On Monday morning, despite Dora’s apology the previous day, Constance awoke with the same resolve. She was going to see her father to plead with him to let her return home. They had once been fairly close, and he had admired her desire to go to university. Of course she had ruined their relationship by becoming pregnant and she feared he would never forgive her, but she had to try. He was her only hope of getting out of this house and her marriage.
Constance dressed carefully, doing her eye make-up as Jill had taught her, and as she thought about Jill she decided she would drop in to see her first. They had become good friends and she would miss her if her father allowed her to return home.
‘Hello, Connie,’ Jill greeted her. ‘Come on in. Where’s your pram?’
‘I’m going to see my father so I’m carrying William.’
‘Lay him on the sofa and I’ll make us a drink.’
Constance did just that and when Jill returned shortly after, she leaned over in front of her to put the tray on the coffee table. Close up, Constance saw something that Jill had attempted to cover with heavy foundation, and frowned. ‘What have you done to your face?’
‘It’s nothing. I banged it on one of the kitchen cupboard doors.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you.’
‘I hate covering for him, especially to you. It was Denis.’
‘Oh, Jill, I can’t stand it that he hits you.’
‘It’s all right. He’s always sorry when he sobers up and he’ll make it up to me. Now what’s this about going to see your dad?’
Constance knew that Jill wanted to change the subject so she said, ‘I’ve had enough of my farce of a marriage and I’m going to ask my father if I can move in with him.’
‘Oh, Connie, if he agrees, I’ll miss you.’
‘And I’ll miss you, but perhaps we could meet up every week, somewhere away from here.’
‘Yes, good idea. Any suggestions?’
‘How about Clapham Junction? There’s a café that isn’t far up St John’s Hill, called The Nelson.’
‘Yeah, great, but I’m still going to miss you living close by.’
‘My father hasn’t agreed yet.’
‘Well, for your sake I hope he does. I know how unhappy you are.’
They continued to chat for a while, but when she finished her drink, Constance said, ‘If I’m hoping to catch my father at home, I’d better get a move on.’
‘Good luck,’ Jill said. ‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Constance replied, hoping that she’d be able to return with good news.
‘How did it go last night?’ Ethel asked Mary. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘We had a lovely time. Percy took me to the West End to see a play called The Mousetrap. I’ve never been in a theatre before and it was amazing.’
‘That’s nice. So you were silly to have all those misgivings.’
‘It’s early days, but Percy is lovely. So far he’s been a proper gent, but I’m still not sure how I feel about him kissing me and all that. I suppose I’d better brace myself though ’cos it’s bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘Bloomin’ ’eck, you make it sound like punishment.’
‘Well, he ain’t exactly God’s gift.’
‘Looks ain’t everything.’
‘Yeah, I know, and I ain’t exactly an oil painting either.’
‘You’ll do,’ Ethel said affectionately.
‘I was thinking about having a bit of a make-over like Constance. She looks amazing nowadays.’
‘Yes, she does, but she isn’t happy. I wonder if she’s been to see her father yet.’
‘I can’t see her being any happier living with him.’
‘Albie has treated Constance really badly and it’s no wonder she wants to leave him,’ Ethel said.
‘To think I used to fancy him … I suppose that’s the problem I’m having now. I just can’t fancy Percy.’
‘Give it time. You haven’t been going out with him for long and feelings can grow. Albie might have the looks, but I’m ashamed to say he’s turned out to be a bad ’un.’
‘You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not your fault, so chin up.’
Ethel managed a smile, but though she would never admit it, she was worried. She’d encouraged Mary to go out with Percy, but had come to realise that if anything came of it and they married, she’d be left to live alone.
Constance looked at her father’s house. Only now that she didn’t live in it did she appreciate what a lovely building it was. She noticed that all the curtains were drawn, which she thought was odd. Surely at this time of the morning they should be open? Puzzled, Constance walked up to the front door and rang the bell, but there was no answer. She rang it again, and again, but still the door remained firmly closed.
It was strange that no one seemed to be in, not even one of the staff. Constance decided to try the basement door and frowned as she noticed that the steps down were strewn with rubbish. Her father wouldn’t be happy to see they hadn’t been swept. She knocked on the basement door, but there was still no response, leaving her bewildered. Where was her father? Where was the cook?
Unsure what to do next, Constance went back up to the pavement, and then, as her eyes roamed the neighbour’s house, she noticed a curtain move. As a child she had regularly seen Mr and Mrs Parkinson, but as they’d aged and had once suffered a burglary, they now kept themselves to themselves. It was doubtful, but there might be a chance that they knew where her father was, so hitching William up she walked along to their house.
When Constance knocked on the door, it was Mr Parkinson who opened it, and she smiled. He always reminded her of a Dickensian character with his tousled white hair and his wire spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Hello, Mr Parkinson.’
‘Constance, is that you?’ he said, peering at her. ‘My goodness, how grown-up you look. Come in, my dear, come in. Cecily will be pleased to see you.’
She followed the elderly, stooped man inside, her nose wrinkling at the musty smell. It made her want to fling all the windows open to fill the house with fresh air and as she walked into the drawing room it looked dim and uninviting.
‘Look, Cecily. Look who’s here. It’s Constance.’
‘Constance, is that really you?’
‘Yes, Mrs Parkinson,’ she said, smiling that her greeting had been almost the same as her husband’s.
‘My goodness, is that a baby you’re holding?’
‘Yes, this is my son, William.’
‘We didn’t know you’d married.’
‘In the circumstances, it was a very quiet wedding.’
‘What circumstances?’ the old woman asked abruptly.
‘My moth–mother’s death.’
‘Oh, yes, we did hear about that. My condolences.’
‘Thank you. Do you by any chance know where my father is?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact I do,’ said Mr Parkinson. ‘But only by sheer chance.’
Constance waited, and when nothing further was forthcoming she said, ‘So, can you tell me where he is?’
‘Yes, yes, sorry. My mind drifted there for a bit,’ he said and chuckled. ‘It tends to do that nowadays.’
‘Yes, mine too,’ Cecily Parkinson commented.
Constance tried to be patient, but, anxious to find out where her father was, she said, ‘Well, can you tell me where he is or not?’ though her voice was sharper than she intended. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that I’m worried about him.’
‘There’s no need, my dear. You see, I went to the door when the postman delivered a package, it must have been around mid-May, and I saw your father carrying cases to a taxi. I called out to him, and he put the cases down to come to speak to me. With a common interest in finance, at one time we spoke often, but I must admit I hardly see him these days.’
‘Cases? Was he going away?’
‘Yes, my dear. He said he had closed up the house and was going on a long holiday. He expected to be away for at least six months.’
‘Six months!’ Constance exclaimed.
‘Yes. Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘That sounds a bit odd,’ said Cecily.
‘Yes, I suppose it does, but my father and I had a bit of a falling-out.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Cecily murmured.
‘Please, can I ask you to do something for me?’
‘If we can, we will,’ Mr Parkinson said.
‘When my father comes back, if I leave you my address, could you drop me a line to let me know?’
‘Well, I suppose we could ask our domestic to post a letter.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ Constance said as she balanced William in one arm, and with the other wrote her address on a piece of paper that Mr Parkinson found for her.
She thanked them again, glad to leave the musty house, and wondering if she would ever hear from them. If not, in six months she’d come back to see if her father had returned, but until then she would have to continue to live with Albie and his mother.
Her mood low, Constance returned to Kibble Street, hating that her chance of escape had eluded her and now she saw no way out.