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

was she asking, unless it was to shame her? She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Mr Keeble sent me, I’ve to see Mr Heartfelt, didn’t he tell you? About the arrears.’ She almost whispered the last three words but when the door behind her opened and in walked Frank the Skank, it was clear he had heard her.

Peggy’s heart stopped, the jugular vein in her neck throbbed. Two young women walked in behind him, so smartly dressed they must have come down from the shipping offices. They were very definitely not from the Dock Road. Peggy moved closer to the dark oak counter, her fingers clutching the edge for balance, and lowered her voice even further.

‘He wrote to me, I have the letter, here.’ She retrieved the envelope from her pocket and pushed it across the counter. ‘I’ve come to see him about the rent.’

The woman didn’t lift her eyes from the ledger. ‘Name?’ she asked, her fingers poised over the columns in front of her, ignoring the letter Peggy held out.

‘Peggy Nolan,’ said Peggy. She wasn’t used to such hostility and was very sure Mr Keeble would have mentioned her by name. All the women in Peggy’s life were friendly, Kathleen, the friendliest of all now that Maura had left. Maybe she should have confided in Kathleen, asked her to come with her. She would have done a better job of explaining things. The women on the four streets supported each other, they had their moments but they were used to a crisis, knew that each day work was provided, each week a pay packet arrived, did so by the grace of God. That, at any time, illness or accident could wipe away their security in a heartbeat, and when this happened, everyone gathered round.

They had all done it so often for Peggy but she had never had the means to give help in return. No one knocked on Peggy’s door to borrow a scrape of dripping or a cup of sugar, they knew there was no point. The street would feed her children tonight if she asked for help, she never worried about that, but she would cling to her last shred of dignity, she would not tell anyone how far in arrears she was with the rent.

The woman, obviously irritated at having been interrupted in the middle of her work, said, ‘What is the reference number on your letter?’

Peggy looked confused. ‘Sorry? I don’t know what you mean.’ She glanced sideways. Frank the Skank was now openly watching her and his amusement was ill disguised.

The woman peered at Peggy for a very long second over the top of her winged spectacles. ‘Give the letter to me,’ she said and held out her hand. She picked up her handkerchief before she took it and wrapped it around her fingers. Peggy’s own hand shook as she passed the envelope across the counter and slipped it between the folds of white cotton. The woman flicked it open, gave the letter a cursory glance, then ran her finger down a column of numbers in the book. And to Peggy’s utter embarrassment and horror, announced at the top of her voice, ‘Ah yes, quite significant rent arrears, it would appear. Wait there, please, and I’ll call Mr Heartfelt down to see you.’

She let the letter flutter to the desk and then, peering distastefully at her handkerchief, dropped it to one side of her typewriter. Peggy blushed from her toes to her scalp and willed the floor to open up and swallow her.

Frank grinned viciously and, holding Peggy in his glare said, ‘I thought so.’

To their credit, the two young ladies appeared to be totally occupied with their own shoe leather, but Peggy was in no doubt that they had heard every word. Meanwhile the receptionist’s eyes never left Peggy, not even for a moment, as if she expected Peggy to lean over the counter and steal the discarded handkerchief. She picked up a large black telephone receiver and dialled a number. ‘A Mrs Nolan to see you in reception, Mr Heartfelt,’ she said. ‘It’s about her rent arrears.’

Peggy felt as though she was standing on a precipice and she knew she had to move away from the edge, because one breath away was darkness and a fear that made her heart race. The thoughts, you are alone, there is only you, ran through her mind and, taking a deep breath and holding onto the oak counter by her fingertips to steady herself, she managed to look upwards and fix her gaze on the large wall clock, and holding on, the ache in her belly throbbed.

Mr Heartfelt took twenty minutes to arrive and although there were two chairs in the reception area, Peggy was not invited to sit. Frank the Skank, though, was offered not only a chair but also a cup of tea. Once Frank had settled himself down, the only sound in the office was the clatter of his cup on the saucer, the angry clashing of the typewriter keys and the ting of the bell when the carriage reached the end before it was returned to the beginning again.

Mr Heartfelt arrived and looked around the reception area; his eyes alighted on Frank the Skank. ‘I’ll be half an hour, don’t go,’ he said to him.

Frank removed his helmet and said, ‘That’s fine by me. I’m being well looked after here.’

It occurred to Peggy, even in the midst of her panic, that there was something unusual about the familiarity between Mr Heartfelt and the police sergeant, who was acting as though he owned the reception area, and winking at the two young ladies who had discreetly shuffled as far into the corner as they could.

‘Are you ladies for the secretary’s job?’ asked Mr Heartfelt and both women nodded. ‘Good, I won’t be long with this.’

Peggy looked down at her slippers; water had soaked into the toes and the fronts were now a different colour to the backs. She remembered Maura’s