what you like, Mabel, but I must admit that Samuel is a very wealthy man,’ Rose said, smiling with satisfaction.
‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ Mabel couldn’t resist saying.
Phyllis had been standing stiffly, with her arms folded, but they dropped to her side as she said, ‘So you didn’t run off with George Frost?’
‘That’s what I’ve just said, isn’t it?’ Rose replied.
‘Well he went off with someone,’ Phyllis told her.
‘Yes, but now you know it wasn’t with me can I sit down?’
‘I suppose so,’ Phyllis said grudgingly, she too taking a seat.
Mabel did the opposite and stood up. ‘I’d best be off, Phyllis.’
‘Yes, all right. I’ll see you later.’
Mabel said a curt goodbye to Rose, and then went home. Now she knew that Rose hadn’t gone off with George Frost, she had another candidate in mind. She had dates to work out before voicing her opinion, but then Mabel berated herself. After what happened the last time she’d voiced her suspicions, it would be better to keep her big mouth shut.
Rose drank the tea her cousin had made and then said, ‘Well, Phyllis, now that we’ve sorted out that misunderstanding I can tell you why I came to see you.’
‘Go on then.’
‘I’m here to invite you to my wedding.’
‘What? Samuel Jacobs asked you to marry him?’
‘Yes, he did, and soon.’
‘No doubt you’re marrying him for his money,’ Phyllis said with obvious disapproval. ‘What about his family? What have they said about it?’
‘His wife died ten years ago, and they were childless. There are distant relatives, second cousins or something like that, but they’re hardly in a position to put up any opposition. They only pay Samuel a token visit once a year to keep him sweet, but he’s no fool and knows they’re only after his money,’ Rose told her.
‘As I just said, you are too,’ Phyllis retorted.
‘And as I just said, Samuel is no fool. He knows what he’s doing,’ Rose replied, again smiling with satisfaction. She knew exactly what she was doing too, that in hopefully not too many years she would be a very wealthy widow and one who owned this, her cousin’s house, along with a lot of others on Lark Rise and the surrounding streets. Samuel was an astute businessman, buying up property during the war when other people wouldn’t take the risk of bomb damage. He’d purchased a lot in Bethnal Green too, and though in both areas some of them had been destroyed in the Blitz, a great many had survived.
Phyllis frowned and said, ‘Surely Samuel Jacobs is a Jew – I can’t see him marrying you unless you convert to Judaism?’
‘He isn’t a practising one and has agreed to a registry office wedding.’
‘Rose, I haven’t had much to do with you for years, so why invite me?’
‘Because you, Amy, and of course Stan are the only family I’ve got,’ Rose said and decided it was time she spoke her mind. ‘I know why you haven’t had any time for me, but when the gossip had flown around you never once asked me if any of it was true. Instead you appointed yourself as my judge and jury, once telling me that I was ruining my reputation. Most of what you heard was a load of old tosh, but you chose to believe the nasty-minded gossips, finding me guilty; just as you did this time with this rubbish about me going off with George Frost.’
‘You can hardly blame me for that. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’ve broken up a marriage.’
‘Once, Phyllis, I made a mistake once, and that was because I was daft enough to believe the bloke when he told me his marriage was all but over.’
‘More fool you then,’ Phyllis said.
‘Yeah, and though I must admit I went off the rails a bit when my hubby died, I’ve never been the tart I was made out to be. I was lonely and wanted a man in my life again, but I only slept with a few of them.’
‘A few! Stan’s the only man I’ve been with.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. Stan’s still alive, but what was I meant to do when I lost my husband? I was still young, but maybe you think I should’ve become a nun, or spent the rest of my life alone.’
Phyllis just looked at her for a moment, but then she said, ‘I suppose I should apologise for thinking that you went off with George Frost.’
‘If you’re going to sound that grudging, don’t bother,’ Rose said. ‘I must be mad coming here to invite you to my wedding and expecting you to be happy for me.’
‘Rose, you’re marrying an old man for his money. I don’t see how you can expect me to approve of that.’
‘Why not? Instead of being a lonely old man, ending his days unloved and uncared for, I’ve brought a bit of happiness into Samuel’s life. He knows I don’t love him, but I make him laugh, take care of him and it’s given him a new lease of life.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Phyllis said as she poured them both another cup of tea. She then began to giggle. The giggle turned to a laugh, then she was almost crying with mirth, until able to gasp, ‘I … I don’t know about a new lease of life, Rose. If … If you’re at it too much you’re more likely to give him a heart attack that finishes him off.’
Rose laughed too, but at last they sobered, Phyllis then saying, ‘I’m sorry, Rose, I really am. I don’t know when I turned into a prude, but somewhere along the way I did, and you’re right, I shouldn’t have judged you – then, or now. Mind you,’ she added without malice, ‘those low-cut tops and the make-up didn’t help.’
‘You should try one out on Stan. It might give him a new lease of life too.’
Phyllis chuckled, winked cheekily and said, ‘Fortunately he doesn’t need one.’
They laughed together again, and it was as though the closeness they had once shared was slowly creeping back. Rose hoped it would deepen, but only time would tell.
Though Tommy told his mother that Rose hadn’t been the woman his father left her for, it did little to change her attitude towards Amy.
Tommy wasn’t going to let this stand in his way, and on the twenty-second of June, the night before Amy’s birthday, he was on his way to the pub where he knew he’d find Amy’s father, determined to do things properly and ask his permission to propose.
The stench of tobacco stung his nostrils as Tommy walked into the bar at seven thirty and the smoke from many cigarettes was thick. He coughed, hoping he didn’t have to resort to using his inhaler.
Stan Miller was at the bar, men on each side of him, and Tommy swallowed nervously before saying respectfully, ‘Mr Miller, I hope you don’t mind, but can I have a private word with you?’
Stan raised his eyebrows, but said, ‘Of course you can, but first, what are you having to drink?’
‘Err … just a half of mild ale, please.’
‘Coming up,’ Stan said and after it was poured, he picked up his own pint of beer and indicated a vacant table.
They sat down and dry-mouthed, Tommy took a gulp of ale, finding that the words he had so carefully prepared were stuck in his throat. Another gulp of ale didn’t help, and he just sat, unable to say a word.
‘Come on, Tommy, spit it out.