The House by the Brook Read online

  With a deep sigh, she pulled the curtains across the windows, remembering what a pest old Watkins the warden had been not so long ago, before the war had ended; banging on doors and shouting, ‘Put that flamin’ light out,’ enjoying the odd moments of importance. The gas mantle popped once or twice and settled into a steady glow that was oddly comforting.

  There was no sign of the twins. She didn’t call to find out if they were in their room, best not to wake Ivor. She was too tired for another argument. She heated some milk and gave it to Vi then led her upstairs, walking on the edge of each tread to avoid creaks. The twins slept in the front room downstairs.

  With only two bedrooms, the house had been too small when Vi had unexpectedly arrived and they couldn’t afford to move to a larger house – and since June and Ivor’s Derby win they couldn’t always pay the rent on this one.

  She lay for a long time, unable to sleep. Although her body ached, her mind was too active, running over thoughts of the miracles that might happen to change her miserable life. Ivor miraculously changing back overnight into a caring, hard-working husband and father was the only real hope, and while there was a racehorse or a greyhound capable of putting one foot in front of another there was no chance of that. He had not been himself since early June, less than three months ago; such a brief moment in a lifetime.

  Winning the football pools was everyone’s dream, but money wasn’t the answer to her situation. However much they won, Ivor would lose it all. Buying drinks for friends as he did on the rare occasions when the horses performed as he predicted and gave him a win. Gambling more and more to recoup the losses that he would inevitably suffer. She remembered when Mr and Mrs Founds won fifteen thousand pounds. He’d lost it all within a year, buying a house then mining it by so-called improvements before selling it for a fraction of what he’d paid. He’d bought new furniture and a piano no one could play, a car which he lent to a friend who crashed it into a wall. Then there were the family parties and the handouts. Perhaps that was why Mrs Founds – now widowed – is so kind to me, she mused. She at least understands.

  She heard Ivor coming in, felt the slight movement of air as he pushed open the bedroom door, the staleness of tobacco and drink hovering around him like a miasma. She didn’t move. With luck he’d believe she was asleep and leave her alone. He got into bed and turned, taking the covers from her, and at once began to breathe steadily. Trouble free, she thought bitterly. While I carry his burdens. Something must be done, she decided as sleep finally claimed her. I can’t go on like this. Mrs Founds is right, I’m worth more.

  *

  Marie’s sister, Jennie, was just creeping into bed as Marie finally slept. Unlike her sister, Jennie prided herself on being useless. She considered that working as a hairdresser entitled her to the care and attention given by her parents. She and her friend Lucy were coping alone, as their boss, Miss Clarke, was on holiday, so she felt her mother’s fussing was even more deserved. Miss Clarke was a good boss, never complained, and Bill, the son of Mr James the owner, was always willing to help move heavy equipment. By the occasional looks he gave her, Jennie thought he was imagining that one day she would pay him in ways he dared not mention – although Bill had been seeing rather a lot of Miss Clarke, and Jennie and Lucy wondered whether the fact they were on holiday at the same time was more than coincidence. This was a cause for smothered laughter. Bill was the same age as Jennie and Lucy but they saw him as ‘too old’ for any serious consideration.

  Mr James, who had owned the shop since his wife had died a few years before, was happy to leave the business to Miss Clarke, Jennie and the newest member of staff, Lucy. He rarely entered the shop and apart from a brief thank you, and a formal handshake each Saturday as he handed them their wages, they hardly saw him.

  Belle and Howard Jones were immensely proud of Jennie, who had been a late arrival, eight years after Marie. They regularly told Marie how clever her sister was, and how capable and how smartly she dressed. Marie smiled and nodded agreement like an automaton, and went back to wondering how ‘clever Jennie’ would feed a family with the five shillings she had left until Friday. She found it impossible to smile when her father said he wanted to decorate Jennie’s room, smarten it up as befitted her status as manageress of the hairdressing shop.

  ‘Temporary manageress, only while Miss Clarke is on holiday,’ Marie reminded her father with a smile. ‘To hear her talk you’d think she’d been running the business for years.’

  ‘Enthusiastic, our Jennie. She loves life.’

  *

  On Sunday morning, much to the disapproval of many who believed in respecting the sabbath, Marie took Vi and did the undercoating on the bedroom. The living room was still in a mess and, apart from rescuing her purse, which had still miraculously held her wages, and preparing the vegetables for dinner, she had done nothing. She knew she would eventually clear it up, but she was becoming more and more unwilling. Once, pride would have forced her to put everything straight for fear of a neighbour walking in and seeing the state of the place. Now she cared less and less. After the past three months of increasing worry, she was reaching the point where everything would change. Pride as a housewife was less important than pride in herself.

  She called at the home of her parents, the smell of a roast meal cooking reminding her of how hungry she was. If she and Vi were invited to stay then she’d accept. Let Ivor, Royston and Roger go hungry instead of her and Vi for once.

  ‘Mam, we’re starving, any chance of something to eat?’ she called as Violet ran in ahead of her.

  ‘You should be home cooking a meal for your family, not wandering about looking like a scarecrow on a Sunday,’ her mother reprimanded, neatly avoiding the question.

  ‘Working I’ve been. Not wandering. How could I paint and stick up wallpaper with my best clothes on, supposing I had any?”

  ‘You should be home getting the Sunday joint cooked.’

  ‘Mam, if I didn’t work there wouldn’t be a Sunday joint.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Marie.’

  ‘Where’s Jennie?’ Marie asked, swallowing the retort that she knew would be a waste of time.

  ‘Your sister is still in bed. She was out late last night,’ Belle Jones replied.

  ‘I was late too. I had to take Vi with me and we didn’t get back from Mrs Founds’s until after ten o’clock. The mess left from a fight between Royston and Roger still there, uncleared. I worked in the shop until five thirty then went to paint her kitchen.’

  ‘You do dramatize, our Marie. An argument surely, not a fight?’

  ‘A fight, and several things got broken. Violet was scared and I couldn’t leave her there. You don’t understand my difficulties, Mam.’ She wondered why she tried to explain, her mother only heard what she wanted to hear.

  ‘Poor Vi,’ Belle said, proving her right. ‘No wonder she lacks colour in her cheeks.’

  ‘Marie,’ her father called as he came in from the garden. ‘Would you like some beans and a couple of lettuces? There won’t be any more, these are the last for this year. Scraggy mind, but they’ll make a bit of a feed. I picked them knowing you’d call.’

  While Belle went to find some newspaper to wrap them, her father asked, ‘Is there any chance you can give me a hand painting the back-bedroom ceiling? Jennie never complains but her bedroom is badly in need of redecorating.’

  ‘Why not ask Jennie?’ she asked, with little hope.

  Her father laughed. ‘Our Jennie do something useful? That’ll be the day. Helpless she is, our Jennie.’ There was no dismay in his voice. In fact, he seemed to be constantly proud of Jennie’s inability to do anything to help. She was pretty and amusing, how could anyone expect more? seemed to be his attitude.

  Marie stifled a sigh, and she picked up the newspaper parcel. Even her father seemed to want something from her.

  ‘I can’t do anything for a while, Dad. I’ve promised a few people and I do work all day.’

  ‘It’s all
right,’ he said touching her shoulder reassuringly. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but you know how your mam is – when she wants something done it has to be now this minute. I’d do it myself but I’m not good on ladders these days.’

  ‘I’ll have a look while I’m here.’ Marie went up the stairs with her father following and went into her sister’s bedroom – the room she had once shared. Peroxide-golden hair fanned out over the white pillow and a muffled greeting emerged when Marie spoke to Jennie.

  ‘Don’t worry about the ceiling, our Dad,’ Jennie said sleepily as she rose from the bed. ‘I can’t stand the smell of paint, and our Marie takes for ever when she does a job for us. Paying customers she deals with at once, mind.’ She pulled a face at her sister, then grinned.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Jennie. It isn’t helpful,’ Howard said with a frown.

  ‘Can’t she do it later, when I go to stay with Auntie Ivy?’

  She gave a groan and added, ‘Oooh, our Dad, imagine me lying here stiff and dead from paint poison.’ She positioned herself dramatically, hanging over the edge of the bed.

  Howard laughed in spite of trying not to. ‘Stop your nonsense, silly girl.’ Marie glanced at him, saddened by the look of affection he showed, which she never saw directed at herself.

  ‘Is Miss Clarke back yet?’ Marie asked.

  ‘No, but I’m coping all right,’ she said with a sigh. ‘It’s hard mind, with one pair of hands missing. Lucy’s… quite good,’ she said disparagingly. ‘I’m trying to teach her but there isn’t much time, we’re so busy.’

  Marie and Vi didn’t stay long. It was useless trying to explain her situation to her mother. Belle had a safe, rather uneventful life and couldn’t understand why her daughter couldn’t manage to do the same. Both her parents were fond of Ivor and clearly didn’t believe the little Marie had told them about the sudden change in him, and their money difficulties. Her father doted on his younger daughter and presumed that as Marie was married, with children of her own, she no longer needed his special care. Marie had believed that marrying Ivor had been a good move. Until recently it had been. Eight years of happiness and three months of increasing misery. Would she have been better staying single? Then she looked at her daughter and knew that for Violet alone it had been worth it. ‘Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire,’ she said aloud.

  ‘What d’you mean, Mam?’ Vi asked as she skipped along beside her mother.

  ‘Oh, I just mean that once you’ve left something behind, you can’t just hop back again. You have to make another jump and hope the landing is a good one, better than the last. The trouble is, where to jump and how to survive without the frying pan.’

  Vi wasn’t listening. She was concentrating on hopping on the paving stones without touching the lines. Girls at school had warned her that landing on the lines was bad luck. Perhaps they were like Mam’s frying pan, she considered vaguely.

  Even through the eight happy years they had lived hand-to-mouth. No money left by Thursday and waiting for the weekly pay packet each Friday to begin a new week. Paying the rent, putting a little aside for other bills like gas and coal, and smaller amounts for the baker and milkman, never daring to miss a week thereby creating debts they’d never be able to clear. Then surviving for seven days on what was left.

  Every week had been the same unless there were unexpected expenses to deal with. Only now Ivor’s gambling had broken the simple pattern and made everything worse.

  On Monday, Marie had the afternoon off. She and the two other assistants took it in turn to have the extra half day, and this was when she normally did a lot of extra housework. She left the house before eight and went first to the hardware shop from where she bought her materials. Geoff Tanner greeted her and offered her a cup of tea.

  ‘Now, Marie, no nonsense about not having time. You don’t need to be on duty with Misery guts Harries until five to nine. Sit down, I’ll sort out your order and you can have five minutes peace. Right?’

  Later, she couldn’t explain why she had talked to him so revealingly about her life. It must have been the rare quiet moment in her frantic, thankless life, or maybe the friendly interest shown by Geoff, but when she started, she told him more than she had admitted to anyone before.

  ‘What happened when you got back from your parents’ house?’

  ‘Surprisingly, the meat was in the oven, but nothing else was cooking. So it was either a long wait for dinner, or sandwiches. The twins wanted to meet their friends, so amid wild complaining they had a sandwich. Ivor was at his club and I cooked for six o’clock. It’s a long day sometimes.’

  ‘And the clearing up? The broken china?’

  ‘Oh, I had to do that. I was afraid of leaving it any longer in case Vi cut herself.’

  ‘And the birthday party?’

  ‘I sent the twins around to tell everyone it was postponed.’

  Geoff was silent for a while and when she looked at him he was staring at her, an expression on his face she couldn’t read. It wasn’t sympathy, more puzzlement and perhaps, she realized with a start, something like disapproval. Surely he wasn’t another who, like her mother, believed in obedience to a husband and the marriage vows beyond all reason?

  ‘I can’t stand martyrs,’ he said at last. ‘I can understand people putting up with things they can’t change, or dealing with sickness, tragedies and other unavoidable troubles, but I don’t understand how someone like you, clever, hardworking, honest, can lie down, day after day and allow yourself to be treated like a doormat.’

  ‘I have to keep everything going for the children. It’s all very well to have dreams of getting out, changing things, but I have two fourteen-year-old sons and a daughter who is only eight. What do you think I can do? Run away? Leave them to it?’

  ‘One day, I think that’s exactly what you’ll do. You’ll take Violet and walk away.’

  Her hand was shaking as she replaced the cup and saucer on the table. She was angry, most of the night had been spent thinking of ways of doing exactly that, and all she had come up with was the realization that there wasn’t one.

  *

  Jennie went to see her sister, and to Marie’s surprise and irritation, she talked about how miserable her life had become. ‘Staying away another week, that Miss Clarke is! There’s me running the hairdressing shop, expected to do the accounts and see to the ordering of shampoos and all that, employing a cleaner – I put my foot down when Mr James asked me to do that! – I’m worn to a frazzle.’

  ‘Shame,’ Marie said. ‘Poor put-upon you.’ Her sarcasm went unnoticed.

  ‘And our Dad’s getting more useless by the day, our Marie. I have to get up on chairs to reach things he needs, and he’s so slow. You’ll have to help more, it shouldn’t be down to me all the time. They’re your parents too. And Mam doesn’t cook like she used to.’

  ‘Jennie, you know how things are for me. I can’t do any more. I’m doing two jobs as it is, or haven’t you noticed? And as for Mam cooking, haven’t you heard of rationing?’ Marie said irritably.

  ‘People still cook, don’t they?’

  ‘Mam and Dad are getting older. Nothing stays the same. Except that for me they get much much worse,’ she added bitterly. ‘Ivor is gambling and you can imagine what that means with five of us to feed. He won’t talk about it or explain why he’s changed so much. He’s useless and the twins are still looking for work.’

  ‘I thought they were working for the farmer.’

  ‘That was two weeks ago. Since then they’ve been at a builders, supposed to be learning the trade but I think they fool around most of the time. Whatever, they’ve been sacked again. Fourth job they’ve had in as many weeks. They fight and avoid doing what they’re asked, and no one will put up with that and pay for the privilege.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Until now I’ve left it to Ivor, but, as usual, it ends up with me having to sort it. I’m going to see Mr Harris in the wholesale fruiterers and
Mrs Flint in the chip shop. Whatever Ivor says, they have to work separately or they’ll never keep a job.’

  ‘They won’t like it,’ Jennie warned. ‘Neither will Ivor.’

  ‘That’s too bad.’

  By the end of the day, her precious half-day off, Marie had found work for the two reluctant boys: fruit and vegetable wholesalers for Royston and the behind the scenes preparation at the chip shop for Roger.

  Although it was August, it was cold, with an evening breeze rustling the leaves of the trees in the park and those lining the pavements, and blowing hats askew, as people hurried home. She had brought Vi to the playground and was dreaming as she pushed her on the swing. A couple of evenings this week, and one more weekend, then she would have caught up with her list of decorating jobs. Perhaps, with Royston and Roger actually bringing in a wage, she could take a few weeks off from her second occupation. Her heart leaped as an alarming possibility occurred. She had to make sure to tell the boys to hand their wages to her and not their father, or she wouldn’t see a penny of it. Today she and her friend Judy Morris were going to the pictures – a rare treat. Jennie had agreed to stay in with Violet. But, she thought with irritation, her presence was mainly to make sure the boys didn’t fight and hurt themselves or break furniture.

  *

  Jennie leaped up from the tea table before being asked to help clear up, having eaten her fill of the sandwiches and a few cakes her mother had prepared. ‘What time’s supper, our Mam?’