Forgive and Forget (18 page)

‘How very clever of you.’ Now Violet lifted her head defiantly. ‘And what if it is Micky?’

Polly decided to play into her sister’s hands deliberately. ‘Micky is Eddie’s mate. He’s often here. Why are you ashamed to bring him here openly as
your
friend?’

‘I’m not ashamed, but I know you don’t like him, that’s all.’

No, I don’t, Polly wanted to say, but she bit back the words.

‘You don’t like him hanging round with our Eddie,’ Violet muttered sulkily, ‘so what chance have I got?’

‘Because I thought they were getting up to no good together, that’s why,’ Polly countered.

There were other reasons too. Micky flirted with her, leered at her, and Polly hated it. She’d only ever had eyes for Leo. There was no one else she’d ever wanted – or would want.

But now Micky was seeing Violet. Polly sighed and decided that it would be better for all the family if they knew what Violet was doing. She’d no choice now but to make Micky Fowler welcome in the Longden household. But before she did so, there was something she must warn her sister about.

‘A bit of kissing and cuddling with a lad is all right, Vi,’ she said seriously, ‘but promise me you’ll never let him go too far. You know what I mean, don’t you?’

Violet flung back her hair and said petulantly, ‘Course I do.’

‘That’s all right then.’ Then Polly smiled. ‘Ask him to tea on Sunday. We’ll make him welcome, Vi, if that’s what you want.’

‘Really?’ Violet couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Really. And now,’ Polly added, getting up, ‘you’d better get a move on if you’re not going to be late for work. Go and get ready and I’ll make your breakfast.’ As the younger girl rushed out of the room, Polly muttered, ‘As you’ve made it very clear that it’s my job.’

Micky was not the only guest to Sunday afternoon tea. Although Leo was on duty, Roland had called round in the afternoon to chat with William and Polly felt duty bound to ask the kindly man to stay.

So all the family, plus the two guests, sat down. There was an awkwardness at first, but Polly was determined to put everyone at their ease. She had nothing to fear now from Micky. She was walking out with Leo Halliday and the whole street – if not half the neighbourhood – knew it. Added to that, Micky was now seeing Violet and she would not stand for him making eyes at her older sister. So Polly felt much safer.

As she passed round sandwiches and home-made cakes, poured tea and encouraged talk around the tea table, the atmosphere seemed to relax. She caught her father glancing at Micky sitting next to Violet. Across the table, he caught Polly’s eye and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She smiled and gave a tiny nod, but she was not surprised when William frowned.

Her father too, she knew, had doubts about Micky Fowler. But he said nothing and the tea party continued. As they all rose from the table, Roland touched Polly’s arm and said, ‘May I help with the washing up? I’m quite a dab hand.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’ve had to be.’

She smiled kindly at him. ‘Then you must have a break from it tonight. Go and sit near the fire with Dad and have a chinwag.’ She laughed. ‘I think the youngsters have commandeered the front room for a noisy game of charades. Even Micky and Violet are joining in.’

‘But you never get a break from the housework, Polly, do you?’ Roland said softly.

‘Oh, now and again when Leo takes me out.’

Roland’s face fell; she couldn’t fail to notice it. ‘Ah – you’re still walking out with Leo, are you? I – I wondered, as he wasn’t here tonight.’

‘He’s on duty.’ There was no mistaking the pride in her voice. ‘Two to ten today.’ She laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them. ‘Someone’s got to stop the riots when they all come out of church.’

Roland smiled and picked up a tea towel. ‘Let me help you. We’ll get it done all the quicker and then you can come and sit with us.’

Polly smiled and nodded her agreement. Roland Spicer was such a nice man. It was so sad he’d never married and, now that he was tied to an invalid mother, perhaps he’d never get the chance.

‘How old are you, Roland?’ With a shock she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she added swiftly. ‘That was rude of me.’

Roland smiled and shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. I’m twenty-nine in September.’

‘Are you? You must have been very young to become a foreman when you did.’

He laughed wryly. ‘I was. It caused a bit of bother at the time, but you see my dad had been foreman there for years and when he died suddenly – at work, as it happened – I think the boss felt the least he could do was to give me his position. Most folk were fine about it. They’d all liked my dad. Only a couple of the older blokes – Harry Barnes for one – felt they’d been overlooked. You know how it is.’

She didn’t, but she could guess.

The evening was pleasant enough, but quiet – dull, almost – and Polly craved Leo’s presence. She tried to be a good hostess, but she couldn’t help glancing furtively at the clock wondering if Leo would call when he came off duty.

On the stroke of ten o’clock, Roland got up to leave. ‘I must see to Mother’s cocoa and help her to bed,’ he explained.

‘I’m sorry about yar mam,’ William said. He rose and held out his hand. ‘You’re welcome here any time, Roland. You were always good to our Poll when she worked at your place and you’ve been good to us all since. We don’t forget kindness, do we, Poll?’

Polly, leading the way through the front room to the door, glanced back and smiled, but she did not add any further words to her father’s open invitation; she doubted Roland needed much encouragement to come again – and often.

As she closed the door after him and returned to the warmth of the fire, William knocked out his pipe on the grate. ‘That young feller’s got an eye for you, our Poll.’

‘Oh, Dad, don’t.’

William straightened up and looked round at her. ‘Whyever not, lass? He’d make a grand husband. He’s kind and caring and . . .’

‘Dad, I’m walking out with Leo. You know that.’

‘Aye, I do. But I’m wondering if you couldn’t do better for yarsen. Young Leo dun’t seem to be getting on with the job.’

‘Dad!’ Polly laughed. ‘What a thing to say.’

‘Well, you know what I mean. You’ve been walking out with him for what seems like years but has he made his intentions clear yet? Has he asked you to marry him or even to get engaged?’ When she didn’t answer he went on, ‘No, I thought not. Aw, lass, I know you’re fond of him, but—’

‘No, Dad,’ she said quietly. ‘Not just “fond”. I love Leo. I always have for as long as I can remember. And I know I always will. So you see, even if Leo never asks me to marry him, it wouldn’t be fair to marry Roland, now would it? Not to him or to me.’

Micky was now a regular visitor to the Longden household and although he was walking out with Violet, Polly still felt his gaze following her about the room and the look in his eyes made her uncomfortable. She was careful never to be alone with him, always keeping Miriam with her when he was around. But Miriam was fast developing a life of her own, young though she still was.

‘Can I play out, Poll?’ was her constant question during the light evenings in the summer just before she was due to start school. ‘Me and Dottie Fowler are friends now. When we start school in September we’re going to sit together.’

Polly almost said, ‘That’ll be for Miss Broughton or whoever your teacher is to decide.’ But she bit back the words. She didn’t want to put the little girl off the idea of starting school. But her heart sank. Not another friendship between the Longdens and the Fowlers; it was all getting far too cosy for her liking. Even William and Bert had been seen drinking together amicably in the George and Dragon. They hadn’t had a fallout at all recently. It crossed Polly’s mind that the tragedy that had befallen their city over four years ago now had made people friendlier towards one another, even those who previously would scarcely have passed the time of day.

‘I suppose so, but don’t get near the river. It’s dirty and . . .’

Miriam removed her thumb long enough to say, with a mischievous glint in her dark blue eyes, ‘Stevie’s gone swimming in the river.’

Polly whirled around. ‘He’s
what
?’

‘Gone swimmin’ with the boys from Alfred Street. It’s ever so warm, he says and . . .’

But Polly heard no more. She rushed out of the house and down the street, her hair flying loose, her skirts riding up to her knees. At the bottom end of the street, she came to the River Witham flowing lazily through the city’s downhill streets. She glanced first to the left and then to the right. Then she saw them; a group of boys splashing in the water near the end of the adjacent street. One or two stood on the bank, ready to dive in and join in the fun.

‘No,’ she yelled. ‘Get out of there.’ She scrambled along the bank, holding onto tufts of grass, terrified of slipping into the murky water, of her skirts dragging her under.

As she reached them, panting and red-faced, Stevie was climbing out of the water, standing on the riverbank, dripping and anxious now. Yet the others carried on playing, ignoring Polly’s warning shouts and her threats. She reached Stevie, and for the first time ever, she slapped him across the face.

‘You – you . . .’ She couldn’t think of anything bad enough to say to him, to call him. ‘Do you want to bring typhoid on us all again? Can’t you see how mucky the water is? You haven’t the sense you were born with. You’re nine, for heaven’s sake. You ought to know better.’ She grasped his shoulder roughly and began to march him up the street. No way was she going to clamber back along the bank or allow Stevie to get back into the water.

‘Poll, you’re hurting me. And me feet. I ain’t nothing on me feet.’

‘I’ll hurt you, you little blighter.’

Behind them came the jeers and cat-calls of his friends, but gentle Stevie, still not understanding what he had done that was so wrong, allowed himself to be led away by his irate sister.

In their backyard, she made him strip naked and stand there whilst she threw buckets of icy cold water over him. Then she dragged him into the scullery and washed his hair with carbolic soap. She even made him rinse his mouth out with the soapy mixture until he baulked at the pungent taste.

Then she wrapped him in a towel and sat him by the range, made him some cocoa and sat beside him until his shivering stopped.

‘Did you – did you mean it? Will I get typhoid? Will I have – have brought it here?’

Stevie was crying now.

‘Have you swallowed any of the river water?’

‘I – I dunno.’ He hiccuped miserably. ‘I might a’ done.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to hope, won’t we? Oh, Stevie.’ She put her arms around him, her anger dying now, though the fear remained. ‘Promise me you’ll never go near the river again. You know how I still boil all the water we drink until they get the new water supply to Lincoln working.’

In the previous October, work had begun to bring a supply of water from Elkesley, in Nottinghamshire, but it would be some time yet before it reached the city.

‘Was it – was it the water that caused the typhoid then?’

Polly stared at him, but then she realized. He’d only been four when the disease had hit the city, when their mother had died. He couldn’t have understood. At the time, she’d been as guilty as anyone of protecting the little boy from the truth.

‘Yes,’ she said now. ‘It was.’

‘I’m sorry, Poll. I won’t ever do it again.’

‘Good boy. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of all your friends.’

Stevie shrugged. ‘I’ll tell ’em why tomorrow. They’ll understand then why you was so – so mad.’

She smoothed his wet hair back from his forehead. ‘You’re a good boy usually. It’s not often I have to get cross at you, is it?’

Stevie shook his head.

‘Now drink your cocoa and forget all about it.’

But it was several days, weeks even, before Polly could stop herself watching the boy for any sign of illness. And Stevie too, though usually quiet and self-contained, was even more subdued and she knew he must be worrying inwardly too.

By September when he returned to school, taking his little sister Miriam by the hand on her first day, the fear had begun to fade, though neither of them ever forgot. And never again did Stevie go swimming in the River Witham.

A year passed by; another Christmas, another New Year and in the April, Polly was another year older.

‘Nineteen,’ Violet teased her. ‘And still no ring on your finger. You’ll be an old maid, Poll. I’ll mind I’m not still single by the time I’m nineteen.’

‘You’re only sixteen, Vi,’ Polly snapped back. Even she had begun to doubt Leo’s intentions as the months passed and he made no offer of marriage. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking of such things. And you shouldn’t be getting serious over any lad. Not yet.’

Violet’s face darkened. ‘Not over Micky you mean, don’t you?’ She paused a moment and then added suddenly, ‘What is it about him you don’t like, Poll?’

Polly avoided her sister’s gaze and wriggled her shoulders. ‘He’s trouble,’ she said shortly.

‘No, he’s not. Not now. Oh, I grant you he was a bit of a tearaway. Him and Eddie both, but after that scare about the chap they work for . . .’