A Distant Dream (13 page)

‘Maybe I shouldn’t mention my illness to them,’ she suggested heatedly. ‘After all, I am only looking for a job as a shop assistant, not the position of managing director.’

He shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly.

‘But I would feel dishonest if I didn’t say anything about it,’ she continued, trying not to be destroyed by his attitude. ‘Anyway, illness is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Indeed not,’ he confirmed in an even tone. ‘But as I have said, there is nothing I can do about it.’

‘What do you suggest I do, then?’

‘Keep trying, I suppose,’ he advised her.

‘That isn’t very helpful.’

‘Look, I can’t change the way things are,’ he said, his temper rising. ‘I just work here. I don’t make the rules.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Anyway, as I have said, we have nothing suitable for you at the moment, and there are a lot of people waiting to see me. So if you don’t mind . . .’

Angry and disheartened, she left. As she walked home in the cold and bright February weather, she became calmer, noticing some early signs of spring in green shoots in the front gardens and grass verges. She reminded herself that she had much to be grateful for. She had come through a terrible ordeal and was now healthy. That was worth everything and a lot more than many consumption victims had to look forward to. Because of her illness she had grown as a person, she was certain of that. She took nothing for granted now and appreciated her parents’ support more than ever.

She also had a job she enjoyed, working with her mother. Yes, she did still have a point to make for herself and others like her, and she would make it in any way she could in the course of her daily life, because there were plenty of misinformed people about wherever you were. Hopefully one day she would win on the question of prejudice in the workplace, but in the meantime she had other plans. She quickened her step, eager to get back to the Pavilion.

There was a queue in the shop when she arrived, so she slipped behind the counter beside her mother to help speed things up.

‘You can stop worrying about working with a stranger, because you won’t have to,’ she said to Flo when things had quietened down. ‘I’m staying here on a permanent basis.’

Her mother’s smile warmed May’s heart and she knew that she had made the right decision.

‘Oh May, I’m so pleased.’

‘Me too, Mum,’ she said. ‘Me too.’

One of the benefits of having been seriously ill was the enhanced appreciation of everything when you were better. Senses were sharper; emotions stronger. Food had more flavour, the first smell of spring was so intense it brought tears to May’s eyes and the freedom to walk among people was something she would value for the rest of her life.

The love of fresh air she had inherited from the treatment had stayed with her, and she got her bike out of the shed and began to ride it again, reminded of how much she had enjoyed it in the past. Of course, her former cycling companion George was no longer available; visiting her when she was ill was one thing, a cycle ride when she was better quite another for a married man, and Betty would have every right to be peeved. But she was happy to go alone and even went as far as Runnymede one Sunday afternoon and had a picnic by the river. The March weather was still quite chilly, but she wrapped up well and enjoyed herself.

A new pleasure for May was baby Joe, who was now a year old, the image of his father and the cutest little boy May had ever seen. She’d fallen for him as soon as she’d set eyes on him last year after she and Betty had got together again. Most Wednesday afternoons, when the Pavilion was closed, she spent time with Betty and Joe. Sometimes they went to the park, other times they stayed at home, depending on the weather and usually at the Stubbses’ as a change of scene for Betty, who still often felt confined by motherhood. But wherever they were, May always spent most of her time amusing Joe.

‘I didn’t know you were so good with children,’ Betty remarked one day.

‘Neither did I till this little sweetie came into my life,’ May told her. ‘And he really is special.’

‘You’re marvellous with him.’

‘Glad you’re pleased.’

‘We’ve decided on the Easter weekend for the christening, by the way,’ Betty mentioned.

‘That will be nice.’

‘As his godmother, you’ll be a sort of a relation to him,’ Betty pointed out.

‘I suppose I will in a way,’ said May happily. ‘And I just can’t wait.’

One day in March, people coming to the Pavilion for their daily newspaper were shocked by the headlines, and the café resounded with voices discussing the news that Hitler and his army had marched into Prague.

‘What a shocking thing,’ said someone.

‘Hitler wants stopping,’ said another.

‘He won’t give up without a fight.’

‘And that really will mean war.’

‘Surely it won’t come to that,’ said one hopeful. ‘The government won’t let it go that far.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ said May, moving through the tables with a tray to clear some crockery.

‘I dunno,’ said one doom-monger. ‘They let it happen in nineteen fourteen.’

‘The war to end all wars, they said.’

‘They didn’t reckon with Hitler when they said that.’

‘That’s true.’

‘There’s nothing us ordinary people can do about it and that’s for sure.’

Having had so much to cope with in her own life, May hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the possibility of war. But things did seem to be getting serious now, which was rather frightening. As the idea of their country at war was so unimaginable, she dismissed it from her mind and concentrated on what she should get as a christening present for Joe. Definitely something that could be kept for him for later on, and probably something silver.

Standing at the font, struggling to hold a wriggling, snivelling little boy, May was very proud of her new responsibilities, even if Joe was being an absolute monster. He struggled noisily to get down throughout the part of the service when she was required to make solemn promises as laid down by the church.

Finally the vicar managed to splash the holy water on to Joe’s head and the whole thing was over. ‘Well he wasn’t exactly an angel in the church, was he?’ George remarked when they were back at the house for the christening tea. He picked his son up and kissed him. ‘In fact you were a proper little horror, Joe Bailey. All that screaming and shouting. It’s a wonder your Auntie May didn’t decide to resign from the job.’

‘It would take a lot more than that to put me off,’ May told him.

‘It’s best to get kids christened when they are little and don’t know what’s going on, I reckon,’ suggested George’s mother.

‘Yeah,’ agreed one of his aunts. ‘Once they can walk, it’s only natural they want to run about and make a noise.’

‘I wouldn’t have been able to be his godmother if they’d had the christening when he was very little,’ May pointed out.

‘There is that,’ agreed Dot.

‘I’m so touched that you chose me, both of you,’ May said impulsively to Betty and George. ‘Thank you for waiting until I was better to have the christening.’

In actual fact the late christening was down to laziness on Betty’s part. She hadn’t wanted the bother of organising it and May had been the last person on her mind. But when she’d seen her again and had wanted to get back into her favour, the godmother idea had been the perfect tactic. As it happened, she was very glad now with the way things had turned out, because there was no one else but May she would want for the job.

‘What else would we do but wait for you?’ she said. ‘You’re our dearest friend.’ She looked at her husband, who was wise to her deviousness, warning him not to let the cat out of the bag. ‘Isn’t that right, George?’

‘Absolutely,’ he confirmed. He took the view that the end result had been perfect, with May having a part in Joe’s life, and he had no intention of hurting her by telling her the truth.

May, Betty and George all had their eighteenth birthdays within two weeks of each other in the summer, so they decided to celebrate together. George arranged for his mother and sister to look after Joe on the nearest Saturday night and the three of them headed into the West End, which was thronged with people as usual at a weekend, everyone seeming undeterred by the threat of war evident in notices on buildings and trees all over London, appealing for volunteers to train as air-raid wardens.

The trio strolled through Leicester Square and Piccadilly, where they could hardly move for the crowds.

‘Are we going to the pictures?’ asked May.

‘Nah, we can do that in Ealing,’ said Betty.

‘What about trying for a show, then?’ suggested May. ‘You can sometimes get tickets at the theatre on the night.
Me and My Girl
is still on, or there’s
The Dancing Years
.’

‘Why don’t we go into a pub while we decide,’ suggested Betty. ‘Just for the hell of being old enough to get served.’

The others thought that might be fun, so they trooped into a pub in Leicester Square which was thick with cigarette smoke, packed to the doors and deafeningly noisy with the sound of talking and laughing. George ordered a half of bitter and the girls, wanting to be daring, had gin and orange.

‘This is the life,’ approved Betty, gulping hers.

‘I think you’re meant to drink it slowly,’ suggested George. He lifted his glass. ‘But cheers, you two. Happy birthday to us all.’

May chinked her glass and took a sip of the bitter liquid while Betty emptied her glass and asked for another.

‘It’s strong stuff,’ warned George. ‘I don’t want to have to carry you home.’

‘Don’t be such an old misery,’ she came back at him. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration.’

‘Oh all right then, just one more before we move on and try to get into a show or the pictures,’ he agreed. ‘May, how about you? Would you like another?’

‘Not for me, thanks,’ she said. ‘It will take me ages to finish this, it’s so bitter.’

While George ordered another for Betty, May had to admit to enjoying the warm feeling the drink gave her. It didn’t taste nearly so sharp when you got used to it either. In fact she rather liked it. It certainly had a cheering effect.

‘You really should try to have more confidence in yourself, Mum,’ said Sheila in a tone of mild admonition. ‘You’ve brought up two kids of your own, so why are you so worried about looking after Joe for a few hours?’

‘I’m not the same woman as I was when you and George were little,’ explained Dot. ‘Anyway, I’m out of practice with children of that age. You can’t reason with them.’

‘Surely you’ve looked after Joe before.’

‘Only for the odd short period during the day,’ she said. ‘I’m not so scared if Betty isn’t out for long.’

‘But Joe lives here, so he’s used to you.’

‘He isn’t used to being on his own with me,’ she said. ‘He’ll run rings around me.’

‘He’s your grandson, for heaven’s sake; surely looking after him comes natural.’

‘It probably does to other grannies, but things aren’t as cut and dried as you might think.’

‘Sorry, Mum, but I can’t be expected to stay in with you,’ Sheila declared.

‘You said you would when George asked us to look after Joe tonight,’ Dot reminded her.

‘Mm, maybe I did, but I want to go out now,’ Sheila explained. ‘I won’t be long. I just want to go round to my friend’s house. She’s going to lend me some
Filmgoer
magazines. She collects them and she’s got a pile I can borrow.’

‘Can’t you do it tomorrow?’

‘I could do but I want to look at them tonight,’ Sheila said. ‘You’re lucky I’m not out dancing like I sometimes am on a Saturday night. I would be gone for a long time then.’

‘You agreed to stay in to help me look after Joe, so you should stand by that,’ Dot said again.

‘He’s sound asleep in his cot upstairs,’ Sheila pointed out. ‘It doesn’t need two of us to sit here. Put the wireless on, that’ll keep you company. I won’t be more than an hour or so.’

‘An hour, just to collect some magazines?’ queried her mother worriedly.

‘Well I expect we’ll have a bit of a natter as well,’ Sheila said airily. ‘I’m sixteen, Mum. I don’t want to be stuck indoors every night. It’s only natural I want to go out.’

‘But Joe might wake up,’ said Dot.

‘Well then you’ll have to get him back to sleep again, won’t you?’ She gave her mother an affectionate hug. ‘You’ll be fine. You must start to have more faith in yourself.’

Although Sheila was sometimes hard on her mother, she was actually very fond of her. She felt bad about leaving her tonight, but the reality was that Mum would never get her confidence back if she and George pandered to her all the time, and George was far too soft with her in Sheila’s opinion. Before Dad died she was a perky and competent woman and there was no reason why she couldn’t be again with a gentle shove in the right direction.

‘If you’re determined to go, don’t be long,’ said Dot miserably.

‘An hour at the most,’ Sheila assured her, and headed for the door. Turning, she added, ‘If he does happen to wake up, just give him a cuddle and put him back down.’

‘I know what to do,’ said Dot. ‘It’s making it work that’s the problem.’

When the door closed behind Sheila, Dot sat stiffly on the edge of an armchair, then got up and went over to the wireless set and turned it on. When the sound came through, she twisted the knob to adjust the volume so that she could barely hear it, in case Joe cried and she didn’t hear him. Every nerve in her body was raw.

May wasn’t sure when the evening began to go downhill, but she thought it was probably sometime after Betty’s fourth or fifth drink. She’d insisted on having one after another while George and May still hadn’t finished their first.

‘I don’t often get a night out,’ she told them. ‘I want to make the most of it.’

‘We all want to enjoy ourselves,’ said May. ‘Let’s decide what we are going to do, or we’ll end up wandering about all evening or just doing a pub crawl.’

‘We don’t wanna do anything ordinary like going to the pictures,’ Betty said in a slow, slurred tone. ‘We can do that any time. This is supposed to be a special occasion. Us three are all grown up.’ She burst out laughing. ‘Whoopee.’