use the same tea leaves several times as they couldn’t afford fresh. Mavis grimaced, remembering how dreadfully clumsy she had been which had tried her mother’s patience. She’d also been considered backward because she couldn’t learn to read and write.
As she made the tea, Mavis found herself thinking about Rhona Foster and knew she would miss having her vivacious friend and neighbour popping in from next door now that they had moved away from Harmond Street. Rhona wouldn’t have thought twice about showing Tommy her bedroom, Mavis thought. Though they had become friends, they were as different as chalk and cheese.
Everything had changed for Mavis when she’d married Alec, James and Grace’s father. After leaving school with no qualifications she’d helped his snobbish mother run her house. It was Alec’s mother who realised that her inability to read and clumsiness wasn’t caused by lack of intelligence. It was due to word blindness, and though she had never learned to read, she had managed to overcome her clumsiness. No, she wasn’t backward, Mavis thought ruefully, but she had been very naïve and what she hadn’t realised was that she was being groomed by Alec’s mother to be his perfect submissive wife. Because she’d been desperate to get away from Lily and Pete, she’d fallen for it – and ended up in a terrible abusive relationship.
When the domineering old woman had died, Mavis had found the courage to leave Alec. He’d sold the house that he’d inherited from his mother two years ago, hadn’t given Mavis her share of the money, and moved out. He’d disappeared without a trace, but nobody was sorry to see the back of him. Except that, as she had no way of making contact with him, she couldn’t get a divorce.
‘I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink please, Mummy?’
‘Of course you can,’ Mavis said, smiling fondly at her son. ‘Orange juice?’
James nodded and as she mixed the juice with water, Mavis’s mind was still full of memories. Grace could hardly remember her real father and James’s memories of him were fading day by day. That was a good thing as Alec had beaten James badly, although not as often as he’d beaten her. Mavis shuddered as she recalled the pain of the frequent bruises she’d had to keep hidden for so long.
‘I want some juice too,’ another voice demanded.
‘Grace, you won’t get anything unless you ask for it properly,’ Mavis said sternly.
Grace looked sullen for a moment, but then said, ‘Please can I have some orange juice.’
‘That’s better,’ Mavis said approvingly and when Bobby appeared she made him a drink too.
Once finished they all ran off again, while Mavis poured herself a cup of tea and then stood sipping it whilst watching the children through the kitchen window. James was now running around without a care in the world. He was still a thoughtful little boy, often seeming older than his eight years, and he wasn’t as withdrawn and fearful as he’d once been. As for Grace, even when a toddler she’d always said exactly what she thought – nobody had ever had to teach her how to put her foot down. She was more like her Granny Lily than anyone else and Lily was very fond of her granddaughter.
Mavis smiled ruefully again. As a girl she had found school hard, which had led to her being friendless and awkward. Grace on the other hand was fearless. She was a force to be reckoned with, and her teachers didn’t know whether to praise her for her willingness to speak up in class or to punish her for never shutting up. Yet she was generous and kind-hearted – there she was now, making sure Bobby was all right after he’d taken a tumble. Mavis started, wondering if she should rush out, but Bobby didn’t cry and she could see he’d only grazed his knee. He was made of tough stuff, the spitting image of Pete right down to the squashed nose. He’d known nothing but love all his short life and responded by loving everyone right back.
Mavis decided she’d finish her tea and then call them in as the light was fading and it would be getting cold, even if they were running about like champion athletes, exploring every nook and cranny of the new garden. She’d give them something to eat and a Corona fizzy drink for a treat to mark their first day in their new home. Then Tommy would be here.
Tommy. Her heart flipped over. Despite what Lily said, Mavis wouldn’t be giving him a tour of her bedroom in the upstairs flat, no matter how much she might want to. It wasn’t so much that Mavis craved respectability; she’d done that once and a fat lot of good it had done her. It was fear that held her back, along with the fact that she doubted she could ever completely trust a man again, even Tommy. He appeared perfect, kind, and caring, but Alec had seemed kind too. All that changed when she married him and she had been through too much to risk making the same mistake again.
‘I’m not bloody having it!’ Rhona Foster, screamed in frustration as they neared the end of their shift. ‘How the hell do they expect us to do the same work but faster? Whose bright idea was that? They can stuff it, I’m not going to do it.’
‘Yes you are and you know it.’ Jean Barker, at twenty-six – seven years older than her hot-tempered colleague – had seen and heard it all before. Anyone could tell from a glance at her that she took no nonsense, from her sensible shoes to her tidy brown hair, now hidden under the regulation scarf they were all meant to wear on shift, though the younger ones often ignored the rule. ‘It won’t make any difference what we say. You’ve been at this factory for three years now, Rhona, and can you remember a time when the foreman ever listened to us? So we got to put up with it and get on with it. Unless you want to lose your job, which I can’t see your mum being very happy about. I sure as hell don’t want to lose mine.’ She began to fold the cardboard boxes that had been stacked flat in the back room of the factory. ‘Come on, let’s make a start.’
‘Rhona’s right, they’re picking on us,’ moaned Penny, who at eighteen was the youngest of them, a year younger than Rhona and half a head shorter. She shook her mass of wavy blonde hair. ‘It’s not fair. I’ll break me nails. I don’t know why we have to lift those horrible filthy things anyway.’
‘It might have something to do with someone round here chucking the foreman’s nephew last week,’ Jean said. ‘I’m not casting aspersions, just saying. There he was, thinking it was love’s young dream, and then he gets the old heave-ho before he even knows there’s something wrong. Get bored, did you, Rhona?’
Rhona shut her eyes in exasperation. ‘For God’s sake. He was awful. Hands like a wandering octopus, and he kissed like a flabby sponge. Couldn’t dance, couldn’t get me backstage. What earthly use was he? I only went out with him ’cos he said he could get free tickets to the Talisman club and then it turned out we had to pay anyway. Good riddance to him. I’d rather stack boxes than get stuck with him for another evening, and that’s saying something. Sorry, girls, that’s the truth.’
‘So my nails get ruined ’cos you chucked Andy Forsyth?’ Penny glared at her friend.
‘You don’t seriously expect me to make up with him for that?’ Rhona glared back. ‘And put your scarf back over your hair or you’ll get it full of dust and then you’ll blame me for that as well.’
‘I hate wearing it. It makes me look like me Auntie Rita and she’s nearly fifty.’ Penny made a face as if she couldn’t imagine anything worse. But she did as she was told, because getting factory dust out of her curls took ages and she hoped to have better things to do with her time. She noted that Rhona still hadn’t put her own scarf on.
‘Well, you should be used to it,’ said Jean without sympathy. ‘Get on with it, Penny, or we’ll be here until Saturday, and I’m sure you’ve got other ways to spend your weekend than finishing off this lot.’
‘I know I have,’ said Rhona and gave them a wink as the thought of what was in store brightened her mood. ‘I’ve found myself another hot date. He’s gorgeous, he plays the guitar and guess what he’s got backstage passes to?’
Jean shook her head as she really didn’t care, but Penny was beside herself with curiosity, her curls bobbing up and down. ‘Where? Go on, don’t be mean, what are you up to? Has he got a friend, can I come? Aren’t you going