On Tuesday, Constance was sobbing as she dressed for her mother’s funeral. She had spent her life longing for her mother’s love, had wanted the chance to tell her how sorry she was for letting her down, but it was too late now. Her father had arranged for a black suit to be delivered to the house on Kibble Street. At first, Constance had thought his gesture a considerate one, but had then realised it was his way of keeping up standards. She knew he’d expect her to be impeccably dressed and he’d ensured she wouldn’t let the side down. But the expensive black suit wasn’t for her benefit – it was for her father’s, so that he wouldn’t be publicly humiliated. Tears fell faster when Constance was unable to button the skirt. Her mother would hate her to look anything but neat and tidy. She sobbed breathlessly as she flopped down onto the side of her bed. What did it matter what she looked like? Her father had disowned her and her mother was dead and would never be able to comment on her appearance again.
Desolately Constance finished dressing and went downstairs to find the house was empty. Dora had gone to work and she had no idea where Albie was. He went out every day without explanation, but in all honesty that suited her.
She felt so alone as she left the house, and thinking it inappropriate to turn up at her mother’s funeral on a bicycle, Constance walked to the main road to flag down a taxi, using what little money she had left of her own to pay for it.
When she arrived at the church, Constance saw her father sitting in a pew at the front but she didn’t go to join him. There were very few people there, none that she recognised, until a hand rose to wave at her and she saw Ethel with Mary. She almost stumbled to their pew, and sitting down she grasped Ethel’s hand, so grateful to see them there. ‘Oh, Ethel, Mary, thank you for coming.’
‘We thought you might need a bit of support. This must be so hard for you, love,’ Ethel said softly.
The vicar arrived and began to speak, but Constance was barely listening. All she could think about was her mother, her lack of affection, the alcohol, and she felt she had caused it. She’d been a disappointment to her mother, and she wished she’d tried harder to please her.
A hymn was sung, but Constance couldn’t join in as tears filled her eyes every time her voice managed even the smallest croak. It was cold in the church, and with so few people there, it felt desolate, as desolate as her feelings when she thought about her mother.
‘Come on, pet, it’s all over,’ Ethel said, urging her to her feet.
Connie snapped back into the present and stumbled from the church, only to find herself face to face with her father. He said nothing, and neither did she, and they turned abruptly away from each other.
Ethel wasn’t quiet, though, and said scathingly, ‘You’re a cruel man, Mr Burton Blake, and should be ashamed of yourself. If I hadn’t come, your daughter would have had to face her mother’s funeral alone.’
‘How dare you talk to me in that tone.’
‘Oh I dare. I’m not your servant now.’
‘Come on, Ethel, leave it. Let’s just go,’ Constance urged.
‘Yeah, all right, I’m coming. Your father isn’t worth my spit.’
With that, they walked away, but as they left the grounds Mary tittered, then laughed, sputtering, ‘I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but did you see his face when you told him he wasn’t worth your spit?’
‘Yeah, I saw it.’
Constance found herself smiling. Yes, she had seen the expression on her father’s face too. He had looked astounded, then angry, and she doubted anyone ever had the audacity to confront him like that before. Ethel was right, though, he was cruel, but was Albie any better?
Constance had told Dora and Albie that Ethel had been at the funeral, and that she now lived in a flat with Mary, but both of them had scowled, telling her they didn’t want to hear the woman’s name mentioned in their house. Constance had tried again, but Dora had been so annoyed that she said no more. Dora was the only one who had shown her any kindness and she didn’t want to ruin their fledgling relationship.
By the time three more days passed, Constance found living in Kibble Street almost impossible to bear. It was now Friday and she picked up the shopping list that Dora had left for her, along with some money. She would have to go to three shops, the grocer’s, greengrocer’s and butcher’s. She had cycled to the library yesterday, needing a book to read to bury her grief, and hadn’t encountered any neighbours, but with this much shopping she wouldn’t be able to carry it on her bicycle. The books she had chosen gave her some respite, a chance to escape her unhappiness, but she had to make sure she wasn’t reading when Albie was around. It angered her that she had to pander to him, but she had found it easier than having to put up with his moods if she crossed him.
With a heavy heart Constance put on her coat and tied a scarf around her hair. It was a Hermès, a present from her late mother, and a favourite. She picked up two shopping bags and gingerly left the house, walking as quickly as she could to avoid encountering her neighbours. She was a little breathless when she reached the grocer’s, where there was a small queue at the counter. Constance kept her head down to avoid any of the other customers taking notice of her, but when it was her turn to be served, things changed.
‘What can I get you, love?’ the grocer asked.
‘I have a list, but to start with I’d like a half a pound of Cheddar cheese.’
‘Blimey, did you hear that?’ a voice asked. ‘She must be Albie Jones’s new wife. I’d heard she’s a bit posh.’
‘Yeah, and I heard that she’s got a bun in the oven.’
‘Is that right? Well, if you ask me that’s bloody disgusting.’
‘Yeah, she might be married now, but it’s obvious the horse came before the cart.’
‘She might be posh, but she’s a tart.’
‘Leave her alone,’ a voice called, one that Constance recognised and she turned to see that Ivy had joined the queue.
‘Why should we? She acts like upper class, but she must have the morals of an alley cat.’
‘Oh, so you’re perfect all of a sudden are you, Susan Porter? I think you’re forgetting what you got up to when your Reggie was away.’
‘Shut your mouth, Ivy Nelson.’
‘You didn’t like that did you, Susan? You can dole it out, but you can’t take it. And you ain’t the only one in here that I can chuck shit at, so I suggest you all leave Connie alone.’
Silence descended, and the grocer said to Constance, ‘What else can I get you?’
‘A tin of corned beef and two tins of baked beans,’ she said, relieved when the order was finally complete. She paid for the goods, picked up her shopping bag, and smiled at Ivy, saying softly, ‘Thank you.’
‘Remember what my Penny called you? You’re the Queen of Clapham, so act the part. Hold your head up high and don’t let the buggers get to you.’
Constance managed to smile and then made her way to the greengrocer’s, where, once her bag was full and heavy with the weight of potatoes, she carried both bags home, relieved to close the street door behind her. Ivy had been so kind, standing up for her like that, and her feelings warmed towards the woman. She just hoped there were others in Kibble Street who were kind, but so far she had only been treated with nastiness.
At seven-thirty that evening, Albie said, ‘Right, I’m off out. See you later.’
Constance said nothing. He’d been out nearly every night since they married, but she didn’t protest. There was no love between them, no affection, and though she tried her best, he criticised her at every opportunity.
‘Where are you off to tonight?’ Dora asked.
‘I’m going to the snooker hall.’
‘Before you go, that cheque must have cleared by now and I want my housekeeping money.’
‘All right, here you are,’ he said, peeling off some notes.
‘Give Connie at least three quid too.’
‘What! Leave it out.’
‘Now you listen to me, my boy. Your wife needs a bit of her own spending money. Not only that, she’ll want to buy things for the baby.’
‘There’s no hurry.’
‘If she starts to get baby clothes now, it won’t be such a big outlay when the time comes. You’ll have enough to fork out for then, such as the pram and cot.’
‘All right, don’t nag. You’d said all that before. Here,’ he said, handing a couple of pound notes to Connie.
She took them, and even managed to thank him, all the while thinking that he was mean in handing out her father’s money. He hadn’t found a job yet and she wondered if he was even looking. Albie went out in the morning, and didn’t show up again until dinnertime so if he wasn’t looking for work, she couldn’t help wondering what he did all day.
At eight-thirty Constance was reading, something that her mother-in-law didn’t object to. She had suggested teaching her to knit, but Constance had asked if that could wait until she had mastered the other things she had to learn, such as baking bread, which she had yet to tackle.
She was just starting a new chapter, thinking that the click of Dora’s knitting needles was soothing, when Ivy came in through the back door.
‘Wotcher, Dora,’ she said. ‘Has Connie told you what happened in the grocer’s today?’
‘No, she hasn’t.’
‘I was going to tell you, but then it slipped my mind,’ Constance said.
‘Right then, tell me now.’
It was Ivy who chipped in. ‘Some of the old biddies were giving Connie a hard time and one even called her a tart. Mind you, I soon put her straight.’
‘Thanks for that, but don’t worry, Connie, it’ll pass. Once the dust has settled they’ll find some other poor sod to pick on.’
Constance hoped she was right, and said, ‘It was good of Ivy to stand up for me.’
‘Yeah, it was, and thanks again,’ Dora told her. ‘If I hear anything said, they’ll get a piece of my mind too. Do you fancy a cuppa?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve only popped round to see if I can borrow a bit of sugar.’
‘Well, you know where it is.’
‘Thanks, love. I’ll pick it up on my way out. Night, night.’
Dora waited until Ivy had left then sighed heavily. ‘Ivy is a good friend and it was nice of her to stick up for you, but her borrowing is getting a bit much.’
‘What does her husband do?’
‘Stan has got a good job on the railway and he’s never been tight. Her son, Melvin, contributes too, but with Penny out of work yet still wanting money for clothes and make-up, it could mean Ivy has to stretch her housekeeping more than usual. Mind you, even when Penny was working, Ivy was always borrowing stuff. Maybe she’s just hopeless at making sure she’s got enough food in her cupboards.’
Constance was hardly listening. So Penny wasn’t at work, but like Albie, she was never around during the day. A suspicion began to form, and though she hadn’t expected to care, it was one that kept her awake that night. Yet if she was right, why did it bother her? It wasn’t as if she had any feelings for Albie. Maybe it was because her pride was hurt – they had been married for a week, and Albie hadn’t attempted to touch her.
When Albie crept into their bedroom later that night, it was gone eleven. Constance pretended to be asleep, but was still wondering if her husband of just one week was already having an affair.