Down an English Lane

by Margaret Thornton

  She, Christine, was old enough to be married without the consent of a parent or guardian. Did the same rule apply to men, she wondered? Did they, too, need to be twenty-one? She guessed they did, but no matter; in a couple of months’ time Bruce would be old enough to please himself. There was still that dratted coming-of-age party, though, that his parents were insisting upon. She must try her utmost to persuade him to wriggle out of it…

  ‘…that would be nice, wouldn’t it, dear?’ Christine suddenly realised she was miles away, and that Barbara Gascoyne had been telling, or asking, her something.

  ‘Sorry…sorry, Mrs Gascoyne.’ She came to with a start. ‘I was…daydreaming, I suppose.’ She smiled sweetly, apologetically at her friend’s mother. ‘What was it you were saying?’

  Mrs Gascoyne laughed. ‘I could see your head was way up in the clouds, thinking about that nice young man of yours, I’ll be bound. I know dear; you must be feeling sad leaving him behind… I was saying that you will be able to be bridesmaids for one another, won’t you, you and our Sadie? Although for one of you it will be matron-of-honour, won’t it? Oh, it’s such a relief that that dreadful war is over and we can look forward to happy times again.’

  ‘Have they decided on a wedding date then?’ asked Christine. She felt a little peeved that her best friend had not confided in her.

  ‘Not an exact date, no. But I think Sadie would like a springtime wedding. That would be nice… No doubt she will be full of plans when she comes home in a few weeks’ time…

  ‘That reminds me, there’s something I want to say to you, Christine. You know, don’t you, dear, that this is your home, for as long as you want it to be? Even after Sadie has left – and she’ll probably be the first of you to get married, won’t she? – you are welcome to stay, that is if you want to, of course. I’ve been talking it over with Bill and he agrees with me. And you’ll be going back to your job at the mill quite soon, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, on Monday. They held it open for me; that was the understanding, although how long I stay there remains to be seen.’ Christine took a deep breath, then she continued. ‘It’s very kind of you to say that I can stay here, and I do appreciate it, but I really think it’s time that I started to look for a place of my own. Just to rent, I mean; a flat or a couple of rooms, just until such time as Bruce and I get married.’

  Barbara looked a little put out. ‘There’s no point in paying an extortionate amount in rent when you can live here much more cheaply,’ she said. ‘And some landlords don’t half know how to charge, believe you me.’ Christine could see that she would need to be very tactful, but she would not allow herself to be dissuaded.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I dare say some of them do. But maybe not all of them. I’m sure I would be able to find somewhere quite reasonable… It isn’t that I want to leave – please don’t think that – but I feel it’s time I started to fend for myself a little more. My grandmother taught me to cook, and I did a bit when I lived with her, but not all that much. Gran always liked to be in charge…’ That was true, she recalled with an unexpected stab of sadness. ‘I must make an effort, and learn to run a household, even if it’s only for myself. I’ll soon have a husband to look after, won’t I?’ She crossed her fingers tightly as she said this. ‘I don’t want him to think that I haven’t a clue when it comes to housekeeping.’

  Barbara smiled. ‘Most girls haven’t got a clue, at least not those that have been brought up like our Sadie. Oh aye, I tried to teach her a thing or two, but it’s often quicker to do it yourself than have somebody else messing about in your kitchen. Happen I’ve spoiled her, but she’ll soon learn; I feel sure of that… Yes, I suppose I do understand what you mean, Christine, and I admire you for it. There’s no rush, mind. You get yourself settled in here again, and then, if you’re still set on it, Bill and I can help you to have a look around. There’re ads in the evening paper sometimes about places to let, but I reckon they’re snapped up pretty quickly. And I’ll ask round at the local shops… I’ll be sorry to see you go though, lass, especially as you’ve only just come back, but I know you’ve got your head screwed on the right way. Yes, I admire your guts…’

  Would Mrs Gascoyne have been so full of admiration if she had guessed at her primary consideration – to have a place where she and Bruce could be alone, really alone, together – Christine wondered? She thought not.

  There had been very little chance since their first meeting, at a dance in the Officers’ Mess earlier that year, to give full rein to their feelings for one another. Christine had known at once that this young man with the deep brown eyes – so warm and at times so soulful – and dark brown hair, was attracted to her, as she was to him. He was handsome, not devastatingly so, but with clean boyish looks which seemed to set him apart from some of the other flying officers, with their waxed moustaches and braying laughs. Bruce Tremaine was a polite and modest young man, not at all the sort of man that Christine had imagined she would go for. She had always set her hopes high. She had been convinced that one day she would meet a man who could keep her in the manner not to which she had been accustomed but to which she aspired. There were other criteria as well, though. He must be passably handsome, and she must be as attracted to him, physically, as he was to her.

  She had imagined someone with more verve and dash than Bruce, but she found herself coming to like him more and more for those qualities she had thought she might find wearisome; his honesty and serious approach to life – although he was not averse to a bit of fun as well – and his reliability. It was true that Christine knew a good thing when she was on to it, but it was also true that she was falling in love with him.

  She soon discovered that, hidden beneath his initial shyness and the utmost respect that he always showed to her, there was a desire as passionate as her own. They danced, they visited the cinema in Lincoln, and they took walks in the country lanes near to the camp where they were both stationed. On the long balmy summer evenings, as the war was drawing to its close, they were able to find secluded spots; behind a hay barn or, once, inside it, in the lee of a hawthorn hedge, or a thickly wooded copse. But Christine guessed that Bruce found these trysting places somewhat furtive and sordid; as she did, too, if she were honest.

  She guessed, also, that for Bruce it was his first experience of lovemaking, not that they had, as yet, fully consummated their love. He had told her that he had never met a girl like her. She doubted that he had known any girls at all, not in the way that he knew her. He had told her, too, several times, in moments of passion, that he loved her; and she, also had said, ‘And I love you, Bruce…’ feeling sure that she meant it.

  Christine had had one or two boyfriends, but, until she met Bruce, not anyone with whom she had felt she would want to spend more than a few days, let alone a lifetime. There had been a young man at the mill, one of the wool buyers, whom she had gone out with a few times until he was called up into the army. Then, soon after she had joined the WAAF, there had been a flight sergeant, to whom she had lost her virginity. It had not been a rapturous experience for either or them – in fact it had left Christine feeling rather ashamed and disgusted with herself – and he had soon moved on to someone else.

  At least that particular hurdle was over and done with, she told herself, but she was sure that the experience ought to be much more memorable and meaningful. She was determined to make sure that her first time with Bruce would be something to look back on with pleasure.

  She was satisfied that she had made a good impression upon him. Not only had he fallen in love with her but she had managed to hide from him the truth about her background and upbringing. He had not enquired, as he might well have done, about any property or assets that her grandmother might have left. Did he not think it strange that she had been left homeless? No; his trustworthiness meant that he accepted things at face value.

  Since working in the mill office, rather than the weaving shed, Christine had made an effort to lose much of the broadness o
f her Yorkshire accent. Oh yes, she could speak very nicely when she put her mind to it; she had always had an eye for fashion and had dressed as smartly as she could within her limited means; and her name, Christine Myerscough, she had always felt had a certain ring to it, almost as though she belonged to the upper classes. Nobody would guess that her father, nowadays, seemed to be spending as much time in prison as out of it; nor that her mother was…a member of the oldest profession. Not even to herself would Christine admit the true word.

  It was not very long, only a couple of weeks, before she found suitable accommodation. A client of Mr Gascoyne was looking for someone ‘nice and respectable’, as he put it, to rent the premises above his ironmongery shop, and when he met Christine he decided she was eminently suitable. The fully-furnished flat – at a rent she decided she could just about afford – comprising a living room, bedroom, small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom, was on Manningham Lane, near to where it started its rise from the city centre. Her new home was only a short trolleybus ride from her place of work, and it provided the solitude that she needed. She moved in at the beginning of October.

  Chapter Nine

  At the beginning of October Rebecca Tremaine sent out the invitations to Bruce’s party. His twenty-first birthday would be on the 22nd of November, which fell on a Thursday; so the party was to be held on the nearest Saturday, the 24th, in the large room over the Market Hall. This room, owned by the local council, had fallen into a state of disrepair over the war years; nevertheless it had been used for children’s parties and for meetings where the clientele were not too fussy about the venue.

  Recently, however, it had undergone a complete overhaul. The floor had been sanded and re-polished; the blackout blinds taken down and replaced by dark green velveteen curtains to cover the once grimy – but now clean and sparkling – windows; the dais at one end of the room had been carpeted; the adjoining cloakroom and toilets spruced up and freshened; the walls distempered in cream, and the woodwork painted a glossy brown. Loaned out by the council, the Market Room was now becoming a popular venue for more sophisticated parties and gatherings. It was licensed for alcoholic drinks to be served, and if the hosts did not wish to do the catering themselves they invited a firm of professionals to do it for them.

  Rebecca had been quite carried away with excitement planning her son’s twenty-first party. She only wished she could have seen a comparable enthusiasm shown by Bruce, who had been home the previous weekend for a brief visit. She said so to Archie as she put the invitations into their envelopes and stuck on the stamps.

  ‘Really, Archie, I sometimes wonder why we’re bothering to go to all this trouble arranging this do. Bruce doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit interested.’

  Archie smiled. It was his wife who was doing all the organising and, what was more, he knew she was thoroughly enjoying it. ‘Oh, come on, love,’ he said. ‘He’s not a kid any more. You can’t expect him to be bubbling over with excitement about a birthday party.’

  ‘But it’s his twenty-first, Archie…’

  ‘Aye, I know; but he’s not long ago finished fighting in a war, and happen he thinks it’s all – I dunno – unimportant, irrelevant, after what he’s been through.’

  ‘But he never talks much about what he did when he was flying, does he?’

  ‘No…happen it’s as well. I dare say he tries to put it to the back of his mind. Anyway, he’s got summat else to occupy his thoughts now, hasn’t he? There’s Christine…’

  ‘Yes, there’s Christine…’ Rebecca repeated. ‘And I have a feeling she might be at the bottom of all this, you know. This…disinterest in the party and everything. She’s got him twisted round her little finger. He couldn’t wait to get away from here and off to Bradford to see her.’

  ‘Well, that’s normal enough, isn’t it? Personally, I’m glad he’s got himself a lady friend at last. For years and years he never seemed interested in girls and…well, you begin to wonder…’

  ‘Archie! What a thing to say! I certainly didn’t. Anyway, he was friendly with Maisie, and with Audrey and Doris.’

  ‘Oh aye, I know that; but they were only kids, and I think he saw himself as a sort of big brother to them.’

  ‘Maybe…’ Rachel nodded thoughtfully. ‘But I’ve often thought that if Maisie was a few years older, then there could have been something between them. Of course I’m not suggesting that there was…’

  ‘No; she’s just a schoolgirl; Christine’s much more mature. I think she’ll be good for our Bruce.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Archie… But the fact remains that he’s just left it all to me, the invitations and everything. He couldn’t even tell me who he wanted to invite. I was the one making all the suggestions.’

  ‘Well, he’s probably looking on it as your party, and – let’s face it – that’s what it is, really, isn’t it? It’s summat that you want to do. Bruce hasn’t got any real close friends round here, with being away at school and then in the RAF. But he’ll go along with it and enjoy it, you can be sure of that, provided he’s got his lady friend with him. She’ll be staying here, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so… It’s where Bruce was staying when he went off to Bradford that concerns me. He didn’t say…’

  ‘Nor can you expect him to. Give over mithering, Becky. He’s a big boy now.’

  ‘Yes…yes, I know that…’ That’s what I’m afraid of, she added to herself.

  ‘Let’s have a look at these invites then,’ said Archie, picking up the pile of envelopes and thumbing through them. ‘Maisie Jackson, Mrs Lily Jackson… What about the youngsters, Joanie and Jimmy?’

  ‘Oh, I expect Lily will get someone to look after them for the evening; Mrs Jenner, maybe. I’m sure the last thing Bruce would want would be a tribe of children dancing around.’

  ‘Mr Arthur Rawcliffe… Well, you’d have to invite him, wouldn’t you, seeing as how he’s doing the catering?’

  ‘I would have invited him anyway, as Lily’s fiancé; but, yes, you’re right. He’ll be there in his professional capacity. And so will his sister and brother-in-law, Harry and Florence Buttershaw, but there’s an invitation for them as well. I believe they’re doing very well with this new venture.’

  ‘Aye, they seem to have backed a winner there all right. And jolly good luck to them…’

  Arthur Rawcliffe and his relations, Harry and Flo, who had now gone into partnership with him, had started doing outside catering for parties and functions. They had already taken a few bookings and this one, for the squire and his wife, promised to be quite lucrative.

  ‘The Rector and Mrs Fairchild, Audrey and Timothy Fairchild…’ Archie continued. ‘I reckon they’ll be needing a child-minder as well for their Johnny… The Nixons, all of them, yes of course… How many d’you think there’ll be altogether?’

  ‘Getting on for fifty, if they all come. And I’ve heard about a trio of musicians; well, you know, the sort that the youngsters like. They play for dancing and that sort of thing; a pianist, a drummer and a saxophonist, and I think they have a girl vocalist as well. So I’ll get in touch with them.’

  ‘And the cake?’ asked Archie.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve thought of everything. Arthur Rawcliffe is going to make that. And he’s promised to put on a nice buffet meal; sandwiches, meat pies, sausage rolls, trifles and fancies; you know the sort of thing. I know we’re still rationed and we probably will be for ages, but he doesn’t think there should be any problem in getting everything he needs. He says he’ll pull out all the stops…’

  And there would be no stopping his wife either, thought Archie. She was revelling in it all despite the lukewarm reaction of their son. He only hoped that nothing would happen to mar her pleasure.

  ‘Have you got your invitation to the party?’ Audrey asked Maisie as they boarded the school bus.

  ‘You mean Bruce’s twenty-first?’ said Maisie, trying to affect an air of nonchalance.

  ‘Of course! What else
could I mean? You’ll be going, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Maisie, sighing a little. ‘I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t… I’m not bothered about Bruce, you know, not any more.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

  ‘I should think Doris will be going, so I’ll be able to keep her company. I don’t want to play gooseberry with you and Brian.’

  ‘Oh, go on; we’re not like that!’

  ‘But he’ll be invited, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, I should think so. Mr and Mrs Tremaine are quite friendly with Mr and Mrs Milner.’

  ‘It sounds to me as though it’s Mrs Tremaine’s party, not Bruce’s,’ Maisie remarked. ‘I know she’s been doing all the arranging. She’s asked Arthur to put on a buffet, you know, and to make the cake.’

  ‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ said Audrey. ‘It’s ages since we went to a proper party, and it should be quite a posh do. I wonder what we should wear? D’you think it’ll be long dresses an’ all that? You could wear that pink one that you wore for the concert, couldn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Maisie, rather too quickly. ‘Er…no, I don’t think so,’ she went on less forcibly. ‘It might be just a casual sort of affair, and I don’t want to be dressed up like a dog’s dinner, do I?’ The truth was that the pink dress brought back unhappy memories. And another truth was that she did not really want to go to the party at all…

  Christine didn’t want to go to the party either; in fact, she did not want the party to take place at all. She knew, though, that she would have to handle Bruce carefully if she was to persuade him to go against the wishes of his parents; well, of his mother really, she guessed. Archie Tremaine seemed to her to be a much more easy-going, relaxed sort of person, on the surface at least; quite an ordinary fellow. You would never imagine, unless you knew, that he was the local squire. He spoke with a broad Yorkshire accent and often used the vernacular of the area. Not like his wife, Rebecca. She was the one with the cut-glass accent and refined mannerisms, and Christine had known from the start that she would have to watch her Ps and Qs where Bruce’s mother was concerned.