in vogue.
‘What do you think, Penny?’ Jessica asked as she carried her daughter upstairs to show her around. Penny had woken up the very second the van stopped. She seemed enchanted with everything, particularly the gas mantles which she’d never seen before, but then the most insignificant little thing could enchant Penny.
The mattress on the double bed in the front bedroom had seen better days, but Jessica supposed it would have to do. The rear room contained only a single bed. She’d brought her own bedding and a few other things – dishes, cutlery, a few cooking utensils – though when she went downstairs again, she found the back kitchen fully equipped and supposed it had all belonged to Miss Brazier.
There was a brass coal scuttle half full of coal on the hearth in the living room, and the fire was partially laid with rolled-up paper topped with kindling. The agent was obviously keen to make a good impression on his employer. Jess lit the paper and gradually began to add the coal, lump by lump. She was dying for a cup of tea. She thought wistfully of the house across the road, number 5, where they’d returned to live. It had been snapped up by the people next door, the Evanses, when Jess and Arthur left. She’d had it modernised throughout in the short time they’d been there; a proper fireplace instead of the ugly black range, a bath fitted in the washhouse, a stove in the back kitchen. And she’d had electricity installed throughout …
Jessica felt herself grow hot. If it hadn’t been for the electricity, she would never have had Penny!
‘Oh, God!’ She felt her stomach turn over at the memory of that night.
The fire had begun to take hold. Jessica fetched a kettle of water and put it on to boil. It was only then she realised there was no fireguard. ‘I’ll buy one tomorrow,’ she resolved. There was a second-hand shop in Marsh Lane, who’d be sure to have one in stock.
She gave Penny a bottle of concentrated orange juice and warm water and hooked her reins to the leg of the table. Then she began to unload the van. Everyone in Pearl Street would be dying to know where it came from when they saw it there tomorrow, Aggie Donovan in particular. She’d have to find a garage. That van was going to be a source of income, and she couldn’t risk it being damaged. Her father had started with a horse and cart; Jessica was starting with a van. She was determined not to sponge off Arthur.
The kettle boiled and the tea was made, when Jessica discovered she’d forgotten to bring milk.
‘Damn!’ she muttered. She couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow for a cuppa, she’d just have to borrow some. Eileen Costello, who she would automatically have gone to, was now living in Melling, and Jacob Singerman, the dear old soul, was dead. Still, Eileen’s sister, Sheila, wouldn’t mind lending her some.
Jessica undid Penny’s reins, picked her up and tripped along in her high-heeled suede sandals to number 16 to borrow a cup of milk. She would have sooner died of thirst than borrow milk when she lived in Calderstones, but something seemed to have happened to her when the business went bust and she’d returned to her roots in Bootle. Things that had mattered then didn’t seem important any more. She no longer cared if she made a good impression. In fact, she didn’t give a toss what people thought. She knocked on Sheila’s door and waited.
Sheila Reilly stared in disbelief at the glamorous figure in the clinging blue dress and fluffy white mohair cardigan who was standing on her doorstep, a cherubic baby in her arms.
‘Strewth, if it isn’t Jess Fleming! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to borrow a cup of milk. I’ve moved into number ten.’
‘Come in,’ Sheila cried, delighted. ‘The kids are in bed and I was just listening to the wireless on me own. Does our Eileen know you’re back? I bet she’s thrilled to bits if she does.’
‘No. No-one knows – except
‘What do you think, Penny?’ Jessica asked as she carried her daughter upstairs to show her around. Penny had woken up the very second the van stopped. She seemed enchanted with everything, particularly the gas mantles which she’d never seen before, but then the most insignificant little thing could enchant Penny.
The mattress on the double bed in the front bedroom had seen better days, but Jessica supposed it would have to do. The rear room contained only a single bed. She’d brought her own bedding and a few other things – dishes, cutlery, a few cooking utensils – though when she went downstairs again, she found the back kitchen fully equipped and supposed it had all belonged to Miss Brazier.
There was a brass coal scuttle half full of coal on the hearth in the living room, and the fire was partially laid with rolled-up paper topped with kindling. The agent was obviously keen to make a good impression on his employer. Jess lit the paper and gradually began to add the coal, lump by lump. She was dying for a cup of tea. She thought wistfully of the house across the road, number 5, where they’d returned to live. It had been snapped up by the people next door, the Evanses, when Jess and Arthur left. She’d had it modernised throughout in the short time they’d been there; a proper fireplace instead of the ugly black range, a bath fitted in the washhouse, a stove in the back kitchen. And she’d had electricity installed throughout …
Jessica felt herself grow hot. If it hadn’t been for the electricity, she would never have had Penny!
‘Oh, God!’ She felt her stomach turn over at the memory of that night.
The fire had begun to take hold. Jessica fetched a kettle of water and put it on to boil. It was only then she realised there was no fireguard. ‘I’ll buy one tomorrow,’ she resolved. There was a second-hand shop in Marsh Lane, who’d be sure to have one in stock.
She gave Penny a bottle of concentrated orange juice and warm water and hooked her reins to the leg of the table. Then she began to unload the van. Everyone in Pearl Street would be dying to know where it came from when they saw it there tomorrow, Aggie Donovan in particular. She’d have to find a garage. That van was going to be a source of income, and she couldn’t risk it being damaged. Her father had started with a horse and cart; Jessica was starting with a van. She was determined not to sponge off Arthur.
The kettle boiled and the tea was made, when Jessica discovered she’d forgotten to bring milk.
‘Damn!’ she muttered. She couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow for a cuppa, she’d just have to borrow some. Eileen Costello, who she would automatically have gone to, was now living in Melling, and Jacob Singerman, the dear old soul, was dead. Still, Eileen’s sister, Sheila, wouldn’t mind lending her some.
Jessica undid Penny’s reins, picked her up and tripped along in her high-heeled suede sandals to number 16 to borrow a cup of milk. She would have sooner died of thirst than borrow milk when she lived in Calderstones, but something seemed to have happened to her when the business went bust and she’d returned to her roots in Bootle. Things that had mattered then didn’t seem important any more. She no longer cared if she made a good impression. In fact, she didn’t give a toss what people thought. She knocked on Sheila’s door and waited.
Sheila Reilly stared in disbelief at the glamorous figure in the clinging blue dress and fluffy white mohair cardigan who was standing on her doorstep, a cherubic baby in her arms.
‘Strewth, if it isn’t Jess Fleming! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to borrow a cup of milk. I’ve moved into number ten.’
‘Come in,’ Sheila cried, delighted. ‘The kids are in bed and I was just listening to the wireless on me own. Does our Eileen know you’re back? I bet she’s thrilled to bits if she does.’
‘No. No-one knows – except
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