The Best in Blountmere Street (The Blountmere Street Series Book 2) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Summer evenings on The Common, after the sun has set and the sky has purpled, never cease to give me pleasure.  A breeze carrying the last of the day’s heat lightly ruffles the trees, while stars and street lights shine pinpricks of brilliance.  A couple, arms entwined, oblivious to everything but each other, pass Herbie and me.

‘I’m glad we came here and didn’t go to a coffee bar.’  I balance myself in the crook of my favourite tree.  It’s gnarled and has probably been there for decades.  Tonight Herbie reclines on the ground at the foot of the tree instead of wedging himself next to me, as he usually does.

‘You’re quiet,’ I observe.  Instead of regaling me with stories and impersonations of the people he works with, Herbie’s hardly spoken.

‘Is work all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘Are they still wanting you to take more exams?’

‘Of course.  So are my parents.’

‘It would be good for you to get another promotion.  It'll give you ... ’

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there are other things beside promotions.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think … ’

‘It seems to me
thinking
isn't one of the things you do much of, especially about us.’

‘That’s not fair.’

 Herbie sits up and stares in front of him.  ‘Isn't it?  I’ve waited over two years for you to acknowledge I’m even here, but you’re blind to everything but yourself and your own feelings.’  Abruptly, he gets to his feet.  ‘Or is it that you prefer someone older?’

‘What's that supposed to mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter.  Come on, I’ll take you home.  I need an early night.’

‘I don’t understand.  I never meant … ’  I dislodge myself from the tree and run to keep up with him.

‘Forget it.’

Outside the shop, he walks away without even kissing me on the cheek.

Back in my bedroom, I tear off a sheet of paper from my writing pad and take my fountain pen from my handbag.  I pause. I’m not sure how to word a notice enquiring about accommodation.  In addition, I don’t really know what to do with it once I’ve written it.  I suppose I can place it in Legoli and Spiraton's staff magazine, although I’m not sure I want to work there much longer either.  I’ve been content to get a job and live at the Addingtons’ for the last two years.  I’ve given little thought to the future, beyond what I’ll do the following week.  From time to time, I dream of being a secretary in New York or a receptionist in some lavish beach resort, but they’re hardly plans for the future, more fantasies.

Living with the Addingtons works well.  At least I think it does.  There hasn't ever been any tension that I’ve detected, although if Herbie’s to be believed, I’ve become insensitive to people’s feelings; unaware even that I use them.  But I have to go. 

I screw up the paper.  I’ll wait a little longer until I
know
it’s the right time to move.  As for Herbie, he’ll get over it.

Angela ladles shepherds pie on to the plates.

‘More please.’ Maria asks.

Angela smiles.  ‘You certainly can have more.’  She turns to Bill.  ‘Who would have thought it wasn’t that long ago we were sitting by her bedside thinking she was going to … ’  Her voice trails away, and she takes hold of Bill’s hand.  ‘What would I have done without you?’

‘Like a rock, was I?’ Bill laughs lightly.

‘That’s exactly what you were, and more.’  Angela ruffles his hair in what seems to me more than an act of friendly affection.

The next day, I pick up my handbag and take from it the postcard with a picture of “
Glorious Devon
” on the front.  Although I only received it this morning, already it’s the fourth time I’ve read its ten lines.  Damielle, John and young Christopher are doing well.  Mrs Heathman dotes on her grandson.  If the weather keeps up, the harvest will be a good one.  He tells me nothing about himself and mentions nothing about us, only the usual advice to look after myself.  As always, he’s ignored my enquiry about visiting him.  It’s signed, “Yours, Les”. 

I put the letter back, fling on my coat and with my bag on my arm I make my way down the stairs and into the shop.

‘I'm just off to do a bit of shopping,’ I tell Angela, as I move a chair blocking the doorway.

‘Isn’t Bill taking you?’

‘He offered to give me a lift, but I told him I'd get the bus.’

Angela continues snipping at a piece of green velvet.  ‘I forgot he doesn’t like you exerting yourself.’

‘It’s not that.  It just seems pointless to take him out of his way.’

‘I suppose.’  The snipping continues.  ‘You’ve gone up a couple of sizes since the first time you bought a bra,’ Angela suddenly remarks, putting the scissors down and studying my chest, causing me to tug my cardigan around myself.

‘For pity’s sake, don’t be so prissy.’

‘I’m not being prissy.  I don’t like having attention drawn to me.’

‘If you don’t like it, you're good at getting it – attention.  You do it in a quiet way, but you get it all right.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Nothing.  Take no notice of me.  I’m a sour puss today.’ Angela folds the piece of material she’s cut and places it over the back of an armchair.  ‘You going out tonight?’

‘Herbie’s taking me to a coffee bar and then maybe on to a jazz club.’  At least that had been the plan.

‘A proper social butterfly, aren’t you?’

‘I’d be content to stay at home and do nothing.’

‘Like me, you mean?’

‘I didn’t mean that at all.’

‘It’s all right.  Since I had Maria, I haven't wanted to go out much.  I’m just as happy being with her and Mum and Bill sometimes.  I haven’t really been interested in getting a bloke.  At least not one of those silly little blighters still wet behind the ears that I used to think were so wonderful.’

‘Herbie’s not wet behind the ears.’

‘I didn’t say he was.  But he's another one who spoils you.’

‘Does he?’ I hurry on.  ‘It’s good to see you and him getting on better these days.  I began to think … Actually I began to think …’

‘What d’yer mean getting on better?  We’ve always got on all right.  There are times when you get some real strange stuff in your head.  Anyway you should be going.  Bill will have a search party out if you're late back.’

Bill increases the volume of the record player.  ‘The sound's excellent,’ he shouts over the music.

I jam my fingers in my ears. ‘Turn it down.’

Bill moderates the sound and I pull open the door to the record cabinet that Bill has bought.

‘How many records have you got here, for heaven's sake?  You must have bought the shop out.’

‘I couldn't decide what to get, so I picked up anything that looked as if it might sound all right,’ Bill grins. ‘D’you like it?’

‘Of course I like it, but why should that make any difference.  It's yours, not mine.’

‘But I bought it with you in mind.  I aim to please.’  He makes a mock salute.  ‘Talking of pleasing, this caught my eye as I was on my way to buy the record player.  He takes a box from behind the records and hands it to me.’

‘What is it?’

‘You won't know until you open it.’

Reticently, I lift the lid.  Inside resting on white satin is a gold bracelet.  ‘Bill, this is ridiculous.  It must have cost the earth.’  A burning sensation that begins in my belly charges into my windpipe.

‘You're worth it.’  He takes the bracelet from the box and unclasps it.  ‘Shall I put it on for you?  It'll be a bit awkward to begin with, putting it on yourself, but you'll get used to it.  If you don’t, I’ll always be here to help you.’

‘No, Bill, I won't get used to it, because I won't accept it.  It's not as if it's even my birthday or Christmas.’  I might be his daughter, but this gift giving is ridiculous.  ‘You buy me something every week and the things you buy are getting more and more expensive.’

‘I enjoy buying you things, sweetheart.’

‘Don't call me sweetheart.’  It makes me squirm. ‘And why can't you understand that buying things doesn't make you any more or less who you are?’

It wasn’t altogether true.  The glass elephant Les had once bought me had made me love him more.

‘I didn't mean to upset you.’  Bill replaces the bracelet in the box.  ‘If it will make you feel better I'll keep it for your birthday.  How about that?’

‘All right.’  I feel like a petulant child.

‘Let's sit down and listen to a couple of records.  You choose.’  Bill soothes as he guides me to the circles of armchairs.

‘Where is it?’ I ask, all at once aware my daffodils and sunshine chair is missing.

‘I've ... I've taken it away.’

‘Why?  You never said anything to me.’

‘I thought it was time you had a new one.’  He nudges me towards the middle of the inner circle.  ‘There you are.’

‘Isn't this Mum's?   Why have you covered her pink satin with yellow?’

‘Because it's for you, sweetheart.’

‘But it's Mum’s.  How could you take away her couch?’  Wasn't it sacred to them both?  It was like dedicating a headstone to someone else. 

‘How could you?’  I push my way through the chairs and towards the door until Bill catches my arm and swings me towards him.

‘You’ve taken Lily’s place.  Can't you see that?’  Sweat glistens above his lip.

‘To me, you
are
Lily.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘About last night,’ Bill emerges from his flat as if he has been listening for me to descend the stairs on my way to work.  Black rings circle his eyes.  ‘I didn't mean to upset you.  I was foolish.  I'll put your daffodils and sunshine chair back and reupholster your mother's one in pink again, especially for her - just for her.’

‘Right.’  There’s nothing more to say.

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘I'm going to be late for work.’

‘Would you like to eat at a Chinese restaurant tonight? Or perhaps go away on a holiday?’ he calls after me.

 Mum had sometimes frustrated me and the bogus Lily had often frightened me, but even at her most protective, Mum had never bound the cords of parental love so tight that I felt as if the air to my windpipe was being restricted.

When he calls to collect me that evening, Herbie is wearing a new yellow sweater.  His hair is Brylcreemed and brought forward in a protruding plume at the front and flattened to a neat D.A. at the back. 

‘Sorry about the other night.  I don’t know why I went off like that,’ he says as he shifts from foot to foot on the doorstep.  He’s probably waiting for me to invite him in, but Bill is never very friendly to him, and, until recently, I’ve thought Herbie’s presence might be an embarrassment to Angela.

‘I deserved it.’

‘How about skipping the coffee bar and going somewhere quieter, even over The Common?  I promise I won’t be so grumpy this time.’

I nod my assent.  We can sit in our tree while night spreads over us, and envelops us in its secret blackness.

In the spinney, Herbie helps me settle myself between the forked branches of our tree, then wedges himself beside me.

As soon as we’ve got comfortable, he says, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

Usually we sit looking out at The Common before either of us speaks.

‘I’ve given my notice in,’ he says without preamble.

‘You’re leaving your job!  That was sudden.’

‘Not really.  I’ve been thinking about it for some time.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve got a job with a firm of insurance brokers,’ he pauses.  ‘In Liverpool.’

‘Liverpool!’

‘The position I’ve been offered is with a well known company and I’m told Liverpool’s a good place for budding comedians, so I’ve decided to give it a chance.’

‘But what about Butlin’s?’

‘Perhaps Butlin’s was only ever a pipe dream.’

‘When will you leave?’

‘The week after next.’

‘That soon!’  Life can’t be held back.  It flows inexorably, but the knowledge that Herbie will be leaving provokes in me nothing more than a mild sadness.

‘Why don’t you come with me?  You could get a job in an office there.’

‘Well …’

‘If we were married, we could find a flat somewhere.’  It’s a string of garbled words.

‘Married?’

‘I’m asking you to marry me.’

‘But we’re too young.’

‘I know a lot of people who were younger than us when they married.’

Herbie’s right.  About a third of the girls I went to school with are married now.  I’ve met one or two pushing prams when I’ve been shopping at the market.

‘With everything that’s happened to you it’s been difficult, but you must know how I feel about you.’

It had been good to have someone to go around with, to hold hands and kiss.  I’d never thought beyond that.

‘It’s so sudden.’

“You don’t have to say anything now.  Think about it for a few days.’  He kisses my neck, then, more roughly, pulls me to him and whispers, ‘I love you, Paula.’

Angela and Mrs Addington have managed to make their living room look uncannily like their kitchen in Blountmere Street, in spite of it being a different shape, and without the broken-down furniture that had been randomly scattered around their Blountmere Street flat.

Mrs Addington plops onto a chair, balances her elbow on the table and rests her head on her upturned hand.

‘I suppose I should write that letter to the Salvation Army.’  She looks as weary as when Maria had been sick.  ‘The problem is,’ she smiles a non-smile across the table.  ‘I suppose I’m frightened they’ll tell me they can’t be of any help.’  She sighs.  ‘There are only so many times you can bear rejection.  And, then, again, perhaps I’m waiting to hear a still small voice offering me direction.’

I nod my agreement.  How many times can Herbie bear rejection?  I should have said I’d marry him straight away.  I can’t stay here much longer to be asphyxiated by Bill. 

‘I guess no-one likes to make themselves vulnerable,’ Mrs Addington continues.  ‘And perhaps Tony’s been gone too long.’

Herbie would be a good husband, and to be honest I’d found his fondling mildly arousing.  Added to that, it would be the answer to what I’ll do in the future and where I’ll live.

Mrs Addington gets up from the table.  ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she says.

I don’t know what love is, so how can I know if I’m in love with Herbie.  He’s the only boyfriend I’ve had.  If what I feel for Herbie is love, then love is pretty overrated.  ‘Yes, leave it until tomorrow,’ I agree.

Angela seems to have got over her recent pique as we watch Maria sitting astride her rocking horse.

‘Kids bounce back like blinkin’ kangaroos,’ Angela observes.  ‘All the same, since her illness, I can’t help keep looking at her to make sure she’s all right.  Sometimes I get up in the night and stand over her.  I even prod her to make sure she’s still alive.  And don’t say it’s ridiculous, because I know it is.’

‘Gee up neddy,’ Maria sings out.

‘I don’t think it’s ridiculous, just natural.’

‘And to think she’s not blind or deaf as they thought she might be.  It’s another of Mum’s miracles, if you ask me.’

‘Push, Mummy, push!’  Maria urges.

‘The funny part is I can’t remember much of her being in hospital.  All I can recall is Bill with his arm around me, while we watched her and counted every time she breathed.  I remember how calm Bill was, and how he kept telling me she’d be all right, and that he’d watch her while I slept for a bit.  She’d still be alive when I woke up, he told me.  I believed him.  I trusted him.’

I wind a piece of hair around my finger.  ‘Well there’s nothing much wrong with her now.  I think she’s put on the weight she lost, too.  And that rocking horse is definitely her favourite toy.’

‘She’s got so many toys, it’s a wonder she knows what she’s got at all, let alone what one’s her favourite.  All bought by Bill, of course.’  Angela pushes up and down on the horse’s hindquarters.  ‘Talking of Bill.  Did you know he’s getting divorced?’  Angela asks casually.

‘He did say something about it.’

‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

‘Wonder what?’

‘Why he suddenly wants to get divorced after being separated from his wife all this time.’

‘I suppose there doesn’t seem much point in keeping things going,’ I reply, using Bill’s own words.

‘He’s being very tight-lipped about it,’ Angela says.  Then changing the subject, ‘I suppose you’ve seen the new record player he’s bought.  But, then you would have, wouldn’t you?’ Let’s face it, Paul, every single thing he buys, if it’s not actually for you, it’s with you in mind.  Sometimes I wonder … well, you have to admit not too many blokes would do so much for a girl unless there was something in it for them.’

‘I wish he wouldn’t.  He won’t be able to do it soon, anyway.’   Despite our closeness, I’ve never been able to bring myself to tell Angela about Bill and Mum, or about my own relationship to him.

‘I’m thinking of moving.’

‘Moving?’

‘Push me Mummy, you’ve stopped.’

‘I’ve lived with you and your Mum for a while now.’

‘Have you heard us complain?’

‘Of course not, but I can’t live here forever.  It’s time to move on.  I’ll probably get another job and … well … Herbie’s asked me to marry him.’

Angela pushes harder on the horse’s rump.  ‘I wondered how long it would be.  He’s waited long enough.’

‘I suppose he has.’

‘And you will, won’t you?  Marry him, that is?’

‘I don’t know.  I’m not sure how I feel about him.  He’s got a job in Liverpool and he wants me to apply for a secretarial position there as well.’

‘Liverpool!’

‘He wants to be in show business, and he sees it as being a good place to start.’

‘Get off now,’ Maria lets go of the horse’s mane and stretches her arms towards Angela.

‘Careful,’ Angela lifts her to the floor.  ‘Run off and play for a minute or two and give Aunty Paula and me a chance to finish our chin wag.’

‘Can I go downstairs to Dadda Bill?’

‘Later.  Dadda Bill’s busy working on a settee.  Go and put your dolly in her pram.’

‘Can I help him after I’ve finished playing?’

‘We’ll see,’ Angela pats her daughter’s retreating dungaree-clad bottom.

I smile.  ‘She’s very compliant.’

‘She certainly doesn’t take after me!  Do you remember me and Tony?  We were at each other’s throats morning, noon and night.’

As far as temperament, and probably looks are concerned, Maria takes after her father, but Maria’s father is someone Angela is still unwilling to divulge.

‘Getting back to marrying Herbie, I reckon you could do a lot worse.’  She continues to push the rocking horse, even though Maria is no longer on it.

 ‘I might as well tell you I used to be jealous as hell of you and him.  I would have given anything for Herbie Armitage to ask me out.  I cringe when I think of how I threw myself at him.  He wouldn’t have any of it.  He used to be so stuck up, it was a wonder his nose didn’t get glued to a lamppost.  And, anyway, he’s never had eyes for anyone but you.’

‘I thought, I … ’ I begin, then thinking better of it continue, ‘I’m not sure how I feel about him.’

‘What’re you waiting for?  Angels playing harps?  The two of you always seem to get on well and he won’t stay around forever.’

‘Thanks for your blessing.’

‘It’s not my blessing you need to be concerned about.  Bill’s a different matter altogether.  How he’ll take the news that you’re going to marry Herbie will be very interesting. 
Very interesting
.’

‘I don’t know if I
am
going to marry him.’

Angela appears not to have heard me. ‘Once you’re married, Bill might be able to see what’s directly under his nose.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Nothing.’

That evening as I sit on my bed, I wonder if knowing the right time to leave and marrying Herbie are the same things.  Should I take Herbie’s proposal as some sort of sign?  But marriage shouldn’t merely be a way out, should it?  Surely you marry someone because you ache for them, and can’t imagine your life without them.  You marry them because you want to grow old with them. Marriage isn’t because you could do worse or even because the person loves
you
.  It simply can’t be a way of escape.  That was the reason Mum and Les had married, and look what had happened to them: endless years of merely existing; their highest form of communication a sentence spoken over the top of a newspaper at the end of the day!  I don’t want to live with someone, albeit affably, waiting for a spark to be kindled, and ultimately come to the realisation it never will.  And why, in heaven’s name, can’t I chase the incessant thoughts of Tony Addington from my head?

I move to my desk and tear a piece of paper from the writing pad I’ve bought specially.  This one smells of Jasmine.  I smooth it crackling flat, and wait for some sort of inner conviction that this is the time to write the letter.  I make a sudden stab at the paper.  If I don’t start it now, I never will.  Although I don’t need to, I write my address at the top, then once again I stop and consider, while I chew the end of my pen.  Perhaps I won’t write it tonight.

My thoughts are interrupted by Angela’s voice coming from downstairs.  ‘For crying out loud, Bill.  The way you carry on, you’d think she was the only person around here.’

‘I didn’t say she was.’

 I creep onto the landing and to the top of the stairs.

‘You’re acting ridiculously.  If you’re not buying her something, you’re taking her out to a restaurant or you’re mollycoddling her as if she’s a child.’

‘I’m concerned about her.’

‘Anyone would think … ’

‘Anyone would think what?’  Bill’s normally modulated voice begins to rise.

‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’

‘The girl needs someone to take the place of her father.’

Angela ignores him.  ‘Admitted it was an awful way to have your mother die, but there’s a limit.  She gets all the attention.  Can’t you see there are other people around who’d like to be noticed?  Why haven’t you made me a special chair like you have for everyone else?  Aren’t I worth it?’

‘You’re different.  We work together.  I see you every day.  Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I give plenty of attention to Maria.  And I’ve always respected your wish not to ask questions about Maria’s father.’

‘Who wants to talk about being knocked up by a randy sod with a wife and three kids?  Satisfied?’ 

Something thuds on to the table.

‘I’ve always been fair to you, haven’t I?’ Bill carries on as if he hasn’t heard Angela’s disclosure.

‘Who mentioned being fair!  I’m talking about noticing other people – people who care, who care a damn-sight more than you realise.  But they might as well be part of the furniture.’ 

Another bang.

 ‘You cared, really cared, and not just for Maria, when she was ill, or have you forgotten that?  Age doesn’t mean a thing to me.  I thought, during those days at the hospital, you might be beginning to feel the same way.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re saying?’

Another bang.

‘You wouldn’t, would you.  Not if it bit you in the backside.’

There’s a loud sob.

‘What is it about Paula?  That boyfriend of hers hangs around her like a love-sick panda.  Her mother didn’t allow her to breathe unless she gave her permission.  She didn’t just wrap her up in cotton wool, she tried to dig out her backbone.’  A shaky breath.  ‘Lily Dibble!  I never had any time for her, no time at all.’