All I Have to Give (5 page)

‘I wonder how he is – if he’s scared, bless him. I mean, he’s bound to be really, when you think . . .’

‘That’s enough of that talk, Beryl. I can’t take it. We have to keep thinking of him having the time of his life with his mates, and of them keeping each other safe. Now, open
your door and let me in, and let’s get a cuppa. There’s sommat as I want to talk to you about.’

Shaking her head, Beryl looked incredulous at this, but Ada ignored her. They say that talking of doom and gloom brings it down on you, and she had only managed to lift that feeling an inch high
off her with the thought of her new plans, so she wasn’t about to tempt fate and invite it back in.

Beryl’s kitchen gleamed, as if a dozen women had set to and given it a spring-clean, but Ada knew that her sister kept it like that on her own. She went over-the-top with her cleanliness,
and scrubbed her house from floor to ceiling for most of the hours she was at home. Everywhere Beryl had control of was the same: pristine and in order.

‘Sit yourself down, lass. Let me take your coat, and then I’ll get you that pot of tea.’

‘Naw, I’ll see to the tea. You can take me coat, though, and then get yourself changed. You don’t want to sit around in that overall.’

Making tea in Beryl’s kitchen wasn’t a chore. The sound of the water hitting the bottom of the gleaming copper kettle was like no other, and it was much easier from a brass-knobbed
tap than ladled from a bucket filled from the communal water pump, as Ada and the lasses who lived around her had to do.

Once she’d put the kettle on the stand over the gas ring, she sat at the table, careful not to disturb the whiter-than-white lace cloth. It was one of a set of two that their mam had
crocheted. She had the other, though hers was packed away and only came out on high days and holidays. She couldn’t risk it being spoiled. It was all she had of her mam’s.
Oh, Mam,
if only you were here.
Tears stung her eyes at this thought.

A noise pulled her up and made her blink the tears away. She knew what it was, but it still sounded unfamiliar: Beryl had flushed her inside lav.
Eeh, I never thought I would see the like. A
lav inside the house!
There was no going out to the bog in the yard and sharing it with a neighbour at the back, when you lived on the hill. No, Beryl only had to cross the hall. And her lav
didn’t have to be emptied by the cart at night, either, because you could flush the contents away by pulling a chain with a fancy pot-handle on the end of it.
Eeh, whatever next?

But then everything around her was a marvel to Ada. This kitchen of Beryl’s was like something from another world, compared to her own scullery-cum-living room. The red-tiled floor was
polished till it gleamed, and yet it wasn’t slippery. That was in contrast to her own brick-stone floor, with dirt so ground into the grooves that even taking a wire brush to them never
shifted it. Here, the blue-painted cupboards stretched along under the window and butted up to the pot-sink, with its checked blue-and-white curtain looking fresh and pretty. They were nothing like
the wooden bench-table she had, with its shelf underneath for storage. And then there was the dresser made of dark oak. Its deep polish gave it a rich texture that provided a lovely backdrop to the
beautiful blue china plates displayed on it. She had just four of her own plates, as Paddy had broken his and now used the one their Bobby had used; they were stacked on a shelf next to the stove,
along with the few other bits of china she possessed.
But then these are only possessions and, much as I’d like to own them, I’d still not trade places with Beryl.

The whistle of the kettle brought Ada out of her thoughts and coincided with Beryl’s return to the kitchen, giving her no time to look busy. Her sister had a jibe at her, as was her way,
laughing as she did. ‘Eeh, our Ada, you haven’t the pot ready, nor the cups. By, lass, I can’t trust you to do owt right.’ With this, Beryl took the tea towel from its hook
and hit out at her with it. Ada ducked and giggled, and the last of the sad feelings that had taken her earlier disappeared.

They made the tea together. Ada set out the china cups and Beryl scooped three spoons of tea from the caddy into the pot. As Beryl poured the boiling water onto the tea leaves she said,
‘Reet, let’s have it. Tell me what’s on your mind, while the tea brews. If you need owt to tide you over, just say how much – it’s there for you, you know
that.’

‘Ta, Beryl, I could do with half a crown, if you have it to spare. Paddy lost on the horses again. But that isn’t what I came for. I need your help with Paddy. I want to go out to
work, and I’m wondering if you would talk to him.’

‘Ha, Ada, that’s a relief. I thought you were going to ask me to help you cope with his antics; stand in for you, or sommat!’

‘You daft ha’porth! Ha, you wouldn’t stand a chance with him. I told you it ain’t like I imagine your Bill is, when he beds you – all gentleness and
thoughtfulness.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me any more or you’ll have me blushing. So, you want me to help you persuade Paddy to let you go to work. By, we’ve a job on there. Look, all I can think
of to do is turn a bit nasty with him. Tell him I’m calling in all the loans he’s had . . .’

‘Oh, Beryl, he hasn’t been at that game, has he?’

‘Aye, he’s up here regular, but don’t let it worry you. He don’t allus get what he comes for. I can handle him. I stopped him that time you had a black eye and told him
if he did it again, he’d get nothing. And that worked.’

Ada was aghast; she’d had no idea. But Beryl wasn’t right in thinking she’d helped to stop Paddy’s violence. Oh, aye, he avoided her face lately, but she had bruises to
tell the story of many a beating when he was in a foul mood. Hidden bruises.

‘So, lass. What do you think then, eh? I’ll tell him he can’t have any more, until he has paid what he owes. Then you tell him you’ve a chance of bringing in some
earnings.’

‘It could work – it’s worth a try, anyroad. Thanks, Beryl, and I’m sorry you’ve been bothered by Paddy. I didn’t know of it. And I feel ashamed at you giving
handouts to me an’ all, and on a regular basis.’

‘Don’t – you’ve no need. I just fell lucky, that’s all. I got a good ’un in Bill, and you fell for a ne’er-do-well. Though a charming one, I have to
say.’

This last triggered a worry in Ada. How come Beryl felt so confident that cutting off Paddy’s loans would make a difference? She couldn’t see it herself. If one source of income
dried up for Paddy, he found another. And why hadn’t Beryl ever said about him getting money from her in the first place? It felt like a betrayal.
Me own sister in cahoots with me
husband, behind me back. And the way she said as Paddy was charming . . . Don’t say
—
no, she wouldn’t . . . He wouldn’t. . . would they?
Disgust at the thought
made Ada shiver.

‘You alreet, sis? You’ve gone quiet.’

Aye, I’m fine. I just hate me situation, that’s all. Having to beg money from you and then finding that Paddy’s been doing the same. I think I’ll get off home. I’ve
a queasy feeling in me belly. Forget the half a crown. I didn’t come up here for money, so I can do without it. I’ll see you in a few days. When will you see Paddy?’

‘He’ll be up later, no doubt. It’s usually a Thursday when he comes, as he knows that’s the night Bill works late. Mind, Bill doesn’t know owt about Paddy’s
loans, and I don’t want him knowing. Look, take the half a crown – you must need it or you wouldn’t have taken me offer. Go on. I’d feel better if you did.’

Taking the coin further sickened Ada, but she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t want Beryl to think she was upset about anything other than her situation. Or to suspect what was going
on in her mind. No, she’d let things be as they would normally be. But one thing she knew: she’d a job to do tonight. She’d follow Paddy and see just what was going on.

The awfulness of her thoughts hit Ada when she reached her home. Taking her coat off, she slumped onto a chair and rested her arms on the table, putting her head down onto
them. Unable to stop the tears, she let them flow. How could she even have considered Beryl and Paddy together.’ Beryl wouldn’t do such a thing to her. Oh, aye, Paddy would. She’d
caught him out many a time and, though he denied it, she knew he was putting himself about. Why did it hurt so much, after all these years? She wasn’t even sure she loved him any more. But he
was hers. Her man. They were good together and, despite everything, she didn’t want to lose that. The passion they shared was all she had left. It was something to look forward to. Why did he
need to do it with others?

Though these thoughts caused her pain, she knew they were not all she was crying about. She needed a release from the thoughts and feelings about her sons, which she kept cooped up inside
her.

Each tick of the clock on the mantel shelf filled the silent space she sat in, marking the time since she’d arrived home from Beryl’s. Now the seven chimes it gave
out reverberated around the room like a bell-ringer tolling the death-knell. Paddy still hadn’t returned home.

He’d gone out that morning saying that he was going to see if there was a chance of a morning’s work, and had then sent her a message to say he’d been given an
afternoon’s tatting with Mick Smith, the rag-and-bone man. Mick often took Paddy on his rounds looking for scrap metal. He reckoned Paddy could charm anything out of those who would hoard it
forever, rather than part with it: old iron bedsteads and bicycle frames, that sort of thing. Come to think of it, it was usually a Thursday when Paddy went with Mick, and Paddy always came in late
and smelling of beer, saying he’d had to wash the muck of the job from his throat. While she was thinking about it, he always tipped up a couple of bob to her. Not that it was every Thursday,
but every couple of weeks or so. And Thursday was Beryl’s half-day! But if he
did
spend his Thursdays visiting Beryl, why did he come in covered in muck?
Oh, stop it!
It was
as if she had no control of where her mind went these days. Paddy would be down the Black Horse, she was sure of it.

Despite these thoughts, her body rose up in defiance. Standing still for a moment, she fought with herself:
Don’t do this, lass, you’ll make a fool of yourself.
But the
voice inside her wasn’t listened to, and once more she donned her coat and put on her felt, cloche-style hat, tugging on the brim to make sure it sat securely on her head before leaving her
cottage.

Passing the Black Horse, she stood on tiptoe to look over the frosted glass bottom-half of the window. She could see a few heads of men she recognized, and knew others would be sitting down and
out of sight, but she couldn’t see Paddy. She couldn’t go in. Women didn’t go into pubs. Well, not nice women. Whores did. And if any woman decided to – even just to get her
man – she was classed as one of them.

The door opening caused the smell of beer and tobacco to waft over towards her. She quickened her step and scurried on past the pub, hoping that whoever it was hadn’t seen her peeping
through the window. ‘Ada? Is that your Are you alreet, lass?’

Mick Smith! ‘Aye, I am. I’m short of a bit of sugar and Lucy Freeman owes me a cup, so I’m just going to see if she has any. I need to get back before Paddy comes in. Is he
still in the bar?’

‘I’ve not seen him all day, lass. He’s not in there. Happen he’s gone up to the Black Dog. He plays cards up there sometimes.’

Her heart sank with these words, but she held herself together. ‘No matter. I’m not looking for him – he’ll come home when he’s ready. Night, Mick.’

‘See you around. Oh, and tell Paddy I might have a day for him on Monday.’

Keeping her footsteps steady, Ada walked in the direction of Lucy Freeman’s house. It didn’t take long for Mick to come from around the back of the pub with his horse and cart. He
would have kept it in the yard of the pub whilst he had his pint. The clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves and the grinding of the wheels of the cart on the cobbled road grated on her
nerves.

Glad when he’d gone from sight, Ada slipped into the ginnel and slumped against the wall of the corner house.
Oh God, no.
But what other explanation could there be? Paddy had lied
about going out with Mick. Beryl had never said, before today, that she gave money to him. Paddy went there on a Thursday. Beryl had an early-closing day on a Thursday, and Bill worked late.
And Beryl was for getting me gone today, whereas usually she keep me as long as she can, gossiping and such. Not that there can be much in that. Her half-day is when she does her washing . . .
or was she wanting me out because . . . ? No – it can’t be!

Pulling her shaking body up, Ada turned with determination towards the hill. She’d go there – she had to. She had to know.

Beryl’s house looked as it always did. The gas-lights were lit downstairs, and a light showed from an upstairs window. This one was unsteady and gave off the flickering
light of an oil lamp. Barely discernible, moving shadows danced and then disappeared, then formed again on the closed, cream-coloured curtains.

Ada’s world, which was resting precariously on a fine needle-point, rocked as it dawned on her what the shadows might mean. Despite her warm coat, her limbs trembled and what felt like
ice-cold fingers clutched at her heart. A deep moan that seemed to start in her bowel rumbled through her. When it reached her throat it emerged as a piercing scream, over which she had no
control.

Windows and doors opened. Voices shouted, ‘What’s going on?’ and ‘Who’s there?’

The scream died, leaving her throat sore and aching. Opening her eyes, she watched what she knew was an oil lamp being carried, as its light left the bedroom, swung past the porthole window on
the landing, then appeared bit by bit at the bottom of the stairs, until it flooded the porch and the front door opened. Paddy stood there without a shirt, holding the lamp aloft.

‘Nooooo!’

Without realizing she had moved, Ada found herself in front of Paddy, clawing at him as if she were a wild animal. Her nails gouged deep scratches into his cheeks. Hot, stinging tears rained
down her face, the salt hitting her tongue. Slimy snot ran from her nose, but she didn’t care. The hurt within her strangled her, and left her incapable of feeling or caring about anything
other than bringing this man as low as he had brought her.