Dream On (10 page)

The only time Ginny had been foolish enough to ask her to lend a hand more recently, Nellie had looked at her as though she had taken leave of her senses and had gone straight to Ted, accusing Ginny of being a slave driver. She had ranted and raved like a mad thing, screaming and shouting about the hard time her lazy good-for-nothing daughter-in-law was giving her. Her, a woman in her fifties! And why she should be expected to work her fingers to the bone while Ginny, a bit of a girl, sat around doing nothing, she couldn't imagine.

Ted had been furious with Ginny and given her such a slap that one of her back teeth had come loose. She had been in agony for days.

Ginny had not made that mistake twice. She held her tongue and got on with things, just as she was doing that Saturday morning. At least since Dilys had been out of work, she had taken to popping over to do a few bits and pieces to help Ginny out, peeling a few spuds or chopping a cabbage. But it made very little dent in her workload; there was still so much to do.

Before Nellie had even shifted herself from her bed that morning, Ginny had scrubbed and whitened the street doorstep; she had stripped the linen from her and Ted's bed; had put the washing in to soak, while the copper heated up ready for the weekly boil; and had gone on to sweep and dust, and mangle and peg, and scour and rub, and wax and polish, until she was all but exhausted.

By then Nellie had roused herself and had found her way down to the kitchen. That was the cue for Ginny to take a break from the housework; not to sit down, but to make a pot of tea and a plate of toast and dripping: a rushed lunch for her and a leisurely breakfast for Nellie.

After downing a quick cup of tea and swallowing a few mouthfuls of bread, Ginny went out to the backyard to bring in the still damp washing for ironing and airing. Although it was a fine, early-spring morning, the air still had the damp feel of winter about it and the laundry would get no drier hanging outside.

While Ginny stood at the table ironing, Nellie sat by the blazing kitchen fire scorching her legs to a mottled, corned-beef red and finishing off the rest of the tea and toast, actually shifting herself at one point to shoot another shovel of coal on the fire.

Ginny had it on the tip of her tongue to ask her mother-in-law to be a bit more careful with their precious fuel, because although Ted usually turned up with a few sacks he had managed to get from somewhere – rationing seemed to have no meaning for him – Ginny knew she couldn't depend on him remembering. And if they ran out of coal and they had another cold snap like last week, Nellie would really get her moaning hat on. Ginny had enough on her plate without the thought of her leading off about her poor old frozen feet and the agonies she was suffering with her chilblains.

But Ginny had seen Nellie in action too many times of late to dare comment about being wasteful. Her mother-in-law had changed so much. She could now take it into her head, for no reason other than causing mischief it seemed, deliberately to misinterpret the most innocuous of Ginny's remarks as being the most cutting criticism. And she would throw even more coal on the fire just for spite.

Tired, anxious and fed up as she felt, Ginny had no choice but to try and keep Nellie in a good mood. I'm really glad I've got this new job, you know, Nell. But who'd have thought I'd be working in an electrics factory, eh?' Ginny allowed herself a little smile as she thought about the deposit she had taken from her week's wages to put on the wireless the day before. With her staff discount she had chosen a model that was really top of the range. Even Nellie couldn't help but be pleased when she saw it.

‘I'd prefer to be doing machining still, of course, but at least I'm earning until something more suitable comes up. And I can get plenty of overtime at this place.'

‘Overtime? Is that what you call it? Well I call it staying out all hours. You're never sodding here when I need you.'

Ginny flinched at Nellie's tone. ‘You've got Dilys to help you,' she replied cautiously.

She draped the final shirt over the clothes-horse and put the iron outside the back door to cool down. ‘She told me she's been doing all sorts over here,' she said, straightening up and kneading her knuckles into the small of her aching back.

‘You could say that,' Nellie snorted.

Ginny refilled the kettle at the sink. Nellie put away more tea than anyone Ginny had ever known; and Ginny was expected to keep her well supplied. ‘So,' she said, lighting the gas stove, ‘what gossip have you got for me then, Nell? I haven't had much of a chance to catch up, what with all the extra hours I'm putting in.'

Nellie paused for a moment, torn between pointedly ignoring Ginny's attempts at pleasantness on the one hand and, on the other, the pleasure she would gain in passing on a story that would wind up the silly little cow like a watch spring.

Nellie's new-found fondness for malice against her dozy daughter-in-law won. But it was her own fault, Nellie reasoned; if only the girl had shown some spirit, Nellie would probably have left her alone – she might even have tried discouraging Dilys a bit – but Ginny was just too easy a target to resist.

At one time, she had tolerated Ginny – just – but over the years she had started wearing down her patience more and more, and Nellie was beginning to wonder whether she should really start working on her and perhaps she'd bugger off and let Dilys move in. Not that Nellie was that struck with Dilys. But at least she made her laugh. Plus she was generous with the booze; and Nellie seemed to get through the hard stuff faster and faster these days. She'd have hated that little source of pleasure to dry up.

‘You heard what happened to that stupid mare over the road yesterday, I suppose?'

‘What, Dilys?' Ginny asked over her shoulder as she rinsed out the teapot.

Nellie was sorely tempted to say yes, that's right, Dilys. She's been over here schtupping your old man while you've been grafting all the hours God sends. That'd wipe the stupid smile off her face. It would do her good to hear a few home truths. But she didn't. Not because she cared for her daughter-in-law's feelings, of course, but because Ted wouldn't have liked it if she'd grassed on him. Nellie had never really figured out why, but her boy seemed to like keeping her around the place, flapping about with her bloody dusters and irons. The more Ted had a pop at the soppy tart, the more she tried to keep the house looking like a flaming palace. It drove Nellie to distraction.

Nellie looked her up and down as she walked back to the table, folded the ironing blanket and stuck it away in the bottom of the dresser. At least she had a decent figure, Nellie supposed, and her Ted liked that in a woman. So maybe she was good for something.

‘I was talking to Pearl earlier,' Ginny said amiably, ‘while we was both out scrubbing the street doorsteps. And she never said nothing about Dilys.'

Nellie sighed theatrically. Huh! Pearl Chivers. Dilys's flaming perfect mother and Ginny's
special friend, who was always there if Ginny needed her.
She made Nellie sick. She was another one always cleaning and polishing. But at least Pearl could have a row and had a mouth on her like a docker when she let go. Nellie had to hand that to her: she wasn't a mouse. Not like Dolly Day-dream, who didn't seem to know what day of the week it was half the time, let alone how to stand up for herself.

‘I don't mean Dilys, do I?' Nellie rolled her eyes and tutted. ‘And if you'd just keep your trap shut for a couple o' minutes, and let me get a flaming word in edgeways, I'd bloody well be able to tell you who I mean.'

‘Sorry, Nellie.'

‘I should think so.'

‘Well?' Ginny asked, her voice small and coaxing.

‘I was talking about Violet Varney.'

‘What, she's turned up, has she?' Ginny asked hopefully, as she returned to the sink and filled a blue-rimmed white enamel bowl ready to peel the potatoes for tea-time.

‘Yeah. She's turned up all right.'

‘Thank Gawd for that.' Ginny bent down and took a string bag full of potatoes and some old newspapers from under the sink, and carried them and the basin of water over to the table. ‘You know, Nellie, I reckon it broke Violet's heart having to send them kids away. When she went amongst the missing last week, I really thought, that's it, she's gone off her head, she's had it away 'cos she can't stand it no more.'

Nellie folded her arms triumphantly across her aproned bosom. This was going to shock the dopey little madam. ‘If you must know, you was right. She did go off her head.'

‘How d'you mean?' Ginny let a long thin curl of peel drop on to the paper she had spread out on the table.

‘The stupid tart's gone and topped herself.'

‘She's
what
?' The knife and the half-peeled potato fell from Ginny's hands into the bowl with a messy splash.

Nellie stared critically at the spilt water. ‘Left this really miserable note, didn't she? Her Bert found it propped up on the front room mantelpiece. Went screaming along the street to Bobby and Martha at the Prince Albert, just like a man possessed. I'm surprised Pearl never mentioned it to you. She must have heard him. And what with you two being so
friendly
.'

She said the last word as though it were a nasty, contagious affliction that might infect the incautious at any moment.

Ginny could only stare, as Nellie paused to search the pockets of her cross-over apron for her Woodbines. Having found them, she stuck one in the corner of her mouth, lit it and tossed the spent match carelessly into the hearth.

Picking a stray strand of tobacco from her lip, Nellie continued as casually as if she had been discussing nothing more interesting than the price of cod. ‘That kettle's boiling,' she said with a lift of her chin. She made no attempt to get up.

Automatically, Ginny went over and switched off the gas. She twisted round to face Nellie with a puzzled frown. ‘Look, Nellie, am I missing something here? You did say Bert, didn't you? Bert Varney? How could Bert find the note? He's dead.'

‘No he ain't. It's Violet what's dead. Mind you, when he finds out Violet was on the sodding game, I bet he'll wish he was a goner.' Nellie screwed up her nose and shuddered with revulsion. ‘And wait till he finds out about her getting a dose . . . What a show-up! A right win double!'

Ginny dropped down on to her chair and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to make sense of it all. ‘I know I must sound stupid, Nell, but start again, will you? You're saying Violet's dead, but Bert Varney ain't?'

‘Blimey, you got cloth ears or something?' She puffed irritably on her cigarette.
‘Yes,
Violet's Uncle Ned. And
no,
Bert ain't. Got it? It was all a mistake. He was in a camp, wasn't he. In Japan or somewhere.'

Ginny could hardly take it in. ‘But that Japan business was all over more than six months ago. How could he—'

Nellie threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘I
know,
but he was sick or something, wasn't he. Got transferred to some hospital. With some nuns . . .'

‘How d'you mean?'

Nellie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I dunno, do I. He had this fever thing. Didn't know his arse from his elbow, let alone who he was, or what his name was. But when he got better they sent him home.' She shook her head contemptuously. ‘Bet they were glad to get rid of him, with all his moaning. You know what he's like.'

‘So how did—'

‘And
then
,' she continued, not best pleased at being interrupted – conversations were always more monologues than dialogues as far as Nellie was concerned – ‘when he found out that Violet had mullered herself and she'd sent his oldest kids to the other side of the world to that Africa place, and that his youngest had gone to live with Vi's sister down in Yalding. Well, he led off alarming, didn't he. Bobby got him straight out of the pub and on to the first train down to Kent. Best place for him, if you ask me: surrounded by hop gardens and sheep, and with a bunch of bloody carrot crunchers for neighbours. They won't know no better if he goes doolally, will they? 'Cos they're all a bit funny down there anyway.'

Nellie shifted her bosom with the back of her hand. ‘Must be all that fresh air.' She wrinkled her nose with distaste. ‘Can't do you no good, can it?'

‘Nobody should have to sink as low as she did.' Ginny dropped her chin and stared down at the floor. ‘I should have done more to help her. But you know what she was like. She was so private—'

‘Private?' Nellie spluttered. ‘She was bloody ashamed! Filthy trollop.'

Ginny shook her head in disbelief that so much tragedy could visit just one family. ‘That poor feller.'

‘Who's a poor feller?' someone asked.

Ginny looked up to see Ted standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the jamb.

‘Ted!' Ginny leapt up from the table and ran across the kitchen to him, but he held up his hands to make sure she kept her distance.

‘Mind off, you dozy cow. Can't you see I'm in pain?'

She winced, not at his harsh words, but at the unmistakable, if faint, whiff of scent. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her voice steady, then asked softly, ‘What's wrong, Ted?'

‘I slipped, didn't I? Last night. On the wet stones down the docks. While I was having a trade. I hurt me leg.'

She frowned as she watched Ted hobble over to the table and carefully lower himself on to one of the hard kitchen chairs. It didn't look as though it was his leg that was hurting.

Carelessly, he shoved the bowl, potatoes and peelings to one side and rested his elbows in their place. ‘I couldn't drive, could I. So I had to stay the night with a bloke I was doing the bit of business with.'

She felt relief flood through her. He had stayed at a friend's house. The scent must have been from his wife. Ginny was a past master at convincing herself of anything where Ted was concerned.