Authors: Kitty Neale
‘That’s good. What are you drinking?’ Stan asked.
‘I’ll have another pint of bitter,’ he replied, gulping down the small amount left in his glass.
‘Hello, Stan,’ the barmaid, Rose Bridges, said brightly. ‘How’s Phyllis? I haven’t seen her for ages.’
Rose was Phyllis’s cousin and they were around the same age, but Stan knew that his wife didn’t approve of her. It was the way Rose carried on, along with the way she dressed, in tight, low-cut tops. Her make-up was always thick, and her lipstick a slash of scarlet. ‘Phyllis is fine, but as busy as always.’
‘Give her my best,’ Rose said. ‘Now then, what can I get you?’
Stan gave the order and as Rose pulled on the pump he glanced around the pub. Despite the fog and the difficulty in getting there it was busy, with a good few of his neighbours sitting at tables, some playing cribbage and a team of four were at the dart board. The Park Tavern had been his local for as long as he could remember, and as a pint was put down in front of him, he said, ‘Thanks, Rose.’
‘And one for you, darling,’ Rose said to George as she put another pint on the bar, her manner flirtatious.
Rose’s dark roots were showing in her stringy, peroxide blonde hair, yet she wasn’t bad looking. She had lost her husband during the war and was always on the hunt to replace him, so much so that she had lost her reputation along the way. ‘George, I think you’re in there,’ Stan said jokingly as Rose took his money and then moved on to serve another customer. ‘I reckon my wife’s cousin has got her eye on you.’
‘Of course she hasn’t,’ George said sharply.
Stan wasn’t sure if it was temper or embarrassment that made George’s neck redden and he said quickly, ‘No offence, mate. I was only kidding.’
‘None taken,’ George replied, relaxing his tense stance.
For the rest of the time they were in the pub, they chatted about this and that as they were joined by a couple of other men, the conversation mainly about football, but Stan couldn’t help noticing how often George’s eyes strayed to Rose.
Bloody hell, Stan thought, surely they weren’t having an affair?
The landlord rang the brass bar bell, shouting last orders, and as Stan finished his pint, he decided to make it his last. He hoped he was mistaken about George’s interest in Rose, and there was no way he was going to voice his suspicions to anyone. Gossip was rife enough locally, and Stan wasn’t going to add to it. If anyone else got wind of what might be happening, especially their nosey neighbour, Mabel Povis, it would spread like wildfire.
Stan couldn’t imagine how Celia Frost would react if she got to hear any of it, but one thing was certain, all hell was sure to break loose. He called his goodbyes and with the fog still thick he groped his way home, the wonderful, rich aroma of roast beef assailing his nostrils when he limped indoors.
Phyllis greeted him with a smile, her olive skin flushed from the heat of cooking and her straight, brown hair tucked back behind her ears. She was only five feet tall, with hazel eyes that twinkled as he gave her a hug.
‘What was that for?’ she asked.
‘’Cos I love you.’
‘You daft sod. You’re tipsy,’ she said, pushing him away.
‘You wound me, my darling,’ he said, affecting a posh tone. ‘I’m just drunk with love.’
‘Dad, you are funny,’ Amy said, giggling.
‘If he doesn’t take his coat off and sit at the table, I’ll give him funny,’ Phyllis threatened. ‘Dinner is ready, and waiting to be eaten.’
‘Your wish is my command, my Queen,’ Stan said, flourishing a bow.
Phyllis laughed, Amy giggled again, and Stan took off his coat to sit at the table where he picked up his knife and fork, holding them up as he said, ‘Right, woman, feed me.’
Phyllis shook her head, feigning disgust, but Stan could see that she was hiding a smile. Theirs was a good marriage, and though hard-up, they were happy. He wanted the same for his daughter, but now his face straightened as he thought about the Frosts again. If George
was
having an affair with Rose and Celia found out, the fact that they were related might affect Amy and he didn’t want her taking any flak.
Tommy might be a nice lad, thought Stan, but the sooner his daughter found herself another boyfriend, the better.
The Sunday roast had been eaten and as her mother stood up to clear the table, Amy saw how tired she looked. ‘Leave it, Mum. I’ll do it. You go and sit by the fire and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘There’s the washing up and I’ve got to collect Winnie’s plate.’
‘I’ll do that too.’
‘Thanks, love,’ Phyllis said gratefully as she took a seat by the fire, kicking off her slippers to rest her feet on the fender. ‘Winnie will want a cup of tea too and tell her I’ll pop round later to help her to bed.’
Amy stacked the plates before taking them through to the scullery. While waiting for the kettle to boil, Amy dwelled on how hard her mum worked. She was up at five every morning from Monday to Friday to do early morning office cleaning, and then did another stint between seven and nine in the evening at a local factory. To help all she could, Amy gave her mother most of the wages she earned from working in a shoe shop, but there never seemed to be enough money to go round. Though she loved her dad, Amy couldn’t help feeling a surge of resentment. If he stopped going to the pub nearly every night he could stump up more housekeeping, but she had never once heard her mother complain.
After giving her parents their drinks, Amy went out the kitchen door and stepped into their small, concrete yard, the back wall so high you had to be over six feet tall to see over it. The fog was still thick and she could barely see the gate, but managed to feel her way along the narrow walkway. The walls on the opposite side were tall too, and the narrow confines felt claustrophobic, but Amy was soon in Mrs Morrison’s identical yard. The old lady was in her eighties, very frail now and as she went in, Amy called, ‘Hello, Mrs Morrison, it’s only me.’
‘Hello, ducks,’ the old lady said.
‘I’ve just popped round for your plate,’ Amy said, seeing it on a small table by the fireside chair, frowning when she saw the amount still on it. ‘Oh, you haven’t finished your dinner yet. I’ll come back later.’
‘I’ve had my fill. Your mother’s a wonderful woman and I don’t know what I’d do without her, but she always gives me far too much to eat.’
To Amy the food looked barely touched, but she didn’t argue. ‘I’ll make you a drink, and Mum said she’ll pop round later.
’
‘Thanks, Amy,’ Mrs Morrison said tiredly.
Amy brewed tea again then gave a cup to Winnie before picking up the dinner plate. ‘I’m off now. Bye, Mrs Morrison.’
‘You’re a good girl. Bye, pet,’ the old lady said.
Amy was soon home again, and tackled the washing up, putting everything away before she went into the living room. She smiled at the scene that greeted her. As usual, after dinner on a Sunday afternoon, her parents had fallen asleep by the fire. Amy crept out to visit her best friend, Caroline Cole whose name was always shortened to Carol. She lived two houses down, but to get to her front door you had to pass their neighbour, Mabel Povis. You couldn’t do anything without Mrs Povis knowing about it, and Amy was unsurprised to see the woman peeping out of her window. Despite this she was her mum’s friend so Amy gave her a small wave.
When Carol opened the door she put a finger to her lips to indicate that her parents too were asleep, before she and Amy went upstairs to her bedroom. It was freezing as they dived onto the single bed, pulling the blankets around them. There were magazine cut-outs of singers and film stars on the walls covering some of the pink flowered wallpaper. They were mostly of an American singer called Pat Boone, but Carol had gone off him lately.
Carol asked, ‘Have you seen Tommy?’
‘No, he’s still ill and in bed,’ Amy replied.
‘I don’t know what you see in him. He’s so thin, weedy looking, and when was the last time he was able to take you out?’
‘It was a week ago, and Tommy may be thin, but he’s tall and good looking,’ Amy said defensively.
‘You need a bloke who can show you a good time, not one who’s more often than not too ill to leave the house.’
‘He’s sure to get better soon,’ Amy said.
‘Even if he does, don’t let it get too serious,’ Carol advised. ‘You should play the field a bit first.’
Carol always spoke as if she was worldly and experienced, but though a flirt, she would never let a boy take liberties. To most people Carol appeared older and self-assured, but Amy knew there was another side to her. Underneath the hard veneer she was soft and caring, but with two older brothers to contend with while growing up, it rarely showed.
Amy smiled and said, ‘Thanks for the advice, but you know I’ve been out with other boys and most of them were like octopuses with their groping hands. Tommy’s different, he isn’t like that.’
‘Yeah, all right, I get the picture, but just because Tommy’s sick, I don’t see why you have to stay at home every night. Why don’t you come out with me for a change? We could go down to the youth club to play some records and jive to Bill Haley singing
Rock around the Clock
.’
‘You’ve been on about that song for months now.’
‘I know,’ Carol conceded, ‘but it’s so catchy. Davy and Paul reckon that big changes are coming, that singers like Alma Cogan and Ronnie Hilton will be out. Our parents can listen to them or Winifred Atwell on the piano, while we dance to rock and roll.’
Amy was an only child and wished that like Carol,
she had
two big brothers. Dave was twenty-one, Paul twenty-three, both tall with dark hair, and they were protective of their sister. When the boys had lived at home the house always seemed to be bursting at the seams and with only two bedrooms, Carol’s had just been a
partitioned
-off section of the boys’. Amy had had a
crush on
both of them, but they only saw her as a kid. When they’d left home to share a flat, Carol h
ad the whole room to h
erself, but they were always popping home. ‘Have you seen your brothers today?’ Amy asked.
‘Yeah, they came round for dinner, but left soon after, leaving me as usual to help Mum with the washing up. It drives me mad the way they expect to be waited on, and my dad’s the same.’
‘When you’re a girl, it seems to be expected,’ Amy said.
Carol pouted and complained, ‘I don’t see why. When I get married I’m not going to be a slave to my husband.’
‘What’s this?’ Amy asked, smiling. ‘Has someone proposed to you?’
‘Don’t be daft. You know I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment.’
‘You soon will have,’ Amy said assuredly as she looked at her friend. Carol was pretty, with long, auburn hair, hazel eyes and full lips that tended to pout if she didn’t get her own way. She was also fairly tall, with a willowy figure that Amy envied.
‘I must admit, I’ve got my eye on a bloke.’
‘Have you?’ Amy asked. ‘Do I know him?’
‘You’ve
seen
him,’ Carol said enigmatically.
Amy frowned. ‘Where?’
‘He’s working on refitting that shop opposite where we work.’
‘I haven’t noticed him,’ Amy said, ‘but it explains why you’ve been hovering at the window instead of serving customers.’
‘Yeah, well, he is a bit dishy.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s cute. Not too tall, beefy, with a round face.’
‘He sounds like your usual type,’ Amy said, unable to share Carol’s taste in boys. It was funny really, Amy thought, considering that she was only four foot eleven she liked tall blokes, whereas Carol preferred them short and stocky.
‘Once the refit is finished he’ll be off. I need to catch his eye before then,’ Carol mused.
‘I doubt he could have missed you,’ Amy commented, aware how striking her friend was. ‘Unless of course you’ve been standing at the window so much that he thinks you’re part of the display.’
Carol chuckled; Amy giggled, and soon the two of them were in fits of laughter. ‘Shush,’ Carol finally gasped. ‘If we wake my parents up I’ll be in trouble.’
Amy managed to stop laughing. She liked Carol’s mum, Daphne Cole. Carol had inherited her mother’s good looks and colouring; however she could be hard on her daughter if she was in one of her moods. ‘Yes, you might get it in the neck from your mum, but you can’t do anything wrong in your dad’s eyes.’
‘Yours is the same, but your mum dotes on you too. I wish I was an only child.’
‘I’d prefer it if I wasn’t,’ Amy said. ‘It can be a bit stifling and you get far more freedom than me.’
‘Yeah, there is that I suppose,’ Carol conceded, ‘though I still have to be home by ten thirty. Talking of freedom, are you coming out tonight?’
With Tommy ill in bed it didn’t seem right to go out dancing and if he got to hear about it he might be upset. Amy desperately sought an excuse. Carol didn’t know that Mrs Frost had turned her away earlier, so she clutched at that. ‘Sorry, I can’t come out with you. I’m going to see Tommy.’
‘Boring …’ Carol drawled.
Amy hated fibbing to her friend, but she was really keen on Tommy, keener than anyone knew. She wasn’t too worried about Mrs Frost; after all, she’d be marrying Tommy, not his mother. Of course there had been no mention of marriage, but Amy had seen the way Tommy looked at her. He hadn’t said that he loved her yet, but she was sure he returned her feelings.
At least she hoped so.
Celia Frost was disappointed to see that Thomas had hardly touched his dinner. She felt his forehead, frowning. ‘You’ve hardly eaten a thing and if your fever hasn’t gone down by tomorrow, I think I’ll ask Dr Trent to call in again.’
‘There’s no need to make a fuss. I feel a little better today.’
‘You don’t look it,’ Celia told him.
‘Has Amy called in to see me?’
‘Yes, but you were asleep and I don’t think she’ll be back. Young girls are so flighty these days and while you’re ill in bed, no doubt Amy’s out and about enjoying herself,’ Celia said, pleased to see a frown cross her son’s features. She had planted a seed of doubt about Amy and she’d leave him to dwell on it. ‘Now rest, darling, and I’ll be up to see you again later.’