Authors: Kitty Neale
‘Oh…but…’
Mavis found her words cut off as Edith Pugh interrupted her to say, ‘Mavis, I insist. Think what
a wonderful surprise it would be if one day you pick up a book or newspaper and begin to read out loud to your mother. Surely that would be better than the disappointment she’d face if this doesn’t work?’
‘Yes…yes, I suppose so.’
‘Good girl, and also, if your mother knows what I’m trying to do, she’s bound to want progress reports. I don’t want that, because as I said it may take some time and the last thing you need is to feel under any pressure.’
Mavis took in Mrs Pugh’s words, and had to agree that she was right. Oh, please let it work, she thought, anticipating the look on her mother’s face if she could read. She’d see pride at last and, maybe, even love.
On Saturday Ron woke up bathed in sweat, but at least the delirium had passed. He smiled gratefully at Pat Higgins, the woman who all those months ago had come to his rescue, tending him then as she was now.
All his big ideas about boarding a ship and leaving these shores forever had come to nothing, just as everything he tried to do came to nothing. Mind you, on that occasion it hadn’t been down to him. It had been down to a rotten pie, the one he’d found in a dustbin. He’d been fine at first, but by that night he’d been in agony, sweaty, shivering, sick, and chucking his guts out in an alley. Things were a bit foggy after that, but according to Pat she had found him lying in his own vomit, and with the help of another tom she had got him back to her flat.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ she asked now.
‘A bit better, but I could do with a drink.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Come on, Pat, just one. Look at me hands, they’re shaking and you know a drink will see me right.’
‘Yeah, but just a small one for now.’
Ron watched eagerly as Pat crossed the room, immune now to the way she dressed and the makeup she plastered on her face. Yes, Pat was a tom, but one with a heart of gold and one who plied her trade every night to provide the alcohol they both craved. The only thing she wouldn’t do was to give him money for gambling, but nowadays all Ron cared about was his next drink, and when Pat shoved a glass of whisky in his hand he downed it in one go. ‘Thanks, love, but what happened last night? I can’t remember a thing.’
‘You had a go at one of me punters, that’s what.’
‘Did I? Bloody hell. Why did I do it? Was he being a bit rough?’
‘No, he wasn’t. Shit, Ron, how many times have I got to tell you this? Unless I call you, stay out of the way when I bring a punter back. In the state you were in you’d have been useless anyway and you’re lucky he didn’t deck you.’
‘I’m sorry, Pat.’
‘Not as sorry as me. He didn’t pay.’
Ron knew how to placate Pat. He wasn’t any good to her in bed, found an erection impossible these days, but that seemed to suit her just fine.
All she craved was a bit of affection, a cuddle without any strings attached. ‘Come here, love.’
‘Bugger off. You’re not going to soft-soap me this time.’
‘Come on, just a little cuddle.’
She scowled, but then, with a small shake of her head, climbed beside him on the bed. Ron wrapped his arms around her, his feelings of distaste long gone now, and stroking her hair he murmured, ‘I’m a useless bastard, Pat, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Nor do I, you daft bugger.’
Ron held her for a while, and like a child she snuggled into him. A wave of depression swamped him. Unlike his daughter, Pat wasn’t a child. She was a woman in her forties. Yet Mavis wasn’t a child now either. She was sixteen, and on her birthday he’d persuaded Pat to buy a card, which she then posted. It had assuaged his guilt, and thanks to Pat the rest of his daughter’s birthday passed in a haze of alcohol. And it was whisky he craved again now. It drowned out his memories, helped him to forget his past, one that, unless he stopped drinking and pulled himself together, he could never return to. ‘Pat, any chance of another drink?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ she said.
Pat climbed off the bed and once again Ron watched eagerly as she went across the room, this time returning with the bottle of whisky and
two glasses. The measure she poured was large and Ron took the glass with a shaking hand, gulping the liquid gratefully.
He felt better shortly afterwards, mellow, and as Pat snuggled up to him again, he held her for a while, until she was ready to pour them both another drink.
Pat Higgins was smiling inwardly. She had come to love this tall, good-looking man who, unlike all the others, didn’t want to use her body. At first, as Ron recovered from food poisoning, all he had talked about was his wife and kid, along with his dreams of making it big so he could go back to them. Pat didn’t want that. Ron was different and she never wanted to let him go. All her life she had been abused by men. First by her father, and then, when she was taken into care, by a man in the children’s home. Even in foster care she’d been abused, until finally she had run away, surviving on the streets by telling herself that this time it was her choice that the bastards were using her body, and that at least she was getting paid.
She’d done all right over the years, made enough money to rent this place, but had always felt that there was something missing in her life. It certainly wasn’t sex. She’d had her fill of men, and when she’d found Ron in that alley, another tom had told her she was mad to take him back to her flat.
Pat knew she was right, but there was something about Ron’s helplessness that drew her to take the chance.
Pat snuggled closer to Ron. At first she knew that he hated what she did for a living, but then she had opened up, told him about her past and had seen the horror on his face. She knew it had been an impulse, that he had been driven by pity when he had drawn her into his arms, and had expected the inevitable to happen. But it hadn’t! He had just held her, comforted her, and for the first time in her life Pat had felt affection without any strings attached—felt that someone actually cared.
When Ron had fully recovered, she hadn’t wanted him to leave, and as he had nowhere else to go, she’d persuaded him to stay. Pat knew he was depressed and it hadn’t taken Ron long to become hooked on alcohol, in no fit state to find work, and dependent on her for his next drink.
Her face saddened. She wasn’t a fool and knew that Ron didn’t love her. It was just the alcohol that held him here, yet in truth she encouraged his need. She couldn’t let him go, wouldn’t go back to the loneliness she now knew had gripped her all her life.
‘Pat, I can’t stop thinking about my daughter. I hope she got my card.’
‘Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?’ Pat said,
knowing that the birthday card had never been posted.
‘Maybe I should write to Lily again, you know, just to let her know that I’m all right.’
‘Yeah, all right, I’ll post it for you when I go out,’ Pat said as she sat up to pour Ron another glass of whisky. A couple more and he’d forget about his wife and daughter as usual. If he did write a letter, it would go in the bin like previous ones. Ron was hers now and, as far as she was concerned, she’d make sure that his wife never heard from him again.
‘Mavis, surely you’re not going to Edith Pugh’s again?’ Lily asked. ‘You were there cleaning this morning, so why go back now?’
‘She’s teaching me things.’
‘Like what?’
Mavis bit her lip as though searching for an answer before saying, ‘I can cook a complete dinner now, and do a pudding.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Lily said doubtfully, ‘well, I’d like to see that. You can cook ours today.’
‘I can’t. My cookery book is at her house.’
‘Book! Since when could you read a book?’
‘I can’t,’ Mavis said sharply. ‘It’s all done with drawings.’
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh, yeah, and where did you get this book?’
‘I made it. It was Mrs Pugh’s idea, and I’ve got lots of recipes now, cakes too.’
‘I don’t see how you can draw a recipe for making a cake.’
‘It’s easy. For instance, I draw cups for measurements. Two cups means two cups of flour, and for margarine I draw a block, with dotted lines on it to show me how much to use.’
‘It sounds like a bloody good idea,’ Pete said. ‘That Edith Pugh must be a clever woman to have thought that up.’
‘I’m off, Mum,’ Mavis said. ‘I’ll be back in time for dinner.’
‘Yeah, and don’t be late,’ Pete called.
With a curt nod, Mavis hurried out, and Lily sighed. Mavis had been a bit better with Pete for the past month, yet she still went out almost as soon as he arrived. There was a change in Mavis too, something Lily couldn’t put her finger on. ‘Pete, do you think Mavis is up to something?’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I dunno, but she ain’t the same lately.’
‘She’s just growing up, love, and wants a bit more independence. You can’t expect a sixteen-year-old to be stuck in here with us. She’s just spreading her wings a bit, that’s all.’
‘Leave it out, Pete. She only goes round to see Edith Pugh and the woman’s older than us.’
‘Yeah, but don’t forget that she’s teaching her
things, and, if you don’t mind me saying, I think Mavis is more intelligent than you give her credit for.’
‘Why? Just because she can cook from drawings! Kids learn to read and write at infant or junior school, but not Mavis. Unlike the other pupils, she was too daft to pick it up.’
‘Maybe it’s her eyesight. Have you had it tested?’
‘Pete, that was one of the first things they suggested at infant school, and yes, we had her eyes tested. They’re fine. Now can we change the subject?’
‘All right, but have you thought about Edith Pugh’s son? Maybe that’s who Mavis really goes to see.’
‘Alec Pugh. You must be joking. Mavis doesn’t like him, and from what I saw I don’t blame her. He’s a right stuck-up sod and he ain’t much to look at either.’
‘Nor am I, Lily. Let’s face it—I can never compete with Ron.’
‘You don’t have to. You’re a good man, kind and reliable, and that’s what matters.’
‘Yeah, if you say so, but women have never fancied me.’
‘I do,’ Lily said, and it was true. Pete may not be much to look at, but he had a wonderful muscular body and after so long she craved a man’s touch.
‘Don’t say that, Lily. It makes it even harder. I know I said I’d wait, for however long it takes, but to be honest it’s hell. If I saw less of you it might help.’
‘Oh, no, Pete, don’t stop coming round.’
‘Until Ron shows his face, it’s for the best, love. When he turns up and you tell him that it’s over between you, I’ll still be around, waiting.’
At that moment, Lily came to a decision. Ron might never turn up and she too was finding it harder and harder. Behind closed doors, the neighbours would never know, and she could still put on a front that Pete was just a friend.
She stood up, walked over to his chair to take his hand, saying softly, ‘You don’t have to wait any longer, Pete. Come on, let’s go upstairs.’
Mavis found her mind wandering as she made her way to Ellington Avenue. She wasn’t sure when the dream had started, but it kept returning, and last night had been the same. There was a young man, reaching out for her, but she couldn’t see his face. She wanted him to get to her, felt a deep yearning, but there was always a barrier, something or someone in his way. Who was he? Why couldn’t she see his face? And why did he haunt her dreams?
Mavis shook off the image as she knocked on the door of Mrs Pugh’s house. Alec opened it and smiled his usual welcome as he invited her in. She found him more relaxed now, less formal, and after her lesson he would often join them for an update on how things were going. Not that there was much to tell him. So far, despite all Mrs Pugh’s patient efforts, Mavis found that she was still unable to make sense of the words that seemed to swirl on the page. She was beginning to despair,
but Mrs Pugh always managed to pick her up, saying it was early days yet.
‘Look,’ Alec said, waving his newspaper as Mavis took off her coat. ‘It’s been nearly a month, but the Fleet Street maintenance workers have gone back to work.’
Mavis knew that both he and Mrs Pugh had missed their daily newspapers and smiled as she said, ‘I bet your mother’s pleased.’
‘Yes, but let’s hope they don’t go on strike again. They still haven’t come to an agreement about the two pounds a week wage increase they’re demanding.’
‘What does your mother say about it?’
‘Oh, you know her. She’s all for the unions, the rights of workers—there’s no arguing with her.’
‘Alec, I heard that,’ a voice called.
They grinned at each other, then both walked into the living room. ‘Well, Mother, there’s nothing wrong with your ears,’ Alec said, still smiling.
‘No, there isn’t. Now run along and leave us in peace.’
‘Yes, Mother. After all, far be it from me to interfere with your protégée’s lesson.’
‘Don’t sulk, Alec. It’s only for an hour and then you can join us.’
Mavis frowned, wondering about Alec’s curt remark, but as he left the room, Mrs Pugh spoke again.
‘Don’t take any notice of Alec. He seems to like your company nowadays and resents being chased out.’
‘Likes my company?’ Mavis squeaked.
‘Alec knows now that he misjudged you at first. He’s too much in my company and it makes a pleasant change for him when you’re here. He likes you, my dear, very much, but as a pretty and intelligent girl, I’m not surprised. Now come on, it’s time we got on with your lesson.’
Mavis was thrilled that Mrs Pugh had said she was intelligent, but wasn’t sure what to make of her comments about Alec. It was nice to hear that he enjoyed her company, that he liked her, but was Mrs Pugh implying that there was something more to it than that? No, no, surely not? She liked Alec too, but not in
that
way. And surely he wasn’t the young man who haunted her dreams?
Kate Truman was tight-lipped. It was early afternoon, but she’d lived next door to Lily Jackson for years and in that time, when she was upstairs, she’d come to recognise certain noises through the thin walls. Lily was always a bit loud, a passionate woman, something Kate envied. Her husband had never managed to raise the same passion in her, and their sex life was disappointing to say the least. Still, Bill was a good husband in other ways, and
unlike Lily’s old man he was hard-working and reliable.
Kate didn’t consider herself a prude but, when all was said and done, Lily was a married woman. Huh, so much for Pete just being a friend. Of course, she’d had her suspicions, but Lily had been adamant that nothing was going on, and like a mug she’d believed her, even jumping to her defence when others in the street made sly comments.
With an angry huff, Kate stuffed the rest of the freshly ironed sheets into the cupboard and then marched downstairs, all her previous doubts about Lily that she’d shoved to one side coming to the fore as she stormed into the kitchen.
‘Bill, you’re never going to believe this, but Lily and her so-called friend have been at it like rabbits.’
Bill just shrugged, his eyes going back to his newspaper.
‘Lily’s a married woman and should be ashamed of herself.’
‘As her old man did a runner about ten months ago, you can hardly blame her.’
‘It’s still adultery and not only that, what about Mavis?’
‘What about her?’
‘How’s she going to feel about the way her mother’s carrying on? It’s hardly a lesson in morals, is it?’
‘For Gawd’s sake, Kate, get off your high horse.’
Kate ignored Bill’s comment. ‘Poor Mavis. Lily has used her like a workhorse for years, treating her like she’s an imbecile and it ain’t right.’
‘She’s backward, ain’t she?’
‘No, I don’t think so, and I’ve been telling Lily so ever since Mavis was little.’
‘She must know her own daughter.’
‘Lily has never had any time for Mavis. Honestly, Bill, it’s as if she’s ashamed of the girl.’
‘Kate, it’s none of our business, now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to read me newspaper.’
Her anger still raging, Kate snapped, ‘You’ve been reading the bloody thing all day and must have read it back to front by now. Oh, sod you, I’m going across the road to see Olive Wilson.’
‘Keep out of it,’ Bill called, but once again Kate chose to ignore her husband as, fuelled by righteous indignation, she hurried to Olive’s house.
Lily had lied to her and there’d be no more jumping to her defence this time—instead she’d tell Olive just what her neighbour was up to.
By the time the weekend had passed, the gossip in Cullen Street had spread like wildfire. Lily wasn’t aware of it until she went out on Monday morning, puzzled by the filthy look she got from Olive Wilson and the woman she was talking to on her doorstep.
Since her run-in with Olive and her son, Lily had ignored the woman, and did so now as she passed her. It had surprised her when Kate and Olive became friendly, especially as Tommy had tried it on with her daughter too, but that was Kate. When Jill Barnet’s husband had been nicked for thieving, Kate had gone to offer her sympathies, and, of course, it got her first-hand news of what was going on that she could pass on to the rest of her cronies. The gossip had been so bad in the street that finally Jill and her family moved away, and it wasn’t long after that that the friendship between Olive Wilson and Kate had blossomed.
Dismissing them from her mind, Lily’s thoughts turned to Pete and the blissful weekend they had spent together. As soon as Mavis went out of the door they fell into each other’s arms, both so starved of sex that they couldn’t get enough of each other. Of course, she made sure there were no shows of affection in front of Mavis, and insisted that Pete went home at a reasonable hour.
‘Morning, Mrs Davidson,’ Lily said absently to the old woman in the end house who was polishing her letterbox.
‘Slut,’ the woman spat before walking inside and slamming her door.
Lily blanched as the penny dropped. Oh, God! Oh, God, no! Olive Wilson had given her a filthy
look, and now she’d been called a slut. They must know about her and Pete, but how?
With her heart thumping in her chest, Lily shot round the corner, hurrying away from Cullen Street. How was she going to face her neighbours now? How was she going to live this down?
Oh, Pete, Pete, what am I gonna do?
She’d have to stop seeing him, keep him away, but dreaded the thought of life without him. She had to talk to him, somehow prevent him from turning up at the house. There was only one thing to do, she’d have to go to see him at the building site, and, as it was only about a fifteen-minute walk away, she headed in that direction.
At last Lily reached the gates, her eyes scanning the site; seeing Pete, she shouted and waved to get his attention. At last he turned around, his face anxious as he hurried towards her.
‘What is it, Lily? What’s wrong?’
Pete had become her rock, her lover, but Lily knew she had to let him go. ‘I’m sorry, Pete. I don’t want to see you any more.’
His eyes widened, the questions coming fast. ‘What? But why? Has Ron turned up? Is that it?’
‘No, he hasn’t. It…it’s just that you’ve got to stay away. All the neighbours know about us, and one has already called me a slut.’
‘That’s no reason to keep me away. Sod the bloody neighbours.’
‘It’s easy for you to say that, but I have to live in Cullen Street. Every time I go out of the door I’m gonna have to face them and their nasty remarks. If I keep flaunting you under their noses it’ll just get worse, but it’s bound to die down eventually if I stop seeing you.’
‘Lily, I don’t understand. What does it matter what people think, or say? How you run your life is your business, not theirs.’
‘I can’t face being called a slut, or worse. I just can’t.’
‘Well, then, there’s only one thing to do. I’ve got the perfect solution,’ Pete said and, as he continued, Lily at last began to smile.
Yes, he was right, it was the answer to their problems. ‘Oh, yes, Pete, I’d love that.’
‘Right, leave it with me and I’ll sort things out. Now how about a kiss before I go back to work?’
Lily kissed him, her heart lighter as she got in a few things from the shop before making her way back to Cullen Street. She’d tell Mavis when the girl came home from work. If her daughter didn’t like it, that was just too bad. Like it or not, as always, she’d do as she was told.
Mavis walked home, her day’s work over. She always started with Mrs Pugh and then went over the bridge to Chelsea. Both of the houses she cleaned in that area were key jobs, ones where the
owners were at work by the time she arrived. It was nice to be trusted with house keys, and though her employers were absent ones, Mavis never stinted on the cleaning and always made sure everything was immaculate, just as Mrs Pugh had taught her. Once she had found money lying on the floor and had left it on the sideboard where her employer would see it. When she had told her mother, she had laughed, saying that it was obviously a test to see if she was honest. In each house there had been occasions when her employers had turned up when she was working, and Mavis suspected that they were checking up on her. They had never found anything to complain about, had in fact praised her work, and nowadays she rarely saw them.
Mavis turned into Cullen Street and almost collided with Sandra Truman. ‘Oh…sorry,’ she said.
‘Listen, Mavis, I’m glad I bumped into you. I know it’s going to be rotten, but don’t take any notice of the gossips.’
‘Gossips? What do you mean?’
‘Oh, God, you haven’t heard.’
‘Heard what?’
‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ Sandra said hastily as she hurried away.
‘Wait!’ Mavis called, but it was too late. Sandra had turned the corner and was out of sight.
Puzzled, Mavis walked to her door, and letting herself in, she went through to the kitchen. ‘Mum, do you know what’s going on? I just bumped into Sandra and she was on about some kind of gossip.’
‘Yeah, but don’t worry about it. We’re moving anyway.’
‘What? Where are we going?’
‘I dunno yet, Pete’s sorting it out, but a long way from this bloody area and soon I hope.’
‘But why?’
‘Look, you ain’t a kid and old enough to hear the truth. Me and Pete are moving in together.’
‘But…but you can’t. What about Dad? When he comes back, he won’t know where we are.’
‘I’ve waited long enough without a word from your precious father. What do you expect me to do? Hang around forever, while my life passes me by? Well, no thanks. Pete’s a good man, he’ll take care of me, and he’s willing to take you on. He’ll be a proper father too.’
‘No, no! He’s not my dad,’ Mavis cried and turning she fled the house, running and running, unaware until she was almost there that she was at Ellington Avenue. Her refuge.