by Pam Weaver
‘I know,’ said Mrs Dore. ‘He told her last night. She’s left it in the hall.’
‘I was half wondering if she would stop me from having it.’
Mrs Dore walked towards the door leading from the kitchen to the house.
‘I’ll get it if you tell me where to go,’ said Roger. ‘Those typewriters can be heavy.’
When they came back, Izzie beamed but her smile soon died. The typewriter ribbon was missing and two of the letters had been deliberately locked together.
‘Mean old cow,’ said Izzie.
‘I can fix it for you,’ said Roger. ‘It might not be perfect but I reckon it’ll do.’
Mrs Dore reached for her purse and pulled out a ten bob note. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘this’ll help pay for the repairs.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ cried Izzie.
‘And I shall be offended if you don’t,’ Mrs Dore insisted.
Izzie put her hand on Mrs Dore’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ah, away with you,’ the cook scolded.
They stayed for a few minutes more before Roger said they had to go or he’d be late for the afternoon showing. Mrs Dore waved them goodbye from the doorway calling, ‘And don’t forget to show me a copy of the magazine after it’s published.’
Twenty-Seven
‘We’ve been robbed,’ said Mick Osborne as he stepped over the papers strewn on the floor in the office.
The two men had just arrived at Bill Baxter’s emporium. They’d found the office door wide open and the room a wreck. Bill frowned crossly. ‘I can bloody see that!’
‘I reckon they got in through the small winder,’ said Mick. ‘Looks like they’ve emptied the safe, dunnit. I’ll get on to the police.’
‘No!’ said Bill.
Mick gave him a quizzical look.
‘I’ll do it later,’ said Bill, ‘when I’ve worked out what’s been nicked. You get over to Jeffries Lane and pick up that piano.’
Mick gave him a toothless grin. ‘You been up to naughties again?’
Bill bristled. ‘Just get on with it will you?’
Cackling with laughter, his driver cum handyman left the emporium while Bill set about clearing up the mess. The money tin was empty, of course. There must have been at least sixty quid in it – maybe more, damn it – but of course he wouldn’t be phoning the police. If he did, he’d have to tell them what else was in the safe. He kicked the side of the desk in rage. He never should have done business with that bloke. He’d tried to turn over a new leaf. He’d given that old boy good money for those paintings and taken the better one to auction for him. His commission on the sale had been a tidy penny but it hadn’t gone nearly far enough to cover his debts. He’d had a gut feeling when he’d agreed to take some more knocked-off stuff it was a bad idea. And now look what had happened. He kicked the desk again and winced in pain. Throwing himself into the chair he took his shoe off and rubbed his sore toes. If only he could get his hands on the toe-rag who’d done this.
*
It didn’t take long for Roger to bring back the typewriter, all fixed. Izzie was incredibly grateful but even so, it was hard work getting the rest of her assignments typed up and sent off to the writing school. Normally, there was no official time scale but for her interview of a local worthy, Izzie had a deadline. Her tutor explained that it was all part of the discipline a journalist needed. She had gathered quite a lot of information from Mr Semadini, meeting with him on two more consecutive Monday evenings, and she had augmented it with background statistics from the library. A lot of war-time events were still covered by the Official Secrets Act, but she had found plenty of information about previous immigrants in Worthing, including their historical family involvement in the beginnings of the St Mary of the Angels church. Built on land bought by the owner of Offington Hall, Thomas Gaisford, it was Worthing’s first Catholic church, and had encouraged a small influx of Italians to the town. Izzie went back to the Herald offices to look at the newspapers. The archive wasn’t terribly helpful but she did find a small reference to some Worthing-based Italians being removed to internment camps at the beginning of the war in 1939. Where there was a name she recognised, she wrote a polite letter asking if the person would agree to talk to her. Two people did and Izzie spent one of her days off meeting these people, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon. She’d collected a lovely lot of material she could use for other personal interest articles as well. The more she researched, the more she loved it.
Izzie’s only problem was her father. As time went on, he became more demanding. Izzie did what she could but even she could see their home was getting more untidy and in need of a good spring clean.
‘Look at the state of this room!’ Bill complained. ‘It’s worse than a pig sty.’
‘I’ll tidy up in a minute, Dad,’ she’d said, in the vain hope that he would go away. She needed to shut everything else out and concentrate on the article she was writing.
‘You spend all day on that bloody typewriter, clack, clacking away,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at.’
‘I have to get my assignment done, Dad.’
‘Assignment,’ he scoffed. ‘Just listen to yourself. Who do you think you are, Marj bloody Proops?’
Izzie stopped typing and gave him an impatient stare. ‘No, Dad, I don’t. Marjorie Proops is an agony aunt. I want to be a journalist.’
In the end, Izzie found her best means of defence was to ignore him so she let him carry on and just said, ‘yes Dad,’ or ‘no Dad,’ every now and then. If she argued with him, it only made things ten times worse. Becoming a writer and learning how other people overcame huge obstacles to fulfil their dreams or to survive in war time had given her a new strength.
Linda was still a bit of a madam, but Izzie didn’t get stressed about that either. If Linda complained that the dress she wanted was still waiting to be ironed, Izzie would say, ‘There’s the iron,’ and her sister would be forced to do it herself. Gone were the days when she’d worried about alienating them if she refused to do the chores and funnily enough they treated her with a new found respect.
Izzie’s deadline was Monday September 15th, and she got her manuscript in the post on Thursday 11th. As the assistant took the foolscap envelope across the counter, Izzie had mixed feelings. She felt elated that she’d finished on time, nervous in case she hadn’t done enough, and bereft that the course which she had so enjoyed was at an end.
*
In the rooms above the fish and chip shop, Bill Baxter hauled himself up the bed and reached for his packet of Player’s Navy Cut on the bedside table. Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it and took a deep breath. He looked down at the woman beside him and smiled. He didn’t remember feeling like this before. He was tired of being on his own and he really liked being with Mavis. She was fun and she was a good laugh. She may have been around the block a few times but she was all woman and she knew how to give a man a good time. He watched as she stretched luxuriantly and opened her sleepy eyes for a second and smiled. His loins still tingled with the thrill of her and now that she was awake, he wanted her again.
He leaned over her on his elbow. ‘Come and live with me Mavis,’ he said, giving her boob a tweak. ‘I’ll take care of you.’
He’d been with her on and off for a few months now and whenever she invited him into her bed, the sex was good. Of course there had been a few times when he was too pissed to remember but she was always willing. He ran his finger between her breasts then touched her nipple with his tongue.
She opened one bleary eye and grinned. ‘Naughty boy,’ she said sleepily, but he could feel her fingers moving across his thigh and getting close but not quite touching his member. They kissed each other hungrily.
‘I want you with me Mav,’ he said hoarsely. ‘A man needs a good woman.’
‘I know what you need,’ she said, sending him into ecstasies of delight as she stroked him.
&
nbsp; ‘Oh Mav,’ he groaned. ‘I’ll divorce the bitch and we’ll get married if you like.’
She laughed softly. ‘I tried marriage once. It didn’t work.’
‘We’ll make it work,’ he said desperately. ‘I’ve got a nice house.’
‘I know you have, sugar,’ she said, putting her tongue in his ear. ‘But I couldn’t share my kitchen with another woman. I don’t get on with me own daughter so how do I know I’ll get on with yours.’
‘I’ll kick ‘em out,’ he said, turning back to stub out his cigarette. ‘It’s about time they stood on their own two feet.’
She held him and a fiery heat flooded his body. ‘Would you really do that for me Bill?’ she said coquettishly.
He was fully aroused again and eager. ‘I’d do anything for you Mav.’
‘You don’t think much of them, do you?’ she said.
‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I was only seventeen when the bitch got herself pregnant. I had to marry her, didn’t I. Linda’s all right, I suppose, but Izzie always reminds me of her.’
‘It’s not their fault, sugar.’
‘I know,’ he said, feeling chastened and there was a note of sadness in his voice. ‘I’ve tried but they won’t have me. I can’t remember the last time Linda talked to me, I mean really talked to me, and Izzie’s always so bloody angry all the time.’
He rolled onto her and grasped her wrists above her head. ‘Oh Mav, I want you with me. I want you in my own bed without worrying that one of them will come back and disturb us. I’ll make sure we have the place to ourselves.’
She struggled to free her hands but Bill pinned her down and kissed her roughly. ‘Whadda you say?’
‘I’m not the sort of woman that breaks up families.’ She positioned herself to accommodate him. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Oh Mav …’
He let go of her wrists and she clawed at his back. ‘Come on then, sugar. Let’s make it a good one.’
*
It wasn’t until a few days after she’d sent her last assignment to the writing school that Izzie realised how tired she was. She had spent the last few months juggling so many balls in the air, her shifts at the café, the housework, seeing Roger at least once a week, as well as doing her course far into the night, and now the most demanding thing had come to an end. Most of the other girls had already had a break but now Mr Semadini gave her a week’s holiday and there would be a staff outing at the end of the season. It would have been lovely to go away somewhere but most of her savings had been used up on course fees. Izzie did, however, take the bus over to Dial Post to see Granny for a couple of days.
‘Your Mr Semadini sounds very nice,’ her grandmother said.
‘He’s not my Mr Semadini,’ Izzie protested mildly.
‘But you like him more than Roger.’
Izzie pretended to be shocked.
Granny smiled. ‘And your face lights up when you talk about him.’
Izzie looked away.
‘Does he know how you feel?’
‘No and he won’t,’ said Izzie. ‘Granny, he’s years and years older than me and far more experienced in life. He’s been married and he lost his wife and child. He doesn’t want to settle down again and even if he did, he’d never be interested in someone like me.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short, dear.’
‘I’m not,’ Izzie said stiffly. ‘Anyway I need to find something else to write about.’
Her grandmother shrugged. ‘Remind me sometime to tell you about the typhoid epidemic in Worthing.’
Izzie’s eyes grew wide. ‘Typhoid!’
‘Oh yes,’ said Granny. ‘I was only seven at the time and my friend Josie died. The Girl Guides carried her coffin into church.’
‘I never knew that!’ cried Izzie and she reached into her handbag for her notebook.
*
Linda agreed to come to Brighton with Izzie to meet their mother. They caught the bus down by the pier. It took twice as long as the train but the fare was much cheaper. They managed to get the front window seat on the top deck, giving them a panoramic view all the way. This was the first time in ages that the two girls had been alone together.
‘What will you do now that the summer season has virtually ended?’
‘My boss has offered me the same job in the spring, but I’ve had enough of looking like a lobster and selling ice cream,’ said Linda. ‘I might try working in a dress shop, but then again, Ray says he’s got some contacts in the filming business in London. They’re always looking out for models. He’s says they’d bite his hand off to meet a looker like me.’
Izzie frowned. ‘Ray?’
‘John’s mate,’ said Linda. ‘Of course, Dad’s girlfriend says I should be careful and they’re not all they’re cracked up to be, but if Ray is with me it should be fine.’
‘Dad’s girlfriend?’
‘Oh wake up, Izzie. He’s been seeing Mavis for ages.’
Izzie recalled the time she’d come home and been sure he was upstairs with some woman, but that was months ago. ‘What’s she like?’
‘Big and brassy,’ said Linda with a chuckle. ‘I think she looks like a right tart but Dad seems to like her. She lives over the fish and chip shop at the end of Prospect Road.’
‘She’s got a fish and chip shop?’ Izzie gasped.
‘No,’ Linda said impatiently. ‘That’s where she lodges. She works as a barmaid in The Buckingham.’
Izzie was stunned into silence. She had no idea her father had a regular girlfriend, let alone that he was serious. She stared at Linda who had a smirk on her face. ‘All right, all right, I suppose I have been too preoccupied to notice. What about you? Are you still seeing John?’
‘I suppose so, but I like Ray better,’ said Linda as she studied her finger nails. ‘He’s got a girl at the moment but I can tell he’s bored with her. I’ll soon have him eating out of my hand.’
‘Oh, well, good luck with that one,’ said Izzie.
Linda put her feet on the sill at the front of the bus and relaxed until they reached Hove, when Izzie saw a visible change in her sister. With Brighton on the horizon, she seemed nervous and edgy.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Izzie said by way of comfort. ‘Mum is very nice and I know she’s busting a gut to see you.’
‘She should have been there,’ Linda said dully.
‘Where?’
‘At home with us.’ There was irritation in Linda’s voice.
Izzie squeezed her sister’s forearm. ‘I know.’
‘I wanted to tell her so much,’ Linda went on. ‘She should have been there when I left school, when I got in the paper …’ Her voice trailed.
‘She knows that,’ said Izzie. Linda turned her head and Izzie saw tears in her eyes.
‘I showed her the cutting from the Herald and she keeps it in her bag. She’s so proud of you.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now,’ Linda announced, ‘if she gets up my nose, I’m off.’
When they got off the bus at Pool Valley, Doris was waiting for them on the other side of the road. She waved nervously and greeted them both with a smile. She and Izzie hugged each other but Linda walked just out of reach.
‘It’s so lovely to see you,’ Doris said, but her youngest daughter remained tight lipped.
‘Linda,’ said Izzie. This was embarrassing. Was she going to behave badly all afternoon?
‘Let’s go and find somewhere to sit down,’ said Doris, putting her hand gently onto Izzie’s forearm.
They walked towards the pier and would have stayed on a bench nearby but Linda wanted to walk on the pier itself. Despite the fact that the summer season was almost over, it was still crowded. They wandered through the crowds, watching the people playing games, having a go at darts, eating shell fish out of small hand dishes you could buy for sixpence, dozing in deck chairs and queuing to see Madam Sylvia, the famous palmist. Linda wanted a go on the penny telescope and then she insisted they pose for a
photo. The photographer placed them behind a huge wooden frame. They each had to push their heads though a hole which turned out to be part of a picture of Tarzan, Jane and a monkey. Izzie could tell her mother wasn’t very keen but she did it to please Linda. Mum was Tarzan, Linda was Jane and of course Izzie got lumbered with being the monkey.
At last her sister was persuaded to come off the pier and into a small café. It smelled of chip fat and bacon but all three were hungry after being in the fresh air for such a long time. Izzie and Linda had sausage, egg and chips while Doris opted for a pork pie and chips. They each washed it down with a mug of tea.
Doris tried to get things going by asking Linda about herself but she was sparing in her replies. ‘I wrote to you. Didn’t you get my letter?’
‘I tore it up,’ Linda said sulkily.
Izzie was shocked and the atmosphere between them grew tense. Anxious to lighten the mood Izzie said, ‘Linda’s starting a new job next week, aren’t you.’
‘Oh, and where’s that?’ said Doris.
‘In a hair dressers,’ said Linda. Her tone was flat. ‘It’s not much money but I get a free shampoo and set every week.’
Doris smiled proudly.
‘What about you, Mum?’ Linda said. Izzie could hear the sarcasm in her voice. ‘What are you doing with your life now?’
‘I am a driver,’ Doris said with a smile.
‘You never told me that, Mum,’ said Izzie.
‘That’s because I’ve only just started,’ said Doris. ‘I’ve spent the past few months learning to drive and now I help out with a mobile shop.’
‘That’s marvellous, Mum,’ said Izzie. ‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘Love it,’ said Doris. ‘I get out in the countryside and I’ve met some lovely people. It’s great fun.’
‘What sort of stuff do you sell?’ Izzie asked. Everything was beginning to feel forced and uncomfortable.
‘Everything from paraffin to soap,’ said Doris. ‘And Arthur persuaded me to bake pies again.’
‘Is that the man you ran away with?’ Linda said cuttingly.
Doris looked slightly taken aback. ‘I don’t know what your father has told you, but I didn’t run away with anyone.’