by Maggie Ford
But had she really been a fool? What if she’d let him do what he wanted? Would that have been any guarantee of a lovely future with him? She would have been made to feel cheap, and he would have gone off into the night satisfied. No, she hadn’t been a fool.
She did, however, feel chastened, much wiser, and next morning cringed in remembrance of how near she had come to disaster on ground she knew nothing of. And she thought of Arthur too. She would write to him. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t bring herself to. What words were there to say to him? Best not to write just now. Perhaps later.
One surprise was that there had been no scolding when Mum let her in to the house. Mum had stayed up waiting for her, and hadn’t looked too pleased, but some of the stuffing had been knocked out of her since Pam had gone, and her scolding had lost much of its sting.
‘Your Dad’s in bed, lucky for you,’ was all she said. Turning up the gas light in the living room where she had been sitting waiting, she told Josie to turn it off before going up to bed.
‘I suppose you’ll need to make yourself a cup of tea. The kettle’s simmering on the kitchen range in case you do. Take it off before you go up or it’ll simmer dry. Your Dad had a bit of an accident today on the boat, sprained his ankle. He’d not in a good mood and it’s lucky for you he went to bed early because of the pain. See you in the morning.’
It was all said tersely, with no enquiry about how she had enjoyed herself and Josie, taking the kettle off the range and turning out the gas before following her mother up, was glad about that.
Chapter Twelve
After leaving Pam, Connie went straight on to the station, catching the ten forty train to Fenchurch Street to get a bus going on to Bethnal Green.
Sitting there in the rattling carriage, empty but for an elderly couple on the opposite seat, Connie gazed over their heads and studied the four pictures set in a long, dark wooden frame beneath the sagging net baggage rack and the bold capitals: London Tilbury and Southend Railway. They were of seaside resorts. One announced itself to be a view of Eastbourne.
Connie felt a tingle of anticipation thrill through her. She and Ben would be spending their honeymoon there, returning home to their new flat the following Saturday. Ben had saved hard for their honeymoon. With so much else to pay for, she was proud of his achievement. It would be so romantic.
She only realised she was smiling broadly to herself when her eye caught that of the elderly couple; they returned her smile somewhat self-consciously, no doubt wondering what she was grinning at. Hastily she allowed her smile to fall away without looking too rude, lowered her eyes and thereafter remained straight-faced, gazing out of the window to avoid looking in their direction again until the two of them nodded off a little. Then she felt safe to look where she pleased and smile when the fancy took her. When two more people got on to bury their faces in their newspaper she felt equally at liberty to muse absently on the tinted pictures and their romantic scenery – one the Highlands of Scotland, one of Margate and the other Scarborough – while she dwelt on all the shopping she and Ben would do this afternoon, especially for bedroom furniture, an expense but important, a big item. She felt the thrill of excitement pierce her stomach, a most delicious feeling.
It was a wonderful afternoon, as she knew it would be. Buying all the things their money would stretch to, sighing after all it couldn’t. There were curtains still to be ordered but they could wait for a week or two. They still had to think seriously about what they would sit on and eat off, what they would sleep on. She and Ben held hands as they looked at a double bed, a bedside cabinet and matching chest of drawers in oak and weathered oak.
‘I think oak?’ Ben said, his voice a question. Connie nodded.
‘I think so too. But can we afford it?’ At six pounds seventeen shillings and sixpence it was slightly the dearer of the two woods. With the chest of four drawers costing five pounds two and six, they were looking at twelve pounds.
Soberly they considered the hire purchase payments of two shillings and sixpence a week for the next couple of years. They’d also be looking at another couple or so shillings a week on the two re-covered spring-seated fireside chairs and a drop leaf table and four upright chairs they’d seen, the combined cost another eleven pounds sixteen shillings. The whole lot added up to twenty-three pounds. It was a vast amount.
Totting up, standing in the shop while the shop attendant hovered nearby hoping for his commission from a sale of some sort, Connie and Ben gazed at esch other.
‘Let’s see,’ Ben whispered. ‘There’s rent for the flat, seven shillings and sixpence a week. There’s insurance in case we need to pay a doctor’s or hospital bill – another shilling a week. There’s gas and electricity. That’d be another, say, six bob. So let’s call it twenty-one shillings to be safe. Take that away from what I earn. Can be overtime of course, but we can’t count that – it’s never regular. It leaves us about one pound and nineteen shillings for grub.’ He drew in a doubtful breath and she did too. ‘Then there’s them incidentals what come up what you don’t expect. It don’t leave much for saving. And if we have a family … Could we manage?’
‘We’d have to, darling,’ she whispered back. She had always been a bit of a saver – the reason why they were buying new and not secondhand furniture now, having a nice wedding and even a honeymoon. The two of them pooled their wages every week into a kitty and spent carefully.
She took another quick look at the bed, the cabinet and the chest of drawers. They looked beautiful with the bright electric lights making them gleam. But more, they were solid, serviceable, none of that art deco stuff they’d looked at in other shops. They needed things to be sturdy, and they were for a lifetime. And a bed and a chest of drawers were necessary things. She came to a decision, conscious of the shop attendant shuffling his feet impatiently behind her. ‘If we leave the bedside cabinet, that’d save a bit.’ Even so they were cutting close to the bone but what could they do?
Ben looked at her face and she knew he read accurately what lay there, her soul pleading for a good start in their new home: no secondhand stuff used by others, please. He melted to it.
‘We’ll get the cabinet another time. We don’t need it yet. No need to go mad all at once. Haven’t even got a table lamp to put on it.’
They both chuckled, decision made. The shop assistant’s face beamed as he took their order; he did not note or want to note the apprehension on their faces that they could scarcely afford all they’d bought.
Ignoring any fripperies taking their fancy they hurried back to inspect their flat for the sixth time since putting down the first month’s rent, Ben having had to get in enough overtime to make it up after that to kill a horse. But it was worth it as hand in hand they walked around the three empty rooms, the tiny kitchen, the little toilet and balcony, seeing them all as they would be furnished a few weeks from now.
‘It really is heaven,’ Connie sighed as she looked out over towards a misty Big Ben, then began planning for the umpteenth time where their new furniture would go once they moved in. A lot of the space would stay bare for a while but it would fill as their lives together grew. Ben’s parents had said they’d be giving them a wireless set for a wedding present, which would provide a little diversion on winter evenings as they sat conserving their savings for a family when it came.
After a Sunday breakfast the next morning of egg and bacon, tomatoes and fried bread, Ben and Connie made their way to Wapping where the tug was moored.
‘Are you sure this is all right? Connie queried as be helped her on board. Ben grinned, his grin impish, broadening his already broadly handsome face even more.
‘Had a bit of a word with the foreman. Said he’d turn a blind eye. Not supposed to but lots of blokes give fiancées trips up or down the river, so long as they don’t go too far.’ At this he gave a significant chuckle, and knowing what be was alluding to, Connie laughed too, blushing a little. She and Ben had had their moments, enough to make
her blush now, but there had never been any opportunity to go to bed together, not even in the new flat, which as yet had no bed in it. But next week it would be delivered, and then … She grasped Ben’s hand tightly as he helped her down into the boat.
It was just as she had imagined, the muddy smell of the river, the oily smell of the tugboat, the light scent of Ben’s brilliantine as he put his head close to hers, one arm about her shoulders, the other on the wheel, his hand on her feeling cool through her pink print summer dress. Now and again he let her take the wheel and she laughed with delight, feeling the power of the tugboat beneath her grip.
‘You don’t have to strangle her,’ he laughed. ‘Gently now. She’ll respond well enough.’ He seemed so proud, even though the boat wasn’t his but belonged to the firm for which he and his father worked.
Around midday they took the train back to Leigh for dinner with her parents. Her father, with his ankle strapped up in bandages, behaved like a bear with a sore head, moaning and groaning about his incapacity.
‘How did it happen?’ she asked.
‘Just a bloody accident,’ he grunted, irascible and inconsolable, but very obviously unwilling to go into detail.
He sounded almost embarrassed and Connie thought best to leave it alone. Especially as her mother gave her a look that signified things had happened that were best left unsaid, which merely pricked her curiosity the more. Still, she said nothing. Whatever had caused Dad’s accident it obviously went deeper than it might have. Dad’s pride seemed thoroughly jarred.
After a lovely roast beef Sunday dinner such as only Mum could cook, Ben and she stood in the back yard in the sunshine for a while. Secluded by its wooden fence all round, it let the sun beat down into it, trapping it. Ben loosened his tie and undid his collar.
‘Fancy popping along to Southend?’ he suggested, his broad face a little ruddy. ‘We could spend the afternoon on the beach.’
Connie was in agreement. Even her summer dress felt too warm. ‘Let’s take our swimming costumes. I really do need to cool off. We can take a few sandwiches and a flask of tea. Mum’ll make that up for us.’ It was imperative they spent as little money as possible after yesterday’s outlay and she knew Ben’s wages this week must already be dwindling alarmingly.
The train was hot but not crowded, the usual cram of holidaymakers having eased much earlier that morning. This evening coming back would be crowded.
Gratefully, they alighted at Southend Central Station and made the long hot walk down the High Street, down Pier Hill and along Marine Parade past the pier where the beaches were crowded with people.
Near the Kursal, where there were more people than on the beach, Connie stopped and puffed. ‘This is far enough. Don’t forget we’ve got to walk all the way back.’
She might have grown hot from walking, but while they had been doing so, the wind seemed to have changed from the morning and a chilly breeze had sprung up. Where the sky that morning had been a clear blue, it now harboured a sweep of high thin cloud that dulled the sunshine a little, with darker puffs of smaller clouds appearing below that.
‘We’d best get our swim in quickly,’ she suggested as they went down some stone steps to the beach. Some of those already there, feeling the slight chill, were leaving, gathering up their belongings, although the sun was still bestowing its warmth upon the narrow strip of sand, the tide well up.
‘At least there’s a place to sit,’ Connie added gratefully as they settled themselves againat a breakwater sheltered from the slightly chilly breeze, taking advantage of the relative solitude of the beach, though there were quite a few people walking the promenade while the raucous music from the Kursal proclaimed a good trade on all its pleasure rides.
‘There’ll be a lot more people here next week,’ she went on as they sorted out their costumes. ‘Whitsun Bank Holiday next week. They’re most likely saving their pennies for then.’
‘Like we are,’ Ben laughed, already beginning to get himself into his costume under a large towel he’d wrapped around himself for modesty’s sake. Connie stood up and helped hold it around him in case it did fall and cause them embarrassment before the few people left on the beach. Ben did the same for her, at one time putting his hand between the fold to touch her naked bosom, making Connie cry out and tell him to pack it in.
She emerged respectable, but shuddered a little. ‘Ooh-ee … ! It’s cold!’
Nevertheless, with Ben’s hand in hers, she let him lead her down to the water’s edge a few yards away. The beach here shelved steeply before it met the submerged mud that would then continue for half a mile or more, soon to be exposed with the tide showing obvious signs now of being on the turn. She ventured a foot or two up to her knees, but the tender flesh of her thighs could take no more.
‘I’m sorry, Ben, I’m going back. The water’s freezing!’
‘Coward,’ he laughed at her, let go her hand and to show that cold did not trouble him, took a header into the deeper water. Thick-set, strong and muscular, he came up to look back at her. ‘See you in a tick, darling,’ he said, and struck out with a strong overarm stroke, moving away at a rapid pace.
‘Don’t go too far,’ she called after him. His voice came faintly back as his face turned momentarily clear of the water. ‘I won’t.’
Connie waved but he didn’t see it. Turning, she made her way back up the few yards of sand, sat down and began briskly towelling her wet, chilled legs. That done she wrapped the towel about her shoulders, untouched by water though they were, and poured herself a cup of steaming tea from the flask to swill down the warming liquid in one comforting gulp.
Removing the towel she slipped her cardigan over her swimming costume. Cursing it’s inconvenience on the warm walk here, she was glad of it now. Her knees up under her chin, her arms wrapped around them, she stared out to sea.
There were four or five hardy souls out there (she didn’t bother to count), all apparently good swimmers. Ben too was a good swimmer – he was probably one of them. Connie settled down and waited. She felt suddenly lonely and a little shiver passed over her although she wasn’t that cold any more. She wanted Ben’s arm around her, to feel its warmth on her shoulders. As soon as he came out they would go into some tea room for a real cup of tea and a cake and damn the expense.
She waited. A clock above a holiday souvenir shop across the promenade, when she stood up to look, said quarter to three. The next time she stood up to look it showed nearly three. Two swimmers, young men, were coming out, rubbing their arms briskly as they pounded up the beach to a group of people entrenched behind a barrier of clothes and deck chairs against the wall of the promenade above. The sun, struggling through the ever-thickening high cloud, gave some warmth still, reflected back from the concrete. Connie wished she had sat on that side now, taking advantage of the wall’s warmth.
Another swimmer was coming out, making for the same group. It left just two in the water, their beads bobbing up and down between the small waves now being stirred up by a stiffening breeze. Connie watched, tried to identify Ben. If he didn’t come out soon, she would go to the water’s edge and call him. She got up, wandered down to the edge, negotiating a smelly line of dried seaweed, then a wet and glistening line of it that smelled much fresher with little creatures still moving about on the fronds. The sand here was wet and steeped down to a narrow strip of now-exposed mud. The tide was going out, swiftly as it always did, drawing back over the mud flats as if eager to be away from the chattering holidaymakers to languish out there in its own silence. Soon it would be too shallow for swimming. She stood watching the two remaining people coming towards her. Giving up the battle they stood up sharply, surprising her that the water came only up to their chests, rising out of the water like rabbits being popped out of a magician’s hat. They were wading in now. Connie recognised neither of them.
Frowning, she cast her gaze across the deserted, choppy surface. Idiotically she turned round quickly, looked at the place where she’d b
een sitting, her and Ben’s own small entrenchment of clothing and bags, half expecting him to be sitting there among it all, surprising her in a joke.
Her gaze moved itself along the prom above. He might have swum around the loading pier of the gasworks further along to come up there, might even now be walking along the prom to get back down on to this beach. There were plenty of strollers up there, none of them Ben, all of them dressed for strolling.
Sudden anxiety clutched at her breast. One of the swimmers passed her without looking at her. She let him go. The last one she reached out to, her face showing panic.
‘Excuse me.’ He paused, warily. She went on hurriedly, her voice breathless. ‘I’m sorry, but is there anyone else left out there?’
Almost stupidly, he looked back at the small waves. The sun, having steadily grown more brassy, had given up the struggle with the thickening haze of cloud. The heavier lower clumps had slowly united without her even noticing. The sea had turned quite quickly from its original summer blue, taking on an ominous steel-grey hue.
The man looked back at her. ‘No one out there now.’ He went to go on but the look on her face stopped him. ‘Are you all right? What’s the matter?’
‘My financé. He …’ It was hard to acknowledge what was gathering in her breast, hard to form words to explain how she was beginning to feel, the disbelief, the panic, the impossible. ‘He was out swimming. He is a strong swimmer. But he’s not there now.’
The man stared at her without speaking, then turned sharply and looked back at the water as if the sharpness of his action would produce a swimmer ploughing his way back to the beach.
‘Are yer sure?’ he asked stupidly like a man not knowing what next to do.
‘He was out there.’ And then panic really took hold, bursting through her breast in a torrent of terror, her voice rising. ‘He has to be out there. Where is he? He has to be out there.’