‘But I know nothing about buying stock.’
‘Then you’ll learn. I’ll give you a few pointers, but you’ll have to keep your wits about you or you’ll get palmed off with rubbish.’ Charlie paused to gasp, his face creased with pain, but then he rallied again. ‘There’s this place too, but it’s only rented. I could have a word with the landlord to see if he’ll let you take it on, but to be honest, you’re a bit young and I can’t see him agreeing to it. You can have the furniture, such as it is, and you never know, if I tell the landlord about the stall, it might just swing it.’
Dick’s mind was reeling. He couldn’t take it in…Then seeing Charlie almost doubled up in agony he rushed to his side. ‘Come on, forget about this now. Let’s get you to bed and whether you like it or not, you’re going to have a dose of that pain-killing stuff.’
‘All right, I won’t argue,’ Charlie said as Dick heaved him to his feet.
Clinging like limpets, they struggled through to his bedroom. Dick helped the old man to undress, but after he’d swallowed a dose of medicine, Charlie urged Dick to leave him.
‘You need to be up in the morning, lad. Go on, get some sleep yourself. I’ll be fine now.’
Dick stared at him for a while, struggling to hold back his emotions. He managed, just, but when he got to his own bedroom, he broke down. He had worked for Charlie only since leaving school, but the man had become like a father to him–well, perhaps a grandfather, something he had missed out on when his own had died when he was just a nipper. Now Charlie was dying too and in dreadful pain. Dick knew he needed looking after, but how could he do that and run the stall? Bloody hell–a stall that was to become his? Well, sod the business for now, he’d worry about that later. At the moment he was more concerned about Charlie’s care.
Dick climbed into bed, feeling that, at nearly sixteen, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When Emma woke up in the morning her head was swimming and she had a foul taste in her mouth. Just the thought of brandy made her feel nauseous, but one good thing had come out of it. If Horace had made love to her, she wasn’t aware of it. Her hands moved under the blankets. Oh, no, she was naked, and that meant Horace must have undressed her! He was already up and she dreaded facing him, but she was already late getting his breakfast.
She climbed out of bed, her head thumping and, once dressed, made her way to the kitchen.
‘So, you’re up,’ Horace said.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Considering the condition you were in last night, I thought it would be a waste of time.’
‘I…I’m sorry.’
‘I left you to tidy up before coming to bed, but instead you decided to drink almost half a
decanter of brandy. What on earth possessed you?’
Emma hung her head. ‘I…I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know! What sort of excuse is that? My first wife enjoyed a glass of sherry, which is acceptable, but she never disgraced herself by becoming drunk.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said again.
He ignored her mumbled apology. ‘I don’t want to ever see you in that state again and…’
On and on he went, and Emma bore his tirade, but by the time he finally stalked out, saying he wouldn’t be back until that evening, her headache had worsened to the extent that as soon as the door closed behind him, she went back to bed.
Emma awoke two hours later to the sound of someone banging on the front door. She groaned, but threw a dressing gown on to hurry downstairs. Gingerly she opened the front door to find Dick hovering anxiously outside.
‘Emma, thank God you’re in. I’ve been knocking for ages.’ Dick paused. ‘You look rough. Have you only just got up?’
Emma pulled him hastily inside. ‘I’ve got a bad headache, that’s all. Anyway, what are you doing here at this time of day?’
‘I had to speak to you and found someone to mind the stall, but I ain’t got long.’
‘Someone to mind the stall. Why? Where’s Charlie?’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about.’
The taste in Emma’s mouth made her grimace, and she was desperate for a cup of tea.
‘Come through to the kitchen,’ she urged. ‘You can talk to me while I make a drink.’
Emma listened to Dick and when the tea was made she poured them each a cup. She tried to take in what he was saying, but her head was still thumping and now she felt sick too. Swallowing her nausea, she took a gulp of tea, and then, closing her eyes, she sat back in her chair.
‘Sorry What?’
‘I said, what am I gonna do, Em? I can’t look after Charlie
and
run the stall.’
The word is “going,” not “gonna”.
‘Huh, I didn’t come here for you to pick me up on my speech. Blimey, I can’t believe how much you’ve changed in such a short time. Now you sound like Lady Muck. This big house has certainly gone to your head.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dick, it’s just that I’m trying to improve myself and Horace corrects me every time I open my mouth. I didn’t mean to sound like him and I’ll try not to do it again. Anyway, back to Charlie. He needs a woman to look after him, or maybe he’d be better off in hospital.’
‘I was wondering if you’d look after him, Em.’
Emma shook her head. ‘I wish I could help, but I’m afraid Horace wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘Why not?’
She lowered her eyes, choosing her words carefully. ‘He likes me to be here in case he comes home during the day, and if I’m not he can be very difficult.’
‘Difficult! What do you mean?’ Dick said, then his voice rose sharply. ‘Here, he doesn’t hit you, does he?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘That’s all right then. Mind you, I still don’t see why you have to sit here all day just in case he comes home.’
Emma felt the colour flooding her cheeks, and when Dick saw it the penny obviously dropped. He looked away and, embarrassed, she hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Poor Charlie, but I’m sure you can persuade him to go into hospital.’
‘I hope so,’ Dick said as he looked up again, ‘and it’s good of him to give me the stall.’
‘Yes…yes it is.’ But then something struck Emma. ‘Are you sure he can pass it on to you? I mean, are you old enough?’
‘I don’t think the stall matters. It’s more the pitch and I don’t know where I stand with that.’
‘Charlie must know what he’s doing. I’m really sorry I can’t be of more help. Is he in a lot of pain?’
‘Yeah, he’s really rough, but don’t worry about
it, Em. I’m sure I’ll be able to sort something out.’ He swallowed the last of his drink. ‘I’d best get back.’
Emma walked her brother to the door before returning to the kitchen. She flopped into a chair, her head still thumping, her shame at not being able to help Charlie, who had been so good to her brother, combining with her headache. It was a long time before she moved again.
Dick decided to check on Charlie before taking over the stall. When he went into the small terraced house, he found the old man still in bed, his face grey with pain.
‘Charlie, you can’t go on like this. I think you need to go into hospital.’
‘No, lad, I want to die in my own bed.’
‘You can’t be left on your own all day. You need someone to look after you, but I can’t do that and run the stall.’
The old man nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Come to that, who’s on the stall now?’
‘One of the costermongers lent me his lad.’
‘You’re not much more than a lad yourself and I need a bit more time to get you up to scratch. Hospital can wait for a few more days–we’ll have another chat about buying stock this evening.’
‘All right, but in the meantime can you think of anyone I could ask to keep an eye on you?’
‘No, lad, and anyway, I never could stand being made a fuss of. If you get some busybody of a woman in here I’d never get a minute’s peace. Why do you think I never married? My mother was a battleaxe, ruling both my father and me. She was always fussing, always cleaning, always nagging and I was glad to leave home.’
Dick scratched his chin. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to leave the stall in the lockup for a few days.’
‘Tell Johnny and Sid to pop in to see me. I want to talk to them about the pitch, and they might be willing to set up the stall too, running it between them.’
‘Yeah, all right, but what’s this about the pitch?’
‘You need someone to take it on for a while, and then sign it over to you when you’re older. I’d trust Johnny or Sid with my life and I reckon one of them would do it.’
It seemed the old man had thought of everything and Dick felt a surge of gratitude. ‘I’ll make you a drink before I go and I’ll try to pop in later. While I’m at it, do you fancy something to eat?’
‘No, I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.’
Dick hurried to the scullery, and made Charlie a mug of tea.
Charlie managed a small wave goodbye before Dick hurried to the market, still unhappy about leaving him on his own. Well, sod the stall, he
decided. If Sid and Johnny wouldn’t run it, it could bloody well stay in the lockup.
By three in the afternoon, Emma was feeling better. She went to the drawing room, plumped up the cushions, and then flicked a duster around, thankful there wasn’t much to do. The drinks cabinet was open, the lid off one of the decanters and, grimacing, she replaced it. Would she get another telling-off when Horace came home? Yes, probably, but she could stand that. It was the other thing she dreaded. Oh, if only drinking the brandy hadn’t made her feel so awful. Not only that, she had passed out! Emma knew she had drunk too much, and maybe a smaller amount might help, but the thought of the smell and taste of the alcohol made her stomach turn again.
It was then that she noticed another bottle tucked away at the back of the cabinet and, drawing it forward, saw it was labelled ‘Sherry’. Horace had said his wife had drunk this. Curious, Emma took the top off, lifting the bottle to sniff the contents. The smell was nice, sweet, and after swiftly looking over her shoulder like a naughty child that doesn’t want to be caught, she took a sip straight from the bottle. Goodness, it was nice. Sweet, yes, but smooth too, with none of the harshness of brandy.
When Horace arrived home for dinner at seven
o’clock, Emma was pleasantly mellow. She had learned her lesson, only drinking enough sherry to ease her nerves.
‘I see you’re looking better,’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’
His expression changed to one she knew well, and grabbing her arm, he drew her onto the sofa. She hated it, hated the way that without preamble he pushed up her skirt. He fumbled with his trousers, thrusting into her, and she lay compliant beneath him. There was no enjoyment–she still hated it–but with the aid of sherry she was able to bear it until at last it was over.
Horace slumped on her for a moment, but then stood up, adjusting his clothes. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm, ‘but it was obvious as usual that you found it distasteful.’
As Horace left the room, Emma pulled down her skirt. Yes, sherry had helped, and as long as she was sensible, Horace need never know.
Polly was fidgeting in her chair. She wasn’t happy that after just three months of marriage Tom’s interest in sex had diminished. Oh, she had tried everything, but other than the occasional Sunday night, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was his new job, and she regretted that he’d found a job as a hod carrier. The money was good, better than labouring, but, unused to the repetitive lifting, Tom’s back was playing up and he came home exhausted every day.
Polly knew she was unnatural, knew that other women didn’t crave sex as she did, and felt sick at what she was tempted to do. But, oh, she couldn’t do without, she just couldn’t.
The clatter of spoons in bowls interrupted her thought, the kids finishing their breakfast and soon off to school. She’d made a bit of a fuss at Christmas, buying a tree and putting presents under for the kids. Oh, it had been a joy to see
their faces, to get so many cuddles. The last thing she had expected when she had married Tom was to grow fond of his children. The girls were beginning to feel like her own daughters.
Luke picked up the dishes, taking them to the sink, and Polly’s eyes watched his every movement. Unlike the girls, she was unable to see him as her child. He was so beautiful, his young body lithe, and as Polly stood up to join him, she couldn’t resist making sure that her ample breasts brushed against him. ‘Are you all right, love?’
He coloured to the roots of his hair, avoiding her eyes as he mumbled, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Not long now and you’ll be leaving school. You’ll be a man, earning your own wage,’ she said, running a hand along the fine hairs on his arm.
‘He ain’t a man,’ Susan protested.
Polly jumped, moving swiftly away from Luke and saying brusquely, ‘Come on now, get your coats on or you’ll be late.’
They did as she asked, and only five minutes later left the house, Luke behind them like a shepherd with his flock, throwing a shy smile at her over his shoulder before closing the door.
Polly washed the breakfast dishes, hoping that when Tom came home that evening he’d go out for a drink. It would give her the opportunity she
needed, the thought making her squirm in delicious anticipation.
For Emma, married only a little longer than Polly, sherry had become like a magical elixir, changing her life. She would be eighteen in a month, but still felt a prisoner, and though she still didn’t like sex, and doubted she ever would, at least now it was bearable.
She was still the obedient wife, always there when Horace came home, no matter what time of the day, but her resentment was rising. She saw little of her family and was missing them. Not her father–she didn’t miss him–but she longed to see more of her brothers and sisters. Christmas had been awful, just the two of them, though Horace had begrudgingly let her take presents to Balham for the children. Her eyes saddened. She had dreamed of riches, of being able to buy them wonderful presents, but instead had only managed to get them one small gift each from the little she’d saved from the housekeeping. Her own present from Horace had been a disappointment too, just a pair of leather gloves, with hers to him a scarf.