Forgive and Forget (10 page)

William glared at her, grunted and then went back to his meal, jabbing a piece of meat viciously with his fork.

The Fowlers lived opposite the Hallidays and the difference between the two families was extreme. Whilst Seth Halliday was a peace-loving, law-abiding man, the Fowlers were trouble with a capital T. There was a brood of children – Polly had lost count, but she never seemed to see Hetty Fowler when she wasn’t pregnant. Hetty was a mousy, plain little woman, who seemed to spend most of her time standing in the doorway of her home, watching the comings and goings of her neighbours.

Micky was the second eldest, a year older than Polly and he’d gone to the same school. As a youngster he’d pulled her pigtails and called after her on the way home, but all that had stopped one winter evening when the children in their street had been having a friendly snowball fight. Polly threw a snowball that hit Micky on the forehead. For a moment he stood still, stunned to think that a mere girl would dare to throw one at him. Then he scooped up a handful of snow and bore down on Polly. She squealed, half in fun, half afraid, and began to run. But Micky was older and bigger and soon caught up with her. He grabbed her and rubbed the snow in her face and pushed it down her neck.

Incensed and smaller though she was, Polly turned on him with a fury that lent her strength. She hurled her wiry little body at him. Caught of balance, he fell flat on his back into the snow, with Polly sitting astride him and heaping the snow on top of him. At last, her revenge complete, she got up, laughing. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again, Micky Fowler.’

He’d got up and, soaking wet and humiliated in front of the other children, including his younger brothers and sisters, he’d slunk home.

Next day, Polly’s right eye was red and swollen so much that it was almost closed.

‘Who did that to you, Poll?’ William had demanded and even Sarah had tried to get her to name her assailant. But Polly had kept her mouth firmly closed; she was no telltale. She’d fight her own battles.

She fully expected retaliation and kept a wary eye out for Micky Fowler at school. She saw him in the distance in the playground, but he seemed to be avoiding her. At home time her heart was pounding. Now he’ll get me, she thought. Polly walked home through the gloom, trying to keep her footing in the freezing snow and ice. She heard footsteps trudging through the snow and glanced over her shoulder. It was Micky Fowler following her. She pulled in a deep breath and turned to face him. Whatever was coming to her, she thought, better get it over with.

Micky sauntered towards her, whistling, his hands in his pockets.

‘All right, Poll?’ he greeted her. He stopped in front of her, but made no move to touch her. Softly, he said, ‘Sorry about your eye, Poll. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was only a bit of fun.’

Now, closer to, she could see that he had a red scratch on his left cheek running from the corner of his eye right down almost to his chin. He touched it gently. ‘Reckon we’re quits, though, eh?’

‘Did – did I do that to you?’

‘Yeah. Reckon there must have been a bit of grit or a pebble in the snow when you pushed it in my face.’

‘Then I’m sorry too, Micky.’

Through the deepening darkness she saw the flash of his white teeth as he grinned. ‘You’re a little firebrand, Polly Longden. I won’t be crossing you again in a hurry.’

She’d laughed and then they’d turned and walked together to her front door, she to step into the house, he to walk on to the end of the street. And from that day she’d never had any bother with Micky or with any of the other lads.

Any trouble between the two families had been between the two men. Bert Fowler was as quick-tempered as her own father was and even more ready to get into a real fisticuffs. He worked on the railway too and was a big union man. Bert and her father should have been bosom pals, Polly had always thought, seeing as how they were so alike. They were both quick to grumble about working conditions, rates of pay and so on. They even fought for the same causes, so why did they keep falling out? Perhaps, she thought, with sudden insight, it was because they
were
so alike. At times the very name of Bert Fowler was like a red rag to a bull for William. And now, it seemed, was one of those times.

In an effort to pour oil on troubled waters, she suggested, ‘Mek the lad welcome, Dad, why don’t you? Mebbe he’s not like his dad. Let’s give him a chance, eh?’

William growled but said no more.

‘I can go now, Poll.’ Eddie paused in the doorway. ‘I’m ready. He dun’t need to come in.’

But Polly followed him to the door and, as he opened it, she plastered her most winning smile on her face. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder she said, ‘Hello, Micky? Come on in and ’ave a cup of tea.’

For a moment the boy blinked in surprise then he grinned. ‘Don’t mind if I do, Poll.’ And without waiting for further invitation, he stepped inside.

Deliberately, Polly ignored the look of thunder on her brother’s face.

Of course, Polly saw Micky often; she could scarcely avoid it, living in the same street, but she’d not seen him close to for months. He’d grown and filled out from the skinny urchin she remembered at school. He was a little taller than she was – though not as tall as Leo – and his shoulders were broad. He still had the same wide, cheeky grin and his black hair was slicked back beneath the cap that he now pulled off his head.

‘So, what a’ you doing’ these days, young Micky?’ William asked and Polly knew he was trying to be civil. But he couldn’t prevent the edge in his tone.

‘Oh, this and that,’ he said and winked at William.

The older man stared at him for a moment. His tone was even sharper as he said, ‘I mean, where do you work?’

Before Micky could reply, Eddie butted in. ‘Time we was off, if we don’t want to miss the beginning.’

Micky got up. ‘Going to the theatre, we are. Ain’t we posh all of a sudden?’

Polly felt a flash of envy. How she’d love a night out at the theatre or just a walk into town without having to push the unwieldy perambulator; just a bit of time to herself to do anything she wanted would be nice. The words ‘It’s all right for some’ sprang to her lips, but she bit them back and instead forced a smile and said, ‘Have a good time. Tell us all about it when you get back.’

As she saw them to the door, she said lightly, ‘See you again, Micky.’

She felt his eyes on her, appraising her, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable. His glance was nothing like Leo’s – or even Roland Spicer’s. There was something unnerving about Micky Fowler’s glance and his ‘You certainly will, Polly.’

‘So, what d’you think to Micky Fowler now, Dad?’ Polly asked when she returned to the kitchen.

William wrinkled his brow. ‘I didn’t like the way he winked when I asked him what he did. As if I was in cahoots with him.’ He glanced at Polly. ‘And he was eyeing you up – I didn’t like that. You want to watch yourself. You’re growing up.’ For a brief moment his glance rested on her developing bosom, but he looked away swiftly. ‘Lads’ll be starting to notice you. Eh, dear me – ’ he shook his head sadly – ‘this is when I miss yar mam the most. How am I supposed to guide lasses?’

Polly put her hand on his shoulder and said softly. ‘I know what’s what. And I’ll mek sure Violet does very soon, ’cos she’s growing up an’ all. Don’t you worry about us. It’s Eddie you need to keep an eye on.’

‘I thought he’d been a lot better just lately. Since he started working full-time for Mr Wilmott, he’s seemed steadier.’

‘Oh, he works hard and the stuff he still brings home on a Saturday night is a boon, but—’

‘But what lass,’ William prompted. ‘Out with it, ’cos I know you’re not one to find fault with others unless there’s a good reason.’

Polly was thinking fast. How could she get the message across to her father without bringing Leo into it? ‘It’s just – it’s just – well – he goes out nearly every night now with his mates. We don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.’

‘He doesn’t sound to be getting into mischief if he’s going to the theatre.’ William smiled. ‘Very grand, I’d call that.’

Polly eyed him sceptically. ‘If he really
is
going to the theatre.’

William raised his eyebrows.

‘Don’t you believe him?’

‘There was a funny sort of look that passed between them when Micky said that’s where they were going. I just wondered if he – Micky, I mean – was showing off, like. Trying to impress.’

William was thoughtful. ‘You could be right,’ he said slowly. ‘We’ll keep an eye on him. On both of them.’

Polly went to bed satisfied. She’d got the seed of doubt sown in her father’s mind without revealing that Leo had given her the first warning.

Long before Eddie came home, Polly fell asleep dreaming of the handsome young policeman in his dark uniform, his lopsided smile and his blue eyes, but her lovely dream was spoiled by Micky Fowler throwing snowballs and knocking Leo’s helmet off.

The next time Micky Fowler knocked on their door Violet answered it.

‘My, my, another pretty sister,’ Polly heard Micky’s saucy greeting and pursed her lips. But she was obliged to make the boy welcome; if they were to keep an eye on him and Eddie, then they must all appear friendly and welcoming.

‘Come away in, Micky,’ she called. ‘I reckon you must’ve smelt me baking.’

Bread, scones and a sponge cake lay on the table cooling. Money, though still tight, was a lot easier now both William and Eddie were earning, and just now and again Polly managed to make a special treat for the family. As he came into the kitchen, Micky’s eyes lit up.

‘By heck, have you made all this?’ Micky winked at her. ‘You’ll mek someone a grand wife one day.’

Violet sidled up to him. ‘I helped. I kneaded the dough and then put it in the hearth to let it prove.’ She put her head on one side coquettishly and simpered, ‘Won’t I make someone a good wife too?’

Micky laughed. ‘Of course you will, pretty Violet.’

Polly bit the end of her tongue to stop it making some sharp retort. It was bad enough if he was leading her brother astray, but now watching Violet looking up at him with adoring eyes, a new anxiety crept into Polly’s heart. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to make him so welcome in their home.

At that moment, there was wail from upstairs and Polly was obliged to leave them and go to see to the baby, though Miriam was no longer a baby really. She was almost a year old and already pulling herself up in the cot – the cot that Leo had repaired and painted.

Polly smiled as she remembered the day – it had been whilst her father was still in hospital – that Leo had knocked on the door. She’d opened it to find him and his father carrying the cot between them.

Amidst all the anxiety and sadness, Leo’s kind gesture had brought tears to her eyes.

‘We’ll put it up for you, if you like. Where d’you want it?’

‘In – in the bedroom – with me an’ Vi. But there’s not much room.’

The two men had carried the pieces upstairs, moved the bed that Polly and Violet shared to one corner of the divided room and put the cot up in the other corner behind the door.

‘It’s wonderful,’ Polly had said gratefully. ‘Thank you so much – both of you.’

And now Miriam was standing up in it and soon she’d be walking. How the time had flown.

Whilst she was changing the little girl, Polly heard Eddie clatter down the stairs and the two boys leave by the front door. When she carried Miriam down, it was to find Violet still sitting at the table, a dreamy expression on her face.

‘Which do you want to do, Vi? Look after Miriam or put the baking away?’

With a sigh, Violet got up and held out her arms for the child. Handing her over, Polly thought: Always opting for the easy job, is our Vi. But then she castigated herself for her uncharitable thought. It was a great help to her when someone would mind the baby whilst she got on with the household chores. But Violet was good with the little one. She never lost patience and always seemed to have Miriam smiling and gurgling happily in moments. Stevie was at school now and though Violet was still there too, she’d be twelve in the coming March and already she was fidgeting to leave and start working. She was growing up so fast; too fast, to Polly’s mind. Already the girl went into town on a Saturday with her friends – with or without Polly’s permission. And Polly’s worries over Eddie were nothing beside her anxieties for her younger sister. She wished she could talk to her father about her fears for them both, but he’d never been the easiest man to confide in. Despite her brave assertion that she’d be able to guide her younger sister, Polly still felt the need for an older woman’s counsel. Violet was going to be a handful, Polly could see that already by the way the young girl had flirted – and yes, there was no other word for it – Violet had flirted quite brazenly with Micky Fowler.

If only their mother was still here . . .

Mrs Halliday, Polly thought with a sudden smile. I can talk to Leo’s mam about anything. She’ll understand.

‘Come away in, lass, and sit yarsen down. Eee, let’s have a look at this little one,’ she added, her eyes softening as she reached to take Miriam from Polly’s arms. ‘My, she’s growing. She’ll be walking before you know it and then you’ll have your hands full.’