Secrets to Keep (19 page)

‘Your last employee unexpectedly died and that’s why you’re looking for a replacement, is it?’ Aidy asked her matter-of-factly.

The woman looked shocked, it being apparent she felt the question was impertinent. Sharply she answered, ‘Not that it’s any of your business why I’m interviewing for a new domestic, but Mrs Adkins retired. Why would you think she’d died?’

‘I’m surprised she didn’t, with all the work you expect your domestic to get through, and all for the measly wage you’re offering to cover it.’ Aidy got up from her chair. Quashing a strong desire to laugh at the expression of outrage on Marjorie Kilner’s face, she added, ‘I can see myself out.’

She’d had high hopes of that job, but, determined not to let disappointment get her down, continued with her search, revisiting places she had been to previously just in case a vacancy had cropped up meantime. She had no joy. Many places she didn’t even bother enquiring when she saw the queue of people lining up to apply for the few positions being
offered. There were several shops in need of staff that would have taken an experienced woman on, but the owners weren’t prepared to take on someone like Aidy when there were so many trained shop assistants looking for work.

By twelve-thirty she was finding it very difficult to keep her spirits up and remain optimistic. She had been banking on landing some sort of job this week, allowing for the fact she’d have to work a week in hand. She could just about eke out her last pay for another week, provided no costly emergencies happened, but certainly no longer. The kids were getting sick of vegetable soup for their dinner, and for that matter so was she, but it was better than nothing – and nothing was what they’d be getting soon if her luck on the job front didn’t take a turn for the better.

If she didn’t get a job by the end of the week, though, she did have a back-up plan she would put into operation. When her father had left her mother, having no other way open to her at the time by which to provide for her family, Jessie had resorted to taking in washing and ironing and had rented out her own bedroom to a lodger. Aidy proposed to follow in her footsteps. The sleeping arrangements for the family would have to be reorganised. She and Bertha would have to move out of their room and into the girls’, the girls would go into George’s, and then
somewhere must be found for him, though where yet she hadn’t a clue. And where she was going to get the money from to buy a Put-you-up for George to sleep on, and the extra bedding, she hadn’t a clue either. As matters stood, the only person she could turn to for help was her estranged husband, which would only serve to prove him right that she couldn’t manage without his help. Aidy wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Then suddenly an idea of how she could raise some further money came to her. When she had gone to collect the rest of her belongings back at the house she had shared with Arch, in her haste to get in and out, she had completely forgotten to pick up the little pot on the tallboy in her bedroom.

It contained a few pieces of silver-plated jewellery. These included a very pretty butterfly-shaped brooch with two tiny pieces of emerald depicting its eyes that Arch had bought her on their first wedding anniversary; a hat pin with a ruby inserted in the end that she’d bought herself before she’d married Arch; a charm bracelet that her mother had bought on her twenty-first birthday, one charm on it in the shape of a tiny wishbone. The intention had been to add more in time, but to date money hadn’t allowed for that. Not forgetting the watch she wore on her wrist, a present from Arch last Christmas. There were besides two china ornaments, not expensive and from
she second-hand shop, but nevertheless bought with love by her mother for Christmas presents, and a copper jug her grandmother had given her. If she pawned all of these, surely she’d raise enough for them from the pawnbroker to tide her over before her back-up plan started paying out.

She looked at her watch. It was gone twelve-thirty. Pat would be off to work by now and Jim down the local. Arch should be at work too. She was safe to collect what was hers. Aidy was thankful she hadn’t allowed her mother-in-law to bully her into handing her keys over.

She felt like a burglar, sneaking her way into her own backyard, then creeping up to the back-room window and peeping through it to make certain the house was indeed empty. It certainly appeared to be. There was no sounds coming from inside that she could hear. Unlocking the back door, she let herself inside. The foul smell hit her first, then the sight that met her left her gasping in shock. The pot sink was heavily stained, it being obvious it hadn’t been scrubbed since she’d left, and was filled with dirty crockery, spilling out on to the wooden draining board. A sack propped by the wall was filled with stinking rubbish. The saucepans that she had kept shiny were now blackened and smeared with burned food. The flag floor was filthy and sticky under her shoes. The drying towel she was positive was the
same one she had been using the day her mother had died. Disgusted, she made her way into the back room. Her revulsion rose further when she saw the state of it.

The table was cluttered with the remains of breakfast and, if she wasn’t mistaken, last night’s meal too. Beside the armchair Jim had claimed for himself stood at least a dozen empty beer bottles and as many discarded newspapers. The arms of both easy chairs were stained with spilled tea and food. Cobwebs filled the corners of the ceiling, and the visible surfaces of the sideboard against the far wall and the mantle above the range were thick with dust. The clippy rug by the fire had very obviously not been shaken since she’d departed. The rest of the floor hadn’t been swept either. Upstairs a sour smell permeated the bedroom she had shared with Arch. It was now being occupied by his parents, and the sheets on the unmade bed were, she knew, the same pair that had been on it when she had left.

In five weeks the slovenly Nelsons had turned the lovely home that she and Arch had worked so hard to make nice into a mirror imagine of the squalid hovel they had left behind. How could Arch have stood by and let this happen? Was he so frightened of his mother, he’d allowed her to wreck his own home?

Was this perhaps why he had called to see her last night? Unable to put up with living under the same
roof as them again and endure their slovenly ways, had he come to beg sanctuary off her until he could either get his parents out and reclaim the house or find another place for himself? Well, hopefully her refusal to see him had done him a favour, made him face his fears and stand up to his mother. He must free himself from her selfish domination sooner rather than later.

Aidy searched high and low but there was no sign of all the items she had come to retrieve. She knew, with a sinking heart, what had happened to them. Pat would have had no qualms in claiming they were hers and selling them on to the highest bidder.

Aidy didn’t know how that woman lived with herself, but then … women like Pat had no conscience. The one good thing to have come from the ending of her marriage was that she no longer had to deal with the likes of odious, selfish, bullying Pat Nelson.

Aidy was so upset about her discovery she decided to go home for a cup of tea and to check on Bertha before continuing with her job search. Also she knew that her grandmother would be anxious for news of how she was faring, realising how increasingly despondent Aidy was becoming as the days went by. She wouldn’t, however, upset Bertha by telling her of this visit to her former home and the dreadful state she had found it in.

Bertha’s hopeful eyes greeted Aidy when she arrived in the back room, but as soon as she witnessed the look on her granddaughter’s face she knew there was no point in asking if she’d had any success. ‘Better luck this afternoon, love,’ was all she said.

She didn’t want to add to Aidy’s worries but there was something she really ought to be aware of. ‘Er … I had a visit this morning from the Board man. Seems our George ain’t been at school all this week.’

Aidy looked bemused as she checked the kettle on the range and put it on to make them both a cup of tea. ‘’Course he’s been at school. Where else would he be? In fact, he’s been that keen this last week, he’s been leaving well before he’s really needed to, hasn’t he? The Board man can’t have his facts right.’

‘That’s what I said to him. He insisted he had, though, and that the school wants a good excuse for George’s absence. He’s coming back tomorrow at ten, to see you.’

Aidy snapped in annoyance, ‘So I’ve got to wait in and maybe miss out on getting a job, all ’cos either the school or the Board man has made a mistake?’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Well, I’ll certainly let
them
have what for, wasting my time.’ A thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Come to think of it, George has been very tired this week. Hasn’t gone out at all after dinner to play with his mates, and he’s gone to bed without being told.’

‘Oh, that’s ’cos he’s been helping a mate straight from school to fix his bike up. Apparently his dad found an abandoned bike frame and George and his mate have been scavenging for parts for it from dump sites.’

‘But he’s supposed to come straight home from school, Gran, and see to any jobs that need doing here – him and Betty. Has he blackmailed her into doing his share?’

Bertha looked sheepish. ‘Well … er … no, not exactly. This past week, Betty ain’t been coming home straight from school either. Her best friend’s mother has just had a baby, and while she’s recovering in bed, her friend has fetched her younger brother and sister from the neighbour and Betty’s been helping her look after them until their dad gets home from work.’

‘Very commendable of her,’ snapped Aidy. ‘But she’s got an invalid grandmother who is also in need of her help, and chores to do for me. Who has been doing both their chores while they’ve been skiving off then?’

‘Marion.’

‘Marion! Oh, bribed her into it, did they? Promise her a sweet each from their penny poke on Saturday morning? Well, they won’t be able to honour that bribe as I can’t afford to give them their Saturday pennies until I get set on again. But how on earth did Marion struggle to get the water and the coal in
on George’s behalf
and
do the bits around the house for Betty?’

‘She got the lad next-door to pump it for her and fetched it in a jug at a time. She did the coal the same, a few lumps at a time. She seemed happy enough, doing what she was. Look, I did point out that it wasn’t right they were defying your instructions and they should ask you if it was all right to do what they were, but they pleaded with me. George was worried that his mate would find someone else to help him look for parts and fix the bike up, and Betty the same with her friend.’

Aidy shook her head. ‘Those kids wind you around their little fingers. But they still disobeyed me and, worse, roped their little sister into covering their jobs for them and you into keeping what they were up to from me. I can’t turn a blind eye to that.’

She noticed Bertha was frantically searching for something under her blanket. Curious, Aidy asked her what she was looking for.

‘Me knitting needle, lovey. I’ve an itch under me pot I need to scratch. It’s been driving me mad all morning. No matter how many times I slip the needle down and give it a good rub with the end, it keeps coming back. Blasted thing.’

With a twinkle in her eye, Aidy said, ‘You brag you’ve a potion for just about any ailment. Not got one for curing itches, I take it then?’

‘Cheeky bugger! Just help me find the pin.’

As she helped, Aidy warned Bertha, ‘Be careful not to damage the cast with that needle ’cos I don’t fancy facing Doc’s reaction if we have to call him in to re-plaster your leg again.’

At the mention of him Aidy remembered she hadn’t paid his outstanding bill yet. If she didn’t settle it, he could well refuse to call again on Bertha when her time was up, to check her leg had healed and pronounce her fit enough to start using it again. He’d be quite within his rights to do so. She’d pay a visit to the surgery and do the deed before carrying on with her job search that afternoon.

Meanwhile over in the surgery, eating his lunch of a hastily made cheese sandwich, the bread stale and cheese hard, Ty was searching through the patients’ record boxes for the cards of those to whom he was to pay a visit that afternoon.

One of these was Freda Johnson of 19 Lemington Street. The name rang a bell with him. Hadn’t he been called in to see her only last week? He felt sure he had. Yes, that’s right. Her symptoms of a very inflamed throat, swollen tonsils, white-furred tongue and high fever, had led him to diagnose she was suffering from quinsy. He had written her a prescription for a mixture of prophylactic salicin and chlorate of potash in gualacum, which should help ease
her discomfort until the disease had run its course. Had the woman’s illness not improved or was she now suffering from something else?

He swivelled around in his chair to look with both frustration and despondency at the two huge piles of loose records he’d been stacking up beside the record boxes. Freda Johnson’s card would be amongst these somewhere.

The sorting out of the record cards into a workable system had been his top priority ever since he had discovered the haphazard, unfathomable method James McHinney had used. Until he could find the time at least to make a start on that laborious and lengthy task, he had kept aside those record cards he had managed to unearth, his intention being every night after surgery finished to put those records into alphabetical order, making a start at least on a reorganised system. Unfortunately, the unrelenting demands on his time left him hardly any in which to put a proper meal together for himself or to attend to the most urgent of his personal needs, so sorting out the filing system had long since fallen by the wayside.