by Pam Weaver
‘I don’t know,’ said Izzie. She took a deep breath. ‘First of all Daddy said, “You’re my wife,” and Mummy said, “Get off me.” Then Daddy said, “You should never have let the sock go.”’
‘Let the sock go?’ her grandmother had said incredulously. She laid the rolling pin down and turned the pastry clockwise. ‘What on earth does that mean?’
Frustrated, Izzie cried, ‘I don’t know, but then Mummy said, “Stay over that side.” And Daddy said, “It’s time we got on with it,” and Mummy said, “No, Bill, it upsets me too much. Stop it. Leave me alone.”’
‘Izzie!’ Her grandmother had gone very pink. She picked up the pin again and began to roll the pastry with a vengeance. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake.’
‘No I haven’t!’ Izzie insisted angrily. ‘I heard her say that.’
‘Child, you’re talking about things you don’t understand,’ Granny had said firmly. ‘I don’t think we should discuss this anymore.’
‘But why not?’ Izzie had demanded.
Her grandmother had banged the rolling pin down. ‘Because I said so!’
It was plain that the subject was closed. Izzie had been annoyed at the time, but what could she do? Her grandmother always stuck up for Izzie’s father but then she would, wouldn’t she. He was her only son and in Granny’s eyes he could do no wrong.
As she tore the paper from the gift, Izzie was very aware that her father was watching her over the rim of his cup of tea. He didn’t visit that often but he did make sure he was around for family occasions. Her grandfather said it was because he was a businessman now – he had an emporium, whatever that meant.
Once the wrapping paper was gone, Izzie found a long black box. Before she actually reached for his present she’d planned to be polite but put it down in favour of another, yet when she opened the plush padded jeweller’s box with a silk lining, it was impossible to hide her delight. Slim and elegant with a thin leather strap, it was her first real watch.
‘Here,’ her father said, ‘let me put it on for you.’
‘I can do it myself,’ said Izzie, pulling her arm away from him.
‘All right, Independent Annie,’ he said with a chuckle, and everyone admired Izzie’s watch.
A moment later, her grandmother passed the cake around and then they played a few parlour games like Charades and Consequences.
It wasn’t long before people wanted to go home. With the exception of Izzie’s father, they all lived within walking distance but it was already dark and it was very cold outside. The weather forecast on the radio had said it was going to freeze so everybody wanted to be back in their own homes before the bad weather set in.
‘Before you both go up to bed,’ her father said when the last of their visitors had gone, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘Ooh, what is it?’ said Linda as she quickly perched herself on the arm of the chair where their father was sitting.
Bill Baxter smiled. ‘You’re coming home,’ he said.
‘What? You mean we’re going to live with you and Mummy again?’ Linda cried.
Izzie’s heart soared. They hadn’t seen their mother for two years and now at last they were going to be together again. This had to be the most perfect birthday present of all. But then she saw her father and grandmother share an odd look.
‘Not with your mum, I’m afraid,’ her father said quietly. ‘She’s still too ill.’
Linda pouted. ‘Oh.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ their father said. ‘But look on the bright side. Things are going well with the business and I want my girlies back home. I miss you.’
Izzie frowned. ‘Why?’ she said coldly. ‘This is our home.’
‘No,’ her father said patiently. ‘This is your grandparents’ home. Your home is with me.’
Linda threw her arms around her father’s neck. ‘Oh Daddy, when can we come? Can we come tonight?’
Their father shook his head with a chuckle. ‘I was going to bring the lorry round in a couple of weeks’ time to collect your things but everything’s gone so well, I reckon I could make it by Saturday.’
‘Why?’ Izzie complained. ‘In a few weeks’ time would be better.’
‘We may as well start as we mean to go on,’ he said. ‘It still gives you time to get used to the idea and gives me enough time to get the new house ready.’
‘You mean we won’t be living in the house at Elm Grove anymore?’ said Izzie.
‘No,’ said her father. ‘We’re moving right into the heart of the town, to Chandos Road.’
‘But I liked the house in Elm Grove,’ Izzie protested. ‘All my friends are there.’
‘This is a brand new start,’ her father said firmly. ‘Your mum never actually wanted to stay in Elm Grove, not after …’ his voice drifted. ‘Anyway, she would be happier somewhere else so I’ve found us a little house at the back of Montague Street.’
‘So Mummy is coming back,’ Linda cried.
Their father hesitated. ‘Maybe.’ He glanced at their grandmother, adding, ‘and I think she might be happier in the town.’
Izzie frowned. ‘I hope the house is near my old school,’ she said crossly. ‘I want to go back to my old school.’
‘You won’t be going back to school though, will you,’ her father said. ‘You leave school at fifteen.’
The realisation hit Izzie like a ton of bricks. Of course she knew she would be leaving school this year and she’d looked forward to it … until now.
‘I leave at Easter,’ she said tartly.
‘You can leave now,’ her father insisted.
Her father sighed impatiently. The atmosphere had suddenly become frosty. Izzie’s grandfather rose to his feet. ‘Well, I think I’ll turn in, mother,’ he said to his wife. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Yes, and I think it’s time for you to come upstairs, Linda,’ their grandmother said. ‘Give your daddy a kiss.’
Linda looked up at the clock. ‘But it’s only a quarter to eight,’ she protested.
After Linda was persuaded to say her goodbyes, Izzie and her father sat in silence. They could still hear her grandad coughing and Linda’s shrill excited voice as she decided what things she was going to pack into her suitcase.
‘I don’t want to come back with you,’ Izzie said crossly.
‘Well, you’re going to have to,’ her father said.
‘Linda can go but I’m staying here.’
Her father leaned forward. ‘For once in your life, Izzie, will you do as you’re told? You have to come back home with me.’
Izzie jumped to her feet, her cheeks flaring with anger. ‘I don’t have to do anything,’ she retorted. ‘Granny likes me being here. If I ask her, she’ll let me stay, you wait and see.’
‘Are you really so blind?’ her father hissed. ‘This is your grandmother’s idea.’
Izzie stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re lying. She wouldn’t just turf us out. She wouldn’t!’
Bill Baxter sighed. ‘Izzie, your grandfather is ill. You’ve heard the way he coughs; you can see the way he can’t always get his breath. He’s got Farmer’s Lung. He needs looking after and Granny can’t cope with having the two of you in the house as well.’
Izzie’s mouth had dropped open. Grandad ill? She lowered herself back down onto the chair. Of course she’d realised he wasn’t his normal self and that he’d slowed up. She’d even noticed that he was often breathless, but it never really dawned on her that he was seriously ill. ‘What’s Farmer’s Lung?’ she said quietly.
‘You get it from breathing in the mould on hay and animal feed,’ her father said. ‘When it’s really bad, you can’t breathe properly and you cough all the time.’
‘And Grandad has all the symptoms.’
Her father nodded. Izzie’s eyes stung with unshed tears. ‘Then I should stay here and help Granny,’ she insisted. ‘Oh please let me stay.’
‘Izzie,’ her father said, ‘his time has come and they jus
t want some time to themselves.’
‘But I …’ Izzie began again.
‘I, I, I,’ said her father. ‘It’s not all about what you want.’
Izzie bit back her tears. ‘Do you die from Farmer’s Lung?’
Her father looked at her steadily. ‘Probably, yes.’ There was a short pause then he added, ‘Izzie I’m sorry, but you can see now why you both have to come back to Worthing.’ He stood up wearily and opened his arms but she stepped away from him.
‘Please yourself, but I shall be coming back with the lorry on Saturday,’ he said firmly, ‘and you’re coming back to Worthing with me whether you like it or not.’
Three
It had been a terrible wrench to leave Dial Post and it took some time for Izzie to settle down in Worthing. After the silence of the countryside, the town seemed very noisy. It amused her to recall that when they had first arrived in Dial Post to live with their grandparents, she had taken just as long to get used to life on the farm. Back then, she had complained about the peace and quiet. Her grandfather had laughed.
‘The countryside is full of noise,’ he’d said. ‘You just need to harken.’
He’d been right of course and it hadn’t taken long for her ear to become attuned to the sounds of the farm. Apart from the obvious like the cows mooing, the chickens clucking and the crow of the cockerel, she heard nightingales, turtle doves and the cuckoo. In high summer the weald was alive with the sounds of crickets and bees as she watched the tranquil paddling of dainty little blue damsel-flies on the stream. She soon learned to recognise different species of butterflies like the Purple Emperor, the Brown Argus and the Chalkhill Blue. In autumn, she learned to identify the difference between the tweet of the Tawny Owl and the shriek of the Barn Owl. In the spring, the cooing of the woodpigeon heralded the mating season and at night a vixen called her mate; things she’d never heard before she’d moved to the country. On the other hand, Linda was the exact opposite. She had been very excited about the move back to town because she had always complained that life in the country was boring and that there was nothing to do.
They had set off in their father’s lorry on Saturday with the smiles and waves from their friends and neighbours and their cries of ‘good luck’ ringing in their ears. Izzie had apologised to Granny as she’d left.
‘I’m sorry if I didn’t help you enough,’ she’d said tearfully.
Her grandmother had enfolded her in her arms. ‘Don’t you ever worry about that my dear.’ She smelled of warm wool and lavender.
‘You’m been a good girl,’ said Gran, giving her another hug, ‘and I shall miss you both. Try and get on with your dad, won’t you?’
Izzie grimaced. ‘I’ll try,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but he’s always cross with me.’
‘He doesn’t mean it,’ said Gran. ‘He never was much good with women and you’re the spitting image of your mother.’
Izzie blinked in surprise.
Her grandfather leaned over the garden gate as the lorry trundled down the road. Now that she knew about his illness, it was obvious how much weight he’d lost. How come she had never noticed before? Even though she feared the worse, Izzie hoped that now that her grandmother only had him to care for, he might make an improvement.
When they arrived in Chandos Road there was no-one to greet them. The street ran parallel to Montague Street and was no thoroughfare. At one end, the houses backed onto Buckingham Road. At the other end, on the north side, was Walter Gardiner’s photographic studio and on the opposite side of the road was Fred Allen and Sons, fruiterers. Izzie’s new home was part of a terrace with no front garden and a front door which opened out onto the pavement. But for all that, the houses looked substantial.
‘Can I go to the pictures?’ Linda asked almost as soon as they had arrived.
‘Not today.’ Their father had chuckled. ‘Let’s get you settled in first.’
Inside their new home, it smelled musty and damp. There were a few bits of mis-matched furniture. The two girls raced around the house and upstairs to choose their bedrooms.
‘Bagsie the front room,’ said Linda.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said their father, coming up behind them. ‘That one’s mine.’
Before he’d closed the door, Izzie had caught a glimpse of a double bed in the room and she caught her breath. Perhaps her mother might be coming back after all.
The two back rooms were of equal size so Izzie told Linda she didn’t mind which one she had. The bathroom was downstairs off the kitchen, which did mean they would have to come all the way downstairs at night, but at least the lavvy was indoors and it had a flushing cistern. No more having to put on a big coat and wellington boots in the middle of winter and no more smashing the ice on the top of the bucket with a stick before you could have a wee.
In the kitchen, the china and other utensils were spartan, so that night they ate fish and chips from the chip shop for their supper, and in the conversation around the table, Izzie discovered that their father had given up their old house in Elm Grove some time before. Until he’d moved into Chandos Road, he had been sleeping ‘on the job’, as he laughingly called it, in the emporium.
‘What is an emporium?’ Linda wanted to know.
‘I sell everything from kitchen tables to army surplus,’ her father explained. ‘I do have a few antiques but I also stock new things.’ He paused before adding, ‘I shall never rival Warnes by the station, but I do make a decent living.’
‘Where is the shop?’ Izzie asked.
‘Teville Gate,’ he had said. ‘The bus goes right by it so I get plenty of custom. Only trouble is,’ he added with a note of caution, ‘the council plan to redevelop the area, so I may have a compulsory purchase order slapped on me before long.’
‘What does that mean, Daddy?’ asked Linda.
‘They will force me to sell them the shop.’
‘But that’s not fair!’ cried Linda. ‘Why should they? It’s your shop.’
Her father chuckled and rubbed her hand. ‘That’s the way it is I’m afraid sweetheart.’
Izzie watched them, her sister simpering, her father gazing lovingly at her, and she inwardly curled her lip. You might forget what he did to our mother, she thought acidly, but I never will.
He suddenly glanced up at her. ‘You all right Izzie? You’re very quiet.’
‘I’m fine,’ Izzie sniffed. Standing, she collected the dirty dishes.
Her father made no attempt to tell Linda to help her with the washing up, so sullenly and with a bad grace, Izzie did it herself.
‘Izzie, I’ve made arrangements for you to go to work for the green grocer on the corner,’ her father had said as she dried the plates. ‘Mr Allen seems a very nice man and he says you can start straight away.’
‘You’ve got a job for me already?’ said Izzie. How dare he do that without even asking her? ‘I think I’d prefer to look for my own job. Maybe I don’t want to work in a green grocer’s.’
‘Tough,’ said her father.
Izzie spun round and glared at him. ‘You can’t make me.’
‘I can’t but if you won’t work, you don’t eat,’ said her father. ‘You can’t sit around here all day doing nothing. You need a job.’
Izzie’s face flushed with anger. ‘Who’s Mr Allen anyway?’
‘He owns the shop,’ her father went on. ‘It’s right on the doorstep and you start first thing on Monday morning.’
With an angry glare, Izzie returned to the dishes.
‘Where will I go to school, Daddy?’ Linda chirped.
‘Davidson’s School for Girls,’ her father had said. ‘It’s where Izzie used to go, you remember, just past Worthing Tabernacle and opposite the new Town Hall. Don’t worry about finding it, I’ll take you there myself.’
Of course you will, Izzie thought grumpily, as she put the washed plates onto the dresser.
*
In time, Izzie looked back on that moment with a little discomfort. Yes
, she’d been jealous of Linda and angry with her father but it was hard to keep it up. Sometimes during her lunch hour, especially during the school holidays, Izzie met up with Linda. They would share an ice cream or just stroll along Marine Parade or in the shops. Once, the street photographer on the prom spotted them arm-in-arm and took a picture. Izzie went back to the booth the next day and bought a copy. Their father had promised to look out for a photo frame and now it had pride of place on her dressing table. Funny how she and her sister got on well at times and yet at other times they were at each other’s throats.
They hadn’t been back in Worthing long when Izzie wrote to a couple of old school friends. Susan’s letter came back with ‘not known at this address’ scrawled on the envelope but Patsy had replied. She told Izzie she was training to be a typist at the local college. They arranged to meet on Izzie’s half day off and paid thruppence to walk along the pier. The gaping hole the authorities had blown through the middle of the pier at the start of the war in 1939 had been repaired. It was supposed to be a safety precaution to prevent the pier from being used for enemy disembarkation in the event of an invasion. The fact that the waters along Worthing were too shallow for troop ships seemed to be lost on the powers-that-be but now, at last, the pier was back open for business.
The two girls linked arms and shared their news. Patsy was doing well with her training and hoped to get a job soon. She was slightly smaller than Izzie, with dark curly hair and dimples on each cheek. She was wearing a pink top with a blue and white checked skirt. Izzie was wearing the outfit she’d worn on her birthday.
‘The college has a good reputation for placing girls,’ Patsy said confidently.
‘Do you like it?’ Izzie asked. ‘Typing, I mean?’
Patsy shrugged. ‘Not much but I don’t care. I’ll get married before long.’
‘Are you courting then?’ asked Izzie.
Patsy shook her head. ‘Not exactly but I go to the dances at the Assembly Hall every Saturday and there are some good looking boys there. You should come.’
Izzie laughed. ‘My dad would have a fit.’
Patsy squeezed her arm. ‘I missed you when you went away.’
