The Girl From Barefoot House (28 page)

Josie had made a friend in Charlotte Ward-Pierce, a gaunt woman with large, sick eyes, who had two small children and lived next door but one. She came for coffee on Monday mornings, and Josie went to her on Fridays. Charlotte’s father was Lord Lieutenant of somewhere, and her husband, Neville, managed an Arabian bank. The two young women were grateful for
each other’s company at the various social functions held in Bingham Mews.

Josie waited until all the carpets and curtains had been fitted, and every item of furniture bought, before inviting Lily Kavanagh to stay. It was December 1957, three and a half years since she’d last seen Lily, and although they corresponded regularly it felt more like a hundred.

Lily had wanted to come before, and couldn’t understand why Josie didn’t visit Liverpool. Josie had felt obliged to tell her the truth. ‘Because I don’t want you to see the dead awful place where we live.’ She had tried to make it sound bohemian. ‘Quite frankly, Lil, I’m too exhausted to travel. I’m supporting an artist, remember? I’m working full time.’

She had had to work another six months before Jack’s pilot script had been deemed suitable for production by the BBC and a series had been commissioned. With a sense of overwhelming relief, Josie handed in her notice. Laura quickly got used to being looked after by her mother, though she retained an especially close relationship with Jack.

Her little girl was a joy to be with. Laura had an impish sense of humour, and kept her mother entertained during the long hours Jack was downstairs in his study, at meetings, at script conferences or lunching with Mattie Garr.

After living in one room for almost two years, the new house felt incredibly spacious. For the first few weeks Josie used to go for walks, in and out of rooms, up and down stairs, hardly able to believe it was
theirs
.

They weren’t rich, not yet, but no expense had been spared when it came to furnishing their new home – a beige leather three-piece, a walnut table with six
matching chairs, two of them carvers, a maple bedroom suite. Nearly everything came from Peter Jones in Sloane Square, one of the poshest shops in London.

What would Mam say if she could see me now? Josie wondered as she ordered furniture costing hundreds of pounds. She found the change from being dead poor to seriously well off somewhat daunting. People came to measure for curtains and carpets, and she had swatches of material and samples of carpet to choose from.

Laura’s room was painted pink, and had a glossy white junior bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers. Josie stuck transfers on the walls, and bought a fairy castle nightlight to keep her little girl company in the dark.

It was lovely, splashing money around like there was no tomorrow, but it was accompanied by the scary knowledge that the more successful Jack became, the further apart they grew.

Jack Coltrane was now a name to be reckoned with at the BBC. A second series of
DiMarco of the Met
had been commissioned and would start in the new year. They’d bought his play,
The Disciples
, though Mattie Garr had insisted on numerous alterations, and it was due to be shown at Easter. Now there was talk of a completely new series, and Jack was spending a lot of time in discussions with Mattie before he wrote the pilot.

There was nothing Josie could put a finger on. They made love almost as often as they used to, with almost the old fervour. It was just a feeling in her bones that something was wrong. She would catch a far-away expression on his face, as if he were thinking, What the hell am I
doing
here? She’d had the same disturbing thought herself that first Christmas at Louisa’s. Despite everything, Josie suspected he would sooner be living in the apartment opposite an Italian cinema and an
ice-cream parlour, working in a bar and writing plays with a message that no one wanted to hear. Having a wife and child had led to a lifestyle the old Jack would have despised.

On the day she was due to meet Lily at Euston station, Josie got dressed up to the nines in a green suede coat and matching high-heeled shoes she’d bought in the Kings Road. Underneath, she wore an orange polo-necked jumper and a slightly flared tweed skirt with orange flecks nestling in the green. She dressed Laura in her white hooded fur coat and tied her black hair in bunches with white ribbons.

‘Me take Blue Bunny,’ Laura said as they were leaving. It was a statement, not a question.

‘Mind you don’t lose him.’ Laura and Blue Bunny were inseparable. Josie had felt the same about Teddy.

‘Look for your Auntie Lily, luv,’ Josie said later when the Liverpool train drew in. ‘She’s small and plump with short curly hair. Oh, look! She’s grown it long again. She’s got a bun.’

Lily was walking towards them in a black fitted coat and long boots, smiling and waving. Outside the barrier, Josie waved frantically back, and Laura waved Blue Bunny’s paw. It was so lovely to see a familiar face that the long gap shrank rapidly, and it was as if she’d only seen Lily’s pert, pretty face yesterday. The two girls embraced warmly. Not to be outdone, Laura curled a fur-clad arm around her new aunt’s neck.

‘You suit a bun, Lil,’ Josie said. ‘It looks nice.’

Lily took a long, deep breath, and smiled rapturously. ‘Oh, it’s good to see you, Jose. You look dead smart. And you …’ She chucked Laura under the chin. ‘You’re beautiful, you are. Can I hold her?’

‘Bootiful,’ Laura agreed as she was passed from one set of arms to another. ‘Kiss Blue Bunny,’ she commanded, and Lily duly complied.

Josie took her friend’s arm. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Lil.’

‘You’ve aged, Jose. You look older than twenty-three.’

It was quite like old times. ‘I’ve had a baby,’ Josie remarked tartly. ‘And things haven’t exactly been easy over the last few years.’

They arrived at Bingham Mews, and Lily had never seen such funny-shaped houses before. ‘Fancy living over the garage! Were the builders short of space? I bet these were dead cheap.’

Josie assured her they were three times the cost of a house in Liverpool, which Lily found hard to believe.

‘If you don’t believe me, there’s a famous model living opposite. Her name’s Maya, and she’s in all the posh magazines. There’s an actor next door, and there’s stockbrokers and bankers.’ She tossed her head. ‘And there’s us!’

They went up to the lounge. ‘Where’s that famous husband of yours?’ Lily enquired. ‘I’m dying to meet him.’

‘At lunch, which can go on for hours. He probably won’t be home till six.’ The lunch was usually accompanied by several bottles of wine, and Jack was likely to come home ever so slightly drunk.

She went to make tea, leaving Laura with a badly smitten Lily. Like father, like daughter, Josie thought ruefully. Laura, with her all-embracing smiles and beguiling ways, could charm the birds off the trees.

‘I don’t look all
that
much older.’ She regarded her reflection in the little mirror behind the kitchen door.
There were no wrinkles – not that you’d expect them at twenty-three – but she didn’t look
young
. It was something to do with the expression in her blue eyes, as if she’d seen too much, known too much that she would have preferred not to. Perhaps it had been there since the day the bomb had fallen on the Prince Albert, and she’d never noticed before.

Trust Lily to point it out!

‘Tell me all the news,’ she demanded, returning to the living room with a tray of tea-things. Laura was dozing off on Lily’s knee.

‘I’ve told you everything there is to know in me letters. Oh, except this. I only heard it yesterday.’ Lily’s eyes gleamed and her voice rose to a squeak, a sure sign she was about to impart something of remarkable significance. ‘Your Auntie Ivy’s got married again. He’s a policeman, Alfred Lawrence, and really huge, about six feet six.’

Josie grimaced. ‘I hope he turns out a better bet than Vincent Adams.’ She didn’t want to talk about Aunt Ivy. ‘What’s the girl like your Robert’s engaged to? Is there any sign of your Daisy getting married? Is Imelda still as horrible? How’s your Ben? It must be awful, being married to someone no one likes.’ Josie snuggled into a leather armchair. ‘This is nice. I haven’t had a gossip in years.’

‘Imelda’s pregnant again, and she’s completely round the bend,’ Lily said flatly. ‘You should hear the way she nags Ben something rotten when they come to visit. Did I tell you they’re living in Manchester? Ben’s got a job there in a laboratory. Poor lad, he can’t do a thing right. Ma daren’t say a word in case Imelda won’t come again, and it’s Ben who’d suffer most. At least Sunday dinner at ours gives him a break – he goes for a drink with me da’.
Anyroad, we’re all dead fond of Peter. He’s a super little boy, only a few months younger than this little one.’ She removed a lock of hair from Laura’s eyes. ‘Imelda doesn’t hesitate to have a go at him as well.’

Poor Peter. And poor Ben, so nice, so polite, so innocent, always anxious to do the right thing. It wasn’t fair that he should end up with someone like Imelda.

‘As for our Robert,’ Lily was saying, ‘Julia seems okay but, then, so did Imelda. Ma said she’ll give her judgement in another five years. And our Daisy shows no sign of getting married.’ Her voice fell, as if she might be overheard. ‘Frankly, Josie, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s a lesbian. She and that Eunice seem awfully close. They’re always off on holiday together, and neither has ever had a fella.’

‘She’s only twenty-seven.’ Josie laughed. ‘Your Daisy’s a career woman. She’s bent on being chief librarian of Liverpool. There’s plenty of time for her to get married.’

Lily sniffed. ‘It was you that asked. Actually, Jose, would you mind taking Laura? I’m desperate to go to the lavatory.’

Josie carried Laura up to her pink and white bedroom, then went down to the ground floor, through the little door at the bottom of the stairs which led to the garage. She rolled up the garage door for when Jack came home so he could drive straight in. When she returned, Lily was coming out of the bathroom, full of admiration for a change. ‘I’ve never seen a blue suite before, it looks dead pretty.’

‘I’m glad we’ve got something you like.’

‘Everywhere’s nice.’ Lily flushed. ‘The house is lovely.’ She sighed as they returned to the lounge. ‘I’m jealous, that’s all. When I saw you waiting by the barrier
with Laura, I wanted to kill you stone dead, I envied you so much. Our Ben wanted to marry you, and that chap you met at Haylands, Griff. Now you’re married to someone who had his picture in the
Radio Times
. He’s
gorgeous
, Josie. I took it to show the girls at work.’ Lily hunched her shoulders. ‘I want a husband and children so much I can’t think of anything else most of the time.’

‘Haven’t you met anyone you fancy, luv?’

‘Oh, loads,’ Lily said promptly. ‘The trouble is, they don’t fancy me. Remember Francie O’Leary? I would have married him like a shot.’ Her eyes grew frightened. ‘I’ll be twenty-four next April, Jose. I’m worried I’ll be left on the shelf.’ She sort of smiled. ‘I’m still a virgin, you know.’

Josie poured more tea. She said slowly, ‘If only you knew how much I envied
you
over the years. I would have given anything for a mam and dad, a family.’ She smiled. ‘I even envied your coat the first time we met in Blackler’s basement before the war. It was exactly the same as your ma’s, blue with a fur collar, though I wasn’t exactly crazy about your hat.’

‘I suppose the grass is always greener …’

‘On the other side of the fence.’

A car drove into the mews, and she recognised the harsh roar of the Austin Healey. The garage door was pulled down, and a few minutes later Jack came in to the room.

‘You’re fatter than I expected,’ Lily told him plainly when they were introduced. ‘You looked much thinner in your photo in the
Radio Times
.’

Josie glanced at her husband. Lily was right. She hadn’t noticed, but his once-lean cheeks were fuller, and he was becoming jowly. He looked well fed, a touch prosperous. When he removed the jacket of his expensive suit,
the black trousers were tight around his waist. She had a moment of fear. He looked a stranger.

He seemed slightly taken aback. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind,’ he said, politely shaking Lily’s hand, though Josie sensed he was annoyed. But no one liked to be told they’re growing fat, particularly by someone they’d only just met. Lily was incorrigible.

She herself felt annoyed with Lily, then with Jack, who announced he had work to do and went down to his study. She was even more annoyed when Lily said, ‘He’s not quite as gorgeous as I thought. Is he a bit pissed, Jose? His hands were shaking.’ It would have been easy to have had one of their famous rows, but Josie resisted the temptation. They were older, and it might not pass off as easily as their frequent childish ones.

Lily stayed for five days. With Laura in tow, Josie took her to see the sights, most of which she hadn’t had time to see herself – the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament, Madame Tussaud’s. They lunched in Lyon’s Corner House, went for walks through Hyde Park, along Oxford Street, Regent Street, Piccadilly, all decorated for Christmas.

They took the opportunity to buy each other presents, and Josie searched for something expensive and unique for Mrs Kavanagh, who had been the nearest thing she’d had to a mam over the years. She decided on an antique cameo brooch in a gold setting which cost twenty-five pounds. ‘It’s second hand but, then, you can’t buy a new antique, can you?’ Lily promised to give it to her mother on Christmas morning.

What should she buy Jack? Last Christmas and the one before they’d been poor. They’d bought each other things like chocolates and scarves. She’d knitted him
gloves, but the fingers were all the wrong size. This year she could afford to buy something dead expensive.

‘What about one of those?’ They were in Selfridge’s menswear department. Lily pointed to a rack of pure silk dressing-gowns in dark colours – maroon, navy blue, bottle green.

‘Hmm! I’ll keep them in mind.’ The Jack Coltrane she’d met in Greenwich Village three years ago hadn’t owned pyjamas, let alone a dressing-gown, and he would have laughed at the idea of silk. It shocked her that Lily considered such a
poncy
garment suitable for the Jack of today.