‘I remember that too,’ Amy said. ‘Just about, although I was only a nipper at the time. It wasn’t so bad. I remember my old granddad singing me to sleep night after night, and there was always someone to tell me a story. But it’s years since all the soldiers came home from the war, why haven’t they solved the housing problem by now?’
‘Because half of Manchester was bombed in the blitz, you silly girl, and it takes a lot of money to rebuild. It certainly can’t be done overnight. Besides, there always was a shortage of decent housing in Manchester, even before the war. It’s just that the bombing, the flood of soldiers, not to mention everybody having babies, has made a bad problem worse.’
As she said this Mavis glared at Amy, as if she personally had made matters worse by having a baby too.
Amy found her mother-in-law very strange. She still came over every day, full of criticism and useless advice, but rarely did she offer to pick Danny up and give him a cuddle. She never volunteered to babysit, and only once had she offered to take him out for an airing, and that had simply been to show off the magnificent Silver Cross pram she’d bought for him.
Amy certainly couldn’t complain about her generosity in helping to provide for the baby, but the house was another matter. It wasn’t exactly the start to their married life that she’d planned. But at least they were on their own now, and she had Danny.
She loved blowing raspberries into his tummy to make him smile, and breathing in the scent of him after a bath when he smelled of soap and talcum powder. It seemed like a miracle that she and Chris could create this precious little person out of their love.
So what did a house matter? They were a family. Things could only get better.
One morning Amy tucked Danny into his pram and put him out in the back yard. At least Thomas had succeeded in making that look presentable with its white-washed walls, and pots of geraniums. Thomas loved his geraniums. Where was he these days? she wondered. Why hadn’t he called in to see her lately, and to see Danny who he adored?
The baby hadn’t been out five minutes when a great gust of wind blew up. Amy heard a terrible crash and ran outside to find a great length of guttering had fallen off the house inches from the pram.
‘Danny could have been killed,’ she told Chris the minute he walked through the door that night. ‘We have to do something.’
‘What can we do?’ Chris was as alarmed as she was by this near-accident yet keenly aware that he had no spare cash to do any further work on the house. ‘I can probably fix the guttering myself, with Dad’s help that is. It wouldn’t be worth buying new anyway, since the house isn’t ours, we only rent it. And I certainly can’t produce a new one out of the hat, sorry love. Anyway, look at him grinning away there, he’s fine.’
‘He’s not grinning, he’s got wind,’ Amy sulkily informed her husband. ‘And he might not have been all right. We were lucky this time but it could happen again. Anything could happen. And I’m sure he’s starting with a cold. He’s very fretful and keeps sneezing and coughing. It’s all this mould creeping up the walls. I keep scrubbing it away, knocking off those damned mushrooms, but they grow back in days. What are we to do?’
Chris could think of nothing but taking his wife to bed and loving her. It was a good start and made Amy feel much better, but wasn’t particularly practical.
Amy tackled the landlord about the need for repairs, particularly the roof with its loose guttering and missing slates. He simply laughed, reminding her of their agreement that repairs were the tenant’s responsibility. Besides, this was the rough end of Champion Street, so what did she expect?
There seemed little point in asking him to build on a bathroom.
The next day she went down to the council offices to put their name on the housing list. Amy was shocked by the length of the queue since she’d imagined everyone but them must have a house by now. How wrong she was. After she’d filled in all the necessary forms she asked how long it would be before they might hope to get a council house.
‘Come back in ten years and see how we’re getting on,’ said the bored clerk behind the desk.
Ten
years
! She’d be old and grey by then.
The following morning she walked the pram over Princes Bridge and visited one or two developers, asking the price of flats they were building in Salford. She came home exhausted but with a sheaf of particulars which she and Chris avidly read. They got quite excited until they came to the bottom line and saw the price. They couldn’t even hope to raise the deposit, let alone get a mortgage on what Chris was earning at the bakery, so what hope did they have of ever buying a place of their own?
‘We’ll just have to go on renting,’ Chris gloomily acknowledged.
‘Then we must start saving,’ Amy said, and made up her mind there and then that it was time to find herself a job. If it took ten years to get to the top of the council housing list, it surely would only take half as long to save up the deposit for a flat of their own. It was certainly worth a try. But who would employ a woman with a baby?
Patsy was again sitting amidst a muddle of baby clothes, helping to fold clean nappies while she poured out her heart to Amy. ‘It’s so difficult at busy times to manage on my own. Trouble is, I don’t like to ask Clara to do much more than a couple of afternoons a week at present, as she’s got all of Annie’s stuff to sort out. She also does the accounts and all the paperwork, of course. I’d employ a girl but I couldn’t afford to pay more than peanuts, so who’d come?
‘You could ask me,’ Amy said, tipping another bucket-load of dirty nappies into the sink.
Patsy looked at her in surprise. ‘Are you offering?’
‘I might be.’
Patsy looked at her friend askance, at the milk seeping through her blouse, at her tousled hair and the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Not exactly a picture-book image of motherhood. ‘Look, pardon me for saying so, love, but you look as if you’ve got enough on your plate right now.’
Amy gave a sheepish smile. ‘I know, but it can surely only get better, can’t it?’
‘Yeah, once he’s running around shoving his fingers in plug sockets and eating Tide washing powder from under the sink you’ll have all the time in the world.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ Amy laughed, cringing. ‘Anyway, much as I might like to stay home with Danny and be a full-time mum, we need the money. Thomas has done a grand job, considering what he had to work with, but the house is very old and full of problems. We need to save up for a better place than this. It almost costs me as much each week for bleach to clean the mould off the walls as it does to pay the rent.’
Turning on the hot tap she began to scrub the dirty nappies. ‘And I want a washing machine too, so yes, I’m not too proud to look for work to pay for one. Danny is six weeks old now, so I’d be happy to accept peanuts if I could bring him with me.’
Patsy brightened. ‘I can see your point, but I never thought to ask you. I reckoned you’d be too wrapped up in baby stuff to be interested.’
‘To be honest, baby stuff, as you call it, can get a bit boring after a while. I’d welcome a few adults to talk to, and I’d make sure the pram didn’t get in the way. Danny usually sleeps all afternoon, in any case.’
‘I’m sure we can squeeze it in somewhere.’
‘I’ve fixed up to do the odd morning for Lizzie Pringle too on her sweets and chocolate stall. She’s no objection either to my taking Danny with me. I could do a couple of afternoons for you too, if you were interested.’
‘Oh, Amy, do you really mean it?’
‘I do.’
‘Then together we might catch those blighters who are robbing me blind.’
Amy grinned. ‘We’ll do our level best.’
‘Could you manage Mondays and Fridays then, our busiest days? Clara could do Wednesdays and Saturdays, till she feels ready to take on more, which would give me the time I need to work on client’s commissions.’
‘That would be fine.’
‘Then it’s a deal.’ And so it was agreed.
Chapter Thirty-One
Carmina kept herself amused by paying several more visits to Alec Hall’s private quarters above the little music shop, whenever his son Terry was playing records at a dance, or seeing one of his own girl friends. She loved the secrecy of their meetings, the subterfuge. She would practically salivate with anticipation over the many thrills and little adventures Alec would devise to entertain them. He was nothing if not imaginative. He would have her dress up, or take a bath with him, try different positions or do things which made even Carmina blush. Yet she couldn’t resist him. Whatever he asked of her she obeyed, because it felt so wonderfully dangerous and exciting.
And what did she have to lose?
She was biding her time for the right moment to make her announcement to the family that old Doc Mitchell had been wrong and she was pregnant after all. Then Luc would have to marry her whether he liked it or not. She knew he’d hate to be bested, that he was still soppy over Gina, but he’d come round quickly enough once he saw there was no escape.
And once Gina was no longer around.
In the meantime, Carmina was enjoying herself hugely. Alec never again offered to make her that strange food, but he was fond of lighting candles and incense sticks which smelled funny and made her feel light-headed. And he loved to play his classical music. Sometimes he would pound into her in time with the crashing beat of the 1812 Overture. It was
so
inspiring! And she knew it was essential to keep him sweet while she put her plan into effect.
When they were both sated she would slip away into the darkness, helping herself to a few well-deserved treats while Alec slept on oblivious, as he was doing now.
She’d kept the little red transistor radio for herself, but tonight chose a blue one for Gina. It was so small it fitted easily into her pocket. As for records, so far she’d picked out
Dream Lover
,
Purple People Eater,
and
Bird Dog.
She’d also taken one of Connie Francis singing
Who’s Sorry Now?
which had been in the hit chart for weeks. These again, were for her own private use.
Now she picked out a few records at random for her sister before letting herself quietly out through the shop door.
Carmina didn’t think what she was doing as stealing exactly. If she cared to put a name to it at all she called it borrowing, or serving herself. She told herself that she could always put the records back, once she was bored with them. So far she hadn’t done so, but it was an option. Not that it mattered if she never did. Carmina considered she deserved them for all she had suffered: her sister stealing the man she loved, Alec taking her by force that first time, and this unwelcome pregnancy. Carmina believed she’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.She blamed Gina for everything. Her sister was the one responsible for this situation, therefore
she
was the one who deserved to be punished.
Just as she was leaving she slipped twenty pounds out of the till, then let herself quietly out.
On this particular evening as she made her way between the silent, empty stalls, the records tucked under her coat and the blue transistor radio in her pocket, she spotted Winnie Holmes. Drat it, she’d hoped there’d be no one around at this late hour.
‘Hello, chuck,’ Winnie said, surprise in her voice as she casually approached. ‘Been dancing again?’
‘Yes,’ Carmina purred. ‘I do love dancing.’
‘What’ve you got there, then?’ Winnie asked, nosy as ever as she eyed the bulge under her coat.
‘Just a few plates Momma lent to the dance organisers for the supper. She’s very generous that way,’ Carmina fabricated.
‘Aye, she’s a right treasure, your mam. I hope you appreciate her.’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘Get off home with you then. Time a young lass like you was tucked up in bed!’
Carmina almost laughed out loud since that was exactly where she’d spent much of the evening. ‘Good night, Winnie.’
It never ceased to amaze her how folk could miss what was going on right in front of their noses, just as Patsy missed a good deal that went on in front of hers. Carmina had helped herself to several more little treats from Higginson’s Hat Stall too, including scarves, ribbons and earrings and a pretty bag.
Her aim was not to keep all these items for herself but to prove to Luc that Gina wasn’t quite so wonderful, so honest and truthful as she made out. And in order to bring about this satisfactory state of affairs, she’d devised her cleverest scheme yet.
‘Is that you, Carmina?’ Papa called from the living room as she let herself into the hall.
‘Yes, Papa, goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Carmina. Go straight to bed. No reading. You have work tomorrow.’
‘I will.’ And she obediently went up to the room she shared with her younger sisters exactly on time, as an obedient daughter should. But she didn’t go to bed.
Marta and Antonia were both fast asleep, and, as luck would have it, Gina was still out. The two lovebirds were again off to the pictures, no doubt billing and cooing with eyes only for each other, completely oblivious to her own dire situation.