When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

‘Holly!’

  Harry falls back into his chair.

  ‘What will people say?’ Moira says, throwing back the whisky and shuddering.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with other people,’ I say. ‘They don’t have to know anything about it.’

  ‘That Rosie will probably tell all and sundry,’ says Moira tearfully.

  ‘Rosie is discreet. She won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘We need to think about all this,’ says Harry. ‘Does the boy know?’

  ‘No and I’m not telling him. I made a mistake. I won’t make another one. I’ll go on the pill and …’

  ‘Lord help us,’ groans Moira.

  ‘Right, well I’m off,’ I say walking into the hall.

  ‘But you’ve not had any dinner,’ protests Harry.

  ‘I haven’t got an appetite now. I think Moira should apologise to Rosie when she gets a chance.’

  Moira sniffs.

  ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate.’

  ‘Haven’t we all. I’ll see myself out.’

  I pull my overcoat from the cupboard. Holly follows me out.

  ‘Thank you Grandad,’ she says hugging me. ‘It was easier with you here.’

  ‘Don’t you be bulldozed into marrying that clown?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  I kiss her on the cheek. I’ll be glad to get home to my lovely warm house. It’s freezing in Harry and Moira’s. It’s below zero, what’s wrong with them? Economising I suppose. Maybe I’ll get some fish and chips on the way home. I’m starving and anything is better than Moira’s cooking.

  Chapter Fifty

  Rosie

  ‘Come on, you two,’ calls Doris. ‘We’ll miss the coach.’

  We’re off to Leigh-on-Sea. I’m going to scatter Frank’s ashes there, although quite honestly, I have no idea where exactly in Leigh-on-Sea I’m going to scatter them. Doris suggested Southend Pier as Frank used to like it there. I think he would have liked them scattered at Millwall, but no one fancied a day trip to a football pitch.

  ‘Anyway, you don’t want loads of people treading all over your Frank,’ Doris had said.

  ‘Huh,’ Shirl had muttered. ‘They did it all his life so what difference does it make.’

  She wasn’t wrong. But I decided to take them to Leigh-on-Sea in the end. After all, Millwall got plenty of money out of Frank. I don’t see why they should get his body too.

  There’s a few of us. I asked Sam if he wanted to come but he said no.

  ‘I said goodbye at the funeral. That was enough for me,’ he’d said.

  We’re going to have a short ceremony and then I’m going to scatter them. Pete has written a little something. After that, Doris suggested we get some whelks and play on the amusements. It’s a bit too chilly to walk along the front but I didn’t want to wait until the summer. That would mean I’d have the ashes in my new place, and quite honestly, I didn’t want a new start with Frank, dead or alive. I want to put the past behind me and that includes Frank, his peroxide blonde bit on the side and the Tradmore Estate. I got five hundred for Peroxide Blonde’s ring, so God knows what Frank paid for it and there’s me wearing a second-hand wedding ring. If he was going to buy anyone a ring it should have been me. Anyway, that paid John at the off-licence. I’ve been looking at learning a language too, I’m thinking I might learn to speak French. I haven’t told Doris or any of that lot. They’ll think I’m getting ideas above my station. But I want to better myself and there's nothing wrong with that is there? I still haven’t heard anything from Matt Fisher. That’s suspicious that, isn’t it? One minute he’s harassing me in Waitrose and then suddenly he disappears. Still, I suppose I should be grateful. I think I’ve paid all Frank’s debts now, apart from Matt Fisher’s, of course. I can’t afford to pay that one. I’ll be flat broke if I do and I don’t suppose Matt Fisher takes instalments. It’s not like the tally man is it? I’m hanging onto the rest of my winnings and that’s that. I’m going to make sure my twilight years are lived out in peace and comfort.

  Bert helps Crabbers onto the coach and he sits next to me.

  ‘I’ve got some nice pillow shams for you,’ he says. ‘Remind me to give them to you when we get back.’

  ‘That’s nice of you,’ says Doris. ‘Isn’t that nice of Crabbers?’ she adds turning to me from the seat in front.

  ‘Very nice, thank you,’ I say.

  ‘I thought it would cheer you up after, well, you know.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful,’ says Shirl.

  I wish they’d shut up.

  I’m feeling much happier. I cleaned for Archie yesterday and it was so nice. We had a chat about books and then he told me that Holly’s parents knew about the pregnancy.

  ‘I bet they were upset,’ I’d said.

  ‘Moira looked about to have a heart attack. I plied her with whisky and she seemed alright after that,’ he’d smiled. ‘They want her to marry the lad, can you believe it?’

  I’d been appalled. After all, that was what happened to me. I was a bit older, granted but a mistake like that can ruin your life. Just look at mine.

  ‘She can’t do that,’ I’d said without thinking.

  ‘I agree. An abortion is the best thing.’

  Archie wants me to move into his little house. I did say it would be difficult now as I’d signed all the paperwork for the flat, but he said his solicitor can sort that out. I should tell Sam. He was going to help me move in. I’d even booked time off work. Brian wasn’t happy. That’s an understatement actually. I thought he was going to have a seizure when I told him.

  ‘I thought you weren’t having time off over Christmas,’ he’d said accusingly.

  ‘I wasn’t but I’ll be moving, and I’ll need a few days to get myself sorted.’

  ‘Unpaid,’ he’d practically shouted. ‘You’ll have to take it unpaid.’

  ‘Okay,’ I’d said reluctantly. ‘I am owed five days though.’

  ‘Can’t be entertained,’ he’d said briskly.

  Sometimes I think the whole world is against me getting off the Tradmore Estate. The rocking of the coach makes me sleepy and the next thing I know I’ve dozed off. I’m woken my Crabbers shaking me.

  ‘We’re here,’ says Shirl.

  ‘Aw look at those Christmas lights,’ says Doris.

  We climb from the coach and I smell fish and chips and seafood. The sea looks a bit rough though.

  ‘I could do with a pint,’ says Bert.

  ‘Yes, let’s have some lunch,’ says Shirl.

  Pete clambers from the coach clutching the ashes. I need to keep an eye on those. After a few beers who knows where they might end up; left on a dodgem if I’m not careful.

  ‘I’ll take those, shall I?’ I say to Pete.

  ‘Oh, yeah, right. I don’t feel comfortable with them anyway, if I’m honest,’ says Pete.

  He hands me the Co-op carrier bag. I know, I should have found something better to carry them in, but a Co-op bag is as good as anything. Frank always liked the Co-op. I prefer Lidl, so I suppose when my time comes I’ll be carried in a Lidl bag. As long as they don’t put me in a Waitrose bag, that would be too uppity for me.

  ‘Don’t lose them,’ says Doris.

  We trundle along the seafront, the cold sea air whipping at our cheeks.

  ‘Not the best day for it,’ shivers Shirl.

  ‘There’s never a good day for it,’ says Bert.

  ‘Let’s go to Osbourne Bros. They do the best cockles,’ says Crabbers.

  ‘I think we should have the ceremony first,’ I say.

  I don’t really want to be clutching Frank’s ashes all around Southend, do I? I only need to accidentally drop them. That would be my kind of luck wouldn’t it, scrambling around on my hands and knees picking up bits of Frank.

  ‘I guess she’s right,’ says Doris. ‘Shall we go to the pier first?’

  ‘It’s a bit cold,’ groans Shirl.

  ‘It’s got to be done,’ says Bert. ‘He needs a send-off.’
>
  Everyone nods in agreement and we head to the pier. It’s nippy here, I can tell you. We all stand on the pier, the biting wind taking our breath away. I hang onto the ashes for dear life, while Doris fights to get a scarf on her head. I look to Bert who pulls his phone from his pocket. He fiddles with it for a few seconds and then says.

  ‘You say when.’

  Everyone looks at me. I take a deep breath. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so best to just get it over with.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  He clicks into his phone and Fuck You, by Lily Allen plays loudly through the tinny speaker. I gasp.

  ‘What’s that?’ asks Shirl. ‘Surely that’s not …’

  ‘Wrong song,’ says Bert, hastily clicking into his phone.

  I fight back a sigh.

  We wait for what seems like forever before Prince begins to sing Purple Rain. It was a song Frank used to sing when he was drunk. Doris wipes a tear from her eye. I look to Pete and nod. He steps forward and clears his throat. I take the urn from the Co-op carrier. We all look at Pete and wait. He straightens his tie, pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket and reads hesitantly.

  ‘For Frank. If I die before I wake. I left a pasta bake in the fridge. And if I say so myself. It was to die for’.

  He folds the piece of paper and pushes it back into his pocket. There’s silence. The only sound is the crooning of Prince and the wind howling around us. I swallow and finally say,

  ‘What was that?’

  Pete coughs.

  ‘I know. It didn’t work. It should have been pizza but that didn’t rhyme. I wanted something fitting, you see.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ I croak.

  ‘Blimey,’ mumbles Doris.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Pete. ‘I got it off the internet.’

  I don’t believe this. I knew I shouldn’t have left it to Pete.

  ‘The music will finish soon,’ says Bert, anxiously.

  I rub my eyes. Crabbers limps forward. We all look at him in surprise. He lifts his head and says,

  ‘We thank the universe for giving us Frank. He lit up our lives and things won’t be the same now he’s gone. Let’s remember Frank for the fun-loving person he was as we now scatter his ashes to the wind.’

  ‘Aw,’ says Shirl.

  ‘That was nice,’ says Bert.

  Nice, but not strictly true. I don’t think Frank lit up anyone’s life but best not to say anything. At least he said something that didn’t have pizza or pasta bake in it. I’m really fed up. I don’t mind telling you. How could Pete have come with such a crappy poem?

  ‘Thanks Crabbers,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll play the music again,’ says Bert fiddling with his phone.

  We wait for the music to start again and I remove the lid from the urn.

  ‘Throw them over your shoulder,’ advises Shirl. ‘They won’t come back and slap you in the face then.’

  Yes, that would be Frank alright, wouldn’t it, coming back to slap me in the face. I take her advice and throw the contents over my shoulder. Everyone spins round. After all, no one wants a fistful of ashes in their face, do they?

  ‘Bye Frank,’ says Bert emotionally.

  I don’t say anything. I’m not a hypocrite. Clearly I turn back too soon for at that moment a gust of wind blows in from the sea.

  ‘Aw, don’t get upset,’ says Doris, putting an arm around me and handing me a tissue.

  I don’t like to tell her that a bit of Frank just blew into my eye.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I say.

  ‘Let’s get a drink,’ says Bert.

  ‘Thanks Crabbers,’ I say.

  ‘It was nothing,’ he says, limping alongside me. ‘Don’t let me forget those pillow shams.’

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Moira

  Holly felt sick. Now they were actually here, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go through with it. Moira’s hand shook as she took Holly’s.

  ‘Are you alright, Holly?’ she asked.

  ‘I won’t die, will I?’ said Holly, her face white.

  ‘Die? Of course not, but if you’ve changed your mind …’

  ‘No, let’s go,’ said Holly pulling Moira through the hospital entrance doors. Moira sighed and struggled to control her trembling body. She was torn. Half of her knew this was the best thing but the other half was consumed with guilt. The counselling had been very helpful. Although Moira had no idea what had been said to Holly during her own counselling, but Moira’s session had been excellent. All the same, the guilt now overwhelmed her. You can’t let her throw her life away, Alf had said. He’d really laid into Moira about the Rosie business. He’d been way over the top, Moira thought. All she’d tried to do was protect him. She’d spent her life trying to protect her family and for what? So they could all turn on her, that’s what. First Alfred and then Holly, it was too unbearable. Maybe she had been selfish about the house, but no one could blame her for trying to protect it.

  The nurse greeted them and put Holly at ease.

  ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ she smiled.

  Moira was relieved to sit down. She didn’t think her trembling legs would hold her up for much longer.

  ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ said the nurse.

  ‘Oh no, don’t worry,’ said Moira. ‘I’ll pop down to the café in a bit.’

  She didn’t want to wait here with this awful sterile smell around her.

  ‘Are you going to be okay Holly?’ she asked.

  She felt like she was sending her daughter to her execution.

  ‘Yes, I will be,’ said Holly giving a weak smile.

  ‘She’ll be absolutely fine,’ said the nurse cheerily.

  You’d never think this was an abortion clinic, thought Moira.

  Holly disappeared from view and Moira had to fight back tears. She must be strong for Holly. Moira daren’t think about that awful boy that put Holly in the family way. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with Harry. Why didn’t he go around to the boy’s house and have it out with the family? Harry was too involved with work lately. She needed to talk to him about all those late nights. If he was so busy why wasn’t he bringing home more money? And that play, that stupid play. It was driving her mad. She’d be glad when the thing was over. Still, Christmas would be here soon, and all this would be behind them. Her only nagging fear was that Alfred would want to bring that Rosie woman to them for Christmas. Surely she would be going to her son’s for Christmas? At the thought of Rosie’s son, Moira felt that little flutter in her stomach. She found herself wondering what he would have done if Holly had been his daughter. She imagined he wouldn’t have hesitated going around to the family and having it out with the dad.

  She watched Holly disappear from sight and then pulled herself out of the chair. A cup of tea would help. She followed the signs to the cafeteria, shrugging out of her coat as she walked. Why was it always so hot in hospitals? She pulled off the coat and turned the corridor corner, only to walk into Sam Foster.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, surprised.

  For a moment he looked confused and then he seemed to recognise her. Moira saw that his hand was bandaged.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘It’s amazing who you see here.’

  She frantically thought of an excuse for why she was there. She couldn’t possibly tell him her daughter was having an abortion. The shame of it all made her blush profusely.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’ she asked.

  He looked down at the bandage.

  ‘Oh, it was stupid. I grabbed an exhaust and it had a sharp edge. I should have been wearing gloves.’

  She didn’t know what to say so simply nodded to the cafeteria.

  ‘I was going to get a coffee.’

  ‘Ah, so what brings you here?’

  She couldn’t turn any redder if she tried.

  ‘My daughter is seeing a consultant. I’m waiting for her.’

  ‘Is she better now?’

  ‘Better?’ question
s Moira.

  ‘She’d been sick when I saw you last.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Moira flustered. ‘She’s much better.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Anyway I’d better get on.’

  She nodded and watched him walk along the corridor. Yes, she thought, he would most certainly have gone around to confront the boy’s father. What was wrong with Harry? She should text him. Let him know Holly has gone in. She felt tears welling up again and hurried to the cafeteria. A cup of tea, that’s what she needed.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Rosie

  ‘This is Archie,’ I say.

  Sam looks at Archie curiously.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ says Sam, shaking Archie’s hand.

  ‘What have you done there?’ asks Archie pointing to the bandage.

  Sam looks down at his hand.

  ‘I had an argument with an exhaust pipe.’

  ‘It looks like the exhaust pipe won. You could have waited until after I’d moved,’ I joke.

  ‘Mrs Foster,’ calls a voice.

  I look over the bannister.

  ‘Hello, Mr Singh,’ I say.

  I’ve known Mr Singh for five years and I still don’t know his first name. I don’t think he knows mine either.

  ‘Do you need some help?’ he asks in his sing-song voice.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll come up.’

  ‘That’s another pair of hands,’ smiles Archie.

  I’m moving into Archie’s house today and I still can’t believe my luck. I’m finally getting off Tradmore Estate. It feels like a dream. I truly believed I’d be carried out feet first from this flat.

  ‘A happy day, Mrs Foster,’ says Mr Singh coming up the stairs.

  He’s right there. It’s one of the happiest days of my life. Life’s funny isn’t it? My life changed with a win on the bingo. If I hadn’t have won the bingo and Frank hadn’t walked in front of the pizza van I wouldn’t have met Archie. I never go to the pub with the girls normally; once a fortnight to the bingo was my outing. We never had money for me to go anywhere exotic or glamourous. Not that Frank would have gone anyway. He thought the café at the dogs was fancy. Frank had no class. Of course, if I’d known that Frank was spending all our hard-earned cash on furs and rings for his bit on the side then I’d have … Well, I don’t know what I would have done, quite honestly. I still can’t believe it. They say the wife is the last to know, don’t they? Let’s face it if a pizza hadn’t have killed him, I probably still wouldn’t know. When I think what we could have done with that money.