Coming Home to the Four Streets by Nadine Dorries (best books to read for success .txt) 📕

a hint of reproach, as she placed his hands within easy reach of the unknown. He could feel the heat of her, scorching his fingertips, coaxing them into life.

‘Marry me,’ she’d whispered in his ear, ‘marry me,’ and, as she pushed herself harder against him, as his fingers slipped inside her, he knew he was beaten. He was seventeen, had never even fully kissed a girl. She had hurled him rather than pushed him over the edge. He plummeted down into a world beyond reason and he suddenly wanted more. It was too late for Eric whose passions had got the better of him. It was time for Gladys to be the startled one as he had grasped her hand and pressed it into him. He moved up and down against her, pushing his own hand deeper and deeper with the same rhythm as his loins against her hand, and now he was the one who didn’t want to stop and, as the blissful relief came, he shouted out, far louder than he had meant to, ‘Marry me, Gladys!’ Aware only of the blood pounding in his ears and his shortness of breath, he said again, ‘Marry me,’ only slightly quieter this time.

‘I’ll have to, Eric,’ she had replied, with no hint of emotion, ‘I’ve got no choice. I’m not a virgin now, you’ve ruined me for anyone else, you have…’ She’d removed his hand with rather less grace than she had placed it there and, with the briskness he was more used to, brushed her skirt down and back into place. ‘Meet me at the town hall tomorrow at half past twelve and bring your call-up papers with you. We’ll both go in our breaks and then we can be married on special licence.’ And just before she turned in through the gate she said, ‘We’ll move into the dairy with your da after; I’ll pack tonight.’ In a flash she was gone and Eric stood scratching his head and wondering what on earth had just happened.

*

When Eric finally returned from the front, Maggie was a widow and even more beautiful than she had been all those years ago. Gladys, never a good-looking woman, had travelled in an entirely opposite direction. Her lips had become as thin and as mean as her nature. Objecting to sex was something she became accomplished at once the first few years were over and no baby arrived. The message was given loud and clear: ‘Get your hands off, enough of that messing about,’ and he had long since given up trying.

Nothing he ever did made Gladys happy. Some men managed it with their wives, but not he. If only that night in the entry long ago had never happened. He would have returned home a single man, the Widow Trott would have been available and, who knows, he might have stood a chance of happiness.

‘She landed on her feet that one,’ Gladys had once said to him referring to Maggie. ‘Married, widowed and she only goes and inherits from his mam and dad and she got the widow’s pension. Won’t ever have to work, can afford her rent without lifting a finger. No wonder she hasn’t remarried. She doesn’t need to. Didn’t get herself lumped for life like I did.’

Those words rang in Eric’s ears day and night. Gladys would rather he had not returned from the war, would have preferred a widow’s pension. And when he and Daisy Bell were making their way home to the dairy along the Dock Road one mid-morning, he suddenly heard those words as clear as the mare’s shoes beating out her rhythm on the cobbled road, she wanted you dead, she wanted you dead, she wanted you dead.

It was that day, those words, that made him realise for the very first time there was nothing worth fighting for…

Chapter Seventeen

Mary was lost for words as she stared in the mirror; she had chosen the boldest cut and an urchin stared back at her. Her eyes were wide, her cheekbones high and she was all but unrecognisable.

‘I love that!’ Mary finally said as she touched her hair. ‘My da will too. I’m not sure what Ma is going to say – but it doesn’t really matter as long as Jimmy notices me, that’s all I want.’

Cindy grinned. She was more than happy with her work and it had transformed Mary. ‘Leave your mam to me, Mary. Jimmy… now that’s a bit more difficult. You do look irresistible. But Alice is right – don’t you go chasing him, don’t ever do that. And she is right on the other thing, Mary; this time next year when you’re sat in this chair having a trim and I say to you, “Remember that crush you had on Jimmy O’Prey?” Do you know what you will say to me?’ Mary shook her head, her newly revealed eyes open wide. ‘You’ll say to me, “That soft lad? I don’t think so!”’

Mary shook her head, but she couldn’t resist laughing, not something she often did. Alice and Cindy were wrong and she would show them; she loved Jimmy O’Prey and she knew, once he saw her again, it would be just as it had been before he went down.

Cindy was brushing up and Mary said, ‘Here’s my money.’ She held out the note and a few coins. Cindy waved her hand away.

‘No, I’m not going to take it, Mary. You go and spend it on some make-up in town. If Alice is going to give you some nice clothes, well, it goes to say, doesn’t it, you need a bit of tutty, too.’

Mary stepped forward and took the brush from Cindy’s hand. ‘Then let me,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I’m used to clearing up.’

Cindy allowed her to take the brush. ‘Go on, then, I won’t refuse a bit of help, and I’ll finish the sinks.’ As she was doing so, she looked at Mary – and an idea lit a light bulb