Dream On by Gilda O'Neill Page B

more monologues than dialogues as far as Nellie was concerned – ‘when he found out that Violet had mullered herself and she’d sent his oldest kids to the other side of the world to that Africa place, and that his youngest had gone to live with Vi’s sister down in Yalding. Well, he led off alarming, didn’t he. Bobby got him straight out of the pub and on to the first train down to Kent. Best place for him, if you ask me: surrounded by hop gardens and sheep, and with a bunch of bloody carrot crunchers for neighbours. They won’t know no better if he goes doolally, will they? ’Cos they’re all a bit funny down there anyway.’
    Nellie shifted her bosom with the back of her hand. ‘Must be all that fresh air.’ She wrinkled her nose with distaste. ‘Can’t do you no good, can it?’
    â€˜Nobody should have to sink as low as she did.’ Ginny dropped her chin and stared down at the floor. ‘I should have done more to help her. But you know what she was like. She was so private—’
    â€˜Private?’ Nellie spluttered. ‘She was bloody ashamed! Filthy trollop.’
    Ginny shook her head in disbelief that so much tragedy could visit just one family. ‘That poor feller.’
    â€˜Who’s a poor feller?’ someone asked.
    Ginny looked up to see Ted standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the jamb.
    â€˜Ted!’ Ginny leapt up from the table and ran across the kitchen to him, but he held up his hands to make sure she kept her distance.
    â€˜Mind off, you dozy cow. Can’t you see I’m in pain?’
    She winced, not at his harsh words, but at the unmistakable, if faint, whiff of scent. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her voice steady, then asked softly, ‘What’s wrong, Ted?’
    â€˜I slipped, didn’t I? Last night. On the wet stones down the docks. While I was having a trade. I hurt me leg.’
    She frowned as she watched Ted hobble over to the table and carefully lower himself on to one of the hard kitchen chairs. It didn’t look as though it was his leg that was hurting.
    Carelessly, he shoved the bowl, potatoes and peelings to one side and rested his elbows in their place. ‘I couldn’t drive, could I. So I had to stay the night with a bloke I was doing the bit of business with.’
    She felt relief flood through her. He had stayed at a friend’s house. The scent must have been from his wife. Ginny was a past master at convincing herself of anything where Ted was concerned.
    â€˜And have you brought anything home from the docks for your poor old mum?’ Nellie asked pathetically.
    Gingerly, Ted, shifted his weight and eased his hand into his trouser pocket. He held out his car keys to Ginny. ‘Go out to the car. There’s some bananas on the back seat.’
    â€˜Bananas!’ Ginny ran out to the car to fetch them.
    Nellie wasn’t so impressed. ‘I’d rather have a few quid. Or a nice leg o’ pork.’
    Ted snorted at his mother’s ingratitude. ‘I bring you the first bananas this country’s seen since bloody 1939 and you don’t even say thank you.’
    â€˜Well, can you sodding well blame me?’ Nellie no longer sounded pathetic, she sounded put out, very put out, and very loud. ‘D’you know what they had in the paper yesterday?’
    Ted didn’t answer.
    â€˜Oi! I’m talking to you. A bloody recipe for Squirrel Pie. That’s what. That’s what the sodding government’s telling us to eat.’ Nellie was getting into her stride – it didn’t take much. ‘We’re going to have a lovely time, ain’t we? Squirrels and pissing bananas. I’m not getting no younger, Ted. I need a bit of comfort in me old age.’
    Ginny had heard her mother-in-law’s hollering from outside in the street, but she was determined not to let Nellie upset her. Ted was home and that