Polly's Pride (38 page)

She did once hear him having something of a disagreement with Big Flo, apparently over the old woman’s helping her at the warehouse, since Polly heard her mother-in-law remark that she was too old to be dictated to, and big enough to do as she pleased. Rarely did Flo stand up to her son so Polly had felt flattered and a little puzzled by this increasing show of solidarity. But that seemed to represent a turning point. He’d made no further comments after that, except to express satisfaction she was contributing at last - as if he hadn’t been the one stopping her from getting out and about, or back to work, through all those long dreary months.

Joshua agreed that she might visit neighbours, the local shops and market, or simply go out for a walk with her children if she’d a mind. Nevertheless he instructed Big Flo to watch her like a hawk. He wasn’t to know that his mother at once informed her daughter-in-law of this fact. For all she strove to keep a foot in each camp, she was leaning more and more in Polly’s favour.

‘Where you off to now?’ she would ask, adopting an aggrieved expression whenever Polly pulled on her shawl - and then she’d fasten a large pin at the neck for her, concerned she should keep warm and take good care of herself.

‘Just down the market, Flo. We have to eat.’

‘Don’t be late back, mind, or you’ll catch it,’ she’d whisper. ‘We don’t want no awkward questions, do we? Our Josh don’t have the patience Matthew had, so take care who you talk to down there, lass, or who’s watching you. There are eyes everywhere, don’t forget.’ And she’d tap the side of her large nose with one finger, giving a knowing wink as if they were conspirators with a shared secret.

Surely, Polly thought, Big Flo didn’t know about her and Charlie, did she? Could she have guessed?

Sometimes all this subterfuge made her feel as if she were a young girl like Lucy, who Polly guessed was secretly courting young Tom Shackleton, and not a grown woman at all. Joshua had, at first, tried to insist that she give a detailed outline of her destination and anticipated time of return.

‘Sweet Jesus, I’m not a child, nor one of your weavers needing to clock in and out!’ she’d said, outfacing him. ‘The hell with that.’

‘If you blaspheme, I’ll wash your mouth out with carbolic soap, whether you’re an adult or not,’ he’d calmly informed her.
 

And looking into his cold eyes, Polly experienced a prickle of unease between her shoulder blades, fearing for a moment that he might very well carry out the threat. Even so, she refused to be confined. ‘I apologise for the language,’ she conceded. ‘Sure and you’d try the patience of a saint. Even so, I’ll come and go as I please without asking your permission, Joshua Pride.’

Once outside the front door of number twenty-three, she’d turn in quite the opposite direction from the alleged objective of her errand and hurry straight into Charlie’s arms, wherever it was he waited. Desperate to see him, she became more reckless and daring than she knew to be quite wise, but didn’t seem able to help herself. Besides, Joshua may be peeved by her increasing rebellion but they’d been so careful she was quite certain he didn’t suspect the truth.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Joshua guessed that something was afoot, though what exactly he couldn’t quite decide. This sudden and frequent desire to visit the market, or call on neighbours Polly had never previously bothered about, filled him with deep suspicion. It was bad enough that she had defied him over the matter of the carpets, but whenever he challenged her on the subject, she’d say she was out buying stock, or living her life, as if she surely had a right to do. In his opinion, she had no such right. She was becoming far too independent.

Nothing, in fact, was going his way at the moment.

The latest NUWM meeting had been a disaster as Joshua had failed to secure the post of chairman. Cal Eastwood, of all people, had been granted that honour. He’d sent his henchmen round, urging everyone to vote for him, claiming Joshua was too radical.
 

This was a severe blow to Joshua’s political ambitions. He hadn’t devised all those clever money-making schemes to have some other man spend the funds and take all the glory. And having Cal Eastwood as chairman would badly affect his ability to take what Joshua considered proper recompense for the services he rendered as treasurer. Pilfered money had become a vital part of Joshua’s income. But Cal wasn’t one to miss a trick.

‘Don’t feel badly. You’ll happen be lucky next year,’ the victor had magnanimously consoled him, before going with his mates to celebrate over a pint or two in the Gaping Goose. Joshua declined an invitation to join them. Next year seemed a long way off. Who knew what state the organisation, or the country, would be in by then?

So far as Joshua was concerned, the NUWM seemed to be losing its edge. It had not allowed him to make any significant mark on the public consciousness. Most of the newspapers, local and national alike, had refused to write about it in any positive way. The greatest public sympathy had been won by the hunger marchers of Jarrow, who had no connection with the NUWM at all, were non-political, and as a result had received the best publicity.
 

Back in 1931
 
it had seemed the NUWM could do no wrong. The national membership had been strong and growing, and Joshua had believed he would go all the way to the top with it and find himself in Parliament. rubbing shoulders with the likes of Neville Chamberlain and Ramsay MacDonald, with him having a real say in the way the country was governed.

Now he was facing the unpalatable truth that, for all it was one of the few organisations to stand up for the ordinary man in the street, it had failed to mobilise more than a fraction of the unemployed. Joshua made his feelings on the subject known to his colleagues in no uncertain terms.

‘Wal Hannington, our leader, blames the Labour Party and the TUC, but I blame you lot! It’s apathy,’ he accused them. He was doubly concerned because, little by little, the membership was dwindling, and with it his last hopes of glory.

‘We’re still here, aren’t we?’ one man shouted back to him.

Joshua slammed his fist down on the lectern. ‘But there’s not enough of you. No one else must leave. It’s a disgrace. We must all stand together. We seem to spend far too much of our time campaigning for winter relief - of benefit to some perhaps but hardly worthy of our full attention.’
 

If he wasn’t sticking a knife in some employer’s back, Joshua felt unfulfilled.

Still without any prospect of employment, largely because of the prejudice of prospective employers who now viewed him as a trouble-maker, he could see no future for himself but a slow decline. The prospect served only to increase the bitterness he harboured against life in general and those going up in the world, such as his sister-in-law.

It gave him enormous pleasure to have made her life such a complete misery since Matthew’s death. Now, his present circumstances hardened his resolve to make the Irish woman suffer even further. He resolved to find out exactly what she was up to and, if she was making money, to discover where it was she kept it hidden.

He began to follow her. Day after day, with increasing persistence and dogged patience, he traced her steps as she went seeking carpets to buy, till he could have recited almost every street she had tried from St Andrew’s Square to Cheetham Hill Road, from Piccadilly to Miles Platting, neglecting his chapel and NUWM duties in order to do so. He would hide in a shop doorway or ginnel and watch as she knocked on door after door, feeling intense gratification at her continued lack of success.

Yet instead of looking cast down and weary, Polly remained buoyant and elated. There was a glow about her that deeply troubled him. It would certainly pay him to keep a close eye on her, he decided. All he needed was to think of some way to upset her apple cart, for things were going a little too well for Madam. Even now, the fire in her dark hair seemed alive in the sunshine, bouncing on her shoulders with a vibrant life of its own, for she was almost running down the street with the kind of excitement usually reserved for meeting a lover. But how could she have a lover? She surely had no opportunity.

Joshua turned the corner to discover that finally his patience had been rewarded as he saw her run into the arms of a man, and turn up her laughing face for his kiss. He watched with cold speculation as the man lifted her slender figure in his arms to swing her round, the naked joy on his face almost painful to see. Now he understood where she had been going, and the lies she had been telling. Not so innocent after all, but sneaking off to see this man, her lover, and take part, no doubt, in fornication.

But who was this man? And then Joshua remembered the unknown visitor to his door more than a year ago. Of course. Charlie Stockton was the fellow’s name. How foolish of him to forget.

Polly decided that her own immediate area was too poor for many folk to own big carpets. It was therefore time to search further afield. ‘We’ll try over towards Cheshire way. There’s more money round there.’ Benny was in school, and had been warned she’d be late home. Lucy was working on the tripe and trotter stall, and Charlie had promised transport.

‘You find ‘em, I’ll carry ‘em,’ he’d said with his cheeky grin. ‘And I’ll keep an eye out for something interesting too. No reason why I shouldn’t do a bit of buying and selling on my own account, is there?’

It was wonderful sitting up on the high cart with Charlie, even if the horse was old and they could probably have walked faster. But the animal was strong and sure, and would come into his own when the cart was piled high with the carpets Polly hoped to buy. Inside her waistband was tucked the money that Eileen had saved for her; several golden guineas which Polly had guarded with great care.

She felt as light-hearted and happy as a young girl on a first date with her young man. She half glanced up at Charlie, loving the way his hair grew tousled in the wind, the curve of his lashes upon his cheeks, the gentleness of his fingers curled about the reins. Everything was perfect, even the weather. The sun was shining, birds were singing. It was a soft spring day with the promise of summer ahead and, as they left the city behind them, it was even possible to see the sky turn blue, with streaks of pink and white cloud.

‘Did you ever see such a lovely sight?’ said Polly, sighing with pleasure.

‘I see a lovelier one every day.’ And as he pulled her close to his side, she blushed, for there was no doubting the compliment was directed at herself.

They rode along quiet country lanes before coming to a small village, but Polly insisted they keep going. This wasn’t the place to find second-hand carpets. In truth, she would have been content to drive all day with Charlie and not even think about business. At this time of year she would once have been thinking of the Whit Walks, but there were more important things to occupy her now. She had Charlie to think about, and her living to earn. She was also desperate to find a home for her family. Somehow she had to save her children from Joshua’s tyranny.

‘Where does he think you are today?’ Charlie asked, intuitively reading her mind. Polly shrugged.

‘Who knows what he thinks? Isn’t he a law unto himself.’

‘You don’t reckon he’d follow you, do you?’

She looked at him, wide-eyed with shock. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’ It was something she’d never considered, yet as she did so now, she felt a chill creep over her as if his eyes were indeed upon her. ‘The man is capable of anything if it serves his purpose. But I hope not,’ she added more thoughtfully, then snuggled closer to Charlie’s side. ‘Lets not talk about Joshua, or even think about him today. Let’s pretend there’s just you and me in the whole wide world. Wouldn’t that be grand?’

‘It’s what I want more than anything,’ Charlie said, and trusted the horse to lead them while he kissed Polly so thoroughly she was in no doubt of his sincerity. ‘It’s time you got out from under his jurisdiction altogether.’ Charlie wished he could ask her to marry him there and then and have done with it, but what could he offer her? Nothing. He was earning little, and she less. Besides, her heart was set on this business and he knew her for an independent woman, not one to be rushed.

‘Oh, I mean to leave all right, just soon as I get my business going. That’s the most important thing right now,’ Polly agreed, and he subsided into silence.

By ten o’clock she was knocking on a door. It was to be the first of many that morning but with no success. Most of the householders were dismissive, some downright rude. Nobody had a carpet to sell, though one or two seemed almost regretful, perhaps more ready for quick cash than they liked to admit. ‘We’re wasting our time,’ Polly mourned.

‘Not necessarily. We’ll mebbe strike lucky in the next street.’ Unfortunately the next proved as bad as the first and yet foolishly, unreasonably, they were happy.

They stopped and ate their sandwiches amongst a carpet of bluebells beneath a spreading horse chestnut tree, pink with buds. The smell of the flowers was heady and magical; such a romantic setting that Polly almost didn’t care if she found no carpets at all. Wasn’t she having a lovely day out with her man?

For a while they lay quietly on the sun-warmed grass together, feeding each other crusts of bread and cheese, biting into crunchy apples. Then they lay in the sun and slept for a while, Charlie with his arms about her, stroking her hair with the tips of his fingers. Polly’s eyelids grew heavy and languorous even as a new excitement burned within. She wanted him. More than she could ever have thought possible. She lifted her face and touched his lips with her own.