Chapter 2: Linda Booth

Ashford, evening: Tuesday, September 16th

The bus station was crammed with people making their way to work in Manchester but there wasn’t a queue for the Ashford bus. When it arrived, Linda sank gratefully onto a seat by the door, thinking back to the last few minutes in the ward.

Harriet Worth’s husband had gone by the time Linda went back into the side ward. Neither woman spoke about what had happened but it seemed the fractious baby had sensed the tension and steadfastly refused the breast. In the end Linda had made up a bottle of milk and given it to Harriet, glad to get away, aware that, to her own mind, she’d failed the woman, both professionally and personally.

The glass was cool on Linda’s forehead as she leaned on the bus window, reliving the incident with George Worth, unable to rid herself of the instinctive dislike and fear. When the bus squealed to a halt on Shaw Street, she was glad to be almost home.

The streets were quiet. Even so, as she turned the corner onto Henshaw Street she collided with her neighbours, the two elderly Crowley sisters.

‘Well, we have had a night, haven’t we Agnes?’ Tall and thin, the eldest, Ethel, drew herself to full height. She sniffed. As usual, whatever the weather she had a drip balancing on the tip of her nose.

The other woman nodded. ‘The police were at your—’

‘house. Bringing your mother home. She was a—’

‘disgrace. Shouting—’

Shorter than her sister and plump, Agnes Crowley shuffled excitedly from one foot to the other and bobbed her head, almost dislodging the blue turban-hat that covered small pink hair rollers.

‘and screaming at the top of her—’

‘voice.’ Each hitched their baskets further along their arms.

‘Not that we were watching—’

‘We just heard all the noise and looked—’

‘out to see what was happening—’

‘Right under our window.’

‘Right under our window.’

They stopped. More from lack of breath, Linda thought, than running out of gossip. No doubt it would be all over the neighbourhood before lunchtime. ‘You’re out early, ladies,’ she said.

‘Shopping.’ Ethel flushed and sniffed again. ‘We have a lot of shopping to do.’

‘Of course you have.’ And a lot of rumours to spread, Linda thought. She felt that whatever energy she had left was being drained from her body by the malice in these two women. ‘Well, I’ve just finished work, so I’m ready for my bed.’ She moved to get past them.

‘I do hope everything’s all right at home so you can sleep.’ Ethel tutted, recognisably miffed that Linda had shown no reaction.

‘Sure it will be.’ Linda waited until they moved to one side. ‘But if not, I’ll let you know. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on anything, would we?’

The two women looked at one another. ‘Well …’ Ethel said. ‘Well …’

Linda didn’t look back.

Inside number 27, Ted Booth was sitting on one of the tall stools by the breakfast counter, his head in his hands.

‘What’s happened, Dad? Where’s Mum?’

He tilted his head upwards. ‘Sleeping it off.’

Linda pursed her lips. ‘This is the third time this month Mum’s drunk herself into a stupor. It’s always same; why do you let it happen?’

‘She went through a lot when she was younger, love. We have to be patient.’

‘I’m sick of being patient, always tiptoeing around. Why do you think our William spends so much time away from here?’

‘Because he goes to see that woman of his.’ Ted looked shocked, as though the idea of his son being absent from home so often had anything to do with his wife. ‘Doesn’t he?’

‘S’pose.’ Linda sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘So, what was it this time?’

‘Same as last year. Same as every year since your grandma died. I’d forgotten yesterday was the date, but she insisted on taking flowers to the grave. Goodness only knows why she puts herself through it. They hated one another.’

Linda could remember her grandmother: sitting by the fire, always wearing black, with an expression to match and a whinging voice that penetrated every corner of the house. She hadn’t liked the old woman and the old woman hadn’t liked her.

‘Why does Mum always go to the grave? Have you asked her? When she’s not drunk, I mean?’

‘It only upsets her.’ Ted Booth covered her hand with his. ‘It brings back too many memories.’

‘Of what, Dad?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Just to put up with, then?’

‘Don’t be so hard, Linda.’

They lapsed into silence. She understood she’d hurt him and regretted it. ‘You look worn out.’ She unpinned her cap and took off her cape. ‘I bet you haven’t been to bed, have you? Do you want a brew before you go up?’

‘I should be at the shop.’

There was a thud overhead and then the sound of vomiting.

Linda sucked on her lower lip. For heaven’s sake. ‘She didn’t make it to the bathroom,’ she said, flatly.

‘I’ll sort it.’ Ted put his hands flat on the table and levered himself up.

‘Not on your own.’ She took off her navy cardigan and flung it over the bannister at the bottom of the open-plan Parana pine stairs. She glanced around the kitchen. Every surface of the bright orange units was covered in dirty crockery and left-over food. Saucepans were stacked untidily on the gas cooker, and wet clothes, piled up on the new twin-tub since yesterday, had dripped water on to the carpet. No doubt it would all be still waiting for her when she got up later. ‘Come on then, Dad, let’s get it over with.’