she jumped back into bed and moved Lucy between herself and Sophy. ‘Quick, keep her warm or she’ll wake up and start yelling. Then we’ll know it. We’ll not have a wink of shut-eye.’
Sophy grunted and made room. ‘’Spose we’ll all stink of piss again tomorrer.’ It was her final comment before she fell asleep.
‘Where’s the money?’
An apprehensive look slipped between Alice and Sophy. They each picked up a slab of bread from the plate on the table and started to chew. Bethany slipped down from her chair, murmuring about needing the privy.
‘I said, where’s me bacca money?’ their father suddenly roared. He shook the empty tin in his hand and glared at his wife. With an almighty crash he slammed the tin onto the mantelshelf.
Tilly Keiver settled baby Lucy more firmly on her jutting hip. ‘What bleedin’ money? Weren’t no money in the tin. You had it out Monday. I saw you.’ She swivelled her hips from side to side, rocking the baby, even though little Lucy seemed unconcerned by her father’s fury.
Jack Keiver approached his wife. He was a well-built man in his early thirties. His features were regular and the only blemish on his handsome face was a small, odd-shaped area of freckled skin that ran along his jaw. Presently the birth-mark was stretched by the grim thrust of his chin. ‘You lyin’ cow. I wouldn’t take money out when you was around to see where it was hid. You think I don’t know you by now?’ He stared angrily at the empty tin as though he might get his three shillings back if he wished hard enough for it. ‘You’ve had it, ain’t yer?’ Suddenly enlightenment erased the weariness from his rugged features. ‘You was out boozing again last night, wasn’t you?’
‘Ain’t been nowhere,’ Tilly snapped back. She turned to squarely face her husband, her figure stiff with belligerence. She’d fought with him before and would do so again if necessary. ‘I’ve been stuck in this dump, ain’t I,’ she lied without a flicker of guilt altering her wide blue gaze. Her eyes darted to her two eldest daughters, settled fiercely on Alice. Both girls kept their heads bowed and sipped at their lukewarm tea.
‘I’m warning yer, gel, don’t drag them into it.’ Jack’s lips were rimmed white with wrath. ‘Soon as me back’s turned you’re thievin’ and off out.’ He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and paced to and fro. ‘Well, if you think I’m working nights again for old man Cooke for a pittance so’s you can tip me takings down yer neck …’
‘If you get yourself some proper work you won’t need to be Cookie’s sidekick for a measly few bob.’ Tilly blocked his path and shoved her face up to his. ‘I told you that Mr Keane wants one of his houses in Playford painted out.’
‘And I told you that I’ll not knuckle under for him … or you.
‘You selfish git. You sit around moaning you ain’t got no work then don’t want a good job when I find it for you.’
‘I can get me own.’
‘Yeah, I noticed. You’re fuckin’ useless, you are.’
‘You keep a civil tongue in front of the kids.’ Jack Keiver’s dark brown eyes narrowed coldly on his wife.
The warning had been issued in a voice that Alice strained to hear yet it made a shiver slip down her spine. She looked at her father from beneath her lashes, watching him swing away and pick up his coat and hat. He’d been in barely fifteen minutes and he was not intending to stay. A sorrowful sob was stifled in her chest. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms about him, tell him she had a little bit put by and he was welcome to it to spend on whatever he liked. But she sat still and simply watched as he opened the door.
‘I’m off out.’ He looked back at his sullen-faced wife. ‘I know you’ve been boozing, Tilly,’ he said dully. ‘You reek of it.’
‘Yeah, well maybe I wouldn’t need it if I had a man bringin’ in proper wages and helping out now ‘n’ again.’ That was muttered at the door Jack had banged shut behind him. Tilly shook back her tangled fiery hair and spat out a curse to hurry him on his way. Then she turned about with her chin up to face her daughters.
‘Come on … what you two waiting for? Christmas? You should’ve been out from under me feet by now. Get off to school and quick about it.’ Tilly deposited Lucy on the bed, and started gathering up the crockery on the table. It needed rinsing under the tap on the landing so they could use it at dinnertime. She shoved the little pile of plates and cups towards Alice. ‘Here, get this done ’fore you disappear. I’ve got to nip downstairs and see your aunt Fran about some work I’ve found her.’
As Tilly sped down the stairs she thought about Jack. Regret was writhing in the pit of her stomach, making her irritable. She could have owned up and said she’d taken his money for her boots. He might not have minded that so much; it was his belief that she’d stolen it for whiskey that made him mad. Yesterday, when she’d got the boots off Billy the Totter, she’d meant to show Jack what a bargain she’d found. But he’d come in and gone out to work down the market without seeing her. She hadn’t intended to go to the Duke at all. She’d had no money for a start. Then a friend had called by and offered to stand her a drink. It’d been Kitty Drew’s treat for she’d been promoted to supervisor at the Star Brush factory. It was a celebration … a time for a bit of fun. Gawd knows there was little enough of that to be had round here!
Tilly loved Jack and she knew he loved her. She knew she did things she shouldn’t. She said things she shouldn’t. And as for that temper of hers … it was a bitter consolation reminding herself that he was far from perfect. If he’d taken on that job for Mr Keane it would have seen them straight for several weeks. He’d let his blooming pride get in the way of a bit of decent grub on the table.
With a savagery born of frustration Tilly hammered loudly on a door. She got no response to that so, after a moment or two, made to walk in unannounced. The door was locked. ‘You in, Fran?’ She rattled the handle. Still no one came to open it so she gave the panels another thump. ‘Fran? Jimmy? Anyone home?’
‘Saw him go out,’ a voice behind Tilly informed her.
Tilly turned to see Mr Prewett locking his door. He had the room in front of her sister Fran’s. Tucking his walking stick beneath his arm he began to limp down the stairs. He hopped down a step at a time with the aid of a rickety banister that seemed to hang in space. Over time the spindles had been prised free and used as firewood by tenants desperate to keep warm. ‘Surprised I was, I can tell you, to see either of ’em walkin’ after the bleeding commotion coming out of there last night.’ Having made his complaint, Mr Prewett hopped down another tread.
‘They was at it last night?’ Tilly demanded, frowning down at the top of his shiny head.
‘Thought the whole road must’ve known what went on, the row they was making.’ Bill Prewett settled himself firmly on one foot and looked up at her. ‘Banged on their door meself, I did. You gorn deaf or summat?’
‘I was out for a while …’ Tilly explained.
‘Oh … out, was yer?’
The knowing tone made Tilly itch to run down and slap his smug face for him. She knew that it was common knowledge around here that she liked a drink. So what? So did most people struggling to survive in this shit hole.
