Читать книгу Nobody’s Girl - Kitty Neale - Страница 10

As he cashed up the till, Bernard Dolby’s mouth was set in a scowl, his thoughts on his son instead of the task at hand. Kevin had walked through the dining room earlier, going upstairs without a word. The lazy git should get another job, but after leaving the engineering factory three months ago, wasting years of training, he wasn’t making much of an effort to find other employment.

The young tyke had avoided National Service by becoming an apprentice, deferring his call-up until he was twenty-one. Then he’d avoided it again by failing the medical, much to Dolly’s delight. Asthma. Huh, in Bernie’s opinion a bit of physical training would have sorted that out, turning Kevin into a man instead of a mummy’s boy.

Dolly wouldn’t hear a word against her precious son and had mollycoddled him from childhood. He’s your son too, a small voice said at the back of Bernie’s mind, and once again he scowled. Yes, Kevin was his son, but other than his conception, he’d had no hand in the boy’s upbringing since Kevin was a toddler. If he so much as raised his voice to Kevin, Dolly went mad.

Bernie hunched his shoulders. It was his own fault, he knew that, but for a quiet life he always gave in to Dolly. His wife had a temper, one that he feared, and he’d felt the lash of her hand from almost the first day of their marriage.

Yes, he’d married her, but she was three months gone with Kevin and he hadn’t been given a choice. When Dolly’s father had marched round from the house next door, his pregnant daughter in tow, Bernie’s own parents had forced him to the registry office.

It had been drink, of course – a party that got out of hand – and somehow, though he had no recollection of it, he’d taken Dolly amongst a pile of coats left by the guests in an upstairs bedroom.

‘Have you finished cashing up?’ Dolly asked as she came through from the kitchen.

‘Yeah,’ he said, entering part of the takings in the cash book.

‘Well,’ she said pointedly, holding out her hand.

Bernie gave her some notes and she clasped them avidly. ‘I’m going upstairs. I think Kevin is upset about something.’

‘I’ll wait for Nora to turn up and then I’m off to the bank to pay in the rest of the takings.’

Dolly hurried upstairs and, putting the bags of coins and notes into a small sack, Bernie waited impatiently for their cleaner. Nora was a nice woman, but slow-witted. She’d been cleaning the café for the past twelve months and was surprisingly good at the job, the best they’d had. He smiled now as she came in, a headscarf tied turban-style around her head as usual.

‘Hello, love.’

‘Hello, Mr Dolby,’ she said, her round face breaking into a smile.

‘I’m off to the bank. If you need anything, my wife is upstairs.’

‘Righto,’ and without preamble she went to fetch the broom, bucket and mop. Nora might be slow, but she was thorough, and Bernie knew that the floor and the kitchen would be sparkling by the time she’d finished.

As he stepped outside, Bernie took in a great gulp of air, feeling as though he’d been released from his chain. His eyes roamed the market. It was quiet, many of the stallholders packing up for the day, and he envied them, envied their camaraderie, and their freedom.

Shortly after Kevin was born, Dolly’s gran died, leaving her the café. Dolly had been working for her gran since she left school, and with her mother roped in to look after Kevin, she had carried on. Like a fool Bernie had agreed to work with her, but soon realised his mistake. She ruled absolutely, dismissing any suggestions he made and keeping a firm hand on the purse strings.

A few years later, when war had been declared, he’d gone eagerly to join up, only to be declared unfit with a heart murmur he didn’t know he had. He’d looked forward to getting away from Dolly, her violence and the café. Instead he’d seen his friends going off to fight, and several were killed in action. He’d eventually volunteered to be an air-raid warden, but in truth it wasn’t out of patriotism – it was for the same reason as he’d tried to enlist in the army: to get away from Dolly for a while.

Of course the bloody café had survived the air raids and, despite rationing, they had made a living. Nowadays the place was a little gold mine, but what did he see of it? Huh, just the pocket money that his wife gave him.

‘What’s up, Bernie? Has Dolly been giving you what for again?’

Yes, that’s how they saw him, Bernie thought: as a downtrodden and henpecked husband. He forced a smile, turning to face the costermonger.

‘Well, you know Dolly.’

‘Not as well as you, mate, thank God. Do you fancy a game of darts tonight?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ As he walked away, Bernie knew that as he threw each dart he would picture his wife’s face etched on the board.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Dolly asked when she saw her son slumped in a chair.

‘Nothing, Mum.’

She sat on the arm of the chair, stroking his hair. ‘Don’t give me that. I can see you’re upset about something.’

Kevin pushed her hand away. ‘Leave it, Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly, son. If you’re upset about something, maybe I can help.’

‘If I tell you what’s wrong, it won’t do any good.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘My friends are going to Brighton on Sunday, but I can’t go with them.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos they’re all driving down by car, and can you see me keeping up on my scooter?’

‘Surely one of them could give you a lift?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so, but you don’t know how it feels to be the odd one out. From now on I’ll have to scrounge a lift every time we go somewhere.’

Dolly stood up, exhaling loudly. ‘Kevin, I know how much you want to buy that car, but it’s an awful lot of money, son.’

‘See, I knew you’d say that! I told you to leave it, but you insisted I tell you! What good has it done?’ he cried, bending forward then as though gasping for air. After forcing a wheezing sound and hearing his mother murmuring worriedly, he straightened. ‘It’s that bloody scooter and the dust I inhale that causes these attacks, but forget it, Mum. You can’t afford to buy me the car so that’s that.’ And on that note Kevin reared from the chair, stomping to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Dolly paced back and forth but then, casting a glance behind her, she went into her bedroom and to the dressing table. Tucked in the bottom drawer, from under her underwear she took out her cash box. This was her hidden hoard, money the tax man had no knowledge of, and carefully added to over the years. Taking the notes that Bernie had given her and the key, she opened it, her eyes mentally assessing the contents. Why not? she thought. They weren’t hard up, and if riding that scooter was making Kevin ill, he’d have to have a car.

‘Here you are, love,’ Dolly said, knocking before going into Kevin’s room. Her son had become a stickler for privacy, but it was probably normal at his age.

‘Thanks,’ Kevin cried, jumping up and throwing his arms around her. ‘You’re the best mum in the world.’

Dolly smiled, and touched his face. ‘And you’re the best son.’

‘I’d better get a move on before he sells the car to someone else.’

Kevin released his mother, leaving the room without a backward glance, his face alive with excitement. Good old Mum, she had coughed up, as he knew she would. The radio he’d nicked and stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe wouldn’t have raised more than a pittance, but now he had all the cash he needed.

He rushed through the dining room, totally ignoring Nora as she vigorously swept the floor. In the yard he hopped on his scooter and in no time he was at Larry Mason’s house, relieved to see the Vauxhall parked outside.

‘Is the car still for sale?’ he asked, hiding his anxiety when the man came to the door.

‘Yeah, do you want to have another look at it?’

‘I’ve just been to see a Morris, but I can’t make up my mind between the two. Mind you, the Morris is cheaper.’

‘Huh, you can’t compare a Morris to a Vauxhall Wyvern.’

‘Maybe not, but I ain’t made of money.’

‘Come on, I’ll take you for a spin. It might help you to make up your mind.’

Kevin hid a smile. He knew he was going to buy the Wyvern, but there was no need to let Larry know that. He wasn’t ready to part with two hundred quid and intended to haggle.

‘It runs like a dream,’ the man said as they drove along Falcon Road.

‘The engine sounds all right, but I think I’ll go for the Morris. It’s fifty quid cheaper and I ain’t got money to burn.’

‘How about I knock off twenty-five quid? It’s still a better car, and I can’t go any lower.’

Kevin pursed his lips, pretending to consider the offer, and then said, ‘All right, Larry. I’ll take it off your hands.’

In another hour Kevin was on his way to see some important contacts, his heart thumping. They’d have to take him seriously now. They needed a car, and he had one. And without it, the job would be impossible.