Coming Home to the Four Streets by Nadine Dorries (books that read to you .txt) 📗

Now, as Mary removed her coat, she glanced up at the clock. She had been at Malcolm’s since six for early breakfast for the crew who were leaving on the morning bore at ten past eight so she had been up since half past five and felt tired and in need of her bed. But looking around the mess in the kitchen she knew it could not be left, so she rolled up her sleeves and, turning on the tap, filled the kettle ready to wash yet another bowl of greasy dishes.

Chapter Ten

Peggy had been given short shrift at the rent office as she handed over her rent book to Mr Keeble there. It had been given back to her just as quickly, a gesture which came as something of a surprise to her.

‘Mrs Nolan, you have given me the book, but there is no money in it,’ said Mr Keeble.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Peggy, looking behind her to see if anyone had followed her in. ‘I wondered if we could have a bit of time, like. You see, it’s just that my husband, he has a bad back and he’s under Dr Cole at the minute.’

The rent man raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Knowing the size of your husband, that must be very uncomfortable for Dr Cole. Now Mrs Nolan, you know as well as I do, all arrears have to be dealt with by Mr Heartfelt. I have no authority in this area, I’m here to take the money, record and bank it, that’s all.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Peggy had stammered; she would try anything to avoid a meeting with Mr Heartfelt, who might be so in name, but was certainly nothing like it by nature. Peggy’s voice dropped. ‘Mr Keeble, is there a way it would be possible just to wait for that for just a week? You see, I’ve sent a letter to a friend for help and I know she will reply just as soon as she can. My husband, he’s waiting for an appointment at the hospital to come through, but you know what the post is like, it’s shocking, and he can’t go back to work until he’s been seen by a specialist. Dr Cole said it’s the worst case of a bad back he’s ever seen in all his years as a doctor and if he did go down to the docks, it would kill him stone dead…’

Her words trailed away as Mr Keeble, who appeared to be a man for whom no excuse would hold the remotest element of surprise, gave her the courtesy of his ear, but not his attention as he opened a letter and began to read it. Peggy sensed she was not being listened to and rambled on to an uncomfortable stop. Mr Keeble peered at her over the top of the letter.

‘Finished?’ he asked. Peggy nodded, she was speechless, a rare event in itself. ‘Good, well, I am afraid I have to inform you, yet again, that I cannot deal with this here. You are into your fourth week of arrears and, as you know, Mrs Nolan, from our encounters in the past, that is not good news. I can accept payment, but not excuses. You must see Mr Heartfelt yourself. You won’t be needing directions, will you, as you’ve been there plenty of times before. I’m surprised you aren’t on his Christmas card list, you must be that well acquainted. He is there this morning and I will telephone him and tell him you are on your way.’

He glanced back down at the letter in his hand and then, looking back up at her under his cap and over the top of his glasses, asked, ‘I don’t suppose you know why it is Mrs Doherty keeps paying the rent on the house next door to you, do you?’

Peggy’s mouth opened and closed. She shook her head. She had no idea. She was desperately confused. ‘The policeman, he’s moving in, his wife said so.’

‘Yes, that’s right, and we need the rent book back from the Dohertys, so if you hear anything from them, tell her to get a move on, would you?’

Peggy shook her head; he was confusing her further and she didn’t want to see Mr Heartfelt. She was searching for something to say, words that would stop the clocks, allow her to think, to find a way out of the mess they were in. Everyone avoided a visit to Mr Heartfelt. His nature was in itself a deterrent to arrears and his own brother-in-law was the bailiff and known for his unpleasant ways. Maybe she should swallow her pride and throw herself on Jerry’s mercy.

‘I have to go right now, do I?’ she said.

‘You do indeed, Mrs Nolan. You will have received the letter, I’m sure. Mr Heartfelt is meticulous about such things; we often comment on how strange it is that all the medical mysteries of the world appear to have colonised around the Liverpool dockside streets. And we have the worst of everything any doctor has ever seen, did you know that? It’s a wonder the streets aren’t like a ghost town and that anyone can get out of bed.’ He began to laugh at his own joke, but the sight of Peggy, her forlorn expression, the tears he saw spring to her eyes, her obvious innocence and her lack of gumption lay on his heart like a hand on a fresh bruise. He leant across the counter and, taking out his cigarette packet, shuffled out two cigarettes and passed one to Peggy.

‘Look, Mrs Nolan, at least with Mr Heartfelt you have the chance to put your case. This is the first time you’ve been to see him without Mrs Doherty, isn’t it?’

Peggy took the cigarette and, leaning over the counter, accepted the light from the match he struck. She drew on it hard before she blew the smoke out to the side. ‘She did; she was better than me at