by Maureen Lee
Iris’s mother-in-law telephoned on Tuesday morning sounding desperate. ‘Darling, can we possibly come to dinner on Saturday night?’
‘Of course, Adele. Tom and I aren’t doing anything.’ They never did anything. She had been out of the army for three months, and all they had done was have his parents and his brother and his wife to dinner – and gone to dinner at their houses. She wondered if she could ask Adele the reason for her desperation without sounding rude, when her mother-in-law explained.
‘It’s just that odious friend of mine from across the road, Beatrice, has invited us to dinner at their house,’ she said in an accusing voice, as if Beatrice had committed some sort of crime. ‘Apparently her brother, who we have met before, is staying, and he is the most revolting man in the world, with abominable table manners. Cyril can’t abide him. I declined, of course, said we were having dinner elsewhere, but if we stay in and Beatrice sees the light on, she will know I lied. We can’t very well sit at the back in the kitchen all night long, not on a Saturday, and you know how hard it would be to get Cyril to a restaurant.’
‘What time should I expect you both?’
‘Oh, Iris, you are an absolutely perfect daughter-in-law. I just knew I could rely on you. Half-seven say?’
‘Half-seven it is. I’ll invite Constance and Frank, shall I?’ They usually had dinner together once a month, and this could be counted as her and Tom’s turn.
Iris discussed the menu with Nell when she came on Thursday. ‘I haven’t bought this week’s meat ration yet, but whatever I get, there won’t be enough for six.’
‘Have you got a couple of tins of corned beef?’ Nell asked.
‘Only one, but my mother-in-law is bound to have another. Since the war started, she and my father-in-law have become fond of corned-beef hash.’
‘Can you get a pound of haricot beans and a cabbage?’
‘I should imagine so, yes.’
‘Would you like me to come and make dinner for you?’ Nell offered kindly.
‘Oh Nell, would you?’ Whenever they had people to dinner, Iris usually spent the entire day in the kitchen getting herself worked up into such a state that Tom was scared to approach her. Inevitably, something would burn or not be cooked enough. ‘I’d love you to come,’ she said, emotionally. ‘What are you going to make?’
‘Potato soup, followed by haricot beef casserole, and dripping cake with mock cream for afters. I used to make that at camp when we got short of rations. Oh!’ Nell said, delightedly. ‘I’m already looking forward to it. All we have at home is scouse. Me dad always manages to get a bit of meat from somewhere, but it worries me what sort of animal it came from.’
On Saturday, Nell arrived at five o’clock. She put a small parcel on the table. ‘Me dad’s sent half a pound of best butter,’ she said. ‘The other day I told him how much you missed it. He likes you. He keeps asking questions about you.’ She grinned. ‘It’s not often me dad likes anybody apart from Rita Hayworth.’
‘Rita Hayworth!’ Iris said faintly. She tried not to visibly recoil from the idea of being sent a present by Alfred Desmond, despite it being butter. After all, the chap was Nell’s father.
‘She’s his woman,’ Nell said in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Me mam’s his wife and Rita Hayworth is his woman. ’Course, she doesn’t look a bit like the real Rita Hayworth, but she’s got the same red hair.’
‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’ Iris asked, possibly even more faintly.
‘Mind! Of course she minds, but what can she do about it? Me dad’s a law unto himself. She just sits in the chair all day and pines. She’s lovesick, according to me sisters. She doesn’t like being left on her own for long, so our Kenny’s staying at home with her tonight.’
‘Poor woman.’ Iris wondered if Nell’s mother would appreciate a visit, but she would ask about that some other time.
‘Anyroad,’ Nell said, ‘did you manage to soak the beans for twenty-four hours without getting yourself into a tuck about it?’ Having made meals three times a day for up to a hundred people in the army, she found Iris’s inability to cook for two highly amusing.
‘They’re in the larder,’ Iris told her.
‘Well, now they have to be boiled for an hour in the same water.’ She giggled. ‘Can you do that yourself, or would you like me to do it for you?’
‘I can do that by myself, thank you.’
The beans boiled and suitably tender, Nell placed them in layers in a dish along with the crumbled corned beef, the cabbage and sliced carrots, covered with half a pint of thin gravy to which she had added two teaspoons of mustard powder, to ‘give it a tang’. ‘Now it needs to cook for three quarters of an hour.’ The potato soup had already been made. ‘I’ll start on the dripping cake as soon as I’ve drunk the tea you’re in the middle of making.’
While this magic was going on, Iris was able to make the table look attractive for a change with the addition of two silver candlesticks – though without candles; they’d been almost impossible to buy for years – and white napkins folded to look like swans. The wine glasses sparkled and the smells coming from the kitchen were mouth-watering.
Tom came in. ‘That smells good. What are we having?’
‘Haricot beef casserole, though it’s corned beef, not the proper sort.’
‘Really!’ He came and put his arms around Iris from behind. ‘I’m glad you’ve got Nell for a friend. Does she remind you of the army? I know how much you miss it.’ He didn’t seem to mind.
Iris nodded. ‘She misses it too. Life was so intense then.’
‘And it’s anything but intense here.’ He kissed her neck. ‘In fact, it’s dead boring. Maybe we could go on holiday somewhere interesting this summer. The only place in Europe fit to visit is Paris, which is at least still standing. Or how about Spain?’
‘Not with that awful chap Franco in charge,’ Iris reminded him.
‘No, of course not. I’d forgotten about him. I know,’ he said brightly. ‘We could go to the States – sail there, it takes five days, spend five days in New York, and sail back again. How do you fancy that?’
‘It sounds wonderful.’ It was no good explaining to him that what she wanted more than anything was another baby, for what could he do about it? They could make love till the cows came home – he would be very keen on that idea – but Iris felt in her bones that it was a waste of time.
Nell called from the kitchen and Iris looked at her watch. ‘Everyone’s likely to arrive any minute,’ she said, slipping out of Tom’s arms. ‘Will you please see to the drinks?’
In the kitchen, Nell was stirring the soup. She looked up, eyes shining. ‘I know it’s only for six people, but it’s a bit like being back in the camp.’
Nell had insisted on waiting on them. ‘I can be getting the next course ready while you eat,’ she said.
She turned out to be the perfect waitress, and Iris knew already that she was a perfect cook. She served the food with smiling politeness, wearing a plain brown dress and a little white apron that she’d made especially for the occasion out of an old pillowslip. Her hair had grown a little since leaving the army and had acquired a suggestion of a wave in front. Iris noticed Frank, her brother-in-law, regarding Nell with interest. Frank was a notorious ladies’ man, and his relationships with other women were the source of much bitterness between him and Constance. Iris was never sure if they were genuine affairs or merely flirtations, and had never liked to ask. She must make sure that Frank didn’t get his hands on Nell. The poor girl wouldn’t know how to cope.
‘How on earth does she do it?’ Adele asked when the meal was over and they were seated around the table lazily finishing off the wine. The men smoked. Iris was actually enjoying herself for once. At this point of a meal, she was usually longing for the guests to go home so she could go to bed, where she would lie and think what a disaster the meal had been. ‘Such basic food, but she made it taste delicious.’
Cyril agreed, but Constance looked sus
picious, as if she’d been tricked in some way and the meal had contained secret ingredients that had made it exceptionally nice.
‘Perhaps Nell could come and cook for us next time we have guests for dinner,’ Frank suggested.
Constance glared at him. ‘I can make my own dinners, thank you,’ she snapped.
‘I shall definitely ask her to make mine in future,’ Adele enthused, while her husband nodded his approval. ‘She’s such a lovely young woman. Not so much in looks, but gentle and ladylike. Do you think she would agree, Iris?’
‘I should imagine she’d be only too pleased,’ Iris confirmed. ‘She loves cooking. I’ll ask her, shall I?’
In the kitchen, Nell had removed her apron and was wearing Iris’s old green pinafore while she dried the dishes.
‘There’s no need to do that,’ Iris protested. ‘I know I’m a hopeless cook, but I can manage to wash and dry dishes.’
‘I thought I may as well.’ She dried the final plate and put it on the dresser shelf. ‘I’ll be off now. I hope everyone enjoyed their meal.’
‘They did indeed. In fact my mother-in-law would like it if you’d do the same for her next time she has a dinner party. She’ll pay, of course.’
Nell confirmed that she’d love to. ‘I’ll save the money up for when I go to London. I’m bound to get there one of these days.’
‘I hope you do, Nell.’ Iris squeezed her arm. ‘Oh, but what will I do without you!’ It wasn’t just the cooking, but the friendship too. In a curious sort of way, she needed Nell more than she did Tom.
Maggie hadn’t meant for them to go all the way, but she couldn’t help it. Their kissing had become more heated and abandoned, his hands touching her in the most intimate places, making her body quiver with delight. She couldn’t remember taking off her clothes and was amazed when she realised that Chris was undressed too. It didn’t seem possible that the feelings she had could become even more passionate, but they did, because by then Chris had slipped inside her and it didn’t hurt a bit, when all along she’d been told the first time was really painful. She screamed with pleasure and delight. What seemed like ages later, though turned out to only be minutes, ended like an orchestra building up to a grand, overwhelming climax. She lay back on the bed, exhausted, while Chris collapsed beside her.
‘Whew,’ he gasped. ‘Let’s get married soon.’
‘How soon?’
‘Next week.’ He sat up and laid his hand idly on her breast. ‘Tomorrow? How about now?’
They were in his mother’s place in Everton Valley. Betty had gone to London the day before, accompanied by most of her possessions in a trunk. Soon, she would come back for the last of her things. In a few weeks she would be established in Susan’s flat in Crouch End and her own flat would belong to her son, whose name was already on the rent book. Chris had approached the man who was opening the picture house in Walton Vale and applied for the post of manager. He had been assured the job would eventually be his. As from now, there was nothing to stop him and Maggie from getting married.
Thinking about this now, Maggie had no idea why she should suddenly feel apprehensive. Despite having been so close to Chris, as close as a man and woman could be, thereby putting a seal on their relationship, she was aware that she didn’t know all that much about him. They hadn’t discussed all sorts of important things; politics, for instance. Because of her father, Maggie was more aware of politics than most women. For which party had Chris voted at the last election? Another thing, did he want children? Maggie wanted at least four and didn’t care what sex they were. One thing was for sure, it would be impossible to raise four children in a fourth-floor flat with two small bedrooms, so where would they live when their babies began to arrive?
Why hadn’t she thought about all these things before?
She slid from underneath Chris, who seemed to have fallen asleep, picked up her clothes and went into the main room. There were no lights on, but the curtains were open and a pale moon was visible through the window; the nights were gradually getting lighter. As she dressed, she listened to the traffic on the road below; horns sounded, people shouted, tram cars trundled past.
What was she to do now? Should she tell Chris she wanted to wait a bit longer before they got married? It was also essential that she discuss it with Mam and Dad before a date was set. They’d met him, Mam liked him, Dad didn’t, but they had no idea that their daughter getting married so soon was on the cards.
‘Oh!’ Maggie sat down, feeling sick. What a terrible mess she’d got herself into. People were always saying she was too headstrong. Only minutes ago she’d been soaring through blissful heaven; now she felt panic-stricken and full of worry.
In the bedroom, she heard Chris stir, and next minute he walked into the room completely naked. She wasn’t prepared for it. He should have worn something, even if it was only underpants or a towel, she reasoned. She had never seen a naked man before.
Oh, Jaysus! I’m a madwoman, she thought. Chris was coming towards her. She could tell by his face that he wanted to kiss her. But he had nothing on!
Maggie grabbed her coat and handbag and fled from the room. She ran downstairs with Chris shouting, ‘Maggie, Maggie, what’s wrong?’ from the fourth-floor landing. ‘Come back,’ he called plaintively as she raced through the front door.
She waited on Scotland Road for a tram, half expecting Chris to come running around the corner, having forgotten he hadn’t any clothes on. But the next tram that came was heading for Bootle. Maggie got on with a relieved sigh and a racing heart, thankful that she was going home.
Angry voices were coming from the parlour of the house in Coral Street. The loudest voice belonged to Auntie Kath, who always shouted when she argued about politics with people who disagreed with her.
‘What’s going on in there?’ Maggie asked her mother, who was in the living room. There was no sign of her brother, and Bridie would have gone to bed hours ago.
‘Phelim Hegarty has decided to resign, so there’ll be a by-election. Our Kath is trying to talk your dad into standing for the seat,’ her mother said tiredly. ‘There’s half a dozen Labour Party members in there, all sticking their oar in.’
‘Me dad, go into politics!’ Since before Maggie was born, Phelim Hegarty had been the Member of Parliament for the Bootle Docklands constituency in which the O’Neill family lived. A few weeks before, he’d had a heart attack. ‘Flippin’ heck.’ She dropped on to a chair with a bang. ‘That’s a desperately good idea.’
‘Oh, I do wish you’d sit down in a normal way, girl,’ Sheila said tetchily. ‘One of these days, you and the chair will go right through the floor. And I don’t meself see anything good about your dad going into politics.’
‘Are you all right, Mam?’ She noticed how pale her mother was and how weak and tired she looked. The baby wasn’t due for another two months and the pregnancy was wearing her down. She was anaemic according to the doctor, who’d prescribed an iron tonic that didn’t seem to have done any good at all.
‘I’m just a bit weary,’ she said now. ‘I won’t half be glad when this baby is born. Anyroad, you’re home early. We weren’t expecting you back until gone ten.’
Maggie had no idea what time it was. The clock on the sideboard chose that moment to strike, announcing that it was quarter past nine. She was trying to think of a reason to explain why she was home so early when Auntie Kath shouted, ‘You’ve got no guts, you useless man. If I thought they’d elect a woman, I’d bloody well stand meself.’
‘That’s your poor dad she’s talking to.’ Sheila pulled herself to her feet and made to go into the kitchen. ‘They’ll be out in a minute. I’d best make some tea.’
Maggie pushed her mother none too gently back into the chair. ‘You’ll do no such thing. I’ll make it.’
Not long afterwards, the tea made, the parlour door opened and Auntie Kath came into the room. ‘Paddy’s agreed to stand for Labour at the by-election,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I’ll be
his agent, naturally.’
‘You’re nothing but a bully,’ Sheila told her sister. ‘Since when did Paddy ever say he wanted to go into Parliament?’
Kath grinned. ‘Just now, Sheil, in your very own front parlour.’ She rubbed her hands together gleefully. ‘He’s bound to get elected. Your Paddy’s one of the most popular men in Bootle. Once Phelim Hegarty makes a statement to say he’s resigning, we’ll tell the Bootle Times about Paddy.’
‘How many cuppas do you want?’ Maggie shouted from the kitchen.
‘None.’ Auntie Kath poked her head around the door. ‘There’s still some of that sherry left that I got your mam and dad at Christmas. We’ll finish it off with a toast to your dad.’
‘No sherry for me, thanks. I’ve already got a splitting headache,’ Sheila said sourly. Once again she attempted to struggle out of the chair, this time successfully. ‘I’m off to bed. It doesn’t matter about wasting a whole pot of tea, by the way,’ she finished crossly.
Auntie Kath frowned worriedly at her sister as she lumbered out of the room. ‘I’ll come round and see her tomorrer afternoon,’ she muttered after she’d gone. ‘Bring her some flowers or summat.’
Maggie waited until her mother had got into bed before going up herself. Her previous worries had returned to haunt her and she wasn’t in the mood for drinking sherry. Anyroad, after thinking about it for a bit, the idea of her dad becoming a politician seemed too far-fetched for words. It was up to the entire membership of the local Labour Party to choose the candidate, not just Auntie Kath, even if she was the biggest bully on earth.
Once in bed, Maggie tossed and turned, knowing there was no chance of falling asleep. Bridie was well away, and she could hear her mother breathing heavily in the next room. She was worried about Mam and felt guilty for being out with Chris so much that she hadn’t noticed how exhausted she was. From now on, she’d help every day with the housework. As for Chris, tomorrow was Saturday and she’d go and see him first thing and apologise for behaving the way she had. They would have a proper discussion about getting married, name a date – later in the year, say, after Mam had had the baby. She felt uneasy that marrying Chris, which that morning had seemed an infinitely desirable thing to do, now seemed terribly wrong.
