Better Days Will Come (37 page)

Her companion put her head up as Rita went to the front of the bus. Their eyes met.

‘Any more fares?’ Rita said quickly.

The younger woman looked at her but without seeing. She turned back to her friend. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘But he’ll go loopy when I tell him.’

‘Just remind him it takes two to make a baby,’ said her confidante, patting her hand. ‘And besides, with his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites, won’t he …’

Rita was pondering this as she went back down the stairs. Time alone, that’s what she and Emilio needed too. She’d plan a romantic evening for two. She thought about what the woman had said, ‘with his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites …’ and smiled to herself. Next Tuesday was St Valentine’s Day. Emilio was in for a lovely surprise.

A passenger just inside the door looked at his watch. ‘Is this bus on time?’

‘It is,’ said Rita climbing the stairs. ‘Any more fares?’

In fact, Bob was an excellent timekeeper. If the bus was late he risked the wrath of the ticket inspector (‘jumpers’, as the other drivers called them) but if the bus was early … well, that was almost a hanging offence. Missing a customer was just about the worst thing a Southdown bus driver could do and the conductor risked losing his or her good conduct bonus.

There was little time to think when she was working and for this Rita was grateful. She still had a gnawing in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about Bonnie, although it wasn’t as sharp as it had been the day she’d left, and now she’d fallen out with her mother. If only Mum would accept Emilio. She didn’t want to have to choose between the two of them, but what could she do?

The bus slowed and Rita returned to the platform. ‘Pool Valley,’ she called.

Pool Valley was the end of the line and Rita was dying for the ladies’. Bob rounded the Old Steine and in a second or two he would pull into the middle of the road because he had to have room to swing the bus down the narrow slope and into the bay. This bus was going straight back in service so Rita had little time. She leaned out of the platform as Bob lined up and began a slow reverse between two parked buses. Her finger was poised over the bell and as the rear of the bus reached the edge of the pavement, she gave it three sharp pushes. The few passengers still left began to stand and move down the aisle. As they got off they called their goodbyes and thanked her.

Rita left the empty bus and hurried to the loo while Bob got out of his cab for a stretch. The queue snaked around the corner and the waiting passengers climbed aboard for the trip back to Worthing. As Bob went round the corner for a fag, an inspector sauntered by.

A woman with a small child came up to him. ‘Is this bus going to Worthing?’

‘In about two minutes,’ he said. ‘You’d better hurry, lady. It looks like it’s a full house.’

A woman loaded down with bags of shopping hurried up to the bus, brushing his arm as she jumped onto the platform. She didn’t seem to notice the young woman and her child were in front of her. ‘Just in time,’ she said as she pushed her way down the aisle. The inspector heard the young woman catch her breath.

‘There’s a seat there,’ he said trying to reassure her. She was a pleasant-looking girl and the old duck with the bags had no right to push in front like that.

The young woman hesitated and little girl looked up at her. ‘Play sand, Mummy.’

‘Yes,’ The woman smiled as if it was just the excuse she needed. ‘Let’s go to the beach instead.’

‘The bus will be going straight away,’ the inspector encouraged. ‘As soon as the conductress come back from the toilets.’

But the woman and her child turned towards the pier. ‘It would be a daft idea to spend another hour and a half on the bus going to Worthing,’ she said, ‘when we’ve already been cooped up that long on the train.’

‘Down from London then?’ said the inspector making an educated guess.

The woman nodded and the little girl waved, ‘Bye, bye, bus.’

Bob came back round the corner and still tugging at her skirt, Rita hopped onto the platform. The inspector looked at his watch. ‘Right on time,’ he smiled.

As the bus pulled back out into the traffic, Rita was aware of a little girl with a mass of blonde curls walking across the road, obviously on her way to the beach. She smiled. The child, trailing her bucket and spade, was soon swallowed up by the crowd. Rita turned and began to walk down the aisle, calling, ‘Fares please.’

Bonnie watched the bus swing across the traffic and head for Worthing. Seeing Miss Bridewell push past her on the bus like that had quite put her off going. And when she saw that the only available seat was right next to her, Bonnie knew that the whole bus would know all her business before they got to Hove. It would have been nice to go and see Mum and Rita, but they’d probably be at work anyway.

Rita was eager to get home. By the time she had finished her shift, she had just enough time to dash to the shops to buy some Yardley’s lavender talc from Woolworth’s and some lipstick. It was the middle of the week so she didn’t have much money or spare coupons but the butcher had some nice sausage meat and she found a few half decent cooking apples in the greengrocers. During the war, her mother used to make a lovely meal she called piggy-pie, in which she layered everything on a baking tray with a bit of onion and some herbs. Rita was no great cook but it looked easy enough and she knew it was tasty. What was it her passenger had said? ‘With his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites …’ This was the answer she’d been looking for. You brazen hussy, she smiled to herself. You are going to seduce your husband.

Everything was quiet when she let herself in. Emilio would either be sorting out his nets down on the beach or still asleep after a night’s fishing. Let him sleep on. He was going to need all the strength he could muster by the time she was ready for him. She would wear her best dress and tidy her hair, but first she had to get the piggy-pie in the oven. What a lovely surprise he was going to have tonight.

She laid the enamel board on the table and got the flour down from the cupboard. Rita rolled out the sausage meat and placed it on the baking tray but as she layered the chopped apple over the top, she became aware of a strange noise coming from the bedroom.

At first she was scared. Was there a burglar in the house? She picked up the rolling pin and listened. The bedsprings were squeaking with a rhythmical sound and someone was moaning. No … no. It couldn’t be … could it? The moans became more intense and she knew instinctively that whoever was making the sound wasn’t in pain, they were in the throes of ecstasy.

Her heart was beating very fast but, mustering every ounce of self-control she had, she crept towards the bedroom door. The grunting became more and more urgent and now she realised it wasn’t one but two voices, and one of them was Emilio’s. How could he? They had only been married five minutes and here he was being unfaithful, in broad daylight and in their own bed. Tears started in her eyes.

The bedroom door was firmly closed. She waited for a second or two, conscious of her own breathing, then Rita turned the doorknob slowly and let it swing open.

Emilio had his back to her. His trousers were on the floor and she was looking at his bare bottom but she couldn’t see who was with him. As soon as he felt the cold draught from the open door, he raised himself up. Her eye went up to the mirror on the other side of the wall and Emilio’s eyes met hers. The other person rose up too, and three startled faces were caught in the frame. Rita gasped in horror as the other person lifted a hairy arm. It was Jeremy.

Heaving and retching, Rita tripped, stumbling into furniture in her haste to get out of the house.

‘No, Rita. Wait!’

But she couldn’t wait. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to be there.

Pulling on his trousers, Emilio raced after her. He caught her by the wrist as she reached out for the front door handle and pulled her back into their rooms. ‘Please …’

It was then that she was sick. Her vomit splashed up her legs as it hit the wooden floor and her head began to spin. She heard Jeremy say his name. ‘Emilio?’ and her husband said, ‘You’d better go.’ And it struck her that there was a love and a gentle passion in his voice she’d never heard before. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had stabbed her through the heart.

As he left the room, Jeremy, shamefaced and embarrassed, reached out to touch her. ‘I’m sorry, Rita.’

‘Don’t touch me.’ She had enough presence of mind to jerk herself away from him. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘What can I do?’ Jeremy sounded genuinely sorry. He finished dressing.

‘Go,’ said Emilio. ‘I will sort it.’

She wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and rounded on him. ‘Sort it? And just how do you think you can sort it, Emilio? I’ve just caught you in bed with …’ she could hardly bear to say the words … ‘another man!’

Behind her, she heard the front door click and they were alone. Emilio got a bowl of water to mop up the mess.

‘I never meant for this to happen.’ He squeezed out the floor cloth and threw it over her vomit. ‘I’m sorry. We never should have come, but there was nowhere else to go.’

‘I’ve been a complete idiot, haven’t I?’ she said. ‘You’ve never loved me. I can’t think why on earth you would want to marry me.’

‘I no want to go back to Italy,’ he said miserably. ‘My uncle, he persuaded me. I no want to hurt you, Rita. And you’re wrong when you say I don’t love you. You are good woman. Good friend. I cannot help what I do.’

‘Can’t help it?’ she shrieked. ‘Can’t help it? You knew what you wanted and it wasn’t me, was it, Emilio? So why involve me in the first place? I’m only 18 years old.’ She was wailing now. ‘I wanted love and marriage and babies. What have you done to me?’ Her colour was high and her eyes blazed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said feebly. ‘I never …’

‘Don’t keep saying that,’ she shouted. ‘You must have known you could never love me right from the start.’

He sat down and stared at the floor.

‘Get out,’ she said quietly.

‘What are you going to do?’ he said.

She didn’t answer. In truth she didn’t know what to do. She kept thinking about his bare bottom and the noises he’d been making seconds before she’d opened the door. Her stomach churned. She was going to be sick again. At least there was a bowl there now.

‘Just go,’ she said when she had recovered.

‘Please don’t go to the police,’ he said rising to his feet. ‘If you do they’ll send me back to that place.’

‘What place?’

‘Prison,’ he said quietly.

She frowned. ‘You were in prison?’ And then it finally dawned on her. All those weeks he was away and she wrote to him nearly every day, he wasn’t checking up on the fishing. He was in Lewis prison! What an idiot she had been. How could she ever lift her head in public again?

‘Get out,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t want to see you again as long as I live.’

He pulled his braces up over his shoulders and did up his flies. ‘I need my things.’ He came by her cautiously but she didn’t object as he went into the bedroom and pushed a few of his clothes into a bag. When he emerged a few minutes later, Rita was still standing exactly as he’d left her.

‘For what it’s worth,’ he said. ‘I am very fond of you, Rita.’

She remained ramrod stiff and said nothing. As soon as she heard his footsteps on the pavement outside, Rita threw herself into a chair and wept.

Major Freeman, chairman of the cricket club, walked into Norris’s den with his hand extended. ‘Sorry to barge in on you like this, Finley, but I need to know if you’ve given the matter of being on the council any more thought.’

‘As a matter of fact …’ Norris began.

‘Good, good,’ said the major. ‘Now what I propose is this.’ He threw himself into a chair and looked around for the drinks trolley. ‘Is that Scotch malt? Make mine a double, there’s a good man.’

Norris obliged. ‘Most of us are in the Freemasons,’ the major continued. ‘I’ll introduce you and once you’ve been vetted …’

‘Vetted?’ said Norris faintly.

‘Got to check up on you, old boy,’ said the major taking a gulp from his glass. ‘Just as you’ll be wanting to check up on us.’ He downed the rest of his drink and held out the glass for more. ‘If all is well, and I’m sure it will be … got no skeletons in your cupboard, eh, what? Then you’ll be invited to meet the committee members. We hold a secret ballot to admit new members.’

‘What sort of things do they want to know?’ said Norris, reluctantly handing over another glass of his best malt.

‘Family, business, any other organisations you belong to, that sort of thing,’ said the major. ‘Don’t want any strong political opinions, or any naughties going on that might bring the Lodge into disrepute.’ He snorted. ‘You know the sort of thing. Anyway, once you’ve joined, getting elected should be a peach. Cllr Norris Finley. Got a good ring to it, eh, what?’

He stood up again and downed the rest of his whisky. ‘I’ll get the bloodhounds onto you and once they’ve done their checks, I’ll be in touch. Goodnight, Finley. My regards to your wife.’

As soon as he’d swept out, Norris lowered himself into a chair. He’d have to tidy a few things up, and do it quickly. When he’d come down for the weekend, John had talked about spending time with friends, including the Rogers girl. It had to be the same one. Nobody else would have a daft name like Bonnie. He’d arranged for John to be followed in the hope it would lead him to Bonnie Rogers and that damned letter she’d taken from her mother. His only dread was that she might have already shown it to John. That would really put the cat among the pigeons.

And then there were all the little ‘perks’ he’d collected in the safe, like that gold watch he’d used to lever that Wilcox girl into bed and the bag Grace Follett was using when his men had taken the Thrift Club money. If anyone stumbled onto them it would be a disaster. Thank goodness there was nothing to connect him to Dolly Peterson. Her husband was still in prison for the beating Norris had given her but there was little likelihood of him getting out, and Dolly was incurable now. Norris had surprised even himself with the violence he’d used, but he’d learned from the experience. He’d turned over a new leaf. He’d controlled his temper ever since. Look at the restraint he’d used the last time he saw Grace Follett. He was sure Grace had taken the locket and he hoped to God she never found out who it really belonged to. It was a good thing the clasp was damaged. If she ever opened that … Well, she would never guess what the little pill inside was, but what if somebody swallowed it? He shuddered.