Time Goes By

by Margaret Thornton

  Winifred noticed, though, that she went to find Barry Proctor before he started on his journey home to Burnley.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sally was enjoying herself in France. Whether or not her French conversation was improving was beside the point – they spoke so fast that it was hard to understand them, let alone converse with them! – but it was turning out to be a jolly good holiday. They travelled by coach, then by the Channel ferry. Their first stopping place was Dieppe. From there they visited the Normandy beaches, renowned, not all that long ago, for the D-Day landings, and the picturesque old town of Rouen where Joan of Arc was martyred. Then they moved on to Brittany to stay two nights in the fishing port of St Malo, and lastly in the medieval town of Dinan. They were enchanted by this quaint place with its stone ramparts and wood-fronted houses leaning crazily towards one another across the narrow streets.

  They were enjoying the different sights and sounds and smells – a mixture of Gauloises cigarettes and fragrant coffee – of a foreign country. Although it was so near to England, it seemed so very far away. Possibly, above all, they were savouring the tastes of France. The country seemed to have recovered from the restrictions of wartime. They dined on pancakes – crêpes – served as a savoury dish with scrambled egg, ham and cheese or meat, or as a dessert with fruit, ice cream or chocolate; the fish and seafood – monkfish, red mullet or John Dory – fish they had never encountered at home; or the speciality of Brittany, the plateau de fruits de mer, an assortment of exotic sea creatures served on a bed of seaweed. This last creation they only looked at in shop windows, but were not brave – or rich – enough to try. The sweets were their downfall, though; eclairs topped with coffee cream, chocolate gateaux, and featherlight sponges flavoured with Grand Marnier and served with almonds, fruit and cream.

  Sally and Joyce had grown closer to one another that week, away from the strictures of the classroom. On their last evening they sat at a pavement café on the long street that led down to the quayside, enjoying the rich dark coffee they had grown accustomed to, and a bottle of Muscadet, the favourite drink of Bretons.

  ‘It’s been a good week,’ said Sally. ‘Thank you for coming with me, Joyce; I’ve enjoyed your company.’

  ‘Likewise,’ answered Joyce. ‘There’s not much time at school, is there, to socialise? I didn’t realise until now that you and me … well, that we could be such good friends. I mean, you’re older than me and …’

  ‘Don’t rub it in!’ laughed Sally. ‘Yes, I do know what you mean, but age shouldn’t really make a great deal of difference. Anyway, here’s to us …’ She raised her glass. ‘And to our new-found friendship.’ They clinked glasses and smiled at one another. ‘I expect your husband will be glad to see you home again, though, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he will,’ agreed Joyce. ‘It’ll be nice to see Roger again, I must admit. Although it doesn’t do any harm to have some time apart now and again. It helps to stimulate the relationship. I expect Albert will be missing you too, won’t he?’

  Word had gradually got round the staffroom that Sally was seeing Mr Leigh, the father of one of the girls in her class, but, to her surprise, little had been said about it, in her hearing at least. Sally sighed.

  ‘Yes, I daresay he’ll be missing me … I’m not sure that I can really say the same myself, though.’ She decided that she would like to confide in Joyce; she had not, so far, talked about Albert to anyone.

  Her parents had met him and appeared to like him, but they had kept their own counsel, probably thinking that she was old enough and wise enough to know her own mind. But did she? That was the problem. She liked Albert; they got on well together for the most part. She knew he could be moody at times and liked things his own way, but she told herself that nobody was perfect. She guessed that since he had met her he had, in a sense, recaptured some of his youth; she was thinking in particular of the ballroom dancing. But she predicted that, should they embark on a more permanent relationship, he might revert to being set in his ways, to being as intransigent and unbending as she guessed he had been in the past. Winifred had remarked to her that there had been a big change in her brother since the two of them had been friendly. But, she reminded herself, he was eleven years older than she was …

  ‘Why?’ asked Joyce, in answer to Sally’s remark. ‘Don’t you get on well with him? I met Mr Leigh when Kathy was in my class, and I can’t help wondering … I mean, he seemed such a morose sort of chap. No, that’s very unfair of me.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t really know him, do I? You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business, is it?’

  ‘But I’d like to tell you,’ said Sally. ‘Yes, we’re OK together; he’s not really such a sobersides when you get to know him. I’ve got on with him much better than I expected to. I didn’t mean it to carry on so long but … well … it has done. And now, you see, he’s getting keener, wanting to see me more often and … everything. And I don’t really think that’s what I want.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to tell him, won’t you?’ replied Joyce. ‘Before he “pops the question”, as they used to say.’

  ‘Mmm … I suspect that might be in his mind, even though I’ve only known him for – what? – about five months. And I can’t help thinking that he may well be wanting a mother figure for Kathy. Her aunt’s always been like a mother to her, and she still is. Winifred’s a wonderful person; I like her very much. But I think it’s quite likely that she’ll be getting married herself, so she may no longer be there to see to Kathy. I don’t know, of course, but it’s looking as though it might happen. I’m very fond of little Kathy; I always was, and she’s grown closer to me since I’ve been seeing her dad.’

  ‘Yes, she’s a lovely little girl,’ agreed Joyce. ‘She was in my class, as you know, before she moved up to you. I never felt she was any worse off, not having a mother; far happier, in fact, than she might have been in some of the homes I can think of. Is she still friendly with Shirley Morris?’

  ‘Oh yes, they’re bosom pals. Shirley’s inclined to be bossy, as you probably know, but I think Kathy’s learning to hold her own … Yes, I think you’re right, Joyce. I shall have to tell Albert that there’s not much point in us going on seeing one another. I don’t mind being friendly with him, but I don’t want it to go any further. I would like to get married one day, I suppose. Maybe have children of my own, if I don’t leave it too late. That’s another issue; I doubt that Albert would want any more children …’ She was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

  ‘I lost my fiancé, Martin, during the Battle of Britain,’ she went on, ‘and there’s never really been anyone else since then that I could feel the same way about. I know that I don’t love Albert, so it wouldn’t be right, would it, for either of us?’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t, if you want my honest opinion,’ said Joyce. ‘I had heard that you lost someone during the war; I’m sorry about that … Weren’t you getting friendly with Phil Grantley, not so long ago? I know some of the staff thought so – you know how they can gossip at times – and then he started seeing Fiona Wilson.’

  ‘Yes, we were friendly; in fact, I thought at one time that it was really going somewhere. To be quite honest, I think I was on the way to falling in love with him, then it all seemed to go wrong. I suppose I went on seeing Albert on the rebound. The first time Phil asked me to go out on what you might call a proper date, I had already promised to go out with Albert, so that was that. Then, as you say, he started seeing Fiona …’

  ‘Never mind, Sally,’ said Joyce. ‘There’s more fish in the sea.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ replied Sally. ‘But why won’t a prize catch swim my way?’ She laughed. ‘Thanks for listening to me. I know now what I have to do. I can’t let it drag on any longer … I suppose we’d better be heading back, hadn’t we? We’ve a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.’

  It was hard to tell whether Albert had anticipated Sally’s news that she
didn’t want to go on seeing him.

  He had phoned her at home soon after she had arrived back and she had agreed to go out with him the following evening; but just for a quiet drink, she had said, not to the cinema or to go dancing. He had kissed her eagerly when she got into the car, but she could not respond to his ardour.

  She told him almost as soon as they had ordered their drinks and sat down in the lounge bar of the Cliffs Hotel.

  ‘I like you very much, Albert,’ she told him, ‘and I’ve enjoyed our times together, but it wouldn’t be fair to go on seeing you.’ She explained that, although she had grown fond of him, she didn’t love him, and that rather than get more involved with him – which she felt was what he wanted – it would be better for them to part.

  ‘But I think I love you, Sally,’ he protested. She noticed that he had said only that he thought he loved her. ‘And I’ve never loved anyone else, not since I lost Barbara. I really thought we might have something good.’ He looked so disappointed and dejected that she felt sorry for him. ‘But I suppose it was too much to hope for. I’m too old for you, Sally. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want somebody more lively and go-ahead, not an old stick-in-the-mud like me.’

  ‘But you’re not like that,’ she insisted. ‘It’s not the age difference, not really. I just feel that – in the end – it wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he mumbled. ‘I suppose I should have seen it coming. Kathy’s going to be disappointed, I know that. She’s got used to you coming round. She thinks the world of you, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so, but I’ve told you how young children get attached to their infant teachers. I’m very fond of Kathy too. But I shall still see her at school, even though she won’t be in my class.’

  ‘Poor Kathy!’ Albert shook his head. ‘She’s got another shock coming as well. She’s about to lose her best friend, Shirley.’

  ‘Why? Whatever has happened?’ asked Sally. ‘Shirley’s not ill, is she?’

  ‘On no, it’s nothing like that. You know that Sadie Morris has been helping us at the hotel, and Shirley and her little sister were coming along to play with Kathy?’ Sally nodded. ‘Well, there was a bit of trouble; the little girl had an accident – nothing serious – but the father was furious. And then, to make matters worse, the next day the boy, Graham, fell in the sea.’

  ‘Oh, goodness me! Is he all right?’

  ‘Yes, he’s fine. But Mr Morris hit the roof, understandably, I suppose. He had never wanted his wife to work for us in the first place. So the upshot of it is that he’s forbidden Sadie to come anymore. Kathy knows about that, but what she doesn’t know yet is that Mrs Morris is leaving her husband and taking the children to live with her parents in Southport.’

  ‘Good gracious! That’s a drastic step,’ said Sally. ‘Is it for good, or have they just had a tiff?’

  ‘Rather more than a tiff. Sadie came round to tell Winnie about it this morning. She and her husband have had no end of a bust-up; apparently things have not been too good for a while. So she’s off at the end of the week, to Southport. I think she’s hoping to get a job there, and her mother will look after the children.’

  ‘That’s bad news,’ said Sally. ‘Poor Shirley … and her brother and sister as well, of course. I hope they manage to sort things out and get back together.’

  ‘Well, that remains to be seen,’ said Albert. ‘I’m afraid Sadie has got rather too friendly with one of our visitors – a man, I obviously don’t need to add. So that won’t have helped matters. She hasn’t admitted as much, but Winnie’s very astute and she got a fair idea of what’s going on.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ said Sally again. ‘I’m stunned, really I am. I would never have thought that about Mr and Mrs Morris.’

  ‘It just goes to show,’ said Albert grimly. ‘You can never tell what’s going on in a woman’s mind. “La donna è mobile” … Didn’t you tell me that it meant “woman is fickle”?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right; so it does.’ Albert was looking at her quizzically. ‘You mustn’t think … There’s no one else involved, for me, I mean,’ she tried to explain.

  ‘I didn’t think that, Sally,’ he replied. He looked very sad for a moment and she felt sorry if she had hurt him so much. ‘I didn’t mean you. I was just speaking generally. Some women can be very fickle.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘I’m sorry … about you and me. It was good while it lasted. I suppose that’s all I can say. I’ll take you back home when you’re ready. There’s not much point in staying on here, is there?’

  He downed his half pint almost in one gulp. She was glad it wasn’t a full pint as he had to drive home and she knew he would be preoccupied about recent happenings.

  He kissed her on the cheek as they said goodbye outside her house. ‘I’ll see you around, no doubt, Sally,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself … and good luck.’ He nodded unsmilingly as he got out of the car to open the door for her.

  ‘Goodbye, Albert,’ she said. ‘You take care of yourself as well.’ She hurried up the path without a backward glance.

  It was Winifred who told Kathy, one night just after the little girl had got into bed, firstly, that her father was not seeing Sally Roberts anymore, and then that Shirley had gone with her mum and her brother and sister to live in Southport with her grandparents. Kathy, understandably, was puzzled about both issues.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, regarding her father and Sally. ‘Have they had a row?’

  ‘I don’t think so, not exactly a row,’ Winifred replied. ‘They’ve decided that maybe they’re not right for one another. Your daddy is a few years older than Sally – Miss Roberts – and people have to be very sure, if they’re thinking of staying together, that they’re always going to get on well with one another.’

  ‘Did he want to marry Miss Roberts, then?’ asked Kathy.

  Winifred smiled. ‘I think he might have done, but it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘I like Miss Roberts,’ said Kathy. ‘Well, I always liked her, but we’ve got more friendly – you know, as though she’s not just a teacher – since she’s been going out with Daddy.’

  ‘Well, you’ll still see her at school, won’t you? And I’m sure she’ll be just as friendly, even though it didn’t work out for her and your daddy.’

  ‘Are you going to marry Uncle Jeff?’ Kathy asked, surprising Winifred by the suddenness of the question.

  ‘I think that might be … quite likely,’ said Winifred cautiously. ‘But a lady has to wait until she’s asked, you know. So don’t go saying that to Jeff, will you, or to anybody else?’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Kathy. ‘But would you like to marry him?’

  ‘You’re a nosey parker!’ Winifred laughed. ‘Jeff and I get on very well together. I like him very much and I think he likes me. But, as I said, you have to be very sure. Now, I don’t think I want to say any more about that at the moment, young lady!’

  ‘No, that’s all right,’ said Kathy. ‘But why is Shirley’s mum going to live somewhere else? Don’t Mr and Mrs Morris love one another anymore? I thought he was nice, real good fun; he made me laugh.’

  ‘You can’t always tell what people are really like,’ said her aunt. ‘Sometimes they can be quite different with their own families.’

  Kathy nodded. ‘Yes, Shirley used to tell me about her mum and dad having rows. And I know he was real mad about Brenda getting hurt, and then Graham falling in the sea.’

  ‘That’s what caused the big fall-out,’ said Winifred. ‘Mr Morris wants to be sure that his children are being looked after properly, just like your daddy cares about you. And he thought Mrs Morris was neglecting them by coming to work here.’

  ‘But she wasn’t, was she?’ Kathy frowned. ‘I mean … it was Shirley’s fault – and mine as well – that Brenda got hurt. We’d been told to look after her. And Graham wasn’t doing as he was told either, was he? He’d been told not to go near the sea.’

  ‘Yes, it was all very unfortunate,’ said W
inifred. ‘But you mustn’t worry your head about it anymore, Kathy love. Maybe when Mrs Morris has had time to think about it she’ll be sorry she’s moved away. And perhaps Mr Morris will be sorry for all the things he said. It’s what happens sometimes with married people. I know you’ll miss Shirley, but you’ve got lots more friends at school, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, there’s Maureen and Dorothy … and Timothy. Actually, Aunty Win, Shirley was a bit bossy. I liked her, though.’

  Winifred laughed. ‘It’ll all sort out, I’m sure.’ She kissed her cheek. ‘Now, you snuggle down and go to sleep. Goodnight, darling; God bless …’

  Kathy settled down well in her new class. Her teacher was called Mrs Culshaw, whom the children soon decided was good fun but could be strict as well when the need arose. They still sat in tables of four, not at desks yet, like the older classes in the junior school. Kathy was pleased to be put on a table with Maureen who, after Shirley, was her next-best friend. It seemed as though Mrs Culshaw had been warned to separate Timothy Fielding and his sparring partner, Stanley Weston. To Kathy’s disappointment, although she didn’t admit it to anyone, Timothy was not on their table, but was seated at the other side of the room. Sitting opposite her and Maureen were Stanley, whom she knew and didn’t mind too much, and a boy called Neville who was quiet, well behaved and clever.

  She encountered Timothy, though, in the playground the first day. ‘Hi, Kathy,’ he greeted her. ‘Would you like a pear drop?’

  ‘Ooh yes, thank you.’ She popped the pink and yellow sweet in her mouth.

  ‘I’ve got another joke for you,’ he said. ‘What did the caterpillar say when he fell off the leaf?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied dutifully. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Earwigo …!’ He fell about laughing. ‘D’you get it? Here – we – go. Eer – wig – o!’