To Dream Again

by To Dream Again (retail) (epub)

  ‘And you think you could get me a job?’ he asked.

  ‘Never doubt it! I’m not saying it’d be top-notch to start with, mind. Probably in the crew’s mess in the beginning, where the money’s not too great. But you wouldn’t stay there for long. You’re good at your job, and you’d soon learn the ropes. You’d be where the big tips are in no time. Look, I go back to Plymouth tomorrow. Come with me.’

  ‘Oh I couldn’t, not so soon.’

  ‘Why not? While you’re young and with no ties it’s a great life.’ Ted looked at him with sympathy. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying so, it’d probably be an improvement on the job you’ve got now.’

  Joey gave a grin. ‘You don’t have to tell me!’ he said. ‘And if you could get me a job I’d jump at it. But the folks I work for have been good to me. I wouldn’t want to leave them in the lurch. I’d have to make sure there was someone to take my place before I left.’

  ‘Oh well, if that’s all…!’ Ted’s face cleared.‘There’s no problem. I’m coming home again in three weeks. You should have found someone to take over by then. It’ll give me time to tackle the chief steward about taking you on.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Don’t even try. You’d have done the same for me. Now, how about another pint?’

  But Joey shook his head. ‘Sorry, Ted,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘If you’re sure? See you in three weeks, then. Come up to our place, bag and baggage. We live in Winner Street. You can’t miss the house. It’s got a green front door, and a knocker like a clenched fist. The landlord’s hand, my dad calls it. We’ll travel to Plymouth together.’

  All the way back to the Dixons Joey could not hold in the grin that kept breaking out on his face. He had never expected anything like this to happen. It was like a dream come true. He knew Ted would do his best for him.

  Next morning Joey awoke to the thought that sometime during the day he must tell the Dixons he was going. But when? There just did not seem an appropriate time to spring it on them. He decided on the middle of the afternoon, when they usually had a cup of tea together, a pleasant lull in the hectic activity of their day. He hated himself for spoiling the pleasant mood of the, but he knew there was no help for it. ‘I’ve got a bit of news to tell you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes? Come into a fortune, have you?’ wheezed Stan.

  ‘Something apart from that. I met an old pal yesterday, a fellow I used to know at the Devonshire Hall Hotel. He’s working on the transatlantic liners now, the ones that go from Plymouth. He reckons he can get me a job.’

  A heavy silence fell on the shabby room.

  ‘You mean you’re going to leave us?’ asked Stan.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘I— I thought you were happy with us.’ Shock had drained some of Queenie’s normally high colour from her face.

  ‘I am,’ lied Joey. ‘You’ve both been grand to me, and treated me well. It’s just…I would like to see a bit more of the world while I’m young.’

  Another silence settled on the room. At length it was broken by Stan.

  ‘Only natural, I suppose, boy,’ he said. ‘We’re going to miss you, though.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Queenie, in a strange, choked voice. ‘We’ll miss you. When— when do you go?’

  ‘In three weeks.’

  ‘So soon?’ Queenie shot an alarmed look at her father. Joey interpreted its message clearly enough. It was a look of panic. It said, How on earth are we going to manage?

  ‘You needn’t worry. I won’t leave you in the lurch,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll make sure you get someone decent to take my place. We’ll find someone easily in the time.’

  ‘That’s good of you, boy. We’ll be lucky to find someone who works as hard as you, though,’ said Stan.

  ‘We won’t find anyone like you.’ Queenie’s voice was a mere whisper, and Joey saw, to his distress, that her eyes were filled with tears. He saw something else too, a hurt and an unhappiness which went far beyond the loss of an employee.

  Perhaps it was just as well he was going. For some time he had had the suspicion Queenie was getting too fond of him. He liked her well enough, but that was all. It was not just that she was plain. He had known lots of plain girls who were grand company, but with all her virtues poor Queenie was too much on the dull side to appeal to him. Yes, it was a good thing he was going. His departure was saving her much more unhappiness in the long run.

  It was doubtful if Queenie appreciated the situation, however. For the rest of that day she went about with a face that was pinched and drawn. Stan, too, was clearly shaken by the prospect of Joey leaving.

  In spite of the gloom about him Joey’s spirits took an upward turn. He could not help himself. He began to count off the days before his new life would begin. Only seven more days to go… six… five…

  * * *

  Queenie’s brisk hammering at his door woke him, as it did every morning.

  ‘Time to get up!’ she called.

  Even before Joey opened his eyes his first thought was, In four days’ time I’ll be on my way to Plymouth.

  Still barely awake he rolled shivering out of bed. Bleary-eyed, he lit his candle, and groping for the jug, poured some water into the tin bowl. There was no time for much of a wash, that would come later if he got the chance. For now he would make do with an icy splash. At least it woke him up enough for him to concentrate properly on getting dressed. He had one leg in his trousers when he heard Queenie cry out.

  ‘Joey!’

  There was such panic in the way she called his name that he hastily thrust in his other leg and ran, buttoning himself up as he went.

  Queenie was standing in the doorway to Stan’s room, giving little moans of anxiety. Joey moved her to one side and went in. He half guessed what he would find. Stan was lying in his narrow iron bed as if asleep, only no sleep was so still or so permanent. Just to make sure, Joey bent down, his ear close to Stan’s mouth, listening intently for the least sound of breathing. There was none. He looked back to where Queenie still stood in the doorway. Sympathetically he shook his head.

  ‘Dad!’ said Queenie, then again, as though she hoped to rouse her father she repeated, ‘Dad! Dad! Dad!’

  Joey steered her out into the corridor and closed the door. By now most of the lodgers were appearing from their sleeping-quarters in various stages of undress.

  ‘Stan?’ asked the one called Arnold.

  Joey nodded.

  ‘I’ll just pull my boots on then I’ll go for the doctor, shall I?’ Arnold paused only long enough to give Queenie a little pat on the arm, before he hurried away.

  In low whispers the news was spread throughout the house.

  The subdued voices hushed as Joey guided a stunned Queenie downstairs and into the back parlour. It was bitterly cold in there, so he lit the fire and turned up the gaslight. Queenie was shivering convulsively, in spite of the blanket he put round her shoulders. One of the lodgers produced some brandy, but it would have remained in her hand if Joey had not raised it to her lips. He greeted the arrival of the doctor with great relief, not for Stan’s sake – he knew Stan was beyond help – but for Queenie’s. He had never seen anyone so numbed by shock.

  ‘Upstairs?’ The doctor raised his eyes upwards. In a few minutes he was back again.

  ‘It was expected,’ he said, ‘Pity! He was a fighter, was Mr Dixon. A sad loss for you, Miss Dixon. You have my deepest sympathy.’ There was no response from Queenie, so he turned his attention to Joey. ‘Are you some relation, young man?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir. I just work here.’

  ‘Do you know if Miss Dixon has any relatives? Someone who would come and give her a bit of comfort?’

  ‘I’ve never heard her mention any family, nor Stan – Mr Dixon, either.’

  ‘Hm, in that case the best thing I can do is give her a sedative to make her sleep.’ The doctor picked up the cup that had held the
brandy and sniffed at it. ‘Yes, a good sleep is what I can promise her. In the meantime see if you can discover any relations, particularly female. A young woman should not be on her own at a time like this.’

  ‘I will,’ promised Joey. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll look after her.’

  ‘Good.’ the doctor regarded him keenly. ‘I’ll come and see her again tomorrow. I’ll bring the death certificate then.’

  Joey soon discovered it was one thing promising the doctor that he would look after Queenie and quite another actually doing it. He had never had to deal with a situation like this before. Finally, in desperation, he called in Mrs Morris, who lived next door. She was sympathetic and willing enough, but she was also extremely stout and far from young. By the time she had got Queenie undressed and into bed she was out of breath and puce in the face.

  ‘If you needs me, just call, my ’andsome, and I’ll come running,’ Mrs Morris assured him.

  Looking at her vast girth he doubted it, but she had meant it kindly. Then he went back to administer the sedative to Queenie. Time and again he had questioned her gently, asking did she have any family whom she would like him to contact, all without response.

  It was a morning the like of which Joey had never encountered, and heartily hoped he would never encounter again. A death in the household or not, there were still twenty-odd men who had a long hard day’s work ahead of them and who needed to be fed before they went. Somehow the kitchen range was lit, the men were fed and went on their way, and he was left to clear up.

  First, though, he went to the dresser drawer where Stan Dixon had kept his papers. After a long and careful search among the bills and receipts, however, he unearthed nothing. It seemed that Queenie had no one in the whole world upon whom she could rely. There was only him!

  When she awoke next morning she was vague and distant. Joey thought it was merely the after-effects of the sedative, but the day progressed and there was no improvement. Although she resumed her normal duties she was like an automaton. All the formalities of death fell to Joey.

  ‘I’d like to come to the funeral,’ said Mrs Morris, when she came to ask after Queenie. ‘When did you say it was?’

  ‘Saturday,’ replied Joey. ‘Saturday at two o’clock—’ He broke off abruptly. He had just remembered – on Saturday he should be on his way to Plymouth and a new life. He took one look at Queenie, at her numb face and her lifeless eyes and he knew that Plymouth and his new life would have to wait.

  ‘You’re too soft for your own good, you know that, don’t you?’ said Ted good-naturedly, when Joey told him the news. ‘It’s not the end of the world, though. We’ll just postpone our plans, that’s all. It’ll be about three months before I’m home again. I’ll look you up then and see how you are fixed.’

  ‘Thanks, that would be grand,’ said Joey gratefully, then he added, more gloomily. ‘Though by then there probably won’t be any jobs left.’

  ‘Don’t be such a misery!’ Ted gave him a friendly thump on the back. ‘If you don’t get in with White Star there are plenty of others. Lots of liners call at Plymouth to drop off the mail. All you’d have to do is hang about the shipping offices along Millbay Road for a spell, you’d soon get fixed up.’

  Joey left Ted feeling more cheerful than he had dared to hope. His plans for a new job and a new life were not cancelled, they were merely postponed. He found the thought a comforting one as the time arrived for Stan’s funeral.

  At the graveside Joey looked at Queenie with increasing anxiety. There had been no tears, no hysterics, no outburst of emotion. Her unnatural silence worried him. It was as though she had blanked out her mind to the reality of her loss. ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ The familiar words brought Blanche’s lonely funeral back to his mind. Two deaths in such a short time were hard to bear, and he felt his throat contract. Queenie’s arm was linked inertly through his and he gave it a sympathetic squeeze. There was no response. Even when the moment came to scatter the first earth upon the coffin Queenie made no attempt to take the trowel offered to her by the sexton. It fell to Joey to put it in her hand and guide her movements so that she cast some soil into the grave.

  ‘Poor maid, you wouldn’t think it would affect her like this, would you?’ said Mrs Morris in a low voice as, back at the lodging-house, Queenie sat bolt upright and oblivious in her chair. ‘Let’s hope her comes out of it soon.’

  ‘She’ll snap out of it now the funeral’s over,’ he said with a conviction he was a long way from feeling.

  It was late that night when he finished his chores and he dragged his weary limbs up the stairs. On the landing he came to an abrupt halt. Through the chinks of the ill- fitting door filtered the glow of candlelight. In his room he found Queenie.

  She was sitting on the end of his bed, shivering with the cold in her long calico night-gown. She looked up as he entered, and he saw that the blank dazed expression which had been so familiar of late had disappeared.

  ‘Joey,’ she said, her eyes filled with pain. ‘Joey, my dad’s dead!’ Slowly the tears began to trickle down her plain face, gathering strength until they became a flood.

  Joey made no attempt to quell them. He was too thankful to see a natural reaction. He knelt by her side, not knowing what to say to give her comfort.

  ‘He was a fine man,’ he said at last. ‘One of the best.’

  ‘Oh, he was! For all he was so ill not once did he complain. And he was so good to me! He never raised his hand to me…’ On and on went the reminiscences in an unending stream, punctuated only by gulping sobs.

  Listening to the normality of her grief, Joey felt the load of responsibility slip from his shoulders. In its place came awkwardness. Sorrowing or not, it was not proper for Queenie to be alone with him in his room so late at night, and certainly not when she was clad only in a nightgown. Her heavy breasts were pushed against the white calico in a way which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘You’d best get back to your own room now and try and get some rest,’ he said, attempting to drape his jacket over her shoulders.

  Queenie pushed it away, ignoring his words.

  ‘What am I going to do, now that Dad’s gone?’ she wept. ‘You won’t go and leave me, will you, Joey? Not now! Not when I’m by myself!’

  It would have taken a harder heart than Joey’s to resist the pleading and misery in her voice.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ he promised. He tried to add, For a while, at least, but Queenie flung her arms about him.

  ‘I knew you’d stand by me,’ she wept.

  Even though he was feeling increasingly ill at ease,

  Joey had no option but to put his arms about her. He could feel the warmth of her through the thin cotton, and the soft flesh of her plump body yielded to his hands.

  ‘You should try and get some sleep.’ He tried to dislodge her grip, without success.

  ‘No, don’t send me away. Let me stay with you.’

  ‘That wouldn’t do at all, and you know it,’ he said, with growing desperation.

  But Queenie’s hold did not slacken. ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Please let me stay!’ In her distress her pleas were getting louder until Joey feared she would wake the whole household.

  What could he do? He had to let her stay!

  ‘All right! All right!’ he whispered urgently. ‘Keep your voice down.’

  His bed was a narrow one, no more than an iron cot, with scant room for the two of them. Queenie’s close proximity proved to be more arousing than he had ever anticipated, and her gratitude unexpectedly intoxicating. Afterwards he never knew if his actions had been prompted by sympathy, a wish to give comfort, or simply by animal need. Whatever his motives he found himself caressing Queenie’s smooth skin, his hands travelling over the pillowy softness of her ample curves. Soon there was no holding back. He rolled on top of her and thrust himself into her, the urgency of her response increasing his excitement.

  At last his passion waned, leaving hi
m breathless and with a growing sense of self-reproach, which was not lessened by Queenie’s ardent whispering of, ‘Joey! Oh Joey, my love!’

  He lay awake for a long, long time, appalled by what had happened. In the end he could not bear to lie there any longer in the cramped bed, with Queenie’s bulk slumbering beside him. In bare feet, so as not to wake, he crept downstairs and began the day’s work a good hour before usual.

  He dreaded Queenie’s arrival on the scene. What should he do? What could he say to her? Self-reproach racked him. To his surprise there were no recriminations from Queenie. Black did not suit her, it made her seem too pale, otherwise she appeared to be astonishingly normal.

  ‘You’ve got the stove going nice and early, I see,’ she said. ‘It’ll give us a good start.’ She put on her apron and began slicing bread.

  Joey watched her with astonishment. Surely she was going to make some mention of what had happened between them? All the day long he waited tensely for her to heap recriminations on him. Finally, when she did not, his own shame forced him to broach the subject.

  ‘Queenie, about last night…’ he began. ‘I want you to know that I’m sor—’

  ‘You don’t want to worry yourself about that,’ she broke in swiftly. ‘After all, it takes two, don’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘I’ve been feeling rotten about it. Thanks for taking it this way.’

  ‘You daft fool, what other way should I take it?’

  She smiled at him, and that smile swept away his brief feeling of relief. It was too full of adoration. Then Queenie turned back to her work so calmly he wondered if he had seen things in her smile that were not there.

  Day followed day without Queenie ever referring to what had happened between them. Joey began to relax. It had been an isolated incident, it had not meant anything, no harm had been done. He even let himself begin to dream of working on a transatlantic liner once more. As soon as he found someone to replace him at the lodging-house, then he would be off like a shot. First he would have to tell Queenie, though, she had to know that he intended to leave eventually. Not looking forward to what was to come he went in search of Queenie. He found her, as ever, in the kitchen.