Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 76

SEPTEMBER HAD BEEN such a glorious month, it came as something of a shock when October arrived with a vengeance. For three days and nights the heavens opened and drenched the earth below.

Today was the first Tuesday of October. The heavy downpour had mellowed into a steady, soaking drizzle, but the wind was still strong.

‘Bugger me, Mrs Tooley …’ With a clatter and a thump, Daisy fell in through the door, her umbrella inside out and her hair standing up like the rag end of a floor mop, ‘it’s like all hell’s cut loose out there!’

Mrs Tooley remained firmly behind her counter. ‘Don’t you dare come near me dripping wet!’ she exclaimed, holding her hands up in protest. ‘I’m wearing my best clothes.’

Her smile all teeth and wrinkles, she proudly informed Daisy, ‘Mr Leyton has invited me to dine with him,’ she giggled like a dizzy girl, ‘at the Royal Hotel, no less.’

Wet to the skin and unable to muster any excitement on Mrs Tooley’s behalf, Daisy took her time in answering. She shook her brolly all over the floor and threw off her wet coat and hat, which she then hung over the radiator, and now she came forward, sneezing and coughing and frightening Ma Tooley into retreating a few more paces behind the counter.

‘Don’t you think that’s wonderful, Daisy?’ Mrs Tooley persisted, desperately needing to be told how clever she was at having secured a date with the man who owned two ironmonger’s shops, and wore suits from Jacob’s tailors.

‘Well, I never, Mrs Tooley!’ Daisy answered, in a manner that had the older woman bristling. ‘Aren’t we the lucky one. Ooh! The Royal no less! Bleedin’ hell, whatever next, eh?’

‘Hey!’ Incensed, Mrs Tooley dared to venture near. ‘I’ll not have you talking to me with that attitude, young lady. Moreover, I will not have someone working in my café who can’t keep a civil tongue in their head.’ Giving Daisy one of her commanding stares, she asked, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Daisy understood, and was mortified at her own rudeness. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Tooley,’ she answered meekly. ‘It’s terrible out there. The tram was late, then I stepped off into a puddle. The wind drove the rain right at me all the way here, and now I’m soaked to the skin and freezing cold. I didn’t mean to be cheeky, honest.’

‘Hmm!’ Mrs Tooley took note of Daisy’s red nose and bedraggled hair and the way her feet squelched as she walked, and she felt a wicked feeling of satisfaction. ‘So, it won’t happen again, will it?’

‘No, Mrs Tooley, it won’t happen again.’

As Mrs Tooley turned away with a condemning comment, Daisy put out her tongue, only to swiftly retrieve it when Mrs Tooley suddenly turned on her heel to tell Daisy, ‘I’m being collected in less than an hour. I’ve seen to the till and filled out the shelves and that’s my little bit done for today.’

‘Yes, Mrs Tooley.’

‘Go on then, young lady. Get a move on. Into the back and get yourself straightened up. You’ll find a new towel hanging on the loop, and make sure you replace it with a clean one when you’ve finished.’

‘Yes, Mrs Tooley.’ Half-tempted to curtsy, Daisy managed to contain herself. She didn’t want to risk losing her job, at least not yet. ‘I’m on my way, Mrs Tooley.’ Silently mouthing, she started off towards the back room.

‘And be sharp about it,’ Mrs Tooley called after her. ‘It’s market day. The customers won’t be long before they start arriving. They’ll be queuing for breakfast if you’re not careful.’

Daisy went away mimicking her. ‘Queuing for breakfast, my hat!’ she sniggered. ‘I’ve never known there to be a queue for anything in this place, not since the day I started.’

All the same, she was thawed and dried and ready for work in a matter of twenty minutes. ‘I’m all right now, Mrs Tooley. So you can go whenever you like.’ Thinking: the sooner the better, you miserable old cow!

Mrs Tooley was impressed. ‘There’s a good girl,’ she purred. ‘You look the part now.’

Daisy had on her blue overall with a white pinafore over, and her hair was enclosed in the white mobcap Mrs Tooley insisted upon – and which the minute her back was turned would go into a drawer.

Mrs Tooley smiled sheepishly. ‘Do I look smart, Daisy?’

‘Yes, Mrs Tooley. You look …’ Hesitating, Daisy searched for the right word, but for the life of her, she could not find one to describe the sight before her eyes.

The over-painted Bertha Tooley was not a pretty sight. Dressed in a brown bouclé two-piece with overlong arms, too tight a skirt and too loose a jacket, she had a spotted green blouse underneath and a yellowing pearl necklace enclosing her rubbery neck. Her hair had been permed so tight it resembled a scouring pad, and her crimson lipstick, which had partly spread over her teeth, was now melting into little rivers at the corners of her mouth.

‘You look … er … you look …’ Again she couldn’t find the words, so had to finish, ‘Good grief, Mrs Tooley! I do believe Mr Leyton won’t know which way to look.’

‘Oh, Daisy, I do hope you’re not just saying that to please me?’ Mrs Tooley’s chin dimpled in a surprisingly pretty smile. ‘Well, I never!’ She even blushed a slight shade of pink. ‘Do you know, Daisy, I actually think I might have found the right one, in Mr Leyton.’

‘That’s very nice, Mrs Tooley. I’m pleased for you, I must say.’

Every man over the past year had been ‘the right one’. Until the inevitable day when Mrs Tooley would march in, moaning and complaining about how men were not worth the ground they stood on, and however could she forget what monsters they all were.

Then the outrage would pass and she was on the rampage again, searching for the poor unsuspecting soul who would give her the attention she craved.

At half-past ten, a cab arrived, and Mrs Tooley sailed out in all her glory. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she told Daisy. ‘Mind you take care of the place while I’m gone.’

‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Tooley,’ Daisy assured her. ‘It’ll still be in one piece when you get back.’

After setting out the teacakes and flapjacks and turning on the oven for the sausage rolls and pies, which were bought in, delivered to the back door and needed only reheating, Daisy was ready for serving. All she needed now were a few likely customers.

‘I hope Amy comes in early,’ she sighed, leaning her elbows on the counter. ‘I’ve a feeling it’s gonna be a long, quiet day.’ Still, at least the Tuesday man would be in, though since the blossoming of her relationship with Roy, he didn’t feature in her daydreams so much these days.

Not too far away, Amy was happily meandering round the indoor market, buying some elbow patches, elastic and a potted chrysanthemum – all things Atkinsons’ Corner Shop didn’t stock.

Running a few steps ahead, little Johnny was having a wonderful time. Amy sometimes took him with her on her Tuesday bill-paying and shopping trip now, finishing with a treat at Tooley’s Café. Johnny and Maureen had become friends with Daisy, and the little boy was charmed that Daisy worked where cakes were sold.

Maureen, who had had numerous unsatisfactory jobs over the last few months, was, she had explained this morning, going to look for a job in the Brookhouse area of Blackburn, north of the town centre, so Amy had been happy to include Johnny in her Tuesday routine.

‘Don’t go too far,’ Amy called as he rounded the wet fish stall, ‘or I won’t be able to keep tabs on you!’

After pausing beside the hot-potato barrow, the boy came running back. ‘Can I have a potato, please, Amy?’

‘Best not, sweetheart. We’re on our way to the café to see Daisy. We’ll get summat to eat there.’

Johnny gave a half-smile. ‘I like Daisy.’

‘So do I.’ Smiling, Amy took him by the hand. ‘It’s only a few minutes now,’ she promised. ‘D’you think you can last till then?’

Johnny looked up, his big eyes round and wondering. ‘Can I have a cream cake?’

Amy laughed. ‘If you like.’

When they emerged from the market, it was still raining. ‘I hate this drizzly weather!’ Juggling with her shopping, Amy managed to put up her umbrella. ‘Hold on to me, Johnny,’ she warned. ‘The weather’s got worse, since we’ve been inside.’

Johnny liked the rain, because he could stamp in the puddles and send the water up in sprays, though Amy told him not to. ‘We’re already wet from before,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll steer clear of any puddles now, if you don’t mind.’

As they went down the busy street, Amy had to grab him close because of the vehicles driving near to the kerb and splashing their feet. After a time, she swapped her shopping bags into one hand and, holding the umbrella with the other, she told the boy to hang on to her skirt. ‘Come round this side,’ she instructed. ‘I don’t like you being too close to the kerb.’

It was when Johnny let go of her hand to come round her that he saw the long, meandering puddle, which for an excited little boy was too good to resist. To Amy’s horror he gave a skip and a jump and landed right in the middle of it. At that moment a beer wagon came hurtling down the street straight towards him.

‘God Almighty! JOHNNY!’ Horrified, Amy dropped her bags and made a desperate grab for him.

But someone else was quicker.

‘You’re all right, sonny.’ Thanks to the passer-by, the boy was snatched away only a second or two before the wagon would have come thundering down on him.

Amy grabbed Johnny into her arms. ‘Thank God you’re not hurt!’ She had been so frightened by the incident, she could hardly breathe, but once she realised he was unharmed, her fear evaporated and anger took its place. ‘That was a stupid thing to do!’ she chided. ‘It’s a wonder you weren’t killed!’

‘I think your son has probably learned his lesson.’

At the sound of the man’s voice, both Amy and the boy looked up. Amy was mortified. In her panic she hadn’t even looked at him, never mind thanked him. Embarrassed and astonished, now she recognised the rescuer as the man Daisy referred to as ‘the Tuesday man’. His dark hair was covered by a flat cap, which was drawn down low, and over his heavy work cords, he had on a thick black coat done up to the neck. His smile, though, was warm and handsome, and now as he looked at her with those intense eyes, she felt as though they had known each other for ever.

‘Oh, look, I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ It didn’t register that he called Johnny her son.

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ he answered quietly. ‘I’m just glad to have been of help.’

He looked at the sodden shopping bags where she had dropped them to the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he said, collecting them up. ‘How far are you going?’

‘No, thanks all the same, but I’ll be fine now. I can manage well enough.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am … thank you.’

Reluctantly, he handed her the bags. ‘Then I’ll be on my way.’

Luke bade them goodbye and strode off, his mind in turmoil. He had just spoken to the young woman in his painting. Close to, she was even prettier than he’d imagined – not exquisitely pretty, he thought, but reliably, unforgettably pretty, which was different. He’d imagined being with her so often – together at the cabin, walking in the woods arm in arm, her face lifted to the sun where it filtered through the trees, laughing … Or in the cabin, the only light from the log fire, the silent wood dark around them – they’d be sitting together, their hands lightly clasped in one another’s, relaxed in peaceful and instinctive understanding.

Now they had met – and it wasn’t in circumstances Luke had envisaged at all. How could he bridge the gulf between these long-held dreams and this unforeseen reality?

For one mad, inexplicable moment he wanted to go back. He wanted to look into those mesmerising dark blue eyes and talk with her, just to be near her and hear her voice.

‘You’re not making sense,’ he told himself. ‘She’s married, with a child.’ And the disappointment he felt was like a physical pain inside him.

Deeply shaken, both by Johnny’s narrow escape and the brief meeting with Daisy’s ‘Tuesday man’, Amy watched him walk away.

‘That man likes you.’ Johnny said it as he saw it.

Thankful that the boy couldn’t see her blushes, Amy asked, ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I do, that’s all.’

Amy laughed. ‘You’re an old head on young shoulders, that’s what you are.’

‘That’s what Mammy says.’

‘I know,’ Amy admitted. ‘And now I know why she says it.’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘I’ll get you some food soonever we get to Mrs Tooley’s.’

‘Who’s Mrs Tooley?’

Amy was used to the boy’s constant questioning, but she was delighted by it because it told her he was losing his nervousness and wanting to know more about what went on around him. ‘Mrs Tooley owns the café where Daisy works,’ she informed him. ‘Now put your hand in my pocket and don’t let go!’

Walking close to the shop windows she did not give way for anybody as they set off in the direction of Tooley’s Café. Even when a woman with a big pram tried to get between her and the wall, Amy would not budge. The last thing she wanted was for Johnny to get close to the road edge again.

Daisy was delighted to see them. ‘Look at the pair of you!’ Grabbing Amy’s umbrella she shook it and left it in the porch. ‘You’ll catch your death o’ cold.’ Ushering them inside, she took Amy’s bags and went ahead to the table by the radiator. ‘I’ll be back with a pot o’ tea in a minute,’ she declared, marching off in a hurry. Meanwhile, Amy and Johnny took off their coats and hats, and draped them over the backs of the two chairs nearest the radiator.

By the time they were settled, Daisy was back. ‘How does that do yer?’ she asked, planting the tray on the table. ‘One giant pot o’ tea.’ She gave Amy a wink. ‘I reckon I’ll join yer,’ she said, ‘being as there’s not much on at the minute.’

Amy smiled to herself. Whenever the café was quiet, and even when it wasn’t, Daisy always invited herself to sit down. ‘Mrs Tooley’s out then?’ That much was obvious.

Flopping into the chair, Daisy drew it up to the table and began to pour. ‘She’s off for lunch with Mr Leyton,’ she answered, rolling her eyes. ‘The way she’s tarted up, anybody would think she were off to the palace for a meeting with His Majesty.’

She poured three cups of tea – one with more milk to cool it quicker, and this one she put before Johnny. ‘Sup up, lad,’ she encouraged with a friendly little grin. ‘It’ll warm the soles of yer feet.’

Johnny took the cup, wrapping his hands round it. ‘But my feet aren’t cold,’ he told Daisy.

‘Oh, aren’t they?’ Giving Amy a wink, she asked the boy, ‘Where are you cold then?’

‘I’m not.’

Daisy feigned surprise. ‘My word, yer a brave little thing aren’t yer, eh? You’ve been outside in all that rain and you look like a drowned rat, and you’re not even cold.’ She gave an almighty shiver. ‘I would be.’

Johnny made a disappointed face. ‘I’m just hungry.’

‘Well!’ Staring at him in astonishment, Daisy’s eyes grew round as marbles. ‘Why didn’t yer tell me that before,’ she asked incredulously, ‘because I think I can help you there? Y’see, I’ve got some big fat pork sausages just waiting to be fried. Would you like that?’

Clapping his hands excitedly, the boy jumped up and down in his chair. ‘Ooh! Yes, please … and a chukkie egg and a buttie?’

‘Right! I’ll have it back here afore you can finish that tea. Bacon buttie is it, lass?’ she asked Amy.

‘That’ll be lovely, Daisy, thanks.’

While Amy and the boy supped their tea, Daisy got to work, and it wasn’t long before she was back. ‘Get that down you,’ she said, dishing out the food between the three of them. ‘I thought I’d join you.’

The buttie on her plate was thick as a doorstop and oozing with butter and, like Amy’s, it was packed with crispy, fried bacon and thick slices of tomato. Now, as Daisy bit into it, the butter trickled down her chin, only to be licked up with the length of her pink tongue. ‘Though I say it meself, I can mek the best bacon buttie in the whole of Lancashire.’ Picking out a sliver of pink wavy bacon, she popped it into her mouth and quickly devoured it.

‘You say Mrs Tooley’s gone to lunch?’ Amy asked. ‘It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?’

Daisy nodded. ‘That’s what I thought, but she’s probably gone to have her nails done or summat, or the lines on her legs painted straighter.’ She chuckled. ‘Honest to God, lass, I don’t know why she can’t lay out a bob or two and buy herself some proper nylons. You should have seen the way she painted them lines … went down her legs like crooked tramlines.’

Amy thought it was a shame. ‘You should have told her.’

‘Naw. Why should I? The old cow makes my life a misery, so what should I care?’ She laughed out loud. ‘Besides, if she thinks to fool that fella of hers into thinking she’s got a fancy pair o’ nylon stockings on, he’ll soon find out when he gets his hand under …’ Remembering Johnny was there, she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Once they get at it, if you know what I mean, there won’t be any lines left to talk about, will there?’

Amy shook her head. ‘You’re wicked, you are.’

Half an hour later, warmed and fed, Amy and Daisy were talking of their next dates with Jack and Roy, while Johnny played round the tables.

‘It’s not raining now,’ the boy told Daisy.

‘That’s good.’ Daisy hated the rain.

‘Can I have another sausage?’

Daisy nodded. ‘I think I can manage that. You sit yourself down and I’ll get started on it, eh?’ And the boy slid onto his seat where he patiently waited. Then, as Daisy was returning, the door opened and all three heads turned to see who it was.

‘It’s him!’ Amy whispered, and before he had taken off his cap and coat, she had managed to fill Daisy in with the bare bones of what had happened earlier. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, Johnny might have been badly hurt,’ she finished.

Daisy was full of admiration, and a few minutes later, on taking his order, she told him so. ‘My friend thinks the world of that little chap,’ she said. ‘It would have devastated her if anything had happened to him.’

Luke smiled appreciatively and told her how anybody would have done the same thing. Then he gave his order and, as always, concentrated hard on his newspaper, while all the time taking quiet little glances at Amy. He saw how loving and protective she was with the boy and he thanked his lucky stars he had been there when it mattered. Now, though, his deep attraction to Amy was marred by the belief that she was not only married, but the mother of a child.

He was acutely aware of the fact that though he had a marriage in name only, he was not free either, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he had dared to entertain the idea that, at some time in the future, he and Amy might form some kind of friendship, if not a closer relationship.

That was all out of the question now, he thought. And, for many reasons, it was just as well.

But it did not stop him from admiring her, and sneaking a glance whenever he thought she was not looking.

He watched her now as she walked towards the cloakroom. He thought how easily she moved, with a kind of gentle sway and a proud, pretty manner. Her clothes were ordinary and well worn but she wore them with easy grace, and her girlish hairstyle complemented her happy, unmade-up face. The ease of her friendship with the brassy little waitress and her love for the angel-faced child shone through in her warm smile and laughing blue eyes. He so much wanted to know her better, to talk with her, and walk with her, and learn about the things she liked most.

One thing was certain: he imagined she was not the kind to place much value on jewellery or material things. Not like Sylvia, who had always put them above all else, preferring jewels and furs, even more than the love and affection he had always generously given. Sylvia’s clothes were always stylish – they came from the smartest shops in Blackburn and Manchester – and her hair and face were immaculately maintained. But she lacked Amy’s natural warmth.

While Amy was away, Daisy kept a wary eye on Johnny. But he had noticed Luke and was quick to recognise him.

‘There’s the nice man who helped me,’ he told Daisy, and Daisy mischievously suggested that he should ‘go and thank him’.

To her astonishment, Johnny promptly ran across to Luke’s table. ‘Daisy said I have to thank you,’ he announced proudly. ‘She said I’m a lucky boy.’

‘Did she now?’ Breaking his own golden rule never to let anyone interfere with his Tuesday freedom, Luke invited the boy to sit beside him. ‘What name do you go by?’

‘Johnny.’

‘Well, Johnny, I’m glad I was able to help out back there, but you must remember in future, never to go into the road like that. You gave your mummy a terrible fright.’

Confused, Johnny looked up. ‘She’s Amy,’ he said. ‘She’s my best friend, not my mummy.’

‘Really?’ Thrilled at the news, Luke told the boy, ‘Well, in that case you really are a lucky boy in more ways than one.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, because it’s nice to have a best friend.’

Wriggling in the chair, the boy warmed to the conversation. ‘Have you got a best friend?’

‘I suppose I have, yes, but she’s not like your Amy.’

‘What’s she like then?’

‘She’s very small and very beautiful, with big brown eyes, and she comes to see me every week.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘In the woods.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘I don’t know her real name, but I call her Velvet.’

‘When does your friend come to see you?’

Folding his newspaper and laying it down, Luke concentrated on the boy. ‘It’s always on a Tuesday.’

‘Why?’

‘Because every other day, I have too much work to do, but on Tuesday I can do whatever I like.’

He thought about his precious hideaway, and for a moment he was tempted to explain to the boy, but as yet his privacy was too precious and instead he talked about his ‘friend’. ‘Sometimes, when I’m sitting on my steps, she comes and sits with me, and we talk for a while. Then she goes away, to be with her family. But she always comes back another time.’

At that moment, Luke caught sight of Amy. ‘I think you’d best go back now,’ he suggested.

Emerging from the cloakroom, Amy was intrigued to see Johnny and Luke in earnest conversation and, knowing how the stranger preferred to be left alone, she hurried across to them. ‘Johnny! Don’t pester the man.’

When Johnny clambered off the chair and came to her side, she said to Luke, ‘It seems I owe you another apology. I didn’t know he might come over to you or I would never have left him.’ She felt herself blushing under his smile. ‘He’s not usually so friendly,’ she added. ‘He normally shies away from people.’

‘He’s good company.’ Luke thought she looked especially fetching when she blushed.

Johnny piped up, ‘He’s got a best friend like you, and I want to see her.’ Without taking a breath he turned to Luke. ‘Can I see her, can I, please?’

‘Johnny!’ Amy was horrified. ‘Come on now. Your mammy will be back soon.’ Holding out her hand she waited for him, but ignoring her, he turned to Luke instead. ‘Can we see Velvet,’ he persisted, ‘me and Amy?’

There was a moment of silence, when Luke wondered if this once it might not hurt to let someone like Amy and the boy into his special, secret world. But then it wouldn’t be secret any more, he cautioned himself.

And yet, Amy was already there, in the painting he had hidden away, and she was in his heart too, another deep, wonderful secret that kept him sane when life was overwhelming.

Looking from the boy to the man, Amy felt her emotions spinning. Something magical was happening, she thought, something she could not explain. She wanted to sit down with this man she hardly knew. She needed to talk with him, to know him, and yet she was half afraid, of him, and of herself.

‘I’ve never seen him take to a stranger the way he’s taken to you,’ she told Luke now. And to the boy she said, in a firm voice, ‘We have to go now, Johnny. Thank the man and say goodbye.’

Some short time later, Luke left, leaving the money on the table, as usual.

‘You lost your chance there, lass,’ Daisy reprimanded. ‘I saw him looking at you, and I know he fancies you.’

Amy laughed, but it was a quiet, hesitant laugh. ‘I thought you wanted him for yourself,’ she teased, ‘and here you are, trying to get me together with him.’

‘That’s because I’ve got my Roy now,’ Daisy said, all dreamy-eyed. ‘He’s what I’ve been looking for … somebody to make a home with, to have babies and make his dinner every night, and sit with him by the fireside of an evening.’

Now, when Daisy looked up, Amy was amazed to see there were tears in her eyes. ‘All I want is a real family, and a home, where people don’t shout and scream at each other, and I need never be afraid.’ Her voice hardened. ‘That’s my dream, and I know in my heart of hearts Roy can make it come true for me – for us both.’

Realising she was showing her deeper feelings, Daisy gave a nervous little laugh. ‘There! I’m getting carried away.’ She surreptitiously wiped away her tears.

‘I want to see Velvet,’ the boy declared. ‘She’s pretty, like Amy.’

Amy shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get any peace now,’ she told Daisy jokingly. ‘All he’ll go on about is Velvet – whoever she is!’

Noticing a customer on the way into the café, Daisy stood up. ‘Well, whoever this Velvet is, I wouldn’t mind meeting her myself,’ she told Johnny.

‘But Daisy can’t see her. Only you and me can see her,’ he told Amy.

Wisely dismissing his comment, Amy ruffled his hair, and they waved cheerio to Daisy and left. The rain had stopped and the wind seemed to be settling.

‘When’s Mammy coming home?’ Johnny skipped down the street; but having been frightened by the earlier incident, Amy was careful to keep him on her inside.

‘I expect she’ll be there when we get back,’ she promised, ‘and she’ll want to know all about your shopping trip, you’ll see.’

Arnold Stratton was desperate. ‘I don’t know how much more I can take in here,’ he told Maureen. ‘There are some bad buggers in this place … worse than ever I’ve messed with.’ Running his hands through his thinning fair hair, he looked up, his blue eyes stricken. ‘I don’t mind telling yer, I’ve been tempted to finish it once or twice.’

Maureen was shocked. ‘What d’you mean, “finish it”?’

‘What d’you think I mean?’ he asked impatiently. ‘String myself up, o’ course, an’ have done with it!’

Maureen was angry. ‘That’s a dreadful thing to say!’ she chided. ‘May God forgive you.’

He seemed to be deep in thought for a minute, but when he looked up he shocked her again with his next statement. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he grunted. ‘God knows there’s not much else you can do in a place like this.’ Leaning forward he lowered his voice so it was almost inaudible. ‘I reckon it were her husband – Luke Hammond. For years she’s carried on with one bloke after another … they say Luke Hammond were the only one who didn’t know. Happen he found out about us, and went for her – meant to kill her mebbe, only it all went wrong and now he’s lumbered with a mad woman.’

Maureen was afraid. ‘Keep your voice down, Arnie. You’re saying a dangerous thing, and you never know who’s listening.’

‘No, no, lass. I mean it!’ He gave a deep groan. ‘Mind you, since I’ve been in this damned place, I’ve blamed everybody that ever knew her. This time, though, I’m almost certain. Look, lass, if I were guilty, I’d serve the time and be done with it, same as I did afore. But I’m damned well innocent of this one! I’m telling you, there’s somebody out there as knows who did the crime. And why was I fitted up – that’s what I’d like to know? Who did it to me? What reason had they?’

Maureen didn’t want to be dragged into this conversation. She knew her husband’s tendency to overdramatise. Sometimes it could be fun; now, though, it was self-pitying. ‘I’m sorry, Arnie,’ she said. ‘It’s time to go. They’re coming to show us out.’ And sure enough the two officers were already descending on them.

As the guard led him away, Arnie blew her a kiss. ‘See you next time, lass.’

‘Keep your chin up,’ she told him. In a minute he was gone and she was being given her umbrella, which had been confiscated on entering. Without fuss or favour, she was then ushered outside.

Feeling low as always whenever she came to see him, Maureen stood by the gates for a time, her mind full of the conversation she had shared with her husband.

‘It must be hell,’ she muttered, ‘to be locked away.’ As a husband Arnie had been less than a success, especially when his temper was on him. Clumsy, often tired, late with his tea, losing things and sometimes nagging … she listed her faults. He’d always had an eye for other women but perhaps he had needed to look elsewhere because of her. If she’d just tried a bit harder …

She looked up and down the street as though expecting someone to leap out and march her back inside to share her husband’s punishment.

‘Where to, lady?’ A cabbie drew up alongside her, seizing his opportunity.

‘I don’t need a cab, thank you very much,’ Maureen told him, ‘not when there’s a perfectly good tram service.’

‘How much is the tram compared to my cab?’ he asked. ‘Not much more than the price of a cuppa tea, I’ll bet.’

‘So, how much will it cost me to Derwent Street?’ she enquired.

The cabbie looked her up and down. He saw how she was down at heel and straight out from visiting some poor sod in gaol. ‘Go on then,’ he answered. ‘I’ll run you there for a tanner. How’s that?’

Maureen did a mental calculation and realised he was doing her a good enough deal. ‘All right, Derwent Street it is.’ Taking a great gulp of fresh air she climbed in.

All the way there he talked: about the state of the nation and how, unless the heads of government got their thinking together sooner rather than later, they’d all be heading for a second world war. He talked about a recent visit to London, and how horses and carriages were becoming rarer and rarer. ‘Soon, there won’t be a horse on the streets, and that’ll be a proper shame,’ he complained.

‘There are still horses and carriages round here,’ Maureen observed. ‘And we still have the milk brought round by horse and cart.’

He had an answer for that too. ‘Ah, well,’ he commented smugly, ‘this is the North, and they do say as the North is allus lagging behind. But I’m glad of it, and so should you be. Things are changing too damned fast, if you ask me.’

Before they reached Derwent Street, Maureen was informed of the ‘crippling, rising prices’. ‘These days, if you want a smart suit for going out somewhere special, you’ve to pay as much as two pounds. And look at the picture house. Only last year, you could sit through a three-hour picture for sixpence. Now you’ve to pay eightpence. Prices never go down, they allus bloody well go up, if you’ll excuse the language …’

By the time he dropped her off, Maureen would have ‘excused’ him anything to let her out of his cab. ‘I don’t suppose you can afford a tip as well,’ he griped, holding out the fare in the palm of his hand.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t afford tips.’

‘Well, then, good luck to you, and mind how you go.’

‘You too.’ She waved him off with a smile on her face. ‘It was a good try, I’ll give you that,’ she told the rear end of his cab as he went away up the street. Then she hurried into the shop.

‘Hello, Maureen.’ Marie was at the till, serving a customer. ‘Our Amy’s in the back, if you want to go through?’

After thanking Marie and enquiring about her busy day, Maureen made her way to the living quarters.

‘Mammy, Mammy!’ On seeing her in the doorway, little Johnny ran to her. ‘Me and Amy went to see Daisy, and the man who got me out of the road was there and he told me about his friend …’

He would have gone on, but Maureen quietened him down. ‘Not so fast,’ she laughed. ‘What’s all this about the man “getting you out of the road”?’ That was the one remark that registered. ‘What were you doing in the road in the first place?’ She raised a quizzical gaze to Amy, who quickly explained.

Once she was armed with the facts of the matter, Maureen could see that it was no one’s fault really. ‘It’s a good job this man was there,’ she said. ‘And as for you, lad,’ she wagged a finger at her son, ‘you’d best do as you’re told in future and stay close to Amy.’

Uncomfortable, the boy looked from one to the other. ‘I won’t run out again,’ he promised.

‘Now then, what’s all this about a friend?’ Maureen gave him a hug.

Growing excited, Johnny explained, ‘She’s called Velvet, and one day me and Amy are going to see her. You can come too if you like?’

‘I should think the poor man has seen enough of you, without taking you to meet his friend,’ Maureen said. ‘And here you are, inviting me and Amy into the bargain.’

‘The man won’t mind,’ Johnny assured her. ‘He’s nice.’ He then returned to his toy train and Amy made Maureen a cup of tea.

They had just settled down for a long chat, and Amy was coming round to ask Maureen if she’d found suitable work, when Marie came rushing in. ‘The shop’s getting busy,’ she told Amy. ‘I’m sorry, love, I know I gave you the day off, but I’d appreciate your help just for an hour or so.’

Amy leaped up. ‘Aw, Mam, you should have called me earlier.’

Marie sighed with relief. ‘Thanks, love. Oh, I nearly forgot, Maureen,’ she added. ‘There’s a man in the shop to see you. I think he said he were a cabbie.’

Leaving Johnny to his playing, both women followed Marie out to the shop, Amy to help serve the customers, and Maureen to see who wanted her.

On seeing Maureen come across the room, the taxi driver stepped forward. ‘I found this. I knew it must be yours ’cos you were the last fare I picked up.’ Handing her the umbrella, which she had not missed, he went on, ‘It was caught up in the offside door …’

Shifting his gaze to Amy, who had just dropped a packet of sugar, he told her with a grin, ‘Your mate here were in a right state when I picked her up from outside the prison. All white and shocked she were, as if she might faint any minute. No wonder she weren’t thinking right when she climbed into the cab.’

Deeply shamed, Maureen none the less had to thank him. ‘Do I owe you anything?’ All she wanted was to be rid of him. She propelled him towards the door. ‘I mean, what with you having to come back and all … how much d’you want?’ All she had in her pocket were two small coins, but he could have them if only he’d bugger off, she thought angrily.

‘Keep your coppers in yer pocket, it’s all right,’ he answered. ‘I were in this neck o’ the woods anyway. Got a fare to collect from Penny Street.’ With that he bade her goodbye and hurried off ‘to earn a crust or two’, as he put it.

It wasn’t only Amy who had been in the vicinity when he mentioned how Maureen had been to the prison; it was also Marie and the customer she was serving – though Mr Wagner was deaf as a post, his hearing destroyed by a shell explosion in the war, and he wouldn’t hear the ceiling come down, not even if it fell right on top of him.

After the customers had all gone, Amy saw that Maureen was close to tears.

‘Is it all right if we go into the back, Mam?’ she asked, her arm round Maureen’s shoulders.

Marie could see the turn of events and her heart went out to the other woman. ‘Aye, lass, you two go on. It’s quieter now. Yer can send Johnny out to help me sweep up the sugar, if yer like.’ It was Marie’s way of letting Amy and Maureen have the little chat they obviously needed.

A short time later, with her son out in the shop, Maureen apologised to Amy. ‘I should have told you the truth before,’ she said tearfully, ‘only I were that ashamed, I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. I thought if you knew my Arnie was in prison, you would never want me or Johnny anywhere near you again.’

Amy was mortified. ‘I would never turn you and little Johnny away,’ she said. ‘I love you both, like my own family. And if you don’t want to tell me your troubles even now, it’s all right. You don’t have to.’

Maureen took Amy’s hand into her own. ‘You’re a lovely lass,’ she said, wiping her tears away with her free hand. ‘I reckon you’ve known all along there was summat I had to hide, but you’ve never pressed me, and I’m grateful for that.’

Amy could see how this whole sorry business was too painful for Maureen, and she didn’t really know how to help her. But she could listen, and she could offer support. ‘Like I say, Maureen, if you feel it’s something you’re not able to discuss, then don’t. But if you can trust me, you know I’ll keep your confidence and I’d like to help, if I can.’

‘I know you would,’ Maureen acknowledged, ‘but it’s not summat anybody can help with.’

‘Try me,’ Amy urged. ‘You never know.’

Nervously, Maureen confessed how she had been deceiving everyone. ‘When I told you Arnie was working away,’ she began, ‘I was lying. He isn’t working at all. He’s serving ten years in gaol, for attempted murder.’ Glancing about, she lowered her voice. ‘His name is Arnold Stratton; the man who was convicted of attacking Sylvia Hammond.’

‘Good God!’ Amy could hardly believe her ears. ‘No wonder you’ve had to move from place to place. No wonder you didn’t want anybody to know.’ She began to understand now.

‘Langdon is my maiden name,’ Maureen explained. ‘I don’t want people making the connection with Arnold Stratton, particularly for Johnny’s sake. We’ve come to like living round here, and Johnny thinks the world of you,’ she went on. ‘You and Marie are the first friends we’ve had in a long time. It would break his heart, and mine too, if we were thrown out of Derwent Street.’

Taking both of Amy’s hands in hers, Maureen clutched them tightly. ‘That’s why you mustn’t say anything,’ she pleaded. ‘I know Marie heard just now, and I know I can trust her like I can trust you, but don’t tell nobody else. Promise me that much, Amy. Please? For Johnny’s sake, if not for mine.’

‘Your secret’s safe with us,’ Amy promised. ‘Does Johnny know about his daddy?’

‘No, and I don’t want him to. Arnie has a terrible temper on him – but he can’t help himself. His imprisonment has brought shame on us both. I’m terrified that me and Johnny will be tarred with the same brush.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘It would hurt the lad too much if he found out. So far, thank God, he doesn’t know the truth of why we’ve had to keep moving on, and I pray he never will.’

‘He won’t learn it from me or Mam,’ Amy declared. ‘You need have no fear on that score.’

Maureen took her friend’s hand and squeezed it in silent gratitude.

‘You say he’s known to be violent?’ said Amy.

‘That’s right! He’ll think nothing of lashing out with fists and feet, and anything else that comes to hand. He threw a vase at me once and cut my forehead, look!’ Shifting her hair aside, she displayed a crooked scar across the top of her hairline. ‘A couple of inches nearer and he would have blinded me for sure!’

Amy shook her head in disbelief. This was the kind of thing she heard about Daisy’s parents. ‘And he’s confessed to having had an affair with Sylvia Hammond?’

‘Aye, that’s right enough, lass – her and several other women that I know of!’

She saw what Amy was getting at and now she could see it herself. ‘Why! The bugger’s led me a merry dance these years.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘An’ there’s me half believing his self-pitying and his moaning, instead of him taking his punishment like a man. He’s bullying me even from inside prison.’

When a moment later Johnny came back into the room, Amy took it as a sign that her mammy was waiting for help in closing up the shop for lunch.

‘Thank you, Amy.’ Maureen was grateful for Amy’s sympathetic ear. ‘You’ll not breathe a word of what we’ve discussed, will you … except to your mammy o’ course?’

‘You know I won’t.’ Amy saw her and the boy out to the doorstep. ‘Mind how you go,’ she gave them each a hug, ‘and remember, I’m here if you need me.’

When they were gone, and Marie’s curiosity was satisfied, she came to the same conclusion as Amy. ‘It seems the man’s a bully and a brute and, if you ask me, he’s in the right place.’

What Maureen had told Amy was still playing on her mind after she went to her bed that night.

Poor Maureen. Amy tried to imagine what it might be like to be married to a violent man – a man who had been in prison – to live in fear of violence and bullying.

Then her mind ran to the other victim of Arnold Stratton’s violence: Sylvia Hammond. Why had she turned to this dreadful fella when she was married to someone so widely admired? Amy’s father, and others, had first-hand experience of Luke Hammond and had only praise for him. She could not believe a man like that would ever deserve to be betrayed. If his reputation for fair-mindedness, even generosity, for sympathy and humanity, even despite his sharp business mind, were anything to go by, he sounded like the kind of man any woman would be glad to spend her life with.