The Girl From Barefoot House

by Maureen Lee

  He seemed slightly taken aback. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind,’ he said, politely shaking Lily’s hand, though Josie sensed he was annoyed. But no one liked to be told they’re growing fat, particularly by someone they’d only just met. Lily was incorrigible.

  She herself felt annoyed with Lily, then with Jack, who announced he had work to do and went down to his study. She was even more annoyed when Lily said, ‘He’s not quite as gorgeous as I thought. Is he a bit pissed, Jose? His hands were shaking.’ It would have been easy to have had one of their famous rows, but Josie resisted the temptation. They were older, and it might not pass off as easily as their frequent childish ones.

  Lily stayed for five days. With Laura in tow, Josie took her to see the sights, most of which she hadn’t had time to see herself – the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament, Madame Tussaud’s. They lunched in Lyon’s Corner House, went for walks through Hyde Park, along Oxford Street, Regent Street, Piccadilly, all decorated for Christmas.

  They took the opportunity to buy each other presents, and Josie searched for something expensive and unique for Mrs Kavanagh, who had been the nearest thing she’d had to a mam over the years. She decided on an antique cameo brooch in a gold setting which cost twenty-five pounds. ‘It’s second hand but, then, you can’t buy a new antique, can you?’ Lily promised to give it to her mother on Christmas morning.

  What should she buy Jack? Last Christmas and the one before they’d been poor. They’d bought each other things like chocolates and scarves. She’d knitted him gloves, but the fingers were all the wrong size. This year she could afford to buy something dead expensive.

  ‘What about one of those?’ They were in Selfridge’s menswear department. Lily pointed to a rack of pure silk dressing-gowns in dark colours – maroon, navy blue, bottle green.

  ‘Hmm! I’ll keep them in mind.’ The Jack Coltrane she’d met in Greenwich Village three years ago hadn’t owned pyjamas, let alone a dressing-gown, and he would have laughed at the idea of silk. It shocked her that Lily considered such a poncy garment suitable for the Jack of today.

  Later, as they walked through the art department, looking for the lift, she noticed a large framed picture of New York. Close up, she saw it was a photograph, taken at night. The sky was dark, the soaring buildings black, the river oily. But every light in every window was switched on, and the effect was dazzling. As Josie stared, the yellow lights seemed to be winking back at her, as if she were there.

  She bought it immediately, and arranged for it to be delivered. Jack would love it. He could hang it in his study.

  Jack managed to remain invisible during most of Lily’s stay. In the privacy of their bedroom, he confided he couldn’t stand her. ‘In spite of what I said, I don’t like people who speak their minds, not if it’s hurtful.’

  Josie was sitting up in bed. ‘In Liverpool, it’s called not being polished. It was one of me Auntie Ivy’s favourite sayings. “You know me, I’m not polished.” Were you hurt?’

  He made a face as he climbed in beside her. ‘I suspected I was putting on weight, but not so that you’d notice. Since your unpolished friend pointed it out I’ve tried a few exercises. I must be out of condition. I can hardly touch my toes.’

  ‘It’s all those lunches, Jack, and all the wine. Lily noticed you were drunk.’

  ‘Bitch!’ Jack said savagely, and Josie wondered why she kept comparing one Jack with the other, as if they were two entirely different people. The other Jack would have merely laughed. This one swore.

  She would have liked to have continued the conversation. Having spent the first six years of her life with an alcoholic, Jack’s drinking worried her. She thought it wrong that he should drive. But he switched off the bedside lamp, wished her an abrupt goodnight and pulled the bedclothes around his shoulders. He lay with his back to her. Josie stayed sitting up. For some reason, she wanted to cry.

  The Liverpool train was packed. Lily raced ahead, peering through windows for a seat. Josie followed with a reluctant Laura, who dragged her feet because she didn’t want Aunt Lily to leave and seemed to think if she made her miss the train Aunt Lily might stay for ever.

  Lily must have spied a seat. She hoisted her suitcase on board, and by the time Josie arrived a slender young man with a sweet face could be seen through the window, helping to put the case on the overhead rack. He smiled, and put a book in the place where she was to sit. Lily appeared in the corridor and leaned out of the window.

  ‘He looks nice,’ Josie remarked. ‘He’s keeping you a seat.’

  ‘He’s a bag of bones,’ Lily said dismissively, ‘and you should see his Adam’s apple. It don’t half wobble. I hope he doesn’t talk to me. I want read my book.’

  Laura had begun to cry. ‘Want Auntie Lily stay,’ she sobbed.

  Josie picked her up to be kissed by a suddenly tearful Lily. ‘You will come at Easter, like you promised, Jose? Everyone will be thrilled to see you, particularly Ma.’

  ‘I promise absolutely.’

  The guard’s whistle sounded. A few seconds later the train began to move, and Laura’s sobs increased. ‘Have a lovely Christmas,’ Josie shouted.

  ‘The same to you, Jose.’ Lily blew kisses with both hands until the train disappeared.

  The young man Lily sat next to on the train was called Neil Baxter. When Josie went to Liverpool at Easter, she was matron of honour at their wedding.

  ‘I don’t love him,’ Lily said flatly the day before the wedding, ‘but he loves me, and I like him ever so much, Jose. He’s got a good job with the post office, and we have loads to talk about and never argue. Oh, and we’re both mad about Elvis Presley. We want a family, two kids at least, a boy and girl. We’ll call them Troy and Samantha, but we’re leaving children until we’ve moved up a notch in the housing market. The place we’re buying in Orrell Park is nice, but there’s no garden. And it’s a bit run-down. We’re going to do it up and sell it at a profit in a year or so’s time. I’ll keep on working, natch, so there’ll be two wages coming in.’

  ‘You’ve got everything worked out for years.’ Josie thought it sounded very hard-headed, not at all romantic. Yet for a woman who claimed not to be in love, Lily looked radiant the following morning when she walked down the aisle of the church of Christ the King in the brocade Victorian-style wedding dress her mother had made. Her shoulder-length veil was secured somewhat appropriately, by a wreath of lilies of the valley, and the delicate flowers mingled with the white roses and trailing ferns in her bouquet.

  Neil Baxter’s eyes glowed tenderly as he watched his bride come towards him on the arm of her da’. Mr Kavanagh looked quite emotional, though the night before he’d claimed to be as pleased as punch to be finally shot of his loud, argumentative daughter.

  Josie was the sole attendant, as Lily wanted to avoid the expense of bridesmaids. She wore a plain yellow costume and a black straw picture hat with a circle of yellow flowers on the crown, both from Harrods, black shoes and gloves, and carried a posy of yellow roses. Her only jewellery was the amber pendant that Louisa Chalcott had bought in Southport, nestling within the deep V of her collar.

  All the Kavanaghs had turned up for the wedding of their baby sister. Stanley and Freya had flown from Berlin with their two children. Stanley was going bald, Josie noticed when they were outside and the photographs were being taken – Lily had got someone from the office to do them on the cheap. She’d last seen Stanley the year the war ended, and supposed it was silly to expect him to look the same thirteen years later. And Marigold cut a rather matronly figure in the severe navy costume she hoped would make her look slim. She was only thirty-one but, then, she’d had four children since they’d first met when Josie had gone to Machin Street to live with Aunt Ivy.

  Robert still lived in London doing something in the City, and it was impossible to imagine him aged twelve, wrestling on the parlour floor with his little brother. His fiancée, Julia, was dressed smartly in a grey costume and a little pillbox h
at with a pink veil. She’d been impressed to learn that Jack was responsible for DiMarco of the Met. ‘We must meet up in London some time, go to dinner,’ she gushed earlier. Jack had greeted the suggestion with a charming smile that Josie knew was false. He was here under sufferance and hating every minute.

  Only Daisy Kavanagh hadn’t changed at all. In a glorious cream and purple frock and a dramatic picture hat, she looked no different from the girl in the fairy glen who’d asked what the matter was. Perhaps being single isn’t such a bad thing, Josie thought. No husband to worry about, no kids, no money problems. Daisy’s face was smoothly serene, contented. Her friend, Eunice, seemed equally content.

  Her eyes searched for Laura and Jack. Of Jack there was no sign, but Laura was playing with Heidi, Stanley’s and Freya’s youngest, who couldn’t speak a word of English, yet somehow they seemed to understand each other. Her three-quarter-length white socks were filthy, and Josie was wondering if she could get back to the house for a clean pair before they went to the reception when a voice said in her ear, ‘She’s beautiful.’

  She turned. Ben was looking down at her. He nodded towards Laura. ‘Quite beautiful.’ His lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘And so are you.’ He took her hands. ‘You look stunning, Josie.’

  ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ She gave a small, lying laugh. He looked terrible. His brow was creased like an old man’s, his eyes were tragic. He was stooped, yet he used to hold himself so very straight, so erect. ‘How’s things, Ben?’ she asked, which was a silly question, because she knew things were dead awful. There was something inherently wrong with Imelda.

  He shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, okay, I suppose. I like my job. Manchester’s a nice place to live. Imelda, well, Imelda’s …’ His voice trailed away. ‘Have you seen Peter?’ His face suddenly brightened. ‘He’s about the same age as your little girl. He’s around somewhere …’ He stopped again, and she felt his hands tighten on hers. ‘Oh, Josie,’ he said in an anguished voice. ‘If only you hadn’t decided to go to that damn holiday camp.’

  She wanted to say, if only you hadn’t tried to stop me. But that would only be rubbing it in, and he was miserable enough already. He had seemed to regard it as a test of his manhood to make her stay. And if she had stayed, or if he had let her go, how would things have turned out?

  He continued to hold her hands, more loosely now, like two old friends together. ‘Where’s this famous husband of yours?’

  ‘Around somewhere.’ She’d had a terrible job persuading Jack to come. They’d fought for days. ‘What’s the point of having a husband,’ she angrily demanded, ‘if he won’t come with you to important things like your best friend’s wedding?’

  ‘You know I can’t stand Lily,’ Jack said reasonably. ‘I feel sorry for the poor guy she’s managed to drag to the altar.’

  In the end, he had agreed to come just for the day. He was returning to London straight after the reception. Josie was staying with the Kavanaghs until Wednesday.

  ‘There you are!’ A very pregnant Imelda came out of the church, dragging a small boy by the hand. Her pretty face was screwed in a scowl, and the child’s bottom lip was trembling, as if he was about to cry. ‘He’s your child as well as mine,’ she said acidly to Ben, completely ignoring Josie. ‘I just caught him at the candles. He could have burnt himself.’ She virtually flung the little boy in the direction of his father. ‘It’s your turn for a while.’

  Ben released Josie’s hands and she felt his body droop beside her. He lifted up his son. ‘Have you been a naughty boy, Peter?’

  ‘He was being curious, not naughty,’ Josie said. ‘Come and introduce him to Laura.’ Seeing Ben, she was almost sorry herself she’d come to the wedding.

  Jack must have been watching for them. When the taxi stopped, he came out while Josie was paying the driver.

  ‘Daddy!’ Laura launched herself upon him. She squealed in delight when he swung her small, squirming body above his head.

  ‘Did you miss me?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Daddy,’ Laura confirmed.

  Jack propped her in the crook of his arm and put his other arm around Josie. He kissed her, and it was more than just a welcoming kiss. There was something hungry about it. ‘And I’ve missed you, both of you. It’s been very quiet and lonely here by myself.’

  In the lounge, all three sank together on to the settee, which squeaked in protest. ‘Did you enjoy yourselves after I’d gone?’ Jack asked.

  ‘We had a lovely time. I took Laura to New Brighton and Southport. There was a party last night for Stanley and Freya – they left the same time as us.’

  ‘I won a game, Daddy. I got a prize, a box of chocolates.’

  ‘Only because you cheated. It was musical chairs,’ Josie explained. ‘She couldn’t quite get the hang of it.’

  ‘Did you eat them, the chocolates?’

  ‘No, Daddy. Blue Bunny ate every single one.’

  Josie went to put the kettle on. It had been nice, meeting everyone again, but sad, seeing how much older they were. Mrs Kavanagh’s hair had turned completely grey over the last three years, and she was wearing glasses, quite thick ones. She thought about Ben and his tragic eyes. She hadn’t realised how much she missed Liverpool till she’d gone back. It was where she fitted in, felt at ease, which she would never do in Bingham Mews if she stayed for the rest of her life.

  She returned to the lounge. ‘I think the wedding went off very well, don’t you? Lily looked radiant, and you’d think Neil had won a million pounds.’

  ‘Poor guy!’ Jack made a face. ‘Did they go somewhere exotic for the honeymoon?’

  ‘No.’ She giggled. ‘They had a weekend in the Lake District, and were home by Monday. They’re spending the next two weeks doing up their new house.’

  Jack shuddered. ‘Not exactly romantic.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound romantic, but it is in a way. They both seem so happy, Jack, like it didn’t matter where they were, as long as they were with each other.’

  He laughed shortly. ‘You almost sound envious.’

  Perhaps she was. There’d been something about the faces of the newly married couple that had filled her with a sense of longing. She and Jack had looked like that when they’d first met.

  When they were getting ready for bed, he said gruffly, ‘Don’t put your nightdress on. I want to touch you all over.’

  Josie had never been able to understand why things had gone wrong, or how they’d gone wrong, but after they’d made love everything seemed right again. He stroked her body, tenderly at first, then more and more feverishly, kissing her nipples, caressing her breasts until she wanted to scream.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered, over and over again. ‘I love you.’ Then he knelt over her, thrust himself inside her, and Josie’s body responded, arching rhythmically against his as they climbed, higher and higher, until everything burst in a scarcely bearable climax.

  We should spend time apart more often, was her last thought before she fell asleep.

  She felt convinced their marriage had been rejuvenated. Jack was unusually attentive. Not that he’d neglected her, but he’d never bought her flowers before or unexpected gifts of jewellery. He came home one night with a pair of amber earrings in a velvet box. ‘To go with that pendant you always wear.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted some.’ She threw her arms around his neck, delighted.

  ‘I would have got them before if I’d known.’

  On Monday he left early for a script conference, and an hour later she found the compact down the side of the settee. It was gold, with a pattern of red enamelled flowers. She opened it – the powder was dark, for a brunette. Josie felt herself grow cold. She shivered, snapped the compact shut, threw it back on the settee and rubbed her hands against her skirt, as if the thing were contaminated.

  Charlotte Ward-Pierce was due any minute for coffee. Josie picked up the phone to tell her not to come, just as there was a knock on the door. She was too late.

&nbs
p; ‘Auntie Charlie’s come,’ Laura sang out from the kitchen where she was drawing a picture of the wedding.

  As Josie ran downstairs she told herself she was being silly, too suspicious. The compact might belong to anyone in the mews. Every single woman who lived there had sat on the settee at some time over the last few months. But surely they would have remembered where they’d last had it? Women used their compacts every day. She paused behind the door, her hand on the latch. Bile rose in her throat when she remembered feeling down the side of the settee for Lily’s wedding invitation the day before they’d gone to Liverpool.

  She remembered smiling, thinking to herself, she might not let us in without it. The invitation had been addressed to ‘Mr & Mrs J. Coltrane, and Laura’.

  Charlotte’s mournful face twisted in a mournful smile when Josie opened the door. Her usually limp hair was arranged in tiny ringlets pinned on top of her head with a diamanté clip. It looked incongruous with her cotton slacks and shirt.

  ‘We’re going to a ball tonight,’ she explained. ‘I hope it won’t have dropped by then. I left it too late to book an appointment with the hairdresser, and he was full this afternoon. Neville was cross with me as usual.’ Neville Ward-Pierce was a brusque, impatient man, who never hesitated to disparage his wife in public.

  ‘Where are the children?’ Tristram and Petronella were on holiday from their preparatory school in South Kensington.

  ‘Elsie’s got them. She’s taken them for a walk.’

  Josie stood to one side, aware she was blocking Charlotte’s way. ‘Come in.’

  She made coffee, gave Laura a glass of milk, filled a plate with chocolate digestive biscuits and admired Laura’s picture of the wedding – Lily wouldn’t exactly be pleased to know she had one eye bigger than the other.

  Charlotte was on the settee, having put the compact on the coffee-table.

  ‘I don’t suppose that’s yours?’ Josie said casually, knowing it couldn’t possibly be, otherwise she would have found it when she searched the settee last week.