Memories Are Made of This

by June Francis

  ‘What about the one who was hit with the bicycle chain, have you given up all hope of seeing him again?’

  She shrugged and, getting to her feet, said, ‘Not completely. Is there anything else I can do for you, Dad?’

  ‘No, Jeannie. I’ll just sit here for a while and rest.’

  ‘OK. I’ll leave you in peace. I’ve a library book I want to finish.’

  To Jeanette’s annoyance, when she reached her bedroom she found Ethel sitting on her bed reading Prisons and Prisoners. ‘What are you doing, Aunt Ethel? I hope you haven’t lost my place.’

  Ethel looked up at her with an odd expression on her wrinkled face. ‘Lady Constance says we were kind to her. Must have gone wrong there.’ She dropped the book on the bed. ‘If you were looking for a mention of your maternal grandmother, then don’t bother. I do believe Lavinia Crawshaw must have asked for her name to be kept out of it. She caught religion, no doubt because she wanted forgiveness for her sins after her father died of a stroke when she was imprisoned for a fourth time.’

  Jeanette sat down on the other side of the bed to the old woman. ‘How is it you’re talking so freely about this to me now?’

  Ethel smiled grimly. ‘You mentioned suffragettes, so I reckoned you already knew something. Did your mother ever say anything to you about her being adopted?’

  ‘Of course not! I was only a little girl when she vanished, if you remember. You’re not going to be able to prove anything, so there’s no way you’re going to make money out of me.’ Jeanette picked up her library book and flicked over the pages until she reached where she had marked her place.

  Ethel fixed her great-niece with a baleful glare. ‘You always have to think the worst of me. It’s you I want the money for.’

  ‘Thousands might believe you, Aunt Ethel, but I don’t. You’ve never liked me and now because of the death of a woman I’ve never heard of until recently, you’re saying you want to help me claim an inheritance. Well, I’m not going to play ball, even if you come up with a way of proving the whole thing. And, as my mother is missing, I don’t see how you can do that.’

  ‘She left a note.’

  For a moment Jeanette thought she had not heard right. ‘What did you say?’

  Ethel chomped on her lower lip. ‘Grace left a note.’

  Jeanette felt a surge of anger. ‘I don’t believe you. You’d have never kept it secret from Dad and me.’

  ‘Why not? I could have just wanted to keep you guessing.’

  ‘You called her a whore and said that she had run off with a man! A note would have proved you were right. I think you’re going doolally in your old age and making this up.’

  Ethel flushed. ‘Believe what you like, but it’s true. I destroyed the note. I didn’t want George hurt.’

  ‘That remark doesn’t hold water. If you didn’t want him hurt you’d have never spoken of your suspicions that she’d run off with someone else.’

  ‘Your mother’s alive. I just feel it in my bones. She left a note and I destroyed it.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  Ethel smirked and folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’re starting to have your doubts, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ said Jeanette fiercely. ‘You’ve never given me reason to trust you to tell the truth about my mother.’

  Ethel poked Jeanette in the chest. ‘I’ve helped rear you, haven’t I? You haven’t turned out too bad, although you have far too much to say for yourself. George is too soft with you.’

  Jeanette drew back. ‘Don’t poke me! One day I’ll retaliate and forget you’re an old woman and you’ll be sorry!’

  Ethel’s expression turned ugly. ‘Who d’you think you are to threaten me? Your mother was just the same.’

  ‘I heard you used to row. Was that why she walked out – because she couldn’t put up with you any more?’

  Ethel did not answer immediately, but she was obviously struggling with her emotions from the way she was biting her lips and clenching her hands. ‘She threatened me, told me to get out!’

  Jeanette’s eyes narrowed. ‘So what did you do? Follow her and bash her over the head then hide her body where nobody would think of looking for it?’

  Ethel flinched. ‘You think you’re so clever! Well, let me tell you this, girl. She didn’t care a bugger about you.’

  ‘You’d like me to believe that, but I don’t because Hester and Sam don’t.’

  ‘You’ll never know the truth unless you find her, so why don’t you get looking for her?’

  ‘Just to please you, you old witch! You can get lost,’ said Jeanette, her green eyes glinting with anger as she walked out of the room.

  Ethel shambled after her and, as Jeanette reached the top of the stairs, seized her by the hair. ‘Don’t you call me an old witch! You come back here,’ she snarled.

  ‘Will you let go of my hair!’ cried Jeanette, fearing that if she struggled too much, they’d topple down the stairs.

  There was the sound of heavy footsteps below and the next moment George shouted, ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing, Ethel? You just let her go!’ He started up the stairs.

  Jeanette felt Ethel’s grip tighten. The pain was excruciating and, reaching up, she attempted to prise her great-aunt’s fingers from her hair. They swayed backwards and forwards and for a moment Jeanette thought they were both going to fall down the stairs, but then she became aware of her father acting as a bulwark a couple of steps below. He reached over her and seconds later the pain lessened in her scalp and she was free.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she gasped.

  George eased her past him and told her to go downstairs and put some coal on the fire. She hurried to the foot of the stairs and then turned and looked up to see what was happening.

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again to her!’ roared George, gripping Ethel’s arm. ‘It’s not in the rule book and you could have both been killed, you stupid old cow!’

  ‘But . . . but she gave me cheek,’ protested Ethel, shrinking back from him.

  ‘I bet you provoked her! Why can’t you accept that you can’t always have your own way in this house. Any more of this behaviour and you’re out.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Ethel, blinking rapidly. ‘I’m . . . I’m an old woman and where would I go?’

  ‘The old people’s home on Belmont Road,’ said George.

  Ethel drew in her breath with a hiss and Jeanette waited for the explosion of words. She was as shocked and surprised as her great-aunt by her father’s threat and yet, at the same time, she was elated. ‘This family have never appreciated all I’ve done for it,’ shrieked Ethel.

  ‘That works two ways,’ snapped George. ‘It’s time you showed some gratitude for what you have here. Now why don’t you go and rest on your bed? It hasn’t done you any good attending that funeral.’

  She sniffed. ‘Perhaps I will go and rest, but it’s cold up there.’ She glanced down the stairs and saw Jeanette standing there. ‘Jeannie, you fill me a hot-water bottle. I think I’ve caught a chill standing at your grandmother’s graveside.’

  Jeannie bit back a swear word. ‘You don’t give up, do you? I’ll fill you a hotty because I want you to stay up there. But you can blinking forget about my being Lavinia Crawshaw’s granddaughter because you’re never going to be able to prove it!’ She hurried into the kitchen and put on the kettle. She couldn’t wait to tell Hester about all that had happened since she had arrived home that evening. She would be as thrilled as she was that the worm had turned at last and their dad had told the old witch just where to get off. Could be that bang on the head had affected him. She only hoped that he wouldn’t have any more damaging side effects.

  Fifteen

  As Hester pedalled along Breck Road and turned at the church on the corner, she was thinking back to Sunday evening when Ally had seen her home. She wondered when she would hear from him again and wished that Wendy had not had to finish work after she married. She would have to arrange with her to mee
t up in a fortnight or so in order to catch up on each other’s news. No doubt Wendy would have something to say about Ally, but she was bound to mention Cedric and ask whether Hester had seen him since the wedding.

  She hadn’t done so, but whilst she was out earlier that day, he had left a telephone message for her, suggesting that they meet on Tuesday outside the Forum cinema at seven thirty. Her first instinct had been to return his call straightaway and tell him that she couldn’t make it due to work commitments, but she had been unable to use the telephone. Even if it had not slipped her mind later she would not have had time to try again. Besides, she was more interested in a poster on the notice board advertising a weekend conference on the ‘Psychology of the Murderer’. Apparently there were still a few places available and one of the speakers was her favourite crime writer; the venue was also in the Clitheroe area, not far from where she had been evacuated, and what clinched it for her was the opportunity to arrange to visit Myra whilst she was up there.

  The front lamp on her bicycle lit up the gate post and she slowed to a halt. As she wheeled the bicycle up the path, she caught sight of someone silhouetted in the parlour window. From the shape of the outline she guessed it was Jeanette. A few moments later her supposition was proved right as her half-sister opened the front door.

  ‘You’re home at last,’ whispered Jeanette. ‘I’ve been waiting ages for you to come in.’

  Hester’s sharp ears caught the note of suppressed excitement in her voice. ‘What’s up?’ she asked, accepting Jeanette’s help to lift her bicycle over the step and into the lobby.

  ‘First, Dad was hit on the head during a demonstration but he didn’t go to the hospital. There’s no need for you to worry,’ she added hastily, hearing the sound of Hester’s breath catching in her throat. ‘He’s OK. Better than OK, actually, because he threatened Aunt Ethel with banishment to the old people’s home in Belmont Road if she didn’t behave herself. He’s gone to bed and is sleeping.’

  A weary Hester said, ‘Well, that’s good to hear, but does he mean it? What did she do?’

  ‘She only nearly killed me.’

  Hester’s gloved hands slipped on the handlebars. ‘What did she do?’ she repeated, aghast.

  Jeanette grabbed the bicycle and leaned it against the wall. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll tell you.’

  ‘You’re OK, obviously,’ said Hester, accepting a helping hand to shrug out of her greatcoat. She tossed her hat on the hook above and headed for the kitchen. ‘I take it there’s no supper?’

  ‘I thought you’d have eaten in the canteen. D’you know what time it is?’

  Hester yawned and sat down. ‘It seems ages ago since then and I’ve cycled home and worked up an appetite.’

  ‘Then I’ll boil you an egg,’ said Jeanette, taking one from the bowl on the windowsill. ‘The old witch nearly scalped me bald, as well as pushing me down the stairs. Fortunately Dad came thundering to the rescue.’

  Hester expressed her horror and said, ‘She’s losing her marbles. I’ve been called in on a few domestics, and what you’ve told me is as bad as any between a married couple.’

  ‘Thank God I’m not married to her,’ said Jeanette, grinning. ‘But I’ve more to tell you.’

  Over supper, Jeanette told Hester what she had found out about Lavinia Crawshaw as well as everything else that had happened that evening. Hester stared at her with growing incredulity. ‘She has definitely flipped her lid if you ask me.’

  Oddly, Jeanette felt a vague disappointment. ‘You don’t think there could be any truth in it?’

  Hester spluttered as she took a mouthful of cocoa and had to pause to mop up the mess before saying, ‘You can’t believe her! I mean . . . wait a mo, what is it precisely you’re asking? About your mother leaving a note or whether she’s the illegitimate daughter of Lavinia Crawshaw?’

  Jeanette said slightly dreamily, ‘There’s something to be said for being the granddaughter of one of the suffragettes. She must have had guts to be prepared to go to prison for her beliefs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t deny it, but she must also have been one of those suffragettes who resorted to violence to be put in prison four times. Anyway, setting that aside, the conclusion you have already reached is that a pair of green eyes doesn’t constitute proof.’

  Jeanette blinked and sighed. ‘OK. So the note . . . do you believe Mam left one?’

  ‘No.’ Hester sipped her cocoa. ‘Now let’s forget all this and just hope Dad will have no further ill effects from that clout on the head. It’s time you were in bed. Are you working in the morning?’

  Jeanette nodded and rose to her feet. ‘Any news of Cedric?’

  Hester stood up. ‘He telephoned the station and left a message.’

  ‘Did he want you to meet him?’

  ‘On Tuesday outside the Forum,’ said Hester. ‘I was going to telephone and say I couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Oh! Has this anything to do with the soldier you met at the wedding?’

  ‘You could say he has something to do with it, although he’s gone back to his unit and I’m not sure when I’ll see him. We had planned to meet again.’

  ‘So what are you going to do? Just not turn up at the meeting place? I’m sure Cedric will get the message.’

  ‘That would be bad manners,’ murmured Hester. ‘Maybe I’ll meet him this one last time and tell him it’s over.’

  ‘He’ll want to know why,’ said Jeanette. ‘Are you going to tell him the truth?’

  Hester shrugged. ‘I’ll play it by ear.’

  Jeanette hoped that all would go well with the new bloke, and then put Hester’s affairs out of her mind, thinking instead whether she should do anything more to discover what had happened to her mother. Should she put a notice in the Echo? Maybe it would be best to wait. Having made that decision she went to bed.

  ‘Those sticky buns look nice,’ said a familiar voice.

  Jeanette turned back to the counter and stared at Maggie. ‘Hello! You on your own?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ said Maggie, shrugging slender shoulders clad in a woollen check coat with a fur collar.

  Jeanette looked behind the other girl to the jukebox and was pleased to see Irene with a black-haired youth. ‘I see Irene’s here. Who’s the lad she’s with?’

  ‘Tonio Gianelli. They’ve known each other since they were in nursery together. His stepmother organized one in her house during the war and for a while after.’

  ‘I’ve heard of his stepmother! She’s the sister of a priest I know.’

  ‘Father Callaghan!’ Maggie nodded her head sagely. ‘Tonio was actually born in Italy but his father’s half-English. Tonio has a gorgeous voice and plays the guitar. His stepmother plays the piano and his father sings. They’re a real musical family and attend the opera at Verona when they go over to Italy. She has a much younger half-brother living there. My cousin Betty will be visiting them when she studies art next year.’

  ‘How lovely! No twins meeting you here today?’

  ‘They’re both busy.’ Maggie rested her elbows on the counter.

  ‘So what can I get you?’ asked Jeanette, knowing that Peggy was going to be disappointed.

  ‘I’ll have three buns, two coffees and one tea,’ said Maggie.

  ‘You’re not watching your weight today then?’ asked Jeanette.

  Maggie froze. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So you’re not saying I’ve put on weight?’

  ‘No! You’ve got a good figure. You have nothing to worry about. Go and sit down and I’ll bring your order over.’

  Maggie did not budge, but watched Jeanette as she executed the order. ‘You’ve met our Betty, haven’t you?’

  Jeanette nodded.

  ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘OK!’ Jeanette’s face lit up. ‘I’ve found out something that you could pass on to her if you would.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My half
-sister, Hester Walker, remembers her half-sister, Emma, from when she was evacuated to Whalley during the war.’

  Maggie stared at her. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘No. Hester attended the same school as her whilst she was living with a couple called Jones. I think the woman was called Myra.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’ Maggie turned away and went over to a table by the window. Jeanette watched a moment, aware with half her mind of the jukebox playing Rosemary Clooney singing ‘This Ole House’ as Irene and Tonio joined Maggie.

  Immediately Maggie began to talk to Tonio whilst Irene gazed out of the window with a moody expression on her face. When Jeanette went over with their order, she asked after Jimmy.

  A fleeting smile crossed Irene’s face. ‘He’s OK, just been making me feel a bit of a heel. Mam wants us all to go to her brother’s house for Christmas this year, but Betty has asked me to a party at her flat on Christmas night. Mam hasn’t been well lately and he thinks I should do what she wants and go with them. I’m really torn. He knows that Betty will probably be in Italy next Christmas, so this one is special.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose it’ll all sort itself out.’

  ‘Can’t you do both?’

  ‘No, if we visit my uncle’s it’ll mean driving there and staying overnight. Anyway, what are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Nothing special that I know of,’ replied Jeanette. ‘Like millions of other women I’ll be helping get dinner on the table.’ She placed the bill on a saucer on the Formica table top and walked away, wishing her life was a bit more exciting.

  She was glad when the afternoon came to an end and wasted no time in pocketing her wages, putting on her outdoor clothes and leaving the milk bar. There was a sharp wind blowing as she turned the corner into Renshaw Street and hurried down to Quiggins, hoping she would find Peggy’s brother, Marty, in the shop.

  She pushed open the door and immediately recognized him, despite his having his back to her. He was of stocky build and had a shock of blond hair that was styled in the fashionable Tony Curtis cut. She cleared her throat and he turned to face her.