Due to all the changing of trains it took the best part of a day to reach the other side of the Pennines. There remained just enough light to enjoy a bracing walk along the seafront after tea, then to bed. Sunday was church for Beata and chapel for Lucy, then a lazy stroll across the sands in the afternoon, clad in best attire, imbibing the golden calm that superseded the dark days of unrest. The General Strike but a distant memory, there was a feeling of wellbeing amongst all those who sauntered here, of affluence even. A whole fortnight ahead of her and a full purse with which to enjoy it, Beata felt genuinely uplifted for the first time in ages.
On Monday the holiday began for real, the friends determined to cram as much as possible into the fortnight. With the tide bashing against the sea wall they spent the morning amongst the amusements, laughing hysterically at their reflections in distorted mirrors, tottering along the cake walk, grabbing out for the handrail to save them and screaming when it delivered a small electric shock, though not too engrossed to notice that a pair of young men were following their course around the hall. Beata turned to grin at her admirers, taking in their attire of cream flannels, tweed jackets and open-necked shirts – then the floor opened beneath her feet and she yelled again as her stomach performed a somersault at the unexpected descent. But it was only a drop of inches, just enough to cause a thrill, and with the young men in tow she and Lucy proceeded laughingly to the next stage.
There were moans of disappointment upon coming to a door marked ‘Exit’ – but just at the last minute a violent draught whooshed up from a vent, fluttering the girls’ skirts and invoking a final squeal as they fought to hide their suspenders. Cheeks streaming with tears of mirth, they found themselves out on the promenade with its mingled aromas of rock, fish and chips, candy floss, shrimps and seaweed.
Still there was the need to hold down their rippling skirts as the bracing, salt-laden wind inflated them like parachutes. Whilst still attempting to do so, they found themselves accompanied by the young men from the amusement hall, one on either side of them.
‘Hello, girls, enjoying your holiday? I’m Tommy, by the way.’ The one who strutted jauntily alongside Beata formed a hook of his arm.
Reflecting his amicable tone, she slipped her own arm through his, using her other to hold down her skirt. ‘Pleased to meet you, Tommy By the way.’
‘Eh, Titch!’ He pointed a finger at her laughingly. ‘You’re too small to be taking the mickey. It’s Tommy Lunan.’
Beata echoed his laughter and gave her name. Though lacking most of the attributes she admired, apart from sparkling blue eyes, there was something extremely attractive about this round-faced young man. His light-brown hair had been slicked neatly from its side parting and kept in place with grease, but a lock of it had come free to dance with the wind as he bounced along, one moment pressed flat to his brow, the next standing upright like an antenna. It caused a rush of affection, reminding her of the wayward little lock her father had had, though this was dead straight rather than wavy.
‘Where are you from?’ His cheeks were pink from the wind.
‘York.’ To avoid being constantly lashed about the face, she held down the brightly coloured scarf that was knotted at her throat.
‘We’re from Barrow-in-Furness. I’m a hairdresser, Howard works in the shipyard. What do you do?’
‘I’m a cook,’ said Beata, Lucy answering for herself.
‘Ooh, we’ve chosen the right ones here!’ Tommy grinned at his friend then addressed Beata again. ‘How long are you here for?’
‘A fortnight.’
‘Champion, so are we!’ He beamed at her, projecting warm delight. She beamed in return. It was only when he put an investigative hand to his hair and asked, ‘Has a seagull bombed me?’ that she realized she had been staring, and tore her eyes away with a laugh of embarrassment.
‘Oh, sorry – no!’ But her admiring gaze was soon lured back. He was just so lovely.
‘Would you care for an ice cream?’ Howard asked both girls. They said they would.
‘You realize you’re not going to get rid of us now Howard’s opened his purse?’ joked Tommy.
‘We might not want to,’ came Beata’s smiling retort.
‘I didn’t think pretty lasses like you would be so hard up – Hang on, don’t move!’ Tommy made her stand still and picked something off the shoulder of her cardigan, pretending to cup it gently in his hands. ‘It’s all right, it’s just one of Howard’s pet moths. Here, stick him back in your wallet, chum.’
Beata roared with laughter, much longer than was necessary, this encouraging the young man into unleashing more of his humour on her. By the time they had walked from one end of the seafront to the other, with Tommy cracking quips along the way, Beata announced that she had never laughed so much in all her life, her twinkling eyes giving away that which remained unsaid: she had fallen head over heels in love.
With Lucy equally merry in Howard’s company, though not half so smitten, the two couples were to spend the entire day together, holding hands, sharing fish and chips and a ball game upon the sand.
So utterly infatuated was she, Beata showed great reluctance to part at teatime, but her friend pointed out that they had ordered their evening meal and it would be ill-mannered not to turn up.
Bouncing the rubber ball off the pavement as he spoke, Tommy chipped in, ‘We can meet again later if you like.’ The brightness of his face encouraged her; he was obviously as eager as Beata to continue the romance. ‘Go to a show or something.’
And so she agreed to go off for tea, wolfing it down in order to get back as quickly as possible to this wonderful young man, her mind conjuring up all sorts of possibilities over what the ‘or something’ might be.
Her dreams were fulfilled. Following a lovely evening at a variety show, whilst escorting her back to her digs, Tommy pulled her away from the streetlamps into a shop doorway, put his arms around her and applied warm, dry lips. None of Jack’s backwardness here. He kissed her long and sensuously, ignoring intrusive footsteps as Lucy and Howard overtook them to stroll past arm in arm, breaking off only to grin and wink at them before lowering his face to Beata’s again.
Heartened that he did not seem shocked when she returned his kisses with equal fervour, Beata responded with a passion that had never been granted free rein before, obliterating all trace of Jack. They kissed for twenty minutes or more, until her face had grown sore and her neck ached from craning up to meet him, but her heart overflowed with joy.
* * *
He was to kiss her the instant they met again the next morning. Kissed and hugged and held her every day for the next fortnight. They talked and talked of everything, both informative and trivial. By the end of their first week together she knew his religion, his every childhood illness, his shoe size, his inside leg measurement, his mother’s maiden name, that he hated suet as much as she did, the name of the first girl who had broken his heart, even his bowel habits. During the second week, with few questions left to ask, there was little else to occupy their lips but kisses, kisses that were to become ever more passionate upon discovering the sand dunes of Lytham St Annes, where lovers could hide from disapproving eyes.
How could she have mistaken what she had felt for Jack as love? It had not been love at all. This was so utterly overwhelming that she could concentrate on nothing else, was barely aware of what day it was – why, it could almost be classed an illness. How devastating, then, to part, especially when Tommy and his friend were compelled to leave a day earlier than she and Lucy. Holidays always passed quickly, but none so swift as this.
Sharing one last embrace at the station that wet Friday morning, Beata’s sweetheart seemed equally disconsolate as he passed her a note bearing his place of abode, just in case she had forgotten. ‘Promise you’ll write to me?’
Grasping it, Beata nodded miserably and stared down at the scribbled address as if reading, though she knew it off by heart. Fearing that she might weep upon mention of how m
uch she would miss him, she chose something mundane. ‘Well, I suppose it’s back to cooking for me and cutting hair for you.’
‘I won’t be cutting hair any longer.’
She looked into his eyes, adoring even the Lancastrian way he pronounced hair as hur.
‘Won’t you?’
‘No, I’ll be cutting it shorter.’
Whilst the other couple groaned Beata smiled at his attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
He gave a sad laugh. ‘Sorry, that was pathetic. I just can’t think of anything clever to say. I’ve never said this before in my life, but I don’t want to go home, Beat.’
‘Me neither.’ Tears burned her eyes, her anguish intensified by the arrival of the train. Sharing a final hug and the bitterest, sweetest of kisses, she watched him board, then waved furiously as his train chugged away. All that remained of him was the scent that clung to her clothes and the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. She stared down at it for a moment, before shoving it in the pocket of her fawn mackintosh. Then, turning, she and Lucy went for one last walk along the seafront.
Added to the ever-present wind was rain. They employed the Chinese painted sunshades they had bought on their first holiday together, hands tight around the stems to prevent them being ripped from their grasp, wandered aimlessly for a while without speaking, rivulets trickling over the oilskin to dapple their mackintoshes. Beata’s swollen leg ached, but not as much as her heart.
Knowing how much store the youngster set on her new-found love, and having witnessed her devastation at being let down by Jack, Lucy wondered how to broach her warning, finally explaining gently, ‘You shouldn’t expect too much to come of it, Beat. I know he’s nice but he lives a long way away and men are no good at writing…’
Disturbed from her dreams, Beata pondered over this. Lucy was right, of course. Her brothers had rarely put pen to paper. And look how she had taken it for granted that she would marry Jack. She determined then to curb her feelings, putting on a bright face and shoving Tommy to the back of her mind. ‘No, you’re right there, and they have a nasty habit of coming between friends. You and I came on this holiday together and we’ve hardly seen anything of each other all fortnight because of those two. What would you like to do for our last day?’
Almost embarrassed at her own childishness, Lucy hoisted her shoulders and confessed with a grin, ‘I’d love another go in the Hall of Fun.’
‘Me an’ all. I look better in those mirrors than I do in the one at home.’ Beata chuckled and linked her friend’s arm in gay manner. ‘Come on then, missus, let’s go make the most of it!’
But try as she might not to spoil what remained of the holiday for Lucy, that last day was very depressing and it was something of a relief the next morning to find herself on the train home. During the hours that followed she tried hard to convince herself that Lucy was right and she should forget about Tommy, should consign the last two lovely weeks to a box labelled ‘holiday romance’.
Yet however much she might laugh and joke with her friend, secretly she could not quite bring herself to abandon him to oblivion … which was why it was such a massive thrill to find Tom’s short but affectionate letter waiting for her the moment she arrived home.
* * *
Having received not a word from Howard and not expecting to, Lucy was surprised and delighted upon hearing Beata’s good news, and was even more heartened that Tommy’s missive was to be no aberration, for a week later another arrived, signalling a regular correspondence between the pair. But, though overjoyed to retain contact with her sweetheart, Beata was desperate to hear those words emerge from his own smiling lips and constantly bewailed the fact that it was too far to go over to Barrow-in-Furness in a day.
Tired of having her nights out spoilt by such moaning, Lucy came up with what she saw as a solution: next year they would spend their holiday in the Lake District from where they could have a day trip to Barrow.
‘Or maybe Tommy could arrange to spend his holiday there too!’ exclaimed Beata, but, gratified as she was by her friend’s thoughtfulness, she was to remain tormented by the thought of such a long wait, especially as there was no one in the house to take her mind off things, for Eve was sadly lacking in humour.
Mercifully, her working environment was to be made a little lighter by Sadie, the between maid, who was hired for the shooting season and who proved to be a much happier companion than Eve. Yet Sadie’s optimistic presence only served to make Beata’s afternoons off emptier than ever.
She should have been enjoying time off herself that Saturday afternoon in November, but one of Sadie’s relatives was getting married and Beata had granted this precedence, ‘But try and be back for six if you can, I’ve promised to meet Lucy at half past.’
The between maid promised she would and went off to her wedding.
Hearing a noise from the direction of the side door somewhat earlier than six, Beata looked up from stuffing a bird and asked Eve. ‘Is that Sadie at the door?’
‘What would she be knocking for?’ Eve was stooped over the local evening press, her bottom in the air. ‘I never heard nowt.’
Resisting the urge to deal the protruding rear a hefty kick, Beata went back to her task. But, upon hearing a definite knock she looked up again. With Eve ignoring the summons, she sighed and, withdrawing her hand from the bird’s cavity, went to answer it herself.
Expecting to see Sadie, her jaw dropped at the smart young man in suit and tie who poised there, beaming at her. ‘Tommy!’
Grinning, he rubbed his hands against the cold, his cheeks almost as red as the poppy in his lapel. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
‘You certainly have. Aw, come in!’ Wiping her hands furiously on her apron she exchanging a brief but affectionate kiss on the cheek, shepherded him into the kitchen and bade him sit down by the fire, introducing him to Eve, then fussing over him with an invitation to tea.
‘I was hoping to take you out for tea.’ His eyes were alight with pleasure at seeing her again. ‘Then out to the pictures. It’s your evening off if I’m not mistaken.’ Her letters kept him informed of her rota.
‘Yes! Oh, but I’m meeting Lucy.’ She slapped her red hands to her cheeks in consternation.
‘You still can, if she doesn’t mind me tagging along.’
Beata was still overwhelmed at seeing him and beaming foolishly. ‘Of course she won’t. Oh, I can’t believe you’re really here! How—?’
‘I heard my aunty and uncle were having a weekend excursion to York so I cadged a lift. The boss very kindly let me have today off.’ His round face shared her glee, both seemingly oblivious to Eve’s surveillance.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The people they’re visiting said I could kip on the sofa.’ His nose starting to run from the sudden rise in temperature, Tommy pulled out his handkerchief. ‘It’s only up the road there.’
‘Well!’ Upon another exclamation of astonishment, Beata shook her head. ‘Lucy is going to be surprised, isn’t she?’
Indeed, her friend was, and so pleased for Beata that she offered to make herself scarce in order that the reunited couple might spend these precious hours together. But neither of them would hear of it, Tommy thoroughly apologetic for being unable to bring Howard with him and presumably spoiling the girls’ night out. Lucy seemed genuinely not to care and went on to enjoy her meal and the consequent trip to the cinema, though afterwards she caught a bus somewhat earlier than usual, leaving the sweethearts to spend the last few hours on their own.
Ignoring the hundreds of other couples who drifted hand in hand along the tree-lined riverside path, who fumbled and kissed in the dark, Beata and her lover enjoyed a leisurely walk home, to all intents and purposes alone.
Tommy apologized for the constant urge to claw at his body. ‘Sorry for all this scratting, but I think I’ve acquired a passenger.’ His action infectious, Beata began to scratch too. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. The Picture House is a bit of a flea
pit.’
‘They’re going to be charmed with me at my lodgings, aren’t they? Let’s see if I can get rid of him onto you before we get home.’ Both of them chuckling, he curled a possessive arm around her and sighed, ‘Eh dear, I can’t believe how it’s flown.’
‘Me neither.’ Her breath visible on the air, she snuggled into his warmth, then, suddenly remembering, she turned to him eagerly. ‘Oh, what about the holiday? Did you manage to talk Howard into going to the Lakes?’
‘No, he says it’s too boring – but don’t worry, I’ve found somebody else to go with.’ He noted her look of relief. ‘Well, you don’t think I was going to pass up the chance of a holiday with you, do you?’
She hugged his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Aw, I wish I was going back over the Pennines with you tomorrow. What time do you have to leave?’
‘Not till mid-afternoon.’
‘Ah, yes,’ she remembered he had come by car. ‘I suppose you don’t have to hang around for hours changing trains.’
‘I was hoping you’d spend tomorrow morning with me.’
Her expression showed she was desperate to oblige. ‘I have to get Sunday dinner ready but we can meet for church.’ It had been such a relief to discover they shared the same religion; she could not have borne a second rejection by some bigoted parent. ‘You’ll be glad to hear I go to second Mass.’
His reply was warm. ‘I’d get up at the crack of dawn if it was to see you. Shall I come and knock you up – Hang on, I’ll rephrase that! I meant give you a knock.’
She laughed heartily and, welcoming any chance to prolong their time together, nodded and told him at what time to call. ‘Then you can come back for your dinner.’
‘Lovely.’ He squeezed her shoulders.
‘I’m afraid we won’t be on our own – Eve and Sadie’ll be there – but it’s better than nothing.’ She steered him to a flight of steps away from the river, sighing that they were almost home. Equally unwilling for the night to end he delayed her for a while with kisses. But finally, the lateness of the hour made it inevitable that they must part. Escorting Beata to her door, he adorned her lips with one last kiss, then bade her a tender good night.
A Different Kind of Love Page 59