by Maureen Lee
‘You finished learning at thirteen, love,’ he pointed out. ‘And it hasn’t done you any harm. What need have you ever had for education?’
‘None,’ Rose had agreed. ‘None whatsoever.’
From anyone else, the ‘none whatsoever’ might have sounded cynical, but not when it came from his dear Rose.
The world was becoming a difficult place for Tom to understand. He felt left behind. Animals were being sent into space, Ireland was erupting, H-bombs were being exploded all over the place and, perhaps the worst thing of all, sons no longer respected their fathers. They went their own way; hang the opinion of their elders and betters. No matter how many times he impressed upon Max the importance of education and the futility of spending so much time on that damn guitar, Max refused to listen. He came and went whenever he pleased, shutting his ears to anything his father might have to say.
Now, according to Rose, who seemed quite pleased about it, he’d got another ‘gig’, which meant that instead of studying for his A levels, his final year at school would be overshadowed by this group he belonged to. It didn’t matter with the other lads, they were all at work. The McDowd lad worked in the local garage, and Lachlan was a dispatch clerk in some factory. The situation would have been just as intolerable had the music been even vaguely decent, but the jarring, discordant sounds only set Tom’s teeth on edge.
Then Gerald, despite the headmistress insisting confidently that he was bound to pass the eleven-plus, had failed. What’s more, he didn’t seem to care he’d let his dad down. Tom even had the strangest feeling that Gerald had failed deliberately, that he set more store by sticking with his friends than attending a decent school.
‘Breakfast’s ready, Tom,’ Rose called.
‘Coming, love.’ Sniffling disconsolately – all he’d ever wanted was for his lads to do better than himself – he went into the kitchen where bacon, eggs, and tomatoes awaited him. There was a rack of toast and a dish of home-made marmalade. He noticed the table was only set for two. ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.
‘Our Jeannie’s just left for Elaine’s. She decided to walk to the station rather than ask for a lift. It’s a lovely morning.’
‘She’s off early.’
‘Dr Bailey and his wife are spending the day in Chester. They’re taking Jeannie and Elaine and the three little boys. I thought I told you, Tom.’
He remembered that she had. Nowadays, he was told what his children were up to. They didn’t ask, not even Jeannie. ‘What about Gerald?’
‘He had breakfast early and went to Holly Brook. Max is still in bed. He didn’t get in till past midnight.’
‘Sundays, we always had breakfast together,’ Tom mumbled, aware there was a tremor in his voice.
Rose put a cup of tea in front of him. ‘Things change, Tom. The children are growing up. They’d sooner be with their friends than us.’
It seemed all wrong to Tom. Surely, he should be the one to decide when to let his children go, not the other way round? He didn’t like the way his wife had spoken to him, either, as if he was a confused old man.
Gerald came in. ‘I found a frog, a lovely mottled one. I’ve put it in the pond.’
‘That’s just what we needed, Gerald, another frog.’ Rose fondly ruffled her baby’s hair. ‘Are you looking forward to your new school tomorrow?’
‘Oh, yes, Mum.’ The boy’s eyes shone. ‘The first thing I’m going to do is put my name down for the orchestra. Sam Hughes said they give you lessons. I want to learn to play the guitar like our Max.’
Tom stifled a groan.
Marcia Bailey had refused to countenance university. She left school in July, aged eighteen, and went to work behind the counter in Woolworth’s. Even Dr and Mrs Bailey, who didn’t believe in interfering in their children’s lives, considered this an extraordinary thing for a girl with numerous O and A levels to do.
‘She says she wants to experience all aspects of life,’ Elaine told Jeannie on Sunday morning as they strolled, arm in arm, through the heart of Chester with its Tudor streets and expensive shops. The others had gone to the zoo, but the girls had decided they’d sooner window shop and meet up later for lunch. They’d discovered an interest in fashion and pestered their mothers for new clothes. ‘After a few months, she’s going to work in a factory, then an office, then on the trams, and after that a hospital. Then she might join the forces or become a policewoman.’
‘Or she might get married,’ Jeannie suggested. ‘It seems serious with that Graham chap.’
‘He thinks it’s serious, but Marcia’s only playing with him.’
‘That’s cruel.’
‘Yes, but you know our Marcia. She never does things by halves.’ Marcia was all over Graham when they were together. ‘What do you think of that nightie, the black one?’ Elaine stopped and pointed to a window displaying glamorous nightwear. ‘You can see right through it.’
Jeannie contemplated the black, diaphanous garment. ‘It’s pretty, but what are you supposed to wear underneath?’
‘Nothing, least I don’t think so.’
‘It can’t possibly be nothing,’ Jeannie said practically. ‘It would never keep you warm. Perhaps it’s worn over pyjamas.’
They decided that, or some other explanation, must be the case, as the nightie couldn’t possibly be worn as it was.
‘Look at those brassieres,’ Elaine gasped. ‘They’re all pink lace. All Mum ever buys me is plain white cotton.’
‘Same here. See, there’s blue and yellow ones too. I never knew you could get yellow brassieres.’
‘And yellow knickers to match.’
For some reason, at the very same time, the girls felt the urge to laugh. They staggered along the pavement, holding each other up, until they reached a café and decided a cup of tea would calm them down. They went inside and ordered a pot for two and buttered scones.
After a few moments, feeling calmer, Jeannie said, ‘That nightdress would look daft over pyjamas.’
They contemplated the shocking, hardly credible notion, of wearing the sheer black nightie and nothing else.
‘It wouldn’t hide a single inch. Everything you’ve got would be on show.’ Elaine wrinkled her nose. She was only fourteen, but had developed what she considered was an enormous and grossly obscene bust. ‘I mean, you couldn’t let a man see you in it, not even if he was your husband.’
‘What point is there letting a woman see you?’
Elaine sighed. ‘Or wearing it by yourself ?’
‘So, it can only be a man,’ Jeannie deduced. Both girls shivered delicately. ‘I think,’ Jeannie said slowly, ‘only think, mind, that when I got older, I might possibly wear it in front of Steve McQueen.’
Elaine thought hard for a long time. ‘I might with Jack Lemmon,’ she said eventually. ‘But I’d have to be awfully old, at least twenty-one, and I’d still wear a bra and pants. What about our Lachlan? Would you wear it in front of him?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ Jeannie had told Elaine some time ago that she had feelings for her brother. She was unable to describe exactly what the feelings were, just that she wished Lachlan would pay her some attention from time to time. More than that, and she would have felt embarrassed.
‘Actually,’ Elaine said, dropping a bombshell, ‘Lachlan said we can go to the Cavern with them a week on Wednesday. There’s a rock ’n’ roll group playing – Vince McLoughlin and the Vulcans.’
‘My dad will never let me.’
‘Ronnie Connors will pick everyone up in the van. We’ll have to ask Benny, but she can make her own way from Bootle.’
‘He still won’t let me,’ Jeannie said gloomily.
‘Doesn’t your mum ever have a say in what you do?’
‘Dad wouldn’t let her go to the Cavern if she wanted.’
‘No,’ Tom said firmly that night. ‘Absolutely not. No daughter of mine is going to set foot inside the Cavern, I’ll tell you that for nothing. It’s not a place for young girls.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it. What time would you be home? There’s school next morning and you’d be half asleep instead of concentrating on your lessons.’
‘It’s not fair. Elaine’s going and Benny’s mum is bound to let her.’ Jeannie was near to tears. She had felt certain he would refuse, but now that he had, there was a finality about it. It was no use pleading. A week on Wednesday, her friends would be at the Cavern and she would have to stay at home and imagine the wonderful time they would be having. She’d always wanted to see the place her brother and Lachlan went on and on about, saying how lucky they were, that people from all over the country came to visit the Cavern, yet they had it on their very own doorstep.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said sullenly.
Rose looked at her daughter with concern. ‘But, love, it’s only half past seven.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘What about your homework?’ Tom enquired.
‘I’ve done it.’
Jeannie ran upstairs, leaving Tom with the satisfaction of knowing at least one of his children was prepared to do as she was told. ‘Would you like the wireless on, love?’ he asked his wife. She looked exceptionally pretty tonight, his Rose. Having caught the sun throughout the long, hot summer, her slim arms and bare legs were tanned and, although she wore only a simple white blouse and a cotton skirt, she couldn’t possibly have looked more lovely. The sun had added streaks of gold to her brown curly hair, which needed cutting – he’d prefer it didn’t hide her slender neck. Tomorrow, he’d tell her to get it trimmed.
‘No, thank you, Tom.’ Rose clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘You know what you said the other week, about girls’ education not mattering?’
‘Yes, love.’
‘Then it won’t matter, will it, if Jeannie can’t concentrate at school? It’d only be for one morning, and as she’s only a girl, what difference would it make?’
Tom stared into his wife’s innocent blue eyes, unable to fault her simple logic.
‘Poor Jeannie,’ Rose continued with a sigh. ‘She’s such a good girl, never makes a fuss, not like Max. That’s the first time I’ve known her to go to bed in a huff.’ Her hands were clasped so tight that the knuckles showed white as she struggled to contain her anger. ‘On second thoughts, you can turn the wireless on. There’s a concert on the Third Programme.’
‘As you wish, love.’
Rose sat back in the chair and closed her eyes as the strains of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade crept gently into the parlour, filled with the big, gloomy furniture that she hated, but which Tom refused to get rid of because it had belonged to his mother.
He was a bully! The way he’d spoken to Jeannie had made her stomach turn. For a moment, she’d wanted to leap up and scratch his eyes out. It wasn’t that Jeannie was weak, she just didn’t like to cause trouble. She was a kind, thoughtful girl and Tom took advantage. With Max, he’d given in, the way bullies did once they realised bullying would no longer work. Max had just forged ahead, got on with his life, hang the consequences. There was nothing his father could do to stop him.
Rose’s resentment had taken a long time building up. She was used to doing as she was told. For a long time after they were married, it had seemed quite natural to do exactly what Tom wanted, be what he wanted; a willing, docile wife, who agreed with everything he said, never argued because she couldn’t bear to hear his raised voice in reply, or see his face crumple into a scowl. In the orphanage, children who’d wanted a quiet life kept their heads down, never caused trouble. Rose had continued this way, blissfully content in her nice house at the end of Disraeli Terrace with her adoring husband and three beautiful children.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on when things had started to change – when she had started to change. It might have been when Max began to badger his father for a television and she’d begun to wonder why only Tom’s opinion mattered. She would have loved a television, but didn’t dare say, just as she didn’t say how much she’d like a fridge and a washing machine when she knew Tom was dead against them. Not for any real reason, it was just the way he felt. Nor did it seem proper when he came down so hard on his children – he seemed to forget that they were hers too – because they wanted to spread their wings. There was no real reason for that, either, only that he enjoyed having power over people who were younger, smaller, and weaker than himself.
‘Where are you off to?’ Tom asked when she stood up.
‘I thought I’d take our Jeannie up a cup of cocoa.’
‘You’re not to bother. It was her decision to go to bed without any supper.’
Rose nearly sat down again, like a trained dog, she thought. ‘I’ll make us some tea then,’ she said.
‘Don’t forget, no cocoa,’ Tom called as she left the room.
She made the cocoa and took it upstairs, her heart throbbing painfully in her breast. She’d disobeyed him! It was her first act of defiance. She’d been meaning to do it for ages, opening her mouth to say something that refused to be said because she felt frightened. Everything would change; the atmosphere in the house, their relationship with each other. Everything. He would look upon her differently. She would no longer be his dear little Rose.
‘Are you awake, love?’
Jeannie’s head was hidden under the clothes. The curtains were drawn, although it was still light outside. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘I’ve brought you some cocoa. You’d better sit up.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
In the dim light, Rose saw that Jeannie’s eyes were swollen with crying. Everything’s a battle, she thought. Every move forward they want to make ends up a battle. She sat on the edge of the bed and gave her daughter a little pat. ‘Tomorrow, love, tell Elaine you can go to the Cavern.’
Jeannie gasped incredulously. ‘Did you talk Dad into letting me go?’
‘Not yet, but I will. In the meantime, it’d be best if you didn’t bring the subject up while he’s around.’
‘Are you sure, Mum?’
‘Absolutely sure, Jeannie. Now, drink your cocoa, and you’d better have a little read before you go asleep, otherwise you’ll wake up in the early hours and find you can’t drop off again.’
‘You sound funny, Mum.’
‘I can’t think why, Jeannie. I’m exactly the same as I’ve always been.’
She checked Gerald was asleep. His new clothes were laid on a chair, ready for school tomorrow. Max was out, the van having called for him at midday. It would be hours before he came back.
Downstairs again, Rose made the tea and tried to prepare herself for the accusation that would meet her when she took it into the parlour.
Did you make cocoa for our Jeannie when I specifically told you not to?
Such a petty, stupid thing to say. What sort of man would make an issue out of something so trivial?
She tiptoed in – as if less noise would make Tom less angry. But Tom was fast asleep, snoring slightly, and hadn’t heard her go upstairs. Rose put his tea on the hearth and returned to the chair with her own. She watched her husband as he slept. With his chin tucked in his neck, his mouth slightly open, he looked very old, older than sixty.
That was another thing. Rose placed her own tea on the hearth and put her hands to her cheeks. She was thirty-six and Tom was the only man she’d known intimately. Lately, she’d wondered what it would be like to be made love to by a younger man, a man who didn’t fall asleep in the chair every night and wanted to go to bed earlier and earlier so he could fall asleep again, always insisting she went with him, when she would prefer to stay and listen to a concert or a Book at Bedtime, a man who would take her dancing or to the pictures, buy her jewellery and scent, not things for the house, as Tom did, expecting her to be pleased, which she had been, once.
In the afternoons, after she’d done the housework and was w
aiting for the children to come home, Rose would sit in her meticulously clean kitchen and, in her mind, she would lie with this mysterious, faceless man, let him touch her, kiss her, do the things that until now only Tom had done.
Then Gerald would come in, and she would come to her senses, ashamed, though it didn’t stop her from doing the same thing the next day, and the next.
Tom gave an extra-loud snore that turned into a grunt and woke him. For a second, he looked at her vacantly, then noticed the tea. ‘You should’ve given us a nudge, love,’ he said, stretching his arms. ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind us getting to bed early tonight.’
‘It’s only just gone eight o’clock, Tom.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to have a few extra hours.’
‘I’m listening to this concert. It doesn’t finish for another hour.’
He looked slightly surprised. Reaching over, he turned the wireless off. ‘It’s finished now, my love,’ he said, eyes twinkling, as if it were a joke.
Rose wanted to kill him. He wasn’t being nasty, just assumed she would automatically do as he wished. She considered turning the wireless on again, but hadn’t the stomach for the inevitable row, their first. He would be hurt, deeply hurt, and in a way, she supposed she still cared for him. After all, he adored her, but the woman he adored no longer existed. She’d become someone he might not even like. She’d leave hurting him until it became unavoidable, until a week on Wednesday when Jeannie went to the Cavern.
The girls wore slacks for the first time. Jeannie and Benny’s were black, Elaine’s dark green. On top, they had on loose fitting blouses with short sleeves. Benny had tied a chiffon scarf around her head and it hung over her shoulder like a tail. Elaine’s dark hair had been released from its sensible plait and flowed down her back like a cloak. They felt very grown up and sophisticated.
