War Widow

by June Francis

  ‘You didn’t join in, I hope,’ interrupted Flora in a worried voice.

  ‘Nah!’ He avoided her eyes. ‘We were only watching. But one of the bricks hit Hewey’s cart and smashed a bottle. The next thing he was pulling corks out and laying into them with a bottle in each hand. There were gobsful of Aunt Sally going everywhere. You should have seen the gangs scatter.’ He laughed.

  ‘Sounds fun,’ said Mike drily. ‘He would have been useful in the war.’

  George looked at him and grinned. ‘Germans drowned in a swamp of Aunt Sally. We could always use him against the Russians. Mad Hewey turns Reds redder. Hi, Mike! I thought you’d gone back to America.’

  ‘He did – but he’s back,’ said Flora, looking at her son with a faint smile. ‘And if you want any tea, my lad, then you’d better go and wash your hands and face.’

  George grimaced but obeyed.

  ‘Was anybody hurt?’ asked Flora as she dished out the food.

  Her son paused in cramming half a round of bread in his mouth. ‘One bloke had his head split open – but he didn’t go unconscious or anything.’

  Flora shook her head at him. ‘Who needs another war when you can kill each other off over here!’

  ‘Ma-am! Nobody’s dead!’

  ‘It sounds like it’s more by luck than anything else,’ said Mike wryly. ‘What was this fight all about, did you say?’

  ‘Bommie wood.’ George picked up a fork and stabbed it in the dish of purple beetroot. ‘It’s for Guy Fawkes Night. We burn a Guy on a bonfire,’ he said with relish. ‘He was a Cattywack who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in King James’ time. That was before our civil war,’ he added in a kindly tone to Mike. ‘You had your own, didn’t you? The Confederates against the Yankees. Me grandad told me all about it. His grandfather used to sail on a ship that brought cotton from the South for the mills up Lancashire.’

  ‘That would be before my family’s time,’ said Mike. ‘My grandfather went to America from Ireland in the late 1880s.’

  ‘So your grandfather really did kiss the Blarney stone,’ interpolated Flora.

  ‘Sure.’ He smiled. ‘I keep promising myself that I’ll go and do the same one day.’

  ‘D’you think that’s necessary? she said demurely, sitting on his right hand side and taking up her spoon. ‘I think you can blether on all right as it is.’

  ‘Is that a back-handed compliment?’ He moved the flowers slightly so he could see her face the better.

  Her eyes gleamed. ‘I’m sure you could charm the birds off the trees.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Can I persuade you to go out with me – that’s what I want to know?’

  She placed a spoonful of food in her mouth. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Great. Let the good times roll.’ He smiled and she was suddenly unsure of him, and of herself.

  ‘Some things haven’t changed,’ she said quickly. ‘As long as we both realise that.’

  ‘Sure we do.’ He picked up his fork again, still smiling. And she wondered just what was in his mind and if it was the same as in hers. If so she was going to have to watch her step with him.

  There was a spring in Flora’s walk as she went to work the next morning despite the chilling smog that shrouded privets and houses and caused lamp posts to become unexpected hazards. Mike had not stayed late because he had to return to the base. She would not see him again till next Saturday which was perhaps just as well because it would give her time to get her senses in order. She still felt a little like she was walking in a dream.

  When she arrived at the bakery it was to discover that Maggie had raging toothache. ‘It’s real agony,’ groaned the older woman, nursing her jaw.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come in,’ said Flora sympathetically. ‘There’s nothing worse than toothache.’

  ‘Going the dentist’s is worse,’ said Maggie. ‘But I’ll have to go this afternoon.’

  The news didn’t exactly make Flora’s day but she was happier in her own shoes than poor Maggie’s.

  Flora was placing some cakes on a plate just before opening time after lunch when Mr Brown sauntered in. She ignored him and carried on with her work.

  ‘Starting early to impress me, are you?’ he said in his light rapid voice, a cigarette burning between his fingers as he, walked along the other side of the counter.

  ‘No, Mr Brown.’ She drew back slightly as he leaned across the counter towards her. ‘I’m just doing my job.’

  His dark eyes surveyed her carefully. ‘You’re a good worker, Mrs Cooke, if a little prim and proper.’ He lifted the counter flap and came her side.

  Flora spared him a quick glance and made to brush past him with the empty tray in her hand, but he prevented her by blocking her path. She tried to go round him but he sidestepped and they collided. ‘Say “Excuse me, Mr Brown.” His eyes gleamed with amusement.’

  She drew a quick breath. ‘Excuse me, Mr Brown, but I haven’t time to play games.’

  ‘Haven’t you? What a pity, Mrs Cooke, because you know what they say. All work and no play –’

  ‘I know. Makes Jack a dull boy – or, I suppose, in this case you mean me a dull girl.’ She stared at him. ‘I am here to work.’ She tried to get past him again but he pressed his body against hers and edged her against the counter.

  ‘How about a kiss?’ he whispered against her cheek.

  She sighed heavily and was about to tell him to grow up when the doorbell jangled and he released her quickly. Smoothing down her overall she turned towards the counter, hurriedly assuming a smile.

  ‘Hello, Flo, you look flustered,’ said Hilda, staring at her hard before her gaze fluttered to Mr Brown.

  Flora wondered just how long her sister had been standing outside and whether she had been looking through the window. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ she asked politely.

  ‘How nice and posh!’ Hilda’s gaze came to rest on Flora briefly. ‘I’ll have a jam tart.’ She nudged her sister’s arm as her eyes went back to Mr Brown, who was watching them. ‘Introduce me, Flo.’

  ‘No,’ said Flora shortly, turning away to take a jam tart from a plate and putting it in a bag.

  ‘Dog in the manger,’ breathed Hilda, leaning on the counter. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Mr Brown, my boss.’ Flora’s voice was emotionless. ‘And you’re better having nothing to do with him.’

  Hilda’s eyes glittered. ‘Just because you were in a clinch with him? You must be joking! What a gorgeous-looking man.’

  ‘Isn’t he just?’ Flora raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you fancying him now, as well as Mike?’

  ‘Always have more than one string to your bow, Flo.’ Hilda’s hand went to her hair, smoothing it. ‘Does he come into the shop often? What’s his first name?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your boss, funny face.’

  ‘Kevin,’ said Flora. ‘And you’re paying for that jam tart.’

  Hilda threw a shilling on the counter. ‘Kevin,’ she murmured. ‘I quite like that.’ Her teeth bit into the tart. ‘Not Stephen,’ she said with her mouth full.

  ‘No.’

  Hilda gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘You are a dark horse. I’ll find out who this Stephen is, you know.’

  Flora shrugged and gave the change to Hilda. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘You’d like me to – but I sense a mystery, Flo. And I’ve always loved a good thriller.’ A smile of anticipation lit her face.

  ‘There’s nothing thrilling about Stephen,’ she said promptly, suddenly amused by her sister’s persistence. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  Hilda frowned and was silent a moment. ‘You could be lying to me, of course,’ she said at last. ‘Kevin could really be called Stephen.’

  ‘He could,’ said Flora with her tongue in her cheek, deciding to play her sister along. ‘But then, he could be just one of many men in my life.’

  ‘More than two? You?’ Hilda put the last of the jam tart in her mouth. ‘You’re kidding me,’ she mu
mbled, staring.

  Flora’s eyes widened. ‘Of course I am. You know me – true blue.’

  Hilda began to say something else but the shop bell jangled and several customers came in. Flora began to serve them and Hilda moved away, nearer to where Mr Brown stood, still leaning on the counter.

  Out of the corner of her eye Flora watched them, wondering what her sister was getting up to this time, but to her relief it was not long before she heard Hilda saying ‘Bye!’ and Mr Brown went into the back room.

  He came back in when the shop had emptied again. ‘Your sister,’ he said, fidgeting with a doily on a plate. ‘She looks a bit like you.’

  ‘A bit,’ said Flora calmly. ‘But we’re not alike in personality.’ She wondered what was coming next.

  ‘No,’ he murmured, staring at her with his brows puckered. ‘She’s switched on and you’re not.’ Another customer came in. He walked away, and did not trouble her for the rest of that Friday. She was glad after all that Hilda had come in.

  Vivien was difficult to get out of bed the next morning. ‘Your mam’s coming to take you out, remember?’ said Flora as she shrugged herself into her coat.

  ‘Oh, goody gumdrops.’ Vivien gave a wide yawn.

  Flora glanced at George who was reading the Wizard comic. ‘I’m going to work now. You’ll see Viv out?’

  He nodded and Flora left.

  ‘I wish you were coming.’ said Vivien to George, moodily tracing a pattern on the tablecloth with her spoon. ‘Or Rosie was still here.’

  ‘You’ll be all right without us,’ muttered George, not looking up from his comic. He still found it difficult to talk about his sister, but Viv seemed to have no trouble.

  ‘It’d be better with you,’ she said with conviction. ‘I wished it was Mike or Uncle Steve taking us all out. I wish I had a dad.’ She stirred her porridge slowly. ‘I feel safer when there’s a man around.’

  ‘You just like men,’ drawled George, crossing his ankles as he put his feet up on one of the dining chairs. ‘You’re like your mother.’

  ‘I am not!’ Vivien scowled and made a swipe at his foot.

  ‘Oh yes you are!’ snapped George, aiming a kick at her. ‘Your mam’s a flirt. She’s always been a flirt.’

  ‘Aunty Flo has boyfriends.’ said Vivien. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ She was smiling now. ‘There’s Mike – and Uncle Steve.’

  George grunted. ‘They’re only friends. She won’t marry either of them.’ He gazed unseeingly at a far wall, suddenly uneasy.

  ‘How d’you know?’ said Vivien. ‘They both fancy her and Mike kissed her when he was here.’

  George looked down at his comic. ‘I’ve kissed Kathleen Murphy but it doesn’t mean I’m going to marry her. And Mam’d never go to America.’ He lifted his head. ‘Although I prefer Mike to Stephen. I wonder if he can get me some American comics? I should have asked.’

  Vivien swallowed a mouthful of porridge and licked the spoon. ‘Maybe he’ll just bring some next Saturday.’

  ‘Who’s bringing what next Saturday?’ They both turned as they heard a noise at the door and saw Hilda standing there. ‘Not ready yet, Viv?’ she drawled, taking the cigarette from her lips. ‘I thought you’d be champing at the bit.’

  ‘I’ve nearly finished,’ said Vivien, exchanging a quick look with her cousin.

  ‘Well, hurry up, because I want to get to town. I thought we’d look round the shops.’

  Vivien swallowed a groan. She knew that nothing would be bought for her. She would be kept hanging around while Mam tried on this frock and that. She wished that her mam had never come back – because sooner or later there was bound to be trouble.

  Flora was thinking much the same thing – but about next Saturday – as she walked home from work. What if Mike came just as Hilda was dropping Viv off? She’d explode. And what would Mike do? She pondered the question and decided that he’d somehow manage to bluff his way out. Was she an idiot going out with him, knowing that he had the power to disturb her? Probably. She grimaced. There was no backing out. Hadn’t she determined not to let her sister have things all her own way for once?

  Opening her front door, Flora was surprised to hear a man’s voice. Then she caught Hilda’s laugh, heard the voice again and knew that her sister had the solution to the mystery of Stephen. She did not feel too pleased about that, but there was nothing for it but to go in.

  Four pairs of eyes turned to her. George’s were bored but Vivien’s showed undisguised pleasure as she came to take her shopping bag from her aunt. Hilda’s expression was definitely mischievous – while Stephen looked guilty.

  He rose from his seat by the fire. ‘Hello, Floss. Your Hilda’s just been telling me about her trip to Paris.’

  Flora raised her eyebrows. ‘Paris?’ She turned her scrutiny on her sister. ‘Nice for some – and there’s me believing you were existing on the breadline.’

  Hilda pulled a face at her, before smiling and saying, ‘Steve’s being bringing me up to date on what’s been happening to him. Exciting to be his own boss, don’t you agree, Flo? We’ll see him living in Blundellsands one day with all the posh nobs.’

  Flora crossed the room to the fire. ‘I didn’t know the Old Man had retired?’

  ‘I persuaded him,’ said Stephen. ‘He was getting past it.’

  ‘So what does he do with himself?’ She held her hands out to the fire. ‘I thought the firm was his life.’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘He’s going to take up bowling.’

  ‘In winter?’

  ‘He needs a rest.’ He shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his dark curling hair. ‘It’ll do him good to have nothing to do but be waited on. It’s what he wanted – one of his nephews in the driving seat.’

  ‘He wanted Jimmy,’ said Hilda. She sighed. ‘Poor Jimmy! He thought he’d be doing your job.’ She stretched out nylon clad legs, and her gaze flickered over Vivien before returning to Stephen. ‘He was so upset that November I saw him. Now he’s dead as well as Tom. Poor Tom. Hitler has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Why are they poor?’ said Vivien. ‘D’you say that because they’re dead?’

  ‘Well – yes, of course,’ said Hilda impatiently. ‘Who wants to be dead.’

  ‘Don’t you believe in Heaven?’ Vivien fixed her with an unblinking stare. ‘You’ll go to Hell if you don’t.’ She turned her attention on Flora. ‘They’re all happy, aren’t they, Aunty Flo? Just like the little match girl in the story, who kept lighting the matches to keep warm and saw pictures in the flames. And then she saw her granny who’d gone to Heaven, and she went with her like a shooting star through the sky. They were happy because they were together, and she wasn’t cold any more, and they were with God,’ she finished with supreme confidence. ‘And God looks after us all, doesn’t he, Aunty Flo?’

  ‘Yes, love,’ she said lightly. This was no time for doubts.

  There was a short silence which Hilda broke in a tight voice. ‘Very nice idea, Viv, but I’d still rather be here.’ She got to her feet. ‘Anyway I’m going out so I’d better get cracking. You can see me to the door, Flo.’ She faced Stephen and oozed effusiveness, holding out her hand to him. ‘It was lovely seeing you again.’ She patted his arm. ‘Take care of yourself now and make a success of everything. I’m sure you can, and probably we’ll see each other again sometime.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Stephen, flushing slightly and dropping her hand as he glanced at Flora.

  She did not know whether to be amused or annoyed as she followed her sister out. ‘What is it you want to say?’ she murmured, her hand on the latch.

  Hilda smiled. ‘How well you know me, little sister.’ She leaned against the lobby wall. ‘Me and Stephen had a nice chat.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Flora drily. ‘About you, I suppose.’

  ‘My favourite subject,’ murmured Hilda. ‘But we did touch upon you. Why didn’t you tell me it was that Stephen? He’s not what you’d call good-looking now but he’
s got plenty of dough.’

  ‘Tons of it, I suppose,’ said Flora, instantly alert to the way her sister’s mind worked. She leaned against the other wall and folded her arms.

  ‘I suppose the woman who married him would have no money worries.’ Hilda’s voice sounded loud in the confined space and Flora wanted to hush her.

  ‘Probably.’ She almost laughed. Was her sister considering Stephen now as a target for marriage? ‘He’s got a car,’ she said mischievously. ‘Quite comfortable.’

  Hilda looked at her sharply. ‘You’ve been in it?’

  ‘Loads of times. He’s asked me to marry him.’

  Hilda stared at her. ‘And?’

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet but he’s prepared to wait until I do.’

  ‘Hmmm! He’s got that awful scar on his face but the other side’s all right.’ She shivered slightly. ‘From that side he looks a bit like Jimmy. In fact, he talks like him. It’s like listening to a ghost.’

  ‘They were brothers. And I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.’ She straightened up from the wall.

  ‘If you don’t grab him, then someone else will,’ said Hilda, opening the door.

  ‘I think he only wants me,’ retorted Flora, smiling.

  ‘Sez you.’ Hilda rammed her hands in her pockets, shivering in the cold wind. ‘I wonder if he’d like to give me a lift now?’

  ‘On your bike,’ said Flora. ‘He came to see me.’ And she closed the door with a gusty sigh of relief. Sisters! She almost laughed. It would be interesting if Hilda did make a play at Stephen but for now she had to go in and be nice to him, when all she wanted was her tea and to put her feet up.

  He stood immediately Flora entered the room. ‘It was a surprise seeing your Hilda,’ he said quickly. ‘The war doesn’t seem to have changed her much.’

  ‘No,’ said Flora, beginning to empty her shopping bag. ‘She was on munitions for a while, and of course she had Viv, but I think she actually enjoyed most of the war.’

  ‘Yanks, I suppose,’ muttered Stephen. ‘I saw she was wearing nylons.’

  Flora’s hand, holding half a pound of mince, halted in mid-air. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘But she’s got nice legs for them, as you probably noticed.’