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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Peppercorn
- Sprache: Englisch
Three women find new hope in Peppercorn Street, a small village in a beautiful corner of Wiltshire with a mixture of homes and people. Janey is 18 and living in a small flat with her baby daughter. Just as her new life starts to show promise, her past catches up with her. Nicole is renting one of the new luxury flats. She's just walked away from her husband and teenage sons, tired of being treated as a servant, suspecting her husband of having an affair. Winifred has lived in her large family home at the top of the street for over eighty years but it's all getting too much, though she doesn't want to leave. Things are not what they seem in any of the three women's lives and danger can strike at rich and poor alike. The trick is to survive it, and for this you need good friends and courage: all freely available in Peppercorn Street.
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Seitenzahl: 497
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
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Peppercorn Street
ANNA JACOBS
Contents
Chapter One
Wiltshire, Sexton Bassett
Janey Dobson heaved the buggy up the stairs while her social worker carried little Millie up to the first floor for her, opening the door with a smile and a flourish.
‘Here we are, as far away from Swindon as we can place you and still keep you in our district. I think you’re going to like this flat. It’s been newly refurbished.’
Taking her wailing daughter into her arms, knowing she had no choice but to live here, Janey walked inside and turned round slowly on the spot, studying her new home.
The main room was bigger than she’d expected, with pale cream walls – new paint, too, from the smell. To her relief the bedroom she and Millie would share, though smallish, was completely separate. The kitchen was in a recessed corner at the back, consisting of a sink, a small gas cooker and a fridge, barricaded by about a metre and a half of freestanding bench top with cupboards underneath.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been wondering how to afford a fridge. ‘Thanks, Pam. This’ll be great.’
‘It’d be better if it was on the ground floor, but the other five flats are either occupied or assigned.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s a huge improvement on the last place.’
‘You’ve got Millie to thank for that. She cried so often the owners insisted we get you out of there. Grotty B&Bs like that one are only supposed to be used for emergency accommodation, but we’re so short of places to put people they’re nearly always full.
‘Now, fasten Millie into the buggy and we’ll bring up the rest of your stuff. The people from Just Girls will be delivering a cot this afternoon and a few other things to help you set up home.’
Janey helped bring in her meagre possessions, together with some bits and pieces Pam had given her today. Who’d have thought she’d be a mother and have her own home at this age?
Or that her parents would throw her out for keeping Millie.
She still hadn’t got her head round their rejecting her and their granddaughter. People complained about the social services, but they’d been wonderful to her when she’d fallen through their local office doors, weeping and desperate, literally on the street with only a small suitcase. ‘Thanks for all your help, Pam.’
‘My pleasure. Look, let me show you how the heating works and then I’ll have to dash. I’ll pop round to see you next week but if there’s any problem, get straight back to me. And be sure to register at the medical centre I showed you. They have an excellent child health clinic.’
‘I will.’
When she was alone, Janey went to sit on the sagging armchair, rocking the buggy to and fro, enjoying the quietness. She’d lived in lodgings until the birth, working at two or three odd jobs, washing up in a café, anything. When she’d started having her baby, she’d packed her bags and said goodbye to her landlady, a dour woman who wouldn’t have her back with a baby.
No one except the social worker had visited her in hospital and she’d been glad to move to the Just Girls hostel afterwards. The matron there had helped her learn to look after her baby, but she was only allowed to stay for three months, hence the B&B and at last this place.
‘We’ll be all right here, Millie darling,’ she said, but her voice wobbled. She’d never felt so alone in her whole life. No matter how kind social workers were, you were just a job to them, and even that was better than no one in the world caring whether you lived or died.
She was responsible for a child’s life and everything else that went with that, but she still felt as if she was playing at being a grown-up.
Unstrapping Millie, she spread out a blanket on the floor so that her four-month-old daughter could kick, then went to investigate the kitchen. The cupboards were full of dust and odd screws or bits of wood from the installation and the fridge was new – and totally empty. She switched it on and put in her few bits of food.
Millie seemed happy so Janey quickly washed out the cupboards, then made a cup of tea while she waited for the shelves and drawers to dry. When the baby grew hungry, she prepared a bottle of formula. There was never any trouble getting Millie to drink her bottles, thank goodness. She was such a good baby.
Afterwards Millie fell asleep very suddenly, which made things a lot easier. Janey put her back on the floor and covered her with a blanket. Poor little love! She had a bright red patch on one cheek still which meant more teeth were coming through. She had the two upper front teeth already.
Janey tiptoed across to deal with the bedroom. There was enough room for a cot as well as the single bed, thank goodness. She pulled a face at the old-fashioned wardrobe against one wall, a huge thing with a mirror on the door and shelves inside it on the left. Since the baby was still asleep, she unpacked their clothes. Even combined, their things looked lost in that gigantic wardrobe.
She studied herself in the mirror. She’d grown her hair because it was cheaper and could just be tied back. It was a nondescript mid-brown but she couldn’t afford streaks. Luckily she’d lost all the extra pregnancy weight and could get into her normal clothes again. Pam had persuaded her mother to hand those over one day when her father was out. He’d have refused just to spite her.
And she was learning a lot about charity shops, where you could find all sorts of things if you took the time to search.
If only her parents had let her have her computer! She could have played around on it even if she couldn’t afford an Internet connection.
Someone rang the doorbell and as she went to use the crackly intercom for the first time, Millie woke with a start.
‘Is that you, Janey? Dawn here from Just Girls. We’ve brought you a cot and a few other things.’
‘Brilliant. I’m pressing the release button for the front door. I’m on the right on the first floor.’ She picked her daughter up and shushed her gently, then went to open the door.
She knew Dawn, who had visited the hostel a few times, but not the other woman who was helping carry up the pieces of an old-fashioned cot.
Dawn looked round. ‘Not bad at all. You should see some of the places where our girls have to live. We’ll just fetch the rest then we’ll help you set up the cot. Oh, this is Margaret, by the way.’
They brought up all sorts of bits and pieces, three loads in all. ‘You never know what you need,’ Dawn said cheerfully. ‘If you find you don’t need any of these, bring them back to our shop. You can’t miss it. It’s on High Street. One person’s rubbish is another person’s treasure. Some of the other girls go there on Tuesday afternoons for a cup of coffee and a natter. Now you’re living in Sexton Bassett, why don’t you join us? Do you think you could make it tomorrow?’
‘Not tomorrow, no. I’ll be too busy settling in here, shopping and catching up with the washing.’ And she desperately needed some peace and quiet to get her head round what she would do with her life now.
‘Well, don’t forget to come next week. Since you’re new to town, it’ll help you to meet a few people.’
‘I know. I won’t forget.’
Janey was near tears by the time they’d shown her everything they’d brought, even a bundle of rags for cleaning, something she’d never have thought of. But she’d learnt not to give in to her emotions. Well, she didn’t give in as easily as she used to, anyway. ‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Um – is there a library near here?’
‘Go down to High Street and turn right. It’s about a five minute walk on this side.’ Dawn fumbled in her bag and produced a piece of card, scribbling on it. ‘Here, give them this. You’ve no way of proving you live here yet, but they’ll take my word for it that you’re bona fide and let you join.’
‘Thank you.’ The tears welled up again but Janey blinked hard, refusing to let them loose.
As they got ready to leave Dawn asked gently, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, dear?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine. I’m really grateful for all your help.’
But of course she wept after they’d left because one of them had given her a calendar. As she turned it to February and hung it up on a nail in the kitchen, today’s date seemed to jump out at her and she started to sob. She’d hoped her mother would at least send her birthday wishes, because she had Pam’s contact details, but she hadn’t. Her father never bothered about birthdays, but her mother had usually managed to conjure up some small treats.
She was glad she’d told Pam not to give them her new address, though she hadn’t explained the real reason for that: she was terrified of a certain person getting hold of it.
Well, she was eighteen now, whether anyone acknowledged it with a card or not, officially an adult – and still crying like a child. That had to stop.
Surely things would get better now?
Winifred Parfitt walked slowly up Peppercorn Street, glad of her father’s old silver-headed walking stick these days. The houses at the lower end had all been converted into flats now, with ugly dormer extensions poking up to make full use of the attic space. No one cared two hoots whether the houses looked attractive, only how much money could be wrung out of a property.
Pausing for breath near a newly renovated house, she watched a woman with grey hair carry a baby inside and behind her a pretty young woman hauled one of those funny three-wheeled pushchairs up the steps. What did they call them? Buggies?
The girl didn’t look old enough to have a baby. Children grew up too quickly these days, encouraged to act like women before they’d finished school even.
Just past this huddle of mass dwellings near High Street were more flats, but these were of better quality, older houses converted with an eye to street appeal. She sighed, remembering when this was the best street in the small town of Sexton Bassett. These houses had had gardens filled with flowers and lush shrubs in those days, not expanses of black tarmac with white lines painted on it.
Halfway up the sloping street Winifred stopped for another rest, because her shopping bag was heavy. She looked at the new group of retirement villas, finished only last month. The developer had made a little cul-de-sac off Peppercorn Street and called it Sunset Close. Of course! Everything was ‘sunset’ as far as old people were concerned. She got sick of the sound of that word.
The gardens of the villas were tiny and bare as yet. Well, no use putting plants in at this time of year. She sighed, remembering the huge old house that used to stand here and the lad who’d lived in it, a lad who’d asked her father’s permission to come courting just before he went into the air force. Jack had been killed in the final year of the Second World War and she’d never found another young man to match him. She still kept his photo beside her bed. He looked so proud in his brand-new uniform. She was probably the only one who remembered him now. He’d been an only child. They’d planned to have four children. Now she had none.
A developer had wanted to demolish the old house a few years ago but had found it hard to get permission because it was heritage listed. Then one night last year it had burnt down. End of problem. There were now nine bungalows on the plot of land.
Over 55s only, the adverts had said. Her nephew had suggested she buy one and sell her home for development. Bradley had mentioned it several times and she was getting irritated by this. Why couldn’t he understand that she loved the house she’d lived in all her life, however inconvenient and old-fashioned it was?
Lately Bradley had grown impatient with her, going on and on about how she wasn’t thinking clearly.
Was she losing her grip? He hadn’t said that openly, but she’d made one or two mistakes which he’d pounced on.
No, they had just been mix-ups. Mentally she was as acute as she’d always been. She could still do a crossword quickly and accurately, and answered most of the questions on quiz shows on the television, except for those about pop music and sport, of course.
She started walking again. The houses nearer to hers were semi-detached, Edwardian residences with large rooms and high ceilings. Most of them had been tastefully refurbished, she’d give the newcomers that, but these people didn’t make good neighbours. They were so busy chasing money and ferrying their children around, they didn’t have time to do more than nod at her. She missed having real neighbours to talk to or share a cup of tea with.
She missed having friends, too. Hers had died one by one over the past five years. So sad. The funeral of the final one had been yesterday and she’d been the only mourner because poor Molly had been a spinster like her. There were a lot of unmarried women in her generation, thanks to Hitler and Mussolini. After the war there simply hadn’t been enough men left to go round.
Molly’s lawyer had asked Winifred to make an appointment to see him about a bequest, but he lived at the other end of town, so she’d have to take a taxi. More expense. If Molly had left her the books and bookcases, as she’d once promised to do, they’d be very welcome. You couldn’t have too many books. They didn’t die on you. She’d make an appointment in a day or two.
She paused at her gate, a little out of breath, and frowned as she looked at the garden. She really ought to get someone in to do the front. Gardening was far too much for her these days. But share values had tumbled and with them her income, so she simply couldn’t afford it and that was that. The best she could manage now was to hoe the weeds along the path.
With a sigh, she pushed open the gate, closed it carefully and walked to the front door. It was dim inside because she kept the front curtains drawn for privacy. She shivered. The front of the house wasn’t much warmer than outside. She’d be glad when spring arrived. Even if she’d been able to afford to have full central heating installed, she didn’t have the money to run it.
Hanging her coat up carefully on the hallstand she went through into the kitchen and servants’ quarters. She spent most of her time in here now in winter, because her nephew had found her a small oil-fired Aga second-hand a couple of years ago. He’d said it wasn’t good for the house to get damp in the winter. It wasn’t good for her, either, but he didn’t seem to care about that. She was beginning to wonder about where Bradley’s real interest lay: her or the house she’d foolishly told him he’d inherit one day.
Someone had to have the place and he was her closest relative. She’d not bothered to keep in touch with her other relatives and they’d not bothered with her, though one niece sent her a Christmas card every year. Families didn’t stay together like they used to.
Bradley worked offshore but came to see her whenever he was in England. She made lunch for him and he did little repair jobs around the place, joking about keeping it weather tight.
In winter she now slept in the room off the kitchen, because it was warmer. She still thought of it as Cook’s bedroom. She used the tiny servants’ bathroom nearby, too. Her mother would have had a fit at that.
Thank goodness it was a huge, old-fashioned kitchen, with room for her favourite armchair as well as a small table and a television! She was very cosy here, really. She shouldn’t complain. There were plenty of people worse off than her.
Pulling her library books out of her shopping bag Winifred debated which to read first, made a pot of tea and ate a piece of cake (home-made, she could still do the cooking, thank you very much).
As she settled down in the armchair, she felt guilty at how many romances she read – her father had always called them ‘rubbish’, though how he knew that with such certainty when he’d never read a single one, she didn’t understand. And most of them weren’t rubbish. Love was a wonderful thing. It made her feel good every time she saw a couple walking down the street hand in hand, with that luminously happy look on their faces.
Books with happy-ever-after endings had always been her favourites and if you couldn’t read what you wanted at the age of eighty-four, it was a poor lookout. Picking up the new historical romance by her favourite author, she opened it and sighed happily at the description of the hero. He sounded just like Jack, so she gave him Jack’s face in her mind.
When Millie woke up, Janey changed her nappy, gave her a drink and went out in search of the library and a supermarket. Pushing the buggy slowly along, she studied the high street shops with interest. Sexton Bassett was a smallish town but it seemed to have everything she needed. She’d begged Pam to move her as far away as possible from her old home. It hurt so much when her mother walked past her in the street, behaving as if she didn’t exist and not even glancing at Millie.
Even before the woman behind the counter smiled at her, Janey could tell this was a good library. There was a feel to the good ones you simply couldn’t mistake. They made you feel welcome, valued.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’ve just moved to the area. I’d like to join the library and I want to find out as much as I can about the town.’
‘Do you have proof of your resident status?’
‘Not yet, but Dawn Potter gave me this.’ She handed over the note just as Millie started to grizzle. ‘I’m sorry. She’s teething. I’ll choose my books quickly, so I won’t disturb you for long.’
The woman only glanced at the card before saying, ‘That’s fine. Look, why don’t you put your baby’s buggy in the children’s area, then we’ll take down the membership details. You’ll be able to keep an eye on her as you look for books and she won’t disturb people as much from there.’ She indicated a glass-walled room to one side, filled with bright posters, toys and small chairs.
‘Thank you. That’ll be such a relief. I’m lost without a book.’
‘You should join one of our reading groups.’
‘Maybe I will.’ Janey walked round the library, choosing the four books she was allowed, wishing it was more. Still, this library wasn’t far to walk. She could come here two or three times a week.
As she waited to take out her books, the same woman who’d enrolled her, whose name badge said Nicole, came across with some brochures. ‘I thought these might be useful to help you settle in. You must go and see the abbey ruins when the weather gets finer. You get such a sense of peace there.’
She pointed. ‘There are some tatty paperbacks in those boxes over there. People bring them in rather than throw them away. You can take one or two each time you come in. Keep them if you like, but if you don’t want them, we’d be grateful if you’d bring them back again.’
‘I don’t have many books yet because I’m just setting up home. Can I really keep them?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled and lowered her voice. ‘Take half a dozen this time, as a welcome-to-the-town present.’
There! Janey thought as she moved across and found two of her favourite novels immediately, I did have a birthday present after all. It seemed like an omen.
Retrieving Millie, she walked out, feeling considerably cheered up. Now she’d have something to do tonight. You never felt as lonely with a book in your hand. She’d have somewhere to store books too. From now on she’d keep an eye on the cheap books in charity shops. She’d rather eat bread and jam for tea than not have a book to read.
There was a small supermarket on the other side of the street from the library, so she nipped in to buy some food for tonight. She’d do a proper shop tomorrow, make lists, be efficient. How her old home economics teacher would laugh at that! It had been her worst subject. Now, it was cook properly or eat rubbish.
She was tired but felt hopeful as she trudged home, even though it had started to rain. Her life was starting up again.
Chapter Two
Nicole Gainsford, watched the young mother leave the library, smiling now. Was the poor child raising a baby on her own? She must be if Just Girls was helping her. They took in young mothers without any support systems from all over the county.
She was going to make more effort to revitalise the young mothers’ reading group at the library. These days you had to provide far more than a place to borrow books or go on the Internet. They had quite a few community groups going now. Some of the oldies had cheered up enormously at having somewhere to go and something to do.
Then another customer took her attention and she didn’t think about the young mother again. What she did think about when she had a moment was the difficulty she was having with her teenage sons, especially William, who was going through an aggressive patch and was giving her a lot of grief. But also Paul, who had become very withdrawn lately and would hardly say a word to anyone.
She set off for home, on foot today because she had no shopping to do. Inevitably her thoughts turned to her husband. The two of them had drifted apart during the past few years, no denying that. She hadn’t noticed at first and when she had, she’d tried to do something to bring them together. Only he didn’t seem interested in his family any more.
In fact, she was wondering if he was having an affair. He was sometimes late home, sat staring into space a lot, had become very secretive about his emails, protecting his area of the computer with a password so that she and the boys couldn’t access his stuff. Who was he emailing that was so secret?
She slowed down as she got closer to their house. She dreaded going home these days.
It was even worse that evening. William was outright rude to her and refused to gather his dirty clothes together for her to wash.
‘All right,’ she yelled. ‘Let them stay dirty. Anything not in the laundry basket in the next five minutes you can wash yourself.’
Paul came down two minutes later with his dirty clothes.
‘Where’s your brother?’
He shrugged.
She waited a full ten minutes. No sign of William. So she set the washing off.
Five minutes later he sauntered into the kitchen and dumped his dirty washing all over the floor.
‘Too late,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to do it yourself.’
He kicked the nearest clothes across to her. ‘You’re the mother. It’s your bloody job to do the washing.’
She kicked them back. ‘You keep saying you’re not a child. Well, grown-ups put their own things in the laundry basket.’ She was sick of this argument which they had every week.
He moved across to her, towering over her from his newly acquired six foot. ‘I’m not – doing – the – washing.’
For a minute she thought he was going to hit her, but he just shoved her towards the utility room, knocking her against the wall, and kicking the clothes in her direction. Then he slouched off up the stairs, yelling over his shoulder, ‘Call me when tea’s ready.’
She went to sit down, feeling shaky. She’d really thought he was going to thump her. She’d been frightened of her own son. That was bad.
She didn’t feel like cooking so hauled out some noodles and a jar of sauce and heated it up. That’d have to do.
She hesitated to call William, not wanting to seem as if she was obeying his orders, but in the end she stood at the foot of the stairs and yelled, ‘Tea’s ready.’
Both boys came down. Paul sat and ate quietly. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t talk to her. She kept meaning to get him on his own and insist he tell her what was wrong, but the opportunity had never seemed to arise. He made sure of that.
‘There’s no meat with this,’ William complained.
‘No. I didn’t have time to defrost any. Your father’s supposed to help with the shopping and cooking but he’s been a bit forgetful lately.’
‘That’s women’s work.’ He stared at her challengingly.
She was too tired to take him up on that. How a son of hers had turned into such a male chauvinist, she didn’t understand.
As he went to get the milk out of the fridge, she said sharply, ‘Don’t drink from the carton this time.’
He grunted and slammed a glass down on the surface so hard she expected it to shatter.
There was still no sign of Sam by the time the meal had ended, nor had he rung.
He didn’t feel like part of the family any more.
The next morning Janey felt a lot better about the world because she and Millie had both slept really well in their new flat, right through the night. There were supposed to be some neighbours, but she hadn’t seen anyone else nor had she heard a sound from the flat above hers or the one on the same floor.
She yawned and stretched, then crept out of the bedroom while her daughter was still sleeping and made herself a cup of tea.
After they’d both had breakfast, she made a careful list of the things she needed and went to check out the supermarkets properly, looking at all the specials before she made her choice. She came back with two loaded bags of shopping dangling from the sides of the buggy and a few big things in the tray underneath.
Carrots were two bags for the price of one, so she’d be eating a lot of carrots during the coming week. That was all right. Carrots were healthy. When she thought how fussy she’d been about eating before she left home she cringed, then smiled ruefully. Her dad only liked steak, chops or sausages with his nightly chips, so that was what they had.
At the Just Girls hostel, taking her turn to help in the kitchen, Janey had discovered that she enjoyed cooking, though she didn’t know many recipes yet. She intended to learn more about cooking now she was on her own. It’d be something new to do and you could get books on it from the library and copy down recipes, so it needn’t cost anything extra.
She left Millie in the buggy at the foot of the stairs with the front door locked, as she rushed up to the flat with the shopping. She only put away the frozen stuff because she felt so guilty at leaving the baby on her own in the hall. But how else did you get the shopping into the flat when you were going out straight away?
There was washing to do but she couldn’t face it yet, so went down again and gave Millie a smacking big kiss on her fat, soft cheek. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’ She decided the gurgle meant yes. They both loved being out of doors and luckily it was fine today, if rather cold.
She thought she heard a door click shut upstairs and wondered if someone had been watching her.
She decided to explore her own street first, remembering the elegant old lady who had stopped to stare at her yesterday then walked on up the slope. Did someone like that live in Peppercorn Street too?
The street was about three hundred metres long, and went from rather shabby near the high street to marginally better where Janey’s flat was situated, about a hundred yards away from the shops. She was surprised at how posh the houses were at the upper end and stopped several times to admire the older ones. Lovely, they were, with coloured glass in the doors and in the small windows on either side, fancy brickwork and big gardens behind low stone walls.
It would be nice to learn more about the history of architecture. She’d put that on her list when she got back. She was making a list of things she could learn about from the library, both to fill the time without costing anything and because she didn’t want Millie looking down on her when she got older for knowing so little. As a result of getting pregnant she hadn’t even been able to take her A levels.
She found that the street was a cul-de-sac, which was why it was fairly quiet, except for cars parking at the lower end and moving off after their owners had done their shopping.
She nearly missed the narrow path for pedestrians between the two top houses, then went back to peer down it. Curious to know where it led, she went along it. There was just enough room for someone on foot to pass the buggy. Two buggies would have had trouble squeezing past one another.
Halfway along someone had dropped a garish takeaway box, so she picked it up and put it into the litter bin at the end. There, that was better. The path looked pretty again. It had a low wall at the far end, where it curved to the right and opened out into another street, and surely those were daffodils poking up along its base? They’d look lovely against the grey, stone wall when they came into bloom.
The next street wasn’t a cul-de-sac, but it also had a footpath between the houses at the top of the slope, so she followed that rather than going back down to High Street. This second path led to a small park at the end of the next street. Great! She and Millie could come here in the warmer weather. It’d be nice to walk under leafy green trees and look at flowers. Maybe there’d be a children’s playground. She explored the park, which didn’t take long, and sure enough there were a few swings in one corner, including baby swings. She thought Millie would be old enough to sit in one by summer.
Beyond the park was an area with one or two parked cars and a big gate at one end. Over it a sign said ‘Grove Allotments. Owners only’. She went across to peer over the gate at the rows of neat plots, though there wasn’t a lot growing in them at this time of year, of course. Some parts were covered in straw or a sort of matting, probably to protect the last remaining vegetables from frost.
Her granddad had always grown his own vegetables and she’d helped him from when she was little. He’d been dead for five years now but she still remembered how much she’d enjoyed gardening with him and how delicious the fresh fruit and vegetables had tasted. During the past year or two, she’d grown a few things in her parents’ garden. Her dad hated gardening, hated anything that made him get out of his armchair after he got home from work.
An old man was working on one of the plots. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting, just like her granddad used to do. After a moment’s hesitation, she waved back. You had to be careful who you spoke to these days, but he looked friendly and unthreatening, and he was quite old and scrawny, not really a threat to her because she was tall and quite strong, had been good at sport. That was another thing she missed.
Don’t go there! she told herself firmly.
Turning, she walked back towards her street, wondering what to do with herself for the rest of the day. Washing, of course. There was always washing when you had a baby. She’d had to do a lot of it by hand because there was only one washing machine in the B&B, and times for its use were restricted. In the new flats there was a proper laundry room with two coin-in-the-slot washing machines and two separate tumble dryers, also some washing lines out at the back. That was luxury to her. Not that she’d be using the tumble dryers except in an emergency. Far too expensive.
There must be another woman in the flats because this morning there had been some women’s clothes hanging outside, but Janey still hadn’t seen anyone else going in and out.
Washing wouldn’t take up the whole day, though. Nor would playing with Millie, who still slept a lot. Should she go to the meeting at the Just Girls shop? No, she couldn’t face it yet. It was the time of day when Millie had a nap and she wanted to settle her daughter into a proper routine now. She sighed. Life felt so shut in lately. And boring. She could see why people living on their own got depressed.
The people from Just Girls had said they’d try to get her a television. That would help pass the evenings, but she wasn’t going to watch it in the daytime like one of her mother’s neighbours, who only seemed to be able to talk about the latest TV show.
If things hadn’t gone so badly wrong for her, Janey would be at university now, meeting people, going out and having fun. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault she’d got pregnant. He had forced her.
But then, if it hadn’t happened, Millie wouldn’t exist. She had to remember that and not let life get her down. She hadn’t expected to love her baby so much, given the circumstances.
The sky was darkening already, even though the days were getting longer now. She’d better go back.
She smiled, remembering what her granddad used to say about February: it might be the greyest, coldest month, but its arrival was a sign that spring was round the corner. Perhaps she’d be having a personal spring now that she was more settled, growing in all sorts of new ways.
Oh, she was being fanciful again! Hadn’t she vowed to stay practical from now on?
Winifred stared out of her bedroom window as a movement caught her eye. The girl with the baby was walking along the footpath pushing the buggy. Definitely too young to be a mother. Probably no better than she ought to be.
When the girl stopped to pick up some rubbish, however, Winifred got angry at herself for making judgements on no evidence. Whatever her faults, the girl had the right attitude to rubbish in this throwaway age. Most people would have walked past that garish cardboard box. Winifred had lost count of the number of times she’d picked rubbish up from that path.
She finished dusting her bedroom and sorting out her clothes, putting away the washing she’d dried in the kitchen yesterday. Then she made her way slowly and carefully down the stairs. At her age, you didn’t dare risk a fall. Two of her friends had broken a hip in falls and one of them hadn’t come out of hospital again. Winifred still missed her.
She went into the kitchen and got out the bones and shin beef she’d bought from the butcher that morning. There was nothing like home-made soup to warm you in the winter, and a good soup began with good stock.
She put the radio on to keep herself company then began to chop up an onion, wiping away a tear. It was caused by the onion fumes, she told herself fiercely. She hadn’t been brought up to complain about life, however dull and lonely it had become, and she wasn’t going to start now.
When the stock was simmering, she took out her diary and began her daily entry. Not that she had anything special to report for herself, though she did mention the girl with the baby moving into the flats and the way she’d jumped to conclusions about her. She also commented regularly on the issues of the times: climate change, pirates at sea, demonstrations, terrorism, the more idiotic celebrities. There’d been a demonstration on the television news the night before. Had these young people nothing better to do than act like hooligans?
There had also been another young man killed in Afghanistan. Why did countries do this to their young men? How many of this generation’s young women had lost loved ones in the current war? How many mothers had lost their sons?
She didn’t know whether anyone would read her diaries after she was gone, but she’d asked in her will that they be lodged with the local heritage centre. After all, the diaries went right back to her girlhood before World War II, and she’d hardly missed a day in all that time. One day, perhaps, a historian would find them useful. Look at what had happened to the Mass Observation diaries from the War. They’d been turned into some splendid books.
Nicole got up early and tackled her husband after he’d had his shower. ‘Sam, I’m getting really worried about William.’
‘He doesn’t look ill to me.’
‘He isn’t. It’s the way he behaves. I thought he was going to hit me yesterday.’
That caught his full attention, which nothing much did these days.
‘What! No, he’d never do that. Definitely not. We brought him up properly.’
‘Since he met these new friends, he seems to have forgotten all we ever taught him. He’s turning into a proper chauvinist. Our son! A chauvinist!’
Sam sighed. ‘Give it a break. You’re always on about women’s lib. We’re past that now.’
She stared at him indignantly. What was he talking about? She hadn’t mentioned it for years because it always led to a row.
‘William’s just going through a bad patch,’ Sam said soothingly. ‘He’ll grow out of it. Now, I have to get off to work.’ And he was gone before she could stop him. He hadn’t even bothered with breakfast today and he was usually ravenous in the mornings.
Dan Shackleton left his allotment at four o’clock on the dot, as usual. He called at the care home on the way back, to see his wife. He always did this, even though she no longer recognised him.
Peggy was going downhill fast now. Dementia was a dreadful thing. It tore families apart and stole the very personality from those who had it. She’d been such a lovely woman, kind and fun. Now she had a blank face that belonged to a stranger.
His sons thought he should still be looking after her at home. There had been a few arguments about that when he announced that he was putting her into care. They conveniently forgot that he was seventy, had his own health problems and had looked after their mother for much longer than his doctor thought wise.
He sat by the bed for a while, but Peggy didn’t move, didn’t look at him. He’d given up trying to talk to her. She didn’t respond.
‘Mr Shackleton? Could I have a word, please?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He followed Matron into her office. She got him a cup of the horrible tea from the machine in the corridor and said in a gentle voice, ‘I’m afraid it won’t be long now.’
‘I realise that.’
‘Is your phone number still the same?’
‘Yes.’
‘We haven’t got a mobile number listed.’
‘I haven’t got one.’
‘Perhaps you’d better buy one, since you’re out all day.’
‘I’ll give you my son Simon’s number. He still lives in Sexton Bassett. My other son moved away. Simon can fetch me from the allotment if …’ He couldn’t say the words. ‘If I’m needed suddenly. I’m there till teatime every day, rain or shine.’
‘You can buy a basic mobile quite cheaply these days, you know.’
‘I’m not walking round like a dog on the end of a leash.’ He realised he’d spoken aggressively and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. It’s just … one of my little foibles. I don’t like mobile phones.’ Couldn’t stand them, actually, but people looked at you strangely if you got vehement about the damned things.
‘Very well.’ She stood up, mouth a thin line of suppressed annoyance.
He sat in his car for a while, trying to calm down. His heart was fluttering in a way that always upset him and made him feel precarious.
Eventually he drove home, hating to go into the dark, empty house. He went about his duties according to the routine he’d worked out. It was washing day. After he’d put a load on, he checked the fridge to see what was needed when he went shopping the next day. He didn’t do housework in the daytime, but went to his little hut at the allotment as soon as it was light. He had a gas ring there to make tea or heat up soup, he could chat to anyone who turned up, and it was a rare day when he didn’t see two or three people. He did whatever jobs were needed on the allotment, read the newspaper, listened to the radio.
Only there did he feel as if his world was still normal.
He suddenly remembered the girl he’d seen looking over the gate. Pretty little thing. No, not little. She was quite tall. But young. Even the police looked young to him these days. Was she the mother of that baby? She’d looked at him uncertainly when he smiled at her, and it had taken her a few seconds to smile back and return his wave.
What had happened to make the poor kid so wary? He couldn’t imagine anyone being afraid of a skinny old chap like himself.
Nicole admitted to herself that she was starting to dread going home and that made her angry. What she was really dreading was another encounter with William.
As she walked into the kitchen she caught him drinking directly from the milk carton, something she’d forbidden him to do several times. She hesitated, then anger took over and she surprised them both by rushing across the kitchen and snatching it from his hand.
‘How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? It’s a filthy habit.’ She started pouring the milk down the sink.
‘Let me finish it off, then. You’re just wasting it.’ He tried to grab it from her and the milk splashed the front of her blouse, so she shoved him away hard. As he staggered back with a shocked look, the final dregs glugged out.
‘I’ll do that every time I catch you drinking from the carton,’ she snapped. ‘The rest of us don’t want to share your germs, thank you very much. And by the way, we now have no milk to put in our tea and coffee because I forgot to buy some, so you’ll have to have it black, unless you care to get off your backside and cycle down to the shop.’
‘No.’ He turned to leave the kitchen.
‘Wait! Have you emptied the dishwasher yet?’
‘No. And I’m not going to. How are you going to make me?’
Once again the moment was fraught and he looked so ready for battle, she didn’t dare challenge him further. ‘Clearly I’m not able to make you,’ she said wearily. ‘But I’m not doing it for you.’ She picked up her handbag and hurried out of the house.
‘What about our tea?’ he shouted after her.
‘You keep claiming you’re grown-up now. Act like it. Feed your bloody self!’
She bumped into Sam on the way out and yelled, ‘They’re your sons as well as mine. You deal with them!’
‘Not again. Do you have to have these confrontations all the time?’
‘Unless you want to live in a filthy pigsty, yes. And I’d appreciate a little support from you.’
‘I’m tired, Nicole. I just want to rest.’
‘Well, poor you! I’m not tired after being on my feet all day, am I?’
He turned away. It was too much. She yelled after him, ‘I’ve had it with the lot of you. Feed yourselves or go hungry.’ She got into her car and drove away.
She went to her usual refuge, the open space down by the ruins of the abbey. It was a beautiful place in summer, but rather spooky at dusk in winter, with bare trees scratching the sky around it. There was no one else nearby, so she locked the car doors carefully then let herself weep.
Since Sam had started his new job, he’d become very withdrawn. He stayed out late at night and said he was working. As if. No one worked till midnight.
She’d smelt perfume on him more than once. He said she was being ridiculous and how could he do anything if the receptionist wore a lot of perfume?
Of all the lame excuses, that took the cake.
He was unhappy at work, she knew, but he couldn’t leave until he found a new job, not if they were to continue paying off the mortgage. The trouble was, he wouldn’t even look for another job, said he couldn’t face writing all those applications again.
He didn’t touch her in bed and when he did come home early, spent most of the evening staring into space. He didn’t help her in the house like he used to, either, not unless she nagged him.
And since he’d stopped helping, so had William. Paul was still doing his chores and hadn’t defied her openly but he rarely said a word. Where were the two little boys she’d loved so much? How had they turned into these aliens?
What the hell did her family think she was? Their unpaid servant? She had to do something about that! Only what?
It wasn’t the first time the idea of leaving home had occurred to her. She might actually move away, just for a few months, to give them a shock, bring them to their senses.
This was the first time she’d contemplated it seriously.
Only where would she go? How would the family manage without her?
How would she cope on her own?
When she got home, she slept in the spare bedroom. And Sam didn’t come to look for her or ask what the matter was. That hurt so much.
The following morning Nicole got up, stared at the mess in the kitchen, which no one had bothered to clear up, and got ready for work in grim silence. She was out of the house before anyone else came down. She’d buy breakfast for herself in a local café.
Because she was angry at Sam for behaving as irresponsibly as the boys, she’d made no provision for their breakfast or lunch, and she didn’t intend to make tea for them, either, not unless they started helping in the house. Let them manage for a bit without her shopping and cleaning for them! If that didn’t bring them to their senses, nothing would.
And then what would she do?
Her shift finished at midday and she sat in the staffroom, staring into a mug of coffee, wondering what to do with herself for the afternoon. She wasn’t going back and clearing up that pigsty. No way. She left a message on Sam’s mobile to say he must come home on time tonight. She needed his support. Strange that he wasn’t answering.
Her friend and colleague Helen came in, took one look at her and sat down beside her. ‘Something’s wrong. You’re usually off as soon as your shift ends.’
Nicole nodded, tried to speak and gulped back tears.
‘Look, why don’t you come back to my place for lunch and tell me about it? I can offer you some true gourmet fare – sandwiches and tinned soup.’
When she walked into Helen’s neat little flat, Nicole sat down and stared at her hands, trying not to cry.
‘Tell me.’
She looked at her friend and began to sob as she told her what was happening. ‘If I had somewhere to go, I’d leave them to it. I’ve had enough.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. I’m not going to spend my life like this. Sam hardly seems to notice I’m alive and the boys look at me so scornfully, you’d think I had an IQ of minus 10. Families are supposed to care about one another but mine’s unravelling fast.’
‘I didn’t realise it was so bad. Look, you can come here in an emergency, but the flat isn’t large enough for long-term dual occupancy, I’m afraid.’
‘I’d not do that to you, Helen. I know how you value your privacy.’
‘Well yes, I do. You’re one of the few people whose company I enjoy. At fifty-eight I’ve given up pretending to be a social animal. I’m definitely a loner.’
Silence fell and Nicole tried to laugh as something occurred to her, but failed and another sob escaped instead. ‘Amazing what a small thing it takes to push you over the edge, isn’t it? A carton of milk, dammit. It ought to be something more important than that, don’t you think?’
Helen reached across to squeeze her hand sympathetically. ‘When I split up from Frank, it was shoe polish on the new carpet that was the final straw. But trouble had been brewing for a while. And it has with you, I think.’
She sighed. ‘Yes. Things have been going downhill for a year or two.’
William got home from school a bit later than usual. He stopped just inside the kitchen to stare round in annoyance. He’d been expecting to see his mother cooking tea, but she hadn’t even cleared up the mess. He opened the fridge, his hand already reaching out for the carton of milk, then jerking back. There was no milk in the fridge door. In fact, there wasn’t much food in the fridge at all.
His brother Paul came home shortly afterwards, looked at the kitchen and said, ‘Isn’t Mum back yet? She was supposed to be on early shift roster.’
‘Not a sign of her. She must be working extra hours.’
‘Well, I need to get something to eat quickly. I’ve got a rehearsal tonight.’
‘Be my guest.’ William gestured towards the fridge. ‘There’s sod all in it, though.’
‘Mum’s a bit edgy lately, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah. Must be her age.’
‘You should have emptied the dishwasher yesterday. It was your turn.’
‘I’m not into women’s work and I’m not going to get into it, either, not when the world is full of unliberated chicks itching to do things for me.’ He smirked at the thought of one particular chick. ‘Anyway, Dad doesn’t do much either. He’s wised up, I reckon.’
Paul rolled his eyes. ‘Heaven preserve me from arrogant shits who think the world is there to wait on them hand and foot!’
‘I didn’t see you volunteering to empty the dishwasher.’
‘I did it when it was my turn. I’m not doing yours.’
‘I’ve heard women go strange when they get older. She went ape about the milk yesterday. Tipped all of it down the sink.’
‘I don’t blame her. I don’t like it, either, when you drink from the carton.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘My own.’ Paul went to the freezer. ‘Oh, sod it! We’ve run out of bread, too. Now what am I going to eat?’ He went to the pantry and peered inside. ‘Tins of fruit, tins of soup, tins of baked beans.’
‘If you’re making something to eat, make me something too.’
‘Get it yourself.’
‘I’m older and bigger than you. Do it.’
Paul shrugged. ‘Nope. You can beat me in a fight but you still can’t make me wait on you. I’m not a member of the William Gainsford Fan Club.’ He found an apple, a chunk of cheese and opened a tin of baked beans, scarfing down the lot.
He was about to leave for rehearsal when their father came home and stared at the mess, not moving for so long that Paul looked at his brother, who shrugged.
‘Isn’t your mother back?’ their dad asked at last. ‘Did she say she was going to be late?’
‘No, she didn’t. I’m off to rehearsal, Dad. Don’t forget to pick me up afterwards.’
‘All right.’
Paul watched his dad rub his head, as if it was aching again, then walk upstairs without saying anything. On an afterthought he scribbled a note about needing to be picked up from rehearsal and stuck it prominently on the fridge where his mother would see it. His dad had been very forgetful lately.
William called, ‘Hey, Dad. We’re out of bread and milk, and Mum’s not got anything in for tea.’
‘She’ll bring something home with her. She always does.’
Then his parents’ bedroom door closed and there was silence, punctuated by a groan of relief from his father and the creaking of the bed as he lay down.
Paul shook his head, feeling really worried about his dad’s behaviour, then caught sight of the clock and rushed out.
Nicole spent the rest of the afternoon at the cinema, because it had started to rain. She didn’t get much benefit from the film because she kept getting lost in her own thoughts.
When she came out, it was getting dark, but at least the rain had stopped. She walked slowly home, stopping to gaze in the estate agent’s window: Flat to rent. Two bedrooms, Peppercorn Street, partly furnished. She lingered for a moment or two, reading the details, dreaming of somewhere of her own, a peaceful orderly home where no one upset you. If only – no, she couldn’t do it to them. It was just an escapist fantasy.
She continued along High Street to her end of town, stopped outside the house, took a deep breath and went in.
Not only had they not cleared up, they’d added to the mess, not even putting their crockery in the sink. Taking her favourite beaker, which no one else was supposed to use, she washed it out carefully and made a cup of coffee. She didn’t feel at all hungry.
Footsteps thumped down the stairs. William. She could always tell.
He stopped in the doorway to look at her warily. ‘Oh, there you are, Mum. What’s for tea?’
‘Nothing. I’m not cooking in this mess.’
‘Huh?’ He looked around as if searching for something. ‘You usually go shopping on your afternoon off. We’ve not got much food left.’
‘You didn’t feel like helping round the house yesterday. Today I don’t feel like shopping.’ She went across, flipped open the dishwasher door and stood very still for a moment to hold in the anger. ‘This hasn’t been emptied yet. We’ll be running out of clean crockery soon.’
‘But what about tea? I’m famished.’
‘What about it? I can’t cook in a pigsty.’ She left him standing with that sulky expression on his face that said he knew he was in the wrong but wasn’t going to back down. But at least he hadn’t threatened her today. Perhaps he realised he’d stepped over the line there.
In the bedroom she found Sam lying on the bed.
He sat up, looking dazed. ‘Sorry. I must have fallen asleep. Did you work extra hours?’
‘No. I just didn’t want to come home. Comfy, are you?’
‘I had a headache.’
‘And did you have a headache last night too?’
‘Come again?’
‘No one cleared up the kitchen. And you didn’t support me with the boys. William’s still refusing to lift a finger.’
‘Give it a break!’
‘I am. A complete break. I am not doing all the clearing up after you three.’
‘You always have done before.’
‘More fool me. And actually, you used to help around the house quite a lot. You’ve hardly lifted a finger lately.’
‘Since I got this job, I’m too tired with all the commuting.’
She glared at him. ‘Has it escaped your notice that I work full-time too?’
‘You’ve got an easy job compared to mine.’
‘So I suddenly became the housemaid as well? No, thank you. Didn’t apply for the job and I’m not being conscripted.’ She began to tidy one of her drawers, not sure what to do next.
‘Look, we’ll get a takeaway tonight.’
‘Not till that kitchen’s cleared up, we won’t. If you and the boys don’t do that, I’m going out for a meal somewhere clean.’
He got up off the bed, frowning at her. ‘Where? Maybe we could all go.’
‘You lot have got clearing up to do at home.’
‘Well, if you’re going out, Paul needs picking up from rehearsal.’
‘Glad you remembered. Don’t forget to do it.’ She ran down the stairs, expecting Sam to call after her, say he’d organise the clear-up, but he didn’t. She drove off slowly, tears blurring her eyes and making the street look surreal. She didn’t know what to do, where to go, just that she couldn’t bear to stay in. Surely, surely, they’d clear up now?
The only thing she was certain about was that she wasn’t going to touch the mess. She’d reached her sticking point. If she didn’t stand firm, she’d lose all self-respect.
She was not only tired of what was happening at home, she was bone tired, period, and desperately needed a break.
She wandered round the shopping centre buying a snack for herself from a café, a piece of rather stale gâteau. Feeling defiant, she bought a glass of wine too. Why not? One small glass wouldn’t put her over the limit.
Not until it was nearly time for the shopping centre to close did she go home.
Sam looked at her reproachfully as she announced that she’d be sleeping in the spare bedroom again.
‘That isn’t necessary.’
‘I think it is necessary until we sort this out. I’m angry at all of you. And I’m not giving in.’
The boys rolled their eyes at one another but said nothing. They didn’t go into the kitchen, though, just up to bed.
Sam went straight to bed as well.
She lay on the hard bed in the spare bedroom and cried into the pillow.
