Dream On by Gilda O'Neill Page A

blue-rimmed white enamel bowl ready to peel the potatoes for tea-time.
    â€˜Yeah. She’s turned up all right.’
    â€˜Thank Gawd for that.’ Ginny bent down and took a string bag full of potatoes and some old newspapers from under the sink, and carried them and the basin of water over to the table. ‘You know, Nellie, I reckon it broke Violet’s heart having to send them kids away. When she went amongst the missing last week, I really thought, that’s it, she’s gone off her head, she’s had it away ’cos she can’t stand it no more.’
    Nellie folded her arms triumphantly across her aproned bosom. This was going to shock the dopey little madam. ‘If you must know, you was right. She did go off her head.’
    â€˜How d’you mean?’ Ginny let a long thin curl of peel drop on to the paper she had spread out on the table.
    â€˜The stupid tart’s gone and topped herself.’
    â€˜She’s
what
?’ The knife and the half-peeled potato fell from Ginny’s hands into the bowl with a messy splash.
    Nellie stared critically at the spilt water. ‘Left this really miserable note, didn’t she? Her Bert found it propped up on the front room mantelpiece. Went screaming along the street to Bobby and Martha at the Prince Albert, just like a man possessed. I’m surprised Pearl never mentioned it to you. She must have heard him. And what with you two being so
friendly
.’
    She said the last word as though it were a nasty, contagious affliction that might infect the incautious at any moment.
    Ginny could only stare, as Nellie paused to search the pockets of her cross-over apron for her Woodbines. Having found them, she stuck one in the corner of her mouth, lit it and tossed the spent match carelessly into the hearth.
    Picking a stray strand of tobacco from her lip, Nellie continued as casually as if she had been discussing nothing more interesting than the price of cod. ‘That kettle’s boiling,’ she said with a lift of her chin. She made no attempt to get up.
    Automatically, Ginny went over and switched off the gas. She twisted round to face Nellie with a puzzled frown. ‘Look, Nellie, am I missing something here? You did say Bert, didn’t you? Bert Varney? How could Bert find the note? He’s dead.’
    â€˜No he ain’t. It’s Violet what’s dead. Mind you, when he finds out Violet was on the sodding game, I bet he’ll wish he was a goner.’ Nellie screwed up her nose and shuddered with revulsion. ‘And wait till he finds out about her getting a dose . . . What a show-up! A right win double!’
    Ginny dropped down on to her chair and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to make sense of it all. ‘I know I must sound stupid, Nell, but start again, will you? You’re saying Violet’s dead, but Bert Varney ain’t?’
    â€˜Blimey, you got cloth ears or something?’ She puffed irritably on her cigarette.
‘Yes,
Violet’s Uncle Ned. And
no,
Bert ain’t. Got it? It was all a mistake. He was in a camp, wasn’t he. In Japan or somewhere.’
    Ginny could hardly take it in. ‘But that Japan business was all over more than six months ago. How could he—’
    Nellie threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘I
know,
but he was sick or something, wasn’t he. Got transferred to some hospital. With some nuns . . .’
    â€˜How d’you mean?’
    Nellie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I dunno, do I. He had this fever thing. Didn’t know his arse from his elbow, let alone who he was, or what his name was. But when he got better they sent him home.’ She shook her head contemptuously. ‘Bet they were glad to get rid of him, with all his moaning. You know what he’s like.’
    â€˜So how did—’
    â€˜And
then
,’ she continued, not best pleased at being interrupted – conversations were always