Better Days Will Come

by Pam Weaver

  Rita had to get rid of her bags before she went to the Railway Café to help out in the kitchen and if she didn’t hurry she’d be late. Fumbling with the key, Rita opened the door and threw her bags onto the chair as the clock Salvatore and Liliana had given them as a wedding present chimed seven.

  ‘Emilio?’ She didn’t really expect anyone to answer because the house was in darkness but she called all the same. Most likely her husband had already gone fishing.

  There was a loud thud in the bedroom, as if a boot had fallen onto the floor.

  ‘Emilio?’

  ‘Hullo,’ came the reply. She thought she could hear him scrambling out of bed. What was he doing?

  ‘Aren’t you going fishing tonight?’

  As she walked towards the door Emilio called, ‘I must have dozed off. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  ‘Are you all right? You’re not ill, are you?’

  ‘No, darling. I just ’aving a kip, that’s all.’

  Rita frowned. It wasn’t like Emilio to be in bed at this time. There must be something wrong. As she put her hand on the door handle, it flew open. Emilio, still pulling on his trousers, came out.

  ‘No worry, darling,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

  She stared at him wide-eyed. He was so handsome. His thick dark hair flopped over his forehead and his dark brown eyes twinkled. She still couldn’t quite believe he’d actually married her. What a pity that … but she wasn’t going to think about that. Not today. Not on her birthday, and not when she’d had such a lovely time looking around the shops, and buying a dress with the money he’d given her and then going to the pictures. She kissed his cheek.

  ‘Can I show you what I bought?’

  He kissed the end of her nose and chuckled. ‘You’d better go, you’ll be late.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Later, darling. Salvatore, he get worked up.’ He laughed as he held her away from him. ‘But you no work there much longer, eh? Soon you conducting on the bus.’

  Rita chuckled. ‘I’ll be a bus conductress,’ she corrected as she reluctantly turned to go.

  Back out in the street, Rita carried on down the road and turned the corner. Pointless in hurrying now. She was already late.

  Her marriage hadn’t turned out to be as wonderful as she had expected. It was all very upsetting and frustrating, yet what could she do? Emilio was older than her, but it was obvious that he wasn’t as experienced as some. Give him time, that’s what she must do.

  The café was in darkness when she got there, so she went around the back. As she walked into the kitchen she was surprised to find it empty. Salvatore had been so insistent that he’d needed help for some big do he was having tomorrow, which was why she had come. So where were they?

  Rita made her way cautiously into the café and turned on the lights. All at once a great cry went up and it seemed as if half the street was crowded in the café. All around she heard cries of ‘Happy birthday’, and ‘All the best, Rita.’ Then Manny Hart started up ‘Happy birthday’ on his mouth organ and Liliana came out of the kitchen with a cake. Totally overwhelmed, Rita waved and smiled. Although she still missed her mother and Bonnie, she was the luckiest person in the world to have such good friends and neighbours.

  Some gave her presents. Mrs Oakley gave her some Coty L’Aimant from the chemist, Manny Hart gave her a block of Cadbury’s Milk Tray with coffee cream, almond whirl and her favourite, marzipan diamond. Elsie Dawson gave her a box of hankies.

  ‘What film did you see?’ her daughter Mo wanted to know.

  Rita clasped her hands in front of her in a theatrical fashion. ‘C’est grand, c’est magnifique,’ she said, quoting the cinema trailer. ‘Doris Day in April in Paris.’

  ‘Good?’ Mo asked.

  ‘Wonderful,’ sighed Rita. ‘And her dresses were out of this world.’

  Elsie looked a little more serious. ‘Why didn’t you wait for the evening performance and go with your husband?’

  ‘I couldn’t have made eyes at Claude Dauphin if I had,’ Rita quipped.

  No one understood how impossible it was to go out with Emilio, even on her birthday. He was always fishing. He was quite easygoing about what she did with her life, but he rarely took her anywhere. She thought back wistfully to the invitation to the dance Bob had given her. She would have loved that.

  For the next few moments, Salvatore Semadini’s booming voice filled the room as he gathered his nephew’s wife into his arms and kissed her cheek noisily. ‘’Appy birthday.’

  Liliana came up behind him and slapped his arm heartily. ‘Move over, Salvatore, and let Mama kiss the birthday girl.’ She had been cutting the huge chocolate cake and now everyone was helping themselves. Liliana kissed Rita on both cheeks.

  ‘You two spoil me,’ said Rita, eyeing the cake.

  Salvatore laughed heartily. ‘And where is Emilio? Where is my nephew?’

  As if on cue, Emilio walked into the room accompanied by much backslapping and handshaking from the other neighbours and friends. Rita smiled at his handsome face. Yes, she was a lucky, lucky girl. She was aware that just about every woman in the room was staring at him. They all wanted Emilio but he was hers. He was so good looking. Under his thick winter coat he was wearing a crisp white shirt open at the neck. The top of his vest was showing, the hairs on his muscular chest curling attractively around the crucifix he always wore. He came over to her and, slipping his arm around her waist, nuzzled her neck. Rita arched her back and closed her eyes, her heart pounding so loudly she feared everyone in the room would hear it.

  ‘Happy birthday, darling.’

  She didn’t want him to stop but he stepped back and held out a long box with a tiny gold clasp. Inside was a double row of pearls. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers as he turned her around and put them on her neck.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ she whispered.

  ‘And so are you …’

  All other activity in the café had come to a halt as everyone applauded the happy couple. Rita fingered the pearls and smiled up at her husband, her eyes saying kiss me, kiss me.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered into Emilio’s shirt.

  She felt him stiffen. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘So soon?’ she pleaded. ‘It is my birthday.’

  He caught hold of the tops of her arms and gently pulled away from her. ‘Sorry, darling. The fish … you understand.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, her voice small. ‘But we will talk tomorrow, won’t we?’

  He shrugged in the same exaggerated way Salvatore did. ‘Of course.’ And then he was gone. Rita stared at the closing door, tears biting the backs of her eyes.

  Thirty

  When Grace opened her front door a couple of days later, all the awkwardness she felt about Archie fell away and she burst out laughing. He stood there in his leather apron, motorcycle gauntlets and a beekeeper’s hat complete with a black net over his face. He was carrying a bucket in one hand and a mousetrap in the other. ‘I was a Boy Scout,’ he announced. ‘And they taught me to be prepared.’

  It was the first bit of light relief Grace had had in a long time. She hauled him inside before the neighbours reached for their net curtains.

  Grace had tried to get a card to Rita for her birthday but it had just come back in the post the next day with ‘Return to sender, not known here’ on the envelope. She was dreadfully hurt, but what more could she do? And dear Archie had made her smile again.

  As soon as Snowy arrived with her cat in a cat basket, they went upstairs. They blocked the door and shut the windows before opening the cavity under the window ledge. It was alive with mice and the next few minutes were a frenzy of jumping, shrieking, banging the floor with the motorcycle gauntlet and shouting instructions at the bemused cat. When it was all over, all the mice had gone … somewhere, but not one had been trapped, caught or killed. The three of them sat on Bonnie’s bed and laughed. The cat stretched itself and began washing its paws furiously.


  ‘Some mice catchers we are,’ laughed Grace.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Snowy, pretending to be indignant. ‘We could set ourselves up in business. They’ve all gone, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but where?’ said Grace, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.

  ‘Some of them will be back, no doubt,’ said Archie. ‘I’ll put down some mouse traps and try and block off this cavity.’ He was leaning over and peering inside. ‘There’s something in here.’ He gave it a yank and pulled out what had once been a man’s mackintosh. It was half eaten and stank to high heaven. ‘Who does that belong to?’

  Grace shrugged. ‘Search me. Anything in the pockets?’

  Archie put his hand inside gingerly but where the pockets remained intact there were only mouse droppings.

  ‘There’s a case in there too,’ said Grace. ‘Look.’

  The case was stained but seemed undamaged. The mice had made an attempt to get inside but fortunately they had chosen to chew the reinforced corner. Grace tried to open it but it was locked.

  ‘Who does it belong to?’ asked Snowy.

  Grace shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

  While Archie attempted to prise it open using a screwdriver, Grace ran downstairs and got some newspaper. They laid it on the bed. Archie hesitated. ‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’

  Grace looked at Snowy. ‘I think we should,’ Snowy said. ‘If not for anything else but to put your mind at rest.’ Then Archie threw back the lid and they all looked inside.

  There were men’s clothes on the top. And papers.

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Snowy eventually. ‘I recognise that shirt. I think this case belongs to George Matthews.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’ cried Grace.

  ‘I sewed that button on for him,’ said Snowy. ‘I did it one day at the factory in the lunch hour. I only had brown cotton.’

  ‘Who is George Matthews?’ asked Archie.

  ‘He was the chap who was found dead in the old factory,’ said Snowy. ‘You remember, it was in all the papers.’

  Archie nodded. ‘So what’s his suitcase doing here?’

  They looked at Grace. Her face was white. Snowy squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t go jumping to conclusions,’ she said softly. ‘There’s probably a perfectly logical explanation.’

  ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ said Archie. Gratefully, Grace left them to it and went downstairs. If she had been alone, she would have taken the case to the allotments at West Tarring and got someone to set fire to the lot. She wouldn’t have bothered to look any further. She was numb with fear as she prepared the tea.

  When she got back upstairs, Archie had sorted everything into two piles on the bed. George’s clothes and personal effects, such as his shaving things, a jar of Brylcreem, his toothbrush and hairbrush were on one side. On the second pile, he’d put things like his passport, a couple of letters, a photograph and some papers.

  Grace handed them their teas and sat down at the other end of the bed.

  ‘It looks as if he was about to go to South Africa,’ said Archie. ‘There are quite a lot of pamphlets here. This is his passport,’ he went on, handing it to Grace, ‘but I’ve no idea who this is.’ He was holding a picture of a man in SS uniform. There was also a letter.

  ‘That’s written in German, isn’t it?’ whispered Grace.

  Archie nodded.

  ‘Can you read it?’

  He shook his head.

  Snowy had been reading some of the papers stuffed into a long brown envelope. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of this either but it looks like some sort of job offer.’

  They fell silent for a minute, each lost to his or her own thoughts.

  ‘We should hand this in to the police,’ said Snowy.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the police,’ said Grace. ‘I can’t. What if Bonnie was involved in some way?’

  ‘I think you have to take it to the police,’ said Archie. ‘If Bonnie was involved, she wouldn’t have left all this stuff here. She would have burnt it.’

  Grace nodded. What they said sounded logical but she still wasn’t keen. ‘Isn’t his father in town?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Snowy. ‘I saw it in the papers. He wants his son re-interred. He was upset that he’s been put in a pauper’s grave.’

  ‘I think I’ll take it to him,’ said Grace. They put everything back into the case and it was agreed that Grace should look through everything carefully to familiarise herself with the papers and then go to see George’s father. Archie offered to come with her but Grace felt this was something she had to do on her own. He seemed a little put out, but she couldn’t help that. It was time she took control of her life instead of just letting things happen.

  Snowy accepted Grace’s invitation to stay for some cheese on toast for lunch, but Archie said he had to get back to the shop.

  ‘How’s Dougie doing?’ Grace asked as he was going. She remembered how excited Dougie had been to get a job, something which no one in the street would ever have predicted.

  ‘Actually, he does very well,’ said Archie. ‘He keeps everything in the shop clean and tidy and I’ve been teaching him how to re-cane chair seats. He can prepare the canes, and he knows how to whittle down the ends. He’s slow but he’s very thorough especially when it comes to cleaning up the chair properly. He’s even had a couple of goes at weaving. He’s not up to my standard yet, but he’ll get there.’

  ‘He’s lucky you’ve got the patience,’ Snowy observed.

  ‘And that Gracie saw his potential,’ said Archie, squeezing Grace’s fingers.

  Grace saw him to the door and then went back upstairs to the bedroom where Snowy was still tidying everything away. ‘Had any more trouble with His Nibs?’ she asked as she and Grace closed the lid and pressed down hard to lock it.

  ‘If you mean Norris, no,’ said Grace.

  ‘I’m pretty sure he’s after Polly now,’ said Snowy. ‘Bloody lecher. She’s young enough to be his daughter.’

  As the two women went downstairs, the cat jumped onto the bed. After all the activity of the morning, she seemed glad of the little bit of peace and quiet.

  With Dinah’s birthday coming up, Bonnie agreed to meet John to help him choose a present. Having missed Rita’s birthday yet again, Bonnie was only too pleased to help him. They spent an afternoon looking around Kingston and eventually settled on a butterfly necklace on a silver chain. They bought it in H. Samuels, John joking that his father would be pleased because he had recently bought some shares when the company was successfully floated on the stock exchange.

  ‘Fancy some tea in Bentalls?’

  ‘Why not,’ said Bonnie. This would be the ideal opportunity to talk to John about their mother.

  They sat at a table near the window and enjoyed the view. The waitress brought them tea and a tray of sandwiches with the promise of cake to follow. Bonnie loved the daintiness of it all. John was obviously feeling a bit hungry and complained that the sandwiches were ‘far too titchy for a man’.

  ‘John,’ she began cautiously. ‘Can I ask you something about your family?’

  ‘My family?’ He sounded surprised. ‘Nothing much to say really. Like I told you, there’s only me and my parents left now. I had an uncle but he died before I was born and my grandfather died soon after. Apparently my grandmother was never the same after that but I don’t remember much about her. Why?

  ‘Just curious,’ Bonnie smiled. ‘Do you and your parents get on well together?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t get on too well with my father but my mother is a sweetie. No matter what’s going on around her, she’s always so calm. She paints and she does this incredible embroidery. I suppose she’s what you might call creative. It must be in the blood. Are we shaped by nature or nurture?’

  Bonnie must have looked uncomfortable because he frowned. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re about to say something awful?’

  ‘Not aw
ful,’ she said, ‘but I think it may be a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Go on …’

  Bonnie decided that the best thing was to be direct. ‘John, I’ve found out that you’re adopted.’

  He laughed but she didn’t return his laughter. ‘You’re serious.’

  She nodded and he looked away. Bonnie could feel the tension between them. ‘No one ever told you?’

  He shook his head. ‘If this is true then my whole bloody life has been a lie.’

  Bonnie was appalled. She’d never expected this kind of reaction. ‘Please don’t say that, John,’ she began again. ‘If they didn’t tell you, they must have had their reasons.’

  ‘What bloody reasons!’ His expression was a mixture of anger, hurt and bewilderment. She felt terrible. She never should have started this. She should have waited until Dinah was around.

  ‘How the devil do you know so much about me and my family?’ His voice had an edge to it. ‘Have you been snooping into my private affairs?’

  Embarrassed, Bonnie looked around. ‘This is difficult for me too,’ said Bonnie. ‘Apparently your private affairs are mine as well.’

  A couple of women were watching them, but everyone else seemed to be making a deliberate attempt not to notice them at all. The dead give-away was the fact that all other conversation in the restaurant had died.

  ‘Perhaps this isn’t the best place to deal with this,’ she apologised. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up.’

  ‘You can’t stop now,’ he challenged. ‘What exactly are we talking about, Bonnie?’

  Bonnie put her hand to her mouth. ‘I’ve upset you …’ she began.

  ‘Too right you have,’ said John. ‘But I want to know why we’re having this conversation. What has my adoption got to do with you?’

  The waitress came back with the cake tier. ‘Leave it,’ John snapped at her as she tried to find a space on the table. The girl hurried away, taking the plate with her.

  Bonnie reached into her bag and handed him his grandfather’s letter. John read it carefully. Bonnie’s heart was thumping and as she looked around she wanted to say to the people on the adjoining tables, Stop earwigging and get on with your tea! She looked at John. He was still staring at the letter. What was he going to do? What if he made a scene? Or stormed out of Bentalls and refused to speak to her again? Shirley would be devastated not to have him in her life but she was still young enough for him to be a person she would never recall. As she watched him, she saw the tension leave his body.