Christmas Past (25 page)

‘Let’s go to the flicks. Can’t your mum measure you now? After all, we are home earlier than usual. I’ll bet if Gregory Peck was on you’d make the
effort.’

Jacqueline giggled. ‘Well, I’ll try. If I can I’ll call for you at five. I quite like Dana Andrews too.’

Pam grinned. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed then.’

‘Ta-ra then. I hope to see you later,’ Jacqueline called as the friends went their separate ways, one dreaming of having been lucky enough to scrape through the County Minor, the
other to ponder on the attractions of Dana Andrews in comparison to those of Gregory Peck.

In September Jacqueline and Pam began the new term at the grammar school several miles away. Pam’s parents had gratefully accepted the offer from Mary Holmes to run up
school blouses and gym tunics free of charge, an enormous saving to a family whose income was small in comparison to a miner’s.

Grandma Roberts had treated the friends to new leather satchels as rewards for passing, and given Jacqueline a lecture on the theme of the harder she worked now, the easier she would find the
road to university. But that seemed too far in the future to be important now. Nevertheless, the girl was naturally conscientious and seemed determined to do her best.

For Pam it was a different matter and she was to find the going much more difficult. Without her friend’s help and encouragement she would no doubt have been left trailing behind.

It was soon after this that Bill Bacon heard the rumours about Una. He had worried for some time about the change in his daughter. The amiable outgoing girl had suddenly become
sullen and secretive. She had also taken to wearing scarlet lipstick and rouge, which according to Marjory made her look like a tart.

It was the landlord at the Rising Sun who had put Bill in the picture. ‘You ought to do summat about yon lass of yours, Bill lad,’ he said, as Bill had his tankard refilled during a
darts match.

‘Our Una? Why, I didn’t know you knew her,’ Bill said, surprised.

‘I don’t, but there isn’t much that goes on as I don’t hear about over the bar.’

‘You mean they’ve been talking about my lass in here?’

‘I’m sorry to say they have, and it isn’t nice what they’ve been saying, especially a well brought up young lass like yours.’

‘Well, what are they saying? Out with it, man.’

‘Well, it’s a bit embarrassing like, seeing as she’s only sixteen, and ’im a married man.’

‘What?’ Bill made a grab at the man’s shirt front.

‘Ere, ’old on, lad, it’s nought to do with me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Bill let the man go. ‘Just tell me what you’ve heard, that’s all. Just tell me his name.’

‘Con Shaunessy, I think that’s the name he’s known as. Lodging down in’t prefabs by what I’ve heard.’

Bill downed his drink in one go, slammed a handful of change on the bar and left. He could hear the landlord calling, ‘Now don’t go mentioning my name, I’ve me business to
consider.’ But he was on his way. He knew quite a few folks from the prefabs. They were mostly young married couples on the list for a council house, and eager to escape from in-laws. The
prefabs were not the ideal accommodation but at least they meant privacy and were a step towards something better.

He guessed the lodger would be with one of the older occupants so that whittled down the search. The stench of stewing cabbage greeted him as he made his way down the rough track which served as
a road. He knew Big Bessie lived at the far end, and she was the most likely to take in lodgers.

Big Bessie was built like a house side, as broad as she was long, but Bill always wondered if it was because of her size that she had been so named or because of her big-heartedness. After he
knocked, the doorway was suddenly filled with an outsized wraparound pinafore housing a gigantic bosom, and Big Bessie let out a squeal of delight at the sight of Bill. Then she drew him into arms
which would have been the pride of any male wrestler and cushioned him to her breast. ‘Why, if it isn’t me owd love Bill Bacon.’ She gave him a wet slobbery kiss and pulled him
inside. ‘Don’t stand on the doorstep like a stone statue. Bring yerself in, lad,’ she said.

‘I’d better before you either swallow me or smother me.’ Bill laughed, forgetting for the moment the reason he was here.

‘Well this is a surprise. Why, lad, I don’t think I’ve seen you since the day yer owd mother was buried, God rest her soul. Eeh but we had some good owd chinwags, yer mother
an’ me. Fifty years we lived next door and never ’ad a wrong word, not that we alius saw eye to eye, and we ’ad some right grand argumentations at times. Eeh, but we alius enjoyed
’em, and we was alius there when we was needed. Did she ever tell yer?’

Bill knew that once Bessie got going about the old days she would carry on for hours, and he decided to interrupt. ‘Bessie love, I’d love to stay and listen but I’m in a bit of
a hurry and it’s getting late.’

‘Well then, lad, if you ’aven’t come for a bit of a chinwag an’ a pot of tea, what ’ave yer come for?’

‘I came to ask, have you a lodger here by the name of Shaunessy?’

‘Two of ’em. Depends if you want Cornelius or Patrick?’

‘Oh.’ Bill was taken aback. ‘Well, I guess it’ll be Cornelius if he’s known as Con.’

‘That’s ’im, the youngest: good-looking feller. Now if I was only forty years younger ... Mind you, I think ’e’s kissed the Blarney stone, talk about gift of the
gab. I’ll bet ’is wife was glad of a bit of peace when ’e left.’

Bill could feel his temper rising. ‘Is he a married man then?’

‘Oh aye, an’ according to Paddy ’e’s a couple of kids an’ all, though it doesn’t stop ’im sowing a few wild oats over ’ere by all accounts. I
could ’ear ’em last weekend, ’aving a right argumentation they were. Yer see, Paddy doesn’t agree wi’ all the carryings-on.’

‘Where is he, Bessie, do you know?’

‘At work, lad. On’y comes ’ome on a Friday, goes back on a Monday morning. Works on a new road somewhere or other. Now, did yer mother ever tell yer about when our owd men went
to build the reservoir? They—’

‘Yes, I think she did, Bessie love. Anyway, I’ll have to be going.’

‘Aye well, come again, lad, and don’t be so long next time.’

She followed Bill to the door, still chattering fifty to the dozen. Bill wondered which of them managed to get the most words in, Bessie or the one who had kissed the Blarney stone. Once again
he was clutched to Bessie’s cushiony bosom, and slobbered on in the way Tittle Harry used to welcome visitors.

‘I’ll show yer round me prefab next time yer come. Mind you, it’s only temp’ry until the owd folks’ bungalows are ready, but it saves me poor legs going up
an’ down stairs.’

Bill made his farewell for the umpteenth time and thought it was perhaps a good thing the Irish navvies were away. It wouldn’t be fair to upset Bessie by causing an upheaval. No, he would
bide his time till the weekend. In the meantime he would see what Una had to say for herself, and if she gave him any of the cheek he had been getting lately she had better watch out. He had never
laid a finger on her yet but by God it wasn’t too late to start.

‘Where’s our Una?’ Bill asked when he got home.

‘Over at Jean’s. They’ve got a new radiogram and they’re practising a new dance or something.’

‘I’ll make her dance when I’ve done with her.’

Amazed at her husband’s uncharacteristic outburst, Marjory switched off the radio. ‘Why, what’s wrong?’

‘She’s only carrying on with a married man, and an Irish one at that.’

‘What? Oh, Bill, she can’t be, she must not know.’

‘I expect that’ll be her excuse, but she’s sixteen, Marje – she must know he’s too old for her. Besides, she’s so bloody secretive. We should have known
something was in the wind.’

Marjory started to cry.

‘It’s no use crying, it’s too late for that. She’s been spoilt, I’ve always said so. Everything she asked for, you made sure she got it, and she never lifted a
finger for you in return. You’ve made a right mess of bringing up your daughter.’

‘Oh yes, blame me.’ Marjory sobbed. ‘You never complained when she was receiving applause in the school play, or when she landed a receptionist’s job, even though none of
the other girls got set on. She was your darling daughter then; now the first time she puts a foot wrong, she’s mine.’

Neither of them heard the door open. Una, looking apprehensive at the raised voices, walked over to the radio and turned the knob to Radio Luxembourg.

‘Switch that off,’ Bill roared.

‘Why? I always listen to it.’

‘Sit down.’

Una sat down with a flop in the nearest chair.

‘How long has it been going on, then?’

‘What? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you? Well then you must be the only one in Millington who doesn’t.’ Una paled as her father came up to her. ‘Con Shaunessy, that’s who I’m on
about. A married man with two youngsters back in Ireland, that’s who I’m on about.’

Una began to cry. ‘He isn’t – married, I mean. He would have told me. He’s nice.’

‘Oh, yes, he’s nice all right. Any bugger’d be nice if they thought they’d a chance of getting a young lass’s knickers off.’

‘He hasn’t.’ Una looked at her mother. ‘Honest, Mam, I wouldn’t let him.’

‘Oh, so you admit he’s tried, then,’ Bill said more quietly.

‘He loves me, he said so,’ Una sobbed, then added quickly, ‘but I didn’t let him, I wouldn’t.’

Marjory put an arm round her daughter. ‘Well, that’s something to be thankful for, I suppose.’

Una wept in her mother’s arms and Bill sank dejectedly on to a kitchen chair.

‘How old do you think he is, love?’ he asked, more subdued now.

‘He told me, he’s twenty-two.’

‘Do you think that’s likely, love, if he’s got a wife and two kids?’

Una broke into more sobs, a trail of mascara making its way down her rouged cheeks.

‘I didn’t know, Dad, honest. He said he loved me and could get me a job in the theatre in Leeds. He says he has a brother who’s a well-known actor.’

‘It’s him who’s an actor – a bloody good one too by the sound of it.’

Marjory lifted the kettle from the hob and made a pot of tea. ‘Don’t you see, love, he was just telling you that to get what he wanted. Anyway, I thought you were happy as a
receptionist.’

‘I am, Mam, but I still want to act, or be a dancer, anything on the stage. I’ve set my heart on it.’

‘Well, we’ll see, but you won’t get what you want through men like him. All you’ll get is either an unwanted baby, or a ruined reputation.’

Una began to cry again. ‘What will people think? I won’t dare go out – they’ll all be talking about me.’

Marjory poured the tea. ‘Well, you’ll just have to face up to it, love, and let it be a lesson for the future.’

Una sipped the sweet hot tea. ‘What will I say to him when I see him?’

‘Oh, I doubt you’ll need worry about that. Big Bessie’ll be breaking her neck to tell him I’m on the look-out for him. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he
doesn’t do a moonlight at the news.’ Bill smiled, relieved that no harm had come to his daughter. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, Una. If I ever hear the slightest bit of
scandal concerning you again, I’ll break your bloody neck.’ He took a gulp of tea. ‘And another thing,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Wash that muck off your face, you look like a bloody clown. And don’t let me see you with it on again.’

Una rushed to the sink. ‘I won’t, Dad,’ she said, relieved to have been let off so lightly. She would keep the make-up for the stage in future. She was going on the stage, no
matter what happened – she was determined about that.

The children’s window at Miss Judith McCall’s looked a picture, and Ada Banwell was unable to decide which dress to buy for her daughter. The child herself was
pretty as a picture too, with a mass of almost white curls falling about her face. She was a happy child and most people would pause to admire her.

Ada herself had never been happier or more content with life. Her daughter loved her, and since the child was born a change had taken place in her husband. He never missed an opportunity now to
come home to his wife and daughter, and was even talking about coming out of the Navy for good, so as to be with them all the time.

Ada opened the shop door and the little girl ran into the shop and beamed at the lady behind the counter.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to choose a new dress.’

Mary smiled down at the beautiful child before realising who she was. ‘Well then, we’ll have to find you something nice, won’t we?’

‘Where’s Miss McCall?’ Ada asked, taken aback at the sight of Mary Holmes.

‘She’s on holiday. I hope you don’t mind putting up with me instead.’

Ada shrugged. She had nothing against the woman; come to think of it she had nothing against her brother-in-law either. In fact she would never cease to be grateful to Harry Holmes. After coming
to see her after the birth of their daughter he had done as Ada requested and left them alone. He had brought with him an envelope full of bank-notes and placed it on the bed.

‘That’s for the baby, Ada,’ he had said. ‘I’m sorry it isn’t more but I’m not all that flush at the moment, what with being off work all these
months.’ He had looked pale and drawn and Ada had been sorry to see the normally cocky young man looking so down.

‘Put your money away, Harry.’ She had given him back the envelope unopened. ‘I don’t need it. My daughter’s dad has bought her everything she needs, and more.
He’ll be a good father so long as he thinks he is the father. I hope I can count on you to keep quiet.’

‘Well, if that’s how you want it, Ada.’

‘That’s how I want it. Besides, I reckon it’s cost you enough in lost wages and ruined health. I didn’t want that to happen, Harry. There was no need for it. Violence
never solved anything.’

‘Oh, I expect there was a need. I asked for all I got – I’m not complaining.’

Ada smiled. ‘Nor am I, Harry. In fact I shall never be out of your debt. Every time I look at her I shall thank you under my breath.’

Harry had looked at the baby. ‘By, but she’s beautiful, Ada. I shall find it difficult to ignore my own child, but if you think it’s how it should be ... ’ Harry had
kissed Ada on the cheek and told her if ever there was anything she wanted, anything ever at all either of them needed, she must let him know.