Friends and Lovers (2 page)

‘What are you talking about?’ gasped Viv, as excited as he was but forcing him to halt.

‘About doing what I’ve always wanted! Painting! Ma told me that Dad always wanted to be a real artist but couldn’t afford it. Now I can.’

Vivien stared into his eyes and smiled. ‘And I can go to America. You should come to, George, really you should. Forget Paris. Paint in
America. Your mam would love to see you.’

His smile faded. ‘Don’t go on about America. Mam’s living her own life and we’ve got ours. If you feel like travelling, then come to Paris with me. We’ll have a great time. Or what about South of France? They say the light’s magic there.’ He hugged her and would have kissed her again but she averted her face.

‘It’s not on, George,’ she said seriously. ‘Your mam will be hurt if neither of us go. I can’t go waltzing off to France with you.’

His arms dropped abruptly to his sides and he moved away from her to sit at the table. His fingers toyed with a fold in the brown chenille cloth. ‘You know how I feel about America. If I go there Mike’s family’ll try and turn me into a Yank like they’ve done to Mam and the kids. You’ve read her letters, Viv,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’m British through and through, and proud of it! The Yanks think everything about their country is so great. It’s bigger, it’s better. You’ve heard the way the kids speak of the place in their letters.’

Viv said lightly, ‘To them it probably is. They are half American. You wouldn’t be getting so worked up if you hadn’t drunk so much.’

‘I hope Nick Bryce believed I was drunk because otherwise he’ll think I’m an idiot after what I said to Joe about going round there.’

‘Why? What did you say?’

He avoided her eyes. ‘Told him I couldn’t stand their house being painted blue and white anymore.’

‘He’ll think you’re an idiot anyway,’ she said drily.

A reluctant smile flashed across his face. ‘You never have seen how important it is to support the right team, Viv. Your mam did,’ he said. ‘She was a keen Liverpool supporter when she was a girl. She told me so.’

‘I don’t want to know,’ Viv said tonelessly. ‘But you do realise that if my mother knew about this money, she’d be over here quicker than you could say Jack Flash? She loved money did my mother, and she was a right skinflint. I remember her paying me a mouldy sixpence to help clean the flat when she was married to Kevin.’

‘Sixpence was sixpence in the forties,’ said George, smiling.

‘Your mam didn’t think so. She doubled it.’ Viv got off the subject of the past quickly. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready if you’re going out? But better not have more than one pint or you’ll be falling down,’ she added, remembering a terrifying time when Kevin, her stepfather, had been drunk.

‘Don’t be pert, young Viv,’ her cousin said severely. ‘I’ll decide how much booze I can take. You just put the money away. I’ll take it to Pryor’s
in London Road as soon as I get the chance.’ He went whistling out of the room.

Viv swept the gold coins into the old tin box. Just as she closed it there was a loud knock on the window and she jumped. Joe stood outside, his face pressed against the glass. Quickly she placed the box under the table, feeling inexplicably furtive. Then she got up and went to open the door.

Nick Bryce entered behind Joe. ‘George won’t be long,’ she said.

‘What about you? Aren’t you coming?’

The thought had not even entered her head and Nick’s words surprised her. ‘Isn’t it boys only?’

‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come?’

Before she could say anything George entered the room. He looked from his cousin to Nick Bryce and frowned. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing,’ she said.

But Nick answered, ‘I thought Viv might like to come with us.’

‘She’s not old enough,’ said George abruptly.

‘If she put on a bit of make-up she’d pass for eighteen,’ said Nick softly. ‘I thought she might be missing her grandad and need cheering up.’

‘She was glad to see the old man go,’ said George, zipping up his leather jacket.

Viv winced. ‘Don’t make it sound like I wished him dead!’

Nick leant against the table and gazed at her. ‘It’s not so unusual to want someone dead, you know. Families can drive you mad at times. Mine often does. So I wouldn’t feel guilty if I was you.’

‘I don’t know what I feel exactly,’ she murmured, surprised by his words. ‘He was old, senile, and I believe he’s better out of it.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘He wasn’t always lovable but maybe it’s remembering those times when I wished him to kingdom come that makes me feel …’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ She stared at him. ‘Do you have a grandfather?’

‘No.’ His smile came and went. ‘But I have parents who made me feel guilty for years. They divorced and my family life before and since has been anything but normal.’

‘I could tell her a few things about your family,’ muttered George, impatiently opening the front door.

Nick’s eyes glinted. ‘Tell away. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.’

‘But that’s not true!’ said Viv with feeling. ‘Being called names does hurt.’

‘So I lied,’ said Nick quietly. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go out? We could leave these two to go to the pub and go somewhere else.’

Viv’s heart suddenly bumped uncomfortably
fast. She was aware of George staring at her, narrow-eyed, waiting for her answer. Suddenly she thought of the day she had had and realised that she could not take any more emotion. Peace and quiet and putting up her feet were all she needed. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Nick. ‘But I’m worn out with the funeral and everything else.’

He showed no disappointment at her refusal. ‘Another time perhaps?’

She nodded and her heartbeat slowed. ‘Have a nice time, the three of you.’ She turned away and picked up the evening paper.

The door closed and she wondered if after all Nick Bryce was just being polite. She considered what he had said about his family. His parents were divorced. There would have been gossip. Did he live with his mother or father? She found herself thinking of her own mother. Sticks and stones …

Learning about her own illegitimacy was something that had come late but Viv had always realised there was something about her that caused people to whisper as she passed by. Why couldn’t you have been married to my father? she asked inwardly. I have no face to remember, no name to inherit. Inexplicably, she felt bereft because of not knowing. Never before had she felt it so strongly. She stared unseeingly at an advertisement in the newspaper then mentally shook herself. She was
being stupid. What was the good of self-pity?

She read: ‘Starlight glamour at C & A. Desert Song harem dress of brocade which whispers magic with every step’. It had a satin sash to enhance the high waistline, and a hooped underskirt. It was nine guineas, but what a dream of a dress! Viv’s spirits lifted slightly. The dress could do wonders for her morale. Make her look older too. Not old enough to drink, George had said, clearly trying to put her among the young ones and out of Nick Bryce’s reach. Nine guineas! She thought of the sovereigns and her spirits soared. She could afford it.

Viv turned several pages. Pinky and Perky were having a Christmas party at T.J. Hughes. Christmas was coming, the goose was getting fat, but where would she be for the holiday? America? Paris? Liverpool? It was nice to have a choice. She tried to concentrate on the newspaper, reading that Southport was reclaiming more land from the sea. That the Cardinals in Rome were sending out smoke signals telling the world that they were having trouble choosing a new pope. That the son of a British soldier had been killed in Cyprus.

She put down the newspaper and stared into the fire, thinking of Nick Bryce. He had been tanned. Had he got that tan in Cyprus? Had he had to face death? She compared him with Pete of the Tony Curtis haircut whom she had gone out
with what seemed ages ago now. Pete’s creeping fingers had fiddled with the neck of her dress on the third row back in the pictures. She had slapped his hand, determined that no boy was going to consider her easy game. Next he had lifted the hem of her gingham skirt and hooped underskirt with his crepe-soled suede shoe, and rubbed her leg, laddering her nylons. How could he believe that did something to a girl? Perhaps he wasn’t right in the head? He was only half a teddy boy after all with the shoes and a string tie and a jacket that wasn’t draped right. He seemed so juvenile compared to Nick Bryce. He seemed like a man who had felt things, seen things, done things. How had she worked that out after knowing him just five minutes? She could be deceiving herself.

Viv’s gaze wandered to the newspaper again and she stared at the sketch of the dress. It really would make her look older, but for what occasion would she wear it? Then she remembered that George had said something about a party. Who would he invite? Probably not Nick Bryce. Nine guineas! She wasn’t used to spending so much money on herself and felt guilty. Then she thought of all she had done for her grandfather and made up her mind. To hell with being sensible. She would buy the dress and knock a few fellas dead!

‘You’re not really serious about buying that?’ demanded Dot Taylor, staring disbelievingly at the vision in apricot brocade. ‘It would suit me better.’ She was tall and slender with dark hair, whereas Viv was only five foot two and went in and out in the right places.

‘You haven’t got the money,’ said Viv. ‘So hard cheese.’ She scrutinised her reflection with narrowed eyes. She felt really glam but was it the kind of dress for the party they planned? And was it right having a party so soon after Grandfather’s death? She still had her doubts but had agreed with George that the old house could do with livening up. It had been in the doldrums for what seemed a hundred years. Her cousin had not mentioned Paris for a week and she hoped that he had changed his mind.

‘Is it that John Hanson is going to be there and you want him to whisk you off to the nearest sand
hill and smother you in kisses?’ said Dot, taking the turquoise taffeta dress that Viv had also tried on and holding it against herself.

‘Not at this time of year! Besides, he’s too old for me.’ Viv stroked the skirt of the frock, loving the feel of the brocade and the silky texture of the satin sash. She twirled round and hummed ‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’.

‘You’ve a hope. There’s no princes for sale in Liverpool,’ Dot sighed. ‘Put it back and let’s go.’

‘I’m buying it.’

‘More fool you. It’s not practical.’

‘I’m fed up of being practical.’ Viv’s brown eyes were suddenly mutinous.

‘You’ll regret it. But hurry up, I want to go to
NEMS
and look at the records.’

As Viv struggled out of the dress she said, ‘That reminds me – could you bring some of your records next Saturday? Some of those your Norm got off your cousin Billy.’ Cousin Billy was a steward on a liner that went to New York and he brought back all the latest American hits before they reached the shops in England.

‘Sure,’ said Dot. ‘Although are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a live group? You know what a whizz our Norm is on the tea chest and two strings.’ Her eyes met Viv’s with an expression in them that said she knew her friend would enjoy the joke. ‘Although you’ll never believe this … he’s
bought himself a guitar from Hessey’s on the never never and is teaching himself chords. I think he’s deserting Lonnie and skiffle for Elvis and rock ‘n’ roll.’

‘It’s bound to be an improvement on
thunk-thunk
,’ said Viv. ‘But bring the records anyway. And Norm, unaccompanied. One thing he can do, and that’s jive!’ And on that note she went to pay for the dress.

The day of the party was hectic for Viv. George had half heartedly offered to help but once she got him to move some of the furniture upstairs to make room for dancing she told him to go to the football match. Paris had come up in conversation again that morning and she did not want him distracting her all afternoon by going on about the Louvre and Impressionist painters and the wonderful light in the South of France. She had told him that the light was just as good on a summer day over the Mersey and that she was going to California to get a suntan and watch the oranges grow. They had come near to quarrelling so she was glad to have him out of the way while she got on with making a trifle and several dozen sandwiches. Sausage rolls and meat pies were bought in.

That evening, as Viv prepared to go downstairs, she wondered which of George’s friends would be there. She thought of Nick Bryce. Her cousin had
not mentioned him since the day of the funeral and she figured that the past still rankled with him for all his fine words. She dismissed the thought from her mind and worried instead about her catering, hoping that there would be enough food. She had heard the door open several times but had left it to her cousin to welcome their guests. She wanted to make a grand entrance.

She looked at herself in the mirror and dampened the wispy kiss curls on her forehead with spit before checking that her pony tail, which she had folded under and clipped, was secure. She used her mascara brush again and nearly blinded herself. Then she applied another coat of coral lipstick. Despite the freezing temperature in her grandfather’s bedroom she had decided that a cardigan would spoil the effect of the dress. She straightened her back and took a deep breath, listening to the strains of the Everly Brothers’ ‘Wake Up, Little Susie’. Then she went downstairs.

Only Dot and her brother Norm seemed to notice Viv as she paused near the foot of the stairs to see who had arrived. Norm wolf whistled but it went unnoticed by most people there because of the music and conversation. George was dancing with a girl in a pink sweater, his expression animated for once. He did not look up.

As the record ended Norm called. ‘Why not come wiz me to ze casbah and we will make mad
passionate amour?’ Dot hit him on the arm but several people looked up in Viv’s direction.

She felt the blood rush to her face because she had already realised that Dot had been right and that she was overdressed for the occasion. Then she saw Joe come into the room, accompanied by Nick Bryce. Paul Anka started singing ‘I’m so young and you’re so old’.

How old was Nick Bryce? thought Viv.
Twenty-four
, twenty-five? She was seventeen. He seemed to vanish, only to materialise suddenly in front of her.

‘I like the dress,’ he said and, placing an arm round her waist, pulled her among the dancing couples.

‘Thank you.’ So what if she was overdressed? He liked the way she looked and it was her party. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. George never said,’ she murmured.

His intense blue eyes gazed into hers. ‘That’s because he never asked me. I hope you don’t mind, but when Joe told me you were throwing a party I couldn’t resist gate crashing. I wanted to see you again.’

She tried to prevent the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You could have knocked at the door any time.’

‘George might have answered and I was warned off the other week. He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.’

Viv frowned. ‘He has no say in the matter. It’s up to me to decide whether you’re good enough.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ His mouth quivered slightly. ‘Has he told you anything about me, Viv?’

‘Nothing. And I didn’t ask. Your past is your past and nothing to do with me.’

‘If we were to get to know each other better then surely you’d want to know more about me?’

‘Like you’d want to know about me, I suppose?’ she said lightly.

‘I know some things about you. I can give you a few years and I’ve a good memory,’ he said in a teasing voice.

Viv’s look was questioning. ‘I should remember you if we lived in the same street, shouldn’t I? But I can’t place you at the moment.’

‘I moved when you were only four or five. I was at grammar school by then.’ He twirled her round and when they faced each other again, added, ‘I remember your Aunt Flora. I liked her. She was kind.’

‘She was lovely,’ agreed Viv, her eyes warm. ‘I’m thinking of going to America soon to stay with her.’

‘With her, not your mother?’

‘My mother!’ Viv’s expression changed. ‘You can’t remember me as well as you claim to if you think I’d go and stay with her.’ There was a tremor in her voice.

At that moment George made a sudden appearance, like the demon in a pantomime. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of Nick. ‘You weren’t invited.’

‘Don’t fuss,’ said Viv, glancing about them. ‘What’s one more? There’s enough food, and it’s nice to talk to someone from the old street.’

George’s tawny eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown and his whole body seemed to bristle. ‘You still haven’t remembered him, have you? The Bryces had a name in our street.
She
was notorious. There was nobody, but nobody, in our street who didn’t know what she got up to!’

That’s enough, George,’ said Nick, his expression furious. ‘We’re not kids now and I’d hate to have to shut your mouth.’

Viv’s gaze travelled swiftly between them. Suddenly the atmosphere could have been sliced with a knife. ‘You’re making a show of us, George. Nick’s our guest so will you let things go! We’ve got people here wanting to enjoy themselves. They’re not going to if you start a fight.’

George glowered at her. ‘He’s got a reputation, Viv, and I don’t want him messing you about. Just bear that in mind, and if he starts anything …’

‘I’m hardly likely to start anything right here in this room,’ snapped Nick, his eyes glinting. ‘Use your commonsense, George!’

‘That’s right. He’d pick a quieter place,’ Viv added in a coaxing voice, ‘Now go away and leave me to look after myself. Enjoy the party! It was your idea after all.’

Before her cousin could say any more she
pulled Nick’s arm back round her and started to dance. ‘Many a tear has to fall,’ sang the singer. The music was pure smooch. She felt Nick’s chin rub against her hair. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t had a woman championing me for ages. My gran used to but she died and since then I’ve had to fight my own battles.’

‘So has George,’ said Viv quietly. ‘I’m very fond of my cousin, Nick, so don’t start thinking I’m on your side just because I stood up for myself. Whatever’s between the pair of you from the past, I don’t want to be involved.’

‘I think you’re what’s between us now,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘And the past isn’t that easy to put behind you. It has a habit of spilling into the present. Memories can be hard to get rid off. Remember what I said about sticks and stones?’

‘They hurt,’ she said with feeling.

He pressed her closer to him. ‘I remember being skitted at for all kinds of things … like the holes in my pants. I hated being a scruff. Then when I became a college kid and wore a blazer, I was called names for being smart. I couldn’t win.’

‘When I went to college I felt like that,’ she murmured. ‘College pud’ I was called. It was as if I’d committed a crime, working-class girl passing the scholarship. I was an outsider in the street
and
at school, amongst those with money who lived in Stoneycroft and Aigburth and places like that.
And then there was my accent. They gave some of us elocution lessons.’

‘How now, brown cow?’ said Nick, rounding his vowels.

She grinned. ‘Our teacher committed suicide. I always worried in case I was the cause of it. It was hard work polishing my vowels.’ She heard him laugh softly but it was true that her teacher had committed suicide and Viv had believed for a while that it was her fault. ‘It wasn’t funny,’ she said soberly.

‘My gran made me work on mine.’ His mouth brushed her ear and she shivered. ‘No ‘yeahs’ but ‘yes’. She drove me mad and made life in the street even worse for me. I got into fights. In the end I developed an extra skin and kept my mouth shut. Then I got stones thrown at me.’

She felt enormous sympathy for him. As he lifted his head and gazed at her it was as if something electric passed between them. ‘It is a hard life,’ she said in droll tones to lighten what suddenly felt like a very serious moment.

‘Yes.’ He pulled her closer and they danced on in silence.

The record came to an end. ‘Perhaps you’d like to dance with someone else?’ she suggested politely.

‘Not unless you want me to? I was thinking I’d like to get out of here so that we could talk properly.’

Her heart seemed to bump in her chest. ‘I have the refreshments to see to.’

‘How about a breath of fresh air afterwards?’

‘Perhaps.’ She was suddenly thinking about what her cousin had said. Had Nick really got a reputation?

At that moment Norm came over. ‘Can I have this dance?’ He looked belligerently at Nick.

‘Of course,’ said Viv immediately. ‘You’ll excuse me, Nick?’ It would not do to have him think he was the only pebble on her beach.

‘I’ll see you later?’

She nodded and tried not to think about him as Norm chattered in her ear about his newfound prowess on the six-string guitar.

It was eleven o’clock and plates had been piled into the sink and washed. A few people had left, some still danced in the smoky kitchen but others had drifted into the other room and were gathered about the coal fire, smooching or swopping gossip. Viv was drying her hands on a tea towel when Nick came up to her.

‘How about that fresh air? I’ll have you back for the witching hour.’

‘OK.’ It would be good to get out of the house.

Frost glistened on pavements and their breath turned to vapour in the light from a street lamp where some teenagers had gathered. ‘Truth, dare,
command or promise!’ Viv heard one of them chant as they passed. She remembered the game from when she was younger. She huddled into the warmth of her cherry red winter coat and would have rammed both hands deep into her pockets but Nick took hold of one of them. ‘Truth, dare, command or promise,’ he said softly. ‘The truth is that this is better than being in there or at home,’ he said.

‘You can’t possibly dislike your family that much?’ she said, flushing.

‘Who says?’ His eyes gleamed.

She was aware of the warmth of his arm against hers. ‘What have they done?’

‘What they’re always doing when I’m around – involving me in their lives. Besides, Mam’s turned all respectable while I’ve been away and it’s exhausting watching her polish everything, including the aspidistra.’

She smiled but did not look at him. ‘I’m not going to ask you what you mean by that.’

‘Truth. I’ll tell you anyway. She wasn’t respectable before. Just like your mother was said not to be.’

Viv felt a sharp dart of pain pass through her, his mention of her mother had been so unexpected. She made to free her hand. ‘I don’t find that funny,’ she said savagely.

‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ He kept a tight hold on her hand and said with a hint of reminiscence,
‘Truth. I think I was probably in love with your mother when I was ten. You could smell her scent from feet away. Californian Poppy it was.
You
wear Coty’s L’Aimant. I reckoned she bathed in it. You’re more discreet.’ He took her hand and sniffed her wrist before she could prevent him. She gave him a look that should have withered him but did not. ‘I remember you being born,’ he continued. ‘All the women thought your mother would die. She should have gone into hospital, they said.’