Polly's War (20 page)

Polly managed to bite her tongue though she felt sure it was more likely her dozy son had forgotten to pay the last coal bill. She couldn’t think what had got into the daft eejit. She put a shilling in the metre and switched on the small electric fire instead, more expensive but there seemed no alternative. Something would have to be done, of that she was certain. ‘Sickness is common enough,’ she said brightly. ‘And you’ve nought to be afeared of, a fine healthy girl like yourself.’

‘I’m not frightened, just over-tired, that’s all. This little monster keeps me awake half the night kicking and churning inside of me. I’m lucky if I sleep a wink.’ Belinda rubbed at the burning stitch that ran down the inside of her right leg but Polly didn’t notice as she was brewing the tea.

While she poured out, Polly told her about the Coffee and Bun Social and watched with increasing concern as Belinda quickly took a scalding sip and then bit deep into the custard tart as if she hadn’t eaten a square meal in days. ‘Wait till the baby comes,’ Polly consoled her with a cheery grin. ‘You won’t sleep at all then.’

‘Thanks,’ but Belinda did see the funny side and gave a little smile. ‘I’m sorry you’ve found me in a bit of a state. I got up late this morning so now the dolly tub will be under our feet all day.’ It took ages because she found it hard bending over the galvanised washtub, not to mention operating the heavy, copper-bottomed posser. Even so, when they’d finished their tea and enjoyed a bit of a crack, as Polly called it, Belinda insisted on returning to the washing. Polly took hold of the posser, a long wooden stick with a disk of copper on the bottom and started swirling and thumping the sheets.

‘Where is your husband, the lazy tyke? If he’s no work on, he should be giving you a hand.’

Benny had brought the tub in from the yard and helped her to fill it but then had dashed off on important business, or so he’d claimed. Belinda chuckled, easing herself into a more comfortable position, feeling better already at having eaten the delicious tart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted anything as good. ‘Benny’s very good and tidy about the house, army training you know, but that’ll be the day when a man helps to wash grubby sheets, eh?’

‘Aye, the sky will fall on our heads, and that’s the truth.’

‘According to him, having a baby is a perfectly normal state, which doesn’t prevent washing being on the line by nine, ten at the latest.’ He’d grown surprisingly critical of her lately, an attitude which was not going down too well. Belinda knew why of course, all because she wouldn’t ask Hubert for help. But since he refused to work for his mother, you’d think he’d understand.

Polly frowned, wisely refraining from enquiring what it was that had got her son into such a lather. He’d never shown any interest in when the washing was done before. There had to be something more important on his mind than that. ‘Well, tis certainly true that having a baby is a perfectly natural state of affairs, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pander yourself with a bit more rest. I’m sorry you’re having all this sickness, lass, I’d no trouble at all with either of mine.’

‘Are you saying it’s all in the mind?’

‘Indeed I’m not. I’m thinking it’s in your belly,’ Polly said with a grin and, startled by her mother-in-law’s flippancy, Belinda burst out laughing. She realised at once that it was the first time she’d laughed properly in days, and it felt good.
 

‘Aw, now that’s brought a bit of colour into your cheeks. You’re looking better already.’ Polly returned to her mission with increased vigour. ‘It would do you both good to have a night out. And wouldn’t I welcome the chance to have a word with the daft galoot and give him a piece of my mind for neglecting you so. If ever you should feel poorly again, send our Benny over, won’t me or Lucy be glad to come and sit with you for a while.’

A rush of tears came into Belinda’s eyes, in gratitude for the warmth in Polly’s voice. ‘There’s really no need. It’s just getting me down I suppose, being stuck in this place every day.’ Pregnancy, so far as Belinda was concerned, was proving to be a far from a joyful experience. Her legs throbbed, the sickness lingered, her blood pressure was up and her spirits were sinking lower by the day. And although Benny continued to get some casual work which just about kept the wolf from the door, she’d begun to despair whether he’d ever get a business off the ground. But how could she admit this failure to his own mother.

As if reading her thoughts Polly asked, ‘so what about the shop? Has any progress been made?’

Belinda shook her head. ‘You’ve seen that the work bench and everything have gone?’

‘I did notice.’ Polly sounded grim.

‘No demand, apparently. He’s looking for something better, and I’m sure he’ll find it - eventually.’ Belinda rubbed a hand down the inside of her thigh, then quickly stopped when she saw Polly glance at her with an anxious frown. ‘We’re just running out of time.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘This baby seems to be growing bigger by the day.’

Polly dragged a soaking wet pillow sheet from out the dolly tub, and insisting Belinda remain seated, began to wring it between her hands for all the world as if it were her son’s neck. Sweat was pouring off her by the time she was done. ‘Sure and I’ll have a word with him about that too.’ Tight-lipped, Polly handed Belinda one end of the wet sheet and as they folded it and set it ready to go through the mangle, her mind was racing. She’d have a word with the lad all right and some decisions would have to be made, like it or not. Independence was one thing, sheer pigheadedness was another matter entirely.

Never short on courage, Polly wasted no time in calling on Hubert Clarke, eager to confront him with the reality of his daughter’s situation. She watched as his lips thinned into a rigid line of disapproval even as he offered her a seat in the plushness of his mahogany and leather study, after sending his wife scurrying for coffee.

‘I don’t believe in interfering in young folk’s business,’ he sanctimoniously and falsely announced. He looked as if he’d been knocked a bit off balance by Polly’s bluntness. ‘It’s up to them what they make of their lives. Not my problem.’

‘Oh I do agree, but there are times, like this current situation with Belinda pregnant and in need of good food and care, when no one but a heartless beast would ignore the poor girl’s plight. Which I know you aren’t, Councillor Clarke.’ She gave him the benefit of her fine Irish smile so that even Hubert was slightly mollified.

‘Aye well,’ he blustered. ‘She’s her husband’s responsibility now, by my reckoning.’

‘And hasn’t Benny done his best? Couldn’t he have had a fine job with me in the carpet warehouse, had he not wanted to prove himself and be independent, the daft galoot.’ Polly slanted her greeny-grey eyes up at him, hoping her charms hadn’t quite faded, and again offered the benefit of her soft smile. ‘Couldn’t you find it in that great heart of yours to give your son-in-law a first foot on the ladder? He’d mebbe take it from you, rather than his mam.’

Hubert’s mind had been working overtime through all of this embarrassing conversation. Not until Polly had mentioned the carpets did he make the connection. Of course! What a blind fool he’d been not to realise before. Pride Carpets, an up-and-coming firm which his accountant had mentioned to him more than once. Now that little gem of information, Hubert thought, put an entirely different complexion on the matter and would demand most careful thought, maybe even some revision to his plans. Funny thing about life, it could often throw up a wild card that turned out to be the very one you were seeking.

He was saved from answering by the door opening. Joanna appeared, looking flustered and precariously balancing a silver tray loaded with coffee jug, cups and saucers and tiny petit fours. Hubert got briskly to his feet and took the tray from her in a gesture of good will which left her standing with empty arms and mouth open in an "Oh" of surprise.

‘Now then,’ Hubert said, as he magnanimously started to pour coffee. ‘What are we going to do then, for these youngsters of ours?’

‘Whatever it is,’ Polly said, agreeably pleased by his unexpectedly positive response, ‘it must look as if it has come about through their own efforts. Not a sniff of interference on our part, d’you not agree?’

Hubert took a slurp of coffee before beaming upon his guest. ‘Indeed I do, my good lady. Indeed I do.’

They talked for some time over the delicious coffee and cakes. When he had showed his visitor out Hubert returned to his study, closed the door and lit one of his best Havana cigars, to consider the implications. In his unswerving opinion, poverty was the fault of the individual. The fact that Benny wasn’t alone in failing to find full-time employment or get a business going in post-war Britain cut no ice with him. Hubert didn’t hold with this newly created Ministry of National Insurance or the Family Allowances Bill, which only encouraged laziness. If a couple were bringing a child into the world, they should be entirely responsible for it. The lad must be daft if he’d had a good job offered him by his mother, and refused it.

And wasn’t Pride Carpets exactly the sort of enterprise that he enjoyed swallowing up with his own greedy empire. This one would be a particular pleasure.

Lucy sat in the corner of the school hall where she could watch Sarah Jane and Sean sliding up and down the polished floor with their friends. Everyone seemed to be dancing and laughing and having a good time, except her, which made her sense of anticipation bite even deeper. At least from here she could keep an eye on the door. She longed for Michael to come, yet worried over how she could possibly face him in front of her family and friends without showing plainly how she felt about him.

The slightest inkling of the way they felt about each other, and the matriarchs of Pansy Street would tear the pair of them apart with their gnashing teeth and malicious tongues. Lucy had seen the groups of women gather, heard the scrape of chairs as they pulled closer together at their front doors to exchange salacious gossip.
 

At least Belinda and Benny seemed happy. Lucy could see them now, dancing a quickstep, the skirts of Belinda’s dress, clearly silk and a beautiful peacock blue, swirling about her legs with a grace that seemed to defy she was only a matter of two months from giving birth. She might well complain it looked untidy with its let-out seams and her bump making the hem lift at the front, but to Lucy she looked marvellous, about as out of place in this room as a butterfly would in an Anderson shelter.

Sitting on the hard Sunday School chair watching everyone dance and laugh, Lucy felt quite old and dowdy in her navy two-piece, it’s plainness relieved only by a double row of buttons down the front, and a touch of white at the collar and cuffs. But then she supposed it was perfectly appropriate for a widow, and if nobody asked her out on to the floor, what did it matter? There was only one person she wished to dance with.

‘Please may I have the pleasure of this dance?’ She started, but it was only Johnny Parkinson grinning down at her. Determined not to show her blushing disappointment, she grinned back. ‘Hey up, chuck, eaten t’dictionary for thy tea, have you?’ she teased, using dialect to make him laugh. Grasping the blushing young man’s hand she let him lead her out on to the dance floor, then wrapped his arm tight about her slim waist and pressed herself close against him, making him go bright red to the tips of his ears. ‘Pity it isn’t a tango. Very passionate dance, a tango.’

Belinda, seeing this pantomime, laughed at her sister-in-law making herself out to be a vamp. Nobody could make fun of themselves quite so effectively as a Lancastrian and Lucy was incorrigible. She looked pretty and relaxed with her light brown hair curled into soft victory rolls on the top of her neat head, as if a glow lit her from within. Nor did Belinda miss the many glances she cast throughout the hilarious dance, in the direction of the door. A woman with a secret perhaps?

It was past nine o’clock and still he hadn’t come. Perhaps he wouldn’t come at all and Lucy’s heart sank at the bleakness of sitting like a wallflower all night. She could see Johnny Parkinson had gone over to ask Belinda to dance now, the pair tripping about the floor in some fancy two-step. Poor boy, he looked bewildered by his good fortune before being grabbed by his own mother and waltzed away clutched tightly to her bosom. She thought Belinda looked slightly relieved as she quickly returned to her seat.

‘Would it be too much to ask a lovely young lady to dance with an old man?’

Lucy beamed. ‘Uncle Nobby.’

‘I’ve two left feet, but they’re starting a slow waltz so I might manage that as I can count to three.’

Laughing, Lucy readily got up to join her favourite courtesy uncle on the dance floor. Nobby did a little reverse turn, spinning her round in a manner so accomplished, it quite belied his modest statement about his two left feet.

‘Methodist or no, you’ve been dancing before,’ she teased.

‘Oh aye, its true,’ he said in his low, rasping Lancashire tones. ‘I learned, like many another, in the Tower Ballroom, Blackpool, when I were nobbut a lad. We’re not all po-faced and miserable, tha knows. Even your Aunt Ida can tread the light fantastic, if she’s a mind. But don’t let on I told you. That’s where I met her, in Blackpool. As you well know, we went every year after that, staying at Mrs Nelson’s guest house on York Street. Eeh, them were the days.’

Lucy burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I do remember. I loved those holidays. Uncle Nobby, you’re as good as a tonic.’

‘Now that’s another thing your Aunt Ida likes, a bit of tonic wine. What a sinner she is, on the quiet. Not that she wants it bruited abroad, you understand, her being so strong in the Chapel department. She says she’s too old fer dancing and only come to this do tonight because she’s on the committee. She’s on a committee for everything is our Ida. But she’d not’ve missed this daft fandango for owt. I’ll persuade her up later, see if I don’t.’ He grinned, swirling Lucy round in such intricate steps that she had to struggle against her giggles in order to keep up with him.