by June Francis
‘Thank you,’ said Hester, pocketing the card. ‘Did you make the coat you’re wearing?’
‘Yes,’ said Lynne, smiling. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I do. I like the cut and the material.’
‘It’s a favourite of mine,’ put in Roberta, winking at her mother. ‘I keep telling you that you’re talented, Mam.’
‘She certainly is,’ said Hester, her eyes twinkling. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.’
‘And you, too. Thank you for helping my daughter.’ Lynne glanced at Roberta. ‘And now we’d better get a move on, Bobby. It’s later than I planned for us to be going to the pictures.’
‘But I haven’t eaten,’ protested Roberta.
‘You’ll have to put up with having some popcorn in the pictures,’ said Lynne firmly. ‘Think of Nan. She’ll worry if we’re late getting home.’
The three left the milk bar together but parted outside with a tarrah.
Roberta thought that her mother was now bound to ask her about the man, but to her surprise Lynne only said, ‘Not now, later. We’re going to have to rush if we want to get to the pictures before the big film starts.’
‘So can you describe this man?’ asked Lynne when the lights went up for the interval at the cinema.
The question took Roberta by surprise, as she’d expected her mother to discuss the film they had just seen. She wanted to forget about the man and drool instead over Rossano Brazzi who had played the Conte in The Barefoot Contessa. It had been such a sad and dramatic story which had ended with him killing the wife he’d believed to be unfaithful, unaware that she was actually carrying his child. Sometimes Roberta felt sad about her mother having been widowed during the war at such a young age. It would be fine with her if Lynne were to meet someone else and marry again but the years were passing and it had not happened.
‘Well, cat got your tongue?’ said Lynne.
Roberta offered the packet of Butterkist to her mother and considered what to say. Her fear had vanished and it was difficult to recapture her earlier mood when she had caught sight of the man in Myrtle Street.
Lynne took only a few pieces of the toffee popcorn as it had nearly all gone. ‘I’m starting to think you made it up.’
‘That’s not true!’ Roberta’s voice was indignant. ‘He wore a black trilby and I tell you what, Mam, it reminded me of the black Stetsons worn by the baddies in cowboy films.’
‘He didn’t have a six-shooter strapped to his hip, did he?’ asked Lynne drily.
Roberta grinned and hunched down in her seat. ‘You’re making a joke of it but it wasn’t funny at the time. Anyway, I told you I didn’t get a close enough look at his face to describe him. Constable Walker took me seriously, anyway.’
‘I liked her,’ said Lynne.
‘You’ll like her even more if she decides to employ you to make her wedding gown.’
Lynne could not deny it. ‘The money would come in very handy. I wonder how many bridesmaids she’s having and whether she’ll consider me making their dresses, as well?’
‘It would be great if she did. Maybe there’d be enough money for me to go to Italy, just like Betty Booth.’
‘You can forget that for a start,’ said Lynne firmly. ‘If you were going to go, I’d want to go too and we can’t afford it. You’ll have to wait until you’re working and earning. Besides, right now Nan has to be our priority. She’s been good to us both, so we couldn’t leave her.’
Roberta looked into the empty packet of Butterkist. ‘The popcorn’s all gone and I’m still hungry.’ She glanced at those queuing up to buy ice cream from the usherette at the front of the stalls. ‘Can I have an ice cream?’
‘No, they cost at least twice as much in here as a shop.’
‘But you ate half my Butterkist and I bet you had tea and cake in the milk bar while you were waiting for me.’
Lynne could not lie and instead said mildly, ‘I wouldn’t have dared talk to my mother in that tone. She’d have given me the back of her hand for giving her cheek.’ She dug into her handbag and produced a couple of coins. ‘Go on, get an ice cream, but I want a lick.’
‘You’re not a bad mother.’ Roberta smiled and took the money and kissed Lynne’s cheek before going to join the queue. When she returned the first thing she said was, ‘What was your mother like, besides sounding more Victorian than Nan? You never mention her.’
‘That’s because she was a bad mother,’ said Lynne, only to wish she had not said that because her daughter would want to know why.
‘Did she beat you?’
‘She kept a cane under the sideboard but it wasn’t that I hold against her,’ said Lynne honestly. ‘She seldom used it but she threatened a lot.’
‘Then what was it?’ Roberta persisted.
Lynne thought about Ellen, the mother who had told her not to expect any help from her when she had poured out her troubles. One would never have thought there was a war on, with lovers being parted all the time, never to see each other again. She had sometimes wondered if Ellen had ever loved Lynne’s father. He had been a brave man, and died rescuing three children from a house fire. Nan had certainly loved her only son and it was that love that bound her and Lynne together. Ellen, on the other hand, had never even shown any emotion when her husband’s body was brought home and had lain in a coffin in the front room. Afterwards Ellen had found herself a job and pretty well left Lynne to fend for herself.
‘I think you’ve forgotten why your mother was so bad,’ said Roberta, rousing Lynne from her reverie. ‘Is she dead now?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve told you in the past that I lost touch with her. She could be,’ said Lynne, remembering how angry she had been with Nan when she discovered that the old woman had gone to visit Ellen while Lynne was seriously ill with pneumonia. Apparently Nan had wanted to give Ellen a last chance to make up the rift between her and her daughter because there was a real possibility that Lynne could die. As it turned out Ellen had left Liverpool not long after the war ended. Her next-door neighbour couldn’t say where she had gone. When Lynne recovered from the pneumonia, her anger and pain went deep. How could her mother show such little interest in her own flesh and blood? She had rejected not only her daughter but her granddaughter too.
‘I can see I’m not going to get an answer and the lights are starting to dim,’ whispered Roberta, offering the choc ice to Lynne.
She took a small bite before saying, ‘I could never talk to her. Not like you and I and Nan talk to each other. Now shush!’
Roberta fell silent.
Lynne thought Thank God! but the B feature could not hold her attention and she found her mind wandering. She had been blessed in Nan. She thought back to that day in the home in Cheshire when her grandmother had come charging to the rescue. She had been up north in Preston when Lynne’s letter had caught up with her and had wasted no time responding to her granddaughter’s plea to come and help her. The old woman had shed tears when she had seen the baby and said, ‘You’re both coming with me.’
One day Lynne was going to have to tell her daughter the truth about her birth. So far she and Nan had kept up the pretence that Lynne was a war widow. It had saved any awkwardness and embarrassment during her daughter’s growing years. Lynne had taken Robert’s surname, believing her daughter was entitled to use it. Good ol’ Nan! What would she have done without her? Suddenly Lynne needed to be home to see for herself that her grandmother was OK.
‘Hi, Nan! Did we wake you up?’ Roberta kissed her great-grandmother and then rubbed her rosy cheek against the old woman’s wrinkled one.
‘You’re freezing,’ wheezed Nan. ‘Is it snowing again?’
‘Was, but it’s stopped now,’ said Lynne, smiling down into her wrinkled face, before bending to pick up the shovel in the scuttle at the side of the fireplace. She flung the glistening lumps of coal on to the slumbering embers and returned the shovel to its place before sitting in the armchair the other side of the hearth opposi
te Nan. ‘You been all right? Did Miss Draper come for her costume?’ she asked, removing a glove.
‘Aye, she’d rather have spoken to you than me but she was satisfied with the alterations and paid up. I put the money in the cocoa tin in the sideboard.’ She rubbed her hands, the knuckles of which were disjointed and painful looking. ‘So did you enjoy your evening out?’
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. ‘It was fine, Nan,’ said Roberta. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or cocoa?’
‘Cocoa, and I wouldn’t mind a conny-onny butty,’ she said. ‘And I need the lav.’
‘I don’t know how you can eat them, Nan,’ said Roberta, hanging her blazer on the back of a straight-backed chair. ‘Condensed milk is so sweet that it’ll rot your teeth.’
‘Haven’t got many teeth left to rot,’ chuckled Nan. ‘But the ones I’ve got have lasted me a long time. And while I think of it, you should be wearing more than a blazer, luv. What happened to the gaberdine mackintosh I bought you?’
‘I’m growing out of it, Nan. The sleeves are too short.’
‘That’s as maybe, but you could still wear it, until you get another,’ said Nan. ‘Now what was that look about, the two of you? I’m not completely blind. Now help me up!’
Lynne and Roberta placed an arm beneath the old woman’s armpits and heaved her to her feet. ‘You’d best slip your coat on,’ said Lynne. ‘It’ll be freezing down the yard.’
‘Well, fetch me it then, there’s a luv. Where’s the torch?’ asked Nan, gazing about her.
‘In the back kitchen where it always is,’ said Lynne ‘It’ll be slippery out there, too. I’ll come with you.’
‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ said Nan, staggering slightly and needing to rest a hand on the armchair.
‘But you will be if you slip and break a limb,’ said Lynne.
Nan sighed. ‘I wish we had an indoor lavatory.’
Roberta handed a walking stick to her as Lynne fetched her coat and said, ‘So do I, Nan.’ She moved to open the door to the backyard. ‘I bet there wasn’t always an indoor lav in some of the digs you stayed in when you were a dresser.’
‘No, but I met so many interesting people.’ Nan linked her arm through Lynne’s as they stepped outside.
Roberta wondered if her mother would tell Nan about the man once they were out of earshot. Yet she was forever saying they had to keep things from the old woman as they didn’t want her worrying.
The whistling kettle drew her attention and she made a jug of cocoa before slicing bread and taking a tin of condensed milk from the cupboard on the wall. After spreading it on the bread, cutting it into squares and placing it on a plate, she opened the back door, thinking the two women seemed to have been ages. She was aware of voices coming from the bottom of the yard. She caught the sound of her name and then that of Constable Walker and Betty Booth and then Nan’s voice floated on the breeze to her. ‘I knew a bloke called Booth before the war.’ Roberta smiled, thinking about all the people her great-grandmother had known and hoping that, having met Constable Walker, more business would come her mother’s way.
Three
Dorothy could hear a ringing in her ears and, without opening her eyes, she stretched out a hand and switched off the alarm clock. Then she pulled the bedcovers over her head and lay still; remnants of her dream still lingered. What was the date? Yesterday it had been the eighteenth, so it must be the nineteenth. She had gone into labour on the evening of the seventeenth but her baby had not been born until the eighteenth, so yesterday had been her son’s birthday. It had also been that girl Lynne’s baby’s birthday. Had she been able to keep her daughter? Had her grandmother come up trumps? Were both children still alive?
She felt a sudden chill. Sam must never know she had given his son away. She could imagine only too well his reaction. She had never intended to see him again. Then it happened and she discovered he had matured into an extremely attractive man with a charm that she had been unable to resist. At the time of their first proper date, she was scarcely ever in Liverpool, so she had not visualized their relationship developing into something serious so quickly.
She groaned as there came a knock on the door and the maid’s voice reminded her that she had wanted to be called at eight o’clock prompt in case she hadn’t heard the alarm. ‘Breakfast will be ready within half an hour,’ she added.
Dorothy asked if there had been any more telephone calls for her. The reply was no. She stifled a yawn and asked after the weather and was told it had stopped snowing but everywhere was white. Even so, the sun was struggling to break through the clouds.
Thanking her, Dorothy threw back the covers and slid out of bed. She saw to her toilette before donning underwear, including a suspender belt and stockings, beneath russet corduroy slacks, a collared cream blouse and a green and brown patterned twinset. She brushed her lightly permed hair that was the colour of ripening wheat until it shone. Then she sat on the bed and slipped her slender feet into a pair of highly polished brown brogues. Last of all, she picked up her handbag and went downstairs.
There was only one other person in the dining room and he appeared to be absorbed in reading some papers from a file as he ate his bacon and eggs. She estimated that he was in his mid-twenties.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
He lifted his head and blue-grey eyes took her in from her shiny hair to her polished brogues. ‘Sure is a cold day out there,’ he said.
She could see the admiration in his rugged face and was gratified. It was all part of the job, looking her best whatever the time of day or place.
‘You’re the American visitor,’ she said.
‘Sure am! And you’re the English actress if I’m not mistaken.’
‘How did you guess?’
‘The beautifully modulated vowels,’ he drawled. ‘I have to admit that sometimes I find it difficult to understand what these Liverpudlians are saying but I suppose I’ll get used to it again. I remember what it was like from my days over here after the war.’
‘Were you at Burtonwood air base?’
‘That’s right. For the Berlin airlift in ‘forty-eight.’
‘So what brought you back?’ asked Dorothy.
‘Doing favours for various people, my dad included. I’m planning to go to Scotland while I’m over here, too. You ever been there?’ he asked.
‘I could be going later this year,’ replied Dorothy, feeling a stir of excitement. ‘I believe the scenery is stunning.’
‘My grandfather came from Argyllshire, so I thought I’d mosey on up there,’ he said, putting down his knife and fork. ‘It’s on the west coast and you’re right about the countryside.’
She was about to ask him what part of the States he was from when Kathy entered the dining room. They broke off their conversation and he picked up his cutlery and resumed eating his breakfast while reading at the same time. Several other guests came in during that time and so the opportunity slipped by for Dorothy to satisfy her curiosity about him for he rose from the table before she was finished and with a smiling nod in her direction he left the room.
A short while later Dorothy saw him pass the window. He was wearing a black trilby and a beige gaberdine mackintosh. She smiled, reminded of a private detective from an American gangster movie. As she passed Kathy in the lobby, she asked the American’s name.
‘Stuart Anderson! He’s from California.’
‘The Sunshine State and home of Hollywood,’ murmured Dorothy. ‘I bet he’s wishing he’d made the trip here in summer.’
‘Apparently he intends to be away from home well into the summer. He’ll be visiting the continent in connection with his work,’ said Kathy, clearing a table.
‘And what would that be?’ asked Dorothy.
‘He’s an architect.’
Dorothy wondered if he would be visiting Italy but did not bother asking, for she had to get cracking. If she’d had any sense she would have asked Sam to pick her up here. She went
upstairs to change her shoes for boots and to put on her sheepskin coat and woolly hat and gloves. She remembered to put a notebook and a couple of pencils, rubber and pencil sharpener in her handbag. If they were still to visit his stepmother on the Wirral, she would need to make notes as Grace was someone she wanted to feature in her film about Liverpool. Fingers crossed it wouldn’t snow again and that she would choose the right moment to break the news to Sam about the need for a trip to London for an audition.
There might not have been another snowfall but the street where the Walkers lived had not been cleared and that fact gave Dorothy cause for concern as she rested her shoulder against the front door jamb watching Sam. ‘Do you think it’s sensible using the car in this weather?’ she called.
Sam glanced up from beneath the peak of the cloth cap he wore on his tawny head as he shook ashes and cinders from last night’s fire on to the frozen snow in front of the Austin A40 Somerset that was his pride and joy. ‘I don’t know what you’re worried about, Dot. Once we reach the main road, we’ll have no trouble. The engine’s running a treat and I just need to make sure the tyres get a grip as we set off. We’ll be fine, don’t you worry.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she murmured, wishing he wouldn’t call her Dot. She glanced at the neighbouring kids who had created a slide the other side of the road, so that the surface of the compressed snow shone icily in the sunlight as one of them ran at it and went shooting along, arms outstretched. The next one to go was a girl with ginger plaits dangling from beneath her pixie hood. Dorothy found herself thinking of auburn-haired Lynne and her daughter from the home for unmarried mothers and was annoyed with herself. She had to stop thinking of that place or she would drive herself mad.
Sam’s imperious voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Go and get your coat and hat and chivvy our Jeanette up! Remind her not to forget the spade and the sacking I placed by the kitchen door!’
