Short and Sweet

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Er – this seat’s a bit narrow. Me arm keeps goin’ to sleep.’

  She grinned in the darkness. Who did he think he was kidding? Why didn’t he just put his arm round her like the other lads did? She wouldn’t mind that, not with him.

  He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, then shut it again and continued to fidget.

  She couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Oh, put your arm round my shoulders, Tom Norris. You know that’s what you’re after. But no monkey business!’

  His arm crept around her, though he had some trouble deciding what to do with his hand. She nearly giggled aloud as it twitched to and fro, before settling chastely on her shoulder. But it would have upset him if she’d laughed and she didn’t want to do that. He was a nice bloke, Tom Norris. Much nicer than the other lads.

  As the film continued, she eyed him sideways. There was no mistaking the happy expression on his face. When he saw her looking at him, he beamed at her. He didn’t try anything on, either. Ah, he was just an old softie, this one. She relaxed against him, feeling safe and happy for once.

  Afterwards, they all four walked home together. Vera and Bill stopped outside her house, said goodbye and before the others could move off, were clinging to one another in a passionate goodnight kiss. Tom averted his eyes and continued walking along the street with Emily. At her gate, however, he pulled her into his arms before she’d realized what he was doing and gave her a kiss.

  And she found herself kissing him back, liking the gentleness of his lips, the way his hand caressed her hair.

  As they drew apart she turned and gasped. Oh no! Her father was sitting on the front veranda! And he’d seen them! ‘I have to go in!’ she gabbled at Tom, fumbling with the gate catch. ‘Thanks for taking me out. You’d better go now.’

  ‘Will you let me walk you home after work on Monday?’

  ‘Just go, will you!’

  He leaned against the gate post. ‘I’ll have to have a rest first. It’s a long walk back for a disappointed man.’ He folded his arms with the air of one prepared to wait until the last trump.

  She could see her father scowling at them. ‘Oh, very well! Meet me after work, then.’ She hurried through the gate.

  Her father stood up as she climbed the veranda steps. ‘I thought you were going out with Vera!’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘Well, who was that, then?’

  ‘Who was what?’

  ‘None of your cheek. Who was that fellow you were with, the fellow who was kissing you?’

  She could smell the beer on his breath, see him swaying from side to side. She hated it when he got drunk. She wondered where Megs was. Her stepmother was usually back from work by now. For the first time, Emily wished Megs was there to distract him.

  ‘Well?’ roared Arthur. ‘Who the hell is he?’

  ‘His name’s Tom. I met him at the church social.’

  ‘You’re too young to be walking out with boys. And don’t think I didn’t see him kissing you.’

  ‘Too young! I’m nearly eighteen! Mum was only eighteen when she married you! You didn’t think she was too young when you met her in England!’

  Her father waggled one finger at her, so close to her face she thought he was going to hit her again. ‘Don’t answer me back, young lady! No respect nowadays, that’s what’s wrong wi’ the world!’

  From nowhere, it seemed, Tom materialized. He pushed himself between Emily and her father. ‘You leave her alone, you bully!’

  ‘What the hell . . .?’ It took a minute for what had happened to sink into Arthur Baker’s beer-clouded brain, then he began to sputter with rage. ‘Who do you think you are, you young tyke? Gerroff my veranda before I push you off!’

  Emily tugged at Tom’s arm. ‘Come away! He wasn’t going to hit me, honest.’ But Tom only unclasped her fingers and turned back to face her father. He had that stubborn look on his face again and her heart sank when she saw it.

  ‘Grown men shouldn’t thump young girls,’ Tom said slowly and distinctly. ‘It’s not right.’

  Arthur gaped at him. ‘It was just the once and she bloody well deserved it, the impudent young madam.’

  ‘Well, if you hit her while I’m around, I’ll make you regret it.’ Tom squared up to Arthur, fists clenched, jaw jutting out.

  The flyscreen door crashed back on its hinges, making everyone jump, and Megs stormed out on to the veranda, all thirteen stones of her. She was wrapped in that dreadful flowery dressing gown, her feet were clacking loudly in high-heeled fluffy pink mules and she had curlers in her hair.

  Emily closed her eyes and prayed fervently for lightning to strike her dead on the spot.

  Megs shoved Arthur and Tom apart. ‘What’s the hell’s going on here? Can’t a lady have a bit of peace in her own home? An’ who the hell are you?’

  ‘This is Tom Norris,’ said Emily hurriedly. ‘He walked home from the cinema with me and Vera.’

  Tom let his fists drop and nodded politely, holding his hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Baker.’

  You had to give it to him, thought Emily. He had excellent manners, much better than Bill or that dope Stan. Tom was right: they were only boys while he was a man.

  Megs shook Tom’s hand and studied him carefully. ‘Pleased to meet you, too, Mr Norris.’

  ‘Now, look here—’ Arthur began. But the beer had got to his legs and he staggered suddenly backwards, sitting down with a thump on the old veranda couch, burping loudly and looking surprised.

  ‘No, you look here,’ said Tom, hands on hips, scowling down at him. ‘I’m not having you hitting Emily again, not ever. You hear me?’

  Megs looked from one to the other, then nodded her head slowly as her mouth formed an ‘Oh’ of comprehension. She winked at her stepdaughter. ‘Is that what this is about? Nice of you to care, I’m sure, Mr Norris.’

  Emily felt impelled to explain Tom’s presence. ‘I met Tom at the last church social. He’s new to town.’

  ‘I think I’ve seen you in the hotel, but you don’t stay there all night like some I could mention.’ She inclined her head graciously to Tom, magnificently disregarding her curlers and the smear of cold cream on her nose. ‘You’ll have to excuse my husband, Mr Norris. He’s had too much to drink.’

  ‘Well, he still shouldn’t hit her.’

  ‘You’re quite right there.’ Arthur had sworn at Megs a few days previously and demanded a share of her wages, even going so far as to snatch her handbag. She had immediately set about him with the rolling pin, chasing him around the kitchen like an avenging fury and threatening to kick him in a very tender place if he so much as waggled a fingertip at her again, let alone touched her money.

  ‘It’s the drink,’ she murmured confidentially to Tom. ‘He can’t hold it like he used to.’

  ‘Who’re you—’ began Arthur. He tried to get up, failed and fell back with a loud trumpeting noise. ‘Pardon me for farting!’ He gave a snort of laughter and let out another blast.

  Megs didn’t even look at him. ‘Shut up, you old sot, and mind your manners when ladies are present!’ She patted Tom’s arm and her voice changed into a gentle coo. ‘Look, don’t worry about Emily, Mr Norris. I’ll see that her father leaves her alone from now on.’ She shot a vicious glance at her husband and added, in a voice like a squirt of acid, ‘Her and the beer.’

  She led a bemused Tom gently to the gate, inviting him to come to tea on the Sunday of the following week. When he had disappeared down the street, she hugged Emily. ‘You sly little sausage! Why didn’t you tell me you’d got yourself a young man?’

  ‘I haven’t! He’s just a friend.’

  Megs patted her shoulder and nodded understanding. ‘In the early stages, is it? I’ll tread carefully when he comes round, then.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘He seems a nice young fellow. What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He’s a brickie.’

  Megs nodded. ‘Good trade, that. People will always need
houses built.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what he does. He isn’t my boyfriend!’

  Megs had already turned away and was staring down at Arthur. ‘Look, Emily, you run along to bed. I’ll deal with your father and then lock up.’

  Emily walked numbly to her bedroom, horrified by the idea of Tom coming to take tea with them. Just as she was falling asleep, however, she remembered how he had stood up to her father and a smile crept over her face. Funny sort of knight, wasn’t he, to rescue her from her dragon of a father? All those freckles. Not to mention the blushes.

  Arthur Baker remained outside on the veranda all that night. When he banged on the locked door of the house and threatened to break it down if they didn’t let him in, Megs banged on the other side with her rolling pin, threatening his manhood if he set one toe over the threshold before he’d sobered up.

  After pleading for entry more humbly, but still in vain, Arthur threw himself back down on the old couch in a huff. Later, when it grew chilly, he pinched the dog’s blanket and huddled down under that.

  Emily couldn’t hide her annoyance when Tom met her on the Monday after work. ‘What did you accept the invitation to tea for?’ she demanded before they had gone ten yards.

  ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  ‘Like it? Like it?’ She snorted indignantly. ‘It’ll be awful! They’ll ask you how much you earn and what your prospects are. They’ll ask about your family. They’ll have us courting before we know where we are.’

  He avoided her eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’

  She stopped dead in her tracks and sucked in her breath. ‘Tom Norris, you’d better understand now that I’m never going to get married! Never, ever!’

  ‘Why not?’

  Oh no! He had that stubborn look on his face again.

  ‘What’s wrong with marriage?’ he demanded when she didn’t answer.

  ‘Everything! I’ve seen what happens to women who get married. I’m not getting lumbered with a husband who spends his life down at the hotel getting drunk while I stay at home and look after the kids. What’s more, I’m leaving this one-eyed dump and going up to Perth soon. I can type already and I’ll carry on studying at night school till I’ve learned the other things I need. I’m going to be a secretary in a posh office one day and have my own flat. I’m—’

  ‘Not all men get drunk and spend their evenings at the hotel, Emily. My dad didn’t and—’

  ‘Well, he was one in a million, then!’

  ‘And I won’t, either. I’ll look after my wife properly. She won’t have to go out to work. I don’t believe in wives working. And she’ll have all my wages. Unopened packet every week. That’s only fair.’

  Emily tried desperately to turn it into a joke. ‘You sound almost as if you’re proposing. Only there aren’t any violins playing.’

  ‘When I propose,’ Tom’s voice was louder than usual and carried quite clearly to Vera’s parents, who were walking past just then, ‘I’ll do it properly, with flowers and on me knees.’ He reached out and grabbed Emily’s hand, holding it tightly as if he thought she might try to pull away.

  Shock held her motionless, her mouth agape. Mr and Mrs Morton slowed down and when she glanced sideways she saw them watching her.

  Tom took full advantage of his moment. ‘At present, Emily Baker, we’re just going out with each other. And we’ll do that properly, too, which is why I’m coming to tea to meet your family.’

  ‘But Tom – we haven’t . . . we don’t . . . Tom, we hardly know one another.’ Her voice wobbled and a little shiver ran down her spine at the determination emanating from him.

  ‘No. We don’t. Not yet. But we will.’

  ‘But Tom, I really don’t want to get . . .’

  Her voice tailed away as the masterful air dropped from him. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes with the air of a puppy pleading not to be kicked. ‘Won’t you even give me a chance, Emily?’ His voice was full of raw longing.

  ‘B–but I—’

  ‘I like you, Emily.’ Tom swallowed hard and added in a funny gruff voice, ‘A lot.’

  She could sense how hard it was for a shy man to say those words. And how could she be cruel to someone who had come to her defence against her father?

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt to give a bloke a chance,’ Tom pleaded softly. ‘That’s all I’m asking for. Just a chance.’

  ‘Oh, well, I – you see . . .’

  He beamed at her, pulled her arm inside his and set off walking again, absolutely radiating happiness.

  Oh crikey, he’d thought she meant ‘yes’! Stunned, bewildered, Emily allowed him to escort her along the street, convinced everyone was staring at them.

  At the corner they met Stan Bowler. The expression of shock on his face was more than she could deal with in her present state. She could feel herself blushing and clung for dear life to her only support in a bewildering world – Tom’s arm.

  Stan stopped dead in his tracks, mouth open. She watched as Tom grinned triumphantly at him and slowed down to give her a quick hug. Then he started walking again, whistling cheerfully. She was about to ask what was going on between him and Stan when they arrived at her house.

  At the gate they stopped, and Tom’s hand tightened on hers as he raised it to his chest and pulled her closer. He had to swallow twice before he could get the words out, and even then his voice was rough and choky-sounding. ‘You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, Emily Baker. Ever.’

  ‘I–I bet you say that to all the girls, Tom Norris,’ she quavered, making a last-ditch attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘No, I don’t. I couldn’t. Just to you, Em.’

  His eyes were a clear green and his expression was serious and loving. She gulped and looked down at his hand. Square-tipped fingers, scrubbed nails, little scratches. It felt strong and warm and comforting. She felt a funny little ache start in her chest; to think that a man should be so gone on her.

  He released her hand and smiled. ‘You’d better go inside now, Em. We don’t want your father getting upset at me again.’

  ‘Yes.’ She couldn’t even voice her usual protest at the shortening of her name, she felt so strange and wobbly.

  She watched Tom stride away. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give this bloke a chance. It’d be nice to have someone to go out with. Most of the other girls her age were paired off. That didn’t mean she was courting, or intending to get married. No way. But she did like him. They could just be friends. No harm in that.

  Part Three

  Three weeks later, however, Emily found out about the bet. She had never been so furious in her whole life, not even when her father hit her.

  Vera, who had told her about it over a shared lunch in the Memorial Gardens, looked at her anxiously. ‘I thought you ought to know.’

  ‘I’ll kill him!’ Emily raged. ‘How dare he bet on me like that? Just wait till I see that Tom Norris!’

  ‘Keep your voice down. Mrs Lukas is coming.’

  Emily bit down on her fury and tried to smile.

  Mrs Lukas, who had probably been coming to ask for their help at the church fête, as usual, took one look at Emily’s flushed angry face, made a smart left turn and walked away.

  Vera patted her friend’s arm. ‘You shouldn’t get mad at him. He only did it because he fell for you. Bill told me Tom took one look at you at the social and he was gone.’ She sighed enviously.

  ‘One look and he was ready to make a laughing stock of me. I will kill him!’

  ‘Bill says Stan was making all sorts of nasty remarks about you that night, an’ Tom stuck up for you.’

  Emily opened her mouth to say something scathing, shut it and then asked hesitantly, ‘He stuck up for me? Even before he knew me?’

  ‘Mmm. Bill says he’s never seen anything to beat it. Love at first sight. Don’t be mad at Tom. He’s absolutely crazy about you.’

  It was nice to know someone was crazy about her, but still
the bet rankled. ‘Yes, well, we’ll see what he has to say for himself.’ It must be a mistake. Tom wouldn’t bet on something like that. Bill had probably got it all wrong.

  Tom could tell that there was something wrong the minute he saw Emily that evening. She was waiting for him at the corner near the Co-op, arms folded across her chest, foot tapping impatiently. Every line of her body looked tight and angry.

  ‘You’re late. And I can smell the beer on your breath from here, Tom Norris.’

  ‘It was just the one. It’s been a scorcher today. I was thirsty.’

  ‘Well, you can flipping well go back to the hotel and stay there. I don’t want to be taken home by a man who drinks.’

  ‘I do not drink.’

  ‘You’ve just had a beer. You admitted it.’

  ‘That was one lousy beer.’ He grabbed her arm and swung her round. ‘What’s really wrong, Emily?’

  She breathed deeply, then the words burst out, ‘I’ve heard about it.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About your bet.’

  Her voice was so loud, her expression so furious that a group of women from the Co-op stopped to watch. Tom glanced around in panic, then dragged her across to the Memorial Gardens.

  She let him pull her as far as the flower beds and then stopped to confront him, hands on hips. ‘I don’t want to see you again, Tom Norris. And I’ll never, ever forgive you for that bet.’

  He froze for one moment, then reached for her.

  ‘Let go of me! I’ll scream if you don’t.’

  But he didn’t let go.

  And she didn’t scream.

  Although she made a half-hearted attempt to struggle, he didn’t even seem to notice and pulled her right into his arms, kissing her long and hard – not as a shy lad, but as a man kissing the woman he loves.

  And when he stopped, she felt so dizzy, so bewildered, she let him hold her close and explain what had happened.

  ‘I’m sorry about the bet, Em. Really sorry. I don’t care two hoots about it. I’ll give Stan his money and he can crow all he wants about winning. It’s you I care about.’