poor house what the Sally Army run nowadays – or live on the streets…’ Bill Kaye was the head of his family and his wife had few rights. If she’d left him, he wouldn’t have paid her a penny, even for the children, so she had no choice but to stay and take whatever punishment he handed out. None of the other children were strong enough to stand up to him, even though Marion had tried to reason with him when he was sober. They all knew that they had to stay clear when he’d been drinking because he didn’t care who he clouted then. Marion sometimes wished he’d stay away and never return, because the few pounds he brought home were not worth the pain he inflicted on his family.
‘I’ll never marry unless I can give a woman a decent home and enough money to feed and clothe her and the kids properly…’ Dan had vowed furiously, his eyes sweeping round the damp walls that crumbled if you hit them too hard and the dirty cobbled floor that was never clean even after Marion scrubbed it until her hands were raw. The one tap over a shallow sink only had cold water; water for washing and cleaning had to be heated in the copper in the scullery. It made the work twice as hard for their mother, whose health had steadily been deteriorating since the birth of her last child, who, poor mite, had not even drawn breath.
Marion cooked some cabbage and the potatoes, then mashed them with a scraping of marge, some salt and pepper and served her brothers and sisters first before sitting down to her own portion.
‘Has anyone been up to see Ma?’ she asked as she ate her meal.
‘I went up as soon as I got home,’ Robbie said. ‘She told me to go away. I asked if she wanted a cup of tea and a bit of toast. She said she wasn’t hungry and to leave her alone.’
‘I’ll go up in a minute,’ Marion said. She looked at Dickon. ‘You can help Kathy do the washing-up – Robbie will you bring in some wood and coke for me please? I’ve got some washing to do and I’ll scrub the kitchen floor if I can manage it after you’ve all gone up…’
‘I already lit the fire under the copper fer yer,’ Robbie said. ‘I knew yer would wash the clothes since Ma hasn’t…’
Marion finished her meal and got up, taking her plate to the sink. There was never any wasted food in her house, everything was cleared from the plates and she knew the lads could have done with more. She could offer them bread and jam and Robbie would probably help himself if he was hungry. As long as he left her a slice for her lunch the next day, she didn’t mind. They all knew that food was precious. You didn’t waste it and you ate only your share or someone else went hungry.
Leaving her siblings to wash the dishes and saucepan, Marion went up to her mother’s bedroom. She could smell the sourness of vomit and her stomach curdled, but she braced herself. It wasn’t Ma’s fault she was so ill. Marion didn’t know if it was her father’s either, though six children were a lot for any woman to bear and she knew of at least three miscarriages. These bouts of sickness and pain had started to happen after the last stillborn child and Marion wondered if something inside Ma hadn’t healed properly, but she wouldn’t have the doctor and, in truth, they would find it hard to pay him if he visited.
‘Is that you, Marion love?’ her mother asked weakly. ‘I’m sorry about the sausages. I only went out for a moment and the door didn’t shut…’
‘It’s the latch,’ Marion said. ‘It needs fixing…’ If her father were here, he could do it easily, but he wouldn’t bother unless his wife put herself out and that meant another row.
‘You should get someone…’ her mother’s weak voice said. ‘The sausages cost more than the price of a new lock…’
‘Not unless Dad does it himself,’ Marion said. Sometimes, she thought her mother had no grasp of what things cost these days. ‘I reckon half a crown at least.’
‘Not if you ask Mr Jackson…’ Mrs Kaye insisted. ‘Tell him what his dog did and he might do it for free…’
‘If Dan was here, he’d do it, but he’d make the neighbour pay for it,’ Marion said. ‘I’ll go around and speak to him if I get time…. there’s the washing and the floor…’
‘Leave the things to soak and I’ll try to rinse them in the mornin’,’ her mother offered.
‘I’ll see…’ Marion replied. She hesitated, then, ‘Will you have something to eat, Ma – or a cup of tea?’
‘Kathy got me a drink. I don’t want anything else – get on with whatever you need to, love…’
Marion sighed as she went down the stairs. If she left the clothes soaking, they would be there when she got home the next day. She would put them in for a while and pop round next door, see what Mr Jackson had to say, but she hoped the dog was shut up, because it was always jumping up at people and Marion was afraid it might bite.
She negotiated the back path to their neighbour’s kitchen door, avoiding a bicycle that had been parked against the washing prop but fallen down, taking the wooden prop with it, and then stepped over three pairs of working men’s boots that looked as if they needed a good clean. Mrs Jackson had a husband and three hulking great sons at work in the building trade, four daughters, two employed at the laundry, one married, and one – the pride of her mother’s life – training to be a nurse.
It was Paula Jackson, or Nurse Jackson, who opened the door to her, and Marion breathed a sigh of relief. Paula was friendly and often stopped to say hello if they met in the corner shop.
‘Marion, lovely to see you – will you come in?’ Paula invited. ‘If you can squeeze in for my monsters…’ She called her brothers names all the time but they only grinned. ‘What can I do for you? Mum said yours didn’t look so good when she saw her in the yard. They had quite a chat about that suffragette, Mary Richardson, what damaged a painting at the National Gallery, I believe…’
So, Ma had lied about only being gone a moment. Marion drew a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Paula, but do you think your dad would fix the lock on our back door please? Ma left it open this morning and a dog got in and pinched the sausages we were supposed to have for tea…’
‘That will be where the varmint got them from then,’ Mrs Jackson said, coming to stand behind her daughter. She smiled at Marion. ‘I saw it scoffing them but was too late to rescue anything. I’d take my stick to it, but these daft lumps would cry buckets…’ She jerked her head in the direction of her sons, who were eating their tea of lamb stew and mash. ‘I’ll see my husband comes round this evenin’ and does it for yer, love…’
‘Thanks, Mrs Jackson…’ Marion said and then blushed as Reggie Jackson loomed up behind his mother. He towered over them all, a tall, broad-shouldered man with nearly black hair and blue eyes.
‘I’ll do it now, Ma,’ he said and grinned at Marion. ‘It’s my dog so my fault – and I’ll be round right away, Miss Kaye…’
Marion mumbled something and bolted. If anything terrified her more than the Jackson’s dog, it was Reggie. The way he looked at her made her want to hide herself, because there was such laughter in those eyes. Ma said Reggie Jackson was too good-looking for his own sake and the plague of all decent girls and if they weren’t careful, they’d be left with the trouble and he’d be off to some fancy foreign place without a care. Ma was prone to saying such things. She was always warning both Marion and Kathy to be careful of men, but Milly was too young to understand yet. Marion and Kathy did, despite Kathy being only days off her thirteenth birthday. They knew and they’d taken the warning to heart, because neither wanted to end
