Let it Shine Read online

  ‘What’s going on?’ There was more anger in Betsy’s sleepy voice than curiosity. She never liked being woken up, not at any time, nor for any reason.

  ‘There’s a stranger in the house,’ Ellie sobbed, ‘and he’s hurt our mam. We have to get out – we have to get help.’

  ‘What d’you mean, he’s hurt our mam?’ When suddenly there came a creaking sound from the door, as though something was wrenching it off its hinges, Betsy leaped out of bed and cowered in the corner, her face a picture of terror. ‘Don’t let him in, Ellie,’ she whimpered. ‘Please don’t let him in.’

  Downstairs, Sylvia lay unconscious, unable to help anyone, least of all herself. She didn’t know of her children’s cries, nor of the intruder’s determination to leave no one alive in this house.

  Mercifully, she was beyond all that.

  Only an arm’s length away from where she lay, the tree had taken hold of the flames, which in turn were licking at the mantel-cover, its long green tassels already dancing in the intense heat.

  Desperate to get help for her mam, Ellie rang out instructions to Betsy. ‘I can’t do it on my own. I need you to help me.’

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Shivering with fear, Betsy remained in the corner and would not be persuaded out of it.

  ‘Open this door!’ the man shouted. When there came no answer, he put his shoulder to the wood and, using all his formidable strength, began to slowly inch the hinges apart.

  From the other side, Ellie pushed frantically against the door with all her skinny might. ‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘Our dad will be home any minute. He’ll kill you for what you did to our mam!’ Her voice breaking with emotion, she pleaded with Betsy. ‘Go out the window,’ she said. ‘Climb down the roof and get help. Go on, Betsy! It’s the only way!’

  Betsy shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, I’m too afraid!’ Hysterical, she began screaming, ‘I can’t do it, Ellie, I can’t!’ Her sister despaired. ‘Then I’ll have to go. Come here, quick! Push against this door as hard as you can. Don’t listen to anything he says, and I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Betsy’s answer was to shake her head and crouch down even lower. ‘I can’t,’ she wept. ‘Don’t make me, Ellie. Please don’t make me.’ Her whole body shook uncontrollably.

  Ellie had to make a split decision. Should she leave the door unprotected and climb out of the window, or should she stay with her twin, and do all she could to stop the man from getting in? She looked at Betsy, afraid and whimpering, and knew she could not leave her.

  Suddenly, she felt the door giving way; one of the hinges had snapped off and it was only a matter of time now before he had them both at his mercy. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he lied. ‘You might as well open the door, there’s a good girl.’ Beneath his continued onslaught, the door began to split and break. Any minute now, and he would be in the room with them.

  * * *

  Some distance down the street, the three men made their way home. Filled with merriment and a few pints into the bargain, Jim and Larry meandered along, arm in arm, their voices raised in song.

  Bemused, Bertie Hill straggled behind, talking to his old dog, and laughing at their antics. ‘They’re a daft pair o’ buggers an’ no mistake,’ he chuckled. All the same, it was good to see how close were father and son.

  Breathless, Jim gave up the singing, and made Larry do the same. ‘We’d best not wake up the whole street,’ he laughed. ‘We don’t want Maggie Arkwright emptying her pisspot on us heads, do we now, eh?’ And, by the way he stopped mid-song, neither did Larry.

  ‘Did you see where Mick went?’ Larry had lost sight of his mate some time during the evening. When he went to look for him on leaving, there was neither hide nor hair of him to be found.

  ‘If I recall, he went off with that dark-haired lass ­– a nice bit o’ stuff she were an’ all.’ Jim beamed, proud of his own ‘bit o’ stuff’ waiting for him at home. ‘Mind you, she ain’t half the cracker yer mam were when I first clapped eyes on her. By! She had every bloke in the street after her.’

  ‘So what made her choose an ugly bugger like you?’ Larry asked cheekily.

  They were still laughing fit to bust when the cry went up from Bertie. ‘Jesus Mary and Joseph, the house is afire. Look! THE HOUSE IS AFIRE!’

  Startled, the two men looked up and were shocked to their souls. ‘God Almighty!’ Already at the run, Jim screamed out to his son, who had gone like the wind before him, ‘For God’s sake, lad, GET THEM OUT OF THERE!’

  Even as they ran down the street, the flames had burst through the windows, shattering glass in their wake and bringing the street alive. Somebody had gone to telephone for the fire engine, while others ran in and out of their houses with buckets of water and ladders, but all to no avail. The flames spat out at them, driving them back, making them fear for their own lives. But not the two men. Their loved ones were inside that inferno and, if it was humanly possible, they would get them out.

  The old man would have gone in after them, but strong arms held him back. ‘Not you, Grandad,’ they said, and so he remained outside and prayed. His whole life was inside that raging hell. His whole life, and his past with it.

  The draught had blown the parlour door wide open. ‘Upstairs, lad – quick as you can.’ Finding it hard to breathe in the dense smoke, Jim covered his face with his arms and plunged into the back parlour. ‘SYLVIA!’ His voice reached into every corner. ‘Are you in here, lass?’ Coughing and choking, he pushed forward.

  While Larry fought his way upstairs, he caught a glimpse of someone near the landing window – a fleeting figure through the brightness of the flames. ‘MAM?’ But it wasn’t his mam, and in the winking of an eye the figure was gone.

  In the back bedroom he found the girls.

  Crazed with terror, Betsy was hiding under the bed. On hearing Larry call her name, she scrambled out and threw herself into his arms. ‘Ellie’s dead!’ she screamed. ‘He would have killed me too, only I wouldn’t come out from under the bed and he couldn’t get me. Ellie fought him. I told her not to, but she wouldn’t stop. He killed her. The man killed her!’

  ‘Ssh. It’s all right. I’m here now. It’s all right.’ Thinking she was gabbling out of fear, Larry kept her safe while he looked for Ellie.

  He found his other sister lying face down by the wardrobe. She wasn’t dead as Betsy had claimed, because when he picked her up, she soon came to her senses. ‘Mam’s downstairs,’ she croaked. Dazed and hurt, she had only one thought. ‘We’ve got to help her.’

  ‘Here!’ Ripping apart the bedsheet, Larry gave them each a thick, folded piece. ‘Keep this across your mouth.’ By now they were all three heaving and choking on the acrid smoke. ‘Hold hands and stay right beside me,’ he warned. The roof could go at any minute, and he didn’t want them inside when that happened.

  The flames had followed him up the stairway. There was no escape that way. ‘Keep close!’ Inching his way through the horror, he led the girls towards the front window. With every step, he prayed to God they would be saved.

  Outside, the crowd prayed too. ‘They’ll never get out of there alive!’ someone said for them all. A sad comment but realistic because now, the flames had eaten into the roof and the whole house was engulfed. ‘What’s taking the fire engine so long?’ one angry voice asked.

  ‘Another few minutes and it’ll be too late for fire engines!’ said another and, knowing it was true, Bertie Hill fell to his arthritic old knees and wept.

  Suddenly a cry went up. ‘Look! The upstairs window! It’s Larry. He’s got the lasses!’

  None of their ladders would reach, and there was nothing they could do, except to call up, ‘Let the girls go, lad, we’ll not let them fall. Trust us. For God’s sake, lad, let them go!’

  Knowing he could do no other, Larry helped the girls to climb out, first Betsy, because she was nearest, then Ellie. He held them by the arms, easing them down the wall as far as he could, before being forced to let them drop.

/>   The men below were as good as they said, and the girls were caught clean, though Betsy screamed hysterically for a full minute after they had her safe.

  ‘Now you!’ they called up, and the flames were already licking at his back. ‘Jump, Larry! Come on, lad… JUMP!’

  Larry searched the faces below, but couldn’t see the two he most wanted to see. All he could do was pray that his mam and dad had found a way out.

  Crawling out to the windowsill, he sat on the edge; below him he could see the men with arms outstretched, watching his every move. ‘Careful, Larry, lad,’ he told himself, and twisting round, he held on to the sill, hung motionless in the scorching air for a moment, and then let himself go.

  No one could say, later, just how or when it happened. One minute they were looking upward, ready to catch him, and the next minute it was mayhem as a section of the roof slipped away and they ran for their lives. Dislodged by the falling debris, Larry hit the ground with a dull, heart-wrenching thud, as behind him the whole house began to cave in.

  In that same moment, a moment already too late for some, two fire engines and an ambulance arrived and everyone was cleared back. ‘Keep away,’ they were told. ‘You’ve done all you can.’

  But it was not enough.

  Ellie saw how twisted and hurt Larry was, and how he cried with pain when they lifted him into the ambulance. She heard Betsy screaming for her mam and dad, and saw her grandad demented, pacing the street and muttering, ‘They’re all gone… all gone.’

  When they brought her parents out and laid them side by side on the pavement, she would have gone to them, but they wouldn’t let her. ‘Come away,’ they said. ‘Come away, child.’ So she held Betsy, who had seen and was uncontrollable.

  On that night, with her whole world falling apart before her eyes, she clung to her sister, and sobbed as she had never sobbed before. After all, like Betsy, she was just a frightened child.

  Chapter Six

  The grubby back street ran alongside the canal. There was a cotton mill and a cloth factory, and a small wooden hut used by a night-watchman whose lot in life was to keep a wary eye out for any roaming thief.

  Some way down towards the bridge was a large, dilapidated warehouse – a place that ran with rats and stank of damp where all manner of goods were stored, to be sold later on Blackburn market. Above the warehouse was a room, and in that room resided a man fallen on hard times and eager to make his living by any means available.

  In the late hours of Christmas Day 1932, the light was still shining in this upper room. Through the grimy window could be seen the figure of a man as he paced feverishly back and forth. Every now and then he would pause to peer through the window, watching for someone, waiting for his reward for having carried out his terrible task.

  From the distance the Town Hall clock struck once, then twice, and now it was nearing three and still he watched, his pacing growing more frantic, his peering out the window more frequent.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ For the umpteenth time he stared out into the night, his eager eyes roving the street, his temper rising when he could see no one approaching. ‘Where the hell are you?’

  With his fist he rubbed a circle of film from the windowpane, bending his body to see out yet again. ‘I did what you asked and more,’ he grumbled. ‘I want paying, or I swear to God I’ll do for you an’ all!’

  Death was still on him. He had use for it yet.

  Shivering, he turned to the fireplace. In this tiny godforsaken room he didn’t have far to reach any part of it. No bigger than a large shoe-box, it held a narrow bed, a tattered sofa and a sideboard. There was a sink of sorts in the corner and a gas-ring for boiling a kettle on. Hanging at the window was a pair of faded curtains; too short by far, they had long ago seen their best. The lavvy was downstairs, at the far end of the yard beyond the warehouse.

  Muttering and moaning, the man counted the knobs of coal onto the fire. ‘Did the job, just like you asked, and nearly finished meself into the bargain. I want paying! I should get a bonus for what I’ve been through!’ Enraged, he flung the last knob of coal with such force that the sparks flew out in all directions. When one landed on the scabby rug he quickly stamped it out, sniggering when he thought of the spectacular fire he had caused down Buncer Lane.

  Now, when the door was flung open, he almost leaped out of his skin. ‘Bloody hell, man! Did you never learn to knock?’ White-faced and breathless, he confronted his visitor. ‘It’s done,’ he announced, and his pride was visible to see. ‘From what I can make out, the house is gone an’ all.’ He shrugged. ‘It went a bit wrong, but the result was the same. More than what you wanted, I’d say.’

  The visitor kept his back to the door, his voice harsh as he reprimanded the other man. ‘I said the woman, that was all. “Do it quick and keep your mouth shut,” that’s what I said. I didn’t tell you to burn the bloody house down.’

  ‘That was an accident, nowt to do wi’ me! Besides, if I hadn’t got out that window, I might have been burned to death. As it is, I took a few cuts and bruises climbing out of the landing window… twisted my damned ankle when I dropped into the yard.’ Hobbling forward a few steps to make his point, he leered up at his visitor. ‘I reckon I’ve earned a bonus, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t push it!’ Producing a handful of money from his coat pocket, the man dropped it onto the dresser. ‘That’s all you’re getting – it’s what we agreed. And you can thank your lucky stars I’m paying you at all!’

  Grabbing up the money, the murderer counted it greedily, checking that he hadn’t been cheated.

  ‘And keep well away from me,’ the other man warned him. ‘I’m not involved. I know nothing about any of it. And he who says otherwise might find his throat cut one fine day. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  Thrusting the money into his back pocket, the man nodded, but he wasn’t afraid. Fear had no meaning for someone of his sort. ‘You know where I am if you ever want another job doing,’ he grunted.

  ‘Just remember what I said.’ With that the visitor departed, desperate to fill his lungs with clean cold air after breathing in the foul atmosphere of that awful place.

  Behind him the man counted his money time and again. Satisfied it was all there, he took one half-sovereign from the pile; the others he wrapped in an old piece of rag, which he then tightly rolled into a brown paper bag. This he hid inside a slit under the mattress.

  Chuckling to himself all the while, he whipped off his shirt to expose a thin, bony chest and a grimy tidemark round his neck. ‘I reckon I’ve earned myself a woman.’ Licking his lips, he imagined himself lying alongside some fat, juicy flesh. ‘Whoo!’ Trembling with delight, he made for the sink in the corner. ‘I ain’t had a shag in ages!’

  Outside, the visitor waited a few minutes, shivering a little in the cold, crisp air. When he felt it was time enough, he went back inside. Going silently up the stairs, he softly turned the door handle, then paused a minute waiting for the door to be snatched open from the other side, or maybe for a voice to call out and ask who was there. Instead, all was quiet, and he knew the moment was right.

  He eased the door open. A quick glance inside told him he would have no trouble. His man was at the sink, singing while he lathered his face and neck, ready for a shave. His back was to the door, and there was no mirror in front of him with which to see anyone creeping up.

  On tiptoes, the intruder crossed the room, took a pillow from the bed and, reaching over the other man’s bent head, pressed it hard to his face. Forcing him close to the sink, he was able to minimise the inevitable struggle that followed.

  It took only minutes.

  Afterwards, the intruder coolly replaced the pillow on the bed. He searched the man’s pockets but found only one coin there. He then looked in every cupboard and every other likely hiding-place. He raised the mattress but there was nothing there. He even took up one or two floorboards, but to no avail. The money seemed to have vanished into thin air.


  He stood still for a moment, his eyes roving the room. ‘It’s got to be here somewhere.’ Again he raised the mattress, but this time he saw the narrow slit, cunningly hidden by a seam of stitching. The brown paper was inside and, on drawing it out, he saw how the money had been tightly rolled into it, so as not to chink.

  He smiled down at the still figure on the floor. ‘You weren’t so cunning after all, were you?’ When the wide open eyes stared back at him, he quickly turned away. Emptying the money into his palm, he then dropped it into his coat pocket. The cloth and brown paper bag he let lie where they had fallen. Next he took a few minutes to leave the place how he had found it, making doubly sure that there was nothing there to link him with this unfortunate fellow.

  Nauseated by the stench on his hands, he washed them at the sink and wiped them on his handkerchief. He then left, closing the door behind him. Quickening his footsteps he hurried to the main road, and was lucky to hail a cab. ‘Lytham Saint Anne’s,’ he instructed the driver, ‘Summerfield House, West Gardens. As fast as you can.’

  He had done a good night’s work and silently congratulated himself. The Bolton woman was out of the way for good, and all was well.

  There was nothing to stand in his way now. Nothing and no one! Not even his own mother.

  * * *

  Having finished his night-shift, the old watchman locked up the hut and ambled down the street. ‘That’s a funny thing an’ no mistake,’ he muttered. ‘I ain’t never seen a gent down this alley afore. Looking for a cheap bit o’ skirt, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  As he went on his way his jolly laughter echoed down the alley. ‘Wouldn’t mind a bit o’ skirt meself – but what self-respecting woman would want a shrivelled up old fella like me, eh?’ He used to worry about his failing manhood, but not any more. Because these days, he was happier with a nice mug o’ tea and his old baccy pipe. They didn’t give a man half so much trouble!