Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection

‘I’m not staying in no “derelict” house, though!’ Maggie was adamant. ‘I’m not as daft as you.’

Kathy laughed. ‘No, you’re dafter, or you wouldn’t be going out with that bloke.’

Maggie gave her a playful thump. ‘We’ll see.’

Kathy asked hopefully, ‘Do you think you will be able to get time off?’

‘I’ll have a damned good try.’

Returning to stand the case on its end, she groaned when trying to lift it. ‘Like I said … I’m not carrying this thing down the stairs.’

‘Stop moaning, you don’t have to,’ Kathy explained. ‘I’ve ordered a taxi. The driver can take it down the stairs, and the porter will carry it for me at the station.’

Maggie gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that. Let them get the ruptures!’

There was still a lot more to do before the taxi arrived. ‘These are the boxes to be collected for the charity shop.’ Kathy closed the last box. ‘And the rest is to be left for the landlord.’ Pointing to a piled-up sofa, she told Maggie, ‘He paid me a few bob to leave all the curtains, bedding, rugs and towels … oh, and a few ornaments I don’t have use for. He wants to keep it all for his next tenant.’

Maggie tutted. ‘Tight git! You’d think he’d at least get some new stuff.’

Kathy agreed, but said, ‘He’s tight-fisted with his money. That’s why he’s rich and we’re not.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Maggie retorted. ‘He’s rich because he bought two houses along the street for next to nothing, and made them into eight flats.’ She pulled a face that made Kathy laugh out loud. ‘… And because he’s a tight git!’

‘You’re right.’ Kathy had to agree. ‘We’d best get a move on or I’ll miss the train.’ She began checking each room. ‘Best make sure everything’s all right before we leave,’ she told Maggie. ‘I don’t want him to think I keep an untidy, dirty place.’

Maggie followed her. ‘If he wants to see untidy –’ she was not surprised to note that every room was neat and clean as a new pin – ‘he’d best come and see my place.’

They were startled when a man’s voice boomed out behind them, ‘Taxi for the station. Would that be you two?’ A large man with a beer-belly and a thick, gruff voice filled the doorway. ‘Well? Did you order a taxi or didn’t you? I ain’t got all day.’

‘It’s me.’ After the initial shock of this big man with the booming voice, Kathy leapt into action. ‘If you could please take the portmanteau down, I need to collect a few things. I’ll be right behind.’ She straightened her jacket and picked up her hat and gloves from the side.

As he walked towards the portmanteau, Maggie dodged into the bedroom. Without delay, Kathy followed, the pair of them peeping round the corner as he lifted the article. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What the bloody hell’s she got in ’ere?’

‘See, I told you it was heavy!’ Digging Kathy in the ribs, Maggie was bursting to laugh. ‘I bet you’ve ruptured the poor devil!’

Red-faced and grunting, he carried it across the room and out the door, moaning and groaning as he bounced it down one step after another. ‘I wish he’d be careful,’ Kathy declared as they emerged from their hiding-place. ‘He might break it.’

‘Yes, and he might “break” your bleedin’ neck if you say anything.’

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the charity people to collect the boxes. ‘Every little helps,’ the bottle-blonde said with a grateful smile. ‘We have all kinds of people who come into the shop and buy this kind of bric-à-brac.’

Maggie had a naturally suspicious nature. ‘If you ask me, they were a dodgy pair!’ she said as they left. ‘I bet you they’ll be straight round the market and flog the bleedin’ lot.’

‘Don’t be so cynical,’ Kathy chided. ‘These people do a good job.’

Maggie didn’t answer: she knew what she knew and that was that.

As the two of them left the house, the irate driver rounded on Kathy. ‘I hope you realise this meter’s ticking?’ he asked pointedly. Before she could answer, he grabbed Kathy’s bag and threw it in the back. ‘I recall somebody saying they had a train to catch, and it won’t be my fault if she misses it!’

Behind him, Maggie was laughing.

When it was time to leave, Kathy hugged her friend tight. ‘I’ll call you when I get there,’ she promised. ‘Remember what I said … take care of yourself.’

Maggie’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘You too,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll ask for time off, so’s I can come and help you settle in.’

As Kathy climbed into the taxi, Maggie apologised. ‘I really should be coming to the station with you.’

Kathy dismissed her worries. ‘There’s no use you coming with me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on the train as soon as ever I get there. Besides, you’ve had three warnings about being late already.’

‘Hmh! She’s just a frustrated old cow.’

As the driver pulled away, Kathy saw how down Maggie was. ‘Stop worrying,’ she called out the window. ‘I’ll be all right.’

Maggie waved her out of sight. ‘I’ll miss yer, gal.’ Thrusting her hands into her jacket pocket, she turned to look up at the flat, bowed her head, and walked away. ‘That old cow had best let me have time off,’ she muttered. ‘I need to know that Kathy’s all right.’

She quickened her step, the merest whisper of a smile beginning to wipe away the misery. ‘First, though, I’ve a date coming up, and a new frock to buy.’ With that in mind, she headed straight for the nearest shop. It was the surest thing to take her mind off her troubles.

The minute the taxi stopped, Kathy was given her first instruction. ‘If yer think I’m lifting that portmanteau again, you’ve another thought coming,’ the taxi-driver growled. ‘So, if you want to catch that train, you’d best find a porter … and make sure he’s built like a navvy, or he’ll never lift the damned thing.’

Giving him a hard look, Kathy ran off to see if there was a porter about. She eventually found one, but he was built more like a nanny than a navvy. ‘Huh! Is that the best you could do?’ the taxi driver asked Kathy in a loud, insulting voice. Addressing the porter, he gave a snide little grin. ‘If you can lift that out of the boot, I’ll not charge her a penny fare.’

The porter winked knowingly at Kathy, then he glanced into the open boot at the huge portmanteau. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said. Walking from side to side, he took a moment or two to mentally assess the size and weight of the article.

‘Go on then!’ the big man urged with a nasty chuckle. ‘It won’t leap out the more you look at it.’ He thought the porter was a bad joke.

As for Kathy, her bet was on the porter. At least he seemed confident.

With Kathy on one side and the big man on the other, the little porter took hold of each corner and, easing the portmanteau forward, got it to the edge of the boot. ‘The bet’s only on if you lift it out!’ the big man grumbled. ‘Dropping it off the edge onto the barrow don’t count.’

The porter never said a word; instead he looked up at the taxi-driver with a disdainful stare. Then he spat into the palms of his hands, rubbed them together, and with one mighty heave lifted the portmanteau in the air. With immense courage he held it aloft for the slightest moment, before dropping it thankfully to the barrow.

By this time, Kathy was leaping and dancing about. ‘HE DID IT!’ she cried. ‘He lifted it out, and I don’t owe you a fare.’ In a mad moment of triumph she vigorously shook the porter by the hand, until she remembered how he’d spat into it. Discreetly wiping it on her skirt, she thanked him. ‘Even I didn’t think you could do it,’ she apologised lamely.

‘You’d be surprised at what we’re asked to lift,’ the porter revealed proudly. Glancing at the big man, he made a suggestion. ‘A tenner says I can lift you straight off your feet!’

The other man’s answer was a rude gesture, and the quickest exit from the station the porter had ever witnessed.

A moment later, after Kathy got her ticket, she and the porter headed towards the train, which had just pulled into the station. ‘I’d best get this on board for you,’ he suggested. ‘We don’t want you doing an injury to yourself, do we?’ He was also thoughtful enough to get a promise from the attendant that he would take it off at the other end.

Slipping him a generous tip, Kathy thanked him, and he wished her good day.

Once on the train, she settled into her seat. ‘I’m on my way,’ she murmured, ‘West Bay, here I come!’ Even though she was somewhat nervous, there was still a sense of great excitement. After all, as she constantly reminded herself, she was about to start a whole new life.

The train went straight through from London to Weymouth.

Throughout the long journey, she read snatches of the newspapers left by previous passengers, and occasionally struck up desultory conversations with passengers nearby. She bought two drinks from the trolley that was pushed lazily up and down by some weary woman – and had to run to the loo a couple of times for her troubles.

On the final leg of the journey, she gazed out the windows at the scenery, wondering about the house in West Bay and the woman who had shared it with her father. Several times she murmured the name ‘Liz’, and each time she had a different image in her mind.