It was one of those long, hot London summers, when the tarmac on the roads melted and the stifling heat made sleep impossible.
By the middle of the month, half the families in Edgeley Road had taken advantage of factory holidays to get out of town altogether and go hop picking in Kent to earn a few shillings more, where the air was fresh, and the grass was still green.
Ethel stayed put. She had no intention of picking hops until her fingers bled or living in a ramshackle wooden hut while William picked up bad habits – and nits – from the local urchins who would run wild while their parents worked in the fields. He was the image of his father, with his grey eyes, and Ethel knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help being hard on him because of it.
He was always pawing at his baby sister too, asking to hold her. Ethel wanted to keep the baby’s clothes looking beautiful, just as Mam had done for her when she was a little girl living in Benwell. Da had saved up and bought the baby a pretty dress, in crisp white cotton, with smocking on the front in pink thread. She looked like a little angel in it.
She’d gone along with Harry’s idea to call her Zena, after his French grandmother, Zelina. It was a beautiful name – glamorous and a bit exotic. It certainly set her apart from all the other girls in the street – the Maggies, Beryls and Adas. Ethel loved that; her baby was her little jewel.
Zena was crawling now and getting into everything. Ethel couldn’t help being anxious about her; she was so precious, with her sweet little face and mop of black hair. She was forever telling William off for playing too roughly. It wasn’t that he was a bad lad, he was just a bit clumsy and Zena was so dainty; she reminded Ethel of the little china dancing girl on the mantelpiece round at Len’s house.
Len was as pleased as Punch with his daughter and they’d worked out a plan for him to spend time with Ethel and Zena, away from the prying eyes of the Clapham folk. Once a fortnight, she’d get Da to take William to Battersea Park for the day, and she’d wheel Zena out in her pram and walk for miles, across the river, where she’d meet Len on the Embankment, and they’d stroll along, arm in arm, just like any other couple.
Twice a week she’d sneak off to his house in the evenings, usually with a pie she’d made, telling Da she was visiting one of the old dears who lived in Clapham Manor Street. No one suspected a thing. Harry wrote to her still and sometimes she’d reply but more often than not she’d forget because she was just too busy these days. He had suggested she should come and spend the summer up there, but she made an excuse that she was so worn out with running around after Zena and William, she couldn’t possibly face the journey. She dreaded his visits because they disrupted her carefully planned routine that gave her time to be with Len. Thankfully, Harry only managed to get down to see them twice a year because of the cost and he just couldn’t get time off work that easily.
Ethel ruled the roost and that was the way she liked it. Da treated her with more respect now than when Mam was alive. He was much gentler these days, making sure to thank her for all the work she did around the house. The grandchildren were the apple of his eye and he’d tell William, ‘Listen to your mam, she knows best and don’t grumble, that is the way things are,’ while giving Ethel a little wink. It was unspoken between them, but Ethel knew that having Harry out of the picture made Da feel a lot happier. He was the man of the house but there was no need for him to be bullish about it.
With so many houses in Edgeley Road deserted over the summer, it was as if she was the queen of the whole street. And the best thing was, with no one around to gossip, Len had taken to popping in some afternoons when Da was out at work. He’d get off his shift early at the Pall Mall East Furniture Company, where he worked as a cabinet maker, and come in for a cup of tea, if no neighbours were loitering.
And today was one such afternoon, when the coast was clear and they were free to be together. William was away playing down at the common with some of the other boys on the street, so they took the chance to snatch a moment upstairs while Zena was sleeping soundly in her cot. Ethel put on the peach satin chemise Len had bought her as a gift; he was so thoughtful, and he spared no expense where she was concerned. She liked that.
Afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms, Len told her some big news. ‘I’m thinking of setting up a business with my brother, Fred. I’ve always wanted to be my own boss and there’s a dairy on the corner of Clapham Manor Street that’s coming up for sale. The couple running it are just getting too old to manage now.’
‘It sounds wonderful, Len,’ she said. ‘If anyone can make it work, you can.’
‘I’d love to make a go of it, Ethel,’ he replied, hugging her. ‘It would be hard work, but I want to be able to provide for you and the baby. I know it’s difficult for you, but we should be thinking about the future, our future.’
She was turning to kiss him again when she suddenly heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She sat bolt upright, pulling the bedclothes up to cover herself, and shouted, ‘Not now, William, I’m having a lie-down. Just leave me in peace for a while and play in the yard like a good boy.’
Len jumped out of bed and was just pulling his trousers on when the bedroom door swung open. It wasn’t William standing there, but Harry. Time stood still for a moment and a look of utter shock crossed his face.
‘What in the name of God is going on?’ shouted Harry, running at Len with his fists raised.
Ethel screamed and lunged forward to stop him. ‘Harry! No! Let me explain . . .’
He slapped her, hard, across the face and she fell backwards onto the bed with a scream. Before she knew what was happening, his hands were around her throat and she was gasping for air.
‘Leave her be!’ shouted Len, trying to push Harry away from her. ‘For God’s sake, you’ll kill her!’ But Harry seemed to have the strength of ten men and he swatted Len away like a fly and continued to throttle Ethel, his eyes bulging with rage.
The sound of Zena crying carried through the bedroom wall, just as the room around her was turning black and her lungs felt as if they were about to explode.
Suddenly, Harry relaxed his grip and staggered backwards, wild-eyed, with tears spilling down his face. ‘Oh my God, Ethel. What have I done?’
She sat up, gasping for air. ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘Leave us be. You tried to murder me!’
He sank to his knees. ‘I’d never do that. I love you, Ethel, please, don’t say that. Think of our children.’
All the years of being bossed around by men, of being such a good girl and a dutiful wife, seemed to swell inside her like a giant wave.
‘Zena isn’t yours! She’s Len’s,’ she spat. ‘I love him, not you. I’ve never loved you. You don’t understand what I need, Harry, and what’s more, I think you’ve got a screw loose.’ She tapped the side of her head.
Each word seemed to strike him, and he looked up at her with hurt and confusion, just as William did when she walloped him for breaking Zena’s toys or hurting his baby sister with his rough games.
‘Get out! I don’t want you near me or the children ever again,’ she said, putting her hands to her throat, which was horribly red and blotchy from his vice-like grip.
Len picked himself off the floor and put himself between the two of them. ‘I think you should leave now, Harry,’ he said. ‘Ethel’s telling you the truth. The baby is mine.’
The two men glared at each other for an instant.
Then Harry stood up and turned to go, his hands hanging limply by his side. Ethel stared at his departing back, shaking with shock.
As the front door banged shut, she heard William, outside in the street, shouting, ‘Dad! Dad! Where are you going? Dad, come back!’
But Harry never did.