by Mia Dolan
‘Everything is arranged,’ said Rosa Brooks.
She went on to inform him that the chickens were already sold – her grandmother was shrewd enough to make sure she could dispose of them before she’d killed them.
‘You’re not plucking and drawing them tonight!’ Tony said with a grimace.
‘Yes. Once I have eaten my meal.’
Rosa Brooks was true to her word. She had six chickens to prepare for her customers and at ten shillings and sixpence a time she certainly wouldn’t leave them to waste. ‘Chickens are best plucked when they’re warm,’ she pointed out.
Later on after they’d eaten she asked Marcie to get her chair from the front room. ‘I was using it to hang up the clean curtains after I’d washed them.’
The same rickety old chair that she sat on outside the back door to do her knitting had many uses, hence being used as a stepladder for hanging curtains.
Just for a change Babs had put young Annie to bed herself. Marcie’s father was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper, though it looked as though he was having trouble concentrating.
The two boys were preparing to assist their grandmother.
‘I like pulling out the giblets best,’ said Arnold, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Archie said he preferred the feathers.
When Marcie went to collect the required chair Babs was standing in the middle of the room quietly contemplating the right-hand alcove to the side of the fireplace.
‘What are you doing?’
Babs was startled at first. ‘That wasn’t funny! What you doing spying on me anyway?’
‘I wasn’t spying.’ Marcie went to the window where the chair had been left. ‘I came for this. Gran wants it so she can sit outside and do the chickens.’
Babs sniffed. For once she seemed placated. ‘That’s alright then. Just don’t tell her you found me in here,’ she added somewhat worriedly. ‘Promise?’
Marcie frowned. Babs had never been easy to deal with. Hostility had always simmered between them. ‘Why should I promise?’
Babs made a face. ‘Look. There’s something that I want to buy. I was just in here looking to see where it will go. I’ve decided on that place there.’
She pointed to the alcove.
Marcie was curious. ‘What are you buying?’
Babs grinned and her eyes sparkled. ‘Promise you won’t tell? I’ll gladly tell you if you don’t tell. I know you’ll be pleased.’
‘OK. Tell me.’
Babs took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to buy a radiogram. A Pye radiogram. A Black Box they call it. It’s all glossy wood with thin black legs. What do you think about that then?’
‘With a record player?’
‘Of course it’ll have a record player. Wouldn’t be a radiogram without one, would it!’ She sounded indignant that Marcie might have presumed otherwise.
‘Right.’
Marcie headed out of the door without committing herself to secrecy. Babs grabbed her arm.
‘Don’t tell your grandmother. And don’t tell your dad. Right?’
Marcie chewed her bottom lip as though she were thinking about it. ‘Right,’ she said at last and Babs was happy.
She wondered how come her stepmother was able to buy something so expensive.
‘There you are, Gran.’
Her grandmother settled herself on the chair. The boys hunkered down. Arnold waggled a chicken leg at her.
‘Yuk! Boys are so disgusting.’
‘We are being watched,’ said her grandmother.
Marcie looked around her.
‘At the back gate,’ said her grandmother.
Someone large and awkward was peering over the back gate. Realising he’d been discovered, he backed away then dipped back again, his head appearing around the side of a straggling buddleia.
‘Garth. The boy is lonely.’
Her grandmother’s voice broke into her thoughts. Her lips had barely moved and the fingers nimbly plucking feathers did not pause. Neither did she look up.
Rosa Brooks had often told her that you didn’t need to see people to know they were close. You could sometimes feel them.
The last thing Marcie wanted was Garth following her around in that persistent and pesky manner of his.
‘I fancy a night at the pictures,’ she said, pulling thoughtfully at a strand of long blonde hair. She was contemplating going by herself if she had to. Without Garth seeing her she could dash out through the front door – he wouldn’t be able to get round from the back lane in time to follow her.
As usual her grandmother was in tune with her thoughts. ‘Take Garth with you. Remember that good deeds done on earth are remembered in heaven.’
It was far from Marcie’s thoughts, to be remembered in heaven. Hoping by some chance Johnnie had stayed on in Sheerness was her uppermost thought.
Babs chose that moment to poke her head out of the back door. ‘Marcie, love, can you look after Annie, only me and your dad want to go down the pub? There’s a darts game tonight and he fancies his chances.’
Her wheedling voice was annoying, but that’s how she could be when she wanted something done.
‘You’re too late,’ said Rosa Brooks. ‘I have given Marcie five shillings to take herself and Garth to the pictures.’
‘Oh!’ Babs’s face dropped. ‘Well … I put her to bed—’
‘Once Annie is asleep you may follow your husband to the pub.’
Marcie pulled on a coat with a big collar and turned it up around her face.
Newly shaved, her father came out of the bathroom at the back and regarded her quizzically.
‘Bit warm for a big coat, our Marcie.’
She snuggled her head down inside the collar. ‘It might rain later.’
What if any of her friends saw her out with Garth on her way to the pictures? Hopefully nobody would see her once she was inside and cloaked by darkness. She couldn’t bear the leg pulling she’d get if they did.
The coat she wore covered the very short suede pinafore. Her dad looked her up and down before turning and making his way back to the bathroom to finish his shave.
That was something she’d got away with! Garth was a burden she had to bear. She groaned inwardly, her fingers playing with the coins her grandmother had given her.
Garth was already waiting at the front gate.
‘We’re going to the pictures, Garth.’
She swept straight past him. Best if he walked behind a bit.
‘Is it a cowboy?’ he asked excitedly, his gangly legs and shuffling gait struggling to keep up with her.
‘I don’t know.’
Marcie could have kicked herself for not checking what was on.
With a bit of luck it might be a love story, she thought, as she hurried along with her head buried in her coat collar.
The collar was doing its work and her face was partially hidden. No one glancing at her would recognise her as Marcie Brooks. Not if she kept her head down.
It was sometimes difficult to believe that Garth was twenty-one, old enough to join the Army and fight; old enough to get married without his parents’ consent. Due to the circumstances of his birth he acted and sounded like a ten-year-old, and would never do things like others of his age.
He continued to prattle on in his inimitable manner as they marched along. He was chattering nineteen to the dozen and darting around from one subject to another until they all seemed to run into one subject – which couldn’t possibly be right. She caught snatches that made some sense, but not much – until he said the one thing above all others likely to catch her attention.
‘Your mum used to take me to the pictures with you when you were small. I was bigger than you. You were smaller than me.’
‘What did you say?’
He continued to prattle on.
She grabbed him with both hands so he had to stop, had to face her.
‘You remember my mother. You do, don’t you!’
It
was a statement not a question. He’d mentioned her twice. He couldn’t be storytelling. He really did remember.
His sudden whimper made her realise she was holding him too tightly.
‘Are – you – going – to – to – hit – mmmeee?’ he stammered.
She released her grip on him, aware suddenly how intimidating she must appear to someone used to being bullied.
‘I’m sorry.’
They walked on. Garth was silent at first, a little wary of what she might do. A few yards and he was off again prattling on about digging holes and planting cabbages.
Occupied with her own thoughts, Marcie took little notice. She’d wanted to talk to someone about her mother, someone who would speak freely and openly. It had never occurred to her that Garth would actually remember her mother. She’d half expected his account of the woman and child sitting beneath a tree was some kind of story; her grandmother hadn’t confirmed whether it were true or not.
She slowed her pace until he caught up and was shuffling along beside her. He had a strange, loping gait, similar to the crabs she’d seen on the beach. Desperate as it seemed, he was the only person she could ask about her mother.
‘Do you remember my mother?’ she repeated.
He had a donkey-like action when he nodded his head, almost as though it were too big for his body.
‘Yes. She was kind. She took me to the pictures with you – when you were small. And I was bigger than you—’
‘Yes. So you said. And my father? Do you know my father?’
‘Yes. He isn’t kind.’
She didn’t argue with that. ‘My mother went away. Do you remember the time when she went away?’
He nodded.
‘Did you see her leave?’
He shook his head. ‘Your dad had a shovel. He said he was going to plant potatoes.’
Marcie’s head jerked round. ‘But you didn’t see my mother?’
‘I saw your dad with a shovel. Going to plant potatoes.’
‘But you remember my mother went away?’
He nodded. ‘She was hurt. I saw her hurt.’
Marcie’s blood ran cold. ‘Who hurt her?’ Had her father hit her mother like he hit Barbara? Or worse, perhaps.
Garth hung his head, his eyes fixed on the broken pavement and his shuffling footsteps.
‘Can’t say,’ he said at last. ‘Can’t say.’
She didn’t need him to answer. Each word was part of a puzzle, a puzzle of suspicion that was swiftly coming together. The look on his face was enough to convince her that her mother had good reason for leaving home.
‘Even if she left with another man, I can’t blame her for leaving,’ she murmured mostly to herself, though Garth heard her.
‘She got hurt,’ Garth said again.
Marcie frowned. He’d said that just now.
‘How? How did she get hurt, Garth?’
But Garth was already in a world of his own.
‘I love Hopalong Cassidy.’
It was no use telling him there was no cowboy showing that night, and certainly nothing as old as Hopalong Cassidy!
It was only a five-minute walk to the Ritz. They were outside and there wasn’t much of a queue for the stalls – there rarely was this early in the week.
While they queued she tried pressurising Garth, asking him how her mother had got hurt.
Garth’s eyes flickered. ‘I like cowboys and Indians.’
She could see how excited he was and that the chance of getting a logical answer was extremely slim. However, she had to try.
Taking a deep breath she asked him the question that now haunted her. ‘Where is she? Where is my mother? Do you know where she went?’
He hung his head again, so deeply that his chin rested on his chest. She fancied his spoon-deep eyelids were closed and presumed he was trying to remember. She prayed he’d come up with an answer.
The answer when it came didn’t make sense and was certainly not what she’d hoped for.
‘She’s lying down somewhere dark. It’s very dark and she doesn’t want to be there. And then we built a chicken coop. I helped.’
Marcie stared. Garth looked as though he’d scaled Big Ben, while she felt more like throwing herself off it. She removed her coat, not realising that she was being watched.
Chapter Seventeen
Marcie tossed her head, an action which sent her hair falling like a velvet veil onto her shoulders. She was wearing a honey-coloured mini dress – a very short mini dress which showed off the shape and firmness of her young, coltish legs. Alan Taylor sighed with longing. He’d watched as she’d taken off her coat, wishing he was in the position to ask her to take off more.
He sighed as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair, hair that had been corn coloured and thick as a lion’s mane when he was younger. Still, you’re the same man inside, he told himself, and let’s be fair, you’re not bad for your age.
He clicked an appreciative sound at his reflection in the rear-view mirror before turning his attention back to Marcie.
He’d been driving quickly but had slowed down rapidly when he set eyes on her. At first he hadn’t seen the chap she was with. Now he did. Who was that scruffy looking sod with the shuffling gait? It wasn’t the rocker he’d seen before. He couldn’t be her new boyfriend, surely? And she didn’t have a brother who was a bit slow; Tony would have told him. They were great friends, right?
He narrowed his eyes in order to see the bloke a bit more clearly. He’d been told he could do with glasses. He’d got glasses. Trouble was he couldn’t stand wearing them. It made him look old – older than he should look. He decided she was going to the pictures with the decrepit-looking guy out of pity. Poor girl. Now what sort of a night out was that?
The billboard advertising the film ‘now showing’ caught his eye. Some People. Judging by the leather-jacketed boy, the motorcycle and the sexy-looking girl, it was aimed at teenagers. No harm in keeping up with the times, he told himself and made a snap decision, parked the car and crossed the road.
‘Marcie!’
His heart almost stopped when she smiled at him and he couldn’t believe the blueness of her eyes. And they were wide, so wide and full of innocence.
‘I’m her dad. She was keeping our place,’ he said to those about to protest that he was jumping the queue.
Marcie giggled.
‘You’re not going to see this film, are you,’ she whispered.
His smile was broad and his wink was wicked. ‘Why not? I heard it was good. Steph don’t like the pictures.’
He glanced at Garth. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Marcie adopted a long-suffering expression, conveying that she’d been put upon and didn’t really want to do this. Nobody wanted to be seen with Garth. She’d only done so at her grandmother’s insistence. Rolling her eyes she explained how it was, that her grandmother had insisted. All the same, she kept her voice low so Garth wouldn’t hear.
She needn’t have worried about hurting his feelings. He was far too busy counting out some grubby coins he’d found in his pocket, having promised he’d buy two ounces of jelly babies to share with her.
Alan squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a kind-hearted girl, Marcie. Wish my Rita was the same. I give her everything and she’s not grateful. Definitely not.’
Marcie glowed at his approval. She’d always envied Rita and thought how wonderful it must be to have a dad who denied you nothing and was always there for you. Now perhaps she was the one to be envied.
‘I’ll pay,’ said Alan. ‘My treat.’
She’d intended to go into the stalls, the cheapest seats in the house and also the most crowded. Alan purchased three seats in the balcony. He even gave Garth enough money to buy four ounces of jelly babies. He bought Marcie a box of Maltesers.
Marcie felt privileged climbing the stairs to the balcony. The queue for the stalls had disappeared so no one saw her going up in the company of Daft Garth and Rita’s father, though she
wouldn’t have cared much if they had. Not with Rita’s dad going with her.
‘Ladies first,’ said Alan when they got to their seats.
She thanked him and thought how polite and considerate he was, even more so when he stopped a very excited Garth from leaning too far over the balcony to wave at the less fortunate audience below. Garth had far from an easy life and a lonely one too; it was nice to see someone being kind to him.
Alan sat next to her, Garth in the aisle seat on the other side of him.
‘Now,’ said Alan as the lights dimmed. ‘Don’t tell our Rita I treated you and your simple friend. She’ll get a cob on and I won’t ever hear the end of it. Right?’
She promised she would say nothing and took another Malteser from the box.
The colours from the screen lit up Garth’s face. His mouth was chewing relentlessly, one jelly baby after another swiftly disappearing. She sat back in her seat feeling extremely happy. Alan took hold of her hand.
‘Just squeeze hard as you like in the scary bits,’ he whispered.
She muffled her laughter with her hand and whispered back, ‘I don’t think there are any scary bits, only tearful ones.’
‘In that case, take this.’ He gave her a neatly folded handkerchief.
She thanked him. Settling back in her seat she began wondering if she could confide in Alan Taylor. He and her dad were friends. How would he react if she told him the way her imagination was running wild. That she was daring to think the unthinkable – that her father had murdered her mother and buried her under the chicken coop? Would he believe her? Did she believe it herself?
He rested his arm along the back of her seat. It wasn’t like a boy doing it and it made her feel safe.
Garth watched the film avidly. Marcie enjoyed both the film and sharing the box of Maltesers, though they only ate half of them. Garth had finished his jelly babies within half an hour so Marcie handed him the chocolates.
‘That’s it,’ whispered Alan. ‘We’ll look after our figures and the lad can get fat.’
Marcie stifled a giggle.