My Father, My Son

by My Father, My Son (retail) (epub)

  ‘Rachel, Rachel!’ begged her husband as she flitted about the spotlessly clean room, getting nowhere. ‘If you let me get a word in edgeways there’s something I fancy much more than tea.’

  Her frenetic movement ended abruptly and she donned a look of reproach, seeking innuendo – which was one of Russell’s faults. Then she understood and slapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh, aren’t I a dope! You must be dying to see him and here I am going on about nothing – I’ll fetch him this minute!’ She set off a brisk pace.

  ‘He isn’t asleep, is he?’ called Russ anxiously. ‘Don’t wake him on my account.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ came her shrill rejoinder as she hared up the staircase. ‘He’ll wake up to see his father, I’m sure.’

  Russ smiled his contentment and leaned back in the chair to accustom himself once more to his surroundings. The house had barely been up for three years and to Russ, who had only been here on two previous leaves, it still held the air of newness – but it was cosier by far than the barracks. The kitchen was of the size that one might expect from a modest terraced dwelling, with a scullery attached. Despite the installation of gas, Rachel preferred to use the built-in range for her cooking. This was decorated with shiny green tiles, which never ever bore traces of ash, a brass fender and an oak surround. The table at which Russ was seated took up most of the space in the centre of the room and was covered with a brown chenille cloth edged with tassels. Around it were grouped two carver and four spindle-backed chairs, the former with added cushions, and a baby’s high-chair. If extra seating were needed there were two stools tucked away in a corner. The floor was covered in linoleum with a predominantly blue flowered carpet over the top.

  On the innermost wall was a brown velvet sofa, the arm of which let down to convert the sofa to a bed. Above this hung a pendulum clock. In one fireside alcove was a built-in cupboard housing linen and crockery, in the other was a small oak dresser. There was a further, understairs cupboard by the scullery door. His eyes swept over each of Rachel’s personal additions – brass candlesticks, brass coal-scuttle and companion set, all gleaming, a commemorative mug for the new King’s Coronation, an oval mahogany-framed mirror… through which Nancy’s reflection was studying him. Lacing his hands over his belt, Russ smiled and said, for want of a better conversation-opener, ‘So… you’re Nancy, are you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She tossed a smile into the glass then moved past him at a more leisurely pace than his wife, to fetch the teapot from the scullery. It was entirely due to Rachel’s millinery feats that they could afford the domestic help. Russ had protested to his wife that corporals didn’t hire maids, to which Rachel had replied rather loftily that he may be only a corporal, but she enjoyed important status in this neighbourhood and it was ungracious of him to deny her this token of gentility. More truthfully, it was that the scatterbrained woman could never have coped alone – giving orders made her feel as though she were in command.

  ‘And how long have you been here, Nancy?’ Russ craned his neck to spy into the scullery, eyes on the woollen-clad hips. Telling him a couple of months, she made her return to the kettle. This time as she passed he slapped her bottom, the audacity of which pulled her up sharply. He responded with his mischievous twinkle. ‘You don’t mind, d’you, Nance? S’only my bit o’ fun. Sally never used to mind.’ Nancy’s predecessor had accepted it as part of the job, coming to understand that Mr Hazelwood didn’t intend anything further to spring from his cheek; he was simply unable to keep his hands off what he regarded as the most delectable portion of a woman’s anatomy.

  Then Nancy smiled – no, something more salacious than a smile, thought Russ, and was almost relieved when his wife chose this point to return. Her re-entry to the kitchen was somewhat less bouncy, due to her sleepy burden – who had obviously been woken up for the honour. Russ shoved his chair back, stood and said, ‘Aw-w!’ and held out his arms to his son. The child let out a squawk which, as Russ continued to press his attentions, soon grew to hysteria. The disappointed corporal stepped back and lowered his arms. ‘I suppose he’s frightened ’cause he doesn’t know who I am.’

  ‘He’s just genny because his naughty mother woke him up.’ Rachel cooed to the baby and jiggled him in an attempt to stem the flood of tears. ‘Aw, now now! Poor Father’s come all this way to see his little Robert.’ Rachel had decided it would be nice to choose a name with the same initial as the baby’s parents. ‘Aren’t you just going to let him have a tiny cuddle?’ The child continued to howl and bury his mottled face in her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t force him, Rache.’ Russ contented himself with admiring his son from afar. ‘He’ll get used to me after I’ve been home a few days.’

  ‘He’d better,’ she warned the baby, then turned loving eyes back to the man. ‘How long will you be home, then?’ He told her seven days. ‘Oh, is that all?’ Her smile turned to disappointment. ‘And what foreign devils have they got lined up for you to fight this time?’

  ‘None, we’re on home base at Limerick… on second thoughts that could be more dangerous than Africa.’ A laugh. ‘Never mind, love, only a couple of months and I’ll be out for good.’

  ‘And aren’t I grateful!’ Rachel had never cared for his profession – apart from the smart uniform, and with this substituted by the unflattering khaki there seemed little reason for him to stay in the Army. She used a handkerchief to dab at the sobbing child’s face. ‘So what do you think to your son, then?’

  ‘He’s grand. I’ve thought of nowt but seeing that little fella while I was away. He kept me from going crackers with all that heat.’

  ‘Oh, did you hear that, Robert?’ the mother enquired airily. ‘Not a mention of the wife who’s stuck here holding the home together.’ At Russ’ scolding, her feigned disapproval melted into a smile. ‘Aw, I missed you as well – he’s stopped crying now – would you like another try?’

  ‘No… better not. We don’t want to start him off again.’ Russ was a bit piqued at this inauspicious start to the relationship. It was to have been a wonderful moment, holding his son for the first time. ‘Maybe when he’s got used to my ugly mug.’ He sat back on his chair, not bothering to pull it right under the table.

  ‘Right, I’ll put Robert back then,’ said Rachel brightly, not noticing his disillusionment. ‘Pull your chair in, Russ, before you start tucking in. I know what you’re like for crumbs.’ She left him to Nancy’s care.

  ‘Would you like a biscuit, sir?’ Nancy shoved a plate at him.

  Russ had ignored his wife’s dictate and was balancing on the rear legs of the chair. ‘I’ll tell you what I would like,’ he grinned again, ‘to get my hands round that lovely bustle o’ yours. It’s a right smasher.’

  Nancy decided to curtail this at once. He was probably quite harmless apart from having itchy fingers – his sort usually were – but she wasn’t going to risk it going further. Slinking round the table, she deposited herself brazenly on his lap.

  His hands, which had been laced idly round the back of his neck, came unloose at the surprise of it, hanging in mid-air and making no move to keep her there. ‘Eh, Nancy…’

  ‘You don’t mind, d’you, sir? Only you seemed to fancy me so I didn’t see the point of wastin’ chat.’ One of her arms encircled his neck, her free hand toying provocatively with his collar. ‘I like a man in uniform. There’s something… exciting about him.’

  ‘Nancy.’ He gave a nervous chuckle and made weak play of tapping her bottom. ‘I think you’d best get to yon side of the table before your mistress gets back.’

  ‘Is she a jealous person, the mistress, sir?’ purred the maid, fingers trailing his tunic buttons.

  ‘Nancy,’ he tried to sound stern, ‘I didn’t mean to give the impression… it was just a joke I used to share with our other maid…’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Her hand was massaging his chest now. ‘A man doesn’t fondle a girl’s bottom unless he’s keen on her – and I’m certainly not the type who’d allow the lib
erty unless I was keen on a chap… like I’m keen on you.’ She was enjoying this.

  ‘Will you take your hands off, please?’

  ‘What’re you worried about, sir? She won’t come in.’

  ‘Look…’

  ‘Nancy!’

  At Rachel’s yelp of horror, the maid shot from Russell’s lap and pretended to be pouring the tea, head tucked into her chest.

  Russ chanced his escape. ‘Well, I think I’ll just go…’

  ‘Stay where you are, Russell!’ commanded his wife, then pressed ungenerous lips together.

  ‘Rachel, it wasn’t what you think…’

  ‘I know what I saw! And that slut isn’t stopping here one moment longer.’

  ‘I was only teasing, Mrs Hazelwood,’ protested Nancy.

  ‘I could see that perfectly well!’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean… I was just showing Mr Hazelwood how far he could go…’ Nancy shrivelled as the ill-formed sentence emerged.

  ‘Miss Brown, I think you had better collect your coat before you incriminate yourself further!’ was Rachel’s tart advice.

  ‘I can’t go having you thinking I’m… forward,’ began Nancy.

  ‘Forward! My goodness, I could have chosen a much better word!’

  ‘Look! Mr Hazelwood smacked my bottom! I don’t allow liberties like that and thought to put him in his place.’

  ‘My husband knows his place well enough without your assistance, Miss Brown,’ snapped Rachel. ‘And resorting to slander isn’t likely to procure a good reference. He is far too much of a gentleman to enact such familiarity even with his own wife. Now will you please leave my house at once.’ She bustled forward and, taking some money from a cashbox on the mantel, thrust it at Nancy. ‘Here you are! That’s what you’ve earned and I’ll have no complaints of unfairness.’ The maid saw it was pointless to deny what her mistress had thought she had seen. After a fruitless attempt to gain a reference she glanced helplessly at Russ, pocketed the money and left the kitchen to collect her things.

  Rachel began to pile all the crockery in the sink.

  ‘Eh, I haven’t started that yet!’ objected her husband as she snatched his cup. ‘And what are you doing now?’ She was taking all the crockery from the shelves, transporting it to the scullery ready for washing.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Cupboards were flung open.

  ‘It looks like you’re washing clean cups.’

  ‘They are not clean! Not when that woman’s had her hands on them. The sly, dirty…’

  ‘Rachel, it wasn’t what you’re thinking…’

  With the crockery soaking in hot water, she squeezed out a cloth, applied disinfectant and began to rub down every surface with a vigorous back and forth movement, muttering endlessly about, ‘That woman’s dirty hands on everything… nowhere fit to eat off.’

  ‘It’s not a very good start to my leave, is it?’ Russ proffered quietly. ‘I’m sorry, lass.’

  ‘Oh, don’t think I hold you to blame, Russell!’ She ceased her rigorous task to look up at him. ‘You can’t help your bonny face – I must admit if you weren’t my husband I’d be after you myself. No, it’s that floozy! I always thought she was brazen, I should never have employed her, but there you are, that’s the sort of soft article I am. I felt sorry for her because she spun me some tale about having to support her invalid mother – and this is where a soft heart gets you! This is how she repays my charity, by trying to steal my husband – and in my own kitchen!’ The cloth began to rub back and forth again. All the ornaments were collected from the mantelshelf and placed alongside the pots to be washed.

  Russ sighed. ‘Will the water be heated enough for a bath?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll come and do it.’ She flung the cloth down but his upraised palms warded her off.

  ‘No, no, you carry on with that, I can see to myself.’ He went upstairs to get some clean clothes.

  Before going to his and Rachel’s room, however, he responded to impulse by opening the door of the room he knew – by way of his wife’s letters – to have been assigned as a nursery, and peeped in. The child was seated in his cot, gnawing on a wooden toy and making noises. His chavelling stopped when the man’s moustachioed face appeared. The toy was dropped and the lower lip jutted out and downwards. ‘All right, all right!’ muttered Russ hastily, staving off the fresh outpouring. ‘You miserable little sod, I’m not stopping.’ He closed the door quickly and moved on to get his civvies, taking some consolation in their clean smell.

  By the time he returned to the kitchen the pots were already on their way back to the shelves. His wife said nothing as he passed into the scullery and closed the door. Putting his clothes on a chair, he lifted a board and drew back a curtain to reveal a bath – which had been one of his wife’s requirements and not a standard fitment of the house; his neighbours relied on the old zinc variety. While the water ran he stripped off, then stood scratching until the bath was full enough. A twist of the taps and he was stepping in to take a welcome soak.

  Chapter Three

  ‘I thought I might go for a stroll later.’ Russ, spruced and curried, was tucking into a meal of bacon and egg.

  ‘In this weather?’ was his wife’s astonished comment. But she smiled fondly at him across the table. Most of the upset had been worked from her system now that the kitchen had been purged. Her husband looked more like his old self, too, moustache waxed into two sharp spikes, damp brown hair slicked neatly from a side parting, freshly laundered shirt and pressed trousers. Warm thoughts stirred her breast. Had the table not been between them she would have wrapped her arms round him.

  ‘I’ll be all right with my coat on.’ He savoured every mouthful. Even though he had had plenty of bacon in South Africa, done in a billycan it tasted nothing like bacon done at home. ‘I’d like a wander round the old place after seeing nothing but dust for months, and a nipped nose won’t come amiss after being subjected to ninety degrees in the shade.’

  ‘Oh, you poor hard-done-by soul,’ teased his wife, placing her own knife and fork together on the plate. ‘You’ll be wanting some company, I suppose?’

  ‘I’d hate to drag you from the fire.’ He tried to sound concerned. ‘Anyway, what about the lad?’ His wife answered that Robert could come with them. ‘Are you sure? He might catch a chill.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ mused Rachel, then leapt into action again. ‘I’ll ask Ella if she’ll mind him for an hour or so. He’s been fed and changed so there’s nothing to get her into a flap.’

  Russ reminded her that Ella’s husband had just come home too. ‘Happen she and Jack might want to go out themselves.’

  Rachel was undeterred. ‘There’s still Mrs Parker. It’s probably more sensible to ask her anyway, Ella not having any children of her own. I wonder how much I should offer her?’

  ‘She won’t want paying, surely.’

  ‘I daresay she won’t, but I’m not about to feel beholden to any of these people. If you accept a favour there’s always that degree of familiarity and I don’t want them to think I regard them as equals.’

  ‘Are you sure you ought to leave him? I mean he’s only little, what if something should happen to him and Mrs Parker doesn’t know what to do?’

  She studied him peevishly. ‘Russell, don’t you want me to come with you?’

  ‘Course I do! It’s just…’

  ‘Then I’m certain Mrs Parker’s capable of looking after Robert for an hour.’ She came up behind him and crossed her arms over his chest, inhaling the smell of clean shirt. ‘Don’t be so old-womanish, nothing will happen to him.’ Donating a final kiss, she began moving again. ‘Where shall we go?’

  He vacillated. ‘By the river?’ It was a different sort of liquid to that which he had planned for his first night home but he dare not say more; she had been upset enough already.

  ‘Yes, all right, we can get the ferry over to Fulford and visit the cemetery while we’re there, take some flowers to Mother and Father.�
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  Nodding, Russ left the table to wander in the direction of the sofa.

  ‘Jacket, dear.’ He had left his jacket over the back of the dining chair. Obediently, he went back to put it on. When he made for the sofa again Rachel followed. ‘Oh, wouldn’t you know it! There’s Robert crying.’ She cocked her pert head at the ceiling as Russ took advantage of the fire. ‘That boy is forever hungry. I shall have to go and see to him – he’s determined his mother’s not going to be alone with the strange man.’

  ‘I wonder what he’ll say when he sees me in your bed?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  She gave him an admonishing smile then brought him a cup of tea before leaving. Russ grabbed this chance to relax, which he could never totally do in his wife’s fidgety presence. Whilst she was away someone called, not knocking but coming straight in through the back entrance.

  ‘Now then, Filbert.’ Jack Daw’s humourless face preceded his body round the door. ‘Managed to persuade your jailer to let you out for a pint?’ His khaki had been swapped for an ill-fitting drab suit which looked as if it had spent the time since its last airing crumpled on the bedroom floor. Once away from the Army, Jack didn’t give a toss for the way he looked.

  ‘I thought I said we’d meet down the pub?’ Russ’ tranquil pose vanished as the man sat down; Rachel wasn’t keen on her husband’s friend – on any of his friends for that matter, but particularly Daw – she said he made the place look untidy. He stood as if to advertise his unwillingness for Jack to tarry. It didn’t work. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,’ he whispered urgently. ‘I told her I was going for a walk and she wants to come with me.’

  Jack’s droopy eyes projected impatience. ‘Why didn’t you just tell her you’d arranged to go out with me?’

  ‘That’d look nice, first night home after fifteen months apart, wouldn’t it? Telling her I’d rather be in the company of the bloke who’s never been out of my pocket for three years. Plus… I’m not exactly on the Honours List.’ He told Daw about the incident with the maid. ‘Christ! I do believe if Rachel hadn’t been in the house I’d’ve been made.’