by Leah Fleming
‘One day, when I can drive properly,’ Greg promised.
‘I want to see it now. Uncle Charlie will drive us there,’ his daughter demanded, stamping her foot.
Greg had no energy to protest. It was as if his whole world had fallen apart in a few weeks. Nothing was as it once was: his wife, his rally hopes, his business, his agility, his health. He could hardly make a simple decision.
It was Charlie who suggested they take a holiday far away from recent memories to the Lakes or Wales. ‘It’s time you got away from these four walls,’ he said ‘Bebe needs to have some treats. Let’s ask her where she would like to go, let her decide, if you want, and perhaps we might catch sight of some stages of the RAC Rally if we plan our route carefully.’
Greg grinned. Trust Charlie to have an ulterior motive but he’d never been more in need of a friend in his life.
They drove south and then west through Wales, landing at the coast near Aberdovey, with its long beach, taking a cottage by the sea front, and ate fish and chips and freshly caught mackerel. They walked and talked for miles every day. Greg felt his legs strengthening with fresh air and exercise. It was then that he told Charlie all about Ken Silverstone and Gloria’s chequered past. Charlie listened and made encouraging noises but offered no comments at first.
It was later, over a pint of beer when Bebe was in bed, that Charlie laid into him.
‘The trouble with you, Mr Love ’em and leave ’em,’ he said, ‘is that you want every girl to be perfect. Up on that pedestal or down in the gutter. I saw you in Germany, remember…poor Marthe? She adored you, not me, but you dismissed her because she’d had to sell herself to the highest bidder to put food on the table for her family. She could do no right in your eyes. You’re a bit of a prude at heart. I’ve seen you in the dance hall, charming the pants off every lass, and then when they give in to you and don’t measure up, you lose interest. I reckon the only one that got under your skin was young Maddy–and she dumped you first so you’ve sulked over her ever since.’
‘That’s not true!’ Greg protested, but Charlie was determined to have his say.
‘It may be the beer talking but poor Gloria never stood a chance. She tried so hard to be the ideal wife but she wasn’t and never could be another Maddy Belfield. I don’t think you’ve ever got over her.’
‘Rubbish!’ Greg snapped. ‘What do you know?’
‘Hear me out. What are friends for if they can’t tell you the facts now and then? It must be hard being up on your pedestal; one wobble and off they go! What makes you so bloody perfect?’
Greg shook his head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong there, mate. I just wanted someone better than me. I think men and girls should be different. We look to them to set an example.’
‘Don’t be so old-fashioned. What century are you living in?’ said Charlie. ‘It’s one rule for us and another for them, according to you, Greg. We’re all just human beings. Weakness and mistakes aren’t the preserve of any one sex. We expect girls to close their legs while we spend all our time trying to open them and get up their skirts. It’s not fair on them. It’s two-faced nonsense.’
‘Hark to Marge Proops! What’s brought this on? I don’t see you playing around much, do I? You sound like an old woman. What’s it got to do with you?’ Greg was back-footed by Charlie’s outburst.
‘My turn will come. She’s out there somewhere,’ said Charlie. ‘I just haven’t met her yet but I’ll know her when she turns up. Poor sod will have to put up with my moods and my boring habits so I’ll not be making an idol of her, chucking her away if she’s not Miss Perfect. When you meet Mrs Right, I hope you’ll learn sense from your mistakes.’
‘You can forget that. I’m never getting wed again,’ Greg snapped, peeved by Charlie’s harsh words.
‘Famous words. Think about Bebe–she needs a woman in the house.’
‘I never had one and it didn’t do me any harm.’ Greg was going to argue his corner. What did Charlie know of being an orphan?
‘Pull the other one! There was Mrs Plum Belfield, Maddy and Gloria, my mother. There’s always been plenty of women in your life, but I’m not sure you ever appreciated any of them,’ Charlie said.
‘Why’re you saying all this? Poor Gloria’s hardly cold in her grave,’ Greg snapped.
‘Because it needs to be said. I’m your oldest mate. I owe you my life. I want you to find some peace and get back on the treadmill of life. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Make some more profit. Perhaps when you’re recovered I’ll be free to find someone of my own.’
Greg was shocked at Charlie’s frankness. He’d never spoken out before or challenged him. Had Charlie put his own life on hold since the accident just to nursemaid him?
As they strolled over the sand the next day, Greg felt the salt wind up his nostrils, and he smiled.
Dear old Charlie was a good mate. He was a friend who liked him even though he knew him, warts and all. Perhaps he was more right than Greg cared to think as he watched Bebe throwing pebbles on the beach, her jacket puffing out like a balloon. How was he going to advise her when she was older?
He loved her so much just as she was, a sad little lost girl who cried for her mummy in the night and was trying to be brave. But he couldn’t be both mother and father to her. What about all that female stuff to come?
Spending the rest of his life as a monk didn’t appeal either, but it was far too soon to think about any romance. Bebe was the most important thing in his life now.
‘Bebe Byrne,’ he yelled, ‘how would you like to visit my magic tree?’
Maddy was fixing up the new twin tub in the wash house of the Old Vic Hostel. She’d begged it from an advert in the Gazette for a good cause. No questions were asked but now they had to fix the pipes and the whole place needed lime washing.
She was covered in plaster dust, wearing an old shirt and dungarees, and her hair wrapped up in a turban like the skivvy that she was.
Everything was being set up ready for the arrival of the first batch of mothers-to-be. Nappy washing in a machine would make life easier all round. She wanted everything to be welcoming and easy to run. They would have to start small and learn on the job, but she was looking forward to the challenge and hoped she wouldn’t make too many mistakes.
It was a beautiful afternoon in late spring, with blossom on the apple trees and the beech leaves glistened in the sunshine. It was hard work cajoling friends and townsfolk into giving furniture, old prams, baby clothes, anything to fill cupboards. The most generous offers came from the council houses at the back of town. Her venture was the worst kept secret in town.
Bit by bit, her list of jobs was ticked off. Plum and Steve had sent such a generous cheque, the vicar had contacted the Church of England Children’s Society, ‘The Waifs and Strays’, who sent a special almoner and adviser to help the mothers with their difficult decisions. All that was left was to wait for the first nervous arrivals and make them at home.
Maddy leaned against the tree to catch her breath and have a smoke. This tree was still her private thinking place. Suddenly there was a twitch of leaves and a pair of little legs dangled from the tree house, black patent leather shoes with ankle straps swinging. She was not alone. The curtain of leaves brushed aside to reveal a girl with bright copper curls and a pair of green eyes. It was like seeing a ghost.
‘Hello…Is this the Faraway Tree, the magic tree?’ squeaked the child of about five.
Maddy’s heart leaped at the sight of little Miss Byrne. She’d have recognised that hair anywhere. ‘We used to call it the V for Victory Tree…Yes, I suppose it’s a magic tree,’ she replied.
‘My daddy and mummy used to play in here in the big war,’ the child continued.
‘And so did I,’ Maddy smiled.
‘You knew my mummy? She’s in Heaven now with the angels.’
‘If her name was Gloria, then, yes, I did know her. We were friends once upon a time.’
‘Once upon a time we were al
l friends,’ came a familiar voice from out of the shadows behind the gate. He’d been watching the encounter with interest. ‘Hello, Maddy. Still hard at it, changing the world, I hear.’
‘Greg!’ Maddy blushed. She must look an absolute wreck. ‘It’s been a long time. And this little lady, I presume, is the famous Bebe. I’ve heard all about you.’
‘I’m going to be a ballet dancer when I grow up,’ Bebe smiled.
‘Are you now? What’s all this about a magic tree? You’d better tell me about it.’
‘Daddy says you can make wishes in its branches and they’ll come true. I’ve asked it to send Mummy back from Heaven.’
Maddy looked at Greg, who looked so much thinner and older, and now troubled by the child’s words.
‘I’m not sure it works that sort of magic, love,’ he said, struggling to explain.
Maddy came to his rescue. ‘When I was little like you, my mummy and daddy went to Heaven and I sat in the tree, just like you, making wishes. It didn’t bring them back to me but it brought me friends to play with and lots of things to do.’
‘Will it bring me a puppy, if I ask?’
‘If it thinks it will help you, I’m sure it will,’ she whispered, looking at Greg, who nodded with relief.
‘How’s your leg?’ she asked, seeing his walking stick. ‘I’m glad to see you’re recovering. What a terrible year for you all. Grace and I have been thinking about you. I didn’t come to the funeral but did Gloria tell you I came to visit you in hospital? But you were too ill…’
‘Never too ill to see you.’ He paused. ‘No, she didn’t. You heard about the fire…?’
‘Yes, it made all the papers in the country. What a dreadful thing to happen. The coroner said it was an unfortunate accident…I’m so sorry. Where are you staying?’
‘Just passing through on our way to see Uncle Sid, but I promised Bebe I’d show her the Old Vic. What happened between you girls?’ he said as he walked alongside her.
‘It was a long time ago and not for a child’s hearing, Greg. Have you got time for a snifter at the Brooklyn? You won’t recognise the place.’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He smiled the old smile, and she felt the familiar magnetic pull to his side but drew back, flushing.
‘Come on, Bebe. I’ll race you up the Avenue like your mummy and me used to do.’
‘Perhaps Miss Belfield will tell you the story about the trees.’
‘Aunt Maddy sounds better…’
Suddenly it didn’t matter that she looked a wreck or that the place was a tip. They were her guests and she’d show them round the rooms with pride. What would Greg make of her new venture? Would she ever explain why she was taking on this mammoth task? Not today, no…she smiled. It was just wonderful to see him alive and well, broken though he seemed now. Perhaps if she made him welcome he might come back again.
They sat in the kitchen, sipping tea, taking sideways glances at each other. She just couldn’t believe he was sitting there. Bebe was being plied with ginger biscuits that she dunked in the hot tea with relish.
‘I’m taking in special guests,’ Maddy began. Better he knew the worst first. ‘Young expectant mothers who have nowhere else to go…just for a few weeks until they are confined and then some of them will live in the Old Vic.’
‘That’s very brave,’ he said, looking directly into her eyes. To her relief she saw compassion not disgust. ‘I bet that took a bit of doing round here.’
‘Times are changing,’ she quipped. ‘People have to make allowances for the unexpected.’
‘I’ve learned that the hard way,’ Greg replied, and he looked so sad and lost and tired she just wanted to take him in her arms and hug him. ‘Now we’d better be off if we’re to catch Sid before milking.’
‘I’m so glad you called in for old times’ sake.’ They both rose and she felt herself trembling. This was it, the moment to let him go. They were two different people now. He wouldn’t want to be involved in her world. They walked slowly to the hall way and the silence was so powerful.
Do I let him walk out of my life for ever or do I ask him back in? If I do, he must know some of the truth about me…What shall I do? This is the moment to find out. Help!
‘So what do you think about my hostel? Have I shocked you?’ she said, not looking at him as she spoke, trying to be breezy and businesslike.
Greg turned to her and smiled. ‘You’ve taken a huge risk. I think you’re mad but brave. I envy you your courage.’
Take a risk…courage…what did his reply mean? She smiled back.
‘It’s the Carnival Day soon. Do you think Bebe would like to come? There’s a fair and parade, and it should be fun. They’ve started up again. She can come in fancy dress…’ She cast out a line. Would he bite?
‘We’d love to come. Give me the date, we’ll be there, won’t we, Bebe?’
Gloria’s daughter was already running in and out of the trees. ‘It’s magic here…
Can we come again?’
They were halfway up the Dale on his way to see Sid Conley when Greg recalled Gloria’s last words: ‘Under the Victory Tree.’ He’d promised to give this message to Maddy and somehow he’d forgotten.
That was the trouble: one sight of her and all the old yearnings came rushing back. Everything else went out of his mind and Gloria not dead a year. How could he even think of it? What was wrong with him? After the mess they’ve made of everything he couldn’t risk another cock-up. Bebe was his first and only concern now.
How the Brooklyn had changed now it was set up like a hostel. The drawing room was a big sitting room. The old kitchen was now a dining kitchen. There were bedrooms set out with beds like a dormitory. Why ever was Maddy on this crusade? He didn’t understand her–perhaps he never had. Better not to stir things up, better to stay away, and yet the Sowerthwaite Carnival sounded fun.
He stopped off for petrol at Brigg’s Garage. It was just the same old ramshackle shed with pumps in the forecourt. It still looked like the blacksmith’s forge it once must have been. His professional eye sized it up with interest.
Good spot on the crossroads, lots of through traffic on the way to the Lake District, a nice bit of land at the back, ripe for development. There was money in the Dales. Farmers had done well after the war. They needed new Land Rovers, tough jobs for a rough terrain. If he were old man Brigg, he’d want to expand and get a dealership and make a proper business out of it.
Greg laughed, remembering how keen he was to be their oily rag with his go-kart and his wheels, polishing the Belfields’ Daimler, and his first try at the wheel of the car. How could he not be fond of this one-horse town?
‘Look, Daddy used to work here.’ He turned round but Bebe was fast asleep. As he looked around him his heart just skipped a beat, made a drum roll. It was grand to be back.
The day of Sowerthwaite Carnival dawned fine, with blue sky, and all the weather pundits were right for once. ‘The weather glass is rising,’ said old Mr Lock. ‘It’ll be a right grand day.’
Maddy and Grace had set the three pregnant girls at baking for the cream teas, making scones, sponge cakes and Yorkshire curd tarts. None of them had much of a clue, being addicted to Wagon Wheels and Mars Bars.
Maureen, the first to arrive, was going to have a go. Cherry was all fingers and thumbs, and poor Sandra kept bursting into tears. They were only frightened kids, but Maddy was determined to teach them a few basic skills while they were with her. She kept thinking of Plum and her puppy-training regime. ‘What they need, Maddy, is routine and lots of firm love.’ Just what Plum had given the evacuees all those years ago.
She was going to make sure they enjoyed their day out at the fair. If they all wore white gloves with their maternity dresses no one would notice them in the crowds. In fact she’d bought rings for them all just so they could be anonymous.
There was the usual bustle of comings and goings, cakes to be collected and delivered. In a loose moment she’d been persuade
d to be one of the judges for the fancy-dress parade. Oh Lord, that would mean her dressing up old style, with a hat, a frock and the full slap on. Everyone dressed up for the Carnival.
While she was busy the girls would have to fend for themselves but she was worried she would offend half the town by choosing the wrong competitor in the fancy-dress parade.
Barney was alongside her, and the referee was going to be Archie Murray, the vicar, as usual. They’d been such champions of her cause.
She’d not heard another word from Greg since that unexpected visit, not even a letter. She didn’t know whether he’d bother to come so far out of his way, but she was going to doll herself up with extra care in case he did. She still had some pride left about her appearance. Sowerthwaite expected the Lady of the Manor to grace the public occasion with a bit of swank: a mink stole in case of a stiff breeze, a cartwheel mushroom hat and high-heeled shoes, even on the mud bath that was the Fellings recreation ground.
She had to provide jams and preserves for the WI stall, cakes for the cake stall, a bottle of wine for the raffle, bric-a-brac for the white elephant stall, and be expected to purchase something from every table so as not to give offence.
Rumours about the goings-on at Brooklyn Hall were rife, but Maddy was determined to hold her head up high. What she was doing was right and it was giving her such a sense of satisfaction and purpose never found in being a mannequin.
All the best stuff from the Brooklyn from the olden days was stashed away in the attic now: portraits, fancy rugs and silver, none of it being appropriate for a mother and baby home.
They’d not had their first baby at the home yet, but Maureen was not far off her time to deliver. Then she’d be sent to the maternity unit at Scarperton. Maddy just hoped they’d get there on time and that she didn’t deliver today of all days.
The procession gathered up in the town square, waiting for the silver band to assemble in their red blazers with gold braid. There was the usual lorryloads of floating Rose Queens visiting from nearby villages and towns: Hellifield, Settle, and the district beyond; a queue of decorated floats, lorries dressed up in sheets and paper roses with benches on which sat each local princess in wide evening dresses and velvet cloaks, tended by an assortment of bridesmaids with ringlets and bouquets in baskets, and pageboys in velvet trews with scuffed knees and runny noses.
