Authors: Amanda Prowse
‘Oooh don’t be fooled,’ shouted Reg with his mouth full of food, before Dot had the chance to say her piece. ‘Whatever he was wearing, they are slippery customers and not to be trusted. Look at poor old Gloria Riley.’
‘Who’s Gloria Riley?’ He had her attention.
‘She was a local girl who came to a sticky end.’
‘What’s a sticky end?’ Dee wanted to know.
‘Eat your dinner.’ Joan pointed at Dee’s plate.
Reg leant towards Dot and spoke out of the side of his mouth, not wanting to give Dee any information that might pique her interest. ‘It was a couple of years ago now; she took up with a coloured fella that had come to work on the trains. Her family was horrified; her dad chucked her out, naturally. So she goes to this bloke she’s seeing with a little bag packed and her savings in her purse, ready to elope like he’d promised and guess what? When it came to it, he had to confess that he had a wife and kids back wherever he’d come from. She was desperate, the poor cow. But that’s what they’re like, it’s different for them. Probably in his village they have umpteen wives and no one blinks a bloody eyelid. Mind you, not sure why you’d want more than one wife, I just about cope with the one I’ve got! A man could get nagged to death!’
Dot rubbed at her temples to relieve the beginnings of a headache. She swallowed the words she had rehearsed.
Joan tutted at her husband. ‘This Sol’s nothing like that, he’s quite posh and as I say, he was wearing a suit and everything.’
‘You can’t tell what they’re like, love, no matter what they wear. And are you sure it was a suit, Joany? Thought he’d be more likely to be in a loin cloth and have a bloody bone through his nose!’ Reg laughed and a small glob of pease pudding slid from his lip and back onto the plate. Dee laughed at her funny dad. He wasn’t done. ‘And what do they actually
eat
, these people? I bet they’ve got you rustling up curried goat and Gawd knows what every day! Yuk, you wouldn’t catch me eating no foreign muck, the thought of it turns my bloody stomach!’
Dot pushed her plate into the middle of the table. ‘Actually, I don’t feel that well after all, think I might go and get some fresh air and then I’m meeting Barb. Thanks for tea, Mum. I’ll see you later.’
Dot couldn’t trust herself not to respond to her dad’s ignorant humour. She heard their conversation as she put on her lippy in the hall mirror.
‘What’sa matter with her?’
‘Hormones, I think, love.’ Joan knew this was the one topic guaranteed to shut him up.
‘Oh, Christ, a house full of women! It’s enough to drive a man round the bleeding bend!’
As Dot and Sol strolled through Hyde Park and alongside the Serpentine the next day her dad’s words echoed in her thoughts. She wasn’t sure how she would break the news to him now, but she had the idea that once he had met Sol and been bowled over by how brilliant he was, he might come round. She shook her head slightly, laughing at how she must have been confusing her dad with someone else.
He won’t come round
.
It was with confidence that Sol now reached for her hand and the two matched each other’s pace, in no hurry to arrive anywhere in particular. They stopped only for the occasional peck on the cheek and to share a bag of roasted chestnuts, bought from a vendor who had set up his brazier in a corner of the park.
They stopped at a bench and huddled together under the pretence of warding off the chill. ‘I love seeing all these new plants,’ Sol said. ‘I’m a bit of an amateur horticulturist at home. I find it amazing how you can take a tiny seed and with a little bit of care and attention can watch it grow into something so strong and beautiful. Many of the trees on our land are hundreds of years old; I find that incredible!’
Dot loved his enthusiasm, his interest, but she couldn’t help comparing his description with her own back yard at Ropemakers Fields. What would Sol make of the long, thin strip of bare concrete, littered with nothing more interesting than a few metal mop buckets, an ancient wheelbarrow with flat tyres and her dad’s bike?
‘The grass here is so fine and dense,’ Sol continued. ‘Our lawn at the Jasmine House is quite the opposite: sparse and spiky. I think the peahens would like roaming about on this all day. And your English flowers seem more fragile, and for that more beautiful. Like poppies… I bet you have some beautiful flowers in your garden, don’t you, Clover?’
‘Errr, not really much growing in it at the moment,’ she replied hurriedly. Dot thought about their back yard at Ropemakers Fields, a long thin strip with patched fencing on either side that denied the area sunlight for most of the day. A large slab of concrete littered with metal mop buckets, an old wheelbarrow with flat tyres and her dad’s bike. There was the old outside privy now used as a shed, full to bursting with all sorts of junk that was fit for the scrap heap. A couple of adventurous roses from the Rusalovas’ garden peeked over the back fence as though fascinated by the goings on in the Simpsons’ house. They withered and died quite quickly. Apart from the clutter, her mum pegging out the washing and her dad having the occasional fag in his vest, there wasn’t that much to see.
True, the back two thirds of their yard had once been a lawn, in her nan’s time, but that was before the Anderson shelter had taken priority. Now the only thing that bloomed was the bindweed that snaked over its rusting corrugated panels, the beautiful white and pale pink blooms reminding Dot of tiny gramophone speakers. One small flower bed in the top left corner had been planted with bulbs a few years ago, while her dad had still been able to wield a spade, but you were lucky to get one chrysanthemum a year out of them now. Dot realised with an uneasy stirring in her stomach that she would be embarrassed to show Sol their garden.
‘It’s cold!’ Sol patted his hands together and dipped his chin into his collar.
‘When do you think you’ll stop saying that?’
‘I don’t know, maybe when the sun comes out!’
Dot laughed. ‘Blimey, you might be saying it for a while then. This is a lovely day, I don’t know what you’re moaning about.’
Sol leapt up and sprinted off. She watched the grace with which he ran along the path. There was a hint in the March breeze of the warmth to come. Dot couldn’t wait to show him London in the summer; they could go for picnics and swim in the lido, it would be wonderful. She thought of her best summer frock hanging in the wardrobe and decided to give it a once-over with a damp sponge to make sure she was ready.
Sol had rounded the bend in the path and stood there catching his breath while he waited for her. She took her time.
‘Now aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ Sweeping Dot into his arms, Sol lifted her clean off the pavement. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Get a grip! You only saw me a few moments ago!’
‘Clover, I swear that the second I leave you, I long to have you back again, right by my side. Is it the same for you or am I mad?’
She smiled. ‘You
are
mad, but it’s the same for me. We must both be mad!’
‘How about we go to Paolo’s?’
‘Where else would we go?’ she teased.
‘It’s our place.’
‘Yes it is. If I’d known our first outing was going to have so much significance, I might of picked somewhere a bit flashier!’
‘It’s perfect. Plus I like to see how long we can hang around before he starts flicking switches very loudly and coughing about a tiring day. So, that’s the plan, Paolo’s for coffee and maybe some toast, what do you think?’
‘I think I’d love to!’
I think I love you…
The next morning, Dot hung her coat on the peg in the staff room and smiled at the colleagues and customers she passed on her way to her floor. She wondered if they’d seen a change in her over the last month; she certainly felt different. Seeking out the little jobs and fiddly chores in the Haberdashery to try and still her busy mind, she occupied herself with the winding of ribbon and logging of wool, attempting to order the thoughts that competed for space in her head. She imagined the conversation she must have with her dad, pictured him and Sol shaking hands over the threshold of Ropemakers Fields. But try as she might, it was a blur.
‘I’m nipping out for a bit of fresh air and a fag, you coming?’
‘No, I’m all right, Barb. It’s pissing down and I don’t want to get me hair wet.’
‘Who are you, Jean bloody Shrimpton? What d’you mean you don’t want to get your hair wet? Since when have you been bothered about that?’
‘I just mean I don’t want to spend the afternoon looking like a frizzled drip and with me hair all stuck to me face.’
Barb studied her friend, who was now absorbed in ordering and sorting the packets of dress patterns into a neat row, patting the sides and tops until they were aligned.
‘You’ve been right off today. What’s up, you on the rag?’
Dot shook her head. ‘No. I’m just a bit tired.’
Barb chewed the inside of her cheek and watched her mate toil. ‘Oh my God! It’s that bloke, isn’t it? You don’t want to get your hair messed up cos you’re meeting him! I’m right, aren’t I?’
Dot sighed as she looked up. ‘All right! Yes, I admit I don’t want me hair messed up cos I’m meeting him for a coffee. Happy now?’
Barb folded her arms. ‘A bit. But I don’t know what you’re worried for, he’s got that horrible crinkly stuff on his head, he’s hardly going to worry if yours is a bit flatter than usual. At least you’ve got normal hair!’ Barb snorted her laughter.
Dot felt her heart leap inside her chest as her jaw clenched; she wasn’t used to feeling this way when addressing her mate. ‘His hair
is
normal for him, and probably his people think our hair is weird, did you ever think of that?’
‘No. But it don’t matter, does it, cos our hair is how hair’s supposed to be and so that’s normal and theirs is just… weird.’
‘How do you figure out that ours is normal and theirs isn’t?’
‘Don’t be daft, Dot. If theirs was normal hair, everyone’d be walking around with it, wouldn’t they?’
‘Well of course! And they do where he lives, you dozy cow!’
Barb pulled her mouth into a sideways slant and considered this. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘So why do they have hair like that?’
‘Gawd, I don’t know! Ask Sol next time you see him. Second thoughts, I am joking, Barb, do not ask Sol that when you see him.’
‘My dad says they have that hair to stop their heads being damaged when a coconut falls on it.’
‘Well it sounds like your dad talks out of his arse as much as you do, mate. Least we know where you get it from.’
‘All right, keep your hair on!’ Barb bent over and snorted as she laughed. ‘Did you hear what I said?
Keep your hair
on!
’
‘I heard you. And for the record, I think his hair is beautiful. I think he’s beautiful.’ Dot ground her teeth.
‘Blimey. You do, don’t you?’
‘Yep.’ Dot kept her eyes cast downwards.
‘Have I upset you, Dot?’
Dot exhaled. ‘I don’t know. A bit. Yes.’
‘But you and me can talk about anything, can’t we?’
Dot nodded at her best friend. ‘Course we can. I just find it hard, it seems everyone has something negative to say and I just wish… I just wish someone could be pleased for us.’
‘I am pleased for you! Even if other people aren’t. I thought Aunty Audrey was going to choke on her tea when I told her! But I’m not other people; I’m your best mate, always.’
Dot nodded. ‘I know.’
‘But I do think it’s going to be tough, because it’s different. We don’t
know
any coloured people, Dot and it’s not just cos he’s coloured. It’d be the same if he was normal but from Iceland, people would be interested in what Iceland was like and what it was like living in an igloo and eating nothing but frozen fish.’
Dot looked at her friend and decided there was no point continuing the discussion.
‘You go and have your fag and fresh air, mate; I’ll tidy up a bit.’
‘I don’t think anyone will be nipping outside any time soon, thank you, Miss Simpson.’ Neither girl had heard Miss Blight approach. ‘Can I remind you both that there is a rota for break times and it is not to be deviated from. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Miss Blight.’ The girls spoke in unison.
‘And have you finished the stocktake on the fabric? I am called upon to submit figures.’
‘Yes, Miss Blight.’ Again, both girls answered simultaneously, although this time both had their fingers crossed behind their backs. It was their rule: if your fingers were crossed, lying didn’t count.
As Miss Blight walked away, Barb held two unlit cigarettes in the extended fingers of each hand and pretended to puff them one after the other. Fake smoking while flicking the V was one of her specialities. Dot collapsed in giggles.
With her hair still passing muster at the end of her shift, Dot pulled her headscarf tighter, jumped off the bus and ran up Ropemakers Fields. And there he was, loitering at the end of Narrow Street, looking handsome and happy. Even the sight of him was enough to fill her stomach with a fizz of joy. It didn’t matter that it was raining, nothing did. The two of them laughed at the joy of being reunited.
‘Paolo’s?’ she asked.
‘We could, but my parents are at a function so we have the apartment to ourselves. Why don’t we go back and I’ll make us hot chocolate. We can get out of this rain!’
Dot nodded. ‘Sounds lovely. And on the way you can tell me more about your garden. I’ve been thinking, I’d love a nice garden, y’know. I’d like to grow flowers and all me own veg.’
‘Oh, be careful, once you get the gardening bug it can take you over, become an obsession. You worry for the welfare of all these living things that are entirely dependent on you for their survival!’
‘Oh Gawd, I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.’
Sol looked her up and down. ‘I’d say probably not.’
‘Behave!’ She shoved him playfully. ‘I think I’d like to cook what I’d grown. I could do fruit and make jams and crumble; be lovely that, wouldn’t it? I’ve never been much of a cook, it’s kind of me mum’s thing, but I reckon I’d love cooking for you. I’d experiment and you’d have to eat all my disasters!’