Polly's War (40 page)

Polly quickly apologised, putting her arms about his great shoulders and hugging him, for wasn’t he her lovely boy. But the accusation left a sour taste in both their mouths. To justify her anger and prove the reason for her flash of temper, she showed him the parlous state of the accounts. ‘We’re over-borrowed and overstocked and don’t I know full well whose fault that is. No matter what I do to try to get out of this awful mess, Hubert Clarke sticks his oar in and stops me.’

She could see by the thin white line above tightly compressed lips that Benny might be beginning to share her lack of trust in his father-in-law. Yet still he stepped in to defend him. ‘It’s certainly true that he’s an awkward old sod. He and Belinda didn’t get on at all well. But he’s lost her, for God’s sake! Now he insists that he wants to help provide a sound business to pass on to his only grandson. He told me so himself.’ Benny picked up a hunk of scorched wool and crumbled it in his hand. ‘Some heritage.’

Polly was about to express her doubts that Hubert was capable of such a sentiment when a voice from the door interrupted her thoughts. ‘The boy’s right. My grandson is more important to me than you might imagine. Isn’t all of this partly your own fault, Polly Pride, for buying those looms.’

‘I would say you’re right there,’ she agreed, turning to face her accuser. ‘And my fault for getting involved with you, Hubert Clarke, in the first place. But like the phoenix, we’ll rise from the ashes, see if we don’t.’

‘What with? Are you properly insured, lass?’

‘I am.’

‘But will that be enough? Insurance folk can be a touch choosy how much they cough up in a case like this. By heck,’ he said, walking about and poking at charred beams with the point of his stick, coughing when he caused a shower of sparks and soot to fall all about him. ‘Proper mess, eh? I thought I’d come over and express my sympathy. But I can see that even when you’ve cleaned up, you’ll have to re-equip and restock. Cost a mint, that will. Then there’s the lost income while the business is closed. Never rains but it pours, eh? Of course, if there’s any way I can help,’ he offered, smoothing the dust from his fine worsted suit. ‘You have only to say the word.’

‘We’ll manage, thanks all the same.’ Polly suffered Hubert’s gloating presence for the longest half hour she could imagine before he finally took his leave, coldly refusing his offer of the services of Ron, his odious son, to help with the clearing up. Benny was itching to give Ron a ‘ good seeing to’ but Polly managed to persuade him against such a reckless act.

Hubert had no sooner gone than Lucy arrived, looking wan and slightly dishevelled, as no doubt they all were. Polly went to her at once and mother and daughter put their arms about each other for a comforting hug, indulging in a quiet weep. But it was Lucy who was the first to rally.

‘Come on Mam. You tell us what to do and we’ll do it. We won’t be beaten by this.’ She’d come to help clean up along with Polly’s stalwart band of workers, all eager to do their bit. There’d be plenty of time later to think about her own problems. Minnie Hopkins was at the ready with her sweeping brush, even Uncle Nobby and Aunt Ida were there with mopping buckets and mops, ‘to swill out t’muck,’ as they kept repeating. Polly could only smile with gratitude at this rallying of support.

Charlie too had come along to help, which caused her to huff and puff some more, telling her husband he wasn’t fit enough to be out and about, let alone working in a burned out shell of a warehouse. But Charlie was adamant he was perfectly capable of helping to root through the mess and spot anything of value which might have survived.

They worked all day and the best they could salvage were a dozen or so bobbins of singed wool.

‘At least it’s a popular colour,’ Maisie joked. ‘Your favourite pink beige.’

Benny flung down the pile of spindles he’d just been sorting, not a decent one amongst them and rubbed a tired hand over his face, blackening it even more. ‘Let’s go and have a jar. I reckon we all need one. Mebbe things won’t look so bad in the morning.’

But when the insurance assessor arrived the following day, his verdict was far from reassuring. The site had been examined by both the firemen and the police, he said and without doubt, arson was suspected. Without actually accusing her point blank, the steely quality of his stare made it clear to Polly who he considered had set the match.

‘Saints alive, you don’t think ... You can’t imagine that I’d set light to me own warehouse.’

The inspector cleared his throat, somewhat noisily. ‘I understand you’re suffering a slight financial embarrassment at present?’ His expression bore a mask of professional sympathy, as if inviting her to confess all.

‘Who the hell has told you that?’

‘It’s generally bruited abroad that you’ve been chopping and changing suppliers, yet not settling outstanding bills. Your credit status at present, Mrs Pride, is, I believe, in a sorry state.’

‘Stockton. The name is Mrs Charlie Stockton. Polly Pride is only the name I use for my business.’

‘Ah, as you wish.’ He managed a smile which did not reach his eyes. ‘Nevertheless, I am correct, am I not?’

Drat him and drat the man who’d put her in this mess in the first place but Polly could not deny it. By going about seeking new suppliers while still in debt to Hubert Clarke, she’d made herself appear to be the guilty party.

The Insurance Company couldn’t pay out, he explained, until after a more intensive investigation had taken place which might, he admitted, take months. The authorities still had a great deal of work on their hands assessing bomb damage and which houses could be made fit for occupation. Civilian fires were given somewhat lower priority. It was made plain to Polly that although they may not have sufficient evidence to prosecute, they were deeply suspicious, their doubts such that they could delay payment for as long as they wished.
 

Certainly long enough to leave her business in ruins.

No matter how many hours Polly and Benny might pour over the accounts which they did every night in the kitchen of number 32, Charlie putting in his twopennorth, nor however fervently she might plead her case with the bank manager, the truth of the matter was that Polly had more debts than she could handle, more stock than she could sell and the only successful part of her operation, the manufacturing of carpets, was now defunct. Even her carpet cleaning and beating machines were gone, reduced to rubble in the fire. The result was indisputable. Pride Carpets was no more, and all her workers were now without jobs.

‘You mean we’re all on the cob’n coal?’ Maisie asked.

Polly admitted that yes, they would indeed have to collect the dole, if they couldn’t find other work. ‘But you’ll all get your jobs back, just as soon as I’m up and running again.’ Didn’t she know how hard it was to get work? Hadn’t she suffered the indignity of unemployment herself back in the thirties, not to mention the endless worry of where the next shilling was coming from to put in the gas meter.

‘A hungry sow won’t follow an empty bucket.’ This from Joyce, ever blunt, and revealing the doubts they all felt that Pride Carpets would ever rise again from the ashes.

‘What about us?’ Charlie asked, when Polly expressed these concerns to him. ‘Where will we find the next bob or two for the meter?’ The question silenced her completely.

So it was that when Hubert Clarke came round with his proposal, she was in no position to argue.

‘You might as well admit, Polly lass, that you’re done for,’ he cheerfully informed her. ‘But I’ll not see you go bankrupt.’ He smiled magnanimously, going on to outline in painstaking detail how he would be willing to take over the company, generously agreeing to keep both herself and Benny on, as employed managers. ‘Admittedly the wages I could offer would be much less than you are getting now. But there’ll always be a place for you both in Clarke Enterprises.’

Polly felt not the slightest degree of gratitude and made no bones about telling him so, which caused him to smile all the more as he took out his pocket book and reminded her of the sum still outstanding.

‘Take the blasted furniture back, why don’t you? That’ll more than cover the debt, surely to God,’ she said.
 

Hubert sadly shook his head, agreeing that he must of course take possession of the stock. ‘But with the added interest, even if some of the furniture wasn’t damaged from standing in your damp shop, it would barely cover a fraction of the debt.’ He also pointed out that she had no other choice, since she couldn’t afford to re-equip or restore the warehouse following the fire, nor any longer pay the rent on the shop premises.

So saying, he took over her business, lock, stock and balloon backed chairs. Polly refused his paltry offer of a job, thereby leaving the building for the last time with nothing but her pride.

Chapter Twenty-Six

When the knock came to the door, instinct told Lucy who it would be.

‘If that’s our Michael ...’ Minnie cried, jumping up from the table where she’d been peeling potatoes.

Lucy pressed the older woman gently down again. ‘More likely Tom.’ She was surprised that it had taken him this long to come round. The children had not been sent to school for three days and she’d been grateful for Minnie’s offer of accommodation for them all until she’d made up her mind what she wanted to do. Much of that time Lucy had spent with Polly down at the warehouse, where all she’d built up over the last two or three years seemed to be unravelling.

She too felt as if she was living on borrowed time, for any day now the truant officer would be sure to come round. But then if the children went back to school, Tom could easily steal them, just to spite her. Perhaps he’d already been watching and waiting at the school gates. Her stomach churned at the thought, yet Lucy knew they couldn’t hide forever.

‘Tha doesn’t have to see him,’ Minnie told her.

‘Best if I get it over with. Put things on a proper footing. I can’t spend my life hiding behind corners just because I’ve left my husband.’ Lucy marched to the door with head held high and a determined spring in her step. Tom stood on the doorstep, as expected, hands in pockets, trilby hat pulled well down over his eyes as if he were Humphrey Bogart on a spying mission. Lucy experienced a frantic urge to laugh but managed to calm her hysteria and face him with some degree of control.

‘I reckoned I’d find you here.’ There was a purr of satisfaction in the flint-like tones.

‘I’m sorry Tom. I don’t care what you say but I’m not coming home.’ There,
 
that would show him she could stand up for herself at last.

‘You’ll do as I say.’

She felt her cheeks grow red with annoyance. ‘I will not.’

‘Get your coat on. You’re coming home with me.’ He reached out to grab her but Lucy backed away, cringing from his touch.

‘Never.’

Tom’s lip curled upwards into a sneer. It made him look even more like a stranger, one she couldn’t believe she’d ever loved. ‘So where’s lover-boy then? Hiding under the stairs, is he? Still playing the coward we know him to be. I’m aware
 
he’s not even shown up at work.’

If Lucy had been hot with anger before, now she felt herself go cold with a new fear. ‘How do you know he’s not been in to work? Have you been looking for him? Leave Michael alone, d’you hear? What he does, where he goes, is his affair, not yours.
Leave him be
!’

Tom only laughed, an odious sound that chilled her all the more, while Lucy fought to steady her breathing, and keep a grip on her frayed nerves. ‘I did my best to be a good wife to you. If you’d thought of me once during the days of your escape, just long enough to let me know you were alive, then I might well have waited for you. It wasn’t my fault I fell in love with Michael. That’s what lonely women do during wartime when they think their husband is dead, they turn to someone else. And when you did come home were you kind to me? No. Did you make love to me with any sign of gentleness or affection?
No
! Did you ever consider my feelings for one minute, on whether I wanted to go out, have friends, or carry on working?
No, no, and again no
! You attempted to control my every thought and movement. Now Michael’s gone and I’ve lost him. All because of
you
.’

‘Stop your hysterics and get on home this minute. That’s my child you’re carrying and I don’t want it harmed.’
 

‘You speak as if I was a piece of merchandise and you own me. Well, you
don’t
. I pray every day that this child isn’t yours. I want you out of my life, Tom Shackleton.
Leave me alone, drat you
!’ She became aware of Minnie standing beside her, gently touching her arm. She must have been shouting, for neighbours in the street had started to gather to listen and stare.

‘That’s enough lass. Tha’s made your point. Go home lad. Best leave her alone for now.’ Minnie drew the sobbing Lucy back into the house and shut the door.
 

Tom did not go home. He strode along Pansy Street, knocked loudly on number 32 and asked to see Polly. When she came to the door, anxiety clouding her eyes at sight of him, Tom burst into noisy tears. ‘You’ll never guess what she’s gone and done now.’

Never having seen a grown man cry before, Polly was appalled. ‘Aw, Tom, whatever is it? Ye poor lamb. Come in lad, come in.’ And she took her weeping son-in-law into the warm heart of her home.