‘I can guarantee it’s like nowhere I’ve bloody seen, cos I haven’t seen anything!’
‘You’ll love it. It sounds weird but my nanny, Patience, lives with us. She cleans up and cooks and just potters around in the garden.’
‘Like a housekeeper or a cook? Like my mum?’
‘Not exactly, we have a housekeeper and a cook; she is more there for me.’
‘You are spoilt! Well, you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’ll be running around after you n’all!’
‘Ha! You’ll be like the bad housemaid who poisoned the king when he stayed at Jasmine House.’
‘Oh shut up, you are winding me up now!’
‘No, I swear it’s true, the story has been passed down through the years. Many, many years ago the Arbuthnotts were invited to Carnival, along with the whole household. The lady of the house politely refused as she had a royal delegation staying with her, but that meant she refused on behalf of everyone. A young kitchen maid was so angry and frustrated to be missing the celebrations that she grabbed a handful of nutmeg and shoved it into the cake mix. Too much nutmeg is never a good thing and legend has it that the royal party spent the evening hallucinating. The king was convinced that the floor was the sea and stood on a table, refusing to dive in, before being confined to his bed with violent sickness.’
‘Get away!’
‘Oh, Dot, it’s a lesson not to upset a woman on a mission!’
‘You’d better believe it. I’m a woman on a mission, to marry you.’
‘That’s not a mission, it’s your destiny.’
‘You make it sound like I didn’t choose it, like it chose me.’
‘That’s exactly right. I didn’t choose you, I found you. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life without really knowing it.’
‘I feel the same. I’m a very lucky girl.’
Sol pulled her close to him and held her fast inside her blanket.
5
It was Monday morning and Vida Arbuthnott was already looking immaculate in a cream trouser suit and orange high-heeled boots. Her outfit was a little bit heavy for May, but she had learnt not to take any chances with the fickle British climate. She closed her eyes for a second and leant back on the overstuffed, chintz-covered cushions. She squared the three copies of Vogue on the coffee table in front of her until their edges were aligned. Twisting the large diamond solitaire on the third finger of her left hand, she tried to compose herself, rehearse for the conversation that was about to take place. It would be uncomfortable, of that she was sure, but entirely necessary. She stared at the grey, so called summer’s day beyond the window and overlaid it with an image of her view from the dining room terrace at home. She missed it. The novelty of stepping through puddles on damp cobbles and breathing in the smog was already wearing a little thin.
The creak of a bedroom door roused her from her musings.
‘Good morning, Solomon.’
‘Morning, Mumma! Didn’t expect to see you up so early, everything okay?’
‘Come and sit down, darling.’ She patted the chair next to her.
Solomon tied his dressing gown around his waist and sat on the sofa opposite his mother, preferring a bit of distance.
‘Are you all right, Mum? You look a bit nervous.’
‘Nervous? No, no, but this is a little delicate and so I shan’t beat around the bush.’ Vida clasped her hands on her knees.
‘Oh no, what have I done? Is it the toilet seat thing again?’
‘No, Solomon. I want to talk to you about the cook here or more specifically her daughter.’
‘Her name is Clover. Yes, what about her?’
‘I believe that you may be conducting a little affair with her, Solomon, is that true?’
‘Well, it depends what you mean by “little affair”…’ He gave a small laugh to hide his nerves.
‘What I mean, son, is that rumours have reached my ears and I can’t say that I’m particularly happy about what I’ve heard.’
‘Wow, okay, well… I can only guess at what you’ve heard, but I am seeing her, Mum and I like her, I like her a lot.’ Sol sat forward and looked his mother in the eye. ‘It’s more than a little affair, Mumma, much more.’
Vida ran her tongue over her front teeth before she spoke. ‘Listen to me, Solomon, whatever is going on stops now. Right this minute. It’s embarrassing for Daddy and me, awkward for the staff and certainly not why we dragged you all the way over here. You can entertain yourself with a cook’s daughter at home!’
‘Sorry, Mum, I’m a bit confused. Is the problem that she is a distraction to me here or that she is the daughter of staff?’
‘Don’t try and be clever, you know perfectly well what I mean. You are not a man of the world even if you think that you are. Girls like her will see an opportunity and grab it. She will look at you as the means to a very nice life and you must not allow yourself to get ensnared. By all means have fun, but nothing more. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Not really, Mum and actually it’s a bit late for all that.’
‘What do you mean, a bit late?’ Vida’s hand flew to her chest.
‘I love her and she loves me and that is all there is to it, really.’ He clapped his hands together.
Vida was silent for a few seconds before laughing loudly into her palm.
‘Oh, darling! My sweet boy.’ She composed herself. ‘I am glad that you are having adventures, I really am, but it is not love. It is not.’
‘But it is, Mumma.’
‘No, Solomon. It is not and even if it was, I would not allow it, I couldn’t.’
‘Not allow it? This is the 1960s not the 1860s!’
Vida’s hand trembled in her lap; this was more dangerous than she had thought. ‘I am not prepared to discuss it further. It stops and it stops right now.’
Solomon had never argued with his mother, there had never been the need, but on this point he was resolute. ‘No, Mumma, it doesn’t, it can’t. We want to get married.’
‘Married? Don’t be so ridiculous!’ Her voice was now a shout. ‘I do not want to hear such madness again! Marriage? Do you honestly think that would be an option for you and someone like her? Grow up, boy!’ His mother had slipped into the strong St Lucian accent of her youth, as if she couldn’t do angry and well-spoken at the same time.
‘I am grown up and that’s how I know that I love her and I will marry her.’
‘You will not! I can assure you that you will not!’
‘Is that right? How exactly will you stop me?’
Solomon sat with his shoulders back and his spine straight. His chin jutted forward – he was a man and this was his choice, his life.
Vida considered this for a moment. ‘There are ways, Solomon. Do you think your daddy got to such a position of power by being nice?’
‘Are you threatening us, Mum?’
‘There is no “us”! And I am not threatening you; I am telling you that this madness stops, and it stops NOW! Right NOW!’ Vida banged the arm of the sofa.
Sol had never seen her lose control in this way. It alarmed him.
‘What in God’s name is all the shouting for at this time in the morning?’ Neither mother nor son had heard Colonel Arbuthnott enter the sitting room in his leather-soled slippers and silk pyjamas.
Vida took a deep breath and regained her composure. ‘Good morning, Abraham, do come and join us. Your son and I are having an absolutely fascinating discussion about why it might or might not be appropriate for him to marry the uneducated daughter of the local cook!’ She spat out the last few words.
Arbuthnott Senior scratched at this stubble and rubbed his eyes. It was far too early to be having this debate. ‘But your mother was a cook…’
Vida rounded on her husband. ‘Yes she was! And thank you for stating it so publicly! I know more than anyone what that means in certain circles and if you think that I have worked hard all my life to be accepted and become part of the mighty Ar
buthnott dynasty just to have my only son take us right back there with one impetuous, misplaced gold band then you are very much mistaken! This is not what I planned for him and I will not tolerate it! I will not!’ Vida stood on shaky heels and swept from the room. ‘I shall take my breakfast in the morning room.’
The two men stared at the space that she had vacated. Sol rubbed his eyes and scratched his scalp.
‘You okay, son?’
Sol nodded, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I guess.’
‘She’s right though, Sol, a bit of fun is one thing, but you are far too young and inexperienced to be thinking about marriage.’ The colonel wandered across to the sofa and sat down, then ran his arm along his son’s shoulder.
‘But I love her, Dad, I really love her. She is beautiful and incredible.’
He rubbed his son’s neck. ‘Son, if I married every girl I have ever fallen in love with, I’d have a harem – and if each one was half as much trouble as your mother, I’d be dead.’
A torturous eight or so hours later, Sol was loitering at the end of Narrow Street. It was another hour before Dot appeared. He immediately wrapped his arms around her until he felt the knots leave her shoulders.
‘How are things at home?’ He almost dreaded asking. In the weeks since her row with her dad, things had become increasingly strained at Ropemakers Fields, she often had to wait and sneak out of the house unseen.
‘Still bad. Nothing’s changed.’
Sol nodded and reached for her hands. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, my parents know too now and my mother has gone a little crazy, but I’m hopeful they will come round.’
‘No, it’s no consolation at all. I don’t understand why everyone is so against us. How can we be happy when what we are doing makes so many people miserable?’
‘That’s just the point, we aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s not us with the problem, it’s them!’
‘You make it sound true, Sol. But the reality is, no matter how loudly you shout at the sky that you don’t believe in rain, you are still gonna get pissed on eventually.’
‘Yes – but when we get pissed on in St Lucia it’s warm and soothing like a hot shower! We will weather the storm, swim in the rain and wait for the sun to reappear.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
‘It is lovely. Look, I don’t want us to be miserable – we can sit looking at miserable faces with our parents. We, however, are going to remain positive and confident that all will work out the way we want it to, okay?’ He pushed her chin upwards with his thumb.
‘All right.’
‘That’s my girl!’
‘I like being your girl.’
‘That’s good, because I am never going to let you go…’
Back at work later that week, Dot unscrewed the plastic lids on the jars and shook the various-sized buttons into a little brass scoop before refilling the compartments in the drawer. She did this job automatically, preoccupied with life outside the Haberdashery Department.
‘All right, Dot?’
‘No, Barb, not really.’
‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve lost half a crown and found sixpence.’
‘Why did you tell your aunty about me and Sol?’
Barb looked skywards, as though seeking the answer from above, then chewed the ends of her hair. ‘I dunno, I was just talking to her and me mum over a cuppa, we always talk about you, you’re my best mate! Did I do something wrong? I didn’t know it was secret!’
Dot sighed, she couldn’t take her anger out on her friend. ‘No you didn’t. It’s not your fault, they’d have found out sooner or later. I guess I was just hoping it would be later.’
‘Have they gone mad?’
‘A bit.’
‘What, cos he’s black?’
‘No, Barb, cos he wears odd socks! Whaddya think?’
‘All right, sarcy cow, don’t have a go at me! I really like him.’
‘Oh, I know, I’m sorry. God, I seem to be apologising to everyone at the moment. I never thought life could be this complicated. I wanted to fall in love and for everyone to be happy for me; I never thought it could lead to so much grief.’
‘You love him?’
It was the only bit that Barb had heard. Dot nodded.
‘Oh my God! You do, don’t you?’
‘Yep, I really, really do.’
‘Have you done it?’ Barb asked, all ears.
Dot remained silent, running her finger through the buttons.
‘You have! I can tell, otherwise you would have said no. Did it hurt?’
Dot shook her head and smiled. ‘No, it was lovely, he’s lovely.’
‘I’m pleased for you, Dot! Best offer I’ve had is six o’ chips with Wally, who used to work with your dad!’
‘Ooh, he’s a bit quiet, isn’t he?’
‘He may be quiet but he ain’t half a looker and you know what they say about the quiet ones!’
Dot shook her head. No, she didn’t.
‘Well, anyway, going out with Wally is better than sitting in with me mum all bloody night while she moans about her corns.’
‘I guess.’ Dot realised how lucky she was to have the love of a man like Sol. Poor Barb. If the best she could do was a date with Wally Day, then she was to be pitied.
‘One favour though, mate, if my mum and dad ask, then I’ve been with you. I tell them I’m meeting you when I go to see Sol, d’you mind?’
‘No, course. It makes me feel like I’m part of this fabulous love affair! How exciting!’
‘It is, isn’t it!’
The two girls giggled into the button trays.
‘D’you think you’ll get married?’
Dot looked over her shoulder to make sure Miss Blight or anyone else wasn’t in earshot. ‘I don’t think we will, I know we will.’
Barb gasped. ‘Has he asked you?’
Dot nodded. It felt wonderful to be able to share the news that had been bursting to escape.
‘Oh my God!’
Barb stepped around the counter and hugged her mate tightly. ‘This is mental! I can’t believe it. You’re getting married! It feels like minutes ago we were playing weddings up on the docks, do you remember? Taking it in turns walking up and down with a net curtain on our head, being the bride, and now you’re really doing it!’ Barb squealed and clapped her hands together. ‘Can I be your bridesmaid?’
‘Well who else? Of course you can!’
Barb squealed again. ‘Right, we need to start planning this. She grabbed a spool of French lace and held it to her face. ‘I’m thinking lace-edged white silk, with back button detail and a large hat, like Britt Ekland.’
‘I don’t think I want a hat.’
‘Not for you, for me, you dozy cow! No, you need a headpiece with a bit of crystal and flowers to match your bouquet. Ooh and velvet, you know I love a nice bit of velvet.’
‘I was thinking something quite classic, fitted, with long sleeves and a bolero, and I have to admit, I fancy satin.’
‘Okay, we’ll go with satin, but you need a good girdle, it shows all your lumps.’
‘Good point. One thing I am fixed on is how I arrive at the church. I want to arrive in a horse and carriage. I want big horses with flowers up their reins and I want to be sat in the back of a big open carriage, looking like a princess.’
Barb clutched her hands under her chin. ‘I can see it, Dot, you’ll look beautiful, just like a bloody princess!’
Dot pictured Sol’s face turning and watching her walk up the aisle towards him. The truth was, if she was marrying Sol, she wouldn’t care what she wore.
Dot walked slowly up Narrow Street and turned into Ropemakers Fields. The sky was bruised with purple clouds. People walked home with collars turned up and hats pulled down. She had loitered at work, offering to stay after hours and sort the stock cupboard. Next she had window-shopped her way along Oxford Street, unable to decide between the green knee-high leather boots that she couldn’t aff
ord or the black patent leather ones that she couldn’t afford. Eventually she reached her bus stop; she let one bus go, but she knew she had to go home. Delaying the inevitable conflict was only making her stomach more nervous, it was probably better to get it over with. She wasn’t sure what to expect, possibly more insults fired in her direction. Her mum would fuss around the table, trying to make out all was well, and her dad would probably sneer at her from behind his paper. Well let him. Sol was right, when they were sitting on a beach in the sunshine, none of this would matter.
‘Evening, Dot, miserable night, innit?’ Mrs Harrison stood smoking, like the sentinel of Ropemakers Fields, puffing away up into the night sky.
Dot nodded, lacking either the energy or the inclination to engage with her.
The key eased into the lock, Dot slipped off her shoes and put them, heels together in the space under the stairs. She hung her mac on the hook next to her mum’s in the hall. It was then that she heard the unmistakeable sound of crying, more specifically her mum crying. She threw her eyes up to the heavens. Here we go again… She wondered what the opening shot would be; her money was on shame – ‘Oh, the shame!’
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the back room. Her mum was sitting at the table, with Dee to her right. Her sister’s little hands fidgeted with the ear of a soft toy. Her dad stood with his back to the fireplace. His lower jaw twisted to the side when he saw her, his nostrils flared slightly.
‘Hello, everyone.’ She tried to adopt the right tone: warm, not too sarcastic and contrite enough for them to cut her a bit of slack.
‘Oh, here she is. You happy now?’
Dot sighed. And so it began. ‘I am happy, actually, Dad.’ She had decided that defiant and confident was the only way to get through this, even though her stomach still flipped with nerves.
‘You are some piece of work! Waltzing in here all high and mighty. What did you do? Have a little word with your boyfriend’s mum? It’s low, Dot, even by your standards and who do you think will suffer the most? Not me or your mother, it’ll be Dee. You can forget Christmas, you can forget tea! How do you propose we keep a roof over our bloody heads?’
Clover's Child Page 9
