For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver
times that once the other tenant, an old family retainer, passed away, he planned to sell the property. Even though the place was damp and badly in need of decoration, Sarah had done her best to make it a nice home.
‘A bit of soap and water works wonders,’ she told her sister Vera when she’d first moved in, but she couldn’t help noticing her sister’s look of disdain. It was a far cry from the lovely house Sarah had shared with Henry, but without his wage, and because of a steep rise in the rent, it was impossible to carry on living there. Sarah and her girls had moved here three months after he’d gone, and up until today, everything had been going fairly well. To save money, Sarah had always made the children’s clothes and it had been her lucky day when she went to Mrs Angel’s haberdashery shop to get some buttons and bumped into Mr Lovett.
The shop was a jumble of just about everything. There were the usual buttons and embroidery silks, but Mrs Angel also stocked ladies’ underwear in the glass-topped chest of drawers under the counter and a few bolts of material. She would also allow her customers to buy their wool weekly and would put the balls away in a ‘lay-by’ until they were needed.
‘Madam, I have a proposition to make to you,’ Mr Lovett had said as he spotted Jenny’s little pink dress.
‘Mr Lovett has been admiring your handiwork,’ Mrs Angel explained. ‘I told him how popular your little kiddies’ clothes are.’
‘If you could make another little girl’s dress like that and a boy’s romper suit,’ Mr Lovett went on, ‘I think I could find a London buyer.’
‘It takes me a week to make one of those,’ Sarah had laughed. ‘The smocking takes ages.’
‘I can tell,’ he smiled. ‘And before you say anything, there will be no monetary risk to your good self. I shall supply all the materials.’
Sarah hesitated. Could she trust this man?
‘I’m sure Mrs Angel will vouch for me?’ he added as if he’d read her mind.
‘Mr Lovett is a travelling salesman,’ Mrs Angel explained. She was a matronly woman with a shock of white hair. Rumour had it that it had turned that colour overnight after her beloved husband was killed by lightning on Cissbury Ring.
Sarah had been slightly sceptical, but with Mrs Angel only too keen to provide the cottons and any other material she needed, the deal was struck. When she’d finished making the dress and romper suit, Mr Lovett was as good as his word. He’d been right. He’d had no trouble selling her handiwork to a shop in London where rich women were willing to pay the earth for things of such good quality. She knew he’d kept back some money for himself, and yet each time he’d taken an order he’d given her a whole guinea, more money than Sarah had had in a long time. He’d extracted a promise that if the customer liked her work, she’d be willing to do some more. Sarah didn’t need much persuading, even though, without a sewing machine, she’d had to sit up all hours to get them finished on time. She’d been so pleased with the money she’d saved, she’d decided to buy half a hundredweight of coal.
Outside, a lorry drew up and the driver switched off the engine. Lu-Lu wriggled to get down. Sarah let her go and looked out of the window. Oh no, Mr Millward was here already. She couldn’t take the coal without paying for it. How frustrating. Wood never gave out the heat that coal did, and after the horrors of the winter of 1947, she had thought that this coming winter was going to be one when they didn’t have to worry about keeping warm. Think, she told herself crossly. Where did you last have that purse?
There was a knock on the kitchen window and Peter Millward, his wet cap dripping onto to his face streaked with coal dust, smiled in. ‘Shall I put it in the coal shed then, luv?’ He was a kind man with smiley eyes, skinny as a beanpole, and at about thirty-four, was five years older than her. He had been married but his wife had died in an air raid, which was ironic because Peter, who had seen action in some of the worst places, had come through the war unscathed.
Sarah shook her head and rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, throwing wide the front door which opened onto the street. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve changed my mind. I shan’t need any coal today.’
‘Shan’t need …’ he began with a puzzled expression. ‘But you only came to the yard and ordered this stuff an hour ago.’ He waited for an explanation and when one wasn’t forthcoming he said crossly, ‘I can’t be doing with being mucked about.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry.’
He stood for a second staring at her. Lu-Lu headed for the open door and Sarah bent to pick her up. The child was wet.
‘Was it Haskins?’ he blurted out. ‘Has he given you a better deal? Normal price is five bob a bag but I can knock another tanner off for the summer price.’
‘No, no,’ Sarah cried. ‘It’s not that. I won’t be needing it, that’s all.’
‘If you leave it until winter I may not be able to help you out,’ Mr Millward persisted. ‘And you won’t get it at the summer prices either.’
‘I know,’ said Sarah.
As she began to close the door, he said, ‘If it’s about the money, I can’t give you the whole five bags but I could let you have one if you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.’ He raised an eyebrow.
Sarah felt her face flush and taking a deep breath, she said haughtily, ‘I shall not be requiring your coal and I’d thank you to keep your special arrangements to yourself, thank you very much Mr Millward,’ before slamming the door in his face.
He was raising his hand as the door banged and he called out something through the wood, but Sarah turned the key in the lock and took Lu-Lu upstairs to her bedroom to change her nappy. As she washed her daughter’s bottom with a flannel, Sarah smiled at her child but inside she was raging. How dare he? What was it with men? Ever since Henry had gone, half the male population of Worthing seemed to think that she was either ‘up for a bit of fun’ or ‘gagging for it’ or available for ‘an arrangement’. Little did they know that after the way Henry had treated her, she didn’t care if she never saw another man again.
Putting the baby down, Sarah had another thought. Maybe Lu-Lu had taken her purse out of the basket while she and Mrs Rivers were having a cup of tea. She hadn’t stayed long because Mrs Rivers’ son, Nathan, had come home a bit earlier than usual, but there had been plenty of time for Lu-Lu to carry it off somewhere. As soon as Mr Millward’s lorry had gone, Sarah popped Lu-Lu into her playpen at the bottom of the stairs and knocked next door again.
‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ she began as she stood in Mrs Rivers’ doorway, ‘but did you find a purse after I’d gone?’
‘No, dear,’ said her neighbour. ‘Why, have you lost one?’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘I had it in the shops … obviously, but when I got back home and looked in my basket, it wasn’t there.’
The door was suddenly yanked open and Nat Rivers pushed past his mother. Sarah jumped. She didn’t like him. He was a big man with a generous beer belly, a mouth full of brown teeth and greying stubble on his chin. She’d never once seen him looking smart. Today he was wearing his usual grubby vest, no shirt and his trousers were held up with a large buckled belt. Nat Rivers had been in and out of prison all his life.
Mrs Rivers looked up at him anxiously and slunk back indoors.
‘Are you accusing my mother of pinching something?’ he snapped.
‘No, no of course not,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s just that …’
‘Then bugger off,’ he said as he slammed the door.
Sarah turned away despondently. She’d never be able to prove a thing of course, but she couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Rivers was looking rather flushed as she spoke – and her son’s attitude wasn’t exactly neighbourly. Almost as soon as the door closed, she could