‘Cook wants to know what you’d like for lunch, Charlie.’
Charles Burton Blake ground his teeth. He’d been down in the dumps, lonely and desperate for a bit of comfort when he’d taken Janet, his cleaner, to his bed. However, he had no intentions of making her his permanent mistress – he’d learned his lesson with Jessica, or Daisy as she called herself now, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Jessica had cost him a pretty penny and if Janet thought she could fleece him too, she was going to be disappointed. ‘You will address me as Mr Burton Blake, or sir. Do not call me Charlie again.’
‘All right, keep your hair on, sir. Have I got to call you that in bed too?’
‘Just get out and tell Cook I’ll have an omelette,’ Charles growled.
As Janet scurried off he walked over to the window, looking out onto the common. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was lonely, and if the truth be told he would be tempted to allow his daughter to come home, if she asked him. However, soon there would be a baby too and he doubted if he could stand the sight of Albie’s offspring, even though it would be his grandchild. It would be a constant reminder of the baby’s scoundrel of a father, and the way he’d persuaded him to part with his money. Bad blood, the child would have the father’s tainted blood and he didn’t want it in his house.
Despite it being mid-May, a light drizzle was falling, the vista outside bleak and matching his mood. He had a sudden wish for blue sky and sunshine, and realised that there was nothing to stop him from having a holiday. The Mediterranean beckoned, or maybe further afield, somewhere in the Far East perhaps. If he chose to, he could be away for at least six months, or even longer, and that could kill two birds with one stone. He’d close up the house, get rid of the staff and replace them on his return. He smiled sardonically. It would be a pleasure to see the look on that presumptuous cleaner’s face when he sacked her.
With his mind made up, Charles went to his library to find some travel books. He’d peruse them after lunch and meticulously plan his trip. Italy, maybe, or Spain, a country he’d only visited briefly. He could hire a car to explore the wonderful architecture in Barcelona, Madrid and Granada, then spend some time on the coast. Following that he could drive on to Portugal to take a look at the Algarve, before eventually returning home.
Charles pulled out several books, deciding not to make his mind up yet, and when Janet served his lunch, he hardly acknowledged her.
‘I didn’t think Albie would be happy working night shifts in a factory, but he seems fine.’ Dora said.
‘Yes, he does,’ Constance agreed. She couldn’t say it to Dora, but she was glad that Albie had taken the job. It meant he was out all night, and when he came home in the morning, he slept till around four in the afternoon. He’d seemed taken with William when he’d been born, but since then he hadn’t shown much interest in his son, barely taking any notice of him. Dora said a lot of men were like that, only getting involved when the baby started to sit, crawl and then walk.
She moved William to her other breast, her heart swelling with love as she looked down on him suckling. There had been a time when she had wanted to rip him from her stomach, but now he had become her whole world. She’d only been home for a few days, but hoped to take William to see Ethel and Mary next week. They had no idea that he’d come early, and probably thought she was still waiting for the birth.
Dora went into the kitchen to see to the Sunday roast, while Constance finished feeding William and laid him against her shoulder to wind him. It didn’t take long, he was such an easy baby to care for, and now she just had to change his nappy.
‘Give him here, I’ll do it,’ Dora said as she returned to the room, reaching out for her grandson.
Constance didn’t mind. With Dora at work all week, she mostly had the baby to herself so could hardly begrudge her mother-in-law wanting to monopolise him during the weekend. She stood up and went to the window, hoping to see Melvin emerging from next door. She wanted to thank him again for helping her; his kind, gentle manner had been so comforting. He’d said he kept himself to himself so she turned and said to Dora, ‘I can’t believe I’d never seen Ivy’s son before. He was so kind to me when I was lying in pain on the ground, and as it was raining I should think his jacket was ruined.’
‘He was bullied at school, called Lugs because of his sticky-out ears, and it made him a bit of a recluse.’
‘Oh, that’s awful.’
‘He should have manned up instead of running away,’ said Albie, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the room.
‘Were you one of the bullies?’ Constance asked.
‘What do you take me for? No, I wasn’t.’
Constance took him for a cheat and a liar, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
‘Dinner won’t be long,’ Dora told him. ‘Here, do you want to hold Billy?’
‘Nah, maybe later.’
‘You take him then, Connie, and I’ll see to our roast.’
Constance gently held her son, and then with a last glance out of the window, she said, ‘Oh, look, talk of the devil, Melvin has just shown his face. I want to thank him for helping me again.’
‘Albie, maybe you should compensate him for his ruined jacket,’ Dora suggested.
‘Leave it out, Mum. I ain’t made of money.’
Constance opened the door and called, ‘Melvin … Melvin, have you got a minute?’
He walked up to her and she said, ‘Please, come in.’
Melvin looked reluctant but stepped inside. Dora immediately said, ‘Thanks for what you did for Connie. You’re a diamond.’
‘It was nothing, Mrs Jones.’
‘Yeah, I should thank you too,’ Albie drawled, ‘and I hear your jacket got ruined in the process. I’ll pay for it to be dry-cleaned.’
‘There’s no need,’ Melvin said and then his eyes settled on Constance. ‘Can I see the little one?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, moving the shawl to one side, ‘and thank you again. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘As I said, it was nothing.’
They stood smiling softly at each other, but then Dora broke the tableau by saying sharply, ‘Right, well, as I said, thanks, but I’m just about to dish up our dinner.’
‘Right, I’ll be off then,’ Melvin said and it was Dora who ushered him out of the door.
As he left, Albie yawned, then said, ‘I’ll just pop back upstairs to have a quick wash.’
Constance put William in his pram to help Dora and when they walked through to the kitchen, her mother-in-law said curtly, ‘I don’t like the way you and Melvin were looking at each other. You need to remember that you’re a married woman.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m just grateful that he helped me, that’s all.’
‘If you say so. I suppose I may have got it wrong. After all, Melvin is a funny-looking bloke and not a patch on my Albie. I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend and I ain’t surprised.’
Constance thought that Dora was being cruel, but held her tongue. Looks weren’t everything. Albie had them, but he was unkind and a liar. Melvin, on the other hand, had been nothing but kind and comforting towards her. If she’d had a choice, which she didn’t, she’d have chosen him over Albie every time.
Melvin headed for the park. He couldn’t stand the racket of his mother and Penny screeching at each other, the sound penetrating his room. It made it impossible to write so he had stuffed an exercise book in his pocket, deciding to find a quiet bench, maybe near the boating lake.
He’d been surprised when Connie invited him in and had been embarrassed by their thanks. It had been nice to see Connie, and to hear her well-modulated voice again. He loved the soft tone of it and couldn’t understand how she’d ended up married to Albie Jones. He felt sorry for her. She had no idea what kind of man she’d married. Albie Jones presented himself as a womaniser, but Melvin knew something about him that he’d never revealed. Something that could blow the Joneses’ world apart.
It was a nice day, but not quite summery enough to bring out many people, something Melvin was pleased about as he found a bench slightly sheltered by a weeping willow tree. He sat down, pulled out his exercise book and pen, looking out across the boating lake for inspiration. However, it was Connie that filled his mind. He’d never marry, but if he did he’d have liked a wife like her. And children, he would have liked children, and there was always adoption, but then his thoughts were interrupted by a dog that unceremoniously lifted its leg against the bench.
‘Toby, come here boy,’ a voice called.
Melvin recognised it and turned his head. ‘Hello, Mr Jackson,’ he said to the man who used to be his boss until he retired from his job in the storeroom at work.
‘Hello, Melvin. Fancy seeing you here. I walk my dog every day but I haven’t seen you in the park before.’
‘I only come here occasionally.’
‘There’s nothing like a dog to get you out of the house. When my wife died I felt a bit lost, but then I got Toby and he’s made a huge difference to my life. He’s a wonderful companion and I wouldn’t be without him.’
‘I’d like one, but my mother would never stand for having a dog in the house.’
‘Well then, maybe you should think about finding a place of your own.’
‘Yeah, one of these days I might.’
‘Toby’s anxious to be off, so I’ll say cheerio.’
‘Bye, Mr Jackson,’ Melvin called as the man and his dog walked away. The conversation had given him food for thought, and he liked the idea of having a dog, along with his own home. However, he soon realised that he couldn’t leave a dog alone all day while he was at work, and he’d never learned to cook or do anything much for himself. His mother, with her old-fashioned ideas, had seen to that, insisting that the kitchen was no place for a man.
Melvin’s thoughts turned to his sister, and the baby she was carrying. It would be his nephew or niece, but he’d never see it. His mother, with her prejudice, would see to that too. He hated her narrow-mindedness and those of her ilk in the area who judged people by the colour of their skin. With a heavy sigh he gripped his pen, and after reading through what he’d written before being driven from the house, Melvin began a new chapter.