All the Days of Our Lives (11 page)

Vera’s throat was on fire. One minute she was sweating, the next shivering with aching cold. The glands in her neck throbbed, and if she opened her eyes the walls seemed to bulge in and out, so she mostly kept them closed, except when she was looking for Mummy. She seemed to have been gone for a long time. Where was she? And why was Spots barking, on and on, next door?

The little bedroom in Sparkhill seemed to have become her childhood room in Hall Green, with the watercolour picture of Jesus calming the storm on the wall by the bed, so that that was what she saw each time she looked up: Jesus in a halo of light amid the towering waves and bucking ship. He would always be there to make things right, that was what Mummy said – Mummy with her childlike beliefs.

They were Congregationalists, deeply involved in the Church and Bible Study, saying prayers before every meal. Vera had no brothers and sisters, so she was thrown into the company of her parents and of adults in general. Her father, Harold Porter, was a big man, imposing, with strong-featured good looks and dark-brown curly hair. He was a travelling salesman, and good at it – his looks must have helped, his air of knowing something that other people would benefit by learning from him – so they had a car. He was away for a night or two quite often.

When Vera was eight, he disappeared for two years, almost to the day.

Vera’s mother, Jean Porter, a tiny, doll-like woman with curling auburn hair and porcelain skin, told no one that he had gone – not even herself.

‘I haven’t seen your Harold for a while,’ her friends might remark. Vera could remember them, in the parlour with the net curtains, drinking tea and eating dainty scones and cake.

‘Oh, I know,’ Jean would say in a vexed way. ‘It’s so naughty of him. He will take on these big jobs that keep him away from home. He was home earlier in the week, but you missed him, I’m afraid. He’s had to go away again on urgent business
overseas.
’

At this, her voice would sink to an awed whisper and the other women would look suitably impressed. If they ever asked exactly what he was doing
overseas
, Jean would laugh in her girlish way, fiddling with a curling strand of her hair and say, ‘Oh, you know – it’s all to do with buying and selling. I don’t interfere too much in his work, to tell you the truth. You know what the male of the species is like, don’t you? They don’t like to be interfered with!’

She would tell her friends that he was due home in a few days, and that then they would be away, taking a little holiday – perhaps by the seaside?

Vera, whose ninth birthday came and went without her seeing her father, did start to doubt things. When Mummy said to people that Daddy had been home for a few days last week, she started to think that yes, perhaps he had been? Hadn’t he come in and kissed her goodnight? And when Mummy said in the holidays once or twice that they were not going to go out of the house for a few days, because so far as everyone knew they had gone on a little holiday to the seaside, hadn’t she joined in when Mummy asked for this to be their game of pretend?

‘You can tell your friends about the cliffs, and the rock pools – you know, going out with your net on a lovely sunny morning, and catching crabs and sea anemones and tiny fish, with the sand between your toes and the sound of the waves in your ears . . .’ By the time she had spun her story, Vera almost felt as if she
had
been to the seaside. To confuse things further, on one of ‘Daddy’s’ holidays by the sea, they had taken a train all the way down to Bournemouth and spent a few days with Jean’s mother in a little boarding house looking over the sea. It was blissful for Vera, as her grandmother was a kindly woman, but there was still no sign of Daddy, even though Mummy told her to tell her friends that he had been there with them, but had now had to go on a long journey.

After a time this became close to normal, but now and again Vera would ask, ‘When is Daddy
really
coming back?’

Her mother looked at her stony-faced. ‘What do you mean,
really
coming back? You know perfectly well that your father is a very busy man, back and forth on business. He’s with us as often as he can be. Now don’t be demanding, Vera. We just have to accept that this is the way it is.’

‘I don’t believe you’ve got a dad,’ one of her friends at school started on her once.

‘What d’you mean – course I have!’ she retorted.

‘Where is he then? Is he a ghost or something?’

‘He’s just busy: he’s away on business,’ she said defiantly, making herself believe it as she said it.

‘Huh – my mom says he’s run off with a bit of stuff!’

Vera got caned that day, six raps on each hand, for slapping the other girl soundly round the face.

Just before her tenth birthday he did come back. She saw him first, one afternoon when she came home from school. Even though it was threatening rain, she had stopped two doors up to play with Spots, the Jack Russell, leaning over the neighbour’s fence, stroking him, and he kept jumping up to meet her hand and yapping with enthusiasm. Then she caught sight of someone just inside her own garden. There was a rose bush by the gate with pink blooms, straggly now and needing deadheading at the end of summer, and he was standing there next to it, just standing, as if in a dream.

Her heart gave an enormous leap. It was him. It
really was
him!

‘Daddy!’ She started to run, as fast as she could. ‘Daddy, Daddy!’

He turned to look at her, bewildered, as if he couldn’t remember who she was. They stood each side of the gate for a moment. There was a strong breeze and it was just beginning to drizzle.

‘Vera,’ he said, gently, ‘little Vera. You’ve got so big.’

He came and opened the gate to let her in. He didn’t lift her up into his arms, but took her hand and led her to the front door. She wanted to cry, but didn’t let herself. She didn’t know whether to trust that he was here.

‘Are you coming home
really
?’ she asked.

He looked down at her, his eyes affectionate but sad. ‘Yes. I think so,’ he said.

Vera had cried, ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ out loud in anguish as Katie sat on the bed beside her.

‘Mom – Mother?’ Katie said, taking her hand. ‘What’s the matter? Are you all right?’

Her mother’s hand felt hot and dry. She gave a small moan and opened her eyes, and for a few moments it seemed as if she was looking at a complete stranger. In a cracked voice she said, ‘Is he still here?’

‘Who?’ Katie asked gently.

‘Daddy – I mean . . .’ She looked confused. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, seeming to come back to herself. She gave a little sobbing sigh. ‘They all go, all of them. They’re always taken from you.’ Her voice was desperately sad.

Katie felt for her. All she knew was that her grandparents didn’t want anything to do with them, that Vera’s husband had died so young. She had great sympathy for her mother. But it meant that she had never felt that she was enough, that there was anything adequate she could do to make up for all her mother’s grief and pain. All she could do now was pat her hand.

‘It’s all right, Mother. You’ll be better soon. Then things won’t look so bad. D’you want another sip of water?’

But Vera ignored the question, squeezing Katie’s hand with sudden ferocity. ‘You won’t go away and leave me, will you? Promise me?’

With a sinking heart, Katie looked back into her mother’s intense, feverish gaze. What was she asking? Katie felt trapped, stifled, but what else could she say?

‘I . . . No, of course I won’t, Mother—’

Vera’s head came off the pillow. ‘
Promise
me.’

‘I promise.’

Vera seemed less feverish the next morning. Katie had left her with plenty to drink and the reassurance that Mrs Hargreaves from next door would look in on her this morning, and that Enid was due to come over in the afternoon. It was a lovely day, bright and crisp, and even right here in the middle of town, hemmed in by factories, it lifted the spirits. Katie was so glad to be out of the house and breathed in deep, her lips turning up in a smile at the sense of freedom and of being away from her mother.

Her smile met that of Simon Collinge. Until then she had assumed that he came into work with his father, but no, there he was getting out of what seemed to be his own shiny Austin 10 tourer! The sight of the car removed him into a life of wealth and privilege very far from her own, and immediately she felt embarrassed and foolish about daydreaming over its owner. What on earth did she think she was playing at! She lowered her gaze and was hurrying past, but he jumped energetically from the sporty little car to land in front of her, and perched his hat lightly on his head in time to tip it off again for her benefit, in a way that was gentlemanly and self-mocking at the same time.

‘Morning!’ he called cheerfully. ‘Lovely day.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, her heart speeding like a motor that had been turned up. ‘Lovely car as well.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, she is, isn’t she? Goes like the clappers.’

Katie could feel the eyes of the stream of workers coming into the factory all watching this exchange and tried to walk on again. But Simon Collinge slammed shut the door of the car and fell into step beside her as they made their way into the works. You could hear the racket of the machines from behind the closed doors. He was carrying his coat over his arm and held his trilby resting on top of it. His hair had a slightly rumpled look, as if he had brushed it, but it wouldn’t lie flat. Katie had to restrain herself from reaching up and smoothing it down as if he was a child.

‘Have you been here long?’ He spoke in a relaxed way that put her at her ease a little.

‘Oh, no – only a few months.’

‘Really?’ He sounded impressed and turned to look directly at her, which brought an embarrassed flush to her face. ‘Where were you before?’

‘I was at Serck,’ she told him, trying to sound casual.

‘Oh, marvellous – that’s good . . .’

She wasn’t quite sure why this was so good, and it dawned on her that he was rather nervous of her, which somehow put her more at ease.

‘And you were working at Herbert’s?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I thought I’d go somewhere and do some time in a place that wasn’t the family firm – just for a while anyway. All good experience . . .’

He began to peel off as they got inside.

‘I’m going onto the floor for a bit.’ He turned, walking backwards as he spoke to her, moving towards the shop floor. See you up in the lions’ den!’

Katie laughed at this unexpected comment and heard his laughter too as he disappeared through the swing doors. She liked the way he was so light-hearted and ready for a joke.

She had to calm herself down as she climbed the stairs, because her face was all pink and she had a broad grin stretched across it. If only she didn’t blush so easily and give herself away. She stopped on the stairs and took some deep breaths.

‘Stop being so silly,’ she ticked herself off. ‘He was only making polite conversation with you – it doesn’t mean anything!’

But as she went into the office she could feel Lena Crosby staring curiously at her and felt herself blush even more. Even after she’d sat down at her desk, it was a long time before her heartbeat slowed to something approaching normal.

Over the next few days, whenever Simon Collinge came into the office, Katie always looked down and busily got on with her work. But sooner or later she would raise her head and become aware of his eyes fixed on her, though he was at his desk, seemingly wrapped in deep thought about a technical problem. She was astonished at his effect on her. She had never really believed all those romantic stories about women going weak at the knees, melting inside – or however they put it. Not until now. The very look of him, the curve of his long back, the lift of his hair in a boyish wave from his forehead, the way he sat hunched with his head in his hands, thinking hard, tapping his toes and sometimes drumming his fingers on the desk, the air of confidence he gave off – everything about his sheer masculine presence did make her feel, yes, soft and melting inside! And she was very embarrassed about it, because surely he was not looking at her on purpose, and she didn’t want to make a silly little fool of herself.

But he seemed to glance across at her often. Sometimes he would just raise an eyebrow in a humorous way, or pull up one side of his mouth in an uncertain smile. Soon he seemed to keep finding excuses to talk to her, passing her on the stairs up to the offices or on her way in and out of the building. They were only polite fragments of conversation. She had mentioned in the office that her mother had had the flu, and he asked if she was better. Or it was something about the weather, or the war. That was what everyone talked about – all the moans about rationing and shortages. But even this amount of attention felt very flattering to her and made her even more aware of him.

Katie, who had always made sure she was turned out well for work, found herself making an extra-special effort with her appearance. She always kept her clothes clean and well pressed, and her favourite was the navy suit and cream blouse that she mostly wore, knowing the outfit flattered her. Sometimes, instead of the jacket, she wore the skirt with a soft, cherry-coloured cardigan, which looked very striking against her dark hair. She made sure she kept her hair nicely trimmed, and it waved prettily along her shoulders. She rolled a piece of it and pinned it back from her face and knew it suited her. She knew she looked the best she could, under wartime restrictions.