There was a race to the forest but there were roads closed off and no proper signs, just chalk marks on trees. Then came a reversing test that had to be done at speed. Everything had to be timed to the second but Greg’s mind was not on the job for once. To win they must combine being fast on the road and faster and accurate on the driving tests.
His forte was to lean out of the side of the car and
reverse accurately with some hard braking. ‘Back! Back!’ yelled Charlie, but this time he made a right Horlicks of it and holed the petrol tank, spilling fluid everywhere.
‘Damn and blast it!’ Greg exploded with frustration. Charlie wasn’t being much help.
‘Greg, calm down. It’s only a car; you didn’t roll! We can soon fix it later. Your mind’s just not on the job, is it?’
‘Is it that obvious? I’m sorry, so much trouble at t’mill to mull over. Sorry…’
‘I think that little Miss Conley is distracting you. I saw you both at the dance the other night. She’s a little pocket Venus, is that one. You could do far worse…She’s hard-working, respectable, not one of those awful tarts you’ve been chasing down the pub, all lipstick and heaving bosoms.’ Charlie laughed, seeing Greg flush.
But she is not Madeleine, Greg sighed to himself, bending down to examine the damage. It was Maddy’s face that haunted his dreams, Maddy’s long legs and slender shape that entranced him. Gloria was pretty enough, simple to please, she busied herself helping Mrs Afton after Sunday teas. Nothing was too much trouble for her to do, and the Aftons were pleased with her. He knew she fancied him but she was waiting for him to make the first move and he liked that.
Yet Gloria was like him, a reject, a misfit in a strange town, but in need of protection. She made him laugh when they danced, and teased him. She was like a pretty
doll dressed up, and fun to have on his arm. He was treating her like bone china, but Greg guessed she was more pot mug than porcelain, tough and serviceable for everyday use.
Maddy was bone china, and you only brought that out for Sunday best; decorative, delicate, but kept for show in a glass cabinet. Maddy had made her choice and turned him down. So be it. Perhaps Charlie was right. If he settled down with anyone, he could do far worse. With Gloria he’d be sure of an honest, no-nonsense bargain. She would work hard in the home, bring up his kids and see to his every need. In turn, he would be generous and they’d make a fine family home together. If she was a bit rough round the edges, they could keep her family background under wraps. She was no worse than he was; a workhouse boy. He’d no room to be snobby.
They were cart horses, the both of them, not fancy thoroughbreds, but cart horses got there in the end, steady away, strong, and they lasted longer.
The rally that afternoon might have been a disaster, but tonight he was taking Gloria to see the new film at the Regal. He thought about the box still sitting in his tallboy drawer with the Fattorini label. Gloria would jump at such a label. She’d open her arms to him and he’d enjoy teaching her the joys of sex.
No, he might not be love struck or head over heels this time round, but he knew a good bargain when he saw it. He could do far worse than propose to Gloria Conley.
He was lonely and a man needed regular sex. He was ready to make a go of things and she had nothing better on the horizon. He could give it a try, nothing lost there. Together they’d make a good team and show the world that vaccies were as good as anyone else in making their dreams come true.
1951
Plum sat facing forward in the compartment on the early morning train from Scarperton Junction. She was on her way to meet Maddy at King’s Cross and was dressed in her best linen summer suit and straw hat–nothing but the best for this visit. She was going to see the Festival of Britain, which King George VI had opened in May.
It had taken so much planning just to get a few days off. Grace Battersby was doing the evening meal for the half-boarders, and Stephen Armitage had promised to give the dogs a good run round Sowerthwaite, and Sally from the vicarage would be exercising the horses.
She smiled, thinking about how her life had changed since she’d scratched her cornea and met Dr Armitage. He’d been most attentive, and they’d started to meet to play bridge at one of Dilly Baslow’s bridge suppers. He’d walked her back home and they’d met for longer walks. Suddenly Sowerthwaite had taken on a whole new brightness. The two of them met in church and
sat on the Roof Repair Committee. He’d even got tickets for a concert in Leeds Town Hall where they met up with Totty and her husband, and had heard the Liverpool Philharmonic playing Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. It was a long drive home and they chatted fifteen to the dozen all the way back, like school kids on the bus.
The summer seemed brighter, the sky bluer, trees greener now.
There was hope and tenderness in his kiss and his concern. Plum finally felt womanly and wanted, after years of despair in the chilly frost of divorce. Plum knew Maddy would understand and be happy for her, but she wanted to spend a little time with her niece, just to see how she was getting on in London. Her letters were still brief and snappy, telling Plum nothing much that she didn’t already know.
Maddy was still living with Charmaine and her sister–still hard up, still at the House of Raoul Henry, with ‘Haughty Henry’, as she called her boss. A day out together would do them both good. She wanted to tell Maddy all about Stephen in person, her glad tidings of joy that she’d found a loving man at long last.
Stephen made her realise how cold and wooden was her first marriage to Gerald. How sad that she’d wasted all those years pretending that he’d loved her. It had been a useful marriage of convenience for him. There’d been little tenderness in his lovemaking, little attention to those details that Stephen just took for granted, like ringing home to see if she was busy. Once he’d
even cooked her a meal, very basic but tasty, just to prove that he wasn’t hopeless in the kitchen.
Love is in the details, she smiled to herself. When she returned he’d be at the station to greet her with the dogs. He would ring to see if she’d arrived safely. For the first time in decades she felt cherished, and she hugged the word around her like a soft woolly blanket. Just when she was feeling redundant, no evacuees, no Maddy to care for, Stephen had bounced into her life. What had she done to deserve such good fortune?
She read a magazine and a newspaper from cover to cover, dozed and gazed out of the window. Soon the green fields turned into houses and back gardens, and then to tall buildings, and the train came to a halt in the city.
There was Maddy, waiting at the barrier, looking so pale and wan in her elegant two-piece, a lilac suit with a black trim and hat made out of straw. She always looked good in mourning colours, Plum thought.
‘Maddy, darling, at long last! You look
très chic.
Haughty Henry must be doing very well.’
‘If only,’ laughed Maddy, taking her arm. ‘You’re on time and I’ve got so much planned. I hope your feet are up to it.’ She examined Plum’s sensible brogue lace-ups with a smile.
‘Better than yours will be, young lady. At my age, comfort comes first. I can walk for miles in these old coal barges but look at your court shoes, such high-heels!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got sandals in my bag. It’s going
to be hot…Oh, Plum, I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s get the tube to the Tate. You must see the Henry Moore exhibition and then we’ll stop for coffee and buy a souvenir programme and choose what bits we see first tomorrow. We’re going to have such a wonderful time!’
Gloria awoke, seeing Greg silhouetted naked by the window of the hotel behind Park Lane. He was long, lean, his buttocks rounded, his shoulders broad. She smiled to herself and sighed. Now he’s all mine, mine, mine. She couldn’t believe how quickly it had all happened. One minute she was little Miss Nobody, skivvying at the Temperance Hotel and now she was Mrs Gregory Byrne, on the up.
He’d proposed out of the blue one night, after a dance. They’d not so much as kissed before they’d rushed to the registry office, dragging in Charlie and Hilary as witnesses. It was all done and dusted in a flash with no fuss, no expense, no flashy wedding. She’d been too shocked to kick up a fuss about a white church wedding–better to strike while the iron was hot.
But who cared when this ruby flashed in the sunlight on her ring finger? Now they were on honeymoon in London for a whole week of dinners and shows. They’d walked the soles off their shoes on the hot pavements. Everything she’d wished for was coming true. This was the life!
Gregory was attentive, protective, initiating her into foreplay and sex as if she was a virgin, and she played the innocent, revving him up with a few little tricks of her own, as if she’d discovered them all by herself.
‘Is this nice?’ she whispered, and he groaned with pleasure.
‘Do it to me, then,’ she commanded, and he obliged, and she cried out with shouts that pleasured him even more.
Every night they raced back after work just to lie together and share this bliss.
‘You’re a wild one,’ Greg said. ‘A natural…It must be all that red hair.’
‘Do it again, then,’ she challenged him, and he did.
How different he was from Ken, with his devious tactics and dirty tricks. Greg was her slave and she adored his handsome body, the way his hair flopped over his brow when it wasn’t Brylcreemed. At last she was safe, secure. Nothing could touch her now that she was married. Ken would never find her. Maddy’s days were long gone. Everything was perfect.
‘What shall we do today?’ Greg asked.
‘Stay in bed,’ Gloria grinned.
‘It’s too bright a day to waste. Let’s do what we intended and go to the Festival of Britain.’
‘It’ll be boring, all that queuing…come back to bed. It’s so soft.’
‘We have to see the Festival. I’ve been reading all about it. It’ll be good for business. I want to see the new building materials. Then we can go on the funfair at Battersea. I’ll treat you to a special lunch. There’ll be something for both of us. We can’t miss the Great Exhibition; there’s a transport show.’
‘I thought we’d agreed–no business on our
honeymoon. Trust you to want to see cars,’ Gloria pouted. ‘I shall be bored.’
‘No you won’t. Think of all the famous people you’ll bump into there–film stars all dressed up. Wear your pretty wedding suit and hat and I’ll show you off to them,’ he cajoled her.
That was the trouble with Greg. It was business first, her second, along with his rally cars. He had all these enthusiasms, always reading and planning ahead, but she’d put a stop to that at bedtime. Who needed pages when she was ready and willing to entertain him? She threw a slipper at him.
‘Ouch! You devil woman!’ He turned and grinned, and she opened her arms to him again and he jumped on her.
‘Ouch! You’re heavy!’ she snapped.
‘Serves you right!’
‘Where do you want to start first, Aunt Plum?’ asked Maddy, examining the map of the South Bank Festival site in their souvenir programme. It was a fine June morning and the day was their own. Tomorrow she would be working at one of the fabric and textile design shows, representing the best of British designers. Although Mr Henry was a refugee from fascism, part French and part Hungarian, his best work was coming from his atelier workshop close to Cavendish Square.
Maddy looked up at the enormity of all the modern buildings set amongst the bombed ruins of Lambeth, the site rising like a concrete giant with flags flying and banners. It made her heart just burst with pride
to see all the new buildings. Plum insisted on being country comfortable in her sensible shoes, floral dress and hand-knitted cardigan, standing and staring alongside her.
‘You choose first,’ she smiled, gazing at this strange Lion and Unicorn pavilion with its undulating roof. ‘That looks just like a corrugated iron roof to me.’
‘It says it’s made of oak and lamella on the roof, whatever that it is,’ Maddy read from the programme. ‘What’s lamella?’
‘Don’t ask me. Let’s find the People’s Pavilion and the Dome of Discovery. Oh, look up there. There’s the Skylon Tower…come on!’ Plum was racing ahead in front of her.
‘Hold your horses, I’m supposed to be the young one here,’ Maddy laughed, trying to catch her up. It was still quiet, but the crowds would be thronging the avenue soon. So there was time to stop and stare at the Epstein’s
Youth Advancing
sculpture.
‘Wow!’ said Plum. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘Not sure,’ replied Maddy. ‘I like my sculptures sculptured, if you know what I mean, but it’s interesting and so strong.’
‘Philistine!’
It was lovely to have Plum’s company. She was a good egg, full of Yorkshire common sense. Taking her to see the Henry Moore sculptures had been a great success. She had done her homework and prepared for her visit with diligence. It was more like a school outing in the olden days at Palgrave House School.
By the time they’d walked around for two hours,
queued for the toilets, shuffled around exhibitions, waited for the toucans to pop out of the Guinness clock, the women’s feet were swelling and they were ready to collapse into the nearest café in the Homes and Gardens Pavilion with its wonderful mural dominating the food hall.
‘Can I take it you won’t be wanting the funfair?’ said Maddy, with a grin. This was turning out to be a lovely outing.