Читать книгу Pack Up Your Troubles - Pam Weaver - Страница 11

The Frenchie’s workshop, cluttered, untidy and littered with bicycle parts, doubled as an artist’s studio. She and Mandy stopped singing as they went through the door. There were pencil drawings and paintings everywhere. Connie spotted a fantastic drawing of Reuben sitting on the steps of his caravan smoking his pipe. High on the wall she saw a watercolour of two local fishermen she recognised from the beach at Goring from where they sold their fresh fish from the jetty. She looked at their rugged faces and rheumy eyes and knew that whoever had painted them had caught their likeness exactly. Kenneth had been good at drawing but nowhere near as good as this. The room itself smelled of engine oil and paint.

As she and Mandy walked in, it was obvious that the men had reached a crucial stage of their work. There were about four of them in the large open area in the middle of the building, Isaac, Simeon and two other men. Which one was the Frenchie? They were all working together using a series of pulleys and chains to lower a large wooden frame onto a chassis on wheels.

Calling the dog to heel, Connie stood in the corner by the door and drew Mandy into a protective embrace. One man was acting as instructor and guiding their every move. ‘Steady, steady. Keep that end nice and straight. Take your time, steady … Right, that’s it.’

Someone let go of the chains and they clattered across the roof.

‘Careful,’ said the man. ‘Don’t damage the bodywork.’

Once the bulky frame was secure, Simeon began screwing it into place. It was a very solid piece of work and she could see that with the door at one end, it would be like a small house on wheels.

‘Well, I’d best be off,’ said an older man Connie had never seen before.

‘Thanks for your help, Bob,’ said the one who had been giving the orders.

Isaac grabbed his jacket and turned with a scowl on his face. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded when he saw Connie and her sister. Pip growled.

Connie jumped. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘Kez said you and Simeon were here and I thought … Sorry.’

‘That’s no way to speak to a lady.’ The instructor had come out of the shadows and into the light. Connie’s heart skipped a beat. He was broad shouldered and muscular. She could tell by the bulge at the top of his rolled-up sleeves that this man was used to heavy work and yet he moved fluidly and effortlessly. This must be the Frenchie. His brown hair was curled, not with tight curls but with more of an attractive wave. His face was streaked with perspiration. He glanced at her and Mandy and smiled. The smile transformed his whole face, revealing a long dimple on his left cheek. ‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ he said, bending to stroke the dog. His voice was like deep velvet, and he spoke like a Canadian with just a hint of a French accent. Connie felt her face flush and her heart began to beat a little faster.

‘She ain’t no lady, Frenchie,’ said Isaac bringing Connie back to the here and now.

Connie’s jaw dropped but Mandy interrupted before she could say something.

‘We came to see where Simeon works,’ she piped up.

The Frenchie waved his arm expansively and smiled. ‘And here it is!’

Emboldened, Mandy started asking questions. ‘What are you doing? What’s that for? Why did you put that in there? Is that a picture of Mr Light?’ He answered all her questions patiently and with good humour, explaining that they had just repaired the van and were reconstructing it onto a new chassis. ‘That’s a very solid looking thing,’ Connie remarked.

‘It used to be called a living van,’ he explained. ‘It was the sort of thing road menders used to use when they stayed on the job. This one dates back to the turn of the century.’ He patted the wooden sides as he looked down at Mandy. ‘Back then you would see a steam engine on the front, then the living van, followed by a cart with all the equipment and finally the water cart to top up the engine, so the old timers tell me. It was a bit like a road train.’

Connie was puzzled. ‘But what are you going to use it for now?’

‘This mush is full of ideas,’ said Simeon coming around the vehicle with a smile. ‘This is a travelling shop.’

Connie was impressed. She could see it now. They were obviously going to put shelving along the sides and with the driver’s cab at the front, it would be ready to go.

‘And these paintings,’ Connie said with a wave of her hand, ‘did you do them as well?’

The Frenchie glanced at Connie and gave her a shy smile. ‘Yes, I did. A hobby of mine.’

‘They’re very good,’ said Connie.

‘Thank you,’ he said, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

‘And now I have to go,’ he told Mandy. ‘I have to get ready to go out. It was nice to have met you and your mummy. I hope you’ll come again.’

Mandy glared at him crossly. ‘She’s not my mummy. She’s my sister.’

The Frenchie turned to Connie. ‘I apologise,’ he said quietly. ‘My mistake.’

Connie’s heart was beating fast. She had never felt quite like this before. It was both alarming and exciting. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said feebly. ‘I hope we didn’t intrude.’

As Simeon reached for his coat, she and Mandy stepped back towards the door. The artist turned his head and their eyes met once again. ‘My name is Eugène Étienne but around here they all call me the Frenchie,’ he said extending his hand. Her small hand was all but swallowed by his. The grip was firm but gentle, warm and sincere. As he released her, he apologised and took a cleaner looking rag from a nail driven into the post and gently wiped her fingers.

‘Why do they call you the Frenchie?’ Mandy asked.

‘Mandy,’ Connie scolded.

‘It’s all right. You see, I never met him but perhaps you can tell by my name that my father was French,’ he said without a trace of bitterness. ‘I was brought up in an orphanage in Québec.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Canada,’ he smiled. ‘I came over here during the war and forgot to go back.’

Connie’s eyes widened. ‘They let you do that?’

‘Not actually,’ he laughed. ‘I was ill and I decided to stay here when the army discharged me.’

‘Nothing serious I hope,’ said Connie.

The Frenchie shook his head. ‘Enough to keep me at the military hospital in Shaftesbury Avenue for a few months. I ended up falling in love with Worthing. I’ve only been here a little while but I want to make it my home.’

A shadow fell over them. Someone was standing in the doorway. The Frenchie stepped back and looked up. ‘Darling,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. Is it that late already?’

Connie was faced with the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. She was blonde and tall and wore a pink floral dress with a straight skirt and a small white belt. She had the daintiest white peep-toed high heels and she carried a small clutch bag. Connie recognised her instantly. Mavis Hampton, the daughter of one of the richest men in town and Worthing’s very own beauty queen. Pip wagged his tail and headed towards her.

‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘Don’t let that thing jump up at me.’

Connie grabbed Pip’s collar just in time and although he never would have jumped up, Mavis eyed the two of them anxiously. There was no mistaking the curl of contempt on her lip. As Simeon walked past her on his way out, she shrank away as if he was poisonous.

‘I knew it,’ Mavis said frostily. ‘You’re going to make us late.’ The Frenchie had walked towards her to kiss her cheek. ‘No,’ she trilled. ‘Don’t you dare kiss me. You’re filthy.’

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said again.

Connie took Mandy’s hand and tried to slip away. ‘Excuse me.’

Mandy turned her innocent face towards them. ‘Bye, Mr Frenchie.’

‘Goodbye,’ he said.

Mavis only scowled and as Connie reached the lane she heard her saying, ‘I know you like helping these ungrateful wretches but really darling, do you have to do it every day?’

‘For me?’

Sally Burndell was surprised when her mother came into the shop and handed her a letter. ‘I knew you couldn’t wait,’ she smiled. ‘It’s from them, isn’t it?’

‘In a minute, Mum,’ said Sally drawing her mother’s attention to the woman standing by the till. ‘I’ve got customers.’

‘Sorry, luv,’ said Mrs Burndell stepping to one side. ‘My Sally is going to college. The first girl in our family to get a real education.’

‘Mum …’ Sally protested.

‘Well, I can’t help being proud, can I?’ said Mrs Burndell turning to go. ‘See you later.’

The customer smiled indulgently and Sally rolled her eyes.

It was mid-morning before Sally had the chance to open the envelope. She had to wait until the old lady had gone back to the house and the shop was empty before she dared to take it from her apron pocket.

The letter from the college was brief and because of her tears, Sally had a job focusing her eyes properly to read it. Nine words stood out from the rest. ‘… unable to offer you a position at this time …’ Why? What had happened? They’d seemed so sure about her at the interview. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and began again. ‘We regret that due to certain facts coming to light we are unable to offer you a position at this time …’ She pushed the letter back inside the envelope and sniffed loudly. What facts? Had somebody said something bad about her? She heard the back door of the house slam. Old Miss Dixon must be coming back. Could this be something to do with her? Had the old bag given her a bad reference? Sally looked up but it wasn’t the old woman coming.

‘Time for a cuppa,’ Connie called as she walked into the shop with two cups of tea on a tray. Sally pushed the letter back in her pocket.

‘You all right, Sally?’ Connie asked casually.

‘Fine,’ said Sally a little too quickly but to Connie it was obvious she wasn’t. Her eyes were puffy and she refused to meet Connie’s gaze. She busied herself with the apple box, taking out the damaged ones and giving the good ones a bit of a polish with a duster.

‘Coming to the dance this week?’ Connie persisted.

‘No.’ Sally shook her head. ‘I’m washing my hair.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘If you’re feeling a bit down, it’ll do you the world of good.’

‘Terry’s coming home,’ said Sally. ‘People might talk.’

Connie shrugged. If Sally didn’t want to come anymore, there was little she could do.

*

The Japanese surrender came suddenly. When the announcement came over the radio, Ga called from the back door. ‘Constance, Sally … leave that and come inside.’ They closed the shop door and walked across the yard. The radio was turned up enough to let the people in the next county hear it but when Connie mentioned it, Ga said, ‘Shhh. Listen.’

‘This is London,’ the announcer Alvar Lidell began. ‘The Prime Minister, the Right Honorable C.R. Attlee.’ The radio crackled and then his deep slow voice was followed by the more reedy tones of Clement Attlee.

‘Japan has surrendered. The last of our enemies is laid low …’

It all seemed to be a bit of an anti-climax but even though she was still a little distant, Connie hugged Sally. It seemed that the horrors inflicted on Hiroshima and Nagasaki by the atomic bomb had brought a swift end to all hostilities. She took a deep breath. This was the first day of peace in the world for nearly six years.

As the day wore on, Ga insisted on listening to every news bulletin on the radio. In the evening Connie took the bus into Worthing to be with her friends. She’d asked Sally to come but she was met with the same response. Connie shrugged inwardly. There was clearly something wrong but Sally wouldn’t talk about it. Ah, well, if the girl wanted to be on her own she could but after all the misery of the past few years, Connie wanted to let her hair down. She met up with Jane Jackson near the pier. The country had been given two days’ holiday and there were to be fireworks later on but there were fewer flags than on VE Day and only the usual holiday crowd along the seafront. She was missing Kenneth again. What sort of war had he had? Had he survived? No, she wouldn’t even think about that. Of course he was alive … somewhere. Connie struggled to be glad. A grey veil of disappointment seemed to hang over everyone until a hastily formed band of amateur musicians gathered and the young people took over. The two girls gave a wonderful display of the jitterbug and before long, everyone was joining in. For Connie, it wasn’t the same as being in the crowds in London on VE Day but she and Jane had made a valiant attempt to get the party going.

Despite their high hopes, the end of the war hadn’t brought change. There were still petrol shortages, little in the way of coal and supplies and rationing had actually been increased. Aunt Aggie came to see Ga on the Thursday for their weekly game of whist but elsewhere there was little in the way of celebration at the nurseries.

‘You should have seen the queue outside Potter and Bailey’s today,’ she told them at supper. ‘Someone said there was a shipment of bacon but by the time I got there, there wasn’t a rasher to be had.’

‘I noticed that the butcher in the village has a sign in the window,’ Aunt Aggie said. ‘I can’t remember the exact words but it was something like, “Wanted: magician for next week’s stock”.’ And they all laughed.

‘So much for the Labour government,’ Ga muttered darkly.

When Clifford and her mother got back from their week’s holiday, Gwen looked rested and actually sported a bit of a suntan.

‘It was simply heavenly being able to walk along the seafront without all that barbed wire and concrete,’ she said. ‘The shops were a bit bare but we had fireworks when the Jap surrender was announced.’

They’d managed to pick up a couple of sticks of rock for Mandy, a perpetual calendar covered in shells and a present from Eastbourne on it for Ga, and a pretty headscarf for Connie.

Clifford had bought a roll of toilet paper. When he put it on the table Ga wrinkled her nose. Connie burst out laughing. It was called Nasti Toilet Roll and had a cartoon picture of Adolf Hitler on the wrapper.

‘Guaranteed non-irritant,’ grinned Clifford. ‘Good, eh?’

Gwen had even thought of Sally Burndell and Sally seemed quite touched by the box of three handkerchiefs from Woolworths.

‘They’re very pretty,’ said Sally, ‘but you shouldn’t have.’

‘You look as if you need a bit of cheering up,’ smiled Gwen. ‘That boyfriend of yours will soon be home.’

August was drifting towards September. Double summer time finished its first stage in July when the clocks went back one hour. Clifford had eased himself back into position but there was a tension between him and Ga. Even so, the nurseries were being run efficiently and smoothly. The next time Connie went into the lane, Kez and her family had gone. There were no goodbyes. When she saw the pitch was empty, Connie wondered about the pram she had given Simeon. Nothing had been said about it and she was a bit annoyed that he’d apparently taken it with them. She’d trusted him and it would have been nice to give it to her little sister for Christmas.

Mandy and Pip had played outside with her friends during the long school holiday. Connie would miss the lazy afternoons when she took her little sister down to the beach for a swim. The rough ground at the bottom of Sea Lane was ideal for hide and seek and if it got too hot, they could sit among the bushes for a picnic. There were times when her heart ached for what might have been but she knew she was doing the right thing. She had to put her family first.

‘When is it you start at the hospital?’ Gwen and Connie were changing the beds together. It was the beginning of September and Mandy was back at school.

Connie couldn’t look at her mother. ‘I’m not going.’

Gwen was putting the bolster case on. It was always a struggle because the thing was the length of two pillows and very unwieldy. ‘What do you mean, you’re not going?’

‘I thought I’d leave it a year, Mum,’ said Connie trying her best to sound casual. ‘By next year, everything will be back to normal.’

‘Everything is back to normal now,’ Gwen frowned. She stopped what she was doing and looked at her daughter. ‘This sounds like Ga talking.’

Connie picked up the dirty sheets and made for the door.

‘Connie?’ said Gwen. ‘You were so excited when you told us. What’s this all about?’

‘You looked a bit off-colour when I came home,’ said Connie without looking round. ‘It seemed best to wait a while, that’s all.’ Her hand went out to the door latch.

‘Connie, look at me,’ said her mother. ‘Look at me.’

Connie turned slowly, knowing that there was no hiding the tears already glistening in her eyes. ‘Oh Mum …’ Connie said quietly. ‘I really didn’t want to come back to the smallholding. I had already enrolled at the hospital.’

‘I know you had,’ said her mother.

‘But Ga thought …’

‘That bloody woman!’ snapped her mother. ‘Why does she have to stick her oar in every time?’

Connie’s jaw dropped. She’d never heard her mother speak like this before. Gwen smiled encouragingly. ‘Connie, it’s your life and we, Clifford and I, both want you to have the best you possibly can. The world is a much bigger place now. We all need to put the past behind us and start again. Don’t let your opportunities pass you by.’

Connie’s chest constricted. Her mother was an amazing person and she longed to tell her how much her approval meant to her. ‘I wish you had a better life, Mum.’

Gwen carried on struggling with the bolster case. ‘My life is fine,’ she smiled. ‘Now that Clifford has come home, we are making plans of our own.’

‘Plans? What plans?’

‘I can’t talk about it yet but Clifford has some wonderful ideas for the smallholding,’ said her mother. ‘One thing is absolutely certain, you mustn’t waste your life hanging around for us.’

Impulsively, Connie hugged her. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ As they parted, Gwen’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. Put the past behind us … the words echoed in Connie’s head. Ga never let her forget the past … but could she do it? Could she forget the shame and guilt that awful man had brought on her family and actually make something of her life? Could she make it up to her mother for her brother going away? Was there still time? ‘I may not be able to do it now anyway,’ Connie said uncertainly. ‘I haven’t replied to any of their letters.’

Gwen looked at her, horrified. ‘When were you supposed to start?’

‘On 10^th September,’ said Connie.

‘Then you’d better leave that and get on the bus straight away,’ she cried. ‘Go down there in person. Blame the war, blame me. Say I’ve been really ill and now I’m better … say anything you like, but whatever you do, make sure you get that place again.’

Connie hesitated.

‘Go on girl!’ her mother cried. And Connie fled.

*

The bridegroom stood up and turned to see the small procession make its way down the aisle. The church was small and even in these difficult times, little used. It smelled dank and musty as he’d walked into the door. He would have preferred a registry office himself. All this preamble – the reading of the banns and talks with the Vicar made him nervous but she’d had her heart set on a proper wedding so he’d given in. The usher, some old fossil who looked as old as Methuselah, showed him to the front pew. His best man, a chap he’d met in the pub a week before, rose unsteadily to his feet as he arrived and gave him a watery smile. His teeth were tobacco stained but he had scrubbed up well enough. They sat down together and waited. After a while he said, ‘Got the ring?’ and the best man nodded. There was a rustling sound by the door of the church and the Vicar came down the aisle. ‘Please stand.’

The organist struck up the tune, ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and his heartbeat quickened. No getting out of this now. He had made a decision which had surprised even himself. He had never really had a close relationship before. Only the one with his mother. Would he be able to cope with marriage? He swayed a little at the thought and wiped his open palms down the side of his suit as he slowly turned to look. The congregation, such as it was, was already standing; only one relative on his side and a spattering of people on hers. Every head was turned in anticipation of the coming bride but his eye was immediately drawn to her. She was wearing a white satin dress with a pretty pink bow at her waist. Someone had put her hair into golden ringlets and she had a halo of roses, the last roses of the summer, on her head. He took in his breath. She was nothing short of an angel sent from heaven. She carried a posy and she watched his face as she walked purposefully towards him. She returned his smile with a gappy grin and then closed her mouth as she remembered her missing milk teeth. He laughed softly and looked up at his bride, her mother, coming on behind her. Yes, he had done the right thing. Everything was perfect, just perfect.