turned to Jenny. ‘Do you know where Mum is now?’
‘No, but she’s not with what’s-his-face. I heard Dad say that he’d dropped her like a ton of bricks. I’ll pop in to see Gran later, see if she knows anything.’
Gloria tutted. ‘Knowing Mum, she’s probably got some other bloke on the go and is shacking up with him.’
Jenny’s lips tightened, but she didn’t answer. Gloria knew her sister didn’t like it when she was derogatory about their mother, but for once she didn’t chastise her.
‘Can I come to see Gran with you?’ Pamela asked Jenny in an unsteady voice.
‘Yes, all right, love,’ Jenny told her.
Gloria was barely listening as her thoughts turned to her dad. She wished him dead and imagined sticking the bread knife in his chest whilst he slept. He’d turned Pamela into a bag of nerves, Peter was always crying, Timmy had nightmares and Jenny was covered in bruises. She couldn’t blame her mother for their father’s vehement mood swings. He’d always been like it for as far back as she could remember, only it was her mum that used to get slapped about, not them. Maybe if he’d been a better husband, she wouldn’t have walked out on them. Gloria wished she could do the same, just walk away and leave the bloody lot of them to it.
Lizzie Lombard strode purposefully down Boundaries Road, thankful to put some distance between her and the three-bedroomed council house Henry lived in. It was her house too, her children lived there, and as far as she was concerned Henry had no bloody right to throw her out of it. But she was no match for his ferocious temper and knew that when Henry was in one of ‘those moods’, it was best to stay out of his way.
A car honked its horn as it passed her, which instantly put a smile back on Lizzie’s face. She enjoyed the attention she commanded from men, and though she’d recently celebrated her forty-second birthday, she prided herself on her looks. She wasn’t one of those old fuddy-duddy middle-aged women who dressed identically to their mothers. She liked the latest fashions and thought the new hemline, an inch above the knee, showed her shapely legs at their best. She’d heard women call her mutton dressed as lamb, but she put it down to their jealousy.
As she headed towards Balham High Road, her wavy blonde hair bounced up and down in time with her confident stride and sashaying slender hips. Earlier that morning, she’d put some lemon juice in her hair, and now, as the April sun shone on it, she hoped it would soon be a shade lighter. Roy liked her hair. He had complimented her on it many times. He said it was the blondest he’d ever seen and that it framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. She’d been seeing Roy Gumble for two weeks now, though she hadn’t admitted to him that he was sixteen years her junior. In fact, he was only four years older than her Jenny.
Lizzie passed under the railway bridge into Chestnut Grove and stopped at the sweetshop to buy Roy’s favourite, Barratt’s Sherbet Fountain. It amused her that he liked the childish sweet, and that he liked to share it with her. She took pleasure in seductively teasing him. He would react to anything suggestive and watch with desire as she’d suck the sherbet from the liquorice stick. They’d met in the ABC Café where she’d been sipping a glass of Coca-Cola. She’d spotted Roy watching her from a table opposite, and as she had lifted her lips from the glass, she’d lasciviously licked them. Roy’s jaw had dropped, and a few cheeky grins later he’d joined her. Soon afterwards he asked her out.
It was past noon, and the High Road was busy with shoppers milling around, though she guessed Roy would probably be just about waking up. They’d had a late night, and she smiled at the memory of their lovemaking when they’d returned home. Despite that, Lizzie had woken early, and if Roy questioned where she’d been it would be an easy lie to tell him she’d been up the market.
‘It’s me,’ Lizzie called as she let herself into Roy’s flat above the ironmonger’s. All the curtains were drawn, blocking out the bright sunshine and leaving the place in darkness.
‘Come and give me a cuddle,’ Roy shouted from the bedroom.
Lizzie smiled wryly. She knew what he wanted. His appetite for her was insatiable, and she couldn’t wait to climb between the sheets and feel his smooth, muscular body. He was like a finely tuned sports car, unlike the old jalopy she’d left a couple of years ago. Huh, she thought, Henry couldn’t even raise a smile, let alone anything else.
Gloria had moaned about it but stayed home to look after Peter and Timmy whilst Jenny and Pamela headed off to see Edith, their elderly gran. Jenny had left specific instructions with Gloria. She’d said that if their dad came home and he wasn’t drunk, she was to take the boys to Tooting Bec swings and not come home until teatime. The boys liked it there as they could wave to the trains as they passed. Gloria had agreed it was probably best to stay out of his way, though she’d said it was unlikely he’d come home sober. They all preferred it when their dad was drunk. He’d usually pass out.
When they arrived at their gran’s, Jenny pushed open the shared street door and stepped into the communal hall. The house was divided in two, her gran’s flat on the ground floor. Jenny had a key and let herself in and Pamela followed. The flat had one bedroom, a small lounge, a tiny kitchen and a toilet separate from the bathroom. It had recently been updated with modern conveniences, but her gran said she preferred it as it had been. She’d lived there for the past twenty years, ten of them alone since her husband had died.
The smell of freshly baked bread greeted them, making Jenny’s nostrils twitch. She breathed in the aroma and her mouth watered. Her gran’s eyesight was failing, probably caused by cataracts, but she still managed to bake a loaf every Saturday and treat them all to jam tarts.
‘Hello, love, you’re early,’ her gran said warmly when she saw Jenny in the lounge doorway.
‘Hiya, Gran. I’ve got Pamela with me today. How are you?’ Jenny asked as she bent to kiss her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek. She visited her as often as possible, always on a Saturday, and during the week when she could. It wasn’t easy, what with working full-time in Mullard’s factory and her younger siblings at home.
‘I’m all right, love,’ the old lady answered, ‘but I miss the Stewart family from upstairs. It used to be handy to bang me broomstick on the ceiling and Moira would pop down, but that new chap up there, he’s as deaf as a bleedin’ post. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely young man and nice enough, but it ain’t no good to me if he can’t hear me when I need something.’
‘What do you need, Gran?’ Jenny asked. She missed the Stewarts too. It had given her peace of mind to know they were keeping an eye on her gran, but they’d moved back to Scotland.
‘Nothing, but I had the fright of my life the other evening. I was sat here, minding my own business, and I’m sure a mickey ran over my feet.’ Edith shuddered at the memory. ‘I can’t stand the little blighters, ergh! Trouble is, my eyes ain’t what they used to be, and I can’t see ’em. Moira would have come down and checked the room for me.’
‘We’ll have to do something about them, Gran.’
‘Yeah, I know. Pamela, take some coins out of my purse, it’s in my bag on the sideboard. Be a good girl and pop to the shops for a few of them mice trap things. I hate the snapping noise they make, but I’d prefer ’em with broken necks rather than running riot in my flat.’
Pamela fished out a few coins, quietly
