A Matter of Love and Death

by Caron Albright

  ‘She’d love that.’ Frances stroked the soft butter-coloured material. ‘And she’ll adore this coat.’ She hesitated. ‘That is, if I can afford it. New, it must have cost a mint.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Martha said, nodding so eagerly her spectacles slipped again, ‘but quality pays for itself, I always say. This coat should give your mother good service for years and years, and she’ll look a treat in it. Oh, before I forget, there’s something else I want to show you.’

  She bustled away, giving Frances no chance to protest.

  The coat was lovely. She imagined her mother in it. Her mum deserved nice things, and a warm coat was a necessity for winter in Adelaide, when temperatures could dip below freezing.

  ‘Tadaaa!’ Martha pulled back the curtain.

  Frances held her breath. In front of her dangled the most elegant frock she’d ever seen. Rippling and shimmering like the ocean, azure satin flowed down from the padded hanger Martha held as high as she could. The only ornaments were thin golden threads woven into the narrow shoulder straps.

  ‘I haven’t shown it to anyone else,’ her old friend said. ‘You simply must try it on.’

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She wouldn’t buy it, because even if she had money to burn, where would she wear a frock like that? But somehow it seemed wrong to disappoint Martha, who’d already slipped out again, closing the curtain behind her.

  The satin slid over her body like a caress. Frances turned towards the mirror, waltzing a few steps. The frock moved with her, the material molding itself around her without clinging to her shape. The back was deeper cut out than the front, but it, too, barely hinted at exposed skin.

  She put her hands on her hips and twirled around once more.

  ‘May I have a peep?’

  Frances drew the curtain aside.

  Martha clapped her hands in excitement. ‘I knew it. I knew this frock was made for you the moment I saw it.’ She sighed. ‘It almost makes me wish I was young again.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  Frances left the shop ten shillings poorer, with the promise to bring another ten bob the next day.

  Her conscience kept remarkably quiet over this extravagance, but it might kick in later, she thought. Especially since this frock was made for sipping champagne and dancing the night away, both events that didn’t occur in her life.

  Still, she told herself, she didn’t have to wear that dress to enjoy it. She could put it on in the privacy of her room and let it work its magic in secrecy. Because for the few moments that she’d stood there, in front of the mirror, Frances had felt glamorous, the way she used to in her secret role as Signorina Francesca, future world-travelling stage assistant to Salvatore the Magnificent. This dress rekindled her dreams. She hugged the wrapped frock as close to her chest as she could, suddenly unwilling to go home to the predictability of her everyday life. She turned around and changed direction.

  ∞∞∞∞

  ‘Hello?’ Frances lifted the brass knocker and let it fall against the door.

  A middle-aged woman inched the door open, with a resigned look on her pretty, skillfully made-up face. Pauline’s mother would rather go hungry than let herself go, she always said, and she was true to her word.

  Ruth Meara brightened when she recognised Frances. ‘Why, what a nice surprise, and in time for a cuppa, too. The brew’s just ready. Pauline! We’ve got a visitor.’

  The house was as shabby as Frances had expected, but every inch was scrubbed with a vengeance.

  She followed Ruth into the parlour, which would have been cramped had the Meara’s possessed more to fill it with than a battered oak sideboard and three mismatched cane chairs, one for each of them.

  The chipped brown paint on the walls didn’t help, but Ruth had done her best by putting up a few colourful prints she’d cut out from old magazines.

  She met Frances’ discreet look with a twinkle in her wide-set eyes. ‘Pretty awful, isn’t it? But believe you me, love, it could be much worse, and, say what you will, it’ll make our next place feel like paradise.’ She patted a chair, shrugging off the squalor with unquenchable good humour. ‘You sit down, and I’ll fetch the tea tray. I won’t be a twinkle.’

  Pauline rushed into the room, squealing with delight. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this week, Fran. What a shame I’ve got a measly twenty minutes before I must run to work.’ She plopped down on a chair. ‘Do tell me everything. How is your new lodger? Young and handsome?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ruth chimed in, carrying a laden tea tray. ‘Do tell us all about him.’

  Frances put sugar in her tea and stirred it. ‘Well, he is tall, broad shouldered, and tanned. He’s a bit older than I thought at first, in his early thirties I’d reckon, but you’d like him, Pauline. He’s got a moustache and dark hair, and he wears it slicked back like Ramon Navarro. He’s got nice manners as well, and before you ask, he’s not tried to flirt with me.’

  ‘Pah,’ Pauline said. ‘Early days. Maybe he’s still gathering his courage to ask you out.’

  ‘Pauline!’

  Ruth sipped her tea. ‘What does Uncle Sal say to the lad? He’s so used to being the man around the house, poor pet.’

  ‘Oh, he seems to enjoy having another fellow to talk to, whatever it is that men do talk about when they’re on their own.’ Frances set her cup aside. ‘But Phil’s been with us such a short time I can’t really say much. To be honest, I’ve popped in because I want to show you something.’

  She unwrapped the unwieldy parcel with as much care as possible. A jingle of excitement shot through her whole body as her fingers touched the satin.

  ‘Oh my gosh, it’s marvellous.’ Pauline drew in her breath. ‘You’ll look like a movie star. When are you going to wear it?’

  ‘That’s the snag. I won’t, because it’s not something I can wear to work or to the pictures with you, can I?’ She pulled a face. ‘I shouldn’t have bought it, but I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Of course you had to buy it. Otherwise you’d spend nights agonising over that evening dress.’ Pauline stroked the fabric. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it, Mum?’

  ‘I’ll ask Martha and Tilda to look out for an evening dress for you, if you want to,’ Frances said, seeing the longing in her friend’s dark eyes. ‘You’d look dashing in lime green or lemon.’

  ‘Never mind me. I know exactly the right occasion for your new dress,’ Pauline said. ‘There’s a new swing band playing at the Top Note, this Thursday night. They’ve played all over Europe and in Sydney and Melbourne and it’ll be a really flash affair.’

  She gave Frances a cheeky grin. ‘Get that Phil to take you there and you can dazzle him. Come early and make sure he wears an overcoat so he can hand it to me, because I’ll be attending to the cloakroom for a bit.’

  She checked the wall clock and jumped up. ‘Look at the time. I’ve got to dash. Bye, Mum, bye, Frances, and do come on Thursday.’ Off she went, letting the door slam behind her.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘Always in a hurry, and on those heels, too. If I had a penny for every time I told her to wear solid shoes and keep those flimsy things at work where they belong, we’d be in clover.’

  She chuckled as she noticed Frances’ furtive glances at the shabby room. ‘Never mind that, love. This,’ she made a sweeping gesture with both arms, ‘is temporary. A soon as I can take some sewing and washing in again, we’ll move up to a decent place. I can almost bend my wrist like I used to.’

  Frances smiled at her. She’d yet to see Ruth admit defeat. ‘Rain today means a good crop tomorrow,’ she always said, like the farmer’s daughter that she was. Pauline took after her, living on hope and the unshakeable confidence that good things were waiting around the corner.

  ‘I'm sure you'll be fine. But I’d better go now,’ Frances said, sliding the dress back in its tissue paper.

  ‘Can’t wait to show your new finery to your mum, can you? You’ll be the belle of the ball at the Top Note, that much I can
tell you.’

  ‘I can’t go to a night club. At least not on my own, Mum wouldn’t like it, even if I could afford to waste money, which I can't, and it wouldn’t feel right to ask Phil. I mean, he’s a paying lodger, that’s all.’

  Ruth gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Margaret needs to relax a bit more. You all deserve a bit of fun.’

  Frances pulled a face. ‘There’ll be other opportunities.’

  ‘Pity. The Top Note is the most marvellous place. Ask your Uncle Sal. There’s not much he doesn’t know about what’s what, the old rascal. There’s no flies on him.’

  Ruth rose. ‘Say hello to him and your mum, and tell her I’m on the mend.’ She wrinkled her nose at the smell of frying onions coming from next door. ‘I’d better get going myself. There’s a new revue on at the Empire, and a friend of mine has a spare ticket.’ Her brown eyes sparkled.

  ∞∞∞∞

  Bubbles rose in the big stew pot as Frances came home. Maggie gave it a quick stir. ‘I was beginning to wonder what kept you so long,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to put the potatoes on before you got back, or they’d have turned to mush by now.’ She wiped her hands on her apron.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Frances said, ‘but there were a few things I had to do on the way home.’ A big grin stretched across her face. ‘You wait and see.’

  Frances kept her air of mystery until they’d finished their meal. For once, the women had nothing left to do. Phil had banned them from the kitchen, cheerfully announcing that he and Uncle Sal would clear away and do the dishes.

  She grabbed her mum’s hand before she found other things to keep busy and propelled her towards the staircase.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she said as soon as they entered Frances’ bedroom. Maggie obeyed, stretching an arm out against the wall for support.

  ‘Now you can open them.’ The coat hung from her wardrobe.

  Her mother’s eyes widened with delight. ’What a wonderful coat. Mind you take good care of it, and don’t put it too close to the heater in the telephone exchange.’

  ‘It’s for you, Mum. My coat is good for another dozen winters, but your old one is past anything. I’ve seen warmer handkerchiefs. And before you say a word, I’ve got a confession to make. I lost my head over a frock.’ She picked up her parcel and undid the tissue paper.

  ‘Oh, Frances! Put it on, quick.’

  ‘I will if you show me how you look in your new coat.’

  Maggie chuckled and put on the new coat, while Frances changed into the frock.

  They entered the parlour together. Frances felt slightly self-conscious as she swanned into the room in her new finery, but it did her good to see the look in Phil’s eyes as he saw her in all her elegance.

  Uncle Sal poked his head around the corner. ‘Nearly there, and the kettle’s on already,’ he said, before he took in their changed appearance. He whistled through his teeth. ‘Holy cow! Now look at you girls. You’re a sight for sore eyes, you are.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  She took her time taking off the evening frock. She put it on a hanger, smoothing the folds with loving strokes before she could bring herself to close the wardrobe doors. Her brown skirt and yellow jumper that used to feel so comfortable and pretty, now seemed as dull as dishwater. That was the trouble with spoiling yourself. Once you got a taste for it, the cravings started.

  She wondered how wealthy women coped. Not that she was likely ever to find out, she told herself, firmly relegating the dress and its implications to the back of her mind. She was gaining a lot of experience shutting out unwanted thoughts lately. She pushed the wardrobe shut and went downstairs to join the others.

  ‘That’s settled,’ Uncle Sal said to Phil as Frances walked in. ‘I’ll see to it that we’re getting a good table.’

  She sat down in her usual place and took up her knitting. She had just found her rhythm, needles clicking away, when her mum said to her, ‘Don’t forget to get a darker lipstick, love. Not too dark, you don’t want to look fast, maybe a deep rose.’

  Frances stared at her, confused.

  ‘Well, you want to look your best, don’t you, when we’re going out?’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mum?’

  ‘Phil has invited us and Sal to go out with him, dear. It seems there’s a special band playing on Thursday, at the Top Note.’ Maggie beamed. ‘It’s been ages since I was last out dancing. Aren’t we lucky?’

  ∞∞∞∞

  Frances sank into her bed with a wide grin on her face. How surprised Pauline would be when Frances turned up on Phil’s arm. It would be nice if Maggie had a beau, but the only unmarried men the right age were the milkman, who flirted with every woman he met, and the postie, who saw sin and depravation everywhere, especially when it came to Uncle Sal.

  The postie. Frances jumped out of bed. She’d forgotten the letter again.

  She switched on the light, slit the envelope open with a nail file and took out a typewritten sheet.

  Two minutes later she let the letter drop. She put her head between her knees and took a deep breath before she picked the letter up again.

  ‘Dear Miss Palmer,’

  ‘A recent inspection of our books has shown that as to date you are behind with your mortgage payments to a total of seven £ and six d.

  Please contact us at the earliest possible time to discuss the repayment. Otherwise we would regrettably have to consider other measures.

  Kind regards,

  M. Smith

  Bank manager’

  A faint taste of bile crept into Frances’ mouth. This must be a mistake. She always made sure that she handed her mum enough money to settle mortgage and utilities bills. She’d seen enough people turned out off their homes for missing payments, or having to fend without electricity for months.

  She switched off the light and went back to bed, like an automaton. An error, a horrible error, that’s all, she told herself over and over again. She’d visit the bank in her lunch break and then – what then? Seven pounds and six shillings. Where could she find that much money? Even if she returned coat and dress and got a refund, it wouldn’t be enough – and Mum needed that coat. She pulled the duvet over her head, the way she used to as a child when something frightened her.

  5

  After a night of recurring dreams, where Maggie and Uncle Sal lay half-starved under a bridge, pointing with skeletal fingers at Frances, waking up brought no relief.

  She barely brought herself to face them both at breakfast. The one relief was that Phil was still asleep.

  She toyed with her toast. Every crumb swelled up in her mouth, making it awkward to swallow.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ Maggie asked. ‘You look peaky. Maybe you should stay—’

  Frances shook her head. She took a deep breath and shoved the letter over to Maggie. Maggie scanned the contents. The colour drained from her face. ‘But that is – oh, no.’

  Uncle Sal took the letter.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Maggie whispered. ‘How could I?’

  ‘How could you what? Please, tell me what’s going on. I haven’t got much time left before I need to go, and if I don’t sort this today …’

  Maggie trembled slightly. Frances got up and sat down on the armrest of Maggie’s chair.

  ‘You remember when I was ill a few months ago.’

  Frances nodded. As if she could forget the worry that her mother’s cough might turn into pneumonia. Or the doctor’s bills that swallowed up most of her meagre savings.

  ‘You see, Bertha was at the doctor’s too. With her grandchild. She couldn’t afford to pay for the treatment, or the medication. I was heading for the bank straight after my appointment, so I had money in my bag.’

  ‘You gave it to her? And you didn’t tell me?’ The anger in her voice surprised Frances herself.

  Maggie stifled a sob. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you, and Bertha was going to pay me back as soon as she could.’

&n
bsp; ‘What’s done is done,’ Uncle Sal said. ‘What matters is that we pay the money now.’

  Maggie blinked away tears and fished in her bag for money. She brought up two ten-shilling notes.

  Frances took the money. She had a hard time calming down.

  Uncle Sal limped to the dresser and took out a battered tobacco tin. He tipped the contents on to the table. ‘Three pounds and seven, no eight shillings. I’ll make sure you get the rest by lunch-time.’ He gave her a reassuring wink and patted Maggie on the head. She managed to smile at him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Frances said. ‘We’ll talk about everything tonight.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  True to his word, Uncle Sal waited outside the post office at lunch-time. He offered Frances his arm, which she took gratefully. She knew she should feel guilty about being less than understanding to her mum, but she couldn’t.

  The bank was a five minute walk away, but every step took ages.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Uncle Sal asked as they reached the stucco building. ‘Or I can wait in the foyer.’ He slipped an envelope with money into her hand.

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you. I shouldn’t be long.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  He settled in a patched arm-chair, apparently at peace with himself and his world. Frances marveled at his acting skills. She knew that deep-down he’d fretted all morning about her.

  ‘Miss Palmer? In here please.’

  The bank manager smiled at her in a paternal fashion that partially relieved the worry lines in his face.

  ‘I’ve come to apologise,’ she said, putting letter and money on his desk. ‘and to settle the outstanding debt.’