Pastures New

by Margaret Thornton

  Nor would it happen now. Cissie told herself not to be silly, and to look forward to Sunday when she would be seeing both her friends again.

  Val had suggested that they should have just a small party to celebrate Russell’s third birthday, but she ended up with what amounted to a houseful. Sam had reminded her that it could not be just for the children; their parents would need to be invited as well.

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ she’d replied. ‘Obviously the children can’t come on their own, but we don’t need to invite your parents or mine. It would not be your mother’s cup of tea at all to be in the midst of so many children, and my mother would prefer to be just with her own grandchildren. They can come another time. But we must invite Jonathan and Thelma, and Rosemary. The ones from Halifax won’t need to stay overnight. It will be just a teatime party …’

  When they counted up there would be seventeen in all; more adults than children. Colin and Carol and two-year-old Seamus were invited. Russell and Seamus had met and had got along as well as little boys could be expected to do.

  ‘Can you cope with so many?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Of course I can,’ Val replied. ‘It will only be a bun fight. Well, not literally, I hope! But you know what I mean: sandwiches and buns, and jelly and ice cream; things that kiddies like. I’m not doing a special meal for the parents but there’ll be beer and wine if they want it. It won’t be up to Janice and Phil’s standard but I don’t think anyone will mind.’

  They had decided on a Sunday, not Russell’s actual birthdate but a day that was more convenient for the parents, especially Janice and Phil, who would have a rest from catering.

  It turned out to be a jolly occasion, with all the children, even Russell, behaving well. The children sat around the tea table, with cushions on chairs if necessary, and Lucy, the youngest, in her high chair. The adults balanced their cups and plates on their knees, getting up when they were needed to lend a hand.

  It was the sort of party any three-year-old could wish for. Salmon paste, egg and potted meat sandwiches (minus the crusts for a special occasion), sausage rolls, crisps, iced buns and jelly – red, of course – with ice cream. There was a birthday cake with three candles and ‘Happy Birthday, Russell’ piped in red icing sugar, and if it was a trifle wobbly no one commented. Russell seemed to know what was expected of him and puffed out his cheeks for a good blow at the candles while everyone sang ‘Happy birthday to you’.

  Only three of the children, Paul, Holly and Rosemary, who went to school or playgroup, were old enough to understand party games, so they sang songs instead; nursery rhymes and jingles that the older ones had learnt at school.

  The men then volunteered to amuse the children in the garden with a game of football. This was Russell’s latest craze since his daddy had brought the football home. For his birthday, Val and Sam had bought him a red jersey and white shorts, like the men on the television wore, and a pair of ‘football boots’ – not heavy enough to do any damage – all of which he had insisted on wearing for his party.

  The two younger girls, Sarah and Lucy, stayed inside with the women who were tackling the washing up. The shouts of delight coming from the garden indicated that the men and the older children were having a good time.

  The five women enjoyed chatting together. Carol was the only one who was a comparative stranger to everyone but Val. She was soon joining in the general chatter, though, about husbands and children and the problems of settling into a new home.

  Val overheard a conversation between Cissie and Carol and smiled to herself.

  ‘Of course, Val and I have known one another for ever,’ Cissie told her new acquaintance, ‘ever since we started school together. And now we’ve bought the house they had up at Queensbury. My husband, Walter, has taken over a lot of the work that Sam used to do at the mill …’

  ‘Yes, I go out to work as well,’ she went on in answer to one of Carol’s questions. ‘I don’t really need to but I have a nice little job at the market cafe and I love it.’

  She heard Thelma confiding to Janice something that she and Sam already knew. ‘Jonathan and I are expecting another baby in February. Rosemary is five now so it’s about time, really, isn’t it?’

  And Janice remarked to Cissie that she didn’t really see all that much of Val. ‘No, we don’t meet very often even though we live quite near. I’m working at the cafe a lot of the time and Val’s kept busy with Russell and Lucy and the work she’s doing for the shop. But it’s good that the three of us are all together again today. That was a smashing week we had together in Blackpool, wasn’t it? I’m sure it was fate, you know, the way we all met. I often think about it, how I met Phil and Val met Sam, and you went back and married Walter …’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Cissie was reminded forcibly of that week in Blackpool a few days later. It was around eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning, one of their busiest times of day, although there was scarcely a time when they were really quiet. Women who were shopping often stopped for a cup of tea or coffee and maybe a bun, mid-morning, before walking or taking the bus home. It wasn’t often that men were there at that time. Workmen came later for a spot of lunch before starting their afternoon shift.

  There was a young man sitting on his own at a corner table now, though. Cissie glanced in his direction as he studied the menu. She was just making her way to his table when he looked up, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Was it … him? No, surely not, after all this time. How long was it? Six years! But there was no mistaking that shock of unruly fair hair and round face.

  At that moment he looked across at her and their eyes met. Her heart gave a jolt … Those bright blue eyes that she remembered so well, although she hadn’t given him a thought for a long time. But there was no doubt about it. It was Jack Broadbent, the young man she had met in Blackpool in 1955.

  She could see the look of puzzlement in his eyes change to one of recognition, and what else could she do but walk towards him?

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ she said quietly and in a matter-of-fact tone, not smiling at him.

  ‘Cissie? It is Cissie, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes … Long time no see, Jack.’

  ‘Yes … yes, I meant to get in touch but then … well … all kinds of things happened. You’re working here, then?’

  ‘Yes, just a part-time job. What can I get for you?’

  ‘A cup of tea, please, and a scone with butter and jam.’

  ‘OK, coming up …’ She walked away feeling strangely light-headed, remembering the last time they had met and what had happened on the promenade before she had left him to go back to her boarding house in a taxi. At least he had given her the fare, she recalled. She was soon back with his order.

  ‘Stay and chat to me,’ he said, pointing to the chair next to him.

  ‘I can’t, Jack. I’m working. We’re not supposed to sit and chat to the customers.’

  ‘What time do you finish, then?’

  ‘One o’clock, but I have to go and collect my little girl.’

  ‘Oh … You’ve got a daughter?’

  ‘Yes, and a son … It’s been a long time, Jack.’

  ‘Will you meet me when you finish tomorrow then? I’ll come in a bit later, then we can have a cup of tea together and … catch up, eh? I’m in this area all week.’

  She didn’t ask what his job was; a driver of some sort, she supposed, although he had used to work in a mill in Bradford.

  ‘OK, then,’ she said, but not with a great show of enthusiasm. Then she saw his blue eyes twinkle and the lop-sided grin that she now recalled so well. He had been such a charmer and she had been unable to resist him. She had no intention of getting involved with him again, though, but he did owe her an explanation for not getting in touch as he had said he would.

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ she said, as casually as she could. ‘One o’clock, when I finish. OK?’

  ‘OK. See you then, Cissie.’

  There were other customers wait
ing to be served and she did not go near his table again. Then she saw him pay his bill and walk away.

  She felt jittery and unsettled for the rest of the day, so much so that Walter asked her that evening if there was anything troubling her.

  ‘No, ’course not,’ she replied. ‘We were busy at the cafe today and I was a bit harassed because I kept wondering how Paul was going on at school.’

  It would not have been practical for Paul to continue at his former school in Halifax, so he had started on Monday at the one in Queensbury, which was not very far from where they now lived. Walter dropped him off on his way to work each day and Cissie collected him at the end of the afternoon.

  What Cissie had said was partly true. Paul had not been too happy for the first couple of days. Although he was an adaptable little boy and made friends easily, it had all been new and strange to him. He missed his old friends, and the children at the new school all knew one another.

  Today, though, when she had met him, he had seemed happier. The boy he sat next to in class had invited him to join in their game at playtime; just kicking a football around with no particular rules, but he had enjoyed it. The way they did sums, though, was different, and he hadn’t quite got the hang of it. The reading books were also different from the ones he had had before.

  ‘He’s settling down fine,’ Walter said now. ‘Don’t worry about him; he’ll soon get used to it all. Didn’t he tell you he’s got a new friend, Lee, who sits next to him?’

  ‘Yes … yes, he did tell me. I’m OK, Walter, honest I am. It’s all different, though, isn’t it? And we’ve still not got the house straight, have we?’

  ‘Never mind, it’ll get done sometime. You want to carry on with your job at the market, do you? You don’t have to, you know.’

  ‘No, I want to do it, Walter. I really enjoy it and I’ve got a lot of friends there.’

  ‘That’s OK then …’ He settled down again behind the evening paper.

  Cissie pretended to read her Woman’s Own but her mind was wandering. And a little later, when Walter switched on the television for their favourite police drama, she was only half watching. Ever since that morning she had been remembering her first meeting with Jack Broadbent …

  She had not met him at the Winter Gardens on the night that Val had met Sam and Janice had met Phil. It had been a few days later at the tower ballroom. Jack had asked her to dance, and they soon discovered that they had quite a lot in common, including their happy-go-lucky approach to life.

  They’d realized at once, of course, that they were both from Yorkshire. He’d told her that he worked at a mill, as she did, in his home town of Bradford. Cissie had felt pleased that she had met someone, as both of her friends had done, and had not hesitated to spend the rest of the evening with him, enjoying the delights that the tower had to offer.

  There’d been a lot to do as well as dancing in the ballroom to the music of Reginald Dixon on the organ. They’d had a drink at one of the many bars, went to see the animals in the small menagerie and the fish in the aquarium. Jack had then seen her back to her hotel, when she’d realized she must put a stop to his over-amorous caresses; after all, they had only just met. She did agree, however, to meet him again later in the week and spend the day with him.

  She remembered that they had gone to the fishing port of Fleetwood along the coast from Blackpool. It had been a pleasant ride on a tramcar past the rows and rows of hotels and the manmade cliffs that reached down to the sea. There had been an aroma of fish in the air at Fleetwood and a brisk breeze blowing in from the sea as they strolled along the promenade.

  They had enjoyed a hearty meal of crispy battered fish and chips at a cafe, then had a trip on the ferry boat across the estuary of the River Wyre to a little place called Knott End. There had been nothing to do there. It really was like the end of the world, but she had been happy and relaxed in Jack’s company.

  When they’d arrived back in Blackpool they went their separate ways for their evening meal at their respective boarding houses. Jack had begged her to spend the evening with him as well, and after only a moment’s hesitation she had agreed. She’d hoped that Val might be seeing Sam that evening as she had already spent the day with him. Yes, it turned out that it was so, and Cissie did not need to feel guilty about making her own plans. She remembered how Val had warned her to watch herself with Jack; and she, Cissie, had replied that she could take care of herself and there was no need to worry.

  She had met Jack later that evening by North Pier, and they had gone to the Tivoli cinema to see Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Afterwards, they went to the nearby Yates’s Wine Lodge.

  Cissie had been in a mellow mood after her first gin and lime, and after two more of the same she’d felt so carefree that she’d scarcely known what was happening. Nor had she cared; she was with Jack, he was jolly good company and she was enjoying herself.

  They’d strolled across the tram track, then wandered down to the lower promenade. There had been a series of secluded colonnades away from the busy main promenade, although the clang of the trams could be heard in the distance.

  Jack had been surprisingly gentle with her, so much so that she had gone along with his lovemaking without demur. It all seemed unreal, almost like a dream, and it was only later that she began to realize what had happened.

  ‘I must be getting back,’ she’d said eventually, and Jack saw her into a taxi at Talbot Square, with instructions to the driver to see her safely back to her boarding house. He’d given the driver some money, then kissed her cheek and said, ‘I’ll be seeing you soon.’

  They had already exchanged details of one another’s whereabouts earlier in the evening; at least, she had scribbled her address on a scrap of paper and Jack had shoved it into his pocket. He had given her a phone number, explaining that they had a phone not because they were posh, but because his father was an odd-job man and people had to be able to get in touch with him.

  The next morning, Cissie had woken up to reality. What on earth had she done? How could she have been such a silly little fool? She had felt ashamed but knew she could not keep it to herself. She had to tell Val. It had been later that morning, when they were on the sands sunbathing – or trying to, in the fitful sunshine – that she’d told her friend what had happened.

  She’d been able to tell that Val was surprised, even shocked, but she had not condemned her. She hadn’t said, ‘I told you to watch him!’ or told her that she’d been stupid. Val had tried to make light of it, saying that it wasn’t possible to get pregnant the first time it happened, something that they both knew was not strictly true but more of a common fallacy.

  ‘But supposing I am?’ Cissie had said. ‘I might not know for ages; you know what I’m like with my periods.’

  Yes, Val remembered that her friend was very irregular. She could go two months or more without a period, but her doctor had said not to worry; it would sort itself out in time.

  ‘And I had one just before we came away, so it might be too late before I find out.’ Cissie had been worried. ‘Oh, crikey! What am I going to do?’

  ‘Will you be seeing him again, this … Jack?’

  ‘Yes, he’s got my address and he gave me a phone number,’ Cissie had said without much conviction.

  ‘Well, there you are then. Don’t let it spoil the rest of your holiday. We’re having a smashing time, aren’t we?’

  It had cast a shadow over the rest of the week, though, for Cissie at least.

  They had come back to reality on the Monday when they were home again and starting work. Val had her budding friendship with Sam to look forward to, but Cissie had been frantic with worry.

  After a few days, when there had been no word from Jack – and she’d known, deep down, that it wasn’t likely – she’d decided to ring the number he had given her. It had not been a great surprise to her when she’d found there was no such number. Things had sorted themselves out in time, however …

 
She met Jack, as arranged, in the cafe the following day. She had been in two minds whether or not to agree to see him, but he had seemed keen to meet her and he did owe her an explanation.

  He was there at the same corner table at ten minutes to one, and when she had finished her shift she sat down opposite him.

  ‘What are you having?’ he asked. ‘My treat. I’m having a ham sandwich and a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll have the same then,’ she replied. ‘They’re as good as anything we do. I won’t need to have anything when I get home. My friend’s giving my little girl her lunch ’cause I said I’d be a bit later today.’

  ‘How old is your daughter, then?’

  ‘She’ll be four at Christmas. She’s called Holly. She goes to playgroup and I collect her when I’ve finished here.’

  ‘Jolly good … Did you say you had a boy an’ all?’

  ‘Yes, a little boy called Paul. He’s … five and a bit.’

  ‘Gosh! You didn’t waste much time then. I see you’re married,’ he added, looking at her wedding ring.

  ‘Of course … And you?’

  ‘No … no, not me. I’m still as free as a bird.’ He motioned to the waitress and gave her their order. Daphne winked at Cissie, who had felt obliged to tell her fellow waitress that she was meeting a friend.

  ‘A mate of Walter’s,’ she had lied, not wanting her friend to think she was up to something.

  There was a short silence before Jack spoke again. ‘I’m sorry, like, that I didn’t get in touch with you. To be honest, I lost yer address. It were on a bit of paper an’ it must have come out of me pocket with me hanky or summat. And you weren’t on the phone.’

  ‘No, but you said you were, Jack, or your dad was, anyroad. I rang but there was no answer. It made a funny noise as though it wasn’t a proper number.’

  ‘Well, it was, I can tell you. Happen you dialled it wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, happen I wrote it down wrong. One digit can make all the difference an’ I wrote it in a hurry. Well, ne’er mind, eh? You’re here now. It’s good to see you again, Cissie.’