Читать книгу Divided Houses - Janice Paull - Страница 7

By April, the boarding house had become a miserable, freezing place. Vivien shivered night after night under a skimpy eiderdown and wore clothes over her pyjamas to keep warm. Meal-times were so dreadful she stopped going to the dining room; she’d rather starve than see and hear the others chew and slurp, feel their eyes on her, answer their questions.

Vivien wrote to Helen, told her about life in the boarding house and her hunt for work. Helen sent her some money and photographs of her baby girl, Janet, who would soon be old enough to sleep in Vivien’s old room. She added, I’ve sent you some winter clothes. I’m also sending you some evening dress samples. I’ve told Mum I can’t look after my baby, design and sew as well. She has to find someone else to make the patterns and do the sewing. Vivien laughed. Helen was finally standing up to Mum.

When she was thin and weak and had almost decided to go back to Sydney, even if she had to stay in a boarding house there, the job came up. Weeks before, she’d registered with modelling agencies and knocked on the doors of fashion houses. After she thought she’d heard all the ways she could be rejected, an agent told her about a new store specializing in bridal wear: ‘They want a girl who’ll work as a sales assistant, as well as do a bit of modelling.’

In that magic place of filtered light and hazy outlines, she’d dressed plaster models in satin, lace or silk gowns, safe from the outside world; the seeping rain, the flat, empty streets and the blank-eyed vagrants who shivered, huddled against the walls of city buildings.

The manager, Chris, tall and thin and always dressed in black at work, wore her long blonde hair in a stiffly lacquered pompadour, wore dark red lipstick and nail polish. She was worldly and sophisticated, but wearing a long white satin bridal gown, white silk gloves, her face veiled, she looked chaste and remote.

When Chris heard Vivien’s tearful confidence about Doug, she squeezed her hand and let her cry before she spoke. ‘The best cure for one man’s another. What you need is a good time with no strings. My chap’s married. He won’t divorce his wife, but I’m hanging on to him; playing the field when I get the chance. You won’t catch me crying over any man.’

Chris was often free on Saturday afternoons, because her married lover had to be home with his family. ‘He makes up for it,’ Chris confided and showed Vivien a diamond-studded watch.

They went to the Botanical Gardens and threw Mrs Buchanan’s cut lunch of date sandwiches to the swans, walked and talked and often went to a film. Chris didn’t like to cook, but sometimes they went back to her flat and between them made scrambled eggs or cheese, spaghetti or tomatoes on toast. Chris always drank wine, but Vivien refused, happy just to have company. One night, Chris showed her a small brown bottle of Benzedrine pills.

‘I told the doctor I was putting on weight and he gave me these.’

Amazed, Vivien protested. ‘You’re as skinny as a rake!’

‘I mean to stay that way. If I want to stay up late, I just take a couple of these and I can dance all night.’ She added, ‘I’ve also got an inhaler called Bennie which gives me a boost as well as some Nembutal sleepers.’ She looked at open-mouthed Vivien. ‘You really are a ninny. Everyone’s doing it.’

When she came home from work one night early in May, Eddie was standing beside a green truck under the streetlight outside the boarding house. He grinned, doffed his hat, made a mock bow and said, ‘How’s the best-looking girl in the world?’

Vivien couldn’t help laughing. ‘Better for seeing you ... I think.’

‘You look half starved. They do a nice roast down the junction. What about it?’

‘In that truck?’

‘It’s real cosy in front. I’m not expectin’ you to ride on the tray.’

He asked for nothing but her company on Saturday nights. He took her to films, out for meals and sometimes to the Tivoli. His words tumbled out so fast she couldn’t keep up with his thoughts, and sometimes he lost track himself. He was a milkman four nights a week from eleven to seven, had a quick kip on a stretcher at a shop he’d rented then filled the day building shelves, getting it ready for business. Most of all he talked about all the money he’d make. Her mind drifted; she was just relieved to be out of the gloom of the boarding house, its smell of hot fat and floor polish and the furtive loneliness of its inhabitants.

When Eddie took her to meet his father and Gran, the old woman kept her mouth tightly closed while she looked Vivien up and down as if she were a dummy in a store window. Mr Bertoli looked at her in a different way. Gran served lunch in a long narrow kitchen where a wood-fired oven burned in the corner. She wore a floor-length black dress and a white starched apron, her hair screwed in a knot at the back of her head. Gran was unimpressed by Eddie’s fabricated version of the way he met Vivien, but when he mentioned her convent education, she bristled and hissed, ‘Did he tell you I’m a martyr to me piles?’

Vivien managed a sympathetic face. ‘No, he didn’t. How uncomfortable.’

‘They give me jip day and night. Well, Missie, I wish the Pope had them.’

Eddie took her out to Mario’s to celebrate his hundred-to-one win on a horse he’d backed because he liked its name, Ginger Meggs.

‘I booked the best table; we’ll celebrate in style.’ He scoffed. ‘They’ll be expectin’ a dinkum dago.’

In the restaurant’s warmth and gaiety, Vivien felt alive and excited for the first time since she’d left Sydney. Chris’s fur coat protected her from the chill of the June night and the dress sample she’d borrowed from the store, a sleekly-fitted, dark blue satin gown with a flare at the hem, bore no resemblance to bridal gowns or dresses for mothers-of-the-bride. Heads turned as she walked in on Eddie’s arm. Dressed for the occasion in a rented tux and white tie, he was almost handsome.

Eddie ordered a bottle of chianti. Vivien shook her head when the waiter filled her glass, but when she saw Eddie’s irritation, she drank wine for the first time since she’d left Sydney. She savoured its sharp bite; soon the room tipped and she was vaguely aware of three Eddies, talking, talking, talking, as she downed glass after glass in sweet oblivion. Although she had no memory of how she came to be lying naked on the tray of the truck with Eddie inside her, she was disgusted with herself, Eddie and her life as she hauled herself up the staircase at Bide a While.

Waking to another grey morning, Vivien tried to shut out any memory of the night before by hiding under the meagre bedding, holding Chris’s fur coat like a talisman against the day. Her retreat was cut short by Mrs Buchanan knocking on the door and announcing:

‘There’s a male person waiting in the street. He claims to know you. Please tell him to remove himself from outside my premises.’

Vivien forced herself to wash, dress and face Eddie, who couldn’t stop babbling. ‘Now we’re engaged, we’ll have to get hitched right away, a couple of weeks to get a licence, finish the shop, get a bit of furniture, work another milk round …’

‘Engaged? What are you talking about?’ Vivien wailed.

‘Last night. I know I didn’t give you a ring, but I proposed, you said you’d marry me and er … you could be … you know.’

‘Oh, God. I can’t be pregnant!’

‘A man’s got to do the right thing. I knew you were shickered, but you seemed willin’.’

‘Bastard. Shickered, was I?’ She shuddered. ‘Aargh. You make my flesh creep. I won’t marry you. I love Doug.’

Eddie dampened his anger, snarling, ‘Where’s your flamin’ hero now then? Understand this! If you’re preggers with my baby, you’ll have to marry me.’ He paused, then mocked, ‘I can’t see you runnin’ home to your mother with your tail between your legs.’

As she locked the front door of the bridal store, Chris laughed, ‘Thank God that week’s over. Have you ever seen so many elephants trying to squeeze into XSSW’s?’

‘I’ll be enormous in a few months,’ Vivien mumbled.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘I’m pregnant—it’s positive.’

‘Not Eddie. Tell me it’s not him.’

‘It is. We’re getting married.’

‘You can’t marry that nasty little man. He’s as common as muck. I’ll pay for an abortion. I know a good doctor.’

‘I’d never do that. I’d be riddled with guilt the rest of my life.’

‘Marriage to Eddie will be worse. Why did you let him?’

‘I didn’t. We went out and after I started drinking, everything’s blank until Eddie was inside me shouting. Jesus.’

‘Did he spike your drink?’

‘How would he do that?’

‘Drop in a sleeper when you weren’t looking.’

Vivien look puzzled. ‘I can’t see how. The waiter opened the bottle and poured the first glass. It affected me immediately.’

‘Well, you must have been really plastered.’

‘Doug told me I shouldn’t drink. Maybe he was right.’

‘You poor kid. If drink makes you forget what you’ve done, then maybe you’re better off without it. I was so drunk once I tried to smoke my Bennie and sniff a ciggie, but I always know if I’m shagging someone.’

Vivien couldn’t stifle a giggle at the image of elegant Chris trying to push a cigarette up her nose and smoke her inhaler.

‘Oh, Chris. I shouldn’t laugh, but you always seem so sure of yourself. As for me, I don’t have any choice. I’ll have to marry Eddie.’

‘You could go home, ask your family to help.’

‘The shame of an unmarried, pregnant daughter would be more than my mother could stand. I think she’d rather I died. That would be respectable. I’ll have to ask Helen to get Pa’s consent to the marriage, but I won’t tell her I’m pregnant. She’ll probably tell Mum, who’ll think the worst anyway.’

‘It all sounds like those old-fashioned melodramas when daughters who strayed were sent to die in the snow.’

‘That still happens, especially to Catholic girls.’

‘My poor dead mother would have been delighted if I’d given her a grandchild, whether or not I was married.’

‘Your mother probably loved you. As for mine…’

‘What about when you were a kiddie?’

‘I adored her. She was firm, but loving. I thought I could tell her anything.’

‘What happened?’

‘After we had to leave Lane Cove, she was ashamed, angry with everyone. When I rebelled against Catholic dogma and refused to go to school, I added to her shame.’ Vivien shrugged and looked away.

Chris put her arms around Vivien. ‘Listen to me. Your mother’s shame isn’t yours.’ She paused. ‘You look a bit peaky. Why don’t you finish up here at the end of this week? I’ll make sure you get my commission as well as yours.’

On the next Sunday morning, Vivien paid Mrs Buchanan a week’s board in lieu of notice, packed her possessions and waited for Eddie on the footpath outside Bide a While. After she’d waited for at least half an hour, and began to wonder if he’d changed his mind, the green truck hurtled down the quiet street and, brakes squealing, halted in front of her. Eddie tossed her suitcase onto the tray, helped her into the truck, then gave her chapter and verse on his new Saturday night milk run.

‘Bloody Ernie. He left it in a hell of a mess. Probably sore now I’m on Saturdays and he’s left with Sundays and sweet fuck all. I reckon he screwed the deliveries last week on purpose. Gawd knows what I’ll find tonight. Don’t know if I’m bloody Arthur or flamin’ Martha. He paused. ‘You’re quiet. Anything up?’

Through gritted teeth she hissed. ‘What could possibly be up?’

He patted her knee. ‘That’s all right, then.’

From the rosy pictures Eddie had painted, the shop and dwelling should be a reasonable place to live, but her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she looked at mouldy walls and ceiling in the dim light from the papered-over glass door and display window. Tools were scattered across the wooden floor next to a make-shift bench, a ladder and planks of wood. Eddie led the way through a doorway at the rear of the shop front to a small passageway and a steep flight of stairs.

‘Up we go,’ Eddie said and bounded to the next floor.

Vivien gripped the bannister as she climbed. Upstairs was worse. From the landing she could see a large room on the right with ripped brown linoleum on the floor, grubby walls and filthy windows looking onto the street; on her left was a long passageway down which Eddie had disappeared.

‘Shake a leg, Viv,’ Eddie called.

Vivien walked down the passageway past two rooms on the left to a large room at the end, where Eddie was lying on a mattress on the floor, leering at her, propped up on his right elbow, holding his head in right hand, and patting the mattress with his left; his trousers lay on the floor. She burst into tears and rushed down the stairs before running out of the shop to the truck where she sat until Eddie appeared with a face as long as a fiddle.

‘That’s where we’ll be living, Viv. Don’t you like it?’

‘I hate it,’ she wailed.

‘Come on, Viv. I’ll have it right in no time.’

‘Yap, yap, yap. That’s all you do. Yap. It’s a dump,’ Vivien snapped.

‘We’ll talk about it later. I want to call on Gran, invite her to the wedding.’

Gran beamed. ‘Your timing’s good. I’ve been baking all morning. I’ll boil the kettle and we’ll have a nice visit.’ She paused and fixed her bright brown eyes on Vivien. ‘You look as if you could do with some breakfast.’

Once he’d stuffed himself on Gran’s fruit scones and apple pie, Eddie could no longer contain himself; he puffed out his chest and blurted. ‘Vivien’s pregnant, Gran. We’d like you to come to the weddin’ in a couple of weeks.’

Gran pursed her lips, peered at Vivien. ‘You sure?’ Vivien’s slumped shoulders and slow nod answered her. ‘Hmph. Well, what’s done is done. At least you’re getting married.’ She snapped at Eddie, ‘Where do you plan to live?’

‘There’s a dwelling at the shop.’

Gran fired back. ‘What’s that like?’

Eddie looked embarrassed. ‘There’s three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs as well as a place for storage and a big front room I can turn into a lounge. Downstairs, there’s lots of space behind the shop front.’

‘Where’s the kitchen?’

‘There isn’t one yet. I have to …’

‘What about a laundry?’

‘Out the back. A couple of troughs.’

‘You’ll need an electric copper with a wringer. Babies make a lot of washing.’

‘Yeah, all right.’

‘You can’t have your wife living on a building site.’

‘I know. I’ll fix it up.’

Gran turned to Vivien. ‘Do you feel sick in the mornings?’

Vivien nodded. ‘All day, Gran.’

‘So that’s why you only played with your food. You’d better come and live here until Ed gets the place decent.’ She turned to Eddie. ‘I’m going to look after this girl. No man can understand.’ She turned to Vivien. ‘You sit close to the stove; you’re frozen to the bone.’ She turned back to Eddie. ‘Go and collect Vivien’s things. Bring back some dry ginger.’

‘Viv’s things are in the truck.’

‘Don’t dilly-dally then. Bring them in, get the dry ginger and some more change for the meters. Vivien can have a hot bath while we make up your old bed. We need to get this girl tucked in and cosy.’

When Eddie left, Gran sat close to Vivien. ‘Now, my girl. Have you told your people?’

‘I had to get my father’s consent, so they might guess. My sister will be happy for me. She has a baby girl.’

‘Won’t your mother want to come to your wedding?’

‘No. She’d never attend a civil wedding. Eddie and I will be living in sin as far as she’s concerned.’

‘Poppycock! She’ll forgive the sinners when she sees her grandchild.’

Vivien smiled at Gran, admired her forthright approach to life. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Mum doesn’t forgive or forget. Perhaps she’ll soften when the baby is born. She’ll never admit even to herself, I had to get married.’

Gran snorted. ‘Huh. I’ll run that bath.’

By the time Eddie joined Gran in his old bedroom, she had already lit a fire; together they made up the bed. After she’d warmed the sheets with a copper heating pan, Gran brought Viv into the room wrapped in the old man’s dressing gown. Gran pulled one of her own long flannel nightdresses over Viv’s head and helped her into bed. Eddie watched her snuggle down in the large bed, with its brass bed-head, feather mattress and pillows. The sickness must have eased because she drifted off to sleep, seemingly unaware of anything.

While Vivien slept, Eddie sat by the kitchen stove with Gran and waited for her verdict.

‘I don’t know what you mean by getting that girl in trouble, but at least you’re standing by her.’

‘She’s only marrying me because she’s pregnant.’

Gran pierced him with her direct gaze. ‘If she doesn’t care for you, why are you so anxious to marry her?’

‘I mean to have her.’

Gran shook her head so hard the pellet of flesh on the side of her jaw wobbled. ‘Tsk tsk. Well, that’s your business; the baby’s what’s important now. Your mother lost two before you were born. She never had a moment’s rest while she was carrying the first two, so I stepped in and took over when she was pregnant with you. Made sure she had proper care before your birth and a decent lying in time after. Her own mother died young.’

Eddie frowned. ‘You never talk about mum. Why did she lose the other babies?’

‘I sometimes think she was too gentle for this life. Tiny, bird bones, long fair hair, even fairer than Ida’s, and the sweetest smile. She’d melt anyone’s heart. I know your father loved her, but he had no idea how to look after her. He spent most of his time at work or his lodge at night.’ Gran paused and looked deep into the stove’s fire. ‘You were a strong, healthy baby and she loved you, but she didn’t really recover. The consumption set in when you were a toddler and then there was nothing anyone could do except keep her as comfortable as possible. That’s how you came to live with me.’ She paused again and looked directly at Eddie. ‘I think he took his pain out on you.’

Eddie remembered beatings, Gran’s fiery protection if she was nearby and nodded. ‘I’ll do me best to look after Viv.’

‘For now, the best thing you can do is sleep at the shop and get busy making a decent home for your family. You can come at weekends and take her out, but ….’

Eddie knew what Gran’s ‘but’ meant. He’d see to himself while Viv was pregnant. No use taking risks. ‘Suits me. Thanks Gran. I don’t know what to do when she’s sick. Will it wear off?’

‘In a couple of months she should feel better.’

‘Where’s the old man in all this?’

‘He’s out most nights. He likes Vivien. We’ll all get along very well. I’ll get out the sewing machine and knitting needles.’

Eddie could see Gran was tickled by the thought of Vivien’s company as well as caring for her. He was glad to be out of it.

At the wedding two weeks later, Vivien was still crook, Chris turned up, all furs and perfume, her fancy man at her side, poured charm all over Gran and the old man who witnessed the do. After the afternoon tea, Vivien rushed to the lav to heave her guts out, Chris glared at him, shook hands with Gran then left. The whole palaver bored him witless so he was glad to go back to the empty shop.

Eddie scrounged second-hand building materials, fluked some new wooden planks and plenty of paint from builders who’d gone belly-up. He found a decent cash register and glass-fronted shop counter in a builders’ yard for next to nothing together with rolls of linoleum with a red and orange brick pattern. He re-varnished the shop counter, painted the walls, shelves and the pressed-tin ceiling in a pale green colour with some of the paint he’d wangled. He figured he had enough left over for the other downstairs rooms. He’d have to cadge a bit more for what Viv wanted upstairs. Pale blue with a navy blue dado, for Gawd’s sake.

Ron, the butcher from next door, often dropped in to see him around lunch time and admired Eddie’s handiwork and brought him a freshly cooked hamburger or snags. They sat on planks of wood and yarned.

‘You doing a mighty job, Ed. The street needs a mixed business. You should do well.’

‘You doing all right yerself, Ron?’

‘Picking up. Still mostly the cheaper cuts, but the Sunday roast is on the up. Still sell a lot of bunnies. Got a bloke who sells ‘em by the dozen; make a nice profit.’

‘That’s what it’s all about, Ron. Makin’ a bit more than a decent livin’. I’ve got a few ideas for this shop, extra items, you know.’

‘Yeah. That’s what it takes. When’s your missus comin’ to join you?’

‘Another few weeks, I reckon.’

Most weekends Eddie visited Footscray and usually found one or the other at the sewing machine or clicking knitting needles, but as Viv began to feel better, she agreed to walk around Footscray on Sunday afternoons. Once he took her to see the Footscray Park, pointed to the Victory Statue at the entrance.

‘They call that the Citizens War Memorial. I can remember Gran telling me about everyone chippin’ in to put it up in memory of those poor buggers who died in the war.’

‘I suppose if you’d lost someone you loved in a war, a memorial would keep them alive in some strange way.’

Eddie glanced at Vivien. She was solemn-like. ‘That’s one way of lookin’ at it.’

As they strolled along the palm-lined paths, Eddie pointed at the borders. ‘All the stonework along here was built by men on susso during the depression.’ He looked ahead. ‘A bit further ahead there’s a bit of a shelter. You can watch the Melbourne Cup from there.’ Vivien looked blank.

‘You must have heard of the Melbourne Cup, Viv.’ She shook her head.

‘It’s one of the most famous races in the world. I’ll take you one day.’

‘Is it some sort of Melbourne treat?’

Disgusted, Eddie muttered. ‘You’ll see.’

Vivien tried to think of something good to say about Eddie’s hometown. ‘The park must be lovely in spring. Did you come here often when you were a youngster?’

‘A few times. School picnics and that.’

‘Let’s sit down for a few minutes, Ed. My legs feel like jelly.’

They sat on a bench and he asked, ‘Do you still chuck up every morning?’

‘Less so lately, thanks to Gran, her ginger ale and dry biscuits.’

‘That’s somethin’.’ He looked further down the path; a walk to the shelter could wait, time to head back. He jerked upright. Struth! It couldn’t be. It was. Ida pushing a pram with her left hand, a toddler gripping her right. Jesus, his feelings for her were still bloody strong; the pain reared up, bit into his gut. Why the hell did it all go wrong? Memories of her dancing, laughing, snuggling in his arms, her body pressed against his. Jesus! He couldn’t think straight, had to stand and wave, ‘Ida. Hey, Ida.’

Ida stopped, gasped. Shocked as he was. She smoothed her hair, smiled the same sweet smile he remembered, then hoisted the toddler onto her hip. ‘Eddie Bertoli. I can’t believe it.’ She paused and ran her eyes over him. ‘You look well.’

‘So do you, Ida. Not a day older. Meet my wife, Vivien.’ In his loneliest nights, Eddie had imagined running into Ida with a beautiful girl on his arm. Reality was better; the beautiful, and today, radiant, girl was his wife.

When Vivien stood and offered her hand, Ida looked uncomfortable, but managed, ‘Pleased to meet yer’ I’m sure.’

Vivien’s smile was its most dazzling. As posh as he’d ever heard her, she cooed, ‘How do you do, Ida. I’m delighted to meet an old friend of Eddie’s.’

Ida’s toddler was wriggling in her arms, the baby in the pram started bawling and she began to walk away.

‘Don’t go yet, Ida. Give me the nipper to hold for a sec and settle the one in the pram. It’d be good to catch up.’

Eddie bounced and swung the toddler while Ida rocked the pram until the baby slept.

‘What are the names of your children, Ida?’ Vivien asked.

‘The boy Ed’s spinnin’ about is Bert and the baby’s Doris, after me mum.’

‘A pigeon pair. Well done, Ida,’ Viv paused, then grinned. ‘You won’t have to keep trying, will you?’

Ida knitted her eyebrows. She turned to Eddie. ‘Mum died just after Bert was born. She had the dropsy. Swelled up so much, it was hard to find a coffin to fit ‘er.’

Conscious of Vivien spluttering, about to giggle, Eddie tried to say the right thing. Ida probably missed the vinegary old bat.

‘Sorry, Ida. I know you were close.’ He paused. ‘How’s the hubby?’

‘Apart from the gout and a bit of rheumatism, he’s not too bad. Sleeps a lot.’

‘That’s too bad.’ Now he’d twist the knife. ‘But then he’s a good bit older than you, Ida. Ten, twenty years?’

Vivien stuck her nose in. ‘Eddie and I are expecting. His gran’s been looking after me. She’s wonderful.’

Ida grabbed Bert from Eddie then, tugging him along beside her, took off down the path with a faint, ‘Goodbye, Ed.’

‘So, that’s the girl whose name’s on your tattoo?’

‘Yeah. She broke me bloody heart.’

‘She doesn’t look like a heart-breaker.’

Eddie snapped. ‘How do you know what’ll break a bloke’s heart?’ He paused. ‘We sort of grew up together.’

Vivien looked up at him. ‘Of course I know about heart break.’ She paused. ‘Ida wanted to talk to you some more. I probably frightened her off.’ Eddie seemed lost. ‘You must have loved her very much.’

‘Yeah. I did. She knows me better than anyone else.’

‘And we don’t know each other at all.’ Puzzled, she kept on at Eddie, trying to understand him. ‘What happened with Ida?’ Do you want to tell me?’

He flushed. ‘No. Leave it alone.’ He looked down at her. ‘The shop’s lookin’ good now. What about comin’ and havin’ another look?’

Vivien shuddered then sat again and shook her head. ‘Not yet, Ed. I’ll wait until it’s finished.’ She shrank from the thought of her future with Eddie. ‘I know! Why don’t you recite some more of The Sentimental Bloke?’

He knew what she was up to, but scrolled the verses through his head. ‘You might like this one,’ and launched into a couple of verses of The Kid.

My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee, Was jist two simple, senseless words to me; An’ now—no man, not since the world begun, Made any better pray’r than that … My son!

My son an’ bloomin’ ‘eir … Ours! . . . ‘Ers an’ mine! The finest kid in—Aw, the sun don’t shine— Ther’ ain’t no joy fer me beneath the blue Unless I’m gazin’ lovin’ at them two.

A little while ago it was jist “me”— A lonely, longin’ streak o’ misery. An’ then ‘twas “’er an’ me”—Doreen, my wife! An’ now it’s “’im an’ us” an’—sich is life.

Eddie waited for Vivien to clap her hands at least, but bugger-me-dead, she was almost bawlin’. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

Vivien nodded. ‘It’s very sentimental, Ed, but it’s you and Ida, not us. I’m sure you recited it for her. Didn’t you?’

‘If you must know, I did.’

‘You’re a good performer, Ed.’

‘I don’t need you to sugar the pill. I do that for meself.’

‘Let’s head back; it’s getting chilly.

Vivien failed to keep up with Eddie who strode ahead as if he were trying to distance himself from her. He said a quick goodbye to Gran, nothing to her and left to the whine of the truck’s engine as Eddie floored the accelerator.