by June Francis
Hilda puffed like an engine getting up steam. ‘Dom Kelly and I are just good friends,’ she snapped.
‘That’s what film stars say when they’re carrying on,’ retorted Viv, getting up. ‘You’ve got no right to judge Nick’s mother. She might have done wrong in the past but that’s all behind her now.’
‘Ha!’ Hilda stubbed out the cigarette in a saucer. ‘I see. You can say that about her but you weren’t so quick in forgiving me, your own mother!’
Viv swallowed an angry retort and said patiently, ‘It’s Christmas Day. I don’t want us to fall out. Peace and goodwill and all that. Let’s just try and enjoy today. You said there’s some good programmes on the telly. We’ve got food and drink and crackers to pull.’
‘And presents to open. Although our Flo’s haven’t arrived yet.’
‘We’ll get them late.’ Viv debated quickly whether this was the right time to bring her father into the conversation but decided against it. ‘Aunt Flo probably thought I’d be there for Christmas so they’ll be late. Now I’m going to get washed and changed. Did Nick say what time he was coming?’
Hilda shook her head, a slight frown still clouding her brow. ‘I’ll use the sink after you. I wish we had a blinking bathroom. When I lived with Charlie I had this lovely …’
‘Oh, shut up, Mother,’ groaned Viv. ‘If everything was so marvellous in America, I don’t know how you ever forced yourself to come home.’ And she quickly walked out of the room. No, today definitely wasn’t the day to bring up the subject of her father.
Mother and daughter were in their respective bedrooms when the knocker sounded. Viv peered out of the front window but could not see anyone from that angle. Swiftly she applied lipstick and gingerly touched the hair which she had piled up on top of her head to make her appear more sophisticated. Then she raced downstairs, the new pine green velvet skirt billowing up about her well-shaped thighs with the speed of her passing. She slowed down halfway across the front room, took several deep breaths and then opened the door.
Nick wore a burgundy sweater and dark plum-coloured trousers. His hair had grown even longer and was whipped into a Tony Curtis cowlick above his sooty eyebrows. Viv thought of moonlight and water and kisses. ‘Hallo, stranger,’ she said in what she hoped was a seductive voice.
He smiled. ‘I came last night, hoping, but you were out gallivanting.’
‘I couldn’t get out of it. If I’d known …’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Suddenly Hilda appeared at Viv’s shoulder. ‘He took me out instead of you,’ she said.
‘Oh!’ Viv whirled round and looked daggers at her mother. She looked so different to the woman she had shared coffee with earlier. Somehow her mother had managed to squeeze herself into a too tight black skirt and walk downstairs in too high-heeled black shoes. Amber drops dangled from her ears and matching beads were a bright splash of colour against the black angora sweater that softened the swell of her bosom. Her hair was beautifully brushed and her make-up had been applied skilfully. Viv wished she could tear the jumper off her back and pour water over her.
‘You didn’t tell me that before,’ she snapped, feeling a rush of jealousy.
‘We didn’t go anywhere special,’ said Nick swiftly.
‘No?’ The single word fell from Viv’s lips like an icicle. She was considering how he had not been in touch and what he had said about being in love with her mother when he was young. Some men liked older women. Perhaps he was one of them and may have already discovered just how sophisticated and experienced her mother was?
‘Viv! Don’t think it,’ said Nick, his eyes challenging her to trust him.
‘I thought it was very special.’ Her mother tossed the words into the sudden silence and attempted to elbow her daughter aside. ‘I really enjoyed myself. We were full of the Christmas spirit.’
‘Gin, I presume,’ muttered Viv, folding her arms across the rust-coloured sweater and refusing to budge.
‘Don’t be nasty, Viv,’ retorted her mother. ‘It’s Christmas Day. Let the man in and let me give him a kiss.’
‘Like hell I will,’ said Viv. ‘Go and check the chicken, Mother.’
Hilda sighed extravagantly. ‘I don’t know! Children these days have no respect, no sense of humour.’ She went back inside and they heard the chink of a bottle.
‘I suppose she kissed you,’ said Viv roughly, staring at Nick.
‘What do you think?’ he drawled. ‘How was your evening? Did you have a good time?’
‘My friends and I do not need men around to enjoy ourselves,’ she said, emphasising each word.
She had given him the answer he wanted and he smiled. ‘Of course not. Are you going to ask me in?’
‘If you want to come in. I can’t offer you much in the way of sophisticated entertainment. You can have some dinner and a drink. Unless you’ve already eaten?’
‘I’ve eaten but I can eat more.’ His blue eyes glinted. ‘Your mother is a very attractive woman, Viv, but my fancy is for someone younger. Made out of the same mould but a newer model.’
A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, but she gets me going sometimes.’
‘Understandable.’
‘Come in.’
Hilda was sitting in the rocking chair with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She stared at Nick and swigged at her gin and tonic. Viv waved him to the old easy chair. ‘Would you like a beer? We have some in for Mr Kelly who’s been doing some work for us.’
‘Thanks.’
She poured out a pale ale, and a small sherry for herself. Then she raised her glass. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘The same to you.’ He leant forward and kissed her where she stood under the mistletoe. Her mother made a noise in her throat and they drew apart.
‘I’d better see to the dinner,’ said Viv, singing inside herself. ‘Sit down, Nick. I won’t be long. I’m sure Mam can entertain you.’ She cast a mischievous glance at her mother who was now gazing sulkily at the television.
A few minutes later Hilda followed her out. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Viv, but I don’t like the idea of your going out with him.’
‘What!’ Viv stared at her. ‘I hope you’re not going to start on about his mother again, Mam, because you might as well save your breath. George might believe her behaviour brushed off on him, but I don’t. Might as well accept what Mrs McCoy said about me being as bad as you. Do you think I am, Mother? Is it that you’re worried I’ll get into trouble like you?’
Two spots of colour darkened Hilda’s cheeks. ‘There’s no war on now and I should hope you’d have more sense. It’s just that I’ve remembered him. He was a quiet boy. If there was a game of cowboys and indians he was an indian. Soft-footed, Viv. Easy to forget he was around. Sneaky. You don’t want someone like that, Viv. You need someone with lots of go in them. Someone who’s got the push to go up in the world.’
‘Oh, I think Nick’s got plenty of push,’ murmured Viv. ‘He had a good granny. She saw to it that he had his chances. He’s an architect, you know, Mam. He’ll go places.’
Hilda changed tack. ‘Suit yourself! But ask what kind of man takes out a woman old enough to be his mother? Ask yourself that, Viv. I think he quite fancied me.’
Her eyes darkened. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mother! I suppose you’re missing Mr Kelly. He’s just your style. Devious!’
Hilda bit back a swear word and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Nick was standing by the fire. He looked up as she entered and said pleasantly, ‘Changed your mind about me, now Hilda? You’ve placed me, haven’t you?’
‘You’re Lena Bryce’s son,’ she said harshly. ‘You can’t blame me for wanting someone better for my daughter.’
A muscle tautened in his cheek. ‘Are you sure it’s only my being my mother’s son that worries you? Nothing else?’ The tone of his voice had changed.
&nb
sp; Hilda reached for the gin bottle and topped up her glass. She gulped at her drink. ‘What else could there be?’ she muttered.
‘Nothing if you say so.’ He paused, ‘I suffered a lot in the old days from malicious gossip. Lots of people with flapping ears, big mouths and very little heart couldn’t wait to talk behind my back – some talked to my face. So is it any wonder I believe in keeping my mouth shut? Maybe one day you’ll feel able to tell Viv the truth about her father. Maybe not. One thing’s for sure, she won’t get it from me.’
‘You’re saying you know the truth?’ she said in a brittle voice, hunching up her shoulders as if trying to get warm.
‘I was there that day.’
‘You could have been mistaken. You were only a boy. What did you understand of grown-up talk!’
Nick said softly, ‘I’m my mother’s son. I’d had years of it.’
Suddenly Hilda flared up: ‘You had no right to be there in our Flo’s yard!’
‘No,’ said Nick. ‘But don’t let’s get on to what was right or wrong, Hilda.’ A sharp laugh issued from him. ‘Can I help myself to another beer? I feel like I need it.’
She nodded, watching him, a puzzled expression on her face. He turned and smiled, raised his glass. ‘Happy Christmas, Hilda.
‘How can you say that to me?’ she said in a low voice.
‘It’s what I want for you and Viv. For all of us.’ His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass. ‘Smile, Hilda. Here she comes with the dinner.’
It was a good meal and the conversation did not touch on anything referring to the past. Nick told them of his brother’s reactions to his Christmas stocking and Viv talked of Dot’s sister giving birth two days ago. ‘She said having a new baby in the family makes this Christmas seem more special somehow.’
‘Easy to see that,’ said Hilda, keeping her eyes from Nick. ‘It gives more meaning to the Christmas story.’
Viv looked at her in surprise. ‘I never remember you taking much interest in Jesus’ birth before.’
‘I found God while I was in hospital,’ said Hilda in such a way that Viv was unsure whether she was joking or not. Especially when she swiftly changed the subject to talk about the group they had listened to last night.
Viv did not want to hear about them. She wanted to be alone with Nick and wondered how she was going to get rid of her mother. It was Nick who manipulated things her way by suggesting that he and Viv went for a walk.
She jumped at the idea. ‘I could do with some fresh air as well as the exercise,’ she said, going for her coat before her mother could say anything against it.
‘You won’t be back late?’ said Hilda, watching Viv wind a scarf which was at least six foot long round and round her neck.
‘No. Why don’t you go and visit Doris?’ suggested Viv. ‘It would cheer her up.’
Hilda grimaced. ‘The house is so depressing and her mother doesn’t like me.’
‘Do it for Doris,’ said Viv in a coaxing voice, grabbing Nick’s arm and pushing him out of the door before her mother could say anything else.
For a while they walked without speaking. Viv was happy to be in Nick’s company and happy thinking about her father.
Her aunt had said he was a hero and a bit of a charmer. In her mind she pictured him looking like actors from several war films … Richard Todd … John Mills … Dirk Bogarde. What had he looked like? Of course she remembered his brother, Stephen Martin. Her aunt had almost married him. Perhaps that was why her mother had been so secretive? But why lie? He was no stranger she had made love to in a blackout. They had known each other for years.
Nick broke the silence. ‘What have you been doing the last few weeks? How has it been with you and your mother?’
Viv brought her mind back to the present. ‘It could be worse. She drives me crazy at times but I think she’s trying to be a mother.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I got a letter from Aunt Flo yesterday. She told me that my father was a soldier and that he was killed at El Alamein.’
Hell! thought Nick. Hilda will never believe me. ‘My father fought at El Alamein,’ he murmured.
‘Some coincidence,’ said Viv, sighing. ‘His name was Jimmy Martin. I wonder if they ever met?’
‘Who knows?’ He took her hand and breathed easy again as they crossed Oakfield Road. ‘Do you find it strange that we should meet after years of not seeing each other – of not really noticing each other much in the first place?’ he said softly.
‘It happens. It has happened to us.’ She gazed in a shop window thinking how the tinsel-decorated gifts looked forlorn now that Christmas Day was nearly over.
‘Perhaps we were meant to meet again?’ he said.
She turned her head and looked at him, her brown eyes twinkling. ‘You mean, fate brought us together for a purpose?’
‘Kismet.’ He leant forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘For this purpose.’
Her eyes met his and her heart seemed to bump against her ribs. ‘I think I do believe it’s possible there’s one person on earth especially meant for another person,’ she said without drawing breath.
He touched her cheek with one finger. ‘You believe that God pulls strings?’
She was pensive, very conscious of that finger. ‘I suppose he can pull strings, but only if people are willing to let him.’
‘Perhaps it’s like some giant play?’
‘You mean Shakespeare had something when he wrote “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players”?’ He nodded and she added as they began to walk again, ‘I suppose some people never get to meet because other people get in the way or else they don’t obey the stage directions.’
‘Do you think we’ve obeyed?’ he said, and their breath mingled before his mouth came down over hers in a long kiss. She thought it was a good job that it was Christmas and the road pretty deserted. What if it was an ordinary day and Mrs McCoy out doing her shopping? A chuckle formed in her throat and when their lips parted she said, ‘You know, Nick, you’ve got a way with words.’
He grinned. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘Do you read a lot of poetry?’
‘Not really but I enjoy some. De la Mare … Tennyson. I like words. I like music. And well-spoken poetry can sound like music.’
Viv’s senses were suddenly feather-edged with a lovely sense of well-being. ‘I used to sing in the church choir till I went to live with Grandfather,’ she said dreamily. ‘Sometimes I felt like I was up there in the air with the sound reaching to Heaven.’
‘Your mother can sing. You must take after her.’
Viv came down to earth. ‘When did you hear her sing?’
‘Last night. Remember the folk group she told you about? They had a sing-a-long.’
She felt vexed all of a sudden. ‘What made you take her out?’
‘I felt sorry for her.’ It was partially true. ‘It was Christmas Eve and she looked lonely.’
Viv tried not to feel jealous but could not resist saying flippantly, ‘She’s the best, my mam, at working on people’s sympathies.’
Nick said in what he thought were reasonable tones, ‘But it’s true that it’s only months since she was widowed. She must miss her husband.’
‘If she’s missing him, then I’m a monkey’s aunt.’ Viv’s voice was tart.
‘What do you mean by that?’
She hesitated. ‘It doesn’t matter. Put it down to bitchiness. Mam brings out the worst in me sometimes.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Nick, bringing her to a halt. ‘You had something in mind.’
‘Oh, all right then.’ Viv took a deep breath. ‘She’s having an affair with Mr Kelly next door and I don’t know how to stop her.’
Nick’s frowning eyes fixed on Viv’s face. ‘You know that for sure?’ he rapped.
‘Would I say so if I wasn’t, with our background?’ she said vehemently. ‘They’re old friends. Since my grandmother died and Mr Kelly’s mother took her and Aunt Fl
o into his home because Grandfather was away at sea. They might have been meant for each other, for all I know, if it hadn’t been for him being a Catholic and Grandfather and Great-aunt Beattie being Orange.’
‘She’s a damn’ fool,’ said Nick. ‘It’s a good job you’re there, Viv, you can get in their way. I’m sure you don’t want Mr Kelly’s marriage going bust.’
‘No. But I don’t see how my being there can prevent it. She takes no notice of what I say. You don’t know my mother when she’s made up her mind to have something. That’s why it worried me when I discovered you’d taken her out.’
‘I see. You believed I’d let myself be seduced?’
‘No, of course not.’ She flushed. ‘But she’s experienced, and knowing men …’
‘Oh? You’ve known a lot of men, have you?’ he said in a teasing voice.
‘No! But boys … they try it on. Most of them are after one thing.’
‘And you think I’m like that too?’ The humour had vanished from his voice. ‘What else did George tell you about me before he went off to Paris?’
Viv’s colour deepened. ‘This has nothing to do with what George said about you. A girl has to look out for herself, Nick. I mean to say …’
He interrupted, ‘I know what you mean to say. You don’t have to say any more. I’m not a rapist, Viv.’
She shot him a startled look. ‘I never even thought that!’
‘Then what are you worried about?’
‘I’m not worried! I was just being honest with you. I thought you and me could be honest with each other. I mean, it can be so easy to get carried away by the mood of the moment … by words.’
‘Like before?’
‘Yes.’
‘You could try trusting me.’ His voice had deepened.
‘I didn’t even think about whether to trust you,’ she said frankly. ‘The streets might be quiet but it’s not like up by the cathedral. Then I did think you’d taken me up there with ulterior motives in mind but you were only interested in the building.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘No. And that’s when I started thinking about wedding dresses.’
‘What?’ It was his turn to be startled.
