by Jenny Holmes
The chat with the lads had left them short of time so they hurried along Ghyll Road towards the cinema on Canal Road. When they passed Barlow’s, Violet saw fit to recount her recent close shave with the tram. ‘Another second and Ida’s bike would have fallen clean under the tram wheels, then what would I have done?’
‘Better that the bike had got flattened than you,’ Kathy reckoned. She had her money ready for her ticket and went ahead up the steps and into the shiny, well-lit foyer of the Victory. ‘And you mean to say, Mr Barlow saved your bacon?’
Violet put her right. ‘No. He likes to think he did. But little did he know that he was the one who made me all fingers and thumbs in the first place. I was in such a rush to get away from him that I lost my balance and that’s how it happened.’
Kathy slid her money across the desk to the cashier and took her ticket. ‘I don’t blame you for keeping Colin Barlow at arm’s length,’ she sympathized. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work. I’ve heard he tries it on with a lot of the girls who work for him – usually the best looking ones. And lo – if they turn him down, they’re out of a job before you can say Jack Robinson!’
‘And if they say yes, their name is ruined.’ At least Violet wasn’t in that unenviable position, she realized.
‘Let’s hope Eddie doesn’t get to hear about it, though. He might get the wrong end of the stick,’ were Kathy’s last words as they made their way through to the darkened theatre with its raked seats and giant screen, revealed by a slowly opening velvet curtain.
‘Hush!’ a nearby usher warned, waving her torch towards two empty seats.
Sitting down, Violet lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘He won’t. I’m safe on that score. There was nobody around to tell Eddie – only a few strangers on a bus.’
Still, Kathy’s warning rankled throughout the picture that featured Clark Gable and Violet’s favourite actress, the chic and cheeky Claudette Colbert. What if Eddie did learn about Colin Barlow’s unwanted attentions – the eau de cologne, for instance? I’ll make a clean breast later tonight, she decided before the violins reached a crescendo and the final credits rolled up the screen.
‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’ had been one of Donald Wheeler’s trite sayings whenever Violet had used the excuse of not meaning any harm. Her protestations would fall flat and he would trot out the aphorism so that in the end Violet stopped trying to explain. After all, it was easier not to say anything and go on living in the shadow of her uncle’s disapproval.
Later, this not-saying-anything was part of Violet’s logic when she examined why she hadn’t tackled the thorny problem of Colin Barlow with Eddie after she met him out of work. The other reason was that she didn’t want to spoil his good mood and drag him down to earth.
‘“I’ll be loving you – always,”’ he crooned as he hugged her then swept her down the steps of the cinema and waltzed her along the pavement. ‘“With a love that’s true – always.”’
‘Eddie, stop, you’re making me dizzy!’
‘“When the things we planned need a helping hand …”’
‘You are – my head’s spinning. Stop!’
He laughed and ran with her down the street. ‘I didn’t come on the Norton tonight. I’ll have to walk you home instead.’
‘Walk, not run,’ she pleaded, skipping after him down some steps leading to the canal side.
He stopped on the towpath and kissed her. Then when they came to a damp, dripping tunnel running under the railway line, he took her by the hand and ran up the steps two at a time, pausing under a street lamp to kiss her again. ‘Or we could stop out all night and not bother going home. How does that sound?’
‘That would set tongues wagging good and proper,’ she murmured. ‘Anyway, can you slow down a bit?’
‘What’s wrong – are you out of breath?’
‘No,’ she lied. ‘All right then – yes, a little bit.’
‘Shall I give you a piggyback?’
As Eddie offered to hoist Violet onto his back, she laughed and hitched up her skirt then changed her mind. ‘If we’re not careful we’ll end up in the canal.’
‘What’s wrong with that? Stan tells me you’re a good little swimmer.’
‘Not in these clothes, I’m not.’ It was Violet’s turn to lead the way, over the railway crossing and back down some steps to the towpath with only a black cat for company and no lamps to light their way. Laughing and walking arm in arm by the dark water, they went on until Eddie sat her down beside a lock gate.
‘We have a fine time together, the two of us,’ he said in a more thoughtful tone.
‘We do,’ she agreed. Sliding her arm around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder.
‘That’s nice, Vi – I’m glad we’re agreed on that.’
She lingered over this shortened version of her name and decided she liked it.
‘Sorry,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I’m not used to putting things into words the way they do in the songs.’
‘No, it doesn’t sit easily with me either.’
‘Honestly and truly?’ Leaning away from her, Eddie looked tenderly into her eyes then hit upon a comparison for how he was feeling. ‘When we’re together, it’s as if I’ve won the football pools, only a hundred times better.’
She smiled at the comparison that was typical and funny and said everything she needed to know about Eddie’s view of the world, if he did but know it.
‘I’m serious. I mean it.’
‘Well, I’m glad I’m better than a prize in a sweep-stake, at any rate.’
‘You know what I’m getting at.’ He moved in for a long kiss, drawing Violet close as they sat, overlooking the still water. ‘When I’m with you I know what they mean by being in seventh heaven.’
That was more like it – the romantic phrase pleased her and she responded lovingly. ‘And I’m happier now, here with you, than I ever thought I could be.’ Violet’s voice was so low that Eddie had to ask her to repeat it.
‘I couldn’t be happier,’ was all she said before she kissed him again. On the street above them, a late tram trundled by and men coming out of a pub shouted cheerio. Canal water lapped gently against the lock gates while, enfolded in each other’s arms, Violet and Eddie were perfectly happy to let the world go by.
Next day, Sunday, brought an invitation from Eddie for Violet to go to dinner with the Thomsons.
‘Are you sure your mother won’t mind?’ Violet asked when she heard a knock at the shop door and she ran downstairs to answer it.
‘No, Ida’s doing the cooking – a roast with Yorkshire pud and baked potatoes. There’ll be plenty to go round.’ Eddie waited for her while she fetched her coat then they walked up to Valley Road. He strolled with her round the quarry pond while Ida put the finishing touches to the dinner. It was a warm day with mellow sunlight reflecting off the water and Eddie’s mood became thoughtful, as on the previous night. This time, however, he put the focus on Violet rather than his own feelings for her.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ he began as they reached a rock backed by straggly willows where they could sit for a while. ‘Now that your Uncle Donald has performed his vanishing act, what are you going to do about the bracelet and the note that you found?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it, ta.’ It was best where it was, stashed away under the bed.
‘Are you sure you’re not just bottling things up instead of bringing them out in the open?’ Eddie asked.
He was spot on, Violet realized, but still she persisted. ‘Yes. I’ve decided not to bother about it any more,’ Violet answered without conviction. In fact, the question made her feel weary and hopeless. ‘If he’s turned his back on me, what good would it do to drag everything into the open?’
Eddie put a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Vi, I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
‘No, don’t say that. I know you mean well. But I can’t do anything about how Uncle Donald feels about me or the fact that
he’s vanished into thin air. So I’ve tried to put it to the back of my mind as best I can.’ To the back of her mind, tucked away in a box in the corner of the room under her bed. Keep this bracelet for my sake.
‘You could let me help,’ Eddie suggested, picking up a flat stone and flinging it so that it skimmed across the murky, yellowish water and bounced three times before it sank.
‘How?’ She sighed, touched that he cared enough about her to solve the mystery, but still reluctant to open up the wound.
Eddie skimmed another stone across the pond. ‘Donald isn’t the only person you could ask about the bracelet, is he?’
‘My mother’s dead. Who else is there?’
‘Other people who were around in 1914. My mother for a start. She might remember a few things from that time.’
‘No, Eddie, I don’t want to drag her in. Anyway, it’s a long time ago. She’s probably forgotten.’
‘The thing is—’ He stopped halfway through his sentence, not knowing how to go on, but staring intently at Violet.
‘What?’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way – I’m sure that, like me, you made out the letter “D” alongside the “F” and straight away jumped to the conclusion that it stood for your Uncle Donald. But what if it didn’t?’
‘You mean, the “D” could stand for someone else?’ Violet murmured and shook her head.
‘I’m not saying it does – not for definite. But what if …?’
Slowly Violet let the possibility enter her mind.
‘In a way, that would turn out better, wouldn’t it?’ Eddie persisted. ‘If the bracelet was a present from someone other than your uncle?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Which would make it worthwhile asking a few questions to see what answers we came up with.’ Flinging a last stone into the pond, Eddie stood up and dusted himself down. Then he offered Violet a hand and led her back towards the house. ‘Only if you wanted to, mind you.’
‘Let me think about it,’ she decided. Eddie had opened a door that she wasn’t quite ready to step through – one which let Donald Wheeler off the hook and led in a different direction altogether.
‘That’s fine – you take your time.’ He squeezed her hand then stepped aside for her to enter the kitchen, topsy-turvy with dirty pans and smelling of roast meat. ‘I don’t know about anyone else but I could eat a horse.’
Try as she might over the meal, Violet couldn’t get rid of the notion that there was a bad atmosphere in the room.
Dick Thomson stood at the head of the table, carving the joint of beef. Eddie sat to his right, with Violet beside him and Ida perched awkwardly on a corner of Emily’s chair at the far end. Meanwhile, Harold had plenty of elbow room on the side opposite to Violet and Eddie.
‘Squeeze in here,’ Harold told his fiancée when everyone’s plates were piled high. He’d avoided looking at Eddie and Violet ever since they’d arrived and seemed ill at ease, darting glances at Ida and Emily instead of tucking into his dinner.
‘This cabbage isn’t cooked through,’ Emily complained as Ida sat beside Harold.
‘Oh Mother,’ Ida muttered, ‘you only like it when it’s boiled down to a pulp. But everyone knows cabbage should be a bit crunchy.’
The bickering continued, with Ida complaining to Eddie about being woken up the night before. ‘It was gone midnight when you finally remembered you had a bed to come back to,’ she said, looking pointedly at Violet. ‘You could at least have shut the front door quietly without waking the whole house.’
‘Anyway, I thought you were meant to be working,’ Dick chipped in.
‘That’s right, I was.’ So far Eddie hadn’t picked up anything amiss and happily made inroads into his meat and gravy.
‘And didn’t I see you in the Green Cross?’ Harold asked Violet pointedly.
With all eyes on her, Violet’s discomfort grew. ‘Yes – I was with Kathy Land. We went on to the Victory to see the Clark Gable picture, then after that I met Eddie and we went for a walk by the canal.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Eddie wanted to know. ‘I had to see Vi home, didn’t I? My bike’s blown a gasket so I was on foot. That’s why I was late back and why Ida lost her beauty sleep.’
‘And you don’t mind Violet gadding about town without you?’ Ida insinuated.
‘What’s got into Ida all of a sudden?’ Eddie retaliated, knife and fork poised as he addressed the whole company. ‘Isn’t she the one who’s always going on about women being equal with men ever since they got the vote? Don’t they have the right to do what they like, go where they want and so forth?’
Violet’s stomach churned. What flashed through her mind was that the episode outside Barlow’s had somehow got back to Eddie’s family, who had talked about it among themselves. It had made Ida recall the shop owner’s earlier gift of eau de cologne and this had fuelled their growing suspicions. I should have gone ahead and told Eddie all about it much sooner, she thought. Then he would know there was nothing to worry about.
‘I wasn’t gadding.’ Desperate to defend herself, Violet mouthed the only protest she could muster.
‘That’s what it looked like to me,’ Harold argued stolidly.
They’ve all been talking about me behind my back and made two and two add up to five! The realization struck Violet like a ton of bricks. They haven’t even had the decency to hear what I have to say before they made up their minds. ‘When? What did you see?’ she demanded, looking from Harold to Ida and back again.
‘Yes, Harold – what are you going on about?’ His attention claimed at last, Eddie’s knife and fork clattered onto his plate and he scraped his chair back from the table. ‘Come on – out with it.’
Violet wanted to shut her ears and close her eyes to pretend it wasn’t happening but she forced herself to speak up. ‘Everybody, stop talking and listen to me. If this is about Mr Barlow, I can explain everything.’
There was an astonished silence. Emily stared down the table at her husband, who, it seemed, was the only one determined to finish his dinner. Harold looked to Ida for guidance.
‘You mean Colin Barlow from Bilton Grange?’ Eddie asked at last, as if he had no idea how the shop owner’s name had suddenly entered into things. His eyes were filled with uncertainty as he turned to Violet for an explanation.
‘What’s he got to do with anything?’ Dick interrupted laconically. ‘I thought we were meant to be finding out about Violet and Stan Tankard.’
‘Stan?’ Violet echoed faintly. The name confounded her and left her speechless.
Ida took up the reins. ‘Come along, Violet, don’t play the innocent. We’ve all seen the way Stan is with you – he can’t keep his hands to himself. Isn’t that right, Harold?’
Reluctantly Harold nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Eddie, but I did see Stan and Violet together in the Green Cross.’
Eddie rose uncertainly to his feet. ‘When?’
‘Last night.’
‘But I was with Kathy!’ Violet protested, her heart fluttering as she fought the urge to run away and hide.
‘And what about at rehearsals when Eddie isn’t there, or even if he is sometimes?’ Ida reminded her.
‘And at the baths, behind Eddie’s back,’ Emily added. ‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
Eddie pressed his lips together, sat down as if his legs were about to give way then shot straight back up. ‘Everybody, sit tight,’ he said before rushing out of the house.
Violet ran after him onto the street and seized his arm. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To find Stan and have it out.’
‘Stop – you have to believe me, it isn’t true!’ The world had tipped off its axis and was spinning out of control. In one mad leap of events, it seemed that Violet was in danger of losing the man she loved.
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Eddie shot back, breaking free and hurrying on. ‘Let go of me, Violet. Either stay here or go on home and wait for me there.�
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Rooted to the spot as Eddie ran down Valley Road, Violet’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears and she was helpless to stop him from seeking Stan out. Suddenly, out of nowhere, her world was in danger of falling apart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Are you going to stand by and let that happen? It was Winnie’s voice that spurred Violet into action. You’ll lose Eddie if you don’t watch out. And what for? For nothing, when all’s said and done.
‘That’s right – nothing,’ Violet echoed out loud as she pulled herself together then hastened after Eddie through the sleepy Sunday-afternoon streets. But he ran faster than her down the hill and onto Canal Road, past the mills and the shops, swimming baths, chemist’s shop and the picture house where he worked and on, in spite of Violet’s pleas for him to stop, towards the grimy and overcrowded tenements next to the railway arch where he knew Stan had his lodgings. Eddie paused at the railings outside the second house in the row then disappeared down some steps leading to the cellar.
Violet followed hard on his heels, her heart pounding, her throat dry from the effort of running and shouting. She reached the railings in time to hear Eddie yelling Stan’s name through an open window and to see Stan himself emerge.
‘Now then, Eddie – what’s all the racket?’ Stan grumbled as he swept his tousled hair back from his forehead. He was barefoot and in his shirtsleeves, with braces dangling, as if awakening from an afternoon nap.
‘Out with it!’ Eddie yelled, slamming both hands against Stan’s chest and thrusting him back against the window sill. The two men faced each other in a dank, cramped space about six feet by three. It was littered with empty crates and a broken stepladder, which crashed sideways as Eddie grabbed the front of his rival’s shirt. ‘You’ve been seeing Violet behind my back. Come on, admit it!’
At the head of the cellar steps, Violet grasped the railings until her knuckles turned white. Two bystanders dressed in worn tweed jackets and caps crossed the road in the hope of some small entertainment to liven up the sultry afternoon, while a woman flung open a window on the first floor and shouted down that the noise had wakened her baby and the two of them would pay for it if they didn’t pipe down.
