Unforgettable

by Jean Saunders

  ‘She’s real bad. The doctor don’t like the look of her.’

  ‘You had the doctor?’ Gracie’s voice rose, and she knew it must be serious if he forked out some of his booze money for the doctor’s bill.

  ‘I said so, didn’t I? Anyway, you’ve got to come home to look after her, and after this other business, it had better be right away.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her, Dad?’

  ‘It’s a growth on her lungs. You know what I mean. The other. She’s got six months at most, the doctor says. Maybe less.’

  His voice was harsh, hiding his feelings in the only way he knew how, but Gracie was reeling with shock now. Her mother was dying, with the word that nobody ever used except in hushed whispers, and it was more than she could bear. Her thoughts whirled sickly.

  ‘You should have told me!’ she shrieked. ‘I’ll be home tomorrow, Dad.’

  ‘Aye. All right, girl,’ he said gruffly, and she knew it was as near as she would get to any thanks.

  Not that she wanted or expected any. It was her duty to look after her mother, and she would do it out of love and respect. But she wouldn’t have been human if she didn’t realize it was the end of all her hopes and dreams. Because even if—when—it happened, her dad would still expect her to be the dutiful daughter and look after him.

  She smothered a sob, aware that the landlady was hovering somewhere near. She could smell the Devon Violets scent, which was a sure giveaway when she was eavesdropping. She could also smell the furniture polish on the yellow duster which would be at the ready to buff the telephone to its gleaming perfection again.

  ‘Have you finished, Miss Brown?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She swallowed, willing away those inane thoughts, and tried to be as calm as possible. ‘My mother’s very ill, so I have to go home. I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ll pay you my rent for the rest of the week once I’ve been to the factory to collect my wages in the morning.’

  The landlady’s face was a picture as Gracie swept by and went upstairs to her room, without giving her the satisfaction of any further explanation, though she knew Mrs Warburton dearly liked a bit of gossip to tell about her lodgers. But once upstairs, Gracie burst into uncontrollable tears.

  ‘Oh Gawd, did he give you a bad time, gel? Now you’ve left home you should stand up to him and not let him treat you like a bleedin’ drudge.’ Dolly droned on until Gracie snapped at her to shut up.

  ‘If you’d just listen a minute, I’ll tell you what’s happened and why I’ve got to leave here tomorrow.’

  Dolly gaped. ‘I hope it’s for a better reason than just seeing your picture in the ruddy newspaper, then.’

  ‘It is. My mother’s dying, and I’ve got to take care of her.’

  Her voice broke again, and then she was sobbing out the rest of it in Dolly’s arms until the other girl shook her, none too gently.

  ‘I know it’s awful for you, Gracie, and I’m really sorry—sorry to be losing you too, come to that—but a fat lot of good you’re going to be to your mum if you’re crying over her all the time. You’ve got to be cheerful for her sake.’

  ‘That’s easy to say!’

  ‘Well, try to look on the bright side—’

  ‘What bright side? My mother’s dying!’

  Dolly tried again, uncomfortable with all this talk of dying, but going on doggedly.

  ‘Yes, but at least she’ll have you with her, and I suppose that’s what she wants more than anything. So you’re doing the best you can for her, ain’t you?’

  Grace grimaced at her logic. ‘I suppose you’re right, but I’m going to miss you like stink, Dolly! You will write to me now and then, won’t you?’

  ‘I’m not much good at letter-writing, but I’ll do me best. I’ll want to let you know about me and Jim, won’t I?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Jim right now, Dolly,’ Gracie muttered. ‘But—well, if you should hear anything about—about anybody else, you’d be sure to let me know, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘The saxophone player, you mean.’

  ‘Or anybody else,’ Gracie said, not wanting to let on just how much he had figured in her dreaming for those few brief hours.

  She knew how foolish it was. They barely knew one another, but she had danced in his arms, and his music was in her heart, and if she closed her eyes she could picture him as clearly as if he stood right next to her.

  ‘I’d better pack my things,’ she said, turning away because it suddenly seemed wrong to be thinking about anything but the enormity of the task ahead of her. But she just couldn’t help it, because for those few magical hours she had let herself dream that he was the one …

  * * *

  The girls at the factory were sorry to know she was leaving, especially in the circumstances. She had to explain her reasons to the boss, and hope he would see fit to pay her what she was owed, while he sat behind his desk like a lazy fat cat. It was demeaning to ask, but she knew she would need every penny to see her mum out in comfort.

  She intended to stand firm with her dad too, and insist that he didn’t spend all his money at the boozer. She had known the sweet taste of independence, and she was no longer prepared to be a skivvy.

  Lawson was more reasonable than she had expected, considering it was a Monday morning when he was never in the best of tempers.

  ‘Right then, girl,’ he said finally. ‘If you have to leave, then you must. I’ll be sorry to lose a good machine-worker, mind, so if you ever want to come back at any time, I’ll try to make room for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lawson,’ she muttered.

  Thanks for nothing. Despite all his talk, she knew she was no more than a cog in his works machine. By the time she left the office he would already be putting somebody else on her machine and as far as he was concerned, she wouldn’t be missed. But he’d paid her up what she was owed, and for that she was thankful. Leaving at a minute’s notice, he needn’t have paid her anything.

  * * *

  Home wasn’t far from Southampton station, so Gracie didn’t have to splash out on a tram or a cab fare. But walking in the warm sunshine, her bags seemed to have got a deal heavier by the time she turned into the narrow cobbled street where all the houses appeared to be crammed into one long mass. The women neighbours stood outside gossiping in their overalls, the same as they always did in the afternoon, and it was just as if she had never been away.

  Most of the menfolk were dockworkers like her dad, and everyone knew everyone else around here, and all their business too. As people nodded and called out sympathetically to her, time seemed to have stood still, and for one horrifying moment Gracie felt as if she was being sucked back into a life she had looked forward so optimistically to leaving behind.

  And then she opened her own door and the welcome smells of baking met her nostrils, and her mum came out from the kitchen, smiling.

  Gracie dropped her bags and stood dumbly for a moment. She had expected to be confronted by a sickroom and a hushed atmosphere. Instead, at first sight her mum looked just the same, until Gracie realized how thin she was, her face almost gaunt, her arms like sticks; and she saw something like fear behind her eyes.

  ‘Mum!’ she said, choked, and was clasped in the older woman’s arms.

  ‘Now then, Gracie, I know your father’s told you the worst, but we don’t talk about it, and we don’t think about it.’

  The brave words, which were all for her daughter’s benefit, were abruptly halted by a racking bout of coughing that left her staggering to a chair.

  ‘What do you think you were doing, baking cakes in your condition?’ Gracie said accusingly, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Her mother had always been strong enough to stand up to her drunkard of a husband, and now she seemed no more than a shell.

  ‘I wanted to welcome you home,’ she was told in a laboured voice. ‘I hope you’ll stay for a while, Gracie—’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’m home
for good now, Mum.’

  ‘No, not for good, love. As soon as all this is over, you’re to go back to London. You’re not to stay here with him. He’ll wear you down, the same as he’s worn me down all these years, and you’re worth more than that.’

  ‘Oh Mum! You should have left him years ago,’ Gracie said, not bothering to hide her disgust of her father.

  ‘Women don’t leave their husbands, Gracie. Besides, I loved him once, and he gave me you, didn’t he?’

  The painful coughing started again, and at last she had to give in and go to bed. The effort of baking cakes had been too much for her after all, and once Gracie had put her things in her old bedroom, she glanced in at her mother and watched her sleeping fitfully for a few minutes, her throat catching with sorrow at what they both knew was inevitable.

  Then she set about preparing an evening meal before her dad got home from his shift at the docks. This was how it was going to be from now on, she told herself numbly, back where she started, just as if she had never been away, she thought again. And she might as well forget all those foolish dreams about a handsome saxophone player with a lovely smile. Everyone knew that dreams were just for children, anyway.

  4

  Mick Brown came home from the docks in the early evening, already reeking of beer and bellowing for his dinner.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ Gracie said steadily, hearing her mother’s intake of breath at the state of him. He’d never been one for knocking his womenfolk about, but his movements were clumsy and he was unsteady on his feet.

  ‘So you’re back,’ he snarled. ‘Not before time too.’

  She smarted at his tone, but for her mum’s sake, she wouldn’t cause a fuss. ‘That’s not fair, Dad! I came as soon as I could, and anyway, I’m here now. And we’re both going to have to pull our weight in looking after Mum.’

  ‘That’s why I sent for you, ain’t it?’ he barked back.

  She stared him out, disgusted by the state of him, but realizing something else too. She hadn’t been away from home all that long, but in those months when she had stood on her own feet, she had lost her old fear of her father. In his present condition, she had lost respect too, but she wasn’t going to think about that now.

  ‘For pity’s sake, you two, don’t start arguing the minute you’re together,’ Gracie’s mother said wearily. ‘If we can’t all get along, what’s the point of it all?’

  She was stopped by a bout of coughing that left her gasping and reaching for a handkerchief, and Gracie just managed not to yell at her father that this was all his fault. Her mother, the peacemaker, wouldn’t want that. So she forced a smile to her lips, resisting the urge to look at the bloodstained handkerchief her mother was trying to hide now.

  ‘Why don’t you go and wash, Dad, and I’ll put the dinner on the table. It’s mince and mash tonight, your favourite.’

  It was also one of the meals her mother could comfortably keep down now, as she had learned since coming home. Hiding her heartbreak, Gracie served up the meal and watched as her mother picked at the food, professing that it was lovely, but that she wasn’t really hungry.

  ‘She eats no more than a bird nowadays,’ her husband said, talking all the while he shovelled the food into his mouth. ‘She needs to keep up her strength and she won’t do it by starving herself.’

  ‘Leave it, Mick,’ Queenie said. ‘I’ll eat what I need.’

  Gracie intervened. ‘I’ve made a blancmange. Try some of that, Mum.’

  ‘Just a little, then.’

  Gracie was becoming more and more alarmed, seeing now that her mother’s behaviour when she had arrived was little more than a sham. This was the real woman, this pathetic, seemingly shrunk little woman who seemed too weary to make any further effort. She resolved to visit the doctor as soon as possible to find out just how long a future her mother really had, and what she could best do for her in the meantime.

  At the end of the meal, her father belched and farted at one and the same time, and apologized for neither. It was no surprise to Gracie that her mother decided to go to bed early and left them to themselves. She put the dirty dishes and pans in the scullery sink, trying hard not to bang them about in her growing anger as he watched her with narrowed eyes.

  ‘I hope you were paid all that you were owed from that sweatshop, Gracie. You’ll need to pay your way here now you’re back. This isn’t a charity—’

  She plunged her hands into the soapy water. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll do my share, as long as you do yours!’

  ‘What the bloody hell does that mean? And don’t speak to your father in that way. Respect for your elders, my girl!’

  She bit her tongue, aware that she was going to have to do it more often if they were all to stay sane.

  ‘What I mean is, Mum obviously needs decent food that she can eat, and regular visits from the doctor. It’s all got to be paid for, and you shouldn’t be boozing all your wages away.’

  For a minute she thought he was going to hit her, and she flinched visibly at the sight of his clenched fists. She had never spoken to him in that way in her entire life before, but she was independent now. At least she had been in London, and although her life might have changed, the spirit was still there.

  ‘When I need a chit of a girl telling me what to do, I’ll ask, and you’ll be a long time waiting!’ he shouted. ‘See to your mother and get on with your women’s work and leave me to mine.’

  He turned and slammed out of the door, leaving Gracie with her eyes stinging. Fighting with her dad was the last thing she intended. Of all times, they should be united when her mother was so ill, and galling though it was, Gracie knew she would have to wear kid gloves when he was around.

  The thought was suddenly farcical. Kid gloves, indeed! They were only words, but when would the likes of her ever be able to afford such luxuries, especially now …

  ‘Has he gone, Gracie?’

  Her mother’s voice made her jump. She wore her dressing-gown and slippers now, and she looked even smaller, her hands paper-white as she gripped the door handle. Coming downstairs again had evidently weakened her.

  ‘I thought you’d gone to bed, Mum. You need your rest …’

  She waved her hand limply.

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time for rest when I’m in my wooden box, and don’t start grizzling about that, because we all know that’s where I’m heading. I want to talk to you about something important, and I can’t do it when he’s about.’

  Upset at this kind of talk, Gracie led her mother back to the parlour and sat her down in her armchair. Her eyes closed for a few moments while she got her breath back, and then she smiled more resolutely.

  ‘Don’t look so sad, my love, we all have to die someday, and I’m quite prepared for it.’

  ‘Oh Mum—’

  ‘I usually come downstairs in the evening when he’s gone out again. I like to feel my own walls around me for as long as possible, and not just the bedroom walls either. It’s lonely up there, and I like to hear the street noises.’

  Gracie swallowed. They rarely used the second downstairs room, except for dusting and visitors. But there was never a more important time for it than now.

  ‘We could put a bed for you in the front room, Mum. You could rest there whenever you liked, and watch the neighbours go by. I’ll suggest it to Dad when he comes home. He doesn’t leave you alone like this every night, does he?’

  ‘He means no harm, Gracie. It’s his way. But it would be nice to be downstairs in my own home as long as possible, and I don’t need him snorting and wheezing beside me all night long.’

  ‘I’ll see to it then,’ Gracie said, furious at her father’s insensitivity.

  The racking coughing interrupted them again, and to Gracie’s untrained eyes, the doctor’s six-month prognosis seemed hopelessly optimistic.

  ‘That’s not why I need to talk to you,’ the sick woman said eventually. ‘I’ve made a will but he doesn’t know about it. It’s with the doctor,
and he’ll see to things when the time comes. It’s just to be sure that you get my bits and pieces and do what you like with them. It’s not much, but it’s for you and not him.’

  She spoke slowly and haltingly, but Gracie could see that these were things that had to be said, and she didn’t stop her. It occurred to her that her mother rarely referred to her husband by name, and she thought how sad it was that two people who had once loved one another should have grown so far apart.

  ‘I’ve been paying into a funeral club,’ Queenie went on. ‘You’ll see the little book underneath the rent book in my bedroom drawer. There’ll be enough for all that’s necessary, and if there’s anything left over, you’re to have it.’

  ‘All right. So can we stop talking about this now, Mum?’ she had to say at last in a strained voice. ‘It’s too much to take in all at once, and it’s not doing you any good.’

  ‘It’s all said now, love, so tell me about you. I know you’ll be missing London and your friends. Have you got a young man yet?’

  The change of conversation startled Gracie. She wouldn’t say her mother looked more animated, but it seemed that getting all the funeral business off her chest had relaxed her for the moment.

  And the spark in her eyes as she mentioned a young man reminded Gracie that she had once been a pretty woman.

  But a young man! No, she didn’t have a young man. There was no one, only two young men she had danced with in what seemed like a lifetime ago. A bumbling, inarticulate coalman called Billy, and a dashing, handsome, black-haired saxophone player in a dance band …

  ‘There is, isn’t there?’ Queenie said, more alert. ‘Good. You’ll go back to him afterwards, mind. You’re not to stay here and stagnate. So tell me about him.’

  She didn’t want to. What was the point? She would never see him again. She could hardly remember him. He would certainly not remember her. There was a young woman who flirted with him with her eyes whenever she sang with the band. Someone far more glamorous than Gracie Brown could ever be …