Who's Sorry Now (2008)

by Lightfoot, Freda

  She’d been buying pots and pans, baking tins, cutlery and all sorts of household bits and bobs for weeks now from Carl Garside’s kitchen stall. She’d bought other things off the market too: towels, bed linen, a second-hand radio from Alec’s Music Shop, plus any number of scraps of fabric from Winnie Holmes to make the cushion covers and curtains she was endlessly sewing.

  She’d dreamed of being able to choose something new for the living room but Mavis seemed set on unloading some of her old fashioned pieces on to her son and daughter-in-law: a worn out, moth-eaten old sofa, a scratched chest of drawers and a Victorian-style dresser, a rickety gate-leg table with plush-seated chairs that had seen better days, and of course the three-quarter bed with the rattling headboard.

  ‘It’s long past time I bought myself some new furniture,’ Mavis decided, casting a venomous glance at her silent husband as he stood drinking the tea Amy had made him, almost more paint on his overall than on the actual walls.

  For some reason Amy didn’t quite understand, relations between man and wife had fallen to a new low and the pair were scarcely speaking.

  ‘I deserve a little spoiling with what I’ve had to put up with all these years. But there’s plenty of wear left in these things yet, quite adequate for your needs, Amy dear. I’m sure you’ll be glad of them. Chris and his father can carry them round later, then we won’t need the expense of a moving wagon.’

  Chris gave her the kind of apologetic look which told Amy that they really couldn’t afford to refuse, money being as tight as it was.

  And so the shabby old furniture was carried along Champion Street by father and son and set in place. Amy tried to suggest they put the Victorian dresser in the front parlour but Mavis pooh-poohed the notion.

  ‘You haven’t a stick of furniture in this middle room, and this is where you’ll be living for most of the time. With the dresser, table and chairs it will be quite cosy.’

  It’ll look like something out of a Victorian novel, Amy thought, her heart sinking, dreams of a modern sideboard shrivelling to dust in her mind. She wondered if she could paint everything cream, with touches of Wedgwood blue, once the baby was born, as well as sew some bright new seat covers for those moth-eaten old chairs. Perhaps not, Mavis would be sure to disapprove.

  ‘Don’t stand there gawping, take those drawers up to our Chris’s room,’ she instructed her husband, just as if Amy didn’t exist.

  Mavis giving all the orders, as usual.

  ‘We’ll buy some new furniture, I promise, love. Just as soon as we can afford,’ Chris told Amy later as they lay together in bed, a note of sad apology in his voice. ‘Right now, beggars can’t be choosers.’

  Amy cuddled up to him, savouring his warmth, his strength, and tried not to let her mother-in-law’s interference spoil things for them. ‘There’s no stopping your mam once she gets the bit between her teeth, is there?’

  Chris chuckled, and, well aware of his mother’s idiosyncrasies, thought how fortunate he was to have such an understanding wife. ‘The bakery is going from strength to strength, and with Dad taking a back seat I’ve more freedom to experiment. Things can only get better. We just have to be patient.’

  He said this every day and Amy believed him. How could she not when she loved him so much?

  ‘Can we at least avoid taking this grotty old bed? I would so like us to start our new life together in a new and decent sized double bed, with a modern headboard that doesn’t rattle. I don’t want this antiquated monstrosity.’

  Chris kissed her in an abstracted sort of way, a small frown puckering his brow as he did a quick sum in his head that didn’t quite please him. He’d been saving up in his Post Office Savings Account for over a year now, but money was pouring out of it faster than water from a leaky drain.

  But he wanted Amy to be happy, and she surely deserved something new as they started life together.

  ‘We’ll buy one first thing tomorrow, even if it has to be on the never-never, and make sure it’s delivered by the end of next week. All the paintwork should be finished and dry by then and the last of the papering done. I hope we can move in by next weekend and be on our own at last. As for the rest of the furniture, we’ll just have to make-do and mend until we can afford to replace it with something more to our taste.’

  ‘Something modern,’ Amy agreed. ‘We need to buy a cot too, but I can’t bring myself to shop for the baby until he or she is actually born. I’m too afraid of tempting fate.’

  Chris kissed her again, more tenderly this time. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be fine.’

  Clara Higginson was adamant that she had no wish to sell the hat stall. ‘Why would I? And with you taking the lion’s share of the work, Patsy, and all your youthful energy, I can relax a little more. Although I’d be happy to take over Annie’s job with the accounts, if that would help.’

  Patsy agreed that it would and together they reviewed all the changes she’d made since becoming a partner, the new lines, the reorganisation of the stall itself with a much-improved fitting area.

  Clara said that she approved of the new round mirror high up on the wall, which allowed them to keep a watch on what customers were up to round the back of the stall. ‘But we also need a better mirror in the fitting room? That one is looking a bit fly-specked, don’t you think? It must be fifty years old if it’s a day, which doesn’t give a good impression.’

  Carmina came in while they were chatting and waved cheerily at Patsy. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only browsing. Just taking a five minute coffee break. You carry on with whatever it is you’re doing.’

  Clara paid the girl little attention, being far too used to seeing Carmina around, and continued with what she’d been saying. She was suggesting they repaint the sign over the stall. ‘Perhaps we should change it from Higginson’s Hats to Patsy’s Hats, or else something new and catchy.’

  Patsy shook her head. ‘No, leave it as it is.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to have your name on the board?’

  ‘No, everyone knows this stall as Higginsons. I think it would be a mistake to change it, and certainly not just because Annie has died. You’re still here, and a Higginson, after all. And I’ve no idea what my real name is, having only been fostered, so lets leave things exactly as they are.’

  ‘So long as you’re happy with that, Patsy, love.’

  ‘I am.’

  Patsy caught a glimpse of Carmina through the round mirror. She was round the back of the stall and she called out to her. ‘Let me know if you want to try anything on, Carmina?’

  ‘No thanks, I must get back to the ice cream cart now or Papa will have my guts for garters. You know how he is.’ Giving them another cheery wave, she swung away smiling quietly to herself, one hand clenched tight over a pair of pretty earrings which she’d tucked into her pocket. Patsy would never miss them.

  ‘You will be there with me, won’t you?’ Amy said as the day of her confinement drew near. ‘They said at the hospital that you could be, if you wanted.’

  ‘Of course I will, nothing would keep me away.’

  Chris hadn’t been too sure about being present at the birth when Amy had first suggested it, but he’d gone with her to some of the ante-natal classes, although not to the one where they showed a film of an actual birth. That was a step too far for him. But maybe if he just sat and held her hand and didn’t watch, it would be all right. He felt he could manage that.

  His mother, of course, was horrified by the very idea.

  ‘Men in the labour ward? I never heard of such a thing. Utterly preposterous! It would never have been permitted in my day. They would only get in the way, be fainting all over the place. It’s not right for a man to be present. Having babies is women’s business. Men have nothing at all to do with it.’

  ‘I think I did play a bit of a part in the process, Mother,’ Chris teasingly reminded her, making her blush.

  ‘You’d be useless,’ Mavis snapped. ‘Tell him to stay away
, Amy. And think what a mess you’ll look. You don’t want him to see you like that, do you?’

  Amy grasped her husband’s hand very tight. ‘I don’t mind at all. I want him by my side when our child is born.’

  And so he was. As his son emerged into a bright new shining world, Chris found he had tears rolling down his cheeks and his pretty young wife had never looked more beautiful.

  Bringing the baby home to their little terraced house was exciting and scary all at the same time. Chris collected Amy from the nursing home in the bakery van and it felt very strange to be moving into the house at last, and with this new little creature absolutely dependent upon her.

  Amy barely slept a wink in those first few days, for fear of something going wrong. What if he should stop breathing? What if he fell off the couch or banged his head, or put something into his mouth that he shouldn’t? She suddenly became aware of all the hazards around her, in this her wonderful new home, in the street, the market, the world, the very air that he breathed.

  His first bath-time was a nightmare. Compelled to use the kitchen sink for want of a bathroom, Amy was terrified in case he should slip out of her wet hands. He seemed so small, so fragile, how could he possibly survive her inadequate, clumsy efforts?

  ‘I can’t cope,’ Amy wailed.

  ‘Yes, you can. You’re doing fine. What we need is a proper baby bath on a stand,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll go and buy one right now.’

  No, you won’t. I’ll get it,’ Mavis told him, stopping him in his tracks with a firm hand. ‘You’d be sure to buy the wrong thing.’

  ‘I’m not certain there’s much money left in my purse,’ Amy worried.

  Big Molly said, ‘Ask the Bertalones. No doubt Carlotta has one she could lend you. Why go to the expense of new?’

  Mavis was outraged. ‘I’m not having any grandson of mine using someone else’s cast-offs. Who knows where it might have been? Quite unhygienic.’

  Thomas said, ‘Nay, you could eat your dinner off Carlotta’s floor, it’s that clean. Don’t talk daft, woman.’

  ‘Who are you calling daft? It’s all a matter of standards, something you might not appreciate.’

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter,’ Amy said, ‘I’m quite happy to bath him in the sink. I just need a bit of time to get used to it.’ And less of an audience, she thought.

  But Mavis went out, there and then, and bought one in blue, with pictures of teddy bears stuck all around the rim, together with a stand to rest it on. Mahogany, of course.

  Relations between the grandparents was not good. They seemed to be engrossed in a competition, vying with each other over who could buy the most garments, equipment, and toys for the new baby. Rarely a day passed without either Big Molly or Mavis turning up with something they’d just happened to see on the market.

  Following the incident with the bath came the squabble over a cot. Mavis wished to buy one which would convert into a single bed one day, which Amy thought too big and unwieldy for a small baby. ‘I’d lose him in it and he might get smothered or lost in the sheets.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, it would make excellent sense.’

  But Amy insisted it was too big as a cot, and possibly too small for a bed later when he grew. And then Big Molly arrived, followed closely by her long-suffering husband, Ozzy, carrying a pretty little crib with two angels dangling on a blue ribbon from a frilled hood.

  Amy wasn’t too sure she wanted this either, but the deed was done, the purchase made. Nor did it meet with Mavis’s approval who considered the crib far too fussy and totally inadequate for a growing child.

  Next came the issue of the pram. Amy and Chris had looked in shop windows, and, being somewhat strapped for cash, been shocked by the prices on display. So they were secretly relieved when Mavis offered to buy one for them.

  ‘It’s our prerogative, as grandparents, to help provide for the baby,’ she insisted. ‘And I’m sure your own father couldn’t manage to find such a large sum, Amy.’

  Amy wanted to protest that Ozzy would give her his last penny, which was true in a way, were there any pennies left in his pocket after he’d finished paying his debts to the bookie.

  But while Amy had opted for something modest in cream, Mavis purchased a Silver Cross carriage pram in burgundy with a navy hood. It looked absolutely superb, a Rolls Royce among prams. Amy’s five foot two form was hardly visible behind it.

  But Amy and Chris had no intention of objecting or making a fuss. All they wanted was to accept these gifts with good grace so that their respective in-laws, Mavis in particular, would then leave them in peace to enjoy their baby, and married life together in their own home.

  In this they were to be sadly disappointed.

  With her first grandchild tucked up in a pretty crib, albeit one provided by Big Molly, Mavis resolved to keep a very close eye on what went on in her son’s house. At least being situated so close she could visit every single day, and indeed fully intended to do so, even if it was next to the pawn shop.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Out in the market there’d been a shower of rain earlier, now it was basking in hot sunshine. Somewhere there was music playing. Pat Boone singing Love Letters in the Sand. Belle Garside had set little tables outside her café to give it a continental air on what promised to be a lovely June day. Papa Bertalone had been rushed off his feet since he opened the ice cream parlour a couple of hours ago. Now, during a short lull in trade, he was leaning on the counter happily engrossed in his favourite topic: the making of ice cream. He was telling Winnie Holmes how it had been an Italian who’d first invented the wafer.

  ‘Before that we used to wrap the ice-a-creama in the paper which we call the hokey pokey.’

  ‘Well, that would be a bit more hygienic than them little glass dishes they used to have round here. Eeh, I remember those licking glasses,’ Winnie said, eyes glazing over with reminiscences of her girlhood. ‘It’s a wonder we didn’t catch some disease or other from those who had used it before us. We only had the ice cream man’s word for it that he’d washed the glass properly. I don’t know how we survived before the war, I don’t really. Not in these streets.’

  Papa smiled as he switched on his ice cream maker, its gentle hum seeming to purr with pleasure as it mixed the magic ingredients together. ‘Good hygiene is essential, that is true. Making ice-a-creama is a skilled task and takes mucha time. It not easy. It must be smooth and creamy when eet freeze, and not separate when eet melts. We heat the ingredients to a high temperature and then freeze it rapidamente. Very quickly, you understand? Churning it with the rotating blades to make sure the ice-a-creama is evenly frozen.’

  Winnie struggled to pay attention as she licked her lips in anticipation.

  Marco smiled. ‘What’ll you have, Winnie? The peach melba? Coffee or chocolate gelato? Or perhaps the Strawberry Sundae? We whip in the air to make the ice-a-creama all creamy and light. That is molto importante! Then the mix is pumped over coolers at a strict temperature, and finally stored in these sterilised steel buckets. Of course, we must sell it quickly, you understand? Good ice-a-creama doesn’t last…’

  ‘I’m quite happy to help out there,’ Winnie said, interrupting him as her mouth was watering. ‘Usually I settle for a sixpenny wafer but the ice cream cart is all shut up this morning, so I came over here instead. Happen I’ll have a Knickerbocker Glory as a treat, and take the weight off me feet for half an hour.’ So saying, she sat herself down at one of the small round marble-topped tables.

  Papa gaped at her, ‘Not open? You are saying the ice-a-creama cart is not open for business? But Carmina should be there. Where is she then?’

  Winnie shook her head. ‘Nay, how would I know? I’m not surprised the lass is allus late for work, Marco, with all the gallivanting she’s been doing lately, off dancing every Friday and Saturday night, or so I hear. How these so-called teenagers can think above the din of that rock ‘n’ roll is beyond me. Do my head in, it would.’

  ‘Ah
, daughters, Winnie. Who can possibly understand them? Not a father, I assure you.’

  The sun was shining, sparkling on the wet cobbles and making the pink and white striped awnings over the stalls look as translucent as candy floss as Patsy made her way to the hat stall after her coffee break. She was thinking how much she missed Annie and her caustic tongue. Champion Street Market didn’t seem the same without her.

  Yet Patsy had made many friends on this market since the day she’d arrived as a homeless orphan.

  Big Molly Poulson, with an even bigger voice, still stood her stall happily selling pies, cheese and cold meats to a predictably long queue. Today was roast pork day, Patsy could smell its tantalising aroma.

  She could smell fish and chips too, coming from the shop owned by Frankie Morris: a large, blubbery man in a soiled apron whose bald head gleamed as if greased from the fat from his own hands. He fried fish and chips crisp and delectable on the outside, piping hot and soft within. Everyone loved Frankie’s fish and chips

  Patsy smiled and nodded to Mrs Gower, a regular customer at Higginson’s Hat Stall, who had a little boy she absolutely idolised. Even now she was on her way to Lizzie Pringle’s Chocolate Cabin to buy him a bag of jelly babies. She kept the child so well supplied with sweets he was as round as Billy Bunter. Why did parents spoil their children so badly?

  Papa Bertalone had so spoiled Carmina the girl believed that she should have her own way in everything, even at the expense of hurting her own sister.

  Patsy passed by the ice cream cart, surprised to note that it was still shuttered and not open for business, for all it was very nearly midday. Surely Carmina should be in there by now, serving sixpenny cornets and wafers to the many grubby children hovering hopefully around?

  She couldn’t help wondering if she felt ready for all of that responsibility and family commitment? Little by little Patsy did seem to be weaning Marc off the idea of a summer wedding although he still wasn’t too happy about the amount of time she spent working on the hat stall. It was as she was entering the market hall that Patsy spotted her future sister-in-law, deep in conversation with Alec Hall.