Let it Shine Read online

  ‘There’s a darts match… private like. There’ll not be any old Tom, Dick or Harry invited, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Me and your Larry have been asked to make up the numbers,’ Mick chipped in. ‘With a bit o’ luck, we’ll give that lot from The Navigation a run for their money.’

  Hands on hips, Sylvia looked at Jim with narrowed eyes. ‘You never said you’d be going out tonight,’ she teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been asked to play as well? Because if you have, they’ll not stand a cat in hell’s chance of winning.’

  Grabbing his coat, her husband retorted, ‘’Ere! Less o’ that, my girl. I might be rusty now, but in my prime, I could throw a dart through the eye of a needle.’ Turning to Bertie, he urged, ‘Get your coat, Grandad, afore we’re made to finish the washing up.’

  Sylvia persisted. ‘You didn’t answer me… have you been asked to play as well?’

  Shoving the other three men out the door, Jim said, ‘Well, as it happens, I haven’t, no. But the lads need somebody to cheer ’em on, don’t they?’ With that he grabbed a quick kiss and was down the passage and out the door before she could catch her breath.

  Going after them at the run, she called out, ‘Tell that landlord’s son to mind how he goes wi’ my dad!’

  A smile and a wave, and they’d already rounded the corner. ‘Little boys at heart,’ she sighed and went back to see what the girls were up to.

  ‘Betsy won’t come down the snakes,’ Ellie complained.

  Betsy had a complaint too. ‘It’s not fair when she keeps landing on the ladders. How can I win if I have to come down the snakes every time!’

  Sighing, Sylvia left them to it. In truth, the men weren’t half as much trouble as the girls!

  Deep in her work, Sylvia’s quiet thoughts turned to Mick and his estranged father. ‘It’s such a pity Mick won’t forgive his dad,’ she mused. ‘Losing his wife must have taken its toll on him. Still, God moves in mysterious ways, they say. Happen He’ll find a way of bringing them back together again.’

  Feeling contented in the bosom of her family, and with the business of the Peeping Tom out of the way, Sylvia found herself echoing Ellie’s song: ‘I’ll be here in sunshine or in sha-a-dow. Oh Danny boy… oh Danny boy, I love you so.’

  When, from the parlour, Ellie’s beautiful, clear voice joined in, she felt a surge of pride and something else too – something she had never really felt for Betsy. She felt the deepest, warmest bond. From the moment they were born, Ellie first, Betsy next, she loved both girls, but Betsy had never really let her get close, while Ellie was instantly part of her own soul, and always would be.

  Going to the kitchen door she looked out across the parlour. Betsy saw her and looked away without acknowledgement. Then Ellie turned, her pretty eyes shining. She smiled at Sylvia, and returned to her game. But that quick, warm smile had lit her mam’s heart, as ever.

  Returning to her work, Sylvia wondered how two children – twins, at that – could be so very different.

  * * *

  Some few miles away, at the north end of Blackburn, a lone man stood by a window. Big in stature, small in courage, he stood, glass in hand, his face haggard from too many sleepless nights. From the way his head was drooped low into his neck, and the forward stoop of his shoulders, it was plain to see that he carried the weight of the world on his back.

  As on every Christmas since he and his son had gone their separate ways, Mick’s father was filled with thoughts of what might have been. ‘Will you never forgive me, lad?’ His quiet voice echoed through the cosy but plainly furnished room. ‘Drinking and womanising, sullying your mam’s memory, it’s no wonder you threw me out. But oh, lad. If only you’d find it in your heart to let me into your life now, I’d never let you down again, I swear to God!’

  No one answered, because there was no one there to hear him. Freda, his common-law wife, had gone out to the local to replenish their supply of drink.

  Raising his glass to the wintry scene outside, he declared, ‘Merry Christmas, son.’ Gulping down the last remaining dregs of booze, he gave a small, cynical laugh. ‘It’s no use feeling sorry for yourself, Ernie Fellowes. If you’ve no life and no family, you’ve only yourself to blame.’ It was a sorry truth and one which he bitterly regretted.

  He was still standing there, shoulders hunched and eyes filled with tears of self-pity, when Freda came into the room. ‘Huh! So there you are – I might have guessed.’ Her sharp eyes found him out. ‘Still hankering after that bloody son o’ yours, are yer? Even after he threw yer out on the streets – not once but twice!’ Her flaming red hair was full of pin-curlers with a net over, even though it was Christmas Day, and the look on her face said, ‘I’m after trouble.’

  Ernie saw how she was clinging onto the back of the chair, her small eyes glittering with too much Christmas booze. ‘You’re drunk!’ he reproached. ‘You’re always drunk these days.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ Laughing, she fell into the chair. ‘You’re right, I am drunk. An’ if I feel the need, I’ll be drunk again tomorrer, and the day after that.’ Swallowing the last drop, she then flung the glass across the room. When it smashed on the wall only inches from his face, she laughed out loud. ‘Get us another, will yer?’

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked away, his gaze and his thoughts going to the world outside. First he had lost his wife, and then, because he couldn’t see straight, he had lost his son. A good son – a lad who was also suffering the loss of that good woman. Now it was too late. His life was here. With her, God help him.

  ‘Hey! Did you hear me? I said get me another drink.’

  He didn’t turn round. Too often lately he had looked at her and been riddled with shame and disgust. ‘Get it yourself,’ he said quietly. ‘And see if you can clean up this mess while you’re at it.’ Shuffling the broken glass at his feet, he limped slowly across the room, his face contorted with pain as he gingerly put one foot before the other.

  ‘Still hurts, does it?’ her taunting voice called after him. ‘Serves you bleedin’ right, you silly old bugger!’

  When he closed the door behind him, he could still hear her ranting at him. ‘What kind of coward are you, peering in windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of him? Instead of believing your lies, how you were only resting for a few minutes after some wall fell on you, them coppers should have locked you up where you belong! I dare say if it hadn’t been so near to Christmas, they’d have took longer in quizzing you.’

  ‘SHUT UP.’ At the end of his tether, he could control himself no longer. ‘FOR CHRISSAKE, WOMAN, SHUT UP!’

  ‘And what would your precious son have thought if he’d known you were sneaking about like some old tom cat outside in the dark? That you weren’t all there in the bleedin’ head, that’s what he’d think! And he’d be right an’ all. Lord only knows why I let you persuade me to come here and live with you, paying half the rent an’ all. But I’m here now, and I’ve as much right as you. So if anybody goes, it’ll be you, not me. Have you got that, you gormless bugger?’

  Her mocking laughter followed him up the stairs, made him feel more of a failure than he already did. She was right about one thing though. Going to the house in Buncer Lane was a damned stupid thing. Yet he had done a far worse thing when he let that scrag-end come here to live with him.

  In spite of all that, Ernie knew he wasn’t being fair. Freda was a good sort in many ways, and it wasn’t her fault he was estranged from Mick. And no wonder she drank like a fish. It couldn’t be much fun, living with a gloomy so-and-so like him.

  Ernie gave a deep sigh.

  He had made his bed and, for now at least, he must lie on it.

  Chapter Five

  Ellie was restless.

  She heard the downstairs clock striking ten, then came the sound of her mam as Sylvia went out of the back room and into the front room, and now again as she returned and closed the parlour door behind her.

  Quietly now, so as not to wake Betsy besid
e her, Ellie got out of bed. Gasping when her bare feet alighted on the shockingly cold lino, she drew her nightie tighter about her. Going across the room, she softly drew the curtains all the way back, letting the lamplight in to create eerie, sneaking shadows on the walls and ceiling.

  Pressing her nose against the windowpane, she watched the night-life down below. For a while she was intrigued by the courting couple in the doorway opposite. First they stood apart, holding hands and smiling up into each other’s eyes, then they were locked in an embrace, growing more amorous by the minute, when suddenly the young man’s hand slid down the girl’s buttocks, causing her to step back and slap him hard across the face.

  A few heated words were exchanged, and a moment later the door opened from within to show a fat woman with a bright, flowery turban over her curlers. Wagging a finger at the pair of them, she then grabbed the girl and yanked her inside, leaving the young man to wander desolately down the street. He glanced back once, thinking maybe his sweetheart might reappear, but he was disappointed.

  Ellie recognised the girl as Marcia Walker. ‘Poor Marcia,’ she murmured. ‘I’m glad I haven’t got a bad-tempered mam like that.’

  She smiled wistfully. ‘I wonder if I’ll ever have a sweetheart?’ When her mam once told her she was pretty, Betsy said afterwards that she wasn’t. ‘You’re a mess!’ she claimed. Since then, Ellie believed no boy would ever want her. Turning her head, Ellie glanced at Betsy. Through the incoming light, she observed her sister’s features, wondering how they could be twins and yet be so different. She had always thought Betsy was the pretty one, with her fine brown hair and strong hazel eyes.

  Ellie loved her sister dearly. She could never hurt her, though there was no doubt Betsy could be cruel… like the day she teased Ellie about how thick and wild her hair was, and how she looked just like their grandad’s scruffy old dog. Her spiteful taunts had hurt Ellie so much, she had taken the scissors from her mam’s sewing box and cut great lumps off her hair, in an attempt to make it look more like Betsy’s. When Betsy saw it, she laughed till she cried, but soon stopped when their mam gave them both a good telling-off. Afterwards she trimmed Ellie’s hair into shape, so their dad would never know.

  There had been many instances like that, when Betsy had a go at her and Ellie would cry. But that was a long time since, and Ellie didn’t cry any more. Betsy’s mean comments always hurt, but she had learned not to show it.

  Returning her gaze to the window she was relieved to see Marcia Walker running down the street, and the young man swinging round to greet her. She ran into his open arms and all was well.

  Now, as she turned away, Ellie caught sight of someone lurking by their own front wall. Because the figure was in the shadows she couldn’t quite see who it was. Then suddenly it was gone down some back alley, and the street was quiet again, save for a mangy old dog which cocked its leg up the lamp, sat a moment to have a good scratch, then trotted off through the patchy snow in the direction of Old Preston Road.

  Mindful of the man who had been loitering earlier, Ellie stretched her neck and peered this way and that, but could see no one. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Some old drunk, I expect,’ she muttered with a smile. ‘Can’t find his way home in the dark.’

  Tiptoeing back to bed, Ellie quietly climbed in and drew the warm covers over her. One glance at Betsy told her the other girl was still sleeping. ‘’Night, God bless,’ Ellie murmured, and was soon fast asleep herself.

  Outside, the figure hid in the mouth of the alley. Aware that Ellie had been watching, it stayed until the coast was clear before venturing out again.

  * * *

  Startled out of a deep sleep, Ellie sat bolt upright in bed. Something had woken her, and she didn’t know what. Betsy gave her a dig in the ribs. ‘Keep still. You’re making me cold!’ Drawing the blankets round her, Betsy turned away; in less than a minute she was out to the world again. But not Ellie. She had heard something… voices maybe? The sound of a door opening? She wasn’t sure. But it was something different from the usual. And it made her curious. Sitting back against the pillow, she listened.

  Downstairs, Sylvia had been catching up on some ironing when the knock on the door disturbed her. ‘Whoever can that be?’ Both Jim and Larry had their own keys. ‘It might be Dad,’ she mused. ‘Happen Jim’s dropped him off with the old dog, and gone back to the pub himself.’

  On the way up the passage, she suddenly remembered: ‘O’ course – they won’t allow dogs in the pub, not since them two bull terriers got scrapping and bit the landlord’s hand.’

  When she opened the front door, she was surprised to see there was no one there. She peered into the darkness and even came out to look up and down the street. But there was no one to be seen. ‘Pranksters!’ she muttered. ‘Little sods, I’ll tan their arses if I catch hold of ’em – even if it is still Christmas Day!’ Lately, there had been a spate of young ’uns running loose till all hours, banging on doors then racing away. Still, it must be around eleven o’clock by now – too late for kids to be out and about. Closing the door she made her way back to the parlour.

  It was when she turned to close the parlour door that the stranger pounced. Clapping one hand over Sylvia’s screams, he pinned her arms behind her back and pushed her hard against the wall. His face was pressed close to hers, his eyes glittering with excitement. ‘Don’t struggle.’ His voice was soft, almost endearing in a sinister way. ‘You’ll only prolong it,’ he whispered, ‘and we don’t want that, now do we?’

  Eyes wide with terror, Sylvia looked up, silently pleading. All manner of questions raced through her frantic mind. Who was he? Why was he here? Dear God, the twins… did he know they were upstairs? WHAT DID HE WANT FROM HER?

  Seeming to read her mind, he leaned forward, whispering in her ear, taking pleasure in her terror, ‘Somebody wants you dead.’ Tenderly flicking her hair from her face he tutted, ‘All I can say is, you must have been a real bad girl.’

  Shocked to her roots, Sylvia could hardly take in what he was saying. Somebody wanted her dead? Somebody wanted her dead! The words echoed through her brain, spurring her into action. With an almighty effort she brought up her knee and aimed for his groin; when he reeled back in pain, she took her chance and made a dive for the door. All she could think of was her girls.

  She had seized the door handle when the intruder caught hold of her by the hair and yanked her viciously back. ‘You stupid bitch!’ With the flat of his hand he hit her hard across the mouth, sending her slamming against the wall, then before she could recover her senses, he had her by the throat, squeezing the life out of her; and all she could think of was her children.

  Upstairs, Ellie heard the commotion. Shaking Betsy by the shoulder, she whispered harshly, ‘Quick! There’s something going on… we’ll have to go down. Betsy, wake up!’ But her sister was dead to the world and could not be roused.

  Afraid to go down, but even more afraid not to, Ellie got out of bed for the second time that night. She went silently down the stairs, her instinct telling her there was something not right. There was a moment of silence, then a crash, and muffled cries. She thought of the man who had been taken away by the police, and the other man who had been lurking about outside. And she knew her mam was in some kind of danger.

  Pausing on the bottom step, she held tightly onto the banister; leaning forward, she prepared to sneak a peep into the parlour. The door was open and that in itself was odd. Always, after they’d gone to bed, their mam would close the parlour door, in case her pottering about woke them up, and besides, the draught from the front door blew down the passage and made the room cold.

  With her heart thundering in her chest, Ellie looked into the parlour – and gasped in horror at what she saw. Her mam was lying over the back of the sofa and, bending over her, his hands round her throat, was a stranger.

  Without thinking of the consequences, Ellie launched herself at him. ‘YOU LEAVE MY MAM ALONE!’ she screamed.

  Startl
ed, the man swung round. ‘Jesus!’ As he turned he loosened his grip on Sylvia, who slithered to the floor, half-senseless. Frantic that he would hurt Ellie, she dragged herself up by the fireplace, where she grabbed the smoothing iron and took a swing at him, but she was weak and her aim went wild.

  Enraged, the intruder threw Ellie aside, then, bunching his fist, he smashed it into Sylvia’s face, laughing when the force of his punch sent her crashing against the tree, which then swayed and threatened to fall over, but ended up slumped against the wall, like a drunken man against a lamp-post. Sylvia lost her footing and went down, at the same time striking her head on the fender. Through blurred vision, she saw her daughter making for their attacker. ‘No, Ellie!’ Summoning every ounce of her strength, she warned her off. ‘Run! Get away from here!’

  The terror in her mam’s voice caused Ellie to stop. As she looked up at the stranger, he was smiling. ‘She’s done for, little girl,’ he murmured. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

  In two strides he had her by the arm, but Ellie was not so easily overcome. Fighting like a tiger and slithering like an eel, she squirmed out of his grasp and wrenched the parlour door open. But he was right behind her. Positioning himself in such a way as to stop her from going out the front door, or back through the scullery, he left her no alternative but to make for the stairs.

  Cursing, he thundered after her. ‘I can’t let you get away, you little vixen. Not now you’ve seen me!’

  In the parlour, Sylvia struggled to recover her senses. Taking hold of the tree she tried to haul herself up, but it wouldn’t hold her weight. As she went down, the tree came with her, the tip of its greenery tickling dangerously close to the fire’s edge.

  Upstairs, Ellie was screaming at her sister. ‘Wake up, Betsy! Help me!’ Pressing herself against the door, she turned the key, and still he came at it from the other side, throwing his considerable weight against it, intent on breaking into the room and killing her.