Christmas Past (26 page)

‘All I need is right here in the cot, and anything she needs her dad will see she gets,’ Ada had said. ‘And now go, Harry. The neighbours are being good. I’m just earning
their respect and I don’t want to spoil things.’

‘No hard feelings then, Ada?’

‘No hard feelings, Harry, and thanks for coming. I appreciate that.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘And this one will look lovely with her fair curls,’ Mary Holmes was holding a red velvet dress in front of the little girl, who reminded her of Una when she was
her age.

Ada realised the counter was stacked with dresses in her daughter’s size as her thoughts returned to the present.

‘They’re all lovely.’ She picked one up, feeling the crisp cotton, and noticed the label inside the collar.

‘Do you mean to tell me you made this?’ She picked up another and inspected the label inside. ‘And this?’

Mary blushed. ‘I made them all,’ she said.

‘You’re missing your way. You should be in Paris.’ Ada laughed.

‘Oh, I shall be more than satisfied to get my hands on this. You know Miss McCall’s retiring? Well, I’m hoping to buy the shop, that’s if the loan comes
through.’

‘Should be a good buy,’ Ada said. ‘Not much competition in Millington, and certainly nothing of a quality to compare with these.’

‘Thank you,’ Mary said. ‘Now, let’s just try some of these on and see which you like best.’

‘I like the red one. Can I have the red one, Mummy?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s not the type of thing you can wear for school.’

‘Oh, please, Mummy, I’ll keep it for Sundays and when Daddy comes home, I promise.’

‘It certainly looks lovely,’ Ada enthused.

Mary laughed. ‘Anything would look lovely on . . . what’s your name, love?’

‘Yvonne.’

‘Well, Yvonne, if ever I want a model I shall know where to come.’

Ada flushed with pleasure. ‘We’ll take it. Her dad’s buying it, anyway. She can twist him round her little finger for anything.’

‘They’re all alike.’ Mary placed the dress in a bag. ‘And let me see if I can find a hair ribbon to match.’ She cut a yard of red satin ribbon and placed it in with
the dress. ‘There, that’s a present for my most beautiful customer today.’

Ada thanked her and paid for the dress.

‘Bye-bye, Yvonne,’ Mary said, and to Ada, ‘Thanks for your custom. I hope to see you again.’

‘I suppose you will, sooner or later.’ Ada smiled as they left the shop.

‘I like that lady, Mummy, she’s nice.’

‘Aye, she’s nice, love.’ Ada almost added, ‘They’re all nice, the Holmeses, and you’ll probably grow up to be just like them.’

The treacle tin clattered as Alan kicked it along the main road, then he picked it up and hid it behind his back as Constable Jones walked towards him.

‘Hello, Alan,’ he said. ‘You’re looking a bit miserable, lad. What’s to do?’

‘Nothing. I’m just f-f-fed up, that’s all,’ Alan replied.

The constable was always friendly, but even so, Alan always made sure he was on his best behaviour when in his company. He knew the policeman had been known to give kids a walloping on occasions
and didn’t want the same thing to happen to him.

‘I thought you’d be up at Barker’s giving Charlie a hand?’

‘I can’t. He’s in bed. He’s got mumps, so I’ve got to keep away from him.’

‘Quite right too. They can be funny things can mumps in lads.’

‘Oh.’ Alan didn’t know what was meant by that, but thought he’d better not be cheeky and ask.

‘Well, I’ll be on my way then, lad. Give my regards to yer mam and dad, and yer sister.’ At the mention of Jacqueline the policeman began to chuckle to himself as he walked
on.

Alan didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t want to go home to the shop. His mother would be either serving customers or stitching away on the machine in the kitchen, where
she had placed a mirror so that she could see the shop door in case anybody came in. She was always working these days. Even on a Wednesday afternoon, when it was half-day closing, she would be
either cutting out or stitching up. Even his dad looked miserable, but if he said anything his mother would start on about having to work extra hard to pay off the mortgage, complaining that if he
had let her accept the money Gladys had offered to give them it wouldn’t have been necessary. His dad always got mad at that and said if she wasn’t satisfied with the money he was
bringing in to keep his family, without accepting charity, it was just too bad. He also accused his mother of being greedy, because she expected to make a profit at the same time as paying off the
mortgage.

Something his dad had said had sounded to Alan as if the mortgage could have been paid over a period of ten or twenty years, but his mother had chosen to pay it back in five. He hoped they
wouldn’t be arguing for the next five years. It was bad enough living behind the shop instead of on Barker’s Row. Only Jacqueline seemed unaffected by the move, but then she was always
too busy with homework or some project or other to notice where she lived.

The house itself was quite nice, with a modern kitchen and a large comfortable living room behind the shop, and even Dad admitted it was convenient having electricity. Upstairs there were three
large bedrooms and a bathroom with constant hot water. Mother said she had room now to invite the family to stay, and Dad mumbled something about how would she possibly find the time.

Alan liked having a bedroom of his own, despite missing the chats he used to have with Jacqueline late into the night. It was only when he looked out of the window that a sense of doom seemed to
descend on him. Instead of meadows, and the tranquillity of Barker’s Farm, and the treetops of the Donkey Wood, all that could be seen was factory roofs and tall sooty black chimneys,
belching out smoke for twenty-four hours of the day.

Even the small patch of grassland in the distance was a dirty brown instead of green, and the fumes from the coke ovens seemed to seep through any open door or window. Round the back was a sheer
drop down into the works and there was nowhere for Tittle Harry to wander in safety, but nobody, not even Jacqueline, had apparently considered him. The only spare piece of ground was between their
shop and the shoe shop, and on this stood the car. That was the only good thing to come out of the move. Grandad Roberts had bought a new car, and handed over the Morris to his dad.

‘You really do need a car if you’re starting in business, what with buying in and delivering out.’

His dad could take them over to Longfield now on Sundays, though his mother usually made the excuse of being too busy. This had also caused arguments, with his dad pointing out that Grandad
Roberts had obviously given them the car to make visiting easier instead of rarer, but his mother seemed oblivious of everything except her work.

Alan found himself wandering up the hill in the direction of Grandma Holmes’s. He always seemed to make for there when he was feeling miserable. She always had time to listen to his
problems and was the only one to understand why he didn’t want to go to grammar school.

‘No point, my duck, if you’re not book-minded,’ she always said. ‘You’ve made up yer mind to become a mechanic, and I for one can’t ever see you doing
anything else. Why, you’ve tinkered with owt that moves since the day you could crawl, taking wheels off, putting other things on. No, lad, I don’t think the grammar is the place for
you. If you can get an apprenticeship at one of the garages I reckon you’ll do all right.’

Grandma Holmes didn’t think he was too big for a cuddle, either. ‘Come over here, my duck, and give yer owd grandma a bit of a hug. She’s badly in need of one today.’ She
had the knack of letting Alan think he was doing her a favour, when all the time she would be curing some sort of sadness on Alan’s part. He had a feeling he was Grandma’s favourite.
She seemed to have replaced Grandad Holmes with her only grandson, at the same time fulfilling a need in Alan as well.

Alan passed St Catherine’s and wondered how long it was since his mother had attended church, or insisted on Jacqueline’s and his attending either, not that he cared. It was bad
enough going to school, what with his best mate falling out with him because he hadn’t passed for the grammar, and some of the others laughing at him because of his stammer. That was another
thing that seemed to have happened since the move. He had never stammered at Barker’s Row.

Oh, he was fed up. He thought he might run away and live with Grandad Roberts, who would take him fishing down at the reservoir where his troubles always seemed to float away in the water. When
he grew up and had his own filling station he would buy a house in the country, next to a river, with no shops or sewing machines to disturb his peace.

He turned the corner of the top row, and there was Freddie Cartwright down on his knees, his bike on its side across the pavement.

‘Hiya,’ he said to Alan.

‘Hiya,’ Alan said slowly, which sometimes prevented him from stammering.

‘Your Jacqui says you’re a wizard at mending things,’ Freddie said.

‘Oh, s-s-sometimes.’

‘Know owt about punctures?’

‘A bit.’ Alan knelt down by Freddie’s side.

‘I can’t find the blooming thing,’ Freddie grumbled.

‘Y-y-yer need a bucket of water. If you get me one I’ll mend it f-f-for yer.’

Freddie disappeared into the house and came out with a bowl filled to the brim, which must have slurped all over the kitchen floor judging by the language following in its wake.

Alan set to work and the wheel was soon replaced. He also fixed a broken pedal.

‘How long ’ave yer been stuttering?’ Freddie enquired. ‘I used to stutter after I was scalded.’

Alan was all ears. ‘Did you? You don’t now, do you?’

‘Oh no, it went off after a bit. I’ve still got me scars, though – do yer want to look at ’em?’

‘Ooh, yes,’ Alan said, fully appreciating the honour.

Freddie opened his shirt neck, and there stretching from his Adam’s apple was a deep red scar about six inches long.

‘Ooh, I’ll bet that hurt.’ Alan was impressed.

‘Not ’alf,’ Freddie said proudly. ‘I pulled a pot of dripping over me. Me mam wasn’t ’alf mad. We ’ad no dripping for us supper all week.’

‘How long did the stammering last?’ Alan asked without stammering at all.

‘A few months, I think. Don’t worry. If yer stop thinking about it it’ll stop.’

‘I try not to, but it’s the lads at school, they make fun of me.’

‘What lads?’

‘Some of the ones going to grammar school.’

‘Oh, well, yer’ll soon be rid of them then. I’ll tell yer what, when yer come up to’t seniors do yer want to be in my gang?’

Alan couldn’t believe his ears. Freddie Cartwright’s gang was the best gang in all the school. They had the best side at football, and the best bicycle races up on the common on
Saturday mornings.

‘Can I? Be in your gang? Are you sure?’

‘Course yer can. We could do with a good mechanic to look after us bikes.’

‘Oh, I’ll enjoy that. And can I join in the races?’

‘Course yer can. And when yer in my gang nobody’ll laugh at yer stuttering or we’ll bash ’em.’

Alan grinned. ‘Do you want to come and see my grandma with me? She’ll have been baking and she’ll give you a bun.’

Freddie propped the repaired bike up against the wall. ‘Come on then.’ He shouted to his mam through the open door, ‘Mam, I’m just going wi’ me mate to see
’is grandma.’

Alan heard a voice shout after them, ‘Bugger off then, and behave thisen or tha’ll gerra good hiding.’

As they set off along the row Alan thought how lucky he was to have a nice clean house and a mother who never swore at him. Oh, and he was looking forward to going to the seniors. As he opened
Grandma’s door he hoped she wouldn’t want to kiss and cuddle him today. He was far too old now for all that baby stuff.

Una went to the cloakroom yet again to check on her hair. She was glad now that her mother had persuaded her against having the DA cut. She had styled it instead by curling the
hair round her finger and securing it with hair grips. Now it was brushed out so that it hung in natural waves to her shoulders, setting off the halter neckline to perfection. She touched up her
lips with a soft peachy lipstick and checked the seams of her stockings were straight, then dabbed a little Evening in Paris behind her ears and tried to still her quickening heartbeat before
returning to the dance hall. The band’s vocalist was singing ‘The Tennessee Waltz’ and the dancers were crowded on the floor.

Una was glad the office staff had been given the day off; it had given her time to manicure her nails and soak in the bath, in front of the fire in the kitchen. She had been invited by Mrs
Davenport to a coffee afternoon for charity, along with her mother and all the neighbours, but had preferred to be alone. She had tried on the dress Auntie Mary had made at least three times, once
to check her bra didn’t slip, as it was the first strapless one she had ever owned; a second time to make sure her shoes looked right; and yet again for no reason at all, except that she felt
like a queen in the turquoise taffeta dress, with the nipped-in waist and the swirling circular skirt.

She could sense the heads turning as she glided, even taller than usual in her high heels, across the floor to where her friends were gathered.

‘Only five minutes to go to the contest,’ Jean remarked. ‘You’re bound to win, Una. You look smashing.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Una could see an older girl who looked far more sophisticated, in a clingy black dress and lots of gold chains about her neck and wrists. She began to wish
she had worn more jewellery herself, only Auntie Mary had said it was unnecessary.

‘If you think she’s the main competition you can forget it,’ Jean said, following her friend’s doubtful gaze. ‘She looks as common as muck, and that’s an
understatement.’

Una giggled as the band finished with a roll of drums. The MC’s voice came over the microphone requesting the contestants for the 1954 Miss Millington contest to please line up in front of
the stage.