A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (30 page)

‘Do you think the law will be changed?’

‘I doubt it, Sally. There is so much prejudice, you see.’

‘Yeah, and I should think so too,’ Ruth said harshly. ‘It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. Now if you don’t mind, my daughter needs to rest.’

‘See what I mean, Sally?’ Lottie said, turning to leave. ‘Prejudice, so much prejudice. Goodbye, my dear, I hope you recover from your fall soon.’ Then, giving her a tremulous smile, she turned to Ruth. ‘Thank you for allowing me to see your daughter, Mrs Marchant.’

Her mother just stared at Lottie, giving no answer, and with her mouth set in a grim line, she escorted her downstairs.

In what felt like minutes, she was back, standing by the side of the bed again, her arms folded across her chest. ‘What was she on about? What two secrets?’ she demanded.

‘You already know that John’s a homosexual, Mum, but I can’t tell you the other secret. I promised Lottie I would keep it to myself. But don’t worry, it’s nothing that affects us, it’s something personal to her.’

‘Huh, typical. You always was a dark horse,’ Ruth said huffily, and turning to leave the room, she hissed, ‘I hate secrets.’

Sally stared at the door as it closed. Her mother called her a dark horse, yet she was one to talk. It had taken her thirteen years to find out that Ken wasn’t her real father.

T
he catalyst came for Sally three weeks later, when she woke up to what would have been her wedding day. She climbed slowly out of bed, her injuries almost healed, and opening her wardrobe door, she looked at her cream suit. Tears filled her eyes, and grabbing the suit from the hanger she held it clutched to her chest. ‘John, oh John, why?’ she agonised, as she had done so many times whilst confined to bed.

Her sobs increased, her stomach sore as she drew in deep shuddering breaths. Then, throwing the suit away from her and onto the floor, she went into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto her face.

How much longer can you go on like this? she asked herself, staring into the mirror. She suddenly found herself thinking about her relationship with John, finding that instead of getting emotional again, for the first time she was analysing her feelings. Yes, she had felt safe with him; there had been no fear of passion, or sexual advances. But now she began to wonder if she had really loved him as a woman should love a man. She had admired him, and had to admit to being in awe of him. He always looked so perfect, and had been instrumental in changing her own diction and appearance, always wanting her to act and dress perfectly. His good looks, immaculate manners, gentleness and kindness couldn’t be denied – but had he ever raised any
real
feelings in her? But if she hadn’t really loved him, why was she so hurt? What was causing this pain?

Slowly she began to realise that it was the deceit that hurt the most. Both Lottie, to whom she had become very close, and John, had used her. It had all been a sham, a pretence; they hadn’t really cared about her at all.

As the weeks went by Sally gradually began to recover, finding that she was feeling relieved, not only that she had discovered John’s secret before they had married, but also that she could now do what she wanted, wear what she wanted, without fear of censure.

When her injuries were completely healed she decided not to go back to Arding & Hobbs. She couldn’t face the thought of seeing John each day or of working alongside Lottie.

It was Ann who was instrumental in finding her a new job, having seen it advertised. Though some distance away, in Wandsworth, she had to admit she had fallen on her feet. Sidney Jacob’s small haberdashery shop was a decade out of date: a mishmash of old and faded dressmaking patterns, wool, zips, and a hundred and one other miscellaneous goods, all jumbled in a myriad of wooden drawers that stretched from floor to ceiling behind the old-fashioned, glass-fronted counter.

When she went for the interview, Sally and Mr Jacob took to each other on sight. Mr Jacob’s wife had died several years ago and he had lost interest in the business. When he’d found difficulty in climbing the ladder to reach the top shelves, he reluctantly reached the conclusion that he needed an assistant.

Sally was now climbing down this old wooden ladder, a drawer clutched precariously in her hands. She was gradually bringing the shop into a semblance of order, but there was a long way to go yet. Placing the drawer on the counter, she couldn’t help grinning at the contents as she pulled out a selection of men’s woollen long johns, yellow with age. Counting them and entering the amount in the stock book she had devised, she added them to the growing pile of items waiting to be sold off in a clearance sale.

The door at the back of the shop opened and Sid came shuffling towards her, wearing his baggy old cardigan despite the lovely late August weather. ‘Are you all right, Sally?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I ain’t bin down this morning, but I knew you could cope.’

She smiled affectionately at the man she had become so fond of in just a couple of months. He was only five foot four inches tall, and wore his sparse grey hair brushed over to one side, attempting to cover the fact that he was balding. Sid wasn’t exactly fat, but he had a rotund stomach and wore his trousers hitched up high with ancient braces. Of course, this caused them to look too short, and they flapped around his ankles, showing off his battered black shoes.

‘Do yer fancy a cup of tea, gel?’ he now asked.

Sally knew this was her cue to go up to his flat above the shop. She would make them lunch every day, usually something simple like soup or salad, with nice fresh crusty rolls from the baker’s shop across the street. As soon as the food was ready he would turn the shop sign to
Closed
and join her upstairs for a leisurely half hour break which, if they got engaged in conversation, sometimes stretched an extra fifteen minutes.

She sliced the tomatoes, thinking once again how lucky she was to work for Sid, who in a very short time had handed most of the responsibility of running the shop over to her. She was determined to bring the stock up to date and only yesterday had spotted some wonderful new styles in the latest dressmaking catalogue.

‘Sid, lunch is ready,’ she called.

Watching him tuck into the salad with obvious relish, she tentatively raised the subject of stock. ‘I was looking at the new catalogue and I er …I wondered if it would be all right to order a few new patterns, just to see how they sell.’

He held his hands out, palms up and shrugged, saying, ‘My life, Sally, just do what you think is best. When my Rachel was alive she used to order all the stock.’ His rheumy eyes clouded for a moment and then he sighed. ‘Just get what you think will sell, but don’t go mad. I ain’t made of money, you know.’

Sally smiled. It was a small start, but one she hoped would eventually bring in more customers.

At five-thirty, locking the shop door behind her, she made her way to the bus stop. It had been a productive day and she was pleased with her achievements. All the drawers had been sorted and catalogued, and now she could concentrate on the shelves in the back room, piled high with old rolls of dressmaking material.

It was Thursday evening and she would be joining Elsie at the Spiritualist Church later for a healing service. She hurried along, perspiring slightly, anxious to get home for a bath. After rummaging around in so much dusty old stock she felt distinctly grubby.

It had been six months now since she had broken up with John, and Elsie had advised her to offer her services at the church. There were two other healers and they had been so welcoming, encouraging her gift and helping her to develop other psychic abilities that were gradually growing in strength.

She was glad to arrive home, and stepping into the hall, called, ‘Hello, it’s me. What’s for dinner, Mum? I’m starving!’ Her smile faded as she walked into the kitchen, immediately picking up the atmosphere and realising with a sinking heart that something was dreadfully wrong.

Her mother was sitting by the empty fireplace, Elsie opposite, her face wet with tears.

‘What is it, what’s the matter?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Arthur’s got his departure date,’ Elsie sobbed. ‘He’s sailing in three months.’

Sally ran across the room and crouched by her side. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she cried, realising there was nothing she could say to ease their neighbour’s pain, and finding that she too was devastated by the news.

‘I’ve got to accept it now, haven’t I?’ Elsie said dolefully. ‘He really is going, and before Christmas too.’ She rubbed an already sodden handkerchief over her face. ‘Do you mind going to church on your own tonight, Sally? I don’t think I can face it, and anyway I’d be no use to anyone in this state.’

‘No, of course not,’ she assured her, and putting an arm around Elsie’s shoulders, gave her a quick hug before going upstairs for her bath.

A few weeks later on a Sunday morning, Sally and Ruth were once again attempting to arouse Elsie’s interest. They had tried everything to snap her out of the lethargy that had gripped her since Arthur had received his departure date, but so far with little success.

‘Elsie, I’ve had a couple of funny experiences,’ Sally told her.

‘Have you, love?’ she answered distantly.

‘Yes. I’ve found that if I hold a piece of jewellery, I get a sort of vision about the person who owns it.’

‘Clairsentience,’ she murmured.

‘How does it work, Elsie?’ Sally asked.

The woman looked up, her eyes dull. ‘It’s a form of divination,’ she answered tiredly. ‘I’m not surprised that you have the ability to use it.’

‘Perhaps I should develop it and use it more often. Will you help me?’

‘Oh, not now, Sally. I’m just not in the mood. Anyway, I think you should concentrate on your spiritual healing.’ She stood up. ‘I’d better go now. I told Bert I’d only be popping round for a little while, but do you know, I dread going back.’ She walked across to the back door. ‘I know he’s taking Arthur’s departure badly too, but he won’t talk about it and it’s driving me mad. If I so much as mention it, he leaves the room.’

‘Men never seem to talk about their feelings, Elsie. It must be their way of dealing with them,’ Sadie told her.

‘Yeah, maybe, but it isn’t just that he won’t talk to me. I resent it that he hasn’t once tried to persuade Arthur not to emigrate.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I’d better go, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Poor Elsie,’ Ruth said as the back door closed. ‘It’s hard to know what to say to comfort her.’

‘There ain’t nothing we can say,’ Sadie shrugged. ‘The only thing she wants to hear is that her Arthur isn’t going. And I can’t see that happening now.’

They were surprised when only a couple of hours later, Elsie came round again, scuttling through the back door with a sense of purpose.

‘I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided to throw a farewell party for Arthur. I know it’s short notice, but I’m here to recruit some help – any offers?’ she asked, looking at them appealingly.

‘What brought all this on?’ Ruth wanted to know.

‘An argument. I know, daft isn’t it, but it brought me to my senses. You see, I was having a go at Bert and he was shouting back, when Arthur came in. Oh, you should have seen his face, he looked devastated. My great big strapping son actually had tears in his eyes and I suddenly realised how selfish I’ve been. Not only that, I’m making his last weeks at home absolute hell.’

Seeing that Elsie was close to crying, Sally jumped in, saying lightly, ‘I think a party’s a great idea. What do you say, Mum, shall we give her a hand?’

Her mother, taking her cue, said, ‘It depends on what the hourly rate is. How much are you paying, Elsie?’

‘Go on, you daft pair,’ she said, a small smile appearing on her face. ‘Now, are you going to help me or not?’

Sally and Ruth exchanged a quick glance, relieved to see Elsie looking a little more cheerful. ‘Of course we are, yer silly bugger, and we’d better get a move on. He sails in about eight weeks.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Elsie hung her head for a moment, then looked up with a strained smile on her face. ‘Come on then, let’s make a list. I want this to be a party Arthur will never forget.’

The list of food grew longer and longer: sandwiches, pork pies, sausage rolls and amongst other things, Elsie insisted she wanted seafood. Cockles, winkles, mussels and whelks were added. ‘They’re my Arthur’s favourites,’ she told them, ‘and I bet he won’t be able to get grub like this in Australia.’

‘We’ll never be able to manage this lot,’ Ruth told her in exasperation. ‘It’s no good, Elsie, we’ll ’ave to recruit more help.’

‘How about Aunt Mary?’ Sally suggested. ‘I know she’d be glad to muck in.’

‘Yeah, good idea. There’s Nelly Cox, Peggy Green, and a few others too who would be glad to lend a hand. And what about old bossy boots Joan Mason.’

‘Please, spare me that,’ Elsie begged. ‘That woman should be in the army, she’d make a perfect Sergeant Major. Have you seen the way she marches up the street, arms swinging, and her back as stiff as a ramrod? She probably wears her corsets so tight that it’s impossible for her to bend over.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ Ruth laughed, ‘but she’s great at organising things. Look how well the Coronation street-party went in 1953.’