‘Bob’s married now, to a really nice girl called Susan. They did it all very sensibly. They saved up for a little house in Southchurch and then waited another couple of years before starting a family and now they’re expecting their first baby in March.’
‘Bob, a married man? Well, that doesn’t surprise me. He was middle-aged when he was seventeen. What about Frank? Is he still the wild one?’
‘Yes, he’s never really settled to a job. He works down the seafront in the summer and gets factory jobs in the winter, and he’s got this motorbike he goes roaring around on, and he goes about with a bunch of leather boys.’
‘That sounds like Frank. And Wendy? What’s happened to pretty Wendy?’
‘Oh, well, Wendy—she could of married anyone. They were all after her, all the boys. She had them lined up. But she had to go and choose a right nasty bit of work.’ Lillian explained about the Carnival court and Terry Dempsey and the rushed wedding. ‘So she got to marry a man with money, and much good it’s done her. She’s living in this huge house but she hardly sees anyone, as far as I can make out. Mum never goes further than the shops and Gran hardly goes out at all, so they don’t visit her and she hardly ever goes to visit them. Susan drops in from time to time, but she’s nervous of Terry and you never know when he’s going to be there. It’s not like he works regular hours like most men. I go round there whenever I’m home, but it’s really hard work talking to Wendy. It’s not just the babies crying and needing feeding and changing and all that. It’s Wendy herself. You can’t get any reaction out of her. It’s like she’s a zombie or something.’
‘Some women do go like that after they’ve had a baby,’ Eileen told her. ‘It happened to a friend of mine. The doctor put her on the happy pills, and then she couldn’t get off them. Terrible, it was.’
‘Mmm, maybe that’s it, but I think it’s more Terry and the hold he’s got on her. And then there’s Frank as well. James—that’s Susan’s brother—thinks Frank may have borrowed quite a lot of money from Terry, which is bad news, ’cos Terry’s the sort of bloke who calls in favours.’
She felt a blush wash over her as she spoke James’s name, but Eileen was too interested in finding out more about Wendy’s husband to comment. They chewed over the family news for some time, then Eileen wanted to know about her old home.
‘What about Sunny View? Blimey, what a name, Sunny View! There was never anything sunny about it. Has it been done up at all?’
‘Not a lot. I mean, it’s had the odd lick of paint, but nothing’s been really changed since you left. The really dreadful curtains in some of the PGs’ rooms have been replaced, and they’ve all got one of Gran’s rugs in, but otherwise you’d not notice the difference. Gran’s got a telly in her room, and Frank’s got a record player in his, but poor Mum hasn’t got a washing machine or a Hoover or a fridge to help her with looking after the PGs.’
‘Are there still PGs? I mean, I wouldn’t stay at a place like Sunny View, not when there are nicer places. It’s not like it was just after the war, when nobody had any money and a weekend in Southend was a treat. It’s all “You never had it so good” now, isn’t it? People go away for a fortnight now. They go in their cars. Or even on planes. Someone I know went to Jersey. Just fancy—going on holiday in an aeroplane!’
‘Wendy and Terry went to this place called Le Touquet on a plane for their honeymoon. It’s in France and it’s got a casino and a big sandy beach,’ Lillian said. ‘But yes, you’re right, people don’t stay in Southend so much any more. They come for day trips, but they don’t stay and, if they do, it’s not at Sunny View.’
‘I’m not surprised. Like I said, I wouldn’t take my family to somewhere where you had to get out after breakfast and you weren’t allowed back till teatime. And I wouldn’t like somewhere all gloomy like that, either. You want fun when you go on holiday, not people telling you what the rules are.’
They were still talking when young Tommy and Linda arrived home from school for their midday meal. Lillian had a quick talk to them, then rushed off to get the bus back for the afternoon’s performance, promising to return as soon as possible.
It was the start of four happy weeks. Every Sunday Lillian travelled out to spend the day with Eileen and her family, enjoying one of their massive roast dinners and going for a drive or a walk together. At least one day a week Eileen would come into town and they would meet up for a coffee and a chat and a look round the shops. She got tickets for the family to see the show, and took them backstage to meet the performers and the theatre staff. They were enchanted to find that they were related to someone in show-business, while Lillian revelled in being included in their close and loving family.
And then, on a freezing day in February, her landlady called up the stairs to her, ‘Lindy! Phone for you!’
She clattered down to stand in the chilly hall. ‘Hello?’ she said.
It was her father. Lillian was instantly alarmed. Her father never phoned her.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘It’s your mum. You got to come home, Lillian. Your mum’s been taken bad. She’s in hospital.’
The cold hand of fear clutched at her. ‘In hospital? Why? What’s wrong with her?’
‘Well—you know—women’s problems.’ Her father sounded acutely embarrassed.
‘Oh, my God.’
Guilt mixed queasily with the fear. Her mum had complained about ‘her usual’ for years, but still managed to recover and carry on, refusing to see the doctor. Along with the rest of the family, Lillian had got so used to it that she hadn’t thought it might be anything serious.
‘So you got to come home,’ her father insisted.
‘Yes, yes, of course I will, Dad,’ she agreed, already planning what she had to do in the way of packing, letting the theatre know, ringing Eileen.
‘Only you can’t stay away at a time like this.’
‘I know, Dad. I said I was coming and I am.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone with me, my girl.’
Lillian clenched her teeth with frustration. Why did her dad have to turn everything into a row? She forced herself to speak with reasoned calm.
‘I’ll get the first train I can to London, OK? It’s nearly midday now, so I’ll be home some time this evening.’
‘Huh. Well, I should think so too.’
A frantic hour later, she was on her way.
Chapter Twenty-Five
TIRED and anxious, Lillian arrived at Southend Victoria, not expecting anyone to be there to meet her, since nobody knew which train she would be arriving on. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and heaved her heavy suitcase down onto the platform. It was bitingly cold away from the stuffy heat of the carriage. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and braced herself to carry the case.
‘Here, let me take that.’
She gasped and looked up, hardly able to believe her ears. Like a dream come true, there he was, the one person in the world she most wanted to see.
‘James! Oh, James, how did you know—? Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you!’
He smiled and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Well, it was worth the wait to get a welcome like that.’
‘Have you been here long? It’s freezing. Far too cold to be hanging around on a station.’
‘I’m well wrapped up—look, one of Susan’s scarves. Come on, let’s get you home.’
He picked up the suitcase as if it weighed nothing at all and strode along the platform. Lillian trotted alongside him.
‘Have you heard anything about my mum? Have they said how she is?’
‘I don’t know, Lindy. She’s not been well for a while, but this morning she collapsed in the street and was taken to hospital, and they’ve kept her in. The last I heard they were doing tests.’
‘Oh, my God. I should have been home to help her.’
‘You’re home now. That’s what counts. You couldn’t have come any quicker.’
It was small comfort. Lillian felt she had failed as a daughter.
Outside, James unlocked a small green car and shoved her case onto the back seat. Lillian was momentarily distracted.
‘Oh, you’ve got a Mini!’
James patted its roof. ‘My new baby. Good, isn’t it? They’re an amazing design, really revolutionary, and great fun to drive. I’m going to tune it up and go rallying in it. Come on, get in.’
If it hadn’t been for the circumstances, Lillian would have enjoyed the drive home, roaring round the streets in the Mini with James beside her at the wheel. In no time at all, they arrived outside Sunny View. James carried the case to the front door for her and waited till it was opened.
Her father let her in. ‘Ah. So you’re back,’ he said, then looked at James and said somewhat grudgingly, ‘Thanks, son.’
James gave Lillian’s arm a brief squeeze. ‘We’ll catch up later, eh?’ he said, and left.
Lillian ignored the cool welcome.
‘How’s Mum? What’s the latest? When can I see her?’
Her father didn’t answer. Instead, she was hustled into Gran’s room. A fire was blazing in the grate and the television was blaring in the corner but, as ever, the most imposing presence in the room was Gran herself. She sat in her wing-back chair with yet another half-completed hooked rug over her knees and stared at Lillian over the top of her steel-rimmed spectacles as she came into the room.
‘So. The wanderer has returned.’
It was hard not to feel just like a little girl again, hauled up before her grandmother for some misdeed. Lillian took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to slow the racing of her heart. She looked coolly back.
‘Hello, Gran. I came as fast as I could. What’s the latest news of Mum?’
Disappointingly, Gran didn’t seem to know any more than James. They were to phone tomorrow after the doctor had done his rounds and would be told what was to happen next.
‘In the meantime, you’ll have to take your mother’s place. Your grandmother can’t be expected to look after the house,’ her father said.
It was only then that Lillian realised why she had been summoned in such haste. It wasn’t because her mother needed her, it was because the rest of them needed a cook and housekeeper.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll go and unpack, then.’
The next day, she took the bus out to the hospital. Her mother had been transferred to the gynaecological ward. Lillian walked down the double row of beds, clutching her bunch of carnations. She stood still with shock when she got to her mother. A deathly pale woman with wispy grey hair and a sunken face looked listlessly back at her for a moment, before recognition dawned. She lifted a hand briefly and dropped it again.
‘Lillian. You’re here. Thank God.’
It was worth all the coldness of the rest of the family to be wanted by her mum. Lillian stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead. Her skin felt papery beneath her lips.
‘Hello, Mum. How are you?’
Nettie caught at her arm and held on with surprising strength. ‘They’re going to take it all away,’ she whispered, fear gleaming in her eyes.
‘Take what?’
‘My—you know—women’s bits. A hys—something.’
‘Hysterectomy?’
‘That’s it. Yes, I got to have an operation.’
Now that she thought about it, Lillian wasn’t surprised. As well as the four children, her mother had had three miscarriages and a stillbirth.
‘I expect you’ll feel better after, Mum.’
Nettie was still clinging to her arm. ‘I don’t want them to cut me open.’
Unwanted, the image of Brenda floated before Lillian’s eyes. She tried to banish it. This was quite different. Her mother was going to have a proper operation carried out by proper doctors. It was quite safe.
‘They wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t necessary, Mum. You know how bad you’ve been for ages. Once this is done, you’ll be OK again.’
‘No, no, you don’t understand. Once they get in there, they might find anything.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Anything—you know—something dreadful.’
Lillian didn’t follow her. She changed the subject, talking about Wendy and the babies. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her about Eileen, but her aunty had made her promise not to say anything yet.
When the bell rang for the end of visiting hour, Lillian kissed her mother goodbye and went to tell the ward sister of her fears. The sister was brisk.
‘Your mother is in very good hands, Miss Parker. Now, no visiting tomorrow as she will be recovering. You may phone at six o’clock to ask how it has gone.’
Lillian could only thank her and go.
All the next day she found it hard to concentrate. The morning wasn’t so bad as she had a lot to do, what with cooking and clearing the breakfast, making the beds, sweeping out and relaying Gran’s fire, doing the shopping and making the midday dinner. But the afternoon dragged. All she could think about was her mother. Had she had her operation? Was she all right? It was hard to eat her tea when the clock was ticking away towards six. As soon as it struck, she went out to the phone box on the corner of the next street and rang the hospital. The answer was unsatisfactory. Her mother was reported to be ‘comfortable’, but the doctor needed to discuss her case with her next of kin, and no, it was not possible to do so over the phone. Lillian went home to report back to the rest of the family.
‘How am I supposed to get to speak to a doctor in working hours?’ her father asked.
‘You’ll have to take the morning off work,’ Lillian told him.
He looked at her as if she had suggested he rob a bank.
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Yes, you can. Someone else can operate the lift. It’s not as if you need five years’ training to do it.’
Her father went red in the face. ‘I’ll thank you to show some respect, my girl!’
But the next morning he came down to breakfast wearing his suit and tie rather than his work uniform.
‘You coming out to the hospital with me, then?’
It took a few minutes for Lillian to realise that her father was afraid of hospitals and nervous of doctors. He did not admit it, but he needed her moral support. Lillian sighed and agreed.
‘I’ll get some sausages on the way back. They’ll be quick to do for dinner.’
It was a good thing they had each other there for the interview because the doctor had bad news. A malignant growth had been found in Nettie’s uterus. They didn’t think it had spread to any other organs, but they couldn’t be sure. She was to have further tests.
Susan and Bob came round in the evening to discuss what should be done.
‘Of course, I’ll help in any way I can,’ Susan offered.
Lillian hugged her. ‘That’s really sweet of you, but you’re going to have your hands full soon.’
‘I know—’ Susan rested a hand on top of the eight and a half month bump under her maternity smock. ‘But I’ll do what I can. And I’m sure my mum will as well.’
‘What about Wendy?’ Bob asked.
‘She’s got her own house to run,’ Gran interrupted. ‘Lillian can manage. She’s a strong girl.’
‘She’s got nothing better to do,’ said Frank, who had been dragooned into staying and listening to the family conference.
To Lillian’s surprise, it was Bob who defended her before she could open her mouth to protest. ‘It means that Lillian has to give up her career. Is that all right by you, Lillian?’
Gran snorted. ‘Career! Girls don’t have careers! Very good thing to stop prancing around on a stage and do something useful, if you ask me.’
‘Lillian?’ Bob said.
It had been obvious to Lillian from the moment she’d arrived back that this was to be her role. She just hadn’t been sure how long she was going to be needed. A few weeks didn’t matter, career-wise. The panto was nearly
at the end of its run and, though she would usually have been looking now for something else to fill in, there wouldn’t be many jobs available till the summer season started. Now it looked as if it might not be just until her mother recovered from the hysterectomy. The future looked very unsure. But what could she say? She couldn’t just walk out.
‘Of course I’ll stay home and look after Mum. For as long as it takes,’ she said.
Nettie was still in hospital when Susan’s baby was born. Bob travelled from the maternity hospital to the main one to tell his mother that she now had another beautiful grandson. Nettie tried to be pleased, but it was obvious to all her children that she was very low. She had expected the worst when she had her operation, and being told about the tumour had confirmed her fears. She took it as a death sentence.
When she was allowed home, Lillian tried to persuade her to have one of the guest rooms, which were lighter and more spacious. But Nettie only wanted the familiarity of the attic room that had always been hers. Lillian toiled up and down the stairs with dishes to tempt her mother’s appetite, with magazines to interest her, with flowers to cheer her up. None of them worked. She got the family to club together to buy a small radio for her mother to listen to, but she couldn’t be sure that she enjoyed having it on. She certainly never commented on it. Susan brought baby Neville to see her and Wendy called in with Coral and little Terrance. Nettie smiled sadly at them and stroked their soft heads, but after they had gone she said to Lillian that she wouldn’t live to see them grow up.
By then it was April. It was all too obvious to Lillian that she was going to be needed at home for a good while longer. She had hoped that her mother would make a good recovery and perhaps be back on her feet again by the summer, but anyone with half a brain could see that that was not going to happen. Someone was needed to look after Nettie and the guest house, and the only someone available was her.
‘It’s so unfair!’ Lillian raged out loud. ‘Just when I got my solo!’
Follow Your Dream Page 27
