Friends and Lovers (11 page)

Viv pushed open the front door and immediately the sound of her mother singing in the back kitchen assailed her ears. She grimaced, wondering which was worse – her mother her normal indolent, stubborn, trying self, with her refusal to talk about Jimmy and idiotic behaviour in carrying on with Mr Kelly, or else stirred by the mood of the moment when the unexpected could happen? Why was she singing? Maybe a visit from Mr Kelly? Viv groaned, sniffed and caught the faintest whiff of
Brylcreem and something else. Mr Kelly didn’t use aftershave. She forgot about closing the front door and walked through into the kitchen.

Her mother hovered near the cooker. She was wearing a frilly white organdie apron over a black dress and fishnet stockings. ‘Hello, honey. Buy anything nice?’

Viv’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Mr Kelly must have been. You’re all dressed up like a dog’s dinner. Bit early in the day, wasn’t he?’

‘Now, Viv, don’t be like that.’ Hilda stared at her, noting the smoothness of her skin and the cheeks flushed a healthy pink with the wind. She looked so lovely and so young that Hilda experienced a terrible pang of envy. You could paint over the tiny wrinkles but no cream could smooth them away for good.

‘Honest, you mean?’ retorted Viv. ‘It’s just that besides disapproving of your making a fool of yourself and committing adultery, Mam, I don’t want Mrs Kelly coming round here screaming blue murder.’

‘If she does, I’ll know where it’s come from,’ said Hilda, her expression clouding. ‘Mrs McCoy. Nosy cow!’

‘You should behave yourself,’ said Viv, glancing over her mother’s shoulder to see what was in the pan.

‘You’ve got no right to judge me.’ Hilda
frowned. ‘You don’t know what it’s like being a widow.’

‘If your example’s anything to go by then, then I’ll have a gay old time. Have we had any other visitors?’

‘Who were you expecting?’ Hilda’s voice was frosty.

Viv glimpsed a brown lumpy something in the pan and groaned inwardly. ‘Nick. And I wouldn’t put it past you to lie to me about him because I’m not daft. I can feel that you’re still not happy about me seeing him.’

‘Well, he hasn’t been and that’s the truth.’ Hilda avoided her daughter’s gaze and used a fish slice vigorously.

Viv stared at her. She was lying. She had that look on her face. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Certain sure.’

‘You’re fibbing, Mother.’

Hilda’s mouth tightened. ‘Our Flo would slap your face if she heard the way you speak to me. If you must know it was the man from the Pru. I thought I should get myself insured.’

Viv was not sure whether to believe her or not but decided to let it drop for the moment. ‘What’s in the pan?’

‘Spam fritters. Our Flo used to make them in the war. They weren’t half bad.’

‘Aunt Flo could cook,’ said Viv without thinking.

‘I can cook some things.’ Hilda’s voice was suddenly harsh. ‘You always think our Flo was the only one who could do anything right. I thought I’d surprise you! Give you a treat! But I can see I’m wasting my time.’ She dropped the fish slice in the pan. ‘You can do it yourself. I know when I’m not appreciated.’

‘Stop getting on your high horse! I didn’t say you couldn’t cook.’ Viv deftly slid the slice under the burning object and tossed it on to a plate that contained several thick slices of spam. She glanced at the bowl next to the willow pattern plate, saw that it contained lumpy batter mix and began to search for the whisk. She found it and whipped up the batter some more. Hilda had used a fork. ‘How much did you insure yourself for? If it’s worth having I could always cook you up some rhubarb leaves for lunch.’

‘Are rhubarb leaves poisonous then?’ asked Hilda, watching her daughter’s deft movements.

‘That’s what I’ve been told.’ Viv smiled. ‘Who was he, Mam?’

Hilda hesitated, imagined her daughter enjoying herself in Stephen’s company and was as jealous as hell. ‘I don’t know why you don’t believe me. You’d think I was entertaining men all the time.’

‘Not all the time, just some of it,’ said Viv, dropping a couple of slices of spam in the batter.

Hilda’s mouth tightened. ‘Very seldom lately. Dom’s been working.’ She gazed down at her fingernails. ‘I’ve chipped a nail.’

‘We’ll have it with the fritters. Why should you suddenly decide to insure yourself? It’s not like you to think about such things. Who was he? I mean, I’d be quite happy if you had someone else. At least I could stop having nightmares about Mrs Kelly throwing a brick through the window and painting “Scarlet Woman” on the front door.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Hilda said crossly. ‘I’ve told you, it was the insurance man. As for Dom Kelly – he’s going to do the front room and I’ll have her in from next door to see what a good job he’s made of everything. That’ll lull her suspicions.’

Viv felt a deep disappointment. ‘I’m ashamed of you, Mother. I don’t know how you have the nerve to behave the way you do – sitting on your bum for most of the day, waiting for him to come. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped behaving like the cheap tart Stephen called you and act your age?’ There was a loud sizzle as she dropped a couple of fritters into the pan.

Her mother whirled round and slapped her face. ‘I am not a cheap tart! You don’t know what it’s like at my age to feel like your charms are slipping away, to lose someone, to need love.’

Viv’s hand went to her cheek and suddenly she
wanted to hit out at her mother. ‘I needed love when I was a child but you never cared about that! Nor did you care about my sense of loss when you went away! And what’s the use, Mother, of trying to hang on to youth if you have to keep putting on the war paint and applying the contents of the bleach bottle?’ she said scathingly. ‘You could try growing old gracefully.’

Old! That word again! A squeal warred with a roar in Hilda’s throat and she swung her fist at Viv, who sidestepped so that the cooker caught the blow. ‘Bitch, bitch,’ moaned Hilda, nursing her hand. ‘You’ll get out of my house for that.’

‘Your house? You want history repeating itself, do you? You were thrown out so you want me out – just because you can’t accept that age is creeping up on you!’

‘Out, out,’ screamed Hilda, picking up the steaming frying pan. ‘I’m not old! I’m barely forty and good for my age.’

There was a knock on the door and Viv hurriedly stepped back. ‘OK, Mam, you’re not old. We’ll agree that you’re a well-preserved thirty-nine.’

‘Anybody at home?’ called a voice which caused Viv’s heart to jump in her breast. ‘Mam, put the pan down, Nick’s in the front room.’

‘Who cares about him?’ muttered Hilda between her teeth, swinging the frying pan as Nick came through the doorway. The scalding fat formed a
skimpy glittering arc and one of the fritters flew out of the pan and hit him in the chest.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked.

Hilda glared at him. ‘You shouldn’t have got in the bloody way.’

‘Say sorry, Mam,’ said Viv, staring in fascination as the fritter slowly slid down Nick’s jacket.

‘Should I go out and come in again?’ he said, flicking the fritter on to the floor.

‘Just go out. Nobody told you to come in.’ Hilda turned on her daughter. ‘You should have shut the door. Now you’ve let the common rabble in.’

‘It’s you that’s common,’ said Viv, then found herself struggling not to explode into laughter. She shot a quick glance in Nick’s direction. ‘You’re not burnt, are you?’

‘No thanks to the cook.’ He shrugged off his jacket. ‘Isn’t it a bit late for Pancake Tuesday?’

‘Very funny,’ said Viv, holding out a hand. ‘Give me your jacket. I’ll see what I can do. We need blotting paper and a hot iron.’

He handed the garment in question to her. Thanks. I did come to ask you out.’

‘About time too,’ she said drily. ‘Where did you have in mind?’ She forgave him quickly for not having been around and smiled. He returned her smile. Then they both jumped as Hilda dropped the frying pan on the floor, making a clanging noise.

‘When you’ve finished twittering like a pair of
lovebirds,’ she said in a seething voice, ‘I want you to get out of my house, the pair of you! I’ve had enough! You’re giving me a headache!’

‘You’re jealous because we’re young, Mother,’ murmured Viv, not looking at her. ‘Why don’t you admit it?’

‘I admit nothing. Not even that I’m your mother,’ she said, and stepping over the mess on the floor, disappeared through the curtain at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Marvellous exit,’ said Nick, grinning at Viv.

‘She should have gone to Hollywood.’ She picked up the frying pan and placed it on the stove. ‘If she’d had the breaks she would have made a marvellous Scarlett O’Hara. Instead she had to make do with naming me Vivien after the actress who played her.’

‘And
you’re
not like Miss Scarlett at all, of course?’

‘I like to think not. I wouldn’t have let Rhett Butler go.’ She put up the ironing board and took an old exercise book from a drawer in the kitchen cabinet, tearing out the sheet of blotting paper at the front. ‘Where were you thinking of going?’ she asked.

Nick sat astride a kitchen chair, his arms resting on its back. ‘Would you mind looking at another building?’

‘Another cathedral?’ She gave a mock groan.

‘I was thinking of Speke Hall.’

‘Now that’s different.’ Viv’s pleasure showed on her face. ‘I haven’t been there since I was at school. I thought it interesting and romantic. I nearly fell over because I wandered round with my eyes shut half the time, trying to imagine all the people who had lived there.’

‘You’d have to go back to the Tudors. Imagine Henry the Eighth! Of course it’s hard to think of romance in connection with a man who chopped a couple of his wives’ heads off but he did write “Greensleeves” which is a love song.’

‘I bet those two warbled on the block “Alas, my love, you’ve done me wrong”.’ She smiled as she wiped bits of batter off the jacket and tested the iron.

‘You’ll come with me then?’

‘As soon as I’ve done this.’

Overhead Hilda could be heard walking about. Nick raised his eyes ceilingward and said, ‘What’s up with her?’

‘I told her to act her age. She’s still carrying on with Mr Kelly. She said it was because she missed her husband and needed loving.’

‘Don’t we all?’ murmured Nick.

Viv smiled and changed the subject. ‘I remember Speke Hall has priest holes.’

‘It has some fine plasterwork, too,’ said Nick, his eyes on her face.

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t know the difference.’ She handed the jacket to him before unplugging the iron. ‘What about ghosts?’

‘We can always find you one if that’s what you want.’ He shrugged on his jacket, a gleam still lurking at the back of his eyes.

‘It’d be something to tell Dot,’ she said, determinedly ignoring that look. She put away the ironing board and left the mess for her mother to clean up.

Nick found Viv a ghost in the Tapestry Room, otherwise known as the Haunted Chamber, where a lady of the Beauclerk family was said to have thrown her baby out the window before committing suicide in the Great Hall.

‘Terribly sad,’ murmured Viv, touching the Flemish cradle.

‘Even the upper classes had their troubles,’ said Nick, catching hold of her fingers. ‘What do you think of the place? Would you like to live in a house like this?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘It doesn’t feel like a home with all these rooms. Then there’s the priest holes. Spooky. How would you know there wasn’t anyone hiding inside them?’ She shivered deliciously, ‘Let’s go outside.’

The remaining clouds had dispersed and the sun was shining from a clear blue sky. They viewed
the house and Nick spoke of the Gothic Middle Ages layout and the influence of the Renaissance. Then he surprised her by saving, ‘Why was your mother dressed like a French maid?’

Viv put a hand over her eyes. ‘Do you have to ask? It used to be a cowgirl! I think she and Mr Kelly have these fantasies.’ She found herself making excuses for her mother as she lowered her hand and gazed up at him. ‘They met when they were kids and I think that’s half the reason they’re carrying on now. They feel comfortable with each other. I don’t think each of them ever grew older in the other’s mind.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘And I suppose Mrs Kelly doesn’t go in for that kind of thing.’

Nick laughed. ‘Can you imagine her dressing up like that?’

A smile hovered round Viv’s mouth. ‘I feel sorry for her, but at the same time I wonder why Mr Kelly’s doing what he’s doing if the marriage is happy?’

‘Is any marriage completely happy?’ He paused. ‘Perhaps Mrs Kelly has fantasies of her own but has never dared mention them? We all have dreams.’

Viv nodded. ‘Especially in a place like this.’

‘Agreed,’ he said, and drew her beneath one of the enormous yew trees that occupied the courtyard. One was male, one female, and they
were called Adam and Eve. He closed his eyes. ‘I’m having a fantasy right now. I’m under this tree and a slave girl dressed in one of those eastern costumes comes along and asks if there’s anything she can do for me.’

‘I suppose you’re on a silken couch and you’d like her to peel grapes for you and pop them in your mouth?’ There was a hint of laughter in Viv’s voice.

He opened his eyes. ‘Amongst other things.’

She felt suddenly breathless. ‘I wondered when we’d get round to other things. Slave girls are out. Do you want to know my fantasy? It’s of knights in armour jousting for my favour.’

He drew her closer. ‘Armour is definitely not on. Imagine how it would get in the way?’

‘Perhaps that was the idea? Prevention being the better part of valour.’ Her pulse was racing.

‘I never thought of it being used for that kind of protection,’ he murmured thoughtfully as he nuzzled her neck. ‘Those days might seem romantic but I bet they weren’t.’

‘Perhaps romance is all in the mind?’

Her eyes closed as their lips met in a kiss that was as sensual as the feel of satin on skin. It deepened as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. She responded passionately and his hands slid slowly down her spine, pressing her against him. She was aware again of the extreme pleasure that
being in his company gave her. If this was love, as the song went, she liked it.