by Anna King
But as for Stan! Well, a father always wanted a strong man for his daughters. The problem with Stanley was he wouldn’t recognise his abilities – or lack of them. Stanley would always imagine himself to be capable of more than he really was, and would forever blame life’s circumstances for holding him back rather than admit he didn’t have what it took to make something of himself. And while it was true there was a severe shortage of work, it was no good moping around feeling sorry for yourself. You had to get out and do something to change things, not wait for someone or something to change it for you. But, there you are. His Grace loved the man, and love could often work miracles, although he, Sam, had never known it strong enough to change a person’s inbred character.
As the three men came into view of the pub on the corner, Sam blew out a sigh of relief. Ignoring Stanley’s protestations of not wanting a drink, he took the young man’s arm and steered him into the Nag’s Head, thinking as he did so that not only did he strongly want a drink, but he also bloody well deserved one.
Chapter Four
‘Well! That was perfectly horrible. Honestly, Nan, I wish you’d think before jumping in with both feet. Poor Uncle Danny and Stanley were absolutely mortified. You know how sensitive they are and—’
‘Sensitive are they?’ Aggie swivelled on her chair, her manner calmer now as she looked at the angry faces glaring at her, yet still determined to stand her ground. ‘Well, all I can say is if either of ’em are thinking of taking up arms, they’d better bloody well toughen up.’
‘That’s not fair, Nan.’ Grace spoke hotly, her voice unusually harsh when speaking to her grandmother. ‘Stan’s no coward, and neither is Uncle Danny. You had no right to humiliate them like that, especially Stan. He wasn’t the one who brought the subject up, in fact I don’t remember him saying a word. It was Uncle Danny who was doing all the talking, and he was just trying to make conversation. You know what Uncle Danny’s like. He doesn’t mean any harm and—’
‘Here, here, that’s enough, Grace.’ Hetty was busy clearing the table, her normally placid face troubled. ‘I think we’ve had enough unpleasantness for one night. Your nan was wrong to speak out as she did, and I’m sure when she’s calmed down she’ll apologise to Stan and Danny… Won’t you, Mum?’ Her eyes met and held her mother’s, and there was no mistaking the warning in them.
But Aggie wasn’t a woman to be easily intimidated, even when she knew herself to be in the wrong. Bridling visibly, she returned her daughter’s stare and blustered loudly, ‘Now look here, me girl. The day when I can’t speak me own mind without having to worry about offending is the day I move out. Now, I’m telling you straight… And you can all stop looking at me like I was something the cat had just dragged in…’
When her daughter and the girls rose from the table as one, Aggie felt her body deflate, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought she was going to burst into tears. The very notion of such a happening brought her shoulders up straight, but she couldn’t quell the uneasy turbulence of her stomach. Taking a loud slurp of her tea, she looked over to where the women were busying themselves by the sink, each one concentrating on their own task, and it was the way they all had their backs to her that made something inside Aggie cry out. Aw, don’t. Don’t shut me out. Can’t you see I’m scared half outta me wits worrying about losing any of you. Don’t you know you all mean the world to me. Please – somebody say something…
As if in answer to her silent plea, Polly came to her side, saying quietly, ‘Do you want another cuppa, Nan? There’s still plenty in the pot.’ Aggie looked up gratefully, her gnarled hand gripping at her granddaughter’s long fingers. Thank God for Polly. Polly the quiet one – Polly the peacemaker. Polly, the plainest of the girls, with hair that was more orange than red and a face that ran riot with freckles, and the possessor of the sweetest nature you could wish to find.
‘Yeah, thanks, love, ta.’
Giving a loud sniff, Aggie took a crumpled handkerchief from her apron pocket, and on the pretext of blowing her nose, took a quick glance over to where the women of her family were finishing the last of the dishes. Hetty and Grace were talking quietly, Polly was pouring out the tea, and Vi, as usual, was busy doing nothing, her shapely figure slouched against the pine dresser in the corner of the kitchen, her pretty face filled with undisguised boredom. Aggie’s eyes narrowed. That one needed watching. The other two had never been any trouble, especially young Polly, but Vi had had an eye for the men since the day she started school, and they in their turn nearly fell over themselves to get to her. There was always some poor fellow hanging around Vi, but while she was more than happy to let her many admirers spend their money on her, she was always on the look-out for someone better. It was just as well Sam wasn’t the type of man to stand for any nonsense, else the girl would have gone off the rails years ago.
As it was, Sam had strict curfews for all his girls, insisting they were home at a reasonable time. This law wasn’t relevant to Polly, who never went outside the door after work unless accompanied by her family, and Grace, at twenty-two and engaged, was still happy to abide by her father’s rules. Vi, though, was itching to kick over the traces, but she wasn’t brave enough to defy her father, despite her cocky attitude at times.
Suddenly finding herself under her nan’s eagle eyes, Vi shifted abruptly. Detaching herself from the dresser, she said shortly, ‘Well, I’m off to the club. Anyone else coming?’
Hetty turned in surprise. ‘Yes, in a while, when we’ve had a wash and a tidy up.’
Vi yawned rudely. ‘Blooming hell, Mum. It’s only the Legion, not a nightclub up West. I’m going as I am.’
Folding up a damp tea cloth, Hetty said grimly, ‘That’s up to you, Vi, but you’ll still wait for the rest of us. Now if you’ve nothing better to do, go into the sitting room until we’re all ready to go.’
With deliberate slowness, Vi dragged her body across the floor. When she reached the door she stopped, looked over at Grace and said slyly, ‘Actually, I don’t know if I fancy going, after all. I mean, it’s not going to be a barrel of laughs at the club, is it? Not the mood your Stan was in when he left here. It was all right for you, you were sitting next to him, so you couldn’t see the state he was in.’ She gave a short, spiteful laugh. ‘I was sitting opposite him when Nan started. I didn’t know whether he was going to burst into tears or slide under the table in a dead faint. Maybe Nan had a point after all. Because between you and me, Gracie, your Stan—’
Grace was already heading angrily towards her sister when Aggie, with surprising agility for her bulk, sprang to her feet and grabbed the startled Violet roughly by the arm, pushing her from the room.
‘You shut your mouth, you spiteful little cow. Just because I’ve opened me big gob and upset everyone don’t mean to say you can do the same. I ain’t proud of meself for what I said. It came out all wrong, but even so, I never meant it to be nasty. It was, I admit that now, but it wasn’t intended. But you ain’t got no excuse. You just like being bitchy, and one of these days you’ll get a hand across that gob of yours if you’re not careful.’
Violet, struggling to free herself from the iron grip, scowled down at the furious woman, her lovely face contorted with rage at being shown up.
‘Mum, Mum, for heaven’s sake, let her go, you’re hurting her.’ Hetty hurried towards the struggling women, her face close to tears.
With a muttered oath, Aggie released her grip, and when the front door banged noisily after Vi she turned slowly and sank down in the nearest chair.
For a long while the kitchen was silent as each of the remaining women tried to think of something to say that would banish the ill feeling that pervaded the normally noisy, happy kitchen.
Then Grace, with a loud cry, exclaimed, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Let’s get out of here and get to the club before anything else happens.’
And when, ten minutes later, the group of women left the house, they were all talking again, their high voices masking
the tension that still lay between them. But by the time they reached the Legion clubhouse, they were holding arms and laughing, and it was this sight of his womenfolk that greeted Sam as he glanced up from the bar towards the door.
Gesturing wildly, Sam motioned the women over to where an empty table still remained in a corner of the large, square room. Pushing and nudging good naturedly through the crowd, Aggie led the way, thankfully dropping on to one of the four rickety chairs at the cigarette-scarred table. Plopping her best handbag in the middle of the table, she gave a great sigh of relief. This was more like it! The atmosphere in the club, as always, was one of jollity and lively camaraderie. Surrounded by familiar faces, loud laughter and foot-tapping music supplied by the resident three-piece band, Aggie felt the tension seep out of her body like water down a drain. Looking about her, she acknowledged greetings from couples sitting at adjoining tables, her fat face wreathed in smiles as she happily exchanged pleasantries while waiting for Hetty and the girls to get themselves comfortable.
When the women were finally settled in their places, their coats hanging on the backs of the chairs, their handbags resting in a heap under the table, Grace looked around for a sign of Stanley, but the room was so packed and smoky it was hard to see further than a few feet.
When Sam and Danny approached the table with the drinks, a double port for Aggie, a gin and tonic for Hetty and Grace, and a lemonade for Polly, Grace touched her father’s arm, asking loudly, ‘Where’s Stan, Dad? Isn’t he with you?’
Bending down to hear Grace’s words, Sam’s head jerked up, his eyes circling the room.
‘He was here a minute ago, love. He met up with some chap he knows. The last I saw of him, he was over near the band with Vi and this friend of his… Oh, there you are… See? Over there. Look, right in front of you…’ Sam was gesturing with the hand holding his pint, causing Grace to lean back to avoid getting splashed with the dangerously tilting Guinness. Following her father’s arm, Grace saw Vi’s distinctive blond hair nestled between a small group of men and got to her feet.
‘Keep my chair for me, Polly.’ She bent her head towards her sister, who was watching the activity around her with great enjoyment. ‘I’m just going to tell Stan we’re here. Won’t be a tick.’
As she passed, Hetty reached out and grabbed Grace’s arm, saying, ‘If you see Vi, tell her I want a word with her.’
Grace nodded and moved on. Squeezing through the merry throng, she reached Stanley’s side, and her first thought was one of relief, followed quickly by one of dismay. Stanley was drunk. And Stanley, when in his cups, could be a bit too much at times. Still, she told herself as she ducked a glowing cigarette end held precariously at face level by a passing guest, any change of mood had to be better than the one he was in earlier. With him was Vi, her vivacious face sparkling, her evident good humour obviously engendered by a tall, dark-haired man who was in the middle of telling a witty story to a captivated Stanley. The trio looked so comfortable with each other that for a brief moment Grace felt as if she was intruding; then she slid her arm through Stanley’s, saying cheerfully, ‘Hello there. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here or not.’
Stanley turned, a welcoming smile splayed about his lips.
‘Wotch’yer, Gracie, love, how’s me favourite girl, then?’
With a bellyful of beer, Stan was positively oozing conviviality. Gathering Grace closer to his side, he waved his free hand to acknowledge his drinking partner.
‘This is Nobby, love. We used to go to the same school. Ain’t seen each other for years, then, wallop, outta the blue, he shows up in here. Funny old world, ain’t it?’
Grace smiled wryly. She couldn’t see anything that strange about bumping into an old friend. It happened all the time, especially in places such as these. But Stanley seemed to be delighted at the chance meeting, and that was the main thing.
In the general crush, Grace hadn’t had time to look properly at the good-looking, smiling man. Now, as she held out her hand to greet him, her smile faltered as she took in the blue airforce uniform he was wearing. Casting a quick look into Stanley’s face, Grace suddenly knew the reason behind his profusive delight at meeting this particular old friend. Swallowing the nagging feeling of misgiving, she took the outstretched hand and gripped it warmly.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr…?’
Stanley roared. ‘What did I tell you, Nobby? Has my girl got class, or what?’
The uniformed man flicked an answering smile at Stan, but his eyes remained fixed on Grace.
‘And I’m very pleased to meet you, Grace. Stanley here’s been telling me all about you. And the name’s Nobby… Nobby Clark.’
Momentarily disconcerted by the warmth in the stranger’s greeting, Grace moved closer to Stanley’s side, and when the dark-haired man grinned lazily and turned to the hovering Violet, Grace immediately chided herself for being silly.
As if to compensate for her foolishness, Grace turned to her sister, already busy making herself familiar with Stanley’s new-found friend, and said archly, ‘By the way, Vi, Mum wants you. You’d better go and see her before she comes looking for you.’
The gaiety slipped from Violet’s face at Grace’s words, but her loss of composure was swiftly restored as she slipped her arm casually through the arm of the man at her side and, wrinkling up her pert nose, said playfully, ‘I suppose I’d better do what my big sister tells me. But, hang on… Why don’t you come and meet the family? After all, any friend of Stan’s is a friend of ours… Eh, Gracie?’ The look she shot her sister was filled with childish mockery, but before Grace had the chance to answer, Stan, delighted at the opportunity to hang on to his friend for the remainder of the evening, joined in, crying expansively, ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. How about it, Nobby? Fancy meeting me relations… Well…’ He dug Nobby slyly in the ribs and winked. ‘Sort of me relations. Me and Gracie’ll be tying the old knot soon enough – won’t we, love?’
Knowing herself to be defeated, Grace led the way back to the table, and while introductions were made all round, she slid back on to her chair and took a long sip at her drink. During the course of the evening more chairs were added around the table, and within a very short time the Donnelly family was hosting its own private party. Sam in particular was thankful to have someone so entertaining join them. Usually the conversation among the men fell heavily on him, so it was a rare treat for him to have someone equally proficient in making the conversation sparkle.
And Nobby Clark could certainly hold an audience. With a seemingly effortless ease, he entertained them all, regaling the group of avid listeners with stories of his life growing up in the East End, and newer anecdotes stored up from his two years in the RAF. And such was his personality that when he revealed he was only on a forty-eight-hour pass, the entire Donnelly family groaned with disappointment, as if a dearly loved friend was soon to be snatched away from them.
When the bell for last orders sounded, the band struck up an old favourite, and while Sam, Danny and Stan rushed to get in a last drink, the women, led by Aggie, joined in a loud rendition of ‘Show Me The Way To Go Home’ with such gusto that Grace thought her throat was going to burst.
Then it was time to go, and Aggie, her face flushed, her steely grey hair plastered to the sides of her face, tried to rise, only to fall back in a heap. She cried out in a voice smothered with drunken laughter, ‘Well, ain’t one of you buggers gonna help me to me feet?’
Nobby Clark sprang forward, his grey eyes twinkling mischievously as he hauled the quivering women to her feet, saying, ‘Ups-a-daisy, me old darlin’.’
Aggie grabbed at him with both hands, gabbling shrilly, ‘Ah, if only I was ten years younger, lad. I’d show you what was what. I never could resist a man in uniform… could I, Hetty, love?’ The bleary question was thrown over her shoulder as Hetty came to assist the staggering woman, her eyebrows raised in loving exasperation. Considering the way her mother had gone on earlier, she would have thought
a man in uniform was the last figure Aggie would have taken a shine to.
‘If you say so, Mum. If you say so,’ she answered, smiling broadly.
Once out in the cold night air, the group banded together for warmth. With Aggie, Hetty and Sam leading the way, and Danny and Polly close behind, Grace found herself a part of a foursome, as Vi, fearful of losing sight of the handsome man in uniform, clung possessively to Nobby’s arm, while Grace tried to keep the inebriated Stanley, who was now having difficulty walking, on his feet.
Seeing Grace’s dilemma, Nobby gently disentangled himself from Vi’s grip and took the weight of Stanley’s heavy body against his own, leaving a disgruntled Violet to trail along behind on her own.
On arrival in Lester Road, Nobby refused all entreaties to come in for a nightcap, insisting he had to get back to his base. Seeing her chance, Violet dropped back from the small group, taking off a high-heeled shoe and making a great show of inspecting the interior as if searching for some foreign object that was hindering her gait. But Hetty, still not forgetting her daughter’s earlier behaviour, was having none of it. Grabbing Violet roughly by the arm, Hetty frogmarched the indignant girl inside the house, calling a last goodbye over her shoulder at the silent, grinning airman. And somehow or other, Grace found herself alone with Stanley’s childhood friend on the front porch, and without the comforting presence of her family, she experienced a rising uneasiness at the close proximity of the charismatic man.
Nobby, however, was experiencing no such discomfort. Perfectly at ease, he tipped his peaked cap to the back of his head as he gazed in awe at the outside of the house. After blowing a soft whistle through gleaming white teeth he said slowly, ‘Bleeding hell! I thought old Stan was exaggerating when he told me his fiancée lived in a posh house – but he wasn’t, was he?’
