A Brighter Tomorrow, Maggie Ford [types of ebook readers .TXT] 📗

of turning back and walking off. If she did that, she would never see him again; but do that she felt she had to.

‘Explain what?’ he said suddenly, bringing her back to herself.

‘Nothing!’ she replied, cold and distant.

‘No, Ellie. Whatever it is you’re bottling up, I’m here to ’elp. Yer know I am. I can’t bear you looking so lost and upset over something I said.’

Something he’d said! He’d said nothing. But his tone was warm and comforting and he reached out and drew her to him. Suddenly she was leaning against him, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed fit to bursting. Through a welter of tears she let it all out: how her father had abused her; the indignity of having the doctor, who’d taken pity on her, seeing in her a likeness to his own daughter, help rid her of the thing her father had left her with; how she’d worked so hard yet always failed to save enough money to enable her to trace her father so as to take her revenge for everything he’d done to her. All the time she could feel Ronnie’s arms growing tighter and tighter about her as he listened.

Slowly her weeping died away and he loosened his hold on her to thread her arm firmly through his again, a support for her. Like this they walked on in silence, not too fast, she dabbing with a small handkerchief at the tears that continued to threaten.

‘Are yer going ter be orright?’ he asked as they turned into her street. They were the first words he’d spoken since her outburst. It was as if he hadn’t been able to cope. He hadn’t kissed away her tears, had just held her to him, as anyone would a girl in distress.

Was he still alarmed by her attitude towards her father? Had he really understood? Was he trying not to show how he felt about her now he knew? She wasn’t prepared to ask as she looked up at him.

‘I do feel a lot better,’ she said. How formal that sounded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I could see you up to yer room and tell Dora you was feeling a bit upset over yer dad. Otherwise she might wonder why you’ve been crying.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Ellie said, still formal.

‘I’ll leave yer then. I’ll take yer tomorrow evening to see yer dad – if yer want to go, that is.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She moved away but turned back, her smile now defiant. ‘By the way, I’ll be moving from here next week. Mr Hunnard is looking for a place for me with a decent studio where I can carry on with my painting. As you know, he says I have great talent and could become quite famous one day.’

Why had she said that? She saw his face drop, heard him say, ‘Oh.’

‘But I’ll still see you?’ she hurried on. ‘I’ll still be living in London.’

‘Yeah, of course.’

It was all so stilted, like passing acquaintances unsure of each other. He had held her so firmly, so comfortingly as she’d wept, but he’d not kissed her or said he loved her. She’d been so sure he loved her even though he was shy of saying so. Now he’d seen another side to her and probably felt it best to back out of this awkward situation he found himself in.

‘Well,’ she said lamely, trying to smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening if that’s all right?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he said again. ‘OK. ’Night then.’

She returned the parting words, saw him step back, step by step, still facing her as if unsure of going. Then, swinging round on his heel, he walked off. Ellie stood watching him until he turned the corner. He hadn’t looked back. It reminded her of someone going out of her life for ever. But he’d said he would see her tomorrow. She had to be content with that. But what if he didn’t turn up? She thought of Michael Deel. He’d said he would be there to meet her, to ran away with her. But he hadn’t come.

Slowly she went inside the building and closed the door. A voice accosted her, making her jump. ‘I take it you’ll be paying me next week’s rent before you leave.’

She turned abruptly. ‘Obviously!’ She hated the man for breaking into her unhappiness. ‘I’ve always paid regularly.’

‘Just want to make sure,’ he went on, grinning at her, the slimy little beetle. ‘Course, you’re well off now, ain’t you? and things like that can slip the minds of them with money.’

‘I’ll settle before I go,’ she said curtly and hurried on up the stairs, her heart empty.

Her father was dead. All the things she had wanted to say to him, all those things she’d rehearsed for so long, had remained unsaid in the end.

She’d sat well away from the bed as he faded. When Mum had died she had held her hand until the last and remained holding it long after that cherished soul had passed away. But him – she couldn’t bring herself to give him that comfort. Why then had she felt guilty at not doing so when she had carried this loathing of him for so long?

Watching him, hating the minutes ticking by as she waited, she’d just wanted to run from the room and leave him to it. And all the time Ronnie had stood behind her, a comforting hand on her shoulder. As if he knew.

Now her father was gone. Trying to smother this peculiar guilt of hers, she’d forked out for an expensive funeral, an oak coffin lined with white silk (she hadn’t gone to look on him as he lay there), a hearse with black-plumed horses. She and Dora, her brother Charlie, whom Ronnie had traced by an advert in his paper, and Ronnie rode in the chief mourners’ carriage.

The following carriage had held her old neighbours, the Sharps, who’d been so good to her. In the last carriage, Felix, Jock and several