by Annie Groves
Esme couldn’t think for the noise of the screaming infants. Lily was hovering, wanting to give in to her, but Esme waved her back. ‘You’ll only spoil them.’
Dina’s cheeks were puce with rage as she rattled the bars, refusing to be pacified by a line of Neville’s wooden cars laid out for her amusement.
‘That’s right, you tell her,’ yelled Ivy from the door. ‘It’s good for them to scream. They have to learn who’s the boss of the playpen. Neville was never any bother.’
‘How did you get on at the clinic? What did the doctor say?’ Esme asked.
‘Just a tickle in his throat,’ said Ivy, who never took any chances with Neville’s health. ‘You can never be too careful, and what with a house full of foreigners you don’t know what germs they are breeding. He told me to get his hair cut. But it might rob him of his strength.’
Lily bent down to lift Dina out of the pen. ‘Come on there, it’s not natural to cage them up like puppies.’ She smiled sweetly.
Ivy was scowling down at her with a withering ‘What do you know about it?’ sort of look. ‘You don’t have to clear up after their trail of havoc or wipe sticky fingers up the stairs. Nothing is safe from wandering fingers. They’re into cupboards and through doors in a flash. Those two could roam around unchecked and teach our Neville bad habits.’ She paused to nail her mother-in-law with a sharp look. ‘How long do we have to put up with these women in our house? It’s been weeks now. Time they were finding themselves rooms of their own.’
‘You know they won’t get rooms to let with small children in tow,’ Lily answered, jiggling Dina on her knee. She was getting far too fond of those youngsters, in Ivy’s opinion.
‘I don’t see why they should be living at our expense,’ Ivy snapped. ‘You don’t know the half of it, trailing in and out as they please.’
Esme stood back and let them bicker. It was not an unreasonable request for Levi and Ivy to want things to go back as they were. At first they were too shocked to turn the visitors out of the door. Now the Christmas season was upon them, such as it was, with meagre rations to share and snow up to their back door. How could she send them packing in the snow?
Every night she struggled with her conscience over how to deal with the tissue of lies they were building around these girls. Every night she knelt on the linoleum and did her eternal accounts before the One who knew the secrets of all hearts.
On the one hand, Ivy was right. Esme had gone beyond the call of duty in taking them in the first place. To her credit she had fed them and protected them from public shame, sorted out their paperwork with the authorities and perjured herself in the process. To her credit she had taken in foreigners and it sometimes sounded like the Tower of Babel with them jabbering away to their babies in Greek and Burmese and pidgin English. She made them part of the family, even helped them out financially to start with. Lily was befriending them and now they were all pally with the Santini woman, another foreigner, and a Catholic too, from the ice-cream parlour.
Every Sunday they all took themselves off to her flat for tea so the girls could play with their new friend. They came back scented with garlic, wine and other funny smells. It was not right on the Lord’s Sabbath.
‘All this gallivanting on the Lord’s Day, these spaghetti Sundays…you needn’t go with them. You ought to be with your young man,’ Esme argued.
‘I’ve only been twice and Walt doesn’t mind. I’ve never missed church yet. Marco is now permanently in Moses Heights. Maria is glad of company.’
‘I should think she’s got enough company in that family. They say Santinis breed like rabbits.’
It was Lily who argued that it was no different from them all going to visit other Winstanleys for Sunday tea or entertaining company themselves after church. Esme didn’t hold with going on buses into town in the evening after dark. Lily kept borrowing the van to give them lifts. They were not a taxi service.
That was another thing. The Greek wanted to take a bus to Manchester to light candles in some church on Bury New Road-Greek Orthodox, would you believe, a church full of golden idols-while the Burmese took herself off to St Matthew’s parish church with the parishioners from Green Lane. She was driven back in a fancy car and that got Ivy all het up about nothing. Zion Chapel, it appeared, was not good enough for them now. Esme blamed the Eyetie for putting fancy ideas in their heads.
Part of her struggle each night with the internal workings of this spiritual book-keeping was to weigh up the debits, as well as the pluses.
First, there was the bad grace with which she did all the creditable stuff. It was hard to smile and look relaxed when you were harbouring your son’s secret lovers.
Ivy was always on guard duty, reminding her of any infringements to their rules, any liberties taken with Neville’s toys, and the loss of the big pram was hard to explain away. She watched to see if they used the wrong rations, or left lights on, or the paraffin heater.
Esme had to admit they hardly put a foot wrong. They crept around the house in carpet slippers, made no noise, were very polite and deferential when there was company. They were eager to find work. They saw to their own washing when everyone else used the electric agitator in the outhouse. They kept their rations in a separate cupboard and didn’t eat much, shared any shopping and delivering and mending duties. They paid their way as best they could.
To her credit, she bought the little ones warm clothing with her coupons and Lily was knitting jumpers for them. They were doing their Christian duty to ‘suffer the little children…’ It wasn’t easy.
There was an atmosphere growing that she didn’t know how to deal with. Ivy was rude and Levi let her go unchecked. The foreigners were pretty girls, full of life, and that reminded her she was getting old and fat and not as fit as she once was.
‘Freddie would be proud of you, Mother, but enough’s enough,’ Ivy would scold, that shrill voice bending her ear.
What if they were entertaining angels unaware? What if this was some spiritual scholarship test the family had to pass? What if she had to make up in life for all of Freddie’s failings?
Yet there was something about having a house full of toddlers and young people, the rush of feet on the stairs and laughter of children, that gave her heart a lift better than Wincarnis and feet up by the fire. It was a sign her life wasn’t over yet and she was still needed.
The girls lived up in the attic room and sometimes when they were out she crept upstairs to peek at the sleeping infants and gave herself a pat on the back that she had done right by them all.
They were her grandchildren, illegitimate or not. Only the four Winstanleys knew that secret. If some of her neighbours were curious and wondered why the widows were staying on it was easy to talk about room shortages and bombed-out houses down south, and how families must help each other out. It felt right as she was saying it, but was it another debit?
Telling lies was not in her nature; white lies told to protect the good Winstanley name were a burden she must bear to preserve their respectability. Surely that wasn’t a debit on her Eternal account? They were honourable lies, she argued.
‘Oh Lord!’ she prayed. ‘You’d better balance my books yourself. It’s not easy. Show me the way to righteousness.’
Lily handed over the child into Esme’s arms, the Concertina child who bore the name she had always hated but hadn’t the heart to confess. She plonked her down in the playpen again to a wail of protests just as Ana came in from the hall with Levi, back from the stall.
‘What is Dina doing in the cage? I told you, no cages. I see too many cages in war. Cages no good for children.’ Ana pulled her out again and the child, hot and bothered, looked pleased.
Suddenly Esme caught a glimpse of Freddie, defiant and naughty, with those blue eyes looking up at her. It was like seeing a ghost.
‘I have to keep her under control for her own good. She might put something in her mouth,’ she argued, but Ana was angry, her eyes flashing.
&
nbsp; ‘She is my baby. Dina is too big for a cage.’
‘Don’t you talk to Mother like that,’ said Ivy. ‘Does she argue with customers like this? They won’t understand a word she says.’
Levi shrugged and left the room, not wanting to get involved in the bickering of women. Ana was jabbering away to the child in Greek.
Esme’s heart lurched to see Freddie in the girl. How could she let this bit of him go, perhaps never to see her again? How could this bit of her son grow up never knowing her granny? There would only be Neville left, and he looked just like Ivy with curls.
‘I wish you would speak English so we can all join in,’ Esme said with a sniff. ‘Speaking two languages must confuse the child. We don’t want her in the backward school.’
Susan had taken her teaching certificate to the Education Department Office to find work with a nursery unit. She was no trouble. Susan had British manners and a politeness that charmed people, and she knew her place.
‘We speak home tongue to them and you speak your tongue and they know which is which,’ said Ana with defiance. This one didn’t know her place yet. There was something rock-like in those green eyes that could not be moved. ‘Konstandina is forward girl, not backward girl. You see.’
All this argy-bargy was making her head spin. Perhaps the kiddie was too old for a playpen after all. It was too strange and she was frightened. The bairn had had so many changes in her life.
‘I am trying to make Concertina safe from fire, and from Neville when he’s got a mood on him,’ Esme mouthed slowly. ‘I have to get on with my jobs. I am not a nursemaid,’ she said, and hoped it would be the end of the matter.
‘I know. You good woman but my Dina must be free to explore. Susan says it is good for children to explore. In my country they had white sand and green hills and fields to play in, plenty of aunties and uncles to watch over them,’ Ana sighed.
‘Well, this is Grimbleton and my house, and I don’t want any more ornaments being shovelled into the bin. You need eyes in the back of your head, Anastasia, with that one.’ There it was said. ‘She will have to go into a nursery if this carries on.’
‘I take her to watch dancing class soon,’ Ana smiled, and went to make herself a cup of tea with no milk.
‘Never, she’s nobbut a baby still,’ Esme said. Where did this girl get these notions from?
‘Maria is taking Rosa, and Susan think good to let girls dance to music. What Joy has, Dina must have,’ she said, looking pleased with herself.
That’ll be a waste of money, lass, the kiddy can’t even walk yet, she thought, but for once she bit her tongue. It was a struggle but it would look good in her Eternal account book. Joy was a pudding, a lump of lard. How a tiny bird like Susan could produce such a round thing was way beyond her but the Winstanleys were big-boned and hefty.
‘Whatever you like,’ she managed. ‘But you’ll have to pay for it yourself.’ It was a struggle to keep her gob buttoned up when Ivy was hovering, looking daggers.
‘I do extra on Saturday for Levi. I find another job but it not easy,’ Ana added.
‘As long as you’re trying, that’s all we ask,’ Esme said, knowing she could not ask when they were leaving now.
Ivy was sitting with a face like thunder and when Ana left the room she was waiting to pounce.
‘You’ll never get rid of them now! Dancing classes, would you credit it? Where do they get their fancy ideas from? “Lemody Liptrot School of Dance” indeed. I remember when she was plain Lizzie Liptrot, the fishmonger’s daughter, who went on the stage and came back full of airs and graces and a plum in her mouth. I saw her advert in the Mercury: Greek dancing, tap dancing and ballet. It’ll give them ideas,’ she argued.
‘I thought you were the one for big ideas.’ Esme couldn’t resist the jibe, seeing Ivy so put out. ‘It’ll keep them out of mischief. I expect it teaches girls to hold themselves proper and understand rhythm.’
‘Little show-offs is what you’ll get,’ snapped Ivy. ‘Prancing about like Shirley Temple, and you don’t hold with all them theatricals.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps Neville could go and be the next Fred Astaire. Now he had a good sense of rhythm. I don’t hold with all that lovey-dovey stuff, but him and Ginger Rogers could fair move across the floor. That’s healthy and wholesome, gets your lungs working and heart pumping,’ she argued. She wasn’t too old to recall the thrill of a bit of romance.
Ivy was looking up with raised eyebrows. ‘I’m going to send our Neville for elocution lessons when he’s older so he can better himself.’
Esme could see that she had sown a seed of interest. There was nothing Ivy would not do to make Neville stand out from the crowd.
It was after tea was cleared away that the two girls hovered behind Esme and followed her into the sitting room where she liked to listen to the wireless and knit without interruption. It was her time of day for a bit of peace and quiet with a good book on her lap. They closed the door behind them and she wondered what was coming next. They always hunted in pairs, waiting until Ivy and Levi had gone to the pictures so she would be on her own, vulnerable to their pleas with no Ivy to bat off their suggestions. They sat down opposite and smiled. She tried to keep her Eternal account book in mind.
‘Daw Winstanley,’ said Susan, using her most polite term of address. ‘We want to ask your advice.’
Esme sighed with relief, relaxing into the chair. Giving advice was what she was good at. ‘Oh, yes? How can I help?’ she smiled.
‘It is our new friend, Maria. She is having a very bad time. Her husband is very sick in the sanatorium. She has been very kind to us. She has made us dinner many times.’
‘So she should do. She cost you our pram and a taxi fare.’
‘But she found us a new pushchair from her sister-in-law,’ Susan was quick to defend her friend.
‘And we had to scrub it with Lysol it was so greasy. It must have been dipped in the fish fryer,’ she replied. Ivy had scoured it for nits and other nasties, and refused to let Neville near it for fear of germs but it was not a bad go-chair. It collapsed and took up less room in the hall, and they could squash the two kids in at a pinch.
‘Every Sunday she cooks pasta for us-spaghetti-and we have ice cream and tinned fruit. How do we say thank you?’ Ana asked, her eyelashes blinking as she leaned forward hanging on the coming words. ‘It is polite to return gift with gift, yes?’
Esme was trapped if she said no. It would look as if she was condoning bad manners. If she said yes…oh heck, they’d caught her in their net but not without a struggle.
‘You can repay the dinners by taking her out for another meal in a café as a thank you,’ she said, hoping that would satisfy.
‘Yes…but it would be as you say, busman’s vacation?’ said Susan, so sweetly that Esme hardly felt the hook turning as she wriggled.
‘So what are you suggesting?’ she said, knowing their request was better laid flat on the table.
‘Can we cook a meal for Maria here, one Saturday evening after work? She can find someone to finish off her shift and she can catch the bus to visit Marco and come for her tea. It would be a big thank you,’ Susan said hurriedly.
‘You want to use my kitchen and my dining room and cook…foreign stuff for her?’ Esme gasped, knowing they had hooked her good and proper.
‘We cook for everyone, big thank you meal for all of you too,’ Susan added, glancing up as Lily appeared.
‘What a lovely idea,’ Lily smiled, looking hopefully in her direction. ‘A sort of thanksgiving-cum-Christmas meal all rolled into one.’
It was time to give her daughter one of those withering ‘you’re letting the family down’ looks.
‘We like our dinner cooked at lunchtime. Tea time is tea time and nothing fancy in the evening to talk back to me in the night.’
They must know the strict rotation of meals by now. Roast after church on Sunday, leftovers cold on Monday, rissoles on Tuesday, mince on Wednesday, fish on T
hursday when the fish van called. Potato pie on Friday and pasties from town on Saturday. It didn’t do to change routine.
Then she saw the blessed Eternal audit hovering high in the corner of the room. It would be good to score up another credit. Be generous and accommodating for once, she mused.
Let them try entertaining company on rations. It was not as easy as they thought.
‘You’d have to use your own rations. I don’t hold with fancy food but you can have my kitchen if you give plenty of advance notice. I don’t know what Ivy will say. It’s her kitchen too.’
‘But you all come to our meal, Ivy and Lily, all are invited,’ said Ana.
‘Then you’ll need everyone’s meat ration but I don’t want any funny smells wafting down the street,’ Esme said, knowing there would be hell to pay when Ivy got home.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ the widows shouted in unison, and jumped up and down as if they had been given the Crown Jewels. ‘We make special dinner for everyone and we have singing and dancing. You will like Maria.’
‘I’m sure for a Catholic and Eyetie, she’ll do,’ was all Esme could manage. I’ve let the side down again and given into my better nature, she sighed, but she would square it all up on her knees with the Almighty later.
10
Invitations to a Feast
‘You will come, Walt, to the thank you do? The family has to give them support.’ Lily was telling him all about the prospective supper as they sat in the café on her lunch break the next day.
‘So I’m family when it suits you. Pity I wasn’t in on them coming in the first place,’ he said with his mouth full of barm cake.
‘None of us knew they were going to turn up out of the blue. I thought you understood that.’ She patted his hand. Sometimes he could look so peevish.
‘It’s none of my business, Lily, what your family does, but Mam thinks you should never have had them girls in the house.’