A Cuckoo in Candle Lane Page 2

  Sally stared at her mum in astonishment. Why was she telling lies?

  ‘Oh yeah, caught it, did yer?’ her gran said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And how’s Ken? Working, is he?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s still doing delivery driving at Petersons. Look, I’ll just go and give Mary a hand with the tea.’ She turned to Sally, her hand on the doorknob. ‘And you behave yourself, my girl.’

  ‘Well now, ducks. How are things at home?’ her gran asked as soon as her daughter was out of sight.

  ‘Fine, everything’s fine,’ Sally answered, gnawing her bottom lip.

  ‘And how’s yer dad?’

  ‘Er … he’s all right.’

  ‘So, yer mum cut her lip on the door, did she. How did she manage that?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Sally answered, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. ‘Gran, I need the toilet,’ she stammered, scurrying out of the room, desperate to avoid any more questions.

  Blimey, Sadie thought, it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone with those two. Perhaps she could get Sally to open up when her mum went out. She’d been suspicious for some time that things were not right with Ruth’s marriage; for one thing, her daughter had lost a lot of weight. She shook her head worriedly, reluctant to involve her granddaughter in her subterfuge, but she was desperate to find out what was wrong.

  The door opened and she peered at her daughters as they came in from the kitchen. Mary carrying an elegantly laid tray. Why does that one always have to put on airs and graces, she thought. Just look at her swanking with the best china. Her eyes flicked around the immaculate sitting room. It had been hard when deteriorating health had forced her to move in with Mary and her husband Harry. Sadie’s eyes clouded as she thought longingly of her old house with its cosy kitchen hearth.

  Pouring out the tea, Mary passed a cup to her. Then, holding out a plate, she asked, ‘Would you like a biscuit, Mum?’

  ‘Thanks, I won’t say no,’ Sadie said and, taking one, she promptly dunked it in her tea, masking a grin when she saw Mary purse her lips in disapproval.

  Sally had scuttled back into the room just in time to witness the scene, bursting into giggles when Sadie lifted her biscuit, frowning in consternation when half of it remained in her cup. ‘Oh, stone the crows,’ she chuckled, giving Sally a cheeky wink and trying to fish out the soggy mess with her teaspoon.

  ‘Honestly,’ Ruth sighed, shaking her head. ‘It’s like a flippin’ circus when you and Sally get together, Mum.’ She gulped down the last dregs of her tea. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s go now. If we don’t get a move on, all the decent stuff will be gone.’

  As they put their coats on, Sadie couldn’t help noticing the difference between them. Both were pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes. But Mary, her elder daughter, looked neat and tidy, with newly permed hair lying in tight curls around her face. Ruth, the shorter of the two, looked shabby and washed out, her greasy lank hair pulled back into a rough untidy bunch.

  ‘Ain’t it about time you got yerself a new coat, Ruth?’ Sadie asked bluntly. ‘That one looks fit for the dustbin.’

  Her daughter’s cheeks flushed. ‘Don’t start, Mum. My Ken don’t earn the sort of money that Harry does.’

  Sadie sighed. Her husband hadn’t earned a lot either, but they used to be a darn sight better dressed. Perhaps Ruth wasn’t any good at handling money. ‘Why don’t you get yerself a little part-time job to help out?’ she suggested.

  Ruth looked askance. ‘Ken would go mad if I went out to work. It’s a matter of pride with him – he thinks a woman’s place is in the home.’

  Sadie clicked her teeth. ‘What a load of old-fashioned nonsense. Women went out to work during the war, they kept the country running and you worked on—’

  ‘Oh Mum, don’t go on about it, or we’ll never get away,’ Mary interrupted as she snatched up her shopping bag.

  Ruth turned to Sally. ‘We won’t be long, love, look after your gran. Is there anything you want from the market, Mum?’

  ‘Yeah, you can get me some snuff, dear,’ she answered, ignoring Mary’s grimace of distaste. She was fed up with her elder daughter’s nagging, finicky ways.

  ‘Did me mum really go to work during the war?’ Sally asked when they were alone.

  ‘Yes, dear, she was a bus conductress for a couple of years,’ Sadie told her, smiling fondly at her granddaughter. Sally was the light of her life. There was something ethereal about her and she had a sensitivity that was unusual in a child. Wriggling into a comfortable position, and easing a plump cushion behind her back, she related all she could remember about Ruth’s job. ‘Of course, she had to leave when you came along,’ she ended, fumbling in her mind for something else to distract Sally. ‘Have I told you about yer granddad?’

  ‘You told me that he drove a wagon, with big horses pulling it.’

  ‘They were shire horses, huge bloody great things, but your granddad loved them. He worked for the brewery, delivering barrels of beer all over London.’ She smiled inwardly as a picture of Charlie arose in her mind. He always looked a proper dapper chap, sitting up on the dray wearing his bowler hat, a leather whip hanging loosely across his lap. She was sure he would still be alive today if they hadn’t lost their only son during the war, convinced it was the shock of David’s death that had brought on her husband’s heart attack.

  Sadie sighed deeply. Their son had been a tall laughing lad who, at the outset of war, had joined the Royal Navy, strutting proudly in his smart new uniform. He told her not to worry when he went to join his ship, reminding her of all the scrapes he had got into as a boy, and saying he was indestructible. Oh, but you weren’t son, were you, she thought sadly, glancing at his picture on the mantelpiece. His ship was hit by a torpedo and sank in the cold waters of the Atlantic. There had been a few survivors, but David wasn’t one of them, and she had thought her heart would break. Now, looking back, she wondered how she had survived the terrible grief of losing both her husband and son in such a short time.

  With a sharp intake of breath she pushed away the bad memories, fumbling for a bag of sweets kept in her apron pocket. ‘Fancy a Fox’s Glacier Mint, Sal?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘What sort of sweets do yer get from your dad?’ she asked, hoping to catch her out while she was distracted.

  Sally, her hand reaching into the bag, snorted derisively. ‘He wouldn’t buy me sweets.’

  ‘Oh, and why not?’

  ‘Er, well, he just w-wouldn’t,’ she stuttered.

  ‘’Ave you been a naughty girl then, is that it?’

  ‘No, of course I ain’t. I hardly ever see him.’

  Sadie was puzzled. What on earth did she mean? Had he left them – was that why they looked so downtrodden and scruffy? She leaned forward anxiously. ‘Sal, has your dad left home?’

  ‘Oh no, it’s just that I ’ave to keep out of his—’ Sally paused, clamping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear. ‘Please, Gran, don’t ask me anything else. I’ll get into trouble.’

  Sadie closed her eyes against the frightened expression on her granddaughter’s face; the poor kid looked terrified and was obviously hiding something. But what? And how could she find out?

  When Mary and Ruth entered the bustling indoor market, their ears were assailed by the raucous voices of the market-traders as they shouted their wares, vying for custom in front of stalls piled high with colourful displays of fruit and vegetables. The two women looked around excitedly, pleased to see even more goods on display that hadn’t been available during the war. There was still partial rationing, but it wasn’t as bad, and rumours were abounding that the coupon system would be over with soon.

  Mary tugged at Ruth’s arm, raising her voice above the din. ‘Come on, let’s get our meat first.’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ she shouted back as they pushed through the crowds to Tommy Porter’s stall.

  ‘I’m looking for a cheap bit of brisket,’ Ruth told her. ‘If I cook it really slowly th
ere should be a bit left over to ’ave with bubble and squeak on Monday.’

  Mary nodded; she had seen a nice shoulder of lamb and haughtily raised her arm to catch the butcher’s attention.

  ‘Well, well, it’s the duchess,’ he said, grinning widely. Then with his smile encompassing them both, he added, ‘And what can I get you two lovely ladies?’

  ‘Wotcher, Tommy,’ Ruth said on a laugh. ‘Duchess – yeah, that’s a good one, and it suits me sister down to the ground.’

  ‘If you two have quite finished, I’ll have that shoulder of lamb, please,’ Mary indicated, holding her head high and refusing to be baited.

  ‘And I’ll ’ave that piece of brisket over there,’ Ruth pointed.

  Tommy chuckled as he reached for the beef. ‘My, don’t yer sister speak proper. Shows us Cockneys up, she does.’

  ‘We ain’t Cockneys, Tom, we wasn’t born within the sound of Bow bells,’ Ruth told him.

  ‘Yeah, I know – yer don’t sound like proper Londoners. Now me,’ he said, thumping his chest proudly, ‘I was born and bred in Stepney.’

  ‘You cheeky sod, Tommy,’ Ruth laughed. ‘I’m just as much a Londoner as you are. I’m a South Londoner, and proud of it.’

  ‘All right, keep yer shirt on,’ he grinned. ‘But what about yer sister then? Does she come from somewhere really posh, like Mayfair?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Tommy, at least me mum has never said so, but—’

  ‘Oh, get a move on, Ruth,’ Mary snapped, interrupting her mid-sentence, ‘and where I come from is none of your business, Tommy Porter.’

  Ruth raised her eyebrows. ‘Blimey, what’s the matter with you? Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning? There’s no need to be so bloody miserable – we was only having a laugh.’

  Mary turned to her sister, bristling with indignation. Couldn’t she see that she was showing her up? ‘Just shut up, Ruth,’ she hissed, before completing her purchases.

  They were making for their favourite vegetable stall, having learned which ones gave short measures or put a few rotten potatoes amongst the good ones, when Mary spotted a rack of children’s clothes and paused as a dark green coat caught her eye. She fingered the thick wool material, thinking that it would look lovely on her niece, but dare she buy it? Looking up, she saw that Ruth had forged on ahead, and acting on an impulse she yanked the coat off the rack and gave it to the stallholder.

  ‘Quick,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Put it in a bag.’

  Having paid for it, she hurried to catch up with Ruth as her sister joined the queue at the fruit and veg stall.

  ‘What’s in there then?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing much. Just a jacket I fancied.’

  ‘Well, let’s ’ave a look at it.’ Ruth’s hand made a grab for the bag.

  Mary thrust it quickly behind her. ‘Not now, for God’s sake. Stop making a spectacle of us … it can wait until we get home.’

  ‘All right then, misery guts. I dunno what’s got into you today,’ Ruth said irritably.

  Mary rubbed her forehead; she didn’t know what was the matter with her either. Her life was just so empty, but how could she explain that to her sister? Ruth thought she had the life of Riley – nice home, fashionable clothes, a good husband. Huh! If only she knew the truth.

  ‘Me arm feels like it’s dropping off,’ Ruth complained, as they entered the hall and thankfully put down their laden shopping bags.

  Mary hurried into the kitchen, and as she laid the tea tray to her meticulous satisfaction, she worried about Ruth’s reaction to the coat. She had tried in the past to buy her niece new clothes, and though she didn’t understand why, her sister always refused. Oh, what the heck, she thought, I’ll just have to get it over with. Taking a deep breath she drew herself up to her full height, and snatching up the bag, marched purposefully into the sitting room.

  ‘Here you are, my dear,’ she said, beckoning to Sally. ‘I’ve got a little something for you. I hope you like it.’

  Sally’s face lit up with excitement. She peeped inside the bag, gasping in disbelief and then looked up, her eyes like saucers. ‘Is it really for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course it’s for you. Why don’t you try it on,’ she urged.

  Almost reverently Sally took the coat out of the bag, her fingers stroking the soft material. ‘Oh, Auntie Mary,’ she whispered. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve never had a new coat before.’

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ Ruth demanded. ‘What are you playing at, Mary? I’ve told you before, we don’t want no charity.’

  Mary felt her temper flare. ‘Look here, this is not charity. Surely I can buy my niece a present if I want to. After all, she’s the only one I’ve got.’

  Sally rushed across the room, the coat clutched protectively to her chest. ‘Oh please, Mum,’ she begged. ‘Please let me keep it.’

  ‘For Gawd’s sake, Ruth, what’s the matter with you?’ Sadie cried. ‘You ain’t too proud to dress the kid in secondhand gear that makes her look like a bleedin’ ragamuffin.’

  Ignoring her mum, Ruth glared at Mary, eyes blazing. ‘How many times ’ave I told you not to buy us things. You just don’t listen.’

  ‘But it’s only a coat – why are you so angry?’ Mary asked in genuine puzzlement, watching as her sister floundered for a reply.

  All eyes were on Ruth as she sat with her head lowered, their breath held as they waited for her to answer. She finally raised her eyes, and with tight lips, said, ‘Oh, all right then, she can ’ave it.’

  Sally yelped happily and rushed back across the room. ‘Thanks, Auntie Mary! Thanks for buying it for me,’ she cried.

  ‘It’s my pleasure, dear. Now come on, let’s see what it looks like on you.’

  Smiling she put the coat on, raised the fur-edged hood and began to pose comically, turning this way and that, her chin held high.

  Mary thought she looked beautiful. The fit was perfect and the colour enhanced her lovely green eyes. Gone was the untidy urchin who had arrived that morning. How she envied Ruth her daughter. Look at her, she thought, she’s like a colt, all arms and legs, and that beautiful hair. ‘You look very nice, Sally,’ she said.

  ‘My, she looks a proper treat,’ Sadie grinned.

  ‘There’s something else in the bag that you’ve missed,’ Mary told her.

  Eagerly opening the bag again, Sally pulled out a matching fur muff, a cord attached to hang around her neck. ‘Oh, Auntie Mary,’ she whispered.

  ‘Come on, get that coat off now, and put yer old one on,’ Ruth ordered. ‘We’re going in a minute.’

  ‘But you haven’t had a cup of tea yet,’ Mary protested.

  ‘I know,’ her sister said belligerently. ‘But it’s late and Ken will be home soon.’ Picking up her shopping bags, she announced, ‘Right, we’re off now. See you next week, Mum.’

  Sally ran across the room, the bag holding her carefully folded coat clutched tightly in her hand. ‘Bye, Auntie Mary. Bye, Gran,’ she said, giving them both a quick hug.

  Mary watched her sister as she marched stiffly from the room. ‘Well, that’s nice isn’t it,’ she said indignantly, when she heard the front door bang. ‘All I did was buy Sally a new coat, and Ruth didn’t even have the decency to thank me for it.’

  ‘Now, don’t get all huffy,’ Sadie placated. ‘There’s more to Ruth’s behaviour than meets the eye, and I ain’t too happy about that cut on her mouth neither.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for being rude, Mum,’ Mary retorted, lifting the tea tray. ‘Trust you to stick up for her.’

  ‘For crying out loud, Mary, that girl’s got a hard life compared to you. Can’t you show a bit of compassion for once?’

  She stared coldly at her mother, trying to swallow her anger and biting back a retort. Christ, Mum, she thought, you have no idea how awful my marriage is, and if you did, would you show the same concern for me?

  Chapter Three

  The van rumbled slowly down the street and Elsie Jones, sitt
ing in the passenger seat, stared at the dingy area with dismay. It was awful! There was nothing of beauty in these streets of mean terraced houses. No tree-lined avenues, no green fields, just scrubby grass struggling to survive amongst the rubble of old bomb-sites.

  How could she live here after the lovely leafiness of Wimbledon? Oh Bert, she thought, glancing at her husband in the driving seat, what have you brought us to?

  ‘Here we are, love,’ he said cheerfully, turning into a narrow lane and pulling into the kerb. ‘This one’s ours.’ Switching off the engine he jumped out, hurrying round to the passenger door, a frown creasing his brow when he saw the expression on his wife’s face.

  ‘Come on, Elsie, it’s not that bad, and if things go well we may not have to rent the place for long.’ He was a huge man and the muscles rippled in his arms as he lifted her gently down onto the pavement, her short stocky body looking diminutive beside him.

  Elsie’s eyes roamed over the gloomy façade of the house, and then the identical one next door. A small white face surrounded by beautiful coppery-coloured hair was peeping out of the window, and as their eyes locked Elsie felt a jolt, as though a part of her had reached out and touched a spark within the girl.

  Startled by her feelings she found herself unconsciously walking towards the window, but then the curtains fell back into place and the girl was hidden from view. Puzzled, but hearing the shouts of her own children, she turned to see that Bert had opened the back of the van and Arthur and Ann came tumbling out, laughing excitedly, only to pull up short when they saw their surroundings.

  ‘Blimey, what a dump,’ Arthur complained.

  ‘What’s that awful smell, Mum?’ Ann asked, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, sniffing the pungent air. ‘It’s horrible though.’

  ‘Hello. Moving in, are yer?’

  Elsie turned to see a tall thin woman, wearing a cotton turban over her steel curlers, peering into the back of the van.

  ‘You’ll soon get used to the stink, love,’ she added, moving to stand by their side. ‘Some people say it comes from the brewery, others the glucose or candle factory. It’s only people new to the area, or just passing through, that notice the smell. Welcome to Battersea,’ she said with a grin, before strolling away and disappearing into a house a few doors down.