A Daughter’s Disgrace

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HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2015

This ebook edition 2015

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2015

Cover design © Debbie Clement 2015

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007587933

Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780007587926

Version: 2017-10-11

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Battersea, 1957

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Mum, I’ve got something to tell you. Neville has asked me to marry him.’ Hazel stood in the doorway, ready for an argument.

Cora Butler wasn’t surprised at the news. Her middle daughter had been courting Neville Parrot for a year, but as she didn’t think he’d make much of a husband, she said, ‘I hope you didn’t say yes. You’ll never be rich if you marry him.’

‘Money isn’t everything.’

‘It is when you’ve hardly got two pennies to rub together,’ Cora snapped. She knew what it was to struggle and wanted better for her daughter. After losing her husband during the war Cora had been left to raise three girls on her own. It had been so hard. She’d had to do anything to earn a few bob to feed them, and along with cleaning she’d taken in washing and ironing. Her back was permanently damaged from bending over the bath for hours on end, rubbing at the soaking laundry, and her knuckles were scarred from using a scrubbing board. Even though the war had ended twelve years ago she still felt the effects of it every day.

‘I don’t care about money,’ Hazel protested. ‘I love Neville and I’m going to marry him.’

Cora’s lips tightened and, gathering her thoughts, she walked across her tiny front room to the window. The room was as immaculate as she could get it, seeing as there were three of them living there, but nothing in it was new or close to it. She flicked back the lace curtain to gaze out onto another cold, miserable January day in Ennis Street. All the houses were the same, basically two-up, two-down, narrow, terraced, flat-fronted, and bleak. As bleak as her mood. She had hoped that her daughter would find a way out of this ugly working-class area, but Neville offered little chance of that. The streets were so close together she could hardly see the sky when she looked up. The houses opposite were a bit bigger because of the way the road curved but they were still nothing to shout about.

With a sigh Cora dropped the curtain and turned to her daughter again. Of her three girls, Hazel was the prettiest, with auburn hair that fell in natural curls to her shoulders. Her femininity was marred only by her big-boned build, making her look formidable, but with green eyes, a pert nose and full lips, she nevertheless turned men’s heads. Hazel could have taken her pick, but instead she’d fallen for Neville Parrot. His family lived in one of the houses opposite them, and they had moved in eighteen months ago when his father got a job on the railway. They seemed nice enough and Neville was a good-looking lad, but he probably earned a pittance in the local paint factory. ‘You’ve fallen for his looks, but looks ain’t everything. As I said, you’ll never be rich if you marry him.’

‘We’ll both be working, so we’ll be fine. I’m going to carry on at the café.’

‘Yeah, until kids come along,’ Cora commented. ‘You’ll feel the pinch then.’

‘Mum, stop going on about it. Can’t you just be happy for me?’

Cora saw that Hazel’s eyes were flooding with tears, something she rarely saw from her tough daughter, and though Cora was hardened from the life she’d had to live, she nevertheless felt a twinge of guilt. Hazel’s eyes had been bright with happiness when she’d announced that Neville had asked her to marry him, but now they were pools of pain. ‘Yeah, all right. I’m sorry, love. I just wanted better for you, but if you’re happy, then I’m happy,’ she said, and then, trying to lighten the mood, added, ‘Mind you, it’s just as well I didn’t name you Polly.’

‘Why’s that?’ Hazel asked.

‘Think about it. You’d be Mrs Polly Parrot,’ Cora said and chuckled.

Hazel laughed, happy again now, but as pain shot across Cora’s back, she hurried to sit by the fire once more where she could warm it a little, taking the chance to hold out her aching hands to the flames whilst she was there.

Alison Butler, Cora’s youngest daughter, scurried along Ennis Street, her shoulders hunched as though expecting an attack at any moment. It wouldn’t be physical – it rarely was, although she got the occasional shove or push from behind – but it would be verbal and hurtful. Hardly a day went by when something along those lines failed to happen. Her fears came to fruition as two boys of about eleven darted up in front of her.

‘Watcha, horse face,’ mocked Jimmy Small.

‘My dad said she’s got a face that could win the Epsom Derby,’ Ian Young said.

‘Yeah, that’s a good one,’ laughed Jimmy.

‘Come on. Gee up, horsey,’ Ian urged. ‘Let’s see how fast you can gallop.’

Alison kept her head down, hiding her pain. She had suffered name-calling all her young life, at school, on the streets, and it never seemed to stop. She knew only too well that her looks weren’t anything to write home about – growing up with such pretty sisters had made that only too clear – but she could never understand why so many people were so keen to point it out, with thoughtless cruelty. She picked up her pace and reaching her front door she dashed inside before closing it quickly behind her. Only then did she give vent to her feelings and was unable to hold back a sob of distress.

As the door opened directly into the front room, she could see that her mother was sitting on one side of the fireplace, her sister on the other. Both stared at her. It was her mother who spoke, though her tone was uncaring. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t tell me. I can guess. Someone’s been calling you names again?’

Alison nodded, finding that her throat was too constricted to speak.

‘With a face like that, it ain’t gonna stop and you should be used to it by now,’ Hazel said scathingly.

Alison knew that Hazel was right. It was what her sister had told her for as long as she could remember. She should be used to it and did her best to ignore the name-calling, but today, with cramping pains in her tummy signalling her time of the month, the two boys had got to her. But she wasn’t about to tell Hazel. She knew better than to expect any sympathy from that direction.

‘Anyway, wait till you hear my news,’ Hazel went on. ‘This’ll stop you looking so miserable. You’ll never guess.’ She looked expectantly at her younger sister.

Alison shook her head, still unable to speak.

‘Neville’s only asked me to marry him!’ Hazel exclaimed. ‘And of course I said yes. What do you make of that? Aren’t you pleased for me?’

‘That’s … that’s … lovely,’ Alison stuttered. She wasn’t surprised. Hazel had been going on and on about Neville ever since they’d started going out together and never missed a chance to remind her younger sister that she stood no chance of getting herself such a good-looking boyfriend – or any boyfriend at all. Alison secretly longed for a boyfriend of her own but as she was too shy to have real friends of any kind she didn’t see much hope for the future. Hazel had no false modesty about her own good looks and never failed to point out that Alison had drawn the short straw in that department. True to form she made the most of the moment now.

‘You might at least try to look happy for me,’ she said. ‘It isn’t as if you’re going to be getting married any time soon yourself. Look at you – who’d have you? Long streak of misery that you are. Well, you can buck your ideas up and help me when I need you. There’s going to be loads of preparations to sort out for my big day.’ She beamed in delight. ‘We’re going to have a do that everyone’ll remember for years to come.’

‘Now hang on a minute.’ Cora sat up straight, ignoring the painful twinge in her back. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ve only just got engaged. Plenty of time to talk about what sort of wedding you’ll be having. You don’t need no big do. Just think what that’ll cost. You won’t want to be wasting money when you’re starting out. Setting up a home sets you back a fair bit, I can tell you.’ Privately she was already dreading Hazel moving out and losing the wages she brought to the household. Every precious penny counted.

‘Don’t be like that, Mum.’

Hazel could always win her mother round in a way that Alison never managed. Somehow she always knew what to say to get her own way – it was second nature to her, and Alison couldn’t work out how she did it. Once Hazel made up her mind about something there was usually no stopping her.

‘You wouldn’t want me to skimp on my wedding, would you? You want to be proud of me, don’t you? You want me to be happy? And we’re both working so we’ll save towards it, starting today.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Everyone will have to muck in to help as much as they can. No excuses, Alison, you’re doing this for me and I don’t want no lip from you.’

Blimey, thought Alison, that was rich coming from her bully of a sister. She had never dared give her any lip. She didn’t give anyone lip, it wasn’t in her nature. Hazel stood up. Although she was tall, she was still a good way shorter than her younger sister, who always tried to hide her embarrassing height by rounding her shoulders and looking down. Hazel did the exact opposite, standing straight and proud and flaunting her assets for all they were worth. ‘I’ve got to get ready. Me and Neville are going out to celebrate. Don’t wait up.’ She ran up the narrow staircase that led off the front room, with just a curtain to hide it from the living area. The stairs led to a tiny landing, with doors to two small bedrooms, one for Hazel and one for Cora. A third door opened into a box room which Alison used as a bedroom, in which there was scarcely room enough for her to lie down.

‘Looks like it’ll be just you and me stuck here together, then,’ said Cora. The idea depressed her. Try as she might she just could not bring herself to love her youngest daughter. The very sight of the girl reminded her of all the trouble she’d been through, the hell of losing her husband in the war and then the nightmare when she found he’d left her pregnant after what turned out to be his final leave. Her other two daughters had been old enough to go to school and she’d have been able to get a decent job to keep them all if it hadn’t been for the unwanted arrival of this last girl, who’d been nothing but a disappointment and a burden from the word go. She’d been a sickly baby and couldn’t be left alone for a minute. She’d been the wrong shape for hand-me-downs from her sisters almost from the start – where did she get that stupid height from? Looking at her daughter now, Cora sighed. She’d loved her husband but struggled to find a trace of him in Alison. The girl had ugly buck teeth, a long face, and plain mousy hair that hung in rats’ tails. There was no sign of her father’s looks, still less of his good humour and high spirits. Back in the days when they’d been courting, Cora had been swept off her feet by Jack Butler’s charm and determination to make the best of things no matter what, and she’d responded in kind. It was only what had happened after he’d been killed in action that had turned her bitter and exhausted. Deep down she knew it was unreasonable but she couldn’t help blaming Alison for all of it. Groaning at the pain in her back and the arthritis in her hands, she pushed herself to her feet.

‘Right, I reckon I’d better write to our Linda to let her know the news. Don’t suppose she’ll be visiting to hear it for herself seeing as she was only here last week. We’ll just have to hope I catch the last post.’

‘Maybe she’ll come again when she hears,’ Alison said, her eyes lighting up. She loved her eldest sister, who’d always stood up for her against her mother’s indifference and Hazel’s constant bullying. ‘We can’t expect her to make the journey all the time. Not when she’s so far away down in Kent and she’s got little June to look after.’

Cora’s expression softened. Her three-year-old granddaughter was the apple of her eye and could do no wrong. Linda had done well for herself, marrying truck driver Terry Owens and moving from the crowded terraces of Battersea out to the wide spaces of Kent, but the icing on the cake was the arrival of June. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect the little girl.

‘Well, maybe Hazel’s latest will bring them back here sooner than usual,’ Cora said. ‘Right, enough of you standing around doing nothing. Go and take those filthy factory overalls off and then get yourself in the kitchen to help with the dinner. Those spuds won’t peel themselves and my poor hands won’t stand it, so it’s all down to you.’

Chapter Two

The factory wasn’t far away but Alison always arrived tired and out of breath from scurrying along the street trying not to be noticed. It never worked. The following week, on Friday morning, two of the paperboys from the local newsagent-cum-corner shop had been the ones to torment her. The fact that her mother worked in the same shop didn’t deter them.

Now she made her way to the small canteen to grab a warming cup of tea before starting her shift. It was freezing outside and her own house was little better, as Cora always said there was no point in lighting the fire if nobody was going to be home. ‘Look who’s here,’ called Ron Small as she approached. She forced herself not to turn and run away. Ron was the father of young Jimmy Small and had an even crueller way with words than his son. ‘Watch your milk, folks. One look from her’ll curdle it.’ He laughed at his own joke, though some of the women standing around the tea urn glanced at him sharply. ‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen.’ He gave a heartless chuckle and moved off.

‘Don’t you pay him no mind,’ said Betty Shawcross, handing Alison a cup. ‘Not exactly God’s gift himself, is he?’ She buttoned her overall. ‘Empty vessels and all that. Nobody takes him seriously and neither should you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Alison nervously. Even though many of the women she worked with were kind to her, she couldn’t help feeling that this might change at any moment, although she’d been working with them for several months. She just wasn’t used to it. The only person who’d ever been nice to her was her big sister Linda, and these women hardly even knew her. She found it hard to know what to say to them, as she’d always felt safer staying in her shell. She sometimes wondered if she should try to make friends with them but as she’d never really had any she wasn’t sure how to start.

‘Come on, we’ve been called to a meeting outside the foreman’s office,’ said Marjory Weekes. ‘All of our section is to report there in five minutes. So give me a cuppa sharpish. If this is about laying people off then I’m going to get one last drop of tea out of them.’ She pulled off her bright headscarf and dug in her pockets for her factory regulation cap.

‘Don’t say that, you’ll frighten the girl,’ said Betty protectively, noticing how alarmed Alison looked, and hoping Marjory was talking her usual nonsense. None of them could afford to lose their job. They weren’t that well-paid but it was regular work, nine to five. It was typical Marjory, speaking before she thought.

Alison shuddered. She dreaded what her mother would say if she came home without work. The best day of the week was when she brought back her wages and handed them over to Cora, who was always so pleased to see the money that she’d almost be pleasant to her youngest daughter. It was the only thing that didn’t make her feel completely worthless, and she knew how much her mother relied on her contribution.

There was a commotion at the door as a young woman rushed in. Vera Jewell was cutting it fine as usual, shaking out her shiny curls and unbuttoning her fashionable mac in one fast and fluid movement. She caught Alison’s eye and grinned. They were almost the same age and Alison had managed a few conversations with her without being rebuffed, which was a welcome novelty. She wondered if she might be able to make a proper friend of her if she could only hold her nerve.

Vera joined the group of women as they made their way along to the meeting. Alison was trying to look on the bright side. Maybe it was a new rule they all had to know about, or a change to the machinery. She hoped it wasn’t going to be something difficult. Learning something new always made her extra clumsy. Once she got the hang of something she was fine but the thought of everyone looking at her for the first few goes made her nervous, then her hands would shake and she’d make a mess of it.

‘Morning, ladies,’ said the foreman, even more careworn than usual. ‘I won’t keep you waiting. Some of you will have heard the rumours going round that we’ve lost the Pagett’s contract. I’d love to be able to tell you it’s a load of tosh but sad to say, it’s true.’ There was a gasp at this. Clearly it was news to most of them. ‘Right,’ he went on briskly, obviously keen to get it over with. Sweat was beginning to appear on his balding head. ‘You’re not daft. You’ll have worked out what that means – we can’t keep all of you on without those orders coming in. So it’s last in, first out.’ He glanced at a piece of paper he’d been holding. ‘Mrs Tullis, Miss Jewell, Miss Butler. That’s you. Come into my office, please. The rest of you – back to work.’ He turned and opened his office door.

Vera turned and pulled a face but Alison shut her eyes in horror. This couldn’t be happening. What was she going to do now? It was all she could do not to cry out in despair.

‘You all right, love?’ asked Betty, briefly touching her arm in the kindly way she had with everybody. ‘You’ve gone all pale. Don’t take on. You’ll be fine, a hard worker like you, young, fit and healthy. You’ll have no problem getting something else. An’ anyway, you’ll be better off away from the likes of that Ron Small.’

Alison made an effort to pull herself together and nodded grimly. But a little voice inside her head told her it wasn’t going to be quite as simple as that.

‘I might’ve flamin’ well known it was too good to last,’ snapped Cora as she came through the door. ‘Useless lump like you. What was it you did to get the sack? Knock something over, clumsy great thing that you are?’ Cora hadn’t had to wait until she got home to hear the news. One of the blessings of working in the newsagent’s was she managed to pick up all the gossip as soon as it started, and Vera Jewell’s mother had been straight in there the moment she learnt her own daughter was out of a job. Winnie Jewell had been incensed on Vera’s behalf, wanting to make an official complaint, claiming the foreman had been unfair and that her daughter was an innocent victim who deserved to be taken back. But Cora wasn’t having any of it. Secretly she was surprised Alison had lasted as long as she did. She was also sure that Vera Jewell, whose lipstick was always bright scarlet, couldn’t be described as innocent in any way.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Alison protested, going to put the kettle on in the vain hope a cup of tea would keep her mother quiet. ‘It was last in first out. Betty Shawcross said I was a hard worker. I’ll get a good reference. I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Well, you needn’t think you can sit around here on your arse all day,’ Cora warned her. ‘You’ve got to earn your keep and more besides. I’ll need your wages more than ever if that sister of yours insists on marrying that good-looking layabout across the road. She says she’s in love! What’s that got to do with anythin’?’ she snorted in derision as her youngest passed her a cup.

Alison raised her eyes to the ceiling but said nothing. Even if she did get another job, and that would be a miracle, she’d have to shell out towards Hazel’s wedding. As if her cruel sister deserved any help towards her perfect big day.