by Judy Leigh
Pat became tongue tied, waved his hands, said, ‘Pint,’ several times, becoming louder and more embarrassed.
Cassie whispered, ‘Just say beer.’
Pat held up five fingers and said, ‘Beer – s’il vous plâit,’ and the barmaid nodded and moved to the pump. Pat’s face glowed with pride.
Cassie was speaking to Mireille while Tommy was staring at his list, trying to work out who had ordered which meal from the menu they had been given, stuttering to Cassie in English. Lil felt a familiar glow of pride as she observed Cassie organising the food in fluent French while Tommy floundered at her side, staring at his list of names and frowning at the menu.
Lil watched Cassie, who was dressed in a colourful patchwork velvet jacket, a long skirt to her ankles and a black top. A black scarf adorned her cloud of white hair. Chunky beads rattled in her ears and bracelets jangled on her wrists as she chatted to Mireille as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Lil was aware of herself, small and unobtrusive in a black dress and jacket, sipping a glass of orange juice. She and Cassie were two of a kind, peas in a pod. Lil was smaller now, less flamboyant, but Cassie hadn’t inherited much from Frankie. Lil wondered if Cassie ever thought about her father. Lil doubted it; Cassie had no need for a father. She assumed he was in the past for Cassie, where he had only existed as a name. Lil sighed. She still thought about Frankie every day. She wondered if he was alive, if one day he’d knock at the door and his dancing eyes would meet hers as he breezed in. ‘Hi, Lily – it’s me. I told you I’d be back.’
Lil was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her arm. Ken pointed to the orange juice. ‘Can I get you another?’
‘Ah, no, I’m fine, Ken.’ Lil glanced at his glass; he was drinking red wine. ‘I’m just watching Cassie order the food.’
‘I was doing exactly the same.’ Ken held a mouthful of wine as if sampling it, then swallowed quietly. ‘She’s very impressive, your daughter. Where did she learn to speak French so well?’
‘Senegal, mostly – she taught there for ten years.’ Lil’s eyes moved to Pat and his friends; they were encouraging him to talk to the young barmaid. Jake was persuading Pat to practise saying, ‘Voulez vous couchez avec moi?’ which he insisted meant, ‘You have lovely eyes,’ and Emily was chiding the boys, putting a protective arm around Pat. DJ was still talking about the ghost of the pirate and how he hoped it would haunt their room: he and Pat and Jake were together on the third floor, next door to Duncan.
Lil noticed Pat’s expression, nervous and flustered, although whether it was due to the ghost or the barmaid, she wasn’t sure. Her gaze moved to Sue and Denise, who were in the corner talking to Maggie, who was fascinated by their conversation about the clothes they’d wear for the tennis club’s autumn ball, which would be in October. Duncan was sitting with his father, asking him loudly if he wanted another pint of beer before they ate; Albert was staring ahead, seemingly deep in thought.
Lil met Ken’s eyes. ‘What have you ordered for tonight? I’ve asked for the beefsteak and chips.’
‘I have ordered the tripes à la mode de Caen, a local speciality, which is cooked in Calvados.’
Lil wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s that?’
‘Tripe in brandy.’
Cassie had finished at the bar and she and Tommy joined Lil and Ken.
‘Ugh, tripe.’ Tommy was disgusted. ‘That’s innards, isn’t it?’
‘An acquired taste,’ Ken admitted. ‘What are you having, Cassie?’
‘A simple quiche with salad.’
‘I have to have chips every day.’ Tommy rubbed his stomach. ‘My metabolism is so fast I have to eat lots of carbohydrates and high-fat foods to keep my strength up.’
‘Me too.’ Lil winked at Cassie, her eyes straying to Tommy’s belly where the shirt stretched.
He held up his glass and added, ‘And beer, to keep me hydrated.’ Lil couldn’t help laughing.
Mireille called something across to Cassie, who raised her voice and called out, ‘Our table’s ready and food is about to be served. We can go through to the restaurant.’
Ken offered Cassie an arm. ‘May I accompany you to dinner?’
Cassie shrugged and took his arm, glancing over her shoulder to check where Lil was. She had been accosted by DJ and Jake, one on each side, both chattering to her at the same time.
Then she returned her gaze to Ken; she hadn’t heard what he was saying. He raised an eyebrow, his tone debonair. ‘I was hoping you could tell me all about your time in Senegal over dinner. Perhaps afterwards we can share a Calvados or two. It’s such a warming liqueur.’
‘It is,’ Cassie agreed. ‘Calvados is an acquired taste and a bit strong for some people but, a couple of years ago, I was at a poetry festival and several of us finished a whole bottle after a performance. I have quite a liking for it now.’
Two hours and a small glass of Calvados later, Cassie was in her room lying on the bed, attempting to write a poem. She had enjoyed her meal and Ken had been very attentive, urging her to talk about her travels in Africa and China, occasionally regaling her with his latest idea for a novel about a man who was a missionary, who fell in love with a beautiful nurse in Africa who died of malaria. Cassie had hoped she hadn’t offended Ken by being too outspoken: she’d remarked that Hemingway had written a similar story and that it was a little outdated for the white middle-class hero to be saving the subordinate female characters. Ken had leaned closer and told her quietly that he valued her opinion as a ‘fellow artiste’.
Cassie had phoned Jamie as soon as she’d reached her room. Lil was still in the bar, talking with the youngsters. In fact, Cassie assumed everyone else was in the bar. Pat hadn’t stopped talking about the barmaid throughout the meal and Jake and DJ hadn’t stopped teasing him. Apparently, the young woman was called Marie-Ange. Emily had been trying to find out if she might be interested in having a drink with Pat, and DJ and Jake had turned it into an excuse to bait him mercilessly.
Back in Salterley, Jamie had seemed well and cheerful; he had listened to Cassie chatter about her experiences on the beach and how she wanted to write a poem in the character of a young soldier on Omaha Beach, but she was anxious that her work was becoming quite melancholy. Jamie had suggested hopefully that perhaps she was missing him and Cassie had agreed. Jamie had been a bit quiet then; he’d mentioned that he’d picked up his acoustic guitar again, more to exercise his fingers rather than through any desire to play. Cassie had wondered if she’d made him feel a little lonely. She had said a warm goodbye and promised she’d ring him again tomorrow.
She went back to the poem, reading the first lines aloud, as a performance.
I thought of you, love,
As the guns rattled
As the boat tipped and the cold waves lapped my feet.
I saw your face for a moment, the trace of a smile…
She pressed her lips together. ‘Do I want to kill him off this early in the poem? Maybe he should be addressing someone in particular, not his lover – perhaps his father? Maybe his lover is too sentimental an idea.’ She sighed. ‘What do I know about fathers? Okay – what about – I thought of you, Mother…?’
There was a soft rap at the door. Cassie looked up. There it was again, a single, gentle knock. Cassie eased herself up from the bed and moved across the room. When she tugged the door open, Ken was standing outside in a fresh shirt and cravat with a hopeful expression, holding up a bottle and two glasses.
‘May I come in?’
Cassie blinked. ‘Ken?’
He showed her the bottle again. It was dark green with a wired cork. ‘Champagne.’ He moved his head a little by way of explanation. ‘It’s a nice one. I thought we might…’
‘Ah.’ Cassie shook her head. ‘That’s really thoughtful, Ken, but I’m working. I’m halfway through a poem…’
Ken waved the bottle yet again. ‘Perhaps this will help to get the creative juices flowing.’
‘Thanks, Ken, but not now.�
�� She pushed the door a little so that she could see less of his face and he could see less of hers. ‘I’m going to finish my work and have an early night. Thanks all the same.’
Cassie could see Ken’s eyebrow rise and the side of his mouth turn up in a hopeful smile through the slice of open doorway. ‘Another time, perhaps?’
‘Perhaps,’ Cassie said softly and closed the door. It shut with a crisp click.
She put a hand to her hair and frowned. Why had she said perhaps when what she’d meant to say was no, not at all? Ken was a pleasant man but she wasn’t keen to be alone with him in her room. She was momentarily cross with herself for not being clear that no would always mean no as far as late-night drinks and Ken were concerned. Then she felt a moment’s regret; perhaps he was just being friendly. Perhaps he was just lonely, reaching out to someone who was by herself and she had misjudged his intentions. That wasn’t fair.
Cassie went back to the poem about the soldier but it wasn’t really working. She screwed the paper into a tight ball and tossed it into the waste bin. She thought for a moment and gave one single cynical laugh. Ken wasn’t her type at all. But, after all these years, despite knowing what sort of man wasn’t her type, she’d never really decided what her type was. It was about compatibility, Cassie decided, and she’d never met anyone who’d been just right, no one who’d truly understood her outspokenness, her creative energy, and valued her for the person she was. Cassie shrugged. She’d have an early night. She wouldn’t give Ken’s appearance at the door another thought.
Lil’s feet trod softly as she walked down the corridor along the second floor and glanced at the rickety stairs leading up to the third, in shadow. It was ten o’clock. She wanted to visit Cassie, to check that she was all right in the room by herself, find out if she’d written her poem.
She gazed again at the dark staircase stretching upstairs. The air had suddenly become cool and it felt much spookier to be alone in the darkness, a single glowing light illuminating the wall along the corridor. Lil’s feet creaked on the wooden floor as she moved softly towards Cassie’s room, the boards making an eerie elongated moan. The shutters rattled at the far window, and the temperature had dropped. Lil shivered inside her dressing gown. Her fingers were stiffening in the cold. Then she stood still, listening hard. She thought she’d heard a sound, a soft moan, coming from the floor above. She took a step forward again. A muffled bang, a soft slapping sound came from upstairs, then a dull rattle. Lil wondered if it was the clink of chains, a cutlass, perhaps.
Then suddenly, a whisper on the wind became a low evil croak, a voice that moaned, ‘Patrick Stott – I’m coming for yoooooooooou.’
Lil glanced up to the third floor as a door banged open and slammed shut; then she saw a shock of shining red hair as a muscular young man in boxer shorts and very little else rushed out of a room and charged towards the stairs. It was Pat, and he was running away from something that had frightened him.
‘Pat?’ she called. ‘Have you seen the pirate?’
As he thudded down the stairs, he noticed her standing in the corridor below; Pat shrieked once, then he stopped still on a wooden step, frozen with fear. He jerked his body upwards, staring down at Lil with round eyes, then he murmured, ‘Oh, Lil. I thought you were a ghost in that dressing gown.’
‘No, it’s just me.’ Lil watched him shivering halfway up the stairs, taking in his muscular frame and the well-fitting boxers. Pat almost smiled, then he became aware of his lack of clothing, and placed his hands strategically. He hesitated as if he didn’t know what to say. ‘I – I was just getting in the shower,’ he explained. ‘The lads played a joke on me…’
Then suddenly there was a loud roar as the third-floor door was flung open again, two white-clad figures leaping out from the shadows, moaning and rushing down the stairs, their heads and bodies covered with sheets, yelling, ‘Arrr, Pat lad!’ DJ and Jake, pretending to be ghosts, grabbed Pat around the neck and all three started to shout and tussle. Lil wondered if they would tumble downstairs, men, sheets, boxers and all. It was just like a comedy show on TV.
Then Pat was running back upstairs, grumbling that they should leave him alone, and Jake was shrieking with amusement and impersonating a pirate again. Pat’s voice was high with shock and irritation, then suddenly there was another voice, gruffer and deeper, from another room, telling the boys to shut up and go back to bed because his poor Dad was trying to get some sleep. Jake was apologising, ‘Sorry Dunc – we were having a joke – we didn’t mean to wake Albert,’ and DJ’s laughter rang out again.
Lil smiled, watching from her vantage point on the second floor. She’d pop to see Cassie quickly, ask about the poems, then she’d go back to her room. Maggie would have the kettle on and they’d share a chat and a complimentary sachet of hot chocolate before turning in for the night. Maggie seemed more cheerful now she was on holiday, and Lil wanted to keep her that way by discussing exciting plans for the next day. She’d check Pat was all right the next morning, buy him a burger for lunch. In fact, she vowed she’d make a special effort to keep an eye on Pat throughout the rest of the holiday, treat him like a grandson. Jake and DJ would go too far left unchecked and she’d noticed Pat’s sensitive side. She would keep him safe.
Lil glanced into the gloom. Suddenly she stopped still. There was a movement, a length of shadow outside one of the rooms down the corridor, definitely a man, leaning forward with something in his hand. She narrowed her eyes and stared into the darkness lit by a single misty yellow lamp. She was sure that the shape was standing outside Cassie’s door. Lil caught her breath. Cassie was alone: she had a single room. The man was outside, waiting: the pirate.
She stared harder and breathed out slowly, rubbing her eyes to make sure. The man was knocking again in a very quiet, conspiratorial way. He had a bottle in his hand, not a sword, and he held two glasses. It wasn’t Jacques the Pirate; it was Ken Harrington.
Lil watched for a moment as Ken waited and she saw the door open. Cassie’s voice came from her room, kindly and soft. Lil sighed and decided that what Cassie got up to was none of her business; she should go back to her own room. She walked down the dark corridor, back to Maggie, back to a cup of hot chocolate. When she gazed back over her shoulder to check, Ken was still there, whispering and waving a bottle.
10
Lil made sure she sat next to Pat at breakfast time the following morning, offering him half of her eggs and toast, telling him how handsome he was, how girls found red-haired men attractive. She was delighted that Maggie, on the other side of her, was chatting enthusiastically to Sue about what a lovely time she was having in France and how fresh the air was in Normandy. Lil felt a warm glow of pleasure that she had dragged her friend away for a break. She imagined Brian calling out from his armchair for Maggie to fry him some eggs in the kitchenette and she pictured his surprise when Maggie didn’t reply. Lil glanced around the table, listening to the different sounds of laughter echoing in her ears: Duncan and Tommy’s hearty guffaw, DJ and Jake’s good-natured back-and-forth banter, Sue’s loud hoot and Ken’s pleasant chuckle.
Ken was currently telling Albert about the place they would visit today, asking him if he knew anything about the World War One cemetery and if he had some second-hand stories about the Great War from his parents. Lil noticed Albert’s hand on his cup as he brought it to his lips and set it down, his grip shaking and his blue eyes watery; he seemed troubled. His lips didn’t move but he leaned closely and nodded as Ken explained that the cemetery they’d visit was one of the most famous and would provide a useful resource for his research: he’d offer the library a talk and slide show when he was back in Salterley.
Lil swept her eyes across the table to Cassie, who was deep in discussion with Emily about French history and, in particular, the battles against the English. Lil listened carefully to the audible shreds of DJ and Jake’s conversation and guessed they were talking about Marie-Ange, the barmaid whom Pat had wanted to impress; it appeared th
at Emily had spoken to the young woman on Pat’s behalf and discovered that she was engaged already. Jake and DJ agreed that it was best not to tell him; Pat would be a great catch for someone but not Marie-Ange.
Lil narrowed her eyes, swerving her gaze back to Ken, and noticed that he was peering at Cassie every few moments as he spoke to Albert, who had hardly touched his breakfast. Ken was talking loudly about his knowledge of the wars, constantly checking to see if Cassie had heard and was impressed; the answer on both counts was negative.
Lil nodded to herself; she liked Ken, but he was unlikely to pass the son-in-law test. She’d never had a son-in-law, but she believed no man would be good enough for her daughter. She wondered, her forehead furrowed with anxiety, if Ken had spent the night with Cassie, if there was a romance blossoming. Perhaps it was already past the early courting stage and they were already lovers. She was determined to find out.
Lil tried to concentrate; Pat was saying something to her about his love of models. Lil assumed he was talking about the barmaid and raised her eyebrows in a question. Pat tried again.
‘I hand-paint them myself. I make them from moulds and use special paint. I have hundreds of them.’ He shrugged thoughtfully. ‘Not enough for the Battle of the Somme, sadly.’
‘Oh, model soldiers. That’s fascinating – it must be very difficult, painting all those little eyes and mouths and the hair…’ Lil reached over and poured Pat some more coffee, then slid her hand across to DJ’s plate, swiping a whole piece of buttered toast while he was chatting with Jake, placing it surreptitiously in front of Pat. ‘Here – he won’t miss a bit of toast. Get it down you – there’s plenty of butter on this slice.’
