by June Francis
‘He came into lessons drunk several times. He was only fourteen.’
There was silence. Viv was trying to imagine what life had been like for Nick during the war, with his mother and her men, and after it when his father came home and beat him up. When had his parents divorced and when had he gone back to live with his mother? He had mentioned a grandmother several times. She felt angry with his parents, with George, and was surprisingly jealous of all those girls he had been with. ‘What was it you and he fought over?’ she murmured.
George hesitated. ‘I called his mother a whore.’
She shivered at his callous use of the word and remembered years ago when her grandfather had occasionally used it of her mother. ‘That must have made his day,’ she said in a tight voice.
George drew on his cigarette and smoke trickled out of his nostrils. ‘I’ll never understand females. Mam was the same. She felt sorry for him. But he had a good time of it as far as I could see. Chewing gum, money, chocolate, comics …’ He stood and gazed down at her. ‘You women always think you can reform the bad guys. More fool you, Viv, if you’re considering having a crack at Nick. Upbringing always tells. He’s a hard nut.’
‘Thanks for telling me.’ And before he could say any more she picked up her shoes and walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. If she had stayed she might have said things she would regret. They had both been under a strain in the last twelve months.
As Viv undressed she tried again to remember Nick as a boy but could only remember his sister Mavis who used to go to the park with her and Rosie occasionally. She thought of the way George had described the teenage Nick and was suddenly unsure of herself. Was she heading for trouble going out with him? Or had she found someone at last who would understand her feelings of inadequacy because of her birth? Who would provide her with approval and acceptance on her own merits?
A yawn escaped her and she flopped on to the camp bed that she had moved from the kitchen into her grandfather’s room after having his smelly bed taken away. What was she worrying about? Hadn’t she made up her mind to go to America? After tomorrow she might never see Nick Bryce again. The thought did not give her much joy.
CHAPTER THREE
Viv was wakened by the clacking of a football rattle. She pulled a pillow over her head and put her fingers in her ears but the pillow was wrenched away. She moaned. ‘D’you know what time it is?’
Viv forced her eyelids open and blinked at George. ‘You’re obsessed with time,’ she muttered, remembering last night and Nick’s answer to the same question.
He said mildly, ‘I don’t want to start on Nick Bryce now. I thought I’d better wake you up. You’re going to be late for church. I’m off to the park. I’ve got a game.’
‘OK.’ She seized hold of the pillow and put it over her face once more.
‘Viv!’ Her cousin lifted the pillow. ‘I forgot to tell you, there was a letter from Ma yesterday. There’s something in it about your mam. I thought you’d want to read it.’ He placed a flimsy blue envelope under her chin then dropped the pillow back on her face. ‘See you later.’
Viv listened to his retreating footsteps and waited for the bedroom door to close before removing the pillow and taking hold of the envelope. She sat up, yawned, and began to read the letter. Immediately it was as if her Aunt Flora was standing at her shoulder and she experienced a warm feeling when the invitation to go to California for Christmas was mentioned once more. She continued reading and came to the part of the letter that mentioned her mother.
‘A couple of weeks ago our Hilda turned up, crying poverty as usual – not that I believe she’s penniless for one moment! She was wearing mink and looking a million dollars! Poor Charlie died of a heart attack on the freeway and apparently she wasn’t well herself afterwards. She was quite cheered when I told her about Father because she had been waiting for a third death and thought it might be hers. She’d had pleurisy so she said and she’d given up the ciggies. Miracle!
‘Anyway she’s gone off again without a word, which is infuriating but just like her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s waltzed off to Hollywood. It always was her dream to see the homes of the stars and in all the years over here she’s never made the trip. Perhaps she’ll come back to us? At Christmas maybe? You both really must come over and we’ll have a lovely family time.’
Viv folded the letter slowly. It didn’t look as though her aunt knew of George’s plans to go to Europe and paint. Perhaps she could still have a go at making him change his mind? Had her mother really been ill or was it all an act? She’d always been a dab hand at making the most of a situation, and being newly widowed and ill was something she could milk to her heart’s content. Unless she had really loved Charlie … But then Viv had never known her mother love anybody like she loved herself. It would have been interesting to have met Charlie and compared him with Kevin. He couldn’t have been worse than the man who had attempted to sexually assault her when she was eight years old.
Viv shook off the memory and thought of her Aunt Flora and Uncle Mike. He had inherited money when his father had died and bought land in the Napa Valley, where he had set about planting vines and learning about winemaking rather than staying on the family farm with his older brother. She felt a spurt of excitement at the thought of visiting the American branch of the family. It would be a different world. She really must try and persuade George to go. The journey would be much more fun with him than going it alone.
George was in a good mood when he came in but that changed as soon as Viv mentioned his mother’s letter.
‘I’m not going,’ he said shortly, lowering himself into the rocking chair.
‘Aunt Flo’ll be disappointed.’ She placed a cup of tea on the hearth, handy for him. He shrugged.
‘It was her choice to go to America. She knew I never wanted to go.’
‘Well, I’m going but it would be so much better if you came too,’ murmured Viv, passing him a plate with four homemade macaroons on it, his favourite. Then she sat on the floor looking up at him.
He bit into a macaroon, eyes narrowing as he stared down at her. ‘What about Nick Bryce?’
‘What about him?’
‘He said “See you tomorrow”.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘One date! What’s wrong with that? He’s not going to carry me off to the casbah!’
He chewed thoughtfully. ‘I want to go to Paris. I wish you’d come.’
‘Why?’ she said bluntly, ‘Just to have me there handy in case things don’t work out, to look after your physical needs? Once, George, I had a crush on you. I was deadly jealous of Kathleen Murphy. You were my big hero cousin and I thought you could conquer the world. I never thought you’d let a girl throwing you over get to you the way it has. I thought you had more guts and cared for the family more! But you’re selfish. Even all that talk last night about Nick had more to do with your feelings than mine.’
‘That’s not true.’ He banged the plate down on the hearth and jumped to his feet. ‘I care about you, Viv! What did he have to say about me?’
‘Nothing much.’ She picked up the cracked plate, removed the remaining macaroons and frowned as she got to her feet. ‘Do you see what you’ve done to this plate? This was one of Grandmother’s. It was years old. It had a lot of history.’
‘Sod the plate,’ said George, snatching it off her and dropping it on the floor. ‘Did he touch you?’
Viv laughed. ‘Of course he touched me! Did you expect us to walk miles apart.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He thrust his face close to hers.
She patted his cheek. ‘You’re a dog in the manger, George. You don’t really want me. I’m just a substitute for Kathleen Murphy.’
He seized hold of her and pulled her closer. He kissed her with all the pent up passion which thoughts of Kathleen in a convent evoked. Kathleen who had always been so willing. Kathleen who had once considered him the bee’s knees. His hands slid up Viv’s swea
ter and undid her bra. She struggled and stamped on his foot. He hardly felt it. Somewhere he heard a knocker banging and felt Viv tugging at his arm. ‘For God’s sake, let me go!’ she said through gritted teeth, but he didn’t want to listen. He was somewhere else with Kathleen Murphy. He forced Viv down on to the floor but it was a struggle to unzip her skirt because she would not keep still.
Unexpectedly the front door opened. ‘Good God! What do you think you’re doing?’
They both jumped out of their skins. Viv stared up at George and pushed him hard. He stumbled to his feet and smoothed back his hair.
It took Viv only seconds to tuck in her sweater and tug her skirt zip a couple of inches but it felt longer and her face burnt. At last she looked closely at the woman in the well-cut black gabardine suit – and her stomach turned over. The woman was only a shade plumper, her hair unnaturally blonde instead of the red-gold shade of Viv’s. Make-up had skilfully been applied. Max Factor pan stick, Viv thought irrelevantly as she recognised her mother, Hilda, the erstwhile black sheep of the family.
Nobody moved or said anything for several seconds. Then Hilda wrenched off black poplin gloves and flung them together with her handbag on to the table. She compressed poppy red lips, her eyes focused on George. ‘Sweet Lord, you’re like your father, George Cooke. What were you doing with this girl, writhing about on the floor? I’m thoroughly disgusted.’
He recovered quickly. Moving forward, he kissed his aunt on her scented cheek. ‘How long has it been, Aunt Hilda? Eight – nine years? And you still remember the key being on the string behind the door.’ His tone was light, without a trace of embarrassment. ‘We never expected to see you here. Ma thought you were going to Hollywood. But, fancy, here you are. What an unexpected treat.’
Hilda smiled cynically. ‘Yes, you are like your father. Good at the soft soap. Where’s Viv?’
Without taking her eyes from her mother’s face she sat down in the rocking chair. ‘Mother doesn’t recognise daughter,’ she said. ‘Now isn’t that a laugh?’
Hilda’s face froze and it seemed to Viv that she paled beneath the pan stick. Then the expressive eyebrows rose. ‘You have changed! I hope the pair of you have gone no further than a kiss an’ a cuddle? You are cousins, you know.’
‘Tell us something we don’t know.’ Viv was suddenly angry. How dare her mother judge her actions after the way she had disgraced the family name?
George reached for his Woodbines and offered the packet to his aunt, who after the barest hesitation said, ‘I’ve given them up. I nearly died from my chest.’
Viv and George exchanged disbelieving glances. ‘You’re still here, though,’ said George. ‘And looking great.’
‘That’s because I’ve learnt sense. You really shouldn’t smoke. Think of the money!’
‘I only smoke at weekends,’ he said smoothly. ‘Can’t afford it any other time.’
Viv thought, she knows about the sovereigns. ‘I remember you hardly ever being without a fag,’ she murmured. ‘You always knew how to burn money, all right. Mother. You were always puffing like a chimney.’
Hilda stared at her daughter. ‘I worked for the money,’ she said tersely. ‘Still judging me, are you?’
Viv’s smile was fixed. ‘I don’t know that I ever did. But if I’d have had a pair of socks for every packet of ciggies you got through, I wouldn’t have had chilblains.’
Hilda’s mouth tightened. ‘So I’m to blame for your chilblains? Is that all you’ve got to say to me after I’ve come all this way? Aren’t you even going to offer me a drink?’
Viv struggled with her finer feelings and lost. ‘You’re too late to do anything for Grandfather, and for his funeral! Just think, Mother, if you’d come earlier you could have had fun dancing on his coffin.’ Unshed tears suddenly sparkled on her lashes. ‘That would have been right up your street, wouldn’t it?’ To her shame, her voice wobbled. ‘No love lost between you! I bet you’re glad he’s gone.’
‘Those remarks aren’t remotely funny.’ Hilda’s voice was frigid. ‘Now make me a cup of coffee, and don’t be giving cheek. I am your mother after all.’
‘You’ve remembered?’ Viv’s laugh was bitter. ‘You do surprise me.’ And on that note she vanished into the kitchen.
‘I believe the old man went peacefully,’ said Hilda, draining the sweet Camp coffee in her cup.
‘As peacefully as he did anything.’ Viv’s voice was carefully devoid of emotion. ‘At least he didn’t know anything about it.’
‘Senile, our Flo said.’ Hilda grimaced. ‘I suppose he didn’t mention me?’
Viv exchanged glances with George, who laughed shortly. ‘He’d forgotten you existed most of the time, and when he did remember it was only as a little girl that he recalled you.’
Hilda pressed her lips together and there was an expression in her eyes that puzzled Viv. Then it was gone and her mother shrugged. ‘Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Even in those days the sea was his mistress. I remember when Mother died.’
She did not finish but gazed at George and Vivien sitting side by side on the well-worn sofa. Her throat moved and it was several moments before she said, ‘What are you going to do now he’s dead? Have you thought of going to visit your mother, George?’
He hesitated briefly. ‘I can’t afford to go.’
‘Come off it, laddie,’ she said with a hint of mockery in her voice. ‘There’s no slates off my roof! Your grandad must have left some money.’
He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa and his fingers pressed Viv’s shoulder, but she did not need his warning. ‘We’ve been saving,’ said Viv, fixing a smile on her face. ‘But we haven’t got enough to take us to California. Perhaps you could give us a loan? My stepfather died, I believe, and left you a rich widow.’
‘Not that rich.’ Hilda’s smile wavered. ‘You haven’t come in for a windfall?’
Involuntarily George glanced at Viv.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But you obviously think we have.’
Hilda’s smile was wary. ‘Is that why you think I’m here? Because of Father’s money?’
Viv shrugged. ‘If it is you’re unlucky. Does it look like he had any?’ Her eyes roamed around the shabby room. ‘Look at this place.’
Hilda said, ‘I’m looking. It’s obvious he hasn’t bought anything in years. After Mam died he turned into a right tight-fisted old swine.’ She leant forward. ‘Shall we stop playing games, children? I know he had some gold sovereigns. He started saving them years ago. He used to give me them to play with when I was a little girl and told me to use one if we ever got into difficulties while he was away. My mother was a hopeless manager. But then she had troubles enough after the rheumatic fever which affected her heart.’
‘He must have spent them,’ said Viv, determined not to be softened by this glimpse into her mother’s past life.
George rose and went over to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and rattled it along the bars of the grate. Hilda looked at him. ‘You’ve found them, haven’t you, George? Tell the truth. You never could tell lies. You’re like your mother in that respect. Her eyes always betrayed her.’
‘They’re ours! He left them to us.’
Viv groaned. ‘Idiot! Now she’ll expect a cut.’
Hilda’s eyes gleamed. ‘Too right! As for Father actually making a will leaving them to you, I don’t believe it. He thought he’d live forever.’ She leant back in the rocking chair and laughed.
Viv got slowly to her feet. ‘You never could miss an opportunity to get more money, could you, Mother?’ she said, trying to control her temper. ‘You always loved the stuff. Wasn’t that why you married Kevin and Charlie? I doubt love ever came into it.’
Hilda stared at her, reached for her handbag, fiddled with the clasp. Then she dropped it abruptly, lifting one slender sheer nylon clad leg over the other. ‘I was prepared to be generous – to split it three ways.’ Her eyes swivelled away from her daughter to her nephew. ‘
It’s rightfully mine and your mother’s.’
George rammed the poker in to the fire. ‘You did nothing for him. We bloody well worked hard for anything he left.’
‘Don’t you use that kind of language with me, George Cooke’. Hilda flushed. ‘You’re as cocky as ever your father was but only half the man.’
George’s left hand curled into a fist. ‘You can’t hurt me by saying that. What have you got to be proud of? You deserted your daughter and left Ma to bring her up.’
‘Thank God,’ murmured Viv, watching her mother’s expression. ‘At least Aunt Flo cared about me. All you wanted was to live it up in America! You thought it was the Promised Land.’
‘I didn’t live it up! I never even got to Hollywood. New Jersey’s thousands of miles away and Charlie wouldn’t move. Freezing in winter and humid in summer. I felt like I couldn’t breathe sometimes. Our Flo had the best of it marrying Mike.’
She reached for her handbag again, opened it, shut it, then pushed it away petulantly. Her expression was sulky. ‘Damn! Why should I have cared about Father? He never cared for me when I most needed it. Our Flo was the one. I wish she hadn’t been at times, but she was like Grandmother Preston so Father said. That’s why I left you with her. Don’t you think I knew she’d care for you better than me?
‘Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge. When Flo said Father had died I though I’d better come home. I believed the pair of you might need a parent around and our Flo couldn’t come, not with her brood. I thought you especially, Viv, needed a mother.’
‘Me! Need you? That has to be the joke of the month,’ she said, leaning against the table. ‘I’m amazed you spared me a thought after all these years with hardly a word.’
‘You’re hard, Viv Preston,’ said Hilda, her eyes glinting. ‘You’re not like your Aunt Flora. I was hoping that some of her ways would have rubbed off on you by now.’
Viv was deeply hurt. ‘Perhaps I take after you then?’ she said bitingly. ‘You were always the hard one, never showing me any affection. Now you’ve come home all you can talk of is Grandfather’s money. What are we supposed to think?’
