A Daughter's Choice

by June Francis

  Thursday came. ‘You’d think she was a widow at a husband’s funeral feast,’ said Mrs Evans, from her position near the Aladdin paraffin heater in the shop. ‘All dressed up like a dog’s dinner.’

  ‘Black suits her now she’s blonde, you have to admit that,’ said Katherine reluctantly. She didn’t know what had got into her mother lately. She was changing and Katherine sometimes didn’t know where she was with her.

  ‘She was all right when she was that reddish colour. She’s gone flighty since she’s become a blonde,’ commented Mrs Evans.

  Perhaps that was it? thought Katherine. Now she had a flighty mother instead of a nervous one!

  Patrick breezed in but his smile quickly faded. ‘You’re not ready!’

  ‘Celia’s had to go to a funeral,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘Damn!’ He rested both elbows on the counter and looked straight into her eyes and she felt a flutter in the region of her heart.

  ‘Less of that language, young man,’ said Mrs Evans from her chair.

  ‘Sorry.’ He straightened up before facing her and saying in wheedling tones, ‘Couldn’t you mind the shop?’

  ‘No, I could not! That’s what I pay Katherine for.’

  ‘Couldn’t I pay you then to play out so we can be alone?’

  A quiver raced across Mrs Evans’s face. ‘That’s impudence, young man! But if you could buy me a new pair of knees I’d take you up on the offer. I was young myself once.’

  ‘My gran has bad knees,’ he said conversationally. ‘She reckons it was all the scrubbing she did years ago.’ He turned back to Katherine. ‘So when?’ he said softly.

  Before she could answer a man entered the shop and asked for rabbit food. Patrick moved away from the counter and went over to the cage where several budgies were making a fair old racket. When the man left, Patrick went back to Katie. ‘Well?’

  ‘Shop closes on Wednesday. We’ll go out then.’ She kissed a couple of fingers and pressed them against his mouth. He took hold of her hand and kissed its palm a dozen times. Katherine found that really sensual and romantic and looked at him with stars in her eyes. He seemed about to say something more when another customer entered. ‘This is hopeless,’ he whispered. ‘Wednesday it is! See you then, love of my life.’

  She stared after him, wanting to be with him, and was annoyed with Celia for having to choose today for supposedly going to a funeral. A man! she would bet. There was definitely a man on the scene somewhere.

  Celia stood on the edge of the gathering which had just emerged from St Oswald’s Church and shivered in the cold wind that blew across the gravestones. Her faith was a simple one taught her in elementary school and by her grandmother who had taken her along to church when the mood took her. The service had been a Requiem Mass and Celia had quite enjoyed the solemnity and ritual despite not understanding the Latin bits. She had sat at the back near the aisle, having decided that was the best place to be noticed, and sure enough Andy had seen her as he followed the coffin out of church. His astonished smile had been worth all the expense of her new clothes.

  The mourners started to make their way to the church gateway and suddenly there was Andy in front of her, dressed in a black pin-stripe suit. ‘Celia! I’m so pleased you’ve come.’

  She beamed at him. ‘I saw it in the Echo. I had to come and say I’m sorry about your sister.’

  His smile was replaced by a more sombre expression. ‘It was so sudden. You do understand that was why I wasn’t at the meeting place? It happened that evening, would you believe! You will forgive me?’ He had taken one of her black leather-gloved hands in his and was pressing it gently.

  She was thrilled by his touch. ‘Of course I will! I was just worried you might have had an accident.’

  ‘It’s nice to have you worrying about me. You’ll come back and have a glass of sherry and a bite to eat?’

  ‘If you want me to. Although I won’t know anyone.’ She gazed anxiously up into his ruddy face.

  ‘You know me and that’s the important thing. The rest don’t matter. Unfortunately this graveyard’s full so we have to go to the Yew Tree cemetery first. I’ll see you into one of the cars.’

  He did just that, squeezing her in with two middle-aged women and an elderly aunt who snuffled and blew her nose all the way to the cemetery and on the return journey to Prescot Road.

  Celia had been astonished when she had read where Andy lived. She had not expected a man of his stature to live in a flat above a shop but that was forgotten when she set foot inside Pritchard’s Toy Emporium. Even now a toy shop was a wonderland to her. The joy of playing with toys was something she had missed out on. Her mother had considered them a waste of money and her grandmother had always been instructed to buy her shoes or clothes instead. Now here was this magical place crammed with so many beautiful playthings.

  She would have liked to linger but instead had to go upstairs which was very different altogether. It was as if time had passed it by. The windows were curtained in heavy green velvet and the net runners were lace-edged. The furniture was dark and heavy; Celia reckoned it was mostly good stuff but pre-Great War. The gloominess of the room was exaggerated by every mirror being draped in black crêpe.

  Andy left her sitting in a chair while he went to get her a drink. She gazed into the fire, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye in case they should come up and talk to her. For some reason she was nervous about explaining how she came to be there and who she was. But she was not to be left alone.

  ‘Hello! I’m Dolly from next door. You look lonely sitting here all on your own,’ piped up a voice at her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, no! I’m fine,’ stammered Celia, gazing at the bright-eyed, elderly woman hovering beside her chair. She rose to her feet. ‘I was just having a warm because it was a bit cold in the graveyard. Please, have my seat.’

  ‘That’s kind of you.’ Dolly sat in the chair and stretched her lisle-stockinged legs towards the fire. ‘I think we’re in for more bad weather.’ She held her head to one side. ‘Family, are you?’

  ‘No, friend,’ said Celia swiftly, and could have bitten off her tongue. She was at least twenty years too young to be one of Ethel’s friends.

  But the woman smiled. ‘Used to come in the shop years ago as a nipper, I suppose? Left the area but still come here for your children’s toys?’

  Celia did not know how to answer that without having to think up another reason for her being there so just smiled as if in agreement.

  ‘You’ve probably been in my shop,’ said Dolly. ‘All the kids came in my shop for a penny bag of mixtures before the war. My mam was in charge then.’ She looked up at Celia. ‘What were your favourites?’

  ‘My f-favourites?’ she stammered.

  ‘Your favourite sweets?’ Dolly’s tone was encouraging.

  Celia said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Cherry lips! And those violet-flavoured ones that made your breath smell nice.’

  ‘Nice to be kissed,’ said Dolly, and winked.

  Andy approached with two glasses in his hands. ‘I see you’re keeping Miss Mcdonald company, Dolly?’

  ‘Miss?’ Dolly chortled. ‘And there was me giving her a husband and a handful of kids. I thought she was one of those mothers that comes back.’

  Celia smiled but let him carry on speaking. ‘Ethel and I met Miss Mcdonald in Southport. She, like us, had been going there for years, staying at the same hotel,’ he explained.

  Dolly’s bright eyes went from one to the other of them. ‘How nice for you both,’ she said, in a way that made Celia feel hot all of a sudden.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Andy, smiling. He touched Celia’s hand. ‘You’ll have to excuse me a moment. There are people I have to speak to. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come? I don’t want to be in the way,’ she said hurriedly.

  ‘Don’t you dare disappear!’ He looked alarmed. ‘You stay right there and don’t let Dolly play tw
enty questions with you.’ He moved away.

  Celia looked at Dolly apprehensively and took a large sip of sherry to brace herself.

  ‘So will we be seeing more of you round here, Miss Mcdonald?’ she asked.

  ‘Maybe!’ Celia’s tone was bright and there was a flush on her cheeks as she took another sip of her sherry. ‘Tell me, Dolly – I hope you don’t mind me calling you Dolly? – is it any business of yours?’

  Dolly’s mouth closed like a clam and Celia drained the sherry glass and moved away, feeling slightly ashamed of herself for being so rude. She did not know quite what to do with herself and wandered over to the window where she tried to peep out but the nets deterred her from doing so. She was just starting to think about leaving when Andy came up to her.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you but I’m sure you know how it is.’ He took hold of both her hands and inclined his handsome head towards her. ‘I’m going to be tied up for the next few days. Paperwork, you know, and getting rid of things. Ethel was a hoarder. I’m not looking forward to it at all.’ He sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  ‘Perhaps I could help there?’ she suggested eagerly.

  His face brightened. ‘You are an angel! Perhaps you could come on Wednesday afternoon? The shop’ll be closed then.’

  Celia hesitated because she had promised to take Mrs Evans to Southport that afternoon. Then she decided he needed her more, and after all she could always fall back on Katherine to look after the old woman.

  ‘Me?’ said Katherine the following Tuesday when they were feeding the pets and Celia mentioned the matter. ‘I can’t! I’m going out with Patrick. I let him down last week because you went to that funeral. I can’t do it again.’

  ‘But this is important,’ said Celia crossly. ‘It’s not often I go out and I can only meet this – this other old friend I met at the funeral tomorrow afternoon because it’s hi— her day off.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to get in touch with them and cancel.’ Katherine folded her arms, her expression decisive.

  ‘I can’t do that!’ cried Celia.

  ‘If you can’t, then tell Mrs Evans you can’t take her to the pantomime in Southport. And by the way, Mr Jones called and said if you wanted to quit your cleaning job, he could put a word in for you at Bibby’s. We had a nice little chat.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘You didn’t tell me you’ve been to his house? Donny was full of it! They were both really interested when I told them we’d worked in hotels.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him the truth about the family at the Arcadia?’ said Celia, alarmed.

  ‘Why not?’ said Katherine defiantly. ‘He was very sympathetic and understands why I can’t produce a reference. People always think if you can’t produce one it could be because you’re a thief. Well, I’m not dishonest and I wanted him to know that. He’s a nice man and I trust him.’

  Celia had paled, remembering what she had said to them about her supposed husband’s death. ‘You really told him everything? Good God! You’ll be telling Mrs Evans next and then we’ll never hear the end of it. I feel so ashamed. What must he think of me?’

  Katherine shrugged. ‘He said these things happen in war and I bet Mrs Evans would say the same. She’s not all that strait-laced. She has a sense of humour and is more tolerant than you think.’

  Celia shook her head and gnawed on her lip, wiping a rabbit’s head absently with a cloth. ‘It’s easy for you to say that but there’s lots of people who would think I was dirty and spoilt goods.’ She began to tremble. ‘You’ve no idea how it felt when I first started showing and had to try and disguise it.’ Her hands shook.

  Katherine took the cloth from her and put it on the counter. ‘I understand,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’d never done it before,’ said Celia, flushing. ‘We just got carried away. It’s easier than you think, so you be careful with that Patrick. Have you told him?’

  ‘Not yet. Although he knows I used to live at the Arcadia. But I will tell him.’

  Celia closed her eyes tightly before opening them again and blinking. ‘Do you have to be so honest with everyone?’

  ‘I do with Patrick,’ said Katherine firmly. ‘But it’s getting to be alone with him that’s the problem.’

  Celia sighed. ‘You’re too trusting. Just like me.’

  Katherine said nothing. She could not see that she was like her mother in any shape or form. Perhaps Celia’s trouble came from never having trusted the family at the Arcadia with the name of the real father. She knew they would still have helped her. It was in their nature to care for people. There was an ache inside her still when she thought of them. She wanted to see them again but in the meantime there was Celia’s problem.

  ‘What are you going to do about seeing your friend?’

  Her mother’s expression hardened. ‘You don’t have to worry about me! I’ll sort it out. You just get on with your own life and leave me to get on with mine.’

  ‘OK,’ said Katherine, shrugging. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’ She reached for some millet sprays and got on with tending the budgies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘There’s that woman!’ hissed Dolly. ‘That colour’s not real.’

  ‘What colour? What woman?’ said Vicky, coaxing a curl into place so that it nestled against her cheek. She had finished the night shift and was meeting Jack in town. They were going for a drink at the Grapes and then on to the Cavern.

  ‘That Miss Mcdonald! The one I told you about who came to the funeral.’

  Vicky put down the comb and went over to the window.

  ‘You won’t see her now, he’s let her in. Nice goings on, I must say!’ Dolly wobbled her chin, wishing her bottom teeth would stay put. ‘Who’s to know what they’ll get up to inside there?’ she mumbled, and pressed her teeth back into place, allowing the net curtain to drop before sitting in her armchair and picking up her by now luke-warm cup of tea.

  ‘You shouldn’t be so nosy.’

  ‘He said he met her in a hotel in Southport. I’d like to know what kind of hotel that was! You hear about these places,’ said Dolly with relish.

  ‘What places?’ said Vicky, trying to keep her cool, remembering how Jack had explained his reasons for being in this part of Liverpool. He had asked her to keep her eyes and ears open for just such a woman.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Dolly, who strangely enough had always tried to keep her only daughter ignorant of certain ways of the world, despite knowing she was bound to learn a thing or two nursing. ‘Where are you going, miss?’

  ‘I told you.’ Vicky glanced in her direction and smiled. ‘And you’re not to start asking questions as soon as I get home. I’ll bring him in when I’m ready.’

  ‘If I’d dared to speak to my mother like that, I’d have got the strap! You haven’t even told me his name!’ Dolly’s tone was scandalised.

  Vicky shrugged on a green coat with black piping round the collar and hem. ‘It’s a plain honest to goodness name: Jack. I like it.’

  ‘Jack and the bean stalk and Jack and Jill went up the hill,’ mumbled Dolly, peering out of the window again. ‘It’s a nursery rhyme name. She’s still in there! Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick!’

  ‘Your memory, Mother. And give them a chance. She’s only had time to take off her coat.’ She picked up a black patent leather handbag and pulled on a pair of gloves. ‘I’m going. I’ve got my key, don’t wait up.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Dolly. But they both knew she would.

  Celia gazed round the bedroom with its floral wallpaper and wished she had kept her coat on. It was cold in here, unlike the living room where Andy was doing some paperwork. It was her own fault for landing herself with the task in hand. First she had apologised about tomorrow and then she had volunteered to clear his sister’s room for him this evening. He had instantly taken her up on her offer and she could see why. The place was a mess, as if someone had
been searching for something. He had suggested that when they had both finished, they could go out for a drink.

  She squared her shoulders and opened the wardrobe door and was immediately assailed by a strong smell of mothballs. She coughed as the smell caught her by the throat but set to work emptying everything out. As she did so she dreamt of the moment when Andy would ask her to be his wife. Then she would do over this flat, which was larger than the rooms over the pet shop and had an upstairs lavatory. They would run the toyshop together! She was already looking forward to meeting mums and children and being accepted as the owner’s wife. The only trouble was Katherine. It was Celia’s dream of being Andy’s wife which had caused her to keep silent about her daughter. There could be no pretending to be a widow in this case because she was pretty certain that widows who remarried had to produce some sort of evidence to prove their previous husband dead. That was really thinking ahead, she thought proudly – but Kitty could have told her that even the best laid plans can go awry.

  When Celia had boxed and bagged all Ethel’s clothes, Andy took her to the Cygnet pub and soon they were settled in a corner of the lounge with drinks in front of them. ‘I’m thinking of getting rid of the toys,’ he said without preamble.

  Celia stared at him in dismay. ‘Why? It’s a lovely shop! A real Aladdin’s cave of wonderful things for children.’

  ‘I don’t like children. Never have.’

  That was a disappointment. Celia would have liked one more go at having another child before it was too late. Still, a woman her age couldn’t have everything.

  He sipped his whisky. ‘I’m going to turn it into a bicycle shop. That’s more your man’s kind of thing. There used to be a good one round here. The bloke had a penny farthing on display. I’ve never forgotten that.’

  ‘But can you change what you’re selling?’ asked Celia, forcing a laugh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Turn it into a different kind of shop. Isn’t there something in the deeds that says you can only sell certain kinds of things?’

  He stared at her blankly and for the first time she noticed how protuberant his eyes were. ‘What do you know about deeds? Women shouldn’t be filling their heads worrying about such things.’