Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  Maxine shrugged. ‘Just thought I’d call and see how you all are.’

  ‘Am yer stoppin’ for your tea? Oh, careful, Edward. I don’t want jam all over me frock. It was clean on today. And Aunty Maxine don’t want it all over hers, neither.’

  ‘No, I shan’t stay for tea, Alice. Henzey will have got mine ready.’

  ‘Why don’t you? You can phone Henzey and tell her you won’t be back.’

  ‘But I’ve got a date tonight. I’m seeing somebody. I have to change into some fresh clothes.’

  ‘Borrow something of mine,’ Alice suggested. ‘We’re the same size. Anyway, is it anybody we know?…Oh, I bet I know – the vicar. Is it that vicar you’m seein’?…Stop that, Edward.’

  Maxine nodded but had no wish to pursue that topic. ‘How’s Charles? Is he all right?’

  Alice shrugged indifferently. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. Anyway, I heard you’d split up with Stephen. What happened?’

  ‘It just didn’t work out. We’ve got different interests. He thought it best that we stop seeing each other.’

  ‘Shame really. He seemed to think a lot o’ you, our Maxine. Edward, I shan’t tell you again…So, you’m seein’ the vicar now then, eh? It’s different anyway, goin’ out with a vicar, eh?’

  ‘I’m going out with him tonight for the first time.’ She shrugged. ‘It might be the only time.’

  ‘He’s got a motor, ain’t he? Is he comin’ to fetch you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why don’t you phone our Henzey and ask her to send ’im ’ere for you? Then you can have your tea ’ere with us.’

  ‘I suppose he wouldn’t mind…If you’ll lend me a dress.’

  ‘Course. Then you can tell us how the jazz band’s comin’ along. Mom says you got plenty bookings.’

  ‘It’s going well.’

  ‘I can see you being famous, our Maxine. Don’t forget us when you’m rich an’ famous.’

  ‘Me famous? That’ll be the day. Why don’t you ask Charles to bring you to one of our bookings? It’d be a change for you. You’d both enjoy it. You like dancing, don’t you?’

  Edward heard Richard yelling to him from outside, so he slipped off Alice’s lap and ran off to join him in the back yard.

  ‘Mind what you’m up to!’ Alice called. ‘And no plaguin’ the ’orses…Yes, Maxine, I’d love to. Where’s the best place?’

  ‘The Tower at Edgbaston is as good a place as any. Everybody dresses up for the Tower dance.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Alice said thoughtfully. ‘I wouldn’t mind goin’. It’s been ages since I went dancin’. I’ve just had a lovely new frock an’ all…’

  So Maxine telephoned Henzey and stayed for tea; and yes, she would redirect Howard when he came to collect her; she would draw him a map. After tea they talked around the table for ages and Maxine decided it was time to strip off and have a good soak in a cool, cool bath. It had been so hot today, so humid, and she felt horrible and sticky.

  She lay there for ages, wallowing in the tepid water that was so refreshing. Her thoughts drifted from Howard Quaintance to Brent Shackleton and she tried to imagine the anguish plaguing him. Maybe he needed Eleanor more than he was prepared to let on.

  There came a knock at the bathroom door.

  ‘Maxine, are you in there?’

  ‘Yes, Mom.’

  ‘Henzey’s just phoned to say that young vicar’s on his way.’

  ‘Already?’ Maxine was out of the bath as if she had been forcibly ejected from it, water dripping from her naked body. ‘He’s early. Tell him to wait,’ she answered earnestly. ‘Tell him I’ll only be a minute.’

  In a frantic hurry she towelled herself dry. With some droplets of water still clinging to her, she wrapped the towel around her and scurried to Alice’s bedroom. She put on a clean pair of Alice’s knickers and rummaged through her chock-full wardrobe for a pretty summer dress. Having found one, she stroked a brush through her hair a few times before hurriedly applying some makeup. She checked herself in the mirror. After putting on her shoes, she made her way downstairs with a calmness that belied her haste.

  ‘Here she comes now,’ she heard Jesse say as she turned at the bottom of the stairs.

  When she entered the sitting room all eyes were on her and she felt embarrassed. ‘Hello, Howard, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘Not at all, Maxine. I’m early if anything. My! You look very nice.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘She was in the bath a minute ago,’ Lizzie offered.

  ‘It hasn’t taken you long to get yourself ready, though, Maxine, eh?’ Alice said, then mischievously added: ‘By the way, I love my dress. It really suits you.’

  Maxine gave her sister a withering look. ‘I’m ready when you are, Howard.’ She turned to him with a smile that instantly melted his heart and at once headed for the door so he should not mistake her intention to leave at once.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Do you like funfairs?’ Howard asked, effecting a neat three-point turn in the narrow confines of Cromwell Street.

  ‘Sounds smashing. I haven’t been to one for years.’

  ‘Good.’ He pushed up his spectacles to sit more comfortably on the bridge of his nose and the thrash of the car’s engine reverberated off the terrace of houses opposite. ‘There’s one at Lightwoods Park in Bearwood. Roundabouts, chair-o-planes, all sorts of things.’

  ‘Oh, I saw it as I came back home this afternoon.’

  ‘I thought we might enjoy that together. Should be fun.’

  Maxine stole a glance at him. Tonight you would never know he was a clergyman, informally dressed as he was in an open-necked shirt and light beige sailcloth slacks, ready for a pleasant summer evening. His eyes bore that boyish twinkle that she found so appealing. It was hard to believe she was out on a date, alone with Howard Quaintance at last.

  ‘It’s been so hot today,’ she commented. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘I’m happy to say I had the day off.’

  ‘You had the day off?’ She looked at him impishly. ‘I thought every day but Sunday was a day off for you.’

  ‘Ooh, you’re mocking me, Maxine.’ She saw he had a gleam in his eye. ‘People really believe that, you know – that we only work one day a week. They don’t realise there’s so much else to do. Services every day, not just Sundays. There are christenings, marriages, burials, confirmation classes, meetings with couples who want the Banns read, visiting the sick, the elderly, new mothers, the bereaved. Because I’m only a curate still, the vicar tends to use me as a bit of a lackey. It never stops, Maxine, believe me.’

  She picked up on one of the things he’d mentioned. ‘New mothers, eh? Have you got lots of new mothers in your parish then?’

  ‘Well, making babies seems to be an eternally popular pastime, you know. And once they’ve arrived it’s our job to see they’re welcomed into the church and baptised.’

  ‘So what have you done on your day off?’ she asked.

  ‘I went to see my folks.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful. Where do they live?’

  ‘Warwickshire. Near Solihull, actually. Far enough away to make my visits less than frequent.’

  They drove past Willowcroft and Will’s maroon Swallow SSI looked elegant parked on the gravel drive.

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters, Howard? You never said.’

  ‘I have an older brother and a younger sister.’

  ‘Both married?’

  ‘My brother’s married, but not my sister.’

  ‘So how come you’re not married? I would have thought you were a rather eligible bachelor.’

  ‘I suppose I am eligible now you mention it. But I don’t think it would be every girl’s dream to be married to an impoverished clergyman. Do you?’

  She shrugged, not sure how to answer that one, aware of his eyes on her. ‘I imagine it could be quite interesting. Especially if you’re a sociable sort. Esp
ecially if you’re well educated and know how to talk to people – how to mix with people. Bishops and suchlike, I mean.’

  ‘Bishops?’ he chuckled. ‘Hardly ever see a damned bishop.’

  ‘But I suppose you have to be well educated – the clergy, that is – to be able to become bishops?’

  ‘Yes, to some extent, I suppose. Many come from the…how shall I put it? . . from what we tend to call the upper classes…the educated families…the old families.’

  ‘You mean the wealthy families?’

  ‘Wealthy in days gone by certainly. Not so wealthy these days, I think.’

  ‘But you’ve been decently educated, Howard?’

  ‘I’ve been lucky, but please don’t think I come from a wealthy family. I should hate you to harbour that impression.’

  She wanted to say it would make no difference. ‘Or even an old family?’

  ‘My grandfather’s old,’ he answered breezily. ‘So’s my grandmother.’

  Her laughter was like a bell tinkling and he turned to her, smiling generously. It was so good to be with her again. After he’d said goodbye to her that first night they met in the jazz club, he never really expected to see her again. Oh, he could have turned up there at any time seeking her, but to what advantage? He was not prepared to see her on Brent Shackleton’s arm, nor anybody else’s, for that matter. So he had left well alone, as he saw it, except for his experimental visits to the Town Hall to listen to a couple of CBO concerts. By doing that, he’d seen her again, but only from a distance. To see her at that christening last Sunday, however, and discover that she was gloriously unattached…That had been a gift from heaven.

  ‘So what about your family?’ Maxine asked. ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘Not much to tell really. My father’s a school caretaker, my mother helps him. The house they live in belongs to the school. It’s in the school grounds, actually. It’s a boarding school – private. So, because my father was caretaker, I was educated there for free – one of the perquisites of his job.’

  They had just driven past the Dudley Golf Club to an elevated point, overlooking Birmingham to the east.

  ‘Pity it’s not clear,’ he said, glancing around. ‘When there’s no haze I bet you can see for miles…So how are The Owls and the Pussycats doing?’

  She told him how they’d had their publicity photographs taken that morning, and he said he would look forward to seeing them. Then she mentioned briefly what Pansy had told her, about Stephen and Eleanor, and how Brent Shackleton seemed unsettled by it. She was careful not to mention, however, that the tide had turned and he was now showing an interest in herself.

  ‘People do create problems for themselves, don’t they?’ he remarked.

  ‘I suppose what they do is their own business,’ she answered dismissively. ‘Anyway, why don’t you come and hear us play one night? See how we’ve come on. Saturdays are good at the Tower Ballroom.’

  ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘Yes, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d like to. I think I should get away from my treadmill.’

  ‘No burials that day, nor new young mothers and babies to visit?…Nor your parents?’

  ‘Well, I do usually get Saturday evenings off.’

  She smiled happily. ‘That’s settled then’

  They drove on, conversing easily about this and that, and soon arrived at Lightwoods Park.

  ‘Look, here we are. I think I’ll park right here…’ Once he’d manoeuvred the car into position he stopped the engine.

  ‘So what’s your favourite ride at the funfair, Howard?’ Maxine asked as she opened the passenger door.

  ‘The g-g-g-ghost-train,’ he said, giving a mock scared look.

  As they stepped out of the car they could feel the energy from the funfair; the throbbing of generators, the rumble of rides, the screams of adolescent girls as they whizzed high through the air in swing boats, the delighted shrieks of children. And the low sun in the western sky was bleeding orange ink into the fleece of cloud.

  ‘You caught the sun today,’ Howard remarked, taking her hand, leading her towards the action.

  ‘I think I did,’ she agreed. ‘I must remember to rub some moisturising cream over me tonight to stop my skin drying out.’

  The thought troubled him.

  ‘Yes, you, er…you have lovely skin.’ He longed to touch her bare shoulders, to feel her warm silkiness. ‘You must look after it.’ He lifted her hand to examine it more closely, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. ‘Your hands, too. They’re so soft.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she answered, aware of this sudden intimacy and welcoming it. ‘But please don’t inspect the ends of my fingers where I press the strings down on my cello.’

  Of course, he did. He could not resist. ‘Just hard skin,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘I know. It’s awful.’

  ‘The price you pay for that talent you have, Maxine. Everything has its cost, I suppose. But that’s nothing, surely.’ He looked into her eyes, wide like pools of sherry with the descending sun reflected in them. He could so easily drown there. He looked at her lips. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted so much to kiss her.

  Holding hands they turned and walked towards the centre of the action, and Maxine felt the sort of contentment she had never experienced before. She wanted to skip and jump and laugh and run, because she felt so carefree.

  ‘Tell me about your music,’ Howard said. ‘I mean, how you became interested in it.’

  ‘It began as a child,’ she answered with a glorious smile. ‘We had an old piano that was all out of tune, but I used to love to tinker on it. Then, when my father saw I had an aptitude for it, he decided to get it tuned. Old Ezme Clancey – one of our neighbours – used to give piano lessons in those days and I used to go there every week. She was a stickler as well. Every week she would give me a piece to learn and, if I couldn’t play it without a mistake next time I went, there would be hell to pay. Anyway, her son, Jesse – the one now married to my mother – remembered there was a cello in their attic and he gave it to me. I fell in love with it on sight. Then, when I heard the sounds it could make, oh…such rich, mellow, weepy sounds…It’s such a romantic instrument you know, Howard. You can make it weep if you want to. Trouble is, it makes me weep too.’

  He looked into her eyes again and saw the tears of sincerity well up, but she was still smiling. Yes, he could so easily drown in these eyes.

  ‘So which do you prefer now, the piano or the cello?’

  ‘I love ’em both. They’re so different. The cello is really just for classical music. The piano is more versatile. I mean, you couldn’t use a cello for jazz, could you? Well you could, but…But I enjoy playing the piano in the band just as much.’

  ‘And if you had to choose, Maxine. If you had to choose a career either in classical or in jazz, which would you choose?’

  ‘Everybody keeps asking me that. I’m very serious about classical music and my job in the CBO. I look on the jazz as fun. But why shouldn’t I enjoy both? Why shouldn’t I enjoy the best of both worlds?’

  ‘Would money influence you?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it. I’m just content doing something I love. Look, Howard! Can we go on the swing boats? They’re just coming to a stop.’

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  They walked towards them, more pace in their step, to where a man was collecting money for the rides. When the people coming off had cleared, they climbed the steps and sat in a swing boat opposite each other, waiting to start.

  ‘I’ve never been on one of these before,’ she confessed.

  The other swing boats filled up, mostly with couples, and eventually they were given a push to get them started. It took only four or five swings to get the hang of it and soon they were soaring and dipping to howls of delighted laughter. Maxine had never experienced before the sensation in her stomach as she came down in a great arc, forwards, then backwards. She felt that they would
surely hurtle in a full circle over the top of the arm that suspended them if they pulled any harder on the ropes, and she screamed with the anticipation of it.

  Howard watched her, laughing, relishing her every whoop of excitement. It was an added bonus how the forward velocity opened the front of her flimsy skirt like a parachute when she swooped forward, to reveal tantalising tracts of creamy thighs; though to his credit, he tried hard to avert his eyes.

  Breathless, they finished the ride and sought another. It was a roundabout, and it was fast. Maxine screamed as the centrifugal force urged them towards the outside of their seat and he held her tight so she would feel safe from falling out. Next was the chair-o-plane and it was the sensation of flying that appealed, banking high over the fairground.

  The cakewalk was different, but the pleasure no less, especially for Howard who loved it when a sudden gust of wind from the grating below blew Maxine’s skirt almost over her head. She screamed, with both delight and embarrassment at revealing her legs – and possibly her knickers – to all. Then it was the dodgem cars and the shrieks as somebody crashed into you. Afterwards, Maxine checked her arms and knees for bruises, for she thought she must surely have collected some.

  The last daylight was fading from the sky; the lights from Pat Collins’s fair were bright, however. A cacophony of sounds filled the air; the rumble of gears meshing, of flat driving belts, of rubber-tyred wheels whizzing over glassy wooden tracks, the throb of traction engines, the excited squeals of laughter, the scratchy sound of amplified music, a barrel organ.

  ‘Look. There’s your ghost train,’ Maxine proclaimed. ‘There’s a queue, though. Let’s go and wait in it.’

  ‘Hang on. Let me see if I can win you a teddy bear first.’

  He nodded towards the coconut shy and dug in his pocket for coins as they ambled over to the stall where a man handed him six wooden balls. Intently, he hurled one at a coconut that was deeply embedded in sawdust atop a wrought-iron stand, but missed. He weighed up his target again and threw the ball hard. It struck the target this time but the coconut refused to budge.