A Hopscotch Summer (25 page)

It was a Monday and as had become their habit, Em and Dot were doing the washing together at number eighteen. Joyce and Nancy were in the house, and every so often the sound of them squabbling floated out to the yard and Dot tutted.

‘Pass me over that sheet of Sid’s, bab, and then we’re done,’ Dot said, waiting by the mangle in the yard.

Em pulled the sheet out of the maiding tub, twisting water out of it and passing one end to Dot, and holding the other off the ground.

‘Ta, love.’ Dot wearily pushed her hair out of her eyes and fed the sheet between the rollers of the mangle. They’d both been working hard, almost in silence, doing the main body of the work, but now Dot looked across at her.

‘Your mom was looking better, wasn’t she?’ Em didn’t notice the cautious tone in Dot’s voice. She was still feeling excited after Mom’s visit on Saturday. It had been the third time, and now they were talking about her coming home soon – to stay!

Em nodded, smiling happily, pulling on the sheet as it emerged from the mangle.

‘Mom’s all right now – she’s better, isn’t she? When will she come home?’

‘Soon, bab. They didn’t say. In a week or two, I think. They want to make sure she’s really properly better.’

Dot had, as usual, helped the family through the day visit, but seeing Cynthia’s still frail state she couldn’t help fretting about how it was all going to be if she was allowed to come and live at home. And what was Bob up to? He was all right with her when she came – quite gentle and helpful, the way he could be when he put his mind to it. But Dot knew he wasn’t seeing any less of Flossie Dawson than he ever had. When was he going to face up to things, she wondered angrily. A moment later, as they were pegging out the sheet across the yard, she said, ‘Where does that Daisy Dawson go off to – you know, when you see her mooching off on a Sunday?’

Em removed a clothes peg from her mouth. ‘To her auntie, I think. So she says.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, that’s nice – that she’s got some other family about. You’d think her mother’d get her a nicer hat, though, the way she dresses herself up.’

Em’s face clouded. ‘I
hate
Daisy,’ she said.

The afternoon of the previous day had been drizzly. Bob and Flossie lay side by side in her bed after making love, or what passed for it, Bob thought bitterly. Despite Flossie’s inventiveness, getting himself all worked up and then having to withdraw for the crowning glory of it was not his idea of proper love-making. He lay there feeling sticky and somehow humiliated. It would be different if they were together properly, he thought, instead of all this creeping about, having to be so careful, in bed and out of it. He turned towards Flossie. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed, the sheet arranged so that he could see tantalizing glimpses of the soft cleft between her breasts. He looked at her profile, the dark hair and crescent of her lashes, the sweet, upturned nose, her strong neck leading down to her sturdy, pale body. He loved it when she was like this, hair in disarray, naked,
loose
somehow, when normally she was a neat, prim-looking person. And it was for him, he who saw her like that. God knows why; she could have done better, surely? He moved his lips close to her ear.

‘If we was living together, regular like, we wouldn’t have all this, would we? We could do things properly.’ He dared himself to say the words, almost playing with them.

Sleepily she opened her eyes, turning her head slightly.

‘What are you saying, you naughty boy?’ He loved this archness. It made him feel young and daring. And he could tell she liked to portray herself as wicked. It was another of the things that made her so desirable. ‘Are you asking me to marry you, or live in sin with you? Just remember – ’ she tapped his nose playfully with her finger – ‘you’re a married man. You’d have to get a divorce first.’

He drew back. Her words punctured his fantasy like pins. This was how it was. He lived in two separate worlds, as if there were two paths possible for him all the time. When he was with Flossie he imagined his future with her, the two of them living in his house, making a life with her, untouched by anything outside. When his mind followed this path his real life, home, wife, children, ceased to exist. Daisy was also conveniently removed from it. It was a new beginning which left him free. Her words forced him back to reality. Flossie was not living a fantasy. There were things she wanted.

Real life bludgeoned him again. Cynthia had been home yesterday. The thought of her, back in their house where she belonged, flooded him with a sense of longing, and of terrible guilt and fear. Her being there felt right, yet so painful and difficult. It knifed him with feelings, tore him apart. Here, things were simpler. He was besotted with Flossie, enslaved by her, flattered by her attention. The fact that he had still not wholly possessed her drove him on. He knew it had to end, that he had to tell her so – but he could not bear the fact or let it go.

‘Bob?’

‘Umm?’ This time it was he lying with his eyes closed.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’ She was half playful, half serious.

Tell her. You’ve got to tell her . . .

He opened his eyes, and saw her raising herself onto her elbow. He caught a whiff of her body, the juices of love-making mixed with sweet talcum powder. Flossie looked down at him, and her teasing expression contained a calculating edge which he both saw and chose not to see.

‘I thought you were serious, you naughty, handsome boy.’ She traced her finger round his face, along the length of his nose, over his prominent cheekbones and the two bridges of his eyebrows. The tickling sensation irritated him. ‘Coming and taking advantage of a poor widow woman, running away with her feelings. That’s not very nice, is it?’

‘Divorcing my wife wouldn’t be very nice either, would it?’ He spoke more harshly than he intended, as his two worlds collided.

Her finger stopped moving over his face. ‘I thought she was . . . Well, she’s not right, is she? That’s what everyone says.’

‘Oh,
do
they?’ He found himself coming hotly to Cynthia’s defence. These days he never knew what he was going to say next. ‘There’s always bloody wagging tongues ready to say the worst. It was just after the babby, that was all. It can happen sometimes.’

‘Ah well,’ she withdrew, coldly, lying back down, ‘that’s right, defend her now. A bit late, though, don’t you think? I might have known you were only using me, goodness knows . . .’ She was working herself up now, with tears in her voice. ‘It’s been like that ever since my Arthur died. My hopes raised, hopes of safety and security and love – then dashed again, cast away like a piece of rubbish . . .’

She turned her back on him, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

‘Floss!’ He tried to get her to turn to him again. ‘Don’t say that! It ain’t like that, you know I’m yours. I wouldn’t carry on like that!’

‘Are you?’ She turned her head, eyes welling with tears. ‘How can I ever know you’re really mine when I’m struggling on here, trying to make ends meet and I never know if I’ll see you again or not? You just pick me up and put me down like a toy.’

The sight of her tears wrung him out. He felt sorry and protective and guilty all at once. And once again, aching with arousal.

‘Don’t, Floss! I know it’s hard for yer. I’m doing my best. I’ll see if I can find yer a bit more money but it ain’t easy with four mouths to feed. You know I’m yours and I won’t leave yer. I just need a bit of time. Cynthia’s – well, she’s not at her best and if I tell her right away . . . You’ll have to give me a bit of time.’

‘But can I trust you?’ She turned to him, big-eyed. ‘You really mean I matter to you as much as she does?’

Once again she had him so that he would say anything, promise her anything, he was so overpowered by her. His other life faded away as if it had all been a dream and he was here in Flossie’s arms, kissing her, wanting her all over again, and making promises, helplessly.

‘For Christ’s sake, woman, let a man get into his own house!’

‘So, when’re you going to go and get her?’ Dot demanded, her feet planted firmly on the doorstep as he came in from work.

They’d all been told Cynthia was coming home soon, but so far nothing definite had been done. Dot was torn between worrying for Cynthia’s health when she returned and anger with Bob. She thought he was putting it off because he was still tangled up with
that woman
. Her guess was pretty accurate and, for the children’s sake, she couldn’t let it go on. Every day Em’s eager little face looked up at her saying, ‘D’you think Mom’s coming home soon?’ And all Dot could say in reply was, ‘I expect so, love. We’ll have to wait and see.’

Bob made as if to get past her but Dot dodged and stood stubbornly in his path.

‘I asked you a question. When’re you going to go and get your wife?’

‘Arrangements are being made.’

‘Oh yes? What, by you? Listen, Bob, if anything’s happening you’d better tell your kids. They’re on pins waiting. And as for me, I’d quite like to know too since I’m ruddy well bringing them up for yer!’

Bob tutted. ‘Next Sat’dy,’ he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

‘
What?
’ Dot landed a punch against his shoulder in her exasperation. ‘You mean Cynth’s coming home on Sat’dy and you ain’t said a word to any of us?’

‘That’s what I said.’

Dot stood back and let Bob open the front door, which he tried to shut in her face but she pushed her way in. Knowing that the girls were safely out of the way in her house she didn’t hold back.

‘Look, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Bob. You’re not living in the real world. You’re a bloody disgrace! Cynthia’s coming home and you’re in and out of that floozie’s house day in, day out.’

‘Don’t call her that!’ he flared up.

Dot’s temper frayed quickly as well. She gave him a bawling-out with the fluency born of bottled-up anger.

‘I’ll call her what I bloody like, and what suits her! She’s a scheming trollop, and if you can’t see it you’re a bigger fool than I thought. Now either you tell her it’s all over or I’ll do it for yer, and I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes if it’s me does the job. You may not care a fig about your wife and kids, but Cynthia happens to be my best friend and I’m bloody well going to see she’s all right and not let you drag her any further down. And don’t you forget it. When I think what she’s been through while you’re just . . . just
playing around
. You’re not the only one who misses her, yer know.’ To Dot’s consternation her voice cracked as she spoke and she was fighting back her tears. ‘You’re better than this, Bob.’ She was struggling to speak and not start blarting. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to yer.’

Bob stared at her, not seeming to have it in him to fight back. He looked confused and miserable. Dot softened a little. She’d always been fond of Bob, the handsome so-and-so, however much of a fool he was.

‘You’re a stupid bugger,’ she said gruffly, turning away to wipe her eyes. ‘For the love of God, get yourself sorted out. Do us all a favour.’

Later that evening, Bob went out again. Dot watched him hurrying along the street, weaving between the gaggles of children.

I hope I’ve managed to drum some sense into him, she thought, and he’s gone to tell
her
where to go. She had promised Bob she’d tell the children their mother was coming home. He even seemed reluctant to do that.

She walked into number eighteen and beckoned the children, sitting Joyce on her lap while the other two stood by her.

‘I’ve got summat to tell yer,’ she said gently, a smile on her lips.

‘Is it about Mom?’ Em asked eagerly. They were ready to drink in her every word.

‘Yes, your dad’s going to bring her home on Saturday,’ Dot announced, to their gasps of excitement. ‘So before then we’ll have to make the place sparkling as a new pin for her, won’t we?’

Em’s face was aglow with happiness. ‘We’ll clean everything from top to bottom!’ she cried. ‘Let’s start now!’

Dot smiled fondly. It was lovely to see the child’s little face lit up, bless her.

‘It’s only Tuesday, bab,’ she said. ‘And it’s too late tonight. There’s plenty of time.’

‘Oh, I want it to be Saturday
now
,’ Joyce said.

‘Tell yer what,’ Dot said, pushing Joyce’s fringe out of her eyes, ‘I’ll give you all a haircut for the occasion as well!’

‘Oh no!’ Sid protested.

‘And make sure you’ve got clean necks and ears,’ she went on, making Sid groan even more. ‘You’ve got to look your best for yer mom, haven’t you? Now, I think it’s time for you to go up the wooden hill and get some sleep.’

‘I’ll
never
sleep,’ Sid said. ‘I’m not going to sleep till our mom comes home!’

Dot smiled and led him upstairs to tuck him in, seeing his eyelids growing heavy as soon as his head touched the pillow. She leaned down and stroked his hair.

‘Goodnight, son.’

Going to the girls’ bed, where Em and Joyce were cuddled up together, she smiled down at them.

‘Hope the bugs don’t bite.’

And she went downstairs, the smile giving way to a more pensive expression.

God, Cynth, she thought. I hope you’re going to be all right. For everyone’s sake.

The children were in a state of high excitement all week. The news that Mom was coming home, at last, was all Em could think about. As soon as she got home from school on Wednesday she spent the afternoon scrubbing and cleaning and Molly stayed in to help her.

‘Mrs B says she’s going to make your mom a coming-home cake,’ Molly said as she swept the bare floorboards in the children’s bedroom. Molly had soon been allowed to call Jenny Button ‘Mrs B’ and she announced the news proudly, as if Mrs Button was her real mother – of whom mercifully there had been no sign for over a week.

‘That’s nice,’ Em said smiling. She felt bubbly inside with excitement. Everyone was being so kind! It was even fun cleaning the house when she and Molly did it together. Life was looking so much better at last!

But the next afternoon, something upsetting and frightening happened.

The bell clanged at the end of school and soon the children of Cromwell Street School were pouring out along the streets towards their houses. Em and Molly got ready to go together. Katie O’Neill stuck her nose in the air as if there was a smell when they passed her and they both completely ignored her. Molly still had her problems, but Mrs Button kept her spotlessly clean and in clothes which let her be the young girl she was instead of appearing prematurely grown-up.

The two girls headed out into the spring sunshine, their heads close together, chatting away.

‘I’m gunna do the downstairs today, clean out the scullery and everything,’ Em said. ‘I want it all to look perfect for our mom so she never has to do anything!’

‘We could sweep the yard as well,’ Molly suggested. ‘Mrs B’s got a big hard broom and she’d lend it to yer.’

‘And I’ll clear out the cupboard . . .’

Neither of them noticed anything until the long shadow fell over them and Molly shrieked as her arm was grabbed and bent back brutally behind her.

‘Got yer!’

Em screamed in shock seeing Iris Fox looming above them, teeth bared in angry determination.

‘You’re coming with me, yer little rat!’

‘No I’m not!’ Molly cried, starting to fight her off. Em was in shock and couldn’t move. ‘I’m not coming with yer. I hate yer. Gerroff me!’

Iris bent until her face was level with Molly’s, at the same time taking a handful of Molly’s hair and jerking her head back.

‘Just you listen to me, yer little vermin. Think you’re bloody clever, don’t yer, running off like that. Where’ve yer been? Which of this bloody interfering lot’ve been hiding yer, eh?’ She gave a savage tug on Molly’s hair, making her cry out. ‘Go on – tell me and I’ll go and have a little word with ’em.’ These last words were spoken with a savage sneer.

‘No!’ Molly twisted this way and that, trying to escape. But the pain and the vicious rage of her mother seemed to be draining away her will.

Other children were staring but no one dared stop or challenge Iris Fox. Most of them knew of her bullying ways, and if they didn’t, the sight of her heavily built frame would have put them off.

‘Let her go!’ Em shouted, amazed at her own daring. ‘She doesn’t want to come home with you. She’s stopping here!’

‘Oh-ho – who asked you?’ Iris gave a big, nasty laugh. ‘Whoever said anything about ’er coming home with me, eh? I’ll put her in the bloody home for orphans and criminals, that’s what she needs! Any more trouble from
you
– ’ once more she yanked on Molly’s hair – ‘and that’s where yer going. Now come on.’

‘I don’t want to go with you, I want to stop ’ere!’ Molly wailed, all her courage breaking down. She burst into sobs as her mother dragged her off down the street by her hair. ‘Em, help me!’

‘Shut it!’ Iris slapped her. ‘And you can all stop bloody gawping an’ all!’ she bawled at the appalled faces watching her. ‘Ain’t yer got anything better to do, yer nosy buggers?’

Em had no idea what to do. She followed for a short time, but she knew there was nothing she could do to rescue Molly. Molly gave up struggling as well and trailed along with her mother. She even gave up looking back and they disappeared in among the clusters of other people along Bloomsbury Street. Em stopped. Her legs were shaking. There was only one thing to do.

She hurried back and burst in through the door of Jenny Button’s bakery.

‘Goodness, what’s got into you?’ Mrs Button said, before seeing the horror in her face. ‘Oh my Lord, what’s happened, bab?’

As Em poured out what she’d just witnessed, Jenny Button sank onto the stool behind the counter. Her face, which lately had been blooming with a new happiness, tightened, and a light in it died.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she said, shaking her head. Any hope Em had had that she could do something also died then. ‘Well, I don’t know if we’ll see her again. I can’t snatch her away from her own mother, can I? Even if I knew where they were. Just as she was beginning to calm down in herself a bit too . . .’ Half to herself, she added, ‘I’m frightened for that child, that I am.’