by Pam Weaver
‘I can’t stay too long,’ Doreen cautioned. ‘Mother will start to worry.’
‘So how is your mother?’ Florrie asked Doreen. She didn’t really want to talk about Mrs Kennedy, but she was aware that she should at least show a little concern.
‘Her feet are playing up again,’ said Doreen. ‘I have to do all the housework myself now. In fact, I was thinking of getting a cleaning lady in, but Mother says we can’t afford it.’
‘And can you?’ Betty asked.
‘I think so,’ said Doreen, ‘but Mother handles all the finances.’
Florrie looked away. Yes, and if you didn’t have to do the housework, you might be out somewhere enjoying yourself, she thought acidly. Mother wouldn’t like that!
‘Surely you get a reasonable wage from your business, dear,’ Betty remarked. ‘You always seem to have plenty of customers.’
‘I give it all to Mother,’ said Doreen. ‘She gives me pocket money. I don’t need a lot, so I’m all right.’
Florrie pursed her lips but said nothing. Mrs Kennedy had a stranglehold over her daughter, which had only tightened as the years went by. In fact, Doreen’s last little ‘rebellion’ must have been all those years ago when she’d gone to Letchworth to do her training with Spirella. Mrs Kennedy had disapproved strongly, and made no secret of the fact, but for once in her life, Doreen had insisted. She wasn’t an unattractive woman and had come close to marrying just the once, but it all fell through for some mysterious reason, and since then she had devoted her life to the care of her mother.
‘What about you, Betty? How are you coping?’
‘The house is a bit empty without Ken and Raymond,’ she admitted, ‘but apparently we may have people billeted on us before long.’
‘I’m not sure Mother would take kindly to strangers in the house,’ Doreen remarked.
‘She may not have a choice,’ Betty said sagely. ‘What about you, Florrie? Are you sending the kids away to the country when the evacuation starts?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Florrie. ‘I wouldn’t worry about Shirley, but I can’t imagine Tom settling down with someone he’d never met before. Besides, who would take him?’
‘Vera’s little girl, she’s blind and she’s going,’ said Betty.
‘Yes, but she’s going with the whole school,’ said Florrie. ‘They’ll all be in the same boat. Poor Tom is expected to be the same as everyone else, only he isn’t.’
The other two nodded in agreement and a little chill settled over them.
‘I heard a good joke the other day,’ said Florrie, deliberately brightening up. ‘There was this farmer who put a notice up in his field. “I will give this field to a contented man.” A few days later, a man knocked on his door. “I am a very contented man,” he said, “so I’ve come to claim the field.” “Is that right?” said the farmer. “Well, if you’re so contented, why do you want my field?”’
There was a second or two of silence; then Betty threw her head back and laughed, and Doreen joined in. Florrie smiled. ‘Now, who wants an iced bun?’ she said. ‘I bought some from Mr Bolton especially.’
Southend was even more wonderful than Shirley could ever have imagined. Overlooked by boarding houses and hotels, the promenade led to a fairly small stretch of sand. They were disappointed until Rev. Goose explained that the tide was in and the beach would get progressively bigger as the day wore on. The beach itself was absolutely packed, but Mrs Keene managed to find a narrow area under the sea wall where she and the children could be together. Rev. Goose made it his business to collect a few deckchairs for the other adult helpers in the group, and the children sat on the sand either on an old army blanket, brought along for the purpose, or on their own towels. Somehow or other each person had a small area of sand to play on and before long they were making sand pies and building sandcastles.
Shirley and some of the bigger girls took some of the little ones down to the water’s edge for a paddle. A few had brought swimsuits and they enjoyed splashing about. Tom wandered along with them, searching for shells, which he put into his pockets as he followed the ever-growing area of shingle along the water’s edge. Shirley had no idea why he wanted them, but knowing her brother, he had a plan somewhere in that muddled head of his. Under Father Goose’s expert eye, some of the older boys set about building an elaborate fort complete with moat and stream.
At twelve-thirty, everybody ate their lunch. Those who had sandwiches shared theirs with those who didn’t. They watched one of the pleasure boats pull into the jetty to disgorge its passengers and take on a queue of people waiting for a trip along the shoreline. A toilet break came next and Shirley and the older girls took the smaller children. Telling their charges to stay with Shirley, Helen and Ann snuck off, and a second or two later, Shirley saw them running towards the town. They really had gone without her! Shirley’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Oh, it wasn’t fair! She felt a mixture of disappointment, envy and a little slither of fear, but amazingly, when they all congregated together again, nobody missed them. Not even when Rev. Goose bought every child and the adults an ice cream while they sat on the sand to watch the Punch-and-Judy show.
The trek to the Kursaal was a bit of a nightmare, but once they had arrived, Rev. Goose assigned a manageable ratio of children to adults or older girls, to make sure everyone was looked after. Tom, confused by all the noise, was content to stay close to Shirley and watch. No one managed to persuade him to go on a ride, but he did win a goldfish in a jam jar when he got a wooden hoop over a stand on the hoopla stall. He was delighted. It was only as they left the amusements that Helen and Ann were missed and a major panic ensued.
‘Has anyone seen them?’ Rev. Goose demanded, and when he was met with blank expressions, his face grew purple. ‘Where on earth have they gone? If someone knows anything about this and I find out you’ve said nothing, I shall be extremely angry.’
Shirley busied herself with the little ones, bending low in case Father Goose saw her blushing. Eventually, the police were called and it looked as if the whole day was going to be ruined. Shirley didn’t know what to do. Should she tell them that her friends had probably gone to Woolworths?
In the end, it was decided that Mrs Keene and one of the other Sunday-school teachers should go in a police car and be driven around the resort in the hope of spotting them. The rest of the party would go on to Sunny Side Cafe for high tea, as arranged. As the crocodile of excited children weaved its way slowly through the crowds, Shirley kept a lookout in case she spotted Helen and Ann first. She hoped to warn them of the pickle they were in so that they could get their stories straight. It was difficult to find them in the crowds, especially while she was holding the sweaty hands of two tired and hungry little ones. Tom trailed behind her with his goldfish in the jam jar.
The tea was amazing. They had more sandwiches, pork pies, sausage rolls and jelly and trifle, followed by chocolate cake. As the meal drew to a close, Ann came into the cafe, escorted by a policeman. She was looking very red-eyed and upset, and it was obvious that she’d been crying. Rev. Goose sat her at a table far away from the others. He seemed fairly cross but anxious as well. Shirley was conscious of the adults with their heads together, whispering. It was bad enough that Ann was in trouble, but where was Helen?
Back on the coach, Helen still hadn’t materialized, and Ann sat hunched up in her seat occasionally wiping her tears away with a handkerchief. As Shirley and Tom sat down, he put his jam jar on the floor and took a cigarette packet out of his pocket. For a second, Shirley panicked. Where had he got fags from? She hadn’t given him any money, just like Mum said. Tom pushed the packet open to reveal not Player’s Navy Cut cigarettes but a curled-up worm.
‘Ugh,’ said Shirley. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘I found it,’ said Tom. ‘I’m going to look it up in my book.’
The creature was about six inches long, pinkish-red with a small head. It didn’t seem to have any eyes, but it was covered in
something that looked like bristles.
Just at that moment, Father Goose came by counting heads. ‘What have you got there, Tom?’
‘It’s my pet,’ said Tom, closing the cigarette packet.
‘And do you know what it’s called?’
‘Walter,’ said Tom seriously.
‘Actually,’ said Father Goose, ‘it’s a lugworm. I think I’d better take it up to the front of the coach in case it escapes, don’t you? You can have it back when you get home.’
‘Helen still isn’t here, sir,’ Shirley reminded him.
Father Goose nodded. ‘I know where she is, thank you, Shirley.’
Reluctantly, Tom handed Walter and his goldfish over; then with everyone on board, except Helen, they set off, leaving behind the smell of the sea, the fresh air and the sunshine. Once they were well under way, Father Goose started a sing-song, and as the rest of the coach party burst forth with ‘Ten Green Bottles’, Shirley slid into the seat next to Ann’s.
‘What’s happened to Helen? Has she been taken ill?’
Ann turned her tear-stained face towards her. ‘Oh, Shirl, it was awful. She’s still at the police station and she has to wait for her mum and dad.’
Shirley’s mouth gaped. ‘For buying a lipstick?’
Ann moved a little closer. ‘Helen has been arrested for shoplifting.’
As she said her goodbyes to Betty and Doreen, Florrie started another coughing fit. This one was worse than ever. It was impossible to stop and it was gathering momentum. She was forced to lean forward and brace herself against the wall as she struggled to get her breath back. Her head felt as if it would explode and the blood pounded in her face. She brought up her tea before she could finally press her handkerchief to her mouth to stop it.
Betty, who had gone inside to fetch Doreen’s coat, came running out of the shop. ‘You all right, love?’ she said, concerned. ‘Here, let’s get you back inside.’
Florrie was aware of the two of them helping her through the door and plonking her onto the chair in front of the counter, which had been placed there for elderly customers. She was still trying to control herself when suddenly she realized she’d tiddled her pants. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, anxious that her friends should never know. ‘You go. You’ll miss the bus.’
By now tears filled her eyes, and the stitch in her side was unbearable, but the minute she thought she’d stopped coughing, it would start all over again.
‘Shut the door, Doreen,’ said Betty, ‘and turn the sign for a minute. I’m just going out the back.’
Florrie heard the bell jingle as Doreen closed the door, and a second or two later, Betty thrust a glass of water in front of her. ‘That cough of yours is getting much worse, Florrie,’ she said.
‘I think we should get Dr Pringle to call,’ said Doreen. ‘If I run along now, he might come before evening surgery.’
‘No need,’ Florrie rasped.
‘Don’t listen to her, Dor,’ said Betty. ‘I’ve been telling her for weeks to get that cough seen to, but she won’t go. I’ve never seen it as bad as this.’
Florrie waved her arm in protest, but inside her chest, her lungs were screaming. Once the spasm had died down, she held her throbbing head with one hand and did her best to breathe normally. When she took her handkerchief away from her mouth, she heard Betty gasp. Florrie looked down at it and reeled back in horror. Now there was no denying that something was very wrong. The pretty snow-white cotton was covered in blood.
Praise for Pam Weaver
‘What a terrific read – saga fans everywhere will love it and be asking for more from this talented author’
Annie Groves
‘An engaging and gripping post-war saga . . . a hard-hitting story of female friendship tested against the odds’
Take a Break
‘A heartrending story about mothers and daughters’
Kitty Neale
‘Pam Weaver presents us with a real page-turner – with richly drawn characters and a clever plot’
Caring 4 Sussex
‘The characters are so richly drawn and authentic that they pull the reader along through the story effortlessly. This book is a real page-turner, which I enjoyed very much’
Anne Bennett
‘An uplifting memoir told with real honesty’
Yours
Amy’s Seaside Secret
Pam’s saga novels, There’s Always Tomorrow, Better Days Will Come, Pack Up Your Troubles, For Better For Worse, Blue Moon, Love Walked Right In and Always in My Heart, and her ebook novellas Emily’s Christmas Wish and Amy’s Wartime Christmas, are set in Worthing during the austerity years. Pam’s inspiration comes from her love of people and their stories, and her passion for the town of Worthing. With the sea on one side and the Downs on the other, Worthing has a scattering of small villages within its urban sprawl, and in some cases tight-knit communities, making it an ideal setting for the modern saga.
This electronic edition first published 2018 by Pan Books
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ISBN 978-1-5098-5716-6
Copyright © Pam Weaver 2018
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