Paradise Lane Read Online Free PDF Page A

road and all. She would have a word with Joe Heilberg when she got the chance, see if he’d hang on to Derek’s books so that Sally could have them one day. ‘It were a very common colour, that red,’ she said, her voice gentled by love. ‘He’d no taste, yon Yankee man. A pretty little lass with your colouring should wear blue. Now, you’d look lovely in a navy velvet frock with a bit of lace. One day, I shall take you to our chapel and you’ll look like a little princess, love.’
    Sally, who had asked several questions that day, suddenly found her lips framing another. ‘Why do you always wear black, Gran? Is it ’cos Grandad died? And all the other shawlies – why do they never wear colours?’
    Ivy Crumpsall put her head on one side. ‘Well, it were this road, pet. Our mams wore black when they got to forty. It were always a black skirt, dark stockings, grey shawl.’ She opened the shawl, looked down on her blouse. ‘It’s nice, is black, as long as you’re old enough to carry it. But my blouses is always nice because I look after them proper. I starch them, see. I boil, bleach and starch every Saturday. This used to be a good blouse when it were young.’
    Sally walked across the room, placed a hand on her grandmother’s knee. ‘Black’s sad.’
    ‘And sensible.’
    ‘Yes, but it would be nice to have a change.’
    Ivy sighed. Change was coming. Derek had done well at school, she thought suddenly. If she’d had a bit of money, a pinch of clout and a lot of cheek, she might have got him educated. If she’d got him educated, he wouldn’t have gone down the pit. If he hadn’t gone down—
    ‘Gran?’
    ‘What, Sal?’
    ‘Don’t be sad.’
    Yes, change was coming. Lottie Kerrigan-as-was would no doubt make a run for it any day now, would take off into the wide blue yonder with her French knickers and her Yankee fancy man. Derek would die soon, please God. She sat as upright as her stoop would allow, realized with a jolt that she was wishing him gone, wishing him past pain. ‘We must both try to cheer each other up,’ she advised her granddaughter. ‘See, here’s a ha’penny. Go up to Florrie Dent and get yourself some cocoa and sugar.’
    Ivy stared blankly into the empty room, listened as Sally’s footsteps grew fainter. If he hadn’t gone down the shaft, he wouldn’t have got cancer. She rose, tightened her apron, waited for Lottie’s return. She decided to do a bit of cleaning, use up some anger. If she got busy, then she might just keep her hands away from Lottie’s throat. When the sleeves were rolled, she mopped, scrubbed and tidied, but in spite of all the work, she remained ready for the fray. Lottie was out of order, and Ivy simmered as she spoonfed her precious son.
    ‘You only came to live round here once you were pregnant,’ said Ivy softly. She was not averse to street-fighting, had even been hauled up before the magistrates for brawling with a woman who had pinched a good woven quilt off the line. But this was family business. Her lad had listened to enough for one day, so this particular altercation must take place out of doors, and as discreetly as possible.
    ‘We’d never have come at all if I’d had my road,’ replied Lottie. The wind was freshening, and she’d only just had her hair done. It felt like rain, too, and she didn’t want to waste the half-pint of setting lotion she’d not long paid for. Her hair was her best feature, and she intended to look after it. ‘I’m going in.’
    Ivy grabbed the front of Lottie’s coat, twisted the lapel into a tight ball. ‘Stop where you are, lady, or I’ll shove you through yon window. Aye, your hair’s a picture.’ She allowed a smile of mockery to touch her lips briefly. The intricately sculpted style did little to enhance Lottie’s rather ordinary features. ‘You came to Paradise Lane so’s I’d be handy. You thought I’d step in and rear yon kiddy, didn’t you?’
    ‘Me rolls are coming down.’ Lottie