Friends and Lovers

by June Francis

  ‘Not?’

  ‘No. And don’t look.’

  He did. ‘Which one is she?’

  Ingrid pulled a face at them.

  ‘Guess,’ said Viv mournfully.

  ‘She looks like she’s slipped with the mascara brush.’ Norm’s voice was amused. ‘Interesting effect. She’s got a good figure, though, but not as good as yours, Viv.’ He gazed down into her face. ‘Why don’t you forget this Nick? You’ve got me.’

  She smiled. ‘Just don’t let’s talk about him, OK?’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’ He held her closer as the music turned smoochy and Viv felt like spitting nails. What chance of her and Nick ever making it up now? Ingrid would be sure to tell him that she had seen her out dancing with another bloke. She was glad when the evening was over and she could go home. Stephen was out.

  Viv wandered disconsolately into the kitchen, wondering where he could be. She made a drink of Ovaltine and switched on the television. An hour later he still had not come in and the National Anthem had signalled the end of transmission. She sat staring at the dot, willing it to fade. What would Ingrid tell Nick? Damn! She should have spoken to her and asked after him. But it was too late now. And where was Uncle Steve? She needed him to talk to. She went into the parlour and looked out of the window. Just then the car drew up. She had the door open in a flash.

  Stephen came up the path, humming under his breath.

  ‘You sound happy,’ she said irritably.

  He stopped in mid hum. ‘I thought you’d be in bed. What’s up? Did you have a good time?’

  ‘Oh, great! What about you? Where’ve you been?’

  He hesitated. ‘Let’s get inside, Viv. We don’t want to be waking the neighbours.’

  ‘I don’t care about the neighbours,’ she said crossly. ‘Perhaps they need waking up!’

  He stared at her before ushering her indoors and bolting the door. ‘What’s up?’

  She leant against him and buried her face against him then caught the faintest whiff of a familiar smell. ‘Nick’s sister was at the Casbah.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She’ll tell him I was dancing the night away with Norm.’

  ‘I suppose she will.’

  Viv lifted her head. ‘Is that all you can say?’

  He held her away from him and smiled. ‘Let’s go and sit down, Viv. I’ve something to tell you.’

  She bit her lip. ‘You don’t want to listen to me moaning, do you?’

  ‘Later, honey.’ His arms dropped and he walked away up the lobby.

  Viv followed him into the lounge. He waved her to a chair while he sat on the studio couch. ‘Well?’ she said.

  He leant forward, his hands clasped on his knees. ‘Viv, I’ve been to see your mother.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ She sprang to her feet. ‘Why? Did you tell her I was here?’ All she could think of was that he had seen her mother and come in humming. Humming! He should have been irritable, angry after being in Hilda’s company.

  ‘Sit down!’ His voice was sharp and he was frowning now. ‘Let me finish.’ She sat down. ‘It was because it was your birthday I went.’ He delved into his jacket pocket. ‘She gave me these.’ He got to his feet. In his hand were several envelopes, a postcard and a small parcel. ‘I’m going to bed. We can talk in the morning. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she murmured, her attention fixed greedily on what she held. Her mother had not forgotten. The parcel first. It had a card attached to it in what was plainly her mother’s handwriting. She tore the envelope open. ‘To my dearest daughter Vivien … your loving mother Hilda’. She stared at it. Was this a peace offering? A kind of apology? She opened the parcel. Inside was a silver bracelet. She slipped it onto her wrist then turned over the envelopes, her pulse racing. She noted that one letter was from California, another from her mother’s old friend Doris. The last one she put to one side with trembling fingers while she opened the others hurriedly and read George’s postcard from Frejus. She toyed with a lock of her hair. He was enjoying himself all right. The elderly artist had a niece who had come to stay. She was called Jackie and had modelled for George. He wished her a happy day and sent his love.

  She felt happy that he was happy, then picked up the last envelope and turned it over. A frown creased her blow. The flap was stuck down but it definitely looked as if it had been tampered with. There was the tiniest rip in the paper. She slit it open and began to read …

  Dear Viv,

  Perhaps by now you have come down from the ceiling like I have? I am tied up at the moment with work but I should be free for your birthday. If you feel like talking, meet me outside Lewis’s at seven o’clock on the big day and we can go for a meal.

  Yours, Nick

  Viv felt as if her heart stopped beating. For several seconds she could not think, could not move. Then the words ‘too late’ blazoned themselves on her mind and the letter shook between her fingers. She felt sick. How long would he have waited? Would he have been angry that she hadn’t turned up? Hurt? Disappointed? By now he would know just where she had been. She eased her throat which ached with tears and picked up the envelope. The postmark was over two weeks old! Her mother must have read it and kept it from her.

  Viv’s hand tightened on the letter and she wished that Hilda was there in front of her. In that moment she could have clawed her eyes out. How could she do this? She must have known how much it mattered. Did Uncle Steve know what was in the letter? He had come in sounding happy. Maybe he did. Perhaps all the time he had seemed so sympathetic to her he had really been glad that there was no Nick on the scene. Why had he really gone to see her mother? Was it truly because of Viv’s birthday? She just did not know. All she did know was that she felt terrible.

  Carefully Viv read the letter again. Then she folded the paper and placed it in the envelope. After that she removed the bracelet from her wrist and packed it up with its card. ‘Return to Sender’, that’s what she would put on it. Then she went to bed.

  The next morning after a restless night Viv told Stephen that she wanted him to take the present back to her mother.

  ‘Why?’ He looked startled and paused as he ladled a boiled egg into an egg cup with a picture of Humpty Dumpty on it.

  She told him about the letter. ‘Mam must have read it and kept it from me because she wanted to destroy any chance I might have had of getting back with Nick.’

  Some emotion flickered across Stephen’s face. He sat down. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ She smiled. ‘I know my mother better than you do.’

  He opened his mouth, was about to say something, then shook his head.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, frowning. ‘Don’t you agree with me? It’s obvious what she’s done, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why should she give the letter to me then? She could have just destroyed it.’

  Viv stared at him, her expression uncertain. ‘I suppose she could have. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘The letter had been opened. She’d know it would hurt more this way. Why couldn’t she have got it to me sooner? And the cards? She couldn’t have known you were going to call. She could have sent them into work.’

  ‘You didn’t want to see her, remember?’

  Viv flared up. ‘Why do you keep finding excuses for her? Did she turn all her charm on last night?’

  Stephen picked up a teaspoon and hit the top of his egg, making a resounding crack with it. He did not look at her as he said, ‘You admit your mother has charm then? I think it’s a pity that the pair of you can’t make up this quarrel. What’s stopping you, anyway, from going round to Nick’s house and explaining why you didn’t meet him?’

  ‘Because last night while he was waiting for me I was dancing with another bloke!’ she yelled. ‘He’ll know that by now. His sister will have told him that we were all smoochy. He’s not going to believe it was nothing and that I didn’t get that letter till too late.’

  He s
tared at her with a mixture of exasperation and sympathy. ‘You could try telling him.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said roughly. ‘His mother carried on during the war with all kinds of men. Her behaviour haunts him.’

  ‘He must know you’re not like that. Try, Viv!’

  ‘I can’t! I won’t be able to bear it if he rejects me.’ She shook her head and walked out of the room.

  For the rest of the day the atmosphere was strained between them. Then, to top it all, that evening Stephen went out again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I didn’t read it,’ said Hilda, her expression flinty as she placed the parcel on the small table next to her glass of gin and tonic.

  ‘Viv reckons it had been opened,’ said Stephen, his gaze piercing.

  ‘Viv was right.’ Hilda twisted her left foot round her right calf and avoided meeting his gaze. Instead she stared at the members of the Merseysippi Jazz Band, the resident group in The Temple, Dale Street, who were filling the place with music. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t leave it until Monday. She wouldn’t have reacted so badly then.’

  Stephen scrubbed at the scar on his face and said, slightly impatiently, ‘It was you who told me to take it round to Dot’s! You wanted Viv getting her present as soon as possible, you said.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have bothered. Ungrateful, that’s what she is.’

  ‘I think at first she was pleased,’ he said slowly. ‘I caught a glimpse of her face as I went out of the door.’

  ‘And she came round to yours later all steamed up about the letter! Huh!’ Hilda took a large gulp of her drink. ‘Why should I want to read a letter from Nick? I’ve got more important things to do.’

  ‘Why did you open it then?’ he said, exasperated. ‘And look at me, Hilda, while we’re talking.’

  She looked at him and her expression softened. ‘I didn’t read it, honestly. I didn’t know who it was from, that’s why I opened it. As soon as I saw his signature I put it back in the envelope. I was curious but I thought it was private.’ She took another drink. ‘Then I put it behind the clock and forgot about it.’ She shrugged scarlet-clad shoulders. ‘It was wrong of me, but what can I do about it now?’

  ‘You could make amends.’ He covered her hand with his and grinned. ‘Nothing difficult, Hilda. Just go and visit him and explain.’

  ‘That’s all?’ she said sardonically. ‘You have to be joking!’

  ‘Viv being unhappy isn’t a joke. If you cared about her, you’d go. You owe it to her.’

  Hilda stared at him, a peculiar expression in her eyes. ‘You care a lot about her, don’t you?’.

  He nodded. ‘I care about you too. Lots and lots.’ He toyed with her fingers. ‘How about it?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’ll think about it. Now how about another drink?’ He squeezed her fingers and went to the bar. Then they sat back and listened to the band, holding hands.

  Hilda dithered for days about the visit to Nick. At last she made the decision that she would go – but she had to look her best. She opened the wardrobe door and rifled through the clothes that hung there. What should she wear? Something snazzy that would knock the Bryces’ socks off or something terribly respectable? She had no doubt that she would have to face Lena as well as Nick. She took out the black flannelette suit she had worn that first day in Liverpool. With a cream blouse it would look quite smart. She tried it on, but the zip would not fasten. Blast and double blast! She’d have to go on a diet or take up the ciggies again. The trouble was that Steve had been full of praise for her giving them up. He believed that smoking was akin to burning money. Didn’t realise how it had soothed her nerves.

  She reached for a blue dress that she had bought a month ago. It was taffeta with a straight skirt, and buttoned at the front from the waist to the neck with its wide white collar. Steve had liked it. Said that she looked like a puritan in it. Then he had proceeded to undo the buttons. It had been fun that evening. A smile crossed her face. The dress would do.

  Hilda pulled a face as she just managed to fasten the buttons. Her breasts had grown bigger. No more jelly babies or cream cakes. Now she was in the Change she would end up with middle-aged spread if she wasn’t careful.

  Her make-up took a little longer than usual and she paid more attention to her hair, twisting curls round her little finger and lacquering them into place. Then at the last minute she decided to wear a hat, a nice little white number with a wisp of veiling. She stared at herself in the oval mirror on the chest of drawers, picked up her handbag, took a deep breath and sallied forth to face the Bryce family.

  Hilda gazed up at the number just under the fanlight over the doorway and rang the bell again, hoping that she had got the number right. This time she kept her finger on the bell much longer.

  There were footsteps and a voice complained, ‘Hold your hurry, hold your hurry! What’s the bloody fuss?’ The door was dragged open to reveal a woman wearing a floral pinafore over her bulky figure. A turban concealed curlers in her hair.

  ‘Hello, Lena.’ Hilda was pleased that she had caught her at a disadvantage and awaited the moment of recognition.

  Lena peered at her, then stuck out her chin pugnaciously. ‘Well, if it isn’t Hilda Preston, all dressed up like a dog’s dinner. You’ve got a nerve coming here.’

  She did not flinch. ‘I’m looking for Nick.’

  ‘Well, he’s not in! And even if he was I wouldn’t let him speak to yer.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’ Hilda’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing completely under her veil. ‘I thought he was a lad with a mind of his own. The last thing I thought him was a mammy’s boy.’

  Lena flushed. ‘My son is nothing of the sort. He’s a good lad, though. Sees me all right. Which is more than can be said for some children. No airs and graces about our Nick. Not like that daughter of yours. “How do you do, Mrs Bryce!”’ She sniffed.

  Hilda bristled. ‘What’s wrong with that? It’s perfectly polite. My daughter’s got manners – which is more than can be said for you!’

  ‘She’s snooty!’

  ‘No she’s not!’

  ‘She’s not good enough for him.’

  Hilda’s eyes glinted. ‘My daughter can do better for herself than your son!’

  Lena’s double chin wobbled. ‘My son could take his pick of the cream of the girls in Liverpool. He’s going places is our Nick.’ Her voice took on a suspicious note. ‘I suppose that’s why you’re here? Because yer’ve heard he’s won that award.’

  ‘What award?’

  Lena folded her arms across her bosom. ‘Your pretending yer don’t know doesn’t wash with me, Hilda Preston.’

  ‘My name’s Murray!’ Hilda’s voice was terse. ‘And stop calling me a liar.’

  ‘Yer are a liar. You knew all right. Big money prize and plenty of work coming his way.’

  ‘What?’ Hilda was taken aback. Then she rallied. ‘Our Viv’s not doing so bad either. Secretary. She could end up having shares in a business.’

  Lena smiled haughtily. ‘Easy for you to say that. She didn’t look like no secretary the other Saturday when our Ingrid saw her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She never told you?’ Lena smirked. ‘Dancing she was, with another fella.’

  ‘Oh, that! It was nothing. But I suppose your daughter told Nick about seeing Viv?’

  ‘I did,’ said Lena. ‘He needed to know what she was really like. Smooching away. Two timing my son.’

  ‘They’d split up,’ said Hilda, almost grinding her teeth. ‘What do you expect her to do? Become a nun? Anyway, that’s beside the point. I just want Nick to know that Viv didn’t know anything about his letter until late last night.’

  ‘What letter?’ asked Lena, her eyes bulging.

  ‘You don’t know?’ Hilda flashed her a glittering smile. The score was even now. ‘He wanted Viv to meet him on her birthday.’

  ‘You’re just saying it.’ She looked really annoyed.

>   ‘Ask him when he comes in.’ Hilda backed off the step. ‘Ask him does he still love our Viv enough to build her that house?’

  ‘Build her a house!’ Lena’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  ‘Ask him,’ repeated Hilda, giving a little wave as she walked away. She felt triumphant. She would go to Steve’s and tell him she had done as he suggested. Now it was up to Nick and Viv. At least she had done her best to make amends. The only trouble was she felt even worse about having Lena Bryce as part of the family. Still, Nick had won an award, and a cash prize was not to be sniffed at. She just hoped it wasn’t all too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Over the next few days Viv tortured herself thinking what might have been if she had received the letter in time, and having no idea of her mother’s visit to Nick’s home decided that maybe she was being a stubborn, stupid coward by not going to visit him as Stephen had suggested. So the following Sunday she made the excuse that she was going to church, not wanting to tell Stephen what she was really doing in case it went wrong. She did go to church, feeling the need for some spiritual help, and came away with the words of the third Collect for Grace ringing in her ears: ‘Grant that this day we fall into no sin, neither run into any kind of danger; but that all our doings may be ordered by thy governance, to do always that which is righteous in thy sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’

  There was a sharp breeze turning over bits of paper in the gutter in the street where Nick lived. A couple of girls were playing two balls against a wall and a small boy was riding a tricycle but there was nobody else in sight. Viv gazed up at the house, remembering the day Nick had brought her here. Her heart was beating painfully at the thought of seeing him. Taking a deep breath, she ran up the steps and pressed the doorbell.

  It rang and rang inside the house but nobody came in response. She waited then rang again, keeping her finger on the bell a long time. Nothing. Her pulses settled to their normal rhythm but she was not about to give up yet. Perhaps someone was in the yard? It was a big house and they might not have heard the bell.