Creosote and Celery

By Janet Page

It was 1973 and the bomb that exploded at the Railway Station triggered a memory for Janet Foster, taking her back in time to the 1950’s when she was a young girl.
The post war years in London’s East End was a tough time for families still clearing up from the blitz and struggling to come to terms with the loss of loved ones.
The Foster family and their relations in Hall Road, Stratford were no exception and were looking forward to celebrating the Queen’s Coronation with great gusto.
Will Foster grinned at his family, “It will be a time of great rejoicing for everyone” he said “It will be a time to reflect on the past and look forward to the future”
As the Coronation day dawned and the Celebrations began however, a different kind of struggle was to take place in Hall Road, a struggle that threatened to break the ties of love and tear the once close knit families apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PB Software
• Release date: Mar 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781909685178

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It was twelve twenty-four when the thunderous blast reverberated round the old building, sending shards of glass and plaster high into the air.

Everywhere people screamed and ran, heading for the exits.

Some were trampled underfoot. Others were covered in blood by the glass as it landed, ripping limbs apart and sending the blood soaked bodies crashing onto the platform floor.

A baggage trolley from the Booking Hall flew through the air, spewing out luggage in its wake. Bags and cases hurtled down to earth, one smashing into a young woman and gouging the side of her head and face. She fell to the ground and lay there as blood gushed out, staining the platform red and gory.

No one seemed to be near the woman, except one small lady who looked in horror at the body sprawled and twisted.

Picking up her bag, she ran the few yards along the platform as fast as her tiny frame could carry her. Pushing back her dark, blood-soaked hair, she knelt down beside the still and silent body.

Hello, she whispered, gently stroking the blood-covered hand and arm. There was no response.

Jan looked about her for someone to help, but there was no one.

Suddenly, the day that had held so much promise for her had become one of terror as she watched helplessly and waited. Carefully placing her jacket over the woman, she shivered, not only feeling the bitter November cold that attacked her slender frame but the bitter taste that clung to the sides of her mouth. It was the taste of death, and it lingered everywhere.

A man in his thirties appeared at the end of the platform. Jan stood up and shouted.

Over here, quickly! Please help!

Then he was there beside her, his gentle hands trying to calm the panic that gripped her.

What happened, love?

A trolley…bags came out…bags and cases. They smashed into her head. I can’t wake her. I think she’s dead.

Come on then, let’s have a look. Do you know her name?

No, sorry.

Hello? Can you hear me?

Still there was no response—no flicker of the eyelids, no movement in the hands.

I’ll try and find an ambulance. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Everywhere people were on the platform groaning in agony. Screaming could still be heard in the distance.

It was some time before the man returned.

I’ve sent for the ambulance. Don’t worry, dear, they’ll sort her out.

As Jan knelt down, she could feel the pain in her arms and shoulders. She could see spikes of glass piercing her skin and feel the sticky blood as it seeped through her cardigan and ran down her hands and onto the floor.

She looked away swiftly and tried not to think about it. She told herself there were more pressing things to worry about.

It was some time before the ambulance man appeared—a big, robust-looking man who took charge immediately. Having done a few routine checks, he went off to fetch a stretcher. Soon the unconscious woman was carried out of the station towards the waiting ambulance.

As they walked along the platform, Jan was almost unaware of where she was, but somehow she mumbled the words, Can I come with her?

The man nodded his approval and then looked at Jan with soft grey eyes.

As they walked out of the station, Jan stared open-mouthed at the chaos before her.

There were scores of people out in the road—some bending over bodies of loved ones and friends; others screaming out in pain holding torn and bleeding limbs.

Everywhere there was the stench of smoke mingled with blood and vomit. People stared vacantly into space; others were trying to come to terms with the monstrosity of it all.

The man led Jan up into the ambulance and gave her a seat beside the young woman. She was a beautiful woman in her early twenties—so beautiful. Her shoulder-length hair and blonde curls was now matted with blood and dirt and her eyes closed as in death. The woman drifted in and out of consciousness as the ambulance— blue lights flashing, sirens going—weaved through the queues of traffic and out onto the dual carriageway towards the hospital.

Jan squeezed the still hand and whispered, Don’t worry. I’m here. I promise I won’t leave you.

The woman opened her eyes briefly. Maybe she understood. Jan wasn’t sure, but then the eyes closed and she drifted away again.

Are you alright, love? the ambulance man asked gently touching Jan’s shoulder.

Suddenly the words wouldn’t leave her head. Instead, they became louder and louder, forcing her conscious mind to remember.

Are you alright? he repeated.

The words echoed, and echoed in her head, bringing back a chapter in her life that she thought had closed a long, long time ago.

Surely that had been a lifetime ago—another world, another place—but somehow the words drew her back, back to 1953 and into that misty past she thought she had long, long forgotten……….

CHAPTER TWO

Are you alright?

Jan heard the gentle voice and looked up into the face of a young lad about her age, nine or ten she guessed. He had piercing blue eyes and fair, wavy hair. She forced a smile and clasped her sore knees, feeling the blood between her fingers.

You went down with a bang, he said. You’re okay, though, just a few cuts and grazes.

He smiled then. A lovely smile, she thought as she lay there on the pavement feeling a fool.

Can you get up?

Yes, I think so. Thanks.

Come on then.

Gently he put his arm around her and helped her stand.

Where are you off to?

I was on my way to the grocers to get some milk for Mum. She’ll be cross with me for being so clumsy.

Nah, she won’t. She’ll more likely be worried where you’ve got to.

Slowly coming to, she looked down at her new skirt which was ripped around the bottom and had blood stains on it.

I shall get into a row when Dad sees me. He’s only just bought me this skirt for the Coronation party; and my nice white socks, they were clean on special too!

Just show me the way, and we’ll face your dad together—just you and me. Come on!

Jan laughed.

You are an idiot, and I don’t even know your name.

I’m Michael. I live down Amethyst Road. So come on, Jan. Let’s go.

Hey, how do you know my name?

Because I’ve seen you at Downsell Road School. You are in Miss Tyler’s class, and I’m in old Buckle’s. I’ve watched you in the playground with your two friends.

You mean Jill and Brenda. They are nice.

Can’t say I’ve noticed, but you’re nice.

Jan felt herself blush as slowly they linked arms and began to walk towards Hall Road.

Crossing the road at the back of Charlie’s Wood Yard, there was a hive of activity. Long bench tables were being set out with crisp, white tablecloths and hundreds of wooden chairs.

Look at the flags, Michael. There are thousands of them everywhere.

Yes, they look great, don’t they? Are you looking forward to the party, Jan? he asked as they slowly walked down Hall Road.

Suppose it will be okay. Nan says it’s a party the East Enders will remember for a long time, probably the rest of their lives. She said you have to have a good time every day, enjoy every minute of your life.

Your nan sounds nice.

Yes, she is lovely. She’s always reading to me, and she sings me lovely songs and hymns. Are you and your family going to be at the party, Michael?

Dunno. Mum might go, but Dad doesn’t get out much nowadays.

Here we are—number 52.

Right, I’ll leave you to it then.

Hey, you said we were going to face it together, remember? Come on, chicken!

Jan banged the big iron knocker, and soon a small lady with short, dark, wavy hair appeared. She looked anxious and tired, and a little breathless.

Thank goodness you’re home, Jan. We wondered where you’d got to. Good gracious, what have you done now?

I fell over.

Those knees look jolly sore. Come on, let’s get you sorted out.

This is my friend Michael, Mum. He helped me up and everything. I wouldn’t have got home without him.

Hmm, I see, she said, trying not to smile. Well, you’d better come on in then, and we’ll get your hero a well-earned glass of Tizer, shall we?

Her mum laughed, and immediately Jan felt better.

Is Dad home yet, Mum? Jan asked, hoping that he wasn’t or he would be cross.

No, and it’s just as well by the look of your new skirt. It’s all ripped ‘round the bottom and filthy dirty.

Sitting in the little back living room, Dorothy could hear that some kind of accident had occurred to her granddaughter, but her sticks were over on the other side of the room and she couldn’t get up to help. She felt annoyed at herself that her blasted legs wouldn’t go and that she was stuck in this chair day after day, as her rheumatoid arthritis gradually got worse and worse.

Oh Jan, what have you done, dear? Those knees look jolly sore, said Dorothy, watching as Jan hobbled in.

I bet you were running when you fell. I have told you to walk and to pick those feet up, haven’t I? said her mum.

Yes, Mum. I’m sorry.

Don’t blame her. She was probably excited and happy, what with the party and everything, said Dorothy.

Thanks, Nan. That’s just how I feel, but now I’ve ruined everything.

Looks like it, said Florrie. Now sit still while I clean those knees and put some cream on them. That skirt will have to be changed, and those nice white socks too. I’m not sure what we’re going to find you to wear now. You can’t keep anything nice for long.

Dorothy knew that Jan wasn’t the dressing up type, but she didn’t dare say so. Instead, she waited until she had been cleaned up and then held out her arms to her granddaughter, who hobbled happily over to sit on her Nan’s lap and give her a big hug.

Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young friend then? she asked, changing the subject.

Jan looked shyly at the young lad who had so kindly helped her limp home.

Oh yes! Nan, this is Michael. He lives down Amethyst Road.

Well, now thank you for coming home with her, dear.

Michael smiled. He felt comfortable in this little room. It seemed homely and warm.

That’s alright, Mrs…

My name is Mrs Foster, but you can call me Dorothy, everyone else does. Come on, Jan, let’s get that skirt and socks changed, Jan’s mum said.

Michael stood up.

I think I ought to be going home now.

Nonsense. You stay and chat to me while Jan gets changed. Then we’ll all have a drink and some of those nice ginger biscuits. What do you say, Florrie? Dorothy said.

Jan’s Mum wasn’t sure. She was afraid when Arthur came home he wouldn’t take too kindly to strangers.

You said we could, Mum, remember?

Did you remember the milk, Jan?

Jan shrugged her shoulders.

I can’t trust you to do anything. Still, I daresay we can squeeze enough for a couple of cups, and I’ll pop and get some later. Anyway, let’s get you cleaned up first. Come on.

Michael gazed around the room. It was so silent, now that Jan wasn’t there.

Dorothy felt awkward. She wasn’t sure what to say to this young lad.

Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t walk much nowadays. It’s my joints— rheumatoid arthritis. Can’t do a lot to help.

That’s alright, Michael said, not understanding what rheumatoid arthritis was. Is there anything I can do for you?

"That’s very kind of you, but Jan and her Mum will be down directly, then we can all have something to drink. Dorothy clasped her hands together, feeling the dry cracked skin and wincing with the pain. The doctor had said to keep them moving, and she was trying, but it was so painful.

Michael looked around the room. There was a radio standing on a cabinet near the little window that led out to the backyard. A wooden table with four chairs stood over on the back wall, and there were two armchairs, one each end of the open fireplace. A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour, breaking the silence.

That’s a lovely clock, he said, trying to get some conversation going.

Yes, Jan’s granddad Will and I had that from Will’s army regiment, for a wedding present. You can pick it up and have a look if you want. It’s all engraved.

Michael was afraid he might drop such a valuable thing, but he read the inscription, which said, Presented to William James Foster on the Occasion of his Marriage. From 10th Platoon RFB.

That’s ace, he said. Really ace! My dad was in the war too, but he’s not very good now. He got shell shock, and he shakes all over. I think he feels ashamed of what he looks like, so he doesn’t go out much nowadays.

Oh that is sad, but my dear boy, he must go out. He should never be ashamed that he served his country so bravely!

Dorothy felt perhaps she had said too much, but that was her way—always saying what was in her mind.

"That’s what I told him, and when I grow up, I want to be a paratrooper. But Mum says I mustn’t, but I shall because I really want to!"

I can see that, Michael, but you are only young yet.

I’ll be ten in October!

Then you have plenty of life to live before that. Our Jan will be ten in January. She wants to go in the army. It is so nice you are both interested in similar things. I hope you will be good friends.

Michael didn’t have time to pursue the conversation, as Jan appeared wearing a fresh blue skirt and clean white socks. Michael thought she looked so pretty. Her brown eyes were so alive with a mysterious glint in them, and he could see that she was full of fun and energy.

What are you saying about me, Nan?

I was just telling Michael that you will be ten in January, so you and Michael are near enough the same age.

Can Michael and I have that drink now, Mum, please?

Florrie hesitated.

Please, Mum?

Yes, alright, but just a quick drink. Your father will be home soon, and he’ll want something to eat.

"Yes, Mum. I’ll help you. Jan went down the back step into the scullery and began to bring in glasses, a bottle of Tizer and ginger biscuits.

I’d better be going now, Mrs Foster. My Mum will be wondering where I’ve got to. Thank you for the drink and the biscuits.

That’s alright. Thanks for coming home with Jan. She’s always getting into some kind of mischief.

I’ll see you out, Jan said, leading the way down the hall and opening the front door.

I’ve seen Granddad! He’s coming down the road, Nan! she yelled, coming into the living room with a big smile on her face.

Is he? By jove, he’ll be wanting a cup of tea then. Put the kettle on. There’s a love.

Jan went into the scullery, filled the big kettle and set it on the stove.

Let me light it, Jan, her mum said.

Her mum was beside her, and the stove popped into life with a whoosh.

Granddad! she yelled, almost falling up the step on her way back to the living room.

Hi, mate! What have you been doing, eh?

I fell over Granddad.

I can see that. Those knees will be sore for a bit.

Will gave a wry smile and sat in his favourite armchair, pulling on his somewhat holey slippers that on cold winter evenings had been known to singe before the coal fire. His brown cardigan faded with age had gone the same way when his cigarette end had dropped dangerously into his lap as he dozed off.

Many a time there had been shouts of, For heaven’s sake! You’re on fire, man! Wake up!

Today he was dressed in smart grey serge trousers with a fresh white short-sleeved shirt.

Stretching his long, spindly legs out across the room, he settled himself and reached out to the shelf beside his chair. Rubbing his chin in deep contemplation, he grabbed his tin of Old Holbourn and rolled a cigarette.

Florrie arrived with a cup of tea for them and gave a deep sigh as she made a place to put his cup down.

Florrie never objected to him smoking, she just hated the stacks of empty tobacco tins that cluttered the otherwise tidy room.

Why do you have to keep empty tins, Will?

Will said nothing. He just gave a wry smile and settled down to read the paper. Will was a devil, but he was a lovely devil, and Jan loved him dearly.

Michael seems a nice lad, Jan, Dorothy said. Very polite and well brought up, I’d say.

Yes, Nan.

Jan felt strangely alone now he had gone, but she knew there was a lot to do. Mum had made a fruit cake and helped her nan put on her tweed skirt and cream blouse for the occasion.

I wish I didn’t have to dress up, Mum, Jan said when lunch was over. I’m much happier in my slacks.

You look very smart, Jan. Besides, we must make the effort, after all. It isn’t every day we have the queen’s coronation. Come on, help me with these dishes, and then we’ll go round to Glad’s and see what’s happening there.

Glad Harris was Nan’s niece, a large, homely, fun-loving person who never let you see how lonely she was now her husband Alan was gone. He had died of TB when Jan was six, and everyone said she would never get over it and that he was her only real love. Jan loved nipping through the gate into the little backyards. First she’d go into number 51, where her Nan’s sister Win Howard lived with her son Bert, then on to Glad in number 50. On summer days, she was treated to a game of snooker with Bert on the big table that stood in Win’s garden.

It’s only us, Glad, called Florrie.

Come in, duck, and I’ll put the kettle on.

The back door creaked as her mum pushed the lever down.

Hi! Isn’t it all exciting? Glad said, appearing from the living room, arms open to gather Jan into her ample bosom. My Ellen has gone off to get some beers in. I just hope the rain stops.

It will, Glad. It will, Florrie said.

Now, let’s get that kettle going, Glad said.

While Mum and Glad sat together sipping tea, Jan had found Jinny stretched out in the hallway in the cool, panting.

Hello, Jinny! Are you a bit hot girl, eh?

The little ginger dog was soft and warm and very gentle. Jan planted a big kiss on the cold nose.

I wish I had a dog, Auntie Glad, Jan announced coming through to the living room. Mum said it wouldn’t be good for her asthma. What do you reckon?

She could be right, duck. In any case, dogs are a lot of work and your mum has enough to do, running around after everyone. You can come round and play with Jinny anytime—so in a way, she is your dog, isn’t she?

I suppose so. It’s just…

Just nothing, interrupted her mum. Dad won’t have a dog, and that’s all there is to it.

On the way back through the little backyards, Jan smiled to herself. Here in the East End of London, Mum had told her most families were poor. Everyone said it was the war that had done it and they were really lucky. It was true. Her granddad owned the house, and during school holidays, they all went for a week to Southend in his lovely black Austin Somerset car. She never went short of anything, and Nan and Granddad were so good to her. She just wished her Nan could walk again and not be in so much pain. Still, she realised they were happy, and that was the main thing.

That afternoon, the rain clouds drifted by and there was a dry spell in Hall Road. To Jan, it seemed like the whole world was sitting out at that luscious tea of sandwiches, cakes and bread and butter, with lots of orange juice, lemonade, and Tizer to wash it all down. There were big pots of tea set out at the ends of the tables too, and the noise and chatter made it all seem so special.

Jan kept a look out for Michael, but she didn’t see him. She was a little disappointed at first, but in the hustle and bustle of it all, she soon forgot and tucked into the feast. Brenda, a sweet girl from Crownfield Road, joined her at the table, and soon they were eating sandwiches and drinking lemonade.

Hi, Jan, Brenda said as she pushed back her long, dark, curly hair.

Jan noticed that Brenda had the same old brown skirt on and that her shoes needed mending.

Look over there, Jan. It’s Mrs Potter from the Greengrocers. She’s enjoying the food, alright.

Yeah, I know all thirty stone of her. I hate going into her shop. She’s alright, but her old man’s ‘orrible.

Is he?

Yeah, he torments me and says our family is mad. He says we’re all a few pages short of a book. He thinks that’s very funny. I suppose we are a bit different to normal and a bit scatty, but I love it because life is never ever dull.

Look at her, Jan. I swear she’s taking up three chairs. Crikey, imagine being that fat.

Shhh…you shouldn’t say that. Nan says it could be due to her glands or something.

I just hope I never get glands like that then. That’s all I can say!

Me too. You should see her old man. He’s as thin as she is fat. I went to one of their parties one Christmas, they didn’t half look funny. There they were, him dancing round looking like all his bones were jangling loose inside his clothes and her six chins wobbling as she sang, ‘The Only Night We Never Fell Out the Night the Floor Fell In.’ It’s a wonder it didn’t too!

Brenda laughed then and looked happy for once. Jan knew that she had a hard life. There were six of them in the family—two girls and two boys—and they lived in the high road in a pokey maisonette. Brenda’s mum and dad were nice, but they had a job to make ends meet.

I had better go soon, Jan. Mum wants me to bath the twins and help make the beds!

That’s a shame, Brenda. She could let you off just for today, couldn’t’ she?

It isn’t her fault there is always so much to do. Poor Mum always looks so tired. I must help her as much as I can.

I understand. See you tomorrow at school.

Yes, I’ll meet you in the playground.

Jan felt sorry for Brenda. She was always looking after the twins, Ben and Richard, Millie the youngest girl was thoroughly spoilt and Lynne, the eldest child, seemed to go here, there, and everywhere—no chores to do, no babysitting. It seemed to Jan she could just do as she liked. It all seemed so unfair.

Although the weather was chilly for June and the rain never really stopped, the party was great. The music boomed out from an old wind-up gramophone that had been borrowed from the Browns at number thirty-nine.

Jan’s mum joined in the fun towards the end, and everyone sang ‘God Save the Queen’. Jan loved the music and knew the words to every song. It had been a good day, but she was a little upset that her dad hadn’t turned up, for he was the life and soul of any party.

Come on, Jan her mum’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It’s starting to rain heavy, and there’s school tomorrow. Besides, your father will be home, so we’d better go in now.

Jan looked at her mum’s face. It was a mixture of love and concern, and she knew everything would change once Dad was home.

It’s alright. I’m coming.

She smiled, and gently taking her mum’s arm, they moved silently across the road and into number forty-two, neither knowing what the evening held in store.

When Jan and her mum entered the living room, the radio was playing full pelt.

Can we turn that down? Florrie asked. I can’t hear myself think.

Reluctantly, Arthur turned the sound down.

Why didn’t you come and join in the party, Arthur? Florrie said.

I had another frame of snooker with Bert. We waited in vain for a bus, so we walked all the way from Midland arches to home. I wasn’t in the mood for a party.

You know Jan was looking forward to it, and what’s more, you needn’t have gone to snooker at all.

Sorry, Jan. I didn’t think.

Jan sat down at the dining table and smiled.

It’s alright, Dad.

Jan looked over at her granddad. He was reading the Stratford Express.

Has Nan gone to bed, Granddad?

Yes, she’s tired and her wrists and feet were aching a lot. She said to say night night to you and she’ll see you in the morning.

Jan’s mum wandered off into the kitchen and began to prepare a bit of supper for Arthur.

You’d better be getting to bed, love. You’ve got school tomorrow. I’ll come and tuck you up in a minute.

Jan, reluctant to let the day pass by, tried to negotiate a little extra time.

Could I just finish my chapter? she asked, picking her book up from the table.

You can read in bed for ten minutes. Now off you go. There’s another day tomorrow.

Jan always slept in her mum and dad’s room. She had a small chest of drawers where her Teddy Might and Boris, her monkey glove puppet, sat—always together. She had to share the double wardrobe with her parents. There was a small single bed beside theirs, with a chamber pot underneath. When she snuggled up with her book, she could feel how sore her knees were and she remembered how kind Michael had been.

She had finished her chapter by the time her mother came to say goodnight. Somehow she didn’t feel tired, and the things that had happened in the day kept going around in her mind, stopping sleep from coming.

Sometime later, she heard her dad come up the stairs and into the bedroom, so she covered her head with the eiderdown and pretended to be asleep.

CHAPTER THREE

When Jan woke on the Wednesday morning, her mum was up but her dad was still asleep in the big double bed next to hers. Not wanting to wake him, she laid there silently, listening to sounds from downstairs. Everything was quiet, apart from the bark of a dog, footsteps in the street, and the familiar whirr of the trolley buses as they passed the end of Crownfield Road.

Come on, Jan. It’s seven thirty. Come and have your breakfast or you’ll be late for school, Mum shouted.

Okay, Mum, I’ll be down in a minute.

She was sure her dad had heard nothing as she silently slipped out of bed and pulled on her school uniform that hung on the big iron bedstead. Bouncing down the stairs with her blue and white school tie trailing behind her, she pretended it was a dog on a lead as she skipped into the living room.

Mum, can I leave this stupid tie off today? It’s too hot round my neck.

No, you can’t, and a tie cannot be stupid.

Jan giggled as she imagined the tie dancing down Hall Road and jumping in and out of the puddles.

Stop giggling and come and eat your breakfast, her mum said.

Well, I shall put it on when I get to the school gate then, if I have too.

Her Mum looked at her with a fixed stare. Knowing she was very close to a telling off, Jan bent her head low and tucked into her shredded wheat. From his armchair, her granddad gave her a sly wink, and silently she giggled again.

Dad’s sound asleep, Mum, she said as she finished her glass of milk.

Yes, I know. He’s very tired. Don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeve, and go and clean your teeth.

Jan got up from the table, sighed, and wondered why her dad was so late up this morning.

On the way to school, she realised just how lovely it was to have such a good family around her. Everyone was kind to her, and it was great to live with her nan and granddad. So many of her school mates only saw their nans and granddads once a week, but she saw hers all the time. Dad said she was spoilt, and she supposed he was right, but she didn’t feel spoilt…just special.

Passing number 50, she watched as Glad swept her front step and put out the milk bottles.

Hi, Auntie, she yelled, jumping from one paving stone to the next, trying not to touch the cracks.

Hi, Jan. Mind you don’t go falling again. Have a good day at school, and I’ll see you later, duck.

Jan made her way down Hall Road and arrived at the school gates just as everyone was filing into the playground.

Where’s your tie, Jan? said Jan’s friend Brenda.

Hi, Brenda. I suppose I had better put it on. Hold my satchel for me a minute, will you?

Brenda took the satchel as they walked briskly to the school steps.

Come on, hurry up or we’ll be late.

Alright, alright. I must just get this stupid tie on.

Jan giggled and ran up the steps and into the corridor just as the school bell went.

CHAPTER FOUR

Glad Harris sat alone at number 50 in her tiny back room. The shift had gone well for her. She was a bar lady at the Cavendish Arms in Stratford, and she was well liked for her straight forward approach to customers and her carefree attitude to life. This afternoon, however, her mind was in conflict with her conscience. Glad knew she was no angel. There had been one-night stands since her Alan—several, in fact, but nothing serious.

Tom Manning was, however, very different. Ellen, her daughter, had said, Don’t play with fire, Mum.

But then, hadn’t Ellen found a perfect partnership with her Roy? It was a love that would last forever, as Glad’s had been until Alan’s untimely death four years ago. Now she was lonely, but she knew that with Tom it wouldn’t stop at a one-night stand. Indeed, she felt as if she could well