A Daughter's Choice

by June Francis

  Rita leant across the desk. ‘What was the name of that hotel you used to work at in Liverpool before the war?’

  The question startled Celia and for a moment her mind went blank. Then she pulled herself together. ‘The Arcadia. Why?’

  ‘I thought it was.’ Rita smiled. ‘I was there yesterday! Remember me telling you I was going to visit Beattie who was cook at that vicarage where I worked as a kid? Well, I’d gone early into Liverpool because I had to be back here pretty sharpish in the afternoon. We went shopping and had a cuppa in Reece’s, and I’d just said tarrah after we’d seen the Queen Mum when this girl had a fit right there on the pavement in front of me! The woman with her needed a bit of help so I gave her a hand and it turned out she was the owner of the Arcadia! Out of all the boarding houses and hotels she could have belonged to, she belonged there! What d’you think of that for a coincidence?’

  ‘Interesting, like you said. What was she like?’

  ‘Friendly – grateful. Asked me in for a cup of tea. She had a husband … big fella … Scottish … sixtyish.’

  Celia went very still. It couldn’t be! ‘What was their name?’ she stammered.

  ‘Mcleod. Hers was Kitty … Kitty Mcleod.’

  The lobby seemed to spin and Celia gripped the edge of the desk.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rita’s voice was concerned. ‘Did I give you a shock, love?’

  Celia took a deep breath. ‘It’s OK. It’s just that I thought they’d left Liverpool. A neighbour told me they’d left Liverpool!’ she wailed. ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘They must have come back. You told me it was hit by a bomb. They must have just gone away until the repairs were done. You know what it was like in the war. Sometimes it could take months and months for rebuilding to be done.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Celia, although Rita’s words did not make her feel any better. Then she remembered Katherine. ‘This girl, what was she like?’

  ‘Had quite a nice face. Nothing spectacular. Mrs Mcleod mentioned something about her daughter. Do you remember her daughter?’

  Her daughter? Kitty didn’t have a daughter! Celia was stunned.

  Rita said helpfully, ‘She would only have been a tiddler when you left, wouldn’t she? Although come to think of it –’

  But Celia had stopped listening. She was thinking: Her daughter! Was that how Kitty Mcleod explained my baby away? A child of the Change perhaps? She felt raw inside, as if the older woman had taken away not only her child’s identity but Celia’s own as a mother. She trembled with unaccustomed fury.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ said Rita, placing a hand on hers. ‘You don’t look a bit yourself.’

  ‘I’m OK.’ Celia straightened. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘See you in the morning,’ and left.

  All day it was as if a storm was going on in her head. Most of her life she had felt a nobody but at least in giving birth to Katherine she’d felt she had achieved something. Every year on her daughter’s birthday she had imagined Katherine at a different stage in her life. She had skipped with her to school, bought her clothes and taken her to Wales on the steamer. She had even dreamed up a boy for her first romance. That way Celia had convinced herself that in a vague kind of way she had remained part of Katherine’s life. Now she realised she never had been. Kitty Mcleod had taken her over, lock, stock and barrel.

  Until that moment Celia had endured a certain amount of guilt for having left her daughter, even though she had been able to blame circumstances for her never having claimed her. She had hoped that Kitty would have explained away her having deserted Katherine as one of those things which happened in wartime. ‘It was sad but your mother Celia went missing. She could have been killed by enemy action …’ Hopefully she might have gone on to tell Katherine something nice about her. Now Celia realised it was more than likely that her name had never been mentioned. All these years Mick’s mother had been living a lie!

  Anger and resentment burned inside her. She felt sick at the thought that she had deceived herself all these years, and became so worked up about the whole thing that she suffered blinding headaches. She was good for nothing and had to drag herself out of bed each morning and somehow struggle through her work. The pain was so bad sometimes she thought she was going mad. She blamed Kitty for everything. Even for not having left a message saying she was not staying in Scotland for good but would be back. Celia convinced herself that Kitty was responsible for Katherine’s being an epileptic. Kitty Mcleod deserved to be punished, she told herself. But how? She wanted her to suffer the mental torture she herself had been through.

  Celia thought and thought and as she lay on her bed one evening, her insides heaving, scared to move her head in case the terrible pain returned, her eyes fell on an Agatha Christie book by her bedside. Suddenly she had an idea and slowly rose from the bed. Holding her head steady, she went in search of a pair of scissors. When she found them she took a newspaper from the small pile she kept to make up the coal fire and stared at the banner headlines. Then she began to snip out single letters, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

  Chapter Four

  Kitty closed the bedroom door behind her and took an envelope from the pocket of her apron. She withdrew the single sheet of paper with fingers that trembled slightly and read YOU STOLE MY BABY! NOW I’M COMING BACK FOR HER, SO BE WARNED.

  How dare Celia? How dare she after all this time? There was a definite threat in that ‘BE WARNED’ which really got under Kitty’s skin despite her anxiety. When she considered how hard she had worked bringing up Katie she could have wiped the floor with Celia, or Miss Turner as she called herself. But of course the woman had been too cowardly to say any of this to her face and instead had waited until she got home.

  Kitty read the words for the fourth time, hardly able to believe that the Celia she had known, employed and cared for, could have written them. Not that it was signed. She turned the page over to make sure but the reverse was blank. When she thought how she had lived with all kinds of fear throughout Katie’s young life she could have screamed. There had been fear of disease, of accidents, even of gypsies stealing her beloved girl away, but never had she expected to receive a letter like this! She felt annoyed with herself for being so afraid, but telling the truth was one of her house rules. She had always been strict with Katie about the need for honesty, in families and in business, and it was the thought of that which worried her the most now. She herself had lied! She had lied!

  Kitty gazed down at the newsprint letters again and it struck her that it was just like one of those anonymous notes one might read about in an Agatha Christie novel. Except it was not anonymous so why go to all the bother of cutting letters out of a newspaper and not signing it? What had got into Celia? Had she gone off her head? Yet the Miss Turner she had seen only a few days ago had appeared sane. Were the two women one and the same or not? Surely it couldn’t be mere coincidence, the letter arriving so soon after she had been here?

  There was a knock and Ben popped his head round the door. ‘One of the guests wants to see you, Ma.’

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ she murmured, not looking up.

  He came further into the room. ‘Are you OK? You sound a bit funny.’

  Kitty looked over her spectacles and realised with a sense of relief that she was not alone in this. There was John and Ben to share it with. ‘I’ve had an anonymous letter. Having said that, I know who it’s from.’

  ‘Talk sense, Ma.’

  ‘Have a look.’ She handed the letter to him.

  Ben sat beside her on the bed and after a few seconds lifted his head. ‘She must be sick. But at least it proves Celia and Miss Turner are one and the same.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking. Although Miss Turner appeared quite sane.’

  ‘I think this letter’s working up to blackmail,’ he said. ‘The next one could be “GIVE ME SOME MONEY OR I’LL TELL HER YOU’RE NOT HER MOTHER!”’

  Kitty
stared at him and ice seemed to slither down her spine. ‘I can’t believe it … Celia wouldn’t! Real people don’t do that kind of thing.’

  ‘Of course they do. Where do you think writers get their ideas from?’

  ‘It doesn’t happen to people like us.’

  ‘You said that years ago, but you know from personal experience it’s not just in films and books that people are evil.’

  ‘But we’re talking about Celia …’

  ‘She’s sick in the head, Ma. She must be, taking on two personalities.’ He put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her. ‘Now you’re not to worry. I’ll find that hotel in Southport and sort her out and this’ll pass over.’

  ‘As long as Katie doesn’t get to know. I want her staying here under my roof where she belongs. She could never be happy with this Celia,’ said Kitty, screwing up the letter and pocketing it.

  Nor could Mick, thought Ben, feeling low. He had tried to speak to Sarah but she had cocked her nose in the air and said they had nothing further to say to one another. Mick was still going out with her and Ben was scared stiff where it might end. At the moment, though, his main concern should be his mother and Katie. Abruptly he said, ‘Ma, you could stop all this by telling Katie the truth, you know.’

  ‘No! And don’t you dare! I want her enjoying her life, not worrying about who she is because I didn’t give birth to her. You find Celia and warn her off. Tell her I’ll have the police on her if she carries on like this.’

  And without another word Kitty walked out to deal with the guest awaiting her attention.

  If Katie had known what was going on she would not have been enjoying herself at all. Being the daughter of the owner of the Arcadia and heiress apparent was a role she loved to play. That afternoon she was entertaining Eileen, for whom she felt deeply sorry now she knew about the fits, and also a young male guest. They were in a coffee bar and she found it all very exciting, as her parents considered there was something alarming about teenagers meeting together to listen to rowdy music and drink foreign coffee.

  Katie gazed about her at walls lined with tightly fitted lengths of lacquered bamboo and a poster of a frighteningly large black bull and a slender matador, just above the counter where an espresso machine hissed and gurgled. She gave a deep sigh of pleasure. From a juke box came the sound of the Crickets singing ‘Maybe Baby’ and a group of girls swayed to the music, a couple of them lah-lahing. Every table was crammed with young people and she felt really with it, sipping frothy Italian-style coffee.

  ‘You look like the cat who’s got the cream,’ said the youth, who was from the Midlands and only staying a few days before emigrating to Canada with his parents and young sister. ‘You’ve a cream moustache. Would you like me to lick it off?’

  Was he teasing? Katie did not know but with slow deliberation leaned forward, aware of Eileen’s eyes on her, and closed her eyes. His tongue flicked over her upper lip which tingled while a delicious shiver raced through her. It was the closest she had ever got to a kiss from a boy.

  The record on the juke box changed and Pat Boone began to croon about April love being for the very young. They gazed deep into each other’s eyes and it was so romantic.

  ‘Like another coffee?’ asked Eileen loudly.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Katie and the boy in vague voices as Pat Boone’s voice soared.

  Eileen scowled. She was used to taking a back seat. It was where her parents had always kept her because they were embarrassed by her fits. Sometimes they forgot she was there altogether and that way she heard all kinds of things she shouldn’t. She knew all about Katie but didn’t consider this the best time to let the cat out of the bag. Katie was being kind to her in her way and so was Aunty Kitty. If things should change then she might have to rethink. It sure would be a lovely thing to take over the Arcadia if anything should happen to Katie and Aunt Kitty … After all, having epilepsy had never stopped Julius Caesar from conquering a large chunk of the ancient world!

  ‘Where are you three off to?’ asked Ben, his expression disapproving as he took in Katie’s hand nestling in the crook of a different young man’s arm. This one she had met in the market on a meat stall and apparently he shared her interest in music. She was looking lovely in a primrose sailcloth shirtwaister bought with Ben’s birthday money and her hair was tied up in a ponytail. There was a flush of excitement in her cheeks and she looked so young and carefree that his heart ached for her. Sooner or later life would wipe that smile off her face, he realised gloomily, thinking of Celia and Sarah and Mick.

  ‘We’re going jiving at the Rialto,’ said Katie, gazing up at the youth who was tall, fair and unusually dressed in cowboy clothes which his sailor brother had brought him from America, and which he wore when playing Country and Western.

  Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s what you think! They wouldn’t allow him in there in that get-up. It’s proper suits and strictly tempo. Why don’t you try the YMCA?’

  A tinkle of laughter escaped Katie. ‘You’re joking! I want to go further than across the road.’ She did not feel at all pleased with Ben for making her feel an ignoramus about not knowing the Rialto was strictly ballroom.

  ‘Try the Grafton or Locarno then. They’re less classy. Should be just up your street if it’s bopping you want.’

  ‘They must be squares at that Rialto,’ said the youth, tipping back his stetson and staring at Ben. ‘They’ll be closing down if they don’t get with it.’

  ‘There’s still plenty of us squares around, mate, who like to do things in style,’ snapped Ben. ‘You just make sure you bring our Katie home at a respectable hour or there’ll be trouble. She’s only seventeen, you know.’

  ‘I’m all of seventeen which isn’t young,’ said Katie sweetly, because she thought she knew why Ben was like a bear with a sore head. Sarah and Mick … She’d like to knock their heads together. ‘Next birthday I’ll be eighteen and I’ll tell Ma I’m old enough to take over this place. ’Bye, Ben! Come on Eileen, Dougie.’ And she swept out.

  In no time at all they were entering the portals of the Grafton which was situated next to the Locarno ballroom. Eileen asked why two dance halls should be so close together. Katie thought, and remembered Kitty telling her that one had started life as the Olympia cinema, and said so. This was the first time she had been in a dance hall and she could not wait to get on the floor.

  Overhead a shimmering ball twirled, reflecting shards of glittering light. The band was playing a waltz to which a few couples danced sedately. It was hard to believe the dance had once been banned in England. Clusters of girls sat on one side of the room, and on the other lads talked amongst themselves whilst eyeing up the girls.

  ‘You grab chairs and I’ll get us drinks,’ said Dougie.

  ‘Orange juice, please,’ said Katie, handing him some money. He protested but she insisted. So he walked off in search of the bar.

  The girls gazed about them, sitting on the edge of their seats, both longing to dance. Eileen had a net skirt on under her frock and Katie felt sorry for her because they weren’t as fashionable any more.

  Dougie hadn’t been gone long when the waltz came to an end and a quickstep took its place. Immediately some couples began to jive and the girls watched as a youth skirted the floor and came towards them. He had dark hair perfectly styled in a fashionable Tony Curtis quiff and there were black velvet lapels to his jacket.

  Eileen edged forward on her seat but it was Katie he addressed. ‘Are you dancing?’ His green eyes fixed on her face as his jaw moved rhythmically, almost in tune to the music.

  Kitty did not allow Katie to chew gum and she was fascinated by that mobile mouth. ‘I’m with a fella.’

  He glanced around. ‘The invisible man?’

  Her lips twitched. ‘Very funny.’

  He grinned. ‘Glad you appreciate the joke. How’s about it then? It’s not as if I want to take a lease out on you or anything. Just one dance.’

  ‘No, thanks. He’ll
be back in minute.’

  ‘A minute’ll do me.’ He wriggled his shoulders and did a soft-shoe shuffle. ‘Just a quick bop, love.’

  Katie did her best to hide a smile, and if she had not come to the dance with someone else, would have gone with him then. There was something very attractive about that smile and those eyes.

  ‘I knew you could crack your face if you tried,’ he said, holding one hand out towards her, but before she could do or say anything Dougie appeared on the scene.

  ‘You’re bothering my girl,’ he said pugnaciously. ‘Scram!’

  Green-eyes looked him over. ‘I preferred you invisible.’

  ‘Is that meant to be a joke?’ said Dougie, and poked Green-eyes in the chest.

  The youth fell back a pace. ‘I wouldn’t do that again if I were you,’ he murmured, combing back his quiff with his fingers.

  Katie glanced around and saw that people were watching. ‘Stop it!’ she hissed. ‘The pair of you could get us thrown out! Now will you go away?’ she said to Green-eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but I did tell you I was with someone.’

  ‘If that’s the way you want it.’ He shrugged and walked away.

  Eileen got up and followed him. Katie stared after her and watched, surprised at how badly she didn’t want Eileen to dance with the green-eyed youth. When she saw them go on to the floor she picked up the smaller of the drinks and drained the glass.

  ‘You shouldn’t have drunk that so quickly!’ exclaimed Dougie, looking alarmed.

  ‘Why? I was thirsty.’

  ‘It wasn’t pure orange juice. I had them put gin in it.’

  Katie stared at the glass as if it had been poisoned and almost choked. ‘I’m not supposed to drink! Ma would have a fit.’

  Dougie sat down heavily and sighed. ‘This evening isn’t going the least bit the way I wanted it. I thought the place would be jumping and we’d have a real cool time.’