‘Somehow I don’t think he led quite as colourful a life as Reenie seems to have. I’m still not sure how much of what she tells me is gospel truth, but she makes me laugh.’
‘I’m glad someone does.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Jack screwed up the remainder of his lunch in the chip paper and lay back on the picnic blanket. ‘It’s good to see you smiling again. I was beginning to think it would never happen.’
Mattie observed her cousin. Had she been so noticeably down? She’d done her best to keep the hurt buried, believing that she could fool everyone else into thinking that she was happy. Obviously, she’d failed. ‘So much for my acting skills. I thought I was doing well.’
‘You were. You are. Don’t forget that I know you too well. Everyone else thinks you’re coping.’
‘Well, that’s a comfort.’ She picked at the grass as a bee hummed past her ear. ‘It’s nice to hear about someone else’s stories from when Grandpa was young. Like all the other stuff was years away from happening. Like a fresh start. I always loved to hear him reminiscing about the Fifties – but that ended when we fell out. I think talking to Reenie will bring that part of him back a little.’ She shrugged away the building pain. ‘Her life sounds exciting, anyway. You should meet her. She’d love you.’
‘She’d terrify me, if what you’ve told me about her is anything to go by. She’d eat me alive.’
‘Probably.’
Mattie grinned at the thought. Reenie would take one look at Jack and think she’d won the lottery. With his blond hair, Adriatic-blue eyes and tall, athletic frame, he was a catch in anyone’s book – as half the female residents of Kings Sunbury their age could attest to. Mattie loved her cousin, not least because he appeared to be so unaware of the effect he had on the opposite sex. She imagined their grandfather had been the same in his youth. Certainly he’d had no idea that Grandma liked him, causing her to eventually corner him in the Green Man pub at the centre of the village and yell in full earshot of all the regulars, ‘I love you, you stupid man!’ Her unconventional declaration passed into the folklore of the village, with Grandpa Joe still being ribbed about it up until his death.
‘So are you going back?’
‘Yes, definitely. I think Reenie and I are going to become the best of friends.’
Mattie took a deep breath of fresh, country air as she began to walk along the narrow footpath at the edge of the fallow field. The sun shimmered in dappled patches through the verdant branches of ancient oaks growing in the woodland where she had once played with Joanna, Jack and their other cousins as children. It was a route so familiar, so etched into her mind, that she knew each step by heart, catching herself closing her eyes as the sounds and smells of the sun-warmed fields mingled with her memories.
In the next field down, she’d first seen Nick Currie, the first true object of her affections, at the tender age of fifteen. He’d been playing football with a group of boys from school in the thick grass criss-crossed with tractor tracks, and Mattie had been walking with Joanna. She’d stopped dead, seeing him – something her sister had never let her forget – and thought she might never breathe again. Of course, the boy with golden hair and eyes so blue had never even noticed Mattie’s existence, but the memory of her first experience of all-consuming attraction burned strong in her mind. Instantly, she thought of Asher. She had never really learned from that first foray, had she? When she met Asher for the first time at a birthday party in a Shrewsbury brasserie, she was as pole-axed by lust as she had been in these fields fifteen years before. Had she been blinded by their obvious chemistry? Was that why she hadn’t seen him for the rat he really was?
She pressed on, her footsteps noticeably quicker as she kicked out her anger in the red dust of the sandstone path. The smell of disturbed sand mingled with the cool dankness of the woodland as the path momentarily crossed the boundary via a green oak gate, reminding Mattie of many hundreds of hide-and-seek games played here during Bell family picnics in the top field. So much had happened during the last few weeks that she needed the space provided by this solo excursion to try to unravel the mess of it all.
I don’t have answers, she told herself. Perhaps I never will.
But one thing shone brightly in the fug of questions, memories and regrets: her emerging friendship with a certain once-famous octogenarian. Reenie had only begun to tell her story, but already Mattie was hooked. The old lady was unmistakably a performer, each new twist in her tale carefully structured to draw her audience in. Mattie tried to imagine her in her heyday, breaking hearts across Great Britain and further afield with her raven curls and devil-may-care attitude. On her most recent visit to Beauvale, Reenie had shown Mattie a handful of black and white photos including her very first publicity shot, taken not long after she joined the Ted Farnsworth Orchestra. Obviously young, and painfully thin from a childhood spent in poverty, she had a knowing expression beyond her years – and even in the stilted pose for the camera, her face exuded life and mischief. From what Mattie could remember of her voice, the combination would have been a killer package. No wonder Grandpa Joe had described his first hearing of a Silver Five record as ‘like waking up from a long, grey dream and finding myself in a rainbow’.
If anyone needed to find themselves surrounded by colour right now, it was Mattie. She’d had enough dark soul-searching lately. It was time for a different focus.
As she climbed the stile that crossed the stone wall behind Kings Sunbury’s post office and headed into the village, Mattie caught sight of the peppermint-green-and-yellow-striped awning above Bell Be-Bop across the village green. It made her smile – as it always did – and instantly she was reminded of the day she’d first thought of owning a vintage shop. Right from the beginning she’d pictured her shop exactly as it looked now. It would be filled with the kind of Fifties ephemera she’d loved to hunt for in vintage markets and antique shops, objects that seemed to embody the innocent optimism of the decade. War was over, the dark days of austerity and rationing were slowly receding and people were daring to dream of a brighter future. When Grandpa Joe talked about the 1950s his eyes would come alive. He said it was the ‘greatest time to be young’, with all the emerging music, films, technologies and innovations. The influence of the USA, with its extravagance and ultimate belief in the American Dream, must have seemed so glamorous, so exotic to a young generation searching for its own identity. Even now, as Mattie looked at a time long gone, she was inspired by the colour, hope and zest for life that the items she sold in her shop represented.
Reenie Silver had lived the dream in the 1950s – Mattie knew that already, from the little she had already learned. Maybe, she thought, passing the ludicrously expensive artisan confectioners and smiling at the thought of Reenie’s contraband, if I can experience Reenie’s world through her memories, I can find that hope in my own life.
‘I didn’t do too well in school,’ Reenie admitted as she and Mattie sat on a bench overlooking Beauvale’s small duck pond. They were throwing scraps of still-warm croissant to the resident ducks, who clearly appreciated the finer things in life. ‘Never been good at taking orders from other people. I learned to read, mind, add up a bit and write my name. Those things stood me in good stead, but trigonometry, not so much. Always got picked for the lead in the Christmas play, though. I think my headmaster was a bit of an early fan. That, and me mam threatened to tell the neighbours about him and Mrs Ollerenshaw from the corner shop. You see, kid? Having friends in the right places always helps.’
‘Did you get a job when you left school?’
‘My dad wanted me to – he wasn’t keen on me finding a chap and getting up the duff like me school friends. His mam was in service when she was twelve years old, and he thought it had made her the woman she was. Well, I didn’t want to be a domineering nutter like Nan, so I made other plans.’
‘What did you do?’
Reenie’s eyes twinkled behind the d
arkened varifocal lenses of her glasses. ‘Hopped on the first wagon outta there. Lied about my age and blagged a lift as far as Birmingham with a flour lorry, then persuaded a typewriter salesman to take me to London. I met a girl from Skeggy at King’s Cross station who was visiting her wannabe-actress cousin in Shoreditch, and she offered me a bit of space on her floor. I stayed for three days, then when the girl went home, her cousin offered me the spare room in return for a bit of cleaning. Well, being the youngest of nine kids I knew about cleaning. My ma had me scrubbing our front step from five years old; I was black-leading the grate by the time I was eight and doing laundry from nine.’
‘Wow.’
Reenie gave a shrug, the brass buttons on her jade-green wool jacket sparkling in the sunlight as she did so. ‘Where I came from, you did what you had to do to get by. Never been afraid of a bit of graft, me – and it’s helped me fall on my feet every time. So I kept my head down, got on with it and when I had a few spare hours I’d go over the ads in The Stage, looking for auditions. Four months in, I got lucky.’
Keen for more of Reenie’s breakfast, one of the ducks waddled out of the water and stood expectantly at the old lady’s jade-slingbacked feet. Reenie gave a loud tut, but threw another chunk of patisserie to her avid audience.
‘Was it your first audition?’ Mattie asked.
‘First and only, as it turned out. Until the bleedin’ BBC wanted me to screen-test for a TV special in 1975. But that’s another story. Anyway, I was late getting out of the actress’s flat and missed the bus. Had to leg it to get to the theatre in Covent Garden where the auditions were taking place. Ted Farnsworth and his Orchestra – I’d heard them on the wireless back in Liverpool, listening with me ma and sisters on a Friday night. They were proper famous and sounded like the bands in the Hollywood pictures I used to sneak into the cinema with my brothers to see. I knew nothing about singing with a band, but I knew I had a crackin’ voice and I knew nobody wanted that job more than me. Turns out that’s pretty much all you need to know to make your dream happen. Self-belief, Mattie Bell, that’s what’s required. And brazen balls the size of the Mersey Birds.’
Mattie burst into giggles. ‘I can’t believe I’ve just heard that phrase coming from a sweet old lady!’
‘Sweet? There’s nothing sweet about this old bird, love. Glad I’m entertaining you.’
‘You are.’ Mattie smiled. ‘I love hearing your stories. They’re amazing.’
‘Amazing, is it? Already? We’ve five more decades of this stuff to come – I’d better up my game . . . Now, where was I?’
‘On your way to the audition.’ She could picture Reenie as a bright-eyed young girl, full of determination to make something of her life. Mattie wasn’t sure she would have had the presence of mind in her teens to do anything other than dream. It took a special kind of spirit to take the risks Reenie Silver had done in her life – and Mattie couldn’t help but be inspired by it.
‘Ah, right you are.’ Reenie rubbed her hands together, the collection of gold rings she wore nestled beneath wrinkled knuckles clinking together. ‘So, there I was, fifteen years old pretending to be seventeen, with nothin’ but bloody-minded ambition and holes in me jacket. When I reached the theatre the stage manager said they’d seen all they wanted for the day. Tried to stop me at the stage door, he did, but I wasn’t having that. I hadn’t come all that way and cleaned some jobbing actress’s unmentionables for months just to be fobbed off. I pushed past him and marched right up on that stage like I owned it. Ted Farnsworth was walking out, but he sat right back down like his mother had just told him to. I sang “Here Comes the Night” from a sheet of music one of the guys before me had chucked in a bin in the wings. All in the wrong key, mind, but I made it work. Ted nearly had heart failure when he heard me sing – and he signed me on the spot. Two shillings and sixpence for every gig, nine songs a set. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.’
‘Wow. I bet your parents were proud.’
‘They were when they saw the money I was sending home,’ Reenie grimaced. ‘Money always spoke louder than actions in our house. I didn’t care. I was doing what I wanted, not stuck in some dead-end existence back at home. It was hard work, but not as hard as living a life you never chose for yourself.’
‘That’s inspirational. Really.’
‘No, it’s not. Bleedin’ ’eck, Mattie, if you think getting off your backside to get what you want out of life is inspirational, you obviously haven’t done much with yours. No offence,’ she added quickly, flashing a mischievous smile at her companion. ‘What do you want for your life, Mattie Bell?’
Mattie stared at her. She had been so caught up in Reenie’s story that she hadn’t even considered her own life. ‘I want to be happy.’ The answer seemed to sneak out from a place deep inside her. Faced with a sudden rush of emotion, she added, ‘I mean, I want the shop to be a success. I want to be secure, find a home I’m happy with . . .’
‘NNNUURR, wrong answer,’ Reenie said, her buzzer impression so shrill it made Mattie jump. ‘What you said first was far more interesting. I think we should talk about your story for a while.’
The hopeful duck at Reenie’s feet, seeing the croissant gone, lifted its beak in disgust and splashed back into the pond, complaining loudly.
‘I don’t think so. Your life is much more interesting.’
The old woman surveyed her visitor with a stare that saw more than she said. ‘Maybe. I’ll ask you again, mind. So you’d better be thinking of a better answer than your last one for when I do. Cuts both ways, this arrangement. I’ll tell you my stories if you tell me yours. There’s a lot more to you than you’re letting on, Matilda. Now, did you bring the chocolates?’
Unnerved by Reenie’s sudden perceptiveness, Mattie felt herself shrinking back against the weathered oak of the bench as she handed over the pink-and-white-striped box.
Chapter Seven
‘Who’s Sorry Now?’ – Connie Francis
14 March 1949
I am 14 today!
Mother made a cake and Father gave me a bicycle given to him by Silas Wright. His repairs have made it almost good as new. I cycled from the very top of Goldsforge Hill and it felt as if I was flying.
Bill Godfrey sent a card and a long letter. I am glad we stayed pen pals after the war. His tales of London are wonderful, even though where he lived before the Germans bombed no longer stands. He writes that it is dirty and much rebuilding is still to be done, but the stories of his friends and the japes they have make me long to see it. There is an entire railway system that runs under the ground. Just imagine! Shrewsbury doesn’t have that, nor Bridgnorth.
I’ve told no one, but I have decided that I want to visit London. Perhaps even live there one day! It is my secret, marked here and nowhere else. I will make it happen, I swear it . . .
Mattie sat back and stared at the diary entry. It was the first mention of London in the memoirs and already it changed what she knew about Grandpa Joe’s association with the city. She had always assumed that the year he’d spent there had been a necessity first and foremost, serving an apprenticeship to his uncle. But now she saw that a starry-eyed, fourteen-year-old Joe Bell had begun to dream about London seven years earlier. Was this what Grandpa Joe had promised Rev. Phil she would find here?
She rubbed her eyes and pushed back her dining chair. Her living room was a sea of boxes containing half of Joanna, Ethan and Ava’s belongings. Already the characterless house felt a little more animated, as if bright echoes of her sister, nephew and niece were escaping out through the brown cardboard. Joanna was bringing the remainder in the morning, and in two days’ time Mattie’s new housemates would officially move in. She couldn’t wait. Joanna was already working on a revamp of Bell Be-Bop’s website: when she moved in fully she would do more shifts in the shop. Laurie loved her and Mattie was excited about what her sister could bring to the business.
She would share her latest discovery from the 1949 diary when Joa
nna arrived tomorrow. For now, she added it to the picture of Joe Bell forming in her mind. It was good to be learning new things about him; it took some of the sting from the last memories she had of her grandfather. Trading old for new, soothing the pain of loss with the promise of the past. It felt like her healing was beginning.
During Mattie’s fourth Sunday visit to Beauvale, Reenie Silver finally asked the question she’d been dreading. Even though it was inevitable, given the amount of time Mattie had spent talking about her grandfather, she still found herself completely floored.
‘So, what happened?’ Reenie’s question was sharper than a meat cleaver, severing their previous conversation topic with a single, swift blow.
‘With what?’
‘Something wasn’t right when you lost your grandad. It’s written all over your mush, love.’
Could Reenie Silver see so much when she hardly knew her? Mattie fought to keep her expression steady, but knew the old lady had her number. She sighed. ‘There was a guy . . .’
Reenie clicked her dentures. ‘Oh, Mattie, there always is. Married, was he?’
‘What? No, he—’
‘I mean, you’ll get no judgement from me on that score, kid. “Let her that is without sin chuck the first stone,” and all that. Sometimes you meet someone right at the wrong time and you just have to go with it . . .’
‘Reenie, he wasn’t married.’
‘Gay, then?’ She nodded sagely. ‘Been there, got the rainbow T-shirt. Don’t look so shocked, love, we did have them in my day, you know. Just wasn’t always that easy to tell, not if you were a girl from the Mersey like me. I broke my heart over two fellas who turned out to be the love of each other’s lives once. Just look at poor Rock Hudson. Half the world thought he was shagging Doris Day, and look how wrong they all were!’
‘Asher wasn’t gay, either.’
‘Asher?’ This seemed to disappoint Reenie. ‘Was his father bleedin’ Methuselah? I swear parents are going backwards in naming their kids these days. Biblical names were all the rage when my folks were breeding. So what did this Asher have to do with your grandad, then?’
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