Time Goes By (7 page)

Gradually the pain of her loss eased and the grief became less intense. She had her teaching job to keep her busy. Eventually she found that it brought her contentment, even happiness and, for the most part, fulfilment. She loved the children she taught and she had made good friends amongst the staff. There had not been anyone else, though, who had caused her to feel the way she had felt about Martin.

Sally felt quite satisfied with her appearance as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror. She had decided to wear the dress she had bought just before Christmas and had worn for the family gatherings that had taken place around that time, but she had scarcely worn it since then. It seemed a suitable time now to give it another airing. The dress was a dusky pink colour, made of a fine woollen material, with three-quarter-length sleeves, a full mid-
calf-length
skirt and a nipped-in waist. She had kept her trim figure – some of her married friends had
lost their waistlines after childbearing – and the black patent leather belt accentuated her slimness. With it she wore her black patent leather shoes and a matching handbag. She would take a light coat, although she would probably not need it. Phil was picking her up and would most likely run her home again after their visit to the promenade hotel.

‘You look very nice, dear,’ said her mother, when Sally appeared in the living room. ‘That colour really suits you.’

‘Do you think so?’ queried Sally. ‘I wondered if it was a bit wishy-washy – you know, with me being fair-skinned and my hair and everything.’

Her hair was a silvery blonde and had kept its colour without any artificial aids, and the one or two grey hairs she had found did not show. Her eyes were grey; a nondescript colour really, she thought, but tonight she had highlighted them with a slight touch of mascara and a pale-green eyeshadow. She usually chose pastel colours for her clothes, but she had wondered sometimes if a bright red or blue might make her look more striking.

‘No, it’s just perfect,’ said her mother. ‘And you’ve done your eyes as well.’

Sally laughed. ‘Well, I don’t often get a chance to dress up, do I? And we’re going out for a drink after the meeting, a few of us.’

‘You look a real bobby-dazzler,’ said her father. He and her mother were sitting at the table, eating
their shepherd’s pie. Bill Roberts was manager now of one of the gents’ outfitters in the town, having stayed in the same line of work ever since he had left school. ‘You’ll turn a few heads tonight, Sal,’ he added.

‘That’s not really the idea, Dad,’ she smiled. ‘The parents are concerned with the children’s progress, not with what their teacher looks like.’

‘All the same …’ said her dad, nodding approvingly.

‘How are you getting to school?’ asked her mother. ‘Are you going on the bus?’ That was her usual form of transport to and from the school, although she occasionally cycled there if the weather was good.

‘No … Phil’s picking me up,’ she answered. ‘Didn’t I say?’

‘No, you didn’t, actually.’ Her mother smiled. ‘So that’s why you’re looking so fetching, is it? Eyeshadow an’ all!’

‘Give over, Mum!’ said Sally. ‘You know very well it isn’t so. I’ve told you, Phil and I are–’

‘Just good friends!’ Her mother finished off the statement. ‘Alright, love; I know it’s none of my business. But Phil Grantley’s a really nice young man; I’ve always thought so.’

A ring at the doorbell stopped any further comments. Phil was standing on the doorstep looking unusually smart in a grey suit with a dazzlingly white shirt and maroon tie.

‘Wow! You look smart,’ said Sally.

‘Why? Don’t I always?’ He gave a quizzical grin.

‘To be honest, no!’ she laughed. ‘But you scrub up very well, I must say.’

‘And so do you …’ Phil was looking at her admiringly. ‘You look … quite amazing, Sally.’

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she joked, a little fazed by the intensity of his gaze. ‘I can make an effort when it’s necessary.’

‘Come along, then.’ He held her arm in a friendly way as they went down the path, then he helped her into the car. ‘We’d best get moving or the parents will be there before us.’

Indeed, a few of the early birds were already there, waiting in the corridor outside the classroom doors.

‘See you later,’ said Phil with a cheery wink as he went further along the corridor to the junior part of the building.

The business of the evening began at once when Sally had hung up her coat and sat down at her imposing desk. There were two chairs at the opposite side where the parents could sit. This was one occasion when the children were not invited, so that the teachers could speak to their parents in confidence.

Sally tried to say something encouraging about every child, and never to be too critical or
condemning. Some children were exceptionally bright, others average or only mediocre, and some, it must be admitted, were slow to learn, whether through lack of brainpower or through laziness or want of motivation. But they nearly all had some ability in one direction or another, some saving grace, however small it might be. It might be that they could paint or draw very well – some of the less able pupils were surprisingly good at art – or could run fast, or print neatly, or help the teacher with the classroom jobs (such as cleaning the blackboard), or were kind and friendly towards the other children. This was a quality in her pupils that Sally regarded as of great importance.

Shirley Morris’s parents were some of the first to be seen. Shirley, in many ways, was a model pupil, at least as far as her schoolwork was concerned.

‘Yes, our Shirley takes after my wife,’ said Mr Morris with a proud glance at that lady. ‘I was never all that good at book learning an’ all that sort of thing. But Sadie got her School Certificate, didn’t you, love?’

‘Yes, Frank,’ replied Mrs Morris, giving him a look that quite clearly was asking him to shut up!

‘And I’m a bus driver,’ he went on.

‘Yes … so Shirley said,’ replied Sally. ‘Actually, she wrote all about it in a little story.’

‘Did she now?’ He looked pleased at that. ‘Yes,
I’ve got a good job and I’m proud of what I do. Each to his own, that’s what I say. I like to think Shirley takes after me in some ways, though. She’s a confident little lass, wouldn’t you say so, Miss Roberts?’

‘Very much so,’ agreed Sally. ‘She’s very self-assured …’ Which was a polite way of saying that she was bossy and inclined to be cocky.

‘She’s bossy, isn’t she?’ said Mrs Morris, taking the words right out of Sally’s mouth, although she would not have put it so bluntly. ‘I’ve noticed her with her little friend, Kathy. She tries to rule the roost and she likes to get all her own way. Of course, that’s another way in which she takes after her father.’ She cast him a half-joking,
half-reproving
glance. ‘I have told her about it, because I think it’s a tendency we must try to discourage.’

‘Bright little girls are inclined to be bossy at times,’ said Sally, ‘more so than boys.’ She eyed Mr Morris warily, hoping that any ill feeling between them would not develop any further. It wouldn’t be the first time she had had parents sniping at one another when they were supposed to be discussing their children. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs Morris. She’ll probably grow out of it, and I don’t let her get above herself. Kathy Leigh can hold her own, I assure you. Actually, the two of them are quite good for one another. Kathy’s a sensible little girl, and she seems to be able to stop Shirley from getting
too big for her boots … if you see what I mean.’

Kathy’s father and her aunt came about halfway through the evening. Sally had met them both on a couple of previous occasions, but this was the first time she had talked to them at any length.

‘She tries hard at everything,’ Sally told them when they had looked carefully at Kathy’s exercise books: the sums, English, spelling and copy-writing books.

‘A few spelling mistakes, though,’ observed the woman that Kathy called Aunty Win. ‘She’s only got ten out of ten once, as far as I can see.’

‘Well, I was never much good at spelling,’ observed Mr Leigh with a grin. ‘But I’ve got by, haven’t I?’ Sally reflected that she had heard similar remarks several times already that evening.

‘How does she compare with the other children?’ asked Miss Leigh. ‘With her little friend, Shirley, for instance. Kathy tells me that she’s a lot cleverer, in the top reading group and good at sums and everything. Kathy seems to set a lot of store by what Shirley does.’

‘We try not to make comparisons, Miss Leigh,’ replied Sally. ‘There aren’t any exams as such until they reach junior school age. Kathy works to the very best of her ability, and that is what is important. She’s a trier, and she will do well because she’ll have a go at anything, even if she finds it difficult.’

‘What would you say she was best at?’ asked Mr Leigh.

‘Oh … composition,’ replied Sally. ‘Story writing, we call it. As you’ve noticed, her spelling is not always one hundred per cent, but she expresses herself very clearly. I asked them to write a story about what they wanted to do when they were grown-up.’

‘Yes, we’ve read that one,’ replied Miss Leigh, smiling.

‘Well, she starts off by saying that she would like to write books, like Enid Blyton …’

‘Yes, she’s just started reading some of them on her own,’ said Kathy’s aunt. ‘
Naughty Amelia Jane
and
Mister Meddle’s Mischief
, and I’ve been reading the stories of the Faraway Tree with her, and I’m enjoying them very much myself,’ she smiled.

Then, more prosaically, Kathy had gone on to write that until she became a story writer she would work in the hotel, like her dad and her aunty. ‘She says she wants to be a good chef, like her daddy, and to look after the visitors and make them welcome, like her aunty does,’ Sally told them. ‘I was quite touched by that. She obviously admires you both very much. She’s a grand little girl, and you must be very proud of her.’

‘So we are,’ replied Mr Leigh. ‘Aren’t we, Winnie?’

Kathy’s aunt smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, indeed we are.’

Sally had had time to appraise them both during their conversation. Mr Leigh she took to be in his mid forties; quite a good-looking fellow, she supposed, with fairish hair and blue eyes, unlike his daughter, who was dark-haired with brown eyes. Kathy must take after her mother who had died when she was a baby, she reflected. She had imagined Mr Leigh to be a taciturn sort of man when she had met him before, but he had seemed much more amenable this evening. He had a nice smile, that she guessed one saw only rarely. Sally was aware that he had smiled at her once or twice and his glance had lingered on her a time or two. Not in too obvious a way, though; just nice and friendly.

Miss Leigh too – Aunty Win – was a very likeable person, obviously dressed in her best clothes, a smart green coat with a matching hat. It was gratifying when parents took the trouble with their appearance for something as mundane as a school meeting. She had said goodbye to them with a feeling of satisfaction. They had thanked her sincerely for all that she was doing for Kathy. It was good to be appreciated; it was parents such as those who made the job even more worthwhile.

‘W
as it a successful evening, then, Sally?’ asked Phil as they set off on the drive to the Carlton Hotel.

There were five of them in the car; Phil’s mate, Brian, was on the back seat with Mavis and Eileen, two of the junior teachers. Sally had noticed that Phil had sorted out the seating arrangements, making sure that she had the seat next to him, at least that was how it had seemed to her.

‘Yes, very successful,’ she replied. ‘All satisfied customers, as far as I could tell. How about you? No punch-ups this time?’

‘No, it all went very smoothly,’ Phil replied. ‘The odd query as to why our Jimmy isn’t doing as well as Johnny, the boy who lives across the street. It’s hard to tell them, isn’t it, that Jimmy
hasn’t got as much upstairs as Johnny has; that he is, in fact, as thick as two short planks!’

Sally laughed. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. I try to find something good to say about every child, but I must admit it’s a struggle at times. And I suppose they get more competitive when they go into the juniors, especially in the top year, like you teach.’

‘You can say that again,’ chimed in Brian from the back seat. He, along with Phil, taught one of the fourth-year classes, the ones who had recently sat for the all-important exam. ‘But it’s the parents who are far worse than the kids. “Will our Mary pass the scholarship exam? Oh, we do want her to go to the grammar school, don’t we, Fred?” It’s hard to say that she hasn’t a cat in hell’s chance!’

‘So what do you tell them?’ asked Sally.

‘Well, I just waffle on about us trying to get as many through as we can. But I try to explain that the secondary schools today are all geared up to what is best for the individual child. And that the secondary modern schools in this area have a very good reputation, and that they’re more suited to those who are – what shall we say? – less academically gifted.’

‘And do you think they believe you?’

‘The more sensible ones do,’ Brian replied. ‘In some ways, you know, it’s very damning to judge a child at the age of eleven. There are so many
who turn out to be what we call late developers.’

‘They get another chance, though, at thirteen, don’t they?’ enquired Sally.

‘In theory, yes.’ It was Phil who answered. ‘But many don’t take it. They get settled into their school and make new friends, and they possibly don’t think it’s worth the effort.’

‘Do we have to talk shop?’ asked Mavis, from the back seat. ‘As far as I’m concerned I’ve done enough talking about it all for one day. I thought we were going out for a bit of relaxation, to get away from school, to say nothing of a boring husband!’

‘Well, you married him!’ countered Eileen. ‘It’s a bit late to say that now, isn’t it?’

‘What do they say? Marry in haste, repent at leisure?’ remarked Mavis. ‘Well, I certainly did that.’

‘Didn’t he mind you coming with us tonight?’ asked Eileen.

‘He doesn’t know, does he? Not that he’d care. So long as he can listen to
Take It From Here
and he’s got a good thriller to read, Raymond’s not bothered what I get up to.’

Sally was listening with some amusement. The rest of the staff had heard it all before and had learnt to take Mavis’s remarks with a pinch of salt. She was a buxom blonde, always ready for a laugh and a joke, a real tonic in the staffroom.
She had been married to Raymond for five years, but they had no children. Sally guessed that, in spite of her banter, the couple were quite happily married. And that, contrary to her appearance – she looked more like a barmaid than a teacher – and her seeming nonchalance, Mavis was a surprisingly good teacher. Certainly her class of eight-and nine-year-olds thought the world of her.

It was inevitable, despite Mavis’s complaints, that they should talk ‘shop’. For the most part it was almost the only thing that they all had in common. They sat in the bar lounge of the Carlton Hotel, the ten of them clustered around two small tables. Sally, who was sitting facing the window, watched the familiar cream and green tramcars, lit up now that darkness had fallen, rattling past on the tramlines on the other side of the wide promenade. And beyond that, the inky blackness of the sea.

They had decided to have a ‘kitty’, which was the fairest way of paying for the drinks. It would certainly not be right for the men to pay for them all. Brian and Alan were both married, but they joked that their wives had signed their permits for tonight. Sally sipped at her gin and lime and felt contented. Evenings such as this, when she could let her hair down and enjoy herself, had become all too rare. She had settled into rather a rut, although it was one of her own choosing,
staying at home in the evenings with her parents, listening to the radio or reading the wide variety of books that she either bought or borrowed from the library. During the winter months she had been attending an evening class for French conversation. She knew the usual schoolgirl French, common to most grammar school pupils, and had decided it would be a good idea to learn to converse in the language. It was questionable, though, whether she would ever get to use the skill. At the moment she was contemplating a trip to Brittany during the long summer holiday, but would it be much fun on her own, she wondered? And would she be brave enough to go alone?

The shop talk had been exhausted and the little group around Sally’s table – herself, Phil, Alan and two of the young women from the infant staff – were now discussing Blackpool’s football team. They all, it seemed, were keen supporters. Sally went occasionally to the Bloomfield Road ground when her father – quite rarely – was able to get time off from the shop.

‘Who are they playing on Saturday?’ she asked. ‘It’s ages since I went to a match.’

‘They’re playing Preston North End. What you might call a local derby.’ Phil leant closer to her. ‘Would you like to come along with me?’ he asked. He was not exactly whispering, but his voice was low enough for the others not to
hear. She wondered, though, why he was being so careful that the remark should not be overheard. ‘I shall be going on my own,’ he told her. ‘I usually go with a friend, but he’s away this weekend.’

‘Yes, I should love to go. Thanks, Phil,’ she replied. ‘I’d better dig out my scarf, then I’ll look like a real supporter.’

At a quarter to eleven they were all ready to call it a day. Phil dropped Brian off, then Mavis and Eileen, leaving Sally till last. She knew he had gone quite a long way round. He stopped outside her home.

‘I’ll see you on Saturday, then, Sal,’ he said. ‘I’ll call for you … Is half past one OK, then we can get near the front? You’ll be all right on the Kop, will you? That’s where I usually go.’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘That’s where I stand when I go with my dad. But I’ll see you tomorrow at school, won’t I?’

‘Yes …’ he smiled. ‘But it’s just in case I don’t have a chance to talk to you.’

She laughed to herself. ‘Yes, I understand, Phil,’ she said, still wondering why it needed to be such a big secret. ‘Saturday, then. I’ll look forward to it.’

‘So will I,’ he replied. He leant towards her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Sally. It’s been great this evening … After the meeting, I mean. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

‘So have I, Phil … We must do it again sometime, perhaps just you and me,’ she said, very daringly. She reached for the door handle, but he jumped up and went round to open it for her.

‘See you, Sally …’ he said, watching her as she went up the path. She turned to wave when she got to the front door; he was still standing by the car.

It’s only a football match, she pondered, but at least it was a start. But she would quite like it if it should turn out to be a start to something more.

Winifred was pleased to see that her brother was a good deal more animated than usual after their visit to Kathy’s school and their talk to Miss Roberts. She wondered, indeed, if it could be Kathy’s teacher who had brought about this change in Albert. She had noticed that he had listened keenly to what the teacher had to say and had talked quite freely to her, unlike the way he often behaved with a young woman he scarcely knew.

‘That was a very satisfactory evening,’ he remarked, when they arrived home. Kathy was in bed. They had left her in the charge of their
next-door
neighbour, Mrs Walsh, who was very fond of the little girl and she had seen her into bed at her usual time.

‘Will you stay and have a cup of tea with us, Mrs Walsh?’ asked Winifred.

‘No, thanks all the same,’ replied the lady. ‘I’ll get back if you don’t mind. I don’t want to miss
Twenty Questions
. Your Kathy’s been as good as gold; of course, she always is. What a little treasure she is. I expect you got a good report from her teacher, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, she’s doing nicely, Mrs Walsh,’ replied Winifred. ‘Thanks very much for looking after her.’

‘I’ll make the tea just for you and me, then, Winnie,’ said Albert, going into the kitchen. Another unusual happening; he normally ensconced himself in an armchair with his pipe and the newspaper whenever he came in from somewhere. She thought she could even hear him humming!

‘I’m pleased with our Kathy, aren’t you?’ he said, when they were settled down with their tea and chocolate digestive biscuits. ‘I know she’s not exactly the brain of Britain, not quite as clever as some of the kids in the class, but what does it matter? She said herself in that little composition she wrote – well, her teacher called it a story, but they were always compositions when I was at school – she said she’d be working in the hotel when she grew up, so I’m glad she’s looking forward to that.’

‘Before she becomes a famous authoress!’ answered Winifred, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Aye, well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’ said Albert. ‘But she does seem to have a flair for
writing, doesn’t she? And that painting on the wall that she’d done of the sands and Blackpool Tower, I thought that was really good.’

‘She works hard, and that’s the important thing,’ said Winifred. ‘And I don’t think she’s any trouble in class. Well, we wouldn’t expect her to be, would we? And she likes her teacher, which is always a good sign; and I rather think Miss Roberts is quite fond of Kathy too … Nice lass, that Miss Roberts, isn’t she?’ she asked, trying to sound quite nonchalant.

‘Yes, a very sensible young woman,’ replied Albert. ‘Aye, she’s got her head screwed on the right way, has that lass. She’s a pretty young woman, an’ all. I don’t remember there being teachers like that when I was at school.’ He chuckled. ‘Most of ’em were right old battleaxes from what I recall.’

‘Yes, they seem to be a different breed now, that’s true,’ agreed his sister. ‘Of course, when we were children everyone over the age of twenty or so looked old to us, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, maybe you’re right … How old do you think she might be, that Miss Roberts?’ Albert asked casually.

‘Oh, not all that young,’ answered Winifred. ‘Young compared with us, of course. Well, compared with me, I mean. I should imagine she’s turned thirty, maybe a bit more. I wonder why
she’s not married? She’s a very attractive young lady. Maybe she lost somebody in the war; she’s about that age.’

‘Yes, happen so,’ said Albert. ‘Not that it’s anything to do with us.’ He remained thoughtful, though, and Winifred could detect a gentleness in his eyes and a trace of a smile on his lips. She didn’t dare to hint, though, even jokingly, that he might be smitten with Miss Roberts. If she did he would land on her like a ton of bricks. Besides, she was harbouring secret little thoughts of her own. She was looking forward to the next rehearsal at the drama group more than she had done for ages; and it was not just the challenge of getting to grips with a new play.

They both told Kathy the next morning that they were very pleased with her progress and that Miss Roberts had said she was doing well. ‘She’s a very nice young lady,’ her father said. ‘I reckon you’ve struck lucky getting into her class, Kathy.’

‘Yes, we all like her,’ said Kathy. ‘She’s called Sally. Timothy Fielding saw it on one of her books. It’s a nice name, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, very nice,’ agreed Albert, pleased that he could now put a name to the young lady who had impressed him so much. He had thought he was off women for good and all, but now he realised that it might not be so. What the dickens he could do about it, though, he had no idea.

There was almost a capacity crowd at Bloomfield Road on Saturday afternoon. Watching the weekly football match – either the first team or the reserves – was something that Albert liked to do on his own. He was an ardent supporter, but not by any means a shouter. He could feel the excitement inside himself, the suspense whenever the match was nearing an end and it looked as though ‘the ’Pool’ might lose or draw, and the release of tension when they finally managed to score. He heard the deafening roar of the crowd around him, the cheers, whistles and the raucous noise of the rattles, but Albert greeted each goal in silence; that was his way. Occasionally he had gone with mates of his from the darts team, but he could never bellow out his enthusiasm as they did, and he found that this, somehow, embarrassed him. He wore his orange and white scarf every week, as true supporters did, but not without a feeling of self-consciousness.

He felt the crowd surging around him now on Spion Kop, pressing against him from the back and sides as he leant against the crush barrier. There had been an accident there a while ago when a crush barrier gave way, but one tried not to think about that. It was turning out to be quite a good match, with Stanley Matthews on top form. Nothing electrifying, though, and the score was one-all at half-time.

The crowd relaxed and began to chat together
after the whistle was blown, but it seemed to Albert that he was inconspicuous; nobody tried to engage him in conversation. He looked around him … then he felt himself give a start of surprise as he noticed, a few yards to his right, the young woman who had been occupying his thoughts for the last few days. It was Miss Roberts – Sally, as he was allowing himself to think of her – looking most attractive with a little orange bobble hat perched on top of her
silvery-blonde
hair, and an orange and white scarf wound round her neck. She, too, must be a supporter, then. She was smiling up into the face of the young man who was standing next to her. Albert felt a stab of disappointment and almost anger. He might have known, though, that she would have a boyfriend; she was such a personable young lady. He looked again, more closely; she hadn’t noticed him and he didn’t think he wanted her to. The fellow looked familiar. Albert had only seen him once or twice before but he knew he was a teacher at the same school. Mr Grantley, he thought he was called, the chap who taught PE and games.