Kitty Neale 3 Book Bundle. Kitty Neale
With a flurry of activity Phyllis flung her coat on, and this was followed by Stan getting a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘Let’s hope Mabel’s got it wrong then,’ she said. ‘See you in a couple of hours or so.’
After a few minutes Stan checked his pockets. It wasn’t payday until tomorrow, but he had just enough money left for a couple of pints. He sorted out the fire, put the guard around it and then he was on his way out, taking his usual route to the pub.
At the bottom of the Rise, had Stan turned in the other direction, he would have seen his daughter still wrapped in Tommy’s arms.
Phyllis had been keeping up an act to hide her tiredness and when she’d left for work she hadn’t seen her daughter either. She was just relieved that she was out of sight of anyone now and her steps slowed. The thought of the cleaning waiting for her at the factory was almost more than she could bear, and when her shift finished she still had Winnie to sort out. As her steps faltered, Phyllis wondered again what was wrong with her. She didn’t feel ill and wasn’t in any pain. It was just so hard to stay awake and on her feet.
‘Watcha, Phyllis, long time no see. You’d think we lived miles apart instead of a few streets.’
The voice startled her, but she recognised it, thinking that it was as though talking about her cousin had conjured her up. ‘Rose,’ she said, her voice clipped. ‘I can’t stop to chat. I’m on my way to work.’
‘Yeah, me too. My stint behind the bar starts at seven.’
‘Then like me, you’d best get a move on,’ Phyllis said, not waiting for a reply as she hurried past Rose. As children they had played together and attended the same school. They’d been bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, but in those days Rose had been a nice woman. She was far from that now though, yet when the gossip had first started Phyllis had tried to warn her cousin that she was ruining her reputation. She’d told Rose that losing her husband during the war was no excuse for her behaviour. Other women had suffered the same loss, but they still remained respectable.
Rose refused to listen, and the final straw had been when she had an affair with a married man. Of course it gave credence to the local gossip that she’d go after anything in trousers, and if Mabel was right, Rose was at it again. Ashamed to be associated with her, Phyllis wanted to avoid her cousin like the plague.
Phyllis’s thoughts about Rose abruptly ended when she arrived at the factory, the other cleaner, Joyce Brewster, turning up at the same time from the other direction. The walk, though not long, had exhausted Phyllis and it was as much as she could do to carry on through the yard to the entrance. ‘I … I’m just going to the toilets,’ she tiredly told Joyce once inside, ‘and as I’ll be in there, I might as well make a start on them.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ Joyce agreed. ‘I’ll do the manager’s office before we both have a go at the factory floor.’
Phyllis just nodded, but no sooner had she gone into the toilets than her head began to swim. With nowhere else to sit she managed to open a cubicle door and with the lid down she sat on the toilet, leaning forward until the dizziness passed. Tears filled her eyes. What was wrong with her?
‘Phyllis, are you all right?’
She looked up at Joyce and found herself blurting out, ‘I … I’m so tired.’
‘If you ask me, you should get yourself to the doctor’s.’
Phyllis nodded. Perhaps Joyce was right, maybe she should get herself checked out. She stood up and swayed, grateful that Joyce squeezed into the small space to give her a hand. ‘Thanks. I … I’ll be fine in a minute, and then I’ll get on with the cleaning.’
‘I think you should go home,’ Joyce advised.
‘No, I can’t afford to do that. I’m already skint, but at least it’s payday tomorrow.’
‘I’ll cover for you. Go home, have an early night, and if you still feel rough tomorrow, get yourself to the doctors.’
‘I can’t leave you to clean this place on your own.’
‘I’ll manage, skimp on a few things, and with any luck nobody will notice.’
‘Thanks, Joyce,’ Phyllis said gratefully as she doubted she could even pick up a broom at the moment.
‘You’d do the same for me,’ Joyce said brusquely. ‘Now off you go.’
With a small, weak smile, Phyllis left, but found that the short walk home felt more like miles.
At last she arrived to find the house in darkness. Amy was out with Tommy, and no doubt Stan was at the pub. She took off her coat, sat beside the banked-up fire and closed her eyes. Winnie wouldn’t need sorting out for a couple of hours so she could have a little nap.
The warmth of the fire was comforting, and in minutes Phyllis was asleep.
At nine o’clock, after just walking along, with no particular destination in mind, talking, and stopping for the occasional kiss and cuddle, Amy could see that Tommy was tired. She insisted that they make their way back home and outside her door, as she kissed Tommy goodnight, he asked, ‘Can I see you again tomorrow night?’
She smiled happily as she looked up at him. ‘Of course you can.’
They kissed again, and then with one last hug, Tommy left her to walk up the Rise. Amy watched him for a moment, then went indoors to find her dad out and her mum asleep in a chair.
After her cleaning job and then getting Winnie to bed, her mum wasn’t usually home much before ten. Puzzled, Amy gently nudged her arm, but there was no response.
‘Mum, Mum,’ she urged.
‘Wh … what?’ she muttered as her eyes fluttered open.
‘Are you all right?’
Her mother blinked, shook her head and then sat up, looking up at Amy to ask, ‘What’s the time?’
‘It’s nine fifteen. Did you finish work early?’ Amy asked.
‘Err … err … yes,’ she said, rubbing her eyes and then lowering them as though to gather her thoughts before continuing. ‘Joyce was in a hurry to get home so we skimped a bit. I was back about half an hour ago and must have dozed off for a while. I’d best pop round to Winnie’s and get her to bed.’
Since she’d fainted on Monday her mum said she was fine, but looking at the dark circles under her eyes, Amy wasn’t so sure. She had done all she could to help her mum, taking on the ironing and a few other tasks, along with washing up after dinner every night, yet looking at her now it didn’t seem to have helped. ‘I could give you a hand with Winnie,’ she offered.
As her mother stood up she said, ‘There’s no need. I won’t be long.’
Amy tried again, but her mother still refused to let her help. It was too early for bed, so Amy sat down, her thoughts turning to Tommy. It had been wonderful to see him and she had almost melted in his arms.
Moments later the door suddenly flew open and her mother cried frantically, ‘Amy, Amy, run down to the telephone box and ring for an ambulance.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘It’s Winnie. She’s sitting in her chair and I can’t wake her up. I … I think she might be dead!’
‘Dead!’
‘Get a move on in case I’m wrong! I’m going to fetch Mabel.’
Amy ran then, as fast as she could, hoping that by the time the ambulance arrived it wouldn’t be too late.
When