Jimmy Ramsay, perhaps guessing he was being talked about, strolled over. ‘Hey up, if this is what I think it is, rebel committee members stirring up mischief, I’d like to be included.’
He explained how he’d spoken to Belle, putting forward the reservations of the other stallholders, and got absolutely nowhere. ‘She’s saying nothing. Keeping schtum, so I’ve put out some feelers with one or two council members that I know.’
Sam suggested they call a proper meeting and Jimmy agreed.
‘Aye, not some hole in the corner gossip like we’re doing now. This is serious stuff. We need a public meeting, one that every stallholder must attend. We’ll hold it in the market hall on Friday night.’
‘That’s the ticket,’ Winnie said, always pleased to have an excuse to set herself up against Belle Garside, whether it was a serious issue or not. They never had got on and after her son Kenny had caused the death of Dena’s young brother, and attacked Winnie herself while Belle stood back and did nothing, she’d no time for her whatsoever.
Arrangements were soon made and Winnie turned again to Amy. ‘Think on, you tell your mam that we’re having this meeting on Friday. It’s important everyone comes. Spread the word, right?’
Amy nodded and quickly made her escape. But her mind was still on finding Chris and their intended elopement, and she instantly forgot all about the meeting, the moment she left the group.
Fran finally found Eddie skulking in the bar of the Pack Horse, a pub far enough from Champion Street for them to use as an occasional meeting place. He must have known she was looking for him for she was quite certain he’d been deliberately avoiding her. She wasted no time dancing around the issue but bluntly announced that she believed herself to be pregnant, and watched the horror dawn on his face.
‘Bleeding hell, what did you go and do a thing like that for?’
‘Er, I think you had something to do with it too.’
‘Yeah, but I thought you were taking care of things.’
‘Oh, and it’s not your responsibility too then?’
Eddie sulked. ‘You told me you’d got one of them Dutch thingies.’
Fran felt her cheeks grow warm as she recalled she had indeed told him to stop using condoms. Except she’d forgotten to put the Dutch cap in on more than one occasion. It was so difficult to remember. She’d have her bath and everything, experiment with make up and fuss over what she was going to wear, trying on different blouses, skirts and frocks, never quite sure what he’d like best. Then she’d be in such a rush not to be late that at the last minute she’d dash off and forget to put the damn’ thing in. Sometimes she’d remember, sometimes she wouldn’t. Never quite got into the habit. But that didn’t mean Fran would let him off the hook entirely.
‘Don’t put all the blame on me. It takes two to tango. So, lover boy, what are we going to do about it, eh? I’m making a babby and it’s going to pop out before too long. Like it or not, chum, you’re going to be a dad.’
Eddie’s face went deathly pale. This was the last thing he needed, a disaster in his eyes. What the hell Josie would have to say, he didn’t dare to contemplate. ‘No, I can’t be a dad, not with you. This isn’t how it’s meant to be. It was all supposed to be just a bit of fun. A bit of slap and tickle, a laugh. Nothing serious, right?’
Fran looked into his panic-stricken eyes and realised in that moment what a complete and utter fool she’d been, what a mess she’d made of everything. Amy had been right all along. Eddie was a loser, a selfish pig who thought only of himself, of having a bit of a leg-over without any of the responsibility.
And worse even than that, Fran realised in one blinding flash that nearly knocked her for six, that no matter what he was, she loved him. She actually loved the stupid bastard.
Chris was at home and Amy woke him by throwing gravel at his window. Within minutes, it seemed, he was beside her and she was explaining about her mother upsetting their plans.
‘So I can’t meet you after work. I’ll have to go straight home with Mam. Ooh, and I’ve a message for her. I mustn’t forget.’
Chris looked dismayed by this news. ‘But if you can’t sneak out at night, when can we get away?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amy said, deeply distressed and near to tears.
‘Let’s leave now.’
‘What?’
‘Why wait? You’ve got your bag with you, I see. Let’s go.’ The next moment he was hurrying her down the back street to his car which he’d already packed with blankets, cushions, a suitcase full of clothes and a huge box of food. ‘I hope I’ve thought of everything,’ he said with a grin.
‘Oh, Chris, I hope we’re doing the right thing,’ said Amy, suddenly filled with doubts.
He stood stock still. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, now is the moment to say so.’
She looked up at him and her heart filled with love. She couldn’t imagine life without him. No matter where he was, she wanted to be at his side. It was as simple as that. ‘No, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all.’
He smiled at her and kissed her nose. ‘Me too. Come on, love, we’ll be fine, just so long as we’re together.’
‘Have you seen our Amy?’ Molly demanded of anyone who came near the pie stall. ‘Little monkey went off for a tea break and I haven't seen her since. That must be more than an hour since. I’ll give her what for when I get my hands on her.’
‘I saw her earlier, when we were holding our impromptu meeting,’ Winnie said.
‘What impromptu meeting?’
‘Didn’t Amy tell you? She was supposed to.’
Big Molly heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve just said, haven’t I? I’ve not seen our Amy for over an hour.’
Swiftly, Winnie filled her in on the details but Molly was more concerned about her own affairs. ‘It’ll not happen. Nobody would dare to flatten my house without my say so. What I want to know is, where is our Amy?’
‘Eeh, Moll, them girls of yours give you a lot of hassle,’ Barry chuckled as he happily polished his apples. ‘You should try giving them a longer leash.’
‘Oh, aye,’ Molly agreed. ‘Any longer and they’d choke themselves with it.’
‘If you’re going to start another rumpus, can I have tickets for the front row?’
‘You’ll get a clip round the lug-hole, you, if you don’t shut up. You and our Amy both.’
Barry laughed as if she’d made a joke. ‘You’ve got to find her first, and if I were your Amy I’d be a million miles from Champion Street right now. Running as fast as me little legs could carry me. Have you thought of that possibility?’
‘Nay,’ Molly said, her face a picture. ‘She wouldn’t dare, the daft little cow.’
‘I’m not so sure. When fools fall in love they dare do all sorts of daft things. She could be heading north even as we speak.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Do you sell Davy Crockett hats?’
Patsy looked up at Marc in disbelief. ‘Davy Crockett?’
‘You know the guy, hero of the Alamo, owned a gun called Betsy, as seen on TV played by Fess Parker. My little brother is desperate for one of those coonskin hats.’ And when she still looked blank, he continued with a sigh, ‘Made of fur with a long bushy tail, looks like a racoon only I expect it’s rabbit. Surely you’ve seen them around. All the kids are wearing them.’
Patsy was wishing with all her heart that she was dressed in something more stylish than her plain pleated skirt and jersey. She wished she hadn’t chosen to wear her Alice band this morning either. It was so childish, or cute as Fran termed it. And she had no wish to look cute for Marc Bertalone. She wished his presence, so close beside her, wasn’t making her feel all wobbly inside.
She tilted up her pert little nose so that she could try to look down it, not easy since Marc was so much taller than she was. ‘This is a ladies’ hat shop. Why would we sell Davy Crockett hats?’
‘Maybe because people are making a lot of money out of s
elling them. Sounds a good enough reason to me. Anyway, perhaps girls would like to wear them too. Why not?’
‘You think you’re so clever.’
Clara’s voice floated over from the fitting area where she was stitching green leaves into a corsage. ‘Now don’t be rude to customers, Patsy, particularly to handsome young men.’
Marc grinned at her. ‘You should listen to Miss Clara. She is a kind and clever woman.’
‘We still don’t have any Davy Crockett hats.’
‘When will you be getting some? Soon, I hope. Giovanni is driving us all mad. He has the Davy Crockett pyjamas but it isn’t enough. He must have the genuine Injun fighter hat.’
‘I really don’t think . . .’ And then to her horror, Marc brushed past her and popped his head around the door of the fitting room. She was still yelling at him that he couldn’t possibly go in there when Clara glanced up from her sewing and smiled.
‘Hello, Marc, how’s your mama?’
‘She’s good. And yourself, Miss Clara?’
She pulled a wry face. ‘As well as can be expected, considering my great age.’
Then he walked right over to her and to Patsy’s complete surprise, kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You know, in Italy, the older a woman gets, she become even more beautiful. That is true for you too.’
Cheeks flushed a becoming pink, Clara said, ‘And you grow more incorrigible every day.’
‘Naw, only more handsome.’
She laughed. ‘And modest with it. We’ll see what we can do about finding a Davy Crockett hat for Giovanni. Maybe getting a few in stock would be no bad thing, if I can persuade my sister to agree.’
Marc’s expression was carefully non-committal at this reference to Annie, known for a judgement in hats as stern as that she exercised on people. Anything remotely frivolous would never be seen on the sisters’ hat stall, or not without Clara’s intervention. ‘I would be grateful,’ he said with a little bow.
‘You can go now that you’ve got what you want,’ Patsy said, striding over and looking fairly stern herself. ‘Men aren’t allowed in the fitting room.’
He looked down at her, a strangely pitying expression in his chocolate brown eyes, then turned back to Clara. ‘There is one other favour you can do for me.’
‘And what is that, Marc?’
He rested a hand lightly on Patsy’s shoulder. It felt fragile beneath his touch, too fragile, but at least she didn’t flinch away. He took encouragement from that. ‘You can persuade your lovely assistant here to come out with me one evening. She has hardened her heart against me, for no reason I can understand.’
‘Well,’ said Clara, grey eyes alight with amusement, ‘and where was it you were wanting to take her?’
He spread his hands, in that inimitably Italian way, as if he were at a loss to understand why life was so impossibly difficult. ‘I have offered her the dancing, the pictures, the walk in the park, none of which appeals. So next Sunday, we have the big family wedding. So many Bertalones. Too many. I need a girl to dance with, you understand, to rescue me from dancing with all my sisters. Will you ask her if she will do that small thing for me? I will not keep her out late, Miss Clara. And you know you can trust me to look after her.’
‘I do trust you, Marc, and I really see no reason why Patsy shouldn’t go with you. It sounds fun.’
‘Ah, Bertalone weddings are always that. Noisy, but fun.’
Clara laughed, at which point Patsy spoke in her coldest tones. ‘Excuse me, but do I have any say in this? I mean, I am still standing here, in case you haven’t noticed, while you two make arrangements about my social life.’
Clara smiled. ‘I’ve thought for some time, Patsy, that you really aren’t getting out enough. It isn’t right for you to spend all your time with two middle-aged ladies. You should mix more with people your own age.’
‘I should at least be allowed to choose my own friends.’
Again Marc held his hands, palm upwards, in an expression of disbelief and despair. ‘You see how cruel she is to me. What have I ever done to deserve it?’
Clara stood up and patted his broad shoulder. ‘I shall speak to her. But Patsy is quite right, our tiny fitting room is no place for a gentleman, even a handsome young fellow such as yourself. Go home, Marc. Leave it with me.’
‘I won’t go. Why should I?’
‘Because it will do you good. You’re young, Patsy, and, as I said, should spend more time with people your own age. Go and enjoy yourself. He’s a good lad, is Marc Bertalone. You won’t have any problems with him. His family teach their children to show respect.’
Patsy desperately wanted to go, to dance with Marc would be the answer to her secret dreams. But how could she agree without losing face? After the way she had so clearly rebuffed him, how could she swallow her pride? And what dangers lay in store for her if she did go?
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, tossing back her hair so it floated like silver skeins across her lovely face. In a show of defiance she pulled an elastic band from her pocket and gathered the wilful hair firmly into a pony tail.
Annie arrived at that moment so the conversation was thankfully dropped while the sisters embarked upon their usual analysis of the purchases she’d made at the wholesalers. Clara bravely put forward her suggestion that they might try a few Davy Crockett hats.
‘We could sell at least one to Marc Bertalone. He wishes to buy a present for Giovanni. But as all the kids are wanting them, it might prove worth our while to get a few in stock.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ Annie said. ‘We are not turning ourselves into a souvenir stall.’
‘But, Annie, don’t you think we should at least consider it?’
‘No, I don’t. I think you should leave such decisions to those who can think beyond what happens to be merely fashionable. You know I am far better suited to choosing the right stock for the stall than you, Clara, as I am not so easily influenced and duped by the whim of the moment.’
‘But you must admit, Annie dear, there have been times when even you have been glad you conceded to my suggestions on fashion. The velvet petal range, for instance. And we did so well with the pillbox which I persuaded you to buy, remember? It’s turning into a classic.’
‘Lucky guesses,’ Annie said dismissively, clicking her false teeth in that irritating manner she had. ‘I cannot allow myself to follow every fad and fancy, since I’m the one who has to pay the bills. Only this morning I have spent an uncomfortable half hour with the bank manager, discussing our lack of profitability.’
‘But that’s my point exactly,’ Clara insisted. ‘The Davy Crockett hats might well increase our profitability.’
Annie went quite red in the face, almost purple, her prim mouth trembling. ‘How much plainer can I make it, Clara? We cannot afford to buy any more stock.’
Patsy was on the point of completely changing her own viewpoint by agreeing with Clara that they should at least give them a try, since she simply couldn’t bear to see her bullied, when Annie startled her by swinging round upon her, eyes gimlet hard.
‘As a consequence of that discussion, I’m going to be forced to let you go.’
Patsy looked bemused for a moment. ‘Let me go where?’
‘I mean, I can no longer afford to employ you. And before you say anything, let me assure you we’ve been perfectly satisfied with your work, haven’t we, Clara?’
Her sister, looking equally dumbstruck, merely nodded.
‘You’re sacking me?’ Patsy felt sick, could hardly get the words out. She’d seen it coming ages ago, of course, but not today, not like this. The news had come so unexpectedly, in the middle of a conversation about Davy Crockett hats for goodness sake. It was like a bolt from the blue and hurt so badly. It wasn’t long since they’d given her the record player and made her feel as if they were used to having her around, might even be getting to like her. Now she was out on her ear.
She should have known it was all a trick, of cours
e, nothing more than a sop to their own guilt. Didn’t folk always want to get rid of her, just as soon as they could?
Annie was still talking. ‘The fact of the matter is we simply can’t afford the extra wages. The hat stall isn’t doing very good business, not now that hats are going out of fashion, more’s the pity. Quite shocking, really, how modern standards are slipping. At one time no one would dream of setting foot outside their house without a hat. Now they’re only being worn for weddings and such. Utterly appalling!’
Clara gently touched her arm, as if to say something, but couldn’t quite seem to pluck up the courage to do so.
‘All right, Clara, I’ll get off my hobby horse,’ Annie said, irritation strong in her tone. ‘Anyway, you’ve no need to fret. I’ve made enquiries and found you a position in the ice cream parlour. Part-time to begin with, to see how you go on. You’ll enjoy that, I’m sure. Much more fun than hats.’ She even attempted a smile as she said it.
Clara picked up a bundle of the corsages she’d been making, then as if not knowing what to do with them, set them down again, looking deeply distressed.
Patsy was still struggling to come to terms with this sudden change. ‘You mean - I’m to work for the Bertalones – in their ice cream parlour?’
‘Starting from tomorrow.’
Panic hit her. Patsy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, whether to jump for joy or run a mile.
The bolt of excitement that shot though her was utterly shaming. Firmly, she stamped it down. How could she work beside someone and still refuse to speak to them? She would be forced to endure Marc Bertalone chatting her up day after day, endlessly showing off and preening himself before her like some sort of gladiator. She’d be working with him the whole time, no escape, particularly during the summer holidays while he was home from the art school.
Clara had first of all embarrassed her by forcing her to agree to accompany him to this stupid family wedding. Now she was being put in an even more impossible position. She really couldn’t do it. She absolutely refused to do it.
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