After the War is Over (40 page)

Once again, Louise didn’t answer. Iris said, ‘Remember what I was like, Tom, when we had babies? It upset me taking them for walks and people sticking their heads under the hood of the pram to have a look.’ She squeezed Louise’s hand and nudged Tom to shut up. It was her turn to warn that it was no use frightening their daughter. If she wanted to stay on good terms with her mother-in-law, it’d be best not to argue and just let the awful woman have her own way.

Next day, Iris and Tom went to lunch in Macy’s department store in Washington Street. It was busy, noisy and full of tantalising smells. They ordered ravioli from the pasta stall and a tiny bottle of red wine each. They listened to the other customers discussing their problems, their marriages, their clothes, their health, all sounding much more interesting when related in an American accent. They smiled at each other.

Iris thought what a nice relationship she had with Tom these days; they could actually sleep in the same room together without sex, without arguing and without embarrassment. She loved him as much as she would have done a brother or a best friend.

Tom must have been thinking along the same lines. ‘Would things have ended up between us this way if Charlie hadn’t died?’ he mused aloud.

Iris shrugged. ‘Who can say? Do you realise that if he’d lived, Charlie would have been thirty this year?’

‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘You look so much better since you met that chap, ten years younger and quite beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’ She’d told him about Matthew and their affair, but hadn’t mentioned their previous relationship. She’d met him in Owen Owen’s and had known him slightly in the army was all she’d said.

‘Are you likely to want a divorce one of these days?’

‘Oh, no.’ She finished her wine. Although there hadn’t been much of it, she felt quite heady. ‘It’s an affair, not a marriage.’

It was a very passionate affair. They met in hotels and occasionally in the house in Balliol Road if Dorothy and Clare were out. They were in love, and what made it so utterly perfect was that she was fifty-three and he was two years older. It added piquancy to it, like old wine, the discovery of something unexpectedly precious at an age when making love with such sublime delight she had assumed was long over.

Back at the Dixons’ house, Monica was out and Louise and her parents were in the garden with George and Gary’s grandfather, Leonard, who was eighty and had fought in the First World War. He’d retired from the bank twenty years before. He kept them entertained with tales of how things had been in Boston early in the twentieth century. It was all really fascinating, and Alma brought them tea and made a small stack of pancakes especially for Tom.

All too soon it was time to return to Liverpool. Tom had engaged a locum to look after his practice, and Iris was worried about what Dorothy and Clare might be getting up to in the house on their own. She imagined wild parties and the place being wrecked.

Oh, but it was a wrench leaving Louise and George behind. Although her daughter hadn’t shown it, she strongly suspected she wasn’t happy living with her husband and his family.

And how old would George be before they saw him again? It was silly, but she imagined Monica Dixon having him dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy in a velvet suit with a lace collar. She felt a lump come to her throat.

They were due to leave at half past three in the afternoon, and were having breakfast, Tom eating the last of Alma’s pancakes, when the doorbell chimed – the chimes were similar to Big Ben. One of the maids must have answered it – Monica had gone to the hairdresser’s. There was silence for a little while, then a scream from Louise.

‘Grace! Grace Kaminski. Oh, am I pleased to see you.’

It turned out that Grace had worked her way across the Atlantic as a waitress on a cruise boat. She had then hitchhiked to Boston from New York. In her jeans and checked shirt she looked bronzed and healthy and was smiling broadly. She smiled even more broadly when she discovered Iris and Tom were there.

‘I promised Louise I would come and visit the baby when he was born,’ she said. ‘No way was I going to let her down.’

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Iris said emotionally. At least Louise would have company for another few weeks, or however long Grace intended staying.

‘It doesn’t seem so bad leaving her and George behind when Grace is there, does it?’ she said to Tom that afternoon in the taxi.

‘No.’ Tom sniffed and looked quite tearful. ‘Monica didn’t look all that pleased to see her; Grace, that is.’ Monica had deigned to come back to say goodbye to the visitors and found Grace there.

‘Grace won’t care,’ Iris said tersely. ‘As for Monica, she can go and jump in the lake.’

It was late. Everyone in the house was asleep apart from Louise. Beside her, Gary lay as still as a log, breathing evenly. He rarely woke during the night. Louise slid carefully out of bed, as she did every night, and crept along the corridor to the nursery. She opened the door and went in. It terrified her every time she looked at her baby asleep in his crib. He was so still and white and she was fearful that he had died, all alone and motherless.

She pulled a chair up to the crib and sat beside it, holding her son’s tiny hand, whispering a lullaby. ‘
Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop, When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
. . .’

She stayed for half an hour, then kissed his cheek, sighed, and left the room. But instead of returning to her own bed to lie beside Gary, she went up a flight of stairs to a room next to the one where her mum and dad had slept. Knocking softly on the door, she went in.

‘Grace,’ she said in a low voice.

Her friend woke up instantly. ‘What’s wrong? Are you all right?’

‘No,’ Louise said hoarsely. ‘I am not all right. I’m desperately unhappy, more than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Oh Grace, you’ve got to help me get out of here before I go stark raving mad.’

Chapter 18

It wasn’t until she was on the crowded train into town that Nell had time to open the letter with the London postmark that had come that morning.

It was a cutting from an American show-business magazine attached to a compliment slip from Jack Kaminski with a message in Jack’s incredibly neat writing.

Thought you might find this interesting, Nell. I wonder if this is the one with Red’s song and they’ve changed the title from
Lost in Paradise?

The interesting bit had been circled in red and it announced that the film company Cerulean Productions would shortly commence work on a movie called
Raining Flowers
, starring one-time matinee idol Hugo Swann and newcomer Naomi Vaughan. The company hadn’t revealed any more details.

Nell’s lips curled into a delighted smile. She’d always loved Hugo Swann. Putting aside Red coming back to life, she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful to look forward to than a picture starring one of her favourite film stars and featuring her beloved husband’s music.

In London, Maggie Kaminski faced the morning with a vinegary smile. The night before, their elder daughter Holly had informed her mother and father that she was getting married at Easter next year to Dennis Walker.

‘But we don’t want a big fuss,’ she said in the hoity-toity voice she used sometimes. ‘What Dennis and I would prefer is that instead of spending loads of money on the wedding, you give it to us for a deposit on a house.’

‘And how much are Dennis’s parents coughing up towards this house?’ Maggie had demanded in the hoity-toity voice she sometimes used herself. She didn’t like Dennis, or his family. They were ordinary people who’d made loads of money with a couple of cheap furniture shops and had lost touch with their roots. Maggie was working class and proud of it.

‘It’s the bride’s family who traditionally pay for the wedding reception and stuff,’ Holly informed her.

‘But not for the house. That is considered the job of the husband, who earns the money by going to work.’

Maggie half listened to Holly’s reply and decided she couldn’t be bothered arguing further. Later, she went to bed and read until Jack came up. ‘What she doesn’t seem to realise,’ she said at once, ‘is that
I
want a big do, even if she doesn’t.
I
want her to have a posh dress and posh cars and millions of flowers.
I
want a slap-up sit-down meal at the reception with loads of guests. What do we do, Jack, show them a photo of the bloody house instead? I suppose we could have a house-shaped cake.’

‘What we can do, darling,’ Jack said patiently, ‘is have a posh do with all the trimmings for you, and give Holly money as well. We can afford it, don’t worry.’

‘It doesn’t seem right.’ Maggie smouldered. ‘I’ll only agree to give her money if Dennis’s mum and dad put up a similar amount. I don’t want those horrible people sponging off us.’

She was still smouldering the following morning. It didn’t help when a letter with an airmail sticker dropped on to the mat. It had been written three days ago by her other daughter, Grace, who had arrived in Boston.

Louise has had a gorgeous little boy called George
, she wrote.
But she also has this absolutely monstrous mother-in-law
. She went on to describe the beautiful house, finishing,
Mr and Mrs Grant were there when I arrived, but flew home the same day
.

‘Children!’ Maggie spluttered to her own empty house. Poor Iris, having her daughter and first grandchild living thousands of miles away. In fact, she’d give Iris a call, sympathise with her. She recalled having resolved never to speak to Iris again after learning what had happened with Nell and William. There and then she decided to forgive her. Anyroad, she’d gone to Louise’s wedding and she and Iris had spoken to each other normally then. It was a long, long time since William had been born, more than twenty-two years.

Another thing, Maggie was fast running out of friends to chat to, either in person or on the telephone. The members of the ex-servicewomen’s club had moved away or just lost touch. Same with the Soho contingent, the younger ones having moved out to the suburbs or even further afield. Nell was at work, Rosie, her sister-in-law, was also working. And she may as well not have a sister for all she saw of Bridie.

Maggie dialled Iris’s number and sat on the stairs prepared for a long jangle. There was no reply, and she recalled that it was Friday, one of the days Iris worked in Owen Owen’s. It reminded her that she still hadn’t found a job herself. Life would be considerably less boring if she had somewhere to go a few times a week. She decided to ring Auntie Kath and suggest they have lunch, and telephone Iris on Monday.

William answered. ‘She’s at a committee meeting,’ he said. He seemed extremely fed up.

‘Are
you
free for lunch,’ Maggie enquired. He was, after all, her half-brother, and it was time they became better acquainted.

‘Why not?’ he said tiredly. ‘Where shall we meet?’

She recalled the hotel not far from Westminster where Jack had taken her the magic night he’d proposed. They’d just come away from seeing Auntie Kath. ‘What about the Meredith?’

‘Isn’t that very expensive?’ William sounded alarmed.

‘My treat,’ Maggie said. ‘Anyroad, it would hardly be fair to invite you to lunch and expect you to pay, would it?’

‘No, it wouldn’t.’

It turned out that William was genuinely fed up. Auntie Kath hadn’t exactly sacked him, but she had suggested he find another job. ‘She said it was for my own good, as it was time I got a proper job with a proper wage.’

‘Is she right?’ Maggie asked.

‘Well, yes,’ William said gloomily. ‘I’ve worked as a researcher for Kath for a year and it will look good on my CV, but it wouldn’t do to stay too long or it will start to look bad, show I have no ambition, no “get up and go”, as she put it. Trouble is, I have neither of those things.’ He sighed deeply. ‘If it were up to me, I’d stay with Kath until I retired. But the pay’s lousy. My gran – the person I’d always thought was my gran – left me a bit of money when she died last year, but it won’t last for ever, will it?’

‘No,’ Maggie agreed. She studied his handsome features. He had the O’Neills’ good looks and Nell’s lovely brown eyes. She felt as if she were seeing him properly for the first time, that it was only now she truly appreciated how lost he must feel; one minute the much-loved son of a close family with three sisters, then all of a sudden entirely on his own. She’d heard from Grace that he rarely went home to Bootle. He had no father to ask advice from about his future. Nell must love him, but she already had Quinn and Kev and their futures to think of.

The waiter arrived with the starters. ‘You must come to dinner one night soon,’ she told William. Jack would be only too willing to advise him about his career. Just discussing things with someone else might help him make up his mind. ‘Oh, and I had a letter from Grace this morning. She’s in Boston. Did you know Louise has had her baby, a little boy called George?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ He brightened up slightly. ‘Will you let me have the address in Boston and I’ll send a card. And something for the baby. Louise was always my favourite sister,’ he said wistfully. ‘I miss her.’

Maggie put her hand over his. ‘I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. And although she’s no longer your sister, you don’t love her any less, do you?’

William looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve probably really hurt her. And Dorothy and Clare. They don’t know about this other stuff, do they? I mean about me being adopted. They must think it’s a case of . . . how do you put it?’

‘Out of sight, out of mind?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Yet I think about them all the time.’

‘Then write to Louise and go and see Dorothy and Clare.’ Iris and Tom would be thrilled to see him too. Crikey, she thought, life wasn’t half complicated.

Iris left Owen Owen’s through the staff door only minutes after the shop had closed. She hurried around the corner and met Matthew outside the Cups, a small pub in Williamson Square. Tall and devastatingly attractive, he was moving impatiently from one foot to the other. He picked her up and kissed her hard and greedily before they went inside, where he ordered her a gin and lime and a whisky for himself. They sat in a corner, just looking at each other and holding hands. It was the first time they’d met since she and Tom had returned from Boston. It was now seventeen days since they’d seen each other.