by June Francis
‘At this time of night? Don’t be daft!’
She turned on him. ‘I’ll go alone, I said,’ she screamed. ‘Now get to bed and get some sleep. I doubt you’ll be getting any tomorrow!’ She slammed the door and he heard her heels tap-tapping up the road.
Stephen did not sleep at all that night, and when Viv did not come back the following morning he felt desolate. He went into her bedroom and fingered the new curtains and a skirt she had left flung over a chair. He looked at a photograph on the primrose-coloured wall and saw that it was of George and Flora. Something stirred at the back of his mind and then eluded him.
He skipped Sunday lunch. He did not go out for his customary walk in the park but waited. By teatime Viv still had not come so he went and had a couple of pints at the local pub. When he came back he realised how hungry he was and made himself a snack, wondering now about Hilda and whether they could get together again. He went to bed, hoping that Viv would turn up at work the following morning. The printers’ strike was well over and there was plenty of work for them both.
She was standing outside the works entrance when he arrived, looking pale but composed. ‘Hello, Stephen,’ she said quietly.
He was instantly irritated. ‘I waited in most of yesterday.’ He slammed the car door shut.
Her eyes smouldered. ‘I didn’t think you’d expect me after what Mam had to say.’
‘Your mother said a lot of things but nothing that can’t be talked about.’
Viv’s brows rose. ‘Don’t tell me she lied to you again?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What did she say?’
‘That you were upset because of what’s between her and me.’
Viv laughed. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, but …’ He hesitated. ‘Shall we go inside and you can make us some coffee? Then you can tell me what else she should have said.’ He unlocked the door and led the way in.
Stephen felt better after the coffee, and with Viv sitting at her desk in the office everything felt almost normal. Perhaps Saturday night had never happened? But he knew it had because he felt so awful inside.
‘Well?’ he asked at last, leaning back in his chair.
‘You’re not my uncle,’ she said quietly. ‘Mam told me last night.’
Stephen stared at her, hardly able to understand what she meant. He could hear the blood beating in his ears, then suddenly the words sunk in. ‘What did she say exactly?’ he said hoarsely. ‘Think carefully. Could you have misheard her?’
Viv shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She told me that you weren’t my uncle.’
‘And you believed her?’ His tone was suddenly surprisingly incisive. ‘She might have been lying because she was hurt by my deception.’
‘Mam, hurt!’ Viv’s voice rose slightly then dropped. ‘I thought she was lying at first to get me out of the house.’
He tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Now you don’t think she was?’
‘No. She was always reluctant to talk about Jimmy. She probably lied about the letters and there weren’t any after all.’ Viv traced patterns on a sheet of paper with a fingernail.
Stephen nodded. ‘I suppose she didn’t tell you who your father was?’
‘No. And even if she had I don’t known if I’d have believed her.’
He stared at her for a long time and it suddenly struck him just who her father might be. The thought made him feel sick.
Viv gazed back at him. Abruptly she got to her feet. ‘What is it? Do you know?’
‘Sit down,’ he rasped, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands. ‘How could I know? Your mother didn’t tell me.’
She sat down again. ‘I suppose you’ll want my notice?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘No, but …’
‘Does it really matter that my brother wasn’t your father?’ His voice was harsh. ‘You never knew him while we’ve got to know each other. We have a working relationship and you know your job. We’ve lost enough working hours with the strike. I want you to stay, Viv. I need you.’
She was silent. Then she eased back her shoulders and met his look squarely. ‘I’ll stay.’
In that moment Stephen realised just how much there was of her mother in Viv, but whether that was a good or a bad thing for them both he was unsure. ‘Do you think we can try and forget it all now?’
‘I can if you can.’ Her tone was positive.
He attempted a smile. ‘Is there anything else you want to say?’
‘I think enough’s been said.’
Stephen picked up some papers. ‘Take the cups out then. There’s a good girl.’
Viv did as he ordered but as soon as she had gone Stephen’s sank his head into his hands and for a long time did absolutely nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘When are you going to make up your mind about your mam?’ asked Dot.
Viv took her eyes off the wedding dress in Nanette’s shop window. It was almost two months since the painful quarrel with her mother and her leaving Stephen’s house and in all that time she had not seen her mother or Nick. ‘Does your mam want me out of the way? If so I’ll start looking for a bedsit,’ she said.
‘No! She’s glad of the extra money.’ Dot tucked her hand through Viv’s arm. ‘But what about your mam? Are you going to see her or not?’
‘Not at the moment,’ said Viv, her light tone at war with her feelings.
‘What about knowing who your father is?’
‘She’s not going to tell me.’
‘Perhaps he was married?’
‘I have thought of that.’
‘Well, if you’re not going to ask your mam, maybe you could try getting in touch with him?’
‘Are you being funny?’
Dot shook her head. ‘Deadly serious. It might be worth a try getting in touch with the Other Side.’
‘You sound like Maggie from the bakery. It’s a load of baloney,’ said Viv impatiently.
‘You shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it,’ said Dot solemnly.
Viv tried not to smile. ‘It’s wrong to get in touch with the dead,’ she said mildly. ‘Look what happened to King Saul in the Bible when he broke the rules. He was that frightened it resulted in his death.’
Dot came back quickly, ‘But it does say in the New Testament that you should test the spirits.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Viv frowned. ‘That we ask who they are? Or does it just mean be on your guard against evil ones?’
Dot pulled on her arm and they began to walk towards Lime Street. ‘There must be good spirits as well as bad.’ Her face was animated. ‘Maggie told me how this friend of hers went to see a medium in London before the war. Estelle somebody or other. Apparently she had a spiritual guide who was called Red Cloud. He was an American Indian and a man’s voice came out of her mouth. He told the audience all sorts of helpful things from the spirit world.’
‘What sort of helpful things?’ Viv’s voice was sceptical.
‘If you’re going to be like that, forget it,’ said Dot indignantly.
Viv smiled. ‘I wonder if they really do ask “Is there anyone there?”’
‘Of course they do! It’s a pity you don’t take it seriously.’
‘I do take it seriously,’ said Viv in a reasonable voice. ‘That’s why I’m wary about such things. I believe in a spiritual world.’
‘There you are then!’ Dot’s face brightened. ‘All I’m saying, Viv, is if you get that way you can’t stand not knowing any more, give it a go.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Right. Now let’s think what else I can do to cheer you up.’
‘You could shut up about me needing cheering up,’ murmured Viv.
‘Okay, okay! I was only trying to help. Now how about NEMS? There’s a new Alma Cogan record Mam wants for her birthday. We can make that an excuse for listening to something more our kind of music’
‘That’s fine by me,’ replied Viv, despite its being the last thing she wanted to do, but the hours when she was not in work often dragged. She would be glad to get back to the office.
* * *
Viv stood, watching Stephen signing the letters she had just typed, wondering what he was thinking and whether he did know who her father was.
‘What’s wrong, Viv?’
‘Why should there be anything wrong?’
‘You’re all fidgety. Have you seen your mother or something?’
‘No.’ Her eyes fixed on his face which had grown thinner and was more lined. She said abruptly, ‘Uncle Steve, do you know who my father is?’ He went pale and immediately she wished the words back but it was too late.
‘Why don’t you go and ask your mother?’ he rasped. ‘She’s the only one who knows. Her and him! And he’s dead, isn’t he?’ There was a harshness about his mouth that made her heart sink.
‘You’re sure he’s dead?’ she said slowly.
He nodded and lowered his gaze to the desk.
‘Why don’t you go and see Mam?’ she blurted out, feeling more sorry for him than ever. ‘Why don’t you talk about him to her? Maybe she can give you some answers?’
‘I think I know them.’ His voice contained a note of bitterness.
She stiffened. ‘You know who he is for certain?’
He hesitated. ‘Not for certain. So I’m not about to mention names, Viv.’
‘I see,’ she said coolly, picking up the signed letters. ‘It seems a bit unfair when it involves me.’
‘But that’s exactly it!’ he burst out. ‘It wouldn’t be fair because I might be wrong and then you’d be hurt even more.’
‘Why would I? Was he married?’
He hesitated. ‘I think so. Listen, Viv, we’ve both taken a knock from your mother. Let’s just carry on pretending we don’t care and maybe eventually it’ll be true.’
‘Just like I’m pretending I don’t care about Nick?’ Her throat moved. ‘His sister told me that he won an award for designing a house, you know.’
‘Must have talent then,’ said Stephen, lifting his eyes to her face.
She nodded. ‘I should have told him about you earlier. I wished you’d met. I’d have valued your opinion of him, Uncle Steve.’
A line of colour appeared under his cheekbones. ‘Thanks. But we’re not likely to meet now, are we?’
‘I suppose not,’ murmured Viv. ‘Dot liked him, though.’
‘That says something,’ he said drily.
‘She’s not as daft as she sounds,’ protested Viv. ‘Although sometimes she comes up with some weird ideas. On Saturday she suggested I get in touch with my dead father.’
She half expected Stephen to bite her head off again but all he said was, ‘You mean hold a seance?’ She nodded. ‘I suppose it would be interesting to see what results you’d get,’ he said caustically. ‘Not that I believe in such things.’
‘Dot says you shouldn’t knock things unless you’ve tried them. Perhaps it’s worth a go?’ she said with a hint of challenge in her voice.
He stared at her but all he said was, ‘You’d better get these letters to the post. We’ve wasted enough time talking.’
That night Viv could not sleep. She thought back to the days when Stephen had been courting her aunt. Of things said and of the time her mother had come on the scene. Of the photographs Stephen had shown her that first time she had gone to his house and of the photograph he had given her. Suddenly she felt cold all over. Why hadn’t she seen it? Could it be him? Oh God! She closed her eyes tightly as if she could rid her mind of the thought in such a way. No! No! No! She rolled over and pounded her pillow viciously before burying her hot face in it. It couldn’t be true?
And yet so many things made sense if it was. Especially her mother’s reluctance to tell her who her father was. Oh God, no! She thumped the pillow again.
‘What’s up with you?’ muttered Dot from the next bed. ‘Round and round, bang, bang.’
‘I’m thinking about my father,’ she said. ‘Stephen as good as told me he was married.’
Dot sat up. ‘Then he knows who he was?’
‘I think so but he won’t tell me.’
Her friend pulled a face. ‘Why don’t you have done with it and have a seance? We could ask Maggie to arrange it.’
‘I’m not asking Maggie.’ Viv felt she needed to know, though. Was it worth a try?
‘If you don’t fancy Maggie we could try a simple method right now,’ said Dot, switching on the bedside lamp and nearly knocking off the empty cup next to it. ‘Like we used to do at work at lunch time until they stopped us. Remember?’
‘You mean play games with letters and a glass?’ Viv’s tone revealed that her mood was still sceptical.
‘You can mock! Some weird and mysterious things happened to us playing that game.’
‘You mean water suddenly appeared in the glass?’
‘Very funny.’ Dot slid out of bed. ‘All we need is a board and some letters … numbers and a Yes and a No.’
‘Is that all?’ drawled Viv, trying to appear nonchalant by leaning back against her pillow, her hands clasped behind her head. ‘What about a pointer?’
‘The cup.’
Viv picked it up. ‘There’s no cocoa left for any thirsty spirits.’
‘You’re not taking this seriously,’ said Dot, her tone severe, going over to a cupboard and taking out a draughts board. From a drawer she took a couple of pencils and a writing pad. She tore out several sheets of paper and handed a couple to Viv, as well as a pencil. ‘Write down the letters of the alphabet in a way that we can cut them into decent size squares.’
‘This is crazy,’ said Viv, doing what she was told, nevertheless.
Dot’s eyes gleamed. ‘It’s a very serious matter.’ She sat cross-legged on top of the bed and with the tip of her tongue protruding, proceeded to write the numbers nought to nine.
Fifteen minutes later she had removed the lamp from the bedside table, sending shadows dancing round the room, and had put the board in its place with the letters etc. set in a circle around the upturned cup on the board. The table had been moved into a more central position between the beds. ‘Now no messing,’ said Dot firmly, glancing across at Viv. ‘You’ve got to believe. Put your fingers on the cup and I’ll ask it the first question.’
‘“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio”, and all that,’ said Viv solemnly. ‘Shouldn’t we be in the dark to make it really spooky?’
‘And how do we see where it points to?’ said Dot in a long suffering manner.
‘I thought the letters might glow in the dark.’
‘Shhh! Don’t you want to know who your father is?’
Viv was not sure any longer that she did. She hated the guess that she had come up with.
‘Concentrate all your thoughts on him and he might get a message through,’ said Dot.
‘But how does he know I’m looking for him?’ murmured Viv.
‘Oh, shut up!’ cried Dot. ‘Now – is there anyone there?’
Viv fell silent and concentrated as best she could on a face in a photograph. It took some doing because she could not remember him clearly but in her thoughts the cup turned slowly and spelt out a name beginning with T. She opened her eyes and suddenly the cup did move to number one.
‘What year? What year do you reckon he died?’ whispered Dot.
‘It would be nineteen forty something,’ said Viv, her heart thumping even though she reckoned that Dot had pushed the cup. She tried to concentrate again but her mind began to wander and she found herself thinking of George and the evening her mother had returned from America to find them in a clinch.
The cup moved again.
‘Nine, nine,’ said Dot excitedly.
‘This is the fire brigade,’ murmured Viv. ‘What is the emergency?’
‘Don’t mock,’ said Dot, a tremor in her voice.
Viv closed her eyes and conc
entrated once more. Then suddenly in her mind’s eye she could see George talking of his father’s talent as an artist. The next moment the picture altered and her cousin was up to his neck in water. That was all down to his sister Rosie, she thought, but unexpectedly an icy finger of fear snaked down her spine. Seeing Rosie dying had been one of the worst moments in her young life. ‘Rosie! I wasn’t trying to reach you,’ she cried silently. ‘Get out of my mind!’ But Rosie refused to go. She was filling Viv’s thoughts with pictures of George. He was now up to his neck in water. He was in trouble and needed her help.
‘Four, four,’ cried Dot.
Viv opened her eyes. ‘I think this has gone far enough,’ she cried, and swept the pieces of paper off the board.
Dot pouted. ‘Spoilsport! Just when it was getting interesting. What happened in 1944?’
‘The Normandy landings,’ said Viv automatically. ‘It’s time we were in bed. There’s work in the morning.’
Dot removed the board and cup and grinned. ‘I got you going then, didn’t I?’
Viv climbed into bed and snuggled beneath the bedclothes. ‘I reckon my father did die in ’44,’ she said softly. ‘So what have you got to say to that, Dot?’
Her mouth fell open but before she could ask any questions Viv pulled the covers over her head, effectively shutting her out.
‘So you reckon you know who he is?’ said Dot the following evening, flicking over a page of the Echo. It was raining so the pair of them had decided to stay in. They had the house to themselves.
‘A guess,’ murmured Viv. ‘One that I’m not going to voice.’
‘I reckon you’re having me on now to get your own back.’ She glanced up from the newspaper. ‘What do you think of Marty Wilde marrying one of the Vemon Girls?’
Viv glanced over Dot’s shoulder at the picture of the bride and her rock ‘n’ roll singer husband. ‘Nice dress.’
Dot nodded. ‘Phil and I are thinking of getting engaged.’
‘Good for you.’ Viv determined not to let it hurt. She stretched an arm over Dot’s shoulder and turned a page. Suddenly she stiffened. ‘Have you seen this?’
‘Seen what?’ said Dot.
Viv prodded the page and read aloud, ‘“More than 300 people are feared to have died and many are still missing after a night of terror when a crushing wall of water from a burst dam in the Reynan River Valley fifteen miles from Cannes on the French Riviera left a four mile path of destruction in its wake. The little holiday town of Frejus was where many of the victims lived …”’ Her voice tailed off. Frejus! Wasn’t that where George had sent his postcard from? She read on, her fingernails digging into her clenched fists. Millions of tons of water had washed away farms and houses, uprooted trees and telephone poles. The mortuary at the hospital, which fortunately was on high ground, was filled with bodies, most of them unidentified, while the hospital itself was jammed with the injured. The French Naval Air Base at Frejus Plage had been devastated and eight families were missing. The area was a well-known holiday destination for people from Merseyside and the North West.