Down Daisy Street (9 page)
Alec nodded and stepped back, giving Feather a friendly slap on the rump as he did so. ‘I can’t imagine why Billy didn’t want to farm, but I reckon we’re all different,’ he said sagely. ‘I can’t wait to see Ma’s face when she hears the news, Dad! She’ll be that pleased for you because she knows how you wanted more land.’
By now, they were crossing the yard together and Bob Hewitt caught hold of his son’s sleeve, pulling him to a halt. ‘Don’t you say nothin’ to your ma,’ he hissed urgently. ‘I want to break it to her myself. So just act natural, as if nothin’ had happened, and leave me to find the right moment.’
Alec glanced sideways at his father with a grin. He was not a large man, nor a handsome one, and sometimes it crossed Alec’s mind to wonder why an exceedingly pretty woman like his mother had married a short, square, solid farm worker whose prospects at the time must have seemed poor indeed compared to her other suitors.
Betty Grainger, however, had clearly seen through Bob Hewitt’s plain exterior to the human dynamo beneath. She had once told her son that Bob had literally swept her off her feet. They had met at a hop in the village hall when Betty, who came from a village the other side of Norfolk, had been spending part of her summer holidays with cousins who lived up the coast at Waxham. She had been fourteen at the time and Bob seventeen, but he had not let her youth put him off. He had made a dead set at her, whisking her out during the interval and buying her cherryade and digestive biscuits, since the hall was unlicensed and that was all that was available.
‘Was he a good dancer, Ma?’ Alec had asked, intrigued at the thought of his square and solid parent doing the light fantastic.
His mother had laughed, then blushed. ‘I don’t think he could dance at all,’ she confessed. ‘But he held me very, very tightly and whispered in my ear that I were the prettiest girl he’d ever set eyes on and when we went outside, he – he – well, he kissed me. I’d never been kissed before – ’cept on the cheek, of course – and – and he did
that
awful well. I thought he was the nicest feller I’d ever met and I haven’t changed me mind, not in thirty years.’
that
awful well. I thought he was the nicest feller I’d ever met and I haven’t changed me mind, not in thirty years.’
The two men entered the kitchen and Alec smiled across at his mother, flush-faced and bright-eyed from the warmth of the stove. She was the daughter of an exceedingly successful farmer and had learned, at her mother’s knee as it were, all the tricks of the trade which came in so useful now. Alec acknowledged that, without his mother’s help, Honeywell Farm would not have been the success it was. Old Mrs Grainger, his maternal grandmother, had been a great one for the traditional ‘perks’ of the farmer’s wife. In her large orchard in the west of the county, she had had half a dozen beehives, a company of geese whose large eggs could feed a family, a great many Rhode Island Reds and a kitchen garden which was the envy of the neighbourhood. She borrowed one of the farm workers to do the heavy digging but distrusted the men so far as planting, weeding and harvesting were concerned, and worked in her garden herself, aided by her daughters, Betty and Irene. Irene had deserted the land upon marrying a well-to-do shopkeeper in Stalham. Alec saw his Aunty Irene and Uncle Mark and his three girl cousins quite often, but especially at Christmas, when Aunty Irene exclaimed with pleasure over her Christmas gifts of Hewitt honey, Hewitt goose, plucked and drawn, and a great many apples, neatly wrapped in tissue and handed over in a large box. ‘Enough to last you the winter,’ Betty was apt to say with a comfortable smile, happily receiving the silk stockings for herself, the fine linen handkerchief for Bob and the grand white cotton shirts which Alec wore for best. Alec knew that neither sister envied the other but he sometimes thought there was a certain wistfulness in Aunty Irene’s eyes when Betty and Bob talked of the farm and of the improvements they were making there. But this was no time to be thinking of Christmas, so Alec watched as his father crossed the room and rumpled his wife’s dark red curls, then gave her a peck on the cheek before asking whether supper would be long.
‘Ten minutes,’ Betty Hewitt said briefly. ‘Thass a warm evening so you can wash under the pump, the pair of you.’ She handed her husband a bar of red soap and a thin, striped towel and the two men returned to the yard, grinning ruefully at each other. ‘That’s no manner o’ use tellin’ your ma that I’ve bin to market in the pony cart, like a gentleman, an’ not dirtied my hands all day,’ Bob Hewitt said, casting his cap and jacket on to the wooden bench by the pump and beginning to roll up the sleeves of his best blue shirt. ‘If I were a bank manager, I reckon she’d have me strippin’ off an’ scrubbin’ myself afore she’d let me get at my grub. As for tellin’ my news, there’s no chance of that until we’re set down at the table with the food in front of us.’
‘I reckon you’re right,’ Alec agreed, vigorously wielding the pump handle. ‘Mind, she don’t know it were me what rubbed Feather down, and before that I were milkin’, so I suppose she’ve got a point. Anyway, I like cleanin’ down before we have our evenin’ meal. It’s a sign, like, that work’s over for the day.’
Presently, the two men went indoors to find the table already laid and food steaming on three plates. There was cabbage, boiled beef and carrots and some of the new potatoes that Alec had dug earlier in the day. Patch, Cherry and Loopy were circling the table anxiously but none of them made any attempt to touch the food on the plates. For one thing, it was far too hot, and for another, bitter experience had taught them that if they misbehaved and tried to steal food which was not in their dishes they would go hungry later. Instead, they sat down at a discreet distance from the table, eyes bright with anticipation and tongues lolling. Soon enough, they knew, when the family had finished their meal, their turn would come.
With his mind still very much on the Browns and the acquisition of Mere Farm, Alec had to be very firm with himself not to refer to the matter until his father had broken the news. His mother glanced at her son’s empty plate. ‘Ready for some suet puddin’?’
Alec admitted that he was and, as soon as they had all been served, heard his father clear his throat portentously. ‘I got a bit of news for you, Bet,’ he said, fixing his eyes on his pudding plate. ‘I went into the estate office this mornin’ and had a chinwag with Mr Mathews, the agent, and the upshot of it was . . .’
Chapter FourSummer 1936
On the last day of term, Kathy came home with a heavy satchel full of holiday tasks but a light heart. This would be her first really long holiday since she had started at the high school, and though she had agreed with her mother that she would have to do paid work of some sort, she still intended to make the most of her free time. A great many girls of her age managed to do work in some capacity or another because folk took holidays, and whilst the Woolworths’ girls were off on their annual trip to the Isle of Man somebody had to do their work.
Jane meant to work too, since Tilly would take the responsibility for the younger kids, but, like Kathy, she intended to have some time to herself. She had suggested the previous day that she and Kathy should job hunt together; if they did that there was always a chance, albeit a slender one, that they might actually be employed by the same shop or office.
Kathy glanced hopefully up the road ahead of her. It had rained lightly, but persistently, all day, and then at three o’clock the clouds had parted as if by magic and the sun had appeared. Now it shone on the wet pavements and the puddles reflected the blue of the sky. It was a good omen, Kathy decided, for the weeks ahead. She had hoped that Jane might come and meet her since Daisy Street School had broken up a couple of days previously, but it looked as though her walk was to be a solitary one. Never mind, Kathy told herself, you’ve always liked thinking time and you won’t have much once you’re in a job, so make the most of it, girl. Think about the holiday you, Mam and Billy will have come August, because Mam was taking a whole week off and even though she doubted that they could afford to go away she meant to take them for days out.
Just as Kathy’s mind was beginning to dwell deliciously on the prospect of a coach trip to Rhyl or a railway journey to Southport, she saw a familiar figure coming towards her, pushing the big, old-fashioned black pram. Immediately all thoughts of holidays were banished. Dear Jane. Trust her pal to remember her and come to meet her! Since she had the kids with her, she was probably also doing her mam’s messages but that didn’t worry Kathy in the least. Her mam had left her a list this morning and now she fished it out of her blazer pocket and studied it doubtfully. The trouble was, she had no money with which to buy the goods her mother needed; still, perhaps Jane might be willing to turn back to Daisy Street, and if not, then Kathy would just have to do her own messages later. After all, she must pick Billy up from Mrs Hughes on time for that lady had become a little difficult lately. When Kathy had called for Billy, Mrs Hughes had prowled around muttering, starting sentences and then failing to finish them, saying darkly that she really ought to have a word with Mrs Kelling when she had time. Kathy had imagined that Mrs Hughes wanted to put her baby-minding rates up since young Billy, at three, was quite a handful and ate proper meals, but as yet Mrs Hughes had not found the time to argue her case, so things went on as before.
When Jane pulled the pram up alongside, however, Kathy saw that Billy was already aboard. He had jam round his mouth and a good deal of dirt smeared across his cheeks, but when she bent to give him a kiss he responded immediately by throwing both arms round her neck and demanding that he be given a piggy-back.
‘No, no, little feller, you stay in the pram with Tommy,’ Kathy said, gently disengaging herself. She turned to Jane. ‘It were kind of you to fetch Billy for me, queen. Are you getting messages? I’ve gorra list but no money so if you don’t mind I’d best nip back home. Mam’s left the money on the mantelpiece in the old brown purse, so I won’t be more’n five minutes. You can wait for me here, if you like.’
‘No, I’ll walk back wi’ you,’ Jane said companionably, turning the pram and falling into step with her friend. ‘And I didn’t go and fetch Billy. Mrs Hughes brought him round at dinnertime. She said she had give him his dinner but couldn’t keep him no longer.’
‘Oh? What’s gone wrong
this
time?’ Kathy said, remembering with foreboding the only other time that Mrs Hughes had dumped her charge on the O’Briens. ‘Don’t say one o’ the other kids has gorris tooth knocked out!’
this
time?’ Kathy said, remembering with foreboding the only other time that Mrs Hughes had dumped her charge on the O’Briens. ‘Don’t say one o’ the other kids has gorris tooth knocked out!’
‘No, it were nothing like that,’ Jane said. ‘I dunno as Billy – or any of the others – were in trouble. It’s just . . . oh dear. The fact is, Kathy, Mrs Hughes don’t want to babysit for your Billy no more.’
‘Wha-a-at?’ Kathy said, genuinely astonished. She had thought Mrs Hughes’s attitude had changed of late but had never, in her wildest nightmares, thought that the elderly woman would decide to stop child minding. ‘Is she – is she retiring then? Oh, Gawd, Jane, whatever will we do? After what happened last time, I dare not ask you if your Tilly could give an eye to him while Mam and I are working. There are other child minders, but Billy don’t know ’em. There’s Mrs Frayme on Snowdrop Street; she child minds, I know, and she might take young Billy on.’
‘Well, you could ask,’ Jane said as they turned into Daisy Street. ‘The thing is, queen, Mrs Hughes says – well, she says Billy worries her. She – she don’t think he’s completely over the accident yet. She says he’s too much responsibility for a woman what’s lookin’ after half a dozen little ’uns. Needs too much attention,’ she finished, rather lamely.
Kathy was about to reply hotly that Billy was no more trouble than any other little boy of three, but realised Jane was only repeating what she had been told. No doubt Mrs Hughes had her reasons, and whatever they were, she and her mam would have to tackle them together. But there was no need, at this stage, to involve Jane. Kathy was fond of Tilly and thought her sensible and responsible but knew Mrs Kelling would never agree to let Billy stay with the O’Briens, or not for long periods at any rate. Still, Mrs Hughes’s ultimatum had come at a good time with the school holiday stretching ahead. Kathy could cope with Billy for a few days and it would surely take no more than that to find a suitable child minder.
She said as much to Jane as they went down the jigger and entered the Kellings’ small back yard. Jane agreed, and presently Kathy abandoned her school satchel on the kitchen table, stuffed her mother’s purse into her pocket and went out into the yard once more, shutting and locking the door behind her and replacing the key in its hiding place above the lintel. Billy and Tommy were indulging in an argument over a large piece of orange peel which they appeared to have discovered in the bottom of the pram, and Jane was just telling them to leave it alone, or she would abandon them to Tilly and the other children, when Billy’s head tipped back and his eyes rolled up until only the whites showed. His small body went stiff and he began to utter peculiar grunting sounds whilst foaming saliva ran down his chin in a glistening flood.
‘Billy!’ Kathy screamed. She tried to pull him into her arms but he was spasming and quivering so hard that she let him lie back in the pram once more, afraid that if she picked him up he might jerk free of her and land on the ground. ‘Billy! What on earth’s the matter with you? Come on, chuck, it’s only a piece of orange peel. You come to Kathy and I’ll give you that piggy-back, honest to God I will.’
She went to pick Billy up once more but Jane pulled her back. ‘He’s havin’ some sort of fit,’ she said quietly. ‘Best put him on his side and hold him; I dare say he’ll be right as rain in a minute.’ She whipped Tommy out of the pram as she spoke and Kathy began to struggle to turn Billy on to his side, but this proved impossible since he was stiff as a board yet still jerking like a landed salmon.
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