A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (2 page)

‘You and yer friend, Sally. How many times ’ave I got to tell you? It’s all in yer imagination.’

‘But, Mum …’

‘Now that’s enough,’ Ruth snapped. ‘I ain’t in the mood for your silly stories, I’ve got enough on me plate as it is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally whispered.

Ruth’s voice took on a softer note. ‘I tell you what,’ she said, trying to make amends, ‘you must be hungry. I’ve still got some stew left, would you like it warmed up?’

‘Yeah, thanks, Mum.’

When Sally had finished eating, she rose, taking her plate to the sink. ‘Do you want me to wash the dishes, Mum?’

‘No, it’s all right, I’ll do them later,’ she answered, leaning back in the chair and widening her legs. ‘Come on, come and sit on the floor in front of me and I’ll do yer hair.’

Once Sally was settled it was blissfully quiet for a while, and as Ruth absently drew the brush through her daughter’s thick, shiny red hair, she noticed how the flames from the fire reflected and enhanced the colour, turning it to a beautiful burnished copper. She smiled softly at the memories evoked, a face floating into her mind, but then Sally’s voice intruded, startling her back to the present.

‘Mum, are we going to see me gran tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, of course we are.’ Ruth looked forward to going to Tooting to see her mum and sister Mary, whose husband was a travelling salesman covering the North of England. Harry was a good-looking bloke and often away from home for long periods, but he earned good money so her sister wanted for nothing.

‘Mum, why hasn’t Auntie Mary got any kids?’

‘I dunno, pet. Perhaps the stork will bring her a baby one day.’

Sally twisted around, looking up at her quizzically. ‘Why don’t she get one from the chemist’s?’

‘That’s not where you get them from, love.’

‘But, Mum, we saw a lady buy one last week, don’t you remember?’

Puzzled, Ruth Marchant shook her head. ‘No, darling. I dunno what you think you saw, but you can’t buy babies.’

‘You can yer know,’ Sally said sagely, wagging her head, her little face full of the importance of what she had seen. ‘When we went to the chemist’s, I saw Mr Brown putting a baby in his scales. He told the lady it was ten pounds, and a lovely little whopper.’

Ruth snorted, trying to hold back her laughter. ‘Oh, Sally,’ she finally managed to gasp, pressing the back of her hand to her sore mouth, ‘you are funny. I dunno where you get your ideas from. Look, dear,’ she added, fighting to keep a straight face, ‘you can’t buy babies by the pound, like potatoes.’

Sally frowned in consternation. ‘But the lady paid Mr Brown for it … I saw her.’

‘No, the baby already belonged to her – she just wanted to check its weight, that’s all.’

A stream of questions followed and Ruth did her best to answer them, until at last Sally leaned back contentedly, her curiosity satisfied for the time being.

‘Mum, will you brush me hair again?’

Ruth smiled affectionately and it wasn’t long before she noticed that Sally’s head had begun to nod up and down with each stroke of the brush. ‘Come on now, you’re falling asleep and it’s time you were in bed.’

‘All right, Mum,’ she yawned, rising slowly to her feet. ‘Night, night,’ she whispered tiredly, leaning over for a kiss.

Ruth washed the dishes, tidied up, and then gazed around the spartan room. Satisfied there was nothing Ken could find fault with, she flopped down in front of the fire, stirring the dying embers to life with the poker before adding a few more lumps of precious coal.

With a sigh, she remembered that there was still the grey pinafore skirt she had managed to find for Sally in the secondhand shop to alter. The hem needed taking up, but somehow she wasn’t in the mood for sewing. Instead she dug into her apron pocket, fishing out a packet of cigarettes. These were her one luxury; she would buy only enough meat for Ken and Sally, just putting vegetables on her own plate. She smiled ruefully; they didn’t notice and the few spare coppers enabled her to buy a couple of packets of Woodbines a week.

Perhaps I should stop smoking, she thought, then I could save up and buy new clothes for Sally. No, she shrugged, assuaging her guilt; there was no point in doing that. Ken would go mad if he saw Sally in new clothes. He resented any money spent on her and, in a perverse way, it seemed to please him when she looked scruffy.

Ruth took a nervous drag on her cigarette and glanced at the clock. He wouldn’t be home for at least another hour and by then she would be in bed, pretending to be asleep. She grimaced. He was hitting her more and more lately – but then, after what she had done, it was no more than she deserved.

‘H
ello, come on in,’ Mary urged. ‘Would you like a cup of tea before we go to the market, Ruth?’

‘Yes, please, I’m parched.’

‘Your grandmother’s in the sitting room, Sally, if you would like to go through. Can I get you a glass of milk and some chocolate biscuits, my dear?’

Sally gazed up at her aunt, forming her lips into an unfamiliar shape as she tried to emulate her voice. ‘Yes, please, I would love some, thank you sooh much. Is my Huncle Harry at home?’

‘Hark at Polly Parrot,’ her mum giggled. ‘She’s trying to talk like you, Mary.’

‘Well, there’s no harm in that. I soon realised that to gain promotion I would have to improve my elocution. No, Sally,’ she said, turning to smile at her. ‘I’m afraid your uncle is still away.’

Sally lowered her head in disappointment, but soon perked up as they entered the sitting room. Her gran’s chubby face broke into a huge grin that revealed large gaps in her yellowing teeth.

‘’Ello, me darling,’ Sadie Greenbrook said fondly. ‘My, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she cried, holding out her arms. ‘Come on, give me a kiss.’

Sally hurried across the room and kissed her gently on the cheek, then, standing back and with her eyes focused slightly off-centre, she gazed at her in concentration. ‘Is your hip hurting you?’

Sadie’s eyes widened. ‘Well, I never. I dunno how you do it, but you always seem to know where I’m hurting the most.’

‘Your light don’t look right in some places, that’s how I know.’

‘What do you mean, Sally? What’s this light?’

‘Nothing, Gran,’ she answered quickly, glancing over her shoulder to see that her mum’s face had tightened with annoyance.

‘Sally, that’s enough of that,’ she snapped.

‘What are you so angry about, Ruth? She ain’t doing any harm,’ her gran said, jumping to Sally’s defence.

‘I’ve told her a thousand times to stop all that nonsense.’ She bristled indignantly. ‘It’s all in her imagination, Mum, so please don’t encourage her.’

‘All right, all right, calm down … let’s just forget it.’ The older woman frowned, then peered at her daughter. ‘Here, is that a cut on your lip? How did that happen?’

‘I caught it on a door, that’s all.’

Sally stared at her mum in astonishment. Why was she telling lies?

‘Oh yeah, caught it, did yer?’ her gran said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And how’s Ken? Working, is he?’

‘Yeah, he’s still doing delivery driving at Petersons. Look, I’ll just go and give Mary a hand with the tea.’ She turned to Sally, her hand on the doorknob. ‘And you behave yourself, my girl.’

‘Well now, ducks. How are things at home?’ her gran asked as soon as her daughter was out of sight.

‘Fine, everything’s fine,’ Sally answered, gnawing her bottom lip.

‘And how’s yer dad?’

‘Er … he’s all right.’

‘So, yer mum cut her lip on the door, did she. How did she manage that?’

‘I dunno,’ Sally answered, hopping nervously from one foot to the other. ‘Gran, I need the toilet,’ she stammered, scurrying out of the room, desperate to avoid any more questions.

Blimey, Sadie thought, it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone with those two. Perhaps she could get Sally to open up when her mum went out. She’d been suspicious for some time that things were not right with Ruth’s marriage; for one thing, her daughter had lost a lot of weight. She shook her head worriedly, reluctant to involve her granddaughter in her subterfuge, but she was desperate to find out what was wrong.

The door opened and she peered at her daughters as they came in from the kitchen. Mary carrying an elegantly laid tray. Why does that one always have to put on airs and graces, she thought. Just look at her swanking with the best china. Her eyes flicked around the immaculate sitting room. It had been hard when deteriorating health had forced her to move in with Mary and her husband Harry. Sadie’s eyes clouded as she thought longingly of her old house with its cosy kitchen hearth.

Pouring out the tea, Mary passed a cup to her. Then, holding out a plate, she asked, ‘Would you like a biscuit, Mum?’

‘Thanks, I won’t say no,’ Sadie said and, taking one, she promptly dunked it in her tea, masking a grin when she saw Mary purse her lips in disapproval.

Sally had scuttled back into the room just in time to witness the scene, bursting into giggles when Sadie lifted her biscuit, frowning in consternation when half of it remained in her cup. ‘Oh, stone the crows,’ she chuckled, giving Sally a cheeky wink and trying to fish out the soggy mess with her teaspoon.

‘Honestly,’ Ruth sighed, shaking her head. ‘It’s like a flippin’ circus when you and Sally get together, Mum.’ She gulped down the last dregs of her tea. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s go now. If we don’t get a move on, all the decent stuff will be gone.’

As they put their coats on, Sadie couldn’t help noticing the difference between them. Both were pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes. But Mary, her elder daughter, looked neat and tidy, with newly permed hair lying in tight curls around her face. Ruth, the shorter of the two, looked shabby and washed out, her greasy lank hair pulled back into a rough untidy bunch.

‘Ain’t it about time you got yerself a new coat, Ruth?’ Sadie asked bluntly. ‘That one looks fit for the dustbin.’

Her daughter’s cheeks flushed. ‘Don’t start, Mum. My Ken don’t earn the sort of money that Harry does.’

Sadie sighed. Her husband hadn’t earned a lot either, but they used to be a darn sight better dressed. Perhaps Ruth wasn’t any good at handling money. ‘Why don’t you get yerself a little part-time job to help out?’ she suggested.

Ruth looked askance. ‘Ken would go mad if I went out to work. It’s a matter of pride with him – he thinks a woman’s place is in the home.’

Sadie clicked her teeth. ‘What a load of old-fashioned nonsense. Women went out to work during the war, they kept the country running and you worked on—’

‘Oh Mum, don’t go on about it, or we’ll never get away,’ Mary interrupted as she snatched up her shopping bag.

Ruth turned to Sally. ‘We won’t be long, love, look after your gran. Is there anything you want from the market, Mum?’

‘Yeah, you can get me some snuff, dear,’ she answered, ignoring Mary’s grimace of distaste. She was fed up with her elder daughter’s nagging, finicky ways.

‘Did me mum really go to work during the war?’ Sally asked when they were alone.

‘Yes, dear, she was a bus conductress for a couple of years,’ Sadie told her, smiling fondly at her granddaughter. Sally was the light of her life. There was something ethereal about her and she had a sensitivity that was unusual in a child. Wriggling into a comfortable position, and easing a plump cushion behind her back, she related all she could remember about Ruth’s job. ‘Of course, she had to leave when you came along,’ she ended, fumbling in her mind for something else to distract Sally. ‘Have I told you about yer granddad?’

‘You told me that he drove a wagon, with big horses pulling it.’

‘They were shire horses, huge bloody great things, but your granddad loved them. He worked for the brewery, delivering barrels of beer all over London.’ She smiled inwardly as a picture of Charlie arose in her mind. He always looked a proper dapper chap, sitting up on the dray wearing his bowler hat, a leather whip hanging loosely across his lap. She was sure he would still be alive today if they hadn’t lost their only son during the war, convinced it was the shock of David’s death that had brought on her husband’s heart attack.

Sadie sighed deeply. Their son had been a tall laughing lad who, at the outset of war, had joined the Royal Navy, strutting proudly in his smart new uniform. He told her not to worry when he went to join his ship, reminding her of all the scrapes he had got into as a boy, and saying he was indestructible. Oh, but you weren’t son, were you, she thought sadly, glancing at his picture on the mantelpiece. His ship was hit by a torpedo and sank in the cold waters of the Atlantic. There had been a few survivors, but David wasn’t one of them, and she had thought her heart would break. Now, looking back, she wondered how she had survived the terrible grief of losing both her husband and son in such a short time.

With a sharp intake of breath she pushed away the bad memories, fumbling for a bag of sweets kept in her apron pocket. ‘Fancy a Fox’s Glacier Mint, Sal?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What sort of sweets do yer get from your dad?’ she asked, hoping to catch her out while she was distracted.