Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  Philip nodded.

  Joyce stood up. ‘Right, are you ready?’ She took a deep breath and looked around her, wishing she could get rid of the feeling she was being watched. Her eyes widened. There was that man again. He was rushing out of the hospital almost running down the road by the time she’d gathered herself. ‘Pa, is that you?’

  The man peered over his shoulder but kept on going.

  Joyce looked down at Philip. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Philip, but I feel like I’m going round the bend. I’m sure that was my father but I don’t know how it can be.’ She took Philip’s hand and turned to go into the hospital.

  Frank came out through the double doors, as she was about to walk into the hospital. Joyce did a double take as she took in his flushed appearance. ‘Hello, Frank, didn’t expect to see you here at the hospital of all places. Are you all right? You look like you’re in a hurry.’

  Frank took a step back. He scowled and seemed a little uncertain as he looked up and down the road. ‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine.’

  Joyce frowned. He looked suspicious. Maybe it was the conversation he’d had with Philip that was embarrassing him. ‘What brings you to the hospital?’

  Frank fidgeted from one foot to the other. ‘Hello, Philip, are yer all right after yer little adventure of roaming the streets?’

  Philip gave a little nod but stayed silent.

  Frank turned to Joyce. ‘What’s brought you to the ’ospital? Philip’s not ’urt is ’e?’

  Joyce raised her eyebrows. ‘No, we’re visiting my grandmother. And you, what has brought you here?’

  Frank looked beyond Joyce, focusing further along the street.

  Joyce turned round to see what was holding his attention but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. ‘Well?’

  Frank frowned. ‘Oh, sorry, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.’ He wiggled his fingers down by his side. ‘I ’urt my ’and so I came to get it checked out.’

  Joyce nodded. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at his hand. ‘It’s wise to get it looked at but it will probably cost you a small fortune.’

  Frank coughed. ‘What did yer say yer were doing here?’

  Joyce momentarily looked down at Philip. ‘I’ve brought Philip to see my grandma; apparently it was where he wanted to go when he left the café.’

  Frank sighed. ‘Well, I could come with yer if yer don’t mind me visiting as well, or perhaps I should say if yer grandma doesn’t mind.’ He rested his arm across Joyce’s shoulders and looked up the road again and gave a smile to anyone who was watching.

  Joyce blushed; she didn’t take kindly to his overfamiliarity. She stepped aside as the smell of his sweat got too much for her. ‘Come on then, let’s go in before it starts raining again.’

  The three of them walked inside and climbed the stairs, keeping to one side so others could pass by. Joyce led the way to her grandmother’s room. They all stood at the foot of the bed staring down at the fragile grey-haired lady. She was lying so still. Nothing had changed since Joyce was there the last time.

  Frank didn’t take his eyes off the old lady. ‘She looks quite vulnerable lying there.’

  ‘She does.’ Joyce moved round and sat at her grandmother’s bedside, with Philip sitting on her lap. The usual smell of disinfectant was overpowering and made her cough as it reached the back of her throat. She peered at the sleeping woman and wondered what Philip thought about seeing the woman he called grandma lying so still. The nurses had already told her she wasn’t likely to come round; she would probably end up just slipping away.

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered I ’ave an appointment so I’ve got to go.’

  Joyce gently moved Philip off her knees and stood up. ‘That’s all right. I don’t want to hold you up.’

  Frank stared at the bed. ‘I expect I’ll see yer both at the café sometime over the next few days. I must get the article finished otherwise I’m never going to get paid.’ He laughed before raising his hand to wave goodbye and he was gone.

  Joyce picked up the small hairbrush and leant in to carefully brush the grey curly hair she could get to. She suddenly remembered doing it for her mother when she was sick. Joyce caught the faint smell of lavender; she picked up the soap dish on the bedside cabinet and sniffed it. She looked over at Philip. ‘This must be Grandma’s soap. It smells of lavender. Do you want to have a sniff?’

  Philip shook his head. ‘I know what lavender smells like. Grandma always used it at home.’

  Joyce nodded and placed it back on the cabinet. She leant in to brush another soft tendril of hair away from her face. ‘Grandma, I think you could do with a haircut.’ Joyce put down the hairbrush and gazed at the woman lying so still. ‘I look at you and it seems hard to picture you arguing with my father and yet I remember you two shouting at each other before we left.’ Her fingers moved a soft stray curl from her grandmother’s forehead. ‘I wonder what was so bad that you turned your back on your son and if he hadn’t died would you have made it up?’ Joyce frowned. ‘I have so many questions and I suspect I’ll never know the answers to them.’

  Philip sat quietly looking from the bed to Joyce. ‘She used to smile at my father but sometimes she was cross with him as well.’

  A nurse coughed from the doorway. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if we could come in and change the bedding and her position so she doesn’t get bedsores.’

  Joyce nodded. ‘Of course – we’ll get out of your way.’

  The nurse picked up sheets and pillowcases from a trolley. ‘It should have been done earlier but Mrs Taylor had a visitor so we thought we could do it after he’d gone.’ The nurse smiled. ‘But you beat us to it.’

  Joyce glanced at the nurse. ‘I’m sorry, we’ll leave while you get on.’ She stepped out of the way. ‘I didn’t realise Mrs Taylor had any other visitors, which was pretty silly of me really.’

  ‘There’s no need to leave. It won’t take us long to do.’ The nurse placed the bedding on a chair. ‘She doesn’t really; the man has only been a couple of times, a bit like yourself. Other than that I’m not aware of any visitors.’

  Another nurse marched into the side room; glanced at Joyce before turning to the other nurse. ‘Ah, good, you’ve got the sheets.’ She looked at the fob watch hanging from the front of her uniform. ‘We’re running late today. Matron won’t be happy with us.’

  Joyce and Philip moved aside and watched as they moved expertly around the bed.

  ‘This won’t take long.’ One of the nurses smiled at Joyce as she squared off the corners of the bedding and tucked it under the mattress.

  The nurse turned to Philip. ‘Hello, how old are you?’

  Philip gave her a serious look. ‘I’m nearly six.’

  The nurse smiled. ‘My goodness you’re almost a grown-up.’

  Philip giggled.

  The nurse nodded. ‘Well, that’s us done. If you need anything just come to the nurses’ station.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Joyce sat down on the nearest chair to the bed, staring at the old lady lying so still, while Philip sat on the edge of the bed. Joyce looked up. ‘I was just thinking about the man who has been visiting her. Do you know who it was?’

  One of the nurses frowned. ‘I don’t recall hearing his name, but if it helps he wasn’t a young man.’ She paused. ‘If it’s important I can try and find out for you.’

  Joyce coloured slightly. ‘No, it doesn’t matter, I was just curious. It was probably her housekeeper’s husband.’ She watched the nurses pick up the dirty sheets and carry them out of the room.

  Philip stared at the old lady in the bed before peering up at Joyce. ‘I liked living with Grandma; it was always fun.’

  Joyce forced a smile and tried not to let the jealousy take hold. ‘What sort of things did you used to do with her?’

  Philip looked sad for a moment before a smile spread across his face. ‘We would play games like hide-and-seek. She used to le
t me help bake cakes, as long as I stayed away from the range.’ He looked back at the woman lying so still in the bed.

  Joyce could see Philip welling up; she took his hand in hers. ‘I didn’t know you liked to cook. We could always do that together – that’s if you’d like to.’

  A grin lit up his face and he quickly nodded. ‘Yes, then we can let the others try our food.’

  Joyce chuckled. ‘Oh don’t you worry about that; they will.’

  ‘Did you used to cook with Grandma?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘No, but I did with my mother before she died. We used to make all kinds of things together. She taught me how to make bread, pastry, cakes and pies. I’ve always loved the smell of things baking in the oven.’ She paused. ‘I can teach you how to make bread first because you have to do what they call kneading and that will be a safe thing for you to do.’

  Philip studied her. His eyes screwed up as he pulled a face. ‘What’s that?’

  Joyce laughed. ‘It’s where you pull the dough around and fold it back in on itself.’ She smiled. ‘My ma used to say, “Learn how to make good bread and you’ll never go hungry,” and she wasn’t wrong.’

  Philip didn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘Also, if you enjoy it, and make wonderful bread, you could become a master baker. Then you’ll never be out of work either.’

  Philip nodded. ‘And then your family will never go hungry. That’s important because Grandma said family was everything, and nothing was more important than that.’

  ‘And Grandma’s right.’ Joyce could feel the tears pricking at her eyes. ‘You know, Philip, people talk about breaking bread and that’s about family and friends coming together.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper as she remembered her mother’s words. ‘It’s spending time with each other, moving forward, overcoming problems and letting go of them.’ She stopped talking and peered at Philip. She forced herself to smile. ‘So you see why spending time with family and friends is so important.’

  *

  Joyce slammed the till shut. The May sunshine had seemingly brought everybody outside and into The Meet and Feast Café. She watched Barbara talking and laughing with a customer and waited for her to come over to place the order. Every now and then the raised voices of the anti-German demonstrators travelled through the air and could be heard inside the café. Joyce frowned as she glanced at the café door, wishing Mavis would arrive so she knew Simon’s mother was safe. From what the newspapers were reporting some of the demonstrations had turned into riots and people were being arrested.

  ‘Table six would like to try some of your meat and potato pie. I’ve offered it at a discounted rate to get people to try it.’ Barbara wrote on the docket and put it through the serving hatch on to the hook.

  Startled, Joyce forced a smile. ‘That’s a good idea. Sometimes people are wary of trying something new so it’s good to encourage them. How much of a discount did you offer?’

  Barbara fidgeted from one foot to the other before lifting her head defiantly. ‘I said they could have it at half price for today only.’

  Joyce raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, hopefully, we’ll still break even with the cost of making it.’

  Barbara pursed her lips together. ‘Sometimes you have to lose a bit to gain some. Hopefully tomorrow more people will want it and then we won’t have to use a discount.’

  Joyce smoothed her hand over the pile of crisp white napkins. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  Barbara gave her a wry smile. ‘I often am. The difference is not many people listen to me. I’m just the little girl who everyone thinks knows nothing.’

  Joyce’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t think that’s necessarily the case. Sometimes it’s more about the way things are done.’ She turned to walk back into the kitchen but stopped and looked over her shoulder. ‘I’d just like to mention when I cashed up last night the till was short so we need to be careful. We should count the coins into the customers’ hands. That acts as a double check, and ensures we give the right change.’

  ‘I always count the money out. I don’t know what you’re getting it.’ Barbara’s cheeks reddened and her eyes widened. ‘I hope you’re not accusing me of anything.’

  Joyce held her hands together in front of her. ‘I’m not accusing anybody; we all use the till. I’m just saying it was short so we all need to be careful. It never used to be wrong at all. Simon was always particular that if we took any money out to pay for goods we put a ticket in the till to remind us how much we’d taken out and what it was for. So it’s important that we carry on how Simon wanted it.’

  Barbara’s lip curled. ‘This is worse than being at home. All I hear about is Simon there and now here. No one notices what I do or even what I don’t do.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘This isn’t about Simon. This is about your family trying to keep your father’s dream alive and Simon has worked hard to do that. Unfortunately, you seem to be the only person who can’t see that.’ Joyce turned and went back into the kitchen. She pulled the docket off the hook and set about slicing a piece of meat and potato pie and putting it on a plate with a little salad next to it. Her blood raced through her veins at Barbara’s insinuations that only Simon mattered. Joyce put the plate on the ledge of the serving hatch together with the docket. ‘Barbara, the order for table six is ready.’ She turned away and took another order off the hook. She found no pleasure in coming to work anymore.

  Joyce wondered how Philip was getting on with Arthur. He was quite chatty with her these days, but at times she caught glimpses of him looking pensive. Joyce shook her head, and started to butter some bread. She didn’t have time for all of this. She didn’t know how or why her life had become so complicated. She had always dreamt of having her own restaurant, cooking her own dishes. She should be enjoying this instead of wondering if this was how it was going to be. Her throat began to close. She gulped, trying to stop the tears from flowing. ‘Come on, girl, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got work to do.’

  Barbara thrust another docket onto the hook. ‘We’ve another meat and potato pie order.’ She didn’t wait for a response.

  Joyce leant against the hard edge of the café’s kitchen table. She absentmindedly picked up her lukewarm cup of tea as she glanced out through the serving hatch. She watched Barbara standing at the counter, wondering if they would ever get on with each other. Joyce wanted to but there was clearly a problem. She put the cup back on the table; there was no time to let her thoughts meander about these things. The café was busy. ‘Is everything all right out there, Barbara?’

  Barbara didn’t look round. Her head appeared to be fixed, gazing straight ahead. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m quite capable of serving a few cups of tea and coffee.’

  ‘I just thought I’d check with you because I know you’re on your own. If there’s any problems then please let me know.’

  Barbara turned and glared at Joyce. ‘I can assure you I am more than capable of looking after my brother’s business. You have to remember this is my family’s café and not yours.’

  Joyce’s hands clenched down by her sides. ‘Let me assure you, Barbara, that I am aware this is not my business but your brother asked me to look after it and I have no desire to let him down. When he returns it will be me he will look to when things haven’t gone right.’

  ‘Of course, and it will be you who gets the credit when we have all worked hard to make it a better business.’ Barbara turned away before Joyce had a chance to respond.

  Joyce’s jaw tightened. Her neck tensed as she fought the urge to go after Barbara. It would’ve been a lot easier if it hadn’t been family helping her in the café. She shook her head. No good would come of telling Mavis about Barbara’s attitude; after all they were family and families stick together.

  The doorbell chimed as it opened and shut. ‘Morning, everyone,’ Mavis’s cheery voice rang through the café.

  ‘Morning, Mavis.’ The café customers spoke as one. />
  Joyce breathed a sigh of relief; at least Barbara would behave better with her mother here.

  The kitchen door swung open and Mavis breezed through. ‘Morning, Joyce, it’s busy in the café this morning.’ She removed her hat and coat and hung them on the clothes stand in the corner. ‘Right, what would you like me to do first?’

  Joyce smiled at her. ‘How do you feel about peeling some potatoes and maybe some carrots? I’ve had the meat in the stew going all morning on a very low heat but I think it’s time I did the vegetables – if we just cut it up into small pieces. What do you think?’

  Mavis slipped her apron on over her head and began tying it around her back. ‘That sounds like a great idea. I’ll do it straight away.’

  Joyce grinned at Mavis. ‘I hope it’s not proving too much coming in here every day. I don’t want Simon thinking I’m working you into the ground.’

  Mavis gave a little chuckle. ‘You must be joking. I feel like I’ve got a new lease of life. It’s lovely to have a purpose. Simon and his father have both tried to protect me and, don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely of them but there have been times when it’s been quite suffocating. So it feels like I’ve been set free. I am the butterfly gracefully flapping its wings.’ Mavis threw her head back and laughed. ‘Not that anyone would look at me and think butterfly; there is nothing delicate or fragile about me.’ Her laughter filled the kitchen.

  Joyce couldn’t help laughing along with her. ‘I don’t think any of us are as delicate as a butterfly but I get your meaning. You’ve been a great help to me. I’m glad we finally met.’ Joyce wanted to ask if she’d heard from Simon but she didn’t want to spoil the mood for Mavis.

  *

  Joyce ran up the now familiar stairs in the hospital and thrust open one of the double doors, just stopping it from hitting the nurses and visitors coming from the opposite direction.

  ‘Please no running; otherwise someone will end up getting hurt.’

  Joyce lowered her eyes as everyone stared at her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She bit her lip. ‘It won’t happen again.’ Turning away, she unbuttoned her lightweight coat as she marched along the corridor. The tap of her curved heels on the tiled floor gave away she was almost running, but fear of being told off by the nursing staff slowed her down a little. All her rushing had made her too hot to notice the chill of the evening air against her skin. Something had prodded her to visit this evening; the urge to come on her own had been overwhelming. Joyce hadn’t stopped to try and make sense of it. Her whole being was shouting at her to be at the hospital, and she had no idea why, especially as it wasn’t that long ago she and Philip had been at her grandmother’s bedside. She hadn’t been in the hospital so late in the evening before and there was an eerie feel to it. There was minimum light while the windows were blacked out for the night. There was more of a hush to it. People whispered in the corridors, while some of the patients were already asleep.