Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m disappearing when you need me most. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Simon. It’s my problem and I just have to try to work through it.’

  Simon’s eyes narrowed as his thoughts ran around his head. ‘If it helps, bring him here every day. I don’t know what five-year-old boys do but get him some crayons, books and things and he might be all right. There’s plenty of food here.’

  Joyce gave him a wry smile. ‘I can’t afford for him to eat out every day.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I’m sure we could afford for a little one to have a good meal every day. That can easily be lost in the profits.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Simon. I’m going to miss you.’ Joyce’s eyes became watery.

  ‘Which brings me on to what I want to say, or ask you.’ Simon’s face began to colour.

  ‘It’s all right, Simon, I shall do my best to keep the café running and I understand from Barbara your mother might pop in to offer a hand from time to time.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s not what I want to ask you.’ He paused and looked around him. ‘I’m sorry we’re not in some fancy restaurant somewhere. I know I’m going away but I want you to know how much I love you.’ He took a small blue velvet box out of his trouser pocket and lowered himself down on to one knee. He opened the box and a solitaire ring sparkled at her. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Tears rolled down Joyce’s face. ‘Do you know how long I have wanted this to happen?’ She sniffed and swiped away the tears. ‘You’re only asking me because you’re going off to war. I don’t want you to ask me out of panic or fear.’

  Simon lowered his head and flipped the box shut. ‘I’m not and it worries me that you think so little of me.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘That’s just it, I don’t. I’m trying to protect you from yourself and I now have this child to worry about. How can I commit to anything until I know how my life is going to be?’ She stood up. Wringing her hands, she paced around the café. ‘I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to keep this café going for you. Do you know how much it hurts me to say all this?’ She paused and turned to face Simon. ‘My life has been turned upside down and that is exactly why I won’t hold you to your proposal. Can’t you see we’re on separate paths at the moment? I’ve got to go and tell the solicitors I’m going to look after this boy, and probably sign my life away; goodness knows how that will turn out.’ Their eyes locked as they stood in silence. She sighed. ‘Maybe when you come back we can talk again; that is, if you still feel the same.’

  Simon didn’t take his eyes off her. He nodded. ‘I’ll hold on to the ring because I know my feelings for you won’t change, and just so you know, it doesn’t matter to me whether you have one or ten children to look after, it doesn’t change my feelings for you.’

  ‘Simon, I’ve loved you for so long, more than you’ll ever know, and yet I still feel I’m not in a position to say yes. Please try to understand.’

  Simon strode towards her and gripped the top of her arms. He lowered his head, pausing for just a second. Her orange blossom fragrance was at odds with the smell of carbolic soap but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her and gently brushed his lips against hers. She pulled him nearer and the pressure of their kiss grew. His arms tightened; he had no desire to let her go.

  Unwillingly, Joyce slowly pulled away. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips before whispering, ‘I’m sorry but I’ve got to get to the solicitor’s. I don’t want to leave you but I must for the child’s sake. I couldn’t live with myself if something dreadful happened to him.’

  *

  The newspaper rustled as Arthur turned the page. ‘I don’t know why I read the paper. It’s all quite depressing. Thank goodness the weather has been so bad the Germans haven’t been able to fly their Zeppelins over here anymore.’

  ‘It must have been frightening for those poor people in Sandringham when it happened just after Christmas; they must have been terrified.’ Joyce put down her knitting and looked over at Arthur. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  Arthur studied Joyce for a moment. ‘No, it doesn’t. These are certainly worrying times.’

  The doorknocker thudded down, startling Joyce. She stared at Arthur, wondering who it could be. Surely they couldn’t be dropping the boy off already, not at this time of night. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven times. It was too early to be the girls coming home from the theatre, unless Rose had walked out on Miss Hetherington, of course. Surely it couldn’t be Peter or Simon; they would never come to the house, would they?

  There was another knock and Joyce and Arthur both jumped up at the same time, almost bumping into each other in their haste to get to the front door.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Arthur assured Joyce. ‘You never know who could be on the other side of the door.’ He marched out into the hall, Joyce following closely at his heels. He turned the handle and pulled it open a little and peered out.

  It was a dark evening with no streetlights, and no visible stars to pave the way. The wintry air pushed its way in.

  An elderly man and woman stood in front of the house; the woman was gripping a boy’s hand. He peered up at Arthur, his eyes full of fear. Joyce pulled the door open further and took in the three of them standing there. The boy stared at Joyce; his eyes were dull and lifeless. He pulled his hand away from the woman.

  Arthur frowned. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  The elderly man cleared his throat. ‘We are looking for a Miss Taylor, Miss Joyce Taylor. We’ve been sent here by Mr Jeremiah King, the solicitor.’

  Joyce stared at them. The boy looked as bad as she felt as he stood behind a large leather trunk. ‘I’m … I’m Joyce Taylor.’

  The woman gave her a warm smile. ‘How do you do?’ She reached out to shake Joyce’s hand.

  Politeness bid that Joyce do the same.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you. We’re Mr and Mrs Gardner. I work for your grandmother.’ Mrs Gardner paused. ‘I know this must be a terrible shock for you but this is Philip. He’s a good boy, although a little mischievous at times and I’ll be sorry to not be looking after him from now on. It’s a sorry state of affairs but I’m getting older and with Mrs Taylor unlikely to come round it’s important Philip is in a stable home.’

  Joyce stared down at the boy for a few minutes. Did he look a little like Arthur’s son, William, or was she imagining it? Would Arthur be able to cope with another little boy in the house? She felt sure losing William was still a raw memory for him. Joyce sighed as she looked up at the man she would always regard as her uncle. He was pale and his gaze was fixed on the lad. She didn’t have any answers on how to sort out this mess but was suddenly aware that Mr and Mrs Gardner were staring at her. She pulled the door wider. ‘Please come in.’

  Mr Gardner bent over to pick up the trunk.

  The movement seemed to bring Arthur out of his trance and he thrust out his hand. ‘No, I’ll get that.’

  Mr Gardner nodded. ‘Thank you, it’s quite heavy so be careful.’

  Arthur and Joyce moved aside so the three of them could step inside the house.

  Joyce led the way into the large dining room. ‘Please take a seat on either the sofa or one of the armchairs; it doesn’t matter where.’

  Mrs Gardner perched herself at one end of the sofa. Philip squashed in tight against her. Putting her arm around his shoulders, she held him close.

  Joyce knelt down at Mrs Gardner’s feet. ‘It’s all right, Philip. No one is going to hurt you, I promise.’

  Mrs Gardner squeezed his hand. ‘He’ll be all right once he gets used to you. He has been passed around a bit in his short life, bless him.’

  Philip stared at Joyce with wide defiant eyes. ‘I can take care of myself.’ He pulled away from Mrs Gardner.

  Mrs Gardner nodded and pulled him in close again. ‘I know, Philip, but what’s important is you have a roof over your head an
d you don’t need to worry about anything.’

  There was a thud closely followed by the bang of the front door slamming shut. Arthur walked into the room rubbing his hands. ‘You weren’t kidding when you said that trunk was heavy. I nearly broke me back getting it in the hall.’ He stared at the small child. He looked pale and almost undernourished. ‘Philip, would you like to come and see your new bedroom?’

  The boy shook his head and turned away from Arthur.

  ‘I’ve painted it blue for you but if you don’t like it we can change the colour. I’ve also put some toy cars on a small stand so you can reach to play with them.’

  Philip peered up at Arthur. ‘Is there a fire engine?’

  Arthur looked thoughtful, tapping his finger on his lips. ‘Do you know I can’t remember. Shall we go and have a look?’ He reached out his hand to the child.

  Philip glanced from Arthur to Mrs Gardner.

  Joyce felt her heart was going to burst. ‘It’s all right, Philip. Uncle Arthur won’t hurt you; he’s a good man.’

  Mrs Gardner smiled down at the child and nodded for him to go.

  Philip stood upright and slowly walked over and put his small hand in Arthur’s.

  Arthur grinned at the boy. ‘Right, let’s go and explore.’

  Philip gave a tentative smile as they turned and left the room. Their footsteps could soon be heard on the stairs followed by creaking as they stood on each step.

  Joyce stood up and turned her attention to the couple. ‘Forgive my manners, I should have offered you a cup of tea but you caught me out. I wasn’t expecting you – well, I was – but I didn’t know when you would bring Philip to me.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I understand, but we can’t stay long. I’m not one for being out in the evenings. We’ve left a small case of Philip’s clothes in the hall.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘What can you tell me about Philip?’

  The man and woman quickly glanced at each other.

  The man cleared his throat. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘Well.’ Joyce frowned. ‘Who is he and how come he was living with my grandmother? Are there any problems I should know about?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘His name is Philip Taylor but I’m afraid we haven’t been privy to any information about how he came to be living with your grandmother. The only thing I know is he has lived with your grandmother for a few years; in fact he moved in after you moved out. I think it’s what your father argued with her about.’

  Joyce’s eyes widened. ‘He has the same name. I thought his last name was Edwards. Did my grandmother adopt him or change his name then?’

  Mrs Gardner shrugged. ‘I’m your grandmother’s housekeeper and as such was not privy to such information. All I know is Mrs Taylor is a very private person and she doted on Philip.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I get the impression he has seen more than most at his young age, but I hasten to add it is only an impression and nothing more.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Thank you, I’m sorry to ask so many questions. It’s all a bit of a shock to me.’ She paced around the room wringing her hands. ‘I shall try and take things slowly.’

  Mr Gardner cleared his throat. ‘Philip has more clothes and toys to come. I will arrange for everything else to be delivered by carriage tomorrow. I’m afraid we couldn’t manage to bring everything with us today.’

  Joyce stopped and looked at the couple who had made an impact on her day. ‘I can’t pretend all this doesn’t terrify me. I don’t know where to start.’

  Mrs Gardner smiled. ‘I can already tell you have a good heart so just follow it.’

  Joyce stared at her. ‘How do you know that?’

  Mrs Gardner stood up and walked over to Joyce and took her hand in hers. ‘You have kind but worried eyes, and look how softly you spoke to Philip.’ She looked down at their hands clasped together. ‘Your hands tell me you work hard. Your uncle Arthur was quick to try and put Philip at ease. You are a good family.’

  Joyce opened her mouth to correct her about Arthur being her uncle but she realised it didn’t matter so she shut it again.

  8

  Joyce took a deep breath before knocking on the bedroom door and twisting the brass door handle. It grated as she turned it. She poked her head round the door and waited for her eyes to focus in the dark room that had been given to Philip to sleep in. There was no sound from inside. Fear suddenly gripped Joyce. Had he run away in the night? She ran in and pulled back the heavy green curtains and let the early morning light in. She looked over to the bed. Philip was lying there, very still. Relief spread through her and she forced a smile to her lips. ‘Come on, Philip, you should be out of bed by now and eating breakfast.’

  Philip stared at her, his eyes wide, but he didn’t say a word.

  Joyce could see the fear in his eyes. Was she so frightening? Why was he so scared of her? She bent down and kissed the top of his head. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.’ Joyce took the edge of the blanket, together with the sheet, and pulled it back, revealing the soaking wet bottom sheet that Philip was lying on.

  Philip moved to grab the covers and pull them back over him.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Philip.’ Joyce’s eye caught the clock on the wall. She had to hurry otherwise she was going to be late for work. She caught Philip watching her and reminded herself the boy was more important than her getting to the café on time. ‘I promise you there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Philip again said nothing; he just gripped on to the bedding.

  ‘Is it living here that’s making you wet the bed or is it something you did at Grandma’s as well? I’m only asking because I want to help. Do you find this room scary? Is that why you didn’t get up to use the pot under the bed?’

  Again Philip said nothing.

  ‘Well, we can’t leave you lying in it all day otherwise you’ll smell and get sore.’ Joyce smiled, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose. ‘We can’t have that can we, so let’s get you out of those wet pyjamas and strip the bed so it can dry for tonight.’ She walked over to the window, lifted the latch and pushed it open as wide as it could go. The fresh cold air rushed in. ‘That’s better. Now, can you start taking your pyjamas off and I will get some hot water and fill up the tin bath.’

  Philip nodded.

  Joyce smiled. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. ‘Everything’s going to be all right. I promise to look after you and no one is going to hurt you.’

  Ten minutes later Philip was sat in the old tin bath in the bedroom with a bar of carbolic soap. Joyce was stripping the bed and leaving everything in a pile together with his pyjamas. ‘Right, Philip, are you ready to get out of the bath and we’ll get you dried?’ She picked up a small towel and placed it on the floor in front of the bath, collecting the large grey towel from the chair. She held his hand as he stood up and stepped out of the water onto the towel. She wrapped the large towel around him. ‘Right, let’s get you dry and I’ll see if I can find some lovely talcum powder to put on you. Would you like that?’

  Philip nodded.

  Joyce liberally sprinkled talcum powder on his back and chest and under his arms; the smooth soft white powder went everywhere. She laughed. ‘Look, I’m making a right old mess of this; it’s everywhere. I’m going to have to clean up when we’ve finished.’

  Philip’s eyes studied her for a moment. ‘I don’t mind helping.’

  Joyce just managed to hold in the gasp of delight that he had actually answered her. ‘Well, that will be wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘I used to help my grandma. She let me do the dusting sometimes. It was all part of a game we played.’

  Joyce nodded unable to contain her delight at Philip talking to her. ‘That sounds like my sort of game. You’ll have to teach me.’ She picked up the grey short trousers and opened them wide so Philip could step into them.

  Philip leant on Joyce’s arm as he lifted his leg to step in. ‘Do I need to p
ut a vest on today?’

  Joyce smiled and nodded. ‘I think so, unless you particularly don’t want to. My ma used to say it keeps the cold off your chest.’

  Philip chuckled. ‘Grandma used to say that too.’

  Joyce laughed. ‘Did she indeed? Well, it must be right then if they both said it.’ She hesitated for a moment but decided to continue. ‘What about your ma and pa?’

  Philip sat with his hands resting on his thighs. ‘I don’t really remember my ma; she died a long time ago. I used to see my pa all the time but then he just stopped coming to see me.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know why because we used to have fun together.’

  Joyce’s heart lurched in her chest.

  Philip giggled. ‘He used to tickle me all the time and chase me round the park.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘He sounds like a good father.’

  ‘My grandma said he probably had to go away for work.’ Philip bit down on his lip. ‘If he comes back he won’t know where I am.’

  Joyce could feel the lump forming in her throat as she tried hard not to cry. She took a couple of breaths, exhaling slowly. ‘I expect the solicitor has told him, or he’ll go back to Grandma’s and Mrs Gardner will tell him.’

  A smile slowly lit up Philip’s face. ‘So he can come and play with me then.’ He reached over and grabbed his vest and pulled it over his head.

  Joyce straightened it. ‘That’s right, someone will always be here even if you are out with me so you don’t have to worry about that.’

  ‘What about if we’re all out together?’

  Joyce shrugged, holding up his shirt for him to slip his arms into the sleeves. ‘Well, he can either put a note through the letterbox or he can come back later. The neighbours know where I work so try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll find you because he sounds like a good man, and one who loves his little boy very much.’

  Philip nodded. ‘I bet he’ll bring me a present because he always does when he’s been away.’