Читать книгу A Mother’s Gift - Pam Weaver - Страница 11

Reg was in a good mood when he arrived back home for Sunday lunch. Dottie was busy carving the joint but he put his arm around her and gave her a beery kiss on the cheek. ‘That smells good.’

‘Sit yourself down,’ she smiled.

He belched in her face. ‘You’re bloody marvellous.’

She felt disgust at his crudity and yet a glow of pride at his compliment. It wasn’t often Reg said something nice to her. The people round here thought Reg a good sort, helpful and friendly. Good job no one saw what went on behind closed doors.

‘It wouldn’t be half as nice without your wonderful vegetables,’ she said modestly.

The meal, roast lamb, mint sauce, new potatoes and runner beans, with gooseberry fool to follow, was Reg’s favourite. They ate with the radio on and Two-Way Family Favourites and the Billy Cotton Band Show in the background.

‘I was talking to Jack Smith in the pub,’ said Reg as he made for his armchair and the Sunday paper. ‘I told him we ought to do something while the weather’s nice.’

‘Did you, Reg?’ Dottie hid her smile. So, Peaches had done it. She’d invited him on the outing.

‘The weather might have picked up by Saturday.’

‘About time we had some good weather,’ said Dottie putting the kettle on for some tea. ‘What shall we do?’

‘How about a trip to the seaside?’

‘Ooh, Reg,’ she cried, enjoying the pretence. ‘That would be lovely.’

‘I reckon we could all get in that lorry of his,’ Reg went on. ‘You and Peaches will be all right in the back with Gary, won’t you?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘but Peaches is pregnant’, but she knew he’d be annoyed – perhaps even change his mind. ‘Of course we will.’

‘I’ve offered him some petrol money,’ said Reg, settling down for a doze before he read the papers. ‘You’d better get round to Mary Prior’s to talk about the sandwiches.’ He yawned. ‘She’s coming too.’

Dottie hummed to herself as she did the washing up. An outing. How exciting! She hadn’t been on an outing since … since … well, she could hardly remember. It must have been before Reg came back home. Things were definitely on the up. Everyone needed a bit of cheering up. This year’s harvest had only been fair to middling and the August bank holiday had been a total wash-out with torrential rain. The papers said it was the worst on record and what with the train crash at Ford which killed nine people and injured forty-seven the Sunday before, a general air of gloom hung over the village.

Never mind, next Saturday was going to be wonderful. She’d got eighteen pounds, four shillings and eleven pence saved upstairs, and that was quite apart from what she had in her Post Office savings book. She could take a couple of quid and buy all the kiddies an ice cream.

The washing up finished, Dottie picked up the bowl to throw the dirty water onto the garden.

‘Coo-ee, coo-ee.’ Ann Pearce was leaning over the garden fence.

Dottie’s heart sank as the full horror of last night came flooding back. What did Ann want? She was smiling. What was she going to say?

Dottie tried to appear unruffled. ‘Lovely day.’

‘Smashing,’ said Ann. She noted Ann’s lank and greasy hair, fastened to the side of her head with a large hairslide. Dottie thought it a pity that she didn’t make more of herself. She wondered if she should offer to give her one of those new Sta Set Magicurls like the one Mary had tried a few months ago. It only cost ninepence and it was really successful. Ann was an attractive woman but it seemed she had given up on herself. Dottie supposed it must be because Ann had lost everything when her husband came home almost two years after the war had ended. There was an ugly scene and both Ann’s husband and the man she was living with had cleared off.

Ann raised an eyebrow. ‘Having a good day today?’

‘Er … yes, thanks,’ said Dottie, slightly flustered.

Ann smiled. ‘How did the wedding go?’

Dottie felt uneasy. She didn’t want this conversation to continue. If Reg came out and saw her talking to Ann, she’d never hear the last of it. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think I can hear Reg calling.’

‘Before you go,’ Ann called after her. Her smile was too bright, too eager. Dottie’s stomach churned. ‘I don’t like to ask, but I seem to have run out of money for the gas.’

Dottie relaxed. This was the first time Ann had ever actually asked her for anything directly. Usually, Dottie had to resort to subterfuge to offer her a helping hand.

‘I wonder if you could help me out,’ she’d said to Ann on more than one occasion. ‘I seem to have made far too much casserole for just the two of us. Reg would go mad if he thought I’d was wasting good food, but he doesn’t care to have the same meal two nights running.’

Grudgingly, and only to ‘do her a favour’, Ann would take the dish, making sure to return it, clean, when Reg was at work. For the sake of her pride, Dottie couldn’t do it very often. It wasn’t like Ann to actually ask for something.

‘I meant to have got some change when I went down the village yesterday,’ Ann went on, ‘but I clean forgot all about it when I bumped into Doctor Fitzgerald. It was such a struggle getting away from him. Well, you know how it is.’

Dottie could feel her face begin to flame.

‘So,’ Ann continued, ‘if you could spare a few shillings for the gas …’

The sun went behind a cloud. ‘Yes,’ said Dottie weakly. ‘How much do you need?’

‘Ten bob would do nicely,’ said Ann.

Dottie turned to go inside. ‘I’ll just get my handbag. Ten bob, d’you say?’

Ann nodded. ‘That’ll do … for now.’