That'll Be the Day (2007) (9 page)

‘Of course it smells – of beer. It’s a pub.’ Leo loosened his tie, feeling it might choke him at any minute.

‘Quite!’ And folding her gloved hands Helen sat in rigid disapproval, making her disdain all too apparent as the barman placed two heaped plates before them. Leo fell upon the meal like a starving man, tucking in with gusto, while Helen watched him with undisguised distaste. Really, there were times when she wondered what kind of man she’d married.

‘Aren’t you even going to try it?’ he asked her, through a mouthful of food.

Helen grimaced. ‘I told you, I’m not hungry. I rarely eat anything at lunch time.’

‘Dinner time. The folk in this pub call it dinner. They are not like your posh friends who nibble on a crustless cucumber sandwich and call it lunch.’

‘Cucumber sandwiches are eaten at tea time, Leo, as you well know.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, eat the damn food, Helen. It won’t kill you and everyone is looking.’

‘Please don’t swear in my presence.’ A flush appeared high on each cheek but Helen’s innate fear of making an exhibition of herself compelled her to lift a fork and take a mouthful, although she did not remove her glove as she did so, almost as if the cutlery itself might be contaminated.

But while she outwardly obeyed him, she wanted to make Leo pay for bringing her here. It really was too humiliating. Not another soul in the place was even wearing a hat. That girl Lynda was sitting with her mother now and they seemed to be arguing. So common!

Helen recognised the older woman as being the one who owned the flower stall, the one who’d sold her the violets. Harmless enough, she supposed, and her apron was at least clean, but she was clearly none too bright otherwise she’d find something worthwhile to do with her life, wouldn’t she? And there was no husband in evidence, so who knew what her background was? No wonder the daughter was such a shameless flirt. And the boy, her son presumably, looked something of a tearaway.

After several delicate mouthfuls and finding the pie really rather more tasty than she’d expected, Helen returned to their more accustomed point of conflict.
 

‘So that little floosie you were talking to so eagerly just now, how come you know her so well? You certainly seemed most reluctant to leave her.’

Leo sighed in exasperation. ‘I told you, I buy flowers from her mother Betty.’ He nodded in the direction of their table, as if he too had been watching them. Transfixed by the girl’s crossed legs, no doubt, which were long and shapely. ‘And I wasn’t in the least reluctant to leave her, I merely stayed to chat a little longer because you were so rude . . . so . . . offhand towards her.’

‘I hope you didn’t feel the need to apologise.’

‘No, I merely had no wish to be quite so abrupt as you were, Helen. I felt I should at least allow the girl to finish what she was saying before you interrupted us.’

‘Dear me, I’m sorry I disrupted your little tête a tête, I’m sure.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. She was telling me a rather sad tale about losing touch with her father when she was quite a young girl, and how it has badly affected her brother. Sent the lad a bit off the rails, apparently, but trusty Constable Nuttall is keeping a beady eye on him.’

‘I should hope so. We want no trouble-makers on this street. You don’t deny she’s one of your floosies, then? Your latest
mistress,
I suppose.’

‘I don’t have a mistress. I have never had a mistress. I am content simply to have a lovely wife.’ Leo was wearily asking himself, not for the first time, why he bothered. There were times when he thought he might as well acquire a mistress since he was presumed to be guilty of having one anyway. His fidelity and loyalty were neither recognised nor appreciated.
 

But how could he do that to Helen? Despite all her insecurities and flaws, he still cared about her and wanted to make their marriage work. He wanted a normal family life, was that so wrong? Perhaps he didn’t feel quite the white heat of their early passion, but he was her husband and would remain loyal and loving.

When they’d first met he’d been bowled over by her elegance, her serenity which was so utterly beguiling, and by her very evident fascination with himself. He’d found her intensity immensely flattering, her long thoughtful silences intriguing. She had fine blond hair cropped very short with a feathery fringe, and neatly trimmed eyebrows that winged upwards over cool clear grey eyes.

Once safely ensconced within the bounds of marriage the coolness had soon thawed and she’d proved to be an ardent and passionate lover. Even now, after eleven years, she was always eager for sex, making it abundantly clear that she was readily available. Almost too available. As a young newly wedded husband her response had thrilled and excited him. Now he found it very slightly disturbing and far from satisfying, in fact almost shallow and insincere. There were times when he would have enjoyed more mystery and have her play a little hard-to-get.
 

Marriage to Helen had seemed to offer peace and tranquillity. He’d hoped for warmth and affection, and the kind of family life he yearned for. Unfortunately it had turned out to be anything but tranquil, and with precious little in the way of affection. The reverse side of this delightfully robust sexual appetite was a cool and unemotional personality.

Leo had always sought to physically show his love for her with warm smiles, a touch to the cheek, a kiss on the lips, and huge bear hugs. None of this was ever forthcoming from Helen and, little by little, she had managed to curb this desire in him too, indicating that it was really rather childish on his part to need such demonstrative proof of her affection.

Helen seemed to see emotion as weakness, and the slightest conversation he might exchange with another woman as evidence of flirtation at the very least, and more likely adultery.

A crippling loneliness was creeping over him, as if by not being allowed to mar her lipstick or disturb her expensive coiffure, to touch or to hug her, he was becoming imprisoned in a cold and isolated shell. He was only allowed out when she needed him to satisfy these constant cravings of hers, this passion that could suddenly explode all over him, as if that was the only way she could prove how important he was to her.

Perhaps it might have been different if they’d been blessed with children but although Helen insisted she wanted them too, she kept putting off the moment for starting a family, and Leo was growing increasingly frustrated.

‘If there’s a problem let’s get it looked at and sorted out,’ he’d offered, more than once.

But she always resisted, refused even to see a doctor. ‘There isn’t a problem. I’ve only just turned thirty so where’s the rush? I’m sure it will happen when the time is right.’

Leo was less sure, beginning to wonder if indeed it would be right to bring children into such a shaky marriage. He surely needed to somehow solve the problem of her terrible jealousy first.

Lynda was staring at her mother, fork poised mid-air in shocked surprise. It wasn’t like Mam to be so adamant and difficult. Soft hearted to a fault where her children were concerned, she’d always been the sort to keep open house should any of their friends feel like popping in. ‘I can’t just break my promise to Terry, and let him down like that. It would be rude. What’s got into you, Mam? Not having another of your funny turns, are you?’

‘I just fancied a day out with me own family. Nothing wrong in that, is there?’ A shiver rippled down Betty’s spine, as if she heard the distant chuckle of her ex-husband enjoying her discomfiture.

Lynda’s pretty mouth fell into its habitual sulk. ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty. Oh, Mam, I’m sorry, I really am, only it’s all fixed up. It’s one of those club outings, a sort of rally, and I’ve promised Terry faithfully I’ll go with him. All the other guys will have their girl friends with them and it wouldn’t be fair to stand him up at the last minute. Besides, like I say, I’ve promised him a Sunday lunch. His mother’s dead don’t forget, and his dad’s a dreadful cook so he’s really looking forward to it. Look, I’ll do the cooking if you’re still not feeling well, and we could go next Sunday to Southport instead. How would that do? As you quite rightly say, I do love Lord Street. And for once little brother here could make the effort to come with us. A real family outing, eh?’ She dug him in the ribs. ‘Couldn’t you?’

‘Next Sunday’s no good,’ Betty said, before Jake had time to do more than glower, difficult as that was through a mouthful of steak and kidney pudding.

‘Why isn’t it? What difference does it make?’

‘Because I feel like a break
now
, not next week, that’s why. I’d set me heart on us going out tomorrow,’ Betty repeated, and once more glanced nervously about her.

‘What’s got into you? You’re like a cat on hot bricks, constantly looking around as if you expect the devil himself to emerge like a puff of smoke out of the cobbles.’

‘The demon king you mean,’ Betty mumbled, before she could stop herself.

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing! Just tell Terry Hall it’s all off tomorrow. You’re coming with me to Southport!’

‘
Mam
! Stop this. I’ve said I’ll cook the flamin’ lunch. I really don’t understand why . . .’ Lynda stopped talking and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘This hasn’t anything to do with that old friend of yours, has it? The one who brought you those roses? You haven’t made plans for him to come with us tomorrow, have you?’

Jake made a retching sound at the back of his throat. ‘Hells bells, I refuse to be seen out with me own mother and one of her boy friends.’

‘Don’t talk daft, I don’t have any boy friends,’ Betty sharply retorted. ‘And no, I haven’t planned anything of the sort, the very idea.’

‘Who is he then? What’s his name? Why do I feel as if I’ve met him bef . . . Oh, my God, it can’t be!’

‘What?’ Jake said, momentarily putting down his knife and fork to watch the colour drain from his sister’s face.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

‘Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes you do. It’s Ewan. It’s me dad, isn’t it?’ Realisation was bringing excitement to Lynda’s voice, in contrast to her earlier annoyance. ‘That’s why you want to rush us off to Southport tomorrow. He’s coming to the house isn’t he and you don’t want us to meet him? That’s it, isn’t it? No, don’t bother denying it, I can tell by the expression on your face that I’m right. And you weren’t even going to tell us, were you? Oh, Mam, how could you be so cruel? Shame on you.’

And having heard all she needed, Winnie went back to her stall, well satisfied.

Chapter Ten

Lynda spent the rest of that Saturday afternoon looking for her father. The flower stall had been packed away for the weekend, what was left of the stock put into cold storage in the lock-up they rented at the back of Champion Street. She washed the duck boards and locked them away too, together with her mam’s folding chair, baskets, buckets and pot plants.

Normally Lynda would be revelling in her freedom and going round the shops, to Lewis’s or Kendals, trying on clothes and testing the make-up on the big cosmetic counters. She fancied one of those new chemise style frocks with the low slung waistline and flounced skirt, one with a low V in the back. But instead she was filled with only one desire: to find Ewan Hemley, her father.

She couldn’t
believe
her mother’s attitude. They’d had a big row when they’d got back home after their Saturday dinner at the pub, with Lynda insisting that surely enough time had passed for her to at least act civilised towards him. Betty had yelled that hell would freeze over before she allowed that man ever to step over her doorstep again.

‘It’s only Sunday lunch for God’s sake! No one’s asking you to sleep with him.’

‘I should hope not!’ Betty had retorted, forgetting her disapproval of swearing.

Betty was feeling utterly desperate, blaming herself entirely for this mess. She should have moved them farther away, emigrated to Australia, anywhere but Manchester. If it weren’t for her, Ewan would never have popped up like a bad smell out of the drains looking for them. ‘Give that man an inch and he’ll take a flaming mile!’

‘Well, maybe you should at least have asked our opinion on the matter. We can’t go on never being allowed to so much as mention his name, never seeing him or having the chance to talk things through. He’s still our father, after all.’

‘No he’s not, we’re divorced.’

At which point Jake had joined in the heated debate. ‘
You
divorced him.
We
were given no say in the matter.’

‘You were too young to understand. You still are. You know nowt about it.’

There was nothing Jake hated more than being told he was too young or too stupid to understand, even if it was true. ‘I know we have rights too, and when I’m being deprived of them.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, don’t talk to me about rights. What rights did
I
have when he was making all our lives a misery and nobody to help. Everything I’ve done has been for your benefit.’ Why couldn’t they see that?

‘So you say, but you never even let me see him, never let me write to him. You said me dad had abandoned us, gone off with another woman, but I think you chucked him out.’

‘Aye, well, you might be right there, son, and I might’ve had good reason.’