by June Francis
Dorothy nodded, glad that Jeanette was coming with them. Normally Sam’s half-sister worked Saturdays but the owner of the milk bar was going to a wedding, so had closed the place. Dorothy liked the girl because she was always welcoming and friendly towards her.
She went through into the kitchen where she found Jeanette pouring boiling water into a Thermos flask. ‘Now that’s what I call using your nous,’ said Dorothy, thinking Jeanette was as unlike Sam and his sister, Hester, as could be, petite and dainty, whereas they were tall and strongly built.
Jeanette shot her a smiling glance. ‘I thought if we were to get stuck in the snow, a hot drink would go down a treat.’
‘You’re right, it would,’ said Dorothy, ‘but let’s hope we won’t get stuck. What about milk, sugar, tea and coffee?’
‘In the shopping bag along with a bag of broken biscuits which were dead cheap. Mother’s carer, Beryl, is bound to have a hot meal waiting for us, though.’
‘You’ve thought of everything.’ Dorothy smiled, ignoring the shopping bag on the table and instead picking up the spade and sacking by the door. ‘Sam said not to forget these.’
Jeanette said, ‘That’s our Sam for you. He studies every eventuality and Storeton is in the countryside.’
‘I thought it was close to Bebington,’ said Dorothy, frowning.
Jeanette hesitated. ‘Pretty much, although I remember walking from Bebington railway station and it was a heck of a walk. The trouble with country folk is they think nothing of walking for miles. Anyway, no use in worrying about that. There’ll be a lovely roaring fire when we get to Mam’s place.’
‘She does know I’m coming?’ said Dorothy, heading for the front door.
‘She has an idea that you might be. I hinted that our Sam had it in mind to bring you. I told her that you were keen to ask her questions about her life.’ Jeanette followed Dorothy out of the kitchen, carrying the oilcloth bag containing the flask and provisions. ‘She met Carol, Sam’s first girlfriend, and knows that she was your best friend,’ Jeanette continued. ‘Mam’s really pleased that both of you have a chance of happiness this time around. It’s the same for her and Dad. It could have so easily been Mam who was killed in that explosion but fortunately she survived even though she lost her memory, as you know, and was left crippled. For so many years we thought she was most probably dead.’
‘But fortunately she wasn’t,’ said Dorothy, smiling, ‘and those missing years are what I’m interested in.’
‘I’m sure she’ll talk to you about them but she also has lots of interesting things to say about when she was young.’ Jeanette smiled. ‘But I’ll say no more. I know she’ll be excited to meet you; I’ve told her Sam talks about you all the time.’ Jeanette winked at her and smiled but Dorothy felt a moment’s unease, especially if she was going to be grilled about matrimony by Sam’s stepmother. She tried to brush it aside. ‘I think there’ll be enough in the way of weddings to look forward to with Hester and Ally’s big day. It doesn’t suit everyone to rush headlong into marriage and leave their careers behind.’
‘No, I’m sure that’s right,’ said Jeanette hastily. ‘And I’m sure that Mum admires women with ambition.’
‘But Hester had ambition. I can’t help wondering if she’ll be happy giving up her job in the police force to become a housewife in a country village,’ said Dorothy.
‘She loves Ally and they’re both not far off thirty, so see no reason to wait,’ said Jeanette, putting the shopping bag by the front door and going back for her outdoor clothes.
Dorothy put down the spade and sacking and followed her up the lobby. ‘Thirty’s not that old!’
Jeanette said, ‘Sorry, I was forgetting you’re older than Hester. I have to admit that the only career I’m interested in is marriage and motherhood. I certainly wouldn’t want to go out to work for the rest of my life. I’m looking forward to marrying my Davy, having my own home and children.’ She put on her hat. ‘We’d best get cracking or our Sam will be telling us off.’
For once Jeanette’s words irritated Dorothy but she tried not to show it. ‘As far as I’m aware there is not currently a law against chatting, so DS Walker will just have to wait until we’re ready,’ she said lightly. ‘Just remember, Jeanette, that marriage can be a wonderful thing but it’s not ideal to be too dependent upon or subservient to one person. The suffragettes fought for equal rights for women and we should be grateful to them. I’ll never forget the arguments that used to go on in our house between my mam and dad over money.’
Jeanette sighed. ‘It’s Aunt Ethel who’s held most of the purse strings, at least where I’m concerned, for as long as I can remember. That’s why I want my own place. Dad won’t give his permission for me and Davy to marry yet. He thinks I’m too young and should wait until I’m twenty-one. I’m planning on asking Mam to get to work on him to persuade him to change his mind. I’ll settle for a wedding next year. I’ll be nineteen at Christmas. Right now I’m determined to live in my friend Betty Booth’s flat when she goes to Italy during the summer holidays, although I could do with finding someone to share the rent with me.’ She eyed Dorothy carefully. ‘You wouldn’t like to do it, would you?’
Before Dorothy could say that she might not even be in Liverpool, they were interrupted by Sam shouting, ‘Will you two stop nattering? I’m ready to go!’
‘Coming,’ sang Jeanette, hurrying down the step which she had cleared of snow first thing that morning. She climbed into the back seat. ‘Let’s escape before the old witch wakes up.’
‘Aunt Ethel is not going to want to come in the car with us on a day like today,’ said Sam, taking the spade and sacking from Dorothy and placing them in the boot.
‘She’s panting to see the place where Mam’s been living,’ said Jeanette.
‘Well, she’s going to have to wait,’ said Sam, holding the front passenger door open for Dorothy. She climbed in and thanked Sam sweetly. ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, kissing her on the lips before closing the door and going round to the driving seat.
‘Here’s hoping,’ muttered Dorothy, crossing her fingers.
‘Have a little faith, woman!’ he muttered, raising his brown eyes heavenwards before setting the car in motion.
Dorothy glanced over her shoulder and Jeanette winked and crossed her fingers as well. The tyres crunched through the cinders and ashes and they were on their way. They conversed little as they motored into town, although it was as Sam had said and the main roads had been cleared. Even so, Dorothy and Jeanette thought it best not to distract him from his driving with chatter.
All was well until they came out of the Mersey Tunnel at Birkenhead and were heading towards Bebington. Then the car skidded on a patch of black ice, sending Jeanette’s and Dorothy’s hearts into their mouths as they were flung forward. With some skill, Sam managed to allow the vehicle to go with the skid and not to brake. Even so they were all shaken when at last they were able to continue with their journey in comparative safety.
Dorothy rubbed her forehead where she had banged it on the windscreen and wondered aloud whether Sam had actually ever taken a proper course of driving lessons.
‘What a thing to say to a police detective sergeant!’ he protested, looking hurt.
‘I bet there are thousands on the road who haven’t taken a driving test,’ said Dorothy, still feeling shaken.
‘If that’s a snipe at me,’ said Sam, ‘you can get out of this car now and walk the rest of the way.’
‘I was just making a comment. I can drive but have never sat a test,’ said Dorothy.
Sam glanced at her before giving his full attention to the road once more. ‘The government suspended the need for a competency test for the duration of the war. Lots of people got into vehicles without having a test.’
‘I remember plenty who were no worse than some drivers seen on the roads today.’ Dorothy folded her arms across her breasts. ‘Road hogs who are utterly mad and go far too fast.’
; ‘There you go again,’ said Sam, sighing. ‘I think you want a walk. Perhaps I should stop right here and you can get out.’
Dorothy arrowed him a challenging look. ‘If I thought you really meant that I would.’
‘Who said I didn’t mean it?’ he teased.
‘Will you two stop!’ cried Jeanette. ‘I can’t help thinking how handy it is that Dorothy can drive. If we were to get stuck, we’d need your strength to push the car to get us moving again, Sam. I wouldn’t have the foggiest what to do if I had to get in the driving seat,’ she added.
‘No woman is driving my car,’ said Sam. ‘Lots of things went on during the war that shouldn’t have done and women driving is one of them!’ He winked at Dorothy to show there were no hard feelings.
Her only response was to ask, ‘Are we nearly there?’
‘We’ve just passed a sign for Bebington, so it can’t be that far,’ said Jeanette.
‘I’m glad you’re watching where we’re going,’ said Sam, looking relieved. ‘Dot, have a look at the road map and see where we turn off.’
‘Pretty please,’ she murmured.
‘Get lost,’ he drawled.
‘One of these days I just might do that,’ she said, reaching for the map.
‘But I’d always manage to find you,’ said Sam as he rested his hand on her knee. His proprietorial tone irritated Dorothy and made her feel even more on edge. Sooner or later she was going to have to tell him that she was going down south for an audition. There! She had made up her mind without consciously being aware of it until now.
It was not long before they were driving through Bebington and were soon descending a hill. There were fields and hedges on either side and the tyres slipped a couple of times but Sam drove cautiously and managed to keep control of the car.
‘My stomach feels as if it’s tied in a knot,’ murmured Dorothy.
‘How d’you think mine feels?’ said Sam. ‘This road is that narrow that I’m praying that another vehicle doesn’t come from the opposite direction.’
‘One of you would have to back up,’ said Dorothy.
‘I had worked that out myself,’ said Sam drily.
‘Let’s not think about it,’ Jeanette intervened. ‘Isn’t the countryside pretty, what with the trees and fields shimmering white where the sun’s catching crystals of snow. I can understand why Mam doesn’t want to move away from this area to the bomb-damaged streets of Liverpool. On the other hand, it’s lonely and it would be a pain to be cut off by the weather.’
‘It must be miles to the nearest theatre or cinema,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’d hate it.’
‘You’re allowed to hate it,’ said Sam, ‘because we’re not going to live in the countryside.’ Without taking his eyes from the road, which had began to climb again, he added, ‘We’ll be living in Liverpool when we’re married. There’s several theatres there and plenty of cinemas for you to visit. I’ll be the breadwinner and you can please yourself which one to patronize.’
‘But what if I really, really, want to continue acting?’ asked Dorothy.
He glanced at her. ‘I’ll need you at home. We’ve already discussed this. If I want promotion I have to take my job extremely seriously. Sometimes it’s a matter of life and death for people. In your case it’s make-believe. I know this Liverpool film you want to make is different, but even so … once you’ve done that and got it out of your system, I’d rather you didn’t go back to acting. I’m sure you’d be able to find an amateur dramatics group locally to get involved in just for fun.’
Dorothy could feel her ire rising. ‘You think I’ll have time? I thought you expected me to be the little wife at home, warming your slippers and cooking your meals.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he murmured. ‘But you’ve missed out looking after the children.’
His words seemed to hang in the air and Dorothy felt suddenly sick.
Jeanette blurted, ‘Look, this is Storeton coming up now!’
‘Bloody hell, it is small,’ said Sam, driving even more cautiously as he glanced at scattered buildings and a row of cottages. ‘Which house is Grace’s?’
‘There’s more of it. There’s Little Storeton, as well,’ said Jeanette.
Dorothy, glad of Jeanette’s interruption, took several deep breaths, relieved that they had almost arrived at their destination. ‘So which house is it?’
‘It’s an end one. Go slowly, Sam,’ murmured Jeanette.
‘I can’t really do anything other than that,’ he muttered.
She pointed out an end sandstone house. ‘Some of these are three hundred years old. I bet you didn’t know that!’
‘They look it,’ said Dorothy, who much preferred modern houses, having grown up in a small Victorian terrace with cold running water and the lavatory down the yard.
‘Here we are,’ said Jeanette.
The car had scarcely come to a halt before she had the rear passenger door open and was climbing out. Dorothy followed her like a shot. As they made their way up the path to the house, a curtain twitched in the front window and before either could knock, the door opened.
‘We weren’t sure you’d manage to get here,’ said Beryl, beaming at them both. She was an athletic-looking woman in her forties. ‘It’s good to see you. I take it this other young lady is Sam’s intended?’
‘Yes, this is Dorothy,’ said Jeanette, kissing the older woman’s cheek. ‘And Dorothy, this is Beryl, my mam’s nurse and friend.’
‘I hope my arriving unexpectedly is all right?’ said Dorothy, offering her hand.
Beryl shook it. ‘We were half-expecting you to turn up if Sam and Jeanette were able to come. Grace is going to be delighted to meet you and she can’t wait to see Sam after all these years.’ She stepped aside. ‘You two go on in and get a warm. Lunch won’t be long. We decided to be prepared in the hope you would get here.’
Jeanette led the way into the living room that overlooked the front of the house. Grace’s attractive, strong-boned face lit up at the sight of her daughter and she set aside her crochet and held out her arms. ‘Come and give me a hug, love!’
Mother and daughter hugged each other and then Jeanette sat on the pouffe beside Grace’s wheelchair. ‘How are you, Mam?’
Grace’s green eyes twinkled. ‘All the better for seeing you – and who’s this you’ve brought with you? Am I right in thinking it’s Miss Dorothy Wilson, not only Sam’s young lady but the famous actress?’
‘You flatter me, Mrs Walker,’ said Dorothy, shaking hands with Grace. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Likewise, and please call me Grace.’ She patted Dorothy’s hand. ‘Now where’s Sam? I’ve been expecting him for this past month.’
‘He’s always tied up at work, that’s the trouble,’ said Dorothy, glancing towards the doorway.
‘Just like you,’ said Sam, entering the room. He ducked his head to avoid a beam. Then getting down on his haunches in front of his stepmother, he took one of her hands and raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘You must be able to imagine how good it is to see you.’
Dorothy felt an unexpected ache in the region of her heart as she watched them. It was obvious the older woman was lost for words. With a tentative hand, she reached out and touched Sam’s face. ‘You were only a lad when last I saw you and now you’re a man and so big and strong.’
‘I always hoped I’d see you again but I didn’t expect to see you in a wheelchair.’
Grace sighed. ‘I do believe that some things are meant to be and it’s certainly given me a different perspective on life. I think I’ve always been a touch selfish.’
‘But wouldn’t you say that some of that was due to your upbringing?’ said Jeanette, frowning.
‘I notice you don’t deny I’ve been selfish?’ said Grace softly, covering her daughter’s hand with her own.
‘I think we can all be selfish up to a point,’ said Jeanette. ‘It’s hard to draw the line between selfishness and the need to do what’s abso
lutely necessary to get what you want in life without hurting those you care about.’
‘That’s very true,’ said Dorothy, avoiding looking at Sam as he rose to his feet and moved aside and perched on the arm of an easy chair. She felt a tap on the shoulder and glanced at Beryl who indicated that she sit down on the chair that she had placed the other side of Grace’s wheelchair.
So Dorothy sat down, eager to talk to this woman about her life and the accident that had left her crippled. The cost of the sacrifice not to make contact with your husband and daughter, hoping they would believe you dead because you didn’t want to be a burden on them. Had it had its compensations? If it had, then surely there must have been regrets as well? Such as not seeing your only child grow up. She thought of the son she had given away. She had never regretted doing so and must not do so now because what good were regrets?
If she had told her mother that Sam was the father of her child, she would have been round at his house like a flash, insisting to his father that his son marry her. Dorothy had never wished to trap Sam any more than she wanted to trap herself. She loved acting; it was her life’s blood and she had no desire to play at it as Sam suggested.
‘Tell me about your upbringing, Grace?’ asked Dorothy.
Grace grimaced. ‘It will shock you. I’d enjoy hearing more about your life, which is so very different to what mine has been.’
‘I’d rather hear about yours,’ said Dorothy boldly. ‘I’m sure Jeanette has told you about the film I want to make about women of Liverpool.’
‘Oh, yes! But it’s my mother you should put in your film, not me,’ said Grace.
‘The suffragette and believer in free love,’ said Jeanette, smiling at her mother.
Grace shook her head at her. ‘Don’t mention free love to me. Love has its price and it’s not always those who practise it that have to pay.’
‘Can you explain that?’ asked Dorothy, taking her pad and pencil out of her handbag.
‘Do you have to, Dot?’ said Sam, frowning.