Time Goes By (8 page)

He watched them surreptitiously throughout the interval. It seemed to him that they were good mates, but possibly nothing more than that. They didn’t appear to be at all ‘lovey-dovey’, and he told himself that it was only to be expected that two members of the same staff should attend a football match together.

Blackpool scored again in the second half, making it a win for the home team, the result they had hoped for. Albert hung back, but still kept an eye on the couple as they left the ground. They were not holding hands or linking arms or anything else to show that they were any more than good friends. He was thoughtful as he stood in the long bus queue on Central Drive and remained in a contemplative mood all the way back to North Shore.

‘Was it a good match?’ asked his sister.

‘Yes, not so bad,’ he replied. ‘We won at any rate, so I suppose you can’t ask for more. A bit slow off the mark, though, some of ’em.’

‘Well, your tea’s ready,’ said Winifred. ‘I’ve made a meat and potato pie. I thought you’d be a bit starved, standing outside all afternoon. Come on now, Kathy love. Let’s get our meal while it’s nice and hot.’

‘You’ll never guess who I saw at the match this afternoon,’ said Albert as they tucked into their meal. He smiled confidingly at his daughter.

‘Who, Daddy?’ she asked.

‘Your teacher, Miss Roberts. She had an orange scarf and hat on as well. I didn’t know she supported Blackpool, did you?’

‘No, I don’t know much about her, really,’ answered Kathy. ‘Except that I like her. Well, we all like her. I know she’s not married, because she’s a Miss, isn’t she, not a Mrs?’

‘Was she on her own?’ asked Winifred, watching her brother closely.

‘No … she was with that fellow that teaches games at Kathy’s school. Mr Grantley … That’s his name, isn’t it, Kathy?’

‘Yes, we don’t see him much ’cause he’s a junior teacher. I’ve seen Miss Roberts get into his car, though, sometimes,’ said Kathy. ‘Timothy Fielding says that perhaps he’s her boyfriend.’

‘That Timothy Fielding seems to know an awful lot,’ smiled Winifred. ‘I expect they’re just friends, though, with them teaching at the same school.’ She looked reassuringly at her brother as she made the remark.

‘Yes … that’s what I thought,’ he replied.

It was later in the evening after Kathy had gone to bed that Winifred decided to broach the subject with her brother, about the thing she knew was on his mind; but she knew she had to be tactful.

‘You’ve taken rather a liking to that teacher of Kathy’s, haven’t you, Albert?’ she began. ‘I can tell by the way you talk about her. Well, I can’t say I blame you; she seems a lovely lass.’

He did not jump down her throat. She felt that he was pleased she had mentioned it. For his part, he was glad to confide in her, to get it off his chest and talk about this unusual and unsought feeling that had hit him like a bombshell.

‘Yes … I must confess I’m rather smitten.’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it? You know me, what I’m usually like with women. There’s never been anyone since Barbara. I’ve never wanted anybody else.’

‘But time goes by, Albert,’ she told him. ‘A lot of time has passed since you lost Barbara, and it’s all “water under the bridge”, as they say.’

‘But what on earth have I got to appeal to a nice young woman like that? I’m in my mid-forties, set in my ways. A bit of a grump, I know, at times, and I’m not educated like she is. Anyway, how could I possibly ask her out? I don’t even know her, do I, not really?’

‘You’re still quite a good-looking chap, Albert,’ said his sister. ‘Don’t run yourself down. And it’s about time you started looking positively at life, instead of being so negative. Maybe you don’t know her very well, but everything has to start somewhere.’ She was thinking of how she had met Jeff Bancroft, quite out of the blue. ‘And you don’t need to speak in a broad accent, you know. I think you put it on at times for effect.’

‘Aye, I reckon I do,’ he laughed. ‘I daresay I could be as posh as the next man if I made the effort.’

‘Well, think about it,’ said Winifred. ‘You never know. Something might turn up. There might well be an opportunity for you to do something about it.’

Sally had enjoyed Phil’s company at the football match. They found, as they chatted easily together during the times when they were not watching the game, that they had quite a lot in common, more than she had realised. They liked the same sort of films. Sally was surprised that Phil liked musicals, and he was equally surprised that she enjoyed cowboy films. And they both read detective stories – Ngaio Marsh, Margery Allingham and Conan Doyle, as well as Agatha Christie – and some of the ‘easier to digest’ Victorian novelists. She was, therefore, somewhat taken aback and disappointed, too, when Phil brought the car to a halt outside her house and said, ‘Cheerio then, Sally. It’s been great, hasn’t it? See you on Monday, then.’

‘Yes … great, Phil,’ she agreed, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Thanks for taking me.’ At least he leant across and kissed her cheek, and then opened the door for her. But before she had reached her front door he had driven away with a carefree wave.

So what am I to make of that? she wondered as she took out her key and opened the door. She had expected, at least, that he might have asked her to go out with him that evening, for a drink or to the cinema, or to arrange to see her the following day. Phil Grantley was a mystery and no mistake. She dashed upstairs to her bedroom, unwilling at that moment to face her mother’s cross-questioning.

W
inifred couldn’t help smiling to herself. It seemed that she and her brother, somewhat belatedly, were experiencing emotions and feelings that they had assumed were long past and gone. For her part, she had not told Albert about her meeting with Jeffrey Bancroft. Indeed, there was very little to say about it at the moment. He was just a very nice man whom she had enjoyed talking to and whom she believed had shown the same interest in her as she had in him. She tried to warn herself not to read too much into the situation. From the little she already knew of Jeffrey she had gathered he was a friendly man who would find it easy to get on with most people. But she knew she had not felt so attracted to anyone of the opposite sex since she had fallen in love with – and had then lost – Arthur all those years ago.
She would be seeing Jeff again on Wednesday. She felt a lift of her spirits when she thought about it. And as she observed her brother she guessed that he would be glad of an opportunity to see again the young woman who had so appealed to him.

And then on Monday Kathy brought home a letter from school that seemed to provide an answer to his dilemma. There was to be a spring fayre on Friday afternoon, commencing at half past three, and this was a letter reminding parents of the event. They had had a similar letter a few weeks back but it had quite slipped Winifred’s mind.

‘You’ll come, won’t you, Aunty Win?’ begged Kathy. ‘And you as well, Daddy. There’s going to be stalls selling all sorts of things.’ There was a request in the letter for home-made cakes, handmade goods, books, ‘bric-a-brac’, items for a ‘white elephant’ stall; anything, in fact, that would be saleable, apart from old clothing (jumble sales were held from time to time as separate events).

‘And there’ll be games,’ Kathy went on excitedly. ‘Guessing the name of a doll, and how much a cake weighs, and a bran tub and a tombola – but I’m not sure what that is – and a raffle with lots of prizes. And cups of tea and drinks and things to eat, ’cause it’s near teatime.’

‘Good gracious! It sounds as though your teachers are going to be very busy,’ observed Winifred.

‘Some of the mums are going in to help as well,’
said Kathy. ‘Those that are on the committee of that thingy – you know, the PTFA. D’you think you could come and help, Aunty Win?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, love. I’m not on the committee, am I?’ She imagined they would be all much younger than herself, like Sadie Morris. ‘But I’ll certainly come to the fayre. And I expect your daddy will come as well. You will, won’t you, Albert?’

‘I don’t see any reason why not,’ he replied in his usual non-committal way, but Winifred could see that he was not averse to the idea and was even smiling a little. ‘There might not be many fathers there, though,’ he added. ‘Most of ’em’ll be working, won’t they?’

‘The teachers are hoping they’ll come later,’ said Kathy, ‘when they finish work. We’re doing a concert, you see; well, just a little one, at half past five. The top class infants – that’s us – we’re going to sing some songs; well, those that can sing nicely have been chosen, and I’m one of them.’

‘Good for you, Kathy,’ said her dad.

‘And some of the top class juniors are going to do some country dancing. It’s going to be really good.’

‘I’m sure it is. It all sounds very exciting,’ said Winifred. ‘We’ll look forward to that, won’t we Albert?’

‘Yes … I reckon we will,’ he said reflectively.

Winifred had been reading through the script, trying to learn by heart as much as she was able, although they would not need to be word-perfect for a few weeks. It was always easier, though, when your movements were not hampered by a book in your hands and, fortunately, she had been blessed with a good memory that had not let her down yet, despite her advancing years.

Jeff was not there when she arrived, nor had he put in an appearance when they started to rehearse. Snap out of it! she told herself, and concentrate on what you’re doing or you’re going to look a real fool. You’ve been given this leading role, so do justice to it.

He turned up about half an hour later and, noticing him from the corner of an eye, she felt a relaxing of her tension. She did not look at him but she was aware that he was watching her.

‘Well done!’ he said, coming to join her in the interval. ‘You’re getting to grips with Lady B already, aren’t you?’

‘I’m trying,’ she said. ‘It’ll be easier when I don’t have to rely on the script.’

‘When is it being performed?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not till the end of July. We always give ourselves plenty of time, and make allowances for people going on holiday. We try to arrange our holidays for after the performance, though, if we can. Not that it affects me very much. I can never
go away during the summer whilst the visitors are in. We have a break during August, then we meet up again in September … You’ve decided to stay with us, then, have you?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Oh yes,’ he replied. ‘I’d already decided after the first meeting.’ He smiled at her, his grey eyes looking intently into hers. ‘But, as I said, I shall just assist with the stage managing this time and give a hand with the scenery. I’ll have a chat with Wilfred after the break and see what he’d like me to do. I don’t mind being a “gofer”, seeing that I’m the new boy,’ he laughed good-humouredly.

Jeff’s sister, Mavis Peacock, stood up then to draw their attention to the notices. The main one was that there was to be a coach outing in a few weeks’ time to the nearby town of Preston. A well-known amateur dramatic group from that town was also presenting
The Importance of Being Earnest
at one of the smaller theatres there. ‘We don’t want to pinch any of their ideas, of course,’ said Mavis. ‘And it’s possible that their interpretation will be quite different from ours, but we thought it would make an enjoyable outing. If you’re interested in going would you let me know as soon as possible, then I can book the theatre seats.’

‘Will you be going?’ Jeff asked Winifred.

‘Oh yes, I fully intend to go,’ she replied. The date chosen was the first Friday evening in May.
‘Albert – my brother – sometimes has a darts match on a Friday, but I can always get my
next-door
neighbour to look after Kathy if necessary.’

‘You won’t have any visitors in?’ asked Jeff.

‘No, it’s a slack time between Easter and Whitsun. And if we do have a few in we’ll be able to sort something out, I’m sure. It’s something I don’t want to miss … What about you, Jeff?’ she asked. ‘Will you be going?’

‘But of course,’ he smiled. ‘That’s why I asked you. I’ll put our names down straight away, shall I?’

‘Yes please,’ said Winifred, very pleased at the way things were progressing.

He was not watching the rehearsal when they started again, but he was there to run her home in his car at the end of the evening.

‘Are you doing anything on Saturday?’ he asked as he stopped the car outside Holmleigh.

‘Not particularly,’ she replied. ‘Do you mean during the day or in the evening?’ Could he possibly be asking her for a ‘date’, she wondered?

‘I was wondering whether you would like to go to the cinema,’ he said. ‘I haven’t checked what is on, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find something that we’ll both enjoy.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t get over the number of cinemas that there are in Blackpool.’

‘Yes, we’re pretty fortunate in that respect,’
agreed Winifred. There was the Odeon; the Princess; the Palace Picture Pavilion, as well as the Palace Variety Theatre in the same building; the Winter Gardens cinema; the Tivoli; the Regent; the ABC; and the Imperial, all near the centre of the town, as well as several more in the outlying suburbs. She enjoyed a visit to the cinema but it wasn’t much fun going on her own, and Albert never seemed inclined to go with her. She occasionally took Kathy to a matinee on a Saturday afternoon if there was something suitable showing. The little girl loved the singing and dancing in the musicals of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and 20th Century Fox, featuring such stars as Betty Grable, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and of course, she loved the Walt Disney films.

‘I’ll look in the
Gazette
and see what’s on, shall I?’ said Jeff. ‘That is, if you’d like to go?’

‘Yes, I would, very much,’ she replied.

‘That’s great, then.’ He grinned at her. ‘What sort of films do you like? Have you any preference?’

‘Oh, my taste is pretty general,’ she told him. ‘But I’m not keen on cowboy films, or on gangsters. James Cagney is not one of my favourites,’ she smiled.

‘Nor mine,’ he agreed. ‘Laurence Olivier now, or James Mason; they’re what I call real actors. But I must confess I’m not averse to something
more light-hearted now and again. The ‘Road’ films, for instance. Bing Crosby and Bob Hope …’

‘And Dorothy Lamour,’ added Winifred. ‘Yes, I like those too. I took Kathy to see
The Road to Morocco
and she loved it.’

‘Will there be any problem regarding your niece?’ Jeff asked her. ‘Will your brother be able to look after her? He might be going out himself.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ said Winifred. ‘He’s usually in on a Saturday. His darts matches are during the week. Don’t worry; we’ll sort something out, I’m sure.’

‘I’ll phone you, then, shall I, when we’ve both looked at the paper?’

‘Lovely,’ she agreed, smiling at him and feeling like a twenty-year-old going on her first date. He put his hand over hers, then leant across and kissed her gently on the cheek, before getting out of the car and going round to open the door for her.

‘Goodnight, Winifred, my dear,’ he said. ‘Sleep well …’

‘You too,’ she replied. ‘And … thanks, Jeff. I’ll look forward to Saturday.’

‘Me too.’ He gave a broad smile and a cheery wave as he drove away.

Winifred decided not to tell her brother straight away about her outing with Jeff. He could hardly object, though. She scarcely ever went out, except
to church functions or to the drama group. It would be ironic, though, if he should happen to have a date of his own on the same night; two middle-aged people whose life had followed the same routine for so long, and who were now seeking just a little excitement. She forced herself to wake up to reality. She knew – and she knew that Albert would realise, too – that whatever might happen in their personal lives, Katherine had to come first.

Very little work was done on that Friday afternoon at the North Shore school; that is to say very little schoolwork. Lessons were largely abandoned as classes were ‘doubled up’, releasing half of the teachers to prepare the stalls and games for the spring fayre, helped by the ladies of the committee and their friends who would, later, be in charge of the refreshment room. Several of the older children, those in the fourth-year junior classes, were enlisted to help as well, and they considered themselves to be very important. The rest of the pupils had to contain their excitement all afternoon as they looked forward to what was one of the great social events of the year.

It had been planned to start at three-thirty, which was the finishing time for the infant classes; the juniors did not normally finish until four o’clock, but on this day they were all going
home at the same time. It was hoped, though, that very few of them would be going home. It was assumed that mothers – and fathers – meeting their younger children from school would stay for the fayre, and that the older children would have persuaded their parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles to come along as well.

Sally Roberts felt very sad as she watched a few of her pupils, and some from the other classes, put on their coats and then walk dejectedly across the playground. There were only three such in her class, the very ones that she might have known would not be staying to join in the fun; they were the ones whose parents rarely supported the school events or even bothered to turn up on open evenings. Those parents were the ones, however, who would be there, with all guns blazing, should there be a complaint to be made about the teacher or the headmaster.

There was little time to brood, though, as the other children eagerly greeted their parents and guests, leading them proudly around the school. It was not a time for looking at the children’s books or talking about their progress, but the teachers had pulled out all the stops to make the school look as attractive as possible. The corridors were decorated with large paintings and friezes made by the various classes. Sally’s ‘Pied Piper’ was there, as well as springtime collages, a
depiction of the ‘Noah’s Ark’ story, paintings of Blackpool’s attractions – the Tower, the big dipper at the Pleasure Beach, the bright yellow sands and the unusually blue sea, and the tramcars on the busy promenade – and drawings of Mummy and Daddy and ‘my house’ done by the youngest children, aged four and five.

Sally was in charge of the tombola game. Each person, after paying their sixpence, drew out a raffle ticket and was awarded the corresponding prize. In a true tombola some of the tickets won nothing at all, but it had been agreed that this was too disappointing for the very young children; and so every ticket won a prize, although it might only be a few sweets or a tiny bar of chocolate. The initial outlay was worth it in the end as many were encouraged to have another go.

Kathy Leigh came into the tombola room about ten minutes into the proceedings, with her father and aunt.

‘Now, Kathy, are you going to have a turn?’ said Sally. ‘There are some lovely prizes; you might not win one of the big ones, but you’re sure to win something.’

‘Yes, we’ll all have a go,’ said Mr Leigh, feeling in his pocket for some change. ‘Here you are, Kathy. You go first.’

The little girl won a brightly coloured pencil and a rubber, with which she seemed highly
pleased. Her aunt then won a bottle of Amami shampoo, and her father a bottle of ginger beer.

‘It would go very nicely with that whisky,’ he remarked, pointing to one of the star prizes.

‘Have another go, then, Albert,’ said his sister.

‘OK. Nothing venture, nothing win,’ he said, handing over another sixpence.

They were all astonished when he won the bottle of Black & White whisky.