Gull Island (32 page)

On the day the Careys went to the South Bank exhibition, the crowds were unbelievable. Great enthusiasm and the determination to pack as much as they could into the day had changed by midday to numb tiredness that made them search for cafés and, when they were fortunate enough to find a chair, sit, ease off their shoes and stare, bewildered by the crush of
good-natured
humanity around them.

Missing out the series of exhibitions telling the story of the Land of Britain, they struggled through the Dome of Discovery, forced along at the pace of the crowd rather than choosing their own. They managed to see something of its displays depicting the discoveries of man through the ages, and marvelled at man’s endeavours and the hardships endured in searching the world for new knowledge and riches. In simple ways, the carefully designed displays explained the way science had added to their learning by research and curiosity.

Mr Carey declared he was fascinated more with the structure of the dome, with its 350-feet span of shining aluminium roof, than the
exhibitions
.

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he said as they approached the exit. ‘Over by there, near the river.’ Arrangements were hurriedly made as enthusiastic revellers forced them inexorably towards the exit. Henry found a seat near Nelson Pier, watching the comings and goings of excited families, and
waited for them to emerge. He felt desperately tired. Afraid of spoiling the holiday for the others, he said nothing, but each morning he dreaded leaving the hotel and setting off on another exhausting day of sightseeing.

Richard rang and told Kate that Idris was off work with a slight cold. He found it impossible to keep the harsh anger out of his voice and Kate thanked him and guessed that Idris was perfectly well, but not inclined to work. Kate silently thanked Rosita for giving her the chance to at least earn enough to keep them afloat. She loved Idris but knew she would never be able to rely on him.

Towards the end of the week, Hattie and Idris discussed Richard. They had said very little after seeing him burst into the room where they had been making love. Idris had laughed it off. ‘About time he was educated into the joys of love,’ he said. ‘I bet he doesn’t know what to do when he gets that hard-faced Caroline Evans on her own.’

‘And she’s too stiff-necked to help,’ Hattie added. But although they joked, they were both anxious to know what, if anything, Richard had said to Kate. Their concerns were in opposition although neither would have admitted it. Idris hoped Richard would say nothing. He didn’t want his comfortable marriage ruined. Hattie wanted desperately for her sister to know what had happened during her absence. She wanted Kate and Idris to part. Idris was handsome and he was fun. She wanted him, not on rare occasions like this, but openly and completely.

‘Richard won’t say anything,’ Idris said a few days later, believing it was what Hattie wanted to hear. ‘He needs me for one thing. I’m a pretty useful member of staff now. There’d be one hell of a mess if I left and he knows that if he gives so much as a hint to Kate or Mam, I’d go, leave him in the lurch, and he wouldn’t want that.’

Idris continued to give Hattie, a willing and devoted audience, the impression that he was undervalued and hardworking; an opinion Hattie believed completely.

‘If only the business was yours, Idris. There’s your brother doing well and making money like fun and not even making you a partner. I bet someone like Miss Evans wouldn’t work like you do and get so little back.’ She happily ignored the fact that he hadn’t left the house all week apart from necessary forays to replenish food and drink. ‘Go out and get what you want, that’s her motto. Pity we can’t all be that determined. But you ought to speak to Richard. A partner you should be. After all, blood is—’

‘—thicker than water?’ Idris finished for her. His eyes sparkled with humour. ‘You think that brother should help brother and sister help sister?’

‘Well yes. It’s only fair.’ She looked at him, her mouth slightly open, waiting for him to say what was obviously waiting to be said. She twitched her lips, preparing to laugh, then closed them promptly as he said, ‘What d’you say to the fact that Miss Caroline Evans is
your
sister? Your
half-sister
to be exact. Rosita Jones is her real name. D’you think she should make you a partner in her business then?’

Hattie’s face lost its colour. She put down the glass of wine Idris had poured for her and stared at him, waiting to be told it was a joke.

‘True it is. She’s the sister that your mother threw out, got rid of into a home, when she was five years old.’

‘But she can’t be! Caroline Evans? Not Prothero.’

‘Daft ha’porth! Graham never adopted her, did he? Illegitimate she is. Her father was Bernard Stock, killed in the First World War, so I
understand
.’

‘Why hasn’t she said something?’

‘Kate found out a few weeks ago and told me. Made me promise not to say, but, well, you’re her sister and I thought you should know.’

Hattie was quiet for a long time, absorbing the startling news. Idris put on a record and tried to persuade her to dance to Victor Sylvester’s
strict-tempo
orchestra, snapping his fingers to the rhythm, but she shook her head. This would take a lot of getting used to. But she took malicious pleasure in the memory of taking Richard into the park that night. At least she had got one over the stuck-up bitch there, hadn’t she?

‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said later, as she prepared vegetables for their meal. ‘Your brother with plenty, my sister with plenty and us, well, we’re not exactly rolling in money, are we? Doesn’t seem fair.’

‘If Richard doesn’t marry, my girls will probably inherit at least some of his money. What about Rosita? Who’ll get what she leaves? Not your mother, for sure.’

‘Forget about Rosita,’ she said slowly, selecting potatoes to prepare. ‘She’ll probably leave everything to a cats’ home! But if Richard dies before you, then his money will come to you, won’t it?’

‘Not very likely. There are plenty of us Careys, remember. Eight of us kids left and about twenty-four grandchildren floating about somewhere. Spread about the globe but still in touch with Mam and Dad. Why should he single me out? Richard hates me. He always has. I was Mam’s favourite. Anyway, it won’t make any difference how many we are. He’ll marry Rosita one day, have kids and neither you nor I will see a penny of it.’

‘Unless we find a way of keeping them apart?’ Hattie peeled potatoes in her slow way, but her mind was speeding and her dull eyes showed
pinpoints
of excitement. Then she dropped her knife and said, ‘There’s a tin of
Spam in the cupboard. Let’s have that with some chips. I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Let’s go back to bed instead.’

The evening before the Careys were due back from London it rained heavily. Running from the car to the shop on her way home from Station Row, Rosita covered her head with an old raincoat she kept in the car and with her view inhibited, bumped into Richard, who was waiting in the shop porch.

He held her tightly and before she could free herself or protest, he kissed her. The coat fell from her and she lost herself in the unexpected embrace. When he released her she looked at him, breathless and wide-eyed.

‘Are you in a tearing hurry or can you spare an hour to come and try one of the restaurants on your list?’ He was smiling, remembering her terrible choices of places to eat.

‘I don’t know.’ She was flustered and confused by the effect of his
presence
and the surprising fervour of his kiss. She needed time to think and compose herself. ‘I have to – I have lots to do,’ she amended.

‘An hour, that’s all. One little hour.’

‘All right. I’ll just take these things in and check the books and—’

‘Now, Rosita. Now.’ It was raining heavily and he protected her with his coat and guided her to the old van. Covering the shabby passenger seat with his coat, he helped her in.

Her mind was in turmoil yet she found herself trying to think which restaurants were on her list. Was it the pub-cum-café on the way to the Pleasure Beach? Before starting off he kissed her again. Her mind wrestled with confused emotions, her head reeling with this masterful approach. She tried to speak, to at least pretend to be in control, but he silenced her in the most perfect way. Would it be the Pleasure Beach or her final sarcasm, the lorry drivers’ pull-up on the road out of town? Surely not. He wouldn’t take her there, a muddy parking place, a prefabricated building housing a steamy café where china was so thick it would take a muscular lorry driver to lift it.

‘What are you smiling at, darling?’ Richard asked as they drove through the gloomy streets.

‘Just wondering which of the places I suggested was the one you chose.’ She couldn’t see through the window but just knew he would take her somewhere smart and expensive.

It was the lorry drivers’ café!

‘Richard! You can’t mean it!’ she protested, but he ignored her and, opening the van door, hauled her out with little ceremony.

The rain continued to pelt down and crossing the churned-up parking
area meant her stockings were splattered with mud and the shoulders of the thin jacket she wore were soaked through. Her glasses were spotted with rain and the moment they entered the café they steamed up completely. Taking them off to polish them, she glared at Richard but he seemed
unperturbed
by her anger. In fact, he was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

‘Find us a couple of seats and I’ll fetch the food,’ he said. Leaving her to struggle through the crowd of burly lorry drivers, staining her
light-coloured
clothes on their rain-streaked waterproofs, he made his way unperturbed to the counter. She sat fuming with anger and was hardly aware of the interested looks and nods and whistles from the other diners.

The food he brought looked worse than she expected and she glared at Richard again, about to protest and say that she couldn’t eat it. He seemed completely unaware of her furious glances; he smiled and began to eat. She sat for a while, the knife and fork untouched beside her plate. She wanted to leave, to stalk out with head held high, an expression of utter disgust and fury on her face, but miles from anywhere and in such weather, she couldn’t.

Her protests subsided; there was nothing she could do except humour him until he took her home. Her rage was gradually abandoned when she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Trying to keep the look of disgust on her face, she picked up the cutlery and began to eat.

To her surprise it tasted good and without a word passing between them, but with Richard smiling affably to all, they emptied their plates.

‘Now,’ Richard said firmly as they reached for the thick china mugs filled with strong tea, ‘you and I will talk.’

‘About what?’ she asked ungraciously, determined to revive her
disapproval
of the venue.

‘About us.’

‘If it’s about me selling the shops—’

‘First things first, you irritating and irritable woman. I love you and I want to marry you.’

Around them conversations ceased. They had everyone’s attention, although they were too aware of each other to notice.

Rosita felt the stirrings of her need for him that were never far below the surface. ‘Richard, we’ll never agree. I’d make you unhappy, you know it.’

‘I couldn’t be more unhappy than I am now, with us apart and fighting every time we meet.’

‘You demand too much of me.’

‘I want you to live with me as my wife. Everything else will sort itself out if we use that as a starting point.’

‘Living together we’d fight more, not less.’

‘Not if I accept your need to run your businesses. I will understand, Rosita. I do understand. I’ve been so full of old-fashioned principles and pride, I couldn’t see how stupid I was. Why should I expect you to give up what you do so well and settle for being a housewife and mother?’

‘You mean it?’

‘I mean it, my darling girl.’

‘I want that more than anything, but are you sure you can cope with me as a businesswoman? I won’t be able to put you first all the time.’

‘Let’s start by showing the world we’re a couple. Over the next few weeks we should be able to sort out our differences, then we can announce our engagement. What d’you say?’

‘Go on, miss, tell the bloke yes!’ The harsh voice of a man on the next table made her turn her head and there, in a row, were four smiling faces who had obviously been listening to every word.

Richard knew it was a dangerous moment. He saw the conflicting emotions crossing her face. She could have stood up and shown her displeasure. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he thought it even possible for her to stalk out and walk the seven miles home through the rain. She was quite capable of such an action. But she didn’t. She burst out laughing.

‘Of all the romantic proposals …’

The diners cheered. ‘Go on, then,’ one of them called. ‘Tell the poor bloke yes! Put us out of our misery!’

‘Yes, Richard, I’ll marry you.’ She intended to say more but her words were lost in the uproar. The story had been passed from table to table until the fifty or more men were raising cups and mugs in noisy toasts from the extremely polite to the plain ribald, accompanied by sauce bottles thumping on tables. In moments diners left their tables to come and shake their hands and wish them luck. Their health was drunk, with tea replacing champagne, and everyone was clearly delighted with the unexpected
celebration
.

They walked to the door through a cheering, laughing crowd whose voices could still be heard when they reached the van, and whose waving arms could be seen through the steamy windows of the café.

‘I knew you’d say yes, if I chose the place with care.’ He laughed. ‘Captive in a place like that, you
had
to listen to me. You couldn’t do your favourite trick of stalking off.’

‘I did want to,’ she admitted.

‘I know. I could see it in your face.’