by June Francis
Betty hesitated. ‘I know it costs money, but I do like my little nest at the top of the house in Gambier Terrace. I’m close to college and, living in town, I feel as if I’m at the centre of things. I’ll be seventeen in November, and with Christmas coming up, I should be able to get more hours working in a shop, so will be able to deal with some of my living expenses.’
Jared exchanged glances with his sister. ‘Perhaps it’s best for Betty to stay where she is for now.’ He switched his attention to Emma. ‘I thought she could come back with us and I’ll be able to see where she’s staying.’
‘But I’m not going back until tomorrow,’ said Betty, glancing at Emma. ‘Isn’t that right? You’re prepared to put up with me until then.’
Jared leant against the wall and folded his arms. ‘Let’s think about this. Dot’s got to go back this evening because she can’t afford to take another day off work. But I don’t, because I don’t start work until next Monday. If there’s an inn or a B&B where I can stay, then—?’
‘You can stay here,’ interrupted Betty eagerly. ‘Can’t he, Emma? I can sleep with you in the double bed and he can have the single in the back room.’
There was a silence.
Jared stared at Emma. ‘What do you say?’ he asked.
She felt her cheeks warm again under his scrutiny. ‘I don’t see why not. You’re family after all.’ To hell with her reputation, she thought.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Dorothy cheerfully. ‘I don’t mind travelling back on my own. I can read my magazine in peace.’ She paused. ‘Right now, I wouldn’t mind taking a walk to the Ashcrofts’ place. Mr Ashcroft has something for me.’
‘Who’s Mr Ashcroft?’ asked Jared.
‘You’ll find out later,’ said Dorothy, winking at Emma and heading for the door.
‘I’ll go with her, shall I?’ said Betty hastily. ‘I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks and there’s something I need to tell her.’
She did not wait for their response but followed her cousin out. The door closed behind her, leaving a silence that, to Emma, felt loaded with expectation. She wasted no time occupying herself in making tea and putting jam on scones.
‘I like these walls,’ Jared surprised her by saying.
She glanced over at him and saw that he was running his hand over the peeling paint on the outside wall. ‘The whole place needs decorating,’ she said.
‘This wall needs more than decorating,’ he said. ‘They built them strong in those days, but I reckon you need a damp course put in here. Your plasterwork definitely needs redoing.’
‘I wouldn’t deny it,’ she murmured. ‘Of course, with you being in the building trade, you’ll be interested in buildings.’
He nodded. ‘Being a plasterer wouldn’t have been my first choice of job, though, but my dad was a brickie and he told me that I should become a plasterer. He had it mind that, one day, we’d be in business together with a plumber friend of his. Only Dad became ill and everything went for a burton. As it turned out, there was much more to my apprenticeship as a plasterer than I thought there’d be.’
She looked at him with interest. ‘What do you mean?’
He pulled out a chair and hitched up his black corduroys and sat down. She was aware that he was watching her as she went over to the dresser and took down two plates. There was that tingle down her spine again.
‘There’s more to plastering than just plastering walls,’ he replied. ‘The journeyman plasterer who taught me helped repair the plasterwork in St George’s Hall, which was damaged during the Blitz. Plaster flowers. He’d spent his war in the artillery, coast-watching down in Kent. He has a wife and four kids and supplements his income by making decorative plaques, which he designs and paints himself. He’s artistic, just like your father was.’ He paused. ‘Ever been to Speke Hall on the outskirts of Liverpool?’
She smiled. ‘No.’
‘You should. It’s Elizabethan. They had time to be really creative in those days, as long as the aristocracy were paying their wages. A lot of these mansions have marvellous ceilings,’ said Jared, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Emma, placing the scones on the table in front of him. ‘There’s an old manor house not far from here and you can see that it was once beautiful, but sadly the whole place is looking the worse for wear now. Its last owner was killed in the war and I hear the solicitors are still looking for his next of kin.’
He nodded. ‘It’s a blinking shame. Trouble is, there isn’t the money around at the moment to afford the repairs that are necessary. It’s a time-consuming job is renovation.’
‘Is that what you’d like to do? Make something that was beautiful, lovely again?’ she asked.
Jared said, ‘You bet. As it is, I have to be where the work and the money is. Right now, people need homes. My old boss told me that the Liverpool Corporation sites at Kirkby, Speke and Aintree represent some of the most valuable building land in the country. That’s why the building industry is in competition to rebuild Liverpool.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Emma. ‘I saw some of the devastation caused by the bombing.’ She hesitated. ‘You mentioned a portrait of me painted by my dad. Have you any idea what happened to it?’
‘No.’ Jared got to his feet and began to prowl around the room.
‘How can you be so certain it was me?’ asked Emma, wishing he’d keep still. She had to keep turning her head to look at him.
‘He told me about you living with your grandparents in the countryside,’ said Jared. ‘I presume that would be here in this house. He and Aunt Lizzie hadn’t been married long. I saw some of his other pictures. They were mainly seascapes. He told me that one he had painted of shipping in the Mersey had won some prize and been bought by the council and put on display in Liverpool’s Walker Art Gallery.’
Emma felt a swell of pride. ‘Honestly?’
He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘You really should go there and see if they’ve hung it back up again.’
‘What do you mean “back up again”?’
‘The paintings were all taken away and hidden during the war; it was feared they could be destroyed in an air attack on the city,’ he said, coming and standing in front of her, so close that his breath fluttered a lock of her chestnut hair. ‘The building was used by the Ministry of Food during the war, issuing ration books and that kind of thing. It was only opened again in 1951 due to it needing essential reconstruction work.’
‘I presume you haven’t been to see if the painting is back in place, yourself?’ she asked, her heart racing due to his nearness.
‘Not yet.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps we can go there together when you’re not so busy.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Emma. Their faces were only inches apart and she felt quite breathless. She thought he might kiss her and wished he would. That shocked her, because it had not been so long ago that she had wanted Dougie to kiss her and believed herself in love with him.
Jared moved away and she breathed easy again. ‘I’ll pour the tea, shall I?’ she said. ‘You can help yourself to scones.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, smiling faintly at her.
They were silent as they ate and drank. She waited for him to pass comment on her baking, but he was gazing about the room again. She thought he was probably comparing her cottage to his own home, thinking his was much better.
Suddenly, he said, ‘Would you mind showing me around after?’
Emma gave a start. ‘I-I don’t mind at all. I’d need to show you where you’re sleeping, anyway. S-so what do you think of my scones?’ she added.
Jared smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have eaten most of them if I didn’t think they were a bit of all right. Lovely fruity jam and the pastry nice and light.’
Emma was relieved because she had done something that he liked. ‘Betty and I picked the blackberries only a few weeks ago.’
‘I remember blackberrying during the wa
r. I was evacuated to Anglesey for a while. The farmer’s wife used to make blackberry jam but it wasn’t as good as yours.’
Emma murmured, ‘All compliments gratefully accepted.’
‘You’d make some lucky man a good wife. Although, I suppose with your running your tea shop as well as doing bookkeeping, you’re not really looking for a husband.’
‘No – not actively looking,’ said Emma, picking up the crockery and carrying it over to the sink.
‘Let me wash up.’ said Jared, getting to his feet.
‘No!’ She sounded shocked. ‘Men don’t wash dishes in this house.’
‘I washed many a crock whilst in the army.’
‘Well, you’re not washing any here,’ said Emma firmly, putting in the plug and running water. ‘If you need the lavatory, by the way, it’s outside. I haven’t got a posh bathroom like you have at home.’
‘I didn’t expect you to have,’ said Jared, sounding amused. ‘This is a two-up, two-down, isn’t it, luv? No room for a bathroom, unless you built on.’
She glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘I would love to build on. You’ve seen the size of the garden. There’s plenty of space but I don’t have the money. They weren’t too fussy about hygiene and cleanliness when this was built. Growing food was more important, hence the large garden. I’d love a bathroom and a bigger kitchen with all mod cons. I could do with a fridge. I’m fussy about cleanliness. I have to be if I’m handling food and serving customers. Did Dorothy tell you that I also sell souvenirs for the tourist trade?’ She realised that she was babbling.
‘What kind of goods?’ he asked, looking only mildly interested.
‘Go in the front room and have a look. I’ll be finished here in a few minutes and then I’ll show you upstairs.’
He left her at the sink and went into the front room. A few minutes later she found him tinkering with the piano. ‘Do you play?’ she asked.
Jared rose from the stool. ‘Self-taught. You?’
‘Granddad was all in favour of my learning to play, but I’m not brilliant.’ Emma put down the lid and stared at him. ‘So what do you think of Mr Ashcroft’s models and my wise women?’
He smiled. ‘Different. But this room is north-facing, and with winter coming on, they could get damp. It’s obvious to me that you live mainly in the kitchen, so you’d be better moving them into there.’
Emma agreed. ‘They’ll make the kitchen look even more crowded, though.’ She sighed. ‘I really do need an extension, but expense is the problem. I’ve been able to put aside enough money to repair the roof before winter but that’s all.’ She sighed.
Jared raised an eyebrow. ‘Your roof leaks?’
‘When it rains the water plinks into the bucket and almost plays a tune,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘Let’s have a look,’ he said.
‘The room where you’ll sleep is the worst,’ said Emma, leading the way upstairs, conscious of his closeness on the narrow stairs.
She opened the door of the back room and indicated that he should go in first. His eyes were instantly drawn to the damp patch in the corner of the ceiling. ‘I’ll get the materials and come back later in the week and fix the roof for you,’ he said.
‘You mean it?’ she asked, taken aback.
‘I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,’ said Jared.
‘But you’re not a roofer.’
‘No, but I helped out on various jobs during my apprenticeship. If you’ve a ladder, I’ll take a look at the roof in the morning.’
Her face lit up. ‘It’s behind the shed.’
He crossed to the window and gazed out. ‘I see you keep hens.’
‘Aye, I’ll probably have one for Christmas.’
He grinned. ‘I remember Ma plucking a chicken for Christmas. I was tormenting my sister with one of its claws. You know there’s a sinew you can pull on that makes the claw move?’
‘Aye!’ She laughed. ‘You must have been a terrible brother.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘I chased Dorothy all around the house with it. You ask her about it. I bet she hasn’t forgotten.’
There was a sudden silence and they stood there, looking at each other. Then he said, ‘Are you going to show me the front bedroom?’
‘Sorry, I was thinking of something else.’ She led him across the tiny landing and opened the door of the main bedroom.
‘Now, this is a good size,’ he said, going inside.
‘There’s a tiny room just off it, no bigger than a decent-sized cupboard,’ she said, crossing the wooden floor and opening a door. ‘It’s just big enough to take a baby’s cot.’
He gazed at the space, nodded and then said, ‘You probably slept here when you were a toddler.’
‘Most probably so did my mother, and my uncles who were killed in the Great War,’ said Emma, feeling very conscious of those who had lived in this house.
‘Let’s not get miserable,’ said Jared, as if reading her mind. ‘What do you do with yourself in winter?’
‘I work, I knit and I sew and I go to the cinema and to church and to concerts and dances put on at the assembly rooms. I have neighbours and a close friend, Lila.’
He smiled. ‘So you keep yourself busy, but even so, you must get lonely now you’re living on your own.’
She agreed. ‘I miss Granddad, but I do have a cat.’
‘I presume you don’t have a broomstick, as well.’
Emma chuckled. ‘Only to sweep up the leaves. I have a book of spells, though. I found it in a second-hand shop in Clitheroe, so just you be careful I don’t put a spell on you.’
‘I think you already have,’ said Jared under his breath as he left the room.
Emma was not sure she had heard him aright but her heart felt light as she followed him downstairs. He suggested that she might want to go back to burning her garden rubbish and offered to help her.
She said with mock seriousness, ‘I never turn down a willing volunteer.’
So it was that Dorothy and Betty found the two of them in the garden, working in companionable silence. ‘Did you get what you wanted?’ asked Jared.
‘Yes,’ said Dorothy, smiling as she held out a box to him. ‘Your birthday present. I hope you like it.’
‘I’ll need to wash my hands before I look at it,’ he said, obviously pleased.
The three girls watched him take the model sailing ship from the box. Instantly, Emma knew from his expression that he liked it. He didn’t say so right away, just as he hadn’t done about her scones, but inspected the model and then nodded. ‘Clever. This will have pride of place in my own home one day. I must thank the man who did it.’
‘Mr Ashcroft would really appreciate that,’ said Dorothy. ‘By the way,’ she added, glancing at Emma, ‘Dougie visited them, you know?’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ said Emma, surprised.
‘A few weeks ago. He had a couple of orders for models from some of the bobbies at the station.’ Dorothy added lightly, ‘He never said anything about it to me when we bumped into each other and he asked me to go dancing.’
‘Perhaps he’d forgotten,’ said Emma, suspecting Dorothy was hurt that Dougie had not done so.
Dorothy shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
Emma changed the subject. ‘You must be hungry. I’ll make us something to eat before you have to catch your train.’
Soon there was a tantalising smell of something frying.
‘What is it you’re cooking?’ asked Jared, peering over her shoulder.
‘Nothing exciting,’ said Emma, her face flushed with the heat from the range. Her chestnut hair hung in wisps about her ears. ‘It’s just bread dipped in a mixture of egg, milk, onion and cheese.’
‘The way to a man’s stomach,’ murmured Dorothy. ‘I really should get you to teach me to cook, Emma.’
‘Never mind about that,’ said Betty, setting the table. ‘What did Jared have to say about our dad?’
Emma gave
her a smiling glance. ‘He told me that one of Dad’s paintings won a prize and used to hang in the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool.’
‘What! Our dad’s famous!’ Betty put down the knives and forks and did a dance around the kitchen.
‘Stop acting daft,’ said Dorothy, laughing as she grabbed her arm and pushed her onto a seat. ‘You’re frightening the cat.’
Betty gazed at her cousins and Emma from dazed eyes. ‘I’m the daughter of a real artist and nobody can take that away from me. Wait until I tell them at college. I feel that everything is just going to get better from now on.’
Over their meal, Betty bombarded Jared with questions about William Booth. Emma listened with close attention to everything else that he had to say, learning much about her father that was of interest. She had never known, for instance, that he had worked in a theatre, painting scenery, and it was there that he had met her mother.
Soon after they had finished eating, Dorothy said that it was time for her to make a move. The others decided to accompany her to the railway station. She hugged the three of them.
‘I’ll tell Mum to expect you tomorrow night, Jared,’ she said.
‘OK!’
He, Emma and Betty waited until the train pulled out, before leaving the station and returning to the cottage.
When Dorothy arrived home, she was relieved to find Elsie and Maggie sitting on the sofa together, watching television. Dorothy went to speak but her mother put her finger to her lips, so Dorothy went and put the kettle on before sitting in an armchair and staring at the screen. It was at least ten minutes before the programme finished and by then Dorothy had made the tea.
‘So how did things go?’ asked Elsie, lighting a cigarette.
‘Jared and Emma really took to each other. He’s staying there tonight and coming back to Liverpool with Betty tomorrow.’
Elsie said, ‘You mean he’s staying at the cottage?’
‘Yes. Betty will sleep with Emma and he’ll have the back room,’ said Dorothy, amused by her mother’s expression. ‘There’ll be no hanky-panky, Mum. Emma’s not that sort of person.’
‘Will you keep your voice down, remember who’s here!’ Elsie jerked her head in her other daughter’s direction, who was toasting a round of bread on the fire.
