by June Francis
Hilda’s laugh had a ring of irritation to it. ‘Fellas I might have had but I wasn’t one for distributing my favours freely, whatever he might like to believe. The trouble with Stephen was he was jealous of his brother – and of your Uncle Tom. They used to tease him because he was quiet and a few years younger.’ She shrugged. ‘There were times when I felt sorry for him and wished he’d fight back, but he wouldn’t.’ She stared into space and murmured, ‘But I’m not about to waffle on about those days. What else did he have to say to you?’
‘He insulted Aunt Flo.’
‘Not surprising. Your perfect aunt did almost leave him standing at the altar.’
‘It was better than marrying the wrong man.’ Viv’s tone was defensive.
‘True,’ said Hilda. ‘Even so, perhaps if I’d gone to see Steve things might have been different?’
A sharp laugh was torn from Viv. ‘What could you have done to convince him when he doesn’t have a good word to say about you? You’ve always believed yourself irresistible, Mother.’
‘If that is true I’ve been proved wrong a couple of times,’ said Hilda coolly. ‘Well, you might laugh, my girl, but if you handle some men right you can change their minds for them. Anyway there’s no use crying over spilt milk. It’s all water under the bridge. Forget the past and think of the future. Be glad that times have changed since I was young. The only career most working-class girls could have then was marriage. If I was young again today …’
‘You’d probably make just the same mistakes,’ said Viv ruthlessly, irritated by her reluctance still to talk about Jimmy. Without another word she walked from the room. She was not about to give up on finding out more about her father. She would give Stephen Martin a while to consider and then she would go and visit him again, just to prove that she had it as much as her mother had ever done.
CHAPTER TEN
Hilda lay on the sofa, smoking and reading True Confessions. The things that women confessed to never failed to fascinate her. People get paid for writing these stories, she thought incredulously. How much?
Her money had come from America but it wasn’t a fortune and would not last for ever. She imagined huge sums of money for writing her true-life confessions, considering those in the magazine pretty tame stuff compared to some of the things that had happened to her. She toyed with the idea of writing but putting pen to paper had never been one of her strong points. Perhaps she could nag Viv into doing it?
Viv! Cheeky little thing, telling her that she wasn’t doing the housework properly and saying that she had all day and it was time she looked for a job. They’d had a tussle over keeping the place up and both refused to dust. Stupid! But it had turned into a kind of competition. But who would have thought that Viv would have changed so much over the years and would have had the guts to confront Stephen with her illegitimacy? How long ago was that now? Weeks. Easter was behind them but there was still a chill wind about.
Hilda raised her head and looked towards the window. Pity about the wind. She might have been tempted to go and call on Stephen Martin if it had been as warm as it looked outside. It would be interesting to see how he looked and not just have Viv’s word for it. She thought she saw a shadow pass the window through the net curtains. The next moment there was a knock on the door.
She got to her feet, tightening the tie on her dressing gown. She pushed her feet into their frippery slippers and went to answer it.
‘Good God!’ Hilda stared in amazement before placing a hand on a hip and pulling in her stomach. ‘Think of the devil and he’s sure to appear. Get blown here, did you, Steve?’
Stephen’s jaw dropped, then clenched. ‘I didn’t expect to see you. I’ll come back some other time.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ she said quickly, pushing the door wide. ‘Come in. You look chilled to the marrow.’
‘No thanks.’ He turned away then stopped and said harshly, ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed at this time of day?’
‘I haven’t been well.’ It was not true but it sounded convincing and Hilda spoke with a calmness she was far from feeling. ‘It’s good to see you, Steve. You’re not going to let a little thing like me not being dressed stop us from talking? I presume you’ve come about Viv?’
A pulse throbbed in his neck. ‘Yes I was rude. She’s not to blame for what Flora did. Nor is it her fault she’s what she is. She really sounded like she cared.’ His voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to the V where the neck of Hilda’s dressing gown fell open, then down towards her exposed legs. His face reddened. ‘I’d better go.’
She placed a hand on his arm. ‘I won’t eat you if you come inside,’ she said gently. ‘You could wait in the kitchen while I dress. Put the kettle on and we’ll have a coffee.’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t expect …’
‘Obviously.’ She smiled up at him, pressing his hand. ‘Come on in. It’s ages since we’ve talked. It’s so nice to see someone from the old days. A lot’s happened to us since then. We’ve both loved and lost and suffered.’
‘I suppose so,’ he said dully.
She thought, Oh God, the things a woman has to do! ‘You suppose right.’ Her voice was jovial. ‘Come in.’ She slipped a hand through his arm and he allowed himself to be dragged inside. ‘I’d forgotten you were so tall and strong. You make me feel all dainty and small.’ She slammed the door shut with her free hand.
He cleared his throat. ‘You’d better get dressed.’
‘You’ve said that. Does it bother you?’
‘I’m not used to seeing a woman … er …’
‘Er? You and our Flo never …?’
His expression stiffened. ‘No.’
‘There’s been no one else?’ He shook his head, tight-lipped. ‘What a waste,’ she murmured, stroking his arm. ‘All this lovely muscle.’
‘Hilda, don’t!’ He removed her hand and cleared his throat again.
‘What have I done?’ she murmured forlornly. ‘I’m a widow again, you know. I’ll get dressed.’ She began to unbutton her dressing gown, revealing a peach satin nightdress beneath. He stared at her, then hurried into the kitchen.
I shouldn’t really tease him, thought Hilda as she dressed, singing beneath her breath, ‘One dream in my heart, one love to be living for …’ She could see the young Jimmy in Stephen’s scared expression. Hell! They’d had some good times. Pity about the scar on Stephen’s face, but he had inherited the business and was not short of a bob or two … Fancy him having second thoughts about Viv! Perhaps he was going to own her after all? She put on black stockings, remembering the way Stephen had stared at her legs all those years ago when he had believed he would marry her sister. How to play him? She was fond of Dom but could not visualise him ever leaving his wife. ‘One dream in my heart … money.’
‘Viv came to me about Jimmy,’ said Stephen, standing almost to attention in the middle of the kitchen. His hands gripped his cup tightly.
‘I know.’ Hilda crossed one leg over the other and hitched up her skirt slightly. ‘It was quite a while ago.’
Involuntarily he stared at the expanse of thigh revealed by the movement before lifting his eyes. She was still attractive but had never possessed the dewy innocent beauty of her daughter. There had always seemed to be a hard edge to Hilda. ‘It wasn’t something I could rush,’ he muttered.
‘She was very hurt.’ Hilda emphasised the ‘hurt’. ‘She’s got a bee in a bonnet about her father and that’s all she can think about. She said you weren’t very nice about me.’ She sighed. ‘If I remember rightly, last time we met you weren’t very nice about me either. I don’t know what your Jimmy would have thought. He always spoke of you as having perfect manners.’ Our Steve’s always putting on airs and graces, was what he’d actually said. ‘He was very proud of you in a big brotherly way, even though he didn’t show it often.’
‘I don’t want to talk about our Jimmy,’ Stephen said coldly. He did but was afraid that his real feelings would show if she
went on about how marvellously witty, funny and brave his brother had been. Too often his brother had been witty at his expense.
Her eyebrows arched. ‘You surprise me. I would have thought that was why you were here? Don’t you want me to give you some kind of proof to show that Viv is your brother’s daughter? Well, I can do that.’
‘You can?’ She had completely flummoxed him.
‘You heard me.’ Hilda looked amused.
‘How? I don’t believe you.’ He stumbled over the words.
‘Why? Don’t you want to believe me?’ She stared at him intently but he was silent. She continued, ‘He sent me letters when he was in Africa.’ She paused to stub out a cigarette but her gaze did not move from his face. ‘You’ve always thought the worst of me, haven’t you, Steve? You never believed I truly loved your brother. Your judgement was right. I didn’t love him but I was very fond of him and felt sorry for him. He was devastated over your mother’s and sisters’ deaths. I comforted him the only way a woman knows how that time he was home. It was a stupid thing to do and you don’t know how many times I’ve regretted it, especially after he was killed.’
Her words rang true and matched what Stephen believed he knew of her. His shoulders sagged and he backed into a chair, unable to tear his gaze from hers. ‘It’s different to the undying love for him you swore last time I saw you.’
She came over to him. ‘You were a different man then … an idealist … not so mature.’ She crouched by the side of his chair, leaning her elbows on the edge of its arm so that they brushed against his sleeve. ‘I think we can be honest with each other, can’t we? You only wanted our Flo because she had belonged to Tom, and you’d always hated him because he teased you. It was your way of getting back at him.’
Stephen wanted to say that was only partly true but he remained silent, overwhelmingly conscious of her nearness. It was years since he had been with a woman. France 1950. He had got a little drunk at a mate’s wedding in Caen and had woken up in the bride’s aunt’s bed. She had been forty-five to his thirty-one and had known all the tricks of the trade. He had felt ashamed afterwards but had learnt a lot during that lapse.
Hilda rested her hands on his arm and gazed up at him. ‘It’s a pity we never got together years ago but I fell for that pretty-faced first husband of mine. I was a fool! I should have gone for strength of character. I always admired you, Steve. Nobody could mess you around. If you thought something was right, you stuck to it. I was too easily deceived by a handsome face. I’ve learnt my lesson since.’
He cleared a throat that was suddenly too tight. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
Her eyes widened and he felt he was being drawn in. He had forgotten the irises were such an all over baby blue.
‘Because of Viv, of course,’ said Hilda. ‘I’ve been such a terrible mother to her. Poor kid, she deserves all the help she can get. I don’t think our Flo was thinking of her at all when she went off to America. She should have married you, Steve but I’m glad she didn’t.’
There was a short silence. He did not want to discuss Flora and when he spoke his voice had hardened. ‘I came to tell Viv that if she wants to visit me sometimes, she can. If we got to know each other better then perhaps I might feel different about things. She might be in need of a job, and maybe in time I might accept Jimmy was her father.’
Hilda breathed easier. For a moment she had thought she had gone too far. ‘That is good of you,’ she gushed.
He shrugged. ‘She’s grown up well.’
‘People say she looks like me.’
‘Do they?’ He eased his arm which was going dead.
Hilda lifted her chin and raised herself up a bit. Her knees cracked. A grimace twisted her mouth. ‘Old age creeping up. Do you ever think about being old and alone, Steve?’
‘No,’ he lied, and got up out of the chair. ‘I’d better get back.’ He lifted his overcoat from the sideboard where Hilda had placed it and noticed the name written in the dust: Vivien Martin. An unfamiliar sensation washed over him and for a moment he suffered such a sense of loss that it was a physical ache.
Hilda was at his side, helping him on with his overcoat. ‘You’ll come again?’ Her fingers were on the buttons, fastening them for him. He was reminded of when he was a little boy and his mother used to pat him on the shoulder and say, ‘There, Stevie luv, all done.’ Then she would kiss him before seeing him out of the house. He stared at Hilda and experienced such a craving for sexual comfort that it was like having stomach cramps. He thought of Vivien. Was she really his niece? He opened the door. ‘You’ll make my apologies,’ he said roughly. ‘And ask her to come and see me?’
‘Of course.’ She was all smiles. ‘It’s Viv’s welfare we’re both interested in.’
‘I am,’ he said bluntly. ‘I don’t know about you, Hilda. I never have. I still don’t know whether to believe …’
Her mouth thinned and she moved suddenly, taking him by surprise. ‘Believe what you like.’ She shoved him out of the house, surprising him with her strength, and slammed the door catching the flap of his overcoat. She narrowly opened the door and freed it but before he could say anything she had slammed it again.
Hilda leant against the door and stared unseeingly across the room. Damn him! Who did he think he was? He’d as good as called her a liar. She had a good mind not to give Viv his message. That would serve him right. He was interested in Viv that was obvious. What had he said? Her brow furrowed as she moved away, reaching for her cigarette packet. ‘She’s grown up well.’ Not exactly a roaring compliment but Steve had never been able to get his tongue round a pretty phrase. She inhaled and coughed. There was a knock at the door and she went to answer it, still coughing.
‘You should give them up, girl. They’ll be the death of yer yet.’ Dominic pushed past her into the house and seated himself on the sofa, stretching his long arms along the back. ‘Who was that I saw just leaving?’
‘Jealous, are you?’
‘Curious,’ he grunted, lighting up. ‘Listen … do you want to give me some more money for paint and paper to finish this place? The missus is angling for an invite to come and see what I’ve been doing here and I can hardly take her upstairs.’
Hilda grimaced. ‘Where is she now?’
‘Gone to her mother’s.’ He smiled. ‘D’you feel like a bit of fun?’
She sat on his knee. ‘In a minute. That was Steve Martin.’
He pulled a face. ‘The one that your Flo threw over for the Yank?’
‘You’ve got a good memory.’
‘What’s he after? You now.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘You mean he wasn’t.’
She pouted and punched his chest. ‘The trouble with you is that you know me too well.’
‘People don’t change that much from when they’re kids. You always wanted everybody to pay you attention. You’re insecure, girl. That’s why you need me. Your memories of me are linked with being comforted.’
She laughed without amusement. ‘You think you know it all, Dominic Kelly. I’d feel more secure if I didn’t have to worry about your missus finding out about us.’
He hugged her to him. ‘We can stop. Or you can give me some money and I’ll pull out that grate and put in new and slap on some paint and paper. Then you can invite her round for scones and tea.’
‘You’ve got a cheek. It would be Viv who would have to make the scones.’ She kissed him several times before removing his sweater. ‘Tell me, has your Joe seen Nick Bryce lately?’
Dominic nuzzled her neck. ‘Not that I know of … but that doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going or who he’s seeing.’ He slid his hand up her skirt and undid her suspender button. ‘What did that Martin bloke want?’
‘Viv.’ She unbuttoned his shirt, telling him what Stephen had said about her daughter. Her eyes darkened. Pass his message on! Like hell she would. She didn’t want him taking her daughter away from her. Th
en she dug her hands down the back of Dom’s trousers and dragged out his shirt tails. The room fell silent as he kissed her with enthusiasm and she clung to him as he rose from the chair and carried her upstairs. There was something to be said for meeting after so many years one’s first uninhibited youthful lover.
Viv pushed open the front door and immediately the sound of her mother singing in the back kitchen assailed her ears. She grimaced, wondering which was worse – her mother her normal indolent, stubborn, trying self, with her refusal to talk about Jimmy and idiotic behaviour in carrying on with Mr Kelly, or else stirred by the mood of the moment when the unexpected could happen? Why was she singing? Maybe a visit from Mr Kelly? Viv groaned, sniffed and caught the faintest whiff of Brylcreem and something else. Mr Kelly didn’t use aftershave. She forgot about closing the front door and walked through into the kitchen.
Her mother hovered near the cooker. She was wearing a frilly white organdie apron over a black dress and fishnet stockings. ‘Hello, honey. Buy anything nice?’
Viv’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Mr Kelly must have been. You’re all dressed up like a dog’s dinner. Bit early in the day, wasn’t he?’
‘Now, Viv, don’t be like that.’ Hilda stared at her, noting the smoothness of her skin and the cheeks flushed a healthy pink with the wind. She looked so lovely and so young that Hilda experienced a terrible pang of envy. You could paint over the tiny wrinkles but no cream could smooth them away for good.
‘Honest, you mean?’ retorted Viv. ‘It’s just that besides disapproving of your making a fool of yourself and committing adultery, Mam, I don’t want Mrs Kelly coming round here screaming blue murder.’
‘If she does, I’ll know where it’s come from,’ said Hilda, her expression clouding. ‘Mrs McCoy. Nosy cow!’
‘You should behave yourself,’ said Viv, glancing over her mother’s shoulder to see what was in the pan.