Billy peered through the window, his eyes drawn to the glamour of the couple. Then he looked again, craning forward, slowly lowering his knife and fork to his plate, though his eyes did not leave the figure of the woman.
Good grief, that looked a bit like Evie – he turned to press his face closer to the window – looked like Evie, but yet not quite like Evie. Like Evie would look if she was the kind of girl who wore fashionable dresses and had fashionable hair, and was all sort of grown-up. Billy, his lunch forgotten, sat staring at the couple across the square. They walked past the bank, chatting, the woman holding the man’s arm. His face was turned away from Billy, looking down into the woman’s face, and he partly hid her from Billy’s view. Then they stopped to speak to a country-looking man with a Jack Russell terrier by his side and the three stood talking. The woman bent down to pet the dog and Billy got a good view of her face at last. Oh, but she looked so very much like Evie. Could there be another with that heart-shaped face? Though this woman wore lipstick. Evie had never worn lipstick.
Billy felt confused now. Nothing he had imagined on the journey down had prepared him for this situation. He stood up, shrugged on his jacket and left what he hoped was the right money on the table as he picked up his bag and went out. He was just in time to see the couple going down a side street off the market square and he ran across the square after them, dodging traffic. ‘Midsummer Row’, read the sign, and it was a narrow passage. The man and woman were at the end of it now and Billy ran lightly after them. When he emerged into an attractive little square he caught sight of them going up the steps of an elegant terraced house, where the man opened the door and they both disappeared inside. ‘Marlowe House’ said the sign beside the door.
Now what? Billy loitered in the square, watching the house and trying to work out what he should do.
He could knock at the door of Marlowe House and ask for Evie Carter. Then if the woman turned out to be Evie he’d be able to speak to her. If she wasn’t Evie he could always say he’d got the wrong house.
Oh, but that would be so clumsy. If it was Evie, and she was married to the good-looking man, she wouldn’t want to see good old Billy from Bolton, the boyfriend she’d fallen out with months ago and had probably forgotten about by now. What if she invited him in that smart house and introduced her to the man – to her husband? She certainly looked very happy, and her life must have changed, what with the frock and the hairdo. And coming out of a bank! Billy would be willing to bet the Evie he had known had never been in a bank in her life. It was all so unsettling.
But Brendan had said that Evie wasn’t married. It looked as though the Sullivans hadn’t heard the news. Brendan said they hadn’t had a letter from Sue Goodwin since Easter so all this had obviously happened since then.
As he stood there dithering and unable to decide what on earth to do, a woman with grey hair came into the square and walked up to the gate of the house across from Marlowe House. She gave Billy a long look, evidently wondering what business he had here. Billy saw a way forward and went to speak to her.
‘Excuse me,’ he asked, ‘I’m looking for Evie Carter, though that might not be her name now. She’s an old friend. I think she lives round here but I’m not sure.’
‘Carter … Carter …’ The woman looked round the houses of her neighbours, thinking. ‘Oh, yes, I think that’s the name of the young woman at Marlowe House,’ she said. She pointed across. ‘You were right outside it.’
‘Yes, she is a young woman,’ said Billy.
‘Then that’s certainly her,’ smiled the neighbour. ‘The rest of us are all older.’ She laughed lightly to show she didn’t care if he thought her old.
‘Thank you,’ said Billy, and turned away.
Flippin’ heck, Evie was living with a man old enough to be her father, and in some splendour, by the look of it. He cast his eyes over Marlowe House a last time then went slowly back down Midsummer Row, his mind once more in turmoil. Never in a million years had he imagined this situation.
He emerged back into the market square and wondered what to do now. Pointless to call on Evie, who looked so happy in her smart new life.
Face it, Billy, you’ve lost her. You’re a part of her past now, nothing more …
He sat down on a bench outside the bank from which Evie had emerged only a quarter-hour earlier and thought through his options. He quickly concluded there was none. He’d just have to get the train back to Bolton and go home to his mum. What a dreary thought that was, especially after their argument. To top it all, Ada had been right and Evie, miles from Bolton, in this little southern town in the countryside, was never coming back north. She’d moved on and left him well and truly behind.
As he walked back to the station Billy was lost in miserable thought. He stepped into the road and jumped back as a red car sped by dangerously close.
No need to get yourself killed, Billy.
He continued on his way, hoping the north-bound train would not be too long.
Evie, sitting beside Frederick in the car, wasn’t paying any attention to pedestrians, but looked up as she felt Frederick swerve.
‘Oh, what was that?’
‘Just some fool not looking where he’s going,’ said Frederick. ‘Don’t worry, no harm done.’
Evie glanced in the wing mirror to catch sight of the ‘fool’. How strange, the slouching figure with the duffel bag receding into the distance behind them looked a lot like Billy Taylor.
Evie shrugged, settled lower in her seat and gave herself up to planning what to do with the money in her new bank account.
So much for having a couple of days off, Billy thought bitterly, slowing his pace as he approached Fawcett Street. It was late evening and the sky, at the height of summer, was beginning to darken. It had been a very long day and he was not looking forward to facing his mother.
All the way home on the train the image of Evie – a new kind of Evie – had haunted his mind: the way she held onto the arm of the dashing-looking husband she gazed up at so affectionately.
Face it, Billy, she’s well out of your league now, even if she wasn’t married.
Might as well go back to work tomorrow, holiday or not. No point stopping at home with Mum, and I’m not bloody well taking her to Blackpool either.
He reached the house and opened the door. There were two letters addressed to his mother on the mat. She must have overlooked them. The house smelled stuffy and Billy wondered if Ada, who seemed to be allergic to fresh air, had sat in with the windows closed all day despite the warm weather.
‘Mum?’ he said.
Silence, but then – he glanced at his watch – she’d probably gone to bed. It was well past the time she normally listened to the wireless.
He hung his jacket on the peg in the hall and went through to the kitchen. Strange, the teapot was still on the table under the tea cosy exactly as he’d left it many hours ago. It looked as if his mother had never got up.
‘Mum!’ Suddenly Billy was racing up the stairs. ‘Mum! Mum, are you all right?’ He barged into her room without knocking, groping for the light switch.
Ada lay sprawled untidily on her back in her bed, her eyes partially closed and her mouth slightly open on one side.
Even without touching her, Billy knew the truth. She was stone-cold dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By September the gardens of Church Sandleton were laden with full-blown flowers with little green apples growing on the trees. Evie stopped to admire the quiet high street before she crossed the road from the bus stop and carried her heavy load of purchases back to Pendle’s. The fresh prettiness of the countryside was something that she loved – even now, more than a year after coming here – and she would never take it for granted. Maybe she’d make a country girl yet. Certainly she no longer thought about going back to Bolton, going back to Shenty Street. What was there to go back for? Here was home now.
‘How did you get on?’ asked Sue, looking up from her work as Evi
e hefted her bags through the door. ‘You’ve got quite a haul there.’
‘I know, Grandma, but wait till you see it. George had got in both the green and the blue I ordered, and some lovely prints in a woollen mix. They’re quite expensive so I got only two, for those autumn dresses we’ve taken on. George says he’ll probably not sell the others too quickly yet so I’ve got till the end of the month to make up my mind about them, but I’d like your view on the ones I’ve bought first. And I found a couple of beautiful remnants in his box at the back, which we thought would make some sweet little matinee jackets. I hope you like them. George says I can always take them back if you don’t. He doesn’t usually allow returns of remnants, but as it’s us …’
‘“George says … George says …” Honestly, you should hear yourself, lass. It’s your opinion I want, Evie, not George Morris’s.’
‘Sorry, Grandma, I didn’t mean to go on.’
‘George is in business, same as we are, love. He’s out to make a profit and he’ll do so even when he gives us a discount. It’s nice that he’s got what you ordered, and there’s no doubt that he’s selling lovely stuff, but he certainly knows how to sell it to you.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure that’s quite fair, Grandma.’ Evie was stung by the implication that she was a soft touch for the draper’s sales patter. ‘I do think you’ll like the remnants. And the other pieces.’
Evie felt that her bubble had been burst with Sue’s strictly no-nonsense attitude this afternoon. And she’d had such a good morning in Kingsford, enjoying the special treatment George meted out to his favourite customer. She admitted to herself that she liked to be seen in her well-cut suit, courtesy of Letty’s mother’s legacy, perching on a stool in front of one of the counters while George ran about the place bringing bolts of fabric to her to view, whereas other customers had to go to find their own unless they asked for something specific. And the tea and biscuits were welcome, too.
‘See you on Sunday?’ asked George as he’d opened the shop door for Evie. ‘I thought we could go for a picnic, as well.’
‘I shan’t want to miss it, then,’ Evie had said. ‘Usual train.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Now Evie busied herself opening the numerous brown-paper-wrapped parcels and spreading the fabrics over the big work table for Sue to examine. Sue felt the woollen prints for quality and, bending close to see properly, examined the patterns.
‘And how much did you say you paid for these?’
Evie produced the receipt and pointed out each item on it.
‘And that’s with the discount?’
‘No, Grandma, George took that off the total at the end – see, here? So we’ve got the remnants at a discount, too. He doesn’t usually do that as they’re reduced to clear already.’
‘I bet he doesn’t,’ said Sue, deadpan.
After a silent minute Evie dared to ask, ‘So what do you think, Grandma?’
Sue drew a long breath. ‘I reckon you’ve done all right, lass, but I think you need to be careful. It’s lovely stuff, but I don’t want George Morris persuading you to buy what’s not suitable. We’re only dressmakers, not fancy designers.’
‘I know that. So you’re saying I’m being too ambitious?’ asked Evie, feeling slapped down.
‘No, but I reckon you might be if you carry on down this road. Always keep in mind what folk want and what they’re prepared to pay. If you aim too high you’ll be up there by yourself with no one to pay for it.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Evie said in a small voice.
‘You know I am,’ said Sue. ‘All I’m saying, love, is don’t carried away with what George Morris has got in his fancy shop, that’s all. We started at the mill shop and on the market, and we did all right there. There’s nowt wrong with giving folk what they want, Evie, and you’ll soon find it’s a hard life telling them what they want and then trying to make them have it.’
Evie bit back her reply. There was no point in arguing with her grandmother.
At that moment the door opened and a young woman with two identical toddlers holding on to her hands struggled her way in. Evie rushed over to help.
‘Hello, I’m Mrs Armitage. I telephoned earlier about pageboy outfits for the boys,’ the woman said.
Sue introduced herself and Evie, and showed Mrs Armitage to a chair. There was a box of toys in the corner, which Josie had suggested would help keep small children quiet while discussions took place, and Evie showed the boys the building bricks and Dinky Toys while Sue found out what Mrs Armitage had in mind.
‘Oh, but this is lovely,’ said the young mother, noticing the fabrics Evie had just bought. ‘This print with the tiny sailboats is exactly right for the little sailor jackets.’
Evie slipped out to make a cup of tea for their customer, and to hide her smile. She just knew those remnants would be useful, and they’d been snapped up before she’d finished unwrapping the parcel. Well, Sue was a canny woman – no doubt about that – but she didn’t know everything.
‘I’m glad I put my coat on,’ said Evie, wrapping her summer coat around her. ‘It’s getting a bit nippy to be sitting out in a deck chair.’
‘I expect that’s what the organisers thought now they’ve brought the season to an end,’ said George. ‘It’s been fun, though. I’ve really enjoyed having you to share it with this summer.’
‘Me, too. I shall miss these lovely afternoons,’ said Evie.
‘Will you?’ George asked, looking intently at her.
Evie frowned in puzzlement. ‘Mmm, I said as much. Shall we take a last walk around the pond now the band’s finished?’
‘Good idea. Though I hope it’s not the last walk.’ George got up and helped Evie out of her deck chair.
‘Well, it will be for this year,’ Evie replied.
‘We could find something else to do instead,’ George suggested.
‘I suppose we could: summat indoors, though,’ Evie added with a shiver at the cold wind.
‘Have a think, my dear, and I will, too,’ he said.
‘Oh, I hope so,’ said Evie. ‘It’s been so lovely having Sundays off – you’ve been so kind.’
George beamed. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Evie.’
He really was a very thoughtful man, thought Evie. She guessed he was probably lonely since his wife had died several years ago. He lived in a flat over the shop, which Evie imagined was very clean and tidy. George Morris was definitely a different sort of man from her father, with his flinging his boots around, and rinsing his hands in the kitchen sink when you were trying to wash vegetables. She couldn’t imagine George ever raising his voice and getting into an argument, or drinking too much. He seemed to inhabit a different planet from Michael, with his drinking and that unforgettable business with Mr Hopkins, and, Evie realised, that planet would be quite an appealing place to live. Peaceful.
Evie said she’d better go to get the train home and George walked with her to the station while they discussed the concert. He waited with her for the train and saw her safely onto it.
‘I shall miss our Sundays,’ smiled Evie. ‘It’s been fun.’
‘It has. I shall miss you, too, Evie.’
‘Oh, I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I shall be in the shop in the next week or two.’
‘I shall look forward to that,’ George said seriously. ‘You certainly brighten a morning behind the counter.’ He took her hand through the carriage window and held on to it. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say you brighten my life.’
Evie was taken aback. She didn’t think she was a part of George’s life – not really. The Sundays out were just nice outings before it was back to the sewing on Mondays, so far as she was concerned.
Before she could think of anything else to reply the train exuded a cloud of steam, the whistle sounded and the wheels started to turn. ‘Bye, then, George.’
But his reply was lost under the increasingly loud chug of the departing train.
&n
bsp; Evie sat back in her seat and tried to think what George could have meant. She knew he had a romantic nature because of his taste for the more sentimental tunes in the band’s Sunday repertoire, whereas she liked the jollier melodies she could tap her foot to.
I’d go so far as to say you brighten my life …
Perhaps he was merely being nice at the end of a lovely afternoon. Then suddenly a big and disturbing thought rushed into her head: George Morris was in love with her.
No, that was ridiculous. He was ten years older than her mother! No, she must be mistaken. Better get that idea straight out of her mind before she said something foolish.
To banish the thought, she began thinking about the parcel her mother had sent that morning, with a bank book for the account that she’d opened for her and a note apologising for not seeing her. Evie had bought a second sewing machine for the workroom so that she and Sue could both work on their seams without delay or the bother of changing threads. There had once been a very frustrating day when both of them had left the wrong colour thread in the bobbin and each had sewn a whole seam, red on one side and blue on the other. Now Sue sat at the treadle machine near the window, the better to catch the daylight, but with her lamp by her side, too, while Evie had set up her new electric machine on one end of the big table. There had been no more mix-ups.
Jeanie had suggested that she didn’t mention the money to her father, and Evie had agreed. Michael took little interest in the sewing business since he’d started work at the shoe factory, and Evie let him assume whatever he wanted about the new sewing machine.
Sue had been a bit snappy of late and Evie guessed that her eyes were worrying her more now that the daylight was fading with the onset of autumn. Sue didn’t complain but Evie noticed she was working more slowly and she herself worried about it, not just on Sue’s account but because the dressmaking business was so busy that she knew she couldn’t manage all the work on her own if Sue couldn’t go on. This thought surfaced sometimes in the small hours of the night, but Evie had confided in no one. To speak it aloud made her worry more, but the burden of not telling her mother and brother was hard. Her grandmother was so precious to her, and she realised just how scared she was.
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