After Hours by Jenny Oldfield Page B

didn’t say what. I think she’s got a lot on her mind. She won’t even say nothing to George, though, so there’s no use asking me.’
    George Mann, also a pal of Rob’s, stayed quiedy in the background of Hettie’s life, and he had become part of the Parsons family. He’d taken Joxer’s place as cellarman at the Duke, after Joxer had uprooted and drifted off on his silent, lonely way. George had been glad of a job during the lean period after the war. Duke said he owed him a steady place after he’d snatched Rob from certain death on the battlefield; it was George who’d lifted the wounded soldier on to his back and staggered with him to safety. ‘He’ll stick like glue,’ Annie warned. She knew the type; strong and silent, pretty much alone in the world, fond of his home comforts, and quickly felling for Hettie.
    Her heart and soul were with the Army, however, and at first she gave him little encouragement. Then, almost passively, she began to accept his persistent attention. Duke had acknowledged Annie’s point of view. But, ‘He’ll do for me,’ he said, ‘now that Joxer’s slung his hook.’ For more than three years George had grafted and quietly impressed.
    â€˜And she won’t say nothing to Sadie?’ Frances enquired, still wondering about Hettie’s troubles. She prepared to brave the wet street.
    Rob tossed his head.
    â€˜I take it that’s a “no”?’
    He followed her into the rain. They shifted as quick as they could into the front porch. ‘Sadie ain’t listening to no one at present,’ he said in disgust.
    Frances braced herself and pushed open the door. Annie, busy at the bar, waved noisily. Duke looked up, pleased by the rare visit from his eldest daughter. She was thirty-nine, with a sensible marriage under her belt and a good job at Boots, and he felt proud of her if a little distant. He still didn’t hold with her opinions, which were too modern for his taste, though since women had got the vote, he’d noticed she’d quietened down a good deal. Still, there was something aloof about her; she meant well, put her husband and family at the top of her list of priorities, but she lacked the common touch. ‘One look from her would freeze a man’s beer in its pint pot,’ was Arthur Ogden’s way of putting it.
    Frances went upstairs ahead of Rob, only pausing to shake the rain from her jacket and hang it up. From the landing she heard the telephone ring, and Sadie’s voice as she answered it. Something made her hesitate.
    â€˜Ett, is that you?’ she heard Sadie ask. ‘Calm down, Ett. Don’t get worked up. It ain’t like you . . . Yes, I can hear. But are you sure? . . . Yes, I think I heard Frances come upstairs just now. Hang on a tick, Ett. Don’t go away. I’ll go get Frances for you.’
    Slowly Frances turned the handle and went in. She looked at Sadie’s pale, shocked face, saw her standing holding the telephone mouthpiece out towards her. She went and took it from her.
    â€˜Oh, Frances!’ Sadie cried. ‘Ett’s here, and she’s in a fix. She’s at the Mission and she says Willie Wiggin has just turned up!’
    â€˜Annie’s old husband?’ Frances held the phone to her ear in disbelief. Everyone in the court knew the story of how Annie had been deserted by Wiggjn who’d gone off to sea and eventually been declared missing, presumed dead. Ett’s voice sobbed along the wire, while Sadie made a grab for her arm, pleading over Ett’s incoherent tears. ‘Tell her there’s some mistake, Frances! Tell her it’s just some mad old drunk. It can’t be Wiggin. It can’t be!’

Chapter Five
    By the time Frances and Sadie arrived at the Bear Lane Mission, Hettie had managed to calm down. She was standing at a long trestle-table doling out soup and bread,