Read Online A Sixpenny Christmas by Katie Flynn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Flynn
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your own messages for a while, I reckon, just give us a knock and let us know.’
Ellen felt tears rise to her eyes. When she had lived with her parents she had taken good neighbours and friends for granted, but now she realised how Sam’s attitude had alienated people. She looked hopefully from one face to another. ‘You’re new to Dryden Street, ain’t you? I just hope my husband hasn’t disturbed you when he comes in late. He’s – he’s a docker, you know, and it just so happens that there’s a deal of work down on the docks at the moment which means he’s got money in his pocket when it comes to finishin’ time. I’m – I’m afraid he’s fond of a bevvy and sometimes he gets a trifle rowdy. I hope as how he’s not disturbed you . . .’
The two women laughed and began to disclaim and Ellen, taking a good look at them, decided that they weremuch of an age, probably in their mid-thirties. Since they were both married and since no man was perfect she supposed that from time to time they must have problems of their own. Husbands who drank a little too much, sons who kicked footballs through other people’s windows, possibly even daughters who got in the family way and couldn’t name the father. But of course at this stage in their relationship it was unlikely that they would divulge any of their own problems to someone they had just met.
In a way, however, Ellen decided that this was all to the good since she had told her friend Molly that she was starting a new life, a life without Sam. Well, time alone would tell whether she had spoken the truth or whether it had been mere wishful thinking. She realised that if Sam had to force his way into the house, kicking doors down or smashing windows, he would be in no very pleasant state of mind when he did gain admittance. She would simply have to let him in, turning him out only if he tried to use his fists and boots on her or the baby. Once he had done that she could go to the scuffers and get one of the court order things which would mean he would not dare to come near her.
But her two new friends were pouring fresh tea, cutting the cake once more and pointing out the pie they had bought so that she might have a meal ready for her husband when he returned home.
‘’Cos like all fellers, he’ll be all the sweeter if there’s food on the table,’ Hannah remarked. ‘My Fred’s like a bear wi’ a sore head if he comes back to a cold kitchen and the kids hollerin’ that they ain’t ate nothin’ since school dinner.’
‘Mine an’ all,’ Janet Rathbone admitted. ‘I’ve only the one child – Cyril – but he can make as much noise as his da if he ain’t fed regular.’
Ellen hesitated; should she say what was on her mind, which was the recollection of the last meal she had made for Sam before going into hospital? She had baked a meat pie, saving up for the ingredients over several weeks, for the austerity which had gripped the land ever since the war ended was still very much in force. A lot of food had been taken off ration but seemed to have completely disappeared and everyone was horribly aware that the lease-lend arrangement with America had ceased as soon as the war was over. This meant, so far as Ellen could make out, that the country had to tighten its belt and pay back as soon as possible every penny that the Americans had poured into the war. So shortages had remained a way of life, but even so Ellen had managed to make a large and delicious beef, onion and carrot pie and had presented it to Sam with more than a touch of pride, but not without a flicker of fear, for he had come into the kitchen as surly as a bear and obviously looking for a fight.
He had found one in the unlikely shape of the pie. He had flicked its glorious golden crust with a disdainful forefinger before announcing belligerently that pie and mash was only good for kids; he was a man he was, and after a hard day’s work on the docks he fancied steak and chips.
The
Ellen felt tears rise to her eyes. When she had lived with her parents she had taken good neighbours and friends for granted, but now she realised how Sam’s attitude had alienated people. She looked hopefully from one face to another. ‘You’re new to Dryden Street, ain’t you? I just hope my husband hasn’t disturbed you when he comes in late. He’s – he’s a docker, you know, and it just so happens that there’s a deal of work down on the docks at the moment which means he’s got money in his pocket when it comes to finishin’ time. I’m – I’m afraid he’s fond of a bevvy and sometimes he gets a trifle rowdy. I hope as how he’s not disturbed you . . .’
The two women laughed and began to disclaim and Ellen, taking a good look at them, decided that they weremuch of an age, probably in their mid-thirties. Since they were both married and since no man was perfect she supposed that from time to time they must have problems of their own. Husbands who drank a little too much, sons who kicked footballs through other people’s windows, possibly even daughters who got in the family way and couldn’t name the father. But of course at this stage in their relationship it was unlikely that they would divulge any of their own problems to someone they had just met.
In a way, however, Ellen decided that this was all to the good since she had told her friend Molly that she was starting a new life, a life without Sam. Well, time alone would tell whether she had spoken the truth or whether it had been mere wishful thinking. She realised that if Sam had to force his way into the house, kicking doors down or smashing windows, he would be in no very pleasant state of mind when he did gain admittance. She would simply have to let him in, turning him out only if he tried to use his fists and boots on her or the baby. Once he had done that she could go to the scuffers and get one of the court order things which would mean he would not dare to come near her.
But her two new friends were pouring fresh tea, cutting the cake once more and pointing out the pie they had bought so that she might have a meal ready for her husband when he returned home.
‘’Cos like all fellers, he’ll be all the sweeter if there’s food on the table,’ Hannah remarked. ‘My Fred’s like a bear wi’ a sore head if he comes back to a cold kitchen and the kids hollerin’ that they ain’t ate nothin’ since school dinner.’
‘Mine an’ all,’ Janet Rathbone admitted. ‘I’ve only the one child – Cyril – but he can make as much noise as his da if he ain’t fed regular.’
Ellen hesitated; should she say what was on her mind, which was the recollection of the last meal she had made for Sam before going into hospital? She had baked a meat pie, saving up for the ingredients over several weeks, for the austerity which had gripped the land ever since the war ended was still very much in force. A lot of food had been taken off ration but seemed to have completely disappeared and everyone was horribly aware that the lease-lend arrangement with America had ceased as soon as the war was over. This meant, so far as Ellen could make out, that the country had to tighten its belt and pay back as soon as possible every penny that the Americans had poured into the war. So shortages had remained a way of life, but even so Ellen had managed to make a large and delicious beef, onion and carrot pie and had presented it to Sam with more than a touch of pride, but not without a flicker of fear, for he had come into the kitchen as surly as a bear and obviously looking for a fight.
He had found one in the unlikely shape of the pie. He had flicked its glorious golden crust with a disdainful forefinger before announcing belligerently that pie and mash was only good for kids; he was a man he was, and after a hard day’s work on the docks he fancied steak and chips.
The
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