Read by Margaret Ashley
It’s a cold one tonight. Funny, isn’t it? The most sweltering of summers can lead to such chilly autumns. My Bill used to always say that if we’d a really hot June in Yorkshire, he’d make sure we were booked in for a week in Majorca or Lanzarote in October. He never took us though. Bridlington, more like, to a caravan up on Thornwick Bay. Once, to the Grand on Scarborough sea-front. That was the month before all the guests ended up with dicky tummies, and they had to shut it down for a week. Harry Gration, that nice man from BBC Look North, came and did a report outside the hotel. We watched it on the telly. We had fish and chips that night from Drake’s. Batter weren’t brilliant.
Aye, it’s bloody cold. There won’t be as many of the kiddies out tonight doing trick or treat as there was last year. If it were my kids, I’d only have them out for an hour or so. Take them to the bottom of the street, up the ginnel and back round Charles Lane, then home for tea. But these kids now’ll be out till all hours, dressed up as Spideyman, or one of those horrible yellow cartoon characters. When I was a lass, you went as a witch and the boys went as ghosts and that was the end of it. It’s all become a bit much now, hasn’t it? Very… American.
Anyway – ooh, that’s a nice cuppa, thanks nurse – I shan’t expect to be seeing many of them tonight. They don’t tend to come round here, now I’ve moved to be closer to Bill. Back in our old house, on Turpin Street, I’d come home from work – did I tell you I worked at Boots? Back when it was a proper chemist, mind, and not full of tat. I’d put a pumpkin in the window so kiddies would know they could come knock. And Bill’d turn up at about half five with the Hallowe’en box. That was a nice touch they did at Terry’s Chocolate Factory, you know. Give all the workers a box of chocolates to take back for the Trick or Treaters. They didn’t do that at Rowntree’s. A different class, were Terry’s.
It were lovely to give the kids something different. I used to love watching their little faces as we opened the box up for them to make a choice. They used to all like the nougat one. Coconut not so popular. Jean from number 36, she kept the box her husband, Tony, brought back from Terry’s all to herself. They never had much class, did them Harkers. She’s dead now, anyway. The rot set in with me and her when they put my Bill on soft centres. Her Tony wanted to be on soft centres, but he didn’t make the cut. Not careful enough with his fingers. You’ve to be ever so precise to get it right on a soft centre. Strawberry creams were always my choice. We were both skilled with our hands, me and Bill. About the only thing we had in common – but then, they do say opposites attract.
Now, you shouldn’t have your favourites, and me and Bill never did of our own kids, of course. But with the kiddies on our street, we knew the ones we liked. Little Peter and Andrew Robinson, now they were good boys. Used to say please and thank you ever so nicely, after they’d called “Trick or Treat”. Their dad, Alf, was the Scoutmaster, which, I suppose, is why they were so polite. I used to always make sure they’d get a nice chocolate, and one for their dad too. But, I’ll tell you for nowt, we had some absolute tinkers used to come knocking. Now, I don’t mind a bit of mischief. You want a kid to have some character. But that Kathleen Clark, she were too much. You never knew a girl like her for picking flowers. Every bloody morning would I watch out of the window as she plucked my petunias on the way to school. I told her mother once to keep an eye on her, and you know what she said? “She’s expressing her creativity.” Well, it were nowt but a joke, and I said as much to Bill. Horrid looking thing she were. Not bonny at all, and you could tell she’d be one of them girls who never had lads mooning after her. When she knocked on our door that Hallowe’en night, I admired the stick-on wart on her nose. Of course, I knew it weren’t stick-on at all, but … she had made such a mess of my petunias.
Still. A dreadful shame, what happened to Kathleen. Her mother never got over it, so they say. You could hear her wailing after the coffin from the other side of York. It was probably a ruptured tummy ulcer, they said. Shocking in a young girl. I did take flowers round to her mother’s – not petunias, of course, as I didn’t have any left, but some nice carnations. She moved not long after that. Poor thing. I had to sort her prescription for sleeping pills out myself, at Boots. A dreadful thing, to lose a child.
Ooh, yes, I will have another cup of tea. Two sugars. I’m afraid I have something of a sweet tooth in my old age. Never used to. Always used to pride myself on being very trim. Not like Margaret Blackburn, from Charles Street. By, she were a big’un. Size 24 in Marks and Spencers knickers, I know, because I used to see them flapping on her line in her front garden. Shameless. Massive bum, and the bosoms to match, pardon me for saying so. Now, I knew my Bill liked a bigger woman, but I don’t mind telling you that I was very upset when I caught him tickling Margaret Blackburn at a quiz night at The Highwayman. He’d had about six John Smiths’ which I suppose is some excuse but… she were wearing the most garish pink lipstick you’ve ever seen. And her poor young daughter, stuck in the corner, watching her mother make an absolute show of herself.
I made sure to give her lass, Marie, I think they called her – an affected name if I’ve ever heard one – an extra chocolate to take home the next Hallowe’en, when she came trick or treating. “Your mam’ll love a soft centre,” I said, handing over the most choice in the box. “Make sure you give it to her with my compliments, won’t you?”
I wouldn’t let Bill go to Margaret’s funeral. Well, he only got a fortnight’s leave every year from the factory and it wasn’t like she was family. I sent some flowers to Margaret’s husband – he was a lovely looking fella and all, apart from the ears, and to Marie. They never worked out exactly why she’d collapsed, but it’s hardly surprising, carrying all that around. Didn’t raise too many eyebrows anyway. At the time.
No, still no kiddies here tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised really. Not an environment for kids, is it, a care home? Funny, you can see the chimneys of Terry’s from the window. They shut it down, you know. They make the chocolate oranges in Poland these days. Disgraceful, I don’t mind saying.
Oh, you musn’t pay mind to Bill! He always makes odd noises whenever someone mentions the factory. Just look at him. Drooling like a great baby, and I’m sure that’s a mushy pea smeared on his chops. Pity … he was always a handsome man, my Bill. Even when he got a bit wrinkly, he could still run rings round the other fellas at the factory. I did my best to look nice for him, you know. Especially after that awkward incident with Margaret Blackburn. But, my old mam always told me a leopard never changes its spots. She was right, God bless her. I smelled a rat when he refused again to take me on a proper holiday, but not even I could have suspected he was having it off with Jean from number 36. Yes, her whose husband couldn’t even get on soft centres! I suppose that’s why she wanted Bill. A bit of class, my Bill, I always used to say. Despite his rumping.
It must have been the shock of me finding out that led to his stroke. Oh, I couldn’t have planned it more perfectly. I sent Bill round with an extra box of chocolates for Jean come Hallowe’en night – to be neighbourly and all. Next thing you know, her Tony’s on the phone all in hysterics telling me to come round right away, and when I get there, Jean’s in a bloody pair of suspenders from Ann Summers on Coney Street, lying on the settee with blood foaming from her mouth. Our Bill’s in his Y-fronts in the corner, looking as if he’d been punched in his great big gut, so I had to give him something sweet for the shock, of course. The chocolates were closest to hand. I’ll always remember just as his face went white, the first trick or treater came ringing. Tony went to answer it. He thought it were the ambulance. But it was Dotty from number 12’s granddaughter, dressed as that horrid pig cartoon they’ve always got on the telly.
One more cuppa? No thanks – but you could take my mug into the kitchen to wash up? No, don’t worry. I can just sit here and chat to Bill. We could always chat away, us two!
Ah, there she goes. Oh, poor Bill. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but it’ll be a relief when you go. It’s a burden on our family, you know. You being stuck in here. With meals that look like mashed up rusk and baby food, and no one to clip your toenails. It would have been a blessing if you went when you had the stroke, the first time I tried it, if only it hadn’t been in Jean and Tony’s house. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s gossip.
Look at you. You know, I could have been something. When I worked at Boots, they taught us all sorts. How to dress a wound. How to properly fill a syringe. What medicines you shouldn’t mix with others. And now here I am, sat here visiting a husband who can’t lift a finger to help himself or anyone else.
Oh don’t mind me, love! You know, I’ve no right to be mardy. I’ll be off to get the house ready for tonight. I do hope there’s at least one trick or treater. It’d be a right shame to miss out on that. And speaking of treats – look at this one I’ve got for you! I saved it from my cup of tea earlier. Perhaps, once you’ve had your dinner, the nurse can give it to you? I’ll leave it – just here. A special one, with my love. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Bill! I’ll ask the nurse to make sure you really enjoy it. A nice soft centre, this one. You couldn’t have filled it better yourself. You always did love a strawberry cream.
(c) Victoria Finan, 2018
By day, Victoria Finan (left) works for charity PR in London, by night she dreams and writes of her Yorkshire homeland. She likes all things Victorian, gothic, ghostly and a little bit macabre and her greatest fear is still coming across the Woman in Black. She is slowly working on her first novel.
Margaret Ashley has been an actress and voice actor for over 30 years and performed in theatre, TV, film, radio, commercials and as various voices in video games. TV credits include Coronation Street, The Bill, London’s Burning, The Ward. Recently recorded Doctor Who and My Boy Jack audio drama and for Halloween an animation as Vampire and Narrator in A Ghostly Tale.
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