Bye Bye Love (5 page)

‘How did you learn to do that? Did your mum show you?’

Jonathan laughed.

‘Mum? No, Mum hates cooking. I’ve got French relatives. I go to stay with them most summers.’

Wonderful summers with lovely Tante Jeanne-Marie, who tucked him under her wing with all her other chicks and made him feel loved and wanted. Racing around on bikes and swimming in the river with the cousins…

‘And they make you do the cooking for them?’ Scarlett was saying.

He wrenched himself back from sunny days in Mont Saint Etienne.

‘Far from it! I’m allowed to help. My aunt’s a wizard cook. Her brother’s a chef and owns a restaurant. They’re all really keen on food. It’s not like here at all. They all sit round the table and discuss what they’d like to eat for the coming week, then they go to the market together and buy the fresh stuff, and they argue while they’re going round even if they’ve agreed beforehand what they want, like, if they’ve bought some lamb, should they cook it this way or that, and what other things they need to get to go with it, and whether they’ve got the right stuff in the larder at home. It’s really interesting. It makes you think about tastes and flavours and textures and how things go together and complement each other.’

Scarlett was gazing at him in amazement. Jonathan felt hot, and then defensive. Food was important. If she didn’t realise it now, then he would prove it to her. He crushed a clove of garlic with the blade of his knife, chopped it into minute pieces and put it in the pan with the onions where they sizzled merrily, giving off a glorious smell.

‘What was that?’ Scarlett asked.

‘Garlic.’

Garlic was what foreigners were supposed to stink of. Well, at least foreigners knew how to eat.

‘Are you doing something French now?’ Scarlett wanted to know.

‘No, this is Italian, because I’m starving and there’s nothing like a big plate of pasta for filling you up,’ he explained. ‘Pass us the spaghetti, would you?’

‘Spaghetti?’

Scarlett looked at the ingredients on the table. She was searching for the stuff that came in a tin, he guessed.

‘In the blue packet,’ he prompted.

She found the right thing and watched as he opened it up.

‘It’s like long thin macaroni,’ Scarlett said.

‘Same family. It’s all pasta.’

Jonathan stood it in the pan, gradually pushing it under the boiling water with a wooden spoon as it softened.

‘Have you got an Italian aunty as well?’

‘No—I learnt this off Mrs Mancini along the road. She’s only got girls, so she sort of adopted me. I was a really skinny kid, and she used to sit me in her kitchen and feed me up until I couldn’t move.’

There was a time when he’d spent more time with the Mancinis than he had at home. He was always made to feel welcome there.

Jonathan chopped, stirred and tasted. He added bacon lardons, beaten eggs and cream. Finally he drained the spaghetti, mixed it with the sauce, divided it between two plates and put one down in front of Scarlett with a flourish.

‘Spaghetti alla carbonara!’

‘Wow—’ Scarlett looked suitably impressed. ‘It smells delicious.’

She picked up her spoon and fork and tried to capture the slippery pasta. Jonathan remembered the first time he had eaten spaghetti, when he was about eight, how Mrs Mancini had stood behind him and guided his hands, her comforting warm body pressing into his back.

‘It’s a so-and-so to eat, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘There’s a knack to it—look—’

He demonstrated. Scarlett copied, with much laughter.

‘I did it! I did it!’ she cried, as she managed to get the perfect amount of spaghetti twiddled round her fork. She carried it to her mouth, and her eyes closed with pleasure. ‘Mmm—gorgeous—’

Jonathan relaxed. She liked it. Everything was well with the world. They ate and they talked, they found they liked the same music, the same films. Jonathan made some proper coffee in the percolator, another new taste for Scarlett, and they began a long argument over whether Rock Hudson was a better actor than Clark Gable. He was just acting out a scene to prove his point when the door opened.

‘Jonathan, I thought I could hear your voice. What on earth are you doing in here?’

It was his mother. Jonathan broke off in mid-sentence.

‘I was just…’ he began.

But she wasn’t listening. His mother was staring at Scarlett as if she were an armed robber.

‘And just who might you be?’ she demanded.

T
HE
newcomer was a hard-faced woman of forty or so with grey eyes as cold as pebbles and a helmet of wiry brown hair. She was staring at Scarlett with undisguised hostility. This must be the Missus, whom Irma had said mustn’t be disturbed and didn’t normally allow children. Scarlett disliked her on sight.

‘I’m Scarlett Smith, Victor Smith’s daughter,’ she said, holding that cold gaze unflinchingly.

‘Really?’ The eyes swept over her again. ‘I thought you were younger than… How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Scarlett wondered if she should have lied. Supposing her father lost his job because this dreadful woman didn’t like girls her age? Two or three hours ago, before she’d met Jonathan, she would have been glad to get out of this place, but now it was different. She had a reason to stay.

The Missus’s mouth closed into a straight line of disapproval.

‘Hmm. You look older. Well, you’re more than old enough to know where you should and shouldn’t be round here. No going in the bar area during opening time, or at any other time unless you’re specifically told to by me or the Guv’nor, and no going into our flat upstairs, even if Jonathan here invites you. Is that clear?’

‘Very.’

Scarlett’s original dislike was turning into loathing by the second. She couldn’t remember ever having met such an unpleasant woman. She glanced at Jonathan. He was looking acutely embarrassed. She immediately felt overwhelmingly sorry for him. How dreadful to have a mother like that.

‘Good.’

The Missus held her eyes for a few moments more, as if she knew of the resentment boiling within her and was enjoying it. Then she turned to look at her son.

‘You’d better get upstairs straight away.’

‘We haven’t washed up yet,’ Jonathan said.

‘Never mind that. She can do it. I take it that’s our food you’ve been giving her?’

‘I was making her feel at home,’ Jonathan stated.

‘So I can see. Now you’ve done it, you can go upstairs.’

‘Not until I’ve cleared away.’

Jonathan stood up and started piling the plates and cutlery. Taking his cue, Scarlett picked up the cups and saucers. She was about to take them over to the sink when a hand descended on her shoulder and held her in a grip of iron. It was all Scarlett could do not to cry out.

‘You—’ the Missus’s voice was low and menacing in her ear ‘—put those down.’

‘You’re hurting me!’

‘Mum!’ Jonathan yelled.

‘Put. Them. Down.’

Scarlett did so.

‘You’re not at your own place now, young woman. You’re at my place. You can’t do what you like—you do what you’re told. Understood? You and your father can be out on your ear at any time. Now, go up to your room.’

She was released with a push towards the door. Shocked, Scarlett stumbled round the scarred table. Nobody, not even the scariest of teachers, had ever spoken to her like that in her life. In the doorway she paused and looked back at Jonathan. He was flushed with anger. Scarlett’s courage flared. Ignoring his mother, she spoke to Jonathan.

‘Thanks ever so much for that supper. It was the best meal I ever tasted.’

His tense face relaxed into a smile.

‘My pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’

‘OK.’

And she made off before his mother could ruin it.

By the time she had run upstairs to her room, she was shaking with fear, anger and a sort of wild triumph. She and Jonathan had not let that witch have the last word. She slammed the door shut behind her and flung herself on the lumpy bed, her heart thumping.

‘You cow,’ she said out loud. ‘You cow.’

And it swept over her how far away from home she was. The life she had known—the Red Lion, her friends in the village—all of that was gone for ever. Much more than that, her mother had gone. While they had stayed on at the Red Lion, it was as if she had just gone away on a visit for a while. Her spirit was in every nook and cranny of the place. Even though Scarlett had seen her dead on the kitchen floor, had been to the funeral and seen her lowered into the earth of the churchyard, still she had felt her mother there, just beyond touching. But this place was different. It was cold and hard. Her mother would never reach her here. Scarlett lay on her face and wept.

She must have gone to sleep at last, because the next thing she knew was her father bending over her. He kissed her cheek, shut the door gently and went out. Scarlett slid once more into a sleep of emotional and physical exhaustion.

When she woke again it was morning. She realised she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers. Outside, seagulls were crying. It was the first full day of her new life. The Trafalgar was still horrible, the Missus was still a dragon, her old life was still gone for ever, but in daylight it somehow didn’t seem quite as bad as it had last night. She lay there for a moment thinking about Jonathan. What a nice person he was, and full of surprises. Had he meant it when he had asked her to go sailing with him? Sometimes when people said things like that, they didn’t really expect you to take them up on it, but somehow she thought that when Jonathan said something, he meant it. She desperately hoped so. With Jonathan here, her new life was bearable.

She slid out of bed to get her washing things and go to the bathroom, and noticed a folded piece of paper on the floor. It looked as if it had been pushed under the door. She picked it up, and found to her delight that it was a note from Jonathan.

He had written it last night! And he had come over to her room to deliver it in spite of that cow, his mother. Scarlett put her thumbs in her ears, waggled her fingers and stuck out her tongue in the general direction of the flat at the front of the pub. So much for her, the interfering old witch. She went to get washed.

The bathroom was as repellent as the rest of the staff accommodation. The lino on the floor was curled and cracked, the bath and basin had brown stains on them where the taps dripped, there was green mould growing in one of the corners and there were notices taped up, all written in fierce black capitals:

Scarlett flushed several lots of paper down the toilet and washed under a running hot tap.

Once she was dressed, Scarlett thought she had better see how her father was. She tapped on his door, got no answer, knocked harder and finally opened it and put her head round. Victor was still asleep. She was just about to close the door again when he woke up with a start.

‘What? I didn’t…oh, Scarlett, it’s you, love. Come in. What’s the time?’

‘Half past eight.’

‘Oh—thank God. For a moment I thought…I got to be downstairs by half nine. Mustn’t be late, not for my first full day.’

He felt for his packet of cigarettes and lit one up to help him face the morning.

Downstairs by half past nine! Now, there was a novelty. Scarlett had enough tact not to say so out loud, though. Her father looked dreadful still.

‘I’ll go and make some tea while you go to the bathroom,’ she offered.

‘Would you, pet? That’d save my life. Oh—but what about milk?’

‘I know where to get that,’ Scarlett said proudly. Jonathan had pointed out the whereabouts of the corner shop yesterday. ‘I’ll be back by the time you’re dressed.’

As good as her word, she walked into the room with the breakfast tray just as Victor was doing up his shoelaces.

‘You’re a treasure,’ he said.

They sat at the rickety table, Scarlett with a bowl of cereal, Victor with his cup of tea and second cigarette of the day. Washed and shaved, he looked a bit better.

‘I looked in on you last night, but you were sound-o,’ he said. ‘It’s some place this, isn’t it? Bit different from the dear old Lion.’

‘It’s horrible,’ Scarlett said.

Awkwardly, her father patted her shoulder.

‘You’ll get used to it. We both will,’ he said, though it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as Scarlett. ‘It’s just so big and…well…not exactly cosy, is it? You should see the turnover they have here! The ale I served last night! It was just nonstop from opening to closing. They come down here on the train and the charabancs and all they want is to get pie-eyed as quickly as possible. They was queuing up outside the door at six, and when the Guv’nor opened up it was like a tidal wave coming in. They was three deep at the bar before you could turn round. I never saw anything like it in my life.’

It was no wonder he looked tired. That had been Friday night. Today was Saturday, and likely to be even busier, and here he was up and dressed well before his usual time. Scarlett got up and gave him a hug. After all, they were in this together.

‘You’ll be all right, Dad.’

‘Yeah, well—I got to be, ain’t I? But thanks all the same, love.’

Scarlett glanced at the clock that used to stand on the mantelpiece at the Red Lion.

‘Twenty-eight minutes past, Dad.’

Victor sighed, took one last drag on his cigarette, stubbed it out and stood up.

‘Better go, then. Oh—’ He looked at Scarlett with new concern. ‘What about you, love? Will you be all right? I don’t know how long this is going to take. I might be down there till opening time, and then it’ll be well gone two before I get up here again.’

‘I’ll be all right, Dad,’ she assured him. ‘Now go on—it’s time!’

She hurried him out of the door, stacked the breakfast things and clattered down the stairs. For the first time since her mother died, she had something nice to look forward to.

It didn’t last long. The moment she opened the kitchen door, disappointment hit her like a brick. Jonathan was not there. With leaden feet, Scarlett went over to the sink and started washing up. In the time it took to wash the dishes, she had gone through a whole sad scenario in her head. Jonathan had changed his mind and gone off sailing with his friends, he would avoid seeing her in future and his horrible mother was going to make her life hell. Scarlett felt utterly alone.

‘Oh, Mum…’ she said out loud.

How desperately she wanted to feel those comforting arms around her, to nestle her head against that warm shoulder, to hear that lovely reassuring voice.

‘Hello! Sorry I’m a bit late. My m—I had to do some things before I left.’

Jonathan!

Hastily, Scarlett brushed away tears with the back of her hand. But she couldn’t quite control the wobble in her voice. ‘Hello—’

She turned to face him, trying to smile, and saw his cheerful grin fade to concern.

‘What’s the matter? Has Irma been foul to you? She can be a right cow at times—’

Scarlett shook her head. ‘No—’

‘What, then? Has—?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m all right, really.’

Part of her longed to tell him everything, but it was too soon. She knew that if she talked about her mother, she would start crying and never be able to stop. She could feel it all dammed up inside her, waiting to burst out.

Jonathan came and leaned against the sink.

‘You’ve got to be careful with Irma. She sucks up to my mum all the time, and she’ll snitch on you for the tiniest thing. I’ve seen her get people sacked for stuff she’s made a song and dance about when really it’s not been that important. So watch out. Leave all this nice and tidy for a start, or she’ll get in a right tizz with you.’

Scarlett nodded, not trusting herself to speak yet.

‘Look…er…do you fancy going up the pier or something?’ Jonathan asked.

Scarlett managed something like a real smile.

‘Yes. That’d be nice.’

There was still a great black pit of grief inside her, but a day out with Jonathan was a shaft of light.

‘You’d best go and fetch a mac or something, then. It looks like it might rain later.’

Scarlett stacked the clean dishes in an empty cupboard and ran upstairs, running over the contents of her wardrobe in her mind. What to wear? Her only raincoat was the grey one she wore for school. Apart from that and the rest of her school uniform, she had a couple of summer dresses, some shorts and blouses and a smart suit for best that used to be her mother’s and had been altered to fit her. When she got to her room she looked out of the window. Jonathan was right, it did look pretty grey out there. The suit was definitely not right for walking up the pier. She already had on a clean cotton dress with a pattern of pink and red flowers, so she added the red cardigan her mother had knitted her. Reluctantly, she picked up the horrible school mac. At least its pockets would be useful for carrying a handkerchief and some money. On the way down she called in at the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. Looking in the mirror, she practised a smile. She stood back and considered the full effect. She tightened the tie belt round her waist. Not bad. Not eighteen inches like her namesake, but it made her figure go in and out in all the right places, and who wanted to wear a corset like those southern belles? With a lighter heart, she went to join Jonathan again.

The sea front was just coming to life as they walked towards the pier. Shutters were being taken down, doors opened, premises cleaned. Just like yesterday evening, people greeted Jonathan as they went along. As they passed the Golden Cod, Aunty Marge’s husband, Douggie, was opening up.

‘Morning Jonno, and young Scarlett!’ he called. ‘Off somewhere nice?’

Immediately, Scarlett felt a little less strange. It wasn’t yet like the village, where she knew everyone, but at least somebody recognised her.