A New Dream by Maggie Ford (world of reading .TXT) 📕

‘Who?’ came the response. ‘We know no one around here.’

‘You may not, Mummy – you’ve not set foot outside the door since we came here. But I see people when I’m out shopping and now and again I stop to pass the time of day with one or two of them.’

‘So it doesn’t matter that I’m left here on my own.’ Her mother’s voice shook with accusation.

‘We should go out together now and again,’ said Julia. ‘This flat is so hot and stuffy in summer, I wonder you can stand it. You could do with some fresh air.’

Her mother shrank visibly from the invitation. ‘I couldn’t think of going out yet with your poor father so recently passed away. And I don’t really wish to know the people here. They’re not our sort.’

Again Julia had to bite her tongue. What sort of people, she wondered, remembering the so-called friends who had shunned them in their trouble, were our sort? True, people round here didn’t speak with the cultured, educated vowels of herself and her family; their Cockney accents were strong and vibrant. Maybe manners were not always quite what the Longfields had been used to, and there were some types one wouldn’t want to get too close to. And, yes, there was the almost constant ringing of police car bells as officers sped to break up a fight or rescue some unwary who might have strayed down a side alley to be waylaid and robbed. But the women who shopped around the area were decent and law-abiding enough although, due to their straitened circumstances, they were not above sometimes taking advantage of a slightly suspect bargain.

Poor, scruffy and looked down upon by those who inhabited the better parts of London, Julia found them friendly and ready to help. She had found warm sympathy and support from two women a couple of months ago when she’d twisted her ankle stepping down from a kerb.

‘Gawd, luv, yer nearly went fer a Burton then,’ one had said, catching hold of her and gazing down at her ankle. ‘Are yer ’urt?’

When she’d assured them she was all right, the other woman had added, ‘You ’ave ter be so careful of these kerbs – they’re all bleedin’ uneven. Somfink ought ter be done abart ’em.’

‘Just stand still fer a bit, luv, till it stops ’urtin’,’ said the first woman, who was still holding her steady. She smelled none too fresh to Julia, but her heart was obviously as bright and clean as kindness itself.

She had thanked them for their concern and laughed when the second woman had put a friendly hand on her arm and advised her, ‘Best take a bit more water wiv it next time, dear!’

They had left her with a glowing feeling of warmth, yet here was her mother, a victim of her own imaginings, fearful and contemptuous of such people.

Victoria broke into her thoughts. ‘Who were you speaking to for such a long time?’

‘You wouldn’t know them,’ Julia said curtly, this time not bothering to hide her impatience. Her mother’s attitude made it impossible for her to mention Simon Layzell so she headed for the kitchen, adding as compensation for her irritability, ‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

With excitement mounting in her breast as the days passed, she was many times on the verge of spilling her plans to everyone. But Mother’s attitude to anything happening outside this closed family warned her that it would make far too awkward a situation to cope with at this present time. Best it remained her secret just a little while longer.

She had taken to slipping down to Simon’s shop for an hour while her mother had her afternoon nap. An hour was hardly long enough to get much done and it did feel underhanded but, knowing her mother’s temperament, she knew that her news would have to be broken gently, though how and when?

Even now she could visualize her mother’s eyes filled with shock, her fingers to her lips in horror, could almost hear the words pouring out: ‘Julia, my dear child, think! What would your poor father say if he knew what you are doing? What do you know of this man? Nothing. You must put a stop to it before it’s too late.’

But it was already too late. She now trusted Simon. Her problem soon would be getting the bolts of material down two flights of stairs and into his shop, though no doubt everyone would be glad to see it go.

On Sunday, having first washed up the breakfast things, Julia went again to help Simon remove the last of his dusty display from the window before setting to work to clean the glass thoroughly. Having only Sundays free to work, it was taking longer than expected. But at least her mother had James and her two sisters there to distract her.

As she came back upstairs to help start dinner, her mother smiled contentedly at her but Stephanie’s frowned.

‘What’ve you been doing out there all morning?’

‘Enjoying a bit of fresh air,’ Julia lied easily. Time enough for them to know the truth once she began dragging that material downstairs. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t gone out too for an airing, being indoors working all week,’ she added and saw her sister pout.

Stephanie had been in the bedroom most of the morning, no doubt reading her favourite fashion magazines and once again leaving Virginia to help her mother. James too was still in his room, probably also on his bed reading or gazing out of the window at the blue August sky, doing nothing in particular. But that was expected of most boys. Evening was his time, going out to enjoy himself with the new friends he’d made recently, to the pictures or to a dance, probably keen to meet a nice girl to take out. As a junior in a bank he now had a little money of his own in his pocket after handing over his portion of the