A Family Affair (7 page)

They found a vantage point on a wall and before long the collectors who always circuited the route were rattling their buckets on the pavement beneath them. Heather dug into the pocket of her coat which she had filled with loose change and tossed some in. The proceeds from the carnival always went to local charities. By the time the procession was over her pocket would be empty and so would the pockets of all her friends.

At seven thirty on the dot a rocket soared up into the night sky, signifying that the procession had begun and a hum of anticipation ran through the crowds now lining the route three-deep. Someone in front of Heather had lifted a child on to his shoulders to give her a good view; Heather offered to hoist her up on to the wall beside them and they all squashed up to make room and put their arms around the small girl, smiling at her eager face. That was all part of the spirit of carnival. And besides – they didn't want their own view obstructed.

The procession came into view, one of the local fire engines leading the way to clear the route, then the town band, playing their hearts out, and then the Queen's Coach. All the girls looked beautiful in their ball gowns, velvet fur-trimmed capes and small sparkling tiaras, but Heather still thought Julia was far and away the most attractive. As the coach moved slowly past, flanked by the Boy Scouts with their flaming torches, she cheered until she was hoarse.

Behind the coach came decorated collecting vehicles, groups of comic masqueraders and more bands, all interspersed between the floats – or carts as the carnival club members called them – which were the highlight of the procession. And what floats! Most had taken months, if not the whole year, to build, the carpenters, electricians and artists working late into the night whilst their womenfolk stitched costumes and planned make-up. Some of the enthusiasts even took their two weeks'annual holiday to enable them to compete at every single carnival on the North Somerset circuit.

The most famous of all these torchlight carnivals was, without doubt, Bridgwater. But the villages and towns such as South Compton who were on the circuit saw almost as impressive a spectacular. There were features where gaily-dressed characters danced choreographed routines to the popular tunes that blared through loudspeakers, and comedy floats that squirted water and bounced fake sausages on long strings of elastic at the watching crowds. But best of all Heather loved the tableaux. How on earth could anyone manage to stay so still on a jolting cart for the entire length of the procession? she always wondered. Each and every character looked like a waxwork figure at Madame Tussaud's. Of course, those who had to stand slipped their feet into shoes that were bolted to the floor and there were certain places on the route known as rest areas where they could relax for a few minutes and coax their numb and aching muscles back to life, but their achievement was still little short of miraculous and Heather thought that every one of them deserved to win one of the coveted trophies. Tonight she clapped wildly as they passed by: The Beheading of Anne Boleyn, the cart depicting the Court of Henry VIII, Anne kneeling meekly with her head on the block; an Egyptian scene, complete with Pharaoh and handmaidens; a Victorian tableau that might have come straight out of
A Christmas Carol.

All too soon it was over and Heather and her friends joined the scramble to run down the alley to the High Street so they could see the end of the procession pass by again.

The High Street was even more crowded than the spot from where they had watched the procession and the nearer one got to the town centre the more frenetic it became. Here the street fair was already in full swing, with dodgems and a switchback known as the Noah's Ark in the Island and a big wheel on the wide pavement outside Wiltons'grocery store. There were booths and sideshows too and as they passed a shooting gallery Heather spotted David taking aim at the tin ducks that sailed across a make-believe river. She stopped to watch as he picked them off one by one and squealed with delight as the stall holder handed him his prize – a huge pink teddy bear.

‘David – you fool!'

He turned, pleased with his performance but embarrassed by his prize, and saw her.

‘Hey – you can have this!'

‘It's yours! You won it!'

‘Not bloody likely!' He thrust the teddy bear into her arms, moving on, laughing with his mates.

Heather looked around for her own friends but they had disappeared into the milling crowd. She began making her way towards the rides, looking for them. They couldn't have gone far. But in the wake of the procession the Island had become a mayhem, a cacophony of the whirr of the generators and the music blaring from the Noah's Ark, the crashes and flying sparks from the dodgems and the general gaiety which had escalated a notch too far into frenetic merrymaking. An unsolicited squib scattered the crowd, carving a zigzag path through the revellers, then hopping in a totally new direction, heading straight for her.

Heather made a dive for safety as the squib followed her like a guided missile homing in on its target – or so it seemed to her. Once when she had been a little girl a Bonfire Night rocket had gone off course, zooming horizontally across the garden and catching Heather on the shoulder as she stood watching. Her thick woollen coat had saved her from injury, but she had fallen off her stool in terror and been too upset to watch the rest of the fireworks. Ever since then they had reawakened echoes of that terror; now, for a moment, she became a child again, faced with a danger over which she had no control.

She screamed, trying to get out of the way, but the crowd was thick and she cannoned into a solid body. Then, without warning, as the squib changed direction yet again, popping its way across the street, she turned to apologise to the person she had bumped into.

‘I'm sorry …' Her voice trailed away, her heart pounding suddenly not from fear but something quite different.

It was Steven.

He smiled at her, that slow, almost lazy smile that she had been seeing every night in her dreams.

‘Hello. Having trouble again?'

‘Well … yes … it does seem like that, doesn't it? I don't know why … I'm not usually like this …'

‘Perhaps it is me. I cause chaos for you.'

‘Oh no! I'm sure that's not true …'

They were shouting to make themselves heard over the noise of the generators and the blaring music, but to Heather they might have been in a world of their own.

Steve spotted the teddy bear.

‘You win that?'

‘This?' She looked down, almost surprised to see she was still clutching it. ‘Oh no – not me. David did. He gave it to me.' She saw his face go closed-in and realised what he was thinking. ‘David is my brother. Don't you know him? He works at Starvault Pit. David Simmons.'

‘Oh – yes.' But she got the impression he didn't really know him. ‘Are you on your own? Your friend was in the procession, wasn't she?'

‘Yes. She looked smashing, didn't she? I came with a whole gang from Hillsbridge. I seem to have lost them though …'

‘So – would you like to come on the Big Wheel with me?'

Heather smiled, and the reflection of the bright lights made her eyes sparkle.

‘Why not?'

They joined the queue, waiting their turn to climb into one of the little gondolas and Heather was very aware of Steven's solid presence beside her. Once in the car she caught at his hand, pretending to be scared as they jolted upwards, one station at a time whilst the other cars were loaded, and he put his arm around her, so that they were squashed together, the teddy bear cuddled into her lap. From the top of the wheel the whole of the town centre was spread out beneath them, an ever-moving sea of people speckled red and blue and green by the twinkling lights. Heather spotted some of her friends standing on the deck of the Noah's Ark and wondered if they were looking for her, wondering what had become of her. She hoped they wouldn't see her and come rushing over to spoil things.

They didn't. If they had seen her they had the good sense to realise she wanted to be left alone. After the Big Wheel, Steven took her on the dodgems and then they walked up the street where the sickly-sweet smell of candyfloss mingled with the pungent aroma of onions frying on the hot-dog stalls and hot petrol, to another small square where the Wall of Death had been erected. Here it was the roar of motorcycle engines that was the predominant sound and a voice distorted by a megaphone attracting customers. They went up the steps to the viewing gallery, marvelling at the skill of the riders as they roared up the sheer side of the drum.

It was getting late now. They'd missed the squibbing and Heather was glad. She had had enough of fireworks for one night, even if it had meant she'd met Steven because of one.

‘I cannot offer to drive you home tonight …' he said and her heart sank like a stone.

‘Oh no … of course not … that's all right …'

‘… because I did not bring my car. The roads are all closed for the procession. But I will walk with you if you would like. Unless of course you want to meet your friends.'

‘No – no,' Heather said, breathless suddenly. ‘I don't know where they are. They could have gone already, and if they haven't, I'll never find them in this crush.'

‘We walk together then?'

‘Yes. Thank you.'

He wasn't a great talker. Heather chattered endlessly to fill the silence when they left the fair behind, but she didn't mind that. She felt wonderfully happy, intoxicated almost, and at the same time utterly at ease, as if she was with an old friend she had known all her life.

The night was clear, the stars shining, but there was a deep pool of shadow on the pavement beneath the wall that retained their elevated garden. The road was deserted and the wall hid the pavement from the house. There was no-one to see when he kissed her good night, but if there had been she didn't think she could have cared less.

‘Can I see you again?' he asked, a little diffidently, very politely.

‘I'd like that.'

‘On Saturday?'

‘Yes – why not?'

‘I'll pick you up then. About seven thirty? We could go to the pictures, perhaps.'

‘That would be lovely.'

She climbed the steps, happiness bubbling, and stood for a moment listening to the sound of his footsteps going back down the hill and hugging the teddy bear as it were him. Then she let herself into the sleeping house and crept up the stairs to bed.

‘I saw you with that Polish chap last night, didn't I?' David said as they ate breakfast next morning.

‘Did you?' Heather pushed away her plate of half-eaten toast. She was feeling decidedly bleary this morning – on top of the late night, excitement had kept her from sleeping.

‘What Polish chap is that?' Carrie asked, bustling in from the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea. Her tone was sharp – she didn't miss a thing, Heather thought.

‘Steven,' she said.

‘Steven who?'

‘I don't know. It's a funny name. I can't remember.'

‘Steve Okonski,' David supplied. ‘He works at our pit.'

‘A miner,' Carrie said, faint disapproval in her tone.

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘And a foreigner.'

‘A Pole,' Heather said. ‘They were on our side in the war, remember?'

‘Maybe so, but you still don't know where you are with foreigners.'

‘Oh, Mum …'

‘You can't be too careful,' Carrie went on, refilling the teacups. ‘He could have a wife and half a dozen children at home for all you know.'

‘In Purldown?'

‘In Poland. And there's no need to be sarcastic, Heather. You know very well what I meant.'

It might almost be funny, Heather thought, if she didn't know the reason for her mother's overcautious interfering.

‘I'll find out, Mum. I'm seeing him on Saturday.'

‘Bit soon, isn't it?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘To be seeing him again. You don't want to appear too keen, you know.'

Heather ignored this.

‘I'll find out what I can, Mum, if that will satisfy you.'

‘It's not
me
that needs to be satisfied. It's you.'

‘And I will be,' Heather said wearily. ‘I'll find out all about him, I promise you.'

But that was more easily said than done. Steven, quiet on most subjects, was almost totally uncommunicative when it came to talking to himself. Heather didn't think it meant he had anything to hide, simply that he was what the paper novelettes she liked to read called ‘the strong silent type'. She didn't mind that. In fact she rather liked it. And it had its advantages. He never questioned her either, never probed for more information than she was willing to offer. Because she had become so emotionally close to him so quickly, there were times when the things she had left unsaid felt like a leaden weight inside her, a burden on her heart. She couldn't yet bring herself to share it, and the fact that he did not seem to think the past important for either of them was comforting. So she chattered in the open sunny way that was her outer nature, her protective shell, and what silences there were were comfortable ones.

She couldn't help being curious about him, though, wanting to know all about him, but as she prised certain nuggets out of him she began to suspect that perhaps there
were
things – not things he wanted to hide, as in a wife and children, but things he didn't want to think of, much less talk about.

She didn't press him. All in good time he would tell her the secrets of his past and she would tell him the secrets of hers. In the meantime she would simply enjoy his company and enjoy falling in love.

‘Heather, I want a word with you,' Carrie said.

It was a Sunday afternoon, quite pleasant for November. Whilst Joe had retired to bed for a ‘snooge' – his usual treat after Sunday dinner, and well earned too, Carrie thought, considering he was up at five in the morning every weekday and rarely in bed before eleven – she had gone for a walk to the site of the new houses. She was anxious to see how they were progressing and eager to find out where exactly Number 27 Alder Road would be.