‘Denny keeps them to himself, and she doesn’t seem herself, but I’ve offered to host a party for her next week. It’ll be the only chance I’ll get to see her on her own. You must come and give her some support.’
‘I’ve no money for Tupperware,’ Connie was quick to reply. It was not her scene at all, a gaggle of screaming women crushed in the parlour at the Waverley.
‘I know, but the numbers count, and as long as we can find someone else to host another party Joy will be happy. You can help me look after little Kim.’
Connie didn’t want to look at little Kim, she was too close in age to Anna, too much a reminder of what she’d done. How her life would’ve been if only she hadn’t signed those papers. How could she bear to think of where the baby was and who was giving her the hugs and kisses that were hers by right?
Connie didn’t go back to Dr Valium again – she daren’t risk exposure – but helping out at the new shop in the High Street, having to get up each morning and put a smile on her face, was slowly helping to dispel some of the fug in her mind. There was a wage, money to buy records and clothes if only she could drum up some interest. It was as if she was marking time until she started some career.
How strange to have regressed back to familiar routines, going to the theatre with Neville. He was subdued since his public shaming. Trevor had disappeared out of town and Neville daren’t put a foot wrong in case he was being targeted. At least going out with his cousin made things look normal, but she sensed he was as unhappy as she. Their lives were on hold.
If only Rosa would come home and Joy would get back to being her old self, if only they could turn the clock back to how things were, but all of them were living lives on separate tram tracks, waving from a distance. Nothing could ever be the same because her heart ached for her baby, the secret pain in her chest that never went away. This secret kept her apart as if she were surrounded by a prickly wire fence that sectioned her off from the rest of the family. Some of them knew she was there, but thought it best never to open the subject of why she was so distant. Others hadn’t a clue and it must stay that way.
One Saturday morning she took herself off in Gran’s old car over the Pennines to Leeds. She couldn’t help it. She parked up in Leeds and strolled slowly and deliberately around the bustling market, the shopping centre and busy backstreets. She drove through Headingley and West Park, round the ring road, searching. There were red-haired toddlers. No baby fitted the fantasy, and the whole venture was stupid and a waste of petrol. The baby could be miles away by now, in York or Harrogate, Ripon or Bradford.
There was a picture of herself as a baby in her wallet, the first one taken at the Waverley in the back garden with Neville and Joy. She was praying her baby might look something like her, with that unmistakable hair, but this photo was so creased and worn. It was all she had to remind her of Anna. She drove back exhausted and tearful, wondering why she was punishing herself like this.
On the night of Joy’s party, Connie helped Su set out the drawing room with chairs and a table to display all the plastic containers and utensils. Denny had dropped boxes of the stuff with a huff and a puff. He ignored Connie. He’d grown flabby and jowled, with a moustache to hide his petulant mouth.
‘Where’s little Kim? In the car?’ Su asked with a politeness that worried Connie. It was almost as if she was afraid of him.
‘She’s gone to Mother’s. Why Joy needs to do this rubbish I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not as if she needs to work,’ he smirked, looking directly at Connie.
‘It’s always good to have an interest,’ Connie said. ‘She must be good at selling.’
‘She’s useless. People feel sorry for her, that’s all. They buy out of pity and I’m not having any of that,’ he said, banging down the boxes. ‘You sort them.’
‘How’s her driving,’ Connie asked, more for something to say.
‘What driving? No woman will be let loose in my Consul.’
‘No, of course not. I must’ve got it wrong,’ Connie backtracked. Were Joy’s driving lessons a secret?
‘Women are hopeless with four wheels unless it’s a pram,’ he laughed.
The neighbours in Division Street and some from Green Lane began to gather at seven, familiar faces who wanted to know all Connie’s doings, but there was no sign of Joy. Su was beginning to panic by the time she burst through the door, white-faced, with another pile of boxes.
‘Sorry I’m late. Rene was late for Kim, and Denny had gone out. I had to get a taxi.’ She laughed it off but they could see she was trembling.
‘I could’ve come for you,’ Connie whispered. ‘Here, let me help you set things up.’
If she wanted to be a top Tupperware saleswoman, Joy needed transport, and quick.
Joy delivered her spiel about a hundred uses for Tupperware containers from humble cornflake boxes to mustard pots and ‘Party Susan’, a hostess hors-d’oeuvres carousel. There were sealed cheese boxes, sandwich holders, milk jugs in sugared almond colours – turquoise, apricot and pale blue.
Joy came alive as she delivered her special pointers, special offers, skimming along the lines, describing their qualities so convincingly that Connie could feel the purses twitching in the handbags. There were even storage boxes for toys and sewing and tools. Everything was so versatile, not cheap but enticing. Who didn’t want to have a tidy kitchen?
Soon everyone was scrabbling on the floor, opening lids, looking at catalogues and making orders. Joy looked neat in her matching twinset and pinafore dress. But Connie sensed an agitation under the surface.
No one else volunteered to host a party so Connie suggested that she and Gran do one in Sutter’s Fold. There was such a look of relief on Joy’s face. Su and Connie dished out the refreshments: trays full of crackers decorated with cream cheese and pineapple, pâté, bite-size sausages on sticks and cake squares and flapjacks.
Joy began to pack up her boxes. She looked tired but her order book was full enough for it to have been worthwhile.
‘You’re a natural saleswoman,’ Connie said. ‘You enjoy it?’
‘It gets me out of the house,’ Joy replied, turning away.
‘Denny must be proud of you,’ Connie added, but Joy just shrugged. ‘How’ll you get home?’
‘On the bus. I’ll leave the boxes for Den to pick up later.’
‘It’ll be good when you can drive then.’ Connie was fishing.
‘There’s no point in learning. I’d never get the car.’
‘But you said last time …’ Connie began, and then paused. ‘All that stuff about you learning to drive was a lie? Why?’ Joy ignored her. ‘Look, I’m driving you home. We can put the boxes on the back seat and in the boot.’
‘No, that’s kind but I can’t trouble you.’ Joy smiled her professional smile but Connie wasn’t fooled.
‘I insist. I didn’t buy anything. You must learn to drive, then you could take Kim out each day while Denny’s at work.’
They collected up the boxes. Auntie Su wanted to give them supper but Joy was anxious to be off. ‘It’s getting late,’ she pleaded, and sat in silence as Connie drove her back through the town. Joy was shivering. The Morris Traveller was draughty.
‘You OK?’ Connie asked, but Joy was lost in her own world, not hearing her. She shot out of the car before it had even stopped, grabbing the boxes. There were no lights on in the house. ‘Is Denny not back yet?’
‘No,’ she sighed and there was such a look of relief on her face. ‘It’ll be fine now.’
‘What’ll be fine?’ Connie asked.
‘Nothing. Let’s get these inside before …’ Joy was like a whirlwind, whipping her stock through the door and into the cupboard under the stairs. The bigger stuff had to go into the garage. Connie was struggling to keep up.
‘Just leave the rest on the doorstep,’ Joy ordered. ‘Fine, thanks … Thanks for the lift.’ Joy was blocking Connie’s path across the door. ‘It’s late. You’ve got the shop in the mo
rning,’ she said, dismissing her.
‘I don’t have to rush.’ Connie was inviting herself in but Joy was pushing her back.
‘Denny’ll be back soon. It’s better we leave it here,’ she whispered.
‘Denny doesn’t like me much,’ Connie said. There was no point in hiding the obvious.
‘It’s not that. You know how it is – an Englishman’s home is his castle. He’s not good with visitors late at night … We have a routine.’
‘No worries, Joy, you don’t have to explain.’ Connie waved to her and jumped back in the car, feeling hurt. She was learning fast that once her friends were in couples they shut themselves off into their little nests from which she was excluded. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. Now they were almost polite strangers. All those years growing up together counted for nothing once a husband came into the equation.
But in her heart she sensed there was more in this – Joy’s nervous agitation, her preoccupation with the time. Why on earth was she afraid of being late?
To Connie’s surprise Gran was pleased with the coming invasion. She’d invited all the neighbours in the cul-de-sac to Joy’s Tupperware display, and Lee and Maria came, together with news that Rosa was on her way home and docking in Southampton next week. At last a chance for them all to be together like old times! Rosa would be full of all her adventures. Letters and postcards were all very well, but there was nothing like a gathering. Surely Joy would get a night off to see her old friend too?
This time Connie arranged to pick up Joy early. She was not having her struggling on a bus. She knocked but there was no reply. Surely she hadn’t forgotten the arrangement? Perhaps she was out of earshot?
‘Joy! Joy! It’s me!’ she yelled, thinking she must be upstairs. ‘I came early, let me in!’
‘You can’t come in. I can’t come tonight,’ a faint voice came from inside.
‘Are you sick? You should’ve rung us. I can still cancel it. Are you in bed?’ It was ridiculous shouting in the avenue.
‘No, I’m in the loo!’
‘Let me in. I’ll call the doctor if you’re ill.’ There was no reply. Connie was furious. Why couldn’t she have picked up the phone? Was it something she’d done to upset her? ‘Why can’t you let me in? Is it something I said?’ Connie peered through the letterbox.
‘It’s not you … it’s me. I’ve been stupid.’ Joy was coming down the stairs slowly in her blessed dressing gown again. She unlatched the door and Connie shot in, all guns blazing.
‘What’s going on? You could’ve rung!’
Joy was standing there dishevelled with a burst lip and black eye, a bruise that leeched across her cheek. Connie stared in disbelief.
‘It looks worse than it is,’ Joy apologised.
‘Another accident driving?’ Connie shook her head.
‘I bumped into a cupboard,’ Joy replied.
‘And I’m Marilyn Monroe. Pull the other one. Who did this to you, as if I need ask!’
‘It’s not what you think. He doesn’t mean to. I just get him all wound up. I dither … Look, he’s bought me this beautiful bunch of red roses,’ she whispered, pointing to a crystal vase full of blooms.
Connie felt sick to the stomach at the sight of such an injury. ‘I don’t understand. Why is it your fault he hits you?’
‘He has a lot of worries … the business isn’t going so well … Everyone has electric fires and gas now … Kim cries in the night … No! He doesn’t touch her but he needs his sleep. He doesn’t mean it,’ she said with such conviction it made Connie want to scream.
‘Joy, has the doctor seen these bruises?’
‘No, and you mustn’t say anything or I’ll never speak to you again. I’ll deal with this in my own way. He loves me!’
‘If he loved you he wouldn’t do this to you. You’re worth more than this.’ Connie wanted to hug her sister, but as she made to Joy recoiled.
‘It’s not that bad. Don’t tell tales, Connie, please. It’s none of your business.’ Joy flashed such a look at her. ‘I’m sorry to have brought you out but I can’t go like this, can I?’
‘Then tell me what to do and I’ll do it for you, just this once.’ Connie gulped at what she was offering.
‘Are you sure?’
‘On one condition: that you don’t let him hit you again, right? It’s not going to happen again. Promise me?’
‘I’m not the only one. Rene’s been putting up with it for ages from Den’s father. She says you get used to it.’
‘Then more fool her. I won’t let him do this to you.’ Connie was on fire. She wanted to find Den and kick him in the goolies.
‘Leave it be. Don’t say anything. Don’t make it worse. He won’t do it again. I’ll be careful not to provoke him.’
‘Why should you be careful? He’s the bully boy.’
‘He really does love me. He just likes things to be just so. He doesn’t like all my stock cluttering the house. I’ll give up the party planning.’
‘Listen to yourself … and lose the one night out you get to be independent? What happened to you, Joy? No man is worth getting beaten for.’
‘It’s all right for you, Goody Two-Shoes. You’re single and fancy free. You don’t understand. Denny and I were young sweethearts, he’s the father of my baby. He wants us to have another one soon. We have this lovely home. It’ll get better. This is just a bad patch.’
‘Oh, Joy, if only you knew …’ Connie almost blurted out her own secret but this was not the time. Joy needed her help not another tale of woe. ‘Let’s get the boxes packed.’
They piled the stock in the car and Joy pointed out how to start the evening, go round the boxes and make sure everyone saw the catalogue and had a good feel of the product.
‘They sell themselves. The salad washer is the latest offer. Get the money up front before you take orders, and find another venue, please.’
‘I don’t like to leave you like this. Rosa’s coming home. We must all meet up.’
‘We’ll see. I don’t want anyone seeing me like this.’ Joy waved her off.
Connie drove back in a dream trying to remember everything, her heart aching for Joy’s misery. She made up a cock-and-bull story about Joy being struck down with sickness. What made it worse was not the lies but colluding in Denny’s nasty violence by saying nothing.
The funny thing was she had a great night. Gran was on form and had baked up a storm of goodies. Connie muddled through somehow, took orders, and found another venue close by.
There was a group of women who organised evenings where they met in each other’s houses and had a programme of events. Most off them seemed to be housebound young mothers: one of their gang offered to host a party and was anxious to meet Joy: ‘She might like to join us. We have discussions and speakers … Do you think she’d be interested?’
Connie made a note to tell Joy about this Housewives’ Register and the playgroup someone was planning for toddlers.
How she wanted to tell Maria and Lee the real truth so they could warn Susan, but a promise was a promise. They had never split on her. But it wasn’t right, and she lay in bed tossing and turning, trying to find ways to get Joy to see sense. How could she even think of living with such a monster?
Perhaps when Rosa returned Joy would fess up to her too and somehow together they could sort out this mess. Funny how concern for Joy’s pain had made her forget her own sadness, Connie thought. She was needed here and that was enough.
24
Rosa
Rosa couldn’t believe they were all sitting together in Santini’s sipping cappuccinos as if they’d never been apart. That was the joy of old friendship; you just picked up where you left off. Yet both Joy and Connie were looking tense and tired and so pale.
The café was now La Dolce Vita Espresso Bar. Rosa’s Santini cousins had cashed in the old juke box for yet another bulbous monster playing Beatles and the charts. Maria’s old theatrical posters were gone and in their place were sc
enes from the Italian Riviera. Sophia Loren hung from a film poster alongside Rossano Brazzi, the heartthrob from South Pacific, stared out with those sensuous lips. She glanced across the street to where the King’s Theatre was now a bingo hall and looking its age. The place was buzzing. Enzo, her cousin, was sporting a Beatle haircut and his new wife, Elaine, was running round just like Mamma used to do. It was good to be back and there was so much to tell them.
She’d just had a furious row with Mamma and was glad to get out of that madhouse.
‘How dare you come back here and tell me you’re married! What crazy nonsense is this? You are married when you stand before a priest, not a captain on a ship! What will Serafina say when she learns you have robbed her of being your bridesmaid?’
‘You’ve not heard a word I said. It was just a civil ceremony. We can have a party later and a blessing in church. Marty’s not home yet for ages.’
‘What girl gets married on ship and then leaves husband … ?’ Mamma’s English was breaking down in an effort to cross-examine her.
‘We both had contracts to fulfil. I couldn’t let Mel down. Don’t be cross with me. He’s a good Catholic boy, like you always wanted.’
‘What good Catholic boy lets you marry on a boat?’
‘On a ship … It’s a ship.’
‘Don’t get clever with me! I wiped your bottom not that long ago, don’t forget. Do I have to start knitting?’ Maria glared at her daughter’s stomach with interest.
‘Of course not. I’m on the pill.’
‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, do you hear such blasphemy! There’ll be no pills in my house. What does Mrs Gorman have to say to all this?’
‘I haven’t met her yet. Marty has written to her.’
Mothers and Daughters Page 30
