That'll Be the Day (2007) (8 page)

Despite the worries over the H-bomb and the Aldermaston marchers who of course were either student idealists or communists, in Helen’s view, Britain was rapidly recovering from its post-war malaise. People had money in their pockets at last. The credit squeeze was coming to an end and, as Harold Macmillan frequently reminded them, they’d never had it so good. Even the likes of Harold Wilson, himself from a relatively modest background, was being tipped as the man to watch for the future.

Helen dreamed of Leo joining this noble rank, though on the conservative benches, naturally.

So why did Leo constantly harp on about his desire to become a father as if that were the only thing that mattered in life?

A man pushed by her, jostling her elbow. ‘Sorry love, are you going in?’

‘No . . . at least . . . yes, I suppose I am.’
 

Helen pushed open the swing door, carefully avoiding the man who had spoken to her in that over-familiar way, and yet another ruffian who swayed past her out into the street, no doubt to be sick in the gutter. She neatly side-stepped both and strode purposefully into the lounge bar, expecting heads to turn as she did so. Helen did so love to make an entrance, priding herself on her innate sense of style, which generally succeeded in getting her noticed. She was not disappointed.

Today she was wearing a neat, pale blue costume with a pencil slim skirt, teamed with a cashmere sweater of the same shade, and a divine hat with the widest brim imaginable.

She heard a snigger, a muffled comment about Ascot and something far more ribald. Really, these people! Simply no manners at all. Why did Leo have to be quite so egalitarian and insist on mixing with these peasants? The Midland Hotel would have been far more appropriate for their lunch, and the food so much better. She was hardly likely to be offered smoked salmon in this establishment, more likely one of Poulson’s pies. Nor would they meet anyone here remotely useful for her husband’s future in politics, yet more evidence of his stubbornness.

Helen spotted him the moment she entered. How could she not since Leo was the most handsome man in the room? So tall, so proud, energy emanating from him in almost tangible waves. He was leaning against the bar, one foot resting on the brass rail, a pint glass in his hand as he talked animatedly to a tight-knit group around him. Much to her annoyance he hadn’t noticed
her
yet.

She only had to glance at him to feel that familiar curl of excitement, that gripping ache of need. It had been this way ever since they’d met during the war when he’d been a young flight lieutenant and she an innocent young girl determined to make her mark on the world, and striving to distance herself from a very ordinary family.

Her father, Jack Irwin, had been a cheese-maker, quite a successful one in his way since he owned his own business but then work, when he wasn’t cavorting with other women, was all he ever thought about. All men every thought about. Helen could never understand how her mother could have been content with so little. She’d died far too young, with hardly anything to show for her loyalty. Helen had hated cheese ever since.

The one thing in her father’s favour was that he made sure his two daughters had a good start in life, paying for a private education for them both. Helen’s older sister Harriet had failed to take full advantage of his generosity but Helen had decided quite early on that she deserved something far better than living behind a shop.

She’d known instantly that Leo Catlow was the man to further those ambitions, because he was so clearly going places. She’d recognised this fact instantly, and of course he possessed the added benefit of a secure family business.

There were some rough edges to him admittedly, but nothing that Helen couldn’t smooth to suit her own needs. However, there were one or two problems, not least the fact that Leo attracted girls to him like moths to a flame.

Getting him to the altar had been like stepping through a minefield, with any number of other eager candidates lining up for the chance. But she’d won him in the end, by dint of clever manipulation, and by not being quite so prissy about sex as other girls. What man could resist attempting to crack her ice-cool exterior to savour the enticing heat within?

And what woman could resist Leo?

He hadn’t noticed her today because he was happily engaged telling some amusing yarn to the most attractive woman in the place. Whenever she saw him talking to another woman Helen felt a sharp stab of jealousy, as she did now. It was really too bad of him. Why couldn’t he behave? She hadn’t the first idea who this woman was but she certainly intended to find out.

‘Darling!’ Marching right over, Helen lifted up her face to be kissed, firmly elbowing the woman out of orbit as she slipped between them and pressed herself possessively against her husband’s chest.

Dutifully Leo kissed her on both cheeks, accompanying the gesture with a friendly slap on the back and a vigorous hug. Helen had taught him to kiss her in this polite way quite early on in their marriage, otherwise he was constantly ruining her lipstick. Besides, it was so continental and much more upper class. Unfortunately she never had cured him of this annoying habit of hugging her at the same time. So common! She pulled away from him, making a great show of straightening her hat to make the point.

‘Darling, let me introduce you to Lynda Hemley. She works on the flower stall where I bought this delightful bouquet for Mother.’

Helen glanced briefly at the lavish bouquet lying on the bar counter and felt a further nudge of jealousy before sketching a smile which barely parted her lips. ‘I’m afraid all you stallholders look alike to me. I find it far too confusing to try to remember everyone’s name.’ Then deliberately turning her back on the young woman without allowing her the opportunity to respond, blithely continued, ‘Are we really staying here, darling, or should we move on to somewhere else?’

A flash of irritation, quickly stifled, flickered across Leo’s face. ‘I’ve ordered cottage pie for us both.’

‘Oh dear! Soup or a sandwich would have been quite sufficient. Still, never mind. What more can one expect from a humble hostelry of this sort?’ Helen straightened his tie which seemed to have worked itself loose. ‘Shall we sit in the window corner then you can tell me what is so urgent that prevents us from escaping this dreadful place and slipping away early to the country?’ As if she didn’t know.

No doubt he’d eat the cottage pie at record speed before expecting her to rush off with him to Lytham St Anne’s to see his parents. It utterly defeated her why he should always choose Saturday afternoon for this dratted duty visit when they could be at Ashton, their pretty country retreat in the Ribble Valley. He could just as easily take a day off during the week. Wasn’t he the boss, for goodness sake, free to choose his own hours?

Helen considered that, as his wife, she had first call upon his time and deeply resented anything or anyone that deprived her of his company. Weekends were precious, and weren’t married people meant to spend every moment they could together? A philosophy which Leo obstinately and frequently failed to understand.

She certainly intended to make her displeasure felt on this occasion. Having ruined her weekend completely she would do her utmost to ruin his.

Leo did not notice the malice in his wife’s eye as he was still simmering over her condescending remarks to Lynda, damping down his ill humour with exemplary patience, a skill he had perfected over the years. But his response was brusque.

‘You choose where you wish to sit. I’ll join you in a moment.’

Much to her chagrin Helen was forced to seek out a table by herself while Leo lingered on for a few more quiet words with his very attractive friend. She felt mortified, the burn of jealousy inside her almost unbearable.

How she loathed to see that famous charm in action, to watch him flirt so outrageously with any woman who chanced to cross his path. She simply wouldn’t tolerate it.

 
Helen despised the way Leo dismissed her concerns over his rapacious behaviour with other women, this claim of his that there was nothing more to it than natural friendliness. She hated his casual attitude towards matrimony, his cheerful bonhomie which he claimed to be perfectly innocent. Not for a moment did she believe the tale.

Perhaps she would cry off the Lytham trip and find something more interesting to do with her time. Revenge could be so sweet.

In the opposite corner of the bar, Betty was treating Jake and Lynda to their Saturday treat of steak and kidney pudding and chips, the basket of violets beside her on the bench seat, when she put forward her suggestion for a trip the following day. ‘I thought happen we could go to Belle Vue, or else take the train to Blackpool or Morecambe. We haven’t done that in years. It would be a real treat, and do us a world of good to get a bit of sun before winter sets in.’ Jake looked as if she’d suggested he swing from a tree like a monkey.

‘Why would I want to go to Belle Vue?’ he scoffed, his handsome face twisting into an expression of absolutely incredulity. ‘That’s for school kids and old folk like you.’

‘Oh, ta very much.’

‘You know what I mean. It’s Dullsville.’

‘You used to like the boats on the lake, and the elephant rides.’

‘When I were a kid,’ Jake scorned. ‘Not now I’m a grown man.’

And growing more and more like your father every day, Betty thought, a tremor of disquiet touching her like a breath of cold air. Not only did he have the same high-bridged bony nose, long face and hollow cheeks but he was every bit as pugnacious, as difficult and as awkward. She half glanced around, anxious suddenly that Ewan might be close by, watching them, waiting to pounce.

Jake pulled out a comb and began to groom his dark brown hair as he often did when upset, sweeping it back from his scowling brows. But he was still protesting, his voice high with outrage. ‘Do you think I’m soft in the head, a goof or summat? If my mates saw me on an elephant I’d be the laughing stock of Manchester. You two do as you like, but count me out.’

‘Put that greasy comb away, it’s unhygienic at the table and eat your dinner, for God’s sake, before it goes cold.’

Jake happily obliged, piling pudding, chips and mushy peas into his mouth all at once so that Betty had to avert her eyes. Where did he get his manners from?

‘So where will you be tomorrow?’ she persisted, wanting to be sure.

‘Out!’

‘That’s good.’ She was tempted to say more, to insist he stay out all day but that would only arouse his suspicions. Betty consoled herself with the thought that her son never had come home early in his life. Why would he change a life-time’s habit tomorrow?

‘What about you, Lynda love? We could go to Southport if you prefer. Some of the shops around Lord Street might well be open, even on a Sunday, since it’s a holiday town. We could buy ourselves something nice and have a slap-up meal.’ Loving clothes as she did, Lynda had never refused a day’s shopping in her life. Look at her now, pretty as a picture in a striped shirtwaist dress, winkle-picker shoes, and her lovely hair caught up in a pony-tail.

‘Sounds great, Mam, but I’ve arranged to see Terry. He’s taking me for a spin on his motor bike tomorrow afternoon, so I’ve invited him to share Sunday lunch with us first, before we go, if that’s all right.’

‘What?’ Betty couldn’t believe her ears. Everything was going wrong for her at the moment. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘Why can’t I? It’s all arranged. You’ve never minded me bringing friends home before. Anyway, it seemed only fair. He’s providing the petrol, so I provide the food.’

‘I think you mean
I
provide the food, don’t you?’

Lynda smiled, ‘Sorry. You know what I mean.’

‘No, actually, I don’t. I don’t care to be taken advantage of. I’ve made other plans for tomorrow so you can unarrange it,’ Betty almost shouted, desperation in her voice.

Chapter Nine

‘By heck,’ Winnie Holmes remarked, coming upon the three of them unexpectedly. ‘It’s like one of our Barry’s boxing matches in here. You Hemley’s in the red corner yelling your heads off and getting all hot and bothered, and the Catlows in the blue about to murder each other, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll bet you five bob she’s trying to get out of going to visit his blessed mother.’

‘What would you know about it?’

Lynda snorted. ‘Because our Winnie is a nosy old cow. Well, you can stick your nose out of our trough. So buzz off!’

‘Lynda!’ Betty scolded, while Jake merely sniggered, thankful that someone else was in the wrong for a change.

‘Can I have some apple crumble?’

‘You can shut your face,’ Betty told her son. ‘You too, Winnie, me old mate. I may not approve of my daughter’s choice of words but she does have a point.’

To Winnie it was like water off a duck’s back. She merely sniffed and said, ‘I’ll take me Guinness over here then, if you don’t mind, so’s I can watch the entertainment. But if you need a referee, Barry’ll be here himself in a minute.’

‘Do you have to be so rude to people?’ Leo demanded, when they were finally settled at a table which suited her needs.

Helen appeared shocked. ‘I have never been rude to anyone in my life! But you can’t expect me to actually enjoy coming in here. The place smells.’