‘Party? I haven’t been to a party since I was a young man.’
‘Well, I want you to come to ours.’
‘And who’s this then?’
‘It’s my cousin Norah.’
‘Well! Aren’t I a lucky owd man, being escorted by the two prettiest girls in Millington?’
The two girls giggled and busied themselves passing him his coat, hat and crutches, and locking the door.
The table looked a picture. Betty had placed twigs of holly between the plates, and made a junket for the kids and a basin of Bird’s custard. The cake meant to be eaten at Christmas had been brought out prematurely. Who cared about that when Daisy was safely home? Besides, Christmas was properly the celebration of Christ’s birthday, and they could do that without all the frivolities. They would all go to chapel and thank God that He had seen fit to return their precious child.
Plates were half-empty when the door suddenly opened. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing except Jim, who choked on his beer. Daisy was the first to acknowledge the visitor.
‘Uncle Ernest!’ She ran towards him and jumped up into his arms. Joe Denman spoke the words on everyone’s mind. ‘Thank God!’ Jim recovered from his choking and shifted Stanley from his chair, sitting Ernest down near the food. Lizzie prised herself up from the sofa and gave her son a hug and a kiss. ‘Welcome home, son. Are you well?’ She didn’t think he looked at all well.
‘I am now I’m here,’ Ernest laughed. His eyes were scanning the room but the person he was looking for was nowhere in sight. Then Betty came from upstairs, with little Ernie still rosy and bleary-eyed from his nap. Ernest thought he had never seen such a beautiful sight and knew he never would again. He had thought of Betty Hayes every night since she had confided in him before giving birth to her little boy. Now here she was before his eyes, yet still as far out of reach as ever. He looked round the room for Clarence, but of course a soldier could be anywhere in the world.
‘So this is little Ernie, eh?’ He grinned and held out his arms for the little boy who was his namesake but the child was timid and clung on to Betty’s skirt.
‘He’ll come round, he’s just shy,’ she said.
Sally thought Ernest must be overwhelmed by the number of people here and began to explain.
‘We’re having our party early. I know Christmas Day isn’t until Friday, but we’ve a better reason to celebrate so we’ve brought it forward.’
Danny Powell thought he was intruding now the airman had returned.
‘This ought to be a family occasion. I don’t want to outstay my welcome, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll just get me coat.’
‘No!’ Jim said. ‘We’ve other days to spend with family, this is our Daisy’s day. How long is it since you got drunk, Danny?’
‘I’m not sure, but I do know I ended up in’t middle of’t undertaker’s window display. Somebody’d stood an urn on me chest. I was fined five shillings for breaking and entering – and it weren’t me who entered, it were me mates who took me! I know summat … when I woke up, I were glad it weren’t my name on that gravestone.’
Amy thought Danny always knew how to cheer folks up. She was glad he was here.
‘Right then, if we promise not to take yer down to the undertaker’s, you can get drunk tonight. ’Ere, get this down yer.’ And Jim gave Danny a tot of the last of old Walter’s brandy.
Mary had made up some packages and the children were playing pass the parcel, with Grand-dad Denman playing the piano. Sally thought her father had shed a few years since Daisy’s return, and another few in the short time Ernest had been in the house. She would probably never feel contentment such as this again. Not happiness, she daren’t call it that since it would be tempting fate – and after what had happened to Daisy, she never intended to do that. No, all Sally needed was contentment, and today she was quite content.
Christmas was spent quietly, apart from the usual excitement on discovering that Father Christmas had been. Ernest Denman was glad to be home, and apart from treating all the family to tickets for the pantomime – Aladdin – at the Lyceum, was content to spend time quietly with his parents. Nobody had mentioned the death of Clarence Hayes and Ernest himself had decided to steer clear of Betty even though he was longing to spend time with her and Ernie.
Pat Cartwright was home very little over the holidays. The pantomime period was a hectic time at the theatre and she was dashing from costumes to cleaning, from tea-maker to prompter, in her element. With chorus girls in short supply, due to many young women being away in the services, the average age of the girls who performed was seventeen. Some were only fifteen, in fact, and Pat made friends of her own age. In fact, Pat Cartwright was having the time of her life. When her family turned up for the performance on Boxing Day they were all taken backstage to meet the stars, a treat indeed. Daisy told Pat that when she grew up she would write a pantomime. Uncle Ernest said he had every confidence in her doing so.
A few weeks after Christmas, Daisy, Carol, Una and Jean attended another performance, when Gypsy Petulengro paid a visit to the Palace Cinema. Sally was torn between wanting to go and fear of what he might predict.
‘He told me about Charlotte taking away something of great value. He also told Daisy she would see the inside of a hospital. Both things came true.’
‘So let’s go. He might predict something good this time,’ Mary said.
‘Ah, but what if he says something terrible is about to happen? I won’t be able to shrug it off this time. Not now I know how accurate he can be.’
‘Oh, come on, it’ll be a laugh.’ Mary really wanted to go but Sally still wasn’t sure. In the end they did go but decided they would sit up in the circle, where he was less likely to pick them out.
Gypsy Petulengro remembered the little Shirley Temple lookalike though. How could he forget? That prediction was one of the strongest he had ever experienced, and it was the same again tonight. She was in the end seat, next to the right aisle.
‘The girl with the curls,’ he said, ‘at the end of the fourth row upstairs. And the girl in the red coat, close to you … Most unusual, but you’re both destined for fame. You with the curls will find fame in your home town, and at a very young age. You are most gifted but must work hard. Never give up your dream for one second. Go for what you want and you will acquire it. The girl in red …’ That was Una Bacon. ‘Do you sing?’ Una nodded. ‘Will you say yes or no to my questions, please? So that other people can hear.’
‘Yes, and I dance.’
‘The dancing may give you pleasure but the singing will give you fame beyond your wildest dreams. You will travel the length and breadth of the country. Forget the dancing and train your voice. Will you do that?’
‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’ Una’s eyes sparkled in the lights from the stage. She was to be a singer, he had told her so, and Daisy said he knew. He had told Daisy, too, though he hadn’t told her how she would become famous. He had only told her.
‘Isn’t he good?’ Daisy said.
‘Yes, he’s marvellous!’ Una agreed.
‘Well, I don’t think much of him,’ Jean mumbled.
‘That’s because he didn’t tell you anything,’ Carol said. ‘You’re just jealous. But he’ll be right, Daisy will be famous when she writes her book.’
Whether it was the Phosferine or his son’s leave it was hard to tell, but Joe Denman certainly looked better and was taking his Home Guard duties extremely seriously, especially the visits to the club to slaken the dust. Sally decided she could stop worrying about him.
With her niggling anxiety about what Charlotte Kaye might do next at an end, she was at last able to relax. Daisy had returned to school to face a profusion of questions and had taken advantage of finding herself in the limelight by exaggerating her experience. When Jim heard some of the tales she had told, he said to Sally, ‘Our Daisy’s a born storyteller, she can’t half spin a yarn.’
‘Well, she says that’s what she’s going to do with her life –
write books.’
‘Then I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed,’ Jim laughed. ‘People like us don’t become authors.’
‘Well, according to Gypsy what’s his name, she’s about to become famous …’
‘What a load of rubbish! Yer surely don’t believe all that stuff, do yer?’
‘Well, he wasn’t far out before.’
‘Coincidence, that’s all.’
‘Well, we shall see. If she keeps writing like she is now, she might well be successful. Her teacher says she’s outstanding for her age.’
‘Aye, and pigs might fly.’
A few months later Jim was to eat his words. Nellie came one morning with a very official-looking envelope addressed to Miss Daisy Butler.
‘What can it be?’ Sally turned it over and considered opening it, but she couldn’t, not when it was addressed to her daughter. She stood it in the centre of the mantelpiece, propped up by the clock. Nellie was most disappointed. When Jim came home off the morning shift he looked at the name on the envelope. ‘What’s this?’ he asked his wife.
‘I’ve no idea, I can’t read through paper.’
‘All right, no need to be sarcastic!’
‘Well, I’ve been wondering and worrying all morning.’
When Daisy arrived home Jim handed her the envelope. ‘You’ve got a letter. Do yer know what it’s about?’
‘Not till I open it.’ She tore the envelope open and read the letter. Her face had turned the colour of beetroot.
‘Well?’
‘I’ve won! The competition in Grandma’s magazine … I’ve won.’ She handed the letter to Jim who began to read it.
Dear Miss Daisy Butler,
I am pleased to inform you that you are the winner of our writing competition. The adjudicators considered your poem ‘Buttercups’ was the most likely to remind our troops of home. For a competitor of your age, the poem is an outstanding composition.
The prize is on its way to you and we hope you find the typewriter useful in your writing. We wish you success in the future. Your poem will appear in the summer edition of the magazine. We shall, of course, forward a copy to you.
Yours sincerely,
Rosie Stem
Editor
‘Well!’ Sally said. ‘Congratulations. A typewriter … why didn’t you tell us you’d entered?’
‘Because you’d only have laughed.’
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘No, but Dad would.’
‘I would not!’ Jim was stunned.
‘Yes, you would. You think I’m silly when I say I’m going to be a writer.’
‘Well, I won’t now. Are you going to show us this outstanding poem, then?’
‘Not until it’s in the magazine. It’s only scribbled, but it won’t be when I get my typewriter. I shall be able to type up my story about my kidnapping, too.’
‘Oh, Daisy, don’t you think you ought to forget about that?’
‘No! It makes a marvellous, exciting story. You just wait until you read it.’
‘But do you think it’s fair to Mr Kaye? It will only upset him.’
‘Oh, I won’t mention names, no one will recognise it, only me.’
‘Anyway,’ Jim said, ‘don’t yer think you ought to go and tell yer grandma? It isn’t everybody who has a famous grand-daughter.’
‘No! I’m going to tell our Pat first. She bought me the stamp so it’s only fair. Besides, she believed in me.’
Jim felt ashamed that he had belittled his daughter. ‘I believe in you, love,’ he said.
‘Right, I’ll go and tell our Pat now. Then I’ll tell Grandma Butler. I’m not a famous grand-daughter yet!’ Daisy ran to the door, hugging her letter. As she went out she turned to her parents. ‘But I will be,’ she said.
Mark Kaye had removed the panel from the alcove and brought out the boxes containing Mr Jessops’ belongings. He looked at the clocks which stood silent and run down, pendulums hanging motionless. The vases were pretty but reminded him of the cremation urns used for holding ashes.
He shuddered as he unwrapped one of the dog prints. ‘You were right, Charlotte, there is something weird about these,’ he murmured. He picked up a photograph from the dressing table of Charlotte in her younger days, and sighed. ‘Well, it seems you got away with it, but it didn’t do you much good, did it? Brady’s house, your uncle’s treasures, and all they did was drive you to suicide.’
He put down the photograph and walked round the room, running his hand over the expensive furniture. Then he smiled to himself. ‘Seems I’ve done quite well out of our marriage, Charlotte.’ He walked slowly downstairs and poured himself a drink. Lifting the glass, he declared, ‘Bottoms up, old girl, wherever you are.’
Ida Appleby had not so far stopped talking about her family Christmas, but on this particular day, when Sally arrived, she said, ‘I’ve been thinking … what if I invited Doug Fletcher up for a meal some time?’ She paused, watching Sally for her reaction. ‘Emily says he’s always hanging around the cafe so I can always find ’im there. I could do a meat pie if you could get me some of that horse meat, like I used to make when I was housekeeper … I mean, when I worked at the White Hart.’
‘I hope you’re not planning a dirty weekend, you and Doug Fletcher?’
‘Well, I think we’re a bit past all that at our age. Mind you, with a good dinner inside us, you never know.’
‘What will Mrs Simms say?’
‘Not much, she’s not one to pass judgement. In fact, if I’d been a bit more like Emily, I’d ’ave been a happier woman. Oh, Sally, if only I hadn’t taken any notice of me mother, our Donald might never ’ave moved away!’
‘Now, Ida. He moved away when he was promoted, you should be proud of him for that.’
‘Oh, I am! And our Paul and Peter as well, they’re grand lads. So what do yer think I should do about Doug?’
‘I think it’s time you did what you want to do.’
‘Aye, and bugger everybody else!’
Sally couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well, I’d better get on.’
‘Oh, sit down and let’s have a natter. Besides, you ’aven’t read me letter yet. Me grandsons are going to come and stay for a week in their school holidays. Oh, it will be lovely ’aving somebody to make a fuss of, especially at bedtime. It’s been a long time since I’ve given anybody a goodnight kiss and a cuddle.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t count on that if I were you. You might find the boys consider themselves too old for kissing. Still, you can always fall back on Doug. I’m sure he wouldn’t object.’
Sally poured tea into the two cups. Ida got up and went to the cupboard, bringing back a bottle of whisky. ‘Here, let’s ’ave a drop of this in it. Our Donald bought it. ’E says a drop in me first cup of a morning’ll be good for me. So let’s drink to our families.’
‘Yes, to our families. And to as many kisses and cuddles as we can get. Everybody needs affection, Ida, no matter how old they are.’
‘Aye, Sally, you’re right. And thank goodness I’ve realised it before it’s too late.’
Daisy didn’t know what was wrong with Carol. She had been miserable for weeks but wouldn’t say why.
‘I thought I was your friend, but you’re always snapping at me,’ Daisy complained.
‘I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, and you are my friend, my very best friend.’
‘Well, stop being so grumpy.’
‘If you’re my friend, why won’t you go to the pictures?’ Carol pleaded. ‘It’s Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour, it’s sure to be good.’
‘I told you, I’ll go with you tomorrow. I’ve got my piano lesson tonight.’
‘Please, it’s got to be tonight. Anyway, you said you’re not bothered about playing the piano.’
‘I’m not, but Mam says I’ve got to do something apart from writing all the time. Besides, I read somewhere that pianists can type faster than anyone else.’
‘That’s all you care about
, your writing. If you cared about me you’d come with me to the pictures. I’ll just have to go by myself.’
‘And then I’ll have nobody to go with tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry but I have to go tonight. It’s Monday and my mum goes out on Mondays. So I’ll see you at school tomorrow then.’
Carol looked so sad as she set off for home, dragging her feet, that Daisy almost called her back and told her she’d changed her mind, but she knew her mam wouldn’t let her miss her lesson.
She called after her friend, ‘See you tomorrow, Carol.’ But she didn’t turn round. Daisy was really worried then. It was as though Carol didn’t want to go home. She decided to tell Sally about it when she got home.
‘Mam …’ She didn’t really know what to say. ‘What would you do if your friend was unhappy and moody all the time?’
Sally considered the question for a moment then said, ‘Well, I suppose I’d ask her what was worrying her.’
‘I’ve done that. She says it’s nothing, but I know there’s something wrong.’
‘Is this friend Carol, by any chance?’
‘Yes, and she’s always been so happy until now.’
Sally frowned. She wondered if the rumours had any truth in them, if Carol’s mother actually was having an affair with the so-called Uncle Harry. If so, that could be the cause of the change in Carol. The girls were growing up fast and becoming perceptive enough to notice such things. Of course, Carol wouldn’t feel able to confide in Daisy about her mother’s infidelity, as she wouldn’t want anyone to know. Sally herself couldn’t talk about it to Daisy either, not when it might just be idle gossip. Instead she said, ‘You’re both growing up, love. You’ll find that you feel a bit moody sometimes when your body starts to change. Just keep an eye on her and let her know you’ll always be there for her if she needs you.’
Daisy went for her music lesson but couldn’t concentrate on anything Miss Collins was saying. She played ‘Home, Sweet Home’ fluently, but that was only because she had practised it so much she could have played it in her sleep. When Miss Collins started going on about crotchets and quavers and semibreves it went in one ear and out of the other. Daisy didn’t like it when her friend was so sad.
The Ever Open Door Page 24
