Читать книгу Bye Bye Love - Patricia Burns - Страница 10

CHAPTER SIX

‘I ALWAYS thought there was something a bit dodgy about him,’ Jonathan’s mother said as she sat over her breakfast tea.

‘There’s always going to be something wrong, ain’t there?’ his father said. ‘Stands to reason. Man his age, if he ain’t got a place of his own, there’s a reason why.’

He wiped the last of the fried egg from his plate with the last of the fried bread and sat back with a sigh of contentment.

‘That was first class, Jonny lad. Done to perfection. You ain’t got any more out there, have you?’

‘Nope, but there’s toast coming up,’ Jonathan called from the kitchen.

He came into the living room with the toast rack and placed it on the table in front of his parents. The big main room of the flat had three large windows looking out over the estuary. Morning light flooded in to show off the ornate dining table and chairs, the large new three piece suite, the glass-fronted cabinet filled with china ornaments, and the modern electrical goods. There was a television in pride of place in front of the suite, its purple screen dead now as programmes didn’t begin till the evening, a large wireless on the sideboard, tuned to the Light Programme, and a record player on a side table with a huge pile of dance band records stacked beside it.

Jonathan’s mother helped herself to toast and spread large dollops of butter and marmalade.

‘Well, yes, there was sure to be something,’ she said, returning to her original topic of conversation, ‘but with this one it’s everything. To start with, his timekeeping’s useless. I don’t think he knows how to tell the time. When you tell him he’s late, he gives you that daft vague look of his and says, “Oh, is it that already?” as if he’s no idea. I could kill him, I really could.’

Jonathan ate his own toast, a feeling of doom settling uneasily in his stomach. She was talking about Scarlett’s dad again. What if they gave him the boot? What if he and Scarlett then moved somewhere the other end of the country? It would be terrible.

‘He does know how to keep the beers,’ his father said, swigging down his tea. ‘I’ll give him that. Trouble is, he’s too darn fussy. Throws stuff away! I caught him getting rid of nearly a gallon yesterday. Said it wasn’t good enough. “It’s good enough for our customers,” I told him. “They’re not here to taste the quality, they’re here to get pissed. You mix that in with the next lot and it’ll be quite all right. They won’t notice anything wrong with it at all.” You should of seen his face! You’d’ve thought I’d asked him to strangle his grandmother.’

‘He was famous for his beers when he had his own place. People used to cycle out from Southend just to drink at his pub,’ Jonathan said.

Both parents looked at him as if they’d only just realised he was there.

‘Who told you that?’ his mother asked. ‘That girl, what’s-her-name?’

‘Scarlett,’ Jonathan reminded her, regretting having opened his mouth. He knew just what she was going to say next. And she did.

‘Blooming stupid name to give a kid.’

Jonathan said nothing. He’d already had this argument with his mother several times.

‘And you know what I said about her,’ she went on. ‘You’re not to hang about with her. Staff are staff. They’re not for consorting with.’

She glared at his father as she said it. He took a sudden deep interest in the racing pages of the newspaper.

Jonathan felt sick. How could she compare what he felt for Scarlett with his father groping the barmaids? But it was no use even trying to explain. She wouldn’t understand.

‘You’re far too young to be going around with girls, anyway,’ his mother said. ‘You’ve got plenty of friends, you should be with them, off sailing or something. Who are you watching the carnival with?’

‘The gang,’ Jonathan said.

It was true, he was going with his schoolfriends, but Scarlett was coming along as well. It would be the first time she would see the carnival. They planned to walk along to Westcliff and watch from the cliff gardens.

‘Well mind you’re back by seven. We’re going to be chock-a-block here tonight and we’ll need you to collect glasses,’ his father said.

‘Yes, right,’ Jonathan agreed.

Really, they only ever wanted to know where he was when they wanted his help or didn’t approve of who he was with. Most of the time they couldn’t care less. Which was quite useful because ever since that first trip up the pier, he had spent practically every day of the holidays with Scarlett.

‘And if you see her—what’s-her-name—Scarlett—you can tell her she can earn some pocket money washing up. Flaming Marlene’s got the gutache so she’ll be no use to us today,’ his mother said.

‘Right—I’ll ask her.’

‘You’ll tell her. There’s five bob in it for her and I expect her to be there by seven, all right?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

Much to his surprise, Scarlett was delighted.

‘Oh, good, it’ll be nice to earn some money. And if you’re bringing the glasses out we’ll see something of each other.’

It was a bright summer’s day as they wandered along the sea front towards Westcliff. The crowds were already out, milling around Peter Pan’s Playground, buying their ice creams and candyfloss and spilling onto the beaches to swim and dig and sit in deckchairs.

‘We’ll go to the Never-Never Land one evening, if you like,’ Jonathan said as they passed the part of the cliff gardens that were filled with models and grottos and were lit up at night with coloured lights. ‘It’s for kids really, but it’s all right.’

‘That’d be lovely,’ Scarlett said, gazing across the road to where a miniature fairy tale castle stood at the entrance to the attraction.

It gave him such a thrill to be able to show her things she’d never seen before. Together they had roamed all over town, visiting parks and shops, walking right along the sea front to Thorpe Bay in one direction and Leigh-on-Sea in the other, and testing out the beaches and the swimming in various places. He had taken her out sailing and been proud of how quickly she had taken to handling a boat. Sometimes she was sad and quiet, and nothing he could do would shake her out of her mood, but other times, like today, the real Scarlett would shine through her grief for her mother.

‘Oh, I’m so looking forward to this,’ she cried, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘I’ve heard so much about the carnival, and now I’m going to see it.’

‘It’s the first time for me as well,’ Jonathan reminded her. ‘I was always over in France in the summer the last few years, and before that, of course, it was wartime.’

‘Do you miss not going over there?’ Scarlett asked. ‘It sounds such fun, being with all your cousins.’

‘I was really disappointed when Tante Jeanne-Marie wrote and said I couldn’t come because they were all going down with the chicken pox,’ Jonathan admitted. ‘But now I’m really pleased, because this has turned into the best summer holiday I’ve ever had.’

‘Oh, good,’ Scarlett said, sliding her hand into his. ‘Because it’s the best summer hols I’ve ever had too. I thought I was going to hate it here, but then I met you.’

Guilt coursed through him as he thought of the news he still hadn’t told her. He’d been on the point of it several times. He’d rehearsed it in his head. Scarlett, you know how I want to be a chef, and the only way to get a proper training is to go to France—? The longer he left it, the worse it was going to be—he realised that. He took a deep breath.

‘Tante Jeanne-Marie wrote a couple of days ago, actually…’

‘Did she? Oh, there’s Tommy! Hello Tommy, are the others here yet?’

Never had Jonathan been less pleased to see his friend. Once again, the moment had slipped away. He would have to wait till later.

The group met up and walked over the mud flats to meet the rising tide, had a mud fight and washed it all off as the water got deeper, then followed the ripples in till they reached the beach. By the time they had dried, changed and had their sandwiches, it was time to go and stake a claim to a space on the cliffs to watch the carnival.

Huge crowds lined up along the pavement each side of the esplanade and up in the cliff gardens. It seemed as if the whole town had turned out to watch the parade, along with all the thousands of visitors from London. You could tell the locals because they had their ordinary clothes on, whereas the day trippers were dressed up to the nines.

‘Isn’t it exciting?’ Scarlett breathed, craning her neck to see if anything was coming yet. ‘Is that a band? Can you hear music?’

A ripple of anticipation went through the waiting crowd. Below the chatter could be heard the thump-thump of drums. People stood up, children danced about. Soon the music could be made out—a cheerful march—and then the outrunners appeared, foot collectors in home-made costumes, shaking their buckets for people to throw in their pennies. The carnival had arrived.

Everyone had made a special effort for coronation year. Local clubs and businesses had built floats and made costumes, bands had practised all their best numbers, the Southend carnival queen and her court looked as glamorous as film stars. Scarlett and Jonathan saved their loudest cheers for The Kursaal Flyer, a life-sized model railway engine like something out of a western, with smoke coming out of its chimney and organ music blaring from its cab.

‘Even better than it was before the war,’ the family behind Jonathan and Scarlett declared.

Everyone around them agreed. Things were looking up, the war and austerity were behind them. The New Elizabethan age was starting with peace and prosperity in store.

‘It was good, wasn’t it?’ Jonathan said as they wandered homeward hand in hand through the crowds thronging the gardens.

‘Marvellous! All those costumes—I’d love to take part. Perhaps we should join one of the clubs, you know, tennis or something. It’d be fun anyway, and we’d have the chance of going in the carnival.’

‘Yes…’ Jonathan said, guilt once more flooding through him. He’d put it out of his head while they’d been watching the procession, but now it came back with full force. He couldn’t deliberately string her along. Now was the moment. ‘Look…er…Scarlett, there’s something I have to tell you…’

She stopped short in the middle of the path so that the people behind nearly crashed into them.

‘What? What is it?’

Her eyes were wide with alarm, her face pale. Jonathan realised that, just as he was tuned to her every mood, so she had picked up his anxiety from his tone.

People were walking round them, grumbling. Jonathan grabbed Scarlett’s arm and steered them off the path, scrambling up the steep slope between some trees till they got to a quieter spot.

‘Well?’ Scarlett said.

It had all seemed much easier when he’d planned it in his head. Actually saying it was different.

‘I…well…I got a letter from Tante Jeanne-Marie the other day…’

‘Yes, yes, you said.’

‘And…well, you know how her brother’s got a restaurant—’

She was already one step ahead of him.

‘You’re going to go and work there? You’re leaving?’

She looked horrified. Worse than that, there was accusation in her eyes. How could he say he cared for her and yet do this?

‘Not there—that’s just it—’

If it had just been Uncle Michel’s restaurant, he would have put it off, just to be with her for longer. But this—this was different.

‘You see, Uncle Michel trained in Paris, at L’Ortolan d’Or. It’s really famous, one of the top places. And the head chef there, the one he worked under, came to eat at his restaurant last week and afterwards they got talking and Uncle Michel mentioned me and they have a place coming up in the autumn when someone leaves and…well…’

‘You want to go,’ Scarlett stated, her voice flat.

All the animation had fled from her face. It was as if a light had gone out. Jonathan felt terrible.

‘It’s only for a trial period to start with, but it’s such an amazing opportunity.’ He struggled to explain. ‘A top Paris restaurant. Any French boy my age who wanted to be a chef would kill to get in there. I’d be the only English boy they’ve ever taken. I mean, I don’t know what Uncle Michel said to convince them. Perhaps he made them feel sorry for me, you know, marooned here amongst all our dire English food and that—’

‘Oh, yes, well that’s so dreadful, isn’t it?’ Scarlett flared. ‘Poor old you, having to eat English food! So you’re going to go to Paris and leave me here in your horrible pub with your horrible mother and father, are you? Well, thank you very much!’

‘It’s not horrible! How can you say that?’ Jonathan responded, automatically coming to the defence of his home and family.

‘It is, and they are. Your mother hates me, and I hate her, the evil old bag. She looks at me like I’m dirt under her shoe, and we have to live in those poky rooms and share that disgusting bathroom. It’s all right for you—you have your nice flat at the front. Round the back it’s damp and mouldy and dark and I’m not supposed to go anywhere except down to the kitchen and then Irma’s there breathing down my neck like I’m going to break something or steal her food—I hate it! It’s like I’ve got no right to be there.’

Jonathan stared at her, appalled. He thought he knew her, but he’d had no idea she felt like this about the Trafalgar, or about his mother.

‘You’ve got no right to talk about my mother like that,’ he said stiffly, uneasily aware of how his mother talked about Scarlett.

‘I have,’ cause it’s true!’ Scarlett shouted back at him. ‘You’re getting away, aren’t you? You’re going to France, but I can’t. I’ve got to stay here, and without you it’s going to be unbearable! I hate you, Jonathan Blane! You’re so selfish! I thought you liked me, but you don’t, do you? All you care about is your beastly career, and being a chef. You don’t think about me at all!’

‘That’s not—’ he began, but Scarlett wasn’t listening. She turned and set off down the slope, twisting and dodging between the trees.

‘Scarlett!’ he called, running after her. ‘Scarlett, wait! Come back—it’s not like that!’

But, if she heard him, she gave no sign. She reached the path, cut through the groups of people still making their way back from the carnival and plunged down the next bit of slope between thick bushes. Jonathan followed, but by the time he emerged from the bushes she had got to the esplanade pavement where the crowds were so thick that they swallowed her up. For a moment he paused on the grass, where the extra height gave him a chance to scan the milling throng of people. He caught sight of her glossy head by the side of two tall men in white shirts and raced down the last bit of the slope to force his way between the people.

‘I do care,’ he muttered, pushing and elbowing and getting cursed at. ‘I do care. I love you.’

It was hopeless. Every other man seemed to be wearing a white shirt. The cheerful ambling crowd shifted and swirled like a kaleidoscope. He was never going to find her in this. It would be best to go back to the Trafalgar. She had to go back there sooner or later, since she was supposed to be washing up at seven o’clock.

Irma was getting her washing in from the yard as he walked through.

‘Ooh, had a lovers’ tiff, have we?’ she mocked. ‘Madam’s just gone by with a face like thunder.’

‘Shut up,’ Jonathan growled, hiding the lift of relief.

So Scarlett had come straight back. Now he knew where to find her. He raced upstairs and knocked on her door.

‘Scarlett? Scarlett, I’m sorry. Scarlett, are you all right?’

‘Go away,’ came a muffled voice from inside.

He tried the handle, but the door was locked.

‘Scarlett, let me in.’

‘Go away! I don’t want to speak to you ever again!’

Desperately, he shook the handle till it rattled.

‘Scarlett, you’ve got to let me talk to you.’

The door to the neighbouring room opened and Scarlett’s father appeared.

‘Look…er…if she says she don’t want to talk to you, son, I think you’d better push off.’

‘Mr Smith, I—’ he began, when the next door along opened and Marlene put her head out. Her face was pale and her hair was a mess.

‘Will you lot stop making such a bloody row? Some of us ain’t feeling well.’

It only needed Irma to come along and the whole story would be reported to his mother. He ignored the two grown-ups and put his head to Scarlett’s door, forcing his voice to be low and reasonable.

‘I’ll speak to you later, Scarlett. We’ll work something out.’

There was no reply.

He hung about in the staff kitchen until opening time to avoid seeing his parents, then spent a miserable hour in the flat, sitting at the window and staring out unseeing across the water. What was he going to do? The dilemma went round and round in his head. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Scarlett. The last thing he wanted to do was to leave her. But—but this opportunity was just too good to miss. If he turned it down, it would never come again. The day had started so well, too. They had been so happy, larking around on the beach and watching the carnival. And now this. Scarlett was locked in her room, probably crying, and he was here feeling like a complete monster, trying to find a way through.

He held his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his scalp. This was all so confusing. He’d known roughly where his life was going and suddenly Scarlett had come along and everything had been turned upside down. If this was what they called love, then it wasn’t at all like all the songs and stuff. He still hadn’t worked it out when seven o’clock rolled round and he had to go downstairs.

Both bars were heaving. Men were three deep trying to get served and every seat and practically all the standing room was taken. The air was already thick with cigarette smoke and the noise was tremendous.

‘There you are, son,’ his father boomed above the racket. ‘’Bout time too. Get your arse in gear and clear those tables.’

‘You said seven,’ Jonathan shouted back at him, and dived through the melée to grab the glasses from the nearest table.

His hands full, he scurried along the dank passage leading to the toilets and into the small storeroom behind the bar area that had been fitted with a sink and draining board for just such busy times as this. Scarlett was already there, drying a trayful of pint jugs. She stiffened as he came in, but didn’t turn round.

‘Scarlett,’ he began, placing the dirty glasses in the sink, ‘please try and see it my way—’

‘Why should I?’ she retorted. ‘You don’t see it my way. You don’t care that I’m going to be left here all alone.’

‘Of course I do. I don’t want—’

Scarlett thrust the finished tray at him.

‘You’d best take these through. I’m not allowed.’

Jonathan sighed and carted the jugs into the bar.

It was frantic in the serving area. Irma and a temporary barmaid were in the lounge bar, Mr Smith and another temporary in the public bar area and his parents were moving between the two, keeping a watchful eye on the whole pub and serving more than the other four put together.

‘Seventeen and eightpence, not tuppence,’ he heard his father correct Mr Smith, as he pulled a pint for the round he was serving. His dad was good at that, adding up someone else’s round and his own at the same time and getting both of them right. Bar staff found it unnerving, but it made them concentrate harder on being accurate, even when it was as busy as this. Jonathan unloaded the jugs and dived under the flap to collect some more.

The evening rolled on with no slackening of the pace. Jonathan collected glasses, emptied ashtrays and fetched supplies up from the cellar. Every time he took empties in to Scarlett he tried to reason with her, but somehow they never got further than a few sentences. Either one of the barmaids would come to fetch a clean trayful, or his mother or father would shout for him to come and do something. Once when he came through the passageway he ran into Scarlett’s father. He was leaning against the wall swigging from a flat quarter bottle of Scotch. When he saw Jonathan he hastily screwed the top on and thrust it in his pocket.

‘I bought it myself,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course,’ Jonathan replied, but a lifetime of listening to his parents discussing the shortcomings of bar staff made him wonder. Maybe Mr Smith had bought the original bottle from an off-licence. They didn’t sell them at the pub, after all. But it would be easy enough to refill it from the optics. A squirt here and a squirt there wouldn’t be missed in the volume they sold on a busy day but, if his parents did find out, there would be hell to pay. It was yet another thing to worry about.

He took the latest lot of empties through to Scarlett and, as he did so, the sound of angry voices could be heard above the general level of noise in the public bar. Then there was a crash and howls of rage.

‘Fight,’ Jonathan said, standing in the doorway through to the bar and craning his neck to see.

Unable to resist the drama, Scarlett came to his side, wiping her hands on her apron. Together they watched as Jonathan’s father waded in and separated the combatants. Jonathan could feel the warmth of Scarlett’s arm against his, could hear the intake of her breath. As his father threw the troublemakers out into the street, he put his arm round Scarlett’s shoulders and pulled her away from the doorway so that they couldn’t be seen from the bar. He gathered her resisting body to him and spoke into her dark hair.

‘I’m sorry, Scarlett. I don’t want to leave you, really I don’t—’

Her fists were clenched against his chest. ‘I couldn’t bear it here without you.’

He felt as if he were being physically torn apart. ‘I’ve got to do it, can’t you see? It’s my whole future. When I’m a trained chef, I shall open my own restaurant. We could run it together, you and me. It’d be terrific.’

‘But that’s years and years away,’ Scarlett protested.

Inspiration struck him.

‘You could come and join me, once you’ve left school. I could find you a job. We could both live in Paris. It’d be wonderful, Scarlett. Just think, both of us in Paris together!’

The stiffness went out of her and she looked up at him, her great dark eyes drowned in tears.

‘Do you think we could?’

‘Of course.’

Right at that moment he could do anything—anything at all. He could conquer the world. He bent his head and did what he had been longing to do almost from that first day she’d burst into his life. He kissed her sweet lips.