Secrets to Keep (31 page)

‘There is no baby any more, Aidy. I miscarried it the night he came home and told me he’d been laid off. It probably seems to you that I don’t care I lost it, but I did. A child is precious, no matter what. But maybe it’s better off than living the life we could give it. I look at my other three every night when they’re in bed and wonder if me and Bert did right, bringing them into this world, with the sort of future the likes of us can offer. We’ve having to move to a smaller place, only one bedroom between us, all squashed together tighter than sardines in a tin. And it’s at the back of a factory so all day the new place is shrouded in black sooty smoke. I’ll never be able to hang any washing out … but needs must, eh, gel.

‘I’ve popped in to see Mr Wilks to get an idea from him what I can hope to get for the stuff I can’t take with me. Some of my bits and pieces don’t bother
me, but it’ll break my heart having to part with the Welsh dresser me gran gave me before she died. The rooms in the new place are so tiny I can’t fit it in.’

Aidy thought her own position bad enough but she couldn’t compare it to what Colleen was facing. But before she could express sympathy to her friend for her dire situation, the pawnbroker returned.

A new customer meant money to be made. Nodding a quick thank you to Aidy for obliging him, he then focused all his attention on Colleen, and she in turn in her desperation tried to glean as much money as she could from him for the precious belongings she could not take with her to her new home.

Promised a penny each on Friday, a neighbour’s two teenage sons eagerly shot off to collect the flock mattress for Aidy.

On her return home, before she entered by the back door, she took a deep breath to brace herself for what awaited her inside. She was surprised to find the place in complete darkness. She had to grope her way from the kitchen into the back room where the only light was coming from the dying embers of the fire.

Her grandmother’s eyes were obviously accustomed to the dark because as soon as Aidy stumbled her way through the back-room door she exclaimed, ‘Thank God you’re home, love! The gas meter ran out not long after you left. I’ve been sitting in the dark since, and the kids too upstairs. It wouldn’t have
mattered if I could have lit some candles but with this dratted leg, I can’t.’

All Aidy was conscious of was the fact her father didn’t seem to be there. ‘Where’s
he
then?’ she asked, praying vehemently the answer was that Arnold had gone to bed for the night or better still had upped and left, although she thought there was little chance of that.

‘Gone out. To the pub, I guess.’

That was just the best news to Aidy but regardless a question presented itself. ‘He had no money to go to the pub with to my knowledge. And if he had money, he should have put it in the meter, the selfish …’ She stopped herself out of respect for her grandmother.

‘He didn’t have any money until the gas went and he went next door to borrow sixpence. I gather he got it as I haven’t seen him since.’

Aidy’s temper rose. Were there no depths to which that man would not sink? Leaving his family in the dark and going off down the pub with money he’d borrowed off a benevolent neighbour to replenish the meter. Money that
she’d
have to repay. Aidy was so angry she couldn’t speak.

A
idy groaned as she looked around at the chaos in the back room. Having seen the state of the kitchen, she knew the other rooms would be just as bad – apart from her father’s. Well, he wouldn’t need to turn his own room over in his search for hidden money.

Much to her grief and anger, she’d found he’d already pawned the few ornaments that used to adorn the mantel in Jessie’s parlour. She blamed herself for not having the sense to hide them away.

After two months of being back with his family, and many previous fruitless searches, Arnold should have realised by now that no money was left lying or hidden away in the house for him to find and dispose of as he wished. Aidy was very careful to make sure she kept securely on her person, even in bed, what money she had, every last farthing of it accounted for, as the loss of any would cause hardship to a family already struggling to cope on too
little. Bertha too was as diligent over the few pennies she kept back for herself, handing over the majority to her very grateful granddaughter, to make certain they never got into her hated son-in-law’s hands, now that she was back on her feet again and supplying the locals with her remedies.

Several weeks back Arnold had erupted in fury when he had finally decided to get up one day, just before Aidy was due home for her afternoon break at two, only to encounter the pungent smell of one of Bertha’s potions which she was brewing up in the kitchen.

Having at long last had her casts removed, her injuries pronounced healed by the doctor, and desperate to replenish her stock, Bertha had made a trip into the countryside, having first cajoled all her young grandchildren into accompanying her since they too were fully recovered by then. She was intent on bringing back as much as they could heave between them. Autumn was just about over, winter rapidly approaching, and soon all but the hardiest of her requirements would be dying off and no use to her. But, much to her gratitude, after some foraging by them all she had amassed virtually all the different varieties of plants, leaves, fruits, bark and fungi she required, still in healthy condition. They all returned home with muscles groaning under the weight of the sacks they were lugging.

That early-afternoon Bertha had been
contentedly boiling up birch leaves along with a few other ingredients which went into making a diuretic that helped with bladder problems, as well as chopping dandelion leaves in readiness for her next boil up, the juice of which was good for removing warts, when Arnold stormed in, shoved a startled Bertha aside, grabbed up the cauldron and took it to the back door where he threw the pot and its contents out into the yard, yelling at her that he wasn’t putting up with any more stenches from her quack remedies so she’d better find somewhere else to make them up.

Aidy was just coming through the back gate as Arnold threw the pot and its scalding contents into the yard. Thankfully, save for a few spots on her skirt, the rest of it missed her. Her anger at his actions knew no bounds. Forgetting his threat to throw them all out should they fail to respect him, she raged at her father.

‘How dare you chuck Gran’s potion out ’cos you can’t stand the smell? The bit of profit she makes helps me keep this house running and puts food in your mouth. We never had meat from one month to the other while Gran was indisposed with her broken bones, but now at least we can stretch to a bit of scrag end once a week. If you’re going to stop her from making the bit of money she gives me, then I’ll be looking to you to give it me instead.’

Before she could stop him, he’d grabbed her by her throat. He pulled her up so she was standing on tiptoes, pushed his face into hers and hissed, ‘Watch yourself, girl, or I will have you all out. I’ll have this place filled with lodgers before you’ve made it to the end of the street, so don’t think I can’t manage without yer.’ Then he let go of her and stormed off into the back room, snarling after him, ‘Make sure that old witch cooks up her poisons when I ain’t home in future.’

A worried Bertha bustled out to join Aidy in the yard. ‘I’ll never get up to speed with all me potions if I have to wait until he goes out. Some take hours to prepare and …’

‘Just carry on as you are, Gran,’ Aidy told her firmly.

‘But you heard him.’

‘He’s all mouth, Gran. He won’t have us out and fill this house with lodgers. Lodgers don’t look after themselves do they? They expect clean sheets once a week and cooked meals for their money.
He
won’t do anything that involves grafting while he’s got someone else cooking and cleaning for him, and he’s managing to make enough money to cover his own needs, trust me.’ She wasn’t sure how Arnold came by that money but one thing she was sure of: it wasn’t from any legitimate source.

She bent down to pick up the pot, now with a dent
in its side from where it had hit the cobbles, and handed it back to her grandmother, telling her, ‘Go and get back to it, Gran. As you know, I’ve come up with a way to send more custom your way once you’ve a good stock of your remedies to sell. It’s not like we couldn’t do with the extra, what with having to stretch our money out to cover the extra mouth we have to feed and Christmas not far off. It’d be nice if we could find a penny or two to get the kids something each to open on Christmas morning, wouldn’t it? And something a bit special for dinner.’

Now, looking around at the mess Arnold had left in his search for money, she wondered just how he managed to pay for his beer and cigarettes. It certainly wasn’t from having a proper paid job. However he made it, though, it was obvious that he hadn’t made enough today or he wouldn’t have needed to ransack the house.

Then, suddenly, a memory surfaced and she realised how he did make his money. A few evenings ago she had come home from work to find Bertha out, visiting one of her cronies, and the children gathered around him at the table. Arnold had been showing them some tricks he knew, involving three tin cups and a dried pea. He had seemed to put the dried pea under one of the cups, then shuffled them around and told the children to guess which cup the pea was under now. Only it wasn’t under any of the cups but still in his hand.

At the time Aidy had been most surprised by this seemingly fatherly display of entertainment when previously the children had learned, to their cost, to keep their distance from him. But now she realised this was how Arnold made his money: conning people fuddled with drink into betting on sleight-of-hand tricks they couldn’t possibly win.
And
he was teaching his children how to do these tricks. Was his aim to get them skilled enough to con their friends out of their Saturday copper – those whose families could afford to give them pocket money anyway – and then hand over their ill-gotten gains to him? She certainly wouldn’t put it past him, but her brother and sisters would be warned by her not to copy their father’s chicanery.

It was hard to believe that the presence of one more person could change their lives so drastically, and definitely not for the better. Arnold was a constant drain on their meagre resources and ruled the house with his tyranny. No one smiled any more, no one sang. He made all their lives a misery. Despite their best efforts neither Aidy nor Bertha could think of a way to rid themselves of him, apart from murder or moving out themselves, but as it was impossible for Aidy to amass the extra week’s rent to put down as security on a new place, it seemed they’d no choice but to endure him until he decided otherwise.

At least she derived pleasure from her work. Her
boss was still an extremely hard man to get along with and, at times, she had actually drawn blood from having to bite her own tongue to stop herself giving him a piece of her mind over his indifferent, sometimes rude, attitude towards her. But the majority of the patients made up for him. They treated Aidy with respect and courtesy in her role of receptionist. She had to admit, she felt more satisfaction in this job than she had in her factory position.

Now the majority of her time was no longer taken up by the laborious task of reorganising the records, besides reception duties she did all the sterilising of the instruments and the sharpening of them, ordering the drugs, checking them on delivery and putting them away, and also gave the surgery a clean after each session ended.

The arrival of Sister Teresa had also awoken in Aidy an idea of how she could better herself, and give her family a chance of a better future. If she had basic nursing skills, she could apply for jobs in such places as private nursing homes where she’d be earning more than she was now from her receptionist’s job as well as hopefully working for a far more congenial employer. First, though, she had to acquire those skills. She needed to find someone who would teach them to her. The only person she knew who was equipped to do so was Sister Teresa. Aidy had always found the nun to be very pleasant and
felt sure she’d readily agree to educate her in what she wanted to learn.

That morning, having packed up all she needed to carry out the visits the doctor wished her to make on his behalf, Sister Teresa was just about to take her leave when Aidy said to her, ‘Is it possible to have a quick word before you go, Sister?’

Aidy was surprised to see her stiffen and felt sure there was a hint of worry in her voice when she responded, ‘What about?’

‘I wondered if you could see your way to helping me?’

The nun’s relief to hear that was most apparent. Aidy saw her shoulders visibly relax beneath her habit. She had no time to wonder why though as Sister was pressing her, ‘What sort of help are you after from me, Mrs Nelson?’

Aidy quickly told her of her desire to learn basic nursing skills, omitting to mention it was so she could apply for jobs elsewhere, not wanting to risk it getting back to the doctor’s ears. She wondered if Sister Teresa would let her accompany her on some of her visits in the afternoons.

When she had finished making her request, Sister Teresa looked at her blankly for several long moments, seemingly mulling matters over in her mind before she said, ‘Well, I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to accompany me on any visit without my
getting the patient’s permission. And in any case, it would prove very distracting for me, to have you peering over my shoulder and have to answer all your questions. There’s a real risk I could lose my concentration and cause harm to the patient I was treating at the time, so I’m afraid I will have to say no to your idea. I commend your ambition to better yourself, though. I’m sure if you make further enquiries you’ll find someone else with nursing experience to teach you what you wish to know.’ She smiled graciously at Aidy. ‘Now, please excuse me, I must get on.’