Fools Fall in Love

by Freda Lightfoot

  He tapped her nose in a gesture of affection. ‘For once, little one, do not argue. You will see me again, tomorrow, when we can continue where we left off. Buona notte.‘ Popping a kiss on her brow, he gave her a smile and a wink, then opened the door and ushered her into the house. ‘Till tomorrow,’ he whispered. ‘Be careful not to wake the sisters. Sweet dreams.’ And closed the door softly after her.

  But there was little hope of sweet dreams at number twenty-two that night. The moment Patsy walked into the living room, she saw at once that something was terribly wrong. Clara was wringing her hands and crying, and Annie was stretched out unconscious on the floor. She’d suffered a heart attack.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fran stood outside the semi-detached house. She and noted its neat front garden, pretty lace curtains and the gravelled drive leading to an adjoining garage. Eddie Davidson was doing well for himself, and his wife must be living in the lap of luxury, while Fran herself had nothing but his leftovers.

  She was supposed to be walking Buster, but hadn’t been able to resist taking a detour round to Eddie’s place, to see if she could catch a glimpse of the woman who stood between herself and true happiness.

  Her mam must have stood here when she came that time to deliver her anonymous note, scratch his car and break the wonderful Josie’s plant pots. Fran began to feel some sympathy for her mother’s actions. Maybe she should try something similar. Eddie deserved to be punished, mean, selfish pig that he was. But how? What could she do? How could she hurt him the most?

  Even as she tried to think of a way, her heart melted with love for him. Oh, but she didn’t want to hurt him. Why would she hurt the man she loved?

  The door opened and Josie emerged. Purse in hand, she carried a basket on her arm, clearly on her way down to the shops, perhaps to buy a bit of something to make for Eddie’s tea.

  As Fran watched her carefully lock the door, rage boiled within her. That was something she would never have the chance to do. She couldn’t make his tea, sit on the sofa with him in his fancy lounge to watch his brand new TV. She couldn’t sleep with him in his bed, or wake up beside him of a morning. She was the bit on the side, who must be grateful for any crumbs he could spare after he’d spent every day and night with this woman.

  Josie began to walk away and Fran couldn’t help noticing her jaunty step, the swing of her hips and the unmistakeable bump which indicated she was pregnant. Now her own rage changed to hatred.

  Josie was the one she ought to be concentrating her attention on, not Eddie. She needed to find a way to eject her from his life, some way to rid both herself and him of this woman’s presence, then they would be free to be together. It was her, Fran, he really loved, she was sure of it. He was stuck in this situation, this loveless marriage. He was too soft-hearted to leave because of the stupid child his wife was carrying. Yet why should Josie’s child be more important than Fran’s own?

  Why should his wife be more important than her?

  As Josie turned the corner of the avenue and disappeared from view, Fran made the decision that if Eddie couldn’t bring himself to leave, then she would think of some way to make that cow of a wife leave him instead. She meant to have him all to herself, else make his life an absolute misery to him. One way or the other, she’d get win.

  Though for the life of her she couldn’t think of a way to achieve that, not offhand. And then Fran noticed that while she’d been standing there contemplating the situation, the dog had made a mess on the pavement.

  Smiling to herself, she found a piece of newspaper, scooped it up and plopped it through Josie’s letterbox on to her new fitted carpet. That would do nicely, for a start.

  ‘Has your mother been round to my house again?’

  Fran gazed at Eddie out of wide, innocent eyes. ‘How would I know?’

  Since it was a beautiful summer’s day, they were on the Liverpool ferry-boat, the Royal Daffodil, taking a trip down the Manchester Ship Canal from Salford Docks to New Brighton to give them time to talk and sort out their problem. Josie, of course, was at her mother’s.

  They’d left the docks, the cranes, and Irlam railway bridge behind them, gone through Mode Wheel and Barton Locks, and were now cruising through some of the most spectacular scenery the north could offer; past farms and woodland, and on towards the Irish Sea. Fran wished they could keep on sailing, to Ireland or across the Atlantic to America. Far away from Champion Street and the annoying Josie.

  Eddie rested his elbows on the ship’s rail. Fran stood beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the countryside slide serenely by, trying to pretend she was happy. She had six hours to win him round to her way of thinking, and meant to make the best of every one of them.

  ‘Somebody put dog shit through our letterbox, and it isn’t hard to guess who. Josie nearly had a fit. Can you imagine having to clean that up, on a new carpet too? That’s why she’s gone to her mother’s, to get away from the smell.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful. Poor Josie.’ Fran struggled to keep the amusement out of her voice but Eddie must have detected it.

  ‘It isn’t funny. You wouldn’t believe the stink it made! We can’t seem to get rid of it. You’ve got to speak to that blasted mother of yours. She’s out of control. That carpet cost me a fortune.’

  ‘I will, I’ll speak to her.’ Fran tugged him round to face her, pushing her cushiony breasts against the hardness of his chest. She was wearing the lowest cut dress she could find and plump flesh spilled out enticingly above the square neckline. His gaze was riveted upon the delicious sight and Fran smiled when she heard his low moan.

  ‘Course, if you and your lovely wifey were to split up, you could let her have all the carpets, so long as we get the bed . . .’

  ‘Fran, I’ve told you already, I can’t possibly leave Josie, not yet, not while she’s pregnant. I‘m terrified of her finding out about us. I certainly daren’t risk telling her. Far too dangerous.’

  Her amber eyes widened still further. ‘You really think she might lose the baby, if you did?’

  ‘Yes, I do, from shock.’

  ‘That would be dreadful, I agree. Really dreadful,’ Fran said, falsely sympathetic. ‘But what if someone else tells her? Oh, not me, of course.’ She rested her hand on her cleavage in a show of sincerity. ‘You know I’d never let you down in that way, Eddie. But what if Mam opened her gob and spilled the beans, as it were? Or gossip from the market reached her. What then?’

  Eddie frowned, dragging his gaze from her breasts to study her face with narrowed eyes. ‘You don’t think that’s likely, do you? Is there gossip about us? I haven’t heard any. If there’s any danger of that, then we’d best stop meeting like this. We should maybe lie low for a bit, at least until the baby is safely born.’

  ‘I’d lie anywhere with you, Eddie love.’ Fran half glanced over her shoulder. An old man seated on the slatted wood bench was reading a newspaper, but apart from a few school kids there was no one else around. ‘But which baby would that be, Eddie? Hers or mine? Both of them perhaps?’ Looking mildly perplexed, she began to unbutton his flies and slipped her hand inside his trousers. She was quite sure no one could see. Still, the threat of discovery added a spice of danger to the game.

  Eddie was more cautious. ‘Not here, you daft mare!’ Pushing her hand away, he marched her to a more secluded corner tucked behind a lifeboat where, after a few kisses to warm her up, Fran happily obliged him again.

  He put back his head on a low groan as she grasped his penis, stroking it rhythmically up and down. ‘H - haven’t you made arrangements yet, to get yourself sorted?’ He was finding it difficult to breathe, to think even, as his excitement mounted. ‘I’m c-counting on you, Fran. D-don’t make trouble. Oh, Christ . . .’

  He reached for her then, and ten minutes later, when he could speak again, said, ‘You have to get rid of it. You promised you would. Anyway, you don’t want a kid any more than I do.’

  ‘That’s true,’
Fran murmured, cuddling close against him, purring with pleasure. Pouting rosebud pink lips, she ran her hands under his shirt over his bare chest at mid-ships, then back below decks once more. ‘Are you all done, or is there life in the old engine yet?’

  ‘Christ, Fran, give me a minute to catch me breath. Are you listening to what I’m saying? I daren’t think what effect it might have on Josie if she were ever to find out.’

  ‘Ooh, we mustn’t let that happen,’ Fran agreed. ‘We could get in the lifeboat? There’s nobody looking, and it could be a right life-saver for you, judging by the pained expression on your face.’

  They quickly scrambled inside, and the lifeboat’s rocking motion in the next half-hour or so wasn’t entirely due to the tidal waters.

  Days later Fran was back outside Eddie’s house. This time she boldly marched up to the front door of the new semi-detached and rapped on the knocker. She could hear Buddy Holly singing Peggy Sue on the radio inside, and someone singing along with it.

  The next moment the door was opened by Josie herself. She was dressed in a bright pink floral maternity smock over black drainpipe trousers, feather duster in hand, just as if she’d stepped out of one of those adverts for Mansion polish in a glossy magazine. For a moment, Fran couldn’t speak. She was much prettier close to, more fragile, and younger than Fran had expected.

  Josie smiled at her. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  ‘I – I . . . Is Eddie in?’

  ‘Sorry, you’ve just missed him. He’s already left for work.’

  Fran knew this already, since she’d watched him go. The woman - little more than a girl really as she couldn’t be a day over twenty-two, about the same age as Fran herself - was still smiling helpfully at her, asking if she was a work colleague, perhaps in need of a lift?

  Still Fran said nothing. What was she doing standing here like a lemon? She had to speak, to say something. She’d made her plan, she should stick with it. But how could she tell this pretty innocent what she and her selfish, philandering husband got up to in the back seat of his car, let alone in a lifeboat for God’s sake? The girl must be at least four or five months pregnant, if not more, further gone than she was herself. Fran found herself smiling back, almost feeling sorry for her, experiencing a sudden and unexpected shaft of pity for Eddie’s wife of all people!

  ‘Er, yes, that’s it, it was about work. Never mind, I’ll catch him another time. Bye.’ And before she knew what she was doing, or why, Fran was walking back down the garden path away from the house. She must be turning soft.

  Later, in her dinner break from serving on the pie stall, filled with self-loathing for her own cowardice, Fran wrote an anonymous note. Without giving herself time to think, she sealed the envelope and dropped it

  into the letterbox. That was the best way to tell Josie about her philandering husband, and it couldn’t be traced back to Fran.

  Dear God, she was turning into her own mother.

  Eddie’s anger was incandescent. The moment Fran clapped eyes on him, she knew at once that she’d gone too far. He hadn’t come to see her today for a kiss and cuddle in the car, or a bit of slap and tickle up a back alley, and he certainly wasn’t about to suggest another romantic cruise up the Ship Canal. But then she saw that it wasn’t her he’d come to see at all.

  He marched right up to the pie stall, bold as brass, and shouted at her mother, for heaven’s sake, roared at Molly in front of everyone.

  ‘If you think you’ve done something clever, Molly Poulson, then you’re mistaken.’

  ‘What the hangment . . ? And which smelly rat hole did you crawl out of?’

  Red faced, Fran was beside herself with embarrassment. The stall was as busy as ever, and the entire queue of customers stood watching, goggle-eyed, ready to enjoy the entertainment. There always seemed to be some fun around where Big Molly was concerned. ‘I’ll see to this, Mam. Not here, Eddie, for God’s sake! Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.’

  ‘Like thump we’ll go somewhere more private. Let’s have it out here and now, in the open. Why not? Since my wife has been told by some “well-wisher” what you and me have been up to, why not tell the whole blasted world?’

  As the queue willingly parted for him, only too ready to hear what it was exactly the pair of them had been up to, Eddie stepped to the front so that he could address Big Molly directly.

  ‘First you put dog’s mess through my letter-box, now you’ve sent my poor pregnant wife an anonymous letter. Don’t try and deny it, I’m not stupid. I know it’s from you because it’s not the first time, is it? You’ve already scratched my new car, ruined my garden and sent nasty letters, but this is too much. You’ve gone too far this time, Molly Poulson.’

  ‘Eeh, have I really?’ Big Molly said, smiling benignly. ‘Now how did I manage all of that, I wonder, when I haven’t been up your way in months?’

  ‘You don’t deny you’ve been there before then?’

  ‘I don’t poke about in rat holes. I leave that to vermin like you. Fran, will you serve Mrs Dawson before her jaw drops off?’

  ‘In a minute, Mam.’ Fran was scrabbling at his arm, pushing and pulling at Eddie to make him move. ‘Not here, Eddie. Not in front of half the market!’

  He shook her off, pushing his face to within inches of hers so that he could spit his words at her with vicious contempt. ‘I don’t know which of you did it, which of you sent that letter. I don’t even care! But she’s in hospital now, my Josie. She could lose it, this baby she’s wanted for so long. Because of you. So I hope you’re satisfied!’

  Fran stood as if turned to stone as he stormed away. Her mother was shouting something about it being all his fault for not keeping his trousers buttoned up, but all Fran could hear were those two poignant words: my Josie.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Patsy set the last hat on its stand, a sensible navy straw with matching ribbon, and tilted her head on one side to admire her handiwork. She had left her job at the ice cream parlour and was back working at the hat stall. She’d been there ever since Annie had suffered her heart attack. After a couple of weeks in hospital she’d been allowed home with strict instructions to take things easy for a while, at least until she had made a full recovery. The heart attack could have been much worse, but it was a warning she must heed.

  Consequently, Clara was run off her feet looking after her sister and Patsy found she was left more or less to her own devices running the stall.

  On one occasion she’d even been allowed to visit a supplier, and in addition to buying the school felts and boaters she’d been sent for, also purchased a few Davy Crockett hats. Marc had been delighted and instantly bought one for Giovanni, the rest had gone by the end of the day.

  ‘We must buy more,’ Patsy told Clara, who looked alarmed at the prospect.

  ‘I suppose it may be profitable to do so, but you mustn’t tell Annie, it might upset her. It’s essential she be kept calm.’

  Patsy gave a wicked little grin. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. Can I close early then and nip back to the wholesaler?’

  ‘No, I’ll come and take over for the last hour so that you can go. But don’t buy too many or spend too much. We mustn’t take any risks while Annie is ill. Oh, dear, it’s such a worry.’

  Marc offered to go with her this time, and they went together on the bus. Patsy protested, of course, telling him she could cope very well on her own, ta very much, but in fact she was glad of his help carring the boxes.

  Ever since the Bertalone wedding when he’d kissed her so thoroughly their relationship had changed. It was less easy to pretend that she didn’t like him, although she tried her best to remain aloof. The last thing Patsy wanted was to appear soft, or easy. If she should weaken whenever she looked at him, or caught him smiling at her which always made her heart do a little skip, she would remind herself to remain cautious. She mustn’t become too attached.

  Just because she was back in favour during Annie’s illness, didn’t mean t
he situation was permanent.

  Once Annie was on her feet again, Patsy would be out of work, and perhaps even asked to leave the market altogether. There was talk the place might not survive, that a developer was planning to move in and flatten it. Nothing was certain in life, and Patsy knew she must protect herself.

  ‘Could you at least try to smile and look pleased that I’ve decided to come along ,’ Marc cajoled her as they sat on the top deck of the bus.

  She glanced at him disdainfully. ‘What, sit here grinning like an idiot at nothing in particular? I don’t think so.’

  ‘What if I kissed you. Would that make you smile?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that would be a good laugh that would . . . because then I’d have to slap your cheeky face. This is a public place, for goodness sake, Marc Bertalone. What are you thinking of?’

  ‘I think only of you, mia carina.’ He slipped his arm along the back of the seat. Despite studiously concentrating on the passing view - London Road fire station with its Accrington brick façade, trolleybuses, a delivery van for Bear Brand nylons on its way to Lewis’s, and in Piccadilly Gardens a group of little boys in short grey trousers paddling in the fountain to cool off in the August heat - she was only too aware of the warm weight of that arm against her neck.

  They hadn’t, as Marc had promised, carried on the next day where they’d left off. Thank goodness! But then there hadn’t been the opportunity with all the rushing to and fro to the hospital and fears and worries over Annie.

  The trouble was, she’d be only too delighted to let him kiss her, if they could find a place where they could be alone and private. A heady prospect.

  The next morning Patsy put up a large poster, announcing the arrival of new stock, and the Davy Crockett hats continued to sell steadily throughout the rest of that week. Annie would surely be glad of the profit, even if it did turn her stall into a souvenir stand.