Sins of the Father

Sins of the Father Kitty Neale Emma Chambers has an way out of the poverty-stricken life she lives – but it might just destroy her to take it…The gritty new tale from the bestselling author of NOBODY’S GIRL.DESPERATE…Left to raise eight siblings after her mother's death, 17-year-old Emma Chambers faces a daily battle with hunger and her father's drunken rages.Until she is offered a way out. If she marries landlord Horace Bell - twenty years her senior - Emma can swap abject poverty for comfort.DEGRADED…But Horace soon reveals his true, sadistic colours. Emma is thankful when he eventually abandons her - until she realises she is again penniless and in peril.A chance meeting plants an idea in her mind. All her life, men have taken advantage of her. Now it's time to turn the tables.IN DANGER…Years later, and Emma has built up a successful business on South London's meanest streets. But then tragedy strikes - and it becomes clear that someone has been watching Emma, intent on revenge… KITTY NEALE Sins of the Father Copyright (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) Published by Avon an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016 First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2008 Copyright © Kitty Neale 2008 Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016 Cover photographs: Getty Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9781847563491 Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780007334940 Version: 2016-04-13 Dedication (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) For Ann Jones, a dear friend who speaks with the wisdom of angels. To me she is more than a friend. She is a kindred spirit, who, despite time and distance, is always in my heart. This one is for you, Ann, with all my love. Contents Cover (#ucb599583-dc4a-53e5-9b6b-d4e0bcc07369) Title Page (#ue5a47139-dae8-5440-9042-4e1e09dd6589) Copyright Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Keep Reading … Author’s Note Acknowledgments About the Author By the same author About the Publisher Prologue (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) The woman stood outside the train station, a leaflet held out in appeal, whilst a high wind fought to snatch it from her hand. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘have you seen this little girl?’ As had so many others, the man ignored her plea, brushing her aside as he hurried past. Rain began to fall, small spatters at first, but as heavy clouds gathered it became heavier, soon soaking both her hair and clothes. It didn’t stop the woman. Nothing would. Clasping the rest of the leaflets close to her chest, she tottered forward, thrusting one towards a young woman emerging from the station wearing a straight red skirt and pointy-toed shoes. ‘Please, have you seen this little girl?’ The woman took it, her eyes showing sympathy as she said, ‘Sorry, no.’ ‘Please, look again.’ The young lady lowered her eyes to the picture, but then, needing both hands to open her umbrella, she shook her head, the picture falling onto the wet pavement. She wrestled the wind to keep the umbrella over her head, her grip tight and knuckles white as she bustled away. The woman watched her for a moment, but then her eyes came to rest on the leaflet lying wet and forlorn on the pavement. A gasp escaped her lips. The eyes of her child seemed to gaze back at her, rain spattering the picture as though tears on her cheeks. She shivered with fear, vowing silently, Oh God, I have to find you–I have to. She straightened her shoulders, desperation and determination in her stance. Another train disgorged its passengers, and as they streamed from the station she saw a tide of faces. Hand held out, she once again proffered her leaflets. It was dark before she gave up, uncaring that she was soaked to the skin and almost dead on her feet as she trudged home. The house felt empty, desolate, as she walked inside, the plush d?cor meaning nothing to her now. She was alone. They had all gone, but it didn’t matter. The only one she cared about was her daughter. With hair dripping onto thick, red carpet and wet tendrils clinging to her face, she wearily climbed the stairs to her bedroom, peeling off sopping clothes before throwing on a pink, quilted dressing gown. Tears now rolling down her cheeks, she flung herself onto the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. It had been three months and she feared the police had given up, but she wouldn’t. She would die first and, if anything, death would be welcome. It was her fault, she knew that. A sob escaped her lips. Money had become her god, but the means of procuring it had put her little girl in danger. Her stomach churned, as a wave of fear overwhelmed her. Something dreadful had happened to her child. Why had she let money become an obsession? It had begun in childhood–and her iron will had grown from the desperation to lead a different life from the one her mother had suffered. But there was more to it than that. It was also men! Her need to make them pay–her need for revenge. And they had paid, and she had made her fortune, but at what cost? Oh, my baby! My baby! The money was meaningless now. She’d burned it all, given up every last penny, but still they hadn’t found her daughter. What more do you want from me? her mind cried, eyes heavenward. She sobbed, unable to stand the fears that plagued her. She forced her thoughts in another direction. To the past, and to where it had all begun. Chapter One (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) Emma Chambers pulled the threadbare blanket up to her chin, only to have one of her three sisters tug it back. The attic room was freezing. In the far corner was another straw-filled mattress, this one crammed with her four brothers. One of them turned over, breaking wind loudly, whilst another, the eldest, snored sonorously. The house stirred, awakened from its slumber. Faint sounds reached Emma’s ears: a door closing, a cough, and then the sound of creaking rungs as her father climbed the ladder. Through the piece of material slung across the attic to divide children from parents she heard her mother’s soft groan and sensed her dread. At sixteen years old and living with little privacy, Emma had no illusions. Her father was drunk, his feet stumbling on the rungs, and that meant the scant money he may have earned as a builder’s labourer had already lined the local publican’s pocket. The King’s Arms stood on the corner of their street in Battersea, South London, acting as a magnet for her father. It was rare that he was able to pass it without going inside. There was more noise now, impatient curses as he finally made it through the small, square opening, his footfalls clumping across the wooden planks. Then came the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he flung them off, followed by the swish of clothing. Emma tensed, fearing for her mother, and shortly afterwards the nightly argument began. ‘Come on, woman!’ ‘No, Tom.’ The sound of a slap, a sob, and then his harsh voice: ‘You’re my wife.’ ‘The baby’s nearly due. Can’t you leave me in peace?’ ‘Leave it out, you’ve weeks to go yet. Now come on, Myra, lift your nightdress.’ ‘I don’t feel well. Can’t you do without for one night?’ ‘No, I bloody well can’t.’ It started then, the grunts, the groans. Emma wanted to scream, to run round to her parents’ side of the attic and drag her father away from her mother. He was an animal, a pig, but she knew from past experience that it would only make things worse. Better to do nothing, to just pray that it would be over quickly and that her mother would be all right. Emma held her hands over her ears, hating the sounds, and as one of her sisters turned over, she found herself without coverings again. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. There had been only cabbage soup for dinner, and so it wasn’t surprising when one of her brothers loudly broke wind again. Food had preoccupied Emma’s thoughts more than anything during the past week, but the thought of her dad’s pay packet today had cheered her up. Now, though, there’d be no bread to supplement their meagre diet, and though she tried to still it, hate surged through her–hate for what her father had become. Emma fidgeted again, trying to find comfort on the lumpy old mattress whilst wondering what had happened to the father she had known before the war. Yes, he’d been taciturn, but he’d also been loving, with an innate kindness. She could remember sitting on his knee, his affectionate cuddles, but the man who’d returned after the war, though looking the same, was a stranger–one who was short-tempered, hard and embittered. A chink of moonlight spilled through a small hole in the roof, one that let in rain, and Emma frowned. They hadn’t always lived here. Before the war their home had been several streets away, in a comfortable if not large house, where at least her parents had a separate bedroom. The front door had opened straight on to the pavement and she had fond memories of playing with her friends, chalking numbers on the paving slabs for games of hopscotch. The war had changed everything. At first they’d been fine, children untouched by the distant fighting, but gradually the air raids had started to hit London, increasing in frequency until it seemed that bombs fell night and day. Many of Emma’s friends had been evacuated to the countryside but a few remained, her special friend next door, Lorraine, among them. One morning they returned from the bomb shelter to find her friend’s house flattened, and theirs so badly damaged that it was too dangerous to go inside. All that remained of the wrecked house was the staircase, leaning from the adjoining wall, the steps now leading up to open sky. They had stood, mouths agape, too shocked at first even to cry. It was the last time Emma saw her friend, the family going to live with Lorraine’s grandparents in another borough. Unlike us, Emma thought. Her mother’s parents had died, and her father’s now lived in a tiny one-bedroom flat, a reserved old couple that they rarely saw. There were aunts, but they had moved away from London at the start of the war. Emma recalled her mother’s distress because they had no one to take them in. With so much property destroyed, accommodation had been hard to find, but then they’d been offered this attic flat, and, with no other option, her mother had taken it. Still uncomfortable, Emma shifted on the mattress. Some people had profited by the war, their landlord amongst them. He’d been clever, buying up property when it was cheap, willing to take the risk that the building would remain standing. This house, and others in the street, had originally been divided into two flats, but the landlord had converted the attics to shoehorn in as many families as he could, raking in extra rent. She knew her mother had expected to live here only as a stopgap and planned to move as soon as something better became available, but then the war ended, her father’s army pay ending with it when he was demobbed. If he’d returned the same man, they would have been all right, but now he drank heavily, lost job after job, and here they remained, the rent sometimes unpaid and on catch-up, her mother’s dream of a nicer home unfulfilled. Emma’s stomach growled with hunger again. Huh, they’d been better off when her father was away. At least his army pay had been regular, but now… There was a loud groan, a familiar one. Sighing with relief, Emma knew that her father had finished. She yanked on the blanket again, snuggled closer to her sister for warmth and, knowing that her mother was now safe, she finally fell asleep. Emma found herself the first awake. As quietly as possible, she crawled from the mattress, but as soon as she left the warmth of her sisters’ bodies her teeth began to chatter. God, it was freezing! She moved to the ladder, climbed down to the room below and, after lighting a candle, she cupped the flame as she hurried downstairs to the middle landing. There was only one toilet, shared by all three tenants in the tall, dilapidated house. Alice Moon and her husband lived on this floor, but there was no sound from their rooms. Pleased to find the smelly toilet free, Emma was soon hurrying back to the top-floor flat. She kneeled in front of the hearth, lighting what little kindling they had, soon holding out her hands greedily to the tongues of flame that licked merrily up the chimney. For a moment she was mesmerised by the sight, but then, with an impatient shake of her head, she covered the flames with a few lumps of wood that Dick, her eldest brother, had procured from somewhere. There were nuggets of coke left, again obtained by Dick and, fearing they were stolen, Emma hastily shovelled them on top of the smouldering wood as if this small act could protect her brother. She frowned, knowing that though she shouldn’t encourage him, unless Dick was again lucky in his gatherings there was little chance of getting more fuel. What sort of man had their father become? What sort of man let his wife and children go hungry and cold whilst he poured ale down his throat? When the fire was a manageable glow, Emma hung the kettle over it to boil, her mouth drooping despondently. Her mother loved a cup of tea, saying there was nothing like it to perk her up, but there was none left. As though it were her own, Emma felt her mum’s disappointment. Stretching her arm up to the rafters, Emma took down a bundle of dried nettles and, as the kettle boiled, she made the infusion, just in time to see her mother’s swollen legs coming down the ladder. Myra smiled as Emma gave her the tin mug, her hands wrapping round it in pleasure. ‘You’re a good girl.’ As her mother lowered herself onto a stool, her stomach looked huge and cumbersome. Yet the rest of her was thin, too thin, her arms and legs like sticks. She was only in her mid-thirties, yet she appeared old and worn beyond her years. In the flickering candlelight, Emma saw her grimace of pain. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ ‘Stop fretting, I’m fine,’ she said, taking a sip of the nettle tea. ‘Do you think there’s any money left?’ ‘I looked in his pockets before coming down and found none.’ ‘How could he?’ ‘That’s enough! It isn’t your place to question what your father does. You know as well as I do that he hasn’t been the same since coming home from the war. He had a terrible time and it changed him.’ ‘Mum, you can’t keep using that as an excuse! It’s been three years and he rarely has nightmares now. If you ask me, he should count himself lucky. At least he’s in one piece, which is more than you can say for Mr Munnings next door.’ ‘Enough, Emma! I know you’ll soon be seventeen, but you’re getting too big for your boots lately and talking about things you don’t understand.’ Emma hung her head, her face hidden by her long, wavy blonde hair as she mumbled, ‘If he’s blown his money on booze again, what are we supposed to do for food? The rent is overdue too, and I can’t see the landlord being fobbed off anymore.’ ‘You always worry too much. We’ve managed before and we’ll manage again. We’ve still got some potatoes, and perhaps Dick will earn a few bob on the market today.’ ‘Without flour there’ll be no bread.’ ‘Then we’ll do without. Now come on, buck up. And talking of potatoes, you can peel some spuds and I’ll fry them for breakfast.’ Emma did as she was told, finding as she dug in the nearly empty sack that most were sprouting roots and had turned spongy with age. She sorted out the best of them and, with her hands in the sink turning blue in the ice-cold water, she surreptitiously watched her mother. There was another small grimace of pain that she tried to hide, but Emma saw it and suspected the baby was coming. This would be her mother’s ninth child, and it had been a difficult pregnancy, one that seemed to drain her of energy. The racket overhead started then, the sound of her siblings waking, squabbling, and then her father’s voice rang out. ‘Shut that fucking noise!’ There was instant quiet for a moment, but then one by one they came down the ladder. First to emerge was Dick, the eldest boy at fourteen years old. In his arms and clinging to his neck like a little monkey, he held the youngest boy, Archie, who at two hero-worshipped his big brother. Next came thirteen-year-old Luke, the quietest of them, a thoughtful, introverted boy, always the odd one out. He was handsome, almost beautiful, and his pale, blue eyes seemed to hold a strange, deep knowledge. There had been odd occasions when Luke had unnerved them, once predicting that their mother was carrying a boy, and as though he had the ability to see into the future, he had told them in advance when their father was arriving home from the war. Emma loved Luke dearly and he was her favourite brother. He was followed down the ladder by eleven-year-old Susan, and then there was a lull. ‘Where are the others?’ Myra asked. ‘Still asleep,’ said nine-year-old Bella, the last to appear, clutching her peg doll and pretty as a picture with blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Ann, at six years, along with three-year-old James, had arrived after their father had been given leave during the war. They were always the last up every morning, but they’d show their faces as soon as the smell of food wafted into the attic. All the children made for the fire, pushing and shoving each other to get close, whilst Myra smiled serenely at her brood. She had a look about her; one that Emma was familiar with, a look that always preceded labour. ‘Come on, Em, get a move on with those potatoes,’ her mother said. ‘They’re ready.’ After carefully slicing them, Emma got between her siblings to place the frying pan on the fire, adding, ‘Get dressed, you lot, or you’ll get no breakfast.’ There was grumbling, but all except Dick did her bidding. As the eldest boy, Dick thought himself too old to be given orders, but now, seeing how pale his mother looked, he lifted up Archie, saying with a frown, ‘I’ll see to this one.’ ‘You’re a good boy,’ Myra said, but then with a small cry she bent forward, arms clutched around her stomach. ‘Mum! Mum! What’s wrong?’ Dick cried. ‘I…I think the baby’s coming,’ she gasped, but then, after taking a few deep breaths, she managed to straighten, her eyes encompassing them all. ‘It’ll be a while yet so there’s no need to look so worried. In the meantime, Emma, you’d best get the kids fed. And you, Dick, be prepared to take them out for a while later, and…’ Her voice died as she bent forward again, this time unable to suppress a scream. Emma’s face blanched. She’d seen her mother in labour before, and had even watched some of her siblings being born, but this time she knew it was different. ‘Mum, what is it? What’s the matter?’ ‘I dunno.’ Despite the freezing room, perspiration beaded Myra’s brow. ‘Oh, God!’ she suddenly cried. ‘Quick, Emma, run downstairs and fetch Alice!’ Emma fled the room, almost falling down the stairs in her haste. She hammered on Alice Moon’s door. Come on! Come on, her mind screamed as she hopped about in anxiety, relieved when at last the woman appeared. ‘Please, come quick, it’s my mum.’ ‘Stone the crows,’ Alice said, her voice thick with sleep, ‘what’s all the fuss about?’ ‘Mum’s in labour, but something’s wrong. She’s screaming, Alice!’ At last the urgency in Emma’s voice registered and Alice’s sleepy eyes cleared. Shoving Emma aside, she rushed upstairs, oblivious to the fact that she was still in her long flannel nightgown. Alice Moon took over. She urged the children out, sending them down to her flat with Dick in charge, and unceremoniously got Tom Chambers up to help his wife back to their attic bed. For three hours Emma crouched beside the mattress, her hand numb with pain from her mother’s fierce grip, and her legs cramped whilst Alice tried to help with the birth. ‘Myra, I’m sorry, love, but I’ve got to have another go at turning it.’ There was no reply, just a groan, and Emma’s heart thudded with fear. The last time Alice had tried this, her mother’s screams had been horrendous. Please, she willed, please let it work this time. Alice bent to her task, her face grave, and then the screams rose again, echoing in the rafters. ‘No! No! Don’t,’ Myra cried. Alice shook her head in despair. ‘Tom!’ she yelled. His head appeared at the top of the ladder. ‘What do you want now?’ Alice stood up and, though she spoke quietly, Emma heard every word. ‘She’s bad, Tom, real bad. You’d better get the doctor.’ ‘Leave it out, woman! She’ll be all right. You’ve birthed the last three kids and there’s never been a problem.’ ‘For God’s sake, man, will you listen to me! It’s a breech birth and I can’t turn the baby. She needs help, she needs the doctor.’ ‘He won’t come without his fee.’ ‘For Christ’s sake, Tom, wake up! You don’t have to pay the doctor now, not since this National Health Service was introduced. Now get a move on or you could lose your wife. I don’t care how you do it–bloody drag him here if you have to–but get him.’ Emma didn’t hear her father’s reply. Her eyes were wide with horror. Blood was pumping from her mother’s womb, soaking the mattress. ‘Alice! Alice!’ The woman turned at her cry. ‘Christ, she’s haemorrhaging. Quick, Tom, before it’s too late!’ But it was too late. By the time a disgruntled doctor climbed the ladder, Myra Chambers and her baby were dead. Emma was still sitting by her mother, refusing to accept that she was gone, and only when her father touched her shoulder did she react. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she yelled. ‘This is your fault! Why couldn’t you leave her alone? She’d still be alive if you hadn’t filled her belly again!’ Emma cringed then, braced for a clout. She had dared to speak up, to shout at her father, but instead he stared at her, white-faced, his eyes avoiding the lifeless body of his wife, and beside her the baby, pitifully small and wrapped in a rag. ‘You…you…’ he spluttered, but then his body seemed to fold. He staggered across the attic, then clambered down the ladder. Still Emma didn’t move, Alice unable to cajole her away. It was only when Dick came to her side, crouching down and placing an arm around her shoulder, that she broke. The anger seeped away to be replaced by a surge of grief that almost choked her. She sobbed, and turning, clutched Dick, finding that his tears mingled with her own. ‘Come on, Em,’ Dick urged. ‘Alice needs to see to Mum.’ Emma dashed tears away with the heel of her hand, but looking at the poor worn-out body of her mother, anger arose again. ‘He killed her, Dick.’ ‘Don’t be daft, Em. Alice said that by the time the doctor got here it was too late.’ ‘I’m not talking about the doctor. It was Dad who killed her.’ ‘You’re talking rot. Of course he didn’t.’ Emma was too emotionally drained to argue. She forced herself to her feet, cramped legs screaming with pain, and with a last look at her beloved mother, she allowed Dick to lead her away. ‘You’ll have to tell the kids, Emma,’ Tom Chambers said as Emma climbed down the ladder. She looked at her father’s red face, crumpled in grief but, instead of sympathy, she felt nothing but contempt. ‘Why me?’ ‘It’ll be better coming from you.’ Anger still stemmed her grief and, unable to bear the sight of his face, Emma left the room, slamming the door behind her as she went down to the middle landing. For a moment she paused outside Alice’s door, her temper diminishing as she wondered how to tell her brothers and sisters. Somehow she had to hold herself together for their sakes. Taking a great gulp of air, Emma went inside. ‘Has the baby been borned?’ asked Bella. ‘Is it a girl, Emma? I hope it’s a girl.’ ‘What’s up, Em?’ Luke asked, eyes perceptive as he studied her face. Luke the quiet one, the intelligent one, so sensitive that their mother always said he was like a cuckoo in her nest. At that thought, a sob arose that Emma was unable to stifle and, holding her hand across her mouth, she looked wildly across the room at Alice. ‘Shall I tell them, love?’ the woman asked gently. For a moment Emma was tempted, but then Luke was by her side, his soft eyes now wide with fear. ‘I knew when Alice came to fetch Dick that something was wrong. What is it? Is Mum all right?’ Emma could only shake her head, but Luke immediately realised the implications, his face blanching. ‘Why didn’t I see this coming?’ Unable to answer, Emma’s eyes flicked around the room at the others all looking at her worriedly. God, how was she supposed to tell them? How could she break the awful news that both their mother and the baby brother had died? Only little Archie seemed oblivious, absorbed as he gnawed on a crust of bread. Emma crossed the room and, sitting down, she pulled James onto her lap, beckoning the others to her side. With her eyes heavenward for a moment she prayed for inspiration, but her mind remained blank. ‘Why is Luke crying?’ Susan asked. Emma looked at Susan, poor plain Susan, who always seemed to have a runny nose and caked eyes. She was the sickly one, lacking the resilience of her siblings, and, like all of them, as thin as a rake. Susan’s bony knees showed beneath a threadbare skirt as she moved closer. Taking her hand, Emma struggled to answer her question. ‘Luke’s crying because…because…’ It was no good, the words wouldn’t come, and once again Emma’s eyes flew to Alice. With a small, sad shake of her head, Alice took a deep breath. ‘Listen, pets, I’m afraid your mother and the new baby have gone to heaven. They’re with the angels now.’ Susan was the first to speak, her voice high. ‘You mean…you mean our mum’s dead?’ ‘Yes, love, I’m afraid so,’ Alice said. A loud cry pierced the air and, as all eyes went to Bella, Alice quickly drew the child into her arms. Susan too began to cry, and it was Luke who comforted her, whilst Emma struggled to answer Ann’s questions. ‘What does she mean, Em? What’s dead?’ ‘Mummy was ill and she didn’t get better.’ ‘What? Like Mrs Dunston’s dog?’ The Dunstons lived on the ground floor, the only ones to have use of a small garden at the back of the house. ‘Yes, love, that’s right.’ ‘They buried him in the garden. Is that what they’ll do with our mum? I don’t want them to do that to our mum,’ she cried, tears filling her eyes. ‘They won’t, darling.’ James suddenly squirmed on her lap, and looking at everyone with obvious bewilderment, he too began to cry. ‘Want my mummy. Want Mummy.’ It was too much for Emma, her tears spurting as she pulled James close. For several minutes they remained like that, clutching each other and crying, none of them aware that little Archie was sobbing too, obviously affected by their grief. The door opened. Dick came into the room and immediately swept the toddler up into his arms. ‘It’s all right, Archie. It’s all right,’ he consoled. Many minutes passed, but at last their tears subsided. They were still clinging to each other, until Alice gently pushed Bella away, patting her head as she said, ‘I’m sorry, pet, but I’d best go back upstairs. You lot stay here for a while, and if you’re hungry there’s more bread and a pot of jam in the larder.’ Food, Emma thought, feeling sick at the thought, but then James squirmed in her lap again. ‘Want jam,’ he said. Emma wiped his snotty nose before standing up to place him in her seat. She then went to the larder, but as she cut several slices of bread, her eyes alighted on a newspaper lying on the table. Just below the banner she saw the date, 7 December 1948, and knew it would be etched on her mind for ever. It was the day their mother had died, their cornerstone was gone, their lives changed. What was going to happen to them now? The thought forced its way to the front of her mind. The task of looking after her brothers and sisters would fall to her now. Oh Mum, how am I going to cope? Chapter Two (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) On a balmy Sunday morning in June, Alice Moon sat quietly across from her husband, the words she had rehearsed sticking in her throat. Would he agree? God, she hoped so. They had a strong marriage, and she was thankful every day that Cyril had been demobbed in 1945 without a scratch to show for the years of fighting. Oh, it had been awful without him, and many times she had feared for her own life as bombs rained down on London. Like Myra, she had refused to leave, but felt the children should have been evacuated. Instead, when Myra moved into the attic, Alice had spent night after night helping her to get the kids up when the warning sirens pierced the air, all of them half asleep as they hurried to the nearest shelter. It sometimes felt like a miracle that they’d all survived when so many houses and factories in the area had been flattened. Alice shuddered at the memories, glad they hadn’t ever had to shelter in an underground station, as many people had during the raids. In Balham it had been dreadful, and she was still haunted by what happened in 1940. A high-explosive bomb hit Balham High Road, penetrating the booking hall at the underground station. It had ruptured a large water main, along with the sewer, causing water, mud and gravel to pour down the stairs onto the platform, where about five hundred people were sheltering. Her friend Doreen Broker had been killed, along with sixty-four other poor souls. Who’d have thought the war would last so long? Cyril had only been on home leave twice in six years. It had been the same for Tom Chambers, but Myra had been lucky, Tom leaving her pregnant on both occasions. Tears welled in her eyes. Lucky! How could she think that? The poor woman was dead now, and those kids left without a mother. Surreptitiously wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron, she took a deep breath, hoping against hope that she could do something for at least two of them. ‘Cyril.’ He looked up from his newspaper, expression impatient. Cyril’s time on the Sunday morning crossword was sacrosanct and she’d disrupted his concentration. ‘What?’ Now that she had his attention, Alice was determined to plough on. ‘I’m worried about poor Emma.’ ‘What? Emma upstairs?’ ‘Who else do we know called Emma?’ Alice asked. Not waiting for a reply, she added, ‘She’s not coping with the kids.’ ‘Well, that ain’t surprising. Bloody hell, seven of them, and noisy little sods they are too!’ ‘That’s just it. I think she could manage the older ones, but little Archie is nearly three now and James four. They’re too much of a handful for her.’ Cyril shrugged, his eyes going back to his newspaper. ‘They’ll soon grow up and join the others at school.’ Alice stiffened, determined to keep his attention. ‘Tom Chambers isn’t any help. When he’s not at work, he’s in the pub and rolls home drunk all hours.’ ‘Have a heart, Alice. The man’s just lost his wife.’ ‘Huh! He’s been like it since he was demobbed. As for losing Myra, it’s been six months now, and if you ask me, things can’t go on the way they are.’ ‘He had a rough time of it, and Tom’s one of many who can’t pick up the pieces. Anyway, I reckon you should keep your nose out of it. What goes on upstairs is none of our business.’ ‘Myra was my best friend, and for that reason I think it is my business. I’ve been trying to help Emma as much as I can. In fact, to give her a break so she can keep up with the housework and laundry, I’ve been looking after Archie and James for a few hours every day, but it’s rotten for her in the evenings too. She never gets the chance to go out with her friends now, and from what she’s told me, they’ve all drifted away.’ ‘I don’t see why the older lads can’t look after the younger ones now and then.’ ‘Since when have lads taken on babysitting?’ Cyril pursed his lips. ‘Well, it’s good of you to help her out, but I hope you’re not suggesting babysitting in the evenings.’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘Good, and don’t go wearing yourself out looking after Archie and James during the day.’ On that note he seemed to lose interest, his eyes going back to his crossword. ‘Cyril Moon! I’m not an old woman! I’m only thirty-eight and quite capable of looking after a couple of kids. In fact, I enjoy it.’ ‘All right, there’s no need to shout.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I want to put something to you and I’m all of a dither.’ His head tipped to one side, brow creased. ‘Well, you’d best spit it out.’ ‘It’s like this. You see, I’ve been thinking…’ She hesitated, trying to find the words. ‘Go on.’ With a spurt, Alice said, ‘You know I love kids, Cyril, but we ain’t been lucky, have we? We’ve tried and tried, and though the doctor said there’s no reason why I can’t fall, well, it hasn’t happened.’ ‘We needn’t give up, and anyway, it’s fun trying,’ he said, winking lewdly. Alice had to smile, but then her face straightened. ‘Cyril, fun or not, we’ve been married fifteen years and it’s time we faced the facts. We’re never going to have kids of our own.’ His lips pursed. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right, but never mind, love. We’ve still got each other.’ ‘I know we have, but as I said, I’ve been looking after little Archie and James, and I’ve grown very fond of them. I…I was wondering if we could take them on.’ ‘Take them on! What do you mean? Surely you’re not talking about adoption?’ ‘Well, not right away, but maybe later, if they settle with us.’ ‘No!’ he said emphatically. ‘I don’t fancy taking on another bloke’s kids.’ ‘Please, Cyril.’ ‘No, and that’s final!’ At his tone, her expression became a contrived one of despair. ‘Alice, don’t look at me like that. Surely you don’t seriously expect me to take on Tom’s little brats?’ ‘They aren’t brats!’ Alice cried, jumping to her feet. ‘They’re lovely little boys who need love, attention, and a stable home. We can give them that!’ Cyril voice hardened. ‘Pack it in, Alice. Doing your nut ain’t gonna make any difference. I said no, and that’s that.’ Alice flopped back onto her chair and, throwing up her apron to cover her face, she began to cry, sobs shaking her shoulders. She should have known he wouldn’t agree, but as minutes passed, a hand touched her shoulder. ‘Come on, don’t take on so. Surely it doesn’t mean that much to you?’ ‘Oh, Cyril, you have no idea how much I’ve longed for a baby, ached to hold our son or daughter in my arms. It’s never going to be, but whilst looking after the boys I really have come to love them. Archie is like a little monkey, and likes nothing better than to be cuddled. He used to latch on to Dick, but now that the boy’s working, he’s turned to me. James is cheeky, but not in a bad way, and he’s gorgeous, with his blond hair and grey eyes.’ ‘Dick! Working? This is the first I’ve heard of it.’ Alice mopped her eyes. ‘He was fifteen in March and has got himself a job on the market, working on Charlie Roper’s stall.’ ‘Has he now? Well, he’ll do all right with Charlie, but the lad would have been better off learning a trade.’ ‘Yes, maybe, but as an apprentice he’d only be paid peanuts, and though he doesn’t earn a great deal on the stall, it’s been a godsend. They couldn’t cope without it.’ Cyril returned to his chair, his expression thoughtful, and Alice knew to keep her mouth shut. She sat quietly, her breath held and fingers secretly crossed as she watched his face. At last he sighed and their eyes met. ‘All right, Alice. If it means that much to you, we’ll give it a go with the kids. Mind you, don’t count your chickens yet. I can’t see Tom wanting to give them up just like that.’ Once again she jumped to her feet, kissing Cyril on the cheek. ‘The pub isn’t open yet, so he’s sure to be in. I’ll go and have a word with him now.’ ‘You do that, but as I said, don’t count your…’ But the door had already slammed shut, Alice not hearing the rest of her husband’s warning as she hurried upstairs. Tom couldn’t stand the noise and had chucked the kids out. At last the room was quiet. Only Emma remained, perched on a low wooden stool, her face set in concentration as she endeavoured to sew a patch onto a pair of trousers. He glanced at her and the pain of his loss was like a blow to his stomach. Christ, she was so like her mother, with the same golden blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. As if sensing his scrutiny, Emma raised her head, lips curling in distaste as her cold gaze met his. He seethed. She should show him some bloody respect, but instead she hardly spoke to him, her hatred like a living thing, that filled the room and tainted the air. Tom looked away from Emma, tempted to give her a good hiding, but he knew it would only make things worse. She wasn’t a child now, she was seventeen, and if the girl took it into her head to walk out, he’d be in a right old fix. Christ, he needed to get out of there–he needed a drink, but with little money left this week he could afford only a pint. He sank back in the chair, berating his life, thoughts drifting. They’d been happy once, him and Myra, but then the war had started and he’d been called up. As his mind took him to the front, Tom shook his head, not wanting to think about it, yet still the memories invaded. He didn’t want to remember the sickening things he’d seen and done. Yet as always, even as he struggled to forget, the first horror returned to haunt him. He was in a landing craft, nerves taut as they waited to beach. The young chap next to him was in the same state, shaking, his eyes wide with fear, and they’d started to talk, inane chatter just to break the tension. When they’d hit the beach, the shout went up to disembark and, lugging their packs, they surged forward. Tom didn’t know how far he had run when the bloke next to him suddenly spun, a look of shock on his face before he fell. Until that moment he hadn’t realised how frail the human body was, but as the soldier clutched at his stomach, guts spilling out, his screams combined with the sound of explosions and gunfire. Tom shuddered at the memory, recalling how he’d been paralysed with shock, unable to move, horrified to see the soldier’s dying moments. Bullets raked only inches away and at last he moved, diving to the ground, terrified as he used the young man’s body as shelter. It was like a living hell; the thunder of mortars, machine-gun fire, the stench of cordite, shouts, yells, cries as more bodies fell to the ground. He had no idea how long he had lain prone behind the soldier’s body, hands over his ears as shell after shell exploded, but then a corporal hauled him to his feet. Tom had seen the look of disgust on his face, and then he’d been shoved forward. ‘Get moving,’ the corporal had shouted and, feeling like a coward, Tom had followed the command, bent double as he raced up the beach, more and more soldiers falling beside him. He’d lost it then, firing his weapon without thought, determined to kill or be killed. That moment had changed him, and as the weeks went by he had hardened. He would kill, feeling nothing, becoming an animal with only one thought–survival. One enemy soldier had actually begged for mercy, but, grim-faced, Tom had shot him, uncaring of the blood that spilled from his body. When the war ended, he no longer felt human, returning home to find that many streets and buildings he’d known were gone, bombed to oblivion. He’d tried–oh, how he had tried–but soon after his return the memories began to haunt him until, day and night, he relived the horrors of war. It had been years now, but still they plagued him. When would they stop? When would he find peace…? There was a tap on the door. Alice Moon poked her head inside and Tom welcomed the interruption. ‘Can I have a word?’ she said. ‘Yes, come on in.’ ‘Hello, Emma,’ Alice greeted as she crossed the room. ‘Doing a bit of sewing, are you?’ ‘Yes, but I’m still useless at it.’ ‘You’ll learn.’ As her eyes raked the room, Alice added, ‘Where are the youngsters?’ ‘Dad made them go out to play.’ Alice’s lips tightened momentarily, but then she focused on Tom. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ ‘There’s only a stool.’ ‘That’ll do me,’ she said, making herself comfortable. ‘Look, I won’t beat about the bush. I’ve seen the way Emma struggles to look after the kids, and to help her out I’ve had the two youngest for a couple of hours in the afternoons.’ Shifting a bit on the stool she rushed on, ‘I’ve grown fond of them, Tom. They’re lovely boys, and Cyril and I would like to take them on permanently.’ There was a stunned silence, but then Emma’s voice rang out. ‘Alice, it…it’s good of you, but we can’t let you take James and Archie.’ ‘Shut your mouth, girl. This is my decision, not yours,’ Tom barked. ‘But, Dad—’ Tom felt his face redden. ‘I said shut up!’ ‘Now then, Tom, there’s no need to shout. It must be a shock for her, but listen, love,’ Alice turned to Emma. ‘They’ll be better off with Cyril and me. I love them and we can give them a good home. They’ll want for nothing, I’ll see to that.’ ‘Oh, Alice, I know your place is like a palace compared to this, but Dad can’t break the family up.’ Tom surged to his feet. ‘I’ll do what I bloody well like.’ ‘Please, Tom, calm down,’ Alice cajoled. Then she spoke softly to Emma again. ‘It’s for the best, love. I’m only downstairs and you can see the lads whenever you want.’ ‘Hold your horses, Alice,’ Tom protested. ‘It’s me you should be talking to, and I ain’t said you can have them yet.’ ‘Surely you can see the sense of it? Emma is run ragged.’ Tom flopped onto his chair again, running a hand over his chin. There was no denying that it made sense. With the others at school, Emma had only James and Archie to worry about, and without them she could go out and earn a few bob, if only part time. After all, the girl had turned seventeen in February and it was about time she earned her keep. The rent owed was piling up, he knew that, and he doubted the landlord would put up with it for much longer. Tom knew he should pull himself together, cut down the booze, but he had a craving inside, eating away at him and driving him to the pub whenever he earned a few bob. A wave of self-pity washed over him. Bloody hell, no wonder he’d turned to drink! Any man would. He’d fought a war, and instead of things getting better, they were still stuck with bloody rationing. Work was tight, and on top of that he’d lost his missus. All he had left was a horde of bloody kids that drove him mad with their constant noise. It was the thought of having two less to worry about that made Tom’s decision. Looking up, he nodded at Alice. ‘All right, you can have ’em, but I can’t give you anything towards their keep.’ ‘None’s expected, Tom.’ ‘Right, that’s settled then.’ ‘But, Dad…’ Emma protested. ‘If I hear one more word from you, my girl, you’ll be sorry. I’m doing what I think is best and that’s that.’ ‘She’s bound to be upset, Tom,’ Alice placated. ‘Do you want the kids or not?’ he said, his tone threatening. He could change his mind, and Alice knew that. She nodded. ‘You know I do.’ ‘Right then, when do you want to take them?’ ‘I’ll have to get beds first. After all,’ she chuckled, ‘I can hardly stuff them in with me and Cyril. I’ll buy them tomorrow, so how about Tuesday?’ ‘Yeah, that’s fine with me. It’ll give Emma time to prepare them, not that I think they’ll mind. After all, as you said, they’ll only be downstairs.’ Alice rose to her feet, her voice high with excitement. ‘Thanks again, Tom. I can’t wait to tell Cyril.’ She then turned to Emma and her face straightened. ‘Oh, love, don’t be upset. They’ll be fine with me, I promise.’ ‘Leave her to me, Alice,’ Tom said, pleased when the woman left. He’d soon sort Emma out and she could start looking for work. Dick was already earning a fair few bob on the market, and with his daughter bringing in money too, things would finally start looking up. Emma sat quietly. She should be heartbroken, but instead was disgusted with herself for feeling relief. When Dad told her to look for work she’d felt a surge of excitement. God, it would be wonderful to get out of this flat, to find a job, if only part time. She’d be earning money, her own money, and maybe she could find a way to go out a couple of evenings a week. She missed her mates, missed sharing confidences, having a laugh, talking about boys, fashions, the latest records. Nowadays she felt like a staid old woman, her life revolving around cooking, cleaning and taking care of the kids. Once again Emma felt a wave of excitement. With Luke coming up to his fourteenth birthday, maybe he could see to the others after school, and then she could work full time. Come to that, he could see to them during the school holidays too. Without James and Archie, that left only the girls, and they wouldn’t be much trouble. Well, Susan maybe, with her constant moaning and petty illnesses. Emma’s mind continued to whirr, wondering what sort of jobs might be available. The sound of footfalls on the stairs interrupted her thoughts and she looked up with a start when Dick walked in. ‘Hello, love.’ Their father offered no greeting, and Dick ignored him, saying to Emma only, ‘Watcha,’ before looking round the room and adding, ‘Where are the kids?’ ‘Playing outside. Didn’t you see them?’ ‘No, but I saw a gang running wild on the bombsite and no doubt our lot are with them. Hang on, where’s Archie?’ ‘He’s playing outside too.’ ‘What! But he’s only a nipper.’ ‘He’ll be all right. Luke will keep an eye on him.’ ‘I still think he’s too young. You should have kept him in, Em.’ ‘It wasn’t me who chucked him out.’ Dick’s expression soured as he turned to look at his father, but the man rose to his feet, saying, ‘I’m off out. You can tell him about the kids, Emma.’ ‘I suppose the pub’s beckoning,’ Dick said, his voice thick with sarcasm. ‘Watch your mouth! Money’s tight and I’m only having one pint–not that it’s any of your business.’ ‘How come you’re skint already?’ ‘’Cos I had to stump up some of the rent arrears.’ ‘If you paid the rent every week it wouldn’t mount up. I’m not surprised that Mr Bell put his foot down.’ ‘I told you to watch your mouth. Like Emma, you’re getting too big for your boots and I ain’t standing for it. Now as I said, I’m off, and I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself in future. I’m the man of the house, and don’t you forget it.’ As the door slammed, Dick said, ‘What’s this about the kids?’ ‘Alice Moon came to see Dad. She’s grown fond of James and Archie. Dad has agreed that she can have them permanently.’ Dick looked thunderstruck. ‘But he can’t do that!’ ‘I felt the same way at first, but since then I’ve had time to think about it. The boys will be better off with Alice. She’ll look after them and they’ll have the life of Riley. Not only that, they’ll only be downstairs so we can see them whenever we want.’ ‘It still ain’t right.’ ‘Without James and Archie to look after, I’ll be able to get a job. I’d like that and I’ll be able to put some money in the pot too.’ Dick sighed heavily. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right, but I’m gonna miss the little tykes, especially Archie.’ Emma pictured her youngest brother’s cheeky face, and knew she would too. Dick sat on the only chair they had, the one vacated by their father, and his eyes closed. He’s tired, Emma thought, and it isn’t surprising. To earn a few bob extra Dick had taken a shift at the Sunday market, rising at five. Sighing, she went back to her sewing, her thoughts drifting again. Emma felt a wave of guilt. It would have broken her mother’s heart to see the family torn apart and maybe she should have fought more to keep James and Archie. Yet she couldn’t help feeling excited. Working in a shop would be nice; especially a clothes shop or jeweller’s. Distracted, the needle pricked her finger and she let out a small yelp, lifting it to her mouth to suck the blood. She hated sewing. In fact she hated all housework. It was never-ending, the washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning. Her eyes widened in realisation. The work would still have to be done, but how was she going to keep on top of it if she was at work all day? For a moment Emma was flummoxed, but then straightened her shoulders with determination. The rest of them would have to help, to muck in and do their share. She’d give each of them a job, one that, depending on age, they’d be capable of doing. A small smile played around her lips as she settled back again, ignoring her pricked finger as she finished off the patch. Susan wasn’t too bad with a needle and could do the repairs from now on. It was time to sort them out, to move on. For the first time since her mother’s death, Emma felt like living again. Chapter Three (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) Things didn’t work out quite as Emma expected. Far from being upset, James and Archie were happy to live with Alice. ‘She’s nice,’ James said. ‘She plays with us, cuddles us, and we’ve got our own beds. I like it downstairs.’ Emma lowered her eyes, suddenly realising how much she had neglected them. She’d been busily wrapped up in housework with the ironing sometimes taking hours to complete, let alone the laundry and trying to mend clothes that were nothing but rags for the older ones to wear for school. She should have paid them more attention, but instead had given them bits and bobs to play with, old cotton reels and paper to cut into shapes, getting increasingly annoyed if they tried to distract her. When their mother was alive, they may have lacked money, but they had never lacked love. The housework would be abandoned if Archie or James wanted a cuddle, and when the others came home from school, she had listened patiently as they chatted away. Everything had changed when she died. Now, when the kids came home Emma was often cross with them for getting under her feet, happy for them to play out on the streets until dinner was ready. God, no wonder they were running wild. With a small groan, Emma hugged herself. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to run the home as her mother had that she’d forgotten the most important thing. Love. No wonder James and Archie were happy to live with Alice, going downstairs on Tuesday morning without demur. Alice had been wonderful, letting them run upstairs to Emma whenever they wanted, but the novelty soon wore off and for the rest of the day their trips grew more and more infrequent. ‘I want to live with Alice too,’ Susan said, breaking into Emma’s thoughts. When Emma looked at her sister she saw Susan’s mouth drooping despondently, the child close to tears. Time to turn over a new leaf, she thought, and smiling softly, she rose to stroke Susan’s hair. ‘Oh, love, I’d miss you something rotten. What would I do without you to cuddle up to at night?’ Susan managed a small smile in return, but she obviously wasn’t completely mollified. ‘Alice’s flat is much nicer than ours, and I bet she buys loads of stuff for James and Archie. It ain’t fair, Em.’ ‘Once I get a job we’ll be able to have new things too. I’ll be able to save up to buy us some decent clothes, and this winter I promise you’ll get a nice new coat.’ ‘Me too?’ Bella cried, followed by an echo from Ann. ‘Yes, you too,’ Emma placated, ‘and what about you, Luke? What would you like?’ Luke’s head dipped to one side. ‘Well…if we’ve got the money, I’d like a cat, a ginger one. I like cats.’ ‘We’ll see, but don’t forget that in future when you come home from school, you’ll all have little jobs to do.’ ‘We know,’ Luke said. Emma held out her arms to her youngest sister, gratified when Ann ran into them. ‘When I’m not here, be a good girl and do what Luke tells you.’ Ann’s head burrowed into Emma’s chest. ‘All right, Em.’ With a small sigh Emma closed her eyes. She hoped they’d be all right. Alice had agreed that they could run to her if there was an emergency, and that had eased her mind. Now all she wanted was to find a decent job, something she intended to do as soon as the kids left for school in the morning. * * * At five thirty the next morning, Emma heard Dick stirring, and she too rolled carefully off the mattress to follow him down the ladder. She hated lighting the fire during the summer months, but without it she wouldn’t be able to boil a kettle or cook anything for the kids’ breakfasts. As soon as these tasks were completed she would thankfully douse it, and it wouldn’t be rekindled until she had to cook dinner. ‘You don’t usually get up this early,’ Dick said as he went to the sink for a sluice down, afterwards drying himself on a piece of rag. ‘If I get a job today I’ll have to get used to it. There’ll be loads to do before the kids go to school and I might as well start as I mean to go on.’ ‘Loads to do? Such as?’ ‘Well, after sorting the kids I’ll need to prepare dinner in advance and it takes a while to get the vegetables ready. Then I’ll have to cook them, at least partly, finishing them off when I come home.’ ‘Yeah, I suppose so. I’d best get a move on or I’ll be late.’ ‘What about your breakfast?’ ‘Charlie always gets me a bacon roll from the caf? and a nice big mug of tea too.’ ‘He’s a good boss, you’re lucky.’ ‘Yeah, he ain’t bad, but he’s a bit of a slave-driver at times. Still, it could be worse. See you later,’ he called, the door shutting behind Dick before Emma had time to reply. Emma’s stomach rumbled. A bacon roll! What she wouldn’t give for a bacon roll. One day, she thought, cheering herself up. If she found a good job they could all have bacon again. She went to the sink, pulling the metal bucket out from underneath and picking out vegetables to use in a stew. God, she was sick of vegetable stew, sick of eating the same thing every day. With her first pay packet she’d grab the ration book and head for the butcher’s. At the thought of meat, her mouth salivated. When the kids got up, chaos reigned. As though to show their displeasure at this change of routine, all except Luke played up. Susan said she felt ill, but when Emma felt her forehead, there was no sign of a fever. Used to Susan’s wily ways to get out of school, Emma ignored her whines as she encouraged them to dress, sad that despite her best efforts they still looked like a band of ragamuffins. She made the porridge, handing each of them a bowl, but when Susan sat on the floor, taking her first mouthful, she grimaced. ‘It’s horrible, Em. Ain’t we got any sugar left?’ ‘No. You had the last of the sugar that Alice gave us yesterday.’ ‘I can’t eat it without sugar.’ ‘Then you’ll go hungry,’ Emma said impatiently. Susan pouted, took a few more mouthfuls, but abandoned the rest. The others ate without complaint, and at last they were ready for school. ‘Now then,’ Emma said firmly, ‘off you go. I’ll be looking for a job today and may not be here when you come home from school. If that’s the case you all know what you have to do.’ ‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after them,’ Luke said. ‘I know you will,’ Emma said, smiling at her brother, ‘but don’t forget what I said. Don’t try to light the fire. I’ll do it when I come home.’ Luke nodded, but as Emma looked at the girls she saw the confusion and uncertainty in their eyes. Remembering her determination to turn over a new leaf, she hugged them one by one, saying reassuringly, ‘You’ll be fine with Luke and…and I’ll see you later. Be good at school,’ she added as they reluctantly shuffled off. The door had hardly closed when Emma heard her father coming down the ladder. He scratched his head, then a fit of coughing racked his body. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any tea going?’ he croaked. ‘Since when have we had money for tea? I used to dry nettles for Mum, but you never drank it.’ ‘I can’t stand the stuff.’ Emma said nothing. She hated talking to her father and avoided it as much as possible. Instead of sitting down he went to the sink, gulping down a mug of water before sluicing more over his head. Emma left him to it, climbing the stairs to the loft again. She needed to get ready, and hoped the clothes she had sorted out the night before would be all right. She’d carefully ironed a blouse, but the pattern had almost faded, the material worn thin. The skirt wasn’t too bad, though you could see a line where the hem had been taken down, which no amount of ironing could hide. She had no stockings, but hoped nobody would notice, and lifting her hand to touch her hair, wished she had something to pin it up. It felt stiff, lank, but without soap she’d only been able to rinse it with cold water. Pulling at the tangles with her fingers, she did the best she could, then returned downstairs. The room was empty, her father gone, no doubt late for work again. This was a common occurrence and he was always getting the sack, now travelling to a building site in Chelsea after losing a job that had been just round the corner. Oh, she didn’t want to think about him. Today was a new beginning for her, and after a swift look to check that the fire had been doused, Emma hurried out, running down the stairs with her heart full of hope as she headed for the nearest row of shops. Later that day, Emma was trudging to the market, footsore and near to tears. When she thought about the reception she’d received, her cheeks reddened with humiliation. She’d gone into a dress shop in Falcon Road first, her eyes lighting up when she saw the lovely garments hanging on rails. There were pretty pastel dresses, nipped in at the waist with matching belts, and she itched to touch them, to feel the material, but had resisted, going up to the counter wide-eyed with eagerness to ask if they had any vacancies. ‘Miss Fisher,’ the young and very smart girl behind the counter had called. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ a slim, middle-aged and sophisticated woman asked as she came out from a back room. ‘I…I’m looking for work,’ Emma stammered. ‘I’m sorry, but we already have a cleaner.’ In her innocence, Emma had smiled, ‘Oh, no, I haven’t come for a cleaning job. I’d like to work in the shop.’ ‘You must be joking,’ Miss Fisher said, eyebrows rising haughtily as she eyed Emma up and down. ‘We have very high standards here, and I could hardly offer you employment looking like that.’ Emma had seen the smirk on the young sales assistant’s face, and flushed, but, fighting to hide her humiliation, she’d kept her head up. ‘Fine, I wouldn’t want to work here anyway.’ And on that note she’d turned on her heels, shutting the door firmly behind her. Blimey, what a couple of snobs, Emma decided as she’d walked away, refusing to let this encounter stop her. Yet by the time she had tried a few other garment shops the penny had well and truly dropped. Compared to all the sales assistants’ attire, her clothes looked awful, scruffy. No wonder they wouldn’t employ her. She’d tried a grocer, a baker, a haberdashery shop, but she’d received the same reception time and again. The colourful stalls failed to lift Emma’s spirits as she reached the market. It was buzzing with noise and several traders raised their hands to wave at her. ‘Watcha, gorgeous,’ called one. ‘If I wasn’t a married man I’d come out from behind me stall to give you a smacker.’ Emma forced a smile, but it failed to reach her eyes. She didn’t look gorgeous. She looked a mess. ‘What’s up, Em?’ Dick asked as she approached his stall. ‘You look a bit down in the mouth.’ ‘I’m too scruffy to get a job in a shop,’ she told him. ‘You look fine to me.’ ‘Don’t look so downhearted, girl,’ Charlie, the stall-holder, consoled, and, holding out a mug, he added, ‘Here, you can have me tea. It’ll buck you up no end.’ Emma gratefully took the mug, the strong tea tasting like nectar as she gulped it down. It did make her feel better, invigorated, but she still had no idea where to try next for a job. ‘Thanks, Charlie,’ she said, handing him the empty mug. Charlie Roper was a nice man, but showing his age now, his gnarled fingers gripping the mug. ‘Try the factories, love. There’s Tate and Lyle’s round the corner, for a start.’ She lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to work in a factory, but there didn’t seem to be any choice. ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’ As customers approached the stall, she called a quick goodbye before moving away. At four o’clock, Emma was on her way home, her cheeks burning at the memories. Even the factories had turned her down, saying there weren’t any vacancies for unskilled workers, but at least this time she believed them, believed that her appearance hadn’t made any difference. She’d been led through countless factory floors to foremen’s offices, seen women working on machines, their hair in turbans and clothes covered by overalls. Sometimes the noise was deafening and she wondered how they put up with it, but by this time she would have taken anything. Emma was still brooding when she finally reached her street. It was treeless, grey and dingy, but she was used to the scenery. A few children were playing marbles in the gutter, and a couple of little girls were arguing over a skipping rope made from an old clothes line. Emma hardly noticed. She went into the dilapidated house where she lived and climbed the stairs wearily to the attic. As she walked into the room the children clambered around her. ‘Did you get a job, Em?’ ‘Where will you be working?’ ‘Will you be earning lots of money?’ Impatiently brushing them aside, Emma looked around and her temper flared. ‘Look at the state of this place. You were supposed to do your jobs, but this room hasn’t been touched.’ ‘We’ve only been home for five minutes, Em,’ Luke said. ‘We were just about to start.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love,’ Emma cried as she flopped onto a chair. ‘I shouldn’t be taking it out on you, but I’ve been walking for hours.’ She pushed off her shoes, massaging her aching feet. ‘Did you get a job?’ Susan asked again. Emma tried to sound more assured than she felt. ‘No, not yet, but don’t worry, I’ll try again tomorrow.’ ‘Come on, you lot,’ Luke said, sounding older than his years. ‘Let’s get our jobs done. Emma’s worn out and needs a rest.’ The tears broke then. Oh, Luke was such a good boy, so thoughtful. He rushed to her side and his arm snaked around her shoulder. ‘What’s up, Em? Do you want me to get Alice?’ ‘No, I’ll be all right. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’ They were all looking at her worriedly and she fought to pull herself together. ‘Go on then, get on with your jobs,’ she urged, pleased when they all did her bidding. She had told them she’d try for work again tomorrow, and she’d do just that. But where? Chapter Four (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) After trudging around Fulham the following day, Emma had paused on Wandsworth Bridge on her way home, staring down into the grey, murky water of the River Thames as a coal barge passed below. It was hopeless, nobody wanted to employ her, and she had hated telling the kids that she still hadn’t found work. It was her appearance, she was sure of it, especially when even an ironmonger had given her the cold shoulder. Now it was ten o’clock on Friday morning, but instead of going out to look for work again, she was slumped on a stool at home. Her father was growing impatient, telling her to look harder, but then the door was flung open as James rushed into the room. ‘Alice sent me up. She wants to see you.’ Emma forced a smile as she rose to her feet. James looked lovely in his new clothes. He was wearing grey shorts that just reached his knees, a pristine white shirt, and he even had a pair of little slippers on his feet. She may have had doubts about the two youngest living with Alice, but seeing how well James looked, any lingering reservations were dispelled. ‘What does Alice want?’ ‘I dunno. She just said to tell you that the kettle’s on.’ A cup of tea, Emma thought, appreciating the woman’s kindness. With James in the lead she went downstairs. ‘Blimey, you look a bit fed up, love. What’s the matter?’ Alice said as she walked in. ‘I’ve been looking for a job, but nobody wants to take me on. I look too scruffy to work in a shop and the factories haven’t any vacancies.’ ‘You’re such a pretty girl and we can spruce you up to look like a princess, more than fit to work in a shop. Come on, get this cup of tea down you and then we’ll start with your hair.’ ‘Look, Emma,’ Archie said, holding up a little wooden boat. ‘Ucky Cyril made it for me.’ ‘Uncle Cyril, not Ucky,’ Alice chuckled. ‘I’ve got one too,’ James said, joining Archie on the floor. As the two children played with their boats, Emma watched them for a moment, noticing how clean and shiny their hair looked. She took a gulp of tea. ‘Unlike those two, it’ll take more than my hair to improve my appearance, Alice,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure I can find you something decent to wear.’ Alice had a lovely curvaceous body and Emma doubted she could fill her clothes. Her own bust was small, her hips tiny in comparison, and she was at least two inches shorter. As if sensing her thoughts, Alice grinned. ‘I used to be a lot slimmer than this and I’ve kept the clothes I used to wear back then, hoping I’d get back into them one day. Come on, I’ll show you.’ Emma placed the cup on the table, then followed Alice into her bedroom. Unlike her family’s attic room, this one was lovely. Instead of mattresses on the floor, there was a real double bed with a wooden headboard and flowery spread. Emma’s eyes took in the two double wardrobes and dressing table, a pink glass trinket set arranged prettily on top. With so much furniture the room looked stuffed full, but to Emma it was beautiful. Alice opened one of the wardrobes and when Emma saw the rail of clothes she gasped with envy. Alice rummaged past a couple of plain, linen dresses, finally pulling out two blouses and a skirt. ‘Cyril is always moaning that I never throw anything away, but I knew these would come in handy one day. Here, try them on.’ ‘Oh, Alice, how can you afford so many lovely things?’ ‘My Cyril earns a decent wage on the buses and there’s only been the two of us until now. I wanted kids so much, but they never came along. I think I shopped as a kind of compensation. Of course, during the war there wasn’t much on offer, only drab clothes, but I still managed to indulge myself. Since clothes rationing ended, I must admit I’ve gone a bit mad.’ She smiled softly. ‘It’s different now. The boys have changed our lives, and Cyril is growing as daft about them as me. Now come on, Emma, try these things on.’ Emma slowly undressed, ashamed that Alice was going to see her old and tatty knickers. She didn’t have a brassiere, but with her small bust it didn’t seem to matter. As Alice turned away to pull open one of the drawers in her dressing table, Emma hastily put on the skirt and first blouse. The light blue cotton skirt flared from the waist and felt a little loose. It was also a couple of inches too long, but she didn’t care. It looked almost new and felt wonderful. The white blouse with its Peter Pan collar was loose too, but it smelled fresh, of something flowery, and so soft against her skin. ‘They don’t look bad,’ Alice said. ‘You’ll just need to move the button on the waist and take it up. I’ve found some underwear too. This bra might fit you.’ ‘I…I don’t think I need a bra,’ Emma said, feeling her face redden. ‘Of course you do. You can’t go around without a bra on at your age. Now come on, put your own stuff back on and we’ll have a go at your hair.’ ‘You won’t be able to do anything with it.’ ‘Of course I will, but first we’ll give it a good wash.’ Emma was apologetic. ‘I’ve tried to make it look nice, but without soap it dries all matted.’ ‘Oh, love, I’m not saying you aren’t clean. I know you do your best, but as you say, it needs to be washed properly. Come on, I’ve got just the thing, and then I’ll give it a bit of a trim.’ It was over two hours later when Alice finally sighed with satisfaction. ‘There, you look smashing,’ she said. Emma stared at her reflection in Alice’s mirror, hardly able to believe her eyes. Her lank, dull blonde hair was now shining, and sat on her shoulders in a profusion of waves. She still had her old clothes on, but she intended to alter Alice’s skirt as soon as she went upstairs. ‘Oh, Alice, I can’t believe it’s me,’ she cried, her eyes fixed on the mirror. ‘You’re not just pretty, Emma, you’re beautiful, just like your mum,’ Alice said, her eyes suddenly moist. ‘I was going to suggest a bit of make-up, but with such lovely skin you don’t need it. A touch of lipstick is enough. Blimey, anyone would be mad not to give you a job now.’ ‘I hope you’re right,’ Emma said, finally tearing her eyes away from the mirror. James and Archie had been so good, but were now demanding Alice’s attention. ‘They want their lunch,’ Alice said. ‘They never stop eating. My Cyril thinks they’ve got hollow legs.’ ‘I’m sorry, Alice.’ ‘Sorry! What have you got to be sorry about? It’s a pleasure to see them stuffing their faces. I just wish this flaming food rationing was over with. It’s a bloody disgrace. It’s years since the war finished. Anyway, pop into the bedroom to get your things, and don’t forget the underwear. I might have another skirt–I’ll dig it out–but for now I’d best sort these two lads out.’ Emma smiled her thanks, and left Alice’s clutching her new clothes. She couldn’t help thinking that their own flat looked so bleak in comparison to Alice’s, but sat on a stool, relieved that she had enough cotton left on the reel to complete the alterations to the skirt. The fire was still partly alight, enough to heat the iron. After pressing the hem, she put the skirt on, tucking the prettier of the two blouses inside. There was no mirror to see how she looked, but Emma felt sure she was smart enough to get a job now. It was only when putting on her shoes that a frown creased her forehead. Worn down at the heels and scuffed, she knew they spoiled the outfit, but they were the only pair she had, and would have to do. Her heart felt lighter and excitement mounted. It was after one o’clock, but she’d walk to Clapham Junction. There were loads of shops there. Surely one of them would have a vacancy. Emma was about to leave when the door opened, Susan walking slowly into the room. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?’ ‘I’ve been sick and my teacher sent me home.’ Emma felt Susan’s forehead, and for once believed her. She felt hot, her skin clammy. ‘All right, love. Let’s get you into bed.’ ‘You look nice, Emma. Where did you get those clothes?’ ‘Alice gave them to me.’ Susan was about to speak again, but then her hand flew to her mouth as she retched. In a flash Emma rushed her over to the sink, her nose wrinkling as her sister emptied her stomach. At least, Emma thought miserably, none of her sister’s vomit had marked Alice’s clothes. Emma bathed Susan in cool water and then put her to bed where she fell asleep almost immediately. By the time Luke and the others came home from school, she was a lot better, but still lying lethargically on the mattress. Emma came down the ladder. ‘Susan’s in bed. She’s been sick and was sent home from school.’ ‘Serves her right,’ Luke said. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘When we pass the market on the way to school, she’s always scrounging stuff. She puts on a sad face, tells the stall-holders her mum’s dead, and nine times out of ten they give her an apple or something.’ ‘She does what?’ Emma was horrified. ‘But an apple wouldn’t make her sick.’ ‘I know, but she’s done it so often that I think the stall-holders have got wise to her. She didn’t get anything from them this morning so she tried it on with the butcher. He was just opening up, and when she pulled the stunt he shoved a pie into her hand. She stuffed it on the way to school and the greedy cow wouldn’t even give us a bite. Still, she got her comeuppance. I reckon it must have been bad.’ Emma still couldn’t believe her ears. ‘How long has this been going on?’ ‘Since just after Mum died. It started when Charlie asked us how we were doing and it was obvious he felt sorry for us. He gave us an apple each and it must have given Susan the idea.’ ‘I’ll give her a piece of my mind when she gets up,’ Emma said, but then heard a knock on the door. She went to answer it, her face paling when she saw the landlord. Mr Bell was in his mid-forties, tall and thin, with a shock of dark, wiry hair. To Emma he was a toff, well spoken, well dressed, and he always carried a briefcase. He gazed at her for a moment, his eyes puzzled, then said, ‘Is that you, Emma? I hardly recognised you. You seem to have grown up overnight.’ She felt gauche, unsure of herself and stammered, ‘My…my dad isn’t home from work yet.’ ‘Didn’t he leave the rent with you?’ ‘No, but he’ll be here in a couple of hours.’ The man sighed heavily. ‘Very well, I’ll be back later.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Bell.’ Emma said, relieved to close the door on the man and the predatory look she had seen in his eyes. An hour passed and when Dick came home, his eyes widened. ‘Blimey, Em, you look nice,’ he said, passing her a bag of vegetables. ‘It’s down to Alice,’ Emma told him, eyeing with appreciation the carrots, onions and potatoes. ‘There’s plenty here for another stew tomorrow. It’s really good of Charlie to give you the leftovers.’ ‘They’re too soft to put out again tomorrow, and they’d only be chucked away. Anyway, don’t change the subject–why are you all dolled up like a dog’s dinner?’ ‘I was going out to look for a job again but Susan was sent home from school.’ She then went on to tell him why, his disgust equalling her own. ‘Well, stone the crows,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a few words to say to that little madam.’ ‘Me too,’ Emma said, relighting the fire to finish off the dinner. Another hour passed, one in which they both gave Susan a telling-off, and then Emma looked at Dick worriedly. ‘Mr Bell is sure to be back soon and I don’t think I’ll be able to fob him off again. I hope Dad isn’t blowing his wages in the King’s Arms.’ Dick’s expression soured as he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll drag him out of there if I have to.’ As Dick made his way to the pub, he found himself thinking about his boss. Charlie Roper was the antithesis of his father, and a man he respected. Charlie had never married and, as far as Dick knew, had no family, but he had taken him under his wing, treating him almost like a son. Yes, he was a hard taskmaster, but he expected no more from anyone than he did from himself. Charlie liked the occasional pint but, unlike Dick’s father, he knew when to stop. The man was hard-working, up at the crack of dawn every day, in all weathers, but never complained, despite the cold affecting his arthritic fingers. Charlie had fought in a war too, albeit the first one, and he’d had it rough, fighting in the trenches and telling Dick stories of rats the size of cats. Yet unlike his father, Charlie never bemoaned his fate, or used it as an excuse to drown his sorrows in drink. Dick scowled, hating his father’s weakness, determined never to follow in his footsteps. When Dick reached the pub, he flung open the door, searching for his father through a fug of stale cigarette smoke. An old boy was pounding out a tune on a wonky piano, the melody unrecognisable to Tom, and at a couple of tables he saw men playing cards. He pushed his way forward, finding his father standing at the bar, lifting a pint of beer to his lips. Tom’s eyes narrowed when he saw Dick, and above the babble of voices he snapped, ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ ‘The landlord’s after the rent money.’ Tom’s eyes flicked to the group of men who were drinking close by. ‘Keep your bloody voice down!’ he hissed. Dick glared at the pint glass in his father’s hand, knowing it wasn’t his first and uncaring of who might overhear. ‘Mr Bell will be back soon and wants his money.’ ‘So what? He’ll get it when I’m good and ready. Just tell him to sod off.’ ‘Tell him yourself.’ Tom’s lips tightened in anger. ‘Watch your mouth, son. Now bugger off or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’ ‘I ain’t going anywhere unless you come with me.’ There was a titter of laughter, a man saying, ‘It sounds like your young whippersnapper’s laying down the law, Tom.’ Tom’s grip was tight on his glass. ‘That’ll be the day,’ he quipped. ‘In fact, I think I’ll take the lad home for the hiding he deserves.’ He then lifted his pint, gulping it down and slamming the empty glass on the bar before glaring at Dick and adding, ‘Right you. Home–and now!’ Emma heard footsteps on the stairs and her father’s yelling before he shoved open the door, his eyes dark with anger as he glared at Dick. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, kicking up like that in the pub. I didn’t know where to put my bloody face.’ ‘Can you blame me? If I didn’t drag you out, the rent wouldn’t be paid–again. Mr Bell isn’t going to put up with it for much longer.’ ‘I paid some of the arrears last week. Anyway, Bell’s all wind and water. He’s always threatening to chuck us out, but we’re still here, ain’t we?’ ‘One of these days you’ll push him too far.’ ‘I’ll handle Bell, but if you ever show me up again in my local, you’ll live to regret it.’ For a moment they eyed each other like combatants, but it was Dick who finally turned away. For a moment Tom continued to glare at his son, but then his eyes lighted on Emma. He paled, shaking his head as though to dismiss the sight. ‘Christ, you gave me a turn. You look just like your mother. Where did you get those clothes?’ ‘Alice gave them to me.’ ‘Have you found a job?’ ‘Not yet. Susan was sent home from school and I had to stay with her.’ ‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered, flopping onto his chair. ‘You’d better find a job soon, my girl.’ Shortly after there was a tap on the door and Emma went to answer it. ‘Is your father home now?’ Mr Bell asked. ‘Yes, I’ll get him.’ But when she turned round, her father was already on his feet. ‘I’ll speak to you outside,’ he told the landlord, stepping into the hall and pulling the door closed behind them. They heard raised voices and Dick put his fingers over his lips, pointing to the door. It hadn’t closed properly, so both of them moved to the small gap, listening to the conversation. ‘I can’t pay all the arrears today, but you’ll get the rest next week, I promise.’ ‘You said that last week, and the week before. I’ve been lenient, but there are still eight weeks outstanding. Either you pay me in full now, or I’ll be forced to evict you.’ ‘Have a heart, Mr Bell. Since my wife died things have been hard, but my daughter is looking for work now. As soon as the girl gets a job there’ll be more money coming in.’ ‘Emma? Are you talking about Emma?’ ‘Yes, that’s right.’ There was silence for a moment, and then a cough. ‘What sort of work is she looking for?’ ‘She’ll do anything, shop work, a factory.’ Again there was a short silence, and then Emma’s eyes rounded like saucers when Mr Bell spoke again. ‘I too have lost my wife, Mr Chambers, and since then my house lacks a woman’s touch. I’ve been considering employing someone as a cleaner-cum-housekeeper and, as Emma is looking for work, maybe she’d like the position.’ ‘What sort of pay are you offering?’ ‘It will depend on how many hours she works but approximately one pound ten shillings. If you’re agreeable a portion of that could be stopped each week to pay off the arrears.’ Without thought, Emma flung the door open. ‘Dad, I don’t want to be a cleaner!’ Mr Bell looked at her briefly, but then his eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Mr Chambers, if Emma isn’t prepared to work for me, I must insist that you now pay the rent in full.’ ‘I haven’t got it. I can give you this week’s rent and a couple of bob off the arrears.’ ‘No, that isn’t good enough.’ He then opened his briefcase, taking out a sheet of paper. ‘This is an eviction notice and states that you must vacate the premises in one week’s time.’ ‘Wait, hold on. What if Emma takes the job?’ ‘As I said, the arrears can be deducted from her wages. However, this doesn’t mean that I’ll allow any further to accrue. I’ll expect the current rent to be paid on time, each week, without fail.’ ‘Agreed. Right, she’ll start on Monday. I’ll leave you to sort out the details with her.’ On that note Tom Chambers turned to go back inside. Dick held the door open, saying to his father, ‘Hang on. Emma said she doesn’t want to be a cleaner.’ ‘She’ll do as she’s bloody well told!’ Emma saw her brother’s face darken with anger and broke in quickly, ‘It’s all right, Dick. I don’t mind.’ In truth she hated the idea, but there was no choice. If she didn’t work for Mr Bell they’d all be out on the street. ‘Are you sure, Emma?’ ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and as Dick withdrew, he left the door ajar. She turned to face Mr Bell and for a moment his eyes roamed over her body. There was something in his expression that made her shiver, but then he spoke brusquely. ‘Right, Emma. As I said, I need someone to look after my house. Here’s my address, and I’ll expect you on Monday morning at eight.’ She looked at the piece of paper he handed her. ‘Er…I’m not sure where this is.’ ‘My house faces Clapham Common, and isn’t far from St Barnabas’ Church.’ Emma swallowed. It was a long walk. Nervously she asked, ‘Could I start at nine? I…I’d like to get the children off to school before I leave.’ For a moment his lips tightened, but then he nodded. ‘Very well. I’m not a hard man, or a hard employer. I’m sure we’ll jog along nicely.’ He reached out to pat her arm, and Emma shivered again at his touch. ‘Goodbye, my dear. I’ll see you on Monday.’ He smiled again, this time warmly, and Emma relaxed a little. Maybe it would be all right. She could cope with housework. After all, she’d had plenty of practice. ‘I start on Monday,’ she told her father as she went back inside. ‘Good. Get the dinner dished up and then I’m off out again.’ As Emma spooned the stew onto tin plates, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least the family were safe from eviction. Then another thought struck her and she smiled. Once the arrears were paid off she could leave. After all, what would there be to stop her? Chapter Five (#ubaa04ef9-64ba-586b-b82f-b7fd595e8059) On Monday morning Emma was frantically trying to get the children off to school. Susan was unusually compliant, but after the telling-off Emma and Dick had given her, it wasn’t surprising. ‘Come on, off you go,’ Emma urged. ‘I won’t be home until after five o’clock, so do as Luke tells you, and don’t forget your little jobs.’ ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to them,’ Luke said, and Emma smiled gratefully, again thankful that he was such a sensible and intelligent boy. As they all trooped out she watched them for a moment. Surely, even after Mr Bell taking some of the arrears out of her wages, she’d have enough left to start buying them all some decent clothes. She cast a quick glance around the room, making sure the fire was doused, and then five minutes after the children, she left for her first day at work. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but even so, she felt a spark of excitement to be out of the dismal flat and facing something new, albeit someone else’s housework. The June day was warm and Emma’s feet were already aching from the long walk as she approached Mr Bell’s street, but she couldn’t fail to notice the difference. The air here was cleaner than at home, with no taint of smoke from factory chimneys. The houses she walked alongside were large, immaculate, smacking of wealth, and on the opposite side was Clapham Common, a wide expanse of green grass and trees. She passed St Barnabas’ Church and soon after was standing outside Mr Bell’s house. Like the neighbouring ones, it was huge and four storeys high. Emma took in the lovely, mellow red-brick fa?ade and, her heart jumping with nerves, she tentatively walked down a drive lined with huge rhododendron bushes. There were bay windows on the ground floor, and a wide stone staircase leading to the front door. For a moment she halted, floundering. Should she use the front entrance or look for one at the side? Unsure, she decided on the front, hand trembling as she rang the bell. When the door opened, Mr Bell stood there, a wide smile on his face. ‘You found it then,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, shocked that he had answered the door himself. Surely in a house this size there were other staff? Mr Bell gestured her inside. Her eyes rounded as she followed him into a large hall with a sweeping, carpet-covered staircase. They almost popped out when she was led into a huge, plush room with wonderful views across the Common. The furniture looked sumptuous, large sofas with mahogany side tables, these covered with a thin layer of dust. Huge gilt-framed paintings lined the walls, and inlaid cabinets held beautiful porcelain figurines. ‘This is the drawing room,’ Mr Bell said, indicating that she should sit down, waiting until Emma perched nervously on the edge of a gilt and brocade chair. ‘I’m afraid I have to go out on business this morning,’ he continued, ‘so I’ll leave you to find your way around. You’ll find all the cleaning materials you need in a room just off the kitchen, and a Hoover.’ ‘A…a Hoover?’ ‘It’s a machine for vacuuming the rugs.’ Emma swallowed deeply, in awe of Mr Bell and his beautiful house. Her voice quavered as she spoke. ‘Is…is there anyone to show me how to use it?’ For a moment he looked nonplussed. ‘Well, no, I’m afraid you’ll be on your own. I did have a daily, but she proved to be untrustworthy. When my wife, Isabelle, was alive, we kept a couple of staff, but when she died I let them go.’ Emma knew that, nervous or not, she would have to speak up now or she never would. ‘Mr Bell, this is a huge house and I don’t see how I can manage to clean it on my own.’ ‘Oh, don’t worry, Emma. On this floor you will only have to clean this room, along with the dining room and my study. Oh, and of course the kitchen, which is at the back of the house, with a laundry room and scullery. On the first floor I use the front bedroom and bathroom, but the rest of the bedrooms are closed and can be left.’ Emma’s shoulders slumped with relief, but then she sat up again as Mr Bell continued. ‘As for the Hoover, I’m sure you’ll work it out. I think you just plug it into the wall, and off it goes.’ Mr Bell glanced at the ornate clock on the huge mantelpiece. ‘I’m sorry, but I really must go now. I should be back before you leave but, just in case, you’d better have these.’ Emma took the large keys that he proffered, and as he hurriedly left, she relaxed, a small smile playing around her lips. If he was out all day, it wouldn’t be so bad. Rising to her feet, she went to explore the house. When Emma found the kitchen she gasped at the size and range of equipment. It looked unused, everything covered in a thin layer of dust. She soon found a room with mops, buckets, dusters, brushes, and what she could only imagine was the Hoover. She eyed it warily, gulping at the thought of trying to use it. With a small shake of her head she grabbed a duster and polish, deciding as she went back to the drawing room to leave the funny-looking machine where it was for the time being. To Emma’s surprise, she found herself humming as she cleaned the room. She polished the furniture, bringing the dark wood to a beautiful shine, and found that she actually enjoyed the task. As well as the ornaments in cabinets, there were others on tables and ledges, which she moved carefully, dusting them with trepidation before gently replacing them on the surfaces. When Emma came to the bookcase, she looked at it in awe, her eyes flicking over the titles. Oh, how wonderful to have so many lovely books to read. Reverently taking one out, she was unable to resist opening it, her eyes scanning the first page. Oh, Mr Bell was so lucky, his rooms full of so many treasures that she could only ever dream of owning. At last the room was done, and though it looked lovely, Emma knew that the effect was spoiled by the huge, dirty rug and dusty parquet flooring that showed around the edge. Maybe she could take the rug outside and beat the dirt out of it? Yet to do that she would have to move the furniture and roll the rug up, an impossible task on her own. With a sigh Emma knew she had no choice. She fetched the Hoover, finding it cumbersome to carry, her hands shaking as she found a socket and plugged it in. The noise of the engine when it started up almost made her bolt, but then she got the hang of it, after a few minutes finding it simpler than she’d anticipated. In no time Emma was switching it off, and after she’d mopped the parquet flooring, the room was finished. Oh, everything looked lovely, a picture, but it had taken her hours. There was still the dining room, hall, stairs, kitchen and study on this floor, but Emma’s throat was parched. With hair lank and wet with perspiration, she went to the kitchen, gulping down a couple of cups of water. For a moment she sat at the kitchen table, her eyes roaming the room. Every surface was grimy; the racks of saucepans dull from lack of use. Like the drawing room, this would take many hours to clean. Emma fidgeted. She needed the toilet, and had seen one just off the room where the cleaning materials were kept. It was a bit damp, musty, and unused, probably for staff use, she guessed, seeing a small window festooned with cobwebs. She heaved a sigh. It needed a good clean, but it would have to wait. The hall and stairs didn’t take as long as the drawing room, but it was now almost two o’clock. Emma was on her knees, on the last stair, when she heard a key in the lock, her eyes flying to the front door. ‘Emma, you look so hot,’ Horace Bell said as he stepped inside. ‘I can see you’ve been busy, but I really think you should have a rest now.’ Surprised by the concern in his voice, she stammered, ‘I…I’m all right, but I’m afraid I’ve only managed to clean the drawing room and hall.’ ‘Emma, I don’t expect you to do everything in one day. Go through to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. I think we could both do with one. You’ll find some biscuits in the pantry too.’ Emma didn’t need telling twice and hurried away. She placed the kettle on the stove to boil, and then searched the cupboards, disconcerted by the large array of china. Which set should she use? Taking out the simplest cup she could find for herself, she laid a tray with a gold-rimmed set, and side plate for Mr Bell. The tea and biscuits were harder to find, but eventually she found the walk-in pantry, her jaw dropping when she saw the contents. There were glass jars filled with preserved fruit and jams, along with tins of meat, fish and soups. There wasn’t any fresh produce, but Emma found a tin of milk along with another tin of shortcake biscuits. So much food! With rationing, how had Mr Bell obtained it all? When he spoke from behind, she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Have you found everything you need, Emma?’ ‘Oh, yes, sir. Well, except I haven’t found any sugar.’ ‘Sir! You don’t have to call me sir. I think you’ll find sugar in there,’ he said, pointing to an earthenware jar on one of the shelves. ‘I don’t take sugar in my tea, but you are welcome to use it.’ His eyes then roamed the shelves and he heaved a sigh. ‘We have several fruit trees in the garden and when Isabelle was alive our cook preserved the fruit and made jam. Nowadays I dine out, and they haven’t been touched. If you can make use of anything, Emma, take what you want.’ ‘Really, sir?’ ‘Yes, really, and please, I told you not to call me sir. There’s a lot of tinned produce, far too much for me, most of it coming from tenants in lieu of rent. Despite the war years and rationing, as you can see, my wife hoarded food.’ Emma felt as though she had died and gone to heaven. She grinned with delight. Bottled fruit, jam and meat, real meat, even if tinned. ‘Oh, thank you, sir, I…I mean, Mr Bell.’ ‘It’s only going to waste so there’s no need to thank me. When the tea is made, bring it through to the drawing room.’ On that note he left the kitchen. Emma was still smiling as she brewed the tea. Mr Bell’s kindness was so unexpected, and to think she’d been nervous about working for him! She arranged some biscuits on his plate, carrying the tray through and laying it on a side table. ‘Well, Emma, I must say you’ve done wonders with this room.’ She smiled with pleasure. ‘Thank you. I’ll have my tea and then start on the kitchen.’ ‘Very well, but as I said, you don’t have to do everything in one day. I’ll be going out again shortly, so keep the keys in case I leave before you arrive in the morning.’ Emma nodded, pleased that she was going to have the house to herself again. She ate some biscuits, savouring the buttery flavour, and then drank her tea, still sitting at the kitchen table when Mr Bell stuck his head around the door. ‘Goodbye, Emma. I doubt I’ll be back before you leave.’ ‘’Bye, Mr Bell,’ Emma called, but the man had already gone. Horace Bell was smiling with satisfaction as he left the house. He’d hardly noticed Emma before, but overnight she had grown up, turning into a beauty. One look and he’d been smitten, not only by her glorious looks, but by her obvious shyness and innocence. He had plans for her, but he’d take things slowly. He knew that Tom Chambers was unlikely to pay the rent each week and that suited him, the man unaware that he would be playing into his landlord’s hands. God, Emma was lovely, but so young. He’d have to move carefully, gain her trust and liking before making a move. Nevertheless, when the rent arrears mounted again, he would hold all the cards and, knowing how much her family meant to Emma, he doubted she’d say no. Horace’s lips tightened. Things would be different this time, and he would hold the purse strings. His wife, Isabelle, had property when they married and, due to his business acumen, more had accrued over the years. They raked in profits that Isabelle had enjoyed spending, her dress allowance alone enormous. She’d been far too generous with the staff, something he didn’t approve of, and after her death he’d been determined to cut down on household expenditure, getting rid of the lot of them. Money was to be accumulated, not frittered away, and nowadays his bank balance was a testimony to his thrift. He continued to walk; after all, it was good exercise and why waste money on transport? It was half an hour later when he turned into Mycroft Road. His mistress lived here, and she had suited him well, playing the role of a meek and biddable woman perfectly. Yet though he had his needs, he resented the expenditure. As Joyce opened the door, her smile was inviting, and Horace smiled back. He’d continue to keep her for now, but if his plans worked out, he’d have no further use for a strumpet. None at all. Chapter Six (#ulink_34d4cc23-16b9-5e7e-97e2-dbf0d4189b14) Over three weeks had passed, and Emma was thinly slicing a large tin of Spam. She served it with fried potatoes mashed with cabbage, and as they all ate with relish she knew that afterwards they would be having the last of the preserved fruit. It had been wonderful to bring the food home, but the stock in Mr Bell’s pantry was growing low. She would have to break it to them, but dreaded it. If her father let her keep more of her wages, she could buy extra food, but he insisted that she stumped up all but a few pence. Mr Bell had been true to his word, taking only five shillings each week towards the rent arrears, but gone too was her dream of fitting them all out with new clothes. Emma had planned to leave once the arrears were paid off, but she had grown to love her job. With her employer out most of the day, she would fantasise that the house was hers–that instead of occupying a cramped and spartan attic, she lived in luxury. The upstairs bathroom had been a revelation, with hot water flowing from the taps. Many times she’d been tempted to take a bath, but the thought of Mr Bell arriving home unexpectedly held her back. Lately she was getting to grips with the laundry cupboard, finding that when she went to get clean sheets for her employer’s bed, most of the linen had yellowed with lack of use. It had been a bit of a job to master the washing boiler and the mangle, but she had done it. Now each day fresh white sheets billowed like sails at sea on the washing line in the back garden. As the weeks had passed she gained in confidence, and now when taking a break, she would sneak a book from the shelf, unable to believe that there were so many to choose from. They were all classics, but reading Charles Dickens had become a passion. At the moment she was engrossed in Bleak House and sometimes had to force herself to return to the chores. There had been times when she’d been tempted to sneak a book home, but knew that in the attic there’d be little privacy to read it, and anyway, she was fearful that her siblings would get hold of it, ruining the beautiful leather covers. Nowadays, when Emma dusted the beautiful ornaments, or tackled the laundry or ironing, she did it pretending that she was a lady, the bubble only bursting when Mr Bell came home. Emma had now seen how the other half lived and realised the stark contrasts when she returned to the attic rooms. After Mr Bell’s spacious house, the cramped conditions were emphasised, along with the smell of poverty. It bred in her a feeling of discontent, a yearning for something better, not just for herself, but for her brothers and sisters too. There was a babble of voices and, seeing that everyone had finished their dinner, Emma spooned the last of the pears from the jar, saying as she handed them out, ‘Make the most of them. There aren’t any more.’ ‘But I thought you said Mr Bell had loads of stuff in the pantry?’ Dick said. ‘He did, but with feeding seven of us, it’s soon gone down. All the fruit has been used, and though there are still some tins of Spam and corned beef, they won’t last long. It’s been lovely having this extra food, but we’ll be back to vegetable stew soon.’ ‘Charlie is giving me a rise next week, and if Dad puts his hand in his pocket, maybe we could have meat regularly.’ ‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Emma said bitterly, ‘but it’s good of Charlie to give you a rise.’ ‘Yeah, he’s a great bloke.’ ‘Dad isn’t home yet so can I have his pears?’ Susan asked eagerly. ‘I want some too,’ Ann said. Now that James and Archie were living downstairs, Ann was the youngest. Like Emma and Bella, she was pretty, but in a less obvious way. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes, but unlike Susan, she was a loving child and the least trouble. Emma smiled at her, saying firmly, ‘Neither of you is having Dad’s share. He’ll be hungry when he comes in.’ ‘Huh, I doubt that. I expect his belly will be full of ale as usual,’ Dick snapped. ‘It ain’t fair,’ Susan grumbled. ‘Bella will get round him as usual, and he’ll give her some of his pears. He always does.’ Emma closed her eyes against her sister’s words, but knew they were true. Bella’s was a doll-like prettiness. She had already learned to manipulate her father, becoming his favourite. Dick and Luke could be wheedled round too, the males of the family unable to resist her delicate looks. Emma rose to her feet, took the last two halves of pear from the jar and cut them into pieces before sharing them out. ‘There, are you satisfied?’ she said impatiently. Dick ate his, then said quietly, ‘Emma, can you ask Mr Bell how much is left owing on the arrears?’ ‘He only discusses the rent with Dad so it’s unlikely he’ll tell me. Anyway, why do you want to know?’ ‘I’ve heard about a job in the caf?. The pay isn’t bad, and you’d like the old girl who runs it. Mrs Bright is a good sort and has a heart of gold. If the arrears are nearly paid, you could go for it.’ ‘It sounds all right, but to be honest, I don’t mind working for Mr Bell. I never dreamed I’d enjoy cleaning, but the house is lovely and with most of the rooms closed up it isn’t hard work.’ ‘From what you’ve told me about the place, the man must be worth a mint. Rumour has it that he owns lots of property, raking in rent from all of them.’ Dick’s eyes flicked around the room. ‘If this place is anything to go by he’s tight on repairs too.’ ‘I don’t think he’s poor, that’s for sure, but I don’t understand why he got rid of the staff when his wife died. He doesn’t own a car either.’ ‘Well, going by the state of this place, I reckon he’s a skinflint and doesn’t like spending his money.’ ‘I doubt that, especially as he’s been so generous with the food from his pantry.’ Emma rose tiredly to her feet. ‘I’d best get this lot cleared up.’ ‘We’ll do it,’ Luke said. Susan pulled a face, her voice a whine. ‘Bella can help him. I’ve got a tummy ache.’ ‘That excuse is wearing a bit thin,’ Dick told her. ‘If you all muck in it’ll be done in no time.’ Dick’s voice was firm, and sulkily Susan began to help the others. Emma knew they did their best when they came home from school, but there were still jobs they were unable to tackle. The washing and ironing for starters, and if truth be known, with only the evenings to do these chores, Emma felt worn out trying to keep up with it all. Not only that, the school summer holidays would be starting soon and she dreaded leaving the children alone all day. ‘Why the long face, Emma?’ Dick asked. ‘I’m worried about the kids when they break up from school.’ ‘They aren’t babies, they’ll be all right. Mind you, it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with them,’ Dick said. He called Luke and Susan to his side. ‘Whilst Emma and I are at work during the holidays, Luke will be in charge.’ ‘But—’ ‘No buts, Susan. Luke is the eldest, and he’ll be leaving school next year, which makes him almost a man.’ ‘He ain’t a man. He’s a cissy.’ ‘I ain’t a cissy!’ ‘That’s enough!’ Dick’s voice was loud. ‘Luke will be in charge and, as before, Emma will have a word with Alice. You can go to her if you have any problems, but I don’t want you running to her to sort out your silly spats. Now is that clear?’ They both nodded. Dick turned his attention to Bella and Ann. He went over the same things with them, only adding, ‘I’m not far away at the market if you need me, but woe betide any of you if you get into trouble.’ Emma hadn’t interrupted while Dick laid down the law. She knew that her brother was right, and Luke was old enough to be left in charge, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss her worries. The evening passed with the occasional squabble, but they were all in bed when Emma heard her father staggering up the ladder. His head cleared the top, his voice loud. ‘Emma, where’s my bloody dinner?’ ‘I kept it hot for as long as possible. You’ll find a few slices of Spam on a plate, but the potatoes will be cold.’ He muttered something, his head disappearing again, and Emma sighed with relief. She felt Susan stir beside her, but thankfully she didn’t wake up, and as Emma closed her eyes against the sound of her father crashing about downstairs, her thoughts focused instead on Mr Bell’s lovely house. When Emma was leaving for work the next morning, Liz Dunston was waiting for her on the ground floor. With the largest flat and a small back garden, she thought herself a cut above the rest of them. Her husband was a milkman, up at the crack of dawn, and she had one son, who, at fifteen years old was a butcher’s apprentice. The tall, statuesque woman folded her arms across her chest, her voice high with indignation. ‘Emma, the racket your father made when he came home last night woke my husband again. I’ve tried talking to him, but he ignores me, and when I came out to complain he swore at me.’ ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dunston.’ Her face softened a little. ‘I’m not blaming you, girl, but this can’t go on. If it doesn’t stop I’ll be forced to complain to the landlord.’ ‘Oh, please, don’t do that.’ ‘He’s on his last chance, Emma. Have a word with him, will you?’ Emma murmured yes, but knew her father wouldn’t take any notice of her. God, she’d be mortified if Mrs Dunston complained to Mr Bell. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face-and what if he gave her the sack? Emma was still worrying when she reached Clapham Common. Letting herself into the house, she was surprised to see her employer in the hall. ‘Hello, Emma,’ he said, smiling pleasantly. ‘Why the long face?’ ‘It’s nothing, sir.’ ‘Now then, how many times have I told you not to call me sir? I’ll be off in a minute or two, but I noticed that you cleaned my study yesterday. Did you move any papers from my desk?’ ‘Oh, no, Mr Bell, I didn’t touch your desk.’ ‘Blast, I can’t find them and need them urgently. I’ll have another look.’ He turned on his heels, heading for his study. Emma went to get cleaning materials. As was her routine, she started with the drawing room. It looked lovely as she walked in, a ray of sun shining through the bay window and alighting on a crystal decanter. The cut glass sparkled in a rainbow of colours, and for a moment she stood mesmerised, but then, giving herself a mental shake, she started work. Alongside the sofa there was a small side table, and on it some papers. Emma glanced at the top sheet, saw it was a letter from a firm of solicitors, and picking them up, took them across to the study. ‘Are these the papers you’re looking for, Mr Bell?’ He came to her side, his eyes lighting up. ‘Well done, Emma,’ he cried and, putting an arm around her shoulder, he briefly hugged her. Emma immediately stiffened, pulling away as she said, ‘They…they were in the drawing room.’ ‘Of course, I was reading through them last night and forgot to return them to the study. Well done for finding them, my dear. Now I must get a move on or I’ll be late for my appointment and as I may not be back today, I’ll leave it to you to lock up as usual.’ Emma nodded, confused by Mr Bell’s familiarity. He had hugged her, called her ‘my dear’, and she wondered what had come over him. Perhaps he was just pleased about the papers, but she left the study relieved that he was going to be out for the rest of the day. Horace Bell was smiling as he headed for his solicitor’s office. Tom Chambers was playing into his hands, just as he had hoped, the rent unpaid as usual. The more he saw of Emma, the more he desired her, and was growing impatient. Nevertheless, he would have to let the arrears accrue for another few weeks before putting his plan into action. He passed St Barnabas’ Church, his thoughts still on Emma. It would work, he was sure of it. As before, he was determined that things would be different this time, and in Emma he had found the perfect choice. She was young, meek, innocent, and could be easily moulded. Horace was on time for his appointment, and after going over the finer points of the deal with his solicitor, he signed the documents, passing over the cheque. Another three houses were now in his hands, and they were in good condition. He’d divide them into flats as usual, and as they were in a better part of Battersea, they’d command more rent. The next stop was the bank, and after that he’d go round to see Joyce. It had been nearly a week since he’d last seen her, and his loins stirred. Yet he knew when he made love to his mistress, in his imagination, the woman beneath him would be Emma Chambers. Chapter Seven (#ulink_3df184cb-e4a5-580d-acf3-43a75c5b1852) Horace walked down the dimly lit road on a Saturday night, determination in his stride. He knew that Tom Chambers had been trying to avoid him, and when he reached the man’s local, he flung open the door. The dark and gloomy public bar was crowded, men in caps standing at the counter, others sitting at rickety tables, ashtrays overflowing in front of them. Smoke tainted the air, and as heads turned conversation ceased when Horace walked towards the bar. He knew that in his dark suit, collar and tie, he stood out like a sore thumb, but many of these men were his tenants and he ignored them. ‘Hello, Tom,’ he said as the buzz of conversation started up again. Tom swung round, immediately defensive. ‘If you’re looking for your rent, I’ll pay you next Friday.’ ‘Yes, you said that last week, and the week before. In fact you’re now a further six weeks in arrears.’ Tom hunched over the bar, his voice a hiss: ‘I got laid off again, but I’ve got a job on another site, starting on Monday.’ ‘That’s not good enough.’ ‘Look, you’ve got Emma working for you and can keep more of her wages.’ ‘The rent isn’t Emma’s responsibility, it’s yours, and I’m not prepared to let the arrears mount any further. Either you pay up, or you’ll be evicted.’ ‘Don’t say that, Mr Bell. Surely you can give me a bit more time?’ ‘No, your time is up.’ ‘You can’t put us on the streets. What about the kids?’ He looked at Tom’s pint of ale, unable to hide his disgust. ‘You seem to have money for drink.’ ‘I’m only having one. Surely you don’t begrudge me that?’ ‘When you owe me a substantial amount of money, I do.’ Tom glanced along the bar, obviously embarrassed that other customers could hear their conversation. He pointed to an empty table in the corner. ‘Can we sit down?’ ‘I suppose so.’ ‘What can I get you, sir?’ the landlord asked Horace. ‘Just give me a glass of port.’ ‘What about you, Tom?’ the publican asked. Horace ignored Tom’s glance in his direction. If the man wanted another, he could pay for it himself. ‘Not for me,’ Tom said, picking up his half-empty glass. They walked to the table, taking opposite seats. With a furtive look around, Tom’s voice was little more than a whisper: ‘Please, give me a bit more time. I’ll give you a few bob now and surely we can come to some arrangement about the rest?’ ‘We already had an arrangement, one you have failed to keep.’ Horace’s tone hardened. ‘You and I both know that you won’t pay the outstanding rent, and I’m not prepared to give you any further leeway.’ ‘Mr Bell, have a heart. I know that things have gone to pot since my wife died, but I’m finding my feet again now. Can’t we work something out?’ This was the opening Horace needed, and, now softening his voice, he said sadly, ‘As you know, I too lost my wife. It’s been nearly three years now.’ ‘Then you know what it’s like,’ Tom said eagerly. ‘I still managed to keep my affairs in order,’ Horace snapped. He then sighed heavily. ‘However, I do know how it feels to lose one’s partner in life. In fact, I’ve been considering taking another wife.’ ‘I don’t blame you, mate. I’ve got my eye on a nice little widow too.’ ‘Have you?’ Horace said, interested despite himself. ‘Yeah, but it’s only been eight months since my wife died and tongues round here would wag something rotten if I took her out.’ ‘Rubbish! You’re still a young man and entitled to some comfort.’ ‘That’s true, but it ain’t just me. The kids could do with a new mum too. They’re running wild these days and need taking in hand.’ ‘Well then, ignore the wagging tongues. Mind you, I have a problem with my choice too. You see, she’s very young.’ ‘Blimey, what’s wrong with that?’ ‘I’d be a lot older than her.’ ‘Leave it out, Mr Bell. You’re still in your prime.’ As he had hoped, Horace had been able to lead the conversation to this point and now he plunged in, ‘I’m glad to hear you say that. You see, I’m interested in Emma.’ ‘Emma! What, my Emma?’ Horace ignored the shock on the man’s face. ‘Yes, your daughter, and in fact, if you could persuade her to marry me, well—’ ‘Marry you?’ Tom’s voice was high as he broke in. ‘Bloody hell, man, she’s only seventeen! Have you talked to her about this?’ ‘No, you see I thought I should discuss it with you first. Anyway, you didn’t seem to think that age was a problem a few moments ago.’ ‘Yeah, well, that was before I knew we were talking about Emma.’ ‘I’d be good to her, Tom, and if you can persuade her to marry me you need never worry about the rent again. In fact, you could live rent free for the rest of your life.’ Tom’s face darkened. ‘So, you’d be letting me off the hook in exchange for my daughter?’ ‘I don’t see it that way. Think about it. With Emma as my wife, I could hardly take money from her father for renting one of my flats.’ Horace lifted his glass, taking a sip of port, and then leaned back in his chair. Tom needed to mull it over, to see the sense of his proposal, and, saying nothing more, he left him to do just that. Tom glanced at Horace Bell. Then, taking out his tobacco pouch, he rolled a thin cigarette. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, all the time avoiding the man’s eyes as his thoughts raced. With his cigarette alight he sucked on it, coughing as the nicotine hit his throat, and then sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed as his mind turned. Emma was only seventeen. Horace Bell might think himself a young man, but he must be in his mid-forties. Christ, the bloke was older than him, old enough to be her father. It didn’t seem right and, anyway, he doubted Emma would agree. Yet what about the rent? How the hell was he going to pay it? A small voice began to whisper persuasively at the back of Tom’s mind. Horace Bell was a rich man. If Emma married him he’d be a part of their family. He’d already offered the flat rent free–what else might come their way? Enough, he hoped, to persuade Polly Letworth into his bed… Tom took another drag on his cigarette and through the smoke shot Horace Bell a glance. All right, the man might be a bit old for Emma, but she would want for nothing and surely a mature man would be better than a young tyke without prospects? The small voice continued to whisper persuasively. The man’s money, the rent-free flat…Moments later it won the day. Tom picked up his glass, took a swig of beer and, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, ‘All right, Mr Bell, you’re on. I’ll speak to Emma.’ Bell smiled, and then rose to his feet. ‘Good man, Tom. Please put my proposal to Emma tomorrow. I’ll call round in the afternoon for her answer.’ ‘Blimey, that soon? Can’t you give me a bit of time to work on her first?’ Horace Bell’s friendly demeanour disappeared. ‘I’m not a patient man, Tom, and can see no good reason to wait. I want my answer tomorrow and hope you won’t let me down. After all, you know what will happen if you do.’ Tom paled. Seeing Horace Bell’s expression, he didn’t doubt that the man would carry out his threat. ‘All right, you needn’t worry. Emma will do as she’s told.’ Chapter Eight (#ulink_c264f2e8-bfb1-5257-91d0-9a7aec38e8a4) It was Sunday morning and Dick was out working again. Emma was at the sink, peeling potatoes, the kids playing and giggling. She turned as her father shouted, ordering them outside to play, and gritted her teeth. They weren’t being naughty, just a bit loud, but Emma knew it would be useless to protest. One by one they scrambled to their feet, running out, the door slamming behind them. Her father gestured. ‘Emma, come here. I want to talk to you.’ ‘Talk to me? What about?’ ‘Just get over here, girl.’ She dried her hands on a piece of rag, heaving a sigh as he indicated that she sit down. As he hurriedly spoke, she was unable to believe her ears and stared at him in horror. When she managed to find her voice, her reply was a squeal. ‘Me! Mr Bell wants to marry me?’ ‘That’s what I said.’ Bewildered, her mind unable to take it in, Emma shook her head. ‘But why me? He…he’s a gentleman and I’m hardly in his class.’ ‘For Gawd’s sake, don’t you know how pretty you are? You’re just like your mother and she was a knockout. As for class, well, Horace Bell obviously thinks you’re good enough.’ ‘But I don’t want to marry him,’ Emma cried, sickened by the thought. ‘He…he’s an old man.’ ‘Don’t be daft, he’s in his prime. Anyway, you’ll do as you’re bloody well told.’ Emma jumped to her feet. ‘I won’t! I won’t, and you…you can’t make me.’ ‘Now you listen to me, my girl. If you turn him down, we’re all out. Do you want to see your brothers and sisters on the street?’ Emma’s eyes were wide, her mind reeling. ‘But…but I’m working for Mr Bell to pay off the arrears. Why would he chuck us out?’ ‘’Cos I ain’t been paying the rent and the few bob he takes out of your wage is just a drop in the ocean.’ ‘You haven’t paid! But why?’ ‘I got laid off again.’ Emma gawked at her father. He’d been taking her wages, and Dick’s, but instead of keeping up with the rent, he’d been pouring drink down his throat. Frantic, she cried, ‘But, Dad, you can get another job. In the meantime I’ll work for nothing and Mr Bell can keep all of my wages.’ ‘I suggested that, but he won’t stand for it. We owe too much. The only way out is for you to marry the man. When you do, he said he’ll wipe out the arrears, and not only that,’ he added eagerly, ‘we can have this place rent free.’ ‘And if I refuse, he’ll chuck us out? My God, it sounds like blackmail!’ Her father’s tone changed, his voice becoming soft and persuasive. ‘It ain’t like that, Em. The man wants you, and as he said, he can hardly take money from me once you’re his wife.’ ‘I don’t care what he said! I won’t marry him and you can’t force me.’ ‘Who said anything about forcing you? Think about it, Em. You’d be living in that big house that you’re so fond of, and us lot would never have to worry about eviction again.’ Emma’s stomach was churning. She may have fantasised about living in Mr Bell’s lovely house, of being rich, but she’d never dreamed of being his wife. Her eyes burned as she faced her father. ‘It isn’t my fault that we’re facing eviction, it’s yours. You’ve got us in this fix, and I’m supposed to marry an old man to get you out of it. What did you do, Dad?’ she taunted. ‘Did you offer me for sale to the highest bidder?’ Red faced and sounding indignant, Tom stammered, ‘Of course I didn’t, you silly cow! The man approached me. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. All right, he may be a bit older than you, but he’s rich, and instead of jumping at the chance of a lifetime, you’re acting as though I’m sending you to the gallows.’ ‘You might as well be. I’d rather be dead than marry him!’ ‘Christ, your mother would turn in her grave if she knew what a selfish bitch you’ve turned into. You haven’t given a thought to the kids. Let me tell you, we’ll be out on the streets if you turn the man down.’ Emma’s throat tightened, constricted with emotion. Her mouth opened in protest, but no words came. She turned on her heels, fleeing the room, taking the stairs two at a time and dashing out onto the street. She wasn’t being selfish–she wasn’t, it was just that the thought of being Mr Bell’s wife made her blood run cold. She flung open the street door, running without thought of where she was going until, out of breath, she bent double, gasping for air. When her breathing steadied, Emma began to walk, her mind twisting and turning, going over and over the same things. How could her father say she was selfish? She was working for Mr Bell to pay off the arrears. Surely that was enough? But no, her father hadn’t been paying the rent again, the money going over the bar at the King’s Arms instead. It was he who was selfish, not her–his fault that they were going to be chucked out. Emma continued to walk, her eyes fixed ahead yet seeing nothing around her, her thoughts always coming back to the knowledge that if she didn’t marry Mr Bell, they’d be evicted. Yet she couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t! She’d have to sleep with the man, share his bed! There had to be another way. Maybe they could borrow money from somewhere? Who could she ask? Alice Moon, yes maybe Alice could help them. With a little hope in her heart now, Emma turned for home, where she knocked on Alice’s door. ‘Hello, love. I’m afraid the boys aren’t here. Cyril’s taken them to the park.’ ‘Can I talk to you, Alice?’ ‘Of course you can. By the look on your face I can see something’s wrong. Come on in.’ Alice led her through to the sitting room and indicated that she should sit down. After refusing a cup of tea, Emma blurted it all out, ending with, ‘So you see, if we pay the rent, I won’t have to marry Mr Bell. I…I was wondering if you could lend it to us. I’ll pay you back, honest I will.’ ‘Oh, love, I wish I could help, but I’m skint. You see, I went a bit mad buying for the kids, and it’s cleaned me out. You could try a money lender, but they charge a mint in interest and if you miss a payment they get nasty. Jack Marsh, who lives round the corner, got every finger in his hand broken, and when he still couldn’t pay, the loan shark broke his leg. It ain’t worth the risk, love. I’ve heard of other people who’ve been paying off loans for years, and with the exorbitant interest rates they never get close to clearing the debt.’ ‘It’s my only hope, Alice.’ ‘Think about it, Emma. Your father isn’t paying the rent, and even if he gets a loan to pay off the arrears, they’ll soon mount up again. Then it’s another loan, and another…’ Emma hung her head. Alice was right, and her last hope was dashed. When Alice spoke again, her voice was gentle. ‘I know you think Mr Bell is old, but he isn’t, not really. If you marry him you’d want for nothing. You’d have that fine house and you’d be out of this dump.’ ‘Alice, you’re pointing out the same things as my father, but I can’t marry Mr Bell. I’d…I’d have to sleep with him, in his bed, and the thought of that makes me feel sick.’ ‘It ain’t so bad, love, and if Mr Bell is anything like my Cyril, it’s soon over.’ Emma’s face flamed. Sex had been a taboo subject with her mother, and though she’d heard the goings-on often enough, she had no idea what actually happened. ‘Does…does it hurt, Alice?’ ‘The first time can be a little painful, but after that, it’s fine. In fact, it can be very enjoyable.’ The colour in Emma’s face deepened and she lowered her eyes. There were so many questions, so much she wanted to ask Alice, but was too embarrassed. ‘I still don’t think I can marry the man. I…I don’t love him.’ ‘Do you like him?’ ‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but I hardly know him.’ ‘Liking someone is a good enough start.’ Leaning forward, she patted Emma’s knee. ‘There ain’t many girls who get a chance to marry well and get away from these stinking streets. If you ask me, you should grab the chance.’ Emma shook her head against the advice as she rose to her feet. ‘I’d best get back, Alice.’ ‘All right, love, but think about what I’ve said. Think very carefully.’ Slowly Emma climbed upstairs, her shoulders bent. She went into the attic room, tensing as her father jumped to his feet, his voice frantic. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ ‘For a walk.’ ‘And have you changed your mind?’ ‘No.’ ‘Please, Emma, see sense. Mr Bell will be here soon for his answer.’ ‘I don’t care. I won’t marry him.’ ‘Emma, for God’s sake! Think what your mother would say. Surely she’d have encouraged you to get out of this dump–to have a better life.’ Emma looked at her father with disgust. He was using emotional blackmail again and, sickened, she slumped onto a stool. But his words had touched her, her thoughts turning to her mother. Oh, Mum, what should I do? She looked around the room, at the damp, peeling wallpaper, and tears filled her eyes. For the last few years of her life, all her mother had known was this hovel, her life one of drudgery, giving birth to one child after another with barely enough money to feed them all. Why? Why did she put up with it? Though she wanted to deny it, Emma knew the answer: love. Her parents had known each other since childhood, falling in love whilst still at school. Huh, and look where love had got Mum. A life of grinding poverty and an early grave. ‘Think of us, girl. If you don’t marry Mr Bell, we’ll be out on our ears.’ As her father said these words there was a knock on the door. ‘Bugger, he’s here. For the love of God, Emma, don’t turn him down.’ Emma’s eyes darkened with hate as she glared at her father. ‘It’s you who should have thought of the kids.’ There was another knock, louder this time, and she sighed heavily before saying, ‘You’d better let him in.’ ‘Hello, Tom…Emma,’ Horace Bell said as he stepped into the room. She lowered her head, only returning his greeting with a murmur. Within seconds the door opened again, Dick coming home from his stint on the Sunday market. His eyes flicked to Mr Bell and, sensing the charged atmosphere, he asked, ‘What’s going on?’ ‘It’s none of your business,’ Tom snapped. ‘We need to talk in private, so get lost for a while.’ Dick ignored his father, instead addressing Mr Bell. ‘Are you here about the rent? Don’t tell me it hasn’t been paid again?’ Horace Bell just raised an eyebrow. Dick persisted, ‘If you want to talk to my father in private, how come Emma’s here?’ ‘Because what we have to discuss concerns Emma.’ ‘Oh, yeah? In what way?’ Emma looked at her brother, seeing the lines of fatigue etched on his face. Poor Dick, up at the crack of dawn, working seven days a week, and passing most of his earnings over to their father. Yet despite that, the rent still hadn’t been paid. Even if they were all out working, nothing would change and, as Alice had said, if they borrowed money, they’d never have the means to pay it back. She looked at her father, wondering how her mother could have loved this man. Her eyes flicked to Mr Bell and in that instant Emma came to a decision. She didn’t love him, could never love him, but she did like him. If she married the man, at least she’d be away from her father, and if Mr Bell was as well off as he appeared, she’d be able to do more for her brothers and sisters. She’d be able to buy them clothes, food…But she was then struck by another thought. Without her, who’d look after them? Their father didn’t give a damn, only wanting them out of his sight. Dick was at work, and though Luke was as good as gold, he wasn’t capable of cooking, or doing the washing and ironing. Emma chewed worriedly on her lower lip, hardly listening as Dick continued to quiz their father without success. At last her eyes met Mr Bell’s and he smiled kindly. It was then that a light seemed to switch on in her mind, illuminating the obvious. What was she worrying about? Mr Bell’s house was huge, with enough room for all of them! She doubted her father would object if she moved them all in, and as far as she was concerned he could stay in the flat and stew in his own juices. With a smile, Emma rose to her feet, moving to touch Dick on the arm. ‘It’s all right, love. Mr Bell just needs to have a few words with me but it’s nothing to worry about. Pop out for five minutes and I’ll tell you all about it when you come back.’ ‘Are you sure, sis?’ ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Emma waited until Dick had reluctantly left the room. Then, her tone abrupt she said, ‘All right, Mr Bell, I’ll marry you.’ Chapter Nine (#ulink_583f5436-47bb-5fcf-b3a0-bbd7f51a3c34) Horace Bell was elated. When Emma’s eldest brother had returned, there’d been some resistance from him, a heated argument before the young man stormed out again, but now the room was calm. He could see that Emma was upset, and glancing at Tom Chambers, he saw the man’s face was still dark with fury. He had thought at one point that Tom was going to strike his son, but Emma had intervened, telling Dick firmly that she’d made up her mind and wouldn’t change it. As though sensing his thoughts, Tom growled, ‘That young tyke is getting too big for his boots.’ ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll come round to the idea,’ Horace said, wrinkling his nose. This awful room reeked of damp but before he could leave, there was still much to discuss. He wanted to persuade Emma to marry him sooner rather than later, and he might need her father’s support. Horace turned to Emma now and, composing his face, smiled, his voice deliberately gentle. ‘Emma, we haven’t had a chance to talk, and I haven’t thanked you yet for agreeing to be my wife. I’m sure we’ll be very happy, my dear, and with this in mind I’d like to set a date for the wedding.’ ‘When are you thinking of?’ Tom asked. ‘I’d like it to be as soon as possible, perhaps next month. Also, if Emma doesn’t mind, I’d prefer a civil ceremony.’ ‘Well, it’s all the same to me, but I don’t know about Emma. What do you think, girl?’ Both men now looked to Emma for her response. When it came her voice sounded dull, but resigned. ‘Whatever you say.’ Horace breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike a church wedding, a civil marriage would be quick and easy to arrange, and he’d get on to it first thing in the morning. Emma rose to her feet and he watched her as she went to the sink, filling a mug with water before gulping it down. She looked pale, yet despite this, when she returned to her stool he was once again struck by her beauty. Yes, he had chosen well. She came from a poor background, but unlike his first wife, Emma would be undemanding. Of course her clothes were appalling and he’d have to buy new ones that were more suited to her position. For a moment, the thought of spending money made his lips tighten, but then he brightened. After the initial expense there would be no dress allowance, no unnecessary expenditure. Yes, things would be different this time, and he’d make sure the purse strings remained firmly in his hands. ‘If I’m to make the arrangements tomorrow, I’ll need Emma’s birth certificate, and of course, your permission, Tom.’ ‘Yeah, right,’ Tom said, finding the certificate in an old biscuit tin and handing it over. There was a racket outside, the door flying back as three girls rushed into the room, followed by a young lad. They were filthy ragamuffins, and Horace moved hastily out of their path. As his eyes met those of the young lad, Horace paused, seeing that under the grime he was an exceptionally handsome boy. Their gazes locked, and Horace shivered, finding himself uncomfortable under the lad’s intense scrutiny. There was something in his eyes, something deep and unfathomable, almost as if the boy could see into his soul. ‘This is Luke, my second son,’ Tom said, ‘and the girls are Susan, Bella and Ann.’ ‘Emma, what’s for dinner?’ one of the girls cried. Horace dragged his eyes away from the boy. He would have liked some time alone with Emma, but it was obvious that she had her hands full. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll see you in the morning and we’ll talk again.’ Her brow creased. ‘You…you want me to come to work?’ Horace could have kicked himself. Until Emma was his wife, he’d have to tread carefully. ‘Goodness, what am I thinking of? I can’t expect you to do the cleaning now. I’ll find someone else to look after the house, but I doubt they’ll keep it as lovely as you.’ ‘No, it’s all right,’ Emma said hurriedly. ‘With so many lovely ornaments, I wouldn’t want anyone cleaning them without supervision. We can find someone to replace me after we’re married, but until then I’d rather look after them myself.’ ‘Married!’ a voice squeaked. Horace turned to see that the exclamation came from a snotty-nosed girl and shuddered. Emma’s smile seemed forced as she answered the child firmly. ‘Susan, we’ll talk later.’ Emma had been brought up in this area, and Horace knew that her diction needed work, but he’d soon sort that out. Little did she know that he had no intention of employing another cleaner, but that was something she’d find out after their marriage. Nevertheless, he was gratified that she showed such concern for his valued pieces of porcelain. ‘Thank you, Emma. You’re right; many of the ornaments are delicate and your concern is commendable. I’ll see you in the morning, my dear.’ Moving towards the door, he nodded briefly at Tom, about to leave when the man spoke. ‘Hang on, I’ll come with you. We should have a drink to celebrate.’ Horace hid a scowl as Tom joined him. He wanted nothing to do with the rest of Emma’s family and the sooner Tom Chambers found that out, the better. He waited until they were outside before making his feelings plain. ‘Now that Emma has agreed to marry me, you can continue to live in your flat rent free as agreed. However, when Emma is my wife, I won’t stand for any interference. You and the rest of your family will not be welcome at my house, and this is the last of the free handouts.’ ‘Now then, there’s no need for that,’ Tom wheedled. ‘Who said anything about free handouts? Come on, man, you seem to be forgetting that I’m soon to be your father-in-law. I only suggested a celebratory drink.’ ‘You’re buying, are you?’ Horace said sarcastically. ‘Well, I must admit I’m a bit short at the moment…’ ‘Yes, I thought so. All right, Tom, I’ll buy you a drink, but it’ll be the last one you ever get out of me.’ * * * Emma was relieved to see her father leave with Mr Bell. The children clamoured around her, Luke the most affected by the news. ‘But why are you going to marry him, Emma?’ ‘Because he’s got a lovely house, lots of money, and once we’re married you can all come to live there.’ ‘Will I get a room all to myself?’ Susan asked eagerly. ‘I should think so.’ ‘And me?’ Bella piped up. It was Luke who burst the bubble. ‘Has he said we can move in, Emma?’ ‘Well, no, but I’m sure he’ll agree.’ Luke’s face was grave. ‘I don’t think he will.’ ‘What makes you say that?’ Emma asked, her voice sharp. ‘I dunno. It’s just a feeling.’ Emma paled. Luke didn’t do this often, but as on other occasions, when he had a feeling about something it usually turned out to be true, like the time he had somehow foreseen that Susan would fall down the stairs, his prompt action averting a nasty accident. Emma hid her concern, hoping she sounded more assured than she felt. ‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll speak to Mr Bell about it in the morning and I’m sure it’ll be all right.’ With her eyes veiled, Emma’s thoughts raced. If Horace refused to let the children move in, what would happen to them? If he said no, how could she leave them to fend for themselves? Unexpectedly, the responsibility of the children weighed heavily on her and she felt a surge of resentment. At first she’d been horrified at the idea of marriage, but then the thought of living permanently in that lovely house had swayed her. She had fantasised about it being hers, and now her fantasy was coming true. Of course, talking to Alice had helped, especially when the woman assured her that the sexual side of marriage wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Emma rose to her feet, ushering the girls from her side as she began to prepare their dinner. It all rested on what Mr Bell had to say about the children in the morning, and now she found herself wishing the hours away. Chapter Ten (#ulink_642f429b-4b3f-50e0-b8a2-548d90aafdac) Tom scowled as Horace Bell left the pub. Bloody skinflint! He had been tempted to tell the uppity sod that he could forget marrying Emma, but common sense prevailed. He needed someone to take the kids on–the sods were driving him bloody mad–and if things went well with Polly, he might be able to tempt her with a rent-free flat. She might balk at the idea of taking on five kids, but Dick would be one less, old enough now to find a place of his own. Mind you, he’d miss the lad’s money, but once Emma was married to Horace Bell, she was sure to tip him a few bob. He licked his lips as he pictured Polly. Unlike Myra, who had been a smasher when he married her, Polly’s face wasn’t much to look at, but her figure was enough to tempt any man. She wasn’t very tall, but nicely rounded, and as time was called in the pub, he decided to pop round to see her. She lived in the next street, and another plus was that she didn’t have any nippers of her own. As he knocked on the door, Tom was a little nervous. It had been a long time since he’d done this courting lark, and though Polly always stopped to have a word when she saw him, her smile warm and holding a coy invitation, he hadn’t asked her out yet. Her eyes rounded when she saw him on the step, but she soon regained her equilibrium. ‘Tom, what a nice surprise! What can I do for you, love?’ ‘Er…I was wondering if I could have a word.’ ‘Of course you can.’ ‘Can I come in?’ Polly frowned and leaned forward, her eyes flicking up and down the street. ‘Yeah, all right.’ Tom following the woman along a long narrow passage and into a small back kitchen. He glanced around. It wasn’t much, but spotless, and that was another point in Polly’s favour. ‘Do you fancy a drink, Tom?’ ‘I wouldn’t say no.’ ‘I’ve only got a bottle of gin but you’re welcome to a snifter. Take a seat, love.’ Tom watched as Polly found two cups. Having opened the bottle she poured them each a good measure, her smile rueful. ‘I hate Sundays, Tom. It’s a family day and rotten on your own. I ain’t much of a drinker, but on Sundays this is my special treat and it gets me through. Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?’ Tom took a swig of gin and grimaced. He wasn’t fond of the stuff, but it gave him a bit of Dutch courage. ‘Well, girl, I was wondering if I could take you out one night.’ ‘Me! You want to take me out?’ Tom chuckled at the expression on her face. ‘Well, there ain’t anyone else here and I wasn’t talking to the wall.’ She didn’t respond, only taking another sip of gin, but then their eyes met and she smiled. ‘Blimey, this has come as a bit of a shock.’ ‘Leave it out, Polly. You must have twigged that I fancy you.’ ‘No, not really. I know we’ve had a chat now and then, but I thought with you losing your wife less than a year ago…well—’ Tom broke in, ‘I’m just asking you out for a drink, that’s all. There’d be no strings attached, and as for Myra, I know she wouldn’t want me to sit at home moping.’ ‘No, of course she wouldn’t. Your wife was a lovely woman. It’s awful that she died so young.’ Polly paused for a moment, then said, ‘All right, Tom, you’re on.’ ‘Smashing. How about tonight? We could walk over to Chelsea and have a drink in a pub by the river.’ Polly shook her head. ‘If it’s all the same to you, Tom, I’d rather stick to our local. Some pubs still frown on women and I’d feel a bit uncomfortable. The landlord in the King’s Arms doesn’t turn a hair as long as I use the saloon bar.’ ‘Leave it out, love. Times are changing. Still, if you’d feel more comfortable in our local, it suits me. How about I pick you up at eight?’ ‘Yes, that’s fine. Now would you like another drink?’ ‘Yeah, why not? I’ve nothing to rush home for.’ ‘Oh, well, how about staying for a bite to eat then?’ ‘I’d like that,’ Tom said, relaxed now and leaning back in his chair. He watched as she began to bustle around, a small smile on his face. Polly was a bit of all right, no oil painting, but a man could drown in those tits. Christ, he needed a woman and he wondered how long it would be before he could get her into bed… Polly too was thinking hard as she prepared a cold meal. Christ, fancy Tom Chambers asking her out! They had both grown up in this area, and she’d seen him turn from a gawky schoolboy into a smashing-looking bloke. He’d had his pick of the girls, and it had been no surprise when he had chosen Myra. She had been a beauty, tall and leggy with natural blonde hair, but Polly had to admit that she’d gone down over the years. Mind you, with having that brood of kids it wasn’t surprising. She glanced surreptitiously at Tom, still unable to believe that he was sitting at her table. She had always fancied him, but he’d hardly looked her way until now. Polly sighed heavily. She craved men’s arms around her, liking a bit of slap and tickle, but lately was growing fearful of her reputation. Gossip was spreading, keeping her indoors more than usual, and if anyone else had asked her out at the moment, she’d have said no. As Polly turned to carry the plates to the table, their eyes met and Tom winked, his smile warm. Her hands shook. God, he was gorgeous. ‘It’s only a bit of Spam, tomatoes, bread and pickle.’ ‘That’ll do me, love.’ They sat facing each other. With her throat constricted with nerves, Polly was hardly able to swallow her food, but what did it matter? It wasn’t food she wanted, it was Tom Chambers. She wanted to drown in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, and then the thought of what might follow had her fidgeting with desire in her chair. Christ, she didn’t want to ruin her chances, didn’t want Tom to think her brazen. She would have to go carefully. ‘You’re only picking at your food, Polly. Are you feeling all right?’ ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m not very hungry, that’s all.’ As their eyes locked it was as if some sort of unspoken signal passed between them. Tom stood up, holding out his hand. He said, ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Despite her desires, Polly hesitated. As much as she wanted Tom, if she slept with him now he’d think her a tart and that was the last thing she wanted. There were those around here who already thought it was true, and if gossip reached his ears he’d believe it. ‘Tom, we can’t.’ ‘Of course we can. I can see by the look in your eyes that your need is as great as mine.’ ‘It…it wouldn’t be right. Anyway, I…I’m not that sort of woman.’ ‘Of course you’re not, but what harm would it do? We’re both free, both lonely, and I wouldn’t think any less of you. Mind you, there’s only one thing.’ ‘Oh, and what’s that?’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kitty-neale/sins-of-the-father/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.