Better Days will Come

Her heart was bumping. Thank goodness Mum had told her to lock the door. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was much too early for Mum to come back – she’d only been gone for a half an hour – and besides she had her key.

The door latch went up again. Rita stood up and grabbed a towel. ‘Who is it?’ she called, willing her voice not to quiver.

‘It’s me, Rita. Uncle Charlie. Open the door. Your mum’s been hurt.’

Rita felt the panic rising in her chest. She wanted to run and open the door but how could she, covered with only a threadbare towel which barely went round her? ‘Just a minute.’

With no time to dry herself let alone get dressed she flew upstairs and pulled Mum’s old dressing gown from behind the bedroom door.

When she opened the door, Rita had a shock. Uncle Charlie was doing his best to hold her mother upright but Grace was like a rag doll in his arms. Together they helped her inside and onto a chair.

‘What happened?’

‘We was robbed,’ said Uncle Charlie. ‘Some blighter distracted me and his mate snatched the bag.’

Grace moaned and Rita could see a big lump on her forehead. The skin was already going blue and her mother was trembling from head to toe.

‘It’s the shock,’ said Uncle Charlie.

‘Shall I get the doctor?’ Rita asked anxiously.

‘No,’ said Grace. ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Charlie in unison.

‘We can’t afford it,’ said Grace.

Uncle Charlie dampened the end of the tea towel and then he put it over the bruise. Rita was happy to let him do it. He was a second at boxing matches and he knew what to do with a bump. Over the top of her mother’s head, he gave Rita the nod to go.

‘Will you stay with her?’ Rita mouthed.

Uncle Charlie nodded. ‘Have you got any butter?’

Rita got the butter dish from inside the dropdown cupboard then, grabbing her clean clothes from the clothes horse in front of the range, she raced back upstairs to dress. A couple of minutes later she was back downstairs. Uncle Charlie was rubbing butter onto the huge egg which had formed on her mother’s forehead. Rita grabbed her coat and ran.

When she got back with the doctor, Grace had been sick and Rita was told to fetch Constable Higgins. She ran down to Station Approach and the blue police box. There was a telephone on the side for the use of members of the public. It connected her straight to the police station in the centre of town. Rita explained that her mother had been attacked and robbed and after giving the sergeant her name and address, she was told to go back home and wait for a uniformed officer to attend.

When she got back home, the doctor had just completed a thorough examination of her mother. As soon as she saw her, Grace was angry that Rita had sent for him, but the doctor shook his head. ‘You should be proud of her, Mrs Rogers,’ he said. ‘Head injuries can be very dangerous things. Fortunately, although you will probably have a very bad headache for a while, there is no lasting damage.’

Rita was so relieved she almost kissed him. Inside, she had been panicking. With her father dead and Bonnie gone, what would have happened to her if Mum had been seriously ill? For the first time in her life she’d realised just how fragile life was, how everything could change in an instant. She knew she was being selfish, but she resolved never to take her mother for granted again. Bonnie might have walked out on her but, from now on, Rita was going to be the best daughter in the world.

After telling Grace that an Aspro and bed rest was the best thing, the doctor left with his shilling and soon after a Constable Higgins stopped by and took statements.

‘Who knew you were going on the round?’ the constable asked. They were all sitting around the kitchen table.

‘Everybody,’ said Grace. ‘They were expecting me.’

‘And you started out from here at what time?’

Grace looked at Charlie and shrugged.

‘About seven,’ said Charlie.

The constable scribbled in his notebook. ‘And the attack happened at about eight o’clock by Station Approach?’

‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘It’s a good job Charlie suggested changing the route. If we had gone the usual way, they’d have got a lot more.’

Constable Higgins frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘I usually go to the end of road and walk up to Station Approach and back by Teville Gate and then I do Tarring Road,’ Grace explained. ‘Charlie persuaded me to go the other way round.’

‘Why did you do that, sir?’ asked Constable Higgins accusingly.

‘I thought she should vary the route,’ Charlie shrugged. ‘For safety’s sake.’

‘Good job you did,’ said Grace. ‘I heard someone shout just before the robber pushed me down.’

‘Mr Warren,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘He’s only just moved into the shop on the corner. He’s already made a statement.’

‘I think I owe my life to him,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure that man would have kicked me senseless if Mr Warren hadn’t come running.’

‘How much money are we talking about?’ said the constable.

‘About £50,’ said Grace. ‘I only had a few houses to go to. Mrs Oakley, the Parsons, Miss Reeves, Mrs Clements and Mary Minty. Between them they had saved about £7 each through the year. I’d have to look in the books to know exactly how much.’

‘That’s a lot of money,’ said Constable Higgins giving her a disapproving stare.

‘I know,’ Grace sighed.

The constable pursed his lips. ‘You’d be well advised to get everybody to come to you next time, Missus.’

‘There won’t be a next time,’ said Grace bitterly. She leaned forward on the table and laid her head onto her arms.

‘I think my mum needs to get to bed,’ said Rita.

There was a shuffling of chairs and the men got up to go. By the time Uncle Charlie had left, Grace was crying.

‘Does it really hurt that bad, Mum?’

‘No, it’s not that,’ said her mother. ‘It’s the money. I’ve let all those poor people down.’

‘I’m sure they’ll understand, Mum.’

‘They need that money, Rita,’ said Grace. ‘Whether they understand or not isn’t the problem. I’ll have to pay it all back. Dear Lord above, where am I going to get another £50 to replace it?’

Eight

Grace woke with a sore head. She lay for a while going over the events of the previous night. She should have waited and gone on the rounds in daylight but she hadn’t wanted the money in the house overnight. The post office was open on Saturday morning so why hadn’t she drawn the money first thing and done the round in the afternoon? And it would have been far more sensible to do what Constable Higgins had suggested and have everyone come to her. She could see now what a fool she had been.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. It felt funny. She climbed out of bed. The room was so cold she could see her own breath. She pulled the eiderdown off the bed and around her shoulders and looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. What a sight. Her right eye was as black as the ace of spades. Her forehead was like an artist’s paint palette, a mixture of red graze and blue bruise with a hint of green and purple, although the egg-sized swelling had gone down. She had a graze at the corner of her mouth and her bottom lip, the cause of her discomfort, was slightly swollen. She looked as if she’d done ten rounds with Bruce Woodcock, the British and Empire heavyweight boxing champion. When she touched her forehead, it hurt like hell.