Our Lizzie (42 page)

“Are you all right, Lizzie?”

She nodded, but she was still unable to stop weeping. “S-Sam has just left.”

He stared in the direction the lorry had taken, amazed that she was so upset.

She could tell what he was thinking and choked with laughter. “I'm not sorry—I just can't believe I'm free.”

His expression showed he understood exactly why she'd said that. “Oh, I see. Look, let me take you home in the van.”

She looked round, saw no one nearby and nodded, sinking gratefully into the front seat of the big maroon and gold van with
DEARDEN'S
on the side in fussy gold letters. She didn't notice anything on the way back, just sat slumped in the corner, drained of energy, until they turned a corner near Maidham Street. “Stop here! Quick!”

He braked to a sudden halt. “What's wrong?”

“If you take me right home, someone will notice. I'll get out here. An' thanks, Peter.”

But he put out one hand to prevent her getting out. “If you need anything…”

“I'm all right. Give my love to your mother. I'm sorry your dad's so ill.” She hid her face with the shawl and hurried off down a back alley.

In her own kitchen, Lizzie looked at the almost empty bottle of rum and on a sudden impulse took a gulp of it, enjoying the warmth as it slid down her throat. Then she locked the doors and stumbled upstairs to bed. Not caring that it was still quite early in the morning, she lay down, pulled the blankets and quilt up and let herself sink into a delicious doze.

Free of Sam's presence, she slept more soundly than she had since she first came to this house and didn't wake up until the middle of the night.

Then she went down and made herself a picnic in the chilly kitchen, eating the bread and jam with relish before going back upstairs and laughing aloud from sheer joy to find the bed unoccupied. She fell asleep again almost immediately, sighing like a carefree child.

Chapter Twenty-Three

November–December 1914

Apart from one postcard in the second week, Sam didn't write and he certainly didn't tell Lizzie where he was so that she could write to him.

Two weeks after he'd gone, she heard that Sally Dearden's husband, Bob, had died at last and sat staring into the kitchen fire for a long time, feeling sorry for Mrs. D, who had loved her husband, but also feeling envious of her, for having such a warm loving family. Outside it was raining again. Inside it was chilly and damp-feeling, because Lizzie didn't dare be extravagant with coal.

When she heard a few days after the funeral that Peter had followed Jack's example and enlisted, and that Mrs. D was managing the shop, she wasn't surprised. Her former employer was a strong woman and knew as much about the grocery trade as any man.

As Christmas drew nearer, the money Sam had left dwindled to a few shillings and Lizzie began to worry about how she was going to eat. She wished now that she had left Overdale when he went, but she had worried about being pregnant so had delayed. But she wasn't pregnant, thank goodness. Only, by the time she knew that, the weather was so cold and rainy that she had kept putting off her departure and somehow the money had slipped through her fingers. Soon she would have to dip into her savings, just to buy food.

So when she met Sally Dearden in town one day and was offered a job in the shop, Lizzie took it eagerly. Sam wouldn't like it, but he hadn't sent her any more money and she had to live, didn't she? And she'd be glad to get out of the house. She was nearly going mad on her own there.

As she walked home, for the first time in ages she felt happy. She stopped to say hello to Blanche Harper and on impulse added, “I'd love to pop round and have a natter with you both one night, just for an hour, you know. Only,” she blushed, “I'd have to come in the back way in case someone told Sam I'd been visiting you.”

Blanche looked at her with great sympathy. Lizzie looked years older than eighteen, and not only older but worn. “Why not come round tomorrow evening? Have tea with us?”

“That'd be lovely. Only I'll be a bit late. I'm working at Dearden's again.”

“We'll wait for you.”

That same day, Lizzie wrote a letter to Polly to tell her to come round on her next Sunday off, but to use the back door, so that no one would see her.

As she was slipping the letter into the post box, she met Miss Porter.

“Writing to your husband, dear? That's the thing to do, keep our boys happy.”

Lizzie didn't contradict her, but she felt like saying it was hard to write to someone who hadn't sent you an address.

The next day's post brought a letter from Sam with an address in Derbyshire on it. Lizzie saw the envelope lying in the hall when she got home from Dearden's, tired but happy, clutching some bacon for her tea and a loaf of bread.

She picked it up and dropped it on the table, reluctant even to touch it. Then, angry at herself for being so cowardly, she tore it open. The letter was short, but it had a pound note in it, at least.

Dear Lizzie

Camp is lousy. The Army is lousy, too. We still haven't got our full uniforms or enough blankets and the food is shocking. Good job I have my overcoat with me.

Here is some more money to keep you going. I've been making a bob or two lending to other fellows. I hope to get some leave soon. Make sure you keep yourself to yourself. I don't want your family trailing in and out of my house while I'm away. Your bloody brother doesn't know how lucky he is staying out of the sodding Army.

Sam

She threw the envelope into the fire and put the letter with the address on it behind the mantelpiece clock. He'd expect a reply. She didn't want to write, but she'd better. Or should she take the pound and just run away now? With a sigh, she admitted to herself that she didn't really want to leave Overdale, especially not now she was working at Dearden's again, seeing all her old customers, enjoying herself as she had not done since her marriage.

In the weeks that followed, even though she knew it was risky, she kept putting off her departure.

Christmas came and went. Lizzie visited the Harpers and Percy called in to see her with a present. Polly had also given her a present, but Sam hadn't even sent a letter. Percy didn't stay long. “Mam's making a lot of fuss about us all spending the day together.”

“All” obviously didn't include Lizzie. “Does she know you've come to see me?”

He nodded, looking embarrassed.

She changed the subject. Even at Christmas, her mother didn't want to see her, knew she was on her own and hadn't invited her round.

On Boxing Day Polly popped in for an hour, blushing and confessing that she was walking out with a fellow she'd met at the station on that dreadful day Lizzie had failed to escape.

“Are you going to stay with Sam now?” Polly asked hesitantly as conversation turned to Lizzie. “Have you changed your mind about leaving him?”

“I was just going when he joined up. I—I don't know what to do now. Trouble is, I'm enjoying working at Dearden's.”

Just at that moment the front door opened. Only one person had a key. Lizzie's heart plummeted and she turned to face the hall as Sam walked in.

He stared at Polly, eyes narrowed. “I might have known you'd start coming round here again,” he said sourly, then turned to Lizzie. “Well, no welcome for your husband?”

She made herself walk across and give him a peck on the cheek. She could smell rum on his breath. He'd clearly not come straight home.

Polly looked at her sister, uncertain what to do.

Lizzie managed a smile. “I'll see you next month, then, love.”

At the front door, Polly gave her a hug and whispered, “Are you sure you'll be all right?”

“Yes. I'm used to it.”

Lizzie went back into the kitchen. “You should have let me know you were coming, Sam. I'd have got more food in.”

“I'm more interested in getting my rations than in food,” he said, throwing his overcoat on to a chair and starting to unbutton his flies.

“I'd rather do it in bed,” she said, trying not to show how the thought of his touching her upset her. “It'll be warmer.”

But by that time, he had reached out and grabbed her. “Here.”

When he had finished jerking and roaring like an animal, she set her clothes to rights and went to put the kettle on.

He pulled his trousers back up and went to sprawl in a chair by the fire. “I heard you'd gone back to working at Dearden's.”

“I ran out of money.”

He grunted and scowled at the fire, then asked, “What have you got to eat?”

“Not much.”

He gave a sneering laugh. “What? You working at Dearden's and not bringing food home?”

“There's only me, so I don't need much. If you'd let me know you were coming, I'd have got extra in. I've only got a chop here.”

“That'll do for starters.”

She didn't make the obvious comment that it had been intended for her own tea.

He sawed off a piece of bread, slathering it with butter and cramming it into his mouth. “Hurry up, then! I'm starving.”

She put some potatoes on to boil and began frying the chop.

“How long has your sister been coming round here?”

“This is the first time. I thought—being Christmas—”

“And your brother? Has he been round, too?”

Best stick to the truth. “Yesterday. Just for a few minutes.”

“All you Kershaws sticking together,” he sneered.

“They're family.”

“Aye. Well, so long as you don't have other fellows coming round.”

“I'm too busy working to have fellows round, even if I wanted them.”

“Jam.”

She'd forgotten what it was like, how he used to fire orders at her. She went to get the jam and resisted a sudden urge to slam it down on the table. “So you don't mind me working at Dearden's?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn't be doing it if I were at home—or if that sod Peter Dearden hadn't enlisted. But as it is, it's all right. It'll save me sending you any money home. No cake?”

“I don't bother making them when there's only me.”

“Well, I want one to take back. It's the least you can do for me.”

“How long do you have?”

“Two soddin' days, that's all. Got to leave again tomorrow.”

“I'll go round to the back door of Dearden's. Mrs. D will sell me the stuff for a cake.”

“I'll come with you. Show everyone you're still my wife.”

And when they got back he demanded his rations again.

Lizzie set her teeth to endure, but it was clear now that she couldn't put off leaving much longer.

*   *   *

When Sam had gone, Lizzie waited one day, going to work and pretending things were all right. She tried to catch Mrs. D on her own, to tell her she was leaving, but it was a busy day and there simply wasn't an opportunity. And after work, another of the women caught their employer, weeping as she talked, so Lizzie walked off and left them.

At home, she packed her things, intending to leave on the milk train next morning, tears trickling down her face as she filled the old suitcase she'd bought at the market. Then she hesitated and, knowing she couldn't leave without telling Mrs. D, went round to the back door of the shop. To her surprise, Peter opened it.

“Oh! I didn't know you were on leave.”

“I started after Christmas.” He held the door open. “Come in.” Tactfully, he didn't comment on her tear-stained face. “You'll be wanting to see Mum.”

She explained what was happening to Mrs. D, ending, “I'm that sorry to let you down.”

Suddenly she was folded in a pair of arms and given a big hug. “You're doing the right thing, I reckon.” Then Mrs. D drew her into the shop and pulled some money out of the cash box. “Here. Take this.”

“I can't.”

“You can. You're going to need it.”

Lizzie hesitated, then said, “Thanks.”

When she got home, Lizzie let herself into the house and looked at the clock. Only three hours to wait, then she'd be off.

“Been seeing your fancy man, have you?” a voice snarled.

“Sam!”

He stood in the back doorway, nearly filling it, and the look on his face was terrifying.

For a moment she froze, then she turned and started running, terror setting her heart thumping with a rhythm that filled her whole body. She got out of the front door by the skin of her teeth and was off down the street, running faster than she ever had in her life before.

He pounded along behind her, bellowing her name.

From somewhere, Lizzie found the strength to run faster. With a vague idea of going to Polly for help, she fled towards the better part of town, but although Sam didn't overtake her, he stayed behind her, pounding along, following the beat of her footsteps on the paved paths. And she was getting tired now.

Think!
she urged herself.
If he catches you, he'll kill you
. She took a sudden left turn and heard him run past the street, then stop and listen. She stood motionless, but when he started moving in her direction, she panicked and set off running again.

Next time she swerved, she chose the park, with its soft grass. She had always been able to slip through the fence in one particular spot, so praying that she still could, she made for it. As she wriggled through, she heard Sam getting nearer and for one dreadful moment, thought she was stuck.

But with a final desperate wriggle, she got through and was off across the lawn, knowing she showed up clearly in the moonlight, but not caring, because it'd take him a while to get over the railings.

In the shadow of some trees, she stopped and glanced back to see him climbing the railings. Flitting along in the darker patches, she changed direction, heading back towards the gap she'd just come through. When she had heard him blunder off into the distance, she risked the short patch of open ground again, tearing off her coat as she ran and slipping through the hole more easily.