MB09 - You Stole My Heart Away Read online

  Copyright © 2006 Joan Jonker

  The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 9074 8

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Joan Jonker

  Dedication

  Forward

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her bestselling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.

  Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won her millions of adoring fans:

  ‘Wonderful . . . the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York

  ‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon

  ‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall

  ‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire

  ‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool

  Also by Joan Jonker

  When One Door Closes

  Man Of The House

  Home Is Where The Heart Is

  Stay In Your Own Back Yard

  Last Tram To Lime Street

  Sweet Rosie O’Grady

  The Pride Of Polly Perkins

  Sadie Was A Lady

  Walking My Baby Back Home

  Try A Little Tenderness

  Stay As Sweet As You Are

  Down Our Street

  Dream A Little Dream

  Many A Tear Has To Fall

  After The Last Dance Is Over

  Taking A Chance On Love

  Strolling With The One I Love

  I dedicate this book to all my readers, for without them where would I be?

  I would like to say a huge thank you to my niece, Jean, for allowing me to use her wedding photograph on the front cover of this book. She was such a pretty bride and is still as beautiful to this day.

  Hello again to my friends

  Here is another Molly and Nellie story and the fearless mates are in good form, so sit back and enjoy the fun.

  Take care now.

  Love

  Joan

  PS – A little bit of gossip: some of you might remember Brian, my gardener, who pestered me to mention him in one of my books. Well, his wife had a baby recently and I swear his head and chest have grown about six inches. Honestly, you’d think he’d performed a miracle! His wife is called Sam, and she’s very pretty, and the baby is Thomas.

  Chapter One

  Molly Bennett carried the breakfast dishes out to the kitchen and put them on the draining board. There weren’t many these days, since three of her children had flown the nest. All in the space of two years. She didn’t half miss them, especially at mealtimes when the room would be alive with voices shouting to be heard above the din, and laughter. Lots of laughter.

  Leaning back against the sink, Molly let her mind go back over those days. And she told herself she shouldn’t be feeling sorry for herself, she should be glad the three children were happily married and settled down so close to her. She saw them every day, and two of them had made her a grandmother. ‘I should be counting me blessings,’ she told the gas cooker, ‘instead of standing here feeling sorry for meself. So pull yerself together, Molly Bennett, and get some work done.’

  She walked back into the living room, and bending over the table she gathered together the four corners of the white tablecloth. Then she took it out into the yard and gave it a good shake before folding it neatly and putting it in the cupboard of the sideboard. While she was doing this with one hand, the other hand was reaching for the maroon chenille cloth which would cover the table until dinnertime. When that task was complete, she tried to put some spark into herself, but she couldn’t raise her spirits.

  Sighing softly, Molly told the empty room, ‘It’s Monday morning blues, that’s what’s wrong with me. Just the thought of that tub full of washing is enough to give me the willies. Still, the clothes have been in steep all night, so I’ll only have to rinse them in clean water before putting them through the mangle. And from the look of the clear blue sky, it’s going to be a good day for drying. So, all being well, I should have the clothes pegged out on the line in an hour, and they’ll be dry enough for ironing before Jack and Ruthie get home from work.’

  ‘Who are yer talking to, girl?’

  Startled, Molly spun round, to find herself looking down into the face of her mate, Nellie McDonough, who looked as though she didn’t have a care in the world. This didn’t go down well with Molly, whose heartbeat was racing with shock. ‘Nellie McDonough, yer gave me the fright of me life! What d’yer think ye’re playing at? And how the hell did yer get in anyway?’

  ‘Yer door was ajar, girl, and I thought yer’d left it open on purpose. You know, like yer were inviting me in for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yer must think I want me bumps feeling! It’s Monday, Nellie McDonough, washday! Yer know damn well I won’t let yer in for a cuppa on a Monday morning until me washing is on the line, me beds are made, and the place is cleaned and tidied.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Nellie, it’s no good looking sorry for yerself and pulling faces, ’cos it won’t work. Yer can just turn round and go out the way yer came in. And make sure yer close the door properly on the way out, ’cos I don’t want any more unexpected visitors.’

  Nellie pouted her lips and dropped her he
ad as she turned towards the door. But it wasn’t her little girl lost look that caused Molly to follow her, it was curiosity. ‘Why were yer passing my door at eight o’clock in the morning, anyway?’

  Nellie kept her head down so her mate couldn’t see the crafty look in her eyes. ‘I was on my way to the corner shop for an aspirin, girl, ’cos I’ve got a splitting headache, and I don’t feel so good.’

  As Nellie had anticipated, Molly found herself in a dilemma. She was used to her mate playing the fool to get some sympathy, but as Nellie was a good actress, you could never tell whether she was telling the truth or not. So Molly was torn, and decided to take the middle road. ‘I’m sorry about that, sunshine, and I can’t help yer ’cos I don’t have any aspirin. I’ve got a Beecham’s powder, though, and they’re very good for headaches.’ She put an arm round Nellie’s shoulder. ‘Sit at the table and I’ll mix yer a powder, then I’ll make yer a cup of tea. Yer’ll be as right as rain then, and yer can go home and leave me to get me work done.’

  When Molly bustled out to the kitchen, still wondering if her mate was telling the truth or not, Nellie carried the carver chair from the wall by the sideboard to the middle of the room. After using a foot to kick one of the dining chairs out of the way, she placed her trophy at the head of the table. She told herself that she deserved to be comfortable after being clever enough to make up that cock and bull story so quick. Mind you, she didn’t fancy having to take a Beecham’s powder, ’cos she hated them.

  ‘Here yer are, sunshine, get that down yer while I see to the kettle.’ Molly put the cup down in front of her mate. ‘Yer’ll feel better in no time.’ Then she bustled out to the kitchen again.

  Nellie pulled a face when the cup neared her lips, and she shivered with distaste. It was no good, she couldn’t drink it. But what the heck could she do with it? She couldn’t tell her mate now that she didn’t have a headache, because she’d be sent home without a cup of tea. ‘I can’t drink this, though,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘I’d make meself sick. I’d throw it away if there was anywhere to throw it.’ Just as she was saying that, her eyes lighted on Molly’s pride and joy, the aspidistra plant that stood on a little table in front of the window. Now even Nellie knew that plants never got headaches, but they did like a drink now and again. In fact they died if they didn’t get watered, so she’d be doing it a favour.

  Her eyes narrowed to slits, Nellie cocked an ear to the kitchen. She could hear her mate getting the cups down, so she’d have time to make it to the aspidistra while Molly was busy, and no one would be any the wiser. Except the plant, of course, but that wouldn’t be able to snitch on her. So slowly scraping her chair back, Nellie put the cup down while she used her two hands to push herself to her feet. Then, after a furtive glance towards the kitchen, she picked up the cup and began the slow, silent walk towards her goal.

  In the kitchen, the kettle began to boil and Molly switched it off. But she didn’t pour the water into the teapot, for there was a little niggle in her mind that was telling her to keep an eye on her mate, for the tale she told didn’t ring true. In the twenty-odd years of their friendship, she’d never once known Nellie to have a headache. So she walked into the living room just in time to see her mate’s arm moving upwards, with the cup in her hand tilted ready to pour the contents on to Molly’s pride and joy. ‘Don’t you dare, Nellie McDonough, or so help me I’ll never speak to yer again as long as I live.’ Molly took the cup from Nellie’s hand and glared down at her. ‘My ma gave me that plant twenty years ago, and I’ve treasured it ever since. And you, you sneak, were going to kill it off! What the hell were yer thinking of ?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to kill it off, I was only going to give it a drink, like what I’ve seen you do plenty of times.’ Nellie put on her innocent face. ‘I was doing you a favour, girl, that’s all!’

  ‘I’m lost for words, Nellie. I thought I was past being surprised by anything you do. But this little lark takes my breath away. Even you should have known the powder I put in that cup was to clear your headache, not to kill off me plant.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be getting yer knickers in a twist, girl, not this early in the morning. If yer look in the saucer, yer’ll see I poured half the ruddy water in there! So the drop what’s left in the cup wouldn’t have done the bleeding plant no harm. In fact it might have done it the world of good. Yer might have come down tomorrow morning and found flowers growing, what yer’ve never had in the twenty years yer’ve had it.’

  With her nostrils flared and teeth ground together, Molly said, ‘Nellie, aspidistra plants don’t have flowers.’

  Nellie turned her head slightly, telling herself Molly was weakening: she could see it in her eyes. ‘What good is a plant what doesn’t ever flower, girl? Waste of space if yer ask me.’

  ‘Nobody is asking you, Nellie McDonough, certainly not about a plant what yer nearly murdered.’ Molly leaned forward and looked closely at Nellie. ‘Yer haven’t got a headache, have yer? In fact yer never did have one and when yer said yer weren’t feeling too good, that was a lie as well, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Are yer asking me or telling me, girl?’ Nellie shook her head slowly, for she didn’t want to wake her chins up. ‘If yer don’t calm down, it’ll be you what’s got a headache and not feeling too good. But yer wouldn’t have to worry, girl, ’cos help is at hand. There’s enough Beecham’s powder in me saucer to clear the headache, and the kettle’s been boiled once, so it won’t take me long to make yer a nice cup of tea.’ Nellie’s chubby face beamed. ‘So yer see, girl, there’s no need to get yerself all worked up, which I keep telling yer is bad for yer heart. That’s your trouble, girl, yer worry about things what are not worth worrying about. Like that ruddy plant! I know yer ma gave it to yer and yer think the world of it, but just ask yerself, what is more important? Your life, or me poisoning that bleeding plant?’

  ‘Oh, I was never worried about the aspidistra, Nellie.’ Molly kept her face straight. ‘Yer see, the only thing in the cup was a drop of water out of the tap, with a spoonful of cold tea added to make it look like I’d put a powder in. Yer see, sunshine, I never really believed the tale yer came up with, about having a headache and not feeling too good. Yer never have a headache, and if yer did get one, yer wouldn’t be going to the corner shop for an aspirin, ’cos Maisie doesn’t sell them. So now we’ve sorted the truth out, I’d like you to get back home and leave me to get me washing out. But I still want to know how you got in here. I’m sure I closed the door after seeing Jack and Ruthie off to work.’

  ‘Well, ye’re not as clever as yer think yer are, girl, ’cos I hear your door getting banged every morning. Regular as clockwork, you are. And I heard yer closing it this morning. But I’ve got sharp ears, girl, and I didn’t hear the lock click into place like it usually does. So I knew yer hadn’t banged it hard enough. Easy mistake to make, girl; I’ve done it meself before today.’

  ‘Now I know you watch me every movement, sunshine, I’ll be extra careful. But don’t keep looking at yer chair, ’cos it’s not going to have the pleasure of your company for at least two hours. I’ll see yer at half ten.’

  Nellie was very reluctant to lift her feet off the ground, and Molly had to take her arm and escort her to the door. All the time Nellie was muttering, ‘She’s a miserable bugger, even if she is me mate. There’s a ruddy good chair going to waste in there. And even though she wouldn’t agree, I bet it’s missing me, ’cos me backside keeps it nice and warm.’

  Thinking of all the work she had to get through in two hours, Molly started to close the door. ‘See yer at half ten, Nellie, and I’ll have a couple of custard creams for yer to have with yer tea.’

  She shut the door and leaned back against it, then chuckled when she heard her mate saying, ‘Two fiddling custard creams! She’s killing me with bleeding kindness, that’s what she’s doing, the miserable beggar. Thinks she’s doing me a big favour with two biscuits what I’ll swallow so quick me throat won’t even know they’ve
passed through.’

  While Molly went back to her kitchen and the dolly tub, Nellie walked slowly to her own house three doors away. She really felt down in the dumps. It wasn’t often she failed to get round her mate, but she had today and it was her own fault. She’d really put her foot in it over that ruddy plant. She wouldn’t give it house room herself. ‘I mean, what good is it? It doesn’t speak or laugh, to brighten up the place. It just stands there, day after day, doing sweet bugger all. And it expects to be given a drink twice a week, and dusted once a week. Molly doesn’t half fuss over it, even washes its leaves with a damp cloth every Saturday without fail. And she even goes as far as moving the ruddy thing away from the window when the sun is shining on it! I mean, that’s going a bit too far. She needs her head seeing to,’ Nellie muttered finally as she used the doorframe to pull herself up the two steps. Then, puffing and red in the face from exertion, she waddled halfway down the tiny hall before coming to a halt just long enough to kick her leg backwards to shut the front door. And when Nellie shut the door, well, the door knew only too well that it had been shut, for it shuddered for a few seconds with the impact.

  The first thing that met her eyes when she entered the living room was the fireplace. It hadn’t been cleaned out, and the ashes were spread across the grate and hearth. And the sight added to Nellie’s woes. Pointing to it with a chubby finger, she said, ‘And as for you, ye’re as useless as that bleeding plant of me mate’s. Ye’re just bone idle.’ After a few huffs, she added, ‘And yer can stay like that for all I care. I’m going to give me washing a quick rinse out, while the kettle’s warming up. And I’ve no intention of pulling me guts out by putting the clothes through the mangle, either, ’cos it’s too much like hard work. I’ll wring as much water out of them as I can with me bare hands, then put them on the washing line to drip dry. The kettle will have boiled by then, and I can make meself a cuppa.’ Once again she pointed to the grate. ‘If I’ve got any time to spare after that, I’ll give yer a quick going over with the hand brush and shovel. But only if I’ve got time, mind, ’cos I’ve got to be at me mate’s by half ten. I know it’s only two custard creams, but even that is better than a kick up the backside. And credit where credit is due, she makes a better cup of tea than I do. Don’t ask me how, but I think it’s got something to do with the way she holds her mouth.’ She held up an open hand. ‘Anyway, don’t argue with me ’cos the way I’m carrying on, it’ll be bedtime before I get me ruddy washing on the line.’