by Pam Weaver
‘I’ll pop in and have a word with the doc in the morning,’ said Arthur.
They ate silently. Doris’ eye drifted towards the screwed up newspaper she had yet to put in the bin and she blinked. ‘That’s my name,’ she said. ‘My name is in the paper.’
‘Fame at last,’ Arthur chuckled.
Doris spread the paper out. ‘If you have any information about the whereabouts of Doris Baxter of Elm Grove … Oh Arthur, it is me!’
She positioned the paper for him to see. ‘Please contact Miss I Baxter P.O. Box 376, Worthing.’ He looked up with a frown.
‘That’s my daughter,’ she said. ‘My Isobelle.’
Arthur smiled. ‘Then you must write to her.’
Doris was shaking. ‘Oh Arthur … I never dreamed …’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Bill told me they never wanted to see me again.’
He reached across the table and grasped her fingers. ‘What did I always tell you? Blood is thicker than water my lovely.’
Doris looked at the paper again. ‘But what about Bill?’ she asked anxiously.
‘He doesn’t know,’ said Arthur. ‘That’s why she’s used a box number.’
Doris put her finger tips to her lips. ‘Oh Arthur, what am I going to say?’
‘Just tell her you love her and you want to see her again.’
They looked at each other and then they laughed together.
Arthur glanced up at the clock. ‘I’d better be going. It’s nearly six.’
She watched him go down the stairs to open up and, her dinner forgotten, Doris stood up to fetch her Basildon Bond.
Ten
Wearing a pretty yellow dress with tiny white flowers under her winter coat, Izzie was ready to leave the house. She hadn’t told her father or Linda the real reason why she was going to Brighton in December, but when her father had pressed her as she called out her goodbyes she’d told him she was just going to look round the shops.
Since she’d received the reply to her advertisement, Izzie had written several letters to her mother, each time using the box number. She’d kept the letters at work. She had also been thinking a lot about her own future. Esther would be leaving her job soon because she had been accepted as a policewoman cadet. Excited, she was looking forward to a twenty-six-week training course beginning in January, after which she would become a woman police officer. The only drawback, as far as Izzie was concerned, was that she wouldn’t be allowed to work in the area of her home in case she was tempted into corruption by people she knew. For that reason, Izzie knew her friend would soon be leaving not only the Shilling household but Worthing as well. She would miss her dreadfully.
Esther’s determination to succeed in life had been a real inspiration to Izzie. She now knew it was time to stop dreaming about a better tomorrow and do something to bring it into being.
The day she’d come home from Bournemouth and her father had surprised her by helping her with the dishes, she couldn’t bring herself to talk about the woman he’d had upstairs. She never mentioned the cigarette end she’d put in the bin either. When they’d finished the clearing up, her father had surprised her again when he suddenly said, ‘Izzie I’m sorry I got a bit narked with you the other day.’
She’d felt her face heating up.
‘I know I can be a bit sharp at times,’ he went on, ‘but it doesn’t mean anything.’
Izzie said nothing. He was just trying to butter her up because he had some tart upstairs, that’s all.
‘You do know that, don’t you?’
She’d sucked in her lips because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying she believed him so she just gave him a curt nod. It wouldn’t make any difference anyway.
‘I’ll try and mend my ways,’ he’d said with a smile.
And strangely enough, he did. Her father had been more thoughtful towards her over the next few days.
It was when she was alone in her bed at night that Izzie mulled things over. Her father was bound to want to bring that woman home again and he might even want to make it a more permanent thing. She kept thinking what changes having another woman about the place would bring and frankly the idea appalled her. True, the housework would be shared, but Izzie couldn’t bear to think of her father horsing around in his bedroom at his age. It was disgusting. And what should she say to her poor mum? What if Mum wanted to come back home? How could she if Izzie’s father had some floosy in tow? The idea of moving on was scary but it was becoming more and more attractive. Maybe she could move in with Mum. Yes, why not? They could make a home together. Izzie liked that idea.
‘Okay, I’m off now,’ she’d called as she’d headed for the door.
‘Be back by four-thirty,’ her father had said.
Four-thirty! Izzie felt the old irritation flare. What soon to be eighteen-year-old gets told to be home by four-thirty? ‘Actually, after I’ve been shopping with Esther,’ she said airily, ‘I’m going to visit one of my old school friends who is in Brighton hospital, and you know what hospital visiting hours are like.’
Her father had given her a disbelieving frown. ‘Why couldn’t she go to Worthing hospital?’
Izzie felt her face go pink as she plunged on with the lie. ‘Woman trouble,’ she’d said.
He glared at her suspiciously but he had let her go.
Izzie was so nervous as she waited on the platform at Worthing. Her mind was full of what-ifs. What if her mother didn’t turn up? What if they both waited in the wrong place and missed each other? What if she didn’t recognise her; after all it was four and a half years since her mother had disappeared. She was twelve the night her mother disappeared, thirteen the next day. What if the person she was meeting wasn’t her mum but one of the hoaxers Mrs Shilling had warned her about? Her stomach churned. That would be almost too much to bear. When she heard Esther call her name Izzie had never been more delighted to see her friend.
The two girls chatted amiably until they approached Hove station. ‘Nervous?’ Esther asked.
‘Terrified,’ said Izzie.
‘Aah, you’ll be fine.’
‘Oh,’ cried Izzie. ‘I nearly forgot. Tell me about your interview.’
‘Bit embarrassing really,’ Esther confided. ‘I had to strip down to my underwear.’
‘Gosh,’ Izzie said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Then they called me into this room,’ Esther went on, ‘and there was this panel of people sitting behind a long desk all staring at me. I had to stand on a sheet of brown paper and bend over and touch my toes.’
Izzie gasped. ‘Whatever for?’
Esther shrugged. ‘To see if I could do it I suppose.’
‘And that was it?’
‘More or less,’ Esther said. ‘The doctor listened to my heart and asked me to show him my hands and yes, that was about it.’
Izzie was speechless.
When they arrived in Brighton, Esther walked with her down North Street until they reached the clock tower in the middle of the town. Izzie had arranged to meet her mother outside the old air raid shelter opposite Timothy White’s, the chemist. At first glance there was nobody waiting there. The two girls watched the cars and buses going by and a couple of times Esther nodded in the direction of some woman heading into the chemist but Izzie shook her head that it wasn’t her mother. Apart from a few young lads dressed in flashy suits who hung around near the public toilets waiting for their friends to come out, everybody else was concentrating on getting across the road or heading towards the shops. The run up to Christmas was in full swing.
‘What does she look like?’ Esther asked eventually.
‘Tall,’ said Izzie, struggling to remember. ‘And she has dark brown hair with a slide.’ There were no photographs of her mother at home and as she spoke Izzie was alarmed to realise how quickly her memory had faded. ‘She hasn’t come.’ Tears of disappointment were already stinging the backs of her eyes.
‘Come on,’ said Esther, taking her arm encouragingly.
‘Let’s walk down to Freeman, Hardy and Willis and try on some shoes.’
They were just about to move on when a small voice behind her said, ‘Izzie? Is that you?’
Izzie spun around and came face-to-face with a middle-aged woman the same height as herself. ‘Mum!’
‘Oh my dear girl,’ said the woman. ‘Haven’t you grown into a fine young woman.’ Despite her beaming smile, her mother had tears in her eyes. She put her arms out hesitantly and Izzie went to her. ‘Just look at you,’ her mother said, pulling her back and touching her face with chilly featherlight fingers. ‘I hardly knew you. And you’re so pretty.’
It was weird looking at her; like looking at a much older version of herself. Now she understood why Gran had told her she was the spitting image of her mother.
Izzie laughed nervously. ‘I nearly missed you, Mum. I was looking for a much taller person.’ The two of them stood looking at each other until Esther cleared her throat. Izzie turned to her with a smile and said, ‘Mum, I want you meet my friend Esther.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Baxter.’
The two women shook hands. ‘Call me Doris, please.’
‘Well, I’d better be off,’ said Esther.
‘You don’t have to go,’ Izzie said awkwardly.
‘Yes I do,’ said Esther, stepping away from them. ‘I planned to do some window shopping and you two have a lot of catching up to do, remember? Have a nice time. Byeee.’
They watched her sail off down the road towards the shoe shop then Izzie turned to her mother. They shared a shy smile. ‘Let’s find a café and have a sit down,’ said Doris. ‘Then we can talk.’
There was an attractive place nearby where the tables had pink table cloths and the waitresses wore pink dresses with a white apron.
‘Everybody loves this place,’ said Doris. ‘They do some amazing cakes and things. It’s run by Italians.’
They went inside and Doris picked out a table near the back in a small alcove. As they sat down, the waitress came to take their order. Without hesitation, Doris asked for a pot of tea and two slices of cake.
‘My treat,’ she said.
Izzie studied the woman sitting opposite her. Her mother was older than she had remembered and of course, because she herself had grown up, she seemed much shorter, somehow more vulnerable. Her straight hair was grey, a little old fashioned because it was caught up by a Kirby grip at the side but she wasn’t dowdy. Under her brown and black flecked coat, she was wearing a smart grey pleated skirt with a pale blue hand knitted jumper. At her neck she wore a pearl necklace, only Woolworth’s, Izzie supposed, but it looked very pretty. Her mother was smart all the way down to her polished black court shoes and a neat handbag.
‘I can’t believe I’m here with you at last,’ said Doris as the waitress walked away. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about meeting you.’
Izzie gripped her mother’s hand across the table. ‘Me too, Mum.’
Doris’ bottom lip quivered but she quickly regained her composure. ‘So tell me about yourself. What are you doing? Have you got a job? And what about Linda? Is she still at school?’
Izzie began a résumé of her life so far, painting a very rosy picture. She left out the fact that she and her father didn’t get on and that half the time Linda was a pain in the bottom.
The tea and cake came and her mother was right. Having put a beautiful china tea pot and two cups on the table, the waitress actually brought six slices of cake on a cake stand, two of each sort so that they could choose. ‘Chocolate sponge, fruit cake, orange chiffon,’ she said, pointing to each type in turn. ‘Enjoy your tea, Madam.’
Izzie was used to having lovely teas with Mrs Shilling but this was special and the cakes looked delicious.
Having decided on a slice of the orange chiffon cake, Izzie told her mother about Granny and Grandad and her life at Dial Post. ‘When we came back to Worthing to live with Father, I worked in a green grocer’s shop and then I went to work for Mrs Shilling. I’ve been helping her to write her memoirs.’
Her mother shook her head slowly. ‘I’m so proud of you, Izzie.’
Izzie blushed. ‘It was only because Mrs Shilling encouraged me to put the notice in the paper that I’m here,’ she said. ‘I would never have thought of it otherwise.’
‘I don’t usually bother with the newspaper,’ her mother confided, ‘but,’ she added with a small giggle, ‘it was wrapped around our fish and chips.’
‘Our?’ said Izzie, picking up on what she’d just said.
Doris’ face coloured. ‘My gentleman friend,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘Arthur. We’ve been together for a couple of years now.’
Izzie frowned as her own dream bit the dust. She had been hoping to persuade her mother to come back home but if she had a gentleman friend …
‘I couldn’t go back to Worthing,’ her mother said, as if reading Izzie’s thoughts. ‘And I can’t go back to your father.’ Her voice became a low murmur. ‘How can I live with the memory of what that butcher did?’ She looked away and the hand that held her cake fork suddenly trembled.
‘Mum?’
‘Don’t ask me, Izzie,’ Doris said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I can’t talk about it. It will spoil the afternoon and I want it to be special.’
Izzie’s mind whirled. What on earth had her father done? Why was her mother so upset about him? She reached across the table and touched her mother’s hand. ‘It’s okay, Mum.’
Her mother gave her a watery smile. ‘Tell me more,’ she said deliberately changing the subject.
It took everything Izzie had in her to resist asking her mother more questions but Doris listened happily as she talked about her trip to Bournemouth with Mrs Shilling. Every now and then the waitress floated by to ask if they needed more tea or hot water, but they didn’t. They finished their cake then shared one piece of fruit cake to have with the last of the tea in the pot.
After a while, Izzie noticed that the level of conversation in the café had become somewhat muted and the atmosphere was charged with excitement. She turned her head to see that everybody’s attention was drawn to a rather attractive man who had entered the room. He began walking around the tables, chatting amiably to the customers and making a fuss over some of them. He was older than her, in his late twenties or maybe as much as thirty, dark haired and handsome, wearing a smart waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. On anyone else the waistcoat would seem rather old fashioned but on him, it was very attractive.
‘That’s him,’ her mother whispered as he came nearer.
‘Who?’
‘Mr Semadini. He always comes round the tables to talk to the people who come here.’
‘And ’ow are you today Mrs Ellis,’ she heard him say to the woman at the next table.
Judging by her reply, Mrs Ellis, a middle-aged woman with a rather tired expression, was more than flattered by his attention. ‘Much better now, thank you Mr Semadini.’
He kissed her hand. ‘I missed you last week.’
‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Mr Semadini, his accent coming out strongly now. ‘I am glad to see you back in your usual place.’
As Mr Semadini came to their table, Izzie saw her mother’s face light up.
‘Mrs Frobisher,’ said Mr Semadini. ‘So she come? This must be your lovely daughter.’ He shook her mother’s hand and squeezed her finger tips, then reached for Izzie’s hand. He had a surprisingly warm and firm handshake. His dark brown eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. ‘Bella, bella,’ he murmured. Izzie felt an unaccustomed flutter in her chest and a heat in her cheeks.
‘Your mama has been so excited that you come,’ Mr Semadini continued. He waved his hand over the table. ‘Now, please to enjoy, enjoy …’
With a broad smile, he moved on to the next table.
Izzie gave her mother a puzzled frown. ‘Mrs Frobisher?’
Ignoring her query, her mother glanced at her wa
tch. ‘Oh dear, is that the time? I have to go.’
Izzie suddenly felt bereft. Oh no, what had she said wrong? She stared helplessly at her mother as she called for the waitress to bring the bill. Mr Semadini had called her Mrs Frobisher. Was her mother upset because she didn’t want her to know she was married again? Dad hadn’t mentioned a divorce.
Her mother leaned towards her and squeezed her hand. ‘Shall I walk you to the station or shall you be meeting your friend again?’
Still slightly bewildered by the suddenness of it all, Izzie shook her head. ‘She’ll make her own way home.’
The unanswered questions looming large above her, Izzie and her mother walked back to the railway station arm-in-arm and parted by the big gates near the taxi rank. They arranged to meet, same time, same place after Christmas. Izzie kissed her mother’s cheek and said her goodbye. As she sat in the train, the memory of their afternoon together and the way her mother rushed off gradually faded. Someone else filled her thoughts. Mr Semadini with his dark eyes and warm handshake. After a while, Izzie closed her eyes to relive every magical second.
*
By the time Izzie’s train neared Worthing Central, somewhere in Kemp Town, Brighton, Arthur Frobisher heard the front door open and slam. He jumped to his feet and hurried into the passageway. Doris was taking off her coat. ‘Well?’ he said anxiously.
‘Oh Arthur, she’s lovely,’ Doris said as she beamed from ear to ear. ‘She’s ever so pretty and we had a wonderful time. I took her for tea, just like you said.’
‘Somewhere nice I hope,’ he said, enfolding her in his big embrace.
‘Semadini’s.’ She snuggled into his chest and felt his chuckle welling up inside him long before it erupted. ‘Thank you, Arthur. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘My pleasure, darlin’.’
She pulled back and gazed up at his dear face. ‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ she said.
‘That you’ve found your daughter?’ he asked.