Friends and Lovers

by June Francis

  Afterwards it was a mad dash for Viv to get ready to go out. As she closed the front door behind her leaving her mother watching the television she had to admit to a tiny suspicion of guilt. Nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After Viv had gone, Hilda watched the television for a short while then switched it off. She changed into a satin nightdress and dressing gown in front of the fire, throwing her clothes over the back of a chair. She poured herself a gin and tonic before going over to the window. She lifted a corner of the net curtain and peered out at the dark street. Christmas Eve and no man to fill her stocking. She felt a deep regret that Charlie was no longer in the land of the living. Should she go to church in the morning at ten or should she try the Watch Night service on New Year’s Eve? That was much more fun with drunks doing daft things … but there were people who went to confess a year of sin and cried halfway through the service.

  Life was bloody queer. She could not understand how she had been saved by a lot of arm-waving Alleluia swingers. Why did some prayers get answered while others didn’t? She felt depressed. This time last year she had been at a party with Charlie. You never knew. ‘Death is just around the corner,’ she muttered, experiencing a deep chill of fear as if a dark hole had opened up in front of her.

  ‘Shut up,’ she told herself, and prayed aloud: ‘God, help me not to think about worms boring holes in me. How about bright lights and music?’ Her voice trembled to a halt. Lord, she was going off her nut. It must be her age. She’d be into the Change next!

  She thought of Charlie and his saxophone. One of the kids in the house on the other side had a guitar while his brother played the washboard with bethimbled fingers. Sometimes the noise was enough to make the cat leave home. Viv said the brothers and their mates were behind the times. Skiffle was being taken over by rock’n’roll. Hilda pulled a face. Give her a good ballad and the sound of the big bands any day.

  She frowned irritably. Dominic Kelly would be going to Midnight Mass with his family. The pleasure of his company was something she was going to have to do without for a couple of days. Perhaps it was just as well. She had been too weak-willed when it came to Dom. But then, it had been hard enough giving up the ciggies. She hoped her figure wouldn’t go as round as the Polos she stuffed herself with trying to control the craving.

  Hilda wandered over to the fire. It needed more coal. Damn! Dom had got into the habit of filling the scuttle and bringing it in from the yard for her. But not today. A shaky sigh escaped her. His wife would be keeping him on a close rein. Did she suspect anything? If so, it didn’t show. There had been a Christmas card from the Kellys but none yet from her sister. Was Flo furious with her for keeping her daughter here? What would she tell Viv? Hilda had never thought that her daughter would be so interested in her father. She considered him for a moment. What a fool she had been over him! Could she tell Viv the truth? Earlier she had felt closer to her daughter than she had ever felt before. The truth might turn Viv completely against her. She shivered and slipped a coat round her shoulders before pulling a pair of old gloves over scarlet-tipped smooth white fingers.

  She was halfway across the kitchen when the knocker sounded. Kids carol singing, was her first thought. Not on your nelly! She was almost broke. Out in the back yard she realised that there was no singing and whoever it was at the front door was heavy handed with the knocker. She dropped the scuttle and retraced her steps.

  ‘Oh!’ She stared at the tall dark-clad figure standing with one foot on the doorstep. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Is Viv in?’

  Hilda did not answer immediately. Young, attractive, smart in a suit … he was a bit of all right. Her expression brightened. ‘What do you want her for?’

  ‘To take her out.’ He smiled. ‘You’re her mother, Hilda. I recognise you.’

  ‘You do?’ She scrutinised him more carefully. ‘Should I know you?’

  ‘Probably not.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Nick Bryce. You won’t remember me but I’ve never forgotten you. I’m pleased to meet you again.’

  She took his hand which was strong and firm. How she wished that she was young again! ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember …’

  ‘You might remember my mother, but we’ll let that go.’ He smiled without amusement. ‘Viv hasn’t gone to America after all, has she? Mr Kelly said …’

  ‘No.’ She sighed mournfully. ‘But she’s out. Do come in, though.’

  Nick hesitated then stepped into the house and looked about him. The room was more untidy than he remembered and there had been a few changes. No sofa but a television and the room was decorated for Christmas with a lighted tree forming an oasis of colour in one corner.

  Hilda smiled at him. ‘You wouldn’t like to bring the coal scuttle in for me, would you? I was in the yard filling it when you knocked and I’m not really dressed for outside.’

  ‘No problem,’ murmured Nick, and made for the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t fall over it,’ she called.

  As soon as he left the room Hilda darted around, grabbing stockings, corsets and knickers from the back of a chair as well as her sweater and a skirt. She threw them behind the curtain that concealed the stairs in the kitchen before sweeping up a magazine and a newspaper and shoving them beneath a cushion. An empty chocolate box she threw on the fire. She cleared the crockery from the table and placed it in the sink. Finally the tablecloth was shaken in the direction of the fire, causing the slumbering coals to crackle and send out sparks. Then she spread the cloth over the table, rubbing at a sauce mark on the linen with a dampened finger. It would not shift and she gave up. Gasping with exertion and spluttering from an unexpected cough that tickled her throat, she picked up the bottle the chemist had made up for her and sank into a chair.

  She was measuring out almost black medicine into a small glass when Nick, lugging the loaded scuttle, entered the room.

  ‘For my cough,’ she said. ‘I sometimes get a bit of a chest at this time of year.’ Her outspread fingers covered a breast.

  Involuntarily Nick stared at it as he placed the scuttle by the fireplace. She had always been well endowed, just like Viv was now. He picked up the bottle and read the label. ‘That won’t do you much good,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’re as bad as our Viv!’ With an air of defiance Hilda licked the spoon. ‘My father swore by it.’

  ‘My mother swears by soap and sugar for drawing out splinters but it’s never worked for me.’

  ‘I can see you’re a Smart Alec,’ she muttered.

  He grinned and began to make up the fire.

  She was irritated. Who was he? Where was he from? ‘How does Viv know you?’ she asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I take it she’s never mentioned me?’

  ‘No. But then, I don’t tell her all my secrets.’

  ‘I imagine you’ve got a few of them,’ he said lightly. ‘The pair of you getting on all right?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we?’ A frown creased her forehead as she crossed one leg over the other, showing a couple of inches of thigh.

  Nick made no answer but brushed coal dust from his fingers. ‘Where has she gone?’

  ‘Out for a meal with some of her mates.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Go and wash your hands before you mess up the place.’

  He nodded and went into the kitchen, reappearing a couple of minutes later. He placed his back against a wall, dug his hands into his pockets and said in a friendly voice, ‘You haven’t got anybody coming?’

  ‘Do I look like I’m dressed for visitors,’ she said sarcastically, re-crossing her legs and hoping the blue veins didn’t show. ‘I thought I’d have an early night.’

  ‘On Christmas Eve? I would have thought you’d have had a line of old admirers queuing up outside the door.’

  Hilda gave him a suspicious look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You still look pretty good for your age.’

  ‘For my age!’ sh
e spluttered. ‘Thanks for nothing! I think it’s time you were leaving.’

  ‘It was a compliment!’ He straightened. ‘I suppose I’d best be going then if Viv’s not here. Perhaps with that cough you’re right to have an early night.’

  ‘My cough’s not that bad.’ Suddenly she did not want him to go, and it was not just because she wondered why someone so assured and in their mid-twenties was interested in her seventeen-year-old daughter. She supposed it was youth and for a moment was jealous of her daughter and suffered a compelling urge to prove that she really was still attractive to men. Dom did not count. Their relationship owed as much to friendship as sexual expediency. She rose gracefully.

  ‘I didn’t really mean that about your leaving. I mean, where’s my manners? Won’t you have a cup of coffee? You haven’t told me how you know Viv,’ she gushed. ‘Did she tell you I lived in New Jersey for eight years?’ She smiled, giving it all she had.

  ‘She told me that you’d come home,’ he said abruptly. ‘She didn’t know what to make of it. You leaving her with Mrs Cooke might have seemed for the best at the time but you hurt her. A child feels rejection deeply.’

  Hilda scowled. ‘What’s it got to do with you? Do you think I don’t know all that now? I’m doing my best to make it up to her. We’re getting on OK.’

  ‘You haven’t told her who her father is then?’

  Her mouth fell open and several moments passed without either of them saying a word. Then Hilda said, ‘You must be close to her if she’s spoken to you about her father. Did you quarrel?’

  Nick smiled. ‘No. As for closeness – I hope we’re on the way. I remember Viv being born, but like you she didn’t remember me at first. We met on the day of her grandfather’s funeral. Then later at a party.’

  ‘You remember Viv being born?’ Hilda latched on to that. ‘So you must have lived close to our Flo’s?’

  He nodded, a slight gleam in his eyes. ‘How about that coffee?’

  ‘Righto.’ As Hilda went out of the room she darted him another wondering glance.

  Nick gazed into the fire. Had he gone too far? He thought of a conversation he had heard while lying reading on the outside lavatory roof when his family had lived next door to the Cookes. George’s father had been home on leave from the army and he was whitewashing the back yard. He remembered it so clearly because their cat fell into the bucket of whitewash while George’s dad had his back turned and Nick had gone down into the yard to rescue it …

  He looked up as Hilda came back into the room with the coffee. She had dressed and put on fresh make-up and he could smell perfume. Boyish fantasies were recalled with a vengeance.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to go out for a drink?’ he said impulsively.

  Hilda’s sober expression altered. ‘Are you serious?’

  Immediately he regretted the invitation. What was he thinking of? She was old enough to be his mother but he could not back off now or she would be hurt. ‘Of course. Although most places will be crowded by now.’

  Her baby blue eyes sparkled. ‘I don’t mind crowds,’ she said with a touch of excitement. ‘In fact, I used to prefer them.’

  Nick thought swiftly. They would have to go somewhere where there would be music so that conversation was not important.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find somewhere,’ she said, forgetting completely the talk that had worried her. ‘I’ll go and get a coat.’

  He watched her leave the room and took a swift gulp of the coffee. It was good. He drank the lot. He needed it.

  Nick stopped questioning his actions when Hilda reappeared wearing a mink coat. She looked a million dollars and he decided that if he saw anybody he knew then he would tell them that she was his rich widowed aunt from America who had arrived unexpectedly and that he had been given the job of entertaining her for the night.

  He took her to a pub for a couple of drinks and then on to a basement club in London Road. Smaller than the Cavern, it could take maybe forty at a sweaty best but it was cosy and the Christmas spirit was almost tangible there. Lonnie Donegan lovers and those who liked their folk songs jazzed up with a bit of Scouse humour thrown in were there in force. It went down well with Hilda which surprised Nick, as did the fact that she had a voice. ‘I don’t ever remember hearing you sing before,’ he said against her ear.

  ‘Didn’t always have much to sing about in the past, kid.’ She patted his knee and stared at him hard, puzzling again over his identity. ‘But my Charlie liked his music – jazz – the blues. I liked all sorts. Burl Ives, Ivor Novello, Glen Miller, Noel Coward. “Mad Dogs and Englishmen” – you know the one?’

  He nodded. ‘How long has your husband been dead?’

  ‘Five months.’ She took out a gold cigarette case and lighter. ‘He gave me these on our first wedding anniversary. I haven’t used them for a while. But I thought earlier – it’s Christmas, what the hell? Do you smoke?’ She handed him the lighter and placed a cigarette between her lips.

  ‘Used to.’ He flicked the lighter and held the tiny flame towards her. ‘But I gave it up when I was in the athletics team. Played havoc with my breathing.’

  ‘Sensible lad.’ She inhaled carefully.

  ‘Not really. We all have vices.’

  ‘Oh?’ She blew smoke in his face and smiled. ‘You’ve got me interested.’

  Before Nick could respond the group launched themselves into another number, a Christmas song, ‘I saw Three Ships Come Sailing In’. Hilda immediately began to sing along. He wondered what had made him say that about vices and smiled ruefully. Was it because Viv’s mother was the kind of woman who made a man want to appear more devilish than he was? Viv, on the other hand, made him feel romantic, protective. He wondered where she was and hoped she would be there when he took her mother home.

  She was not and he was disappointed and slightly annoyed at the same time. Hilda seemed to know just how he felt.

  ‘You don’t have to go yet.’ She pressed his arm. ‘Viv should be in soon.’

  But it had gone midnight and although Nick was tempted to stay he reckoned that with several drinks down her Hilda might want more from him than he was prepared to give. Besides he had promised his mother that he would fill the role of Father Christmas for his half-brother. He made his excuses.

  Hilda nodded slowly and then attempted to dazzle him with a smile. ‘Why not come tomorrow? Viv’ll be here. First Christmas we’ve had together for ages. Peace, goodwill to all men, and mothers.’

  He accepted immediately and offered her his hand but she offered him her cheek.

  ‘Thank you for taking pity on me. You really are a gentleman.’

  He smiled slightly, pecked her cheek, squeezed her hand and walked up the street without a backward glance.

  Slowly Hilda went back into the house, wondering about the relationship between him and her daughter. He was strong, had nice cheek bones and jaw, was romantic-looking in some ways. He reminded her of the hero in a film she had seen about the Russian Revolution. Lovely eyes! She only wished she could remember just who he was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘You had a visitor last night.’ Hilda yawned and gazed bleary-eyed at Viv across the table.

  Her daughter said nothing, tossing back a couple of Aspros and draining a glass of water. She had got up too late for church and was annoyed with herself but at least the chicken was in the oven and the vegetables peeled. She had been a fool to make such a night of it but Dot arriving at the restaurant with the letter from Aunt Flora in her hand which Viv had swiftly read had made her feel like she was walking on air. She had thought about it but not really realised what a great difference it would make to her knowing who her father was. Maybe soon she would have a face to the name. Her mother must have kept some photographs of Jimmy but why had she lied to her?

  ‘I said, you had a visitor last night,’ repeated Hilda.

  Viv shaded her eyes with a hand and stared at her mother. ‘Who was that then?’

  ‘We’ll
have to be getting ready.’ Hilda yawned again. ‘He said he’d be back.’

  Viv sat up straight. ‘Did he give a name?’

  ‘I think so. But I can’t remember what it was.’

  Her mother poured another coffee. She had learnt how to make good coffee in America and had bought herself a grinder in Lewis’s basement and purchased good quality coffee beans from Cooper’s.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Viv. ‘Was it Nick Bryce?’

  ‘That was his name.’ Hilda swallowed a couple of Phensic with her coffee. ‘Do you know who he is?’

  Viv smiled, ‘Of course I know who he is. I’ve been out with him twice.’

  ‘I didn’t know him.’

  ‘He knows you.’

  ‘So he said.’ Hilda yawned again. ‘He seems to know our Flo, too.’

  ‘Of course he does.’ Viv was starting to feel better. She should never have been persuaded to have those two rum and blackcurrants. ‘He lived next door to her.’

  ‘You mean in the shop?’

  ‘No. Right next door.’

  Hilda forced her eyelids up further. ‘What did I say his name was?’

  ‘Nick. Nick Bryce. You probably wouldn’t remember him. He was only a lad when last he saw you.’

  ‘You don’t mean his mother was Lena Bryce?’ Hilda’s hand paused halfway to her cigarette case. ‘No, you can’t mean her. I mean she was no good. She had a terrible reputation.’

  Viv’s fingers tightened on her cup. ‘Nick said she’s changed … become respectable. She even has an aspidistra.’

  ‘An aspidistra? Hmmph!’ Hilda took a cigarette from the gold case and placed it between her lips.

  ‘I thought you’d given them up,’ said Viv mildly. ‘You’ll be coughing your heart up next and wondering why. And what’s wrong with Mrs Bryce having an aspidistra? She’s more respectable than you are now with your fancy man next door!’