by June Francis
‘But that was then and this is now. You must argue your case for leading your own life a bit more,’ said Tilly. ‘Why don’t you suggest to Grant that you take my place and if your mam gets on her high horse and tells you to get out then I’ll help you out of my inheritance.’
‘I can’t take money from you,’ said Wendy firmly, ‘but I will do what you say and speak to Grant about working for him part time.’
Tilly’s face broke into a smile. ‘Good for you. Right now I’m going to change into something plain and start clearing Dad’s place out.’
‘You, look plain?’ Wendy laughed. ‘Never.’
Tilly said, ‘You’re so nice. Now open the flap and let me through.’
Later, when Tilly was packing her father’s clothing and linen ready to be washed or cleaned, it suddenly struck her that with a few feminine touches her father’s quarters could make a suitable place for her to live in while she wrote her novel. It was certainly quiet here at the bottom of the garden. Yet it was near enough to the house if she needed to speak to someone. Of course, Robbie Bennett might not be in favour of the idea; on the other hand, he might agree to rent it to her.
Tilly decided to waste no time asking him and hurried up to the house. She entered the kitchen like a whirlwind, only to stop abruptly when she saw Robbie sitting at the table, nursing a clarinet in his hand.
He glanced up at her and smiled. ‘What do you think, Tilly? It’s Pete’s birthday soon and I thought he deserved a new clarinet after playing so well at the concert.’ He held it out to her.
‘It’s a lovely instrument,’ she said, taking it from him and admiring its shiny newness. ‘I’m sure he’ll love it.’
‘I thought he could come here and practise. I’m going to do my darndest to help him get a career in music,’ said Robbie.
‘Mrs Wright’s not going to like that,’ said Joy.
Robbie shrugged and took out a cigarette case. He lit a cigarette and blew out a couple of smoke rings. ‘I think I can sweeten her up and get her to see things from my point of view. I’m a rich man now and could make her life a whole lot easier.’
Tilly said, ‘I was talking to Wendy before and she was saying how much she’d enjoyed working for Grant Simpson while I was away. I’ve decided to give up my job with him and suggested she carries on working for him in my place. She seems to believe that her mother will be completely against it but has decided she’d like to continue working for him, part time, if he agrees. I suggested Mrs Pain might be willing to take her place but Wendy said her mother wouldn’t want to pay out on wages.’
Robbie’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Tilly through a spiral of cigarette smoke. ‘The trouble with my dear sister is that she had such hard times before I returned to England that she’s terrified of being without again. Thanks for mentioning it to me, Tilly, I’ll deal with it.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Thanks. I’m very fond of Wendy.’
‘So am I. She’s a good girl.’ He paused. ‘Have you finished down at your dad’s place?’
‘Not quite,’ said Tilly. ‘I want to ask you something. May I sit down?’
He waved her to a chair. ‘What can I do to help you?’
She folded her arms on the table and leant towards him. ‘I want to rent Dad’s place. It would be ideal for me to do my writing there. It’s quiet and I’d be undisturbed by people passing to and fro. What do you think?’
Robbie did not answer her immediately and for a moment Tilly thought he would turn her down. Instead, he said, ‘I’ve got an idea. What do you say to your putting in a few hours a week keeping the garden tidy in lieu of rent. I know you used to help Mal occasionally and Joy told me that you looked after the garden for your sister when you lived in Chester.’
Tilly got up from her chair and went to give him a hug. ‘That’s really generous of you. Thanks. I’ll need a break from writing occasionally and looking after the garden will suit me down to the ground.’
‘And if it gets really cold in winter, you can move into the house,’ said Robbie. ‘Your dad was a tough nut, but you could have one of the spare bedrooms.’
‘That’s really good of you,’ said Tilly, touched by his thoughtfulness.
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m sure Eudora would approve,’ said Robbie. His expression suddenly altered. ‘The pair of you might think I’m mad but sometimes I feel as if she’s at my elbow, advising me what to do when I’m unsure which way to go…’
‘And why shouldn’t she be?’ asked Joy. ‘Her spirit will be really strong.’
Robbie looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t argue that Eudora had a strong personality but if you dare to suggest, Joy, that we should try and get in touch with her via the spirits, forget it!’ He took a deep lungful of cigarette smoke. ‘I’m content just imagining she’s there and remembering just how much she had to say was down to pure common sense.’
Joy said, ‘OK. You’re the boss. Right now I’m thinking that Tilly will need some help moving her things from the shop so she’s going to need a man and a handcart.’
Robbie nodded. ‘I’ll arrange it. I’ll even come back to the shop with you, Tilly. No time like the present if you’d like to move in today. I’ll use the opportunity to talk over a few things with our Rita.’
‘That would be really helpful,’ said Tilly, pleased that everything had been settled so quickly.
Robbie stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and stood up. ‘I’ll go and phone now about hiring a handcart. We’ll only need it for a couple of hours at the most.’
Whilst he telephoned, Tilly explained to Joy about her father’s clothes and bedding. ‘You don’t have to take them to the laundry. I can fill the boiler now and, as long as the weather stays dry, I’ll have them on the clothes line in no time,’ said Joy.
Tilly thanked her and now that that task was dealt with, she only had to wait for Robbie to finish his telephone call and they could go to the shop together.
* * *
‘So you’re leaving us as quickly as I thought you would once I heard you’d come into money,’ said Rita, pouring boiling water into the teapot. ‘Although, I must admit I thought you’d be going back to Chester, not staying in your father’s old place.’
‘It’s perfect for my needs,’ said Tilly.
‘Humph!’ The older woman pursed her lips. ‘D’you really think people will want to buy your book once you’ve written it?’
‘Why shouldn’t they?’ said Tilly stoutly, despite a sudden sinking feeling. Perhaps she was deluding herself, believing she had some talent.
‘These are hard times. People haven’t the money to spend on non-essentials,’ said Rita.
Robbie shook his head at her. ‘Don’t put the girl off. I’ve found that when times are tough people need taking out of themselves. Let her have a go and if it doesn’t work – although I don’t see why it shouldn’t as she’s proved she can write by having short stories published – then she can do something else.’
‘Thanks, Mr Bennett, you make me feel a whole lot better,’ said Tilly, her spirits lifting again. ‘Mrs Wright isn’t the first person to think I’m wasting my time but I’m determined to prove that I can do it. Right, now I’ll go up and start packing my things, if you don’t mind.’
‘You do that, Tilly,’ he said. ‘I need a few private words with my sister.’
‘Well, if you’re going up. Take your cup of tea with you,’ said Rita, pouring it out and thrusting the steaming cup at her. ‘And you’ll still have to pay me to the end of the month.’
‘I will,’ said Tilly, steadying the cup on the saucer. ‘As soon as I get my inheritance.’
‘And when will that be?’ asked Rita.
But Tilly had gone, leaving Robbie to talk to his sister about his plans for Pete and giving her a good reason as to why Wendy should be allowed to spread her wings a bit and work regularly for Grant Simpson.
As Tilly packed her clothes and books, she wondered what her father would think if he knew that she
was moving into his place and doing his job. As she packed the sheaf of notes she had made for the plot of her novel and the first few chapters she had written, she prayed that no more dead bodies would turn up. Of course, that was extremely unlikely, seeing as how the police had done a fair amount of digging in their search for clues. She picked up the magazine that Eudora had given to her and opened it at the article with Don and the blonde’s picture. She gazed at them for a moment and then placed it with her notes; the letters and the photographs he had sent her, though, she placed in her handbag, planning on rereading Don’s old letters.
She stripped the bed and folded the bedding and then carried it downstairs. She had to make several trips and made sure not to forget the potted geranium that her father had given her and her rag doll. A lump filled her throat and she wiped away a tear as she took a final look around the bedroom that had been hers for the last fifteen months; then she went downstairs.
She found Robbie talking to Wendy in a low voice in the kitchen. From the expression on her face, Tilly presumed that she was pleased by what he was saying. She left them and went outside the shop to see if there was any sign of the man with the handcart. There wasn’t but she decided to wait outside and watch out for him, thinking that she was going to have to write letters of resignation to both Grant and the Friends of the Seamen’s Widows and Children’s charity that evening.
The man was ten minutes late but as he helped pile Tilly’s possessions into the cart, Wendy, Mrs Wright and Robbie came out of the shop.
‘I suppose we’ll still be seeing something of you,’ said Rita Wright.
‘I suppose you will,’ said Tilly dryly. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done for me. I do appreciate it. I’ll see you get what I owe you.’
The older woman nodded. ‘I should think so, too.’
‘Bye, Tilly, see you soon,’ said Wendy, giving her a hug and whispering in her ear, ‘Thanks for everything.’
‘And you.’ Tilly blinked back tears. What on earth was there for her to cry about? A chapter in her life was coming to an end and she was moving on to do what she really wanted. Even so, she felt more upset about leaving the Wright family’s home than she would have believed. No doubt she would soon get over it because she would need to put all her emotions into her book.
When they reached the house, Tilly led the man round the back and he helped her to unload the cart. He was careful to avoid the washing on the line. It gave her an odd feeling to see her father’s clothes blowing in the breeze. As she paid the man she became aware that they were being watched. She waited until he had gone before going over to the wall and speaking to the woman, who was definitely getting bolder because she did not vanish out of sight as she was wont to do.
‘What are you doing in the little house at the bottom?’ asked the woman.
‘I’m moving in,’ said Tilly, smiling up at her. ‘I’m going to write a book and look after Mr Bennett’s garden for him.’
‘What kind of book?’
‘I don’t know if I can put a label on it yet,’ said Tilly, thoughtfully. ‘But I hope it’ll be exciting and keep readers turning the pages.’
‘I like stories set in far lands and I like a love story weaved in there somewhere,’ said the woman. ‘My cousin and his wife left lots of books but most of them are too heavy. I liked those that belonged to his sister, Lily, but she ran away years ago and he cut her off when she got into trouble. I saw her, though, not so long ago.’ The woman frowned. ‘My, she had changed and had a foul mouth. There was another sister and she went to America and married and had a son, but both are dead now.’
She had no sooner stopped speaking than her eyes sharpened and she said, ‘I must go now. He’ll be cross if he knew I was talking to you.’ She vanished out of sight.
Tilly could hear Fang barking and presumed Leonard had arrived home. She wondered what he would think when he knew that she’d moved in next door. One thing was for certain, his cousin had given her pause for thought.
Tilly walked back to her new home and made up the bed and put everything away. Her desk had been placed in front of the window overlooking the garden. She propped the photograph of herself and Don and her niece and nephews against her pencil holder on her desk. She gazed at it for several moments, wishing and hoping, before sitting down. Then she wrote three letters and in one of them she enquired after the Doyle children, thinking she must go and see them as soon as possible. Then she stuck stamps on the envelopes and went to the post box. She knew that she would need to watch her money until she saw the solicitor but hopefully it would not be long before he replied to her letter.
* * *
‘Done much writing yet?’ asked Joy, a few days later when Tilly dropped by at the house.
‘Yes.’ Tilly thought about the scene she had sketched out to do with the murder of an American soldier. She had clipped it to her notes, not sure yet whether she could work it into her novel. She was even considering having a flaxen haired American detective involved in solving the mystery. She did not doubt that having Don’s lively eyes seemingly gazing into hers daily had something to do with it.
‘There’s a letter for you,’ said Joy. ‘I’ll get it.’
For a moment Tilly wondered if it was from Don but decided that was highly unlikely; even so, she asked if there was an American stamp on the envelope.
‘No,’ said Joy, wiping her hands on her pinny. She went into the hall and returned with a long narrow envelope. ‘It looks official,’ she said, handing it to Tilly.
She opened it, read the letter enclosed and glanced up at Joy. ‘It’s from the solicitor. He’s asked me to see him on Friday. Is that OK with you?’
Joy nodded. ‘I’ll check with Mr Bennett but it should be fine.’
Tilly was glad about that and looked forward to getting the meeting over with.
The next couple of days passed swiftly and on Friday, she and Joy went into town and had the meeting with the solicitor. Everything went smoothly and he said he would arrange matters as she wished and get in touch with her sister about buying her shares when everything was sorted out. He offered to forward her some money to be going on with, which Tilly was relieved about.
Tilly and Joy parted at the tram stop in Dale Street as Joy wanted to buy some clothes, while Tilly was in a rush to get back and get on with her novel. It was another hot day but clouds had started to gather in the sky; she reckoned that the weather would break soon and there would be an almighty downpour. Suddenly she noticed Leonard with the dog and was tempted to pretend she had not seen him and to hurry into the house. Almost instantly, she realised it was too late for her to do that because he had spotted her and was striding towards her with Fang loping beside him.
He stopped a couple of feet away from her. ‘What’s this I hear about you living in the outhouse at the bottom of the garden?’ he demanded without preamble.
The tone of his voice caused her to stiffen. ‘It’s true. I’m writing my novel.’
‘But why there? I mean, it was the gardener’s hut.’
‘Why not? After all, he was my father and I feel close to him there.’
Leonard looked shocked. ‘What the hell do you mean he was your father?’
‘I mean he was my father,’ said Tilly emphatically. ‘Mr Bennett said I could live there rent free and in exchange I’ll keep the garden tidy and have peace and quiet to get on with my writing.’
‘I can’t believe it! That crazy old man who found the body was your father?’
Tilly’s eyes flashed. ‘He wasn’t crazy. He had been mentally ill due to having worked with lead but he was much better.’
Leonard continued to stare at her for several moments and then he turned away, muttering to the dog and dragging it towards his house.
Tilly felt a tightness in her throat and swallowed. Then she pushed open the gate and walked round the back of the house and down the garden. If she had not accepted earlier what Eudora had said about Leonard not being the right man for h
er, she certainly did now.
Tilly said much the same to Joy when she came down to the outhouse later with a plate of sliced boiled bacon, potatoes and cabbage. ‘I thought you might have forgotten to eat,’ she said. Tilly thanked her and waved her to a chair and told her about her encounter with Leonard. ‘Mrs Bennett knew what she was talking about,’ said Joy. ‘She could read people in a way I never could. Best never to get married than marry the wrong man,’ she added. ‘By the way, I’ve booked a cruise for late spring for me, Mother and Mr Bennett.’
Tilly stared at her. ‘Mr Bennett? Does he know about this?’
‘Yes, I know it might seem odd the three of us going together but when I told him about my plan to take Mother away on holiday, he asked if he could tag along. He seems to think it will be just the medicine to cheer him up after the winter and his first Christmas without Mrs Bennett.’
‘He’s probably right,’ said Tilly, a small smile playing round her mouth.
Joy flushed. ‘He’s almost the same age as Mother, you know. Although, the way she is, I find it hard to believe. He seems so much younger. Mrs Bennett used to say that it was an attitude of mind and a healthy body. Mr Bennett hasn’t had to cope with much suffering in his life and maybe it’s that which makes him optimistic about life. Just remember, Tilly, that too much misery gets people down, so I hope your novel is going to have a happy ending.’
Tilly said hastily, ‘I like happy endings, too.’
‘Good,’ said Joy, ‘then I’ll buy it.’ She got up. ‘I’ll leave you alone now to get on.’
After she had gone, Tilly thought about what Don had written to her in one of his letters about writing her novel. You’ve got to give your characters obstacles to overcome but make sure they darn well overcome them by the end and they’ve developed as a person along the way. She wondered if he had received Seb’s letter about the button yet and what he had to say about the blonde in the photograph.
