It's Now or Never (6 page)

Jeanette led the way into the living room that overlooked the front of the house. Grace's attractive, strong-boned face lit up at the sight of her daughter and she set aside her crochet and held out her arms. ‘Come and give me a hug, love!'

Mother and daughter hugged each other and then Jeanette sat on the pouffe beside Grace's wheelchair. ‘How are you, Mam?'

Grace's green eyes twinkled. ‘All the better for seeing you – and who's this you've brought with you? Am I right in thinking it's Miss Dorothy Wilson, not only Sam's young lady but the famous actress?'

‘You flatter me, Mrs Walker,' said Dorothy, shaking hands with Grace. ‘It's a pleasure to meet you.'

‘Likewise, and please call me Grace.' She patted Dorothy's hand. ‘Now where's Sam? I've been expecting him for this past month.'

‘He's always tied up at work, that's the trouble,' said Dorothy, glancing towards the doorway.

‘Just like you,' said Sam, entering the room. He ducked his head to avoid a beam. Then getting down on his haunches in front of his stepmother, he took one of her hands and raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘You must be able to imagine how good it is to see you.'

Dorothy felt an unexpected ache in the region of her heart as she watched them. It was obvious the older woman was lost for words. With a tentative hand, she reached out and touched Sam's face. ‘You were only a lad when last I saw you and now you're a man and so big and strong.'

‘I always hoped I'd see you again but I didn't expect to see you in a wheelchair.'

Grace sighed. ‘I do believe that some things are meant to be and it's certainly given me a different perspective on life. I think I've always been a touch selfish.'

‘But wouldn't you say that some of that was due to your upbringing?' said Jeanette, frowning.

‘I notice you don't deny I've been selfish?' said Grace softly, covering her daughter's hand with her own.

‘I think we can all be selfish up to a point,' said Jeanette. ‘It's hard to draw the line between selfishness and the need to do what's absolutely necessary to get what you want in life without hurting those you care about.'

‘That's very true,' said Dorothy, avoiding looking at Sam as he rose to his feet and moved aside and perched on the arm of an easy chair. She felt a tap on the shoulder and glanced at Beryl who indicated that she sit down on the chair that she had placed the other side of Grace's wheelchair.

So Dorothy sat down, eager to talk to this woman about her life and the accident that had left her crippled. The cost of the sacrifice not to make contact with your husband and daughter, hoping they would believe you dead because you didn't want to be a burden on them. Had it had its compensations? If it had, then surely there must have been regrets as well? Such as not seeing your only child grow up. She thought of the son she had given away. She had never regretted doing so and must not do so now because what good were regrets?

If she had told her mother that Sam was the father of her child, she would have been round at his house like a flash, insisting to his father that his son marry her. Dorothy had never wished to trap Sam any more than she wanted to trap herself. She loved acting; it was her life's blood and she had no desire to play at it as Sam suggested.

‘Tell me about your upbringing, Grace?' asked Dorothy.

Grace grimaced. ‘It will shock you. I'd enjoy hearing more about your life, which is so very different to what mine has been.'

‘I'd rather hear about yours,' said Dorothy boldly. ‘I'm sure Jeanette has told you about the film I want to make about women of Liverpool.'

‘Oh, yes! But it's my mother you should put in your film, not me,' said Grace.

‘The suffragette and believer in free love,' said Jeanette, smiling at her mother.

Grace shook her head at her. ‘Don't mention
free love
to me. Love has its price and it's not always those who practise it that have to pay.'

‘Can you explain that?' asked Dorothy, taking her pad and pencil out of her handbag.

‘Do you have to, Dot?' said Sam, frowning.

Before Dorothy could respond, Grace said, ‘I don't mind talking about my mother, Sam. If you don't want to listen, go into the kitchen and Beryl will make you a hot drink.'

‘I'll come with you,' said Jeanette swiftly. ‘I've heard it before and I agree with Mam – my grandmother, Lavinia, was a great character.'

‘OK,' said Sam, and vanished into the kitchen with Beryl and Jeanette.

‘So?' said Grace, staring at Dorothy. ‘I presume you might have guessed that my mother went to prison for her beliefs and was force-fed?'

‘Was she in Walton prison?'

‘Yes, but she gave birth to me in a prison hospital in Manchester.'

Dorothy's eyebrows shot up. ‘What about your father?'

‘He was no longer on the scene. My mother believed in free love at the time and so did he.'

‘So who brought you up?'

‘I was fostered and my mother kept her eye on me, not that I was aware of it at the time. She kept me secret from her father who was a cotton broker. He was a rich man, a widower, and he left her all his money. Later she caught religion and became something of a philanthropist,' said Grace softly. ‘I didn't know any of this for years.'

‘And so you should have lived happily ever after when you were rescued by Sam's father, married him and gave birth to Jeanette,' said Dorothy, scribbling away.

‘I wasn't in love with George,' said Grace frankly. ‘He was a lot older than me but I grew fond of him. We could have had a contented life if it hadn't been for his aunt Ethel, but the least said about her the better.'

‘Did you ever meet your mother?' Dorothy could not resist asking.

‘Oh yes, eventually, and I forgave her.' Grace continued with her story and then faltered and smiled wearily. ‘Enough said if I add that we wouldn't have this cottage if it wasn't for my mother and she left me an annuity when she died.'

Dorothy realized Grace was getting tired and closed her notebook. ‘Thanks, I really appreciate you telling me some of your, and your mother's story. Other people's lives always amaze me.'

‘We all have a story to tell,' said Grace seriously. ‘As I said earlier I'd be interested in hearing about you.'

Dorothy wondered what Grace would make of her story but she was not about to unburden herself and tell it. Instead she said, ‘Do you know that Jeanette wants to rent a flat? A friend of hers is off to Italy in the summer and she needs someone to take over paying the rent while she's away. Jeanette's eager to spread her wings a bit but the difficulty is that she can't really afford it. She's trying to find someone to share with her but so far has been unlucky.'

Grace looked surprised. ‘She hasn't mentioned it to me.'

‘Perhaps she will today.'

‘It would do Jeanette good to be independent. Her father is a little too possessive where his daughters are concerned.' She jutted her chin. ‘I need to make up for the years when I wasn't there for her, so the least I can do is to talk to George about giving her some financial help and for him to see that his little girl is grown up. I think it could be a mistake making her and Davy wait until she's twenty-one.' Grace smiled. ‘Will you be at Hester and Ally's wedding?'

‘What's this about Hester and Ally's wedding?' asked Jeanette, entering the room carrying a tray.

‘I was just asking Dorothy if she will be there,' said Grace, looking up at her daughter.

‘The way our Hester's carrying on, she'll be getting married in last summer's frock,' said Jeanette. ‘She still hasn't done anything about our outfits. She's too wrapped up in Ally and checking how the renovations to the cottage are getting on.' Jeanette handed a cup of coffee to Dorothy and then placed the tray across her mother's lap before removing her own cup and sitting on the pouffe. ‘But when next I see her, I'm going to give her a nudge.'

‘That sounds sensible,' said Grace, sipping her coffee. ‘And what about you, Jeannie? Dorothy was telling me about your friend's flat.'

So Jeanette told her all about it and also suggested that Grace and George should have a word with Emma's husband, Jared Gregory, about building an extension to Grace's cottage.

‘You do realize that if your father moves out here and you're living in the flat, Sam will be left all alone with Ethel?' said Grace.

‘Yes, but it would save me looking for a house for when I marry Dot,' said Sam from the doorway. ‘You and Ethel get on OK, Dot, don't you? She likes you. We could even get married this year instead of next. What do you think?'

Dorothy could feel panic rising inside her as Sam so neatly mapped out her future. She visualized having to give up her career and being stuck with Ethel until she went senile and died.

‘I find it amazing,' said Grace.

‘What d'you find amazing?' asked Dorothy faintly.

‘That anyone could get along with Ethel without wanting to throw a screaming fit,' replied Grace. ‘I think you're best waiting, Sam, to see what your father says before you start making plans.'

Dorothy murmured agreement, feeling grateful towards the older woman whom she already admired for her courage and honesty. She thought about what she had told her about having met her mother and forgiven her for having had her fostered. Knowing Sam, Dorothy knew he would never forgive her for giving away his son, so she could never tell him.

Betty watched as the youth went over to the jukebox and wasted no time choosing a record and putting a coin in the slot. The latest catchy hit from Rosemary Clooney and The Mellomen, ‘Mambo Italiano', caused two teenage girls sitting at a table a few feet away to stop talking and stare at him. She remembered Tony playing the same record on Friday and he had sung along with the music. It had been decided there and then that he would sing that song at Hester and Ally's wedding. He was a handsome lad with dark Italian looks that were as unlike this boy's as black from white. Yet she could not help thinking that this youth with his flaxen hair and attractive cheekbones and firm chin would draw the girls in a few years time like moths to a candle. She knew from the badge on his blazer that he was a pupil at the Liverpool Boys' Institute, as was his companion, Chris, one of their regular customers, who she guessed must be a couple of years older.

At that moment Chris caught her eye and she took a pad and pencil from her overall pocket and went over to the table where the other boy now joined him. ‘What can I get you?' she asked.

‘Coffee and a bacon butty,' said Chris before turning to his friend. ‘What about you, Nick?' he asked.

‘A banana milkshake and a bacon butty.' Nick glanced up at Betty from brown eyes that reminded her of treacle toffee.

‘So you're Nick,' she said, writing down his order. ‘You're new here. Welcome!'

‘Thanks,' he said, flushing slightly.

‘I told you they were friendly here,' said Chris, grinning across at him.

‘We are as long as you don't burst into song too often or dance on the tables,' said Betty. ‘At least not before the boss gets an entertainment licence. I keep telling him it could make his fortune but will he listen?' She smiled and left them alone and went through into the kitchen.

‘Two bacon butties,' she said, stifling a yawn and resting her back against a table. ‘We have a new customer. Friend of Chris.'

‘The lad who goes to the Institute and lives Prescot Road way?' said Lenny, getting out the bacon. ‘He has ambitions to be a reporter.'

‘Your memory is improving, boss,' teased Betty.

‘Don't you be smart with me, Ginger,' said Lenny. ‘Light the gas for us, there's a love.'

‘I wish you wouldn't call me Ginger. I know my hair's red but even so …' She lit the gas. ‘I wouldn't mind so much if we were licensed for dancing …' She regarded her boss hopefully.

‘You find me a Fred Astaire to perform here and I'll apply for a licence,' replied Lenny, placing the frying pan on the stove.

‘I wish you would and I wish you'd come and listen to the group play.' Betty resumed her position against the table and stared at him.

‘I'll think about it,' said Lenny, who was a bachelor and lived alone in the rooms above the coffee bar. Betty had no idea if he had ever had a serious girlfriend. His behaviour was always circumspect where she was concerned. He interrupted her thoughts by saying, ‘By the way I forgot to tell you that after you went on Friday, that girl who thinks you're God's gift to art came here, believing she was being followed.'

Betty watched as he laid four slices of bacon in the frying pan and said in injured tones, ‘I thought you liked my paintings! I know they're not Picasso or Turner but you said they brightened the place up. Now, you're beginning to sound like my cousin, Maggie. At least I don't have to put up with her insulting me now she's moved out of the flat.'

‘I do like them but you must admit that girl is a real fan of yours.'

‘I presume you're talking about Bobby Donegan?'

‘Probably. I can't remember all their names.'

‘Was she being followed?'

‘Not so you'd notice, although there were two blokes out on the street and she was definitely frightened. So Hester Walker took her under her wing.'

‘She couldn't have anyone better,' said Betty, straightening up. ‘I suppose I'd better get out there and make the lads' drinks. That bacon smells so good I'll be snatching it out of the pan if I stay.' Despite her words, she still lingered. ‘Do come and listen to the group,' she said persuasively. ‘It would pay you in the end. You'd have this place packed out with teenagers most evenings.'