Let It Shine

PART ONE

DECEMBER 1932

THE HOUSE IN BUNCER LANE

Chapter One

Ada Williams was not a wicked woman.

In her time, she had gone through six men, amassed a fortune on the way, and lived every day to the full.

Like other lonely souls, she had made mistakes – and paid for them. She had laughed and cried, and known love of the kind that comes only once in a lifetime. Then, through a flaw in her character, her foolishness, she lost him – and in so doing, she lost her world.

It was a harsh lesson, and one that cut her to the quick. After that, Ada hardened her heart and vowed never to be hurt again.

Now, with the closing of evening, she lay back against the pillow and for a time was lost in her memories until the single, urgent tap on the bedroom door brought her back to the present.

Disappointed, she sat up, waiting for him to open the door, ready for the charm and the smile, and the lies he told.

Slowly, the door opened and through the lamplight she watched him cross the room to her bed; her son. Strongly built and handsome, Peter Williams belonged amidst all the finery that surrounded her. Here was a man who appreciated money and all it could buy.

‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’ His dark, devious eyes smiled down on her. ‘I’m sorry. I got talking to Ruth and she made me forget the time.’

‘Talking to Ruth, you say?’ Ada’s voice carried a note of suspicion. ‘About what?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about, dear.’ He set the tray down beside her. When he looked up again, he had turned a guilty shade of pink. ‘I’m afraid she had to be chastised. Lately she seems to be neglecting her duties.’

Ada pushed the tray aside. ‘Then it should be me chastising her, not you!’

Raising a finger he wagged it from side to side. ‘No, no. Leave her to me. She’ll be all right now she knows I’m onto her.’

Sitting on the bed, he stretched out his hand, intending to take hold of hers. When she jerked it out of his reach, he was careful to show no reaction, secretly thinking, If only the old bitch knew how much I loathe her!

‘You haven’t yet told me what it was about.’ Anger marbled her voice. What right did Peter have, to go over her head like that? Dammit! Ruth was her business, not his.

‘I told you, Mother – I’ve dealt with it.’ His voice hardened. ‘Now will you please stop making a fuss.’

‘I can’t imagine Ruth failing in her duties,’ Ada fretted. ‘She’s always been such a help.’

Four years ago, when her health began to fail at the age of sixty-five, Ada had taken Ruth on after choosing her from eight good candidates. So far, she had not regretted her decision. Ruth had been the perfect companion, housekeeper and friend and now, quite rightly, Ada resented Peter taking it on himself to reprimand her.

He shrugged impatiently. ‘Like I said, it’s nothing for you to concern yourself about. It was just… little things.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Well…’ he faltered, wary of being caught out.

‘Go on!’

‘Like I said, little things… forgetting to clear away the table directly I’m finished eating – oh, and of course, she’s never there when I need her.’ He tutted. ‘And that’s another thing. Having to speak with her just now made me late with your nightcap.’

He smiled, such a handsome smile, but it didn’t fool Ada. ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ he teased, ‘and I’m fully aware it’s one of Ruth’s jobs. But I do enjoy it, Mother. Bringing up your supper tray is one of the few things I can do to show my affection for you.’

Ada was disgusted by all his gushing and lies. ‘You’d best go,’ she said tiredly. ‘I’m sure you have things to do.’ God forgive her, but just having him near her was nauseating.

‘Everything’s fine, so don’t worry your head about it.’ As he bent to kiss her on the forehead, she involuntarily stiffened. He sensed it but, as always, made no comment. ‘Now that’s settled, I’ll leave you to enjoy your supper.’ His brown eyes enveloped her. ‘Leave the tray by the bed as usual, and I’ll get Daisy to collect it later.’

‘Oh, so Daisy isn’t in your bad books then?’

‘I have no qualms about that young girl. Daisy Morgan is an absolute gem.’

‘Good.’ In turn, Ada offered him her sweetest smile. Over the years, she had learned to do that without betraying her repugnance of him. ‘I’m tired now,’ she said. ‘Ask Daisy to collect the tray in the morning.’

‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

‘You will eat your supper though, won’t you?’

Ada nodded. Would he never go? ‘Goodnight, Peter.’

‘Goodnight, Mother. Sleep well.’

‘I’m sure I will.’

She visibly relaxed as he left the room. ‘The devil in disguise!’ she muttered. ‘You don’t fool me.’

Bent over the sink, arms deep in soap suds, Ruth didn’t hear him come into the kitchen. When, with cat-like stealth he tiptoed across the floor to grab her by the waist, she screamed out. ‘Shut up, you silly bitch!’ Putting one hand over her mouth and the other round her waist, he drew her to him. ‘She’ll hear you!’

Laughing in his face, Ruth danced to the other side of the room, where she undid her blouse to reveal the deep, soft cleavage beneath. ‘Want me, do yer?’ Licking her lips, she teased dangerously.

He feigned indifference. ‘I can take you or leave you.’

‘No, you can’t.’ Smiling into his eyes, she slipped the blouse off, and dropped the straps of her underslip. With her breasts uncovered, she reached down to unfasten her skirt. ‘Now d’yer want me?’ Fully aware of her power over him, she stepped out of her clothes, stark-naked, daring him to take her.

Returning her smile, he came forward, arms outstretched, eyes glittering. ‘Little baggage! I ought to send you packing.’

‘But you won’t, will you?’

Smothering her to him, he pushed her to the ground where, for a moment he looked her over. ‘If you ever breathe a word to her… he flicked a glance to the ceiling, ‘I’ll have to punish you.’ There was no doubting his meaning.

‘What makes you think I’d tell her?’ Ruth said cheekily.

‘Because sometimes you forget your place.’

There followed a brief span of silence, when she looked at him and was afraid. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘I ain’t stupid. I know which side my bread’s buttered.’

He gave a long, satisfied sigh. ‘Good girl!’

While she stripped away his clothes, his avaricious eyes feasted on her nakedness. Perfectly shaped in every way, with a large, full mouth and tormenting green eyes to go with her glorious head of red hair, Ruth Clegg had everything he wanted from a woman. She was not too bright, nor too demanding, and she knew who was boss. Much like a dog, he thought with a rush of wicked humour.

She saw the glint in his eyes and was pleased. ‘Penny for ’em?’ Undoing the last button she leaned forward, nibbling him on the ear.

Running his hands through her long, fiery hair, he bent her head back and snatched her to him. ‘I was just thinking what a common little tart you are,’ he laughed.

Pulling away, she stared at him, her mouth set in a hard line. ‘Is that what you really think?’

He kissed her, angered when she didn’t respond. ‘Don’t refuse me,’ he warned. ‘Not now!’ His hands encircled her waist. ‘You know how upset I get.’

‘D’yer really think I’m common?’ Now, she was more curious than offended.

‘Yes. It’s what I like about you the most.’

‘Bastard!’

His smile was enchanting. ‘The worst.’

At that she laughed, and all was forgiven.

In her bedroom, Ada heard them laughing, and her illusions about Ruth went for ever.

‘A pair o’ bad buggers together!’ she sighed, wondering how she could have been so naive about the young woman she had genuinely liked. ‘You pulled the wool over my eyes for a while,’ she murmured, ‘but now, Ruth, you’ve helped me make up my mind. What’s more, I’ll have no reason to feel guilty about it, not now I find that you and he have been taking me for an old fool.’

For a long time now, she had searched her heart, longing to right the wrong she had done. To her mind there seemed only one way, and even now, after hearing the goings-on downstairs, she found it a hard decision to make. After all, in spite of his failings, Peter was her own flesh and blood. ‘But he’s no longer a child,’ she reminded herself. ‘He’s a grown man.’

She reconsidered this, and gave an ironic laugh. ‘No, he isn’t. My son is not even a man. He’s a useless, lazy article – and I wish to God he’d never been born.’

Cradling her face in the palms of her hands, she remembered how it once was. She recalled herself as a young woman, tall and straight, with a ruthless streak that would serve her well in the years that lay ahead. ‘A real beauty,’ everyone said, ‘but with ideas above her station.’

‘They all wanted me to fail, but I showed ’em,’ she said proudly. She had clawed and fought her way to the top. ‘They couldn’t keep Ada Williams down, however hard they tried!’

Feeling lonely, she reached out to the bedside cabinet and turned on the wireless. The voices were uplifted in a carol she knew well. Leaning back in bed, she let the song wash over her and suddenly, almost without realising it, she began to sing along with them. ‘Hark! the herald-angels sing, Glory to the newborn king…’

When the voices died away, Ada snapped off the wireless, thinking bitterly how useless and empty her life had been. She had never married again after losing her one true love, not from choice but because she was always the ‘bit on the side’ – the one who gave all and got little in return except for the sparkling trinkets and generous settlements; all well-earned, all squirrelled away. After all, a girl had to look out for herself.

Older now, and far wiser, she had only two regrets. One was her wayward son. It saddened her to see how cruel Peter had grown. He had no friends, not even a sensible woman to tame him. Wise men avoided him, and any unfortunate woman who caught his eye was first callously used and then discarded.

Ada’s other, deeper regret was something that had happened years ago. It was a terrible thing she had done and, since then, her every waking moment was haunted by it. Even now, after all this time, when she let the memories carry her back, tears ran unheeded down her face.

Taking a deep sigh, she eventually calmed herself. ‘It’s no good crying,’ she said shakily. ‘That won’t put matters right.’ The tiniest of smiles lifted the comers of her mouth. ‘To think it took me all these years to track them down, only to discover they live just half an hour away.’

She had been sorely tempted to go and see that family, to make herself known, and become part of their lives. But it was too late for that now. If they found out what she had done, they would drive her from the door. Bertie especially. She knew he would never forgive her – but that was no more than she could expect. ‘No, it’s better they don’t know of my existence,’ she muttered sadly. ‘One day they may have to, but then it won’t matter any more.’ All that remained now was to make amends, and make amends she would, by whatever means.

‘All those years!’ she grieved. ‘But now that you’ve found them,’ she told herself, ‘you know what you must do.’

Chapter Two

The sound of their merriment echoed down Buncer Lane. ‘It’s no good!’ Helpless with laughter, Sylvia Bolton fell against the wall. ‘The blessed thing won’t go through the door.’

‘I knew that already!’ Betsy was the bigger of Sylvia’s twelve-year-old twin daughters. ‘I told you both when we were on the market. We need to get a smaller tree, that’s what I said, but nobody listened and now look!’ A plump girl with hazel eyes and wispy brown hair, she spread out her two hands and gave an almighty sigh, followed by a giggle. ‘We’ll never get it through the door, Mam.’

‘Yes, we will.’ Ellie was the other twin, older by fifteen minutes. Smaller and tougher, she was as pretty as a sunny day; with her dark blue eyes and wild mop of fair hair, she was a force to be reckoned with. ‘We’ll just have to keep pushing till it goes through.’ With that she bent her shoulders to the task.

Still grumbling under her breath, Betsy put her shoulders to the tree trunk and together the two girls heaved and pushed and shoved and grunted, yet the tree refused to budge. Wedged in the frame of the door it would go neither forwards nor backwards.

Betsy gave up. ‘Oh, no! It’s nearly Christmas and we’ll be the only family down Buncer Lane without a tree!’ With that she plonked herself down on the ice-cold step and melodramatically dropped her face into her hands.

Smiling at her daughters’ antics, Sylvia stood on the pavement, breathless and defeated. ‘We’ll have to wait till your dad comes home. He’ll know what to do.’ A pretty woman in her forties, she looked ten years younger. With her bright green eyes and long fair hair, she had a zest for life that had shown itself in young Ellie.

‘He’ll be ages yet!’ Betsy groaned.

Ellie came to stand beside her mam. ‘We could ask Mick.’ Pointing to the house across the street, she observed, ‘He must be home, ’cause there’s a light on. Look.’

So it was settled. While Betsy and her mam tried once more to get the tree inside, Ellie ran for Mick who, in no time at all, was crunching through the snow and ready to help. ‘I’m not surprised you can’t get it through the door,’ he chuckled. ‘You should have turned it trunk first, then when you pushed, the branches would fold in. This way, they’re being forced out… like an umbrella, if you know what I mean. So the harder you push, the tighter it gets stuck in the doorway.’

Sylvia saw the twinkle in his eye and felt like a fool. ‘All right, you! No lectures. I’m too tired and too cold,’ she told him. ‘Let’s turn it round and get it inside before we all freeze to death.’

Shaking his head he told her, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bolton, but you’ll have to do it yourself. I’m off to get ready for my date.’ When a mischievous grin broke over his features, Sylvia knew he was teasing again.

‘You young devil!’ Playfully punching him, she said, ‘I really thought you meant to leave me struggling.’

Feigning amazement, he tutted. ‘Shame on you! Would I do a thing like that?’

‘I should hope not.’

Sylvia and her family had known Mick Fellowes these past five years, ever since he was a lad of seventeen. Tall and gangly, Mick was a law unto himself. He fancied the young women, and more often than not they fancied him back – which wasn’t surprising. With his cheeky manner, laughing brown eyes and collar-length dark hair he was daring and different.

He had a question. ‘If I get the tree inside, will it be worth a mug o’ tea an’ one of your home-made barmcakes?’

‘Only if you set the tree in the bucket as well.’

‘Oh, go on then. I’ve got time enough.’

‘And will you make sure to put it where the girls say?’

‘You drive a hard bargain.’

‘I could make it two barmcakes?’

He laughed out loud; they both did. ‘What can I say? You’ve twisted my arm.’

‘Thanks, Mick. You’ll find the bucket and logs standing by the fireside where Jim left them this morning.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to dress it an’ all?’ he said sarkily.

Thinking he really meant it, the twins voiced a protest. ‘No! Mam promised we could do that!’

‘Only joking,’ Mick reassured them. ‘I wouldn’t have the first idea how to dress a Christmas tree.’ Rolling up his sleeves, he said briskly, ‘Right, you two. Let’s be at it then.’

With Mick in charge, it took only a few minutes to swing the tree round and send it through the door feet first. ‘What did I tell you?’ He stood back to admire his achievement. ‘Nothing to it.’ Carrying the tree into the parlour, he demanded his reward. ‘By the time you fetch my tea and barmcakes, I’ll have the tree in the bucket, sound and secure.’

‘You’re a good lad,’ Sylvia told him. ‘I’m grateful, really I am. It means my Jim won’t need to bother with the tree when he gets in from work.’ Anticipating the question, Sylvia gave the answer. ‘Our Larry would have done it, but he’s working the late shift at the factory.’

‘What – again?’

‘He needs the money. Says he means to set himself up with a delivery wagon.’

‘He will an’ all, you see if he don’t.’ Sylvia’s son Larry had big ambitions. ‘If Larry says he’ll do it, you know he will… even if it takes years.’

While Sylvia went to the scullery for the tea and barmcakes, Mick set to with the tree. ‘Right, girls!’ With the bucket in one hand and a scuttle of logs in the other, he glanced round the parlour. It was a cosy enough little room, with two soft, squashy armchairs, a small, deep sofa, and a solid sideboard polished till you could see your face in it. Around the walls were pictures of family, a ticking mantelpiece clock surrounded by bric-a-brac and, enfolding all that, a warm, cheery fire crackling up the chimney. ‘Where d’you want me to set this tree?’

Ellie wanted it by the window; Betsy wanted it beside the fire. Mick solved the problem by tactfully suggesting he should place it midway. ‘Then we won’t have to move your dad’s armchair from the fireside, and we won’t be blocking the light from the window. What d’you say?’ He gave a sigh of relief when the girls agreed. ‘I’d best be quick then,’ he joked, ‘before you change your minds!’

With the twins giving instructions: ‘Go left… Go right. It’s crooked,’ he wedged the tree in with the logs, driving one in here… filling a gap there, until the tree was upright, and secure in the bucket. ‘There you are. Now you can put your trimmings on.’

While the twins busied themselves dressing the tree, Sylvia chatted to Mick, amazed by the speed with which he demolished the barmcakes. ‘Good God! Anybody would think you hadn’t eaten for days.’

‘They’d be right an’ all.’

Sylvia was shocked. ‘You mean you haven’t eaten for days?’

‘’Fraid not.’ He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘When you’re on your own, you tend not to look after yourself properly.’

Mick’s downcast face touched her deeply. ‘You really miss your mam, don’t you?’ she said gently.

It took a moment for him to gather his emotions before answering. ‘I’ll always miss her,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s been ten years since the pneumonia took her, and if I close my eyes, it seems like only yesterday.’

‘Have you heard from your dad?’

Mick shook his head. ‘No, and I don’t want to.’ His voice hardened with bitterness. ‘He made his choice. Oh, I know he desperately missed our mam, but then so did I – and I was only a kid, still at school, when she died. It was hard for both of us, but he seemed to go right off the rails, out every night of the week, boozing and womanising.’ He paused, remembering with shame. ‘We had the worst row of our lives, but he still wouldn’t see sense. I never thought he’d leave. Not with that little slag anyway. She was out to spend every last penny of his savings. I told him, When the good times stop, she’ll dump you like a sack o’ bloody coal. But would he listen? Would he hell as like! He went off with her all the same. So good luck to him, and if she breaks his heart all over again, it’s only what he deserves!’

‘If he came knocking at your door, would you turn him away?’ Sylvia knew all about it, and it saddened her.

Mick was adamant. ‘Without a second thought. Like they say, he’s made his bed. Besides, he’s not likely to come knocking. Since I took over the tenancy, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him, and nor do I want to!’

‘I’m sure he can’t be that far away.’

‘He can be at the other side of the world for all I care.’ ‘He hurt you bad, didn’t he, love?’

‘Bad enough.’

‘And now you’re not looking after yourself properly?’

‘I get by.’

‘I’m sorry, Mick, I had no idea. From now on, I want you to come over here every night and sit down with the rest of us. I keep a good table and there’s more than enough to share with a friend.’

‘I can’t let you do that, Mrs Bolton.’ He felt embarrassed. ‘I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut now.’

‘It’s the least I can do. I should have realised… you’re like a beanpole up and down, and no wonder. Not eating proper – shame on you. And shame on me!’ She wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘I mean what I say, Mick. I want you over here every night at seven o’clock, or I’ll come looking for you, mark my words.’

The arrangement was made and Mick knew better than to argue. In fact, deep down he was delighted. A hot meal, regular every night, was something to look forward to. ‘But not tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two meat and ’tater pies in the oven. In fact, if I don’t get off, they’ll be burned to a crisp.’ Sylvia thanked him again for helping with the tree. ‘Like you say, you’d best be off. But you’re not to forget our arrangement.’

‘I won’t.’ In two strides he was at the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Tell Larry I’ll be ready about eight o’clock.’ With that he was gone, leaving Sylvia blaming herself for having neglected him.

For a while she helped the twins to trim the tree. When the mantel-clock chimed five times, she left them to it. Put the heavy baubles on the bottom, and the trimmings from the top,’ she told them and, while they got on with it, she hurried to the scullery to organise the evening meal.

She peeled the potatoes and onions, then wiped a small measure of lard over the bottom of a big brown dish; that done, she sliced the potatoes and onions evenly into the dish and covered them with water from the kettle. On top of that she piled a generous layer of minced beef and, on top of that, yet another layer of potatoes, then a second layer of meat and onions, and to finish, a thicker layer of sliced potatoes. Next came a drop of cornflour gravy, then an offering of salt and pepper, and beaten egg for browning.

She carried the dish through to the parlour, where she put it in the oven; the range had been lit all day and was fired up nicely. Glancing at the tree, she saw how the girls were making a wonderful job of it. ‘My! Your dad will be pleased,’ she said, and went away, quietly smiling.

Once back in the scullery, she tore the washed cauliflower into natural chunks and dropped them into a deep earthenware dish. She sprinkled them with salt, covered them with water, replaced the lid and took it to the range, sliding it carefully onto the lower shelf, where it would cook slower than the casserole. Returning to the scullery, she prepared the rice pudding.

When all was done, she gathered the peelings and scraps into a folded newspaper. Taking it down the back steps and into the yard, she dropped it in the midden. As she turned away, she heard a scuffling noise, then another, softer sound – a cry of pain, or so she imagined.

Thinking it might be a child, or someone hurt, she hurried across the yard, cursing when she slid in the snow and almost fell over the clothes prop, which was lying on the ground. Picking it up, she stood it against the lavvy wall. That done, she wrenched open the back-yard gate and peered along the alley – and there, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of a man… or it could have been a woman. Limping badly, the figure rounded the corner and disappeared. ‘Who’s that?’ Sylvia’s voice echoed eerily through the night air. There was no answer; she didn’t really expect one.

It was when she turned to close the back gate that she saw the half-brick protruding through the snow. Stooping to pick it up, she realised it must have come from the top of their wall. ‘That’s strange,’ she muttered. ‘Jim’s only just repaired that wall.’ Feeling threatened and vulnerable in the half-light, she quickly closed and bolted the gate, before making her way across the yard and into the scullery.

Safely