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

by Sandy Taylor

  Joe was leaning against the wall. He looked… oh he looked beautiful. The light was behind him, and he was so relaxed, so natural. I slowed my footsteps. I thought how lucky I was to be going out with such a good-hearted, good-looking boy. Some people passed in front of me, and I lost sight of him for a moment, but they moved, and there he was, and he must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up and saw me. He smiled and wandered over. He took hold of my hand and put his face down to kiss me, but I turned at the last moment so his lips touched my cheek, not my mouth.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I said. I tried to smile in a reassuring way, but even I could tell that it was unconvincing. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I said.

  ‘Well you’ve come to the right place then,’ said Joe. ‘A rock concert will soon sort that out.’

  I smiled a little more enthusiastically and took my hand out of his. I pretended to look for something inside my handbag, found some lipgloss and put it on. I spent a long time doing it. Joe stood beside me. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  The truth was I was angry with Joe. He hadn’t done anything wrong; he hadn’t said anything or stepped out of line at all. No, I was angry with him because I had decided to choose him over Ralph. It wasn’t Joe’s fault of course. He had had absolutely no say in the matter. It was all down to me. There was no point chasing might-have-been dreams. Ralph was a part of my past. Joe was my present – Joe was my future. But none of that stopped me resenting Joe for being Joe, not Ralph.

  ‘We’ve got time for a drink,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘There’s time for a drink, before the gig. We could find a pub. There’s got to be one round here.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The pubs will be full of rockers. I don’t want to be part of a crowd.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Joe, ‘suit yourself. I just thought a glass of water might help your head.’

  ‘Oh stop fussing, Joe,’ I snapped. He took a step away from me. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  We walked, together but apart, closer to the building and joined the back of the queue.

  I can’t remember anything about the concert. I couldn’t name a single song that was sung or anything that happened. It must have been hot and noisy. There must have been banter, the music must have been amazing, but I don’t remember any of it. All I remember is standing stiff and awkward beside Joe, thinking about Ralph. I tried to snap myself out of my mood, but I just couldn’t.

  Afterwards we went back to Joe’s flat. He opened a bottle of wine and poured me a glass. I drank it straight back, and then refilled the glass myself and drank that too. It wasn’t like me, but I thought if I drank enough, then maybe, just maybe, I could stop counting off the minutes until Ralph and Peggy left England.

  Joe was watching but pretending that he wasn’t.

  ‘How’s your head?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your head. You had a headache.’

  ‘Oh, it’s better.’ I held out my glass, and he topped it up again. The wine was sloshing about all sour in my stomach.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Joe. He pointed towards the couch with its cushions and blankets. I normally curled up on that sofa and tucked my legs underneath myself. But not that evening.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better go,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be daft – you’ve only just got here. Stay the night.’

  ‘Why? Because you don’t feel like walking me home?’

  ‘Dottie!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. I sat down, not on the couch but on the little single chair. I put the glass on the floor and put my head in my hands.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you worrying about your mum?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘What then?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Oh, Dottie, you know what.’

  I said nothing. Joe stood up again. He went over to the window. The curtains were open. Outside, night had fallen but the street lights glowed orange.

  ‘You don’t have to be with me,’ he said.

  And there it was, clear as anything – the light-bulb moment. The thought of losing Joe was like a knife going through my heart. All right, that was a bit dramatic, but I knew right then and there that it was Joe I wanted to be with. It was such a relief that I threw my arms around him and sobbed into his chest.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, holding me tightly, ‘what’s this all about?’

  I could hardly speak. ‘I love you, that’s all.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be making you happy?’

  ‘I am happy.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s what happy looks like these days, is it?’

  ‘I’ve been rotten to you all evening, haven’t I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say rotten. A bit detached maybe.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’ve had a lot on your mind, haven’t you?’

  I let him speak.

  ‘And I’d have to be pretty dumb not to know what it was.’

  I didn’t know what was coming, but I guessed it wasn’t something that I wanted to hear.

  ‘You see, I saw you. I saw the way you looked at Ralph, at the barbecue,’ he said.

  ‘I’m an idiot, aren’t I?’

  Joe took my face gently in his hands. ‘Not an idiot, darling girl, just someone with a big heart. The thing is, I need to be the only one in it. I need to know that in a few years’ time you won’t be regretting anything.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise I won’t.’ And I wouldn’t. Joe was good and kind, and I’d been pretty stupid – I realised that now. I had been struggling with the fact that Ralph was going far away. He wouldn’t be in Brighton any more. My last links with him would be broken.

  ‘Good, because I intend to keep you in my life for a long, long time.’

  Joe knelt down in front of me. At first I wondered what he was doing, then he took a little box out of his pocket. I could feel my heart racing.

  ‘Dottie Perks,’ he said. ‘Will you take a chance and muddle through this funny old life with me?’

  It had been such a strange, barmy day, and my emotions were all over the place. I looked at Joe’s dear face and started crying again.

  ‘Do I take that as a yes,’ said Joe smiling, ‘or should I be worried?’

  I took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes, of course, yes.’

  18

  I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. I had slept the sleep of the dead. For the first time in ages I felt at peace, absolutely and totally at peace. I hadn’t realised quite how heavy a burden I had been carrying round, but now it was gone. I could think of Ralph without feeling sick and anxious and worried. His imminent departure had been like a ticking clock that I couldn’t get out of my head and Mum’s words had kept coming back to me. ‘You’ve got three weeks to work out what you want.’ Well, I’ve worked it out, Mum, and I want Joe – and I didn’t have to do anything. Ralph would marry Fiona, and I would marry Joe, and that’s the way it was meant to be.

  I lifted my hand and looked at the ring glittering away on my finger, and I was truly happy.

  I looked at Joe. He was fast asleep, one of his legs hanging over the side of the bed. That’s the way he always slept, as if he was perpetually ready for flight. I sat down on the bed and kissed his cheek. He murmured and turned over.

  ‘I have to go,’ I whispered.

  Joe yawned and opened his eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Six o’clock.’

  ‘Come back to bed. It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘I wish I could, but I have to get home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t wear these clothes to work.’

  ‘I’ll take you.’

  ‘No point, I’ll get a bus. Go back to sleep.’

  I kissed him again, properly this
time. He groaned.

  ‘Throw a sickie.’

  ‘You’re leading me astray.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  I stood up. ‘Really, I have to go. I am a very busy and important person, and the office will fall apart without me.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘I think I probably do.’

  I got to the door and turned around. ‘Thank you for asking me to be your wife, Mr Austin.’

  ‘You are very welcome, Miss Perks.’

  Once back at Victoria Terrace I went straight into the kitchen and popped two pieces of toast under the grill, then I went into my bedroom to get ready for work. I had this bubbly, excited feeling in my tummy. I felt like singing or dancing or… oh I don’t know, just something. I felt like a child on Christmas Eve. I hadn’t felt like this for so long.

  I opened the window to let in some air. A few early risers were making their way across the green towards the station. The sun was shining on this perfect of perfect days.

  By the time I went into the kitchen, Polly was plastering the toast with butter. She handed me a slice and we ran down the stairs, eating the toast as we went. We walked across the park and headed towards Highbury & Islington Tube station. There were the usual million people waiting on the platform.

  ‘How I love mornings,’ said Polly, sighing.

  ‘Cheer up,’ I said, smiling at her. ‘The sun is shining, and we are two fantastically successful girls about town with the world at our feet.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dottie. You hate mornings more than I do. You must have had one hell of a night with Joe.’

  ‘I did actually.’

  Just then the train pulled in, and we nudged and elbowed our way onto it. I ended up under some bloke’s armpit and was separated from Polly by two nuns of all things.

  ‘You’ve definitely made up your mind then?’ she said, peering between two black and white wimples.

  ‘Definitely,’ I mouthed. Then I raised my hand and waved my finger around.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ she screamed. The two nuns glared at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘He asked you to marry him?’ she mouthed.

  I wasn’t going to have this conversation under a whiffy armpit, so I ignored her. She glared at me and I smiled sweetly back.

  As the Tube rattled its way into Sloane Square Polly was almost overcome with curiosity. ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

  ‘I will, just not now. I’ll meet you in the café at lunchtime.’

  ‘How am I going to get through the morning?’

  ‘Think about the chef.’

  At work, I managed to hug my secret to myself. For some reason I didn’t feel like sharing it just yet. The creep kept coming across to my desk, reeking of Old Spice and bad breath.

  ‘What did you think about the McCartney piece, eh? The editor thinks it’s very cutting edge.’

  ‘I’m very pleased for you, Miles,’ I said between gritted teeth.

  ‘It’s all about keeping the customers satisfied.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘No one wants that marriage to work, do they? Least of all the fans.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well who is this Linda Eastman anyway? No one’s heard of her.’

  ‘She’s the woman that Paul loves. What more is there to know?’

  ‘Mark my words, Dottie dear. It won’t work.’

  ‘Well I hope it does.’

  ‘Fancy a bet on it?’

  ‘I've got better things to do with my money, and as much as I’d love to spend my time talking to you, Miles, I have work to do.’ Who did he think he was – the bloody oracle?

  I left the office as soon as I could and started to make my way down the King’s Road.

  ‘Dottie.’

  I turned around and saw Polly running towards me.

  ‘I thought I’d never get away,’ she said, catching up with me. She stopped to catch her breath. ‘We should start running, Dottie, I’m so unfit.’

  ‘You’re unfit, so we should start running?’

  ‘Okay, I should go running.’

  We went into the Bluebird café and sat down at one of the tables. There weren’t many people in there.

  A waitress that we hadn’t seen before came over. ‘What can I get you?’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Where’s Miss Happy?’ asked Polly.

  The girl looked confused. ‘Miss who?’

  ‘The girl that usually serves us.’

  ‘She’s left.’

  ‘Well I shouldn’t think she’ll be any great loss,’ said Polly.

  ‘No, she won’t, but the chef will.’

  Polly frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s taken the chef with her.’

  ‘My chef?’

  ‘Your chef?’

  ‘So who’s doing the cooking?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘George the owner.’

  ‘Is he any good at cooking chips?’ said Polly, looking fed up.

  ‘He isn’t any good at cooking anything. I would have a sandwich if I were you.’

  ‘Two cheese and tomato then,’ I said. ‘Is that okay for you, Polly?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And two teas.’

  Polly put a sugar cube into her mouth and crunched away furiously. ‘What on earth does he see in that sour-faced cow?’

  ‘Maybe she has hidden depths.’

  ‘I’ll never have his children.’

  ‘I bet he’s got a ton of them already.’

  ‘Do you reckon?’

  ‘And he was pretty spotty.’

  ‘He was, wasn’t he?’

  ‘All that chip fat.’

  Polly grinned. ‘Let me see the ring again.’

  I held out my hand towards her.

  ‘You lucky cow,’ she said. ‘Tell me all.’

  ‘You know we went to the concert?'

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I was awful to him all evening.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he wasn’t Ralph. I was blaming him for not being Ralph.’

  ‘I’m confused. Your love life never fails to confuse me.’

  ‘It never fails to confuse me either.’

  ‘Okay, to recap. All evening you wanted Joe to be Ralph, and then you decided that Joe was the one you wanted, then Joe proposed and you accepted.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So that’s really it with you and Ralph?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that I came to my senses.’

  ‘Was it terribly romantic?’

  ‘It was terribly unexpected.’ I thought back to last night. ‘And yes, it was romantic.’

  The waitress came back with the sandwiches and put them down on the table. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Just the tea,’ I said.

  ‘Did he go down on one knee?’

  ‘I think he might have gone down on two knees. I remember thinking that he was about to start praying.’

  Polly bit into her sandwich and screwed up her face. ‘Too much butter. I hope George hasn’t set his heart on a career in cooking. He can’t even make a decent sandwich. I mean, even I can make a sandwich.’

  ‘Perhaps you should apply for the job.’

  ‘No point now the chef’s gone. Anyway tell me – what made you choose Joe?’

  ‘I just knew. All of a sudden, I just knew.’

  ‘Was that before he proposed?’

  ‘Luckily, yes.’

  ‘And you still feel the same this morning.’

  ‘I should jolly well hope so, I just agreed to marry the guy.’

  ‘Thank God for that. Perhaps now we can concentrate on finding me a love life.’

  ‘I’m all yours.’

  Polly smiled. ‘I really am glad for you, Dottie, not least because it means you won’t be leaving me.’

  ‘Thanks. I just suddenly feel so free.’

  ‘Welcome to the club. In
my experience freedom is overestimated.’

  ‘I don’t mean that sort of free. I mean I don’t have to worry any more. I know what I want, and I finally know what I don’t want.’

  ‘And you want Joe?’

  ‘I want Joe.’

  19

  It was Saturday, the day that Ralph was marrying Fiona in Brighton. I knew it was early. The light beyond the thin curtains barely cast a glow into the room. I leaned over and picked up the white plastic alarm clock beside the bed. It read 5.30. I wanted to roll over, pull the blankets over my head and go back to sleep, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  I remembered another morning just like this one, when all I had wanted to do was sleep the day away and shut out the world. It was the morning of Mary’s wedding to Ralph. It had been Rita of all people that had dragged me out of bed and helped me to face the day. Well she wouldn’t be helping me today, that was for sure. Last week Rita had sent me a letter.

  As soon as I’d seen the pink envelope propped up on the hallstand, I knew it was from her. I wondered what on earth she could be writing to me about. I just hoped it wasn’t bad news. I’d taken the letter upstairs. My room had been stuffy, so I’d gone across to the window and pulled up the sash. A cool breeze wafted into the room. Then I’d opened the letter.

  Dear Dottie, it read.

  I know this is short notice, but I bumped into Fiona at the weekend, and she has invited you to the evening reception. The wedding is at 2.30 p.m. and the evening do is from 7 onwards. I shouldn’t think that you will want to be there, but I thought it was very nice of Fiona to ask you. She says you can bring your boyfriend. Like I said, I shouldn’t think that you will want to go, but I said I would ask you.

  From,

  Rita

  I wondered what Mary would have thought of today. During their short marriage she had grown to like Ralph, maybe even love him. I know she would have wanted him and Peggy to be happy, but she would have wanted me to be happy too.

  I had answered Rita’s letter and told her that I couldn’t come to the reception but to thank Fiona for her kind invitation. Rita would have been relieved. She wouldn’t have wanted me there, and I certainly didn’t want to be there.

  I stared up at the ceiling. There was a large water stain in the corner that had spread into the room. I tried conjuring up a picture, but I couldn't see anything. I used to have a similar stain on my bedroom ceiling when I was a child. It had looked like a rabbit. This one didn’t look like anything. It could have been the perfect shape of a country I didn’t recognise. Mary would have known. Mary knew all about the world. There was a map on her bedroom wall that she used to stick pins in.