The Old House on the Corner (43 page)

She looked at him pityingly. ‘He’s my son, Harry. He’ll always be my son. And I’ll always be his mother. You can’t argue with that, you can’t change it.’ When she glanced through the window again, Sam had disappeared. She said, ‘I think I’ll go to church.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, Harry. I want to be by myself.’ She wanted to pray for Sam, for Joe and Donna, for Harry and herself. Most of all, she wanted to pray that their marriage would survive the events of the last few weeks. She still loved Harry, but the love had been badly scarred and she had a feeling the scars would never completely heal.

Sam stayed with his grandparents for two months before moving to London. ‘I’ll fit in better down there.’ He grinned. He seemed much more cheeful. ‘There’s more people like me around and they’re quite open about it.’

‘Are they really?’ She’d never met a – she still refused to think the word – person of Sam’s disposition in her life.

‘There’s an awful lot of us about, Mum. I’m not exactly one in a million.’

‘Is it something
I
did that’s made you like this, son?’ she asked anxiously.

Sam laughed. ‘I don’t know what made me like this,
Mum, but it was nothing to do with you. You’re still not used to it, are you?’

‘I never will be, Sam. I’m afraid I don’t understand any of it.’

‘I don’t think I do, either.’ He shrugged.

‘Write to me with your address as soon as you’ve got one.’

‘To the house?’

‘To the house. Your father will be cross, but that’s his problem.’

‘Wouldn’t it be best if I sent the letters here?’ he asked, meaning the house in Penny Lane where his mother had been born.

‘No, it’ll only worry your gran and granddad. They’re already worried enough, wondering what’s happened, why you left home in the first place.’ Mum and Dad were in their seventies. Dad was as fit as a fiddle, but her mother was becoming very frail.

Everyone was getting older. In a few days, she would be forty-two and Sam twenty-one. She’d planned a big party, but that wouldn’t happen now. She couldn’t visualize ever going to a party again.

She did, of course, although it was a long time before she and Harry began to get along, and it was never the same as it had been before. She felt as if a curtain had fallen between them and they couldn’t communicate with each other any more. If a letter came with a London postmark, Harry would ignore it. He wasn’t interested in knowing how Sam was getting on. When he’d been away a few months, Judy paid him a visit and Harry went around, tight-lipped, hardly speaking, for days beforehand and for days after she came back.
Judy continued to visit and he accused her of being disloyal.

‘You should be on
my
side, not Sam’s,’ he finished in a hurt voice.

‘I’m not on anybody’s side,’ she replied. ‘I’m not deserting Sam for you – or you for Sam. I’ll see him whenever I like.’

Joe visited them often, sometimes bringing Ashley with him, but it was rare that Donna came and just as rare that they were invited to their house in Allerton. Judy didn’t like to call unannounced, worried she mightn’t be made welcome. She was resigned to the fact that she would never make a friend of her daughter-in-law.

She also got used to explaining to people why Sam never came home. ‘He works for a newspaper and spends loads of time abroad. He keeps promising to come and stay, but never manages to make it.’

At least the newspaper bit was true and Sam did go abroad, but only occasionally. She felt annoyed at having to lie because of Harry’s prejudices. ‘Next time someone asks, I’ll refer them to you,’ she told him crossly, but people gradually stopped asking.

Nineteen eighty-five was a sad year. Mr Moon passed away in January, followed not long afterwards by Judy’s mother. It was also the year when Joe discovered the truth about his brother. The two young men wrote to each other and frequently spoke on the phone but, in deference to his father, Sam had always kept his secret hidden.

Joe had been on a hotel management course in Kent. On the way home, he called on Sam in his basement flat in Islington. Back in Liverpool, the very next day, he came to see his mother. Harry wasn’t
there, having gone to work in the shop, as Joe had known he would.

‘Sam’s living with this black guy, Josh. They’re a couple. Why didn’t you tell me, Mum?’ Joe said reproachfully. ‘Did you think I’d mind or something? Sam said it’s why Dad chucked him out and he’s never come back, not even for a visit.’

‘Your father didn’t want anyone to know. He’s too ashamed.’

‘Ashamed of what?’ Joe looked truculent. ‘Sam said you’ve stuck by him all the way, but you could have told
me
. I’m his brother. I’ve a right to know. As for Dad, he’s still living in the nineteenth century. Strange,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I used to think he was the best father in the world, so laid back he was virtually horizontal, but it turned out he doesn’t go along with divorce, let alone homosexuality.’ Judy winced at the word and Joe went on, ‘There are loads of openly gay men and women around nowadays: famous actors, pop groups, film stars. There’s no need to make a big deal out of it. It isn’t against the law.’

Judy sighed. ‘Have you told Donna about Sam?’

‘Of course I have. She’s dead shocked – oh, not with Sam, but with Dad for making him leave. By the way, she’s pregnant.’ He smiled joyfully. ‘We’re dead pleased. We’re having a little get-together on Saturday, just a few friends. Donna wants to know if you’ll come. She’s really impressed with the way you’ve stood by Sam. She thought you’d have gone along with Dad.’

Judy’s heart leaped. It seemed as if she might make a friend of Donna, after all. ‘I’d love to. I’ll see what your dad’s up to that night.’

‘Dad’s not invited. Anyroad, he wouldn’t have come. He dislikes Donna as much as she does him.’

The curtain between them was getting thicker. Harry would get up and leave the room whenever Joe mentioned his brother. He wasn’t even faintly thrilled when his first grandchild was born: a bonny little girl named Rosemary and wore the same scowl at the baby’s christening as he’d done at her parent’s wedding.

‘Why don’t you lighten up?’ she asked when they got home. ‘You’re making yourself terribly unhappy just because your sons haven’t conformed to the pattern you drew up for them. Joe and Sam haven’t done anything evil.’ He stared at her blankly, as if she’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand. ‘Harry,’ she said gently, ‘what’s happened to us? Remember the night we met in the Cavern? For years afterwards, our lives were perfect. What’s gone wrong, love?’

‘I don’t know.’ The blank stare was replaced by a look of terror. ‘I’m frightened, Jude,’ he said piteously.

‘I’m not surprised, love. You’ve made enemies of the people closest to you. Why not make a fresh start?’ she urged. ‘Make friends with Donna – and Joe: he’s not exactly pleased about your attitude to his wife. Invite Sam home, even if it’s only for a weekend.’

‘Would he bring his boyfriend?’

From his glacial tone Judy could tell she was wasting her time. The family was now divided into two distinct camps: Harry in one camp, his sons in the other, herself somewhere in between, but slowly being drawn into the second camp and making an enemy of the husband she’d once loved so much.

*

Sylvester Smith refused to leave the house on New Year’s Eve, 1989, to see in the new decade with his children. He reserved
Casablanca
in the video shop, a film that not only featured two much-loved stars, Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart, but had also been his wife’s favourite of all time.

Dorothy, who lived nearest, bought him a couple of bottles of beer and a box of chocolates. ‘Enjoy yourself, Dad. I’ll give you a ring as soon as Big Ben chimes in nineteen ninety.’

But when Dorothy rang, there was no answer. Suspecting something might be wrong, she called Judy, Paulette and Fred – Ronnie had settled in New Zealand when he gave up the Navy – and they entered the house together to discover their father had passed peacefully away.
Casablanca
had finished and had rewound.

‘I wonder if he saw it right through to the end or did it rewind itself?’ Paulette moaned. ‘We’ll never know exactly when he died.’

‘I reckon he saw it. The beer and the chocolates have all gone. He usually made them last out the whole film.’ Fred closed his father’s eyes for the last time. ‘Didn’t you, Dad?’ he said fondly.

Dorothy made the cold body comfortable on the settee, Paulette went to ring for an ambulance, and Judy took the bottles and the empty chocolate box into the kitchen. The others followed and they sat around the old table where they’d eaten their mother’s delicious casseroles. An ancient chrome alarm clock ticked loudly on the window sill. A poster advertising
The Godfather
was attached to the fridge.

‘I bet Mum and Dad are in heaven watching
I am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang
.’ Judy managed a smile.
‘That was a ghastly film. Remember he asked us round the minute he got the video and we had to pretend to enjoy it so as not to hurt his feelings?’

It was a signal for the memories to come pouring out. They recalled how flattered their father had been to be compared to Spencer Tracy, how much he had adored their mother, the way he had eagerly devoured the contents of the
Picturegoer
every week.

‘There’s hundreds, if not thousands of them, under the stairs,’ Paulette said. ‘They’d probably sell for a small fortune, but I’d prefer we kept them. We could have a few boxes each.’ She put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. ‘Are we as happy now that we’re all in our fifties as we were then?’ she asked.

‘I’m not in my fifties,’ Judy reminded her. ‘I’m only forty-eight.’

‘OK, I’ll rephrase the question. Are we as happy now that three of us are in our fifties and our Judy’s forty-eight?’

There was silence for a while. Then Fred said, ‘Most of the time. Mavis and I have had our ups and downs, what marriage doesn’t? But all in all I’d say I’m happier. What about you, Pauly?’

Paulette made a face. ‘It wasn’t as nice living here after you’d all gone. I was beginning to think I’d end up an old maid. I was thirty when I met John and we fell in love. We had four kids in four years and I couldn’t be happier.’ She turned to her sister. ‘It’s your turn, Dot.’

‘Me?’ Dorothy shuddered. ‘I was dead
un
happy when I first got married. It was a good ten years before I became resigned to Kevin’s affairs. I comfort myself with the thought that he always came back to me.
Now the kids are grown up and Kevin doesn’t bother with other women. Perhaps he hasn’t got the energy. We go on holiday together. We’ve become friends more than anything. I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘you could say that I’m happy.’

Everyone turned to Judy. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she stammered when faced with three pairs of curious eyes.

‘Shall I repeat the question?’ Paulette asked.

‘No.’ Everyone else had told the truth: this wasn’t a time for lies. ‘When I married Harry,’ she began nervously, ‘I was happier than I’d thought possible. It stayed that way for years and years, but then something awful happened and everything fell apart. It’s never been the same since.’

‘So you’re the only one who’s not as happy now as when we were kids?’ Fred deduced.

‘It would seem so.’

Dorothy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is Sam being gay the awful thing that happened?’

Judy caught her breath. ‘How did you know?’

‘Dad guessed that time Sam stayed here years ago. Nobody said anything, we were waiting for you to mention it first.’ Dorothy folded her arms and said, almost coldly, ‘I wouldn’t have described the thing with Sam as awful, Jude. Upsetting, maybe, but not awful. I can’t believe you let Harry throw him out – your own
son
. For all his faults, Kevin would never have done a thing like that.’

‘Neither would John,’ Paulette chimed in.

‘Harry was always a bit of a stuffed shirt,’ Fred said with a critical sniff. ‘He wanted his kids to grow up to be reflections of himself: nauseatingly moral and incredibly dull.’

Judy jumped to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go and sit with Dad until the ambulance comes.’

‘I’m sorry, sis. That was a bit harsh.’

‘No, Fred. It’s the truth. I’d already come to the same conclusion myself, but you phrased it better than I ever could.’

Another decade passed. When Mrs Moon died, there were no grandparents left, but by then the children had become grandparents themselves. Time was marching relentlessly onwards, arriving at the twenty-first century with the tick of the clock, a burst of fireworks, and celebrations throughout the land.

Judy and Harry spent Millennium’s Eve at Joe and Donna’s with a few old friends and Harry’s sister, Eve, and her family. Harry’s opinion of Donna had softened with the years. She had proved a loyal and supportive wife to his son, but his judgement of his other son had never altered. It was eighteen years since Sam had left home, but his name was rarely spoken in the house in Heathfield Road.

Fireworks were being let off in the garden when Donna came and squeezed Judy’s hand. ‘While everyone’s out here, I thought you might like to ring Sam from the extension in the bedroom.’

‘Thank you, love.’ Behind her rather grim exterior, Donna had a soft and tender heart and Judy had come to love her as a daughter.

‘It sounds like pandemonium there,’ she said when she got through to Sam and was met by thunderous music and a chorus of animated voices in the background. ‘Happy Millennium to you and Josh, son. You sound as if you’re having a good time.’

‘The best, Mum. How about you?’

‘We’re at Joe’s. Oh, but I wish you were here too!’ Suddenly, she wanted to weep because the whole family weren’t together on such a momentous night.

Sam chuckled. ‘You never know, by the time the next Millennium comes, Dad might have accepted he has a gay son.’

Judy said she thought it would take more than another thousand years. ‘He’s thinking of retiring, your dad: selling the business and the house and moving to a smaller place in the countryside.’

‘Do you fancy that, Mum?’