Shattered Dreams by Vivienne Dockerty Read Free Book Online Page B

She looked meaningfully at Isabel, who was expecting her third child.
    “I wanted to ask you if Eddie could move in here with you? He’s had a falling out with his father and wants to find some work locally. It will only be until his father says he’s sorry for the way he’s treated Eddie, but I thought he could have my old room, especially with Isabel and Robert moving soon.”
    “Well, I don’t know,” said Lily, pretending to consider the situation, but ready to jump at the chance of another strong muscled body. “It must have been a big row for your father to throw you out, Eddie.”
    “It wasn’t a big row, Mother. It was a misunderstanding, which I’m sure Mr Dockerty will apologise for when he’s thought it through.”
    “He didn’t throw me out, Mrs Wilson,”said Eddie quietly. “I walked out because he had made a promise, then didn’t keep it. A man’s word is his bond as far as I’m concerned.”
    “Very well, you can move in with us, but Irene you’ll stay put at your Aunty’s. I’m not having people thinking I’m running a bawdy house with all the comings and goings here.”
    “Shall I help Isabel with making afternoon tea then, Mother?” Irene felt so relieved she wanted to kiss her stony-faced mother, but knew that the physical contact wouldn’t be welcome. Mother kept everyone at arm’s length if she could.
    “Of course you can, Irene. Eddie can sit and keep your father company. Robert, two more of those trenches will do it, then I think I’ll set up my stall again on Monday.”
    Irene stood behind the clock and watch counter at the Co-op, looking with pleasure at the little ‘wigwag’ clocks she had been allowed to order. They were charming time pieces. Each clock face had it’s own character; a smiling clown, a marionette, a Cheshire cat or a leaping frog and underneath set in a small casing was a pendulum that merrily swung from side to side like a happy dog wagging its tail. The supervisor, an old man in his sixties, had told her that they wouldn’t sell, but had given in to pleas of ordering some to prove to Irene how wrong she was. But the box she had just opened was the third in three weeks to be delivered, they had been selling like hot cakes at one pound, six shillings and nine pence.
    It was only ten minutes away from her lunch break and Irene planned to eat her canteen meal of fried fish and mashed potatoes as quickly as she could, then amble around the market to look for a present for Isabel’s new baby. Isabel had given birth to a daughter only days after she and her husband had moved into the rented house in Southport. Eddie and Irene were planning to visit that weekend.
    The ping of the lift signalled that it had stopped at the first floor and a lady who looked to be in her late forties walked along to Irene’s counter. She began to look into the display cabinet where Irene had placed a small array of wristlet watches on a satin covered tray. The lady was very smart in a blue, lightweight, ankle-length dress, a matching long-sleeve jacket, white cotton wrist-length gloves, white high heel pumps and a matching handbag. Her short shingled hair was pushed under a white crocheted hat.
    Irene cleared her throat nervously. This was a woman who looked as if she was used to having the very best of everything, but the wristlet watches were eighteen carat gold, so Irene thought it would be helpful to point that out.
    “Excuse me, Madam, may I help you? Those wristlet watches are the very latest from London, eighteen carat gold and very expensive, naturally. Would you like to try one on, Madam?”
    “I haven’t actually come to purchase a watch, young lady,” the woman replied haughtily, her face grimacing in distaste as she looked at the shop girl before her.
    “I’ve been told that Irene Wilson works on this floor and I would like to give a message to her.”
    “I’m Irene Wilson, Madam,” Irene said, wondering who this elegant woman was, though it was beginning