Knees aching from the cold pavement, Nellie Castle sat back and regarded the patch of wet concrete. In her mind’s eye, she could still see the dark stain of Gladys’s blood. No matter how hard or how often she scrubbed, there it was. And when she’d walked into her bedroom earlier that morning, the scent of rose water making her gag, she’d felt compelled to scrub at it again.
Someone crouched down beside her and gently took the scrubbing brush from her hand. ‘Hey, what’s brought this on?’
‘I’ve been scrubbin’ this pavement for years, Jasper,’ Nellie said snatching the brush back.
Jasper sighed. ‘You know what I mean. We agreed you’d only scrub once a month. And I know you did it the other day.’
Nellie glanced up at him. Since Gladys had died, his face had gained a few more wrinkles and his bushy hair was now completely white, but his eyes were the same bright blue they’d always been. She started to scrub again.
‘What’s going on, Nellie?’ Jasper asked softly. ‘We’re all worried about you.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said briskly.
‘Look, love, we all miss Gladys, but this has got to stop. Scrubbin’ at this same patch of concrete’s madness! People are startin’ to talk!’
Nellie paused. ‘Do you think I’m going mad?’ she asked, unable to look at him. In truth, she was questioning her sanity herself. And if she told him that she thought Gladys was haunting her, he’d probably have her locked up.
Jasper lifted her chin with his finger and gazed into her eyes. ‘No, love. I think you’re tired and I think you’re sad. But’ – he gestured towards the queue of women across the square – ‘if you keep doing this, they’ll think you’re mad. So come on, the boys’ll be arriving soon, and you don’t want them to find you like this.’
She nodded. She was sad. Gladys’s death had knocked her for six. Her friend had been with her through thick and thin since the last war, and Nellie now realised how much she’d taken their friendship for granted. Gladys had helped her with the children, she’d helped in the café, and she’d helped her with her husband Donald when he’d come back from the first war, his mind shattered . . .
On the day she’d died, they’d made a pact: they would tell everyone the truth about how she and Gladys had inadvertently given him so much poppy head tea over the years that, rather than helping ease his mind, it had driven him further into madness, until, finally, he had shot himself. But without her friend by her side, she simply didn’t have the courage.
And she was so tired. She and Marianne needed more help in the café, but there wasn’t a soul she could think of who could replace Gladys, even if she could have afforded to do so.
With a deep breath, she pulled herself together and stood up. For a moment she stared into the café, and the blurry face of a woman on the other side of the celluloid window grinned mockingly back at her. Anger flashed through her and, straightening her shoulders, she whirled around to glare across the square at the women standing outside Turners’ Grocery. ‘Show’s over, ladies,’ she yelled. Then, picking up the bucket, she strode back into the café.
‘If you’re not careful, they’ll be cartin’ you off to the funny farm, Nell,’ the woman who’d been watching her remarked.
‘If you’re not careful, you’ll need to find somewhere else to get your breakfast, Lou.’
Lou Carter sniffed. ‘Might just do that. Place ain’t the same since Gladys died.’ She looked around at the rows of dark-wood tables, only four of which were occupied. ‘Used to be bustlin’ this time on a Thursday mornin’, but it’s like a morgue in here now.’ She slapped her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes. ‘Oops,’ she said, but there was a sly grin on her face.
‘Oh, bugger off, Lou,’ Nellie snapped, stalking through to the kitchen, where her eldest daughter Marianne was cutting bread at the large table in the centre of the room. Ignoring her concerned expression, she went into the scullery where she emptied the dirty water into the Belfast sink.
In the kitchen she heard Jasper’s hushed voice ask, ‘Has somethin’ happened to make your mum start scrubbing again?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marianne whispered back. ‘She’s been strange all morning – well, for weeks, really. D’you think I should talk to Dr Palmer?’
‘I can hear you, you know!’ Nellie said, coming back into the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘If you have any concerns, Marianne, you discuss them with me.’
‘Nellie,’ Jasper interjected, ‘you can’t blame her for bein’ worried. We all are.’
Ignoring his comment, Nellie threw the tea towel onto the table. ‘The boys’ll be here soon, so we need to shoo some of that dead wood out of the way to make room. You ready, Marianne?’
When her daughter didn’t answer, Nellie put her hands on her hips. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop lookin’ at me like that. The pavement needed cleaning, so I cleaned it. Like I’ve been doin’ ever since I moved here as a bride of eighteen.’
Marianne and Jasper exchanged a look.
‘And don’t look at each other like that!’ She clapped her hands. ‘What have we got for the lads’ breakfast?’
‘They’re getting a sausage sarnie each. But that’s it, Mum. It’s all I can manage until . . .’ She paused and glanced at Jasper. ‘Until we put in our next order,’ she finished.
Nellie sighed inwardly at the reminder of another problem. ‘It’ll do,’ she said and walked out to the café. ‘Your wife chucked you out, Mr Gallagher?’ She went and stood beside one of the tables where an old man was smoking a pipe as he read his newspaper.
He glanced up at her in confusion.
‘Cos you been sittin’ there since we opened, and I think it’s time you left.’
‘You can’t just throw me out. I’m a payin’ customer,’ he muttered.
Nellie picked up his cup and saucer. ‘You’ve been squattin’ over this cup o’ tea for over an hour. Get another one or get out.’
Grumbling, the old man stood up. ‘You’re lucky I still come here, Mrs C, I know a few as won’t set foot in ’ere no more.’
‘And you’re more than welcome to become one of them.’ Nellie walked over and opened the door for him. ‘Go on, off you pop.’
‘All right, I’m leavin’. Next time I’ll be goin’ to the Pot and Kettle. Least they leave their customers in peace.’
‘You do that, love,’ Nellie said. ‘And be sure to give Mabel and Clarence my regards.’
High-spirited shouting made her look across the square and her heart lifted at the sight of a group of laughing men wearing khaki shorts and shirts making their way up King Street. She squinted, trying to see if her youngest son Bert was among them, but there was no sign of him, although she could see her son-in-law, Alfie.
She waved as they approached. ‘Welcome, lads. Come in, come in.’
‘Nice window,’ Alfie remarked, nodding at the celluloid as he entered.
‘Thank you, Alfie,’ Nellie said. ‘Some people think it’s a waste of money.’ She glanced over at Jasper, who rolled his eyes.
Lou, who was still sitting by the window, tapped on it, making it wobble. ‘That’s a nice bit of winder, that is. My Terence always knows the best places to get stuff.’
Nellie inwardly cursed Lou’s big mouth as Jasper glanced between them, his eyebrows raised.
‘Please tell me you didn’t get that piece of junk from Terence Carter,’ Jasper hissed as she bustled past him.
‘I can’t see it’s any business of yours,’ she snapped. ‘Now, if you want to help, go get some more cups and saucers.’
Jasper sighed. ‘Fine. But this conversation ain’t over. Soon as things have quietened down, you an’ me are gonna have a chat, cos if you’ve been buyin’ dodgy gear from Terence Carter, then you need even more help than I realised.’
Nellie’s stomach fluttered with apprehension. Little did he know just how much help she needed. Problem was, she wasn’t sure anyone could help her now.