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Authors: Benita Brown

BOOK: Memories of You

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Matthew shook his head.

âWhat is it?' Patricia asked.

âI'm saddened by your use of clichÃ©.'

His sister grinned. âYou really have cheered up, haven't you? And I understand. I know you were in pain â still are â and I know how dreadful it must make you feel that your leg will never be completely right again. So getting back to work is just what you need.' Patricia looked at her watch. âI'd better go and make myself pretty for George. No, don't get up. I can see myself out.' She dropped a kiss on his head and straightened up. âWhat's that smell?'

âSmell?'

She wrinkled her nose. âVanilla . . . ? Are you using some new kind of brilliantine? If so I don't like it. It smells like custard.'

Without waiting for a response, Patricia hurried through to the hall and a moment later Matthew heard the front door close. After she had gone he realized that he was still smiling. He wondered what Patricia would have said if he'd told her why his hair smelled of custard. And also what the outcome of that farcical incident at Stefano's had been.

Had he really been so difficult to live with since he'd come home wounded from Afghanistan? He supposed he had. It wasn't just the pain; it was the memories of what he'd seen there. Then today, completely out of the blue, an unfortunate girl had dropped a mess of custard and jelly on his head and he'd looked up at her and seen her properly for the first time. Usually so analytical, he couldn't explain to himself why that moment had been so important. All he knew was that for the first time for months he was looking forward to tomorrow.

Chapter Thirteen

Selma loved shopping for Christmas. Not just for presents for friends and family but also for the house. Every year she would succumb to the latest fashion in decorations to be found in Harrods or Gamages. She would supervise the decking of the halls, as she called it, herself, and then on Twelfth Night everything would be taken down, packed away and stored in boxes along with the trunks and the unused knick-knacks in a room on the top floor.

Hugh didn't know why Selma bothered to keep them. They were never used again. Then one day he realized that each box was labelled with the date. It was as if his wife was making a record of the Christmases they had enjoyed together. Maybe she would look at them in later years to remind herself that their enjoyment had been real. Her dreams of family Christmases had been fulfilled. He found this endearing and, as he could well afford it, he encouraged her to spend whatever she liked if it would make her happy; for her happiness was essential to his own.

In the middle of December, he realized that this year she hadn't even mentioned Christmas. Nothing had been ordered, no plans had been made, or if they had it had all been done in secret. Was she planning some big surprise? Were he and Elise going to be first teased into thinking that she had forgotten and then whisked up into some last-minute extravaganza that would take their breath away?

One morning he found her flicking listlessly through the Army & Navy Store catalogue.

âLooking for something special?' he asked.

She smiled wanly. âChristmas decorations, actually. I thought I might just order everything from a catalogue this year.'

This surprised him. âBut I thought you loved going to see the displays, visiting the elves' grottoes, gazing at the Christmas windows on Oxford Street?'

âWell, yes, I do . . . or rather, I did.'

âWhat has changed?'

âElise. She's growing up. She doesn't find that sort of thing fun any more.'

âHas she said so?'

âNot exactly.'

âSelma darling, please explain.'

âWell, after the Chapmans' Halloween party she complained that that sort of thing was for kids and that she was no longer a child.'

âShe was right, wasn't she?'

Selma's eyes widened. âYou agree with her?'

âOf course. She isn't a child but neither is she old enough to be admitted into the grown-up world. She is at an awkward age, darling, and you'll have to allow for a mood or two.'

âOh, no, she's not moody. In fact she tries her best to please me, always. It's just that . . . oh, dear . . . she is no longer my little girl.'

Hugh smiled. âWell, little girl or big girl, I can guarantee that she will be disappointed if you don't make Christmas as special as you always do. And, furthermore, so will I. Now put that catalogue aside. I have decided to devote my whole day to you. We shall go to whatever shop you want to go to and buy our Christmas decorations together.'

Selma seemed cheered by his words and she went with him happily enough, but Hugh couldn't help noticing a certain lack of energy. Then, seeing her revealed in the bright lights inside the store, he saw suddenly that the lines of her lovely face were more sharply drawn and that there were faint violet-coloured smudges under her eyes. He drew in his breath and fear gripped his heart.

This mood of hers isn't just about Elise, he thought. Selma is ill. I pray God it isn't serious, because I don't know how I could live without her.

20th December 1934

Marina was no match for Matthew. As well as being utterly disarming, he managed most subtly to remind her of the Fruit Surprise incident and, with what could be called a combination of charm and threat, he persuaded her to give me Christmas Day off and a half-day on Boxing Day. I owe him thanks but I have to admit that he might not have been successful if Dorothy, who had been listening to the conversation, had not intervened. As senior waitress Dorothy helps make up the rotas, and she pointed out that there would be no problem getting other girls to work because on days like that the tips would be good, and some of the regular customers even brought Christmas presents for the staff.

And now, perversely, I am half wishing that Matthew had not been successful for I have been invited to spend Christmas with his family in Wimbledon. His mother, his father, his sister and his sister's husband will be there. The Renshaws are not rich but they are more than comfortable. His father, retired now, worked for a long-established tea company and his mother, unusually for a woman from a privileged but non-academic background, went to university. Matthew's sister, Patricia, taught Physical Education at an independent girls' school before she married a chap who works for the BBC. What will such a family make of me?

âWhat on earth do you find to write about all the time?'

Helen looked up in surprise. If Dorothy had knocked she hadn't heard her. She blotted the page and closed the exercise book quickly. âIt's a diary,' she said. âI jot down things that have happened each day.'

âI know what a diary is,' Dorothy said irritably. âAnd I know you keep one. But I just can't imagine that your days can be interesting enough to use up all that ink.'

Helen was outraged. âDo you know how hurtful that sounds? How unkind you can be at times?'

Dorothy, unused to Helen going on the offensive, stared at her in surprise and then said, âI'm sorry. You're right. It's a bad habit of mine to speak without thinking first. Cyril often tells me so.'

âCyril?' Helen smiled. âSo that's his name.'

âHave I never mentioned it before?'

âYou haven't. You always refer to your gentleman friend as “Mr Barker”, like a character in a Victorian novel. And anyway, what are you doing home so early?'

âIt's past midnight.'

âMaybe so, but that's early for you.'

âI know. I've come home because I wanted to talk to you. But first let's put the kettle on and make a pot of tea.'

Helen made the tea and they sat on cushions by the fire. The flickering gas flame illuminated Dorothy's face and Helen could see that she looked uneasy. She wondered if her flatmate had changed her mind about the Christmas work rota. Still intimidated by the thought of meeting Matthew's family, she was half hoping this was true when the older girl's announcement took her completely by surprise.

âCyril and I are going to get married,' she said.

Helen stared at Dorothy's troubled face and wondered if she had heard aright. âMarried?' she repeated.

âYes.'

âBut that's marvellous, isn't it?'

âOf course.'

âThen why aren't you smiling?'

Dorothy sighed. âIt's complicated.'

âExplain.'

âThe divorce will take ages.'

âI guessed there was a wife.'

âShe put a detective on to us so Cyril is the guilty party all right and he hasn't got a leg to stand on. He can't defend himself.'

âWhy should he? Surely he wants to marry you, doesn't he?'

Dorothy looked defiant. âOf course. It's just that Geraldine will get everything she wants, even custody of the children.'

âChildren?' This surprised Helen. Somehow she had never thought there were children involved.

Dorothy laughed. âNot that I care. I mean, you can't imagine me with a houseful of spoiled little brats, can you?'

âHouseful?'

âWell, two. Jane is thirteen and Jonathon is eleven. Honestly, Helen, you know me. I'm not the motherly type, am I?'

âNo, I don't suppose you are. But how does Cyril feel about it?'

âOh, I don't suppose she'll stop him visiting them now and then so long as he keeps up with the payments. And that's the problem. What with maintenance and school fees etc. we're going to be as poor as church mice.' Dorothy paused and gazed down into her cup of tea, then she looked up and tried a tentative smile. âHere, top this up for me, will you?'

Helen obliged. âYou were saying?'

Dorothy sipped her tea, paused for even longer and then said, âHelen, we've decided that now it's all in the open we might as well just live together at the apartment.'

âThe apartment?'

âIt belongs to Cyril's brother who works in Singapore. We've been using it for . . . well, you know . . .'

âYes, I know.'

âHis brother has agreed that we can stay there until we've sorted ourselves out.'

âThat's good, isn't it?'

âYes, it is, for us. But not for you.'

âI don't understand.'

âYou'll have to find someone to take my place here.'

âWhy?'

âDon't be dim. The rent. How could you afford to pay double what you're paying now?'

âOh, of course.'

âHelen, I'm really sorry. I know what a pain it will be to find someone suitable. I had all kinds of girls sharing and then moving on until you came.' She looked up and smiled. âYou and I worked out quite well, didn't we?'

âWe did. And don't worry. I'll . . . I'll find someone.'

Even as she said so Helen knew that she wouldn't. She didn't need help with the rent but she could not tell Dorothy that. Nobody knew that she was earning good money from her writing â not just for her weekly piece about life as a waitress in a London restaurant; she had also started doing book reviews and the occasional play review for the magazine.

She had even been sent along to a fashion show, although Charlotte had been doubtful about that and had told her aunt that Helen might be a little too sensible to appreciate such things as the importance of a hemline. Helen had wondered whether Charlotte had really meant âdowdy' and had taken consolation from the fact that whatever her outside appearance was, her underpinnings were sensational.

âDo you want me to help you?' Dorothy asked. âHelp find someone to take my place, I mean.'

âNo, that's OK. I'll manage. Perhaps I won't stay here.'

âWhere would you go?'

âI might look for a place where I can afford the rent on my own.'

âThat would either be the size of a rabbit hutch or in an area where you wouldn't want to walk home alone at night.'

Helen grinned. âThen I'll go for the rabbit hutch. But stop worrying about me. I'm a big girl now, really I am.'

Dorothy looked at her thoughtfully. âYes, you are, aren't you? When I think of the funny little kid I met at King's Cross just over three years ago I can hardly credit you're the same person.'

âI'm not a kid any more.'

âIt's not just that. You've grown up, yes, but you've changed as well.'

âFor the better, I hope.'

âI think so.'

âYou don't sound sure.'

âWell, I'm not. I mean, there's nothing actually wrong with you.'