Edith pulled a face. ‘Well, I’d have thought so, but if that’s her way of getting over Pete then I don’t suppose we can blame her. Perhaps it’s just a bit of fun.’
‘What’s he like?’ Alice asked.
‘Very good-looking,’ Belinda said at once. ‘Dark hair, dark eyes, easy to talk to. Generous as well – he bought everyone drinks all night.’
‘Yes, you couldn’t fault him for that,’ Edith agreed, remembering all the port and lemons Peggy had had.
Alice picked up on the tone of her friend’s voice. ‘But what? Didn’t you like him, Edie?’
‘No, it’s not that.’ Edith stopped to think about her impressions of Laurence. Everything Belinda said was true, and yet there was something about him she hadn’t warmed to. Was it the way he had eyed up Mary when they’d arrived? Then again, she was hardly in the mood to start taking an interest in men. ‘I’m just being silly, pay me no notice. I didn’t really speak to him enough to say either way.’
Alice glanced at her sceptically but Belinda didn’t see. ‘Well, I thought he was a bit of a catch. I don’t suppose he’ll be around for long, though. They’re based down on the south coast somewhere, so they’re bound to go back there soon and that’ll be that.’
Edith got up, clearing her plate and cup. ‘I expect you’re right.’ But she couldn’t shake that faint feeling of unease.
‘You’re getting too big for this!’ Kathleen exclaimed, lifting her son into his pram, which had seemed so huge when she’d first got it. Brian beamed up at her, his face now almost chubby. He still fitted in but gone were the days when she could easily sit him at one end and a bag of shopping at the other. It was finally being able to give him proper food that had made the difference.
Kathleen had struggled when he had been a small baby, with scarcely any money to feed the pair of them and make ends meet. If it hadn’t been for her best friend Mattie insisting that she came round to the Banhams’ house so often, they would have been in deep trouble. Then Ray had joined the merchant navy and some of his wages found their way back home, which had helped. Kathleen automatically rubbed her wrist and arm at the mere thought of him. She was never going to forget the way he’d hurt her, throwing her to the floor and all because she’d needed to feed Brian before paying attention to him. She had loved Ray with all her heart, even more so because her family had been so against the match. It had taken that day when he’d come home and she’d feared he would attack his own son to make her fully realise the sort of man he was.
Now he was dead, lost at Dunkirk along with so many others. Plenty would say he was a hero, and she supposed he was. At least she could tell Brian that his father had died for a noble cause. She would try to hold on to that, rather than the cold truth of Ray the wife-beater, jealous of his own son. While one part of her still longed for the passion they had shared, a greater part felt nothing but relief. He could never hurt either of them again.
Yet she blamed herself for not mourning him more deeply. He had been her husband, after all. Shouldn’t she feel terrible, as if life had no meaning, that she’d never be the same again? Like poor Edith did. The guilt was eating away inside her. She knew she was avoiding her friends, those who wanted to help her, like the Banhams and Billy. Especially Billy.
He’d always been so kind to her and come to her rescue more than once, very discreetly lending her money when he correctly suspected she had no other way of paying the rent. She’d been too proud to tell anyone just how bad her financial problems were, but somehow he had known. That was before he had saved her from the speeding car with its drunk driver. She and Brian would have been badly hurt, even killed, and he hadn’t thought twice. So really she should show him just how grateful she was.
However, the more she acknowledged how she felt, the worse the guilt became. She’d failed to see what a good man Billy was and had been taken in by Ray’s shallow charm. More fool her. Now she was too confused to know what to do.
‘Off we go,’ she said, forcing herself to sound bright and encouraging, not wanting Brian to glimpse the darkness inside her. She manoeuvred the heavy pram down the narrow pavement of Jeeves Place, waving to her old neighbour Mrs Bishop who sometimes babysat, dodging the broken slabs on the corner, and headed for Ridley Road market.
No matter how miserable she was, Kathleen usually enjoyed the bustle of the market, where many of the stallholders knew her, and some even saved little treats for Brian. He would sit up straighter in his pram when they drew near to the best fruit and vegetable stall and start to wave his arms when he caught sight of the man who ran it. Sure enough, today the man came around to the front of his stall, still piled high with colourful produce despite all the difficulties of the war. At least fruit and veg weren’t rationed. ‘How’s my favourite customer today?’ he asked, bending down to Brian’s level, and Brian squealed in delight.
‘He’s giving me no end of trouble, growing so fast,’ Kathleen laughed, pleased to see that Brian didn’t mind relative strangers. He was becoming a sociable little boy. That was exactly what she wanted. He hadn’t been around his aggressive father enough to taste real fear.
The stallholder reached into his pocket and drew out a shiny apple. ‘This will put colour in your cheeks,’ he said solemnly to the child. Brian immediately reached for it and beamed as he held it, fascinated by the bright colour and delicious smell.
‘Good boy,’ said Kathleen, reaching around. ‘Now you give it to Mummy to keep safe and you can have it when we get home.’ She didn’t want him taking big bites out of it when she couldn’t see him or he might choke.
Brian didn’t object and she turned her attention to the business in hand, buying ingredients for the next couple of days. It was a sad truth that receiving a pension as Ray’s widow meant she had money coming in more regularly than ever before. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was so much better than hoping for handouts from him, never knowing when they would come – or if at all. She and Brian had never eaten so well. Kathleen was clever at making something out of nearly nothing, having had to do so out of sheer necessity for so long, and now she found they could eat like kings if she budgeted carefully. Thanking the stallholder for his help, she loaded her bulging bag on to the wire basket beneath the pram, and made her way down the crowded thoroughfare to the stall which sold grains.
‘Shall we get some oats for your porridge?’ she asked Brian. ‘And pearl barley too,’ she said to the new stallholder. Barley stew was something she made a lot of; it was filling, and nourishing, and safe for Brian with his new teeth. She propped the big paper bag of it at the bottom of the pram. ‘Now you keep your feet away from it,’ she instructed her son, mock sternly.
The stallholder laughed. ‘He’ll be big enough to kick that soon,’ he observed.
‘It’s all your good food,’ Kathleen replied, thankful as she’d seen he had added a little extra to the bag before fastening it. That left only the fish stall. As meat was rationed, she had taken to buying fish when she could, but that meant coming more often as she had nowhere to keep it fresh.
Turning back into the fray of busy shoppers, some with small children tugging on their mothers’ coats, she became aware of a strange sensation, almost like a prickling at the back of her neck. She rubbed her scarf, hastily flung on earlier that morning. She must be imagining things. Frowning,
