by June Francis
Before Dorothy could respond, Grace said, ‘I don’t mind talking about my mother, Sam. If you don’t want to listen, go into the kitchen and Beryl will make you a hot drink.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Jeanette swiftly. ‘I’ve heard it before and I agree with Mam – my grandmother, Lavinia, was a great character.’
‘OK,’ said Sam, and vanished into the kitchen with Beryl and Jeanette.
‘So?’ said Grace, staring at Dorothy. ‘I presume you might have guessed that my mother went to prison for her beliefs and was force-fed?’
‘Was she in Walton prison?’
‘Yes, but she gave birth to me in a prison hospital in Manchester.’
Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What about your father?’
‘He was no longer on the scene. My mother believed in free love at the time and so did he.’
‘So who brought you up?’
‘I was fostered and my mother kept her eye on me, not that I was aware of it at the time. She kept me secret from her father who was a cotton broker. He was a rich man, a widower, and he left her all his money. Later she caught religion and became something of a philanthropist,’ said Grace softly. ‘I didn’t know any of this for years.’
‘And so you should have lived happily ever after when you were rescued by Sam’s father, married him and gave birth to Jeanette,’ said Dorothy, scribbling away.
‘I wasn’t in love with George,’ said Grace frankly. ‘He was a lot older than me but I grew fond of him. We could have had a contented life if it hadn’t been for his aunt Ethel, but the least said about her the better.’
‘Did you ever meet your mother?’ Dorothy could not resist asking.
‘Oh yes, eventually, and I forgave her.’ Grace continued with her story and then faltered and smiled wearily. ‘Enough said if I add that we wouldn’t have this cottage if it wasn’t for my mother and she left me an annuity when she died.’
Dorothy realized Grace was getting tired and closed her notebook. ‘Thanks, I really appreciate you telling me some of your, and your mother’s story. Other people’s lives always amaze me.’
‘We all have a story to tell,’ said Grace seriously. ‘As I said earlier I’d be interested in hearing about you.’
Dorothy wondered what Grace would make of her story but she was not about to unburden herself and tell it. Instead she said, ‘Do you know that Jeanette wants to rent a flat? A friend of hers is off to Italy in the summer and she needs someone to take over paying the rent while she’s away. Jeanette’s eager to spread her wings a bit but the difficulty is that she can’t really afford it. She’s trying to find someone to share with her but so far has been unlucky.’
Grace looked surprised. ‘She hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
‘Perhaps she will today.’
‘It would do Jeanette good to be independent. Her father is a little too possessive where his daughters are concerned.’ She jutted her chin. ‘I need to make up for the years when I wasn’t there for her, so the least I can do is to talk to George about giving her some financial help and for him to see that his little girl is grown up. I think it could be a mistake making her and Davy wait until she’s twenty-one.’ Grace smiled. ‘Will you be at Hester and Ally’s wedding?’
‘What’s this about Hester and Ally’s wedding?’ asked Jeanette, entering the room carrying a tray.
‘I was just asking Dorothy if she will be there,’ said Grace, looking up at her daughter.
‘The way our Hester’s carrying on, she’ll be getting married in last summer’s frock,’ said Jeanette. ‘She still hasn’t done anything about our outfits. She’s too wrapped up in Ally and checking how the renovations to the cottage are getting on.’ Jeanette handed a cup of coffee to Dorothy and then placed the tray across her mother’s lap before removing her own cup and sitting on the pouffe. ‘But when next I see her, I’m going to give her a nudge.’
‘That sounds sensible,’ said Grace, sipping her coffee. ‘And what about you, Jeannie? Dorothy was telling me about your friend’s flat.’
So Jeanette told her all about it and also suggested that Grace and George should have a word with Emma’s husband, Jared Gregory, about building an extension to Grace’s cottage.
‘You do realize that if your father moves out here and you’re living in the flat, Sam will be left all alone with Ethel?’ said Grace.
‘Yes, but it would save me looking for a house for when I marry Dot,’ said Sam from the doorway. ‘You and Ethel get on OK, Dot, don’t you? She likes you. We could even get married this year instead of next. What do you think?’
Dorothy could feel panic rising inside her as Sam so neatly mapped out her future. She visualized having to give up her career and being stuck with Ethel until she went senile and died.
‘I find it amazing,’ said Grace.
‘What d’you find amazing?’ asked Dorothy faintly.
‘That anyone could get along with Ethel without wanting to throw a screaming fit,’ replied Grace. ‘I think you’re best waiting, Sam, to see what your father says before you start making plans.’
Dorothy murmured agreement, feeling grateful towards the older woman whom she already admired for her courage and honesty. She thought about what she had told her about having met her mother and forgiven her for having had her fostered. Knowing Sam, Dorothy knew he would never forgive her for giving away his son, so she could never tell him.
Four
Betty watched as the youth went over to the jukebox and wasted no time choosing a record and putting a coin in the slot. The latest catchy hit from Rosemary Clooney and The Mellomen, ‘Mambo Italiano’, caused two teenage girls sitting at a table a few feet away to stop talking and stare at him. She remembered Tony playing the same record on Friday and he had sung along with the music. It had been decided there and then that he would sing that song at Hester and Ally’s wedding. He was a handsome lad with dark Italian looks that were as unlike this boy’s as black from white. Yet she could not help thinking that this youth with his flaxen hair and attractive cheekbones and firm chin would draw the girls in a few years time like moths to a candle. She knew from the badge on his blazer that he was a pupil at the Liverpool Boys’ Institute, as was his companion, Chris, one of their regular customers, who she guessed must be a couple of years older.
At that moment Chris caught her eye and she took a pad and pencil from her overall pocket and went over to the table where the other boy now joined him. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked.
‘Coffee and a bacon butty,’ said Chris before turning to his friend. ‘What about you, Nick?’ he asked.
‘A banana milkshake and a bacon butty.’ Nick glanced up at Betty from brown eyes that reminded her of treacle toffee.
‘So you’re Nick,’ she said, writing down his order. ‘You’re new here. Welcome!’
‘Thanks,’ he said, flushing slightly.
‘I told you they were friendly here,’ said Chris, grinning across at him.
‘We are as long as you don’t burst into song too often or dance on the tables,’ said Betty. ‘At least not before the boss gets an entertainment licence. I keep telling him it could make his fortune but will he listen?’ She smiled and left them alone and went through into the kitchen.
‘Two bacon butties,’ she said, stifling a yawn and resting her back against a table. ‘We have a new customer. Friend of Chris.’
‘The lad who goes to the Institute and lives Prescot Road way?’ said Lenny, getting out the bacon. ‘He has ambitions to be a reporter.’
‘Your memory is improving, boss,’ teased Betty.
‘Don’t you be smart with me, Ginger,’ said Lenny. ‘Light the gas for us, there’s a love.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me Ginger. I know my hair’s red but even so …’ She lit the gas. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if we were licensed for dancing …’ She regarded her boss hopefully.
‘You find me a Fred Astaire to perform here and I’ll apply for a lice
nce,’ replied Lenny, placing the frying pan on the stove.
‘I wish you would and I wish you’d come and listen to the group play.’ Betty resumed her position against the table and stared at him.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Lenny, who was a bachelor and lived alone in the rooms above the coffee bar. Betty had no idea if he had ever had a serious girlfriend. His behaviour was always circumspect where she was concerned. He interrupted her thoughts by saying, ‘By the way I forgot to tell you that after you went on Friday, that girl who thinks you’re God’s gift to art came here, believing she was being followed.’
Betty watched as he laid four slices of bacon in the frying pan and said in injured tones, ‘I thought you liked my paintings! I know they’re not Picasso or Turner but you said they brightened the place up. Now, you’re beginning to sound like my cousin, Maggie. At least I don’t have to put up with her insulting me now she’s moved out of the flat.’
‘I do like them but you must admit that girl is a real fan of yours.’
‘I presume you’re talking about Bobby Donegan?’
‘Probably. I can’t remember all their names.’
‘Was she being followed?’
‘Not so you’d notice, although there were two blokes out on the street and she was definitely frightened. So Hester Walker took her under her wing.’
‘She couldn’t have anyone better,’ said Betty, straightening up. ‘I suppose I’d better get out there and make the lads’ drinks. That bacon smells so good I’ll be snatching it out of the pan if I stay.’ Despite her words, she still lingered. ‘Do come and listen to the group,’ she said persuasively. ‘It would pay you in the end. You’d have this place packed out with teenagers most evenings.’
‘Which would mean me working longer hours and having to take on more staff,’ said Lenny. ‘Anyway, why should you be bothered? You’ll be off to Italy in a few months.’
‘Hopefully,’ said Betty, crossing her fingers. ‘I still need a definite yes from Jeanette about taking over the flat for those weeks while I’m away.’ And on those words she left the kitchen.
As she made the boys’ drinks, the door opened and a man entered. He stood there in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room. For a moment his gaze rested on Betty’s face and then moved on. She had been about to take the drinks over to Nick and Chris but now she waited to see whether the man would stay or leave. She was suddenly aware that Nick was staring at him with such a look of dismay that she wondered if he knew him. Then the man removed his trilby and went over to a table and sat down.
Betty picked up the tray and went over to the boys’ table and placed their drinks in front of them. ‘Bacon butties will be ready soon.’
‘Thanks,’ they chorused.
She was about to walk away when Nick said, ‘Do you know that man, Miss Booth?’
‘No, never seen him before in my life. I thought you might by the way you looked at him.’
‘Before he removed his hat I thought he was my uncle.’ Nick scowled. ‘I’d go mad if he discovered I’ve started coming here.’
Betty was tempted to ask why, but at that moment, Chris said, ‘He’s signalling you.’
She excused herself and went over to him. ‘Can I help you?’
He stared at her from grey-blue eyes. ‘A black, sweet coffee and have you any doughnuts?’
His voice was pleasant but his accent took her by surprise. ‘You’re an American!’ she blurted out.
‘Is that a sin here?’ he drawled.
She coloured. ‘Of course not. It’s just that we don’t get many Americans in here. And I’m sorry but we don’t have any doughnuts. I can get you either a nice Eccles cake, an iced bun, a toasted teacake or even a chocolate cake.’
A smile lit up his craggy features. ‘An Eccles cake and I like them warm. I remember them from last time I was over here.’
‘You’ve been to England before?’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Now that’s a stupid question. Of course you have, otherwise you wouldn’t remember Eccles cakes. Tea or coffee? Damn, you said coffee!’ Without another word, she walked away, wondering what had come over her. Maybe it was because he reminded her of a detective in film noirs such as The Maltese Falcon.
She delivered Nick and Chris’s bacon butties to them and left to serve her American customer a steaming black coffee and a warmed Eccles cake.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ she asked.
‘Information?’
Good God, perhaps he was a detective! ‘What kind of information?’ Betty dropped her voice.
‘I’m looking for someone with the surname Graham. A mother and daughter. I wondered if the girl came in here.’ He took a mouthful of coffee before adding, ‘The daughter of the proprietor of the hotel where I’m staying suggested I try here.’
‘I can’t say I know anyone called Graham,’ replied Betty. He looked disappointed. ‘I could ask around,’ she added. ‘Do you have a first name for the girl?’
He shook his head. ‘I know only that the mother’s name is Lynne.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She hesitated. ‘Is there any rush for this information? I mean – how long are you over here for?’
‘I’ll be going up to Scotland for a week or so in a few days and then I’ll be back here.’
‘Well, that gives me some time,’ she said. ‘May I have your name and the address where you’re staying in case I need to get in touch?’
‘Stuart Anderson and I’m staying at the McDonalds’ place on Mount Pleasant,’ he replied. ‘And your name?’
‘Betty Booth and you’ll find me here except when I’m at college or at home.’
‘You’re a student?’ he asked, sounding truly interested.
She nodded. ‘Art student.’
At that moment someone called her name and she excused herself. When next she had a chance to talk to him he had gone but the money and the bill were there on the table with a generous tip. She picked them up, wondering when next she would see him.
Five
It was Monday morning and Dorothy had still not told Sam about Poppy’s telephone call. Neither had she phoned her agent. She and Sam had a date for that evening and she knew that she must speak to Poppy before then. She could not risk him talking her into changing her mind. She did care for Sam so she did not want to relinquish her relationship with him but she also wanted the part in the film. As Poppy had pointed out only too clearly, getting this role was the chance of a lifetime. She sighed, thinking good men were hard to find, but she had to make that call now or she might never get such an opportunity again.
She imagined that when he found out, Sam would either blow his top or go all quiet and that meant he was so deeply angry and hurt that he could not risk showing his feelings. There was even the possibility that he might decide to call it a day between them. She felt depressed at the thought because, although she was certain life would not be a bowl of cherries being married to Sam, she could not imagine being married to anyone else. Still, she had to make a move and so she reached for the telephone.
At that moment it rang and Kathy popped her head out of the dining-room doorway and said, ‘Would you mind getting that, Dorothy?’
She lifted the receiver and recognized her agent’s voice on the other end of the line. ‘So have you made up your mind yet?’ asked Poppy. ‘I’ve been waiting for your phone call. You do realize this is too good an opportunity to miss?’ she repeated for what must be the tenth time.
Dorothy took a deep breath. ‘I know. I’ll do it.’
‘Good! Then you’d best be on the next train to London. I’ll meet you at Euston,’ said Poppy.
They spoke a little longer and then Dorothy replaced the receiver and turned away, colliding into Kathy. ‘So was it for you?’ asked the proprietor.
‘Yes, it was my agent! I have to go to London but hopefully I’ll be back late this evening. If not I’ll give you a ring,’ said Dorothy. ‘I just need to change and pack a few
things.’
‘Is it about a part?’ asked Kathy.
‘Yes, an audition for a film,’ replied Dorothy, feeling a surge of excitement.
She ran upstairs, singing, and came face to face with Stuart Anderson who tipped his trilby to her. ‘Good morning. You sound happy.’
‘I’m off to London to audition for a film part, can’t talk now,’ she cried, hurrying past him. ‘I have a train to catch.’
‘Good luck! See you again sometime.’
‘Hope so. I’d enjoy a chat about California,’ she called over her shoulder.
She reached her room and wasted no time changing and packing a few things, thinking she would ring the Walker household later that day. Someone was bound to be in and they could give Sam her excuses for breaking their date this evening.
The telephone was ringing as Jeanette entered the house, treading on the folded Echo as she did so. She snatched up the newspaper and rushed to pick up the phone. It had only been installed recently and even if she heard it, Ethel seemed not to know how to handle calls. ‘Hello, Jeanette Walker here! Can I help you?’ Her father had told her to give the number first but she had not committed it to memory yet.
‘It’s Dorothy! Can you give Sam a message for me?’ said the voice on the other end.
‘OK! Fire away,’ said Jeanette, reaching for the pencil and pad on the small table that held the telephone.
She was just replacing the receiver when the front door opened and Hester came in. ‘Who was that on the phone?’ she asked.
‘Dorothy! Do you know where Sam is? She had a date with him but isn’t going to be able to make it.’
‘He’s not going to be able to make it either. He said he was going to ring the hotel and let her know.’ Hester hung up her navy-blue great coat and hat and ran a hand through her flattened brown hair.
‘She’s not at the Lynton,’ said Jeanette. ‘She’s in London.’
‘London!’ Hester pulled a face. ‘He isn’t going to be pleased.’
Jeanette nodded. ‘You can say that again! He’s going to be furious when he knows she’s auditioned for a film part.’
