Chandlers Green

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jean softly.

  In came the master, watch in his hand, eyes straying to the mantel clock so that he might synchronize the two pieces. The girl doled out chicken soup, then left the room, closing the door noiselessly in her wake. The younger members of the family began to eat, because there was nothing else to do. Table chatter had ended with their childhood, so eating was an activity that broke the boredom.

  Richard cleared his throat. ‘Nanny Foster is getting rather old to run a household of this size,’ he declared, ‘so I have employed a resident maid to assist her.’

  Jean’s spoon clattered into its dish. He didn’t give a damn about Sally, would not have noticed had she been at death’s door. And he never spoke at meals except when visitors were present. What was he thinking of now? She shivered as her eyes met his. There was a gleam in his expression, a devilment that made her blood run cold.

  Richard enjoyed his moment, made it stretch right through the first course, did not speak again until his spoon rested in its empty soup dish. ‘Polly Fishwick will be moving in,’ he said. ‘With her husband gone, she is in an isolated location. He was a good employee until his accident—’

  ‘She almost killed him,’ interjected Meredith. One glance at her father’s expression was sufficient to silence her for the moment, though she was sorely tempted to berate him.

  Richard continued as if nothing had been said. ‘—so I have not charged rent since he left her. However, that situation cannot continue, so I intend to reclaim the cottage and install Polly here. She will manage Father. Having to employ male staff to tend him is a nuisance – Polly will take none of his nonsense.’

  Jean lowered her head, raised it again. ‘I suggest you make sure that she takes no frying pans into your father’s room, dear, or he might well meet his Maker within a very short time.’ She rose from her seat. ‘If you will excuse me, I find myself without appetite today.’ With feet that felt as heavy as lead, she left the room.

  Richard Chandler apportioned to himself a huge amount of lunch, attacking it with gusto once his large plate was full. The little scene had made him hungry, had caused the juices to spring into his mouth. Jean was upset and that was a wonderful bonus.

  Meredith, furious with her father, angry with her mother for being so easily unseated by this buffoon, took the almost unprecedented decision to speak again. ‘We, too, have news, Father.’ She averted her gaze from her brothers’ faces, could not bear to witness the fear in their eyes. ‘We intend to start a business in town,’ she said, pleased to note that her father’s eating slowed, that he was even chewing the food before gulping it down. She actually managed to smile at him, though her eyes remained cold.

  ‘What?’ He dropped his cutlery. ‘No chance of that,’ he roared. ‘These boys want a profession. They have dabbled about for long enough and they need to get off to university.’

  ‘No, they don’t.’

  Richard’s face took on a purple hue that was becoming more familiar with each passing day. Meredith met his angry eyes levelly, wondered idly whether her male parent was heading for a stroke of some kind. ‘A shop, we thought. Perhaps a chandlery – it would match the name, after all.’

  ‘Never,’ roared Richard Chandler. ‘Over my dead body.’

  Meredith wondered whether that might be arranged. In this moment, she realized how much she loathed and despised the man who had caused her conception. Her thoughts danced backwards in time to childhood and she remembered how he had played with her and the boys, cricket in the garden, riding begun on small ponies, croquet once the three siblings had grown strong enough to wield a mallet. Now, he was as much fun as a dead fish.

  He turned his fury on his sons. ‘You will not serve in any shop.’

  Peter and Jeremy were frozen, two rabbits caught in the glare of bright light, nowhere to run, no place in which they might conceal themselves.

  Meredith forced herself to continue eating, though each morsel dropped into her stomach like a stone hitting concrete. ‘We are of age, Father,’ she said calmly, ‘and we shall do as we please.’

  ‘You will do as you are told!’ shouted Richard. ‘No son of mine will serve the public. Why do you think I went to the expense of private education? So that my children could sell pots and pans?’

  She shrugged lightly. ‘It is of no consequence,’ she said, ‘because we have our own money, the bequest from our grandmother.’ Again, Meredith awarded her full attention to her father. ‘You will not stop me,’ she warned. ‘The boys can do as they please, but you will never break me.’ There, it was out. The lines of battle had been drawn at last. It had taken many years, but Meredith Chandler had finally managed to speak her mind.

  ‘Leave the table,’ ordered Richard.

  ‘Gladly.’ She placed her napkin on a side plate, lined up her cutlery next to her unfinished food, then rose very slowly to her feet. It had to be said and it had to come from her, because she was the one who had inherited this man’s temper and stub-born nature. ‘You have broken our mother,’ she said, her tone ominously quiet. ‘You are quite the nastiest man I have ever met. I loathe you, absolutely and utterly. But, here’s the rub, Father dear. You cannot reach me. You cannot manage me. I am Great-Aunt Anna all over again, because you cannot destroy me as you destroyed Mother. As far as I am concerned, you are a creature of no consequence whatsoever.’

  Peter and Jeremy gasped in unison.

  The man at the head of the table sat open-mouthed, a spot of gravy dribbling its way down his chin. Had she really said all that? Was his daughter so far beyond redemption that she could attack the hand that had fed, clothed and educated her?

  Meredith addressed her brothers. ‘I shall not sit at this table again, boys. You may do as you please, but I refuse to break bread with that dreadful man.’ On this note of high drama, Meredith Chandler left the room, taking care to close the door quietly; had she slammed it, her father might have experienced a small moment of triumph.

  In the hall, she shook and shivered, her hands clammy, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to go, had to get out of here now, today, within the hour.

  ‘Meredith?’

  She turned, found her mother standing behind her. ‘I heard,’ Jean said, ‘and I have always known that you would turn out to be the one with the courage. Yes, there is some of Anna in you. We must talk, dearest girl. Oh, I should like to help you get away from here, though not yet, not until we have thought it through properly. My mother left me some money, too, and you are welcome to take part of it. I dare not hand it all over, because … well …’

  ‘Because it is your own running-away money.’

  Jean nodded mutely.

  Meredith grabbed her mother’s hands and held them tightly. ‘Come with me. I have the energy, we both have some money. Let’s do it, Mother.’

  ‘But the boys—’

  ‘The boys are old enough to take care of themselves.’

  ‘And what about Sally?’

  ‘Bring her, too. Let Polly Fishwick look after him. I’m sure she is capable of frying an egg – as long as she has a decent pan to cook it in, that is.’

  Jean smiled ruefully. ‘He is losing control completely, so I cannot leave your brothers here. They don’t have your bravery. Nor do I.’

  ‘Then I shall lend you all some of mine, Mother. It’s time to move on. Father is a terrible bully, and even though he is your husband I think you are taking loyalty too far.’

  ‘Loyalty? This is not and never was loyalty. The fact is that he is not a well man. If he dies, we inherit all of this; if I leave, I may have no claim on his estate. It is about keeping my children safe, you see. He is devious enough to alter his will at any time, but if I remain here I shall have grounds to contest. Meredith, do you imagine that I have served all these years for nothing?’

  ‘But the boys and I will inherit whatever happens, and we shall look after you. Think about it, please. I am going to pack.’

  ‘No, please,
not yet.’

  Meredith kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I must. If I don’t get out now, I may never summon the strength again. Leaving you, Nanny Foster and my brothers isn’t easy – I am not taking it lightly. But I refuse to live with him and I certainly have no intention of sleeping under the same roof as Polly Fishwick. I should probably kill the pair of them.’

  Jean sank into a chair. ‘This is all too quick for me. Please let me know where you will be, my lovely girl. I shan’t tell your father. But don’t disappear from my life – I couldn’t bear it.’

  The younger woman laughed mirthlessly. ‘Tell him – I don’t care. I do not intend to lead the quiet life, Mother, so he will hear about me, oh yes.’ Meredith’s resolve was becoming firmer by the moment. Much as she loved Jean, Jeremy and Peter, she could not continue living at the grange. She kissed her mother again, then bounded up the stairs. She was on her way out of Chandlers Grange and she nursed no intention of returning.

  Marie Martindale was slightly shocked, as was her brother Colin. The latter, a teller in a local bank, now had his own little flat in the town centre, but his mother’s cooking drew him back to Emblem Street at least three times a week. On this occasion, however, his forkful of Lancashire hotpot was suspended in mid-air as he tried to take in what Dad had just said.

  Marie was less surprised. Since she still lived at home, she had been aware for some time that a momentous announcement was on the cards. But Chandlers Green? Nothing happened up there. It was as dead as a dodo – fields and woods, the odd shop, a pub—

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Leena was saying now. ‘So fresh and wild.’

  Marie didn’t like the sound of fresh and wild and made no bones about the matter. ‘It’s somewhere to retire, Mam, not to live. You can’t have a life up there, not at my age.’ She felt like a child who was about to be abandoned at the gates of an orphanage, a poor, unwanted soul with no future.

  ‘I’ll drive you to town every day,’ promised Alf, ‘and, if you don’t like it, you’ll just have to move in with one of your friends. Remember your mam’s TB, love? She was gone for nearly a year and we don’t want that happening again, do we? It’s crystal clear up yon.’

  Colin’s fork found its way to his mouth and he chewed the hotpot slowly. Mam and Dad had always been here in Emblem Street; they were part of the scenery. A push-bike was all right for getting him here from the bank or from his flat, but he didn’t fancy pedalling all the way up those moors. ‘I shall buy a motor-bike,’ was his contribution to the discussion.

  Marie knew that she was being selfish and unreasonable, yet she was truly frightened by the imminent change. It made her insecure, uncertain. ‘I think you’ll like it up there, Mam, but I won’t.’

  Leena had tried to prepare herself for this eventuality. ‘It’s our choice, Marie, mine and your dad’s. Whatever you decide to do will be all right with us. We’re not expecting you to uproot if you want to live in town. But you’re more than welcome to come with us – either or both of you.’

  Marie’s appetite had disappeared. Everyone she cared about lived round here in this quadrant between Deane Road and Derby Street. She could enter unannounced any house on Emblem Street, was always sure of a welcome and a sympathetic ear. From here, she had walked daily to Sts Peter and Paul Infant and Junior School, had even hiked up to Mount St Joseph’s grammar school except for the odd occasion on which the weather had been too bad.

  ‘You’ll be all right, our kid,’ said Colin. ‘It’s not as if they’re emigrating to Australia. You can stay with me for a while if you like. The sofa’s not too bad if you keep away from the loose spring.’

  Marie placed her cutlery on the plate. ‘I don’t want to live with you, Colin. You’d cramp my style and you wouldn’t want my stockings dripping in your bathroom. I’ll stay here,’ she declared. ‘Just put the rent book in my name, then I’ll get a lodger and I’ll manage.’

  A look passed between Leena and Alf. For some reason neither could fathom, they didn’t like the idea of leaving her here in this house all by herself. It was a safe street in a friendly area, so that was not the cause of their unease; no, their malaise sprang from a mental picture of Marie standing at this door as they drove off – that would feel like abandonment. It would be better if she, too, moved on to a fresh start, either with them or elsewhere in the town, perhaps with one of her friends.

  Alf came up with the solution. ‘Tell you what, Marie, we’ll hang on to this rent book while we move – pay the rent for a few more weeks. You come with us up to Chandlers, then, if you don’t like it, you can move back here. How’s that?’

  Well, that would do no harm, she supposed. And it would give her the chance to make sure that Mam and Dad were settled, would allow her to help them to sort out furniture and so forth. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but don’t press me to stay out there in the country, Dad, because I’m sure I’m not made for it. I know writers and poets go on about trees and flowers and birds, but give me an hour in Woolworths any day. Wordsworth’s Daffodils? I only read it because it was on the syllabus. Couldn’t be bothered with a man who raved on about flowers.’

  ‘They get cuckoos in the woods,’ said Leena.

  ‘Good,’ replied her daughter. ‘Let’s hope they stay there, because that one in our clock is enough for me.’ She continued with her meal, though she did not enjoy it. Angry with herself for not being more generous, she left the table before emptying her plate.

  ‘She’s upset,’ said Leena.

  ‘We know,’ replied Colin. ‘Take no notice, Mam, because she’ll get over it. Folk can be spoilt without money, you know. She’s had too much of her own way, too much to say for herself – she’ll grow out of it.’

  Alf looked at his wife’s face, could see quite clearly that she was unhappy. He wanted her to live, couldn’t bear the thought of her returning to the sanatorium, three walls, freezing cold because the fourth wall was just wide-open windows, those injections of penicillin, X-rays, sputum tests, boredom and fear. He was not a man who gave way easily to anger, but he rose from his seat and followed Marie into the front room.

  She was seated by the window and did not turn to look at him.

  ‘I never realized how selfish you are, Marie,’ he said.

  ‘Neither did I. But I’m scared and I don’t know why. At my age, I should be all right on my own, but I feel … frightened.’

  ‘How frightened would you feel if your mother started spitting blood again? Remember? When we thought it was cancer? Remember all those months when you had to look after yourselves, you and our Colin? I am not going to lose my wife, Marie. I’ve loved that woman since I was a lad and I am not willing to stay here while she breathes in the stink of this town.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So you just pull yourself together, Marie Martindale. We’ve done our best for you, for both of you. Nothing stays the same in this life. Your mam and I are moving to Chandlers Green. Like I said before, I’ll hang on to this rent book and you can live where you like. But if you make my wife change her mind about leaving Bolton, I shall never forgive you.’

  Marie nodded. ‘Don’t worry, she’s going if I have to drive her up there with a whip, Dad. I just need to get used to it, that’s all.’

  Without saying another word, Alf left the room.

  ‘How is she?’ asked Leena anxiously.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Alf. ‘She’s just sorting it all out in her mind, love.’

  Colin patted his stomach. ‘Any pudding, Mam?’

  ‘There might be.’ Leena got to her feet and walked to the scullery. She stood at the old sink and looked out into the tiny back yard. Soon, there would be a garden, many different birds, real trees, perhaps the odd squirrel. Marie would be all right. She picked up her sherry trifle and carried it through to the menfolk.

  Meredith Chandler was afraid. Anger had sustained her throughout much of the day, but now, having been deposited by a taxi outside the Pack Horse Hotel, she suddenly felt like a chil
d sent away from home during the war, a refugee who was instantly nameless and unimportant. What on earth had she done? How many people in this world enjoyed her privileges, her easy life?

  She swallowed painfully, realized that she had never done this sort of thing alone before, was unsure of how to register, how to book a room. Her brothers had disappeared after lunch, were clearly still in awe of their bullying father and would not wish to upset Mother. Mother understood Meredith – even Sally Foster had approved. Knowing that she could never return to her home, Meredith entered the hotel, gave the receptionist her name and followed a porter to her room.

  She had done it. The door was closed and she was alone in a place that had nothing of herself in it, no ornament, no memento, no character. Opening her case, she took out Flops, the one-eyed bear who had accompanied her thus far on the journey through life. When the battered teddy was on her pillow, she placed her pyjama case beside him, then arranged some photographs on the dressing table. It was still nothing like home, but there was something of herself on display, at least.

  She looked through the window at the education offices, at the cinema, wondered whether to go and sit through a film, decided against it. For want of some better occupation, she picked up her copy of the Bolton Evening News, flicked through it, found the businesses-to-let section. How could she start a business all by herself? Where were her brothers when she needed them? All her schoolfriends were settled, some having been to university or teacher-training college, a couple already married, several engaged.

  Right, what had she achieved so far, what had she done with her time since school? Seven or eight months at a riding stables, mucking out and mucking about with a handsome stable boy, almost two years as a part-time receptionist for a dentist – a friend of Father’s, naturally – then a few months in a florist’s shop, nice, dainty, ladylike. What next? Was she supposed to wait at home for a handsome prince on a white charger?