Who's Sorry Now (2008) (11 page)

Patsy was stunned. ‘Goodness, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Because you’re horrified by the idea, or thrilled by it?’

‘Oh, the latter, of course, I’m absolutely delighted! I just never expected it, not in a month of Sundays. I’m hugely flattered. But do you think I’m up to the task? I mean, it’s not just about choosing the right stock, is it? It’s about getting the right price, bargaining with suppliers. Making a profit! Although I think we could expand and find other things to sell, like this line of scarves we’ve tried which have gone really well.’ Patsy began to feel quite excited. ‘We could also try a little haberdashery, maybe gloves, or stockings and those new tights.’

Clara laughed. ‘There you are, you see, full of ideas, as usual.’

Patsy grinned at her. ‘If you’re really serious, I accept. I’ll snatch your hand off, in fact.’

Clara laughed. ‘Well, I must say I’m delighted too. That’s a huge weight off my mind. But you are sure? I mean you can take time to think about it, talk it over with Marc, if you like. I did wonder, with the wedding coming up, if you might feel you don’t want to be too involved in the business in the future.’

‘Why would I? I love what I do,’ Patsy assured her. Babies would come soon enough, but Patsy was ambitious and there were things she wanted to do first. Having a business of her own was one of them.

‘I’ve dreamed of this,’ she confessed. ‘Can we drink to it?’ and lifting her mug of tea they did just that.

The next day, being a Sunday, Marc and Patsy were walking down Lower Byrom Street, arm in arm, taking their usual afternoon stroll. Puffs of white cloud sailed high in a sun-filled blue sky, exactly the kind of spring day when two lovers might dream of a future together.

Marc was suggesting they marry in the summer but Patsy was thinking less about the wedding and more about Clara’s startling offer. Should she mention it to him now? She couldn’t quite judge what his reaction would be, since he seemed keen for the wedding to take place as soon as possible. Which thought reminded Patsy of the ‘accident’ Carmina had had with the fork and the resulting stain on her gown. It made her wonder what she might be taking on by marrying into this family. Not that she would mention a word about the incident to Marc.

Patsy might adore the Bertalone family but she didn’t envy Amy being obliged to live with her in-laws. She and Marc intended to rent a house or flat of their own right from the start of their married life together. If they could save enough they might even put down a deposit on a new one. They were going to do things properly, so Amy’s words about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure surely wouldn’t prove correct in their case?
 

She was very content with her lot although wished Marc would understand how difficult Carmina could be with her at times.

‘I was disappointed that you didn’t come to meet me after my class, as usual, the other day,’ Patsy casually remarked, trying not to sound grumpy and childish and failing miserably.

‘Sorry, but as you could see I was embroiled in a family argument over that flipping dance.’

They’d reached the old graveyard where once St John’s Church had stood, and paused beneath the overhanging trees so that Marc could sneak her a kiss.

Patsy smiled up into his eyes. ‘I try so hard to please her, but Carmina seems to resents everything I say. I do worry, sometimes, if I’m ever going to be a real part of your family.’

‘Of course you are,’ Marc said, kissing her some more. ‘Once you stop being jealous of her.’

Patsy couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of protest. She understood why the pair were particularly close. Maria, the oldest Bertalone girl was grown-up and married. Patsy had attended her wedding with Marc just a few months ago. And as the eldest required to help Momma she had appeared more like a surrogate mother than a sister to Carmina. Gina seemed to be rather secretive, a girl who preferred her own company, but then much of her youth had been lost in ill health so she’d been little company for her older sister. The four younger girls were always together, and Alessandro and eight year old Giovanni were great friends. Which left Marc. He was Carmina’s big brother, able to offer protection should she need it.

‘Carmina is the jealous one, not me. She winds you round her little finger, constantly asking you to do something for her, fetch and carry this or that, solve all her problems.’

‘She’s my little sister,’ Marc quietly reminded her.

‘And I’m your fiancée.’

‘So you are.’ Infuriatingly, he took her into his arms and kissed her more passionately this time, pushing her back against the churchyard railings. Patsy melted, as always. He was so gorgeous, so tall and strong, so kind and loving. And so sexy. How could she stay mad with such a man?

Patsy had been used to seeing Marc Bertalone around the market, going to and from the tall terrace house but the first time he spoke to her was still a red letter day in her heart. She’d fallen for him at first sight. Not that she’d let him know that, of course, at the time.

She’d called in at Alec Hall’s music shop to buy herself a Frankie Vaughan record and suddenly there he was, crooning a Johnny Ray number:
Here I am - broken hearted
, and chatting her up with that delicious smile of his while she’d stood dry-mouthed, heart racing, quite unable to think of a sensible thing to say.

He’d looked so handsome, like a demi-god, those magical Bertalone brown eyes alive with merry laughter; hair neatly cut and slicked into a crinkled sea of waves. Patsy still loved the way some curls sprang stubbornly forward, and he had the kind of classically oval face you would expect in an Italian: lean, with high cheekbones and a perfectly straight Roman nose.

And now, unbelievably, they would soon be married with a home of their own.

She’d been grateful for the home the Higginson sisters had given her, right from when she’d first come to work for them on their hat stall; a bewildered and rebellious young orphan neglected and abandoned by her foster parents. They’d welcomed her as a part of their family, Clara in particular, becoming almost like a mother to her. Even Annie had warmed to her in the end, and, in her turn, Patsy had made a valiant effort to curb her cheeky spirit, her ‘sauce’ as Annie called it, and her sense of bitter resentment against life. She’d learned to accept herself for what she was, thanks to the sisters teaching her to have faith in herself and her future, to look forward instead of back.

Marc’s love too had convinced her that she had a future after all, and that she was beautiful inside as well as out.

Yet with no real knowledge of who her own real parents were, Patsy had always dreamed of being part of a big happy family, still needing to feel that she belonged somewhere.
 

It was true that Papa Bertalone was friendly enough, as was Carlotta for all she had limited English and Patsy knew even less Italian. Communication between the two women wasn’t easy for all they got by well enough with smiles and little mimes when words failed them. Other members of the family seemed slower to accept her, perhaps influenced by Carmina’s prickly attitude, although Marc said that was only out of shyness.
 

‘If you’re really concerned about getting to know my family,’ he was saying now, pausing in his kissing to allow them both to catch their breath, ‘then maybe you should give up this millinery course. You could learn Italian and work in the ice cream parlour full time so that you can get to know them properly.’

Patsy stepped away from him, filled with alarm. ‘Marc, what a thing to say! I
love
making my hats and there’s still so much I need to learn. Besides, Clara needs me on the stall now that Annie isn’t well, you know she does.’

This was the moment. She should tell him now about Clara’s offer. But Marc smiled in that lazy, relaxed way he had, as if he knew that despite her protests she’d come round to his way of thinking in the end.

‘As a good Catholic wife you’ll soon be pregnant and staying home with a baby, so why waste your time on learning stuff you won’t need?’

Incensed, Patsy began walking away from him. How could she talk to such a man? Couldn’t he understand that she felt a fierce pride in her work? And a strong objection to this threat to her independence, again recalling Amy’s words with a shiver.

 
‘I’ll tell you when I’m ready to start breeding. This is a discussion I’ve already had with your father, and as I told him, it won’t be any time soon.’

Hurrying to catch up with her before she turned into Liverpool Road, Marc grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt. ‘You talked about
babies
to my father?’

‘Only in passing,’ Patsy said, smiling despite her show of temper. ‘You know how he is. Family and children are his life.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ Marc put his arms about her and nuzzled into her neck. ‘I do so love it when you’re angry. You have such passion. Even so, I hate us to argue.’

Since Patsy had no wish to argue with him either, she happily resigned herself to more kisses, which attracted quite a few whistles from passers-by.

Later, as they sat in their favourite place on a bench by an old lock on the River Irwell, she asked him again, ‘Will your family ever come to like me, do you think?’

‘Of course they will. Alessandro loves you already. The twins, I’m afraid, are completely wrapped up in themselves but the girls are getting to know you, little by little. They will soon love you too.’

‘And what about Carmina?’

Marc chuckled. ‘That little madam is a law unto herself but
I
love you, sweetheart, and always will. What more could you wish for than to be my adored wife?’

‘Nothing,’ Patsy said, as she sank back into his arms. But that wasn’t strictly true. She still hadn’t told him that she also wanted to accept Clara’s offer and take on the hat stall.

Chapter Eleven

It was one day when she was out and about in the market that Amy spotted a young man carrying a clip-board. She overheard him asking people if they would sign his petition for peace. He was obviously one of those Ban the Bomb people and, inspired by the spirit of the marchers, Amy went over and offered to sign. He looked pleased.

‘Hey, I know you. It’s Jeff Stockton, isn’t it? Weren’t we in the same class at primary school?’

The young man grinned. ‘Amy Poulson, as I live and breathe.’

‘Amy George now,’ she said, patting her swollen belly. ‘Good to see you again, Jeff.’ They shook hands, his grip firm.

He was tall and lanky with pale grey eyes, a long bony nose, wide smiling mouth and untidy brown hair. Quite attractive really, considering how he’d looked as a boy.

‘I remember you in those awful grey short trousers, your socks always falling down,’ she said with a laugh.

‘And a plaster over one of the lenses on my glasses because apparently I had a lazy eye.’ Jeff agreed, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. ‘Lot of good that did. I remember you with pigtails, frizzy and ginger.’

‘Auburn, if you don’t mind,’ Amy corrected him. ‘You went to the grammar school, I seem to remember.’

Jeff nodded. ‘Now, I’m studying to be a teacher, but I’m on my Easter vac.’

Amy was impressed. ‘Were you part of the march the other day? I saw it come through the market. You all looked very wet, but then so was I, standing in the pouring rain watching.’

 
‘We were all soaked to the skin, but it was worth it. We made our point and got hundreds of signatures. You should have joined us, Amy. You’d have been very welcome.’

‘I got an earful from my husband as it was, for being so daft as to wet the baby’s head before ever it gets born,’ she ruefully admitted. And then after a fractional pause, ‘I would like to help though, if there were something I could do which didn’t involve marching in the rain while pregnant.’

‘Are you serious? We’re desperate for volunteers. You could help with this job for a start, or making posters, or writing letters to the press. There are any number of things that need doing.’

‘Don’t ask me to write any letters but I’ll give you a break with that clip board, if you like. Go and warm yourself up with a frothy coffee and a toasted tea cake in Belle’s Café. I’ll still be here when you get back.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve nothing else important to do right now. Go on, you look all pale and pinched around the gills.’

‘Great!’ Handing her the clip board with it’s sheaf of papers filled with lines of signatures, Jeff strode away, then just as quickly bounded back. ‘You are sure about this, are you? I don’t want you getting into trouble with your husband again.’

‘Go on, take your break, then afterwards you can tell me more about your campaign.’

‘Thanks, Amy. You always were a good mate,’ and he ruffled her untidy hair before dashing off.

What have I done? Amy thought, overcome by her own daring as she watched him stride away to the market hall and the fuggy warmth of Belle’s Café. Oh, dear! She didn’t care to imagine what Mavis would have to say about her joining the Peace Movement.

Mavis was at that precise moment crossing the street on her way to buy a nice piece of haddock for her husband’s tea. Thomas enjoyed it poached, with a dab of butter. But she hadn’t missed this little exchange between her daughter-in-law and the young man.