Always I'Ll Remember

by Bradshaw, Rita

  Nora stood up and closed the door into the hall after her daughter before reseating herself, and when Ivor said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, it’ll look queer,’ her only response was to shrug her shoulders.

  After a couple of moments had ticked by she raised her head, staring at the man who had become an obsession with her. Her voice low, she said, ‘I meant what I said a minute ago before she marched in, I’m at the end of my tether. I’d run away with you tomorrow if you’d give the word.’

  Dear gussy. Ivor ran his hand across his brow. When would she ever let up? Apart from that one time five or six years ago when he’d been blind drunk on New Year’s Eve and she’d caught him outside in the privy and damn near helped herself, he hadn’t touched her since she’d been pregnant with Wilbert. She knew how he stood, he’d spelled it out plain that it was over and that he regretted every sordid minute. What more could he do, for crying out loud? ‘There’s no question of us running anywhere,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Because of her. You feel a responsibility to her.’

  ‘I love her, Nora. I’ve told you times.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You love me, I know it.’

  ‘Look, Raymond’s a good man—’

  ‘Don’t.’ Her voice came sharp as a razor and silenced him. ‘Don’t say he’s a good man because I can’t stand hearing it again. Do you understand me? I can’t stand it.’

  Why couldn’t he face up to things and accept that nothing was more important than their being together? Admittedly she might have started the affair with him to pay her sister back for the way Audrey had gloated and preened when she’d had Donald, Leonard and Bruce one after the other in the first three years of marriage, but that had soon changed. And no one could have blamed her for how she’d felt then. Her and Raymond had been married for umpteen years and no sign of a bairn and then Audrey had wed Ivor and the bairns had come thick and fast. But things always went smoothly for her sister. Their mam and da had had no time for her once Audrey was born, in spite of her sister being a plain little thing with nothing to commend her. And look at her now, with her great wobbling breasts and fat belly.

  Ivor turned his head away from her and stared into the glowing coals of the fire. As Nora took in his grim profile, hatred for her sister gave way to panic and despair.

  Some days each individual nerve in her body seemed to be raw, needing only the slightest provocation for her to become someone she barely recognised any more. But all that would change if Ivor would come away with her. She knew she couldn’t threaten him. She’d tried that once years before, and it was the only time she’d ever seen him really angry. He’d warned her he’d deny everything and take Audrey and his bairns and disappear for good if she followed through on her threat to tell her sister the truth, and she’d known he meant it. And of course Audrey, silly gullible Audrey, would believe him. The sun rose and set with her Ivor. But the thought of them lying together, laughing, sharing the day-to-day happenings of life was more than she could stand at times. It should be her. Oh, it should be her. Nora dug her thumb and finger into the corners of her closed eyes, pressing until it hurt.

  ‘You all right, Mam? You got a headache?’

  The sound of her daughter’s voice brought Nora’s teeth clenching. She didn’t allow herself to acknowledge that the irritation she’d always felt when confronted with her eldest child’s strong will had grown into deep, bitter resentment in latter years. Neither did she concede that the main reason she could hardly bear to look at Abby was because the girl was determined to make something of herself and had her whole life before her still. Abby wouldn’t make the mistakes she had and find herself trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who made her flesh creep. And the girl was growing more beautiful every day . . .

  Nora raised her head, forcing herself to gaze at the youthful loveliness in front of her. Her hands itched to mark and spoil it. It reminded her that her own looks were fading fast; the mirror told her so more and more often of late even if she hadn’t already noticed that men’s eyes didn’t follow her any more when she walked down the street or stood waiting for a tram. And it frightened her.

  She swallowed hard, tearing her eyes away from the bane of her life. She told herself she hated the little upstart, she hated the whole lot of them, barring Ivor. Oh Ivor, Ivor.

  ‘Mam? You feeling bad?’

  As her daughter’s hand went to touch her, Nora brushed it away and got to her feet. ‘There’s a pile of ironing a foot high waiting for you so I suggest you get your backside home where it belongs.’

  ‘Granda wants another cup of tea first.’ It was flat.

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  This brought Ivor’s head turning in surprise. It was rare Nora ventured into Silas’s room; the last time had been at Christmas and only then because the rest of them had had a sing-song in the evening round the old man’s bed and Nora hadn’t been able to avoid joining in. He and Abby exchanged a glance as Nora filled the cup Abby had placed on the table but neither of them spoke. Ivor returned to his contemplation of the fire and Abby said a subdued goodbye and left the house by the back door.

  Nora braced herself before she walked into her father’s room. She was never able to look at him without remembering what had occurred when she was eleven and Audrey three years old, an incident which was still as crystal clear in every detail as on the evening it had happened. Earlier that day Audrey had tumbled out of a dilapidated go-cart some of the lads had made and bumped her head badly, resulting in a visit from Dr Jefferson and a pronouncement that Audrey had been fortunate to get away with a case of mild concussion and not a fractured skull. It must have been nearly midnight when Nora had woken to the sound of Audrey being sick for the umpteenth time that day. She had gone to find her mother, but her parents’ bedroom was empty. She heard the sound of voices from the kitchen below and had almost been at the kitchen door when she heard her name spoken. Curious to hear what her parents talked about when they were alone, she paused outside.

  ‘Aye, well, I’m not saying it’s right but it’s the way I feel an’ I can’t help it, lass,’ her father muttered.

  ‘The way you feel is one thing, Silas.’ Her mother’s voice was so low Nora had to strain her ears. ‘But to admit to praying a prayer like that is quite another. Asking the Lord to take one bairn at the cost of the other - you ought to be ashamed of yourself. It was a prayer to the devil, more like.’

  ‘Aw, lass, don’t take on. I’ve told you I’m not proud of it, haven’t I? But when I thought our little lassie might be taken . . .’ There was silence for a moment, and then her father went on, ‘She’s as different to the other as chalk to cheese, now you have to admit that. Our Nora is a cuckoo in the nest, she always has been.’

  The shock had been like having a bucket of cold water poured over her. The rest of the conversation she had overheard suddenly became clear. Her da had prayed that Audrey would live and she would die. He had prayed that, her da.

  How long she stood there she didn’t know, but eventually she turned and climbed to the top of the stairs and it was from there that she had shouted for her mother to come and see to Audrey’s bed. She had cried the whole night through, and when in the morning her mother had found her hot and swollen-eyed, the doctor had come again and diagnosed a fever. But it hadn’t been that. And nothing had ever been the same again.

  ‘Hello, Da.’ She pushed the door wide and walked into the room, looking at the emaciated old man in the bed without a trace of pity in her voice or in her heart. She placed the cup of tea on the small table at the side of the bed, just far enough away to guarantee he would have to struggle for it, and then stood looking down at him for a second more before leaving the room as abruptly as she had entered it.

  Chapter Four

  Abby had been working for Mr Wynford for one month when James Benson asked her to go to the cinema with him. And she didn’t have to think about her reply.

  Two weeks after she had started at Price
and Osborne, he had suggested walking her home to Rose Street. His home in Felstead Crescent off West Moor Road was in quite the opposite direction to Rose Street; so she knew he must like her a lot to go so far out of his way to see her alone. And she liked him back, that had never been in doubt, but with his father being a doctor and the family living in a select area on the outskirts of town, she had felt shy and a little awkward with him at first. He was so different to the lads she’d grown up with, that was the thing. But after two weeks of chatting about this and that on the way home she had learned a lot about him and her misgivings faded.

  So when he finally suggested the cinema, taking her arm as they stood in their normal spot at the bottom of the street, Abby looked into his beautiful violet-blue eyes and said, primly enough but with her heart beating a tattoo, ‘That would be very nice.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’ His hand on her arm relaxed slightly, a slow smile covering his face. ‘It will be very, very nice, Miss Vickers.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me.’

  ‘Not at all.’ His hand lifted to her face, his smile dying and his eyes taking on a depth that suddenly made her hot all over. ‘I would never do that, Abby. I guess I’m just relieved, that’s all. I was worried you’d say no.’

  No? This perfect being had thought she might say no? She could hardly believe it.

  ‘I’ll come and pick you up at seven o’clock, shall I? If I can sweet-talk my father I might be able to borrow the car.’

  In one sentence he had highlighted the gulf between their backgrounds although Abby knew he hadn’t meant to. She could just imagine the talk over the backyards the next morning if an automobile drew up outside their house. But she didn’t want James to call at her home, she didn’t want him to meet her mother yet. Her mam would try to spoil things, she felt it in her bones. She hesitated for a moment before saying quietly, ‘Could I meet you at the corner of the tramway depot instead? My mam . . . Well, I know she wouldn’t take kindly to my having a lad.’

  The minute it was out she blushed crimson. How could she have said that? It sounded as if she had assumed they were courting now. He’d think she was taking a lot on herself.

  He didn’t appear to notice her confusion. He nodded and said, ‘Yes, that’s fine. The tramway depot it is then. See you at seven.’

  She was too mortified at her blunder to do more than incline her head and hurry away, but when she reached her front door she looked back for a moment and saw he was still standing watching her. She raised her hand in a little nervous gesture of farewell before stepping inside the house and closing the door. She leaned against it for a moment, her eyes shut tight and her fingers pressed to her burning cheeks. Mr Wynford had told her only this morning that he was very satisfied with how she was shaping up, both in her work for him and the way she handled the staff in the outer office. What would her boss say if he could see her now? But Mr Wynford and her work were one thing, James Benson was quite another.

  Well, it was too late now. She straightened, unbuttoned her light summer coat and hung it on one of the pegs in the hall. She’d said it and she couldn’t take it back. She just dreaded to imagine what he was thinking right now though.

  As it happened, James was thinking more about what Abby hadn’t said than what she had as he walked home. Over the last couple of weeks they’d had some right good cracks on the way to Rose Street, their footsteps becoming slower each night, but in all their heart-to-hearts Abby had rarely mentioned her mother. He almost felt he knew the rest of the family, especially little Clara for whom Abby had an attachment which bordered on the maternal, but her mother . . .

  James frowned, tilting his bowler hat further over his forehead as he walked on. It was obviously the mother who had prevented Abby having a gentleman friend before. Abby’s evenings and weekends seemed to be spent mostly working in the home, from what he could gather. Mind you, he had to admit the mother had unwittingly done him a favour there. With looks like Abby’s, she’d have been snapped up by some enterprising lad long before this otherwise.

  He paused, glancing about him. This street was just like the ones surrounding it, depressing and claustrophobic. He’d love to take her out of this. Had she guessed how hard he’d fallen for her? Probably not, he answered himself. She was a complete innocent, after all. In the six years since his seventeenth birthday he’d been out with more than a few girls and some had been generous with their favours, but he’d always known he’d recognise the right one as soon as he saw her. And he had. It was just his luck that it had happened at a time when war with Germany was looking inevitable, not that he was going to let that put him off. Oh no. With or without her mother’s blessing, he intended to start courting Miss Abigail Vickers without delay.

  When Abby left the house later that evening to keep the rendezvous at the tram depot, her face was paler than normal, but otherwise she showed no outward sign of the row she’d had with her mother. It was not just about going to the pictures with a friend from work, Abby had also thrown in for good measure that she would no longer give her mother her unopened wage packet every week and receive pocket money back. From this very Friday, Abby had declared, she would pay fifteen shillings for board - five shillings more than if she’d still been at the pickle factory - but the rest of her money was her own. She needed new smart clothes to dress as she should as Mr Wynford’s secretary, and she intended to buy a good sewing machine and quality material and make what she needed. She’d always been good at needlework and found patterns easy to follow. Mr Wynford had today confirmed that she’d be kept on in the post when Bernice left; it was high time for things to change.

  The uproar had sent Wilbert and Clara diving for cover, but at the end of the commotion it was Nora who had conceded defeat. She knew only too well that her daughter could get lodgings anywhere for a great deal less than fifteen shillings, and she was not about to cut off her nose to spite her face.

  When Abby turned the corner of Trimdon Street, she saw James waiting for her. Her heart leaped but she continued walking steadily towards him without a change of expression. She’d already made a fool of herself by all but declaring she thought she was his lass; she had to be circumspect this evening, however she was feeling inside.

  ‘Hello.’ He came striding to meet her, his face one big smile, and in spite of all Abby had told herself she found the blood was singing through her veins. She couldn’t prevent her voice from trembling a little as she greeted him, but she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  He looked so handsome but he seemed almost a stranger. The formal business suit he wore for the office had been replaced by a fine tweed jacket and beautifully cut Oxford bags and suede shoes.

  ‘Father’s partner is on call tonight so I’ve got the car,’ he said happily. ‘How about we try the Regal in Holmeside? I understand they’re showing The Lady Vanishes. Do you like Alfred Hitchcock?’

  Abby wasn’t about to admit the only time she had been to a picture palace since the penny matinees as a child was when her father had taken her and Wilbert to see The Bride of Frankenstein three years before, on her brother’s birthday. And then it hadn’t been anywhere so grand as the Regal, the most luxurious cinema in Sunderland. She simply nodded, saying, ‘Aye, yes I do,’ her cheeks pink.

  ‘Good.’ He smiled at her. And then, his voice faintly throaty, he said, ‘I’m glad you haven’t had your hair cut in one of those bob things all the girls seem to go for these days.’ His eyes moved to the thick shining coil of hair at the back of her head. ‘It would be a crime to spoil it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was even pinker.

  He cleared his throat and took her elbow as they began walking to where he had parked his father’s Austin 7. ‘I’ve wanted to ask you to come out with me one evening from the day you came for the interview but I didn’t dare hope you felt the same as me.’

  Abby found herself too taken aback - more from the look on his face than the words themselves - to reply for a moment. And then, reminding herse
lf he might just be being kind after her remark about him being her lad, she said, ‘Well, you did in the end - ask me out, I mean.’

  They reached the car but James did not immediately open the passenger door. Instead he drew her gently round to face him, looking down into the velvet brown of her eyes. ‘I’d promised myself I wouldn’t rush things, Abby, but I want you to know - well, what I mean is, I really like you.’ And then he shook his head, his voice wry as he said, ‘I’m making a right mess of this, aren’t I?’ He took a deep breath. ‘I think I’m trying to say that even if your mother isn’t too happy about you walking out with someone, I hope that won’t stop you seeing me.’

  She stared at him, and the silence stretched. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking uncomfortable. It was enough for Abby to pull herself together. ‘No, it won’t.’ She smiled widely.

  ‘Good.’ He grinned at her. ‘For a minute there I thought I’d said the wrong thing.’ He squeezed her hand, his eyes still on her face even as he opened the car door and settled her inside the vehicle.

  Abby looked at James as he walked round the bonnet of the car and he was still grinning like a Cheshire cat. She bit hard on her bottom lip to stop herself doing the same. Here she was sitting in an automobile for the first time in her life and James Benson wanted her to be his lass! This was going to be a lovely evening.