Mothers and Daughters (20 page)

What a stupid thing to have done in a drunken haze, and with Lorne, of all people. She couldn’t stand him. He was just a port in a storm and she’d been so angry and hurt she’d lashed out and hurt herself even more. All she had to look forward to was going back north and trying to make amends.

Everything was changed. She felt soiled and full of remorse. Marty had been planning this defection all along. That was why he’d gone cold, distanced himself and made up to Eva. No wonder she had felt something was going wrong. The summer of love was well and truly over.

As she hung over the rails of the ferry trying to breathe in the sea air, sensing everything was over, words drifted into her head.

Through her tears, Connie ferreted in her rucksack and pulled out the jotting pad. At least she’d learned one thing from Marty Gorman. Never miss some good lyrics.

Connie paces the airport lounge, looking at her watch.
Why doesn’t the plane land? She explained so much in
her letters, trying to set her story in the context of those
distant times
.

The colours of the swinging sixties might have been
oranges and limes and purples, black and white,
geometric stripes and swirls, but when Connie thinks
of that time she sees only grey and denim and mourning
shades. They say if you can remember your student
days in the sixties – all that measuring time through
coffee spoons – then you weren’t really there, she sighs.
Sex, drugs and rock and roll were supposed to begin in
1963. That’s not true, of course
.

She’d done it all: sex, purple hearts, smoked grass,
listened to the Beatles’ first big albums through tears
and pain and grief. Recalling every month of that time
as if it was yesterday
.

It’s hard growing up without a mother’s love to guide
you
.

All that was left was to hitchhike back to Grimbleton
to eat humble pie, tail between legs
.

There was a frosty chill in the air when she dumped
her bags in the hall at Waverley. Her room was let and
she was sent to live with Gran as her nursemaid. Every
rebellion has its price
.

‘Do you think you can just swan back here and take
up where you left off? Go back to school? You blotted
your copybook there by not sitting your exams and we
had to pay the fees. It’s the technical college and work
for you.’ Gran had had the last word as usual
.

There was always this hole in my heart, a gaping
void in the middle waiting to be filled. First when
Mama died and then later … Whatever I did to try
to fill the gap, it never closed up, she sighs. How could
it when that first summer of love was over and the
winter of pain began?

‘I hear the runaway came back to Division Street and got short shrift from that Susan … quite right too. Now the girl’s up at Esme’s, making herself useful, for once,’ said Ivy, watching her son preening himself in the mirror. ‘I see you’ve bought another new shirt. We’ll have to get a bigger wardrobe, you’ve got that much stuff, Neville,’ she added, eyeing him up. ‘Black and white stripes is a bit loud … You look like a spiv. Dancing … or out with that Trevor again?’

‘Might be.’ Neville was cagey. His mother was always sniffing around, waiting for him to bring Trevor home, but he never would.

‘I hear he’s off the Willows council estate and rough with it. What about Basil? You used to be right pally with him. I liked him. His dad is a dentist.’

‘Basil’s moved to Manchester.’

‘Got a girlfriend, has he?’

‘Something like that,’ he replied. How could he tell his mother that Basil was living in Didsbury with a guy twice his age, a right silver fox who played in the Hallé Orchestra.

‘I wish you’d bring your friends back so I can meet them,’ she continued.

So you can vet them, more like, he thought. She’d take one look at Trevor and think him common, rough-spoken and not good enough to be a friend for her precious son. God only knew what she’d think if she knew the truth about their relationship.

‘Trevor and me thought we’d try further afield,’ he lied. ‘Go for a Chinese and then on to Manchester.’

‘Well, put some petrol in the car then. I’m not forking out for your trips. Trevor should pay his whack. He gets enough free rides these days.’

‘Oh, don’t be mean. He’s got his widowed mother to support.’

‘Aye, and on a plasterer’s wage, I gather. I can’t see what you two have in common at all except the Operatic.’

She’d have a fit if she knew what they got up to after the rehearsals were over. Trevor was as keen as he was with their lovemaking – fast and furious and the best he’d ever had. Sometimes it was as much as they could do to keep their hands off each other in public. How could his fussy mother understand any of that? Now, his father was living with Shirley most of the time while Mum was growing fat in front of the
television every night. He’d feel sorry for her if she wasn’t so nosy.

‘I’ll be late so don’t wait up,’ he shouted as he straightened his tie. How could he tell her he was in love, courting and full of plans?

They met up as usual at the Golden Dragon for chow mein, chips and banana fritters, chatting over their day like an old couple. Trevor had taken his mother shopping and round the Saturday market. He was rehearsing his new part for the next show,
Oklahoma!
, with their voice coach, Audrey Ramsden, and he was plastering up a bedroom wall for one of his neighbours in his spare time.

‘I looked like a snowman when I finished,’ he smiled.

‘You don’t now; you smell divine,’ Neville said.

‘I like the new shirt, it’s very trendy,’ Trevor replied.

‘Only the best for the best. Where shall we go from here?’ Neville asked.

Trevor winked. ‘What about Leaper’s View. It’s quiet up there and we haven’t seen each other for days.’ There was promise in those flashing eyes.

Neville grinned. ‘Leaper’s View it is then. I’ll just go and settle up.’

‘No, it’s my treat,’ Trevor replied. ‘You always pay. It makes me feel like a kept man.’

‘I wish we could live together, you and me, sharing a bed like any normal couple,’ said Neville, knowing such a dream was never going to happen for them.

‘We’re not normal, though, are we?’ Trevor said softly. ‘We’re not free to do as we please. We have to be careful. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

‘That’s what I like about you, Trevor, you’re so thoughtful. I get so frustrated and mad. It’s not fair. We aren’t bothering anyone else, are we?’

They drove up through the town, the foggy lights and the streets fading as they turned from the suburbs into country lanes and up to the moor and the layby that looked down over the whole of the Lancashire plain. There was only one saloon car at the corner, its windows already steamed up.

‘I love it here,’ Trevor said. ‘It’s like the whole world’s at our feet.’ He nestled his head on Nev’s shoulder. ‘I wish we could stay here for ever, just you and me.’

‘You’d soon get cramp,’ Neville quipped, pulling him down onto his lap.

They tussled and kissed, unbuttoning themselves, aroused by the taste and scent of each other.

‘I’ll never get enough of you,’ Neville sighed, his fingers wandering over Trevor’s bulge.

Then a torch blinded them for a second. Christ! He couldn’t see. A voice was shouting and a fist banging on the window.

‘Get out, you perverts, out of the car. What have we here?’

‘Just a couple of queers on the job, Constable.’

‘Do you see what I see? Is that a trunk I see, popping out of those trousers? Blimey, it’s more like a stovepipe. Out! Names … ?’

Trevor covered his eyes. ‘Please, we were doing no harm,’ he pleaded.

‘That’s what they all say, sonny. What you are doing is against the law and we are here to uphold the law of the land. Save your defence for the bench. We’ve been told puffs like you are using Leaper’s View as a rendezvous.’

The other constable got out his notebook. ‘Names, addresses, and no lies.’

Neville felt sick, shaking. ‘Look, we’ve taken your warning, just leave it at that, for pity’s sake,’ he argued. Trevor was sobbing. ‘Let him go, just take me.’

‘Out, the both of yous, or we’ll call for reinforcements and they will not hesitate to use force. Come on chaps, the game’s up. Time to pay your due. It’s the police station for both of you.’

Esme watched her granddaughter vacuuming round the room like one of the Furies. Since her return, Connie was making a real effort to make up for letting her down. But there was silence between them that was worrying. The girl was peaky, with rings under her eyes, and the bounce had gone out of her. That Gorman lad had dumped her as she’d always sensed he might. It didn’t do to mix faiths in Grimbleton.
Now he was back in London making records, and the rest of the band, it appeared, were back in town trying to find work.

Connie was now at the technical college to do her A-level resits. At least she could resit them in November, and it was a relief to see her with her head down in her books, silly madam, but the light had gone out of her eyes as if the dream had died. She looked just as she had when Ana died.

This dratted hip was slow to mend and stiffening her up, and it was so painful. If this was old age, you could keep it. She was like a creaking gate on rusty hinges; every move across the room must be calculated and aided with two sticks. Dr Gilchrist said she must keep moving or else, but cleaning was out of the question, walking, shopping, all the pleasures she had taken for granted, were off limits. It was a slow shuffle, a game of cards, the TV, gramophone, and visiting friends the highlight of her day. Connie circled round her, quiet, polite, almost too dutiful. Esme could see her heart was aching but now that she was home, all’s well that ended well. Though Connie hadn’t apologised for letting them down and running away. It was as if these young ones thought it was their right to do what they pleased with themselves. What had happened to their sense of duty and responsibility within the family? She’d hardly seen Joy since the summer – on bed rest still, or so they said. Su wouldn’t let her
leave the house much. Denny didn’t want her being bothered by visitors either.

It was now she missed Ana, whose nursing would have given Esme good care. Levi was still in disgrace, having ditched his home to live with Shirley, the blonde bombshell on the stocking bar. Ivy was going round like a demented widow until Esme told her to pull herself together and get a proper job. Now she was working in the dress department of Whiteleys store, pretending all was well when it wasn’t. What was happening to her family?

Only Neville had bothered to come and take her out but she couldn’t get into the Triumph. They had to use the work’s van. At least he’d taken her across the town to visit old friends. It was sad thinking of all those outings in the old days when the kiddies were little: the Olive Oil Club, Ana, Su, Maria, Diana, Queenie, gone or busy with their own lives now. Lily was kind but Arthur was at that grabbing stage, and into her cupboards like a whirling dervish, wanting to play football all the time. A chip off the old block there. She was glad when they had gone home.

‘Want a cuppa?’ Connie asked. ‘Cocoa or Nescafé?’

‘A pot of tea will do nicely. You’ve bottomed this room properly. Come and sit down.’

‘If it’s all right, I’ll go to bed. I’m whacked. I can’t keep my eyes open, but I’ll bring you a drink. Shall I switch on the TV?’

‘You might as well, if you’re going to bed.’

Connie switched on the box in the corner cabinet. The news was on.

‘It’s not that time already, is it? No … hang on. It’s something to do with America,’ Connie said, standing by the door. The sound always took a long time to come through.

‘Oh, no!’ There was a scene of a motorcade in Dallas, the president and his wife, in her pink pillbox hat, and the chaos and the car speeding off. ‘What’s going on?’

‘John Kennedy’s been shot, and he’s dead, Gran. The president of America’s dead … he was doing such a good job,’ Connie gasped, almost in tears. ‘Why do the good die young?’

Esme thought of little Travis and Freddie and Ana. ‘His poor wife and kiddies,’ she said. ‘What is this world coming to? Fetch the brandy … dear, oh dear. Is it the Russians? Turn the sound up.’

They sat there, sipping brandy and tea as bulletin after bulletin unfolded on that November evening, unaware that the doorbell was ringing until someone was banging with their fist.

‘Who on earth is that?’ Esme said. ‘I bet it’s Edna from next door, wanting to talk it all over. Go and see who it is, love.’

Connie brought Neville into the room. ‘You’ve heard then about Kennedy?’ she said.

Neville nodded, pale-faced, grim. ‘Everybody’s talking about it in the street, Gran.’ He stood hesitating.

‘Isn’t it terrible news? Not another war. I thought he’d sorted out the Russians and all those Cuban missiles,’ she continued, but Neville said nothing, standing before them, shaking. ‘What’s up, son? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’ve been arrested, Gran,’ he cried, falling into her arms like a little boy, sobbing. ‘I’m in trouble and I don’t know what to do.’

‘Connie, get us another cup. It can’t be that bad, surely.’ But she felt her heart skipping beats and her legs wobbling beneath her. He didn’t look drunk. He wasn’t the type, not like his father. Perhaps he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer but Neville had a steady job and was enjoying being in the amateur dramatics.

‘I can’t tell Mum and Dad. They’ll kill me,’ he wept breaking down. ‘We weren’t doing any harm to anybody,’ he said, looking up, and she noticed, not for the first time, how attractive, how appealing his eyes were, fringed with dark lashes, almost girlish. A terrible thought stabbed Esme but she pushed it back … ‘Go on then, spill the beans. Your gran is all ears,’ she said. ‘Turn the telly down, Connie.’

‘Trevor and I weren’t doing any harm,’ he whispered.

‘Trevor?’ she asked.

‘Trevor is my friend, my chum. We’d been out for a few drinks, and to the Chinese and then for a ride in the car,’ he replied, not looking her in the face.

‘So? What’s the harm in that or did you crash the car?’

‘No, Gran, there wasn’t an accident. We went up to Leaper’s View for some air. You can see the lights of Manchester down the plain. We often go there to … talk,’ he said.

Esme went cold, knowing it was a notorious spot for lovers to canoodle.

‘You weren’t being Peeping Toms, were you?’

‘They were spying on
us
,’ he croaked.

‘Who?’ This was all too confusing so late at night.

‘The coppers. Two policemen came and put their torches on us when we were …’ Neville halted, unable to go on.

‘When you were doing what?’ She didn’t understand. ‘Watching the view?’

‘Not exactly. You see, we were being friendly and they put their torch on us and arrested us.’

‘When you were chatting?’ she said coldly. The silence was deafening.

‘No, we were kissing and such …’ he whispered. ‘There were other cars, but they didn’t go spying on them did they? If it were Connie and her boyfriend out in the car no one would bother them, but because it’s two men … we’re finished, exposed in the papers. Dad’ll kill me,’ he wept ‘It’s not fair.’

She looked at his crumpled face, his eyes filled with tears. ‘Eeh, son, I didn’t think you were that type of a lad but I suppose you allus were a bit different.
I put it down to Ivy’s spoiling. You tell your parents the truth … Don’t let them read it in the papers first. I expect Ivy will want to marry you off to prove your innocence, but they’ll want what’s best for you, I’m sure,’ she offered, more in hope than certainty. It would rock them to their foundations and they’d each blame the other.

‘However did you get mixed up with them nancy boys?’ she sighed. No point shillyshallying.

‘It’s not like that, Gran. I can’t help it. I love Trevor. You’ll like him,’ he said.

‘How old is he?’ she asked.

‘Old enough to know his own mind,’ Neville replied.

‘That’s a relief. You can get sent to prison for interfering with young boys,’ she answered, thinking about the Lord Montagu case a few years back. ‘By heck, you know how to make life complicated.’

‘I didn’t choose to be this way. We’re harming no one, but now the whole town will laugh at us and I’ll have to go away.’

‘Perhaps you will after the fuss dies down, but now you have to face the music, show your mettle, be a man not a mouse,’ she ordered.

‘Dad’ll call me queer and Mother will never speak to me again … I feel like jumping off a cliff.’

‘Oh, no you don’t! That’s the easy way, son. Show them you’re strong, that you choose to own up to who you are. That’s all I can say. I’ll be proud of you
if you answer your charge bravely. We won’t desert you, will we, Connie?’