He says, “This must be one of the happiest days of my life.” And he walks out!’ He shook his head. ‘Well, if he can’t pay his way, he’s not staying ’ere. There’s boys who’d give their right arm to work in that mill. I had to eat a lot of humble pie to get him in. Especially him being so much older than the others. Ungrateful little so-and-so.’
‘But where is he?’ asked Ellen.
‘Lying low upstairs probably.’
‘We would’ve heard him coming in,’ said Win. ‘And we haven’t.’
‘How do I know you’re not protecting him?’
‘Why should I? He’s as bad as you are.’
‘Win, please,’ said Ellen. ‘You’re only making things worse.’
John glared at his sister-in-law. ‘You ought to be grateful you’ve got a home here.’
‘So you keep reminding me.’
‘John, don’t,’ said Ellen.
‘And I’d like to remind you I pay my way. Even though you ain’t got no carpets,’ she snapped, and she raised her newspaper again.
John pushed his way forcefully past the chairs and left the room. They listened to him stamping up the stairs yelling out, ‘Ralph! Ralph!’
Immediately Ellen rushed over to Elsie. Elsie lifted the spectacles. One side-piece had snapped off the joint. ‘The lens isn’t broken,’ said Ellen relieved. ‘We can fix that with some plaster. Now put them in your satchel. Quick.’
Elsie had hardly put them in the bag hanging from her chair when the door swung open and her father entered, his arms full of books.
‘What you doin’ with them?’ gasped Ellen.
‘They’ll keep us warm until he gets home.’ He marched over to the range.
‘No!’ yelled Ellen. ‘Some of them’s presents from the rector and his son.’
He opened the range with the tongs and threw one book in.
‘Stop it!’ screamed Ellen, flinging herself in front of him.
‘Get out of my way!’ And he gave her a shove. She fell backwards and her head caught the corner of the table.
‘Ellen!’ he cried. He flung the books to the floor. ‘Ellen. Are you all right?’
‘That’s what the Nazis did,’ said Win.
He swung round. ‘What you on about?’
‘They burnt books.’
‘You calling me a Nazi?’
‘Actions speak louder than words.’
‘I wish Ralph had stayed in Cornwall with that vicar,’ muttered Joan miserably.
‘Amen to that,’ added Win. ‘Males give you nothing but a headache.’
Elsie gazed anxiously at her mother. Her dad was helping her to her chair. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a hell of a day.’
‘And now we’re all having a hell of a night,’ commented Win.
‘Can’t you keep your mouth shut for a second, woman!’ he shouted.
Ellen gazed helplessly at John and her sister. She rubbed her forehead briskly as if trying to rub away the pain.
‘I know you all don’t think much of Ralphie,’ she said shakily, ‘but I do. And he’s family. And right now he’s out on the street somewhere by his self.’
‘On a Friday?’ Win quipped. ‘Don’t be daft. He’ll be heading where he usually goes on pay-night.’
‘He wouldn’t have the gall,’ whispered his father. ‘Not after being sacked.’
‘I forgot it was Friday,’ said Ellen relieved. ‘That’s all right then.’
‘Oh, what’s the ruddy use,’ he snapped. ‘I’m off.’
‘Where you going?’
‘To drown his sorrows,’ said Win sarcastically.
‘At least I’m welcome there.’
‘John, you haven’t eaten.’
‘Forget it. I’m not hungry.’ And he flung the door open into the scullery.
Ellen ran after him but the back door was already open and all she could see was the fog outside. ‘John, please!’ she yelled after him.
‘Auntie Ellen,’ complained Joan from the kitchen, ‘it’s freezin’.’
Ellen closed both doors and returned silently to the kitchen. No one spoke.
‘I know what would cheer everyone up,’ said Harry suddenly.
‘What’s that, love?’ said his mother in a monotone.
‘We could put the wireless on!’
The hush in the theatre was electric. Even as the curtain hit the stage there was still a dumb silence and then it was broken suddenly by great waves of applause. Looking down at the audience from the gallery, his hands smarting with the ferocity of his clapping, Ralph could see people hurriedly wiping away their tears. The curtain sprang up revealing the cast in their Victorian costumes, holding hands. There was only one man, Basil Duke. He had played Albert Feathers, the blackmailing scoundrel of a nephew.
From below Ralph could hear cheering. He applauded with even more vigour, yelling with them. It was one of the most magical moments in the Palace Theatre for months.
Elspeth Harding, who had played the murderess, Ellen Creed, stepped forward and the audience roared their appreciation. The woman in the box office had been right, thought Ralph. She did have star quality.
Basil Duke had star quality too. But of a different kind. He was the actor that Ralph most wanted to be like. He was totally different in each part he played, almost unrecognisable at times.
The actress, smiling with pleasure, indicated the cast and they all bowed again to tumultuous applause. She lifted her hand and gradually the auditorium grew quiet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of myself and the
