Free Private Sorrow, A by Maureen Reynolds

she never had enough to do with her life, that she had to meddle in everybody else’s affairs. I expect she’s still at it.’
    Molly looked surprised. ‘Is she still alive? Anita said she was about eighty years old in 1929.’
    Vera laughed again. ‘Isn’t that typical of a young, newly married bride of nineteen? They think all elderly people are ancient. No, Mrs Pert was only about sixty when she lived here, but now she lives with her sister and her niece in Clepington Road. I mean, she’ll be really old now, but she’s not dead and buried like Anita seems to think.’
    Molly jotted down her address. She would go and see the woman tomorrow. She hoped that this old woman, with the sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, would help in this case where there were scores of facts and theories but nothing that could be pinned down to the truth. So many people who knew Etta had their own impressions of her, which didn’t help in piecing together her last few days living with her mother.
    ‘I’ve just one more question, Vera. Have you any idea why Dave went to Arbroath on the day he died, and do you think Etta went with him?’
    Vera said, ‘That’s something I’ve often wondered and I can’t think why he would go. As for Etta, well, she was never seen again after the accident, so I don’t know.’ She stopped speaking and looked unhappy. ‘When we married in 1913 we were too young. Then Etta was born and when Dave didn’t return from the war until she was five. We had a hard job readjusting to one another and I have to admit we didn’t really succeed. Dave was very moody and he had a bad temper at times. I felt I had to walk on eggshells all the time. He would go on long walks, either by himself or with Etta, and I felt left out of that arrangement. I guess it makes sense that they would both leave me at the same time, not giving me any clue as to what happened.’
    Not knowing how to reply to Vera’s melancholy, Molly simply said, ‘Well, I’ll get back to the office and type up all my notes.’ She left Vera sitting by the fire with an empty plate and cup beside her on a small table. She felt such a pang of sympathy for the woman that she had to hurry out the door and down the stairs in case she burst into tears.

11
    Mary turned up for work at Keiller’s sweet factory at 7:15 a.m. and joined the throng of people who were making their way into the Albert Square factory. This noisy group filtered into various departments and she was soon the only person left at the small office by the front door. An older man appeared and scrutinised her work slip. ‘It’s the quality control department you’re looking for, lass,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’
    They walked through a lot of the departments, which even at this early time of the morning were hives of activity. In contrast, the quality control office was a quiet haven. A plump woman came forward and introduced herself. ‘I’m Miss Whyte and I’m in charge of this office.’ She looked as if she was ready to burst out of her skirt and Mary wondered if part of this job meant having to taste all the sweeties.
    Standing at a desk was a young man who came over. ‘Hi, I’m Phil. You will be working with me most of the time.’
    Mary could only stare at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen outside of the Hollywood films. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were deep brown. She had often read in her True Romance magazines about people with limpid, luscious eyes but she had never believed it … at least not until now. Then he smiled, showing the whitest teeth. He was perfection from head to foot. She wished now that she had taken more care over her appearance. Not that she was badly dressed, but her work suit and white blouse looked frumpy next to this gorgeous man.
    He started to explain what the work entailed. ‘We go round all the departments and take samples so we can analyse them, to make sure they are the best quality