The Girl From Barefoot House

by Maureen Lee

  Josie said she felt the same about Wordsworth’s ‘The Daffodils’, and she liked Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers. She told him she’d tried to read Louisa’s poems once, but couldn’t make head nor tail of them.

  The conversation turned to pictures. Ronald’s favourite films were thrillers, too, and Josie said that she also liked them best. ‘When I was young, I had a crush on Humphrey Bogart.’

  ‘You’re not exactly old now.’ Ronald had a quirky smile and lovely dark green eyes. Josie, who hadn’t met a man she considered even remotely attractive since she’d said goodbye to Griff regarded him with interest. He leaned on the counter. ‘Key Largo’s on across the road, starring your old hearthrob. Perhaps I could take you tomorrow night? I could pick you up,’ he added nonchalantly. ‘I’ve got a car.’

  ‘So’ve I,’ Josie said, equally nonchalantly. ‘The thing is, I’m seeing me friend tomorrow, but I’m free Monday.’

  ‘That would be even better. Key Largo will have finished, but they’re showing the latest Hitchcock film, Strangers on a Train. We could meet outside at seven o’clock. If it’s too early, we’ll go for a coffee.’

  Across the shop, Mr Bernstein was presenting Louisa with a copy of Robert Frost’s Complete Poems. ‘A little gift, dear lady. Hot off the press. It only came in this morning.’

  ‘I always thought Robert Frost a trifle overrated, but thank you very much, Mr Bernstein. Now, don’t forget, I’m expecting you on Wednesday on the dot of half past seven. We shall have a lovely little talk about literature.’

  ‘I am already looking forward to it, Miss Chalcott.’ With a flamboyant gesture, Mr Bernstein kissed her hand.

  ‘I think that was a most satisfactory shopping expedition,’ Louisa said on the way home. ‘Fancy Mr Bernstein recognising me after all this time! He’s become a widower since we last met. I think I might seduce him. Wives never stopped me in the past, but I think one might have stopped Mr Bernstein.’

  ‘Oh, Louisa!’

  ‘Take no notice of me, dear. I can dream, can’t I? Now, where shall we go tomorrow in the car?’

  It was summer. Josie woke up to the warm sun shining through her window, the squawk of the gulls, the tide lapping on the beach. She would leap out of bed and walk down to the water in her bare feet, glad to be alive on such a lovely day, thinking how incredibly lucky she was compared to Lily and all the other people who worked in boring, stuffy offices and factories. Being Louisa’s companion no longer felt like a job. She felt slightly guilty when she took her wages.

  Back in the house, she would make two cups of coffee and drink hers with Louisa, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and they would look through last night’s Echo to see what pictures were on, or discuss a play they’d just seen, which reminded Louisa of an affair she’d once had, or several affairs.

  She saw Ronald twice a week. He was a perfect boyfriend. They had plenty to talk about, and he seemed quite satisfied with a few enjoyable and passionate kisses at the end of the evening. Lily was green with envy. ‘How do you do it, Jose? I only go out with a bloke once, and he never wants to see me again.’ Lily had given up all hope of getting married, and was prepared for a life on the shelf.

  It would have been easy to feel smug about how fortunately things had turned out, but Josie had already experienced how quickly life could change. When Lily casually announced that she and her mother were going to Germany to stay with Stanley, Freya and the new baby, Josie, who’d been expecting to go on holiday with her friend, found herself with nowhere to go and no one to go with. Once again she felt conscious of her solitariness. She would just have to spend the time at Barefoot House, carry on as normal. When Marian and Hilary came in September for their annual holiday, she would take a few days off.

  It was difficult to believe that the twins, with their plain looks and severe clothes, were the daughters of passionate, extrovert Louisa. They appeared slightly aggrieved that their mother looked so well, had put on weight and was obviously much happier than when they’d visited a year ago. As if to prove she’d been right in her choice of companion, Louisa exaggerated the visits to the theatre and the cinema and the shopping trips, making it seem as if they led the life of Reilly and went out every day.

  The two women did their utmost to sideline Josie. They made Louisa’s meals, took in her morning coffee, fussed over her in a way Josie knew she’d hate. Phoebe said it was always the same. ‘They call the doctor if she so much as sneezes, and keep telling her how ill she is, how old, reminding her she’s an invalid. Oh, I won’t half be glad when the pair of them have gone.’

  It would have been nice to have gone away, be out of it for a whole fortnight, but all Josie could do was take time off. She went into town nearly every day and met Lily in the dinner hour.

  One day Lily emerged from her office looking unusually grave. She grabbed Josie’s arm. ‘Ma telephoned this morning, Jose. She tried to call you, but you’d already gone. She ses to tell you that Vince Adams died yesterday of a heart attack.’

  The news left Josie cold. ‘I wonder if I should write to Auntie Ivy?’

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Where shall we go for dinner? I’m starving.’

  ‘Let’s try that new place in Whitechapel. They take luncheon vouchers. Are you all right, Jose? You look a bit peculiar.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ But she wasn’t fine. For some reason, when they reached the restaurant, she no longer felt hungry. Her head was full of thoughts that didn’t make sense. Vincent Adams had been her father. It was her father who had died the day before. If it hadn’t been for Vince, she wouldn’t have been born. How could your father die and leave you feeling cold and completely unmoved? Her life had been so strange, so different to everyone else’s, that she had no warm feelings for the man responsible for bringing her into the world.

  She said goodbye to Lily, but didn’t walk back with her to Victoria Street as she usually did. Instead, she set off in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, she felt a strong desire to see Huskisson Street, take a look at the house in which she’d lived with Mam. She hadn’t seen it since the night of the bomb. Their final conversation came back as clearly as if it had taken place only yesterday.

  Why, the sun’s come out, Petal, Mam had cried joyfully during their last minutes in the attic room. It looks dead lovely out there … I wouldn’t mind a little walk.

  If only they’d gone to Princes Park as Mam had suggested!

  Yes, but … Josie had said.

  Yes, but what, my fragrant, my adorable little Petal? Mam had leapt off the chair, danced across the room, caught Josie in her arms. They had waltzed around the bed.

  Josie bit her lip. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she breathed.

  She had walked so fast that she reached Huskisson Street sooner than expected. The house had been done up. The window-frames had been painted and the front door, which was open, was bottle green.

  Dare she go in? Could it possibly be that Maude, or any of the other girls, still lived there? Just now, if there was one thing she’d like to do more than any other, it was to talk to Maude, tell her about Uncle Vince.

  She climbed the steps into the wide hall, which had pale cream walls and a biscuit-coloured carpet. ‘Can I help you?’ a woman’s voice demanded sharply.

  The voice came from a window in the wall, the wall of Irish Rose’s room. A woman had slid back the glass and was regarding Josie balefully.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering, who lives here now.’

  ‘No one. It’s a solicitors’. It should be obvious from the plate on the door.’

  ‘What’s upstairs?’ Josie glanced at the carpeted staircase.

  ‘Rooms. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on.’ The window was snapped shut.

  ‘Thank you,’ Josie said to no one at all.

  If you sat on the window seat facing westwards – at least, she’d worked out it was westwards, but she could be wrong – yo
u could see the lights of Birkenhead and Wallasey gradually being switched on.

  Josie had no idea how long she’d been there, but at first it had been daylight and the shore had been crowded. Then people had begun to pick up their blankets, their sunshades, their toys and go home. Now the sands were empty and it was dark, and the lights across the Mersey twinkled brightly in the distance.

  She had been reliving her childhood, every single scene, something which she had never done before. She felt immeasurably sad for all the things she had missed: going on holiday with her mother, for instance, like Lily; telling Mam about her boyfriends. What would Mam think of Ronald? Of Griff? Would she have thought it a bad idea to have married Ben? Josie remembered that she hadn’t liked Tommy. She’d thought her daughter too good for him, that she deserved something better.

  Apart from the creaks and groans of the old house, and the rustle of the tide, everywhere was quiet. Marian and Hilary kept very early hours. She vaguely remembered hearing them come upstairs a while ago. Louisa, so different from her daughters, usually stayed up till all hours, scribbling away in the red notebook, or they would talk – Josie hated going to bed early. On top of the usual sounds, she became aware of a faint shuffling and a tapping noise.

  Rats, Josie thought, but she didn’t care if the house was invaded by rats. The twins could get rid of them. She thought about making herself a cup of tea. Louisa, if she was awake, might like some coffee.

  In a minute, she told herself.

  The tapping and shuffling was getting closer. She was feeling a touch alarmed when the door opened and Louisa came puffing in.

  ‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’ She switched on the light. She was wearing her red dressing-gown and slippers and looked pleased with herself. ‘Those stairs! That’s the first time I’ve climbed them in ten years. What an achievement. Oh, but if I don’t sit down soon, I’ll collapse.’ She shuffled over to the bed and eased herself down with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

  Josie didn’t move. ‘I thought you were a rat,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I am, I am,’ Louisa panted. ‘It’s an insult usually reserved for men. People seem to forget there are female rats. I wonder why that is? And why are only women described as kittenish?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You can explore the contradiction in your next poem.’

  Louisa clapped her hands delightedly. ‘Josie! How glad I am to see you. You treat me like a normal human being. I’m sick of those silly girls fussing round. I’m openly crossing off the days before they go home on my calendar, but they refuse to take the hint. Now.’ She looked at Josie sternly. ‘I heard you come in. It was half past four. There’s been dead silence ever since. What’s wrong, dear? Is it something to do with that phone call? Phoebe said someone rang after you’d gone.’

  It was no use beating about the bush with Louisa. ‘It was Mrs Kavanagh, Lily’s mam, to say me father died yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! But …’ the heavy brows puckered ‘… I could have sworn you told me your father was already dead.’

  ‘I did. I told everyone he was dead. Mrs Kavanagh is the only one who knows the truth.’ Josie swung her legs off the window seat and rested her chin in her hands. ‘It’s funny, but it’s only today, now that he’s dead, that I’ve thought about him as me father. He was also me Uncle Vince, you see, Auntie Ivy’s husband. I told you a bit about them, too. Me father and me uncle were the same person.’

  ‘How extraordinarily interesting,’ Louisa remarked. She lit a cigarette. ‘Tell me more. For instance, was your mother a willing accomplice in the deceit?’

  Josie smiled. It was just the sort of reply she would have expected from Louisa who, unlike most people, would never come out with expressions of sympathy and shock. ‘No, he forced himself on her. He tried to do the same with me, but I kicked him in the stomach.’

  ‘Good for you. You should have aimed for the balls, much more painful.’ She flicked ash on the floor. ‘So, why are you mooning around because this despicable individual has died? I would have thought it a cause for celebration.’

  ‘Oh, I dunno.’ Josie turned to stare at the lights across the water. Louisa was reflected in the window, watching her with interest. ‘It just feels unnatural not to care that your father’s dead. I feel as if I’m missing out on something.’

  ‘I can never understand why we are automatically expected to love our relatives,’ Louisa said irritably. ‘I respected my father, but I never loved him. I felt sad when he died, that’s all. Mom, now, I miss her still.’ Her face creased tenderly. ‘She was my best friend. I was an only child, so I have no idea how I would have felt about siblings. As for my children, I expected to love them – I wanted to love them – but when they were born they were such an ugly little pair I asked the nurse to take them away.’ She smiled ruefully as she attempted to get off the bed. ‘I’ve rather missed being a doting mother. Come, let’s go downstairs and you can make us some coffee. We can continue this conversation there.’

  Eighteen months later Louisa suffered another stroke, only a mild one but she had to stay in bed for weeks. She was a fearsome patient, browbeating mercilessly the private nurse, Miss Viney, who came to see her twice a day – the only person she would allow to give her the bedpan. At other times Josie was ordered from the room, while she dragged herself to the commode, which only Miss Viney was allowed to empty.

  Mr Bernstein and Lily were forbidden to visit. On Saturdays Phoebe and her husband, Alf, spent the day at Barefoot House, so Josie could have time off, to go dancing or to the pictures with Lily. The rest of the time she stayed in because Louisa couldn’t be left on her own.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ Louisa growled awkwardly, the stroke having slightly impaired her speech. ‘Ask that stupid nurse in.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing. The poor woman’s terrified of you. I don’t want to add to her misery. Do you feel better now that you’ve got the telephone next to the bed?’ Josie had arranged for the telephone company to move it.

  ‘As long as you continue to answer it. I don’t want to be stuck with one of my girls. But it’s nice talking to Mr Bernstein or Thumbelina. Did I tell you she’s just married husband number seven? He collects oil wells the way some people collect stamps.’

  For something to do, Josie attacked the front garden. She dug up the dead bushes and the dried yellow grass, and broke down the crusty, clay-like soil. Alf removed the trees, sawed the dead wood into logs and stacked them in the garage.

  ‘They should keep the fire going a treat,’ he said. He was a tall, robust man with the strength of an ox. ‘See you through the winter, that lot.’

  Josie knew nothing about gardens. She’d assumed everything had to be grown from seed, and was thrilled to discover you could buy plants partially grown, and a ready-made lawn in the form of turfs, from a place called a nursery. Alf said there was one of these magic places not far away.

  She spent her twentieth birthday pushing and pulling the rusty garden roller she’d found in the garage over the hard earth to make it smooth enough for a lawn, nearly dislocating her arms in the process. As soon as it was done, she drove to the nursery, bought dozens of hardy plants which she put in the car, and ordered turfs and a wooden bench for Louisa to sit on when the garden was finished, to be delivered next day.

  That afternoon she planted the border, putting a handful of bonemeal in the hole with each plant as the woman in the nursery had suggested. The day was hot and the sun burned down on her back, so she was exhausted by the time she finished. Despite this, she was outside early next morning, impatiently waiting for the lorry to arrive, and had already begun to lay the turfs before the driver had finished unloading. At eight o’clock that night, Barefoot House could boast a neatly laid lawn, surrounded by a border of bushes and tiny flower plants. There was a bench beneath the window of Louisa’s room. Josie went inside to tell her the garden was finished. ‘You can come and look now.’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t looked already? You
’ve been bobbing up and down outside my window for weeks.’ Louisa had only been allowed out of bed a few days and was in a dreadful temper. She longed to go shopping or to the pictures, but was too weak to walk more than a few yards. She flatly refused to go merely for a drive. ‘It would be too fucking boring.’

  Josie took her arm, noticing how thin it was again, and how bent her back had become, and how slowly she shuffled from the house, barely able to lift her feet between each step. She led her to the bench and helped her sit. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’ Louisa asked acidly. Her tongue was as sharp as ever.

  ‘Look at the view, smell the fresh air, enjoy the atmosphere. It’s a beautiful evening, Louisa.’ Josie sniffed appreciatively. Apart from two boys some distance away, playing football, the beach was deserted. The tide was receding in a ruff of creamy-white froth, and the gleaming ribbon of wet sand left in its wake was getting wider and wider. Gulls rode the waves as lightly as bubbles.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d like my cigarettes, though.’

  ‘I thought it would be nice for you to sit here early in the morning,’ Josie said when she returned. ‘Or late at night, when it’s dark, round September, like. If I put the bench by the other window, you can see the lights across the water.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to think about?’ Louisa said in a cold voice. ‘Where I am to sit come September?’ She lit a cigarette. ‘At your age, you should be concentrating on young men, clothes, movies, having a good time. I thought of little else when I was sixty, let alone twenty. As for gardening, it was furthest from my mind, along with similar stultifyingly boring pursuits.’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  Louisa gave her a contemptuous look. ‘Oh, I am. And Marian and Hilary will be delighted. You’ve increased the value of the house no end. What shall you do next to get rid of your excess energy? Paint the windows, the door, decorate inside? Everywhere could do with a lick of paint, and we can both sit and watch it dry. Where’s Ronald?’ she asked unexpectedly, and peered around the garden, as if expecting Ronald to pop up from behind a newly planted bush.