All the Days of Our Lives (50 page)

‘Oh, well, that’s lovely!’ Katie said. ‘You mean he’s a fishmonger? Oh,
I
know who you mean – he’s a great big, strapping bloke!’ She laughed. ‘Oh yes, just right!’

‘Her mother is very happy,’ Piotr said.

‘I bet she is! Oh well, that’s nice news, it really is. So what did they want you for?’

Marek sat up, still grinning.

‘They offer me a room. We have many rooms, they say. Why you not come and live in one of them? But, I am thinking, why do I go and live in room of these nice ladies? Why not Agnieska live next door with nice ladies, and I stay here with Marek’s stinking feet?’

‘Actually, Marek, that’s a good idea,’ Katie said, serious now and full of relief at the idea that things might not have to change as much as she thought. ‘Your sister could have a room to herself next door, with ladies to look after her. It might be nicer for her.’

Marek began to look pleased. ‘You know, Piotr – you have some brain in your head for once. What did you tell them?’

‘I said I ask you.’

‘Weren’t they a bit disappointed,’ Katie asked, ‘not having you instead?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Piotr shrugged, ‘but I tell them about Agnieska, little bit, and they . . . You know, really, they are very kindly ladies. I told them we come to visit and they looked pleased as. . . . How you say it?’

‘Punch?’ Katie suggested.

December 1948

‘Eh, bab – don’t forget your tokens!’

Em turned as her mother-in-law called from the front door. In the past she would have found Edna’s help interfering, but she had learned to be more accepting as time went by. She had to admit that Norm’s parents had been very good to them.

‘Oh, ta!’ She loosed Robbie’s hand a minute and took the little bag of red-and-green tokens to pay their bus fare. ‘I’ll forget my own head one day. See you later.’

‘Tara . . .’ Edna even waved her hankie at Robbie.

‘Come on, Robbie – let’s get going.’

The bus tokens were included in the treatment. Someone at the school had decided that Robbie was looking peaky, and he suffered from catarrh. Every day that week she was expected to trek across to Erdington with him on the bus for sunray treatment, though no one had told them exactly what the point of it all was, other than that it would be good for him.

‘I don’t like it,’ Robbie protested. ‘Them goggles smell horrible and rubbery.’

‘Never mind,’ Em said, hurrying him to the bus stop. She could have lived without all this carry-on as well. It meant her having to offer to work late in the shop. ‘I suppose they know best. And you just make sure you don’t let those goggles slip off – that light’s bad for your eyes. It can blind you.’

Robbie sat in his seat on the bus, harrumphing. Em smiled to herself at his stormy expression. She knew her little ruffian of a son was none too keen on stripping down to his undies, either, and sitting on the circular wooden planking with other children, goggles on, soaking in the bright light.

‘Feel like a right pansy,’ he muttered.

‘Oh, Robbie!’

‘Don’t laugh! T’ain’t funny!’ He folded his arms crossly and stared out of the window as if the end of the world had come. ‘
You
don’t have to do it, do yer?’

No, she thought, but I have to cart myself all the way over here with you. Then another thought came. If he’s the only child I’m ever going to have, I ought to make the most of every moment with him. Softening, she reached to stroke his hair.

‘Mom!’ Outrage. ‘Gerroff! Stop being soppy!’

The treatment, in the Slade Road clinic, being over, they travelled back and Em went to work. Later, as she went to Cynthia’s to pick Robbie up, she walked along in the freezing, foggy evening, longing for a cup of tea. It was a nice thought that Robbie was at her mom’s. She liked getting there, finding him in that house. Where would Mom be without him? She felt as if by providing Cynthia with a grandson, she had kept her happy and busy. Even her father’s death had not knocked Cynthia for six, as Em had feared.

Ever since Bob had died, Em felt she had the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. There was her own grief for him, quiet man though he had been. She missed him sitting there by the fire, always with a cigarette; his smiles when he saw her, his occasional jokes, his reminiscences about the war:
D’you remember the night Ashted Wharf went up . . . ?
Now there were only Mom and Joyce and Violet living there, and Joyce, now twenty-one, had been going steady with Larry and was planning to get married the next year. Em had always felt responsible for the household, but all the more so now, with her dad gone. Cynthia had wept and wept when Bob first died, and Em knew she missed him terribly. Dot had been dropping in more than usual, from Duddesdon, but she had her own troubles. Her husband Lou was none too well, either.

Sometimes Em felt overwhelmed by her worries. It was bad enough being shoehorned in with Norm’s mom and dad, and with she and Norm struggling for any sort of private life. And as well as mourning her dad, she was now mourning the fact that it seemed certain she and Norm were not going to have any more children. They had talked about it off and on, but after a while there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. If she ever mentioned it now, Norm got scratchy with her and said things like, ‘Well, what d’you want me to do about it – eh?’ She knew he was angry and blamed himself, and in her heart of hearts she blamed him too. And there was Robbie, headstrong and hardly ever her little boy any more. All that was enough – but having to worry about Mom and the others just added to her burden. She knew she frowned more than she used to, and saw little lines appearing on her forehead and around her mouth.

‘Hello, bab,’ Cynthia greeted her, huddled up in a thick grey cardie. ‘Kettle’s on. You look famished.’

‘I am.’ She headed straight for the range to warm up. ‘My feet’re like blocks of ice. There’s a darned great hole in this one – look.’ She took off her left shoe and held it up. The piece of card she had slipped in to cover the hole was sodden. ‘Umm, something smells nice. You doing a stew?’

‘After a fashion,’ Cynthia said. She had never had a very high opinion of her own cooking.

Violet was sitting at the table with Robbie, doing something with him, their heads bowed over a piece of paper. She had at last got round to getting some specs, and was peering through their pink plastic frames now. The first time she put them on, she’d said it was like a miracle – she’d had no idea that there was so much to see! She looked up and smiled. ‘Say hello to your mom,’ she said, nudging Robbie.

‘’Llo, Mom.’ He didn’t even look up. Violet made a wry face, and Em tried not to mind.

‘Joyce not back yet?’

‘No – she’ll be along,’ Cynthia said, handing her a cup of tea. ‘Here, get this down you, and come and sit down – I’ve got something to tell you.’

Em saw that she was looking quite cheerful.

‘Mom’s got a job,’ Vi said.

‘Oi, I was going to tell her!’ Cynthia said indignantly.

Em felt herself freeze, just as she had been starting to thaw out. A job – Mom! How was that possible?

‘What d’you mean?’ she said stupidly.

‘You know – a job. For money,’ Violet said, as if Em was a halfwit.

‘All right, you. Just ’cos you’re going to night school.’

Violet was a bright girl, and ambitious. ‘I’m not working on the factory floor all my life,’ she had said. ‘I want to get on – at least have a job in an office. So she had taken herself off to the Commercial School in the evenings.

‘It’s only cleaning,’ Cynthia said. ‘At The Woodman.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Over in Cattells Grove.’

Em found herself full of a mounting panic. ‘But – I mean,
why
?’ She found she couldn’t cope with the idea. In all her years, Mom had never had a job outside the house!

‘Well, I wanted to get out a bit. And for the money – you know, the usual reasons, and I heard the landlord was looking for someone . . .’

‘But you can’t!’ Em snapped. She found herself close to tears. Mom not here, in the house the way she always was – it was unthinkable! ‘I mean, what about all our arrangements? What about Robbie? If you’re not here . . .’

‘I’ve told you, love,’ Cynthia said, taken aback by her fury. ‘It’s only mornings. I’ll be back to pick up Robbie as usual – wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘What’s up with you?’ Violet said peering at her. ‘What the hell’s wrong with Mom getting a little job?’

‘I . . . nothing,’ Em said, swallowing down her emotion. Of course she was being silly. But why did she feel so betrayed? And as if her father was being betrayed, too. Things were just changing too fast.

‘I can’t just sit here grieving,’ Cynthia said. ‘It’s no good – I need to get out and do something . . .’

There was a bang of the front door and in came Joyce, wrapped up to the pink tip of her nose in a big brown scarf. She looked full of life, her honey-coloured hair tied up, and the picture of health.

‘What’s going on?’ She pulled at the scarf.

‘Em doesn’t want Mom to go out to work,’ Violet said.

Joyce turned from going to hang her coat up, a frown on her face. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Well . . .’ Em was shrinking inside. ‘Nothing, I s’pose, it was just—’

‘No, that’s it – nothing.’ Joyce went over to pour herself tea. ‘Why shouldn’t our mom go and get herself a little job, if it makes her feel better? It’s not up to you to keep coming round here, bossing us all around, you know. You live somewhere else now – and even if you didn’t, you’re not in charge here, you know!’

‘Oi, that’s enough,’ Cynthia said.

Em was stung to the core by these words. She and Joyce always squabbled more than she did with Violet, but this time the words hit home. She
had
felt as if she was in charge of them all, especially now, with Dad gone. Just like when she was little, the way she had had to take over, as if none of them could manage themselves. The habit had formed in her without her realizing.

‘It’s all right,’ Cynthia said gently, seeing that she was upset. She touched Em’s arm for a second. ‘Don’t you worry – everything’ll be all right.’

Em gave a grudging smile. She felt silly, weepy, but more reassured now. ‘Yeah, I s’pect it will.’

They changed the subject, talking about their days. Violet’s had been boring, she said. Joyce was happier with factory work – she liked the company, the banter. And Larry was never too far away.

‘Eh,’ Cynthia said to Em, ‘didn’t you say you was meeting up with that O’Neill girl? Dot said she’d seen you both.’

‘Sunday, she said. That was something I wanted to ask you, Mom. She’s coming over from Handsworth way, with her little boy. Could we come here? It’d just be better than Edna’s.’

‘Course you can,’ Cynthia said. ‘It’ll be company for Robbie . . .’

‘Is that that Katie O’Neill?’ Joyce said, trying to recall the facts. ‘Didn’t you tell me – isn’t she the stuck-up little bitch who told you to get lost when . . . ?’

Em nodded. ‘Yes, it is her. But she’s different now. Seems ever so nice.’

‘I should hope she flipping well is different,’ Joyce said.

‘It was a long time ago,’ Em went on. Though she, too, could not quite forget the hurt of it, the way Katie had rejected her all those years ago. ‘I’m quite looking forward to seeing her.’

She realized, as she made her way home, that Katie’s visit was beginning to loom large in her mind. Katie had always had a glow around her at school, at least so far as Em was concerned. She knew she had to try and grow out of the picture that she had of Katie. After all, they weren’t children any more, picking best friends in the playground.

‘I mustn’t be silly about it,’ she told herself. ‘We’ll probably just have a quick catch-up and then never see each other again. And I don’t s’pose she really wants to know the likes of me anyway.’

But Katie had seemed so pleased to see her this time, and Em knew that really she hoped for more than that – she wanted Katie’s friendship.

By the time Em opened the door to Katie that Sunday afternoon, she was in such a state of nerves that her hands were trembling.

On the step stood Katie, looking as smart and neat as ever in a navy coat and hat and, beside her, her beautiful boy, his deep-blue eyes peeping out from under dark curling lashes and a red knitted hat.

‘Hello,’ Em said, flustered. ‘Come on in – it’s freezing out there. Come and get warm by the fire, the pair of you.’

‘Hello,’ Katie said, ushering her son in with her. ‘It’s all right – this lady is an old friend of mine, Mrs . . . ?’

Em laughed. ‘Mrs Stapleton. But you can’t call me that, for goodness’ sake!’ She wanted to say:
Call me Auntie Em
, but it seemed too eager. ‘Hello again, Michael. Oh, isn’t he beautiful, Katie! I’ll call Robbie – he’s upstairs.’

As she did so, Cynthia came and greeted Katie. Em, calling up to Robbie, was praying inwardly:
Please let them be all right; don’t let Robbie do anything wrong.
She was worried that her son might be too boisterous for the younger one, or even take a dislike to him.