by Pip Granger
‘We were fed up,’ said Dilly.
‘So we thought we’d share it,’ Terry added.
‘Well, as it happens, laughing boy, I am way ahead of you. Mrs Do-Bugger-All Dunmore has been a cow all day and I’m almost dead on my feet, so shift your arse to a kitchen chair, Rainbird. Here’s your tea, but don’t expect any sugar, I haven’t got any.’
‘Ah! But I have!’ He grinned, producing it like a conjuror producing a rabbit. ‘A bag split, and I couldn’t waste it, could I?’
I grabbed the slightly scruffy white and blue Tate and Lyle paper bag and poured some into my empty sugar bowl. The remainder of the precious contents disappeared into a storage tin and was stuffed right at the back of the cupboard, out of harm’s way. Suddenly, life had looked up considerably. ‘Thanks, Terry. You can keep the comfy seat after all. I know what’s the matter with Dilly – Chester! What’s the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘As if I didn’t know – Lily!’
None of us had met the mysterious Lily, but we’d heard about her. She had been widowed early in the war and Terry had been walking out with her for a few months in a low-key sort of a way. However, I’d heard via Dilly that Lily had suddenly cooled off and asked Terry to stop calling in to see her for a while. She hadn’t explained why; privately, Dilly and I thought she had another bloke in tow and was trying to choose between them.
‘I s’pose you could say that, Zelda. Although I wouldn’t want you to run away with the idea I’m broken-hearted, because I’m not. A bit disappointed, maybe. I like Lily, she’s a jolly sort and she’d make a good wife. What’s more, she could have been a big help in the business. But it wasn’t a grand romance. It’s just time I settled down, is all. I’ve always wanted nippers, and so did Lily,’ he said wistfully. ‘It gets lonely on your own after you’ve sown your wild oats. To be honest, I never did have that many oats in me, wild or otherwise. I’m the sort of boring old fool who wants a quiet life, with a decent woman and a few kids.’
He brightened. ‘No, it’s not Lily. It’s old Limp and Droopy here. She’s been hanging about like a black cloud with an even blacker lining all week. I wish that bloody Yank would either declare himself or put the poor thing out of her misery. You wouldn’t let a dog suffer like her, honest you wouldn’t.’
‘Oy you, don’t talk about me as if I wasn’t here. And who are you calling a dog?’ Dilly forgot to droop for a moment, in her indignation. Then she remembered, and sighed. ‘It’s Chester, Zelda. He hasn’t been in touch for ages. Not a dickie bird. What do you think it means?’ Her face was pale and her eyes were set in dark blue circles, like bruises. Poor old Dill.
‘Maybe he’s busy,’ I said hopefully. Too busy to see you even though he’s going thousands of miles away very, very soon? It’s not looking that good, gal, was what I thought – but I didn’t say it.
‘Molly Squires says I shouldn’t look too desperate. That I should take another bloke to the dance, just in case Chester shows no interest. She says I wouldn’t want to look a fool. What do you think?’ Dilly’s eyes were pleading, as if I was the fount of all wisdom in these matters. Which I wasn’t.
‘I suppose it couldn’t do any harm to give the blighter something to think about. It’s not as if he’s the only man in the world, now is it? Then again, spare men ain’t that thick on the ground right at the moment, Dill, are they? The dance is just over a week away. Where are you going to whistle up a spare geezer this late in the game?’ I asked, carefully avoiding giving a solid opinion. A girl could lose friends by giving opinions about people’s love lives.
‘Oh that’s all right,’ she said, almost airily. ‘I told you. Terry’s offered.’ I saw a spasm of pain flit across Terry’s pleasant face and disappear into a sad little smile. Poor old Terry; he never gave up hope. I’d rather hoped he had when I heard he was walking out with Lily, but apparently not.
‘The more the merrier, eh? We’ll be quite a party by the time Saturday week gets here,’ I said heartily.
Nobody said anything, so I thought I’d change the subject. ‘Anyone fancy staying for devilled fish? I was just going to get it going, I reckon it’ll stretch if I add another egg and put some spuds with it. Have you got an egg, Terry?’
‘Not about my person, but I’ve got a few at the shop. I’ll nip along and get ’em and anything else I can find.’ He left rapidly. Terry liked to eat with company. Come to think of it, so did I – which was why I was being so free with my rations.
‘Good, that’s shot of him for a minute or two,’ I said, looking hard at my friend. ‘Are you sure you want to put the poor soul’s hopes up like that? You know he fancies you like mad, Dilly.’
‘Don’t be daft, Zeld. He’s too old. He’s years older than us, practically dribbling. Anyway, he’s interested in Lily. I don’t know whether to hope he gets her or not. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to start looking round again. He really does want to get married and have kids.’
‘Yes, but he’s not that old. Why’s he so keen now? What’s the hurry?’
‘I dunno. You’ll have to ask him,’ was the quiet reply.
Terry reappeared brandishing three real, whole, fresh eggs, an onion and two spuds from his own pantry. He also brought a drop of milk and a small, slightly grey slab of fish. It was probably snoek, but I didn’t like to ask, in case it was. However, with nutmeg, cayenne pepper, curry powder, mustard and Worcester Sauce smothering the flavour, it could be old boot and nobody would know. He also bought a packet of margarine and a tin of cocoa. He had raided his own rations as well as the shop.
The evening went with a swing after its miserable start. We perked up with some nosh inside of us, a cup of cocoa each and several hands of whist. I finally got to tell them all about the cats, and why I was so tired, but I didn’t go into much detail. I just wanted to forget that cellar. By the middle of the evening, we were laughing, joking and gossiping as if we hadn’t a care in the world.
Then, when Dilly nipped to the khazi, one floor above, I asked Terry casually when he had got so keen on marriage.
‘Most men are dead set on dodging matrimony for as long as they can. How come you’ve decided you’ve got to gallop up the dreaded aisle?’ I really wanted to know because, at the back of my mind, it made me sad for him. I was very fond of Terry.
‘It’s not sudden, Zelda. I’ve wanted it for a while. The war, you know, all those people dead. It makes you think. Then, there’s my dodgy ticker. It’s not getting worse, but it’s not getting any better neither. That makes a body stop to have a think as well, take my word. Course, I could go on for ever, but then again, I might not.’
As I heard him out, my stomach lurched slightly. I knew something was wrong.
‘You might not what?’ asked Dilly as she came back in. Terry and I exchanged glances and he shook his head very slightly. I kept schtum.
‘Get a ticket to the dance,’ Terry told her.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she told him, sighing and rolling her tired, sad but still beautiful eyes at him. ‘I told you I had a spare. In fact I’ve got two. Mavis is taking the other one in case she knows someone who might want it.’
‘Yes,’ mumbled Terry, looking at his knees carefully, ‘I’d forgotten. Well, there you are then. I’m coming. Shall we all meet here, drop in for a drink at the Star and Garter then carry on from there?’
And so it was agreed that we’d meet up and go to the dance mob-handed.
26
I had recovered enough to take Tony to Digby Burlap’s on Saturday, but I didn’t go in. I carried on to the cafe instead. I was looking forward to a bit of a sit and a think about the week.
Things at Paradise Gardens were getting out of hand; Tony still hadn’t settled down and was worrying the life out of his already anxious mother, and, although I’d got shot of the pitiful wailing dream once the cats were found, the nameless dread was still with me in the mornings when I woke. To add to the general joys, I’d heard that Charlie expected to be demobbed in the next few weeks.
/> Meanwhile, I’d been in the wars far more than any ordinary mortal would expect. Hardly an inch of me hadn’t taken some sort of battering. All the scrubbing at work had ruined my poor hands and I had a big dance coming up where I really wanted to look my best. I was beginning to wonder if the gods had it in for me.
I was sunk in a funk when Maggie brought my tea and another cup for herself. She also had a plate with four digestive biscuits arranged on it. Whoever supplied her seemed to have no trouble getting sugar, biscuits and some of the other finer things in life, like cocoa powder for making chocolate sponges.
‘Wotcha, Zelda. You looked like you could get under a snake’s belly with a top hat on just then. You all right, love?’
I outlined my week, although I didn’t trouble to tell her about Charlie. A person had her pride.
‘And they say it’s dodgy round here!’ she said. ‘Have you got any ideas about who’s got it in for Miss Makepeace?’
Bert’s voice came from the kitchen: ‘What? Is somebody troubling Miss Makepeace? What’s the problem?’ And he appeared, unshaven and looking even more like Bogey than usual.
I have to admit, my heart leapt at the sight of him; then I remembered, he was not Humphrey Bogart and he was a married man. Married, I might add, to a very nice woman. So I instructed myself to take a firm hold of all such ideas and banish the buggers. There’s right, and there’s not right, and lusting after somebody else’s husband was not right in my book. So I took a mental cold shower and I explained it all again.
‘Are you sure you’re all right now, love?’ Maggie asked, concerned. ‘It all sounds very nasty.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I assured them.
‘Still, we can’t have Miss Makepeace being terrorized,’ Bert said. ‘She helps a lot of people, me included. That cream of hers works wonders when my lumbago’s playing up. Who do you think’s behind it?’
I said I had my suspicions about a certain mother and son, but couldn’t prove anything, and when all was said and done, it could be anybody. ‘Not that most people have anything to be snotty about. I mean, Zinnia can be a bit blunt sometimes, but there’s hardly a soul in our neck of the woods who hasn’t got reason to thank her.’
Just then, Cassie stuck her head round the door, said ‘Hello’ to us all and asked if anyone had seen someone called Sharky. Maggie and Bert said they hadn’t. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Tell him I’m looking for him, will you?’ And then she was gone again.
‘How’s she doing?’ I asked.
‘Not used to the idea of motherhood yet: nowhere near, I reckon, but becoming resigned to the fact that there’s bugger all she can do about it.’ Maggie smiled ruefully, then brightened. ‘How about reading my tea leaves? While it’s quiet.’ This was Bert’s cue to get back to his kitchen, and Maggie and I settled down for some fortune telling.
First I asked Maggie to swirl the dregs of her tea and the leaves around in her cup three times clockwise, three times widdershins and three times clockwise again. I’m never sure if all that twirling is necessary, but it helps to set the mood, and it’s what you might call a spot of ritual. It never does any harm to set the scene, is what I always say. Then I gazed deep into the cup. To be honest, all I usually see when I do that is a load of soggy tea leaves and maybe, after sugar rationing was over, some sugary sludge. In the war, sugar was far too precious to waste, so people stirred thoroughly and there was never the slightest hint of sludge.
Sometimes, though, very, very occasionally, the leaves do seem to form patterns. I won’t say I see a dog shape when some poor bugger’s about to be bitten by a pooch, or anything like that. It’s more that I sort of sink into the patterns and thoughts begin to form and words pop out of my mouth. I’m as surprised as anyone, take my word for it! Usually, though, I just tell people what I reckon they want to hear, and it seems to make ’em happy.
I have found, all my life, that my ‘funny turns’, as the family used to call them, come in patches. I have periods when I am dreaming twice nightly and seeing things in the cards, tea leaves and palms that are thrust under my nose. Sometimes these periods go on for days, weeks, even months. Then they disappear as mysteriously as they arrive and my dreams become just dreams and palms are simply sweaty objects for fingers to be attached to. Two things I have noticed, though, are that these turns usually coincide with tricky periods in my own life, and that I am totally useless at predicting things for myself. If I try, I am usually completely and utterly wrong, so I gave it up as a bad job years ago.
So there I was, staring into Maggie’s cup when the patterns began to form and my mind went to another place.
‘Oh Maggie,’ I said. ‘I see a terrible sadness.’ My voice seemed to be coming from far off. ‘There’s a big hole in your life, like a terrible wound that won’t heal.’ I paused for a while, feeling the yawning, painful gap as if it was at my own centre, then peered into the hole and saw a barren place. I waited for the pattern to re-form. Then I saw babies, loads of babies all floating about like so many little ghosts. But they weren’t ghosts. Somehow I knew that they were sort of babies-in-waiting. A flickering movement made me turn my gaze away from them and towards a group of people standing around. Some were waiting hopefully, others had a sense of dread about them. And the rest? Well, they just seemed to be hanging about to see what was going to happen next.
One by one, the babies floated over to a couple, or occasionally to a lone woman, and then the little family would disappear silently, like a bubble that’s burst. This happened until all the babies had gone. But not all the people had gone with them: some were left waiting. One couple didn’t seem to belong in either group, but were stuck out on their own. I looked closer, knowing what I was going to see, and sure enough, the couple were Maggie and Bert.
I looked up to see Maggie’s face looking concerned. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You went into a trance and I thought you was never coming back. Here, have a sip of tea. What on earth did you see?’
I thought about it for a good long time before I decided what to say and how to say it. In the end, I thought I owed the woman the truth: to tell her what I saw but not to pretend that I knew what it all meant. I felt my way gently, ready to back up if she looked as if she couldn’t take it. ‘I saw your great sadness, Maggie. You want a baby badly, you and Bert both.’ I stopped as I saw tears well up and crumples appear on the sweet face opposite me. I reached out and patted her hand and her fingers closed round mine. We sat like that for a while.
Then she squeezed my hand hard, but didn’t let go. ‘And?’
‘Are you sure, love?’ I asked. She nodded and squeezed again. So I told her everything. ‘I don’t know what the last bit means, Maggie.’ I paused, then stressed what I said next. ‘I’m only guessing, mind. You must understand that.’
Once again she nodded.
‘Well, what I think it could mean is that although you’re not going to actually have a baby of your own, you will have a lot to do with them, or with one at least. I’m not sure which. What I am sure of is that you will never give birth.’
And then I burst into tears and Maggie joined in and pretty soon we were awash. I had no idea why I was crying, but I was heartbroken as I sat there sobbing. Maybe I was thinking about my own baby, the one that Charlie had hurt.
Finally, a new voice broke into our weeping and wailing. ‘Come on, girls,’ it said, ‘it ain’t that bad, surely.’
Bert’s voice floated out from the kitchen. ‘Wotcha, Sharky. Don’t worry about the sob sisters too much. There are times when women enjoy a good cry. I’ve noticed that. A cup of tea will set ’em right.’ And he appeared with a tray of fresh teas and some slices of Victoria sponge. Where did those buggers get their supplies from? That’s what I wanted to know.
I dabbed with my hanky, Maggie did the same, and pretty soon we were more or less back to normal and I was able to take in the newcomer. I suppose he must have been in his thirties. He had thick blond hair, neatly cut, and was wea
ring a smart business suit. He smiled and held out his hand to me, but looked at Maggie. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?’ he said.
‘This is Zelda.’ Maggie turned to me. ‘This here is Sharky Finn. Watch him: he’s a one for the ladies, a smooth talker, you see, on account of being a lawyer.’
‘Yes,’ said Bert. ‘It ought to be on his name-plate: “Sharky Finn, Lawyer to the Bent and Scourge of the Ladies.”
‘Cassie’s looking for you. She stuck her head in earlier,’ he said to Sharky.
‘It’s slander, Zelda, all of it.’ He smiled a brilliant smile that could blind at a hundred paces. ‘What did Cassie want, Bert? Did she say?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ah well, I dare say it can wait, then. So, Zelda. Tell me all about yourself. I bet you’re a fascinating girl.’
‘And a married one,’ Maggie said heavily.
‘Life’s rarely perfect, Maggie dear. You know that. We simply have to make do with things as we find them. I am prepared to be bewitched, Zelda. Dazzle me.’ He leaned back comfortably in his seat, smiled another wide smile and lit a huge cigar.
Luckily, just at that moment, Tony arrived and saved me from having to answer or be bewitching. After a bit of prompting he mumbled shyly that his lesson had been ‘All right.’ Which I suppose was the best I could hope for in front of so many strangers.
‘Zelda here was telling us that Miss Makepeace is having trouble, Sharky,’ Bert said. ‘Someone seems to have it in for her.’
Sharky Finn stopped grinning immediately and a steely glint replaced the twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
‘What do you mean by “trouble”?’ he demanded, first looking at Bert then at me, all signs of the playful flirt gone.
I explained what had been happening, while trying to ignore Tony’s fidgeting beside me.
‘And you’ve no idea who is behind these things?’ Mr Finn asked. ‘Or why the trouble has started up now?’
‘No, not really. There’s one or two who might hold a grudge but not enough of a grudge to turn nasty, as far as I know,’ I explained. Why had Zinnia never mentioned her connection with these people until Tony had needed singing lessons? She obviously knew this strange lawyer, and he her, judging by his interest. But then, she’d only let on at all because she had to, and she’d hardly been what you might call forthcoming on the subject. She kept her secrets closer to her chest than her bleeding vest, that one.