by Katie Flynn
‘And since you are providing the bird for our Christmas dinner, I trust you’ll arrive at the crack of dawn,’ Edie had reminded him. ‘We’ll have our presents immediately after breakfast – you’ll come round for breakfast – so don’t worry that we might change our minds and defer it, because we shan’t.’
Albert had been relieved. He was old-fashioned enough to believe that the festivities should include attendance at both midnight mass and morning service, and would have felt cheated had Christmas been celebrated at any time other than 25 December.
Now, instead of going straight to bed, for it was still early, he lit the oven and opened the door so that the room speedily became comfortably warm. At this time of night it was never worth lighting the fire, which would scarcely have had time to get going before he had to let it go out, but the oven was a good substitute.
Reminding himself that he would have to be up betimes next day, for he and Edie had agreed to take turns to open the pet shop whilst Tess was away, he settled himself at the kitchen table and was reaching for a biscuit when the bell rang. Cursing beneath his breath he went over to the window and peered down, but could see no one. ‘Bloody kids. If I could get downstairs quietly enough I’d open the door and give the little blighters a thick ear,’ he muttered. ‘But as it is . . .’
The bell sounded again and this time, when Albert went over to the window, he saw a dark figure, unidentifiable in the faint street light, whose face, a pale disc, was turned up towards him. An adult, anyway, though not one with whom he was familiar. A neighbour perhaps? It was unlikely to be a customer and he knew it wasn’t Edie. But it was no use wondering; he would have to go down, since the man below – if it was a man – must have seen him peering out. Albert took one last look round his warm and welcoming kitchen and began reluctantly to descend the stairs. He crossed the stockroom, clicking the electric light on as he went, unlocked the door and pulled it open.
In the bright light his caller blinked and moved back a step, and Albert saw that it was a woman wearing a dark winter coat and a felt hat pulled down over her eyes. He began to ask her whether she had rung his bell in mistake for someone else’s, but she cut across his words, her voice thin and reedy. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s bleedin’ freezin’ out here and I’m just about done in. I’ve been on the go for days and days . . .’
She started to step forward, but Albert moved in front of her. ‘I’m very sorry, but I’m sure you’ve made a mistake,’ he began, but the woman ignored his words and pushed passed him, snatching off her hat as she did so.
‘Don’t say you don’t recognise me,’ she said. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ears, then pointed an accusing finger at the shop door, which Albert was about to close. ‘You’ve left me suitcase outside; wharrever are you thinking of? All me worldly goods, just about, is in that suitcase, so I’ll have it in out of the street before someone makes off with it, if you don’t mind. Come on, Dad, shake a leg!’
Albert was so astonished that he stepped backwards and collided with the counter. ‘Janine!’ he gasped. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Realising suddenly that this was no way to greet a long-lost daughter he tried to take her in his arms and give her a kiss, but Janine, though she submitted to the embrace, did not return it.
‘Never mind that for now,’ she said rather sulkily. ‘It’s pretty clear you aren’t exactly over the moon to see me. And it’s not as though you didn’t expect me, because I sent you a telegram.’
Albert was about to say contritely that the telegram must have gone astray when he remembered something his dear Louisa had once said. ‘Our Janine has a special voice she uses when she’s telling fibs,’ she had told him. ‘You must have noticed, Albert; it’s a syrupy sort of voice.’ She had laughed. ‘She doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just when she’s trying to play down something she thinks we might disapprove of.’
Now, Albert heard that syrupy note in his daughter’s voice and knew that the telegram had never been sent; was, in fact, a figment of Janine’s imagination. So he bit back the words of apology, picked up her suitcase, which was extremely heavy, and gave her a little push towards the stockroom and the stairs which led up to the flat. ‘We’ll discuss the whole matter over a cup of cocoa. Luckily I’ve got into the habit of keeping the bed in the spare room – your old room – made up, so I’ll pop a hot water bottle into it and then you can tell me just what’s happened to bring you flying over here without a word of warning,’ he said. As they entered the kitchen Janine began to reiterate that she had telegraphed, but Albert shook his head. ‘Telegrams don’t just go astray, my dear,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down and have a shortbread biscuit while I make the cocoa. Let me help you out of your coat.’
Whilst Albert boiled the kettle again Janine ate several biscuits, and presently she sipped eagerly at the hot cocoa. It was warm in the kitchen with the oven still alight, and without her coat Albert saw that his daughter had put on a fair amount of weight and that her hair had gone from light brown to a rather brassy gold. He had not seen her for nearly ten years, and his mental picture of her was of a slim, pretty creature with a mass of tumbled curls, rosy cheeks and sparkling light blue eyes. Now she was pale and pasty, seemingly reluctant to explain her arrival, and her mouth became sulky when he tried to press her for some sort of explanation.
‘Ain’t it enough that I’m home?’ she said when he queried her sudden reappearance. She sniffed and her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I’m that tired, Dad, I scarcely know how to put one foot before the other. Can’t we talk in the morning?’
Albert was about to agree when he realised something else. If Janine was given time to think up a convincing story, that was probably what he would get. Right now his poor child was at a low ebb, which meant that the truth would come tumbling out. So he shook his head firmly and when she tried to get to her feet he pushed her gently back into her chair.
‘Janine, no matter what has happened to you, you are still my beloved daughter,’ he said gently. ‘But whilst you’ve been making a life for yourself in America, I have had no choice but to make a life for myself too. You haven’t written often, but the letters I have received seemed to indicate that you were happy and fulfilled. So just you sit there and tell me the truth: why are you here?’
Janine began to say she was too tired, that her story was too long and too complex for telling after such an exhausting journey, but Albert had sat himself down opposite her and now he rested his chin on his folded hands and met her eyes squarely. ‘My dear child, I love you, but I can remember all your little tricks. If I wait until tomorrow I’ll get a sanitised version. You’ll tell me what you want me to hear and that won’t necessarily be the truth.’ He smiled lovingly at her as she began to protest. ‘No, I’m serious. You can begin by telling me whether there is trouble between you and your husband.’
Janine heaved an enormous sigh and put both hands round her mug of cocoa as though to warm them. Albert waited patiently whilst she sorted out her ideas, and when at last she began to speak he listened intently and did not interrupt.
‘As you know, Dad, I followed Mario to America quite soon after the war ended. He had told me his parents were rich business people who owned a ranch just outside a small town. Before the war they had owned several properties there, including a soda fountain and what they call a diner, which is just another word for a café. He said if I went over we would marry and his father would hand the soda fountain over to me.’ She sighed, and Albert saw her lower lip quiver. ‘We married all right, but Mario continued to behave like a bachelor, which as you can imagine I found difficult to take. We had a small apartment over my workplace but Mario’s work was mainly on the ranch. He seldom took me out there and but for a surprise visit some months ago I should never have known that he was being unfaithful. Oh, I had suspected it, but had no proof until he slipped up. Apparently he had met an old girlfriend, the daughter of a rancher whose spread bordered the
Da Silva property, and planned to divorce me. By then, I’m not sure that I minded terribly, but when I received a tax demand from the authorities I discovered that Mr Da Silva had never given me the soda fountain as he and Mario had promised, but had claimed that I was just an employee. I might have demanded a lump sum so that I could move to another town and start up in business on my own account. It would have been hard, but not impossible. Only then a letter from you arrived saying how successful your ice cream parlour had become and how you were in partnership with some elderly woman – Edie, wasn’t it? – and both your businesses were thriving. I told Mario about it and he advised me to come home. He said I should claim my inheritance before this old woman got her claws into it.’
Albert sighed. ‘Oh dear, what a tangle,’ he said sadly. ‘But I’m afraid, dear Janine, that you have brought it on your own head. If you’d read my letters properly you would have known that we gave up the idea of an ice cream parlour a long while ago. We didn’t have the knowledge, you see. And when the right sort of premises came along it was my friend Edie’s granddaughter who started up a business, neither Edie nor myself, though Edie did become a partner; a senior partner, in fact.’
Janine scowled. ‘But I’m certain you said you had some sort of interest in an ice cream parlour,’ she persisted. ‘Don’t try and lie to me, Dad, because I can see right through you. You and this Edie woman were just using the granddaughter to keep anyone else out, and that anyone else is me. I wouldn’t have come home if I had thought I was coming home to nothing.’
Albert felt anger well up in him, but he reined in a desire to tell his daughter a few unpleasant truths. Instead, he spoke with measured calm. ‘Janine, please listen to me. You failed to read my letters properly because the truth is, once the Atlantic was between us, you lost all interest in your “dear old dad”. In fact you’ve only come home for what you can get . . .’
‘Oh, Dad, how can you! To say such a thing to your own flesh and blood!’ Janine wailed. ‘When you said you had an ice cream parlour I guessed you’d be hard pressed to make it pay because you’ve not had experience of that sort of retail trade. I made Mario give me a bit more money, which I mean to use for any improvements needed to make the ice cream parlour support us both. I presume the tobacconist’s is doing okay, though you hardly ever mention it now, but the ice cream parlour . . .’
Albert’s careful hold on his temper began to waver. ‘Be quiet and listen to me,’ he said sharply. ‘There is no ice cream parlour; do you hear me? No ice cream parlour! Mrs Williams and her granddaughter are running a very successful pet shop. They gave up the idea of an ice cream parlour because the premises they rent would not be suitable, and besides Tess knows a great deal about animal husbandry. It is true that when they started the business I put in a small amount of money to help with setting-up expenses, but that has long been repaid . . .’ he crossed his fingers behind his back, since despite Tess’s many offers he had never allowed her to refund that by no means negligible sum, ‘so please forget the idea that either you or I can have anything to do with the pet shop.’
He expected an angry retort, remembering how the old Janine had hated being crossed, but to his dismay his daughter flung herself down on the table and began to weep.
Albert immediately felt deeply remorseful. How could he have said such cruel things to the child he and Louisa had so adored! It was not her fault that she had failed to notice when the ice cream parlour idea had become the pet shop scheme. And she had come all this way, travelling right across America and taking a berth aboard a ship bound for Liverpool, all under the mistaken impression that when she got to England she would find a nice little business which with the benefit of her undoubted expertise would become a nice big business. Janine had never liked animals, so the Payne family had never owned so much as a white mouse. She would be useless in the pet shop and in any event, as he had taken pains to point out, the shop had nothing to do with him. But when he went round to her side of the table and tried to stroke her hair, to tell her how sorry he was, she pushed him away.
‘Well, I’m damned if I’m going back to the States,’ she mumbled, knuckling her tear-wet eyes. She sniffed, produced a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and blew her nose resoundingly.
For a moment there was silence in the small kitchen. Janine was gazing into space. Albert returned to his own chair and took her cold hands in his warm ones. ‘Did you seek legal advice regarding ownership of the soda fountain?’ he asked gently. ‘Surely you have some rights?’
‘I tried, and got nowhere. There was no proof, you see, no contract, nothing. And when I wanted to go back in after my visit to the lawyer I was forbidden admittance, and when I tried to get into our apartment upstairs Father-in-law had changed the locks. I was pretty desperate, so when Mario advised me to come back to England and gave me the money for my fare it seemed the only thing left to do. I got one of the staff from the soda fountain to steal the keys from the manager they had put in my place and she, dear little girl, packed a suitcase with all my clothing and found out where to catch a train to New York.’ She had been gazing into the middle distance but now her eyes focused on her father’s face. ‘Of course I tried to persuade various members of the Da Silva family to help me, but nobody would. Mr Da Silva is very much the big man of the neighbourhood; nobody would willingly go against him. Even Mario is afraid of him. So in the end I took Mario’s advice and left. There were things in our apartment which belonged to me so Mario gave me what he thought was their value in cash, and saw me on to the train for New York. And that’s all there was to it, Dad. Mario said the tobacconist shop was my inheritance as well as the ice cream parlour, but since there’s no ice cream parlour I suppose I’ll have to housekeep for you like my mam did. I might be able to find a little job, I suppose . . . but now you’ve got me back, Dad, you won’t need that Edie woman. I know you say you’re not in partnership with her, but judging from your letters – which I do read – you spend a lot of time together.’ She sniffed and pushed her handkerchief back into her pocket. ‘What do you think Mam would say if she knew you were seeing another woman? It’s not right, Dad! I suppose you’ve been spending time with this Edie because you’re lonely. Well, you won’t be lonely any more, because I mean to take up my old life where it left off. I’ve probably still got friends around here and I can learn the tobacconist trade so that when you retire I can take over. It’s what Mam would like, after all, and this woman, this Mrs Williams, can concentrate on her pet shop.’
Albert looked long and hard into his daughter’s face and saw the lines of strain and the way her mouth tightened with annoyance when things did not go her way. She was only just thirty but could have been forty, and he supposed that all the unhappiness she had gone through must be beginning to show on her face. But for whatever reason he must make it plain to her that she could not rule his life. Since she had left England they had gone their separate ways, and Albert realised that he was very happy with things as they were. To be sure, Janine was the daughter of his beloved Louisa, but he knew that his wife would have applauded his friendship with Edie, would have told Janine unequivocally to leave her father alone. Janine herself had made the decision to return to England, so she must start to build a new life for herself and not try to interfere with Albert’s.
As Janine rose from the table he tried to say something of this, but she brushed him aside. ‘Don’t wake me tomorrow morning; I’ll get up late,’ she said. ‘I shall need some time to recover from the journey before I can start to sort out what’s best to do.’ She turned away from him, began to open the door which led into the small hallway, then turned back. ‘It’s all your fault, Dad,’ she said pettishly. ‘If only you’d told me that you’d given up the idea of the ice cream parlour we wouldn’t be in the mess we are now. I might not even have come home, because I could have got work in New York. Or there was a young fellow working in the candy store not two minutes’ walk from the soda fountain . . .’
A
lbert recognised that Janine was just trying to blame others for a fiasco which had been, in truth, all of her own making. If she had only read his letters properly disaster might have been averted, though of course it wouldn’t have helped what must have been an extremely rocky marriage, nor have reversed her non-existent ownership of the soda fountain. She had boasted of her business acumen, but if she had really possessed such a thing she would have made certain that the soda fountain had truly become her own property and not relied on the word of an unscrupulous man.
But Janine was yawning. ‘Well, I’m here now, and I mean to make the best of it. Tell you what, I’ll come down between ten and eleven tomorrow morning and you can shut up shop for an hour or so and take me round to meet this Mrs Williams and her granddaughter. What did you say her name was?’
Abruptly, Albert remembered all that had happened during the course of the previous week. ‘Her name is Tess, but you won’t be able to meet her for several days,’ he informed his daughter. ‘She’s gone to a ruby wedding in Norfolk. As for shutting the shop, that won’t be necessary since I’ve arranged for Mr Clarke to come here whilst Tess is away so that I can give Mrs Williams a hand.’ He cast his daughter a quizzical look. ‘If you’d read my letters you’d know that Mrs Williams was quite badly injured in a coach accident.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember something of the sort,’ Janine said indifferently. ‘But that was ages ago; she shouldn’t still be relying on you, Dad. After all, she’s got her granddaughter and doubtless other friends . . .’
Albert felt irritation well up within him once more. He had filled his own hot water bottle and now he tucked it under his arm and headed for the hallway and his own room. ‘This is a friendly neighbourhood; when the chips are down we all help one another,’ he said stiffly. ‘But you aren’t the only one who’s tired; I’ve been on the go since six o’clock this morning, so I think the rest of this conversation had better be deferred until tomorrow. Naturally, you’re very welcome to lie in, but when my alarm goes off at seven o’clock I shall get up as usual and make breakfast. Mr Clarke will arrive here just before nine, and I shall then go to the pet shop to open up. I’m sure I’ll be able to come back here at around eleven o’clock, however, and then we can talk.’