All My Tomorrows (24 page)

‘I have put all of Daisy’s clean clothes in the airing cupboard upstairs, and her toiletries are in the bathroom,’ said Doris. ‘It’s unhygienic to change her in the kitchen.’

Ron followed Cordelia’s lead and said nothing as he left the room with Daisy and clumped upstairs, Harvey shadowing his heels. ‘To be sure, ’tis a fine thing to be ordered about in your own home,’ he muttered as he gathered up a pile of nappies, a clean nightdress and the little tin of baby powder. ‘We’ll have you all warm and dry again, never you fear.’

He returned to the kitchen, dumped most of the nappies onto the dresser and carried Daisy down to his basement room to change her. It wasn’t the most ideal place, but he was damned if he would let Daisy get chilled in that freezing bathroom. Once she was clean and dressed for bed, he wrapped the blanket round her again and went back up to the kitchen to find everyone but Doris sitting at the table.

‘I’ve done her a little bowl of veg and gravy,’ said Rita, ‘and her bottle’s ready.’ She handed him a bib. ‘You might need this,’ she murmured. ‘Daisy’s a messy eater.’

Ron gave her a grateful smile and settled down to feed his granddaughter while Suzy put his plate of dinner in the slow oven to keep warm, and Sarah cut Cordelia’s food into tiny pieces so she could eat it with just a fork. There was no sign of Doris, and he could only guess that she’d taken herself off to her bedroom to await her supper tray.

‘Are ye not sitting down to eat with us, Phyllis?’ he asked the girl, who was still clattering pots at the sink.

‘I’ve got to get home to feed me dad,’ she replied shyly. ‘But thanks fer asking.’

Ron finished feeding Daisy and as her eyelids drooped and her thumb found its way to her mouth, he gently carried her out into the hall and placed her in the pram. She usually slept in her cot in Peggy’s room, but with Doris in there, he thought it wiser not to disturb her.

As he tucked into his rabbit stew, Harvey drooling at his feet under the table, Phyllis laid a tray and carefully carried it out and tapped on Doris’s door. Ron had never known the kitchen to be so quiet, and he asked Suzy to turn on the wireless.

‘I’m on duty tonight,’ said Rita as she eventually pushed away from the table. The others followed in quick succession, as if relieved to escape the dour atmosphere. Fran and Suzy went straight upstairs to do the ironing in their bedroom, while Sarah and her sister Jane helped a weary Cordelia to her room and helped her change for bed.

Phyllis came back into the kitchen, her little face wan from a very long, tiring day. ‘I’ll just wash the pots,’ she said, ‘then I’ll be off home.’

‘Leave them be,’ Ron replied as he filled his pipe and settled back in his chair. ‘I’ll do them after I’ve given Harvey a bit of a run.’

Phyllis wiped her hands down her apron and reached for her thin coat which hung on the back of the kitchen door. She shot a wary glance towards the hall, bit her lip and slowly pulled on the coat, her gaze darting to him from beneath her untidy fringe of hair.

Ron didn’t know much about Phyllis, only that she lived with her widowed father who suffered from lung trouble contracted in the trenches during the last war. She was only a slip of a thing, barely eighteen, and not the brightest button in the box, but he sensed that given the chance, she could do very much better than slave for Doris. As he watched her, he realised she was working up the courage to say something. ‘How’s your dad coming along, Phyllis?’ he asked.

‘He’s not getting any better really,’ she replied softly. ‘The doctor’s ever so kind, but there isn’t much he can do.’

‘It must be hard for you to work such long hours and then go back home to care for a sick man,’ he said, gently probing to get to whatever it was Phyllis had on her mind.

‘I don’t mind, Mr Reilly, only . . . Only the hours are a bit more than I really . . .’ She fell silent and fiddled with the buttons on her coat.

‘If all this is too much, then you must say,’ he said kindly.

Her eyes were bright with tears as she looked back at him. ‘Oh, Mr Reilly, I want to help while Peggy’s so poorly, really I do,’ she blurted out. ‘But I’m eighteen now and should be doing something proper for the war effort. I got a letter from the Labour Exchange yesterday and there’s a job going at the tool factory.’

She seemed to run out of steam and her shoulders slumped. ‘I’m supposed to start next week and the money’s three times what Mrs Williams pays me,’ she said quietly. ‘It would help no end to have a decent wage coming in, ’cos Dad’s medicines cost a lot, and I don’t always have enough at the end of the week to get him the fresh veg and meat he needs to get him better.’

Ron got up from the table and put his arm round Phyllis. ‘Ach, you poor wee wain, that’s a lot of responsibility for such narrow shoulders. Of course you must take the job. Doris will understand.’

‘I don’t think she will,’ replied a tearful Phyllis. ‘She’ll be ever so cross, and when she’s like that I just get all tongue-tied and muddled up and cave in.’

‘Don’t you fret now,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll square things with her.’

Her little face brightened as she looked up at him. ‘Will you, Mr Reilly?’ she breathed. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.’

Ron cleared his throat, dug in his trouser pockets and pulled out a ten-bob note. ‘Why don’t you take yourself off for the rest of the week so you can prepare yourself for your job in the factory?’ he said as he pressed the note into her hand. ‘I’ll see to it that Doris sends on any money you’re owed, but that should see you through for now.’

‘Oh, Mr Reilly,’ she breathed, ‘you are kind.’ She blinked away her tears and pocketed the money. ‘I don’t like leaving you in the lurch like this when Peggy’s so ill. Are you sure you don’t want me to—?’

‘Go home,’ he said firmly. ‘Peggy will understand, and no doubt feel all the better knowing you’re settled in a proper job and doing your bit for the war.’ As she opened her mouth to thank him again, he gave her a small nudge towards the cellar door. ‘Best you go the back way, Phyllis. Now hurry before the dragon comes out of her lair.’

She giggled and then hurried down the steps and out onto the back path.

Ron watched her go and returned her wave before she disappeared into the twilight. ‘Best of luck, Phyllis,’ he murmured. ‘I hope things turn out all right for you.’

He returned to the kitchen and eyed the dirty plates and pots waiting to be washed. Rolling up the sleeves of his ragged sweater and fraying shirt, he stacked everything to one side and turned on the taps. ‘Your walk will have to wait, Harvey,’ he said to the patient dog still sitting under the table.

‘I’ll do that,’ said Sarah as she came into the kitchen. ‘Jane’s reading to Aunt Cordelia, and the others are finishing the ironing, so I’m at a bit of a loose end.’ She patted Harvey who’d come out from beneath the table to greet her, and then reached for an apron.

‘Would it be all right if I leave you to it, walked Harvey and nipped into the Anchor to check on Pearl and Brenda? Only they’ve been left to their own devices all day, and there are bound to be barrels that need changing and crates brought up from the cellar.’

‘Of course,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ll keep an ear out for Daisy, never you mind.’

‘Ach, you’re a good wee girl, so y’are.’

‘Where’s Phyllis?’

They both turned to see Doris entering the kitchen with her supper tray. ‘I sent her home,’ said Ron.

‘You had no right to do that,’ she said, dumping the tray on the table. ‘There are still things I need her to do.’

Ron realised it would be better to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. ‘That’s as maybe,’ he replied, ‘but she’ll not be back, Doris. She’s handed in her notice.’

Doris waved this announcement away with a flick of her hand. ‘She’s always giving in her notice,’ she said. ‘She’ll be back soon enough.’

‘Not this time,’ he said evenly. ‘She’s eighteen and has been allocated a job at the tool factory.’

Doris stared at him, the colour draining from beneath the carefully applied make-up. ‘But she can’t,’ she breathed. ‘I need her to help me here.’

‘Her country needs her more,’ said Ron. ‘Don’t worry, Doris. You’ll soon get the hang of things around here, and with so many willing hands I’m sure you won’t miss her one little bit.’

Doris stared at him, her mouth twitching as a tic pulsed in her neck. Ron watched, fascinated by the way her face muscles worked and a strange light came into her eyes. If he hadn’t known her so well, he might have seen the light as tears, the expression one of profound loss tinged with fear. But before he could get his mind around such a strange phenomenon, she had turned on her heel and left the room.

‘What a very odd reaction,’ murmured Sarah.

‘Aye,’ muttered Ron. ‘I’ve never liked the woman, but for a moment there she looked almost lost and vulnerable and I nearly forgot m’self and felt sorry for her.’

He pondered on this as he remembered what Peggy had said earlier. He grabbed his poacher’s coat from the door hook. ‘You know, Sarah, I’m wondering if there’s not more to this than meets the eye.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted, ‘but I have a suspicion that there’s another motive behind this act of charity she’s foisted upon us – for it’s out of character, so it is – and the Doris I know never does anything that is not to her own advantage.’

Sarah eyed him quizzically as she dumped the cutlery into the hot soapy water. ‘It’s been a long, hard slog since dawn, and we’re all exhausted,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you’re not just imagining things, Uncle Ron?’

He shrugged into his coat as Harvey stood on the cellar steps waiting for him. ‘Time will tell, Sarah,’ he murmured as he pulled on his cap. ‘But I’ll lay odds on being right.’

Chapter Fourteen

RUBY HAD BEEN
living with the Frasers for two weeks, and in that time Harold had twice tried her door in the middle of the night, and his knee rubbed against her leg every time they sat at the dining room table. So far, she’d managed never to be alone with him, but she was getting tired of always being on her guard and had begun to think seriously about finding another billet.

Once again there was little food to be had for breakfast this morning, and although she’d been sorely tempted to cook one of Marjory Fraser’s precious eggs, she hadn’t quite got the nerve, so made do with toast and dripping and the heel of a bit of stale cheese. It didn’t taste very nice, but it lined her stomach and the two big mugs of sweet tea filled her up nicely.

She had tiptoed back to her room and wedged the door shut while she retrieved her hidden stash of money and tucked it deep into the pockets of her dungarees. Her shift finished at four today, and this was the first chance she’d had to get to the post office and open an account before she went in search of Stan at the station. He was a difficult man to find, for he seemed to be absent from his post a great deal and she had no idea where he lived. The lovely red scarf was still tucked in with her gas mask, and she was determined to give it to him before yet another week passed. Having checked the room was neat and tidy, she put the chair back and opened the door.

‘Well, good morning,’ said Harold, who was again resplendent in his dressing gown and slippers as he stood squarely on the landing and barred her way. ‘My goodness, you are an early bird, aren’t you?’

‘I’m on early shift and don’t like to waste the day,’ she replied. She eyed him coolly. ‘Excuse me, Mr Fraser, but I have to get to work.’

‘Please, Ruby, don’t be so formal after all this time of living here,’ he said as he came towards her. ‘You must call me Harry.’

Ruby’s back was almost pressed against her bedroom door, but she was also aware that Marjory was only in the next room and she doubted dear ‘Harry’ would risk anything much within her hearing. ‘I were always taught to be formal with them what’s a lot older than me,’ she said flatly. ‘Especially when they’re in their nightclothes.’ She took a small step away from the door. ‘I gotta go to work, Mr Fraser, and you’re in me way.’

‘Harry, what’s going on out there?’ Marjory’s voice drifted out to them from her bedroom.

‘Nothing, dear,’ he called back. ‘Just passing the time of day with Ruby.’

Ruby took advantage of this distraction and tried to dodge past him.

But Harold was a fast mover for a fat man and in the blink of an eye he had her pinned against the wall, his soft belly pressing into her as his hands grasped her hips and his hot breath feathered her face.

Ruby stamped the heel of her heavy boot on his toes and ground it in as hard as she could. ‘Do that again, and it’ll be me knee in yer nuts,’ she hissed.

‘What on earth is going on out there? Harold? Harold?’

Harold’s eyes were watering as he hopped about and tried to stifle the howl of pain and answer his wife.

Ruby fled down the stairs and slammed the front door behind her. She ran along Nelson Street, past the dairy and the allotments and finally reached the high fence that surrounded the factory estate.

She stopped for breath and began to chuckle at the memory of Harold’s startled face and the way he’d hopped about in silent agony as his wife continued to question him from the other side of her bedroom door. He was a dirty old man and it served him right.

Ruby’s laughter soon died and she sank onto a nearby garden wall, her thoughts very troubled. Harold would be furious about what she’d done this morning, and would probably be even more determined to have his wicked way with her. The situation wasn’t at all funny; it was escalating too quickly. Sooner rather than later, Harold would make another move – and she might not be able to fight him off next time.

‘You’re looking terribly serious for such a lovely morning,’ said Lucy as she came to sit beside her. ‘Whatever’s happened?’

Ruby thought about telling her and instantly dismissed the idea. Lucy was too young and innocent and would be horrified, tell her mother, and then all hell would break loose. ‘I just didn’t get a good night’s sleep,’ she replied instead.

‘Poor old you,’ said Lucy in sympathy as she knotted the square of bright blue cotton over her hair. ‘With no raids on last night, I slept like a log.’