‘God, no! Of course I haven’t!’
‘Heavy petting? Nearly there? Snogged him?’
‘No, but I wanted to.’
‘Which one?’
‘All of them.’
‘But you haven’t done any of it?’
Dodie shook her head.
‘Not quite sure I see your problem then.’
‘I want to; that’s the problem. I shouldn’t want to, should I?’
‘Because you’re seeing Ryan you should never fancy anyone else? Now who’s being mental?’
‘I don’t fancy him…’ Dodie squeezed her eyes shut, tried to focus her thoughts. How could she say this? How could she speak this truth – and she knew now it was truth – without acting on it? But to act on it would be wrong, wouldn’t it? ‘I think it’s gone way beyond fancying.’
She opened her eyes to find Isla staring at her. ‘Does he feel the same way? Have you been seeing each other?’
‘As friends, that’s all.’
‘That’s all! Why didn’t you tell me this was going on?’
‘I did… sometimes anyway. I don’t know, it felt like it was happening more than it should and I thought you would disapprove.’
‘You mean you thought I’d try to talk some sense into you? Too bloody right. You don’t want Ryan to move in and you have feelings for someone else? Come on, Dodie, even you can fit those pieces together and see the big picture.’
‘Maybe. I’ve probably blown it anyway so I don’t suppose it matters now.’
‘How?’
‘He asked if he could kiss me.’
‘When?’ Isla leaned forward.
‘Last night.’
‘He was here last night? You’ve been sneaking him in?’
‘No – at the beach.’
Isla shook her head slowly. ‘So you did kiss him?’
‘No. I told him I couldn’t kiss him because I already had a boyfriend. And then he went. I suppose he was embarrassed or ashamed. He told me to stay away from him.’
‘You don’t do things by half. What now?’
‘Nothing. I have no right to, but I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘And you’re still going to let Ryan move in?’
Dodie gave a vague shrug, and Isla simply rolled her eyes in reply.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Dodie said quietly. ‘And you’re right – I’m an idiot. I can’t tell Ryan, though. And there’s no point now that Ed has made it clear he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.’
‘He’s only saying that because he thinks you don’t want him. Surely you can see that it’s self-defence. You can’t blame him for rejecting that which rejects him.’
Dodie gave a faint smile. ‘Now you sound like a psychology student.’
‘That might be because I am one. Come here.’ Isla leaned across to pull Dodie into a hug. ‘You may be an idiot,’ she said. ‘But you’re my idiot.’
The photo wasn’t as flattering as Dodie would have hoped for, but at least the shop sign was clearly visible as she posed outside it and that had to be a bonus. If nothing else, it was a little subtle advertising for the shop. Sally Chandra’s article took up a quarter of a page – a good result Dodie thought, or perhaps a slow news day in the town. Dodie read quickly through it, noting that her quotes had been tweaked slightly to make them just that little bit more sensational, but she supposed that came with the territory too. There was an inset photo of the letter below her version of how George’s letter came to light and, though there was mention of a Wessex Road resident who’d been intrigued enough by the story to get involved in helping Dodie on her quest, Ed’s name hadn’t been divulged.
Dodie tossed the newspaper onto the counter and turned her gaze to the sludge of the streets beyond the shop window, where drizzle and fog had reduced visibility so much she could barely see the estate agent’s office across the road. The weather seemed to mirror her mood a bit too perfectly. If it hadn’t been for that stupid letter, there wouldn’t have been any knocking on Ed’s door. There would have been no friendship, no turbulent emotions running hot beneath the surface, no confusion, no angst and no heartache. Her life would have continued on its original course in blissful ignorance of any alternative, and while she might not have been wildly fulfilled, she’d have been content. Part of her still couldn’t really understand why the letter had impacted on her thoughts and emotions in the way it had, ruling her decisions and actions.
Rifling in the drawer beneath the counter, she pulled it out and read it again. Apart from the story it told, it shouldn’t have any bearing on her life at all, should it? It should have been like watching a film or reading a good book that you loved and remembered long after you’d closed it but it shouldn’t have been taking over her life. It had to mean something but she wished she knew what.
With a sigh she folded the paper back into the envelope and made it safe in the drawer again.
Her phone sat on the counter beside her, showing the same unopened text message from Ryan that had come through over an hour ago. Just the thought of reading it made her skin crawl with guilt, about the lies she might have to tell or the omissions she’d have to make. He at least ought to know about the letter – even Ed had said so. But still Dodie couldn’t bring herself to discuss it with him and she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps because now it had turned into a connection to Ed, and something about it felt wrong and duplicitous. But if she didn’t reply to Ryan soon he’d call and he’d be pissed off. With a sigh, she dragged the phone across the counter and swiped to unlock.
Can I buy this for the flat? Will it fit?
Dodie scrolled down to the photo he’d attached. It looked as if he’d been in a furniture shop, and he’d snapped a monstrosity of a TV chair – chestnut padded leather, reclining seats, wide enough for at least two people or one enormous couch potato, complete with cup holder and headrest. Dodie sucked in a breath and pushed the phone away again. This was like being on a bus on a mountain road with no brakes, the driver collapsed at the wheel and Dodie not knowing how to drive. If she didn’t do something to stop it, disaster waited at the end of the road, but the options looked hopeless, even if she’d known where to begin.
She looked up as the shop door tinkled to see a young woman walk in. Dodie forced a smile.
‘Do you have any eighties denim?’ the woman asked.
‘A few pieces,’ Dodie said, folding the paper up and stowing her phone in the drawer of the counter. ‘Just over on that rack next to the coats.’
While the woman went to take a look, Dodie switched on the CD player. The atmosphere of the shop was as dismal as the weather outside and even Dodie in her current mood could see that was hardly conducive to a pleasant customer experience.
She turned to the customer. ‘Anything in particular you’re looking for? I’ve got some cute dungarees, very Dexy’s Midnight Runners.’
The woman chuckled. ‘My mum still plays them all the time. She’d be stealing those dungarees off me if I took them home!’
While the customer turned her attention back to the rack, Dodie pulled out her ledger and began to list some new stock. Whatever else was going on, she still had a shop to run and, right now, it seemed like the only thing she knew how to do without making a mess of it.
The weather struggled to improve and it felt as if the sun had hardly risen at all that day. Dodie ploughed on, determined to put her maudlin thoughts firmly out of her mind and concentrate on work. Then, late in the afternoon, Gran came into the shop waving a copy of the Echo.
‘Ooooh, Dodie! Everyone at woodwork class has seen you in the paper! Isn’t it a lovely photo of you!’
Dodie looked up from her bookkeeping with a faint smile. ‘Woodwork today? I can’t keep up with your clubs.’
‘Hmm,’ Gran replied, as if suddenly giving the matter a great deal of thought. ‘I’ll probably give woodwork up anyway – keep getting splinters and that lathe is so loud I can barely hear myself think!’
But then her expression brightened again and she rushed over to the counter, putting down the paper. ‘Who’s this young man who helped you? I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about him.’
‘There wasn’t anything to tell,’ Dodie said in a dull voice. Try as she might to forget him, Ed kept haunting her in one way or another.
‘Is he handsome?’ Gran asked, poring over the story again.
‘I really couldn’t say,’ Dodie replied. ‘How’s Bernard?’
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Gran said.
‘Good. Um… you want a cup of tea?’
‘Oh I’d love one but I’m in a rush. Bernard wants me to choose a wedding ring with him.’
Dodie tried not to grimace. ‘Well, it was good of you to bring me the paper.’
‘Gloria says she’s got her hands on some photos that might help.’
Dodie felt her whole body lighten, that frisson of excitement suddenly banishing all misery. ‘Of George and Margaret?’ she asked keenly.
‘Yes. So I thought we might pop over together. She’d love to meet you.’
‘Fantastic!’ Dodie beamed. ‘When can she fit me in?’
For some reason Dodie had been expecting a statuesque, immaculately groomed blonde to open the front door; a perfectly preserved specimen of womanhood, pickled and surgically enhanced into a wax model of her former self. She couldn’t even say why she’d built this picture of Gran’s friend in her head, but the Gloria that greeted them on the doorstep, the odour of burning incense wafting around them, was about as far away from that image as you could get. She was, in fact, a frail-looking woman, her wrists jangling with bangles and bracelets and her feet bare beneath huge skirts, like a little Woodstock reject left behind to wither in the sun. She had to be the most unlikely acquaintance her gran could have had. But what she lacked in stature and presence she more than made up for in warmth and Dodie instantly liked her as she beckoned them in with a broad smile.
‘I don’t have any shop tea I’m afraid, but I can offer you a cup of camomile,’ Gloria said as they followed her down the hallway. ‘I dried the flowers last summer from my own garden.’
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ Dodie said.
‘You know I can’t stand that rubbish,’ Gran said. ‘Lucky for you I have my own teabags with me. I expect Dodie will have one of these too,’ Gran added, handing a little plastic bag over.
‘Oh…’ Gloria stared at the tea with an expression that suggested she was just about to announce the end of the world. ‘I only have almond milk, you know.’
‘It’ll have to do,’ Gran said briskly. ‘I might have known to bring milk as well.’
‘Almond milk is just fine with me,’ Dodie said. ‘I’ve often thought about trying it anyway. You know, it’s supposed to be good for you, isn’t it?’
‘Much gentler on your digestive system,’ Gloria said. ‘I can take milk up to a point but too much and my bowels… well, you get the picture.’
Dodie got the picture only too well. In fact, she fervently wished the picture would go away.
Gloria showed them to a living room that looked exactly like it would belong to her; eclectic furnishings in ethnic patterns and full of knick-knacks picked up from all over the world.
‘You’ve travelled a lot?’ Dodie said, taking a seat.
‘Oh, when I was younger,’ Gloria said. ‘Couldn’t stay still. My health was the only thing that tied me down in the end.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘Be back in a tick – just getting those drinks.’
‘Mastectomy,’ Gran whispered as Gloria left them. ‘Double. Poor thing.’
‘But she’s OK now?’ Dodie asked.
‘Oh yes, now she’s OK,’ Gran said. ‘Shook her confidence though. Never was the same afterwards.’
Dodie took a moment to take in her surroundings as Gran checked her lipstick in a compact mirror whipped from her handbag. There were elephants carved from stone, people carved from wood, models of landmarks and photos of a younger Gloria standing at various iconic sites – sometimes alone and sometimes with companions – but always smiling.
‘Is she on her own now?’
‘Who?’ Gran snapped the mirror shut and dropped it into her handbag.
‘Gloria…’ Dodie replied, lowering her voice. ‘Does she have a partner?’
‘She did, but the relationship broke down. Lives alone now.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Only like me,’ Gran said. ‘And I get on with it. You don’t feel sorry for me, and I don’t need you to.’
Dodie shot her a sideways look. That wasn’t exactly true, but there was no point in arguing about it now. There wasn’t time anyway as Gloria appeared with a tray of drinks. As Dodie and Gran helped themselves to a mug each, Gloria went to a cabinet and pulled out a box.
‘These were cleared out of my uncle’s house when he died,’ she said as she brought the box to the coffee table and set it down. She removed the lid to reveal a stack of dog-eared photos inside and handed the top one to Dodie.
‘What’s this?’ Dodie asked, taking it.
‘A photo,’ Gran said, rolling her eyes.
‘Yes, I can see that. What’s it a photo of? Who are these people?’
‘It’s a VE Day party,’ Gran said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Dodie frowned. But then the cloud lifted from her expression. ‘So this photo… my couple is in it? George and Margaret?’
‘Just Margaret…’ Gloria tapped at a figure in the photograph. Dodie peered more closely at the woman she’d indicated. It was difficult to make out much about her – her image was a tiny one in the periphery of the action – but she didn’t look like someone who was celebrating, despite the revelry elsewhere in the picture. In fact, clinging onto a chair back and staring mournfully at the camera, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere other than where she was.
‘So this is Margaret Vincent?’ Dodie murmured, studying her face. She looked up at Gran and Gloria in turn. ‘And George isn’t here because…’
‘He didn’t come home from the war,’ Gloria said. ‘Lost in action, nobody knows what happened to him. Poor fella.’
‘Poor Margaret, too,’ Dodie said, looking at the image again. No wonder she looked so lost and lonely.
‘There is a story… but this is just hearsay…’ Gran gave Dodie a peculiar look.
‘Yes?’
‘Margaret had a baby by George,’ Gloria cut in. ‘Out of wedlock, but the baby died at birth. At least that’s the story.’
Dodie clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, that’s so sad!’ While she’d half-guessed there was an illegitimate pregnancy somewhere in the story, she had never considered the child might not have survived.
Gran shrugged. ‘The way it was viewed back then, perhaps it was a good thing she didn’t end up as an unmarried mother. It wasn’t like it is now when you can have babies with any passing man who takes your fancy and everyone’s just la-di-da about it.’
‘But you can understand why they did what they did,’ Dodie said. ‘Imagine thinking that he might never come back from the war… It’s no wonder they wanted a little intimacy before he went if they thought they might never have the chance.’
‘It’s a shame they didn’t just go out for a nice meal and a dance,’ Gran said briskly. ‘Lots of people went off to war but they didn’t all make babies first.’
‘But she lost the baby after all that,’ Dodie said, studying the photo again. ‘Not only did she lose George and live with the shame of being pregnant without him by her side, but then the baby died. Poor Margaret. No wonder she never married.’ She looked up at Gloria. ‘Do you know where she ended up living? From what I can tell the family hasn’t been at Wessex Road for a long time.’
‘No idea. I don’t think they’ve been there since at least the sixties but nobody I’ve spoken to is sure.’
‘Well,’ Dodie said, handing the photo back to Gloria, ‘while this is very interesting, it doesn’t rea
lly tell me much more about where to get hold of Margaret. Or anyone else who might be interested for that matter.’
‘I thought you’d like to see it, though,’ Gran said.
‘Oh, of course! I’m really grateful for the help and for another piece of the puzzle, I just wish it had more clues in it to find the rest of the pieces.’
‘I suppose I could ask if there are any more photos,’ Gloria said. ‘But that’s the only one I can see in the box from this party and the rest are mostly my family.’ She nudged the box towards Dodie. ‘You’re more than welcome to go through it yourself just in case you pick out something I’ve missed.’
‘I’m sure you’ve looked through just as well as I would have done,’ Dodie replied, feeling that to go through Gloria’s treasured family photos would be a little invasive. ‘But if you can find out if there are any more lying around that’d be brilliant.’
Gloria nodded, and as she slurped at her tea, Gran and Dodie did the same, the conversation dying for a moment as everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Dodie was pondering on Margaret’s loss and she wondered if perhaps the story of the photo had put the other two women in mind of their own losses. It was odd, but hearing the tragedy of Margaret’s life suddenly made her own woes seem silly and insignificant. Margaret and George had lived and loved in the shadow of real hardship, not the trite, meaningless worries that Dodie routinely concerned herself with, and so many others did too. She might have felt like running away and never coming back from time to time, but as her mind went back to her little shop, her brilliant friends and a family who cared deeply about her, she realised that, compared to some, she had a lot to be thankful for.
But then Gran broke the silence. Looking at her watch she frowned slightly. ‘Ballroom classes in an hour, and I need to go and fetch my dancing shoes.’
‘Oh,’ Dodie said. ‘Do you need me to take you?’
‘You’re a love,’ Gran said. ‘That would make life a lot easier for me if you could.’
Gloria looked disappointed at their sudden retreat, but Gran promised to visit again the next day and she seemed happier as they drained their teacups and made their goodbyes. It had been good to finally see Margaret, to put a face to the name, but as they got into Dodie’s car and pulled away from the kerbside, Dodie didn’t really see how much help it would ultimately be. Not wanting to take Gloria’s photo with her, Dodie had been content with a promise that Gloria would get a copy for her as soon as she was able. At least it might be something to post on Facebook in the hope somebody might be able to shed more light on the life of the mysterious woman who was increasingly in danger of taking over Dodie’s every waking thought.
A Very Vintage Christmas: A Heartwarming Christmas Romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 1) Page 16
