A Cuckoo in Candle Lane Read online

  As in the past, Ruth tried to evade the answers, but this time Sally just kept on and on until she felt as though her head was splitting. Unable to tell her the truth and running out of excuses, she allowed her daughter to go next door, but her nerves had jangled the whole time. What if Ken came home? It would be her that got a belting, not Sally.

  With a sigh she picked up her basket of washing. Why, oh why did that bloody lot have to move in next door? she thought, making her way outside to the yard.

  ‘Hello. I’ve been hoping to see you.’

  Her mouth full of wooden clothes pegs, Ruth looked up to find her next-door neighbour grinning at her over the fence.

  ‘If you’ve finished your washing, why don’t you come round for a cup of tea,’ she invited. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could really do with one.’

  Ruth looked into a round friendly face that beamed at her invitingly and found herself grinning back. She liked Elsie on sight and was sorely tempted to accept her invitation. When Ken and Sally were out all day she often felt alone and isolated, sometimes longing for another female to talk to, but dare she take a chance?

  They had lived in Candle Lane for a long time now, but she hardly knew any of the other residents. They probably thought her snobbish, but Ken was adamant about not letting anyone know their business, and he refused to let her mix with them.

  Yet as she looked into her new neighbour’s merry twinkling eyes, Ruth wondered if it would hurt, just this once. Before she knew it she spat the clothes pegs out of her mouth, and found herself agreeing.

  Now she sat at Elsie’s kitchen table, her eyes roaming around the room, unable to help feeling envious at what she saw.

  There was a beautiful Welsh dresser against one wall, crammed with blue and white striped china. The gingham curtains at the window were also blue and matched the tablecloth. Her eyes turned to the fireplace and she had to withhold a gasp when she saw the lovely brass companion set in the hearth, with a matching coalscuttle glowing like copper as it reflected the flames from the huge fire. She sighed; the whole room was in stark contrast to her own dingy and uninviting kitchen.

  As Elsie bustled round putting the kettle on the hob, and getting out cups and saucers, she was surreptitiously studying her neighbour. The other woman’s clothes looked washed out and drab, thin wrists poked out from the sleeves of a shapeless cardigan and her dark brown hair was scraped back unbecomingly from her face. Feed her up, she thought, put her in some decent clothes, and she’d be a right beauty.

  As they chatted together she was surprised at her reaction to Ruth. When Ann told her that Sally was forced to stay in her room, she had found it disturbing, unable to understand why the child was treated so badly. But now she wondered if Ann had exaggerated, finding that not only did she like the woman, she somehow felt sorry for her too.

  ‘So what brought you to Battersea?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Well, it’s a long story but I’ll try to cut it short,’ Elsie told her, whilst pouring tea through a strainer into the cups. ‘You see, my husband has always wanted to start up his own furniture removals business, and when he got left a bit of money, he decided to give it a go.’

  ‘Blimey, he’s got his own firm then?’

  Elsie chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t call it a firm, he’s only got one van. Still, as he said, it’s a start, and if things go well we’ll be able to expand in the future. Now tell me, what does your husband do?’

  ‘He does delivery driving for a builder’s merchant.’

  ‘Then we’ve got something in common – both our husbands are drivers,’ Elsie said, smiling across the table at Ruth.

  ‘Yeah, but my Ken would give his right arm to work for himself.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it’s all it’s cracked up to be. At least you know you’ve got a regular wage coming in each week. Until Bert gets himself established I’ll be worrying myself sick most of the time in case he doesn’t get any work.’

  Ruth nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’ve got a point.’

  ‘How long have you lived in Candle Lane, Ruth?’

  ‘For about seven years now.’

  ‘Well, I must say, people are friendly here. I had no end of offers to help when we moved in, and Mrs Green, who lives opposite, kindly carried over a tray of tea while we were unloading the van, which made us feel welcome.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Ruth told her, then abruptly changed the subject. ‘My daughter tells me that you read palms.’

  ‘Yes I do, but I’m also a medium. It runs in my family – my mother was a clairvoyant.’

  Ruth’s face was alight with curiosity. ‘I’ve never met a medium before. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t do much, just a bit of palm-reading and I occasionally read the cards. It’s a hobby and I don’t do it professionally. I tell you what, I’ll give you a reading if you like.’

  ‘You don’t go into a trance or anything, do you?’ Ruth asked nervously.

  ‘No, don’t worry, I’ll just do your palm.’ Reaching across the table, Elsie took Ruth’s hand, examining the lines and mounts. Hmm, she thought, this lady has been through a lot. ‘You’ve had a hard life, but it will be a long one,’ she told her. ‘There was someone in your past who meant a great deal to you, but for some reason you broke up with him.’ Seeing something else, her brow creased and she looked up sharply. ‘I see a child from this relationship too.’

  Ruth snatched her hand away, her face pale. ‘How do you know that?’

  Before she could form an answer Elsie felt as though she was being drawn into a vortex, and her senses heightened. She could feel a presence and heard a name. ‘Who’s Charlie?’ she asked.

  Ruth jerked. ‘Ch-Charlie?’ she stuttered nervously. ‘Me dad’s name was Charlie.’

  ‘He’s warning you about something … something to do with your daughter.’ Elsie closed her eyes, listening to the voice. ‘There’s a man who may harm her, a man she should keep away from.’

  Elsie could feel the presence fading, drifting away as she struggled to hold onto it. The room slowly came back into focus, and she opened her eyes to find that Ruth was visibly trembling. ‘Oh I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to frighten you, but the message must have been important for a spirit to come through so suddenly. Do you know what it means?’

  White-faced, Ruth shook her head. ‘No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Scrutinising her through half-closed eyes, Elsie could sense this wasn’t the truth, but despite that she liked Ruth and didn’t want to spoil their budding friendship. ‘Well, I think you should listen to the warning,’ she told her. ‘The message was very strong.’

  Ruth just nodded, her lips compressed. It was obvious from her expression that the subject was closed, and whilst pouring them both another cup of tea, Elsie found herself thinking about Sally’s palm, wondering if she dare talk about the child’s gifts. Deciding to trust her instincts, she sat forward in her chair and spoke earnestly. ‘Do you know that your daughter is special, Ruth?’

  ‘Special? What do you mean?’

  Elsie groped for the right words, praying inwardly that she could make her understand. ‘Some people are born with natural psychic abilities and your daughter is particularly gifted. She could grow up to be a spiritual healer.’

  ‘No, no, not my Sal. You must be mistaken,’ Ruth protested.

  Giving a gentle smile of encouragement, Elsie urged, ‘Think carefully. Haven’t you noticed anything different about her?’

  ‘No, not really. She does come out with some funny stories at times, but she’s just a kid with a vivid imagination, that’s all. Anyway, what sort of things should I ’ave noticed?’

  ‘Well, has she talked about seeing imaginary people? It sometimes manifests itself like that.’ Elsie watched Ruth’s reaction and saw that something had struck home; she was staring at her now, as though transfixed.

  ‘Her friend,’ she whispered. ‘She’s always talk
ing about her friend, and I’ve told her time and time again that it’s all in her imagination.’

  ‘What has she told you about this friend?’ Elsie asked.

  Ruth rubbed the pads of her fingers across her eyes. ‘It started last year after she had emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix. Oh Elsie, it was terrible. The surgeon told me that they nearly lost her during the operation and that she had to be resuscitated.’

  ‘How awful for you,’ Elsie consoled. ‘But please, go on.’

  ‘When she came round from the anaesthetic she started to say strange things, they sounded so daft that I thought she was delirious. She went on and on about the place she’d been to, saying she wanted to go back to the lights and to see the lovely lady again.’

  ‘Did you ask her about this place, Ruth?’

  ‘Yeah, but it didn’t make any sense. She said that she floated through a tunnel and at the end of it there were beautiful shimmering shapes. Even as she recovered from the operation it didn’t stop, and I remember getting quite cross with her. There I was, her mum, but she didn’t want to know. All she wanted was this other lady and I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.’

  As she listened to the story unfolding, Elsie realised that Sally must have had a near-death experience. She had heard similar stories before, but such things were little understood, and rarely discussed.

  ‘When she came home from the hospital,’ Ruth continued, ‘she gradually stopped talking about it, but sometimes when she’s upset or not feeling well, she tells me about this friend who comes and makes her better.’ She stopped, her eyes suddenly widening in fear. ‘Oh God, Elsie, are you telling me that my Sally’s talking to ghosts?’

  ‘No, at least not yet. But by the sound of it I think she has a spirit guide, or what some people call guardian angels.’

  Ruth sat quietly for a few moments, before a look of denial crossed her face, and shaking her head, she said, ‘I don’t know about all this, I need time to think.’ Pushing back her chair and rising abruptly to her feet she added, ‘I had better be off now, I’ve still got a lot to do. Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Why don’t you pop round again in the morning? Or I could come round to you.’

  There was a pause, followed by a sigh as Ruth said, ‘Look, I had better be straight with you from the start. My husband won’t allow me to make friends with any of our neighbours. I took a chance coming round here today and if he found out, he’d go mad. I’d love to return the favour and invite you round to my house, but I’m sorry, I just can’t risk it.’

  Oh, the poor woman, Elsie thought. Fancy having to put up with a husband like that. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re welcome to come round here any time, and your husband doesn’t need to know anything about it.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s good of you, but I’ll ’ave to think about it,’ Ruth said with a tremulous smile.

  Closing the door behind her visitor, Elsie returned to the kitchen and slumped onto a chair. She felt drained of energy and sat absentmindedly twiddling the edge of the tablecloth, thinking about her new neighbours. She had been concerned about Sally, but after looking at Ruth’s palm she was worried about her too. There were some strange goings-on next door, and it was obvious her neighbour was hiding something. But what?

  When Ruth returned home her mind was reeling. She had never met anyone like Elsie before and didn’t know what to make of it all. Her new neighbour was a clairvoyant, but she looked so normal, short and dumpy, with a kind, chubby face.

  She held onto the back of a chair, wondering what on earth had come over her, talking so openly to a complete stranger. Yet there was something about Elsie that inspired trust, a sort of deep wisdom in her eyes.

  Ruth looked critically around the kitchen and grabbing a duster, flicked it halfheartedly along the mantelpiece, unable to stop a picture of Elsie’s lovely, cosy room from filling her mind. If only Ken would give her a bit more housekeeping money she could make it nice in here too.

  Stop it, she told herself, count your blessings. After all, most men wouldn’t have forgiven her as Ken had. He had stayed with her, which was more than she deserved. No, she was lucky, and lifting her shoulders she attacked her housework with renewed vigour.

  At five o’clock Ken flung open the back door and stomped into the kitchen. Yanking a chair closer to the fire, he slumped down, yawned, and stretched out his legs to rest on the fender. Look at the state of her, he thought, watching Ruth scurrying around. The scrawny cow, she was getting like a bag of bloody bones.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ he snapped.

  ‘We’ve got toad in the hole and it’s nearly ready,’ she answered, looking at him warily.

  ‘Well, get a move on, yer lazy cow,’ he snarled, smirking at the fear in her eyes; it was no more than the bitch deserved.

  Arms raised and stretching his upper body, he grimaced as his muscles screamed in pain. Christ, it had been a hard day; his deliveries had weighed a ton. His boss, Jimmy Peterson, must be raking it in, the jammy git. There was an increasing demand for construction materials and today he’d been lumbered with delivering a large consignment of bricks to a building site across the river.

  Still, it had been a bit of luck bumping into Billy Bushell, so there had been some compensation. Billy had offered him some cheap whisky, saying with a sly wink that it had fallen off the back of a lorry, and persuading him to meet at the King’s Head in Balham later on to buy a few bottles.

  Ken relaxed in his chair, shaking out the evening paper, and for a short while the only sounds to be heard were the scraping of a spoon against the side of a saucepan, and the rustle of the newspaper as he turned the pages.

  At last, he thought, when Ruth called him to the table.

  He sat in his usual place, gulping his food, anxious to get to the pub. Mopping up the last of his gravy with a chunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth, he stood up, belching loudly. ‘Christ, ain’t it about time you learned how to cook a decent meal? You’re bleedin’ useless,’ he sneered, as he stamped out of the room.

  After a quick wash he flung on his coat, scowling at the thought of his destination. He had been born in Balham and it was where he and Ruth had started their married life, but now, if it hadn’t been for the pull of cheap whisky, he would avoid it like the plague.

  As he left the house and hurried down the Lane, he saw a bus just pulling into the stop on Long Street and sprinted to catch it. Flopping breathlessly onto the nearest seat, his thoughts were still on Ruth, recalling how after the war he had returned to their small flat, happy, optimistic, and willing to give their marriage a chance. And he had tried, by God how he had tried. But it was no good, he just couldn’t stand it: every time he looked at the ginger brat it was a reminder.

  Things might have worked out if Ruth had given him the son he wanted so desperately, but no … she had failed him in that too. He was determined to make her pay, and nowadays the only pleasure he got was from the power he wielded over her. She didn’t stand up to him, she wouldn’t dare, and the only time she showed any spunk was when he threatened the kid.

  The bus pulled up only a few steps from the King’s Head and as he pushed open the door, a thick cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out into the cold night air. Glancing quickly around he was pleased to see there were no familiar faces about, and then strolled nonchalantly up to the bar.

  ‘Well I never! It’s Ken Marchant!’

  His eyes lit up in recognition as he stared appreciatively at the blonde and busty barmaid. ‘Barbara! Well, I’ll be blowed. How are you, and how’s Bob?’

  ‘Blimey, where ’ave you been? Didn’t you hear – Bob didn’t make it. He copped it in Normandy.’

  ‘Gawd, I’m sorry to hear that, Babs.’

  ‘Thanks, Ken. I still miss him, he was such a smashing bloke.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘All those hundreds of boats that sailed to Normandy to pick our troops up from the beaches, and my Bob didn�
��t manage to get on one.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He always was last in the queue, wasn’t he? “Slow but steady” I used to call him.’

  ‘Christ, what rotten luck,’ Ken said sympathetically.

  Barbara shrugged her shoulders and in a dismissive manner, said, ‘It was a long time ago and life must go on. So come on, what can I get you?’

  ‘I’ll have a pint of bitter please, and ’ave a drink yourself.’

  ‘That’s nice of you. I’ll ’ave a drop of gin if that’s all right.’

  ‘Yeah, of course it is.’ He leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. ‘I’m looking for Billy Bushell. Have you seen him?’

  She grinned widely. ‘I’ve seen him all right. Seen him getting his collar felt.’

  ‘What! When was that?’

  ‘No more than an hour ago. He was in here flogging knocked-off booze to some geezer who, unluckily for Billy, turned out to be a copper. The landlord ain’t too happy about it, I can tell yer. If the brewery finds out, he could lose his job.’

  Ken’s eyes widened; bloody hell, if he’d arrived any earlier the police could have nabbed him too.

  Barbara looked at him shrewdly. ‘Don’t tell me you was going to buy his dodgy gear?’

  ‘Well, yeah – I was, as it happens,’ he said, grinning ruefully.

  ‘Oh, you naughty boy,’ she said, looking at him with a coquettish glint in her eyes.

  By closing time he had drunk more than usual and was enjoying chatting to Barbara as she leaned across the bar, her bust surging over the top of her tight, low-cut sweater.

  ‘Hang about, Ken, I’ll soon ’ave this lot cleared up, then you can come back to my place for a drop of whisky if you like.’

  ‘Now then, love, you know I’m a married man,’ he told her, holding up his hands in mock horror.

  ‘But Ken, it’s only whisky I’m offering,’ she said, her smile belying her words.