by Kitty Neale
‘Don’t tell me they turned to you. I can’t believe that.’
‘Just because I haven’t got your looks, it doesn’t mean I can’t be with someone.’
‘I’d never have known,’ Albie said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You come over as a bit of a recluse.’
‘Unlike you, I don’t put myself out there much, and if you don’t want anyone else to find out about what you get up to, maybe it’s about time you reined it in too.’
‘I have. I’ve settled down now.’
‘With Connie? You surprise me.’
‘No, not with her. I’ve met someone else.’
‘Connie deserves better,’ Melvin said, shaking his head. ‘You should never have married her.’
‘I know but she was carrying my child. And I had other reasons.’
‘I can guess what they are, but I feel sorry for her. She seems very unhappy.’
‘Look, my marriage is none of your business. Anyway, now that we’ve had this little chat I know you’re going to keep your mouth shut, so I’m off. See ya,’ Albie said, nonchalantly walking away. Like him, Melvin wouldn’t want his trips to Soho to come to light, and who’d have thought that ugly git would get his left-overs. He’d never have believed it, but Melvin was welcome to them.
While Connie had been out walking, Dora had been deep in thought and had come to realise that she’d been behaving badly. It had stung her when Connie had called her narrow-minded, but maybe she deserved it. After all, she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Deep down she knew that Connie wasn’t the type of girl to have an affair. But again, deep down, she knew that if Connie had been seeing someone else, Albie deserved it. She was fully aware of how badly he treated Connie. Her son was hardly at home, and when he was he never showed the girl any affection. He’d only married Connie to get his hands on her father’s money, and that was the only reason he didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t care about William, her grandchild, and that hurt the most.
Dora still feared that Connie would leave Albie, taking the baby with her, but instead of supporting the girl she had stirred things up with her accusations. She shook her head ruefully. She was her own worst enemy, and now she would have to back-pedal to put things right between her and Connie.
‘Hello, love, did you have a nice walk?’ she asked as soon as Connie walked in.
Connie looked surprised, but answered civilly, ‘Yes, thanks. I went to the park, and before you ask, though it wasn’t arranged, I saw Melvin there too.’
Dora frowned. Connie seemed different, more assured and ready to stand up for herself if she had to. ‘Look,’ she said placatingly, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been suspicious. It was daft.’
‘I happen to like Melvin and find him easy to talk to. However, that doesn’t mean we’re having an affair.’
‘Yeah, I know, and as I said, I’m sorry. How about we bury the hatchet and make a fresh start.’
‘Another one,’ Connie said with a hint of sarcasm.
‘I know I’m not always the easiest to get on with,’ Dora told her. ‘And I admit I misjudged you.’
‘I don’t think you have any idea of how unhappy I am. Albie is mostly to blame, but you’ve also contributed to my longing to get out of this marriage and this house. The only solace I get is when I go to see your mother. She’s the only person who shows me any affection and kindness. Even as a child I used to run to her, yet you and Albie begrudge me those visits and at one time tried to stop them.’
Dora was shocked. Connie had never spoken so openly about her feelings before, and she felt ashamed that between them she and Albie had caused her so much unhappiness. ‘I can’t forgive my mother, but I think I can understand why you’re so fond of her. I can’t change my mind about her, but can we at least put this all behind us and start again?’
After a moment, Connie answered, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Dora felt that Connie’s voice lacked conviction, but at least she’d agreed to a fresh start. She’d make a real effort to be kinder to her, and have a talk with Albie too. It was about time he behaved like a proper husband and father.
Chapter 32
On Monday morning, despite Dora’s apology the previous day, Constance awoke with the same resolve. She was going to see her father to plead with him to let her return home. They had once been fairly close, and he had admired her desire to go to university. Of course she had ruined their relationship by becoming pregnant and she feared he would never forgive her, but she had to try. He was her only hope of getting out of this house and her marriage.
Constance dressed carefully, doing her eye make-up as Jill had taught her, and as she thought about Jill she decided she would drop in to see her first. They had become good friends and she would miss her if her father allowed her to return home.
‘Hello, Connie,’ Jill greeted her. ‘Come on in. Where’s your pram?’
‘I’m going to see my father so I’m carrying William.’
‘Lay him on the sofa and I’ll make us a drink.’
Constance did just that and when Jill returned shortly after, she leaned over in front of her to put the tray on the coffee table. Close up, Constance saw something that Jill had attempted to cover with heavy foundation, and frowned. ‘What have you done to your face?’
‘It’s nothing. I banged it on one of the kitchen cupboard doors.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you.’
‘I hate covering for him, especially to you. It was Denis.’
‘Oh, Jill, I can’t stand it that he hits you.’
‘It’s all right. He’s always sorry when he sobers up and he’ll make it up to me. Now what’s this about going to see your dad?’
Constance knew that Jill wanted to change the subject so she said, ‘I’ve had enough of my farce of a marriage and I’m going to ask my father if I can move in with him.’
‘Oh, Connie, if he agrees, I’ll miss you.’
‘And I’ll miss you, but perhaps we could meet up every week, somewhere away from here.’
‘Yes, good idea. Any suggestions?’
‘How about Clapham Junction? There’s a café that isn’t far up St John’s Hill, called The Nelson.’
‘Yeah, great, but I’m still going to miss you living close by.’
‘My father hasn’t agreed yet.’
‘Well, for your sake I hope he does. I know how unhappy you are.’
They continued to chat for a while, but when she finished her drink, Constance said, ‘If I’m hoping to catch my father at home, I’d better get a move on.’
‘Good luck,’ Jill said. ‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Constance replied, hoping that she’d be able to return with good news.
‘How did it go last night?’ Ethel asked Mary. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘We had a lovely time. Percy took me to the West End to see a play called The Mousetrap. I’ve never been in a theatre before and it was amazing.’
‘That’s nice. So you were silly to have all those misgivings.’
‘It’s early days, but Percy is lovely. So far he’s been a proper gent, but I’m still not sure how I feel about him kissing me and all that. I suppose I’d better brace myself though ’cos it’s bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘Bloomin’ ’eck, you make it sound like punishment.’
‘Well, he ain’t exactly God’s gift.’
‘Looks ain’t everything.’
‘Yeah, I know, and I ain’t exactly an oil painting either.’
‘You’ll do,’ Ethel said affectionately.
‘I was thinking about having a bit of a make-over like Constance. She looks amazing nowadays.’
‘Yes, she does, but she isn’t happy. I wonder if she’s been to see her father yet.’
‘I can’t see her being any happier living with him.’
‘Albie has treated Constance really badly and it’s no wonder she wants to leave him,’ Ethel said.
‘To think
I used to fancy him … I suppose that’s the problem I’m having now. I just can’t fancy Percy.’
‘Give it time. You haven’t been going out with him for long and feelings can grow. Albie might have the looks, but I’m ashamed to say he’s turned out to be a bad ’un.’
‘You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not your fault, so chin up.’
Ethel managed a smile, but though she would never admit it, she was worried. She’d encouraged Mary to go out with Percy, but had come to realise that if anything came of it and they married, she’d be left to live alone.
Constance looked at her father’s house. Only now that she didn’t live in it did she appreciate what a lovely building it was. She noticed that all the curtains were drawn, which she thought was odd. Surely at this time of the morning they should be open? Puzzled, Constance walked up to the front door and rang the bell, but there was no answer. She rang it again, and again, but still the door remained firmly closed.
It was strange that no one seemed to be in, not even one of the staff. Constance decided to try the basement door and frowned as she noticed that the steps down were strewn with rubbish. Her father wouldn’t be happy to see they hadn’t been swept. She knocked on the basement door, but there was still no response, leaving her bewildered. Where was her father? Where was the cook?
Unsure what to do next, Constance went back up to the pavement, and then, as her eyes roamed the neighbour’s house, she noticed a curtain move. As a child she had regularly seen Mr and Mrs Parkinson, but as they’d aged and had once suffered a burglary, they now kept themselves to themselves. It was doubtful, but there might be a chance that they knew where her father was, so hitching William up she walked along to their house.
When Constance knocked on the door, it was Mr Parkinson who opened it, and she smiled. He always reminded her of a Dickensian character with his tousled white hair and his wire spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Hello, Mr Parkinson.’
‘Constance, is that you?’ he said, peering at her. ‘My goodness, how grown-up you look. Come in, my dear, come in. Cecily will be pleased to see you.’
She followed the elderly, stooped man inside, her nose wrinkling at the musty smell. It made her want to fling all the windows open to fill the house with fresh air and as she walked into the drawing room it looked dim and uninviting.
‘Look, Cecily. Look who’s here. It’s Constance.’
‘Constance, is that really you?’
‘Yes, Mrs Parkinson,’ she said, smiling that her greeting had been almost the same as her husband’s.
‘My goodness, is that a baby you’re holding?’
‘Yes, this is my son, William.’
‘We didn’t know you’d married.’
‘In the circumstances, it was a very quiet wedding.’
‘What circumstances?’ the old woman asked abruptly.
‘My moth–mother’s death.’
‘Oh, yes, we did hear about that. My condolences.’
‘Thank you. Do you by any chance know where my father is?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact I do,’ said Mr Parkinson. ‘But only by sheer chance.’
Constance waited, and when nothing further was forthcoming she said, ‘So, can you tell me where he is?’
‘Yes, yes, sorry. My mind drifted there for a bit,’ he said and chuckled. ‘It tends to do that nowadays.’
‘Yes, mine too,’ Cecily Parkinson commented.
Constance tried to be patient, but, anxious to find out where her father was, she said, ‘Well, can you tell me where he is or not?’ though her voice was sharper than she intended. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that I’m worried about him.’
‘There’s no need, my dear. You see, I went to the door when the postman delivered a package, it must have been around mid-May, and I saw your father carrying cases to a taxi. I called out to him, and he put the cases down to come to speak to me. With a common interest in finance, at one time we spoke often, but I must admit I hardly see him these days.’
‘Cases? Was he going away?’
‘Yes, my dear. He said he had closed up the house and was going on a long holiday. He expected to be away for at least six months.’
‘Six months!’ Constance exclaimed.
‘Yes. Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘That sounds a bit odd,’ said Cecily.
‘Yes, I suppose it does, but my father and I had a bit of a falling-out.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Cecily murmured.
‘Please, can I ask you to do something for me?’
‘If we can, we will,’ Mr Parkinson said.
‘When my father comes back, if I leave you my address, could you drop me a line to let me know?’
‘Well, I suppose we could ask our domestic to post a letter.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ Constance said as she balanced William in one arm, and with the other wrote her address on a piece of paper that Mr Parkinson found for her.
She thanked them again, glad to leave the musty house, and wondering if she would ever hear from them. If not, in six months she’d come back to see if her father had returned, but until then she would have to continue to live with Albie and his mother.
Her mood low, Constance returned to Kibble Street, hating that her chance of escape had eluded her and now she saw no way out.
Chapter 33
Charles had enjoyed seeing so many cities of Spain, and had marvelled at the architecture. He had eaten foods he’d never tried before, and enjoyed Spanish wines, especially rioja, but now he was tired.
He’d stayed in so many hotels, and had driven thousands of miles, but now felt his age catching up on him. The mirror in his hotel bathroom showed a tanned face, topped by white hair, but there were dark shadows under his eyes.
It was nearing the end of September, and before the wonderful weather turned he wanted to spend some time at a coastal resort, relaxing and recuperating before going on the last leg of his journey to Portugal.
With his suitcase packed Charles decided to have some breakfast before paying his bill, and went down to the dining room. The choices were familiar: tostada, with crushed tomato or olive oil, various croissants, which until now he’d only associated with France, eggs, fresh fruit and other things. He’d grown to love coffee, which was just as well as the Spanish had no idea how to make a decent cup of tea. It just wasn’t in their cuisine.
As he chose a selection from the buffet, a voice next to him said, ‘I’m guessing you’re from Blighty?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he replied. Charles had become used to this. It seemed the British had a way of finding each other when abroad, a little like the old saying of birds of a feather flocking together. He thought it was probably due to the language, most Brits, like him, being unable to speak Spanish. He’d met some interesting people, ones he would never have socialised with in normal circumstances, but there were others, like this man, that he went out of his way to avoid. Most of the hotels he’d stayed in had been five-star, but occasionally they were full and he’d had to try cheaper establishments like this one.
‘Me and the missus are flying back today. I’ll be glad to get some decent grub, a good old English breakfast instead of this muck.’
Charles cringed at the man’s lack of grammar. He’d once been accused of being a snob, and no doubt he was. He saw people of this man’s class as uneducated peasants, their only conversation football, or how cheap cigarettes, or fags as they called them, and alcohol were in Spain. He’d found a way to get rid of men like this and said, ‘I miss my Financial Times. Have you any news on the markets?’
‘What markets? Do you mean Billingsgate, or public ones like Petticoat Lane?’
‘No, the stock markets. The FTSE index. I have a portfolio and want to check on performances.’
‘Sorry, mate, I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’ he said. ‘Must go, me missus is waiting.’
When he saw an empty table, Charles carried his tray over and sat down. He wasn’t keen on these buffet breakfasts, preferring to be waited on, but even some of the best hotels he’d stayed at used this system. He ate his food then pulled out his map, planning his route to the coastal town of Malaga.
Constance bounced William up and down on her lap. He would be five months old in a few days, and his chuckle was infectious. She laughed and then hugged him to her. She loved him so much. Albie still didn’t show much interest in him, unlike his mother, who adored her grandson. As soon as Dora came home from work, her eyes sought William and she would smile at him with delight. She and Constance were still getting on well, which made living on Kibble Street easier, but Constance just couldn’t see the point in remaining in a loveless and unconsummated marriage. Feeling she had nothing to celebrate she hadn’t mentioned her nineteenth birthday two weeks earlier to anyone and it had come and gone without fanfare. It would be different when it was William’s first birthday – she would make it a special one.
It was ten-thirty and she decided to go to see Jill. They had found out so much about each other and talked totally freely now. Jill knew about her farce of a marriage, and she knew about Denis’s violence. ‘Hello,’ she said when Jill opened the door.
‘Wheel him in,’ Jill said, indicating the pram. ‘Andrew is awake. It’ll be nice when he and William are old enough to play together.’
‘I may not be living here then, though we can still see each other.’
‘You’re still planning on leaving?’
‘Yes, if my father will take me in, or at least give me an allowance.’
‘How long has he been away now?’
‘For about four and a half months, but there’s no guarantee he’ll help me. When I lived with my parents I never had to worry about money, so when I married Albie I was naïve. When he started giving me five pounds a week, I stupidly thought I’d soon be able to save enough to leave him, with a little nest egg to live on. I now realise it will take me far longer than I first thought, and with William to look after I won’t be able to find work. What money I’ve saved just wouldn’t last.’
