by Pamela Evans
‘Why not?’
‘Well . . . you’ve got your job at the pub, haven’t you?’ he said evasively, because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
‘I could easily take some time off, if you need me?’
‘No. Thanks for offerin’, but it won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘Would you like me to come to the funeral then?’ she suggested.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well . . . you didn’t know Dad and you wouldn’t know anyone there.’
‘I just thought you might like a bit of moral support.’
‘It’s a kind thought, but it’ll be better if you don’t,’ he said. ‘I’ll be busy looking after my mother and you might feel left out of things. I’ll be back in a week or so.’
‘Just as you like then,’ said Patsy, deeply hurt that he didn’t want her with him at this time of personal sadness. He preferred to exclude her from a family gathering, presumably because he didn’t consider her to be close enough to him. She wondered if he still thought of her just as a temporary girlfriend rather than a permanent part of his life. But this was a very delicate matter. Any change in their relationship had to come from him for it to mean anything. There was no point in her nagging him about it. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
‘Yes, I do know that,’ he said, and felt unexpectedly comforted in the knowledge that she would be here waiting for him when the ordeal of the funeral was over.
Crowds of people from the Berrywood Estate turned out on to the streets to give Wilf a send off, for he’d been well-known and popular on the manor. It was the wrong sort of day for a funeral, somehow; a glorious May day, more suitable for wearing bright summer clothes than the dark sober apparel worn by the mourners at the cemetery.
Jane and the children stood with the family to pay their final respects. Mick looked strong and upright by his mother’s side, with a steadying hand on her arm. Marie and Eddie were standing close together with their children. Jane thought only of Mick. Having lost her own mother, she knew exactly what he was going through. She was afraid he might go to pieces, but he remained strong for his mother and hosted the funeral gathering at the flat with dignity.
Rita, who seemed surprisingly confident, provided a substantial buffet. There was also plenty of booze around. Jane guessed that this sad assembly would turn into a party later on with everyone ending up at the pub. It was their way of coping and was what Wilf would have wanted. Jane planned to leave soon, though. She needed to get back to the kitchen to see how her assistant was coping without her.
She was doing a farewell round of the guests when Marie approached her, the two women having exchanged just the briefest of formal greetings earlier.
‘You leaving so soon?’
‘Yeah . . . I have to get back, duty calls and all that,’ said Jane. ‘I’m really sorry about your dad, though.’
‘Thanks.’ Marie was very subdued. ‘He could be a bit of a swine but he’ll be missed.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s the end of an era, losing a parent. I feel so old suddenly.’
Jane nodded and touched her arm sympathetically.
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
Marie dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and changed the subject.
‘Your business is still going strong, I gather,’ she said. ‘The shop always seems to be packed out when I go past.’
‘Yes, it’s doing very well,’ confirmed Jane. ‘I hope I’m not going back to find chaos in the kitchen, though.’
‘Might you?’
‘Put it this way,’ she said with a wry grin, ‘my current assistant isn’t exactly overloaded with initiative.’
‘Current . . . does that mean you’ve had more than one since I left?’
‘I’ll say I have! They never seem to stay long enough to settle in,’ explained Jane. ‘Either they don’t suit me or I don’t suit them. I haven’t found anyone with a real interest in the job yet. I suppose I’ve just been unlucky.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you doing these days?’
‘I’m working on the checkout in a supermarket in Hammersmith.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jane. ‘I remember your mum mentioning it. Do you like it?’
‘It’s okay.’
There was an awkward silence which neither seemed able to fill.
‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you and Mick,’ said Marie.
‘It’s just one of those things,’ replied Jane, tensing as they drifted into dangerous territory. ‘We’d grown apart while he was away.’
‘From what I’ve heard, you’re not with Giles either?’
‘No,’ she said with undisguised regret. ‘There are too many complications.’
Marie cleared her throat.
‘I’m really sorry I came on to you so strong about your relationship with him,’ she said through dry lips. ‘I realise now I had no right . . . that it was none of my business.’
‘Oh.’ Jane was heartened to hear this. ‘I was upset for ages after that row.’
‘I’ve always had a blind spot when it comes to Mick.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘But I know now that I have to let go and stand back from my brother’s personal affairs,’ Marie continued. ‘Will you forgive me?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘I’ve wanted to say all this to you for a long time but I couldn’t bring myself to contact you,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t have the bottle.’
‘I wish you had.’
‘Me too. But the longer it went on, the harder it was.’
‘Well, it’s all over now,’ said Jane, smiling mistily. ‘And I’m really pleased. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.’
‘Likewise . . . it’s been awful.’
‘If you fancy coming back and working for me at any time, there’ll always be a job for you,’ said Jane, swallowing a lump in her throat. ‘I’ve a feeling my latest assistant is about to hand in her notice.’
‘Oh, Jane, I’d love that!’
‘Let’s get together and talk about it soon then, shall we?’
‘The sooner the better.’
They hugged each other, laughing emotionally, both close to tears.
Driving the children home a while later, Jane said to herself, Well, Wilf, you were never my favourite person but you’ve given me a gift from beyond the grave that makes me want to forgive you anything. You brought Marie and me together again and I thank you for that with all my heart!
Chapter Twenty Three
‘Shall we go to the place with red tables for tea?’ suggested Pip as she walked arm-in-arm with her father and Patsy along the seafront at Brighton.
‘You mean the one where they do those enormous ice-cream sundaes?’ said Patsy.
‘That’s the one,’ giggled Pip.
‘ ’Course we can,’ Patsy agreed.
‘I suppose you’ll be wanting one of those sickly concoctions and a milk shake instead of a proper tea?’ said Mick teasingly.
‘I’ll have both if you’re in a good mood!’ Pip laughed, eyes shining, cheeks glowing against the blue and white woolly hat she wore with a matching muffler.
She enjoyed staying for weekends in Brighton with her father and Patsy. They’d assumed she wouldn’t want to come at the end of the season when things closed for the winter, but she liked it even better now when the day-trippers had gone and she felt like one of the residents. This afternoon in early-December it was cold and wild, the salty wind stinging their cheeks, the dark sea rolling against the shore and setting the pebbles shifting.
Pip came down about once a month; she had started doing so just after Granddad Parker died. She’d been surprised when her father had invited her and Davey out of the blue. Because Davey didn’t get on with Dad, he preferred to spend the weekends at home in Chiswick, hanging out with his mates.
Sometimes Pip shared the spare bedroom with her gr
andmother who often stayed with Dad and Patsy, though she wasn’t here this weekend. Gran was great. Everyone said she’d changed a lot since Granddad died. She was full of life and always interested in what you had to say. She’d always seemed distant and timid before. Now Pip felt as though she could talk to her about anything.
Dad was different here in Brighton with Patsy, too, she’d noticed. He wasn’t grumpy like he’d been at the cottage. You could bring a friend to the flat without being scared he’d embarrass you by losing his temper and using bad language. He didn’t quarrel with Patsy as he did with Mum either. He laughed a lot and was really good fun. He and Patsy were always joshing with each other about something. Pip couldn’t remember her parents ever doing that.
She liked Patsy now though she hadn’t been sure about her at first. She’d seemed so rough and common with her dyed hair, thick make-up and loud raucous laugh. But her all-embracing warmth had been such that Pip had soon stopped noticing the outer packaging and now just enjoyed her company. Patsy usually managed to get the Saturday off from the pub when Pip was coming to stay, and going out for tea had become something of a ritual.
On warm summer evenings they would stroll along the front and stay awhile in the amusements on the pier. But now that the weather was more suited to indoor entertainment, they would either go to the cinema or watch television at the flat, and Dad would go out to get Chinese takeaway or fish and chips for supper.
Dad and Patsy drank beer and whisky; Pip had Coca-Cola. No one bothered to clear up until the next morning. Staying with them was excitingly casual and completely different from home where Mum was scrupulous about making sure Pip and Davey had regular, nourishing meals.
‘I’m always in a good mood for you, Princess,’ her father was saying in reply as they approached the ice-cream parlour which also served teas and lunches, was open all year round and was a favourite with the locals.
How true that was, thought Patsy, watching father and daughter together. He really did adore her and Pip seemed to be genuinely fond of him. Patsy liked her. Her youthful exuberance was like a breath of spring about the place.
Having Mick’s daughter around made Patsy feel like family, as did having his mother to stay. She was glad she’d persevered in persuading him to invite his relatives to the flat. As well as making her feel as though she’d been accepted as his partner, it had helped him to cope with his father’s death which she knew had affected him deeply. It seemed strange to see Mick being the devoted father, though. He even missed his regular Saturday night binge at the pub when his daughter came to stay.
Inside the cafe, they settled at a table by the window looking across the road to the promenade, the street lights beaming into the greyness of the gathering dusk. There were quite a few people about despite the weather.
Having given the waitress their order, Patsy said, ‘So what do we all fancy doing this evening? Is it to be the cinema, the telly or a game of Monopoly?’
‘Some of each of the last two,’ said Pip. ‘If that’s all right with you two?’
‘Suits me,’ said Mick.
Patsy laughed.
‘I’ll bet it does,’ she said. ‘I could never get him to go to the pictures until you started coming to stay.’
‘I’m a good influence then.’
‘Not half.’ Patsy smiled. ‘Because I like the cinema. I wish you’d started coming to see us long ago.’
‘That goes for me too.’ Mick sighed. ‘You’ll be thirteen soon. I missed so many of those years.’
‘You should have asked me to come sooner,’ said Pip lightly.
‘I thought you’d be bored with us two oldies,’ he said. ‘It was Patsy who talked me into suggesting it.’
‘Should have done it ages ago,’ said Patsy, looking at him.
‘Definitely,’ agreed Mick, feeling at ease and happy.
‘It takes you so long to get round to doing anything like that, Mick,’ said Patsy casually. ‘God knows, it took me long enough to get you to go home to your family. I’d been on at you about that for years.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ he said. ‘You nearly drove me mad.’
Both Patsy and Mick were too far relaxed and off their guard to hear the squeal of the cat being let out of the bag or to notice the perplexed look on Pip’s face.
‘How could Patsy have been telling you for years to go home if you didn’t know where your home was?’ she asked.
They both stared at her.
‘I thought you lost your memory?’ she said, looking at her father.
Completely taken aback, he struggled for a way out. ‘I did lose my memory . . . ’course I did,’ he stammered. ‘What Patsy means is that she tried to get me to go home as soon as it came back.’
‘But I thought you came home more or less as soon as you remembered about us . . . in a matter of months, anyway?’
‘That’s right, I did.’
‘Then why was Patsy trying to persuade you to come for years . . . if you didn’t know anything about us?’ she persisted.
‘Because . . .’
‘You didn’t lose your memory at all, did you?’ she cut in as he struggled for words, her eyes hot with accusation. ‘Granddad Joe was right. It was all just a story.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ denied Mick. ‘I did lose my memory.’
‘He did, Pip,’ confirmed Patsy.
‘But you got it back sooner than you led Mum to believe, didn’t you?’
Mick glared at Patsy. ‘Nice one, Pats. You and your big mouth.’
‘How was I to know you’d not been straight with Jane about that?’
There was a painful silence as the waitress brought their order.
‘How much sooner, Daddy?’ demanded Pip.
‘Oh, not long . . .’
‘Tell her the truth, for goodness’ sake, Mick,’ interrupted Patsy. ‘These lies have gone on for long enough. It’s about time you were honest.’
‘Daddy...’ urged Pip, voice quivering on the verge of tears.
‘Oh, I suppose it must have been about . . . well, I’m not sure exactly.’
‘It must have been more than four years, Mick, because you’d been with me for three years before you went back and you’d known who you were for about a year when we first met, I remember you telling me,’ Patsy supplied, then meeting Mick’s furious glare, added, ‘and it’s no good you looking at me like that, mate. This is where the pretence ends, once and for all. Your family deserves the truth.’
‘Daddy, how could you?’ accused Pip, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Mummy struggled to keep us . . . we all needed you. And all the time you were in Brighton with Patsy!’
‘Not all of the time, love,’ she put in. ‘Your dad did lose his memory for a couple of years.’
‘But even so . . . for more than four years you knew who you were and you didn’t come back to us,’ said Pip, her brown eyes heavy with pain, her voice high and bitter. ‘You didn’t care about us.’
‘That isn’t true,’ said Mick quickly and with strong emphasis. ‘I did care . . . very much. It’s because I cared so much that I didn’t come back.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘I didn’t have anything to offer you, no means of support. I’d lost everything. I had no money, no business, and I was very ashamed,’ he explained, ashen-faced and tense. ‘I had to wait until I’d got back on my feet before I could come home and face you all. I couldn’t come back to my family a failure.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered to us, just so long as you were there,’ she said.
‘I think it would, you know.’
‘I was too little when you went away to remember much about it,’ she said, sounding very grown-up suddenly and speaking almost as though she was talking to herself. ‘But I do know how hard Mum worked and struggled to keep us for all those years. I do know that she was sad and lonely. Have you any idea how terrible it must have been for her?’
‘I know, I know,’ said Mick, feeling
his beloved daughter slipping away from him just when he was beginning to grow really close to her. ‘Don’t you think I’m ashamed to have let you all down?’
‘Even though I didn’t remember much about you, I always had dreamed of my father returning to us one day,’ she continued. ‘And you didn’t even care enough about us to come back as soon as you could!’
‘Pip, it wasn’t like that.’
‘All you could think of was your pride . . . people thinking you’d failed,’ she went on, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘And when you did finally put in an appearance, you lied to Mum - told her that you’d only recently got your memory back. And as if all that wasn’t enough, you tried to force her to give up the business she’d worked so hard to build up so she could give Davey and me a decent life.’
‘Only because I wanted to look after her . . . to support you all.’
‘I defended you,’ his daughter went on, becoming even more distraught. ‘I quarrelled with Davey for being mean to you and blamed Mum because you went away again. And all the time you’d lied to us . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Pip.’
‘You should have come back, Dad,’ she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘We are your family. But you didn’t care about us - didn’t care how hard it was for Mum bringing us up on her own.’
‘But I’ve told you, I did care, Pip,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘That’s why I wanted to provide for you all when I got back. You have to believe me.’
‘I’ll never believe anything you say again . . . because you’re a liar!’
‘Your father really did care for you all, Pip, in his own strange way,’ said Patsy gently. ‘I’ve lived with him for a long time and I can vouch for that.’
‘I want to go home,’ said the girl.
‘Okay, we’ll get the bill and go back to the flat and talk this thing through,’ said Mick.
‘Your flat isn’t my home,’ she said through tight lips. ‘Back to London, I mean.’
‘But, Pip, please listen . . .’
‘I’ll get a train tonight.’