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

by Sandy Taylor

  I didn’t know what to say. I had never heard Tristan talk like that. I was used to his wit and banter; I had never heard him sound so bitter.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  Tristan turned round and shook his head as if trying to shake away the memory. ‘When I think what they did to that dear sweet boy I am as angry as if it was yesterday.’

  ‘Dunk, Tristan, dunk.’

  Tristan smiled and sat down beside me again. ‘I think that is what everyone should do when faced with ignorance and small-mindedness. They should just bloody well dunk.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ I said, and we clinked cups.

  48

  It was the run-up to Christmas. The nights had drawn in, and it was dark by 4 p.m. Matthew and I loved to walk along the seafront in the evenings, looking at the glittering lights strung between the old lamp posts. I had been looking at these lights since childhood, but I never failed to see the magic in them. Both piers were lit up and the dark water underneath was ablaze with the reflected lights from the carousel and the arcade. I watched Matthew as he leaned on the railings and looked out over the sea. I was making memories, tucking them away to take out again and look at when he was gone. Some nights we were joined by Tristan and Stephen. The four of us would wrap up warm and sit on the cold pebbles eating fish and chips out of the newspaper. Now and again other winter evenings would suddenly slip into my mind. Little snapshots of me and Ralph, Mary and Elton leaning over these same railings, looking at the same Christmas lights. This is where the ghosts were. This is where they would always be.

  Matthew and I were still no more than loving friends. We held hands, we cuddled, but that was as far as it went. And yet I knew he wanted more. I just hoped that he wouldn’t get hurt. I sometimes found myself questioning whether I had used him to fill the space left by Ralph and Peggy, because there was no doubt in my mind that meeting Matthew couldn’t have come along at a better time.

  Rose, Tristan and Stephen were going to spend Christmas Day in Rose’s flat, and they’d asked me and Matthew if we would like to join them, but I wanted to be with my family. It was where I always wanted to be at Christmas. Much as I loved Oriental Place, Christmas to me meant being at home. Clark was spending the day with Emma’s parents. This would be the first time that he wouldn’t be home for Christmas, so there was no way I couldn’t be there. Mum said that Matthew would be very welcome, and I was looking forward to us all being together. The only thing bothering me was Rita. We always had Christmas tea at her house, and I wasn’t sure what her opinion of Matthew was going to be, but the one thing I could definitely be sure of was that my darling sister would have an opinion. I needed to run it past Mum.

  I met her in the café on the top floor of Wades department store on Western Road. Wades was just about the poshest shop in Brighton. Mum had been bringing me, Rita and Clark here since we were kids. She used to say, ‘We might not be able to buy any of the stuff in here, but we can afford a cup of tea and a bun.’ I can remember as children how fascinated all three of us were by the brass containers that used to whiz above our heads carrying money from the desk to the girl in the office and how it would come whizzing back again with the change. The other thing about Wades was that they knew how to do Christmas. They always had a huge tableau in the window that would be covered in sheets till the great unveiling. Sometimes it would be a nativity scene and sometimes a Toyland scene. Wades was the best place for a kid to come at Christmas. I wished that I could have brought Peggy here – she would have loved it.

  Mum was already sitting down when I got there. Aunty Brenda was sitting next to her, which was nice, as I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks. She waved as I walked towards the table.

  ‘Now let me look at you,’ she said.

  Aunty Brenda had been saying this to me for as long as I could remember but these days when she said it she winked. It had become a bit of a standing joke.

  I kissed them both on the cheek and sat down.

  ‘I ordered tea and toast for you,’ said Mum. ‘I know you like your toast.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I said, taking off my coat and hanging it on the back of the chair.

  ‘How are Mrs Toshimo and the boys?’ said Mum.

  ‘They’re all fine, and they send their love to you both.’

  ‘We miss our Fridays,’ said Aunty Brenda. ‘But we don’t like coming out on these dark nights do we, Maureen?’

  ‘Your dad doesn’t like me going out in the dark.’

  ‘You could always visit in the daytime.’

  ‘Not without you there,’ said Mum. ‘It wouldn’t seem right.’

  The waitress arrived with tea, toast for me and scones for Mum and Aunty Brenda.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about Christmas, Mum,’ I said.

  ‘You are still coming?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘And Matthew?’

  ‘He’s really looking forward to it. It’s just that Rita hasn’t met him yet, and I’m worried.’

  ‘You don’t want to be worrying about Rita,’ said Mum.

  ‘Have you told her about Matthew?’

  ‘Of course I have.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well you know Rita.’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me. I don’t want Matthew to feel awkward. People stare at us, Mum. People stare at us all the time. Matthew behaves like it doesn’t bother him, and I don’t think it does for himself, but I know he feels bad for me. If I bring him home for Christmas I want him to feel as if he’s wanted there.’

  ‘Of course he’s wanted,’ said Aunty Brenda.

  ‘I know all of you want him, but what about Rita? Is she going to make him feel welcome?’

  ‘If she knows what’s good for her she will,’ said Mum, slapping butter on her scone as if she was plastering a wall.

  ‘I just want Matthew to have the best Christmas he can have, because it’s the only Christmas we’ll spend together. I want it to be special. I don’t want Rita spoiling it.’

  ‘I do hear what you’re saying, love. I can’t speak for Rita. She has her views on things, but she’s not unkind.’

  ‘No, she’s not unkind, Dottie,’ said Aunty Brenda.

  ‘She might not be unkind, Aunty Brenda, but she can make her feelings known without even opening her mouth.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and see her then?’ asked Mum.

  ‘I don’t find Rita very easy.’

  ‘Nobody does,’ said Aunty Brenda. ‘But she’s your sister, and she loves you.’

  ‘She’s got a funny way of showing it sometimes.’

  ‘I know, dear, but we all have our crosses to bear. Mine is called Carol, and she’d test the patience of a saint.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She seems to be doing all right. She says this Florence person loves her.’

  ‘Well that’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, but modelling isn’t exactly a secure job, is it? It’s not exactly a career.’

  ‘Well that Twiggy girl’s done all right for herself,’ said Mum. ‘I saw a picture of her on the side of the number fourteen bus last week.’

  ‘I can’t see our Carol on the side of a bus,’ said Aunty Brenda. ‘Can you, Dottie?’

  ‘Well I think if a fashion house in London wants to use her, she should give it a go.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not? She won’t know if she doesn’t try.’

  ‘But she wants to live in London. Am I supposed to let her?’

  ‘I think I would, Aunty Brenda, and I think it would be better if she had your blessing.’

  ‘You are getting very wise, Dottie. You get that from your mum.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll phone my friend Polly and see if Mrs Pierce has let my room yet.’

  ‘She must have let it by now,’ said Mum.

  ‘Oh she did, but the girl left owing her rent and stole the telephone directory.’

  ‘That is exactly what’s wor
rying me, Dottie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My Carol mixing with people that steal telephone directories.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Brenda,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘It’s hardly in the same league as the great train robbers.’

  ‘Theft is theft, Maureen, and how do you know that the great train robbers didn’t start their criminal careers pinching telephone directories.’

  That’s when Mum and I burst into fits of giggles, joined almost immediately by Aunty Brenda.

  ‘So I’ll ask Polly, shall I?’ I said, wiping my eyes.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Aunty Brenda ‘At least it’s someone you know.’

  ‘Did your Mrs Pierce have to get another telephone directory, Dottie?’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue, Mum,’ I said, biting into my toast.

  49

  Two weeks to Christmas and Brighton was buzzing. The shops along Western Road were ablaze with fairy lights, spilling pools of liquid rainbows onto the wet pavements and brightening up the gloomy winter evenings. There were Father Christmases on every corner, rattling their tins. Dads were dragging Christmas trees along the pavements, the counters in the shops were laden with gifts and everywhere there were people, excited kids, harassed women and reluctant men, carrying bags bulging with presents. Everything was just as it should be.

  I still didn’t know what to do about Rita, so I decided to go and visit her. I wasn’t exactly relishing the thought. The first thing she said when she opened the door was…

  ‘I wondered when you were going to show your face.’

  ‘You could always visit me you know.’

  ‘I might one day.’

  I followed her into the front room. Miranda Louise was sitting on the floor surrounded by toys. I couldn’t believe how much she’d grown.

  ‘This is your Aunty Dottie, Miranda Louise,’ said Rita. ‘Now don’t be frightened. She’s family. In fact, believe it or not, she’s your godmother.’

  ‘You’ve made your point, Rita.’

  ‘Well she doesn’t know you, does she? You could be anyone.’

  Actually I did feel pretty guilty. I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen her.

  I knelt down and smiled at her. She was such a contented baby. She always had been, which I always thought was a bit of a miracle given who her mother was. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a rotten aunty,’ I said, stroking her little hand. ‘I’ll try and do better.’

  She gave me a gummy smile.

  ‘Well you couldn’t do much worse,’ said Rita.

  ‘Okay, truce?’

  We both sat down on the couch and watched the baby playing. She was babbling away to herself in baby talk. She really was very sweet. She was even growing into her ears.

  ‘So what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? I very much doubt it was to see Miranda Louise.’

  ‘It’s about Matthew actually.’

  ‘Oh, is it actually?’

  ‘I wondered if you would have any objections to him coming here for tea on Christmas Day.’

  ‘I might.’

  This was exactly what I expected would happen. ‘I knew you’d be like this.’

  ‘Did you now? Has your landlady been teaching you how to predict the future as well?’

  ‘Don’t try and be clever, Rita.’

  ‘I’ll be anything I want to be in my own house, and I’ll think whatever I like.’

  ‘And we all know what that’s going to be.’

  ‘And that, my small-minded little sister is where you are wrong. I’m not sure whether I want Matthew here, because I don’t know him. I might not like him, and it won’t be because of the colour of his skin. I presume that is what you are getting at. If I decide that I don’t like him then I wouldn’t care if he was red, white and blue – I still wouldn’t like him. In fact I think it’s you that’s got the problem, not me.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem with it.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because it’s you that’s been banging on about it to Mum. How do you know why people are staring at you? You don’t, do you? You’ve decided for them, just like you’ve decided for me. They might be staring at you because they can’t believe that someone as gormless as you has actually managed to get a boyfriend.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Well whatever he is. You were wrong about me, so how do you know that you’re not wrong about them?’

  I didn’t know what to think. Was Rita right? Was I being paranoid? I was certainly wrong about Rita, and I felt bad about that.

  ‘And anyway you don’t know those people. They’re not your friends, are they? They’re not your family, so why should you care what they think? The world is full of idiots, but they’re not your idiots, are they? They’re someone else’s. And I’ll tell you something else. I never really liked that Ralph Bennett of yours. I always thought that he was a bit lame.’

  ‘Lame?’

  ‘He never fought for you, did he? He got your best friend pregnant and married her but kept you dangling on a string. Then he practically left poor Fiona at the altar and went running back to you. Then he dumped you because a spoiled five-year-old had a tantrum, which sent him scurrying back to Fiona, who was daft enough to take him back. I didn’t like Ralph Bennett, and it wasn’t because he had ginger hair – it was because he always played the victim.’

  I was a bit stunned actually. Rita had never expressed an opinion about Ralph before. Put like that I suppose he did sound a bit lame, but Rita didn’t know him like I did. There wasn’t a bad bone in his body. If he was guilty of anything, it was being too kind, and in being too kind he ended up hurting people. He hurt me because Mary probably came onto him, and he didn’t like to say no. He hurt Fiona because he wanted to make Peggy happy, so he asked her to marry him, then couldn’t go through with it, and he hurt me again by putting Peggy’s happiness before ours. Yes, he hurt people, but he didn’t mean to. Did that make him lame? Not in my eyes, it didn’t. I decided not to pursue it. Instead I said, ‘Rita, I owe you a huge apology.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be huge but apology accepted.’

  ‘So can I bring Matthew round on Christmas Day or not?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  Right at that moment Miranda started clapping her hands.

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ I said, smiling.

  Millie and I had decorated the little office with paper chains and baubles. Tom had gone out and got a tree, which he dragged up the rickety stairs. We draped it with fairy lights and hung glass ornaments and tinsel from the branches. It was lovely, and when we came in in the mornings, the office smelt of pine and reminded me of my childhood.

  One evening we had a bit of a party in the office. Celeste-up-her-own-rear-end Partington-bloody-Spencer came, and so did Malcolm the bathing-hut man. A lovely young Chinese girl who had written a cookery book was there, as was a children’s author called Caroline, who was actually a man called Raymond, who for some reason didn’t want anyone to know that he wrote children’s books. Anyway it was all very Christmassy and jolly. There was mulled wine and mince pies and cassette tapes playing Christmas songs. Harry Belafonte singing ‘Mary’s Boy Child’ was playing just as Matthew came in the door. He looked so handsome it took my breath away. He was wearing a long black coat and he had a red woollen scarf wrapped around his neck. He smiled his gorgeous smile at everyone and he lit up the room.

  Matthew kissed me on the cheek. His lips were cold and soft, and he smelt of peppermints. I introduced him to Malcolm and went to get him a drink.

  Millie was filling her glass with mulled wine, which smelt of cinnamon and nutmeg and Christmas.

  She was looking across the room at Matthew. ‘You are lucky, Dottie. It’s Christmas, and I haven’t had so much as a sniff of a boyfriend, and you didn’t even have to leave the bloody office to get yours.’

  ‘We’re just friends you know, Millie.’

  ‘Still?’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, still.’ />
  ‘You must be bonkers.’

  ‘Probably. Now what about Malcolm?’

  ‘I’m not that desperate.’

  ‘Just kidding, sorry. But I know there’ll be someone rich and handsome out there for you.’

  ‘Right now I’d settle for nice. I mean I’m not opposed to handsome, and rich would be a bonus, but someone nice to spend Christmas with would be lovely.’

  I put my arm around her shoulder. ‘It will happen, Millie, probably when you least expect it.’

  ‘Perhaps your Aunty Brenda could practise the Tarot cards on me and see what my future holds.’

  ‘I expect she’d love to. She’s done the rest of us. Apparently my dad’s going to travel to foreign parts, which is highly unlikely given that he has trouble venturing out of the estate and he needs medical back-up to get him round to Rita’s.’

  Millie laughed.

  We looked across at Matthew. He was deep in conversation with Malcolm.

  ‘Won’t you be sad when he leaves?’

  ‘Of course I will, but I’m not sorry that I met him.’

  ‘But won’t you be heartbroken again?’

  ‘No. I have a theory that your heart can only truly break once. You can be really, really sad, and you can tell yourself that your heart is broken, but it’s not, and you get over it, but true heartbreak is something you never quite get over. That’s my theory anyway.’

  ‘That’s a hell of a theory.’

  ‘It’s what keeps me going when I think of saying goodbye to Matthew. I’ll be sad, but my heart won’t break. Meeting him helped me through one of the toughest times in my life, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that.’

  We spent the next couple of hours singing Christmas songs off-key, except for Malcolm of the bathing huts, who surprised us all with the voice of an angel. We all cheered and clapped him, and he went very red and pulled at his collar as if he was choking, but he looked chuffed to bits. I winked at Millie, who mouthed back, ‘No way.’

  I think that we were all slightly tipsy by the time we left the office, and to add to the Christmas spirit it had started to snow.