Follow Your Dream

by Patricia Burns

  It wasn’t just that she would be losing one summer season. Once you dropped off the radar, there were plenty of other young hopefuls there to take your place. And she had worked so hard to get where she was. Guilt and frustration chased each other round and round her head.

  Lillian channeled it all into a fight about the annual spring clean.

  ‘I’m not doing it all by myself,’ she told Gran, folding her arms and looking rebellious.

  ‘You’ll have Frank to help you, and your father.’

  ‘Huh! A fat lot of good they are. Besides, this place needs more than a clean. It needs redecorating from top to bottom.’

  She had been putting a lot of thought into this, and she had discussed it at length with James. If the guest house was to have even a chance of making any money, it had to change radically.

  ‘It needs bright colours and a comfortable lounge and another bathroom. People have nice houses now. Why would they want to come away and stay in a place like this? And we’ve got to be more welcoming too, make them feel at home instead of turfing them out every morning, rain or shine, and reading them a lot of rules.’

  ‘It all sounds very sensible to me,’ James said.

  ‘It should do. I’ve stayed in enough places myself now to know what it’s like from the other side of the fence, so to speak. And I’ve seen how it works in Blackpool, and which places are successful and which aren’t. Personally, I’d like to close down the guest house altogether and convert the top floors into flats and let them. It’d be a much better way of making money. But Gran wouldn’t even consider that. The guest house was her idea and she’s going to stick with it whether we have guests in it or not.’

  ‘You could use the flats idea as a bargaining tool,’ James suggested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell her that it’s the only possible way to make a living out of the place, then back down and say you’ll carry on with the guest house as long as it’s done up. Your gran might not like it, but she knows that she’s got to rely on you to do it, so you’ve got some leverage.’

  ‘Yes—’ A slow smile broke out over Lillian’s face as she considered this. ‘Yes, that could work. That’s very clever.’

  ‘It’s the way to negotiate—start from an extreme position and work towards a compromise.’

  Together they went all over the house, writing down what needed to be done and making a rough estimation of what it would all cost, so when Gran brought up the subject of the spring clean, Lillian was ready for her.

  She tried the flat conversion gambit. Gran took the bait.

  ‘What? Have strangers living over the top of us? Over my dead body! Whatever were you thinking of, you stupid girl? There’s a good living to be had from a guest house, if only there was someone in the family willing to put their backs into it and make a go of it.’

  Lillian told her that flats would be a good steady income all year and much less work than having paying guests for the summer. She kept up the argument for as long as she could, resorting to repeating herself when she ran out of things to say.

  Gran got increasingly angry. ‘I am not having this house made into flats. Never! Do you hear? Never! You’re a stupid ungrateful little girl that knows nothing about the world, and you’ll do what I say in my house.’

  Lillian stood silent, letting her rant on. When she had finally run down, satisfied that she’d shouted Lillian into submission, Lillian produced what she hoped would be her winning shot.

  ‘OK, Gran. So you don’t like that idea. But if you want me to run Sunny View for you, then it’s got to be done up, because nobody’s going to want to stay in it like it is now.’

  Gran was still in full fighting mood. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Not want to stay here? Of course they do.’

  ‘So how many weekends were we full last summer?’

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. We’re always full.’

  Lillian let that slide. She knew it wasn’t so, but Gran wasn’t going to admit it.

  ‘And what about weekdays? How many people came Saturday to Saturday?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  Lillian just stood and looked at her. She wasn’t going to accuse her grandmother of lying.

  ‘Gran, would you mind coming outside with me for a moment?’ she asked, her voice all gentle reason.

  It took a bit of persuading, but Gran did consent. Lillian led her down to the corner of the street by the seafront.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘look up our road. Which properties stand out?’

  Four of the other guest houses in the road had been redecorated in modern colours.

  ‘That ridiculous pink thing, for a start. And the yellow one. Looks like a fairground.’

  ‘People like bright colours now, Gran. It’s not pensioners that come and stay with us, it’s young people and families, and they want something modern. I agree about the pink—it’s hideous. I was thinking of a nice smart blue and white.’

  ‘Hmph. Well. If we did have it done, that might not look too bad.’

  ‘It does have to be done, Gran. The paint’s peeling. If people see peeling paint in the outside, they’re going to think the inside’s just as bad.’

  ‘I’m not standing out here arguing in the street with you.’

  ‘OK. We’ll go in and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

  She didn’t win all at once. It took two more sessions to get Gran’s consent to the outside being changed, and many more before she agreed that the inside was less than perfect. And then there was the question of money.

  ‘You have to speculate to accumulate,’ Lillian said.

  ‘What sort of a silly thing to say is that?’

  ‘It’s what successful businessmen say. If we haven’t the money, we’ll have to borrow it.’

  This produced another huge tirade from Gran on the subject of banks and how wicked they were.

  ‘We could always raise a mortgage on the house,’ Lillian suggested, sweetly innocent.

  ‘Mortgage? That’s the first step to giving them the roof over your head!’

  And then Gran did something that took Lillian’s breath away. She produced a small key from her handbag and unlocked the door to the heavy old dresser in the corner of the room. Bending stiffly, she got out a shoe box and opened the lid. Inside were bundles of pound notes. Lillian just stared at them, astounded.

  ‘Wasn’t going to let those devils at the bank get their hands on this,’ Gran said. ‘You can get this work done, but I want every penny accounted for, d’you hear me? Every penny.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Gran,’ Lillian agreed.

  But the work had hardly begun before Nettie was back in hospital again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE doorbell rang just as Lillian was about to take a cup of tea up to her mother.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered, taking off her apron. She had hoped for half an hour or so of peace to sit with her mother and keep her company. She felt guilty about all the hours she lay upstairs there in the attic by herself.

  She checked her hair in the hall mirror and pasted a welcoming smile on her face before opening the front door. A young couple stood there. A lifetime of assessing potential guests told her that they weren’t married.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said brightly, acutely aware of Gran’s door just behind her. If Gran came and stuck her nose in now, these two wouldn’t have a chance.

  The young man looked at a point over her shoulder. The girl looked at her feet.

  ‘Oh—er—afternoon. Right—er—you got a room for tonight, like? I mean, like, a double room?’ the man asked.

  They definitely weren’t married. Married couples just assumed they would be given a double room.

  ‘Yes, we have. Would you like to see it?’ Lillian asked.

  ‘No, no, that’s all right. Anything—I mean—’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nice,’ the girl said.

  Lilli
an led them upstairs to the second best bedroom. Two rooms let on a Tuesday. That wasn’t bad for June. She showed them where the bathroom was, explained about breakfast times and gave them their keys.

  ‘I’ll leave the guest book on the hall table. Perhaps you could sign it before you go out?’ she said. She wasn’t going to embarrass them by standing there watching while they wrote down Mr and Mrs Smith.

  ‘Right, yes, thanks,’ the man said.

  ‘Thanks,’ the girl repeated.

  They were obviously just dying for her to go and leave them alone.

  ‘Enjoy your stay,’ Lillian said, and shut the door behind her.

  As she started back down the stairs, she could hear them burst out laughing. Lillian envied them. How lucky they were to have each other.

  Gran’s head appeared round her door as Lillian reached the hall.

  ‘Who were those people? Did you let them have a room? They didn’t look respectable to me.’

  ‘Yes, I did. They were a perfectly nice young couple,’ Lillian told her, poker-faced, thinking as she did so that it was a good thing there were plenty of rooms available, and she hadn’t had to put them in the one above Gran’s.

  ‘I don’t know about that—’

  ‘Well, I do. We can’t go turning away good money,’ Lillian said firmly. ‘I’m making some tea. Do you want some?’

  ‘About time too.’

  Lillian left one cup and some biscuits with Gran and took the tray up to the attic. She tapped on the door. As usual, there was no answer. She went in anyway.

  ‘Mum?’ she said softly. ‘You awake?’

  There was a sigh and a faint, ‘Yes,’ from the bed.

  ‘Come on then, sit yourself up. Nice tea and biscuits for you.’

  She pulled her mother gently but firmly into a sitting position and rearranged the pillows so her back would be supported. Then she put the cup into her hands and sat down herself.

  ‘I just let number two. That’s good, isn’t it? One room let all week and now a casual as well. Not bad for a Tuesday, is it? And there’s still time for another one to turn up on the doorstep.’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Nettie said.

  ‘Well, you never know. Wendy’ll be here soon to see you. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Nettie said.

  ‘It’s good now she can let us know by phone. I can’t get over how wonderful it is not to have to go to the box any more.’

  ‘Terrible noise. Makes me jump,’ Nettie commented.

  ‘It is a bit noisy, yes. But ever so useful.’

  She chattered on for a while, not getting much reaction from her mother. Since her second operation, Nettie had retreated even further into herself.

  ‘Mum, why don’t you come down this evening and sit in Gran’s room for a while? You wouldn’t have to get dressed, just put your dressing gown on and your slippers, and Frank and I could help you down the stairs. Then you could watch the telly. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  There was no reaction on her mother’s face. ‘Too tired,’ she whispered.

  ‘But I’m sure you’d feel better for a change of scenery, Mum. And there’s sure to be something nice to watch. A variety show or something.’

  She liked variety shows herself. It was worth having to sit with Gran in order to see the dancers and assess how good they were. Last week there had been a live broadcast from Blackpool. As the camera had panned along the row of bright-faced girls, Lillian had recognised three people she knew. She groaned aloud. That could have been her, live on the telly.

  But her mother was not interested. ‘No.’

  ‘The doctor said you shouldn’t be just lying here all the time. He said you ought to get up each day, even if it’s only for a bit.’

  This time her mother didn’t even answer. The half drunk teacup wobbled in her hand. Lillian jumped up to take it from her.

  ‘You’ve not had your biscuit, Mum. It’s rich tea, your favourite.’

  ‘Not hungry.’

  Nettie never was hungry. She hardly ate more than a nibble of any meal. Lillian had to resort to giving her invalid food like Benger’s and Lucozade to try to build her up.

  Lillian chattered on for a while, but was guiltily relieved when the phone rang. She ran down the stairs and snatched up the handset.

  ‘Sunny View Guest House.’

  ‘Madam—you have good beds for my four wives and stable for my camel?’ asked a deep voice with a peculiar foreign accent.

  Lillian’s spirits soared. ‘Certainly, sir. Four hundred pounds a night,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Is cheap at the price.’

  ‘You bet it is. Those camels take a lot of clearing up after.’

  James dropped the accent. ‘How’s it going, Lindy? Giving the Ritz a run for its money?’

  ‘Just about. And you?’

  ‘It’s frantic here. Haven’t stopped all day. Listen, Lindy, I’ve been thinking. It’s about time you learnt to drive.’

  ‘Me, drive? But I haven’t got a car, and not likely to have one, either.’

  ‘You never know. And, anyway, I can always lend you one. Just think how useful it would be if your mum had to go into hospital again, not having to wait for buses.’

  ‘You’re right there.’

  The way things were going, it looked very likely that her mother would be back in hospital again before the year was out.

  ‘Of course I am. You busy this evening?’

  There were plenty of things she had to do. A pile of ironing, for a start. But that could wait if James had other plans.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I’ll be round at half-seven. Wear some sensible shoes.’

  ‘OK—’

  ‘Gotta go. See you this evening!’

  Lillian put down the phone with a squeal of delight. James and a driving lesson! The world was suddenly a brighter place.

  Just as she turned to go back to the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Wendy, heavily made up as usual, beautifully dressed and her hair newly styled. The children were both expensively got up and Coral carried a doll that was almost as big as she was. Behind them at the kerb was Terry’s second best Jaguar, with one of his sidekicks in the driving seat. Lillian took them all up to the attic, then went to tackle the ironing. Twenty minutes or so later, Wendy came down to join her in the kitchen. Lillian made more tea, gave Coral biscuits to eat and saucepans to play with and settled down with baby Terrance in her arms. He was a sweet little thing, despite looking alarmingly like his father. She hoped he wouldn’t grow up to be like him in character.

  ‘She’s no better, is she?’ Wendy said, glancing up at the ceiling to indicate their mother.

  ‘No.’ Lillian sighed. ‘I can’t get her interested in anything. She likes it when you come, though, and the babies. It’s a pity you can’t come more often.’

  ‘Oh—well—it’d mean asking Terry for the car.’

  ‘You ought to learn to drive,’ Lillian told her. ‘I am. James is going to teach me.’

  ‘I don’t think Terry’d like that.’

  ‘Why ever not? He could afford to buy you a little car of your own, and then you wouldn’t have to use one of his drivers.’

  ‘I know. I just don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.’

  As Wendy talked, Lillian studied her face. She was sure that under that make-up there was a big bruise.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself, Wend?’ she asked.

  Her sister’s hand flew to the place on her jaw. As she did so, the long sleeve she was wearing slipped back to reveal another bruise on her arm.

  ‘Oh—that. I tripped and fell against a door. These stupid stilettos.’

  ‘You caught your arm as well, did you?’

  ‘What? Yes.’

  ‘You weren’t carrying Terrance at the time, were you?’

  ‘No. No, thank goodness. He was—er—in his pram. Look, I’d better go and see Gran. Would you mind the kids for me? Sh
e doesn’t like their noise.’

  Lillian was glad to oblige, but her vague fears about Wendy were beginning to crystallise into something more definite. She decided to study her sister more closely when she saw her. Her family was nothing but a worry. Thank goodness she had this driving lesson to look forward to.

  ‘See you later, Mum!’

  James gave his mother a wave and went out of the front door, conscious of the lightness in his step. He was looking forward to teaching Lillian to drive. She was always fun to be with, and he was sure she would get the hang of controlling a car easily enough.

  Sunny View looked a different place now that she was practically in charge. It was easy to see why they were getting more customers. She had a good head for business, did Lindy.

  ‘I’m really excited about this,’ she admitted as she opened the door to him.

  ‘Me too,’ he agreed.

  They smiled at each other. She had a lovely smile, with just the right hint of mischief in it.

  He drove her out to one of the industrial estates at the back of town, making a running commentary on what he was doing as he went.

  ‘…right turn coming up—mirror, indicate, hand signal, move over, clutch and brake, change gear, check behind…’

  ‘It all sounds very complicated.’

  ‘It does at first. But you’ll soon get the hang of it; you’re very bright. Once you can control the car, then you can concentrate on the roadcraft,’ he told her.

  ‘I just hope I don’t damage your baby.’

  James patted the steering wheel. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t dare.’

  Just as he had hoped, the roads round the industrial estate were deserted. He showed her the controls, demonstrated moving off, slowing down and stopping, then sat her behind the wheel and got her to adjust the seat and mirror.

  ‘Right, now you do it.’

  Lillian nodded. She did look a bit nervous now but she followed his instructions to the letter. The car began to move.

  ‘I’m doing it! I’m driving!’

  ‘Good, good—don’t get overexcited—slow down now, brake and clutch. Well done!’

  He got her to do it again, this time getting into second gear. Up and down and round the empty roads they went for nearly an hour. She kangaroo-started two or three times, nearly forgot to turn a corner as she searched for a gear and once he had to grab the steering wheel as she narrowly missed a lamp post. But with each try she was a little more in control.