Private Sorrow, A (8 page)

‘Yes. We looked after four young men after that but I had to stop taking anybody else after the last one left because I had to have this operation.’

‘Have you got their names and addresses, Vera?’

‘No, I don’t have their addresses. Robert McGregor stayed for six months and he left in the spring of 1930. Then Michael McGregor arrived for a few weeks, he was Robert’s brother. Lenny Barr stayed for two months but he left to go to a job in England, while the last person was only here for a few weeks because of my ill health. I couldn’t ask Dave and Etta to look after him and cook for him, so he left.’

‘I was talking to Anita Armstrong and she told me that a Mrs Pert was the source of the rumours about Sasha.’

Vera screwed her face up in disgust. ‘Mrs Pert was usually the source of all rumours and gossip. I always thought she never had enough to do with her life, that she had to meddle in everybody else’s affairs. I expect she’s still at it.’

Molly looked surprised. ‘Is she still alive? Anita said she was about eighty years old in 1929.’

Vera laughed again. ‘Isn’t that typical of a young, newly married bride of nineteen? They think all elderly people are ancient. No, Mrs Pert was only about sixty when she lived here, but now she lives with her sister and her niece in Clepington Road. I mean, she’ll be really old now, but she’s not dead and buried like Anita seems to think.’

Molly jotted down her address. She would go and see the woman tomorrow. She hoped that this old woman, with the sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, would help in this case where there were scores of facts and theories but nothing that could be pinned down to the truth. So many people who knew Etta had their own impressions of her, which didn’t help in piecing together her last few days living with her mother.

‘I’ve just one more question, Vera. Have you any idea why Dave went to Arbroath on the day he died, and do you think Etta went with him?’

Vera said, ‘That’s something I’ve often wondered and I can’t think why he would go. As for Etta, well, she was never seen again after the accident, so I don’t know.’ She stopped speaking and looked unhappy. ‘When we married in 1913 we were too young. Then Etta was born and when Dave didn’t return from the war until she was five. We had a hard job readjusting to one another and I have to admit we didn’t really succeed. Dave was very moody and he had a bad temper at times. I felt I had to walk on eggshells all the time. He would go on long walks, either by himself or with Etta, and I felt left out of that arrangement. I guess it makes sense that they would both leave me at the same time, not giving me any clue as to what happened.’

Not knowing how to reply to Vera’s melancholy, Molly simply said, ‘Well, I’ll get back to the office and type up all my notes.’ She left Vera sitting by the fire with an empty plate and cup beside her on a small table. She felt such a pang of sympathy for the woman that she had to hurry out the door and down the stairs in case she burst into tears.

Mary turned up for work at Keiller’s sweet factory at 7:15 a.m. and joined the throng of people who were making their way into the Albert Square factory. This noisy group filtered into various departments and she was soon the only person left at the small office by the front door. An older man appeared and scrutinised her work slip. ‘It’s the quality control department you’re looking for, lass,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’

They walked through a lot of the departments, which even at this early time of the morning were hives of activity. In contrast, the quality control office was a quiet haven. A plump woman came forward and introduced herself. ‘I’m Miss Whyte and I’m in charge of this office.’ She looked as if she was ready to burst out of her skirt and Mary wondered if part of this job meant having to taste all the sweeties.

Standing at a desk was a young man who came over. ‘Hi, I’m Phil. You will be working with me most of the time.’

Mary could only stare at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen outside of the Hollywood films. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were deep brown. She had often read in her
True Romance
magazines about people with limpid, luscious eyes but she had never believed it … at least not until now. Then he smiled, showing the whitest teeth. He was perfection from head to foot. She wished now that she had taken more care over her appearance. Not that she was badly dressed, but her work suit and white blouse looked frumpy next to this gorgeous man.

He started to explain what the work entailed. ‘We go round all the departments and take samples so we can analyse them, to make sure they are the best quality because the factory take their quality satisfaction very seriously.’

Mary was issued with a white overall and set off with the Greek god. ‘We’ve got the enrobing department this morning,’ he said.

Mary was alarmed. It sounded as if she would have to take her clothes off but when they reached it, Phil explained. ‘This is where all the soft centres are coated in chocolate. That’s what
enrobing
means.’

‘Oh,’ said Mary, suddenly feeling relieved.

Phil strode over to the large vats of chocolate that lay at the edge of the floor and took a small ladle and metal container out of his bag. One of the men in charge of the vat took a small sample of chocolate and handed it over. Then it was over to a large conveyer belt, where the fruit centres slowly marched under a stream of chocolate before disappearing into a tunnel. Mary was then taken into a cold room next door, where the sweets were deftly taken off the belt by a bevy of women and packed into wooden trays. Mary was quite overcome by the sweet, hot smell of chocolate. Another thing she noticed was the looks the machine girls were giving Phil. They obviously found him as handsome as she did.

At dinner time, Phil said, ‘We have a good canteen here with hot meals at reasonable prices. I always go there, so I’ll show you the way.’

They reached the canteen, which was warm and bright and filled with workers. Mary chose a steak pie and mashed potatoes and a cup of tea from the self-service counter and was amused to see Phil had chosen the same thing. They managed to get an empty table by the wall and Phil pointed his knife at her plate. ‘Great minds think alike,’ he said with a laugh.

Mary could barely eat her dinner because the eight girls sitting at the next table kept looking over and making eyes at Phil while giving her some hard stares.

One of the girls, a very pretty blonde, said, ‘Are you going dancing tonight, Phil?’

He smiled at her. ‘No, I never go on a Monday night, Linda.’

‘Well, I’ll be out on Saturday at the Palais. I’ll maybe see you there.’

Phil said. ‘Do you go dancing, Mary?’

She nodded. ‘I go to Kidd’s Rooms with my chum every Saturday.’

He gave her a look with his limpid eyes and Mary felt herself blush. ‘To change the subject,’ he said. ‘How long have you been hired for?’

‘Two weeks, with an option of another week in case your colleague hasn’t been replaced by then.’

He gave her another look. ‘Well, let’s hope she isn’t.’

Mary asked him, ‘Why did she give up such a great job?’

Phil smiled. ‘She left to have her baby and the job has been advertised in the
Courier
. I think the interviews are at the end of the week. Then they’ll have to advertise my job.’

Mary was surprised. ‘Are you leaving as well?’

He shrugged. ‘I have to do my National Service soon. I’m expecting my call-up papers in a month or so.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘What branch of the Services will you be in?’

‘I would like the RAF, but I suppose it’ll be the army.’

They had each finished their meal so they got up and walked towards the canteen door, followed by the eyes of the eight girls. Mary overheard one saying to Linda, ‘You’ll have to work fast before he goes away. Just think of all the good looking
fräuleins
and
señoritas
abroad.’

‘Oh, just shut up,’ said Linda crossly.

Edna was unhappy. It had been a whole week since she had left John’s house and she really thought he would have come to the house to see her and explain this strange situation. However, there had been no word from him and she had to stay away another week before going back to work at the house. She was enjoying working in the large office in town but she missed John so much that it felt like an ache. At night she would toss and turn, wondering if and when he would deal with this mess. Sometimes she would wake up at 3 a.m. with the thought that it would never be sorted out, and she couldn’t get back to sleep again. Still, there was only one more week to go and everything would hopefully be back to what it was.

In the morning, after Edna had left for work, Irene took Billy to school and she made a detour after dropping him off at Rosebank Primary. Instead of heading back to Paradise Road, she walked up Constitution Road and slowed up when she reached John’s house. The house looked deserted and no lights shone in the front rooms. Irene stood for a moment, unable to decide what to do. Should she walk up to the front door and tell John she was just passing or should she walk on?

After a few moments hesitation, she retraced her steps and went home. She hated seeing Edna so unhappy and she was also a bit annoyed at John for this high-handed treatment. He had made his intentions very clear and now it looked as if he had changed his mind. He was quite entitled to do that, Irene thought, but he should have been honest with her daughter.

As she turned and walked away, Irene hadn’t noticed the figure standing in the darkness behind the curtains, but she had seen Irene. ‘Well, well, what was that all about?’ she said out loud. But there was no one to answer her and she moved into the kitchen to make some tea and toast.

Molly wanted to make an early start. She wasn’t sure how long it would take her to reach the house where Mrs Pert was staying with her sister. Clepington Road was long and Molly wasn’t sure where to begin looking. She decided to take the bus to the top of Caird Avenue then get her bearings from there.

As it turned out, she had made the right choice because the flat was in a well-kept, stone-built tenement a few hundred yards away. Vera had said the sister’s name was Isa Young and Molly soon found the flat. It was on the ground floor and the wooden door looked quite substantial, as if it would have been able to withstand the onslaught of an invading army. The brass bell and nameplate were shiny and fingerprint free. They looked as if they were well buffed up every day with Brasso, and Molly felt guilty for having the cheek to ring the bell.

It took a few minutes for someone to come to the door but Molly knew the two ladies who lived here must now be in there eighties. That was why she got a surprise when a smart looking woman, who looked to be about fifty years old, opened the door. Slightly taken aback, Molly asked if she could see Mrs Pert.

It was the woman’s turn to look surprised. ‘Can I ask what it’s about?’

Molly didn’t want to discuss it on the doorstep but it looked as if the woman wasn’t going to let a complete stranger past the fortress of the door. Molly handed over her card and said. ‘It’s about an old neighbour of Mrs Pert. A girl called Etta Barton. I’m working for her mother, trying to trace her.’

‘Wait there a minute, while I check if she wants to talk to you.’ With that curt sentence she turned on her heels and disappeared into the dim lobby, but not before making sure she closed the door first.

Molly felt a fool standing in the close. She should have made an arrangement to see Mrs Pert in advance and not pounce on people like she had been doing. Suddenly, the door was opened and the woman said, ‘Come in.’

Molly followed her through the lobby to a bright living room, which had too much furniture in it; large solid pieces that looked antique and well cared for. A fire was blazing in the grate and two women sat in comfy armchairs at either end. Molly could tell they were sisters because they resembled each other very much. Both were thin with short, grey hair and sharp, enquiring eyes that gazed at her with anticipation. ‘Sit down. Sit down. I’m Isa and this is Mabel Pert.’

Molly sat down on a large armless chair, which was surprisingly comfortable and wished she had something like it in her own flat. The young woman came back into the room and Isa introduced her as her daughter Moira.

Mabel said, ‘Sorry you had to wait outside but we’ve had a bit of trouble with people coming round the doors, wanting to buy furniture and ornaments. The woman up the next close let a couple of men into her house and they robbed her.’

Molly was alarmed. ‘That’s terrible. Did the police catch the thieves?’

‘No, no. They weren’t burglars,’ clarified Mabel. ‘They bought a few of her lovely things from her display cabinet and a footstool and small table. They paid her two pounds for the lot but when her son came to see her, he was furious because they were antiques and worth a lot more. So we’ve all been warned not to let any strangers in.’

Molly was quite bemused by all this drama. She had come here to question Mrs Pert and here she was, listening to what sounded like an episode of
Mrs Dale’s Diary
. She decided it was time to mention why she had come. She explained her part in the search for Etta. ‘You stayed in the same close as the Bartons. Can you tell me anything about them, especially Etta?’

Thankfully, Isa and Moira stayed silent. ‘I remember the family very well. It was a small community in that close and we all knew one another’s business.’ Molly knew this wasn’t totally correct, as she knew Mrs Pert was the main gossip, but she stayed silent.

Mabel continued. ‘The father was a strange man. He would take off at weekends and go for long walks, and Etta was like him. I used to see them sometimes going off together and I felt sorry for his wife. He may have had his job in the foundry but she worked hard with her lodgers.’

Molly mentioned Sasha Lowson. ‘There were rumours about a relationship between Dave Barton and her.’

Mrs Pert drew herself upright and said. ‘They were not rumours. They were true.’

‘I spoke to her yesterday and she said there was nothing true about the gossip.’