‘Yes, I think she did, Bessie love. Anyway, I’ll have to be going.’
‘Aye well, come again, lad, and don’t be so long next time.’
She followed Bill to the door, still chattering fifty to the dozen. Bill wondered which of them managed to get the most words in, Bessie or the one who had kissed the Blarney stone. Once again he was clutched to Bessie’s cushiony bosom, and slobbered on in the way Tittle Harry used to welcome visitors.
‘I’ll show yer round me prefab next time yer come. Mind you, it’s only temp’ry until the owd folks’ bungalows are ready, but it saves me poor legs going up an’ down stairs.’
Bill made his farewell for the umpteenth time and thought it was perhaps a good thing the Irish navvies were away. It wouldn’t be fair to upset Bessie by causing an upheaval. No, he would bide his time till the weekend. In the meantime he would see what Una had to say for herself, and if she gave him any of the cheek he had been getting lately she had better watch out. He had never laid a finger on her yet but by God it wasn’t too late to start.
‘Where’s our Una?’ Bill asked when he got home.
‘Over at Jean’s. They’ve got a new radiogram and they’re practising a new dance or something.’
‘I’ll make her dance when I’ve done with her.’
Amazed at her husband’s uncharacteristic outburst, Marjory switched off the radio. ‘Why, what’s wrong?’
‘She’s only carrying on with a married man, and an Irish one at that.’
‘What? Oh, Bill, she can’t be, she must not know.’
‘I expect that’ll be her excuse, but she’s sixteen, Marje – she must know he’s too old for her. Besides, she’s so bloody secretive. We should have known something was in the wind.’
Marjory started to cry.
‘It’s no use crying, it’s too late for that. She’s been spoilt, I’ve always said so. Everything she asked for, you made sure she got it, and she never lifted a finger for you in return. You’ve made a right mess of bringing up your daughter.’
‘Oh yes, blame me.’ Marjory sobbed. ‘You never complained when she was receiving applause in the school play, or when she landed a receptionist’s job, even though none of the other girls got set on. She was your darling daughter then; now the first time she puts a foot wrong, she’s mine.’
Neither of them heard the door open. Una, looking apprehensive at the raised voices, walked over to the radio and turned the knob to Radio Luxembourg.
‘Switch that off,’ Bill roared.
‘Why? I always listen to it.’
‘Sit down.’
Una sat down with a flop in the nearest chair.
‘How long has it been going on, then?’
‘What? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t you? Well then you must be the only one in Millington who doesn’t.’ Una paled as her father came up to her. ‘Con Shaunessy, that’s who I’m on about. A married man with two youngsters back in Ireland, that’s who I’m on about.’
Una began to cry. ‘He isn’t – married, I mean. He would have told me. He’s nice.’
‘Oh, yes, he’s nice all right. Any bugger’d be nice if they thought they’d a chance of getting a young lass’s knickers off.’
‘He hasn’t.’ Una looked at her mother. ‘Honest, Mam, I wouldn’t let him.’
‘Oh, so you admit he’s tried, then,’ Bill said more quietly.
‘He loves me, he said so,’ Una sobbed, then added quickly, ‘but I didn’t let him, I wouldn’t.’
Marjory put an arm round her daughter. ‘Well, that’s something to be thankful for, I suppose.’
Una wept in her mother’s arms and Bill sank dejectedly on to a kitchen chair.
‘How old do you think he is, love?’ he asked, more subdued now.
‘He told me, he’s twenty-two.’
‘Do you think that’s likely, love, if he’s got a wife and two kids?’
Una broke into more sobs, a trail of mascara making its way down her rouged cheeks.
‘I didn’t know, Dad, honest. He said he loved me and could get me a job in the theatre in Leeds. He says he has a brother who’s a well-known actor.’
‘It’s him who’s an actor – a bloody good one too by the sound of it.’
Marjory lifted the kettle from the hob and made a pot of tea. ‘Don’t you see, love, he was just telling you that to get what he wanted. Anyway, I thought you were happy as a receptionist.’
‘I am, Mam, but I still want to act, or be a dancer, anything on the stage. I’ve set my heart on it.’
‘Well, we’ll see, but you won’t get what you want through men like him. All you’ll get is either an unwanted baby, or a ruined reputation.’
Una began to cry again. ‘What will people think? I won’t dare go out – they’ll all be talking about me.’
Marjory poured the tea. ‘Well, you’ll just have to face up to it, love, and let it be a lesson for the future.’
Una sipped the sweet hot tea. ‘What will I say to him when I see him?’
‘Oh, I doubt you’ll need worry about that. Big Bessie’ll be breaking her neck to tell him I’m on the look-out for him. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he doesn’t do a moonlight at the news.’ Bill smiled, relieved that no harm had come to his daughter. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, Una. If I ever hear the slightest bit of scandal concerning you again, I’ll break your bloody neck.’ He took a gulp of tea. ‘And another thing,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Wash that muck off your face, you look like a bloody clown. And don’t let me see you with it on again.’
Una rushed to the sink. ‘I won’t, Dad,’ she said, relieved to have been let off so lightly. She would keep the make-up for the stage in future. She was going on the stage, no matter what happened – she was determined about that.
The children’s window at Miss Judith McCall’s looked a picture, and Ada Banwell was unable to decide which dress to buy for her daughter. The child herself was pretty as a picture too, with a mass of almost white curls falling about her face. She was a happy child and most people would pause to admire her.
Ada herself had never been happier or more content with life. Her daughter loved her, and since the child was born a change had taken place in her husband. He never missed an opportunity now to come home to his wife and daughter, and was even talking about coming out of the Navy for good, so as to be with them all the time.
Ada opened the shop door and the little girl ran into the shop and beamed at the lady behind the counter.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to choose a new dress.’
Mary smiled down at the beautiful child before realising who she was. ‘Well then, we’ll have to find you something nice, won’t we?’
‘Where’s Miss McCall?’ Ada asked, taken aback at the sight of Mary Holmes.
‘She’s on holiday. I hope you don’t mind putting up with me instead.’
Ada shrugged. She had nothing against the woman; come to think of it she had nothing against her brother-in-law either. In fact she would never cease to be grateful to Harry Holmes. After coming to see her after the birth of their daughter he had done as Ada requested and left them alone. He had brought with him an envelope full of bank-notes and placed it on the bed.
‘That’s for the baby, Ada,’ he had said. ‘I’m sorry it isn’t more but I’m not all that flush at the moment, what with being off work all these months.’ He had looked pale and drawn and Ada had been sorry to see the normally cocky young man looking so down.
‘Put your money away, Harry.’ She had given him back the envelope unopened. ‘I don’t need it. My daughter’s dad has bought her everything she needs, and more. He’ll be a good father so long as he thinks he is the father. I hope I can count on you to keep quiet.’
‘Well, if that’s how you want it, Ada.’
‘That’s how I want it. Besides, I reckon it’s cost you enough in lost wages and ruined health. I didn’t want
that to happen, Harry. There was no need for it. Violence never solved anything.’
‘Oh, I expect there was a need. I asked for all I got – I’m not complaining.’
Ada smiled. ‘Nor am I, Harry. In fact I shall never be out of your debt. Every time I look at her I shall thank you under my breath.’
Harry had looked at the baby. ‘By, but she’s beautiful, Ada. I shall find it difficult to ignore my own child, but if you think it’s how it should be ... ’ Harry had kissed Ada on the cheek and told her if ever there was anything she wanted, anything ever at all either of them needed, she must let him know.
‘All I need is right here in the cot, and anything she needs her dad will see she gets,’ Ada had said. ‘And now go, Harry. The neighbours are being good. I’m just earning their respect and I don’t want to spoil things.’
‘No hard feelings then, Ada?’
‘No hard feelings, Harry, and thanks for coming. I appreciate that.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘And this one will look lovely with her fair curls,’ Mary Holmes was holding a red velvet dress in front of the little girl, who reminded her of Una when she was her age.
Ada realised the counter was stacked with dresses in her daughter’s size as her thoughts returned to the present.
‘They’re all lovely.’ She picked one up, feeling the crisp cotton, and noticed the label inside the collar.
Mary Holmes
Cutie Wear
‘Do you mean to tell me you made this?’ She picked up another and inspected the label inside. ‘And this?’
Mary blushed. ‘I made them all,’ she said.
‘You’re missing your way. You should be in Paris.’ Ada laughed.
‘Oh, I shall be more than satisfied to get my hands on this. You know Miss McCall’s retiring? Well, I’m hoping to buy the shop, that’s if the loan comes through.’
‘Should be a good buy,’ Ada said. ‘Not much competition in Millington, and certainly nothing of a quality to compare with these.’
‘Thank you,’ Mary said. ‘Now, let’s just try some of these on and see which you like best.’
‘I like the red one. Can I have the red one, Mummy?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s not the type of thing you can wear for school.’
‘Oh, please, Mummy, I’ll keep it for Sundays and when Daddy comes home, I promise.’
‘It certainly looks lovely,’ Ada enthused.
Mary laughed. ‘Anything would look lovely on . . . what’s your name, love?’
‘Yvonne.’
‘Well, Yvonne, if ever I want a model I shall know where to come.’
Ada flushed with pleasure. ‘We’ll take it. Her dad’s buying it, anyway. She can twist him round her little finger for anything.’
‘They’re all alike.’ Mary placed the dress in a bag. ‘And let me see if I can find a hair ribbon to match.’ She cut a yard of red satin ribbon and placed it in with the dress. ‘There, that’s a present for my most beautiful customer today.’
Ada thanked her and paid for the dress.
‘Bye-bye, Yvonne,’ Mary said, and to Ada, ‘Thanks for your custom. I hope to see you again.’
‘I suppose you will, sooner or later.’ Ada smiled as they left the shop.
‘I like that lady, Mummy, she’s nice.’
‘Aye, she’s nice, love.’ Ada almost added, ‘They’re all nice, the Holmeses, and you’ll probably grow up to be just like them.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The treacle tin clattered as Alan kicked it along the main road, then he picked it up and hid it behind his back as Constable Jones walked towards him.
‘Hello, Alan,’ he said. ‘You’re looking a bit miserable, lad. What’s to do?’
‘Nothing. I’m just f-f-fed up, that’s all,’ Alan replied.
The constable was always friendly, but even so, Alan always made sure he was on his best behaviour when in his company. He knew the policeman had been known to give kids a walloping on occasions and didn’t want the same thing to happen to him.
‘I thought you’d be up at Barker’s giving Charlie a hand?’
‘I can’t. He’s in bed. He’s got mumps, so I’ve got to keep away from him.’
‘Quite right too. They can be funny things can mumps in lads.’
‘Oh.’ Alan didn’t know what was meant by that, but thought he’d better not be cheeky and ask.
‘Well, I’ll be on my way then, lad. Give my regards to yer mam and dad, and yer sister.’ At the mention of Jacqueline the policeman began to chuckle to himself as he walked on.
Alan didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t want to go home to the shop. His mother would be either serving customers or stitching away on the machine in the kitchen, where she had placed a mirror so that she could see the shop door in case anybody came in. She was always working these days. Even on a Wednesday afternoon, when it was half-day closing, she would be either cutting out or stitching up. Even his dad looked miserable, but if he said anything his mother would start on about having to work extra hard to pay off the mortgage, complaining that if he had let her accept the money Gladys had offered to give them it wouldn’t have been necessary. His dad always got mad at that and said if she wasn’t satisfied with the money he was bringing in to keep his family, without accepting charity, it was just too bad. He also accused his mother of being greedy, because she expected to make a profit at the same time as paying off the mortgage.
Something his dad had said had sounded to Alan as if the mortgage could have been paid over a period of ten or twenty years, but his mother had chosen to pay it back in five. He hoped they wouldn’t be arguing for the next five years. It was bad enough living behind the shop instead of on Barker’s Row. Only Jacqueline seemed unaffected by the move, but then she was always too busy with homework or some project or other to notice where she lived.
The house itself was quite nice, with a modern kitchen and a large comfortable living room behind the shop, and even Dad admitted it was convenient having electricity. Upstairs there were three large bedrooms and a bathroom with constant hot water. Mother said she had room now to invite the family to stay, and Dad mumbled something about how would she possibly find the time.
Alan liked having a bedroom of his own, despite missing the chats he used to have with Jacqueline late into the night. It was only when he looked out of the window that a sense of doom seemed to descend on him. Instead of meadows, and the tranquillity of Barker’s Farm, and the treetops of the Donkey Wood, all that could be seen was factory roofs and tall sooty black chimneys, belching out smoke for twenty-four hours of the day.
Even the small patch of grassland in the distance was a dirty brown instead of green, and the fumes from the coke ovens seemed to seep through any open door or window. Round the back was a sheer drop down into the works and there was nowhere for Tittle Harry to wander in safety, but nobody, not even Jacqueline, had apparently considered him. The only spare piece of ground was between their shop and the shoe shop, and on this stood the car. That was the only good thing to come out of the move. Grandad Roberts had bought a new car, and handed over the Morris to his dad.
‘You really do need a car if you’re starting in business, what with buying in and delivering out.’
His dad could take them over to Longfield now on Sundays, though his mother usually made the excuse of being too busy. This had also caused arguments, with his dad pointing out that Grandad Roberts had obviously given them the car to make visiting easier instead of rarer, but his mother seemed oblivious of everything except her work.
Alan found himself wandering up the hill in the direction of Grandma Holmes’s. He always seemed to make for there when he was feeling miserable. She always had time to listen to his problems and was the only one to understand why he didn’t want to go to grammar school.
‘No point, my duck, if you’re not book-minded,’ she always said. ‘You’ve made up yer mind to become a mechanic, and I for
one can’t ever see you doing anything else. Why, you’ve tinkered with owt that moves since the day you could crawl, taking wheels off, putting other things on. No, lad, I don’t think the grammar is the place for you. If you can get an apprenticeship at one of the garages I reckon you’ll do all right.’
Grandma Holmes didn’t think he was too big for a cuddle, either. ‘Come over here, my duck, and give yer owd grandma a bit of a hug. She’s badly in need of one today.’ She had the knack of letting Alan think he was doing her a favour, when all the time she would be curing some sort of sadness on Alan’s part. He had a feeling he was Grandma’s favourite. She seemed to have replaced Grandad Holmes with her only grandson, at the same time fulfilling a need in Alan as well.
Alan passed St Catherine’s and wondered how long it was since his mother had attended church, or insisted on Jacqueline’s and his attending either, not that he cared. It was bad enough going to school, what with his best mate falling out with him because he hadn’t passed for the grammar, and some of the others laughing at him because of his stammer. That was another thing that seemed to have happened since the move. He had never stammered at Barker’s Row.
Oh, he was fed up. He thought he might run away and live with Grandad Roberts, who would take him fishing down at the reservoir where his troubles always seemed to float away in the water. When he grew up and had his own filling station he would buy a house in the country, next to a river, with no shops or sewing machines to disturb his peace.
He turned the corner of the top row, and there was Freddie Cartwright down on his knees, his bike on its side across the pavement.
‘Hiya,’ he said to Alan.
‘Hiya,’ Alan said slowly, which sometimes prevented him from stammering.
‘Your Jacqui says you’re a wizard at mending things,’ Freddie said.
‘Oh, s-s-sometimes.’
‘Know owt about punctures?’
‘A bit.’ Alan knelt down by Freddie’s side.
‘I can’t find the blooming thing,’ Freddie grumbled.
‘Y-y-yer need a bucket of water. If you get me one I’ll mend it f-f-for yer.’
Christmas Past Page 20
