Better Days Will Come

by Pam Weaver

  He was looking at her now. ‘Is this for real?’ he said quietly.

  She nodded. The whole restaurant held its breath.

  ‘Who is Grace Follett?’

  ‘My mother.’

  He looked her straight in the eye and although he said nothing, she could almost read his thoughts. ‘So, according to this,’ he said sitting back in his chair and flicking the end of the paper, ‘you and I are brother and sister.’

  ‘Half brother and sister,’ she corrected. ‘We have the same mother but different fathers.’

  His expression remained unchanged as he continued to stare. Bonnie shifted in her seat. How did he feel about that? Did he hate the idea?

  ‘Am I older than you?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Ha!’ he said, his face suddenly wreathed in smiles. ‘This will take some getting used to but I always wanted a sibling.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? Of course not. And I’m not surprised either.’ He paused, adding after a moment’s thought, ‘You know how sometimes you get the feeling that there’s a secret nobody’s telling you? I think I may have already guessed.’

  It seemed to Bonnie as if the whole restaurant heaved a collective sigh of relief.

  Later, when they told Dinah, her one thought was that John was now Shirley’s genuine uncle and when they married, she would be her aunt. John was obviously still trying to come to terms with what he’d been told. He insisted that Bonnie tell him all about their mother and as she did so, she was struck by the similarities in their personalities. Her mother loved playing the piano, her pride and joy. She enjoyed telling a good story and entertaining, just as John did. Bonnie told him about her happy childhood, of days spent on Highdown Hill, or High Salvington where before the war, they could have tea in the Windmill Tea Rooms. She told him about lazy days on the beach, or pond-dipping in the rough ground between Sea Lane and George V Avenue when her mother would take them out for the day on the bus. As she told him, Bonnie’s heart began to constrict again. How she missed her mother and Rita. How she longed to see them playing with Shirley. Every grandmother enjoyed spoiling her grandchild but by staying away she had denied Shirley that pleasure. Was it possible, after all this time, to start again? She had totally underestimated John’s reaction. Could it be possible she was wrong about her mother as well?

  ‘Weird,’ he said. ‘And even more of a surprise finding out about you.’

  ‘It must have been very hard for your mother,’ said Bonnie, thinking how gracious she must have been to adopt someone else’s child. ‘To bring up your husband’s child by somebody else is such a totally unselfish act.’ Just as difficult, she thought to herself, as her own mother giving up her baby son.

  ‘I think it makes me admire my mother all the more,’ said John gravely.

  Me too, thought Bonnie, but she didn’t voice it.

  They parted friends although she could tell John was still very much in shock at the revelation she’d dropped in his lap. Talking at such great length about Worthing had had a profound effect on Bonnie. She was homesick. She hadn’t felt like this since she was at Lady Brayfield’s place. It gnawed into her bones and she couldn’t get it out of her mind. It became almost an obsession. There were times in the days that followed when she’d be walking past the kitchen in the nursery and she could almost smell her mother’s cooking. The lavender polish on the floors began to remind her of the lavender bags her mother put upstairs in her chest of drawers, and the smell of the laundry room reminded her of the damp washing on the clothes horse in front of the fire. She longed to see how Mum was getting on with her little garden. She’d always hated being out there when she was young, but now she wanted Shirley to have the chance to pick peas, or carry a cabbage indoors, just as she had done when she was a child. She remembered silly things too. The scribbled drawing on the stairs that Rita had got into big trouble for doing when she was six. The bedside lampshade in their bedroom which was burned on one side because they’d put it too close to the bulb. When Matron Bennett came into the Tweenies nursery to play some nursery rhymes on Sunday afternoon, Bonnie thought about her mother playing the piano while she and Rita sang together. For too long she had told herself she didn’t want to upset her mother again, that she was too ashamed to go back, but now something was tugging at her heart. A call she was finding hard to ignore.

  ‘Worthing … I want to go back to Worthing.’

  Thirty-One

  ‘Does this bus stop at the pier?’

  ‘I should hope so, darlin’. We’ll all get flipping wet if it doesn’t.’ To the sound of laughter, Rita took three florins from her passenger’s hand and searched her leather pouch for change. She issued the two tickets from the machine around her neck, giving him a bob and a tanner change. Rita moved along the bus. ‘Any more fares? Any more fares?’

  She was more than happy to be a conductress on the Southdown buses. It felt so right, so Rita. The uniform was more attractive than most. In summer the drivers wore a cream linen jacket and the conductors had a lovely shade of evergreen. Everyone wore a peaked cap with the Southdown logo. The men wore white shirt, black ties, black trousers and black shoes. Rita had a black tie, a crisp white shirt and black knee-length skirt. She wore flesh-coloured stockings and black lace-up shoes. The company was quite strict about uniform. Anyone turning up for work ‘inappropriately dressed’ was likely to be sent home and lose a day’s pay. That would never happen to Rita. She was always on time and always smartly turned out, but just like every other raw recruit, she’d been caught out on her first day.

  ‘If you’re on the last run up Salvington Hill,’ one of the older drivers had said, ‘don’t forget to bring the litter bin back.’

  Rita never thought to question the order and when she got back to the depot with the bin safely stashed in the luggage compartment, everybody fell about with laughter. She knew at once that she’d been had, and although she could feel her cheeks warming with embarrassment, Rita laughed along with the rest of them and they loved her for it.

  The passengers loved her too. If she wasn’t too busy, she’d listen to their tales of woe, or she’d enjoy their excitement if someone was getting married or had won a bob or two on the football pools. They treated her as if she were a personal friend. Rita let them into her private life too, although she did hold back on some things. They knew she was married to Emilio but few of them knew she had a sister.

  It had come as a bit of a surprise when she’d been partnered with Bob. She thought about making a fuss but she didn’t want to risk being labelled a troublemaker on her first day. It was all right though. It had obviously come as a shock to him that she was married, but now he treated her as a friend and work colleague.

  She loved his little jokes.

  ‘I wanted to get a dog for my granny but the pet shop don’t do swaps.’

  ‘Here, old Taffy was walking down the street when he saw a runaway bus. I said to him, what steps did you take? And he said, long ones.’ If Rita repeated them they weren’t half as funny, but when Bob did it, meal times in the bus canteen were filled with laughter.

  As the bus pulled up at the next stop, Rita walked back to the platform. ‘Hurry along now. Two in the upper circle and three in the basement,’ she quipped as more passengers climbed aboard. It was turning out to be a busy day.

  As the bus made its way through East Worthing, she stood on the platform and leaned out to catch a glimpse of Emilio. His boat was on the shingle but there was no sign of him. Disappointed, Rita climbed the stairs to collect more fares. Two of her female passengers were talking confidentially; Rita couldn’t help overhearing.

  ‘What you want to do,’ said a middle-aged woman in a brown felt hat, ‘is make him a nice meal. Save up a few coupons and buy a chicken if you can, or a nice leg of lamb. Make sure everybody else is out and then you can talk.’

  Her companion put her head up as Rita went to the front of the bus. Their eyes met.

&
nbsp; ‘Any more fares?’ Rita said quickly.

  The younger woman looked at her but without seeing. She turned back to her friend. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘But he’ll go loopy when I tell him.’

  ‘Just remind him it takes two to make a baby,’ said her confidante, patting her hand. ‘And besides, with his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites, won’t he …’

  Rita was pondering this as she went back down the stairs. Time alone, that’s what she and Emilio needed too. She’d plan a romantic evening for two. She thought about what the woman had said, ‘with his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites …’ and smiled to herself. Next Tuesday was St Valentine’s Day. Emilio was in for a lovely surprise.

  A passenger just inside the door looked at his watch. ‘Is this bus on time?’

  ‘It is,’ said Rita climbing the stairs. ‘Any more fares?’

  In fact, Bob was an excellent timekeeper. If the bus was late he risked the wrath of the ticket inspector (‘jumpers’, as the other drivers called them) but if the bus was early … well, that was almost a hanging offence. Missing a customer was just about the worst thing a Southdown bus driver could do and the conductor risked losing his or her good conduct bonus.

  There was little time to think when she was working and for this Rita was grateful. She still had a gnawing in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about Bonnie, although it wasn’t as sharp as it had been the day she’d left, and now she’d fallen out with her mother. If only Mum would accept Emilio. She didn’t want to have to choose between the two of them, but what could she do?

  The bus slowed and Rita returned to the platform. ‘Pool Valley,’ she called.

  Pool Valley was the end of the line and Rita was dying for the ladies’. Bob rounded the Old Steine and in a second or two he would pull into the middle of the road because he had to have room to swing the bus down the narrow slope and into the bay. This bus was going straight back in service so Rita had little time. She leaned out of the platform as Bob lined up and began a slow reverse between two parked buses. Her finger was poised over the bell and as the rear of the bus reached the edge of the pavement, she gave it three sharp pushes. The few passengers still left began to stand and move down the aisle. As they got off they called their goodbyes and thanked her.

  Rita left the empty bus and hurried to the loo while Bob got out of his cab for a stretch. The queue snaked around the corner and the waiting passengers climbed aboard for the trip back to Worthing. As Bob went round the corner for a fag, an inspector sauntered by.

  A woman with a small child came up to him. ‘Is this bus going to Worthing?’

  ‘In about two minutes,’ he said. ‘You’d better hurry, lady. It looks like it’s a full house.’

  A woman loaded down with bags of shopping hurried up to the bus, brushing his arm as she jumped onto the platform. She didn’t seem to notice the young woman and her child were in front of her. ‘Just in time,’ she said as she pushed her way down the aisle. The inspector heard the young woman catch her breath.

  ‘There’s a seat there,’ he said trying to reassure her. She was a pleasant-looking girl and the old duck with the bags had no right to push in front like that.

  The young woman hesitated and little girl looked up at her. ‘Play sand, Mummy.’

  ‘Yes,’ The woman smiled as if it was just the excuse she needed. ‘Let’s go to the beach instead.’

  ‘The bus will be going straight away,’ the inspector encouraged. ‘As soon as the conductress come back from the toilets.’

  But the woman and her child turned towards the pier. ‘It would be a daft idea to spend another hour and a half on the bus going to Worthing,’ she said, ‘when we’ve already been cooped up that long on the train.’

  ‘Down from London then?’ said the inspector making an educated guess.

  The woman nodded and the little girl waved, ‘Bye, bye, bus.’

  Bob came back round the corner and still tugging at her skirt, Rita hopped onto the platform. The inspector looked at his watch. ‘Right on time,’ he smiled.

  As the bus pulled back out into the traffic, Rita was aware of a little girl with a mass of blonde curls walking across the road, obviously on her way to the beach. She smiled. The child, trailing her bucket and spade, was soon swallowed up by the crowd. Rita turned and began to walk down the aisle, calling, ‘Fares please.’

  Bonnie watched the bus swing across the traffic and head for Worthing. Seeing Miss Bridewell push past her on the bus like that had quite put her off going. And when she saw that the only available seat was right next to her, Bonnie knew that the whole bus would know all her business before they got to Hove. It would have been nice to go and see Mum and Rita, but they’d probably be at work anyway.

  Thirty-Two

  Rita was eager to get home. By the time she had finished her shift, she had just enough time to dash to the shops to buy some Yardley’s lavender talc from Woolworth’s and some lipstick. It was the middle of the week so she didn’t have much money or spare coupons but the butcher had some nice sausage meat and she found a few half decent cooking apples in the greengrocers. During the war, her mother used to make a lovely meal she called piggy-pie, in which she layered everything on a baking tray with a bit of onion and some herbs. Rita was no great cook but it looked easy enough and she knew it was tasty. What was it her passenger had said? ‘With his belly nice and full, he’ll have his mind on other appetites …’ This was the answer she’d been looking for. You brazen hussy, she smiled to herself. You are going to seduce your husband.

  Everything was quiet when she let herself in. Emilio would either be sorting out his nets down on the beach or still asleep after a night’s fishing. Let him sleep on. He was going to need all the strength he could muster by the time she was ready for him. She would wear her best dress and tidy her hair, but first she had to get the piggy-pie in the oven. What a lovely surprise he was going to have tonight.

  She laid the enamel board on the table and got the flour down from the cupboard. Rita rolled out the sausage meat and placed it on the baking tray but as she layered the chopped apple over the top, she became aware of a strange noise coming from the bedroom.

  At first she was scared. Was there a burglar in the house? She picked up the rolling pin and listened. The bedsprings were squeaking with a rhythmical sound and someone was moaning. No … no. It couldn’t be … could it? The moans became more intense and she knew instinctively that whoever was making the sound wasn’t in pain, they were in the throes of ecstasy.

  Her heart was beating very fast but, mustering every ounce of self-control she had, she crept towards the bedroom door. The grunting became more and more urgent and now she realised it wasn’t one but two voices, and one of them was Emilio’s. How could he? They had only been married five minutes and here he was being unfaithful, in broad daylight and in their own bed. Tears started in her eyes.

  The bedroom door was firmly closed. She waited for a second or two, conscious of her own breathing, then Rita turned the doorknob slowly and let it swing open.

  Emilio had his back to her. His trousers were on the floor and she was looking at his bare bottom but she couldn’t see who was with him. As soon as he felt the cold draught from the open door, he raised himself up. Her eye went up to the mirror on the other side of the wall and Emilio’s eyes met hers. The other person rose up too, and three startled faces were caught in the frame. Rita gasped in horror as the other person lifted a hairy arm. It was Jeremy.

  Heaving and retching, Rita tripped, stumbling into furniture in her haste to get out of the house.

  ‘No, Rita. Wait!’

  But she couldn’t wait. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to be there.

  Pulling on his trousers, Emilio raced after her. He caught her by the wrist as she reached out for the front door handle and pulled her back into their rooms. ‘Please …’

  It was then that she was sick. H
er vomit splashed up her legs as it hit the wooden floor and her head began to spin. She heard Jeremy say his name. ‘Emilio?’ and her husband said, ‘You’d better go.’ And it struck her that there was a love and a gentle passion in his voice she’d never heard before. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had stabbed her through the heart.

  As he left the room, Jeremy, shamefaced and embarrassed, reached out to touch her. ‘I’m sorry, Rita.’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ She had enough presence of mind to jerk herself away from him. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Jeremy sounded genuinely sorry. He finished dressing.

  ‘Go,’ said Emilio. ‘I will sort it.’

  She wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and rounded on him. ‘Sort it? And just how do you think you can sort it, Emilio? I’ve just caught you in bed with …’ she could hardly bear to say the words … ‘another man!’

  Behind her, she heard the front door click and they were alone. Emilio got a bowl of water to mop up the mess.

  ‘I never meant for this to happen.’ He squeezed out the floor cloth and threw it over her vomit. ‘I’m sorry. We never should have come, but there was nowhere else to go.’

  ‘I’ve been a complete idiot, haven’t I?’ she said. ‘You’ve never loved me. I can’t think why on earth you would want to marry me.’

  ‘I no want to go back to Italy,’ he said miserably. ‘My uncle, he persuaded me. I no want to hurt you, Rita. And you’re wrong when you say I don’t love you. You are good woman. Good friend. I cannot help what I do.’

  ‘Can’t help it?’ she shrieked. ‘Can’t help it? You knew what you wanted and it wasn’t me, was it, Emilio? So why involve me in the first place? I’m only 18 years old.’ She was wailing now. ‘I wanted love and marriage and babies. What have you done to me?’ Her colour was high and her eyes blazed.