Counting Chimneys: A novel of love, heartbreak and romance in 1960s Brighton (Brighton Girls Trilogy Book 2)

by Sandy Taylor

  I walked across to the little side altar and lit a candle. I was all over the place. There was a part of me that longed to see Ralph and a part of me that dreaded it. I had managed to avoid seeing him since I’d left Brighton four years ago. Maybe today that was all going to change.

  I said a little prayer and made my way outside.

  Clark, who was working as a junior photographer on local paper The Argus, had brought his big work camera along and was jumping all over the place taking arty shots.

  ‘We don’t want “arty”,’ Dad grumbled. ‘We just want something to put on the mantelpiece.’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Mum. ‘Our Rita wants arty and that’s what she’s going to get. Now smile like you mean it!’

  There was still no sign of Ralph. Perhaps he’d decided not to come. Part of me was relieved, but I knew in my heart that I wanted to see him, even if it was going to hurt me.

  The photographs took so long that most of the other guests had wandered off by the time we were finished. Clark wanted to take one more close-up of Rita, Nigel and Miranda standing by the cherry tree in the church garden. It was full of pink blossom, and I could see Rita was really pleased Clark had noticed it, because the baby would look gorgeous with that in the background.

  They went over to the tree. Mum and Emma had nipped over the road to use the public convenience. I couldn’t see Dad, but pale grey smoke was drifting up from behind one of the larger gravestones. I stood at the entrance to the church with my eyes closed and my face turned to the sun. Suddenly I heard footsteps running along the path. I opened my eyes and looked down into the face of a child.

  For a moment my heart stopped.

  She had gorgeous red hair, a tiny little freckled face, and she was the spitting image of my friend Mary Pickles.

  Peggy had been about a year old when I’d last seen her but I would have known her anywhere.

  ‘Hello, Peggy,’ I said.

  She peered up at me.

  I touched her cheek. ‘My name’s Dottie. I used to know your mummy.’

  ‘My mummy’s in heaven,’ she said, running past me and into the church.

  I walked down the aisle behind her. She crawled under a pew and came up holding a doll.

  She held the doll up for me to see. ‘Her name’s Tina,’ she said.

  ‘She’s lovely. Did someone knit her clothes for you?’

  ‘Fiona did. She’s going to be my new mummy soon.’

  Just then the door opened and a pretty young woman came hurrying down the aisle towards us. She crouched down as Peggy launched herself into her arms.

  ‘Peggy, you scared us!’ she said. ‘You mustn’t run off like that! We didn’t know where you were!’

  ‘I forgot Tina!’

  ‘You should have asked me or your dad. We would have come with you.’

  ‘You were talking.’

  The woman looked up at me, shaking her head.

  ‘She’s always running off,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t seem to matter how often we tell her not to, she still does it. I’ve never known a child with such a mind of her own.’

  ‘Just like her mother,’ I said.

  The woman stood up, keeping hold of Peggy’s hand. She smiled at me warmly.

  ‘I’m Fiona.’

  ‘Hi,’ I replied. ‘I’m Dottie, Rita’s sister.’

  Fiona stroked Peggy’s hair. ‘I thought you must be,’ she said. ‘Ralph has told me all about you.’

  I wondered just how much he had told her.

  ‘You were Mary’s friend, weren’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Since we were children.’

  ‘Yes, Ralph said. Look I’d better go, he’s running round the graveyard trying to find Peggy, he’ll be worried sick.

  I nodded. ‘Yes, sure.’

  I watched as they went back up the aisle, Peggy skipping along beside Fiona, the doll dangling by one arm. Peggy’s red curls were bouncing off her shoulders, catching the rays of light that were streaming through the stained-glass window above the altar. When they were gone I sat down on the nearest pew. I had recognised the doll. Polly and I had found it in a little toyshop in Brick Lane. I had tried to keep in touch with Peggy over the years. I had sent birthday cards and Christmas cards. I had carefully chosen gifts that I thought she’d like. The doll was one of them. Ralph had sent cards back from Peggy with little scribbles on the bottom. As she got older she was able to write her name and to say thank you in her childish scrawly writing. I smiled at all the crossings out. I had kept every one of those cards; they were precious to me. It had been a connection, not only with Peggy but with Ralph. A few times over the years I had walked round to their flat and stood in the quadrangle looking up at the windows. Once I had even climbed the stone steps, but I just couldn’t do it. The thought of stepping through the door and being back in those rooms where Mary had been so ill and so unhappy was more than I could bear. If I was going to make a life for myself in London then I had to try and detach myself from a past that only brought me pain. I know that I should have tried to see the little girl, but I just couldn’t. Losing Peggy had been as painful as losing Ralph. I covered my face with my hands and cried.

  5

  The christening party was being held at Rita and Nigel’s house. They lived on a modern housing estate that had grown since they had first moved in. A row of shops had been added, and there was a petrol station at the end of the road. Rita said it wasn’t as exclusive as it used to be and they might have to move. Compared to the council house we had grown up in, I thought it was the height of luxury. Dad didn’t like going there, because Rita made you take your shoes off at the door.

  I went through the side gate and into the garden. Dad was sat in a white plastic chair on the patio. He was smoking furiously and flicking the ash into a plant pot.

  ‘Don’t let Rita catch you doing that,’ I said.

  ‘Our Rita wants to cop on to herself.’

  ‘Bit late for that,’ I said smiling and carried on through the back door and into the kitchen.

  Aunty Brenda was getting a tray of sausage rolls out of the oven. The smell hit me as I opened the door, making me feel a bit queasy.

  ‘Can I help with anything?’ I said.

  ‘You can get the cups out if you like. I asked our Carol to do it half an hour ago, but she disappeared off somewhere. Now stand there and let me look at you,’ she said, wiping her hands on a tea towel. My Aunty Brenda had been saying that to me for as long as I could remember. ‘Your mum was right about all that fat dropping off. You look lovely, Dottie.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, reaching into the cupboard for the cups.

  ‘Still happy in London are you?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘Your mum misses you. She doesn’t say much, but I can tell.’

  ‘I miss her too. I miss all of you. I’m just not ready to come home yet.’

  ‘Maybe one day, eh?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  Just then Carol came into the kitchen. I still couldn’t get over how much she had changed. When she was younger I used to call her the barrel because she was short and fat, but the apparition draped over the kitchen cabinet was nearly six feet tall and as thin as a rake. She was my cousin but we had never got on. We still didn’t. She picked up a sausage roll and immediately dropped it back on the tray.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she screamed, ‘why didn’t you tell me it was hot?’

  ‘You didn’t ask,’ said Aunty Brenda, putting another load into the oven. ‘Don’t you think Dottie looks lovely, Carol?’

  Carol looked me up and down in a sneery sort of way then said, ‘Your friend Ralph Bennett’s just arrived with his new girlfriend. Aren’t you going in?’

  I felt sick. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be at the party.

  ‘She’s helping me, aren’t you, Dottie love?

  I smiled gratefully at Aunty Brenda. She knew how I must be feeling.

  ‘Which is more than can be said for some.’
r />   ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ snapped Carol.

  ‘Well make yourself useful and take those vol-au-vents into the front room.’

  Carol picked up the plate, boredom oozing out of every pore, and turned just as she was going through the door. ‘Rita says you’re wanted, they’re cutting the cake.’

  ‘Come on, Dottie,’ said Aunty Brenda, ‘we can’t miss that.’

  I didn’t want to go, but I knew I couldn’t put it off forever, so very reluctantly I followed Aunty Brenda into the front room.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mum when she saw me, ‘you’re needed for the photo.’

  I took a deep breath and walked into the front room. Ralph and Fiona were standing by the fireplace. My tummy was doing somersaults, and I could feel my face going red, but I managed to smile at them, and they smiled back.

  Clark was busy setting up his camera. ‘Okay, Dottie,’ he said. ‘You hold the baby.’

  ‘I’m holding the baby if you don’t mind!’ said Rita.

  ‘But Dottie’s the godmother,’ said Clark.

  ‘And I’m the mother,’ said Rita, getting all stroppy. ‘This is all about me and Nigel and Miranda Louise.’

  ‘Just for a change,’ said Clark, winking at me.

  Suddenly I felt a little hand slip into mine. I looked down at Peggy, who was smiling up at me.

  ‘Do you want to hold my doll?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said, taking the doll she was offering up to me. I sensed, rather than knew, that Ralph was looking at us. I was starting to feel awkward. Even the outfit I had thought looked so sophisticated this morning now seemed brash and loud and not in the least bit trendy. I had noticed earlier that Fiona was wearing a simple pale grey dress in a kind of floaty material. I felt fat and ugly. I felt like the old Dottie. I knew exactly what Polly would be saying now. ‘Cop onto yourself, girl, and stop playing the bloody victim. You look fab in that outfit. We don’t do floaty in London, we do style.’ Yes, that’s what Polly would be saying. I smiled to myself and stood a bit taller.

  ‘Come on everyone,’ said Clark. ‘All gather round behind Rita and Nigel for a family shot.’

  ‘Shall I get Dad?’ I said.

  ‘If you must,’ said Rita.’ But he’s not standing beside Miranda Louise reeking of Woodbines.’

  ‘Perhaps we could put him under the coffee table,’ said Clark.

  I went into the garden. ‘You’re wanted by royal command,’ I said. ‘We’re having our photo taken.’

  Dad got up and started to walk towards the back door.

  ‘Don’t forget to take your shoes off.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, hasn’t she got a vacuum cleaner? She’s got every other bloody gadget known to man.’

  ‘Just take them off, Dad,’ I said. ‘It makes for an easier life.’

  I helped him with the laces and we went inside to join the others.

  They had grouped themselves round Rita and Nigel. The cake was on a little table in the middle, and Rita and Nigel were poised to slice into it. I took my place in the line-up. I was now facing Ralph and Fiona, who hadn’t joined the rest of us. Peggy was standing between them and they each had a hand on her shoulder. They already looked like a family. There was a hot feeling in my stomach, and sweat was forming under my armpits. I wanted to march across the room and tear them apart. I was filled with jealousy. I hadn’t felt this bad when he had married Mary, but I guess that was because I knew he still loved me and that it was just something he had to do.

  ‘You’ve got to be in the picture too,’ said Rita, beckoning them over.

  ‘I just thought,’ said Ralph, ‘as I’m not family…’

  ‘But you will be soon. Won’t he, Nigel? Ralph will soon be family!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nigel.

  Ralph and Fiona joined the group and ended up standing right behind me.

  ‘Move forward a bit, Fiona,’ said Clark. ‘We can hardly see you behind Dottie.’

  My face was burning with embarrassment. If I’d a gun at that moment, I would have happily shot my little brother in the head.

  Fiona moved forward until she was beside me. ‘That’s better, now everyone say cheese.’

  Ralph was standing so close behind me that we were almost touching. How easy it would have been to lean into him, to feel his body, which had once been so familiar to me. I shuffled forward to put some space between us.

  ‘Cheese!’ shouted Peggy and everyone laughed. That was when Clark pressed the shutter. I hoped this wasn’t the picture that was going to adorn the mantelpiece for all eternity.

  Once the photos were over, I escaped back to the kitchen to make tea. I put the kettle on to boil and was looking through the cupboards for the teapot when Ralph and Peggy came into the kitchen. I looked behind him expecting to see Fiona, but she wasn’t there.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. My voice sounded high and squeaky. ‘Where’s Fiona?’

  ‘Rita’s giving her a tour of the house.’

  I smiled. ‘Lucky Fiona!’

  Ralph smiled then knelt down until he was at Peggy’s level. ‘This is Dottie, Peggy.’

  Peggy lowered her eyes.’ I know,’ she said.

  ‘Do you?’ said Ralph.

  Peggy nodded.

  ‘Well this is the lady who sent you all those presents and cards for your birthday and Christmas.’

  Peggy looked up at me and smiled.

  ‘You can thank her now,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Peggy.

  Ralph stood up and ruffled her hair. ‘Good girl,’ he said.

  ‘Daddy, can I go and find Fiona?’

  ‘Of course you can, love.’

  Peggy ran out of the kitchen leaving Ralph and me alone.

  ‘Do you need a hand with the tea?’

  ‘No, no. I can manage.’

  ‘Okay.’

  There was a long pause. I found the teapot and put it on the counter. Then I started to lay out cups and saucers. I could feel Ralph’s eyes on the back of my head, and although there were a million things I wanted to say to him, I couldn’t put a single one of them into words.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ Ralph said after an interminable time. ‘London obviously suits you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lord, I wished the kettle would hurry up and boil. I wished I hadn’t filled it so full. I wished I was anywhere else in the world but there, and at the same time I was glad I wasn’t.

  Ralph cleared his throat. ‘Can we talk, Dottie?’

  ‘You’re getting married. What is there to talk about?’

  His eyes never left my face but he didn’t answer.

  I pulled open a drawer and took out the teaspoons.

  ‘When are you going back to London?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I put the teaspoons out, one on each saucer. I found the milk in the fridge and poured a half inch into the bottom of each cup. The kettle was still rattling on the gas hob. Only a wispy thread of steam was coming from its spout.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ Ralph said. He said it so quietly I could only just hear him.

  That made me angry. It was as if we were sharing some big secret again. Hadn’t we been through enough already?

  ‘Don’t, Ralph. Please don’t say things like that.’

  Ralph just stared at me, then very deliberately he said: ‘Every day, Dottie. I missed you every day.’

  I turned away. I knew that if I looked into his eyes I would be lost. So I didn’t. I acted as if I hadn’t heard him. I lifted the kettle off the hob and poured water into the teapot. I kept my back to him.

  ‘Dottie?’

  ‘Please Ralph,’ I said. ‘If you care about me one little bit, you’ll stay out of my life.’

  ‘I can’t do that, not when there’s so much we need to say.’

  I turned then. I made myself look into his eyes.

  ‘There’s nothing to say,’ I said. ‘I’m happy now, Ralph. I’m with somebody else and it�
��s uncomplicated, and it’s easy, and he loves me, and I love him. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d stay away from me and get on with your own life.’

  Ralph listened throughout this little speech. He didn’t blink or take his eyes off mine for a moment. Afterwards he nodded.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘It is!’ I said, but there was a fracture in my voice. ‘It really, really is.’

  6

  I was so relieved to get back home that evening. Clark and Emma went to the chippie for our supper. Dad put the telly on while Mum laid the table in the kitchen and I walked to the phone box at the end of the street and called Joe. I really wanted to hear his voice and to be reassured by him. I knew he would make me feel normal again. But he wasn’t in. The phone rang and rang but nobody picked up. So instead I called 59 Victoria Terrace and counted to thirty-five, which is the amount of time it takes Polly to get from her bedroom down the stairs to the phone in the hallway.

  ‘Hello!’ she answered breathlessly.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I’ve had the most awful day, and I feel terrible, and Joe’s not answering his phone, and I don’t know what to do, and I wish I was back in London, and I’ve got a feeling Joe’s upset because I didn’t invite him to the christening, and I wish I had because then he could have had a really miserable day too, and then he’d understand what it’s like for me, and I’d do anything in the world to talk to him, but he obviously doesn’t want to talk to me because I’ve hurt his feelings and he’s sulking and…’

  ‘Joe’s gone to see The Who,’ Polly said. ‘He’s probably having the time of his life. I bet he hasn’t thought about you once.’

  I’d completely forgotten about the concert, and I know Polly was trying to make me feel better but knowing that Joe was doing something fun and exciting when I was about to eat fish and chips with my family while Mum conducted a post-mortem of the day’s events didn’t make me feel any better.

  ‘Chin up,’ said Polly brightly. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was probably on her way out somewhere and didn’t want to get into a long, involved conversation with me.