Polly's War (27 page)

Hubert’s voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘And what’s in it for me?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘What do I get out of this scheme of yours?’ The question took Benny by surprise but before he could fathom a reply, Hubert continued, ‘I expect you think you can have an easy ride because you’ve married Belinda. Well, in my view you’ve messed her life up completely.’ His voice remained quiet, even meditative, but Benny didn’t much care for what he was saying. If he said owt wrong about Belinda, he’d clock him one, father-in-law or not.

‘If I were to put up the money for this - enterprise, and I haven’t said that I will yet,’ holding up one cautionary hand as Benny’s eyes lit up, ‘I reckon I deserve a favour in return. Wouldn’t you say that was fair? I’d have a few terms of my own.’

Benny frowned. ‘What sort of terms?’
 

He reached for the whisky decanter. ‘Well then, let me tell you what I have in mind.’

Chapter Seventeen

Charlie had been to see the doctor again, his heart and lungs given a clean bill of health, which was a great relief. Polly had been afraid he might have angina or leukaemia, or something else seriously life-threatening. When she’d expressed her relief about that, Charlie, twisted with pain, had said no, he’d definitely live - unfortunately.
 
The pain of the arthritis got him down at times, though he was making some improvement with the tablets the doctor had given him. Sometimes he allowed Polly to rub embrocation into his muscles at night. At other times he nearly screamed when she touched him. It made her feel so helpless, so out of control. But the doctor insisted that he rest and not inflame the joints, which meant he was never going to be the fit man he’d once been. This meant it was even more important that she make a success of manufacturing.

Polly had invested heavily in washing and dyeing machines as well as the second-hand loom from the mill at Hebden Bridge. Despite the difficulties everyone was experiencing in these difficult times, they were already producing several yards of carpet a week which the girls stitched together to fit any size of room.

When Benny burst in, demanding to speak to her right away, she was helping her old mate Maisie Wright, whom she’d taken on as a spool setter, to arrange the different shades of bobbins in their correct pattern grid on a large square table.

‘By heck,’ Maisie said. ‘The lad looks like he’s just landed in a parachute,’ referring to Benny’s dishevelled, excited appearance.

He was so full of himself, that he was well on with his tale by the time Polly ushered him into her office and closed the door. She regarded her son with eyes narrowed in shrewd speculation. ‘Are ye saying that you’ve changed your mind, that you’ll come into the business after all? Honest to God, I never thought to hear the day. So what brought about this change of heart?’

‘I’ve been talking to Hubert.’ Hands in pockets and rocking on his heels since he was quite unable to stand still, Benny tossed the name out as if he were quite familiar with using his father-in-law’s Christian name.

‘Hubert?’

‘Hubert Clarke, Belinda’s ...’

‘I know who he is. But what does Hubert Clarke have to do with your coming into the business with me, assuming I survive this terrible winter, that is.’ Indeed she thought she could guess, following their earlier discussion about their respective children, and almost smiled to herself as Benny squirmed with embarrassment. How he hated to lose face.

Relieved as he was to get help, Benny had, in fact, been rather shaken by the interview with his father-in-law. Hubert had made it crystal clear that whatever he’d suffered thus far with problems over a licence, petitions and eviction notices, not forgetting being set upon in dark alleys, was nothing in comparison to what could happen if he didn’t co-operate.

At first he’d almost been prepared to take the risk in order to hang on to his prized independence, rather than have his father-in-law take what seemed like complete control of his life, let alone interfere in his mam’s business. But then he thought of Belinda, and the empty cupboard, not to mention imminent fatherhood, and somehow he’d managed to swallow his pride and hear him out.

After a while Benny recognised many advantages in the plan, besides providing the security they so desperately needed. He saw no reason not to go along with the idea. Wasn’t it worth losing his pride and independence if he could keep his family safe? And who knew where it could all lead? The plan had the added benefit of a proper role for himself, as well as burying the hatchet as it were, and pleasing both sets of parents in one go. All of which surely had to be beneficial for everyone concerned. He just had to persuade his mother to agree. ‘I thought you wanted me to come in with you.’

‘I do.’ Polly decided to play along, resolving not to let him see how she’d been the instigator of Hubert’s sudden interest in his son-in-law. ‘I just don’t understand what changed your mind.’

‘Because I can recognise a good idea when I see one. Just for once, Mam, hear me out without interrupting. It’d work like this …’ And he set about carefully explaining the deal. Polly’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he talked, and sank into a chair while Benny paced back and forth in the office.

Hubert, as a credit trader and wholesaler, would supply Polly with goods at competitive wholesale prices. She must buy exclusively from him to get the best terms but could then sell the goods either at normal retail price to her own customers, or at a higher credit price to the club customers he sent her. They would bring with them a voucher to an agreed value which they paid off week by week at a shilling in the pound. Ron, Hubert’s son, did the collecting, he explained, and if folk got behind in their payment or did a moonlight flit, it was Hubert who stood the loss.

This was the last thing Polly had been expecting, for Hubert to come up with a plan which included her. ‘Why doesn’t he sell his wholesale goods to his own customers direct?’

‘Because that would turn his business into a retail operation. He’d have to take on shop premises, employ staff to display, sell and wrap the goods which all costs money. He makes his profit by selling in bulk to his suppliers, and through his credit club. He does well, Mam. There’s no flies on him.’

Polly drily remarked that she didn’t wonder at it since he seemed to be playing the fiddle from both ends, but Benny wasn’t to be distracted. He continued with his explanation. ‘You can’t lose. He already has the customers waiting for somewhere to spend their money. Of course, you couldn’t do all of this from the warehouse. You’d have to take on a shop, a big one, in the city centre.’

‘No.’

‘What?’

‘I said no. The rates and rents of city centre premises are too high. They’d cripple us.’

Admittedly this had been Hubert’s response too when Benny had made the suggestion to him. Now he shrugged philosophically as he conceded defeat. ‘All right then, off centre, close to Castlefield, Salford or wherever you think suitable, only it must be
retail
premises. No reason why you can’t keep the warehouse on for storage and your carpet manufacture,’ he airily conceded, as if money were no object. Polly, her mind racing ahead, homed in on this point.

‘And where is all the capital coming from for such ambitious expansion, might I enquire?’

‘Oh, you don’t have to worry, most of the finance is all set up. You only need find enough to take on and fit out a shop and Hubert will provide the stock on sale or return. He also says that if you need it, he can offer you ample credit on an interest free loan. He can’t say fairer than that, now can he?’

‘Why?’ Polly’s eyes glinted with suspicion. ‘Why would he be so generous?’

Benny’s whole body became taut, rigid with tension as he rested his knuckles on the polished desk, desperately holding on to his rapidly diminishing patience. Why were old people so over-cautious? Was it any wonder he’d refused his mother’s invitation to work with her. It was an attitude which would have to change. ‘Because we’re family now, and it’s in his interests to help the business to grow. The profit margins are high enough for us both to make a good living out of it.’

Polly insisted he explain it all over again, from start to finish, till she had it clear in her head. But she was sorely tempted by the offer of a secure customer base, most of all by the prospect of having Benny come in to the business with her. What better than to be working with her own son, just as she’d always dreamed of, with peace declared between them at last.

‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she promised him, while deep down she wondered how she could refuse, when she was the one who’d set the whole thing in motion.

Tom found them a house to rent just a few doors down at number 67. It would need some attention before they could move in, but a bit of painting and decorating would work wonders, he was sure. Weren’t women supposed to be expert in such matters these days? It would keep Lucy nicely occupied instead of pining over that stupid job and Michael bloody Hopkins. She was, however, less than enchanted about the whole idea.

‘Can we afford it?’ Whether out of guilt, or perhaps conceding much of what her mother said to be true, Lucy didn’t feel able to dismiss the suggestion out of hand, despite her fears of more intimate relations with him.

‘I wouldn’t be taking on it on if I didn’t think so,’ Tom snapped. ‘Besides, I’ve an interview for a job lined up, at the dye works on Liverpool Road.’

‘Fenton’s place?’

‘That’s the one. It would be good money.’ He was excited, so pleased with himself that Lucy couldn’t help but feel glad for him. He’d fought in the war, been a POW for years, suffered untold horrors of which he refused to speak and escaped only to return to a wife who was having an affair with another man. No wonder he was scratchy. At times she felt nothing but shame at her own behaviour. He surely deserved better than she’d been able to offer him? And it wasn’t as if she enjoyed cleaning people’s houses. If it weren’t for this madness of loving Michael she would surely have been delighted to have him back, have welcomed him with open arms.

Tentatively he put out a hand to stroke her hair. He rarely touched her and she felt almost flattered that he felt able to do so now, while at the same time nervous it might encourage him to go further. ‘I want to make you happy, Lucy. I want us to have a chance. We need time together like a proper married couple.’

She quietly moved out of his reach, aware that here, in her mother’s house, they never had a moment alone and secretly welcoming that fact. He believed this to be the main problem between them, that once he had his wife to himself he could make her fall in love with him all over again. Lucy wondered if that were true.

She remembered how she’d once waited so eagerly for him to come home, how young and excited she had been when they’d first married, believing the war would be merely a blink in their young lives, over in no time, not rob them of their youth completely. She’d been madly in love with Tom Shackleton for as long as she could remember, though perhaps she’d simply been in love with life, and youth, and the idea of marriage. He’d made it so enchantingly easy with his good looks and undoubted charm. Now she’d changed, grown up. So had Tom. Neither of them were the people they’d once been.

‘I’ll give it a try,’ she agreed.

As they worked together, cleaning the little house, Tom’s behaviour continued to trouble her. Everything had to be just so, sweeping brushes carefully washed after they’d been used and left to dry in the open, not put away dusty. The floors scrubbed over and over again. Every scrap of wood skirting or window frame had to be scoured a dozen times before he would let her anywhere near with a paint brush. Not even cleaning cloths were allowed to get soiled and if they were, he made her boil them till they were white again. It all seemed far more tiring than it need be but Lucy put it all down to the difficulties he’d experienced as a POW. He was ill and would get better, given time. Her one consolation was that he showed endless patience with the children.

Sean was enjoying having his dad around now, if behaving a bit silly and wild, always wanting to show off in front of him, which was understandable as the little boy craved his attention. Sarah Jane, on the other hand remained shy but then she’d always been a quiet, timid sort of child. She was old enough to remember the shock of losing her dad, and needed time to readjust to him being alive. As did they all. But Tom could easily tease her into blushes and giggles and very slowly she was coming round to accepting him. Polly said it was up to Lucy to encourage the relationship, for them to spend more time together as a family.

‘Don’t rush it, Mam,’ Lucy would say, still wary. Yet when they moved, that’s exactly what would happen. Lucy worried over how it would feel not to have Polly around, almost as if she needed her mother’s protection, although from what, she couldn’t imagine, apart from the increasing intimacy she dreaded.

She couldn’t help noticing that the stories Tom told of his escape and illness varied slightly from day to day, depending on his mood. Sometimes he spoke of Italy, at other times France or even Africa, but never about conditions in the POW camp. All she knew was that he’d been taken to Germany after Italy surrendered.

But none of it quite added up and Lucy wondered just what he really had been up to during those missing years, certain he was holding something back. His letters had always been sporadic and, even allowing for the censor, oddly vague and unsatisfactory. Perhaps there was a woman in his past somewhere. A part of her rather hoped so, then she wouldn’t be the only one with guilt on her conscience.