Eight
Ned stepped out of Albion Street fire station the next Sunday afternoon after work. The afternoon was warm and he took off the black uniform jacket and slung it over his shoulder as he automatically set off towards home. After a few yards he stopped and turned back towards town. Mary would be asleep, or round at her mom’s so he might just as well go back over to Allison Street again for a bit. There was a warm welcome there all right.
‘Making up for lost time, are yer?’ Olive said seeing him turn up again. ‘Talk about a bad flaming penny!’
‘Thought I would. Mary’s bad, at the moment.’
‘Well yer’ve missed Bert, and Polly’s out with Ernie . . .’
‘I came to see
you
, auntie!’ Ned said, throwing his jacket over a chair, eyes searching the room. I didn’t come to see Polly, he thought, nor Bert, nor even Olive if he was honest with himself.
She
was here, the cousin, the pretty one, prettier even than he remembered. He was intrigued by her, by that smile that seemed to pass right into him. He nodded at her.
‘Hello,’ Jess said. She had a pink dress on with short sleeves and her arms were tanned, the hairs on them glowing gold. The dress showed off her curves. She’s perfect, he thought. He’d never seen anyone like her before, never knew there could be anyone like her.
‘Oh Ned,’ Sis was saying. ‘Daint yer bring Bonney with yer this time?’
He dragged his attention to her. ‘Not today. I’ll bring ’er again sometime if yer want.’
‘’Ere—rsquo; Olive put a cup of tea on the table. ‘Get this down yer.’
He sat and drank his cuppa with them, listening to Sis’s chatter, answering Olive’s questions about the family. He could only hope he was saying the right things because his mind could only fasten on her, on Jess sitting opposite, close enough to touch, her strong fingers on the handle of her cup, drawing him with her eyes. There was a twist of excitement in his belly like none he’d ever had before, a married man who shouldn’t be having thoughts like undoing the buttons down the back of the pink dress, seeing it fall softly from her with her naked under it . . .
‘You awright, Ned?’ Olive asked him as he sat moving his cup round on the table.
He looked up and smiled. ‘Course – sorry. Miles away I was there, for a second.’
‘Got a lot on yer mind, I should think, with the babby coming and that. Never mind – soon he’ll be ’ere and you’ll get used to it all.’
Reality chilled him like a bucket of ice water. I don’t want to get used to it. I want another life. I want to start again.
He didn’t stay long. Said he’d better be getting back, and stood up to slip the jacket back on. He looked broader, taller in his uniform than in the old clothes he’d been wearing before. As he left he spoke to all of them politely.
‘Cheerio, Sis . . . Jess.’
‘T’ra, Ned,’ she said. Her soft voice vibrated through him. He looked away from her quickly.
His visit filled Jess with longing. However much she told herself she was being ridiculous, each brief look or exchange of words she had had with him seemed charged with significance. She relived his visit over and over that week, lying on the prickly mattress after Polly and Sis were asleep, or standing with her hands in tepid water, washing tea and coffee dregs out of thick glasses at the back of Mather’s. She kept seeing his eyes turned to her, interested, in some way puzzled, it seemed, when he looked at her.
I’ve got to stop thinking of him, she thought. We barely know each other and he’s married and I bet Mary’s really beautiful . . . I’m nothing to him. She was ashamed at the extent of her feelings, her preoccupation with him, hour after hour which she could not seem to overcome by willpower.
Her need to think of Ned blocked out other feelings of longing. Neither her father nor Sarah had written back to answer Olive’s letter.
So they don’t want me, even enough to drop a line . . . But she no longer felt homesick. For what would life be, if
he
was not there? In two weeks Ned had invaded her thoughts until she could keep her mind on almost nothing else.
The next week he did come with Mary. Jess was in a state of nerves all morning, wondering if they’d come. When they arrived she backed into the scullery, peeping out to get a look at Ned’s wife.
She heard Mary’s high, slightly nasal voice first.
‘Lovely to see yer, Mrs Beeston.’ Jess thought she sounded nervous.
‘Yer’ll want to sit down,’ Olive was saying. ‘Ooh, yer carrying low awright! Never mind, bab, soon be over now. Come on in and take a pew.’
Trying hard to look casual, Jess stepped out of the scullery. The first thing that struck her was Mary’s smallness beside Ned. She was a tiny, pale thing with freckles, auburn hair tied in a high ponytail and arms poking out of her loose stripey frock which were so white and skinny they looked as if they’d snap like kindling. She was carrying the child well out at the front and the burden of it looked enough to topple her over on her face.
Jess was rocked by the violent stab of jealousy that went through her. Savage thoughts ran through her mind. She’s barely worth having, scrawny little thing! And look at that thin neck, and those arms! For a second she placed her hands on her own waist, feeling her strong, hourglass shape.
She was ashamed at her thoughts. What right did she have to be so horrible? Mary was bound to be very nice – she was Ned’s wife, after all! She knew Polly didn’t think much of Mary though. Was there a good reason for this?
She managed a smile at Mary. She had a sweet face, even Jess could see that, with high, arched eyebrows which made her look permanently surprised and interested.
‘I’m Jess. Polly’s cousin.’
‘Oh—’ Mary nodded. ‘That’s nice. Come to stay for a bit, ’ave yer?’
‘Sit down and ’ave a cuppa tea – and I might rustle up a bit of cake if yer lucky.’ Olive nodded over at
Mary. ‘Look as if yer could do with feeding up, wench.’ It sounded like an accusation.
They stayed a couple of hours, Mary laughing and joking, full of importance as a young wife who was about to have her first baby. Jess did her best to smile and laugh. She wanted to shine in front of Ned, for him at least to notice her. She sat Ronny on her lap and fed him mouthfuls of cake, kissing his cheeks. He’d get down, play about for a bit, run to Ernie for a time, then scramble up on her lap again.
‘Come ’ere,’ she said as he approached her again. ‘Ooh, yer don’t make up yer mind, do yer!’
She felt the strength in her arms, lifting him up, and glanced across, longing to see Ned looking at her. For all she attempted to pull herself together and be sensible, she wanted to know he was watching. His being there lit her up. She felt as if she was glowing in the room. But he never seemed to see her. Was looking anywhere but in her direction, it seemed, whenever she looked up and tried to meet his eyes.
‘You’re settling over there then, are yer?’ Olive asked. ‘I was hoping yer might move closer over ’ere.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to leave me mom,’ Mary said. ‘She still needs me ’elp like – all me brothers and sisters. I’m the eldest of ten,’ she explained to Jess.
‘She’s got ’er ’ands full then,’ Jess smiled.
‘None too well either, is she?’ Ned was sitting back, legs stretched out. Still he didn’t look at her.
‘No – I don’t know what our mom’d do without me close by. And Ned’s been ever so good – says ’e’d live anywhere to be with me.’ Mary smiled at him adoringly.
Polly got up and refilled the teapot. Jess watched, saw Polly holding her shoulders stiffly. As she came back to the table she looked directly at Jess. See? her expression said. No good you getting any thoughts in
that
direction. But then she noticed that Olive had suddenly closed her eyes and sat back as if overcome by dizziness. Jess saw Polly exchange a worried glance with Sis.
‘You awright, Auntie?’ Ned leaned towards her.
Olive opened her eyes, dazed for a second, then took a deep breath. ‘Oh ar – I’ll be awright. You carry on.’ She held out her cup for tea, shaking her head to dislodge the flashes of memory which had appeared in there, unbidden.
Jess held Ronny tight with one arm, looking down and stroking his soft little legs. She felt as if she was in a dream, one in which she was in a familiar place but everything in it felt wrong.
You’re so stupid! she raged at herself in her head. You can’t work up any feelings for the man who was given you on a plate, and now you’re all of a flutter over someone who’s married to someone else! Just stop acting so daft and get ’im out of your head, for God’s sake!
She looked up again, sensing a movement beside her. Ned was leaning forward, playing a game with Ronny.
‘I’m gunna ’ave that!’ He tweaked at Ronny’s nose, then held his thumb trapped between two fingers. Jess saw that he had wide, flat nails. She could smell him, soap, leather, sweat, breathed him in. ‘Look – ’ere it is. I’ve got it – want it back?’
Ronny looked at him open mouthed for a second, put his hand up to his nose, then gurgled with laughter.
‘There yer go – back on!’
He pretended to give the little boy his nose back. As he touched the child’s face he looked at Jess for a second, laughing. She smiled back, but Ned turned, abruptly.
‘We’d better be going, Auntie. You ready, Mary?’
As they left, Olive stood on the step waving them down the street. She turned to come inside, still smiling.
‘Lovely couple, ain’t they?’ she said. ‘’E’s done really nicely for ’imself there.’
A few days later, when everyone was out, except the babby, Ronny, Olive stood in her house, her thoughts agonized. It was getting worse. Some days she was all right. Normal. But days like today were terrible. Memories rushing back at her like a flock of ravens flying into her mind. Things she had avoided thinking about for years, as if some cavity in her had opened, spilling over.
‘It’s no good – I can’t carry on like this . . .’ Hearing her speak, Ronny looked up from his seat on the floor where he was playing with a handful of pegs.
For a moment she stared at him, distracted. So like his father he was! Her face contorted with bitterness. The child couldn’t help it, but by God she would rue his existence to the end of her days. A few moments of weakness, of need. Carried away – her, Olive Beeston carried away by sweet talk and a man’s fumblings! If she’d known anyone else be so bloody stupid she’d’ve soon told ’em . . .
With trembling, clammy hands she pulled open the little drawstring bag she kept tucked in her pocket and counted through her change. She turned over the coins, counting and recounting with the sense of wonder that came to her whenever she handled money. It still seemed a miracle when they brought their earnings home. Polly, Bert, Sis – and Jess was bringing in a small amount . . . They had enough now with four earning! Not a princely amount, but enough.
Her days of bone freezing poverty never left her. Worrying about every farthing, not even having enough on many a day for a half pail of slack for the fire, Polly and Bert slinking down the canal to pinch it off the barges, begging outside pubs when ice shone like crystals on the cobbles with her babbies clinging round her skirts, so bad with fever she barely knew what she was doing. If it hadn’t been for the charity of the church missions they’d have starved. These memories and many others forced themselves into her mind whenever she handled money.
But the things she most wanted to forget, to block right out of her mind, went further back. God knows she’d tried to force the memories away, but suddenly it wasn’t working any more. It all seemed to be bearing down on her like a goods train, with her tied to the track, like those pretty wenches in the films, the hot breath of the train on her face.
‘Today’s the day,’ she said to Ronny. ‘I gotta do summat about meself. ’Ow can I go on like this? I can’t even get to the shops!’
Polly or Jess were doing all the shopping. She could tell Jess was puzzled by this. After all, Olive was the one who was at home all day. She had the time. That morning as they set off to work Polly had said,
‘What d’yer need bringing in tonight, Mom?’
‘Don’t bother. We’ll get by on what we’ve got,’ she said. Polly looked surprised but was in too much of a rush to argue.
It was no good – she’d have to go. They were out of milk and tea, and there wasn’t a heel of bread in the house.
She pulled her coat on like a suit of armour, although it was June now and warm, took her hessian bag from the hook where the coat had hung and picked Ronny up.
‘Come on, son—’ She was aflutter with nerves. ‘You’re going to Agatha’s for a bit.’ She forced herself to the front door and carried Ronny round into the yard and went to her neighbour’s house.
Agatha’s pinched face appeared at the door. She looked taken aback at the sight of Olive Beeston in her hat and coat. Word had got round that she’d ‘turned a bit funny’ and wouldn’t go out of the house.
‘Could yer take Ronny for me for an hour?’ Olive said brusquely, trying not to turn her nose up at the dank, sweaty air that gusted out through the open door.
‘You going out?’ A nosey smile had begun at the corners of her mouth.
‘Ar – I’m going out. That awright with you?’
‘No trouble,’ Agatha said, holding her arms out. Ronny’s face screwed up and he started roaring. ‘Oh come on, bab, don’t start that. You go – ’e’ll be awright wi’ me.’
