Secrets to Keep

CHAPTER THREE





A look of annoyance filled Archibald Nelson’s face at the sight that met him when he walked into the kitchen of the Greenwood household two hours later. Hungry and work-weary, he was too preoccupied with his own worries to notice the atmosphere of sadness permeating the house.

In the hard times of 1930, when any job, no matter how menial, was hard fought or even murdered for, Arch was extremely fortunate to be permanently employed at a local factory that had been in business since the middle of the last century, producing working boots and shoes, albeit his wage only just paid for basics. To earn it he worked a gruelling ten-hour shift, six days a week, operating antiquated machinery in conditions hardly improved since Victorian times. The fact that his wife Aidy worked too, however, meant the Nelsons had a marginally better standard of living than many of their kind. They were dressed a little smarter, in good-quality, second-hand clothes, and could afford a cheap cut of meat three times a week; they could also fund a night out at the pictures once a week, or cheap seats in a variety theatre, or a few drinks in the pub.

Twenty-five-year-old Arch was a good-looking man, topping six feet tall and broad shouldered, his dark brown hair neatly cut into a short back and sides and groomed into place with hair cream. During work he looked as shabby as his fellows, but outside he tried to dress as sprucely as funds would allow. The same went for his wife. Many hopes had been shattered, both male and female, the day Aidy and Arch had said their vows.

For the majority of the time their relationship was harmonious, with just the occasional spat even happily married couples have, but one subject did cause friction between them which occasionally flared into a full-scale row. After five years of marriage Aidy was more than ready to start a family whereas Arch was adamant they should wait until he’d been given his promised promotion to foreman, albeit it was anyone’s guess when that would be as the present sixty-one-year-old incumbent had held the post for twenty years and didn’t look like relinquishing it until forced to retire. But the eventual increase in wages would enable Arch to support his family in a lifestyle far better than the hand-to-mouth one he’d had himself as a child, and without their having to scrimp and scrape any longer. To ensure he got his way, Arch insisted they took precautions whenever they made love, which in their case was frequently.

Pushing the door shut behind him, he snapped at his wife, ‘Aidy, do you know what time it is? Why are you still here and not at home, getting my dinner?’

Her face cast into shadow by the light of the flickering gas mantle, she was sitting at the rickety kitchen table, cradling her eight-year-old sister Marion on her knee.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, the unexpected sound of Arch’s voice made her jump. She turned to look at him and whispered, ‘Keep your voice down, Arch, I’ve only just got our Marion off. Could you put her to bed for me while I mash Gran a cuppa?’

He looked questioningly at her. ‘But what about my dinner? I’m famished. Can’t yer mam see to Marion and mashing yer gran a cuppa?’

Stroking her hand tenderly over the top of her sister’s head, in a choked voice Aidy uttered, ‘No, Mam can’t, Arch.’

As he advanced towards her, he was disturbed to see that her face was swollen, red and blotchy. She’d been crying. Wondering what could have caused her to be so upset, he demanded, ‘What’s happened, love?’ Automatically, because of her age, he assumed, ‘Is it your gran? Has she been took sick?’ He put his hand on Aidy’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘She’ll rally round, love. Tough as old boots is your gran.’

‘It’s not Gran, Arch, it’s me mam.’ Her bottom lip trembling, Aidy told him, ‘She’s dead.’

He was visibly shaken by this unexpected news. He had got on well with his mother-in-law, felt a deep respect for her, had secretly wished he’d her sort as his own mother and not the type he did have. ‘Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry, Aidy,’ he said in all sincerity. ‘Accident at one of her jobs, was it?’

She shook her head. ‘It happened here in the kitchen, this evening, just before I got here. Doc said her heart just stopped. He couldn’t do anything for her. She died just like that,’ she said, clicking two fingers. Her face puckered then, a fresh flow of tears rolling down her cheeks, and she miserably sobbed, ‘Oh, Arch, I can’t bear it! She wasn’t just my mother, she was my friend.’

He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and offer her what comfort he could, but the child in her arms was preventing him. Easing Marion out of her em brace as gently as he could so as not to wake her, he said, ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He found Aidy where he’d left her when he came back down several moments later. ‘Marion never stirred,’ he informed her. ‘Betty is spark out too, and I poked my head around George’s door and so is he.’

How Aidy wished she herself could escape into the oblivion of sleep, but that was out of the question for a while yet. Her younger siblings were not in need of her now but her grandmother would be. And, besides, first you had to fall asleep, and how did you do that when every fibre of your being was consumed by an emotional pain so strong it felt as if your heart had been ripped out?

Arch was continuing, ‘I put my ear to your gran’s door and couldn’t hear anything, so I gather she’s asleep too.’

‘Gran’s not in bed, Arch. She’s in the parlour, laying out Mam.’

He looked astounded. ‘Your gran’s doing that herself!’

‘She insisted. I offered to go and fetch Mrs Doubleday who sees to all that sort of thing around here, but she said no stranger was messing with her daughter. Was adamant, in fact. She shocked me, Arch. When me granddad died she fell to pieces, couldn’t even go to the privy by herself for ages afterwards. She broke down when she first heard about Mam, but now it seems like a … well, a determination has come over her to get on with what she needs to do for Mam. Whether she’ll fall apart after she’s finished laying her out remains to be seen. You know how close me gran and mam were.’

Aidy paused to take a deep breath, the pain she was suffering creasing her face, and whispered, ‘I know it’s me mam, but I couldn’t offer to help Gran. The thought just made me feel sick. But she understood. In fact, she was relieved. She really wanted to attend to it by herself. She said her mother was the first to see to Mam when she was born, and being’s she is still alive, it should be her mother who is the last to see to her too.’

The look on Arch’s face betrayed the fact that, like his wife, he found the thought of what Bertha was doing totally repellent.

Getting up from her chair, Aidy said, ‘I’ll mash a cuppa.’ As she was busying herself with her task, she told him, ‘I’ll be staying here tonight, Arch.’

He was sitting at the table now. Thankfully Aidy’s back was to him so she didn’t see the expression he pulled. Despite the circumstances, he selfishly didn’t like the thought of not having his wife beside him in bed to snuggle up to tonight. This would be the first night in five years of marriage they had not slept together. He knew better than to voice his thoughts, though, as his wife would not hold back from telling him exactly what she thought of him for thinking purely of his own needs at a time when he should be thinking of others. He said, ‘I suppose I’d better go and tell me mam what’s happened.’

Aidy spun round to look at him, horrified. ‘Can’t that wait until tomorrow? I couldn’t cope with her tonight, and I know Gran couldn’t either.’

Arch didn’t take offence at his wife’s words about his mother. Pat Nelson was a big woman, in body and character. Despite Aidy herself being strong enough never to let the likes of her mother-in-law dominate her, Pat would feel duty bound to interfere. As soon as she learned the news of Jessie Greenwood’s death, regardless of her son asking her not to, she would be round here, taking over in her bossy way, getting on her son’s nerves, let alone his wife’s at this extremely difficult time.

‘I’ll pop around tomorrow after work. What about your work, Aidy? They’ll need to be told what’s gone on.’

‘Oh, I hadn’t given work a thought. Could you call in at lunchtime and tell them for me?’

He nodded and told her that of course he would. As Aidy returned to the task of making the tea, he opened his mouth to ask if her mother’s funeral arrangements had been discussed, but then thought that might not have been tackled yet. He didn’t want to upset her further by bringing to mind that additional trauma when she was still trying to accept that her mother had actually died. Anything else he could think of to ask her, like how her day at work had gone, seemed trivial in the circumstances so a silence reigned between them, broken only by the clattering of cups as Aidy gathered them together and the sound of the water coming to boil in the kettle on the stove.

As Aidy put a cup of tea before him, a thought occurred to her and she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Arch, I’m so sorry, I’ve completely forgotten about your dinner. I was going to heat up the remains of last night’s stew and boil you some spuds. Do you think you can see to that yourself when you get back home?’

He supposed he had no choice, in the circumstances, unless he wanted to go hungry. In truth, though, he wasn’t actually sure how to put the stove on. Aidy had always seen to the cooking of their meals, and his mother before her … He once used to enjoy Pat’s food, but now he had Aidy’s cooking to compare it with, he could see his mother was barely an adequate cook. Oh, he knew what he’d do. He’d leave the stew for them to have the following night, when Aidy would do it, and he’d settle for fish and chips tonight. He told his wife, ‘I’ll leave the stew for us to have tomorrow … save you cooking, won’t it? … and get meself a bag of chips on the way home.’

Save her cooking? What a laugh! Save him the bother of preparing a meal himself, Aidy thought. Men! What would they do without a woman in their lives, to fetch and carry for them?

Arch heard a door opening and closing. It sounded like the parlour door to him. It had a peculiar squeak to it which, despite his oiling it, would not go away. Bertha was returning. He was quite fond of the old girl and got along with her well enough, but tonight he could just about cope with comforting his wife in her grief. He didn’t need her grandmother too. He was like most men: not much use around wailing women. They made him feel uncomfortable. He preferred to come to terms with his mother-in-law’s death in his own way. Over a pint at the pub.

He scraped back his chair and stood up, saying, ‘I’d better get to the chip shop before it shuts.’

Aidy too had heard the parlour door announce its opening and knew her grandmother had finished her task and was now on her way to join them. It was besides a lame excuse he’d used to make his escape as Hattie Cheadle who operated her fish and chip business from her front room, taking orders and handing them over through the open sash window, wouldn’t close up until she was absolutely positive there were no more customers to be had that night, needing every penny as she did to support her invalid husband and ten children. But Aidy fully understood her husband’s need to make an escape. Very few men were of use in emotional times like this, and all the rest merely looked on helplessly, not knowing what to say or do, and generally getting under the women’s feet. Before he left she would have liked a comforting hug from him, but men like her husband did not make displays of emotion in public. The most Arch would do if others were around was give her a peck on her cheek.

He gave her a hurried one now and then shot out the back door.

Bertha looked surprised to find her granddaughter alone when she arrived a moment later. ‘I thought I heard voices?’

‘You did. It was Arch. I’ve packed him off home.’

‘Best place for him. There’s n’ote he can do here. I’m just glad word hasn’t got around yet about Jessie. I couldn’t be doing with people calling tonight. They’ll be around in droves when word does get out, though. My daughter was a popular woman.’ Bertha looked searchingly at her granddaughter. Aidy looked liked death. For Bertha herself losing a daughter was bad enough, but Aidy had lost her mother, and so unexpectedly, with no chance for a goodbye. Without a word, Bertha headed off into the pantry, returning moments later with a bottle in her hand. Selecting a pot cup from several that hung from hooks under a shelf on the wall, she bustled back to the table, put the cup down on it, uncorked the bottle and poured a generous measure of greenish-looking liquid into it. She forced the cork back into the bottle, then picked up the cup and thrust it at Aidy. ‘Drink that,’ she ordered.

Aidy looked dubiously at it. ‘What is it?’

‘Summat that’ll do yer good.’

She took a sniff, grimacing. ‘God, that smells vile.’

‘How many times have I told yer? The worse it smells, the better it is for yer. It’s one of me potions for soothing upsets. Now get it down yer.’

‘Where’s yours then?’ Aidy challenged her.

‘I had a draught earlier. Now, for God’s sake, will you do as you’re told?’

Aidy knew she might as well get it over with as her grandmother would stand over her until she did. In truth, though, she could do with something to lift, even a fraction, her misery for the loss of the woman who had meant so much to her. She knocked back the thick liquid in the cup, giving a violent shudder. It tasted even worse than it smelled.

Handing the empty cup back to her grandmother, she looked at Bertha hard. She was worried about the old lady who looked as if she had aged ten years during the past couple of hours, though that wasn’t surprising considering the shock she’d received.

‘How are you bearing up, Gran?’ Aidy asked.

‘Well, I’m not going to go the same way I did when yer granddad passed, so yer needn’t be worriting yerself about that. I had a good chat with yer mother when I was seeing to her in the parlour, and I made her a promise that I was going to stay strong for the family on her behalf. I’m determined to.’

Aidy smiled wanly at her. ‘When I was sitting in here earlier nursing Marion, I made Mam the same promise, Gran.’

Bertha tenderly patted her shoulder. ‘Then, between us, we’ll make sure we all get through this.’ But she took a deep breath, worry clouding her face. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to manage from now on without a bit of help, though, me duck. I wish I were younger and wouldn’t need to burden you. It’s not like your own life ain’t full enough as it is.’

Aidy frowned up at her, bemused. ‘Help? With what?’

‘Well, the gels can help with the housework and some of the lighter jobs, but it’s the heavy part that’s worrying me. I ain’t as strong as I used to be.’

Even more bemused, Aidy asked, ‘The heavy part of what?’

‘Well, while I was seeing to Jessie, I was racking me brains for how I could earn our keep, and as I can’t see anyone taking me on at my age, the only option I’ve got is to do what she did. I’ll move out of the bedroom I shared with yer mam and give that over to a lodger. I’ll use a Put-u-up down here. And I’m gonna take in washing and ironing. I was wondering if yer think Arch would light the fire under the copper for me before he went to work each morning, and if you could see yer way to coming home at dinnertime and helping me with the mangling? I wish I didn’t have to put this on yer, but I’ve no choice. I need to provide a living for the kids and meself in whatever way I can.’

Aidy gawped at her. The shock of her mother’s sudden death had been all-consuming. She hadn’t given the serious matter of how life should carry on from here without Jessie a thought. Aidy’s heart swelled with love for the elderly, worried-looking woman standing beside her. It took a special person at her advanced age to propose undertaking what she had just suggested doing for the sake of her family. And it wasn’t just talk on her part either. But whatever the answer was to their serious problem, it was not going to involve her gran labouring over other people’s dirty washing twelve hours a day, or labouring at all at her age, Aidy was adamant on that. She knew inside that there was only one answer to this situation. ‘You needn’t be worrying about any of that, Gran. Arch and me will be moving in here and taking care of you all.’

Bertha looked appalled by the very idea. ‘Oh, but you’re both young with your own lives to be getting on with and …’

Aidy held up a warning hand. ‘You’re our family, Gran. I don’t want to hear another word on the matter.’

Bertha heaved a deep sigh of relief. ‘Well, I can’t deny that’s a load off my mind, Aidy. But what about Arch? Will he be agreeable?’

‘Of course he will, how can you ask? He’ll see, like me, that us moving in here makes sense.’

Bertha had to agree, it did, although she still felt it a great shame that she wasn’t more bodily able, and then the burden of caring for herself and the youngsters wouldn’t be down to her granddaughter and her husband. But Bertha had always pulled her weight around the house as much as she could, and would continue to do so. She said to Aidy, ‘You finally got Marion to settle down then?’

Aidy sighed heavily. ‘Arch took her up to bed. They’re all asleep, bless them. Exhausted themselves with all their crying.’

‘And with a little help from the sleeping potion I gave them in their milk before I went through to see to laying out Jessie,’ Bertha informed her. Then she asked, ‘Are you feeling the effects of what I’ve just given you yet?’

Aidy appraised herself. Considering all the pentup anger she was experiencing at her mother being taken from them so young and without any warning, she was surprised to find she did indeed feel a kind of calm seeping through her. ‘I’m not sure what it’s doing, but it’s doing something to me. I feel sort of relaxed … like you do when you’ve had a couple of glasses of port.’

Bertha looked happy with her response. ‘That’s just what my potion is supposed to do. If you want any more, just say.’ As she eased herself down on a chair opposite Aidy, the young woman got up and went across to the stove, collected a cup and saucer and poured her grandmother a cup of tea. Putting it before her, she sat back down in her own chair, saying, ‘I know that’ll taste better than what you just made me drink.’

Bertha managed a small chuckle. Picking up the cup, she warmed her hands around it before she took a sip of the hot, sweet liquid.

Aidy asked her, ‘Did you manage to do what you went through to the parlour to do, Gran?’

Bertha nodded. ‘I did. Jessie always liked to look her best and she looks beautiful now, bless her. I put on her best blue dress … the one she wore for your wedding. She loved that dress. Only one she ever had that was bought new from a shop. Took that extra job so she could save for it, she did. She so wanted to look nice for you. And she did, didn’t she? I know she wasn’t the religious sort, but I found the Bible the Sunday School gave her when she was a child and she’s holding that. She just looks like she’s asleep, Aidy love. So peaceful. I shall be sitting with her tonight. I can’t bear the thought of her being left alone.’

Normally the thought of being in the vicinity of a dead body would have revolted Aidy, frightened her even, but the body was that of her beloved mother, and her grandmother would be there, so she offered, ‘Would you like company, Gran?’

The old lady reached over one thin, veined hand and gave Aidy’s an affectionate pat. ‘There’s nothing I’d like better, if you feel you’d like to. I know your mam would appreciate it.’

They both lapsed into silence then, acutely aware this would be the last time the three of them would be together.

Taking another sip of her tea, Bertha’s aged face darkened as she spat, ‘I blame him for Jessie’s death.’

Aidy looked at her knowingly. ‘By him you mean me dad?’

‘That man doesn’t deserve the honour of being called yer father. He’s never been one to you, or to your brother and sisters. And Arnold Greenwood was certainly no husband to yer mother after you came along. If he hadn’t left Jessie high and dry, to fend single handed for her brood, she wouldn’t have worn herself out trying to make ends meet, causing her heart to give out. And he didn’t leave her just once, did he? Twice he did it.’ Bertha shook her head, her face set grim. ‘I took an instant dislike to the man the first time I clapped eyes on him when she brought him home to meet me and yer granddad. Yer granddad never took to him either. Don’t ask me why, but there was just something about him we didn’t like. It wasn’t a happy day like it should have been, the day she married him, not for me and yer granddad, but Jessie had made her choice and there was n’ote we could do but grin and bear it.

‘We did think we was wrong about him at first ’cos they were very happy together and he seemed to be being a good husband to her. He’d a reasonably paid job as a dyer for Corah, which gave him the means to rent this place, and he handed her a good portion of his wage for her housekeeping. But then he changed after you came along.

‘’Course, me and yer granddad didn’t really know any of this until after he’d left. Yer mam didn’t want to worry us about the way he was treating her, and she was ashamed that her marriage was going wrong. Every time we visited she’d put on an act that it was all right, so for a long time we thought it was. She told us after he’d left that not long after you were born, Arnold started going out at nights, leaving her home caring for you, and of course he needed money to fund his outings so he cut her housekeeping. And then he’d have the nerve to complain about the cheaper food she put in front of him, and the fact that the house wasn’t as warm as he liked it because she had to be sparing with the fuel. He would give her hell too if you made a noise and disturbed his peace.’

Bertha paused long enough to finish off her tea, putting the cup back in its saucer, then pushing it towards Aidy by way of informing her she’d like a refill. Aidy already knew the story of her parents’ failed marriage but her grandmother obviously felt a need to re-tell it so she patiently listened.

When Aidy got up to oblige with her refill, Bertha continued, ‘Arnold left the first time without any warning whatsoever. You were three at the time. Jessie got up one morning and he’d gone, taken all his belongings with him as well as the rent money. Walked out of his job too. I’d no doubt he’d gone off with another woman and, deep down, although she never actually came out with it, I know that’s what Jessie suspected too. Naturally she was very upset at the time, but there was some relief too that she hadn’t to put up with his shenanigans any longer and keep thinking up excuses to cover for his absence whenever we popped in, as we frequently did. Now she’d be left in peace to raise you on her own and let you play and cause as much noise as you liked without him having a go at her. She was terrified, though, how she was going to manage without yer dad’s wage coming in, worried about not being able to earn enough to keep this house on and having to raise you in the sort Pat Nelson lives in. Thankfully, though, she found a job the first day she started looking.

‘While she went to work, I looked after you for her. Jessie loved her job. Mrs Crabtree treated her like gold, paid her a decent amount for her cooking and housework duties, and any leftover food, Jessie was allowed to bring home. Well, Jessie being Jessie she always saw to it that me and yer granddad got a share, and the neighbours too if there was enough. Mrs Crabtree was always giving Jessie her old clothes, some she’d hardly worn … got money to burn, she had, her husband being some bigwig for a firm in town … and that meant some of the clothes she was given, Jessie could use the fabric to make up things for you. Mother and daughter were at one time the best dressed around these parts, thanks to Mrs Crabtree and much to the envy of lots of the folks around here. So what with taking in a lodger too, Jessie managed just fine moneywise.’

A smile twitched at the old lady’s lips. ‘You remember Claudia Badger, don’t you, Aidy? Who could ever forget her? I never knew quite what to make of her, meself. She dressed like a floozy in low-cut blouses and tight skirts, had her hair bleached and styled like that film star Greta Garbo … no, that’s not the one … Jean … Jean Harlow. And she worked for Woolie’s as a counter assistant, selling cheap make-up and costume jewellery, and always had some bloke in tow. At first I thought Jessie was out of her mind, choosing her when she could have had her pick from lots at the time wanting good lodgings. I thought Claudia the type who would take advantage and abuse Jessie’s hospitality, but she wouldn’t listen to me ’cos she had taken to Claudia above all the others who’d wanted her room, and that was that.

‘I don’t mind admitting I was very wrong about Claudia. She paid her dues on time, never missing once, and sometimes even bunging Jessie a few shillings extra at Christmas and such like, and she never caused yer mam one minute of bother. She brought fun back into yer mam’s life and she worshipped you, treated you like the daughter she never was to have. I’d often call in and find Claudia reading you a story or helping put you to bed, or you sitting at the table with her while she put on her make-up before she went out. And she’d give you some of her old make-up to play with, and what a mess you used to make! On her afternoon off … Wednesday, I’m sure it was a Wednesday she had off … well, she’d take you out, rain or shine. When you started school, she’d meet you at the gates and take you out then. She took you to all sorts of places. The museums, parks, rides on trains … During the school holidays she once took you on a trip to the country so she could show you real animals, not just pictures in books.

‘Not that she begrudged Claudia any happiness, but your mam was always secretly worried that she would meet a man and marry him and then she’d lose her as her lodger. But Claudia never met anyone so special she wanted to settle down with them. She told me once that she didn’t mind spending their money, but washing their dirty underpants was an entirely different matter. I always hoped yer mam would meet someone else herself, but she used to say, “once bitten, twice shy”, and besides, she couldn’t get married again while she still was to your dad, and Jessie wouldn’t even contemplate living in sin as she had you to consider.

‘Ten years Claudia lived with Jessie. It was a dreadful thing what happened to her. That run-away dray cart ploughing into her like that, killing her outright. Shame too that virtually at the same time Mrs Crabtree’s husband gets moved down south with his job, so that meant yer mother lost hers. Biggest shame of all was that that was the time, out of the blue, when yer dad decided to make his return.’

Aidy’s mind flashed back in time to the day her father had come home. Having been only three when he had first disappeared, she’d had no recollection of him, only knew what he looked like from the few photographs her mother possessed of him. She’d been told nothing bad about him. Only that he was a kind, loving man, but that unfortunately some men and women might love each other but could not live together, and that was why her mother and father didn’t. He didn’t come to visit Aidy because he’d had to move to another town far away with his job, she was told.

She was thirteen when he returned out of the blue and she discovered that he wasn’t at all the kind, loving man her mother had portrayed him to be. Oh, at first he appeared to be to his daughter, in front of his wife, but behind Jessie’s back he made Aidy very aware that he found her a nuisance, as he did George and Betty too when they came along. He failed to wait around long enough to meet Marion. His favourite saying to Aidy was, ‘Get lost, kid.’ Her home before his return had been her sanctuary, a place where she felt comfortable and welcome. It had been a happy place, full of laughter, the sight of her mother’s ever-present smile, and the sound of her singing as she went about her household tasks, a delight to see and hear. Only a very short while after Aidy’s father’s return that was all to change as he asserted his position as head of their household again, and couldn’t be bothered any longer hiding his true colours. He hadn’t changed at all. But the atmosphere in the house did, and so did her mother. Tension filled the air. Jessie’s smile faded, she never sang any longer, and her eyes lost their shine.

It was a happy day for Aidy when they got up one morning to find her father had disappeared again, taking all his belongings and any money he could lay his hands on besides anything saleable too. Life was harsh for the family, money so tight that sometimes a scrape of marge on their bread was looked upon as a luxury while Jessie strove to support them all on what she could earn, taking in laundry, mending, minding children … anything, in fact, that made her a few coppers. She worked at home until her children were of an age where she could safely leave them. But almost immediately her father departed Aidy was to see the smile return to her mother’s lips, her eyes shining, and to hear her singing again.

Aidy’s thoughts returned to the present and she realised her grandmother had fallen silent. ‘You all right, Gran?’ she asked.

Sighing, the old lady nodded. ‘I was just thinking of the day Arnold Greenwood came back into Jessie’s life. At the time she was grieving over the loss of Claudia and for the job she had loved so much with Mrs Crabtree. Worried too about losing the house as she was getting behind with the rent. She’d been for several interviews for jobs but for one reason or another never took or was offered one. You’d gone off to school and she was just leaving to continue with her job search when the back door opened and in he walked, bold as brass, plonked his bag on the floor and announced to her he was back. Arnold didn’t even say he was sorry for leaving her high and dry. Didn’t offer any explanation for where he’d been in the meantime or what he’d been doing, just expected to carry on like he’d never been away.

‘When Jessie came to tell me and yer granddad of his return, I asked her what she was playing at, just letting him back in after all these years with not even a word from him. She said, “Mam, I’m in arrears with the rent, can’t seem to get a job for love nor money – his return is like a Godsend to me. Don’t matter whether I want him back or not, I’ve no choice but to have him back, ’cos you’ve no room to take me and my daughter in, and having him back is better than the workhouse or walking the streets.”

‘Whenever me and yer granddad dropped in Arnold was civil to us, and from what we saw he seemed to be being a decent husband to Jessie and a father to you. Whenever I asked her how life was, she’d just say, “Fine, Mam,” and change the subject. Within a matter of months of him coming back she fell pregnant with George. Then Betty came along just over a year later, and only four months after giving birth to her, she fell for Marion. She was about seven months gone when, out of the blue, Arnold disappeared one night, again without any warning, and we’ve never seen nor heard anything of him since. That was when Jessie opened up to us and told us that not long after he’d returned he was back to all his old ways, but by then she was pregnant. Turned out he gave her Betty and Marion too before he finally abandoned her.’

Bertha’s eyes narrowed darkly and she hissed, ‘How the hell any man could abandon his pregnant wife and kids, not just once but twice, and think it right to do so … Well, I hope he’s gone to hell and rots there!

‘Yer granddad had retired by then and we were struggling to make ends meet on just the bit I made from me potions ourselves, so we couldn’t help Jessie moneywise. Thank God you were earning by then, and what you handed over helped enormously even though you were only training in your job. Along with the pittance she made from taking in washing and ironing and another lodger, Jessie just about scraped though, but there was nothing left over for any luxuries. If it hadn’t been for the neighbours passing her hand-me-downs from their own kids, I dread to think how she’d have dressed you all.’ Bertha’s face puckered, the glint of tears in her aged eyes, and she uttered, ‘Oh, Aidy, if only me and yer granddad had been able to help Jessie more maybe she wouldn’t have put such a strain on her heart with all that hard work. Maybe she’d still be with us now.’

Aidy reminded her, ‘But you did help her, Gran. You and Granddad both. Granddad used to come around each morning at six and light the fire under the copper while me and Mam got the kids up and dressed before I had to rush off to work and she saw to the lodger’s breakfast. Then, when Granddad went off down the allotment that kept us all in veg, you would arrive and help Mam with what washing and ironing she had to do that day. And I know you wouldn’t take any payment ’cos Mam told me you wouldn’t, even though you could have put good use to a few coppers extra. And I know you used to share your potion money with Mam when you were able to because she told me you did.’ A worried expression clouded Aidy’s face then. ‘Maybe she’d still be alive if I hadn’t got married and left home, Gran.’

Bertha sighed heavily. ‘We could sit here all night worrying that something we didn’t do for her contributed to her death. Anyway, I told you, if anyone’s to blame it’s Arnold Greenwood. And, as we both know, your Arch wanted you both to get married years before you did. It was only through yer mam overhearing you arguing with him that you wouldn’t get married until all the kids were working that Jessie herself made you see reason and set a date. Of course, you being you argued the toss with her, but finally Jessie won out. Thankfully she did else you would have denied her seeing at least one of her children married and settled.’ Bertha’s eyes glazed over. ‘I never saw her look so happy as she did that day. So proud. She kept saying to me, “Look at my girl, Mam, doesn’t she look beautiful? Like a princess.” And you did. Such a handsome couple you and Arch make. It’s just sad for the others that they won’t have their mam there on their own big days.’

They both jumped at a thump on the back door, then it immediately burst open and a booming voice announced, ‘I came as soon as I found out, to see what I could do.’

Both Aidy and Bertha looked at each other in a way that voiced ‘oh, no’, then both stared at the newcomer who had burst into their back room. As far as they knew no one could possibly have learned yet of Jessie’s death. Arch was the only one who had, but he had promised Aidy he wouldn’t say anything until tomorrow – especially to the person who had just arrived.

Aidy fixed her eyes on the huge woman before her and asked, ‘How did you find out Mam had died, Mrs Nelson?’

Pat Nelson looked visibly shaken to hear this. ‘Jessie’s dead!’ she proclaimed. In shock, she made her way over to join them at the table and sank down, the old chair she chose groaning in protest at the tremendous weight that had been placed upon it. ‘I didn’t know that! Mave Pollard called in to tell me she saw you hurrying in here with the new doctor so I assumed one of you was sick enough to have him called in. So Jessie’s dead, eh? How’d it happen?’

Muttering under her breath, Bertha grumbled, ‘Bloody busybodies around here. Yer can’t go to the lavvy without someone knowing.’

Although Pat appeared not to have heard what Bertha had muttered, Aidy did and flashed her a warning look before she informed her mother-in-law, ‘Doc said her heart just stopped.’

Pat said bluntly, ‘Well, I suppose that’s as good a way to go as any. Right, after you’ve finished yer tea, you get round to Ivy Doubleday, Aidy, and tell her there’s a laying out to do. Don’t forget to tell her I sent yer. I suggest you use Snow’s for the funeral. They did my own mother proud when she went last year. Ask for Bill Chambers and tell him I sent yer. Use Worth’s for yer meat … tell him I sent yer too.’

A thought suddenly struck her and she asked worriedly, ‘Jessie did have a penny policy to pay for her funeral, I take it? Oh, yes, she did. I remember being here one night when the agent came to collect her dues. Now, we won’t have trouble getting pall-bearers. There’s my three lads, Gert Hoskins’ two boys and Jimmy Smith. Of course, they’ll expect you to bung them a couple of bob each … except for Arch, of course, him being yer husband. My Arch will be chief pall-bearer. As for the food, we’ll have ham on the bone, and tongue, sandwiches and sausage rolls. Barrel of beer for the men, sherry for the women.’

Despite the grief that had rendered her incapable of mustering the inner strength needed for a battle of wills with Arch’s bossy mother, Aidy wasn’t about to have her own mother’s funeral railroaded. Taking a deep breath, she spoke up. ‘Now look, Mrs Nelson …’

Bertha immediately cut in. ‘I’m surprised at you, Aidy. You know it’s extremely rude to butt in when someone else is speaking.’ She then politely asked Pat, ‘I expect you could do with a cuppa, Mrs Nelson?’

Aidy looked askance at her grandmother. Why was she encouraging this overbearing woman to stay, instead of doing the opposite?

Pat responded, ‘I was beginning to think yer weren’t going to offer me one. Better make it a pot, Mrs Rider. Arranging a funeral is thirsty work.’

Appearing not to notice that her granddaughter was staring daggers at her, Bertha got up and went across to the stove to put the kettle on to boil, then disappeared into the pantry.

While the kettle was boiling, she poured Pat the dregs left from the pot made earlier which she put before her, saying, ‘The kettle won’t be a moment. In the meantime, this’ll keep yer going.’

Pat took enough time off from issuing her instructions on what route she had decided the funeral procession should take to pick up the cup of stewed tea and knock it back. After swallowing it down, she pulled a face. ‘Oh, that was a bit bitter! I’ll have a spoon more sugar in me next one. Now, where was I?’

Fifteen minutes later Aidy was having extreme difficulty controlling her need to tell Arch’s mother to at least afford her grandmother and herself the courtesy of having some opinions on Jessie’s funeral, when the woman suddenly stopped mid-flow and clutched her huge stomach, giving out a loud groan.

Looking at her worriedly, Aidy asked, ‘What’s wrong, Mrs Nelson?’

Her rotund face screwed up in agony, Pat bellowed, ‘It’s me guts. It’s feels like they’re dropping out. It must be that bleddy cod we had for dinner last night. I thought it looked a bit iffy when I bought it. I’ll give that ’monger what for, the next time I see him.’ Heaving her bulk off the chair, she announced, ‘I’ve got to go. Don’t worry, I’ll be back first thing to continue where we left off.’

With that she snatched up her coat and handbag, and almost wrenched the back door off its hinges in her haste to get home.

‘That’ll just be us for tea then,’ said Bertha matter-of-factly, getting up and bustling over to pick up the kettle that was now whistling merrily on the stove.

Her face showing her fury, Aidy hissed, ‘I can’t believe that woman was expecting me to pay Arch’s brothers to pall-bear for Mam. The bloody gall of her!’ Then she paused and sighed. ‘Oh, Gran, as much as she irritates the life out of me, I hope her stomach ache isn’t serious. It’s funny, though, we had cod last night from the same ’monger she uses and Arch never complained of anything when he was here earlier. And I’m all right …’

‘Well, it might not have been caused by summat she ate so much as summat she drank,’ said Bertha dryly as she busied herself with her task.

Her tone of voice had Aidy looking at her suspiciously. Instinctively she knew her grandmother was somehow involved in Pat’s sudden stomach problem. ‘Gran, just what did you give Mrs Nelson?’

Bertha turned to face Aidy, a satisfied expression on her face. ‘Well, I thought she looked a bit grey around the gills, and to me that’s a sure sign of constipation. Out of pure kindness, I put a dose of senna in her tea.’

Aidy gawped. ‘So that’s why it tasted bitter to her? Gran, how big a dose did you give her?’

‘Enough to clear the blockage of an elephant! Well, yer can’t deny she’s a big woman, so a normal dose wouldn’t be of any benefit to the likes of her, now would it?’ There was a twinkle of mischief in Bertha’s eyes when she added, ‘And with a bit of luck, lovey, we won’t see her ugly mug again until after the funeral.’

Aidy couldn’t help but laugh, despite the circumstances. Her grandmother deserved a medal for getting the interfering Pat out of the way, allowing them the freedom to arrange her mother’s funeral the way they wanted. ‘Mam would have split her sides over this one, Gran,’ she spluttered.

Putting a pot of fresh tea on the table, Bertha nodded. ‘She certainly would have. That woman was the bane of Jessie’s life, thinking she had every right to boss us about ’cos you was married to her son. Jessie only tolerated her out of respect for you.’

Bertha began to giggle then, a moment’s relief from the heartache of her daughter’s sudden death.

A while later they made their way through to the parlour to begin their vigil, both to some extent dreading the ordeal, but equally determined to use this special time to talk about the good times they had shared with Jessie, their own good fortune in having the likes of her for a mother and a daughter.