by Annie Murray
Mr and Mrs Jackman were the only remaining neighbours with whom Gladys had come through the war. They could not have been said to be close, but there was something precious about their familiarity. While Gladys was saying goodbye, Melly looked out and caught a glimpse of Ethel Jackman. She was shocked at her shrunken appearance, her face small and lined. Gladys made it clear she wasn’t bothering with the rest of the yard.
‘Right,’ she said, once that was over. She walked back to the door of the house and jerked her head at them. ‘Off you go, you two. I’ll be out in a tick.’
Melly exchanged glances with Danny. They walked towards the entry and stopped to wait for her. The redheaded girl had appeared again and was scuffing at the wall of her house, near the door, with her rubber shoes. The sole was half hanging off one of them.
There was a long pause while Gladys took her leave of the house where she had lived for the last thirty years. Danny lit a cigarette. Melly stood with him, both of them looking round, involved in their own memories. In her mind’s eye, Melly saw Reggie and the other Morrison lads, all tearing up and down the yard, their blonde hair shining in the sun, and her lips curved up for a moment.
After a time, Gladys slowly came out of the house. It was hot, but as well as her coat she had on her winter boots, to save packing them. Turning, she pulled the door shut and stood, head down, with her hand flat against it.
‘It’s a rathole, Auntie,’ Danny called to her. ‘You’re best off with us.’
Gladys raised her head, as if she was going to make a retort to this. But she looked back at Danny, saying nothing, her hand still on the chipped green paint.
‘Come on then,’ he said, turning away.
She didn’t move immediately. Melly waited as her father turned down the entry. Gladys slowly removed her hand; her head bowed and she came along to Melly.
‘All right, then,’ she said. ‘You lead the way, bab.’
Fifty-Five
‘Is anyone listening to me?’ Rachel stood by the table as her children all scrambled for their breakfast. ‘I feel as if I’m talking to myself in this house,’ she grumbled, feeling her temper rising to bursting point. Everything was getting on top of her today, the racket, the mess, the endless list of things needing doing. ‘Alan – pack that in, you’ll spill it! Come on, you lot, get moving. You’ll be late for school.’
Kev, Ricky and Sandra wrangled their way noisily out of the door to school. Alan sat dabbling in a little pool of milk spilt on the table.
‘Alan!’ Rachel swept down on him and smacked his hand. ‘I’ve told you – pack it in.’
Alan slithered down from the chair, bawling.
‘Oh, God Almighty,’ Rachel said, rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t flaming start.’
Alan bawled even harder when he found Tommy standing in the way when he wanted to get out through the door.
‘What’re you looking at, Tommy?’ Rachel demanded. What was wrong with him these days? ‘Anyone’d think there was a ghost in the hall the amount of time you spend looking out there. Just get out of the road.’
Tommy stood back and they heard Alan go thumping up the stairs.
‘And as for you two,’ Rachel turned on her two eldest children as she gathered plates and knives from the table. ‘You’re the worst of the lot, I can’t get any flaming sense out of anyone! Go on – out of my way.’
As they drifted from the kitchen Rachel looked at the wreckage of milk and crumbs on the table and slammed round the room clearing up.
‘No one else lifts a finger, I notice,’ she grumbled to herself, throwing cutlery into the washing-up bowl. She decided to ignore the fact that she was the one who had told them to go away. ‘Idle bloody lot. Now I’m going to have to take her a cup of tea, I suppose.’
She slammed the kettle down on the gas, feeling put out but guilty that she was so resentful of Gladys being here. She knew how much she owed Danny’s auntie; they had been through such a lot together and now it was Gladys who needed something from her. She knew that really she wanted to give it, to repay her and help. All the same, having Gladys living with them made it feel as if everything was closing in again, hemming her in with endless work.
Back to square one, she grumbled in her mind. It was bad enough Tommy mooning around with a face like a wet Wednesday, but she already knew that he would always be here. She’d realized that since he was very small. He wouldn’t be leaving home and getting married the way the rest of them would. That was just how it was.
But what with Melly coming back home in a state and now Gladys here needing looking after as well . . . She sank on to a chair for a moment, waiting for the kettle.
‘I could’ve done without all this,’ she complained to the empty room. ‘I really flaming well could.’
Melly walked to work in a daze. She had been in the same state more or less since Saturday night when Reggie sat across the table from her in the Indian restaurant and produced the glittering engagement ring, an emerald in a nest of tiny diamonds.
It was so beautiful and precious – she gazed at it in astonishment. Never in her life had she thought anyone would offer her such a thing!
Reggie had leaned across the table, holding the little box with its velvet insides. Melly could not look up at him for a time. His eyes were there, waiting. All of him was waiting for her reply. She sat, trying to remember to breathe, aware of nothing around her except the ring in its luxurious bed and what it meant. He was asking her to marry him. It was an engagement ring. She had seen a tremor in the hand that held the little box.
‘Melly?’
She dragged her eyes up to meet his. Though he was smiling, she could see how nervous he was and she was touched. Reggie put the ring down on the table, beside the brass ashtray. He left the lid open so that she could still see it.
‘I know it’s all a bit soon,’ he said quietly. ‘But I said to you, didn’t I, when you know something, when you’re so sure, there doesn’t seem any point in waiting. I just . . .’ He sounded emotional. ‘I want us to be together – to be Mr and Mrs. I love you, Melly. Will you – say you will?’
She could feel that her face had set in a solemn expression as she looked back at him. She could not reason. There was no time to think things through. He had gone out and bought a ring – such a beautiful ring. Looking deep into his eyes, she saw his left eyelid twitch. He looked shy as she gazed at him. His eyes pleaded with her. She believed that he loved her. And she loved him. . .
‘Yes.’
‘What?’ He leaned closer. ‘Say it a bit louder.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will, Reggie.’ She held a hand up to slow him down. ‘I want to marry you. I love you – I do. But Reggie, it’s all so fast. Can we wait a bit?’
Reggie was grinning. ‘Oh, Melly! Will you? Will you really?’ He was overjoyed. She saw his whole body relax into relief. ‘You’ll be my girl – my wife? Oh, Melly. Oh, Mom and Dad’re going to be so happy. They’ll be over the moon!’
She found a smile spreading across her face and a rush of warmth and joy inside her. Dolly and Mo: family, happiness, Melanie Booker and Reggie Morrison! And she would be Melanie Morrison! Of course it was what she wanted . . . But it was still so fast and he didn’t seem to have heard the bit about waiting. He was in such a hurry!
‘There’s no rush, is there?’ She felt like a sober old matron, trying to be sensible and calm him down. ‘How about we wait – I don’t know, a year or so.’
‘A year?’ His face fell. ‘Why? What’s the point?’
‘’Til the spring then.’ She added inventively, ‘I’ve always wanted to get married in the spring.’
‘Have you?’ He still seemed disappointed. ‘It’s such a long time away, that’s all. What – March?’
‘April or May would be nicer,’ she said. ‘It’d be warmer – wouldn’t it? And all the flowers.’ She reached for his hands across the table. ‘I do love you, Reggie. I do. Only – I’ve been in a bit of a state. I want to make sure I’m
better and get myself sorted out. Let’s not rush things – we can look forward to it. And I want to make sure . . .’
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Make sure of what? She lowered her gaze to the table, at the astonishing, the terrifying ring. Make sure it’s safe, she might have said. That nothing bad will happen. Not like before, with you and Wally, with Raimundo Alexander.
‘But you will?’ he insisted.
Melly looked up at him again and smiled. Excitement filled her. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Yes, Reggie. I want to be Mrs Morrison.’
Walking to the sweet shop now, she knew that soon they would have to tell everyone. As they sat in the restaurant Reggie had slid the ring on to her finger, so pleased and proud. Once home she had taken it off again and hidden it away in its box. It had sat there, in her drawer, wrapped in a camisole vest, all the time she was helping Gladys fetch her things. It was still there . . .
She had not had the heart to ask Reggie not to say anything to his parents. He would, she knew. And surely telling everyone would make it all seem more real? But she had said nothing so far. She wanted time to get used to the idea that her life had changed in this magical way for the better.
‘I’m going to marry Reggie,’ she practised in a whisper. Or, ‘Mom, Dad – Reggie’s got something he wants to say to you,’ or, ‘Yes, my name’s Mrs Morrison.’
Tommy could not keep still.
Monday morning and he was back and forth to look at the front door no matter how many times he told himself not to be so daft. Nothing was going to come this soon, was it? This thought would be followed by another, heart-sinking one: if anything ever did come. Maybe it wouldn’t. There would be no letters, ever. His excitement was all a wasted dream.
He had sat all the afternoon with Jo-Ann and her family on Saturday. They had kindly listened to him, patient as he formed his sentences. And he and Jo-Ann had talked just to each other – these were the times he had loved the most, him and her talking like friends. The day had gone by like a wondrous dream. And he was completely, in-over-his-head, in love with Jo-Ann Halstead.
He had sat on the rug at her feet, only eating a few morsels of his sandwiches. He did not like eating in front of strangers anyway but now eating just felt like a waste of time.
The family were kind to him, in a polite way. He realized they were glad to have someone to keep Jo-Ann company. After they had polished off their sandwiches and coffee out of a Thermos and some fruit cake which they offered him as well and he had politely refused, Philip asked his mom and dad to come and play with him.
‘Just hold on a few minutes, lad, while we let our food go down,’ Mr Halstead said.
To Tommy’s surprise, both Mr and Mrs Halstead got up and kicked a football back and forth, without much energy or skill, in the hot afternoon. A few others were up and about playing games.
‘Philip’s mad about football,’ Jo-Ann told him. She did not have to say that she could no longer play with her brother, that her parents felt obliged to instead. ‘Are you keen on it, Tommy?’
‘Not – very,’ Tommy said, squinting up at her. ‘I’ve never – played it.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have, I s’pose,’ she said. She gestured at the ground to her left. ‘Why don’t you move round here so that you’re not facing the sun? No – hang on,’ she corrected. ‘I can shift myself.’
She started to move her chair forward, pushing on the wheels. It was difficult on the uneven ground.
‘Oh, Roy, look – help Jo-Ann, will you?’ Her mother’s voice, edged with worry, floated to them.
‘Jo-Ann – steady there!’ Mr Halstead came over half running, the worry in his face stretching to a little smile as he came up close as if to cover his panic.
‘It’s all right, Dad,’ Jo-Ann said. She was very patient but Tommy could sense her frustration. ‘I’m only moving so that Tommy doesn’t have to have the sun in his eyes. I can do it myself – I really can.’
‘Well, I might as well help now I’m here, mightn’t I?’ Mr Halstead said in jolly tones. Tommy recognized this – the endless cheerfulness and pretending everything was normal. Mom was like that a lot of the time.
Mr Halstead manoeuvred the chair to the other side of Tommy.
‘All right, pet?’ He leaned over her.
‘Yes. Thanks, Dad.’ She sat facing the front, not looking round at him.
‘Warm enough? And you, Tommy lad?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ they both said. It was hot as anything.
‘Well, I’ll just finish off with Philip . . .’ He moved away, almost guiltily.
Jo-Ann shook her head apologetically.
‘Are they – always – like that?’ Tommy asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Always, always.’
She looked down at him. He loved her face with the kind grey eyes, the mane of thick brown hair, her calm voice. He loved everything about her. Above all he loved the attention with which she listened to him.
‘Nice – for – you to – work,’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m very lucky.’ She hesitated, looking away and across the green in front of them, trees in the distance. ‘I feel ungrateful saying this. I’m very lucky that I can work for Dad the way I do. But . . .’ Again, she stopped. He could see she was fighting a sense of disloyalty and he knew how she felt. He knew he was a burden to his own family, stopping them doing things for so many years, making extra work and worry. But how he yearned to get out, just to lead his own life.
‘I sometimes wonder, though,’ she said softly, turning to him again. ‘If . . . I mean, it’s no good thinking about the things I used to do. Tennis and – well, I wanted to be a teacher. But I think I could work somewhere else, maybe. Somewhere not at home, always under Mom and Dad’s feet.’
She spoke the last words lightly, almost like a joke. Tommy was bewildered to find that his chest had gone tight, that he was fighting back tears. He swallowed hard, looking down to cover it for a moment. When he looked up at her again, into those kind eyes, it was even more of an effort to speak because of the lump in his throat.
‘But you – were – born – normal. It must – be – worse. I never – had – anything else.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
The light went out in her eyes. It was the first time he had seen that. When her mother and father were there, she always seemed to be smiling. ‘I suppose so. I know two other polios. There’s Micky, who’s on crutches. His legs are getting a bit better. And Lucy – she’s almost completely better now.’
‘No one – like you?’ he said. Hope flickered in his heart. He almost wanted her to be lonely, to need to be his friend.
‘No one exactly the same, not nearby anyway. What about you?’
He explained about Carlson House, that he had known some people for years. That everyone was different. He tried to convey that he had no one who was very close. Jo-Ann listened. It was bliss, Tommy thought as the sun beat down around them and the shadows of leaves riffled by an occasional warm breeze danced on their faces. Sitting here with her was like going to heaven. It came to him suddenly that she looked a bit like Melly, was kind like Melly.
‘This is so nice,’ she said, speaking his thoughts. ‘Talking to someone who understands. Where is it you live again, Tommy?’
‘Harborne – Birmingham.’
She looked downcast. ‘That’s a good way away.’
‘I’ve got – my – three-wheeler,’ he said, daring to hope. ‘I can – go anywhere. We could – meet . . .’
‘The trouble is –’ She eyed her parents. Mrs Halstead was walking over to fetch the ball again, in her neat white slacks. ‘They won’t let me go anywhere without them. They don’t think it’s safe so they follow on in the car. Course, if I stop I can’t get out and walk. I tell you what, though!’ Her face brightened. ‘We could be pen-pals.’ She looked stricken for a moment. ‘You can write, can’t you?’
‘Five – O-levels – remember?’ He grinned.
‘Oh, yes – sor
ry! Well, let’s swap addresses – would you do that? Will you write to me, Tommy? I promise I’ll write back. I’ve got a pen-pal in France who I’ve never met, but I’d love to have a proper friend nearby to write to. Look – see my little bag over there? If you pass it, I’ve got a notebook.’
Tommy reached for the black leather bag, his heart overflowing. They managed to exchange addresses before Mr and Mrs Halstead came back with a red-cheeked, sweating Philip – and this felt like a small victory.
He knew she would write. He trusted her as a person who would keep her word. But even if she had written a letter the moment she got home, which he knew was not likely, and got it into the post on Saturday night which was even less likely, it still would not have got here by Monday. He would have to wait and he had started writing a letter himself.
Even so, when he was at work the next day, he could not stop thinking about the postman, all day long.
Fifty-Six
Melly had asked Reggie to wait, at least until the next weekend, to tell the families about their engagement, even though she knew Reggie was sore that she did not want to shout it from the rooftops. She told him she just wanted to get used to the idea.
‘It’ll be our secret this week,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘It’s exciting!’
Once again, she ended up working in the Rag Market. Gladys seemed to be on the mend – her chest was clearer and she was not coughing. But progress was very slow and still she hardly left her bed.
‘I don’t know what’s got into her,’ Rachel said, one morning that week, coming down with an armful of washing for the single tub they had now in the kitchen. It had its own mangle fixed to the top. ‘There’s nothing the matter with her now so far as I can see. Lying about up there like Lady Muck and rest of us run ragged . . .’
Melly eyed her mother. Both of them knew this was not the point. Mom didn’t much want Gladys around downstairs either. She thought Gladys ought to be getting on and looking for somewhere else to live. And she was grouchy because it was the school summer holiday and there was no job for her to go to until September. She had lost both her earnings and the company it gave her outside the house.