Who's Sorry Now (2008)

by Lightfoot, Freda

  Thomas shivered as he dropped his trousers to the floor. Making a small clicking noise at the back of her throat Mavis rushed to pick them up and put them on a hanger in the wardrobe, giving her husband a filthy look as she did so.

  ‘I was going to do that. But if you like waiting on me, do you want to hang up me shirt, an’ all?’ He held the garment out to her.

  ‘Don’t be facetious.’

  Mavis returned to her dressing table and took out her hair pins, dropping each one with a little ping into a china tray. ‘And do try not to wake me when you go down to the bakery before dawn. You make such a noise, falling over your own feet I shouldn’t wonder, and I need my sleep. I really wish we had a proper house, with three bedrooms, then I wouldn’t be disturbed at all.’

  ‘I’ll try to creep out quietly, love,’ Thomas agreed, as he did every night. ‘Anyroad, I won’t be doing it for much longer. Once our Chris knows the ropes, I intend to take a well-earned rest.’

  Mavis looked at him in disbelief. ‘You mean slope off down to the pub instead of working?’

  ‘I mean it’s time I retired.’

  ‘Oh, that old chestnut,’ she huffed. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

  Thomas waited until his wife had put in her curling pins, encased them in a brown hair net and climbed into bed beside him. Putting on her spectacles, which she never wore in public, she picked up her Womans’ Weekly.

  Usually, Thomas was happy to leave her reading while he drifted off to sleep. It never took him long, sleep capturing him the minute his head struck the pillow; the result of a hard day’s work in the bakery or at the allotment. Mavis would give him a few nudges with her sharp elbow if he started to snore, before finally switching off her own lamp and settling down as far from him as was humanly possible in the double bed they’d shared throughout their married life.

  Tonight, however, he was feeling pleased with himself that for once he knew something she didn’t. Thomas cleared his throat. ‘Has our Chris mentioned the latest plans to you?’

  From behind her magazine Mavis gave a small sigh. Engrossed in a romantic serial she really had no wish to listen to her husband prattle on about business matters, some new cake recipe or whatever it was that consumed his tiny brain. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, hasn’t he told you?’ Thomas said, milking the moment for as long as he could. ‘I fully expected him to mention them, since you and him are like that much of the time.’ He crossed two fingers and grinned across at her.

  Mavis struggled to contain her patience. ‘Well, are you going to tell me or not? What plans are these?’

  ‘His plan to move out.’

  Thomas felt rather as if he’d dropped a hand grenade then stood back to watch as it took off. He wasn’t disappointed. His wife’s face looked as if it was about to explode. Her Womans’ Weekly dropped onto the green quilted eiderdown, quite forgotten, as she jerked upright in bed and almost screamed at him.

  ‘Move out?’

  ‘That’s the general idea. I felt sure he would’ve told you.’ Reaching over, Thomas turned off his own bedside lamp, plumped up his pillows and settled down to sleep. ‘Night, night!’

  ‘Don’t you dare start snoring in the middle of a conversation. Why is he moving out? Where is he going?’

  Thomas closed his eyes. ‘They, not him. Our Chris is a married chap now, Mavis, with responsibilities, which he’s taking very seriously. Him and Amy have decided they need a place of their own, for when the babby comes. They’ve taken that house next door to the pawn shop.’

  He might just as well have said brothel. Mavis was appalled.

  ‘The pawn shop! My son is going to live next door to a pawn shop. Never! I won’t allow it.’

  Thomas chuckled softly into his pillow. ‘I doubt you can do owt to stop it.’

  ‘I certainly can. I simply won’t hear of it. I shall put a stop to this nonsense first thing in the morning. They can’t possibly move until that baby is safely born. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me? I will not allow it.’

  Thomas answered her with a loud snore.

  ‘I really can’t think why you would choose to move out. It’s so much more convenient for you to live here, above the bakery, particularly since you and your father have to be up before dawn each day.’

  Chris sighed. He’d half expected this reaction from his mother, but was determined not to be pressured into backing down. ‘Amy feels we should get a place of our own before the baby comes, and it’s no more than fifty yards down the street. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting to work on time.’

  ‘Next to the pawn broker? I never thought a son of mine would stoop so low.’

  Chris chuckled. ‘It’s still here in Champion Street, Mother. You live above the shop, with market stalls opposite.’

  ‘More’s the pity. I’m still waiting for your father to find me a decent house to live in. I hoped for something better for my only son.’

  Chris smiled to himself and couldn’t help glancing about him at the impeccably decorated, well-furnished terraced house he’d always called home. Not a table-mat out of place. Even now, enjoying breakfast after having completed the first baking, the kitchen table was covered with a hand-embroidered tablecloth, the toast neatly arrayed in a silver rack and his eggs and bacon on blue and white Cornishware. Yet somewhere deep inside, his mother clearly harboured a deep resentment against his father.

  He wondered if perhaps she wasn’t the teeniest bit jealous, perhaps of their youth and evident love for each other, if not the home he and Amy had chosen to live in. ‘I think that’s for us to decide, don’t you? We’re happy and excited about our new life together, and starting a family. Be pleased for us.’

  ‘Of course I’m pleased, dear, but you’re my only son, I want the best for you. I never wanted you to go into the business with your father in the first place.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a lavender-scented handkerchief, although there was no sign of tears.

  Chris decided to tease her out of her ill humour. ‘You wanted me to stay as a milk-man, working for the Co-op Dairy?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I wanted you to get a good job, or perhaps start a business of your own. Not rent a poky little house next to the pawn broker.’

  ‘We all have to start somewhere. I’m sure we’ll survive, as you have. You and Pops seem to have done all right for yourselves. There’s a new Hillman Minx parked outside, remember.’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to put up with,’ Mavis objected, at which point Chris decided it would be politic to escape. He’d heard her list of complaints many times before, and it was a long one. He put his knife and fork neatly side by side on his plate, as he’d been taught to do from a boy, wiped his mouth on his napkin, then kissed her papery soft cheek. It smelled strongly of the powder she used, even at seven o’clock in the morning. ‘Stop fretting, Mother. You’re going to be a grandma soon, concentrate on that. It’ll be great!’

  She called after him as he fled back to the bakery, but Chris pretended not to hear.

  Amy had fewer opportunities for escape. Throughout each long day as she ironed shirts, polished the brasses, cut ham sandwiches for lunch then spent the afternoon struggling with knitting a pair of socks on four needles under her mother-in-law’s strict supervision, Mavis never let up for a moment.

  ‘I can’t think why you would want to take Chris away from his family. We’ve made you very welcome, despite your disastrous start to married life together, of which we strongly disapproved, as you know. We’ve even provided a brand new three-quarter bed and somehow squeezed it into Chris’s old room. Although what more do you need to do in a bedroom but sleep?’

  ‘There wouldn’t be room for a cot,’ Amy sensibly pointed out.

  ‘Don’t be foolish. Cots, and babies, are very small. Absolutely tiny. And everything is done for you here. How on earth would you manage on your own when the baby comes?’

  Amy judged it wise not t
o respond to this, nursing her happiness close to her heart that at least escape was in sight.

  ‘Chris has certainly never said anything to me before about wanting to leave home.’

  ‘It’s quite usual, when boys grow up.’

  Mavis bridled. ‘He’s always been very happy here. This is his home.’

  ‘He’s a married man now,’ Amy quietly reminded her. ‘And soon to be a father.’

  ‘Exactly, but I would have thought it was a wife’s duty to fit in with her husband, and not the other way around,’ Mavis snapped.

  Amy swallowed her irritation and patiently smiled. ‘We’ve been very grateful to you for letting us stay here all these months. But it’s time for us to have our own home now that we’re starting a family. I would think you’ll be glad of the extra space, once we move out.’

  ‘It would make far more sense if Thomas and I moved out to the suburbs, and you and Chris took this house.’

  Amy glanced up from her efforts to turn the heel and stared at her mother-in-law in surprise. ‘Is that a possibility?’

  ‘It would be if I had any say in the matter,’ Mavis snapped. ‘Thomas, however, is a law unto himself. If he ever sat still longer than five minutes I might manage to have the matter out with him. He promised me years ago that we’d move out of Champion Street. Of course, a promise from a husband, you’ll come to see, my dear, means very little. Men are selfish to the core. It suits Thomas to live over the bakery, and close to that dratted allotment, even if he is contemplating retirement. Never gives a moment’s thought as to whether it suits me. Please do make me a cup of tea, dear, my head is thumping.’

  And Amy, whose legs were aching as she’d scarcely sat down all day herself, obediently went to put the kettle on. So that’s the nub of the problem, she thought. Mavis has fixed her sights on a new house out in the suburbs and Thomas is content with things exactly as they are.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Some weeks had gone by since Gina and Luc had made up their differences beneath the old copper beech. Following the occasion when her parents had seen him at church, she’d half expected them to remark on how smart he’d looked, how polite he was, but they’d said nothing.

  Every Sunday following that day, Luc had made a point of saying good morning to each of them. Good manners had driven them to reply in the end, and once or twice her mother had even smiled at him. Gina had rather hoped that this politeness might soften their attitude.

  To be fair to them, when Gina had finally admitted that she was seeing Luc again, her parents made no attempt to stop her. But then Gina had been very firm, determined to stop pretending, to stop being secretive.

  ‘You can say what you like,’ she’d informed her parents. ‘I’m sixteen years old and I like him, so there.’

  They would watch in silence as she got ready to go out. Make no comment beyond asking for the usual assurance that she wouldn’t be late home.

  ‘I won’t be late,’ Gina would cheerfully say. Then she would kiss them on both cheeks and leave, smiling to herself as she saw Momma bite her lip, itching to ask where Luc was taking her.

  In fact they rarely did anything particularly exciting on their dates, as they didn’t have much money. Most evenings they would walk by the canal or in the park if the weather was fine and they could afford the bus fair, content simply to be together. Sometimes they went to the pictures, and once to a dance, although Gina spent most of her time giggling as she simply couldn’t quite get the hang of rock ‘n’ roll.

  ‘I don’t have the balance,’ she mourned.

  ‘We can smooch though, which is far more fun,’ Luc told her, holding her close in his arms as they danced cheek to cheek.

  But if her parents seemed to be mellowing a little, loving her and wanting her only to be happy, as all Italian parents did, her sister was barely speaking to her.

  Carmina had been in a sulk for weeks, even more moody than usual. She told Gina that she thought her quite mad. ‘Luc is no good. You’re acting like a fool still going out with him. He betrayed you, for goodness sake!’

  ‘Ah, but he didn’t,’ Gina insisted. ‘I realise now that was only one of your lies. I also know that you never did deliver that letter I gave you. Don’t think I don’t understand what game you’re playing, Carmina. You want Luc for yourself. But you can’t have him. He’s mine now, so forget him. Choose one of your other many admirers.’

  The fury in her sister’s eyes almost took her breath away. Carmina had looked as if she were about to strike her and Gina had felt a momentary, and very foolish, stab of fear. This was her sister, for goodness sake. Instead, Carmina had clenched her fists and stormed out the house. She’d hardly spoken a word to Gina since.

  But neither Carmina’s black moods, nor her jealous fury, could quench the love that was growing between Gina and Luc. They were happy together, content in each other’s company despite the cloud of disapproval still hanging over the young couple, one they longed to eradicate.

  Gina badly wanted Luc to be fully accepted by her parents. She longed for their approval, and one day, unable to keep her joy to herself any longer, told her mother straight out that she loved him.

  Momma huffed and puffed, threw her hands up in the air as was her wont, declaring a girl of sixteen couldn’t possibly know her own mind. Gina asked how old she’d been when she’d married Papa.

  ‘Eighteen, a very sensible eighteen. Nearly two years older than you are now.’

  ‘But I’m not asking to marry him,’ Gina very reasonably pointed out. ‘Not yet, anyway. I only want your approval that I can continue to see him and go out with him. Besides, how will you know if he’s suitable if you won’t meet him? I’m sure your father made an effort to get to know Papa before he agreed to your marrying him.’

  ‘These important matters were dealt with differently in my day.’

  Gina smiled. ‘Of course they were, but you still fell in love with Papa, didn’t you?’

  And so, at last, Luc was invited to visit.

  It was May and he was to come to Sunday lunch. This was the day Gina had dreamed of for so long: the day she was to bring Luc to meet her parents. She really didn’t know how she’d finally succeeded in persuading them. Sheer persistence, perhaps.

  Gina gave him strict instructions not to wear his leather jacket, or his tight trousers, but to choose something smart and conservative. ‘And no lime-green socks or crepe-soled shoes.’

  ‘For you, anything,’ he’d promised.

  As she let him in, excitement churning her stomach, Gina saw that he looked very smart indeed in a navy suit with sharply creased narrow trousers, a Burtons Special, with a pale blue waistcoat and toning silk tie. He’d even had his hair cut. Checking that neither of her parents had followed her out into the hall, she quickly gave him a kiss.

  ‘You look wonderful, so handsome, so respectable,’ she giggled.

  ‘So do you.’

  Gina was wearing a simple grey pinafore dress in the fashionable princess line, and a pink gingham checked blouse with a white pique collar. ‘Momma made it for me, as she loves to sew. At least with this style she can’t put in sleeves of a different colour. She’s so thrifty, likes to use up every scrap of fabric.’

  Luc risked kissing her again while she laughed at the memory of the rainbow coloured dressed she’d worn as a child, and her younger sisters still wore.

  ‘Are you ready to face the music? They’re all waiting for you.’

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘I think so, although I’d much rather stay here and look at you.’

  Gina pushed her hair from her face. She’d left out her kirby grips and it kept falling into a careless bob. ‘I can’t think why you would want to. I’m not beautiful like Carmina, and you mustn’t ever look down at my legs.’

  Luc cupped his hands about her face. ‘You are far more beautiful than your sister. Carmina’s beauty is like an overblown rose, yours is still unfurling like a new bud.’

  ‘Oh, Luc,’ kis
sing him again because she simply couldn’t resist him when he spoke to her with such love in his voice. ‘I can’t believe this is happening, that they’re willing to meet you properly, at last.’

  ‘How could they not when I’m such a nice guy?’ And they both fell to giggling.

  Then Gina glanced quickly at the living room door, dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘Carmina’s in there too. We had a bit of a ding-dong about her not delivering that letter, and all those lies she told about you. Yet another row. She hasn’t spoken to me since but ...’

  ‘Gina, what are you doing out there? Where are your manners? Bring your visitor in.’ Momma’s voice called out to her, sounding stern.

  ‘I’m ready if you are,’ he said, and holding hands they walked together into the living room as if they were going before a judge and jury instead of Gina’s loving family.

  It was the longest meal Gina could ever remember. At first no one spoke, Papa and Momma eyeing Luc as if he were a specimen on a slab. Giovanni and Gabby giggled and whispered together, Marta told him where to sit, next to Gina but opposite herself. Carmina simmered in sulky silence at the end of the table. Only Marc and Patsy weren’t present, as they were eating with the Higginson sisters today.

  Antonia bluntly asked why Luc didn’t get himself a better job than that of a builder’s labourer.

  ‘Antonia!’ Momma chided in shocked tones, but then listened avidly for Luc’s reply.

  ‘I’m not a labourer,’ Luc explained with a smile. ‘I’m an apprentice builder, learning the trade. It wasn’t my first choice, that’s true, but it’s a good trade to have at your fingertips. There’s plenty of work for builders right now.’

  Gina said, ‘Luc loves to cook and would like to own his own restaurant one day.’

  ‘Cooking is good,’ Momma said. ‘Why you not train to be chef?’

  ‘I need to earn a good living first,’ Luc put in. ‘My father does not approve so it is no more than a dream at present. And dreams are all very well, but it is reality which pays the rent.’