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

had as boys. They gripped the chrome bar and watched as the tall and forbidding wall of the prison receded into the distance. Jimmy grabbed the pole with both hands and leant backwards out into the fresh air as Callum grabbed his cap and saved it before it fell into the road.

‘Feck, it’s bloody fantastic to be free and out of that shitehole of a place,’ Jimmy shouted up to the sky.

The conductor approached them with his ticket machine banging on one thigh, the saddlebag for collecting the money on the other. ‘Language, please. We have ladies travelling on the lower deck.’

‘Dock Road, please,’ said Callum, taking a ten-shilling note out of his pocket. The conductor took it and, lifting his money bag up from the bottom, shook the change until the coins he wanted shuffled up to the top. ‘Ah, there you are, the half-crowns always slip to the bottom. You’re the big fella today, then,’ said the conductor, ‘flashing the brown one.’ He smiled and handed Callum the change, as Callum slipped the tickets into his pocket. ‘Don’t lose those,’ the conductor said. ‘The inspector gets on in two stops, and you,’ he pointed towards Jimmy, ‘swear on my bus again and you’re off.’

As the conductor walked away, Jimmy scowled and whispered under his breath, ‘Cheeky fecking bastard.’

Callum glared at him. ‘Jimmy, stop, he means it. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way home if he throws you off.’

Jimmy grinned. ‘No I won’t,’ he said and, opening his hand, flicked out a one-pound note.

Callum’s eyes opened wide. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.

Jimmy laughed. ‘It was sticking out of your man’s pocket and I lifted it.’

Callum was speechless, his heart pounding as he looked down the bus to see if had anyone noticed Jimmy holding the note. Jimmy grinned from ear to ear.

‘You’re home,’ Callum said as he stared out at the shops and warehouses they passed until they came towards the houses. He just wanted to alight from the bus as fast as was possible. He willed every inch of the journey to go faster so that he could dismount in one long stride. He held his hand up to Eric who was travelling in the opposite direction on his round and waved at him as he passed. He saw Ena walking out of the butcher’s and making her way towards Cindy’s, where she called in most days for a natter, and then he saw Mary, cleaning the windows in the Seaman’s Stop. She stopped and stood still, staring at them. Callum gave her a half-smile, half-raised his hand, but she didn’t acknowledge him because it wasn’t Callum she was looking at. The bell rang out.

‘The four streets,’ shouted the conductor and Callum was off the platform, long before the bus had stopped. As he strode out ahead, hands in pockets, leaning forwards, Jimmy caught up with him.

‘Callum, what’s up with you? I’ll spend the pound on fish and chips for all of us tonight. Straighten your face, will you, or Mam will want to know what’s up wit’ you; I don’t want to tell her I robbed a quid before I got home, do I?’

Callum didn’t answer; he wanted to say that he would choke on fish and chips paid for with money that would get the conductor into trouble when he returned to the depot. His anger simmered as he walked and he felt the need to run as far away from Jimmy as possible. The sight of Mary, her crestfallen expression, her lack of a wave back added insult to injury. He spat out the question he had to ask his brother. The question that had leapt to the front of his mind the moment Jimmy walked out of the prison gates.

‘Have you written to Mary while you’ve been inside? Are you going to be seeing her, let her know you’re out and home?’

Jimmy had had to run to keep up with Callum. He was slightly breathless as he answered his brother. ‘Mary? Mary who?’

Chapter Eleven

‘Er, hello, I’m Mrs Nolan, Mr Keeble was calling down for me,’ Peggy said with a tremor in her voice to the rather prim-looking lady seated behind the tall oak counter, with a typewriter in front of her and a pile of brown envelopes on one side. Peggy recognised the envelopes; one was nesting comfortably in her cardigan pocket. ‘I’m looking for Mr Heartfelt, please.’ She had been through this process, met this woman before, but always with Maura doing the talking. Then, Peggy had felt no fear. Today was very different. She swallowed down the acid that was burning the back of her throat, thanks to adrenaline and a lack of food. She felt a shiver run through her aching bones and placed a hand on her belly, used its heat to still the now-persistent ache in her abdomen, which seemed to travel all the way around from her back in a belt of dull pain.

The lady behind the desk appeared not to have heard her the first time, so Peggy tried again. ‘Hello,’ she said, a little louder this time, ‘I’m looking for Mr Heartfelt.’

The woman ceased typing and peered at Peggy over her spectacles. ‘Are you now? I’d never have guessed.’

The sarcasm was lost on Peggy, but she realised that the woman knew very well why she was there. The rent man, Mr Keeble, must have kept his word and telephoned ahead and so at least she was expected, that was something, she thought. It took every ounce of strength to stop herself from visibly shaking, her tears from falling, weak with gratitude for a kind gesture from someone who was almost a stranger and didn’t even live on the four streets.

The woman pushed her wooden swivel chair back, stood, and then opened a large black ledger on the desk. ‘What is your name please and the purpose of your visit?’

Peggy knew the woman knew why she was there, so why