by Kitty Neale
Her gran drew her close, saying, ‘Now you listen to me, my girl. There ain’t many fifteen-year-olds that could have stayed to watch someone die. All right, so you ran off afterwards. Bloody ’ell, it’s not surprising that you panicked – and anyway, she’s not on her own now. Your mum’s with her.’
Sally felt drained. Her eyes were swollen and sore from crying, and her head was beginning to thump. ‘I’m so tired, Gran,’ she whispered, ‘and what’s the point of doing this healing? It didn’t help Mr Cox, did it – and I’m sure Nelly expected me to save him.’
‘Look, love, you can’t perform miracles. He was already terminally ill when he came to you and at least you helped to ease his pain. Now come on, you’ve been out since early this morning and must be starving. I’ll get you something to eat.’
Unable to stomach the thought of food, Sally said, ‘No, I don’t want anything, Gran.’
‘All right, but I’ll make you a cup of cocoa and then you can get yerself off to bed.’ She squeezed her arm, adding, ‘Things will look different in the morning, Sal. They always do.’
Chapter Eighteen
When Sally awoke the next morning she lay sleepily gazing at dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight that streamed through her window. Her eyes felt sticky and she rubbed at them impatiently with her knuckles, groaning as memories of the previous night came flooding into her mind.
‘Sally,’ her mum shouted from the foot of the stairs. ‘It’s gone ten o’clock. Do you intend getting up today?’
‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ she called despondently, groping for her slippers and throwing an old cardigan over her nightie.
Padding into the bathroom she looked dispiritedly at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a drooping mouth, eyes that were puffy slits and hair standing up on end like a hedgehog. Bending over the sink she splashed cold water onto her face, and with wet hands tried to smooth her hair before attacking it with a comb. Oh, what does it matter, she thought, slinging the comb impatiently back on the shelf and heading downstairs.
‘Sal, you look awful,’ her mum said as she walked into the kitchen.
‘Leave the girl alone, Ruth, she’s had a rotten time,’ her gran intervened, coming to her defence as usual.
‘Christ, Mum, all I said was that she looks awful and—’
‘How’s Nelly?’ Sally interrupted, in no mood to listen to them bickering.
‘Not too bad, considering. I went down to see her first thing this morning and now Peggy’s with her. They’re going to the undertaker’s tomorrow to sort out the funeral. Joan Mason is dealing with the catering, and I told her we’d all muck in. Oh, and Mrs Edwards is arranging a collection for flowers.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘It’s a shame really. Nelly ain’t got any family left so there will only be friends and neighbours at the funeral.’
‘Blimey,’ Sadie said. ‘It didn’t take long to get that lot sorted. The poor sod only died last night.’
‘You know what it’s like around here, Mum. Everyone loves Nelly, and as soon as word got out that George had died, they all wanted to help.’
‘Yeah, I know, but bleedin’ hell, if Joan Mason’s arranging the catering she’ll be bossing everyone around as usual.’
‘I know, but she volunteered and we didn’t ’ave the nerve to say no. Oh, by the way, Sally, Nelly wants you to pop down to see her.’
She gaped in horror. ‘Oh no … I can’t face her.’
‘Why ever not? She’s grateful that you stayed with her.’
‘I should think so too,’ her gran snorted. ‘She should’ve had more sense and sent for one of us.’
Sally hung her head, unable to blot out the sight of Mr Cox’s face lying lifeless and grey on the pillow. She remembered her promise to him and knew she had no choice – but not yet; she couldn’t face it yet. ‘I think I’ll get dressed now and pop round to see Ann. I’ll go to Nelly’s later, Mum.’
‘Hold yer horses, my girl. What about breakfast?’ Ruth asked indignantly.
‘Not now, I’m not hungry.’ She saw her mum and gran exchange glances, and they both pursed their lips in disapproval. ‘Look, I’ll have something later,’ she promised, hurriedly leaving the room, knowing that if she didn’t escape she would get a nagging from both of them.
Now, sitting on Ann’s bed, her friend listened without interruption as Sally told her about Mr Cox, her face full of sympathy, and only changing expression when she came to the bit about her date with John that afternoon.
‘What’s he like, Sally?’
‘He’s lovely, really nice-looking and ever so polite. He even offered me his hanky when I was choking on a cup of tea. Honestly, I was mortified, and must have been crimson with embarrassment.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘But I can’t face going out with him now, and anyway, just look at the state of me.’
‘Don’t be daft, Sal. I could soon fix your hair, and a bit of make-up will take care of the rest.’
‘I’m too upset, Ann. I keep seeing Mr Cox over and over again in me mind.’
‘Going out with John might be just what you need – it’ll take your mind off it.’
‘I dunno,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We’re supposed to be meeting at Battersea Park, but I’m just not in the mood.’
‘Well, you can’t leave him standing there like a lemon, waiting for you. How would you face him at work tomorrow?’
Sally knew Ann was right and drummed her fingers impatiently, unconsciously mimicking her mother’s habit. She drew in a deep breath. ‘Bugger it, I’ll just ’ave to go then, won’t I?’ she said, exhaling loudly with exasperation.
‘Come on, it won’t be that bad,’ Ann cajoled. ‘From what you’ve told me, he sounds really nice. Wait till Arthur hears about this,’ she added gleefully, ‘it’ll bring the bighead down a peg or two.’
‘Ann,’ Sally asked hesitantly. ‘Er … could you lend me something to wear?’
‘Don’t be daft, of course I can. I tell you what, how about that pencil skirt I bought last week and my beige blouse to go with it?’
‘Not that lovely brown one! But you haven’t worn it yourself yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter, this is a special occasion. My goodness, the ice maiden is going on a date.’ She gawked at Sally, her face turning pink with embarrassment. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, it just slipped out. That was an awful thing to say.’
Sally stared at her friend. First Arthur had called her frigid and now Ann was saying she was an ice maiden. Was it true? Was there something wrong with her?
‘Please, don’t look at me like that,’ Ann begged. ‘I didn’t mean it, honest. It’s just that you usually run a mile if a boy shows the slightest interest in you. Look at Arthur, for instance – he’s been after you for ages.’
Sally could see how upset her friend was, and forced a smile. ‘I know, you’re right, but there’s something about John that makes me feel I can trust him. He’s different somehow.’
Ann uncurled her legs and stood up, patting Sally on the arm. ‘Let’s get you sorted out then.’ She walked across the room, opened her wardrobe, and pulled out the skirt and blouse.
Sally left Ann, returning home in time for Sunday dinner, her thoughts on both Nelly and her date with John later that afternoon.
‘Sally, you didn’t want any breakfast and now yer hardly eating any dinner. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m nervous about going to see Nelly. I just don’t know what to say to her, Mum.’
It was her gran who leaned forward and touched the back of her hand. ‘Just let her talk about her husband if she wants to. I remember when our David died, and then yer granddad. Nobody would let me talk about either of them and it really upset me. It made me feel like they’d never lived. I wanted to talk, to relive my memories; it somehow brought them alive again in me mind.’
‘I didn’t know you felt like that, Mum,’ Ruth said.
‘No, I don’t expect you did, love. I hid most of my feelings from you and Mary – you were both grievin
g too, don’t forget. Anyway, people were only trying to be kind.’
Sally saw the sadness on their faces and rapidly changed the subject. ‘Mum, I’ve got a date this afternoon.’
‘What! A date, you’ve got a date? And when was this arranged? You’re a bit late telling me, my girl.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I met this bloke in the canteen on Saturday. He’s ever so nice, but then Mr Cox died, and I forgot to tell you.’
‘Hmm, and where are you going on this date?’
‘We’re only going for a walk.’
‘All right, Sal, but I want you home by eight o’clock, and no later mind.’
‘I’ll be home well before that, Mum,’ she assured her.
Sally had been to see Nelly, and as gran advised, had let her talk about her husband. She had been so sweet, saying that the healing had helped – but Sally knew she was just being kind. After all, what good had it done? It hadn’t been able to save George.
Now she was reluctantly on her way to meet John, and as she got off the bus, her eyes scanned the road ahead. He was standing by the gates and when he caught sight of her, his face lit up.
‘You came then,’ he said, smiling gently.
The sound of his soft, husky voice made her stomach flutter, and she smiled back shyly.
‘You look lovely, Sally,’ he said, placing his hand on her elbow and guiding her through the gates into Battersea Park.
She tensed nervously at his touch, but steeled herself by gazing at the flower borders just inside the entrance. The rows of brightly coloured blooms – yellow dahlias competing with bright red geraniums – lifted her spirits and she smiled in pleasure, beginning to relax.
As they strolled along she could see several families sitting on the grass, picnics spread on gaily-patterned rugs, and their children playing in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leafy canopy of huge oak trees. ‘It’s lovely here,’ she murmured.
‘Haven’t you been to the park before?’ John asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
‘Not for a long time. Do you come here a lot then?’
‘Yes, I live just across the road and use the tennis courts a lot. Do you play?’
‘No, of course not. Tennis is only for toffs.’ As soon as the words left her mouth she was stricken, feeling the heat of embarrassment as her face coloured. God, she thought, what an idiot. What must he think of me!
‘No, Sally,’ he said, sounding unconcerned, ‘tennis is for everyone and I certainly wouldn’t call myself a toff. I could teach you to play if you like.’
‘Er, I dunno … maybe,’ she stuttered, still cringing as they walked along a path that led to a small tea-room.
‘Well, have a think about it,’ he said, drawing her to a halt. ‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘I’d love a Coke,’ she told him as he led her towards a table under the scant shade of a small silver birch.
Sally studied him as he entered the tea-room, already chastising herself for agreeing to meet him. John was different from her first impression, more sophisticated somehow. He was also very well-spoken, and somehow that made her feel gauche and out of her depth. She raked her fingers through her hair, then frantically tried to smooth it down again, realising she had probably mucked up Ann’s careful grooming.
‘Here you are,’ he said, placing two bottles on the table and sitting down opposite her.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, grabbing her Coke and sucking deeply on the straw, her eyes averted.
‘Do you like working in the record department, Sally?’
‘Yes, it’s all right, but I’m not keen on Miss French, my manageress,’ she told him, trying to be careful with her diction.
‘Why is that?’ he said, a slight frown creasing his brow.
‘She’s just so stuck-up. Sort of prim and proper, if you know what I mean.’
He let out a low laugh. ‘Yes, I can see how you got that impression. What sort of music do you like, Sally?’ he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
‘Oh,’ she enthused, her diction already forgotten, ‘I love Elvis. Mind you, he didn’t half look different when he went into the army. Don’t you think it’s a shame that he had to ’ave his gorgeous hair cut so short?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ John said hesitantly.
‘Who’s your favourite singer then?’ she asked.
John grinned lopsidedly. ‘To be honest, I prefer classical music.’
Sally grimaced. This date was getting worse and worse and it seemed they had nothing in common. As though sensitive to her thoughts he reached out, placing his hand over hers.
She jerked away nervously, seeing a puzzled look in his eyes as he leaned slightly towards her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you,’ he said softly.
Ashamed of her reactions she sank down in her seat, hunching her shoulders defensively.
‘I play the piano,’ he continued, as though trying to reassure her. ‘My aunt taught me, and I think that’s where my love of the classics originates from. That’s not to say I don’t like some modern music – I love jazz, for instance.’
Unable to think of anything to say, Sally smiled wanly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.
‘Come on, finish your drink,’ John urged, and as she stood up he gestured to a small shaded path. As they ambled along she saw a set of gates ahead and sighed with relief. Thank God, she thought, they were leaving the park, so perhaps he was as unhappy in her company as she was in his.
They emerged onto a wide tree-lined avenue, crossing towards tall elegant houses, each with intricate wrought-iron balconies surrounding large windows that glinted in the sunlight.
John gestured to one of them. ‘I live here, Sally, and I know this is unusual on a first date, but would you like to come in to meet my aunt?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ she stammered shyly, her eyes roaming over the large, affluent-looking houses.
‘Please,’ he urged. ‘I’ve got a special reason for wanting you to meet her and we won’t stay long.’
Before she could think of any further protest he led her up the wide steps and, opening the door, ushered her into a large square hall.
‘Our flat is on the first floor,’ he said, indicating the rich blue carpeted stairs with highly polished brass rods gleaming at the back of each tread.
Sally had never seen such a beautiful hallway and was unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘A flat? You live in a flat?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, his voice slightly puzzled as they mounted the stairs. ‘This house is divided into four and I’ve lived here with my aunt since my parents died.’
When they reached the first floor, John opened the door facing them. ‘It’s only me, Lottie,’ he called as he led her inside. ‘I’ve brought someone to meet you.’ He turned to Sally, a wide smile on his face, saying, ‘Be prepared for a surprise,’ as he led her into a large room that seemed to be filled with light.
The sun was blazing through two large windows, and for a moment Sally was blinded by the glare. She blinked rapidly and as her eyes adjusted, she saw a tall, slender lady with long, dark hair, standing in front of an easel, her back towards them and a paintbrush poised in her hand.
As she turned, Sally’s eyes widened with shock. No, it couldn’t be! She saw a face devoid of make-up, a large smudge of green paint across the nose. Her gaze travelled downwards and she looked with amazement at the woman’s peculiar, scruffy outfit. She was wearing a man’s shirt, liberally spattered with paint, that almost reached her knees and covered most of the faded denim jeans. Bare feet completed the bohemian look.
‘Miss French,’ she gasped.
Charlotte French smiled at the expression on Sally’s face. She had studied her young sales assistant carefully and had seen the way she reacted to male customers, almost as if she was frightened of them. She was convinced that Sally was a virgin, perhaps with something in her past that had turned her off men. Realising that she wo
uld be ideal for John, she had suggested that he ask her out.
‘Hello, my dear,’ she said, advancing towards her. ‘I can see you’re surprised by my appearance. I wear these old clothes when I’m painting. Now, can I get you something to drink, a sherry perhaps?’
Sally’s mouth opened, her voice coming out in a squeak. ‘Er …no, thanks.’
Lottie grimaced; they would have to do something about the child’s voice. Her diction was awful. What would her friends think if they heard that awful Cockney twang?
‘How about you, John? Would you like a sherry?’
‘Yes please, Auntie.’
‘Do sit down, Sally,’ Lottie urged as she walked across to the drinks cabinet, glancing back to see Sally perched on the edge of the sofa, looking overwhelmed and biting nervously on her bottom lip. Pouring the drinks she hid a smile; the girl was so innocent and just what John needed – but it would do no harm to gently probe her background. ‘Now, Sally, tell me something about yourself. We don’t get a chance to talk socially at work, do we?’ she said, handing John his glass of sherry.
‘Er, what do yer wanna know?’
‘Well now, what are your hobbies for instance?’
‘I ain’t got any hobbies – well, except for reading that is.’
‘Reading is a marvellous hobby, Sally, it can broaden the mind,’ she told her. ‘What about your father? What does he do for a living?’
Sally’s face turned slightly pink and lowering her head, she said softly, ‘My dad left me mum years ago.’
‘How awful for you!’ Lottie exclaimed, but with a small smile at John. It was even better, she thought, without a protective father in the background.
‘Do you go to church, Sally?’ John asked. ‘I mean, are you Church of England or Roman Catholic?’
‘No, I don’t go to church, but I think I was christened Church of England. I do believe in God though, and just recently I’ve been learning how to do spiritual healing.’
Both Lottie and John froze, their glasses half-raised to their lips, looking at each other in horror.
