Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (best reads of all time .TXT) 📗

‘Never mind, love. I bet there’s something in the junk shop.’

I made a noise I hoped sounded like a sob as we reached the door.

‘One moment.’ The old man walked towards us; the ring nestled on the palm of his right hand as if to display it in its best light.

‘Twenty-two shillings and eleven pence,’ he said. Shopkeepers have always loved to price things one penny short of a shilling. I suppose it was to make an item look somewhat cheaper than it actually was.

‘I gave you my final offer,’ said Frank. ‘We’ve only got enough left to pay the registrar, and if we don’t hurry, he’ll have gone home. We got the last appointment of the day.’ He looked at me and winked. ‘As you said, we’re pretty desperate to get it done.’

‘All right, all right. Twenty-one shillings, but I’m robbing myself,’ said the jeweller.

I turned my back on him, so he couldn’t see the folded money in my purse, and produced two ten-shilling notes and a single silver shilling. He gave us a hand-written receipt, and Frank slipped the ring into his pocket.

‘Hurry now, My Sweetness,’ he said. ‘The registrar is waiting.’

Frank had no idea where the registry office was, but he asked a local passer-by, who gave him the name of a street that he had no idea how to find.

‘Why do we need the registry, Frank?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘We’re not getting married.’

‘I know that,’ Frank replied. He grinned at me and took hold of my hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I know where we’ll go. We passed it earlier on.’

‘Where are we going?’ I asked as he pulled me along the street back towards the Marine Parade.

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ he replied, still wearing that stupid grin of his.

When we were outside the door of a Catholic church called The Saint Henry and Saint Elizabeth, he suddenly produced the ring from his pocket and got down on one knee.

‘Will you bloody well marry me, Alice?’ he said with a chuckle in his throat.

‘No, I bloody well won’t,’ I replied.

He got back to his feet and slipped the ring onto my finger again.

‘I now pronounce us man and wife,’ he said.

We got back to The Railway at about five o’clock, walked past the all-seeing eyes of Irene, and climbed the stairs to our room. I immediately threw off my coat, kicked my shoes across the threadbare carpet, and sat on the end of the bed massaging my swollen feet.

I looked at the foreign object on the finger of my left hand and laughed. I can guarantee no other girl has ever had a wedding ceremony quite like that one.

Frank picked up the battered enamel bowl and carried it out of the room. When he came back five minutes later, he placed the now full, steaming basin at my feet.

‘There’s an Ascot boiler in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘No bath, sadly.’

I eased my aching, swollen feet into the piping hot water and sighed with contentment. Frank could be a really thoughtful man at times.

Chapter 44

April 1938

At six-thirty, Frank disappeared downstairs again. Twenty minutes later, he came back with a large plate of freshly made sandwiches.

‘They only had fish paste or potted meat, so I got some of each.’ He placed them on the round, oak table and returned to the door. ‘I’ve got us a pot of tea too.’

He reappeared a couple of minutes later carrying a tray laden with tea, sugar and milk.

I picked up the milk jug and looked at the watery, white liquid. ‘Not a patch on our creamy, farm milk.’

Frank agreed through a mouthful of fish paste sandwich. ‘These are all right though. The bread is fresh.’

‘How did you persuade the Lady of the Manor to provide this lot?’ I asked.

‘I mentioned money to her,’ Frank replied. ‘One and ninepence for this lot. Robert made it anyway, she’s glued to her seat at the till.’

Although we had eaten fish and chips earlier, I tucked into the sandwiches like I hadn’t eaten for weeks. I wished we had sea air at the farm, maybe I’d be able to eat properly then. The odd thing was, I hadn’t felt the slightest bit sick since we left home. Maybe it was the smell from the piggery?

After tea, Frank suggested that we go down for a few Saturday night drinks. He’d missed his Friday night session with the lads at The Old Bull, choosing to sit up late with me in front of the stove.

Friday night was bath night for me and I used to boil the copper and fill the bath whilst he was at the pub. This week he had to sit in his room as I bathed. When I had dried myself off and dressed I tapped on the parlour door and asked if he wanted to use my bath water.

I went into the front room and sat with my father for twenty minutes as Frank bathed. When I heard him shout, I went back through to the kitchen to find him standing stark naked on the mat, rubbing his backside.

He turned around as he heard me enter, then cupped his hands over his private parts.

‘Sorry,’ I said, turning my head away. ‘I heard you shout and thought you’d done.’

‘I burnt my arse on the stove as I stood up,’ he moaned. ‘You’d have shouted too.’

I did my best not to laugh but it came out anyway. A few seconds later, Frank joined in.

I went back into the front room, my head still full of the vision of the naked man in my kitchen. Strangely, his manhood didn’t look anywhere near the size it felt in the field on the night of my birthday. I knew all about erections, Amy and I had discussed them since we were young teens.

I put the disparity down to my drunken state and it being my first sexual encounter, but having witnessed his naked form for the