Читать книгу The Campbell Road Girls - Kay Brellend - Страница 8

‘Why didn’t you let me know you was coming?’

‘Wanted it to be a nice surprise for you.’ Lucy managed to shield her shocked expression against Matilda’s shoulder whilst giving her a fierce hug. Once she’d composed herself she looked up.

Lucy had last seen her mother many months ago during the Easter holiday and had thought then she looked rough. In the meantime, as the hot summer months had passed by, she’d prayed the fine weather would help Matilda recuperate in body and mind, rather than the heatwave exhaust her, for she’d seemed worryingly depressed even before Reg took off. But moments ago, Lucy’s optimism had dwindled. While waiting on the landing to be let in, she’d realised her mother was finding the simple task of opening the door an irritating effort.

Having lugged her trunk and a bag of shopping up the rickety flight of stairs to the first floor, Lucy’s light, teasing ratatat had drawn slow shuffling footsteps and muttered cursing from inside the room. Her first glimpse of haggard features, grey with strain, had been viewed through a narrow aperture and had made Lucy’s spirits plummet. Having identified her visitor Matilda had then found the energy to shove the door wide open and hoarsely whoop in delight. But despite her mother’s enthusiastic welcome Lucy was dismayed by her relapse.

Alice had sent a letter to Essex over a month ago to let her and Sophy know that Reg had done a runner. A long time had passed with no news of him, she’d added, so it seemed unlikely he’d soon be back. Alice had also informed them that their mother was still struggling to get about on her own and was stubbornly refusing to accept neighbours’ help, or to move to Wood Green so Alice could properly care for her.

‘How long you got off work?’ Tilly asked, gripping tightly at Lucy’s hands and pushing her back so she could study her lovely face. ‘Be a treat if you could stay till the weekend.’ Matilda’s customary gruff tone bubbled joyfully at the prospect of having her youngest daughter’s company.

‘I can stay, Mum,’ Lucy confirmed, a smile in her voice. ‘In fact I’ll be able to stay for a while ’cos I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Good or bad?’ Tilly immediately elbowed free of her daughter’s renewed embrace and took a suspicious peer at her flat belly.

‘Well, I think you’ll reckon it’s good. I’ve come back to London to stay.’

‘To stay?’ Matilda parroted. ‘It’s true then what Margaret said.’ She frowned at Lucy. ‘You after a change of scenery or you got sacked?’ It was barked out indignantly rather than angrily. Of all her daughters, Lucy tended to be proud and impetuous. As a child she’d got into numerous scraps with other kids because of it. Not that Matilda had chided her for that. When you lived in the Bunk you brought up your kids to give as good as they got or they’d have the life bullied out of them. But her youngest could be a bit naïve at times as well as hot-headed. Matilda felt annoyed with herself for not pursuing the matter of Lucy’s employment when Margaret Lovat had first hinted at it, weeks ago.

‘Not got sacked, Mum!’ Lucy chuckled. ‘Got an interview for a job in Bloomsbury.’ She struck a hoity-toity little pose.

Tilly’s lined face softened in relief. ‘In town, eh?’ She nodded to show she was impressed. ‘More money, then?’ she asked, ever prosaic.

‘Hope so; ’cos of my age and lack of experience and so on it’ll all be discussed at the interview. It says so in the letter they’ve sent me. But if it’s a few shillings less I’m not bothered. I’ll be closer to you, anyhow. So even though I’ll be living in I can come ’n’ see you on all of me free afternoons,’ Lucy rattled off. ‘And I’ll be able to meet up with Alice and Beth. I’ll take you out places and we can have some fine times again. It’ll be like before I went away when it was just us two.’

After her other sisters had left to set up their own homes, Tilly’s maternal instinct, no longer diluted by being channelled four ways, had condensed and targeted Lucy. They had grown very close, and her sisters still referred to Lucy as their mother’s blue-eyed girl. The bond had survived Tilly’s volatile nature and heavy drinking, and Lucy leaving home to work in service.

‘And what if you don’t get offered this job, my gel? Bound to be lots of women applyin’ fer a position like that.’

Lucy shrugged insouciantly. ‘I’ll find another agency and go after another job. But I want to have a taste of London life, and I ain’t going back to the sticks and that’s final.’ She gave a crisp nod, setting her thick chestnut hair waving. ‘Not that I could go back anyhow ’cos I told that snooty bitch that married Mr Lockley just what I thought of her before I carried me case out of the back door.’

Matilda grinned despite herself. She liked to know that her daughters didn’t stand for any nonsense, and she recalled that Sophy had described the new mistress as ‘bleedin’ hard work’. ‘Well, you’ll have to get this job then, and once you’ve got it, you keep hold of it.’ Despite being overjoyed to hear her Little Luce was going to be close by, Tilly wagged a cautioning finger at her. ‘Good work’s hard to come by these days. You was lucky getting a job straight from school. And you got yer sister Sophy to thank fer that. You’ve never had it hard, so take it from me, being skint ain’t fun.’

‘Not renting the back room now you’re on yer own?’ Lucy had opened the connecting door and peered in to a dismal space that held nothing but an iron bed with a stained mattress on it, and a wonky tallboy that had a gaping hole right in the centre where the largest drawer should have been. She gazed enquiringly at her mother. Most people who lived in the Bunk and had a bit of spare space would rent it out. Lucy could recall that even when their rooms had been filled to overflowing with family members, Tilly would sometimes take in a temporary lodger for a bit of extra cash. Being the youngest, she’d usually share a bed with her mother and free up just enough space in the back room for another young woman to kip down with Bethany and Alice in the back. It was so unlike her mother to overlook such an opportunity that Lucy repeated her question.

Matilda shook her head. ‘Could do with the rent money all right but can’t be doing with the company.’

‘You can do with the company,’ Lucy disagreed, closing the back room door and approaching her mother. ‘Alice reckons you could do with a hand most days. If you had a lodger ... perhaps a widow or a spinster about your own age who could help out with other things ...’

‘Don’t want no strangers nursemaiding me,’ Tilly brusquely asserted. ‘So don’t think you lot are landing one on me. What else yer sisters been telling you about me behind me back?’

‘It’s not like that, Mum,’ Lucy said briskly. ‘We’re all worried about you, you know. Why won’t you go and live with Alice for a while till you’re feeling better?’

‘Has Alice told you to get on at me about it? If she has I’ll have her hide fer pokin’ her nose in where it’s not wanted.’

‘Alice hasn’t said more’n she’s worried you’ll take another bad fall and end up looking a worse state than you do now.’

‘Look a mess, do I?’ Tilly challenged with grim amusement.

‘I’ve seen you look better. In fact you looked better at Easter,’ Lucy immediately came back with an honest reply. ‘I expected you to be well on the mend by now.’

Matilda ignored that, instead demanding, ‘And I suppose you’ve all been having a chinwag about Reg ’n’ all. What’ve you all been saying about him?’

‘He’s done a runner and left you on yer own.’ It was a concise reply.

‘That’s about the size of it,’ Matilda agreed. ‘Ain’t talking about him neither. He’s gone and forgotten, and that’s that.’ A moment later she’d rescinded that vow. ‘You don’t seem surprised about him going.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Last time I was here I could tell things weren’t right between you. You were both snapping and snarling more than usual.’

‘He’s gone back to Ireland.’

‘Back to Ireland?’ Lucy echoed, her eyes widening in surprise. None of her sisters had heard that bit of news as far as she was aware. ‘What, for good?’

‘Dunno,’ Matilda replied. ‘Yesterday I went up to Smithie’s shop.’ She sent her daughter a sour smile. ‘See, I can do the trip on me own, if I have to. Anyhow, I bumped into Reg’s friend Vince. He looked a bit embarrassed; don’t know why ’cos I never had a habit of questioning him about Reg. So, he just come out with it and said Reg had caught the boat back a few weeks previous.’

Lucy had met Vince a few times and thought him a weasely sort of fellow. ‘Perhaps he was just saying that, Mum, ’cos he felt awkward and wanted to nip off.’

‘Just said I never pestered him over Reg. Don’t matter anyway; let him stay in Ireland, for all I care. Seen him in his true colours now, ain’t I?’ Matilda pursed her lips. ‘Bleedin’ good job, weren’t it, we never did the “in sickness and in health” bit,’ she added bitterly.

Despite Matilda’s bravado Lucy could tell her mother was getting upset talking about the man who’d abandoned her. She and her sisters, along with most of Campbell Road’s inhabitants, were aware that Reg ought to have been at home with their mother on the night their evil uncle had turned up with murderous intentions. Nobody really blamed Reg for allowing himself to be waylaid by a pal for a drink in a pub; but then nobody blamed Tilly either for being unrelentingly resentful that he had.

That horrible night had been a catalogue of calamity for their family. On the very same night, their cousin, Robert Wild, Jimmy’s son, had been beaten up so badly by thugs that he’d nearly died. The disasters had been like toppling dominoes: one setting the other in motion. A shiver rippled through Lucy at the memory of the dreadful months that had followed when they’d feared Matilda and Robert might both die of their injuries.

Determinedly, Lucy cheered herself up and, to impress on her mum that she was definitely not returning to Essex, she briskly dragged her case in from the landing. She left the trunk against the wall but plonked the shopping bag down on the table. ‘Here,brought us in a nice couple of currant buns so let’s get that kettle on.’

‘Those from Travis’s?’ Tilly grumpily interrogated. ‘You know I only like stuff from the Travis bakery.’

‘Yeah, Mum,’ Lucy mocked in a dreary tone that transformed in to a chuckle. Like her sisters, she was used to Tilly’s deliberately contrary ways. ‘They are from old man Travis. The dirty old git don’t change, do he? Still stares straight at me chest when he serves me.’

Tilly opened the paper bag and her eyes lit up as a spicy scent wafted to her nostrils. It was a treat for her to have something fresh and tasty. To save herself the ordeal of a trip out, or the need to ask a neighbour for a favour, she ate little and made what she had last.

Lucy picked up the kettle and gave it a shake to see if there was enough water in it for a pot of tea. She pulled out a chair for her mother to sink into, for she’d noticed Tilly had been holding on to the table edge to ease the weight off her legs. ‘Sit yourself down again, Mum, and I’ll make a brew. Have you got any jam to put in these buns?’

Ten minutes later the tea was made and the buns split and spread with marge as Tilly hadn’t got any jam.

‘So when’s your interview?’ Tilly took a large bite out of the warm, aromatic bun. Any currants that escaped were picked from her plate and popped in her mouth.

‘Ten o’clock on Friday, Bloomsbury.’ Lucy brushed crumbs from her lips with her fingertips. ‘A Mrs Venner is the housekeeper and a Mrs Boyd is me senior. I’ll be seeing them both in Mrs Venner’s office. It’s a posh establishment, by the sound of things; belongs to a Lord and Lady Mortimer in Bedford Square.’ She raised her eyebrows, displaying pride at the prospect of working for the aristocracy. ‘Don’t suppose I’ll get to see much of them. The housekeeper and the lady’s maid’ll be me guvnors.’

Tilly nodded sagely. ‘You turn up all nice and tidy with manners to match then, my gel, and the job’ll be yours.’

Lucy grinned and delved into a pocket. She pulled out an envelope. ‘Should be mine, no trouble; if not, I’ll have Mrs Lovat’s hide.’ She playfully waved the envelope under her mother’s nose. ‘The housekeeper at me last job’s done me a lovely reference, don’t you know ...’

Winnie Finch thrust her son’s coat at him. ‘Get that on and get yourself off or you’ll be late for school, Tom.’

The boy grimaced as he gingerly stuck an arm in a sleeve. ‘Can I stay home today, Mum?’

‘No, you can’t. I’ve got me job to do, you know that.’ Winifred avoided Tom’s pleading eyes.

‘Can I stop home with Jenny?’

‘No, you can’t; she’s off out to find herself work.’ Winnie knew her son was still suffering from getting a belt off his father earlier in the week. Not that Eddie had intended to discipline Tom when he pounded up the stairs that night, face contorted in rage. Tom was his favourite and he rarely laid a finger on him.

Jennifer, the brazen little cow, had been his target because she’d defied him and poked her nose in while Eddie had been doing a deal with Bill Black. Winnie knew her husband hated any of them to see or hear what was going on when his associates called round. If Eddie could, he’d arrange it so Bill always turned up at an appointed time, rather than whenever he felt like dropping by with a box of stuff or, as he had this time, a pocketful of gemstone rings.

Winnie was aware too that the fact one of his daughters was turning into a little tart before she’d been out of school six months was less worrying to Eddie than knowing Jennifer had seen the jewellery. Jenny’s jaw had sagged open in the way Winnie imagined her own had done when she’d spotted those sparklers on the table. What she desperately wanted to know – and had tried hard to discover – was whether the lovely stuff was still in the house. Since that evening, Winnie had been through the kitchen with a fine-tooth comb and turned up nothing at all. She’d even accidentally dislodged a cupboard from the wall in her search and had made a very inexpert job of screwing it back in place. If the gems were in the house, and Winnie could find them, or Eddie’s stash of banknotes, she’d take herself and Tom off as fast as she could. The twins were old enough now to sort themselves out, in Winnie’s opinion.

Katherine was a good, hardworking girl – she’d been doing her little job serving in the kiosk at the local flicks the evening Bill Black turned up – and Winnie would feel a twinge at leaving her behind. But Katherine had a good brain on her and Winnie was confident she would eventually get a nice full-time position in a factory. Katherine talked constantly of training to be a nurse and Winnie reckoned she had the right attitude to see it through. As for Jenny, Winnie feared if she didn’t change her ways, she’d be hanging around on street corners touting for business from the likes of Bill Black. But, brazen as she’d been that night, Jenny hadn’t deserved the beating Eddie had given her. Her daughter’s legs were still black and blue, despite the fact that the blankets she’d dived under had given her some protection from her father’s fury. If Katherine had been home she’d also have got a taste of Eddie’s brutality because she always stood up to him if he set about her sister.

Jennifer’s howls had brought her brother running in from his bedroom and, though just six years old, Tom had jumped on his father’s back to try to protect her, and got a bash for his trouble.

Winnie helped Tom on with his coat, uncomfortably aware her impatience to get him out of the house was making him wince. It had been her job to stop Eddie’s rampage that night, not her son’s. Jennifer had deserved chastisement. Besides, whenever her husband was in one of those moods, Winnie always paid later ... in bed, and on that particular evening she hadn’t seen why she should have to put up with the bastard setting about her twice.

‘There’s an advertisement for an assistant in the Dobson’s shop window,’ Winnie barked at Jennifer, who was descending the stairs, hunched into her dressing gown for warmth against the draught coming through the open front door.

‘I’m going down the labour exchange with me friend later this morning ...’

‘Yer friend can go on her own. You go along to the sweet shop straight away and apply for the job.’

‘I don’t want to work in a poxy sweet shop. I’m gonna get a job in Oxford Street, in Selfridges ... or somewhere like that.’

‘You won’t be getting no jobs in the West End, miss,’ Winnie hissed at Jennifer. ‘You can give over with your fancy ideas and act a bit more like yer sister. Katherine’s had a job since the day after she finished her schooling. Time you got off yer backside. Now get yourself dressed and get along to Dobson’s and don’t come back without a job or it’ll be the worse for you.’