Live the Dream
Live the Dream
Josephine Cox
When friendship becomes love, two people must face their greatest fear – being hurt again… The powerful besteller from the country’s number one storyteller.Luke Hammond: handsome, rich, charismatic, cursed by private tragedy. Amy Atkinson: humble and kind with a good – but wounded – heart. When they meet by chance, a spark of love takes hold of their hearts.But neither are sure that they can dare to love again. And what of Luke's public life, hidden from Amy? The owner of a large factory, he is a pillar of the community, married – though in name only. Amy is torn between her head and her heart, but her sense of honour is paramount – and when she discovers his true identity, she is thrown into even greater turmoil.Then disaster strikes and the future looks troubled indeed ….
JOSEPHINE COX
Live the Dream
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_efbd33cf-2636-57c7-8fe1-112e1e9c6d66)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2004
Copyright© Josephine Cox 2005
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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EBook Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780007373109
Version: 2017-08-10
DEDICATION (#ulink_73e166eb-e628-5b38-b739-e87f0af26301)
For my darling Ken, as ever
Contents
COVER (#u30519fbc-97ce-5f2b-8101-3925e09a1723)
TITLE PAGE (#u9939cb79-3446-5bf0-9512-c421e42713b8)
COPYRIGHT (#ua891bf1f-019b-57ea-baaf-d411b896b26c)
DEDICATION (#u788dfc81-9268-5416-88e8-49b75d81ce4b)
PART ONE (#u0e34fd01-73ca-5432-8c2f-bbdd241d2e6d)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua083f4b6-c540-5925-93e8-ce94d6dbfa1e)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub154098b-037f-51bb-ae79-1489a62ddb18)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2e254fcf-f41d-59c6-a199-fe907d8504e7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u450dd928-ea98-547d-8f9f-ac6dc61eae13)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u214dad38-cc8a-52b1-b4fe-d46c445b10bf)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua86405b6-e2c5-5ee3-ade7-7d044e84bff5)
PART TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PART FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)
OTHER WORKS (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHATTERBOX (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)
Part 1 (#ulink_17e07bfa-c04b-58b2-93d8-65d6bd84e9ed)
February 1932
The Way It Was
Chapter 1 (#ulink_a627bf78-b602-5147-b45d-cd74b8c1260a)
FOR A LONG, regretful moment he leaned against the back wall, his tall, strong figure merging into the shadows, his heart aching, and his dark, thoughtful gaze intent on the house. It was such a beautiful house, he thought … so warm and inviting. Like she used to be.
His thoughts shifted to the woman inside. She was still beautiful, and sometimes, when she was afraid, her warm hand would slip into his. But that was all. There was rarely any passion in her gesture. Seldom a smile or welcome in her eyes.
She neither loved nor wanted him. But it wasn’t her fault – he knew that. He still loved her, but he didn’t know her any more, not in the way he used to.
He felt such deep regret, and yet, in a strange way, he was also relieved, as though he no longer needed to prove anything. There was no need. There was no one to care.
He had loved this fine house since that first day, seven years ago, when he had carried his wife through the wide, oaken doors and swung her round while she held on to him, laughing and happy, her beautiful face glowing with love for him and, oh, how he had adored her in return. But that was then. Now all he had left were the memories.
His heart ached for things to be how they once were. But however much he wished it, there could be no going back.
With a deep sigh he made his way across the delightful garden, with its pretty, meandering paths and multitude of shrubs and trees. It was early February now, and here and there the buds were already forming. In another month or so, they would open and the garden would be filled with colour. Walking through it, you could imagine yourself to be in paradise.
Sometimes, when the symptoms of her illness became too much for him, he would come out here, and walk and think until his spirit was refreshed. Then he would go back inside, ready to deal with whatever came his way.
Today was Tuesday, and Tuesdays were very special. For a time he was free to follow his heart, to do what he wanted, to be whoever he wanted to be. Tuesday was his day. His sanctuary.
He quickened his steps towards the outbuilding. Here, he took out a bunch of keys, unlocked the door and let himself in. He threw back the makeshift curtain at the window, and a shaft of sunlight fell on the cloth-covered easel at the back of the room.
Sliding away the cloth, he revealed the painting of a beautiful, slender woman with chestnut-coloured hair flowing to her waist, and dark, sultry eyes. For a while he stood there, thoughtfully observing the face, with its exquisite features and soft, smiling mouth.
Reaching out, he traced the tip of his finger around her inviting, sensuous mouth. A great sadness took hold of him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured. ‘If I could only change things, you know I would.’
A moment longer, then he covered the painting and strode to a large wooden chest and opened the lid. From where it was hidden beneath layers of paint-trays and brushes, he took out a heavy iron key. It was his passport to another world.
He slid the key into his jacket pocket and left, securing the door behind him. Then he quickly made his way through the gardens and out of the side gate.
From the bedroom window she watched him leave … that same woman he had painted so lovingly and whose portrait was hidden in the outhouse. She saw him carefully close the gate; she heard the familiar turning over of the engine, and in her mind’s eye she imagined him driving the long black saloon he had bought only a few months ago. She heard the engine swell as it was driven away, and through the beech trees that lined the road she caught a fleeting glimpse of the car as it went from the house.
Even when she could no longer hear the engine, she remained, thinking and wishing, until, startling her, a voice from the door called her name.
‘Sylvia! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
With a smile, she turned from the window. ‘It’s such a lovely day, don’t you think, Edna?’ But the smile was forced, because now he was gone and already she was lonely.
She often felt alone now – detached from her husband, from her sister, from dear Edna. No one came to visit. Too scared of her moods. The medication helped suppress the anger, but often her moods got the better of her. Sometimes the anger was preferable to the dulling effect of the drugs, and so on occasion she would hide the medicine and only pretend to take it. But there were days when she had no choice but to take it or lose control.
As the distance lengthened between them, Luke’s thoughts remained with her, the further he got from the house, the more he felt as though a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders. The frowns eased and his face softened; his dark eyes began to twinkle and his whole body relaxed into the seat. It was Tuesday, he was heading away, and a sense of freedom flooded his soul.
Today he would drive by way of the coast, some twenty-odd miles away. He liked the open sea and sky after the neat residential street in Blackburn, and the noise and sootiness of the factory on other weekdays. Afterwards, he would turn inland, to enjoy the special pleasures and freedom of his precious day off.
As he neared the beach, a flock of screaming seagulls descended, effectively blinding him as they flew across the windscreen of his car.
‘Jesus!’ Startled, he slammed on his brakes and screeched to a halt. Drawing on the handbrake, he climbed out of the car and watched the birds as they flew away, throwing their shadows over the morning sun. Anger subsided; a smile flitting across his thoughtful features. ‘Free as a bird.’ When they were mere specks in the faraway sky he momentarily closed his eyes, wishing he was up there with them.
His gaze flowed across the beach to the horizon. The sea was unusually quiet.
In the far distance, on the beach, a woman strolled with her two Labradors, one running ahead, the other trailing behind. She was a regular walker here. He had seen her tall, slim silhouette many times before.
His gaze travelled: to his left where the man was already opening up his tea-stall, and beyond him the flower shop was ablaze with spring flowers. Life goes on, he thought. If only they knew.
Getting back into his car he reminded himself that it was Tuesday. Put the dark thoughts out of your mind, he thought. He’d best get going, or the day would be gone before he knew it.
At the end of the road, he turned from the seafront and headed inland towards the fells and the Ribble Valley, every familiar curve and landmark a comfort to him.
The lanes became narrower and more meandering, until at length they disappeared altogether and he was bumping along a rough track that carried him deeper and deeper into the woods, beyond civilisation … beyond the burden of his duty and responsibility.
Almost a full hour after leaving the house, he arrived at his destination, where thick woodland hid him from the world and high trees almost blocked out the skies above.
The winding, babbling stream glittered in the morning light, and look there! Excited, he inched forward to see two small deer drinking at the water’s edge. This was what he needed. Through the week when he was driven by work and duties, this was the magic his soul craved.
He made his way towards the little log cabin, built by his own hand over two long, wonderful years. Afterwards, when it was finished he would sit on the covered veranda for many an hour, lazing and thinking, and though his troubles were heavy, he always found time to thank the Lord for his many blessings. The land had been owned by his family for generations, and he had spent happy childhood summer holidays riding, fishing and picnicking here, when visiting his grandparents nearby.
Taking the key from his pocket he slid it into the keyhole and opened the door. As always, when he came back after a week away, the clammy, damp air instantly wrapped itself around him. Impatiently he threw back the wooden shutters and opened the windows to let the fresh air in. When that was done, he took a box of matches from his pocket and struck it against the stone wall surrounding the fireplace. When the match-head flickered into life, he set light to the carefully laid pyramid of paper and wood in the grate.
Soon, the fire was cheerily blazing, airing and warming the whole cabin.
He felt a sense of pride in his achievement. The place was strong, built to last, with a tiny bedroom, makeshift bathroom, and a large centre area providing a sitting room and kitchen. Serviceable and attractive, the cabin was ideal for his own modest needs.
The furniture itself had been hewn from the trees outside, before being lovingly shaped by his own hand, to provide all that was needed: a small, square table and two chairs; a strong, deep chest of drawers; a long settle against the fireplace, where he would sit of an evening and dream of a life he would never have.
Then there was the bed. Square and sturdy enough to take a man’s weight, it was a handsome thing. Covered in a wine-coloured eiderdown, it was roomy enough for two. After all, he could dream …
Beside the bed stood a narrow wardrobe, not spacious by any standards, but enough to hold his most cherished possessions.
To use the bath and washbasin he would carry bucketfuls of water from the stream, and there was an earth closet in a separate little shack.
If he got hungry there was always a supply of tinned food in the larder, and titbits to be gathered in the woods, depending on the time of year. Running wild in those idyllic childhood holidays had been excellent training for cabin life.
Now, with the fire crackling and spitting, he was ever mindful of the falling sparks, any one of which could burn the cabin to the ground; which was why he had built the deep stone hearth. He had also fashioned a makeshift wire cage, which he now placed in front of the leaping flames.
Having placed the guard before the now crackling fire, he went to the wardrobe. He took out the canvas and easel and carried them to the corner of the room. He did not uncover the painting. Instead he held it for a moment, his thoughts going to a cosy little café in the centre of Blackburn. That was another part of his secret life. Then he set the frame on the easel.
From the chest he took out a pile of clothes and draped them over the wire cage of the fire guard to warm and air, while he stripped off his suit, shirt and tie.
When he was dressed again the businessman was gone and in his place was an ordinary workman, dressed casually in brown cords, green check shirt and heavy black boots. The uniform of duty was discarded, and he was now a man at ease with himself.
Now was the moment he’d anticipated with pleasure since his last visit. With great care he slipped the cover from the painting.
When it was laid bare he gazed at it for a long, wondrous moment, his dark, smiling eyes roving its every feature.
Smiling back at him, the young woman with the tumble of hazel hair seemed almost alive. Her laughing eyes, blue as the darkest sapphire, were painted in such a way as to be looking at him wherever he went in the room. Her pretty, slightly parted lips seemed so real he felt she would suddenly talk to him. But she never did, except in his dreams. She probably never would.
Yet he knew her well, that small, vibrant woman who had invaded his thoughts. A special part of his Tuesday life, she hardly knew of his existence.
Returning to the wardrobe he collected his paints and brushes. A few moments later he was stroking the tip of the brush over the curling ends of her brown hair. ‘You don’t know me,’ he murmured fondly, ‘but I feel I know you. I’ve seen how you light up a room when you walk into it …’ Images of her came into his mind – going about her own Tuesday life, laughing with her friend – making him smile. ‘And I know you have a wonderful sense of humour.’
Changing his brush, he worked on her cheekbones. ‘You can’t imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’
He paused, his thoughts going back to the house and the woman who waited there. ‘Maybe it’s just as well you don’t even notice me,’ he sighed. ‘You see, Amy … a man might dream and hope, but dreams are not real, and life can drag you down. I do my best, but I’m hopelessly trapped. If only I can find a way to change how things are.’
That night as he sat on his veranda watching the stars twinkle and dance, a glass of wine in his hand and a great loneliness in his heart, he had no way of knowing how Amy was watching those same stars, and that in her heart were the same impossible dreams, and sense of awful loneliness.
Leaning on the windowsill, arms folded, her gaze raised to the skies, she wondered where Don was, and whether he ever thought of her. She did not wonder whether he might come back, because his parting words had been that she would never see him again. And although for many months after he’d gone, she had prayed he might change his mind and come back, he never had. Now the pain had settled to a sense of loss and disappointment with the acceptance that what he had said was true. Earlier, when he had asked her to marry him, she had been filled with such joy; not knowing that it would end in her heart being broken. There had been weeks of planning and excitement when the date was set and the church booked. The bridesmaids were chosen, the bridal gown ordered and even the honeymoon arranged, before he confessed to her that he had never really wanted family or responsibilities.
Sometimes she wondered if that had been a kind excuse – a way of letting her down gently. He had been so handsome and such fun. Maybe she hadn’t been good enough for him …
Amy had been devastated when he left, and even now the love she had felt for him still lingered.
Pressing her nose to the window she recalled the happy times they had shared.
‘I don’t hate you, Don,’ she murmured. ‘I could never hate you.’
She remembered his smile and the way he would hold her in his arms, and her heart was heavy. But she no longer fooled herself. It was over.
‘Good night, Amy.’ That was her mammy on the landing.
‘Good night, Mam.’
‘Don’t forget we’ve an early start in the morning.’
‘I won’t.’
The sound of passing footsteps, then the closing of a door, and the house was quiet again.
Leaving the curtains open so she could see the stars, Amy went softly across the room and slid into bed.
She closed her eyes, shut out the memories and was quickly asleep.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_f751dfd5-69ab-54c7-a9a9-fe11a8a9756e)
‘DON’T LOOK NOW, but our mystery man is here again!’
Having seen her come up the street, the young waitress flung open the door, grabbed Amy by the arm and yanked her inside the café.
‘It’s driving me crazy, not knowing who he is!’ She stole a glance at the far table. ‘He’s been here half an hour,’ she whispered, drawing Amy to the back of the café, ‘and I still don’t know any more about him than I did three months ago.’
‘For God’s sake, Daisy! Let me get my coat off.’ Amy had already noticed the man as she passed the window and, as always, her own curiosity was aroused – though she would never admit it to Daisy. ‘It’s bitter cold out there and, if you don’t mind, I need to sit down.’
Loaded with shopping bags and a face bright pink from the biting wind, she resisted Daisy’s pushing and shoving. ‘Get off!’
Daisy stepped back a pace. ‘He hasn’t said a word, except to order bacon and eggs.’ She dropped her voice until it was almost inaudible. ‘I’d say he were a film star … God knows, he’s handsome enough.’ She sighed. ‘But you can tell he’s not, because of his clothes. I reckon he must work in a factory, wearing them boots and with a flat cap.’
‘Honestly, Daisy, you’re becoming obsessed with the poor fella,’ Amy groaned. ‘Why don’t you leave him alone to get on with his breakfast, instead of gawping at him every two minutes?’
Sliding her bags onto the nearest table, she dropped her weary self into the chair. ‘God, my feet are aching.’ Slipping off her shoes, she wiggled her toes. ‘These new shoes don’t help either! I knew I should have worn them round the bedroom a few times before going out in them.’
Daisy was incredulous. ‘Listen to you, lass! Talking about shopping and shoes and moaning about the weather … you sound like your mam!’
‘You’re right,’ Amy agreed with a soft laugh. ‘I do, don’t I?’
‘I know you’re curious about him too, so don’t deny it!’
Leaning forward, Amy was disturbed to find the man’s gaze on her. ‘I’m not denying it,’ she answered softly, ‘I am curious.’
Daisy beamed with satisfaction. ‘Well there you are then.’
‘There I am … what?’
‘You want to know about him as much as I do, so stop lecturing me.’
‘I’m not “lecturing” you.’
‘You are!’
‘All right then, I am, and for good reason.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘Two things.’ Taking off the pretty dark blue hat with its tiny brim and blue cotton band, Amy ran her fingers through her short brown hair. ‘For all we know, he could be a really dangerous man, and he must know how much you’re attracted to him, the way you keep sneaking a look at him with those big, moony cow eyes. You could be playing with fire. That’s the first thing.’
‘And what’s the second?’
Lazily placing the hat on the nearby chair, Amy warned, ‘If there’s nothing sinister about him, and he’s just a man who likes to be left alone, you should leave him be. If you frighten him off, you’ll lose one of your best customers – and then you’ll never find out who he is.’
While Daisy considered her remarks, Amy took off her coat. ‘Now then, are you going to serve me or what?’
Daisy gave a long, impatient sigh. ‘Being as we’re quiet, can I sit with you? It’s time for my break anyway.’
‘All right. If you promise not to drive me mad.’
Daisy rolled her ‘moony cow eyes’. ‘What d’you want to eat – same as usual, is it?’
While Amy glanced quickly through the one-page menu of fry-ups, barm cakes and pie-and-peas, Daisy’s attention drifted to the man, then back again to Amy, her one and only friend.
She had taken to Amy the first minute she’d wandered into the café some two years ago. It had been a grim, wet day and Amy had got caught in a downpour. Having sought refuge in Tooley’s Café, she had brought it alive with her bright friendly chatter and warm engaging smile. She had a streak of mischievousness that often caught Daisy off guard and made her laugh till she ached. But Daisy had also discovered her own mothering instincts when her friend’s fiancé had left her, practically at the altar.
Amy was now a regular customer, always loaded down with shopping, always ready for a chat, with her down-to-earth and lovely manner. It was on Tuesdays that Amy went to pay a couple of the smaller wholesalers who supplied Atkinsons’ Corner Shop, owned by her parents, and where Amy herself worked. She also did the weekly shop then, her parents being too busy working to find the time. Daisy looked forward to Tuesday more than any other day of the week. In between serving customers, she would press her nose to the window, watching for Amy, knowing that when she came through that door the whole room would light up and so would Daisy’s heart.
Amy had her serious side too. A good listener, she was kind and considerate, and when Daisy came to work saddened by the acrimonious situation at home between her parents, Amy gave her hope for the future, and Daisy had come to see her as the sister she never had.
Although, at twenty-four, Amy was just two years older than Daisy, she had a calmer, deeper nature, and that special ability to put people at their ease; whether it be through her engaging smile, or her easy, friendly manner.
She was not dazzlingly attractive, but she had a certain magnetism that seemed to draw people to her. Her face was small and heart-shaped, with a halo of light brown hair that fell in natural waves about her ears, and her mouth was generous, with full lips upturned at the corners, like a smile waiting to happen. Her eyes were her best feature, though – deepest blue with a naughty twinkle. Small of build, she had a slight figure, and it only took a few minutes of knowing her to realise she had a warm, open heart.
Daisy knew what Amy would order, but she asked all the same. ‘You’d best make your mind up,’ she urged. ‘Any minute now, I could be rushed off my feet.’
Amy looked about the half-empty café: there was the man by the window; a little old couple in the corner, Daisy and herself. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that just yet,’ she teased, ‘but just in case, I’ll have a pot of tea … and one of your toasted barm cakes.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Sorry, no can do. The toaster blew up. We’re waiting for the fella to come and mend it.’ She laughed. ‘You should have seen it this time … there was a big bang and the bloody toast went flying in all directions. Come and look.’
Amused, Amy followed her. ‘Not again? That’s the third time!’
Daisy shrugged. ‘There must be a fault somewhere.’
Smiling, Amy shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s you. You’re the “fault”. You’re not supposed to snatch the plug from the wall every time you think the toast is done enough. You have to switch it off first.’
‘Then it burns the toast!’
‘That’s because you haven’t got the setting right.’
‘It’s a nuisance! I don’t like the bloody thing. I never have.’
‘So, use the grill instead.’
‘Mrs Tooley won’t let me. She says she’s not spending good money on new things for me to ignore them. That toaster is her pride and joy. I’m to use it, and that’s an end to it. I did use the grill once, when the toaster went wrong and she tore me off a strip for making a mess everywhere.’
‘But Mrs Tooley only comes of an evening to collect her takings.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
Amy explained, ‘Well, now that she’s got her new fancy man, she hardly ever shows up here during the day, so she won’t know you’re using the grill – not if you clean it up half an hour before she arrives.’
As the possibilities dawned on her, Daisy’s frown became a wide, cunning grin. ‘You’re right!’ she gasped. ‘I’ll use the old things and clean ’em up before she gets here!’
‘I’m glad that’s settled!’ Amy knew how to put a smile on Daisy’s face. ‘So now, can I please have my tea and barm cake?’ Feeling mischievous, she teased, ‘And while you’re gone, I’ll have a word with the stranger. I’ll find out who he is and where he’s from. Oh, and you’ll want to know if he’s married or if he’s got a girlfriend, and whether he’s well off or stony-broke, in which case you won’t want to know any more about him and we’ll all get some peace. OK?’
Daisy knew she was being teased and went along with it. ‘While you’re at it, happen you’d best ask if he lives local, ’cos I followed him one time and he suddenly disappeared – went down a side street and was gone like will-o’-the-wisp.’ She threw her arms wide and opened her hands to demonstrate.
Amy was surprised. ‘You never told me you followed him!’
‘No, because you’d have told me off good and proper.’
‘Quite right too.’ Amy put on her most severe, reprimanding look. ‘Following men down alleyways … what if he’d turned round and attacked you?’
Daisy chuckled. ‘I should be so lucky!’ She glanced through the kitchen door at the man. ‘Anyhow, does he look like the sort who would attack anyone?’
Amy followed her glance. ‘Maybe not, but you never know.’
He was certainly a mystery, she thought. Although as Daisy said, he didn’t seem like the sort who would turn on a woman. There was a kind of gentle strength about him that would protect rather than hurt.
‘I’ll get your order,’ Daisy said, adding hopefully, ‘I bet you won’t dare speak to him while I’m gone.’
Amy continued the charade. ‘If I do, and providing he gives all the right answers, I’ll ask him if he’ll take you on a date, because you fancy him summat rotten.’
‘Oh, I wish you would,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Three whole months he’s been coming here. Almost every Tuesday without fail, and I don’t even know his name!’
Realising she would have to wait for her breakfast, Amy resigned herself to listening while Daisy chatted on about the ‘Tuesday man’.
Taking a moment to observe this busy, bumbling person she had come to know so well, Amy took in the big brown eyes, the shock of wild auburn hair and the pretty face with its multitude of freckles over a pretty, pert nose. Short and voluptuous, outgoing and friendly, Daisy was once seen never forgotten.
Amy thought of Daisy’s miserable home life, with the constantly feuding parents.
For as long as Amy had known her, Daisy had suffered wretchedly at the hands of her selfish, boorish parents. Their noisy, sometimes violent, arguments, often fuelled by drink, meant that Daisy could never invite Amy to her home. In Mrs Tooley’s fuggy little café, Daisy could escape the unhappiness of her home by chatting with the customers, teasing and joking with the friendly regulars, and even flirting a little with the men. In this way, Daisy could create some much-needed fun in her life.
‘Look, Daisy … don’t get too infatuated with your Tuesday man,’ Amy warned. ‘If he’d wanted you to know who he is, I’m sure he would have told you.’
‘But he wants to talk,’ Daisy confided, ‘I can tell that much. Sometimes he looks so sad, and sometimes he smiles at me and I want to sit next to him like I’m sitting next to you, only he looks away, just when I think I’m getting through to him.’
Amy shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s not such a “mystery”,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe he comes in here because he lives alone and needs to be amongst people. Or maybe he comes in here because he’s got a wife and ten children and he can’t get any peace at home. Either way, if he needs to be quiet and alone for whatever reason, it’s his choice and you should respect that.’
Casting a sideways glance out at the man, Amy sensed his loneliness. Daisy was right: he was a mystery – always preoccupied, head bent to his newspaper, while not seeming to be actually reading it. Instead he appeared to be deep in thought. Sometimes he would raise his head and gaze out of the window, before eventually returning to his newspaper or thoughtfully sipping his tea.
He never looked at the other customers; in fact it was as though he was totally oblivious to them. It was a curious thing.
‘What are you thinking?’ Daisy’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Amy looked up, her voice quiet as she answered, ‘I just think he deserves to be left alone.’ She smiled fondly at the other young woman. ‘Not everybody’s like you, Daisy,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people really do like their own company.’
Daisy shifted her gaze to the man. For a long moment she didn’t say anything, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.
‘Daisy, are you all right?’ Reaching out, Amy closed her hand over Daisy’s. ‘Has something happened at home?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s the same,’ she confided with a sad little smile, ‘always the same.’ Drawing away her hand she added brightly, ‘Here’s me chatting away and you cold and famished. Sorry, love. I’ll go an’ get yer breakfast.’
‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Amy had learned to read the signs. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Daisy shook her head.
‘All right, but I’m a good listener if you need me.’
Daisy gave that little smile again. ‘I know that.’ With a roll of her eyes, she looked over to where the man was closing his newspaper. ‘If only a man like that could sweep me up and carry me off, it would solve everything.’
‘Oh, Daisy. You can’t mean that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Well …’
Amy took another discreet look at him. He was certainly handsome, there was no denying that, with his long easy limbs, fine sensual lips and that dark brown tumble of hair. Once, when he looked up at the clock over the counter, Amy had caught sight of his dark, brooding eyes. There was something about him that stirred the senses.
‘Hey!’ Daisy gave her a prod. ‘You were saying …?’
Ashamed and startled at her own thoughts, Amy returned, ‘I just don’t think it would solve your problems to run off with some stranger and, besides, like you said yourself, you don’t know the first thing about him.’
‘But if he carried me off, I’d soon find out, wouldn’t I? Anyway, what’s to know? He pays his bill with proper money, and he always treats me with respect. Leaves a tip he does, and smiles up at me when I serve him.’ She gave a girlish giggle. ‘Anyway, even if it turned out he was some sort of rogue, he’s so good-looking it wouldn’t matter a bugger! A man like that … I could forgive him anything!’
Amy was alarmed. ‘You’re too trusting.’
‘And you’re too bloody suspicious!’
Amy changed tack. ‘I’m also cold and hungry, and I’ve changed my mind about the barm cake. I fancy a hot meat-and-tatty pie … with a helping of mushy peas and a dollop of that awful gravy you make.’
Daisy bounced over to the fridge. ‘Don’t get cheeky, lass,’ she wagged a warning finger, ‘or I might refuse to serve you. In fact, I might shut up shop and lock myself in … with him!’ She winked as she went. ‘And it’s no good you getting jealous, ’cos I’m the manager here and what I say goes.’ With that she sauntered off to open a tin of peas and suddenly, softly started to sing.
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Amy chuckled, resuming a seat at her table.
She looked across at the man and when he unexpectedly smiled at her, her heart took a leap. For what seemed an age he held her gaze before turning away.
Confused and embarrassed, she fumbled in her shopping bag. Drawing out this month’s Woman and Home, she opened it up and spreading it across the table, pretended to read. In her mind’s eye she saw his smile, soft and friendly, reaching out to her … and those wonderful dark eyes! Daisy was right. He was devilishly handsome, and yet, there was such sadness about him – a kind of lost look that had touched her deeply.
‘What you got there?’ Daisy was back. Placing Amy’s order in front of her, she turned the page of the magazine. ‘Heck! Look at that!’ Pointing to the elegant model in centre-page, she called Amy’s attention to the blue spotted dress with thick belt and flared hem, ‘How much!’ Her look of rapture turned to one of horror. ‘One and ten! I’d have to work a whole month before I could buy that!’
Amy wasn’t listening. Something else had alerted her. Strangely uneasy, she turned to see the man looking straight at her again. He held her gaze for a second or two, then he stood up and walked towards the door with long easy strides. ‘I think your mystery man is leaving,’ Amy told Daisy quietly.
‘What!’ Looking up, Daisy saw the door close behind him. ‘Damn! He always does that to me!’
Amy tutted mischievously. ‘What? You mean he sneaks off without paying?’
‘No, you daft ha’pporth!’ Daisy groaned. ‘He always leaves his money on the table. I wish he’d pay at the counter, then I might get chance to quiz him a bit.’
Amy’s curious gaze followed him as he went past the window and away down the street. ‘Maybe next time,’ she said quietly. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.’ Because there was a man who had a lot on his mind, she thought, and he wasn’t about to share his secrets with anyone at Tooley’s Café.
Just then two more customers arrived, a middle-aged woman with a younger woman who, judging by the argument going on, appeared to be her daughter. ‘What in God’s name d’yer think you’re playing at?’ demanded the older woman. ‘By! If your dad knew, he’d hit the roof!’
‘I don’t give a bugger what he says!’ snapped the younger woman. ‘It’s his fault I’m leaving. Miserable old git, I don’t know how you’ve put up with him all these years!’
Daisy groaned. ‘Bleedin’ Nora! It’s them two! Argue all the time, they do. I’ve a good mind to bar the pair of ’em.’
Amy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Good customers, are they?’
Daisy nodded. ‘Three times a week, regular as clockwork: two full breakfasts and gallons of tea.’
‘Right!’ Amy gave her a shove. ‘What you do is shut your ears … if you can bear not to eavesdrop. Then you smile, and serve them and take their money when they’ve finished. And now if you please, I’d like my breakfast.’ With that she gave Daisy another shove and Daisy toddled off to ask the other customers, ‘What can I get you, ladies?’ And back came the swift answer, ‘Piss orf. Can’t yer see we’re not ready yet!’
Cursing under her breath, Daisy quickened her steps to the kitchen; while Amy, having heard the whole thing, found it hard not to laugh out loud.
When behind her, the argument raged on between the two women, she looked up to see Daisy, elbows resting on the counter, ears pricked and eavesdropping like a good ’un. ‘That’s my Daisy!’ she chuckled. ‘Can’t resist a good argument.’
Amy loved her Tuesday shopping, and her regular stop-off at Tooley’s Café because rain or shine, there was always something going on.
Then, as thoughts of the man came into her mind, her amusement turned to concern. What made him so afraid to reach out, she wondered. What was it in his life that put the sadness in those deep, dark eyes?
Like Daisy she would have loved to know more about him.
She glanced out the window but he was long gone. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved,’ she murmured. And he had seemed to want to talk, she thought. Just for that split second or two when he held her gaze, he had seemed to be reaching out to her.
But then again, maybe it was only her imagination.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_117032fc-4be7-53fd-b379-e71f6bdb93f4)
‘WHAT PLANS HAVE you got for tonight, lass?’ Strikingly pretty, small-built like Amy, and with the same bright smile and brown hair, Marie Atkinson was mild-tempered and of a kindly nature. ‘Off somewhere exciting are you?’
It was a Friday evening and Amy was busy emptying the till in the shop. She glanced up at her mother. ‘I might go to the pictures with Daisy.’
‘Hmm! Sounds like a good idea.’ When she was younger, Marie had always fancied herself as a film star. ‘What’s on?’
Concentrating on separating the silver coins from the less valuable copper ones, Amy said, ‘I think it’s Charles King in The Broadway Melody.’
Marie liked the sound of that. ‘By! If your dad weren’t coming home tonight, I might have joined you,’ she said dreamily. ‘Ooh! I do like Charles King.’ She tap-danced on the spot. ‘Feet of magic and a smile that turns you inside out. I wouldn’t mind a little twirl with him.’
Amy laughed. ‘Don’t give me that! If it was a choice between Dad and Charles King, you’d pick Dad every time.’
Marie kept on dancing. ‘Happen I’ll let your dad get his own dinner. Happen I’d rather put on my glad rags and go to the pictures with you and Daisy.’
Knowing how devoted to her father Marie was, Amy laughed. ‘I can’t see you letting Dad come home to an empty house, not even for Charles King! Besides, you’ve always said how nobody could ever take Dad’s place.’
Exhausted, Marie stopped dancing and leaned over the counter. ‘You’re right, lass,’ she said breathlessly. ‘There’s not a man in this world can ever tek the place of your father.’
Her face wreathed in a smile, she let her mind wander back over the years. ‘Me and your dad have been wed almost twenty-five years, and I wouldn’t swap a single minute.’
In fact their anniversary was only eight months away. ‘I were just turned eighteen when we walked down the aisle,’ she confirmed. ‘Your father was twenty … though o’ course he weren’t your father then … he were just my Dave.’ She sighed. ‘I loved him with all my heart then. And I’ve loved him the same ever since.’
Amy sighed longingly. ‘I wish I could find someone to love like that.’ All her life Amy had witnessed the love and devotion between her mam and dad, and it was a wonderful thing. She had thought that marriage to Don would have been just the same – had envisaged a life of devotion to her gorgeous husband – and even now flashes of that golden future that would never be occasionally passed through her mind. She couldn’t see how she could ever love that way again. Her parents’ happiness was a living example of an idyllic marriage Amy now feared she might never have. She shrugged away the thought.
Having bagged up the takings, she came across the room and, placing the bags on the counter, she wrapped her arms round that small, delightful figure. ‘After all this time you still adore him, don’t you, Mam? What woman in her right mind would give up a night with Charles King to be with “your Dave”, as you call him?’
Marie gave it some thought. ‘Well, I’ll admit your father’s not as slim as Charles King and it’s no wonder, with all that dancing an’ tapping an’ flinging himself about. By! It’s a marvel he’s not worn down to his kneecaps.’
Amy loved to tease and she did so now. ‘Whereas Dad can’t dance; and he can’t tap, although I have known him “fling himself about” a bit, when he comes home three sheets to the wind.’
‘No!’ Marie flew to his defence. ‘You’ve never seen your father three sheets to the wind!’ she protested, half smiling. ‘He’s only ever been the worse for drink once in the whole of his life, and that was when Grandad Atkinson got wed for the second time. Even then he didn’t have the strength to “fling himself about a bit”.’ She chuckled. ‘Though he did manage to fall down the coal-hole and bruise himself from top to bottom.’
Amy laughed. ‘I bet that sobered him up.’
‘It did, yes. It weren’t the first time he’d fallen down the coal-hole,’ she revealed. ‘A natural disaster, that’s your dad.’
Marie told a tale or two about what Amy’s dad had got up to before she was even born, and for the next few minutes the two of them rolled about with laughter. ‘On the night I decided I loved your father we were holding hands as we walked from Atkinson Street. A horse and cart ran through a puddle and splashed him from top to bottom. How could I not want to marry him after that?’
‘A couple of old romantics, that’s what you are.’ As always, Amy’s heart went out to Daisy, whose own parents were forever feuding and fighting. Tonight would be as much an escape as an entertainment for poor Daisy.
‘I wish he hadn’t gone driving for Hammonds, though,’ Marie said thoughtfully. ‘I really miss him. Why in God’s name did he have to take on that delivery work? He was offered work inside the factory, but he said he didn’t fancy “being cooped up”. All the same, I wish he’d taken it. At least he’d have been home of a night-time.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I do hate him being away all week!’
Hammonds had two lines of business: a brush factory, and delivery of their own and other people’s goods in a small fleet of motor lorries.
In an effort to bring back the smile to her mother’s face, Amy quipped, ‘Why d’you need Dad, when you’ve got me?’
Collecting up the money bags, Marie groaned. ‘That’s another thing. I feel guilty about you giving up your job at Wittons factory, so you could come and help run this place. And you were about to be promoted to the office.’
Amy was astounded. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Rosie Salter told me a few days after you left.’
‘She should never have done that!’
‘Well, she did, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. I mean, you can’t deny, it’s a bit of a come-down for you.’
‘Oh, Mam! You’re not to feel guilty.’ Amy enjoyed working in the shop and she told her mother so. ‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think you’re sorry you asked me to come and work with you, because now you think I’m no good at shop-keeping.’ By deliberately going on the defensive, Amy cunningly turned the tables on her mother. ‘The truth is, you want rid of me, and you don’t like to say. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Just as Amy suspected, Marie was mortified. ‘Aw, lass, nothing could be further from the truth! I love having you here and, what’s more, you’ve learned the business like you’ve been at it all your life. As a matter of fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Collecting the money bags and the ledger into her arms, she sighed. ‘It’s just that, well, I really loved working with your dad, and I miss him terrible when he’s not around.’
‘He’ll be home soon.’ Amy gave her a hug. ‘You go and make yourself beautiful for him, while I mop the floor and clear up in here.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl!’ Marie insisted. ‘We’ll clear up together, same as always.’
A short time later, having cleared up, swept the floor and tidied away the large blocks of butter and cheese, and canisters of loose tea and broken biscuits, Marie walked with her daughter to the living quarters at the back.
‘When me and your father started this business, I thought we’d be doing it together until we retired, but he just got more and more restless. He’d always been a driver, y’see, lass – first with the horse and carts, then the beer wagons, and now with these new-fangled motor vehicles … dangerous things if you ask me!’
At first Amy’s father had seemed to settle into his new life as a grocer. Then a few months back, he’d spotted an advert in the post office for a driver at Hammonds distribution business. He applied for the job and got it. ‘I’m fed up of being behind a counter all day,’ he’d told Marie. ‘I need to get back on the road. I’d rather not be staying away nights, but it’s all they’ve got for the minute.’ Once he’d decided, there’d been no dissuading him.
‘I miss him too,’ Amy confessed, ‘but he’s a lot happier now he’s away from the shop. He loves the driving, and anyway, the week goes by quickly enough.’ Amy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. ‘Look! It’s already half-past five. Another hour and he’ll be home,’ she winked, ‘with another present for you, I expect.’
Every Friday was the same. He would bounce through the door, beaming from ear to ear, with a little present in his pocket for his beloved wife, and a small posy of flowers for Amy.
Talking of her husband and knowing how sometimes Amy was lonely for the same kind of love, Marie grew serious. ‘Do you ever think of Don?’
Surprised by her mammy’s unexpected question, Amy nodded. ‘Sometimes, yes, but it doesn’t hurt in quite the same way as it did. There was a time when I would have had him back with open arms, but not any more.’ When her fiancé dropped her only a few days before they were due to be wed she had thought she would never get over it, but somehow she’d survived. The pain had faded; maybe one day it would go altogether. ‘I’m over it now, Mam. If he walked in that door right now, I’d speak to him, yes, but I wouldn’t feel anything. Not any more.’ This was in part true: nothing for it but to move forward. The love she once felt for him had long since gone.
Marie slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad about that, lass,’ she said softly, before quickly changing the subject by asking brightly, ‘And you’re absolutely sure you don’t regret giving up promotion to come here and work with me?’
‘I’m content enough here,’ Amy answered. And she was.
In truth, Amy had not been too keen to give up her job, and at first had missed the banter and comradeship of her factory mates. But much to her astonishment she had come to enjoy working in the corner shop. It was easy enough work, and the tasks were always varied: selling tobacco, weighing out dried peas or potatoes, unwrapping the fragrant sacks of sugar and tea, or stacking the shelves with fresh eggs or that day’s newspapers.
Her mother was great company; though the wages were not as good as Amy had been used to, but there were other compensations – no journey to work, the pleasant work and the friendliness of the customers – and so she had settled into the job surprisingly well.
By six thirty, just as Amy had predicted, Dave arrived home. A man with no airs or graces, he was of good build, with a shock of fair hair and a homely smile, which he now bestowed on them. ‘By! Summat smells good.’
Coming into the back parlour he kissed Marie first. ‘Don’t tell me …’ throwing off his coat he draped it over the chair and sniffed the air, ‘… meat pie, roast potatoes and baked parsnips, am I right?’
Amy came for her kiss. ‘I don’t know when you’ve ever been wrong,’ she laughed.
He joined in, then assumed an apologetic expression. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve had such a rush on, I didn’t have time to find you a present.’
‘Aw, never mind, love.’ Marie was philosophical. ‘You’ve brought yourself home and that’s all that matters.’
He gave her a kiss. ‘You’re a very understanding woman,’ he said gratefully. ‘There’s not many men can say that about their wives.’
Marie gave him a little shove. ‘You go and get your wash,’ she said, ‘while me and Amy get the dinner on the table.’
When he was gone into the scullery, Marie gave Amy a knowing wink. ‘I’ve learned to be crafty as him over the years,’ she whispered.
Amy whispered back, ‘What d’you mean?’
In answer, Marie tiptoed to her husband’s jacket and, dipping her hand inside it, withdrew two small packages.
Just then, Dave shouted for a towel. ‘Hurry up, Marie. I’m dripping wet!’
‘Here,’ handing Amy the two small packages, Marie instructed mischievously, ‘hide ’em, quick!’
Dave’s frantic voice sailed in from the scullery, ‘MARIE!’
‘All right, all right, I’m on my way!’ And off she went, chuckling at their innocent deception.
A few minutes later, washed and changed and ready for his dinner, Dave returned to the parlour. ‘By! A feast fit for a king!’ he said, his hungry eyes roving the table. Right in the centre was the deep-dish meat pie with a brown crusty pastry and a wash of egg to make it shine.
There were two earthenware bowls: one filled with roasted potatoes, the other brimming with quartered parsnips. For Dave there was a welcome jug of beer, a glass of stout for Marie, and a tumbler of home-made elderberry wine for Amy.
‘Well, don’t just look at it!’ Marie told him. ‘Sit yourself down and eat.’
‘One minute,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve summat here for the pair of you …’ Chuckling, he confessed, ‘I were just winding you up when I said I hadn’t got you a present.’
Marie feigned excitement. ‘So you brought us one after all? Oh, sweetheart, I knew you would.’
The grin on Dave’s face faded as he felt in the pocket for the third time, fumbling this way, then that. ‘They’ve gone!’ he cried. ‘Some thieving bugger’s ’ad ’em away!’
At the look of horror on his face, Amy couldn’t bear it. ‘Here they are, Dad.’ Collecting them from behind the clock on the sideboard she handed them to him.
When his mouth fell open with surprise, Marie laughed. ‘It serves you right for teasing us. Come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought?’
Marie’s present was the prettiest brooch, shaped like a butterfly and made out of enamel. ‘Aw, Dave …’ She gave him a hug. ‘It’s lovely … you’re lovely!’
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he seemed embarrassed, though he enjoyed her fussing round him. ‘You know how I like to give you nice things,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s only what you deserve.’ He glanced at Amy. ‘Come on, lass … open your present.’
Amy was thrilled with hers too. The necklace was a tiny heart, shaped in silver, and when she put it on, both Marie and Dave said how pretty it looked on her.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She too gave him a fond hug. ‘But you shouldn’t spend your money on us like that.’
Indignant, he asked sombrely, ‘If I can’t spend it on the two most important people in my life, who can I spend it on?’
There was no answer to that, except for Marie to say, ‘Let’s eat our dinners, afore they go cold!’
As they ate, the three of them chatted and laughed, and Dave told of his latest disaster.
‘For the life of me, I don’t know how it happened,’ he began excitedly. ‘Soonever I was given the address, I knew straight off there were a good many narrow little streets in that area, some of ’em virtually impassable, especially with a lorry that size. The new foreman assured me there was no problem as the road widened out at the end and I could drive straight through. But when I got halfway down, I knew some bugger had been playing silly devils with me, ’cos instead of the road getting wider, it got narrower. In the end I couldn’t go forrard and it seemed there were too many twists and turns to go backards.’
‘Sounds frightening.’ Against all odds, but urged on by Daisy, Amy had once secretly considered learning to drive, but the tales her dad came home with had put her off altogether. Dave had a little car, his pride and joy, but now Amy couldn’t envisage being one of the pioneer female drivers of Blackburn.
‘Aye, it were frightening an’ all, lass!’ Rolling his eyes he groaned. ‘In fact it were a bloody nightmare!’
Marie was horrified. ‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, I had no option, did I? All I could do was to feel my way back inch by inch. Unfortunately I badly scraped the side of the wagon and almost demolished a wall on the way.’
Once he got into the swing of it, Dave could tell a tale as well as any man, and on this particular occasion he had a riveted audience.
‘Not content with that, soonever I got the back end out I swung my front round to avoid a lamppost,’ he continued. ‘I missed the lamppost all right, but knocked down two bollards in the process, and ran over some poor bloke’s bicycle.’
Amy could see it all so vividly in her mind, she couldn’t stop laughing. ‘You’re a one-man demolition party!’
‘It weren’t my fault,’ Dave protested, indignant. ‘The buggers should have had more sense than sending me there in the first place!’
‘But that poor man … what did he have to say about his bike?’
‘Well, he weren’t too pleased, I can tell yer that. Yelled and shouted he did – went bright red in the face; said as how I should be locked up for my own safety, the cheeky article! On top o’ that, he wanted me to pay for a new bike, but I told him, I said, “If you’re daft enough to park it by the kerbside, you expect to get it run over.”’
Marie was curious. ‘And was he content with that?’
‘Were he buggery! Threatened to fetch the police if I didn’t pay up, but I’m no pushover. I stuck to my guns.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘As you know, I’m not a man who’s easily threatened!’
‘So what did you do?’
With a defiant look, he explained, ‘Well, what d’yer think I did? I paid him half what he said. I mean, what else could I do under the circumstances? I had no intention o’ paying him the full whack, I can tell you that. But y’see, I didn’t want no police on the scene. They’d have only made me later coming home to you, my darling.’ The expression on his face was a picture. ‘And we couldn’t be having that, could we now?’
All three laughed at his antics. It had been a good day, and an excellent meal, and as Dave went for his evening ‘constitutional’, Marie and Amy cleared away the dinner things. ‘It’s good to have him home,’ Marie said, and Amy agreed. Such contentment – she had envisaged such a marriage for herself, but she knew, even so, that she was fortunate to share in her parents’ happy lives. After all, what would Daisy give for this much love?
Dave returned just as Amy came down the stairs, having gone to get ready. ‘By! You look lovely, lass.’ He beamed with pride. ‘Off somewhere nice, are you?’
‘Me and Daisy are going to the pictures.’ Amy blushed at his compliment, but then she had taken a lot of trouble to look especially nice.
The long dark skirt had been a birthday present from her mother, and to go with it, Amy had bought a pale blue blouse and close-fitting jacket of darker blue. With her small-heeled ankle-strap shoes and the pretty spotted scarf at her throat she looked and felt good.
‘Your dad’s right,’ Marie agreed. ‘You look beautiful in that outfit.’
Aware that she was no beauty, but grateful for their compliments, Amy kissed her parents cheerio and promised not to be too late home.
‘And mind them roads!’ Dave warned. ‘It won’t be long afore the motor vehicles outnumber the horse and carts. Mind you, some of them drivers couldn’t even control a dog on a lead, let alone a thing with an engine in it.’
‘You worry too much,’ Amy chided as she hurried out the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Marie waved her daughter off at the door, then returned to the parlour and her beloved husband. ‘She’s a good lass, don’t you think?’
‘Aye.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘She teks after her mammy.’
Winking meaningfully, he patted his knee. ‘Look here, lass. There’s a sizeable lap going begging,’ he said invitingly. ‘All it needs is a pretty woman to plonk her bare bottom on it, and I’ll be happy as a pig in muck.’
Softly laughing, she went to him. ‘You’re a randy old thing, Dave Atkinson,’ she said, nibbling his ear.
‘And who can blame me, eh,’ hugging her tight, he kissed her full on the mouth, ‘when I’ve got the best-looking woman in the whole o’ Lancashire?’
Marie laughed, and as her smile met his, there was no doubting her love for him. ‘Are you after my body?’
‘What do you think?’
Marie smiled softly. ‘I think the same as you,’ she whispered. ‘What’s more, I think we ought to do summat about it.’
He kissed her again. ‘A woman after my own heart, that’s what you are, Marie Atkinson.’
A moment later the two of them went up the stairs together.
With Dave away all week it seemed such an age since they had made love.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_f835c732-e430-537f-b2b2-fdfde7b17e57)
A TRIP TO THE pictures was always a treat, and tonight was no exception.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ Daisy was already waiting in Blackburn town centre as Amy disembarked from the tram. ‘I’ve been waiting here for ages.’ Linking arms with her friend, Daisy was talkative as usual. ‘You should have seen this good-looking fella just now,’ she sighed. ‘He weren’t nearly as handsome as our Tuesday man, but I wouldn’t mind having him for a sweetheart.’
Amy laughed. ‘How do you know he hasn’t already got a sweetheart?’
‘I expect he has,’ Daisy groaned. ‘I expect every decent, good-looking man has already been claimed.’ The long-drawn-out sigh came from her very soul. ‘I can see I’m destined to grow old and miserable and never know what it’s like to have a fella of my own.’
Something in Daisy’s voice and manner told Amy things weren’t right. ‘What’s the matter?’ Drawing her to a halt, Amy asked gently, ‘There’s something wrong at home, isn’t there?’ She remembered Daisy’s barely concealed unhappiness at the café last Tuesday morning.
Daisy lowered her gaze. ‘How do you know that?’
Amy always knew. ‘Well, for one thing, I got here at the time we arranged, and yet you said you’d been waiting ages for me.’
Daisy nodded. ‘Well, if you must know, there’s hell going on at home,’ she admitted in a trembling voice. ‘That’s why I came out early, to wait for you.’
‘Have you had anything to eat?’
Daisy shook her head.
‘OK!’ Glancing about, Amy was relieved to see the hot-potato stand was here as usual. ‘The first thing we do is get you something to eat. Then we’ll skip the pictures and find a quiet little place where we can sit and talk.’
Daisy was emphatic. ‘I don’t want to talk.’
‘So, what do you want to do?’
‘Go to the pictures, like we said.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘I might be.’
‘Well then, we’ve time enough, so it’s hot potatoes first, then the pictures. All right?’
In fact everything was ‘all right’ to Daisy whenever she was with Amy. It was only when she was home with her parents that life was unbearable. The sound of their angry screaming voices still rang in her head. No, she’d make an effort; she wouldn’t let them spoil her evening. Pulling her shoulders back, she straightened her coat and tossed her auburn curls. ‘All right,’ she grinned.
Linking arms again, the two of them went towards the hot-potato stand.
‘Evening, girls.’ A short, round little man in a grey coat, the stallholder resembled one of his own potatoes. ‘Off to the pictures, are you?’
While he served them, he chatted about the weather and told them how pretty they were and flirted outrageously. Daisy responded in a like manner and earned herself an extra large potato, while Amy laughed to see her friend determined to enjoy herself.
Amy paid for the two bags of hot potatoes smothered in salt, and butter, which dripped from the bottom of the bag. ‘Mind it doesn’t get on your coat,’ she urged Daisy, who was tucking in as she walked. ‘You’ll have a terrible job getting it out.’
Seating themselves on a nearby bench, they sat and enjoyed their meal; though Amy was full to bursting, having already had a good dinner. Still, she didn’t confess that to Daisy. Instead, under Daisy’s watchful eye, she ate every bit of her delicious potato.
Delighted to see how Daisy wolfed her food, Amy laughed at the way her friend puffed and blew and complained about how hot it was – ‘It’s burning my bloody mouth!’ But she soon devoured it, skin and all.
Afterwards, with Daisy seeming more content, the two of them took off for the picture house and, feeling too full for words, Amy was thankful for the brisk walk across the square.
The Roxy was a grand-looking place, with plush red seats in the auditorium, thick carpet underfoot, and a man softly playing the organ at the front.
‘There’s two seats along there.’
The usherette shone her torch along the dimly lit row, and carefully as she could, Amy led the way, while behind her she could hear chaos unfolding. When she glanced back it was carnage, with everyone they’d passed bending forward, clutching their poor mangled feet where Daisy had trodden on them.
The silent, hateful glances that followed hastened them to their seats, and Amy, for one, was thankful to sit down.
‘Clumsy devils!’ The last poor man they’d passed appeared to be in agony. ‘If folks would only get here in good time, there’d be none o’ this!’
‘Oh, stop moaning, you miserable sod!’ Giving him a withering glance, Daisy flicked down her seat and almost fell on the floor when it sprang back up. ‘Damned thing!’ By now, Daisy was ready to take on the world.
Amy held the seat down while Daisy plonked her backside on it. ‘Sit down and behave,’ she chuckled, ‘unless you want us to get thrown out.’
Then all was quiet. For the moment.
As always the picture house was full. There were little old folk at the front, families in the middle and sweethearts at the back.
Once or twice Daisy glanced at the sweethearts kissing and canoodling, and twining themselves round each other. ‘Look at them! It’s disgusting!’ she said. But Amy knew how much Daisy would have loved to be seated at the back with a sweetheart wrapped round her.
‘Ssh!’ The woman behind wagged a finger at Daisy. ‘Be quiet!’
Daisy fell silent and for a moment she seemed to be deep in thought; though Amy suspected she was thinking about her parents and the way it was at home.
Luckily, the organ music soon swelled in a crescendo and the film started.
To Amy’s relief, Daisy was soon tapping her feet along with the master of dance, Charles King, and as the film progressed, her whole mood changed. Her eyes shone and her whole body twitched to the music, and for a time she was content and happy in a different world.
Amy too enjoyed the film. It was fast and furious, and all too soon it was the interval.
‘What d’you want, lass?’ Standing up ready to queue for refreshments, Daisy waited for Amy’s answer.
‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ Amy told her. She was still full to bursting.
Daisy shrugged, ‘Suit yourself,’ and off she went, leaving another trail of broken toes and complaining voices as she made her way through.
Having stood in the queue for what seemed an age, Daisy was next to be served. ‘A bag of popcorn please, gal,’ she told the usherette.
‘No popcorn, sorry.’ Grim-faced and fed up, the young woman had no interest in her work. As it happened that very morning, she had been turned down for a job as train-driver. Consequently, she was not in the best of moods.
Brought down by her own problems, Daisy was ready for anything the other woman had to throw at her. ‘So what have yer got then?’ she demanded impatiently.
Adjusting the strap round her neck so as to relieve the weight of her tray, the usherette ran both hands through the array of goodies, muttering as she searched, ‘No popcorn … and I’ve just sold the last of the chocolate bars.’ Wiping her nose with the back end of her cuff, she said wearily, ‘There’s only ice cream left now.’
‘Haven’t yer got no nuts?’ Hopeful, Daisy peered into the tray. ‘I don’t fancy ice cream.’
Angrily making another quick search of the tray, the usherette shook her head. ‘Ice cream. Take it or leave it.’
‘Are you sure there are no nuts in the back-room?’
Laughing aloud at Daisy’s suggestion, the usherette told her, ‘The only “nuts” in there are the manager and his fancy-bit.’
She leaned forward. ‘I don’t think they’d thank me for barging in … if you know what I mean?’ Her sly little wink left nothing to the imagination.
‘Lucky them!’ Daisy laughed.
‘HEY!’ The angry voice sailed up the queue. ‘The damned picture will be started soon! Cut the chatter and get on with it, will you?’
Fearing for her job, the usherette demanded of Daisy, ‘So do you want an ice cream or not?’
Daisy held out her loose change. ‘Go on then, gal. If that’s all there is, I’ve got no choice, have I?’
Clutching a tub of ice cream, Daisy fought her way back, amused to see how, in the ten minutes since she’d joined it, the queue was now snaking along the aisle.
‘So, it’s you who’s been holding up the queue, is it?’ Lolling on the back of a seat, the brash young man turned Daisy’s heart over with his winning smile. ‘Can’t make up your mind what you want, eh?’ Fair-haired and of small build, he had a wiriness that made her think of a terrier.
Returning his cheeky smile, Daisy held up the ice-cream tub. ‘I wanted popcorn,’ she said, ‘but this was all she had left.’
‘Got a hankering for popcorn, have you?’ He moved an inch or two closer, but not so far that he might lose his place in the queue.
‘I might have.’ Touching the tip of her nose with her finger she gave him a haughty glance. ‘Though it’s none o’ your business.’
Undeterred, he shifted back into the queue. ‘With your boyfriend, are you?’
Daisy smiled. ‘I’ve not got no boyfriend at the minute.’
The young man licked his lips. ‘All alone then, eh?’
‘No.’
‘Oh?’ Disappointment coloured his voice. ‘Who’ve you got with you then?’ He glanced about, but quickly returned his attention to her. ‘Not your mam and dad, is it?’ he asked warily.
Daisy bristled. ‘I wouldn’t even cross the street with them two!’
‘Is that so?’ As the queue shifted, he went with it. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘Like what?’ On the defensive now, Daisy didn’t care for the way the conversation was going.
‘Looks to me like you don’t get on with your parents.’ Taking hold of her arm, he held her there, a gleam of mischief in his small, bright eyes. ‘Been a naughty girl, have you?’
Daisy shook him off. ‘Like I said, it’s none of your damned business!’
When she hurried away, he tried to follow her, but the picture was starting and the dispersing queue blocked his path. ‘Wait for me at the main doors,’ he called after her, and, secretly thrilled, Daisy pretended not to hear.
She returned to her seat, irritated by the medley of voices threatening to have her chucked out. ‘You’ve mangled my toes once too often!’ cried one irate woman.
‘If you shifted your bloody great feet out the way,’ Daisy snapped back, ‘I wouldn’t be able to “mangle” ’em, would I?’
Throwing herself into the seat, she was horrified when the randy old codger in the next seat stroked her knee suggestively. ‘Take no notice of them,’ he urged.
When she glared at him, he leered at her. ‘You’re a pretty young thing,’ he whispered, curling his fingers tighter about her thigh. ‘What say you and me leave for a while, eh?’
Daisy smiled her best, at the same time spilling her tub of ice cream all over his trousers. ‘Whoops!’ Digging Amy in the ribs, she said, feigning innocence, ‘Oh dear, look what I’ve just done to this poor old man!’
Unaware of what had gone before, Amy was astonished to see the man leap out of his seat, his trousers dripping ice cream, and a wet patch forming round his flies.
‘YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!’
He caused such a fuss that the usherette came running. ‘What the devil’s going on here?’
‘Ask him!’ Grabbing Amy’s arm, Daisy forced her way past. ‘You should be careful who you let in here,’ she informed the usherette. ‘The dirty old git needed cooling off. A dollop of ice cream round his old what-not seems to have done the trick, though.’
Outside, the two girls collapsed laughing.
‘Did you see the look on his face?’ Amy chuckled.
‘Serves him right!’ Daisy replied. ‘Filthy old sod.’
‘I hope you’re not talking about me?’ It was the young man who had tried chatting up Daisy earlier. He was leaning against the wall, another man, of about the same age, with him.
‘No, I didn’t mean you.’ Her ready smile told how she was pleased to see him. ‘Some randy old bugger and his wandering hands. I had to teach him a lesson!’
‘So it was you causing all that fuss?’
‘It was.’ In truth she was quite proud to have dealt with the matter so efficiently.
‘Put him in his place, did you?’
Daisy grinned. ‘I dropped a tub of ice cream in his lap … that cooled him off all right.’
The young man laughed. ‘I’d best watch my p’s and q’s when you’re around.’
‘That’s right … you had.’
He sidled closer. ‘Are we on for a date then?’
Daisy decided to play it casual. ‘We might be.’
He persisted. ‘Well, are we or not?’
Daisy glanced at his mate. A quiet man with lean figure and intense gaze, he seemed well taken with Amy. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘This is Jack …’ beckoning his friend forward, he introduced him, ‘… Jack Tomlinson. We work together and we’re good pals.’ He half smiled. ‘Jack never has much to say, but he thinks a lot. Not like me. I take things as they come.’
His gaze fixing Amy, Jack stepped forward. ‘Pleased to meet you …’ he hesitated, ‘… I don’t know your name.’
Amy held out her hand. ‘I’m Amy.’ Ever cautious, she saw no need to elaborate on that, at least for now.
Holding her hand for a moment longer than she would have liked, he smiled down on her. ‘Pretty name.’
‘Thank you.’ He seemed a nice enough fella.
‘And I’m Roy.’ The sharp little man stepped forward, addressing himself to Daisy. ‘Let me guess … you’ve got to be a Joanne … or mebbe Ruth, am I right?’
She giggled. ‘I’m Daisy. Pretty as a flower.’
Feeling uncomfortable about the way the young man was eyeing Daisy, Amy intervened. ‘Lovely meeting you both, but we’ve a tram to catch.’
Daisy, though, was already infatuated. ‘Oh, Amy, we’ve time to find a chippie first,’ she protested. ‘Don’t forget we left the flicks early, so we’ve got some extra time.’
Amy, horrified at the idea of yet more food, was about to disagree, but the young man called Roy pounced on the idea at once. ‘I know where there’s a good chippie!’ Grabbing Daisy by the arm, he suggested, ‘We could have fish and chips, then find a quiet place to talk … if that’s what you’d like?’
Before Amy could say anything, Daisy had agreed and the four of them were on their way, in the direction of the docks, being led by Daisy and her chatty companion.
‘They seem to have hit it off together, don’t they?’ Bringing up the rear, Jack walked at a more sedate pace with Amy. ‘I wish I was more like him. He makes friends so easily, while I’ve always found it difficult.’
Amy smiled at that. ‘Daisy’s the same,’ she said, adding cautiously, ‘Is he all right though, your friend?’
‘How d’you mean?’ Jack gave her a curious glance.
‘He won’t take advantage of her, will he?’
‘In what way?’
‘Daisy is going through a bad time at the minute, and I wouldn’t like to see her hurt.’ There was no point beating about the bush. ‘It’s just that, well, your friend seems a bit of a flirt … too full of himself for my liking.’
Jack smiled knowingly. ‘You’re right. He can be a bit of a flirt, but it’s just his manner. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’
They walked on, the night closing in around them, and Amy growing slightly alarmed at the way in which Roy was all over Daisy. When they turned down a darkened side street, her fears grew.
‘Daisy, where do you think you’re going?’
Laughing, Daisy called back, ‘To the chippie, o’ course … where d’you think?’
‘There’s no chippie down here.’ Amy knew the streets of Blackburn like the back of her hand. ‘We’d best turn back … we don’t want to miss the last tram.’
‘Oh, stop your worrying!’ came the reply. ‘We’re going the long way round, that’s all.’
As they walked on, Amy and her companion chatted about this and that, and she began to think he was a nice enough bloke; though she kept a wary eye on Daisy, who by now was loudly laughing and shrieking.
The tall fellow chuckled. ‘Your friend seems to be enjoying herself.’
For just that split second, Amy took her eyes off Daisy. When she looked up again, they were gone. ‘Where are they?’ Beginning to panic, she quickened her steps, with the young man striding out beside her. ‘Don’t worry!’ he told her. ‘They can’t be far.’
Amy wasn’t convinced. Something told her that Daisy was out of her depth. Her fears were confirmed when she heard Daisy calling her name. ‘That’s Daisy! Maybe she’s in trouble.’ Beginning to panic, she looked this way and that, trying hard to pinpoint where the shouts were coming from, in the maze of alleys. ‘DAISY! WHERE ARE YOU?’
She set off at a run, in the direction of Daisy’s voice, with the young man coming up behind her. Fear gripped her heart. She didn’t trust him either.
When Amy came running into the alley she saw Daisy struggling against Roy. He had her pinned against the wall and his mouth was clamped to hers, while one hand groped inside her coat. Daisy was struggling against him, moaning and trying to push him away.
Amy misunderstood. Thinking Daisy was in real trouble, she kicked out and caught Daisy’s attacker a nasty blow on the shin. He went down with a look of agony on his face. Amy was briefly aware of Daisy’s astonished expression, but then the other man, Jack, darted forward and grabbed Amy’s arm.
‘Leave him. It’s OK,’ he said, but his hand on her arm only served to panic her.
Twisting away from him, she grabbed a half-brick that was lying in the alley. She aimed for his head but the brick bounced off his shoulder and fell at his feet, delivering no more than a bruise.
Meanwhile, Daisy had caught her breath and was buttoning her blouse. While Roy moaned at her feet, Jack looked shocked.
‘Now just a minute …’ he began.
‘It’s OK,’ Daisy promised Amy. ‘No harm done.’ She giggled. ‘It were a bit heavy for a first kiss, though.’ Her hair was dishevelled and her lipstick smudged, but her eyes were mischievously twinkling in the light of a nearby streetlamp.
‘But … I thought …’ When realisation dawned Amy was embarrassed. Oh, no, this was awful. She began her way back down the alley. ‘I think we’d best be off home,’ she said lamely.
‘I think we had,’ chuckled Daisy, winking at Roy.
‘But you said –’ he began.
‘Never mind what I said,’ replied Daisy. ‘Perhaps you’d better learn some manners, rushing a girl like that.’ She patted her hair in place, straightened her coat and trotted back up the alley behind Amy.
‘Time to cool off!’ Daisy quipped as she went.
Softly laughing, she grabbed Amy’s hand and they were soon running back towards the main road, their heels pounding the cold pavement, and the sound of their laughter echoing through the night air.
The street was relatively quiet, with the exception of a big black saloon motor car which passed them, slowing briefly before accelerating away, as they turned towards the tram stop and raced to meet the oncoming lights. He couldn’t be certain but Luke wondered if they were the young women from Tooley’s Cafe.
In the lamplight, Amy took a good look at her friend. ‘My God, Daisy … look at the state of you!’ Amy was horrified. ‘We’ll have to try and tidy you up. They’ll never let you on the tram like that.’ With her dishevelled hair and rumpled clothes, Daisy looked like a refugee from hell. ‘The tram’s coming now – quick!’ She took Daisy by the shoulders. ‘Let’s see if we can make you presentable.’
‘Been in a fight, ’ave yer?’ The conductor gawped with open mouth as they boarded the tram.
‘You could say that,’ Amy replied, stifling her laughter.
‘Sit yourself down then, and don’t start anything.’ Convinced they’d been drinking, the conductor warned, ‘These are decent, God-fearing passengers, so mind you behave! I want no trouble on my tram!’
During the journey they relived the night’s events. ‘By! You went for him like a blinking Jack Russell,’ Daisy said. ‘That’ll teach him to get fresh with me without a by your leave. The look on his face …’ When she laughed loudly, the conductor, who had been eyeing the red-faced pair suspiciously, came to give her a warning. ‘Start trouble and I’ll put you off!’
‘I’m not “starting trouble”!’ Daisy protested, and would have said more, were it not for the dig in the ribs she got from Amy, who was herself beginning to giggle; which then set Daisy off.
Somehow managing to remain fairly composed until disembarking at their stop, the two of them were helpless with laughter. ‘You’re a bad ’un, you are!’ Amy spluttered.
‘I’ve had the best night o’ my life.’ Swinging her arms round Amy, Daisy marched her forward at a galloping pace.
‘Get off!’ Amy shrugged her away. ‘You’ll have us both arse over tip!’
Daisy was astounded. ‘Language, my girl.’ She feigned indignation. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your tongue when you’re in my company.’ To which they both started laughing again.
Some short distance away, a strolling constable gave them a knowing wink. ‘Evening, girls.’
‘Evening, officer,’ Amy replied.
‘You two look like you’ve had a good night.’
‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ Daisy replied.
On looking closer, he saw how tousled they were. His tone grew serious. ‘All right, are you?’
‘Right as rain,’ Amy replied.
‘Aye, well, you’d best get off home,’ he advised. ‘There are some strange folks hanging about this time of night.’
They watched him go, shaking his head as he went.
As they wended their way home, the streets echoed with their merry laughter.
One thing was certain, Amy thought. Life was never dull with Daisy about.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_bf8497a0-41b9-5bf7-bc81-54186327131b)
SWITCHING OFF THE engine, Luke Hammond climbed out of the car. His business meeting had overrun and then he’d had to entertain clients. ‘I’m sure that was Amy with the young woman from the café,’ he murmured. But the lamplight played strange tricks on the eye, so he couldn’t be absolutely certain. He’d learned Amy’s name by eavesdropping at Tooley’s, and now it was a name inextricably linked to Tuesdays – those days of freedom and dreams.
He closed the car door and made his way to the house. As he walked on, the image of Amy’s face was bright in his mind.
There was something irresistible about her. She had a warm, magical, memorable smile, and those bluest of eyes. It was the face of a woman you could trust. That was why he had a need to paint her: so he might capture that special something, and keep it for ever. Smiling, gentle, constant, her portrait brought him nearer to living the dream he conjured up on Tuesdays. Whenever he was feeling low, he thought of Amy and his heart was lifted.
His reverie was, however, suddenly shattered as he approached the house. Through the kitchen window he could see a woman frantically pacing the floor and, judging from her manner, she seemed to be in a dark, dangerous mood.
‘Oh God, that’s all I need … Georgina!’ A slim, attractive woman with thick, dark hair, she was his wife’s sister. He didn’t care much for her, a scheming, greedy woman. ‘What the devil can she want?’ Because of her, he was able to enjoy his one day of freedom and keep his sanity. But he knew her well enough to be certain that she never did anything out of the goodness of her heart, and for that reason his suspicions were aroused. ‘I can be sure of one thing,’ he mused, ‘she won’t be here for any good reason.’
Growing anxious, he quickened his steps.
Sensing his nearness, the woman peered out of the window, delighted to see him there. Before he had even opened the door, she was there to greet him.
‘Oh, Luke, I’m so glad you’re back!’ Her voice was entreating; her wide dark eyes glittering with excitement. ‘It’s been awful. I didn’t know which way to turn.’
At once he was on his guard. ‘What do you mean?’ Looking about he asked pointedly, ‘Where’s Sylvia?’
‘In the bedroom.’ Casting her gaze to the upper reaches of the house she told him in a whisper, ‘She’s sound asleep.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She is now.’
He began to understand. ‘Is Edna with her?’ Edna, originally employed as housekeeper, was a good and loyal friend who had seen him and his wife through thick and thin.
‘No.’ Bristling at his question, she snapped, ‘She is not!’
‘So, where is she? She promised to stay until I got home. The meeting went on longer than was planned.’
With eyebrows raised and a marbling of anger in her voice, she asked sweetly, ‘What kind of meeting … or am I not allowed to ask?’
‘A meeting of business minds,’ Luke answered sharply. ‘A long-awaited meeting, too important to miss.’
‘Really?’ Again the eyebrows were raised, the smile devious. ‘I thought you might have a secret rendezvous with some attractive female,’ she suggested softly. ‘After all … the way things are, who would blame you?’
‘If you thought that, then you were wrong. There is no other woman. There never has been, nor is there likely to be.’ Bitterly he cast all lingering thoughts of Amy from his mind.
Taking a long, deep breath he squared his shoulders. ‘Now … will you tell me what’s been going on?’ he asked quietly. ‘You say Sylvia is asleep?’
‘That’s right. And, as you well know, it would be best if she was not disturbed.’
He nodded. ‘So, if Edna is not with my wife, where is she?’
Georgina gave a cunning half-smile. ‘I sent her home of course.’ Her expression changed to one of disgust. ‘To tell you the truth, I’d sack her if I had my way.’
Anger darkened Luke’s face. ‘Then it’s just as well you don’t have your way!’ he snapped. ‘That dear soul is a godsend to us. She’s been with us through very difficult times. Anyone else would have been long gone, but not Edna. She’s a good woman … and, thank God, she’s made of sterner stuff than most. What’s more, she knows as much about what’s happening as any one of us.’ His voice trembled with anger. ‘You had no right to send her home.’
‘Sylvia is my sister. I had every right! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Sylvia needs a proper nurse, not an old has-been like Edna!’
‘You’ve got a short memory, Georgina.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cast your mind back to when Sylvia came home from hospital.’ With his eyes burning into hers, he explained the situation for the umpteenth time. ‘She had bruises and marks where she’d taken that terrible beating, but to look into her eyes, you’d think she was recovering well. Oh, yes, the doctor warned us that it was a possibility, but we hoped beyond hope for her sake that he was wrong. But he wasn’t, was he? What was it – a month, maybe two – before the fits started; the unpredictable violence, the depression and amnesia.’
‘I know all that!’
‘Then you also know how I got Sylvia the best nurses money could buy. First one then another. They had all the certificates and experience. They came with the finest references, but Sylvia sent them packing.’ He paused, allowing the words to sink in. ‘She would have nothing to do with any of them, and worse, nothing to do with the medication they administered. And then, when I’m about to despair, we discover that the finest nurse of all is our own housekeeper, Edna – fully trained, qualified, and with years of experience. What was even better was that she already had Sylvia’s complete and absolute trust … mine too. I can go to work during the week and know that Sylvia is in safe, loving hands, and that she isn’t hiding her tablets or pouring her medicine away.’
Georgina knew how every word Luke uttered was right, but she still had her say. ‘Except for Tuesdays.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, except for Tuesdays, but then Edna has to have at least one day off and she visits her aged mother. They go to the old lady’s whist club. But then you kindly offered to stay with her on that one day, and the arrangement seems to have worked out really well. Like you say, Sylvia always seems content in your company.’
Eaten with jealousy, Georgina persisted. ‘If you ask me, Edna is far too familiar. It never pays to let the servants know too much.’
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ Finishing the conversation, he turned away with the parting words, ‘Besides, you know we never think of Edna as a “servant”.’
‘Then you should … because that’s exactly what she is. A housekeeper pretending to be a nurse again!’
‘To be honest, the fact that you sent her away is neither here nor there, because if I know Edna, the minute she realises I’m home, she’ll be back again … if only to make certain Sylvia is all right.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘In fact, I suspect our Edna has nothing but dislike for you.’
‘Hmm!’ Georgina narrowed her eyes and spat, ‘The feeling is mutual, because I can’t stand the sight of the damned woman!’
Treating her remark with the contempt it deserved, Luke made no reply. Instead, he went out of the room and on up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs he turned left towards his wife’s room. He knew from experience that it was best to leave her sleeping, but he had a deep-down need to check on her. He had to be certain she was all right.
Lingering outside her door, he listened. There was no sound. There never was. Gingerly he turned the handle, opened the door and, ever so softly, let himself inside.
Standing by her bed, he studied her sleeping face. Sylvia never liked complete darkness, and in the kindly haze of light from the standard lamp, her quiet, pale features took on a ghostly aspect. With her soft skin and long, tousled chestnut hair, she seemed almost like a child lying there. He stayed a moment longer, thinking how beautiful she was, and how fortunate he had been.
Raising the blanket to cover her arms, he tenderly stroked the strands of rich-coloured hair from about her face. When she was sleeping like this, everything seemed so perfect. Yet he knew it was not.
Beside the bed, her supper plate lay untouched: two small, plain biscuits, and a dainty wedge of cheese with the knife lying beside it; all exactly as it was when brought up by Edna. Untouched, unwanted.
The empty tumbler was on its side, half drunk, half spilled. As he carefully uprighted it, the dregs ran down his wrist. He wiped it away, but the stale milk remained, sticky and uncomfortable. It occurred to him it might well contain something medicinal, but it was spilled now, and anyway, she was sound asleep.
‘Good night, my love.’ Leaning over, he whispered assurances with the softest of kisses before, collecting the supper plate, he left the room as softly as he had arrived.
Once outside on the landing, he made his way to the bathroom; a large converted bedroom with high ceilings and stripped wooden floor, it always struck him as strangely cold and bleak.
Setting the supper plate on the cupboard, he went to the basin where he splashed a handful of cold water over his wrist, then another over his face. After hours of talking business he was wearied. The shock of cold water felt refreshingly good.
When, eyes half closed, he turned to find the towel, she was suddenly on him like a fiend.
‘YOU’VE BEEN WITH HER!’ Shrieking like a demented soul she grabbed the cheese knife; lashing out, wanting to hurt him, needing to maim him, just as she felt maimed. ‘You don’t want me any more. I’m no good to you … don’t lie to me!’ With one swipe of the knife she caught him down the cheekbone. When the blood spurted out she lunged at him again, but this time he caught her arm to fend her off.
‘Sylvia! Drop the knife! Sylvia, please!’
‘Let me go, you bastard … I HATE YOU!’ There was no stopping her now. Raising her arm she brought it down, the small curved blade targeting his face. He ducked, grabbed her by the waist and, drawing her towards him, pinned her arms by her sides. ‘It’s all right, Sylvia,’ he gasped, ‘… it’s all right. There is no one else in my life but you.’ He struggled to regain his breath, to ignore the blood he could feel oozing down his face.
Her dark eyes calmer now, she looked up. ‘Promise me?’
He nodded, his forced smile seeming to settle her fears. ‘I promise.’
When she began sobbing, he gently took away the knife and, at that moment, something made him glance towards the door. Shocked to see Georgina leaning against the door-jamb, he asked harshly, ‘How long have you been there?’
Smiling triumphantly, she replied, ‘Long enough.’ In fact she had witnessed the whole thing.
‘Did you wake her?’ Suspicion trembled in his voice.
‘Shame on you, Luke.’ Her small, mean mouth opened in disbelief. ‘Do you really believe I would do such a thing?’
His voice hardened. ‘I know you would … if it suited your purpose.’
Just then, a plump woman of homely face and grey hair appeared.
‘Is Mrs Hammond all right, sir?’ She was obviously distressed.
Relieved to see her, Luke reassured her. ‘Yes, Edna, she’s all right.’
Clinging to him, Sylvia looked up at her husband. ‘I’m tired,’ she said wearily. ‘Can I go back to my bed now?’
Kissing her tenderly on the forehead, Luke nodded. ‘Come on … I’ll take you back.’
As he moved forward, she saw the blood trickling from his cheekbone. A look of astonishment came over her features. ‘Your face is cut!’ Horrified, she reeled from him. ‘I want Edna.’ Her voice rising to a shriek, she demanded, ‘Edna! I need you to take me back. Please, Edna …’
Like a frightened child she entreated the older woman, and the older woman loved her as she would her own flesh and blood. ‘You must calm yourself, my dear,’ she said soothingly. ‘O’ course I’ll take you back.’ She shifted an inquisitive gaze to Luke. ‘If it’s all right with Mr Hammond, that is?’
Luke gave the nod she needed, and now, as Sylvia went to her with open arms, Edna quickly but gently led Sylvia back to the safety of her bed.
Reaching out for the towel, Luke dipped a corner into the wash-bowl and dabbed at the blood trickling from his wounds, but all the while his wary eyes were fixed on Georgina. ‘If I thought you’d woken her,’ he warned, shaking his head, ‘I would have to think twice about banning you from this house.’
‘You couldn’t do that! I’m her sister.’
‘And I’m her husband – so I could, and I would. My only concern is for Sylvia.’ His voice thickened. ‘My God! If I knew you’d deliberately upset her …’
Afraid now, she stepped forward. ‘I didn’t. I love her!’ There was a measure of sincerity in her voice. ‘I would never hurt her … you must know that.’
Using what she considered to be her best card, she taunted, ‘If you thought me capable of hurting her, you would never trust me to stay with her on a Tuesday.’
Taken aback, Luke spoke firmly. ‘And you think it would bother me if I didn’t have my Tuesday freedom, do you?’
‘I know how much you treasure your Tuesdays, that’s all,’ she retaliated. ‘Or am I wrong?’
‘No, you’re not wrong.’ Once more wiping the towel over the wound on his cheekbone, he reminded her, ‘However much I treasure my little freedom, Sylvia will always be my first concern.’
A moment passed while Georgina silently considered his answer. She knew that, in spite of the way things were, he was speaking the truth, and to her mind it was a shocking waste of a man’s devotion. Deep down she resented the love he felt for her sister. ‘On these Tuesdays, when I come over to take care of her, where do you go?’
‘That’s my business.’ He gave her a warning glance. ‘We’ve had this conversation once too often, Georgina. Make this the last time, will you?’
Not being a woman who gave in easily, she persisted, ‘I know you don’t go to the factory.’
Angry and worried, he demanded, ‘And how could you possibly know that?’
‘Ah! I have my ways and means,’ she said with a sly little grin. ‘But don’t worry. I won’t give your secret away.’
‘Do what you think fit,’ he advised casually. ‘It makes no difference to me.’
She took a step closer. ‘I really am curious. What do you do? Where do you go?’
Throwing the towel into the washbasin he told her, ‘That’s enough talk for now!’
‘All right. Like you say, it’s none of my business.’ She wisely backed off. When he had that look about him she knew it was impossible to get answers so, instead of riling him, she changed tack. ‘I meant what I said, though. I do love Sylvia and, whatever you might think, I would never hurt her.’
Luke nodded. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m inclined to believe you.’
He knew there had always been a measure of love between the two sisters, but: ‘All the same, I wish I could be certain of you.’
‘Oh, but you can!’ Tears swam in her dark eyes. ‘You really can.’
He nodded, but made no move towards her. One thing he had learned about her was that she could turn on the tears at will.
She bowed her head. ‘I know there are times when you don’t trust me, but it’s just that … I’m saddened by what’s happened to her, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sometimes, it cripples me …’ she tapped her chest, ‘… inside here.’
He understood how that felt, and deep down, where the pain lived, he felt a kind of sympathy with her. ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry if sometimes I seem unfeeling.’ Ashamed, he reminded himself of the hours he and Georgina had spent together at the hospital, not knowing whether Sylvia would live or die. It had been the worst time of his life and she had been there for him when he needed her. ‘But she’s so precious to me. I can’t risk her being damaged again … not by anyone!’
Unmoved, she gave another glimpse of her cruel nature in her comment: ‘What about Arnold Stratton?’
He gave her a withering look. ‘I don’t want to hear that name.’
‘Will you tell me something?’ There was a look in her eye that disturbed his peace of mind.
‘Depends?’ Just when he was beginning to trust her she made him wary as always.
‘Why did you never go after him?’
For a long, awkward moment he remained silent; the past swirling through his mind, taking him back to a place he did not want to be. ‘I did go after him.’
‘What!’ She stepped forward, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I never knew that!’
He smiled, a sad, telling smile that showed the scars inside. ‘That’s because I never told anyone.’
‘Not even Sylvia?’ There was no end to her cruelty.
‘Especially not Sylvia.’
Excitement trembled in Georgina’s voice. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. I went there with the intention of tearing him limb from limb …’
The telling brought it all back with a vengeance, and he walked across the room, his fists rubbing one into the other as though they were itching to hit something, or someone. ‘The police got there before me. When I turned the corner he was being arrested. After that, it was out of my hands.’ His features stiffened. ‘More’s the pity! A ten-year gaol sentence is so little for what he did.’
Needing to end the conversation, he swung round on her. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I was worried about Sylvia.’ Venturing closer, she lied, ‘I couldn’t sleep. I got to thinking how that bastard Stratton beat her so bad she almost died. As it was, he damaged her brain so much she’ll never be whole again.’ Her voice dropped to a baby whine. ‘Is it her punishment, do you think … for having relations with him … cheating on you, when you’ve always been such a wonderful husband?’
‘That’s enough, Georgina. I think it’s time you went.’
‘Oh, Luke, I’m sorry. I know how painful it is for you to think about what happened.’ Making the sign of the cross on herself she whispered solemnly, ‘I promise I’ll never speak of it again.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
Georgina was a strange person, he thought. And he could never fathom her. Sometimes she couldn’t do enough for himself and Sylvia, and other times she seemed to take satisfaction in torturing him.
Walking to the door he expected her to follow. Instead she went on talking. ‘It was just as well I got here when I did,’ she assured him. ‘By the time I arrived, Sylvia was already being difficult. Ask Edna, if you don’t believe me. Between us, we managed to calm her and get her to bed. Edna insisted on going in to check on her, but I wouldn’t let her. I sent her home instead.’
A thought occurred to her. ‘What was she doing here just now? I told her not to come back. I told her I was going to have a word with you – that it must have been her who upset Sylvia in the first place, otherwise why was she in such a state when I got here? And just now, how did she get into the house? You can’t get into the house without a key.’
Luke enlightened her. ‘Edna has a key. And before you say anything, she will continue to have a key. For Sylvia’s sake I need to know that Edna can let herself in at any time.’
Georgina saw her opportunity. ‘Think about it, Luke! I have some experience of looking after sick people – I nursed my mother when she was ill – and the doctor said I would have made an excellent nurse.’
‘And you would,’ Luke agreed. ‘I’ve seen how gentle and good you can be with Sylvia.’
‘There you are!’ she cried jubilantly. ‘So, why don’t I sell my house and come to live here? Then you’d have no need of Edna.’
He swiftly dismissed her idea. ‘Thank you all the same, but I really don’t think that’s necessary. Besides, Edna might be a little slower than she once was, but she’s more than capable and, as well you know, Sylvia trusts her implicitly.’
‘She trusts me too. I mean, on Tuesdays when Edna has her day off and you’re away working on your “secret” project …’ she waited for an explanation, and when there was none, she continued, ‘… well, she always enjoys my company. We get on well together. We always have.’
‘Yes. I know that.’
He had seen how the two of them laughed and chatted together, about their childhood and other things that women were interested in, such as the latest fashion designs and favourite film stars.
They really did seem to enjoy each other’s company, and on the one occasion when Sylvia had a bad turn, Georgina quickly got the doctor out and everything was under control.
She was a sensible, intelligent woman. That was the reason he was content enough to leave them together while he enjoyed his own company on that one special day.
All the same, his small, sneaking distrust of Georgina remained. Now, though, he thought it best to remind her of something. ‘Just now, when Sylvia saw what she’d done to my face, she was upset. But did you notice, it wasn’t you she turned to? It was Edna. No, Georgina, it’s kind of you to offer, but it’s best we leave things the way they are.’ His instincts told him it would be a very bad idea to have Georgina in the house at all times.
Opening the door, he offered, ‘I’ll have a word with Edna … see if she wouldn’t mind me running you home.’
But Georgina would not hear of it. ‘No. I’ll get a cab. I’d prefer that.’
‘All right,’ Luke conceded, ‘if that’s what you want.’
Going to the hallstand, he took down two coats: a long dark, woollen coat with belt and deep pockets, and a black astrakhan three-quarter one with black bone buttons and fur collar.
First helping her on with the astrakhan, he then shrugged on his own coat. ‘I’ll walk you to the bottom of the street. We’ll flag down a cab there.’
It was a matter of only five minutes or less, before a cab pulled over. ‘Mind you go straight indoors once you get home.’
‘It’s all right,’ she answered with the sweetest of smiles, ‘I know how to look after myself.’
Helping her into her seat, he kissed her dutifully on the cheek. ‘Good night, Georgina.’
Before settling back into her seat, she clung to him a moment longer than he was comfortable with. ‘Good night, Georgina!’ Taking her by the shoulders he gently but firmly pushed her away and closed the door. ‘Eighteen, Park Street.’ He thrust a handful of coins into the driver’s hand. ‘There’s a bit extra there,’ he pointed out. ‘Mind you wait until she’s safely inside.’
A smile from her, a wave and she was gone.
Somewhat dejected, Luke made his way back to the house. ‘I’ll never understand it,’ he muttered. ‘How could two sisters be so different?’
But then he reminded himself of how Sylvia had been having an affair with Arnold Stratton, before they found her beaten and battered in the alley.
It had been the worst shock of all, and even now Luke found it hard to believe that she had deceived him with another man. He had adored Sylvia since the first day they met; with every fibre in his body. Without question or reservation. Time and again, she had told him how she never wanted or needed anyone else, and he believed her.
In the early years theirs had been the ideal romance, the meeting, the courtship, the sharing and growing together. Then the cracks had begun to show, with Sylvia’s waywardness and selfishness. She was bored; she didn’t want Luke to go to the factory; she wanted to travel … She started spending every evening out – with friends, but they were not friends he knew – and she was drinking a lot. Luke tolerated all this because he still had his dreams of their growing old together, with maybe a son who would one day take over the business from him. Then Sylvia met Arnold Stratton …
Luke still loved her now in spite of her cheating, but not in the way he had loved her before. Not with his heart and soul. Not blindly. But he had made his vows and he held her close to his heart. She was his wife, his responsibility and he would take care of her until the end of her days … or the end of his! Whichever came first.
His thoughts returned briefly to Amy as he had seen her that evening – young, care-free, laughing in the street. She was his dream, but Sylvia was his reality.
The portly cab driver was a chatty sort. ‘I’ll soon have you home, miss,’ he assured Georgina proudly, ‘safe and sound, just like the good man wanted.’
Deep in thoughts of a devious kind, Georgina didn’t hear him.
‘Decent fella … seems concerned to keep you from harm,’ the cabbie went on. ‘Your intended, is he?’
Coming out of her reverie with her mind made up, Georgina didn’t catch his last remark. ‘What’s that you say?’
Half-turning his head, the cabbie apologised. ‘Sorry if I offended you. I were only asking if the fella was your intended?’
Georgina smiled. ‘Not officially,’ she answered coyly, ‘I mean, he doesn’t know it yet, but I intend for us to be man and wife one day.’
The cabbie laughed out loud. ‘You women!’ he chuckled. ‘Once you get your claws into us men, we’ve got no chance at all.’
He was only minutes from Park Street when she instructed, ‘Turn down the next street left.’
Confused, he advised her, ‘But that’s Johnson Street. I were told you wanted Park Street.’
‘Well, now I want Johnson Street!’ she snapped. ‘Keep moving until I tell you when to stop.’
Swinging the vehicle into Johnson Street, the cabbie was guided by the streetlamps. ‘What number?’ He peered at the door: ‘This is fifteen … seventeen …’ As instructed, he moved slowly on.
‘Here!’ Perched on the edge of her seat and ready to open the door, she screeched at him, ‘STOP HERE!’
Made to halt in a dark, shadowy spot between two streetlamps, he wondered what she was up to. ‘Do you want me to wait?’ he asked as she climbed from the cab.
‘Well, of course I want you to wait,’ she replied impatiently. ‘The trams have stopped running and I certainly don’t intend walking home in the dark.’
He nodded. ‘How long will you be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, what does it matter to you?’
‘Well, if it’s only a few minutes it’ll make no difference. But if it’s gonna be some time, then I might have to charge you a bit more.’
Georgina rounded on him. ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ she told him. ‘I saw the handful of coins he gave you, and it was more than enough. You’re getting no more – not even if I’m in there till morning!’
‘I see.’ He had taken a real dislike to her. ‘And are you likely to be in there “till morning”?’
‘Well, now …’ giving a sly little wink, she leaned towards him, ‘… we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ With that she sauntered off, glancing up at the house numbers as she went.
Curious, he watched as she knocked on a door. Smartly groomed and dressed in expensive clothes, she was quite an eye-opener, he thought. But it didn’t always follow that what looked good on the outside was good on the inside.
A naturally wary man, he decided that when she came back out, he would take her home quick as he could, and never a word of conversation between them.
Cabbies should keep their traps shut and just do their job, he decided, or who knew what trouble they might find themselves in.
After a few moments the door opened. Casting a glance up and down the street, she hurried inside.
The cab driver also glanced up and down the street. ‘It’s a far cry from Park Street,’ he muttered thoughtfully.
A long meandering street on a deep slope towards the town, Johnson Street was typical of the roads in those parts. It was the kind of ordinary, serviceable place where folks like himself lived out their days – hard-working, God-fearing folks who worked long, back-breaking hours in the cotton-mills or the nearby factories.
One thing was certain: it was nothing like the beautifully kept, wide open streets, with their big posh houses, that ran up alongside the park. Those were reserved for wealthy folk – employers, bank managers, that kind of contented, fortunate soul.
He settled himself into the seat, closed his eyes and yawned. ‘One thing’s for sure, she’s up to no good.’ He thought about the man who had paid for her cab. ‘Some women don’t know when they’re well off!’ he muttered. ‘That fella seemed a decent sort, but if he’s not careful, he’ll find himself hooked up to a bad lot, an’ no mistake!’
Georgina followed the man into the sitting room.
‘I didn’t expect you tonight, Helen. What you doing ’ere at this late hour anyway?’ A rough-looking fellow, but well-endowed, clad only in underpants he made a fetching sight to her eager eyes.
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ A flush of disappointment coloured her face, but she pouted seductively and slowly slipped her coat off, her eyes full of suggestion.
He gave a wily grin. ‘Depends, don’t it?’ Looking her up and down he licked his lips. ‘It’s been a while since we got together.’
‘I was on my way home and thought I’d come and pay a visit,’ she purred.
His blue eyes coveting her, he smiled. ‘If I knew where you lived, I might be able to repay the favour now and then.’
Shaking her head, she took a step forward. ‘I’ll never tell you where I live.’
‘Hmm! Sometimes I wonder if your name really is Helen.’ He gave her a wry little smile. ‘Is it?’
She laughed. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘You’re a secretive bugger and no mistake.’ Now, as he moved towards her, the light from the flickering gas-mantle played shadows on his unshaven face. ‘And why is that, I wonder?’
Stroking her hands through his tousled brown hair, she murmured, ‘Because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone, but I especially don’t trust men.’
Through hostile, narrowed eyes he studied her. ‘All the same, it would make things easier if I knew a bit more about you. After all, you know my name, and you know where I live.’
Staring him out, she answered emphatically, ‘Only because I had to bring you home when you were drunk out of your mind. You couldn’t stop talking.’
They had met in the town one afternoon when Georgina’s high heel had become caught between paving stones and he’d freed her. Each had liked the look of the other. He admired her bold manner and her expensive perfume, and she had always secretly lusted after rough-looking men. Good manners, she found, so often took the excitement out of sex. Sylvia must have found the same, Georgina thought. Why else had she had an affair with Arnold Stratton?
Neither had anything better to do so they’d found a hotel bar; then, when they’d drunk a fair amount, gone on to a pub he knew. There he’d become ridiculously drunk and she’d had to take him home in a taxi. She’d stayed the night and their affair had started when his hangover abated.
‘And besides, you don’t need to know my real name and address,’ she now added.
‘Oh, but you’re wrong. As a rule I know all about my women after the first meeting.’
‘I’m not one of “your women”.’
‘So, what are you doing here?’ Leering into her face, he laughed. ‘Can’t resist me, is that it?’
She batted her eyelashes. ‘I get lonely sometimes,’ she answered. ‘Is that so hard to understand?’
He took a long, slow breath. ‘It is, yeah. You’re an attractive woman … not short of a bob or two, by the looks of it, and here you are, slumming through the back streets to see an old lag like me.’
Smiling, she observed his muscular figure, with the first signs of a rounded stomach, and that unkempt face with its peculiar, rough appeal and, stepping forward, she stroked his bare arm. ‘You’re not an “old lag”,’ she murmured.
‘Oh, but I am.’ He was deliberately taunting her. ‘When a man’s been in prison, what else would you call him, but an old lag? I’m a bad man, Helen.’ His eyes were hard like two bright marbles. ‘Some of us are locked up because we deserve to be.’
She touched him tenderly, her fingers curling round the hairs on his broad chest. ‘If you’d rather I left …’ her voice was like silk in his ear, ‘I’ll go now … if that’s what you really want?’
‘O’ course it’s not what I want.’ His features softened. ‘You don’t know how glad I am that you took me home that night,’ he said gratefully. ‘I were in a bad state – drunker than I’ve ever been in my life.’
She gave a soft, knowing laugh. ‘You were in need of help.’
With a wicked look in his eye, he asked meaningfully, ‘And are you in need of help?’
‘You know I am. Why else would I be here?’
Grabbing her to him, he kissed her hard on the mouth, one hand undoing her dress, the other snaking round her waist.
There was little foreplay and even less tenderness. It wasn’t long before they were naked and locked together, writhing on the floor in ecstasy. The coupling was fast and furious, leaving them collapsed into each other, gasping and breathless.
A short time later, the cabbie almost leaped out of his skin when she banged on the window. ‘Open the door, dammit!’ In the streetlight, with her face pressed to the window, she made a frightening sight to a poor wakening man.
Scrambling across the seat, he opened the door. ‘What time is it?’
She was smiling like a cat who’d got the cream. ‘It’s time to take me home,’ she said.
And because his every instinct told him she was trouble, he lost no time in taking her home as fast as he could.
Edna hurried home to Peter Street.
‘I’ve kept the kettle on to boil.’ A small, round figure with balding head and pot belly, Harry had been wed to Edna these past forty years, and he loved her now as much as he had ever done. ‘Sit yerself down, lass.’ Scrambling out of the chair, he began his way to the kitchen. ‘I’ll mek yer a brew.’
When the tea was made, the two of them sat before the fire, comfortable in each other’s company, and as always, the low-burning fire making them drowsy. ‘Everything all right when you got back there, lass?’
‘Aye, in the end,’ she replied.
‘Don’t let that woman upset you, lass. She’s not worth losing a minute’s sleep over.’ Sliding down in the chair he closed his eyes.
Seemingly unaware that her husband was ready for his bed, Edna remarked on what she had overheard. ‘That devil were calling me names again.’
Looking up, Harry scratched his head. ‘What’s that you say, lass?’
Edna tutted. ‘Sylvia’s awful sister. She were calling me names to Mr Hammond.’
He shook his head in disgust. ‘She’s a bad lot, is that one. Anyway, how d’yer know she were calling yer names? Did Mr Hammond mention it then?’
‘Naw, course he didn’t. He would never do that. He doesn’t like trouble, doesn’t Mr Hammond; he prefers a peaceful life. No, I overheard the two of them talking about Sylvia, and I heard her say as how I weren’t fit to be looking after her. She reckons he should get somebody more suited.’
‘Huh! He’ll not get nobody more suited than you, lass. By! You’ve got more qualifications an’ experience than she’ll ever have!’
Edna smiled at that. ‘You allus did credit me with more than I deserve.’ Though she did allow herself a little pat on the back. ‘But you’re right o’ course,’ she conceded. ‘I worked long and hard over the years, and if I say so meself, I look after Sylvia better than anyone else ever could … matter o’ fact I don’t think she’d ever agree to anybody else taking care of her. Y’see, she’s come to rely on me for everything.’
Harry couldn’t agree more. ‘Aye! An’ that’s ’cos she loves you like you were her own mammy,’ he retorted. ‘Look, lass. You tek no notice o’ that sister of hers. She’s an out-and-out troublemaker. Like you say, she’s got her eye on Luke Hammond, and soonever his wife is out of it, she’ll be in there afore yer can thread a needle.’
Edna laughed at his boldness. ‘And you’re right,’ she told him, with a loving pat on the hand. ‘But I mentioned that to you in confidence, so you must never repeat it to another soul, or I’ll be sent packing for good, and no mistake.’
By the time she’d finished speaking, he was beginning to nod off. ‘Hey! Come on, you.’ Shaking him fully awake, she urged, ‘Off to bed with you, an’ I’ll be up alongside you in a few minutes.
After he’d gone, she thought about the conversation between Luke Hammond and his scheming sister-in-law. Harry’s right she thought. That sister of hers is a devil in the making!
She thought of Sylvia’s predicament. ‘I do love that poor lass, though,’ she muttered. ‘By! If her sister had her way, Sylvia would be shut away in some institution or another by now, leaving the coast clear for that madam Georgina to work her wiles. But thankfully, the lass will be safe enough.’ She comforted herself with the thought. While Luke Hammond has the final say, his wife will be well looked after, God willing. With me there to tend her every need.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_ae0eb68e-e985-5e90-95fd-27d6a8cd7f89)
‘COME ON, YOU lazy pair!’ Dave’s voice sailed through the house. ‘Let’s be having you.’
‘What’s up?’ Sleepy-eyed, Amy leaned over the banister. ‘Is there a fire or what?’
‘There will be if you don’t get your backsides down here.’ Positioning himself on the second stair, Dave told her, ‘It’s ten past six. I’ve made the fire, boiled the kettle and now I’m ready for my breakfast.’
Amy glanced at her parents’ bedroom door. ‘Where’s Mam? Why didn’t she get up with you?’
‘Because she likes her bed too much, that’s why.’ Banging the banister again he pleaded, ‘Go and knock the door … tell her I’m ready for off.’
Amy groaned. ‘It’s surely not that time yet, is it?’ So far there had not been one day when the shop was late opening.
‘Happen not. But it soon will be if you don’t get a move on. So shift yourself, lass. And wake your mam up, will you?’
Grumbling and moaning, he lumbered into the kitchen where he checked the gas-ring. ‘Damn thing, it’s allus going out.’ Striking a match on the range, he lit it again. ‘One o’ these days I’ll chuck the bloody thing in the river and be rid of it once and for all!’
Glancing at the mantelpiece clock, he groaned. ‘Jesus! I’m getting nowhere at this rate.’
Making his way to the bottom of the stairs, he called up again, ‘MARIE … AMY! What the devil’s keeping you?’
Halfway to her parents’ room, Amy turned and came back. ‘What now?’
‘Did you wake your mam up?’
‘Not yet, but I will if you’ll give me a chance.’
‘Look, lass … get her out, will you? I can’t be going to work without summat inside me … I’d make my own breakfast, but you know what happened the last time I tried cooking on that blessed gas stove!’
‘And how could we ever forget?’ Having been woken by the yelling and shouting, Marie emerged fully dressed from her bedroom. ‘By! You should be ashamed … a grown man who can’t fry an egg without setting fire to the kitchen.’ Coming along the landing, she winked at Amy who by now was wide awake.
Relieved to see Marie already out and fighting fit, he called up, ‘Come on, lass. I don’t want to be late.’
‘Stop your moithering. I’m on my way.’ Starting down the stairs, Marie noticed how Amy was shivering. ‘Aw, lass, you’ll catch your death o’ cold. You go and get yerself dressed,’ she instructed in her best no-nonsense voice, ‘while I make a start on the breakfast.’ She feverishly rubbed her hands together. ‘By! It’s bitter cold! I hope your dad’s got a good fire going.’ Giving Amy a little push, she urged, ‘Go on, lass. Get dressed.’
‘Thanks, Mam.’ Drawing her robe tight about her, Amy felt the cold right through to her bones. ‘Don’t worry about my breakfast,’ she told Marie, ‘I’ll do myself a boiled egg and toast when I get down.’
Marie wagged a finger. ‘Your breakfast will be on the table soonever you’re ready,’ she promised. ‘Now go on. Be off with you.’
Amy didn’t argue. It would not have made any difference anyway. ‘All right, Mam, thanks. I’ll not be long.’
Hurrying back to her bedroom, Amy winced as the bare feet struck against the cold lino. It was November now, and the winter’s cold seeped into every corner, yet even in summer the warmth of the sunshine could not seem to find its way in, not even when every window in the house was open.
Grabbing her clothes, she went along to the bathroom, where she quickly cleaned her teeth and washed herself. A few minutes to brush her hair and she was ready for the day ahead.
Humming a tune to herself, she danced down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, where her parents were already seated at the table.
‘You look nice, love.’ Always ready with compliments for his two women, Dave looked up from his forkful of bacon. Taking note of Amy’s pretty blue jumper and the dark flared skirt that fell to just below the knees, he saw how her eyes sparkled and her brown hair shone, and he was curious. ‘Off somewhere special, are we?’
‘Only as far as the shop.’ She sat down, her egg and toast already on the table. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’ He winked mischievously. ‘You wouldn’t be seeing a fella would you, lass? I mean, in my experience, when a young lady has that particular sparkle in her eye, it’s usually because she’s found herself a fella.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Amy answered with a shy little smile, ‘but I haven’t “found a fella”, and nor am I likely to … unless he comes into the shop for a packet of drawing-pins or a pound of cheese.’ Strange she thought, how her father’s words made her think of the handsome man who visited the café on a Tuesday.
‘No fella, eh?’ Dave sighed. ‘Ah, well, it’s a terrible shame, that’s all I can say … especially when you look pretty as a picture this morning.’ Dave had never fooled himself about his darling daughter. Amy was a kind and wonderful young woman with a beautiful way about her that attracted all manner of compliments, but she was not what you might describe as pretty. She was more than that, he thought proudly, and he would not have her any other way. That rogue Don Carson had let her down badly, but she was probably well out of it. Don had been a bit too slick for Dave’s liking – he’d always suspected there was something not quite trustworthy about him. Shame he’d broken his little girl’s heart, though. Her confidence had been badly shaken. It’d take a special fella to make her trust again.
‘You may not know it, lass,’ he went on, ‘but you’re a real head-turner – bright and winsome, like a ray of sunshine, that’s what you are.’ He was inwardly pleased when she flushed with embarrassment.
Having heard and seen the exchange between husband and daughter, Marie chuckled through her toast. ‘Tek no notice, lass,’ she told Amy. ‘Your father’s allus had a silken tongue. He’s the world’s best flatterer … Matter of fact it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t chat up the girls wherever he goes.’
‘Nonsense!’ Dave took umbrage at her remarks. ‘Why would I do a thing like that?’
She gave Amy a sly little wink. ‘One pretty smile from some wayward girl, and he’d be putty in her hands.’
Dave would have none of it. ‘There’s only two girls in my life,’ he declared sombrely, ‘and they’re right here at this table!’
It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to more serious matters. ‘Anyway, what are you doing up so early?’ Chopping off the top of her egg, Amy cut her toast into long thin soldiers. ‘You don’t have to be at work until eight.’
Taking a deep gulp of his tea, Dave pushed back his chair. ‘Mr Hammond is giving us a pep talk this morning and he wants us all in by half-past seven.’
Marie looked up. ‘What kind of pep talk?’
‘God only knows.’ He frowned. ‘We shall just have to wait and see.’
‘Are you worried about your job, Dad?’
Dave shrugged. ‘We’ve all been worried, Amy,’ he imparted quietly. ‘Work seems to be slowing down of late, and I’m told that two of the wagons were parked up for the best part of last week. On top of that, half the factory floor is completely empty.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Some of the lads who’ve been there since Hammonds started up say they’ve never seen it like that before.’
‘Oh, Dave, I hope he’s not setting some of you off. I know how much you like your job.’ Marie knew that when work ran short, the rule was always last in first out.
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that, lass.’ Seeing their worried faces he assured them, ‘It’ll be summat and nowt, you’ll see. And besides, the brush production side of it has never been busier. While the two wagons have been parked up, the brush delivery vans have been on the go as usual. Look, don’t worry. I’m sure there’ll be an explanation for the slow-down on the other side.’
Marie nodded. ‘Happen you’re right, love.’
But she was uneasy all the same.
Dave left in plenty of time. ‘I’ll see you both later,’ he said and, with a twinkle in his eye, he told Amy, ‘This fella you’ve got in your sights, don’t keep him all to yourself, lass. Me and your mam would like a glimpse of him some time or another.’ And with that, he went away whistling.
However, when he got out of earshot, the whistling stopped. ‘I hope Hammond’s not about to finish some of the workforce,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want to lose my job. I can’t go back working in the shop, not now our Amy’s given up her own job to help her mam. And, oh, I did hate being cooped up.’
Striding along in the cold morning air, he felt like a free man. There was something about being outside, even when he was driving along in his wagon – something so natural and satisfying, he would be greatly sad to lose it.
‘Morning, Dave.’ The big man was a loader at Hammonds. ‘I’m not looking forward to this ’ere meeting, I can tell you.’
‘Morning, Bert.’ Dave greeted him with a friendly nod, though his voice carried a worried tone. ‘Do you reckon we’re in for the chop then?’
‘Oh, aye.’ The big man’s expression said it all. ‘I reckon some of us are bound to be finished. What with the building half empty and two wagons stood off, we must be losing orders. I can’t see Hammond keeping a full workforce on, however good a man he is. Can you?’
As they turned the corner of Montague Street, they saw the tram about to pull out. Setting off at a run, they leaped onto the platform and hurried to sit down.
‘I think you might well be right,’ Dave said, squashing himself next to the big man who was taking up two-thirds of the slatted seat. ‘And if he is getting shut of some of us, I’ll surely be one of ’em,’ he contemplated. ‘Last in first out, isn’t that what they say?’
‘Mmm.’ Preoccupied with his own predicament and the missus with a new babby on the way, Bert didn’t answer straight off. Instead he stared absent-mindedly out the window, his mind turning over what Dave had said. ‘It doesn’t allus work out that way,’ he replied presently. ‘Sometimes they get rid of the older ones first. And that’ll be me included.’
They spent the rest of the journey in silence. There was much to think about, and the more they thought, the more anxious they became.
While Luke straightened his tie at the hall mirror, Sylvia looked on.
‘Why are you going so early this morning?’ Drawing near, she looked proudly at his reflection in the mirror. Immaculate in a dark blue suit, with white shirt and dark tie, he looked every inch the employer gentleman. ‘You look especially smart today.’
She reminded herself that he looked smart every day when he was going to his work. But on a Tuesday, he didn’t go to his work. She knew that because she had given Georgina the slip when they were out shopping and gone to his factory once, and he hadn’t been there. ‘He never comes in of a Tuesday, miss,’ some helpful, misguided lad had told her.
So, in spite of her enquiries and much to her consternation, she still did not know where he went on Tuesdays. She had asked him many times, but he always fobbed her off. ‘Work doesn’t present itself,’ he told her. ‘I need to put time aside to go looking for it.’ Which, even Sylvia knew, was no lie.
‘I have to be at work for seven fifteen,’ he answered her question.
‘Why?’ She hated it when he left in the mornings.
Used to her inquisitions, Luke answered her again. ‘Because I’ve called the men together for a special meeting.’ Leaning sideways he gave her a sound kiss. ‘It wouldn’t go down well if I was late, would it now?’
‘And what about me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t want you to leave me, that’s all.’
Concern showed on his face. ‘What’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?’ He had tried hard to read the signs but her moods were so unpredictable, it was impossible to know.
‘No there isn’t!’ She began to grow agitated. ‘I know what you’re thinking, though,’ she snapped sulkily. ‘Go on then. Why don’t you ask me if I’m about to go crazy?’ She was painfully aware of the times when she lost control, and afterwards, filled with shame and fear, she knew little about what had taken place. During that dark period when her mind went into some kind of chaos, she was totally helpless.
Lately, because of something her sister said, she had convinced herself it was the price she had to pay for taking a lover outside her marriage. Sometimes Georgina said things like that – things that made Sylvia feel bad, and which she found hard to forget. Georgina had always had a spiteful streak. Sometimes they were such friends – like sisters ought to be – and then Georgina would be mean. When they were little, Mummy had said Georgina was just jealous, when Sylvia told tales of her, and to take no notice. But now Sylvia found it hard to cope with her sister’s unkindness, which, as ever, could strike out of the blue.
Now as she goaded him, the fear was etched in her face. ‘Go on, Luke! Ask me if I’m about to lose control!’
Turning, he took her gently by the shoulders, his voice soft with compassion. ‘And are you,’ he asked, ‘about to lose control?’ There were times when she took him by surprise. One minute she would be perfectly normal, and the next she would be like a raving lunatic, hitting out at anything and anybody; smashing whatever she could lay her hands on.
It was at times like that, when he feared she might harm herself.
‘Stop fussing.’ Pushing him away, she suddenly smiled. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘In fact, I’ve never felt better.’
‘So, what did you mean just now when you said, “What about me?”’
‘Like I said … I don’t want to be left alone, that’s all.’ A little flurry of fear turned her insides over.
Astonished, he asked, ‘Do you really think I would leave you alone?’
Just then the rear door opened and Edna popped her head round. ‘Seven o’clock, Mr Hammond,’ she said with a homely grin. ‘And here I am, as promised.’
Sylvia’s face lit up. ‘Edna, it’s you!’
‘Well, it isn’t anybody else, you can be sure o’ that,’ came the chirpy reply. ‘Now then, who wants a brew?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’ Concerned about the time, Luke told her, ‘I’d best be off or I’ll be late.’
‘Well, it won’t be because I let you down,’ she declared. ‘I were out of my bed a full hour afore time on account o’ you.’ She wagged a finger as she told him mischievously, ‘O’ course, I’ll be wanting overtime money, you understand?’
He tutted. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I can promise anything like that,’ he teased. He and Edna understood each other very well.
Having already removed her coat and slung it over her arm, she pretended to put it back on. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Her voice was firm but her smile was growing. ‘If you aren’t going to treat me right, I shall take leave of you.’
Sylvia chuckled. ‘Behave yourselves! Stop teasing her,’ she chided Luke. And turning to Edna, she told her firmly, ‘And you’re just as bad. “Overtime money”, indeed. We’ve always looked after you and always will.’
Looking mortified, Edna curtsied. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ she stuttered contritely. ‘Please don’t sack me. I won’t do it again.’
With a little laugh, Sylvia asked, ‘Didn’t you say something about “making a brew”?’
Edna laughed out loud. ‘I’ll make it right away,’ and she departed the room in a burst of merry laughter.
‘Edna is pure gold,’ Luke said. ‘She’ll take good care of you, and before you know it I’ll be back home.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t leave me on my own,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry I was surly before.’
He slid his arm round her waist. ‘It’s all right.’
‘You’re so patient with me,’ she answered softly. ‘Any other man would have left long since.’
‘No they wouldn’t,’ he assured her, ‘not if they loved you as much as I do.’ Yet though he loved her, he was not in love with her. Sadly, with her affair with Arnold Stratton, and its consequences, she had severed that very special bond that held them together as man and wife.
It had been of her choosing, when she’d taken another man in place of Luke. But she was still his wife and, as far as he was concerned, that gave him certain responsibilities.
‘Kiss me, Luke … please.’ Like a spoiled child, she gave up her face for a kiss and he obliged. ‘I’ll come to the door with you.’ Taking hold of his hand, Sylvia went with him to the front door. ‘What’s this meeting about?’
‘I’ll tell you when I come home,’ he promised.
‘Tell me now!’
‘There’s no time now.’
‘I won’t let you go until you tell me!’ The smile remained, but the voice began to quiver.
Edna appeared on cue. ‘Now, now, dear. Let your husband get off,’ she urged gently. ‘He has important things to see to. Let’s you and me go and sit down for a few minutes, eh? I’ll make you some toast and marmalade, what about that?’
For a long, worrying moment, the younger woman stared at Edna, then she smiled at Luke, a coy little smile. ‘I’ll let you go,’ she told him, ‘for another kiss.’
Bending to kiss her on the mouth, he assured her, ‘We’ll talk when I get home. All right?’
Her smile widened. ‘Yes … all right.’
‘That’s my girl!’
‘Come on then, my dear,’ Edna said. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, we’re going shopping today.’
Sylvia appeared not to be listening. Instead she was standing at the open door, her gaze following Luke as he went to the car. A moment later he was gone and she was still waving. ‘It’s all right, he’s gone now.’ Edna would have closed the door but Sylvia put her foot there.
‘Why did he have to go early?’
‘He’s promised to tell you all about it when he gets home, and you told me yourself, he’s never yet broken a promise. Come on now, let’s go and get that toast on, eh?’ Edna had learned to read the signs. ‘Close the door, then we’ll go into the kitchen you and me.’
Ignoring her, Sylvia waved after Luke until her arm ached and when she turned it was with an expression of disbelief. ‘He’s gone!’
Edna quietly smiled. ‘That’s right, my dear … he’s gone to his work. So don’t you think you should close the door now?’ When Sylvia made no move, she stepped forward to shut out the cold morning air.
‘NO!’ Catching her heavily across the shoulder with a fist, Sylvia hissed through clenched teeth, ‘You leave it!’
Clutching her shoulder, Edna gave her a hardened stare. ‘Keep hold of yourself, child,’ she chastised harshly. ‘I meant only to close the door.’
‘There’s no need. Look, I can do it myself.’
With a sly little grin, Sylvia took a step sideways, then, gripping the edge of the door, she slammed it shut with all her might. The shuddering impact rattled the nearby shelf, sending ornaments crashing to the floor.
For a long, nerve-racking moment both women stared at the broken china.
Suddenly, the silence was broken with what sounded like a child sobbing, ‘Don’t punish me … please. I didn’t mean it.’
Before Edna could stop her, Sylvia had picked up a long shard of broken glass, crying out in pain when the sharp edges cut into her flesh. ‘Oh, Edna, look what I’ve done.’ All sense of reason had gone and in its place was the innocent fear of a child hurt. Holding the offending arm up for Edna to see, she began wailing. ‘I’ve done something bad, haven’t I?’ She appealed to the older woman with sorry eyes, ‘What’s wrong with me, Edna?’
Her cries collapsed into sobs and Edna’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s all right, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be all right.’ But she would never ‘be all right’. Both Luke and Edna knew that, and maybe, deep down in the darkest corner of her mind, Sylvia knew it too.
The tears of remorse were genuine, as Edna knew all too well. ‘I’ll take care of it, child,’ she soothed, leading her away. ‘Once it’s washed and cleaned, it’ll be good as new.’
A swift examination told her that this time the wound was only flesh deep, thank God.
It was Luke Hammond’s father who had started the brush-making factory. Twice it had almost gone under and twice he brought it back to profit.
Luke grew up with it. He learned the art of business at an early age and had been groomed to deal with men on all levels. Like his father he respected his workers and was well trusted. Also, like his father he had a tireless passion for the business.
After his father was gone, he had taken up the reins and developed the business further. Now it was two businesses rolled into one. On the one side was the production of brushes: scrubbing brushes; horse brushes; yard sweepers, and anything that cleaned as long as it had bristles. Brushes of any kind had been the original backbone of the Hammond business and they still were.
But now there was another business growing alongside; a business started by Luke and which served others. There were many other companies in industrial Lancashire – some small and just starting out, and which had neither the capital nor premises to store the goods they produced. This was where, only a few years back, Luke had seen an opportunity.
Thanks to his father, he was fortunate to own a warehouse and factory premises of sizeable proportions, with room to spare for the brush-making business. ‘I have ample space,’ he told the owners of the small businesses at various meetings he’d arranged. ‘And I intend purchasing a fleet of wagons, so if we can close a deal, I’ll not only take your goods for storage, but I’ll deliver them as well. We can agree a long-term contract, or a short one that will let you out should you decide to expand your own concern.’
His intention was to provide such a good service that they would have no reason to sever relations.
Just as he had hoped, the idea was well received. Terms were agreed, and deals made, and it had turned out to be the best thing Luke had ever done.
News of the success of the arrangement spread, and it wasn’t long before larger, more established company men were knocking on Luke’s door. ‘We need to diversify,’ they said. ‘Our factory space is desperately needed for production and right now we have no wish to purchase other premises, but if we could utilise our present storage area and sell off our wagon fleet, we could grow our businesses overnight.’
Deals were struck that allowed Luke to take over old wagons, which had since been exchanged for newer ones.
Luke’s distribution business prospered, though its downside was that whenever one of his customers took a wrong turn and went under, Luke lost a sizeable slice of his business’s turnover. This had happened a few times, and on each occasion it threatened a serious step back.
This was what his employees now feared: that there had been others who had taken that ‘wrong turn’ and now it was themselves who were about to lose their livelihoods.
And so this morning, when they would learn their fate, they gathered from all parts of the factory: from the brush-making side, where the machines clattered all day and both men and women worked them with expertise, some cutting out the wooden shapes that would make the brush-tops, some feeding the bristles into the holes that were ready drilled and cleaned, and others fashioning and painting the handles.
When the production line produced the finished articles, the packers would neatly set them into boxes and the boxes would be carted away for delivery.
By nature, this was a dusty, untidy area, with the smell of dry horsehair assailing the nostrils, and the fall of bristles mounting high round the workers’ feet. Yet they loved their work and many a time the sound of song would fill the air.
The other side of the premises was cleaner, with mountainous stacks of boxes and parcels from other factories as well as Hammonds, all labelled and ready for delivery, and the four wagons in a neat row outside waiting to be loaded.
For the past few days, however, there had been only two wagons waiting, with the other two stationary further up the yard. Rumours had circulated, unease had settled in, and now, the mood of worried workers was so palpable, it settled over the factory like a suffocating blanket.
From his office at the top of the factory, Luke watched the workforce gather in the front yard. ‘They’re in a sombre mood,’ he told the clerk.
‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ A ruddy-faced Irishman with tiny spectacles and tufts of hair sprouting from his balding head, old Thomas kept his nose glued to his accounts book.
Luke had some fifty people in his employ, and seeing them gathering in one place like now, it made a daunting sight, which filled him with pride and a sense of achievement, and also with apprehension. ‘They’re a good lot,’ he told the clerk.
‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ Licking his pencil Thomas made another entry in his ledger.
Luke turned from the window to address him. ‘I expect they’ll be wondering why I’ve called them together like this.’
This time, Thomas glanced up. ‘Aye, they will that, Mr Hammond.’ The old man had been with Luke’s father before him, and was a loyal, trustworthy man who knew everything there was to know about the Hammond business.
Looking away, Luke smiled. ‘You’re a man of few words, Thomas.’
Thomas gave a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Aye, I am that, Mr Hammond.’ Now as he glanced up, he smiled a wrinkly smile. ‘A man o’ few words, that’s me, so it is.’
Realising all the workforce were now gathered and waiting, Luke straightened his tie and fastened the buttons on his jacket. ‘It’s time,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I’d best tell them why they’re here.’
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Josephine Cox
When friendship becomes love, two people must face their greatest fear – being hurt again… The powerful besteller from the country’s number one storyteller.Luke Hammond: handsome, rich, charismatic, cursed by private tragedy. Amy Atkinson: humble and kind with a good – but wounded – heart. When they meet by chance, a spark of love takes hold of their hearts.But neither are sure that they can dare to love again. And what of Luke's public life, hidden from Amy? The owner of a large factory, he is a pillar of the community, married – though in name only. Amy is torn between her head and her heart, but her sense of honour is paramount – and when she discovers his true identity, she is thrown into even greater turmoil.Then disaster strikes and the future looks troubled indeed ….
JOSEPHINE COX
Live the Dream
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_efbd33cf-2636-57c7-8fe1-112e1e9c6d66)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2004
Copyright© Josephine Cox 2005
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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EBook Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780007373109
Version: 2017-08-10
DEDICATION (#ulink_73e166eb-e628-5b38-b739-e87f0af26301)
For my darling Ken, as ever
Contents
COVER (#u30519fbc-97ce-5f2b-8101-3925e09a1723)
TITLE PAGE (#u9939cb79-3446-5bf0-9512-c421e42713b8)
COPYRIGHT (#ua891bf1f-019b-57ea-baaf-d411b896b26c)
DEDICATION (#u788dfc81-9268-5416-88e8-49b75d81ce4b)
PART ONE (#u0e34fd01-73ca-5432-8c2f-bbdd241d2e6d)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua083f4b6-c540-5925-93e8-ce94d6dbfa1e)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub154098b-037f-51bb-ae79-1489a62ddb18)
CHAPTER THREE (#u2e254fcf-f41d-59c6-a199-fe907d8504e7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u450dd928-ea98-547d-8f9f-ac6dc61eae13)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u214dad38-cc8a-52b1-b4fe-d46c445b10bf)
CHAPTER SIX (#ua86405b6-e2c5-5ee3-ade7-7d044e84bff5)
PART TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
PART FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)
OTHER WORKS (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHATTERBOX (#litres_trial_promo)
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)
Part 1 (#ulink_17e07bfa-c04b-58b2-93d8-65d6bd84e9ed)
February 1932
The Way It Was
Chapter 1 (#ulink_a627bf78-b602-5147-b45d-cd74b8c1260a)
FOR A LONG, regretful moment he leaned against the back wall, his tall, strong figure merging into the shadows, his heart aching, and his dark, thoughtful gaze intent on the house. It was such a beautiful house, he thought … so warm and inviting. Like she used to be.
His thoughts shifted to the woman inside. She was still beautiful, and sometimes, when she was afraid, her warm hand would slip into his. But that was all. There was rarely any passion in her gesture. Seldom a smile or welcome in her eyes.
She neither loved nor wanted him. But it wasn’t her fault – he knew that. He still loved her, but he didn’t know her any more, not in the way he used to.
He felt such deep regret, and yet, in a strange way, he was also relieved, as though he no longer needed to prove anything. There was no need. There was no one to care.
He had loved this fine house since that first day, seven years ago, when he had carried his wife through the wide, oaken doors and swung her round while she held on to him, laughing and happy, her beautiful face glowing with love for him and, oh, how he had adored her in return. But that was then. Now all he had left were the memories.
His heart ached for things to be how they once were. But however much he wished it, there could be no going back.
With a deep sigh he made his way across the delightful garden, with its pretty, meandering paths and multitude of shrubs and trees. It was early February now, and here and there the buds were already forming. In another month or so, they would open and the garden would be filled with colour. Walking through it, you could imagine yourself to be in paradise.
Sometimes, when the symptoms of her illness became too much for him, he would come out here, and walk and think until his spirit was refreshed. Then he would go back inside, ready to deal with whatever came his way.
Today was Tuesday, and Tuesdays were very special. For a time he was free to follow his heart, to do what he wanted, to be whoever he wanted to be. Tuesday was his day. His sanctuary.
He quickened his steps towards the outbuilding. Here, he took out a bunch of keys, unlocked the door and let himself in. He threw back the makeshift curtain at the window, and a shaft of sunlight fell on the cloth-covered easel at the back of the room.
Sliding away the cloth, he revealed the painting of a beautiful, slender woman with chestnut-coloured hair flowing to her waist, and dark, sultry eyes. For a while he stood there, thoughtfully observing the face, with its exquisite features and soft, smiling mouth.
Reaching out, he traced the tip of his finger around her inviting, sensuous mouth. A great sadness took hold of him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured. ‘If I could only change things, you know I would.’
A moment longer, then he covered the painting and strode to a large wooden chest and opened the lid. From where it was hidden beneath layers of paint-trays and brushes, he took out a heavy iron key. It was his passport to another world.
He slid the key into his jacket pocket and left, securing the door behind him. Then he quickly made his way through the gardens and out of the side gate.
From the bedroom window she watched him leave … that same woman he had painted so lovingly and whose portrait was hidden in the outhouse. She saw him carefully close the gate; she heard the familiar turning over of the engine, and in her mind’s eye she imagined him driving the long black saloon he had bought only a few months ago. She heard the engine swell as it was driven away, and through the beech trees that lined the road she caught a fleeting glimpse of the car as it went from the house.
Even when she could no longer hear the engine, she remained, thinking and wishing, until, startling her, a voice from the door called her name.
‘Sylvia! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
With a smile, she turned from the window. ‘It’s such a lovely day, don’t you think, Edna?’ But the smile was forced, because now he was gone and already she was lonely.
She often felt alone now – detached from her husband, from her sister, from dear Edna. No one came to visit. Too scared of her moods. The medication helped suppress the anger, but often her moods got the better of her. Sometimes the anger was preferable to the dulling effect of the drugs, and so on occasion she would hide the medicine and only pretend to take it. But there were days when she had no choice but to take it or lose control.
As the distance lengthened between them, Luke’s thoughts remained with her, the further he got from the house, the more he felt as though a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders. The frowns eased and his face softened; his dark eyes began to twinkle and his whole body relaxed into the seat. It was Tuesday, he was heading away, and a sense of freedom flooded his soul.
Today he would drive by way of the coast, some twenty-odd miles away. He liked the open sea and sky after the neat residential street in Blackburn, and the noise and sootiness of the factory on other weekdays. Afterwards, he would turn inland, to enjoy the special pleasures and freedom of his precious day off.
As he neared the beach, a flock of screaming seagulls descended, effectively blinding him as they flew across the windscreen of his car.
‘Jesus!’ Startled, he slammed on his brakes and screeched to a halt. Drawing on the handbrake, he climbed out of the car and watched the birds as they flew away, throwing their shadows over the morning sun. Anger subsided; a smile flitting across his thoughtful features. ‘Free as a bird.’ When they were mere specks in the faraway sky he momentarily closed his eyes, wishing he was up there with them.
His gaze flowed across the beach to the horizon. The sea was unusually quiet.
In the far distance, on the beach, a woman strolled with her two Labradors, one running ahead, the other trailing behind. She was a regular walker here. He had seen her tall, slim silhouette many times before.
His gaze travelled: to his left where the man was already opening up his tea-stall, and beyond him the flower shop was ablaze with spring flowers. Life goes on, he thought. If only they knew.
Getting back into his car he reminded himself that it was Tuesday. Put the dark thoughts out of your mind, he thought. He’d best get going, or the day would be gone before he knew it.
At the end of the road, he turned from the seafront and headed inland towards the fells and the Ribble Valley, every familiar curve and landmark a comfort to him.
The lanes became narrower and more meandering, until at length they disappeared altogether and he was bumping along a rough track that carried him deeper and deeper into the woods, beyond civilisation … beyond the burden of his duty and responsibility.
Almost a full hour after leaving the house, he arrived at his destination, where thick woodland hid him from the world and high trees almost blocked out the skies above.
The winding, babbling stream glittered in the morning light, and look there! Excited, he inched forward to see two small deer drinking at the water’s edge. This was what he needed. Through the week when he was driven by work and duties, this was the magic his soul craved.
He made his way towards the little log cabin, built by his own hand over two long, wonderful years. Afterwards, when it was finished he would sit on the covered veranda for many an hour, lazing and thinking, and though his troubles were heavy, he always found time to thank the Lord for his many blessings. The land had been owned by his family for generations, and he had spent happy childhood summer holidays riding, fishing and picnicking here, when visiting his grandparents nearby.
Taking the key from his pocket he slid it into the keyhole and opened the door. As always, when he came back after a week away, the clammy, damp air instantly wrapped itself around him. Impatiently he threw back the wooden shutters and opened the windows to let the fresh air in. When that was done, he took a box of matches from his pocket and struck it against the stone wall surrounding the fireplace. When the match-head flickered into life, he set light to the carefully laid pyramid of paper and wood in the grate.
Soon, the fire was cheerily blazing, airing and warming the whole cabin.
He felt a sense of pride in his achievement. The place was strong, built to last, with a tiny bedroom, makeshift bathroom, and a large centre area providing a sitting room and kitchen. Serviceable and attractive, the cabin was ideal for his own modest needs.
The furniture itself had been hewn from the trees outside, before being lovingly shaped by his own hand, to provide all that was needed: a small, square table and two chairs; a strong, deep chest of drawers; a long settle against the fireplace, where he would sit of an evening and dream of a life he would never have.
Then there was the bed. Square and sturdy enough to take a man’s weight, it was a handsome thing. Covered in a wine-coloured eiderdown, it was roomy enough for two. After all, he could dream …
Beside the bed stood a narrow wardrobe, not spacious by any standards, but enough to hold his most cherished possessions.
To use the bath and washbasin he would carry bucketfuls of water from the stream, and there was an earth closet in a separate little shack.
If he got hungry there was always a supply of tinned food in the larder, and titbits to be gathered in the woods, depending on the time of year. Running wild in those idyllic childhood holidays had been excellent training for cabin life.
Now, with the fire crackling and spitting, he was ever mindful of the falling sparks, any one of which could burn the cabin to the ground; which was why he had built the deep stone hearth. He had also fashioned a makeshift wire cage, which he now placed in front of the leaping flames.
Having placed the guard before the now crackling fire, he went to the wardrobe. He took out the canvas and easel and carried them to the corner of the room. He did not uncover the painting. Instead he held it for a moment, his thoughts going to a cosy little café in the centre of Blackburn. That was another part of his secret life. Then he set the frame on the easel.
From the chest he took out a pile of clothes and draped them over the wire cage of the fire guard to warm and air, while he stripped off his suit, shirt and tie.
When he was dressed again the businessman was gone and in his place was an ordinary workman, dressed casually in brown cords, green check shirt and heavy black boots. The uniform of duty was discarded, and he was now a man at ease with himself.
Now was the moment he’d anticipated with pleasure since his last visit. With great care he slipped the cover from the painting.
When it was laid bare he gazed at it for a long, wondrous moment, his dark, smiling eyes roving its every feature.
Smiling back at him, the young woman with the tumble of hazel hair seemed almost alive. Her laughing eyes, blue as the darkest sapphire, were painted in such a way as to be looking at him wherever he went in the room. Her pretty, slightly parted lips seemed so real he felt she would suddenly talk to him. But she never did, except in his dreams. She probably never would.
Yet he knew her well, that small, vibrant woman who had invaded his thoughts. A special part of his Tuesday life, she hardly knew of his existence.
Returning to the wardrobe he collected his paints and brushes. A few moments later he was stroking the tip of the brush over the curling ends of her brown hair. ‘You don’t know me,’ he murmured fondly, ‘but I feel I know you. I’ve seen how you light up a room when you walk into it …’ Images of her came into his mind – going about her own Tuesday life, laughing with her friend – making him smile. ‘And I know you have a wonderful sense of humour.’
Changing his brush, he worked on her cheekbones. ‘You can’t imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’
He paused, his thoughts going back to the house and the woman who waited there. ‘Maybe it’s just as well you don’t even notice me,’ he sighed. ‘You see, Amy … a man might dream and hope, but dreams are not real, and life can drag you down. I do my best, but I’m hopelessly trapped. If only I can find a way to change how things are.’
That night as he sat on his veranda watching the stars twinkle and dance, a glass of wine in his hand and a great loneliness in his heart, he had no way of knowing how Amy was watching those same stars, and that in her heart were the same impossible dreams, and sense of awful loneliness.
Leaning on the windowsill, arms folded, her gaze raised to the skies, she wondered where Don was, and whether he ever thought of her. She did not wonder whether he might come back, because his parting words had been that she would never see him again. And although for many months after he’d gone, she had prayed he might change his mind and come back, he never had. Now the pain had settled to a sense of loss and disappointment with the acceptance that what he had said was true. Earlier, when he had asked her to marry him, she had been filled with such joy; not knowing that it would end in her heart being broken. There had been weeks of planning and excitement when the date was set and the church booked. The bridesmaids were chosen, the bridal gown ordered and even the honeymoon arranged, before he confessed to her that he had never really wanted family or responsibilities.
Sometimes she wondered if that had been a kind excuse – a way of letting her down gently. He had been so handsome and such fun. Maybe she hadn’t been good enough for him …
Amy had been devastated when he left, and even now the love she had felt for him still lingered.
Pressing her nose to the window she recalled the happy times they had shared.
‘I don’t hate you, Don,’ she murmured. ‘I could never hate you.’
She remembered his smile and the way he would hold her in his arms, and her heart was heavy. But she no longer fooled herself. It was over.
‘Good night, Amy.’ That was her mammy on the landing.
‘Good night, Mam.’
‘Don’t forget we’ve an early start in the morning.’
‘I won’t.’
The sound of passing footsteps, then the closing of a door, and the house was quiet again.
Leaving the curtains open so she could see the stars, Amy went softly across the room and slid into bed.
She closed her eyes, shut out the memories and was quickly asleep.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_f751dfd5-69ab-54c7-a9a9-fe11a8a9756e)
‘DON’T LOOK NOW, but our mystery man is here again!’
Having seen her come up the street, the young waitress flung open the door, grabbed Amy by the arm and yanked her inside the café.
‘It’s driving me crazy, not knowing who he is!’ She stole a glance at the far table. ‘He’s been here half an hour,’ she whispered, drawing Amy to the back of the café, ‘and I still don’t know any more about him than I did three months ago.’
‘For God’s sake, Daisy! Let me get my coat off.’ Amy had already noticed the man as she passed the window and, as always, her own curiosity was aroused – though she would never admit it to Daisy. ‘It’s bitter cold out there and, if you don’t mind, I need to sit down.’
Loaded with shopping bags and a face bright pink from the biting wind, she resisted Daisy’s pushing and shoving. ‘Get off!’
Daisy stepped back a pace. ‘He hasn’t said a word, except to order bacon and eggs.’ She dropped her voice until it was almost inaudible. ‘I’d say he were a film star … God knows, he’s handsome enough.’ She sighed. ‘But you can tell he’s not, because of his clothes. I reckon he must work in a factory, wearing them boots and with a flat cap.’
‘Honestly, Daisy, you’re becoming obsessed with the poor fella,’ Amy groaned. ‘Why don’t you leave him alone to get on with his breakfast, instead of gawping at him every two minutes?’
Sliding her bags onto the nearest table, she dropped her weary self into the chair. ‘God, my feet are aching.’ Slipping off her shoes, she wiggled her toes. ‘These new shoes don’t help either! I knew I should have worn them round the bedroom a few times before going out in them.’
Daisy was incredulous. ‘Listen to you, lass! Talking about shopping and shoes and moaning about the weather … you sound like your mam!’
‘You’re right,’ Amy agreed with a soft laugh. ‘I do, don’t I?’
‘I know you’re curious about him too, so don’t deny it!’
Leaning forward, Amy was disturbed to find the man’s gaze on her. ‘I’m not denying it,’ she answered softly, ‘I am curious.’
Daisy beamed with satisfaction. ‘Well there you are then.’
‘There I am … what?’
‘You want to know about him as much as I do, so stop lecturing me.’
‘I’m not “lecturing” you.’
‘You are!’
‘All right then, I am, and for good reason.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘Two things.’ Taking off the pretty dark blue hat with its tiny brim and blue cotton band, Amy ran her fingers through her short brown hair. ‘For all we know, he could be a really dangerous man, and he must know how much you’re attracted to him, the way you keep sneaking a look at him with those big, moony cow eyes. You could be playing with fire. That’s the first thing.’
‘And what’s the second?’
Lazily placing the hat on the nearby chair, Amy warned, ‘If there’s nothing sinister about him, and he’s just a man who likes to be left alone, you should leave him be. If you frighten him off, you’ll lose one of your best customers – and then you’ll never find out who he is.’
While Daisy considered her remarks, Amy took off her coat. ‘Now then, are you going to serve me or what?’
Daisy gave a long, impatient sigh. ‘Being as we’re quiet, can I sit with you? It’s time for my break anyway.’
‘All right. If you promise not to drive me mad.’
Daisy rolled her ‘moony cow eyes’. ‘What d’you want to eat – same as usual, is it?’
While Amy glanced quickly through the one-page menu of fry-ups, barm cakes and pie-and-peas, Daisy’s attention drifted to the man, then back again to Amy, her one and only friend.
She had taken to Amy the first minute she’d wandered into the café some two years ago. It had been a grim, wet day and Amy had got caught in a downpour. Having sought refuge in Tooley’s Café, she had brought it alive with her bright friendly chatter and warm engaging smile. She had a streak of mischievousness that often caught Daisy off guard and made her laugh till she ached. But Daisy had also discovered her own mothering instincts when her friend’s fiancé had left her, practically at the altar.
Amy was now a regular customer, always loaded down with shopping, always ready for a chat, with her down-to-earth and lovely manner. It was on Tuesdays that Amy went to pay a couple of the smaller wholesalers who supplied Atkinsons’ Corner Shop, owned by her parents, and where Amy herself worked. She also did the weekly shop then, her parents being too busy working to find the time. Daisy looked forward to Tuesday more than any other day of the week. In between serving customers, she would press her nose to the window, watching for Amy, knowing that when she came through that door the whole room would light up and so would Daisy’s heart.
Amy had her serious side too. A good listener, she was kind and considerate, and when Daisy came to work saddened by the acrimonious situation at home between her parents, Amy gave her hope for the future, and Daisy had come to see her as the sister she never had.
Although, at twenty-four, Amy was just two years older than Daisy, she had a calmer, deeper nature, and that special ability to put people at their ease; whether it be through her engaging smile, or her easy, friendly manner.
She was not dazzlingly attractive, but she had a certain magnetism that seemed to draw people to her. Her face was small and heart-shaped, with a halo of light brown hair that fell in natural waves about her ears, and her mouth was generous, with full lips upturned at the corners, like a smile waiting to happen. Her eyes were her best feature, though – deepest blue with a naughty twinkle. Small of build, she had a slight figure, and it only took a few minutes of knowing her to realise she had a warm, open heart.
Daisy knew what Amy would order, but she asked all the same. ‘You’d best make your mind up,’ she urged. ‘Any minute now, I could be rushed off my feet.’
Amy looked about the half-empty café: there was the man by the window; a little old couple in the corner, Daisy and herself. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that just yet,’ she teased, ‘but just in case, I’ll have a pot of tea … and one of your toasted barm cakes.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Sorry, no can do. The toaster blew up. We’re waiting for the fella to come and mend it.’ She laughed. ‘You should have seen it this time … there was a big bang and the bloody toast went flying in all directions. Come and look.’
Amused, Amy followed her. ‘Not again? That’s the third time!’
Daisy shrugged. ‘There must be a fault somewhere.’
Smiling, Amy shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s you. You’re the “fault”. You’re not supposed to snatch the plug from the wall every time you think the toast is done enough. You have to switch it off first.’
‘Then it burns the toast!’
‘That’s because you haven’t got the setting right.’
‘It’s a nuisance! I don’t like the bloody thing. I never have.’
‘So, use the grill instead.’
‘Mrs Tooley won’t let me. She says she’s not spending good money on new things for me to ignore them. That toaster is her pride and joy. I’m to use it, and that’s an end to it. I did use the grill once, when the toaster went wrong and she tore me off a strip for making a mess everywhere.’
‘But Mrs Tooley only comes of an evening to collect her takings.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
Amy explained, ‘Well, now that she’s got her new fancy man, she hardly ever shows up here during the day, so she won’t know you’re using the grill – not if you clean it up half an hour before she arrives.’
As the possibilities dawned on her, Daisy’s frown became a wide, cunning grin. ‘You’re right!’ she gasped. ‘I’ll use the old things and clean ’em up before she gets here!’
‘I’m glad that’s settled!’ Amy knew how to put a smile on Daisy’s face. ‘So now, can I please have my tea and barm cake?’ Feeling mischievous, she teased, ‘And while you’re gone, I’ll have a word with the stranger. I’ll find out who he is and where he’s from. Oh, and you’ll want to know if he’s married or if he’s got a girlfriend, and whether he’s well off or stony-broke, in which case you won’t want to know any more about him and we’ll all get some peace. OK?’
Daisy knew she was being teased and went along with it. ‘While you’re at it, happen you’d best ask if he lives local, ’cos I followed him one time and he suddenly disappeared – went down a side street and was gone like will-o’-the-wisp.’ She threw her arms wide and opened her hands to demonstrate.
Amy was surprised. ‘You never told me you followed him!’
‘No, because you’d have told me off good and proper.’
‘Quite right too.’ Amy put on her most severe, reprimanding look. ‘Following men down alleyways … what if he’d turned round and attacked you?’
Daisy chuckled. ‘I should be so lucky!’ She glanced through the kitchen door at the man. ‘Anyhow, does he look like the sort who would attack anyone?’
Amy followed her glance. ‘Maybe not, but you never know.’
He was certainly a mystery, she thought. Although as Daisy said, he didn’t seem like the sort who would turn on a woman. There was a kind of gentle strength about him that would protect rather than hurt.
‘I’ll get your order,’ Daisy said, adding hopefully, ‘I bet you won’t dare speak to him while I’m gone.’
Amy continued the charade. ‘If I do, and providing he gives all the right answers, I’ll ask him if he’ll take you on a date, because you fancy him summat rotten.’
‘Oh, I wish you would,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Three whole months he’s been coming here. Almost every Tuesday without fail, and I don’t even know his name!’
Realising she would have to wait for her breakfast, Amy resigned herself to listening while Daisy chatted on about the ‘Tuesday man’.
Taking a moment to observe this busy, bumbling person she had come to know so well, Amy took in the big brown eyes, the shock of wild auburn hair and the pretty face with its multitude of freckles over a pretty, pert nose. Short and voluptuous, outgoing and friendly, Daisy was once seen never forgotten.
Amy thought of Daisy’s miserable home life, with the constantly feuding parents.
For as long as Amy had known her, Daisy had suffered wretchedly at the hands of her selfish, boorish parents. Their noisy, sometimes violent, arguments, often fuelled by drink, meant that Daisy could never invite Amy to her home. In Mrs Tooley’s fuggy little café, Daisy could escape the unhappiness of her home by chatting with the customers, teasing and joking with the friendly regulars, and even flirting a little with the men. In this way, Daisy could create some much-needed fun in her life.
‘Look, Daisy … don’t get too infatuated with your Tuesday man,’ Amy warned. ‘If he’d wanted you to know who he is, I’m sure he would have told you.’
‘But he wants to talk,’ Daisy confided, ‘I can tell that much. Sometimes he looks so sad, and sometimes he smiles at me and I want to sit next to him like I’m sitting next to you, only he looks away, just when I think I’m getting through to him.’
Amy shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s not such a “mystery”,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe he comes in here because he lives alone and needs to be amongst people. Or maybe he comes in here because he’s got a wife and ten children and he can’t get any peace at home. Either way, if he needs to be quiet and alone for whatever reason, it’s his choice and you should respect that.’
Casting a sideways glance out at the man, Amy sensed his loneliness. Daisy was right: he was a mystery – always preoccupied, head bent to his newspaper, while not seeming to be actually reading it. Instead he appeared to be deep in thought. Sometimes he would raise his head and gaze out of the window, before eventually returning to his newspaper or thoughtfully sipping his tea.
He never looked at the other customers; in fact it was as though he was totally oblivious to them. It was a curious thing.
‘What are you thinking?’ Daisy’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Amy looked up, her voice quiet as she answered, ‘I just think he deserves to be left alone.’ She smiled fondly at the other young woman. ‘Not everybody’s like you, Daisy,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people really do like their own company.’
Daisy shifted her gaze to the man. For a long moment she didn’t say anything, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.
‘Daisy, are you all right?’ Reaching out, Amy closed her hand over Daisy’s. ‘Has something happened at home?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s the same,’ she confided with a sad little smile, ‘always the same.’ Drawing away her hand she added brightly, ‘Here’s me chatting away and you cold and famished. Sorry, love. I’ll go an’ get yer breakfast.’
‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Amy had learned to read the signs. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Daisy shook her head.
‘All right, but I’m a good listener if you need me.’
Daisy gave that little smile again. ‘I know that.’ With a roll of her eyes, she looked over to where the man was closing his newspaper. ‘If only a man like that could sweep me up and carry me off, it would solve everything.’
‘Oh, Daisy. You can’t mean that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Well …’
Amy took another discreet look at him. He was certainly handsome, there was no denying that, with his long easy limbs, fine sensual lips and that dark brown tumble of hair. Once, when he looked up at the clock over the counter, Amy had caught sight of his dark, brooding eyes. There was something about him that stirred the senses.
‘Hey!’ Daisy gave her a prod. ‘You were saying …?’
Ashamed and startled at her own thoughts, Amy returned, ‘I just don’t think it would solve your problems to run off with some stranger and, besides, like you said yourself, you don’t know the first thing about him.’
‘But if he carried me off, I’d soon find out, wouldn’t I? Anyway, what’s to know? He pays his bill with proper money, and he always treats me with respect. Leaves a tip he does, and smiles up at me when I serve him.’ She gave a girlish giggle. ‘Anyway, even if it turned out he was some sort of rogue, he’s so good-looking it wouldn’t matter a bugger! A man like that … I could forgive him anything!’
Amy was alarmed. ‘You’re too trusting.’
‘And you’re too bloody suspicious!’
Amy changed tack. ‘I’m also cold and hungry, and I’ve changed my mind about the barm cake. I fancy a hot meat-and-tatty pie … with a helping of mushy peas and a dollop of that awful gravy you make.’
Daisy bounced over to the fridge. ‘Don’t get cheeky, lass,’ she wagged a warning finger, ‘or I might refuse to serve you. In fact, I might shut up shop and lock myself in … with him!’ She winked as she went. ‘And it’s no good you getting jealous, ’cos I’m the manager here and what I say goes.’ With that she sauntered off to open a tin of peas and suddenly, softly started to sing.
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Amy chuckled, resuming a seat at her table.
She looked across at the man and when he unexpectedly smiled at her, her heart took a leap. For what seemed an age he held her gaze before turning away.
Confused and embarrassed, she fumbled in her shopping bag. Drawing out this month’s Woman and Home, she opened it up and spreading it across the table, pretended to read. In her mind’s eye she saw his smile, soft and friendly, reaching out to her … and those wonderful dark eyes! Daisy was right. He was devilishly handsome, and yet, there was such sadness about him – a kind of lost look that had touched her deeply.
‘What you got there?’ Daisy was back. Placing Amy’s order in front of her, she turned the page of the magazine. ‘Heck! Look at that!’ Pointing to the elegant model in centre-page, she called Amy’s attention to the blue spotted dress with thick belt and flared hem, ‘How much!’ Her look of rapture turned to one of horror. ‘One and ten! I’d have to work a whole month before I could buy that!’
Amy wasn’t listening. Something else had alerted her. Strangely uneasy, she turned to see the man looking straight at her again. He held her gaze for a second or two, then he stood up and walked towards the door with long easy strides. ‘I think your mystery man is leaving,’ Amy told Daisy quietly.
‘What!’ Looking up, Daisy saw the door close behind him. ‘Damn! He always does that to me!’
Amy tutted mischievously. ‘What? You mean he sneaks off without paying?’
‘No, you daft ha’pporth!’ Daisy groaned. ‘He always leaves his money on the table. I wish he’d pay at the counter, then I might get chance to quiz him a bit.’
Amy’s curious gaze followed him as he went past the window and away down the street. ‘Maybe next time,’ she said quietly. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.’ Because there was a man who had a lot on his mind, she thought, and he wasn’t about to share his secrets with anyone at Tooley’s Café.
Just then two more customers arrived, a middle-aged woman with a younger woman who, judging by the argument going on, appeared to be her daughter. ‘What in God’s name d’yer think you’re playing at?’ demanded the older woman. ‘By! If your dad knew, he’d hit the roof!’
‘I don’t give a bugger what he says!’ snapped the younger woman. ‘It’s his fault I’m leaving. Miserable old git, I don’t know how you’ve put up with him all these years!’
Daisy groaned. ‘Bleedin’ Nora! It’s them two! Argue all the time, they do. I’ve a good mind to bar the pair of ’em.’
Amy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Good customers, are they?’
Daisy nodded. ‘Three times a week, regular as clockwork: two full breakfasts and gallons of tea.’
‘Right!’ Amy gave her a shove. ‘What you do is shut your ears … if you can bear not to eavesdrop. Then you smile, and serve them and take their money when they’ve finished. And now if you please, I’d like my breakfast.’ With that she gave Daisy another shove and Daisy toddled off to ask the other customers, ‘What can I get you, ladies?’ And back came the swift answer, ‘Piss orf. Can’t yer see we’re not ready yet!’
Cursing under her breath, Daisy quickened her steps to the kitchen; while Amy, having heard the whole thing, found it hard not to laugh out loud.
When behind her, the argument raged on between the two women, she looked up to see Daisy, elbows resting on the counter, ears pricked and eavesdropping like a good ’un. ‘That’s my Daisy!’ she chuckled. ‘Can’t resist a good argument.’
Amy loved her Tuesday shopping, and her regular stop-off at Tooley’s Café because rain or shine, there was always something going on.
Then, as thoughts of the man came into her mind, her amusement turned to concern. What made him so afraid to reach out, she wondered. What was it in his life that put the sadness in those deep, dark eyes?
Like Daisy she would have loved to know more about him.
She glanced out the window but he was long gone. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved,’ she murmured. And he had seemed to want to talk, she thought. Just for that split second or two when he held her gaze, he had seemed to be reaching out to her.
But then again, maybe it was only her imagination.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_117032fc-4be7-53fd-b379-e71f6bdb93f4)
‘WHAT PLANS HAVE you got for tonight, lass?’ Strikingly pretty, small-built like Amy, and with the same bright smile and brown hair, Marie Atkinson was mild-tempered and of a kindly nature. ‘Off somewhere exciting are you?’
It was a Friday evening and Amy was busy emptying the till in the shop. She glanced up at her mother. ‘I might go to the pictures with Daisy.’
‘Hmm! Sounds like a good idea.’ When she was younger, Marie had always fancied herself as a film star. ‘What’s on?’
Concentrating on separating the silver coins from the less valuable copper ones, Amy said, ‘I think it’s Charles King in The Broadway Melody.’
Marie liked the sound of that. ‘By! If your dad weren’t coming home tonight, I might have joined you,’ she said dreamily. ‘Ooh! I do like Charles King.’ She tap-danced on the spot. ‘Feet of magic and a smile that turns you inside out. I wouldn’t mind a little twirl with him.’
Amy laughed. ‘Don’t give me that! If it was a choice between Dad and Charles King, you’d pick Dad every time.’
Marie kept on dancing. ‘Happen I’ll let your dad get his own dinner. Happen I’d rather put on my glad rags and go to the pictures with you and Daisy.’
Knowing how devoted to her father Marie was, Amy laughed. ‘I can’t see you letting Dad come home to an empty house, not even for Charles King! Besides, you’ve always said how nobody could ever take Dad’s place.’
Exhausted, Marie stopped dancing and leaned over the counter. ‘You’re right, lass,’ she said breathlessly. ‘There’s not a man in this world can ever tek the place of your father.’
Her face wreathed in a smile, she let her mind wander back over the years. ‘Me and your dad have been wed almost twenty-five years, and I wouldn’t swap a single minute.’
In fact their anniversary was only eight months away. ‘I were just turned eighteen when we walked down the aisle,’ she confirmed. ‘Your father was twenty … though o’ course he weren’t your father then … he were just my Dave.’ She sighed. ‘I loved him with all my heart then. And I’ve loved him the same ever since.’
Amy sighed longingly. ‘I wish I could find someone to love like that.’ All her life Amy had witnessed the love and devotion between her mam and dad, and it was a wonderful thing. She had thought that marriage to Don would have been just the same – had envisaged a life of devotion to her gorgeous husband – and even now flashes of that golden future that would never be occasionally passed through her mind. She couldn’t see how she could ever love that way again. Her parents’ happiness was a living example of an idyllic marriage Amy now feared she might never have. She shrugged away the thought.
Having bagged up the takings, she came across the room and, placing the bags on the counter, she wrapped her arms round that small, delightful figure. ‘After all this time you still adore him, don’t you, Mam? What woman in her right mind would give up a night with Charles King to be with “your Dave”, as you call him?’
Marie gave it some thought. ‘Well, I’ll admit your father’s not as slim as Charles King and it’s no wonder, with all that dancing an’ tapping an’ flinging himself about. By! It’s a marvel he’s not worn down to his kneecaps.’
Amy loved to tease and she did so now. ‘Whereas Dad can’t dance; and he can’t tap, although I have known him “fling himself about” a bit, when he comes home three sheets to the wind.’
‘No!’ Marie flew to his defence. ‘You’ve never seen your father three sheets to the wind!’ she protested, half smiling. ‘He’s only ever been the worse for drink once in the whole of his life, and that was when Grandad Atkinson got wed for the second time. Even then he didn’t have the strength to “fling himself about a bit”.’ She chuckled. ‘Though he did manage to fall down the coal-hole and bruise himself from top to bottom.’
Amy laughed. ‘I bet that sobered him up.’
‘It did, yes. It weren’t the first time he’d fallen down the coal-hole,’ she revealed. ‘A natural disaster, that’s your dad.’
Marie told a tale or two about what Amy’s dad had got up to before she was even born, and for the next few minutes the two of them rolled about with laughter. ‘On the night I decided I loved your father we were holding hands as we walked from Atkinson Street. A horse and cart ran through a puddle and splashed him from top to bottom. How could I not want to marry him after that?’
‘A couple of old romantics, that’s what you are.’ As always, Amy’s heart went out to Daisy, whose own parents were forever feuding and fighting. Tonight would be as much an escape as an entertainment for poor Daisy.
‘I wish he hadn’t gone driving for Hammonds, though,’ Marie said thoughtfully. ‘I really miss him. Why in God’s name did he have to take on that delivery work? He was offered work inside the factory, but he said he didn’t fancy “being cooped up”. All the same, I wish he’d taken it. At least he’d have been home of a night-time.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I do hate him being away all week!’
Hammonds had two lines of business: a brush factory, and delivery of their own and other people’s goods in a small fleet of motor lorries.
In an effort to bring back the smile to her mother’s face, Amy quipped, ‘Why d’you need Dad, when you’ve got me?’
Collecting up the money bags, Marie groaned. ‘That’s another thing. I feel guilty about you giving up your job at Wittons factory, so you could come and help run this place. And you were about to be promoted to the office.’
Amy was astounded. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Rosie Salter told me a few days after you left.’
‘She should never have done that!’
‘Well, she did, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. I mean, you can’t deny, it’s a bit of a come-down for you.’
‘Oh, Mam! You’re not to feel guilty.’ Amy enjoyed working in the shop and she told her mother so. ‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think you’re sorry you asked me to come and work with you, because now you think I’m no good at shop-keeping.’ By deliberately going on the defensive, Amy cunningly turned the tables on her mother. ‘The truth is, you want rid of me, and you don’t like to say. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Just as Amy suspected, Marie was mortified. ‘Aw, lass, nothing could be further from the truth! I love having you here and, what’s more, you’ve learned the business like you’ve been at it all your life. As a matter of fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Collecting the money bags and the ledger into her arms, she sighed. ‘It’s just that, well, I really loved working with your dad, and I miss him terrible when he’s not around.’
‘He’ll be home soon.’ Amy gave her a hug. ‘You go and make yourself beautiful for him, while I mop the floor and clear up in here.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl!’ Marie insisted. ‘We’ll clear up together, same as always.’
A short time later, having cleared up, swept the floor and tidied away the large blocks of butter and cheese, and canisters of loose tea and broken biscuits, Marie walked with her daughter to the living quarters at the back.
‘When me and your father started this business, I thought we’d be doing it together until we retired, but he just got more and more restless. He’d always been a driver, y’see, lass – first with the horse and carts, then the beer wagons, and now with these new-fangled motor vehicles … dangerous things if you ask me!’
At first Amy’s father had seemed to settle into his new life as a grocer. Then a few months back, he’d spotted an advert in the post office for a driver at Hammonds distribution business. He applied for the job and got it. ‘I’m fed up of being behind a counter all day,’ he’d told Marie. ‘I need to get back on the road. I’d rather not be staying away nights, but it’s all they’ve got for the minute.’ Once he’d decided, there’d been no dissuading him.
‘I miss him too,’ Amy confessed, ‘but he’s a lot happier now he’s away from the shop. He loves the driving, and anyway, the week goes by quickly enough.’ Amy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. ‘Look! It’s already half-past five. Another hour and he’ll be home,’ she winked, ‘with another present for you, I expect.’
Every Friday was the same. He would bounce through the door, beaming from ear to ear, with a little present in his pocket for his beloved wife, and a small posy of flowers for Amy.
Talking of her husband and knowing how sometimes Amy was lonely for the same kind of love, Marie grew serious. ‘Do you ever think of Don?’
Surprised by her mammy’s unexpected question, Amy nodded. ‘Sometimes, yes, but it doesn’t hurt in quite the same way as it did. There was a time when I would have had him back with open arms, but not any more.’ When her fiancé dropped her only a few days before they were due to be wed she had thought she would never get over it, but somehow she’d survived. The pain had faded; maybe one day it would go altogether. ‘I’m over it now, Mam. If he walked in that door right now, I’d speak to him, yes, but I wouldn’t feel anything. Not any more.’ This was in part true: nothing for it but to move forward. The love she once felt for him had long since gone.
Marie slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad about that, lass,’ she said softly, before quickly changing the subject by asking brightly, ‘And you’re absolutely sure you don’t regret giving up promotion to come here and work with me?’
‘I’m content enough here,’ Amy answered. And she was.
In truth, Amy had not been too keen to give up her job, and at first had missed the banter and comradeship of her factory mates. But much to her astonishment she had come to enjoy working in the corner shop. It was easy enough work, and the tasks were always varied: selling tobacco, weighing out dried peas or potatoes, unwrapping the fragrant sacks of sugar and tea, or stacking the shelves with fresh eggs or that day’s newspapers.
Her mother was great company; though the wages were not as good as Amy had been used to, but there were other compensations – no journey to work, the pleasant work and the friendliness of the customers – and so she had settled into the job surprisingly well.
By six thirty, just as Amy had predicted, Dave arrived home. A man with no airs or graces, he was of good build, with a shock of fair hair and a homely smile, which he now bestowed on them. ‘By! Summat smells good.’
Coming into the back parlour he kissed Marie first. ‘Don’t tell me …’ throwing off his coat he draped it over the chair and sniffed the air, ‘… meat pie, roast potatoes and baked parsnips, am I right?’
Amy came for her kiss. ‘I don’t know when you’ve ever been wrong,’ she laughed.
He joined in, then assumed an apologetic expression. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve had such a rush on, I didn’t have time to find you a present.’
‘Aw, never mind, love.’ Marie was philosophical. ‘You’ve brought yourself home and that’s all that matters.’
He gave her a kiss. ‘You’re a very understanding woman,’ he said gratefully. ‘There’s not many men can say that about their wives.’
Marie gave him a little shove. ‘You go and get your wash,’ she said, ‘while me and Amy get the dinner on the table.’
When he was gone into the scullery, Marie gave Amy a knowing wink. ‘I’ve learned to be crafty as him over the years,’ she whispered.
Amy whispered back, ‘What d’you mean?’
In answer, Marie tiptoed to her husband’s jacket and, dipping her hand inside it, withdrew two small packages.
Just then, Dave shouted for a towel. ‘Hurry up, Marie. I’m dripping wet!’
‘Here,’ handing Amy the two small packages, Marie instructed mischievously, ‘hide ’em, quick!’
Dave’s frantic voice sailed in from the scullery, ‘MARIE!’
‘All right, all right, I’m on my way!’ And off she went, chuckling at their innocent deception.
A few minutes later, washed and changed and ready for his dinner, Dave returned to the parlour. ‘By! A feast fit for a king!’ he said, his hungry eyes roving the table. Right in the centre was the deep-dish meat pie with a brown crusty pastry and a wash of egg to make it shine.
There were two earthenware bowls: one filled with roasted potatoes, the other brimming with quartered parsnips. For Dave there was a welcome jug of beer, a glass of stout for Marie, and a tumbler of home-made elderberry wine for Amy.
‘Well, don’t just look at it!’ Marie told him. ‘Sit yourself down and eat.’
‘One minute,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve summat here for the pair of you …’ Chuckling, he confessed, ‘I were just winding you up when I said I hadn’t got you a present.’
Marie feigned excitement. ‘So you brought us one after all? Oh, sweetheart, I knew you would.’
The grin on Dave’s face faded as he felt in the pocket for the third time, fumbling this way, then that. ‘They’ve gone!’ he cried. ‘Some thieving bugger’s ’ad ’em away!’
At the look of horror on his face, Amy couldn’t bear it. ‘Here they are, Dad.’ Collecting them from behind the clock on the sideboard she handed them to him.
When his mouth fell open with surprise, Marie laughed. ‘It serves you right for teasing us. Come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought?’
Marie’s present was the prettiest brooch, shaped like a butterfly and made out of enamel. ‘Aw, Dave …’ She gave him a hug. ‘It’s lovely … you’re lovely!’
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he seemed embarrassed, though he enjoyed her fussing round him. ‘You know how I like to give you nice things,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s only what you deserve.’ He glanced at Amy. ‘Come on, lass … open your present.’
Amy was thrilled with hers too. The necklace was a tiny heart, shaped in silver, and when she put it on, both Marie and Dave said how pretty it looked on her.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She too gave him a fond hug. ‘But you shouldn’t spend your money on us like that.’
Indignant, he asked sombrely, ‘If I can’t spend it on the two most important people in my life, who can I spend it on?’
There was no answer to that, except for Marie to say, ‘Let’s eat our dinners, afore they go cold!’
As they ate, the three of them chatted and laughed, and Dave told of his latest disaster.
‘For the life of me, I don’t know how it happened,’ he began excitedly. ‘Soonever I was given the address, I knew straight off there were a good many narrow little streets in that area, some of ’em virtually impassable, especially with a lorry that size. The new foreman assured me there was no problem as the road widened out at the end and I could drive straight through. But when I got halfway down, I knew some bugger had been playing silly devils with me, ’cos instead of the road getting wider, it got narrower. In the end I couldn’t go forrard and it seemed there were too many twists and turns to go backards.’
‘Sounds frightening.’ Against all odds, but urged on by Daisy, Amy had once secretly considered learning to drive, but the tales her dad came home with had put her off altogether. Dave had a little car, his pride and joy, but now Amy couldn’t envisage being one of the pioneer female drivers of Blackburn.
‘Aye, it were frightening an’ all, lass!’ Rolling his eyes he groaned. ‘In fact it were a bloody nightmare!’
Marie was horrified. ‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, I had no option, did I? All I could do was to feel my way back inch by inch. Unfortunately I badly scraped the side of the wagon and almost demolished a wall on the way.’
Once he got into the swing of it, Dave could tell a tale as well as any man, and on this particular occasion he had a riveted audience.
‘Not content with that, soonever I got the back end out I swung my front round to avoid a lamppost,’ he continued. ‘I missed the lamppost all right, but knocked down two bollards in the process, and ran over some poor bloke’s bicycle.’
Amy could see it all so vividly in her mind, she couldn’t stop laughing. ‘You’re a one-man demolition party!’
‘It weren’t my fault,’ Dave protested, indignant. ‘The buggers should have had more sense than sending me there in the first place!’
‘But that poor man … what did he have to say about his bike?’
‘Well, he weren’t too pleased, I can tell yer that. Yelled and shouted he did – went bright red in the face; said as how I should be locked up for my own safety, the cheeky article! On top o’ that, he wanted me to pay for a new bike, but I told him, I said, “If you’re daft enough to park it by the kerbside, you expect to get it run over.”’
Marie was curious. ‘And was he content with that?’
‘Were he buggery! Threatened to fetch the police if I didn’t pay up, but I’m no pushover. I stuck to my guns.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘As you know, I’m not a man who’s easily threatened!’
‘So what did you do?’
With a defiant look, he explained, ‘Well, what d’yer think I did? I paid him half what he said. I mean, what else could I do under the circumstances? I had no intention o’ paying him the full whack, I can tell you that. But y’see, I didn’t want no police on the scene. They’d have only made me later coming home to you, my darling.’ The expression on his face was a picture. ‘And we couldn’t be having that, could we now?’
All three laughed at his antics. It had been a good day, and an excellent meal, and as Dave went for his evening ‘constitutional’, Marie and Amy cleared away the dinner things. ‘It’s good to have him home,’ Marie said, and Amy agreed. Such contentment – she had envisaged such a marriage for herself, but she knew, even so, that she was fortunate to share in her parents’ happy lives. After all, what would Daisy give for this much love?
Dave returned just as Amy came down the stairs, having gone to get ready. ‘By! You look lovely, lass.’ He beamed with pride. ‘Off somewhere nice, are you?’
‘Me and Daisy are going to the pictures.’ Amy blushed at his compliment, but then she had taken a lot of trouble to look especially nice.
The long dark skirt had been a birthday present from her mother, and to go with it, Amy had bought a pale blue blouse and close-fitting jacket of darker blue. With her small-heeled ankle-strap shoes and the pretty spotted scarf at her throat she looked and felt good.
‘Your dad’s right,’ Marie agreed. ‘You look beautiful in that outfit.’
Aware that she was no beauty, but grateful for their compliments, Amy kissed her parents cheerio and promised not to be too late home.
‘And mind them roads!’ Dave warned. ‘It won’t be long afore the motor vehicles outnumber the horse and carts. Mind you, some of them drivers couldn’t even control a dog on a lead, let alone a thing with an engine in it.’
‘You worry too much,’ Amy chided as she hurried out the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Marie waved her daughter off at the door, then returned to the parlour and her beloved husband. ‘She’s a good lass, don’t you think?’
‘Aye.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘She teks after her mammy.’
Winking meaningfully, he patted his knee. ‘Look here, lass. There’s a sizeable lap going begging,’ he said invitingly. ‘All it needs is a pretty woman to plonk her bare bottom on it, and I’ll be happy as a pig in muck.’
Softly laughing, she went to him. ‘You’re a randy old thing, Dave Atkinson,’ she said, nibbling his ear.
‘And who can blame me, eh,’ hugging her tight, he kissed her full on the mouth, ‘when I’ve got the best-looking woman in the whole o’ Lancashire?’
Marie laughed, and as her smile met his, there was no doubting her love for him. ‘Are you after my body?’
‘What do you think?’
Marie smiled softly. ‘I think the same as you,’ she whispered. ‘What’s more, I think we ought to do summat about it.’
He kissed her again. ‘A woman after my own heart, that’s what you are, Marie Atkinson.’
A moment later the two of them went up the stairs together.
With Dave away all week it seemed such an age since they had made love.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_f835c732-e430-537f-b2b2-fdfde7b17e57)
A TRIP TO THE pictures was always a treat, and tonight was no exception.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ Daisy was already waiting in Blackburn town centre as Amy disembarked from the tram. ‘I’ve been waiting here for ages.’ Linking arms with her friend, Daisy was talkative as usual. ‘You should have seen this good-looking fella just now,’ she sighed. ‘He weren’t nearly as handsome as our Tuesday man, but I wouldn’t mind having him for a sweetheart.’
Amy laughed. ‘How do you know he hasn’t already got a sweetheart?’
‘I expect he has,’ Daisy groaned. ‘I expect every decent, good-looking man has already been claimed.’ The long-drawn-out sigh came from her very soul. ‘I can see I’m destined to grow old and miserable and never know what it’s like to have a fella of my own.’
Something in Daisy’s voice and manner told Amy things weren’t right. ‘What’s the matter?’ Drawing her to a halt, Amy asked gently, ‘There’s something wrong at home, isn’t there?’ She remembered Daisy’s barely concealed unhappiness at the café last Tuesday morning.
Daisy lowered her gaze. ‘How do you know that?’
Amy always knew. ‘Well, for one thing, I got here at the time we arranged, and yet you said you’d been waiting ages for me.’
Daisy nodded. ‘Well, if you must know, there’s hell going on at home,’ she admitted in a trembling voice. ‘That’s why I came out early, to wait for you.’
‘Have you had anything to eat?’
Daisy shook her head.
‘OK!’ Glancing about, Amy was relieved to see the hot-potato stand was here as usual. ‘The first thing we do is get you something to eat. Then we’ll skip the pictures and find a quiet little place where we can sit and talk.’
Daisy was emphatic. ‘I don’t want to talk.’
‘So, what do you want to do?’
‘Go to the pictures, like we said.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘I might be.’
‘Well then, we’ve time enough, so it’s hot potatoes first, then the pictures. All right?’
In fact everything was ‘all right’ to Daisy whenever she was with Amy. It was only when she was home with her parents that life was unbearable. The sound of their angry screaming voices still rang in her head. No, she’d make an effort; she wouldn’t let them spoil her evening. Pulling her shoulders back, she straightened her coat and tossed her auburn curls. ‘All right,’ she grinned.
Linking arms again, the two of them went towards the hot-potato stand.
‘Evening, girls.’ A short, round little man in a grey coat, the stallholder resembled one of his own potatoes. ‘Off to the pictures, are you?’
While he served them, he chatted about the weather and told them how pretty they were and flirted outrageously. Daisy responded in a like manner and earned herself an extra large potato, while Amy laughed to see her friend determined to enjoy herself.
Amy paid for the two bags of hot potatoes smothered in salt, and butter, which dripped from the bottom of the bag. ‘Mind it doesn’t get on your coat,’ she urged Daisy, who was tucking in as she walked. ‘You’ll have a terrible job getting it out.’
Seating themselves on a nearby bench, they sat and enjoyed their meal; though Amy was full to bursting, having already had a good dinner. Still, she didn’t confess that to Daisy. Instead, under Daisy’s watchful eye, she ate every bit of her delicious potato.
Delighted to see how Daisy wolfed her food, Amy laughed at the way her friend puffed and blew and complained about how hot it was – ‘It’s burning my bloody mouth!’ But she soon devoured it, skin and all.
Afterwards, with Daisy seeming more content, the two of them took off for the picture house and, feeling too full for words, Amy was thankful for the brisk walk across the square.
The Roxy was a grand-looking place, with plush red seats in the auditorium, thick carpet underfoot, and a man softly playing the organ at the front.
‘There’s two seats along there.’
The usherette shone her torch along the dimly lit row, and carefully as she could, Amy led the way, while behind her she could hear chaos unfolding. When she glanced back it was carnage, with everyone they’d passed bending forward, clutching their poor mangled feet where Daisy had trodden on them.
The silent, hateful glances that followed hastened them to their seats, and Amy, for one, was thankful to sit down.
‘Clumsy devils!’ The last poor man they’d passed appeared to be in agony. ‘If folks would only get here in good time, there’d be none o’ this!’
‘Oh, stop moaning, you miserable sod!’ Giving him a withering glance, Daisy flicked down her seat and almost fell on the floor when it sprang back up. ‘Damned thing!’ By now, Daisy was ready to take on the world.
Amy held the seat down while Daisy plonked her backside on it. ‘Sit down and behave,’ she chuckled, ‘unless you want us to get thrown out.’
Then all was quiet. For the moment.
As always the picture house was full. There were little old folk at the front, families in the middle and sweethearts at the back.
Once or twice Daisy glanced at the sweethearts kissing and canoodling, and twining themselves round each other. ‘Look at them! It’s disgusting!’ she said. But Amy knew how much Daisy would have loved to be seated at the back with a sweetheart wrapped round her.
‘Ssh!’ The woman behind wagged a finger at Daisy. ‘Be quiet!’
Daisy fell silent and for a moment she seemed to be deep in thought; though Amy suspected she was thinking about her parents and the way it was at home.
Luckily, the organ music soon swelled in a crescendo and the film started.
To Amy’s relief, Daisy was soon tapping her feet along with the master of dance, Charles King, and as the film progressed, her whole mood changed. Her eyes shone and her whole body twitched to the music, and for a time she was content and happy in a different world.
Amy too enjoyed the film. It was fast and furious, and all too soon it was the interval.
‘What d’you want, lass?’ Standing up ready to queue for refreshments, Daisy waited for Amy’s answer.
‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ Amy told her. She was still full to bursting.
Daisy shrugged, ‘Suit yourself,’ and off she went, leaving another trail of broken toes and complaining voices as she made her way through.
Having stood in the queue for what seemed an age, Daisy was next to be served. ‘A bag of popcorn please, gal,’ she told the usherette.
‘No popcorn, sorry.’ Grim-faced and fed up, the young woman had no interest in her work. As it happened that very morning, she had been turned down for a job as train-driver. Consequently, she was not in the best of moods.
Brought down by her own problems, Daisy was ready for anything the other woman had to throw at her. ‘So what have yer got then?’ she demanded impatiently.
Adjusting the strap round her neck so as to relieve the weight of her tray, the usherette ran both hands through the array of goodies, muttering as she searched, ‘No popcorn … and I’ve just sold the last of the chocolate bars.’ Wiping her nose with the back end of her cuff, she said wearily, ‘There’s only ice cream left now.’
‘Haven’t yer got no nuts?’ Hopeful, Daisy peered into the tray. ‘I don’t fancy ice cream.’
Angrily making another quick search of the tray, the usherette shook her head. ‘Ice cream. Take it or leave it.’
‘Are you sure there are no nuts in the back-room?’
Laughing aloud at Daisy’s suggestion, the usherette told her, ‘The only “nuts” in there are the manager and his fancy-bit.’
She leaned forward. ‘I don’t think they’d thank me for barging in … if you know what I mean?’ Her sly little wink left nothing to the imagination.
‘Lucky them!’ Daisy laughed.
‘HEY!’ The angry voice sailed up the queue. ‘The damned picture will be started soon! Cut the chatter and get on with it, will you?’
Fearing for her job, the usherette demanded of Daisy, ‘So do you want an ice cream or not?’
Daisy held out her loose change. ‘Go on then, gal. If that’s all there is, I’ve got no choice, have I?’
Clutching a tub of ice cream, Daisy fought her way back, amused to see how, in the ten minutes since she’d joined it, the queue was now snaking along the aisle.
‘So, it’s you who’s been holding up the queue, is it?’ Lolling on the back of a seat, the brash young man turned Daisy’s heart over with his winning smile. ‘Can’t make up your mind what you want, eh?’ Fair-haired and of small build, he had a wiriness that made her think of a terrier.
Returning his cheeky smile, Daisy held up the ice-cream tub. ‘I wanted popcorn,’ she said, ‘but this was all she had left.’
‘Got a hankering for popcorn, have you?’ He moved an inch or two closer, but not so far that he might lose his place in the queue.
‘I might have.’ Touching the tip of her nose with her finger she gave him a haughty glance. ‘Though it’s none o’ your business.’
Undeterred, he shifted back into the queue. ‘With your boyfriend, are you?’
Daisy smiled. ‘I’ve not got no boyfriend at the minute.’
The young man licked his lips. ‘All alone then, eh?’
‘No.’
‘Oh?’ Disappointment coloured his voice. ‘Who’ve you got with you then?’ He glanced about, but quickly returned his attention to her. ‘Not your mam and dad, is it?’ he asked warily.
Daisy bristled. ‘I wouldn’t even cross the street with them two!’
‘Is that so?’ As the queue shifted, he went with it. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘Like what?’ On the defensive now, Daisy didn’t care for the way the conversation was going.
‘Looks to me like you don’t get on with your parents.’ Taking hold of her arm, he held her there, a gleam of mischief in his small, bright eyes. ‘Been a naughty girl, have you?’
Daisy shook him off. ‘Like I said, it’s none of your damned business!’
When she hurried away, he tried to follow her, but the picture was starting and the dispersing queue blocked his path. ‘Wait for me at the main doors,’ he called after her, and, secretly thrilled, Daisy pretended not to hear.
She returned to her seat, irritated by the medley of voices threatening to have her chucked out. ‘You’ve mangled my toes once too often!’ cried one irate woman.
‘If you shifted your bloody great feet out the way,’ Daisy snapped back, ‘I wouldn’t be able to “mangle” ’em, would I?’
Throwing herself into the seat, she was horrified when the randy old codger in the next seat stroked her knee suggestively. ‘Take no notice of them,’ he urged.
When she glared at him, he leered at her. ‘You’re a pretty young thing,’ he whispered, curling his fingers tighter about her thigh. ‘What say you and me leave for a while, eh?’
Daisy smiled her best, at the same time spilling her tub of ice cream all over his trousers. ‘Whoops!’ Digging Amy in the ribs, she said, feigning innocence, ‘Oh dear, look what I’ve just done to this poor old man!’
Unaware of what had gone before, Amy was astonished to see the man leap out of his seat, his trousers dripping ice cream, and a wet patch forming round his flies.
‘YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!’
He caused such a fuss that the usherette came running. ‘What the devil’s going on here?’
‘Ask him!’ Grabbing Amy’s arm, Daisy forced her way past. ‘You should be careful who you let in here,’ she informed the usherette. ‘The dirty old git needed cooling off. A dollop of ice cream round his old what-not seems to have done the trick, though.’
Outside, the two girls collapsed laughing.
‘Did you see the look on his face?’ Amy chuckled.
‘Serves him right!’ Daisy replied. ‘Filthy old sod.’
‘I hope you’re not talking about me?’ It was the young man who had tried chatting up Daisy earlier. He was leaning against the wall, another man, of about the same age, with him.
‘No, I didn’t mean you.’ Her ready smile told how she was pleased to see him. ‘Some randy old bugger and his wandering hands. I had to teach him a lesson!’
‘So it was you causing all that fuss?’
‘It was.’ In truth she was quite proud to have dealt with the matter so efficiently.
‘Put him in his place, did you?’
Daisy grinned. ‘I dropped a tub of ice cream in his lap … that cooled him off all right.’
The young man laughed. ‘I’d best watch my p’s and q’s when you’re around.’
‘That’s right … you had.’
He sidled closer. ‘Are we on for a date then?’
Daisy decided to play it casual. ‘We might be.’
He persisted. ‘Well, are we or not?’
Daisy glanced at his mate. A quiet man with lean figure and intense gaze, he seemed well taken with Amy. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘This is Jack …’ beckoning his friend forward, he introduced him, ‘… Jack Tomlinson. We work together and we’re good pals.’ He half smiled. ‘Jack never has much to say, but he thinks a lot. Not like me. I take things as they come.’
His gaze fixing Amy, Jack stepped forward. ‘Pleased to meet you …’ he hesitated, ‘… I don’t know your name.’
Amy held out her hand. ‘I’m Amy.’ Ever cautious, she saw no need to elaborate on that, at least for now.
Holding her hand for a moment longer than she would have liked, he smiled down on her. ‘Pretty name.’
‘Thank you.’ He seemed a nice enough fella.
‘And I’m Roy.’ The sharp little man stepped forward, addressing himself to Daisy. ‘Let me guess … you’ve got to be a Joanne … or mebbe Ruth, am I right?’
She giggled. ‘I’m Daisy. Pretty as a flower.’
Feeling uncomfortable about the way the young man was eyeing Daisy, Amy intervened. ‘Lovely meeting you both, but we’ve a tram to catch.’
Daisy, though, was already infatuated. ‘Oh, Amy, we’ve time to find a chippie first,’ she protested. ‘Don’t forget we left the flicks early, so we’ve got some extra time.’
Amy, horrified at the idea of yet more food, was about to disagree, but the young man called Roy pounced on the idea at once. ‘I know where there’s a good chippie!’ Grabbing Daisy by the arm, he suggested, ‘We could have fish and chips, then find a quiet place to talk … if that’s what you’d like?’
Before Amy could say anything, Daisy had agreed and the four of them were on their way, in the direction of the docks, being led by Daisy and her chatty companion.
‘They seem to have hit it off together, don’t they?’ Bringing up the rear, Jack walked at a more sedate pace with Amy. ‘I wish I was more like him. He makes friends so easily, while I’ve always found it difficult.’
Amy smiled at that. ‘Daisy’s the same,’ she said, adding cautiously, ‘Is he all right though, your friend?’
‘How d’you mean?’ Jack gave her a curious glance.
‘He won’t take advantage of her, will he?’
‘In what way?’
‘Daisy is going through a bad time at the minute, and I wouldn’t like to see her hurt.’ There was no point beating about the bush. ‘It’s just that, well, your friend seems a bit of a flirt … too full of himself for my liking.’
Jack smiled knowingly. ‘You’re right. He can be a bit of a flirt, but it’s just his manner. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’
They walked on, the night closing in around them, and Amy growing slightly alarmed at the way in which Roy was all over Daisy. When they turned down a darkened side street, her fears grew.
‘Daisy, where do you think you’re going?’
Laughing, Daisy called back, ‘To the chippie, o’ course … where d’you think?’
‘There’s no chippie down here.’ Amy knew the streets of Blackburn like the back of her hand. ‘We’d best turn back … we don’t want to miss the last tram.’
‘Oh, stop your worrying!’ came the reply. ‘We’re going the long way round, that’s all.’
As they walked on, Amy and her companion chatted about this and that, and she began to think he was a nice enough bloke; though she kept a wary eye on Daisy, who by now was loudly laughing and shrieking.
The tall fellow chuckled. ‘Your friend seems to be enjoying herself.’
For just that split second, Amy took her eyes off Daisy. When she looked up again, they were gone. ‘Where are they?’ Beginning to panic, she quickened her steps, with the young man striding out beside her. ‘Don’t worry!’ he told her. ‘They can’t be far.’
Amy wasn’t convinced. Something told her that Daisy was out of her depth. Her fears were confirmed when she heard Daisy calling her name. ‘That’s Daisy! Maybe she’s in trouble.’ Beginning to panic, she looked this way and that, trying hard to pinpoint where the shouts were coming from, in the maze of alleys. ‘DAISY! WHERE ARE YOU?’
She set off at a run, in the direction of Daisy’s voice, with the young man coming up behind her. Fear gripped her heart. She didn’t trust him either.
When Amy came running into the alley she saw Daisy struggling against Roy. He had her pinned against the wall and his mouth was clamped to hers, while one hand groped inside her coat. Daisy was struggling against him, moaning and trying to push him away.
Amy misunderstood. Thinking Daisy was in real trouble, she kicked out and caught Daisy’s attacker a nasty blow on the shin. He went down with a look of agony on his face. Amy was briefly aware of Daisy’s astonished expression, but then the other man, Jack, darted forward and grabbed Amy’s arm.
‘Leave him. It’s OK,’ he said, but his hand on her arm only served to panic her.
Twisting away from him, she grabbed a half-brick that was lying in the alley. She aimed for his head but the brick bounced off his shoulder and fell at his feet, delivering no more than a bruise.
Meanwhile, Daisy had caught her breath and was buttoning her blouse. While Roy moaned at her feet, Jack looked shocked.
‘Now just a minute …’ he began.
‘It’s OK,’ Daisy promised Amy. ‘No harm done.’ She giggled. ‘It were a bit heavy for a first kiss, though.’ Her hair was dishevelled and her lipstick smudged, but her eyes were mischievously twinkling in the light of a nearby streetlamp.
‘But … I thought …’ When realisation dawned Amy was embarrassed. Oh, no, this was awful. She began her way back down the alley. ‘I think we’d best be off home,’ she said lamely.
‘I think we had,’ chuckled Daisy, winking at Roy.
‘But you said –’ he began.
‘Never mind what I said,’ replied Daisy. ‘Perhaps you’d better learn some manners, rushing a girl like that.’ She patted her hair in place, straightened her coat and trotted back up the alley behind Amy.
‘Time to cool off!’ Daisy quipped as she went.
Softly laughing, she grabbed Amy’s hand and they were soon running back towards the main road, their heels pounding the cold pavement, and the sound of their laughter echoing through the night air.
The street was relatively quiet, with the exception of a big black saloon motor car which passed them, slowing briefly before accelerating away, as they turned towards the tram stop and raced to meet the oncoming lights. He couldn’t be certain but Luke wondered if they were the young women from Tooley’s Cafe.
In the lamplight, Amy took a good look at her friend. ‘My God, Daisy … look at the state of you!’ Amy was horrified. ‘We’ll have to try and tidy you up. They’ll never let you on the tram like that.’ With her dishevelled hair and rumpled clothes, Daisy looked like a refugee from hell. ‘The tram’s coming now – quick!’ She took Daisy by the shoulders. ‘Let’s see if we can make you presentable.’
‘Been in a fight, ’ave yer?’ The conductor gawped with open mouth as they boarded the tram.
‘You could say that,’ Amy replied, stifling her laughter.
‘Sit yourself down then, and don’t start anything.’ Convinced they’d been drinking, the conductor warned, ‘These are decent, God-fearing passengers, so mind you behave! I want no trouble on my tram!’
During the journey they relived the night’s events. ‘By! You went for him like a blinking Jack Russell,’ Daisy said. ‘That’ll teach him to get fresh with me without a by your leave. The look on his face …’ When she laughed loudly, the conductor, who had been eyeing the red-faced pair suspiciously, came to give her a warning. ‘Start trouble and I’ll put you off!’
‘I’m not “starting trouble”!’ Daisy protested, and would have said more, were it not for the dig in the ribs she got from Amy, who was herself beginning to giggle; which then set Daisy off.
Somehow managing to remain fairly composed until disembarking at their stop, the two of them were helpless with laughter. ‘You’re a bad ’un, you are!’ Amy spluttered.
‘I’ve had the best night o’ my life.’ Swinging her arms round Amy, Daisy marched her forward at a galloping pace.
‘Get off!’ Amy shrugged her away. ‘You’ll have us both arse over tip!’
Daisy was astounded. ‘Language, my girl.’ She feigned indignation. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your tongue when you’re in my company.’ To which they both started laughing again.
Some short distance away, a strolling constable gave them a knowing wink. ‘Evening, girls.’
‘Evening, officer,’ Amy replied.
‘You two look like you’ve had a good night.’
‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ Daisy replied.
On looking closer, he saw how tousled they were. His tone grew serious. ‘All right, are you?’
‘Right as rain,’ Amy replied.
‘Aye, well, you’d best get off home,’ he advised. ‘There are some strange folks hanging about this time of night.’
They watched him go, shaking his head as he went.
As they wended their way home, the streets echoed with their merry laughter.
One thing was certain, Amy thought. Life was never dull with Daisy about.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_bf8497a0-41b9-5bf7-bc81-54186327131b)
SWITCHING OFF THE engine, Luke Hammond climbed out of the car. His business meeting had overrun and then he’d had to entertain clients. ‘I’m sure that was Amy with the young woman from the café,’ he murmured. But the lamplight played strange tricks on the eye, so he couldn’t be absolutely certain. He’d learned Amy’s name by eavesdropping at Tooley’s, and now it was a name inextricably linked to Tuesdays – those days of freedom and dreams.
He closed the car door and made his way to the house. As he walked on, the image of Amy’s face was bright in his mind.
There was something irresistible about her. She had a warm, magical, memorable smile, and those bluest of eyes. It was the face of a woman you could trust. That was why he had a need to paint her: so he might capture that special something, and keep it for ever. Smiling, gentle, constant, her portrait brought him nearer to living the dream he conjured up on Tuesdays. Whenever he was feeling low, he thought of Amy and his heart was lifted.
His reverie was, however, suddenly shattered as he approached the house. Through the kitchen window he could see a woman frantically pacing the floor and, judging from her manner, she seemed to be in a dark, dangerous mood.
‘Oh God, that’s all I need … Georgina!’ A slim, attractive woman with thick, dark hair, she was his wife’s sister. He didn’t care much for her, a scheming, greedy woman. ‘What the devil can she want?’ Because of her, he was able to enjoy his one day of freedom and keep his sanity. But he knew her well enough to be certain that she never did anything out of the goodness of her heart, and for that reason his suspicions were aroused. ‘I can be sure of one thing,’ he mused, ‘she won’t be here for any good reason.’
Growing anxious, he quickened his steps.
Sensing his nearness, the woman peered out of the window, delighted to see him there. Before he had even opened the door, she was there to greet him.
‘Oh, Luke, I’m so glad you’re back!’ Her voice was entreating; her wide dark eyes glittering with excitement. ‘It’s been awful. I didn’t know which way to turn.’
At once he was on his guard. ‘What do you mean?’ Looking about he asked pointedly, ‘Where’s Sylvia?’
‘In the bedroom.’ Casting her gaze to the upper reaches of the house she told him in a whisper, ‘She’s sound asleep.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She is now.’
He began to understand. ‘Is Edna with her?’ Edna, originally employed as housekeeper, was a good and loyal friend who had seen him and his wife through thick and thin.
‘No.’ Bristling at his question, she snapped, ‘She is not!’
‘So, where is she? She promised to stay until I got home. The meeting went on longer than was planned.’
With eyebrows raised and a marbling of anger in her voice, she asked sweetly, ‘What kind of meeting … or am I not allowed to ask?’
‘A meeting of business minds,’ Luke answered sharply. ‘A long-awaited meeting, too important to miss.’
‘Really?’ Again the eyebrows were raised, the smile devious. ‘I thought you might have a secret rendezvous with some attractive female,’ she suggested softly. ‘After all … the way things are, who would blame you?’
‘If you thought that, then you were wrong. There is no other woman. There never has been, nor is there likely to be.’ Bitterly he cast all lingering thoughts of Amy from his mind.
Taking a long, deep breath he squared his shoulders. ‘Now … will you tell me what’s been going on?’ he asked quietly. ‘You say Sylvia is asleep?’
‘That’s right. And, as you well know, it would be best if she was not disturbed.’
He nodded. ‘So, if Edna is not with my wife, where is she?’
Georgina gave a cunning half-smile. ‘I sent her home of course.’ Her expression changed to one of disgust. ‘To tell you the truth, I’d sack her if I had my way.’
Anger darkened Luke’s face. ‘Then it’s just as well you don’t have your way!’ he snapped. ‘That dear soul is a godsend to us. She’s been with us through very difficult times. Anyone else would have been long gone, but not Edna. She’s a good woman … and, thank God, she’s made of sterner stuff than most. What’s more, she knows as much about what’s happening as any one of us.’ His voice trembled with anger. ‘You had no right to send her home.’
‘Sylvia is my sister. I had every right! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Sylvia needs a proper nurse, not an old has-been like Edna!’
‘You’ve got a short memory, Georgina.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cast your mind back to when Sylvia came home from hospital.’ With his eyes burning into hers, he explained the situation for the umpteenth time. ‘She had bruises and marks where she’d taken that terrible beating, but to look into her eyes, you’d think she was recovering well. Oh, yes, the doctor warned us that it was a possibility, but we hoped beyond hope for her sake that he was wrong. But he wasn’t, was he? What was it – a month, maybe two – before the fits started; the unpredictable violence, the depression and amnesia.’
‘I know all that!’
‘Then you also know how I got Sylvia the best nurses money could buy. First one then another. They had all the certificates and experience. They came with the finest references, but Sylvia sent them packing.’ He paused, allowing the words to sink in. ‘She would have nothing to do with any of them, and worse, nothing to do with the medication they administered. And then, when I’m about to despair, we discover that the finest nurse of all is our own housekeeper, Edna – fully trained, qualified, and with years of experience. What was even better was that she already had Sylvia’s complete and absolute trust … mine too. I can go to work during the week and know that Sylvia is in safe, loving hands, and that she isn’t hiding her tablets or pouring her medicine away.’
Georgina knew how every word Luke uttered was right, but she still had her say. ‘Except for Tuesdays.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, except for Tuesdays, but then Edna has to have at least one day off and she visits her aged mother. They go to the old lady’s whist club. But then you kindly offered to stay with her on that one day, and the arrangement seems to have worked out really well. Like you say, Sylvia always seems content in your company.’
Eaten with jealousy, Georgina persisted. ‘If you ask me, Edna is far too familiar. It never pays to let the servants know too much.’
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ Finishing the conversation, he turned away with the parting words, ‘Besides, you know we never think of Edna as a “servant”.’
‘Then you should … because that’s exactly what she is. A housekeeper pretending to be a nurse again!’
‘To be honest, the fact that you sent her away is neither here nor there, because if I know Edna, the minute she realises I’m home, she’ll be back again … if only to make certain Sylvia is all right.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘In fact, I suspect our Edna has nothing but dislike for you.’
‘Hmm!’ Georgina narrowed her eyes and spat, ‘The feeling is mutual, because I can’t stand the sight of the damned woman!’
Treating her remark with the contempt it deserved, Luke made no reply. Instead, he went out of the room and on up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs he turned left towards his wife’s room. He knew from experience that it was best to leave her sleeping, but he had a deep-down need to check on her. He had to be certain she was all right.
Lingering outside her door, he listened. There was no sound. There never was. Gingerly he turned the handle, opened the door and, ever so softly, let himself inside.
Standing by her bed, he studied her sleeping face. Sylvia never liked complete darkness, and in the kindly haze of light from the standard lamp, her quiet, pale features took on a ghostly aspect. With her soft skin and long, tousled chestnut hair, she seemed almost like a child lying there. He stayed a moment longer, thinking how beautiful she was, and how fortunate he had been.
Raising the blanket to cover her arms, he tenderly stroked the strands of rich-coloured hair from about her face. When she was sleeping like this, everything seemed so perfect. Yet he knew it was not.
Beside the bed, her supper plate lay untouched: two small, plain biscuits, and a dainty wedge of cheese with the knife lying beside it; all exactly as it was when brought up by Edna. Untouched, unwanted.
The empty tumbler was on its side, half drunk, half spilled. As he carefully uprighted it, the dregs ran down his wrist. He wiped it away, but the stale milk remained, sticky and uncomfortable. It occurred to him it might well contain something medicinal, but it was spilled now, and anyway, she was sound asleep.
‘Good night, my love.’ Leaning over, he whispered assurances with the softest of kisses before, collecting the supper plate, he left the room as softly as he had arrived.
Once outside on the landing, he made his way to the bathroom; a large converted bedroom with high ceilings and stripped wooden floor, it always struck him as strangely cold and bleak.
Setting the supper plate on the cupboard, he went to the basin where he splashed a handful of cold water over his wrist, then another over his face. After hours of talking business he was wearied. The shock of cold water felt refreshingly good.
When, eyes half closed, he turned to find the towel, she was suddenly on him like a fiend.
‘YOU’VE BEEN WITH HER!’ Shrieking like a demented soul she grabbed the cheese knife; lashing out, wanting to hurt him, needing to maim him, just as she felt maimed. ‘You don’t want me any more. I’m no good to you … don’t lie to me!’ With one swipe of the knife she caught him down the cheekbone. When the blood spurted out she lunged at him again, but this time he caught her arm to fend her off.
‘Sylvia! Drop the knife! Sylvia, please!’
‘Let me go, you bastard … I HATE YOU!’ There was no stopping her now. Raising her arm she brought it down, the small curved blade targeting his face. He ducked, grabbed her by the waist and, drawing her towards him, pinned her arms by her sides. ‘It’s all right, Sylvia,’ he gasped, ‘… it’s all right. There is no one else in my life but you.’ He struggled to regain his breath, to ignore the blood he could feel oozing down his face.
Her dark eyes calmer now, she looked up. ‘Promise me?’
He nodded, his forced smile seeming to settle her fears. ‘I promise.’
When she began sobbing, he gently took away the knife and, at that moment, something made him glance towards the door. Shocked to see Georgina leaning against the door-jamb, he asked harshly, ‘How long have you been there?’
Smiling triumphantly, she replied, ‘Long enough.’ In fact she had witnessed the whole thing.
‘Did you wake her?’ Suspicion trembled in his voice.
‘Shame on you, Luke.’ Her small, mean mouth opened in disbelief. ‘Do you really believe I would do such a thing?’
His voice hardened. ‘I know you would … if it suited your purpose.’
Just then, a plump woman of homely face and grey hair appeared.
‘Is Mrs Hammond all right, sir?’ She was obviously distressed.
Relieved to see her, Luke reassured her. ‘Yes, Edna, she’s all right.’
Clinging to him, Sylvia looked up at her husband. ‘I’m tired,’ she said wearily. ‘Can I go back to my bed now?’
Kissing her tenderly on the forehead, Luke nodded. ‘Come on … I’ll take you back.’
As he moved forward, she saw the blood trickling from his cheekbone. A look of astonishment came over her features. ‘Your face is cut!’ Horrified, she reeled from him. ‘I want Edna.’ Her voice rising to a shriek, she demanded, ‘Edna! I need you to take me back. Please, Edna …’
Like a frightened child she entreated the older woman, and the older woman loved her as she would her own flesh and blood. ‘You must calm yourself, my dear,’ she said soothingly. ‘O’ course I’ll take you back.’ She shifted an inquisitive gaze to Luke. ‘If it’s all right with Mr Hammond, that is?’
Luke gave the nod she needed, and now, as Sylvia went to her with open arms, Edna quickly but gently led Sylvia back to the safety of her bed.
Reaching out for the towel, Luke dipped a corner into the wash-bowl and dabbed at the blood trickling from his wounds, but all the while his wary eyes were fixed on Georgina. ‘If I thought you’d woken her,’ he warned, shaking his head, ‘I would have to think twice about banning you from this house.’
‘You couldn’t do that! I’m her sister.’
‘And I’m her husband – so I could, and I would. My only concern is for Sylvia.’ His voice thickened. ‘My God! If I knew you’d deliberately upset her …’
Afraid now, she stepped forward. ‘I didn’t. I love her!’ There was a measure of sincerity in her voice. ‘I would never hurt her … you must know that.’
Using what she considered to be her best card, she taunted, ‘If you thought me capable of hurting her, you would never trust me to stay with her on a Tuesday.’
Taken aback, Luke spoke firmly. ‘And you think it would bother me if I didn’t have my Tuesday freedom, do you?’
‘I know how much you treasure your Tuesdays, that’s all,’ she retaliated. ‘Or am I wrong?’
‘No, you’re not wrong.’ Once more wiping the towel over the wound on his cheekbone, he reminded her, ‘However much I treasure my little freedom, Sylvia will always be my first concern.’
A moment passed while Georgina silently considered his answer. She knew that, in spite of the way things were, he was speaking the truth, and to her mind it was a shocking waste of a man’s devotion. Deep down she resented the love he felt for her sister. ‘On these Tuesdays, when I come over to take care of her, where do you go?’
‘That’s my business.’ He gave her a warning glance. ‘We’ve had this conversation once too often, Georgina. Make this the last time, will you?’
Not being a woman who gave in easily, she persisted, ‘I know you don’t go to the factory.’
Angry and worried, he demanded, ‘And how could you possibly know that?’
‘Ah! I have my ways and means,’ she said with a sly little grin. ‘But don’t worry. I won’t give your secret away.’
‘Do what you think fit,’ he advised casually. ‘It makes no difference to me.’
She took a step closer. ‘I really am curious. What do you do? Where do you go?’
Throwing the towel into the washbasin he told her, ‘That’s enough talk for now!’
‘All right. Like you say, it’s none of my business.’ She wisely backed off. When he had that look about him she knew it was impossible to get answers so, instead of riling him, she changed tack. ‘I meant what I said, though. I do love Sylvia and, whatever you might think, I would never hurt her.’
Luke nodded. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m inclined to believe you.’
He knew there had always been a measure of love between the two sisters, but: ‘All the same, I wish I could be certain of you.’
‘Oh, but you can!’ Tears swam in her dark eyes. ‘You really can.’
He nodded, but made no move towards her. One thing he had learned about her was that she could turn on the tears at will.
She bowed her head. ‘I know there are times when you don’t trust me, but it’s just that … I’m saddened by what’s happened to her, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sometimes, it cripples me …’ she tapped her chest, ‘… inside here.’
He understood how that felt, and deep down, where the pain lived, he felt a kind of sympathy with her. ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry if sometimes I seem unfeeling.’ Ashamed, he reminded himself of the hours he and Georgina had spent together at the hospital, not knowing whether Sylvia would live or die. It had been the worst time of his life and she had been there for him when he needed her. ‘But she’s so precious to me. I can’t risk her being damaged again … not by anyone!’
Unmoved, she gave another glimpse of her cruel nature in her comment: ‘What about Arnold Stratton?’
He gave her a withering look. ‘I don’t want to hear that name.’
‘Will you tell me something?’ There was a look in her eye that disturbed his peace of mind.
‘Depends?’ Just when he was beginning to trust her she made him wary as always.
‘Why did you never go after him?’
For a long, awkward moment he remained silent; the past swirling through his mind, taking him back to a place he did not want to be. ‘I did go after him.’
‘What!’ She stepped forward, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I never knew that!’
He smiled, a sad, telling smile that showed the scars inside. ‘That’s because I never told anyone.’
‘Not even Sylvia?’ There was no end to her cruelty.
‘Especially not Sylvia.’
Excitement trembled in Georgina’s voice. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. I went there with the intention of tearing him limb from limb …’
The telling brought it all back with a vengeance, and he walked across the room, his fists rubbing one into the other as though they were itching to hit something, or someone. ‘The police got there before me. When I turned the corner he was being arrested. After that, it was out of my hands.’ His features stiffened. ‘More’s the pity! A ten-year gaol sentence is so little for what he did.’
Needing to end the conversation, he swung round on her. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I was worried about Sylvia.’ Venturing closer, she lied, ‘I couldn’t sleep. I got to thinking how that bastard Stratton beat her so bad she almost died. As it was, he damaged her brain so much she’ll never be whole again.’ Her voice dropped to a baby whine. ‘Is it her punishment, do you think … for having relations with him … cheating on you, when you’ve always been such a wonderful husband?’
‘That’s enough, Georgina. I think it’s time you went.’
‘Oh, Luke, I’m sorry. I know how painful it is for you to think about what happened.’ Making the sign of the cross on herself she whispered solemnly, ‘I promise I’ll never speak of it again.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
Georgina was a strange person, he thought. And he could never fathom her. Sometimes she couldn’t do enough for himself and Sylvia, and other times she seemed to take satisfaction in torturing him.
Walking to the door he expected her to follow. Instead she went on talking. ‘It was just as well I got here when I did,’ she assured him. ‘By the time I arrived, Sylvia was already being difficult. Ask Edna, if you don’t believe me. Between us, we managed to calm her and get her to bed. Edna insisted on going in to check on her, but I wouldn’t let her. I sent her home instead.’
A thought occurred to her. ‘What was she doing here just now? I told her not to come back. I told her I was going to have a word with you – that it must have been her who upset Sylvia in the first place, otherwise why was she in such a state when I got here? And just now, how did she get into the house? You can’t get into the house without a key.’
Luke enlightened her. ‘Edna has a key. And before you say anything, she will continue to have a key. For Sylvia’s sake I need to know that Edna can let herself in at any time.’
Georgina saw her opportunity. ‘Think about it, Luke! I have some experience of looking after sick people – I nursed my mother when she was ill – and the doctor said I would have made an excellent nurse.’
‘And you would,’ Luke agreed. ‘I’ve seen how gentle and good you can be with Sylvia.’
‘There you are!’ she cried jubilantly. ‘So, why don’t I sell my house and come to live here? Then you’d have no need of Edna.’
He swiftly dismissed her idea. ‘Thank you all the same, but I really don’t think that’s necessary. Besides, Edna might be a little slower than she once was, but she’s more than capable and, as well you know, Sylvia trusts her implicitly.’
‘She trusts me too. I mean, on Tuesdays when Edna has her day off and you’re away working on your “secret” project …’ she waited for an explanation, and when there was none, she continued, ‘… well, she always enjoys my company. We get on well together. We always have.’
‘Yes. I know that.’
He had seen how the two of them laughed and chatted together, about their childhood and other things that women were interested in, such as the latest fashion designs and favourite film stars.
They really did seem to enjoy each other’s company, and on the one occasion when Sylvia had a bad turn, Georgina quickly got the doctor out and everything was under control.
She was a sensible, intelligent woman. That was the reason he was content enough to leave them together while he enjoyed his own company on that one special day.
All the same, his small, sneaking distrust of Georgina remained. Now, though, he thought it best to remind her of something. ‘Just now, when Sylvia saw what she’d done to my face, she was upset. But did you notice, it wasn’t you she turned to? It was Edna. No, Georgina, it’s kind of you to offer, but it’s best we leave things the way they are.’ His instincts told him it would be a very bad idea to have Georgina in the house at all times.
Opening the door, he offered, ‘I’ll have a word with Edna … see if she wouldn’t mind me running you home.’
But Georgina would not hear of it. ‘No. I’ll get a cab. I’d prefer that.’
‘All right,’ Luke conceded, ‘if that’s what you want.’
Going to the hallstand, he took down two coats: a long dark, woollen coat with belt and deep pockets, and a black astrakhan three-quarter one with black bone buttons and fur collar.
First helping her on with the astrakhan, he then shrugged on his own coat. ‘I’ll walk you to the bottom of the street. We’ll flag down a cab there.’
It was a matter of only five minutes or less, before a cab pulled over. ‘Mind you go straight indoors once you get home.’
‘It’s all right,’ she answered with the sweetest of smiles, ‘I know how to look after myself.’
Helping her into her seat, he kissed her dutifully on the cheek. ‘Good night, Georgina.’
Before settling back into her seat, she clung to him a moment longer than he was comfortable with. ‘Good night, Georgina!’ Taking her by the shoulders he gently but firmly pushed her away and closed the door. ‘Eighteen, Park Street.’ He thrust a handful of coins into the driver’s hand. ‘There’s a bit extra there,’ he pointed out. ‘Mind you wait until she’s safely inside.’
A smile from her, a wave and she was gone.
Somewhat dejected, Luke made his way back to the house. ‘I’ll never understand it,’ he muttered. ‘How could two sisters be so different?’
But then he reminded himself of how Sylvia had been having an affair with Arnold Stratton, before they found her beaten and battered in the alley.
It had been the worst shock of all, and even now Luke found it hard to believe that she had deceived him with another man. He had adored Sylvia since the first day they met; with every fibre in his body. Without question or reservation. Time and again, she had told him how she never wanted or needed anyone else, and he believed her.
In the early years theirs had been the ideal romance, the meeting, the courtship, the sharing and growing together. Then the cracks had begun to show, with Sylvia’s waywardness and selfishness. She was bored; she didn’t want Luke to go to the factory; she wanted to travel … She started spending every evening out – with friends, but they were not friends he knew – and she was drinking a lot. Luke tolerated all this because he still had his dreams of their growing old together, with maybe a son who would one day take over the business from him. Then Sylvia met Arnold Stratton …
Luke still loved her now in spite of her cheating, but not in the way he had loved her before. Not with his heart and soul. Not blindly. But he had made his vows and he held her close to his heart. She was his wife, his responsibility and he would take care of her until the end of her days … or the end of his! Whichever came first.
His thoughts returned briefly to Amy as he had seen her that evening – young, care-free, laughing in the street. She was his dream, but Sylvia was his reality.
The portly cab driver was a chatty sort. ‘I’ll soon have you home, miss,’ he assured Georgina proudly, ‘safe and sound, just like the good man wanted.’
Deep in thoughts of a devious kind, Georgina didn’t hear him.
‘Decent fella … seems concerned to keep you from harm,’ the cabbie went on. ‘Your intended, is he?’
Coming out of her reverie with her mind made up, Georgina didn’t catch his last remark. ‘What’s that you say?’
Half-turning his head, the cabbie apologised. ‘Sorry if I offended you. I were only asking if the fella was your intended?’
Georgina smiled. ‘Not officially,’ she answered coyly, ‘I mean, he doesn’t know it yet, but I intend for us to be man and wife one day.’
The cabbie laughed out loud. ‘You women!’ he chuckled. ‘Once you get your claws into us men, we’ve got no chance at all.’
He was only minutes from Park Street when she instructed, ‘Turn down the next street left.’
Confused, he advised her, ‘But that’s Johnson Street. I were told you wanted Park Street.’
‘Well, now I want Johnson Street!’ she snapped. ‘Keep moving until I tell you when to stop.’
Swinging the vehicle into Johnson Street, the cabbie was guided by the streetlamps. ‘What number?’ He peered at the door: ‘This is fifteen … seventeen …’ As instructed, he moved slowly on.
‘Here!’ Perched on the edge of her seat and ready to open the door, she screeched at him, ‘STOP HERE!’
Made to halt in a dark, shadowy spot between two streetlamps, he wondered what she was up to. ‘Do you want me to wait?’ he asked as she climbed from the cab.
‘Well, of course I want you to wait,’ she replied impatiently. ‘The trams have stopped running and I certainly don’t intend walking home in the dark.’
He nodded. ‘How long will you be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, what does it matter to you?’
‘Well, if it’s only a few minutes it’ll make no difference. But if it’s gonna be some time, then I might have to charge you a bit more.’
Georgina rounded on him. ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ she told him. ‘I saw the handful of coins he gave you, and it was more than enough. You’re getting no more – not even if I’m in there till morning!’
‘I see.’ He had taken a real dislike to her. ‘And are you likely to be in there “till morning”?’
‘Well, now …’ giving a sly little wink, she leaned towards him, ‘… we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ With that she sauntered off, glancing up at the house numbers as she went.
Curious, he watched as she knocked on a door. Smartly groomed and dressed in expensive clothes, she was quite an eye-opener, he thought. But it didn’t always follow that what looked good on the outside was good on the inside.
A naturally wary man, he decided that when she came back out, he would take her home quick as he could, and never a word of conversation between them.
Cabbies should keep their traps shut and just do their job, he decided, or who knew what trouble they might find themselves in.
After a few moments the door opened. Casting a glance up and down the street, she hurried inside.
The cab driver also glanced up and down the street. ‘It’s a far cry from Park Street,’ he muttered thoughtfully.
A long meandering street on a deep slope towards the town, Johnson Street was typical of the roads in those parts. It was the kind of ordinary, serviceable place where folks like himself lived out their days – hard-working, God-fearing folks who worked long, back-breaking hours in the cotton-mills or the nearby factories.
One thing was certain: it was nothing like the beautifully kept, wide open streets, with their big posh houses, that ran up alongside the park. Those were reserved for wealthy folk – employers, bank managers, that kind of contented, fortunate soul.
He settled himself into the seat, closed his eyes and yawned. ‘One thing’s for sure, she’s up to no good.’ He thought about the man who had paid for her cab. ‘Some women don’t know when they’re well off!’ he muttered. ‘That fella seemed a decent sort, but if he’s not careful, he’ll find himself hooked up to a bad lot, an’ no mistake!’
Georgina followed the man into the sitting room.
‘I didn’t expect you tonight, Helen. What you doing ’ere at this late hour anyway?’ A rough-looking fellow, but well-endowed, clad only in underpants he made a fetching sight to her eager eyes.
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ A flush of disappointment coloured her face, but she pouted seductively and slowly slipped her coat off, her eyes full of suggestion.
He gave a wily grin. ‘Depends, don’t it?’ Looking her up and down he licked his lips. ‘It’s been a while since we got together.’
‘I was on my way home and thought I’d come and pay a visit,’ she purred.
His blue eyes coveting her, he smiled. ‘If I knew where you lived, I might be able to repay the favour now and then.’
Shaking her head, she took a step forward. ‘I’ll never tell you where I live.’
‘Hmm! Sometimes I wonder if your name really is Helen.’ He gave her a wry little smile. ‘Is it?’
She laughed. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘You’re a secretive bugger and no mistake.’ Now, as he moved towards her, the light from the flickering gas-mantle played shadows on his unshaven face. ‘And why is that, I wonder?’
Stroking her hands through his tousled brown hair, she murmured, ‘Because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone, but I especially don’t trust men.’
Through hostile, narrowed eyes he studied her. ‘All the same, it would make things easier if I knew a bit more about you. After all, you know my name, and you know where I live.’
Staring him out, she answered emphatically, ‘Only because I had to bring you home when you were drunk out of your mind. You couldn’t stop talking.’
They had met in the town one afternoon when Georgina’s high heel had become caught between paving stones and he’d freed her. Each had liked the look of the other. He admired her bold manner and her expensive perfume, and she had always secretly lusted after rough-looking men. Good manners, she found, so often took the excitement out of sex. Sylvia must have found the same, Georgina thought. Why else had she had an affair with Arnold Stratton?
Neither had anything better to do so they’d found a hotel bar; then, when they’d drunk a fair amount, gone on to a pub he knew. There he’d become ridiculously drunk and she’d had to take him home in a taxi. She’d stayed the night and their affair had started when his hangover abated.
‘And besides, you don’t need to know my real name and address,’ she now added.
‘Oh, but you’re wrong. As a rule I know all about my women after the first meeting.’
‘I’m not one of “your women”.’
‘So, what are you doing here?’ Leering into her face, he laughed. ‘Can’t resist me, is that it?’
She batted her eyelashes. ‘I get lonely sometimes,’ she answered. ‘Is that so hard to understand?’
He took a long, slow breath. ‘It is, yeah. You’re an attractive woman … not short of a bob or two, by the looks of it, and here you are, slumming through the back streets to see an old lag like me.’
Smiling, she observed his muscular figure, with the first signs of a rounded stomach, and that unkempt face with its peculiar, rough appeal and, stepping forward, she stroked his bare arm. ‘You’re not an “old lag”,’ she murmured.
‘Oh, but I am.’ He was deliberately taunting her. ‘When a man’s been in prison, what else would you call him, but an old lag? I’m a bad man, Helen.’ His eyes were hard like two bright marbles. ‘Some of us are locked up because we deserve to be.’
She touched him tenderly, her fingers curling round the hairs on his broad chest. ‘If you’d rather I left …’ her voice was like silk in his ear, ‘I’ll go now … if that’s what you really want?’
‘O’ course it’s not what I want.’ His features softened. ‘You don’t know how glad I am that you took me home that night,’ he said gratefully. ‘I were in a bad state – drunker than I’ve ever been in my life.’
She gave a soft, knowing laugh. ‘You were in need of help.’
With a wicked look in his eye, he asked meaningfully, ‘And are you in need of help?’
‘You know I am. Why else would I be here?’
Grabbing her to him, he kissed her hard on the mouth, one hand undoing her dress, the other snaking round her waist.
There was little foreplay and even less tenderness. It wasn’t long before they were naked and locked together, writhing on the floor in ecstasy. The coupling was fast and furious, leaving them collapsed into each other, gasping and breathless.
A short time later, the cabbie almost leaped out of his skin when she banged on the window. ‘Open the door, dammit!’ In the streetlight, with her face pressed to the window, she made a frightening sight to a poor wakening man.
Scrambling across the seat, he opened the door. ‘What time is it?’
She was smiling like a cat who’d got the cream. ‘It’s time to take me home,’ she said.
And because his every instinct told him she was trouble, he lost no time in taking her home as fast as he could.
Edna hurried home to Peter Street.
‘I’ve kept the kettle on to boil.’ A small, round figure with balding head and pot belly, Harry had been wed to Edna these past forty years, and he loved her now as much as he had ever done. ‘Sit yerself down, lass.’ Scrambling out of the chair, he began his way to the kitchen. ‘I’ll mek yer a brew.’
When the tea was made, the two of them sat before the fire, comfortable in each other’s company, and as always, the low-burning fire making them drowsy. ‘Everything all right when you got back there, lass?’
‘Aye, in the end,’ she replied.
‘Don’t let that woman upset you, lass. She’s not worth losing a minute’s sleep over.’ Sliding down in the chair he closed his eyes.
Seemingly unaware that her husband was ready for his bed, Edna remarked on what she had overheard. ‘That devil were calling me names again.’
Looking up, Harry scratched his head. ‘What’s that you say, lass?’
Edna tutted. ‘Sylvia’s awful sister. She were calling me names to Mr Hammond.’
He shook his head in disgust. ‘She’s a bad lot, is that one. Anyway, how d’yer know she were calling yer names? Did Mr Hammond mention it then?’
‘Naw, course he didn’t. He would never do that. He doesn’t like trouble, doesn’t Mr Hammond; he prefers a peaceful life. No, I overheard the two of them talking about Sylvia, and I heard her say as how I weren’t fit to be looking after her. She reckons he should get somebody more suited.’
‘Huh! He’ll not get nobody more suited than you, lass. By! You’ve got more qualifications an’ experience than she’ll ever have!’
Edna smiled at that. ‘You allus did credit me with more than I deserve.’ Though she did allow herself a little pat on the back. ‘But you’re right o’ course,’ she conceded. ‘I worked long and hard over the years, and if I say so meself, I look after Sylvia better than anyone else ever could … matter o’ fact I don’t think she’d ever agree to anybody else taking care of her. Y’see, she’s come to rely on me for everything.’
Harry couldn’t agree more. ‘Aye! An’ that’s ’cos she loves you like you were her own mammy,’ he retorted. ‘Look, lass. You tek no notice o’ that sister of hers. She’s an out-and-out troublemaker. Like you say, she’s got her eye on Luke Hammond, and soonever his wife is out of it, she’ll be in there afore yer can thread a needle.’
Edna laughed at his boldness. ‘And you’re right,’ she told him, with a loving pat on the hand. ‘But I mentioned that to you in confidence, so you must never repeat it to another soul, or I’ll be sent packing for good, and no mistake.’
By the time she’d finished speaking, he was beginning to nod off. ‘Hey! Come on, you.’ Shaking him fully awake, she urged, ‘Off to bed with you, an’ I’ll be up alongside you in a few minutes.
After he’d gone, she thought about the conversation between Luke Hammond and his scheming sister-in-law. Harry’s right she thought. That sister of hers is a devil in the making!
She thought of Sylvia’s predicament. ‘I do love that poor lass, though,’ she muttered. ‘By! If her sister had her way, Sylvia would be shut away in some institution or another by now, leaving the coast clear for that madam Georgina to work her wiles. But thankfully, the lass will be safe enough.’ She comforted herself with the thought. While Luke Hammond has the final say, his wife will be well looked after, God willing. With me there to tend her every need.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_ae0eb68e-e985-5e90-95fd-27d6a8cd7f89)
‘COME ON, YOU lazy pair!’ Dave’s voice sailed through the house. ‘Let’s be having you.’
‘What’s up?’ Sleepy-eyed, Amy leaned over the banister. ‘Is there a fire or what?’
‘There will be if you don’t get your backsides down here.’ Positioning himself on the second stair, Dave told her, ‘It’s ten past six. I’ve made the fire, boiled the kettle and now I’m ready for my breakfast.’
Amy glanced at her parents’ bedroom door. ‘Where’s Mam? Why didn’t she get up with you?’
‘Because she likes her bed too much, that’s why.’ Banging the banister again he pleaded, ‘Go and knock the door … tell her I’m ready for off.’
Amy groaned. ‘It’s surely not that time yet, is it?’ So far there had not been one day when the shop was late opening.
‘Happen not. But it soon will be if you don’t get a move on. So shift yourself, lass. And wake your mam up, will you?’
Grumbling and moaning, he lumbered into the kitchen where he checked the gas-ring. ‘Damn thing, it’s allus going out.’ Striking a match on the range, he lit it again. ‘One o’ these days I’ll chuck the bloody thing in the river and be rid of it once and for all!’
Glancing at the mantelpiece clock, he groaned. ‘Jesus! I’m getting nowhere at this rate.’
Making his way to the bottom of the stairs, he called up again, ‘MARIE … AMY! What the devil’s keeping you?’
Halfway to her parents’ room, Amy turned and came back. ‘What now?’
‘Did you wake your mam up?’
‘Not yet, but I will if you’ll give me a chance.’
‘Look, lass … get her out, will you? I can’t be going to work without summat inside me … I’d make my own breakfast, but you know what happened the last time I tried cooking on that blessed gas stove!’
‘And how could we ever forget?’ Having been woken by the yelling and shouting, Marie emerged fully dressed from her bedroom. ‘By! You should be ashamed … a grown man who can’t fry an egg without setting fire to the kitchen.’ Coming along the landing, she winked at Amy who by now was wide awake.
Relieved to see Marie already out and fighting fit, he called up, ‘Come on, lass. I don’t want to be late.’
‘Stop your moithering. I’m on my way.’ Starting down the stairs, Marie noticed how Amy was shivering. ‘Aw, lass, you’ll catch your death o’ cold. You go and get yerself dressed,’ she instructed in her best no-nonsense voice, ‘while I make a start on the breakfast.’ She feverishly rubbed her hands together. ‘By! It’s bitter cold! I hope your dad’s got a good fire going.’ Giving Amy a little push, she urged, ‘Go on, lass. Get dressed.’
‘Thanks, Mam.’ Drawing her robe tight about her, Amy felt the cold right through to her bones. ‘Don’t worry about my breakfast,’ she told Marie, ‘I’ll do myself a boiled egg and toast when I get down.’
Marie wagged a finger. ‘Your breakfast will be on the table soonever you’re ready,’ she promised. ‘Now go on. Be off with you.’
Amy didn’t argue. It would not have made any difference anyway. ‘All right, Mam, thanks. I’ll not be long.’
Hurrying back to her bedroom, Amy winced as the bare feet struck against the cold lino. It was November now, and the winter’s cold seeped into every corner, yet even in summer the warmth of the sunshine could not seem to find its way in, not even when every window in the house was open.
Grabbing her clothes, she went along to the bathroom, where she quickly cleaned her teeth and washed herself. A few minutes to brush her hair and she was ready for the day ahead.
Humming a tune to herself, she danced down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, where her parents were already seated at the table.
‘You look nice, love.’ Always ready with compliments for his two women, Dave looked up from his forkful of bacon. Taking note of Amy’s pretty blue jumper and the dark flared skirt that fell to just below the knees, he saw how her eyes sparkled and her brown hair shone, and he was curious. ‘Off somewhere special, are we?’
‘Only as far as the shop.’ She sat down, her egg and toast already on the table. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’ He winked mischievously. ‘You wouldn’t be seeing a fella would you, lass? I mean, in my experience, when a young lady has that particular sparkle in her eye, it’s usually because she’s found herself a fella.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Amy answered with a shy little smile, ‘but I haven’t “found a fella”, and nor am I likely to … unless he comes into the shop for a packet of drawing-pins or a pound of cheese.’ Strange she thought, how her father’s words made her think of the handsome man who visited the café on a Tuesday.
‘No fella, eh?’ Dave sighed. ‘Ah, well, it’s a terrible shame, that’s all I can say … especially when you look pretty as a picture this morning.’ Dave had never fooled himself about his darling daughter. Amy was a kind and wonderful young woman with a beautiful way about her that attracted all manner of compliments, but she was not what you might describe as pretty. She was more than that, he thought proudly, and he would not have her any other way. That rogue Don Carson had let her down badly, but she was probably well out of it. Don had been a bit too slick for Dave’s liking – he’d always suspected there was something not quite trustworthy about him. Shame he’d broken his little girl’s heart, though. Her confidence had been badly shaken. It’d take a special fella to make her trust again.
‘You may not know it, lass,’ he went on, ‘but you’re a real head-turner – bright and winsome, like a ray of sunshine, that’s what you are.’ He was inwardly pleased when she flushed with embarrassment.
Having heard and seen the exchange between husband and daughter, Marie chuckled through her toast. ‘Tek no notice, lass,’ she told Amy. ‘Your father’s allus had a silken tongue. He’s the world’s best flatterer … Matter of fact it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t chat up the girls wherever he goes.’
‘Nonsense!’ Dave took umbrage at her remarks. ‘Why would I do a thing like that?’
She gave Amy a sly little wink. ‘One pretty smile from some wayward girl, and he’d be putty in her hands.’
Dave would have none of it. ‘There’s only two girls in my life,’ he declared sombrely, ‘and they’re right here at this table!’
It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to more serious matters. ‘Anyway, what are you doing up so early?’ Chopping off the top of her egg, Amy cut her toast into long thin soldiers. ‘You don’t have to be at work until eight.’
Taking a deep gulp of his tea, Dave pushed back his chair. ‘Mr Hammond is giving us a pep talk this morning and he wants us all in by half-past seven.’
Marie looked up. ‘What kind of pep talk?’
‘God only knows.’ He frowned. ‘We shall just have to wait and see.’
‘Are you worried about your job, Dad?’
Dave shrugged. ‘We’ve all been worried, Amy,’ he imparted quietly. ‘Work seems to be slowing down of late, and I’m told that two of the wagons were parked up for the best part of last week. On top of that, half the factory floor is completely empty.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Some of the lads who’ve been there since Hammonds started up say they’ve never seen it like that before.’
‘Oh, Dave, I hope he’s not setting some of you off. I know how much you like your job.’ Marie knew that when work ran short, the rule was always last in first out.
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that, lass.’ Seeing their worried faces he assured them, ‘It’ll be summat and nowt, you’ll see. And besides, the brush production side of it has never been busier. While the two wagons have been parked up, the brush delivery vans have been on the go as usual. Look, don’t worry. I’m sure there’ll be an explanation for the slow-down on the other side.’
Marie nodded. ‘Happen you’re right, love.’
But she was uneasy all the same.
Dave left in plenty of time. ‘I’ll see you both later,’ he said and, with a twinkle in his eye, he told Amy, ‘This fella you’ve got in your sights, don’t keep him all to yourself, lass. Me and your mam would like a glimpse of him some time or another.’ And with that, he went away whistling.
However, when he got out of earshot, the whistling stopped. ‘I hope Hammond’s not about to finish some of the workforce,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want to lose my job. I can’t go back working in the shop, not now our Amy’s given up her own job to help her mam. And, oh, I did hate being cooped up.’
Striding along in the cold morning air, he felt like a free man. There was something about being outside, even when he was driving along in his wagon – something so natural and satisfying, he would be greatly sad to lose it.
‘Morning, Dave.’ The big man was a loader at Hammonds. ‘I’m not looking forward to this ’ere meeting, I can tell you.’
‘Morning, Bert.’ Dave greeted him with a friendly nod, though his voice carried a worried tone. ‘Do you reckon we’re in for the chop then?’
‘Oh, aye.’ The big man’s expression said it all. ‘I reckon some of us are bound to be finished. What with the building half empty and two wagons stood off, we must be losing orders. I can’t see Hammond keeping a full workforce on, however good a man he is. Can you?’
As they turned the corner of Montague Street, they saw the tram about to pull out. Setting off at a run, they leaped onto the platform and hurried to sit down.
‘I think you might well be right,’ Dave said, squashing himself next to the big man who was taking up two-thirds of the slatted seat. ‘And if he is getting shut of some of us, I’ll surely be one of ’em,’ he contemplated. ‘Last in first out, isn’t that what they say?’
‘Mmm.’ Preoccupied with his own predicament and the missus with a new babby on the way, Bert didn’t answer straight off. Instead he stared absent-mindedly out the window, his mind turning over what Dave had said. ‘It doesn’t allus work out that way,’ he replied presently. ‘Sometimes they get rid of the older ones first. And that’ll be me included.’
They spent the rest of the journey in silence. There was much to think about, and the more they thought, the more anxious they became.
While Luke straightened his tie at the hall mirror, Sylvia looked on.
‘Why are you going so early this morning?’ Drawing near, she looked proudly at his reflection in the mirror. Immaculate in a dark blue suit, with white shirt and dark tie, he looked every inch the employer gentleman. ‘You look especially smart today.’
She reminded herself that he looked smart every day when he was going to his work. But on a Tuesday, he didn’t go to his work. She knew that because she had given Georgina the slip when they were out shopping and gone to his factory once, and he hadn’t been there. ‘He never comes in of a Tuesday, miss,’ some helpful, misguided lad had told her.
So, in spite of her enquiries and much to her consternation, she still did not know where he went on Tuesdays. She had asked him many times, but he always fobbed her off. ‘Work doesn’t present itself,’ he told her. ‘I need to put time aside to go looking for it.’ Which, even Sylvia knew, was no lie.
‘I have to be at work for seven fifteen,’ he answered her question.
‘Why?’ She hated it when he left in the mornings.
Used to her inquisitions, Luke answered her again. ‘Because I’ve called the men together for a special meeting.’ Leaning sideways he gave her a sound kiss. ‘It wouldn’t go down well if I was late, would it now?’
‘And what about me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t want you to leave me, that’s all.’
Concern showed on his face. ‘What’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?’ He had tried hard to read the signs but her moods were so unpredictable, it was impossible to know.
‘No there isn’t!’ She began to grow agitated. ‘I know what you’re thinking, though,’ she snapped sulkily. ‘Go on then. Why don’t you ask me if I’m about to go crazy?’ She was painfully aware of the times when she lost control, and afterwards, filled with shame and fear, she knew little about what had taken place. During that dark period when her mind went into some kind of chaos, she was totally helpless.
Lately, because of something her sister said, she had convinced herself it was the price she had to pay for taking a lover outside her marriage. Sometimes Georgina said things like that – things that made Sylvia feel bad, and which she found hard to forget. Georgina had always had a spiteful streak. Sometimes they were such friends – like sisters ought to be – and then Georgina would be mean. When they were little, Mummy had said Georgina was just jealous, when Sylvia told tales of her, and to take no notice. But now Sylvia found it hard to cope with her sister’s unkindness, which, as ever, could strike out of the blue.
Now as she goaded him, the fear was etched in her face. ‘Go on, Luke! Ask me if I’m about to lose control!’
Turning, he took her gently by the shoulders, his voice soft with compassion. ‘And are you,’ he asked, ‘about to lose control?’ There were times when she took him by surprise. One minute she would be perfectly normal, and the next she would be like a raving lunatic, hitting out at anything and anybody; smashing whatever she could lay her hands on.
It was at times like that, when he feared she might harm herself.
‘Stop fussing.’ Pushing him away, she suddenly smiled. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘In fact, I’ve never felt better.’
‘So, what did you mean just now when you said, “What about me?”’
‘Like I said … I don’t want to be left alone, that’s all.’ A little flurry of fear turned her insides over.
Astonished, he asked, ‘Do you really think I would leave you alone?’
Just then the rear door opened and Edna popped her head round. ‘Seven o’clock, Mr Hammond,’ she said with a homely grin. ‘And here I am, as promised.’
Sylvia’s face lit up. ‘Edna, it’s you!’
‘Well, it isn’t anybody else, you can be sure o’ that,’ came the chirpy reply. ‘Now then, who wants a brew?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’ Concerned about the time, Luke told her, ‘I’d best be off or I’ll be late.’
‘Well, it won’t be because I let you down,’ she declared. ‘I were out of my bed a full hour afore time on account o’ you.’ She wagged a finger as she told him mischievously, ‘O’ course, I’ll be wanting overtime money, you understand?’
He tutted. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I can promise anything like that,’ he teased. He and Edna understood each other very well.
Having already removed her coat and slung it over her arm, she pretended to put it back on. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Her voice was firm but her smile was growing. ‘If you aren’t going to treat me right, I shall take leave of you.’
Sylvia chuckled. ‘Behave yourselves! Stop teasing her,’ she chided Luke. And turning to Edna, she told her firmly, ‘And you’re just as bad. “Overtime money”, indeed. We’ve always looked after you and always will.’
Looking mortified, Edna curtsied. ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ she stuttered contritely. ‘Please don’t sack me. I won’t do it again.’
With a little laugh, Sylvia asked, ‘Didn’t you say something about “making a brew”?’
Edna laughed out loud. ‘I’ll make it right away,’ and she departed the room in a burst of merry laughter.
‘Edna is pure gold,’ Luke said. ‘She’ll take good care of you, and before you know it I’ll be back home.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t leave me on my own,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry I was surly before.’
He slid his arm round her waist. ‘It’s all right.’
‘You’re so patient with me,’ she answered softly. ‘Any other man would have left long since.’
‘No they wouldn’t,’ he assured her, ‘not if they loved you as much as I do.’ Yet though he loved her, he was not in love with her. Sadly, with her affair with Arnold Stratton, and its consequences, she had severed that very special bond that held them together as man and wife.
It had been of her choosing, when she’d taken another man in place of Luke. But she was still his wife and, as far as he was concerned, that gave him certain responsibilities.
‘Kiss me, Luke … please.’ Like a spoiled child, she gave up her face for a kiss and he obliged. ‘I’ll come to the door with you.’ Taking hold of his hand, Sylvia went with him to the front door. ‘What’s this meeting about?’
‘I’ll tell you when I come home,’ he promised.
‘Tell me now!’
‘There’s no time now.’
‘I won’t let you go until you tell me!’ The smile remained, but the voice began to quiver.
Edna appeared on cue. ‘Now, now, dear. Let your husband get off,’ she urged gently. ‘He has important things to see to. Let’s you and me go and sit down for a few minutes, eh? I’ll make you some toast and marmalade, what about that?’
For a long, worrying moment, the younger woman stared at Edna, then she smiled at Luke, a coy little smile. ‘I’ll let you go,’ she told him, ‘for another kiss.’
Bending to kiss her on the mouth, he assured her, ‘We’ll talk when I get home. All right?’
Her smile widened. ‘Yes … all right.’
‘That’s my girl!’
‘Come on then, my dear,’ Edna said. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, we’re going shopping today.’
Sylvia appeared not to be listening. Instead she was standing at the open door, her gaze following Luke as he went to the car. A moment later he was gone and she was still waving. ‘It’s all right, he’s gone now.’ Edna would have closed the door but Sylvia put her foot there.
‘Why did he have to go early?’
‘He’s promised to tell you all about it when he gets home, and you told me yourself, he’s never yet broken a promise. Come on now, let’s go and get that toast on, eh?’ Edna had learned to read the signs. ‘Close the door, then we’ll go into the kitchen you and me.’
Ignoring her, Sylvia waved after Luke until her arm ached and when she turned it was with an expression of disbelief. ‘He’s gone!’
Edna quietly smiled. ‘That’s right, my dear … he’s gone to his work. So don’t you think you should close the door now?’ When Sylvia made no move, she stepped forward to shut out the cold morning air.
‘NO!’ Catching her heavily across the shoulder with a fist, Sylvia hissed through clenched teeth, ‘You leave it!’
Clutching her shoulder, Edna gave her a hardened stare. ‘Keep hold of yourself, child,’ she chastised harshly. ‘I meant only to close the door.’
‘There’s no need. Look, I can do it myself.’
With a sly little grin, Sylvia took a step sideways, then, gripping the edge of the door, she slammed it shut with all her might. The shuddering impact rattled the nearby shelf, sending ornaments crashing to the floor.
For a long, nerve-racking moment both women stared at the broken china.
Suddenly, the silence was broken with what sounded like a child sobbing, ‘Don’t punish me … please. I didn’t mean it.’
Before Edna could stop her, Sylvia had picked up a long shard of broken glass, crying out in pain when the sharp edges cut into her flesh. ‘Oh, Edna, look what I’ve done.’ All sense of reason had gone and in its place was the innocent fear of a child hurt. Holding the offending arm up for Edna to see, she began wailing. ‘I’ve done something bad, haven’t I?’ She appealed to the older woman with sorry eyes, ‘What’s wrong with me, Edna?’
Her cries collapsed into sobs and Edna’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s all right, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be all right.’ But she would never ‘be all right’. Both Luke and Edna knew that, and maybe, deep down in the darkest corner of her mind, Sylvia knew it too.
The tears of remorse were genuine, as Edna knew all too well. ‘I’ll take care of it, child,’ she soothed, leading her away. ‘Once it’s washed and cleaned, it’ll be good as new.’
A swift examination told her that this time the wound was only flesh deep, thank God.
It was Luke Hammond’s father who had started the brush-making factory. Twice it had almost gone under and twice he brought it back to profit.
Luke grew up with it. He learned the art of business at an early age and had been groomed to deal with men on all levels. Like his father he respected his workers and was well trusted. Also, like his father he had a tireless passion for the business.
After his father was gone, he had taken up the reins and developed the business further. Now it was two businesses rolled into one. On the one side was the production of brushes: scrubbing brushes; horse brushes; yard sweepers, and anything that cleaned as long as it had bristles. Brushes of any kind had been the original backbone of the Hammond business and they still were.
But now there was another business growing alongside; a business started by Luke and which served others. There were many other companies in industrial Lancashire – some small and just starting out, and which had neither the capital nor premises to store the goods they produced. This was where, only a few years back, Luke had seen an opportunity.
Thanks to his father, he was fortunate to own a warehouse and factory premises of sizeable proportions, with room to spare for the brush-making business. ‘I have ample space,’ he told the owners of the small businesses at various meetings he’d arranged. ‘And I intend purchasing a fleet of wagons, so if we can close a deal, I’ll not only take your goods for storage, but I’ll deliver them as well. We can agree a long-term contract, or a short one that will let you out should you decide to expand your own concern.’
His intention was to provide such a good service that they would have no reason to sever relations.
Just as he had hoped, the idea was well received. Terms were agreed, and deals made, and it had turned out to be the best thing Luke had ever done.
News of the success of the arrangement spread, and it wasn’t long before larger, more established company men were knocking on Luke’s door. ‘We need to diversify,’ they said. ‘Our factory space is desperately needed for production and right now we have no wish to purchase other premises, but if we could utilise our present storage area and sell off our wagon fleet, we could grow our businesses overnight.’
Deals were struck that allowed Luke to take over old wagons, which had since been exchanged for newer ones.
Luke’s distribution business prospered, though its downside was that whenever one of his customers took a wrong turn and went under, Luke lost a sizeable slice of his business’s turnover. This had happened a few times, and on each occasion it threatened a serious step back.
This was what his employees now feared: that there had been others who had taken that ‘wrong turn’ and now it was themselves who were about to lose their livelihoods.
And so this morning, when they would learn their fate, they gathered from all parts of the factory: from the brush-making side, where the machines clattered all day and both men and women worked them with expertise, some cutting out the wooden shapes that would make the brush-tops, some feeding the bristles into the holes that were ready drilled and cleaned, and others fashioning and painting the handles.
When the production line produced the finished articles, the packers would neatly set them into boxes and the boxes would be carted away for delivery.
By nature, this was a dusty, untidy area, with the smell of dry horsehair assailing the nostrils, and the fall of bristles mounting high round the workers’ feet. Yet they loved their work and many a time the sound of song would fill the air.
The other side of the premises was cleaner, with mountainous stacks of boxes and parcels from other factories as well as Hammonds, all labelled and ready for delivery, and the four wagons in a neat row outside waiting to be loaded.
For the past few days, however, there had been only two wagons waiting, with the other two stationary further up the yard. Rumours had circulated, unease had settled in, and now, the mood of worried workers was so palpable, it settled over the factory like a suffocating blanket.
From his office at the top of the factory, Luke watched the workforce gather in the front yard. ‘They’re in a sombre mood,’ he told the clerk.
‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ A ruddy-faced Irishman with tiny spectacles and tufts of hair sprouting from his balding head, old Thomas kept his nose glued to his accounts book.
Luke had some fifty people in his employ, and seeing them gathering in one place like now, it made a daunting sight, which filled him with pride and a sense of achievement, and also with apprehension. ‘They’re a good lot,’ he told the clerk.
‘Aye, they are that, Mr Hammond.’ Licking his pencil Thomas made another entry in his ledger.
Luke turned from the window to address him. ‘I expect they’ll be wondering why I’ve called them together like this.’
This time, Thomas glanced up. ‘Aye, they will that, Mr Hammond.’ The old man had been with Luke’s father before him, and was a loyal, trustworthy man who knew everything there was to know about the Hammond business.
Looking away, Luke smiled. ‘You’re a man of few words, Thomas.’
Thomas gave a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Aye, I am that, Mr Hammond.’ Now as he glanced up, he smiled a wrinkly smile. ‘A man o’ few words, that’s me, so it is.’
Realising all the workforce were now gathered and waiting, Luke straightened his tie and fastened the buttons on his jacket. ‘It’s time,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I’d best tell them why they’re here.’
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Josephine Cox
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 17.04.2024
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О книге: When friendship becomes love, two people must face their greatest fear – being hurt again… The powerful besteller from the country’s number one storyteller.Luke Hammond: handsome, rich, charismatic, cursed by private tragedy. Amy Atkinson: humble and kind with a good – but wounded – heart. When they meet by chance, a spark of love takes hold of their hearts.But neither are sure that they can dare to love again. And what of Luke′s public life, hidden from Amy? The owner of a large factory, he is a pillar of the community, married – though in name only. Amy is torn between her head and her heart, but her sense of honour is paramount – and when she discovers his true identity, she is thrown into even greater turmoil.Then disaster strikes and the future looks troubled indeed ….