A Lesser Evil

Synopsis

When Fifi moves to London with her bricklayer boyfriend Dan, her mother is outraged. Despite initial feelings of horror at her new surroundings, Fifi finds the freedom from her middle-class family background exhilarating.

Insatiably inquisitive, Fifi is fascinated by her new neighbours and wants to know what goes on behind all those shabby front doors. Why is Yvette, the French dressmaker, such a hermit? Why doesn't widower Frank join his daughter and grandchildren in Australia? And why doesn't the formidable and well-bred Miss Diamond move somewhere smarter?

But most of all she is ghoulishly fascinated by the Muckles who live opposite in terrible squalor. She listens to their violent quarrels, watches their ill-treated and wretchedly unhappy children, and is appalled by all she sees.

When Fifi tries to help the Muckles' youngest child, who has been physically abused by her father, Fifi unwittingly unleashes a chain of events which will not only bring heart ache to her...

LESLEY PEARSE

A Lesser Evil

MICHAEL JOSEPH
an imprint of
PENGUIN BOOKS

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

To Jo Prosser, for all the laughs, the shared triumphs and disasters over so many years. What would I do without you?

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Georgia
Tara
Charity
Ellie
Camellia
Rosie
Charlie
Never Look Back
Trust Me
Father Unknown
Till We Meet Again
Remember Me
Secrets

Chapter One

March 1962, Bristol

‘I want to sit down, not eat you!’

At the young man’s jocular remark Fifi blushed and quickly shut her gaping mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away. Of course you can share the table.’

She had in fact been dumbstruck because the man was so incredibly good-looking. Men who looked like Red Indians didn’t normally frequent Carwardines coffee shop. He might be wearing a donkey jacket, jeans and desert boots, but his face was pure Apache.

‘So where were you?’ he asked as he sat down. ‘In the South of France? Dancing with Fred Astaire or planning a murder?’

Fifi giggled. ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. The only thing I need to kill is some time till my friend gets here.’

‘Well, you could kill it talking to me,’ he said with a wide smile that revealed perfect white teeth. ‘Or has your mother warned you about speaking to strange men?’

Fifi knew her mother would throw a fit if she saw her daughter talking to a man like this one. For a start, it was obvious from his clothes and callused hands that he did manual work. His hair was jet-black and a little too long; he had amazing angular cheekbones and a wide mouth that screamed to be kissed. An over-protective mother’s worst nightmare!

‘I think even she’d imagine I was safe enough in here,’ Fifi replied, glancing round at the many middle-aged ladies who were having tea and a cake after a hard day’s shopping.

‘Got any idea where Gloucester Road is?’ he asked. ‘I was directed this way from the station and told to ask again.’

‘It’s sort of over that way,’ Fifi replied, pointing in the rough direction. ‘It’s a long road, though – have you got any landmarks or other street names?’

He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and looked at it. ‘Opposite the junction of Zetland Road,’ he said. ‘D’you know that?’

Fifi couldn’t help but smile at him. His accent might be rough Wiltshire, but there was humour in everything he said, and such a wicked sparkle in his dark eyes. ‘Yes, it’s only a longish walk or a short bus ride. I could draw you a map if you like.’

‘Great! I can make out I’m Dr Livingstone going up the Zambesi. Will the people around Zetland Road be cannibals?’

‘Why, are you one?’ she giggled.

‘I could be tempted. You look good enough to eat,’ he shot back, his dark eyes sweeping over her with appreciation. ‘Anyone ever tell you that you look like Tuesday Weld?’

People often likened Fifi to the blonde American film star and it always made her glow with pleasure, for the actress was very pretty. But as Fifi’s entire childhood had been overshadowed by being considered very strange-looking, she was never entirely convinced that she’d changed.

‘It has been said by those who need glasses,’ she joked. ‘But has anyone told you that you look like a Red Indian?’

‘Yeah, now and again. The truth is, I’m the Last of the Mohicans, abandoned as a baby in Swindon,’ he said.

The waitress came over at that point and took his order for coffee.

‘So you come from Swindon? What brings you to Bristol?’ Fifi asked him.

‘To seek my fortune,’ he smiled. ‘I’m starting work at a building site here. I’m a bricklayer. I’ve got a room to see in Gloucester Road. What’s it like around there?’

‘Okay. Good shops, pubs, plenty of buses, lots of students live there. It’s not rough, but not smart either.’

‘I bet you live somewhere smart!’ he said, appraising her tailored office suit with a crisp white blouse beneath.

‘Suburban. Roses in the gardens and lots of trees,’ she said briefly, not inclined to talk about herself and her family. What she wanted was to find out everything about this intriguing man before Carol arrived. ‘I’m Felicity Brown. But I’m always called Fifi. So what’s your name?’

‘Dan Reynolds,’ he said. ‘And Fifi suits you. Pretty, like a little fluffy poodle.’

‘I’m not fluffy,’ she said indignantly. Her blonde hair was poker-straight, she was five feet seven, and she didn’t go in for fussy clothes. At twenty-two, she also had the distinction of being the youngest legal secretary ever to be taken on at Hodge, Barratt and Soames, one of the best solicitors in Bristol.

‘I think the word I should have used was chic,’ he said, but he pronounced it ‘chick’.

Fifi smiled. She liked that description.

‘So, Fifi, are you meeting a boyfriend?’ he asked.

The waitress came back with Dan’s coffee.

‘No, just a girlfriend,’ Fifi said, watching him stir in four spoonfuls of sugar. ‘I usually meet her after work on Thursdays and we go to the pictures.’ She was already hoping that Carol wouldn’t turn up or at least that she’d be late.

‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘No,’ Fifi said truthfully. ‘What about you?’

‘No boyfriend,’ he said, and laughed. ‘I’m not that way inclined. I did have a girl a while back but she left me for a rich bloke.’

‘And were you heartbroken?’

‘My pride was bruised, but it wasn’t going anywhere, just habit really.’

They chatted easily for some time after Dan had finished his coffee. He didn’t use any of the normal chat-up lines, not asking her about what music she liked, films she’d seen or even what she did for a living. He didn’t talk about himself either, instead he made observations about people around them and told her little fictitious stories about them to make her laugh.

Fifi’s mother, Clara, was always saying that the most outstanding thing about her eldest child was her nosiness. She claimed that as soon as Fifi could talk she was asking questions about people, and it had caused her much embarrassment. Fifi was still every bit as nosy, but she had learned to phrase her questions in a way that sounded caring rather than prying. It was lovely to be with someone who appeared just as fascinated by others as herself.

When the waitress came back to clear their table and rather pointedly put down the bills, Dan said he would have to go or he might lose the room.

‘Could you do that map for me?’ he asked, casually picking up her bill and paying it along with his own.

Fifi thought fast. ‘I could show you the way,’ she said. ‘It’s on my way home.’ It wasn’t, but he wouldn’t know that.

‘But what about your friend?’ he asked.

Fifi shrugged. ‘She’d have been here by now if she was coming.’

That wasn’t true either. Carol was often kept late at work, and she’d be disappointed when she got here and found Fifi had gone. And if she were to find out she’d been stood up for a complete stranger, Fifi doubted she’d ever speak to her again. But there was something so compelling about Dan that she was quite prepared to take that risk.

‘If you’re sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve only got to take a look at the room and grab it if it’s okay. If you like, I could take you for a drink after?’

Fifi didn’t want to look too keen, so she shrugged nonchalantly, but she had her coat on, and whisked Dan and his small duffel bag, which appeared to hold his entire worldly goods, swiftly out of the door before Carol could get there and prevent her.

‘I’ll wait for you over here,’ Fifi said, sheltering from the rain in a haberdashery shop doorway. The guest house Dan was looking for was across the busy road, above a scruffy-looking newsagent’s. The paint on the front door was peeling off, and the sign ‘Avondale’ looked as if the lettering had been done by a drunk. Judging by the dingy nets at the windows, it was not going to be a home from home.

‘You can’t wait here, it’s too cold and wet,’ Dan said, and looked around and spotted a pub further down the road. ‘Go in there.’

‘I can’t go into a pub on my own,’ Fifi said in horror. ‘I’ll be fine here.’

He faltered for a moment, as if thinking she might disappear while he was gone. ‘I won’t be more than five minutes,’ he said, and darted across the road.

Fifi got only the briefest glimpse of a gaunt woman in a flowery overall opening the door to Dan, then the door closed behind him and she turned to look at the window display.

The theme was ‘Spring’, with white-painted branches festooned with balls of knitting wool in pastel colours. There were samples of crochet work, knitted lambs and rabbits, and various embroidery kits. As always when Fifi saw such displays, she felt a little tremor of nervousness. Her mother was always saying that knitting and sewing, along with cooking, were skills needed to be a wife and mother, and Fifi was terrible at all three.

All her friends were desperate to get married, and every new man they went out with had them mooning over engagement rings and bridal magazines. Fifi didn’t share her friends’ desperation, but whether this was because she really liked being single, or because her mother was always pointing out her failings, she didn’t know.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump.

It was Dan, and when he saw how startled she was, he laughed. ‘Sorry. Were you off on planet knitting wool?’ he asked.

‘Hardly,’ she giggled. ‘I’m hopeless at knitting. You were quick! Did you get the room? What was it like?’

‘A damp, cold cell, with mushrooms growing on the wallpaper,’ he grinned, ‘but I bit off the woman’s arm to have it, just so I could get back to take you for a drink.’