Читать книгу A Daughter’s Disgrace - Kitty Neale - Страница 6

‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you. Neville has asked me to marry him.’ Hazel stood in the doorway, ready for an argument.

Cora Butler wasn’t surprised at the news. Her middle daughter had been courting Neville Parrot for a year, but as she didn’t think he’d make much of a husband, she said, ‘I hope you didn’t say yes. You’ll never be rich if you marry him.’

‘Money isn’t everything.’

‘It is when you’ve hardly got two pennies to rub together,’ Cora snapped. She knew what it was to struggle and wanted better for her daughter. After losing her husband during the war Cora had been left to raise three girls on her own. It had been so hard. She’d had to do anything to earn a few bob to feed them, and along with cleaning she’d taken in washing and ironing. Her back was permanently damaged from bending over the bath for hours on end, rubbing at the soaking laundry, and her knuckles were scarred from using a scrubbing board. Even though the war had ended twelve years ago she still felt the effects of it every day.

‘I don’t care about money,’ Hazel protested. ‘I love Neville and I’m going to marry him.’

Cora’s lips tightened and, gathering her thoughts, she walked across her tiny front room to the window. The room was as immaculate as she could get it, seeing as there were three of them living there, but nothing in it was new or close to it. She flicked back the lace curtain to gaze out onto another cold, miserable January day in Ennis Street. All the houses were the same, basically two-up, two-down, narrow, terraced, flat-fronted, and bleak. As bleak as her mood. She had hoped that her daughter would find a way out of this ugly working-class area, but Neville offered little chance of that. The streets were so close together she could hardly see the sky when she looked up. The houses opposite were a bit bigger because of the way the road curved but they were still nothing to shout about.

With a sigh Cora dropped the curtain and turned to her daughter again. Of her three girls, Hazel was the prettiest, with auburn hair that fell in natural curls to her shoulders. Her femininity was marred only by her big-boned build, making her look formidable, but with green eyes, a pert nose and full lips, she nevertheless turned men’s heads. Hazel could have taken her pick, but instead she’d fallen for Neville Parrot. His family lived in one of the houses opposite them, and they had moved in eighteen months ago when his father got a job on the railway. They seemed nice enough and Neville was a good-looking lad, but he probably earned a pittance in the local paint factory. ‘You’ve fallen for his looks, but looks ain’t everything. As I said, you’ll never be rich if you marry him.’

‘We’ll both be working, so we’ll be fine. I’m going to carry on at the café.’

‘Yeah, until kids come along,’ Cora commented. ‘You’ll feel the pinch then.’

‘Mum, stop going on about it. Can’t you just be happy for me?’

Cora saw that Hazel’s eyes were flooding with tears, something she rarely saw from her tough daughter, and though Cora was hardened from the life she’d had to live, she nevertheless felt a twinge of guilt. Hazel’s eyes had been bright with happiness when she’d announced that Neville had asked her to marry him, but now they were pools of pain. ‘Yeah, all right. I’m sorry, love. I just wanted better for you, but if you’re happy, then I’m happy,’ she said, and then, trying to lighten the mood, added, ‘Mind you, it’s just as well I didn’t name you Polly.’

‘Why’s that?’ Hazel asked.

‘Think about it. You’d be Mrs Polly Parrot,’ Cora said and chuckled.

Hazel laughed, happy again now, but as pain shot across Cora’s back, she hurried to sit by the fire once more where she could warm it a little, taking the chance to hold out her aching hands to the flames whilst she was there.

Alison Butler, Cora’s youngest daughter, scurried along Ennis Street, her shoulders hunched as though expecting an attack at any moment. It wouldn’t be physical – it rarely was, although she got the occasional shove or push from behind – but it would be verbal and hurtful. Hardly a day went by when something along those lines failed to happen. Her fears came to fruition as two boys of about eleven darted up in front of her.

‘Watcha, horse face,’ mocked Jimmy Small.

‘My dad said she’s got a face that could win the Epsom Derby,’ Ian Young said.

‘Yeah, that’s a good one,’ laughed Jimmy.

‘Come on. Gee up, horsey,’ Ian urged. ‘Let’s see how fast you can gallop.’

Alison kept her head down, hiding her pain. She had suffered name-calling all her young life, at school, on the streets, and it never seemed to stop. She knew only too well that her looks weren’t anything to write home about – growing up with such pretty sisters had made that only too clear – but she could never understand why so many people were so keen to point it out, with thoughtless cruelty. She picked up her pace and reaching her front door she dashed inside before closing it quickly behind her. Only then did she give vent to her feelings and was unable to hold back a sob of distress.

As the door opened directly into the front room, she could see that her mother was sitting on one side of the fireplace, her sister on the other. Both stared at her. It was her mother who spoke, though her tone was uncaring. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t tell me. I can guess. Someone’s been calling you names again?’

Alison nodded, finding that her throat was too constricted to speak.

‘With a face like that, it ain’t gonna stop and you should be used to it by now,’ Hazel said scathingly.

Alison knew that Hazel was right. It was what her sister had told her for as long as she could remember. She should be used to it and did her best to ignore the name-calling, but today, with cramping pains in her tummy signalling her time of the month, the two boys had got to her. But she wasn’t about to tell Hazel. She knew better than to expect any sympathy from that direction.

‘Anyway, wait till you hear my news,’ Hazel went on. ‘This’ll stop you looking so miserable. You’ll never guess.’ She looked expectantly at her younger sister.

Alison shook her head, still unable to speak.

‘Neville’s only asked me to marry him!’ Hazel exclaimed. ‘And of course I said yes. What do you make of that? Aren’t you pleased for me?’

‘That’s … that’s … lovely,’ Alison stuttered. She wasn’t surprised. Hazel had been going on and on about Neville ever since they’d started going out together and never missed a chance to remind her younger sister that she stood no chance of getting herself such a good-looking boyfriend – or any boyfriend at all. Alison secretly longed for a boyfriend of her own but as she was too shy to have real friends of any kind she didn’t see much hope for the future. Hazel had no false modesty about her own good looks and never failed to point out that Alison had drawn the short straw in that department. True to form she made the most of the moment now.

‘You might at least try to look happy for me,’ she said. ‘It isn’t as if you’re going to be getting married any time soon yourself. Look at you – who’d have you? Long streak of misery that you are. Well, you can buck your ideas up and help me when I need you. There’s going to be loads of preparations to sort out for my big day.’ She beamed in delight. ‘We’re going to have a do that everyone’ll remember for years to come.’

‘Now hang on a minute.’ Cora sat up straight, ignoring the painful twinge in her back. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ve only just got engaged. Plenty of time to talk about what sort of wedding you’ll be having. You don’t need no big do. Just think what that’ll cost. You won’t want to be wasting money when you’re starting out. Setting up a home sets you back a fair bit, I can tell you.’ Privately she was already dreading Hazel moving out and losing the wages she brought to the household. Every precious penny counted.

‘Don’t be like that, Mum.’

Hazel could always win her mother round in a way that Alison never managed. Somehow she always knew what to say to get her own way – it was second nature to her, and Alison couldn’t work out how she did it. Once Hazel made up her mind about something there was usually no stopping her.

‘You wouldn’t want me to skimp on my wedding, would you? You want to be proud of me, don’t you? You want me to be happy? And we’re both working so we’ll save towards it, starting today.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Everyone will have to muck in to help as much as they can. No excuses, Alison, you’re doing this for me and I don’t want no lip from you.’

Blimey, thought Alison, that was rich coming from her bully of a sister. She had never dared give her any lip. She didn’t give anyone lip, it wasn’t in her nature. Hazel stood up. Although she was tall, she was still a good way shorter than her younger sister, who always tried to hide her embarrassing height by rounding her shoulders and looking down. Hazel did the exact opposite, standing straight and proud and flaunting her assets for all they were worth. ‘I’ve got to get ready. Me and Neville are going out to celebrate. Don’t wait up.’ She ran up the narrow staircase that led off the front room, with just a curtain to hide it from the living area. The stairs led to a tiny landing, with doors to two small bedrooms, one for Hazel and one for Cora. A third door opened into a box room which Alison used as a bedroom, in which there was scarcely room enough for her to lie down.

‘Looks like it’ll be just you and me stuck here together, then,’ said Cora. The idea depressed her. Try as she might she just could not bring herself to love her youngest daughter. The very sight of the girl reminded her of all the trouble she’d been through, the hell of losing her husband in the war and then the nightmare when she found he’d left her pregnant after what turned out to be his final leave. Her other two daughters had been old enough to go to school and she’d have been able to get a decent job to keep them all if it hadn’t been for the unwanted arrival of this last girl, who’d been nothing but a disappointment and a burden from the word go. She’d been a sickly baby and couldn’t be left alone for a minute. She’d been the wrong shape for hand-me-downs from her sisters almost from the start – where did she get that stupid height from? Looking at her daughter now, Cora sighed. She’d loved her husband but struggled to find a trace of him in Alison. The girl had ugly buck teeth, a long face, and plain mousy hair that hung in rats’ tails. There was no sign of her father’s looks, still less of his good humour and high spirits. Back in the days when they’d been courting, Cora had been swept off her feet by Jack Butler’s charm and determination to make the best of things no matter what, and she’d responded in kind. It was only what had happened after he’d been killed in action that had turned her bitter and exhausted. Deep down she knew it was unreasonable but she couldn’t help blaming Alison for all of it. Groaning at the pain in her back and the arthritis in her hands, she pushed herself to her feet.

‘Right, I reckon I’d better write to our Linda to let her know the news. Don’t suppose she’ll be visiting to hear it for herself seeing as she was only here last week. We’ll just have to hope I catch the last post.’

‘Maybe she’ll come again when she hears,’ Alison said, her eyes lighting up. She loved her eldest sister, who’d always stood up for her against her mother’s indifference and Hazel’s constant bullying. ‘We can’t expect her to make the journey all the time. Not when she’s so far away down in Kent and she’s got little June to look after.’

Cora’s expression softened. Her three-year-old granddaughter was the apple of her eye and could do no wrong. Linda had done well for herself, marrying truck driver Terry Owens and moving from the crowded terraces of Battersea out to the wide spaces of Kent, but the icing on the cake was the arrival of June. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect the little girl.

‘Well, maybe Hazel’s latest will bring them back here sooner than usual,’ Cora said. ‘Right, enough of you standing around doing nothing. Go and take those filthy factory overalls off and then get yourself in the kitchen to help with the dinner. Those spuds won’t peel themselves and my poor hands won’t stand it, so it’s all down to you.’