Two Penn'orth of Sky (34 page)

Johnny sighed. ‘I can’t seem to bring meself to risk it,’ he said humbly. ‘I asked her a year or so back, and she got real angry, said a fat lot of use she’d be to any man, the way she was. I told her I didn’t care for such nonsense, wanted her on any terms, but that just made her angrier. She told me to gerrout and leave her alone and though I went back two days later, I were that scared she’d tell me to leave that I couldn’t – dussen’t – mention marriage again.’

His aunt smiled at him with real affection. ‘I know what you mean, chuck, but you’ve gorra take your courage in both hands and ask her to wed you, else she’ll be gone back to Liverpool, back to that wretched court and likely makin’ herself ill all over again. Here, with you and meself to take care of her, and with clean air and good food . . . why, she’d go from strength to strength.’

‘It ain’t only her goin’ back to Liverpool what bothers me; there’s that Johansson feller,’ Johnny said gloomily. They were in the kitchen where Johnny
had just finished preparing vegetables for the evening meal, for though it was no longer summer several of the bedrooms were still let to guests. This was thanks to Aunt Carrie’s business policy, for she always cut their prices as soon as August ended, and sometimes kept the rooms full until late October. ‘I know for a fact he’s proposed, and who’s to say she won’t accept? He’s rare good-lookin’, and as First Officer on a cruise liner he’ll be a grand earner, as well.’

‘All the more reason to pop the question,’ his aunt said briskly. She was cleaning cutlery, rubbing between the tines of the forks with a rag dipped in a saucer of pink plate polish. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady, Johnny, and besides, you’re a good-looking young feller yourself.’

‘I’m nothing special,’ Johnny muttered. Any mention of his looks always embarrassed him, since he thought himself commonplace. ‘I know you’re right and I know if I don’t chance me arm, I’ll lose her for certain. So if there’s nothing else for me to do here, I’ll nip up to the sanny and see if I can get Em to meself for once.’

His aunt wished him luck and Johnny set off with a late rose in his buttonhole and hope in his heart. But two hours later he was back. ‘It weren’t no use,’ he told his aunt. ‘Oh, I asked her, all right, and she were really sweet, said she was very fond of me but she couldn’t rush into anything until she sees how she manages ordinary life again. Apparently, that old feller what visits her – you know, the one she used work for – has offered her the sort of job Dr Masters has agreed she could tackle. She’s to be his cashier, the job his old mam used to do, only the old gal wants to retire – she must be well over seventy – and it’s something Emmy thinks she’d enjoy.’

His aunt pursed her lips. ‘In a way, I understand just exactly how she feels,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘If she jumped at your offer, like a trout at a fly, you might both regret it in twelve months. She might end up feeling that she’d accepted you for all the wrong reasons. You don’t want a wife who marries you for security and not for love, do you?’

‘Yes, I do, so long as it’s Emmy,’ Johnny said obstinately. ‘But I see what you mean. And she agreed I could visit her just as often as I liked. She even said that she’ll be coming back to the sanny every three months for the first year at least, and when she does she’ll visit us here.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ his aunt said, bestowing her sweetest smile on him. ‘I’ve made a big pot of leek and potato soup, so we might as well have a bowl now.’

Johnny beamed at her. He loved her leek and potato soup. ‘You’re on, Aunty,’ he said. ‘Leek and potato, eh? That’s me favourite.’

Now that Emmy was so much better, Mr Mac came nearly every Sunday, sometimes bringing Diana with him, and if the weather was fine the three of them would sample the delights of the pier and the front, though Mr Mac was always careful to see that Emmy did not get over-tired.

On this occasion, however, he came alone because, he said, he wanted to discuss the work-plan which he thought Emmy should follow. He took her into town by taxi, straight to the Queen’s Hotel, and the two of them sat in the window table whilst Mr Mac went over his proposals for her employment.

‘I should like you to work mornings only, and only three mornings at that, for a month,’ he told her.
‘Then, perhaps, if you find you can cope with three mornings, we might make it five mornings for a further month. That will bring us up to December which, as you will remember, is easily our busiest time of year. Even then I think you should still do mornings only, but perhaps you might include Saturdays, if you feel able to do so. My mother has agreed to work with you for as long as you need her and to take over as soon as you feel tired. As you know, our flat is above the restaurant, so it will be no hardship for her to come down whenever necessary.’

Emmy eyed him surreptitiously across the gleaming white tablecloth. When he had first started visiting her, she had been in awe of him and had not really enjoyed their time together, but this feeling had soon passed. The truth was, Mr Mac was a man full of good sense and humour. He was the only one of her visitors who regularly made her laugh, and she found herself telling him stories about life in the sanatorium which she could confide in no one else, save Beryl. Because he was visiting so regularly, he was able to keep her informed as to the doings of her fellow waitresses. Little things which were probably not particularly amusing at the time became funny when he recounted them. Soon Emmy began to look forward eagerly to his visits, and because he got to know both the other patients and the members of staff so well, she was able in her turn to amuse him with stories of various exploits. Six young women, cooped up in Wisteria Ward, got up to all sorts of mischief as their health improved. Several of the girls fell in love with young men who lived locally and it was by no means unknown for a girl to climb down from the balcony outside the ward, by means
of the ancient wisteria which grew against the wall and offered excellent footholds, to have an evening out with some dashing young blade. Emmy herself had climbed down the wisteria three times, but only for the most innocent reasons, one of which had been to procure another two ounces of knitting wool, so that she might finish the cardigan she was knitting for Diana. It had not been as risky as one might suppose, descending in the grey of an overcast winter afternoon, but Emmy had barely escaped face to face encounters with no fewer than three members of staff. At the time, it had been hair-raising, but afterwards, the humour of the situation had struck her. In one instance, she had hidden behind the sanatorium’s array of dustbins whilst Sister Griffiths had come by, and the sanatorium’s fat ginger cat had spotted her and stalked towards her, tail erect and ears pricked, obviously hoping for a fuss. Poor Emmy had frantically shooed him away, afraid that the nurse would wonder why the cat was behaving with such obvious friendship towards a row of dustbins. But Ginger had persisted in his overtures and Emmy still considered that she had had a very narrow escape.

Now, she remembered with pleasure how Mr Mac had enjoyed the story, how he had chuckled and capped the tale with one of his own, for he had served with the Rifle Brigade in the War, rising to the dizzy heights of captain by 1918, and had travelled to Egypt, Mesopotamia and many other foreign places during his time in uniform.

‘Well, Mrs Wesley? Do you think you could manage that? Naturally, as cashier you will be earning more than the waitresses . . .’ Mr Mac named a sum which made Emmy blink, for it seemed a great deal for a part-time job. She was about to ask him if
this was the full-time rate and, if so, what she would earn weekly for the first month, when he cleared up that problem, too. ‘As you know, Mrs Wesley, I have always felt deeply ashamed that you became so ill in my employ. Usually, I am quickly aware of any problems, but for some reason your illness . . . well, I failed to notice it. You were always so lively, so quick-moving, and of course you hadn’t been with us for long so I’m afraid I simply assumed that you had always been very thin and pale. When I realised you were ill, I made up my mind that, when you returned to work, I would make sure that it was to the right sort of job. I mean to pay you sufficient for the first three months, when you will be working part-time, to cover all your expenses. If you find yourself short, then you
must
let me know, if you please. I have the reputation of being a good employer and it’s a reputation I don’t wish to jeopardise.’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘Can you understand that, Mrs Wesley, and accept it as a – a reparation for what I feel was my neglect?’

‘Oh, yes . . . it’s most awfully kind of you . . . only it was all my own fault, really it was,’ Emmy gabbled, thoroughly embarrassed to think that Mr Mac should blame himself for her illness. ‘It’s very good of you to trust me to do the work of a cashier when you know I’ve never done it before. But if I’m awful at it, I promise you I’ll leave at once. Only I do think I’ll enjoy it and it shouldn’t present too much of a problem,’ she added honestly, for though she could scarcely say so, she did not think old Mrs Mac was exactly a financial genius. If she can take the money, add bills up and so on, and balance the books at the end of the day, then I’m sure I can, she told herself.

Mr Mac beamed at her. ‘Good, good,’ he said
expansively. ‘Ah, here comes the waitress; have you had long enough to decide between the pork and the beef? I think I shall have the beef, because of the Yorkshire pudding and the horseradish sauce. Are you going to join me, or do you fancy sage and onion stuffing and apple sauce instead?’

A few days after Mr Mac’s visit, Carl Johansson came calling. Like Johnny Frost, he had proposed marriage but had not been unduly dismayed when Emmy had told him she needed time. When she told him the date for her return to Liverpool was fixed, he gave a boyish whoop of pleasure and grabbed her, lifting her off her feet and whirling her around. They were making their leisurely way down into the town, but he had stopped short at her news, his fair curls seeming to stand on end, and his blue eyes bright with excitement and pleasure. Emmy thought that he had never looked more handsome and found herself wondering what marriage to him would be like, then dismissed the thought, afraid that it might show in her face.

‘It’s nice of you to be so pleased, Carl, because it must be for my sake and not your own, since we can only meet when you are in port,’ she said sedately, though with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

Carl laughed boisterously. ‘Ah, but I have news of my own to impart,’ he said. ‘I am now to be First Officer on a transatlantic liner, the
Cleopatra
. The money is pretty well the same as I got on the old
Queen
, but this is a newer, far more modern ship. And, of course, I shall be in port every three weeks or so. Ah, Emmy, if you were to marry me, how happy we could be! Although I know I asked you when I was still on the
Queen
, it was, perhaps, a little unfair. But being home more often . . .’

‘I trust this isn’t another proposal,’ Emmy said severely, though with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘I simply must have time to get back into ordinary living before I even consider changing my status again.’

Carl gave an exaggerated sigh, then linked his arm through hers. ‘I understand you and I think perhaps you are right,’ he said ruefully. ‘But it worries me that when you return to your old life you may meet someone else, someone from your past, perhaps.’

Inwardly, Emmy could not help giving a slight chuckle. Johnny knew about Carl, but Carl had no idea that Johnny existed, far less that the other man visited her regularly and had already proposed marriage several times. She wondered whether she ought to tell Carl that he already had competition, but decided against it. It would only make him worry, and anyway, she really felt that it was no one’s business but her own. There had been a young doctor at the hospital who had shown rather more interest in her than was usual between a patient and the medical staff, a policeman who had come with a local choir to sing carols at Christmas, and a brother of one of the other patients; all these young men had made it plain they admired her, had actually asked her out, yet she had felt no need to mention the fact to anyone. She remembered Beryl’s wise words: ‘You’ve got to learn to live your own life before you can start sharing someone else’s,’ her friend had said. ‘Don’t you go leaping into
anything
, young Emmy. Just tell yourself that the next twelve months or so are a time for you, and you’ll do OK.’

‘Emmy? What are you dreaming of?’ Carl squeezed her arm. ‘A nice little house in the country, with a few chickens and an orchard, and a pig in the sty at the bottom of the garden? If you were to say yes . . .’

Emmy scowled at him and pinched his arm, but she could tell from his expression that he was only teasing her. ‘Save your breath to cool your porridge,’ she advised him. ‘Oh, look, there’s a tram coming up behind us going to Rhos-on-Sea; shall we catch it? There’s a lovely café there where we can get a cup of tea and they sell delicious cakes.’

Diana greeted the news that her mother was to leave the sanatorium with feelings almost as mixed as Emmy’s own had been. Naturally, she was dizzy with delight and anticipation, unable to stop smiling and full of plans for the grand welcome she would give Emmy, yet at the same time she knew that with her mother’s homecoming, her pleasant life with the Fishers would be bound to change. She was ten years old now, and had grown accustomed to thinking of herself almost as a Fisher. She, Charlie and Lenny took charge of the younger ones and she had grown used to giving Beryl as much help as she could. Little Jimmy, was three now, but the new baby, little Freddie, was Diana’s special charge. He was seven months old and getting heavy for her to carry, but she adored him and had learned to feed him, to change his nappies, and even to bath him, when Aunty Beryl was busy. He was a good baby, fat and placid, and she knew that she would miss him almost as much as she would miss Charlie, if her mother took her away from the Fishers.

However, according to Aunty Beryl, this was not likely to happen for some time to come. ‘Your mam will move in with us until she’s settled,’ Aunty Beryl had assured her. ‘It ain’t as if she could move into No. 2, even if she could afford it, because the Bellises don’t show no sign of wanting to move on. Of course,
other houses in the court do come up for rent from time to time, but I don’t think your mam will want to take on a place of her own for a good while yet . . . mebbe as much as a year. She’ll be under the sanatorium for that length of time and they’re going to monitor her progress – that means doin’ tests every three months, to make sure she’s still OK – so, since she’s gorra job, she won’t be wanting a place of her own as well.’