Sins of the Father. Kitty Neale

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      Emma came down the ladder. ‘Susan’s in bed.

      She’s been sick and was sent home from school.’

      ‘Serves her right,’ Luke said.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘When we pass the market on the way to school, she’s always scrounging stuff. She puts on a sad face, tells the stall-holders her mum’s dead, and nine times out of ten they give her an apple or something.’

      ‘She does what?’ Emma was horrified. ‘But an apple wouldn’t make her sick.’

      ‘I know, but she’s done it so often that I think the stall-holders have got wise to her. She didn’t get anything from them this morning so she tried it on with the butcher. He was just opening up, and when she pulled the stunt he shoved a pie into her hand. She stuffed it on the way to school and the greedy cow wouldn’t even give us a bite. Still, she got her comeuppance. I reckon it must have been bad.’

      Emma still couldn’t believe her ears. ‘How long has this been going on?’

      ‘Since just after Mum died. It started when Charlie asked us how we were doing and it was obvious he felt sorry for us. He gave us an apple each and it must have given Susan the idea.’

      ‘I’ll give her a piece of my mind when she gets up,’ Emma said, but then heard a knock on the door. She went to answer it, her face paling when she saw the landlord.

      Mr Bell was in his mid-forties, tall and thin, with a shock of dark, wiry hair. To Emma he was a toff, well spoken, well dressed, and he always carried a briefcase.

      He gazed at her for a moment, his eyes puzzled, then said, ‘Is that you, Emma? I hardly recognised you. You seem to have grown up overnight.’

      She felt gauche, unsure of herself and stammered, ‘My…my dad isn’t home from work yet.’

      ‘Didn’t he leave the rent with you?’

      ‘No, but he’ll be here in a couple of hours.’

      The man sighed heavily. ‘Very well, I’ll be back later.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Bell.’ Emma said, relieved to close the door on the man and the predatory look she had seen in his eyes.

      An hour passed and when Dick came home, his eyes widened. ‘Blimey, Em, you look nice,’ he said, passing her a bag of vegetables.

      ‘It’s down to Alice,’ Emma told him, eyeing with appreciation the carrots, onions and potatoes. ‘There’s plenty here for another stew tomorrow. It’s really good of Charlie to give you the leftovers.’

      ‘They’re too soft to put out again tomorrow, and they’d only be chucked away. Anyway, don’t change the subject–why are you all dolled up like a dog’s dinner?’

      ‘I was going out to look for a job again but Susan was sent home from school.’ She then went on to tell him why, his disgust equalling her own.

      ‘Well, stone the crows,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a few words to say to that little madam.’

      ‘Me too,’ Emma said, relighting the fire to finish off the dinner.

      Another hour passed, one in which they both gave Susan a telling-off, and then Emma looked at Dick worriedly. ‘Mr Bell is sure to be back soon and I don’t think I’ll be able to fob him off again. I hope Dad isn’t blowing his wages in the King’s Arms.’

      Dick’s expression soured as he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll drag him out of there if I have to.’

      As Dick made his way to the pub, he found himself thinking about his boss. Charlie Roper was the antithesis of his father, and a man he respected. Charlie had never married and, as far as Dick knew, had no family, but he had taken him under his wing, treating him almost like a son. Yes, he was a hard taskmaster, but he expected no more from anyone than he did from himself.

      Charlie liked the occasional pint but, unlike Dick’s father, he knew when to stop. The man was hard-working, up at the crack of dawn every day, in all weathers, but never complained, despite the cold affecting his arthritic fingers. Charlie had fought in a war too, albeit the first one, and he’d had it rough, fighting in the trenches and telling Dick stories of rats the size of cats. Yet unlike his father, Charlie never bemoaned his fate, or used it as an excuse to drown his sorrows in drink. Dick scowled, hating his father’s weakness, determined never to follow in his footsteps.

      When Dick reached the pub, he flung open the door, searching for his father through a fug of stale cigarette smoke. An old boy was pounding out a tune on a wonky piano, the melody unrecognisable to Tom, and at a couple of tables he saw men playing cards. He pushed his way forward, finding his father standing at the bar, lifting a pint of beer to his lips.

      Tom’s eyes narrowed when he saw Dick, and above the babble of voices he snapped, ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

      ‘The landlord’s after the rent money.’

      Tom’s eyes flicked to the group of men who were drinking close by. ‘Keep your bloody voice down!’ he hissed.

      Dick glared at the pint glass in his father’s hand, knowing it wasn’t his first and uncaring of who might overhear. ‘Mr Bell will be back soon and wants his money.’

      ‘So what? He’ll get it when I’m good and ready. Just tell him to sod off.’

      ‘Tell him yourself.’

      Tom’s lips tightened in anger. ‘Watch your mouth, son. Now bugger off or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’

      ‘I ain’t going anywhere unless you come with me.’

      There was a titter of laughter, a man saying, ‘It sounds like your young whippersnapper’s laying down the law, Tom.’

      Tom’s grip was tight on his glass. ‘That’ll be the day,’ he quipped. ‘In fact, I think I’ll take the lad home for the hiding he deserves.’ He then lifted his pint, gulping it down and slamming the empty glass on the bar before glaring at Dick and adding, ‘Right you. Home–and now!’

      Emma heard footsteps on the stairs and her father’s yelling before he shoved open the door, his eyes dark with anger as he glared at Dick.

      ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, kicking up like that in the pub. I didn’t know where to put my bloody face.’

      ‘Can you blame me? If I didn’t drag you out, the rent wouldn’t be paid–again. Mr Bell isn’t going to put up with it for much longer.’

      ‘I paid some of the arrears last week. Anyway, Bell’s all wind and water. He’s always threatening to chuck us out, but we’re still here, ain’t we?’

      ‘One of these days you’ll push him too far.’

      ‘I’ll handle Bell, but if you ever show me up again in my local, you’ll live to regret it.’

      For a moment СКАЧАТЬ