‘I don’t mind that at all,’ he said. ‘I’ll follow your example, eh?’
‘Just us again,’ Mattie gripped Griff’s arm as they watched the plane take off.
‘Yes, another turning point,’ he said. ‘I’m happy as long as I’ve got you.’
‘I just wish we were back on the farm; city life is becoming so – busy.’
‘One day, Mattie, when I retire, we’ll go back to the old country, I promise. We’ve had a good life, in Canada and now here, and I don’t regret it, but I know that you—’
‘Still dream of picking watercress with dear Evie,’ she said simply.
Gracie kept her promise and wrote to them regularly.
I like our new apartment – they call it a flat here. We are on the third floor, and go up in an elevator – they call it a lift. (That is much easier to spell.) Max often works late at the hospital, but Mom and me have, guess what, a television set to watch. Mom makes us popcorn and we pretend we are at the movies. The picture is rather small, but we sit close, because the room is not very big. If the picture isn’t right Mom bangs the top of the set, then it gets better. We got the television so we could see the coronation. It went on all day, so we were quite glad when the Queen got crowned. Mom said it was a moment in history.
We are going to Plough Cottage next weekend. Aunty Evie will be there, too. My cousin Robbie who is old to be a cousin, lives there with his family. Mom says we will pick watercress and think of you.
Write soon, I love you, Gracie xx
P.S. At my new school they are impressed I can write and spell so well – they say I am preco – etc. only I can’t spell that! I was going to look it up, but Mom says I am getting out of going to bed.
‘She is precocious,’ Griff said fondly to Mattie. ‘Not our shy Gracie any more, she’s becoming just like her mom and you!’
‘I shall ignore that,’ Mattie said. ‘I’m going to start a new scrapbook: Letters from a granddaughter in England. I might even make a copy of the letters I send to Gracie, because I don’t suppose she’ll keep my replies. I’ll stick in photographs, just as I did with my prairie book.’
‘Good idea,’ he approved. ‘Though she might be embarrassed when she rereads her letters when she’s grown up!’
‘Mommy Mattie was right, Aunty Evie – you and Mom are like two peas in a pod!’ Gracie told her, soon after they arrived at Plough Cottage.
‘My hair wouldn’t be as dark as Megan’s, I’m afraid, if I didn’t give it a helping hand now and then!’ Evie smiled. Like her sister, she’d kept her trim shape.
‘You dye it, you mean? Mommy Mattie had her hair styled, before Mom and Max got married – at Aunty Sybil’s old shop, only it isn’t hers now, ‘cos she sold it when they went to live in California.’
‘I don’t suppose Mattie is grey like me, she seems to have kept her hair colour.’
‘She says you’re still her best friend, as well as her sister.’
‘You’ve made my day, Gracie, telling me that.’
‘I’ve heard so much about Plough Cottage,’ Megan said. ‘I think I know every corner of it.’
‘Of course, I haven’t lived here myself since just before the war. Fifteen years – it hardly seems possible to me. Dear Robbie and Vi have kept it all in splendid order – it was never wallpapered in my day, just whitewashed! When I retire, I’ve suggested that we divide the house between us. I’d like to be this side, which was once the pub, where the rooms are kept ready for my visits – we could call it 1 and 2 Plough Cottages maybe – but that’s quite a way in the future!’
‘Mum and Dad will be over this afternoon,’ Vi said, pouring welcome cups of tea.
‘Ronnie is Robbie’s father – and Mattie’s and my elder brother,’ Evie told Gracie.
‘I guess I’ll work out eventually who you all are,’ Gracie said, amid laughter. She added: ‘When can we go and pick watercress? I promised Mommy Mattie I would.’
‘It’s a lovely day – what do you say we all go and pick together?’
‘Whatever’s this?’ Griff asked, when they found a small flat object in Gracie’s next letter.
Mattie knew. ‘She’s pressed a sprig of watercress – just as you do flowers! Careful, it’s very fragile. That’ll certainly go in the scrapbook.’
TWENTY-NINE
In November 1960 Griff had the opportunity to retire within three months. Their longed-for trip to England could be possible in the spring. Mattie was advised by her doctor to wait for better weather, not to arrive to cold and damp conditions in the UK.
Megan, Max and Gracie had been back to the States once, two years previously, when they managed only a fleeting visit to Mattie and Griff because they were responding to sad news from Sybil, in California. ‘Please come, your grandfather is dying, and asking for you . . .’ Within six weeks of losing Lloyd, Sybil had a fatal stroke. Griff, as executor of their estate, had to deal with everything. It was a stressful time. A modest legacy had come their way then, but Max and Megan were the main beneficiaries.
‘Please allow us to book your flights,’ Megan wrote. ‘Stay as long as you like!’
Mattie replied, ‘As soon as your father finishes at work . . .’
Gracie hadn’t corresponded with them for several months, and Mattie realised, she’s growing up fast, almost sixteen: I’m not Mommy Mattie any more, but ‘Gran’. I must seem incredibly old to Gracie! At her age I’d left school and was a working girl.
Megan wasn’t going to upset her parents by telling tales. Gracie was becoming rude and rebellious, intent on doing all the things her mother and stepfather would rather she didn’t. She was a bright girl, but she’d skipped school on several occasions recently. Megan had been summoned by the headmistress and told her daughter would be suspended if this continued.
When Megan and Max managed to sit down with Gracie to try to sort out matters, Gracie sat there sullenly, then said: ‘Does he have to be here? He’s not my father. It’s nothing to do with him!’
When Megan opened her mouth to make an angry reply Max put out a restraining hand. ‘I’ve always thought of you as my daughter, Gracie,’ he said evenly. ‘We’ve had a good relationship, haven’t we?’
Gracie turned her head away. ‘I don’t like school, Mom. I don’t want to sit silly old exams. Don’t you know I can leave home when I’m sixteen? If you don’t stop going on at me, I will!’ Then she flounced out of the room.
She was closeted in the bathroom for the next couple of hours. In the morning she appeared with a ‘don’t you dare say anything’ expression. She was wearing her school uniform, but she had dyed her hair jet black.
‘All right, I’ll go to school. I’ll do those stupid O levels, then I’ll get a job – and I’ll choose what I want to do myself!’
When she’d flounced out, Megan sat down again at the kitchen table and cried floods of tears.
‘I must go,’ Max said awkwardly. ‘Teenage hormones – she’ll get over it—’
‘Hormones? I know I was a bit of a monster at that age, but not as bad as that!’
‘Different times.’
‘What are the school going to say about her hair?’
‘Nothing, if they’re sensible. She’ll get fed up with it, if no one appears to notice.’
Max buttoned up his overcoat to go to work. ‘Why don’t you write to Evie and ask her advice – she’s had plenty of experience with adolescent girls, after all.’
‘I will! Max – you don’t regret taking Gracie on, do you?’ Megan’s voice was muffled by the thickness of his coat as she clung to him, ‘I need a hug this morning!’
He obliged. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that. You, me, Gracie, we’re a family. She’s our daughter. There, feel better now?’
‘Oh darling Max, I do!’
Evie’s response was by return of post. She wrote:
What a coincidence! I was about to write to you as Rhoda and I are booked to attend a three-day seminar in London the w
eek after next. Amy Able is now under the umbrella of the local education authority! A good thing in many ways, but it seems we need to become more up to date in some respects.
Noreen has invited us to stay with her, but I had already decided to visit you one evening as it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. I can’t promise to solve your problem, but I’ll certainly have a try! Will ring, love Evie.
There was the weekend to get through first, Megan thought ruefully. After her outburst, Gracie maintained an aloof silence when her parents were around. She didn’t rise from her bed on Saturday until lunch-time, when she spoke three words to her mother. ‘I’m going out.’
‘Come away from the window, she’ll think you’re spying on her,’ Max told Megan.
‘She got into an open-top car – in this weather! Some lout sitting at the wheel, he didn’t open the door for her. Probably hasn’t got a licence – he’s got dyed hair too!’
‘How can you tell?’ Max asked mildly. ‘I gather you didn’t recognise him?’
‘No. He drove off too fast. Didn’t you hear that noise from the exhaust?’
‘Mmm. Relax, Megan. They won’t get far in all the Saturday traffic. Just be thankful she’s not perched on the pillion of a powerful motorbike, eh?’
‘Oh, you! You’re just like Dad with Mom – that soothing voice . . .’
‘Is that so bad?’ he asked.
‘No-o. What d’you mean by “relax”?’ she demanded.
‘I’m open to suggestions,’ he said, with a smile.
She plumped down on his lap, wound her arms round his neck. ‘A kiss?’
‘That’s a promising start,’ he murmured. ‘We’re unlikely to be interrupted . . .’
‘This is deliciously decadent,’ Megan giggled, snuggling up to him in bed. ‘What a way to spend Saturday afternoon at home!’
‘It beats watching horse-racing on TV,’ Max agreed. ‘It’s rather inhibiting, you know, with a glowering teenager playing loud music on a record player in the next room. We’ve made up our minds to live permanently over here, so we ought to think of moving out of London, buying a house while we can afford it. You miss having a garden, I know . . .’
‘We can’t do anything until Gracie leaves school,’ said Megan.
‘Which now looks likely to be soon, eh? You could go back to teaching; that’s if you want to, of course.’
‘I do – but I didn’t like to say! Oh, I’ve enjoyed my voluntary work at the hospital, because I could fit that in round Gracie, but I know every book in that library trolley by now, and as an old patient told me ungratefully the other day, “You can’t make a decent cup of tea, gal!” ’
‘That’s true – but you make an excellent pot of coffee!’
He was distracting her now, lightly caressing her throat and bare shoulders with his fingertips. ‘You haven’t worn your gold chain and pendant since our wedding day.’
‘It didn’t seem right. I – couldn’t bring myself to remove Tommy’s photograph. I thought I’d give it to Gracie on her eighteenth birthday.’
‘You still think of him? You don’t regret . . .’
‘Regret marrying you? Max, it was the best decision of my life!’
‘And mine,’ he said. ‘Well, how about coffee, and cake? I’m getting hungry.’
‘You’ll have to wait! I fancy a bit more relaxing first. Then we’ll have toasted crumpets in bed. Cake makes too many crumbs!’
At just after eight in the evening, the phone shrilled. Max rolled over in bed, reached for the instrument, on his side of the bed. ‘Not the hospital,’ he hoped.
Gracie’s agitated voice almost deafened him. ‘We’re in Richmond – we had a meal at a roadhouse – the car had a flat tyre, and there isn’t a spare – we had to leave it on the roadside, and walk a couple of miles here . . . We – we haven’t got enough money to pay for the meal, but the manageress took us in to her office and said “ring your father and tell him to come and get you . . .” You will come, won’t you? Digby will give you directions . . .’
‘Digby,’ Max said sotto voce to Megan, who had overheard all. ‘The lout has a name!’ He said into the mouthpiece: ‘I’ll have to get dressed first, I may be some while. Why don’t you offer to wash up to cover what you owe? Put Digby on.’
‘Why have you gone to bed this early?’ Gracie demanded.
‘Tell her we’re old and need our sleep,’ Megan put in.
‘Mom? Is that you?’
‘Who else would be in bed with your dad? Where’s Digby? I’ll write down the details while Max gets ready.’
Megan filled a flask with coffee, slipped a bar of chocolate in the bag. ‘Your good deed should hopefully guarantee restored communications! Drive safely. At least you’re not going into a dust storm.’
Gracie and Digby were sitting in the reception area of the roadhouse when Max arrived some two hours later. Max noted that Digby was hardly dressed for the cold weather, in a hand-knitted tank top in lurid stripes over a summer shirt and patched jeans. Gracie at least wore over her jeans and T-shirt what she called a sloppy joe sweater, with sleeves so long, she’d pulled them down over her cold hands. Digby was occupied in gnawing his nails, but managed a grunt: ‘Thanks mate.’ He didn’t appear to be one of the sixth-formers at Gracie’s school, whom Gracie referred to disparagingly as ‘swots’.
The manageress had declined their offer of washing up and presented the bill to Max. ‘They offered me five shillings in coppers between them, but I said, “I expect your dad will pay – they usually do.” ’
It was too dark and too late to inspect the car. ‘Your father can see to that,’ Max said briefly. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Stepney. It’s my uncle’s car.’
‘Are you insured to drive it?’
‘Yes. I drive him around, he’s disqualified. He’s in a band, so am I.’
‘How did you meet my daughter?’
‘She and her mates came to one of our gigs. I play drums.’
‘Aren’t you usually making . . . music . . . on a Saturday night?’
‘I was supposed to be meeting up with the lads later. Too late now . . .’
‘What a pity,’ Max said acidly.
From the back seat Gracie exploded: ‘Oh, leave it, Dad! Please!’
Dad, he thought, she called me Dad. Megan will be pleased.
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
*
Evie came to see them on Tuesday evening. Max was working late, and Megan was busy in the kitchen, making Gracie’s favourite meat-loaf supper. This involved browned steak mince, seasoned well, spread with half a bottle of tomato ketchup (which she still called catsup) topped with mashed potato, sprinkled with cheese, and baked in the oven. She intended to stay out of the way while Evie and Gracie talked.
‘I like your hair,’ Evie said, meaning it. ‘It suits you.’
Gracie was pleased. The dye was not a permanent one, but she’d hastened the recovery process by having her hair cut fashionably short, with a gamine fringe. Her friends said she looked like Audrey Hepburn, when she’d had her hair shorn in Roman Holiday, that was when she didn’t wear her glasses but looked out on a misty world with those huge, dark eyes.
Gracie came straight to the point – she was her mother’s daughter after all. ‘I suppose you know I want to leave school after my exams, and not stay on for the sixth form in the hope of going on to university?’
‘Yes. I’m not here to make you change your mind. But I’d like to see you train properly for whatever job you have in mind. Any ideas?’
‘I want to be an actress. I love reading aloud, performing in school plays. But I don’t know how to go about it. My school doesn’t teach drama as such.’
‘There are stage schools. You might get a scholarship to one in exceptional circumstances, but your parents would probably have to pay for your tuition. Even then, they will only take pupils who have real talent, a
nd determination. You could back up what could be a precarious living with extra training as a drama teacher. Would you like me to find out some facts about possible schools or colleges while I’m in London?’
‘Oh, I would! Thank you, Aunty Evie.’
‘I was helped to fulfil my ambitions by a friend,’ Evie said quietly, ‘My mother thought I should stay at home to care for the family. I hope I am there for them when needed, but I wanted to make my own way in life.’
‘Didn’t you want to get married?’
‘Maybe I thought about it, once or twice, but you know, it’s possible to be happy and single! It has quite a lot to recommend it, in my experience. I’m very fond of my nephews and nieces, which, of course, includes you! I still miss my wonderful sister Mattie. She’s founded quite a dynasty – a female one!’
Megan was banging a spoon on a mixing bowl. ‘Supper’s ready, you two!’
THIRTY
SPRING, 1961
The United States had a brash new young President, John F. Kennedy, known as Jack, warmly endorsed by the outgoing incumbent of the White House, General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Cuban crisis was about to erupt. The Americans were heavily involved in the space race with Russia. Khrushchev was negotiating a peace treaty with East Germany, American troops were fighting in Vietnam, and US Polaris submarines were based in Scotland.
Great Britain, too, had seen political changes over the last few years, but Harold Macmillan was now apparently steady at the helm. National Service was no more. There was unrest in the Colonies: the UK was making overtures to the EEC and inflation was escalating.
We have a new home! (Megan wrote to her parents.) A spacious ground-floor flat in an Edwardian terrace in a quiet situation. No front garden (for potatoes!) but a courtyard at the back. A real sun-trap and not overlooked. I am buying lots of pots to grow all my favourite flowers.
We decided to stay in London because of Max’s work. He is in line for a consultancy, we hope! Also, when Gracie leaves school this summer she will enrol at the polytechnic for theatre studies, just a short bus-ride away!
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