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

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘Ralph?’ I said. He turned around and his face lit up. He was only a few steps away. Just a few steps and I could hold him in my arms. Every part of my body was screaming to hold him.

  ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure myself, but I’m here.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he said, smiling.

  We stood there staring at each other, not knowing what to say, but it didn’t matter. We were here, we were together, and that was all that mattered. And then I was in his arms. Touching him, breathing him in. I couldn't get enough of him.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said, touching my face.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I’ve missed you so much Dottie. I’ve missed you so much.’

  I looked into his lovely green eyes, my heart was full of him. I shivered.

  ‘Let’s get you into the warm,’ he said. ‘There’s a pub up on the main road. Shall we go there?’

  I nodded.

  There weren’t many people in the pub, so we had our choice of tables. We chose one close to a lovely open fire. I took off my coat, and Ralph went to get us a drink. I watched him as he stood at the bar. He was so familiar to me – the way he stood, the width of his shoulders, the way his hair curled over his collar. Time fell away. It was as if I had only seen him yesterday – that’s how it had always been between us. My tummy was making little rumbling noises. I didn’t know whether it was nerves or the fact that I hadn’t eaten. I just wished it would stop.

  ‘Warming up?’ he said, coming back with the drinks.

  ‘Mmm.’

  Ralph sat down opposite me and sipped his drink. ‘I don’t know what to say to you now you’re here except thank you for coming.’

  ‘I wasn't sure that I should, but I wanted to see you. I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.’

  He looked down at his hands. ‘I just couldn’t go back without at least trying.’

  He was as nervous as me, and somehow that made me feel calmer. This was Ralph, the boy I loved. Maybe seeing him again wasn’t the greatest idea in the world, but if I was really honest with myself I knew that I would see him before I’d even opened the envelope. I smiled at him. I took a sip of my drink. ‘So how is Australia?’

  I could see him visibly relax. ‘Different, very different. It’s a lovely country.’

  ‘And how are you?’

  ‘I managed to get another apprenticeship.’

  ‘Plumbing?’

  ‘Yes, plumbing.’

  ‘And you're happy?’

  He started messing with his hair, the way he always did when he was nervous. There was a sadness in his eyes as he looked at me.

  ‘ I’m doing the best I can,’ he said.

  He reached across the table and held my hand. ‘Oh, Dottie.’

  My heart was so full of love for this boy, but he was going to leave me again. I was going to have to say goodbye again. I shook my head. ‘What do you want me to say, Ralph? I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you again. I didn't mean to upset you.’ He stared into the fire as if searching for the right thing to say then looked back at me. ‘I have so many regrets. Some days I feel as though I’m living someone else’s life. I miss you."

  ‘I miss you too,’ I said softly.

  The drink and the warmth from the fire were making me feel calmer. I loved seeing Ralph’s face across the table. I could have stayed there forever, but it made me feel sad, because for us there had never been a forever.

  ‘We never really fought for us, did we?’ I said sadly. ‘Not really. Maybe we could have made it work if we had been a bit braver.’

  ‘And now it’s too late. Is it too late, Dottie?’

  ‘You can’t keep running away. You have Peggy to look after, and you can’t let Fiona down again.’ I hadn’t realised that I was crying until Ralph wiped away the tears that were running down my face.

  ‘This isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t know what I thought. That maybe we could just talk.’

  ‘About what, Ralph?’

  ‘I’ve got it wrong again, haven’t I?’

  ‘Not wrong. I didn’t have to come, and Ralph?’

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  ‘I’m glad I came.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  After that we just sat quietly gazing into the fire, both of us lost in our own thoughts. There was nothing left to say. As we got up to leave, Ralph took a letter out of his pocket and handed it to me.

  ‘From Peggy,’ he said. ‘She did a drawing for you.’

  I took the letter. I was touched that she had wanted to write to me. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s happy. She’s made some friends. She’s even getting a bit of an Aussie accent.’

  ‘Thank her for me, won’t you?’

  ‘You can thank her yourself. I’ve put our address on the back.’

  We walked home along the seafront. The sea was choppy and dark, bashing against the old stone wall. The lights from the two piers further along the coast looked welcoming in comparison.

  We said goodbye on the steps of 55 Oriental Place. I clung on to him as if I was drowning. I couldn’t believe that we were saying goodbye again.

  He held my face in his hands. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I always will.’

  I watched him walk down the road. I watched him until he was nothing more than a shadow. He was alive, he was well and every night we slept under the same sky. For now that was enough. For now that would have to be enough.

  56

  Six months have passed since that day. It was hard at first, and I struggled through the days. I became withdrawn, and I knew that my friends and family were worried about me. One morning I woke up, looked in the mirror and said, ‘Okay, Dottie Perks, enough is enough. You have a life to live. It might not be the one you wanted but it’s your life, and it’s up to you to make something of it.

  I had a whole week off, because – hallelujah – the landlord of the building we worked in was at last going to replace the rickety steps. All the mail was being delivered to the bookmaker’s downstairs, so all I had to do was walk to work every morning, collect the manuscripts and work at home. It was like being on holiday.

  Being at home every day, I noticed that Rose had stopped going for her daily walk with Colin. In fact she seemed to have stopped going out altogether.

  ‘I’m just a bit under the weather, dear,’ she said when I asked her about it.

  The boys took turns going downstairs to sit with her. Sometimes it would be lunchtime and she would still be in her dressing gown. She was adamant that there was nothing wrong with her, and however much we nagged, she refused to see a doctor. We were all worried.

  The new stairs were installed, and I went back to work. Every evening I had a quick bite to eat and then took over from the boys and sat with Rose. Mostly she slept. When she wasn’t sleeping she would talk about the past. She talked about her days in the theatre, telling me about the people she had worked with and the beautiful dresses she had worn. She talked about her oriental gentleman, and she talked about Selina, her perfect little girl. Then she’d close her eyes, and I would lose her for a while.

  None of us knew what to do. Even Colin sensed there was something wrong and rarely left her side.

  ‘Well I think we should just get a doctor in whatever she says. The woman’s ill – we can all see that,’ said Tristan.

  ‘But she doesn’t want a doctor,’ said Stephen. ‘Shouldn’t we respect that?’

  ‘No, I don’t think we should. She’s not eating enough to keep a bird alive.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to be in any pain though, does she,’ I said.

  ‘Well we’ve got to do something,’ said Tristan.

  ‘What if I moved downstairs so she’s not on her own?’ I said.

  Tristan nodded. ‘I think that would be good.’

  ‘Do you think she
’ll mind?’

  Stephen smiled. ‘Tell her it’s that or the doctor.’

  I moved into Rose’s flat, and I slept in the little box room next to her bedroom. I think she liked me being there, and we all felt better knowing that she wasn’t on her own.

  One evening we were listening to some old records on the gramophone. The man that was singing had the most amazing voice. ‘Who’s this singing?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s the great Mario Lanza,’ said Rose, smiling. ‘In my day he was every girl’s dream – a heart-throb, dear, like your Paul McCartney.’

  ‘Was he as good-looking as Paul?’

  ‘He was Italian, dear, dark and handsome.’

  ‘And tall?’

  ‘Not so tall, dear. Italian men very often come up short, but he made up for it in looks. He was a film star as well. His most famous film was The Student Prince; I went to the pictures every night it was on.’

  ‘Does he still sing?’

  ‘He died young, dear. It was very sad – he was only thirty-eight.’

  ‘What did he die of?’

  ‘Too much drink, too much food – too much of everything, dear.’

  ‘That’s really sad. My Paul’s not like that.’

  ‘I’m glad, dear. Mario Lanza was a great loss to the world of music, but he was his own worst enemy.’

  Suddenly she started coughing. I jumped up from the chair. ‘Can I get you something, Rose? A cup of tea?’

  ‘Not just now, dear. Maybe later.’

  ‘We’re all worried about you, you know.’

  ‘I know you are, dear, and I’m sorry to cause you worry.’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be better if you knew what was wrong?’

  ‘I know what’s wrong, dear.’

  ‘You know what’s wrong?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  I didn’t understand.

  ‘I’m dying, dear.’

  I stared at her. I couldn’t take in what she was saying. ‘No, you’re not,’ I shouted.

  ‘Don’t be upset, dear. I’ve known for a long time. I’m at peace with it.’

  ‘Well I’m bloody well not. You’re talking as if there’s nothing that can be done. There must be something they can do. Some treatment – there must be.’

  ‘That’s not what I want, dear, and I need you and Stephen and Tristan to help me with this decision.’

  ‘But why don’t you want any treatment? You can’t want to die.’

  ‘Of course I don’t want to die, dear, but I’m going to die, and I want to do it my way. I don’t want to be stuck in a hospital bed getting pumped full of poison just for a few more months of life. I want to die here in Oriental Place. This is where all my memories are, dear, and this is where I want to end my days.’

  I knelt down on the floor beside her chair and took her hands in mine. I had grown to love this woman, and I couldn’t bear to lose her, but this wasn’t about me. Tears were running down my face. ‘If that’s what you want, Rose, then that’s the way it’s going to be.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘Will feel the same. We’ll look after you the way you’ve looked after us.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said and closed her eyes.

  The three of us stayed with her until the end. Most of the time she slept, but we played her music on the old radiogram and hoped that she would hear it. She died early one morning as the sun was coming up over the sea. She looked so peaceful, and I was so glad that she had been able to die in the house where she had been so happy. Our hearts were broken. Oriental Place seemed to die a little too.

  Stephen and Tristan took the pale blue chiffon dress to the undertaker. We wanted her to look as fabulous in death as she had in life.

  One night we all sat together in Rose’s front room. This was where we felt closest to her.

  ‘Did Rose ever mention any family?’ I asked.

  Tristan shook his head. ‘I think a niece may have visited once, but that was a long time ago, and I don’t remember Rose mentioning anyone else.’

  ‘How do we find out?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘If she has got family somewhere then shouldn’t they be planning her funeral? And wouldn’t the house be theirs?’

  ‘Perhaps we should put a notice in the paper. Someone might know something.’

  So that’s what we decided to do. I called in at the open-all-hours and spoke to Mr Raji. He called his wife and told her that Rose had died. Mrs Raji broke down in tears.

  ‘Lovely lady,’ she said. ‘And so brave. Her husband was a lovely man too, a true gentleman. I am very sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you. We want to put an advertisement in the paper, to see if Rose had any relatives. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Just write down what you want to say and I will telephone it through.’

  I took a piece of paper out of my pocket. ‘We already have,’ I said, handing it to him.

  ‘Do you know if she had any family, Mrs Raji?’

  She shook her head. ‘They were always on their own, always together. Do you remember anyone, Basu?’

  ‘No, there was only the two boys she took in. Terrible business that was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t think that is for the young lady’s ears, Basu.’

  ‘I’d like to know,’ I said. ‘If you don’t mind telling me.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ he said.

  ‘You are talking about Stephen and Tristan, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Stephen and Tristan.’

  Mr Raji went to the shop door and changed the sign from open to closed.

  ‘Please come through to the back,’ said Mrs Raji.

  I followed her into the back of the shop.

  ‘Please sit down,’ she said gently, ‘and Mr Raji will explain.’

  I sat down and so did Mrs Raji, but her husband remained standing.

  ‘It was a gang of hoodlums,’ he said. ‘They attacked them one night, right here on the seafront. Mrs Toshimo heard them screaming. When she got to them, one of them was naked, tied to a lamp post and covered in paint, poor boy. They had the other one pinned to the ground. Mrs Toshimo went right in there, right in the middle of them, and she saved those boys.’

  I could feel my eyes filling with tears. I knew something bad had happened but nothing like this.

  ‘Then she took both of them into her home, and they never left. It was all over the papers.’

  ‘Did they find the people that did it?’

  ‘Oh yes, they found them, but they got no more than a slap on the wrist.’

  The tears that had been threatening to engulf me spilled from my eyes, and I was sobbing.

  ‘Yes, you cry dear girl,’ said Mrs Raji. ‘Tears will ease the pain.’

  I tried to control myself. ‘It’s just so sad.’

  ‘It got even sadder,’ said Mr Raji. ‘Those sweet young men had to go to court to prove that they were not homosexual. Their pictures were in all the papers. They suffered more than that gang of thugs.’

  ‘Basu, get the young lady a glass of water.’

  ‘It’s so hard to take in,’ I said.

  Mr Raji came back with the water. I sipped at it.

  ‘Better?’ asked Mrs Raji.

  I nodded. ‘We would like you to come to the funeral,’ I said.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ said Mr Raji. ‘Just let us know when it is and we will shut the shop.’

  We waited as long as we could, but no one came forward from the inquiry in the Evening Argus. And so Rose was buried. The little church was packed. Polly came down from London. Tom and Millie were there. Local shopkeepers, friends from her days in the theatre and of course all of my family.

  Stephen, Tristan, Tom and Nigel carried the coffin into the church to the voice of Mario Lanza singing ‘Only a Rose’. We had a small gathering afterwards at Oriental Place and we played all Rose’s favourite songs. Rita sat beside me on the
pink chaise longue and held my hand. Miranda Louise made everyone laugh with her baby giggles and smiles, but there was no Rose, and it was a sad little affair.

  The three of us continued living at Oriental Place, but we weren’t sure whether we actually had any right to be there. None of us wanted to live anywhere else. This was our home, and it was Stephen’s place of safety – I understood that now.

  ‘I wish we were rich,’ said Tristan. ‘We could buy the place.’

  ‘But who would we be buying it from?’

  ‘I suppose if there’s no relatives then it reverts back to the state. I think that’s how it works.’

  About a week after the funeral we got a letter from a solicitor. His name was Miles Granger, and his offices were in North Street. He asked to see all of us.

  ‘I can only think of one reason he wants to see us and that’s to ask us to vacate the house,’ said Tristan.

  We were all feeling pretty miserable as we trudged up the hill to North Street. It was bad enough losing Rose, but it looked as though we were about to lose our home as well.

  A young girl ushered us into Miles Granger’s office. He came round his desk and shook each of our hands. He must have been in his early fifties. He was just as you would imagine a solicitor called Miles Granger would look. He was impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt and red tie, and he had a lovely kind face. At least if we were going to be given bad news it helped that he looked friendly.

  ‘Now,’ he said, sitting back behind his desk. ‘Have you brought your birth certificates as I asked?’

  ‘I have them here,’ said Tristan, handing him all three birth certificates.

  We hadn’t a clue why he wanted them. I guess we were about to find out.

  It was very quiet in the room as Miles Granger shuffled through some papers. We waited. He smiled at us.

  ‘Maud Roberts came to see me three months ago. She knew that she was dying, and she wanted to settle her affairs. I have here her last will and testament. It is very simple and straightforward. She has bequeathed her house, known as 55 Oriental Place, and all monies in bank accounts and shares equally to Mr Tristan James Blake, Mr Stephen Clive Palmer, Miss Dorothy Ava Perks and Colin. I don’t have a surname for Colin.’