by June Francis
‘Then she’s going to get better?’ said Rosie, starting forward, relieved.
Amelia lowered her arm and stared at her. ‘The doctor’s cautiously optimistic. One thing’s for sure, Rosie – your grandmother’s going to need someone with her constantly for a while. You won’t be able to go into work while she’s like this, more’s the pity.’
Rosie’s face fell and Davey took her hand and squeezed it. ‘We’ll help as much as we can.’
‘I won’t be able to do as much as I’d like, though, lovey,’ said Mrs Baxendale. ‘Breaking my leg’s slowed my gallop.’
‘If only she hadn’t fallen out with my granddad,’ said Rosie, sighing. ‘I’m sure he’d have been prepared to help me.’
Amelia stared at her. ‘I thought your granddad was dead?’
‘No.’ And Rosie told Amelia what Maggie had said about him.
Her aunt clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that he left her, though that doesn’t help us now.’
‘What do I do about tonight? Can Gran go to bed?’
‘Best leave her where she is. She’ll be quite comfy on the sofa if you bring down blankets and a pillow.’ Amelia glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ll stay here in case anything happens. You’d best get to bed.’
‘We’ll be going, Rosie. I’ll call in tomorow and see if there’s anything I can get you,’ said Mrs Baxendale.
‘Don’t be worrying,’ said Davey, lifting her hand and kissing it. ‘And don’t be forgetting her Sunday visitor.’
Rosie pressed her cheek against his hand a moment. Amelia stared at them, feeling an ache inside her.
When Rosie returned after seeing the Baxendales out, her aunt was making cocoa. ‘Get this down you,’ she said, ‘then you can fetch the bedding. Bring a pillow and a blanket for me. I’ll sleep down here.’
‘What about Uncle Pete?’ said Rosie. ‘What’s he going to say about you staying out all night?’
‘He’ll understand when I tell him,’ said Amelia, making her voice light.
Rosie drank her cocoa and went upstairs. Maggie seemed to be sleeping and hardly made a murmur as they fixed her up. Both were certain they would not be able to sleep, but Rosie went off almost immediately.
But Amelia was wide awake in the unfamiliar surroundings, thinking at first about Maggie. It was a turn-up for the book that her husband was still alive, but were they still married? Amelia sighed. What did it matter anyway? This Sunday visitor was likely to be of more help to them. She eased her back, trying to get more comfortable, and began to brood over the quarrel with Peter. He would surely agree to an annulment if he believed what he said about the marriage being a mistake. It was a sad thing to admit, just when they had appeared to be getting on better. The trouble was that both of them had considered sacrosanct the plea of a dying woman and had not given enough thought to their own needs. Believing that a little self-sacrifice for the children’s sake would be enough to make everything work out when it was not nearly enough after all.
Something more was needed to make all the sacrifice worthwhile. She turned the thought over and over in her mind most of that long, uncomfortable night as she recalled the past few months. It was only when a grey light filtered through the curtains into the kitchen that Amelia at last slipped into unconsciousness.
‘Aunt Amelia, wake up!’
‘What?’ she muttered sleepily, wondering what Rosie was doing in her dream.
‘Gran’s up! She’s smashed a cup and she’s walking all funny and talking double Dutch again!’
Amelia shot up, wincing as she banged one elbow on the arm of the chair. She forced her eyelids open and saw the ceiling first where clothes hung from a rack. She struggled up and took in Rosie’s anxious face, remembering the events of yesterday evening. ‘Where is she?’ she muttered, pushing the other chair away with her bare feet and throwing back the blanket.
There was the sound of something hitting the floor. ‘She’s in the shop,’ said Rosie.
Amelia followed her out, face expressionless when she saw the sticky pool of jam and spilt dried peas on the floor, though her heart sank. She pitied her niece, having experienced this kind of thing herself with her father. ‘It’s going to be one of those days, Rosie,’ she warned, and stretched herself and yawned.
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ said the girl grimly, stepping carefully over the mess on the floor.
Maggie swung round, her right arm coming down heavily on the counter, and threw a string of unintelligible words at the girl.
‘You’re not coming over loud and clear, Gran,’ said Rosie.
‘I waka go slavtry,’ shrieked the old woman, banging on the counter. Then suddenly she dropped her arm to clutch her crotch. There was a pitter-patter on the floor and Rosie groaned.
‘Too late,’ said Amelia, pulling a face. ‘You get the mop and bucket. I’ll get the dustpan and brush if you’ll tell me where they are. And some newspaper to wipe up the jam. We don’t want Mrs Kilshaw slipping and breaking a leg into the bargain. Then we’ll see to her together.’
Rosie stared. ‘But you don’t even like her. Why are you doing this? Why did you stay?’
Amelia’s eyebrows arched delicately. ‘I’d see to the cat if he’d made a mess. Your gran is human. Now let’s get cracking. It’s gone nine and I’m going to be late as it is. I’ll have to go into the shop.’
It was gone eleven by the time Amelia arrived in Kensington. Mr Brown, who seldom got flustered, was looking harassed. ‘Your niece hasn’t come in and what with your being late, Mrs Hudson, I’ve been rushed off my feet! You wouldn’t believe the people coming down with coughs and colds. Far more than usual. I hope we’re not in for a ’flu epidemic.’
‘We always have loads of colds at this time of year. It’s good for business, Brownie,’ she said, trying to make light of things, glad to put on an overall over her creased, slept-in clothes. ‘Rosie won’t be in, by the way. Her grandmother’s had a stroke.’ She explained what had happened.
‘How are we going to manage?’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should look for someone extra to serve in the shop? It would give you more time to be at home looking after your family, Mrs Hudson, when Rosie is able to come back . . .’
Amelia felt a headache coming on. ‘Perhaps,’ she murmured, feeling like saying, Don’t you start! ‘But let’s give it a week and see how things go.’
Nothing more was said as a couple of customers came in and Mr Brown vanished into the dispensing room.
It was not until lunchtime that Amelia had a chance to sit down. Mr Brown went off home and she put on the kettle and found the biscuit tin which contained a few broken biscuits. It was not much of a lunch but it was better than nothing, she decided, thinking she would have to make time to slip out that afternoon to collect her bread from the baker’s. She had phoned the butcher’s and he had promised her some liver and a couple of sausages, but there were more important things on her mind than food. She bit into another broken Nice biscuit, thinking about Peter and wondering how Rosie was getting on with her grandmother, only to be disturbed by a hammering at the door.
‘Go away,’ she called wearily.
The hammering persisted so she rose and went to open the door, thinking that maybe it was an emergency.
‘I thought you’d be here,’ said Peter, pushing his way in as soon as she had the door open. ‘Where the hell were you last night?’ He pushed back his trilby and in the process rumpled his hair, making him look younger than his thirty-six years, and more vulnerable somehow. ‘I hardly slept a wink.’
‘I can explain. And don’t start shouting, please! I hardly slept a wink either,’ she retorted, bolting the door behind him.
‘You had us all worried. The twins and Dotty heard us arguing . . . heard the door slam. I didn’t know what to tell them.’ He threw his hat on to the counter, pushing back his unbuttoned overcoat and digging his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Well?’
Gui
lt mingled with anger. The kids again! They were all he cared about. She folded her arms across her breasts, hugging herself. ‘I couldn’t leave Rosie. Her grandmother had a stroke.’ She tossed the words at him. ‘And I know what you’re going to say – that it was my fault for writing that note.’
‘I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort.’ He frowned. ‘So don’t go jumping in before I get a chance to speak.’
‘What’s there to say? Our marriage was a mistake, as you said. The only answer is an annulment. It hasn’t been consummated so we should have no difficulty.’
‘And that’s your answer?’ There was a pinched look about his nose and mouth. ‘If I’m not mistaken, you’d have to provide medical evidence to that fact. Do you fancy that?’ His laughter was hollow.
‘If needs must.’ She pressed her lips tightly together and turned her back on him. Of course she hadn’t thought about that and the idea filled her not only with acute embarrassment but mortification as well.
‘Marvellous! I can just imagine the gossip.’ His voice shook.
She whirled round. ‘Is that all you care about? What people will say?’
‘Don’t you?’ His angry eyes met hers and he grabbed her by the shoulders. She was surprised by a thrill of excitement. ‘You who’ve always been so prim and proper. You’d be making a holy show of us! It would be so wrong to destroy this marriage just because we fell out over your sister coming to live with us.’
‘It’s not just that and you know it,’ she retorted. ‘It’s the children! I’m always having to think about them. There seems to be no time for anything else.’
‘But you must have known what it would be like when you took the job on?’ He shook her slightly, his expression softening. ‘And what have I been saying these past months about you giving up the shop so you could have more time to yourself?’
‘I know. But that’s out of the question now. Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Her tone was milder. ‘Rosie’s gran’s had a stroke. Rosie’s going to have to stay at home for a while and look after her.’
‘I’m sorry. Sorry for Rosie too. But couldn’t you – I – we—’
‘What?’ She gazed up at him and suddenly it was as if she had never seen him properly before. How long that moment lasted while they just looked at each other she had no idea but her bones felt as if they were melting. With a great effort he cleared his throat and she tried to remember what was the last thing said.
‘If Iris comes . . .’ he murmured, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
‘Yes?’
Peter hesitated. ‘I was thinking – we could share a room and Iris could have mine. Babs could bunk in with Dotty, and Harry with the boys. I know it would be a bit crowded but—’
‘That sounds sensible.’ Amelia lowered her eyes, tracing the black and white pattern on the tiled floor with the toe of her shoe.
‘Sensible. Yes.’ His voice sounded odd.
She cleared her throat which felt as if it had a fish bone stuck in it. ‘You see married couples in twin beds all the time in American films.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll do that, shall we? It would be a step in the right direction.’
‘Yes.’ There was no need for her to ask which direction that was. She sensed that he, like she, was unsure just how and when they should make certain moves. It was less than a year since Tess had died. Her presence was still very real to Amelia, and she felt sure it must be the same for him.
Peter dropped his hands. ‘Will you be in when I get home this evening?’
‘I should go and see if Rosie and her grandmother are OK.’
He nodded. ‘You do that. But why don’t you knock off a little earlier and come home first so the kids will know everything’s all right between us?’
‘Of course. That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.’ Even to herself Amelia thought her voice sounded terribly polite and she remembered what he had said about that.
‘Right.’ He summoned up a smile.
Amelia smiled too. ‘I don’t like being out of friends,’ she said.
‘Me neither.’ He reached out and took her hand, fingering her wedding ring. ‘It’s six months.’
‘I know.’
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. She felt the breath catch in her throat, wanting to reach out and touch his face and bring it closer to hers. The moment was fraught with possibilities but she just could not do it. Why? She did not know but the opportunity had passed now and he left.
By the time Amelia arrived at Maggie’s house, Rosie was drooping. She stripped off her gloves and gave Rosie her orders. ‘Go and get some fresh air. I’ll make a pot of tea and stay with your gran.’
A smile flooded Rosie’s peaky face. ‘What about Uncle Pete? Does he know you’re here?’
‘Of course he knows I’m here,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ve spoken to him and everything’s OK.’
‘I think I’ll slip over and see Davey then, if you don’t mind?’
‘As long as you don’t let yourself get too serious about him,’ said Amelia lightly. ‘This is only a temporary setback. You’ll be back in that dispensing room in no time, you’ll see.’
Rosie was silent, grabbing her coat and leaving the house.
Amelia sat next to Maggie, who sat slumped in a chair. ‘How are you feeling?’ she said loudly.
‘Sheiam mussh betcher.’
Amelia agreed she was looking much better but thought here too it was early days. She watched Maggie fall asleep in front of her, then rose and reached for the old woman’s handbag. Perhaps she would find the address of the Sunday visitor in there. She rifled through the bulging bag’s contents and came across a couple of letters that interested her greatly. She smiled and when Rosie returned told her she would come again on Sunday and see how things were.
Over the next couple of days, Maggie’s condition improved marginally. She had little movement in her left arm but was able to walk down the yard with Rosie’s help. On Sunday Amelia arrived, accompanied by Dotty. Rosie was glad to see the pair of them but when her sister went up close to her grandmother, gazing at her intently and saying, ‘She looks smaller than I remember. Is she still talking double Dutch?’ Rosie was vexed with her.
‘She’s not deaf, you know. It’s really frustrating for her, being the way she is.’
‘Sorry!’ said Dotty, pouting. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’
‘Why don’t you two go out?’ said Amelia, sensing Rosie really needed a break from the house and her grandmother. ‘I’ll hold the fort.’
Dotty looked relieved but Rosie said, ‘You’ll have to see to the shop too. People still come on Sundays.’
Amelia gave no sign of disapproving of the Sabbath being desecrated in such a way, only saying in a dry voice, ‘I think I can manage.’
Still Rosie was not satisfied. ‘People get things on tick. There’s a book on a string attached to the counter.’
‘Get out, girl!’ Her aunt pushed her towards the door, half laughing. ‘The day’ll be over before you’ve been anywhere. I think, after running my own place, I can manage this.’
Once rid of her nieces, she took out a large slice of the carrot cake she had made last evening and cut it in half. She gave a piece to Maggie and made a pot of tea. Amelia switched on the wireless, watching her charge fall asleep. She had done some hard thinking and now settled down to wait.
It was not long before she heard the back gate opening and heavy footsteps in the yard. She looked out of the window before walking into the shop and was behind the counter when the door opened.
The man was elderly with vivid blue eyes, which showed surprise on seeing her. He removed his checked flat cap, placing it on the counter. He had a thick crop of greying sandy hair and was still a good-looking man for his age. ‘Who are you? And where’s Maggie?’ he said gruffly.
‘Who are you?’ she retorted promptly.
He hesitated, tapping his fing
ers on the counter. ‘You answer my question first. Where’s Maggie?’
‘She’s had a stroke.’
‘Bloody hell!’ He looked stunned for a minute, then he coloured. ‘Pardon me language but you gave me a shock. When did that happen?’
‘The day after Boxing Day.’
He leaned against the counter, shaking his head. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have played cards. She always was a lousy loser.’
‘Was that on Boxing Day?’
‘Naw! She was seeing friends from her old street then. I dropped in the day after.’
Amelia’s conscience lightened a little. ‘I see. Did she get all worked up?’
‘You can say that again! Stubborn ol’ faggot.’ He took a pipe and leather pouch from a pocket, blue eyes still on Amelia’s face. ‘But what business is it of yours? Yer still haven’t told me who yer are, queen?’
‘I’m Amelia Hudson, née Needham. But I don’t suppose that’ll mean anything to you?’ She paused but he did not flicker an eyelid.
‘Nice to meet yer.’ He put down his pipe and held out a hand. ‘Not from round here, are yer?’
‘West Derby.’ They shook hands, Amelia quite liking the look of him.
‘Had an uncle who lived out that way. So how is Maggie? I take it she’s not dead or yer’d have told me.’ He picked up his pipe again, packing shreds of tobacco into the tortoiseshell bowl with stubby fingers.
‘No. And I’m hoping she’ll make a good recovery. At the moment, though, she needs help. It’s my niece who’s doing that. She lives here with her grandmother.’
He blinked. ‘Who the hell’s your niece and who’s her grandmother? I thought only Maggie lived here.’
‘Rosie Kilshaw. Mrs Kilshaw’s her grandmother.’
His jaw dropped. ‘What are yer saying? Maggie hasn’t got any grandchildren.’ He looked aggrieved. ‘And I should know, queen. I’m her husband!’
Amelia was delighted to hear it. ‘That is good news. We thought you were dead!’
‘Yeah! That’s what she probably wanted people to think,’ he said grimly. ‘She’s got some explaining to do. Not one word has she mentioned about us have a granddaughter.’