Max Jones was sitting quietly, watching everyone and congratulating himself on another successful staff Christmas party and wishing it could always be like this—everyone happy and working together and having a good time.
Keith Beaumont, who had come with his wife and was sitting on the outskirts of the managerial party, had worked himself into a state of considerable anxiety. Max Jones had been staring at him on and off all day. Did he somehow know? He couldn’t, Keith was sure of it, but that dread was still there, eating away at him like a particularly virulent cancer. And he couldn’t even go and place a bet to alleviate his discomfort because it was Sunday and nothing was running. The best he could do was to keep on topping up his orange squash with gin and hope that no one would notice. Nora had, and had been giving him some very quizzical looks, which only reminded him of the extent to which he was letting her down.
Irene waited until Cynthia had turned away to talk to
someone, then caught Vince’s eye; he raised one eyebrow, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Then he got up, brushed off his trousers and sauntered towards the toilets. Irene gave it a minute, announced that she was absolutely bursting and walked off after him.
Allie, sitting up and ferreting through her handbag for her cigarettes, saw the whole thing. Appalled, she glanced at Martin. He was lying propped on one elbow with his ankles crossed, stripping the leaves off a twig and looking after his wife. He turned his head and met Allie’s gaze.
She swallowed, wanting suddenly, desperately, to say that she was sorry.
‘It’s all right,’ Martin said, sitting up. ‘I know.’
Allie stared at him.
‘Well, I know about these little “entanglements” she has.’ He gave a rueful little smile. ‘But, you see, I don’t want to lose her.’
Irene followed the little concrete path around the back of the toilet block to the ladies’ entrance, smiling at Daisy, Louise and Susan as they came out, and out of the corner of her eye saw Vince standing a short distance away, half concealed behind some bushes. She waited until the others had gone, then hurried over to him, her sandals crunching over dead leaves and desiccated undergrowth.
He drew her further into the shelter of the bushes. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘I thought I was never going to give her the slip.’ Running his hands up and down her back, he covered her face with kisses. ‘What about your husband? Did he notice?’
Irene laughed. ‘No, he never notices anything I do.’
Plucking feverishly at the knot of fabric under her bust, Vince said, ‘Quick, we’ve only got about five minutes.’ He yanked open her shirt and pushed her bra up, groaning as her breasts were exposed.
‘Five minutes for what?’ Irene said, startled.
Vince’s hand snaked down and cupped her pubic bone. ‘For this, darling, for this.’
‘What? No, not here!’
‘We’ll be all right, love, it’ll only take a minute.’ He grabbed her hand and pushed it against his erection. ‘See?’
‘But someone might catch us!’ Irene was uncharacteristically disconcerted: she’d assumed they’d only be having a slap and a tickle, not that he would want this. Not here.
‘Oh, God, Irene, please,’ he begged. He grasped her hands. ‘Look, I’m going to talk to my wife. I can’t keep on like this, seeing you every day and not being able to have you. I’m going to tell her I want a divorce.’
Irene’s mouth fell open. ‘A divorce?’
Vince nodded. ‘We’ll run away. I’ve got money put aside. We’ll go to Australia—I’ve got contacts there.’ His face lit up. ‘Or what about America? Would you like to go to America, Irene? We could make a fortune—they say anyone can there!’ He shook her, but not too hard. ‘Don’t you understand? I love you! And I have to have you!’
Irene slid her arms around his neck, so that her face was only inches away from his. She felt overwhelmed by his admission. He might have been half-joking the last time he’d said it, but he meant it now, she was sure of it. ‘I love you, too, Vince, I really do,’ she said, and kissed him urgently.
‘Then let me make love to you, Irene.’
She wanted to say yes, desperate to savour that heady sensation of victory and power as her body reduced him to a gasping, quivering mess, but, oh Christ, not here, not in the bushes outside the Auckland Domain public toilets.
‘If you really loved me you’d wait until tomorrow,’ she murmured into his ear, her body pressed hard against him. ‘We could go down to the basement again at lunchtime.’
He groaned in frustration. ‘I can’t wait until then. At least help me, Irene,’ he said, grasping her hand again and pushing it down the front of his trousers.
And, overcome by visions of the two of them running off together, to a place where they could start a new life and make plenty of money and buy everything they wanted—a big house, a flash car, clothes and maybe even jewels for her—she did what he wanted.
‘That wasn’t bad, was it, for a work do?’ Allie said. ‘Wasn’t Mr Max good with the kids?’
‘Yeah, he’s not a bad bloke. For a boss,’ Sonny replied.
‘I really enjoyed myself. The races were a laugh.’
‘Not as much fun as last night, though.’
Allie smiled. ‘No, it wasn’t, was it?’
The picnic had finished and they were having an ice cream at Mission Bay on the way home.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked, nodding down at her stomach.
‘A bit sore this morning, but my you-know-what started, so that’s all right.’
‘Jesus, I’ll say,’ Sonny said, and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.
Allie looked at him. ‘I thought you said you weren’t worried?’
‘I lied.’
‘But what about what you said about not being able to fall just before a period? Did you just make that up?’
‘No. But, you know, sometimes what you want isn’t what you get.’
Allie thought about that for a minute. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I suppose anything can happen sometimes, things you’ve never even thought about.’
‘You’ve got ice cream on your nose.’
‘Have I?’ Allie nearly went cross-eyed trying to see.
Sonny wiped the little blob of hokey-pokey off with the tip of his finger. Then he kissed her, tasting it on her lips. ‘We would have been all right, though, Allie. No matter what.’
Monday, 21 December 1953
I
n the kitchen of her parents’ house in Grey Lynn, Daisy did her best to force down a piece of dry toast, but gave up after only a few bites.
Her mother, standing over her in her dressing gown, frowned. ‘You have to eat something, Daisy. You can’t go to work on an empty stomach.’
‘I know, Mum. I’ve tried, I really have.’
‘What about a boiled egg?’
At the thought of the runny yellow yoke and the possibly undercooked white, all watery and stringy, Daisy gagged. Her hand over her mouth, she shook her head.
Agnes Farr shook her own head, but in despair. Daisy had bitterly disappointed her, but now that it had happened, she was determined that the wedding would go ahead with as much dignity as possible, even if people did suspect why her daughter was walking down the aisle at such short notice. Daisy’s dress was going to be tasteful and elegant, the flowers would be perfect, the food memorable and the whole day something that would do the Farr family proud.
‘A cup of tea, then? With sugar,’ she suggested.
Daisy shoved her chair back and lurched out of the kitchen, heading for the toilet. The door slammed and Agnes heard her retching. She put the kettle on.
When Daisy came back, her face pale and her hands shaking slightly, she said, ‘At least I got it out before work this time.’
Agnes didn’t answer. Daisy might have been stupid enough to get herself in the family way, but that didn’t mean that the pair of them had to sit around discussing it as though it were some happy, planned event mother and daughter could share. She would talk about the wedding, yes, but not the baby. It was wrong, and it was humiliating, having a daughter so simple-minded and…
lustful
that she could fall into such an old trap. On the other hand, Daisy had to look after herself. If she didn’t, that would be just one more thing for people to talk about.
And Agnes felt guilty, although she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, not even Harold, Daisy’s father. If she had taken Daisy aside when her monthlies had started and explained to her about how these things worked—about how you could get into trouble so easily and that was why you shouldn’t tempt fate at all, at least, not until you were safely married—all this might have been avoided. But she hadn’t. She hated talking about that sort of thing almost as much as she hated doing it, which, thank God, Harold had finally accepted. So she had hoped, prayed even, that Daisy would be bright enough to just not get herself into that situation. But she hadn’t been. A part of Agnes wanted to take her little blonde Daisy in her arms and cuddle her and tell her it would all be all right, but then she didn’t want to touch her at all because she had been so…deliberately wanton.
So she said nothing, just kept on with making the fresh pot of tea.
‘I’m getting the material for my dress today,’ Daisy said, feeling her mother’s hostility and wanting to say something—anything—to gain her approval. She shuffled her chair further under the table so her mother couldn’t see the firm lump of her belly. ‘And Terry said he’s happy to wear a morning suit. You can hire them from work, you know, really smart ones.’
Agnes nodded in grim satisfaction. ‘No, I didn’t think he’d actually own one.’
Well, how many people actually do? Daisy wanted to say. ‘He’s not that keen on the top hat, though,’ she added, and waited for the heavy scowling silence that meant her mother didn’t approve.
But it didn’t come. Agnes sat down at the table. ‘They can be ostentatious, top hats, especially when the ceremony is only going to be in a small church. At St Andrew’s, perhaps, but you’re not getting married at St Andrew’s.’
Heartened, Daisy said, ‘I thought we could start cutting out the material tonight. If we made space in the sitting room we could do it in there.’
Agnes actually smiled, happy to be able to say something to Daisy that didn’t convey her disappointment and disapproval. ‘Yes, we could, couldn’t we? But you’ll have to come straight home from work because I expect it will take us half the night, with the amount of fabric in that skirt.’
Daisy looked at her mother, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope that things might, after all, be all right. ‘Oh, I will, Mum, I’ll come straight home, I promise.’
‘Hurry up, sweetheart, you’ll make us late for work,’ Louise said to Susan, who was playing with her Weet-bix, shunting the last few soggy mouthfuls around her bowl.
‘Sir Edmund Hirraly eats Weet-bix,’ Susan announced.
‘Hillary, Edmund
Hill
ary,’ Louise corrected as she put away the last of the breakfast things. ‘Come on, we have to go in a minute.’
Susan scooped up her Weet-bix, shoved it in her mouth, swallowed and smiled. ‘See, I knocked the bastard off!’
‘
Su
san!’ Louise looked up as Rob came into the kitchen. ‘Did you hear that?’
Laughing, Rob said, ‘I wonder where she got that from?’
‘Dad, probably,’ Louise said, smiling herself now. ‘He’s been saying it ever since Hillary climbed Everest.’
Rob collected his lunch-box from the bench. ‘Are we right?’
‘Got to brush my teeth,’ Susan said as she climbed down from her chair. ‘Grandma says they’ll fall out like hers if I don’t brush them.’
‘They will, too,’ Rob said.
‘An’ then I’ll have to go to the
murder house!
’
‘Honestly, where does she get this stuff?’ Louise asked when Susan had disappeared into the bathroom.
Rob shrugged. ‘You know what kids are like.’
‘I know what my father’s like. I’ll have to have a word.’
Louise’s father, Neville Bourke, delighted in his small granddaughter. He took her for walks and to the park and down to the shops, and thought her three-year-old observations of other people and of life in general were hilarious. At the moment, he was teaching her the fine art of doing armpit farts.
‘Don’t worry about it, love. Susan thinks the sun shines out of him. And they have fun together. They’re OK.’
‘I suppose,’ Louise said grudgingly. ‘What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?’
Although she caught the tram home after work because of Rob’s often late hours at the garage, he always took her into town in the morning on his way in, the pair of them dropping Susan off at Louise’s parents’ on the way. Usually she was first home, and tonight she was planning to cook Rob’s favourite meal because it was his birthday: mashed potatoes, peas and a nice piece of steak, with apple crumble and cream for pudding.
‘Why?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling. ‘Will there be something tasty waiting for me?’
‘There might be, if you’re good.’
Rob grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. ‘And will there be a nice tea as well?’
‘Oh, get away!’ Louise said, laughing and pushing him gently.
‘That’s mean, Mummy,’ Susan said from the doorway.
‘We’re just playing, love,’ Rob said, pinching Louise’s bottom as she turned away from him.
She jumped, but kept a more-or-less straight face. ‘Have you got everything? Your spare pants? Peter?’
Peter was Susan’s precious toy rabbit, once white and sporting pale yellow overalls, but now naked and almost grey from excessive cuddling and washing, despite frequent applications of Reckitt’s Blue in the rinse water.
Susan held up her pink plastic satchel.
‘Good, let’s go then,’ Rob said, fishing in his pocket for the keys to his truck.
Louise locked the back door behind them and five
minutes later they arrived at her parents’ house. The truck idling, Rob waited at the kerb while she took Susan inside.
Her little shoes making a racket on the lino, Susan pounded into the kitchen yelling, ‘Grandma, Grandpa! I knocked the—’
‘That’ll do, sweetie,’ Louise said as her mother appeared.
‘An’ I got a new Buzzy Bee at the Bundar & Jones picnic!’ Susan opened her satchel and held up the toy. ‘The wings go round and make a clackity noise, see?’
‘Isn’t that lovely,’ Marion said admiringly. ‘And it’s got a string. You could pull it up and down the path outside, couldn’t you?’
‘No, it can go on the floor as well!’ Susan insisted, putting the Buzzy Bee down and whizzing it around and around so that its wings clacked furiously.
‘I take it she enjoyed the work do, then?’ Marion said to Louise.
‘Had a great time, especially when Santa turned up. And she won the under-fives’ egg-and-spoon and got a little present for that as well.’
‘Well, that was a good haul,’ Marion observed, ‘accidentally’ standing on Buzzy Bee’s string to shut it up. ‘Will you be back at the usual time?’
‘Gran, you’re treading on Buzzy Bee!’
‘Ooh, so I am! Tell you what, let’s put him up on the table to keep him safe, shall we?’
‘It’s a girl bee.’
Louise said, ‘I won’t be late. It’s Rob’s birthday, remember.’
‘All right, I’ll see you then.’ Marion gave her a peck on the cheek.
Louise bent down to Susan, who was sidling up to the table to retrieve her toy. ‘Bye, sweetie,’ she said. ‘See you tonight, all right? Be good for Grandma.’
‘Bye, Mummy.’
‘Let’s go out to the gate and wave goodbye to Mum and Dad, shall we?’ Marion suggested.
Buzzy Bee temporarily forgotten, Susan nodded vigorously. Waving was one of her favourite things at the moment: she’d been practising and practising for when the queen came to visit all the little children.
As Louise and Rob drove off, Marion lifted Susan up and held her as she waved madly after the retreating truck.
‘Bye, Daddy!’ she yelled. ‘Bye, Mummy!’
As Allie got off the bus then dodged through the traffic across to Dunbar & Jones, she wondered if Sonny was at work yet. She was very tempted to sneak around to the narrow lane at the back of the building to see if his motorbike was parked there, but decided against it. She would see him soon enough, she hoped.
‘Good morning, Sunshine!’ Ted Horrocks said, standing just inside the big glass doors and tipping his cap to her. ‘Another marvellous summer’s day and only four more left until we all get a nice bit of time off!’
‘That’ll be lovely, won’t it?’ Allie agreed. ‘Going away?’
‘Only up to Waipu, as usual,’ Ted said. ‘My brother lives up there and we’re always welcome. Lovely spot. And yourself?’
‘I don’t know. I think I’ll just wait and see what happens.’
‘Probably a wise move. See what that young man of yours is up to, eh?’
Startled, Allie said, ‘How do you know about that?’
Ted winked. ‘You don’t get to be commissionaire in a store this size without developing good observation skills. And I wish you all the best. Seems a nice lad, that Sonny.’
‘He is,’ Allie said, feeling a wide, silly smile spreading across her face. ‘See you later!’
Ted tipped his cap again as she raced off towards the escalator, waving at the hosiery, scarves and cosmetics girls as she went. Alighting on the first floor she caught sight of Louise in lingerie, straightening the boxes of undergarments that lined the high shelves behind the counter. She waved but didn’t stop, knowing it would make her late.
As always, Miss Willow was already at work in the dress department, putting out extra stock for the last, hectic week before Christmas. Rhonda was already in as well, following Miss Willow around, her arms piled high with skirts and blouses.
‘Good morning, Allie,’ Miss Willow said. ‘Recovered from yesterday?’
‘The three-legged race, you mean?’ Allie pulled the hem of her dress up to her knees, revealing a small, red graze. ‘I expect I’ll live.’
‘Well, at least we kept the trophy, so it wasn’t in vain. Beatrice and I enjoyed ourselves.’
‘Yes, it was fun, wasn’t it?’
‘Unfortunately, however, it’s back to work today. I’d like you to help Rhonda to finish putting out this stock, please, then we’ll have a look and see if we need to bring anything else out. I’m expecting us to be very busy this week, especially from Wednesday onwards while Her Majesty is in town, and I don’t want to be running backwards and forwards replenishing shelves and racks.’
Allie tucked her handbag under the counter and got to work. At ten to nine, just before Ted opened the store’s doors to the public, Sonny appeared at the top of the escalator, making Allie’s heart leap when she caught sight of him.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said.
Rhonda heard, tittered and went pink.
‘Hi, Sonny,’ Allie replied, delighted to see him but very aware that she was supposed to be working.
Sonny looked casually around, as though he had all day, then leaned on the counter.
‘Busy tonight?’
Allie was very tempted to say no, but she was. ‘I promised Mum I’d help her do the mince pies for Christmas.’
‘Those ones with the fruit and all that?’ Sonny said. ‘I’m really good at those. D’you think she’d like some extra help?’
Allie looked at him sceptically.
‘No, I am,’ he insisted. ‘I find that if you put in extra cinnamon, and brazil nuts as well as almonds, you can’t miss.’
Allie could feel Miss Willow standing behind her, and she knew she was smiling.
‘Don’t forget about the suet,’ Miss Willow said. ‘If you don’t get that right, you might as well not bother.’
‘Too right,’ Sonny agreed, nodding like a jack-in-the-box. ‘Nothing worse than when the mince sticks to the roof of your mouth. It has to melt,’ he added, drawing the word out and doing a theatrical little flourish with his hand.
Trying very hard not to laugh, Allie said, ‘All right then, come around if you like. But I warn you, Mum’s a bit precious about her mince pies. She might not take to you handing out advice like…like someone who makes better
ones than she does. And anyway, where did you learn how to make Christmas mince?’
‘From my mate Willie, the battery cook in South Korea. And if your mum tells me to stick his world-famous recipe…back in my pocket, I will.’
Allie did laugh then. ‘Will you be at morning tea?’
‘Nah. Me and Hori have to deliver a sideboard to Epsom at eleven, so we probably won’t be back ‘til lunch. But I’ll see you then, eh?’
‘That would be nice,’ Allie said.
Sonny blew her a kiss, and it was her turn to go pink.