Mothers and Daughters

by Fleming, Leah

  Connie observed his clumsy attempts to get her attention and felt sorry for him. Then who should sashay into her path but Mr Love-Bite King himself, waving a drink and a grin in her direction.

  ‘Hi there, aren’t you one of Rosa’s Silkies?’ was his chat-up line. She wanted to say, ‘Piss off’, but it didn’t seem fair. She turned away ignoring him.

  ‘She’s Little Miss Frigid,’ snapped Miles, who was peeved at Rosa and already drunk.

  ‘Little Miss Sensible, actually, so you can forget all your chat-up lines. I’m not the sort of girl who snogs any old creep who preys on girls for their favours.’

  ‘Ouch! Who trod on your corns?’ Paul said, still grinning. ‘What have we here?’ He started humming the tune ‘Whole Lotta Woman’.

  Connie saw red. ‘I’ll be a whole lotta woman when I find a whole lotta man, but not yet … and not you!’

  He stepped back at her rebuff and had the decency to blush. ‘Pardon me for breathing in your space. Who’s your friend, Rosa … Miss Chilly Knickers?’

  ‘Oh, go and suck your dummy,’ Connie shouted, but found herself laughing.

  He turned, paused, puzzled, half squinting at her with blue eyes to take her in. Was that a flicker of admiration and respect she saw in them or was he just trying to think up a riposte?

  ‘Paul! Over here.’ A siren voice lured him into a shady alcove, out of harm’s way. Rosa was at her back. ‘Why did you say all that? He’s the mostest guy in the room and I’ve been after him for weeks, and he comes and chats you up. You’re such a prude.’

  ‘No, I’m not, I’m just picky and I don’t flirt.’

  ‘You just scare them off with remarks like that.’

  ‘So? All this snogging in dark rooms is silly. This isn’t a party, it’s just an excuse for … sex.’

  ‘Oh, grow up. That’s what this play was about – sex, sex, sex. Now everyone’s drunk and frisky. You’re only young once.’

  ‘And look where it gets a girl: a kitchen sink and prams in the hall. I’d rather read a good book.’

  ‘Well, go and find one then. You’re spoiling my fun.’

  Connie picked up her cardigan and bag and made for the door. She’d catch the next bus home on her own.

  ‘No buses after ten, love,’ someone yelled.

  ‘Shit!’ she thought. Now she’d have to wait until she could cadge a lift with the others.

  It was a rambling house with a study, and she clambered over some prostrate bodies to search the bookshelves, not easy in the dark, but she eventually found a lightswitch.

  ‘Shut it off!’ yelled a voice.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, but not before she grabbed something off the shelf. It was Brighton Rock by Graham Greene. All about Pinkie and his violent gang. She was hooked from the first page and found a stool in the kitchen to read on.

  There was a shadow over her shoulder and she turned to see Paul Jerviss peering at her paperback. ‘Brighton Rock. It’s a bit tough for a girl.’

  She turned away, ignoring him again. He didn’t leave.

  ‘Sorry about next door but you cut a bit deep.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She continued to ignore him. ‘I’m reading.’

  ‘Do you do anything other than read and sing?’ He was not going to go away, she realised.

  ‘I might. Ask Rosa. She’ll tell you all.’

  ‘You related then?’

  ‘Our mothers are … were friends.’

  ‘Did they fall out?’ He was so persistent.

  ‘My mother died in March.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He hesitated then added, ‘My brother died of polio when he was nine. It’s a bummer.’ She recognised the sadness in his voice and looked up. He really was a dish, with his blond hair and blue eyes, all legs, and teeth like a shark when he grinned.

  ‘That must have been hard for your parents …’

  ‘They split up … three years ago. That’s why I’m doing medicine. There’s got to be cures for things like that.’ He was leaning on a bar stool, looking out of the window into the darkness.

  ‘But there is a cure for polio now … We all had to have the Salk vaccine on a lump of sugar.’

  ‘Daniel didn’t … He was only nine before they started immunising, but there’s loads of other diseases that need curing.’

  ‘Like cancer,’ she replied, hardly believing she’d spoken the word out loud to a stranger. ‘Mama went to the Christie, but … you know it was too late—’ Connie broke off before she got upset. ‘You’d better go back to the party.’

  ‘Come and have a dance.’ Paul held out his hand.

  ‘No, I’m reading.’ She turned away, trying to ignore him.

  ‘Am I really so awful that you prefer Graham Greene?’

  ‘He’s such a good writer … and you’re just fooling around.’

  ‘Are you always so serious?’

  ‘No, but I know what I want and when I want it, so shove off and let me finish the chapter in peace.’

  ‘Sorry about your mother … It’s Connie, isn’t it? You’re one of the Winstanley girls?’

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘Nothing … sorry for interrupting you.’ He backed off.

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘Friends?’

  Connie looked up. ‘Only if you and your friend treat my friend Rosa like a lady.’

  ‘Rosa Santini, a lady? That’ll be the day!’ he sniggered.

  ‘Oh, go away and come back when you’re a grown-up,’ she barked back.

  ‘I might well do that.’ He saluted her with a grin. ‘But you’d better grow up too.’

  Damn, he’d got the last word over hers. She saw his backside retreating, those long arrogant legs striding into the mêlée.

  He’d be a great dancer but she was not going to be one of his one-night conquests. Oh, no! Paul Jerviss was just another shark on the prowl for young fish. She’d not given him the satisfaction of letting him see for a second she’d been sorely tempted.

  10

  Miss Mercury

  Joy blamed Connie for the chilly atmosphere in Division Street of late. Over the months she’d become increasingly curious, but try as she might she couldn’t get a straight answer from her mother about Cedric. Mummy went quietly about her chores, not looking her in the face, hiding behind a wall of silence that worried her.

  ‘You have to tell me what you meant, Connie,’ Joy snapped, picking at her hints like a scab. ‘What don’t I know that I should?’

  Connie shrugged and went to her room as usual. Joy would have to go to the fount of all Winstanley knowledge and get this sorted once and for all.

  ‘What’s going on, Granny? Connie knows something I don’t about my daddy.’ She threw her question across the kitchen on that fateful afternoon when the two of them arrived at Sutter’s Fold within minutes of each other.

  Granny was knitting, and put down her needles, took off her glasses and sighed. Her voice was soft and deliberate. ‘We will talk about this later, Joy. This is not the time,’ she whispered, fingering the wool in slow motion and looking pointedly at Connie.

  ‘I don’t care. I have to know now! Connie says Mummy and Ana never married. Is this true? Are we bastards?’ she screamed.

  ‘Show respect for your grandmother! Don’t use such words in this house. You’d better sit down, both of you. I suppose you’ll have to know now, seeing as Miss Curiosity here is determined to spill the beans.’ She looked at Connie, shaking her head. ‘Where do I start? You have to understand that it was one of those strange coincidences of life, such a queer do.’

  The old woman sipped her tea, looking out of the window. Granny Esme was shrinking these days, looking older, and breathless, and it frightened Connie.

  ‘I think Freddie thought Susan was not going to get permission to leave Burma. His ship stopped off in the Mediterranean on the way home – mechanical failure, I expect – and they docked in Athens. Greece was in a terrible state after the war. He met poor Ana there. These thing
s happen in wartime …’ Her blue eyes filled up with tears. ‘He died shortly after. I never saw him again,’ she whispered.

  ‘Did Cedric marry my mummy then?’ Joy asked, hoping at last for a proper answer.

  ‘Not exactly. They do things differently in Burma. It was a difficult time for soldiers. You have to make allowances for wartime romances. They’re like storms coming out of nowhere, drenching and soaking, and then whoosh, the storm is over and the sky is clear,’ Gran smiled with a faraway look on her face. ‘The first we knew about you nippers was when you all turned up together. Quite a to-do there was about that, but it was just another of those strange God-incidences, come to test our Christian forbearance,’ she added as if Joy understood a word of what she was saying.

  ‘What’s all this got to do with Uncle Freddie?’ Joy was looking at them both, puzzled. ‘Or Auntie Ana?’

  ‘Weren’t you listening to a word she said? Me and you are half-sisters,’ Connie explained, seeing the look of unbelief on her face.

  ‘What is she on about?’ There was a pause. Joy was slow to make the connection. To drink in this strange notion.

  ‘Why do you think we all turned up at the same address, at the same time, looking for Mr Winstanley?’ Connie was spelling it out slowly. ‘I don’t think Freddie meant to have two wives. They made up a pack of lies about Cedric for us. At least we got part of the truth. But the dead can’t defend themselves, can they?’ she added, seeing Esme wiping a tear from her eye.

  ‘Are we not Winstanleys then? Why wouldn’t Mummy tell me the truth?’ she said.

  ‘Of course you are a Winstanley. All that’s missing is a piece of paper. Who is to know any different? Don’t blame your poor mothers. It was wartime. Everything was upside down. They were frightened that you’d be ashamed of them. Sometimes a lie is better than the sting of the truth.’ Granny sighed and turned her face away from their fierce gazes.

  Joy was struggling to contain the shock of it all. Where was she going to put this knowledge? She liked everything in compartments like the savings box she kept in her bedroom, with its slot for clothes, bus fares, church collection and holiday fund. There was her new job five days a week, shopping and laundry on Saturday, cleaning chores for Mummy, church and Sunday school class to prepare. On Saturday she went to the pictures or dancing at the Astoria Palais in Bootle Street. Joy was so predictable but now she was lost for words.

  ‘Isn’t it weird? We’re sisters, not cousins,’ Connie offered, but Joy ignored her. If only she’d not opened her big gob, none of this would matter, but Connie had and it did. No stuffing this back out of sight, and why was she the last to know?

  ‘Your mother stole my daddy then,’ Joy snapped.

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Gran. ‘It was all a misunderstanding.’

  Joy was having none of it. She made to leave without saying goodbye.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done, opened up Pandora’s box,’ said Gran with a sigh.

  ‘Why is it my fault?’ Connie snapped. ‘Don’t blame me … blame them!’

  Joy ran down the road to the bus stop, her head ringing with this terrible news, Connie chasing after her.

  ‘Don’t blame me … please!’

  Since Joy had been ill they’d grown apart a bit and now this, but Connie was hurting too after her mum’s death.

  ‘Let’s go and see Auntie Lee. She’ll explain. You can’t go and shout at your mother. Come on, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you but it wasn’t fair you didn’t know. I’ll treat you to a cappuccino in Santini’s, if you like.’

  ‘No I don’t like. I’m walking home to clear my head. You shouldn’t’ve have told me. I’d rather not know. It spoils everything.’

  ‘How come? We’re half-sisters. Now that funny photograph of Cedric, cut out of a mag, makes sense, doesn’t it? How Mama and Su always clammed up when Freddie was mentioned? I didn’t mean to spoil things, honest.’

  ‘But you have, Connie. You have broken my dreams of my daddy. He’s not who I thought he was in my heart.’ She walked on, head in the air.

  ‘None of us is who we think we are. Look at me – Konstandina Papadaki, for God’s sake, what a mouthful!’

  ‘Oh, shut it. Me, me, me. It’s all you think about. I’m tired of hearing about you.’ Joy pushed ahead, leaving Connie stunned and winded. ‘Go away.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t go where I’m not wanted but it doesn’t change anything, Joy. You’re still my sister,’ she yelled, but Joy was beyond hearing.

  It was miles back through the suburbs and town, but Joy was on fire. She’d been cruel to Connie. She was on her own now but why had she spoiled her romantic dreams of Mummy and poor Cedric? It must be just jealousy. It would be good to talk it all over with Auntie Lee, but she was so busy with little Art now. Dr Friedmann was kind, but he was Connie’s confidant, she sensed, and she would never trust Horace Milburn an inch.

  There was something creepy about the way he hovered round the bathroom when she was nipping in and out in her undies. He still called her his ‘dusky princess’. She didn’t like being alone in the Waverley if Mummy was out and he was in. He tried to tell her rude jokes and made her blush. His octopus hands were everywhere, brushing her thighs and bottom. He was always staring at her bust as if it was something special.

  To her surprise, since she was ill they had grown back full and heavy, just like Gran Esme’s bolstered bosoms. ‘Top heavy’ was what Cynthia’s fashion magazines would call them, and everyone envied her sweater shape, but Joy was always squashing them down with the dark jumpers that she wore in the office. They said she was glamorous but still she saw the fat little girl staring at her from the mirror.

  Perhaps it was time to go on a diet again. On she walked, feeling sapped of strength, but she’d not give in. She was stubborn like old Gran.

  She felt calmer just putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps Connie was right, it was better to know the truth than a lie. It didn’t alter anything except her birth certificate. She still had her mummy, the family and her home, and Connie as a sister.

  Connie might have a point but she was not going to give her satisfaction of seeing her give in and agree. She was dead meat for the foreseeable future.

  As if to make her point Joy refused to go to anything with Connie and went to the football match with Enid Greenhalgh and Auntie Lee instead. The Grasshoppers were doing well in the First Division and were hoping for a good cup run. Their two best forwards, Denny Gregson and Vinnie Gratton, were local heroes when they beat some hot shots in Arsenal, Pompey, Blackpool and Bolton Wanderers.

  Vinnie Gratton was a cousin of Cynthia Howarden at work. Cynthia had got some tickets for the annual Press Ball in the Town Hall. Joan Regan was doing the cabaret turn and there was to be a beauty contest to find Miss Grimbleton Mercury, 1962.

  ‘Vinnie’s one of the judges. Shall I put your name down as a contestant?’ asked Cynthia in front of all the girls in the office.

  ‘Not a chance,’ Joy snapped. There was no way she was going to parade around.

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. Anyway, it’s the best dance of the year. Tickets are like gold dust. The prize is a night out with a star and a ball gown from Diana Costa’s boutique, worth fifty pounds,’ sighed Cynthia.

  Soon their talk was of nothing else and Joy gave in: a Helen Shapiro bob or a beehive chignon? Ballerina pumps or stilettos? Mascara and eyeliner, short dress or three-quarter length? So many decisions to make.

  It was not the sort of do to take a regular boyfriend to. Her latest beau had fizzled out in any case because he had the usual desert sickness, wandering palms. He was another who wanted to rummage up her jumper and feel her bra cups.

  ‘Why do they always want to get their hands on my bits?’ she said to Rosa.

  ‘Because they’re the best bits in town,’ she laughed. ‘You should be so lucky.’

  The dancing crowd always went hunting in a pack. The ball enthusiasts grew from a handful to a gaggle of
Connie’s grammar school pals, including her friend Tonia, who sniffed at the beauty contest.

  ‘Parading in front of old men like that is very demeaning,’ she said as they sipped their frothy coffees in Santini’s.

  Rosa laughed and whispered, ‘She’s no oil painting. No wonder she daren’t put herself in the line-up.’

  ‘So why are you two coming then?’ Joy snapped, surprised that Connie was keen to come with them. They were still barely speaking since the afternoon of their own B.F.O., and Rosa was desperately trying to bridge the gap between them. Nothing Connie could say to make amends had any effect. Now there was a standoff.

  ‘We all want to have a decent bop and twist and see what Denny Gregson’s like up close. There’s nothing else to do in this godforsaken hole,’ Tonia sneered. Connie looked embarrassed. Joy gave them each a haughty look. I hate you, she thought. Your mother stole my daddy and broke my mother’s heart. But then she felt mean. How do you stay cross with someone who’s lost their own mother? It was all so confusing.

  ‘I hope you’re going to enter that contest.’ Connie was trying to make amends. ‘It would be great if you won.’

  Joy shrugged and linked arms with Rosa, leaving Connie with her own friends to trail behind them.

  ‘What have I said?’ sniffed Tonia, seeing the look on Connie’s face.

  ‘Nothing,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Freddie was my father too?’ Joy had kept the discovery bottled up all week but now she stormed into the kitchen at the Waverley, all guns blazing, to blast her mother with the discovery. ‘Why am I the last to know?’