by Annie Murray
‘He is, isn’t he?’
Gladys turned to her again, blushing. Rachel saw that her handsome face looked firmer again, lifted and as beautiful, in its tough way, as it once had been.
‘We’ll see,’ Gladys said. ‘Hark at that – was that the front door?’
There was another tap, timid, but definite.
‘Who the heck’s that?’ Rachel pulled her apron off as she went, still holding it in her hand.
Outside she found an attractive woman with stylish dark hair curled under at her collar. There was a smile in her dark eyes, but she looked very nervous. They regarded each other for a moment.
‘Yes?’ Rachel said. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
‘I . . . yes,’ the woman said. Rachel realized she looked more than nervous – she was suddenly close to tears. ‘I’m sorry . . . Are you Mrs Booker – the mother of Tommy Booker?’
‘Yes.’ Rachel folded her arms. She didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but she felt immediately worried and defensive. She thought the woman must be from Tommy’s work. ‘Is he all right? What’s happened?’
‘It’s all right,’ the woman said. She really was nice looking, Rachel thought. She was pretty and seemed pleasant. ‘It’s not that. I’m – I’ve come from Wolverhampton. My husband doesn’t know I’m here . . .’ The tears started to take over her voice.
Rachel stood back, beginning to grasp who she was. ‘You’d better come in.’
In the kitchen, Rachel said, ‘I’m Tommy’s mother. This is my husband’s aunt – Mrs Poulter.’
The woman greeted Gladys politely. She seemed so ill at ease that Rachel felt sorry for her.
‘I’m Mrs Halstead – Marjorie.’ She kept wringing her hands as she spoke. ‘I have a daughter called Jo-Ann. I don’t know whether you know, but she met your son, Tommy, at one of the picnics for the . . . The people with the special invalid cars.’
‘I’ve heard a bit about it,’ Rachel said, starting to wish she had paid more attention.
‘Have a seat,’ Gladys said, pulling a chair out. ‘You’ve come all that way?’
‘Yes.’ Marjorie Halstead eased herself on to a chair as if being polite to it. ‘On the bus – well, two buses. It’s taken me a while.’
‘Get the lady a cup of tea,’ Gladys said.
‘Oh – thank you.’ As Rachel filled the kettle she spoke to Gladys. ‘My daughter, Jo-Ann, caught polio – ten years ago, you remember when it all happened . . . Anyway, we’re lucky to have her with us still. She’s eighteen now, but she lost the use of her legs. And she and Tommy seemed to get along well – Jo is very attached to him, in fact. But there’s been the most dreadful difficulty with my husband. He’s so very protective of her. It broke his heart when she fell ill. I’ve never seen him in such a state, before or since. He’s a very organized sort of man, likes things to be – you know – just so.’
She looked round at Rachel, trying to include her in the conversation.
‘Unfortunately, polio is not something you can organize out of the way. He really does try hard. We both do. Jo-Ann’s a good girl. She works for him, you see. All he wants is to make sure she’s safe and looked after. But I know she’s getting very fed up – she’s growing up.’
Rachel brought cups to the table. ‘I know they’ve written a lot of letters,’ she said. ‘What’s the harm in that?’
‘None at all – I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Mrs Halstead said fervently. ‘Your Tommy’s a lovely boy. I could see that when we met him. And clever too.’
Rachel smiled at last and sat down.
‘Jo-Ann has been terribly upset ever since her father forbade her to see Tommy or even to write to him. She’s . . . Well, I think she and your Tommy have become quite close, from writing letters. And . . .’ She drew in a deep, emotional breath. ‘What Roy doesn’t understand, or won’t let himself think about, is that the two of them are just like anyone else. They want . . . Well, you know . . .’ She blushed then and looked down at the tabletop. ‘Sorry – I’m probably saying too much.’
Rachel felt a blush spread over her own face. Lord above – was this woman talking about . . . ? About her Tommy as a man and this woman’s daughter as a woman, in a relationship together as man and woman? She sat, feeling outraged for a few moments, with nothing to say. Had she ever really thought of Tommy like that? She knew she had pushed it out of her mind, just the way she had never thought, once upon a time, that he would ever go to school.
‘It just doesn’t seem fair, does it, for them not to be able to see each other?’ Mrs Halstead was saying, the pent-up words rushing out. ‘How are they supposed to make friends or have any sort of life? I keep saying to Roy, she’s not your baby girl any more. You have to let her grow up. Even if she can’t walk, she’s not your puppet, for you to arrange her whole life for her. If only he’d listen.’
‘I s’pose he can’t just wrap her up in cotton wool forever,’ Gladys said.
‘Exactly, Mrs Poulter – that’s what I keep telling him.’ She sat back and looked from Rachel to Gladys and back again. ‘I just wondered . . . You may not like the idea, but now I’ve met you – and if Roy was to see that Tommy has a family and that everyone is supporting them . . . At least they could be friends – it doesn’t seem too much to ask, does it?’
Rachel nodded. With every word she had heard she was warming more to Mrs Halstead. She had had to be on her daughter’s side the way Rachel had had to struggle and root for Tommy.
‘You’ve come all the way over here,’ Rachel marvelled, her voice gentler now.
‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ Mrs Halstead said. ‘I don’t drive, you see. Do you drive, Mrs Booker?’
‘I’m just learning,’ Rachel said, proud of herself. ‘The car’s not here, but my husband will be back soon. He’ll give you a lift home.’ Firmly, she quelled Mrs Halstead’s protests. ‘Oh, yes, he will. It’s ever so good of you to come. Now – we’ll have that tea. Will you have a piece of cake?’
Rachel and Melly were in the kitchen when Tommy came in from work. They heard the front door and exchanged glances.
‘Come in here, Tommy!’ Rachel called to him. ‘I’ve got something to say to you.’
They heard him stumbling along the hall, the tap of his stick. He came into the kitchen with his head bowed, pale and silent with misery.
‘Sit down, bab,’ Rachel said.
Tommy slid his skinny body on to the chair and looked up at them guardedly. Melly was opposite him.
‘We had a visitor today, love,’ Rachel said gently. She sat down.
Tommy immediately looked even more apprehensive.
‘It’s all right.’ She touched his hand. ‘It was a Mrs Halstead.’
Tommy’s eyebrows puckered for a second, before it dawned on him who she meant.
‘What – you mean . . .?’
‘Your friend Jo-Ann’s mother, yes. A nice lady, isn’t she? Any road, she’s worried about her Jo-Ann – about the both of you.’ She chose her words carefully, not wanting to raise his hopes too much just in case.
‘She thinks her husband is . . . Well, taking things a bit far. So she came to see me. She’s going to see if she can get him to meet us and have a chat – see where we go from there.’
‘You and – Dad?’
‘I think so, yes.’
Tommy looked across the table. ‘I want – Melly to – come. They’ll – like – her. She’s good – with – people.’
His words sank into Melly like the seeds of beautiful flowers. Tears rose in her eyes. Tommy wanted her!
‘Course I’ll come, Tom,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you want.’
Sixty-Four
She was excited – she was free.
A week ago, she woke one morning and realized. She burst into tears of relief in the lavatory. Her period had started. Until she found herself crouched, doubled over, sobbing with relief, she had not realized just how worried she had been. Pregnancy did not seem real to her,
but all the same she had kept on feeling sick, having odd little pains in her body and was frightened to death that this was what it meant. It must have been all in her mind, though.
She walked round all that day in a haze of joy, like someone let off a prison sentence. Her mother had had her at sixteen and she was now twenty – but she was still not ready. She loved Reggie, wanted to be with him – but not that. Not yet. She wanted them to have a life together first.
All week she had been fizzing like a bottle of pop with excitement at her sudden sense of freedom. But there was still the nagging worry. Even though she and Reggie did not manage to be alone very often, she knew that when they did, he would want to make love again. Even though she wanted it too, she was going to have to stop him . . . or find a way of taking precautions, using those things she had heard that men could put on. It made her blush to think about it, but think about it she would have to.
And as well as this, now she had regained her freedom, she began to realize that she had barely asked herself the question: freedom for what?
And, the Sunday afternoon before, the four of them – Mom and Dad, Tommy and her – had piled into the car and driven to Wolverhampton to see Mr and Mrs Halstead and Jo-Ann. She had seen that Tommy was almost sick with nerves. She nudged him on the back seat.
‘It’ll be all right – Mrs Halstead was nice, Mom said.’ She didn’t know if it would be all right or not but she wanted to try and make him feel better.
Tommy nodded, tight-lipped. He turned away to look out of the window.
The Halsteads lived in a solid brick villa in Wolverhampton.
‘God,’ Melly heard her mother say to Dad as they climbed out of the car, ‘my knees are knocking.’
Danny drew himself upright. ‘No call for that, wench. If these people think they’re too good for us, p’raps we’re too good for them.’ But Melly could see he was nervous as well.
They both looked nice, Melly thought, eyeing her parents. Dad was in a suit and Mom a navy dress with white flowers on it and a belted waist. Her hair was sleek and cut stylishly so that it hung just above her shoulders. Melly had put on her favourite cornflower blue skirt. We look all right, she thought. We are all right.
With a pang she had watched her brother’s slow, dragging walk up the path behind their father and prayed things would work out well for him.
Mrs Halstead opened the door. Melly thought she looked terrified, but she could see at once that she was a nice lady with a welcoming smile.
‘Come on into the front,’ she rattled on nervously. ‘I hope you had a good journey. Now – here’s Jo-Ann. My husband’s just coming.’
They’d trooped into a very tidy front room, with a powder pink carpet and deep, rose-pink curtains. In a wheelchair, between two of the light-green armchairs, she saw Jo-Ann Halstead, a pale girl with a long thin face and long, straight brown hair. When she saw Tommy her face broke into a joyful, dimply smile. They all said hello and Melly thought how nice Jo-Ann seemed.
Danny walked towards the window and looked out, hands thrust into his pockets. Rachel stood close to Jo-Ann as if to walk away would be rude and Mrs Halstead kept insisting her husband was on his way. After a moment she went out and called up the stairs:
‘Roy, dear – our visitors are here.’
He was stiff with them at first, came hurrying in as if from some urgent business meeting, Melly thought, when he had most likely been in the lavatory or something. But he was polite enough, shook each of their hands and gave each of them a little nod.
‘I’ve got tea ready,’ Mrs Halstead said, looking round as if wondering whether they were all safe to be left while she fetched it. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’
Danny and Mr Halstead, in one corner, started talking about cars.
Melly turned to Jo-Ann. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ She smiled. Tommy looked bashful. Without making a big to-do about it, she said, ‘Tommy said you had polio?’
‘Yes,’ Jo-Ann said. ‘When I was eight.’
‘Terrible, that,’ Rachel said. ‘I remember, lads we had living near us, and everyone trying to stop them going off swimming. But Tommy –’ she glanced at him – ‘I didn’t have to stop him. He wasn’t going anywhere, were you, Tommy?’
Tommy shook his head, blushing.
Jo-Ann seemed to be hanging on Rachel’s every word, as if anything to do with Tommy was fascinating to her, Melly thought. Or perhaps because she just did not see many people. But whatever the reason, Melly could see she was a pleasant girl.
They all made polite conversation and once Mrs Halstead had handed round cups of tea and Melly had made sure Tommy had somewhere to put his saucer down so that he could hold the cup and they had plates with slices of Victoria sandwich cake on them, they did at last get to the point.
In a pause which arose, Mr Halstead cleared his throat.
‘Roy has something he’d like to say,’ Mrs Halstead prompted.
Her husband laid his cup on the little table beside him and sat up straight.
‘I, er . . . As you know, our Jo-Ann is in a delicate sort of state. As is, er . . . Tommy, of course. Very difficult for all of us. I’m ever watchful, you see – don’t want any more sort of trouble or difficulty for her.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘But Marjorie says – and I agree – that I’ve been a bit hasty.’
Marjorie Halstead was nodding at each of these phrases, her eyes fixed on her husband’s flushed face as if this was a speech they had rehearsed and he was getting through it line by line.
‘Our Jo-Ann’s getting older and, well, she has to have some life. It’s not easy for me to remember that. We’re doing our best . . .’
‘I’m sure you are, Mr Halstead,’ Rachel said. Her tone was warm and Melly looked at her in surprise.
‘Can’t just wrap her up and . . . Anyway. Tommy’s a good lad, I know. Bright feller, aren’t you, Tommy?’
The humouring tone raised Melly’s hackles. She looked at Tommy. He kept his face blank, listening.
‘All right for them to write to each other, of course.’ Mr Halstead emitted a little chuckle. ‘What’s wrong with that, after all?’
‘Dad,’ Jo-Ann said. She spoke calmly and clearly, looking at him directly. Melly was moved to see she had tears in her eyes. ‘I want to see Tommy as well. Not just write. I don’t want you to decide for me. I’m eighteen. When Mom was eighteen she was helping to shoot down German aeroplanes.’
Everyone looked at Mrs Halstead.
‘I was on a predictor,’ she said, blushing at the sudden attention. ‘Ack-ack battery.’
‘Good for you,’ Rachel said. She looked back at Tommy. ‘And you’d like to see Jo-Ann sometimes, wouldn’t you?’
Tommy nodded, a smile beginning to break over his face. He was looking at Jo-Ann and she was beaming back at him, through eyes full of tears.
You could hear the fairground and smell it from streets away.
Reggie parked close to the big Jacobean Hall in Aston and as Melly got out of the car, she could immediately hear the fair’s distant turmoil, the shrieks and drone of engines. The smells of diesel and fried onions and the sickly whiff of candyfloss reached them on the breeze.
‘Come on then, kid,’ Reggie said, once he had fished his stick out of the car. He was as excited as a child. Mo and Dolly had taken their kids to Pat Collins’s Onion Fair on the Serpentine Grounds most years. Reggie looked surprised when Melly said she had never been.
‘Tommy couldn’t go so the rest of us didn’t either. Dad took Kev and Ricky once or twice, I think, but I never went.’
‘Well – you’re in for a treat then, aren’t you?’ he laughed. ‘I’ll buy you some candyfloss!’
Melly was excited but she started to wish she had worn a coat. It was four in the afternoon and the autumn chill of late September was settling in. But as soon as they reached the fairground, the pungent smells of it all, the strings of coloured lights, the roar of all the rides and blare of music through loudspeakers, everyon
e laughing and shrieking or filling their faces with hot pork sandwiches or faggots and peas or candyfloss, she forgot completely about being cold. The atmosphere was fantastic.
‘Kev said there was a ghost train,’ she said to Reggie, gripping his arm. ‘Let’s go on there!’
Reggie was looking round. ‘They’ve got rid of all the steam engines,’ he said, wistfully. ‘T’ain’t really the same without them. There used to be a great big bugger called Goliath. And Queen Mary was another – they put strings of onions on them.’
Melly found herself wishing she had been able to come as a child. How magical it would have been! But still – it was magical now, with Reggie at her side, both of them ready for some fun, like kids again.
‘Dodgems first,’ he said, steering her over.
‘But you’ve got a real car!’ she protested, seeing white, sparking lights issuing from the clashing cars. It all looked a bit rough.
‘Go on – one go. Then we’ll go on the ghost train.’ He gave her a boyish grin and leaned down to kiss her. ‘You have to do the dodgems.’
She climbed into the car with him, tucking her skirt round her knees, and squeezed her eyes shut.
‘You do all the driving,’ she said, giggling. ‘Tell me when it’s over!’
‘My legs feel all rubbery,’ Melly complained as they climbed out of the car afterwards. ‘That was horrible!’
‘No, it wasn’t – it was bostin!’ Reggie teased her.
‘Ghost train now,’ she insisted.
Melly screamed with laughter and hid her face in his shoulder all through the ride. They went on the carousel and the big wheel, so high, swooping up and round so that you could see all over the fairground and the city around, the lights and swirling movement of it all. She gripped Reggie’s arm in terror and felt even shakier when she came off there.
‘No more rides – not for a bit!’ she pleaded. ‘It scares the pants off me.’
‘Ah – that’s cos you never came as a kid,’ he said. ‘You’re never scared when you’re that age.’
