Page 15 of Mine before Dawn
The seamstress’s shop down the road needed a shop assistant.
And one week later, Mavis told her of a small apartment that her friend wanted to rent. And for the very first time in her life, Asha had a home which was all hers.
***
Chapter 6
The landlady was a war-veteran's widow, a lovely little lady called Stella Burton with a bright red poppy pinned to her grey wool dress. Her faded grey eyes were still sharp and reminded Asha of an old school teacher.
“Now, I don't want any hanky-panky business going on, young lady,” she had said sternly. “It will be £1.20 a week for ya. And don't be late on your rent. And keep that young'un quiet. I don't want to be hearing any thumping on the boards, mind you.”
She was a woman of few words and kept to herself. Her husband had died during the First World War and she had never remarried or had children. Asha did not miss the way her face seemed to brighten up when she saw the boy. A couple of days later, she climbed two flights of stairs on creaky arthritic knees and left a box of homemade lavender and lemon cake slices at their doorstep. Not a word was exchanged.
The first time Asha saw the flat, she wasn’t sure what to feel.
It was a small, converted garret—nothing more than a glorified attic with a kitchen space, a small closet masquerading as a bedroom and a bathroom. The door stuck when she tried to pushit open. The air smelt faintly damp and mould blackened the windowsills and corners.
There was one double bed in the common area and a narrow living space. A hotplate and an ancient fridge which made alarming groaning noises. The shower leaked. The chimney had a thin crack running along the base where rain must have found its way in.
And the second room was little more than a closet with a window.
But it was theirs. There were no shared walls with strangers. Going to the toilet at night didn't require a sprint through a common corridor in low light while her heart was beating its way out of her chest.
Even if it was not perfect, it was their space.
So, she said yes.
The first few weeks were spent fixing what she could. Scraps of cloth from the seamstress turned into curtains. The light filtered through the cracked window glass like a rainbow.
The leak around the chimney announced itself slowly and was a story of its own.
At first, it was just a faint dampness, a darker patch that refused to dry. Then one evening, after a steady spell of rain, it began to trickle—thin, persistent drops that ran down the wall and pooled along the edge of the floor.
Asha had tried to catch it with a bowl.
She pretended, for a day or two, that it was manageable.
The landlady was away, visiting a cousin.
***
The boy couldn't keep anything to himself. Within minutes of reaching the pub after school, he gave his daily account of 'whathappened at school' while Patrick pretended not to listen. It had become a kind of routine for them.
“Patik… it’s raining inside our house,” he said while he munched on a chicken leg, crouched behind the counter. Asha had long since given up even trying to stay vegetarian. Keeping her child fed took priority over any religious inclinations.
Patrick grunted, not looking up at first.
“Is it now?”
“It’s dripping,” Tanay insisted before getting distracted by the box of old toys Patrick had unearthed from his attic. Patrick moved on to proudly clean a framed photograph on the mantle showed a younger Patrick and Mavis with four boys displaying toothy grins.
Asha sighed softly, pressing her fingers to her temple.
Patrick said nothing but that night when Asha shrugged her coat on, Patrick had walked up and jerked his chin toward the door. “James’ll fix it.”
It didn't register for a second to her tired brain.
“James?” she repeated blankly before her eyes met the now familiar silver ones that seemed to follow her every movement.
