Near And Dear

by Pamela Evans

  ‘Here?’ he said, peering at her over the top of the News of the World in a manner that questioned her sanity.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said with rising enthusiasm. ‘They could come for the weekend. If you don’t fancy driving up to fetch them, Jane could put them on the train at Victoria and we could meet them at the station here.’

  ‘No . . . it isn’t a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said impatiently. ‘I just wouldn’t feel right about it.’

  ‘Because I’m here?’

  ‘Partly that, yes.’

  ‘You’re ashamed of me?’

  ‘No, o’ course not,’ he said, though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking the truth about that because Patsy wasn’t the sort of woman his children were used to. ‘I’d feel awkward having them here, that’s all. I am married to their mother, after all.’

  ‘That is only a technicality now, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Even so . . .’

  ‘I’ve never had much to do with children but I’d make them very welcome,’ she persisted.

  ‘We only have one spare bedroom.’

  ‘There are twin beds in there, though,’ she reminded him. ‘They wouldn’t mind sharing a room, just for a night or two.’

  ‘I don’t suppose Davey would want to come anyway,’ said Mick gloomily. ‘We can only just about manage to tolerate each other for an afternoon at a time.’

  ‘Let Pip come without him then,’ she suggested excitedly. ‘You can go and collect her in the car if you don’t like the idea of her travelling by train on her own.’

  Mick liked that idea despite himself. He had kept his children at a safe distance from Brighton because his life with Patsy was so different from that of Pip and Davey. He and Patsy weren’t traditional family people. They led a bohemian life, sleeping a lot in the day and coming to life at night. They ate what they liked, when they liked, most of their meals eaten in pubs or cafes, or collected from takeaway places. Patsy was as untidy about the flat as he was, so the place was usually a tip. It didn’t bother either of them but would probably horrify Pip who was used to everything being pin-neat and spotless. But for all that, he would like to see his daughter for longer than an afternoon at a time. And it wouldn’t hurt him and Patsy to change their ways just for a weekend now and again.

  ‘I could take a weekend off from the pub, if you like?’ she suggested, her eagerness growing. ‘We could take her out and show her around.’

  ‘Mmm, maybe we’ll do it sometime,’ he said, still doubtful as to the success of such a project. ‘But let’s leave it ’til the summer when there’s more going on around here.’

  ‘We don’t need to wait until then,’ she said. ‘You can always find things to do in Brighton.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘I’d like to get to know your children.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘ ’Cause they’re part of you and we’re a couple now,’ she said.

  Despite what she’d said, Patsy knew that she and Mick could never truly be a couple until he finally let go of the past. He still hankered after Jane which was why he was being so difficult about a divorce. Patsy was quite happy to settle for being second best and wanted him to do the same. Theirs might not be the love affair of the century but they were very well suited. She had the idea that if she got to know his children, it would make their relationship official somehow and bring them closer together.

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ he said. ‘We’ll get something arranged sometime soon.’

  Well, at least he hadn’t rejected the idea altogether and that was progress so far as Patsy was concerned.

  One thing Jane had learned as the proprietor of a business was the need for flexibility. She had to be able to switch from one role to the other at a moment’s notice. This happened one February morning when she found herself serving at the counter, having arrived at the shop with a fresh batch of cakes to find a queue of people trailing out on to the pavement, and one of the assistants needing to go home to bed because she was in the early stages of ’flu.

  Working in the shop made a pleasant change. She enjoyed meeting the people who actually bought her cakes, some of whom she had known all her life.

  ‘You’ve come out of the kitchen, then?’ said a woman whom Jane didn’t recognise as she served her with an apple cake and a jam sponge. She guessed the woman had assumed who Jane was from the comments being made by other customers. She was a bright-eyed, elderly woman wearing a red woolly hat and muffler.

  ‘Not for long, though,’ said Jane. ‘Or I’ll have nothing to sell tomorrow.’

  ‘And that would never do,’ said the woman. ‘I can’t bear mass-produced cakes now that I’ve got used to your lovely home-baked ones.’

  ‘Glad you like them,’ said Jane, putting her cakes into light cardboard cartons and setting them down on the counter.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ asked the customer.

  ‘He’s fine.’ She threw the woman a querying look. ‘You know him then?’

  ‘Yeah. It was Joe who told me about your cakes, as a matter of fact,’ she explained, handing Jane some money. ‘And I’m very glad he did.’ She grinned. ‘You’ve got a very good publicity agent in your father.’

  ‘Don’t tell him that or he’ll want commission,’ she joked.

  ‘Is he still going?’ asked the woman as Jane gave her her change.

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘To the dance club.’

  Jane stared at her.

  ‘I haven’t been for quite a while,’ the woman continued, putting her change into her purse. ‘Once the cold weather sets in, I’m too lazy to go out of an evening. I don’t suppose the weather would put Joe off, though.’

  ‘Dance club!’ said Jane, stunned.

  ‘That’s right, dear,’ the woman replied chirpily. ‘Ballroom dancing.’

  Ballroom dancing? Her father? Jane couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Oh,’ she muttered, dumbstruck.

  ‘Hasn’t he told you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose he just hasn’t got around to it,’ she said, putting her cakes into her shopping bag. ‘He’s very keen, though, him and that partner of his.’

  ‘Partner?’

  ‘That’s right, the woman who brought him along in the first place. Ooh . . . what’s her name, now? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Good-looking woman, very striking.’

  ‘Trudy Hamilton,’ Jane muttered almost to herself as the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. Trudy’s amusement, the lack of any finished woodwork . . .

  ‘That’s the one,’ said the woman, putting her change in her purse. ‘Nice woman.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Anyway, I mustn’t hold you up,’ said the customer as people behind her in the queue began to get restless. ‘Give your dad my regards. Tell him Betty was asking after him.’

  ‘I’ll certainly tell him,’ said Jane, adding to herself, In fact, I can’t wait to pass on your message to the lying old devil!

  ‘I thought you’d laugh at me, that’s why I didn’t tell you the truth,’ said Joe when she confronted him about it that evening.

  ‘Why on earth would I do that?’ asked Jane. ‘When I’ve been trying to persuade you to take something up for years?’

  ‘But ballroom dancing . . . I mean, it isn’t exactly the sort of thing the men on the Berrywood Estate go in for, is it?’

  ‘That’s their problem,’ she said. ‘If you enjoy it, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘They’ll think I’m a right pansy when they find out about it around here.’

  ‘Only because they’re ignorant,’ she said. ‘Take no notice.’

  ‘You’re not cross with me for telling you fibs then?’

  ‘I’ll forgive you. But wait ’til I see Trudy,’ she said teasingly. ‘No wonder she went into fits every time I mentioned your woodwork classes.’

  ‘My fault, not hers,’ said Joe with a s
heepish grin. ‘I asked her not to say anything. Even Giles doesn’t know.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to keep it a secret any longer?’ said Jane.

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters who knows really. I felt embarrassed about it when I first started because I’ve never done anything like that before. I’d always thought it was rather an effeminate thing for a man to do - until Trudy persuaded me to go along to the beginners’ class and I realised that the men were all just ordinary chaps like myself.’

  ‘And that surprises me even more than the dancing,’ said his daughter emphatically. ‘The fact that Trudy managed to talk you into it, since you’ve been fending her off for years.’

  ‘Well, I suppose she just wore me down in the end. And I’m very glad she did.’

  ‘She can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Phew, not half!’ he readily agreed. ‘But she’s good company once you get to know her.’

  ‘So is there anything else I should know . . . about you and Trudy?’

  ‘No, we’re just good friends and dancing partners,’ he said, and Jane would have been astounded had it been otherwise. ‘Trudy has lots of friends and is involved in many other things, especially her showgroup. But I enjoy her company and I’m very grateful to her for getting me out and doing something. Anyone else would have given up on me years ago.’

  ‘I’m very glad she didn’t,’ said Jane.

  ‘So am I,’ Joe agreed. ‘I used to dread retirement. Now I’m really looking forward to it. There are dance clubs you can go to in the daytime.’

  ‘Oh, Dad, I’m so pleased that you’re happy,’ she said, hugging him.

  Because Jane wanted Pip and Davey to retain a relationship with their paternal grandparents, she continued to take them to see Rita and Wilf even though she herself no longer felt bonded to them. The children went along very much under protest, however . . .

  ‘Gran Parker is okay,’ said Davey. ‘But Granddad’s a pain.’

  Although she admonished her son for being disrespectful about his grandfather, Jane secretly shared his opinion. Wilf had aged dramatically this last couple of years, more in the way he behaved than in appearance. His hair was completely white now but still fairly thick and he remained handsome in a gypsyish sort of way. But he’d become very lugubrious. Instead of spending all his spare time in the pub, he stayed home of an evening and went to bed early. When he did speak it usually took the form of a complaint.

  It was no wonder the children didn’t want to visit. He ticked them off if they giggled, which sent them into paroxysms of nervous laughter and angered him even more. And as for his poor wife, he was even more demanding of her, making her wait on him hand and foot with never a word of appreciation.

  Because he didn’t go out in the evenings, Rita had more of his company to endure. Jane didn’t know how she put up with him. But Rita being Rita, she remained loyal to her ungrateful husband and never once admitted that he was a real trial to her. Apparently he’d had several funny turns while he’d been out drinking and that had put him off going out again after he got in from work.

  ‘I don’t think he’s feeling too well,’ she would whisper when he was out of earshot. ‘But he’ll never admit it, not in a million years.’

  One particular Saturday in the spring of 1975, when Jane and the children went to the Parkers’ flat for tea, Wilf seemed a lot more cheerful and made quite a fuss of his grandchildren.

  ‘So how’s your soccer coming on, young Davey?’ he asked.

  ‘I play rugby now that I’m at the big school,’ the boy explained, buttering a toasted tea cake. ‘I’m hoping to be picked for the junior team.’

  Wilf sucked in his breath. ‘Rugby always seems a very rough game to me . . . you mind how you go, son.’

  ‘It’s okay if you know what you’re doing,’ Davey assured him.

  ‘What about the other football team you were in?’ asked Wilf, taking a sip of tea.

  ‘I’m too old for the Riverside Juniors now that I’m turned eleven.’

  ‘Fancy being too old for anything at your age,’ Wilf turned his attention to Pip. ‘And what about you, young lady? What do you do with yourself outside of school?’

  ‘Girl Guides, gym club, playing music.’

  ‘Playing music, eh?’ He sounded impressed. ‘On the piano . . . Beethoven, Bach, all that sort o’ stuff?’

  ‘On the record player. The Bay City Rollers . . . the Osmonds,’ corrected Jane, grinning.

  ‘Oh, pop music,’ said Wilf, smiling. ‘I should have known . . .’

  ‘You know who they are, Granddad?’ asked Pip, looking astounded.

  ‘You cheeky young miss!’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m not that much past it.’

  Everyone laughed. Wilf was like a different man and this was one of the most companionable interludes Jane had had with her in-laws for a very long time. She said as much to Rita when she was helping her wash the dishes in the kitchen while the children stayed in the other room with their grandfather.

  ‘Has Wilf won the pools or something?’ she asked. ‘He’s in a very good mood.’

  ‘I dunno what’s causing it,’ said Rita. ‘But it certainly isn’t the pools.’

  They chatted about this and that, Rita washing, Jane drying. They had almost finished when there was a loud scream from the other room and Davey came tearing into the kitchen, followed by his sister.

  ‘Come quick,’ he said in a shaky voice. ‘It’s Granddad.’

  Wilf was lying on the floor with his eyes closed, making rattling sounds as he gasped for breath. Rita fell on her knees beside him while Jane rushed to the phone in the hall and called an ambulance.

  When she went back into the living room, Rita was leaning over him, saying, ‘Oh, Wilf, Wilf love . . . come on now. It’s Rita . . . calm down. You’re having a funny turn, that’s all. The doctor will soon put you right.’

  Jane wasn’t at all sure about that but she just said, ‘The ambulance is on its way. It’ll be here in a few minutes.’

  Jane was waiting at the hospital entrance for Mick to arrive, needing to speak to him before he went inside. Having stopped only long enough to take the children to her father’s, she’d come to the hospital in her car behind the ambulance. Rita wouldn’t leave Wilf ’s bedside so it had fallen to Jane to telephone Mick to tell him that his father had been taken ill. That had been more than two hours ago.

  Now he came rushing into the building, grey with worry.

  ‘Hello, Mick,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, Jane. I got here as soon as I could. Bloody traffic on the way up from Brighton! I’ve been doin’ my nut.’

  ‘Mick . . .’

  ‘Where is he . . .which ward is he in?’

  ‘Mick,’ she said again.

  ‘Come on, Jane, don’t hang about. Show me the way to his ward.’

  ‘Mick, your father’s . . .’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he said impatiently. ‘Don’t stand there as though tomorrow will do.’

  She grabbed his arm firmly and looked up into his face, forcing him to listen.

  ‘I’m afraid your father died half an hour ago,’ she blurted out.

  He stared blankly, as though turned to stone.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You’re having me on?’

  ‘He never regained consciousness after he collapsed at home,’ she told him gently, still holding his arm. ‘They think it was a heart attack but they won’t know for sure until after the post-mortem.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘In the relatives’ room. One of the nurses is with her,’ she said through parched lips. ‘They’re very kind.’

  ‘I must go to her,’ he said, but didn’t move. It was as though he couldn’t.

  ‘Marie doesn’t know yet,’ said Jane. ‘I tried to get hold of her earlier to tell her that he’d been taken ill but they weren’t answering their phone. I didn’t think it was my place to tell her that he’d . . .’

  ‘No, of cou
rse not. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll go now and leave you and your mother together,’ she said. ‘I have to collect the children from Dad’s. Anything I can do, just let me know.’

  ‘Thanks, Jane,’ he said bleakly. ‘Thanks for everything. ’

  ‘Oh, Mick.’ She reached out to him with compassion, putting her arms around him and holding him while he sobbed brokenly.

  ‘I really loved that man.’

  ‘I know you did, Mick . . . I know.’

  ‘God knows why ’cause he never had any time for me.’

  ‘I expect he did in his heart,’ she said kindly.

  ‘That’s something we’ll never know.’

  ‘He was really nice to the kids today,’ she said with tears in her eyes. ‘Almost as though he was making one last effort. They’ll remember that and think kindly of him.’

  ‘I know he was often a nasty bugger but he was still my hero,’ said Mick, his voice barely audible.

  ‘He was just a man,’ she said. ‘Just a man like you.’

  Quite suddenly he straightened up and composed himself.

  ‘I must go to Mum.’

  ‘Yes, she’ll be needing you.’

  And he was gone, striding through the swing doors with his customary swagger.

  Jane drove home full of sorrow for Mick. She knew how deeply affected he would be by his father’s death, and she felt it too. Her empathy with him was still very strong. She supposed it always would be, just as a small part of her would always be his.

  The next day Mick went back to the flat in Brighton to collect some clothes. Being a Sunday afternoon, Patsy was at home.

  ‘I’ll be staying with my mother until after the funeral,’ he told her. ‘Obviously it’s down to me to make all the arrangements.’

  ‘How is she?’ asked Patsy, who’d been told of the death last night on the phone.

  ‘She’s coping.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you to London?’ she offered.

  He looked surprised.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said adamantly, because such a thing had never even occurred to him. The last thing he would ever do was include Patsy in family matters.