For Better, For Worse

by June Francis

  Grace looked at him, surprised by his change in tone. Norman often got like this whenever he talked about Dougie, but he had never come out and said that he didn’t like him.

  ‘She’s had a postcard the same as me – not a word about missing her – just that he’s enjoying shipboard life and has made friends, same as he told me.’

  Her father cleared his throat. ‘Do you resent my not letting you go?’

  ‘I understand your reasoning. I am your only child.’

  ‘You’re not answering my question,’ Norman replied, looking at her closely.

  ‘If you must know the truth, I’m glad you gave me some breathing space,’ Grace said, twisting her hands together. ‘Ever since Dougie and I started being a couple, I was expected to spend every spare minute I had with him, which meant I never got to make friends with anyone else really, other than Milly, but certainly no other fella in particular.’

  Her father stared at her in astonishment. ‘But if you’re in love with someone, you want to spend as much time as you can with them.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been told by girls when I was at school, but there were times when I wanted to be alone, or in the company of another fella to see what that was like. I mean, what do I really know about love? I need to be certain that what I feel towards Dougie is the real thing?’ she paused, a little unsure to be finally putting her emotions into words. ‘I mean people say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, so if that’s true, my being parted from him should help me to sort out my feelings towards him, isn’t that right, Dad?’

  Norman scratched his head with the stem of his pipe. ‘I wish your mother was here for you to talk to about this kind of stuff… I guess you can hardly discuss it with Polly. Dougie being her son whom she loves the bones of…’

  Grace nodded.

  ‘Are you missing Dougie at all?’ asked her father.

  ‘Of course! There were times when I loved being in his company, but I’m finding that I’m still enjoying life without him being here. Is that wrong?’

  ‘It’s early days,’ said Norman. ‘And you’ve plenty of time until your twenty-first birthday to sort your feelings out before you must make a decision about whether to join him in Australia or not.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘Anyway, luv, has Fergie had a walk today or do one of us need to take him out?’

  ‘I took him out this morning and after walking to Wavertree and back my feet are aching.’

  ‘So, it’s down to me,’ said Norman. ‘I’ll take him as far as Sheil Park and back and hopefully he’ll do his business and then we can relax and listen to the wireless.’

  Grace nodded, her emotions in confusion after telling her father how she felt. She was relieved that he did not broach the subject over their meal of sausage and mash. While her father took Fergie out, she washed the dishes and listened to music on the radio to distract herself. When her father returned, he asked her to tune into the news. Mainly, he was interested in the cricket – the Third Test Match was on at Old Trafford and it looked like England and Australia were going to draw. Grace wondered idly if Dougie would still support England when he was living in Australia.

  ‘Did you see anybody while you were out?’ she asked.

  ‘I saw Ben and his boy, Simon.’

  ‘In the truck?’ she asked.

  Norman shook his head. ‘Ben had his arm around the lad, supporting him. They were out for a breather and going to the chippy afterwards.’

  ‘Did Ben mention me?’ she asked, curious as to how he was after his kind behaviour on the night of the play.

  ‘Oh, we were just chatting about my needing to be away for a couple of extra nights on the dredger,’ he said casually, adding quickly, ‘which led me on to telling him all about Dougie’s ship. He asked if you’d had another postcard in the post.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’ she asked, wondering why her father had not mentioned to her about him needing to be away on the dredger longer and why mention it to Ben?

  ‘That there hadn’t been time. Next stop after Las Palmas will be Cape Town.’

  Grace hesitated before blurting out, ‘Yes… although I would have liked a letter as well as a postcard, telling me more about the places he’s seen from the ship and about the people he’s met. I’ve written him two letters now and not had a response, although he would not have received them until he arrived at Las Palmas, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s right, love. Anyway, I suggested that Ben and Simon might like to join us for Sunday lunch as Simon had shown an interest in looking at the map I have of the world and seeing the different places that I went to when I was at sea.’

  Grace dropped her fork. ‘What did Ben say?’

  ‘He asked was it my idea or yours.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  Norman’s expression was bland. ‘That it was mine, but you’d be in favour because you’re fond of Simon and miss seeing him.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, you forced him into saying yes,’ she said with a sigh, unsure of why she felt embarrassed all of a sudden. But she reasoned if Ben had agreed to come, then he must have at least forgiven her for the park incident with Simon.

  ‘And why not,’ said Norman. ‘You’re a good cook and it will be a treat for them both and I’ll enjoy talking to Simon about my travels.’

  ‘Which means I’ll have to entertain Ben!’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ her father said. ‘Make an apple pie or a cake and you can find out if he bakes at all.’

  Her eyes gleamed in response. ‘You can cook, Dad! I can always suggest you give him lessons if Ben confesses to being a lousy cook. What with the times he seems to go to the chippy…’

  Chapter 8

  The following day, Grace’s thoughts kept straying to what she should cook for Sunday lunch. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous, but she told herself that they didn’t often have guests, so she just wanted it to be extra special. If she was really honest with herself she would admit that she wanted to impress Ben. Generally, she roasted a shoulder of mutton or braised some beef. Maybe, for a change she should roast a decent piece of topside of beef and make Yorkshire puddings, although she had not always been successful at getting them to rise. She planned to bake an apple pie the evening before, as her father always said it tasted better the following day. She would serve it with Bird’s custard, so she must remember to buy an extra pint of milk from the dairy. She would have to give the morning service at St Margaret’s a miss, but she was sure God would understand given that she had visitors coming. The fire would need to be lit early morning to roast the meat, so it would probably be sensible to eat in the parlour as given the hot weather it would be cooler in there.

  On the Saturday when her father got home after his shift, she told him of her plans, so together they moved the dining table and chairs into the front room ready for the next day. Grace had written a detailed list of all that she needed for the weekend meals and she had made the effort to go shopping before going on to her job at the dentist’s. That evening she baked the apple pie, and felt thankful for the times her aunt had taught her to prepare and cook several simple meals. Although, generally speaking, puddings were only served on Sundays, and were often just jelly and custard or rice pudding.

  However, the pie looked lovely when Grace took it out of the oven, as did the smaller one she had made with leftover pastry for Ben to take home with him. She set them to cool on the shelf in the alcove at the side of the fireplace and then washed the utensils she had used, before making a jug of cocoa as a reward for herself and finally settling down to finish Murder on the Orient Express, a new book which had come out in January. Despite putting her name down at the borrowing library to lend it out in February, it had gone on a list and she had had a four-month wait to get her hands on the novel. Still, it had been worth the wait, and she was already impatient to read the next Agatha Christie due out in September, with her name already down on another waiting list.

  Grace was up
by seven o’clock the next morning and lit the fire straight away, ate some bread and butter, and then set about preparing the beef to go in the oven once the fire had warmed up. Next, she peeled the vegetables and made the batter for the Yorkshire puddings. Only then did she treat herself to a hot bowl of water carried carefully upstairs to her bedroom for a warm wash. Having cleaned herself with a new, unwrapped block of Lux toilet soap, Grace dusted herself with Yardley’s English Lavender talc powder and put on her favourite blue-and-peach floral sundress and tan-coloured sandals. She fastened on a wrap-around pinny to keep her dress clean, before brushing her bobbed flaxen hair and clipping on blue earrings fashioned in the shape of flowers. Pleased with her reflection, she went downstairs again, and only when her father commented on her being all dollied up, did Grace question why she had made such an effort when she wasn’t going anywhere.

  However, when Ben and Simon arrived just before noon, dressed smartly in what she presumed were their Sunday suits, Grace felt better. She could not get over how good they looked, and was glad she had dressed up a bit for the occasion. She had nagged her father to change into clean clothes, although he had refused to put on his only suit, saying he was in his own home and it was much too hot for that sort of nonsense.

  Grace beamed at the father and son from the doorway and hastened to take Ben and Simon’s jackets, which they readily handed over. She hung them up and then offered them a cool drink: lemonade for Simon and a pale ale for the men, and a shandy for herself. After some small talk in the kitchen, she suggested her father show Ben and Simon into the parlour, and for them to sit down at the table. Much to her relief, the beef had cooked perfectly as she had followed the butcher’s instructions and kept her eye on the meat, so it did not burn. The heat of the oven was difficult to get just right. The roast potatoes also looked good, and who could go wrong with carrots and peas, she thought. Although when she took the Yorkshire puddings out of the oven, they had risen beautifully, but unfortunately their tops were slightly burnt. She could have cried and only hoped her gravy would go some way to making the puddings taste acceptable.

  As it was, there was no conversation during the meal, because the three males fell on the food as if they had been lost on the Lancashire moors all night and had not eaten during those hours. Only when she had cleared the dishes away, did her father say, ‘That was a good meal, lass. You might have burnt the Yorkshires, but nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘I liked it all,’ said Simon. ‘If I’d been at home, I would have licked me plate.’

  His father frowned at him. ‘Do you have to let our hosts realise what a little savage you are when you’re at home?’

  ‘I should have offered you some bread to mop up the gravy,’ Grace said. ‘Although, I reckon, Simon, what you said was a compliment to my cooking!’

  He smiled at her. ‘Are there any afters?’

  Ben poked him with his elbow. ‘You shouldn’t ask, it’s bad manners.’

  ‘Leave him be, Ben,’ said Grace. ‘He’s only a boy and you’re amongst friends. Did you enjoy your meal?’

  He stared at her and their eyes met and held. ‘I’ve cleared my plate, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, but that could be because your good-mannered and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.’

  His lips twitched. ‘As your father said, it was a good meal. It’s ages since I’ve tasted beef cooked as well.’

  She gave him a little bow. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ Suddenly she realised she had not removed her pinafore and whisked it off. ‘I presume you are all ready for afters.’

  ‘Yeahhh!’ shouted Simon.

  She realised Ben was staring at her with what she thought was admiration in his eyes, and she smiled and realised she was pleased with the attention. She made to pick up the plates, but Ben beat her to it and carried them out. Grace followed him through into the back kitchen, watching him place them in the enamelled washing bowl in the sink. Then he turned and brushed past her and went into the kitchen and returned with a steaming kettle of water removed from the hob. She watched him in amazement as he poured it over the dishes.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked.

  ‘What does it look like?’ he replied.

  ‘There’s no need for you to wash the dishes.’ She went over to the sink and attempted to force him out of the way with her hip.

  He shoved her back. ‘I like washing dishes. It gets my hands nice and clean.’

  Feeling slightly breathless, and thinking that Dougie had never washed a plate in his life or rarely offered to help, she said, ‘Surely you wash your hands before you eat at home?’

  ‘Naturally, but Simon and I take turns at washing up. When my wife was alive, I always washed up.’

  Grace was surprised, but did not ask why.

  Ben arrowed her a mocking glance, as if he knew she was wanting to ask why. ‘She had rheumatoid arthritis and was inclined to break crockery if she beat me to the sink.’

  ‘That must have been difficult for you both when Simon was born.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ he said in heartfelt tones. ‘Although, her mother visited every day, she left as soon as I arrived home because she couldn’t stand the sight of me. She thought we shouldn’t have married and had a child so soon, and blamed me for Simon being born and then later, my wife’s death.’

  Grace was surprised he was being so open with her. ‘But I bet your wife adored him.’

  ‘She did. It was her wanting to wheel him out in his pram because she wanted to show him off that caused her death, though. Her mother was hanging washing out in the backyard. My wife sneaked out and lost control of the pram because of her hands, and that was how she was hit by a car as she was running after it.’ There was a break in his voice.

  ‘I’m so sorry! No wonder you were so angry with me because of what happened in the park with the bath chair. It makes sense now…’ She reached out and touched his sleeve.

  For the briefest moment he covered her hand with his, and she felt a thrill go up her arm, even as he apologised for wetting her hand with his wet soapy one.

  She muttered, ‘I’d better get on with making the custard or Simon will be shouting for his afters.’

  ‘It was good of you to invite us.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed it,’ she said. ‘It was a challenge and Dad’s enjoyed the company of you both.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and put the milk on for the custard.’

  She left him drying his hands on a tea towel and went into the kitchen. When he entered the room, she asked him to get four bowls out of the sideboard cupboard and carry them through to the table in the parlour.

  Grace followed him five minutes later with the hot custard and placed the saucepan on the kettle stand and then cut thick slices from the larger apple pie. Later, over cups of tea, the two men discussed the Mersey Tunnel and how much easier it would make travelling to places on the Wirral, as well as Chester and Wales, as most likely buses and charabancs could now leave from the city centre and travel through the tunnel, instead of Liverpudlians having to take the ferry to Birkenhead to catch a bus onwards from there.

  After their tea, Norman switched the wireless on to listen to the news. There was talk of the Prince of Wales touring the colonies, and Nazi Germany being the cheapest place to go for a holiday. Something to do with the gold standard and marks being registered, but Grace didn’t really follow this. Getting up from the chair, where she was resting after tidying up the table, Grace produced the board game tiddlywinks thinking Simon might enjoy a game, forgetting for the moment the boy’s wrists were in plaster. The boy had never played it before, but he soon got excited rooting on his dad against Norman, who won most of the games.

  ‘We need to practise more,’ said Simon, glancing at his father.

  ‘You can borrow it,’ Grace said.

  ‘You can return it next time you come,’ Norman said. ‘Me and you can play, Simon, as your wrists are getting better. See if you can beat me next time.’


  The boy glanced at Ben. ‘Is that all right, Dad?’

  Ben said, ‘When were you thinking of, Mr Green?’

  ‘I’ll check what days I’ll be home, and Grace can drop a note through your door,’ said Norman.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Simon said.

  Norman agreed, ‘What about you, Ben? Do you want to join in?’

  ‘I’ll let you know when we have a date. Besides I don’t want to wear my welcome out,’ he said, glancing at Grace. ‘Maybe we should wait until Simon’s plaster is removed.’

  ‘That’s weeks away,’ said Simon in dismay.

  ‘More time for your wrists to heal completely and for you to become really proficient,’ Grace said, wondering if Ben was having second thoughts about seeing more of her and her father. Yet what he had said made sense, although she did wonder how he would manage with Simon home alone in the day. But she also remembered what her aunt had said about not being too helpful or Ben might come to expect it, so stopped herself from saying anything more. She supposed it was possible he had reasons he did not want to mention.

  The visitors did not stay much longer, and both of them thanked her when she handed over the small apple pie that she had made for them.

  ‘Yummy-yum,’ said Simon. ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Grace said. ‘I look forward to seeing you when your plaster is off.’ She handed the game of tiddlywinks to Ben. ‘I expect you to be a better player next time.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘Thank you for an enjoyable few hours.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ she said politely, and waved them off.

  Chapter 9

  The weeks passed. Although they were on her mind, Grace decided to leave arranging a visit from Simon and Ben for a while. She dropped in on her aunt a couple of times, and the last time, she saw her cousin, Beryl, who held out her left hand to Grace as soon as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Do you like my ring?’ she said.

  Grace stared at the garnet ring and said, ‘You’re engaged!’