Friends and Lovers

by June Francis

  Viv bit her lip. ‘I don’t know how we got on to this subject. It’s stupid.’

  ‘Yes, it is. But then a lot of arguments wander from the point.’

  ‘What is the point?’

  ‘Do we really have to go into that?’

  ‘It was over my mother and you taking her side.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Was it?’

  She smiled. ‘Perhaps not. But we’re not getting anywhere talking like this.’

  ‘We could go for a walk in the park and kiss and make up?’

  ‘We could,’ she said, smiling.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and she an arm around his and they made their way to Stanley Park.

  Nick left Viv at her front door, saying that some aunt and uncle were expected and that he had better go and show his face.

  The kettle was whistling as Viv let herself in. Her mother was dozing in the easy chair with the television on full blast. The kettle had almost boiled dry but there was enough water left to make a cup of tea.

  Viv sat in the rocking chair and stretched her feet out towards the fire. ‘Wake up, Mam!’ she called. ‘I want to tell you something.’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ said Hilda, opening her eyes and stretching as delicately as a cat.

  ‘Oh, no?’ said Viv, smiling.

  Hilda looked about her. ‘He’s gone then?’

  ‘Well, he’s not hiding behind the Christmas tree.’ Viv reached for a chocolate from the large beribboned box with two fluffy cats on that Nick had given her. She offered the box to her mother who took two.

  ‘What did you have to talk about away from me?’ Hilda’s voice was as casual as she could make it.

  ‘This and that.’ Viv reached for another chocolate. ‘Kismet. Both our fathers, it seemed, were at El Alamein.’

  Hilda choked on a Brazil nut. Viv got up quickly and banged her on the back. ‘I thought that would shock you,’ she said. ‘I kept it quiet this morning but I was going to tell you I had a letter from Aunt Flo. I didn’t trust you not to keep it from me so I had it sent to Dot’s. At least Aunt Flo was willing to tell me what I wanted.’ She left her mother and came back a couple of seconds later with a glass of water.

  Hilda’s face was red and her eyes streaming. ‘There’s no need to get upset,’ said Viv gently. ‘I’m not mad with you, Mam. I’m pleased that Jimmy Martin was my father. Perhaps you’ll tell me why you lied about him? Aunt Flo said only nice things.’

  Hilda was silent.

  Viv hesitated then said, ‘It is true, isn’t it, Mam? Jimmy was my father?’

  Her mother stared at her and put down the glass, a small smile curving her mouth. ‘What are you going to do about it if it is?’

  Viv’s throat was suddenly tight. Why had she thought her mother had been about to deny it? ‘I’m happy just to know about him, Mam,’ she said in a rush. ‘If you’ve a photograph I’d love to see it. Now I’ve a name, I’d like to put a face to it.’

  ‘Sorry, honey, I haven’t got one,’ Hilda said, sounding sympathetic. ‘I had one once, but with travelling about it just went missing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Viv swallowed her disappointment. ‘Perhaps you could talk about him to me?’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ Hilda touched the back of her daughter’s hand and looked mournful. ‘As you said, it’s been a bit of a shock. It still hurts thinking of those days. Maybe I’ll be able to talk about it eventually, but don’t ask me to do it now.’

  She nodded, trying to understand her mother’s feelings, but it was not easy.

  That night when Viv went to bed she thought about Jimmy Martin and felt sad because they had never known each other and never would. She gazed across the room, not seeing the new curtains, and suddenly realised that she had known his brother. He was her uncle now, a real one, not just a courtesy one as he had been in the days when he had been courting her aunt. Stephen Martin had often taken Rosie, George and herself out with him and Aunt Flora, after Tom Cooke had been killed. Viv had liked him, although he and George had never really hit it off. She had felt sorry for him when Aunt Flo had broken things off to marry Mike – not that she wasn’t very fond of her Uncle Mike.

  Viv rolled over on to her side. Would Stephen be willing to talk to her? He must have been very hurt and angry when her aunt had called it all off. Perhaps she would go and see him? Not yet but soon she would visit him.

  Surely he would remember her and maybe even be glad to see her?

  CHAPTER NINE

  The outside of Martin’s Letterpress Printers and Stationers had altered. It had expanded, taking over the shop next door. The rather tatty facade of drab brown that Viv remembered had been replaced by daffodil yellow paint. No bell jangled when she pushed open the door. Inside, the narrow lobby which had always been cluttered with yesteryear’s rubbish had vanished, as had the reception area of stained glass and polished wood. In their place was an open carpeted area with plastic and metal chairs and a formica-topped counter with an electric bell. She could hear and feel vibrations from the printing machinery as her finger hovered over the bell for several seconds before pressing it.

  A youth in jeans and an ink-stained shirt came out of a cream painted door. He gave her the once over and smiled. ‘What can I do for yer, luv?’

  ‘I want to see Mr Martin, please.’

  ‘He’s busy.’ He leant on the counter and leered at her. ‘But if yer wanta wait, I’ll keep yer company.’

  ‘Just tell him that Vivien Preston is here.’

  ‘Vivien? That’s a posh name.’

  ‘You think so?’ She smiled, ‘will you please tell him? I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell yer now, he doesn’t like the opposite sex. I do though,’ he said with another leer.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ said Viv sweetly.

  ‘Please yerself.’ He grinned and disappeared through a door, only to reappear a few moments later. ‘He sez yer to go up. It’s the door that says “De Boss”.’

  Viv thanked him, and following his directions went upstairs. Outside the door which bore the words ‘MR S. MARTIN. PLEASE KNOCK’ she paused to control her trepidation, aware of the curious stares of men working in the room to her left. She smoothed her checked skirt over her hips and flicked back her loosened hair before knocking on the door. A voice that she scarcely recognised told her to come in.

  Stephen Martin was sitting at a desk, the chair slightly turned towards the window so that he presented her with his profile. He had dark curly hair going grey and his neck seemed thicker than she remembered. He wore a dark suit and the cuffs of his white shirt showed gold links. He stared at her without a hint of a smile. ‘You’re like your mother.’

  Viv did not allow herself to be put out by that remark. ‘I might look like her a little but we’re different people.’

  ‘You’re saying you wouldn’t behave like her?’ he said, a mite derisively.

  ‘In what way?’

  He did not answer but scrutinised her carefully. Now she saw the scar that just missed his left eye. It had been caused by shrapnel wounds. ‘What have you come here for?’ he asked. ‘What’s so important?’

  Viv cleared her throat. ‘I thought there might be things you could tell me.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Your brother!’ She leant forward eagerly. ‘Aunt Flo wrote to me telling me he was my father.’

  ‘Don’t mention her name here!’ The words sliced through the air and Stephen picked up a ruler from the desk, rapping it on the desk to emphasise them. ‘A cheap tart, that’s what she was, and your mother was no different! She had a string of boyfriends. Your father could have been any one of them.’

  ‘I don’t believe that!’ Viv’s voice rose as her colour heightened. ‘Nor was Aunt Flo a cheap tart! She was good and kind.’

  ‘I’d expect you to defend her.’ His tones were no longer controlled but hot and angry. He tossed the ruler aside and got to his feet. ‘She deceived me … rather have a no go
od Yank than a decent hardworking Englishman.’

  ‘Aunt Flo loved Mike,’ Viv said vehemently. ‘And he’d been asking her to marry him for ages.’

  ‘They think they won the bloody war.’ He clasped his hands tightly together. ‘All mouth and trousers, that’s what they were.’

  ‘He loved her,’ she declared passionately. ‘But she kept turning him down because she couldn’t leave my grandfather!’

  Stephen’s mouth thinned. ‘She left him, though. I heard she went to America.’

  ‘I stayed with him. He’s dead now.’

  ‘She made me very unhappy.’

  ‘It wasn’t what she intended, I’m sure.’

  His eyes darkened but he made no answer.

  Viv said earnestly, ‘Aunt Flo was the last person to wish anyone ill. She always spoke well of you and mentioned you had a tough time during the war. You were a hero, weren’t you? I remember you promised George you’d show him your medals. Aunt Flo said Jimmy was a hero as well.’

  He scowled. ‘He’s not your father. I won’t believe it.’

  ‘Why won’t you?’ Her brows puckered. ‘I suppose it’s because I’m illegitimate? Even so, I would have thought you’d be glad to have someone. Your mother and sisters died in the war, didn’t they? It must have been awful for you, losing them and Jimmy.’

  His face tightened. ‘I don’t need your sympathy,’ he said roughly. ‘Now will you get out? I’ve work to do.’ He sat down and picked up the ruler again.

  Viv fought back her disappointment but was not about to give up. ‘Uncle Steve, are you sure about this? I know you have cause to be angry with my family but …’

  ‘I’m not your uncle,’ he muttered.

  ‘I called you “uncle” years ago,’ she said quietly, her eyes warm with remembrance. ‘You didn’t seem to mind then. You were kind to me. You took us out places.’

  ‘It was different then. I was going to marry your aunt.’ The ruler suddenly cracked between his hands. ‘Get out,’ he shouted. ‘Get out!’

  Viv stared at him, shocked at such a show of emotion from a man of his age, and terribly disappointed. With her voice barely under control she said, ‘I feel sorry for you, Mr Martin. What good does it do you, not being able to forgive Aunt Flora? It doesn’t seem to have made you happy at all, just bitter, and that’s really sad.’ She marched out of the room, closing the door quietly. For a moment she stood with her hand on the handle, composing herself, then she ran downstairs.

  As she walked along the road she kept telling herself that just because Stephen denied that Jimmy was her father didn’t prove anything. He was her father. Aunt Flo had said so and she would never mislead Viv. As for her mother, she would have denied it if it was not true.

  Viv had not told Hilda that she was going to see Stephen Martin. It was a couple of months now since she had found out about Jimmy but her mother was still reluctant to talk about him and inclined to act as if she had not heard her questions when Viv asked them, so she had made the decision on her own to go and visit Stephen. Perhaps she would mention it when she arrived home? Even so she was not ready to return yet. She was not far from Dot’s house and would drop in on her friend and beg a cup of tea.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive the noise,’ shouted Dot about the din coming from the front parlour as she opened the front door. ‘But our Norm and his mates are practising. They’re fixed up to play at Phil’s. You know Phil who does most of the singing?’ Dot went slightly pink as she mentioned his name. ‘It’s his brother’s twenty-first and they’re having a party in the Co-op Hall tonight.’

  ‘Have you been invited?’ Viv slipped out of her coat and hung it up on one of the hooks in the lobby.

  Dot nodded. ‘I won’t know many people but I thought I’d go along and support the boys.’

  ‘Your Norm’s taught himself more than three chords now then?’ Viv said teasingly.

  ‘You may mock,’ said Dot severely, ‘but he’s getting there. Do you want to go in and be encouraging while I make a cup of tea? Mam and Dad are out.’

  ‘Understandable,’ murmured Viv, turning the handle of the parlour door. Singing under her breath ‘Putting on the Agony, Putting on the Style’, she slipped inside the room as unobtrusively as possible and perched on the leatherette-clad arm of a chair, prepared to say nice things to the four lads gathered there in the light of the leaded window, all wearing Western-type shirts and jeans.

  The Lonnie Donegan number came to an end and Viv waved her arms in the air and shouted, ‘More, more! Who are this fantastic group, about to dazzle Merseyside and the world?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Viv!’ Norm grinned at her. ‘It wasn’t that good.’

  ‘Of course it was. It was better than good. Your number two fan has spoken.’ Her eyes danced. ‘The thing is, can you do it again and again and again? Let’s hear a Gene Vincent number, baybee!’

  Norm adjusted the strap of his guitar, glanced across at Phil, who nodded, and they launched into ‘Be Bop A Lula’.

  Dot came into the room as the number finished. ‘Now how about “You’re Twenty-one Today”?’ she said, putting down a tray on the floor. The four lads pulled faces.

  ‘They’ll expect it,’ said Viv in a lively voice, taking a cup from the tray. ‘You could jazz it up, though.’

  ‘They might also want “Auld Lang Syne”,’ said Dot seriously, passing a cup of tea to Phil. ‘I’ve been to tons of family parties where all the grown ups get soppy and have that played at the end.’

  ‘What if they want “Knees up, Mother Brown”,’ said Viv, with her tongue in her cheek.

  ‘We draw the line at “Mother Brown”,’ said Phil, who had brown hair, brown eyes, a dimpled chin, and a vocal pitch that ranged from the raucous to the romantic. ‘This party is for the young ones. Our Dave’s told me mam that he doesn’t want all the old aunties there, but you know mothers.’

  ‘They’re a law unto themselves,’ said Viv, smiling.

  He smiled back and Dot nudged her arm. ‘I think we’ll leave you lot to it now. Me and Viv have things to say to each other.’ She nudged her friend again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to come to the party tonight?’ called Phil as they were on their way out. ‘You can keep Dot company while we’re playing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Viv, refusing to be intimidated by Dot’s scowl. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go tonight. Carry on playing, fellas. Who knows? You might beat Cliff or Elvis to the top of the charts one day.’

  As soon as they were out of the parlour, Dot said furiously, ‘He’s mine, Viv! Keep your hands off!’

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I don’t want him. I was just being encouraging like you told me. Besides, you’re forgetting about Nick.’

  Dot wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s because you haven’t mentioned him for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Only because I haven’t seen him,’ Viv said lightly. ‘There’s so much rebuilding going on in Liverpool at the moment that he’s kept busy, but I’m not going to sit in waiting for him to call.’

  ‘All right, I accept that.’ Dot sighed. ‘Love’s awful, isn’t it?’

  ‘If it’s that bad, I don’t know why you’re bothering with Phil.’

  ‘It’s just that I fancy him like crazy but I don’t know if he really fancies me or is just being nice to me because I’m Norm’s sister.’

  ‘You underestimate your charms. You’ve got a lot going for you. I wish I was as tall as you.’

  ‘I wish I had a bust,’ sighed Dot as they sat down in the back kitchen. ‘Anyway, what did you come for?’

  Viv put down her cup and laced her fingers beneath her chin, resting her elbows on the kitchen table. ‘I went to see my uncle today – only he wouldn’t believe he was my uncle,’ she said, her expression moody.

  ‘Figures,’ said Dot laconically.

  Viv stared at her. ‘What d’you mean, figures?’

  ‘I bet you burst in on the poor man without warning and told him you were
the result of a night of passion during the war.’

  ‘A night of passion was not mentioned,’ said Viv with dignity. ‘I’m not that daft! But he seems to believe my father could be any of a number of men. He said Mam had strings of boyfriends.’

  ‘I wonder how she did it,’ said Dot pensively, toying with the spoon in the sugar bowl. ‘We’re having trouble with just keeping one. What’s your mam look like, Viv? I still haven’t set eyes on her.’

  Viv grimaced. ‘She’s OK. Anyway, I don’t think mentioning a night of passion would have gone down well with Uncle Steve. He’s got his own business and he’s very upright … but maybe you’ve got something about me breaking the news to him the way I did.’

  ‘Give him time to think about it,’ said Dot. ‘Who knows? He might change his mind and decide be could be your uncle after all.’

  Viv nodded and got to her feet. ‘I’ll have to go and buy a present.’

  Dot stood up. ‘You’re really going to the party then?’

  ‘Why not?’ Viv slipped an arm around her. ‘You did say you wouldn’t know anyone there, honey chile. Well, now you’ll know me. Come with us into town and I’ll buy you a frothy coffee at the Kardomah.’

  Dot agreed and they went to put on their coats. The last thing they heard as they closed the door was the lads playing Craig Douglas’s one hit ‘Only Sixteen’.

  ‘You’re never too young or too old to fall in love,’ commented Dot with a heartfelt sigh. Viv said nothing but was thinking about her mother and a night of passion during the war.

  ‘I’m going out tonight.’ Viv frowned at the dust on the sideboard as she took an apple out of the glass dish kept there. Her mother had forgotten to polish again. With her free hand she wrote ‘Vivien Martin’ in the dust. When there was no comment from her mother, she said loudly, ‘I went to see Stephen Martin today!’

  Hilda looked up from the red-backed romantic novel she was reading, a startled expression on her face. ‘Good God! What did he have to say?’

  ‘He chased me!’ said Viv with assumed brightness. ‘He thought I looked like you, and said you had so many fellas in the old days that my father could have been any one of them.’