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

by Sandy Taylor

  Matthew put his arm around my shoulder as we walked along the seafront towards Oriental Place. ‘Who would have thought that huts for changing your clothes in could be so fascinating?’

  ‘Were you bored?’

  ‘Of course not. The man has a passion, and anyone with a passion deserves respect.’

  ‘I never thought about it like that.’

  ‘And he didn’t keep that passion to himself – he told the world about it.’

  ‘And apparently the book sold really well.’

  ‘So there you are. Malcolm is a trailblazer for all those like-minded people. He has set them free; he has glamorised the humble bathing hut.’

  I giggled. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘You’re lovely.’

  The snow was falling around us in soft white flakes. It settled on the railings and drifted across the dark expanse of sea. We stood looking out over the water. Matthew took off his red scarf and wrapped it around my neck. Maybe it was the wine, or the snow, but everything felt magical. It was another special Matthew moment that I would hold on to and treasure. His coat felt soft and damp against my cheek, as he held me tightly against him. I felt loved, I felt safe and there wasn’t a ghost in sight. Would I regret not giving him more? No, because however much I had moved on with my life, my heart still belonged to Ralph. Maybe it always would, and Matthew was too lovely a man to hurt. We crept up the stairs to my flat and let ourselves in as quietly as we could. We slept all night in each other’s arms as the snow fell outside the window and turned Brighton into a winter wonderland.

  50

  I was at Brighton station waiting for the London train to come in. Polly was coming for the weekend, and I couldn’t wait to see her. I’d written to her about Carol and she wanted to meet her, but mostly she wanted to see me and Oriental Place and Rose and the boys. I’d told her all about Ralph leaving, but I hadn’t told her about Matthew. I was looking forward to the pair of them meeting. After my rather surprising conversation with Rita I had stopped caring so much about what people thought about us, and anyway I knew that Polly wouldn’t judge him by the colour of his skin.

  I sat down on a bench by the gates and watched the trains coming in, heaving and groaning and then lurching forward as they came to a stop. I watched the people leaning out of the windows to reach down and open the doors. I watched them stepping down, pulling their bags behind them, holding tightly onto the hands of their children. I watched as they hurried towards the gate to where I was sitting, where the guard was waiting to take the used tickets out of their hands. They didn’t care about the guard. They didn’t even see him. They were completely focussed on the people who had come to meet them.

  I watched as the people who were waiting – not so many, but a few – stood on tiptoe to scan the faces of the people coming off the trains. I watched their expressions change from anxious to relieved. I watched the smiles break out and their hands shoot into the air as they waved and waved. ‘Here, I’m over here,’ and the matching response from the loved ones they had come to meet.

  I remembered how it was for me, the day I had arrived from London to be with Ralph.

  I remembered how nervous I was as the train pulled into Brighton station, how I wished time would stop, because I was afraid. I’d been afraid that he wouldn’t be there, that fate would have intervened again and found a way to keep us apart. I’d thought of what I would do if he wasn’t there, of how I would be alone again – how all I had given up would be for nothing.

  But there he’d been, and we had run towards each other, and it had been like he was the earth, and I was the moon; we were separate, but we were drawn together – always separate but inseparable.

  .The London train was due in any minute, so I got up from the bench and went to wait by the gate. There was a woman standing in front of me with a baby in her arms. The baby was staring at me over her mum’s shoulder. Her eyes were grey – the same colour as mine. I kept smiling at her, but she just stared back at me with a very serious look on her face. She was wearing a red woolly siren suit, with wispy strands of fair hair escaping from the hood, and she looked cosy and snug. I tried making funny faces at her, but she was having none of it, and I began to feel like an idiot. I was wearing Matthew’s red scarf; it made me feel closer to him somehow. I pushed it up my face so that it covered my eyes then I pulled it down, playing peek-a-boo. I did this a few more times until eventually the beginnings of a smile appeared on the baby’s face.

  At last the train arrived. I could feel my stomach clench with excitement at the thought of seeing Polly. Doors were opening, spilling their cargo of passengers onto the platform. I was straining to see Polly amongst the crowds of people heading towards the gate. Suddenly there she was, dodging in and out of the crowd as she ran towards me.

  We fell into each other’s arms. ‘Welcome to Brighton,’ I said, hugging her.

  ‘You look fab,’ she said.

  ‘So do you,’ I replied, taking in her gorgeous green corduroy maxi coat and long white boots. ‘You look very London. I think my wardrobe has gone downhill a bit since I left.’

  ‘Nonsense, you look just like a model.’

  ‘A model for what though?’

  ‘Don’t start that again.’

  I gave Polly another hug. ‘Oh I’m so glad you’re here. Do you want some lunch before we go home?’

  ‘As long as it’s by the sea, I would love some lunch.’

  ‘Let’s go then. It’s straight down the road.’

  ‘All roads lead to the sea eh?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  We walked down West Street and onto the promenade. The snow had gone, leaving everywhere wet and slushy. There was a cold wind blowing off the sea that almost took my breath away.

  ‘Quick, let’s find somewhere warm,’ I said.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Polly.

  ‘Really? It’s freezing.’

  ‘You’ll live,’ said Polly, grinning. ‘I want to walk on the pebbles and stand by the shore. You’ve talked about this place so much that I want to experience every single bit of it.’

  ‘Come on then,’ I said, wrapping Matthew’s scarf over my mouth. We walked down the steps and jumped onto the pebbles.

  ‘Race you to the water,’ said Polly, taking off down the beach. She was like an excited child, and just for a minute she reminded me of Mary. I grinned and ran after her.

  Even though it was so cold the sea was calm, rolling gently over the stones and rattling them back as the tide went out. Polly was standing transfixed, gazing out over the grey water. I was beginning to wonder if she had ever actually been on a beach before. ‘This isn’t your first time on a beach, is it?’ I asked her.

  ‘No,’ said Polly smiling at me, ‘but it’s my first time on your beach.’

  I had my hands stuffed in my pockets, but I thought my nose was going to fall off from the cold.

  ‘Take me home, woman,’ said Polly at last.

  ‘I thought you wanted some lunch.’

  ‘Could we grab some fish and chips and eat them at yours?’

  ‘Of course we can. This is Brighton. Fish and chips we can do.’

  We bought the fish and chips in a great chippy opposite the Palace Pier then hurried along the seafront towards home.

  ‘It’s exactly how I thought it would be,’ said Polly as we turned into Oriental Place. ‘I’m so glad.’

  We ran up the steps of number fifty-five, clutching the hot bundles to our chests. I’d already told her about the light switches, and she found it hilarious.

  Just as we passed the boys’ door, Tristan appeared. ‘I smell fish and chips,’ he said. ‘Stephen, they have fish and chips,’ he shouted. He held out his hand. ‘And who is this?’ he asked, smiling at Polly.

  ‘You know exactly who this is, Tristan. I told you my friend Polly was coming to stay.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell me what a vision of chic she was going to be,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Stephen, come and see this
beautiful creature out here on the landing.’

  Stephen put his head round the door. ‘Oh my God, I want that coat. Take it off at once! I shall wear it to the party.’

  Polly had been grinning throughout this conversation, looking as if she was thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. ‘What party?’ she said.

  ‘We’re having a Christmas party down in Rose’s flat tomorrow evening,’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ said Stephen. ‘Everyone’s coming. It’s in your honour, darling, but we have to get a tree. You will come with us, won’t you?’

  I looked at Polly.

  ‘We’d love to,’ she said. ‘And thank you for the party.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, darling girl,’ said Stephen. ‘It was a good excuse for a knees-up, wasn’t it, Tristan?’

  ‘It was, dear boy,’ said Tristan, smiling at him.

  ‘These chips are getting cold. We’ll see you later, boys.’

  I let us into my flat and immediately turned on the two-bar electric fire. ‘Best keep your coat on till it warms up.’

  ‘Oh it’s lovely,’ said Polly, walking round. ‘And you’ve got your own door. I’d love my own door.’

  I knew what she meant. There was no real privacy at Victoria Terrace. Mrs P could walk in any time she liked, and she did. Rose wasn’t like that.

  ‘How can you afford to keep it on now Ralph has left?’

  ‘My landlady, Rose, halved my rent.’

  ‘Blimey, why would she do that?’

  ‘I guess because she likes me, and she wanted me to stay.’

  ‘Well that was jolly decent of her. I can’t imagine Mrs P doing that in a million years.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘Oh, Dottie, it’s so lovely to be here. I’ve missed you so much. In fact it’s getting worse not better.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too. Fancy living in Brighton?’

  ‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’

  ‘Really? Wouldn’t you miss London?

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, but Brighton’s my home. It’s been easy to settle back down here. The only thing I’ve missed about London is you.’

  ‘And Mrs Dickens?’

  ‘Of course. Have you been to see her lately?’

  ‘No, that place gives me the creeps on my own.’ She shivered.

  ‘And Mrs P still hasn’t let my room?’

  ‘I think the mouse pinching her telephone directory has put her off. I told her about Carol, and she’s all for it.’ Polly put on a funny voice. ‘ “If Miss Perks can recommend her then I’m sure she will be a perfectly respectable young lady.” Now you’ve gone she seems to think you’re wonderful.’

  ‘That will be because I am wonderful.’

  We unwrapped the fish and chips and ate them straight out of the newspaper. Polly closed her eyes.

  ‘These are the best fish and chips I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Brighton’s good at fish and chips.’

  ‘I’d be as fat as a house if I lived here.’

  ‘Moderation in all things, that’s how I deal with it. Any sign of a boyfriend yet?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve stopped looking. There’s only so many frogs you can kiss before you can’t be bothered any more. How about you?’

  ‘Well,’ I said smiling. ‘I've found a friend.’

  ‘What sort of friend?’ said Polly looking confused.

  I popped a chip into my mouth.

  ‘Well?’ Polly asked. ‘Male? female? Not that you need another female friend because you’ve got me.’

  I laughed. ‘His name’s Matthew.’

  Polly’s eyes widened. ‘Could he be more than a friend?’

  I finished the fish and chips and put the paper on the coffee table. ‘I hope not,’ I said. ‘He’s going back to Africa in July.’

  Polly stood up and put both lots of chip paper in the bin. She licked her fingers carefully one by one. ‘I should have known it wasn’t going to be simple. Your love life never is,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a like life, Polly, not a love life.’ I said

  ‘As long as you’re not heading for another broken heart.’

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Sure?’ she said, looking concerned.

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘So come on, how did you meet?’

  ‘Actually I discovered him. Or to be more precise I discovered his book.’

  ‘Now you’ve lost me,’ she said, coming back to the sofa and tucking her feet up under her.

  ‘He wrote a book. I discovered the manuscript.’ I said.

  ‘He’s a writer?’

  I smiled. ‘He’s an amazing writer and a pretty amazing guy.’

  ‘And Ralph?’ she asked. ‘How are you dealing with that?’

  ‘By not thinking about it too much. He’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘And it was all because of Peggy?’

  ‘I think that maybe there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Really?’

  I nodded ‘Rita thinks he’s weak; she thinks he enjoys playing the victim.’

  ‘It’s what you think that counts, love.’ said Polly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I guess he has messed you about a bit.’

  ‘But it never seemed like that at the time,’ I said. ‘Life just always got in the way. Anyway perhaps it’s all been my fault.’

  ‘And perhaps it hasn’t, my friend,’ said Polly, smiling gently.

  51

  Polly and I slept together in the double bed. It was lovely having her there beside me. We chatted well into the night and probably fell asleep mid sentence. We woke up to the sun streaming through the window.

  Polly stretched. ‘That’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.’

  ‘What there was of it.’

  ‘Were we that late?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What are we up to today?’

  ‘I think Stephen and Tristan are planning on taking us Christmas-tree shopping.’

  ‘I’ve never bought a Christmas tree before. It should be fun.’

  ‘I’m sure the boys will make it fun.’

  ‘I really like them,’ said Polly, getting out of bed.

  ‘So do I. They feel like family.’

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘From what I can gather, they used to be in the theatre, but something bad happened to Stephen. I don’t know exactly what, but I think that perhaps he was attacked.’

  ‘Oh my God, really?’

  ‘I think so. Tristan never said in so many words but he got so upset when he was talking about it, saying that someone hurt Stephen. They don’t go out in the evenings – not on their own anyway. I think Stephen might be scared to.’

  ‘That’s so sad. It makes me really angry that some low life can make them feel like that. Bloody people.’

  ‘I know, but I think they’re really happy, and they feel safe here in Oriental Place.’

  ‘I can see why. There’s something special about this house.’

  ‘I really believe that’s what got me through those first few weeks. I had Oriental Place and Rose and the boys. I was looked after. It would have been a lot harder if I hadn’t had them.’

  ‘Well I’m glad that you did.’

  ‘I was sad for a while, but I had quite a few shoulders to cry on.’

  Just then there was a tap on the door. Polly put her maxi coat around her shoulders and answered it. It was Tristan.

  ‘Fry-up, ours, ten minutes. Shake a leg, girls.’

  ‘Yummy,’ said Polly.

  When we got downstairs Stephen was dishing up sausages, bacon, eggs and beans onto four plates. He looked resplendent in a blue striped pinny. ‘Tea everyone?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ said Polly. ‘What a treat.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled,’ said Tristan. ‘He’s just after your coat.’

  ‘You can borrow my coat any time you like, Step
hen.’

  ‘Divine girl,’ said Stephen, pouring the tea into four beautiful china cups.

  ‘Where are we going for the tree?’ I asked.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Tristan.

  ‘Woolworths always has plenty of trees. They stack them against the wall outside – or at least they used to,’ I said, biting into a sausage.

  ‘God forbid,’ said Stephen. ‘Woolworths won’t do at all.’

  ‘He wants the American-movies experience,’ said Tristan, grinning. ‘You know? That film where James Stewart is running through the snow.’

  ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’ said Polly. ‘I love that film.’

  ‘What’s all that got to do with buying a Christmas tree?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Stephen, ‘there’s always snow.’

  ‘Which there’s not,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Okay,’ said Stephen. ‘We’ll just have to imagine the snow bit, but there’s always a forest of trees and sweet ruddy-faced children with sparkling eyes, frolicking about, shouting, “This one, Mama, this one, Papa,” and when the guy hauls it into the station wagon those sweet children say, “Thank you, sir, have a wonderful holiday,” or, “That man looks poor, Papa, shall we invite him to spend Christmas with us? I don’t mind sharing my dinner.”’

  ‘Crikey,’ I said, laughing. ‘We might find the forest, but where do we get the kids? Especially kids like that.’

  ‘Easy,’ said Stephen. ‘You and Polly will be the kids and me and Tristan will be your proud parents.’

  ‘This is getting seriously bizarre,’ said Polly.

  ‘Oh, we love bizarre, don’t we, Tristan?’

  ‘The more bizarre the better, dear boy.’

  It was decided that we would go up onto the Downs in the hope that we might stumble across a forest of Christmas trees and a man with a station wagon.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘just say we do find the perfect tree – how are we going to get it back?’

  ‘Carry it, I suppose,’ said Tristan.

  ‘What, all the way from the Downs?’

  ‘Bus?’ said Polly.

  ‘Do you think we’d be allowed on a bus with a Christmas tree?’ I asked.

  ‘I suppose it depends on the size of the tree,’ said Tristan.