Mothers and Daughters (15 page)

‘They’re dead. That was Uncle Levi you saw earlier. My dad died after the war.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m half-Greek too, not a Catholic.’

‘So that’s the big name then. Constandina does sound like a squeeze-box.’

‘Exactly so. It’s Connie.’

‘And Marty, not Rick. One of Jack’s poncy ideas. Funny how we’ve lived in the same town and never met before.’

‘We’d go to different schools. I’m at Grimbleton Girls’ Division.’

‘So you are clever.’

‘Oh, shut it! And you?’

‘St Francis de la Salle and St Joseph’s … until I walked.’

‘So Rosa told me.’

‘Nothing’s secret in this town, is it?’ he laughed.

‘Suppose not, but you must have had your reasons,’ she added.

‘The Brothers were strict, too strict. One of them like beating little boys so I beat him with his own stick and that was me out, but not before I got him sorted and thrown out. Bullies and pervs, some of them, alongside real saintly priests. I don’t understand religion.’

‘Neither do I,’ she nodded. ‘I was brought up Greek Orthodox until Mama died last year.’

‘It must be hard.’ He paused and those treacle eyes looked concerned. ‘Who do you live with?’

How could she explain the complicated living arrangements of the Waverley, these days? Auntie Su was a sort of half-mother; Gran Esme, and Joy, her half-sister and all being related to the same man?

‘I live with aunties who are not quite aunties, if you know what I mean,’ she tried to explain, and giggled. He laughed and they relaxed. Who wanted to talk about families when this dream-boat was in front of her?

‘Fancy a night out with us? You could help in the back. It’ll be a squash but I reckon I owe you one.’

‘Can I go home and change? I stink of liniment cream.’

‘Wait until you ride in the van, you’ll honk of cod and kippers. It’s only Wigan tonight. Tomorrow, Southport and Ormskirk. We’ll have all the cats of Lancashire on our tail.’

‘Almost Beatles territory,’ she quipped.

‘I wish. They’re great guys and deserve their success but I only hope they leave us some space at the top. It’s hard in the second division.’

‘Tell that to the Grasshoppers if they don’t improve in the league. You’re first division and no mistake.’

‘So you’re coming then?’

‘Try and stop me,’ she grinned.

Wait until she told Joy she was going out with a rock star! Then she recalled she was on her honeymoon and Rosa was at an audition. Connie sighed. Stop the clock, she thought. I want this moment to go on for ever.

In the bleak weeks after the wedding when winter refused to yield up to a proper spring, Esme was feeling flat; the wedding was over. All the family solidarity, the show of strength against the Gregsons, the speech-making and patting on backs had gone as well as expected. She’d sat on the bride’s table with Neville, making fun of all their pretentious showing-off, feeling superior. Winstanleys were old money, or at least her side, the Cromptons, were. Now there was just the photographs, the splendour of the church service against a backdrop of snow flurries just a distant memory, and all that was left were bills and the chilblains.

But then came the run-up to Wembley and the excitement of coach trips to London, waving a Grasshopper’s scarf. Lily and half the town went by
train, while Joy was staying with the footballers’ wives, segregated from their husbands until the match was over and hopefully won.

Esme sat glued to the TV in Sutter’s Fold with her neighbour, Mr Ramsden, trying to spot Lily and Pete in the crowds. The match was a howler, with little action until the last five minutes when the Grasshoppers were pipped at the post by a late goal, an own goal, attributed to a miss-kick from Denny to his defence that slid through the goalie’s feet by mistake. The whole town went into mourning and the Gregsons went very quiet.

Later she made a formal visit with Su and Lily to Moorlands Drive to have tea with Denny and Joy in their new home. Denny skedaddled after ten minutes, leaving Joy to entertain them alone. There was the usual show of wedding presents to admire: china and a hostess trolley, a G Plan sideboard and table with matching chairs. There was an array of expensive stainless-steel teapots and condiments, vases and prints on the walls. The sitting-room curtains were red linen with swirling patterns of black and gold, which made her eyes water, they were that busy.

She thought Joy looked tired and tense, and wondered if there was a honeymoon baby on the way. The new bride filled a three-tiered silver cake stand with scones and buns and walnut cake for them to work their way through. She was proving to be an
excellent little baker but Esme felt hurt that she was treating them more like visitors than family.

‘Has anyone seen our Connie lately?’ she asked.

Joy shook her head. ‘She’s got exams soon. I expect she’s busy studying.’

‘Huh!’ snapped Su. ‘I wish she was. Never in for more than five minutes, I was saying to Jacob only the other day. You must speak with her. I think there is some boy behind all this but when I ask she clams shut. Perhaps, Daw Esme, you will give her pieces of your mind?’

‘Best let her be. Happen losing her mother like that makes her tired. She’s a bright girl. She knows what’s expected of her.’

‘But she is out till all hours of the night and all she does is sing to those records. She has only visited Joy once. That’s not like her either, and I still haven’t forgiven her for worrying Joy before her wedding.’

Joy sat picking at her scone. ‘Oh, Mummy, don’t go on about it.’

‘They had to know some time, Susan,’ Esme tried to defend Connie. ‘Perhaps we did them a disservice keeping it from them, but it was done for the best. Connie will wake up to her studying. She’s still young to be doing them exams.’

Later, alone in her bungalow, in the dark of the night, all these worries wrapped themselves around her chest. So much tension in the world nowadays.
Hadn’t they fought two World Wars for some peace? She hated listening to the news at times.

Her only comfort was memories of happier days when her own children were young: excursions to Llandudno, trips to Morecambe Bay, Redvers by her side and the whole future ahead of them. How quickly those days pass and how long is widowhood.

This new world, with its glamorous presidents, pop stars and two channels of rubbishy television was not one she felt comfortable with any more: all that talk of sex and money and power. No one seemed satisfied with their lot. Macmillan was right, they’d never had it so good, but look what a mess the Continent was in.

It was dreadful to hanker after the past, not the future. It troubled her. How could she advise this new generation as head of the household if she didn’t keep up with affairs?

Her children didn’t need her any more, or their children. She was good for baby-sitting, presents at Christmas and not much else. Old age was not for cowards. She’d felt so tired lately and all she was fit for was a good read and a cup of cocoa.

Then came the knock at the front door, shaking her awake. Who was that? She was glad she’d had a chain fitted to the door.

‘Who is it?’ she shouted, holding her silver-topped walking cane for good measure.

‘Only me, Gran … Connie!’

Esme opened the door, all fingers and thumbs. Something must be up but there she was, all legs and hair, with Freddie’s cheeky grin on her face.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late but I’ve a favour to ask.’

‘Don’t stand there, come in. Put the kettle on. It’s never too late to see a smiling face. I’m glad you’ve called. I was wanting a word.’

‘About what?’ The girl’s face changed at once. ‘What’s up? You’re not ill?’

‘Just make us some cocoa and put a bit of rum in it. The doc recommends it for a good night’s sleep.’

‘Gran, you devil! You’re supposed to be TT,’ Connie laughed.

‘And you’re supposed to be at home with your textbooks.’

‘We did a great gig in Bolton tonight. Marty’s got an audition for
Search for Stars
with Carroll Leavis. Isn’t that great?’

‘Marty who?’

‘Martin Gorman … Rick Romero … the wedding band. Honest, Gran, you were there, didn’t you hear them?’

‘I saw you dancing like a savage.’

‘I knew you’d say that.’

‘So Billy Gorman’s son is flavour of the month. They’re Catholics, and we don’t mix, as a rule.’

‘That’s old hat! This is the sixties; no one bothers about that now.’

‘Oh, but they do, young lady. Scratch under the
surface and Marty Gorman will be looking for a nice girl from Our Lady of Sorrows – a Rosa, for instance. She’s a left footer, not someone of our persuasion.’

‘That’s just bigotry. You’ll love him when you meet him. He’s so good on stage and he’s got his big chance, thanks to Neville.’

‘What’s our Neville got to do with the price of fish?’

‘He knows someone in Manchester who fixed them an audition.’

‘And where might you fit into all this? You’ve got exams in a month.’

‘I can always take them next year. That’s what I came to ask you. Can I borrow some money for a trip? We’re going to do a student gig in Switzerland. I can go with them. I want to see what it’s like, help behind the scenes. I’ve been writing a few songs … strumming a bit. I’ve got loads of ideas. Oh, please, Gran.’ Freddie’s blue eyes were suddenly pleading in her direction. ‘I never got to go on the school trip.’

‘How will you get there?’

‘We’ve got a new Transit – well, almost newish. We’ll take camping stoves and sleeping bags, roughing it like in Guide camp. It’s just I need the ferry crossing and spends until we earn out at the gig. I’ll get a little wage.’

‘I wouldn’t begrudge you a holiday after all you’ve been through. You can pay me back by being a help to Su with the boarding house now that Ana—’ Esme
saw the girl’s eyes filling up. ‘I know it’s been hard for you, and with Joy getting wed … a break after the exams’ll do you good.’

‘No, Gran. That’s the point. I can’t do the exams this year. I’ll do them next when I’m eighteen. We’re going in two weeks.’

Esme felt weak at the knees at this news. ‘You’ve studied for two years in the fast stream. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted for you, Connie.’

‘I know, but it can wait and this can’t. I just
have
to go with Marty.’

‘Are you going to be living with those boys in a van?’

‘And their girlfriends too. It’s all very respectable.’ Connie never could lie and her cheeks were flushing up.

‘You be careful. I hope young Gorman is a gentleman.’ Now it was Esme’s turn to blush. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘Oh, it’s not like that.’

‘It’s always like that when lads and lassies mix. If he’s a good Catholic boy, there’ll be … no precautions taken.’

‘Gra-an! We’re not like that.’

‘Given a week in a van and you will be. You’re too young and I don’t want any more trouble in the family. It’s been bad enough …’

‘Just because Freddie couldn’t keep his flies buttoned up, I shouldn’t be punished.’

‘This is not punishment. It’s an order. You have exams and our reputation. Be reasonable. Plenty of time for trips after your exams are over. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘But I want to go now.’

‘I know you do, but not with my money you don’t. Want doesn’t get every time. So think on. Just be patient. There’s a whole world ahead of you.’

‘Not if they drop a nuclear bomb on us, there isn’t,’ Connie replied.

‘Don’t cheek your elders. We know best, and going off, living over the brush with some chap in a van is not the Winstanley way, and there’s an end to it!’

‘It’s not fair. I bet if I were a boy you wouldn’t mind. Nev can stay out all night and no one bothers.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. He’s over eighteen and knows his own mind and earns a wage. He doesn’t have studies to consider.’

‘Oh, bugger the studies. I’m off. If you won’t help me I’ll find someone who will.’ Connie jumped up and grabbed her scruffy duffel coat, her badges rattling, and fled out the front door, banging it so hard it nearly broke the window glass. Then there was silence.

Esme made for the cupboard and swigged down some neat rum. What did I say? How can the girl be so stupid as to ditch everything on a whim for a Gorman?

She sat back and sighed. There could be only one
explanation. Connie was in the full flush of first love, a dangerous time. There’d be no reasoning with the child. Suddenly Esme was afraid.

Su was up early on the morning of Connie’s first History A level paper. It was a lovely June morning, wall-to-wall paraffin-blue sky. She wanted to make sure the girl got a decent breakfast down her for the long slog ahead.

At least the girl had stayed in, for once, and gone to bed early, washed and tidied up without the usual moan. She’d gone to see Jacob in his room and then said she had to swot and not to wake her too early.

Since Joy’s marriage, Su felt the draught of only one girl in the house and quiet Dr Friedmann kept himself to himself during term time. The two of them had gone out to the new Chinese restaurant in town. It wasn’t like Burmese food but she’d smelled the spices frying and it had brought back memories of home. The pictures of her life before Freddie were fading fast. She was an English lady now. Jacob was a good friend and it was nice to have an honourable man in the house. In Horace Milburn they’d harboured a Peeping Tom, so next time references would be examined more closely. She must be more careful. She felt so alone. When Ana was alive she longed for the house to herself: all those comings and goings at all hours of the day. Now she would love
to see Ana poring over the newspaper, chattering away to herself as she concocted her spicy stews. The house was too silent. How she wished she could hear Ana and Connie spitting out one of their blazing rows.

She sighed. She was sure that Joy was expecting her first grandchild. What a happy event to come, if only the girl wasn’t so sick and thin-looking.

Su knocked on Connie’s door. ‘Eight o’clock, rise and shine. Come to the cookhouse door, boys,’ she sang. There was no response. ‘Connie, wake up, don’t be late. It’s a big day!’ She opened the door gingerly. The room was tidy, too tidy. It smelled of smoky clothes and perfume. The bed was made but not slept in. It felt cold.

‘Connie?’ Perhaps she was in the new little bathroom, but that door was open.

‘Jacob!’ she cried, running down the attic stairs. He was busy gathering his papers into his briefcase. ‘Have you seen Connie go out?’

‘No.’ He looked up, puzzled. ‘But she did borrow ten pounds from me last night and a map. She’s planning a holiday abroad after the exams, I think. She asked for her papers and the passport we applied for for her when she was adopted. What’s up? Did I do wrong?’

‘No … but her school case is in her room and her uniform. Her bed is empty. I must see if the old rucksack is under the stairs … Oh, no, not on the day of
her first exam … She wouldn’t just leave without a word. I’ll ring Joy. She will know.’

Su was shaking with the realisation that Connie had hoodwinked them.

Joy knew nothing, however, and was sleepy and perplexed. ‘Try Gran. She might know.’

Esme groaned at her news. ‘Why, that little minx! I told her she couldn’t go.’

‘Go where?’

‘To Switzerland, to some rock-and-roll do with her boyfriend and his band.’

‘The pop singer at the wedding … she’s eloped with him?’ Su was shaking even more now. ‘Not Connie … on the day of her exam. Ana would turn in her grave. How dare she do such a dishonourable thing? Why didn’t you warn me?’

There was a pause. ‘I thought my refusal was word enough. Evidently this young generation don’t respect their elders’ advice. It’ll end in tears and we’ll have to pick up the pieces. The disobedient puppy, to shame us like this. Wait until Ivy hears; she’ll make a meal out of this for years. I could slap her, I really could, and not a word.’

‘Now don’t get your blood pressure up, Daw Esme. You know what the doctor said,’ Su advised. ‘Take a tablet and lie down and we’ll sort it out this end.’

Jacob produced a cup of proper tea with no milk. Su sat down, suddenly weak and frustrated. She’d tried to do her best by Connie, but one minute she
was all smiles and helpfulness, the next the door banged and there were sullen silences, hours spent in her room listening to those terrible records. She didn’t visit Joy or write to Rosa like she used to do. All she did was make a racket in the attic. She said she was composing music but Mozart never sounded like that.

‘Oh, Jacob,’ she sighed. ‘Where did I go wrong?’

He smiled from the doorway in his shabby tweed jacket and faded corduroys, which were shiny at the knees. ‘Drink your tea. The girl is over sixteen, old enough to take her life in her own hands, and who can blame the poor mixed-up child? She’ll learn that running away is easy enough, it’s staying away that’s harder.’