious though. Was it dark when you met Connie?’
‘Dark. Why?’
‘’Cos you probably didn’t get a good look at her until it was too late.’
Albie wavered between being annoyed and seeing the funny side. In the end, looking at Penny’s wide grin, he said, ‘You cheeky mare.’
‘You realise that with Connie already showing, she’s gonna to be the talk of the street? The old biddies love a bit o
f gossip and she’ll be at the receiving end.’
‘Let them talk. I don’t care.’
‘No, but Connie might.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ he conceded. ‘Anyway, here’s the pub and I’m going in for a pint. See you.’
‘Enjoy,’ Penny said, sauntering on past, giving Albie a glimpse of her swaying rear end. Yet even as she did this, she knew it was a waste of time. Albie was married now and she’d have to set her sights on someone else. The only problem was, so far, none of the fellas she’d seen matched up to Albie.
After they made the beds, Dora took the meat out of the fridge and then went on to show Connie how to prepare the vegetables. The girl hadn’t so much as peeled a potato before, let alone prepared cabbage and all the other green veg. It was just as bad when she tried to show her how to mix the batter for the Yorkshire pudding, and, impatient now, Dora took over, telling the girl to make them both a cup of tea.
‘I didn’t realise how hard it is to cook a meal,’ Connie said as she placed the cups of tea on the table. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of it.’
‘You will, but it’s not going to happen overnight. At least Monday’s dinner is a simple one, but don’t attempt to make it until I come home from work.’
‘What is it?
‘Bubble and squeak, usually with a fried egg on top.’
‘What on earth is bubble and squeak?’
Dora told her, watching the girl’s eyes widen. She was probably used to fine dining and had never tasted fried left-overs before. She gently questioned her about the type of food she was used to and began to realise what an easy life Connie had lived. All her food had been prepared for her, with the laundry, ironing and housework done by staff. Connie had lived a life of privilege, and Dora now wondered if the girl would ever be able to adapt.
‘Dora, sorry to be a pest,’ Ivy said as she came in the back door. ‘I’ve just realised that I’m out of Oxos. Can you lend me a couple?’
Used to this, Dora heaved a sigh. ‘Help yourself. They’re in the larder.’
‘Thanks, love. You’re a diamond.’
Dora mused that if Ivy ever paid her back for all the stuff she’d borrowed over the years, she probably could buy herself a diamond. As well as Penny, her vivacious daughter, Ivy had a son, Melvin, a quiet lad of twenty-one who worked in the Co-op. He wasn’t much to look at, with crooked teeth and large ears that gained him the nickname of Lugs at school. He’d been bullied, and it had sent him into a shell. So much so that nowadays, when he wasn’t at work in the Co-op, he spent most of his time in his room.
‘Is that your bicycle in the yard, Connie?’ asked Ivy.
‘Yes, I rode it over here a couple of days before our marriage.’
‘And how’s married life, love?’
‘It … it’s fine,’ she answered.
‘That’s good. Albie’s always been a bit of a womaniser so it’s nice to see that he’s settled down.’
‘Ivy!’ Dora warned.
‘What? I’m only speaking the truth.’
‘Yeah, well, I’d thank you to keep your opinion of my son to yourself.’
‘You’re a bit touchy this morning, Dora. Did you get a bad night’s sleep? Did noises disturb, if you know what I mean?’ Ivy said, nodding towards Connie.
Dora hadn’t heard any noise, and after what Albie had said she hadn’t expected to, but she wasn’t going to talk to Ivy about her son and his wife’s private life. ‘I slept very well, thank you, and now, if you don’t mind, I’m a bit busy this morning.’
‘See, touchy, but all right, I’m off now. See you,’ Ivy said before shuffling out of the back door.
‘Don’t take any notice of Ivy. She’s a nice enough woman, and a friend, but a terrible gossip. Don’t tell her anything you wouldn’t want the whole street to know.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Connie said.
Dora knew that the neighbours had enough to gossip about for a while. Those that came to the party must have noted that Connie was pregnant. After all, the girl had an unmissable swollen stomach and she’d refused a drink, even when they’d toasted the wedding. No doubt by now the whole street knew. Some of the older women would give her a hard time; a girl getting pregnant before marriage was frowned upon. With Connie leading such a sheltered life, Dora doubted she’d ever come up against their types and just hoped their tongues wouldn’t be too cruel.
By nine o’clock that evening, Constance was fighting to stay awake. She felt as though, other than when eating, she’d been on her feet all day. Her mother-in-law was very fussy, wanting everything just so, with even the food in the cupboards neatly lined up. In addition to keeping an eye on the Sunday lunch, Dora had shown her how to do some ironing, but she’d found Albie’s shirts impossible, making more creases than she managed to iron out. Dora had been patient, but in the end she’d taken over, once again telling her that with practice she’d eventually get the hang of it.
Constance hoped that her mother-in-law was right, but so far she felt totally inadequate. Also, so far, all the domestic chores she’d tried to tackle had bored her. The mountain of washing-up she’d had to work through after Sunday lunch made her think about Mary, and how she’d taken all the girl did for granted.
She tried not to think about her old life, or the dread of going to the funeral on Tuesday, but if this was to be her life, day in, day out, Constance felt she’d go mad. She longed to read, to bury herself in a book, but had seen none in this house.
‘Dora, have you any books?’
‘Books? No, just today’s Sunday paper. We get it delivered.’
Constance wished she’d thought to pack some of hers, but then, struck by an idea, she asked, ‘Is there a public library near here?’
‘Yeah, not too far away,’ she said, going on to give directions.
‘I’m glad I brought my bicycle here. It’s going to come in handy.’
‘You needn’t think you can spend all your time reading,’ Albie snapped. ‘Mum works full-time in a factory so you’ll be taking over all the household chores. Including cooking our meals for when she comes home.’
‘Give her a chance, son. She has a lot to learn before she can tackle much in the way of cooking, and I’ve yet to show her how to do the washing.’
‘It can’t be that hard.’
‘It isn’t, but as Connie hasn’t done any laundry before, she’ll have to be shown how to use the boiler, and the mangle.’
‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’ Albie asked.
Constance bristled. Albie hadn’t shown her any kindness, and she’d had enough. ‘I can work out mathematical equations, compose essays, list the kings and queens of England historically and quote Shakespeare, amongst other things. Can you?’
‘Watch your mouth. You’re trying to make me look stupid, and I won’t stand for it. I may not be as well educated as you, but I’m not a fool.’
Once again, Constance bit back a retort. As far as she was concerned Albie was an oaf, and it was pointless arguing with him. However, she had found his weakness. He didn’t like to appear stupid, so if he continued to shout orders at her, she’d enjoy playing on that. Also, whether he liked it or not, she’d join the library. She would need to escape the drudgery of her life now, and would find that escape in a good book.
Chapter 21
On Tuesday, Constance was sobbing as she dressed for her mother’s funeral. She had spent her life longing for her mother’s love, had wanted the chance to tell her how sorry she was for letting her down, but it was too late now. Her father had arranged for a black suit to be delivered to the house on Kibble Street. At first, Constance had thought his gesture a considerate one, but had then realised it was his way of keeping up standards. She knew he’d expect her to be impeccably dressed and he’d ensured she wouldn’t let the side down. But the expensive black suit wasn’t for her benefit – it was for her father’s, so that he wouldn’t be publicly humiliated. Tears fell faster when Constance was una
ble to button the skirt. Her mother would hate her to look anything but neat and tidy. She sobbed breathlessly as she flopped down onto the side of her bed. What did it matter what she looked like? Her father had disowned her and her mother was dead and would never be able to comment on her appearance again.
Desolately Constance finished dressing and went downstairs to find the house was empty. Dora had gone to work and she had no idea where Albie was. He went out every day without explanation, but in all honesty that suited her.
She felt so alone as she left the house, and thinking it inappropriate to turn up at her mother’s funeral on a bicycle, Constance walked to the main road to flag down a taxi, using what little money she had left of her own to pay for it.
When she arrived at the church, Constance saw her father sitting in a pew at the front but she didn’t go to join him. There were very few people there, none that she recognised, until a hand rose to wave at her and she saw Ethel with Mary. She almost stumbled to their pew, and sitting down she grasped Ethel’s hand, so grateful to see them there. ‘Oh, Ethel, Mary, thank you for coming.’
‘We thought you might need a bit of support. This must be so hard for you, love,’ Ethel said softly.
The vicar arrived and began to speak, but Constance was barely listening. All she could think about was her mother, her lack of affection, the alcohol, and she felt she had caused it. She’d been a disappointment to her mother, and she wished she’d tried harder to please her.
A hymn was sung, but Constance couldn’t join in as tears filled her eyes every time her voice managed even the smallest croak. It was cold in the church, and with so few people there, it felt desolate, as desolate as her feelings when she thought about her mother.
‘Come on, pet, it’s all over,’ Ethel said, urging her to her feet.
Connie snapped back into the present and stumbled from the church, only to find herself face to face with her father. He said nothing, and neither did she, and they turned abruptly away from each other.
