Kitabı oku: «Live the Dream»
JOSEPHINE COX
Live the Dream
COPYRIGHT
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2004
Copyright© Josephine Cox 2005
Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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EBook Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780007373109
Version: 2017-08-10
DEDICATION
For my darling Ken, as ever
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PART THREE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PART FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
OTHER WORKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHATTERBOX
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Part 1
February 1932
The Way It Was
Chapter 1
FOR A LONG, regretful moment he leaned against the back wall, his tall, strong figure merging into the shadows, his heart aching, and his dark, thoughtful gaze intent on the house. It was such a beautiful house, he thought … so warm and inviting. Like she used to be.
His thoughts shifted to the woman inside. She was still beautiful, and sometimes, when she was afraid, her warm hand would slip into his. But that was all. There was rarely any passion in her gesture. Seldom a smile or welcome in her eyes.
She neither loved nor wanted him. But it wasn’t her fault – he knew that. He still loved her, but he didn’t know her any more, not in the way he used to.
He felt such deep regret, and yet, in a strange way, he was also relieved, as though he no longer needed to prove anything. There was no need. There was no one to care.
He had loved this fine house since that first day, seven years ago, when he had carried his wife through the wide, oaken doors and swung her round while she held on to him, laughing and happy, her beautiful face glowing with love for him and, oh, how he had adored her in return. But that was then. Now all he had left were the memories.
His heart ached for things to be how they once were. But however much he wished it, there could be no going back.
With a deep sigh he made his way across the delightful garden, with its pretty, meandering paths and multitude of shrubs and trees. It was early February now, and here and there the buds were already forming. In another month or so, they would open and the garden would be filled with colour. Walking through it, you could imagine yourself to be in paradise.
Sometimes, when the symptoms of her illness became too much for him, he would come out here, and walk and think until his spirit was refreshed. Then he would go back inside, ready to deal with whatever came his way.
Today was Tuesday, and Tuesdays were very special. For a time he was free to follow his heart, to do what he wanted, to be whoever he wanted to be. Tuesday was his day. His sanctuary.
He quickened his steps towards the outbuilding. Here, he took out a bunch of keys, unlocked the door and let himself in. He threw back the makeshift curtain at the window, and a shaft of sunlight fell on the cloth-covered easel at the back of the room.
Sliding away the cloth, he revealed the painting of a beautiful, slender woman with chestnut-coloured hair flowing to her waist, and dark, sultry eyes. For a while he stood there, thoughtfully observing the face, with its exquisite features and soft, smiling mouth.
Reaching out, he traced the tip of his finger around her inviting, sensuous mouth. A great sadness took hold of him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured. ‘If I could only change things, you know I would.’
A moment longer, then he covered the painting and strode to a large wooden chest and opened the lid. From where it was hidden beneath layers of paint-trays and brushes, he took out a heavy iron key. It was his passport to another world.
He slid the key into his jacket pocket and left, securing the door behind him. Then he quickly made his way through the gardens and out of the side gate.
From the bedroom window she watched him leave … that same woman he had painted so lovingly and whose portrait was hidden in the outhouse. She saw him carefully close the gate; she heard the familiar turning over of the engine, and in her mind’s eye she imagined him driving the long black saloon he had bought only a few months ago. She heard the engine swell as it was driven away, and through the beech trees that lined the road she caught a fleeting glimpse of the car as it went from the house.
Even when she could no longer hear the engine, she remained, thinking and wishing, until, startling her, a voice from the door called her name.
‘Sylvia! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
With a smile, she turned from the window. ‘It’s such a lovely day, don’t you think, Edna?’ But the smile was forced, because now he was gone and already she was lonely.
She often felt alone now – detached from her husband, from her sister, from dear Edna. No one came to visit. Too scared of her moods. The medication helped suppress the anger, but often her moods got the better of her. Sometimes the anger was preferable to the dulling effect of the drugs, and so on occasion she would hide the medicine and only pretend to take it. But there were days when she had no choice but to take it or lose control.
As the distance lengthened between them, Luke’s thoughts remained with her, the further he got from the house, the more he felt as though a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders. The frowns eased and his face softened; his dark eyes began to twinkle and his whole body relaxed into the seat. It was Tuesday, he was heading away, and a sense of freedom flooded his soul.
Today he would drive by way of the coast, some twenty-odd miles away. He liked the open sea and sky after the neat residential street in Blackburn, and the noise and sootiness of the factory on other weekdays. Afterwards, he would turn inland, to enjoy the special pleasures and freedom of his precious day off.
As he neared the beach, a flock of screaming seagulls descended, effectively blinding him as they flew across the windscreen of his car.
‘Jesus!’ Startled, he slammed on his brakes and screeched to a halt. Drawing on the handbrake, he climbed out of the car and watched the birds as they flew away, throwing their shadows over the morning sun. Anger subsided; a smile flitting across his thoughtful features. ‘Free as a bird.’ When they were mere specks in the faraway sky he momentarily closed his eyes, wishing he was up there with them.
His gaze flowed across the beach to the horizon. The sea was unusually quiet.
In the far distance, on the beach, a woman strolled with her two Labradors, one running ahead, the other trailing behind. She was a regular walker here. He had seen her tall, slim silhouette many times before.
His gaze travelled: to his left where the man was already opening up his tea-stall, and beyond him the flower shop was ablaze with spring flowers. Life goes on, he thought. If only they knew.
Getting back into his car he reminded himself that it was Tuesday. Put the dark thoughts out of your mind, he thought. He’d best get going, or the day would be gone before he knew it.
At the end of the road, he turned from the seafront and headed inland towards the fells and the Ribble Valley, every familiar curve and landmark a comfort to him.
The lanes became narrower and more meandering, until at length they disappeared altogether and he was bumping along a rough track that carried him deeper and deeper into the woods, beyond civilisation … beyond the burden of his duty and responsibility.
Almost a full hour after leaving the house, he arrived at his destination, where thick woodland hid him from the world and high trees almost blocked out the skies above.
The winding, babbling stream glittered in the morning light, and look there! Excited, he inched forward to see two small deer drinking at the water’s edge. This was what he needed. Through the week when he was driven by work and duties, this was the magic his soul craved.
He made his way towards the little log cabin, built by his own hand over two long, wonderful years. Afterwards, when it was finished he would sit on the covered veranda for many an hour, lazing and thinking, and though his troubles were heavy, he always found time to thank the Lord for his many blessings. The land had been owned by his family for generations, and he had spent happy childhood summer holidays riding, fishing and picnicking here, when visiting his grandparents nearby.
Taking the key from his pocket he slid it into the keyhole and opened the door. As always, when he came back after a week away, the clammy, damp air instantly wrapped itself around him. Impatiently he threw back the wooden shutters and opened the windows to let the fresh air in. When that was done, he took a box of matches from his pocket and struck it against the stone wall surrounding the fireplace. When the match-head flickered into life, he set light to the carefully laid pyramid of paper and wood in the grate.
Soon, the fire was cheerily blazing, airing and warming the whole cabin.
He felt a sense of pride in his achievement. The place was strong, built to last, with a tiny bedroom, makeshift bathroom, and a large centre area providing a sitting room and kitchen. Serviceable and attractive, the cabin was ideal for his own modest needs.
The furniture itself had been hewn from the trees outside, before being lovingly shaped by his own hand, to provide all that was needed: a small, square table and two chairs; a strong, deep chest of drawers; a long settle against the fireplace, where he would sit of an evening and dream of a life he would never have.
Then there was the bed. Square and sturdy enough to take a man’s weight, it was a handsome thing. Covered in a wine-coloured eiderdown, it was roomy enough for two. After all, he could dream …
Beside the bed stood a narrow wardrobe, not spacious by any standards, but enough to hold his most cherished possessions.
To use the bath and washbasin he would carry bucketfuls of water from the stream, and there was an earth closet in a separate little shack.
If he got hungry there was always a supply of tinned food in the larder, and titbits to be gathered in the woods, depending on the time of year. Running wild in those idyllic childhood holidays had been excellent training for cabin life.
Now, with the fire crackling and spitting, he was ever mindful of the falling sparks, any one of which could burn the cabin to the ground; which was why he had built the deep stone hearth. He had also fashioned a makeshift wire cage, which he now placed in front of the leaping flames.
Having placed the guard before the now crackling fire, he went to the wardrobe. He took out the canvas and easel and carried them to the corner of the room. He did not uncover the painting. Instead he held it for a moment, his thoughts going to a cosy little café in the centre of Blackburn. That was another part of his secret life. Then he set the frame on the easel.
From the chest he took out a pile of clothes and draped them over the wire cage of the fire guard to warm and air, while he stripped off his suit, shirt and tie.
When he was dressed again the businessman was gone and in his place was an ordinary workman, dressed casually in brown cords, green check shirt and heavy black boots. The uniform of duty was discarded, and he was now a man at ease with himself.
Now was the moment he’d anticipated with pleasure since his last visit. With great care he slipped the cover from the painting.
When it was laid bare he gazed at it for a long, wondrous moment, his dark, smiling eyes roving its every feature.
Smiling back at him, the young woman with the tumble of hazel hair seemed almost alive. Her laughing eyes, blue as the darkest sapphire, were painted in such a way as to be looking at him wherever he went in the room. Her pretty, slightly parted lips seemed so real he felt she would suddenly talk to him. But she never did, except in his dreams. She probably never would.
Yet he knew her well, that small, vibrant woman who had invaded his thoughts. A special part of his Tuesday life, she hardly knew of his existence.
Returning to the wardrobe he collected his paints and brushes. A few moments later he was stroking the tip of the brush over the curling ends of her brown hair. ‘You don’t know me,’ he murmured fondly, ‘but I feel I know you. I’ve seen how you light up a room when you walk into it …’ Images of her came into his mind – going about her own Tuesday life, laughing with her friend – making him smile. ‘And I know you have a wonderful sense of humour.’
Changing his brush, he worked on her cheekbones. ‘You can’t imagine how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’
He paused, his thoughts going back to the house and the woman who waited there. ‘Maybe it’s just as well you don’t even notice me,’ he sighed. ‘You see, Amy … a man might dream and hope, but dreams are not real, and life can drag you down. I do my best, but I’m hopelessly trapped. If only I can find a way to change how things are.’
That night as he sat on his veranda watching the stars twinkle and dance, a glass of wine in his hand and a great loneliness in his heart, he had no way of knowing how Amy was watching those same stars, and that in her heart were the same impossible dreams, and sense of awful loneliness.
Leaning on the windowsill, arms folded, her gaze raised to the skies, she wondered where Don was, and whether he ever thought of her. She did not wonder whether he might come back, because his parting words had been that she would never see him again. And although for many months after he’d gone, she had prayed he might change his mind and come back, he never had. Now the pain had settled to a sense of loss and disappointment with the acceptance that what he had said was true. Earlier, when he had asked her to marry him, she had been filled with such joy; not knowing that it would end in her heart being broken. There had been weeks of planning and excitement when the date was set and the church booked. The bridesmaids were chosen, the bridal gown ordered and even the honeymoon arranged, before he confessed to her that he had never really wanted family or responsibilities.
Sometimes she wondered if that had been a kind excuse – a way of letting her down gently. He had been so handsome and such fun. Maybe she hadn’t been good enough for him …
Amy had been devastated when he left, and even now the love she had felt for him still lingered.
Pressing her nose to the window she recalled the happy times they had shared.
‘I don’t hate you, Don,’ she murmured. ‘I could never hate you.’
She remembered his smile and the way he would hold her in his arms, and her heart was heavy. But she no longer fooled herself. It was over.
‘Good night, Amy.’ That was her mammy on the landing.
‘Good night, Mam.’
‘Don’t forget we’ve an early start in the morning.’
‘I won’t.’
The sound of passing footsteps, then the closing of a door, and the house was quiet again.
Leaving the curtains open so she could see the stars, Amy went softly across the room and slid into bed.
She closed her eyes, shut out the memories and was quickly asleep.
Chapter 2
‘DON’T LOOK NOW, but our mystery man is here again!’
Having seen her come up the street, the young waitress flung open the door, grabbed Amy by the arm and yanked her inside the café.
‘It’s driving me crazy, not knowing who he is!’ She stole a glance at the far table. ‘He’s been here half an hour,’ she whispered, drawing Amy to the back of the café, ‘and I still don’t know any more about him than I did three months ago.’
‘For God’s sake, Daisy! Let me get my coat off.’ Amy had already noticed the man as she passed the window and, as always, her own curiosity was aroused – though she would never admit it to Daisy. ‘It’s bitter cold out there and, if you don’t mind, I need to sit down.’
Loaded with shopping bags and a face bright pink from the biting wind, she resisted Daisy’s pushing and shoving. ‘Get off!’
Daisy stepped back a pace. ‘He hasn’t said a word, except to order bacon and eggs.’ She dropped her voice until it was almost inaudible. ‘I’d say he were a film star … God knows, he’s handsome enough.’ She sighed. ‘But you can tell he’s not, because of his clothes. I reckon he must work in a factory, wearing them boots and with a flat cap.’
‘Honestly, Daisy, you’re becoming obsessed with the poor fella,’ Amy groaned. ‘Why don’t you leave him alone to get on with his breakfast, instead of gawping at him every two minutes?’
Sliding her bags onto the nearest table, she dropped her weary self into the chair. ‘God, my feet are aching.’ Slipping off her shoes, she wiggled her toes. ‘These new shoes don’t help either! I knew I should have worn them round the bedroom a few times before going out in them.’
Daisy was incredulous. ‘Listen to you, lass! Talking about shopping and shoes and moaning about the weather … you sound like your mam!’
‘You’re right,’ Amy agreed with a soft laugh. ‘I do, don’t I?’
‘I know you’re curious about him too, so don’t deny it!’
Leaning forward, Amy was disturbed to find the man’s gaze on her. ‘I’m not denying it,’ she answered softly, ‘I am curious.’
Daisy beamed with satisfaction. ‘Well there you are then.’
‘There I am … what?’
‘You want to know about him as much as I do, so stop lecturing me.’
‘I’m not “lecturing” you.’
‘You are!’
‘All right then, I am, and for good reason.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘Two things.’ Taking off the pretty dark blue hat with its tiny brim and blue cotton band, Amy ran her fingers through her short brown hair. ‘For all we know, he could be a really dangerous man, and he must know how much you’re attracted to him, the way you keep sneaking a look at him with those big, moony cow eyes. You could be playing with fire. That’s the first thing.’
‘And what’s the second?’
Lazily placing the hat on the nearby chair, Amy warned, ‘If there’s nothing sinister about him, and he’s just a man who likes to be left alone, you should leave him be. If you frighten him off, you’ll lose one of your best customers – and then you’ll never find out who he is.’
While Daisy considered her remarks, Amy took off her coat. ‘Now then, are you going to serve me or what?’
Daisy gave a long, impatient sigh. ‘Being as we’re quiet, can I sit with you? It’s time for my break anyway.’
‘All right. If you promise not to drive me mad.’
Daisy rolled her ‘moony cow eyes’. ‘What d’you want to eat – same as usual, is it?’
While Amy glanced quickly through the one-page menu of fry-ups, barm cakes and pie-and-peas, Daisy’s attention drifted to the man, then back again to Amy, her one and only friend.
She had taken to Amy the first minute she’d wandered into the café some two years ago. It had been a grim, wet day and Amy had got caught in a downpour. Having sought refuge in Tooley’s Café, she had brought it alive with her bright friendly chatter and warm engaging smile. She had a streak of mischievousness that often caught Daisy off guard and made her laugh till she ached. But Daisy had also discovered her own mothering instincts when her friend’s fiancé had left her, practically at the altar.
Amy was now a regular customer, always loaded down with shopping, always ready for a chat, with her down-to-earth and lovely manner. It was on Tuesdays that Amy went to pay a couple of the smaller wholesalers who supplied Atkinsons’ Corner Shop, owned by her parents, and where Amy herself worked. She also did the weekly shop then, her parents being too busy working to find the time. Daisy looked forward to Tuesday more than any other day of the week. In between serving customers, she would press her nose to the window, watching for Amy, knowing that when she came through that door the whole room would light up and so would Daisy’s heart.
Amy had her serious side too. A good listener, she was kind and considerate, and when Daisy came to work saddened by the acrimonious situation at home between her parents, Amy gave her hope for the future, and Daisy had come to see her as the sister she never had.
Although, at twenty-four, Amy was just two years older than Daisy, she had a calmer, deeper nature, and that special ability to put people at their ease; whether it be through her engaging smile, or her easy, friendly manner.
She was not dazzlingly attractive, but she had a certain magnetism that seemed to draw people to her. Her face was small and heart-shaped, with a halo of light brown hair that fell in natural waves about her ears, and her mouth was generous, with full lips upturned at the corners, like a smile waiting to happen. Her eyes were her best feature, though – deepest blue with a naughty twinkle. Small of build, she had a slight figure, and it only took a few minutes of knowing her to realise she had a warm, open heart.
Daisy knew what Amy would order, but she asked all the same. ‘You’d best make your mind up,’ she urged. ‘Any minute now, I could be rushed off my feet.’
Amy looked about the half-empty café: there was the man by the window; a little old couple in the corner, Daisy and herself. ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that just yet,’ she teased, ‘but just in case, I’ll have a pot of tea … and one of your toasted barm cakes.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Sorry, no can do. The toaster blew up. We’re waiting for the fella to come and mend it.’ She laughed. ‘You should have seen it this time … there was a big bang and the bloody toast went flying in all directions. Come and look.’
Amused, Amy followed her. ‘Not again? That’s the third time!’
Daisy shrugged. ‘There must be a fault somewhere.’
Smiling, Amy shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s you. You’re the “fault”. You’re not supposed to snatch the plug from the wall every time you think the toast is done enough. You have to switch it off first.’
‘Then it burns the toast!’
‘That’s because you haven’t got the setting right.’
‘It’s a nuisance! I don’t like the bloody thing. I never have.’
‘So, use the grill instead.’
‘Mrs Tooley won’t let me. She says she’s not spending good money on new things for me to ignore them. That toaster is her pride and joy. I’m to use it, and that’s an end to it. I did use the grill once, when the toaster went wrong and she tore me off a strip for making a mess everywhere.’
‘But Mrs Tooley only comes of an evening to collect her takings.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
Amy explained, ‘Well, now that she’s got her new fancy man, she hardly ever shows up here during the day, so she won’t know you’re using the grill – not if you clean it up half an hour before she arrives.’
As the possibilities dawned on her, Daisy’s frown became a wide, cunning grin. ‘You’re right!’ she gasped. ‘I’ll use the old things and clean ’em up before she gets here!’
‘I’m glad that’s settled!’ Amy knew how to put a smile on Daisy’s face. ‘So now, can I please have my tea and barm cake?’ Feeling mischievous, she teased, ‘And while you’re gone, I’ll have a word with the stranger. I’ll find out who he is and where he’s from. Oh, and you’ll want to know if he’s married or if he’s got a girlfriend, and whether he’s well off or stony-broke, in which case you won’t want to know any more about him and we’ll all get some peace. OK?’
Daisy knew she was being teased and went along with it. ‘While you’re at it, happen you’d best ask if he lives local, ’cos I followed him one time and he suddenly disappeared – went down a side street and was gone like will-o’-the-wisp.’ She threw her arms wide and opened her hands to demonstrate.
Amy was surprised. ‘You never told me you followed him!’
‘No, because you’d have told me off good and proper.’
‘Quite right too.’ Amy put on her most severe, reprimanding look. ‘Following men down alleyways … what if he’d turned round and attacked you?’
Daisy chuckled. ‘I should be so lucky!’ She glanced through the kitchen door at the man. ‘Anyhow, does he look like the sort who would attack anyone?’
Amy followed her glance. ‘Maybe not, but you never know.’
He was certainly a mystery, she thought. Although as Daisy said, he didn’t seem like the sort who would turn on a woman. There was a kind of gentle strength about him that would protect rather than hurt.
‘I’ll get your order,’ Daisy said, adding hopefully, ‘I bet you won’t dare speak to him while I’m gone.’
Amy continued the charade. ‘If I do, and providing he gives all the right answers, I’ll ask him if he’ll take you on a date, because you fancy him summat rotten.’
‘Oh, I wish you would,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Three whole months he’s been coming here. Almost every Tuesday without fail, and I don’t even know his name!’
Realising she would have to wait for her breakfast, Amy resigned herself to listening while Daisy chatted on about the ‘Tuesday man’.
Taking a moment to observe this busy, bumbling person she had come to know so well, Amy took in the big brown eyes, the shock of wild auburn hair and the pretty face with its multitude of freckles over a pretty, pert nose. Short and voluptuous, outgoing and friendly, Daisy was once seen never forgotten.
Amy thought of Daisy’s miserable home life, with the constantly feuding parents.
For as long as Amy had known her, Daisy had suffered wretchedly at the hands of her selfish, boorish parents. Their noisy, sometimes violent, arguments, often fuelled by drink, meant that Daisy could never invite Amy to her home. In Mrs Tooley’s fuggy little café, Daisy could escape the unhappiness of her home by chatting with the customers, teasing and joking with the friendly regulars, and even flirting a little with the men. In this way, Daisy could create some much-needed fun in her life.
‘Look, Daisy … don’t get too infatuated with your Tuesday man,’ Amy warned. ‘If he’d wanted you to know who he is, I’m sure he would have told you.’
‘But he wants to talk,’ Daisy confided, ‘I can tell that much. Sometimes he looks so sad, and sometimes he smiles at me and I want to sit next to him like I’m sitting next to you, only he looks away, just when I think I’m getting through to him.’
Amy shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s not such a “mystery”,’ she said quietly. ‘Maybe he comes in here because he lives alone and needs to be amongst people. Or maybe he comes in here because he’s got a wife and ten children and he can’t get any peace at home. Either way, if he needs to be quiet and alone for whatever reason, it’s his choice and you should respect that.’
Casting a sideways glance out at the man, Amy sensed his loneliness. Daisy was right: he was a mystery – always preoccupied, head bent to his newspaper, while not seeming to be actually reading it. Instead he appeared to be deep in thought. Sometimes he would raise his head and gaze out of the window, before eventually returning to his newspaper or thoughtfully sipping his tea.
He never looked at the other customers; in fact it was as though he was totally oblivious to them. It was a curious thing.
‘What are you thinking?’ Daisy’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Amy looked up, her voice quiet as she answered, ‘I just think he deserves to be left alone.’ She smiled fondly at the other young woman. ‘Not everybody’s like you, Daisy,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people really do like their own company.’
Daisy shifted her gaze to the man. For a long moment she didn’t say anything, but there was a troubled look in her eyes.
‘Daisy, are you all right?’ Reaching out, Amy closed her hand over Daisy’s. ‘Has something happened at home?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘It’s the same,’ she confided with a sad little smile, ‘always the same.’ Drawing away her hand she added brightly, ‘Here’s me chatting away and you cold and famished. Sorry, love. I’ll go an’ get yer breakfast.’
‘But something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Amy had learned to read the signs. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Daisy shook her head.
‘All right, but I’m a good listener if you need me.’
Daisy gave that little smile again. ‘I know that.’ With a roll of her eyes, she looked over to where the man was closing his newspaper. ‘If only a man like that could sweep me up and carry me off, it would solve everything.’
‘Oh, Daisy. You can’t mean that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Well …’
Amy took another discreet look at him. He was certainly handsome, there was no denying that, with his long easy limbs, fine sensual lips and that dark brown tumble of hair. Once, when he looked up at the clock over the counter, Amy had caught sight of his dark, brooding eyes. There was something about him that stirred the senses.
‘Hey!’ Daisy gave her a prod. ‘You were saying …?’
Ashamed and startled at her own thoughts, Amy returned, ‘I just don’t think it would solve your problems to run off with some stranger and, besides, like you said yourself, you don’t know the first thing about him.’
‘But if he carried me off, I’d soon find out, wouldn’t I? Anyway, what’s to know? He pays his bill with proper money, and he always treats me with respect. Leaves a tip he does, and smiles up at me when I serve him.’ She gave a girlish giggle. ‘Anyway, even if it turned out he was some sort of rogue, he’s so good-looking it wouldn’t matter a bugger! A man like that … I could forgive him anything!’
Amy was alarmed. ‘You’re too trusting.’
‘And you’re too bloody suspicious!’
Amy changed tack. ‘I’m also cold and hungry, and I’ve changed my mind about the barm cake. I fancy a hot meat-and-tatty pie … with a helping of mushy peas and a dollop of that awful gravy you make.’
Daisy bounced over to the fridge. ‘Don’t get cheeky, lass,’ she wagged a warning finger, ‘or I might refuse to serve you. In fact, I might shut up shop and lock myself in … with him!’ She winked as she went. ‘And it’s no good you getting jealous, ’cos I’m the manager here and what I say goes.’ With that she sauntered off to open a tin of peas and suddenly, softly started to sing.
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Amy chuckled, resuming a seat at her table.
She looked across at the man and when he unexpectedly smiled at her, her heart took a leap. For what seemed an age he held her gaze before turning away.
Confused and embarrassed, she fumbled in her shopping bag. Drawing out this month’s Woman and Home, she opened it up and spreading it across the table, pretended to read. In her mind’s eye she saw his smile, soft and friendly, reaching out to her … and those wonderful dark eyes! Daisy was right. He was devilishly handsome, and yet, there was such sadness about him – a kind of lost look that had touched her deeply.
‘What you got there?’ Daisy was back. Placing Amy’s order in front of her, she turned the page of the magazine. ‘Heck! Look at that!’ Pointing to the elegant model in centre-page, she called Amy’s attention to the blue spotted dress with thick belt and flared hem, ‘How much!’ Her look of rapture turned to one of horror. ‘One and ten! I’d have to work a whole month before I could buy that!’
Amy wasn’t listening. Something else had alerted her. Strangely uneasy, she turned to see the man looking straight at her again. He held her gaze for a second or two, then he stood up and walked towards the door with long easy strides. ‘I think your mystery man is leaving,’ Amy told Daisy quietly.
‘What!’ Looking up, Daisy saw the door close behind him. ‘Damn! He always does that to me!’
Amy tutted mischievously. ‘What? You mean he sneaks off without paying?’
‘No, you daft ha’pporth!’ Daisy groaned. ‘He always leaves his money on the table. I wish he’d pay at the counter, then I might get chance to quiz him a bit.’
Amy’s curious gaze followed him as he went past the window and away down the street. ‘Maybe next time,’ she said quietly. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.’ Because there was a man who had a lot on his mind, she thought, and he wasn’t about to share his secrets with anyone at Tooley’s Café.
Just then two more customers arrived, a middle-aged woman with a younger woman who, judging by the argument going on, appeared to be her daughter. ‘What in God’s name d’yer think you’re playing at?’ demanded the older woman. ‘By! If your dad knew, he’d hit the roof!’
‘I don’t give a bugger what he says!’ snapped the younger woman. ‘It’s his fault I’m leaving. Miserable old git, I don’t know how you’ve put up with him all these years!’
Daisy groaned. ‘Bleedin’ Nora! It’s them two! Argue all the time, they do. I’ve a good mind to bar the pair of ’em.’
Amy couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Good customers, are they?’
Daisy nodded. ‘Three times a week, regular as clockwork: two full breakfasts and gallons of tea.’
‘Right!’ Amy gave her a shove. ‘What you do is shut your ears … if you can bear not to eavesdrop. Then you smile, and serve them and take their money when they’ve finished. And now if you please, I’d like my breakfast.’ With that she gave Daisy another shove and Daisy toddled off to ask the other customers, ‘What can I get you, ladies?’ And back came the swift answer, ‘Piss orf. Can’t yer see we’re not ready yet!’
Cursing under her breath, Daisy quickened her steps to the kitchen; while Amy, having heard the whole thing, found it hard not to laugh out loud.
When behind her, the argument raged on between the two women, she looked up to see Daisy, elbows resting on the counter, ears pricked and eavesdropping like a good ’un. ‘That’s my Daisy!’ she chuckled. ‘Can’t resist a good argument.’
Amy loved her Tuesday shopping, and her regular stop-off at Tooley’s Café because rain or shine, there was always something going on.
Then, as thoughts of the man came into her mind, her amusement turned to concern. What made him so afraid to reach out, she wondered. What was it in his life that put the sadness in those deep, dark eyes?
Like Daisy she would have loved to know more about him.
She glanced out the window but he was long gone. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved,’ she murmured. And he had seemed to want to talk, she thought. Just for that split second or two when he held her gaze, he had seemed to be reaching out to her.
But then again, maybe it was only her imagination.
Chapter 3
‘WHAT PLANS HAVE you got for tonight, lass?’ Strikingly pretty, small-built like Amy, and with the same bright smile and brown hair, Marie Atkinson was mild-tempered and of a kindly nature. ‘Off somewhere exciting are you?’
It was a Friday evening and Amy was busy emptying the till in the shop. She glanced up at her mother. ‘I might go to the pictures with Daisy.’
‘Hmm! Sounds like a good idea.’ When she was younger, Marie had always fancied herself as a film star. ‘What’s on?’
Concentrating on separating the silver coins from the less valuable copper ones, Amy said, ‘I think it’s Charles King in The Broadway Melody.’
Marie liked the sound of that. ‘By! If your dad weren’t coming home tonight, I might have joined you,’ she said dreamily. ‘Ooh! I do like Charles King.’ She tap-danced on the spot. ‘Feet of magic and a smile that turns you inside out. I wouldn’t mind a little twirl with him.’
Amy laughed. ‘Don’t give me that! If it was a choice between Dad and Charles King, you’d pick Dad every time.’
Marie kept on dancing. ‘Happen I’ll let your dad get his own dinner. Happen I’d rather put on my glad rags and go to the pictures with you and Daisy.’
Knowing how devoted to her father Marie was, Amy laughed. ‘I can’t see you letting Dad come home to an empty house, not even for Charles King! Besides, you’ve always said how nobody could ever take Dad’s place.’
Exhausted, Marie stopped dancing and leaned over the counter. ‘You’re right, lass,’ she said breathlessly. ‘There’s not a man in this world can ever tek the place of your father.’
Her face wreathed in a smile, she let her mind wander back over the years. ‘Me and your dad have been wed almost twenty-five years, and I wouldn’t swap a single minute.’
In fact their anniversary was only eight months away. ‘I were just turned eighteen when we walked down the aisle,’ she confirmed. ‘Your father was twenty … though o’ course he weren’t your father then … he were just my Dave.’ She sighed. ‘I loved him with all my heart then. And I’ve loved him the same ever since.’
Amy sighed longingly. ‘I wish I could find someone to love like that.’ All her life Amy had witnessed the love and devotion between her mam and dad, and it was a wonderful thing. She had thought that marriage to Don would have been just the same – had envisaged a life of devotion to her gorgeous husband – and even now flashes of that golden future that would never be occasionally passed through her mind. She couldn’t see how she could ever love that way again. Her parents’ happiness was a living example of an idyllic marriage Amy now feared she might never have. She shrugged away the thought.
Having bagged up the takings, she came across the room and, placing the bags on the counter, she wrapped her arms round that small, delightful figure. ‘After all this time you still adore him, don’t you, Mam? What woman in her right mind would give up a night with Charles King to be with “your Dave”, as you call him?’
Marie gave it some thought. ‘Well, I’ll admit your father’s not as slim as Charles King and it’s no wonder, with all that dancing an’ tapping an’ flinging himself about. By! It’s a marvel he’s not worn down to his kneecaps.’
Amy loved to tease and she did so now. ‘Whereas Dad can’t dance; and he can’t tap, although I have known him “fling himself about” a bit, when he comes home three sheets to the wind.’
‘No!’ Marie flew to his defence. ‘You’ve never seen your father three sheets to the wind!’ she protested, half smiling. ‘He’s only ever been the worse for drink once in the whole of his life, and that was when Grandad Atkinson got wed for the second time. Even then he didn’t have the strength to “fling himself about a bit”.’ She chuckled. ‘Though he did manage to fall down the coal-hole and bruise himself from top to bottom.’
Amy laughed. ‘I bet that sobered him up.’
‘It did, yes. It weren’t the first time he’d fallen down the coal-hole,’ she revealed. ‘A natural disaster, that’s your dad.’
Marie told a tale or two about what Amy’s dad had got up to before she was even born, and for the next few minutes the two of them rolled about with laughter. ‘On the night I decided I loved your father we were holding hands as we walked from Atkinson Street. A horse and cart ran through a puddle and splashed him from top to bottom. How could I not want to marry him after that?’
‘A couple of old romantics, that’s what you are.’ As always, Amy’s heart went out to Daisy, whose own parents were forever feuding and fighting. Tonight would be as much an escape as an entertainment for poor Daisy.
‘I wish he hadn’t gone driving for Hammonds, though,’ Marie said thoughtfully. ‘I really miss him. Why in God’s name did he have to take on that delivery work? He was offered work inside the factory, but he said he didn’t fancy “being cooped up”. All the same, I wish he’d taken it. At least he’d have been home of a night-time.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I do hate him being away all week!’
Hammonds had two lines of business: a brush factory, and delivery of their own and other people’s goods in a small fleet of motor lorries.
In an effort to bring back the smile to her mother’s face, Amy quipped, ‘Why d’you need Dad, when you’ve got me?’
Collecting up the money bags, Marie groaned. ‘That’s another thing. I feel guilty about you giving up your job at Wittons factory, so you could come and help run this place. And you were about to be promoted to the office.’
Amy was astounded. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Rosie Salter told me a few days after you left.’
‘She should never have done that!’
‘Well, she did, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. I mean, you can’t deny, it’s a bit of a come-down for you.’
‘Oh, Mam! You’re not to feel guilty.’ Amy enjoyed working in the shop and she told her mother so. ‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’
‘I think you’re sorry you asked me to come and work with you, because now you think I’m no good at shop-keeping.’ By deliberately going on the defensive, Amy cunningly turned the tables on her mother. ‘The truth is, you want rid of me, and you don’t like to say. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Just as Amy suspected, Marie was mortified. ‘Aw, lass, nothing could be further from the truth! I love having you here and, what’s more, you’ve learned the business like you’ve been at it all your life. As a matter of fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Collecting the money bags and the ledger into her arms, she sighed. ‘It’s just that, well, I really loved working with your dad, and I miss him terrible when he’s not around.’
‘He’ll be home soon.’ Amy gave her a hug. ‘You go and make yourself beautiful for him, while I mop the floor and clear up in here.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl!’ Marie insisted. ‘We’ll clear up together, same as always.’
A short time later, having cleared up, swept the floor and tidied away the large blocks of butter and cheese, and canisters of loose tea and broken biscuits, Marie walked with her daughter to the living quarters at the back.
‘When me and your father started this business, I thought we’d be doing it together until we retired, but he just got more and more restless. He’d always been a driver, y’see, lass – first with the horse and carts, then the beer wagons, and now with these new-fangled motor vehicles … dangerous things if you ask me!’
At first Amy’s father had seemed to settle into his new life as a grocer. Then a few months back, he’d spotted an advert in the post office for a driver at Hammonds distribution business. He applied for the job and got it. ‘I’m fed up of being behind a counter all day,’ he’d told Marie. ‘I need to get back on the road. I’d rather not be staying away nights, but it’s all they’ve got for the minute.’ Once he’d decided, there’d been no dissuading him.
‘I miss him too,’ Amy confessed, ‘but he’s a lot happier now he’s away from the shop. He loves the driving, and anyway, the week goes by quickly enough.’ Amy glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. ‘Look! It’s already half-past five. Another hour and he’ll be home,’ she winked, ‘with another present for you, I expect.’
Every Friday was the same. He would bounce through the door, beaming from ear to ear, with a little present in his pocket for his beloved wife, and a small posy of flowers for Amy.
Talking of her husband and knowing how sometimes Amy was lonely for the same kind of love, Marie grew serious. ‘Do you ever think of Don?’
Surprised by her mammy’s unexpected question, Amy nodded. ‘Sometimes, yes, but it doesn’t hurt in quite the same way as it did. There was a time when I would have had him back with open arms, but not any more.’ When her fiancé dropped her only a few days before they were due to be wed she had thought she would never get over it, but somehow she’d survived. The pain had faded; maybe one day it would go altogether. ‘I’m over it now, Mam. If he walked in that door right now, I’d speak to him, yes, but I wouldn’t feel anything. Not any more.’ This was in part true: nothing for it but to move forward. The love she once felt for him had long since gone.
Marie slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad about that, lass,’ she said softly, before quickly changing the subject by asking brightly, ‘And you’re absolutely sure you don’t regret giving up promotion to come here and work with me?’
‘I’m content enough here,’ Amy answered. And she was.
In truth, Amy had not been too keen to give up her job, and at first had missed the banter and comradeship of her factory mates. But much to her astonishment she had come to enjoy working in the corner shop. It was easy enough work, and the tasks were always varied: selling tobacco, weighing out dried peas or potatoes, unwrapping the fragrant sacks of sugar and tea, or stacking the shelves with fresh eggs or that day’s newspapers.
Her mother was great company; though the wages were not as good as Amy had been used to, but there were other compensations – no journey to work, the pleasant work and the friendliness of the customers – and so she had settled into the job surprisingly well.
By six thirty, just as Amy had predicted, Dave arrived home. A man with no airs or graces, he was of good build, with a shock of fair hair and a homely smile, which he now bestowed on them. ‘By! Summat smells good.’
Coming into the back parlour he kissed Marie first. ‘Don’t tell me …’ throwing off his coat he draped it over the chair and sniffed the air, ‘… meat pie, roast potatoes and baked parsnips, am I right?’
Amy came for her kiss. ‘I don’t know when you’ve ever been wrong,’ she laughed.
He joined in, then assumed an apologetic expression. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but we’ve had such a rush on, I didn’t have time to find you a present.’
‘Aw, never mind, love.’ Marie was philosophical. ‘You’ve brought yourself home and that’s all that matters.’
He gave her a kiss. ‘You’re a very understanding woman,’ he said gratefully. ‘There’s not many men can say that about their wives.’
Marie gave him a little shove. ‘You go and get your wash,’ she said, ‘while me and Amy get the dinner on the table.’
When he was gone into the scullery, Marie gave Amy a knowing wink. ‘I’ve learned to be crafty as him over the years,’ she whispered.
Amy whispered back, ‘What d’you mean?’
In answer, Marie tiptoed to her husband’s jacket and, dipping her hand inside it, withdrew two small packages.
Just then, Dave shouted for a towel. ‘Hurry up, Marie. I’m dripping wet!’
‘Here,’ handing Amy the two small packages, Marie instructed mischievously, ‘hide ’em, quick!’
Dave’s frantic voice sailed in from the scullery, ‘MARIE!’
‘All right, all right, I’m on my way!’ And off she went, chuckling at their innocent deception.
A few minutes later, washed and changed and ready for his dinner, Dave returned to the parlour. ‘By! A feast fit for a king!’ he said, his hungry eyes roving the table. Right in the centre was the deep-dish meat pie with a brown crusty pastry and a wash of egg to make it shine.
There were two earthenware bowls: one filled with roasted potatoes, the other brimming with quartered parsnips. For Dave there was a welcome jug of beer, a glass of stout for Marie, and a tumbler of home-made elderberry wine for Amy.
‘Well, don’t just look at it!’ Marie told him. ‘Sit yourself down and eat.’
‘One minute,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve summat here for the pair of you …’ Chuckling, he confessed, ‘I were just winding you up when I said I hadn’t got you a present.’
Marie feigned excitement. ‘So you brought us one after all? Oh, sweetheart, I knew you would.’
The grin on Dave’s face faded as he felt in the pocket for the third time, fumbling this way, then that. ‘They’ve gone!’ he cried. ‘Some thieving bugger’s ’ad ’em away!’
At the look of horror on his face, Amy couldn’t bear it. ‘Here they are, Dad.’ Collecting them from behind the clock on the sideboard she handed them to him.
When his mouth fell open with surprise, Marie laughed. ‘It serves you right for teasing us. Come on then, let’s see what you’ve brought?’
Marie’s present was the prettiest brooch, shaped like a butterfly and made out of enamel. ‘Aw, Dave …’ She gave him a hug. ‘It’s lovely … you’re lovely!’
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he seemed embarrassed, though he enjoyed her fussing round him. ‘You know how I like to give you nice things,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s only what you deserve.’ He glanced at Amy. ‘Come on, lass … open your present.’
Amy was thrilled with hers too. The necklace was a tiny heart, shaped in silver, and when she put it on, both Marie and Dave said how pretty it looked on her.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She too gave him a fond hug. ‘But you shouldn’t spend your money on us like that.’
Indignant, he asked sombrely, ‘If I can’t spend it on the two most important people in my life, who can I spend it on?’
There was no answer to that, except for Marie to say, ‘Let’s eat our dinners, afore they go cold!’
As they ate, the three of them chatted and laughed, and Dave told of his latest disaster.
‘For the life of me, I don’t know how it happened,’ he began excitedly. ‘Soonever I was given the address, I knew straight off there were a good many narrow little streets in that area, some of ’em virtually impassable, especially with a lorry that size. The new foreman assured me there was no problem as the road widened out at the end and I could drive straight through. But when I got halfway down, I knew some bugger had been playing silly devils with me, ’cos instead of the road getting wider, it got narrower. In the end I couldn’t go forrard and it seemed there were too many twists and turns to go backards.’
‘Sounds frightening.’ Against all odds, but urged on by Daisy, Amy had once secretly considered learning to drive, but the tales her dad came home with had put her off altogether. Dave had a little car, his pride and joy, but now Amy couldn’t envisage being one of the pioneer female drivers of Blackburn.
‘Aye, it were frightening an’ all, lass!’ Rolling his eyes he groaned. ‘In fact it were a bloody nightmare!’
Marie was horrified. ‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, I had no option, did I? All I could do was to feel my way back inch by inch. Unfortunately I badly scraped the side of the wagon and almost demolished a wall on the way.’
Once he got into the swing of it, Dave could tell a tale as well as any man, and on this particular occasion he had a riveted audience.
‘Not content with that, soonever I got the back end out I swung my front round to avoid a lamppost,’ he continued. ‘I missed the lamppost all right, but knocked down two bollards in the process, and ran over some poor bloke’s bicycle.’
Amy could see it all so vividly in her mind, she couldn’t stop laughing. ‘You’re a one-man demolition party!’
‘It weren’t my fault,’ Dave protested, indignant. ‘The buggers should have had more sense than sending me there in the first place!’
‘But that poor man … what did he have to say about his bike?’
‘Well, he weren’t too pleased, I can tell yer that. Yelled and shouted he did – went bright red in the face; said as how I should be locked up for my own safety, the cheeky article! On top o’ that, he wanted me to pay for a new bike, but I told him, I said, “If you’re daft enough to park it by the kerbside, you expect to get it run over.”’
Marie was curious. ‘And was he content with that?’
‘Were he buggery! Threatened to fetch the police if I didn’t pay up, but I’m no pushover. I stuck to my guns.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘As you know, I’m not a man who’s easily threatened!’
‘So what did you do?’
With a defiant look, he explained, ‘Well, what d’yer think I did? I paid him half what he said. I mean, what else could I do under the circumstances? I had no intention o’ paying him the full whack, I can tell you that. But y’see, I didn’t want no police on the scene. They’d have only made me later coming home to you, my darling.’ The expression on his face was a picture. ‘And we couldn’t be having that, could we now?’
All three laughed at his antics. It had been a good day, and an excellent meal, and as Dave went for his evening ‘constitutional’, Marie and Amy cleared away the dinner things. ‘It’s good to have him home,’ Marie said, and Amy agreed. Such contentment – she had envisaged such a marriage for herself, but she knew, even so, that she was fortunate to share in her parents’ happy lives. After all, what would Daisy give for this much love?
Dave returned just as Amy came down the stairs, having gone to get ready. ‘By! You look lovely, lass.’ He beamed with pride. ‘Off somewhere nice, are you?’
‘Me and Daisy are going to the pictures.’ Amy blushed at his compliment, but then she had taken a lot of trouble to look especially nice.
The long dark skirt had been a birthday present from her mother, and to go with it, Amy had bought a pale blue blouse and close-fitting jacket of darker blue. With her small-heeled ankle-strap shoes and the pretty spotted scarf at her throat she looked and felt good.
‘Your dad’s right,’ Marie agreed. ‘You look beautiful in that outfit.’
Aware that she was no beauty, but grateful for their compliments, Amy kissed her parents cheerio and promised not to be too late home.
‘And mind them roads!’ Dave warned. ‘It won’t be long afore the motor vehicles outnumber the horse and carts. Mind you, some of them drivers couldn’t even control a dog on a lead, let alone a thing with an engine in it.’
‘You worry too much,’ Amy chided as she hurried out the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Marie waved her daughter off at the door, then returned to the parlour and her beloved husband. ‘She’s a good lass, don’t you think?’
‘Aye.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘She teks after her mammy.’
Winking meaningfully, he patted his knee. ‘Look here, lass. There’s a sizeable lap going begging,’ he said invitingly. ‘All it needs is a pretty woman to plonk her bare bottom on it, and I’ll be happy as a pig in muck.’
Softly laughing, she went to him. ‘You’re a randy old thing, Dave Atkinson,’ she said, nibbling his ear.
‘And who can blame me, eh,’ hugging her tight, he kissed her full on the mouth, ‘when I’ve got the best-looking woman in the whole o’ Lancashire?’
Marie laughed, and as her smile met his, there was no doubting her love for him. ‘Are you after my body?’
‘What do you think?’
Marie smiled softly. ‘I think the same as you,’ she whispered. ‘What’s more, I think we ought to do summat about it.’
He kissed her again. ‘A woman after my own heart, that’s what you are, Marie Atkinson.’
A moment later the two of them went up the stairs together.
With Dave away all week it seemed such an age since they had made love.
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