it’s behind schedule. That’s where we come in. The bloke I met is looking for crews, and the money is top whack. If we put the hours in, it works out at almost twice what we’ve been earning.’
Ron pursed his lips. ‘It sounds good, but there’s still the problem of getting there. We’d have to be up at the crack of dawn and Gawd knows what time we’d get home.’
‘There’s accommodation on offer. It’s only basic, but to earn that sort of money I’m willing to rough it.’
‘I dunno, mate,’ Ron said doubtfully.
‘It’s the chance we’ve been waiting for. We’ve always talked about starting up our own firm and if you’re willing to give up gambling, we could pool our money, save enough to start up.’
‘You’d take that risk on me?’
‘We’re mates, and, after what you did for me, I’d be willing to take the risk.’
Ron’s head went down. During a beach landing in France he’d seen Pete pinned down by gunfire, too frightened to move. He’d run back, grabbed Pete, hauled him forward, but had taken a bullet in his leg. It had only been a skimmer, a bit of a flesh wound and, anyway, it was no more than Pete would have done for him. Now his mate was willing to risk a partnership—but could he do it? Ron agonised. Could he give up gambling? ‘I dunno, Pete. What if I let you down?’
‘You won’t. There isn’t a dog track in Bracknell, and I reckon we’ll be away long enough to get gambling out of your system. It’s time to take stock, Ron. If you don’t pull your socks up you’ll end up with nothing. Think about the future. We ain’t getting any younger, and if we don’t do this now, we never will.’
Two plates were put in front of them, and Ron’s mouth salivated as the smell of sausages and egg wafted up. Meat was still rationed, with only 4oz of bacon allowed a week, but there was more food available now. It was nice to have a real egg instead of that powdered muck they’d been forced to eat during the war, but as Ron picked up his knife and fork to cut into the sausage, he felt a surge of shame. Rationing or not, with most of his money going down the dogs, there wasn’t much food on offer at home. He should be providing for his wife and child, but the pull of the race track always won; the thrill of watching the dogs, of picking a big winner. Some weeks he won a few bob, but then like an idiot he’d put it on another dog, only to lose it again. Pete was right. Lily was right. It was a mug’s game, and he knew it.
Pete spoke and Ron was broken out of his reveries. ‘Well, Ron, what do you think?’
Determined to make changes, Ron said, ‘All right, let’s give it a go. But Gawd knows what Lily’s going to say.’
When Mavis had passed her gran’s house in Battersea Church Road, she hadn’t been able to resist popping in. Her reward was a jam sandwich that she munched as she sat by the fire.
‘So, you’re out with the pram again?’
‘Yes. Mum needs more stock and wants me to try Chelsea.’
‘And judging by the look on your face, you ain’t happy about it.’
‘I’d rather go to school.’
‘Blame your dad. If he didn’t blow all his money on gambling, she wouldn’t have to flog her guts out. The least you can do is give her a hand.’
‘I know,’ Mavis placated, aware that Gran despised her dad, and though Mavis sort of understood why, she couldn’t feel the same. She loved her dad, but just wished she saw more of him. Maybe he wouldn’t go to the dogs tonight, or the pub. Maybe for once he’d come home.
‘Instead of that good-for-nothing, I wish my Lily had met and married a decent man.’
Now that Gran had started, Mavis knew there’d be no stopping her. She swiftly finished her sandwich and stood up saying, ‘That was lovely, Gran, but I’d better go.’
Her gran struggled to her feet, swaying a little, prompting Mavis to ask, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. You’re getting as bad as your mother, fussing over me all the time, but as I told her yesterday, I’m as fit as a flea.’
Mavis doubted this was true. Her gran had once been chubby and red-cheeked, but for the past six months the weight had been dropping off her. She was sixty-one, her hair speckled with grey and her skin pasty. ‘Gran, you’re looking really thin. Have you been to the doctor’s yet?’
‘No, and I don’t intend to either. There’s nothing wrong with losing a bit of weight. Now go on, bugger off and leave me in peace.’
The sting was taken out of this comment by a swift hug and a kiss on the cheek, which Mavis returned before asking, ‘Do you need anything from the shops?’
‘If you pass the pie and mash shop on your way home, I wouldn’t say no to a portion of jellied eels. Hang on, I’ll just get me purse.’
With the money in her pocket, Mavis waved goodbye, still worried about her gran as she pushed the pram along. Unlike her mother, Granny Doris wasn’t slow in showing affection. Mavis knew she was stupid, useless, fit for nothing as her mother always said, but her gran made her feel loved. Gran would listen when she talked, whereas her mother had no patience, telling her to shut up nearly every time she opened her mouth. Mavis knew she’d be lost without her gran, and was frightened that she really was ill; tears now flooded her eyes as she turned the corner.
‘Be careful, girl.’
‘I … I’m sorry, Mrs Pugh,’ Mavis stammered as she hastily veered to one side.
‘You nearly barged into me. Where are you off to? It’s Monday morning and surely you should be on your way to school?’
‘My … my mum needs more stock.’
Edith Pugh’s neck stretched with indignation. ‘Don’t your parents realise how important your education is? My son is twenty-two now, but when he was at school I made sure he never missed a day. Now look at him. Alec works in an office and is doing really well. You’ll learn nothing trawling the streets. As I’m going past your house, I think I’ll have a word with your mother.’
‘Oh, no, please, don’t do that! I leave school at Easter and … and it’s not as if a day off will make much difference.’
The woman’s face softened imperceptibly, her tone a little kinder. ‘No, I suppose not, but despite your difficulties I’m sure you’re bright. I think you just need a bit of extra help and it’s a shame you aren’t getting it.’
Once again Mavis felt her cheeks burning. Until last year, Mrs Pugh had been the school secretary and she hated it that the woman knew of her failings. Anxious to get away, she stuttered, ‘I … I think my English teacher has given up on me.’
‘What about your parents? Have they tried to help you?’
‘Er … yes,’ Mavis lied, and to avoid any more questions, she added, ‘I really must go now.’
