Lemuel placed his small, battered suitcase on the ground and returned the hug, slapping Alan’s back until he almost tipped over. ‘What is this, if not glorious sunshine?’ he said, holding his arms wide. ‘I thought I’d hang around and see what this country had to offer me. We fought for its freedom, so it seemed only right for me to stay and help it back onto its feet.’
Alan beamed. He was enormously pleased to see his friend from the RAF days. Lemuel had been part of the ground crew who kept the planes flying despite everything the Luftwaffe threw at them. ‘Come along in and I’ll put the kettle on,’ he said, closing the door behind his friend after a quick look up and down the road.
‘I’m not holding you up am I, my friend?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ Alan assured him as he shook the kettle before topping up the water from the tap. ‘Freda’s due back with some spare parts, that’s all.’
‘Freda? Wasn’t your wife called Sarah, if I remember correctly? You have two children . . .?’ A puzzled look crossed Lemuel’s face. ‘I hope nothing has happened?’
Alan laughed out loud. ‘Sarah and the children are fine. More than fine. Freda is our friend. She helps me out when she can. You may remember, I told you how she rode a motorbike for the Fire Service?’
Lemuel slapped his leg, laughing at his own confusion. ‘Yes, you did tell me. So now she works for you here?’ He gestured around the empty workshop.
‘No, I work on my own. There’s barely enough work for me, let alone someone else,’ he started to explain as he saw a shadow cross his friend’s face. ‘If you had hoped I could throw some work your way, I’m sorry, Lemuel. I could easily close the door and walk away if I didn’t have bills to pay. My dreams have come to nothing,’ he said glumly, as the kettle started to whistle.
‘Man, I’m sorry to hear that. Running your own motorbike workshop was all you talked about before we followed our different paths.’ Lemuel removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his bright patterned shirt.
‘I see your taste in clothes hasn’t changed,’ Alan grinned.
‘I may no longer live in Trinidad, but I’ll not forget my roots, and my roots are filled with colour and sunshine. Tell me more about your business and your plans.’
Alan was glad to share his worries with his friend. They’d spent much time together at Biggin Hill airfield and, over a beer in the NAAFI, would chat about their future after the war finished. ‘I’m not so sure about plans. I’ve as near as dammit hit a brick wall. I don’t know what the future will bring now,’ he said, running his hands through his hair. ‘If things had been different, I would have hired you like a shot. I’m sorry, my friend; truly very sorry. Where are you planning to stay?’
‘I was hoping you could recommend somewhere. At the moment I’m staying down near the river and paying for my bed by the night. I can tell you, there are some strange bedfellows in that house,’ Lemuel said wryly.
‘The only places I know like that are some dosshouses down off Wheatley Terrace. It’s come to something if a friend has to stay down there. If only my business was doing better,’ Alan said, looking sad. ‘Look, if it helps you can put your head down here in the workshop. There’s a camp bed in our loft and we can spare some blankets. You can eat with us, if you like? We live just down the road. What do you think?’
Lemuel held out his large hand and gripped Alan’s as they shook on his suggestion. ‘I’ll do what I can to pay for my board,’ he said.
‘There’s no need. I doubt I’ll be here more than a few weeks. I had a run-in with a local moneylender, and his lads have already come visiting once. Trouble is sure to come knocking before long,’ Alan said as he poured the tea.
‘Then they will find me opening the door to this trouble.’ Lemuel gave him a generous smile. ‘What does your wife say to all this?’
Alan looked shocked. ‘I’d not worry Sarah with my business problems. Her father gave us some money to pay the rent and buy tools when we started out. If I tell her I’ve failed, it will be as if I’ve let her down. I can’t do that. She has such dreams of a cottage with roses round the door that I dare not say anything,’ he said hopelessly.
‘When that trouble comes a-knocking, your wife will know for sure, my friend.’ Lemuel’s tone was sympathetic, but his words made Alan flinch. ‘You need to tell her before she finds out for herself.’
Both men jumped as the door creaked open, and Alan sighed with relief when Freda put her head in. ‘Can you open up the large door so I can bring Bessie in, please?’ she said before noticing Lemuel. ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realize you had a customer. It can wait a little while. She’s out front. I’ll put these parts away and not bother you while you’re busy.’ She hoped Alan wouldn’t notice there weren’t as many parts as he’d sent her to collect.
‘Freda, hang on a minute. I’d like to introduce you to Lemuel Powell, a friend from my days in the RAF,’ Alan said. Watching her put the duffel bag into one of the metal store cupboards, he added, ‘That looks a little on the light side.’
‘I’ll explain later.’ Freda avoided his eyes and held her hand out to Lemuel. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she smiled, trying not to gasp as her small hand was engulfed by the large hand of the Trinidadian, who had stood up politely when she came in and now towered over her. ‘I do recall Alan telling us about his friends in the RAF. Are you staying in Erith?’
‘I’d hoped to, ma’am, but circumstances may have changed.’
Alan ran his hand through his hair again, as he often did when something was worrying him. ‘I’m sorry, Lem – if things were different . . .’
Freda looked from one to the other of them. ‘I take it you’ve told your friend about your money problems with Frank Unthank?’ The look on Alan’s face showed she had put her foot right in it. ‘Oh, blast! I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling embarrassed. ‘And now I’ve made things worse.’
‘I have no secrets from Lemuel. I shared many of my plans with him when we were both at Biggin Hill.’
Lemuel nodded. ‘I know only that Alan is going through a bad time, but believe me, I will help if I can. He is like a brother to me.’ He gave Freda a broad smile that made her heart flutter.
She thought for a few seconds before deciding to come clean. ‘You are going to hate me for what I tell you next. I’ve made things so much worse,’ she said, trying to stay calm and not panic as she went on to explain her encounter with Frank Unthank, and then her attempt to make a deal with the spare parts supplier. ‘I did persuade them to take back some of the spares, but I’m afraid it’s just made them suspicious.’
Alan looked at Freda’s sad face as she recounted what had happened, then turned to his friend, who was nodding his head as he listened. Then Alan burst out laughing, which shocked them both. ‘I’m sorry . . . but it’s like one of those comedies Mum likes to watch at the cinema. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, along comes something else,’ he guffawed.
‘I’m glad you can laugh, as there’s more,’ Freda sniffed, feeling slightly put out. ‘On the way back here, I knocked someone off his bicycle and dented Bessie. He’s been carted off to hospital. I thought perhaps you could help fix his bike?’
Alan grew serious. ‘Aw, kid – you could have been hurt, and here I am joking.’
‘I’m all right; your jacket protected me. And Bessie will be fine. But I’m afraid the man may have broken his leg. Betty’s gone with him in the ambulance.’ Freda sighed heavily. ‘I’m so sorry I made a mess of things with your money, and with Frank Unthank. I’m just glad Mike and Bob came along when they did to rescue me. And I’ve left them thinking I have financial problems, what with visiting the local moneylender.’ Unexpectedly she felt the urge to laugh, and her lips twitched as she fought it. ‘My goodness; whatever will happen next?’
Alan gave her a hug. ‘The business may well be going down the pan, but at least we can still smile.’
The wooden door creaked open, and a surprised Sarah peered through. ‘Wh
at’s going on here? Have I missed something?’
4
It was late when Freda arrived back at her house in Alexandra Road. Her stomach growled as she went to the kitchen in search of something to eat. With all that had gone on today, she’d not thought to shop for herself. It was a long time since her sandwich in the staff canteen, and that had been nothing special, being made from the much-loathed National bread. Maureen had done her best by putting a generous portion of Spam between the two pieces of bread and adding sliced tomatoes brought in from home; Freda’s mouth watered as she thought of it. Perhaps she could walk the short distance into town and buy herself a bag of chips? Yes, she’d do that right now. Her one lodger, Lily, worked in the Odeon, so she wouldn’t be home until the last picture had finished.
Freda knew she would have to do something about advertising her other spare room before too long, especially now her savings had been eaten into. She had a postcard in the sideboard, so would write a few words about her available room and put it on the staff noticeboard tomorrow. Usually she found short-term lodgers from among the staff at Woolworths, but Lily had come with a recommendation from Mike Jackson – and who better to approve of someone than the local bobby?
Thinking of Mike took her back to earlier this afternoon, when he had rescued her. At some point she’d have to explain to him what was really going on. But she’d need Alan’s permission first, as so much of what happened was linked to his problems and was not hers to share.
Reaching for her handbag and checking she had her door key, she hurried out into the street and down Alexandra Road towards the town.
‘Hey, Freda,’ Gwyneth called from her garden gate. ‘Are you going somewhere nice?’
Freda stopped and headed towards number two, where Gwyneth Jackson lived with Mike and their adopted daughter Myfanwy. ‘Hello there! I thought you were away down to Wales?’
Gwyneth shrugged her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t to be this time,’ she said, looking sad. ‘I was feeling poorly and couldn’t face the journey by train.’ She lifted a hand to her stomach for a fleeting moment. ‘Another time perhaps,’ she added quickly, trying to smile.
‘I didn’t know you were off colour. Weren’t you in work earlier?’ Freda said, noticing how pale she looked.
‘It doesn’t take much to stand behind a counter and smile at customers. Besides, we had a half day, so only half the work,’ Gwyneth added in her soft, lilting Welsh voice. ‘Do you have time for a drink? Myfi is playing with Maisie’s children and Mike’s on a late shift.’
Freda felt her stomach growl again with hunger. ‘I was just popping down the road for some chips. Why don’t you put the kettle on, and I’ll bring back two portions?’
‘The kettle won’t take long to boil. Let me grab my bag and I’ll come with you. If they have some rock salmon, I’ll get a portion for Mike and keep it warm in its newspaper in the oven.’
‘What time’s he due home?’ Freda asked as she watched Gwyneth close the door behind her. She didn’t really want to bump into Mike just yet; the afternoon’s events still weighed heavily on her mind.
‘Some time after midnight. He’s covering for a colleague who has gone off sick. I don’t think I’ve seen him for more than an hour a day for weeks,’ Gwyneth said, linking arms with the younger girl as they set off down the road. ‘But I can’t complain, as he’s a good husband. I just wish I could give him . . .’ She trailed off.
It was clear she was upset about something, so Freda guided her over to a low wall in front of a house, and they sat down. ‘What’s bothering you, Gwyneth? Can I help?’
Gwyneth shook her head and didn’t reply.
‘If I can help, I will,’ Freda persisted, hoping it wasn’t money problems. She certainly wasn’t in a position to do much about those, what with her own dwindling finances. ‘But if you’d prefer not to say, I’ll understand,’ she added, squeezing Gwyneth’s hand reassuringly.
‘Oh, Freda, you have been such a good friend to me since I came to live in Erith. How can I not confide in you? I’m afraid . . . auntie has come to visit again.’
Freda was confused. As far as she knew, all of Gwyneth’s relatives lived in South Wales and weren’t ones to visit at the best of times. Her friend looked so sad, though. Freda wondered how she could help, until an idea came to her. ‘I have a spare room, if your auntie would like to use it? I know how hard it must be, what with Mike being on shift work and all.’
Gwyneth frowned for a moment. ‘I don’t mean that kind of auntie,’ she said, glancing round to make sure no one was walking by, and then leaning in to whisper in Freda’s ear.
Freda’s face flooded with colour. ‘Oh, I feel such a fool,’ she giggled. ‘Is that why you look under the weather? Perhaps you should go to bed with a hot water bottle held to your tummy? That’s what I tend to do.’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s just . . . I was hoping it wouldn’t happen this month. I hoped so much, and now I feel so disappointed,’ Gwyneth said, rummaging in the sleeve of her cardigan for a handkerchief and not finding one.
Freda felt rather an idiot. Of course, it stood to reason that after being married for a few years, Mike and Gwyneth would want to start their own family. Pulling a clean handkerchief from her handbag, she passed it to her friend and waited for a couple to walk by before putting her arm around Gwyneth to comfort her. ‘I don’t know what to say. Is Mike very upset?’
Gwyneth looked down into her lap, and twisted the handkerchief into a tight ball. ‘It’s not something we talk about – well, women don’t, do they?’
‘I’ve only ever spoken to Maisie about women’s things. I was young when I came to Erith, and quite ignorant of what . . . what goes on down there . . .’ Freda answered, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. ‘I know about it all now, but I haven’t necessarily put it into practice.’
‘That’s as it should be, and I can see I’ve embarrassed you. You’ve been a big help when I needed it most,’ Gwyneth said, leaning over to kiss her young friend’s cheek. ‘What will be will be. Come on – let’s get those chips. I may even get a saveloy, if they have one.’
Freda straightened her skirt and followed Gwyneth across the road. Mike and Gwyneth were such a wonderfully caring couple, it seemed a shame that they weren’t surrounded by babies. Not like some people who had a child out of wedlock, she thought as she spotted Sadie Munro approaching them – and then immediately felt contrite. She liked Sadie, even if, rumour had it, she had been rather generous with her affections towards her old boss, much to her nan, Vera’s, chagrin.
‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ Sadie grinned at Freda as she reached the two friends. ‘I wanted to ask you about the tall dark stranger.’
Freda groaned inwardly. Was she missing something here, like she had with Gwyneth and her imaginary aunt? ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I thought you would have met him . . . you know . . . the darkie . . . He stopped to ask me directions to Alan Gilbert’s workshop. I thought you might have been there, what with you always hanging around Alan like some lovelorn child.’
Before Freda could speak, Gwyneth turned on Sadie and wagged her finger at the girl. ‘You’d best watch yourself, Sadie Munro, or the wind will blow, and you’ll find yourself turning into your grandmother.’
‘Well, I never!’ the younger woman said, giving a fair impersonation of Vera. It was only when she laughed that the girls knew she wasn’t offended by Gwyneth’s remark. ‘I’m sorry, Freda. It’s living with the old bat for so long. She is rubbing off on me. I hope you didn’t think I meant anything by my comment.’
Freda laughed. There was no point being offended. She did spend a lot of time with Alan, and so what if people thought she loved him? She did – but not in that way at all. She loved him like she would a big brother. ‘Are you talking about Lemuel Powell? As it happens, I did meet him. He’s a very nice man. Why do you want to know?’
Sadie gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. ‘I wond
ered if he had his family with him. We haven’t seen many of his . . .’
‘His kind, do you mean?’ Gwyneth finished for her, looking indignant.
‘Well, yes, I suppose that is what I mean – but there’s no need to look at me like that, Gwyneth Jackson, just because I stumbled over my words,’ Sadie snapped back.
Freda could see that Gwyneth was ready for a fight, no doubt because she was feeling out of sorts. ‘He was on his own, Sadie. Lemuel was in the RAF with Alan during the war and has decided not to return to Trinidad for the moment.’
‘A pilot, eh?’ Sadie’s eyes gleamed.
‘Ground crew,’ Freda quickly corrected her, still wondering why Sadie was so interested.
‘I suppose he’s staying with Sarah and Alan while he’s here. Will that be for long?’ she asked with an innocent air.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Sadie!’ Gwyneth exploded. ‘Why don’t you get straight to the point and ask if he will be in Erith for long, and if he has a wife? That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it? Why not spit it out – me and Freda are wanting our tea.’
The young woman looked affronted. ‘I was just being a good neighbour. If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll be on my way.’ She nodded goodbye to Freda, and flounced off towards Alexandra Road.
‘Well, fancy that. You’d think Sadie would have learnt her lesson after last time,’ Freda said, looking worried. ‘I will say, Lemuel does seem like a very nice man and I’m sure Alan wouldn’t be friends with just anyone – but it’s as if she’s set her cap at him after one conversation. Each to their own, I suppose,’ she said as they started to walk towards the High Street, where the chip shop was situated.
‘If she has, then she’s bitten off more than she can chew,’ Gwyneth said seriously.
‘Sadie’s old enough to make her own mistakes, although you’d think once was more than enough. What’s that saying? You make your bed, so you must lie in it?’
Wedding Bells for Woolworths Page 6