Pam Weaver - For Better For Worse

‘That’s funny,’ Annie murmured to herself as she turned for the stairs.

*

She found herself trembling from head to foot and her heart was racing like the clappers when she saw him. She hadn’t expected to bump into him in the street. If she’d been on the same side of the road, she would have walked right into him. Luckily, when he’d come out of the gate, he’d had his head down and was brushing something from his trouser leg. That had given her just enough time to dart into the nearest garden, but she had watched him walking briskly down the street with his head held high until he’d turned the corner. Arrogant sod. Now that he’d gone and she was back on the pavement, she didn’t know why she hadn’t confronted him there and then. It would have been the perfect opportunity and they were quite alone in the street.

She hadn’t expected to see the girl either. So young … she only looked about sixteen. She threw the half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and hurried on. Tears were biting the backs of her eyes, but she wasn’t going to give way. She knew exactly what to do.

Her car was at the end of the street. She opened the door and threw in her handbag. Once in the driver’s seat, she fumbled for another cigarette. Drawing deeply, she felt the rage inside her subsiding slightly but not the anger. That was cold and calculating. Nobody wanted their dirty linen washed in public, but enough was enough. She was rational enough to want it all done properly and that would take time. He was not going to get away with it, not this time. It might be unpleasant, but he had to be stopped. Putting the key in the ignition, she revved the engine a couple of times and set off.

*

Sarah could hear raised voices next door. She tried to block out the sound because she was concentrating on Mr Millward’s books, but then she heard the sound of a loud thump, someone falling and Mrs Rivers crying out. Sarah took off her shoe and banged on the wall. She wasn’t brave enough to confront Nat Rivers face to face, but she wanted him to know that someone was listening. She heard him curse and a few moments later, the door slammed and he walked by the kitchen window. Sarah dashed to the front door and slid the large bolt at the top seconds before Nat tried the doorknob. Her heart was pounding as she turned the key in the lock and shot the bolt at the bottom of the door. On the other side, Nat kicked the wood. ‘You stay away from my mother,’ he shouted through the letter box. ‘Keep your interfering nose out of my business.’

Sarah pressed herself against the wall and said nothing, but as soon as he’d gone down the road, she went to the wooden partition between the kitchen and the scullery. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Rivers? Mrs Rivers? Shall I come round?’

‘I’m fine,’ her neighbour called shakily. ‘I dropped the coal bucket, that’s all.’

Sarah respected her wish not to be disturbed, but she wished she could have gone in to check.

‘Sarah dear?’ Mrs Rivers called a few minutes later.

‘Yes?’

‘I think it better if you don’t come round for a while. Is that all right?’

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Are you sure? I’m not scared of him.’ It was a lie of course, but there was nothing to stop the two of them getting together when Nat wasn’t around.

‘I think it’s best, dear.’

Reluctantly, Sarah went back to her paperwork, but her mind was all over the place. She hadn’t wanted to believe Mr Millward when he’d told her about Henry. She’d tried to tell herself he was wrong, or that it was a case of mistaken identity, but the man was adamant. He had definitely seen her husband in Horsham. All the same, Sarah had to see for herself. Her greatest problem was getting over there. She had no spare money for the bus fare and besides, who would look after the girls? She could try Vera, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to ask her for help.

It took quite a while to plough through the mountain of paperwork Mr Millward had given her, but gradually she made sense of the books. Over the past few weeks, he’d been delighted with her work and they’d become friends. He was no oil painting but he was a good man, she could see that now. He was ambitious too. He’d lost everything in the war, his wife and his home, so he had to start all over again. The coal yard, he’d told her, was only the beginning and now that his books were straight and he could see that he was doing quite well, it was time to expand.

Then this morning he’d turned up at her house unannounced. ‘I’m planning to go into the haulage business,’ he told her. ‘I’m not getting any younger and humping coal is a young man’s job.’

She’d smiled encouragingly as she’d passed him a cup of tea. What was he trying to tell her? That he wouldn’t be needing a part-time bookkeeper anymore? That she’d lost the position?

‘I need a couple of lorries,’ he went on.

Sarah stirred her tea, trying not to notice his protruding nasal hairs.

‘So I’m going to Horsham next Thursday,’ he said. ‘This chap I know can get hold of ex-army surplus stuff at a knock-down price.’

Sarah nodded. ‘I hope it’s all legit.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked. The thing is, if you want to see that husband of yours, you and the kids can come with me in the lorry if you like.’

Sarah hesitated. Confront Henry outright? It was a tempting thought.

‘I have to pick Jenny up from school at three,’ she said cautiously.

‘I’m not seeing the bloke until six-ish,’ said Mr Millward. ‘I can pick you up after you’ve got the kiddie, if you like.’

Sarah’s hand went to her mouth. The timing couldn’t have been better. It was an opportunity too good to miss.

* * *

Annie Royal lifted the net curtain to dust the already dustless window ledge then glanced back at the clock. Ten thirty. Mrs Holborn from next door would be here at any minute. Annie returned to the kitchen to boil the milk in readiness for their morning cup of Camp coffee. She had only just put the pan of milk on the stove when there was a sharp rap on the back door. ‘Come on in, Mrs Holborn.’

Her neighbour took off her coat and hung it over the back of her chair and after swapping comments about the weather, the two women sat down. They were as different as chalk and cheese but their shared loneliness had drawn them together for their twice a week coffee times. On Thursdays, Annie would go next door to Mrs Holborn’s place and today, Tuesday, Mrs Holborn came to her. They were both housewives. Mrs Holborn, a woman of fairly mature years, spent her time looking after her sick husband. She also had the responsibility of caring for her aged mother-in-law who lived a couple of streets away and, on top of that, she had three strapping but lazy sons living at home. Annie was easily twenty-five years her junior, but the two of them enjoyed their little chats together.

‘How’s your Oswald?’

‘Much the same. He’s coughing up blood now.’

Annie frowned with concern. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’ Since the advent of the new National Health Service, it was so much easier to get medical help. Annie knew that if this had happened only a year ago and Mrs Holborn had to pay for the doctor to come, Oswald would have waited in vain.

Mrs Holborn nodded. ‘He’s sleeping now so I can’t stay for more than a minute or two today. They’re taking him up to the sanatorium in a couple of days, so I won’t be able to have you over for coffee on Thursday.’

Annie squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, Mrs Holborn, I’m so sorry … for your husband, I mean.’

‘It’s for the best, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘I know it was Oswald’s wish to die at home but it can’t be helped. The TB has got a terrible hold on him now.’