A Daughter's Choice

by June Francis

  ‘A lot of good it did me being a hero,’ he said glumly.

  ‘Shush! You’ve made your lip bleed again.’ She drew away from him a little. ‘You look a bit better now. How’s the cocoa coming on, Ma?’ she added, without looking up.

  ‘Don’t call me Ma,’ said Celia.

  Katherine sighed. ‘I can’t win. Nobody loves me.’

  Celia said impatiently, ‘Of course people love you! But not when you get drunk and act daft.’

  ‘I want someone who’ll love me all the time.’ She sighed and smiled at Patrick. ‘You poor boy. I suppose you deserve a kiss.’ She leant towards him and their mouths brushed, leaving her lips tingling as if touched by thistledown. ‘Nice,’ she said.

  He shook his head at her but there was a slight smile on his face. ‘I think I’d best get home. I’ll see myself out.’

  ‘Goodnight, sweet prince!’ She wiggled her fingers and closed her eyes.

  There was silence as his footsteps receded.

  ‘You’re naughty,’ said Celia. ‘Flirting with that young man.’

  ‘I like having a fella around.’

  ‘It shows! But you shouldn’t encourage him. And what happened to you to get in this state? I never thought you’d be so much trouble,’ she said severely.

  ‘I threw beer over a customer for pinching me bum.’ Katherine yawned. ‘And I quit me job.’

  ‘Well, that’s one good thing. You can carry on here and I’ll start looking for other work,’ said Celia, pouring boiling water on the cocoa. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult. As for you liking the opposite sex around – I’ve lived without them for years.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why you’re the way you are?’ murmured Katherine.

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’ said her mother indignantly.

  ‘Now me, I wish – I wish –’ Katherine’s eyes closed again.

  ‘What do you wish?’ asked Celia agitatedly.

  ‘Mick –’

  ‘What about him?’

  But Katherine did not answer. She had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mick strolled up the drive to where the lights of the Seaview shone through the fog like beacons in the darkness and was about to push his way through the revolving doors when Rita came out.

  ‘Just the woman I’m looking for,’ he said with a smile. She was wearing one of the new Empire-line winter coats in royal blue bouclé wool and he thought the style suited her. There was colour in her cheeks and her hair was loose about her shoulders, which he liked. ‘Have you finished for the day?’

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Ryan?’ She pulled on a green glove, smoothing the fingers one by one with careful deliberation.

  ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Of course.’ She flashed him a brief smile. ‘It might be months ago but I’m not senile yet.’

  ‘Had a bad day?’ he said sympathetically, falling into step beside her as she walked down the drive. ‘I don’t know how you put up with the job. Although, not owning the place, you can get away from it instead of having to live with it twenty-four hours a day.’

  She glanced at him. ‘I like the work. You haven’t been making enquiries about me today, have you?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  She frowned. ‘Someone’s been ringing up asking questions about me.’

  ‘You’ve no idea who?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked you if I did,’ she said dryly. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’re not here to talk about me. Is it Celia? Have you had any luck?’

  ‘Not a sausage!’ he said soberly. ‘But Katie’s been seen in Liverpool with a young bloke so we did wonder whether she and Celia have separated. I take it from what you’ve just said you haven’t seen her?’

  ‘Obviously not or I would have been in touch.’

  ‘It’s not that obvious,’ he murmured. ‘You could be lying because you don’t quite trust me.’

  She stopped and stared at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I was under the impression you thought me the kind of man who treated women rotten?’

  ‘I’m sure I said I was sorry about that.’ She was glad it was dark so he could not see her face which felt hot with embarrassment. ‘Actually I’d forgotten about that until you reminded me,’ she lied. There was no way she had forgotten him which annoyed her because of course he belonged to Celia. ‘I have got a life of my own to live, you know, without thinking about you all the time. I like the theatre and dancing … I do all kinds of things.’

  ‘I’m glad you lead such an exciting life,’ he drawled, digging his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat. ‘Which way are you going? Perhaps I can walk you home? It isn’t a nice night for a woman to be out on her own.’

  ‘I’m quite used to looking after myself, Mr Ryan,’ she said contrarily, having thought earlier it was not going to be pleasant going home past Hesketh Park. The fog made even the most familiar landmarks look strange and spooky.

  ‘OK, if that’s how you want it, I’ll leave you to it. Bye.’

  He stayed where he was and for a moment she was at a loss. ‘Well, aren’t you going?’ she said after a minute or so, knowing that if he was catching a train to Liverpool they would be walking in the same direction.

  ‘I thought I might go inside and have a drink. You do serve non-residents?’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll serve you, Mr Ryan. Goodbye.’ She watched him walk back up the drive before turning away.

  Her heels made a ringing noise on the pavement that echoed in the silence. The distant sound of a dog barking enhanced the atmosphere which was starting to take on the mood of a Hammer horror film. After several minutes she began to think she could hear footsteps behind her but convinced herself it was all in her imagination.

  Think of something else, she told herself, but feet were still on her mind and suddenly she was remembering her father repairing her shoes on the cobbler’s last which had been his father’s before him. She had never known her grandfather but had heard a lot about him from her own father, who had been a man for telling tales. She had adored him but when she was nine years old he had left and never returned. He had been a good-looking, gentle man, different from any of her playmates’ fathers in that he made her dresses and liked to cook; much to her mother’s disapproval, who put his behaviour down to his having to fend for himself when he was in the army during the Great War. Rita had never been able to accept that because his ex-army chum, Uncle Bert, who had a bad chest and lived with them, had not been a bit that way. He had disappeared the same time as her father.

  She remembered her mother, red-eyed with weeping, telling her that her father was catching a ship that would take him to Australia where he hoped to make his fortune. Rita had wanted to go with him so she ran all the way down to the docks but she had not been able to find him. For months she had expected a letter but it had never come.

  ‘How do you manage to walk so fast in those high heels?’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin and whirled round. ‘You swine!’ she gasped. ‘How dare you frighten me like that?’

  Mick quirked an eyebrow, something he had practised and practised when he was younger because he had once seen a cowboy do it in a film. ‘Who said I was following you? I happen to be going this way and now I’ve caught up with you, if you don’t want my company I’ll just go on ahead.’

  ‘You do that,’ she said crossly. ‘I’d rather have you where I can see you.’

  ‘Really?’ He smiled and walked past her.

  She could have kicked herself for having responded in such a way but trust a man to pick it up and turn it to his own advantage!

  ‘Why aren’t you married?’ Mick’s voice floated back to her through the fog.

  ‘None of your business!’

  ‘You’re not bad-looking.’

  ‘Am I supposed to say thanks for the compliment?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I suppose you have been asked?’

  The cheek of the man! ‘I don’t want to
get married! I’m happy with my life the way it is,’ she said loudly.

  ‘They all say that, the ones who haven’t been asked.’

  She was indignant. ‘I’ll have you know I’ve had two proposals! One from a guest and one from a policeman during the war. He – he’d helped dig out my mother’s and gran’s bodies when our house received a direct hit.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘How about having dinner with me?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ve eaten. Now, if you would please go away, I’ve nothing else I want to say to you.’

  He sighed. ‘OK, if that’s the way you want it. But if Celia gets in touch, will you give us a ring? She could send you a card at Christmas and Katie just might still be with her. Ma’s talking of putting the Arcadia up for sale – which, little as I like the place, is a sign that she’s giving up hope of Katie returning and I don’t like that. I’m moving out myself. Buying a house in Waterloo near the front. See you sometime.’ He walked away.

  Rita stared after him. There was a hollow feeling inside her. She decided if he was buying a house it was probably for him to live in with Celia and Katie one day. She was right keeping him at a distance, but was he right in thinking Celia would get in touch at Christmas? And if she did, what was Rita to do about it when she was inexplicably attracted to Mick? At the moment she had no answer.

  Katherine closed a cage door and walked over to the tinsel-decorated window as she heard a taxi draw up outside. It was Celia bringing Mrs Evans back from Southport after spending a couple of days over Christmas with her granddaughter. Her mother had found herself an early-morning cleaning job which left her free for such excursions, despite Katherine’s protesting at her taking on such a strenuous job at her age. Celia had become quite uppity at that and said she wasn’t in her dotage and better she did it than Katherine. She wanted her daughter further up in the world than working in a pub or cleaning.

  Katherine had responded, ‘You call working in a pet shop up in the world?’

  ‘Yes!’ Celia had said firmly. ‘You think, girl. At least Mrs Evans gives you a certain amount of leeway here to do things your way and you’re getting to know how to run a business.’

  Katherine had accepted there was some truth in that but it had only served to remind her what she had given up in leaving the Arcadia. She often thought of the family and had sent them a Christmas card, saying she hoped to visit them on New Year’s Day. She had finally come to terms with Sarah and Ben’s being back together. After all, she told herself, she could not expect him to worry about her feelings when she had not considered his and left without even thanking him for all he had done in accepting her as part of the family. Now he had his life to live and she had hers, and there were certain compensations in that. She was free to come and go as she pleased and already shouldering responsibility in a way that she might not have if she had stayed at the Arcadia. There was also Patrick to think about but she did not intend thinking too much about him. That only led to worry about Ma’s disapproving of him and what that might mean if she returned to the Arcadia …

  She went outside to welcome them. ‘Had a good time?’

  ‘Lovely!’ said Mrs Evans, accepting her assistance getting out of the taxi. ‘I’m whacked but it was worth it. I’m going back there for the New Year. That great-grandson of mine is a real cheeky monkey!’

  ‘Great!’ said Katherine, glancing at Celia. ‘Did you enjoy your day out?’

  ‘It was very nice,’ she said, taking the old woman’s other arm. ‘I really enjoyed looking at the shops along Lord Street. Mrs Walsh came with us and we went in Matti and Tissot’s. I’d always wanted to go in there but I didn’t like to on my own. We had coffee and these gorgeous Charlottes Russes.’

  ‘There were chocolates made on the premises, too,’ said Mrs Evans, smacking her lips. ‘Expensive! But Celia treated us both to a quarter after she met a man she knew there.’

  ‘I didn’t know him the way you make it sound,’ she said, going red. ‘He was just someone who used to stay at the Seaview, and who’s staying there now because he missed out on his week in the summer when his sister was ill. He couldn’t even remember my name!’

  Mrs Evans snorted as Katherine helped her into her chair. ‘He kept you talking long enough!’

  Celia went even rosier. ‘He’s a very talkative man and we have a common interest.’

  ‘So are you seeing him again?’ said Katherine, intrigued.

  ‘Of course not! He’s a different class from me. He was a sergeant-major in India.’

  Katherine winked at Mrs Evans. ‘One of the big guns, hey? Kept the Empire going till it started to collapse.’

  ‘That’s not funny,’ said Celia, colour still high. ‘He’s not a bit snobby.’

  ‘What’s he got to be snobby about?’ said Katherine, raising her eyebrows. ‘Just because he’s staying at the Seaview and was a sergeant-major doesn’t make him any better than you. What does he do now? I bet he has to work for a living?’

  ‘I didn’t ask him,’ said Celia, and smiled unexpectedly. ‘But you’re right. I mean, it says in the papers that the class barriers have come down since the war.’

  ‘Hmmmph!’ said Mrs Evans. ‘You tell that to some of the nobs. They still think they’re running this country! Money talks.’

  ‘You think so? I thought they were all poorer because of taxes?’ said Katherine.

  ‘There’s them that blankety-blank are and them that aren’t,’ grunted Mrs Evans. ‘Mind you, there’s also the nouveau riche who don’t have breeding, as they call it, but have made their own money, and lots of it!’

  ‘It would be nice being rich,’ mused Katherine.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘But it doesn’t buy you good health. Now how about a cup of tea, girl?’

  ‘Okeydokey,’ said Katherine and went to put the kettle on. When she returned she said, ‘So when will you be going to your granddaughter’s again?’

  ‘New Year’s Eve. Your mother’ll take me there so don’t think you’re having the morning off. She’s going to some dance or other in Southport. Who’s playing, Celia?’

  ‘Tommy Speakman and his orchestra,’ she said. ‘It’s at the Floral Hall!’ She tried not to sound excited but the sergeant-major had said he would be there and would look out for her.

  ‘Are you going with your friend from dancing class?’ said Katherine curiously, sensing her mother was keeping something back. ‘And will you be coming home?’ They had discovered about the dancing classes the other week.

  ‘Of course!’ she snorted. ‘You don’t think I’d be leaving you here on your own!’

  ‘I won’t be lonely,’ said Katherine with a twinkle. ‘I’m getting to like my own company. And besides, Patrick said he’ll come round about ten and we’ll go out. He’s nice and dark and knows what to bring to first foot properly.’

  Celia shot her a look. ‘You’ll keep him in his place, make sure he doesn’t misbehave?’

  Katherine’s eyes opened wide. ‘Whatever do you mean, Mama! I know he doesn’t look it, but Patrick’s the perfect gentleman.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Celia dryly. ‘But it’s New Year’s Eve we’re talking about, and if he gets a few drinks down him he mightn’t stay such a gentleman.’

  ‘I’ll keep him in his place, don’t you worry. So you just go out and enjoy yourself and forget about me.’

  Celia had every intention of doing that but did not say so. Instead she thought of the dress she had bought and how, hopefully, it would make the sergeant-major’s eyes pop out!

  The wind whipped a long strand of hair across Katherine’s face as she stood outside the shop. It was Wednesday and New Year’s Eve and there had been few customers, probably because the weather was threatening to get worse. She just hoped the rain would hold off. December had been a terrible month with planes grounded at Speke airport and a tanker stuck in mud at Bromborough dock. She hoped the weather would not spoil Celia’s evening because she had taken to Southpor
t with her a lovely dress, all sequins and shiny satin. She said she had bought it secondhand but it had looked pretty new to Katherine. Still, it was none of her business what her mother did with her money, as long as she continued to pay her way. A gust of wind caught the door and hastily Katherine seized it before it could slam.

  The wireless was belting out Connie Francis singing ‘Stupid Cupid!’ when Katherine opened the door to Patrick. ‘So you made it then?’

  He felt his own arms and chest. ‘Yes! It’s me. I’m here!’

  She chuckled, and seizing an arm, pulled him inside. ‘You don’t have to act dafter than you are. D’you want a cup of tea before we go for that walk?’

  ‘Is that all that’s on offer?’ His arm slid round her waist and he whirled her round the small space at the bottom of the stairs and with his mouth against her ear, crooned along with Connie Francis about being in love.

  ‘Shhh! Don’t be silly. You’ve been drinking.’

  ‘It’s New Year’s Eve! What do you expect? But I swear I’ve only had twenty pints.’ He kissed her enthusiastically until she scarcely had any breath. He had never kissed her in such a way before and she wished he wouldn’t now because it made her feel even more muddled up about returning to the Arcadia.

  ‘Twenty pints!’ she gasped. ‘Who are you kidding?’

  ‘Twenty-two then. Or perhaps it was the three helpings of Desperate Dan’s cow pie that made me feel great!’ He began to croon about how easy it was to fall in love as the Crickets took over from Connie Francis. He held Katherine tightly and kissed her ear, her cheek, her chin.

  ‘Patrick! Behave yourself,’ she said, managing to get her hands against his chest.

  ‘Why? Don’t you like it? All you’ve got to do is let yourself go!’

  She pushed him away. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not until I know where I am with Ma!’

  ‘Ma?’ He looked at her in surprise. ‘You mean Celia? What’s she been saying about me?’ He took Katherine’s hands and placed them round his waist, holding them there with his own and swaying from side to side, singing, ‘“Tea for two, cha, cha, cha!”’

  She danced with him cheek to cheek, ignoring that remark but wondering where tonight was going to end. ‘How much have you really had to drink?’ she murmured.