A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (9 page)

She thought about the King’s Head and the years spent grafting behind the bar. The landlord was a lazy bugger, leaving her to do most of the work and only showing his face when she wanted a barrel changed. He even left her to do the cashing up after every shift, trusting her to put the money in the safe, and just checking it before paying it into the bank every week.

An idea began to form and she narrowed her eyes. It was no more than the lazy git deserved; after all, she was the one who did all the work.

S
ally awoke to the sound of raised and angry voices.

She stumbled sleepily out of bed, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles as she crept nervously onto the landing, listening to the row downstairs.

‘No, Ken, no! You can’t leave me!’

‘Get out of my way, you silly bitch.’

‘No I won’t, you can’t go!’

‘Move, Ruth. I won’t tell you again.’

There was a scream, followed by a scuffle, and her dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a suitcase in each hand. Sally ducked down, terrified he would see her.

She peeped over the banisters again, just in time to see her mum grabbing his arm, her face twisted in anguish.

‘No, no, please don’t leave me!’ she cried. ‘What will I do without you? Please, Ken, why are you going? What ’ave I done?’

‘Done! You ask me what you’ve done?’ he spat. ‘’Ave you looked in the mirror lately? You’re a bleeding mess. But worst of all you landed me with a cuckoo in the nest and I’m sick to death of the pair of you.’

He jerked his arm violently, trying to loosen her grip. ‘As for what you’ll do without me, you can get yourself a job or sell your body – though looking at the state of you there won’t be many customers,’ he said cruelly. ‘Now, let go of me arm, or you’ll be sorry.’

Sally watched anxiously as they tussled together. Her mum was hanging on desperately, refusing to let go. ‘Get off me, or I’ll smash yer bloody face in!’ he yelled.

To Sally, her dad suddenly took on the form of the devil. His face, contorted in anger, looked dark and evil. He was going to hit her mum again – she had to stop him!

A surge of anger and hate suddenly catapulted her down the stairs and she flew across the hall. ‘Leave her alone, you bully!’ she yelled, running up and kicking him, feeling agonising pain as her bare foot connected with his shin. His arm came up, and the last thing she remembered before blackness descended, was the feeling of flying through the air.

Ruth stood paralysed, looking at her daughter lying crumpled on the floor; her eyes still filled with the sight of Ken lashing out at Sally before he slammed out of the door. Oh, my God, she thought, she’s dead, he’s killed her! What sort of mother am I? Why didn’t I protect her? Oh my baby – my beautiful baby. She slumped down onto the floor, reaching out to touch Sally’s face. It felt cold, so cold.

With a hand covering her mouth in horror, she stumbled to her feet and staggered into the kitchen, half-falling onto a chair.

Leaning forward, arms wrapped around her waist, Ruth rocked back and forth, oblivious to the keening, wailing sounds that were torn from her throat. Tears cascaded unchecked down her face. She was wrapped in a nightmare, an agony of self-recrimination. It should be me that’s dead, she thought, over and over again. I ain’t fit to live.

Gradually her thoughts became still, and numbness permeated her mind. She felt as though she was sinking into a black tunnel of oblivion, and went willingly. It was safe there; nothing could ever touch her again.

Elsie impatiently drummed her fingers on the table. ‘I don’t care what you say, Bert, I’m going round there. Something’s wrong, I just know it.’

‘Don’t interfere, Elsie, it’s none of our business.’

‘I can’t just leave it, love. First there was that terrible row, and now for over half an hour it’s been deathly quiet. I’m worried sick.’

‘All right, all right,’ he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

She scurried out anxiously. ‘Ruth, Ruth, are you there?’ she called, banging loudly on the door. ‘Come on, Ruth, let me in!’

Peggy Green and Joan Mason appeared at her side, their faces concerned. ‘We heard the commotion earlier on. What’s going on, Elsie?’ Joan asked.

‘I don’t know, but I’m worried,’ she told them, bending down to look through the letterbox. Elsie couldn’t see much, just the bottom of the stairs, but then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw what looked like a leg.

‘Bert, Bert!’ she screamed, rushing back to her own front door. ‘Come quick, I need your help.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said, peering through the letterbox. ‘I don’t like the look of it.’ He stood up, turning to Elsie with concern in his eyes. ‘We need to get in there – and quick by the look of it.’ Lifting his foot he ordered, ‘Stand back, I’m going to break the door in.’

Glancing around, Elsie saw Arthur and Ann hovering behind her. ‘Get inside, you two,’ she snapped, noticing other neighbours standing on their doorsteps, watching the scene with avid interest.

There was a loud crash when Bert kicked the door, and as it flew open Elsie rushed in, her face paling at the sight of Sally lying crumpled on the floor like a broken doll. ‘Sally, Sally,’ she cried, rushing to kneel at her side, heaving a sigh of relief when she heard a faint groan. Oh God, where was Ruth? She wouldn’t leave her daughter like this. ‘Bert, look after Sally. I must see if Ruth’s all right.’

As Elsie entered the kitchen, her eyes stretched in amazement. Ruth was sitting in a chair, a glasslike expression in her eyes as she stared into the dying embers of the fire. ‘Ruth, are you all right?’ Elsie asked anxiously, hurrying to her side, her face creasing with concern when there was no response.

‘Elsie, I don’t like the look of Sally, I think we should call the doctor.’

‘What? Yes, all right, Bert, but something’s wrong with Ruth too. Look, can you carry her into our place? I’ll bring Sally. We can’t leave them in here, it’s freezing, and anyway Ken might come back.’

‘That bastard had better not show his face around here again. I can’t stand a man who hits women and children,’ Bert said darkly, bending to pick Ruth up. ‘Christ, there’s nothing of her, she’s all skin and bones.’

Elsie was shocked to hear Bert swear, but didn’t blame him; she’d like to get her hands on Ken too. Gently lifting Sally and holding her close to her chest, she followed her husband out of the house.

Earlier, in Balham, Barbara had quietly opened the side door of the pub. With bated breath she crept into the hall, padded to the bottom of the stairs and strained her ears for sounds of movement from above. Her nerves were taut and she sighed with relief at the sound of rumbling snores. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and just as she thought, the lazy git was still asleep – he didn’t usually surface until after ten.

Creeping into the back room, she closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Every sound seemed accentuated as she knelt in front of the safe. The noise of the dial spinning sounded like the rattle of a roulette wheel. The clang of the handle as she yanked it down appeared to echo loudly in the small room.

Tensing, she paused, her heart thumping as she gazed up at the ceiling. Then, drawing in a deep gulp of air in an effort to compose herself, she pulled open the heavy door, eyes gleaming as she grabbed the small stack of notes. Ignoring the coppers, she stuffed bags of silver into her shopping bag, pleased that two darts matches in the bar that week had swelled the takings. Lowering her head, she gave the bottom shelf a cursory glance that revealed a metal box secreted at the back, partially covered by a black cloth. Her eyes narrowed. I haven’t seen that before, she thought, snatching it and stuffing it quickly into her bag.

She left hurriedly, anxious to pick up her suitcase from the flat. It was far too early to meet Ken, but she couldn’t risk hanging about. The sooner she got away the better.

With her case in one hand and the heavy shopping bag slung over her shoulder, she hurried to Clapham Junction, making her way to Joe’s Café. Ordering a cup of tea, she sat dragging nervously on her cigarette while glancing anxiously at the clock. Bloody hell, she had ages to wait yet, and her nerves were jangling.

She stared absentmindedly at the scene behind the counter. Joe was busily cooking a batch of sausages with a fag sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and every time he took a puff, the ash on the end grew longer and longer. To distract herself she counted the seconds, trying to anticipate when it would break off and fall into the frying pan. It dropped, smack in the middle, and she blinked as Joe just carried on turning the sausages. The dirty old sod, she thought. He should be shut down.

Raising the thick white cup to her lips, she grimaced with distaste at the bitter acrid tea. One more hour, that was all, and they would be on their way. Finally, unable to sit any longer, she left the café and went outside.

‘Ken, Ken, over here,’ she called from her vantage point on the corner, thankful that at last, he had arrived. Picking up her suitcase and heaving her shopping bag over her shoulder again, she rushed to meet him. ‘Is everything all right? Did you get the money?’

‘Yeah, it was a piece of cake. He was putty in me hands.’

‘I’ve asked at the enquiry desk and we ’ave to go to Euston to catch a train to Blackpool.’

‘Good girl. Come on then, let’s go. I don’t want to hang about round here.’

They made it to Euston just as a train was due to depart, and running down the platform jumped into a compartment, surprised but pleased to find it empty.

Now, sitting beside Ken, Barbara watched the scenery changing from town to countryside. She took a deep breath, turning to face him, wondering what his reaction would be. ‘Ken, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Fidgeting nervously in her seat she added, ‘I … I er … I done something before we left.’

‘Oh yeah?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Spit it out then.’

‘I turned over the King’s Head, had it away with the week’s takings.’

‘You what?’ Ken spluttered.

‘The money’s in me shopping bag.’

‘You stupid bleedin’ cow!’ Jumping up in agitation, he gripped the luggage rack to steady himself as the train swayed, saying hoarsely, ‘Christ, Barbara, don’t you realise what you’ve done?’

‘But, Ken, I thought it would help us. If we pool our money we could buy a house and start a bed and breakfast business. We could make a bomb in Blackpool.’

He flopped onto the seat opposite her, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘My God, you silly bitch. Don’t you realise we was in the clear, with nobody after us.’ He raised his eyes then, asking hopefully, ‘Did you make it look like a break-in?’

She shook her head. ‘Well, no. I had the keys, didn’t I.’

‘Yeah, and now when the landlord reports the robbery, who do you think the police will be looking for?’ he asked sarcastically.

Barbara closed her eyes, slumping in her seat. Why didn’t I think of that, she thought. Oh flaming hell, what have I done?

‘W
ell, Mrs Jones,’ the doctor said, closing his black bag, ‘the little girl will be fine, just a slight concussion, and if she doesn’t show any signs of disorientation or nausea she should recover in a few days. However, her mother is in some kind of shock, and unless she snaps out of it shortly she will have to be admitted for psychiatric care. I will need to discuss it with her husband. Do you know where he is?’

Psychiatric care? Over my dead body, Elsie thought. She’d heard some terrible things about that loony hospital. ‘I’ve told you, Doctor. I think he’s left them and I don’t know where he’s gone.’

‘Do you know if she has any other relatives?’

‘She’s got a sister who lives in Tooting, but I don’t know her address.’

‘Hmm, well, she will need constant care until I can review her in a day or two.’ He picked up his bag, adding, ‘As we can’t get in touch with her family, I had better make arrangements for her to be admitted straight away.’

Elsie shook her head frantically. ‘There’s no need for that. She can stay here and I’ll look after her.’

He peered at her thoughtfully over the top of his half-moon glasses. ‘Are you sure it won’t be too much for you, Mrs Jones?’

‘No, of course not. I can manage,’ she assured him.

After a slight pause, he nodded slowly. ‘Very well, but if she doesn’t show any signs of recovery by Wednesday, she will have to go into hospital.’

Elsie heaved a sigh of relief and after showing the doctor out, she went back upstairs. Finding Sally asleep, and tucking the blankets around her, she crossed into Arthur’s room to see Ruth. ‘Sally’s going to be fine,’ she told her. ‘Now can I get you anything, love? A cup of tea perhaps?’

There was no response. Ruth was staring into space, the glasslike expression still in her eyes. ‘Come on, talk to me,’ Elsie begged, but there was no answer, and not even a glimmer of movement.

Shaking her head sadly, the chubby little woman sat on the side of the bed, gently stroking the hair back from her friend’s forehead.