Put Out the Fires by Maureen Lee Page A

chummy neighbourliness.
    May Kelly, for example, who’d been the first to come, had wanted to invoke the spirit of the old days, when they were both girls and occasionally played together in the street. May had grown stout with the years, and her hair had already turned iron grey.
    “They were fine times, weren’t they, Ruth?”
    “I suppose so,” said Ruth, who’d never liked the woman—the girl—and couldn’t recall the times as being particularly fine. May, she was told, had never married and neither had her brothers, Fin and Failey. They still lived in Number 18.
    “Anyroad,” May said enthusiastically, “we must get together for a jangle now ‘n’ again, talk about the old days. Remember when you were courting our Failey?”
    “I only went out with him the once,” Ruth said stiffly.
    They’d gone to a Beethoven concert given by the American pianist, Gregory Malvern, at the “Rotunda” in Scotland Road, but Failey had made no secret of the fact he was bored silly and would far prefer to be propped up against the bar of the nearest pub. There’d been no question from either side of them going out again, and Ruth felt mystified as to why she’d gone with him in the first place.
    “I’ve brought you a little present,” May said, “a quarter of tea, so you’ll have plenty for your visitors.” She winked, tapped the side of her broad flat nose, and added tactlessly, “I’ve a pig soaking in the bath, so if you want a few slices of bacon you know where to come.”
    “Thank you very much, but we don’t eat pork.”
    Ruth gave her father the gift after May had gone and he wrinkled his face dramatically, though at the same time looked pleased. “I hope you don’t mind drinking black market tea.”
    “Is that what it is, black market?” Ruth was shocked.
    Jacob nodded. “The Kellys were criminals before the war, in and out of gaol for shoplifting. They’ve transferred their talents to the black market, but they’re no better at that than they were at thieving. You can get virtually anything from the Kellys—cigarettes, food, batteries—and if you go along with a hard luck story, you can get it for nothing!” He grinned. “I reckon they pay out more than they take in. They’ll be the first black marketeers in the country to go bankrupt.”
    “Is that what the pig in the bath is all about?”
    He nodded. “Fin and Failey raid the farms at night.
    They probably rustled it, like cowboys do in the pictures.”
    Ruth watched through the window as the woman went into her house. It was incredible to think May was still living in the place where she was born, whilst she, Ruth, had become a wife and mother and spent half her life in another country. On the other hand, there was little difference between them now; Ruth was back, living in the house in which she was born, and as for the husband and children . . .
    A young woman carrying a shopping basket came out of the house next to May’s, a sad-faced girl with pretty blonde hair.
    “That’s Eileen Costello,” her father, watching beside her, said eagerly. “I look after her little boy, Tony, when she works afternoons.”
    “She looks very unhappy,” remarked Ruth, noting the drooping shoulders.
    “It’s strange, but she’s been that way ever since her husband was discharged last month from the Army, yet Francis is one of the finest men you could ever meet. A great chap, you’re sure to like him.” Jacob Singerman, who still had an eye for a pretty woman, remembered the day of Annie Poulson’s wedding, when Eileen Costello had positively radiated happiness and he could scarcely take his eyes off her dazzling face.
    “I don’t see anything strange about it,” Ruth said flatly.
    “She obviously doesn’t want her husband back.”
    This was something Jacob had begun to suspect himself, but fond of Eileen though he was, he was more concerned with his own flesh and blood at the moment.
    Throughout the two years during which he’d