by Annie Murray
Unlike her mother, Melly enjoyed caring for Gladys. But she was worried about her.
‘It’s not that she’s poorly so much I don’t think,’ she said. ‘She’s . . .’ She hesitated. ‘It’s as if she’s turned her face to the wall, you know, like they say.’
Rachel made an impatient sound. ‘Well, she’d better flaming well turn it back again. She can’t go on lying about up there forever. She didn’t even go to church, Sunday.’
‘She says they’re stuck up,’ Melly said.
She had been along to the parish church in Harborne with Gladys a time or two and she could see what Auntie meant. Gladys had been going to her church in Aston for years. It was home from home and everyone knew her. It wasn’t that anyone said anything bad to her. They just didn’t say much at all. They were not her sort, in their smart clothes and hats, and she thought they were looking down their noses at her, even if this was mainly in her mind and not true at all.
‘Maybe she should go to the Methodists,’ Melly said.
Rachel looked up, tutting. She had no time for religion. ‘You’ll have to work her stall again,’ she said. ‘If she’s not going to shift herself.’
Reggie arrived at the Bookers’ house on Saturday evening, once they had got home after the market and a drink in the pub. Melly hadn’t said he was coming. When he arrived, the family had had tea and were watching The Avengers.
Melly heard the knock at the front and ran to let him in. Part of her mind was still in the story on the TV which involved a ghost train and a hypnotist.
‘Shhh,’ she said, beckoning Reggie. ‘You’ll have to wait ’til it’s finished. It’s nearly over.’
Reggie looked rather hurt. But when he had kissed her and followed her into the front room, he could see what she meant. The entire family was silent and gripped, the pale light from the TV flickering on their rapt faces – even Gladys. She loved telly programmes.
There’d be no sense from any of them now. Melly and Reggie stood by the door.
As soon as the credits were rolling, everyone surfaced.
‘Oh – hello, Reggie!’ Rachel said.
‘Hello, Mrs Booker,’ Reggie nodded. ‘Auntie.’
‘Didn’t see you there,’ Rachel said. ‘Go and stick the kettle on, Melly. And bring us in some crisps, will you?’ Crisps were a Saturday-night treat.
‘All right, lad?’ Danny lit a cigarette and held the packet out for Reggie to take one.
Reggie accepted and gave Melly a significant look.
‘Hang on, Mom,’ Melly said. ‘Dad – Reggie’d like a word with you.’
Danny looked baffled.
‘In private, like?’ Reggie said.
‘Here’ll do, won’t it?’ Danny said, reluctant to leave his chair.
‘Danny!’ Rachel said. ‘Get up and go out the back. Reggie’s got something to say to you!’ Her tone was full of meaning and Melly could feel her mother looking hard at her but she kept her gaze on her father.
‘All right, then,’ Danny said, looking bemused.
They disappeared out to the kitchen. For about half a minute. Reggie came back, red in the face and excited looking as his eyes met Melly’s. Melly thought her father looked bashful. He kept his cigarette in his mouth and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
‘We’ve got summat to tell you all,’ Reggie said.
Melly found her heart pounding. At the same time it all felt like a dream.
‘Are you getting married?’ Sandra piped up.
Everyone laughed.
‘Well,’ Reggie said, blushing even more and reaching for Melly’s hand. ‘Yes – we are.’
The pair of them were surrounded then by the family all exclaiming and asking questions. To Melly’s surprise, Rachel pushed through all the others. Melly found herself pressed against her mother’s warm, fleshy body, Mom’s arms tightly round her. She couldn’t remember the last time this had happened and it felt nice. Tears filled her eyes.
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ Rachel said, sounding really emotional. She drew back and looked into Melly’s face and through her own wet eyes she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes and the care-lines on her forehead and round her mouth.
‘You’re doing the right thing, kid. Much better than all that nursing carry-on. I never liked you doing that. If you’re going to look after anyone it might as well be your own family. And Reggie – have you told Dolly yet? Oh – she’ll be over the moon!’
‘Tomorrow,’ Reggie said. ‘When Melly comes over. If I can keep my trap shut long enough.’
Melly could see how happy he looked, his eyes bright with excitement. And Gladys came up to them looking all emotional as well.
‘I never thought I’d live to see this – little Reggie,’ she said in wonder. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to hear what Dolly and Mo have to say – we’ll be all one family!’
Dad looked pleased and Sandra was prancing around the room singing, ‘Here comes the bride!’
‘All fat and wide!’ Ricky boomed out and Sandra told him to shut up, he was spoiling it.
The younger boys were less interested but Melly saw Tommy smiling at her from his chair. She pulled away from Mom and Gladys and went over to him.
‘Good – for you – sis,’ Tommy said. She could see he really was happy for her.
‘Thanks, Tommy.’ She perched on the arm of a chair next to him. A pang of sadness went through her. When would her sweet brother ever be able to announce something like this? Just as she was thinking despairing thoughts about Tommy never having any sort of life, he twinkled up at her.
‘C’m’ere.’ He beckoned her closer. In her ear she heard him say, ‘I – met some – one. Her – name’s – Jo-Ann.’
She drew back and looked at him in amazement. Tommy’s right hand shot to his lips. Then it moved to pull something from under his jumper – an envelope. He looked ecstatic.
‘Don’t – say – anything.’
Still astonished, she patted his shoulder and winked. ‘Tell me later, OK?’
‘Right – this calls for a celebration,’ Danny was saying. ‘Kev, you can get yourself down to the Outdoor for me and get some more ale in. Go on, lad!’
Reggie came over and took Melly’s hand. He pulled her towards him and laid his arm round her shoulders, beaming.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Here’s to the new Mrs Morrison to be.’
A cheer went up. Mom was pink-cheeked and smiling and Gladys was wiping her eyes with the end of her sleeve. It was lovely to have made her family so happy. And soon everyone would know. Tomorrow they would tell Dolly and Mo and the boys and Donna. And she’d have to tell Nanna Peggy – and write to Cissy. Cissy would be over the moon! It was a warm feeling.
Melly looked round at her family. Everything about them, their happiness, the celebration, told her she was doing the right thing.
Everyone insisted on coming to Moseley the next day, piling into the car. Reggie came over to fetch Melly and Tommy went with them in his car.
‘What on earth’s Dolly going to say when we all roll up?’ Rachel said before they set off. ‘I don’t think Reggie’s said we’re coming.’
Dolly was happy as anything when Reggie made his announcement as they all stood round the kitchen table. Jonny had a teaching job now and lived on the outer edge of town and Freddie was out, but Donna was there.
‘Oh, love!’ Dolly cried, coming over and hugging each of them. ‘Little Melly – another daughter. Hear that, Donna? You’re going to have a new sister!’
‘’Bout time,’ Donna said with her mysterious smile. She came and kissed Melly, looking really happy.
‘More women,’ Mo said with mock despair.
‘Well, you’ll just have to put up with me, Mo,’ Melly said. She realized how happy she was at that moment, to have Mo and Dolly as her in-laws. How could that be any better?
‘Oh, come ’ere, wench, and give us a kiss,’ Mo said, holding his arms out.
Melly found herself bear-hugged against Mo’s s
izeable tummy, her face rasped by his stubble.
‘Lovely news,’ he said, misty-eyed. ‘The best news, wench.’ Releasing her, he patted her back. ‘You’ve always been a good’un, you.’
She saw Reggie watching them, proud and affectionate.
‘This is the best news we’ve had in ages,’ Dolly said, tears running down her cheeks.
For the first time Melly felt her own eyes fill. She loved Mo and Dolly as if they were already family. She had seen them suffer and now she and Reggie were making them happy. As Mo said, how could things be any better? She had a lovely man to marry, into the best family she could think of, who all wanted to welcome her and celebrate. Her future spread out before her, full of family, security and happiness. She was doing the right thing and everyone was happy and celebrating. What more could she possibly want?
Fifty-Seven
Tommy lay on the put-you-up in the middle room, hearing the murmur of the television from the front room. His dad was still up watching something.
The light on overhead, he pulled the envelope from under his pillow. It must have been the thousandth time that week he had done the same thing, since the miracle of that white rectangle had appeared on Wednesday, waiting for him on the table when he got home. He had almost yelled with delight when he saw it.
Alone at night, or sitting in the Invacar or at his desk at dinner time when he was at work and everyone was out – even sometimes in the lavatory – he would nip the edge of the envelope between his teeth to draw the letter out with his right hand. Every time, he felt the same thrill of excitement. He already knew her blue, careful copperplate handwriting as well as he knew his own, the long J of her signature.
Beneath the Wolverhampton address she had written:
Dear Tommy,
It was ever so nice to meet you on Saturday. I can hardly believe I’ve now got a pen-pal who speaks the same language as me because it’s not the same with French which I’m very bad at. I missed so much school. So I hope you get this and that you’ll be able to write back.
I’ve been trying to think of something to tell you, which is hard because my life is much the same every day. I suppose I’d better tell you about that! Mom helps me get up in the morning and then we have breakfast (so far, so fascinating!). We get up pretty early because I need to go to work with Dad in the car and getting me in and out of the wheelchair takes such a time. I can tell he finds it a bind although he tries not to show it. He’s arranged things so that once I’m through the door of the shop I can get to the office at the back and there are no steps. I know I’m lucky.
We sell furniture and carpets and rugs and things. In the office there’s me and Mrs Andrews who’s a nice lady who does the books though she’s getting on a bit and is quite deaf. She’s got (I feel unkind saying this but it helps you imagine) some big warts on her face with hairs growing out of them and it makes me think of witches in the fairy stories. Especially as she wears her hair in a hairnet thing. Though I suppose witches don’t really have hairnets or smell of lavender water the way she does – or of stew. She must eat stew every single night. She’s worked there since the dawn of time. Oh, dear, I must stop. She’s all right really.
Tommy smiled every time he read this, hearing her voice and picturing ‘Mrs Andrews’. Jo-Ann wrote as she talked. In private, away from her parents who she felt she had to appease and not alarm, he could see she was funny and spirited and like him, desperately in need of someone to talk to in an honest way.
Jo-Ann went on to tell him about the rest of her day working in the shop, with a wry humour about how boring it all was really but what else did she have to say?
Sometimes, she said, very rarely, her mother and father took her and Philip out to see a picture. The last one she had seen was The Greengage Summer.
It was lovely – very exciting – and it was all in France. I’d love to go to France one day. D’you think our three-wheelers could go all the way there?
Of all the things she said, it was this that thrilled Tommy the most. She was thinking of schemes, of adventures which might never happen, but that didn’t really matter – what mattered was that she was including him in them.
She ended the letter by saying:
Please write back soon, won’t you? It would really make my day to get a letter.
He had thought about nothing else. On the Wednesday night when everyone else was in bed, he sat down at the table at the back. He had a board now and some big bulldog clips to fix his paper to. He was up very late but he didn’t care how tired he might feel the next day. He sat for ages after he had written the words, ‘Dear Jo-Ann . . .’
All his misgivings about not wanting to seem too keen had vanished. All he wanted was to talk to her and hear her talking back as often as possible. He could easily have written to her every day, several times a day. ‘It was a real treat to get your letter,’ he wrote. His handwriting was smooth and fast so long as the paper was held down.
It was waiting for me when I got home from work. I parked up the three-wheeler – I keep it in a neighbour’s shed round the corner – and walked into the house without expecting anything much of this evening. When my mother said there was a letter for me I knew straight away it must be from you. I was hoping and praying it wasn’t a boring little note from the ITA instead! And there it was, on the table.
I’ve never had any sort of pen-pal before. And I suppose it’s also not the same as a pen-pal you’ve never even met. At least I can picture you when I write.
He thought about asking her to send a photograph of herself but this seemed rather forward.
He went on to tell her about his day, also joking about how boring it was:
Driving across Birmingham, sitting in the same old office with the same old people who have not one interesting thing to say all day and don’t talk to me anyway because they think I’m a half-wit. Well, until they actually need to know something and then they do ask me.
He fed his bitterness into humour, telling stories about a couple of his work mates. He did not describe what he actually did – it seemed so lowly and tedious.
When I get home I have my pesky brothers and sister running around and hogging the telly watching kids’ stuff. My big sister Melly is living back with us again – she’s all right – and then below me there’s Kev, who’s a brainbox, Ricky and Sandra (very bossy) and Alan, who’s four and a menace. Other than them there’s Mom and Dad and my auntie who lives with us at the moment. She’s my great-auntie, in fact.’
I like going to the pictures too though I hardly ever do as it’s so difficult where there are stairs. But I like adventures as well – and Westerns. Maybe one day, somehow, we could go together?
He felt very daring writing the last sentence and had no real notion that it would ever happen. It was a way of trying to say, I want to see you – somewhere, anywhere.
He thought of a lot of things he would like to say to her. He wanted to pour his heart out – his lonely, longing heart. But he did not want to make a fool of himself or to scare her. He finished with:
Well. Better go up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Except I’m sleeping on the ground floor – which is a good thing as I’m the last up tonight.
Danny had clumped off upstairs as he was writing.
He wanted to end by saying, please write back soon – please!
I hope this has reached you all right. And to hear from you before too long.
With regards,
Tommy Booker
He sealed the envelope, wrote her address and turned the light off, before shuffling his way over and into bed. He lay for a long time, wide awake, thinking of all the things he might have said. He’d ask Melly to post it for him in the morning.
The letter was posted on Thursday and quite early. So it might have arrived Thursday second post or Friday. If Jo-Ann wrote back the same day he might have a letter on Saturday. . .
But none came. He made do with keeping that first letter always close to him, relishi
ng it until its happy novelty had worn off and now needed another one in answer to his.
That Monday after Melly and Reggie announced to the families that they were engaged, Tommy spent the day at work in a fidget of impatience to get home and see if another white envelope might be there, waiting, full of her. At the thought, every time, his heart beat harder in his chest.
He sat in the Invacar on the way home, the engine roaring in his ears, breathing in the fumes of other traffic as they crawled through the mashed-up waste lands of the city’s inner ring, past Five Ways and south-west towards Harborne. Let there be a letter, please let there . . .
It was easier to feel more like other people when he was sitting in his little car. And it came to him suddenly; a moment of amazed realization, that he was a man now. Of course he knew this really. His own father had been away at war at his age. But now something had happened that he had never dared to expect: he could feel like any other man, a man hurrying home with a girl on his mind, dying to hear from her.
Fifty-Eight
That Sunday morning after they had announced their engagement, Melly walked with Gladys to the church.
‘Come on, Auntie,’ she’d coaxed her. ‘Let’s go together. It’ll do you good to get out – sing a few hymns. And it’s lovely out.’
Melly knew her next task was to coax Gladys back to the Rag Market. At the moment she was running her stall for her every Saturday. Mom was at her wits’ end having Gladys – of all people – in this state.
Gladys agreed almost wordlessly. Very slowly, she dressed herself and came downstairs, putting on her big brown coat.
‘It’s quite warm, you know,’ Melly said. But Gladys took no notice. She looked heavier and bowed down.
