‘Are you coming down the pub, Nev?’
Neville was so tired he was swaying on his feet. It was eight o’clock and after working all weekend, he’d just done more overtime. Now all he wanted to do was to get home, eat his dinner and then collapse into bed.
‘No, not this time,’ he said. ‘Mum always does a stew on Mondays and she’ll be keeping it warm for me.’
‘Seeing the lovely Hazel after, are we?’ asked Bill. ‘Maybe taking her down the Granada?’
‘Nah, staying in,’ said Neville, smiling weakly. They hadn’t been to the cinema for weeks. He knew he had to keep saving to come anywhere close to meeting Hazel’s high hopes.
‘Time enough for staying in when you’ve settled down,’ Bill teased him. ‘You know what they say, all work and no play …’
‘Makes Neville under the thumb already,’ Nobby cut in.
‘Leave it out, Nobby,’ said Neville, irritated. ‘It’s Monday night for God’s sake.’
‘Yes but when was the last time you came down the pub on a Friday?’ Nobby asked. ‘See what I mean? Dull boy, Neville. Don’t you go letting them women tell you what to do. Once they realise they can get away with that, there’s no stopping them. You have to be firm from the beginning. Show them who’s boss.’
As if you’d know, thought Neville. The only women Nobby went near were on the pages of the smutty magazines he kept in his locker. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, lads,’ he said. ‘But I don’t miss Mum’s stew for nothing. If you can’t keep your mum happy then what’s the point?’
‘True,’ said Bill. ‘Off you go, then. But maybe come with us on Friday or you’ll never hear the end of it.’
‘Good idea,’ said Neville, and headed for the factory gates. He missed going down the pub with his mates. It wouldn’t hurt to join them at the end of the week. He never said he would give them up completely and he was sure Hazel wouldn’t begrudge him one night off. All she wanted was for him to be happy.
Over a week had passed, and on Tuesday morning Cora pondered Jill’s ideas as she sat behind the newsagent’s counter. She’d been impressed by the level of planning her neighbour had suggested and was almost reassured they could afford it all. As long as everyone kept their jobs and nobody did anything stupid they should be all right and Hazel could have her big day almost exactly as she wanted it – although the wedding dress would have to be home-made. Jill turned out to be good at dressmaking as well, for which Cora was grateful. She could do it if she had to but her hands were so stiff and painful, any kind of sewing soon became agony. Jill had a Singer sewing machine. So that was sorted out.
Cora had volunteered to have a word with the local vicar as she knew him best. Hazel had been christened at his church but wasn’t exactly a regular member of the congregation, especially as Sunday was now her only day off. Cora went every now and again, more for the social side than anything else; it was a sure way of seeing people who didn’t come to the shop. As long as it wasn’t too cold and wet everyone would gather in the churchyard after the service, exchanging small talk, and Cora often picked up snippets that were invaluable. Thanks to one overheard conversation, she already had a good idea of what the going rate for the church hall was, and didn’t intend to be overcharged when the time came.
She looked up as Winnie Jewell came in. ‘Morning, Winnie.’
‘Morning, Cora.’ Winnie didn’t look like her usual chipper self. Cora didn’t have to wait long to find out why. ‘I’m flippin’ well worn out, I am.’
‘Why, Winnie, whatever’s the matter?’ Cora was keen to know the reason. The entertainment from all the local gossip was one of the main reasons she enjoyed her job. ‘Would you like me to make you a nice cup of tea as it’s quiet?’
‘Would you, Cora?’ Winnie brightened a little. ‘I won’t say no. I’m glad to be out of the house.’
Cora kept a kettle, some mugs and milk in a cooler in a corner behind the counter and she soon had a hot drink ready. ‘You take your time, Winnie, and tell me all about it.’
‘It’s my poor sister.’ Winnie blew on her tea. ‘You know she’s having a dreadful time with the neighbours. It’s got much worse. This weekend they were all fighting and she could hear everything through the wall. The old man was drunk and swearing something dreadful, and our Beryl has young kids. Well, they could hear the lot. They’ve started using some of those words and they got in trouble at school for it. Beryl’s at the end of her tether. Also, she thinks they’ve damaged the wall throwing things at it. Sounded as if the father was trying to kill one of the boys. All over a racehorse. I don’t know what to advise.’
‘All you can do is listen, Winnie.’ Cora hoped there would be more. This was payback time for Winnie’s snobby remarks about her bloody Vera working at Arding and Hobbs.
‘Beryl would like to stay at my house, but I just haven’t got the room. All we can hope for is that her neighbours will quieten down. If they don’t, she’ll just have to report them to the landlord.’
‘That’s what I’d do,’ said Cora. Thank God her neighbours weren’t anything like as bad. She knew young Richie over the road played his music very loud but it never went on late. She could always go over and have a word with Jill about it if she needed to. She wouldn’t get sworn at if she did, either – she’d never heard Neville or any of his family be rude or coarse.
‘They were at our place until the kids’ bedtime on Sunday night,’ Winnie went on. ‘I fed them and everything – Beryl’s not happy using her kitchen what with the worry about the rats. It’s enough to shred your nerves. I don’t know what Vera’s colleagues will say if they get to hear about it.’
‘I’m sure they won’t, Winnie. Anyway, it’s not your kitchen that’s got rats. If you ask me, it’s good of you to do so much for your sister.’
‘You’ve got to look after your family, that’s what I always say,’ Winnie said as she drained the last of her tea and asked to buy ten Woodbines. ‘That was a lovely cuppa and it was good of you to make it for me, Cora. You must be bored to tears with hearing about my sister’s problems with the Lanning family.’
‘Think nothing of it, Winnie,’ said Cora, smiling as she completed the sale, at the thought of this nice bit of gossip that she could pass on.
Alison tried to time her arrival at work to coincide with Paul putting up the awning but she was disappointed. As she drew closer to the row of shops she could see the old man, Paul’s boss, arranging the last of the boxes outside. He nodded briefly but didn’t look as if he was in the mood for conversation.
‘What’s up with him?’ she asked Fred as she hung up her coat. ‘Looks as if he got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’
Fred was weighing out some mince. ‘He said his assistant is off sick today so he’ll have to do all the lifting himself, and he’s not really up to it any more. Takes its toll after a while when you’re his age.’ He didn’t sound very interested and so Alison didn’t ask if he knew how sick Paul was. ‘Here, take this and put it out the back in one of the fridges. There’s room on the bottom shelf.’
Alison took the tray of mince, wondering if Paul was really sick or if he’d just fancied a day off. She wouldn’t put it past him to fake it, as she knew he got bored standing around in the ironmonger’s with just the old man for company. I must find a way of going in there and seeing him more often, she thought. She began to daydream about how much he’d enjoy her company, and what they might talk