by Maggie Ford
Danny sat by his dad’s bedside. ‘I don’t think you can come home yet, not until they say you can. You’ve got to be up and used to a wheelchair before they’ll let you out. Mum can’t lug you about. She’s only a small person and you are a bit hefty, for all the accident.’
His father, flat on his back, glowered at him. ‘I don’t want this lot messin’ about with me any more. Food here’s bleedin’ awful. What I want is a bit of your mum’s cookin’ inside me. Never been in hospital in all me life an’ I don’t intend being farted about with in ’ere for much longer.’
‘But they’re still keeping an eye out for bladder infection. And you’ve not got your functions under control yet. They’ve got all the ways and means to look after that. You can’t ask Mum to do it. They wouldn’t allow her to.’
His father’s expression didn’t alter; became even more belligerent at talk of his personal waterworks. Not only that, his present lack of bowel control left him unhappy. ‘It’s bleedin’ humiliatin’, young bits of stuff in uniform pullin’ me about, lookin’ at all me privates, puttin’ a nappy on me like some soddin’ baby in case I shit meself.’
‘They’re trained for that, Dad. You don’t mean nothing to them. You’re a case they have to see to.’ Danny fiddled with the edge of the bed cover, that stiff board-like hospital material that seemed designed more to tie a patient down in a vice-like grip than keep him warm. ‘They said you could be out in six weeks if all goes well.’
‘They said.’ Dan gave a harsh humourless explosion of a laugh. ‘I could discharge meself anytime I please.’
‘Dad, you’ve got to be patient.’
‘Got to? Me, got to?’ He dragged his hand away when his son tried to take hold of it and savagely tapped his own breast with a hard tight fist, his weather-beaten lips curling downward. ‘I’m still me own master. Remember that. I say whether I’ve got to do anything or not.’
‘It’d be unfair on Mum,’ Danny pleaded. ‘And I don’t think you can really insist on leaving in your condition.’
‘I don’t want to be farted about with any longer,’ came the reply.
So that was it. Danny came away to tell his mother that Dad had made up his mind to come home.
‘Always was stubborn,’ she said as she pulled their Friday dinner out of the oven. It still felt strange not to be cooking for him. ‘Though what I’m going to do I don’t know. How’s he going to ever leave the house again when they bring him home? I’m going to have to push him about, him a heavy man. I won’t be able to take him out, uphill to the shops or anything. It’ll be like a prison for him, and me.’
‘I could push him outdoors,’ Danny offered. ‘And anyway, they won’t let him come home yet, no matter what he says.’
But she wasn’t really listening as she contemplated a future that held only labour and care and an utter change to her life. ‘We’ll have to turn the downstairs back room into a bedroom for him. I can see meself doing everything for him.’
‘He’ll be able to do some things for himself, wash, shave …’
‘And go to the toilet, and dress himself, and get in and out of bed?’
‘The hospital will show him how to do all that before he comes home.’
‘He’s a proud man, your father. Him having to have other people do things for him, it’ll cripple him …’ She broke off, realising the cruel truth behind that thoughtless aphorism. She hurried on. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do, how we’ll survive for money, him not able to work.’
‘I’m here, Mum,’ Danny said with a sense of indignation that she had not once considered him, twenty-eight years old, capable of supporting this family. ‘What d’you think I’d be doing? Sitting here on me backside?’
She turned to him. ‘You’ve your own life to lead, Danny. We couldn’t expect you to support us all.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … well, apart from the bit you give me for house keeping, what money you get from the business is yours. You’re not like a married man, all your money going out. You’re a free agent.’
‘If I got married I wouldn’t be.’
‘That’d be different, going into it with your eyes open. But I’d never ask you to keep us.’
Danny got up from the table where he’d been sitting, knowing the tide would soon be on the turn and he and his uncles ready to take the Steadfast out to the cockling grounds. Things had to go on, with or without Dad. ‘Then let’s say I’m volunteering to take Dad’s place. He’d expect that.’
And he’d tell Lily what he’d decided. They’d get married as soon as possible and live here. Mum would need an extra pair of hands with Josie and Connie at work.
Chapter Eighteen
It was good to get away from it all. Mum stayed in the hospital all afternoon, coming home to make a tea that was no longer up to her usual standard, since she gave herself hardly any time to make it, and went back again to the hospital to spend nearly half the evening there with Dad. She came home on a late bus worn out, to go straight to bed after a cup of cocoa and a cheese sandwich.
Josie longed for the old days back again. It had been three weeks since Dad’s accident. Connie had gone with Mum on several occasions after work. Josie herself had gone only three times, a trundling journey by bus, a long sit by Dad’s bedside, bored stiff with the same old conversation, which consisted of him grumbling, Mum reassuring, as he talked about the rotten hospital food, the way the nurses were treating him, and she tried to fill in the gaps with home trivia. Josie was glad it was Saturday.
No Saturday morning work loomed this week. She now did alternate Saturdays as assistant receptionist at the Cliffs Hotel. She was going up to see Arthur, meeting as they had done twice already, at the Salmon and Ball Pub, under the railway arch on the corner of Bethnal Green Road and Cambridge Heath Road. The weather remained pretty warm for mid-September so they might take a walk in the park if Arthur was strapped for cash. Half of his money went to keep his mum, his younger brother helping too. His sister was still at school. Sitting on the train, Josie mused that the same sort of fate was befalling her own brother, keeping the family, with Connie helping, and her too, a bit.
Yes, it was good to get away from it all. With a heart that seemed to renew itself with each mile the train travelled towards London, she turned her thoughts away from family problems towards Arthur.
Three times she’d seen him. That day in April when she’d been stupid enough to leave him standing to go off, with some fancy bloke had been put well behind her. She wouldn’t do that again in a hurry. Arthur was worth fifty of them sort of people, she had learned now.
He was there waiting for her as she got off the bus from Fenchurch Street, the train having got her into London just before twelve. He looked so tall and handsome in his well-brushed brown Sunday suit, his brown trilby at its usual rakish angle as he stood looking out for her, his neck stretched to see better over the teeming Saturday shoppers.
She hurried up to him and saw his bright blue eyes all a-sparkle. She too smiled broadly, seeing some exciting news in those eyes. He held her in welcome, kissed her cheek, an appropriately restrained greeting in this crowded area.
‘What?’ she asked, his eyes still shining down at her.
‘I’ve booked seats fer us. Fer tonight. Ter see Show Boat.’
‘Tonight? Oh, Arthur, my mum’ll be worried stiff, me getting home so late. She’s had enough trouble about Dad.’ She had, of course, written to him about Dad, about their changed circumstances, pouring all out to him so that her mind would be eased of the weight of not being able to tell friends who might purr at the thought of a slightly better-off family than theirs coming to grief. Arthur, who knew all about changes in circumstances, cuddled her to him now.
‘Whatever ’appens, it ain’t no good goin’ ter meet it ’alf way. It’ll right itself in time an’ yer’ll all learn ter go along wiv it. An’ yer’ll be s’prised wot friends yer’ve got when yer look ararnd. I’m one yer know.’
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Yes, he was. She thanked the Lord she had found him again.
‘Could yer send ’er a quick telegram,’ he suggested. ‘She’d get it in an hour or so …’
‘Oh no!’ Josie was startled. ‘She’d think it was about Dad.’
‘Telephone then?’ They were starting to cross the wide busy junction towards the park, taking that direction automatically, each looking this way and that and in all directions for oncoming traffic, his guiding arm around her waist as protection. Later in the park his arm would be around her waist for a totally different reason as they sat on a secluded bench and he kissed her long and firmly on the lips.
‘I don’t know anyone with a telephone.’
‘Not even a shop wot might run a message to yer mum?’
‘Only one of the corner shops. They know her well. I know their name but I don’t know their telephone number. Never had to bother before.’
‘We could ask the operator.’
‘Yes, we could.’ She began to feel excited. This was adventure, this staying out late and telephoning someone. Arthur was so clever. ‘Of course we could.’ But something else dawned on her quite out of the blue, what he had first said. She looked at him as they reached the other side of the crossroads. ‘You booked seats?’
It was usually a case of joining a queue for the gods, often in a dark side street away from all the bright lights of the theatre frontage. Everyone in the thick patient line hoped they’d get in, hoped the uppermost gallery, the gods, wouldn’t fill up before their turn came to be let in by an indifferent male usher.
‘You booked seats,’ she said again. ‘For Show Boat.’
He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling. ‘’Ad a bit-a-luck,’ he said, his ‘t’ becoming the usual back-of-the-tongue click that served in its place. ‘On the gee-gees. Me an’ anuvver geezer went ter Sandown races last Saturday on a coach outin’. I went barmy an’ did an accumulator – that’s puttin’ wot yer win, if yer win, on an ‘orse in the next race, an if yer win on that, it all goes on the next race, and so on. I won each time. Free times. An’ one of ’em a rank outsider. I put five bob on ter start, and ended up wiv twenty quid. I give me mum ’alf. She weren’t ’alf pleased. I put a few quid away, for when somefink crops up – yer never know wot. An’ wiv the rest, you and me’s gonna ’ave a smashin’ time ternight. I’ve booked seats in the dress circle. I’ll buy yer a box of choc’lates ter go in wiv, and after that we’ll ’ave a slap-up dinner at Lyons Corner ’Ouse. Right?’
Josie felt thrilled. The dress circle. She’d never been in a dress circle. At the same time she felt worried. And guilty. ‘You shouldn’t be spending all that money on just one evening, Arthur.’
His arm tightened about her waist as they reach a quiet seat in the faintly chilly but sunny park. ‘I ain’t spendin’ it all on jus’ one evenin’. I’m spendin’ it on you.’ With that, his arm still firmly around her waist he sat them both down as one person and kissed her with a long lingering kiss, ignoring any who happened to walk past. ‘You’re my gel,’ he whispered against her lips.
It was a gorgeous show. Sitting in the fourth row of the dress circle was an experience in itself. Each seat had a tiny pair of binoculars in a slot in front of it, so that the players could be observed right up close. Josie could hardly get enough of it all. The songs were quite marvellous. ‘Old Man River’, ‘Only Make Believe’, ‘Why Do I Love You?’ filled her with joy as she munched on her chocolates from the midnight-blue box, Arthur having paid the girl in the sweet kiosk for them as if he’d been doing such things all his life. Together in the dress circle they shared them as she sat with her eyes virtually glued to the stage when not riveted to it by the binoculars. The only thing that marred it all was that she hadn’t come dressed for such an evening. A lovely surprise, yes, but if only she had known and had dolled up to the nines for it. But she was utterly pleased just the same.
The first of the two intervals was equally wonderful, standing amid a throng of well-dressed people, none of whom seemed to notice her lack of evening wear, though Arthur had bought her a small corsage of two pink roses to go with her plain moss-green dress, which passed as near appropriate for theatre-going. All in all she felt presentable enough.
Waiting for Arthur to come out of the gentlemen’s toilet, she held her glass of sherry he’d bought her, enthusiastically lavish with what was left of his winnings for all she had protested that he should look after what little was left. Someone standing behind her touched her on the elbow, lightly but deliberately. Startled, she turned to find herself gazing into a pair of deep brown eyes and a narrow tanned face beneath immaculate smooth hair.
‘I say, don’t I know you?’
The smile was suave but questioning. Recognising him instantly, Josie felt a thrill of fear ripple through her, but she managed to present a blank mask. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Yes I do.’ The frown on his forehead cleared. The dark, gathered eyebrows drew apart. ‘Aren’t you the girl I took home to that place on the east coast, Leigh-on-Sea, wasn’t it? Good Lord, last May, wasn’t it? Or was it April?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her nerves had begun to jangle. She just wanted him to go away. Arthur would be back at any moment. He mustn’t see her with this person. He would recognise him straight away. It would ruin everything with her and Arthur, and this time she wanted nothing to do with these sort of people and their debauched way of life any more. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’
‘No I haven’t. It’s Josie something-or-other. You remember, you refused to let me kiss you. And after me taking you all that way home. You just leapt out of the car and disappeared into the night like some elusive little sea-witch.’
He was speaking very fast, excitedly. ‘I almost felt you had sunk into the sea never to return to land again. I was most disappointed, you know. Not for not having any thanks for taking you home all that way, but because I was really taken by you. I’ve thought of you ever since and wondered where you went to. I began to think you must be magic, a sea-siren allowed to come up on to land for a single short spell … I can’t believe my luck seeing you. Look here, can I get you a drink? I really cannot believe …’
‘Look, I’m sorry, I really am. You’ve made an awful mistake …’
She broke free of the hold he had on her elbow, light though it was, as though he’d had a tremendous grip on it. Then she was edging away through the throng as swiftly as it would allow, a backward glance through a gap revealing him with his hand still in the position of clutching her elbow, his smoothly handsome features caught into a half-amused, half-questioning expression. She was heartily glad when the brief gap closed between her and him and she saw Arthur emerge just as the bell sounding the end of the interval reverberated loudly.
The musical had been spoiled for her. She watched it in a growing ferment of anxiety as the time for the second interval drew nearer, no longer bothering to peep at the players through the binoculars, the rest of the chocolates in the lovely box uneaten except by Arthur who devoured them, oblivious to her torment.
‘Let’s not go back to the bar,’ she pleaded as the curtain came down on the second act. ‘Let’s just sit here. All that jostling to get us a drink. I’d sooner have an ice-cream from the girl there.’
As the lights came up to reveal the trim young woman with her tray full of ice-cream tubs, Arthur followed her pointing finger and pulled a face at the long queue already forming there.
‘I don’t relish standin’ in that queue,’ Arthur muttered. ‘Oh, fer God’s sake, let’s live it up a bit, Josie. We won’t do this very offen I can tell yer. Let’s make the most of it an’ ’ave anuvver one at the bar. I can get yer anuvver sherry. I can just abart afford it and ’ave enough left fer a bite-ter-eat at Lyons Corner ’Ouse. Come on.’
He was up, pushing past those few left in their seats, so she felt forced to go with him.
In the bar, Josie looked around with veiled eyes, praying her tormentor would not find
her, or even bother to seek her out, his curiosity slaked. But there he was again, coming towards her. And there was nowhere to go.
‘I say, there you are. We seem destined to meet again and again. Providence. Though I expect you’re with someone.’
‘Yes, I am,’ she replied tersely, her gaze on the brown-suited figure of Arthur struggling to get near the elegant gilt-wreathed bar. ‘And I don’t want to upset him like last time.’
‘So you do recognise me.’
‘I never said that.’
Arthur was coming back. He’d got served quicker than expected, a man who knew how to get to the front of a crowd at any bar. Fortunately he hadn’t yet seen her.
‘Look, please go,’ she pleaded. ‘I mustn’t be seen with you.’
Nigel Hobbs – she remembered the name only too well – gave a small chuckle. ‘Ah, the chap you were with last time. Serious then, heh? Well, I shouldn’t really cause you embarrassment, should I?’ He was speaking quickly. ‘But really I couldn’t get you out of my mind last time. Having seen you again, it’ll be an even harder job. I’ll look for you in the foyer when the show’s over. I’ve friends in it, you know. Came to see them really. But I need to see you. You won’t let me down, will you? I’ll be waiting in the foyer. Be there, Josie. For the moment then, au revoir …’
It sounded like a command. Josie bit her lip as he slipped away into the throng as Arthur came up grinning and handing her the sherry.
When the show finished, they got their hats and coats from the busy cloakroom desk and put them on. They heard someone say it was raining.
‘We’ll ’ave ter sprint fer a bus,’ Arthur remarked. ‘Just ’ope there ain’t a queue, but I bet there is. Never thought of a brolly.’
He conducted her down the carpeted staircase. Surrounded by others making their way out, the going was slow. The conversation on the musical just seen, low and appreciative, moved around them like the waves of a serene ocean. He too was asking how she enjoyed it and she replied automatically that she really had, and all the time her gaze roved over the top of the people in front to see if Nigel Hobbs hovered below.
