Women on the Home Front (111 page)

‘What was it?'

‘A drug … laudanum … don't hear that name often now … gave you too much. It was dangerous … far too much …'

Chris was frowning in silence at her strained, white profile as she watched the flames.

‘You nearly poisoned me to death?'

She gave a single nod while staring at the blaze with tears trickling down her cheeks.

Chris remained still and silent for almost a minute before leaving the room. He found Grace hovering on the stairs. ‘Ready?' he asked hoarsely.

‘Are we saying goodbye?' she whispered and glanced at the front room.

‘Nothing more to say.' He opened the front door then waited for her to precede him into the street.

‘You promised to give me back fifty pounds today.'

Grace was finding it difficult to contain her temper. She glanced around the pub interior, already regretting agreeing to meet Hugh. He'd contacted her several times about returning her some money as a gesture of goodwill, even going so far as to hand a note, begging for a meeting, to the porter at her office. The old fellow had slipped it to her while she'd been pounding away on her typewriter.

Yesterday Hugh had caught her after she'd finished for the day and was on her way to the tube station. She'd been walking with Wendy and, as soon as her friend had spied his lofty, smartly suited presence heading in their direction, she'd prodded Grace to get what she could from the low-down rat.

Now Grace was wishing she'd not listened to anything but an inner voice that had been warning her Hugh Wilkins was callous and only out for himself.

From the first time he'd ambushed her outside her office she'd had an instinct that he was spinning her a line in order to get back with her now his wife had realised he was a chancer. Even knowing she'd got engaged a month ago hadn't put Hugh off his pursuit. Grace wasn't surprised that he hadn't turned a hair when she told him she was engaged. Considering he was a man who'd easily jilted her close to their wedding day and now didn't seem to value his own marriage, he was acting true to form. She felt a fool for having ever in her life got involved with such a nasty character. It was no valid excuse that she'd been young and gullible, and he'd been a plausible liar; she should have known better.

‘I did try to get fifty pounds for you.' Hugh shrugged, took a swig of beer while looking around the pub's clientele. He was always keen to spot a bigwig to ingratiate himself with. And now it looked as though his main meal ticket might soon be whipped away he could do with giving his career a boost. ‘Val's watching me like a hawk and I don't want to end up getting arrested.'

‘What's
she
got to do with it?' Grace impatiently stood up. ‘This is between you and me and nothing to do with your wife. Why would you get arrested?'

‘She holds the purse strings; or in this case the key to the bureau where the cash is kept.' Hugh's mouth thinned in annoyance. ‘The old cow would get the law on me too, if she caught me, but she won't, trust me.'

Grace abruptly sat down again in the chair opposite him, her complexion turning white. ‘Well, you kept that quiet, didn't you!' she hissed in shock. ‘You implied you were going to pay me from your salary at the end of the month because your conscience was pricking you. Now you tell me you were going to give me money stolen from your wife's bureau?' She glared at him, her expression quickly displaying her disgust. ‘You're a thief as well as a liar. I feel sorry for her; I hope she does set the law on you.'

Hugh lunged for one of her arms, gripping it tightly as she would have yanked it away. He glanced furtively about to make sure nobody was watching them tussle.

‘Get your hand off me, and don't you dare contact me again, do you hear?' Grace spat in an undertone. She jerked herself free with such force that she knocked her half-full glass onto the floor where it shattered.

Ignoring the stares she strode out of the pub and headed back towards her place of work.

Tears of rage and frustration were glittering in her eyes as she marched on. She'd thought that when she saw Chris later she'd have some good news for him. She'd known all along he'd be angry when he found out she'd met Hugh, but had hoped he'd understand why she'd done it when she produced fifty pounds to be put in their wedding kitty.

Christopher was still paying Kieran from his wages and doing any overtime he could get hold of to try and make up the shortfall. They were trying hard to save for a deposit on a property, but Grace felt guilty that she'd contributed very little to the pot. Once she gave her mother some housekeeping money, and laid out for her fares and dinners, there was little left from her pay to contribute towards their future. Christopher told her he didn't mind, and it was his job to provide for them both. Neither of them wanted a long engagement, yet they were both adamant they'd rather wait till they had enough for their own place than start married life living with either of their parents. Dejectedly, Grace realised the wedding was going to be some way off yet.

Once they'd announced their engagement on Boxing Day both Shirley and Stevie had offered to house them on hearing they wanted to get married as soon as possible. Grace had understood her mum's proposal had been prompted more by economics than generosity. Shirley would be able to supplement her small income with their rent, and Grace didn't blame her for being practical about it.

Stevie had said they could have the second bedroom in his place free of charge, but Grace had known from Pearl's strained smile that only conflict would ensue from that situation. In any case, neither offer had tempted her and Chris because they remained determined to start off married life in their own little home …

‘Piss off,' Grace muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. Hugh had sped up and tried to halt her by swerving in front of her. She shoved him aside and carried on.

‘This bloke you're with hasn't done you any favours, you know.' Hugh loped after her again. ‘You sound common as muck, you know that?' he jeered.

Grace sent a shout of laughter over a shoulder. ‘Good. I hope I'm
just
like him. He's the only reason I met you today. Know why? 'Cos I love him and can't wait to be his wife, and I'm damned if I'll let a good, decent man like him work his fingers to the bone to get the money for us to get married when I ought to have had savings to chip in.'

‘Managed to get you into bed, has he? Or are you still frigid?'

Grace whirled about and cracked a hand against his cheek, unaware of a blue Bedford van pulling up at the kerb.

Chris leapt out and was by her side in a matter of a few seconds.

‘Don't think I need to ask you who you are, pal,' he ejected through his teeth. His hand snaked to Hugh's throat, squeezing, before he shoved him forcefully away.

‘This him?' he asked Grace.

She nodded, whitening in shock at his sudden appearance before a guilty blush stole across her cheeks.

‘She's told you to leave her alone. Now I'm telling you. Bother her again and it'll be the last thing you do … understand?'

‘She met me for a drink of her own free will. Ask her …' Hugh gasped out, rubbing his grazed throat. His expression was vindictive and pinned on Grace. Then he looked Chris up and down, a sneer on his face, as he took in his grubby workman's overalls. With deliberate contempt he straightened his tie then started brushing down his dark suit as though to rid it of contamination. ‘Don't worry, mate, you're welcome to my leftovers,' Hugh drawled, then with a laugh he turned to walk off.

Chris yanked him back by a shoulder and gave him a short sharp one to the jaw. ‘Need to learn a bit of respect when you're speaking to my fiancée, mate.'

Hugh staggered back against a wall clutching his aching face but he didn't retaliate even though Chris allowed him time to get his balance and throw a punch. Hugh wasn't looking so superior a few seconds later when he slunk off, ignoring the few bystanders who were gawping at the scene.

Chris pivoted about to stare at Grace. ‘That true, what he said? You've had a drink with him?'

‘It's not like that …'

‘What is it like?'

‘What are you doing here at this time of the day?' Grace blurted out. Chris never came to her office during her dinner break although he had picked her up after work on occasions when he had to visit a merchant's in the area. It had always been a lovely surprise to see his blue van parked at the kerb when she came down the steps.

‘Come to tell you me uncle Rob knows of a house going cheap. He said to look at it straight away when we finish work today 'cos it's going to auction this week. So I got off work to tell you but …' He gave her a hard stare. ‘Perhaps we won't bother, eh?' he finished softly.

‘You've not let me explain,' Grace started. ‘You don't understand what's gone on.'

‘I'm listening,' Chris said quietly.

‘I did go for a drink with him but only 'cos he said he'd give me fifty pounds.'

‘Yeah? And what was he expecting in return?' Chris sounded viciously sardonic.

Grace felt her temper rising. Everything she'd done, she'd done while thinking about him, so he wouldn't need to work so hard, because she felt it was only fair that she contributed towards their future. Now he was allowing stupid jealousy to make him lewd and nasty. She noticed Wendy a way along the street, waving to her and pointing to her watch.

‘I've got to go; me dinner break's over and I need to get back.'

‘You've not told me why you've been for a drink with him.'

‘You know why; I've told you before he's promised to give me back some of the money I lost when we cancelled our wedding.'

‘Yeah, and I thought we'd agreed you'd let it go and never see him again. You're engaged to me now, or so I thought …'

‘You're being daft, Chris.' Grace looked close to tears. ‘I just want us to get the money together so we can get married. It's not fair you do it all on your own. I want to be able to help us set up home.'

‘You saying you think I can't support you and that you'll have to carry on working after we're married?'

‘I don't mind carrying on working till we start a family, I've told you I think that's a good idea.' Grace spun on the spot, looking harassed. ‘We can't talk about it now. I've got to get back to the office, but I'd love to look at this house after work with you. Where is it?'

He walked away from her then stopped a few yards from the van to lob over a shoulder, ‘Don't matter. Seems to me we've got a lot of things to iron out before we take the plunge on a property. I'll tell me uncle Rob we're gonna give this one a miss.'

‘Hello there, Kathleen,' Matilda called out in greeting as she approached Smithie's shop. The Murphys' little girl was loitering outside. ‘Where's your mum? Getting something for your tea, is she?'

Kathleen nodded and pointed to the door, indicating Noreen was inside.

‘Reckon I might find a couple of pennies fer sweeties. Been good fer yer mummy, have you?'

Kathleen grinned up at Matilda. It was a bitterly cold February day and as Matilda took hold of Kathleen's hand she could feel her small, icy fingers clutching tightly at her glove. Matilda entered the shop to find Noreen with baby Rosie, swaddled in a shawl, in her arms. It seemed she'd been unsuccessfully asking old Smithie for stuff on the strap.

‘Gotta pay up something for what you've already had, Mrs Murphy, before I let you take more,' he grumbled with much head-shaking. He dragged her groceries back towards him on the counter. ‘Only doin' it fer yer own good, y'know. Yer husband's gonna be after me if I let you chalk up a long tab he can't settle.'

‘There's no need to tell him. I can bring in something Friday, so I can,' Noreen pleaded in a whisper, turning about at hearing the doorbell's clatter. She grew red on seeing Matilda leading her daughter in from the cold.

‘Kathleen! I told you to stay here with me. Thought she was behind me there,' she told Matilda. ‘She must've followed Beattie Evans out a short while ago.'

‘Give her the stuff she needs, you miserable old git,' Matilda growled at Smithie.

Matilda had known the Smith family for a long while and spoke to Peter Smith in the same way she'd addressed his father, Godfrey, half a century previously: in any way she pleased. Godfrey had not been such a stickler for weekly payments from creditors as was his son.

Before the Great War, when Matilda's darling Jack had been alive, and her middle-aged daughters were still schoolgirls, the majority of families living in Campbell Road had lived hand-to-mouth. Godfrey had kept the Keivers and the Wilds afloat by allowing them groceries on tick. In those tough times – that Matilda nevertheless reflected on nostalgically – finding a forgotten farthing was akin to unearthing treasure. Godfrey would dole out small amounts of tea or jam or broken biscuits in return for the tiny copper to assist the destitute in their fight for survival.

‘Listen 'ere, Tilly, I've got a business ter run …' Smithie started moaning.

‘You can afford it,' Matilda muttered. ‘Made yourself a tidy amount out of what I've bought off yer over the years, don't say you ain't,' she mocked. ‘And I'll have a bag o' sweets fer that.' She plonked down her two pennies.

‘It's alright, you don't have to do that,' Noreen said in her soft Irish tone. She still seemed embarrassed at having been overheard begging for credit.

‘Fill it up … that ain't two penn'orth …' Matilda grumbled as Smithie held out a brown paper bag containing an assortment of liquorice and sherbet and chews.

‘You'll be the ruin of me, Matilda Keiver,' Smithie complained, winding more black bootlaces into the bag.