A Mother’s Hope

Isobel Ellis had enjoyed the trip to Rhyl. Being with the children, helping them to make sandcastles, collect shells and paddle in the pools, had brought her own childhood back to her. She had known for years that she had been privileged, had wanted to give children of her own such a childhood. But that had been denied her and now she must look seriously at adoption, because she had agreed with Frank that they were unlikely to trace Gertrude Pleavin after so long.

Now, in a coach accompanying another group of children – ten to twelve-year-olds this time – she was letting her mind return to that last trip. Something had happened, something of importance, but she had missed the significance of it at the time and it still eluded her. Carefully, she relived that gloriously sunny day, starting with the moment when the children had filed into the coaches and she had sat down next to Miss Quentin, liking the older woman, knowing that the children liked her too, and anticipating a busy but delightful day.

The coach had roared down the tunnel and out into the sunshine of the Wirral. The children had been thrilled with everything; the great sandy estuary of the River Dee and the cattle and sheep grazing on the lush green grass. On reaching Rhyl, of course, the excitement had been almost more than the children could bear and Isobel had shared their pleasure. When the coach had drawn up on the promenade, Isobel and Miss Quentin had checked that each child had a hat and a jacket and had then ushered them down from the coach, checking that all the seats were empty, and following as the children began to form into a crocodile.

I was sent to the front of the crocodile, to guide the children down the steps and across the sand to the shade of the pier, Isobel reminded herself, then stopped short. No! Whatever it was that niggled at her mind had not happened on the beach, or under the pier. Ah, she remembered now. There had been a young woman pushing a pram with two babies tucked up in it; a very pretty young woman, wearing a straw coolie hat. The girl had twins, two beautiful baby boys, both clad in similar blue romper suits, and when Isobel had asked, the young mother had given their names, though for the life of her Isobel could not recall what those names had been. Why should she? She had been surrounded by thirty children, which meant thirty different names . . . no, twenty-eight different names, because there were two Johns and two Lizzies. So what was it that she had failed to notice about those babies?

She had tried to obey Frank’s injunction not to even think about Gertrude and her child, and by and large she had kept her promise. Every now and then, however, she could not help wondering. Was the baby a boy or a girl? How was Gertrude coping with no Ellises to help her? Had she had the baby adopted?

Isobel’s mind niggled at that first trip to Rhyl and the pretty young mother, with her twin boys. Suppose Gertrude had had twins? But it seemed unlikely. Isobel wound the scene on a little further, saw herself going to the head of the crocodile, saw her leading the children across the prom, even saw herself glancing back, seeing that the girl with the twins now had a hand on the collar of a large dog . . .

A dog! Someone had said that young Gertrude had kept a dog in her tenth-floor flat but she, Isobel, had known better. She had visited the flat a hundred times – more – and had never seen any sign of a dog, small or large. Who had told her about a dog? Was it the inquisitive neighbour on the floor below? Yes, she had mentioned a big dog, but at the time Isobel had not believed her.

Isobel came back to the present with a start as the coach entered Rhyl and the buzz of anticipation grew louder. She handed over a round brown penny, assuring the children that since it was indeed the sea ahead of them, they must be very near their destination at last. Previous experience told her that she should walk down to stand near the driver as soon as the coach stopped, so that she could prevent the children from simply leaping out of the vehicle and heading for that shining sand. This group was older, so she must be careful not to lose control. Daydreaming in the coach was all very well, but to do such a thing once the ebullient band alighted really would not do.

The coach drew up; Isobel shouted to the children to stop behaving like savages and line up, and wait for the command before they moved so much as a muscle. When the coach was empty, she and the other helper marshalled their charges and set off for the beach. Isobel banished all thoughts of large dogs and ungrateful young women from her mind, determined to make the day a success. But she did want to find Gertrude so desperately, wanted to tell her . . .

Isobel sighed and wrenched her mind resolutely back to the present. She called the crocodile to a halt, returned to the coach, fished out the bathing suit and went back to the head of the line. She really must keep her mind on her work, she decided, and gave the order to move forward once more.

Rose finished buttoning Ricky into his coat and glanced around the room, checking that all was in order. She and Millie had started work at the pyjama factory a couple of weeks earlier and had speedily fallen into a comfortable routine, made easier by the fact that as soon as September arrived holidaymakers disappeared as though at a secret signal. Shops, cafés and even pavements became less crowded and though the sun still shone, it was a cooler, paler sun now. The girls walked to work, taking it in turns to push the pram, but Millie had remarked only the previous day that such walks would not be so pleasant when winter came.

‘I can see we’ll have to take to the buses when it gets cold,’ she had said rather gloomily. ‘Still, never meet troubles halfway, that’s my motto . . . and I do enjoy the factory work, though I didn’t think I would at first.’

Rose had laughed, but now she went over to the window, with Ricky on her hip, and peered out. It was raining, the sort of steady, relentless rain which would probably continue all day, so she thought they ought to set out at once if Millie was ready. The staff at the crèche were very good and helpful, but if they were presented with wet children they might well expect some help in changing them into dry clothing.

Rose picked up the big bag that contained their sandwiches – the factory provided them with hot tea three times a day – and slung it over her shoulder. She let herself out of the room, thinking as she did every day that they really ought to fit a lock. Then she tapped on Millie’s door. A muffled shriek from inside informed her that, as usual, Millie was not ready, but she went in anyway to find her friend changing Alex’s nappy. ‘I thought we ought to leave as soon as we could today, because of the rain . . .’ Rose began, only to be interrupted by another squeak.

‘Raining? It can’t be. It hasn’t rained once since we’ve been working. Oh, great heaven! And I’ve not made up the bottles yet. How come I didn’t notice it was raining? Why didn’t you come and tell me? Rose Thompson, you’re a bad girl, and if we’re late for work and get sacked, I shall jolly well know who’s to blame!’

Rose sighed and moved across the room to where the kettle steamed on the Primus stove and two bottles, already containing milk powder, stood nearby. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your eyesight, is there, Millie?’ she said reprovingly, laying Ricky down on the large double bed. ‘Surely you must have noticed the rain? Even if you didn’t look out of the window, you could have heard it pattering on the slates overhead. In fact it’s been raining most of the night.’ She glanced across to the door and the hooks, from one of which hung Millie’s waterproof. ‘I see Scotty took his mac, so he obviously knew it was raining. Didn’t he mention it?’ As she spoke, she was pouring boiling water into the two bottles, shaking them well and putting them into Millie’s bag.

Millie sat Alex up, reached for his coat and began to put it on him, giving Rose a guilty glance as she did so. ‘He might have,’ she admitted. ‘Only that was hours ago, so naturally I thought the rain would have stopped by now. However, we’re almost ready, aren’t we, honey?’ She grabbed Alex’s white woollen helmet and buttoned it beneath his chin, kissing one round pink cheek as she did so. ‘Oh, how I love you, Alexander Scott!’

Rose unhooked Millie’s waterproof and handed it to her friend, then went and picked Ricky up and headed for the door. Downstairs, they squeezed both babies into the pram, erected the hood, clipped on the apron and set off into the downpour. They walked with heads bent, splashing through puddles and scarcely exchanging a word in their eagerness to get themselves and their children under cover. At one stage, a coach rushed passed them, sending a wave of water over both them and the pram. ‘That was an executive travel coach, wasn’t it?’ Rose asked. ‘I suppose the conference season must have started. Your Scotty said it goes on until Christmas, with all sorts of firms having conferences down here. Millie, what have you done now? You’re bleedin’ well limpin’!’

‘Don’t blame me this time, it was you,’ Millie said accusingly. ‘You spun round to give the driver of the coach a dirty look and I was holding on to the pram handle, even though it was your turn to push, and the wheel went right over my foot. So if I’m maimed for life . . .’

Millie looked curiously down at her feet, her expression so comical that Rose laughed aloud. ‘Am I? Well, so I am. I stood my wellies out, too, but in the rush of leaving early I suppose I simply forgot to put them on. Look out, here comes the service bus!’

Despite Rose’s fears, the girls reached the crèche in good time and were actually clocking in ten minutes early. They were on piecework, so they started up their machines at once and were very soon absorbed, though they continued to chat to their friends as they worked. They had a ten-minute break for a cup of tea at half past ten, then stopped to eat their sandwiches two hours later. Management were planning yet another extension which, when it was completed, would be a canteen, but for now the girls ate their sandwiches in the rest room. When the weather was fine, which it had been until today, Rose and Millie usually went through to the crèche, though they did not enter the nursery but merely peeped at their offspring through the big glass doors. Both girls thought it would unsettle the babies if their mothers suddenly appeared, so they kept their visits brief and themselves out of sight.

Today, when they entered the rest room, Rose saw that Millie was still limping and demanded to see what damage the pram wheel had inflicted. Millie, however, refused to remove her shoe. ‘It’s only just got dry, and it’s practically welded to my foot,’ she said. ‘Besides, it hardly hurts at all now. I’ll show you when we get home tonight – if there’s anything to see, that is.’

Rose sighed but agreed to this, and during the afternoon forgot all about it. When work finished they went to the crèche, picked up babies and pram and began the walk home, not able to chatter freely as they usually did since the rain, if anything, had increased. They slogged along, heads down, shoulders hunched, shouting the odd remark but having to repeat most of what they said. ‘I’m going to get some chips,’ Millie shouted as they neared Bath Street. ‘I’ve got some pork chops and a cabbage but no spuds, so chips will be easier than slogging round trying to find a greengrocer who hasn’t yet shut up shop. What about you?’

‘I’ll get chips as well. Fourpenn’orth should do us,’ Rose decided. ‘The chippy on the prom opens at five thirty, so we can get them there. We can warm them up in the oven if the fellers are going to be late, though it’s my bet that Mr Foster probably sent Mart home hours ago. He was supposed to be working on the swing boats today, and you can’t paint in the rain. Oh no, not again!’

The last remark was prompted by a huge cream-coloured coach which drew up alongside a big hotel, sending out a bow wave which would have soaked the two girls if it had been possible for them to become any wetter. A number of dark-suited men, who had congregated in the entrance hall, began a dash across the pavement as the coach door opened. So eager were they to get out of the rain that Rose was almost knocked over in the rush. She turned to glare at the man who had jostled her, then turned away quickly, addressing Millie in a trembling voice. ‘Let’s get to the chip shop before we’re drowned,’ she said, trying to move away from the crowd still pressing to get aboard the coach, but the man followed her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

‘Gertrude? You are Gertrude Pleavin, aren’t you? Well, well, fancy meeting up like this. I dare say you don’t realise it, young lady, but you’ve made my wife very unhappy. In fact, I must ask you for your address so that—’

At this point, Millie interrupted. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re accusing my sister of, but for a start she isn’t Gertrude Pleavin and I doubt whether she’s ever met your wife in her life.’ She reached across and pushed the man’s hand from her friend’s shoulder. ‘You’re a bully, that’s what you are, but you’ve picked the wrong person this time.’

Rose gathered all her courage together and stared defiantly across at him. ‘You have made a mistake,’ she said coldly, imitating Millie’s posh accent. ‘And if you persist, my sister and I will call the police.’ She turned to Millie. ‘I think this gentleman is a little the worse for wear,’ she said loftily. ‘Let’s go.’

Before they could do so, however, the man had broken into an abject apology. He was still muttering that it was all a horrible mistake when the coach driver put his head out of his vehicle and told him that if he did not get aboard the coach at once, he would be left behind.

Aware of having made a fool of himself, Rose’s accuser scuttled aboard the coach and the two girls continued their walk along the promenade. Rose found that she was trembling, and as soon as the coach was out of sight she took Millie’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘Millie, you’re the best pal any girl could possibly have,’ she said fervently. ‘That was Mr Ellis, in case you haven’t guessed. Do you think he believed you – that we’re sisters, I mean? If so, it’s a bit of luck because he won’t say anything to anyone, especially not to his wife. Important men like him don’t like to appear foolish and he did, didn’t he? I bet all the other men on the coach are laughing at him behind his back! Oh, but whatever would I have done if you’d not been with me?’

‘I expect you’d have managed,’ Millie said. ‘The cheek of him, though! If you’ve made his wife unhappy that’s nothing to the unhappiness they caused you and Martin! But let’s forget it, flower. Conferences can’t happen more than once a year, I shouldn’t think, so you’re unlikely to bump into him again. Buy why did he call you Gertrude Pleavin, for God’s sake?’

‘I see,’ Millie said, seeming content with the explanation, but all through the walk up to the chip shop, the buying of the chips and the walk home to Bath Street Rose worried over the incident and what the consequences might be. When she reached her room and found Martin brewing a pot of tea she could scarcely wait to tell him what had happened, and was reassured by his delight in both Millie’s quick-wittedness and her own calm acceptance of the fib that Millie had told with such conviction.

He laughed when she repeated the remarks she had made, using Millie’s posh voice, and said he was proud of her. ‘You and Millie act like sisters; you’re even beginnin’ to look a bit alike,’ he told her. ‘Now you’re not to go a-frettin’ and worritin’ over a chance meetin’, queen. You love Rhyl, you know you do, and you love your job in the factory as well. You’re earnin’ good money and you’re earnin’ it regular; in fact, you’re the main earner out of the two of us.’

‘Oh, Mart, your money’s pretty regular; it’s only when the weather’s real bad that they lay the chaps off,’ Rose said, dismayed to hear him putting himself down. ‘In fact, during the holiday season, you brought home more than I did.’

This made Martin laugh and give her an affectionate cuff. ‘Oh, Rosie, winter’s comin’ on, and apart from Christmas there’ll be very little work on the funfair. But I’ve got more confidence now. I’ll apply for other jobs and I’ll get one, see if I don’t. But what I was trying to say was that I hoped you wouldn’t let what happened today make you want to leave Rhyl. I reckon running this far will keep us all safe. After all, as Millie says, the Ellises have no claim on you or Ricky, and if they try to take the boy that’s kidnapping, what’s a criminal offence. So smile, queen, and let’s gerron with gettin’ our supper ’cos I’m starving, so I am.’

Rose gave Martin an impulsive hug. ‘You’re right, of course you are,’ she said. ‘But I wish it hadn’t happened. Seeing Mrs Ellis with that party of kids was bad enough, but at least we never looked one another in the eye. If we had, I’d have been sunk, because she knows me very well, you see. But Mr Ellis . . . well, we only met a couple of times and I were just a kid then. Now I’ve had a baby of me own it must make a difference, wouldn’t you think?’

Laughing and teasing one another was a good way to forget what had happened that day, but when she got into bed that night Rose was frightened of falling asleep. She was sure she would have horrible nightmares, and when at last she grew so tired that she could no longer stay awake, she did indeed dream.

She was back in the tower block, baking a very large cake and worrying that it would not fit into her oven. When this proved to be the case she tried to cook it over the Primus stove, only Don came running in and knocked it over, and a fire started. Rose grabbed his collar and began to scream at the other residents to ‘gerrout while the goin’s good’, but the only person who appeared to hear her was Miss Haverstock. She did not run down the stairs but came heavily up on to Rose’s floor and barged straight into the kitchen, looking hot and flustered.

‘And wasn’t I mistaken in you, young lady?’ she demanded. She had a huge mop in one hand and a bucket in the other and proceeded to start clearing up the raw cake mixture, which was liberally scattered across Rose’s kitchen floor. ‘I thought you were a decent girl who had been interfered with, but now I see you’re just another little hussy. Mr Ellis is a good man, a pillar of society, a regular churchgoer . . . and you’ve cast doubt on his good name, and in front of his equals, too. When that kind Mrs Ellis hears what you’ve done, she’ll be very angry indeed, and small wonder!’

‘I’m norra hussy, honest to God I’m not,’ Rose said, much distressed to find the woman she had thought her friend completely misunderstanding the situation. ‘And Mr Ellis isn’t a good man, wharrever you may think. He – oh, I can’t talk about it, but—’ She stopped short, for Miss Haverstock was changing. She became slender and her bun of grey hair fell to her shoulders in a pageboy bob and turned a shining light brown. Before poor Rose’s horrified gaze, Miss Haverstock became Mrs Ellis, her blue eyes full of reproach . . . and suddenly Rose saw that she held Ricky in the crook of her arm! Rose started forward. ‘Don’t you dare try to take my baby!’ she said fiercely. ‘If you do it’s kidnappin’, and the law won’t let you gerraway wi’ it. Just you purr’im down!’

Mrs Ellis sat Ricky on the edge of the kitchen table and the baby struggled out of his shawl and jumped down on to the kitchen floor and ran nimbly out of the door, across the hall and on to the landing. They heard the sound of his retreating feet stumbling down the stairs, then a crash and a muffled yell. Mrs Ellis said reproachfully: ‘Now look what you’ve done, you wicked girl!’ and Rose screamed and screamed and screamed . . . and woke. She was bathed in sweat and trembling violently and when a hand came out of the darkness and clasped hers she gave a squeak of fright and then relaxed.

‘Oh, Mart, I were havin’ the most horrible nightmare,’ she said in a whisper, for she did not want to wake poor little Ricky, let alone Millie and Scotty, on the other side of the thin wall. ‘I dreamed I were back in the tower block and Mrs Ellis had found me and said the most awful things! But did I yell very loudly?’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘It must have been loud to wake you!’

‘You didn’t yell at all, just gave a little moan, but I guessed somethin’ of the sort might happen. Besides, I was still awake,’ Martin said comfortingly. ‘Just you cuddle down and go back to sleep, queen. It’s natural that you should have a nightmare after meeting that wicked old feller, even if you did make him think you weren’t Gertrude. I’ll sit on the edge of the bed until you drop off.’

‘Thank you, Mart,’ Rose said drowsily. ‘I shan’t be afraid while you’re holding my hand. Tell you what, you’ll get awful cold sitting on the bed. Come inside, under the covers, then we’ll both be lovely and warm; warmer than you’d be in the camp bed, I’m sure.’

‘Thanks, queen, but I reckon I’m best where I am,’ Martin said quietly. ‘I’m not too cold, honest to God I’m not. And anyway, I’ll get back into my own bed once you’ve fallen asleep. I’ll pull it over so I can go on holding your hand if you like.’

She opened her eyes and glanced towards him, seeing his profile outlined against the faint grey of the window; saw him shaking his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t be all right,’ he said quietly. ‘I know what I’m talking about, Rosie, so just you go back to sleep, like a good girl, or you’ll be no manner of use in the morning.’

Rose did not attempt to argue further, but she felt that she had been rejected, and this was not only hurtful but also surprising. Ever since they had arrived in Rhyl, she had suspected that Martin was growing sweet on her. Now, she had to acknowledge that this was not the case. She knew of course that he liked her very much, that they were bezzies and would probably always be so, but they would never be lovers. Mainly because of her own attitude, their relationship had become more like that of a brother and sister, and perhaps it was for the best. After all, she had told Martin, only half laughingly, that she meant to marry someone tall, dark and handsome, if she ever married at all, and no one, no matter how biased in his favour, could consider Martin dark or handsome, though he was certainly tall.

October came with gales, and several tides so high that water swept over the promenade, making it impossible for Martin to take Don for walks along the beach before they left for work. However, work on the funfair was reduced to a couple of days a week, and though Martin applied for every job that came up, he had no luck. He soon realised that he ought to leave Don in their room, since potential employers blanched when they saw the big greyhound, but even so, jobs in seaside towns, out of season, were few and far between and it seemed to Martin that he would have to admit defeat and try further afield.

However, on a wild and windy day in mid-November he came bounding up the stairs, with Don close on his heels, and burst into their room, talking excitedly as he came. ‘Hey, Rosie, I’ve done it! I’ve gorra job. It won’t interfere with the maintenance work on the funfair either, ’cos it’s night watchman at a building site. What d’you think of that, eh? It starts at six in the evening and finishes at eight next morning.’

Martin felt the blood rush to his cheeks and ducked his head deprecatingly. ‘I don’t know about clever, but it does just show that persistence pays off,’ he said. ‘And . . . well, you’ll never guess what the bonus is!’

‘No, it ain’t either of those things,’ Martin said. He saw that she was about to take Ricky down for his bath, for she had a nightgown over one arm and the baby was wrapped in a towel. ‘Can I bath him tonight? Only what wi’ havin’ two jobs I might not be able to do it again until next summer!’

‘Tell me about the bonus first,’ Rose said, but handed Ricky over. Martin cuddled the small body warmly against his chest. ‘I’ve run the bath and Alex is probably already sloshing around in it, so you go down and I’ll follow when I’ve put his dinner into a pan of hot water. Go on, what’s this bonus?’

‘They want Don as well as me, because he’s such a big dog and will put folk off coming to thieve,’ Martin told her. ‘And when I said – jokin’ like – that they ought to pay him a wage too, the boss said he’d give him five bob a week and as many rats as he could eat. What d’you think of that, eh? Our Don’s a wage-earner!’

‘That’s marvellous. Don, you’re a clever boy! But Mart, now I come to think of it, you’ll be working a fourteen-hour night, and you plan to continue at the funfair? You mustn’t do both jobs or you’ll be dead beat after a month,’ Rose said, looking worried. ‘Tell Mr Foster you’re quitting, but will return next summer. I expect the construction site will be finished by then and they won’t need you. What are they building, anyway? Factories?’

‘It’s a new estate – houses and bungalows, and half a dozen shops,’ Martin told her. ‘I have to do a tour of the whole place every four hours, and in between I can kip down on a sort of padded bench thing. I’m to share the job with an old feller, Mr Naylor; I do five nights and he does two. The money’s not wonderful . . .’ he named the sum he would earn weekly, ‘but with your salary from the pyjama factory, we’ll be doing okay.

By this time, Rose had finished her preparations and the two of them began to descend the stairs together, with Ricky crowing in Martin’s arms; he dearly loved the bath. ‘Dadada,’ he chanted, patting Martin’s cheek. ‘Dadada!’

‘I thought all babies were supposed to say Mama first,’ Rose grumbled as they entered the bathroom. She addressed Millie, who was swishing her son up and down the length of the bath, causing a tidal wave which had Alex shrieking with excitement. ‘Does Alex say dada, Millie?’

‘You know very well he does,’ Millie said, grinning over her shoulder at her friends. ‘Scotty would take it as a personal insult if he did anything else. Come along, put Ricky in the water before it goes cold.’

She waited until Martin had lowered an excited Ricky into the bath, then turned towards him. ‘I heard you flying up the stairs two at a time and gabbling away like a monkey at the zoo; what was all the excitement about?’

Martin told her and received congratulations, an enquiry as to when the new job started, and a promise to visit him at the first opportunity. ‘We could take Mrs Walshaw at her word and let her babysit for us one evening,’ she said. ‘We could come armed with chip butties and a flask of hot tea and have a little picnic in your night watchman’s hut, or whatever. How about that, eh?’

Mrs Walshaw, a widow, had one of the ground-floor flats. She was a cheerful woman, blonde and rosy-cheeked, who loved babies, having seen four of her own grow up. She often popped up to the attic to coo over Ricky and Alex, and to offer to shop or babysit. Martin looked hopefully at Rose. He was to start his new job the following Monday and thought how nice it would be to show his friends round the housing estate. He had enquired the price of the smallest bungalow, but as yet it was beyond their reach.

Martin liked the sound of a picnic but doubted whether Rose would consider leaving her precious Ricky, even with the friendly and obviously competent Mrs Walshaw. However, he need not have worried. Rose agreed at once to the scheme and presently the three of them took the babies back to Millie’s room where Scotty, being useful for once, was frying sausages on the Primus and wincing as they burst and spat. He greeted the news of Martin’s job with a lift of one eyebrow. ‘I’ve heard the money’s pretty poor, but I dare say with what you earn on the funfair you’ll be doing okay,’ he said. He turned to his wife. ‘Am I supposed to share my sausages with those two gannets?’ he enquired, with a trace of peevishness. ‘I only bought a pound – that’s four for me and two for you – but of course, if you’ve already offered our hospitality . . .’

Martin laughed. ‘What a generous beggar you are!’ he said with mock admiration. ‘However, we shan’t strain your hospitality – or your sausages – tonight. We’re having an oxtail casserole – it was our turn for the oven in the kitchen – so you’ll be able to eat them all.’

Rose began to demur, saying that Ricky and Alex would be disturbed by the noise in the bar, but Millie cut in with a suggestion of her own. ‘We haven’t had a chance to tell you, Scotty, but we’re going to take a picnic over to Mart’s little hut, once he’s settled in his new job. We thought we’d let Mrs Walshaw babysit, since she’s offered to do so, so if it’s all right with everyone I’ll dash downstairs and ask her to sit with the boys for an hour or so this evening. It’ll be a test, in a way. What d’you think?’

Scotty, eyes brightening, said he thought it an excellent scheme, particularly if it meant that they might enjoy other nights out. ‘It’s not good for any of us, working all day and then being cooped up here all night,’ he said. ‘Off you go then, Millie, and tell Mrs W that we’ll bring her back a bottle of something warming. Ask her what she likes, because we’ll want to use her again.’

Fortunately, Mrs Walshaw was delighted to come up to the attic and babysit, though when the four of them returned it was to find her wrapped in her winter coat and scarf, and sitting practically on top of the tiny electric fire which was all Mrs Osborne provided. ‘I thought my own room was pretty cold, but this perishing attic beats it into a cocked hat for draughts,’ she observed. ‘It was kind of you to leave a pile of shillings for the meter – I kept as warm as I could, but I’m surprised you’ve not explained to the old bat that babies need warmth, as well as all the other things. I take it she’s lowered your rent, now that the season’s over?’

Scotty slapped his head and pulled a face. ‘D’you know, I completely forgot that the rent was supposed to go down in winter! As for a bigger fire, I don’t know that it would make much difference because it’s the draughts that chill us to the bone. You folk on the ground floor have gas fires, don’t you? They’re cheaper to run and I think they give out more heat. But it’s such a business getting her to consider any change that we’ve more or less given up.’

The girls had swooped on their offspring as soon as they entered the room. Each boy was sleeping contentedly in his own little cot, and now Martin and Rose began to push Ricky’s, not without difficulty, over to the open door. Rose turned round as they reached it, to address Mrs Walshaw. ‘I remembered about the rent,’ she said proudly. ‘I caught Ozzie on the doorstep one evening, having an argument with the paper boy. I reminded her that autumn had come and the holidaymakers had gone, but we were still paying the higher rate. I could see the paper boy grinning behind his hand – he told me afterwards that she argues over the bill every week – and for a moment Ozzie just stared at me with those bulging little eyes. Then she said: “Prices goes up all the time, and so does me rent. Come next Whit – if you’re still here, that is – it’ll go up again. However, seein’ as how you youngsters are right at the top of the house and have to lug the babies up all them stairs, I’ll mebbe consider knockin’ off a bob or two, come Christmas.”’

‘She has in a way, but remember I didn’t move in until early August, so I was paying summer rates. I came to Rhyl to be near my son, thinking I might move in with him when the season was over, and when Ozzie thought I might move out she told me that after September the first she would knock five bob off. Only very soon I could tell it wouldn’t work out. My son and Jane are newly-weds, and the house isn’t a large one, so I told Ozzie I’d be staying a bit longer and she said in that case she could only afford to knock off half a crown.’

Mrs Walshaw laughed. ‘All landladies are the same,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And what I pay for two rooms and an electric oven isn’t bad, particularly when you remember that the electricity in my room isn’t metered, so I can cook more or less for free. I think she had to give me that because you get your cooking free in that scruffy little kitchen, isn’t that right?’

‘Spot on,’ Scotty agreed. He turned to Millie. ‘Don’t be upset, love. I’ll have a go at the old bat, see if I can get a cheaper rate before Christmas. Prices haven’t gone up that much and I’m not above threatening her with a tribunal if she won’t admit that we were promised a reduction in rent in the winter.’

Mrs Walshaw wished them luck, then got to her feet. ‘Thanks for the bottle of Babycham and the packet of crisps,’ she said. ‘I’ll enjoy them both. And don’t forget, any time you fancy an evening out, I’ll sit with the little ones.’

‘Isn’t she nice?’ Rose said as she and Mart settled Ricky’s cot in its usual place and then began to prepare for bed. They still hung an old sheet between them for modesty’s sake but chattered away as though it did not exist. ‘But of course, once you start working nights there won’t be any point in me goin’ out.’

‘There’s weekends, when I won’t be working; well, not in the evenings, anyway,’ Martin pointed out. ‘We might go out then, just for a stroll and a look at the shops.’ He heard Rose’s bedsprings creak as she climbed between the sheets and lowered his voice. ‘Rosie? You slept pretty good last night, didn’t you? No nightmares?’

He knew his companion had suffered dreadfully ever since her meeting with Mr Ellis, but the previous night, though he had slept lightly and been on the alert for any movement from the other bed, he had not been woken. In fact, he realised it had been his first undisturbed night since Rose and her attacker had met, though the nightmares had only been sufficiently frightening for him to go to Rose two or three times.

‘Do you know, Mart, you’re absolutely right! I had quite a nice dream, though I couldn’t tell you for the life of me what it was about,’ Rose said. ‘Oh, I do hope the nightmares are over, especially since you won’t be here to wake me up and tell me it was just a dream. But it’s weeks since – since that day on the prom, so perhaps I’ll be okay from now on.’

‘You mustn’t turn the job down, Mart,’ Rose said quickly. ‘We need the money – and I promise you I’ll be fine. Especially once I’ve seen this building site you’ll be working on – it were a good idea of Millie’s to come and see you and bring a picnic, weren’t it?’

‘Oh aye, a grand idea, now you’ve settled that Mrs Walshaw can be relied on to give an eye to the littl’uns,’ Martin said. ‘But you know, Rose, we’ll have to do something about the draughts in this place. If we can’t get the old bat to seal the windows and get us a better electric fire then we’ll threaten to move out . . . we might even have to do it. I read somewhere that draughts are more dangerous for babies than the cold itself.’

He heard another creak as Rose shot up in bed. ‘More dangerous?’ she quavered. ‘Oh, Mart, I’ll go out at the weekend and buy some of those old blankets from the market and make them into sausages for the door and the windows. I won’t put Ricky at risk just to save a few bob!’