Forgive and Forget (33 page)

‘Mother didn’t like unnecessary expense and I’m sure you agree. You’re a very sensible girl, Polly.’

Polly had nodded, but a tiny corner of her heart longed for someone to press money into her hand and say, ‘Go out and buy the prettiest wedding dress you can find.’

But no, her wedding finery had to be useful.

The church service was brief; Polly scarcely felt married. And then they all went to the George and Dragon, where the landlord had generously provided a few sandwiches for the special day of two of his regular customers. Without William and Roland, and others like them, he would barely scratch a living.

The time Polly had been dreading came all too quickly, the moment when Roland took her home to the rented house that was now in his name. For the first time since Roland had begun his gentle courtship, they were completely alone.

Polly’s wedding night was nothing like she had dreamt it would be; she was not in the arms of the man she loved. She was fond of Roland – how could she not be, he had been so kind to her and her family? – but this was nothing like her girlish dreams of ecstasy had been. Roland was nervous and trembling. He was so obviously totally inexperienced. It was over quickly with Roland weeping against her neck and saying over and over, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

Polly held him close and stroked his hair. But the darkness hid her own tears of loss and desolation.

‘Roland, would you mind if my family came here for Christmas?’

‘Of course not. It’d be wonderful. We can give them a Christmas to remember.’ He put his arms around her. ‘You’ve not had it easy, Polly, and I want to take care of you and if looking after your family too is part of it, then that’s fine with me.’

Impulsively, Polly stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He really was such a good, kind man. Perhaps he didn’t agree with splashing out on a fancy wedding dress, but he was generous in other ways. ‘Thank you, Roland.’

Polly had taken her marriage vows very seriously; she would cherish him and care for him and she would try very hard, every day, to love him as he deserved. But the sort of love she felt for Leo did not come to order.

Despite Eddie’s absence, it was a merry Christmas for the Longdens and the Spicers. With more money to spend on Christmas fare, Polly produced a feast fit for royalty and Stevie pronounced that he felt ‘FRUTB’.

‘Whatever’s that mean?’ Miriam asked, clutching the new rag doll that Polly had made her.

‘Full right up to busting,’ Stevie declared, patting his stomach. ‘I ain’t never felt so full in me life.’

He grinned, happy that he’d been able to make a contribution to the meal. On Christmas Eve he’d arrived at Polly’s new home laden with a basket of vegetables and fruit and a small Christmas tree.

‘Don’t look so worried, Poll,’ he’d reassured her as he struggled into the house. ‘It’s all paid for. Well, some of it, but Mr Wilmott really has given me some decent bits today.’ He tipped the contents of the basket onto the table and stood back proudly. ‘Will that help, Poll?’

‘Oh, Stevie, it’s wonderful.
And
a little tree.’

‘There’s no decorations.’

‘Never mind. I’ll scatter some cotton wool over it. It’ll look like it’s snow-covered and if I can find some bits of coloured paper, I could make paper chains.’

‘Oh, Miriam’s been making some at school. I’ll ask her to bring them round.’

And on Christmas Day the family sat around the table in Roland’s best front room – a room that had been long unused – lingering over the wonderful meal. William raised his glass of the beer that Roland had brought home.

‘To the Longdens and the Spicers . . .’ He began.

‘And the Fowlers,’ Violet piped up. ‘Michael’s a Fowler, don’t forget.’

William frowned. ‘No, he ain’t. He’s a Longden. That’s his name. And you wouldn’t have included that bugger’s name on the lad’s birth certificate if I’d had anything to do with it.’

‘Now, now, no squabbling today,’ Polly said as she, too, raised her glass. ‘Here’s to us all, whatever our names are.’

‘Aye, well said, Poll.’ William’s dour expression cleared. ‘And here’s to a long and happy marriage for the two of you.’

After the remnants of the meal had been cleared away, Polly made up a parcel of food for Violet to take back to the Longdens’ home. ‘We shan’t eat all this, just the two of us. It’ll help see you through the week. Now, let’s get everyone into some noisy games.’

The house – just for a few hours – was filled with merriment, with Michael at the centre of everyone’s attention. He was growing into a lovely boy with dark hair and dark brown eyes and a smile that could soften the hardest of hearts. Even William, who’d never been very good with young children, took the little boy onto his knee and bounced him up and down playing, ‘Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop.’

They left, close on midnight. William, carrying the now sleeping child, said, ‘That were a grand day, Poll. And you, too, Roland.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re very welcome, Mr Longden. Thank
you
. This has been the best Christmas this house has seen in a long time.’

As they stood side by side in the doorway, Polly slipped her arm through Roland’s, feeling a surge of affection for this man who’d had such a lonely time caring for his ailing and, by all accounts, bad-tempered mother for years.

Tonight, she promised silently, I’ll be extra loving . . .

They settled down after the festivities and, with the New Year, fell into a routine that suited them both; Polly was a good and dutiful wife and she found solace in attacking the dust and grime of years in the little house.

Once again she had left work at the glue factory to become a housewife.

‘Now don’t you lose touch this time,’ Nelly told her.

‘You’re welcome to come round any time,’ Polly invited. ‘I’ll always be pleased to see you.’

To her surprise, Polly revelled in being able to make a real home. She bought remnants of material from the market and painstakingly stitched new curtains by hand. She paid only coppers for a bundle of scraps of material from the same stallholder to make patchwork cushions.

‘You’re Eddie’s sister, aren’t you?’ he asked her one day.

Polly looked at him warily, wondering how the man knew her brother and, more frighteningly, what he knew about Eddie.

The big man laughed. ‘Don’t look so scared, duck. I’m a mate of your brother’s. He worked for me for a while.’ He stuck out a huge paw of a hand. ‘Me name’s Albert Thorpe. Folks call me “Albie”.’ He laughed heartily. ‘Too many Berts around here already, so they call me Albie. Pleased to meet you, lass. Eddie was allus talking about you.’ Polly put her hand into his to find it almost crushed by a hearty grip. He laughed again. ‘Young Eddie was a rascal and no mistake. Got hissen into a bit of bother.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards a thin weaselly looking man. He was standing behind a stall selling cheap jewellery. ‘With him yonder – Vince Norton, they call him. We all like a good deal, us market traders, but we like ’em on the right side of the law, see. Now, Vince, he’s not above stepping across the line, if you get my meaning. If you ever get owt pinched, you look on Vince’s stall a week or two later.’ He tapped the side of his nose knowingly. ‘Chances are you’ll find it there.’

Polly smiled wryly. ‘I don’t reckon we’ve got much worth pinching, Mr Thorpe. But thanks for the tip.’

‘You keep well away from Vince Norton, duck. He gets the rest of us market traders a bad name. We’ve tried to get rid of him, but we ain’t managed it.’ He grinned widely, showing uneven teeth. ‘Not yet anyways.’

Polly shuddered, glad that Eddie was now out of the man’s clutches.

Albie leant across his stall and lowered his voice. ‘You heard from Eddie? I hope he’s all right. I liked the lad, even though he was bit of a tearaway.’

‘Just – just a brief note after he left. I’ve heard nothing since.’

The man lowered his voice even further. ‘Rumour has it that Eddie’s gone in the army. Went up the hill to the New Barracks the very next day after he left home to see what he had to do to join up. Now whether he was able to right there and then, I don’t know, but evidently, he saw a sergeant up there who’s always trying to find recruits for the regiment. So by the time the peelers caught up with young Eddie, he was signed up so they didn’t bother any more. Mind you, your brother didn’t do us any favours. We had the peelers sniffing round here for weeks.’ He straightened up and laughed again. ‘Still, it’s all blown over now and the rest of us keep an eye on Vince.’

Polly smiled. She knew a lot of the traders by their first names and mostly they were a good bunch. She – and her mother before her – had been regular customers, especially on a Saturday night when perishable food was sold off cheaply. She could feed the family for the rest of the week for less than half the price it would have cost her in the High Street shops. And Polly still came here. Although Roland earned a good wage and he was generous and trusting with her housekeeping money, she strove to be as thrifty and shrewd as she’d always had to be. The difference was that now she could save a few pennies each week and buy material to smarten up her home.

‘So,’ Albie said, ‘what can I do for you today, love?’

The man’s generosity knew no bounds and she staggered home with bundles of fabric remnants that she’d only paid him a few pence for. ‘No one else wants ’em, love. No offence, but not all women are as clever with a needle and thread as you must be. And do you need any thicker bits of material for making peg rugs? Now, they are popular so I can’t let you have them for nothing.’

‘Peg rugs?’ Polly said above the mound of material in her arms. ‘I – I don’t know how to make them.’

‘Oh, it’s easy. My missus makes ’em by the dozen.’ He pointed to two peg rugs displayed at the side of his stall, which seemed to sell anything and everything. ‘She makes ’em an’ I sell ’em. I could get her to show you how to do it, if you’d like.’

Polly was thinking quickly. They needed new rugs; the ones in Roland’s house were old and full of dust that wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard she beat them over the washing line in the backyard. And at home – she still couldn’t help but refer to the house her family lived in as home – they were in dire need of new rugs in all the rooms. The task would keep her busy for weeks – months, probably.

‘Would she mind?’

‘My Selina? Course she wouldn’t. She’s as much as she can manage to keep me supplied, let alone the few she gets asked to make. Mebbe – if you get good at it – you could help her out.’

Polly smiled doubtfully. ‘Maybe.’

‘I’ll get her to call round. Where do you live?’

Polly gave him Roland’s address. ‘Why, that’s only a couple of streets from us. I’ll tell her tonight, so you can expect a visit.’

And so Polly went home with her purchases and set about sorting out all the materials in the spare bedroom. Her mind was busy. There was enough for her to make a new patchwork quilt for their double bed. Her mind shied away from thoughts of what she had to endure in their marital bed.

‘Polly – where are you?’ It was Violet’s voice from below.

‘I’m up here. I’ll come down.’

She didn’t want Violet seeing all the fabric; she’d want Polly to make her a new dress. But when she went downstairs, picked up her nephew and cuddled him, she found that it was far more than a bit of sewing that Violet wanted.

‘I’m going mad in that house,’ her sister blurted out. ‘I don’t know how you’ve stood it all these years. Looking after such an ungrateful lot. And yes, before you say anything, I was one of them. I know that. But I’m no angel. Not like you. You gave up everything for our family. Oh, don’t deny it, Poll. We all know how you loved Leo yet you sent him away because of what he did to Dad. You’ve always put family first, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness.’

‘Roland’s a good man.’

‘I know that.’ And then, in a tone more gentle than Polly had ever heard her sister use, Violet said softly, ‘But he’s not Leo, is he?’

Her unexpected kindness and her understanding threatened to be Polly’s undoing. She’d never had anyone she could confide in, except perhaps Bertha once upon a time. She’d never trusted Violet with her secrets. But in that moment she came the closest she would ever come to unburdening herself to her sister. Just in time she remembered Violet’s innate selfishness, her spitefulness, and the words remained unspoken. Within only a few minutes, she knew she had been right to keep her counsel.

‘Anyway, what I came to ask you is, would you look after Michael while I go out to work?’

Polly stared at her. ‘But he’s only just over a year old. He needs his mother.’

‘Nonsense,’ Violet said briskly. ‘As long as he’s fed and changed, what else can a baby need?’

‘He needs love, that’s what. The same as I tried to give to Miriam after Mam died. The same as I tried to give all of you.’

Violet wriggled her shoulders. ‘Like I said, I’m not you. I want more out of life than stuck in a house all day. Housework’s just drudgery, Poll.’

Polly smiled. The best thing about having married Roland was that she had her own home now and she lavished all her love and attention on it. She didn’t regard cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing as drudgery. Not for a minute. In fact, she loved it. If only . . .