The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(91)
She fastened the old canvas peg bag around her waist and picked up the first of the wet clothes, a worn-out blouse she had had since Megan was a baby. Its polka-dot pattern had faded over the years, but it fitted her properly again now she’d lost so much weight. She couldn’t afford to throw it out; it would be difficult to replace. It would do for another year or two yet if she was careful. She gave it a gentle wring, twisting it firmly, and feeling her chapped hands protest at the action. Then she shook out the creases and pegged it on to the line.
Next came a dowdy skirt that Ruby had brought when she’d arrived last Christmas. Already that was nine months ago. Heaven knew how old it was, and Rita couldn’t remember when that style had been fashionable, if it ever had been. It was a dull brown and she wouldn’t have chosen it in a month of Sundays. Ruby however didn’t seem to mind what she wore, as happy with this as Sarah’s castoffs, and at least it would be warm. Its stiff fabric was hard to twist and so it was still dripping all over Rita as she reached to hang it up.
One by one she lifted the clothes and strung them along the old rope line, hoping that today wouldn’t be the day it finally chose to break. It was fraying in several places but she’d never found the time to replace it. She would have to do it soon, and before the real winter took hold, as they would all be wearing heavier clothes, which held the water more and weighed down the line. Wiping her chilly hands on the peg bag, she turned to fetch the long wooden pole with which she propped the line up higher. It was leaning against her makeshift roof, which sheltered the flattened cardboard boxes. As she did so she thought she heard a noise but didn’t bother to look, assuming it was the stiff breeze dislodging the little pile of broken bricks in the opposite corner.
She hadn’t intended to take today off, but the hospital had recognised that she had worked so many extra hours after the recent bombing that she deserved to swap a shift. She was delighted – she hadn’t done it for the reward, but it was good to know that her work had been noticed and appreciated. Maybe she would go into the city centre later and see if Nancy wanted to go shopping. They could look for something for Megan, to keep her warm in the winter. Rita sighed. She never had time to make her daughter anything, but Dolly had promised to knit her a scarf from some wool she’d come by in one of her make-do-and-mend classes, and if there was enough left over she might manage a little hat as well. Rita chuckled to herself as she imagined her daughter’s happy face when she saw her presents.
Suddenly she was aware of somebody behind her and, before she could think of who it could be, she felt something cold and sharp at her throat. Then she was being dragged backwards. A hand was over her mouth so she couldn’t scream, although she was so shocked by the abruptness of what was happening that she hadn’t even thought to call for help.
‘Don’t try anything funny, Rita,’ said a voice against her ear, and her heart sank. Charlie, back after all that time. ‘This isn’t a joke. Don’t try anything clever, or this blade goes straight in.’
Rita gave a little whimper of fright but it was muffled by his hand.
‘You stay quiet and maybe you won’t get hurt,’ he said, almost at the open back door now. ‘You and me are going inside. I’ve got unfinished business here today and you’ve made the mistake of staying around where you’re not wanted.’ He dragged her over the threshold, bruising her heels on the step, and shoved her violently to the floor, standing over her waving the knife. ‘You should’ve gone running off to your little hospital as usual, do-gooder that you are.’ He spat in contempt.
At first she was too frightened even to look at him, but when she did she saw he was much thinner than when she’d last seen him, back in December when she’d rescued the children after he’d taken them away from her. He was unkempt, his thinning hair ragged, the horrible moustache of which he’d been so proud now untrimmed and his chin stubbly. Gone were his dapper clothes. Now he looked filthy. He was almost unrecognisable from the suave insurance salesman he’d been before the war, who had treated her so cruelly and then left her high and dry. She tried to think how to persuade him to leave her alone, but there was a frantic energy about him and she didn’t want him to lose control, not with that sharp blade so close to her face.
Somehow she had to try, although she was almost too scared to think straight. ‘Charlie,’ she began in barely more than a whisper. ‘Charlie,’ she tried again, her voice stronger this time. ‘Look, you don’t have to use that knife. Just tell me what you want, I’ll help you if I can.’
‘Help? Since when were you any help?’ His voice was full of bitter sarcasm. ‘You were a useless wife and mother. If you’d been any good, I wouldn’t be where I am now, so don’t bother offering.’
Rita knew she had to keep going, keep him talking. She remembered how violent he could be, the times he’d hit her, the marks she’d had to hide. ‘So why are you back now? Are you home for good?’
‘Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Welcome me back with open arms, would you? I don’t think so. I can do better than you any time. Just because that cow Elsie did the dirty on me doesn’t mean I have to come back to you. It’s not as if you were ever a loving little wife, is it?’ He leered at her and she drew back against the floor, the cold of the tiles seeping into her bones.