Counting Chimneys: A novel of love, heartbreak and romance in 1960s Brighton (Brighton Girls Trilogy Book 2)

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘I think you should take it,’ he’d said. ‘And Polly seems lovely.’

  ‘Not to mention drop dead gorgeous.’

  Clark had grinned. ‘I noticed that.’

  ‘Thought you might.’

  I’d stood up and walked across to the window. Was I really going to do this? I’d thought. Was I really going to live in this city, work in this city? Could I do it?

  Clark had joined me and we’d stood side by side looking out over the park.

  ‘You can always come home if it doesn’t work out,’ he’d said.

  We’d joined Polly in the living room. There’d been mugs of steaming coffee waiting for us on the table and we’d sat side by side on the couch. Polly had sat on the floor leaning back against an armchair.

  ‘What was your last flatmate like?’ I’d asked.

  Polly had screwed up her face. ‘Ghastly. Absolutely bloody ghastly. I was glad to see the back of her.’

  I’d loved the way Polly spoke, kind of posh but friendly.

  I hadn’t liked to ask in what way she was ghastly.

  ‘You will take the flat won’t you?’ she’d asked.

  I’d smiled at her. ‘Yes, I’ll take it.’

  ‘Really?’ Clark has said.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Polly had smiled at me. ‘We’ll be best friends,’ she’d said.

  It had reminded me of the day I had met Mary. ‘Wanna be best friends?’ she’d said.

  And so I met Polly, and we did indeed become friends, the very best of friends, and I don’t think Mary would have minded one bit – in fact I think she would have approved.

  I spent those first months at Trend making an awful lot of tea, and I learned two things. Firstly that I was not a writer, and secondly that I had an eye for detail, which led me to my perfect job as a proofreader. I learned to type at night school and became a valued member of that noisy exciting room full of young people. I had found a new life, and I loved it.

  10

  They had kept Mum in the hospital for two days. When she came home she seemed paler and thinner but absolutely refused to acknowledge that anything at all was the matter.

  ‘It’s all a big fuss about nothing,’ she said, bustling into the kitchen as if she’d been away for a month. She unhooked her apron and tied it round her waist, put on her rubber gloves, picked up her cleaning brush, rinsed it under the hot tap – making the boiler roar – and retrieved a bottle of bleach from under the sink.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be resting, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t need to rest. There’s nothing at all wrong with me. I just went and got myself a bit run-down is all.’ She squeezed a blob of cleaning fluid onto the draining board and attacked it fiercely with the brush.

  ‘Have they given you any tablets or anything?’

  Mum had been distracted, temporarily, by the vegetable rack. She picked up a potato that had a slightly green tinge to it and held it to the light.

  ‘What have you all been eating while I’ve been away?’ she asked. ‘Fresh air?’

  ‘Fish and chips mostly,’ I admitted.

  ‘It’s a good job I’m home then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Come and sit down, Mum, you really shouldn’t be doing that. That’s why I’m here.’

  To my horror, Mum suddenly burst into tears. She grabbed a tea towel and held it to her face. Her shoulders hunched, and she began to cry as if her heart was breaking.

  ‘Oh, Mum, what is it?’ I cried, jumping up from the table and putting my arms around her. ‘Please, tell me what’s wrong! Are you really poorly? Is it something serious? Oh, Mum, what is it? What’s the matter?’

  She was crying so hard that she couldn’t speak, so I just held her. It was then that I noticed how slight she was. Her shoulders were fragile, and I could feel the knobbles of her spine beneath the fabric of her dress and cardigan.

  I helped her into a chair and stroked her hair until the kettle boiled, then I made her a very milky cup of tea, put four heaped spoons of sugar in it and sat beside her, waiting until her sobbing had reduced to a series of hiccups. Mum took a sip of her tea. She had taken off the gloves, and her hands were cold and trembling. Her skin felt dry, as soft and thin as tissue.

  ‘I thought that I was going to die, Dottie, aren’t I silly? A bit of low blood pressure and I thought that I was going to die.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you weren’t being silly. You were scared, and it’s perfectly normal to be scared.’

  ‘I wasn’t scared for me, love. It was your Dad, see. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone. I owe him a lot, Dottie. I owe him a lot.’

  I wanted her to explain what she meant, but she looked diminished, as if the soul had gone out of her. She sniffed and then blew her nose loudly on the hankie she always kept tucked up her sleeve.

  ‘He wouldn’t be alone, Mum, because he’d have us. He’d have all three of us and we’d make sure that he was okay. But we won’t need to, will we? Because you’re not going anywhere for a long, long time.’

  Mum stared down at her hands and started fiddling with her wedding ring, twirling it round and round her finger. I’d never seen my mum like this, and I’d never heard her talk this way. She was the strongest person I knew. I guess you just took it for granted that your parents loved each other. I hadn’t realised just how much. And what on earth did she owe my dad?

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I’ve sent him off to get a few bits. He was making me feel nervous hovering around me all the time.’

  ‘You’ve sent him to the shops? Does he even know where they are?’

  Mum laughed. ‘He doesn’t need to love, he’s got me to look after him.’

  ‘And you’ve got us to look after you, so make the most of it.’

  ‘I know I have, love, and I’m grateful to you for staying a bit longer. I hope you won’t get into any trouble at work.’

  ‘No, my boss is lovely.’

  She turned her hand over and took hold of mine. ‘Now that’s enough about me, what about you, Dottie? How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I thought you might have been upset seeing Ralph and Fiona together.’

  ‘I was a bit, but I’m okay now.’

  ‘Have you still got feelings for him, love?’

  I took a deep breath. I knew I could confide in Mum. She’d understand if I told her about Ralph, about how I felt when I saw him – how all those old feelings rushed back and left me confused and angry and unsure of myself. But then how could I burden her with all that when she was feeling so low herself? It would be selfish and wrong and unfair. So I found a smile from somewhere and put it on my face.

  ‘I’m absolutely fine, Mum. The truth is I’ve got a nice new boyfriend, and he’s always taking me out places, which is why I haven’t been back here as often as I should have been.’

  ‘Maybe he could take you out down this way one weekend.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I’d like you to meet him. I’d like that very much. Now stop worrying about Dad and start getting well.’

  11

  Polly and I were spending Saturday morning wandering round the stalls in Portobello Road. She picked up a purple velvet boa and slung it round her neck.

  ‘Don’t you think this is just so me, daaarling?’ she drawled, draping herself across the table.

  ‘Mind the goods, love,’ shouted the fat little man who owned the stall. ‘If you ain’t buyin’, I’d be obliged if you didn’t handle the merchandise. That’s very delicate fabric, that is.’

  ‘Who says I’m not buying?’ said Polly, grinning at him. ‘How much is it?’

  ‘17/6p,’ said the man. ‘Cheap at half the price.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Polly, winking at me and putting the boa back on the table.

  ‘Fifteen bob then,’ said the man. ‘And that’s takin’ the bread out of me kids’ mouths.’

  ‘Ten bob,’ said Polly.

  ‘Twelve,’ said the man.

/>   ‘Done,’ said Polly, ‘and I’ll wear it.’

  Polly paid the man and we walked off arm in arm giggling. The purple velvet of the boa looked amazing against her fair hair. I noticed people staring as we walked through the market. People noticed Polly. People always noticed Polly, but she didn’t seem to realise it.

  I’d stayed in Brighton for a week, until I was absolutely sure that Mum was okay. I had hardly left the house. I was so afraid that I would bump into Ralph, even though that was the only thing that I wanted to do. I kept making up little scenarios where I would be coming out of a shop just as he was going in, or getting on the same bus he was on. I knew that I had to get back to London. Between worrying about Mum and worrying about Ralph, I was so stressed all the time that it was making me feel ill. Even darling Rita commented on it.

  ‘I hope you’re not going down with something,’ she’d said, glaring at me as if I was about to get ill just to annoy her. ‘You look peaky, so don’t breathe all over Miranda Louise.’

  ‘You can’t wrap her in cotton wool, Rita.’

  ‘I can wrap her in a dirty dishcloth if I decide to. I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my own child.’

  Yes, I was definitely glad to be back in London, especially on a beautiful morning like this with my best friend Polly. We walked around for another hour. I bought a set of coasters with Bob Dylan’s face on for the flat, as Mrs P kept moaning about the coffee rings on the table. I also found a couple of Beatles tapes and Polly got some chunky plastic earrings and bracelets. We decided to stop for some lunch at an Italian restaurant that had a garden out the back.

  ‘So,’ said Polly sitting down at a table under some plastic hanging vines. ‘Tell me exactly what happened when you were in the bosom of your family, because you’ve been like a cat on hot bricks since you got back.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘You know you have, and you also know you want to tell me, so spill.’

  ‘I saw Ralph.’

  ‘I thought he might figure in it somewhere. So was that good?’

  ‘He’s getting married.’

  ‘Not so good.’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know how I feel.’

  ‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

  ‘Yes, no, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well how did he make you feel?’

  ‘Excited, scared, awkward, sick.’

  ‘And how does Joe make you feel?’

  I smiled. ‘Safe, happy, loved.’

  ‘And he’s single and not engaged to someone else.’

  ‘So why do I feel so confused?’

  ‘Because you’re only twenty-three, and maybe you’re not ready for safe.’

  ‘When did my cynical friend get so wise?’

  ‘Don’t be fooled by the cynical bit. I’ve succumbed to the odd broken heart.’

  ‘I think mine’s been broken for years.’

  ‘Then isn’t it time you did something about it?’

  ‘There’s more to it than that.’

  ‘I know there is, kiddo, but until you tell me what it is, there’s not much I can do.’

  ‘I will one day.’

  ‘Good.’

  The evening was just as beautiful as the morning, maybe more beautiful. There’s something about early evening in London in the spring. Maybe it’s the light, or maybe it’s just a feeling in the air, but it seems as if anything is possible. In Brighton, it feels like all my possibilities are behind me, like there’s no future, but here in London, on an evening like this, my heart just feels lighter, and I gradually lose the old Dottie and find myself again.

  It was too nice an evening to stay in and as neither Joe nor I had any money to go to the pub or the pictures, we went to Kensington Gardens, which is just about my favourite place in London. Ever since Joe had shown me the statue of Peter Pan, I had been fascinated by the story of the boy who never wanted to grow up. It reminded me of Mary.

  It was very stuffy in the Underground, and we were glad to come above ground for some fresh air. It seemed as though the entire population of London was out on the streets. Some were dressed up to the nines, as if they were going to the theatre or out for dinner, others wore casual clothes just strolling around. I loved the buzz. When I was growing up, I never thought I would leave Brighton, and once I fell in love with Ralph, I thought my future was mapped out. A little house, kids, Mum round the corner and Mary down the road. But it wasn’t to be, and now I was here in London, on a beautiful evening with a lovely man, and I loved it.

  I put my arm through Joe’s as we negotiated the busy road and went into the park. It was pretty crowded, but our bench by the statue was empty. There was a bunch of hippies sitting not far away strumming guitars; a few of them were handing out flowers. A beautiful young girl in a long flowy dress came across to us and handed us both a daffodil. ‘Peace and love,’ she said, smiling.

  We sat on the bench holding hands and listening to the music. I stared at the statue.

  ‘They didn’t stay together, did they?’ I said.

  ‘Who didn’t?’

  ‘Peter and Wendy.’

  ‘Well that’s because Wendy wanted to grow up and Peter didn’t,’ said Joe.

  ‘That’s sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Joe, putting his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Do you think there are lots of people that are meant to be together, but it just never happens?’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ said Joe.

  ‘So what do they do?’

  ‘I guess they get over it and find someone else. Blimey, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you were going to get all soppy on me,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘I thought you said you were a romantic.’

  ‘I am over real things, but that’s just a story.’

  ‘Well I believe in Peter Pan. I believe in you, Peter,’ I shouted across to the statue. One of the hippies looked across at us and said, ‘So do we.’

  ‘See, it’s not just me,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘You’re daft, do you know that?’ he said, smoothing my hair away from my eyes and smiling.

  ‘Endearing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Totally,’ said Joe, kissing me gently. ‘Now isn’t it time I met the future in-laws?’

  ‘I don’t know about future in-laws, but I did tell Mum I would bring you down for a visit.’

  ‘Well now that’s a start, isn’t it?’

  12

  The sunlight streaming through the net curtains in Joe’s bedroom held the promise of another beautiful day. I had stayed the night, because today we were going down to Brighton. I hadn’t been home for almost a month, and I wanted to check up on my mum. I raised myself onto one elbow and peered at the clock on the bedside cabinet. It said seven fifteen. We weren’t getting the train from Victoria until eleven. I snuggled back down under the covers.

  Joe was sleeping with his back to me, so I put my arms around him, inhaling the familiar smell of Hai Karate and the rather musty morning smell that for some odd reason was turning me on. ‘Are you awake?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘No, I’m asleep,’ he mumbled.

  ‘But you spoke,’ I said, kissing his back.

  ‘I was sleep talking.’

  ‘I need a cuddle.’

  ‘I need to sleep.’

  ‘But I really, really need a cuddle.’

  Joe turned over so that he was facing me. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘Better,’ I said, smiling. I shifted down the bed so that I could put my head on his chest. On the wall opposite was a huge poster of Raquel Welch, dressed like a cavewoman. Was this the sort of woman that Joe liked? I certainly didn’t look like that and it made me wonder about his past girlfriends. ‘You’ve never talked about any of your old girlfriends,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve never asked.’

  ‘Well I’m asking now.’

  ‘Bit early for the Spanish Inquisition isn’t it? Why do you want to know?’ />
  ‘Just wondering whether some long lost love is going to suddenly turn up out of the blue and steal you away from me.’

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘I’d still like to know.’

  Joe brushed the hair out of my face and kissed my forehead. ‘Well I’ve only really had ten serious relationships.’

  ‘Ten!’ I said, sitting up and staring at him.

  ‘Just kidding.’

  I slid down the bed again. ‘Well don’t – I believed you.’

  ‘Okay, if you really must know, I’ve had lots of flings, as you would expect of a rather handsome lad like myself,’ he said, giving me a cheeky grin.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But serious ones? Three.’

  ‘How long did they last?’

  ‘The first one lasted four years.’

  ‘But that’s ages, why did you break up?’

  ‘Because when she was eight her parents moved house.’

  ‘Was it true love?’ I said, twirling the hair on Joe’s chest around my finger.

  ‘Ouch,’ he said, pushing my hand away.

  ‘Well was it?’

  ‘Absolutely. She even took her knickers off once and showed me her little pink bottom.’

  ‘Sounds kinky.’

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And the second one?’

  ‘That one lasted a year and then she stalked me for another two years. I thought she was cool and mysterious when in fact she was barking mad.’

  ‘And number three?’

  Joe didn’t answer right away, and suddenly I wished I hadn’t asked. I could feel my stomach tense. The bed that five minutes before had felt all cosy and comfy suddenly felt hot and sticky, and all thoughts of making love had gone completely out of my head.

  ‘Penny,’ he said eventually. ‘Her name was Penny.’

  ‘Why have you never mentioned her before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t think it was important. Is it important?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, moving away from him in search of a cool patch of sheet. ‘I mean I’ve told you all about my limited love life, haven’t I, but you haven’t said a word about yours.’