Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  “It lights up.” Hattie announced.

  Jo flung it to one side and dug further into the bag. She pulled out a paper garland of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Snow White resembled Bette Davies in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane.

  “What do you expect from the pound shop?” Hattie bristled as Jo crumpled the chain into a ball. “I’ve got some lovely items here and all you can do is be critical.”

  “Did you get the fairy lights?”

  “Yes. Hundreds of the bloody things. Got them from Cleators, so don’t be worrying that the place is going to ignite.” She reached down and produced a large bag. Cleator’s Superior Electrical Supplies was embossed on its side. “Cost a friggin’ fortune.”

  “Does none of you do nowt but gossip round here?” Alf marched into panel room and Jo stared at his trail of muddy footprints. He looked at the pile of decorations.

  “You’ll need something to hang this lot on.” He indicated to the twins that they should follow him. He had four fine Christmas trees waiting to be unloaded. The muddy prints made a return journey.

  “Thomas!”

  They heard Ann cry out from the house. The panel room door had inched open and Thomas fell into the room. Eight bounding puppies flew past. Thomas giggled.

  “Uppies Mamma!” He pulled himself to his feet and toddled over to Jo’s legs. She picked him up.

  “Dirty Mumma…” He poked a podgy finger across Jo’s face and held it out. It was black. She put his finger in her mouth and licked it clean while Ann scrambled round the floor trying to round the puppies up. They were now six weeks old and full of energy and inquisitiveness. Jo smiled. It was like having eight more children, but she adored each and every one of them. The twins scooped up two and held them up to tickle their tummies.

  “Have you got homes for them all?” Simon asked.

  “Yes, we have.”

  Jo thought how easy it had been to find good homes for Pippa’s brood. Alf had instigated the whole procedure and assured every interested party that the lineage was impeccable. He’d chosen two males for himself. One bitch was going to the twins’ mother, who’d fallen in love the moment she clapped eyes on it. Martin next door wanted one and another was going up to Ann’s family farm in Marland. Phillip and Helen Campbell in the village had pleaded for a male and Marion the part-time cook said she’d like the last bitch; it would be good company for her. That left one - the fattest and naughtiest of the bunch, little Bertie would be staying with Jo and Pippa. The pups were due to have their injections that week and would depart soon after.

  One of the boxes of decorations moved. They stared down and watched it shuffle across the floor. It stopped and a little black nose peeped out. Pippa appeared from the doorway and searched for her pups. She moved over to the box and nudged it to one side. Bertie sat underneath surrounded by Christmas nativity pieces. He had something small and pink in his mouth.

  “Baby Mumma!” Thomas cried out and pointed.

  Jo closed her eyes. The dog was chewing on Baby Jesus.

  “Baby dead Mumma!” Thomas giggled as Jo thrust him into Ann’s arms and bent down to pick the pup up. Hattie smiled as she smoothed out her Snow White decoration.

  “If no one else wants this, I’ll take it home.”

  * * *

  The Christmas trees went up that afternoon and everyone stood round to watch the lights being turned on at the front. Old Johnny tidied leaves and stopped to watch. The late afternoon sky was inky and dark, and as the lights sprung into life they all clapped their hands – it looked magical! Draped with gold and red garlands, the tree had a large gold star at the top.

  “My fairy would have looked much better.” Hattie grumbled. Jo winced as she thought about the plastic horror from the pound shop. It had a gross gaping red hole for a mouth and enormous breasts and it would have sat comfortably on the shelf of a sex shop.

  “Why don’t you put it on your tree at home?”

  “Aye, I might just do that.” Hattie flounced back into the hotel.

  The trees looked splendid in the front reception rooms dressed with red and gold ornaments. They’d wrapped tartan ribbon round fir cone garlands on the stairs and along the fireplaces, and placed holly on picture frames. It all looked very festive. Jo wandered through to her house; she was filthy and needed to shower before evening service. They had their first Christmas party in tonight – Jim from the sorting office and Mystic Myra had organised the Post Office workers in Marland and ordered the Christmas Menu. They would dine in the panel room, which now resembled a grotto, decorated with Christmas ribbons and garlands and bright coloured crackers with a welcoming log fire glowing in the grate.

  Jo climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The house was quiet. Ann had taken Thomas over to Marland to play with Hattie’s boys. She looked at her face in the dressing room mirror, what a sight! The old mirror had a lovely frame but the glass was bevelled, Jo rubbed the smoky surface and leaned in to inspect herself more closely. The mirror was one of Robert’s ‘finds’ and she loved the gold border, even if the gilt was peeling off. Poor Robert, he was mortified after his outburst. He’d called and apologised profusely and said he was ashamed of his behaviour. Jo thought he was going over the top, but a drunk always regrets their actions. Robert justified his concern – he didn’t want her to move away. Jo made light of it and he promised to keep his ear to the ground as she’d asked him. Jo was thoughtful as she rubbed cleanser into her skin. The phone rang.

  “Mrs E – there’s an overseas call for you.” Judy said excitedly. Jo thanked her. She held the phone in one hand and picked up a cotton wool ball in the other.

  “Hello?” She said brightly.

  “Decided to speak to me then?” John Doherty sounded like he was in the next room. Jo held the receiver out and stared at it in shock. Her hand shook.

  “Pardon?”

  “I waited all morning, left you two messages and came in to see you, but you decided to give me the cold shoulder.” He was angry.

  “I did not!” Jo was indignant. What messages? No one had told her he’d called in.

  “Well it doesn’t matter now. You think I’m a complete shit and you’re right – I am.” His voice softened.

  “Does it matter what I think?” Jo didn’t know what to say.

  “Well it matters what I think, and I think the world of you - that’s the trouble.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  Jo moved the cotton ball across her face in a mechanical motion.

  “Don’t you? Surely you’ve worked it out by now?” John sounded surprised. “Bertie must have explained to Hattie. How is she by the way?” He sidetracked.

  “She’s doing well, but what do you mean, Bertie explained what?” Jo had the sudden fear that John was married.

  “Why I can’t see you.”

  “You’re married.”

  “I was Jo, a long time ago.”

  “And now…”

  “She died, with my son. We were just kids.”

  He was very quiet. Jo stopped cleaning her face. The cotton ball had turned to a muddy mess.

  “I’m sorry.” She spoke gently. “But if it was a long time ago, why can’t you see me now?”

  “You really don’t know do you?” He sighed deeply. “I’m a gypsy Jo.” He calmly stated. “A true blooded Romany gypsy, I’m born of pure stock and am the oldest son in our family.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?” She was baffled.

  “I grew up in a Vardo – a travelling horse drawn caravan. As kids we slept by the roadside and at night and my mother cooked over an open fire. Usually a pigs head stew in an iron pot.” He paused. “Do you want me to go on?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “My Mother got sick of travelling and my Dad bought some land and rented it to other gypsy families, we lived in a caravan community but I missed out on school and never learnt to read or write.”

  Jo thought about the cash John always used to pay his bills –
wads of it, never a cheque book or bank card in sight.

  “I grew up learning to fight, bare knuckle boxing to protect the old man.” John paused. “He was a scrap dealer but dabbled in antiques, he was quite good at it. But he liked the horses too and always gambled his money away. I should have worked with him on the antiques, but I wanted something better and liked the land, I was good at buying at auction. Cars too – I seem to have the knack. Rory does the contracts, he’s a brilliant lawyer and I trust him with everything. He watches my back.” Jo thought about Rory, settling John’s bill, hiring cars, running around for him – probably of gypsy stock too. Their blood bonded them together.

  “But you could learn to read and write?” She said.

  “Oh I have, I’m not that stupid, but it’s harder when you’re older.”

  “But I still don’t understand.” Jo shook her head, it didn’t make any sense.

  “The old man has been ill for years. His heart isn’t strong and he lost a fortune including the home. The family was penniless, so I support them, most of them work for me.” He added. “I’ve eight brothers and sisters and god knows how many in-laws, nephews and nieces.”

  “Is your Mother still alive?”

  “Yes and she lives in comfort in her caravan, no more Vardos for her, although sometimes I think she’d prefer one.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Jo asked. “Why haven’t you married again? I thought gypsies made as many babies as they could?”

  “As I’ve said, I married at sixteen – I didn’t know Jenny but our parents pushed us together, the marriage was arranged, it’s how things are done. When she died in childbirth, it was as though there was a curse on me. To lose them both meant I was cursed. Its how we think, what the family said.”

  Jo listened, she’d never heard anything so foolish, but she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

  “Since then I’ve had to prove myself, show them that I wasn’t cursed, that I could make something of myself. And I have and I’m proud of my roots. But …” He hesitated. “I can never marry a non-gypsy, a gorger, it would kill my parents, they’d disown me and my family would never approve of me marrying outside. He stopped. Jo could hear the sound of waves in the background.

  “Where are you?” She asked.

  “Sitting by a beach in Spain, the phone belongs to the bar.”

  Not bloody Spain! Jo thought angrily. She shoved away the pot of cleanser and it fell to the fall, the contents oozed over the carpet. Jo ignored it. She was furious and couldn’t understand his logic! Surely his parents would be proud of what he’d achieved? Dear Lord – he supported them all after all, how could they possibly deny him his happiness? It was 1987 for God’s sake! Surely the old gypsy ways and customs were dying out. What the hell did it matter?

  “I know you don’t understand.” John spoke quietly. “I just wanted you to know why I’ve kept away.” Jo’s stomach churned. She felt sick, surely he couldn’t mean this?

  “You blew me away Jo. At first it was a bit of fun, but lunch by the Lake was magical – I fell in love with you. Then watching you care for Hattie and your compassion at the funeral, seeing how you’ve built up your business, you’re a great Mother too. I could go on and on…”

  “So what are you saying?” Jo felt a sob at the back of her throat.

  “It’s over.” He sighed. “I can’t mess you about or string you along – you deserve better. That’s what I wanted to tell you to your face. But I wanted you to know that I love you. I love you Jo.”

  Jo stared at her muddy face in the mirror. Oh Christ! Just when she’d been so angry with him! Now he told her that he loved her but could never see her again! Oh this is just crazy! Surely she could speak to his family… Meet with his parents? Make them understand?

  “John! Listen to me…” She gripped the phone, she had to make him realise…

  The connection was lost.

  “JOHN!” She screamed into the phone. It was dead. Jo closed her eyes and placed it on its cradle. Her tears dripped onto the dressing table. She picked up the diamond necklace and stroked the dazzling stone. A shudder tore through her body and Jo felt pain like she’d never known before. She put her head in her hands and wept.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  “I want to look like the fairy off the top of the Christmas tree.” Hattie leaned over and turned the heating up in Jo’s car.

  “Not the pound shop fairy I hope?” Jo carefully pulled out of the hotel gates and turned onto the main road. The weather was treacherous.

  “I want sparkles and sequins and a plunging neckline.”

  “So more ‘Come Dancing’’ than restaurant hostess then?” Jo flicked the wipers on as sleet lashed against the windscreen.

  “Never mind restaurant hostess,” Hattie replied “It’s a Gala Ball we’re having, and I intend to look the part.”

  The girls were heading to Carlisle. An appointment had been made with Dorothy Osbourne and she had instructions to find them both something fabulous to wear for the party on New Years Eve.

  Jo had decided to have a big bash to celebrate the end of the year. Pete Park’s booking for a hundred had convinced her that she needed to hire a marquee, she could never accommodate them all in the restaurant and if she was having a marquee, why not have a decent size and sell more tickets for the event? So a marquee had been booked. It would completely cover the croquet lawn with a tunnel from the conservatory and there would be proper flooring and heating. It had cost a fortune.

  “I hope you know what you’re taking on with this do.” Hattie stuck a toffee in her mouth. “The band is two hundred and fifty quid alone, and what if it blows a gale and the tent takes off!”

  Good old Hattie, ever the optimist, Jo thought as she navigated the icy road. Pete Parks’ party had nearly covered the costs. He’d paid upfront for the tickets and wine for his guests. God Bless him! Jo thought. Tickets were on sale and she hoped they’d sell another two hundred. It was a huge event for the village. Jo had hired in additional toilet facilities with cloakrooms and a catering marquee – all to be situated in the courtyard. Extra staff, china and glasses were coming from an agency in Carlisle and she would set up a separate bar as a late license had been approved. Jo was excited.

  “To be honest Hattie, if we only break even I’ll be happy. This is a bit of a thank you to everyone. I can’t believe how things have picked up in the last month or so and everyone has been so supportive.”

  “Sell all the tickets and you should make a packet.”

  Hattie thought of the advert in the Tribune last week…

  Celebrate the New Year!

  Kirkton House Gala Ball

  Join us in our festive marquee for a Champagne Reception,

  Sumptuous Buffet & Licensed Bar

  Dancing to the Cumberland Quartet

  7.30pm for 8pm

  Carriages at 2 am Black Tie

  “I don’t know what folk will make of Black Tie – they only wear one round here when there’s a funeral.” Hattie said.

  “Nonsense, it’s a chance to dress up and have a bit of fun. I’m sure everyone will enter into the spirit.”

  “Well let’s hope Dorothy finds you a grander outfit that Jinny.” Hattie sucked her toffee and turned the heater up to its highest setting. Jo gritted her teeth. Mention of Jinny’s name made her seethe with rage.

  Jo had backed down and carried on with the booking for Jinny’s Christmas lunch party. After all, Hattie pointed out - Jinny’s money was as good as anyone else’s, so why turn it away? Jinny had strutted about the place and been her usual sour self. She’d ignored Jo to the point of rudeness and Jo had to bite her tongue. Hattie stuck an extra fifty pounds on the bar bill, hoping that it might ease Jo’s pain, but she knew the real reason for Jo’s anguish - John Doherty of course.

  Hattie was aware that he’d phoned. Judy couldn’t contain her excitement about a call from Spain and had told all the staff. Jo barely spoke for two days and in the end Hattie sat
her down and demanded that Jo talk about it. The whole tale spilled out and Jo sobbed as she dabbed at her eyes. But Hattie understood John’s reasoning. It wasn’t so strange really. Genuine gypsy folk had odd customs and Bertie had told her of many, Hattie could see why John had cut Jo off. There was one thing she couldn’t understand though - what had Jinny to do with all this? John seemed to be more than friendly with her. The more they discussed it, the angrier Jo became, she was sure he was lying to her and making excuses.

  Hattie sighed and undid another toffee. At least Jo seemed to have pulled herself together now. She said she’d chalk it down to experience and they vowed never to mention his name again.

  * * *

  Dorothy welcomed them with her usual warmth. “Ladies, how lovely to see you, come through and have a sherry.” She beckoned to her daughter. “Vicky, get the Bristol Cream out.”

  They sat on the soft velvet couch and sipped their sherry.

  “Now I must settle with you for six tickets to your ball.” Dorothy produced her cheque book and signed a cheque. “Myself and my new partner and Vicky here, with her young man are joining Vera and her husband Victor. It’s my treat.” She handed the cheque to Hattie who tucked it in her handbag.

  “When you’re ready ladies, shall we go through?”

  Dorothy guided them both into separate fitting rooms. Vicky assisted Hattie, who appeared in one outfit after another and danced around in front of the full length mirrors.

  “What do you think of this Jo?” She twirled in an emerald green sheath that plunged at the neck and fell softly to her knees.

  “Not really a fairy is it?”

  “Fuck the fairy – this is divine.” Hattie exclaimed “Wrap it up Mrs O!”