The New Neighbours (64 page)

“That, I think, is part of his problem,” Mike replied. “He was at least happy there. Anyway, try not to worry about him too much. Perhaps this supervision order thing will work, who knows?”

“Well thanks anyway, Mike,” Angela said. “I must get back now. See you some time, I expect.”

“Yes, I expect so. Enjoy your new house, Angela.”

“Yes,” she replied with a note of determination in her voice, “I will. We all will.”

As the morning progressed people began to drift away and by half past twelve only Shirley, Mary and the two girls were left.

“How much did we make?” Cirelle asked Shirley when she'd counted the money.

“Quite good,” Shirley said enthusiastically. “A hundred and ten pounds and twenty-seven p–, and with the fiver Annie Hooper brought over this morning on her way to work, that's over a hundred and fifteen pounds!”

“Hey, that is good,” exclaimed Mad. “What will it be used for?”

“Towards the roof repairs I expect,” sighed Shirley. “I'd love it to be spent on things for our people to do, but I suppose the roof must come first!”

Cirelle went round the room collecting up dirty cups, and as she passed the window she saw a man nailing a slanting board across the for sale sign outside Madge Peters' house.

“Hey, you guys, look,” she called out to the others, “Madge's house seems to have been sold.”

Mad joined her at the window and looked across at the workman hammering, before amazing them all by saying, “Yeah, it has. My dad's bought it.”

There was a chorus of surprise from the others. “Your dad! Has he? Why? What for?”

Mad laughed. She'd been in the secret since the weekend, but had been sworn to secrecy until the “sold by” board went up, so only Dean knew.

“He's going to rent it out to students,” she said cheerfully, and laughed again at the stunned look on their faces. “He's got three friends of Hattie's lined up to move in next week, just until the summer. After that, he'll do it up properly, like he did ours. He's bought it from Andrew Peters, complete with the contents. He says it suits them both very well.”

“I sure it does,” remarked Mary dryly. She, Shirley and Sheila had helped Andrew with the removal of Madge's clothes and other personal items, but she had wondered at the time what on earth he was going to do with all the furniture and other household effects. He had given them no hint, and she hadn't asked. Now she knew, and realised it was the obvious solution as far as Andrew was concerned.

“It was all very quick, wasn't it?” Mary said, feeling that at least he might have warned them.

“Not really,” Mad said. “Dad guessed Andrew would want to sell the place, and approached him some time before Christmas. They exchanged contracts last week.”

Shirley looked across at Mary. Another student house in the Circle; and she knew a moment of silent relief that she and David were moving to the quiet peace of Derringham. Mary gave no sign of her thoughts at the news. Then another thought crossed Shirley's mind, one that made her smile guiltily and decide it was something to discuss with David the moment he got in for lunch. She said nothing of her idea now.

It didn't take very long for them to get cleared up. Shirley thanked them both for all their help and then the two girls went as planned to meet Dean at the students' union.

“Join us for a sandwich?” Shirley invited Mary. “David'll be in for lunch a minute.”

“No, I won't, thanks all the same,” Mary said. “I've got a couple of things to do at home and then I'm on at St Joe's this afternoon.”

Quite relieved that Mary had turned down the offer of lunch, Shirley set about preparing some food as she waited for David to come home.

When at last he arrived, she told him quickly about Madge Peters house. “He's obviously buying it as an investment,” she said excitedly. “Perhaps he'd like to buy ours too! What do you think?”

“I think it's most unlikely,” said David, his tone pouring cold water on her brilliant idea.

“But you could ring him and ask him?” suggested Shirley, undeterred. “We've got his number, I've just found the card he gave us when we first met him. Surely it's worth a try, David. He might be interested.”

“Anything for some peace and quiet,” David finally agreed. “I'll give him a call after lunch, but how you'll be able to face Sheila and the rest if you sell this house to Nick Richmond for a student house, I can't imagine.”

“I shan't have to face them,” Shirley said cheerfully, “I shall be living in Derringham.”

Mary had gone home and made herself a sandwich and a mug of soup, which she carried to her favourite chair by the window. She hadn't anything to do until it was time to go to St Joe's, but she was tired and wanted half an hour of peace in the blissful silence of her own home. She picked up the newspaper and her pen and turned to the crossword. A movement below in the Circle caught her eye and she saw Sheila, rushing across the grass, her face bursting with concern and indignation. She was coming to Mary. For a moment Mary was puzzled. Now what was the matter? What on earth could have upset her like this? Then she remembered, Gerald had been going to play golf with Andrew Peters… Andrew must have told Gerald his news. Sheila had just heard there was going to be another student house in the Circle.

~

We hope you enjoyed this book.

Diney Costeloe's next book,
The Girl With No Name
, is coming in April 2016

For an exclusive preview of Diney Costeloe's
The Throwaway Children
, read on or click the image.

For more information, click the links below or use your device's Go-to menu

About Diney Costeloe

Also by About Diney Costeloe

An invitation from the publisher

Read on for a preview of

Gritty, heartrending and unputdownable – the story of two sisters sent first to an English, then an Australian orphanage in the aftermath of World War 2.

Rita and Rosie Stevens are only nine and five years old when their widowed mother marries a violent bully called Jimmy Randall and has a baby boy by him. Under pressure from her new husband, she is persuaded to send the girls to an orphanage – not knowing that the papers she has signed will entitle them to do what they like with the children.

And it is not long before the powers that be decide to send a consignment of orphans to their sister institution in Australia. Among them – without their family's consent or knowledge – are Rita and Rosie, the throwaway children.

Can't wait? Buy it here now!

Belcaster 1948

Raised voices again. Rita could hear them through the floor; her mother's, a querulous wail, the man's an angry roar. For a moment she lay still in bed, listening. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was clear that they were arguing.

Rosie, her sister, was peacefully asleep at the other end of their shared single bed, the stray cat, Felix, curled against her. She never seemed to wake up however loud the shouting downstairs. Rita slid out from under the bedclothes and tip-toeing across the room, crept out onto the landing. Limpid green light from a street lamp shone through the small landing window, lighting the narrow staircase. A shaft of dull yellow light, shining through the half-open kitchen door, lit the cracked brown lino and cast shadows in the hall. The voices came from the kitchen, still loud, still angry. Rita crouched against the banister, her face pressed to its bars. From here she could actually hear some of what was being said.

‘…my children from me.' Her mother's voice.

‘…another man's brats!' His voice.

Rita shivered at the sound of his voice. Uncle Jimmy, Mum's new friend. Then Mum began to cry, a pitiful wailing that echoed into the hall.

‘For Christ's sake!' His voice again. ‘Cut the caterwauling, woman… or I'll leave right now.'

A chair crashed over, and the shaft of light broadened as the kitchen door was pushed wider. Rita dived back into her bedroom, making the door creak loudly. She leaped into bed, kicking a protesting Felix off the covers and pulling the sheet up over her head. She tried to calm her breathing so that it matched Rosie's, the peaceful breathing of undisturbed sleep, but her heart was pounding, the blood hammering in her ears as she heard the heavy tread of feet on the stairs.
He
was coming up.

‘Rita! Was you out of bed?' His voice was harsh. He had not put on the landing light, and as he reached the top stair, Felix materialized at his feet, almost tripping him over.

‘Bloody cat!' snarled the man, aiming a kick at him, but Felix had already streaked downstairs.

Jimmy Randall paused on the landing, listening. All was quiet in the girls' room. Softly he crossed to the half-open door and peered in, but it was too dark to see anything, and all he could hear was the steady breathing of two little girls asleep.

Must have been the damned cat, he thought. Don't know why Mavis gives it houseroom, dirty stray. If it was my house…

It wasn't. Not yet. But it would be, Jimmy was determined about that. A neat little house in Ship Street, a terrace of other neat little houses; well, not so neat most of them, unrepaired from the bombing, cracked windows, scarred paintwork, rubble in the tiny gardens, but basically sound enough. Jimmy wouldn't mind doing a bit of repair work himself, provided the house was his at the end of it. His and Mavis's, but not full of squalling kids. All he had to do was get his name on the rent book, then he'd be laughing.

Rita heard him close the door but lay quite still in case it was a trick, in case he was standing silently inside the room waiting to catch her out. It was a full two minutes before she allowed herself to open her eyes into the darkness of her room. She could see nothing. Straining her ears she heard his voice again, not so loud this time, and definitely downstairs.

For a while she lay in the dark, thinking about Uncle Jimmy. He had come into their lives about two months ago, visiting occasionally at first, smiling a lot, once bringing chocolate. It was for Mum really, but she'd let Rita and Rosie have one piece every day until it had gone. But Rita was afraid of him all the same. He had a loud voice and got cross easily.

Rita wasn't used to having a man in her life. She hardly remembered her daddy. Mum said he had gone to the war and hadn't come home. He had gone before Rosie was even born, fighting the Germans. Rita knew he had been in the air force, flying in a plane high over Germany, and that one night his plane hadn't come back. There was a picture of her daddy in a silver-coloured frame on the kitchen shelf. He was wearing his uniform and smiling. Wherever you moved in the kitchen, his eyes followed you, so that wherever she sat, Rita knew he was smiling at her. She loved his face, his smile making crinkles round his eyes and his curly fair hair half-covered with his air force cap. Rosie had the same sort of hair, thick and fair, curling round her face. Rita's own hair was like Mum's, dark, thin and straight, and she always wished she had hair like Rosie's… and Daddy's.