Polly's War (41 page)

Polly came round to number 179 hot foot, wishing her children would just get on and live a quiet, orderly life instead of being such a trial to her. She seemed to be fighting a war with them worse than the one they’d all come through. Minnie, having made them a pot of tea quietly withdrew. ‘If it isn’t one of you, it’s the other, so it is,’ she accused Lucy. ‘What’s got into ye, leaving your husband? Have you run mad? They’ll carry you off to Prestwich, so they will.’

‘I’m not staying with a brute of a husband just to make life simpler for you,’ Lucy quietly responded, her patience exhausted.

‘A brute is he now, poor man? You’ve not shown near enough patience, nor given him time to settle and after all he’s ...’

Lucy flapped a hand wildly in the air to shut her mother up. ‘Don’t tell me again how much
he’s
suffered. What about
me
? Do you want to know how much
I’ve
suffered? How Tom has slapped me? How he frequently loses his temper and the other night actually pushed me down the stairs? You don’t know what it’s like living with that man. It’s hell on earth, I tell you,’ Lucy cried, tears brimming over despite her best efforts to prevent them.

Polly folded her arms and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Tom tells a different tale.’ Her voice changed to her soft Irish brogue. ‘It’s sorry I am that it’s come to this between the pair of you, but didn’t I warn you m’cushla. No man will tolerate a cheating wife for long, war or no war. Is it any wonder if he loses his temper now and then?’ She reached out to take her daughter’s hand but Lucy snatched it away before she even touched it.

‘What’s he been saying?’

Polly sighed. ‘He says you confessed about the babby and that he forgave you. More credit to him for his generosity for there’s many wouldn’t be so understanding.
 
He apparently asked you again to give up your fancy man and you refused, throwing yourself down the stairs in a fit of hysteria.’

Lucy stared at her mother out of eyes grown black with shock as the pupils dilated. ‘So you believe everything he tells you but nothing I say. I’m just an hysterical adulterer. Is that the way of it? Right, so we know where we stand don’t we?’ She marched to the front door and pulled it open, clearly prepared to throw her own mother out in the street. ‘I think you’d best go before you say something you might afterwards regret. We’ll talk another time when we’re both - calmer.’

Determined to have her say, Polly refused to simply walk away. ‘Lucy love, I’m only thinking of you.’
 

‘No, you aren’t. You’re thinking of yourself, and what the gossips will have to say.’

Entirely oblivious of how she too had been the unwitting victim of Tom’s lies every bit as much as her daughter Polly warned her of loneliness, of the difficulties of trying to bring up a family alone. Hadn’t she gone through all of that herself until she’d been lucky enough to meet Charlie? ‘It serves you right if Michael has gone for ever. Having played fast and loose with both the men in your life, you’ve now lost the pair of them.’

Finally recognising the fierce flash of fury in her daughter’s eyes, she quietly took her leave.

Minnie was waiting for Lucy in the kitchen with a pan of milk warming on the gas stove. She made her a mug of hot cocoa and watched while Lucy drank every drop. ‘Your eyes look like two lumps of black coal in a snow drift. So it’s your turn to be up the spout, eh? Is it our Michael’s? I reckoned it must be. Does he know?’

 
Lucy shook her head.

‘Thought not. It isn’t like our Michael to run from responsibility. Well don’t worry about that daft husband of yours. He couldn’t knock t’skin off a custard.’

Lucy wiped the tears from her face with the flat of her hand, starting to laugh despite the fact her eyes were welling up with fresh tears all over again. ‘What am I to do, Minnie?’

‘We’ll think o’ summat, but not now eh, chuck? Here, have a pear drop.’ And she popped one in Lucy’s mouth, making her smile all the more. ‘I’ll be gone no more’n twenty minutes or so but I must go and see your mam. She was upset too and she’s got other problems right now, has Polly. Tha should stop sharpening swords on each other and start counting your blessings. Will you come round yon wi’ me, and apologise?’ When Lucy shook her head, Minnie heaved a sigh and pulling her old brown shawl over her head, got to her feet. ‘Well, I’ll just pop round and see if she’s all right. She should know she has friends in time of trouble.’ Then turning to the children, said, ‘I’ll bring a bag or two of chips back wi’ me, eh? How would that be? And a nice bit of haddock. But only if you two have washed behind your ears and have got into your jammies on by the time I get back.’

‘Ooh yes,’ cried Sarah Jane and Sean, jumping up and down with excitement, then charged out, racing each other to the bathroom. They didn’t have a bathroom at number 32, so this was still something of a treat.

Lucy followed them at a slower pace, going through the nightly ritual of scrubbing mucky knees with a stiff loofah, inspecting ears and brushing hair in a somewhat distracted frame of mind. She was filled with guilt over this latest quarrel with her mother, but why couldn’t she leave well alone? Why did she always have to stick her oar in? Lucy was half listening with some trepidation for the sound of Minnie’s returning footsteps, fearing a heavier tread on the stair. Surely Tom wouldn’t be so stupid as to attempt to break into Minnie’s house, though so far as he was concerned it was Michael’s, and if he thought she was here alone, with him, would that drive him to some stupidly reckless act?

Sean inserted the thumb in his mouth. ‘Where’s me dad? Is he coming to stay at Aunty Minnie’s as well?’

‘No, love. We’re having a bit of a holiday on our own, for a change.’ She took the thumb out again. ‘Come on, I’ll read you a story till Minnie gets back. Then you can eat your chips in bed for a treat.’

This proposal went down well but once installed in the high bed which sagged alarmingly in the middle, Sarah Jane peered over the great brass bed rail. Shadows lurked in the corners of the gloomy room, large enough to house an army with its heavy mahogany furniture, and the night light on the bedside table flickering scary fingers across the high ceiling. ‘Have we to sleep with you every night in this big room?’

Lucy thought of all the empty bedrooms in the old house and spoke without thinking, as if unwilling to acknowledge that she’d made a decision. ‘No, you don’t, love. You can both choose a room of your own tomorrow afternoon, if you like, when you get back from school. Nice small cosy ones. How would that be?’

‘Ooh, yes please!’ The children squealed with excitement, bouncing up and down on the feather mattress with delight at this unexpected turn of events. Life seemed full of them at the moment.

If only everyone could be so easily pleased, Lucy thought, then stifling a sigh cuddled her beloved children warmly beside her and began to read ‘The Three Little Pigs’ in hope of a quiet night’s sleep ahead. But the calmness didn’t last long. Soon they were all huffing and puffing and rolling about the bed in an ecstasy of giggling hysteria. After that Minnie arrived and was soon doling out chip butties which kept the children quiet for at least five minutes before they were up and bouncing again on the old sagging bed. For once Lucy let them play while she and Minnie talked, for wouldn’t life become serious enough for them soon.

The following morning Lucy took the children to school at their usual time, making excuses that they’d both had bad colds. The teacher said nothing about the fact they seemed to be positively glowing with health now, and chattering twenty to the dozen about how they’d moved house and were to have new bedrooms, with their own bathroom. On the way back down Lower Byrom Street, keeping a wary eye open for Tom at every corner, Lucy started to worry over how Minnie would react to a more permanent arrangement, and how she could pay for their keep. But before she could open her mouth to ask, Minnie said, ‘I’ve had a word wi’ Poll and it’s all sorted.’

‘What is?’

She set a mug of tea down in front of Lucy. ‘Eeh, I reckon we make more pots of tea in this house than they do at Lyons. You’re to stay here, with me.’

‘But what happens when the baby comes?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let’s see how we get on, shall we?’

Lucy was so grateful she began to weep.

‘Nay, don’t start. I’ll not throw thee out on t’street,’ Minnie Hopkins said, thrusting a spanking clean handkerchief brusquely into her hand. ‘Anyroad, I’d rattle round this big old house like a pea on a drum on me own.’

‘You could always sell it,’ Lucy suggested, wondering for the first time how Minnie came to be living in this grand house, all by herself. ‘Buy something smaller.’

‘Nay, I’m not allowed to do that. It isn’t mine, d’you see. But I’ve the right to live in it, me and Michael, fer the length of my life time. After that it goes back into the estate. My lady was cast out too by her family, so they get nothing till I’m gone. She left me enough to get by, so why not share a bit? Money’s made round to go round eh? Isn’t that what they say?’ The old woman actually winked, chortling with delight at the old joke, her toothless mouth a wide open chasm of pink gums.

‘Oh, Minnie, I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘You can start by going to see thy mam.’

Lucy was thoughtful. Having found a stable home for her children, Minnie was right, this wasn’t the time to be at odds. They had to stick together or they’d go under for sure. ‘Where is she?’

‘Down at the warehouse, clearing up.’

Lucy snatched up her coat, yanked on a woollen beret and Minnie, claiming to be at a loose end, insisted on coming with her. ‘I can shove a yard brush round that mucky floor if nowt else,’ she said.

Lucy gazed in wonder at her one-time employer who had turned into such a treasured friend. ‘Minnie,’ she said, respect and gratitude warm in her voice. ‘What would I do without you?’

Minnie laughed again. ‘Tha’d be buggered.’

Hubert was interrogating his son. Ron, however, denied all knowledge of the fire. He was, in fact, equally stunned by events, agreeing that although this had been their intention, he hadn’t actually got around to making all the necessary arrangements, like laying his hands on a bit of petrol to get it started.

‘Then who set it?’ Hubert asked, wondering if it could have been an accident after all. Not that he concerned himself too greatly over the matter. Accident or design the fire had served his purpose very nicely, causing Polly Pride to shut up shop and her business to fall neatly into his lap. So pleased with himself was he, that he made a date with a young widow he’d met at the auction, taking her out for a meal as a special treat. He did make sure they met in a place far removed from the twitching curtains of Castlefield. Not because he cared about his wife’s sensibilities, but because he really didn’t care for any whiff of scandal to affect his business.

She proved to be particularly accommodating, so much so that Hubert didn’t get home until the early hours. It was fortunate that he and Joanna now occupied separate quarters. Far more convenient. He slipped quietly up the stairs to his own room without hearing a sound from hers. It made him smile to think of her so innocently asleep.

The next day he paid a visit to Colin Wilnshaw, his accountant, who outlined the particular advantages of this new acquisition. The debt would not now be paid, admittedly, but having regained possession of the entire stock of furniture for which he’d paid a mere fraction of what he charged Polly for it, he’d regain some of his losses by selling it himself. He’d send the rubbish on to other dealers, of course.
 

It was a pity, the accountant pointed out, that the looms and carpets had been completely destroyed. Hubert too was privately irritated that he hadn’t been able to take over the machinery and name of the company, Pride Carpets. ‘I can’t say I’m
 
particularly interested in carpets and have no use for a rented warehouse. However, the big new shop will come in handy.’ There were, of course, more important reasons to be pleased at seeing an end to the Pride family’s business venture. ‘They’ll never get it going again, not in a million years.’

Wilnshaw smoothed his chin in a thoughtful gesture before offering his opinion that a little care should perhaps be exercised before Hubert attempted to take over any further enterprises. ‘We can’t have you become too successful. I mean, we’ve no wish to arouse suspicion in more bureaucratic quarters, such as the tax office for instance. It might be a disadvantage to arouse their curiosity over your affairs.’

Hubert paid lip service to this excellent advice whilst privately keeping his options open. Opportunities, he’d discovered, came when you least expected them and often had to be snatched or they were lost for ever. But he was still puzzled about that fire. If it was arson, why would Polly risk such a thing since she’d realise that it would be bound to make her insurance policy void.

The answer was supplied to him a day or two later when he had yet another visitor, one who’d called regularly over recent months, costing Hubert a great deal of money as a result and now claimed credit for the entire shebang. Tom Shackleton calmly informed Hubert that he’d done him a favour in his scheming against the Pride family, by bringing the matter to a swift conclusion. He asked for a final payoff, promising that would be the last Hubert heard from him.

‘You didn’t do it out of the goodness of your heart then?’ Hubert drily remarked to which Tom merely smiled. ‘And how do I know that’d be the end of it, if I did pay up?’