Mother’s Ruin (23 page)

His face was grim as he went back into the living room, and though Patsy looked inviting with her top off and skirt up round her thighs, his passion had died. It had been great to see Angel that afternoon, but it served to emphasise how much he was missing her, and, if truth be known, Sally too. He’d blown it, blown his marriage, but why did Sally have to turn everyone against him?

‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Patsy asked and, as he sat beside her, she reached out to stroke his inner thigh.

‘That was my sister. It seems that Sally has told her another cock and bull story.’

‘Really! What has she said this time?’ ‘She’s told them that we’re getting married, and it seems that everyone believes her.’

‘Did you tell your sister that it isn’t true?’

‘No, I didn’t. Like my parents she’s chosen to believe what Sally tells them, so sod her. Sod them all.’

‘Never mind, darling,’ Patsy said, her voice honey soft. ‘They’ll come round in time, I’m sure of it, and in the meantime . . .’

Her lips covered his, warm and moist, and wanting to forget his pain, Arthur gave himself up to the sensations she aroused. Patsy too gave herself up to the passion, relief coursing through her body that the plan had worked.

Telling Sally that she and Arthur were getting married had been a risky thing to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It could have gone badly wrong, but thank goodness for Arthur’s pride. By not denying it, there was now a further wedge between him and Sally.

Thankfully there was a wedge between Arthur and his family too – one that she hoped would stay in place for a long time. His pride was something she could use against him, and with any luck it would cause him to propose soon. She wasn’t stupid and knew he didn’t love her, but what did love matter? If he asked her to marry him to get back at Sally, that was fine with her, and she’d say yes like a shot.

Chapter Thirty-Six

On a Thursday morning nearly a fortnight later, two things happened in quick succession in Candle Lane. The postman delivered a letter to every door, and before he had reached the last house, street doors were opening as neighbours converged.

Nelly Cox, her face white with shock, hurried to number five, and as Sally answered the door she bustled inside.

‘Ruth, have you had a letter?’

‘Yes, so I can guess why you’re here.’

‘I don’t care what they say, I ain’t leaving Candle Lane.’

‘As they’re pulling all the houses down, you won’t have any choice.’

‘They can demolish mine around me, but I ain’t shifting.’

‘You might get offered something better.’

‘What, in one of them matchbox blocks that are going up! No thank you, I ain’t going in one of them. If they want me out, they’ll have to bleedin’ carry me.’

‘We’ve been scheduled for redevelopment before and it didn’t happen,’ Sadie said. ‘Maybe the council will defer it again.’

‘I doubt it,’ Ruth murmured, but then Nelly swayed on her feet. ‘Sit down, love. You look fit to drop.’

Sally too saw the agitated state Nelly was in, her mother now urging, ‘Quick, Sal, make a pot of tea. I think Nelly’s in shock.’

Sally did her bidding while her mother gently touched the old woman’s shoulder saying, ‘I’m sorry, love, but I’ve got to leave for work or I’ll be late. We’ll talk again when I come home this evening.’

‘Yes, get yourself off,’ Sadie urged. ‘We’ll look after Nelly.’

Sally called goodbye to her mother as she hurriedly made the tea, making sure that it was good and strong. ‘Don’t worry, Nelly. It might be ages before they can re-house us all. The letter only says that we’re scheduled for redevelopment again, but it doesn’t say when.’

Nelly’s hands were shaking as she lifted the cup to her lips, and Sally found that she too began to worry about leaving Candle Lane. Would her mother be re-housed in a place large enough for all of them? If not, she’d have to find a flat, but with rent to pay she’d have to be sure of a weekly income from Arthur. So far she had drawn what cash was needed from their bank account, but was worried that Arthur would close it soon. If he did, until she received some financial settlement, she’d have no money.

Nelly swallowed the last of her tea, colour now returning to her cheeks. ‘You could be right, Sally. We could be here a long time yet.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Sadie said, ‘but our turn will come round eventually. The lane is going to be demolished, and that’s that.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Nelly cried with renewed vigour. ‘I don’t care what they say. I ain’t going. I’m staying put.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Sadie retorted. ‘When that huge ball starts swinging and knocking down the walls, you’ll be out of your place like a shot.’

‘No, I won’t! If we all refuse to shift, what can they do? In fact, I think I’ll go and have a word with everyone in the lane. If we stick together, we might be able to beat the buggers,’ Nelly said forcefully as she rose to her feet, something to act on giving her new strength.

‘Dream on, Nelly Cox,’ Sadie called, but the door had already closed behind the old woman.

‘Gran, do you think the council will offer us a three-bedroom flat?’

‘Blimey, I dunno, love. There’s only your mum and me down as living here now, so I doubt it. Mind you, she could inform them that you’re staying with us and it might make a difference. Have a word with her when she comes home.’

‘I’ll do that, but I’ll take Angel to school now or she’ll be late.’

As Sally left the house with her daughter, she saw that Nelly was already knocking on doors.

In the Walters’ house, the second traumatic event was unfolding.

‘Dad! Dad!’ Tommy shouted.

‘Wh . . . what?’

‘Dad, wake up! There’s somefing wrong with Mum.’

Denis Walters’ eyelids felt like they were stuck together with glue as he forced them open. He had worked late, coming home to a house that looked like a bomb had hit it. He’d searched in all of Laura’s usual hideaways, even finding empty bottles hidden in the boy’s room, and presenting her with the evidence, they’d had a stinking row. The stupid woman denied that she was drinking, yet she stank of booze, and he was just about ready to give up. Unable to face sharing her bed that night he’d fallen asleep on the sofa, but now his neck felt stiff as he struggled to sit up. ‘All right, son, I’m coming. Just give me a minute to get dressed.’

‘Hurry up, Dad. I can’t wake her up.’

Tommy’s words had him shooting to his feet and, quickly pulling on his trousers he took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the bedroom.

Denis blanched when he saw his wife’s face, knowing instantly that she was dead. With his stomach turning he said quickly to Tommy, ‘Run to the doctor’s, son. Tell him to come right away.’

‘Is Mum all right?’

‘Do as I say,’ Denis yelled, and as soon as his son had scampered downstairs he sank onto the side of the bed. Oh, Laura, Laura! If he hadn’t slept downstairs, would he have been able to save her? Had she died in pain, calling for him? Please, no, he thought, let her have gone in her sleep. The house felt strangely silent and he had no idea how long he sat there, gazing at his wife, his eyes burning, but dry. Eventually there were sounds in the hall, and Tommy walked into the room, the doctor behind him.

‘Tommy, go back downstairs,’ Denis ordered.

‘No, I want to see me mum.’

‘Do as I say!’

The doctor pushed past the boy, shaking his head as he looked at the bed. ‘Close the door, Mr Walters,’ he said, eyes flicking behind him to make sure that Tommy was safely outside.

Denis did as he asked, and after a quick examination the doctor spoke again. ‘I’m sure you’ve realised that your wife is dead, Mr Walters, and it was probably another heart attack. I’ll arrange for her body to be moved, but in the meantime I suggest you find someone to look after your son.’

His mind in a blur, Denis thanked the man and then grimaced. Christ, he’d thanked the doctor for telling him that his wife was dead. How bizarre was that? His mind jumped. Tommy, yes Tommy, the boy would have to be told, and then got out of the way while Laura’s body was taken out of the house.

Denis followed the doctor downstairs, dreading the task ahead of him as he showed the man out.

‘What’s wrong wiv me mum?’

‘Tommy, come here,’ Denis said, bracing himself as he placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. ‘I’m afraid your mum has passed away.’

‘What’s passed away? Did she faint?’

‘No, lad, your mother’s dead.’ Denis hated the brutality of the words, and as Tommy’s face crumbled he ineffectually pulled him into his arms, something he hadn’t done in years. The boy smelt musty, of unwashed clothes and an unwashed body.

As the child sobbed, Denis wondered how he was going to cope with him now. How could he work and look after a child? Christ, what was the matter with him? His wife had just died and here he was fretting about the future when she hadn’t even been buried yet.

Bloody hell! How was he going to pay for a funeral? They had no life insurance, no savings. Denis closed his eyes in despair.

Sally was on her way back from taking Angel to school when she saw the doctor leaving the Walters’ house. She wondered if Laura was ill again, and had only been indoors for a few minutes when someone knocked.

Denis stood on the step, his expression agonised. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened to Laura?’

Tommy shot out from behind his father, throwing his arms around Sally’s legs. ‘Me mum’s dead. Where’s Ruth? I want Ruth!’

‘You’d better come in,’ Sally invited, her arm automatically going around Tommy’s shoulders.

Denis shook his head, leaning forward to whisper, ‘The doctor is arranging for my wife’s body to be taken away. Can I leave Tommy with you until she’s gone?’

‘Of course you can, and if there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.’

‘Thanks,’ the man said and, as though unable to cope with his son’s grief, he quickly left.

‘Come on, Tommy,’ Sally said, leading him into the kitchen. As soon as Sadie saw the boy, she asked sharply, ‘Why ain’t you in school?’

‘Me . . . me muvver’s dead,’ he cried, throwing himself onto the sofa as his thin body shook with sobs.

‘Blimey, Sal, the poor little sod. His mum was so young too.’

Sally sat beside Tommy, pulling him into her arms, finding that her own tears were mingling with his. For the first time in ages Sally forgot her own pain as she gently rocked Tommy back and forth.

When Ruth arrived home from work, Tommy was back with his father, but on being told the news she was knocking on Denis Walters’ door minutes later.

The man opened it, his eyes shadowed with grief. Then, hearing her voice, Tommy scooted in front of his father, throwing himself at Ruth. She crouched down, holding him tightly, her heart aching for this little ragamuffin that she had come to love.

‘Come in,’ Denis said.

Ruth stood up and, holding Tommy’s hand, she followed Denis into the kitchen. It was in a disgusting state again and her nose wrinkled with distaste. It wasn’t right. Tommy shouldn’t have to live like this. ‘Denis, would you like Tommy to stay with me until you get things sorted out?’

‘I can’t ask you to do that.’

‘I don’t mind. He’s no trouble, and no doubt you have arrangements to make.’

‘What do you think, son?’

Tommy looked from one to the other, his face wet with tears. ‘I don’t ’spect you want to be on yer own, Dad. If you like, I’ll stay with you.’

Denis gulped, obviously touched by his son’s words. ‘There’s no need, son. I’ve got things to do, and you might be better off with Mrs Marchant.’

Ruth too was amazed at Tommy’s sensitivity, the child then saying, ‘All right, I’ll go with Ruth, but you will come to see me, won’t you, Dad?’

‘Of course, and when I’ve sorted things out you can come home.’

‘You’d best get yourself a few things, Tommy,’ Ruth urged. ‘Some clean clothes and underwear.’

‘I ain’t got any clean clothes.’

‘Then bring your dirty ones and I’ll wash them.’

As Tommy ran from the room, Denis said, ‘Laura loved the boy, she really did, but the booze changed her personality. I tried to stop her drinking, but I had to work and couldn’t watch her for twenty-four hours a day.’

Ruth nodded sympathetically, but her mind was elsewhere. Was Denis capable of looking after the boy? And as though Denis was aware of her thoughts, he spoke again.

‘I don’t know how I’m going to cope with him now.’

Tommy came back into the room, clutching a bundle of clothes to his chest. Rags, Ruth thought, they all look like rags, but she smiled gently as she took them. ‘Right, come on, love, let’s get you next door.’

‘Bye, Dad,’ Tommy said, surprising them both when he threw his arms around his father.

Denis impatiently pushed him away. ‘Off you go, son.’

Ruth’s lips tightened as she led Tommy out and, unbeknown to him or his father, there was one thought that kept going round and round in her mind. She loved the boy, and if Denis agreed, she’d welcome Tommy into her home, and her heart, permanently.

Later that evening, Nelly Cox stood on her doorstep, leaning against the stanchion. She had tried everyone in Candle Lane, but other than two or three people, none of the others were interested in mounting a protest. The young couples welcomed the demolition, saying they’d be glad to get out of this dump and were hoping to be re-housed in a better place.

Nelly looked down the lane. There were no trees, no front gardens, just flat-fronted terraced houses. She didn’t care. It might not be a pretty place, but it was her home and all her memories were here.

There had been sad times, but none of these came to mind as she looked back on the years. She recalled street parties, and would never forget the dancing in the lane at the end of World War Two. Another party had been arranged for Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation, and though it couldn’t compare to the end of the war celebrations, she had vivid memories of doing a knees-up with her neighbours.

Nelly’s eyes came to rest on the Walters’ house, newcomers like most people in the lane now, but she’d been saddened to hear of Laura’s death. In the old days all the neighbours would have banded together to help. A collection would have been arranged for flowers, and food organised for the funeral. Those days were gone, and instead of popping in and out of each other’s houses for a good old gossip, doors were locked and families sat in front of their televisions for hours on end.

Had anyone been to see how Denis Walters was coping? Yes, probably Ruth or Sally, but she doubted anyone else had bothered. A small voice whispered in Nelly’s conscience, and realising she hadn’t made the effort either, she quickly hurried to knock on the door.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your wife,’ she said as Denis opened it, saddened to see the pain in the man’s eyes. ‘I’ve come to see if there’s anything I can do.’

‘Thanks, do you wanna come in?’

She followed Denis into his dirty kitchen, asking, ‘How’s Tommy?’

‘He’s taken it badly and is next door with Mrs Marchant.’

‘Ruth’s a lovely woman. She’ll take good care of him.’

‘I know.’ A small silence fell but then Denis blurted out, ‘I don’t know what to do. I ain’t even got the money to bury my wife, and how can I work with Tommy to look after?’

‘Haven’t you any family who can help?’

Denis shook his head. ‘My parents are dead, and I’ve no brothers or sisters. Laura’s parents may still be alive, but they severed all connection with her.’

‘That’s awful. Why did they do that?’

‘Laura had a heart defect and as a child she’d been fiercely protected. Her parents constantly worried and treated her like an invalid. When she was old enough she ran away from home, and they never forgave her.’

‘Ain’t there anyone else?’

‘There’s Laura’s brother, and at one time they exchanged letters.’

‘You should get in touch with him, let him know that his sister has passed away and, if they’re alive, her parents too,’ Nelly said gently. ‘Who knows, they may be able to help.’

‘You’re right. They ain’t short of a few bob. I’ll have to find his letter, see if there’s a telephone number.’