A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (6 page)

Oh, the poor woman, Elsie thought. Fancy having to put up with a husband like that. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re welcome to come round here any time, and your husband doesn’t need to know anything about it.’

‘Thanks, that’s good of you, but I’ll ’ave to think about it,’ Ruth said with a tremulous smile.

Closing the door behind her visitor, Elsie returned to the kitchen and slumped onto a chair. She felt drained of energy and sat absentmindedly twiddling the edge of the tablecloth, thinking about her new neighbours. She had been concerned about Sally, but after looking at Ruth’s palm she was worried about her too. There were some strange goings-on next door, and it was obvious her neighbour was hiding something. But what?

When Ruth returned home her mind was reeling. She had never met anyone like Elsie before and didn’t know what to make of it all. Her new neighbour was a clairvoyant, but she looked so normal, short and dumpy, with a kind, chubby face.

She held onto the back of a chair, wondering what on earth had come over her, talking so openly to a complete stranger. Yet there was something about Elsie that inspired trust, a sort of deep wisdom in her eyes.

Ruth looked critically around the kitchen and grabbing a duster, flicked it halfheartedly along the mantelpiece, unable to stop a picture of Elsie’s lovely, cosy room from filling her mind. If only Ken would give her a bit more housekeeping money she could make it nice in here too.

Stop it, she told herself, count your blessings. After all, most men wouldn’t have forgiven her as Ken had. He had stayed with her, which was more than she deserved. No, she was lucky, and lifting her shoulders she attacked her housework with renewed vigour.

At five o’clock Ken flung open the back door and stomped into the kitchen. Yanking a chair closer to the fire, he slumped down, yawned, and stretched out his legs to rest on the fender. Look at the state of her, he thought, watching Ruth scurrying around. The scrawny cow, she was getting like a bag of bloody bones.

‘What’s for dinner?’ he snapped.

‘We’ve got toad in the hole and it’s nearly ready,’ she answered, looking at him warily.

‘Well, get a move on, yer lazy cow,’ he snarled, smirking at the fear in her eyes; it was no more than the bitch deserved.

Arms raised and stretching his upper body, he grimaced as his muscles screamed in pain. Christ, it had been a hard day; his deliveries had weighed a ton. His boss, Jimmy Peterson, must be raking it in, the jammy git. There was an increasing demand for construction materials and today he’d been lumbered with delivering a large consignment of bricks to a building site across the river.

Still, it had been a bit of luck bumping into Billy Bushell, so there had been some compensation. Billy had offered him some cheap whisky, saying with a sly wink that it had fallen off the back of a lorry, and persuading him to meet at the King’s Head in Balham later on to buy a few bottles.

Ken relaxed in his chair, shaking out the evening paper, and for a short while the only sounds to be heard were the scraping of a spoon against the side of a saucepan, and the rustle of the newspaper as he turned the pages.

At last, he thought, when Ruth called him to the table.

He sat in his usual place, gulping his food, anxious to get to the pub. Mopping up the last of his gravy with a chunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth, he stood up, belching loudly. ‘Christ, ain’t it about time you learned how to cook a decent meal? You’re bleedin’ useless,’ he sneered, as he stamped out of the room.

After a quick wash he flung on his coat, scowling at the thought of his destination. He had been born in Balham and it was where he and Ruth had started their married life, but now, if it hadn’t been for the pull of cheap whisky, he would avoid it like the plague.

As he left the house and hurried down the Lane, he saw a bus just pulling into the stop on Long Street and sprinted to catch it. Flopping breathlessly onto the nearest seat, his thoughts were still on Ruth, recalling how after the war he had returned to their small flat, happy, optimistic, and willing to give their marriage a chance. And he had tried, by God how he had tried. But it was no good, he just couldn’t stand it: every time he looked at the ginger brat it was a reminder.

Things might have worked out if Ruth had given him the son he wanted so desperately, but no … she had failed him in that too. He was determined to make her pay, and nowadays the only pleasure he got was from the power he wielded over her. She didn’t stand up to him, she wouldn’t dare, and the only time she showed any spunk was when he threatened the kid.

The bus pulled up only a few steps from the King’s Head and as he pushed open the door, a thick cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out into the cold night air. Glancing quickly around he was pleased to see there were no familiar faces about, and then strolled nonchalantly up to the bar.

‘Well I never! It’s Ken Marchant!’

His eyes lit up in recognition as he stared appreciatively at the blonde and busty barmaid. ‘Barbara! Well, I’ll be blowed. How are you, and how’s Bob?’

‘Blimey, where ’ave you been? Didn’t you hear – Bob didn’t make it. He copped it in Normandy.’

‘Gawd, I’m sorry to hear that, Babs.’

‘Thanks, Ken. I still miss him, he was such a smashing bloke.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘All those hundreds of boats that sailed to Normandy to pick our troops up from the beaches, and my Bob didn’t manage to get on one.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He always was last in the queue, wasn’t he? “Slow but steady” I used to call him.’

‘Christ, what rotten luck,’ Ken said sympathetically.

Barbara shrugged her shoulders and in a dismissive manner, said, ‘It was a long time ago and life must go on. So come on, what can I get you?’

‘I’ll have a pint of bitter please, and ’ave a drink yourself.’

‘That’s nice of you. I’ll ’ave a drop of gin if that’s all right.’

‘Yeah, of course it is.’ He leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. ‘I’m looking for Billy Bushell. Have you seen him?’

She grinned widely. ‘I’ve seen him all right. Seen him getting his collar felt.’

‘What! When was that?’

‘No more than an hour ago. He was in here flogging knocked-off booze to some geezer who, unluckily for Billy, turned out to be a copper. The landlord ain’t too happy about it, I can tell yer. If the brewery finds out, he could lose his job.’

Ken’s eyes widened; bloody hell, if he’d arrived any earlier the police could have nabbed him too.

Barbara looked at him shrewdly. ‘Don’t tell me you was going to buy his dodgy gear?’

‘Well, yeah – I was, as it happens,’ he said, grinning ruefully.

‘Oh, you naughty boy,’ she said, looking at him with a coquettish glint in her eyes.

By closing time he had drunk more than usual and was enjoying chatting to Barbara as she leaned across the bar, her bust surging over the top of her tight, low-cut sweater.

‘Hang about, Ken, I’ll soon ’ave this lot cleared up, then you can come back to my place for a drop of whisky if you like.’

‘Now then, love, you know I’m a married man,’ he told her, holding up his hands in mock horror.

‘But Ken, it’s only whisky I’m offering,’ she said, her smile belying her words.

R
uth was on her hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the kitchen floor. Palms flat, she pushed herself up, resting on her heels, back arched as she massaged the base of her spine. Phew, she thought, I could do with a break. Hearing a sudden rat-a-tat on the dividing wall she smiled at Elsie’s signal that the kettle was on, and bent forward with renewed vigour.

The last few months had brought many changes in her life and she had become close to her next-door neighbour, making it a habit to pop round for a cup of tea after her morning chores were finished. Life had become so much easier since Ken’s boss had put him on long-distance driving. Somehow, being away from home for one or two nights a week had softened him, and it had been a while now since he had given her a clout.

Thankfully rinsing the last strip of lino, she stood up, pursing her lips as she rubbed her sore knees. Now for a cup of tea, she thought, returning Elsie’s knock to let her know she was on her way.

‘Wotcher, Elsie, is the tea made? I’m spitting feathers,’ she called, stepping through the back door into the kitchen.

Elsie paused in the act of lifting the teapot. ‘Yes, it’s ready,’ she said with a grin. ‘You and your tea – I should have brought an urn when I moved next door to you.’

Ruth chuckled as she sat down at the table. ‘How’s things?’

‘Fine, but did you hear the almighty racket my Arthur made this morning? He was in such a hurry to get downstairs for his breakfast that he slid the last five steps on his bottom. The whole street must have heard him yelling and he did his best to get out of going to school. We weren’t fooled though, and it didn’t stop him stuffing his face. I don’t know where he puts all the grub. Bert said he must have hollow legs.’

‘No, I didn’t hear him, but I did notice your husband leaving early. Has he got another removals job?’

Spooning sugar into the cups, Elsie slid one across the table towards Ruth. ‘Yeah, a family moving to Devon, lucky devils. The firm’s doing well and Bert said if things keep up like this, they might be able to buy another van next year. Not that I see any benefits yet, as most of the money gets ploughed back into the business. Still, I mustn’t complain. At least I get my housekeeping money every week.’

Ruth picked up her tea and took an appreciative sip. ‘You’re lucky, Elsie, you get a darn sight more money than me.’

‘I know, but your husband’s started doing long hauls so he must be earning more. Why don’t you ask him for a rise?’

‘You must be joking! I wouldn’t dare do that. Anyway, now that he’s away a couple of nights a week I don’t have to buy so much food, so I’m that much better off.’

Elsie bit her lip, a strange expression on her face, but before Ruth could ask her what was wrong, she said, ‘By the way, me and Peggy Green are going for a game of Bingo this evening. Do you fancy joining us?’

‘I can’t, Ken’s due home tonight.’ Ruth drank the last dregs of tea. ‘In fact, I had better be off, I’m all behind today. I’ve got a stew to put on and there’s still the ironing to do. I’ll see yer tomorrow, Elsie.’

After seeing Ruth out, Elsie returned to the kitchen and sank onto a chair, her mind distracted. She had sensed for some time now that Ruth had trouble coming, and only last week, when her husband was supposed to be on a delivery job in Portsmouth and staying overnight, Bert had seen him in Balham. She suspected he was up to something and perhaps had another woman, but how could she tell Ruth that, and anyway what if she was wrong?

Elsie was so deep in thought that she jumped when there was a loud knock on the front door. Her brow creased, wondering who it could be as she hurried to answer it. Opening the door, she saw Arthur standing on the step, a policeman behind him.

‘Mrs Jones?’ he asked, resting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

‘Oh God, what is it? What’s wrong?’ she cried, gawking at the policeman, her knees turning to jelly.

‘I would like to talk to you about your son,’ he told her, sternfaced.

‘You had better come in,’ she said weakly.

He followed her into the kitchen, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm as he stood officiously in front of her. ‘Mrs Jones, did you know that your son wasn’t at school today?’

‘No, of course not. What’s going on, Arthur? What have you been up to?’

His face crumbled. ‘It’s this rotten place, Mum. I hate living here. I hate my new school too, so I went back to Wimbledon.’

The Constable cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid there’s more, Mrs Jones. He was also caught trying to steal sweets.’ He forestalled Elsie’s retort, adding, ‘However, your son has been lucky. The shopkeeper doesn’t want to take the matter any further so he’s been let off with just a caution.’

Elsie felt as if all the air had left her body. God, my son bunking off school and stealing, she thought. What on earth is his dad going to say?

‘Right,’ the policeman said tersely. ‘I’ll leave you now. I’m sure the lad has learned his lesson and won’t do it again.’ He turned to Arthur. ‘I hope I’m right, young man.’

Arthur, looking shamefaced, just nodded and hung his head.

Once they were alone Elsie gazed at her son, unable to find words to convey her distress. She just couldn’t believe it of him. ‘Arthur … why?’ was all she could manage.

‘I just miss everything, Mum. My mates, playing on Wimbledon Common, climbing trees, fishing in the ponds – and how can I play football on my own?’

‘But why haven’t you made friends at your new school?’

‘Oh Mum, the other boys have always lived around here. They all know each other and don’t want me muscling in on their gangs.’ He stuck out his lower lip, adding despondently, ‘I’m just the new boy, the odd one out, and they’re always picking on me.’

Her heart swelled when she saw his unhappiness. He stood before her, socks bunched round his ankles, knees dirty and grazed, grey eyes shadowed. His thick, dark hair, so like his father’s, was sticking up like a brush and she felt a surge of maternal affection. She just wanted to grab him, to hold him in her arms and protect him. ‘Come here, son,’ she appealed, but as her arms reached out, he backed away.